“These power our station, and allow us to open the wormholes that our ships use, though each of the ships has its own.”
Jackson whistled at that information. The Donut only makes a couple of dozen in a day, with the power of the swirling black hole. “They generate that much power? But, how do you get the energy in the first place?”
“We created these universes using the power of our station around the black hole. The same black hole you now use. It took a year of continuous energy generation from the hole to make each universe.”
“That’s, unbelievable,” said Jackson, not able to wrap his mind around that much energy. “And these are all you have?”
“And all we will ever have,” said Klorasof, three of his eyes focusing on the human. “Except for the few we have on our ships, of much lesser capability. And we do not have a station to make more.”
“And we have the station now,” said Jackson, wondering if the Ancients might be looking for a way to use that station. But how? They can’t take it away from us, can they? Not with the size of our fleet. Even superior tech can’t battle those numbers, can it? “Perhaps we can help you there, if you aid us against our enemies.”
“We have sworn to no longer interfere in the affairs of other sentient beings,” said the Ancient.
“Because of the time manipulation disasters?” asked Jackson, who had already heard some of the story, but not all.
“Yes. Our rulers thought we could do much good by going back in time and saving those species we had not been able to rescue before they destroyed themselves. It created paradoxes. And the Universe will not stand for such. And so, with the exception of some few small outposts, our race ended.”
“Look. You helped so many other species in the past. Now mine is in danger of being exterminated. And these new guys are not going to play gently with the other species in this region. So why not help us?”
“That is out of the question,” said Klorasof, gesturing with a tentacle and reinflating the wormhole that had brought them here.
After the alien left him in his chamber Jackson sat and thought for some moments. There has to be a reason why I’m here. Two catastrophic translations in a little over a month, then an improbable rescue. This must mean something. The Commander ran a hand through his hair and thought back on the teachings of his father, a Baptist minister. Through the years he had grown apart from his father and his teachings. But God had to have a part in this, so I am here for a reason. And the only reason he could think of was to be the ambassador his government needed to these potential allies they didn’t know existed.
*
CAPITULUM, JEWEL, MAY 6TH, 1000.
Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf raised his glass into the air. “To comrades, missing, but not forgotten.”
The other officers at the table raised their glasses as well and echoed the words. Maurice had been glad to find so many old classmates from the Island in the city. Several had been promoted and were awaiting new construction, same as he, while others were waiting for assignments. Considering that his class had boasted twenty thousand graduates, he shouldn’t he been surprised to find ten or so of them on leave in the capital. There were even a couple that he had called close friends while at the academy, which was more of a coincidence.
“We always knew you would rise fast,” had said Commander Svetlana Kommorov, still as beautiful as ever, and one that Maurice was sure would have made captain before he did.
She was currently waiting for her first command, a Hyper VII light Cruiser. With that would come eventual promotion to full Captain he was sure. I just had some exceptional luck, thought von Rittersdorf, though he knew it was a little more than that. While he hadn’t been the greatest in the classroom, he thought he was as good as anyone in a tactical situation. That had been proven by getting his hyper VII destroyer, Dot McArthur, home against all the odds.
“So,” said Svetlana, lowering her glass to the table so the serving robot could refill it. “Tell us about the Ca’cadasans. What were they like?”
“Horrible,” said von Rittersdorf, watching the bot fill his glass with the beer he was buying his classmates. They had wanted to treat him, in congratulations for his promotions, both military and social. He had insisted that he was the one with disposable income, both the allowance he got from his father, the Count von Rittersdorf, and the now considerable ducal fortune which made him much wealthier than his sire.
“Yes,” said another classmate he was not that familiar with. “But how so?”
“You’ve all seen the vids from the past,” said Maurice, looking around the table from face to face. “Well, they’re still three meters tall and just as ugly.”
“Uglier than Coristas?” asked one of the other officers, pointing at the one nonhuman at the table, a huge Phlistaran who had opted for the Marines out of the academy. The good natured being smiled an alarming number of teeth.
“That wasn’t very nice,” said another officer. “Just because he’s a Marine.”
Everyone laughed at that, including the butt of the joke, who realized that his classmates did like him. After all, who wouldn’t like a half ton of Marine fighting on their side.
“I am very happy to have Lt. Colonel Coristas on my side,” said Maurice with a smile. “I think even a Caca would have to think twice about taking him in hand to hand.”
“And that would be the last thought in his horned head,” rumbled the big Centauroid. More laughing broke out.
“It’s not that they're so physically intimidating,” said Maurice, holding up a hand to silence the table. “In fact, I never got that close to one. Mostly extreme missile range. And let me tell you, it was nothing like facing a missile attack from pirates. Those Caca missiles had three thousand gravities accel on ours.”
“But you made it back,” said Svetlana.
“And many others didn’t,” said Maurice with a grimace. “Including some of my crew.”
Suddenly von Rittersdorf’s com link started to chime a priority signal. He could see from the change of expression on the faces of the others that they were receiving the message too. He linked in and was shocked to see what was waiting.
“Conundrum? Under attack?” shouted out one of the classmates in disbelief.
It had to happen eventually, thought von Rittersdorf. We’re at war, and the only way they’re going to win is to take out our military. So why not the sector base?
The Captain linked into the naval com net and sent his code, then waited to see what orders would come through. The bar, mostly frequented by the military, was now an ant’s nest of activity. Men and women swallowed sober up pills and got in touch with headquarters. Maurice, with a high tolerance for alcohol, didn’t feel the need for pharmaceutical intervention, not until he found out what exactly was going on.
“Stand tight, Captain,” came the voice through the link. “We will send you orders when we have an assignment.”
“I thought I would go back to Conundrum. My ship is still there, after all, and I assume the wormhole is still open.”
“Dot McArthur is not fit for duty,” came back the voice of the officer, which the link identified as a Lt. Commander Perez with personnel. “And the majority of your crew are on leave, most out of the Conundrum system. So just sit tight, and we’ll get with you when you’re needed.”
The link went dead, and von Rittersdorf looked up to see that his table was now deserted, all his classmates run off to their duty stations. Glad that he had not taken any sober up pills, Maurice took swig from his beer, then motioned for the serving bot to bring him another. Might as well get drunk, thought the Captain, feeling like the most useless officer in the Fleet.
Chapter Three
In every battle there comes a time when both sides consider themselves beaten, then he who continues the attack wins. Ulysses S. Grant.
CONUNDRUM SPACE, MAY 6TH, 1000.
“Get that damned wormhole down to the planet, Commander,” shouted Grand F
leet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, Commander of the Fourth Naval Sector.
“But Admiral, we won’t be able to use it while it's being transported to the surface,” said the hysterical sounding young woman.
“And what do you think is going to come through?” asked the aggravated senior officer. “A battleship squadron? Twenty of them? I really don’t think a single file of Marines and Spacers are going to help here.”
Mgonda stared at the system holo while he spoke. They still couldn’t tell how many ships were coming their way in hyper, only that there were more of them than he had, and all would be more advanced vessels. As he watched a hundred icons switched identifiers from hyper VII to VI. The enemy was following their tactical doctrine, coming down through the levels of hyper in stair step fashion. Which meant they would come into normal space right at the hyper I barrier.
If I had known I could have had my fleet waiting out there for them, and caught them from behind as they came out of hyper. That had worked for him once, against a lesser enemy force than this one. Problem was, he had to know they were coming, and this force had outrun news of its arrival. He had received warning from High Command that a large force had left the Massadara system, sent by the stealth attack ship that was spying on the enemy without their knowledge. His fleet had been on alert, but no one knew for sure where they were going, or what angle of attack they would take.
And they came in straight ahead, he thought. A straight line from Massadara, no deception, just a straight line run. He had ships out there at the barrier, just not enough. Three squadrons of battleships, three of battle cruisers, and their escorting vessels. And it looked like well over a thousand ships were going to hit that barrier, soon.
“I still think we should keep the wormhole open, sir,” said the Commander.
“Commander, this station, everything in orbit, is going to be plasma in about twenty-four hours. That gate will do us no good as plasma. On the planet it can still be used to contact Fleet and the Emperor. Now, get that damned gate moved down to the planet, and make sure it gets there yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” said the woman, and Mgonda could hear the relief in her voice.
She knows she is going to live, at least for now. Or until the enemy either bombards the planet to lifelessness, or lands troops to take it from us. The Grand Fleet Admiral stood up from his chair and walked away from the holo, his eyes fixed on a trivee screen that showed the planet below, the third in this system.
They were over the night side of the world, and the continents below were covered in lights. Nowhere near as populated as a core world, Conundrum III was still designated as a Developing world, but over eight hundred million people called it home. Many had moved there from other worlds for the opportunity that a developing world gave, as well as the security of a Sector Headquarters base. Now that decision was going to kill them. Not that they would have lived much longer on any of the other sector planets, he thought. He had a thousand ships in this system, an eighth of the total strength of the sector. A lot of systems would become uncovered so another battle fleet could be formed, and those that still had ships would be too weak anyway.
He was still staring at the planet when the signal came through that the first enemy ships were jumping to V. He linked into the command net and gave his code. “The fleet is to start boosting toward the oncoming enemy. As soon as the enemy appears they are to engage with missiles, and all forts are to launch their missiles on a profile to get them to the enemy at the same time as the fleet’s.”
“What about the ships at the barrier?” asked the Rear Admiral in the operations center.
“They already know what’s coming, and will be forced to fire as soon as the enemy comes out of hyper. I hope they can do some damage, but that’s all I can hope.”
Mgonda left the link for a moment, looking at the holo tank, trying to come up with some miracle that would save his command. He was still trying to come up with something when the first enemy ships left hyper.
*
Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow looked on as the holo started to populate. He knew there would be a major enemy fleet presence in this system, but until they entered they would not really know how big.
“We have the first estimates,” said the Fleet Tactical Officer from his station. “Two of their larger battleships, one hundred and four of the normal, sixty of their scout capital ships, and nine hundred some smaller warships. Plus maybe two hundred commercial vessels, and eight large stations in orbit, at least five of them fortresses.”
The Great Admiral looked in a viewer at the debris that was left of the enemy force that had waited for them at the barrier. That had also been a worry, that the enemy might strike at them as they came out of hyper, but only a small force was near enough to hit them.
“Of course, this information is two hours old,” said the subordinate.
“And you expect it to change in the time it takes their light to reach us,” said the Great Admiral with a laugh. “I doubt they are going to teleport more ships into the system, or out.”
The bridge erupted with laughter. Everyone knew that practical teleportation was impossible. That had been proven by experiments that had failed to move even the smallest working object ten meters.
“We have missiles incoming from the ships and the forts,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer.
“Return fire,” ordered the Admiral, seeing the icons bloom in the holo, the graviton emissions of the grabbers traversing space at hyper VIII rates. Of course that didn’t give an accurate plot of the missiles, only their general location, which was enough from two light hours.
“That close to the planet?” asked the Fleet Tactical Officer. “We might hit it.”
“If we hit it we hit it,” growled the Admiral. “We’re not trying to hit it intentionally, after all.”
The Tactical Officer gave a head gesture of acknowledgement and went to work sending out the commands. A minute later the icons of Cacada missiles filled the holo, heading for their targets at eight thousand gravities.
*
Mgonda wanted to cry as he watched his battle fleet come apart under the assault of the enemy force. Not one ship survived, not the smallest attack craft. And missiles were minutes away from the orbitals.
“Get off, sir,” said the forts’ commander, Vice Admiral Yul Molatov. “We will fight the forts, and there is no need for you to die with us.”
There were over four thousand missiles heading toward the orbitals at point nine five c. Even if the defenses worked perfectly, there were still bound to be hits on every one of the structures. And a solid hit at that velocity meant death to the fort.
“Listen, Grand Fleet Admiral. You are in command of the sector. You will not be much of a commander if you are reduced to plasma. So get the fuck off my station and down to the planet.”
Mgonda shook his head, still numb from the shock of seeing his battle fleet destroyed. A couple of Marines led the way to the closest hangar, then helped him aboard. As soon as the hatch closed the pilot boosted the ship off the station and took her into a least time reentry to the planet.
“Brace yourselves,” said the pilot over the intercom.
Mgonda looked into his seat’s trivee to see the station he was just on. Ultra bright pinpoints of light erupted in space, with more moving inward. One of the forts was outlined by a massive explosion, then shattered as a missile penetrated its defenses and transferred all its kinetic energy into the enormous structure. The blast of the missile’s warhead was almost an afterthought that spread the plasma a bit more.
Another fort went up, then the central station. The docks were easy targets, and they and all the damaged ships they contained were soon plasma propelled particles. Most of the remaining missiles veered off before they hit the planet. Twenty or more hit the outer atmosphere a glancing blow and burned up as they deflected outward. Twelve made it around the planet and joined the chase of the merchant ships and liners that were m
aking a run from the system. Mgonda was sure none of them would make it, not with the enemy ships now opening fire on them.
Two missiles slammed into the planet, one in a desert region that was unpopulated. The fireball rose above the atmosphere as the wall of flame spread to incinerate a third of that continent. The other hit in the center of the largest ocean, raising a circular wave ten kilometers high that swept outward at two thousand kilometers an hour.
Conundrum is really screwed, thought the Admiral, as the shuttle battled superhurricane force winds in fighting its way to the highlands of the main continent. Shaking his head, he cleared the shock, and started thinking about what they could do next.
*
CONUNDRUM ORBIT, MAY 8TH, 1000.
The Great Admiral looked down on the clouded globe that his assault fleet was orbiting. Only two missile hits, he thought, seeing the one glowing spot in the center of the tens of thousands of square kilometers of fused sand. The other strike was obscured under a thick covering of steam generated clouds, the ocean being vaporized at it fell into the hole in the crust. The damned priests are still going to raise hell. They always do.
He flinched as he watched one of his cruisers shake in orbit, lit up by several ground based particle beams. Return fire by other ships took out that battery, or so it was presumed, until another beam rose from the same area to strike one of the other ships. They have their shore batteries well hidden, and well-fortified. He didn’t have to worry about the flagship being hit. It was out in a far orbit, one hundred thousand kilometers, and looked no different than the other forty battleships that orbited with it
On the holo were two thirds of his force, accelerating back out to the hyper barrier, from whence they would travel to a dozen more systems, to take them away from the enemy. He was determined to take a big bite out of this sector of the Human Empire. And this planet, chosen by the humans to be the major base in this sector, would soon be his.
Exodus - Empires at War 04 - The Long Fall (Exodus Series #4) Page 7
