“Indeed.”
She had tuned the analyzer as broad as practicable to capture any unusual readings across the spectrum. Now it was capturing exactly that.
The primary spectrum display updated every two seconds with a measurement of amplitude over frequencies ranging from 0.01 Hz to 1030 Hz. It showed a deeply concave shape, featuring strong peaks at both extremes and a severe dip along the middle, except for a narrow but massive spike in the upper terahertz range. Every update saw the peaks grow in power.
Below the primary a smaller display mapped the measurements over time. It showed a continual series of deep red, light orange and purple spikes—precise, well-defined and increasing in a perfect linear function as they drew closer.
He dropped his hands to the headrest and leaned into her chair. “Okay. The two extremes are the signals we already knew about, right?”
“The lowest band is in fact our mystery TLF. But I filtered out the gamma flare and synchrotron radiation on account of them being so noisy. I wanted to be able to spot new anomalies. And it seems I have.”
“The gamma wave really isn’t from the pulsar?”
“Nope. And it’s a harmonic partial of the TLF wave.”
“What’s the source of the terahertz?”
“No idea.”
His voice dropped low and acquired a carefully measured tenor. “Alex, slow down.”
“Why, you want to see if the rate of increase slows?”
“No, I’m sure it will. I want you to slow down because I think we should approach more cautiously.”
“Right….” She decelerated to half speed. To neither of their surprise, the sequential graph increases slowed proportionally.
“You think the signals are artificial.”
“I do.”
“You know a number of astronomical phenomena produce very exact, fixed waves, including pulsars.” As she spoke, she sent the terahertz and gamma bands to new screens of their own. At the greater detail the level of fidelity was astonishing.
“Uh-huh. Is the dampener field on?”
“It is. But I can probably kick the power up a bit.”
“Strikes me as a good idea.”
She glanced up at him. He had again moved to lean nonchalantly against the half-wall to the cockpit, one ankle thrown over the other, the picture of casual interest. But the rapid twitching of the muscles in his now rigid jaw and the steady flexing of his left hand told another story.
For the first time in days, he radiated dangerous. She didn’t feel threatened, not by him—which was interesting. Yet he clearly felt threatened by whatever lurked in front of them.
She shifted her attention back to the viewport. Her direct line of sight was free of HUD screens so she would have an unobstructed visual of their course. “The clouds look to be thinning out. We may get a glimpse of something interesting soon.”
Three minutes later the nebular clouds didn’t just thin out, they effectively evaporated away—
“Holy mother of god….”
She threw the ship in full reverse to slide backward into some measure of cover while diverting all non-critical power not being used by the radiation shielding to the dampener field. The lights in the cabin dimmed and the temperature control could be heard shutting off.
Then she sank into the chair, instinctively reaching up to grasp Caleb’s hand as it landed on her shoulder. He didn’t let go; neither did she.
A halo of thick clouds—similar in color to the gold and blue of the Nebula but of a distinct form and illuminated from within—roiled like a thunderstorm billowing forth out of…nothing.
The halo framed a ring of seamlessly smooth metal the color of lustrous tungsten-carbide and perhaps a hundred meters in width. The ring itself spanned more than a kilometer in diameter. Its interior was filled by a luminescent, rippling pool of pale gold plasma.
Emerging from the pool was a ship. It was approximately halfway through—which they could tell because it was plainly evident the vessel was identical to the other seventy plus ships filling the space beyond the ring.
Each ship was twice again as large as any human-made dreadnought. Made of an inky black material and laced with bright red fluorescents, they resembled nothing so much as mythological titans of the underworld.
Behind the columns of dreadnoughts were a dozen ships of a different style. Less angular yet still unmistakably synthetic, these ships were long and cylindrical and were woven through with pulsing yellow-to-red filaments. One end expanded to become a claw-like structure, out of which hundreds…no, thousands of small craft streamed.
The small ships were almost insectile in form. Multiple—at least eight or nine—spindly arms appeared to be comprised of a material similar to the dreadnoughts. Yet this material was pliable, for the arms twisted and writhed around a glowing red core. The craft poured out of the birthing ships then flew to the dreadnoughts and docked into their hulls in tight lines.
It was a caricature of the most extreme ‘space monster’ horror films popular in the early days of space exploration. Vids had made millions capitalizing on worries of what fearsome and powerful aliens may be encountered in the void of space. As humanity continued to expand, they never encountered such aliens—or any aliens at all—and in time the fad had passed.
But now they were here.
Her voice trembled at a whisper; she didn’t seem to have enough breath for proper speech. “What is this?”
His was lower and darker, though not much stronger. “It’s an invasion.”
The dreadnought finished emerging from the pool of light and began moving toward the end of the flawless columned formation as the nose of yet another ship broke through the plasma.
She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat. “Where are they coming from? The ring’s obviously artificial, but the interior doesn’t look like a black hole, or a white one. It looks…no, that would be impossible.”
He squeezed her hand; she wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it. “I think we’ve fairly well redefined ‘impossible’ today already.”
“Ha. Yeah. Okay. It reminds me of conceptual drawings of a brane intersection—a dimensional border.”
“Wow. And I thought I’d learned to expect anything.”
She worried at her lower lip. “Regardless, it’s clearly a portal of some kind. I wonder what’s on the other side.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say they are. You’re recording all this, right?”
She spared him a smirk. “Visual and every band since we arrived.”
He spared her a smile. “Of course you are.”
She stared at the mouth of one of the birthing vessels, watching in fascinated horror as the spidery ships spewed forth. Extrapolating from the apparent number docking on each dreadnought, there must be at least half a million of them—and their generation showed no sign of slowing. A quick scale overlay confirmed while they appeared tiny against the dreadnoughts, each one was nearly the size of the Siyane.
His grip on her shoulder tightened. “We need to go, before they notice we’re here. We have to warn someone.”
“We have to warn everyone.”
PART III:
RECURSION
“I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act;
but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act.”
— G. K. Chesterton
28
SENECA
CAVARE, SENECAN FEDERATION HEADQUARTERS
* * *
“SO IT’S WAR, THEN.”
Chairman Vranas didn’t scan the room to search for confirmation. Or if he did, it wasn’t with sufficient flair as to be noticeable. From his seat at one end of the long oak table taking up most of the room, he likely could assess the inclinations of the others without so much as a shift of his gaze.
The Senecan Federation government prided itself on being efficient, utilitarian, tasteful and modest—quite deliberately everything the Earth Alliance
bureaucracy was not. As such, the conference room was large enough to hold the conference table at which conferences took place. No more, no less. Its walls were lined with sophisticated EM shields and assorted flourishes, but as they were hidden away they didn’t spoil the image of minimalistic functionality.
Vranas notched his chin upward in a show of confidence. “We can’t allow the Alliance to paint us as weak—not when we are stronger than ever. Twenty-two years ago we matched them on the field of battle and won our freedom. Today we are far more capable. Today we possess the capability to achieve unconditional victory. Field Marshal Gianno?”
The head of the Military Council nodded brusquely; she also wasn’t one to waste effort on unnecessary motions, albeit for different reasons. “The presumed source of the Palluda attack force is the Alliance base on Arcadia. We’ve finalized a plan to destroy the base and cripple their short-range incursion capabilities. Authorize the operation, and we can engage within twelve hours.”
“Arcadia is a large, established colony. It will be heavily defended, won’t it?”
Gianno gave a condescending glance in the direction of the Parliament Minority Leader while not actually turning her head. The Senator had a reputation as an alarmist, typically with little justification to back up the accompanying histrionics.
“Of course it will be, which is why we’re dispatching the entire 3rd Wing of the Southern Fleet. The offensive will be swift, massive and overwhelming. It will immediately weaken their ability to launch attacks into Federation territory, as their next closest base is another kiloparsec away—and it borders far more fortified space.” Her tone broadcast not annoyance, but rather disappointment at having to explain what she meant by ‘crippling their short-range incursion capabilities.’ The Senator remained oblivious to the implied insult.
The Chairman smiled, the corners of his mouth so nearly reaching his ears he could be accused of preening. “A clear show of force will send an unmistakable message that the Senecan Federation is not to be trifled with.”
“They’ll declare war on us for certain after an attack of such magnitude!” The Minority Leader’s voice had already risen to a keening level.
“Certainly. But they will be the ones who do so. We are merely responding to an incursion and assault upon one of our colonies. It will be the Alliance who starts the war—a fact we will not allow anyone to forget. Marshal, the operation is authorized.”
Graham Delavasi cringed and didn’t bother to hide it. “So…what is our ultimate objective? Say we kick their asses all the way back to Earth—what then? We take over? Is that what we want? Because I was under the impression we wanted to minimally govern a loose association of worlds by mandating a core set of democratic principles and capitalistic standards—or was it just me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have no intention to take over ruling the Alliance. We shall simply defeat them convincingly enough to cow them into not committing aggression against us again.”
“Oh, I see.” He ran a hand through too-bushy hair; he had found it was uniquely suited for such tics. “Well, not as if anyone cares at this point, but my assets within the Alliance report the highest levels of the bureaucracy are in a state of confusion. No one can figure out who authorized the Palluda attack, and no one is stepping up to take responsibility. They’re trying to keep the discord under wraps lest the government appear weak—but it seems all is not well in the Brennon administration.”
The Chairman shrugged. “It hardly matters. Alliance forces came onto our soil and attacked a peaceful colony, and that cannot stand. All the better if their leadership is squabbling amongst itself. We may be able to win this war in short order.”
He bit back an annoyed sigh. Vranas had been a mid-ranking senator during the Crux War and spent his time serving on commerce committees and the like. A week ago he had been championing the virtues of peace; now he was rattling sabers. Though an assertive, confident leader, the man knew almost nothing of the military, and like many politicians had a case of selective amnesia when it came to the ugly realities of war.
Graham had fought in the war, spending two years leading stealth tactical interdiction squads behind enemy lines. It was an experience which had led him to jump on the intelligence post offered at the war’s conclusion. Combat was messy, violent, terrifying, costly and tragic—truths few people at the table appreciated.
These days much of the ‘fighting’ occurred between ships at a distance of megameters from their targets, making it even easier for noncombatants to lose sight of the underlying reality. Especially politicians. They viewed war as a sterile and clean affair, a remote non-sensory circus performance holding little in the way of real consequences.
Nevertheless, he held his tongue. His post earned him some influence and his blunt manner was common knowledge—but he was far from the most powerful person in a room filled with powerful people. Instead he watched as the Chairman straightened up in his chair and nodded perfunctorily, a signal the Cabinet meeting was drawing to a close.
“We will not issue a statement until the operation on Arcadia is complete, at which point I plan to address the media and explain the necessity of removing this blatant threat to Federation security. If as expected the Alliance subsequently issues a declaration of war, then—and only then—will we reciprocate. Senators, I assume the Parliament will be in a position to pass a counter-declaration swiftly when the time comes?”
The Majority and Minority Leaders each indicated agreement.
“Thank you everyone for coming. Dismissed.”
EARTH
VANCOUVER, EASC HEADQUARTERS
* * *
Miriam found Alamatto sitting placidly at his desk, shoulders squared and head high as he performed a stellar imitation of reviewing materials on said desk. Her entry had doubtless been announced sufficiently in advance for him to compose himself.
“Admiral, what can I do—”
“Close the door.”
If he took offense at what was clearly an order, he gave no indication. It wasn’t insubordination, strictly speaking; he may be her boss but he did not outrank her. The door slid shut in a faint whirr.
She motioned him silent with a terse slash of her hand. “You and I have our differences, but I’ve consistently respected your military judgment. If anything I’ve found it too conservative. But this is beyond the pale. How could you authorize such an action?”
“I di—”
“We killed children, Price! I recognize why you saw fit not to inform me of your intentions, as I would have objected in the most strenuous terms—”
“Miriam, I didn’t authorize the strike.”
“I am not gullible, Price. Neither am I a fool.”
All the air left his lungs in a laborious breath; with it his shoulders sagged and carefully fabricated expression collapsed. Stripped of the poise, he appeared a beaten man, small in the oversized chair. “I swear to you—I did not authorize the strike.”
Her head tilted a mere fraction. “There is no one else who could authorize such an action.”
He forced out a jittery laugh and gazed up at her. She had not availed herself of any of the chairs opposite his desk, and the height advantage added to the impression she was now in charge here. It was not an inaccurate impression.
“The Prime Minister can. Arguably. At least he retains a Statement of Position from his Attorney General saying he can.”
Her mouth descended into a small frown at that. “Brennon? He has no military experience—why would he keep you out of the loop?”
“Maybe because he knows, like you, I would object. He’s denying responsibility, though he doesn’t need to. But who else is there?”
“Defense Minister Mori might counsel Brennon to take this sort an action, but he wouldn’t stick his neck out so far as to attempt it himself.” She paced along the front of his desk, hands clasped behind her back. “Have you considered the possibility we’re dealing with renegade officers further down th
e chain of command?”
He sank lower into the chair. “Oh, Miriam….”
“You know there are segments of the officer corps who continue to harbor significant animosity toward the Federation.”
“I’ve always counted you among them.”
She made it a point to keep her personal feelings separate from her professional judgment, to project an impression of objectivity. She liked to think she was in fact objective. Still, the world expected her to harbor a degree of animosity toward the Federation, and it had not been difficult to oblige them.
“In some respects I am. But I am also a realist. I’ve seen the costs of war and do not desire to repeat them. And I would never provoke a war by blowing up a school full of children, thereby painting us as the evildoer from the start.”
“Technically they provoked it with the assassination.”
A dismissive wave landed in his general direction. “An assassination of a mid-level diplomat is hardly reason enough to start a galactic war. Sanctions for certain, perhaps a blockade—but not war. However, others may have seen it as an opportunity to right old wrongs. Others who are more hot-headed than rational.” Unlike me went unsaid. “It is possible the assassination spurred such individuals to take matters into their own hands.”
“Rogue officers—even entire units—committing offensive operations without authorization because they’re angry? What a disaster….”
He went over to his cabinet, poured a glass of water and gulped down half of it, then scowled at the glass as if he had expected it to provide something far stronger. “It will look like I can’t control my own officers, like I’m unable to command discipline and obedience from the rank and file. Brennon will have my head.”
And he should, because you cannot. Price had invariably proven a weak leader, too eager to foster harmony and accord and unwilling to make the difficult decisions or stand behind them on the rare occasions when he did. It was a management style which had served him well enough in a time of peace, yet was wholly unsuitable for the discord which marched in lockstep with armed conflict.
Starshine: Aurora Rising Book One Page 23
