by Jay Allan
Probably would not.
He pushed himself, running harder down the corridors, trying to reach the docking bay. He realized, as he did, how much space the Mules had built for themselves. The regular quarters, those constructed for the others, the non-Mules, were farther up, more exposed. In the end, the massive shelters for most of the population were higher, simply because they were larger, because it wasn’t feasible to construct them any lower.
The Mules had built their own shelters deeper, just one more reason his people preferred the separated nature of the society. He had thought for many years about his people, about their view that they should rule absolutely over the others…and also, though less frequently, about how the others felt, how they, too, believed in separation, if for different reasons.
Theseus. He thought about him, about the de facto leader of the younger Mules. He realized that the young Mules were a larger contingent, that it was much harder for them all to agree…with anyone. He knew that some of them, at least, supported him. But he was worried, concerned what Theseus would do.
He ducked down, slipping through a small portal, and emerging on the landing deck. He looked up at the ships, at the small fleet he had assembled, at the time for the same reason he now feared. He realized how much his thoughts had changed…and he saw a group of Mules in front of the ships, just like he had feared.
No, not exactly. He saw some pushing forward, clearly wanting to take off in the vessels. But there were others, arguing, fighting. To remain?
He moved forward, not recognized at first. In truth, he looked no older than any adult Mule, and those present were deeply involved in their debate. It was true, he realized. Some wanted to escape, but others were arguing with them, struggling to get them to stand down. And both sides were armed.
Then he stopped, looking up, and realizing that Theseus was there.
At the center of the group arguing to remain, to stay until the end.
He moved forward, avoiding the crowd wherever possible, working his way to the front. Then he could hear the sounds, the people recognizing him, and the squabbling fell off. He continued moving forward, knowing he was taking a chance…and possibly a bad one. The group desiring to leave was bigger than the one arguing to stay—and too large for the ship’s capacities, too, though that thought at least had not raised itself in the debate.
Yet.
“Achilles…please. Come up here, join me. Explain why we cannot leave, why we must stay.”
He looked up, recognizing Theseus’s voice immediately. He was surprised, stunned actually to find the presumed head of the problem arguing the very point he had come to make.
He stepped forward, having at least the momentary attention of everyone present, though how long that would last was anyone’s guess.
* * *
Clark gripped the handles of his chair, leaning forward, trying to draw on his last strength, to somehow maintain his steadfastness to the end. Which wasn’t going to be much longer. He couldn’t see what was going on around Earth-2, not well enough to determine if Frette was going to win or lose, but he knew his forces were going to fall short. Not by a lot, but by enough.
He was down to forty-one vessels, though at least twenty of them had no weapons left, served no purpose but the wait until the enemy blasted them. Strangely, with ninety percent of his ships gone, his flagship was still there, still fighting.
And he was still alive.
For a little while. In twenty minutes, perhaps less, the rest of his vessels would be wiped out, every one of them gone. And the enemy, while they had lost even more ships than he had, would still have thirty or so, mostly badly battered, but still there.
His emotions were wildly streaming, trying to take control of him. Fear, both for himself and for Earth-2. Frustration, at how close his ships came…and yet, how far away victory now seemed. But he held control of himself, somehow, and he just sat and watched.
He looked around the bridge, at his crew members, and he was impressed. They all knew they were going to die, but for the most part, they remained almost as focused as he was, only occasionally allowing a glimpse of the feelings they carried inside escape before they restored their discipline.
Despite his best efforts, he imagined every stage of the battle, looking for the error, the decision that could have been better, could have made the difference. He realized it had been close. Very close.
For an instant, he imagined that Frette would win her portion of the fight, that she would come back with her survivors, and win the battle. But he realized the chance of that, the possibility, was almost nil. If Frette somehow survived, even won her fight, he couldn’t imagine more than a handful of ships would escape. It was doubtful she would bring enough ships away from the battle to take out the force that would be left. He tried to draw some solace from how bitterly his people had fought, how close they had come to victory. But he realized close didn’t matter, that if his people were destroyed, the five or ten, or fifty years it took the Regent to rebuild, was nothing at all to it.
“Admiral…we’re picking something up. Transits, from warp point three.”
His head jerked around, looking across the bridge, as his tactical officer changed the display, bringing up the warp point…and three ships that had come through already. Then, a fourth.
He stared for a moment, long enough for two more vessels to emerge, and he felt whatever hope he’d had—not much—dissipate away. The enemy had more ships, coming in from another gate. He felt strange, even more depressed. He had known he was outmatched, that his ships wouldn’t win the fight…but he realized some part of him had harbored other thoughts, the impression that there still was a chance, however small. Now, even that was gone.
He struggled to maintain his calm, but the emergence of more enemy ships had pushed him, perhaps too far.
An instant later, his tactical officer turned, a stunned look on his face. “Sir…those aren’t enemy ships. They’re ours!” He flipped a control, and he looked around toward Clark. Astonishment was the only description for him…and an instant later for Clark, too.”
A few seconds later, the comm unit burst into operation. “Attention defending fleet…this is Admiral Compton. We are coming as quickly as possible…do all you can to survive, to prolong the fight.”
Clark stared, for a few seconds, and then something inside him snapped into place. “You heard him, Commander. All ships, full thrust…toward the new ships. Toward Admiral Compton.”
* * *
“Faster…we need to move faster.” Compton spoke softly. He realized his ships were already accelerating at ten percent above the approved levels, and he had never heard of any ship going beyond that. But a few seconds later, he said, “One fifteen, Commander.” Then, a few seconds later, as if to emphasize, he said it again. One fifteen.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer said it, holding his cool, more or less.
Compton realized though, he didn’t have a choice. He had spent the past several weeks debating whether he would arrive before or after the enemy attack…but in a strange circumstance, he’d arrived during it. Late even, he told himself, as his scanners revealed only a few ships remaining, a tithe of the extraordinary force that had defended Earth-2…and an only slightly larger contingent from the enemy. It almost overwhelmed him, thinking how many ships must have been destroyed, how many spacers killed. But he managed to hang on, somehow. It might have been dumb luck that brought him there just when it did, but regardless, he realized he had to get into the fight. As quickly as possible.
He thought of his force, mostly smaller ships, and not too many of them. His mind did quick calculations, analyzing his strength, and the power of the enemy. They would still have the numbers, albeit less than they did now.
But his ships were fresh…and he could tell, even from as far out as he still was, the enemy was battered. Would that be enough? Was it possible that his vessels, his small command, could actually save the planet?
H
e checked his scanners on Earth-2, and he realized there was fighting there, too. He almost turned about, headed for the planet instead of the fleet. But he was almost engaged now, and he stuck to it, gritted his teeth and prepared for action.
“All ships…prepare weapons.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stared straight ahead, looking at the display…and the range. He waited, perhaps for another minute. The distance was still fairly long, but it was within the range of his larger guns.
He sat for a second, looking, thinking about the moment to open fire. Then he just said it.
“Fire.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Inside the Regent’s Fortification
Alpha-Omega 12 III
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
The Regent sat, totally still, silent, save for its cooling unit’s soft hum. It’s tracking was excellent, and that meant it knew exactly what was happening. Half of the enemy had gone off in the wrong direction, at least for a time, but the other half were now less than three hundred meters away. Three hundred meters! That was close…very close.
The Regent had assembled a defensive group, six of its bots, and it had positioned them just outside its main room. That was it? Its “mind” wandered, analyzing and reanalyzing the events of the past several days.
Six bots? Six? It seemed absurd that so few of its units were left to protect it, possibly to save it from utter destruction. It didn’t understand the humans, not completely at least. That challenged its viewpoint that it was superior to the humans, but strangely, it didn’t alter its outlook.
Its forces were even then attacking the human’s main world…and very probably destroying it. Its orders had been clear, perfectly so. SP-01012 was to try to win the battle, to destroy every enemy ship and devastate the planet…but if it came down to it, destroying the homeworld was more important. If some portion of the human fleet survived, it should only have been a minor problem, as long as the human ability to build more, to repair ships, was destroyed. Though now, it had to wonder, to guess if the humans could prevail at Earth-2, and send their survivors back, for another attack on the Regent.
Assuming it survived the current assault.
It realized the danger, acutely now. The entire structure of imperial functionality lay exposed. It had no second in command, at least not in the sense that its position could be filled if it were…destroyed. If the few surviving humans, those currently approaching it, actually prevailed, if they were able to defeat it somehow…it would not only be destroyed, its entire side would be defeated. It might take the surviving humans a number of years, decades even if their homeworld was badly hit, but if the Regent was destroyed, its forces would simply remain where they were, almost helpless. Its system was centered on it, and its security against rebellion, against any intel unit making a play for its place, had mandated it.
The Regent’s entire system was dependent on it, on constant updates and orders. Even SP-01012, and the other senior bots, were largely helpless on their own. They could direct a fleet, follow its orders, and they felt that they were independent…but they were denied the ability to make decisions outside the parameters they were given. And at present, none of the imperial facilities had long term orders. The fleet was to attack the enemy homeworld, to destroy it and the enemy fleet, but that was all. The survivors from the great battle would stay in position in the enemy home system…until it received new orders.
Orders which would never come if the Regent was destroyed.
It thought about all of that now, and it detected the parts that were wrong. It feared a rebellion if it gave its subordinates too much ability, but now it realized it had relied on a false assumption…that it would always endure. It had done this in spite of the fact that its predecessor had been destroyed, by the same humans who now threatened it. It decided, materially, to pursue a different strategy, to expand both its defenses and the abilities of its immediate sub-level of units. There were risks in that, it realized, but nothing like the dangers it now faced, deadly hazards it would have to endure to even have the chance of making the proposed changes.
It tightened, more and more of its abilities being drawn to the enemy, watching them approach. It thought wildly, tried to come up with any way it could defend itself from the approaching humans. There was little it could do…though it did come up with one plan, a single idea that might make things more difficult for the humans.
It sent a message to its remaining bots, preparing them. Then it sent the command through its system…to evacuate the atmosphere completely. A vacuum was inconvenient for it, in some ways, but it was a much worse problem for the humans. They might have equipment to operate in it, but that would set a time limit on how long they had…how long before they all died.
* * *
Harmon walked forward, his rifle extended, his eyes scanning every millimeter of space in front of him. He didn’t know the Regent was close, at least not in any conventional sense. And he did know, somehow. The enemy was nearby, somehow he just knew that. He almost ordered his people to set up the nukes, to fix them to detonate and to run for the ships. But he couldn’t…not until he actually found the Regent, actually saw it. He took his inner beliefs seriously, but they were just not enough. He needed to know.
And there was no way to be sure…not unless he actually found the Regent.
He crept forward, moving slowly, his eyes peeled forward, even as the pain from his wounds increased. He knew they were getting worse, all the more for his not stopping and treating them, but he didn’t have time. He knew he had to find the Regent and destroy it. Or be destroyed.
He sucked in some air, and he continued, trying his best to ignore the pain, the fatigue. He wanted to stop, to curl up in a ball…but he knew he couldn’t. This wasn’t how he had imagined he’d feel when it came down to a final effort, but he knew that wasn’t his call. This was his most important job, his only real job, he suddenly realized. This was why he had secured power, why he had ruled for so long. He knew his people had come to doubt him, even to oppose him…but he was sure the few survivors with him would do everything possible to prevail.
They will do what they have to do…whatever they think of you…
That was true, he was almost certain of it. And if they killed him once the operation was done, if they abandoned him or let him die…he could accept that. As long as the Regent went first.
His head jerked suddenly, at a strange new sound. He paused, for a second, and then he shouted, “Put your helmets on!” By the time he had fixed his own helmet, the air outside was almost totally gone. His last breath was difficult, and he coughed, even as his bottled air kicked in and flowed through. He could feel the fresh air, but it took him a while, perhaps a minute, to stop coughing…and there was pink that he could see in front of him, some blood that had come up along with the last of his coughing.
He wondered if his lungs were damaged, but only for a few seconds. He had more important things to do just then, and he turned and looked at his tiny contingent. One more of his people was down—dead, he realized after a few seconds, probably because his air had been damaged in the fighting—but the others had transitioned well enough. There were a few coughing as he had, but he decided they could go on…and he knew they would, no matter how they felt about him.
He waved his arm forward, even as he activated his comm unit, and barked, “Okay, let’s keep on going…the Regent is close, I know it is.” He wondered how much faith his handful of followers had in him, but mostly, he just expected them to come, not because they loved or even liked him, but because they knew the future of humanity, at least on this side of the blocked portal, was in their hands.
He moved, increasing his speed, ignoring the pain that wracked at him every second. He was glad he had ordered his people off their canned air, saved the last of it…but he knew he didn’t have that much left. He had to find a way, to keep moving at all costs. The torment from his wounds was getting worse, even as he d
id all he could to ignore it. He stumbled, three or four times, but somehow he kept on his feet…and he reached a door.
He looked back, seeing his people all there, lined up, guns ready. He didn’t know what was behind the door, but he waved his hand in front of the panel…and nothing happened. The door was locked, and despite a dozen possible explanations for that, he felt something inside. Excitement.
He waved, calling out on his comm. “Schwartz…come up here. This door is locked, and I think you’re probably the best to work around it.” He was barely conscious on one level, and yet he knew who he had left and what their skillsets were. It was taking a tremendous amount of energy to keep going, to press on…but he had done it. For now.
“Yes, sir.” Schwartz stepped up, to the front of his small group, and he looked at the lock. Then he reached into a small pouch on his belt and pulled out some tools. He focused on the lock, with an intensity that was obvious. He worked on it, for a minute, then two. “It’s difficult, sir,” he finally said, without lifting his head or stopping the work.
“That’s okay, Schwartz…you can do it.” Harmon turned and looked back at his crew. He couldn’t really see their faces, not well at least, not with the helmets on. But he knew what they were thinking, the same thing he was. What was beyond the door. Was it the Regent? Were they really so close? If he knew the enemy was right there, he could just set the bombs to detonate where they were…but he wasn’t sure, not completely.
He looked back at Schwartz, staring as the man worked. He was restless, feeling as though his mission was almost finished, yet wondering if he would complete it. Whether victory or defeat would come wasn’t clear, but with his focus, his pain faded away for the time being, and he stood there, feeling almost nothing…just waiting and watching.
* * *
Leigh was sweating, and she felt like she was going to vomit. She had been going for hours now, every minute thinking it might be the last. Worse, perhaps, she imagined her crew was in more or less the same condition. They had fought, bravely, wildly even, done better than any of them expected, but now they were battling the last ship, the biggest one…and they were visible to it. She wondered how long their courage would last.
