Jresstratta thought about that for a second. Actually, it was an couple of orders of magnitude lower than the casualties suffered in that attack. But the fact of the matter was, that was an attack by an outside power. This was Cacada verses Cacada, in a display of murderous rage against their own that was unprecedented.
“Can we expect more of this?”
“It’s a certainty, your Supreme Majesty,” said Pellishar, Chief of the Secret Police. “We have arrested over half the survivors, but many of them disappeared themselves and we have no way of locating them. Friends or family may be involved in hiding them, but in most cases we just don’t know who the connection is. In a couple of days we should have every one of them in custody. Which, of course, won’t prevent more from joining the revolt.”
“Now listen to me,” growled the Emperor, standing and pointing a pair of right index fingers at the Chief. “I want this crushed, and I want it crushed now. There will be no more protests in the capital. Any who rise must be killed, in the open. The message must be clear that their Emperor will not put up with a revolt. We have a war to win, and that means that ancient superstition must take a back seat to what must be done.”
“It could escalate out of control, your Supreme Majesty.”
“Then there will be a lot of bodies in the streets. And those bodies will lie and rot where they fall.”
“The relatives won’t like that.”
“Then the families can move on. Anyone seen trying to rescue the body of a family member for a funeral service will join them. When they have rotted to bones they can be hauled to the municipal refuse dump.”
The Chief glared at the Emperor for a moment, then gave a head motion of acceptance. “With your permission, Supreme Majesty.”
Jresstratta gave the male a hand motion to leave, staring at his back as he walked out of the throne room. He wasn’t sure he liked the attitude of the male, but he could ill afford to alienate any of his supporters in these times of trouble. He hadn’t always agreed with his father on that point, but seeing how his sire had fallen had driven home the point that it was best to surround oneself with loyal servants, and not those who felt threatened.
The young Emperor sent a command through his implant, readying his entertainment for the night. Many of the females had been passed down from his father’s harem, only those from his matrilineal line removed and given to other nobles. There were several he had yet to sample, and tonight seemed as good a time as any.
* * *
MAY 9TH, 1004. CA’CADASAN SPACE.
“Do you think they know we’re here?” asked Vice Admiral Mei Lei, looking at the tactical plot of the Jresska system.
“I daresay, ma’am,” said her flag captain, looking down at her from where he stood beside her command chair.
The admiral chuckled. The captain was normally a taciturn presence, only saying what he thought was necessary. Her force had been the second to arrive here, just a couple of hours after the first. That gave her a total of six battle cruisers, eleven light cruisers and seventeen destroyers, a powerful scout force. Unfortunately, they were picking up the twelve projector ships forging in toward the star, in the midst of the deceleration that would insert them into its orbit. Over fifty other ships were on the plot, most moving out, heading for the barrier. That included another eleven of their capital ships, and almost a score of their large cruisers. More than she wanted to take on, even with all of her battle cruisers holding a wormhole configured for launch.
“We don’t need to worry about those other ships, for now,” she said, more or less thinking out loud and bouncing her thoughts off of her flag captain. “How long until those projector ships reach their orbits around the star?”
“It looks to be three hours, ma’am,” said the tactical officer from his station.
“Shit.” It would take their wormhole launched missiles over three hours to cover the three plus light hours between them and those ships. “Launch our warp fighters. We’ll let them have a go at those ships.”
“You know they’ll be slowed considerably when they reach the proximity of the star,” said the flag captain. “I suggest you send a wormhole in with one of them. It might give us a chance to get a launch in at the last second, if needed.”
“Good idea. Make it so,” she said with a smile, recalling one of her favorite old video series that had come from old Earth with the Exodus ship, two thousand years before.
“Do you want us to launch on them, ma’am?” asked the tactical officer.
“We might as well,” said the flag captain, making eye contact with the lower ranking officer, who looked back at his admiral for confirmation.
“Agreed. Two volleys from each of the battle cruisers. As soon as they’re off, start calculating the firing solutions to the other ships in the system.”
The wormholes worked best in normal space. They could be used in hyper, their weapons raising hyper fields within a microsecond of leaving the portal. But they could be defended against in hyper if the enemy ships had graviton beams they could deploy, dropping the missiles out of hyper before they could attack. There were defenses against them in normal space as well, interceptors, lasers, fields of gas. Unfortunately for the hyper attack, the missiles would be blaring out to the universe where they were and where they were going. Not so in normal space, where the missiles were almost untraceable unless they were adjusting their vectors.
The plot came alive with the icons of the warp fighters, moving into position away from their launching ships. Three to each battle cruiser, there were eighteen of the craft all told. Not a very large force, but with luck each could kill a capital ship. Of course, if the luck went the other way they could be blasted out of space as well. In moments the spacecraft activated their Alcubierre drives and forged off, doing the impossible and moving at faster than light. No, not that, as what they actually did was warp the space for their front and rear, the spacecraft not actually moving at all. However it was perceived, the ships were soon up to the equivalent of twenty lights, heading for their targets that were now only nine minutes away. Or would have been, if not for the turbulence they would encounter in the inner system, increasing every light second they got closer to the star.
The missiles didn’t show up, launching as they did with all of the velocity imparted by the multi thousand kilometer long acceleration tubes back in orbit around the Donut. The missiles accelerated along those tubes, into a wormhole to loop around, until they had performed hundreds of accelerations. The acceleration wormhole was swiftly pulled out of the way and the missiles entered another portal, arriving instantly at the other side of the hole and erupting into space at the front end of the launching ship. They would coast most of the way, then make their final adjustments when they were close. At that time they would light up every sensor on the target ship, but hopefully it would be too late.
“What the hell,” called out the tactical officer several minutes later.
The admiral didn’t need to ask the officer what had agitated him. She could see it for herself, as every ship on the plot started to change its vector. Not violent changes, but enough that those ships would not be at their predicted positions when the missiles arrived. Which would necessitate more violent maneuvers by the missiles, in most cases from much farther out, and allow the enemy to engage them.
“They seem to be learning,” said the flag captain, eyes narrowing.
“Yes, unfortunate when your enemy doesn’t just walk willingly to their destruction,” said the admiral. The Cacas were not the brightest species in the galaxy, but they weren’t as stupid as most humans seemed to assume. Or, it might be said, they had their brighter members, and those were the ones who formulated their tactics.
“What do you want us to do, ma’am?” asked the tactical officer, looking back at the admiral.
Mei sat silently for over a minute, one hand raised to let her people know she wanted silence, given the opportunity to think. She didn’t want to risk her com
mand by plunging into the system to pursue those enemy ships and destroy them. She also didn’t want to see an entire system destroyed and two billion sentients cease to be.
If only we had some stealth/attack ships, she thought, shaking her head. But they didn’t have those, and it would take too long to get them here. Those ships couldn’t come through a wormhole, since they carried one of their own. Besides, there were only so many with this fleet, and they were in great demand.
“Get me Admiral Chan,” she said to her com officer, an idea forming. It sounded crazy to her, but sometimes crazy ideas worked. She would leave it to the queen of crazy working ideas to evaluate it and come up with a conclusion. Then she could make her decision.
While she was waiting for the connection, she watched as the warp fighters closed on the enemy projector ships, and fell off the plot, victims to their graviton beams.
Chapter Six
One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes a revolution in order to establish a dictatorship. George Orwell
APRIL 10TH, 1004. CA’CADASAN HOME SYSTEM.
The protest formed near the landing field, on a parcel that hadn’t been in use since the human attack. The area had been cleared of rubble, craters had been filled. The hangars and storage buildings were still missing, though construction materials had been gathered close by.
This night over a hundred thousand Ca’cadasan males were gathered. There were thousands of old fashioned placards, painted boards attached to long poles. A couple of hundred holo projectors had joined the lineup this night, capable of imaging a holographic animation covering fifty square meters. Some of those were gathered in too close groups that would interfere with each other, but as soon as the march started moving that would be sorted out.
“Too bad about Under-prelate Krresshna,” said one of the lesser priests, looking at the Church organizer.
Over-prelate Norrasta gave a head motion of acceptance. He hated to lose any of the hierarchy of the Church, even if they were well down from the top. Krresshna had been groomed for higher orders. He had not handled the first protest the best, but then, no one really knew what would happen, so he had organized it to the best of his ability. Norrasta thought that anyone else would have fared about as well.
“Are your people ready?” asked the Over-prelate.
“Five hundred Church Guard in full battle armor,” said the younger male. “Ready to move on your order.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t become necessary,” said Norrasta, seeing the look of disbelief on the face of the younger male. He thought it would become necessary as well. There was no way the Emperor could let a challenge like this pass. It would undermine his power, and that was something that the young male couldn’t abide. Of course, reacting to the protest would also lead to an erosion of his power. It was a damned if he did, damned if he didn’t situation.
“How about the rest of our people?”
“Armed and protected as well as we could make them without giving away the game.”
The Over-prelate gave a head motion of agreement. He was worried that this whole thing was going to blow up in his face. If it did, they would still push ahead. He might not survive the night, which shouldn’t have been something he concerned himself with. The prelate had as much faith as anyone, but he loved his life, and was looking forward to at least another five hundred years of good food, good drink, and good females. The gods might welcome him into paradise, but he wasn’t ready.
“It’s time, Over-prelate,” said another priest, walking up and bowing to the senior members. The male exhibited extreme nervousness. Not that Norrasta blamed him. The young male had almost fifteen hundred years of life ahead, and tonight could be his last night.
“Then let’s get this march moving.”
Voices shouted out orders, people started to arrange themselves in the marching order. The males carrying the holo signs activated them, sending the large colorful signs into the air. There was some interference, and the holo holders jockeyed for position, getting some separation. Some of the signs were simple glowing letters, telling the capital city that the Emperor was a patricide, leading the Empire to destruction. Others were animations, some showing assassins gunning down the old Emperor. Some others showing the grinning face of the new one, gloating over his ascension. Of course they weren’t real, but they got across the point the rebels wanted to make.
A line of city police stood in the way, blocking the exit from the field. Over-prelate Norrasta and a score of other priests walked up to them, pushing them with their chests, holding up holy symbols in the linked lower hands. The symbols represented the life giving properties of worlds. A tree, a flying creature, the colorful globe of a planet. Over-prelate Norrasta held a holo symbol that represented the home system, all the planets and moons in a stylized representation copied in every temple on the capital.
Many of the police looked at those symbols with expressions of alarm. They had been raised to respect the religion, and though many turned their backs on the faith when they advanced in sciences and engineering. Still, these were security personnel, not Cacada who had not risen far enough in the sciences to lose their faith. Many of these males showed fear reactions at being confronted by the clergy they were sure could damn them to one of the deepest hells with a word. Along with the terror of what they would be subject to if they failed the Emperor.
Most of the police moved out of the way, heads down. Those that didn’t were overwhelmed by the marchers behind the priests. They weren’t handled badly. There was no need when they were outnumbered a hundred to one. In seconds all of the resistant police had been trussed up and moved aside. The march moved through the gate, spreading into the street. The palace was twelve kilometers away, three hours walking time. And they would be under the scrutiny of witnesses and cameras the entire way.
* * *
“Shut down those news feeds,” screamed Jresstratta, pointing a quartet of index fingers at the holo in a sign of emphatic command.
The marchers were out in force tonight. They would be seen by millions of inhabitants of the capital city. There was little he could do about that. But these news feeds would inundate the entire planet, going beyond to every receiver in the star system. From there it would go to the stars.
“We’re trying, your Majesty,” hissed a panicked male. “We’re not receiving acknowledgement from the studio.”
“Then get guardsmen down there, immediately. Shut them down. And if the technicians give them any trouble, they are under orders to execute the traitors.”
The eyes of the male widened as he realized that if he failed he would be executed as well. He closed his eyes and connected through his implant, sending emphatic orders over the city net.
The marchers passed the cameras, taking twenty minutes for the tens of thousands of males to move through the gate. The view switched back to the front, where scores of clergy led the march, followed by hundreds of placards and dozens of large holos projected into the air. More police were hustling into view, trying to set up blocking positions. Not getting enough in place before the mass of the march was on them and pushing through.
Jresstratta glared at the holo signs that declared him a patricide. Even worse were the animations showing him blowing his father’s head off. Of course it was not accurate. The actual trigger had been pulled by an admiral who saw Jresstratta IV as a threat to the empire. But still, the younger Jresstratta had been in the room, and he had given the order, so the blood was on his hands as well.
* * *
The march continued, down the main thouroughfare of the capital city from the landing field to the palace. Tens of thousands of Ca’cadasans watched from the sidewalks, from balconies and windows. The slaves were noticeable from their absence. They had learned to not be around when their masters were in a state of agitation. Something was going on that had never happened in the history of the Empire. Males questioned their leaders, and for the first tim
e in the history of the species were ignoring what those leaders told them and thought for themselves.
“Bring back our sons,” yelled a male from a building, echoing the thoughts of many. Millions of warriors had been lost in the war. Warriors had always been lost in the campaigns of the Empire for generations, thousands of years. In dribs and drabs, never more than a hundred thousand in a year in the worst of times. Now, campaigns ended with ten of millions dead, to be followed by another campaign, in a never ending sequence. Even worse, they were obviously losing the war, no matter what the Emperor and his servants said. All one had to do was look at the ruined buildings and craters in the capital city to realize that.
“Stop the killing,” yelled another. More voices joined in, until the chants from outside the march overwhelmed those within.
Over-prelate Norrasta didn’t really care about the casualties in the war. He had lost a couple of sons, but they had been doing their duty to the Empire. Their place in the paradise of the ancestors was assured. No, what he cared about was the disobedience being shown to the gods. The sterilization of life bearing planets, the most precious commodity in the universe. Unless that stopped the Ca’cadasans would be rejected by the gods, and they would fade from the universe, soon to be forgotten.
“Down with the Emperor. Stop the war. Stop the killing. No more killing living worlds.”
The chanting from the march rose in volume, fed into the floating drones that transmitted them to other drones for broadcast over the city. Drowning out the shouts from the sidelines. Except in cases where those shouts echoed what was being called out in the march. Those were also amplified, convincing the people on sidelines and watching the newscasts that the marchers were united in viewpoint more than was actually the case.
Here it comes, thought the Over-prelate as they approached the hastily erected barricade. A shiver of fear ran down his spine as he watched the hard faced Imperial Guardsmen that manned the two meter high plasticrete barriers that had been lower by antigrav. These were not civil policemen, who might hesitate to start a firefight with a greater number of armed males. No, these were elite soldiers in the best battle armor the Empire could provide, willing to carry out any order for their beloved Emperor. Norrasta was not a coward, and was willing to martyr himself for the cause. Which didn’t mean he wanted to die. Life was good, and it took all of his willpower to keep marching. But if he faltered, so would the rest of the marchers.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 14: Rebellion. Page 9
