by Webb, Nick
A moment later, the screen shifted and the swirling, lightning-filled dust clouds disappeared, replaced by a star field dotted with asteroids.
“Scanning,” said Ensign Diamond. “Nothing showing up on visuals. Scanning the rest of the EM band.”
Granger tapped his fingers. They were here. He knew it. “Keep at it, Mr. Diamond.” He raised his head. “Mr. Pierce, are my birds ready?”
A woman answered. “This is Lieutenant Schwitzer. Commander Pierce is indisposed at the moment, Sir. But yes, we’re all ready down here.”
Granger understood. “Tell him we’re on the hunt.” He remembered the picture of his CAG’s family sitting on Pierce’s desk. “They’re not getting away this time.”
Another minute passed. “Still nothing, sir.”
Granger balled his fists. Where the hell were they?
The time ticked by. Every sensor band came up clean. Nothing but asteroids, and open space.
“Tim,” began Proctor, leaning in close so no one else would hear. “We should go talk.”
He shot her a look, eyes sharp as daggers. The tone of her voice said only one thing. You’ve gone off the deep end, old man.
With teeth clenched, he closed his eyes. I’m here. I’m here, my friends. Show yourselves.
Another minute. Proctor bent low next to his chair, crouching. “Tim,” she whispered. “It’s time to call it off.”
He kept his eyes closed. Another minute.
Her hand rested gently on his arm. Finally, he let out a deep sigh, opened his eyes, and stood up. “Very well. Set a course back to York and commence rescue operations.” He started walking toward his ready room. He noticed Proctor following him. “Lieutenant Diaz, you have the bridge. Let me know when—”
“Sir!” shouted Ensign Diamond. “Ten Swarm carriers, out of nowhere! Q-jumped in right on top of us!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Asteroid Belt, York System, Britannia Sector
The ship shook as the hull was pounded with antimatter beams. Granger grabbed onto an outstretched hand from one of the marines at the door to steady himself. “Evasive maneuvers,” he shouted.
“Full about! Launch fighters! All ships form up into attack wings and engage!” Proctor had run to tactical and began to direct the battle. There was no escaping from this one, not that Granger wanted to. He’d hunted the Swarm to this point. Hell, he’d summoned them.
He stumbled back to his chair and monitored the battle. They were taken by surprise, but the odds were even—he had twenty-four ships to the Swarm’s ten. It would be close—the casualties would be horrific, but they’d pull out a victory. Especially if he could outthink them. His eyes glanced toward the tactical readout and the display of the surrounding asteroid-filled environment. Most were small, but there were a few larger ones that might come in handy.
“Helm, move us in toward that asteroid. The one at fifteen mark eight.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The tiny dot grew larger very quickly, and soon the Warrior and the dozen ships of its attack wing swung around the giant rock. “Now, new course. Use the shadow of that rock, and redirect us toward that dwarf planetoid.” He pointed to his tactical display, indicating the hundred-odd kilometer wide rock in the near distance.
The ship rumbled in the background as four Swarm carriers continued their hot pursuit.
“Sir, just lost the Michigan. The Budapest is losing power,” said Lieutenant Diaz.
“Just get us to that rock. Swing around the backside, accelerate, and come at them with some speed.”
The planetoid grew larger, its cratered, pockmarked surface gleaming white in the distant sunshine. On the far side, Ensign Prince kicked in the thrust, well past the recommended limits of the inertial cancelers, and as a result the ship shuddered with the violently alternating momentum swings as the systems tried to keep up, adding to the growing rumble of the explosions in the rear decks.
“We’re not shaking them, sir. They’ve kept up this whole time.” An explosion cut off Lieutenant Diaz. “Just lost engine four.”
He closed his eyes again. He summoned them here. Maybe he could send them away. Maybe he could send them off course. Maybe he could control them.
Friends, stop.
Friends, stop. We need to talk.
In response, only laughter. Or its equivalent. He didn’t hear it, but he could feel it. They had played him, and he’d fallen for it, and now they scoffed at him.
But now there was something else. Another voice. Something discordant. Angry and howling. We’re coming, it said. There were no words—never any words, but he felt the feeling and knew the meaning and the meaning was unmistakable.
He opened his eyes and was not surprised in the slightest when Ensign Diamond announced, “New contact. It’s a Dolmasi ship. No, it’s fifty Dolmasi ships.”
They had flashed into existence right next to the small planetoid, already traveling straight toward the incoming enemy. Without pause they opened fire on the four Swarm carriers pursuing the Warrior and its fleet.
“Help them out, tactical.”
“Full mag-rail spread,” said Proctor. “Laser banks, target where the Dolmasi’s antimatter beams hit. Open up those holes.”
Within a minute, they’d made quick work of the four ships. Granger watched the tactical display and sighed in relief as he watched the remaining six carriers disappear, fleeing before the Dolmasi reached them.
“About time,” he said out loud. They’d come. They’d finally come. In the two months since he’d helped them regain their homeworld, they’d never once helped in any battle. Never once come when summoned, desperately, to help repel an invasion. He had begun loathing the idea that he’d helped them liberate their world, loathing the idea of being made a tool, an unwitting instrument in someone else’s plan.
But they’d finally come. They came when they didn’t have to. When they had nothing to gain.
Leaning back to Proctor, he wondered, “Think we can trust them yet?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
President's Stateroom, Frigate One
High Orbit, Earth
“He wants to take me to a planet called Penumbra Three, presumably because Malakhov is scheduled to do an inspection tour there in a few days.”
Avery was jabbing and typing furiously at her computer terminal pad in her lap, but glanced up at Isaacson’s mention of the planet. “Penumbra Three. Now why does that name ring a bell?”
Isaacson shrugged. He was dour. Sullen. From her other computer monitor nearby she could see the constant readout of the man’s emotional state, and even view words and phrases as they appeared in one of the boxes on the screen. She’d been able to read his thoughts from his face since the beginning. The implants made the process more ... literal, but he’d recently been developing a troubling self-discipline that made it increasingly difficult to see what he was truly thinking.
The emotions, of course, were laid bare to her. He couldn’t hide those from the thirty-odd implants tucked deep into his skin. And he was always bad at hiding his feelings from her. The revulsion for her pulled at his eyes, made his nostrils flare, tugged at the corners of his mouth. His left eye twitched ever so slightly on the occasions when the emotion indicator on the screen suggested barely-concealed anger and disgust. This was tearing him apart, and she loved every minute of it.
“No idea, ma’am.”
She leaned back for a moment before nodding. “I remember now. Granger’s fleet stumbled into a Russian settlement there two months ago, presumably in Swarm space. Were chased off pretty quickly, if I remember right. Why? What’s there that Volodin wants you to see?”
“Malakhov? Maybe he thinks killing him somewhere far from Earth will—”
Avery snorted. “Oh, don’t be so naive, Isaacson. Do you really think Volodin wants to kill his boss?” She held up a hand. “Yes, yes, I know there are plenty of lower-level politicians around who’ve wanted t
o kill their bosses, you don’t need to remind me. But ... no. This is a trick, somehow. He wants to get you out there for another reason, and we need to know why.”
“Are we going to keep me here then? Draw it out of him? Convince him to tell me what’s so special about the place?”
“Of course not. We’re sending you. That’s the easiest way. Plus, it will further convince him you are absolutely on his side. I’ll protest, of course, and complain to some of the senators and blowhards that you’re leaving on some damn-fool diplomatic mission in the middle of hostilities with the Russians, and that will leak back to him and reassure your allegiance is real. Then, when he reveals his true intentions, you’ll continue on with the original plan. I need that peace treaty. Our fleets need some breathing room—we can’t keep patrolling our Russian border.
“And then?” said Isaacson, carefully.
Too carefully. She laughed again at him, and just for a moment she saw the anger indicator spike on her terminal.
“And then, Mr. Isaacson, you’ll be free. Do this task for me, and I’ll let you go. I’ll disable the implants. Hell, if you trust me enough, I’ll arrange for them to be taken out completely. Or you can do it yourself. Either way they’ll be disabled and harmless if you choose to take them out.”
He looked flabbergasted. “Really? You’ll take them out?”
“Of course, Eamon. You’ve made a noble effort at atoning for your sins. You are not clean yet, but this peace treaty with Malakhov will go a long way toward regaining my trust. And the trust of all the top brass, and the people. Public opinion of the Russian Confederation is at an all-time low, Eamon, ever since their betrayal at Volari Three. They’ll hate me for making a peace treaty, and consequently they’ll love you more. Never mind the fact that once this is over, we’ll nuke the Russian bastards to kingdom come. But for now, seeing you negotiate a temporary peace with the despised leader of the new Russian empire will make you a hero in the eyes of billions.”
His eyes flashed, just for a moment. Oh, god, he was so easy to play. Just one mention of public adoration and he basically gets a boner. She tried hard not to roll her eyes.
“Are you sure, ma’am? I mean, sending me out there, out from the influence of your ... monitoring?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be adequately monitored. My team in charge of your implants has been busy writing a firmware program that will be uploaded to your implants very shortly. It will keep you from thinking anything too treacherous, and keep a running log of your thought and emotional parameters that I’ll have access to when you return. Any deviation from the script, and....” She gave him a knowing shrug and lopsided smile as she reached for her coffee. Can’t let him forget the consequences. He rubbed a temple at the reminder, and she wondered just how intense the pain could be. She should test that sometime.
“And what if he’s dead set against it? What if we can’t make the concessions that he wants? What if I can’t—”
“Eamon, Eamon ... I can’t solve all your problems for you. It’ll require some improvising. You’re brilliant at that. Honestly, how in the world did you make it to this point if you can’t think for yourself?”
“I—”
“Dismissed, Mr. Vice President. Be a dear and send General Norton in when you see yourself off the ship.”
Isaacson stood up, paused a moment as if he wanted to say something else, but chose not to and left. Avery, however, read his intended thought on the screen nearby. And what if the program fails, and I betray you out there?
The door shut, leaving her alone.
“Don’t worry, Eamon, you won’t. Nothing you do can betray me now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Asteroid Belt, York System, Britannia Sector
“Captain, incoming signal from the main Dolmasi vessel. Asking for you by name.”
Granger waved a hand up toward the screen. Moments later, Vishgane Kharsa appeared, looking as triumphant as he supposed a Dolmasi could look. The alien had dropped all pretense of mimicking human social cues like laughter and shrugging and frowning, but Granger knew smugness when he saw it.
“Vishgane. It is good to see you again. You are most welcome.”
“Granger. You should not be here.”
“How did you know we were here? You must have been pretty close to have come so quickly.”
Kharsa held a single hand out. Granger did not quite understand the motion, but the words made it clear. “You summoned us, Granger. We were close, within a few lightyears, monitoring Valarisi movements near Britannia, and we heard your voice.”
“We?”
“We. All of us. We are just like you, Granger. Once one has been under the influence of the Valarisi, one retains the link. They can no longer control you, or us, and we must be careful that they do not see through our eyes, but the fact remains, we all heard you. And the decision was made, out of gratitude for what you, Granger, have done for us, to come to your aid.”
The open discussion of his link to the Swarm made Granger uncomfortable, but there was nothing helping that now. The secret was out in the open. Proctor had known, and the bridge crew had suspected. Now it was fact. May as well acknowledge it. Own it. Make it, publicly, for the benefit of his people, part of his arsenal.
“Can you control them? Can I?”
“In some ways, yes. In most ways, no.”
Granger waited for an elaboration to the cryptic response. Before it came, Proctor interrupted. “Sir, incoming meta-space transmission from Admiral Zingano. Sending it to your terminal.”
He glanced down to the readout. Warrior and her fleet were to return to Britannia as soon as the battle was over to begin something Zingano was calling, Operation Ground War.
“You must leave, I know,” said Kharsa. How he knew that, Granger had no idea. Could they read his thoughts? “You project them too loudly at times, Granger. It is how we all heard you, lightyears away. I’m surprised every Valarisi ship and every other asset of the Concordat of Seven within a hundred lightyears didn’t converge on this location.”
“I’ll be more careful,” assured Granger. The thought was unnerving, that this whole time, out of sheer carelessness, he may have been telegraphing his own intentions to the Dolmasi, to the Swarm, to the Skiohra. Hell, even to the Russians.
“Before you depart, Granger, a warning. You are about to engage in negotiations with the Skiohra.”
“Yes,” he said, confirming what should have been highly classified information. “You know them?”
“No. No direct contact, that is. As I told you before, the Valarisi keeps the Concordat of Seven highly compartmentalized. We knew them from a distance, but that is all. By reputation.”
“Explain,” said Granger.
“Each member of the Concordat of Seven has their strengths and weaknesses, as any race does. When the Valarisi conquered my people, they used us for our ability to procure resources. We were experts at it. We had spread across thousands of lightyears, harvesting raw materials and energy from countless protostars, dead brown dwarf bodies, and asteroid fields. That infrastructure largely remains in place, and controlled by the Valarisi.”
“You haven’t retaken your former worlds? Just the homeworld?”
“We simply don’t have the resources. All our fleets have been recalled to the homeworld, and there they stay, until we can be sure the Valarisi pose no threat. Otherwise, for us, it is extinction. A fear you know all too well. That is one of the strengths the Valarisi see in the Adanasi. In you. The Russians. You fight to survive, at all costs. But perhaps the greatest tool the Valarisi have absorbed and adapted from the Russians is the ability to deceive. Duplicity. Subterfuge.”
“What about the Skiohra?”
A low grumble from Kharsa, which Granger interpreted as either wary anger, or fear, or deep concern. “The Skiohra. Great shipbuilders, of course. But fearsome warriors. You might not see it, looking at them. They are
physically small. But what they lack in size the make up for with both formidable strength and technological prowess. When they attack, they come with deadly force. The antimatter beams? They are a Skiohra innovation, copied onto all our ships. They built the Valarisi’s fleet, scaled down significantly from their own ship size. It is them you must be very careful of, Captain Granger.”
“Do you suspect they’re duplicitous? That they’ll betray our truce?”
“Hard to say. We do not have contact with them. But regardless of whether they are controlled by the Swarm or not, if they desire it, they will destroy you. Before the Valarisi brought them into the Concordat, no fewer than five other races met their end at the hands of the Skiohra. It is perhaps from them that the Valarisi learned their ruthlessness. Their utter focus on destruction and mayhem, even as they pursue their main goal of unification.”
“That sounds somewhat contradictory, don’t you think?”
Kharsa held out another hand. The gesture must mean agreement, Granger supposed. “That is true. The Valarisi, or rather, the Concordat, is, fundamentally, a contradiction. You well know, Granger, that they consider us friends. They consider all life to be part of them—all life is destined to be united with them, subsumed into them, and ultimately, controlled by them. Is that friendship? You know the answer. They have absorbed from the Skiohra the ability—if one can call it that—to project overwhelming and terrifying force. Fortunately, they still lack much of the Skiohra’s tactical abilities. You may also have noticed that the Valarisi ships, once set upon a world, are not the most innovative of fighters. That alone is our most significant advantage.”
“And the others? What of the other four races? We know of you, the Swarm themselves, the Skiohra, and the Russians. There’s three left.”
“We know little of them. Two are races you have little to fear. They are on the other side of the galaxy, and will most likely keep to themselves, only coming to their own defense if attacked.”
