by Jay Allan
* * *
“It’s good to see you, Nicki. I’m sorry you were out on such a long mission, but I’m glad to have you back.” Max Harmon stood up and walked across the room. He’d always had a good relationship with Nicki Frette, but he knew that had faded somewhat in recent years. Even his key people, those in the most crucial roles, had begun to question how long he planned to maintain his position. He suspected he would have faced some kind of revolution…if age hadn’t made its own advances. In truth, he knew he owed Frette’s continued loyalty as much to his own elder years as he did to any dedication from the past.
“It is good to see you, too, sir.” Frette was on the list of people on a first name basis with the dictator, but she tended to slip back and forth. “I came back as soon as I got the word. Linshire…it was destroyed, I take it?”
“I don’t know, Nicki. Clearly, there was an assault, but that is all we know right now. I was going to send some kind of aid, but I realized anything we lost there would be that much less we had here…and this is the important spot. The only important one.”
Frette looked down for a moment, but then she looked back up and nodded. “You are right, of course, Max. I have sent for all components of the fleet to return. Most of it is close, and ninety-seven or ninety-eight percent should be back within another week. We’ll be ready, whenever they get here…as ready as we can be.”
Harmon nodded, and he gestured toward one of the chairs facing his desk. “Please, sit.” He looked at her for a few seconds until she sat down. Then he turned around and moved back to his own chair. “I know this is a wild guess, Nicki, but it’s just the two of us in here.” He was silent for a moment, then he asked, “What do you think of our chances?” A short pause, and then: “And I mean really…you won’t do anyone any favors by lying to me.”
Frette sat for a while, close to half a minute. Then she said, “Sir, we just don’t have enough information on the enemy to come up with…”
“Nicki…I know all that. But tell me what you think.”
“I think they are pretty poor, Max. Twenty percent…maybe twenty-five.” She was silent for a moment, but then she added, “I was really hoping we’d find them before they found us…even if the odds were against that.” The odds were definitely hard in the enemy’s favor, both from its almost certain advantage in the number of scouts to the relative ease of finding Earth 2 compared to the greater difficulty of scanning out the Regent. For all he knew, his ships had already inspected the Regent’s system and come up empty, while any enemy ship would detect Earth 2 almost immediately.
Harmon sat still for a while, and then he nodded. “I agree with you, Nicki. Our best hope was to find them before they found us. That was perhaps not very likely, in retrospect—I can only imagine they’ve got several times, or more, the ships we’ve got out looking. And they have a much easier target to find, too. But I found myself believing somehow that we could locate them…and destroy them. Now, our best hope is to hold out, to beat them back. And even if we do that, and do it effectively enough to save Earth 2 in the process, they will know where we are. They will rebuild and come back…again and again.”
“What else can we do? They haven’t found us yet, but from what I’ve read, it can’t be long now.”
“There’s nothing we can do, at least not to defend Earth 2, but…” It was clear he had something in mind, but he stopped.
“What, sir?” Frette was curious, very curious.
“What if we begin shipping people out from Earth 2. We settled a single world, for the most part at least, because we knew we had to build up as quickly as possible…but now we face possible ruin. Perhaps that was a mistake. But perhaps it’s not too late. Maybe we can settle three or four other worlds, as far away from Earth-2 as possible. We should have done it before, years ago…but maybe it’s not too late.”
“In the time we have? Without damaging our chances to survive?”
“It’s just a thought Nicki…but if both of us think we’re likely to lose the fight—and, FYI, even if we defeat them, we effectively lose if they manage to bombard the planet before they are beaten—maybe it makes sense.”
Nicki was silent for a moment. Then, she asked, “Assuming we can do it…where do we go, and how many of our people do we try to evacuate?” A pause. “And do we make it public? Or try to do it in secret somehow?”
“I don’t know, Nicki…I haven’t discussed this with anyone. I haven’t even seriously considered it until just now. But the bottom line is, despite years of preparation, and all the efforts we have made, all the struggles we have put into this…I just feel like there is a good chance we’re going to lose. And defeat will leave us with only two other colonies, with a combined population under thirty thousand. Worse than their size—because any new planets will be just as small—they’re just agricultural planets, and their populations aren’t capable of combating the Regent. I just feel like we can’t leave it at that. We have to do something. And this is all I can come up with.”
Nicki looked down, and a few seconds later, back up at Harmon. “So, assuming I agree with you—or not even, if you’re convinced this is the way to go—we’ve got to start with some plans. A relatively small population we can probably sneak away, at least at first, though transferring some of the most skilled will be problematical. And if we try to move too many, too quickly…we’re going to get busted…and once people find out, the population will lose it. They will assume that we believe there is no chance, and everyone will want to get off of Earth 2 before…” She paused for a few seconds, and then she asked, “So, what do you propose, specifically? Because if we do this, there is no room for half measures. We need to figure out who is going to know, and who is going to go…and we need to make sure no who is not critically important finds out about it, at least for as long as possible.”
Harmon looked at Frette. He agreed with everything she had said, but he didn’t have any answers. The idea had just come into his head, and she was the first person he’d talked to about it. “I don’t know yet, Nicki…and I don’t believe we can sacrifice any meaningful portion of our defensive capability. But I do think we have to try, at least…that we have to do everything we possibly can.” He stopped for a short while, and then he added, “We fight as hard as we can, do whatever is possible…but I think we need to try this, too. Because, even if we are able to defeat the enemy, until we can destroy the Regent, Earth 2 is going to be a target. They will come back, again and again…and eventually, they will win.” He was silent for a few seconds, and then he spoke a thought that had just come into his mind, something he still hadn’t entirely considered. “We have to get as many people off Earth 2 as possible, even if we prevail in the coming battle…because once the enemy knows where it is, it’s as good as lost. In a month, six months, maybe even ten years…but it is lost, unless we find and destroy the Regent.” He leaned back, and he saw from Frette’s face that she agreed with him completely.
* * *
Charles Deacon walked slowly to the bridge. He was tired, going partially crazy, even. He had volunteered for the scouting service, as every other officer and crew member on the ship had…but it was getting old now, searching one system after another. He had taken to spending most of his time in his tiny office, alone, but the one thing he had stuck to was leading off every system search from the bridge. He wasn’t essential, not really, but it was his thing, the one bit of routine he had maintained.
The elevator door opened an instant later, and he stepped out, nodding to his small bridge crew as he did. He walked across the floor and turned in front of his chair, snapping out to Commander Jeries as he did. “Are we ready for the next search, Commander?” He knew perfectly well they were…it was why he was there. But some things had to be done in a certain order.
“Yes, Captain. We have jumped in, and everything is a go. The system has four planets, and a small asteroid belt. Three of the planets are unlikely to support the Regent…the fourth is moderately
usable.”
Deacon felt a face forming, but he pushed it aside. He knew perfectly well that the Regent did not require a habitable world, and while one that was moderately so was probably better, it was far from definite. That meant almost any world could be the home of the thing. “Our orders are clear…we search everything, and we do it as conclusively as possible.” He paused an instant. “Let’s start with the farthest out world this time…we’re closer to that end.”
“Yes, sir.” Jeries took the correction—which it barely was—in stride. “Coming about now…estimate one hour, seventeen minutes until we reach orbit.”
“Very well, Commander. What’s the ship’s status?” Deacon was exhausted from asking the same questions every time, but he did it nevertheless, and in precisely the same order. He had to know his ship was fully operable at all times, and even though he could mostly see and hear the answers before they came, he asked.
“All systems fully operational, sir…including the secrecy routines. We’re as undetectable as we can be.” Deacon knew that Jeries had no idea whether the Regent had some kind of device that could penetrate the ship’s screening or not. He knew his vessel was top notch, and that his people had come close to matching the general tech of the Regent…but whether it could detect them or not remained mostly a mystery.
“Very well…proceed.” He sat back and watched for a few minutes. Then he got up and took a few steps over toward his office. He turned and said, “Advise me of anything.” Then he walked the rest of the way, accelerating his step as he approached his small room, and the quiet inside. He knew he was close to losing it, that searching for the Regent’s hiding place was difficult…and incredibly boring. But he had some light at the end of the tunnel, some relief in sight. He had only two systems left to inspect…and then he would return to Earth 2. He’d been out on the mission, alone with his ship and small crew, for almost two years, and the constant effort had started to wear him down. He imagined it had been even more difficult for his subordinates, at least in some ways, but he couldn’t shift from his own point of view. He wanted to go home, badly, and as close as he was to returning, if there had been any way he could have skipped the last couple stops, he would have done it.
But there wasn’t.
He thought about the operations, wondered if he could accelerate them a bit, perhaps even skip some of the ops…without it being noticed. He doubted his crew would mind and cutting short just a couple of things could save considerable time. But he put the thought out of his mind. His training was too intense to allow that, and he imagined that he would regret it afterward. He knew the possibility that the Regent was located in one of the remaining systems was remote…but he couldn’t eliminate the possibility.
Besides, his crew was almost done anyway, and a couple more weeks wouldn’t make that much of a difference. He closed his eyes and imagined his return, his long period of time off, and after that, his new role in the navy, probably as the commander of a large warship…but in any event not on another scout ship. He had signed on for that, convinced that it was the most exciting career available—not the most boring—but he had done his part, almost at least, and he had no intention of returning, of taking another two year mission. He would do anything before that.
At least anything he could think of.
Chapter Twelve
Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III
Earth Two Date 01.20.63
Gosnard walked along, trying not to stumble—and barely succeeding. He had been tired of his role as the planetary leader not long before, and determined to leave Linshire, to go to Earth 2 and build a new life. Those thoughts were almost gone now, though he wasn’t sure whether it was his desire that had changed, or just a cold realization of reality.
He had reacted almost immediately to the enemy attack, and he’d felt a strange combination of things. Tension, despair…but also excitement. He had felt truly alive, for a while at least, but now he was moving almost as a robot, convinced that he had to keep going, but with no real feeling that his people could survive. He didn’t even have a true sense as to how many were left. They were scattered all around now, spread out over half a million square kilometers, in small packs mostly. They maintained contact with him, most of them at least, but it was scattered and occasional.
He had the largest contingent with him, about five hundred in the general area, and eighty-four in his immediate zone. That wasn’t a lot, but still, he tried to scratch out some good thoughts, and the fact that any of his people were still alive a month after the invasion was a miracle…especially since the enemy had landed an army of robots to hunt them all down.
“Hey, Gos…we’ve been here three days. That’s about the longest we’ve stayed anywhere. You think we should move?”
Gosnard turned toward Til. He’d almost lost his best friend…twice. But Til Oswald was still alive. That was something that couldn’t be said of many of the others that had been with him a month before, but he was glad that Oswald was one of the survivors.
“Yeah, Til…we can’t let our guard down. I was going to say, ‘let’s stay here another day or two,’ but I think you’re right. Let’s get everyone ready to move out today.”
Tilman nodded, pausing for a moment that showed his true thoughts. He knew they should move, and he had raised the issue with Gosnard…but he wasn’t thrilled about it either. He was tired, and still suffering from some of his wounds.
Gosnard understood, and he basically agreed. Part of him wanted to give up, or at least to stand and fight in whatever location he was in, but he knew that wasn’t the right move. The enemy would have the greatest advantage in that kind of battle, though he wasn’t sure spreading his people out, farther and farther from their old homes, was the way to go either. He was far from certain his people could prevail, that any of them could survive for the duration, but then he wasn’t even thinking out past the next few days, not really.
“Let’s get everyone to work…we can be on the road within two hours, and that will give us at least four more to march.” Gosnard wondered if he sounded as tired as he felt.
“Alright, Gos…you got it.” Tilman sounded a little better than he had a moment before. Gosnard understood, only too well, the constant struggle between giving up and continuing. He’d kept himself moving forward—most of the time—along with his friend. But he knew many of his people had given up, that some percentage of those he’d lost had just yielded, mixed in among those that had been killed fighting hard to the end. He didn’t have a list, of course, not really. But he knew many of his dead had gone down mentally before they’d been wiped out.
But he could also see incredible strength in some of his people, and while they were all beginning to falter somewhat, they were also showing incredible toughness much of the time.
“We’ve got to hold ourselves together, Til…you and me. I don’t know what hope we’ve really got, but even if we have none at all, we have to fight on as long as we can.”
Tilman didn’t answer, but he nodded his head. And that was enough.
“Good…now let’s get everyone moving…as quickly as we can.”
* * *
SP-01012 was silent, as he had been for most of the past month. It knew its duty, and it had conducted it, but there were still humans down on the planet, and it was getting…impatient.
Not impatient, it told itself. That was a trait of lifeforms and not the superior intelligences that served the Regent. Nevertheless, it was similar, perhaps disturbingly so.
Making it worse, it knew it might be close to the enemy homeworld, or at least that the presence of the planet it was exterminating made that a possibility. It had sent several comments to the Regent, requests that it be released from the campaign to continue the search…but it hadn’t gotten an answer yet.
It analyzed the newest data from the surface, skimming through it in a matter of seconds. The enemy was being eliminated, or at least severely reduced, that much was certain. Its best estima
tes were that eighty percent of the planet’s occupants were gone, and while that was good, it had to acknowledge that thirty days ago, it would have thought it would be very close to one hundred percent by now. Still, it had only a limited number of ground-based units, and they were all down on the planet. They would prevail, sooner or later, though it also had to acknowledge, they had taken a sizable number of losses in the fight.
Mostly, it realized that it wasn’t contributing, at least nothing that required its abilities. It knew it could designate one of its subordinates to take over here, while it resumed the search. It had hoped for a time that the enemy would respond, that they would send some ships to fight there, but a month later, it had given up on that. Either they weren’t close—a negative analysis, particularly from its point of view—or, perhaps more likely, they were sitting and watching from close by, doing all they could to prepare for what they almost certainly knew would be the final assault.
It felt odd, wondering if it would stumble onto the human homeworld, if it would find it a month, or a year, after it was released to continue searching…or if it had just found a colony world that was far from the planet it sought. It knew it would gain some benefit, even if it turned out that it had only found a distant colony. But if it also discovered the main planet…it would almost certainly gain a role as number two to the Regent. That shouldn’t have mattered to it—wouldn’t have mattered to a lesser intelligence. But SP-01012 was moderately close to the Regent itself in power, if not in accumulated data, and it found itself…wanting…the success.
Wanting to find the human homeworld. Wanting to destroy it.
It found itself lost for a moment, thinking about such success, about power it had only been able to imagine before. It wanted it. It wanted it badly…and, as if in answer, in a moment it was distracted by an incoming message from none other than the Regent itself.
