Warp Marine Corps- The Complete Series

by C. J. Carella

  That was only the tip of the iceberg, however. Through the memory box sitting on her desk like some primitive work of art, Heather had seen a Kraxan ship create a ley line that hadn’t existed before. And they had done so after making a massive blood sacrifice to their Warpling allies.

  In theory, one didn’t need warp conduits, the cracks in spacetime where null-space was most readily accessible. Any ship with a warp generator and the energy budget could open a tear in reality – two tears, actually, one to enter null-space, and another at the desired destination – and make a jump. The problem was, the energy and time requirements went up exponentially. A single light-year transit without the benefit of a ley line required more energy than anything smaller than a battleship could generate, and took between twelve and fifteen hours. A two-light year jump was beyond any ship’s power plant, and even if possible would take over a hundred hours, longer than any sophont in the galaxy could endure transit, humans included. By contrast, the ley line between Sol and Wolf 1061 – about fourteen light years apart – required only a two-hour jump, and the power requirements could be met by even a fusion power plant, let alone the gluon generators used by military vessels.

  Those limitations made space warfare a fairly predictable affair: the enemy couldn’t arrive too far from the terminus of a ley line, and to progress any further it needed to reach the entrance to another warp conduit, all of which lay near the core of a system’s primary star. The number of possible approaches was relatively small, which made defending star empires possible in the first place. Finding new ley lines took enormous time and resources, and most civilizations guarded their locations zealously.

  The Kraxans had found a way around that. They had laid out new tunnels in spacetime leading to unsuspecting worlds and attacked them without warning. Nobody had the resources to place a large fleet on every system; forces were concentrated at major crossroads, to deny the enemy access to conduits leading deeper into one’s territory. Those defenders had been caught by surprise when the enemy showed up unexpectedly, bypassing fortified worlds and striking deep within their borders.

  Even though the history of the Marauders had long been forgotten, the myths they had inspired still lived on. Many legends about warp demons found among Starfarer civilizations were nothing more than garbled accounts of actual events. The records she’d just been reviewing, for example, matched very closely with a ‘fairy tale’ common to half a dozen galactic polities, including the Imperium.

  “The devils danced and slew their victims, and with their life fluids opened Ways where none had existed. Through those Ways they came, unwelcome and unbidden into the Realm of the Beddo, the pride of the galaxy, three thousand stars linked as one. Even Mighty Beddo fell under the onslaught; their great cities burned, and the slaughter was very great.”

  On its surface, the story was no different than any number of mythical accounts, including those from Earth’s own lore. The linguistic analysis of the epic ballad revealed a great deal more, however. The root word for ‘devil,’ after processing out the changes time and sound shifts had inflicted, came from the Kraxans’ name. The term had traveled through the rise and fall of a dozen civilizations; it went to show what an impression the Marauders had made.

  The key to the Kraxan powers was their dealings with the natives of warp space. The real devils.

  What do Warplings get out of it?

  The Kraxans didn’t know, and didn’t care. The memory-document she’d experienced listed the number of sophonts that needed to die for the creation of a ley line. The base ‘rate’ started at a hundred thousand sacrifices and went up from there. During their rise to power, the Kraxans would seize a star system and depopulate it to forge a pathway to the next one. The toll had been in the trillions; the dead had numbered more than the current population of the known galaxy. After the Marauders were defeated, only scattered systems on the periphery of the known galaxy remained. Even after all this time, the descendants of those remnants hadn’t reached the population and technology levels of their ancestors.

  Along with all the destruction they had inflicted, the Kraxans had tainted warp space itself.

  Heather shook her head. One didn’t have to frame the situation in mystical terms. What had happened was akin to throwing vast amounts of chum in shark-infested waters: sharks had grown in numbers, and become accustomed to feeding on anything that fell off a ship. Before millennia of continual sacrificial offerings had ‘spoiled’ them, Warplings had been nowhere near as predatory as they were now. The Kraxans themselves had noted that the ‘Starless Path’ had grown increasingly dangerous over the centuries. A few of their scholars had understood the cause, but the few who had dared to mention it had come to very bad ends.

  FTL travel had become very dangerous because of the actions of the last species of warp witches. And if humans made things worse… Heather pictured a future where entering warp became suicidal, dooming entire civilizations to be trapped in real space, unable to travel from one star to another. Slower-than-light travel just couldn’t maintain an interstellar network. All the sophonts in the known galaxy would have to turn inward and do the best with what could be found within their star. None would Transcend; having a minimum population in the hundreds of billions seemed to be a necessary if not sufficient step towards the next level or evolution, in addition to a technological and industrial base no single system could support.

  We could wreck everything. And we’re going to be tempted to do it.

  Heather almost wished she could destroy the little black box, but she wasn’t the only analyst working on it, not to mention that was one of hundreds of similar devices they’d found at Redoubt-Five, still in working order after an ungodly amount of time, pun intended. The knowledge was out there, and suppressing it would be impossible. In a few weeks, months at the outside, decision makers all through the US would know about it: a way to defeat any enemy, provided one was willing to pay the price. She didn’t think anybody in authority would go for blood sacrifice, at least for now. But the mutineers currently skulking somewhere in Imperium space would face no such restraints. The fighter pilots that had ‘offered’ their victims to their Warpling tormentors were already well down that road.

  We have to stop Kerensky before he turns humanity into the new Marauders.

  Unfortunately, the only people who could do so were heading in the opposite direction.

  * * *

  “We have to go after the Black Ships,” Commander Deborah ‘Grinner’ Genovisi said.

  “Sure,” Lisbeth Zhang replied. “I’ll get on my imp and call the admiral. I’m sure she’ll scrap her orders and do as we say.”

  “I know you’re being sarcastic, Colonel, but...”

  “But nothing. And don’t get formal with me, Grinner. Admiral Givens isn’t going to change Third’s Fleet dispositions and head into the Imperium on my say-so. Not to mention there’s the small matter of finding Kerensky and his merry band. The Gal-Imps control some seven hundred systems, you know.”

  “If we started at Paulus System, we could probably find the ley line they used to escape. The one their tame Warplings created.”

  Even as she spoke, Deborah knew how insane she sounded.

  “Are you telling me these new super-duper senses we’ve got can locate ley lines?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  She knew she could do it, but decided not to elaborate. For much of her life, Deborah had known things she had no earthly way of knowing, and had grown used to other people’s reactions when she mentioned them. For many years, she’d secluded herself on the outskirts of a small town, playing a dual role: crazy old lady and part-time fortuneteller. And alleged prostitute, which did her standing in that community no good at all. People rarely listened to her, and when they did they often replaced what she said with what they wanted to hear.

  For the last several days, she’d been having visions, glimpses of a future that must be avoided at all costs. She had to convince the Navy
to change its plans, or monsters would be unleashed on this side of the warp divide.

  “I know it’s going to be hard to sell this to the top brass,” she told Zhang. “But we have to.”

  “Paulus is eleven warp transits away, on Sector Seven,” the Marine officer said. “And we can’t launch an attack into the Imperium from there; don’t have enough forces in-theater.”

  “We could transfer the Death Heads to New Texas, use them as the core of Seventh Fleet.”

  The Marine shook her head. “Not going to happen, Grinner. We have our orders. We have to wipe out the Lampreys. After that, maybe they’ll send us after the mutineers.”

  “It makes no sense. The Lhan Arkh are no longer a threat.”

  “That’s not quite right, Grinner. The Lampreys aren’t a threat right now, and that’s only because they’ve lost four fleets in a row. Problem is, they have a command economy, and inefficient and destructive as those are, in times of war they can crank out ships and guns like few others, because they don’t care if their citizens have to eat dirt to survive. If we leave them alone for even a year or two, they’ll come back for a rematch.”

  “In a year or two, they won’t dare try.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Plus there is the revenge angle. The Lampreys raised the Snakes, and the Snakes burned half the world. A lot of people have been itching to settle that score for a long time. Plus they are unrepentant assholes even by Starfarer standards, and butt-ugly to boot, what with their toothed sphincters they use for mouths. Killing them is going to be a pleasure.”

  “If we don’t stop the Black Ships in time, the galaxy may burn.”

  “Prophesying, or guessing?”

  “A little of both. I do know one thing: we don’t have a lot of time.”

  “There’s politics involved. The voters wouldn’t understand if we leave the Lampreys alone and send a fleet chasing about a bunch of renegades who, worst case scenario, are wrecking the Imperium. You know, the guys who want to exterminate us. As far as most everybody is concerned, Kerensky can kill them all. We can always court-martial him afterwards.”

  “The Warplings are the problem.”

  “I know. Heather McClintock agrees with you, by the way. So does my invisible friend.”

  Deborah had spoken to Atu, the alien entity that lived inside Zhang’s head. Not too long ago, she would have found the experience daunting. Not anymore. She’d spoken with angels. After that, a mere spirit manifestation didn’t seem quite so important.

  “All right, Grinner. I’ll talk to Heather and between the two us we’ll make as big a stink as possible.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Yes. I’ll pass on your message to General MacWhirter. Also to my Navy contacts, the few that will return my messages. And if I have to, I’ll go to Admiral Givens her own damn self. Don’t get your hopes up, though. We are small cogs in a big machine. Meanwhile, all this mess has made you forget something.”

  “What?”

  “Your date with that enlisted jarhead.”

  “Oh.”

  “I still don’t get what you see in him. I’ve known Russet since I had to play ground-pounder after the Lampreys blew up my ship, and the man is a shifty-eyed thug. A stone-cold killer, too, not that there’s anything wrong with that. He’s not even a bad boy type; he’s just bad.”

  “It’s…” Even telepaths needed to have their secrets. Corporal Edison sparked something in her that she’d thought long lost. That was all. Enough to risk a court-martial over, she supposed.

  “I don’t need to know,” Lisbeth said with an evil grin. Then, more seriously:

  “Have a good time, Deborah. While you can.”

  Three

  Third Fleet was ready to begin operations. Only one question remained.

  Admiral Sondra Givens had conducted extensive consultations with Earth, including some lengthy QE telegrams that had run enough of a tab to put a dent on her budget. In the end, circumstances had given her the deciding vote. She had mostly made up her mind, but wanted to hear one final opinion before she sent her final recommendation to Earth, a recommendation that would almost certainly be approved.

  Lieutenant Colonel Lisbeth Zhang entered the office with only a hint of the nervousness a recently-promoted mid-grade officer would naturally feel upon entering the den of a fleet admiral, let alone one with the personal history the two women shared. The Marine gave her a stiff, parade-ground salute and the standard ‘reporting as ordered, ma’am.’

  “At ease, Colonel. Have a seat.”

  Zhang complied. Her face was carefully blank. Sondra wondered if the former Navy officer was trying to read her mind or use one of her other warp-induced superpowers on her. The new implants recently given to all commanding officers were supposed to render them immune to ‘tachyon wave telemetry,’ the latest technobabble term for psionics, part of a futile attempt to make them sound less fantastical. Whether the special imps worked or not was highly debatable. Kerensky had been outfitted with an earlier version, and it hadn’t stopped him from losing his mind.

  “I have a few things I need to discuss with you, Colonel. But before we start, I want to advise you not to refer in any way to the unfortunate events at Jasper System. As far as I’m concerned, all such things are in the past and will stay there. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  Some five years ago, up-and-coming USN Lieutenant Commander Zhang had been in charge of a two-corvette task force. Both ships had been lost in action at Jasper System; Zhang had been the sole survivor. Among the dead was Sondra Givens’ favorite grandson, Omar. None of which had anything to do with the present, of course. Zhang had served under her in Sixth Fleet, and had done a commendable job there. But they hadn’t interacted directly until now, and Sondra figured she might as well get that out of the way.

  “I have read your emails, and the appended files from Lieutenant Genovisi and Field Agent McClintock. Your recommendation – some might call it something closer to a demand – is that we abandon our planned offensive into Lhan Arkh space and send Third Fleet straight to Paulus to chase after Kernsky’s renegades.”

  “That is correct, ma’am. That is, I made that recommendation based on new information provided by personnel under my command. I wouldn’t presume to dictate policy, ma’am, just provide intelligence that might affect the decisions of those charged with making policy.”

  Zhang was acting almost suspiciously normal. The Marine’s file noted that the fighter pilot was suffering from a number of stress-induced mental issues, any of which would have been more than enough to relieve her from duty and possibly commit her to a psychiatric institution, under normal circumstances. On the other hand, circumstances had been anything but normal since the Langley Project had led to the unexpected creation of a race of psionic super-soldiers.

  And if I put the term ‘a race of psionic super-soldiers’ in an official report, I’d join Zhang in an insane asylum in zip time, she thought mordantly. Even though that’s exactly what those eggheads created while trying to raise a crop of warp fighter pilots.

  Setting aside those thoughts, Sondra went on: “Well, your recommendations have received a great deal of attention. They were the subject of a meeting of the Joint Chiefs, and another one between the President and his full Cabinet. I’ve been told there was a great deal of to-and-fro, and even a hefty amount of wailing and gnashing of teeth. In the end, they decided to put the ball in my court. I get to make the final recommendations, which will be followed.”

  Zhang said nothing; she appeared to be looking at a spot behind and above Sondra’s left shoulder, with a slight twitching in her face that made the admiral wonder if the Marine was trying not to laugh. Or giggle. The reports said the Marine pilot had developed a very unnerving giggle.

  “I want to hear your opinion, in your own words, before I make a decision. You have the most direct experience with warp phenomena, and are probably the only officer qualified to evaluate Commander Genovisi’s
story.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe I am.”

  “You have my permission to speak freely, Colonel.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. You have read the reports. Grinner, uh, Commander Genovisi spent a great deal of time in warp space while in transit between New Texas and Cascadia. During that time she was in communication with a Warpling, sorry, a Null-Space Sophont.”

  Sondra grimaced. That ‘NSS’ nonsense had been recently coined by the scientific community now that the previous consensus that all warp space apparitions were mere figments of spacers’ imagination had been finally abandoned. It had been immediately adopted by the Navy, with general orders to the effect that the terms ‘Warplings,’ ‘Foos’ or ‘demons’ were not to be used in any official communiques going forward. For all their devotion to rationality, a lot of people seemed to be fanatical about the intrinsic power of names.

  “In any case, the NSS in question claimed to represent a faction that opposed what we would consider ‘evil’ practices,” Zhang went on. “It helped Commander Genovisi survive the jump between systems, which her fighter should not have been able to complete successfully. The NSS wanted the commander to contact me with a message: that there was a war being waged inside warp space, and if Admiral Kerensky isn’t stopped in time, the balance may tilt in the favor of its enemies. Who are evil by our standards.”

  “Yes. All of that is in the report.”

  “Admiral… I have seen one of those NSS in action, on this side of the Starless Path, er, null-space. I am, maybe was, an atheist, but that thing was too much like the Devil for comfort, ma’am. Even my personal guardian angel, Atu, was creeped out, and Atu is the closest thing to a god I’d encountered until then.”

  “Yes, your invisible friend,” Sondra said, carefully avoiding anything in her tone that could be construed as mockery or contempt. Zhang had been very reluctant to confide in others about the mental constructs – or spirits – taking up space in her head, for very understandable reasons. Even now, it was hard to give her story any credibility, except for the fact that madwomen didn’t perform miracles. The Marine pilot had, among other things, made a warp jump without benefit of a ship or catapult. Discounting her words as insane was not an option.