Winds of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  “I’m well aware of that, Lieutenant. But if that reading is a communication of some kind, it has to be an imperial ship.” He hesitated. “Or a completely new contact.”

  “Active scanners on full, Captain. Forty seconds to complete full sweep.”

  Heflin nodded. A few seconds later: “Launch a spread of probes.” Hurley’s captain had never encountered a hostile spaceship; he’d never been in combat. But he was cautious…and he wasn’t about to take any chances.

  “Yes, Captain. Launching probes now.” There was a hint of skepticism in Ventnor’s voice, but Heflin disregarded it. His mind drifted back to the Academy, to the instructors, combat veterans all, pounding away over and over again at the same thing. Carelessness loses more battles than anything else.

  “Probes reporting back, sir. No conta…” Ventnor’s head snapped around. “Contact at 324.121.089. Low energy output, jamming pattern…”

  Heflin felt his stomach tighten.

  “Captain, scanning profile suggests a stealth probe. The AI assigns a forty-three percent probability it is the database entry for First Imperium type 171A stealth unit.”

  Heflin could feel the tension on the bridge. The fear.

  The First Imperium was history to officers his age, stories told to frighten children. He’d seen the monuments, read the accounts of the great journey to Earth Two. He knew two-thirds of those who were trapped behind the Barrier died before the Regent was defeated.

  Enemy ships had continued to attack for years after the Regent’s destruction, surviving flotillas that had never gotten the final destruct command, following the last orders they had received. But even these battles petered out after four or five years…and the last one had occurred twenty years before.

  “Get me a lock on that probe, Lieutenant.” Heflin’s voice was firm, tough. “And bring the ship to battlestations.”

  “Yes, sir.” She punched a few keys, and an instant later, the lamps on Hurley’s bridge bathed the bridge in a glowing red light. A few seconds later: “Captain, we have a firing solution.”

  Heflin stared straight ahead. He felt an urge to try and capture the probe, to study it.

  But that thing is scanning us even now, sending information to some force somewhere. I need to stop it now.

  “Main batteries…prepare to fire.”

  * * *

  Discovery. The stealth function had failed. The enemy vessel had changed course…it was moving to intercept. And it was powering up its weapons.

  The AI’s routines activated as data came in. The stealth directives were overruled. The probe was unarmed. There was no doubt. It would be destroyed or captured. And capture wasn’t an option its directives allowed.

  It prepped the self-destruct procedure, preparing to release containment in the small reactor that powered it. But there was one directive to complete first.

  It powered up the reactor, increasing output well beyond the base maintenance levels the stealth mode had allowed. It prepped the message, a wide area communique to the ships hiding in the periphery of the system…waiting for this very warning.

  The reactor hummed to full power, and the AI directed the entire output into the transmission. The signal was strong, powerful. It would reach the waiting ships within hours…and then they would respond.

  The AI moved through its routines, the designated procedure for enemy contact. It launched a series of small drones. They weren’t weapons. But they would blanket this area of space with a dense jamming signal. They were antimatter-powered, capable of operating indefinitely…and following the target ship if it moved. They were tiny, difficult to locate and target. And there were dozens of them.

  The AI wasn’t sentient, but it felt something akin to satisfaction. Though it knew its own destruction was imminent, it was completing the task it had been created to perform. It didn’t feel, and the routines now running didn’t experience satisfaction as sentient beings knew the sensation. But it was a close approximation.

  The probe shook as the drones launched. The AI waited, monitoring the devices, waiting until they were out of the danger zone. Then, without hesitation, without unnecessary delay or analysis, it dropped the reactor containment field.

  * * *

  “Readings coming in now, sir. That blast was over ten gigatons.” Ventnor was working her controls frenetically, reacting as the data flooded in to Hurley’s bridge. She’d reported a strange energy spike from the probe, along with her guess that it was some kind of communication. That assessment was confirmed by the ship’s AI a moment later. Then her scanners picked up more than forty launches from the probe, some type of drones. Her first fear was they were missiles, or some other type of weapon, and she’d reported that to the captain. But then the jamming started.

  Heflin watched his tactical officer. He knew her scanners were hit hard by the interference. She could barely detect the probe…and she’d lost the drones entirely. But the massive explosion had come through cleanly, and from the amount of energy discharged, there was little doubt about what had happened. The probe had self-destructed.

  “Active scanners on full power, Lieutenant. Advise engineering I want one zero five on the reactor. Now.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Heflin stared straight ahead at the main display. The screen was staticky, the effects of the jamming. He needed more power…and he considered changing his order and directing his engineer to go to one hundred ten percent on the reactor. But he hesitated. There was a threat out there, that seemed obvious…and if he pushed too hard and the reactor scragged, Hurley wouldn’t have a chance if it came to a fight.

  But a fight against what? Is this really the First Imperium?

  “Anything on the scanners, Lieutenant?”

  “Negative, sir…but with these jammers, I wouldn’t rely on that too much.”

  Heflin held back a sigh. He wanted to know what was out there. But he knew what he had to do, what his duty required. There was something out here…the First Imperium, another alien race, even a renegade group within the Republic. Whatever it was, he had to get word back to Earth Two.

  “Let’s try to clear this interference, Lieutenant. Engines at fifty percent, 30g. Let’s decelerate and prepare to come around and head back through the warp gate.”

  “Yes, sir.” A second later: “Captain, we’re picking something up. Multiple contacts, moving in from the outer system.” She paused, staring down at the readouts. “It’s all pretty spotty, sir, but I’d guess we’ve got a squadron of ships incoming. Fast.”

  Heflin felt his blood turn to ice. What had they found?

  Or what has found us?

  “Numbers? Mass of each contact? Power output? Anything you can get, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s hard sir, with the jamming. I think there are nine…no, wait, ten. Mass is tough at this range, but I’d guess roughly similar to our own.” A pause. “They’re coming right at us, Captain.”

  Heflin felt himself lose control, to give in to fear, uncertainty. But it only lasted a second. Then the training kicked in. He’d never faced an enemy outside of a simulator, but this was the real thing…this was what all the exercises and the years at the Academy had prepared him for.

  You hope it prepared you…

  “Full thrust, Lieutenant. Let’s try for 70g. Course 101.184.345…back through the warp gate.”

  Chapter Two

  Excerpt from President Harmon’s Address on the Thirtieth Anniversary of the Landing

  Those of us who undertook the great journey here and, against all odds, made it through the fire to reach our new home, remember the sacrifices that ensured the fleet’s survival. We remember Admiral Hurley and Barret Dumont…and the thousands of others who died in battle so that the fleet might survive. And, of course, we remember Admiral Compton, as we always will. Even the youngest among us must feel as though they’d served at his side. His image looks down on us from the great statue in the common. His exploits are thick in every curriculum in our educa
tional program. More than any one man or woman, we owe our survival to this extraordinary man, and we will never forget the debt we owe to him.

  But for this one day, I would like to talk about a different man than the famous admiral we all know. I would like to speak about a man I served closely with, one who was my mentor, my friend. We all know Terrance Compton was a brilliant commander, a man clearly born to lead a warrior’s life. But we must also remember he was a man, one with his own emotions. His own thoughts and fears. And desires. Admiral Compton suffered when we were cut off at the Barrier, even as the rest of us did. He left behind a woman he loved…and his greatest friend, a man who had been a brother to him for fifty years, Admiral Augustus Garret. But he never let his emotions interfere with his duty, and always he put the survival of the fleet above all.

  As with so many heroes, his greatness walked hand in hand with tragedy. He found new love, a solace that was to last far too brief a time. He died just short of reaching Earth Two, just as the deadly threat of the First Imperium was defeated. He never walked the hills of this green and lush world. He never knew the calm of peace. He never saw his son.

  But I choose to remember another side of the great admiral, that of Terrance Compton, my friend. The greatest poker player the Alliance navy has ever known…and a man who found solace playing cards with his officers. The man I came to rely upon when fear and uncertainty threatened to overwhelm me. My father died at the Slaughter Pen when I was at the Academy…but life granted me a second chance, a man I would come to look upon as a second father.

  So, as we celebrate our survival, and all we have accomplished during the past thirty years, let us always remember those who sacrificed all so that we could have this second chance. And as we struggle with our own issues, and the divisions that plague our society, I call upon all of you to remember that the fleet included forces from nine different nations, and that many who served together, who died together, had once been enemies. Let us all use this as an inspiration…and a way to see past the issues that divide us. For we are more alike than different, and the future of this young world is in our hands. It is up to us to decide if we are to pass down to our descendants a happy and prosperous world…or one divided and plagued by the scourge of war, even as Earth itself was.

  I pledge to do all I can to see that our new world, our home, becomes all that Earth was not. United rather than divided. Prosperous rather than poor. Free rather than choking under the rule of totalitarianism and brutal oligarchies. And I ask each of you, Natural Borns and Tanks, Mules and Earthers, Pilgrims and Next Gens…let us come together…let us recapture the spirit that built this world, the united strength of one people, together, boldly facing the future.

  Presidential Residence

  Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 10.14.30

  “I didn’t realize you were awake.” Max Harmon’s voice was hoarse. He hadn’t been asleep for hours, and now he was sitting up on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. He’d tried to be quiet, not wanting to disturb Mariko, but then he felt her hand on his back.

  She leaned in and kissed him on the side of the neck. “Who could sleep when you start thrashing around like that?”

  He turned and looked back at her. “That bad?”

  She smiled and nodded. “I’ve been losing sleep to your thrashing and your nightmares for thirty years, my love, but I’d put last night in the top five.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry, Mar. Things are…well, they’re just…” His voice trailed off.

  “That bad? Really?”

  He nodded. “I think so. We’ve had problems before, but I have to call an election soon—they’re already calling me ‘tyrant’ and ‘king.’ But I’m not sure I can win this time. That’s why I’ve waited so long.”

  “Would losing be such a bad thing?” Mariko looked up at him. “You’ve certainly done your part…and I wouldn’t mind having my husband all to myself for a while.” She paused. “We’ve always talked about building a place on the coast. We never did it when the girls were still kids, but maybe we should think about it again. Leave the politics behind. You were always a naval officer at heart anyway, not a politician.”

  Mariko’s voice cracked when she mentioned their children. Greta and Camille were great kids, and Harmon knew his wife loved them unconditionally, as he did. But they were only two…and on a world where increasing the population was virtually a religion, that was abnormally low. Not quite sociopathic, perhaps, but it had been a political handicap if nothing else. Mariko had been a fighter pilot, indeed she’d commanded the fighter corps after Greta Hurley had been killed, and she’d been exposed to massive doses of radiation taking her birds in on close attack runs. The two kids they’d managed to have were almost medical miracles, and Harmon was glad and grateful for them. But he knew Mariko had suffered terribly with the half-dozen miscarriages she’d had…and she felt guilty she hadn’t been able to have any more children. And he knew he was partly at fault there…it was his government that had promoted large families, turned reproduction into a virtual civic duty.

  He paused, putting his hand on her cheek. “I love you…you know that?” He sighed softly. “But you know I can’t just quit. If I step down, all hell will break loose. Every faction will fight for the presidency…and the one that wins will impose its agenda on the others. It could lead to civil war.”

  “It can’t be that bad…and you can’t be the only person who can stop it. It’s not fair. You’ve done enough…it’s time for you to relax, enjoy your life. Get to know your daughters. They’ve grown up to be very successful young women, you know.”

  Harmon felt the jab…and he suspected his wife would have chosen her words with more care if she’d realized just how deeply her thrust cut at him. He’d grown up the son of a Marine hero and one of the navy’s up and coming admirals. He’d loved both his parents, but he could also count the few times they were together as a family for more than the length of carefully scheduled leaves. He had always regretted that he hadn’t come to know his father better before the officer was killed in action. He still remembered calling him ‘colonel,’ not the warmest father-son dynamic for a young boy. And his relationship with his mother had always been fraught with a level of background tension he wished hadn’t been there.

  And now you’ve done the same thing to your children. They love you…but how many times were you too busy to spend time with them? How many years did you talk of stepping down and building that beach house? Since Greta was five? Six? Now it’s too late. Those years are gone. And still, here you are, trapped, wanting out but not seeing any path for escape…

  “Mariko…I would like nothing more than that. But you know I can’t. I owe it to…”

  “Admiral Compton. Yes, I know.”

  “I can’t let things fall apart, Mariko. Not after all he sacrificed to give us this chance.”

  “That sounds great, Mr. President, but don’t forget, I know you. And I knew Terrance too. The last thing he would have wanted was for you to become trapped like this.” She paused. “Like he was.” She put her hand on his cheek and turned his face toward her. “If he was here, he’d be the first one to give you a first class dressing down.”

  Harmon nodded. “I know…everything you say is true. But things are bad now, Mariko. If we’re not careful, our budding young civilization could fracture. We could create our own nightmare, one that will take more than a beach house to escape. What about the girls, about their futures? How can I turn away now and risk leaving nothing to them but the prospect of war and death? You know what Earth was like, the constant war, the battles over colony worlds. It took the threat of the First Imperium to force mankind to stop fighting itself. And with that threat gone, we are back on that self-destructive trajectory. Is that what you want for them? For their children?”

  Mariko sighed softly. “No, of course not. You really think things are that bad?”

  Harmon paused, looking out across the room. The d
awn light was just beginning to stream through the windows, illuminating the plush furnishings. Max Harmon had been the president of the Republic of Earth Two since it had been founded. He had initially opposed the idea of a state-owned residence for any government officials. He had seen what political power did to those who wielded it on Earth, and he was determined to resist the encroachment of privilege and preference for those who purported to serve the people. But, he’d found it increasingly difficult to hold that line, and those who governed Earth Two eventually gained the same kinds of perks politicians in the Superpowers had enjoyed, if far more restrained versions. It was just too difficult to fight off the efforts of the others in the government to vote themselves privileges, especially when he needed their support on more important matters. And the shadow of hypocrisy hovered in the back of his mind, as he was reelected term after term, becoming just the sort of entrenched politician he had always despised.

  “Yes.” His voice was grim. “I do think things are that bad.” He stared into his wife’s eyes. “In fact, I’m very afraid they’re worse than I know.”

  * * *

  “I mean no disrespect, Father, but we must act now. The government is in disarray…if we move immediately, we may be able to create a…more favorable administration.”

  Hieronymus Cutter looked up from his desk, pushing aside irritation at the manner of address. He’d told Achilles a hundred times to stop calling him ‘father,’ but to no avail. The man—and to Cutter’s point of view, Achilles was a man, just like any other—stood nearly two meters tall, looking almost like a marble statue. Achilles—and the rest of the Mules—shared many of the same extraordinary traits, including nearly-perfect physiques and formidable intellects, even by Cutter’s own extraordinary standards in that last department.

  Cutter had created the Mules, employing the science of the First Imperium to combine selected human DNA with reconstituted genetic material from the ancient race that had first colonized Earth Two. The alien technology was far beyond anything Earth science had mastered, and Cutter had employed it to maximize strengths…and virtually eliminate weaknesses. His creations, though he also hated using that word to describe them, represented a massive step forward for humanity, at least in his scientifically-based opinion.