by Evan Currie
It was really just the latest name of many, of course. People had been naming mountains for as long as people had been living in the shadows of them, and nearly uncountable generations had given the three peaks some name or another.
Since the mountains had become home for the American and, later, the Confederation military, it had become a much more interesting place to visit. She had walked the corridors during various times of interest. The first nuclear crisis the base experienced had been fascinating to observe from the still-unfinished facility of the time. So little of it had been complete then that the observers had used gear run from portable generators trucked in for the occasion.
That disaster had been averted, along with many others over the decades that followed, but each time the tension had been real and palpable. When possible, Gaia rather enjoyed that sensation, but she had never been able to experience it the way the humans did. And now the new unknowns brought into her sphere from the black of space afforded her vastly different experiences than she had ever been able to manage in the past.
Over the centuries, Gaia had fooled herself into thinking that by limiting her perception she could feel what humans felt, but now, with added perspective, she knew for certain that was a lie.
This time, she didn’t . . . couldn’t know the other side of the equation.
Even having cut off her perception, during the various crises that occurred purely on Earth, she had always been, on some level, fully aware of both sides of the conflict. She’d know what everyone involved was capable of, what they believed, what they were prepared to risk.
This time, she had no clue. No more than the humans did, at least, and Gaia found that she . . . detested that sensation.
It was wrong, unnatural, and . . .
She was scared.
She didn’t know how to handle fear, such an alien sensation to experience firsthand. The Drasin had come, and she hadn’t been able to control them, it was true, but there had been no time for fear then. She had become enraged. Now, though, this Empire seemed just as bad . . . or near enough. They wanted to change everything, and Gaia didn’t know how their efforts would change her.
Millennia, a hard thing to rewrite, true, but an alien genocidal assault might just be enough to accomplish the feat.
So she was scared. She could admit it, to herself at least. Saul knew it, and she could feel him mocking her for it even in her current state of lessened awareness, but she didn’t care. He was a standoffish piece of work at the best of times, thinking he was so far removed from her affairs and those of the humans, even though she believed that Eric was right about all of their kind.
Without humans, without that intelligence to form her thoughts, to mold her way of thinking, Gaia was all but certain that she would be nothing more than a bestial mind at best. Perhaps nothing at all at worst.
She was a gestalt of every human alive, and who had ever lived . . . and if she was that, then so was Saul, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Perhaps they were both more than that—she was willing to believe that as well—but their foundation was still deeply rooted in human intelligence. Without them, she felt that she would never have been.
Now humans were under threat, and she desperately wanted to help, and yet there was nothing she could do.
Gaia was more than afraid. She was frustrated, and royally pissed off.
She turned the corner of the corridor she was traversing and made her way toward Central Command.
“We’re online with Ranquil!”
Gracen looked up at the pronouncement, noticing large screens on each side of the room now showing the Central Command base of the Priminae core world, and Rael Tanner as the focus of the image. She didn’t even want to know how much power was required to manage a real-time FTL link with Ranquil, because she was sure it was a significant chunk of the Confederation’s power consumption.
“Admiral Tanner,” Gracen said, looking down at the image of Rael floating above her desk rather than across the room. “Good to see you again.”
“And you, Admiral Gracen,” Tanner said, inclining his head slightly. “Your Commodore Weston has just transitioned out of Ranquil space and is now en route to the Chiran System. Or already arrived, I suppose.”
Gracen looked up and across to a lieutenant and gestured in his direction with a snap of her fingers.
While he was jumping to update the holographic map, she looked back at the admiral.
“Thank you for the update,” she said. “Do we have any further information on the Imperial force?”
“Yes, updates from your Bellerophon and Boudicca,” Tanner said, transmitting the reports, “as well as sightings from many of our own ships. Your vessels engaged the Imperials in combat already—four ships lost on the Imperial side, none as of this time on your own.”
Gracen frowned slightly, calling up the reports. “Interesting. They managed to deploy a minefield without being detected. Not a great hit ratio, but better than I might have expected in deep space.”
“The Imperial forces are leaving a rather . . . impressive path to follow and calculate via sub-quanta interference,” Tanner answered. “That, combined with the large depression of their drive warps, does make it easy to predict and intercept them. That information is of limited value, unfortunately, given their combined firepower.”
“And I have no doubt they’ll be looking for a similar trick in the future,” Gracen acknowledged with a sigh. “Can you manufacture more of the mines the crews of the Bellerophon and Boudicca cobbled together?”
“Yes, we have the specifications and are working on improving their effectiveness,” Tanner responded. “The design is very basic. Manufacturing them in large quantities will not be difficult.”
“Add stealth measures,” Gracen said. “Use black hole cam-plate settings, at the very least. Make them hard to detect. Might get us a few more kills before they just start sweeping space indiscriminately.”
“I’ll issue the orders,” Tanner confirmed. “In the meantime, Commodore Weston had sent additional files to me for redirection to yourself. He and engineers from his ships and the Forge have been working on another concept . . . one somewhat more disturbing than creating artificial singularities out of a ship’s warp field.”
An Air Force brigadier general across the room coughed, looking up from where he had been observing the conversation at his desk. When he realized everyone was looking at him, he spoke quickly.
“There’s something more disturbing than turning a ship’s own drive warp into a black hole?” the brigadier asked somewhat incredulously.
“Read the file,” Rael suggested dryly.
Everyone in the room with access was silent as they quickly skimmed the file, those with any passing knowledge of antimatter cringing as they did.
“Trust the commodore,” Gracen muttered. “Well, he’s not asking for permission, but file mine retroactively anyway. Hard times and all that. Flying antimatter drones. Geez.”
“He’s in violation of multiple international treaties,” the same brigadier general sputtered, his tone a little unbelieving. “This is insane!”
“I believe you’ll find,” Moore said, grabbing everyone’s attention, “that he is not. The treaties you’re referring to only covered Earth’s atmosphere and orbit along with other parts of the solar system in some cases. So long as he doesn’t bring any of those drones back into Solar Territory, he is entirely clear of any treaty violations. I’m not sure where it would fall if he brings them back while powered down—anyone?”
Moore looked toward a man in an expensive suit, who simply shrugged before replying.
“I would have to reread through the pertinent sections. However, I believe that we covered that eventuality already. So long as the weapons are not armed or deployed, they do not violate the specified treaties. In the current situation, I believe we could convince the Block to extend a temporary exemption, however.”
“Then we needn’t worry about it,” Moore s
aid with a grim smile. “Let the commodore have his toys. Lord knows, where he’s going he’ll be needing them.”
Gracen had nothing to add to that, so she shifted her attention and examined the rest of the reports. The situation with the Imperials was beginning to remind her of what one might expect from playing video games. Each wave just a little tougher and more deadly than the last, building to the inevitable boss battle, assuming you lived long enough to get that far.
It was a pattern she didn’t have much taste for and had spent significant time trying to break. Life wasn’t a video game, and she wasn’t tied down to the rules as a player might be.
There must be a way to flip this script, damn it.
She cast her attention over to the sealed and heavily classified Prometheus file. We need more time. Eric, buy us time.
“Admiral,” a cool contralto voice startled her, causing Gracen to look up and to the side where the speaker was standing.
She recognized the uniform first. “Yes Commander, what . . .”
Gracen blinked, then looked closer, and her eyes widened.
“You . . .”
“Yes Admiral, it is a pleasure to meet you again.” Gaia smiled at her.
Gracen narrowed her eyes, leaning over and hissing at the entity who had invaded the most secure facility on the continent. “How did you get down here?”
Alright, a stupid question she supposed, and she recognized that as soon as she said it, but she was rather angry.
“Silly question, Admiral,” Gaia responded, amused. “I walked, of course.”
Gracen leaned back.
That had not actually been the answer she was expecting.
“You what?”
“Walked, Admiral,” Gaia said, clearly only just containing her mirth. “It is when you put a single foot forward in front of the other, and then repeat the process until you arrive at your destination. Slow perhaps, but effective.”
Gracen hadn’t been openly mocked in some time, as generally that sort of thing went away long before you reached flag rank.
“You’re so lucky that rank is fake,” she growled under her breath.
“Oh, I beg to differ, Admiral.” Gaia preened slightly. “It’s completely real, as far as any of your records will show at least. How do I look?”
“Like a porn star pretending to be an officer,” Gracen snapped, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. No one appeared to be, thankfully, since they were in a somewhat open meeting with aides and messengers furiously coming and going. “Why did you walk down here?”
“Well, if I had just appeared it might be noticed. By walking, not only do all the computer records show me present and actually moving through the appropriate checkpoints, but all the guards remember me . . . I made quite sure of that.”
Gracen growled. “In the future, since I suppose it’s quite pointless for me to ask you to not impersonate an officer, I would appreciate it if you didn’t choose a stripper version of the commander’s uniform.”
“I did no such thing.” Gaia looked affronted. “This is to uniform specifications. I merely . . . tailored it precisely.”
“No commander anywhere in the Confederation could afford to have that uniform tailored so . . . precisely. So in the future, try to look nondescript,” Gracen said.
“If I feel like it, though I warn you, I rarely feel nondescript when I’m in character. Invisible is my definition of nondescript.”
“Invisible would be fine, thank you.”
Gaia merely smiled and looked toward the center of the room. “I believe they’re beginning to wonder what you’re talking to a mere commander about.”
Gracen huffed out, irritated, but refocused on her job as she tried to get her head back into the game.
How the hell did Eric put up with these pains in the ass without blowing his lid all the time?
“He got off-world,” Gaia answered quietly from behind her. “Far, far off-world. As quickly as he possibly could.”
“Lucky bastard.”
CHAPTER 19
AEV Odysseus, Chiran System, Priminae Space
“No signs of anyone here yet, sir.”
Eric frowned, checking the scans for himself after the commander’s words.
“That’s odd,” he said finally. “I would have expected the Bell and the Bo to have beat us here.”
“They might be running silent, sir,” Miram suggested.
“Possibly, but there’s no reason for it. Last ETA gave us days before the Imperials arrived,” Eric said, making a snap decision. “Alright, give me a system-wide pulse.”
Miram looked at him, surprised. “Are you certain, sir?”
“Yes. Minimal risk at this point. The enemy is too far out and under heavy power. They won’t detect it, and even if they did, it’s not that unusual for a system scan to happen in an occupied star system. Give me a full system ping.”
“Aye aye, Skipper. Scanners! Full system ping!” Miram called out.
“Full ping, aye ma’am!”
Eric settled back, the tone ringing through the bridge to announce the tachyon pulse going out. The faster-than-light particles scattered across the system, a few returning to be detected by the ship’s scanners. In moments they had a better idea of what the system held.
“No sign of any ships, sir,” Miram said, turning back.
Eric wondered where Roberts and the Bell had gotten to, but with no other option than to trust his subordinate and wait, he gestured simply.
“As you were, then, stand down from general quarters. We have some time to prepare for our guests,” he told those on the bridge. “Normal shifts, get some rest. When it hits the impeller, we’re going to be here for a long while if we’re good and lucky.”
Everyone nodded as he looked around, pleased with the expressions he was seeing.
“We’ve faced worse odds.” Eric laughed lightly, trying to convince himself as well as the others of the statement. “So I intend to relax, at least until we figure out where the Bell and the Bo got off to. They reported that they had departed the last system with no issues, so I expect that Captain Roberts decided to change up the game. They’re big boys and girls and can take care of themselves. I want everyone here working to ensure that when they get here, we’re ready to greet them with plenty of firepower and support. We’ve faced the Block together. We’ve fought alien monsters from space that literally tried to eat our planet. We dealt with them, we’ll deal with the Empire.”
He logged out of his station and looked around once more before he left, a much more optimistic group of people in his wake.
Inside the lift heading for the flight deck, Eric found himself unsurprised when he suddenly had company.
“You didn’t believe a word of what you just said, and most of them knew it,” Odysseus said, confused. “But . . . they don’t care?”
The entity was in his normal armor but had removed the helmet for the moment. Eric noted that he had applied, or perhaps visualized, the makeup around the eyes a little differently. His lips were purple this time.
Eric smiled somberly. “It isn’t about reality, Odysseus, it’s about hope . . . and hope is always a lie.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hope is something you have when nothing else will save you. There may be limited evidence that the desired outcome will happen, but just the chance of said outcome is enough to sustain us. Hope is a lie. But the universe has ways of making some lies into truth so we’ll believe the lie, and then work like hell to help the universe make up its mind in our favor.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we die. But we die on our terms, with no regrets.”
“I still don’t understand,” Odysseus said, clearly bothered.
“You will.” The lift slowed to a stop and Eric got up. “Just trust in the crew.”
“They trust in you,” Odysseus said as the doors opened.
“I’m the capta
in.”
Eric stepped off and into the corridor, leaving Odysseus behind as the doors closed.
“It looks like you took away my baby’s clothes and left her naked out in the cold,” Steph grumbled as he looked at what had once been his fighter.
All the stealth plating had been stripped away, exposing many of the internal workings of the fighter to the open air. That was fine, he supposed, given that most of the internal workings were now strewn across the deck in various junk piles. Fuel lines, tanks, hydraulics, and practically everything but the original airframe were now gone.
Even the airframe hadn’t been entirely spared, having been chopped and modded to support the Priminae reactors and warp generators.
“Couldn’t you have built a new airframe with less effort?”
Milla shifted uncomfortably. “We could now, yes.”
Steph looked up at the ceiling. “Why did it have to be my fighter she chopped for this damn experiment?”
“Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her play with mine.”
Steph didn’t turn around to see who was speaking, as he knew the voice too well.
“You’re such a prick, Raze.”
“That’s Commodore Raze,” Eric said, walking up and looking over the work. “Impressive. Will it fly?”
“Better than it did before,” Milla said. “I consulted with flight engineers from both your people and mine. I would prefer time to properly enforce the frame against acceleration, just in case you lose the warp fields—”
“Does it have normal thrusters?” Eric asked, cutting her off as he looked around for anything he might find familiar.
“No.”
“Then if it loses warp, it won’t be accelerating, I assume?”
“Well . . . no,” she admitted.
“Reinforce the production design,” Eric said, clapping Steph on the back. “Steph here can do without.”
“Oh thank you so much,” Steph muttered. “Prick.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Commodore.”
“Thought not.” Eric grinned at him before looking back to the fighter. “Is anything still stock? What did you do to the gun?”
