by Jay Allan
He watched, and he didn’t believe it, not at first. He had imagined himself at the young age of most of those present, and he wasn’t sure he would have listened. He and his first mates, of course, hadn’t had older versions of themselves to direct them.
Would we have listened if we did?
He stood, shocked as all those in attendance, the hundreds, no thousands, of Mules present, all walked away. There was no discussion, no opinions voiced…almost no sound at all, save for the shoes and boots moving across the decking.
He had put his words together, done all he could to remain firm, resilient. But he was still surprised at the reaction. He had come in, spoken to them—all of them highly advanced Mules—and they had listened to him. He had expected to reach some of them, but not all…and as they left the hanger, he felt his strength draining away. The battle had been brutal and managing the underground shelters had pushed him as far as he thought he could go…and then he’d had to deal with this. But he had done what was necessary, and now he struggled to hold on, at least until his people had left the hanger. And he did just that.
He looked out, and they were all gone, all save one.
“Acantha…thank you.” He tried to remain as stoic as he could, but even he was almost out of energy.
“You are right, Achilles…we must remain here. We must fight to the last. The notion of escaping, of saving ourselves—some of us, at least—may be superficially appealing, but even we, even a group of Mules, probably wouldn’t survive…not if the Regent prevails.”
Achilles walked slowly over to his new ally, and he extended his hand. “I am impressed by your analysis of the situation, Acantha…you have intriguing perspective for one so young. Thank you, again.” He reached out, and he shook her hand. Then he said, “I have to go back to the control room.” He paused for a moment, and then he added, “Come with me, if you would like.”
* * *
The man looked at the display. The scanner was small, almost nothing like that on the flagship’s bridge. But the scene he was watching was close, very close to the lifeboat, and the equipment aboard was more than adequate to show what was happening.
He had wanted to do exactly what Frette had done, and he knew, if he had, he would be dying right now. Frette had managed to do it all by herself, to direct the ship into the enemy vessel, despite its greatest efforts to avoid her. He knew it had been difficult, much more than he’d imagined at first, that the odds had been against her, and in favor of the enemy trying to avoid the contact.
But Frette had been achieving goals like that for many years…even if this was her last. She had led the fleet, taken the portion to defend Earth-2, fought like a banshee. But she was dead now, gone, nothing at all left of her…and yet, he knew she would survive in a way for many years, centuries perhaps. Assuming the fleet prevailed, that Earth-2 somehow made it through.
The former bridge officer of the flagship, the man who had just watched his commander’s ship destroyed, along with the enemy’s greatest remaining vessel, realized that there was no assurance, that as far as he could tell, there were no people left on Earth-2. At the very least, the city was completely destroyed, along with all the orbital factories and refineries. The very best he could hope for was that there were some people left, down in the ruins of the shelters. The thought was depressing, but it was reality, and his mind adapted. It was too easy to attack the planet, too simple to obliterate the above ground facilities. He knew the shelters were much better defended, that there was at least a chance that much of the population had survived. Still, he struggled to see a victory out of the whole thing, despite whatever happened in the next minutes and hours.
The cost was immense, assuming we even win…and even a victory here will be nothing, not unless Max Harmon was right about finding the Regent…and somehow successful at destroying it, with an almost insignificant force.
He pushed back on that, decided he could only deal with so much at once. He had lost his commander, the woman he looked up to, perhaps beyond anyone else. And now, he was leading a small pack of lifeboats, the desperate survivors from the flagship…who he now commanded.
He turned away from the display, and his hand clenched over the controls. He was going to change the reading, look to the planet, try to find a spot to land…perhaps somewhere out of the range of the bombing that had destroyed the city. It was the best he could do now, he realized. His lifeboats were small, and they were slow. Even if he’d been motivated to follow Frette—and he was, he realized—his small ships didn’t have the capability. His part of the battle was over. He just had to find a place to set down, to keep his people alive…until they saw if there side won. Or if it lost.
* * *
Clark sat, scrunched over, almost in a ball, watching the fighting going on all around his ship. His fleet had lost the battle—barely—and they had been doomed…until Terrance Compton had returned, his twenty or so ships mostly small, but also the only vessels left in the system without damage. The analysis, the decision on whether his forces were enough to swing the advantage, to give it to Clark, was too difficult to calculate. He was sure of that, and he focused instead on just fighting, on the savage end of the confrontation.
The remaining ships—he had fourteen left, and every one of them was shot up, most badly—blasted what thrust they still had, slowing down and turning around. His force, a couple percent of what he’d started with, had reached Compton’s vessels, just as they closed from long range. The battle would be over in a few minutes, if only because neither side had many ships left, and despite some hope, Clark wasn’t sure who would be left…if anyone.
He snapped out commands, one after the other, mostly running only his battered single vessel now. The other ships were all under their commanders, and the force was battered beyond recognition. There was no point in any fleet actions any longer. This was just a confused brawl among ships, the last of a fight that had gone on for an entire day.
He felt a wave of excitement as an enemy ship went silent. There was no explosion, no guarantee that it was out of the fight, but it went completely dark, and it remained that way. His gut told him, it was destroyed, or at least close to it.
Another enemy ship went next, and there was no doubt about this one. It exploded almost immediately after it took the second hit in less than ten seconds. Clark was a disciplined man, and he rarely showed much emotion to those around him…but his smiled widened, and he let out a sound, a snort. Every vessel destroyed mattered now, and those two were a great start. But his joy didn’t last, no more than a minute. The next ship to go also blew up, but it was one of his, and the vessel after that was, too. He had gone from the hope of victory, back down to defeat in less than a minute…and he realized he still didn’t know who would win. Could his forces really do it? Or could the enemy? Or would no one survive? That had seemed unlikely at first, but now he began to imagine it. If that happened, at least with his forces out here, the victory would belong to the winner of the fight around Earth-2. He had some hope remaining, his reliance on Admiral Frette, and her ability to lead. But the fight had gone down into orbit and below that, and he couldn’t pick up more than a few ships escaping the planet, fighting to the end.
He turned back toward his own battle, the situation rapidly reaching its conclusion. He knew, if he had any ships left when the fight was over, he would direct them toward the planet, racing to back up whatever was happening there. But first, he had to see the fight he was in come to an end…and if his ship was claimed, then Compton would take over his survivors. It almost didn’t matter if he survived…as long as the fleet held out. As long as his side had one ship remaining when the last enemy vessel was destroyed.
* * *
Compton stared straight ahead, watching, but not interfering. His ships knew what to do, every commander was well aware how desperate the situation was. He was still amazed that his fleet had returned not before or after, but during the battle, right at the end. It was almost impos
sible, and, perhaps more amazingly, it seemed his forces just might make the difference. The fight had been as close as possible, the two fleets almost annihilating each other. There were only a few ships left, on both sides.
The guns raged, firing both ways. His ships were in good condition, or at least they had started that way, which was an advantage. They all had full thrust for their evasive maneuvers, and he knew that was a big edge. He had snapped out a series of orders right at the start of the fight, but now he knew all he could do was sit and watch.
He’d never seen a battle fought to such standards, to watching a handful of vessels struggle where he knew hundreds had fought hours before. He understood—if the enemy won, the humans were basically done, finished, and the enemy was a machine intelligence, ready to fight to the end if that made sense. And his people had to fight to the end…it was their only chance. But it almost boggled his mind, so much he tried not to think about it, just to fight the battle, as it was.
As he watched, his own ships continued to take damage…and another one of them was destroyed. But enemy ships were also taken out. He wondered, for a few minutes, if anyone would survive, if there would only be one ship remaining from all that had fought here. That seemed idiotic, stupid…but he knew it could happen. If the people of the fleet were aware of one thing, it was that they couldn’t retreat, not while they had a chance at victory. Even if they didn’t.
His own ship shook hard, taking a hit, and just a few seconds after, one of the vessels from the fleet exploded. Then, a minute later, another. He had been thinking that the fight would go down to the finish, but now he truly wondered if anyone would survive.
He watched on the screen, his eyes following the different ships, trying to analyze the condition of each one. He knew the status on the enemy vessels was only an estimate, but he began to realize that maybe—just maybe—his side had the edge. The battle would have been lost without his forces, he was sure of that, but his fleet, his twenty ships, mostly small ones, was making a difference.
He felt excitement, and his fists were clenched. He had no idea what was going on back at Earth-2, if his people had repelled the enemy there…even if there was anyone still alive. But he started to feel the excitement of a win. He knew the losses, just in the fleet, were unimaginable, that all of that would set in after the fight ended. But for the moment, he managed to put all of that aside, to focus solely on the fight going on around him. To hope for the best, for the victory he started to taste.
Chapter Fifty
Inside the Regent’s Fortification
Alpha-Omega 12 III
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
Harmon was still alive, and that alone beat his expectations. He’d been sure he would be dead by now, the result of the expected nuclear detonations if not by another hit from the enemy. But instead, he’d received reinforcements. It took a moment for him to even ascertain where they had come from, but then he realized that the one of the other ships that he had lost, that he had written off as gone, had survived…somehow. Captain Leigh was at the head of the group.
He had lost contact with her ship, and he’d been sure she was lost. If not before the proposed link up, then by the four ships that had been dispatched. But now she was here, somehow, running across the room, giving him a chance, perhaps not at survival, but at least at winning the current fight, and bringing the bombs closer to the Regent.
Assuming the Regent was nearby, which he guessed, but didn’t know.
But he was sure what he had to do first. Winning the battle against the current batch of enemy bots…and they were still coming on, despite Leigh’s arrival. He raised his pistol again and fired…but the shots were almost muffled by the automatic fire of Leigh and her people.
“Sir…” It was all Leigh said, her focus clearly on the fight she was joining, but it was enough. Enough to confirm it was her.
“Captain Leigh…welcome.” He fired and fired again, one shot at a time, as Leigh’s people clustered around him and poured hundreds of shots out. He saw one of the new arrivals blasted back, hit by at least two or three shots, but he felt the incoming fire declining too. Then, a few seconds later, he realized the enemy wasn’t coming anymore. They had pulled back to resume the firefight.
But he knew it was time. Victory or defeat, it would come in the next minute or two. He stopped firing for a second, looking over at Leigh, and at her people. He couldn’t count them all, not so quickly, but there were at least fifteen, and probably more. Then he simply said, “Come on, all of you…forward.”
He raced out in front of the group, not at all sure they would obey the command…but he knew it was the only thing to do. With a few bots in cover, the fight could go on for hours, but if he charged, he could win.
Or he could be wiped out.
He gritted his teeth and raced forward, firing as he ran, somewhat amazed that he was still able to move. He wasn’t sure for a second if anyone had followed him, but then he heard the sound of boots on the ground, and he felt the firing from his sides moving ahead. Whatever the men and women present thought of him, whatever their long term goals, they were with him now. And that built up his courage, enabled him to ignore the pain, to overcome the weakness that was coming at him from every direction.
He fired his pistol, as quickly as he could, though he knew most of the damage being inflicted was coming from Leigh’s people. He imagined his thoughts of just a few minutes ago, his feelings of doubt, his questions about what would happen, if the nukes were close enough, not only to damage the Regent, but to destroy it.
Now, he would find out. He felt a bullet whiz by, very close to being a third wound. And then, nothing…nothing save his own group’s fire. They raced forward, past one fallen bot, and then another. But still no fire. Was it possible? Had his force wiped out the latest batch of enemy bots?
He knew that might mean nothing, that the Regent could still be out of reach, or that it could have a thousand times as many bots still to throw at him. But he didn’t believe that…he felt that the enemy was down to its last defenses as well. That was just supposition, he knew, but he felt an excitement building inside him, nevertheless. Somehow, he knew…he had brought his people to the edge, and now he would destroy the Regent, or he would fail utterly.
He passed several more bots, all destroyed. Except for one. It was lying amid the others, and it didn’t appear to have any weapons still functional. But it stared right up, toward him. He paused. The others were looking around, checking to see if any other bots were functional. But Harmon stood and stared at the damaged unit, his eyes fixed on its own scanners. He knew the bot was probably connected to the Regent, that he was looking into a damaged bot’s eyes, but also right at the Regent.
His expression was cold, merciless. He had come for a reason, one alone, and now it was time. He knew the others were milling around, that there were no other bots, at least none close. But he stared into the eyes, somehow knowing he was looking right at the Regent. And he moved his fingers across his neck, a symbol he was sure would be clear to it.
Then he pulled up his pistol and fired half a dozen times, blasting the scanners—the eyes—and destroying the bot.
Then he looked up at his people, and around the area they had taken. There was only one way to go, and he was ready.
* * *
The Regent stared back at the man, knowing somehow, he was the commander, the one who directed the humans. It could see pain, fatigue, but even more so, determination. And it knew it was likely defeated.
Every bot that could get there in time was destroyed. It considered activating some of its own warheads, trying to destroy sections of its complex, along with the humans…but they were too close now. Any detonations strong enough to destroy the humans were likely to take it out as well.
It thought about the situation, pondered its moves and counter-moves. How had it allowed this to happen? It understood, at least in part. It had assumed that its discovery of the human system had ended
the danger of their search own for its location. Not so literally, of course, but the odds of the humans finding it at precisely that time, and of their small force penetrating, of almost reaching it, were so small it had judged them to be insignificant.
It pondered many things it wished it had done differently, ways it could easily have prevailed. Just retaining more ships, perhaps a dozen, would have stopped the enemy. It seemed foolish now to have kept only four vessels. It could have built more bots…just a tiny bit of its production would have done it, without taking much from the fleet. But it had allowed itself to focus too much on the enemy, and to be too affected by its previous two efforts to destroy the humans.
It had thought about victory, but now it realized, even if its fleet prevailed, if the human homeworld was destroyed, there would still be other planets, at least with small populations. It doubted whether its subordinates would be able to take its place. They were designed to act only under its orders, especially created to follow and not to lead, at least not overall.
It had imagined a century long building process, a chance to develop the forces it would need to take on the other humans as soon as the transit point was again usable. But now, it faced defeat, not by the massive population of humans that had destroyed its predecessor, but by a small offshoot. It was almost too difficult to accept, but as it worked all of its vast mental mechanisms, it couldn’t come up with a plan, a way to defeat the humans.
Except maybe one.
It was difficult, dangerous…but if it came down to it, the Regent could detonate its own explosives, destroy the invaders, and perhaps survive it all. There was a chance it could destroy itself—its calculations were incomplete—and it would cause immense damage to its facility. But it just might destroy the enemy, and leave it functional…and in that case, it could survive, and everything could be repaired.
