by Jay Allan
“Yes, Max,” Compton replied. “The sooner the whole thing is torn down, the happier I’ll be. We can’t lose any of that gear. If we’re forced to run and leave it all behind, we’re in a world of hurt.” The fleet had lost an enormous amount of equipment six months before during disastrous events in the X18 system. The fleet’s engineers had managed to jury-rig another refinery to draw helium-3 and tritium from the atmosphere of one of the X45 system’s gas giants, but they’d had to raid half the surviving ships for the parts they needed. The chances of replicating that feat and producing another replacement were nil.
Harmon understood Compton’s concern. The fleet hadn’t been attacked in almost six months, hadn’t even encountered the enemy, save for the dozens of planets they had passed, haunted worlds full of lifeless cities. But it was clear they were moving deeper into enemy territory, and neither Max Harmon nor Terrance Compton were men who relaxed easily in the face of a threat. The First Imperium was far from done with them. Harmon was as sure of it as he’d ever been of anything…and he was equally certain the admiral felt the same way.
The planets they were passing now were covered with the remains of massive cities, huge metropolises that had once been home to billions. And with each transit, they found more, ever larger in scale. Many of the worlds they were encountering had obviously been terraformed, and each system had three, four, or more planets covered with ruins.
Harmon guessed that Compton had hoped to pass through the First Imperium by now, perhaps finding an escape on the other side, but they just kept moving into even more densely developed areas. The scope of the ancient civilization was becoming apparent, though Harmon knew he could barely comprehend the true magnitude of what this long dead people had achieved.
“Commander Willis says he can have the dismantling complete in thirty-six hours.”
Compton smiled, leaning back in his chair as he did. “Commander Willis has always been, shall we say, aggressive in his projections.” He paused a moment then said, “Let’s figure on forty-eight hours instead. I want all ships to conduct a complete diagnostic series while we’re waiting, and be ready to move out exactly fifty hours from now.” The fleet operated on Earth time, which seemed to make as much sense as any other system…though they were as far from Earth as any human beings had ever ventured.
A thousand light years. No, more than that now.
It had been a few weeks before when one of the astronomers had managed to locate the fleet’s true position in space. Naval crews had long ignored such considerations, relying instead on maps of warp gate connections for navigation. Any interstellar trip outside the warp lines would take years…if not centuries. But Harmon still found it interesting to imagine the real distance. It was odd to consider, amazing and frightening both. He still remembered his reaction when he’d looked at the image…the light from Sol as picked up on Midway’s telescopic array. That light had left Earth’s system when men were just beginning to crawl out of the middle ages and embrace the renaissance.
They fought with shields and lances, and we with lasers and nuclear warheads…yet what else has changed? We fight no less, even before the First Imperium attacked. We have gained technology, but not wisdom. Not yet, at least. How long will that take? Another thousand years? Ten thousand? Or is that something we will never attain?
“Yes, sir,” Harmon stammered, pulling himself from his daydream. He realized he had slouched a bit while his thoughts were wandering, and he snapped back to attention. “Is there anything else, sir? Otherwise I will see to all of this immediately.”
“I think that’s all for now, Max.”
“Sir!” Harmon snapped back. Then he turned and started toward the door.
“And Max?”
He spun around. “Yes, sir?”
“When you’re finished sending out the orders, I want you to take a break. Sleep, read, watch a vid…you’ve been on duty for twenty hours straight.”
“But, sir…”
“No ‘buts,’ Max. We’ll have a crisis soon enough, and you can run yourself into the ground then. But for now, I need you healthy and rested.” Compton’s voice was casual and friendly, but Harmon could hear the insistence there too. He wanted to argue, to tell the admiral he was fine, that he could work at whatever pace was required. But he knew Compton too well to think it would do any good. And he had to admit, he was tired.
“Very well, sir.” He started to turn, but he paused for a moment. “Thank you, sir.”
Then he walked through the door and out onto the main deck of Midway’s flag bridge.
* * *
Hieronymus Cutter was agitated, Compton could see that clearly. And he understood the scientist’s frustration. He himself had been lured from his flag bridge to the surface of one of the First Imperium worlds, drawn by his natural curiosity, the intellectual need to know more about these ancient people who had been here so long before mankind. But he also remembered his own trip had nearly ended in disaster, as the mutineers chose that moment to launch their rebellion. If it hadn’t been for Erica West and her nerves of steel, Compton knew his curiosity could have been the end of them all. He wanted to let Hieronymus explore the wonders of the First Imperium…but his primary responsibility was to keep them all alive, Cutter included. And that meant survival for another day…and then one after that. He’d been living twenty-four hours at a time for over a year now.
“I’m sorry, Hieronymus. I understand your motivations, and I do not doubt that such explorations would prove to be fruitful, but you know as well as I that the enemy has alert systems we cannot detect. Any landing party would be in grave danger of activating a defensive force that could wipe them out in minutes.
“I understand the risk, Admiral.” Cutter stared back at Compton, a look of near desperation on his face. “We all do. But we also know we must learn more about the First Imperium and its technology if we are to survive. My whole team will volunteer, and I have it on good authority that many of the Marines would also come along if allowed.”
Compton sighed. Marines…that has to be Connor Frasier. It wasn’t much of a secret the elite Marine had become quite taken with Ana Zhukov, ever since he’d shed his armor to save her life on the enemy Colossus. And Zhukov and Cutter were research partners, the two most gifted scientists in the fleet.
But it wasn’t that simple. Compton had no desire to see scientific teams chewed up by half-million year old security bots, or to send a detachment of his Marines into harm’s way, but if that had been his only worry he would have relented to Cutter’s requests long before. But there was more, a far deeper concern.
“And what if one of these worlds retains a long distance transmission capability? What if blundering around in the ruins triggers some warning, not just to local security bots but to an active base…and brings another enemy fleet on us? The Colossus is gone, Hieronymus. We have only our own ships, low on ordnance and repaired the best we could on the run with the parts we still have left. We are not ready for such a fight…and we would not survive it.”
“You know secrecy cannot protect us forever, Admiral.” Cutter was tense, determined to change Compton’s mind. “We are playing Russian Roulette with every jump, just waiting for the day we again encounter the enemy. Stealth is fleeting, and sooner or later, the First Imperium forces will return. And we must be ready. Ready to face them, to defeat them. And knowledge is the way we will achieve that.”
Cutter paused, pulling his hand across his forehead, wiping away the perspiration. “Admiral, we have made great progress with the artifacts collected on the last planetary excursion…and from the data we retrieved from the Colossus. If we can obtain more, I am sure we are close to a whole series of breakthroughs. Weapons, data systems, power generation…and more sophisticated ways to control the enemy, advancements that will make my original virus seem like a child’s toy.” He paused again. “Sir, running can only buy us time in small increments. But adapting their technology can save us, free us from our fl
ight and give us the tools to end the First Imperium threat once and for all…not only for us, but for those back in Occupied Space too.”
Compton stared at Cutter with a pained look on his face. He wanted nothing more than to cut the reins on this brilliant scientist, to let him run wild and develop the systems and tech needed to truly match the First Imperium. But he just couldn’t. Not now. Cutter was a genius, but like most with ability as extraordinary as his, he found it difficult to appreciate factors outside his work. He could accomplish what he wanted, Compton was sure of that. Given time, Cutter would no doubt learn how to adapt First Imperium tech and produce remarkable advances. Unless the enemy tracked down and destroyed the fleet first.
And even if Cutter cracked the mysteries of First Imperium technology, how much could the fleet put to use? How many new systems could it produce? And how quickly? Compton had his people bending over backwards to build jury-rigged missiles to fill his empty magazines, and the entire program was moving at a snail’s pace, despite the fact that the fusion technology employed was over two centuries old. What could his makeshift production facilities do with highly advanced First Imperium designs?
“I understand everything you are saying, but I simply cannot risk it. I’m sorry, Hieronymus. I truly am. No one appreciates the implications of what you could do with more First Imperium technology like I do. But now is not the time. Perhaps soon, when we have reason to believe we have eluded our enemy.”
Cutter stared back. He had a disappointed look on his face, but then he just nodded silently. Compton knew the brilliant scientist understood, and probably, on some level, he even agreed. He’d been caught in the fighting six months earlier, when the landing party had been attacked by First Imperium security bots…and then he’d barely escaped the Colossus before it was destroyed in the fight against the overwhelming First Imperium forces in X18. Six months had passed without incident, that was true. But Compton didn’t think Hieronymus Cutter was like so many others in the fleet, ready to forget a threat after a brief respite. No, there was no one more equipped to understand the mysterious intelligence out there directing its forces than Cutter. He knew better than anyone else how determined, how relentless an artificial intelligence could be.
And still he wants to go, even knowing the risks…perhaps better than I do. Am I wrong on this? Is it worth the danger?
Compton pushed back the thought. He had tremendous respect for Cutter’s intellect…and the warrior in him wanted to stop running. The idea of developing weaponry to match the First Imperium forces was seductive, and the thought of blasting enemy fleets to dust roused a fire in his belly. But his people needed more than a fighter’s bluster. They needed judgment, rational planning. And he was determined to give it to them.
* * *
“I’ve been over it again and again, Terrance. There’s just no way. Even if we dump vital spare parts and you give me another six or eight freighters, we’re still going to come up short. Maybe sixty percent of what we need. Seventy outside…but that assumes no accidents, no unforeseen problems.”
Compton felt the sigh about to come, but he forced it back, and he just shook his head. Not you too, Sophie. The perfect end to a perfect day. It had been a month since the celebration, and whatever satisfaction Compton had managed to enjoy was long gone. Trying to keep his people alive even without the First Imperium attacking was proving to entail a constant series of unsolvable problems.
“So what do you propose?” His words came out a bit harder edged in tone than he’d intended them. It wasn’t her fault. Indeed, Sophie Barcomme had worked miracles filling the empty spaces of the fleet’s freighters with a bizarre—but highly optimized—assortment of algae and funguses, unappetizing, perhaps, but edible and nutrient dense. Without her efforts, the fleet would already be out of food, its people halfway to starving to death. “I’m sorry,” he added almost immediately. “Tough day.”
He still had a headache from his encounter with Hieronymus, wondering if he was wrong, if his caution was costing them the chance to gain the knowledge they needed to survive. You’d be dead already if you hadn’t let him go check out the Colossus. He felt a chill pass through him as he remembered how close he had come to refusing Cutter’s request back then. Sometimes there is a razor’s edge between success and failure, between victory…and death.
He couldn’t blame the scientist for all of the pain in his head though. After he’d left Cutter, he had gone to the flag bridge…and waded through the tidal wave of reports, the results of the ship diagnostics he’d ordered. He almost put his fist through the bulkhead when he first saw the number of vessels requiring petty repairs. He’d repeatedly reminded his ship commanders to keep an eye on their vessels’ readiness, but no matter what he did or said, some of the fleet’s captains were simply incompetent…or at least not up to his exacting standards. He’d always known the Alliance navy was the best among all of Earth’s Superpowers, the result in large part of the example he and Augustus Garret had set and the standards they had enforced. But the fleet was an international force, an amalgam of crews from nine nations, and Compton knew its survival depended on his maintaining the loyalty and respect of all of them. He already had his own people in as many key positions as he dared. The last thing he needed was to fuel a wave of conspiracy theories about the Alliance personnel plotting to take over the fleet.
And sacking half the Europan contingent would do just that…
“Alright, Fleet Admiral Compton, I’ll take pity on you and rub your shoulders, while we talk.” Sophie’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “But we are going to talk about this now. Any solution is going to require a lot of lead time. If we wait any longer it’s going to be too late.” She paused as she climbed behind him on the sofa and put her hands on his shoulders. “It’s almost too late now.”
He winced, half from the pressure against the biggest knot in his neck…and half from her comment about it being too late. “Very well, Commander Barcomme…” He let out a soft groan…she had hit just the right spot. “…what do you propose?”
He could feel her hands tense. “We have to stop somewhere, Terrance. There’s just no choice. We need a chance to grow some crops.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I think you and Hieronymus Cutter are ganging up on me.”
He felt her hands slip off his shoulders. “Is that what you think?” He could hear her voice, and he knew immediately she had taken his words too seriously.
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.” He paused, sighing softly as he did. “It’s just been a really shitty day.”
She leaned forward, bringing her head around so she could look at his face. “You have to know I would never side with anyone against you. In anything.” She hesitated for a second then she brought one of her hands around and put it on his cheek. “I don’t think I could have endured the last year without your friendship, Terrance. You saved the whole fleet, but you rescued me a second time as well, with your companionship and your compassion.”
“I really am sorry, Soph,” he said, his voice soft, contrite. “I’ve just got so much to decide right now. You don’t deserve that fallout, but sometimes it’s just…”
She put her fingers over his mouth. “I know,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I can’t even imagine the pressure on you.”
He rolled his head on his shoulders as she slid back and started massaging his neck again. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the touch of relaxation her fingers produced. Then he said, “So tell me, Soph…what do you have in mind?”
“Well,” she said, her tone showing a bit of her own stress, “there are very dense crops, mostly genetically-engineered versions of Earth beans and certain legumes. We can get a lot of caloric and nutritional punch from even a single crop. And they grow very quickly, given the right environment.”
“How quickly?”
“Eight weeks…ten tops. For enough to fully replenish our supplies. Perhaps another year
’s worth of food.”
“So we’d have to stop somewhere for two months?” He hated every aspect of this plan. But it was better than watching people starve to death. “And there’s no alternative?”
“Not unless you want to let half the people in the fleet die so there’s enough food for the rest. Because half is about what we can feed from the freighters-farms alone.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so…”
“That wouldn’t work anyway,” she said grimly. “These fungi and algae foodstuffs are okay for the short term, but without some supplementation, we’re going to start seeing some real problems. Vitamin deficiencies, digestive issues. Go much more than a year without getting something else into the diet, and people will start dying.”
“But I thought those alternative foods had been used on much longer missions…to mining worlds and the like?”
“Yes, but with heavy supplementation. We’re almost out of everything right now, and what little we have is reserved for the sickbays. We couldn’t provide basic vitamin pills for most of our people now, much less all the rest of what they would need to subsist long-term on the diet we’ve got them on now.”
“So when you said no choice, you meant no choice…” He’d meant a bit of gentle humor with the remark, but it didn’t materialize when the words came out of his mouth.
“I’m afraid so, Terrance. And the sooner the better.”
He sighed, realizing he had no choice…he had to stop somewhere, or at least send out a mission. There was something else too, and he felt the realization burning through his gut. Sophie was the natural leader of the expedition, at least with regard to food production. The thought of her being gone for several months, in danger—even more than the usual hazard of being part of the fleet—made him feel sick. But he knew he couldn’t ask her to stay for him. And he couldn’t deny the fleet the best person to resolve the growing food crisis.
