by M. R. Forbes
They had sent an encoded message through the Outnet with Ott’s help, throwing the signal out into space in the hope that wherever Abbey was, she would hear their cry for help and respond. They had spent the following three days both organizing the Crescent Hauler fleet and waiting for a reply, succeeding in only one of those things.
The Haulers were on the move, a massive group of ships preparing to converge near Earth to do whatever they could to counter the Nephilim offensive and save the Republic. While the bulk of the Hauler’s ships were massively underpowered in terms of attack capabilities, they did have numbers on their side, along with the Brimstone.
Still, they had no idea exactly what they were stepping into. Sensors had picked up the remains of a large-scale battle further out, and a quick scan had identified a few of the ships from Kett’s fleet, along with the battleship Nova and its support ships. The fact that the fleet had been engaged before reaching the Terran homeworld suggested the fighting closer in was going to be intense.
Even if they did take care of business here, they were still going to have Lucifer to deal with, not to mention Thraven and his remaining warships. They had put together everything they could manage, and Olus still didn’t think it would be enough.
Not without the Rejects.
Not without Abbey.
One battle at a time. One planet at a time. That was all they could do right now. That and pray that the Queen of Demons answered their call.
It was a longshot, but it was the only shot they had.
“Ten seconds, Colonel,” Gibli announced, trying to force himself to sound calm. It wasn’t working.
“You know the drill,” Quark said. “Buckle your asses up.”
Olus was already belted in, ready for the wild ride to come. He wished he could ride shotgun in the cockpit and keep an eye on the situation directly, but this was Quark’s ship and as a result, his seat. He had to settle for watching things unfold through a projection of the area on the table in front of them.
“Nibia, kiss for luck?” Quark asked, leaning in toward the witch doctor.
“Good idea,” Nibia said. She leaned to her left, kissing Olus on the cheek. “Good luck, Captain.”
“What?” Quark said. “He isn’t even doing anything.”
“Neither are you,” Nibia replied. “Gibli’s doing all the work.”
“All of the work?” their newest Don Pallimo synth asked. They had picked him up on the return to Oberon, another in what seemed to be an endless supply.
“Okay, maybe not all. Do you want a kiss, Don?”
The synth stuck its cheek out toward her. She kissed it. “Good luck.”
Quark laughed. “Sandy?”
“Go frag yourself, Q. You should have asked me first.”
“Shut out,” Quark said. “Fine. You can kiss my ass then.”
He headed for the cockpit, vanishing just as the Quasar came out of FTL.
Olus stared at the table, waiting for the projection to appear. It would take a few seconds for the system to gather enough data, pulling it in from the Quasar’s sensors, as well as the sensors from across the Crescent Hauler fleet. The network was more advanced than anything the Republic had produced, but unfortunately it was optimized for efficiency, not for war. It had no problem determining the logistics that would expend the least fuel and time to pick up or deliver cargo, but it was up to them to make adjustments relevant to a battlefield.
“We’ve got a small problem, Captain,” Quark said, almost immediately.
The Quasar began to shake before he had a chance to ask what it was. He reached out to grip the edge of the table.
“What the hell?” he said.
“Looks like an old friend beat us to the punch.”
By the way he said it, he didn’t mean Abbey. The projection finally appeared, a three-dimensional view of Earth with a mess of objects in orbit around it. The hundreds of Crescent Hauler vessels that had come out of FTL with them were outlined in green, as was the Brimstone close by.
Between them and the planet was a host of yellow objects, neutral forms, most likely debris. Except it was no debris field he had ever seen before. It was surrounding the planet like a shell, creating a thick barrier that would be difficult to break through without expending massive amounts of shield energy. It was a formation that couldn’t have occurred naturally, no matter how many ships had been destroyed nearby.
It was a shield only the Gift could have created. A shield only the Gift could maintain.
A group of red shapes were outlined behind them, further away from the planet, nearly beyond its pull. The networked data from the Brimstone had already identified the Nephilim warships that had been built on Kell, flanked by both Republic and Outworld assets. The High Noon and the rest of General Kett’s fleet were nowhere to be found.
Unless they were part of the debris.
“Thraven,” Olus said, his stomach sinking. “Damn it.”
41
“What do we do, Captain?” Quark asked.
The Nephilim ships started to move, as did the support fleet around them.
“Nothing’s changed,” Olus replied. “We expected a fight.”
“But Thraven-”
“It will be a bigger fight,” Olus said. “The only way to win is through the Gloritant.”
“Roger,” Quark said.
“I’m moving the Haulers into a flanking position,” Don Pallimo said.
“Dak,” Olus said.
“Aye, Captain?” Dak replied.
“You know what to do. Target the Nephilim warships. The Haulers will do their best to distract them.”
“Aye, sir.”
Olus watched the Brimstone change vectors, along with the rest of the fleet. The Haulers were spreading out, vectoring to get on both sides of the enemy fleet.
“Governess?” Olus said, looking over at Ott.
“Are we patched in?”
“Sykes has you covered,” Quark said.
“Link is open,” Sykes replied, her voice scratchy and gruff.
“Outworld Commanders,” Governess Ott said. “This is Governess Sandine Ott of the First Sector. I’m with the Crescent Hauler fleet that just came out of FTL. I order you to stand down immediately. I repeat, stand down immediately. We’ve been betrayed by General Thraven. This fight is not the Outworld’s fight.”
There was a moment of silence. Then one of the commanders replied.
“I haven’t received any orders from the Governance to stand down, Governess.”
“They sent me directly and in person to guarantee authenticity,” she replied. “I’m transmitting my personal keys with this message, as well as my position. You can verify if you wish.”
“Verified,” the same commander said. “Even so, this is highly irregular.”
“So is being fragged over by a maniac,” she replied. “General Thraven’s forces attacked me. His actions are threatening the security of the Outworlds.”
“Bullshit,” another commander replied. “General Thraven captured the Republic homeworld. The Republic is dead, thanks to him.”
The enemy ships began to fire on the Hauler vessels, torpedoes and plasma beams that Olus couldn’t see in the projection. He did see the green shapes that faded out as they were destroyed. So did Governess Ott.
“Damn it,” she shouted. “The Crescent Haulers have been neutral for years, but the Don is siding with the Republic. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
Olus watched Thraven’s fleet maneuver. A few of the Outworld ships were pulling back, moving away from the battle to come.
“It’s working,” he said. “For some of them, anyway.”
“We’ve waited years for this, Governess,” the commander said. “And now you want to take it away? You want to give up? You want to join with the Republic? That’s insanity.”
“We opened the door to a greater threat,” she said. “And now you’re letting them in. You don’t need to help the Republic, all you need to do is
stand down.”
A few more of the ships were pulling out, getting clear of the Haulers’ and Thraven’s ships.
“They had their chance,” Don Pallimo said. “We’re almost in position.”
“Fire at will,” Olus said.
The Haulers began to attack, their barely armed ships opening up with every available weapon, creating a storm of lasers and plasma that burned across space. They didn’t aim at any one ship in particular, instead creating a chaos of energy intended to draw attention from the real threat.
“The Brimstone is ready, sir,” Dak said.
“Fire at will, Commander,” Olus replied.
“Aye, Captain.”
Olus couldn’t see the attack. What he did see was one of the Nephilim warships fade from the screen, destroyed by the suddenly uncloaked vessel.
The Brimstone vanished from sensors again a moment later, re-cloaking and disappearing into the ranks of the Haulers, moving within them to reach its next target, using them as cover.
“Fragging genius,” Quark said, complimenting him on the idea.
“So far, so good,” Olus replied.
His eyes were locked on the projection, and he watched as three more Hauler ships disappeared, destroyed by the enemy. The ships continued firing, undeterred despite the losses. Six more went offline before the Brimstone made it back into the melee, appearing directly behind a second warship. It remained there for nearly a minute before the Nephilim ship vanished from the sensors, registered as destroyed.
“Two down, Captain,” Quark said. “Two to go.”
More of the Outworlds ships were pulling back, the success of the Brimstone causing them to reconsider the Governess’ word. Even if they were undecided, it made more sense to stay out of it and wait to see what happened.
“This is going better than I expected,” Nibia said.
“Don’t jinx it,” Quark said.
The Brimstone disappeared again, re-cloaking to change position. Hauler ships were still going offline at a steady pace, but they were far too numerous to be denied.
Olus shook his head, a cold dread washing over him. He had been a trained killer for a long time. He knew when to pay attention to his instinct, and it was telling him that something about this was off.
“Colonel, I don’t like this,” he said, voicing his concern.
“What’s not to like, Captain?” Quark replied. “We’re kicking their asses.”
“Exactly. Every indication is that Thraven is here, most likely on the surface. Don’t you think he’s watching the battle?”
“No doubt. I hope he’s enjoying the fact that he’s losing.”
Olus stared at the projection. The flanking Haulers were closing in on the enemy fleet, tightening the noose around them. The Nephilim warships were countering, taking them out with ease, tearing through their ships and at the same time barely moving.
He had seen what the Fire and Brimstone could do. He knew the way they could maneuver. There was no reason for them to sit in the middle of the fight when they could accelerate away and make their attacks from the fringe, especially when the Brimstone was using their positioning to get the drop on them.
So why were they remaining static?
Olus’ eyes drifted back to the wall of debris around the Earth, held in place by the Gift. They shifted back to the fleet, and then back to the debris.
Son of a bitch.
“Quark, get us out of here. Don, get your Haulers out of here.”
“What?” Quark said. “Captain, are you crazy?”
“Gibli, point us at the planet and punch it,” Olus said, unbuckling himself and bouncing toward the cockpit. Both Quark and the pilot glanced back at him when he entered. “Do it, damn you!”
His skin began to crawl, the Gift becoming agitated beneath it.
“Here it comes,” he said.
The Quasar swung around, turning to face Earth.
The wall of debris exploded toward them.
42
“Shitbrains, the Captain told you to move,” Quark shouted, eyes wide as the storm of detritus shot toward them as though it had been fired from a rifle.
Gibli overcame his initial shock, adjusting the Quasar’s controls, firing vectoring thrusters in an effort to avoid the trash.
It was on them in seconds, pouring past as they charged into it.
“Sykes, divert all power to the forward shields,” Quark said, shouting for his engineer.
A large piece of metal, part of the hull of a starship, headed directly for them. Gibli worked the controls, trying to vector around it, but it was too large. The armor slapped at the front of the Quasar, the front shielding flaring as the ship tried to push the intruder away. It was only somewhat effective, and the Quasar rocked violently, shoved away by the impact, thrown into a sidelong spin.
Olus wasn’t belted and would have been thrown with it if not for the Gift. He held his hands and feet against the frame of the hatch into the cockpit, reaching out and anchoring himself. The Quasar rolled out of control, nearly struck again by another large piece of debris, saved at the last instant by a desperate Gibli. They flipped a few more times before straightening out inverted from their prior orientation. Garbage continued to flow past them as they accelerated once more, trying to get beyond the obstacle, the starship ducking and climbing, rolling and shifting to avoid the unconventional attack.
Gibli turned out to be a decent pilot, much better than his initial impression suggested. He managed to focus and calm himself, guiding the mercenary ship through the assault, even as the field caught up to the fleet behind them.
The starships positioned there weren’t fortunate enough to be small and nimble, and they had no chance to escape. The debris reached them, pounding into them at high velocity, flaring shields lighting up space. Millions of pieces of metal met hundreds of starcraft, overwhelming the ships’ defenses, reaching past shields and punching into armor, puncturing plates and tearing through. None of the ships were safe, and Thraven didn’t discern between them. Republic ships, Outworld ships, Crescent Haulers and Nephilim alike were struck, forced to ride out the maelstrom of rubbish that swept through.
“This is the Oculus,” a voice said over the Haulnet. “We’ve taken critical damage. We-”
“This is the North Star. Shields are down. Life support is offline. We can’t stand up to this. Requesting immediate-”
“This is the Graveyard,” the commander who had questioned Governess Ott said. “Gravity control is offline. Thrusters are dead. We’re drifting. Life support is damaged. Please, we need a recovery team asap.”
Olus flinched as each of the voices echoed through his comm, sometimes stepping on one another in desperation. The Quasar wasn’t out of trouble yet, Gibli sweating as he worked the controls, trying to guide them through. The fleet was decimated behind them, dozens of dark hulks adding to the ocean of debris, taken up by the Gloritant’s Gift and carried with the surge, turned back for a second pass.
“Merciless fragger,” Quark said. “He’s killing his own. We need to stop this.”
“There’s only one way to stop this, Colonel,” Olus said.
“We’re almost through the debris. I’ll end the Gloritant myself.”
“A nice thought, but not likely.”
“We have to try, and it sure beats the shit out of going back that way.”
Olus couldn’t disagree with that. He looked forward again. They were nearly out of the debris field. Thraven was planetside, but where? If they were going to make an effort to reach him, they had to find him first.
“Nibia,” Olus said, calling for the witch doctor.
“Aye, Captain?” she replied.
“The Meijo. You have a way to pinpoint it?”
“I wouldn’t say pinpoint, but I have a general feel for it.”
“Can you tell where the source of the attack is coming from?”
“I can try.”
“No trying, Nibs,” Quark said. “This is do or d
ie.”
“Hold on,” Nibia said. “I just need-”
Something hit the Quasar from beneath, hard enough that it sent the onboard computer into a fit. Warning strobes began flashing as the ship rocked sideways, emergency beeping following as the thrusters went offline. Something else hit the ship from the port side, putting it in a secondary spin, sending it directly into a third piece of debris. That one sheared off the starship’s short right wing, causing a fresh round of warnings while emergency protocols sealed inner airlocks.
“Frag me,” Quark said. “Where the hell did that-”
He was cut off as another large piece of debris hit the ship, knocking it around some more. The force of it made Quark’s neck twist awkwardly, and Olus winced when he heard the crack. He reached for the Gift, bringing it to him, desperate to get the ship righted, to keep it from being struck by any more of the debris. He could almost hear Thraven laughing in his head, enjoying watching them ping-pong violently through space. He tried to focus, to control the Gift and use it to save them. It crawled beneath his skin, flowing outward, making it to the hull and trying to combat the intertia. They were struck two more times and might have been destroyed if the naniates weren’t protecting them.
The effort made him dizzy much faster than he would have expected. Or maybe it was from being knocked around? Either way, his grip on the Gift suffered, and he was thrown from his position, forward into the cockpit’s clear canopy, hitting it hard enough he could feel his shoulder break. He landed between Gibli and Quark, both unconscious, looking up just in time to see a spear of metal lancing toward them, gripped by an invisible hand.
Olus stared at it, time seeming to slow as it approached. This was it.
The end of his life.
The end of the Republic.
The end of everything.
Thraven had proven how unstoppable he was. It didn’t matter how many ships they had. It didn’t matter how smart they tried to be. The Gift was the ultimate power, the naniates the ultimate weapon. The Great Return was going to happen, and all of the universe was going to suffer for it.
