The Last Stand

by Jay Allan

  “I rechecked my translations, Andi. Twice. This is not what I expected either. Though, to be honest, I didn’t know much about the Highborn going in. But, still, this is hard to believe. And, I’m only partway through the first chip. The events covered in this folio have so far been set sixty years or so before the empire’s destruction. I’m hesitant to make wild guesses, but I’m starting to think the Highborn had something to do with the Cataclysm.” Sylene paused, and she looked right at Andi. “They might have destroyed the empire, Andi…or at least played some role in the final fall.”

  The words were shocking, or they would have been if the same thoughts had not run through Andi’s own mind moments before. She’d hoped the data chips would provide useful information, but she hadn’t imagined anything like what Sy had recovered so far. Admittedly, there had been nothing yet on how to fight the Highborn, to defeat them, but if Sy kept at it, just maybe she could find something of tactical utility. Something that might help save the Rim.

  Save Tyler.

  “Sy, I’m going to leave these chips with you…assuming you’re willing to keep at it.”

  “Willing? You couldn’t tear me away from these.” Sy was wide-eyed, full of energy, very different from the melancholy that had clung to her when Andi had first arrived. “I don’t know what I’ll be able to find. I’ve concentrated on the least damaged sections first. A few of the chips look like they’re total losses, and some of the others are pretty badly hit, too. But I’ll get something more.”

  “I know you will. Meanwhile, we’ve got to get what you’ve found already to Tyler at the front. Vig is going to take Pegasus out there. I’ll go as far as Dannith, and then I’ll get some kind of liner or charter back here to…”

  “No.”

  Andi was confused. “No?”

  “No. I’m not staying here. I can work on this just as well on the ship. It’s got to be a months long journey out to the front, Andi. I’m sure I will be able to recover a significant amount of data in that time. We’ll get it all to Admiral Barron that much quicker this way.”

  “Sy…I can’t ask that of you. Besides pulling you away from your home for months, maybe the better part of a year, that’s a war zone up there. It’s dangerous.”

  “We’ve seen danger before, Andi. And my peaceful home won’t remain that way for long if the fleet loses the fight out in Hegemony space. I know a lot of people like to think we’re fighting the Hegemony’s enemy, that if we simply pull back, the Highborn will leave us alone. But I don’t buy that, and I seriously doubt you do. I’m ready to do this.” A pause. “Besides, I’ve been bored out of my mind since I left the ship. Wasted years chasing some sort of peace that doesn’t exist, at least not when you’ve seen what I have…what we have. It’s time I did something useful again.”

  “Are you sure? Really sure?”

  “Yes, Andi…I’m sure.” Sy looked around the room for a moment. Then her eyes locked on Andi’s again. “As long as I can have my old cabin back.” She smiled, and then the two of them shared a short laugh.

  “Of course. It got a little banged up with the rest of the ship in one of our tight escapes after you left, but I had it completely refurbished. I think you’ll like the way I decorated it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Sy made a face that reinforced the slight hint of sarcasm in her voice. Andi didn’t take offense. She’d gone straight from being a Gut rat on Parsephon to a knife wielding Badlands adventurer. Her tastes were notoriously plain, and her shipmates had given her no end of ribbing over the years about her lack of imagination in spending her share of their swag.

  “I am going to go back to the house and pack a few things, but if you can arrange clearance, we can lift off by tonight.”

  “I will see to it.”

  “Perhaps on the way to Dannith, you can help me organize what I’ve managed to extract, put it in an easier to read format. I’m sure that will be helpful once we get it to Tyler and the other commanders.”

  “Yes, I will do that. You commit all your attention to the extraction…I’ll make it readable.”

  Andros Estate

  Planet Samara

  Tirion Vega System

  Year 11,687 IR (Imperial Reckoning)

  Year 47 BC (Before the Cataclysm) by Confederation Calendar

  370 Years Ago

  There was a rumble around the table as those present looked over at the figure standing before them. Sounds of surprise, and some of alarm, rose up, and also talk between various individuals. Finally, one of those present stood up and said, “What is this, Andros? Where is this…individual…from?

  Another spoke, her tone sharper, more accusatory. “We are not amused by whatever surgical tricks you have employed to alter this…specimen…but if this is how our funding has been employed, on cheap circus tricks, I can assure you, you will face a reckoning. Are we to believe this is an alien of some kind?” There was disapproval in the tone, even disgust, and the nods and grunts following her words suggested many of those present agreed with the statement.

  Andros was calm, unconcerned. He allowed the speaker to finish, and then he simply smiled. “I can assure you most earnestly, Belthas, Aliana—indeed, all of you—that Ellerax is no trick, circus or otherwise. He is nothing less than the future of mankind.”

  There was more unrest around the table. Finally, Belthas spoke again. “And how, may I ask, will an inexplicably tall man serve to solve the many problems besetting our beloved empire?” There was doubt in his voice, and just enough curiosity to tell Andros he’d piqued some level of interest.

  “ Belthas, esteemed colleagues, Project Obsidian represents the first true scientific advancement the empire has seen in more than a millennium. Many of you believed you were funding general research initiatives and programs to store imperial knowledge, to rekindle advancement and study.” A pause. “Indeed, many of you were…encouraged…to adopt these viewpoints, for fear your support would be withdrawn if you had known the true scope of the project, what peaks we have dared to ascend. I apologize for any obfuscation, but I believe you will soon understand why it was necessary.”

  The room was silent, all the previous restlessness gone. A dozen faces stared at Andros, focused, unmoving.

  “I will explain, my lords and ladies, but first, I will allow Ellerax to speak, to introduce himself to all of you.”

  “Thank you, Andros.” The tall, massively built man looked out over the table. “Greetings, all of you. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.” His voice was deep, booming, similar to human norms, but somehow greater, more impressive. He was clad in a simple black and gray suit, woven from fine material, but free of the extensive decorations that dominated modern imperial fashion. He looked almost like a vestige of a distant and imagined past, when the heroes of imperial lore had built an empire. His voice, his demeanor, his very bearing, seemed a direct challenge to the foppish frivolity so common among the late imperial nobility. “I can assure you that all Lord Andros tells you is the truth. I exist to bring the empire forward, to see that mankind achieves its destiny, instead of decline and descent into oblivion and extinction.”

  Andros nodded to the tall man, and then he turned back toward the others. “Ellerax, my fellow lords and ladies, is the first of the Highborn.”

  “The Highborn? What is that? Is he human? Or are we indeed in the presence of an alien of some kind?”

  “He is neither…and both. He is human, and not. He is the past, and the future.”

  “This is no time for riddles, Andros. You have dragged us all this way, almost to the Rim itself, and now you show us this…gentlemen? What is the meaning of all this?”

  “You are the inner circle, and I have invited each of you here to see the final results of the program’s first stage, the…creations, for lack of a better word…that will save our empire, and our very species, from the extinction that must surely result if decadence is allowed to continue its unrestrained rot, and imperial culture fractures
ever more decisively over increasingly trivial issues and disagreements. You have supported the program, all of you, financially and with your political influence. Now, I will show you what you have wrought.”

  “What have you done, Andros? What have you done with the support we have provided?” Belthas’s tone had hardened.

  Andros nodded. “I understand your concern, Belthas, my old friend. You see here the ultimate end result of an effort begun almost sixty years ago, something that started only with one man’s dream. Project Obsidian, as it came to be called, was the result of my grandfather’s tireless labors, his research, in both historical and societal analysis as well as the genetic sciences. He obtained imperial support and funding, assembled a team of the empire’s greatest and most capable, searching tirelessly to find those truly capable, among the legions of mediocrity that have nearly overrun our once vibrant society. By sheer will and force of mind, he broke free of the stasis of imperial science and charted a new course forward, a daring path, one that offers the hope of shattering the lethargy that has afflicted our species, and leading humanity—a new humanity—into the future.”

  “Are you saying this individual…Ellerax…is the result of a program of genetic engineering?”

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking. He is that, and he is so much more. He and all of his brethren.”

  “You mean there are more of these…Highborn? I must say, I do not care for the name. It suggests they are above all of us.”

  “The name is perfect, and the Highborn are, indeed, superior to everyone here…myself included. That is the heart of the project, the reason it will succeed where so many efforts have failed. The empire declines not because it is old and worn out, but because we—humankind—are. The natural selection that played so great a part in mankind’s development has been prevented at every turn from achieving its purpose. Where we have prevented nature from achievement, Project Obsidian has filled the void.” Andros paused for a few seconds, his eyes scanning the room briefly.

  “Ellerax, at least to the extent of our technological abilities to maximize human genetics, is what we should be, what we would have become, if our kind had been allowed to continue to evolve. He is thousands of years, even hundreds of thousands, ahead of us. He is nothing less than a glimpse of our future, or what our future would be, had we not blocked the ability of humanity to grow, to improve. We have seen the results of that folly, an increasingly unproductive population and an empire declining to the verge of collapse. We must reassert nature’s way, my fellow lords, with science and technology, if our culture will allow no other way.”

  “You created this person?”

  “I am not a god, Belthas, able to conjure life from nothingness, nor was my grandfather. We created nothing. We began with human genetic material, DNA gathered from the shrinking elite of the empire. We adjusted it, worked tirelessly to eliminate weaknesses, to nurture into being not just more people, but what humanity should have become over so many passed millennia. No, we are not gods…but we have created gods. Gods who will lead the empire forward, to greater heights of prosperity and achievement.”

  The murmur around the room intensified with Andros’s last remark. Half a dozen of those present were shouting out questions, adding to the indecipherable cacophony. Finally, Belthas stood up and raised his arms, silencing at least some of those present.

  “Andros, you have gone far beyond any acceptable actions here. The audacity…how dare you presume to…redesign…humanity.”

  “I have not redesigned humanity, old friend. The project has simply taken what we are, what we have always been, to its logical conclusion. Does it change humanity to eliminate disease, weakness, intellectual weakness? Is it wrong to enhance strength, health, intelligence? But do not take my word for this, any of you. Please, Ellerax is quite capable of speaking for himself.” He gestured again toward the hulking individual, who’d been silent since his initial statement.

  “As Lord Andros told you all, my name is Ellerax. Please allow me to tell you about myself. I was released from the creche, what many of you would call born, though with some inaccuracy in relation to my case, fourteen years ago. At that time, I was at a stage of development comparable to a conventionally-birthed boy of seven. My growth from that time was considerably accelerated compared to human norms, and I reached a level equivalent to what you understand as adulthood, approximately four years later.” Ellerax spoke calmly, his voice soft but commanding, almost melodic in nature. “I was educated by the program, and in two years, I undertook a course of study similar to that upper class imperial citizens complete by age 22. As of now, I possess the highest levels of knowledge in a number of fields of study, including genetics, physics, mathematics, military tactics, and engineering. I, of course, have no basis to understand how others approach such efforts, but Andros’s analysis indicate I learn at approximately thirty times the rate of a typical human child.”

  “The highest levels? In all those fields? And military tactics? Why military tactics?”

  “I speak so that all of you can understand, hence my use of the phrase ‘highest levels.’ In fact, my understanding of the previously mentioned fields of endeavor exceeds that of any living human being, and that of any now deceased. The knowledge capacity of my brain exceeds that of any conventional humans by a factor of ten or more.”

  “Your creation is humble, too, Andros.” There was more concern than mocking in Belthas’s tone.

  “I do not seek to offend, Lord Belthas, I assure you of that. There is simply no way to explain who I am—what I am, as you inquired—without honestly detailing my abilities.”

  “Ellerax is what you would be, Belthas, what I or anyone here would be, or our descendants at least, in fifty thousand years, assuming we lived in a society that challenged us, that allowed only the strongest among us to survive and reproduce. The empire is failing, my lords and ladies, for many reasons, but foremost among them is the decline in humanity itself. Human development has been arrested for millennia. We cannot prevent the fall that is coming unless we address this fact. That is the purpose of Project Obsidian. Of the Highborn.”

  “And just how many of…the Highborn…did your project create, Andros?”

  “Enough to lead the way forward, Belthas. Enough to save the empire.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Asteroid Field

  Vexa Torrent System (One Jump from Sigma Nordlin)

  Year 323 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Stockton pressed his finger tightly, and his bomber shook two times in rapid succession. He felt the urge to watch the bombs go in, to focus on the accuracy of his shot an not his ship’s flight path. But there wasn’t time. He had barely enough to pull up, to avoid turning his bombing run into a suicide attack. Even after he averted a collision, he had to revector his course, and make a desperate run back through the enemy fleet, past whatever defensive fire the hundreds of ships put out, and somehow make it back to the point, and navigate a transit in his Lightning. Just think of the sequence shook his usual rock solid confidence.

  He was no stranger to low probability missions, but confidence notwithstanding, he understood math, too. A lot had ot go right for him, for any of his people, to escape. A small fraction times a small fraction times another small fraction added up to a somber conclusion. He had one hell of a small chance of getting away. And all two thousand of his pilots were in the same boat.

  No, not all of them. Three hundred are dead already, and another hundred or more are floating out there in crippled ships, doing whatever men and women do while they’re waiting for death to come.

  He shook his head, trying to drive the thoughts back into the depths.

  No time for that, not now…

  A small chance was still a chance, and he was determined to do his best, for himself, and for every pilot he’d led into the Vexa Torrent system. Jake Stockton knew he wasn’t invincible, that he could very well be facing the end he’d imagined for so long. If that was the cas
e, so be it, but he’d be damned if he’d die without fighting like hell. He’d never given up, not in all his years in battle, and he wasn’t about to start.

  And the only way he could help his pilots, the men and women he’d led into the system, was to set an example, to show them it was possible.

  His ship was blasting hard, his thrust angle slowly changing his vector, first to avoid the enemy ship, and then to set a course back toward the transit point. He had one hell of a gauntlet to run, but at least his starting vector was more or less lateral to his escape route. Some of his wings had gone after ships positioned farther back in the enemy formation, and they had to virtually decelerate to a virtual stop and then accelerate back the way they had come. He didn’t even want to think about much more time that would take, or how many of those pilots would make it back.

  Or if any did.

  His stern discipline cracked slightly as soon as he’d cleared the target vessel, and he glanced quickly down at his targeting screen, checking on the results of his torpedo launch. Two solid hits, dead center amidships. It was the best he could have hoped for, and as he stared at the screen, he saw that the squadrons he’d led in had scored more than dozen hits all together.

  That had to hurt that ship. Sixteen plasma torpedoes would have obliterated a Repulse-class ship with destructive force to spare, probably even one of the Hegemony heavies. But the Highborn vessel was still there, and between its strange hull material and the Sigma-9 radiation it emitted, Stockton could tell that the AI’s damage assessment was the cybernetic equivalent of a wild guess.

  The AI was reporting numerous hull breaches and some degree of internal explosions and damage. But it was all very unsatisfying to Stockton. He’d continually reminded himself to dampen his expectations, that the enemy ships were extremely powerful and that damaging them was a useful enterprise on its own. As he sat there, he realized how unsuccessful an effort that had been. He wanted to see ships destroyed, to watch the enemy battleships obliterated in the fury of matter-antimatter annihilation. He knew the damage his strikes had done was tactically valuable as well, and he tried to tell himself some of the vessels out there were badly hit, perhaps even reduced to tactical irrelevancy. But there was no way to know. Not when his scanners couldn’t penetrate the enemy hulls.