Havoc of War (Warp Marine Corps Book 5)

by C. J. Carella

  Kerensky’s enhanced senses watched the process. He followed one of the bodiless entities as it pounced on the captain of a superdreadnought. He observed as the Psychovore reached for the Denn’s very essence, the poorly-understood intersection of brain activity and something above and beyond it that comprised his identity and personality. The process was beyond an attack; it was a violation in every sense of the word. The Imperial’s body collapsed lifelessly, but Kerensky heard the alien’s mental shrieks of impossible agony long after that.

  Seven Warplings manifested themselves physically. The entities’ bodies were composed of dead flesh and twisted metals, fashioned from long-lost ships and spacers. At the core of each of them was a gateway to the realm of their birth: Kerensky saw those gateways pulsing like beating heartbeats as they drew upon the unearthly energies from warp space for sustenance. The physical shapes were shifting but always monstrous, things that any sophont in the universe would immediately recognize as something utterly inimical to all things born in this universe. The massive forms, as large as a starship and moving twice as fast, released pulses of energy at the Imperium vessels, striking them with enough power to rupture shields and armored hulls.

  Only eleven enemy ships were destroyed conventionally by the embodied monsters. Another two dreadnoughts simply ceased to exist, each seized by one of the largest Warplings and carried off into their own realm, their crews still alive to be digested at the entities’ leisure. The remaining fifty or so vessels simply stopped fighting or maneuvering after most of their crews died or were possessed. The psychic rampage reached all the way to the orbital facilities around the single inhabited planet, Its four space fortresses fell silent.

  Summoning those entities hadn’t come cheap, even with the unwitting help of the enemy. Kerensky had paid them in the only coin they would accept: the innocents on Sokolov-Four. That planet had been stripped of all sapient life to provide the fodder Psychovores needed to cross over into this side of the Divide. The admiral watched what he had brought, marveling at the power displayed by his allies. His human side was numbed by horror and shame, but that he ignored it. The new version of him felt nothing but a cold, detached satisfaction.

  Retribution was at hand, and that was all that mattered.

  The battle – the massacre, to be technical about it – was over in under an hour. The Warplings couldn’t stay for long; one by one, they withdrew, leaving behind only brief-lived shimmering lights at their departure points. To ensure their future cooperation, he would make an additional offering, using the three hundred million denizens of this system as new sacrificial victims.

  A hundred fighters materialized along the surface of Vahan-Three and unleashed their Mind-Killers upon its largely warp-blind inhabitants, killing them by the millions. The psychic echoes of the dying no longer stirred much emotion in Kerensky. Not after having witnessed a similar slaughter on a much larger scale on the system he’d named after his grandmother.

  “Rejoice, Nikolai,” the Prophet said. “We have given you everything you wished for, and more. You should be happy.”

  “I’ll be happy when the job is done,” he lied. He no longer knew what happiness felt like.

  They would spend a few weeks looting the system. They were in dire needs of consumables and spare parts. Their constant use of warp engines wore down those systems considerably, and Kerensky wanted to replace them before embarking on the last leg of their journey. Finding spares wouldn’t be a problem: there were dozens of intact warships he could strip for parts. They could afford to spend the time required to make all necessary repairs. The Imperium was more than welcome to send another fleet here.

  The Warplings were still hungry.

  Primus System, 169 AFC

  Warmaster Amun had served the Galactic Imperium for twelve hundred years. He had participated in twenty-three wars and forty-nine lesser conflicts. And in all that time, he never had ected to utter the words he now heard coming out of his mouth:

  “I cannot guarantee the safety of Primus System.”

  There were no courtiers or lesser functionaries to gape in astonished terror at the pronouncement. The only sophonts present where the Three Principes, none of whom were given to displays of emotion. The three most powerful beings in the Imperium and, until recently, of the known galaxy, greeted the bald statement with silence.

  “We dispatched one third of the Triumvirate’s Guard to Vahan Province,” Amonen elaborated. “Our best ships and crews, the elite of the Unity. The last QE-telegram from Vahan-Two reported that the humans destroyed our forces at no loss to their own. Our new weapon systems were ineffective. No further communication has occurred since. We must assume that the system has fallen.”

  “We are expecting reinforcements,” Magnanimous Tertius said. “A hundred ships will arrive within a week. Twice as many a week after.”

  Amun dismissed the Kreck Princeps’ statement with a contemptuous tilt of his head.

  “The forces in Vahan Province fell in a matter of minutes,” he replied. “The reports indicate the enemy is deploying warp entities that can annihilate starship crews. Neither shields nor armor, nor the valor of our warriors, can withstand them. A hundred ships – with green crews, since that the flower of our navy has been consigned to Oblivion – will fare no better.”

  “I warned you.”

  Everyone turned towards Boma, the Denn Princeps.

  How the mighty have fallen, Amonen thought. The shame Boma had brought to his entire species would never be erased, even if the Imperium survived the coming disaster. The once proud and powerful Boma looked frail; he had lost a great deal of weight in the past few months, as the news of increasingly devastating defeats became impossible to hide. As the chief instigator of this conflict, the Princeps bore full responsibility for the greatest crisis in the Imperium’s three-thousand-year history. An unprecedented number of ships, systems and Voters had been lost. And for what?

  “I warned you all,” Boma repeated, seemingly unaware of the quick glances the other two Principes exchanged. “Humans have shown themselves to be as dangerous as I predicted. If we had acted with the proper resolve, if we hadn’t tarried as long as we did, we could have quenched this fire before it became a conflagration great enough to consume us all.”

  “If, if, if,” the Oban Princeps Norok said in a mocking tone. “If we had ignored your bleating, billions would still live. A second human fleet is in orbit around the Oban birth-world as we speak. I have ordered our forces there to surrender. The only way to stop the human renegades is to let other humans handle them.”

  Amun already knew of this. He had sent the orders himself before attending this meeting. The Kreck Princeps paused for a second to digest the unexpected news before he made a gesture of agreement. The only dissenting voice was the disgraced Denn’s.

  “Are you insane? We cannot treat with those Chaos-tainted creatures!”

  “The decision has been made, Princeps,” Norok told him. The Oban had been planning this move for quite some time, with Amun’s complicity. It was too bad it had taken this long to come to fruition, but Boma needed to be thoroughly discredited before the conspiracy could act.

  “We are the Three. You do not rule the Imperium by yourself, Norok!”

  “Neither do you,” Princeps Tertius said. “And while I do not condone Norok’s actions, it is you, Boma, who unilaterally pushed for this war. You who convinced us to go along for with you. For the good of the Imperium. Now I will go along with Norok’s plans. For the good of the Imperium.”

  When it was all over, Tertius would be the Senior Princeps, assuming Boma’s mantle. Norok had accurately predicted the Kreck would support what was about to happen. The Oban would let Norok assume the mantle of leadership while he pulled the strings behind the scenes.

  “Warmaster Amun has been selected by the Denn Mega-Proxies to take your place.”

  “What? A failed Warmaster who led us to one defeat to the next?” Boma all but growled. Fin his a
nger, he briefly looked like the Princeps of old, and Amun almost felt sorry for his fellow Denn. Almost.

  “The Proxies do not have authority to depose me.”

  “No, but they can select your successor,” Norok explained. “Following your unfortunate demise.”

  Boma understood. He leaped to his feet, personal force fields shimmering around him even as his implants tried to summon his personal guard. The latter effort was futile; Amun had seen to that. The Princeps’ guards had all been quietly disposed of before the meeting began. The Warmaster regretted the necessity, but the hand-picked bodyguards would never have agreed to what was about to happen.

  Amun drew his ceremonial dagger and stepped forward. Shields could guard against energy and missile attacks, but not against a determined sophont with a blade in his hand and the skill and determination to wield it. He pounced on the Princeps. Boma was too shocked to do much more than thrash ineffectually as Amun stabbed him over and over. It was a bloody, messy, and undignified end for someone who had once ruled over the largest polity in the known galaxy. It was also less than what he deserved for bringing said polity to the brink.

  “It is finished,” he said, rising over the still-twitching corpse.

  “Now we save the Imperium.”

  New Washington, Sol System, 169 AFC

  “In addition to an immediate ceasefire on all fronts, the Imperium’s offer includes the return of all interned humans within its borders – some thirty-five million people – the surrender of Star Provinces Mellak and Kezz, and war reparations to be paid over a five-year period,” Secretary of State Goftalu said.

  The actual amounts involved were enough to get Chief of Staff Tyson Keller to raise his eyebrows. The offer was three times what the US had extracted from the Vipers when they surrendered. Even for the wealthiest polity in the known galaxy, writing those checks was going to hurt. The Gimps were already dangerously close to bankruptcy, and this would take them right to the edge.

  The proposal had been sent directly to the Imperium Embassy in New Washington – which was still standing, although its personnel no longer had diplomatic immunity – via Quantum Entanglement telegrams. The peace offer – the surrender, not to mince words – was mere hours old. Every available Cabinet member had been rousted out of bed and brought to the Oval Office.

  Tyson looked at the gathered notables: State, War, Commerce, Homeland Security and Treasury were all in attendance, in addition to National Security Advisor Geoffrey Chapelle and Sec-Navy. There were ruffled feathers and bleary eyes all around, understandable since the meeting had started at 3:50 am. The mood was brightening, though. The gift horse needed to undergo a thorough dental check-up, of course.

  President Albert P. Hewer had lost fifteen pounds since the war started, and his white hair had grown sparse and patchy, making him look like some character actor playing the role of Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. The war had been hard on him, but he was still full of piss and vinegar, especially now that things were looking up for a change.

  “It all sounds great,” POTUS said. “All we have to do in return is put down Kerensky and his pirates, which we were planning to do all along. And promise not to exterminate the Imperium Thoughts?”

  “In terms of capabilities, Mr. President, the balance of power has shifted dramatically in our favor,” Sec-War Salvador said. “The Imperium, by its own admission, has lost the bulk of its navy. If anything, they have understated their losses. They can’t stop Kerensky’s renegades. They probably can’t stop Third Fleet, either. Their navy is a shambles, and even after making peace with us, they are going to have their hands full holding off their neighbors. They are done, sir. Maybe we should demand better terms.”

  “Temporarily,” NSA Chapelle pointed out. “We must keep in mind that even after the loss of several systems, the Imperium still controls hundreds of star provinces. We cannot realistically exterminate the entire polity, even assuming that is a desirable goal in the first place.”

  “Which means they can try to wipe us out again in fifty or a hundred years,” Tyson said. “They had no problems with exterminating us.”

  “We are supposed to be better than them,” Sec-State replied.

  “We are better than them. Killing in self-defense is not the same as murder. The difference should be obvious to anybody other than a moral imbecile.” Tyson forced himself not to grin when he saw the look on Goftalu’s face. “In any case, you have to be alive to have morals.”

  Sec-State shut up, which was a relief. Tyson was having trouble seeing a future for humanity that didn’t include genocide on an impossible scale. Having to deal with empty platitudes on top of that didn’t help. Becoming blood-drenched barbarians had only slightly more appeal than oblivion. But if those were the only choices, he knew which one he’d pick.

  “Kerensky presents a greater threat than any Starfarer alliance,” Chapelle said, shifting subjects before things could get heated. “Colonel Zhang’s reports have been very clear on that matter. Further research of the Kraxan records we discovered in Redoubt System has confirmed her warnings. Null-Space Sophonts could render FTL travel impossible, or so risky it will no longer be viable, which amounts to the same thing. The chances that the Elder Races will intervene before that happens are very high, and they are not likely to intervene in our favor.”

  Nice to know that the Space Gods could care less if we get exterminated, but will curb-stomp us if we become too dangerous for their tastes.

  Tyson dismissed the irrelevant thought as quickly as it popped up. You played the hand you were dealt. Complaining about the unfairness of it all was best left to teenagers, activists, and other lower life-forms. He watched the rest of the debate in silence. Nobody else used the ‘we’re better than that’ line, for which he was grateful. What was left were practicalities: how much more could the US extract from the Gimps, for example. He could read the room well enough, and knew they were going to go along with the proposal. Al was already in; he was merely letting everyone vent for a bit so they could feel as important as they thought they were.

  “Accepting the Imperium’s proposal frees Third Fleet to put an end to the Kerensky’s rampage. There is more at stake than our survival,” Chapelle concluded.

  “Agreed,” Hewer said. “We are going to take the deal, pending a few details. The Gal-Imps will be too weak to try to come after us for decades. That will have to be enough. By the time they are ready for Round Two, we will be too strong for them. Time works for us.”

  Just as he suspected, they were going for it. Tyson didn’t like the deal. Letting the enemy live meant they could keep trying to exterminate humanity. The US had to win every time; the aliens only had to win once to accomplish their goal. On the other hand, the NSA had a point. There was a whole other dimension to this conflict, and if that wasn’t solved quickly, the US was screwed anyway.

  After the current mess was over, humans would have to remain the meanest motherfuckers of the valley for the foreseeable future. Which meant the US would continue to be a heavily militarized society. Tyson hadn’t liked what America was on its way to becoming before aliens bombed it into near-oblivion, but he didn’t love the new version, either. Sometimes there were no good solutions.

  “Of course,” POTUS went on. “All of this is contingent on stopping Kerensky’s mutineers. If we don’t, the Black Ships will most likely depopulate Primus. No telling what happens after that, but we have it on good authority it won’t be anything we’ll like.”

  Best of luck, Navy and gyrenes, Tyson wished silently on the men and women fighting and dying hundreds of parsecs away. Sending others off to do or die hadn’t gotten easier with practice.

  Fifteen

  Imperial Star Province Ugo, 169 AFC

  “The Governor’s Office is transmitting our new orders, ma’am.”

  Having the enemies who’d been trying to sink her ship pass on a message from the Department of the Navy was highly unusual, to say the least. That was the only way they
could get them in real time, though. QE-telegram devices couldn’t be mounted on starships. The only alternative to having the Gal-Imps pass on the message was to wait for a courier ship to reach her, which would take a minimum of three weeks. They didn’t have that much time to spare.

  The message would be a code phrase, using words from a code book buried deep inside Sondra’s skull and accessible only to her. No security system was perfect, of course, and there was always a chance that all of this was some sort of ruse. On the other hand, she’d come dangerously close to losing the war at Ugo. The ceasefire had worked in her favor, so the Gimps were probably being honest.

  The code arrived a moment later. Unlike your typical quantum-entangled telegram, this one had been spelled out in full: ARTICHOKE-RELENTLESS-CORNUCOPIA-GARCIA.

  Her code book deciphered it instantly. Cooperate with local forces. Proceed with primary mission. That meant going after Kerensky, with the Imperium’s help.

  “Very well,” she said. “We will conduct repairs, with the assistance of the locals; their facilities will be a huge help.” Seemed only fair, for the Gal-Imps to pay for to fix the damage they’d inflicted on her ships. “We are to proceed to Primus System as soon as we can. We have three days to get ready. Any vessel that can’t be made fit for duty by then will be left behind.”

  Nobody sounded happy at hearing the news. Neither was Sondra. She couldn’t trust someone who mere hours before had been doing their best to eradicate her entire species, not to mention kill her right there and then. Hard not to take such things personally. But she had her orders. And her personal miracle squadron was insistent that Kerensky was the greater threat. Zhang and her coven of warp wizards had proved their worth more times than she could count. Sondra had learned to trust them.

  Third Fleet would sail off to do battle with the Black Ships.

  * * *