by John Lumpkin
“Give them the candle,” Howell ordered. Apache pivoted slightly and fired her main drive, propelling her toward the guidance rings. It was too soon – Aquila had not yet transited the mouth of the wormhole – and Apache was risking a collision, or being damaged by the white-hot output of Aquila’s drive.
But the maneuver worked: Incheon’s latest salvo of shells burned up in Apache’s fusion flame. Apache lurched forward.
Incheon pivoted again, turning its nose back toward the fleeing American ships. It was close enough, and had created enough of an angle, that the keyhole mouth was no longer obscured by Apache. Her main laser targeted Aquila, and fired.
The beam struck the tanker’s candle, overheating one of the superconductors that kept the magnetic bottle intact. An angry jet of hydrogen burst from the hole in the bottle, which, not unlike a vector thruster, imparted a change in pitch and yaw along the ship’s primary axis. Neil watched in horror as the ship began a graceful, slow-motion backspin within the mouth of the wormhole.
The nose of the tanker struck the inner edge of the mouth, where the universe had been folded in on itself to create the passage between Beta Canum Venaticorum and distant GJ 1151. It seemed to Neil that a wave of distortion passed through the Aquila’s hull, and then the ship came apart.
Pieces of Aquila spun into space; pieces crashed into the guidance rings; pieces struck the mouth and shattered. The slush hydrogen stored in the ship’s bulbous tanks expanded in a cloud and rapidly dissipated. Neil saw a thousand bright flashes; the ship’s antimatter dying, atom by atom, in collisions with regular matter. The antimatter failsafes at least did their job and prevented a catastrophic detonation – no one was really sure what a twenty-kiloton explosion would do to a wormhole, and Neil didn’t want to find out from only a few kilometers away.
“Sir, if we’re going to avoid the keyhole, we’ll have to start a pivot now,” the XO warned.
“No, we’re going through!” Howell shouted.
Incheon managed one more laser strike, but Apache’s hide absorbed it, and then they passed through the keyhole. Pontchartrain and Erie were already thrusting away, on different vectors.
After exiting the guidance rings, Apache performed a quick pivot to face the wormhole, on the chance that Incheon dared to follow them through. But the sensor drones they left behind told them that Incheon slowed to a stop and did not appear to be attempting a transit.
“Extend cooling fins,” Howell said.
Shuttles from the three ships picked up four emergency bubbles from the Aquila – two with survivors, one with a body, and one entirely empty. Of the other thirteen members of the crew, they found no sign.
The little convoy formed up again, less one tanker, and thrust toward the next keyhole.
The following Friday night, Jessica came to his cabin.
“Missed you at the social hour,” she said.
“Didn’t seem like a good idea.” Are you just heartless? Her insult still rung in his brain.
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said. It’s not my place to expect you to deal with things the way I do.”
A number of responses occurred to Neil, some angry and defensive, others noncommittal. No, patch things up. She’s here, trying. She’s worth it.
“No, I … should have gone to Allenby’s service. I’m going to regret not going for a long time. What you said … it wasn’t far off from what that Brit commodore accused me of, back in Wolf 359.”
He described his offhand suggestion of sacrificing a single, half-filled troop transport to ensure the survival of the convoy.
Jessica looked dubious. “That’s an entirely rational suggestion, given the circumstances. But it utterly dehumanizes the people we were supposed to be protecting. Warfare is more than a cost-benefit analysis, Neil.”
Something inside Neil sank to his gut. I know that. Why don’t I act that way, think that way?
Jessica tilted her head slightly. “While we were part of the blockade over Entente, I traded messages with some of your old comrades from San Jacinto. They said you could be pretty introverted, but you really thought hard about doing the right thing.”
“And you’re saying I don’t anymore?”
“I’m saying it sounds like something changed you, Neil. What happened to you?”
A small flash of clarity. One thousand, seven hundred and twenty-six.
“I killed some people, Jessica.”
Her brow furrowed. “It’s part of our job. I probably killed someone on the Gan Ying or in our fights with the Koreans.”
“A lot of people. During Kennedy, I pulled the trigger on the troop transports that were going after the station. Not many people survived on those ships. One thousand, seven hundred and twenty-six human beings died, because of me. The only person I know of who has killed more people in this war is whoever fired the missiles when that Japanese admiral shot down some Chinese colony ships.”
“Wow, Neil,” she whispered after a time. “That’s … that’s a lot to live with. But you can’t stop thinking about everyone as people. Normally we just to that to the enemy, but you’ve done it to everyone.”
He blinked. “I had a friend on Entente … I think they killed him, too, because of me.”
His head went to her shoulder, his worst fear unsaid. That night, for the first time since returning to Apache, he didn’t need to take a pill to get to sleep. He felt no absolution, just a measure of self-understanding, but that was something.
Near Sycamore, Sequoia Continent, Kuan Yin
The Chinese LAV looked a little lonely at the intersection, but Rand wasn’t about to complain. If they want to make it easier on us, who am I to argue?
He was out with one of his new squads, observing the troops in action. Lead from the front, his favorite ROTC instructor had advised him. He handed the binoculars to Sergeant Ruiz, who was lying on the ground next to him.
“If you can get above them, the top-facing armor on those is pretty weak,” Ruiz commented.
Rand hadn’t known that. “I hate those things,” he whispered. “Lost a couple of my people to one of them.”
“Well, we’ll have one less of them to deal with,” Ruiz said. He tapped his ear, activating his radio. “Goot, give ‘em a ‘lil kiss for me.”
PFC Gutierrez’s response was the whoosh of a shoulder-fired antitank missile, which rocketed down from her hiding spot, on a rise about thirty meters away from Rand. It struck the armored eight-wheeler’s top deck, just behind the turret, which went flying into the air. Debris kicked up lines of dust in several directions. A burning man emerged from the front of the LAV and stumbled silently to the ground, and he did not move again.
Ruiz said to Rand, “All right, sir, unless they have some air in the area, we’ve got about twenty minutes until they put a squad down to investigate. So we’re going to leave a few surprises behind.”
Rand nodded. A few of Ruiz’s troopers gingerly approached the burning LAV, more out of fear of some of its ammo cooking off in their direction than anything else. They buried little proximity bombs in various spots, including the obvious landing site for a troop transport.
Then they fled. I missed this, Rand realized.
USS Apache, SZ Ursae Majoris
Apache’s little convoy made poor time; the accelerations in the battle with the Korean frigates had used up a lot of its remass, and the loss of the Aquila cost them their ability to refuel midway through the long trip to 11 Leonis Minoris. So the convoy coasted for much of its flips through GJ 1151 and SZ Ursae Majoris, and they would have to do the same through the next three systems before reaching their ultimate destination. A faint hope that the Israelis would send a remass tanker from New Canaan was dashed: The comm buoys up and down the Alley were out of commission, likely felled by a Chinese virus, and Apache couldn’t transmit the request, nor could her captain send for help from Space Command.
But a few of Neil’s spy and repeater drones back in Beta Canum Venaticorum were still functionin
g. Incheon had shot down several orbiting near the GJ 1151 keyhole, but she apparently missed one hidden in the Aquila’s debris cloud. The drones hadn’t transmitted much, and Neil feared the increasingly agitated Howell would chew him out for expending resources unnecessarily.
So it was during a particularly boring staff meeting that Neil idly checked in on the processed feeds from the drones, and he saw something that made him bolt upright in his chair. All heads turned to him.
“Something to say, Mister Mercer?” asked the XO, who was running the presentation.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, his ears reddening. “A fleet just entered the Beta Canum system from Chinese space.”
“Are they headed our way?” Ortega asked.
“No. Looks like they are going to Commonwealth.”
“Not my problem, then,” Ortega said, and some of the other officers snickered. Carruth continued her presentation, and Neil studied the meager data his drones had sent.
The mass readings say that fleet has two battleships and several brigade transport groups, plus several cruisers and other ships. Those have to be the ships they pulled out of Kuan Yin, but they also had to weaken their lines somewhere else to put that kind of fleet together. Where are they going? No reason for them to go to Commonwealth; if they can win the war they can try to clean up that planet at their leisure. So they’re just passing through, and unless they’ve declared war on Brazil or Israel, they’re going to DG Canum Venaticorum, and then either up to Wolf 359, or over to Entente.
Entente. It has to be Entente. They lost at New Albion, and we’re threatening their control of the Apollonian Ocean from Tecolote. That fleet is big enough to beat what the Brits and Aussies and Canadians have in the system. The Brits won’t just lose Tecolote; they could lose New Albion as well.
We’re the only ones who know this. With the comm buoys down, I can’t warn Space Command. And we’re going so slow, the Chinese fleet might reach Entente before we reach a point where we can send a message! It was maddening.
Chapter 16
HUDSON, INDEPENDENCE – Vice President Dale arrived here Thursday, becoming the highest-ranking government official ever to travel to an American colony world. Her visit is to include tours of several cities and agricultural sites, but her spokesman denied rumors she would meet with leaders of a growing movement advocating for decreased direction from Washington. Administration critics have remarked that Dale’s trip was a thinly veiled effort by President Delgado to get her out of the nation’s capital; her selection by the Senate was widely regarded as a way to ensure Union Party support for Delgado in the House.
Sycamore, Sequoia continent, Kuan Yin
Lieutenant Colonel Shen’s teeth chattered. “General, we have had three more attacks on our patrols last night. One roadside bomb against a vehicle, one rocket attack upon another vehicle, and an infantry squad that was attacked and suffered eight casualties. We must assume there is still a sizeable enemy force operating in the hinterlands.”
“And they may still have contacts with the internees,” Major Wong added. “We have determined that explosion that awoke us last night was from a mortar round, fired at the guard barracks. Fortunately, it did not injure anyone and did minimal damage.”
Shen said, “Those weapons could be fabricated by civilians, Major. Have you not heard of a ‘barracks buster?’ They use cleaning chemicals, fertilizer, shotgun cartridges, flammable lubricants, and so on. It takes some knowledge to produce such weapons, but the materials are not difficult to find.”
General Xie unbuttoned the top button of his uniform and wiped his brow. “Can we confiscate all those materials?”
Wong shook her head. “I am sorry, General, but no. We have not been able to find all of their small arms. Rounding up common cleaners would be far more difficult. There are simply too many people in the camp, and my forces aren’t sufficient to conduct such in-depth searches. It would simply be better if we began shipping all the civilians out of the colony.”
Now Xie shook his head. “That is on hold. The Americans have informed Europa and the Federation they do not have the ability to resettle so many people, and for the moment said they will refuse entry to the transports should they attempt to enter American territory.”
”Pihua!” muttered Shen, and Xie and Wong nodded.
“Yes, it is pure nonsense, we know,” Xie said. “Clearly the Americans prefer their civilians to suffer here, so they do not lose some part of their claim on Kuan Yin. We are asking the Europeans to take the Americans anyway, but so far, they are balking. It is therefore time we altered our tactics against these groups. Major Wong, I want a human presence on the streets of your internment camp, and I want anyone showing disrespect to our people detained and questioned. I will also exchange the LAVs at the gate for two Z202 tanks. We must demonstrate our resolve to the civilians and crack down before they grow any bolder.”
“Yes, sir,” Major Wong said.
“Lieutenant Colonel Shen, I intend to tell the infantry commanders to operate only in company-sized groups or larger when out in the field, and keep them well within range of a battalion quick-reaction force and air power. They will not be as mobile, but we should be able to contain our losses. We will rely primarily on air units and special operating forces to search for the enemy.”
That is unlikely to work, Shen knew. These are the last of the American forces who were defending this continent nearly two years ago. They are the strongest, the ones who survived.
USS Javier Benavidez y Diaz, Gliese 338B
Combined Joint Task Force 21 settled into orbit around Washburne, the second planet of the Gliese 338B system, and prepared to transit the nearby keyhole to the next system upstream. Washburne was what astronomers called a “failed gas giant” – a world that apparently had Jovian aspirations early in its life, but wasn’t quite able to keep most of its atmospheric hydrogen, and instead settled on a life as a big, hot rock with a dense, helium-filled atmosphere. Indeed, Donovan thought the appellation “failed” was a little harsh – the planet was a deep, placid blue, with a few white clouds near its poles, and it seemed content with its station.
He set down his handheld on the mess table and shook his head. I’m reduced to anthropomorphizing planets. My breakdown must be imminent.
“Mister Calvin, are you unwell?” Counteradmiral Komarov said from behind him.
“Just an idle mind, Sergei,” Donovan said. “Please, have a seat.”
Komarov cheerfully sat across from Donovan, attaching his feet to the ferrous strips embedded in the floor and his dinner tray to the smaller strips in the table. He glanced at Donovan’s handheld and saw the image of Washburne.
“I have wondered, Mister Calvin, what all these dead statesmen from prior eras would think about us naming obscure planets after them? Would your man Elihu Washburne be honored or insulted, given this planet is two hundred trillion miles from Earth, and neither man nor woman is likely to ever set foot on it?”
Good chance to play up the persona of an overeducated Colonial Affairs functionary, Donovan thought. “Well,” he said, “we take care to avoid naming them for living persons, despite our Congress trying to do so every once in a while. We don’t want to venerate anyone before their full story is written.”
Komarov grimaced. “On the contrary, Mister Calvin. Have you seen some of these worlds? Around Seventy Ophiuchi is a planet with oceans of sulfuric acid that would strip the flesh from your bones. I personally support naming these hellholes for some of our living politicians, and then sending them there.”
Donovan grinned. “I will suggest to my superiors that my government adopt such a policy, Sergei.”
“Excellent! You see, these sorts of exchanges of ideas can only serve to strengthen our nations’ friendship!” The admiral suddenly leaned forward, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Speaking of which, have you heard that it is already paying off?”
Donovan played dumb. “No, no one tells me anything.”
> “The Koreans have reached out to us, offering to negotiate a separate peace. It will be difficult for them, with so many Chinese troops on their soil, but clearly they fear the hostile nations encircling them.”
“Really!” Don’t play too dumb. “What do they want?”
“They haven’t said. They fear a Chinese-backed coup and occupation of their two colony planets. So we expect they will want security guarantees. It must be difficult for them to play second to the People’s Republic; the average Korean lives a much better life than the average Chinese, but China is just so large.”
“That it is. So why did Russia choose to become involved? Surely the trouble on your border wasn’t reason enough.”
Komarov looked thoughtful for a moment. “No, of course not. It certainly did anger segments of the Russian public, which in turn made peaceful courses of action more politically costly for President Maslov. But I doubt it was decisive. No, we Russians still view ourselves as the first spacefaring nation, and while we are not so numerous as the Chinese nor so rich as the Japanese, we still have earned a stellar empire greater than the two colonies we have founded. You know, we even considered an offensive against Lambda Serpentis, but in our experience Arabs have not taken kindly to occupiers on their territory. In any event, we attempted to negotiate with China, but they simply demanded far too much in exchange for a single wormhole chain.”
“What did they want?”
“Siberia.”
“All of it?”
“Oh, no. Just everything east of the Lena River, except they would let us keep Vladivostok.”
Ouch. That’s all of Eastern Siberia. “For what, in exchange?”
“A rather unproductive wormhole chain that runs through Cancer and Gemini. There’s a candidate terran world around 56 Aurigae, but we won’t be sure it’s habitable until 2146 at the earliest.”
