The Belt Loop_Book 3_End of an Empire

by Robert B. Jones

  “Helm, aye. Coming about through one eight zero, down angle at four seven, making her centerline for zero degrees.”

  Excellent. Looking down the maw of a dormant volcano. If the main group wanted to attack, they would do so immediately. Once the Christi pointed her bow at the distant ships, the helmsman eased her to a full stop. Now, Yorn thought, all he had to do was wait and see what their next move was going to be.

  He was liking his captaincy so far. Colonial Navy: one; Varson Empire: honey-dip.

  * * *

  “Whoa!” Captain Dent said. “Looks like we’ve stumbled into a little skirmish, boys and girls. Mister Decker, what can you tell me about that group of ships at our two four three?”

  “Not much, sir. We tracked back from that single galleon and found eleven ships just going red from the fold, plus a half-dozen tenders. Looks like they were forming up for a fucking parade down to Wilkes. Two of their boats are heading this way for a look see. Judging by the goddamned laser sandwich that first ship just ate, seems like the full course meal is waiting for somebody to ring the dinner bell,” Commander Will Decker said with a pronounced mixture of down-home euphemisms and salty language befitting his ancestors.

  “Just the way I would have described it, Number One. Maintain battle stations until we can figure this crap-shoot out. Admiral Pauls is on the way. Maybe we get him to talk to that Haad character and find out what the hell’s going on. I know these guys have been fighting for over ten or twelve years for ownership of this part of the OC arm, but I had no idea the cavemen had ships and weapons capable of destroying planets.”

  “Well, looks like they didn’t bring enough beef to the slaughter. Unless I missed my guess, those Varson ships are outclassed and now outnumbered. This might be fun to watch, sir.”

  The shrill notes from the bosun’s mate piped the admiral onto the huge bridge. He ordered his men to stand at ease and made his way down the wide-tread, shallow-riser steps and settled in the flag chair to the left of Captain Dent. “What’ve you got, captain?” Pauls asked in a raspy voice attenuated by vocal cords strained by cigar-smoke damage.

  Dent brought him up to speed in four short declaratory sentences. Then he swiped his console and replayed the original message from Admiral Haad that had prompted him to call for battle stations.

  “We’ve landed right in the middle of a fire-fight. How many ships are still in the fold?” the admiral wanted to know.

  “Sixty-three. The tail end of the group, the tenders, will start coming through in about forty minutes. In an hour an a half we’ll be assembled and ready to proceed,” Captain Dent said.

  “As tempting as it may seem, captain, we are to remain neutral in this present skirmish. We fire only if fired upon. Is that clear?”

  Before Captain Dent could reply, something rocked the flagship at the same time his XO yelled “Incoming!” at the top of his lungs.

  PART SEVEN: End Of An Empire

  Chapter 43

  Whatever had prompted Bale Phatie to order his two ships to open up on the WIN Fleet may go down in Malguurian history as one of the boldest moves in the pageant of warfare. In his mind, it was an impulsive act of defiance; in the minds of his crew on the bridge of the Decimator, it was regarded differently. The fine line between defiance and stupidity was not clearly defined for the Malguurian Navy and the collective jaws that had dropped on the bridge could have altered the ship’s center of gravity.

  “Ships continuing to unfold, my eminence. Four boats leaving the formation in pursuit of the Hellfire and the Plunderer. I don’t recognize the markings they transmitted to our CIC, but, those ships are cloaked in some way. Their hulls pulsate, their configurations change at will!” Mister Heevie was bouncing up and down on his chair as he reported the feeds from the two ships sent to investigate the new threat.

  A disheartened Bale Phatie waved him off. He was slumped in the captain’s chair watching the forward screen. What had started out as a mission of conquest, a mission of retribution was quickly turning into a nightmare. Faced with fire from two fronts, he had impulsively angered the unfolding armada and now he had to act.

  Phatie stood, rearranged his cape, his sword, his sidearm. Regaining some of his bravado, he said, “Mister Yaggaar, plot a course for Rauud Mithie. As a matter of fact, alert all commands. We are departing this space immediately. Give me maximum power, take us to the jump threshold, adjust your course as we accelerate away. Put as much distance between us and that new armada as you can. Do not concern yourself with the trailing ships, they will follow our plume.”

  The helmsman acknowledged the orders and the lights on the bridge dimmed slightly as massive electrical energy shifted aft to the engine room.

  “Sir, what of Admiral Regiid? He is awaiting your attention,” Lieutenant Manciir said. Phatie looked around. The former bridge commander was on his knees between two members of the Piru Torgud’s personal guard. His hands were bound and his sash had been removed. Unadorned and disgraced, Regiid looked as if he would welcome a swift and merciful death. Admiral Onduure looked on with indifference. Ultimately, all senior Uurgud — Admiralty — officers could expect similar treatment from this madman, Onduure thought.

  “Stand him up,” Phatie said, as he approached.

  The guards pulled Regiid to his feet. Phatie moved to within a meter of the officer and let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword. In the background, Mister Yaggaar counted down the minutes to the fold threshold. Reports from the science and comm alcoves crackled and squawked on multiple speakers. Phatie was oblivious to everything around him. Right now, at this precise moment, he had questions he needed answered, questions no one else in his battle group could possibly fathom.

  “We have two options. Do we have a way of detonating the planet killer in space?” Phatie’s query was followed by a few seconds of deadly quiet. Manciir shifted his weight from foot to foot. Geedin said nothing. “What are the dangers should this ship take fire? Will that weapon detonate aboard this ship without first having the proximity trigger activated?”

  Regiid was taken aback. These technical questions coming from the Piru Torgud, the man who, up until this point, had shunned any and all attempts to familiarize himself with technical details regarding any of the ships’ systems or weapons. “That depends. If the weapon takes a direct hit from laser fire, and the magnetic containment ring ruptures and releases the antimatter, it could destroy everything in this entire region of space. In answer to your first question, I don’t think the device can be triggered without atmosphere. The trigger is barometric.”

  Phatie rolled the information around the inside of his skull. He looked over his right shoulder at the blister. The aft feeds showed his two trailing scout ships being overtaken by the new chameleon ships from the armada they had fired upon. The fools were leading the pursuers straight for his formation, his remaining ships struggling to make speed for the fold.

  “Just as I thought,” he finally said, turning back to Regiid. “What if we jettison the missile, leave it behind when we hit the fold. Use our aft guns to pierce the containment bottle just before we make the jump?”

  Regiid thought for a second. It was a risky move. Not only would targeting be a problem, but the doppler ripple in the departing ships’ wakes would severely distort the trailing fire. He figured it would be akin to trying to hit a fly between the eyes with a target pistol in the middle of a hurricane from a million kilometers away. With your eyes closed. “Yes, eminence. That scenario is entirely feasible,” Regiid lied. “I can magnetically attach a marker buoy to the missile’s hull. The transmitter will make it easier for our computers to target the weapon.”

  Phatie gritted his teeth and slowly removed his ceremonial sword. On the forward blister, the first of the two retreating ships erupted into a ball of light blue flame that quickly turned orange in its center. The pursuers had deliberately targeted the lead ship of the pair and opened her up like a tin can of smoked fish. The second ship sailed right throug
h the debris cloud from the first ship, hitting shrapnel at over 122,000 kph. The Hellfire suffered massive damage as the white-hot remnants of her sister ship tore through her energy fields, her hull, her sailors, like birdshot through a climbing pigeon.

  Phatie raised his sword in a two-handed grip. Regiid closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of the razor-sharp blade to whisper in his ears. Instead he heard a ringing snick as the tip of the blade cut the bonds on his hands. The point of the sword had passed less than a millimeter from his exposed torso and what was left of his uniform tunic parted and fell away from his shoulders.

  “I have given you a reprieve, Regiid. Get down to the weapons bay and prepare to jettison that missile. Admiral Onduure, work out the details. I want that missile left in a spot between that new fleet and our jump point. Spread out our destroyers on the Decimator’s flanks as we proceed to the fold. Once we are a minute from safety, order our destroyers to fire at the enemy ships; that action will make them chase us. Ten seconds before we disappear, all ships will shift their fire to the marker buoy on the planet killer. When that missile detonates, we will be in folded space, spread wide and headed home.”

  Admiral Onduure pounded his chest and headed for the CIC. Regiid was hauled away for his new assignment. Manciir furiously entered the latest events into his reader.

  Only Mister Yaggaar kept his attention focused on the helm and the speed indicators.

  “Dyson threshold in seventeen minutes, sir,” Yaggaar said into the tension-laden air.

  “Steady as she goes, Mister Yaggaar,” Phatie said.

  * * *

  “Definitely Varson, sir,” Captain Yorn said. “I think we got her before she had a chance to transmit. Of course, now they know we’re here.”

  “Roger, captain,” Admiral Haad said without emotion. “That part couldn’t have been avoided. But, now, we have a different problem. The Varson sent two scouts to the WIN Fleet and the idiots fired on the formation. They’re making deliberate speed away from the newcomers and I would venture a guess they’re trying to fold out of here.”

  “I agree, admiral. Maybe we just thwarted an attack on Wilkes. This has the same strategic profile: come in fast, deliver a bomb and high-tail it back to home port. Should we pursue them?”

  “Negative on the pursuit. Looks like our friends are doing that as we speak. Rejoin the group, Captain Yorn.”

  “Aye, sir. Christi, out.”

  “Mister Hansen, open a channel to the North America. I need to communicate with her commander.”

  Max Hansen slid her hands down her control stack and confirmed the link. “Captain Dent awaits your transmission, sir,” she informed the admiral.

  “Captain Dent, this is Admiral Haad. May I ask what your intentions are regarding the intruders.”

  There was a thirty-second delay due to distance. The thin crackle of background static was replaced with white-noise carrier. “I have sent four attack boats after the aggressors. Both have been destroyed, admiral. Twenty ships are breaking formation to go after the main group of ships. I don’t know how your guys handle things like this, sir, but Admiral Pauls does not tolerate any breaches of the peace. They fired first, and we’re taking appropriate action in return. Are these the jokers that blew up your base on Canno?”

  “One and the same, captain. Relay my thanks to Admiral Pauls. I’m requesting you share the departing azimuths to my mainframe. We have to go after them beyond the fold. I have been authorized to take this battle group into the Varson Domain should the opportunity present itself.”

  Haad watched his screens as he waited for his reply. The tiny blue-white plumes of the departing Varson flotilla showed as a tight open-cluster of fourteen or fifteen artificial stars diminishing in size, the light twinkling through the rippling heat of their departure.

  “Standby one, Admiral Haad. The boss would like to have a word.”

  More static. Forty-five seconds later Dent’s voice was replaced by a raspy grumble. “Greetings, Admiral Haad. This is Vice Admiral Andrew Pauls. Looks like we arrived just in time. Our long-range analysis of the intruder group shows them to be making speed toward a jump. Their signatures reveal somewhat antiquated drive technology, I’m guessing something akin to a Dyson-II. If you can supply me with the astrometry for their defined worlds, I’ll pass it down to my navigation shack. I’ll need all of their worlds, admiral.”

  Haad started transmitting as soon as the last word left Pauls’s mouth. “Can do, admiral. I should warn you, however, the Varson Domain is vast. Lately we’ve even discovered a seventh world of theirs, on the outskirts of the Fringes, thousands of light-years away. What do you intend to do, sir?”

  “Admiral Haad, sir. Varson flotilla dropped something. Metal canister of some kind, pinging away on two zero four point eight,” Mister Richard said from the science alcove. “No proper motion, turning over at point six six revolutions per minute. Looks like a mine, sir. Or a bomb.”

  “Once we plot the stars into our astrogation program, the computers will do the rest. I plan to pursue them to the fold with twenty destroyers, but not follow them in. Just to make sure they don’t come about and renew their dangerous game. Once we work out transit times, we will depart Wilkes space and go after them,” Admiral Pauls said.

  Haad informed the North America of the latest gambit by the retreating Varson ships. “Looks like they’ve dropped off a load, sir. Standby for coordinates,” Haad said.

  During the next minutes, the computers aboard the two flagships took over the conversation. The Kona Coast sent the WIN Fleet all of the astrometry on the Varson Empire and the coordinates for the device spinning in the retreating ships’ wake.

  “Data received, Admiral Haad. Standby,” Captain Dent said.

  Haad looked at his blister and punched up maximum magnification. He could just barely make out the plumes of the speeding Varson flotilla. They were nearing fold threshold speeds.

  “Analysis of the device left behind by your friends shows it to be a crude, but effective, antimatter bomb. I have ordered my ships to stop pursuit and concentrate and extend their Higgs Fields around that device. The overlapping energy fields should be capable of containing that thing should they try to remote detonate it,” Captain Dent said.

  Antimatter bomb! Haad finally understood what had happened on Canno. The bastards had exploded an antimatter device in her atmosphere and the resulting annihilation had destroyed over one quarter of the planet’s surface. The full extent of the Varsons revenge tour was finally evident. They had been planning to destroy Wilkes!

  “Roger, Captain Dent. We’ll hold this position until you have your ships on station around that device,” Haad said.

  “Acknowledged, Kona Coast. We estimate they’ll be hitting the fold in two point two mikes. Sit back and enjoy the show,” Dent said, then signed off.

  Haad stood and watched the twenty WIN ships surround the planet killer.

  Then the circling ships started taking fire from the retreating Varsons.

  Haad cursed to himself. The bastards were trying to set the damned thing off!

  Chapter 44

  When Bale Phatie ordered his retreating ships to open fire on the planet killer device, the resulting light show lit up the space around the circling WIN ships. As they extended their Higgs Fields to encompass the spinning Varson bomb two of the ships took grazing hits from the incoming barrage. Most of the laser fire was absorbed by the energy fields but the WINS Madagascar took a direct hit across her aft port quarter as she was running into position. The concentrated laser fire was strong enough to push her Higgs back into her port flank and the ship spun out of control in a spinning head-over-heels, aft-over-bow loop. Another WIN ship quickly covered the breach in the forming enclosure. As the enemy fire increased in intensity the collective defensive shields glowed with pulsating electrical energy, cascading from blue-white down through the greens and yellows, finally settling on an angry reddish-orange glow. The ships closed the energy sphere and the c
ombined fields proved strong enough to dissipate the Varson barrage.

  The Madagascar continued its pinwheeling exit from the central core group and when it was well away from the device one of its hull plates gave way. A portion of her camouflaging ceramic tiles peeled away silently and once the electrical circuit powering the individual tiles was interrupted, she lost her reflective capabilities. Sparks danced along her flank and more of the tiles started to spin away, trailing cables and wires and a network of meshed connectors too small to see with the naked eye.

  Captain Clay fought hard for control. He freed his helm and counted on his helmsman to get the ship back to a stable configuration. The massive centrifuging g-forces were rendering the ship unstable and as the mass amplified in her nose and tail, the spinning became more severe. Clay ordered the bow thrusters to purge their gas load to port, the aft thrusters to dump starboard. The Madagascar shuddered violently; the uncontrollable spinning could not be corrected. She was going to come apart.

  Once the Varson device was surrounded by the remaining nineteen Higgs Fields, Captain Dent ordered the China Sea to burn a small hole in its Higgs and put a zanith laser burst through the device. He made sure the encapsulating ships had maximum containment on their fields. He had his science officer calculate the required energy required to break the electrical bonds of containment and when he heard the resulting number, something on the order of ten to the fiftieth ergs, he gave the order for the China Sea to open fire.

  The spinning missile parted just forward of its thruster cone and split laterally when the laser fire reached the warhead bulge. Instantly and irrevocably the magnetic containment collar ruptured and the antimatter was freed. The ripple of destruction consumed the shell of the weapon at once and a spinning storm of debris coalesced around a dark hole in the middle of the restraining fields. The mini-hurricane of released energy pushed ever outward until it contacted the inner surfaces of the separate fields and excited the electrons to the point of breaking their internal structures. An explosion in an electronic bottle followed by an implosion of nothingness. The storm of charged particles abandoned its spiral arms and collapsed into the central eye and the sudden flash of blue light lit up everything for millions of kilometers around.