by Nick Webb
But he was exhausted. And he didn’t feel like himself. Not completely. It was like he was still watching himself from a distance, through gauze.
Like he was the spectator and someone else was in his body.
In a sudden burst of panic, he tried moving his hand, and, with relief, saw it rise up in front of his face.
But something was off.
So hazy.
So tired.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
He was awake, the customary dreams fading, and he sat once again in his chair on the bridge, making the final preparations.
The fleet was ready.
Zingano had been swayed by Granger’s bravado and gave him even more than he asked for, so it was with over one hundred and fifty ships that they left Churchill Station over Britannia. Thirty of them were brand new, built on Britannia itself. He stood at the window of his quarters, looking down on the placid green planet. So far, it had not been attacked, but it was inevitable. All the main centers of IDF activity and manufacturing bases had been hit over the past two months, and Britannia was as big as any of them.
Two billion people lived down there. Millions of babies, kids, teenagers, grandparents, newlyweds soon to be parted by the draft; hundreds of thousands of schools, churches, libraries, parks, shops, gardens, farms. A whole, vibrant, living breathing human world.
And it was repeated dozens of times over, all throughout human-settled space. Hundreds of settlements and colonies. An entire galactic civilization hung in the balance, and Granger couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all going to come down to him and his performance over the next few weeks.
His spine.
He shuddered as he remembered the president blowing out the brains of the congresswoman. The body shoved ignominiously into the corner. Total war was making brutes of them all. Not just him. Brick-layer indeed.
The comm chimed. “Fleet’s ready to leave, sir.”
“I’ll be there in a moment, Shelby.”
He leaned in toward the window to get a better view of the fleet. One hundred and fifty ships. Most brand new—it was astonishing how fast Avery and the top military leadership had managed to shift the majority of the world’s industrial base to the production of ships and equipment for the war effort. And not just Earth—the retooling was repeated across every United Earth world with any kind of industrial base. Most of these ships were heavy cruisers, absolutely bristling with guns and laser turrets. The crews were relatively untrained, having only gone through a month of basic, but he’d try to break them in slowly.
Ten minutes later he settled into his chair on the bridge and pointed to the comm station with a nod. Ensign Prucha understood without a word. “You’re patched in to the fleet, sir.”
Dammit. Speeches.
“This is Captain Granger. Ladies and gentlemen, today we do something remarkable. For months we’ve been on the run. We’ve been playing defense, and a pathetic one at that. We may have won a few battles, but we’ve lost others, and we’ve lost friends. We’ve lost family. We’ve lost whole worlds.”
“But today, for the first time, we go on the hunt. Though many of the details of our mission are classified, I can tell you this much: my prime objective is to kill as many cumrat bastards as I can. To put them on the run, and to keep them running all the way back to their latrine of a world.”
He took a deep breath, pondering his words. What the hell do you tell a hundred thousand people who probably won’t come back alive?
“I will not lie to you. This is a dangerous mission. Many in the top brass were against it. But I believe it is necessary, as does President Avery and Fleet Admiral Zingano. Many of us will die. But the payoff is safety for your families and your worlds. For the next few weeks the Swarm’s focus is going to shift rather dramatically. Rather than wreaking havoc across all our worlds they’ll turn and find us suddenly behind their backs with a knife at their throats. They will not be happy, and they won’t take it lying down.”
He stood up. “But goddammit, we have spines, we have pride, and we are strong. Stronger than the Swarm. Stronger than their allies. I swear to you, we will prevail. Do your duty. Do it unflinchingly. Do it soberly. Take your fear and face it and use it to fuel you.”
“Look around you. Look at your comrades. They will become your best friends. You will suffer with them. Sweat and bleed with them. Many of you will die with them. They will have your back and you will have theirs. I know most of you are new, and most of you have been drafted. You come from all walks of life. Your parents are rich and poor, politicians and professors, construction workers and overachievers, deadbeats and prisoners, CEOs, bankers, and crack whores—we’ve got it all. But your background does not matter. All that matters is that you will fight to survive. You will fight for freedom—”
He glanced over at Proctor, who was beaming at him. “You will fight for your friends, because at the end of the day … what the hell do any of us have but that? Captains, lock nav computers with Warrior. We leave in one minute. Granger out.”
The bridge erupted in brief applause before Granger waved an arm. “Knock it off. Proctor?” His XO had come up to his side.
She grinned a lopsided smile. “A bit longer than your usual taste, sir.”
“Extraordinary times call for extraordinarily long speeches.” He glanced down at his watch. “What was that, nearly two minutes?”
“We’ll make a politician out of you yet.”
He held his chest. “That was uncalled for, Shelby. Commander Rayna Scott, how are my engines?”
“Purring like kittens, Cap’n,” came Scott’s voice through the comm.
“Thank you, Commander. Ensign Prince, are the fleet nav computers all linked?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Then take us out.”
A moment later, he felt the barely perceptible lurch of the q-jump, and a minute after that, the second. Then the third. On and on for hours they jumped, a tenth of a light year at a time, each shift producing a small but noticeable shift in the star pattern on the screen. As they passed near Earth, New Dublin and several other stars merged into the familiar big dipper, but soon skewed apart.
They moved steadily toward Polaris. Granger imagined he was a sea captain of old, using the old star to guide his old ship, navigating unfamiliar waters by the familiar, friendly light of an old friend.
But these waters would not be friendly. In fact, Polaris’s own light was now suspect. Did that system harbor the Swarm? Did their mortal enemy originate from the steady, trusted light of the north?
Nonsense, he knew. The scouts had reported the Polaris System itself barren. But hundreds of other stars systems surrounded it, any number of which could house their enemy. The first they would investigate was Epsilon Garibaldi, an unremarkable red dwarf star than nonetheless had a small planet that the scouts reported bore suspicious signs of activity—both electromagnetic and meta-space signatures.
“Two more q-jumps, sir,” said Ensign Prince.
Granger nodded. He turned to Proctor. “So? Epsilon Garibaldi. What do you think we’ll find?”
Proctor shrugged. “Who knows? This is right on the edge of the sphere of Swarm dominated space I studied for my Ph.D. I doubt it’s their homeworld, and the signals the scouts detected could very well be from an unreported Russian colony. Hell, it could even be a smuggler colony for all we know—there must be dozens of those out here.”
“True. But we’ve got to start somewhere. May as well start with something that’ll be a good initial test for our green fleet. Don’t shock them all at once with the battle of their lives over the Swarm homeworld.”
Proctor nodded. “True. There was little evidence that this was any sort of Swarm hub. It will be interesting, though, certainly.”
“Last q-jump,” noted Ensign Prince.
Granger pointed at the screen, zeroing in on the weak, red sun at the center—Epsilon
Garibaldi. “Go ahead, Mr. Prince.”
The view shifted. The small red dot was replaced by a large, greenish planet with a blue-tinged atmosphere.
And about a dozen Swarm carriers waiting for them.
Scores of green beams lanced out and smashed into the fleet, the Warrior included.
“Shit,” Granger muttered. “All hands, battle stations!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
The ship lurched as multiple anti-matter beams slammed into the bow.
“Hull breach, decks fourteen and fifteen, forward section,” yelled an operations officer.
“The other cruisers in Beta Wing are getting pounded, sir,” said Lieutenant Diaz.
Granger swore again. “Capacitor bank status?” He knew the Warrior was the slowest ship to recharge the cap banks that powered the q-jump drive. If they could get away now they might avoid a disaster.
“Thirty seconds until full charge, sir.”
“Sir, we just lost the ISS Davenport and the Wyoming.” Lieutenant Diaz pointed up at the screen. Granger turned and watched the aftermath of the two explosions—the shells of the two ships boiled with the streaming debris and escaping atmosphere before secondary explosions erupted down their lengths. In the background the waiting Swarm carriers bombarded the other thirty ships of Beta Wing with anti-matter beam fire. Multiple green columns pierced clean through the ship nearest the Warrior.
“There goes the ISS Alberta,” said Proctor, now standing next to him. “Capacitor banks charged, sir.”
Three ships already gone. And they’d only been there a minute. Getting caught with your pants down is a bitch.
Granger grit his teeth and pounded his armrest. “No. We’re holding our ground. Commander Pierce, launch all fighter squads. Beta Wing, Gamma Wing, and Alpha Wing captains, launch all fighters. Directly engage the carriers.”
A smattering of replies confirmed through the comm, and he glanced at Proctor. “Take Sigma and Omega Wings. Execute maneuver Granger Three.”
She nodded and retreated to the XO’s station, yelling out instructions to the captains of the two wings of cruisers. Granger returned his attention to the battle. “Beta, Gamma, and Alpha, divide and conquer. My tactical crew will divvy you up, stayed tuned for assignments. Five cruisers per Swarm carrier. Direct all fire toward their main fighter bays and neutralize their fighter capabilities, then focus on weapons.”
He strode over to the annex he had added to the tactical station, a small crew of tactical officers who would coordinate battle maneuvers with the fleet. “Warrior will lead Alpha wing against these four carriers,” he indicated the enemy ship grouped together on the tactical readout. “Make assignments for the other wings. Move.”
Granger turned to watch the viewscreen. Thousands of IDF fighters swarmed out of their bays and converged on the enemy carriers, which in turn belched out thousands of fighters of their own. Damn. This was going to be a rough fight. So much for breaking in his green fleet gently.
The Warrior shot toward its target and began pelting the Swarm carrier with a barrage of mag rail fire. Alpha Wing followed on its tail, likewise peppering the first target with high velocity slugs. When the first gaping hole opened up he signaled to tactical. “Open fire with lasers. Boil ‘em. Signal to Alpha Wing to do the same.”
The Warrior rumbled. Explosions sounded in the distance as the Swarm vessels pounded them with devastating anti-matter beams, which cut deep gouges in the hull and occasionally blasted off a mag rail or laser turret.
These ships knew we were coming, dammit. Granger watched in dismay as one Alpha Wing cruiser, then another, caught well-placed green beams on their undersides, piercing their power plants and initiating massive explosions that engulfed the ships. Two more down of his thirty. Another one of their carriers was belching debris and fire, and moments later it, too, exploded.
“Proctor, status of maneuver Granger Three?”
The XO glanced up from her station. “Sigma and Gamma Wings have entered high velocity orbits. Sixty ships spread out in a single-file line, accelerating around the planet toward our position.”
“ETA?”
“Five minutes.”
Granger nodded. It was risky, and they might not even last that long, and if the Swarm moved or changed orbits then the effort was wasted. But if not, they’d never see it coming.
He sat back down in the captain’s chair. “Good. Let’s dig in and give ‘em hell for a few minutes before they get here.”
Chapter Thirty
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
“Pull up pull up PULL UP!” Spacechamp’s voice shrieked in his ear. Explosions coursed through the anti-matter turret on the Swarm carrier filling his front viewport, but the damn thing was still firing.
And a cloud of Swarm fighters was raking him with vicious gunfire. Multiple holes in his fuselage spewed gas—he’d lost atmospheric pressure several minutes ago.
“Almost….”
He looped around the turret again, unleashing a storm of gunfire, and finally sending off one last torpedo which caught the lurching cannon in the side and demolished it in a cloud of debris. Finally, the thing’s green beam vanished as its base exploded, and Ballsy peeled away with a millisecond to spare as the wreckage spewed outward toward him.
“Ballsy!”
He swerved again, dodging more wreckage flying out from the hole where the turret had been, and more explosions behind him made him grin with satisfaction as he saw the debris collide with half a dozen bogeys on his tail.
“Holy sh—” Spacechamp murmured in his ear.
Fodder laughed. “What’s the matter, Spacechamp, ain’t you ever seen someone with a death wish before?”
She swore again. “Not like Ballsy just there. Think you need a new call sign, bud. How about … uh … Stupidsy?”
Volz groaned. “Spacechamp, that’s terrible. Just terrible. I expect better out of you.”
“Ok,” she went on—and he heard the smirk enter her voice—“how about Shit-for-brains?”
“That’ll do. Watch your left flank!” He pulled hard on his controls to come to her aid, but he needn’t have bothered—Pew Pew swooped in out of nowhere and blasted the tailing bogey in a storm of fire. “Pew Pew to the rescue. Again. Where the hell do you come from, Pew Pew?”
“I am the wind,” the space jock deadpanned drily.
Alarm sirens blasted over their comms, and Ballsy swore as he realized what it meant.
Singularities.
Lots of them.
Chapter Thirty-One
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Once again, Isaacson found himself in a shuttle, blasting out over the atmosphere, this time, toward Wyoming. Once again, Conner’s knuckles were white as he gripped his armrests.
“Find me any coffee?” Isaacson asked, trying to distract the kid.
With his eyes still closed, Conner nodded.
“Good. What kind?”
“Half-Columbian, half-Indonesian. Very sweet. Smooth. And hot.”
Isaacson chuckled. The kid was either very good at double-entendre banter, or he was going to have a very boring, caffeinated evening.
He glanced out the window. Far below he could see the plains begin to fall away, replaced by the rugged landscape of the mountain west. A white blanket covered the lower hills and the taller, jagged peaks stuck out dramatically. The engine noise changed subtly. Good—they were landing.
Hal Levin poked his head up from the seat in front of them. “Sir, just received a message from Ambassador Volodin.”
“What is it?”
“A report on the blast that took out the embassy ground car.”
Isaacson snatched the pad and read.
The words leapt out at him like a blaring, flashing sign.
Anti-matter.
He tapped his comm card, touching a panel that w
ould initiate a call to the ambassador. Moments later, the man’s face appeared on the card.
“You got my note, Eamon?”
“Anti-matter? Wasn’t that blast a little small for anti-matter?”
Volodin shrugged. “You only need a little bit. In this case, a nanogram, judging from the gamma-ray flux the intelligence service detected. But whether it’s a nanogram of anti-matter or a kilogram of C-4, the blast will be the same. Only in anti-matter’s case, it was certainly not looked for. Very difficult to find a properly designed anti-matter bomb.”
“And how would you know that?” demanded Isaacson.
“That’s what our intelligence reports tell me, anyway. There is only one manufacturer of anti-matter devices, and it is not in the Russian Confederation. Gotta go. Talk later.” Volodin’s faced blinked out.
Interesting. Only one manufacturer of anti-matter devices in the entire world. In all the settled worlds.
“Sir, another message,” said Levin, popping over the seat again. “It’s from the intern office, Eamon.”
“The intern office?” Isaacson glanced at Conner, who had suddenly opened his eyes.
Levin handed him the pad, and Isaacson read.
Shit. Why now?
He turned to Conner, whose face was still white and green from the flight. “Son, I’m so sorry. Your … your brother just died.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
A singularity flared as an osmium brick flew into it and disappeared. Good. Four down, one to go.
“Fodder, get in there with your brick! Spacechamp, help me back him up!” Ballsy tailed his squadmate, picking off a few bogeys that had strayed too close.
Pew Pew had already launched his, but enemy fighters had swarmed him and knocked the brick off-course, nearly destroying Pew Pew’s fighter. As it was, he’d managed to stabilize his craft, but was just drifting motionless among the debris, too battered to move.
