The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy

by B. D. Stewart

  From positions elsewhere in the defense perimeter, eleven more satellites began accelerating toward the point of intrusion. The rest kept to their assigned patrol zones―stratagems deduced alien intruders might also attempt to trespass from different sectors.

  Sorenson held his breath as the trio of Scorpion-R missiles―displayed as inverted V-shapes―streaked into the red oval one after another. The first struck the alien ship’s bow, its thermonuclear warhead vaporizing a huge swath of the outer shell and exploding deep into interior areas below. The second burst midship, incinerating two of the purplish “longsails” that the targeting grid had inferred were the ship’s propulsion system. The third missile detonated on the far side, incinerating another longsail. The ship began to veer out of control.

  The targeting grid instantly focused lances onto these damaged areas, and the bright orange beams were soon burning deep with devastating effect. Explosions burst within the alien ship as it was sliced apart. Huge chunks fell away, tumbling outward from a common center. The intruder was swiftly reduced to a skeletal shipwreck adrift with a wobbly spin.

  Sorenson noticed the three ships trailing the first had begun firing. Purple snowflakes flickered and flared around the green dot identified as GD-20241 by the adjacent alphanumeric. The satellite survived that barrage, but it was blown apart by the next.

  “Massive missile launch,” Sato announced. The targeting grid, recognizing its lances had minimal effect against the outer shell of the first intruder, was compensating with a mass barrage of the far more effective Scorpion-R missiles against those that followed. “I count sixteen Scorps in flight.”

  “Look,” Markovsky said, pointing at inverted Vs that were diverging from the vectors of others. “They’re not all going after the three closest ships. Some are heading for the five in the next group.”

  “Each ship has two Scorpions locked on it,” Sato added. “Let’s hope they make a difference, because the sats carry just one pair each.”

  As the missiles accelerated toward them, the alien ships continued to fire. Each targeted a different guardian, and three CA-10s were blown apart in quick succession. The next eleven barrages, however, were all aimed at the onrushing missiles, making it clear they had learned from the death of their first ship just how destructive those evasive, corkscrewing projectiles were upon impact. They killed five Scorpions before thermonuclear detonations burst against the glistening armor resins that made up their hulls.

  One ship was destroyed outright in a blinding series of silvery explosions. The ship next to it took a thermonuclear burst just aft of its bow, the explosion leaving a crater half a kilometer across that spilled molten debris mixed with a haze of frozen atmosphere in its wake. The third ship in the group wasn’t hit at all, the missiles targeting it destroyed by defensive fire.

  Of the five ships that followed, one was destroyed, another lost five longsails and began spinning out of control, the third was hit by two Scorpions that knocked out half its forward weapons, while the fourth and fifth were struck by single bursts that inflicted marginal damage.

  Fusion lances tore into their wounds. The alien ships fired back. After an hour of intense fighting, eighteen guardians had been destroyed for the loss of seven intruders. By now, every CA-10 in the system was engaged in the battle, some from only a few million klicks out, others at long range as they rushed in from distant patrol zones.

  Sorenson noticed the alien ships fired about twice a minute, which meant they needed to reload or recharge their weapons in between salvoes. As to what type of weaponry it might be, he hadn’t a clue, but it shredded guardians easily enough. After two and a half hours of fighting, only six CA-10s remained.

  To everyone in the control room, it was clear the battle was lost. Built to defend corporate assets against pirate raiders and thieves, the CA-10s could not withstand a full-scale assault by heavy warships. Only the Imperium Fleet could save them now. Sorenson authorized a priority communiqué that burst from the hyperspace screech, squalling at maximum power.

  The targeting grid launched the last few missiles in its collective arsenal, then the guardians began a system-wide retreat toward Zeres Able. Once there, they’d make a final stand.

  Archangel Nomad

  A grim silence had fallen over the policeship as reports of the attack at Cirtus Beta came in. Dark thoughts prevailed as the enforcers dwelled on news that the guardian satellites there were being savagely mauled by an alien battlefleet. Most feared it was the start of an invasion.

  “Do we continue pursuit?” Pendergan asked. He had served aboard a light cruiser during the final campaigns of the Jarda Crusade, experiencing up close and personal the horrors that came with war. Pendergan no desire to experience them again.

  Captain Hoth had two options here. The first was to spin the ship around and rush back to Cirtus Beta, try and rescue those they had left behind. Nearly two hundred men, women, plus an AI were back there, civilians who might be dead . . . or worse! Capture by aliens was a nightmare everyone feared. Both the K’klacken and Jarda were extremely cruel to prisoners. These newcomers might be just as bad. Hoth’s emotional side demanded he do that―go back and rescue the platform workers from a terrible fate. This conflicted with his sensible side, which urged him NOT to rush into the battle zone, told him to continue the pursuit of Argo and capture those who had stolen corporate property. Hoth’s emotional side was winning.

  Torn, he did what any reasonably intelligent enforcer captain would do, consult the shipboard AI. “Gulfstream, given our latest intel on the situation at Cirtus Beta, what is your recommendation?”

  “Continue our pursuit of Argo,” the shipboard AI promptly replied. “Given the severity of the alien incursion at Cirtus Beta, we must make every effort to secure the alien object aboard Argo and rush it to the nearest military base as quickly as possible. Scientific analysis of the object could provide vital intelligence data or technological revelations.”

  That cold, logical response sliced through Hoth’s uncertainty like a laser scalpel. He knew the capture of a damaged Jarda Assailant―the Imperium term for their largest, most lethal warship―had led to critical discoveries about the deadly chlorotrophivores. Discoveries that gave Humans/AIs the means to defeat them. The object aboard Argo might do the same.

  Still, Hoth couldn’t just ignore what happened back at Cirtus Beta. “What about the people there? Are you suggesting we just leave them to their fate?”

  “Given the strength of the alien fleet that struck Cirtus Beta, we must assume all corporate assets there are lost. From a strictly logical perspective, or a military one if you prefer, there is nothing we can do to help any of them.”

  Hoth hated to admit it, but Gulfstream’s assessment was almost certainly true. Archangel Nomad was built for speed and long-range endurance and had plenty of both, built for a quick response to pirate raid ships, but she was only lightly armed by fleet standards. They’d have no chance against alien warships that could maul a squadron of CA-10 guard sats. Even so, Hoth felt cowardly as the words came out of his mouth: “Continue pursuit.”

  In any case, the decision became moot three hours later when an official flash advisory came in. After Hoth read it, he told Pendergan to disperse it ship-wide. He wanted everyone to see it.

  FLASH///QUARANTINE-DESIGNATE///FLASH

  Star: Cirtus Beta. GS Coordinates: X ~ 31.51.16.07 Y ~ 2.34.62.58 Z ~ 0.05.9.37

  Contents: System-Wide Quarantine.

  Effective Radius: One Light Year.

  Active War Zone: All Ships Avoid.

  END FLASH///QUARANTINE-DESIGNATE///END FLASH

  Hoth, Pendergan, and every other enforcer aboard Archangel Nomad knew what the flash advisory really meant: the Imperium Fleet was moving in. Unlike enforcers, who always tried to make an arrest, warships of the Sphere Imperium tended to shoot first and asked questions later . . . if they asked at all.

  Zeres Able

  Sorenson paced back and forth, casting an occasiona
l glance at the CA-10 tactical display. The battle with the alien ships was not going well. Only three guardians remained, and Sorenson assumed that once the aliens destroyed them their attention would shift to the mining platform next. Not a frickin’ thing he could do about it, either. Zeres Able was unarmed, relying on the guard sats for protection.

  “Frack,” Markovsky swore, “there goes another one.”

  Sorenson turned to the display in time to see a flickering green dot fade from view. Only two CA-10s remained. The pair put up a valiant defense, their fusion lances searing into a damaged alien ship as they synched fire patterns to finish it off. Sorenson watched as the red oval flared bright, blossoming into a scarlet flower shape. As it dissipated into nothingness, a few cheers arose from the onlookers behind Sorenson. Most stayed silent, somber, realizing this battle had already been lost.

  The crowd in the control room had swelled in size from the eight people who should be here to include another nineteen who should not. They’d been arriving singly or in little groups. Sorenson didn’t send them away. He knew they just wanted to find out what was happening.

  “Let’s make a run for it in a shuttle,” a newcomer suggested.

  Almost everyone in the crowd nodded, supporting the idea. They could all read the proverbial writing on the wall―once the CA-10s were gone, Zeres Able would be next. The platform would either be destroyed or invaded. If the latter happened, no one had any illusions about their chances of fighting alien storm troopers. Nor did anyone want to become a prisoner of alien captors. Most preferred death over that. And so, when a possibility to avoid those grim fates was offered to them, people naturally grabbed for it like a drowning man did a life preserver.

  Unfortunately, there was a major flaw with that idea. Zeres Able had two shuttles, plus a courier ship left behind by the thieves, but just one of those was usable. The other two were in docking tubes that had not yet been repaired. The Albatross-class shuttle had a passenger capacity of sixteen, while the crew compliment of Zeres Able was almost two hundred. That meant only a tiny fraction could “make a run for it.”

  My fault, Sorenson admitted. Should have allocated some repair ’bots to Hebgard like he’d asked to get those docking tubes fixed.

  Yet his overriding priority as rig manager―mandated by corporate policy, of course―put mining production above all else. Whether the platform had one, two, or zero shuttles working had no impact on production, so the docking tubes had gone to the bottom of the repair list.

  Priorities.

  Regardless of previous decisions, Sorenson didn’t like their chances in a shuttle: those alien ships out there could easily pick them off. But . . . if some of the crew wanted to make a run for it, who was he to stop them? At least it gave them a chance.

  Sorenson faced the crowd. “Anyone who wants to leave is free to go. I’m staying here.” As the old saying went, he’d go down with his ship.

  The control room emptied fast. The news spread even faster as friend told friend, causing desperate people to race to the shuttle before the seats were all taken. Sato and Markovsky stayed behind with Sorenson. Hebgard, too, but that was it.

  Big Mar sat down in front of the new switch-4 console he’d just installed, configuring the console’s wall monitor above to show a quad video-feed display of the Tube One boarding area lounge. Sorenson was appalled at the chaos that ensued. Never in his darkest thoughts did he expect the brutality he witnessed as perhaps forty men and women tried to push their way onto the shuttle. The two security guards on duty were stampeded under by the mob.

  In the end, twenty-two people somehow managed to cram themselves into the shuttle before the doors slid shut. Four dead littered the boarding area floor.

  Big Mar turned off the monitor. “Didn’t expect that.”

  “Nor I,” Sorenson said. “I never would’ve given them the green light to leave if I knew mob rules were in effect.”

  The control room felt empty now with just four people in it, and Sorenson presumed they all gathered close in front of the tactical display to avoid being alone as much as they did to get a front-row view of the small, blue, triangular blip as it emerged from the considerably larger rectangle that represented Zeres Able. The shuttle veered left, accelerating away from the inbound alien ships.

  Sato’s fingers tapped back and forth across her console, stopping suddenly when trajectory data appeared. “According to the flight analyzer, it will take the shuttle 243 minutes at max thrust to reach a safe hyper-insertion point.”

  Sorenson frowned. “Much too long. They’ll never make it.”

  Sato and Big Mar nodded agreement. Hebgard whispered a prayer for holy intervention.

  The shuttle was smaller than a guard sat, but not by much, and both craft had similar electromagnetic signatures. Would the shuttle appear as another CA-10 to the aliens, a target they’d destroy? Or would they ignore it? Sorenson had his answer five tense minutes later when purple snowflakes burst to life around the triangular blip.

  The shuttle began evasive maneuvers, its pilot jerking the craft hard right, then up and over in a barrel-roll that transitioned into a shallow dive. Hebgard’s prayer grew progressively louder as the snowflakes continued to burst around it. Four salvoes later, they saw a bright, bluish flash. It was gone in a few seconds and so was the shuttle, leaving nothing behind but an expanding cloud of gases and incandescent debris.

  Sato gasped, Hebgard fell silent, while Sorenson walked to the operations console and sank down in its chair. Markovsky just stared at the tactical display with a grim expression.

  “Another CA-10 down,” he stated a few minutes later. “Just one left.”

  The last guardian fought on with mechanical tenacity, fusion lances firing furiously until it, too, was at last destroyed.

  Sorenson’s gut tightened. He didn’t need to be able to read minds to know the other three were all wondering the same thing as he―what next? Would the aliens destroy Zeres Able or capture it? Dying a quick death like those on the shuttle might be preferable to the fate that was in store for them.

  Several long, nervous minutes ticked by before the aliens made their next move. An object emerged from one of their ships, moving toward Zeres Able.

  “Object size and mass is similar to a courier ship,” Sato said with a trembling voice. “Given its trajectory and velocity profile, it’ll reach us in forty-six minutes.”

  A small, crimson oval crept across the tactical display, heading straight at them. Sato studied sensor data as it sped closer. “Detecting biosignatures inside the object. Twenty-four of them―big ones, too. Sensors cannot identify the life form, some type of semi-insect physiology.”

  “Must be a boarding party,” Markovsky concluded.

  Sorenson agreed. He opened a platform-wide channel. “This is rig manager Sorenson. An alien craft with twenty-four large, insect-like creatures is heading toward us. ETA, thirty-nine minutes. Given the destruction of the guardian sats, I’m assuming they’re hostile. We have two choices: fight or surrender. I cannot and will not ask anyone to surrender, nor will I order any of you to battle alien creatures―”

  “They can hide,” Hebgard interjected.

  Sorenson sighed, annoyed at being interrupted. But Hebgard was right. “I stand corrected, there are three choices, we can also hide. Each of you must decide for yourself. I have no idea if these creatures will take prisoners, nor how they will treat anybody who becomes one, so your guess is as good as mine. If you want to fight, I suggest you band together with others for mutual protection. If you want to hide, gather food and water and find a safe place quickly. As for myself, I’m going to fight. Good luck, everyone. Sorenson, out.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Markovsky said, heading for the door. When Big Mar returned, he was carrying a Glock pistol and a vintage baseball bat. He pulled a second pistol out of a hip pocket and offered it to Sorenson, who shook his head in refusal. “Got my own.”

  After a nod, Markovsky offered the pistol to
Sato, who also refused. As a Keeper of the pacifist Tao faith, she would not fight. Hebgard also declined the weapon, too afraid to take it. Big Mar shrugged and then slid the pistol back in his hip pocket.

  “My turn.” Sorenson left the control room. He hurried to his quarters and unlocked the wall safe. Inside were some documents, a duplicate of his master-pass keycard, plus a Glock G7 pistol with matching holster. He strapped on the holster and slid the Glock in, comforted by its weight. Sorenson returned to the control room just in time.

  “The inbound object is decelerating,” Sato told him. “Flight analyzer predicts its trajectory will terminate at the number one docking tube. ETA fifteen minutes.”

  “Smart critters,” Big Mar said. “They saw where our shuttle departed from and they’re going to use its dock tube as a point of entry.”

  “Stop ’em with a snare beam,” Hebgard suggested.

  Sorenson and Markovsky both gave negative head shakes.

  “No snares,” Sorenson said with a firm voice. “Far too dangerous. We saw how they reacted when the sats tried to grab one of their ships. Instant retaliation.”

  He didn’t like giving the aliens a free pass to Zeres Able, but getting the platform blown up trying to stop them was a gambler’s risk he wasn’t willing to take. And there were no shields or force fields to stop the alien object. Unlike starships, orbital platforms didn’t require protective shields due to the fact they were slow drifters that didn’t slam into spatial dust and gas at high velocity. If something dangerous like an asteroid came hurtling toward them, a snare shoved it away. Thus the inbound alien spacecraft had an unimpeded path.

  Everyone was staring intently at the tactical display when the crimson oval reached Zeres Able. It disappeared as the spacecraft decelerated into the empty docking tube. An alarm went off.

  Markovsky rushed to the switch-4 console, activating the same quad-video display of the Tube One boarding area that he’d configured earlier. The four of them watched nervously, waiting to see what would emerge from the alien craft. They saw an explosion near the forward airlock, and thick grey smoke began to billow out. Sorenson felt a tremor ripple through the floor.