by Jay Allan
Chronos had reaffirmed his allegiance, and his willingness to allow Barron to retain the top command, as had Vian Tulus. The Palatian Imperator had been wounded in the last of the fighting, and Barron imagined his blood brother would consider the resulting twenty centimeter scar something fit for a song.
The situation was no better than it had been before he’d led the fleet forward, but aside from the realization of just how many ships the Highborn possessed, it wasn’t any worse either, as least as far as he could see. He’d suffered losses, but the enemy had as well. Indeed, he’d reviewed the scanner recap of Excalibur’s first battle, and he’d been awed by the superbattleship’s power. He would have three more of them in a matter of months, and they would be most welcome. With any luck, the enemy would give him those months…though he figured he might well have used up his current allotment of fortune. Plainly put, he was concerned that maybe his luck had run out.
He got confirmation of that just a moment later.
“Admiral Barron…” An aide stood in the open doorway, looking at Barron and the assembled leaders nervously.
“Yes, what is it?” Barron was a little annoyed. He’d left strict orders not to be disturbed.
“Sir, we’ve received a priority communique on the pipe. It’s for you, Admiral, from Mr. Holsten at Confederation Intelligence. It’s about the Union border, sir…and Admiral Denisov.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Highborn Flagship S’Argevon
Imperial System GH3-2307 (Beta Telvara System)
Year of the Firstborn 389 (327 AC)
“You did, in fact, eliminate the human fighter commander, or at least a review of all available scanner footage suggests that you did. That is a success, certainly, however our wings took losses far in excess of both expectations and the casualties the enemy suffered. I understand this was not entirely your fault and, in consideration of the difficulties encountered in transiting the fleet, and the resulting force mismatches, your squadrons performed well by several measures. For these reasons, I will neither punish you, nor remove you from your command responsibilities. We will soon begin our invasion, and your wings will be at the forefront of the attack. You will have a chance to redeem yourself, to claim a share of the glory of victory.”
Stockton listened to Tesserax’s words, and most of his mind responded with sniveling gratitude. He felt his body drop to a prostrate position before the creature who called himself a god, and he looked on from the part of his brain that still belonged to him with disgust and exhaustion.
He’d seen hundreds of his comrades killed…and he himself had destroyed Reg Griffin’s ship, stripped his old wings of the leader he’d left behind in his place. The sole scrap of solace he’d managed to gather to himself over the past four years had been the knowledge that he’d left his pilots in good hands. Now, he’d taken even that from them.
But guilt and misery were finite, and Stockton was already at rock bottom. He felt distracted, almost unable to think about anything. Even watching himself, his body and his brain, supplicating before the hated Highborn had mostly lost its effect on him. He’d craved death for four years, and for all that time it had been denied to him. He wondered if things could be any worse, if he could reach depths his soul had not yet plumbed.
“Go now, Jake Stockton. You are a mere human, despite your undoubted skills. You must rest. We will have need of your services again, soon. I would have you ready, prepared to face the challenges ahead.”
Tesserax gestured with an arrogance that infuriated the inner Stockton. But, as always, he was powerless even to respond. The portion of his mind that was an abject slave—the greater portion by far—understood the dismissal. Stockton could feel his head bow deeper before he rose and left the room, returning to the small cubicle that had served as his quarters for four years.
The door slid open, and he stepped inside, sitting in the room’s single chair. He sat with his hands on his desk, a sparse affair like everything else in the room, barely large enough for the workstation that occupied most of it. His mind was reviewing the battle against Reg Griffin, and also planning new ways to direct the wings, to take advantage of the fact that his old comrades had lost their leader. Again.
Their morale would be weak, shaky. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage.
Stockton endured the thoughts, and he despised himself again for his weakness. He’d struggled a thousand times to try to break the Collar’s hold, to reclaim some control over himself, his body, his mind. Reg Griffin had come close to taking him out, and for a brief few seconds, as electrical discharges flew around his cockpit, he’d almost believed she had succeeded. But in the end, his only injuries had been a few light burns, and a headache that had lasted for three days.
You’re just as useless as you’ve been for four years, he railed against himself, throwing all he could into a pointless effort to move his hand, to slam his fist on the table.
He didn’t manage that, but he was staring down at the desk…and he saw his index finger move. It was slow, a motion of no more than two centimeters. But somehow, he knew he had done that. Not the Collar-controlled part of his brain, but him.
He focused, trying to push all distraction away, and he tried again. He could feel the effort, almost unbearable, but then he saw it again.
His finger moved, tracing a short line down the surface of the desk.
* * *
“We might have achieved more if we hadn’t underestimated Tyler Barron and his comrades.” Phazarax had been careful to characterize the failure as a joint one, and not Tesserax’s error. He was the head of the Church in the Colony, and that was a position that afforded him considerable latitude, and quite a large amount of immunity from the actions and resentments of others, even the viceroy of the Colony himself. Still, he didn’t want to provoke his comrade. Such rivalries offered little gain and only potential loss. Their duties differed considerably, but they were both tasked with bringing the humans to heel, and integrating them into the domains of the Highborn. Success would benefit them both, as failure would accrue to them jointly.
“No mere human can outthink one of us, Phazarax. Tyler Barron’s maneuver was simply crowned with luck, a random decision that aligned with other variables to produce a temporary advantage. A ninety percent chance of success is still a ten percent probability of failure. Yet the fact that said ten percent avails in one instance does not suggest change is desirable in a subsequent ninety percent chance. The humans escaped, with rather less damage than would have been optimal, and they inflicted greater losses on us than expected. That changes nothing. They did, indeed, suffer considerable casualties themselves, and a continuation of hostilities soon after the close of the recent battle will only accelerate the decline of their morale.”
“You may be right, Tesserax. Indeed, you are almost certainly correct. I must caution you, however. The Church has encountered greater resistance than expected from the subject populations of the former Hegemony, especially the segment known as Kriegeri. Executions and implementation of torture are running four hundred thirty and six hundred ten percent respectively above projections. In short, the humans are far more resistant than we had expected…and there is little doubt the wild societies of the Rim will be even more so than the Hegemonic populations, inured as they are to a highly structured society.”
“They are still only humans, Phazarax. Perhaps they have more courage and animalistic stubbornness than we had anticipated. It is possible that many are willing to die rather than to change. But that does not give them the technology or the intellect to stand against us in battle. We will complete the conquest, and when we do, your Church may kill and punish as many as it takes to impose widespread acceptance. I have no doubt pacification operations may indeed take longer than we had hoped. But we have been able to operate the industry and produce considerable output, even with populations not fully broken. I reject the notion that the base and primitive traits of the humans will meaningfully extend
the duration of the conquest.”
“And what if such resistance translates to more tenacity and courage in battle? What if their astonishing production can be sustained for a longer period? What then?
“Such concerns are of no consequence. A greater victory in the recent campaign would have been welcome, but it was hardly necessary. The enemy suffered considerable losses, and while ours were heavier than projected, there is little doubt we possess all the strength required to conclude matters. It is time to activate the next step of our plan, to finish this with one great blow. It is time to implement Attack Plan Alpha.”
* * *
“You have wanted this for a very long time, Gaston, have you not?” Percelax sat on the raised platform, leaning back in his chair as the Union’s restored dictator walked across the floor.
“Indeed I have, Lord Percelax. The Confederation has been a thorn in my side for all of my life. Now, I am on the verge of gaining vengeance for all the injuries I have suffered at their hands.”
“You shall have your revenge, Gaston, and much more.” Percelax found it somewhat difficult to converse with the human as though the two of them were equals. Villieneuve should have been on his knees, offering thanks for favor, and begging for a continuation of such grace.
These humans on the Rim will have to learn how to worship us. That is likely to be a hard lesson for many.
Percelax looked down at the arrogant human in front of him, pulled from the edge of destruction only by his intervention and now restored to his petty notions of power. Villieneuve exhibited some empty signs of gratitude, but Percelax knew the human’s true goals were to extract the aid he needed, at the least possible cost. Villieneuve thought to use Percelax and the Highborn, but it was he who would be the tool, the blunt and disposable instrument.
You will come to understand and respect your gods, human…sooner than you can imagine.
Villieneuve was quite intelligent, at least by the standards of the Rimdwellers, though he seemed a particularly sociopathic example of his kind. But to Percelax, he was less than nothing beyond whatever utility he offered. Villieneuve no doubt believed he was taking advantage of his new allies, betting on taking control of the Confederation with the arms and technology the Highborn provided…and making himself too powerful for them to overcome. Villieneuve planned to betray him, Percelax didn’t even consider that a variable.
He did, however, find it laughable hubris on the part of a mere human, one who had been too weak to defeat his enemies himself.
“I have much to do, Percelax, so if you will excuse…”
“Gaston, there is one more thing while you are here.” Percelax gestured, the merest flick of his finger as it rested on the armrest of his chair. The response was immediate, as ten Thralls, soldiers in full combat gear, jogged into the room, dropping to their knees the instant they reached a long red line on the floor. “Hail Percelax, we obey and beseech you for your favor.”
Villieneuve glanced quickly to each side, seemingly caught between confusion, and approval at the obsequious conduct of Percelax’s minions. And perhaps a bit of fear about what was happening.
Well grounded fear…
“These Thralls will escort you to one last appointment before you leave, Gaston.”
“I am quite pressed for time, Lord Percelax.” Villieneuve seemed edgier, nervous. “Perhaps later.”
“I’m afraid I must insist.” He gestured again, and the Thralls closed in around Villieneuve. “This will not take long, Gaston. Not long at all. Though it will, I am afraid, be quite painful. It is necessary, however.” A short pause.
“Have I ever told you about the Collar, Gaston?”
Blood on the Stars Will Continue with
Attack Plan Alpha
Book 16
Appendix
CFS Excalibur-Class Superbattleship
Excalibur is the first Confederation ship class to fully employ a combination of its own newest technology with that of the Hegemony, provided per the terms of the Pact Treaty. It was designed at a rapid pace in response to the dire situation on the front, and the Excalibur itself, the first, and to date only, vessel of the class to launch, was constructed at the Kirovsky Shipyards, orbiting the Iron Belt planet Belgravia.
Excalibur is more than twice the size of Repulse-class battleships such as Dauntless, and the vessel carries a massive arsenal of weaponry and defensive system, much of them representing major leaps forward in Confederation technology.
Offensive Array
1 – Spinal mount antimatter-powered hyper-velocity railgun, launching 120kg projectiles.
4 – Quad 10gw “primary beam” particle accelerator mounts (16 guns in total).
40 – Omega fourth generation 2 gigawatt laser cannons.
20 – Ground bombardment pulse cannons.
10 – Plasma mine launchers (1,000 mines held in magazine).
Defensive Array
60 – 200 megawatt point defense lasers in double turret mounts.
20 – Blast gun anti-fighter pellet launchers (developed from railgun technology).
4 – Deflector screen projection systems (designed to warp and distort incoming energy weapons fire.
Small Craft Contingents
180 – Lightning III (“Black Lightning”) assault fighter-bombers (12 squadrons, 2 assault wings).
30 – Attack Wave (“Ironfist”) heavy bombers (crew of 6).
20 – Heavy assault shuttles (capacity 20 Marines).
20 – Standard Fleet shuttles.
2 – Admiralty-3A class fleet command cutters.
Power Generation
Dual “Confed-1.0” antimatter reactor system.
12 – 15 gigawatt fusion reactors (backup power).
Complement
Primary ship crew – 1,620
Fighter-bomber pilot and flight crews – 960
Marine contingent – 840
Admiral’s command staff – 40
Total – 3460
The Pact
The Pact is the document forming an Alliance between the Hegemony, the Confederation, the Palatian Alliance, and nine separate Far Rim nation states. The ratification of the agreement faced significant opposition by both the Confederation Senate and the Hegemonic Council. The Senate was wary of the economic burdens it would impose and the requirements it held for the Confederation to commit he vast bulk of its armed forces to the Hegemony front. The Hegemonic Council objected to the provisions requiring full sharing of all science and technical data, an obligation that flowed almost entirely in one direction as a result of the Hegemony’s generally greater tech levels.
The name came to refer to the alliance itself, though such usage was not specified in the document and was entirely colloquial.
Excerpt from “Fighting the Highborn,” a History and Tactical Manual for Combat Against the Highborn, by Andromeda Lafarge.
The Highborn were created to help mankind, to pull the empire back from the abyss. Instead, they hastened the decline, and brought the Cataclysm into being more quickly than the previous decline would have done.
They were created to be teachers, but they longed to become tyrants. They were conceived as mentors, but they took the role of conquerors. They were brought into being to save humanity, yet they came to see themselves as gods.
The Highborn appear to be human, indeed, save for their size and the lack of any discernible physical imperfections, they look just like men and women. Whether they are, in fact humans whose evolution has been enhanced by artificial means, or they are indeed a new species, is a matter of conjecture and debate among scientists. This volume will not concern itself with such questions, for they are irrelevant to its purpose. The guiding principal of this work, the purpose for which it has been written and updated, is a simple one. The Highborn seek to rule over normal humans, totally and utterly. That makes them the enemy of all men and women who crave freedom and self-determination, all those who would not be slaves crawling before manufactured g
ods. If you are of this mind, read on, for this book is dedicated to one purpose, and one only.
The complete eradication of the Highborn.
Strata of the Hegemony
The Hegemony is an interstellar polity located far closer to the center of what had once been the old empire than Rimward nations such as the Confederation. The Rim nations and the Hegemony were unaware of each other’s existence until the White Fleet arrived at Planet Zero and established contact.
Relatively little is known of the Hegemony, save that their technology appears to be significantly more advanced than the Confederation’s in most areas, though still behind that of the old empire.
The culture of the Hegemony is based almost exclusively on genetics, with an individual’s status being entirely dependent on an established method of evaluating genetic “quality.” Generations of selective breeding have produced a caste of “Masters,” who occupy an elite position above all others. There are several descending tiers below the Master class, all of which are categorized as “Inferiors.”
The Hegemony’s culture likely developed as a result of its location much closer to the center of hostilities during the Cataclysm. Many surviving inhabitants of the inward systems suffered from horrific mutations and damage to genetic materials, placing a premium on any bloodlines lacking such effects.
The Rimward nations find the Hegemony’s society to be almost alien in nature, while its rulers consider the inhabitants of the Confederation and other nations to be just another strain of Inferiors, fit only to obey their commands without question.
