by Jay Allan
A different part of him was terrified she would never get the chance to follow in her mother’s footsteps, that the universe that had produced Andi and him would be fundamentally changed, that defeat in the war would reduce Cassie, and billions of others, to little more than the slaves of a race of self-proclaimed gods. It was that thought, and others like it, that drove him through sixteen hours days, that fueled the near-monster he’d become, driving his people forward without the slightest hint of mercy or leniency. The Pact had gotten a longer respite than he’d dared to hope they would, but he knew the struggle he’d dreaded every day would come upon them, likely sooner rather than later. He wasn’t sure be believed his forces had a real chance of victory, but he was damned certain they would be ready, and that they would fight with everything they had…technology, tactics…and the blood and guts of dedicated men and women behind it all.
Tyler Barron had lived the last three and a half years amid fear and desperation, surrounded on all sides by construction and preparation so intense, it had almost overwhelmed him, even as he demanded more from those around under his command. He had lived under the shadow of death for forty-four Megaran months, working at a pace that seemed destined to drive anyone mad…and he had never been happier.
His dead spacers were there, as always, their ranks greatly expanded by the horrific carnage at Calpharon. His outlook was bleak as well, and for all the ships that had poured forth from the Confederation’s shipyards, for all the enhanced weaponry Hegemony technology had given the Confederation, for all his undiminished confidence in his officers and spacers, he still didn’t really believe victory was possible. His people had been building, preparing, fortifying for nearly four years, but he knew the enemy had not been idle in all that time. He knew what he’d done with the time, but all he could do was guess at what the Highborn had accomplished in more than three and a half years.
Still, none of that had dampened his happiness at almost four years with Andi and Cassiopeia. His quarters on Base Striker, the half dozen rooms he shared with his family, were adequate enough, if far from plush. His schedule was grueling, and it reduced the amount of time he’d had to spend with those he loved. That time was further ravaged by Andi’s equally demanding commitment to researching old imperial records, combing every known artifact for any further clues about the Highborn…how they were created, and how they were seemingly driven out of the empire before the final fall. But even when he was stuck in some conference room or out inspecting new ships, Andi was just a few decks above or below, pawing through old records…not hundreds of lightyears away, out of reach.
At least when he was elsewhere in the system or the fleet, he knew they were close. His daughter had been almost a year old before he’d seen her, and he’d gone even longer without seeing Andi. He could feel the shadow of desperation and despair that hung just beyond the edge of his thoughts. But none of it, not the Highborn threat, nor the dark clouds of renewed battle on the horizon, nor the desperate struggles to prepare, to find a way to meet the enemy, to survive and attain victory, could take away from what he felt when he held his daughter, or when he and Andi had some time together, stolen moments that they may be.
He leaned down and picked up the ball, smiling as he tossed it back in Cassie’s direction. He threw it softly, and it bounced off the floor about a meter in front of her, unleashing another burst of giggles as she lunged to pick it up.
“You can throw harder than that,” she said, staring at him for an instant with a mischievous look that almost seemed to make Andi’s face morph over hers, before she scooped up the ball and threw it back, with considerably more energy behind it.
It bounced off Barron’s thigh and flew off across the room. “I guess I’m tired, sweetheart. And I’ve got a lot of work to do right now.”
“Okay…fine…” Cassie stood there, looking as though she was caught between wandering off and amusing herself…or ratcheting up the guilt, and trying to lure Tyler from his work. Finally, she just smiled and said, “You can work for a while, I guess.” Then she turned and walked off into the next room.
Barron smiled for a moment, his eyes fixed on the door his daughter had just slipped through. He felt happiness, mixed almost inextricably with sadness. He loved Cassie, but he wished the reality surrounding her birth, and the life she’d so far led, had been one of peace, and not blanketed by the shadow of deadly danger never far from thought. Cassie didn’t know much about the Highborn, or at least what she knew was limited.
At least you think she doesn’t. Fatherly pride notwithstanding, Cassie’s intellect was clearly a sharp one, and he wondered if the child was more aware of the situation than he liked to believe. He didn’t like the idea of trying to deceive her in any way, but she was too young to face the harsh reality of what was coming.
He’d almost sent her back to Megara a dozen times, and he knew on some level he’d kept her on Striker out of selfishness, because he so desperately wanted her near him. There was something deeper, too, he realized. He believed deep down that the day he put Andi on Cassie on a ship heading back to Megara would be the last time he would ever see them. He put on a brave face for his spacers, but his gut told him he’d finally found the war that would claim him. Having his family there, for another day, another week, another month…it was priceless to him.
Very possibly the only chance he would ever have.
He pulled his thoughts back from his wife and daughter, to the work that still demanded most of his time. Gary Holsten had made the long trip back and forth from Megara half a dozen times, spending much of his time in space so he could alternate between meetings with Barron and keeping the Senate under control. Barron had managed to get the politicians more or less onboard with all he needed, through a combination of Holsten’s looming presence…and the stone cold fear that had come from realization of what the Rim was truly facing. Still, he couldn’t take anything for granted. He’d had too much trouble from politicians before, and he knew just what a drain the massive war effort had been on the Confederation’s resources. The massively accelerated ship research and construction program had been monumental in scale, and still, it diminished almost to irrelevancy next to the construction of the Confederation’s first antimatter production facility.
Antimatter was the fuel for the most advanced systems, and the most potent weapon known. It also took monstrous amounts of energy to produce even small amounts of the amazing substance. Confederation science had possessed the skills to produce antimatter for almost a century, but the lack of a means to produce the concentrated energy required for mass production restricted its use to scientific experiments requiring minute quantities.
Until the Pact had made Hegemony technology available to the Confederation, along with the schematics to turn an entire planet into a vast production facility. The system utilized geothermal energies, nuclear fusion, massive solar power, weather…every method known to modern technology to produce the required energy to create antimatter in quantities measured in the tons instead of micrograms.
Hegemony technology made the construction of such a facility possible, but it did nothing to blunt the ruinous cost. At more than twice the size of the Confederation, the Hegemony had only managed to build two such production facilities in a century and a half, and one of those had now been destroyed, its remains captured by the enemy.
The Hegemony had spent twenty years constructing each of their production centers. Tyler Barron had insisted the Confederation do it in four, and he’d sent Gary Holsten to make sure the Senate was cooperative, and Anya Fritz, his longtime engineering master, to oversee the construction. It was an impossible task, he knew, and yet Fritz’s latest report suggested antimatter production could begin in as little as six months. That was cause for optimism, or he tried to make it so, but his mind was still focused on the enemy, on their technology…and on a notion he couldn’t shake that the Highborn themselves were simply better than he and all his people.
Barron ha
d been repelled by the Hegemony’s genetic rating hierarchy, but he’d also recognized the advantages behind it, even the justifications. He’d seen too many fools in position of power causing unspeakable damage, too many important jobs left to men and women incapable of completing them. The Highborn were something else entirely, not just the Hegemony’s selection of those pegged to be the best of any current generation, but a true effort to push the entire species forward. Their genes had been manipulated, enhanced. They were larger, stronger, smarter. As far as his intel went, it seemed they were immune to most illnesses…and the Firstborn, at least those of that initial group of five hundred specimens not killed by violence, were alive nearly four centuries after their ‘births.’ There was no argument, no intelligent one. They were better in many ways.
It disgusted him to think that way, but he had to fight them, and underestimating the enemy was the surest road to defeat. He even understood why the Highborn’s creators had done what they had done. Their imperial society had been decaying, the drive that pushed people forward almost gone from a decadent society. If the Highborn had behaved as expected, as teachers and leaders instead of would be gods consumed by arrogance and ambition, the program might very well have save the empire…and all humanity.
Instead of leading to the Cataclysm, and creating the deadliest enemy every known.
He looked at the small screen on his desk, at the starmap displayed there. What are you doing out there? Why have you waited so long? When are you coming?
He had precious little heard intel on just what was happening on the worlds the enemy had occupied, and what shreds he did possess had been bought with rivers of his scouts’ blood. But one thing was clear. The Highborn had harnessed Hegemony industry and populations in a massive way, and they were turning out a constant stream of new ships…weapons of war he knew would eventually be turned on his forces, and those of his allies.
He’d imagined fighting a war against an enemy coming from unknown space, but now he realized, every step backward, every system left to the enemy, strengthen them, and weakened the Pact. He’d considered trading space for time, and he’d almost brought it up with Chronos, simply to test the waters. But now he realized there could be no more retreats, no more systems given to the enemy.
They had to be stopped when they finally came. They had to be stopped…
Somehow.
* * *
“Our research has expanded our knowledge of the Highborn considerably, however those efforts have recently ground to a virtual halt. We have extracted all the information possible from the data chips in Folio One.” Andi realized the name she’d given to the binder she’d retrieved from her storage unit was less than imaginative, but it served. “Our audit of previously discovered imperial artifacts and records has yielded a number of additional data sources as well, references to the Highborn that had previously been unclear without the greater context we now possess. Our newest and most recent efforts have involved recruiting crews previously engaged in Badlands prospecting.” Andi paused, shifting on her feet for a moment. She had been a Badlands prospector, and a damned good one if she did say so herself. But she’d also been an outlaw of sorts, and every expedition she’d undertaken had been in violation of the pointless treaties the Confederation had signed, and which only it had ever taken even semi-seriously. Andi was firmly entrenched among the highest levels of the Confederation’s military, but she still remembered what it felt like making a run for it from more than one naval ship. Wherever she had gone, however she had grown, her roots were still there, and she knew she would never forget the realities of life as a Badlands explorer.
She still carried a little resentment for it all, too.
She wasn’t the only one. It had been her idea to seek out the old prospecting teams, to organize them to conduct a comprehensive exploration effort in the Badlands. More than a few had told her to get lost, that they’d rot in hell before they’d cooperate with the naval forces that had hunted them down for so long as criminals. She’d argued that the fight against the Highborn was a struggle for all of them to survive, but Badlands prospectors were a hard breed, and more than a few possessed stubbornness that overruled their good sense, even their survival instincts. But she’d managed to convince more than a dozen teams to get back together, mostly after she’d enhanced the puny payouts the Senate had authorized with her own funds. There was some patriotism mixed in with the resentment among the prospectors, but money had always been the surest way to motivate them.
She’d also agreed that after any information was extracted, any artifacts would be theirs to sell in addition to their bonuses. The Senate had expressly forbidden that, of course, but she already had a plan on how to deal with it.
She’d always wanted to stand up on the main podium in the Senate and tell them all to go…well, she had a few versions of that thought, one progressively harsher and dirtier than the last.
The prospecting efforts had shown some success in the year or more they’d been underway, but overall, Andi was disappointed. She’d hoped more records would have been found, that such things had been overlooked by teams hunting for electronics and other, more valuable finds. There had been a few new discoveries, bits and pieces of information that referred, peripherally at least, to the empire’s struggle with the Highborn. But nothing comprehensive…and nothing that held any real clues to a way to defeat the genetically-engineered enemy. The Badlands were coreward of what the Confederation considered to be the Rim, but it had all been part of that backwater periphery during imperial times. She’d come to believe the information she needed, that the entire Pact needed, was deeper coreward.
Into the areas occupied by the enemy, and even beyond.
“To summarize, the Highborn were created by a fringe group in the empire, who intended for their genetically engineered and enhanced specimens to serve as inspiration, even as leaders, to push humanity forward in a nurturing way. The program was a response to the decay and decadence that gripped the later empire, and hastened its decline. Unfortunately, this group lost control over its creations, who came to view themselves as gods, and sought to take their place as mankind’s masters and not its partners or mentors. Our information on the later stages of the resulting conflict is admittedly sparse, but we can be fairly certain that the Highborn wielded considerable power for a number of years, and controlled a significant portion of the imperial armed forces at their peak. They very well may have come very close to ultimate success. What is far less clear was how they were defeated…and it seems clear that they were at least held off and driven from imperial space. That was a victory without lasting value, however. The empire’s wounds proved to be mortal, and the final collapse was not long delayed.” Andi paused. The next bit of information was vital, at least as she saw it. “But there appears to be little question that the Highborn were indeed driven from imperial space before the last stages of the Cataclysm.”
“Is it possible that was the result of a strictly military victory, a defeat of the arms supporting the Highborn by the loyal imperial forces? Imperial technology was quite advanced, and its military immensely strong. We know that much.” Clint Winters sat along the right side of the table, opposite Tyler, and even as he spoke, it was clear to Andi he’d already answered his own question internally.
“Of course, we cannot be sure what role the force of arms played in the defeat of the Highborn, save to say that it seems extremely unlikely the enemy was driven away by a pure military victory. At their peak, the Highborn controlled thirty to thirty-five percent of the imperial fleet, per our best calculations, and with the loyal imperial units far less concentrated, an overwhelming military victory seems unlikely. Further, as the Highborn controlled hundreds of systems, even in the wake of a crushing military defeat, they would have been able to dig in, hold on in well-fortified systems, for years, decades even. Yet, every analysis we have been able to conduct suggests that one moment they were in the empire, fighting for control, even on
the verge of total success…and then almost immediately they were gone, fled across the imperial borders with their followers. They left the empire mortally wounded…but they did leave it, and some years before the final stages of the Cataclysm.”
“So, there was some kind of weapon, some way to hurt them. The imperials found a way to defeat the Highborn…and we have no idea how. Correct?”
“That is essentially correct.” Andi suppressed a smile. Winters was relentless, and his analysis almost always carried a negative tone. He was someone who saw the problems first, the dark side before the light.
That’s what she liked about him.
Many found his way off-putting, but Andi was cut from the same cloth, and she counted Winters among her closest friends, and one of the few whose opinions she truly respected.
Clint Winters was also Tyler Barron’s second in command, and an officer almost as revered by the fleet’s spacers as her husband. He was gruff, hard, known by those he commanded as the ‘Sledgehammer.’ Andi knew a different side of the often-terrifying officer though, the loyal friend, the rational strategist…and the soft touch that Cassiopeia wrapped around her finger with inexplicable ease. Andi’s daughter was four and a half years old, and she held court on Base Striker like some kind of tiny queen, pulling the strings of those who pulled the Confederation’s. Clint Winters, Gary Holsten, Anya Fritz…the Rim’s greatest heroes, and some of its toughest screws, were her virtual supplicants, and they shamelessly indulged the young girl. Andi had struggled with guilt about keeping her daughter in a place like Striker, but the truth was, Cassie loved the place. And it seemed perfectly normal to the child that men and women who commanded thousands, who had fought apocalyptic battles, would bend to her every whim.
