by Webb, Nick
“Thank you, soldier. Shelby,” he pointed down toward where the Old Bird would be moored in the giant bay underneath the deck. “Take care of her. Good luck.”
She nodded curtly, her face suggesting she was about to say something else, but the hatch closed, leaving Granger alone with his thoughts, and half of the singularity pair that would be key to destroying the Swarm for good.
The shuttle’s pilot pulled them away from the hatch. “Fly hard, Ensign,” said Granger, eyeing the approaching fleet. “We’ve got no time to spare.”
Extreme g forces thrust him down into his seat, draining the blood from his face. He almost yelled out for the pilot to decrease their acceleration, but a few moments later the ensign reversed thrust and came in hot into the shuttle bay. They landed with an ungraceful clunk.
By the time he raced to the bridge, the crew was in full battle mode. Commander Oppenheimer and Lieutenant Diaz were shouting orders to the bridge crew, the red klaxon lights were blaring, and Granger shook his head at the futility of it. One glance at the tactical display on his console told him all he needed to know. One hundred and fifty Swarm carriers. Four hundred Russian cruisers. Four hundred other ships of unknown design. The Victory didn’t stand even a glimmer of a chance, even with the Benevolence standing between them and the newcomers.
We stand with you, Granger.
He recognized the voice. Polrum Krull, he thought toward her, this is hopeless. Even your ship can’t make a difference.
No, she said. But all of our ships will.
Another flicker on the screen announced the arrival of a few more ships. Five more ships. Each as large as the Skiohra dreadnought, each bristling with weapons turrets and hordes of billions of Skiohra shouting out in a great civilizational battle song, singing for revenge. His mind reeled from the growing clamor of voices—millions of matriarchs and their consorts, hundreds of billions of interior Skiohra. All unified in a great battle song of an entire race.
It took enormous effort to shut them out of his mind, and by the time he did, the space between the dreadnoughts and the approaching enormous Swarm fleet lit up with weapons fire.
Go, Granger. We won’t get another shot at this.
He nodded, still holding his pounding head. “Ensign Prince. Set a course for the black hole orbiting Penumbra’s star. Maximum acceleration.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
Docking Hatch 229, Russian Singularity Production Facility
High Orbit, Penumbra Three
Polrum Krull was waiting for her outside the entrance to the hatch leading to the Constitution. She held up a hand indicating to her marine escort to halt—one of them carried the blanket-wrapped figure of the old Captain Granger. “Polrum Krull? Are the appropriate singularities ready?”
“They are, Commander.”
“Then I guess this is goodbye, then. Thank you for your help.”
“I’m coming with you, Commander. The singularities are highly time-dependent, as you and Captain Granger are well-familiar with by now. They require exact input parameters to teleport mass over any distance, if you want the mass to arrive at the time you want. Any error in the graviton polarization or the meta-space input and you could end up arriving early by a month, or late by a year.”
Proctor nodded. “Very well.” She motioned forward. “Shall we?”
It was like stepping back in time, which, she supposed, was literally what she was doing. The corridors of the Constitution were filled with battle debris, rips in the bulkheads where the strains and stresses on the hull had torn the ship apart, blood stains on the walls. Luckily, the Russians had cleared any dead from the ship.
Except for one. She nearly tripped over him—a young technician who was propped up against a wall in a corridor leading to engineering. With a jarring realization, she remembered tripping over this very same body, four months ago, when she was racing through the ship trying to find Granger, while the Constitution blazed through the upper atmosphere.
She nearly ran straight into a few fighter pilots in the hallway. “Ballsy?” she said, recognizing one of them. “Are all the fighters over?”
“Yes ma’am. And Fishtail is safe in an escape pod near the fighter deck—she fits right in down there what with her old flight suit still on. And she’s got her own nurse and everything.”
“Good work, Ballsy. Get back down there and prepare for imminent engagement with the Swarm. All fighters, no bricks, and we give it all we got. I’ll relay instructions down there once you’re all set.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He jogged off, leaving Proctor and Polrum Krull to resume their march to the deep interior of the lower decks of the Constitution.
Once in engineering, she found the familiar equipment installed by the Russians—the same singularity generation and manipulation equipment she’d had transferred to the Warrior from the crashed Constitution.
“I’ve loaded singularity 121b into the launch mechanism. That is the one that will take the Constitution to Earth in the past when the time is right. I’ve also loaded singularity 9098a. This is the one we will use to transport the ball of debris heading toward Earth to Granger’s location at the meta-space link in Penumbra’s black hole.”
“Good. And you can precisely control the parameters using this equipment the Russians installed.?”
“Yes,” Polrum Krull said. “And I’ve taken the liberty of loading a third singularity. 51b. Its sibling is currently heading to Earth right now, in a Swarm carrier that is escorting the debris field in toward Earth.”
“What good will that do us? I thought we were going to q-jump our way in,” said Proctor, slightly confused.
“Just watch.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Bridge, ISS Lincoln
High Orbit, Earth
General Norton sat uneasily in the captain’s chair of the Lincoln, staring at the screen with a sense of foreboding and dread.
The asteroid—or debris ball, or whatever the appropriate word was—had appeared suddenly about halfway to the moon, and was speeding toward the Earth. When it struck, their planet would die. The crust would be sloughed off, the oceans boiled, the mantle rising up in a tide of lava to overcome any remaining solid land.
But with it was a more immediate concern. One hundred Swarm carriers, positioned all around the ball of debris, as if escorting the civilization-ending mass. It wasn’t just a random asteroid or moon. It was a weapon. The Swarm’s final play against Earth, and it was a play that Norton knew in his gut they’d never counter.
“General, I’ve got you a few dozen more ships,” said President Avery through the comm on his armrest. “The Caliphate finally came through—seems a large civilization-ending ball of dirt was enough to convince them that their prophet wants them to finally help us. And the Russian Confederation has fractured. Seems Malakhov is dead, and the ships not under Swarm control have come to their senses and decided to cast their lot with us.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
“Will it be enough?”
“It’ll have to.” On the split-screen he watched the Earth turn slowly, serving as a backdrop to the rag-tag fleet he’d assembled. In spite of their heavy losses, he’d managed to pull together the remnants of Zingano’s fleet based at Britannia, and as many outlying cruisers from the secondary defense fleets based at the other major United Earth worlds. All told, nearly a hundred heavy cruisers.
Against over a hundred Swarm cruisers, it just wouldn’t be enough.
“Any word from Granger?” said Avery, solemnly.
“None. The traitor bastard can rot in hell, for all I care.”
Avery didn’t reply. He knew her feelings on the matter—she couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that Granger had finally turned on them. That he’d been under Swarm influence this whole time. But now that Zingano was gone, there was no one to apologize for him. And his actions at the battle for the dreadnought convicted him, in Norton’s eyes.
“Good luck, General. The entir
e Earth will be watching. And praying,” said Avery.
“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll do our best—”
The sensor officer interrupted him with a shout. “Sir! Massive power fluctuations from one of the Swarm carriers!”
General Norton snapped his head back to the screen, which had zoomed in to the carrier in question.
His jaw hung open. “Impossible!”
The carrier had exploded, and, emerging from the glowing wreckage, streams of debris from the unlucky Swarm carrier trailing from its ten-meter-thick tungsten hull, came the ISS Constitution.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Bridge, ISS Victory
Near Penumbran Black Hole
The space around the Victory was a firestorm. Granger could barely see the empty space out beyond the dreadnoughts and the incoming Swarm carriers. It was just a sea of green as both sides lit into each other with antimatter beams. Soon, purple beams joined the mix as the alien newcomers dove into the fray, and, not to be outdone, red streaks shot out from the Russian cruisers. Every so often the Victory would shudder from the weapons fire, but most of the destruction was targeting the dreadnoughts, which, in spite of their gargantuan size, were spewing great gouts of debris and fire.
The chorus called to him. Granger, go. Faster. Get to the link. We’ll cover for you.
I’m going as fast as I can, he said. He clutched the container holding the singularity—his death and Earth's salvation.
Go faster. We won’t make it otherwise. The chorus in his mind, billions strong, was almost too much to bear. Especially as he felt the deaths of millions at a time, as explosions ripped across the hulls of the dreadnoughts.
“Ensign Prince, another burst of speed.”
“Aye, sir. But Captain, we’re approaching critical velocity. Much faster and it will be impossible for us to avoid crossing the event horizon.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He turned to Commander Oppenheimer. “See if we can’t help them out a bit. Full mag-rail and laser spread.”
The tactical crew sprang into motion, ordering up the mag-rail crews and feeding targeting parameters to the laser turrets. Due to the influx of the Warrior crew, the Victory’s weapons banks were once again fully-manned.
Thousands of slugs erupted from the Victory’s hull and joined the chorus of weapons fire lighting up the space between all the ships, all hurtling along at dozens of kilometers per second.
It was a scene of destruction. Sheer, utter destruction. Every other second, a Swarm carrier erupted in a massive fireball. But three more would take its place. The alien ships from the other two races of the Concordat, seemed particularly vulnerable to the antimatter beams leaping off the dreadnoughts, but their own purple plasma-based weapons were wreaking terrible havoc on the Skiohra vessels.
With a cry, Granger dropped the singularity container and held his head in his hands, leaning forward, nearly falling off his chair. What must have been ten billion voices all cried out at once, and then disappeared. He forced his eyes open, and to his horror, one of the dreadnoughts exploded, raining thousands of chunks of glowing debris onto the surrounding ships.
“Faster,” he breathed. “Faster, Ensign Prince.”
“But sir, we’re right at the limit now.”
Granger gripped his armrests. His knuckles were white. And old.
He forced a grim smile. He’d had a good run. And he’d sacrificed himself once before. This was old hat. “Abandon ship. Get the hell out of here, everybody.”
Everyone turned toward him, aghast. “Sir?” said Lieutenant Diaz. “Begging your pardon, but we’re staying with you until the end.”
“Like hell you are. I can pilot this thing by myself. Get out. Now. That’s an order.”
Lieutenant Diaz approached Granger’s chair. “But—”
“No arguments, Lieutenant.” He stood up, and placed a hand on his loyal deputy XO’s shoulder. “It’s been an honor serving with you. With you all,” adding, looking around the bridge. “But now is the time to save yourselves. I cheated death once before, but I can’t outrun it this time. I’m not dragging you all with me. Leave. Please,” he added.
Diaz nodded slowly. He tapped the shipped commlink on Granger’s console. “All hands to escape pods. Abandon ship. As soon as you’re out, steer clear of the battle.”
Granger held his head in pain as another terrified chorus of billions of voices screamed out. Another Skiohra ship, gone. Of the original seven, three had now been destroyed, with the Benevolence on her last leg as well. Easily over half of the entire Skiohra civilization was now gone.
But Diaz had brought up a good point. The escape pods were flying through a gauntlet of weapons fire. He projected his thoughts out, almost ashamed at what he was asking. Please protect my people as they escape.
The bridge crew was out. He monitored their progress as the escape pods started launching, hoping for a confirmation from the Skiohra that they’d provide cover for them. Given that they were sacrificing billions of their own lives in this final stab at the heart of the Swarm, he doubted they’d care about a few hundred humans.
We’re coming, Granger.
The voice felt familiar. It wasn’t coming from the Benevolence.
He glanced at the screen, searching for what he already knew was coming. And there it was—dozens of flickers. What must have been half the entire Dolmasi fleet.
Vishgane Kharsa’s voice blared through his mind. We’re here, Granger. Do what you must.
I thought you only cared about your own people, he thought toward the Dolmasi, with contempt. You lied to me. About where I went in that singularity. And about the Skiohra. You lied, and millions of my people died.
Yes. I lied, replied Kharsa. Your people have done the same. Lying and backstabbing and scheming. We are no different from you. But we know what is at stake here, now. The final chance. Our chance to end the Valarisi forever. If we fail at this, we fail for all time.
As much as it pained him to accept the help, he had no choice. Fine, he said. Escort my people out, relieve the pressure on the Skiohra ships, and destroy as many Swarm carriers as you can. Once the link is destroyed, we need to make sure every last artificial singularity is gone, too.
Yes, Granger. I shall send my fleets against the Swarm at Earth. If what you say is true, every carrier must be destroyed. Thank you. And farewell.
On the viewscreen he watched as the Dolmasi fleet entered the fray. The Victory’s escape pods leapt away, and the Vishgane’s ships surged in, targeting the carriers, raking them with a fresh wave of antimatter beams. He stooped to pick up the singularity's container. Inside, the tiny point of light occasionally flared. It seemed alive to him, like something waiting, expectantly and greedily, for its last meal.
His console beeped, indicating the last escape pod had launched. With grim determination, he slid into the helmsman’s chair, set the container on the console, and pushed the acceleration back to full. In a moment he would initiate the singularity controls that would inexorably increase its mass to permit passage of the debris ball.
He was committed. He’d crossed the line of no return. Within minutes, he’d pass the event horizon, bringing with him the artificial singularity—the one paired with the sibling soon to be launched at the debris ball bearing down on Earth. In the back of his mind, he could just barely feel Polrum Krull's reassuring presence, lightyears away. She was projecting to him: they were close. Expect the package any minute now. Initiate singularity mass increase in preparation.
The next moment he found himself flying across the room, his head exploding with pain and stars. He landed in a heap, moaning from the sharp ache behind his ear.
“Granger,” said a voice behind him. He slowly lifted his head.
Fishtail, holding the container for the singularity. Smirking at him. “Missing something?” she said, her fingers poised over the control panel on the side.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Bridge
, ISS Victory
Near Penumbran Black Hole
“No,” he whispered. “Fishtail, put it down.”
“Shall I deactivate it? I wonder what will happen.” Fishtail chuckled. A mirthless laugh, cold and jeering. “You’ve failed, Granger. And not only have you failed, you’ve been our most valuable tool. We’ve played you, right up until the end.”
“How?” said Granger. “We’re here. At the link. And any moment now about a quadrillion tons of shit is about to come out of that thing you’re holding, and your precious link to your shit-hole of a dimension will be closed forever.”
She smiled again, balancing the box with her fingers, tossing it from one hand to the other. She was still dressed in her flight suit, and trailing from one arm was the tube used to administer the sedative in sickbay. In the rush of the crew transfer to the Constitution she must have been overlooked. “No, it won’t. It would have been quite the explosion.” With a few taps of her finger she manipulated the controls on the container. The occasional pulses and flashes from the box became dimmer and less frequent. “There,” she said, “I've locked its mass. Nothing larger than a brick will be coming through it now, human or otherwise.”
No.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Fishtail, I know you’re in there. I’ve been there myself. Under Swarm control. I remember what it was like. It was overpowering, but I was still in there, somewhere. So are you. I could still think. Still remember who I was and what was important to me.”
The cold smirk. “Nice try, Granger. We assure you, she has no control over this body.”
“Even so, I know you’re there, Fishtail. Fight them. This is the moment. Our world is on the line. Fight them. Fight them for your husband. Your parents. Fight them for your son, back there on Earth. We can still win this.”
