by Jay Allan
Still, I am reluctant to move too quickly. I had hoped with all the optimism I could muster that my virus would work, that we would be able to establish at least some level of control over the intelligence. But it had never even occurred to me that we would be accepted as its true masters, as the descendants of those who created it. Is this my virus working in an unexpected way? Or is there something else at play here, something I hadn’t considered? Is there a relationship between humanity and that long-vanished race? Is there a reason other than my virus that the intelligence has come to the conclusion it has?
AS Midway
X18 System
The Fleet: 171 ships, 38,203 crew
“All ships of the battleline report ready, sir.” Cortez sounded cool and calm. Compton knew it was bullshit, but he was impressed nevertheless. He hadn’t imagined any officer could have adequately replaced Max Harmon as his tactical aide, but he had to admit Cortez came as close as anyone could have.
“Very well, Commander,” he replied, his own voice equally controlled. And that’s bullshit too…but I need to stay strong…at least seem strong. I need to do it for all of them. They deserve nothing less.
Compton had faced more than one desperate situation in his half century of war, but this was the most desperate, the most hopeless he had seen. If he thought the fleet had any chance at all of escaping he would have ordered every ship to make a run for it. But that was a fool’s hope. None of his vessels could outrun the enemy, and if they were going to die anyway, he had resolved they would die fighting. He wasn’t sure if any of it mattered. Death was death, however it came. But it made a difference to him…and he was sure it did to the rest of his people. They had lived as warriors, veterans of the struggle against the First Imperium and of the endless battles between the Superpowers. Now they would die as warriors.
“Flank forces are in position, sir, and all ships report full readiness.”
“Very well.” Full readiness was a relative term for his battered ships, but he knew they would make the most of what they had. “Report on enemy missile barrage?”
“First salvo is just inside 800,000 kilometers range of our lead elements, Admiral. All vessels ready to initiate countermeasures at 500,000 as per your orders.”
Compton took a deep breath. It felt strange not to have his own missiles in space, but there wasn’t a ship-to-ship warhead on any of his vessels—except in the transports in X20. And they might as well be on the far side of the galaxy. He didn’t know how many of his ships would make it through the massive barrage heading their way. He had some evasive maneuvers in mind, a few tricks that might lessen the impact. But no matter how he figured it, a good portion of his fleet was going to die when those missiles closed, and the rest would limp forward, damaged and bleeding air.
Those survivors would fire when they got to energy weapons range, at least the ones that still had functional batteries. But Compton didn’t try to fool himself. That battle wouldn’t last long. And then it would be over. Everything except the First Imperium fleet chasing down and destroying his transports in the next system.
But that won’t take long. And then the fleet will be gone, the sacrifice we made in X2 rendered moot, and our whole improbable story brought to its inevitable conclusion.
“Status report on Admiral Udinov’s task force?” The RIC admiral had requested permission to perform close support for Greta Hurley’s fighter strike, and his ships were far in advance of the main fleet…and closely engaged with the flank of the enemy forces.
“They’ve lost six ships, sir. Petersburg reports extensive damage, but she’s still in the fight.”
Compton just sat silently. Udinov was directing his meager force masterfully, but he wouldn’t last long. He’d managed to position himself out of the arc of the enemy’s main weapons, clinging to their blind spots. The First Imperium ships would have to turn from their course fleet to fully engage him, and that would mean delaying the final fight with the main battleline—even allowing some of the human ships to make a run for it. So far the enemy had maintained their vectors and tried to pick off Udinov’s vessels with secondary batteries.
And they are succeeding. It’s just taking a little longer to wear them down, but Udinov’s ships won’t last twenty minutes where they are.
He took in another breath, holding it for a few seconds. “Very well, Commander Cortez, the fleet will advan…”
“Admiral, we’re picking up transits…from the X20 warp gate, sir.”
Compton’s head snapped around toward the tactical officer’s station. “Full scan, Commander.”
“Working on it, sir.” Cortez’ hands raced over his station, and an instant later his face went pale. “It’s a First Imperium vessel, sir.” His voice was weak, thin. “A Colossus.”
* * *
“Confirmed, sir. It’s a Colossus…transiting in behind the main fleet.”
Vladimir Udinov sat quietly for a few seconds, absorbing the reality of what he’d just been told. In truth, he realized it didn’t matter. They’d already been facing enough enemy ships to destroy the fleet twice over—it didn’t really make much difference if now it was three or four times. Dead was dead. Still, the very thought of the enemy’s most massive battleships evoked a primal fear.
Udinov stared at the screen, his finger moving slowly to the right, scrolling the display area to cover the main body of the enemy fleet. His task force had been maneuvering around the flank, taking advantage of the enfilade position to maximize the damage inflicted. He’d been struggling to stay in the enemy’s blind spots, to rake their ships from positions were they couldn’t effectively return fire. The target vessels could have broken formation and moved to intercept his small task force, but he knew that wasn’t the First Imperium’s way. They would continue toward the main fleet, ignoring a nuisance force like his until after the main fight was done. And that’s all he was, he knew that much…just an insect stinging them as they moved inexorably forward. He might damage the flank Leviathan, but he just didn’t have the firepower to do more.
“Get me Admiral Compton,” he snapped to Stanovich.
A few seconds later. “On your line, sir.”
“Vladimir, “Compton said before Udinov could utter a word, “you’ve done a tremendous job, but now you’re pretty exposed out there. It’s time for you to plot a course back to the main force, around the enemy’s arc of fire.” Compton’s voice was firm, but there was no hostility there. However strained their relationship might have been following the mutiny, facing certain death together had evaporated any lingering hostility.
“Admiral, I’d like to stay. I can bring my ships around the enemy’s rear. If we cause enough trouble back there we might force them to stop and deal with us. That will buy you time…time to deal with that Colossus.” Udinov knew it was a longshot his meager force could somehow hold back the entire First Imperium fleet, but it was just the kind of highly emotional play that tended to throw the enemy intelligences into a funk.
The com was silent for a few seconds. Finally, Compton replied, his voice soft. “You won’t last ten minutes if they turn to face you, Vladimir. If your plan succeeds, you die almost immediately.”
“Things have moved past ‘if we die.’ At this point, I’m more concerned with ‘how we die.’ We’re all doomed, Admiral.” The Russian’s voice was deadpan, almost without emotion. “At least this way the fleet won’t be trapped between two forces. Maybe a few ships can even get away back into X20. The supply fleet is...” He paused, and Compton knew Udinov had just come to the same conclusion he had a few minutes before. The Colossus had come from X20…which probably meant the transports were gone.
“Who knows?” he continued an instant later, ignoring his thoughts on the supply fleet. “Maybe my people can buy enough time for somebody to escape.” Udinov paused then added, “We’re dead anyway…this way we’ve got a chance, however small, of accomplishing something.”
Compton paused. Udinov knew the Alliance
admiral hated sending his people to their deaths. It was something he’d been compelled to do far too many times in his long and storied career. But now they were all trapped…everyone in the fleet was facing death.
“Let us die with honor, Terrance, with at least a faint hope our deaths will help our comrades. It’s a false hope perhaps, but one my people deserve.”
“Very well, Vladimir…if that’s what you want to do, I’ll give you my blessing. The thoughts and admiration of your comrades in the fleet go with you. And mine too.” Compton hadn’t specifically said it, but he knew Udinov understood. His prior actions were forgiven. He would go into his last fight with a clean slate.
“Commander Stanovich, the task force will execute nav plan Epsilon-3. We’re breaking off and maneuvering around the enemy fleet.” He slapped his hand down on the armrest of his chair. “And, by God, we’re going to get right behind these bastards and hit them with everything we’ve got…”
* * *
“I want everybody in the tanks in fifteen minutes.” Compton had sat quietly for a few minutes after speaking with Udinov. He still couldn’t comprehend what had driven the Russian admiral to try to break off from the fleet, to recklessly risk leading the enemy back home with him. He understood Zhang’s motivations. The CAC officer was a coward, a gutless worm beneath Compton’s contempt, concerned only with his own selfish needs. But Udinov was nothing like that. Indeed, he was as courageous as any commander Compton had ever known. Yet they had almost ended up fighting each other.
What is wrong with us? Why are we so ready to fight each other, even after we’ve discovered we’re not alone, that the stars hold such terrible dangers? Why is man always ready to go to war with himself? The First Imperium seems to be a united power, all its resources working together rather than struggling against other factions within. Were the actual beings who created the imperium more enlightened, wiser than men? Or did they fight each other as we do now? Was this staggering civilization built by wise and peaceful beings who avoided the greed and lust for power that so plagued men? Or do we just see the legacy of the victors, those who survived millennia of internal conflict, who fought and crushed their enemies before claiming the stars?
“Admiral, we’re picking up more energy readings from the X20 warp gate.”
Compton sighed. He’d initially assumed that Cutter and his team had inadvertently activated the Colossus, but now he confronted the thought that more First Imperium ships were coming from X20. And that meant whatever unrealistic hopes he might have had of any of his ships escaping had been dashed. With enemy units pouring through the warp gate, he couldn’t even fool himself anymore. The supply fleet in X20 was already gone…and all his people in X18 would die right here.
“Admiral, we’re picking up a transmission…” Cortez paused. “Sir, it’s Admiral Garson! It was Hamilton that transited!”
Compton’s head snapped around. Hamilton was the flagship of the support task force, and Garson was the admiral in command. “Put him on speaker, Commander.”
“Admiral Compton…” Garson’s voice was firm, confident.
“Yes, Admiral Garson, we’re reading you…”
“Sir, the First Imperium ship is not hostile. I repeat, it is not hostile. Dr. Cutter and his people have gained control over it, and they have directed it to attack the enemy fleet.”
Terrance Compton had rarely been shocked into speechlessness during his long career, but now he struggled for words, his throat dry, as if every molecule of moisture had evaporated instantaneously. “Dr. Cutter and his team are on that ship?” he croaked. “Controlling it?”
“Yes, sir. They disabled the external communications because Cutter was afraid an order from outside might overrule his control. You won’t be able to reach them unless you get close enough to be in range of their portable coms. But that ship is here to fight with us…not against us.”
Compton let out a long breath. It was almost unbelievable…no, it was unbelievable. He’d had strong hopes for Cutter’s research over time, but this was lightyears beyond anything he’d expected.
He stared back at the monitor, at the First Imperium fleet moving toward his ships, and a feral smile formed on his lips. “Commander Cortez, the fleet will prepare to advance and engage the enemy. All vessels will match course and speed with the Colossus. And set up a fleetwide channel. This is something I’ve got to tell everyone.”
“Yes, sir!”
Compton nodded. His body was alive, almost twitching with energy as he fed off his rage, his hatred of the First Imperium. His mind was sharp, and it was focused on one thing. They had a chance now. The fight had purpose.
* * *
“That fleet is acting against its orders. It is a rogue force, and we must engage and destroy it.” Hieronymus Cutter sat in one of the workstation chairs…a seat where a member of that ancient race had once sat, the long lost beings who’d founded the First Imperium ages ago.
“As you command,” the AI replied, its voice calm, unaffected, despite the fact that Cutter had ordered it to attack the First Imperium ships that lay ahead. “Activating all weapons systems. Initial missile barrage in eleven time segments.” The translation system had no reference for the measurement systems of the First Imperium, and it substituted ‘time segment’ for a word that was obviously a unit of time.
“Preliminary analysis of opposing fleet suggests we have insufficient capability to destroy all vessels.”
Cutter turned and looked back at his companions. “You are to destroy as many as possible.” Does the intelligence have a self-preservation priority? Will it obey orders likely to result in its own destruction?
“Understood.”
Cutter could feel the sweat pouring down his neck and he reached around and wiped at it, letting out a loud exhale as he did. The intelligence had apparently accepted an order that was tantamount to a suicide mission. But would it follow through?
Cutter looked down at the scanner feed Garson had sent him. The enemy force was massive, far more than the human fleet could handle, even with Terrance Compton in command. The Colossus was the only hope. Cutter hated the idea of his tremendous find being destroyed…especially since he was aboard. But unless the massive superbattleship intervened immediately, the fleet was lost.
“Ana,” Cutter whispered, “we should get as much information from this intelligence as possible and get it back to the fleet. I can’t even imagine the data in those banks.”
“I agree, but there’s no way except to ask the intelligence to copy it for us…and that might cause suspicion. We have no idea how firm our control is or what might trigger the system to reevaluate us.” She was standing right next to him, and he could feel her body shaking.
Of course she’s scared. He looked around, scanning the faces of his team, seeing the fear in their eyes. This was a situation none of them were made to handle. They were scientists, academics…not soldiers.
I wonder if they’re scared…the Marines. They’re veterans, they’ve faced combat before, stared death in the eye. But this is something different. There is a haunted feeling here, as if we mere mortals had stumbled into the halls of some ancient gods.
His eyes locked on Connor Frasier. The Marine was fully armored, the dark gray surface of his helmet blocking any view of his face, his eyes. I guess I won’t know, Cutter thought, wondering if even Major Connor Frasier, commander of the Scots Company, could maintain his cool in a situation like this.
He turned back toward the input device. “My associate is going to make copies of data from your banks. You are to assist her in any way you can.”
“As you command. I must warn you that the primitive data storage devices you employ are highly inefficient. They have very low capacity, and their I/O speeds are grossly inadequate. Only minimal data will be transferred before we engage in battle.”
“I understand. Now please assist her in any way possible.” He was struggling to sound authoritative, in command. He had no idea if the sy
stem had permanently accepted him as one of the Old Ones, or if it was still analyzing his words and speech patterns. Or for that matter, his body temperature, physical appearance…anything at all that might shatter the charade.
Not that you have any idea how a First Imperium naval officer would have behaved.
He stood still, silent for a few minutes. Then he turned toward Frasier.
“Major, I want you to get back to the shuttles. Take my people with you and evacuate the ship as quickly as you can. I will stay here. There is no point in anyone else remaining behind. If the intelligence ceases to accept my orders, there is nothing my people—or your Marines—could do anyway.” He hesitated briefly and added, “And Admiral Compton is going to need every skilled scientist and warrior he can get.”
“My orders are to protect you, Doctor. At all costs.” Frasier’s voice was deep, his tone firm, crisp. If he was afraid, he wasn’t showing it.
“The situation has changed, Major. There is no point in anyone else remaining here at risk. I will stay. Alone.”
“I can’t allow that, Doctor.” A pause. “But I will see to the evacuation of your science teams and my Marines. Then I will remain here with you.”
“Major, that’s not…”
“I will remain, Doctor. It is my duty.” The Marine’s voice was like solid rock, and Cutter knew at once he wouldn’t budge. Not a micron.
