by Jay Allan
“Colonel, we’re picking up something on our scanners…”
He turned and looked across at the tech manning the station. “From the city?”
“No, sir,” came the reply, the Marine’s voice almost shrill. “From orbit.”
Preston jumped to his feet. “Sound the alert, Sergeant. All forces are to move to their combat positions immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any details yet?”
“No, sir. We have the scanner array on minimal power. We’ve just got the location. No mass data or other specifics yet.”
“Very well,” Preston said. He turned and moved toward the door. “I’m going up to the perimeter defenses, Sergeant. Keep me advised when you have more information.” He took another few steps and paused just inside the door. “And find Dr. Barcomme. I want her people in the trenches now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Preston shook his head and walked through the door.
Not that it will matter. We haven’t got shit in the way of defenses against an attack from space.
He looked up, wondering what was on its way down.
They can’t be friendlies. The fleet won’t be here for two weeks. Admiral Compton was clear about the timetable.
He didn’t want to finish the thought, but that only left the First Imperium. Had an enemy fleet found them? If that was the case, it really was over.
He walked across the flat, muddy ground, heading for the closest of the watchtowers. There were armored figures running back and forth, his Marines responding to the alert, manning the trenchlines that surrounded the camp. Then he stopped and turned toward the main gate. There was a commotion of some sort, and he trotted over. He got about halfway before he realized it was Dr. Cutter and Sergeant McCloud, back from their scouting mission.
“Doctor,” he yelled across the twenty meters or so between them. “We’ve got something inbound from orbit.”
Cutter ran toward Preston. “Enemy vessel?” he asked as he jogged the last few meters, stopping in front of the Marine commander.
“I don’t know. We’ve got the scanners barely operating, trying to keep our detection profile low. We’ll just have to wait until it gets closer.”
“Look! There.” McCloud was standing behind Cutter, his arm pointing up into the sky. There was a flicker of light, a reflection off of some kind of metal. They all stood, watching as it dropped closer. As it approached they could see the glow of the atmosphere heating up as the craft dove through the thickening air.
“That’s too small for a warship,” Preston said, his eyes remaining fixed.
“It’s a shuttle. An Alliance shuttle!” Cutter’s voice was excited, almost shrill. “It’s from the fleet.”
The ship banked around slowly and swooped down directly toward the camp.
“It is an Alliance shuttle.” Preston looked down at Cutter and then back up to the ship. “It’s going to land in the camp.” Then he flipped on the campwide com. “Attention, attention…we have an Alliance shuttle inbound. It is a friendly. I repeat, the approaching vessel is friendly. All defenses are to stand down. I want the center of the camp cleared immediately.”
The ship was making its final approach. Preston looked out, watching the figures rushing around, clearing a large landing area inside the camp’s perimeter. He stood next to Cutter and McCloud and watched as the shuttle landed. Ana Zhukov and Duncan Frasier came running over just before the vessel set down, sending a blast of wind over them all.
Preston moved forward, slowly, his hand on his assault rifle. It was an Alliance shuttle, but they weren’t expecting any fleet vessels yet. And he was a Marine. It was his job to be careful, suspicious.
He was halfway to the vessel when the main hatch opened and four armored Marines came running out, followed by two naval officers. Preston ran the rest of the way up, stopping about three meters from the small group.
“Colonel James Preston,” he said. “Welcome to X48 II.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” It was one of the naval officers, a commander. “I’m Everett Blake, Colonel. Admiral Compton sent us down with orders.”
“The fleet is here?”
“Yes, Colonel. We’ve encountered multiple enemy forces since leaving X48 six weeks ago. We’re back here to pick you all up and get out of here before the enemy catches us again. The admiral orders all your people to evacuate immediately. Leave behind whatever you have to, but he wants all your people off this planet as quickly as possible.”
* * *
“Sophie, get the rest of your people onboard these shuttles. You’re taking off in fifteen minutes.”
“I think I should stay, Hieronymus,” she replied, looking out over the large machines carrying loads of grain to waiting shuttles. “We’re not done loading the cargo shuttles.”
“No,” Cutter said. “You have to go. Please. None of your expertise is needed to load grain onto shuttles.” He paused. “And I want you to do me a favor…take Ana with you.”
“Why don’t you take her with you?” She stared at him for a few seconds, and then she said, “You’re not coming?” There was surprise in her voice…and fear. “Why, Hieronymus? There’s nothing for you to do down here. The Marines can handle the rest of the evac.”
He just stared at her. “I will come. But not yet.” Cutter wasn’t sure he could explain. She was right, of course. He was about as useful to 1,400 armored Marines as an appendix. But he had to stay. Just a bit longer. Almeerhan couldn’t hold out for long…and Cutter knew he had to stay while the ancient warrior was still fighting. It didn’t make any sense. Indeed, it was precisely the kind of illogical nonsense that always drove him crazy. But still, he had to. And he knew Ana would stay with him. Unless he tricked her.
Sophie stared at him, a doubtful look on her face. “Ana won’t want to go without you. You know that.”
“I know. But I’ll…convince her.”
Sophie’s expression turned suspicious. “How?”
“We don’t have time for this now.” Cutter was tense, and his voice was getting brittle, terse. “I need you to take this back for me too.” He held out the metal cylinder. “This is the most important piece of equipment we have…it has to get back to Midway. Immediately.”
“You’re scaring me, Hieronymus. Please…come with us now.”
A weak smile slipped across his face. “Don’t worry, Sophie. I haven’t turned suicidal. Nor have I given myself over to martial fantasies of Hieronymus Cutter, the great warrior. There’s just something I have to…see through. Then I’ll be back. I promise.”
She looked at him with a suspicious expression on her face, but finally she just nodded and reached out, taking the cylinder from him. “Of course, Hieronymus. I’ll take Ana back up with me. Assuming you can get her to leave without you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll convince her.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
From the Personal Log of Terrance Compton
I am back, which I must confess is in itself unexpected. I truly believed my last entry would, indeed, be my last. But the enemy wasn’t waiting for us when we transited, nor have we detected any in the system. We have come all the way to planet II, with no signs of pursuit or interception. I don’t believe it, not a bit of it. There is something we don’t know, some disaster waiting to befall us, I am sure of it. But I still have to be grateful. I expected to be dead by now. I expected all of us to be dead by now. And we are not.
I see only one option—load up the expedition as quickly as possible, abandoning all extraneous equipment and making a run for it before enemy forces show up. I find it difficult to believe they have left us an escape route, but I also acknowledge our survival to this point was extremely improbable. Perhaps the enemy expected us to react differently. To stand and fight? Is that why they launched so many small attacks? Or did they anticipate we would attack, try to break through their forces and flee into the unknown? It doesn’t really make sense to me, but then I can’t come u
p with an alternative either.
If we do manage to escape from X48, perhaps we actually have a chance. Dr. Cutter may have found another miracle for us. I spoke to him briefly, and he didn’t say much over the open com…but he did tell me he found a game changer, knowledge beyond anything we could have imagined. Hieronymus is not a man prone to exaggeration, so I find myself extremely curious as to what he has found. Could it be the miracle we need? And, if so, will the enemy give us the time to utilize it? Or has death merely been postponed a few hours or days?
AS Midway
In Orbit around X48 II
The Fleet: 100 ships, 26073 crew
Compton sat in his chair, his eyes panning across the flag bridge, watching his people at work. They were all exhausted, and looking into their eyes was like staring down a deep tunnel. Lack of sleep combined with an extended stretch in the tanks could wear anyone down, even without the specter of deadly danger hanging over them every moment. But now they had something keeping them going besides drugs, the first genuine good news they’d had since leaving X48 almost six weeks before. The expedition was still there, and more or less intact.
Not only that, they had already harvested most of their crops and loaded them on the shuttles. It wouldn’t take long—a day, perhaps thirty-six hours—and they would all be back on board, along with enough grain and legumes to extend the fleet’s food supply for at least six months, maybe longer. The shorter growing period had lessened the expected yield, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing…and with the enemy hot on their tail, it was vastly more than Compton could have hoped for.
He was stunned his people were still alive, and as he looked back over his thoughts of the last days, he realized he’d been allowing himself no hope at all. Compton was a realist, indeed, in many ways a pessimist, not one to allow himself to rely on things like hope or luck. But for once, he realized, the optimists had been correct. The Marines had taken a few casualties fighting the planet’s surviving warbots—and, of course, Max Harmon was gone—but considering the events of the past few weeks, and the losses the fleet had suffered, the landing parties had gotten off easily.
Why did I leave Max behind? The expedition survived, but I got him killed. And having him here didn’t serve any purpose at all. It was just to ease your mind, to get a report that the landing parties had gotten settled. Why did you put him at risk for that?
He paused, his mind going back to the Gremlin that had destroyed Harmon’s shuttle. It was still all a mystery to him, and he found himself analyzing every aspect of it, as he had been doing on and off since Wolverine had first linked up with the fleet. Though it raised concerns, it also served a purpose. It distracted him from thinking of his lost friend, and it got him wondering…
Where the hell is that ship? And why didn’t it call in more First Imperium forces? Maybe they’re far, too far to get here in the time since then. Perhaps the huge force following us is all they have. Or maybe the other fleets are still en route.
He shook his head. No, that can’t be. They wouldn’t have driven us here if they didn’t have any forces nearby. It doesn’t make sense. They may be unimaginative, but they aren’t stupid…
“Commander, I want Admiral Hurley to launch another scouting mission, two wings this time. Her people are to explore the system more closely, especially anyplace ships could hide.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Cortez’ voice was tightly-controlled, but Compton could hear the tension below. His tactical officer was worried too.
Wondering the same thing I am, most likely. Where is the enemy?
* * *
“That lying piece of shit!” Ana Zhukov was livid. She was strapped into her chair, slammed back in her seat by the massive gee forces of liftoff. “I knew he was full of it! But I listened to him anyway…ugh! I’m such a fool.”
Sophie Barcomme was sitting next to her. The Europan scientist tilted her head to the side, at least as much as she could while the ship hurtled upward with such enormous thrust. “Ana, he tricked me too.” She felt a little guilty, like she was skirting the truth. She’d agreed to take Ana with her if Hieronymus could convince her to go, but she hadn’t realized ‘convincing’ would mean tricking her at the last second into thinking he was on the ship already. She hadn’t been a party to the lie, not technically, at least. But she knew she should have known better. “But, he only did it because he cares about you…and because he has some reason he needs to stay behind.”
“I don’t know what happened to him down there, but he’s been beyond tight-lipped. He promised to fill me in, but he keeps putting it off.”
“You don’t know what he saw. What he went through. Or what he discovered. Clearly, it was upsetting…but also promising, I think. To me it feels like he thinks he’s safeguarding us from dangerous knowledge, or trying to find a way to tell us something.”
“Maybe,” Ana huffed. “But he didn’t have to lie to get me off the planet, did he?”
“Ana, he only did that because he cares about you, because he worries.”
“But I worry about him too, Sophie! Doesn’t he realize that?”
“I’m sure he does.” She paused. “But he’s got something in his head, some reason he needs to stay down there. And, honestly, I think he’s better if he can stay clear-headed, and not be worried about you. I know it doesn’t seem fair, but he’s not in the same boat as us now, Ana. I don’t know what happened to him in those tunnels, but he’s different, changed. Still, he’s still Hieronymus Cutter…probably the smartest human being I’ve ever met. Maybe you should just trust him on this…and try not to be so angry.”
Ana stared back, but she didn’t say anything. Sophie’s words made a kind of sense to her, but the anger was still there, driven mostly, she realized, by worry. Finally, she squeaked out a grudging, “Maybe.”
“Entering orbit in thirty seconds.” The pilot’s voice interrupted their conversation, and a few seconds later the relief of weightlessness replaced the crushing pressure of liftoff.
Ana glanced at the display, looking at the glistening blue and white semi-circle of the planet below. She felt the anger fading, at least somewhat. But she was still unsettled.
What happened to you down there, Hieronymus? And why won’t you tell me about it?
* * *
Greta Hurley leaned back in the fighter’s command chair, looking out over her pilot’s shoulder, through the small forward cockpit. She’d gotten the orders to launch two wings…but no one had said she couldn’t lead one of them. So she’d ordered Mariko Fujin to launch with her survivors…plus the four ships of Mustang squadron that she’d put under the young officer’s command. And then she assembled a new wing, an impromptu force made up of bits and pieces of shattered formations. She had far too many of those, more than ever after the last battle. She knew her job wasn’t to lead individual wings, but until she designated a permanent commander, she had no choice but to look after them herself. Or at least that’s the way she decided to look at it.
“Bring us around, John. I want to get a closer look at the dust cloud near the X50 warp gate. There’s something about it I just don’t like.”
John Wilder had been Greta Hurley’s pilot since before the fleet was trapped beyond the Barrier. Augustus Garret had originally assigned him, as much as a babysitter as a pilot. It had been a—largely unsuccessful—effort to keep his newly promoted admiral and strike force leader back away from the extreme forward positions she was prone to take. But Hurley had broken down the pilot, and lured him into situations as hazardous as any she’d plunged into herself. The two had formed a highly effective partnership since then, and Hurley had come to rely on him as an aide as much as a pilot. She knew she should have moved him up, given him a squadron—or more likely a wing—of his own. But the truth was, she didn’t want to lose him. She knew she’d make it up to him one day, leapfrog him forward to the posting he deserved. And somehow she knew he understood that.
“Yes, Admiral.” He nudged the
throttle, blasting out just under 2g of thrust and angling the fighter toward the X50 warp gate. “All ships, follow my point,” he said into the com. “We’re going to scout the dust cloud at 231.101.222.”
Hurley glanced down at the scope, punching at the keys on her workstation, feeding power to the ship’s scanners. It wasn’t really a job for an admiral, but she’d always been hands on, and sitting in her chair staring at everyone else while they worked bored her to tears.
“John, let’s adjust that course to 231.100.218. That’s the heaviest section of the cloud. It’s where I’d try to hide ships.”
“Very well, Admiral.” Wilder punched in the new course, and then he transmitted it to the other fighters.
Hurley leaned back in her chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible against the growing gee forces, but her eyes were fixed on the scope. There was something there…at least she thought there was. The computer was calling it a shadow, an anomaly in the scanning results caused by the especially thick dust in that section of space. But she didn’t believe it.
She turned toward Kip Janz. The lieutenant was at his gunnery station, looking alert despite the fact that the scanners showed no potential targets. “Lieutenant, prepare a spread of drones…I want them ready to launch into that cloud.” If there’s anything hiding in there, by God, I’m going to find out…
“Yes, Admiral.” Janz was already moving his hands over the workstation as he acknowledged the order. It was no more than thirty seconds before he snapped back, “Ready to launch, Admiral.”
Hurley stared at the scanner. The cloud was about ten light seconds out, perhaps twenty minutes away at their current nav plan. But the drones would accelerate at 50g all the way to the target…they’d be sending back a report in three minutes.
“Launch drones, Lieutenant,” she said softly. Then she stared over Wilder’s shoulder again, through the small cockpit and out into the space beyond.
