by Nick Webb
“Several ships q-jumped into orbit around Jupiter. Complete communications blackout on all the moons and orbital platforms. And ten minutes ago a cargo freighter imaged the ships en route to Earth at incredible speeds.”
“How incredible?”
Yarbrough turned her head to flash him a pained glance. “They’ll be here within the hour.”
Granger’s mouth hung open. “But that puts their speed at around—”
“Nearly point five c, yes, I know,” Yarbrough replied. They were nearly to the Lunar Base Command Center, and officers were streaming through the halls, reporting to their duty stations.
“But isn’t that impossible?” said one of her aides, a young lieutenant.
“Kid, nothing’s impossible when it comes to the Swarm—”
“We don’t know it’s the Swarm, Captain Granger,” interrupted Yarbrough.
“Care to take any guesses as to who else it might be, Admiral?” he said icily. He knew it was politically correct to think the Swarm threat was finished, but he couldn’t believe her intransigence on the issue when an entire fleet was bearing down on Earth.
“CENTCOM isn’t sure. We knew there was a threat out in the Veracruz Sector and sent scouts to investigate.”
“And?” he said, as they rounded the corner into the Command Center.
Yarbrough demurred. “And, well, we lost contact with them.” She saluted the commanding officer of Lunar Base, Rear Admiral Tully. “What’s the latest, Sheldon?”
“ETA fifty-five minutes. The cargo freighter managed to image most of their fleet in decent detail. We’re looking at six to eight large carriers or cruisers.”
“Origin?”
Admiral Tully shrugged. “Not any design I’ve ever seen. Certainly not Swarm.”
Yarbrough cast a glance back at Granger. “See?”
“We know next to nothing about the latest Swarm technology, Admiral. It’s reckless to assume it’s not them just because it doesn’t look like their ships from seventy-five years ago.”
“Are they aggressive?” said Yarbrough, turning back to Admiral Tully.
“Still no long range comm signals out of Jupiter. Ganymede Station is silent, as is Callisto Depot. Hell, the only way we knew they showed up was from an old scientific satellite in high-Jupiter geosynchronous orbit that was out of range of whatever jamming signal they’ve got going on.”
“What do our defenses look like here?” asked Granger.
“Lunar Base is no sitting duck, Captain. Plus we’ve got a dozen ships sitting out there in honor of the Constitution’s decommissioning. The Qantas, the Clyburne, the Petain. If this is Swarm, and if they’re anything like the ships from last time, they don’t stand a chance against us.” Admiral Tully smiled smugly.
Commander Proctor stepped forward. “We already know these are not the ships from last time. They’ve evolved. Or improved. Or whatever it is they do.”
Yarbrough took a deep breath. “Mobilize the ships that are here. Get me on the horn to all the captains—I’m taking temporary command of the portion of the fleet that is here and will run battle operations from this Command Center, with your consent, Admiral.” She nodded to Sheldon Tully—not that she needed his permission, since she outranked him by a star, but they were old friends. “Get all the civilians off the base and loaded back on to the transports immediately,” she said to her aide. “Captain Granger, I want the Constitution to escort them back to Earth—”
“What?”
“You heard me. The Vice President is here, not to mention the dozens of senators, congresspeople, and governors. And don’t forget about the kids. We can’t have them in a combat situation.”
“If that fleet makes it past Lunar Base, there might not be an Earth to go back to. Keep the Constitution with the fleet.”
“No. We can’t afford to lose such a significant portion of the civilian government if we fail here. No, get to Earth, and report in to Admiral Zingano at CENTCOM. That’s a direct order. Move.”
She shoved him out of the way and made for the command console where Admiral Tully was directing operations.
Commander Proctor fell into step next to him as he stormed out of the Command Center. “Well sir, looks like you’re stuck with me for awhile longer.”
Dammit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Earth’s Moon
Bridge, ISS Constitution
“Tim, what the hell is going on?” Commander Haws was still buttoning his old frayed uniform when he met Granger and Proctor in the hall on the way to the bridge. It seemed he had managed to escape from the decommissioning ceremony early.
“An unidentified fleet is en route to Earth.”
“Swarm?”
“Unknown.”
“Bullshit,” grumbled Haws as they approached the two marines standing guard outside the bridge.
“Exactly.” Granger paused before entering the bridge, glancing for a moment at the two officers. Proctor technically had operational control over the Constitution given the Old Bird’s decommissioning ceremony not an hour earlier, but given the emergency at hand....
“Commander Proctor, I’m re-assuming command of the Constitution. If you wish to lodge an objection with CENTCOM—”
“No need, sir. I understand,” she replied, with a curt nod. Good. She wasn’t going to pull anything stupid—when called upon, she seemed to be someone who understood the need for action. He’d prefer to just tell her to go to her quarters, but that would be going too far.
“Good. I’m assigning you as assistant XO. Commander Haws will delegate any duties to you that he sees fit—” He held up a hand of silence to Haws, who’d started to protest. “Not now, Abe. This is an emergency, and we both know that being on a war footing is different than being on watch duty for our entire careers. We’ll need all the help we can get, and I want her with you.”
He hoped his friend didn’t read between the lines: he really wanted Proctor shadowing Haws to make sure the old man, probably still hungover from over-indulging at the reception, wouldn’t make any sloppy, fatigue-induced mistakes.
“Fine,” Haws grumbled. Satisfied his friend would not give him anymore guff, Granger strode onto the bridge.
“Battle stations. Sound general alert status orange.”
The bridge, which had been half-deserted due to the decommissioning ceremony, fell to a shocked silence. The lieutenant sitting in the command chair opened his eyes wide.
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Diaz. Get back to ops and sound the alert. Get the bridge crew back here. Tell Commander Rayna Scott to report to the bridge—I want an update from her on engine status. And assemble the weapons crew chiefs—we need to know what the status is of the mag-rail cannons and the point-defense RPOs—”
“Sir,” interrupted Commander Proctor, “I’m afraid I had the point-defense rapid pulse ordnance turrets all decommissioned yesterday. I thought it wise to ensure civilians couldn’t accidentally activate them somehow during the simulations....”
Granger paused. “All of them?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, with the slightest of winces.
“Very well. Get the crew chiefs up here,” he turned to Haws and Proctor. “Get those RPOs back in service. As many as you can. You have thirty minutes.”
Haws grumbled an affirmative, and barked some orders to a few ops midshipmen to assist them. Granger strode over to the fighter command terminal. “Is Commander Pierce back from Lunar Base yet?” he asked the Lieutenant CAG sitting in for him.
“Aye, sir.”
“How many fighters are still in service?”
“Twenty-three, sir.”
Damn. Twenty-three out of eighty-two. They were effectively going to be a sitting duck, unless they could manage to convert some of the fighters that had been turned into simulators back into fighting craft.
He spun around to Proctor who was huddled over a terminal with Commander Haws, discussing the RPOs. “Proctor, tell me about the
fighters. The simulators. How much were they altered?” He wanted to say, how much did you screw them over, but thought better of it.
“All live ordnance removed, and their power plants are all decommissioned. But other than that just some software upgrades.”
Granger squinted at her. “Define decommissioned.”
“The fuel cores have all been removed and the initiator matrices are all cold.”
Dammit.
“Fine. Let Haws handle the RPOs. You get down to the fighter bay and assist Commander Pierce in getting all those birds back into operational status. You have one hour.”
“All of them up and running in an hour? But that’s—”
“Crazy? Unrealistic? I’m sorry, Commander, but I didn’t set that particular deadline. The Swarm did.”
Proctor closed her mouth, frowned, and nodded. “Understood.” She rushed out the door, sweeping past another woman entering the bridge.
“Cap’n, what’s going on?” said Commander Rayna Scott. She didn’t have her characteristic smudged coveralls on but rather the dress uniform, having come straight from the decommissioning ceremony.
“Swarm.” He paused, watching her blue eyes enlarge. She opened her mouth, and closed it. “I need my engines, Rayna. What’s our status?”
“How soon?”
“One hour.”
She didn’t move, but her eyes flashed back and forth, as if reading some imaginary computer terminal in front of her face. After a moment she snapped back to attention. “You got it, Cap’n.”
“Good girl,” he murmured as she too rushed out the doors without another word.
What next? They had one hour to get a decommissioned battle cruiser, which hadn’t seen a day of real action in over seventy years, ready for the fight of its life. He breathed deep and closed his eyes, ignoring the sharp pain stabbing into his lungs. Dammit, not now, he thought, noting the pain had increased since the morning.
But no time to worry about himself. He had a crew to lead. A ship to protect.
A world to save.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Earth’s Moon
Captain’s Quarters, ISS Winchester
“I thought you told me their fleet would stop at Jupiter, shoot the place up, and leave? What the hell are they doing? Straight towards Earth! They’re heading straight towards the damn Earth!” Vice President Isaacson’s hands were sweating, which didn’t help as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Ambassador Volodin was seated at the computer terminal in the captain’s quarters, which Captain Day of the Winchester had given up to his VIP guest. He frantically punched keys and commands, trying to backdoor his way into the Winchester’s meta-space communications transmitter.
“I don’t know. They should have stopped. They should have turned around.” Volodin motioned for Isaacson. “Here. Enter your credentials. If you do it, IDF will never know we accessed the system.”
Isaacson snapped his head towards Volodin. “How do you know that?”
“We know a lot of things, Mr. Vice President. Hurry.”
Isaacson keyed in his credentials, and the access to the meta-space system popped up on the screen. “Is it too late to make them turn around? Do they commit to a target once they engage?”
“I don’t know.” Volodin took out a personal datapad and scrolled through it. Finding what he was looking for, he began tapping a message into the meta-space transmitter. “But I know the pattern that subverts their link to the homeworld. If we can disrupt their current mandate and replace it with something else, like a basic command that says return home, then we may be in the clear.”
Isaacson paced the room, looking up at Volodin every few minutes. He perused the captain’s bookcase and framed pictures, recognizing Fleet Admiral Zingano in one, shaking Captain Day’s hand in front of the IDF flag. “Well?”
“The message went out a few minutes ago. No reply yet.”
“They reply?”
“Yes,” said Volodin. “When we first disrupted their meta-space link a decade ago, we were as surprised as you. The Swarm had never replied to any of our attempts to communicate during the war. Not once. But when we first subverted the link, they not only replied, but acknowledged receipt of instructions. They obeyed. That was unthinkable, but when we directed them to hollow out a particularly large asteroid in the Beta Ceti system as a test, and they complied, finishing within days, well”—he looked up from the terminal—“that was when we believed it, and started to plan for how to use it.”
“Why didn’t the Russian government inform IDF about this?” Isaacson demanded. “We’re talking about a species that nearly wiped out Earth.”
Volodin sniffed. “Same reason IDF didn’t share smart-steel technology with the Russian Confederation. You don’t trust us. Never have. And when we found the aliens were not monsters, that they could be reasoned with, we believed we’d found our ally. Or, at least, a counterbalance to IDF influence out in the colonial sectors.”
“Counterbalance? Reasoned with? I thought you controlled them.”
“After a fashion, yes. But they still have will, and intelligence. After the initial test, where they hollowed out the asteroid for us, they required an exchange of knowledge. So they sent us schematics for better gravity field emitters, allowing our ships to sustain greater changes in inertia.”
Isaacson didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. “And what did you give them?”
“The Russian Academy of Science is at the forefront of quantum field technology. We taught them how our fusion cores use artificial nano-singularities. Increases our fusion efficiency by some five hundred percent over IDF’s. Seemed like a fair trade for their inertial compensators.”
“And how do you know that they’re not going to just turn around and use the tech on us? What makes you think they’re suddenly tame?”
“I told you, Eamon, we’ve been controlling them for years. The exchange happened nearly a decade ago, and in all that time they’ve never been anything other than docile and cooperative.”
A binary code flashed up on the screen, and Volodin tapped out an instruction for the computer to decode it into characters.
His face drained white.
“What does it say?” Isaacson yelled, pushing Volodin aside to look at the screen.
Only two words comprised the translated message.
You die.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Earth’s Moon
Bridge, ISS Constitution
“Lieutenant Diaz, get on the horn to Lunar Base. Find out what the status is of the civilian evacuation, and when we leave to escort the civilian fleet.”
“Aye, sir.”
Granger strode around the central command console to sidle up to his XO. “Where are we at, Abe?”
The old XO grumbled. “Tim, it’s going to take a lot longer than one hour to get all these RPOs operational.”
The captain pointed at the readiness summary on the console. “Focus on the lower-hanging fruit. Get as many as you can operational before the hour is up. And that’s just the time it’ll take the Swarm to arrive at Lunar Base. By then we’ll be escorting the civvies back to Earth, so we’ve got a little more time than that.”
“You think the ships we’ve got assembled here can stop them?”
Granger paused. “Who knows? CENTCOM is q-jumping a few more ships in from Earth, so Lunar Base is not exactly a sitting duck. And the base itself is not lightly armed either. They’ll put up a hell of a fight. If all goes well, we may not even need all these RPOs and fighters.”
The XO grunted. “Yeah, but if it doesn’t, I can’t imagine what one more ship will do to them if they decide to continue on towards Earth. Especially if that one ship is the Constitution.”
“She’ll hold,” said Granger, patting the console. “Hell, I’ll wager she’ll hold together better than most of those new ships IDF has pumped out in the last fifty years. Ten meters of tungsten shielding ain’t nothing to
sniff at. Those new ships have barely a twentieth of that, and it’s all made of that new smart-steel. The stuff is supposed to be stronger than anything, but only if the computers are working.”
“What happens when the computers go down?” Haws glanced up at him sideways.
“The electron energy orbitals in the smart-steel are regulated by a central processing unit. Or some physics shit like that. Makes it a thousand times stronger than regular steel, and far more than that for short periods of time in anticipated impact zones. All I remember from my briefing is that if the computers go down, or if the attacker knows the quantum modulation patterns, the smart-steel becomes very, very dumb.”
“I can’t imagine CENTCOM would have cleared smart-steel to be used in starships if it’s not safe.”
Granger eyed his XO. “Abe, we’re talking about the same CENTCOM that has agreed with the Eagleton Commission about the need to strip down the fleet. I’m not sure I’d put all my faith in their judgement these days.”
His XO’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think the fleet is at risk?”
“Of course it’s at risk. Whether it’s at existential risk remains to be seen.”
Lieutenant Diaz raised his head towards the captain. “Sir, Lunar Base reports that most of the civilian transports are loaded and ready for evac.”
“How many?”
Diaz glanced at his display. “Most of the political delegation came on the Winchester, but we’ve also got the Roadrunner, the asteroid mining ship Redeye One, and the Rainbow, along with a handful of merchant and industrial freighters that requested our escort back to Earth. The total caravan should be fourteen ships.”
Fourteen ships. That’s a lot to defend.
“Available armaments on any of them?”
“Negative, sir,” said Diaz, with a downward glance.
Granger sucked in a painful breath, careful to let his face remain steadfast. “Very well. We go to escort duty with the caravan we’ve got.” He stood up and called back to Diaz as he passed through the doors to the bridge. “Lieutenant, inform me immediately when all ships report ready. I’ll be in the fighter bay.”
