Exodus: Empires at War: Book 06 - The Day of Battle

by Doug Dandridge

  “Yeah, that was great. Now, we only have to win the battle in Congreeve, then we can give those bastards another surprise that will drive the asses out of my Empire.”

  * * *

  ELYSIUM CAPITAL SPACE. NOVEMBER 14TH, 1001.

  “Here is where we find out if we can pass their security pickets,” said the General, looking at the holo on the bridge of the Elysium light cruiser he had captured. Ahead was the hyper barrier of the home system of the Elysium Empire. They were in hyper II, getting ready to jump to I, and then into normal space. They were picking up Elysium ships in hyper around them, some moving into the system, some moving out, still others hanging in hyper, monitoring all the traffic. He was sure there would be other ships waiting at the barrier in normal space, ready to give them a look over.

  The other ships of their group, the three Knockerman freighters, were an hour behind them, just about to come into sensor range of the enemy pickets. Hopefully they would attract enough attention to take the focus off the cruiser. They would warrant a boarding and search, though there was nothing on board to give the game away.

  “Are you ready?” asked the General, turning and looking at the Knockerman Captain who was commanding the ship.

  “We are ready,” said the Knockerman, sitting in a captain’s chair that was not built for his species. Three other stations were also manned by the stout reptilians, while another twenty-three, and about forty sympathizers from other species, made sure the ship ran efficiently.

  The rest of the passengers comprised the six thousand Cacada of the General’s force. They crowded the ship to the limit of her life support, with the mass of eighteen thousand smaller beings. But their metabolisms were slower as well, and they used less life support than their total mass would suggest. Still, the ship was severely overcrowded, and had been for many days. Tempers were flaring, and there had been several fights to the death, though spacing the victors had reduced that nonsense.

  And this Avian décor grates on my nerves, thought the General, looking around the bridge. They had ripped out most of the colorful hangings and carpets that offended the Ca’cadasan sense of taste. But they couldn’t do much about the bridge, which might still have to serve as a backdrop for communications.

  There were only a few of the Brakakak still aboard. Most refused to cooperate. And had died or it. Others had been tortured to the point of giving up the secrets of the ship. The Avians were a delicate species, and had not held up well under the painful techniques the Ca’cadasans had employed, along with the anatomical and psychological knowledge of the Knockermen.

  Too bad the bird people tasted like shit, thought the General with a frown. With the pleasant odor they produced, and the compatible proteins they possessed, the Cacada had thought that the avians would taste delicious, and they had hundreds of them to use as rations. That had not been the case. The damn things are useless, alive or dead.

  “Jumping into hyper I,” said the Knockerman helmsman. The lights dimmed for a moment, while the hole between the dimensions opened in front of the ship and she slid into the lower dimension. The General always hated translations, which affected his people more than most species. And affected him more than most Cacada. He barely kept his stomach under control, and was sure some of his males were vomiting their guts out elsewhere in the ship. It took the General a half minute to get control of his nausea.

  “Twelve minutes till jump to normal space,” called out the Helmsman.

  And then I get to experience that once again. How wonderful.

  The General thought about the nausea the entire time it took for translation to normal space. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. He couldn’t imagine it being worse, and it didn’t seem any better. At least I won’t have to worry about it on the return trip, since there won’t be one.

  He knew that this was a suicide mission, as had all the men under his command. All of his brigade had children back in the Empire, and this action would give them benefits they would otherwise not receive with their low birth. Education, better food, opportunities for advancement. And they would die serving the Emperor. What more could any of their race aspire to?

  “Jumping into normal space, now,” called out the Helmsman.

  The nausea struck again, and this time the General could not control his stomach. He vomited the contents of his digestive system on the floor, which actually shortened the duration of the nausea.

  I can’t afford this, thought the General, wiping his mouth with back of his lower left hand, then looking up into the holo that showed the system they had entered.

  It looked just like many other systems he had seen. The one inhabited planet close to the star. Mining operations in the asteroid belt, antimatter production close to the star. And hundreds of ships on the move, the sign of extensive commerce.

  “Something is wrong,” said the Knockerman Captain. “There aren’t enough warships in the system.”

  “How many are there?” asked the General.

  “Maybe a hundred. Probably less.”

  “That sounds like enough to me.”

  “They have moved them,” said the Knockerman, his teeth displayed in challenge. “They have moved them to the human Empire, the stupid flesshkoff. To aid the humans.”

  Now I wish we were here to destroy this system, thought the General. But their turn will come.

  “We are getting a signal from a system destroyer,” called out one of the Knockermen manning a bridge station.

  The main viewer came on, showing a bridge similar to the one they were on, though somewhat smaller. A Brakakak officer looked out of the viewer, while several more were visible in the background.

  “Light Cruiser Rrarrakak, please respond to identification code,” came the translated voice over the com.

  “We have engaged the simulation of a Brakakak officer,” said the Knockermen Captain.

  “Will it fool them?” asked the General, regretting this ploy, which might get him and his whole command destroyed.

  “If it doesn’t, we will have to fight,” said the Captain, motioning to his Weapons’ Officer. “We will destroy that escort ship.”

  “And then what?” demanded the General, thinking this plan was looking ever more ill advised.

  “Then we die under a barrage from the other ships in the system. But at least we get this destroyer, and maybe another.”

  And we fail in our mission, thought the General, wanting to walk over and slap the Knockerman in the face.

  “Rrarrakak. You are cleared for the inner system,” said the Captain of the other ship. “We are sorry to hear about your damages.”

  “Damages?” asked the General, confused.

  “I had to tell them something to get us permission to dock with the station, which is also a repair yard.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “I am in charge of the naval part of this operation, alien,” growled the Knockerman. “You are in charge once we dock.”

  And maybe I will kill you after we get on the station, thought the General.

  “And there is our target,” said the Knockerman, pointing at the visual of the large station in orbit around the planet, one of several.

  “Are you sure that is where we will find it?”

  “That is what our intelligence sources are telling me. And it’s the largest military station in orbit.” The Knockermen turned to his Com Officer. “Send a signal to the system command. Inform them of our damages and ask for their permission to dock at the main station.”

  “And what are you going to tell them caused the damages?” asked the General.

  “Pirates, of course,” said the Knockerman, as the ship started to accelerate into the system.

  Twenty minutes later the three Knockermen freighters jumped into normal space, attracting all the attention of an outer system picket that was still feeling nervous about the presence of that race. And the light cruiser stayed on a least time course into the system that wou
ld put them at the station in two days.

  Chapter Eighteen

  CONGREEVE SYSTEM. NOVEMBER 14TH, 1001.

  Prester Johnson screamed at the top of his lungs as he looked up at the sky, at his station. From this distance he couldn’t see the changes, but he knew they were there. “Bastards,” he screamed. “That’s mine.”

  House arrest, he thought once again as he stormed into the dwelling. How dare they put me on house arrest. “Don’t you know who the fuck I am?”

  It was obvious to Prester that they didn’t care who he was, which increased his rage. He picked up the first object to come to hand and threw it across the room into a large mirror. The mirror was almost unbreakable, like most objects in the house. The almost priceless native made statue, a masterwork piece from a Fungoid craftsman, shattered as it hit the steelglass of the mirror. “Goddam,” yelled the trillionaire, now even angrier, stomping toward the couch and throwing himself onto it.

  He sat there, calling up a holo that showed Congreeve from orbit, tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks. He looked at all the new infrastructure that Imperial Navy and Army engineers had constructed on the planet. His planet. Not that he owned the entire world, but he did own the development rights to it. Rights that had been usurped by the Imperial military.

  And it doesn’t take a genius to see what they’re doing, he thought, looking at all the facades of cities that had been built on the surface of the world. Facades they were, obvious for what they were from close up. But from a light hour or more away, they were perfect. They’re making this world a target.

  Johnson was one of the richest men in the Empire, number fifty-eight by the last accounting. He was not nobility, though he owned some nobles. He had groveled before nobles the first fifty years of his life, when he came to civilization from his trips as an asteroid miner. Until he had hit it big, and become an overnight billionaire, with a rock that was high in radioactive metals. He had translated that billion into more billions, until, at the age of one hundred and fifty-four, he was valued at a trillion Imperials, which had since grown to over a hundred trillion. Now many nobles groveled at his feet, inviting him to functions normally reserved for only their class, hoping he would invest in their projects, and save their families from bankruptcy.

  And now the military was messing with his newest investment, in a world that had some impressive natural resources, and only a few hundred thousand primitive natives in the way.

  Congreeve should have been a proscribed world, one in which industrial development and mining was forbidden, at least until the natives could be bootstrapped up to modern technology. Greasing the palms of some Lords, and then doing the same with the many petty officials who ran the development of this sector, had run over those restrictions. The Church, which ran missions on the planet, was a more difficult opponent, but even they needed money. He had funded cathedrals on frontier worlds, and missions on Congreeve, and the concerns of the Church had faded away.

  And the damned natives were going to benefit as well, he thought. But not if this planet becomes the target of some relativistic missiles. It could kill the natives, and ruin my investment.

  At first the natives had seemed monstrous to him, creatures of which no two were alike. The first sentient fungoids ever found, they had captured the imaginations of the people of the Empire. Johnson knew he would need the good will of those natives, so he had forced himself to spend time with them. And had learned that they were a singularly admirable people. Though primitive, they were skilled craftsmen and hunters, and though not sexual beings like most sentients, they were very good communal parents to the children that sprouted from their bodies.

  For the hundredth time since his house arrest, Prester tried to link into the planetary com network. And for the hundredth time, he was denied access. Not that he had any place to go once he got into the network. Except…his company had installed the planetary net, which meant he had some resources the Imperial military didn’t know about.

  It’s time to take a risk, he thought, going back into link finding the backdoor that had been left there for his personal use. He looked over the com menu that was now revealed. They’re still in orbit, he thought as she saw a familiar name on his list of contacts. With a thought he connected to the planetary com system and beamed a signal to the vessel in question. He waited a moment for a reply through the same encrypted back door. Of course they agree, he thought. They know where the sugar comes from. Now, to see about getting off the surface of this rock.

  * * *

  “Matsuamki Maru,” came the call over the com. “Permission granted to leave orbit.”

  “Thank the Gods,” said the Gryphon captain of the ore freighter. He looked back at his passenger. “I was worried there for a moment, Mr. Johnson.”

  “I don’t see why, Captain,” Prester told his employee. “This is, after all, just a system ore transport. It’s not like you can go anywhere, or tell anyone what’s going on here. Not unless you grow a hyperdrive.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, Mr. Johnson,” said the Captain, looking back at the navigation holo. “And I really don’t want to. Time to destination, twelve hours.”

  The destination was a large planetoid, about four hundred kilometers in diameter, that his company had been mining for materials to build space based infrastructure in the system. P-385 did not even carry a name, though the natives had one for it as it wandered the sky on a slightly larger orbit than their planet. Eventually, it would become a threat to the planet, if allowed to continue on its path. Astronomers estimated in fifty thousand years it would move close enough to the planet Congreeve to be captured in orbit. It could be a stable orbit, or it could come crashing down on the planet, killing everything. Well before that the Empire had planned to do something about it. But for the moment it was just raw materials. And a surface base that his company owned for the processing of the ores they gathered. A base that held some surprises.

  Call me paranoid, will you? thought the industrialist on the journey out to the planetoid.

  * * *

  Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav accepted the drink from the petty officer who was acting as steward on the shuttle. The man she was showing the battle force to sat in a chair across from her, also sipping on an alcoholic beverage.

  “You did a hell of a job here, Adrijana,” said Grand Fleet Admiral the Duke Taelis Mgonda, looking at the holo that showed the battle force they were cruising near. “I can see another star in your future.”

  “I didn’t do it for the star, Admiral. Though I sure as hell won’t turn it down.”

  “I didn’t think you would, Admiral. What you did on the planet was an amazing piece of work. I’m sure the Emperor will agree when he gets here.”

  I still don’t like the idea of the man we swear our oaths to putting his ass in the frying pan, thought Miroslav, picturing the young man in her mind with a mix of emotions. While she still had reservations about his rule, and his conduct of the war, she knew that another transition of power would be the worst thing that could happen at this time. But no one asked my opinion.

  “How many ships did Admiral Suarez bring, sir?” she asked her superior, looking at the collection of icons on the holo. They were perfectly situated for the mission, having been moved into place the day before.

  “Oh, a hundred and seventy-four battleships, one hundred and fifty-two battle cruisers, and about twice that many smaller vessels. Not nearly enough for anything but bait.”

  “Bigger than anything I ever commanded,” said Miroslav in awe. If a little, old.

  “System command is reporting that we have hyper emissions approaching the barrier, sir,” came a voice over the com.

  Both Admirals linked into the ship’s comp to read the information from system command. The tactical net actually showed two different forces moving toward the system on separate vectors. Both were huge, over a thousand ships.

  “That would be Admiral Lenkowski’s fleet,” sai
d Mgonda with a smile. “Right on time.”

  “Do you think you might have timed it a little too closely, sir?” said Miroslav, watching the information on the incoming force resolve on the tactical.

  “We didn’t want to uncover the rest of the sector too soon,” said the older man, a troubled look on his face. “We’re taking some serious risks with this play, Adrijana. If the Cacas didn’t take the bait, we were looking to lose even more systems, without much of a fight. Of course, we still would have lost them, and the ships guarding them, but could have made the bastards pay a higher price.”

  The Admiral looked out the side window of the shuttle, shaking his head. He looked back at the lower ranking Admiral. “And they are on their way here. Our scouts are shadowing them the entire way. Four days.”

  “So we still have a chance to crush them, once or for all,” said Miroslav, clenching a fist. “And pay them back for Cimmeria.”

  “You were from Cimmeria, weren’t you, Adrijana?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, trying to calm down from a murderous rage. “Family, lifelong friends, all gone.”

  “You know the Emperor had to do it, don’t you?”

  She sat there, shaking her head, fists clenching and unclenching. He let my world die. How in the hell am I supposed to come to terms with that. “I know he couldn’t commit the Fleet to defending my home, sir. I know that in my head. Don’t ask me how I feel about it. My feelings are my own.”

  “Fair enough,” said the Duke, his eyes narrowing, then his expression softening. “Again, you did a very good job here. Without your efforts this thing would not work. But don’t be fooled. Even if we win a crushing victory here, it will not be once and for all. We still have their entire Empire to defeat, and I doubt it will be an easy job.”

  “And we will take losses here,” she said in a soft voice.