Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars)

by R. Curtis Venture

  “So how do they reproduce?”

  “Beats me. They clearly lay eggs, but there’s no sign of anything yet which would make gametes. And the eggs don’t appear to be clones. It’s really got the boffins scratching their heads.”

  “Not convinced that’s really important, but it sure is weird.”

  “There was… actually one more thing, from the Vavilov.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re not going to like this at all, but I think you ought to know.”

  “Brant, what is it?”

  “Some of the Rasas are dying.”

  “Dying?”

  “Mostly brain haemorrhages. Their bodies are rejecting the changes made to them. About fifteen to twenty percent of them can’t support the adaptations.”

  Caden’s body felt as though it had been hollowed out.

  “Is there any pattern to it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Is it like a time limit? An expiration date?”

  “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know.”

  “Try to find out. Get a list of names from Vavilov; see if you can work out where and when people went missing, and for how long they’ve been infected.”

  “I’ll do that. I’m sure we’ll be able to figure out a way to stop it from happening. Don’t go thinking that you’re somehow responsible for these people, because you’re not.”

  “I know.”

  The holo flickered, the image distorting gently.

  “Guess you’re heading for the gate,” Brant’s voice crackled.

  “Guess so. If I don’t come back from this, Brant, it’s been… interesting.”

  “Just interes—?”

  The channel dropped out.

  Caden felt the familiar omnidirectional wrenching of a jump transition, and the portholes in his quarters fluoresced with the twisted light of the wormhole.

  Dying.

  That was all the Empire needed. It was bad enough that thousands, perhaps even millions might end up being affected by the mystery virus. But so far, one could have considered them drunken guests at someone else’s party, capable of being brought home once a responsible adult figured out the correct address. Or, in the best case scenario, people who were temporarily in storage. Now it felt as if the rules had been changed on them. On him.

  He had to figure out how to insert rules of his own.

  He flicked across the holo and brought up the report Brant had sent to him. It was pages and pages of blood analysis, most of it relating to non-viral antigens which may or may not have been present due to the as-yet elusive Rasa virus. Then maps of the protein structures on the surface of the specific antibody which the same virus had provoked. So many pages.

  The last two dealt with the correlation between partial immunity and historic Blight infections. In amongst the various observations and speculations — each of them nestling neatly next to a bullet point — was the suggestion that the period of time between contact with the Blight and infection by the Rasa virus appeared to have no effect on the immunity conferred.

  Good news for those poor bastards who have experienced the hell of the Blight, Caden thought. They didn’t all suffer for nothing. They will be the ones who inherit the ashes of our civilisation, once the rest of us are swept away.

  He had never had a wound infected with Blight himself, thanks to being raised on a clean world and his scrupulous care once he had left Damastion behind. But from the stories he had been told by friends and colleagues, it was no fun at all.

  While there was no direct medical threat to humans from the organism, he knew it did tend to irritate any injuries with which it came into contact, sometimes to such an unbearable degree that the sufferer would cause secondary injuries to themselves through trying to claw off their own skin. The scars could be horrific. It was about time that bastard little symbiont did something useful.

  His link chimed, and he opened the channel.

  “Caden?” Thande’s voice. “Please join me on the command deck. I have something up here which belongs to you.”

  “On my way, Captain,” he said.

  He could not help but smile when he arrived at the bridge. Proctor Caecald stalked between the various stations, angling his flat face this way and that, gesturing wildly while he uttered gibberish through his link. The two MAGA soldiers assigned to watch the Viskr looked thoroughly baffled.

  “Did you lose this?” Thande demanded.

  “Last time I saw him, Captain, he was being shown his quarters.”

  “Make him stop. These displays are all off-limits.”

  “Proctor Caecald,” Caden said. “This compartment will have secrets.”

  Caecald looked up from the helm holo, stared directly at Caden.

  “I have want to find the destination?”

  “He’s saying he needs to know we’re on course.”

  “Of course we are,” said Thande. “The Laearan gate linked to the gate he specified.”

  “You will have think the destination will be correct,” said Caden.

  Caecald looked back to the helm, then to Caden again. His movements were always so quick and precise.

  “To move the pieces the timing will be narrow.”

  “We won’t have much time once we arrive,” Caden translated. “We’ll need to move quickly.”

  “I actually sort of got that part,” said Thande. “Is there any reason why the links are being so useless?”

  “Lack of data,” said Caden. “I think we just don’t have enough information on Viskr culture to give their sentence structure any meaningful context.”

  “Well, that’s not my department,” the captain said. “If he thinks we’ll be short on time, I’m sure he’s right. You’d better get your team ready to transfer to the Night’s Shadow at a moment’s notice.”

  “I’ll do it now. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to use the wardroom to brief them.”

  “Yes, that’s fine. I’ll join you.”

  He made for the hatch.

  “Caden,” said Thande.

  He stopped walking, turned to face her.

  “Take him with you.”

  • • •

  Thande sat opposite Caden, looking as though she wanted nothing more than to turn the ship around and head straight back to Laeara. That was impossible of course, at least while they were still in the wormhole, but her reluctance was palpable.

  “I have really very strong reservations about this,” she said. “Make it sound better.”

  Caden sighed, and started over.

  “The information we have suggests that the Shaeld Hratha have begun a final assault on the Viskr. They’re already attacking Riishi itself, and the Viskr don’t have enough of their armada left to stop them.

  “Our primary objective is to get to the palace in the capital and evacuate the leaders of the Viskr Junta. They are not thought to be under any direct threat right now, but it is of course only a matter of time.

  “Viskr surveillance of the invasion force shows that most of the dreadships there are currently in the atmosphere of the planet. They’re carrying out the drop phenomenon we call ‘The Falling’. At the last update, they had deployed very few ground troops. We’re hoping that’s still the case.”

  “Hoping?” Eilentes asked.

  “We have no way of knowing for sure right now. The comms traffic between the homeworld, and the remains of the fleet waiting with the Riishi gate, is erratic at best.”

  “What kind of ground forces can we expect? In a worst case scenario?”

  “Similar to Woe Tantalum, I’d imagine. But the majority of the Junta’s domestic guard is mechanised. We may have the advantage there, because Proctor Caecald has given us the signal our links need to broadcast for the Viskr ‘Identify Friend or Foe’ handshake. Skulkers, blitzers, and whatever else is down there… they should ignore us.”

  “And what about orbit?” Said Thande.

  “We’re fortunate that the Shaeld Hrath
a don’t consider our forces to be much of a threat. From previous engagements, all indications are that they will invest most of their hardware in their objectives. The attempts made by the Viskr to defend Riishi have already been broken by the invading force, so the Shaeld sentries should be few and far between.”

  “Even so, those dreadships are formidable.”

  “We have six rift platforms with us, and we will be rendezvousing with the last remaining Viskr capital ship equipped with a beam weapon capable of critically damaging dreadships. We will attack sentries if they move on us, and we will take down atmospheric ships close to our landing zone only if they threaten the mission.”

  “Surely they won’t just ignore us?” Thande said.

  “If they move to repel the task force, then you must draw them away. We’ll be able to RV with you easily enough once the job is done; we already know from Meccrace that the Shaeld Hratha ignore small craft escaping the surface, and our lander will be running under stealth anyway.”

  “What about the drop itself?” Eilentes asked. “On Guathelia and Woe Tantalum, the Rasas fired our own drop batteries at us. The same thing will happen here. I don’t want to get caught up in the flak from an entire city’s defence network.”

  “You won’t,” said Caden. “Our lander will still be on the flight deck of the Night’s Shadow when we make our run to the surface.”

  “We’re taking the whole carrier down?”

  “Yes. Night’s Shadow will pulverise anything that looks like a threat, and deploy a Pale Horse. We will then descend from the flight deck to the surface before the carrier bugs out, along with a number of empty landers. Downfall Company will be providing us with ground support.”

  “Why will we need those empty landers?” Bruiser asked.

  “To recover Downfall. Night’s Shadow probably won’t get the chance to return to the surface for pickup.”

  “We will abandon the Pale Horse?”

  “We almost certainly won’t have a choice. But I can’t think of a safer way to punch a route across the capital, and MAGA is willing to sacrifice the asset to ensure this mission succeeds.”

  Bruiser at least looked satisfied.

  Eilentes seemed confused. “And we’re not just going in on the Horse because…?”

  “Compartmentalisation,” said Caden. “The Tankers don’t want any unknown quantities aboard, in case they’re enemy agents. We don’t want to be aboard for the same reason — getting trapped in a Pale Horse with a rampaging Rasa would end our mission really quickly.”

  “I guess they’ll draw a lot of the fire too,” said Eilentes. “Just like they did on Guathelia.”

  “Exactly,” said Caden. “Secondary benefit.”

  “Who’ll be leading the combined fleets?”

  Caden turned his attention back to Thande.

  “The task force with us is headed by the Atwood, but I’d like you to take primacy when we reach Riishi.”

  “Very well. Any particular reason?”

  “In all our dealings, you have proven yourself a level-headed and capable commander.”

  “I’m honestly not sure how to respond to that,” said Thande.

  “It was a compliment.”

  “Then I thank you.”

  “You all probably realised already that we are headed into a real shit-storm here,” said Caden. “But don’t let it get to you. We can do this. In many ways, it won’t be much different at all from what we did on Mibes—”

  He trailed off, realisation hitting him. That niggling little thought which had eluded him earlier on stomped across his mind in heavy boots.

  “Proctor Caecald,” he said. “Why did the Viskr attack Mibes?”

  Caecald stared back at him. He had been silent throughout the briefing, clearly left behind by the fast pace of the conversation and the complex sentences, but even this relatively simple query appeared to flummox him.

  “What do you mean?” Thande said. “We know why; that was revenge for Seawall.”

  “Was it?” Caden said. “The Viskr claim their whole armada was tied up with fighting the Shaeld Hratha, and that we caused critical losses when they could least afford them.”

  “So… why would they invest all those forces in a pointlessly limited counter-offensive?” Eilentes asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Caden, Eilentes, Bruiser, and Thande all turned to look at Caecald.

  “Proctor Caecald,” said Thande. “Is this a trap?”

  “You will not have a trap,” Caecald said. “The misbehaviour was of… you will have a name… a prince.”

  “Misbehaviour?” Thande sputtered.

  “A prince?” Said Eilentes.

  “Was this ‘prince’ a renegade?” Caden asked.

  “You have the name,” said Caecald. “He had disobeyed.”

  “And will that person try to interfere at Riishi?”

  “I have thought no facts in that.”

  “What is he talking about?” Thande asked.

  “If he’s saying what I think he’s saying,” said Caden, “some Viskr commander of high rank decided to punish us for Operation Seawall, off his own back. He was disobeying direct orders.”

  “Do we need to worry about him?” Eilentes said.

  “If he and his forces are still alive, and they take issue with our intervention at Riishi, then it could become a problem. Unfortunately Caecald doesn’t know anything about it.”

  “Nothing he cares to admit, you mean,” said Thande.

  “Why would he know? By all accounts, the Viskr command structure has been falling apart for a while now. Factions were bound to crop up, and I hardly think they’d be reporting their own movements to the cabinet.”

  “When you say ‘by all accounts’,” said Thande, “you really mean according to him. He’s the source of all our information.”

  “Not so,” said Caden. “The Junta’s cabinet has spoken directly with the Throne.”

  “Yes, but they sent him to us. They’d say the same thing.”

  Caden was exasperated now. He placed his palms flat on the table, and leaned on his hands.

  “Look. I don’t think this is a trap. What would it gain for them? Another handful of ships? Big whoopee.”

  “And a Shard, and a Pale Horse,” said Thande.

  “Still, I don’t see how that would really help the Viskr.”

  “But,” said Eilentes, “you’re assuming it was the Viskr who set up this whole situation. What if they’re Rasas already?”

  “That’s a risk we’re going to have to take. The prospect of gaining all the remaining Viskr ships to help fight for us…? That’s too much to ignore.”

  “Yes,” said Thande. “Pretty little bauble, isn’t it?”

  “You think it’s a trap too?”

  “It seems incredibly convenient.”

  “Hardly the word I would choose,” said Caden. “We’re going to carry out our orders, people. And we’re going to see them through.”

  “I’d like you to know that I’m still not convinced,” said Thande.

  “We don’t really need to be,” Caden said. “All the convincing took place at Imperial City. Her Most Radiant Majesty is quite happy with the Viskr request, and she’s ordered us to see it through. I’m satisfied with her appraisal of the situation, and I’m confident that the situation we find on Riishi will be exactly what’s been described for us.”

  Silence descended on the wardroom. Caden looked around, saw uncertain glances passing between the others.

  He hoped for their sakes — and his own — that he was right.

  — 17 —

  The Invasion of Herses

  Commander Laselle was the owner of what Betombe had always liked to think of as a talented face. For as long as he had known her, he had been both baffled and impressed with her ability to simultaneously communicate contradictory emotions.

  Right now, she was clearly still riding the very crest of the wave of joy which had accompanied the admiral’
s unannounced return to the bridge of Love Tap. But superimposed somehow on those delicately gratified features were also the signature markings of grave concern.

  Her face reminded him of one of those optical illusions he had seen in the Old Earth literature, preserved in the pre-modern era libraries. Is it a skull, or a woman looking into a mirror? Careful; whichever you interpret first is what your brain will then fixate on.

  He chose to focus on the happier face. If they were all going to die here, he did not want Imbris Laselle’s anxious frown to be amongst those final frames when the holofilm version of his own life flashed before his eyes. That would not be a suitable finale.

  She arrived next to him.

  “Admiral, the nexus just came alive with warning messages. An advance scout has jumped into the system.”

  Betombe flipped his command holo across his lap, and she touched her own portable against it. She flicked the bulletins and scans between them like crumbs.

  “There,” she said. “It’s one of ours, sure, and it identifies as Navy. But we know its last recorded deployment was to the cordon at Becchari. It’s almost certainly under Rasa control.”

  “Put us in a state of alert,” Betombe said.

  “Admiral, nobody is moving to intercept. Are we not going to do anything about this? It’s clearly here to scope our defences.”

  “Let it.”

  Laselle’s face lost a quarter of its persistent joy, and the concern was joined by puzzlement.

  “With respect Admiral, that’s not a very good idea.”

  “It’s not an idea at all. It’s one tiny feature of a larger plan. I’m sorry, Commander, but you will have to wait for a very specific event to occur before I am able to explain what our strategy entails.”

  “Yes, Sir. I… think I understand.”

  “Good. Worry less, and observe more. I’m sure you will have your own views on the bulletins we get from the other battle groups, and I’d like to hear about them.”

  “Aye Sir.” Laselle returned to her station.

  Betombe stared at the intruder displayed on his holo. A destroyer, older model. He guessed there would be about two hundred people aboard, most likely all in the grip of the enemy’s influence. That is, assuming they had all survived whatever process allowed the Shaeld Hratha to turn entire crews against themselves.