Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

  “We are getting inquiries from the defense force,” called the com officer.

  “Who are they?” asked the Admiral, focusing on the holo tank which had reconfigured to show the local area.

  “Imperial cruiser River Platte and two destroyers,” called back one of the tactical officers. “Along with four IP frigates belonging to the Imperial Bureau of Prisons.”

  “Inform the Fleet ships that they are no longer under local control, but are to stand down and prepare to aid us,” ordered the Admiral, looking at the holo and focusing on one of the civilian ships. “Send my authentication codes.”

  “And the Bureau ships?” asked the second com tech, looking over her shoulder at the Admiral. “They’re lighting my board, Admiral, sending multiple inquiries.”

  “Tell them to also stand down,” said Len, glaring at the frigate he had brought into zoom focus. “Under pain of being fired upon.”

  There, he thought, switching his view to another frigate. I’ve stuck it in for good now.

  “We’re still getting inquiries from the planet,” yelled out the chief com officer.

  The Admiral checked the status of the ship, noting that they were only thirty-four seconds from a complete stop. “Put them on the line.”

  “Prison planet Purgatory,” came the voice over the com. “Valkyrie, what are your intentions. Repeat, you are approaching restricted space and are warned away. This is Central Control of Prison Planet Purgatory.”

  “This is High Grand Admiral Lenkowski,” said the Admiral in his most forceful voice. “Chief of Naval Operations for the New Terran Empire Navy. We are here on official Fleet business. You are holding a prisoner illegally, and we will take her with us.”

  “Launch,” said the Admiral, leaning over and looking at the Marine liaison officer.

  “Launching,” said that officer. Moments later the holo was filled with the green arrows of assault shuttles, moving away from the battleships and toward the planet.

  “You are not authorized to take prisoners from this installation,” came the voice of Central Control. “You must have permission of the Imperial Bureau of Prisons, or a court order to take a prisoner.”

  “Nonetheless, we have come for a prisoner that you will release to my custody,” said the Admiral. “Prepare to be boarded by my Marines.”

  “Their weapons are fully powered,” said one of the tactical officers.

  “Any attempt to take anyone off this station will be met with deadly force,” said the Central Controller. “This is an illegal action, and will subject all participants to prosecution and arrest.”

  “Please,” said one of the techs with a laugh.

  “Do not fire on our shuttles,” said the Admiral, hoping the damned fools would see reason.

  “They’ve fired a shot,” said the tactical commander. “No hit. Looks like a warning shot.”

  “Take out all of their weapons installations, except for the fort,” ordered the Admiral in a cold voice. The tactical officer looked back at the Admiral with wide eyes. “Now, Commander.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” said the Commander, turning back to his board.

  There were eighty-five weapons installations on the planet’s surface, lasers and missile batteries, and three dozen platforms in space. The battleships opened up with all laser batteries and particle beams. In moments the installations, not made to stand up to capital ship bombardment, were silenced.

  “The fort is sending capitulation signals,” said the com officer. “The naval personnel aboard have taken over.”

  “I kind of thought they would,” said the Admiral with a smile. “Now I can only the hope the one on the other side of the planet does the same.” He looked over at the Marine officer. “Keep me apprised of the assault.” The officer nodded and kept at his board, talking into the com link.

  “One of the frigates is firing missiles,” called out the Commander in charge of tactical.

  “Take them out,” ordered the Admiral, knowing he didn’t have to give defensive commands. The captains in charge would see to that. The ship vibrated slightly at that thought, the battleship cycling counter missiles. There really was no chance that a frigate would shoot its way through the defenses of two capital ships.

  The holo showed the reward that came the way of the frigate, as it exploded in space under the assault of hundreds of pentawatts of laser power.

  “If any of those others are stupid enough to fire, blast them,” said the Admiral, his attention drawn to a high mounted side screen where the assault shuttles were blasting the doors of the hanger bays, then flying in.

  The Admiral fretted for a couple of minutes, worrying about what might be happening during the Marine assault. Something he couldn’t do anything about, which made it so much more worrisome.

  “We are meeting some resistance,” said the Marine Liaison Officer. “Nothing really unexpected, sir. And nothing our boys and girls can’t handle.”

  Pray God we just keep the casualties light on both sides, thought the Admiral. He knew that none of those fighting was responsible for this mess. For the most part the prison security force were good men doing a job. And some of them were going to die for it because they were standing in the way of what should be done.

  More time passed. The Admiral restrained himself from watching through the cameras of the Marines. There would be too much temptation to step in and micromanage. Something the Corps didn’t condone, much less the Navy.

  “We have her, sir,” said the Marine Liaison Officer. “She’s in good shape. And the Colonel is also reporting some surprising prisoners we thought long gone.”

  Len looked at the dozen names that scrolled across his link, whistling at some of them. Men who had disappeared, presumed dead. Held in captivity in that hell hole for how long? “Make sure they get aboard as well.”

  Within another half hour it was over, and a signal sent to the IIB HQ on Jewel would still be seven hours in transit to reach anyone who could do anything.

  “Everyone is aboard, Admiral,” said the liaison officer.

  “How many casualties?”

  “The Marines have three permanent dead,” said the officer, the smile leaving his face. “Another fifty-four that should all return to duty.”

  “Thank you Lord,” whispered the Admiral under his breath. He didn’t ask the casualty figures for the defenders. He didn’t want to know. “Bring the prisoner to the flag bridge, if you please, Major,” he said to the Marine Liaison. That man nodded.

  “Central Control,” said the Admiral, switching on the link back to the outgoing com. “We will be leaving now. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “You will regret this, Admiral,” said the voice of the controller.

  I already do, thought the Admiral, again thinking about those who had died this day. He got up from his seat and headed back to the day cabin, staggering just a step as the ship jumped back into hyper VI.

  A few minutes later the door buzzer sounded. “Come in,” he said, watching the door as it opened. An officer stood at the door.

  “She’s here, Admiral,” said the man, gesturing the tall blond woman with slightly slanted eyes into the compartment. The Admiral nodded his thanks and gestured the woman to a chair.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering what this is about,” said the Admiral, leaning forward across the desk.

  “Not as much as I’m thankful to get out of that place,” said Dr. Lucille Yu, a smile creeping across her face.

  “We’ll make sure you don’t return,” said the Admiral, noting the intelligent eyes of the woman. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

  “So,” said the scientist in a soft voice. “What happens to me now?”

  “You go back to work,” said the Admiral. “Getting the Fleet what it needs from the Donut Project.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” agreed the Admiral, holding his hands open to her.

  “And what’s to stop them fr
om putting me back in that place?”

  “We’re to stop them,” said the Admiral. “We’ll get you back on the station and keep you secure. It will mean having to give up some privacy.”

  “But I’ll be able to work,” said the woman, tears coming to her eyes. “That’s all I want to do. Do my work, and help my society.”

  And Len Lenkowski knew he had made the right decision this day. Now he just had to live with the consequences.

  * * *

  “I am so glad you could come, High Lord,” said the Archduke Horatio Alexanderopolis, Imperial Ambassador to the Empire of Elysium.

  “I wish the reason for my coming was not of this nature,” said the High Lord Grarakakak, chief official of that Empire, clasping the hand of the human in a delicate member of his own.

  That did not surprise the human, who had known the Brakakak noble for many decades. He understands us so well. As well as any could understand one of another species. Hell, another evolutionary tree in all reality.

  “My deepest condolences,” continued the avian sentient, bowing and looking at the floor. “It is always hard to lose a leader, especially one as competent as Augustine.”

  “Thank you my Lord,” said the Archduke, gesturing the avian to take a chair that was configuring itself to the Brakakak physiology as they spoke. “Would you like a drink? Bourbon?”

  “Thank you,” said the Lord of Elysium, fitting his body into the now suitable seat.

  The Archduke made the drinks and handed the High Lord his human favorite. He made his way to the facing seat and took a position across from the colorful avian.

  “He was more than just a sovereign to me, my Lord,” said the Archduke, nodding his head toward a holo portrait of the Emperor and his wife. “He was my friend, as was his father before him. I used to hold him in my lap when he was a child, while myself and his father played chess.”

  “It was a harder blow for you than most,” said the High Lord, again bowing his head.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” said the Archduke again, wiping a tear off of his cheek.

  “And I understand that the two heirs were also killed?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said the ambassador, his ears perking up as he understood the main reason the leader had come to the embassy to visit him. Not that he doesn’t truly care. But he still has the interests of his people as his prime focus. And a change in leadership of the most powerful Empire in the region is always something to be concerned about.

  “And that leaves the youngest son as the heir?’ said the High Lord. “A serving naval officer. Hopefully not one on the Lasharan frontier.”

  “No, my Lord,” said the ambassador, taking a sip of his own drink. “Sector Four, on a battleship.”

  “That would make sense,” said the High Lord, who then took a sip of his own drink. “No use risking him, so best to place him in a quiet sector.”

  Again it amazed him that the High Lord of another Empire knew so much about the Terrans. But then again this had been the preeminent Empire in the region prior to the coming of the humans. And Elysium had an intelligence apparatus second to none.

  “We are worried about this young man who may become Emperor,” continued the High Lord, setting his empty glass on the side table. “He is an unknown commodity.”

  “I am sure he will continue the policies of his father,” said the ambassador, arching an eyebrow. “That boy was taught well by Augustine.”

  “That is not what concerns us,” said the High Lord, his beak like mouth quivering, a sign of nervousness in his species. “We are more concerned as to whether he will be his own man, or a puppet to your Lords. And we are especially concerned that he not become a pawn of the Humanity First Party.”

  “I don’t see anyone from Augustine’s family being associated with those idiots,” said the ambassador, shaking his head. “As to how much he can hold up against the pressure of other politicians? I really don’t know. Unfortunately, he was not trained for the position of Emperor. That was going to be his brothers. Until whoever this scum was who decided to kill them changed the equation.”

  “Our intelligence is looking into that very thing,” said the High Lord, the feathers standing up on his head.

  They’re good friends, but they don’t make very good poker players, thought the ambassador, nodding at the High Lord. Some species just hadn’t evolved to be deceptive, like humans. But the Brakakak had other species to aid them. Some that were still only rumors to the ears of Imperial Intelligence. Like shape shifters? Was such a thing really possible? “I appreciate the aid,” he said after that moment’s pause. “And I would appreciate if you contacted me fist about anything you find.”

  “Of course,” said the avian, his beak opening in the species version of a smile. “I don’t totally trust the heads of your intelligence and investigative agencies. I can’t tell you why, not yet. But someday I hope to be able to tell you.”

  Shit, thought the ambassador, nodding his head. You know a lot more about what is going on than we do. Decadent Empire indeed.

  “And when will the funeral be?”

  “I would hazard a guess that it will be in three weeks to a month,” said the ambassador, grimacing at the thought of the Emperor and his family dead. “It takes time to get everyone that wishes to attend the ceremony to the capital. Including that young man you are so interested in. Of course there won’t be any bodies. That damned black hole will be their graves.”

  “So sad,” said the avian, his head feathers rising again. “We have told you about that black hole. It was the home of the ancients, and they are now gone. It is an evil thing, a destructive thing, and trying to harness it for good will ultimately fail.”

  “Not my decision,” said the ambassador, waving a hand.

  “And will you be going to the funeral?”

  “With all the things going on out here,” said the ambassador in a sad voice, shaking his head. “With the attack coming from the Lasharans. We need someone out here to handle things.”

  “I can’t think of anyone better,” said the High Lord, standing and walking over to the human, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We will of course have a day of mourning here in the capital for Augustine and his family. And I would appreciate if you would speak at the service.”

  “My pleasure, High Lord,” said the human, rising from his own seat and clasping the hand of the avian in his own. “I wish I could say I was looking forward to it. But…”

  “I understand completely, my friend,” said the avian, giving a human head nod. “But maybe it will provide closure. And in the meantime, I will get with my spy masters and see what we can see.”

  And I hope that you find the smoking gun, my friend, thought the human as he saw the avian from his office. I want to see the bastards responsible for this fed into a fusion furnace, and hear their last screams.

  Chapter 7

  There are no physicists in the hottest parts of hell, because the existence of a 'hottest part' implies a temperature difference, and any marginally competent physicist would immediately use this to run a heat engine and make some other part of hell comfortably cool. This is obviously impossible. Richard Davisson

  Lucille Yu sat at her desk in the Director’s office of the Donut Project, looking over the negative matter production figures and frowning, wondering what else she could do to boost them. We’ve tried everything I can think of, she thought, not for the first time lamenting the passing of Dr. Gomez in the assassination attempt that had taken so many of the senior scientists of the project, along with the Imperial family, and dropped them in the black hole.

  Lucille stood up from the chair and started to walk the office, which still didn’t feel like hers. She looked up at the holo portraits on the wall. Those at least were hers, landscape scenes from New Hanou, pictures of family, even one of her favorite Alsatian dog. There were still a few physical portraits on the wall that had belonged to the late Director. She hadn’t the time or the heart to ask for their re
moval. She still felt that this job was too big for her, beyond her capabilities to manage. But it was hers by default, there literally being no one else that knew the job well enough.

  Lucille called up the clock in her link, and was surprised at how much time had gone by. As soon as she realized the time the hunger came. Enough hunger that she decided to head to the local cafeteria and get something quick to eat, rather than waiting for a delivery to her office. Besides, she thought, heading for the door, I want to get out of this room for just a bit.

  The pair of Marine guards snapped to attention as she left the office, their eyes still continually roaming both directions of the hall. Chung, the IIA operative, smiled at her while his eyes assumed the slightly faraway look of a link. Lucille knew he was informing the rest of the Imperial Intelligence Agency team that their charge was leaving her office. There were six more agents that she knew about, and probably twice as many that were undercover, unknown to her or anyone else on the station but their bosses. And of course the Marine platoon that was the real muscle of her protection team.

  “Where to, ma’am?” said the always polite Chung, from his accent also from New Hanou, though he looked the part of a native much more than she did.

  Lucille looked at the man for a moment, wondering how much his background had to do with him being the Agent in Charge of her detail. She did have a comfort level with the small man that was just not there with most of the other agents.

  “I would like to eat at the cafeteria now,” she said, then waited for the agent to make sure that information was with the security detail.

  “Very well, ma’am,” said Chung, gesturing for her to follow the lead Marine guard while the other fell in behind her. She saw a couple more of the lightly armored Marines come out of a ready room, prepared to guard her office while she was gone.

  “Anything new?” she asked the IIA agent as they walked down the corridor to the bank of elevators.

  “We’ve had to turn some more IIB agents and police away,” said the man with a tight smile. “Other than that, nothing.”