From the looks of it, the Jellies were playing their cards close to the vest. The Lampreys probably knew only what the telepathic Medusozoans in charge wanted them to know. Did the Lhan Arkh realize they were dealing with someone just as bad as humans were supposed to be? Their Imperium allies wouldn’t have stood for that, so they almost certainly had no clue.
The Circle might prove to be trouble sometime down the line, but the US had plenty of things to deal with for the time being.
Starbase Malta, Xanadu System, 169 AFC
“Nice to finally see you,” Heather told Peter. He and the rest of Third Fleet had arrived at Malta almost a week ago, but this was the first time they’d been able to be alone with each other since then. “Welcome home, by the way.”
“Closest thing to home since we deployed out of New Parris, at least,” he said.
He looked happy but tired, which pretty much matched Heather’s own state. They’d both been up to their eyeballs in urgent business. Now that they’d discovered another species that could use t-waves, the services of her newfangled implants were more in demand than ever. Peter, meanwhile, was busting his own behind passing on the lessons integrating the new replacements that brought his company back to full strength. Not to mention filling reports about the performance of all the new gadgets they’d used during the Lamprey campaign. Most of them had worked very well, but there were always kinks that needed to be ironed out, kinks that had cost casualties when theory had met reality.
“Well, let’s make the most of it while we can,” she said.
Peter nodded. He had five days of leave, and then he’d back to work, getting his company ready for the next cruise. Third Fleet would be leaving for the Imperium in another two weeks, just enough time to repair the damaged ships, integrate the carrier strike group that had joined the fleet, and load up on consumables.
And an extra two weeks is probably too many, she thought.
After depopulating Bizzik, Kerensky’s Black Ships had disappeared without a trace for a nearly a month – and then struck at another system, twelve transits away. The target this time had been a planet-less warp junction and supply depot. Way Station 15 had held six starbases orbiting a white dwarf star; the bases serviced traffic passing through to four other destinations within the Imperium. The Black Ships had arrived unexpectedly, savaged the battlecruiser squadron protecting the system, and proceeded to loot the stations and over a hundred civilian vessels trapped in the system. The death toll had been minimal compared to the carnage at Bizzik – a ‘mere’ three hundred thousand victims – but some sensor recordings that had survived the raid showed that many of them had been stuffed into cargo freighters and then sent into warp space, never to emerge.
More sacrifices.
Peter noticed her expression.
“Hard not to think about stuff, eh?” he said.
“I’m sorry. We got a big infodump from an indie trader a couple of days back, and I’m still digesting it.”
“Kerensky’s raid.”
She nodded. “It’s all but confirmed; they are feeding victims to the Warpling allies.”
He lay down next to her; his presence was solid and warm, just what she needed right now.
“Some of the guys are wondering why we’re so upset about it. It’s not like we’re going to spare the Gimps when we go on our cruise.”
“You know why.”
“Yeah. Bad enough when you are blowing up some poor bastards just because they happened to be born on a different corner of the galaxy. But turning them over to the Foos is something else. It’s worse than killing.”
“If there is such a thing as souls, it’s the sort of thing that damns yours forever.”
He shrugged; they avoided talking religion most of the time, and she wondered if this was a good time to start.
“Not sure either way,” he said after a few awkward seconds. “But I do know that when you start seeing living, thinking beings as nothing but expendables, it changes you. After a while, you can end up extending that designation to everybody except your closest friends and family. But I think it’s worse than that.”
“Probably.”
She suspected the corruption worked on both sides of reality. The Marauders had been driven collectively insane even as they did the same for their Warpling allies. In the end, an even crazier Null-Space Sophont had crossed over and killed them all.
“We’ll stop them.”
He could have meant the Imperium, or Kerensky, or even the factions in the US who might in desperation follow in the Black Fleet’s footsteps. Heather was sure that he was talking about every last one of them.
* * *
“Have a seat, Lisbeth,” Colonel Marvin Brunden said after welcoming her to his office. The strained smile on his face was merely the tip of the iceberg; the man’s emotions were in total turmoil, and she couldn’t blame him.
“This conversation is on the record,” the commander of the 25th Carrier Space Wing went on. That meant their every word, action and facial tick would be saved on file. It also meant he didn’t want to discuss the problems facing his fighter pilots via telepathy. If he had, this appointment wouldn’t have been necessary; the two Marine officers could have teleconferenced via tachyon interface like two proper warp-mutated freaks.
Lisbeth sat down and went through the official files on Brunden while she waited for him to have his say. Marvin Brunden had started out in the Corps as a shuttle pilot, moved into Logistics after OCS, and joined the Langley Project as a major. After flying a War Eagle during Sixth Fleet’s campaign against the Vipers, he’d risen quickly in rank. This was his first wing command. The man’s warp rating had been marginal for fighter duty, but he’d responded well to Melange treatments. Well enough to fly and blow shit up, at least. The man could barely shield his own thoughts from Lisbeth, however, and only because she was letting him have his privacy. For the time being. She picked up enough of his brain to guess this meeting was the first battle in a turf war.
“I read the memo you submitted to Admiral Givens,” Brunden began. “And while I concur with some of your broader points, such as the need to closely monitor dosages and side effects of my flight crews’ warp-mitigation treatments, I do not think that having your squadron act as some sort of inquisition makes any sense.”
“Sir, with all due respect – “
“You’re going to bring up Kerensky’s mutiny, aren’t you?” Brunden broke in. “I am aware of what went on at Seventh Fleet. Massive drug overdoses, enabled through a black market that Kerensky himself allowed to exist through either carelessness or criminal complicity. The reliance on so-called ‘ghosting’ to avoid casualties was also a major factor. None of that is going to happen with the Twenty-Fifth. Everybody is being monitored carefully. Drug tests and implant log examinations every hundred and twenty hours. No more than one ‘ghosting’ use per sortie will be allowed. I have this under control.”
Lisbeth stayed quiet. Might as well let the remfie finish what he had to say.
“I know you have Admiral Givens’ ear, Zhang. You probably think you can go over my head and have her order me to comply with your requests. Well, I have friends in high places too, and as far as they are concerned, you and your fancy gunboats work for me, not the other way around.”
“It’s okay to be scared, sir,” Lisbeth said.
“What did you just say?”
“You’re scared shitless. Your wing is the first fighter unit to see action since the New Texas Incident. Carrier ops have been on hold ever since, and with good reason, despite the fact that it’s costing us ships and people.”
The war was still raging on in half a dozen ancillary fronts. Skirmishes with the Imperium, the Lampreys and, even more importantly, assorted ‘pirates’ and ‘irregular’ units being fielded by alleged neutrals as they began to take a side in the conflict. Nothing major, mostly squadron-level engagements, but if fighters had been deployed, many of those encounters would have ended in undisputed v
ictory for the US. Problem was, the top brass was rightfully worried about using fighters after the events in New Texas.
“What you don’t seem to get, Colonel Brunden, is that the only reason the Twenty-Fifth was given a chance to go out and fight is because I’m here, along with my little imaginary friends.”
Brunden’s reply turned into a gasp when the massive shapes of Atu the Path Master and Vlad the Impaler suddenly appeared behind Lisbeth. Neither alien should have fit in the compartment, but they somehow managed. The sight of a three-eyed legless giant and a slightly smaller flesh-and-cybernetic hulk brimming with weapons froze the Marine officer.
“Don’t worry, none of this is on the record,” Lisbeth went on. “Back in the real world, we’ll stare silently at each other for less than two seconds. We’ll be done here by then.”
“How…?”
“T-wave shield implants are a neat idea, and kudos to the techies who thought them up and installed them inside the heads of all senior officers they could get their hands on. Problem is, you aren’t dealing with some Spice-addicted freak here. I’ve played head games with the mother-loving Warp Marauders of Kraxan. Getting past your defenses isn’t a big deal.”
“Listen, you –”
“No, you listen. We can’t afford a pissing contest this late in the game. I can keep your pilots alive, and you can’t. Drug tests and stupid tactics aren’t going to do it; you’ll just get them killed faster. How many dead pilots do you think it’ll take before the rest start ghosting despite any orders to the contrary? On my first day at Annapolis, I was told never to give an order you knew would not be obeyed. I got the same advice when I went into the Corps.”
“You need to listen, walking carcass,” Vlad said in what Kraxans considered to be a reasonable tone. “She is your superior in every way.”
“Settle down, Vlad,” Lisbeth told her pet monster before turning back to the colonel. “My squadron can keep the Warplings off your back, at no small risk to ourselves, mind you, and while carrying out our own missions. We are also working on ways to fight off NSSs, maybe even kill them, something that so far only my three-eyed pal can do. And once we figure them out, we’ll try to teach those techniques to your people as well.”
Atu grinned at the colonel. Since its mouth had been fused closed at around the same time it learned how to survive without breathing or eating, the result was ghastly. It kept the jarhead officer quiet while Lisbeth went on:
“But I’m gonna need your pilot’s full cooperation. And I’m going to get it, with or without your consent. I don’t need to go over your head, either. The Admiral tolerates me, but she wouldn’t appreciate my bucking the chain of command. Luckily, I don’t have to. My people can communicate with yours and you wouldn’t even know it, especially with those t-wave shields cutting you off from the rest of us. But that wouldn’t be good for discipline. If your pilots realize their only chance to stay alive and sane is by ignoring your orders and following mine, we might as well start our own mutiny.”
“You’re doing exactly that!”
“No, sir. I’m trying to avoid that. I need your cooperation so we can preserve the chain of command. If you follow my lead – my unofficial lead – you will keep casualties to a minimum. I will make it publicly clear that you are in charge, and that any orders I issue have undergone your approval. You will get full credit for the success of the Strike Wing, and I will assume full responsibility for any failures. Your career will be just fine. And the mission will be accomplished.”
Brunden folded; Lisbeth saw the mental surrender as clearly as if he had started waving a white flag over his head. He would make a fuss a little while longer, but only to save face. Which was very fortunate for everyone concerned; he wouldn’t have liked Lisbeth’s Plan B one bit.
“What do you mean conventional phase?” he asked.
“At some point, we are going to take part in the conflict brewing in null-space, sir. Especially since we’re partly to blame for it. The Kraxan began to upset the balance of forces in warp, and humanity’s making things worse. Kerensky’s Black Fleet has strengthened a faction of warp entities that we most definitely do not want to win.”
“What happens if they do?”
“Best case, FTL travel becomes much more dangerous throughout this portion of the galaxy. As in, one in ten ships never completes warp transit. Maybe more.”
Lisbeth didn’t have to peek past the colonel’s inadequate mental shields to see the man put two and two together. That sort of loss ratio would end faster-than-light transport and doom Starfarer civilization.
“And that’s the best case,” Lisbeth went on. Might as well drive the point home so even this careerist son-of-a-bitch got it. “Worst case, the Warplings will come out to play here. You’ve seen the reports of what one of them did at Redoubt System. Now think about hundreds of those things loose in the galaxy with us.”
“I get the picture, Zhang. Very well, I will let you follow your plan. I hope it works as advertised, or we’re all FUBAR.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Brunden didn’t know just how bad things would get if the greater war within the Starless Path went pear-shaped. Only she and Grinner Genovisi had any inkling, thanks to the latter’s angelic visitation. Before either of those possibilities came to pass, the Elder Races would intervene. And among their first acts would be the eradication of everyone involved. The just and the unjust, the wicked and the innocent. America, the Imperium and even neutrals like the Ovals. This entire section of the galaxy would be purged, except for a few minor polities on the periphery of known space, a remnant who would eventually resettle the empty worlds left behind by the rest. The meek would inherit the galaxy, in other words.
We’d better not screw this up.
Nine
Imperial Star Province Mellak, 169 AFC
“Looks like nobody’s home, ma’am.”
“Pretty much,” Sondra Givens agreed, going over the data icons taking shape inside the CIC’s central holotank. Mellak was a relatively-young colony – it had been discovered a year before Earth’s First Contact – and she hadn’t expected to encounter much resistance there. On the other hand, she hadn’t expected to encounter no resistance at all.
“No mobile force,” she said. “This is supposed to be the Sixty-Seventh Provincial Flotilla’s headquarters. They aren’t here. There should be two orbital fortresses around Mellak-Six. From the looks of it, they disassembled them and took them away.”
“They appear to have evacuated most of the civilian population as well, ma’am. The sixth planet is held two million sophonts at the time of the last census, mostly belonging to the Denn species. The initial scans indicate less than a hundred thousand inhabitants remain, unless they rest have cut their technological footprint down to nothing.”
“Doubtful. Mellak-Six is barely habitable. Without a reliable source of power, the planet can’t support even the hundred thousand sophonts we can detect, let alone twenty times that number. No, they’ve run for the hills and taken everything that wasn’t nailed down. Not a big deal for only two million people, but if they do the same further down the line, it’ll take a big chunk of the available shipping in this sector. Not good for the Gimps’ economy.”
Sondra had become something of an expert in the logistics involved in planetary evacuations. Not by choice, of course, but the US Navy had learned a lot about packing up and moving large numbers of civilians during the early phases of the current conflict. Some sixty million Americans and nineteen million Pan-Asians had become homeless refugees since the Days of Infamy. Better than dying, of course, but the ensuing disruption of shipping and trade and the humanitarian issues involved were hurting both countries. The damage would take decades to fix even if the war ended soon. Having the Imperium experience some of what it had gleefully dished out should make her feel vindicated, but it only depressed her. The enormous waste that depopulated planet represented was nothing to feel good about.
&
nbsp; War’s desolation. Nothing she would wish on anybody. Her job was to prevent it from reaching her people. Unfortunately, sometimes that meant visiting its horrors on the enemy.
“I didn’t think they could evacuate ninety percent of any planet’s population, ma’am. Warp intolerance being what it is among most aliens.”
“That was new colony: most everyone got there via starship in the first place, so leaving wasn’t a problem. The poor bastards left behind are the native-born who can’t survive warp. The next system up the chain has, what, eleven million inhabitants?”
“Kezz System, that’s correct, ma’am.”
“Older province. Less than two million warp-rated inhabitants, probably. They’ll make their stand there.”
The fleet bridge crew paused, waiting for her orders.
“Destroy any military targets in the system,” she said. Which in this case would mean a couple of landing pads on the ground and a handful of satellites still in orbit. “We’ll scan the outer worlds, just in case they are trying to hide something in there, and move on afterwards. No point wasting thermal weapons on some scattered villages.”
No sense in bringing war’s desolation to those hapless colonists.
* * *
Transition.
Commander Deborah ‘Grinner’ Genovisi took twelve War Eagles to dance with the devil.
Third Fleet had four days of down time while its light squadrons scouted the two gas giants on the far reaches of the local system, and that gave the Death Heads an opportunity to train with the 25th CVW. A badly needed opportunity, since they would very likely be seeing action on the next system over. She tried not to dwell on the missed time that the wing commander’s foot-dragging had cost everyone. In the end, Colonel Zhang had to put the fear of God into the stubborn jarhead. Deborah only hoped it wasn’t too late.
The nine men and three women of Third Squadron all had some experience in dealing with Warplings. You couldn’t go through Marine Flight School – still being conducted at Groom Lake System – without having a few close brushes with NSSs. New guidelines had reduced the number of jumps pilot candidates had to undergo before getting their wings, but even the new minimum meant that sooner or later everyone would come into contact with something nastier than a mere figment of one’s imagination. Except for its squadron commander and two flight leaders, none of those eager Marine aviators had been in a life-or-death situation involving Warplings. Deborah was going to do her best to prepare them for that eventuality.
Havoc of War (Warp Marine Corps Book 5) Page 13
