Frontiers Saga 12: Rise of the Alliance

by Ryk Brown

  “Put him on my viewer, please,” Nathan instructed. The view screen on the wall of his ready room came to life, revealing President Scott of the North American Union. Nathan felt his heart sink. It had been only a few days since he had last spoken with his father, but he appeared to have aged a decade within that time. His eyes were sunken with dark bags, his hair disheveled, his shirt stained with more than a single day of wear. He swallowed hard. “Sir?”

  “Nathan,” his father said, turning toward the camera to look directly at him. He turned away again, speaking to someone off camera. “Tell them I will speak to them shortly.” He turned his attention back to the camera. “How are you?”

  “I should be asking you that question,” Nathan answered. “Have you gotten any sleep lately?”

  “Not enough, I’m sure. Your sister nags me incessantly on the very same subject.”

  “I was wondering if you had found the time to prepare a list of the resources the Earth needs to help with its recovery?”

  “List?” His father laughed. “A list would be a waste of time. It would be easier to just say ‘everything’.”

  “That bad?”

  “No.” His father hung his head down for a moment. “I suppose if your mother were still alive, she would tell me it could have been worse, although at this point it is difficult to imagine how.” He looked back up at the camera as he continued to speak. “We have the means to rebuild, we even have the resources. What we lack is unity. There is so much chaos… even more so than before, if you can imagine that. The Jung have crippled most of our major infrastructure. People are flocking to those cities whose infrastructures still operate, but in doing so they will only cause them to overload and collapse. Some cities have begun turning away refugees, even shooting them down in the streets in order to continue to provide for their own. Panic is the only common denominator at the moment. It is everywhere. I have given up on trying to convince the masses otherwise. Food, water, shelter… we can only worry about the absolute basics right now. Medical care only exists in pockets… mostly in the major cities that were lucky enough to escape both direct attack and the effects of the fallout. Sewage? Sanitation? They no longer exists in most places, certainly not in Winnipeg. We are lucky enough to have power, but that is being taxed to its limits as well.” The president’s head hung down again. “The worst thing is the smell. The smell of death lingers everywhere.” He raised his head once more as he continued. “Every major population center has set up massive pits outside of the cities in which to burn the dead, but the smell always finds its way back into the city itself.”

  “Do we have any idea how many died?” Nathan wondered.

  “Does it matter?” his father said. “Certainly in the millions. We’ll probably never know for sure.”

  Nathan felt he could hear a million tears in his father’s sigh. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Yes. Just don’t let them hit us again.”

  “That was my plan.”

  “You asked what we needed most, Nathan? We need order. I would declare martial law in a heartbeat, but I have no forces with which to do so. No one does. Those with guns are taking the streets… mostly to take what they need from those who cannot defend what they have. The killing did not stop when you defeated those ships in orbit. It just changed hands.”

  “I have asked for more Ghatazhak,” Nathan told him. “However, I’m not sure how the people of Earth will feel about having them roaming the streets of Earth after the evacuation facility massacre.”

  “Better than the armed thugs that are killing them now.”

  “Perhaps,” Nathan answered. He looked at his father’s weary face. “Please, father, do as Miri asks. Get some rest. You are no good to the people of Earth without a clear head.”

  “Perhaps,” his father answered with a wry smile. “Perhaps.”

  * * *

  “In light of the recent news from Earth, I beg you all to reconsider your timeline,” Casimir pleaded. He scanned the faces of the members of the Takaran Security Council, none of which showed the slightest hint of emotion. Decades of anti-aging serum and the protection of Caius had lulled them all into a sense of invulnerability that he was finding impossible to overcome.

  “Much of Answari itself still lies in ruins,” Lord Dahra said, “and yet you still ask your people to send their resources across the galaxy.”

  “I ask them to honor those who put themselves, and the well-being of their own world, behind that of Takara and the rest of the Pentaurus cluster,” Casimir explained. “I ask them to honor those who gave their very lives in the defeat of Caius…”

  “You have already sent an entire asteroid and a fleet of ancient interceptors toward Sol, my prince,” Lord Dahra interrupted. The nobleman’s eyebrow shot up. “Did you honestly think we were not aware?”

  “I have committed no infraction,” Casimir proclaimed with confidence. “Those efforts were funded by my family’s personal assets, and not those of the people of Takara.”

  “And those assets are rapidly dwindling in size, my prince,” Lord Dahra warned. “Is it worth putting your own house at risk?”

  “Unlike many of you, the claim to my house is by blood, not wealth,” Casimir reminded them.

  “True,” Lord Dahra agreed, “but such claims are defended and maintained by wealth… wealth of which you have precious little remaining.”

  “And power as well,” Prince Casimir corrected.

  “Pardon?”

  “My house is not only protected by the wealth of which I have spent, but it is also protected by power.”

  “And what is this power of which you speak?” Lord Dahra challenged.

  “The Ghatazhak,” Prince Casimir stated coldly.

  Lord Dahra laughed, albeit uncomfortably, a condition which did not go unnoticed by Prince Casimir. “The Ghatazhak belong to the people of Takara, my good prince.”

  “Incorrect. The Ghatazhak were the personal army of my deceased brother, derived from the personal guard of our father before us. They were funded by accounts belonging to the house of Takar.”

  “Whose funds came from taxes collected from the citizens of Takara,” Lord Dahra countered.

  “It matters not where such payment came from,” Casimir insisted, “it matters only whose name they are under, and that name is Takar. Casimir Takar, to be exact.”

  “You risk walking a very fine line, my prince,” Lord Dahra snarled, leaning forward to emphasize his point. “A very fine line, indeed.” The leader of the Parliamentary Security Council leaned back in his chair again to show he was unmoved by Prince Casimir’s threats. “Do you believe that the people of Takara will sit still while you confiscate their greatest defense?”

  “Defense against what?” Casimir wondered aloud. “You have the Avendahl. There is not a ship within one hundred light years that can stand up to her.”

  “The Ghatazhak are sworn to protect the people of Takara!” Lord Dahra demanded.

  For the first time, Lord Dahra let his emotions show. Prince Casimir smiled. “Again, you are incorrect, Lord Dahra. The programming of the Ghatazhak begins with the protection of the house of Takar, not the people of Takara.”

  “Their programming can be changed.”

  “Not without consent of the leader of the house of Takar, and that is me,” Casimir said with a smile.

  Lord Dahra leaned over to his aide to exchange information. After a few moments, he straightened back up to speak. “You have spent the majority of your holdings, and now you intend to commit your personal security forces to a war a thousand light years away. It seems a curiously unsafe position in which to place oneself,” Lord Dahra warned.

  Casimir stood slowly, straightening his tunic before speaking. “Careful who you threaten, Lord Dahra, or the first target assigned the Ghatazhak upon awakening may be your rather pompous backside.” Casimir smiled, looking at the other noblemen gathered around the chamber. “Good day, gentlemen.”

&nb
sp; * * *

  “Twenty seconds to completion of gravity assist maneuver,” Mister Bryant reported. “All systems show ready to jump.”

  “Very well, Mister Bryant,” Commander Dumar answered. “You are clear to jump on schedule.”

  “Sensor contact!” one of the operators announced. “It’s a four zero two.”

  “Comm contact with the four zero two,” the comm officer reported. “Flash traffic from Prince Casimir.”

  “Give him our arrival coordinates and tell him to meet us on the other side,” Mister Bryant ordered as he glanced at the clock. “Ten seconds to jump.” He turned to Commander Dumar. “Can’t very well delay our jump, now can we.”

  Commander Dumar nodded agreement as Mister Bryant verbally counted down the last few seconds.

  “Two……one……jump!”

  There was no jump flash on Karuzara, at least not in the control room. All external cameras were shut down during the jump, as there was no need to visually witness the blinding, blue-white flash of light, especially one large enough to jump the entire Karuzara asteroid. Their only indication that the jump had taken place as scheduled was the momentary spike in the power levels to the jump emitter arrays that encircled the massive hunk of rock that drifted through space.

  “Jump complete,” Mister Bryant announced. “Verify position.”

  “Raising the arrays,” the navigation controller responded.

  “Emitters at zero energy,” the array controller reported.

  “Energy banks also at zero,” the next controller added.

  “Reactors normal.”

  “All systems appear to be nominal,” Mister Bryant stated as he turned toward the commander.

  “Position verified. Less than four hundred kilometer variance.”

  “In what direction?” Commander Dumar demanded.

  “Range only,” the controller responded. “We came out of the jump three hundred ninety-eight kilometers short. We are still on course and speed.”

  “How will that affect our route?”

  “We have buffers built into our route in the form of pauses between jumps,” Mister Bryant assured the commander. “At the speed we are traveling, three hundred ninety-eight kilometers passes in the blink of an eye.”

  “Triple-check our timings,” Commander Dumar ordered, “and find out why we came out short to begin with.”

  “Better short than long, sir,” Mister Bryant said under his breath so that only he and the commander could hear.

  “We still have many jumps ahead of us, Mister Bryant. If we continue to come up short, we will consume those buffer pauses more quickly than you might imagine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Contact!” the sensor operator announced. “It’s the four zero two. They’ve caught up with us.”

  “Message coming in,” the comm officer reported. “Command eyes only.”

  “Send it to my pad,” Commander Dumar ordered.

  “Yes sir.”

  Commander Dumar looked at his data pad as the encrypted message appeared on his screen. He placed his thumb on the screen. A moment later the message decrypted before his eyes, the meaningless jumble of letters, numbers, and symbols morphing into a coherent message. He smiled.

  “Good news?” Mister Bryant inquired.

  “It seems Prince Casimir is finally putting the nobles in their place.”

  “If by their place you mean a prison cell, then that is good news,” Mister Bryant agreed.

  “I said good news, Mister Bryant,” Commander Dumar said as he turned to head to his office, “not wonderful.”

  * * *

  General Bacca’s head still ached from the effects of the sleep chamber. It had taken more than four months for his personal FTL ship to reach the Alpha Centauri system. It was not the longest amount of time he had spent in cryo-sleep, but it left him feeling not himself nonetheless.

  He marched down the corridor toward the battle platform’s command center, escorted by four of the platform’s security guards as well as his own personal aide. They entered the observation mezzanine that ran along the back side of the massive control room. Rows of consoles filled the room below as hundreds of technicians and their supervisory officers monitored every facet of the platform’s operations. It was truly a fortress in space, one that could be moved wherever it was needed. They were the most powerful weapons system that the Jung Empire had ever built, each of them taking decades to construct. It was all part of the empire’s thousand-year plan of galactic dominance, of which they were only a few centuries into.

  “General Bacca,” the admiral greeted as he entered the observation deck to join the general. “I see you escaped the liberation of Earth unharmed?”

  General Bacca looked sternly at the admiral. “Some of us are burdened with greater responsibility than simply fighting to our death in the name of the empire.”

  “Of course,” the admiral acquiesced. “I take it you bear important information?”

  “Your clearance level?”

  “I am the commander of a battle platform, my dear General. What do you think my clearance level should be?”

  “Your clearance level,” the general repeated sternly.

  The admiral held up his hand to summon his aide, who stepped forth with the admiral’s clearance card.

  General Bacca took the admiral’s card and inserted it into his data pad. His eyebrow raised, and he handed the card back to the admiral’s aide, all without showing the slightest hint of emotion. “As we feared, the Superluminal Transition System is no longer in development. In fact, it has been in use for nearly a Terran year.”

  “How many ships are equipped with this system?” the admiral wondered.

  “As far as we know, only one… The Aurora.”

  “I thought the Aurora was destroyed, by your own trap, was it not?”

  “Her destruction was never verified,” General Bacca admitted. “There was even evidence that she escaped the trap at the very moment it was sprung.”

  “Why is it we are only hearing of this now?” the admiral challenged.

  “The evidence was inconclusive at best.”

  “You are saying that one ship was able to liberate the Earth? That one ship destroyed your entire fleet?”

  “One ship equipped with the STS,” Bacca reminded him.

  “But still, one ship. General, I find it difficult to believe that a single ship, no matter how quickly it may be able to jump about space, could defeat so many Jung ships all by herself.”

  “Her captain was most clever in his tactics, and most bold.”

  “I have read the dossier on Captain Roberts. He appeared a good and able captain, but by no means a brilliant tactician.”

  “Captain Roberts no longer commands the Aurora. She is commanded by Captain Nathan Scott.”

  “The son of the politician?” the admiral laughed. “He was nothing more than an ensign less than a year ago.”

  “Rank does not create aptitude, Admiral. One either has it, or they do not. Believe me, this young captain has it.”

  “Wasn’t his older brother your spy?”

  “Your clearance is indeed high, Admiral,” General Bacca stated. “I’m afraid you are correct. His brother Eli was the one who provided us with the timing and location of the Aurora’s first test of the STS, as well as other critical intelligence. In fact, without him, we could not have captured the Earth to begin with.” General Bacca sighed. “I suspect, however, that he may have been somewhat duplicitous.”

  “As spies often are.”

  The admiral appeared unconcerned, which worried General Bacca.

  “No matter, General,” the admiral boasted. “The Ton-Tori will deal with the Aurora, and will take back the Earth as well.”

  “The Ton-Tori? She has gone to Earth?” General Bacca was genuinely surprised by the admiral’s statement. “But what of the reinforcement fleet?”

  “It is too early for us to have received word,” the admiral admitted
. “However, if this ship is as formidable as you claim, they have likely fallen to her guns as well. Again, it is of no matter. There is no way that a single ship can destroy a battle platform.”

  General Bacca looked at the admiral. The elderly man seemed quite confident, as he should. The battle platforms were more than twenty kilometers in diameter and nearly as tall at their central sections. They boasted more than one hundred guns, each of them more massive than those carried by the largest Jung battleships. They were heavily armed and shielded, combat-ready space stations, complete with enclosed ship docks that could hold half a dozen frigates and even a few cruisers if need be. Yet the achievements of Captain Scott defied belief as well, which was what worried the general. “Admiral, every ship has its weakness, even one as powerful as this battle platform. One most only find it.”

  “Then I wish your good captain luck,” the admiral laughed. “General, our shields are capable of protecting us against impact by the most massive of projectiles. Our own rail guns could not penetrate our multi-layered shields. You have nothing to worry about. If the Aurora and her captain are foolish enough to attack one of our battle platforms, they will quickly realize the folly of their efforts and run away—or better yet, stay and be destroyed.”

  General Bacca sighed. “You say the Ton-Tori is already on her way to Earth?”

  “In fact, she may have already arrived. There is really no way for us to know if she made the entire journey at top speed. I imagine we shall hear of her victory soon enough, however.”

  General Bacca looked out across the control room below. It was indeed the largest such room he had ever seen, as was the platform itself. It was his first time aboard such a platform, and it was indeed as impressive as he had heard. They had flown past two frigates parked within one of the platform’s three massive docks during their arrival. The very size of the platform alone could scare away a single ship, even the Aurora.

  General Bacca sighed. “I hope you are correct, Admiral.”

  “I promise you, my dear General, you have nothing to fear.”

  * * *

  “Report,” Nathan requested as he stepped out of his ready room and onto the Aurora’s bridge.