“When will they get here?”
“ETA, nine minutes.”
The commander tried to think of a defense they could use against these things. The only one he could think of was to avoid them. Unless.
“Fire a volley of missiles at the point where they will arrive at in eight and a half minutes,” ordered the commander.
“The closest we can come to that point is six seconds from contact, my Lord,” said the tactical officer.
“Then do that. Immediately.”
He could only hope that a couple of thousand missiles exploding in front of them might do something. If not destroy them, at least make them turn away. The commander knew how unlikely that was. The humans were not cowards. Even if he got lucky and blotted half of their attack formation away, the rest would still attack.
“Prepare close in weapons, counters, everything we have. I want them intersecting those things at closest approach.”
The tactical officer looked at him with a disbelieving expression.
“Just do it,” yelled the commander, turning to walk back to his chair and throw himself in it. “And send a message to the force we left in the outer system.” At least if they kill us, word will still get back to the fleet.
* * *
“I’m not sure what these things, are, ma’am,” said the tactical officer as they picked up the incoming objects. “Whatever they are, they are flat out moving.”
“Faster than light?” asked McTavish, shaking her head. “That’s impossible.”
“The inertialess fighters do it,” said the helmsman.
“Not that fast,” replied the tactical officer. “And we can’t track inertialess fighters. Not like this.”
“Whatever it is, it seems to be scaring the shit out of the Cacas,” said the captain, watching as missile icons appeared on the plot, heading back toward the approaching objects. Or, in reality, decelerating so that the ships were leaving them behind. “If they’re our relief, I don’t care if faeries are pushing them through space.”
There were nods around the bridge. It was obvious that the objects were not of Caca origin. And if they took out the Caca force, it didn’t matter what they were.
* * *
“Send a signal to Lt. Chu. He is to lead his flight out to those other ships and destroy them. I don’t want the Caca command to have any idea what happened here.”
The Klassekian com tech nodded at the captain and started sending the order. Moments later a flight of four ships stopped dead in space, rotated around, and warped back up to twenty lights on a heading for the Caca ships about forty light minutes away. They were still not back to the barrier, but would get there in about thirty-five minutes. Unfortunately for them, the fighters would reach them in two.
“The enemy has launched missiles, ma’am,” said Ensign McCallister, the pilot.
“Take us on a course around them. Let’s come in from the side and hit them in the flank.”
One hundred and ten craft stopped dead in space after disengaging their warp, light minutes away from the missiles. A couple of turns in space, reengaging warp after each turn, and they were coming in on the flank of the Caca force. At a light minute range they dropped their missiles, two from each craft. The weapons dropped out of warp, got a look at the targets, then went back into faster than light, speeding into the enemy in three seconds. Two hundred and twenty missiles entered the close in defense range, negotiating the mass of fire the ships were putting out. Normal missiles would have lost over half their number. The warp missiles only lost a half dozen of theirs. In an instant most of the Caca cruisers and scouts were hit, many going up in clouds of plasma, some still limping ahead. All of the forty capital ships took at least one hit, and two exploded. All were damaged.
“Come about for second missile run,” ordered the captain. “Let’s take out the garbage.”
At the end of the second run there were only seventeen badly damaged superbattleships left in the force. McTavish was thinking about going back to rearm missiles to hit them again, when the Republic force by the planet fired three volleys of missiles. She ordered her wing to head for the planet, where she could talk with that commander and let that person know they were no longer in danger.
* * *
“We have a report from the fronts, Supreme Lord,” said the bowing male, the supreme admiral of the Ca’cadasan fleet.
The Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire, Jresstratta IV, gave a head nod to the male to straighten. He noted that the male seemed nervous, not a good sign.
“What has gone wrong?”
“Supreme Lord, the fleet that has invaded Fenri space has fallen behind the time table, but are still forging ahead, and should be in human space within another month.”
The Emperor stared open mouthed at his subordinate. The time table called for that force to have pushed into the human empire within a month. They had been there three weeks, and now command was estimating it would still be a month before they broke out into human space.
“I thought their force in that region was weak, since they had sent so many ships to the other flank.”
“They are fighting a battle of maneuver against us, Supreme Lord. Something they are very good at. They are raiding our supply lines, destroying tankers and resupply ships.”
And something we are not very good at, he means, thought the Emperor. That was something they needed to get better at if they were going to win this fight.
“They are also arming the former Fenri slaves, who will go to any lengths to kill their former masters, or anyone helping their former masters, such as ourselves.”
The Emperor thought about that for a second as well. If the humans ever invaded Ca’cadasan space, they could expect the same from their slaves.
“And their new fighters have come as a shock.”
“What new fighters?” asked the Emperor. This was the first he had heard about any new ships of any kind.
“They have deployed fighter/attack craft that use the old space warping technology we left so many millennia ago. They have found, as have we, that they do very well within star systems, where their slow interstellar speed still makes them extremely fast.”
“And why did we get rid of this tech if it’s so useful?”
“When we developed travel through hyperspace, it was deemed obsolete. A ship in hyper III can attain a pseudospeed of one hundred and forty-one times the speed of light, while the space warping drive could only get up to a hundred times at most.”
“But the humans have found a use for them,” growled the Emperor. “Do they have to come out of warp to attack? How effective have our defenses been against them when they have?”
The officer looked distinctly uncomfortable as he looked at the Emperor. “They do not have to come out to attack. They drop warp capable missiles that run straight and true to the target. The warp field bursts through screens and armor like it isn’t there, and the warhead explodes under the armor.”
“Wonderful. Then we need to develop these ships as well. See to it.” The Emperor stared at him for a moment longer, waiting for the admiral to speak. When he didn’t the Emperor’s glance turned into a glare. “What else is going wrong? Have our own inertialess fighters performed as expected?”
“Yes and no, Supreme Lord. They have consistently achieved the estimated speed, but they have trouble finding their targets. The humans can tell they are there and move before they come out of their bubble. And we have no way of redirecting them.”
“The humans used them successfully before they found these creatures that could communicate through quantum connections.” As far as the Emperor was concerned, it could have been magic. All he knew was that the enemy had such beings, and he did not.
“That was before we were able to partially track them, Supreme Lord. When we didn’t know they were there, we didn’t feel the need to move at random when we weren’t about to get hit with missiles. When we were able to tell they were there, and knew what th
ey could do, evasive maneuvers became a normal procedure, and they had trouble hitting our forces. With their instantaneous com they can change their vectors onto our forces and hit them regardless. They also have a new weapon for those fighters, one that uses the inertial rebound effect to produce an extremely powerful blast. It’s not very accurate though,” said the admiral in a rushed voice, trying to get some good news into the conversation.
“So what happens when they do hit, Supreme Admiral?”
“Devastation. Destruction. As powerful a weapon as we have ever seen outside of the wormhole bombs.”
“I am considering ordering the offensive called off, and the ships to retreat,” said the Emperor, giving a head shake of negation.
“Please, Supreme Lord,” pleaded the admiral, going down to a knee. “Do not dishonor us so.”
More of our arrogant honor, thought the Emperor, hissing out a breath. For a time it had served the species well. They had never backed down from a challenge, never retreated from a threat. That had cost them in this war. Cost them entire fleets they couldn’t afford to lose. On face value, looking at the entire force of the Ca’cadasan military, it would seem that they could afford to lose this one as well. Appearances were deceiving, and the fleet was bleeding to death in this war. They needed their military to defend all of their borders, to keep the trillions of slaves under control. And losing tens of thousands of ships at a time was not a formula for success.
“You have two weeks to make this offensive work,” he told the admiral, backing off from his first inclination of ordering them back at once. “If it looks like the objectives are not to be met, we will retreat. Understood?”
The admiral looked at him for a moment with a strange look on his face. The male had been a warrior for thousands of years, rising up through the ranks, from junior officer to ship commander, to command of larger and larger formations. And in all that time the Ca’cadasans had ruled everything they could grab, with no power strong enough to stop them. Some leaders had reconciled themselves to the new reality. That they were not unbeatable, and sometimes running was the best tactic. The admiral had not come to that conclusion. And he was probably also worrying about the price of failure. Traditionally that meant death. This male was too intelligent, too competent, to waste in such a manner. He might not lead the fleet after failure, but he would still hold a position on some planning group or other.
“I, understand, Supreme Lord,” said the male, keeping his eyes lowered. After a couple of moments the male got to his feet and backed out of the chamber, playing the part of the chastised male perfectly.
The Emperor gave a head motion of negation. He had stressed upon his high-ranking staff that they were not to bow and scrape around him, and he wondered at the significance of the supreme admiral’s obeisance to him. Of course the male had to be afraid that he would be executed if his plan failed. That must be it, thought Jresstratta, putting it out of his mind.
Now he had other things to think about, like developing his own warp fighters, and the pentaton weapons the humans were using from their inertialess fighters. And his son was due to see him this afternoon.
That was another thing about this war that bothered the Emperor. He had not had time for his only son, his heir, when the child was at such an impressionable age.
The young Jresstratta came into his father’s study at the appointed time. He was getting big, not yet an adult, but almost of adult size. The child had a perpetual scowl on his face, and the Emperor felt his heart go out to his son. He should be playing with other children, having some fun before the weight of being the adult heir to the throne weighed on him. If the Emperor had more time he would have spent some with his son, but that was not fated to be.
“How go your studies, my son?” he asked, seeing the scowl deepen.
“It is all useless,” said the young heir. “Philosophies of beings who have been dead thousands of years, art and drama. The math and science is somewhat interesting, but even they are boring to a warrior.”
“They are things that an emperor needs to know, my son.”
“What an emperor needs to know is how to smash his enemies. Like these humans that grandfather decreed exterminated. An emperor must know how to bring a heavy foot down on them, and to enforce discipline on his males, that they might fight and kill without fear.”
Jresstratta stared at the face of his son for a moment. The boy would not assume the mantel of Emperor for at least a thousand years, and he would not be going to war in that time. The empire needed a live heir, not a memory. In times past heirs had been sent out with the fleet. Times in which the danger was slight, and they could get some seasoning. In the war of extermination that was going on at this time the heir could not be risked so.
“I want to command our males, father. I chaff under these interminable lessons that seem to have no purpose.”
“We are a warrior race, boy,” said Jresstratta, losing a little of his patience at the petulant child. “But that is not the whole of our culture. We have art, music, sciences.”
“All of which our slave races do better than we do,” said the young male. “Our primary skill is war. And I wish to be a leader of warriors.”
The child turned on his heel and stormed from the chamber without asking permission. Jresstratta thought of sending some of his guards after the young male, to bring him back for discipline. But he felt too weary. He would leave it up to the young male’s teachers to correct him. Right now he had other things to think about.
* * *
Sean sat at his desk, thinking. Or, if he was really honest, racking himself over the coals for all of his decisions. They were decisions that had needed to be made. And every one had cost lives. Could he have done better? Assuredly. Could anyone else have? Maybe. Even probably. He thought his father could have done a better job. If the bastards who had him killed hadn’t hit the mark.
Maybe we could go back and save him and mother as well. He thought about how grand it would be to save his brothers and their wives too. There was so much they could do, if the time strike went forward without consequence. That was the problem. Could they guarantee no consequences? They said they could, but he didn’t know them. So how could he be sure they were competent and trustworthy enough for him to believe them.
I have to make a decision, he thought. While he vacillated, millions were dying every week, sometimes every day. Something had to be done.
“Get me Count Stumpfield,” he said into the air, alerting the private com system that he was in need of its services. He had made up his mind, for good or ill. Now they would go through with it, and damn the consequences.
* * *
“Sean has agreed to go ahead with the time strike,” said Count Nick Stumpfield, looking around the table. “And if all goes well with this one, the other should be in the near future.”
Dr. Kenji Guatarrez stared at the man, still wondering how he had gotten himself caught up in this insanity. Changing the timeline had consequences. All of his math had indicated such. And whenever they broached the subject, he was told that they had rescued the heir without any damned consequences. That might have been a good point, if not for the fact that the heir would have survived if they hadn’t gone back and saved him. He was alive and well in the rescue bubble, and would have been found by the Imperial Marines moments after he was rescued. So it really hadn’t been much of a disruption to the timeline after all.
They already had a second wormhole working its way back for the proposed time strike, since the hole they used to retrieve the heir was still travelling into the past. They had a plan for that one as well, to deliver a wormhole bomb into the center of the emerging Caca fleet in the Cimmeria/Aquilonia system, and save seven billion more lives, including those of the count’s family.
So if they don’t do enough damage to the time-stream by saving three hundred million, they’ll go ahead and try again with twenty times that number. And there didn’t seem to be a damned thing he cou
ld do about it. He was their prisoner, though they called him a collaborator.
“We have people on board the Donut,” said Thomas Sparkman, one of the count’s primary associates. Sparkman had training in hyperspace physics, a doctorate he had gotten thanks to the Fleet that he had served as an engineering officer. The way he talked, the Fleet was one big cluster, and something he was happy to be free of. Most of the people Kenji had spoken to who had been in the Imperial military had nothing but respect for it, like it or not. But not this man. “We just need to find out which launch system the other end of the hole will be attached to, and we can get a few of our people transferred over.”
Guatarrez was sure that the people transferred over would be there in case they needed to do something to the crew of that launch platform, which could only mean that they were prepared to go ahead with the strike even if the Emperor tried to shut them down prior to the launch. And he was sure that they would stop at nothing to make sure that launch went as planned, no matter how many lives it cost.
“We have the codes to lock out the station systems in whatever control chamber we are in,” said Achieng Okoye. She was a small woman, originally from New Osaka, and as deadly as a scorpion. Okoye had been an operative with the Imperial Intelligence Agency, until she had a falling out with its director. She was augmented, and as far as Guatarrez could see, had nothing in the way of a conscience. He wondered if it had been removed. “Once we are in the room, we will be able to keep them from interfering.”
“You know the Emperor is augmented as well, Achieng?”
“In his case it’s genetic augmentation from birth,” said the woman, nodding. “As good as anything the military and intelligence has. But he will suspect nothing. The injection will knock him out as fast as any other human, if we have to use it. He will make a good hostage if we need one.”
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 12: Time Strike Page 20
