by Nick Webb
One long, eternal minute later, he emerged from the other side, locked a torpedo on the turret, and fist pumped the air as he watched it explode.
“Fodder? Where are you, man?”
Silence.
“He’ll turn up. He always does,” said Pew Pew. “Trust me, we had to keep a cowbell around his neck when were kids—you never knew when he was going to sneak up on you.”
In the distance, the Warrior, in spite of the massive destruction erupting out from its hull in dozens of places, was accelerating toward the nearest carrier, pelting it with thousands of mag-rail slugs.
Volz pushed on the accelerator. “Come on, let’s go ease her passing. Last one there is—” He glanced at his scope and did a double take. A fighter was flying up and down the length of the carrier targeted by the Warrior, taking advantage of the lack of Swarm bogeys due to the hailstorm of mag-rail slugs. “Fodder? Are you already there?”
The other man laughed. “Lost an engine. Finally got it back online but my momentum took me over here so I thought, why not?”
“Why not? Ten thousand high-velocity why-nots! Get the hell out of there! You’re right in line with the Warrior’s line of fire!”
But, in spite of the storm of slugs, Fodder managed to flip around and make one more pass, ripping apart two more antimatter turrets before peeling off, joining Ballsy, Pew Pew, and Spacechamp where they’d been hitting the carrier on the other end, safely away from the Warrior’s onslaught.
A flicker in his peripheral vision drew his eye, so he craned his neck up and around. A ship—a large ship, had just q-jumped in, and it was aimed straight at the forward section of the dreadnought on a collision course. He squinted to try and see the nameplate on the hull, but in his gut he knew exactly what it was.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Chapter 40
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Interstellar Space, 2.4 Lightyears From Sirius
“Captain, three carriers coming in hot pursuit!” yelled Lieutenant Diaz.
“Maintain fire on target,” said Granger, monitoring the progress of their assault on the Swarm carrier they were pummeling in tandem with the ISS Tripoli. “Show the incoming carriers our belly—it’s already damaged beyond repair, may as well use it as a shield.”
The Warrior twisted, keeping its forward mag-rail turrets focused on the bleeding carrier, exposing its underside toward the incoming ships, which opened up a full spread antimatter beam barrage. The walls and deck trembled all around them.
Granger gripped the armrests, planting his feet firmly on the deck, willing his ship to hold together. He lost the Constitution. He wasn’t going to lose the Warrior. Not if he could help it.
“Reading widespread power failures in the target. All antimatter turrets are quiet,” said Ensign Diamond.
“Flip us around, but maintain course. Target the carrier on the left, and swing us around the husk of the carrier we just walloped. Use it as cover. Relay to Tripoli to loop around from the other side and come out firing. We’ll cover them.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” came several voices as the bridge crew relayed his orders.
The battle was a mixed bag so far. Not a complete disaster yet, as they’d managed to take out a dozen carriers, at a loss of only fifteen of their own—IDF’s and Granger’s best record yet. But the dreadnought was under heavy assault by the legion of troop transports under the command of General Norton and Colonel Barnard. Thousands had already docked, presumably including Colonel Barnard himself, and the hundreds of thousands of marines were doubtlessly locked in deck-by-deck bloody melee combat with the Skiohra.
Pointless violence. Needless blood.
And the Skiohra’s was as red as any of theirs.
But Granger had no time to focus on that. Norton was uncompromising and rigid in his mission of taking over the dreadnought at all costs. And Zingano’s fleet needed all the help it could get against the surprise appearance of the Swarm force.
“Ask Captain Dillman on the Venokur for help keeping this other two busy while we pick them off one by one,” said Granger, noticing that the Swarm carriers they’d managed to shield themselves from were angling for a better attack vector. He nodded in approval as, moments later, the Venokur moved up from a deadly flanking angle, making the other two carriers stop in their tracks.
“Target is neutralized. All turrets quiet, but heavy damage on the Venokur,” said Diamond.
“Good man, Dillman," he murmured. “Move on to the next.”
Granger took a moment to survey the wider battle taking place. Admiral Zingano on the Victory was right in the thick of things, rallying a strike force of twenty of his new heavy cruisers, relying on their ultra-thick hull plating to provide cover from the Swarm carriers as the Victory shot them full of tens of thousands of mag-rail slugs.
One of the IDF fleet’s attack wings was in bad shape. Half of the cruisers of Delta Wing were belching debris as green Swarm beams sliced into them. The other half were gone, disintegrated in expanding fields of wreckage. He saw General Norton’s ship, the ISS Lincoln, far in the background beyond them, acting as a command center for the ground army now moving through the decks of the dreadnought. If that attack wing crumbled completely, the Lincoln would be vulnerable to the Swarm ships in that vicinity.
“Swing out. Full acceleration toward the Swarm formation at coordinates thirty-two mark five. We need to relieve pressure on Delta Wing. Keep all guns trained on that third carrier as we pass it.”
The Warrior swung wide, out from the cover of the broken Swarm carrier they’d used as cover. In the intervening space, a full fighter battle played out, with thousands of IDF birds taking on tens of thousands of Swarm bogeys. There hadn’t been any time to take out the main fighter bays of the Swarm fleet, so they had no choice but to engage the full force of the Swarm fighter wings. Seventy-five years ago, that’s where the Swarm got its dreaded name. Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of fighters. Overwhelming and incontestable numbers. The IDF fighters were holding their own, but it was a blood bath.
Curiously, the Swarm had not used any of their singularity weapons. No shimmering points of light to hurl osmium bricks into. Consequently, all of IDF’s fighters were over twice the mass they needed to be.
“Why do you think they haven’t used the singularities, Shelby?”
“Maybe they don’t want to risk hitting the dreadnought?”
Granger stroked his chin. “Possibly. Maybe they just ran out of singularities.”
“Unlikely,” she replied. “I made my own here on the Warrior. No reason they can’t just keep churning them out.”
The ship rocked again as explosions rang out from the lower decks. He supposed the mystery would have to wait. Still, if all those osmium bricks were only slowing things down….
“Commander Pierce, this is Granger,” he began, speaking to the open air.
A moment’s hesitation. “Pierce here. What is it, Captain?” His tone was heavy. He remembered Proctor’s lecture from the other day, and he chided himself that he had yet to make time to do what she suggested.
“How would you like to relieve yourself of a hundred and fifty bricks?”
“They are slowing us down quite a bit, sir.”
Granger nodded. “If we don’t see any singularities in the next five minutes, I want you to come up with a plan to launch them at the carriers. Full acceleration—at least twenty seconds. Get them up to over two kps before they hit. That should punch a few big holes through the bastards.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Captain.”
“And Tyler,” Granger added, “we may need a few Omega runs before this is all over.” He thought maybe the CAG could use a warning. The last few times seemed to have affected him quite a bit more than they should have. But losing his family at York—that should have strengthened the man’s resolve. No man was more deadly than one who’d lost everything, and was fighting out of sheer desperation, revenge, and a sense of common
survival for the entire race. He supposed they all had come to that point: no one alive had escaped tragedy; all had lost something.
And some had lost everything.
“I … I understand, sir,” said Pierce.
“Good man. Granger out.” He turned to tactical. “Time until firing range on our targets?”
“Ten seconds, sir. But that third Swarm carrier still has operational antimatter turrets,” said Diaz.
“Leave it to the ISS Venokur. Focus all fire on the nearest ship of that formation hitting attack wing Delta.”
The mag-rail turrets all swiveled in concert, those that remained undamaged, and aimed squarely at a straggling carrier whose attention was focused on an IDF cruiser shuddering under the impact of dozens of antimatter beams.
“Sir, incoming fleet-wide transmission from General Norton,” said Ensign Prucha. “All ships near the forward section of the dreadnought are to withdraw to a, quote unquote, safe distance.”
Granger turned to Proctor. “Now what is that supposed to mean?” she said.
It didn’t sound good, whatever it was. “Patch me through to the Lincoln.”
Moments later, Norton grumbled out of the comm. “What the hell do you want, Granger?”
“Why are we moving away from the dreadnought, General?”
“Sorry, Captain. I won’t divulge that information to someone clearly under the influence of the Swarm.”
“Dammit, Norton, what are you playing at? Can’t you see I’m taking it to the Swarm even as we speak? We’re laying our asses on the line out here for you, or haven’t you noticed? If Delta Wing falls, you’re exposed, and won’t last more than a few minutes against that Swarm formation.”
Norton hesitated. “The invasion is going poorly. The Skiohra have mounted a much more formidable defense than even the pessimists expected.”
“How much of the ship do you control?”
A pause. “Less than five percent. But we’ve gained valuable intel on their ship layout. We’re about to hit them in the nerve center. Where their main ship population is.”
“General, I strongly object. Get them all out of there. Retreat. The Skiohra are peaceful, and can be powerful allies. You don’t know what—”
“Can it, Granger. Stand back and watch the fireworks. This maneuver should be familiar to you.”
What the hell did he mean by that?
But he didn’t even have time to voice the question. The comm cut off. Moments later, commotion came from the tactical station.
“Holy shit!” yelled Diamond.
Granger shot to his feet, reflexively. “What?”
“It’s the Constitution, sir. What’s left of it.”
“Onscreen!”
The view on the screen shifted from the ongoing battle with the Swarm formation besieging Delta Wing to a wide-panned shot of the front of the dreadnought. Off in the distance, his old ship. The Old Bird. Still broken and hobbled from its final battle and descent to Earth.
Closing at lightning speed, straight for the dreadnought.
Chapter 41
Executive Command Center, Russian Singularity Production Facility
High Orbit, Penumbra Three
“You? Destroy the Swarm?” Isaacson scoffed.
“Complete eradication,” replied Malakhov, nodding.
“That’s … ambitious.” Isaacson eyed the president, his head cocked, wondering what the game was. The man was clearly either delusional, or playing him.
“I am a man of ambition, Eamon. When I see something I desire, I take it. When it is out of my reach, I plan, meticulously, how I may obtain it. And when there is a trophy that everyone claims is unreachable, it only makes me want it more. And I achieve it.”
From the very public, macho exploits of the president, Isaacson knew he meant every word. He had something to prove, for sure. The man had a very high opinion of himself, though in this case, Isaacson suspected he’d bit off more than he could chew—the war was going very badly for humanity, even considering the Russians were temporarily safe and supposedly on the same side as the Swarm. But he knew that wouldn’t last. Once United Earth fell, there would be nothing stopping the Swarm from turning their attention to the Russian Confederation, and unless Malakhov knew something about the state of their military that Isaacson didn’t, they wouldn’t last long.
“Mr. President, what makes you think you can eradicate the Swarm? They can control us, infiltrate us up to the highest levels, their fleets seem endless, they’ve got the Skiohra under their control and supposedly at least three other races that we haven’t even heard of. What happens when they show up? Have you even considered this?” He parroted the list of concerns he’d heard from Avery and her senior commanders during the strategy sessions he’d been allowed to participate in.
Malakhov touched the enclosure’s electronics and the clear material turned opaque again, shrouding the naked soldier from view. He motioned to another door leading to a smaller side-room containing some other scientific equipment. “Let me tell you a story, Eamon.” He pulled a chair up to one of the machines and began touching a few spots on the computer screen next to it.
“The story begins seventy-five years ago,” Malakhov began, still touching certain areas of the screen and shuffling through several menus. Unfortunately, Isaacson didn’t read a word of Russian and didn’t even recognize half of the Cyrillic alphabet. “It actually started ten thousand years ago, but seventy-five is where we show up, and that is all that matters. The Swarm awoke from its cycle, which, decades later, our scientists determined was about one hundred and fifty years long. They came, they devastated Earth and dozens of other worlds. But they encountered unexpectedly fierce resistance from humanity. Though they probably would have won had the war continued, their period of wakefulness was near its end, and they knew they would not be able to complete the invasion before they needed to rest. To enter their refractory period.”
“So, it really was just luck that they disappeared?”
“Basically, yes. Their plan was to return in one hundred and fifty years, rely on their client races—the Dolmasi, the Skiohra, etcetera—to improve Swarm technology and ships to the point that, when the Swarm awoke again, they’d conquer humanity with ease.”
“But they came early,” said Isaacson.
“They came early.”
“Was it something humanity did? Or was it spontaneous?”
Malakhov laughed. “Of course it was humanity. Or, more precisely, it was me.”
“You?” Isaacson couldn’t believe his ears. Why would the Russian president, knowing the destruction that would likely await it, awake humanity’s mortal enemy? “Why? Seems like an incredibly foolish thing to do.”
“Oh, I didn’t do it on purpose, of course. My top scientists were devising a new weapon. Something we could use against the Swarm when they returned, as well as against … less friendly elements of human civilization. Here. Let me show you.” He finished typing commands in—he’d apparently done this before, and Isaacson thought it strange that the other man was so well versed in the operations of such technical equipment.
The top of the machine, which before had been just as opaque as the enclosure covering the soldier, turned transparent, and Isaacson peered inside. A white, shimmering light glowed in the middle, just barely visible. Occasionally it would flash, but most of the time Isaacson had to squint to see it properly. “Is that what I think it is? Mini-singularity?”
“Yes. The very first one, in fact. And its sibling. They are so close to each other that your eyes can’t separate the two.”
“And how do you keep them stable? How do you prevent them from gobbling up the entire station?”
“Proprietary information, Mr. Vice President. But I will tell you that the popular understanding of black holes is simplistic and mistaken. For instance, this singularity weighs less than a femtogram. You’d need a billion billion of these to equal a kilogram, and your average natural black hole is a million bil
lion billion billion kilograms, give or take a billion billion. Needless to say, it’s quite easy to use our regular gravity plates to manipulate these—modified gravity plates, of course. But we discovered something even more interesting. You can only create them in pairs. And furthermore, what goes in one, will come out its sibling sometime later—the exact timing depending on our gravitational input parameters. And so I thought: what if we could use this to destroy the Swarm’s homeworld, even as they slept? Ensure they never come back?”
“But they came back early,” Isaacson repeated.
“So they did, but I merely adjusted the plan. I gave them the singularity technology, in exchange for my autonomy. All my top commanders, most of my top leadership, they were all infected with Swarm virus. But this technology was so valuable to them, they agreed to let me keep control over myself and my government, as well as to monitor what the Swarm network was telling my people to do—through the patriot soldier you saw earlier in that pod.”
“But why give them the technology they could use to destroy humanity?”
“Because, Mr. Vice President, I figured I could hit two birds with one stone. Two enemies with the same arrow. Your United Earth Senate and the previous administration was so perversely anti-Russian, that it became clear to me: if I wasn’t going to stick up for my people, no one was. The only answer was for the west to be humbled. And what better way to do that than to have the Swarm do it for me? I’m never one to do my own dirty work, Mr. Vice President. I don’t do my own laundry, I don’t scrub my own toilets. I’m certainly not going to fight my own wars. Why do that when I can get my enemies to destroy each other for me?”
Isaacson stroked his chin, regarding the shimmering light in the vacuum chamber. The occasional flashes must have been when the occasional stray air molecule got too close to the minuscule event horizon and vaporized. Or at least, that’s what he reasoned—he supposed an actual scientist would say something similar, but with larger words. “Still, Mr. Malakhov, surely you’d realize that once the Swarm finished with United Earth, they’d turn the weapons back on you. Did you really think they’d let you keep your autonomy?”
