Exodus: Empires at War: Book 16: The Shield.

by Doug Dandridge

  “How is the weapon doing?” she asked. With the enemy coming in she needed it to be working perfectly.

  “The heat levels are up in the red, ma'am,” said the tactical officer. “We might want to power down low enough for the cooling systems to work.”

  “Power it down, then. But be ready to fire on my command.”

  If the weapon failed now she was facing the massive Caca fleet coming down her throat. She would still have the shield, and no way to stop the enemy from working his way around it.

  “We have a failure in one of the main power leads, Admiral,” said Yu over the com. “You powered down just in time. But we need to replace it, now.”

  “How long before you can get it corrected?” said Beata, feeling deflated.

  “We have to replace over fifty kilometers of main power lead,” said the director. “We need more nanites than we have on the unit. It will take at least a half an hour to replace.”

  “Please get it up and running,” said Beata, a feeling of impending doom coming over her.

  “We'll do our best, admiral.”

  “In the meantime, people,” said Beata, turning her attention back to things she could do something about. “Let's get some missiles headed their way.” She switched gears, connecting with someone else who could help. “Admiral McCullom. Could you move that projector out of the way so we can get some of those wormhole equipped ships launching?”

  “It will take about ten minutes,” replied the CNO, coming on the com. “But we'll get it done.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Queens perhaps perform better in the role of monarch because they never take their position for granted. Many kings have failed because they believed that the public would love them whatever they did. Queens knew better. Kate Williams

  “Hull temperatures are falling, my Lord. Whatever they were hitting us with has stopped.”

  “How long till we reach them?” asked Tonnasar, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “Fifty-three minutes. Range, eight light minutes, seventeen seconds.”

  “I want all ships that can bring their rings to bear to open fire on the enemy.”

  “We're well out of range, my Lord,” said the tactical officer in a tone bordering on insubordination.

  “You idiot. We don't need to hit pinpoint targets. They hit us with a dispersed laser beam. I think it's time we returned the favor.”

  Tonnasar knew that firing his lasers on a dispersed pattern wouldn't do much. But it might impart some heat into their hulls, damage systems, harm crew.

  “And fire a volley of missiles. Out to the sides, above and below, so they can curve around their shield.” He knew he couldn't fire up the center, since his own lasers would destroy those missiles.

  “My Lord. The enemy units outside the barrier have destroyed the forces we sent after them. Two of those forces are moving inward.”

  Coming after us, thought Tonnasar. He felt a sense of defeat over the ships he had lost out there. Nothing to do with the crews, but that had been part of his power. Those forces coming into the system, away from their escape route, was a mistake. He would swat those forces soon enough when he had finished with the enemy ahead.

  * * *

  “We have heating on some of our ships, ma'am,” said Janssen, coming onto the com. “I think they are doing to us what we tried on them.”

  “Make sure the ships have their own fields up and cold plasma injected,” ordered Beata, trying to think what else she could do. The shields could stop missiles, even particle beams, but the best they could do against photons was bend them from their path. If trying to defend a point target that would be enough. But bending them when they were going after a massed fleet really didn't accomplish much.

  “How long before the heating becomes a problem?” she asked her chief of staff.

  “Twenty minutes,” answered Janssen. “A little more.”

  So we'll worry about that after they get close enough to blow us out of space, she thought. Unless she moved her fleet behind the planet, there was little else she could do.

  “Ma'am. They're firing a spread of missiles on a vector that brings them out and away from their fleet,” called out the tactical officer. “I think they're going to change vectors halfway through their flight and come in from the sides.”

  “How many missiles?” asked Beata, pulling up a graphic that showed the predicted paths of the missiles.

  “A million. At least.”

  It was coming down to the decision point, and the weapon she needed wasn't ready.

  Beata checked the timer over the central holo. There were now two readouts, missiles and enemy fleet. For the missiles it was six minutes, twelve seconds and counting. And the fleet would arrive in forty-seven minutes. Due to the disparity in weight of fire she could imagine the result.

  All of her own ships were already gathered at the edge of the shield, less the couple of hundred lighter vessels she had guarding the central opening. With the laser working that number had seemed adequate. Not now, but she didn't have time to shift her dispositions, and those missiles that would be attacking her flanks were the priority.

  “All ships on the flanks are to fire two volleys at the enemy,” she ordered. “Missiles are to be programmed to engage their weapons in passing.” Any that didn't strike or try for a proximity kill would continue on to the enemy fleet. The admiral had no idea how many that would be. Or if it would have any effect. It was all she could do for now, until her wonder weapon was back online.

  * * *

  “Their missiles are engaging ours, my Lord.” The tactical officer was silent for a minute, watching his readouts. “They took out about a hundred thousand of our weapons. The rest are continuing in. We have four hundred thousand or so enemy weapons vectoring toward us.”

  Tonnasar let out a harsh laugh. That was only four missiles for each of his ships. He would swat those from space with minimal losses. And any other weapons the enemy sent his way. “Any indication that they are still launching from their wormholes.”

  The great admiral was still bothered by the fact that they had launched more missiles at him at relativistic velocities than was consistent for the number of wormholes they were thought to have. Somehow they had figure out how to do launches like that. That they had stopped after they had put up their shields seemed to indicate that those were the only wormholes they had. The important thing was those preaccelerated weapons were no longer coming his way from ahead. He was still taking hits from behind, but those were nothing to worry about. His rear scouts were taking care of those.

  It was decision time again. He could start to vector to pass wide around the planet. Or he could vector without such a change and come in on the sides of the enemy. It was time to commit, and since he had not seen their super weapon in some time, he decided on the second option.

  “All ships, go to option two. Fire as soon as you are within range and have a target.”

  The plot showed his fleet starting to change their vectors, the globe of the fleet expanding as all the ships went out toward the nearest compass point to their current positions.

  We're coming for you, humans. I hope you are quivering in fear.

  * * *

  Bednarczyk was not quivering in fear, but she was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The massive enemy missile wave had struck. The mines she had deployed had taken out more than half of them, the ships most of the rest. Still, she had lost over a hundred ships, and now the enemy was starting the maneuver that would bring them in on her flanks, in a circle and firing in. When they achieved that position her fleet would die. Worse, from a timing perspective, they would soon have ships leaving the targeting basket of the big laser. As they moved closer to their final position all of them would be clear, and her weapon would be all but useless.

  “I need that laser, director Yu.”

  “I know, admiral. And my people are working as fast as possible. Trying to get them to move faster will only degrade their
performance.”

  “I understand that, Director. But my people are about to die. In great big job lots. Understand?”

  “Understood,” said Yu in a hushed voice. “We're hurrying. Give us three more minutes.”

  Beata scowled as she brought up a graphic that showed the enemy fleet expanding their circle. At three minutes most of them would still be in the basket. At five she would have more than half of them. At seven the majority of the enemy ships would be clear. She could still shift the wormhole and bring a portion of them under fire, unless they noticed the wormhole and launched on it.

  Yu was as good as her word, and at the three minutes mark the ready light came up on the tactical officer's board.

  “We're ready, ma'am.”

  “Fire. Full power.”

  Beata, not a superstitious woman by any means, crossed her fingers, hoping that nothing else went wrong. If it failed again she and all of her people were doomed.

  * * *

  “My Lord,” shouted out the sensor officer in a panicked voice. “Hull temperature just shot up by ninety-three degrees.”

  “Reports coming in across the fleet that ships are heating, my Lord.”

  Have they suckered me in? he thought, paying grudging respect to the humans. They had shown more nerve than he thought they would have, allowing ships to be destroyed while they laid off with their big gun.

  “Hull temperature is rising at eighty-three degrees per second, my Lord. Internal temperatures rising as well.”

  “Get us out of this trap,” he yelled, looking at his helmsman. “Full emergency thrust.”

  The gees forces pushed down on the great admiral, thrusting him back in his chair. He struggled to breathe under the crushing weight of ten gravities. The great admiral would just have to deal with it, if he wanted to live.

  “Hull temperature at three thousand degrees and rising,” said the sensor officer, struggling to get each word out. “Internal temp at fifteen hundred just under the hull.”

  And even worse, from Tonnasar's perspective, it was starting to feel hot on the bridge, the most internal and protected part of the ship. Sweat started running down his face, from rising temperatures and fear

  * * *

  “We're starting to overheat again,” said Yu over the com. “I'm afraid we're going to have to pull the cooling system and replace it with some wormhole heat sinks.”

  “Fine,” growled Beata. “Do that when I don't have a life or death situation in front of me. Just keep giving me that laser.”

  “It might short out again.”

  “I don't care if the damned thing melts into an expanding puddle of metal. Give me that laser as long as it will run.”

  “Will do,” said Yu.

  Beata breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that the director wasn't arguing with her. Just one more minute, she thought. Seventy-five percent of the enemy ships were still in the basket, the wonderful light of the laser shining on them.

  Forty seconds later the first enemy ship breached antimatter, its magnetic bottles failing as the superconductors failed under the additional heat. Another ship went up, then another, then twenty, until ships started flaring en mass all along the front of the enemy fleet.

  “Heating is reaching critical,” shouted Yu over the com.

  “Just a few more seconds,” cried Beata. “Just a few more seconds.”

  She was so close to victory. The Universe couldn't be so cruel as to bring her this far just to let her fail.

  * * *

  “My Lord,” shouted the chief engineer in a strained voice over the com. “The antimatter containment systems are on the verge of failing.”

  “Well, do something,” croaked Tonnasar, his chest laboring to take a breath.

  “What?” said the engineer in a hushed voice. “We..”

  That was the last word the engineer would ever mutter. The last the admiral would ever hear. One of the antimatter pods in engineering breached, the magnetic bottle falling and letting a couple of tons of antimatter contact the metal of the vesicle. The explosion wiped out the engineering section, blowing the hull outward in plasma and shards, and breaching all of the many antimatter containment units close by. And instant later the entire ship was superheated plasma, spreading in a cloud that was heated further by the laser light shining upon it. That really didn't do anything further, of course.

  * * *

  “The laser just went off, ma'am,” called back the tactical officer.

  “Director Yu.”

  “Sorry, Admiral,” said Yu, her face coming up on a holo. “That projector has given up the ghost. It's going to take at least a week to change out all the systems and upgrade it so this won't happen again.”

  And I hope we're still her to appreciate all of your hard work, thought Beata.

  “Estimating that we took out just over half their fleet ma'am,” said Janssen, triumph in his voice.

  And the half that remains is going to kill us, thought Beata. It wouldn't be so one sided a battle, and she would kill more of them, but it still wouldn't be enough without a miracle. A moment later the miracle happened.

  “The enemy fleet is changing vectors again, ma'am,” said the tactical officer, disbelief in his tone.

  “On what heading,” asked Beata, wondering if they were going to go for a longer engagement range.

  “No particular heading for the force,” said Janssen, his grinning face looking up at her from his station. “They seem to be moving onto headings that will get them out of the system by the fastest possible route. They're not firing. They're just boosting, running.”

  Beata stared at the man in disbelief. The Cacas had her. They still had enough ships to destroy her, and were moving into the perfect position to do so. And she was without her weapon.

  But they don't know that, she thought. For all they knew she was moving her weapon to take another portion of the fleet under fire. They wouldn't know what portion, and so they were fleeing for their lives to get away from a weapon they couldn't fight.

  “We've won,” she said in a hushed voice. “We've won,” she said louder, so her bridge crew could hear her.”

  The people erupted into cheers and yells. The triumphant sounds of people who realized that they had cheated death and would live to fight another day.

  Well, Sean will be pleased. The bastard that rules their Empire, not so much. She didn't really care what the Caca emperor thought, or felt. She could only wish him a long and painful death.

  “Tell all of our people to not let down their guard,” she ordered, coming back to the here and now. “They can still launch on us on the way out. And someone over there might grow a set and decide to attack us again.”

  She didn't think that was going to happen. The Cacas had faced a devastating new weapon they couldn't handle, and were trying to get away from it as fast as possible.

  “Mara,” she said, initiating the com.

  “Ma'am.”

  “Fire at will at their ships as they move out of the system. But remain on this side of the barrier.”

  “Yes, ma'am. I understand.”

  Beata didn't want her subordinate or her force to be in a position where the Cacas could move on them in hyper. She didn't think that broken force would do such, but it was better to not give them the temptation.

  “Admiral. This is Dr. Levitt. I have to insist that you get some rest.”

  Beata felt the exhaustion coming over her, as well as the nausea of her lingering radiation sickness. “Give me another couple of hours, to make sure this enemy is indeed heading out of our lives. Then I'll take to bed for a solid twenty-four. Promise.”

  If the congratulatory messages that were sure to come in from all and sundry didn't keep her up. She wondered how offended the Emperor would be if she refused his call? Whatever, she figured she had earned enough capital with this victory to survive.

  Epilogue

  Mrastaran studied the writings of a long forgotten male named Jaraqa, one who had li
ved a hundred thousand years before, when the Ca'cadasans were still living in stone cities. He had always been interested in the teachings of that male and others of his time period, though most of his species knew nothing about them. This was about the time when the tradition of breeding with the stupidest females available had started catching on. It was thought that females who were nonverbal would not intrude on the conversations of their betters, the warrior males.

  The great admiral recalled his own mother, a brighter than average female who could actually carry on a simple conversation. His own wife could do the same, and he thought of human genetics, how they had proven that traits were handed down from both parents. Could that be why his brothers and sons were brighter than normal for his species, and most of the rest were stupid, to say the least. He believed so, and the race had degenerated because of their breeding traditions.

  So the Ca'cadasans had come to rely on the talents of aliens for their scientific and engineering projects. People who didn't have a vested interest in his species. Having such a slow metabolism didn't help either. True, his species lived much longer than any other they knew of, but their hearts beat slower, their brains processed at a much slower rate. They were much stronger than most, and the defenders of the species thought that was a sign that they were superior to others. While the humans were so much faster, more agile, and most importantly, smarter. The species needed to change, to breed lost attributes back into the gene pool. That was unlikely to happen, and with this war raging, the Ca'cadasan race might not have any more time.

  “We are coming through the wormhole into the home system, my Lord,” came the voice of his chief of staff, Admiral Trostara.

  There was an edge of fear to that tone. Mrastaran could understand that. The chief of staff had served under him, on the same ship, and had been tarred with the same brush. It was likely that everyone aboard this ships would be caught up in his purge. Unfair, but the Emperor had the right to execute whomever he wanted.