by Jay Allan
“The analysis of the drone leaves no doubt. A force of First Imperium vessels intercepted Hurley, and presumably destroyed her. The operating assumption of the previous twenty years, that all First Imperium vessels had been destroyed by the Regent’s self-destruct command or in the fleet’s subsequent engagements against residual forces, has been proven false. We know Hurley was attacked by ten enemy ships, and that she engaged in a running fight while attempting to disengage.”
Isaiah Kemp was standing next to the large display screen, gesturing toward a series of diagrams as he spoke. He held a small tablet in his hand, but he had hardly referred to it during the presentation. It was clear he had memorized the data.
“Captain Heflin and his people managed to destroy several of their pursuers, but they were unable to clear the enemy jamming. The drones were a last ditch effort to get word back to Earth Two. From the condition of the drone, we can conclusively state that it was attacked. It is a reasonable assumption that all or most of the remainder of the drones were destroyed.”
Nicki Frette sat at the head of the table in the admiral’s conference room, watching her tactical officer brief the others. Many of the republic’s ship designs had done away with space-wasting facilities like large briefing rooms, resources that had become anachronistic in the age of vastly shrunken crews. But Compton had been built as a fleet flagship, and she maintained the extensive admiral’s office and conference facilities of the Yorktown class.
“We can only speculate as to Hurley’s fate, however the data provided, which includes acceleration factors for the pursuing enemy units, combined with the code omega designation attached to the drone, strongly suggest that she was overtaken and destroyed. AI analysis of the situation suggests a survival chance of less than one percent.”
“Thank you, Commander Kemp.” Frette turned and looked across the table. The captains of her heaviest ships were present…and the others were connected through the information network. “That brings you all up to date on the current situation. We are here to discuss our options and determine the fleet’s next action. Before we proceed, are there any questions?”
“You suggested enemy acceleration rates in excess of 80g. Does this mean we are facing antimatter-powered vessels?” It was Josie Strand, Captain of E2S Starfire.
Kemp turned and looked across the table. “With Admiral Frette’s permission, I will refer that question to Commander Minh.”
Frette nodded, and Ang Minh stood up. “There is no way to know that for sure, Captain Strand. Antimatter is the only fuel source known to us that can generate thrust of that magnitude and in the manner depicted in the drone data. Coupled with the fact that we know First Imperium ships utilize antimatter as a fuel source, and Captain Heflin’s statement that he believed he was facing imperial ships, it seems reasonable to infer that, first, we are indeed facing an antimatter-capable enemy, and second, it is likely the First Imperium, at least in some capacity.”
“Would you care to assign a percentage likelihood to your assertion?”
Minh glanced at Frette. The admiral paused for a second, and then she nodded. Josie Strand was a brilliant young officer, one of the smartest Frette had ever encountered…but her mathematician’s mind was always trying to reduce diverse possibilities and options to mathematically definable terms. If she ever learned to counterbalance her computer-like brain with some ability to follow her gut, Frette knew she would be truly formidable.
“Well, Captain, any number I give you can only be considered an estimate, based on instinct as well as data…but I would say there is a ninety percent chance we are dealing with the First Imperium. Or some entity closely related to it.”
Frette could see the expressions on her officers’ faces, and she could almost hear the questions they were going to ask. She hated to shut down the debate, but there wasn’t time to waste with pointless chatter. If they were dealing with the First Imperium, they had to make some decisions. Now.
“Before we get too deep into fringe possibilities, let’s assume we are facing a First Imperium force. We have no data to suggest the size or the power of what is opposing us, no idea what they know about us, save that they discovered and presumably destroyed Hurley.”
She looked down the table, staring intently at each officer in turn. “So the first question is crucial. What do we do? Press on and try to gain more intel? Or return to Earth Two immediately?”
“Do we have enough force to proceed, Admiral? Certainly we do if there are only seven enemy vessels remaining, but what if Hurley faced only a portion of an enemy force?” Raj Chandra spoke slowly. Chandra was the commander of Excalibur, one of Frette’s battleships. He was another Pilgrim and an old comrade, and she had long found his low-pitched and accented voice almost hypnotic.
“We have no idea what we face.” Strand looked at Frette as she interjected her own answer, and then back to Chandra. “Indeed, an analysis of the situation strongly suggests the enemy force numbers more than the seven vessels remaining after Hurley’s destruction. Captain Heflin was clear that his people had found an enemy probe before the detected any vessels. The mathematical probability is strong that the ships that engaged Hurley were some kind of sentries, hiding in the outer system waiting for an alert. This was a common tactic of the First Imperium both during the war back in human space and the fleet’s journey across imperial space. As such, based on Hurley’s analysis that the system in question was unlikely a particularly important—or even inhabited—one, it seems highly likely that multiple systems are thus protected, and this implies enemy strength many times that of the single squadron that engaged Hurley.”
“I am inclined to agree with Captain Strand.” Hiroki Akira sat at the far end of the table. Akira was a Pilgrim like Frette and Chandra, and he skippered Legatus, the second largest ship in the fleet. “I think we have to proceed under the operating assumption that we are facing a more substantial enemy force than was typical of the incursions after the destruction of the Regent. Perhaps there was a node of colonization out here we didn’t know about…or some larger force that had been deployed far beyond the conventionally accepted imperial border.”
Frette nodded. She agreed completely with Akira and Strand. Indeed, she realized she’d been hoping her officers would come up with alternative suggestions, relieve her of the realization that she was likely facing the most dangerous First Imperium force since the old fleet had arrived at Earth Two. She respected all her officers, but Akira and Chandra were older, more experienced…and almost alone among her task force’s ship commanders, the two men had actually fought against the First Imperium.
“I agree. If we move forward, we do so against unknown odds. We have a strong force, a significant portion of the republic’s navy. I believe we can face and defeat a First Imperium fleet of considerable size. On the other hand, if we return, what could we then do? We would have no more concrete data than we do now, and we will find ourselves having this same discussion. It is unlikely we could mount a larger expedition, not materially so. Not without leaving Earth Two virtually undefended. We have an idea now where enemy forces are located, but we can’t know what other squadrons are out there, what navigational knowledge they have…or what approaches to Earth Two they could take. So, returning only makes sense if we are prepared to remain there, and wait for the enemy to find us and attack. If we are to move against them, to learn what we truly face and strike at them…then we will never have a better opportunity than now.”
Frette paused. She could feel her defiance growing, the old sensations…determination, anger, fear. She was discussing options with her commanders, but she was the admiral…and she had already decided what she was going to do. For the first time in twenty years, a republic fleet was going into battle.
“We will move forward. We will find what we up against and, if possible, we will destroy it. But there is one thing we must do first. We have to get word back to Earth Two, to warn them of what we have found.” She paused, looking aroun
d the table. “But we will take the initiative. If there is a substantial First Imperium presence out here, it is likely that they are also surprised by the encounter. Perhaps we can strike before they can consolidate their forces.”
“I agree, Admiral. Since we have not been attacked for over twenty years, it is likely this group of enemy vessels was unaware of our presence. Thus, it is possible they are widely deployed, while the task force is concentrated. A rapid strike might allow us to engage their forces piecemeal rather than allowing them time to organize…and attack us at a time of their own choosing.”
Strand’s voice was firm, not a hint of doubt evident. Frette found herself envying her officer’s coldness. She didn’t share Strand’s ability to make a calculation and then accept it without doubt or fear. She respected Josie Strand, but the gifted young officer had never been in battle, never watched her friends and comrades dying. Hers was the confidence—almost cockiness—of one new to war, uninitiated into its brutal realities. Frette’s own mind was wracked with doubts, and she was questioning her every decision. But that was something she would never let her people see. They needed an admiral who seemed completely confident about every command…and that was what they were going to get.
“It’s settled then. We will send a courier vessel to Earth Two with a full report…and then we will move forward, following Hurley’s course through…”
The com unit buzzed. “Admiral Frette…we’re picking up an energy spike from the warp gate. The AI says we’ve got a transit in progress.” Ensign Roan’s voice was shaky, not surprising since the twenty-three year old junior officer was one of only two on duty on Compton’s bridge right now.”
Frette jumped up from her chair. “Bring the fleet to battlestations, Ensign.” She turned toward the assembled officers. “It looks like the enemy may have forced our hand. I think all of you should get back to your ships immediately.”
The officers at the table stood up and saluted. Frette returned it. Then she spun around and walked through the hatch, out onto Compton’s bridge.
She was going back into battle.
* * *
“What do you think is going to happen, sir? Do you think we’ll get the orders?”
The barracks was quiet, save for the questions, something Cameron couldn’t remember ever being the case over three years of service. Marines were noisy types, and there was always some kind of background buzz when the platoon was there. But not now.
“I don’t know, Sanchez. But do you know what I do know? Marines don’t worry about shit like that. We’re on alert for a reason, so you know the orders could damned well come any time. If we get the word, we move out. If not, we sit here. Why don’t you stop asking stupid questions, and do something useful? Would your gear pass muster if I called a snap inspection?”
“Yes, sir.” Sanchez’ reply sounded sharp, but Cameron suspected it was more a general response and not a suggestion the Marine’s bunk and locker were up to snuff. Sanchez was a bit of a hard case, in trouble fairly often and generally sloppier than Cameron tolerated in his unit. He’d almost bounced the big private more than once, but something had always stopped him. For all the Marine bluster, and the history the republic’s Corps borrowed from its Alliance counterpart, none of them save for the senior officers had ever been in real combat. They trained constantly, took the Marine credo to heart…but for all that, Cameron knew they were all just a bunch of cherries. And having never seen any of his Marines in combat, he knew if he had to pick one to be at his side when the shit hit the fan, it would be Antonio Sanchez.
Cameron stared down at the private. “What are you hoping for, Sanchez? You want this to blow over? Or does some part of you want to get into combat? Do you want to kill Mules, Sanchez?”
The Marine stared back at his CO, an uncomfortable look on his face. “I’m not afraid of combat, sir. I’m ready to go.” He paused. “But it just doesn’t seem right to be going up against the Mules. They’re a little weird and all, but they’re our own people, aren’t they?”
Sanchez had asked the question like the answer was obvious. But Cameron knew, as far as many people in the republic were concerned, it was far more complicated.
Certainly the Human Society would have a different point of view…
And how many others now, how many who are just afraid of what will happen, who take out that fear on the Mules…and what happens when the Human Society starts telling people the Tanks are the next ones who will rise up?
“Well, it’s too bad it’s not your decision, Sanchez, isn’t it? So, what do you say we just wait and then follow our orders…you know, the way they told us to in boot camp?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Cameron shook his head and walked down the middle of the barracks. As a sergeant, he’d had one of the cubbies at the end of the long row of bunks, but his lieutenant’s bars had come with a private room. He put his hand against the sensor and stood for a second as the hatch slid open. He turned his head and took one last look down the barracks. About half the Marines were asleep…or trying to sleep. The rest were mostly sitting on their bunks quietly. There were none of the usual card games, no raucous conversations, no old hands tormenting the new guys. Just an eerie semi-silence.
Cameron walked through the door into his small quarters. “Close.” The AI obeyed the command, and an instant later the door slid shut. Cameron unbuttoned his jacket, slipping it off and tossing it aside. The garment hit the chair he’d been aiming for, but it slid off and landed on the floor. It was a bit messy for the normally fastidious Marine, and typically he would have picked it up, but frankly, he didn’t give a shit right now. He was still thinking of his crèche-mate lying dead in the hospital, wondering how many Tanks would die this year from the Plague…and what exactly was being done to stop the scourge.
Cameron had never thought this way before. His platoon was just over half Tank, but he had almost two dozen NBs too, and there had never been any problems, no rivalries between them. Sanchez was an NB, and while the defiant Marine got under his skin from time to time, he’d never shown any sign of thinking less of his Tank comrades.
And what about the Mules? If we get the orders, will I march up there, threaten them with force? Will I shoot them down? Kill them because they want to perpetuate their kind, even as we do? Is it just for the government to deny them that right? To send Marines to crush them if they refuse to back down?
Cameron kicked off his boots and flopped down on the cot. He let out a deep breath, and he closed his eyes. He was exhausted…but he knew sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was too busy, thoughts of the Mules, the standoff with the government…the orders he knew could come any time.
But mostly he was thinking of Hector Fortis-Samuels, lying dead on that hospital bed.
Chapter Fourteen
Entry in Earth Two Main Database
Sudden Replicative Failure Syndrome—The Plague
The syndrome first appeared twenty-one years after the settlement of Earth Two. The first victim was twenty years old, one of the first wave of clones. Within two months there were over thirty cases. There was widespread fear, among the clones as well as natural born humans, concern that the terrible affliction was contagious, that it might spread beyond the clone population.
A state of emergency was declared, and enormous resources were committed to identifying the pathogen responsible. However, despite the efforts of the Enhanced Hybrids as well as the mainstream medical community, no bacteria or virus has ever been discovered, nor has any effective treatment been developed.
As time passed, the incidence rate leveled off, and the disease remained entirely one affecting clones. As the fear of a massive epidemic faded, research efforts were reduced to sustainable levels, and this increased the tension between clones and naturally-born humans. There were scattered clone-led protests, and legislative efforts to increase funding, but the unrest was quelled with a modest increase in research levels. Tension remained between the clones and
natural born humans, but a potentially violent breach was averted. Nevertheless, the dispute over research resources has been a considerable component of the general increase in tensions between clones and natural born citizens.
Recent research suggests that the Plague is more of an undetectable defect of the cloning process than a conventional disease. It is now anticipated that the affliction is hardwired into the genetics of every clone destined to be struck down by it, a hidden failure of the cloning process, but despite considerable effort, no reliable detection protocol has been developed.
The syndrome causes extreme pain, and median time from onset to death is seventy-four hours. In the final stages, victims’ cells literally break down, causing organ failure and brain death. The incidence of the disease varies widely by genetic line, with the clones of some DNA donors far more susceptible than others…
Flag Bridge, E2S Compton
System G-35, Eleven Transits from Earth Two
Earth Two Date 11.26.30
“It’s confirmed, Admiral. First Imperium ships. Putting them through the database now.” Kemp’s face was pressed against the scope. “It’s strange…they’re close matches for the recorded imperial ship classes…forty-four Gremlins and Twenty-eight Gargoyles. But none of them are exact matches. There are minor discrepancies…slight mass differentials, higher power readings.”
Frette was looking at the main screen. The data displayed there was telling her the same thing. The ships were almost matches for the vessels the fleet had fought against, but not quite.
“Maybe they’re newer designs…or older ones.” She was a little concerned about the anomaly, but mostly she was relieved that enemy ships had stopped coming through the warp gate. It was a substantial force, but they were all light ships, no Leviathans or Colossuses, and that meant her task force could beat them. She only had forty-three ships, but six of them were heavy battle line units…and Compton was bigger and tougher than an imperial Leviathan. She even fancied that her flagship could take on a Colossus one on one and come out the winner…though she preferred that as a theoretical matchup. She’d seen an imperial Colossus in action, and she’d be happy if she never saw one again. But against a group of destroyer and cruiser equivalents, her flagship and its smaller but still powerful cousins on the battle line would unleash hell.
