by Jay Allan
He felt an odd desire, a wish to see the ancient race that built this magnificent vessel, to learn about them. There was a strange feeling of kinship, even as he despised and fought against their robot creations. He wondered what they looked like, how their culture compared to those of the Earth powers. Had they had kings? Or was their society egalitarian? If they had embraced democracy, had they handled it better than men had? Had they taken responsibility for their votes, for those they placed in positions of power? Or had corrupt and deceitful leaders caused as much damage as they had on Earth?
He realized his thoughts were strange. He understood he knew almost nothing about the beings who had founded the First Imperium, that all the thoughts running through his head were his own creations, mere suppositions based on almost no real data. But he found the mysterious vessel—and the thoughts it provoked—compelling nevertheless.
He pulled his attention back to the present. Whatever fascination he felt, he had work to do. His three ships had to explore the whole system, make sure there were no active enemy units hiding anywhere. And he needed to map out the warp gates. Admiral Compton had been very clear—he wanted incredibly detailed data on the gates, power readings, orientations in space…everything. But I have to get word back about this ship…now.
“As soon as we get the probe data, transmit to Tyr. Captain Schwerin is to transit back into X18 and to deliver all data to Captain Duke.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Woden is to set a course for the outer system…and as soon as we have transmitted the probe data, set a course to join her. We’ve got lots of work to do here.”
But he still couldn’t take his eyes off the giant ship.
Chapter Seven
From the Personal Log of Terrance Compton
I must go to the conference room in a few moments. I have put this meeting off as long as I could, pushed the status quo as far as it will go. But I could not refuse the admirals, not without begging them to conspire behind my back. I am in command of the fleet, but my appointment was through the Grand Pact, mankind’s alliance against the First Imperium. Our current status is, admittedly, uncertain. Are we still in active service to that body? Are our old oaths binding, or are we in a new reality, one in which prior allegiances have become irrelevant? Indeed, my own intent not to seek a way home pushes us away from our status as a fleet of the Grand Pact and undermines the legitimacy of my authority. Or does it? My intent is to increase the distance from human space, to almost guarantee we will never see home again, but I do it to protect mankind. What could be truer to those oaths? What clearer duty for humanity’s alliance against the alien enemy? Luring the First Imperium forces from human-inhabited worlds is the purest embodiment of our duty to the Pact.
I realize such philosophical musings have little value. Justifications are pointless, old agreements meaningless. Men will do what they do…and that will decide the future. If I am to ensure we do not risk leading the enemy back home, I must maintain command, by whatever means necessary. I will try to persuade, to explain…but I know that will only take me so far. In the end I must be prepared. I must be certain how far I am willing to go. Am I prepared to use force? To assassinate rivals? To round up and imprison those who would seek to lead us back to Earth? Will I rule as a dictator, an autocrat who tolerates no opposition?
Yes. I will if I must. There is no purpose in lying to myself about that. If the enemy gets back to human space billions will die. Elizabeth will die. And the Elizabeths of everyone else on the fleet. I cannot let that happen…whatever I must do to prevent it. Whatever I must become.
AS Midway
System X16
The Fleet: 225 ships, 47,912 crew
“I want to thank you all for coming. I know this meeting is long overdue, and I apologize for the delay. Clearly, there was much to occupy our time, but I should have made an effort to gather us all sooner.”
Compton wasn’t in the habit of thanking officers under his command for following orders, but he knew the situation in the multinational fleet was tentative at best, and he’d figured there was no loss in playing to some of the egos present. The miraculous escape from X2 in the face of certain death had bought him some time, and it had made him a legend with the enlisted spacers and junior officers. But many of the senior commanders had their own agendas—not to mention egos—and nationalistic rivalries naturally surfaced when the threat of enemy pursuit appeared to have receded.
Compton knew their respite from the enemy would likely be a brief one, that they had not seen the last of the First Imperium forces, but he wasn’t sure how many of the others agreed. There were some able tacticians among them, men and women of considerable intellect—but there were more than a few fools as well, pompous egomaniacs who owed their rank to political influence and not to any particular intelligence Compton could detect. It was a far more palatable thought to imagine they had lost the enemy for good than to worry about how to prepare for the next fight, and he knew more than one person at the table would rather focus on trying to find a way home…despite the seemingly long odds of success.
“Some of you know me better than others, but let me just say, I am a man who prefers to be direct.” He paused for a few seconds. “So let me get right to the point. We must decide upon a well-planned course of action, one that will give our people the greatest chance of survival…and that plan cannot be to search for a way back home.” He looked around the table, his eyes darting to glance at the officers he considered the likeliest sources of trouble.
“Have I heard you correctly, Admiral Compton? You are saying that we should not seek a way home?” Gregoire Peltier was one of the officers Compton had pegged as a problem. Peltier was the leader of the Europan contingent, a political admiral who didn’t have a shred of military talent that Compton could detect. The one thing he did possess, however, and in abundant quantities, was ego.
“Yes, Admiral Peltier.” Compton tried to sound as respectful as he could, but he’d never been good at pretending an asshole wasn’t an asshole. “I’m afraid that attempting to find a way home is out of the question right now. We have enjoyed a short respite, but we cannot know what First Imperium forces are nearby…or what detection capabilities they have. Indeed, unbeknownst to us, they may know exactly where we are, waiting only to concentrate forces to attack us. If we seek to find Earth and we are successful, we could lead the enemy back with us…and condemn all mankind to certain death.”
“You are being paranoid, Admiral Compton. There are no enemy vessels in this system. Indeed, it has been several jumps since we have seen any signs of First Imperium ships.” Peltier was trying, not terribly successfully, to keep the fear out of his voice. Compton suspected the admiral was terrified about the prospect of never returning home. Indeed, he knew it took a certain kind of courage to look boldly into the unknown and remain calm. A lot of the men and women at the table had it, but Peltier was not one of them.
“Admiral Peltier, I do not believe I am being paranoid. I am not saying we can never try to return home, simply that it is out of the question for now.” As it will always be, but if I can satisfy some of them by dangling false hope then that is what I will do. “We must be certain we are not being pursued, that there is no way the enemy could possibly follow us. That is not our current status.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that we are being tracked now, Admiral?” Vladimir Udinov’s tone was far calmer than Peltier’s. Compton knew the Russian admiral was an able tactician, and a leader of considerable ability. He was also the lynchpin of any potential resistance. Fools like Peltier and Zhang were easily led, and it was easy for their fears and desires to override their limited intellects. But Udinov was nobody’s fool. Still, he is very highly placed in the RIC. He will want to believe we can search for home without undue risk. And I know Zhang has been working on him...
“No specific evidence, Vladimir.” Keep it personal, friendly… “But I feel very strongly it is far too soon to decla
re that we have lost the enemy for good.” He turned and looked over at Peltier. “Besides, we must accept reality. Our knowledge of warp gates is unfortunately meager. We have only the most basic theories to predict the geography of each gate. We have no assurance we could ever find our way home. Indeed, we do not even know there is any route leading back to human space other than through the now-blocked X2-X1 connection.”
“Then why not at least move toward human space rather than away? Our course selections to date seem universally to have led us farther away from home.” Zhang Lu had been silent until now, and his tone was calm, rational-sounding. Compton knew how much the CAC admiral hated him, and he was impressed by the display of self-control.
He must be plotting something. Otherwise he’d be calling me eight kinds of devil by now. He’s prepared…he reviewed my warp gate choices and done his own calculations. Watch the motherfucker…
“Admiral Zhang, we can do tremendous harm by moving back toward human space. We have limited comprehension of the warp gate network, but I’d say it is reasonable to assume the First Imperium has far more understanding of it than we do. If we head deeper into space—into the imperium—we draw them away from Earth and its colonies. I doubt their doctrine allows leaving a hostile fleet running loose in the home systems. Our course into the heart of their domains will draw their attention this way, and not back toward humanity. Has it occurred to you that if we lead them in the direction of human space that they themselves might find the way back before we do? That we may return on the heels of the fleet that destroys mankind?”
Zhang stared back at Compton. “I believe you are exaggerating the dangers. No one here is suggesting a reckless race back toward human space. I fail to see the need to unilaterally rule out a cautious, well-executed attempt to explore for a way home, however.”
“The need is because of the unknown, Admiral Zhang.” Compton felt a surge of anger. He hated the arrogant CAC admiral, but he knew showing it would only hurt him here, so he held it in check. “It is because we do not know the enemy’s capabilities. There is no way to safely rule out pursuit—and let’s not forget that our ability to find a way back to human space is still pure speculation and, in all likelihood, a tremendous longshot. We could look forever and still not find the route.” He looked around the room and saw uncertainty on some of the faces. He knew the desire for hope, the belief that they could all see home again, was powerful. Strong enough to overrule judgment.
“I will remind everyone here that the entire First Imperium conflict came about as a result of the exploration of the machine on Epsilon Eridani IV, a planet in a system only three transits from Sol itself.” Alliance miners had discovered a vast alien device on that world, an ancient anti-matter production plant. Initially kept a secret, it later became one of the battlefields of the Third Frontier War.
“We still don’t know how the machine contacted the First Imperium, or why a response only occurred years later…more uncertainties in dealing with this enemy. And yet Admiral Zhang simply disregards all of this and assumes we are capable of exerting sufficient caution to eliminate any danger of pursuit…with a certainty sufficient to bet the fate of humanity on the outcome.”
“You continue to paint a picture of doom, Admiral Compton.” The CAC admiral looked around the table as he spoke. “Yet, you have no stated reason to assume that the enemy—with whom we have had no contact in almost a month—is somehow able to monitor us, to follow us back toward human space. If they are so able to do so, what is to stop them from finding an alternate path on their own?”
“Nothing,” Compton fired back. “That is one of the great dangers mankind still faces. But we do not need to massively increase the chance of that happening. As we are now, we have no doubt diverted a large portion of the enemy’s resources. Whatever intelligence controls the First Imperium, it wants to destroy humanity…but I suspect it is far more concerned with a military force loose deep in its own space. By continuing to divert its attention, we help to keep our families and friends back home—and all of mankind—safe. It is our duty to do so, Admiral. No matter what the cost to ourselves.”
Zhang shook his head. “Even duty has limits, Admiral. We do not send gravely wounded men into battle so the enemy trips over their dying bodies. By any measure, this fleet and its personnel have lived up to their obligations. They deserve a chance, at least…a spark of hope if nothing else. And you would deny them that. Why? Because of well-founded fears of the First Imperium forces following us? Or because you want us to remain lost…with you in command, ruling as some kind of monarch?”
The room was silent. Compton knew everyone present expected him to explode with apoplectic rage. But that would only serve Zhang. The CAC admiral had stepped out of line, issued a considerable provocation, but anything less than pure rationality from Compton fed the suggestion that he was a zealot, that his stated fears were unjustified by the facts.
“Admiral Zhang,” Compton said, struggling to hold his anger in check. “I can assure you that nothing would please me more than returning home.” The image of Elizabeth passed through his mind, smiling, happy, as she was in the photo he had back in his quarters. Then her face morphed, the smile fading, replaced by grief, her cheeks streaked with tears…tears for him, as she looked out into space, crying for lost love. He felt an elemental anger at Zhang’s accusation. He’d give anything to get back to human space, to see Elizabeth again…and Augustus. Anything but put them in more danger.
“I think we all appreciate your thoughts, Admiral, as we are all grateful for your tactical wizardry in extricating the fleet from system X2.”
Compton bit back on his anger, but he remained silent. Zhang was performing well, playing the part of the reasonable man debating the paranoid zealot. The colossal prick sounded downright grateful talking about the retreat from X2.
“However,” Zhang continued, “perhaps now we need more than a brilliant military leader. The issues we face are different, and we must think as humanitarians as well as warriors.”
Compton glared at Zhang. Warrior? You are a gutless coward, a political worm and nothing more. Certainly not a warrior. But still he held his tongue.
“We must consider those we command, the thousands of spacers aboard the fleet’s vessels. Men and women who have given their all to the fight. As their trusted leaders, how do we unilaterally tell them we have no intention of even trying to lead them home?” Zhang paused, allowing his last question to sink in. “Therefore, I propose that we take a vote. The senior officer present from each of the Powers will have a single ballot. The questions are simple. Should Admiral Compton retain the top command of the fleet? And should he—or whoever is selected to replace him—be directed to continue to lead us farther from home or to embark on a cautious and responsible plan to find our way back to human space?”
There was a burst of conversation as the officers present began to discuss Zhang’s proposal. It went on for perhaps fifteen seconds before it was silenced with a single word.
“No.”
Terrance Compton’s voice was cold, frozen like space itself. Few in the room had ever heard him speak in such an ominous tone, and every eye snapped back to stare at the fleet’s commander. The room was silent, save for the soft sounds of the ship’s machinery in the background.
“No,” Compton repeated. “There will be no votes. There will be no debates.” He looked around the table, staring briefly at each officer in turn. “I am the duly appointed commander-in-chief of this fleet, and no one here—no group of officers here—has the authority to relieve me of that command. We are at war, deep in enemy territory, and all personnel are subject to the Grand Pact’s code of military justice.”
Compton paused, wondering if that last bit had been a bit too much. The code of military justice essentially made his word law and gave him the authority to issue any punishments he saw fit…including spacing anyone he chose for virtually any reason. He’d intended to lay down the law and try to impo
se his authority by force of will, not to say something that could be taken as a poorly veiled threat of violent sanctions.
The room was still silent. Compton could feel the discomfort and tension in the air. Most of the officers were trying to avoid eye contact with him. You stupid ass, all the prep work and then you remind them you can have them executed any time you want. That’s a great way to lead…
He stood there for a few more seconds, but then he realized there was nothing further to be gained by continuing the meeting. He’d told them they weren’t going to try to find a way home, and he’d made it clear he wasn’t going to recognize any authority to challenge his decision. He’d intended to try to command through confidence and by cultivating their respect. But now his authority was just as rooted in fear. Whatever, he thought. It doesn’t matter. Whatever I could have said, some of those in this room would disagree. Perhaps fear will hold them in check more firmly than reason could hope to do.
Perhaps.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said calmly, his voice firm and commanding. “I think it is time we all returned to our posts. If any of you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at any time. My door, so to speak, is always open.”
He stood still for a few seconds then he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, with one thought going through his mind.
Fuck…that went like shit.
* * *
“What is it, Dr. Cutter? I know your work is important, but right now is not a very good time.” Compton stood just inside the door to the laboratory. It had been almost 21 hours since the meeting, during which time Terrance Compton estimated he’d gotten about 45 minutes of sleep. His head was pounding, as it had been since the day before, defying the attempts of several doses of analgesics to alleviate the discomfort.
