Odysseus Ascendant (Odyssey One Book 7)

by Evan Currie

  “Still holding position, My Lord.”

  “Hm,” Jesan grunted thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose they have nothing more important to be doing than watch, now do they?”

  He made his tone flippant, but the presence of the fleet in the outer system was something of a concern. He would have to leave a security force in orbit if he were to hold the world below.

  “Prepare the fleet for departure,” Jesan said finally, walking over to a computer station and gesturing. “Inform the captains on this list that they will provide security for the world below until we return.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” his second responded quickly, accepting the orders and attached data files. “It will be done.”

  “Of course it will,” Jesan replied, turning away from the man.

  AEV Odysseus

  “Commodore, they’re moving out.”

  Eric looked up from his coffee as the message came down from the bridge. He picked the mug up and hit the response button on his comm. “I’m on my way.”

  He made his way through the corridors of the big ship, moving quickly but keeping from showing too much haste with some level of discipline. He wanted very much to observe the Imperial departure, but there was no real advantage to rushing, and in general it wasn’t a good idea for the crew to see their commanding officer running around like he’d lost his mind.

  Even so, he reached the bridge in short order, eyes already finding the telemetry displays.

  “Talk to me,” he said to Miram as he stepped into his station.

  “They’ve left an orbital force,” she said. “It appears to be only ten ships, though, none of their larger ones.”

  Eric was unsurprised on some level. “Cold calculations.”

  “Sir?”

  “They’re challenging us,” he said, “leaving enough of a force to bleed us a little, but clearly not enough to keep us from retaking the planet. I would hazard a guess that they likely have orders to withdraw after a token effort if we move in.”

  “Will we, sir?” Miram asked, uncertain.

  “Negative. They’re doing exactly what I want them to do, Commander. Never interrupt the enemy when he’s in the middle of making a mistake.”

  She recognized the quote, of course, but wasn’t certain how the application of it fit the current situation.

  “Mistake, Captain?”

  “My orders are to play for time,” Eric said, “which is all for the good, and I agree with them on a certain level, but playing for time is a little like playing to lose . . . and I don’t like losing, Commander. Think Eastern Front, Miram, and we’re playing the role of the Russians.”

  Heath thought about it. “That didn’t work out so well for the Russians, as I recall.”

  “They won,” Eric said grimly, his eyes now following the telemetry of the enemy’s main body, “but you have a definite point there. If I had another strategy available, I would pick it, I assure you of that.”

  He would without hesitating, in fact. In many ways the only thing worse than winning with the strategy he was putting into play was losing with it, and even then the two options were a close contest. In a more conventional conflict, with an enemy he had a measure of respect for, he might prefer to fight a decisive battle early on and accept the loss. The damage to civilian lives and infrastructure would be lessened, and the overall lives lost would be negligible compared to what his current strategy would inflict, win or lose.

  Sacrificing territory for time while prosecuting the war with every resource available to him was and would be a bloody fight from start to end. The ploy was, in many respects, a worse option than a fast and decisive loss.

  In World War II, the Russians had prosecuted such a strategy. They lost entire cities, swaths of land were razed to the ground and all but salted so nothing would grow again, and twenty-four million people died before it was over.

  France, as a counterexample, fought a short decisive war that ended with their defeat, after which they mounted an underground war with the help of allies. By the end of the war, French military and civilian losses barely exceeded half a million, total.

  Granted, the Soviets had just over four times the population of France at the time, but even so the differences in loss tallies were stark.

  The problem was, if your enemy was the sort who might start throwing huge chunks of your population into camps, commit genocide, or worse . . . and you knew it, well then, bleeding them out by any means became the only reasonable course of action. It might cost more lives, and more infrastructure, but some nightmares were worth damn near any price if they could be avoided.

  Since the Empire had opened this war with the Drasin, Eric was in no mood to put any trust in their civility as a people.

  “Track them when they go to FTL and plot their destination,” he ordered. “I want the fleet transitioned out of this system as soon as we have those numbers.”

  He paused. “Oh, and order all ships to stealth mode now. No sense letting the local picket force get too comfortable. Let them think we’re still lurking around even after we’re gone.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  Lord’s Own Dreadnought, Empress Liann

  “My Lord, the screens.”

  Jesan glanced up, noting that the screens were empty. “Where did they go?”

  “We believe that they’ve engaged their stealth systems,” his adjutant informed him. “Still working to confirm that, however.”

  Jesan nodded, unsurprised.

  With the main force leaving, there was no point in the enemy forces advertising their continued presence any longer. He was uncertain as to what they would do, exactly, but it was clear that from this point they would do it in secret.

  “No changes to my standing orders,” he said simply.

  “Of course, My Lord.”

  The enemy were as amusing as they were frustrating, he decided. He honestly wondered what they would do once he left—chase after his forces or remain to “liberate” the world he was leaving behind?

  Neither option mattered much to him. Both, in fact, played into his hands. If he could bleed the Oathers’ forces out by having them constantly liberating lost worlds and wasting resources trying to save the people whose infrastructures he’d just destroyed, all the better. If they chased after his main force, he would bleed them out piece by piece in open combat.

  Either way, ultimately, he won. It just became a matter of how long before victory was assured.

  Privately, he expected them to liberate the world, which would lose him a few ships, assuming they went in with full force. It was a low-order risk, in the short term, for the Oathers, and their psychology would militate against leaving people to suffer under the overlord’s boot. The insidious nature of losses through attrition would become their worst enemy in the long run, but Jesan suspected that the Oathers wouldn’t be able to help themselves even if they realized as much.

  The only uncertain factor was their allies, but from what the Empire had been able to work out based on past encounters, that species seemed in possession of a similar savior complex. Any sane ship’s captain would not have put their sole vessel between the Drasin and their prey.

  A man who would do that will do anything to save an entire world of poor, oppressed victims, Jesan thought, amused. He will not be able to help himself.

  AEV Enterprise

  James looked over the displays as he stood in the center of the slightly curved bowl that was his command deck. The enemy ships had gone superluminal a few minutes earlier, by ship time. In actuality, they had been gone from the system now for several hours, and the light was only just getting caught up to the fleet.

  In short order, he knew, they would have vector data on the enemy fleet’s next objective, and then it would be time to jump out ahead of them and do the whole thing over again.

  “Sir.”

  “Step up, CAG, tell me what’s on your mind,” James said without looking around. He knew his officers’ voices well enough.<
br />
  Commander Hawkins stepped up beside him, a data plaque in hand. “Readiness reports for the squadrons, sir.”

  “Thank you.” James accepted the report, but didn’t look at it. “Summary?”

  “Fighting trim, sir.”

  “Good to know, never doubted it.” James allowed a slight smile before his features turned somber again. “You know they’ll be looking for you next time, right?”

  “Wouldn’t be any fun if they weren’t, sir.”

  “No,” James allowed, “I don’t suppose it would be. How are we on the FTL missiles?”

  “Couple full loads, still manufacturing more, but it’s slow on board now that we’ve exhausted stock parts. We’ll need a resupply of basic materials shortly, or we’ll have to stop altogether.”

  “We’ll have time to tranship from the logistics vessels on the other side. Make your lists, you know the drill.”

  “Yes sir. Needs, wants, and wishes,” Hawkins confirmed. “Wilco. Incidentally, Commander Black wants me to push a request of hers up channels.”

  “The FTL cores for Vorpals?” James asked, amused.

  “How ever did you guess, sir? You must be a mind reader,” Hawkins replied, just barely able to keep a straight face as he did.

  “I can’t imagine,” James said dryly. “You can inform the commander that the request has been approved. Time is the only question at this juncture, and that’s the one question I’m unable to answer.”

  “Understood, sir, and Black gets that too. She just wants to be sure it isn’t forgotten. Stephanos blew circles around us in that heap of his, and being able to outrun light is a hell of a way to fly.”

  James chuckled, not doubting that for a moment. It was actually a limited advantage, of course, since in order to be combat effective you often had to fly into laser fire. Thus the ability to outrun light didn’t amount to much in those circumstances, but the option would still be appreciated.

  “Honestly, I’m more interested in the drones the commodore has the fleet manufacturing right now,” James admitted. “Picket drones with hyperspectral scanners and limited FTL comms? Those are a game changer, no offense to your fighter-jock sensibilities, Commander.”

  “None taken, Captain. You’re right,” Hawkins said seriously, “and I agree, if only because being able to adapt faster to enemy fire means that the E will be waiting for us when we get back from the sharp end of things.”

  They stood in silence for a moment before Hawkins spoke up again.

  “Do you think it’ll be enough of a game changer, sir?”

  James sighed.

  “I wish I could say yes, CAG. I wish I could say yes.”

  AEV Odysseus

  Odysseus stared at the world, so far away and yet seemingly so close. It was growing smaller, even by the scanners he could use like they were his own eyes, the Odysseus and fleet moving away at high speed as they worked to analyze the vectors associated with the enemy’s departure.

  “We need those scanners.”

  The boy entity jerked around, surprised. That was a feeling he almost never experienced, and he was shocked by a flush of . . . shame? He wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t a pleasant emotion.

  “How did you know?” Odysseus asked, though he knew the answer even as the question came out.

  “One of our more powerful scanners is tasked to observe the planet, with no requisition code on the file?” Eric said as he approached. “The only people on board who could do that wouldn’t, not now. They know we need every scanner on the enemy fleet.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, I understand,” Eric said. “Just release the scanner so we can do the job that needs doing.”

  “Already done,” Odysseus confirmed.

  “Thank you,” Eric said, leaning on the wall of the corridor off the command deck that Odysseus had moved to some minutes earlier. “Need to talk about it?”

  “Everyone has . . . deep emotions and confusing thoughts about the world we’re leaving,” Odysseus said after a moment. “I don’t understand.”

  “What? That they’re thinking about the world?”

  “No, I understand that,” Odysseus said. “I mean, the confusing . . . conflicting thoughts. Even the same person thinks different things at almost the same time. That it’s the right thing to leave, but it’s the wrong thing to do too. That we’re running from a fight, but not really? I don’t understand it.”

  “The crew doesn’t understand it either,” Eric said. “Even I don’t get it. Sometimes you don’t have to understand everything, Odysseus—sometimes you just do the job whether it makes any sense to you or not. If we waited until all made sense, very few things in this universe would ever be done.”

  He chuckled a little, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes, mind, or heart.

  “Don’t try to make sense of humans, son,” Eric said simply. “We’re a confusing lot at the best of times, and you’re a warship. I doubt you’ll ever see us at the best of times.”

  He exhaled, not noticing Odysseus staring at him for a moment as he looked back toward the bridge.

  “I have a feeling that you will see us at our worst, however,” he said finally. “Try to keep in mind that stress and anger aren’t our default conditions. Don’t judge the crew too harshly.”

  “I . . . do not think that is a concern, Commodore,” Odysseus said slowly. “In a very real way, I am the crew. That would be judging myself, would it not?”

  Eric smiled. “I suppose it would. I have to get back to work. When we’re done . . . well, you can use the scanners for whatever you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  The entity observed the commodore as he walked out, heading back to the bridge.

  “We have a vector, Captain,” Miram relayed as Eric stepped back onto the main deck of the bridge.

  “Good. Lay it in and signal the logistical fleet. Let’s get ahead of these pricks.”

  Soft, almost nervous chuckles rippled around the bridge. He recognized the fear he was hearing there but studiously ignored it and treated the laughter for the genuine enthusiasm everyone else pretended it to be.

  With the Odysseus leading the way, the fleet of warships pivoted in space and seemed to drift for a brief moment until the transition drives executed the jump into tachyon transition. Ship by ship they vanished into the black.

  Behind them they left another world under the control of a hostile force. Ahead of them lay more of the same.

  CHAPTER 26

  Allied Earth Command, Cheyenne Mountain Facility

  Three weeks.

  Gracen had been monitoring the Odysseus Task Group’s progress for that long since their initial confrontation with the Imperial Fleet. Over that time the Empire had managed to acquire five more planets and tally up a kill score of nine Rogues and a Heroic to their credit.

  Granted, the kill ratio massively favored Weston’s people, with at least forty of the Imperial cruisers falling to their new weapons and tactics as well as an unknown but significant number of their Parasite destroyers.

  Unfortunately, that was still a level of attrition that the enemy could afford, which neither she nor the Priminae could even begin to contemplate for their own forces.

  Worse, they’re lined up on Ranquil now.

  The Imperials were still a day or two out of the Priminae core world, but she knew that was the line in the sand. The Priminae vessels wouldn’t fall back anymore, unless she was very much mistaken, and she wasn’t certain if Commodore Weston would be willing to do so either, despite it all being his plan.

  There were billions at risk there, and ultimately the Forge facility would be cut off from supply and forced to reveal itself or die in the heart of the local star. If they lost Ranquil, Earth would be merely a formality shortly afterward.

  She glanced at the map that now showed seven red stars and the corresponding space tinted the color assigned to Imperial control.

  Seven worlds in less than two months. Weston’s
plan to drag this out has been working, but we’ve run out of territory to cede to the enemy. The Forge is too valuable. We could lose Ranquil but not the Forge.

  The problem was that the enemy, even with their losses, still outmassed Weston’s task group by an obscene number, and they’d gotten at least a little wise to the new tactics. Gracen knew that there wouldn’t be enough to hold them off, which meant that they were all in deep shit.

  If there were ever a time for a miracle, this would be it.

  Priminae Central Command, Ranquil

  Tanner examined the estimated clock with an intensity he usually reserved for out-of-place junior officers, willing it to reverse its motion despite all the laws of the universe to the contrary.

  He set down a drink he had been nursing for some time, oddly calm as he did so.

  “Is this how it ends?” he asked, though no one was present to hear him.

  He liked to think it wasn’t. Nero was preparing to fight the enemy on the ground, though officially the Council had the intention to issue an unconditional surrender as the Empire entered the system.

  Honestly, he didn’t know how many people would obey the order, not after so many had already died in the Colonies, but the situation would be out of his hands once the command was issued. His authority would be ended then in all official capacities and in most realistic ways as well, since a large part of his power stemmed from the access to the command and control center he enjoyed at the Council’s behest.

  He was at a loss as to how things had deteriorated so far while he had been at the helm. Tanner asked himself what could have been done differently to have achieved a better outcome. Ultimately, however, he couldn’t find a path, not even in hindsight, that would have led to a different conclusion.

  Perhaps that was his failure, as much as anything else.

  The Odysseus and the task group under the command of Eric Weston had transitioned into the system mere hours earlier, preparing to mount the last-ditch defense of the world everyone knew was lost. Tanner was among those few who understood that it was not Ranquil they were preparing to defend, however, but access to the Forge.