by Chris Fox
How would Dryker react? The Eye opened several hundred thoughtlines, trying to understand how the human would respond. Dryker knew Mendez, and knew that Mendez was in charge. They’d served together, and each likely knew how the other would respond. It was a very high-stakes version of the game they called chess.
55
Begin the Assault
Dryker winced when a wall of harvesters decloaked, spaced far enough apart to prevent a nuclear strike from wiping them out. Their line swept toward the two defense platforms, slamming into the defending fleet. Elements of the 14th and the 11th moved to engage, reinforced by Primo carriers.
Flashes bloomed all over, a mixture of Void Wraith cannons and human railguns. Here and there, Primo weaponry added to the plasma fire. A moment later, a second set of flashes began, these ones much larger. Ships broke apart, blossoming silently like fireworks. Both sides took casualties, but the Void Wraith had the numbers to afford the losses. Humanity did not. Already the Void Wraith were curving around the human line, threatening to encircle them. With the fleet in low orbit, their escape would be completely cut off.
“Move defense platforms three and four to join one and two,” Dryker ordered, leading forward in his commander chair. He knew that consolidating their defenses left part of Earth exposed, but he had no choice. “Have the escorting fleets move ahead to join the battle, but leave a core of fighters to defend three and four.”
Mendez’s fingerprints were all over this attack, and Dryker pushed back a fresh tide of despair. Mendez had been their finest admiral during the war with the Tigris, and clearly hadn’t lost his edge. His move pinned humanity. There was simply no good response. The best Dryker could hope for was maneuvering the defenders close enough to support each other.
Unfortunately, that exposed the entire eastern hemisphere to attack. If the Void Wraith reserves moved in that direction, they could reach the surface unopposed. Dryker risked it anyway, because he knew Mendez would be too smart to send his reserves to the planet, at least so early in the battle. The Tigris hadn’t arrived, and until they did, Mendez would be cautious.
It was a stalling tactic, but right now this was the best play Dryker had.
“Sir, platforms three and four will reach the battle in eighty seconds,” Juliard supplied, then bent back to her comm station. She gave a steady stream of individual orders, having captains correct courses, and dealing with the few protests that had arisen.
Dryker watched the fleets draw closer, silhouetted against the planetscape. The sun was coming up on the west coast of the Americas, and the battle was taking place above North and South America. Streaks of debris were already falling from destroyed ships, streaming down into the atmosphere over cities he recognized. Most would burn up on re-entry, he hoped. Though perhaps those who died from falling debris would be the lucky ones.
His ship was passing over the Pacific Ocean, well behind the main armada. Four destroyers, more modern versions of the Johnston, flanked him. That thought pierced him, because he hadn’t even thought about the old girl in weeks. How far things had spiraled since he’d been a captain in the 14th.
“The 11th is engaging, sir,” Juliard said. Dryker watched them crash into the Void Wraith, overlapping explosions blurring the combat.
The 11th had successfully blocked the Void Wraith attempt to encircle his forces—for now anyway. Already the Void Wraith were pressing the 11th, trying to find a weakness.
His five vessels could help strengthen the line. Would the larva let him join the battle directly? One way to find out. “Order our escort vessels to join the 11th’s rear, and ask Admiral Nicao where he wants them. We’ll follow as well, and pick off targets of opportunity.”
The Eye hadn’t stopped him. Why? More and more, he was terrified of the possible reason.
The entire human line was pressed hard; as Dryker watched, a Primo carrier detonated, the explosions taking half a dozen vessels with it. They were losing, and quickly. Dryker gave them fifteen minutes—perhaps twenty, if they fell back to one consolidated defense point.
56
The Tigris
Fizgig had spent most of her life dreaming of entering the Sol system. She’d been one of the first to encounter the humans, the first sent to deal with them after their unprovoked assault on Pride Leonis. In her dreams, she’d been leading a fleet to wipe them out—to punish them for the temerity of thinking they could share the stars with the Tigris.
She’d never imagined that she might be coming here to help save the humans. More, she’d never believed she could respect them enough to care about their fate. Fizgig wasn’t here merely because saving humanity meant saving the Tigris. She was also here because saving humanity meant saving Nolan. It might mean saving Dryker.
“Make for the human homeworld,” she roared over the comm. “Prepare to assault the enemy flank in sector 6. We’ll pin them against the humans, leaving them nowhere to run.” All around her, Tigris vessels were emerging from the sun, gathering back into prides as they reached the surface. Fully half of the vessels were Void Wraith, and nearly all had been damaged in some way.
“Mighty Fizgig.” An unfamiliar female voice came over the comm—one of the Jaguara, if her accent was any indication. “What of our defense platforms? Should we not wait?”
“They’ll take too long to reach the battle,” Fizgig countered. “If we wait for them, there won’t be any humans left. We have to help them now, and hope we can hold out long enough for our platforms to join the fray.” She rose from her chair and stalked to the view screen.
It now showed Earth, and the cloud of vessels around it. She was witnessing the single largest space battle in living history, the first to involve all three races. It was even larger than the recent battle over Tigrana.
At this distance, details were hard to pick out, but she had a general sense of the situation. The humans had been backed into the proverbial corner, their four defense stations supporting a beleaguered line of mostly human ships. Only four Primo carriers remained, each a bastion in their respective quadrant
“Mighty Khar,” Fizgig called over the comm, “lead the Jaguara and Leonis into battle.”
“What of you, Mighty Fizgig?” Khar’s voice echoed back.
“I’m holding Pride Fizgig in reserve,” she said, frowning. It wouldn’t be considered a glorious tactic, but she didn’t care what the historians said. She wanted to win, to ensure that there would be historians at all.
“Is this some sort of treachery?” Carnifex roared, his metallic face suddenly appearing on Fizgig’s holo. “You bleed our prides, preserving your own to seize control of our people when this war is over.”
Fizgig closed her eyes, and forced a deep breath. She half-worried that Khar would intervene, but he stayed blessedly silent. She thumbed a button on her comm, extending the transmission to every Tigris vessel in the system.
“Carnifex, I sought to award you the honor of glorious battle. If you do not find the taste to your liking, I can hold the Jaguara in reserve,” Fizgig offered. “But make no mistake. If I call for you, and you fail to answer, I will destroy you with my own paws. Do not think that metallic body will save you. You will not be the first Alpha I have destroyed.”
Carnifex was silent, his expressionless face staring. Finally, he spoke. “I accept your orders, Mighty Fizgig. But when the battle is done, there will be an accounting between us.”
57
Retract the Iris
The Eye quietly circled the third planet, calculating hundreds of thoughtlines about the battle. They seemed unaware of its approach, fooled by its superior cloaking. On the planet below, there were clues, of course. The Eye’s mass tugged at the ocean, changing tidal currents all over the globe. That data probably wasn’t even being monitored, and even if it was it would take the humans time to get word to their government.
No trace of it had been detected. The Eye’s thoughtlines reached an accord, measuring the reaction times of every vessel in the
system. None would be able to reach it in time, and even if one of them could somehow achieve the necessary velocity, they all lacked the offensive capability to inflict significant damage.
The Eye would need precisely seventeen minutes to harvest this side of the planet, and in that time it could ingest nearly nine billion humans. If it recovered nothing further from this harvest—nothing regarding the Birthplace or the Helios Gates—that would still be enough to make this Eradication worthwhile. Its fleet was winning the battle, in any event, and hardly needed its help.
The Eye released the energy it had given its cloaking organ, shimmering into sight like a second moon. It was close, a mere few thousand miles above the surface. This intensified the tidal shift, causing an immediate backlash from the ocean. Coastal cities would be annihilated, but the few people killed would be little more than a statistical anomaly. A few million at most, and probably less than that.
It was time to begin. Activating an organ it had not used in over twenty millennia, the Eye began to retract the enormous iris covering its entire right hemisphere. The iris slid into the skin, even as the pupil widened to a continent-sized gulf of blackness, exposing the inner eye.
Then the Eye activated the most energy-intensive organ it possessed, willing the delicate lining of its inner eye to exert an energy field. That energy field had some properties of a magnetic field, but added exotic particles that shifted the spectrum of atom attracted. It coded the field to the genetic signature of human DNA, a hum echoing through its body as the energy built.
The wave built, blue tendrils of energy extending from the Eye’s open iris. They extended toward the planet, fanning out to engulf the densest cities. Most were found along the coasts, though the landmass known as Asia contained many concentrations.
Across the world, blue pillars of energy reached the ground. Wherever they passed they pulled in humans, yanking them from buildings, from streets, from vehicles. They were pulled up the light beams, a steady flow of biomass. It took nearly a full minute for the flow to reach the inner eye, but when it did the Eye rejoiced. It digested thousands of consciousnesses, reveling in the fresh memories and perspectives. The feast had begun.
It must not be interrupted. The Eye took one final step to ensure its safe feeding, sending word to every harvester and Judicator in the system. “Minions, I command you. Destroy the human defenders. Kill the Tigris. Kill any surviving Primo. None survive.”
58
Khar
“Hear me, Pride Leonis,” Khar roared, thrusting a fist into the air. The holocamera carried his image to the entire fleet, a hodgepodge of ancient Tigris vessels and battle-damaged harvesters. “Today we battle for the survival of the future. Lose here, and our people have none. We will sell our lives, pay any cost, to ensure victory. Are you with me?”
A chorus of roars came back over the comm. Khar smiled, inwardly at least. It was hard to express joy now that he was an Alpha, though it was easy enough to express rage. He could just smash something.
“Khar.” Carnifex’s voice boomed, his image appearing on the holo. He, too, was an Alpha now. “I have agreed to accept your command, for now. Where would you have the Jaguara?”
“Take your fleet to—” Khar’s words were cut off. His spine heated, and something shot through his entire body. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it prevented him from speaking.
Carnifex slumped forward. All around Khar, his brethren did the same, as if affected by some external force all in the same instant. Fizgig had warned them about this, warned him that the Eye could control Judicators and harvesters both.
They’d dealt with the latter problem by rewiring each ship to bypass the main computer. They’d simply removed them, allowing the AIs to run the ships directly. They lost some functionality, but what they gained in security more than made up for it.
The Judicators, on the other hand, were something they couldn’t really test. In theory, the previously human Alpha, Edwards, had proven that it was possible to resist. So Khar resisted. He screamed inside the confines of his own head, willing his arms to rise.
They rose, slowly. Khar raged, determined to beat the evil that was even now devouring his allies. “I. Am. KHAR.”
His voice echoed over the comm, and other Judicators began calling their names— a few at first, then a chorus. Khar was elated, and stared around him as other Judicators began to rise.
Elation turned to ashes when one Judicator turned to another and fired a plasma shot directly into the face. That seemed to trigger something, and suddenly everyone was firing. The Judicators who resisted were quickly surrounded, a definite minority.
“No,” Khar roared, charging forward. He smashed into the smaller Judicators, kicking one into three of its fellows. He fired a trio of shots from his cannon, ending three more.
Then all the remaining enemies charged him. Khar took a defensive step backward, gunning down as many as he could. Half a dozen reached him, hurling themselves at his feet. Then they began to explode. The first knocked him flat, and the others began diving atop him. His HUD showed red all over the figure representing his armored body.
When the flurry of explosions ended, the bridge was silent. Khar lived. He pulled himself to his knees, his robotic limbs groaning in protest. Orange fluid leaked from many parts of his body, and his right hand had been melted to useless slag.
“Ship, seal off the bridge,” he ordered, pulling himself back to his feet. Four of his men survived, the barrels of their rifles trained on the two stairwells leading onto the bridge.
The doors slid down, locking them in. Good, that would buy them time to deal with the rest of the Judicators. In the meantime, their ship could continue to fight.
“Ship, show me the battle in the system around us,” Khar ordered, focusing on the quadrant they were approaching. The human lines were battered, threatening to break at any moment.
A Primo carrier turned slowly toward its companion, training all its cannons on the only other surviving carrier. Khar recognized the vessel that had joined the Void Wraith. He watched in horror as the First Light destroyed the last Primo carrier. Then it turned on the human fleet, whose ranks were buckling.
59
Retreat
Dryker was momentarily relieved when the Tigris entered the system. He counted nearly three hundred drive signatures, a far more significant force than expected. It wasn’t enough to win, but it guaranteed that the Void Wraith victory would be a costly one.
The Tigris approached the human lines, slamming into the rear of the Void Wraith position. They did horrific damage, the flanking maneuver forcing the Void Wraith to deal with two fronts.
Then the Tigris vessels began firing on each other. Harvesters turned on other harvesters, or on the Tigris ships of the line. The battle was short and bloody, with both sides taking significant casualties. Plasma fires burst from the corpses of vessels, and no quarter was given or asked. The Void Wraith saw their opportunity, pouncing on the divided Tigris.
Fizgig had wisely kept a large group of ships in reserve, and those moved to reinforce. Most were traditional Tigris vessels, stiffened by a few harvesters. Their sudden assault evened the odds, and there was a stalemate for a time. Then the Tigris slowly pushed their enemies back. They wiped out the traitorous ships, and pushed the Void Wraith back.
“Admiral,” Juliard said, her head snapping up. There was death in her gaze. “The Eye has appeared over the eastern hemisphere. Word is spreading among the fleet.”
“Put it on,” Dryker ordered, his heartbeat quickening. He could feel the adrenaline flooding his system, his body sensing that his survival was in jeopardy.
“—biggest thing I’ve ever seen. The iris is retracting, and there’s a blue glow coming from within. Wait a second. Oh my god.” The footage showed the Eye, floating in darkness. It was silhouetted by the light from Earth, the cities below giving its shadowy shape form.
Blue light erupted from the Eye, dividing into a thousand tendrils. D
ryker watched, paralyzed, as the tendrils began scouring the Earth. Then the Eye spoke in his mind, and he knew what he had to do. It must not be interrupted.
“Juliard,” Dryker said, speaking the word slowly, a last attempt to stave off what was about to happen. “Put me on to the entire fleet.”
Dryker hated himself, even knowing he wasn’t really at fault. The Eye knew what he knew, and it knew that he was revered among the fleet. Suddenly, he understood why the Eye had allowed him free rein. It had done so because it didn’t want to risk his credibility. It had waited until the most critical moment, the time when it made the most sense to use him. This was it.
“All fleet vessels, disengage and retreat to Mars Base 2. Repeat, disengage and make for Mars Base 2,” Dryker said, licking his lips. He closed his eyes. “We’ve lost this battle. Save what you can. Good luck, all.”
Dryker went cold, staggering back to his chair. He sat heavily, drunkenly. The order he’d just given was suicidal. There was no disengaging from an enemy fleet that had you surrounded. Attempting to flee meant running the entire enemy gauntlet. The Void Wraith would wipe out nearly every ship that tried, and the handful that survived would have nowhere to go. They could live in-system, but they’d never reach the Helios Gate. The Void Wraith would keep them trapped here until they felt like dealing with them.
