Storm of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  * * *

  Erika West sat bolt upright in her command chair, staring straight forward. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular, but in her mind she saw her fleet, all of it now formed up in the G48 system, facing off in three successive lines against whatever the Regent had managed to deploy in the defense of the vital world orbiting the system’s sun…and any other forces that lay out there, hidden, ready to ambush her fleet before it could complete its mission.

  Before it could strip the Regent of its antimatter supply…and the greatest advantage the hated AI had over the Earth Two forces.

  She’d been deep in thought during the entire voyage to G48, her mind racing, analyzing what actual data she had along with the gut feel that had told her the enemy was not desperately trying to mount a defense, but actually wanted her ships there. It was a trap she was certain was waiting, and one she hoped to turn about on its perpetrator. Almost no amount of losses her fleet suffered would be too much to justify if she could destroy the enemy’s antimatter source.

  She felt a wave of guilt for that last thought, but West had never been one to fool herself. She would sacrifice ever man and women in the fleet if that’s what it took to succeed. She’d come to G48 to strip the First Imperium of their devastatingly powerful energy source, and that’s just what she was going to do.

  Whatever it took.

  “Admiral Strand is on your line, Admiral.” Avery Sampson sounded as cold as ice, utterly unaffected by the magnitude of what lay ahead. West knew it was a front. None of the fleet’s personnel could face the battle that lay ahead without feeling the weight…and the fear. Even West, who’d been sure she was ready to die if need be, found herself sweating, anxious, wanting to finish what she’d come to do and go back home.

  Or what passes for home…

  “Put her through.” West reached down and grabbed her headset, strapping it on as she flipped the activation switch. She didn’t think Strand would have anything to say that her flag crew couldn’t hear, but she was too old a warrior to make such careless assumptions.

  “Admiral…”

  “You’re on my headset.” A pause, and then West’s normally hard voice softened a bit. “What’s your status, Josie?”

  “We’re entering missile range, Admiral. I’ve ordered all ships to hold fire until just before the enemy barrage enters detonation range.”

  West felt herself nodding, an involuntary acknowledgement that she concurred with Strand’s plan. “I agree…but make sure you allow yourself enough time to launch your full barrage. Empty those magazines.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  West felt the urge to tell Strand that she was bringing up the rest of the fleet, but she stayed silent. Because she wasn’t moving a single vessel forward.

  The advance forces were going to be outnumbered, and they were going to have one hell of a fight on their hands…but West was sure the enemy had something waiting, something her people couldn’t see. And there was no way she could commit her last reserves, not until she knew exactly what she faced. And, she had a plan of her own, and she was waiting for the opportunity to put it into action.

  Whatever Strand and her people had to do, however desperately they had to fight to face the enemy forces alone…she knew her deputy commander would see it done.

  “Fortune go with you and your people, Josie.” It was all she had to offer.

  “Thank you, Admiral…we’ll see it done.”

  West cut the line. Then, she turned toward Sampson.

  “Get me Captain Rivers, Commander. Direct, shielded laser comm.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” A moment later. “On your line.”

  “Lucas…” She paused for a moment. West wasn’t the kind of officer to hesitate, even when giving difficult orders…but the years had worn her down, and she’d long ago lost count of how many spacers she’d sent to their deaths. One more desperate, nearly suicidal mission shouldn’t matter to her now, but for some reason it did. She would do what she had to do, as she knew Rivers and his people would, but it would cost them both.

  “Admiral?” The pause had gone on long enough for the signal to reach Rivers’ flagship and return with his response.

  “Lucas…it’s time.” She’d already discussed the operation with the officer, and there was no need to review it again. All she had to do was give him the orders…and watch to see if any of his people made it back.

  “Understood, Admiral.” There was a grave tone to his voice. It was clear he knew just how deadly a mission his people had drawn, but there wasn’t a hint there of doubt or hesitation.

  “You’ve got every stealth device Earth Two has in its arsenal, Lucas…and you’ve just got to get into range and flush those missiles. You’ve done your duty then, and I expect you to fire up your thrusters and get the hell out of there as soon as you let loose that last nuke. You don’t have a beam hot enough to make a difference, so don’t even think about getting caught up in any fighting up there.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” She could hear the hitch in his voice. There was no question that his people were taking more than their share of the risks…but it was obvious he didn’t like the idea of running, not when a good chunk of the rest of the fleet was still fighting.

  “Just focus on getting this done and getting your people out of there, my old friend. Glass that planet’s surface, and you’ve done your part.” Lucas Rivers was a Pilgrim, just like West. The skeleton crews on his missile ships were mostly Pilgrims, too, volunteers who’d stepped up to mount the desperate assault on the antimatter planet and its orbital defenses. West had chosen Rivers and his people for their experience…but she had also picked them for their age. She didn’t want to see any of her people killed, but the Pilgrims had seen a good portion of their lives already. They’d lived on the other side of the Barrier and endured to see a new home founded. It was the Next Gens’ turn, their chance to live their lives, to see the war through to the end…and to build a new civilization.

  “Yes, Admiral. We’ll get it done…don’t you worry about it.”

  “Good luck, Lucas.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. You can count on us.”

  West cut the line. She looked around the bridge, distracting her thoughts from Rivers. The old veteran knew the importance of his mission, and the danger, too. She had no doubt he would do whatever he had to do…and she knew much of that ran counter to his chances of getting away. The surprise of the move, the stealth protocols, the carefully-planned angle of approach…it all combined to give Rivers’ people a chance to get into range. But they’d be wide open and in the clear on the way back, and most likely, they’d have First Imperium ships hot on their tails.

  She’d done everything she could to help them get through…but she hadn’t been entirely truthful. She hadn’t given Rivers all the stealth technology the fleet possessed. Not the latest devices, the Mark Five cloaking suites that Achilles and the Mules had given her on the eve of departure.

  Those devices, all twelve of them, were installed on the group of ships behind Rivers’ task force…the newest, sleekest, most technologically advanced transports Earth Two had ever built.

  Loaded up with Devon Cameron and eighteen hundred of his crack Marines.

  Less than two thousand men and women to land in the thermonuclear hell after Rivers’ bombardment, to find the antimatter production facility’s underground facilities, and to devise a way to destroy them, along with all the antimatter stores in the Regent’s magnetic storage tanks.

  It seemed absurd, insane…and she didn’t dare think too deeply about the inferno into which she was sending her Marines. They were volunteers, every one of them, and by the slimmest of margins, that would allow her to let them go. But, she would never forgive herself, not for Rivers, not for the Marines.

  None of that mattered, though. They were all there to do what had to be done…and she would see to it. Josie Strand had her part to play as well, beyond the desperate fight she faced now, though West hadn’t gi
ven her number two the final orders yet.

  West and her people had their part to play as well, in some ways, perhaps, even the most desperate, wildest gamble of them all.

  The Regent had set its trap, and she had no doubt it would be effective, even devastating. But the old Regent had always underestimated Augustus Garret and Terrance Compton…and with a little luck, the new one would do the same with her. At least by the margin she needed.

  Because she had her own trap set, and if she could make it work, she just might even things up between the two sides, give the republic the opening it needed for a true shot at victory.

  She had to succeed, whatever it took. She could think about the cost later…if any of them survived.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Central Headquarters

  Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 02.15.43

  “Ana…I’m glad you stopped by.” Harmon looked up from his desk. The workspace was stacked with tablets, each of them open to specific files, all information on the continuing investigation of the terrorist attack of several days before. Connor Frasier had been inundating him with reports, as much, he thought, to show he was making a massive effort, despite the relative lack of progress. Harmon knew he’d put the Marine in a difficult situation, with duties far outside the range of those he’d trained to perform. But trust was his most precious resource, and Connor Frasier was a man in whose hands he would place his life.

  “I have an update for you from Achilles.” She paused and then added, “Good news.”

  Harmon gestured for her to sit. “Tell me. I could use some good news right about now.”

  “Things are going very well. The first test patient appears to be responding completely to the treatment. Themistocles says it’s too early to make any definitive statements, but he is hopeful both of them will make full recoveries.”

  Harmon looked up from the heap of reports laying in front of him. “Full recoveries?” His surprise was unmistakable. In more than forty years of active cloning, no Tank had ever survived the Plague. “That may not be a definite, but there are worse things to be than hopeful.” He sighed. It was clear from that, and from his tone that, while he was pleased about what she had told him, he was still distracted. “This isn’t what I expected to feel like when someone came to me and told me the Plague was cured. So many Tanks dead over the years, and now it may be all over.”

  “Achilles told me to urge caution, Max. The results are not definitive yet.”

  “No, of course they aren’t. Still, I will add my hope to Themistocles’s. Some true good news would be very welcome right now.”

  “Still no idea who was responsible for the explosion?” Zhukov almost hadn’t asked. She knew very well what was on Harmon’s mind.

  He sighed softly. “In terms of specific names, unfortunately, no. Not a single arrest yet. Not even a solid idea on anyone specific. But, it’s almost certain that one or more people in the security department are complicit. That’s our main line of investigation right now…but whoever we’re looking for was damned careful.”

  “That is terrible. It’s bad enough we’ve got violent extremists out there at all…but inside the security apparatus…” She paused for a moment, and when she continued, her tone was hard edged. “There is nothing worse than a traitor.”

  Harmon nodded, but he didn’t answer. He imagined some of the people who’d followed him as an elected president and publicly declared their support, feeling they had no choice, still considered his seizure of power to be treasonous. His coup hadn’t left a trail of bodies behind it…but then he didn’t want to think too deeply about what he would have done if he’d had to spill blood.

  “Do we have any leads at all?”

  “To individuals? Unfortunately, no. But, we have been able to secure some so far untraceable message feeds. If we can get a line to anyone in the chain, a sender, a receiver, whatever…maybe we can turn that into something meaningful. But, we were able to get some information, at least. We don’t know who did it or where they are now…but we’ve got a pretty good idea of why.”

  “The Mules?” Zhukov tried to keep the anger out of her voice, but as the co-creator of the Hybrid program, she had always been defensive of the Mules and prone to be unsympathetic to those who sought to restrict the gifted Hybrids…or worse.

  “Yes. At least it was the increase in quickenings that seems to have pushed things to the breaking point.” He could see the hardness in her expression. “But, we believe the group responsible is opposed to all non-natural births.”

  “Don’t they realize all the Mules have done? We wouldn’t be close to being able to fight the Regent without the tech they developed. We’re decades ahead of where we’d be without them. Perhaps centuries.”

  “I know, Ana…you know I’m with you. But, people are afraid…and for all our education and sophistication, most people are herd animals at heart. They’re ready to follow anything that makes them feel a part of something, and most of them never bother to really learn about or understand any of it. The League and other groups tell them they’re special because they were born from their mothers’ bodies instead of a crèche…and they come to believe it.”

  “That may be true, Max…but I don’t understand why fear doesn’t keep them in line. Don’t they understand that we have to defeat the Regent…that the First Imperium forces will kill us all if they’re able to get past our defenses? They may fear the Mules, but if they had any sense, they’d fear a future without them as well.”

  Harmon sighed. He understood what she was saying, and he agreed with her…completely. But, he also knew people did not always act rationally. “I was reading some old Earth histories last night, Ana…accounts of the late Roman Empire, mostly.” He knew it sounded like a tangent, but he had a point to make. “I’d spent most of the day trying to figure out what would drive terrorists to blow things up over an increase in the Mule quickening rate that still keeps them a tiny fraction of a percent of the population, and more to the point, to do it when our entire world faces a struggle of annihilation…a fight that can only end in the death of our enemy, or of us. I didn’t make sense to me, no more than it does to you. But then I sat there in bed, trying to make my eyes tired enough to get even a few hours’ sleep, reading about the endless series of civil wars that rocked late Rome, general after general trying to seize power, even as the borders crumbled, and the empire that each sought to control dwindled away to non-existence.” He looked across the table. “Human nature is our own worst enemy, Ana, there is no question about that…but we cannot ignore that fact, just because we can’t explain it. We are self-destructive creatures.”

  Zhukov looked across the table, her usually pleasant face hard, almost as if it had been carved from stone. “You have to find whoever did this, Max. We have to stop this before it goes any farther.”

  “I intend to be firm, Ana. If we can find those truly at the center of the movement.”

  “If there is any way I can help…” Her voice trailed off. Harmon knew she realized this was one area where there was little she could do.

  Harmon knew he had to find someone, anyone…from the heart of the terrorist group, the fringe…even someone who cooked the plotters dinner before they did it. And, when he found them, he knew they had to die. He didn’t know how he’d give that order, especially if it was directed at those involved on the fringes, but he knew he had to.

  He had to stamp out any groups that might disrupt things while the struggle against the Regent was still underway…and those he couldn’t find to eliminate, he had to drive back into the shadows. And, there was only one way to do that.

  Fear.

  * * *

  “You have excelled, my friend, beyond even the high standards we Mules set for ourselves. Four decades of research, and virtually no progress…and here…” Achilles gestured toward the woman lying in the bed. “…is the result of your work.”

  The woman was a Tank, one who’d been
no more than a day from death when she’d been airlifted to the Institute’s infirmary. She was sleeping quietly now, and she was breathing without mechanical assistance. The spots on her skin where there had been black, necrotic sores—part of the reason the disease had been branded ‘the Plague’—were covered now with nothing but a soft pink layer of new skin.

  Achilles didn’t rely on anything as incomplete as a glance at the patient, however. He’d reviewed every analysis, every medical scan, and the verdict as undeniable. Save for some minor healing still underway, and immense fatigue from the ordeal, the woman lying a meter from where he stood had no symptoms at all.

  “Thank you, Achilles.” Themistocles looked almost as tired as his patient, but his satisfaction was evident on his face. “I was optimistic it would work…but, of course, you can only be so sure without actual test cases.”

  “Themistocles, I have been reviewing your notes…there doesn’t appear to be much about the treatment that is specific to the Plague. Indeed, the patients still have the disease—or dysfunction, whatever we call it—your injections are simply repairing the damage as it occurs, and setting up a cycle so the body can continue to do so.”

  “That is true, Achilles. I have not unlocked the secrets of what causes the Plague, only developed a way to treat its effects. However, the treatments should keep the Plague in a state of permanent remission, at least, even if it doesn’t eradicate whatever factors cause it.”

  “But, you weren’t working on a Plague cure, not at first? That is what you told me earlier.”

  “No…I was trying to find a way to reverse our sterility. I was unable to achieve any success there, but I was able to unlock some startling cell regeneration capabilities from First Imperium genetic material.”

  A concerned look slipped onto Achilles’s face. The supply of preserved Ancient DNA was restricted, set aside solely for use in quickening new Mules.