Even with compressed-matter armor, that salvo had to hurt. All twenty-four weapons were still on their way…the A!Tol hadn’t even been trying to shoot down her weapons. That made no sense…
Still kilometers short of their target, Tornado’s missile salvo ran into some kind of invisible barrier in the void, exploding in shockingly bright releases of kinetic energy as the impossibly fast weapons ran into some kind of equally impossible barrier.
“They have some kind of energy shield,” Rolfson exclaimed. “That’s not possible.”
“So were our missiles ten years ago,” Annette said grimly. “Did anything get through?”
“Negative, ma’am. Hard to say if we even made them twitch.”
She studied the salvos in view with hard eyes. There had to be something they could do. All of the salvos so far had been launched widely, set up to have dozens of missiles converge on a target at once to give active defenses the biggest possible headache. It might not help, but they could at least do something different.
“Rolfson, retask any of our missiles you can still adjust to try and hit the same spot on C-Five’s shields,” she ordered. “Then sequence our launchers to send a steady stream at that point until either we hit that ten percent of our magazines or something gives.”
The alien ships continued forward, as if the weapons Earth had thought were unimaginably powerful were useless toys. Further salvos focused their fire as the remaining four Terran battleships burned hard to close the range.
For several moments, the aliens simply took the fire, but as Alpha Squadron and Tornado continued to pour it on, they clearly passed some previously decided point. A second swarm of missiles blasted out, bearing down once more.
“We can portal out before they hit,” Amandine said quietly. “I don’t know if our missiles are doing anything.”
A stream of over sixty missiles was now lunging straight at the enemy cruiser designated C-5. Annette had no idea if it would work—but she also had no idea if Tornado could survive the salvo now heading her way.
“Do it.”
Moments later, the emitters flared to life and tore open a bright blue hole in reality. In a flash of impossible energy, Tornado vanished from the Sol system.
Chapter 8
Jean watched Alpha Squadron desperately try to close the range with the alien ships, their engines flaring to levels he knew were dangerous to the crews, and wished he could call them off.
It was too late now. Everything he saw was a minute or more out of date, and any orders he sent would take as long to arrive.
“Mon Dieu,” he whispered as the second swarm of missiles blazed out, so much faster than anything Earth could muster in her own defense. “Pardonne-moi. J’avais tort.”
Forgive me. I was wrong.
He forced himself to watch. He’d sent Admiral Harrison and ten thousand men and women to their deaths—whether or not they could forgive him, he had to watch their fates.
As Alpha Squadron’s survivors charged for the center of the A!Tol formation, the alien ships simply…moved out of the way. Accelerating to forty percent of lightspeed, there was no way the invaders would be brought to a point where the battleships’ lasers could hit them.
Lines of light appeared on the main displays, the computers marking where Admiral Harrison’s people tried anyway. Lasers flashed in the void, missiles slammed into alien energy shields—and then the alien missiles reached their own targets.
Two more battleships died, even the compressed-matter plating over their vitals not enough to shrug aside the incoming fire, but Challenger and Enterprise had somehow survived, their armor shrugging aside multi-gigaton blows.
“Look!” someone exclaimed, and Jean’s gaze was drawn to one of the techs at the hastily assembled station for Tornado. “Bond got one!”
On main display at the center of the room, one of the red icons was breaking up—a cruiser, destroyed by the focused stream of fire Tornado had launched before she fled.
“Show me the replay,” the Admiral ordered. He needed to know how it would work. “And please tell me that Harrison is doing the same thing.”
A technician sitting near Jean gestured him over as he focused his screen on C-5 and set his screen back in time.
With every sensor in the Sol system trained on the alien fleet, they had a surprising level of detail on even the individual ships. The Admiral saw each missile coming crashing in as a bolt of light, and could see the shield react.
Coruscating patterns of light lit up part of an invisible sphere with each hit—and as the missiles struck home again and again in rapid sequence, the pattern spread larger each time. Then, suddenly, there was a hole in the center of the pattern, a black splotch with no light at the center of the glittering pattern.
Two missiles shot through the hole in the shields before it closed. They crossed the gap between the shields and the ship faster than Jean could comprehend and ripped through the half-kilometer-long cruiser like it was made of tissue paper.
“They have no armor,” he breathed. “Get through those shields…”
“Challenger is down,” someone announced. “Enterprise has lost engines; they are disabled.”
Remembering he was watching a recording, Jean turned his attention back to the main display.
Apparently, Harrison had been following Bond’s strategy. Another cruiser was missing—but the Terran force was down to a single battleship on a ballistic course.
“Order them to surrender,” he barked. “It’s over.”
There was a two-minute delay between what he saw and when they would receive his message. He hoped—he prayed—that they got it in time.
Ninety-six seconds after they lost their engines, Enterprise exploded. Four distinct fireballs emerged from her hull, vaporizing her hull plating and scattering the compressed-matter lacing into space as her reactors all went critical simultaneously.
Captain Montoya had self-destructed to prevent the A!Tol from going over his ship’s files.
“It’s over,” Admiral Jean Villeneuve, Chief of Operations for the United Earth Space Force, repeated heavily. “People!” he bellowed, attracting the attention of the command center crew. “It’s time,” he told them. “Go to Final Phase Weber Protocols. Wipe your computers and proceed to the civilian portion of the station.
“Disappear,” he ordered.
Around him, screens started to flicker and shut down as the final system wipes took place.
“There’ll still be comms from your office,” the tech who’d shown him Tornado’s kill said quietly. “What do we do, sir?”
“If you don’t have an assignment under the Protocols, go home,” he told the young man. “Go home, and pray the conqueror’s boot is gentle. We’re done.”
#
Jean Villeneuve felt very old as he leaned against the window in his office, looking out over the now-dark screens and terminals of the UESF command center. The security system told him everyone was gone. He was alone now.
There wasn’t even much of a sensor feed anymore. At this phase of the Weber Protocols, the Dark Eye platforms had self-destructed and the UESF’s computer network was gone. He was still linked in to the Solar Traffic Control network, though, and it showed the cascades of escape pods and small craft from the ships still in Earth orbit—and the flash as the first self-destruct went off an abandoned ship.
He adjusted his sensor view to show him what they could see of the aliens. He was already sick to his stomach. He didn’t need to watch his fleet scuttle itself.
Jean intentionally knew nothing about the details of the Weber Protocols. If there was anyone the aliens were sure to interrogate about the resistance, it would be him. With a sigh, he returned to his computer and fired off a data packet containing everything they’d recorded of the final battle to the BugWorks station.
Hopefully, Elon Casimir could do something with it before he scuttled the secret research station.
The A!Tol continued their inexorabl
e approach at a speed he knew was crawling for them. He wished they’d just get it over with, charge into Earth orbit and force the situation. Even if they did, though, he still had to do what came next.
With the UESF computer network wiped—and, in some cases, physically destroyed—he didn’t have a lot of tools still available to him. Communications was really all he had left.
A few keystrokes brought up the same channel the A!Tol had used to communicate with Earth’s defenders. He checked the camera was working and checked his uniform was presentable. He might have to surrender to an alien conqueror, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t put on the best face possible.
“Fleet Lord Tan-tuck-Shallegh,” he greeted the alien, the words ashes in his mouth. “I am Admiral Jean Villeneuve, the commander of the United Earth Space Force. It is my charge to defend this world against any and all threats—of exactly the type you represent.
“Despite my oaths and my own desires, you have demonstrated that it is not possible for our forces to resist you. I am left with no choice but to offer the unconditional surrender of Earth’s defenders.”
He sighed. “I must warn you that while my surrender is technically binding on the national militaries on the surface, it is possible—indeed, likely—that it will not be honored by everyone. My surrender functionally dissolves my organization and removes my authority.”
The transmission left, carrying with it any hope of a free Earth. All he could do now was wait.
The response came surprisingly quickly—the strange alien must have responded as soon as he received the message. It seemed there was some urgency on the other side.
“Admiral Villeneuve,” Tan!Shallegh greeted him. “I accept your surrender with your noted codicils. I would have preferred to have reached this point without loss of life, but I understand the weight of oaths.
“My soldiers will be arriving to secure your station in a few minutes. I look forward to meeting you in person.”
Chapter 9
Tornado emerged into an empty void, roughly halfway between Sol and Alpha Centauri. With no stars within light-years, the light from the dissipating hyperspace portal was the only source of color.
When it faded, only the cruiser’s running lights picked out anything around them—but there wasn’t much to pick out. A scattering of loose dust, as lost between the stars as they were.
Annette grimaced. If even she was mentally devolving into goth poetry, her crew was probably worse. They’d just cut and run from the fight for their home, abandoning their world in the face of an apparently unstoppable enemy.
She needed them sharp and thinking.
“Rolfson,” she snapped. “I want your department on the Dark Eye data and whatever that dump from BugWorks was. I’ll unlock it for you as soon as I get a chance, but also make sure your people get a meal into them first.
“There’s no point in rushing anything.” She sighed and shook her head. “No point at all, really. Unless something comes up, I won’t expect a briefing until tomorrow evening.”
“Understood, ma’am,” the bearded officer said slowly. “Anything in particular we should look for?”
“Think like a pirate, Harold,” Annette said dryly. “Mainly? As much detail on where we’re likely to find anything out here as you can pull together.”
“Arrr, ma’am,” he replied. It was a sad, pathetic, thing—but it was an attempt at humor that got a few weak smiles from the bridge crew.
“Chan, I’m going to need an all-hands announcement,” she told her com officer. “Our people need to know what’s going on.”
The tiny Chinese woman tapped a few commands on her screen then looked up at Annette and nodded silently.
“People, this is Captain Bond,” Annette said into her headset microphone. “I know not to underestimate the rumor mill. I should have told you before, but I think we’re all still in a bit of shock.”
They had been in hyperspace for hours, but she didn’t think anyone had done anything but stare at their screens in that time. She certainly hadn’t.
“As the rumor mill has had plenty of time to spread, we have left the Sol system. While the battle was ongoing when we left, I have no reason to believe we were victorious. It is almost certain that the full Weber Protocols have been activated and we are now the last remaining capital ship of the United Earth Space Force.”
She paused, letting that sink in.
“While I’m sure there are doubters among you, I can’t imagine most of you think I made this choice on my own. We received orders prior to the engagement with the A-tuck-Tol to do just this. Admiral Villeneuve has provided an authorization and mission once known as a letter of marque and reprisal.
“We have been charged to become privateers, seeking out and capturing A-tuck-Tol shipping and technology. My orders are to raid military shipping, steal technology and learn about our enemy.
“Our final objective is to gather enough knowledge and technology to be able to return to Earth and drive the A-tuck-Tol from our world. This will take time. This will take effort, blood, sweat and tears from us all.
“Our mission may well end in our deaths, far from home and forgotten,” she warned her people. “But we are also Earth’s only remaining hope.”
She paused, wondering if there was more she should say, then shook her head.
“Thank you,” she told them. “We will go home. We will save Earth. I promise you.”
#
The files from Dark Eye and Orbit One opened instantly to Annette’s codes. They were little more than direct data dumps, sensor data organized by date. There was some analysis in the Orbit One file, but nothing that leapt out as “the captain must read this now.”
She forwarded those files to Rolfson for his team to review. Tornado had some truly amazing computer support, which, combined with the team her tactical officer had combed from the best of the UESF, should allow him to pull something useful from the data.
Annette intentionally left the data dump from Nova Industries for last. If anyone was going to include any surprises for her, it would be Elon Casimir. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest that the moment she typed in her old Nova Industries security code, her screen promptly faded into a video.
The long-haired chubby face of her former employer faced the screen from a room she recognized as his office in the BugWorks facility.
“As I record this message, the A!Tol fleet has just sent their ultimatum,” he began. Unlike any of Annette’s crew, he nailed the tongue click that was the closest any human could come to the beak snap in the middle of the word.
“You are receiving this message because Villeneuve has ordered you to flee the system and raid enemy shipping. The order hasn’t been given as I sit here, but these are the circumstances that call for that option.
“I must apologize, Annette. While Admiral Villeneuve and I had discussed Case Privateer, we never raised it with you. We hoped to have more time. Hoped that we’d have all four XC ships fully equipped and deployed at least, and that you wouldn’t be the only Captain we’d be sending off into the deep void.”
Casimir stood, the camera following him as he crossed the un-appointed office to a window looking out over the ring of the station. His office was in one of several “towers” originally built to expand working space on the spinning station. The station no longer rotated, but the towers made for a useful separation from the main ring.
“I know…I knew more than I told even you, let alone Villeneuve,” he confessed. “Of Course We’re Coming Back was only one of three survey ships. Hidden Eyes of Terra was…lost. Captured by the A!Tol, I believe. Oaths of Secrecy and Of Course We’re Coming Back scouted over a dozen systems and placed scanners in all of them.
“Oaths of Secrecy completed a sweep to pick up all of the data they’d acquired. Both the raw data and my people’s assessment are included. There are several systems and apparent trade routes that will be of value to your mission.
“Of Course We’re
Coming Back will be leaving shortly after you do, with whatever she can record of the final battle. Oaths of Secrecy is better able to hide herself. She’s going to hide in-system and try and learn what she can of how these A!Tol implement their conquest.”
He shook his head.
“Both of their Captains have been advised to place themselves at your disposal,” he told her. “They’re not warships, barely even useful as transports, but that’s two hulls you won’t have any other way. Of Course now has an interface drive. Oaths has the parts aboard to install one but is currently using ion thrusters for stealth.
“If we’d had more time, you’d have been pulled into the Case Privateer preparations inevitably just by having a hyperspace-capable ship. We’ve been using the two we have to place caches of supplies—munitions, fuel, food—in several systems. The largest is in Alpha Centauri and is where the survey ships are expected to meet you.”
Casimir stepped back to his desk, looking at the camera and appearing far older than his limited years as he appeared to consider saying something.
“I’ve known about the A!Tol Imperium for sixteen months,” he finally confessed. “I know…almost nothing about them except that they exist and that Earth was in their territory. We’re a very distant frontier at best, though, Annette. A privateering campaign may make it far too expensive for them to operate this far away from the core of their power.
“But”—he raised a finger—“there may also be some truth to the claim that their enemies would have come for us if they hadn’t. I know even less about them—only a name: the Kanzi. Your mission is to drive the A!Tol from our world, but you need to learn more about their enemies.
“I will back you against any enemy Earth faces, but I’d prefer we didn’t leap from the frying pan into the fire.
“We need data, Annette. Everything I know is included in the attachment to this message. Anything we learn later will be sent along with Of Course We’re Coming Back and Oaths of Secrecy. But…it’s all so little. We’re a tiny fish in a giant galaxy, and we don’t even know which way the current is going.
The Terran Privateer Page 6
