The Armageddon Inheritance fe-2

by David Weber

  “Why?”

  “Essentially, the mines are simply advanced hunter-killer satellites. Certainly their ability to attack vessels as they emerge from hyper is useful, yet they will be required in tremendous numbers to cover effectively the volume of space we must protect. Their attack radius is no more than ninety thousand kilometers, and mass attacks will be required to overpower the defenses of any alert target. Because of these limitations, I doubt our ability to produce adequate numbers in the time available to us. I would prefer to do without them in order to safeguard our future industrial potential.”

  “I see.” Horus pursed his lips, then nodded. “All right, I agree.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, Marshal,” Horus turned to Tsien, “you mentioned something about operational problems?”

  “Yes, Governor. General Amesbury’s Scanner Command is well prepared to detect the enemy’s approach, but we do not know whether we would be better advised to send our units out to meet them as they move in-system after leaving hyper or to concentrate closer to Earth for sorties from within the shield after they have closed with the planet. The question also, of course, is complicated by the possibility that the Achuultani might attempt a pincer attack, using one group of scouts to draw our sublight units out of position and then micro-jumping across the system to attack from another direction.”

  “And you want to finalize operational doctrine?”

  “Not precisely. I realize that this almost certainly will not be possible for some time and that much ultimately will depend upon the differences between Achuultani technology and our own. For the moment, however, I would like to grant Admiral Hawter’s request to deploy our existing units for operational training and war games in the trans-asteroidal area. It will give the crews valuable experience with their weapons, and, more importantly, I believe, give our command personnel greater confidence in themselves.”

  “I agree entirely,” Horus said firmly. “And it’ll also let us use some of the larger asteroids for target practice—which means the Achuultani won’t be able to use them for target practice on us! Proceed with it immediately, by all means, Marshal Tsien. Vassily, I’ll take your recommendations to the Council. Unless someone there can give me an overpowering counter-argument, they’ll be approved within forty-eight hours. Is that good enough?”

  “Eminently, Governor.”

  “Good. In that case, gentlemen, let’s get into our suits. I want to see ODC Two firsthand.”

  * * *

  The Achuultani scouts gathered their strength once more, merging into a single huge formation about their flagship. A brilliant F5 star lay barely five light-years distant, but it held no interest for them. Their instruments probed and peered, listening for the electromagnetic voices they had come so far to find. The universe was vast. Not even such accomplished killers as they could sweep it of all life, and so worlds such as T’Yir were safe unless the scouts literally stumbled across them.

  But other worlds were not, and the sensor crews caught the faint signals they had sought. Directional antennae turned and quested, and the scouts reoriented themselves. A small, G2 star called to them, and they went to silence it forever.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Barbarian!” Tamman shook his head mournfully as he took a fresh glass of lemonade from his wife and buried his sorrows in its depths.

  “And why might that be, you effete, over-civilized, not to say decadent, epicure?” Colin demanded.

  “That ought to be obvious. Mesquite charcoal? How … how Texan!”

  Colin stuck out his tongue, and meat juices hissed as he turned steaks. A fragrant cloud of smoke rose on the heat shimmer of the grill, pushed out over the lake by the park deck’s cool breezes, and the volley ball tournament was in full cry. He glanced up in time to see Colonel Tama Matsuo, Tamman’s grandson, launch a vicious spike. One of the German team’s forwards tried to get under it, but not even an enhanced human could have returned that shot.

  “Banzai!” the Sendai Division’s team screamed, and the Germans muttered darkly. Jiltanith applauded, and Matsuo bowed to her, then prepared to serve. His hand struck the ball like a hammer, and Colin winced as it bulleted across the net.

  “Now, Tamman, don’t be so harsh,” his critic’s wife chimed in. “After all, Colin’s doing the best he knows how.”

  “Oh, thank you, kind lady! Thank you! Just remember—your wonderful husband is the one who courted bad luck by broiling tai in miso last week.”

  Recon Captain Amanda Givens laughed, her cafe-au-lait face wreathed in a lovely smile, and Tamman pulled her down beside him to kiss her ear.

  “Nonsense,” he said airily. “Just doing my bit to root out superstition. Anyway, I was out of salt.”

  Amanda snuggled closer to him, and Colin grinned. Dahak’s sickbay had regenerated the leg she’d lost in the La Paz raid in time for her wedding, and the sheer joy she and Tamman took in one another warmed Colin’s heart, even though their marriage had caused a few unanticipated problems.

  Dahak had always seemed a bit pettish over the Terran insistence that one name wasn’t good enough. He’d accepted it—grumpily—but only until he got to attend the first wedding on his decks in fifty thousand years. In some ways, he’d seemed even more delighted than the happy couple, and he’d hardly been able to wait for Colin to log the event officially.

  That was when the trouble started, for Imperial conventions designating marital status sounded ridiculous applied to Terran names, and Dahak had persisted in trying to make them work. Colin usually wound up giving in when Dahak felt moved to true intransigence—talking the computer out of something was akin to parting the Red Sea, only harder—but he’d refused pointblank to let Dahakinflict a name like Amandacollettegivens-Tam on a friend. The thought of hearing that every time Dahak spoke to or of Amanda had been too much, and if Tamman had originally insisted (when he finally stopped laughing) that it was a lovely name which fell trippingly from the tongue, his tune quickly changed when he found out what Dahak intended to call him. Tamman-Amcolgiv was shorter; that was about all you could say for it.

  “Methinks it little matters what thou sayst, Tamman,” Jiltanith’s mournful observation drew Colin back to the present as she opened another bottle of beer. “Our Colin departeth not from his fell intent to poison one and all with his noxious smokes and fumes.”

  “Listen, all of you,” Colin retorted, propping his fists on his hips, “I’m captain of this tub, and we’ll fix food my way!”

  “Didst’a hear thy captain speak of thee, Dahak, my tub?” Jiltanith caroled, and Colin shook a fist at her.

  “I believe the proper response is ’Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,’ ” a mellow voice replied, and Colin groaned.

  “What idiot encouraged him to learn cliches?”

  “Nay, Colin, acquit us all. ’Tis simply that we discouraged him not.”

  “Well you should have.”

  “Stop complaining and let the man cook.” Vlad Chernikov lay flat on his back in the shade of a young oak. Now he propped one eye open. “If you do not care for his cuisine, you need not eat it, Tamman.”

  “Fat chance!” Colin snorted, and stole Jiltanith’s beer.

  He swallowed, enjoying the “sun” on his shoulders, and decided ’Tanni had been right to talk him into the party. The anniversary of the fall of Anu’s enclave deserved to be celebrated as a reminder of some of the “impossible” things they’d already accomplished, even if uncertainty over what waited at Birhat continued to gnaw at everyone. Or possibly because it did.

  He looked out over the happy, laughing knots of his off-watch crewmen. Some of them, anyway. There was a null-grav basketball tournament underway on Deck 2460, and General Treshnikov had organized a “Top Gun” contest on the simulator deck for the non-fighter pilots of the crew. Then there was the regatta out on the thirty-kilometer-wide park deck’s lake.

  He glanced around the shaded picnic tables. Cohann
a and Ninhursag sat at one, annihilating one another in a game of Imperial battle chess with a bloodthirsty disregard for losses that would turn a line officer gray, and Caitrin O’Rourke and Geran had embarked on a drinking contest—in which Caitrin’s Aussie ancestry appeared to be a decided advantage—at another. General von Grau and General Tsukuba were wagering on the outcome of the volley ball tournament, and Hector wore a dreamy look as he and Dahak pursued a discussion, complete with neural-feed visual aids, of Hannibal’s Italian tactics. Sarah Meir sat with him, listening in and reaching down occasionally to scratch the ears of Hector’s huge half-lab, half-rottweiler bitch Tinker Bell as she drowsed at her master’s feet.

  Colin returned Jiltanith’s beer, and his smile grew warmer as her eyes gleamed at him. Yes, she’d been right—just as she’d been right to insist they make their own “surprise” announcement at the close of the festivities. And thank God he’d been firm with Dahak! He didn’t know how she would have reacted to Jiltanith-Colfranmac, but he knew how he would have felt over Colinfrancismacintyre-Jil!

  “Supralight shutdown in ten minutes,” Dahak announced into the fiery tension of Command One’s starlit dimness, and Colin smiled tightly at Jiltanith’s holo image, trying to wish she were not far away in Command Two.

  He inhaled deeply and concentrated on the reports and commands flowing through his neural feed. Not even the Terra-born among Dahak’s well-drilled crew needed to think through their commands these days. Which might be just as well. There had been no hails or challenges, but they’d been thoroughly scanned by someone (or something) while still a full day short of Birhat.

  Colin would have felt immeasurably better to know what had been on the other end of those scanners … and how whatever it was meant to react. One thing they’d learned at Kano: the Fourth Empire’s weaponry had been, quite simply, better than Dahak’s best. Vlad and Dahak had done all they could to upgrade their defenses, but if an active Fleet Central was feeling belligerent, they might very well die in the next few hours.

  “Sublight in three minutes.”

  “Stand by, Tactical,” Colin said softly.

  “Standing by, Captain.”

  The last minutes raced even as they trickled agonizingly slowly. Then Colin felt the start of supralight shutdown in his implants, and suddenly the stars were still.

  “Core tap shutdown,” Dahak reported, and then, almost instantly, “Detection at ten light-minutes. Detection at thirty light-minutes. Detection at five light-hours.”

  “Display system,” Colin snapped, and the sun Bia, Birhat’s G0 primary, still twelve light-hours away, was suddenly ringed with a system schematic.

  “God’s Teeth!”

  Jiltanith’s whisper summed up Colin’s sentiments admirably. Even at this range, the display was crowded, and more and more light codes sprang into view with mechanical precision as Sarah took them in at half the speed of light. Dahak’s scanners reached ahead, adding contact after contact, until the display gleamed with a thick, incredible dusting of symbols.

  “Any response to our presence, Dahak?”

  “None beyond detection, sir. I have received no challenges, nor has anyone yet responded to my hails.”

  Colin nodded. It was a disappointment, for he’d felt a spurt of hope when he saw all those light codes, but it was a relief, as well. At least no one was shooting at them.

  “What the hell are all those things?” he demanded.

  “Unknown, sir. Passive scanners detect very few active power sources, and even with fold-space scanners, the range remains very long for active systems, but I would estimate that many of them are weapon systems. In fact—”

  The computer paused suddenly, and Colin quirked an eyebrow. It was unusual, to say the least, for Dahak to break off in the middle of a sentence.

  “Sir,” the computer said after a moment, “I have determined the function of certain installations.”

  An arc of light codes blinked green. They formed a ring forty light-minutes from Bia—no, not a ring. As he watched, new codes, each indicating an installation much smaller than the giants in the original ring, began to appear, precisely distanced from the circle, curving away from Dahak as if to embrace the entire inner system. And there—there were two more rings of larger symbols, perpendicular to the first but offset by thirty degrees. There were thousands—millions—of the things! And more were still appearing as they came into scanner range, reaching out about Bia in a sphere.

  “Well? What are they?”

  “They appear, sir,” Dahak said, “to be shield generators.”

  “They’re what?” Colin blurted, and he felt Vlad Chernikov’s shock echoing through the engineering sub-net.

  “Shield generators,” Dahak repeated, “which, if activated, would enclose the entire inner system. The larger stations are approximately ten times as massive as the smaller ones and appear to be the primary generators.”

  Colin fought a sense of incredulity. Nobody could build a shield with that much surface area! Yet if Dahak said they were shield generators, shield generators they were … but the scope of such a project!

  “Whatever else it was, the Empire was no piker,” he muttered.

  “As thou sayst,” Jiltanith agreed. “Yet methinks—”

  “Status change,” Dahak said suddenly, and a bright-red ring circled a massive installation in distant orbit about Birhat itself. “Core tap activation detected.”

  “Maker!” Tamman muttered, for the power source which had waked to sudden life was many times as powerful as Dahak’s own.

  “New detection at nine-point-eight light-hours. I have a challenge.”

  “Nature?” Colin snapped.

  “Query for identification only, sir, but it carries a Fleet Central imperative. It is repeating.”

  “Respond.”

  “Acknowledged.” There was another brief silence, and then Dahak spoke again, sounding—for once—a bit puzzled. “Sir, the challenge has terminated.”

  “What do you mean? How did they respond?”

  “They did not, sir, beyond terminating the challenge.”

  Colin raised an eyebrow at Jiltanith’s holo-image, and she shrugged.

  “Ask me not, my Colin. Thou knowest as much as I.”

  “Yeah, and neither of us knows a whole hell of a lot,” he muttered. Then he drew a deep breath. “Dahak, give me an all-hands link.”

  “Acknowledged. Link open.”

  “People,” Colin told his crew, “we’ve just responded to a challenge—apparently from Fleet Central itself—and no one’s shooting at us. That’s the good news. The bad news is no one’s talking to us, either. We’re moving in. We’ll keep you informed. But at least there’s something here. Hang loose.

  “Close link, Dahak.”

  “Link closed, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Colin said, and leaned back, rubbing his hands up and down the arm rests of his couch as he stared at the crowded, enigmatic display. More light codes were still appearing as Dahak moved deeper in-system, and the active core tap’s crimson beacon pulsed at their center like a heart.

  “Well, we found it,” Colin said, rising from the captain’s couch to stretch hugely, “but God knows what it is.”

  “Aye.” Jiltanith once more manned her own console in Command Two, but her hologram sat up and swung its legs over the side of her couch. “I know not what chanced here, my Colin, but glad am I Geb is not here to see it.”

  “Amen,” Colin said. He’d once wondered why Geb was the only Imperial with a single-syllable name. Now, thanks to Jiltanith and Dahak’s files, he knew. It was the custom of his planet, for Geb had been one of those very rare beings in Battle Fleet: a native-born son of Birhat. It was a proud distinction, but one Geb no longer boasted of; his part in the mutiny had been something like George Washington’s grandson proclaiming himself king of the United States.

  “But whate’er hath chanced, these newest facts do seem stranger still than aught else we have encountered.” Ji
ltanith coiled a lock of hair about her index finger and stared at Command Two’s visual display, her eyes perplexed.

  With good reason, Colin thought. In the last thirty-two hours, they’d threaded deeper into the Bia System’s incredible clutter of deep-space and orbital installations until, at last, they’d reached Birhat itself. There should have been plenty of room, but the Bia System had not escaped unscathed. Twice they passed within less than ten thousand kilometers of drifting derelicts, and that was much closer than any astrogator cared to come.

  Yet despite that evidence of ruin, Colin had felt hopeful as Birhat herself came into sight, for the ancient capital world of the Imperium was alive, a white-swirled sapphire whose land masses were rich and green.

  But with the wrong kind of green.

  Colin sat back down, scratching his head. Birhat lay just over a light-minute further from Bia than Terra did from Sol, and its axial tilt was about five degrees greater, making for more extreme seasons, but it had been a nice enough place. It still was, but there’d been a few changes.

  According to the records, Birhat’s trees should be mostly evergreens, but while there were trees, they appeared exclusively deciduous, and there were other things: leafy, fern-like things and strange, kilometer-long creepers with cypress-knee rhizomes and upstanding plumes of foliage. Nothing like that was supposed to grow on Birhat, and the local fauna was even worse.

  Like Earth, Birhat had belonged to the mammals, and there were mammals down there, if not the right ones. Unfortunately, there were other things, too, especially in the equatorial belt. One was nearly a dead ringer for an under-sized Stegosaurus, and another one (a big, nasty looking son-of-a-bitch) seemed to combine the more objectionable aspects of Tyrannosaurus and a four-horned Triceratops. Then there were the birds. None of them seemed quite right, and he knew the big Pterodactyl-like raptors shouldn’t be here.

  It was, he thought, the most God-awful, scrambled excuse for a bio-system he’d ever heard of, and none of it—not a single plant, animal, saurian, or bird they’d yet examined—belonged here.