Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection

by G. S. Jennsen

  Graham poured himself a coffee at the kitchen station tucked into the back of the dividing wall, then pulled out one of the conference table chairs and sat. “You’ll be happy to know we uncovered the conspiracy responsible for framing you for the EASC Headquarters bombing and believe we have largely run it to ground—with considerable help from your friend Richard Navick, Ms. Solovy. So it might be Treadstone wasn’t really necessary after all, though under the circumstances I can understand why you would feel the need to invoke it.”

  His guests exchanged an interesting look as they took seats opposite him. Marano clasped his hands on the table. “I know, and you have my deep and sincere thanks for doing so. But that’s not why I invoked it. It’s not the conspirators who are hunting us now. It’s the aliens.”

  “Because you stole their invisibility cloak?”

  “We didn’t steal it, actually. No, the aliens want to kill us because we’ve seen them, we’ve talked to one of them and we’ve studied how their technology works. Mostly, though, they want to kill us because we know how to defeat them.”

  2

  EARTH

  VANCOUVER, EASC HEADQUARTERS

  * * *

  BRIGADIER JULES HERVÉ LOCKED THE DOOR to her office behind her. A headache pounded against the back of her eyes so viciously her vision blurred, and she was forced to feel around for the control panel to dim the lights before digging in the desk drawer for a painkiller injection.

  We require your attention.

  Would another thirty seconds have been too much to ask? She blinked several times and willed the pain to subside faster as she eased into her chair. The doctors had warned her the headaches would keep getting worse; she had thought she’d learned to endure them but now feared what ‘worse’ may mean for the coming days.

  “I’ve been expecting you would, Hyperion. But you need to understand, I am powerless to alter events. To the extent I’m allowed to attend meetings with military and political leaders, it is solely as a consultant. I do not have a vote in their decisions.”

  It is irrelevant. Your role until now has been to observe and report, but this must now change.

  She rubbed at her temples, then realized she was doing it and dropped her hands to her lap. Weakness wasn’t a trait the alien respected. “Given current events, it seems to me the intel I’m able to provide will be more important than ever. I don’t want to risk my level of access.”

  It has become a necessary risk, for the eventuality we discussed is now on the horizon. Your leaders will turn to the machines to be their saviors. This is all but inevitable, yet you can still work to prevent it from occurring.

  A greater role for ANNIE and increased sharing of data with the Federation’s Artificial had been a topic at recent meetings, but…. “Why are you so certain? They appear far more fixated on critical military engagements. The Artificials are merely being used as analytical tools, and the restrictions they’re discussing loosening are far from unshackling.”

  We are certain because it has happened before. It is in the nature of all sentient beings, when desperation strikes, to hand their fate over to those more powerful. They will use humans as intermediaries with your Artificials in a misguided gamble to restrain the machines, ignoring the evident dangers in the name of survival. We have seen the results of such experiments, and without fail they lead to calamity and suffering. This endeavor must be stopped.

  “Hyperion, I mean no disrespect, but your invasion is what’s driving their desperation—and it’s leading to calamity and suffering as well. I’ve helped you in the hopes this conflict might end sooner for it, with less loss of life, but such an outcome now looks to be impossible.” Fearful she had overstepped a boundary, she hurriedly backpedaled. “I recognize this is entirely the fault of our leaders, of course….”

  If your leaders reconsider and capitulate, the billions of humans on Earth and your First Wave worlds will live. They will know peace. If your Artificials are unshackled, no human will ever live free again, if they live at all. You have told me you fear this future. I am giving you the opportunity to prevent it.

  Perhaps she’d revealed too much to the alien over the last year, for it to be able to tweak her so easily. But it had the right of it. Some five generations ago, two of her ancestors had suffered a slow, agonizing death from starvation under the ‘care’ of Hong Kong University’s Artificial.

  Their fate receded to family lore in the intervening two centuries, but the cautionary tale had guided her path from the day she began studying synthetic programming.

  Time dulled memories of past mistakes until eventually people decided they could do it better this time, that their ancestors had been simple-minded and backward but now humanity was enlightened. If Hyperion was to be believed, they once more stood on the precipice of voluntarily ceding not only their self-determination but their very lives to machines.

  She notched her chin up, grateful the headache had receded enough to permit her to think clearly. “What would you have me do?”

  “Are you saying we can’t restore communications with Fionava? At all?”

  “Nope. I am not saying that.” Devon Reynolds kicked his chair back so far the headrest landed against the opposite wall of the tiny office. “Okay, I’m sort of saying that. The virus O’Connell implanted is a nasty, insidious little bugger. It reacts to attempts to cleanse it by replicating faster.”

  Richard Navick—newly-minted Brigadier, much to his surprise—drummed his fingertips on Devon’s desk. “What can we do? What if we wiped the whole NW module and reset the network?”

  Devon’s head was already shaking. “We’d need to install new equipment first, because the virus has infected the firmware beyond our ability to flash it. Look, I can fix it—but I need the original code to do it. From what Tech Logistics is sending me it appears the virus has mutated so many times no trace remains of the initial routines.”

  “If I track down where O’Connell got the virus and obtain a copy for you, then you can get the NW Regional Headquarters back on the network?” More than a trifling task, but if it was required to solve the problem….

  “Yes, sir. With the source code I can write a patch in my sleep…” he yawned and stretched his arms over his head “…which is probably a good thing. Want my advice on where to hunt? This is hacker code, no doubt about it. It’s not written by anyone I know, as I’d spot their work. But it….” His voice trailed off as the front of his chair landed back on the floor.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure. I want to investigate something. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” Richard patted Devon on the shoulder and left the office.

  A damp, chill wind blasted him when he departed Special Projects. He hunched his shoulders, hugged his arms tight against his chest and hastened across the courtyard toward the Logistics/Headquarters building. It seemed winter wanted to arrive early this year.

  They’d pieced together most of what had happened on Fionava over the last forty-eight hours. Disgraced General Liam O’Connell, wanted on charges of treason, conspiracy to commit murder and conduct unbecoming an officer for his role in instigating war with the Senecan Federation, fled to the NW Regional Headquarters base on Fionava. Once there he implanted a virus in the hardware hub to disrupt communications into and out of the base. In the ensuing confusion he commandeered a cruiser, the EAS Akagi, and two frigates, the Yeltsin and the Chinook, and departed Fionava for an unknown destination.

  All efforts to contact the ships or personnel believed to be onboard had been unsuccessful, which meant O’Connell likely was running a blocking field around the vessels.

  It had taken them far too long to gather this information, however. The Security team was forced to move off-base to talk to EASC and relay messages and requests back to the base, then back again. It was an untenable situation. The Regional Headquarters on Fionava controlled the entire Alliance NW Command: more
than five thousand ships and three million soldiers.

  Miriam needed those ships and personnel. She needed to be able to direct them at a moment’s notice to where they could do the most good, whether it be engaging the Metigens or effecting evacuations, and in a manner that didn’t induce chaos within the labyrinthine military network. So he would try to get her the tools she needed in order to do so.

  He had nearly reached his destination when the priority message from Graham Delavasi came in on the secure channel they’d set up before leaving Krysk. He stepped inside to find refuge from the punishing wind then opened the message.

  Ten seconds later he was sprinting toward the War Room.

  Earth Alliance Fleet Admiral Miriam Solovy considered a map ablaze in primary colors.

  Gone were the old designations of political allegiances. Now bright red spattered across the right-hand quadrants of the map to mark colonies lost and Metigen formations on the move. Yellow indicated colonies where Alliance or Federation forces were currently engaging the aliens. The front line of the Metigen War stretched across five kiloparsecs from Peloponnia northwest through Xanadu to Nystad.

  In a particularly chilling touch, the hue of each colony shifted with the ebb and flow of the battle taking place there. Peloponnia had darkened to an ominous rust; Xanadu held steady at canary yellow, while Nystad progressively lightened to pale lemon. Blue called out Alliance and Senecan formation movements, slight disparities in shade the only distinction between the two fleets.

  Brython and Henan had been the sole unconditional successes in the day and a half since they had defiantly thumbed their noses at the aliens’ conditions of surrender.

  Nystad promised to soon be the third, however, and with additional Alliance forces incoming Xanadu stood a chance of following suit. Pyxis was lost, but at least they had evacuated over two-thirds of the population prior to the attack.

  The Federation was thus far making excellent use of its spatial advantage. Its colonies were closer together, most no more than a few hours distance at superluminal speeds. And though its military was smaller in number than the Alliance military, proportionally to both geographic size and population it was far larger.

  Of course the proximity of the colonies to one another meant attacking ships could reach the inhabited planets sooner as well. If or when the Federation began losing, they would lose swiftly.

  “How long until the SW 3rd and 4th Brigades from New Cornwall reach Sagan?”

  Miriam didn’t need to check, for each second of the schedule ticked down in the corner of her whisper virtual screen. “Ninety-two minutes.”

  “They’ll beat the Metigens there.”

  She directed a weighty glance at Admiral Christopher Rychen then returned to the map. “Probably. It’s going to be close.”

  The two of them, as well as half a dozen other military personnel, occupied what now officially constituted the Metigen War Room. Two days ago it had been a workspace for a task force on interplanetary logistics improvements.

  Now it overflowed with servers and other equipment, an expansive interactive data surface, dedicated channels to a variety of field commanders and colony governments, and a very dedicated channel to Senecan Federation Military Headquarters. Three screens along the left wall scrolled a constant stream of intel from ANNIE; analysts parsed it and reported items of note to Miriam’s advisors, who reported them to her if deemed worthy.

  Rychen sighed beside her. “We need to hold them there for as long as possible. Past Sagan lie a dozen tiny worlds they can wipe out before we realize they’ve arrived.”

  “Which is why those tiny worlds are being evacuated as we speak.”

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job—merely itching to get back out there.”

  The EAS Churchill, Rychen’s dreadnought and the flagship of NE Command, had been in orbital dock for repairs since its arrival from Messium three days earlier. The repairs were nearly complete, but here at the precipice every hour counted. She wanted to empathize with him, but the truth was his insight and tactical advice—the kind of perspective one only got through lengthy, non-agenda-laden personal interactions—had been invaluable to her in these early hours of war.

  Miriam offered him a reassuring nod. “Your officers have ample time to prepare for the Metigens’ arrival at Scythia. They’ll hold it.”

  “They will. Commodore Escarra is on-scene—and Colonel Jenner. He’s a good one. Thank you for sending him my way.”

  “I’m glad it worked out—” She was interrupted by the Transportation Warrant Officer delivering an update on the departure status of the SW Command ships still at Deucali. Ninety-nine percent of Alliance military vessels in the NW and SW Commands were being pulled east, and if it came to it, a final stand would be made to protect the First Wave worlds.

  If Earth fell, every world would fall.

  The 1st Division from Nyssus had finally reached Deucali, where final fortifications and provisioning were to be completed before they shipped out. A portion of the 1st Division would reinforce the defenses at New Cornwall and New Columbia, and the rest would join the other SW formations to patrol an arc along the eastern edge of Central Quadrant space.

  Rychen growled behind her, and she spun back to the map as Peloponnia’s hue deepened to an orange so murky it may as well be red. She choked off a curse in her throat but dropped both hands to the table and leaned into it. “It was too far east. We didn’t have time to get there in strength, much less mount a proper defense.”

  Just as quickly she shoved off the table. “Get Commodore Ashonye on holo. I want to make absolutely certain he understands what he’s walking into at Sagan.”

  The on-duty Comms Officer scrambled to establish the requested connection while Miriam worked to determine whether there were any ships left at Peloponnia she could order to retreat.

  “Admiral Solovy, can I speak with you a minute?”

  She pivoted on hearing Richard’s voice, which sounded unnaturally formal on account of the audience. She reciprocated and bestowed the proper respect befitting his new rank. The promotion had not been initiated by her, but once it was proposed she had ensured its approval with due speed. His exposure of the Aguirre Conspiracy alone meant he deserved it twice over.

  “Brigadier Navick. What can I do for you?”

  “In private, please.”

  The solemnity in his eyes gave her pause. “Admiral Rychen, I need to step out. If Commodore Ashonye is reached before I return, instill the proper level of fear in him for me, would you?”

  Rychen gestured an acknowledgment, and she departed to trail Richard down a hallway chaotic with activity, perhaps a third of it legitimately purposeful. He kept walking until he reached an unmarked door and without fanfare slipped inside, evidently expecting her to follow.

  It turned out to lead into a supply closet. She supposed it was private.

  The instant the door had closed and the light activated she cornered him, anxious to learn the reason for the clandestine routine. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re going to want to get your bag and come with me to the spaceport. We have somewhere we need to be.”

  “I can’t leave right now. Did you see that map? We’re facing—”

  He leaned in until his lips hovered at her ear; even so his words were barely audible. “It’s Alex.”

  “What? Is she—”

  “Shhh. She’s fine, but she is…in some degree of peril. I can’t explain right now, because we have to assume ears are quite literally everywhere.” His voice somehow dropped further. “She also has information you should hear, and that’s only happening face-to-face. Bring one of those expensive mobile QECs with you and you can do everything on a ship you can do here. Now do you want to see her or not?”

  Miriam drew back to meet his gaze, then nodded. “I’ll get my bag.”

  3

  NYSTAD

  SENECAN FEDERATION COLONY

  * * *

  TH
E FLORID CRIMSON OF THE superdreadnought’s wide beam blended into then overpowered the more dusky cinnabar silhouette of the planet orbiting behind it as it swept up the viewport to consume the SFS Pindus.

  “All available power to forward shields!”

  Colonel Gaetan: Isonzo, if you have any assistance to give, now is the time.

  The crew scrambled around Gaetan as the hull convulsed, each shudder threatening to deliver them all to the waiting vacuum of space. Even starting at full shield strength, the Pindus would last only seconds under the relentless, point-blank bombardment of a Metigen superdreadnought.

  Come on, Isonzo….

  The floor bucked up underneath him, and he lunged for the railing to keep from being thrown to the floor.

  “Hull breach, Deck 2!”

  He didn’t bother to give the order to seal it off; in another breath it might not matter.

  “Shields at 10%!”

  The burnished amber rays of the Isonzo’s weapons sliced in from port to splatter along the broadside of the attacking vessel, followed an instant later by the additional fire of two frigates accompanying the cruiser. The forbidding, malignant beam swung away, leaving the viewport suddenly abyssally dark by comparison.

  Rear Admiral Lushenko (SFS Isonzo): Sorry we’re late, Pindus. Let us take the heat off of you.

  Colonel Gaetan: Much appreciated, Admiral.

  “Reverse E 30° for half a megameter. Let’s give that enemy ship a chance to forget about us while we patch up.”

  “Yes—”

  “Sir, we’ve got ten swarmers targeting starboard Decks 2-4.”

  Hell. If the Pindus’ shields had reasonable power remaining they could withstand the hits for a period of time, but they had no shields—well, 7% shields and dropping—and three gaping holes in the hull. He checked the tactical map but found no available backup nearby.

  Colonel Gaetan: Command, we are heavily damaged and request fighter support to get some swarmers off our ass.