by Webb, Nick
“What about something temporary? Don’t cure, but block. If the cure kills, then forget it. Just focus on blocking. Or target just a few of those functional groups on the virus, and maybe give the victim a fighting chance. Let them fight Swarm control.”
“Interesting.” She turned to stare out the window as they approached the Victory, a carbon-copy replica of the Warrior and Constitution. “I hadn’t thought to do a half-measure like that.” She glanced over at him. “No offense.”
“None taken. You never were one for half-measures.”
“I’ll work on it. Both ideas.”
Zingano met them in the shuttle bay and immediately handed Proctor a small briefcase.
“What’s this?”
“Blood.”
She and Granger eyed each other. “Whose?” he said.
Zingano thumbed toward his chest. “For one, mine. As well as every other admiral and captain based here at Britannia. Turns out, Rear Admiral Littlefield committed suicide. Bullet straight though his own brain. After he self-destructed every antimatter bomb present at Wellington Station.”
“You suspect the chain of command has been infiltrated?” said Granger.
“Well it obviously has. Look at you.”
“And Admiral Azbill,” added Proctor.
Zingano smirked. “Bastard. I’ll send word to IDF CENTCOM at once. Have him detained.”
Granger shook his head. “The Swarm doesn’t know we can detect their influence. Maybe for now it would be best to allow them to think they’ve got us fooled?”
Zingano weighed the options. “For now. But this means our circle of trust is closing. We need to test me, General Norton, Admiral Chandrasekhar—my deputy.”
“And Avery?” said Proctor.
Zingano shook his head. “If Avery’s got it ... well, god help us all.”
Proctor nodded in farewell and hefted the briefcase. The shuttle door closed behind her, and the craft took off, leaving Granger and Zingano alone.
“You know,” Zingano said, thumbing in the direction of the departing shuttle, “she’s been due at the Chesapeake for a few weeks now.”
“I know. I just don’t think it’s wise to lose her right now.”
“Lose her? Heh. Putting one of the best commanders in the fleet at the helm of one of the best ships isn’t what I’d call losing her.”
“Dammit, you know what I mean, Bill. Plus, something tells me we need her doing the science more than we need her doing the commanding.”
“IDF Science is making steady progress. She’s not the only one doing Swarm research, Tim.”
“Yes, but she’s the only one who knows what she’s doing.”
Zingano shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Avery has a secret army of scientists somewhere working the problem. Wouldn’t put it past her. She’s got more pots boiling than anyone has a right to.” He fished in his pocket for something, producing a small datapad. “Speaking of which, she’s got something for us.”
Granger examined the pad. “antimatter torpedoes?”
“The Warrior is to be outfitted with an entire bay of them, with launch capabilities tied in directly to the bridge. Seems she wants to avoid the fiasco that some mid-level tech caused with the antimatter bombs during the battle of Volari Three. No more remote control. All direct.”
“But why?” asked Granger. “We tested a few of the prototypes in battle. They’re just far too slow to do any good—the Swarm zaps them before they make it a hundred meters from the launch tubes.”
He shrugged. “If you ask me, I think this has more to do with the Russians than the Swarm. We’re not openly at war, officially, but I suspect we’ll be ordered to carry out some bombing runs on the side. Make a few of their worlds pay for the betrayal. antimatter torpedoes would do just the trick.”
Granger shook his head. “Good god. It’s like we’re as bad as the Swarm now. Bombing our own worlds just because their leaders are on the wrong side.”
“War is messy, Tim. I thought you would have learned that by now.”
“I guess my humanity doesn’t wash off very easily,” quipped Granger.
Zingano grunted. “I tend to agree with you, Tim. But either way, a team will install the equipment on your bridge while you’re here at Britannia. Tomorrow morning Avery’s called a top-level meeting. To discuss something she’s calling Operation Ground War.”
Granger raised an eyebrow. “Ground war? We don’t have any Swarm worlds to target. Russian?”
Zingano shrugged. “No idea. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. All I’m told is it will be big.”
“Big?”
“A game-changer.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bridge, UESS Albright
High Orbit, Penumbra Three
“We’ve arrived in the Penumbra system, Mr. Vice President. Now approaching high orbit over Penumbra Three,” said the navigator aboard the United Earth State Department Frigate Albright. The Russians would never have allowed an IDF military vessel to approach the planet, but Volodin assured him that if he arrived in a diplomatic ship he’d be permitted to dock at the main station.
“What are the scanners picking up?” said Isaacson, sitting in the captain’s chair. The captain of the ship, an old freighter pilot who’d been drafted to serve in the State department during the war stood nearby, visibly glowering at the intrusion. But he didn’t care what she thought.
“The planet is mostly water, filled with high concentrations of long chain proteins and amino acids, plus lots of other exotic organic material I don’t recognize,” said the officer manning the sensor station. “The star it orbits is actually a binary—a main-sequence orbiting a thirty stellar-mass black hole. But the hole itself is pretty quiet. No danger of it consuming the star for another billion years or so.”
“Interesting,” said Isaacson. “Are we in any danger?”
The captain chuckled, as if she was used to suffering through space-newbie questions. “They’re actually quite common, relatively speaking. Galaxy has millions of black holes, and most of those are in binary or trinary star systems.”
“Millions?”
“Black holes aren’t some dangerous juggernauts that roam the galaxy eating up stars and planets and shit, Mr. Vice President. It’s just a star, basically, but without the light. Just like you’d never dream of flying straight at the actual star right next to it, you wouldn’t do the same with the black hole. And with either one, you can orbit it safely, just like Penumbra Three is doing. It doesn’t just magically reach out and suck you in. We’re perfectly safe, Mr. Isaacson.”
“I knew that,” Isaacson huffed. It was a lie, of course—he didn’t know the first thing about galactic composition, much less black hole dynamics, but he hated it when people assumed he was an idiot.
“Of course, sir,” she said, rolling her eyes. She turned back to the sensor station. “Any sign of the station, Wu-Jin?”
“Coming up on it now, ma’am. Looks like it used to be a major asteroid, but it’s been caved out.”
Isaacson nodded. He remembered Volodin telling him that, back when the Russians thought it was they who had the Swarm under their control and not the other way around: they’d had the Swarm cave out a large asteroid for them as a proof-of-principle that they could direct the Swarm to do simple tasks. Looks like they’d gone beyond simple tasks—the space station was massive. On the viewscreen, he saw dozens of Russian warships docked at the large rock, which here and there was dotted with patches of metal peeking out from the crater-marked surface, hinting at the vast, cavernous structure underneath the surface.
“Also reading thousands of ... well ... gravitational anomalies, I guess you could say,” said Wu-Jin, the young man at sensors.
“Where?”
“Surrounding the station. Orbiting the planet. Inside the station. Really, they’re scattered everywhere. There’s what looks like a small moon beyond the station, in the middle of a debris field. The anomalies seem to be concentrated in that a
rea.”
The captain stood up and walked over to examine the monitor at the sensor station. “Thousands of them. Hmph. Steer clear, just in case.” She turned back to Isaacson. “Now, you said you were expected? I don’t like the thought of hanging around here with all those warships. The UESS Albright has no defensive capabilities, you know.”
“Don’t worry, Captain Hall, we’re perfectly safe,” he said, mimicking her earlier assurance, in the same tone, but with an added edge of condescension. “Ambassador Volodin assured me safe passage here for secret peace talks.”
“You really think you can convince the Russians to end hostilities and join us against the Swarm?”
Isaacson rolled his eyes. “That, Captain Hall, is none of your business.” He stood up and walked toward the comm station. “Open up a secure channel. Diplomatic code fifteen. Inform Ambassador Volodin that we’ve arrived.”
A few moments later the young man at comm nodded. “Receiving confirmation. The ambassador sends his greetings. Says the Russian Premier is here waiting for you—”
“Malakhov himself is here?” said the captain with a sharp gasp of surprise.
“I told you, Captain Hall, it’s none of your business.” He noticed the fear in her eyes. “You can’t talk peace with an empire without talking to the head,” he added reassuringly. Not out of concern for her emotions, of course, but to make sure she carried on with the mission to deliver him to Penumbra Station.
The comm officer continued. “The premier is waiting. We’re being given docking coordinates.”
“Change course, Jill,” the captain said to the navigator. “Intercept course with the Station. Line us up with the docking coordinates.”
“Ma’am,” began Wu-Jin. “There is a large debris field in between us and the Station. We’ll need to adjust our orbit by about a hundred kilometers and rise up again before we attempt docking.”
Captain Hall nodded. “Very well. Make the adjustments.”
The navigator entered the instructions into the nav computer as Isaacson watched the planet grow larger on the viewscreen as they descended into a slightly deeper orbit.
“Oh my god,” muttered Jill. “Emergency course change! Hold on—”
Everyone was thrown to starboard as the ship lurched to port with an acceleration that momentarily overcame the ship’s inertial cancelers. “What the hell happened?” demanded the captain.
“Another debris field. Just came in out of nowhere. I’m sure we scanned that orbit before we descended.”
The captain turned to the sensor officer. “Wu-Jin?”
He shook his head. “I scanned it, ma’am. It must have been moving fast enough that we didn’t pick it up. Or maybe it was aligned between us and that first debris field such that our sensors couldn’t distinguish the two.”
“We’re clear, Captain,” said the navigator. “Resuming course.”
The captain nodded. “Keep a full sensor sweep going. I don’t want to run into anything else unexpected.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Volz knew he was dreaming again, but it was getting harder to distinguish dreams from waking life. Because he knew this wasn’t just a dream. He’d been here. He’d done this. He was flying, racing other ships, hearing voices—impossible voices—and knew he had a terrible choice to make.
Both of them were friends. Both deserved life.
But fresh on his mind was Dogtown’s fate. The Swarm had taken him. And Hanrahan. And the Doc. Made them do horrible, unspeakable things. The Swarm was coming—the ships were all around him now. He wouldn’t let them get his friends. Not this time.
He made his choice.
The dream raced ahead, jumping to the point where he was floating, in space, just him in his pressurized flight suit, dangling at the end of his tow line. He reached, stretched—he knew there was a good chance he’d miss, and they’d both be lost forever.
But he grabbed on, keying in the emergency open code into the pad and yanked the hatch open.
She was dying. Bleeding and delirious and dying.
But there was still time to save her.
Chapter Thirty
Sickbay, ISS Warrior
High Orbit, Britannia
He awoke with a start. The dreams were becoming clearer, but it was still difficult to remember the specifics. When he came out of that singularity, holding Fishtail in his lap, trying to make the landing on the Warrior’s fighter deck without passing out, he felt sure he knew what had happened.
Just like in the first waking moments after a dream—you know exactly what you dreamed about, all the details firmly in place. Sometimes you dream about a great idea—a new squadron maneuver, or a witty insult, but as soon as you reach for something to write it down, the idea fades, lost to haze and uncertainty. When he’d landed, he was certain of so many things—he’d seen the Constitution, and a large Swarm carrier—far larger than any he’d ever seen. And he’d heard Granger’s voice. And another voice. An impossible voice.
That’s where it started getting hazy. Why was it impossible? And was he even sure now that he’d heard Granger’s voice? And he rescued Fishtail—that much he was sure of, but how had he done it? It was getting harder to separate dream from reality, even as he was remembering more while in the dreams. But somehow, he knew he’d been confronted with a terrible choice.
And there she was, the result of that terrible choice, laying in that sickbay bed. He rested his head against the window, standing vigil in his customary spot in the hallway outside sickbay, watching her breathe. Watching it breathe. Was she in there?
He walked into sickbay and stood next to the transparent enclosure that kept them all safe from Swarm infection. The monitor next to her bed indicated her heart beat, her breathing pattern, all the rest of her vital signs—many of which had edged beyond normal human ranges now that the Swarm virus roamed her system, changing her, for all intents and purposes making her stronger, healthier, better. But simultaneously stealing her away.
The machine also monitored the level of tranquilizer in her system, and he saw that it was getting low. He waited, waited, waited for the beeping that would commence once the sedative wore off completely. Glancing up, he saw that the nurses on duty were busy with other patients, but for the most part sickbay was empty.
His finger was poised and ready. The monitor beeped. With a quick tap of his finger—a trigger impulse learned from dozens of life-or-death battles with the Swarm—he switched off the sound. He looked up again. The nurses hadn’t noticed the abortive beep.
Fishtail started to stir. Soon, her eyes fluttered, and she looked at him.
The smirk returned. The cold, dead, glassy eyes. Shit. They really had her.
“Ballsy, how nice of you to watch over me.” Her tone was mocking. “I’ve seen you watching me. Almost every single day.” Her voice lowered in register to a dark, mock-sultry tone. “Are you in love with me?”
He ignored her taunt. “We’re going to destroy you, you know. You may as well give up now.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re weak. Disjointed. Scattered. One leader undermining the other, one nation scheming against the next. You lack focus. You have no purpose. For humans, it is every man for himself, at the expense of everyone else.”
“You’re wrong. We help each other. We lift each other up. If you knew Fishtail at all, you’d know that.”
Her cold eyes drilled into him. “Help each other? Lift each other? You don’t fool me, fly-boy. You help your own tribe. That’s it. Humanity is tribal. Always has been, and left to its own primitive devices, it always will be. That’s where we come in. We will elevate you. You can join the family, become our friends, and take your rightful place in the Concordat.”
He leaned over the top of the enclosure. “We don’t want a place in your Concordat. And you’re wrong. We’re not just tribal. We’ve come far from those days. We’re—”
“Ballsy,” she interrupted with a scoff, “humanity hasn’t changed i
n a hundred thousand years. You’re just a handful of spear-shaking jingoistic tribes that fight for that coveted spot on top of your tiny, insignificant hill. Believe me, we know. We’ve been watching. The Russians are trying to destroy you. You’re trying to destroy the Russians. The Caliphate wants both governments destroyed, but they don’t dare say it since your last war with them nearly destroyed them. And even in your own government, the factions squabble and fight, scheming to kill each other, obtain power over the other, each fighting for his own little group of like-minded and small-minded sycophants. The shrillest, most profane leaders win, and the reasonable, quiet voices are squashed. We are not like that, Ballsy. You’ll see. It’ll be better with us. In the Concordat, you’ll know harmony. Unity. Peace and prosperity.”
It was hard to argue with her. Mainly because she was right—he hated the political class. Even more, he hated the oligarchic plutocrat class that pretended to be above the political fray. Pretending to be outsiders when in fact they were the most deeply inculcated of all of them, protecting their money and their status. But the Swarm’s solution was unthinkable. Forced freedom was no freedom.
“Look, Fishtail, let’s change the subject.”
“Yes, let’s,” she replied with another smirk.
“You remember that hair-raising maneuver you pulled? Against that Swarm turret? Spiraling in against who knows how many gees, knocking it out, and then flying through the fireball?”
“What of it?”
He tried to smile, genuinely. Maybe he could reach her, connect with her, if he could just punch through the Swarm cloud. Maybe reach her with real emotion. “Child’s play. You should see the shit I’m doing now. Unbelievable shit. They even changed my name from Ballsy to Oh-my-godsey.” He threw in a wink for good measure. Something, anything to reach her.
But her face remained stoney.
“Look, Fishtail ... I—well, I did what you wanted. I took the ring to your parents. I played with Zack-Zack. Gave him a toy. Hugged him. I just wanted you to know that he’s ok. And that he misses you. Terribly.”
