Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm

by Doug Dandridge

  “Helm,” she said, coming up with something that might work, or might get them killed. “Drop us to Hyper III, then back up to IV. After that vector us away from the enemy ships, but keep us at point two light. No higher. Understand?”

  “Yes ma’am,” said the Helmsman, inputting the commands with shaking hands.

  The Captain looked around the bridge, seeing the stares from all the frightened faces, wondering what the hell she was doing with their lives. But discipline held, and they all turned back to their jobs.

  “You really think this will work, ma’am,” said Jackson over the com.

  “I’m betting my life on it,” she said, staring at the plot. I’m betting all of our lives on it, and the lives of the crew of that freighter.

  “Two of the ships have increased their acceleration,” called out the Sensor Chief. “Translation. Down to IV.”

  “So those ships are coming after us,” said Mei, a smile on her face. “What about the others?”

  “The other three are continuing to change vectors toward the freighter. Translation. Down to V. Now they’re accelerating, towards the merchie.”

  “Well, at least half of it worked,” said Jackson.

  “Quit being such a smartass, XO,” growled Mei. “And figure out a way for us to get out of this.”

  Two hours later the sound of catastrophic translation screeched over the com. The sound of a freighter dying as it was ejected from hyperspace.

  “Where are our two hounds, Chief?” asked the Captain, clenching her hand into a fist at the memory of that horrible sound.

  “Still curving around in hyper IV,” said the Chief, his voice growing hoarse. “About ten degrees off our bearing.”

  “I estimate they will catch us in one hour, twenty-seven minutes, ma’am,” said the Navigator.

  “Keep us below point two light, Helm. No matter what. I want to be able to drop into normal space at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Point two light.”

  “Picking up three large objects heading toward the last location of the freighter, ma’am,” said the Sensor Chief.

  “More of the enemy?”

  “No, ma’am,” said the Chief, his tone showing his relief. “Resonances match Imperial light cruisers. And our two dogs are starting to change vectors again.”

  “Can they get away from those light cruisers?” the Captain asked the Navigator.

  “Probably not, ma’am,” said the officer, plugging numbers in on his board. “From their acceleration those are Hyper VII ships. Those cruisers are at least as fast as the enemy scouts, and the Cacas won’t be able to decelerate fast enough to jump hyper levels before the cruisers get to them.”

  “The real question, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer, “is whether those cruisers can outfight three of the enemy scout ships, and the other two that are trying to get there as well.”

  Mei thought about that for a moment. The enemy scouts were five hundred thousand ton vessels, while the light cruisers massed just under a million tons. But the Hyper VII cruisers were not as heavily armed as Hyper VI cruisers, and might not be able to handle this enemy.

  “Captain,” said Jackson over their private com. “There is no way we can get there in time to have an effect on that fight.”

  “You are correct, XO,” said Mei, clenching and unclenching her hands. “I wish it were different, but it is what it is.”

  Mei closed her eyes for a moment, wondering why fate had put her in such a situation, where she could do nothing. “Helm,” she said, opening her eyes. “Set us on a direct heading for Conundrum base. Maximum acceleration.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” agreed the officer, setting the ship on the ordered course.

  An hour later the resonances of catastrophic translations again sounded over the speakers. Four of them within a space of fifteen minutes, at the far range of the battle cruiser’s damaged sensors. And no way of telling who had been destroyed, and who was still around.

  * * *

  MASSADARA SPACE.

  Even with the current technology space was still vast. There were almost countless cubic light years in space, translating into so many cubic kilometers that no sentient mind could even comprehend the number. Even the average solar system had multiple ten to the twenty-eight power cubic kilometers, in which the planets were like water drops in an ocean. For all this, most spaceships were not hard to locate, as they radiated a lot of waste heat into the surrounding space. Modern heat dispersal systems could pull enormous amounts of thermal radiation, more than would have been thought possible in earlier ages, out of ships that would have become deadly ovens otherwise. And this heat gave the vessels away to even a cursory scan.

  Stealth ships solved this problem by sending the heat to another place, either subspace, or to a heat sink through a wormhole. They were very hard to find. Not impossible, but very hard. And one that was hidden under the surface ice of a Plutino was just about impossible to locate, unless the searcher decided to deep radar every ice ball they came to.

  Sea Stag was hidden a half kilometer under the ice they had melted through on a large Plutino, one in the thousand kilometer diameter range. She had scattered sensors over the surface that were sending low power signals to the ship, allowing her to see the solar system around her, and gather the data she was sending to headquarters. And right now that data included the extensive search for the ship.

  “There’s another one,” said the XO, Lt. Commander van Dyke, looking over the Captain’s shoulder as they studied the plot. An antimatter tanker had just dropped out of hyper and was moving toward the space station. A view of that station showed a thick picket around it, the Ca’cadasans not taking any chances on a reoccurrence of the attack that had crippled the station and deprived them of antimatter replenishment for the week.

  “Looks like they got the station fully functional again,” said Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic, pointing to the five hundred million ton construct that was lit up like a city in space.

  “Too bad we didn’t blow the damned thing away completely,” said the XO, glaring at the holo image of their mortal enemy’s base.

  And if we had more missiles, we might have been able to, thought Suttler, nodding his head. But that was our last one. “We still put their war effort back,”: he said, gesturing to the second holo, over the first, showing the entire system and the cluster of red dots all over the Kuiper and Ort regions of this area. “Those ships looking for us are not scouting out the other systems of our space.”

  The holo zoomed in on one of the scout ships, orbiting closely around a medium sized Plutino. The distance stamp at the bottom of the holo showed a billion kilometers, so they were a light hour distant, and they were seeing what the ship was up to almost an hour ago.

  “Looks like a deep radar pattern to me,” said the Sensor Officer, and all in the conference room nodded. That was one sure way to find their ship, as they would be easy to see against the lesser density of the ice. But the sweep had not gotten out this far, yet, and there were hundreds of thousands of objects within that three light hour radius of the station.

  “We have translations,” called out the Sensor Chief over the intercom. “Dozens of them. It looks like the sweeping force is pulling out.”

  “Should have known it would be too good to last,” said Lt. Commander van Dyke.

  “Any word on when we are going to be relieved, sir?” asked Lt. Ngovic, a hopeful expression on his face.

  “I don’t think we can count on relief in the near future, Lieutenant,” said van Dyke. “We are too important an asset in place.”

  “And there really is no guarantee that we’ll be able to slip out of here,” said Suttler. “Or anyone else slip in. We have enough food for two years, and enough antimatter at current consumption rates for much longer. So I think we can count on being here for a long long time.”

  “I have hyperwave disturbances heading for the system in VII,” called out the Sensor Chief, his voice tense.
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  “Ours or theirs?” asked the Captain, knowing the answer already.

  “Theirs sir,” said the Chief, his voice strained.

  “How many?”

  “Unknown sir. There’s too much interference in their signals. But a whole bunch. More than I can count, but probably in the high hundreds, if not thousands.”

  And Bryce Suttler felt a chill run up his back. This was the breaking storm, and it was heading into Imperial Space.

  * * *

  NEW TERRAN EMPIRE EMBASSY, ELYSIUM.

  The sounds of fighting came out of the city through the day. Clouds of smoke obscured the far view, and a large pillar of oily black rose from the direction of the High Council, the government seat of the Empire.

  Horatio Alexanderopolis stood on the rooftop of the embassy, using power glasses to look through the smoke. Around him stood a squad of armored Marines, and he wore light body armor and a helmet himself. The electromagnetic field that had been erected around the building shimmered a bit as he looked through it.

  “What do you see, sir?” asked one of the embassy clerical staff as Horatio panned the glasses.

  He saw small figures in the distance, down a street that led into the circle that fronted the embassy building. He zoomed in and grunted as he saw the lumbering forms that could only be Knockermen, wearing a body armor that enhanced their strength, but surely could do little with their poor reaction time. Beams came out of the weapons they carried, visible as they traversed the smoke. Other beams connected a couple of the Knockermen, lasers that came from their enemy. A reptilian fell over and didn’t move, while another fell after a hit to his leg and continued to fire back. Tough bastards to be sure, thought the Ambassador.

  He traversed the glasses and spotted some other, more upright forms in the body armor of Capital Police. The way they darted and dodged told him they were Brakakak. And though they were more agile and faster than their opponents, they were also outnumbered. And a laser hit on one that dropped the being into a flaming pile also told him they were more lightly armored.

  “Hell is what I see,” said the Ambassador to the woman, offering her the glasses for a moment. He turned around to see Brigadier General Connie Contovy standing close to the edge of the roof, IIA Station Chief Gertrude Bauman standing next to the Army officer.

  “Well. It’s come to pass,” said the general, looking dangerous in her combat armor. “You were right on it, spook.”

  “Of course I was,” agreed Gertrude. “I just wish I wasn’t.”

  “What do you think is going to happen, General?” asked the ambassador, reaching his hands out for the glasses he wanted again.

  “I think the Lizards are going to roll over the Birds. And I don’t think it’s going to take more than a day to do it.”

  “And then?”

  “And then the Birds come back in with the fleet and stomp the Lizards into the ground. I just hope we’re still here when that happens.”

  “I agree,” said Gertrude when the Ambassador turned to her. “And the relief should come in from three to five days, I hope.”

  “What the hell,” yelled one of the Marines, and everyone turned to see a trio of air cars heading for the embassy at high speed.

  “Hold your fire,” yelled out the Ambassador, recognizing one of the cars from its ornate surface. “Do not fire on those vehicles.”

  The cars were about two hundred meters from the embassy, and obviously intending to land on the roof, when a pair of bright beams struck out at the ornate aerial vehicle in the center. It had an electromag field, but one that was not capable of fending off the powerful lasers that struck the bottom of the car. Molten metal splashed and the car curved down, headed for the hard surface below. At the last moment it slowed enough to bounce to a hard but survivable landing on the tarmac.

  The doors to the car flew open as the other cars came down on either side of it. The Brakakak in the outer cars were out first, in full combat armor and firing back at their enemies. One was hit by the same beams that had knocked down the air car, and he fell to the ground with a half melted suit burning his body.

  “Take those beams out,” yelled the Ambassador to his Marines. The Marines shouted out their acknowledgements and started to work.

  A hyper-v rocket flew out of a launcher and tracked on the first beam weapon. In an instant there was a ball of fire rising over a building about a kilometer away, followed by the crack of the missile’s hit. Another missile came in a second behind the first and the beam cut off. Another Marine opened fire with a particle beam cannon attached to his heavy armor. With the sound of a million angry insects the dark red beam streaked out at another emplacement. Another fireball rose, and the Marine played the beam over the Knockermen emplacement for a couple of seconds. The barrel of his weapon glowed red when he ceased fire, and for the moment there was no incoming.

  The doors to the middle car came open, and the driver and a bodyguard came out, going to the perimeter formed by the rest of the guards. One looked back and waved, and a male in partial armor came jumping from the car, turning to help a female out, then another. Both were carrying small children, and another pair of youngsters crowded at their legs, obviously terrified. Horatio recognized Grarakakak with the visor of his helmet up. He had seen the females at embassy functions and knew them to be the wives of the High Lord, which made the little ones his children.

  Some fire started to come back at the Brakakak, mostly light arms, though heavy enough to menace the avians. The High Lord raised an arm in the air, waving at the Ambassador while trying to keep his wives and children under the cover of his body. One Brakakak went down, wounded, while another fell with his helmet burst and blood flowing from it.

  “Get your men down there and cover them,” called the Ambassador to the Marine Lieutenant. “I want them in the embassy.”

  The Marine officer nodded and started talking into his com. A six man fire team of Marines jumped from the building and went skimming over the ground at high speed toward the downed air cars. Another fire team laid down suppressive fire on the surrounding buildings. When a Knockermen rebel opened fire, he died an instant later.

  The Marine fire team deployed in front of the Brakakak refugees, shrugging off what fire was coming their way from their heavy armor. A heavy laser lanced out from a skyscraper a couple of kilometers away, striking a Marine. The trooper ducked down behind a car, which whooshed into flame as the beam struck it. It was obvious from the way the man moved back that he was injured, but still capable of movement within his suit.

  The side of the skyscraper exploded as missiles, shells and beams struck it with concentrated fury. And with that the laser fire stopped.

  The High Lord and his family moved quickly toward the entrance to the embassy, the male keeping himself interposed between his family and their enemies, the bodyguards trying to keep him covered. If anyone in the human embassy had any doubts about the courage of the avians, it was dispelled this day. The Marines fell back with them, keeping their armored bodies in the way, their wounded comrade behind them as he floated toward the embassy on his grabbers.

  Horatio ran from the roof, through the armored door, and hit the stairs, running down the four flights as fast as his legs would carry him. The Brakakak were coming through the entrance as he reached the lobby, followed by the injured Marine, and embassy medical personnel were there in an instant to check on him, and to make sure the new guests were OK.

  Garakakak lowered his visor again, looked at the Ambassador, and trotted over in the graceful style of his species. He held out his hand in human fashion and made the best attempt at a human smile his mouth would allow. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you for myself, and especially for my family. Have the others made it.”

  “Yours are the first of your people we have seen this day, High Lord,” said Horatio, shaking the High Lord’s gauntleted hand and his own head at the same time.

  “Then I am afraid my colleagues are lost,” said the High Lord, b
owing his head. He looked back at the human, his fine face feathers quivering, his race’s equivalent of crying. “That such should happen under my stewardship of the Empire, that which has never happened in our history. And partially your fault.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, not completely. The Knockermen have been dissatisfied and disaffected for many centuries, but the way you humans have been expanding, and the government’s lack of response to it, was, as you humans say, the final straw.”

  “I knew the Knockermen didn’t like us, but to resort to revolt?”

  “They do not like many that are not Knockermen,” said the High Lord, giving a very human shoulder shrug. “Us, they tolerate. Or at least they did.”

  “So what happened? We haven’t heard anything from your government since the shooting started.”

  The High Lord gave the human an intense stare, and Horatio could almost feel the anger in the being.

  “My fellow council member tried to kill me this morning in the meeting chamber,” said the avian, his voice a high squawk of anger. “If I hadn’t been warned by intelligence he might have done it too. But when I saw his move I drew my weapon and shot him, in the face.”

  The avian turned away and walked ten meters of lobby floor, then turned and came quickly back to stand in front of the more massive human. “My people are not pacifists. As far as our biologist can tell we evolved from flightless carnivores who developed the intelligence to use tools and fire. Many mistake us for pacifists, because of our delicate builds and cultured ways. But this morning, when I saw the reptilian draw a weapon that would have splattered my brains over the council chamber, I reacted as my people are wont to do in emergencies. And it felt good to see an enemy’s head explode, while preventing the same from happening to mine.”