by Nick Webb
The transmission terminated. Dinner an hour later felt bland and mushy. His weight sets with Spacechamp and Fodder passed like a blur. The evening training session seemed pointless and repetitive. All he could think about was her.
The boy’s voice echoed in his ears. FLY FASTER, BALLSY.
Kid, if it were only that simple.
Chapter Sixty-Six
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
After a brief resupply at Wellington station, the Warrior q-jumped its way toward the point a few light years out from Sirius. The waypoint. Granger immediately recognized Zingano’s ship, the Victory, waiting for them just a few hundred kilometers away. A moment later, the comm beeped—he nodded to Prucha to patch it through to his station.
“Good to see you, Tim,” said Zingano.
“What’s going on, Bill? Where’s Avery?”
The admiral shook his head. “Late last night I got a cryptic message from her chief of staff. Told me she’s nowhere to be found. Just disappeared. Several secret service agents on her detail are missing too, and, well, he fears the worst.”
“How in the world can the president of United Earth just disappear?”
Zingano shrugged. “Ever since the invasion, Avery has been meticulous about both her security, and her freedom of movement. Body doubles, unpublished schedules—hell, even General Norton doesn’t know where she’s off to half the time, and he’s in charge of fleet escort security when she flies out from Earth. She could be visiting her mother on Britannia, for all we know.”
Granger shook his head. “And she could be dead.”
“And, yes, she could be dead.”
Dammit. They were on the verge of victory. The eve of what could be the final and decisive confrontation with the Swarm. And now this.
“We don’t have time for this nonsense. Who could be behind it?”
Zingano shrugged. “The way I see it, there are two possibilities. Either she’s responsible for her disappearance—say, she’s in hiding trying to throw off her attackers, or someone else is responsible for her disappearance. If it’s someone else, there are two possibilities there, maybe three. Either it’s someone in the government that wants her gone, or it’s a Russian actor, or a Swarm-controlled actor. I figure if she turns up dead immediately, it’s someone in the government—having a missing president is far more unstable than having a dead president, and a domestic enemy would want a quick change in leadership. Whereas both the Russian and Swarm scenarios would want to maximize chaos and instability by keeping her missing.”
Granger kept shaking his head, still in disbelief. “This is ridiculous.” He looked up at the admiral’s face on the screen. “Bill, we need to make our move anyway. It can’t wait.”
Zingano tipped his head toward the screen. “You’re sure then? You’ve remembered your … disappearance? You know where the homeworld is?”
“I do. I’m sure of it. Bill, it’s as clear as day to me. I remember laying on an examination table. Like in a hospital clinic. I remember being treated for my injuries. I remember looking out the window—I was in orbit, aboard some sort of space station or ship, and down below was a planet. And the more I try to remember what planet that was, the more I remember it was explained to me that … well, that it was the source of our troubles. The place we need to be.”
He didn’t dare finish the line of thought. He’d remembered a little more than that. Ever since Vishgane Kharsa had told him that he’d once been an ally. A friend to the Swarm, and therefore under their control. And with that revelation came the memory that when he was looking down on that planet….
He’d felt pride. A knowledge that he and his allies—his Swarm allies—would overcome. Would subjugate all and make the entire galaxy their friends. God—that need for friendship, that drive to be not alone, that urge to bring all into communion with them—it was powerful. He’d come to understand something—the Swarm was lonely. Genocidal, sure. But, oddly enough, it was murder driven by loneliness.
But Zingano couldn’t know that. No one could know that he’d once felt those things. He searched deep inside—he didn’t feel them now. He was absolutely sure. He wanted the Swarm destroyed. Wiped from the fabric of the galaxy. But at one point he was them. And he looked down on his homeworld with pride.
“I’m sure, Bill. I can’t explain it, but I’m sure. You’ve got to trust me.”
Zingano nodded slowly. “Ok. Operation Battle-ax is on. I’ll send word to Britannia—the missile frigate fleet is assembled there at Calais. I’ll call in the rest of the attack groups and all the planetary defense forces we can spare. If we’re going to do this, we go big or we go home. Overwhelming force or none at all. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Let’s throw everything we’ve got at this.”
It felt right. In spite of the mystery of the president’s disappearance, and the assassination attempts on both her and the vice president, and the discovery of Russian movement out near Swarm space—in spite of all the uncertainty, he knew this was right. Finally.
“Sir! Interstellar One and her escorts just q-jumped in!” called Ensign Diamond from the sensor station.
“Put it onscreen,” Granger replied, and a moment later the viewscreen split between the admiral’s face and the new arrivals. The stately Interstellar One, flanked by the Verso and another identical ship Granger supposed had been renamed Recto, along with another battlecruiser flanked by its own escort frigates.
“President Avery is hailing us, sir.”
Granger motioned toward the screen. The image of the ships disappeared, replaced by Avery’s lined face.
But before Granger even had a chance to say a word, the signal cut out, her face disappeared, replaced by a screen lit up with fire and debris.
He felt the blood drained from his face.
The vacuum snuffed out the fire, and when the screen cleared, he saw that Interstellar One, the Verso, and the Recto, were all gone.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
It was like déjà vu, only much, much worse. He couldn’t believe it. For just a fleeting moment, Granger thought that there had been some sort of confusion. That the president hadn’t disappeared, that it was some sort of miscommunication. He saw her. She was alive. But the smoldering hulk of Interstellar One wiped those hopes away.
Zingano still stared out through the screen. The shock was only now dawning on him. Before either of them could say a word, a new face appeared. General Norton, aboard the battleship.
“Gentleman … I … it appears that despite my best efforts to keep her safe out here, the president is dead.” He, too, looked shocked. “I’m sorry. I’ve failed us all. I thought—I thought if she went underground, disappeared for awhile, it would draw her attackers out. Throw them off balance and make them do something that would alert us to who they were. She agreed. It was … it was supposed to keep her safe. And now….” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
The three men sat in heavy silence for nearly a minute.
Finally, Zingano cleared his throat. “Regardless. The plan goes on. General, I’ve decided now is the time. We have a target confirmed. Operation Battle-ax is a go.”
Norton shook his head. “You know my feelings about this, Admiral.”
“I do, General. But I disagree. We need to strike. And strike hard.”
Norton glanced at Granger, narrowing his eyes. “But on information derived from a compromised source? Really, Bill, we can do better than this.”
Zingano nodded. “It’s not ideal. But it’s what we’ve got. We need to move now before the government has a chance to reorganize and catch its breath. It’ll take time to get the new president up to speed. Where is Isaacson?”
Norton opened his mouth, then closed it.
“General?” said Zingano.
“Well, to tell the truth, Isaacson was part of the reason I even showed up here w
ith Avery—why I encouraged her to go underground. It seems Mr. Isaacson is missing as well. Truly missing.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Isaacson pounded on the door to his stateroom. Ever since he’d boarded the Lincoln, General Norton’s battlecruiser—at Norton’s behest—to listen in on Avery’s planning session with her top military advisers, he hadn’t been able to leave his room. No one answered his comm calls. Banging on the door didn’t seem to be helping. A pit was growing in his stomach, and he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Why hadn’t he listened more to his secret service detail? He’d assured them going with General Norton for a short trip in his battlecruiser was one of the safest things he could be doing in one of the safest places. The secret service chief had assented to sending along only two agents, who were supposedly staying in the room next door.
He was supposed to be on the bridge by now. The trip out to the secret location near Sirius, the waypoint, should only take an hour or so.
He slumped down into a chair and tried to turn on the computer terminal. It was disabled. Dammit. Avery was behind this. She must be. Just like Volodin had warned him.
The door opened. General Norton strode in with two MPs, both heavily armed, one holding a pair of handcuffs.
“Mr. Isaacson, you’re under arrest for the murder of President Barbara Avery.” He nodded to the MPs who moved forward and pushed him against the wall, cuffing his wrists behind his back.
“What is the meaning of this? What do you mean, is she dead? How?”
General Norton turned Isaacson around and faced him, nose to nose. “Interstellar One just exploded. Along with the Verso and Recto, her two escort ships. Somehow, someone knew that she might be aboard any one of those ships, and so targeted all three in their sabotage. Despicable.”
He felt the book drain from his face. “But … but, someone’s been trying to assassinate me! Clearly someone is out to get both of us!”
Norton shook his head. “A clever ruse, sir. Making it look like someone was targeting you too. I’m sure the Russian Intelligence Service was too kind to oblige. Blowing up your own car in Moscow. Brilliant. Arranging for two plants in our fighter corps to attack your shuttle. Very convincing. You had all of us fooled. Until today.”
“But I’m telling the truth! I had nothing to do with this!”
The two MPs pushed him toward the door at a motion from Norton. “And just what was in those meta-space transmissions you sent yesterday, Mr. Isaacson? You gave Private Pickurel quite the exciting day.”
Good. At least they hadn’t been able to decode his transmission, or determine the intended recipient. “None of your business.” He struggled feebly against the firm grips of the MPs. “You have no authority to do this. I have governmental immunity. If anyone does the arresting here it is the civilian federal police corp—the judiciary, not the military. This is a coup!”
Norton shrugged. “It’s only a coup if you’re a president. Last time I checked, you weren’t. Don’t worry, Mr. Isaacson, the government will be in good hands with Speaker LaPierre.” He nodded to the men. “Put him in the brig.”
Speaker LaPierre? Suddenly it all made sense. It wasn’t Avery. It wasn’t Volodin. It was the only person who would benefit from the deaths of both the president and the vice president. And somehow, he’d swayed some of the top military leadership over to his side. Or at least, General Norton.
The MPs jostled him through the hallway, down several flights of stairs, and through a heavy metal door which slid aside at their approach. Bars lined several cells, and soon he found himself locked into one of them: a space no bigger than a cage with a small, hard bed.
Shit.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Granger had never q-jumped with so many ships in such a coordinated fashion before. His short-lived excursion into Swarm space a few days ago was one thing—one hundred and fifty vessels was nothing to sniff at. But this was an entirely new ball game. The largest space fleet ever assembled.
After each jump an accounting had to be made, to slightly adjust all the spacing between each ship in case any had drifted. In all, there were sixty battle groups in three separate task forces. Nearly two thirds of the IDF fleet. On his command console the ships were listed out by type, position, purpose, and name. Over two hundred heavy cruisers, including the Warrior and the Victory. Four hundred light cruisers. And of course the eight hundred missile frigates with their precious, deadly cargo.
“Jump two hundred and three complete. All attitude adjustments made,” said Ensign Prince.
“Very well. Commence two hundred and four.”
Granger looked back down at the screen. Each missile frigate was carrying close to one thousand anti-matter torpedoes—the fruits of the Mars Project. With each one coming in at a yield of over ten thousand conventional thermonuclear warheads, the combined firepower would pack no small punch. Whatever world they found at the other end of this journey was not going to ever look the same. It would most likely be uninhabitable for thousands of years.
Small price to pay if it meant the extermination of their enemy.
Twenty more jumps passed. Forty more. And soon they were counting down to the final ten.
He tapped his commlink to Proctor in sickbay. “You ready for this?” She’d taken a breather from her research, at his insistence. Between the concussion and the bullet hole in her shoulder, she needed a break. But she’d set up a small work station in sickbay to stay abreast of what was happening on the bridge—her Swarm expertise would come in handy during the operation, no doubt.
“Ready as we’ll ever be. We’ve prepared for three months. Millions of people working around the clock.”
“I just hope we brought enough. They ran through the simulations for weeks, and everyone agrees that, if anything, we’re overdoing it.”
“Overkill is safer than under-kill, in this case at least,” she replied.
Ensign Prince looked back. “Last one, sir. We’re at the edge of the Volari System now.”
“What do sensors say?” Granger leaned over to the tactical station. His memories of the planet had cleared to the point where he’d even remembered what type of atmosphere surrounded the homeworld. Had he seen a technical readout of the planet? Had he scanned it while still onboard the Constitution?
“The third planet matches the description you gave us, sir. Reading high concentrations of oxygen, methane, nitrogen, and an unusually high reading of argon, just like you said it would. Several space stations in orbit. Giants. Each bigger than Wellington station over Earth.”
“EM signals?”
“Weak. What we can read from out here, at any rate. Though what we read out here is about six months out of date due to light speed.”
Granger nodded. It was time. Now or never.
“Initiate q-jump two hundred and fifty-four.”
“Initiating,” replied Prince.
And in the blink of an eye, they were there, in high orbit around Volari Three. The Swarm homeworld. The surface looked faintly green, just as he’d remembered, with scattered giant lakes and few clouds.
“Any welcoming committee?”
Ensign Diamond shook his head. “Besides the stations, none that we can detect, sir. Counting five space stations in different orbits. No defensive postures yet. Reading some scattered meta-space transmissions using Commander Proctor’s new detection technique, but they’re indecipherable.”
So definitely Swarm. Granger stroked his chin—he’d neglected to shave that morning. He tapped the link to Proctor. “Are we sure its Swarm? The planet?”
“Yes. High concentrations of organic material on the surface that matches Swarm matter. And these meta-space signals are definitely theirs.”
“Incoming transmission from Admiral Zingano, Captain,” said Ensign Prucha.
Granger nodded, and the admiral’s voice came over the speakers. “Will you do the honors, Tim? Everyone’s ready. I think it will mean more coming from you.”
Damn hero worship.
“Very well. Patch me through to the fleet.”
“You’re on, Captain,” said Prucha.
“This is Captain Granger.” He paused, knowing that this was a momentous occasion. Whatever the outcome, the history books will make note of this day, possibly as a turning point for Earth. The day she finally conquered her most despised enemy. “All vessels, prepare for engagement. Frigates, take your positions previously assigned to you. Task forces, escort them in. We’ve got one shot at this, people. Let’s make our families, our friends, and our civilization proud.”
“Sir! Detecting massive energy readouts from the space stations! Several hatches are opening … sir, I—”
“What is it, Ensign?” Granger snapped.
Diamond blanched. “There’s something coming out of the stations. Ships … carriers … looks like about fifteen Swarm carriers powering up.”
So, they were waiting for them. All the better—more Swarm to kill. Fifteen carriers versus two thirds of the entire IDF fleet. Should be a quick fight.
“Task force Granger One, engage Swarm carriers. Task force Granger Two, escort those missile frigates in.” He paused and glanced at his status display. Five giant orbital stations, fifteen carriers. It didn’t quite add up.
“And Task force Granger Three, stay here with the Warrior. Just in case there are any more surprises out there.”
Chapter Seventy
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Isaacson thumped his head repeatedly against the hard surface of the bed in his cell. How the hell had he allowed himself to get caught in a situation like this? He supposed Speaker LaPierre had been planning this ever since the invasion—saw it at his prime opportunity to seize the presidency.
