Winds of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  “Very well, Commander. Give Commander Willis my congratulations.” Her ship’s damage had been light, mostly minor burnouts spread over dozens of systems. Still, she knew it had taken a lot of work to get everything back up to full specs, and she was surprised how quickly Willis and his people had managed it.

  Strand stood erect, almost at attention, looking around the bridge. She was pleased with her people, with how they had conducted themselves in their first battle. There had been no panic, no indiscipline. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought she was watching a group of long service veterans in action.

  As if you had any idea what to expect. You were as much a cherry as the rest of them…

  Strand had studied the history of war, especially the recent accounts of the fleet’s flight from the Barrier to Earth Two. She’d read the chronology of events, and the analyses of the officers who’d written the histories…but mostly she’d focused on the journals, on the accounts of the men and women who had been there, in the heat of battle. She tended to distrust summaries and histories written after the fact.

  Josie Strand believed in being prepared for whatever she faced, and she’d done everything possible to ready herself for the experience of battle…even though she’d often doubted if she would ever see real conflict. For years, the republic had been at peace, without so much as a potential enemy out there in the emptiness of space. But now she’d seen war up close, felt the fear of the enemy. And she’d handled it, brought her ship and crew through it with flying colors. Only now, feeling the relief at that, did she realize how much the doubt had weighed on her.

  Strand looked up at the display. Starfire was moving along with the fleet formation, traveling at just under 0.1c. The force had been accelerating since transiting into the system, but then the order came to shut down all engines. Compton had to put her reactor down to complete repairs, and Admiral Frette wanted to keep the fleet together in a tight formation. They were still moving toward the warp gate during the shutdown, they just weren’t accelerating or decelerating.

  The officers and spacers whose writings Strand had studied had much to say about tactics, about handling fear and uncertainty. But the journals and reports were also full of accounts of the discomfort of space combat, of struggling to concentrate under six gees of pressure, or worse, under 30g, drugged and covered in goo in the old tanks.

  Technology had spared her generation such indignities, and the inertial dampeners and other new developments had banished much of the awkwardness from space combat. She wondered if the relative comfort was an edge to spacers her age…or if it made her comrades weaker, less capable than those who had come before and excelled under such difficult circumstances.

  Battles were still long…indeed, more efficient engines and reactors allowed fleets to emphasize maneuver, and she knew a fight had the potential to last for days as ships zipped past each other and then decelerated to come around for another pass. But even then, the application of First Imperium knowledge had aided in the development of a new generation of stimulants, safer and more effective than those used thirty years before. The basic equation hadn’t changed…you could still get strung out and suffer a litany of health issues from stimulant overuse. It just took longer.

  “Captain, Compton reports her repairs are complete. She will be reactivating her reactor shortly, and all ships are ordered to prepare to resume acceleration at 30g.”

  “Very well. Relay the order to engineering. Prepare for 30g.”

  She stared across the bridge at the main display. The G-43 system was profoundly uninteresting. Nothing but a red giant star, which had engulfed and incinerated any planets it had ever had. Nothing else. No asteroids, not even much in the way of comets and meteors. Just vast empty space.

  But it wasn’t where she was that consumed Strand’s mind. It was where she—all of them—were going that had her attention. Into the unknown. In search of an enemy as deadly as one pulled from mythology.

  She wasn’t a cherry anymore, she was a combat veteran, at least technically. But she’d fought in just a single battle, one where the outcome had never been in doubt. For all she and her people had come through it well, she still marveled at the strength of those from the lost fleet, the men and women who had gone into combat again and again, against insurmountable odds…and somehow prevailed.

  Be careful what you think…the same thing may be waiting for you out there…

  She held her stare on the screen, her mind racing ahead, imagining the systems still to come…and whatever might be waiting there.

  * * *

  The probe was silent, operating in full stealth mode. It had watched the enemy transit into the system as expected. The arrival of the enemy on this time frame was the highest probability outcome.

  It had been left behind by the advance force as it moved forward, and it had monitored the entry of the enemy ships into the system. The passive scanners provided limited data, but it seemed likely from the presence and size of the enemy fleet that the advance force had been destroyed. This was no problem, indeed, it was not entirely unexpected.

  The enemy ships were acting as expected, pushing forward along the course of their original scout vessel. The probe’s instructions were clear. To remain in place, near the primary, utilizing the intense radiation to enhance its stealth capabilities. Such parameters offered little chance to obtain meaningful data on the composition of the enemy fleet, but that wasn’t the probe’s purpose. It was only important to track the general movements, to confirm that the vessels were indeed following the projected course, that they were proceeding toward the trap that had been set for them.

  The probe recorded the data, preparing it for transmission to Vengeance One. But its com units remained silent. It was to send its report only after the enemy vessels had transited out of the system.

  Then it would carry out its last directive. It would self-destruct, leaving no trace that it had been there, that it had served its role in trapping the enemy, monitoring them as they moved toward their destruction.

  Chapter Twenty

  Victory City Security Forces

  Report of Recent Activity

  There have been seven incidents of vandalism in the past week. Six of the seven have involved damage to public facilities in the form of graffiti. The content of the messages strongly suggests this is the work of a radical group of Tanks. The lack of any evidence from surveillance systems implies the involvement of an individual of considerable ability in terms of hacking into and modifying the city’s security system. There are few Tanks with that level of education and experience in the computer field. The AI has flagged three possible suspects. Two NB suspects have also been identified, individuals suspected of participating in pro-Tank protests in the past. While no evidence yet exists to support charges against any of the individuals, arrest warrants have been issued for all five under the Emergency Security Act of Year Fourteen.

  Supreme HQ – “The Rock”

  Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 12.04.30

  “I’m worried, Max. We received two routine status updates, but nothing since. We should have heard at least once since then. Nicki…Admiral Frette…is extremely precise. She wouldn’t have missed a transmission. Not unless…”

  Harmon leaned back in the chair, looking over at the commander-in-chief of the republic’s navy. He’d known Erika West for a long time, and for many years he had been the junior of the two…until Harmon became the republic’s first—and to date only—president. He’d been a little concerned at first if it would be difficult for both of them, but West had never given the slightest indication that she resented his authority over her. He’d had more trouble with it, but she’d made it easy for him to adjust.

  “Don’t jump to any conclusions, Erika. You know our hypercom technology is rough. We can send messages through warp gates, but we can’t match the First Imperium’s use of the system, at least not yet. The reliability is pretty poor…any n
umber of things could have interfered with Nicki’s message.”

  Harmon wasn’t sure where the line stood between what he really believed and what he was telling West to make her feel better. He knew West had more than a comradely interest in Frette’s wellbeing, and truth be told, whatever he was saying, he was just as worried at the absence of a recent communique.

  The commanding admiral’s romantic relationship with her executive officer was a closely-kept secret, but Harmon was a good friend of both women, and he had known from the beginning. Fraternization between officers at different levels on the chain of command was a technical violation of regulations, but it was widely ignored in the republic’s navy…almost as much as it had been in the Alliance navy the two officers had served before. Still, Erika West tended to be a ‘by the book’ kind of officer, and she’d struggled with it for a while, balancing her feelings with her sense of duty. In the end, Harmon had spoken to her, told her after all they’d been through it would be insane to turn away any chance at happiness…and he had closed with the one line he knew West could not ignore. Admiral Compton would have approved.

  It was a bit of a dirty trick, invoking the legendary admiral’s spirit, and an especially potent one when he wielded it, being widely considered to be one of the two surviving members of the fleet who had been closest to Compton. But his intentions had been good. Both West and Frette had been through their share of suffering and pain during the fleet’s struggles, and he’d hadn’t wanted to see pointless regulations interfere with their chance at some happiness.

  “I know you’re telling me what you think I want to hear…but you always manage to make me feel better.” West’s voice was controlled, professional, as it always was. But Harmon knew she was hurting.

  “Look, Erika…we’re both worried about what is happening out there…but Nicki Frette is one of the most capable officers I’ve ever known, and she’s got a lot of power with her. I believe she can handle whatever she finds.”

  “I know you’re right.” West paused. “I just wish we’d hear something.”

  Harmon nodded and leaned back in his chair. West’s office was large, something he’d insisted on when the navy’s headquarters building had been built. Left to her own devices, he knew she’d have put her desk in a small windowless cubby somewhere. West wasn’t an officer who dealt comfortably with splendor and the trappings of office, at least not most of them. Harmon’s eyes moved toward the one luxury she had embraced, and included in her office by her own command…a small fireplace, even now crackling merrily as two logs burned in the stone hearth.

  “You haven’t given me any opinions on the standoff at the Mules’ compound.” Harmon thought a change of subject might help West. And he’d been anxious for her thoughts.

  “You haven’t asked for any.”

  Harmon looked across at his top admiral. For an instant he thought she was giving him a sarcastic answer, but then he reminded himself how straight laced West was…and how well she had slipped into the role of his subordinate instead of his superior.

  “I’m asking.”

  “Well, sir…” She’d been talking to her old friend moments before, but now she slipped into a more formal role, that of an admiral speaking to the president. “You know I am not inclined to tolerate rebellion…but…” She paused, turning her gaze away from Harmon toward the fire.

  “But what, Erika? My God, by now you should know you can say anything to me.”

  “Well, sir. Years ago I would have said send in the Marines, crush the revolt. But now…I’m just not so sure. First, they do have legitimate grievances, don’t they? We may deny that in public, and I understand why the things that were done were done. But between us, we know it wasn’t just.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Harmon sighed. He wished he’d fought this battle years before, when he was stronger, when he still carried the weight of being Compton’s successor. But the Mules had been children then, and for many years there was no significant opposition to retaining the Prohibition. He’d taken the easier route, sacrificed justice to political expediency. He was ashamed of his choices then…but that didn’t change the fact that he had precious few now.

  “But there is another concern, a far more practical one.” West’s voice broke from her normal hard edged monotone. “We need the Mules, don’t we? People can react to them with fear, and I’m not even sure that is entirely without some justification. But where would the republic be if they had never existed? What would our city, our fleet, our ability to grow and prosper be without the technology they developed? Certainly Dr. Cutter and a few others would have made some progress, but we benefit today from years of work by over one hundred men and women with intellects and abilities we can hardly imagine, much less properly appreciate.” She paused.

  “What dangers will we face in the future? What might Nicki uncover out there even now? How much stronger are we with the Mules than without them?” Another pause. “If we suppress the Mules, imprison or destroy them…apart from the moral problems such a course raises, do we not in many ways endanger our own future? You and I remember what it is like to fight an overpowering enemy. If we’d had one more piece of bad luck back then, if we’d had a leader less capable than Terrance Compton, what would have become of us? Are you confident we will never again face such a challenge? Can we afford to make ourselves weaker?”

  Harmon sat quietly, taking a deep breath. “You are right, Erika…across the board. But there is one problem. If we don’t do something to resolve this impasse, I will lose the election. And whether Jacques Diennes replaces me or someone else, they will move against the Mules immediately.” He hesitated. “And Diennes, at least, will take advantage of the opportunity to get rid of the Mules for good. There will be no negotiation, no moderate solutions.”

  West sat quietly for a moment, clearly wanting to say something, but hesitating. Then she looked right at Harmon. “Jacques Diennes cannot become president, Max.” Her eyes were cold, bright, and her tone was deadly serious. “Whatever it takes.”

  Harmon stared back at her. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you are, Erika…because that is not an option. Do you understand me?”

  She looked back at Harmon, but she just sat quietly, not answering.

  * * *

  “Where is the president now, when the republic faces the greatest threat in its thirty years of existence? What steps has he taken the crush this foul rebellion, to bring those responsible to justice?” Jacques Diennes stood in the central square of Victory City. He’d chosen his spot carefully, clear on the other side of the park from the massive statue of Terrance Compton. Compton was still a revered figure to the people of Earth Two, and the last thing he wanted was to remind people that Max Harmon had been Compton’s close comrade.

  “Our Marines stand to arms, surrounding the compound for days now, but where is the order to move? Where is the leadership? The courage to do what is necessary to protect and preserve our republic?” Diennes looked out over the crowd. His speeches had been drawing larger numbers, more people showing up each day, it seemed. Max Harmon’s prospects had been in doubt since the day he’d been compelled to call a new election, but his popularity had truly plummeted with the Mules’ uprising…and his reluctance to do anything decisive to end it.

  “There have been those who have mischaracterized our movement, branded the Society as an organization that is concerned only with natural born humans. But now we see the dangers of uncontrolled experimentation with the human genome. We have allowed the creation of would be super-beings, men and women who see their true place as our masters, and not our brothers and sisters. And what of the unenhanced clones, those we call the Tanks? The Plague that strikes without warning is another example of how our uncontrolled pride has brought suffering and death upon us. Scientific hubris created this terror.”

  Diennes had studied politics, read hundreds of accounts of the history of elections on Earth. He was lying, changing his positions, his words fl
ying in the face of speeches he’d given before. But he knew it didn’t matter. Even the educated and disciplined citizens of Earth Two responded only to superficiality. Their votes would follow their fear…and right now, Max Harmon was allowing dangerous rebels to stand in defiance of the republic. Diennes knew they would believe him. Not all, perhaps, but most. He knew he could lie almost with impunity, as long as he told them now what they wanted to hear.

  “We do not advocate persecution…we stand for protection, for greater safeguards and care, before a few scientists, driven by ego as much as any other force, manipulate DNA, unconcerned with the results of their reckless experimentation. We face grave danger at the hands of the Mules, even now. What terrors wait in our future, if we do not stop this insanity now?”

  He could see the crowd responding to his words, the excitement building. He put his arms up in the air, and the crowd began to cheer loudly. He had hoped the Society would gain seats in the Assembly, that it would become an influential part of a coalition government. But now he was beginning to believe his party could win an outright majority. He was even seeing inroads with fringe elements among the Tanks, those most concerned about the danger of the Mules. He had stepped up his rhetoric about the Enhanced Hybrids and their rebellion, and he had softened his words with regard to the Tanks. He’d called them abominations before, but now he cast them as victims, blamed the scientists for the Plague. And it was working.

  “Stand with me, citizens! Help me save our beloved republic. Together we can do what has to be done, we can secure a bright, safe, and prosperous future for ourselves, and for the generations to come.”

  He thrust his hands up again, and the crowd went wild, cheering, chanting his name. He turned his head, looked down the street toward the executive building, his eyes focusing on the northeast corner of the top floor. The president’s office. Max Harmon’s office.