Invasion (Contact Book 1)

by David Ryker

  “No!”

  “Goddamn,” Hertz shouted. “What the hell is that?”

  The laser swept through the battle ahead, carving apart ships on both sides. Symbiot and human fighters crashed and burned and died. The projection washed red.

  “No!” Loreto shouted, jumping up into the projection, his desperation hurrying the blood through his pounding heart.

  “It’s a mining laser.” Cele’s voice fluttered. “From Olmec, I bet…”

  “It’s cutting through everything.” Hertz stood slack-mouthed in wonder. “Even its own ships. Anything in its path.”

  Loreto watched the laser cut through ships of all shapes. Then it stopped. The Vela was approaching from behind but still some way back. The laser turned. Oh God, not us, he thought. We’d be dead in seconds.

  His imagination conjured images of the Vela cut in two, the laser chopping through the bridge, their bodies suddenly exposed to the coldness of space. Everyone he cared about, choking and dying. The dome swiveled past the Vela and turned farther, searching for targets.

  “Exile ship, come in.” He didn’t even know the names of their damn ships, he realized. “All of you. The Symbiot ship is about to target–”

  The vast Exile ships were already crawling across the projection. As they left, the covering fire went with them. The laser fired. It hit square in the broadside of the scimitar ship, rushing the red light up against the shields. Loreto stared up, horrified, into the belly of the Leviathan. A twisted, nerve-riddled organic terror.

  “Covering fire!” Loreto shouted. “Every ship, distract the laser.”

  He saw the Wisps and the Spartans break from their patterns and swoop round. They tried another bombing run. Nothing. The laser didn’t move a millimeter. The Exile shield held. The laser poured into it continuously, a swirling mess of neon energy along the side of the fleeing ship.

  “Again!” Loreto shouted.

  But the Exile shield flickered and failed. The laser burst through and burned a hole right to the heart of it. The entire vessel began to collapse, crunching and crumpling. The explosion turned red on the projection. So big, the Vela felt the thump through the vacuum of space.

  The comms erupted. A screaming, whistling sound. Their language, this is how they die. The noise grated across his skin and made his teeth strain against his gums. The most powerful ships we’ve ever seen, Loreto thought as the screaming died. Cut open like they were wet paper. What chance do we have?

  “Get me closer!” he shouted because there was nothing else to shout. “Take us behind and on the underside. I want to be out of the range of that laser!”

  The Vela lurched into the space behind the Leviathan. No one said a word. The comms had fallen silent. They can wipe us out already, Loreto was worrying. If they get to Sparta, if they can corrupt all that tech? We’d be dead in days.

  He stared at the rotten remains of Fletcher’s ship. He needed to think. It’s the same damn ship. Fletcher’s ship. The Pyxis. Shorn of its skin and even more exposed. He’d mocked this ship a thousand years ago. He’d casually laughed at the Achilles heel the arrogant man had built into his masterpiece.

  They were finally close enough to see the side of the ship properly. Loreto stared up into the ghostly projection, daring to hope. His hand shuddered as he reached out and touched the Leviathan. He delicately laid a finger on a very certain spot.

  “Hertz,” his voice a hoarse whisper. “Sneak us up in their wake. Bring us around on the starboard side – the starboard side, Hertz – three quarters back, in line with the exhaust.”

  “We’ll be in range of that–”

  “Just do it, Hertz.”

  Loreto couldn’t tear his eyes away. I’ve got to give Cavs a chance. Accuracy. Get close. Hit them hard. He sent the targeting data to the guns.

  “Aye, sir,” the captain ripped off a salute. The bridge snapped into life again.

  Loreto had hope.

  34

  Hess

  “They’re panicking.”

  Hess watched the generals at the table. Saito sat beside them, twitching.

  “It’s worse outside,” said Alison. She had just returned to the room and spoke softly in his ear. “They’ve heard about Ghoulam.”

  The makeshift holo-plate sat on the floor of the bunker. The generals’ table was shaped like an ohm, wrapped around the projection. The eerie glow lit up their faces, the cobalt light nesting in the creases of their skin. As well as the Sirens’ image of the battle, a constant stream of data poured down from the space above Sparta. Death counts, munition rates, and Loreto’s instructions reached them in real time.

  The comms crackled again. No one could reach the admiral from the surface of the planet. The hazy chaos of the battle interfered, but Hess had seen enough. He recognized Fletcher’s ship, or the remains of it, anyway. It dragged forward through the fight, plunging closer and closer toward Sparta. The Leviathan, the comms chatter called it.

  “Hess.” Alison struck a serious tone. “Maybe we should be thinking about an exit strategy.”

  They stood in the rear of the bunker, behind the generals and the president. Hess had thought about slipping out of the door, pushing his way up through the frenzied tunnels.

  “It won’t matter,” he told her. “You heard the admiral. If that thing gets through, we’re dead anyway.”

  “Loreto!” Saito shouted into a comms link positioned on the table. His words were stretched tight, tense to the point of snapping and his clothes were soaked in sweat. “Come in, Loreto!”

  “He keeps trying,” Alison wondered. “Why does he keep trying?”

  “It’s not his fight,” Hess mumbled, glancing again at the door. “He’s trying to wrestle back the control he gave up.”

  Saito had dismissed all of his staff. Servants, medics, advisors, and anyone with a dissenting opinion. Only the generals remained. Van Liden rummaged uncomfortably in his seat. A stern expression had seized his face and would not let go. Every time the president twitched or squeaked, he scowled in disgust.

  “Loreto!” Saito shouted again, standing up this time.

  Van Liden snatched out an arm, wrapped it around the president’s elbow, and dragged him back into his seat. There was no one else in the room; the Spartans were all elsewhere, mounting defenses and searching for anything that could fly, sending it up into the fray. They don’t care about us, Hess knew. We’re inconsequential. They don’t care about the Senate now; they just want to stay alive.

  Reports of explosions in the sky above Agios-Nikon made Hess realize how close to home the battle had come. Outside, the Spartans readied giant mounted guns and armored walkers. All of the fantastical military tech the Spartans had created during their long isolation was being readied for war.

  Not the war they’d expected, the one which had been thrust upon them. Hess gazed again at the Leviathan. With every second, it seemed so much closer. If that thing gets anywhere near the atmosphere, he told himself, I’m doing it. I’m taking my chance.

  He looked at the shuddering president. A knife between the shoulder blades, I’d at least get that little pleasure. The most minor victory. Perhaps I could take out Van Liden, too. All his planning, all his conniving, and he was reduced to slitting throats in the dark like some common thief. You’re not as clever as you think you are, Acton Hess.

  “This is the safest place to be right now,” he whispered to Alison, gesturing to their bunker.

  He felt the weight of the knife in his pocket, part of a Spartan dinner set in his quarters. A dull, jagged little thing. He pulled it out, lifting it only so far that she could see the blade. She gasped.

  “You wouldn’t.” Her voice was an accusing mutter.

  “Only if there’s no hope left…”

  “Who?” Her eyes were even wider than usual. “Saito?”

  “And anyone else.” He didn’t look at her as he said it. He tried to stay stoic, facing forward as though such senseless violence were his trade. He didn�
�t want to let his fear out. He pressed it down. “They stole my life, I’ll steal their deaths.”

  It nearly sounded like a good line, Hess assured himself, even if he might have to explain the finer details. Alison said nothing.

  The knife was helping. Even without doing anything, it just rested in his pocket and reminded him of the tiniest amount of control he had over the fate of others. His life might be in Loreto’s hands, but he could end Saito’s existence on a whim. After what felt like a wasted life, it was the only way he could think about wrestling back any semblance of control.

  “We’re not done yet.” Alison watched the projection. “I can feel it.”

  The girl’s audacious hope sickened Hess.

  “We’re both watching the same thing,” he told her. “We’re both hearing the same things.”

  He weighed his words heavy with pessimism, his colloquial colony accent emerging more and more in this stressful moment, his tongue rolling syllables he would normally have under control. He fiddled with the pin on his chest; the pip and the memory of his mother, all wrapped up in gold.

  “You’ll see,” she said and pursed her lips.

  Hess watched the projection. The Leviathan wreaked havoc, smashing forward through the melee with scant regard for friend or foe. He could hardly see the Vela. He could hardly see any human ships.

  “Loreto!” Saito jumped up again and sprung backward from his seat.

  He began to pace up and down the room. The revulsion on Van Liden’s face could have powered cities. Gale force hatred, turning the turbines and wrenching the winds. Saito broke from his pacing and walked across to Hess. Hess knew that look. He smiled. Saito wanted a bump. I’ve got him on the hook now. Even if we survive, he’ll never be the same. No one snaps back from being this broken.

  Free from Van Liden, Saito sidled across the dark bunker.

  “Hess,” he hissed, looking over his shoulder, “I’ve got to…”

  “Here.” Hess reached out his hand, hiding a small metal tube in his palm. He tapped Saito on the waist and slipped it into the president’s pocket. “Take what you need.”

  A wide grin spread across the man’s face. Not happiness, Hess noted, not joy. Relief. He’s more emotionally invested in getting high than in the battle. Saito tapped his pocket and vanished, scuttling into a dark corner of the room. People must have an incredibly low opinion of him if they think that clammy, twitchy wreck is just snapping under the pressure.

  “He’s gone,” Alison said as they watched.

  “Umm-hmm,” Hess clicked his tongue. He couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride, a drop of smugness lost in the ocean of dread.

  “Listen.” Alison pointed to the table and dragged Hess farther back into the gloom. “It’s like they’ve forgotten we’re here.”

  The generals watched the projection, considering it with weary eyes. They should be worried, thought Hess. They should be terrified. But, with Hess finally away from them, the old men smiled. Van Liden laughed.

  A Spartan ship exploded, turning the projection red for a moment. Neko pumped a celebratory fist.

  “Another one!” he hailed.

  “So much for the coup,” said another, his face hidden from Hess.

  The battle was thinning out. The Exile ships tamed the clutter, blasting at the edges of the battle, pushing the Symbiot back toward the Federation forces. The giant ship had decimated the enemy, the Pxyis smashing through its own fleet in a desperate race toward Sparta. The Spartan fighters and the Wisps remained lashed together in dogfights, losing numbers and taking heads in equal measure. The entire fight moved closed to the docking stations in orbit above the planet and Loreto’s reserve forces were entering the fray.

  “There’s less of them,” grumbled Van Liden.

  “They’re taking plenty of our boys, too,” said Neko.

  “That’s what I meant. Less of them all,” Van Liden said, smacking his lips and almost curling out a smile.

  “Who would have thought we could have removed Loreto and the Spartans in one fell swoop?” laughed Neko. “This alien scum, too. Congratulations.”

  Van Liden’s smile dropped to a scowl.

  “They’re not done yet,” he said. “Not till every one of them’s dead.”

  “Hell.” Neko slapped the table, almost joyously. “Look! That’s the Spartan forces there. Win or lose, we could take them right now. This is a big win for us.”

  “This invasion was the best thing that could have happened,” said another.

  “They’re doing us a favor,” came the chorus and the generals mumbled agreement.

  “No.” Van Liden stopped their ceremony. “Total annihilation or nothing.”

  Then the generals descended into trivial discussions.

  “My God,” Alison said in a hushed voice. “They don’t have any shame. They’re reveling in it. It’s like we’re not even here.”

  “They don’t care,” Hess told her. “They think they’re untouchable.”

  “But still”–he could hear the disbelief in her voice—“if people heard them talking like that, surely they wouldn’t be able to…”

  “Everyone has a different way of dealing with stress,” said Hess.

  “Like Saito,” Alison agreed. They heard a snort and a giggle from the corner. The president was busy. “So, what’s your way?”

  Hess looked at her. He smiled and then lowered his gaze. Alison’s eyes followed. He was holding his page low, pointing it at the old men. Recording every word.

  Alison shivered. She grabbed Hess’s arm, trying to convey her excitement. She knew what it meant. Maybe nothing. But if they got out of Sparta alive, blackmail was a very valuable currency.

  “Now we have to survive!” she said.

  An explosion rocked the bunker. Hess threw his eyes to the projection. The Leviathan was closer than ever, almost at the docking stations. The laser cut through the satellites and special defenses arranged around Sparta. Outside, he heard them crashing into the mountains.

  Red dots littered the hologram. Dead ships. Dead humans. Another explosion. Debris rained down on the city. Another Exile ship exploded. Hess saw the few Spartan fighters left turn back, retreating to their planet. There was only the Leviathan. And, somewhere, the Vela.

  “We have to go.” Alison squeezed Hess’s shoulder. “Now!”

  An evacuation siren sang. A swansong for Sparta.

  “No.” Hess shook his head, no longer scared. “There’s nowhere left to run.”

  35

  Loreto

  They were so close, Loreto could taste it.

  He was inside the projection, standing up tall and watching the Leviathan crawl above him. The Vela sat to the aft, creeping along and accelerating. The Leviathan’s laser perched on its crest, cutting swathes through the battle. He locked the view in tight, the rest of the battle forgotten. He’d given Sliti the defense command, told her to take charge of the forces protecting Sparta. He was going for the kill.

  “Two more Spartans down,” Cele shouted from her position. “They’re evacuating the surface, too.”

  “They should be defending,” Menels muttered.

  “All that debris,” Hertz said. “Should we open the channels yet?”

  Loreto shook his head. Nothing the politicians said would make a scrap of difference. He knew what he needed to do, the only chance humanity had left. Kill the Leviathan.

  “Once that thing gets near the atmosphere, with the laser”—he watched the Leviathan carefully as it shunted aside fighters and battleships from both sides—“they wouldn’t stand a chance. It’ll harvest the tech. It’ll grow stronger.”

  The tech, the resources, and the dead, he reminded himself. A corrupted army, resurrected humanity putting itself to the sword. He stepped back from the dais for a moment, taking a second to see the whole battle and the path ahead. So much destruction: wrecks and dead ships floated through space. The Leviathan burned them out of its way or simply charged straight through. No
thing slowed it down.

  “Moving into the debris field, sir,” Cele told him and Loreto felt the wreckage hitting against the shields. He felt every flex of the ship, every sinew of the Vela stretching and moving and trying to survive. His ship. The world outside was a graveyard, more fuel for the Symbiot fire, he thought.

  “Still getting calls from the generals,” Menels said.

  Loreto shook his head again. Generals, they weren’t fit to hold the title. Nothing but petty thugs and elites, moneyed men whose only calluses were on their hearts and their knuckles. They had nothing to tell him. He watched the Vela, the ghostly projection. They were gaining, moving in just behind the enemy’s aft side.

  But the Leviathan accelerated, racing ahead. The cluttered path meant nothing; it swept everything aside. The Vela, buffeted constantly, struggled to break free from the slipstream.

  It’s not going to work, Loreto told himself. Not like this. He reached for his comms.

  “I…” The words were difficult. “I need help.”

  The Exiles, he hoped, or what was left of them. Something to distract the Leviathan. Something to slow it down.

  “Hanged Tree,” he called out into the static. He hadn’t heard from the Exile leader. “Are you there? Of the Hanged Tree?”

  Radio silence.

  “Comms could be down, sir,” Hertz tried to explain. “The battle might actually–”

  “I’m here.”

  Sliti’s voice. Loreto had never met the woman but his heart skipped three beats.

  “I thought you were dead,” he nearly laughed. “Sliti, I need you.”

  The Exile ships could take a hit, he knew, but the Spartans were frail. Loreto jumped up onto the holo-plate again. He ran around behind the Leviathan, staring down the barrel of the ship and seeing Sparta on the other side. There was so little time left. He did nothing to hide his shaking hands anymore.

  “Sliti”—he spoke slowly—“I need you to distract them. I don’t care how you do it. Just slow them down.”