The Others

by Jay Allan

  He couldn’t allow that. After two wars, millions dead, the ghostly faces of lost comrades cried out to him to do something, to hold back the darkness, to preserve the Confederation and its Palatian allies.

  To ensure that all the sacrifice and loss had not been for nothing.

  Barron was convinced. He knew what he had to do. He just didn’t know how to do it. He was forbidden to intervene without Senatorial permission, and even if he could convince that body to send the Confederation’s fleets so far from home to fight alongside an enemy—former enemy?—he was far from sure it would make a difference.

  Or that their consent—and reinforcements—would come in time.

  He sat silently, his thoughts straying from the scene unfolding on the display, one side of his mind arguing with the other. For all the respect he’d gained for Akella, he’d have had no difficulty refusing her request, boarding his shuttle back toward Dauntless and heading home, leaving the Hegemony to face their struggle alone.

  If he hadn’t believed the enemy would turn its sights next on the Rim. On his own people.

  He was still wrestling with his thoughts, the debate raging in his head, even as the scanner footage continued on the display. But in the deepest parts of his mind, he knew he’d reached a decision. The Others were a threat, not only to the Hegemony, but to the Rim as well.

  More than a threat. They were death itself, at least to men and women like him and his spacers…and any others who wouldn’t kneel down and surrender, beg to live their lives as slaves.

  He would send word back to the Senate, his recommendation that the fleet fully mobilize and set out for Hegemony space at once. He would also send messages to those he trusted vastly more than the Confederation’s governing body, to Clint Winters, Gary Holsten, and Vian Tulus.

  And to Andi, as well, of course.

  He felt a wave of sadness, and a touch of guilt. He missed his wife terribly, the pain digging into him like an open wound. But he had the solace, if that was the right word, of being focused on the danger and the looming struggle. Andi was back home, with nothing to do but wait for him to return. He felt relief that she was on Megara, safe for once, but that only inflamed the guilt. He’d considered giving her a softer version of the information he was sending the others, to ease her worry about him. But he discounted that immediately. She would soon discover the truth, and his foolish attempt to protect her would only end up hurting her.

  He’d sincerely intended to return home after he’d met with the Hegemony officials, reviewed the data they had on the enemy. But the situation was too dire, the threat to the Rim—and by extension, to Andi herself—was far too imminent. He had to remain, at least for the time being. And if the Senate heeded his advice, most likely with an assist from Gary Holsten’s machinations, he had no idea when he’d ever return home.

  If he’d return.

  He slammed a wall down in his mind, tried to ignore the pain, the cold fear that he might never see Andi again. He struggled with the effort, more than he had in the past. He’d been devoted to his duty with a singleminded focus his entire life. He’d been born into his role, and he’d never had a choice, not a real one. His career had been fulfilling, if also painful, and he looked back on it with pride. But the sacrifices had been great. Would Andi join that list? Would he fight and die far from home, without ever seeing her again, holding her in his arms?

  His expression hardened, his will exerting itself. He would do what he had to do, as he’d always done. But first, he had to speak to Akella, alone.

  He would do as she wanted, urge his people to come to the Hegemony’s aid. But he had his own demands. Total transparency, complete sharing of information. First, he wanted the scanning data the Hegemony had used to target the enemy ships…all of it, every detail.

  And second, he wanted a technology team dispatched at once, back to Confederation space to aid Anya Fritz and her people in uncovering all of Colossus’s secrets. If Akella wanted the Rim to join the Hegemony’s fight, she would have to do what he asked…beginning with trusting him as she wanted him to trust her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Highborn Flagship S’Argevon

  Imperial System GH9-27C1

  Year of the Firstborn 384 (322 AC)

  The figure stepped onto the deck of the control room, tall, dark, casting a shadow that seemed more a manifestation of pure darkness than simply his massive form blocking one of the main illumination fixtures. Grand Admiral Tesserax was dressed all in red, a massive scarlet cape draped behind the darker red, almost black, of the robes he wore beneath. He was tall, two and a half meters, and broad, and his massive body appeared even larger for the implants, the bits and pieces of metal and machinery protruding from areas of his body.

  The other forms in the control room, all save two who were as tall and imposing as Tesserax himself, leapt up from their seats, snapping to attention with an urgency that belied respect…and, even more intensely, fear. Then they all dropped to down to one knee, heads bowed. As one, the bridge crew spoke, almost hypnotically. “All hail the mighty Tesserax.”

  They remained in place for perhaps ten seconds, until the newly arrived figure waved his hand, a signal that they could rise. Again, almost in unison, they leapt up to attention and returned to their stations.

  Tesserax walked across the deck, his heavy alloy boots clanging loudly on the polished surface. He stopped in front of a massive seat, surrounded on the floor, and above on the ceiling, by constructs that appeared to be retracted at present.

  He sat, and he stared forward for a moment, totally still while the mechanisms of the chair activated. He could feel the small probe extending from behind his neck, slipping into the socket implant. An instant later, he felt the flow of information, the vast AI that powered vessel S’Argevon, pouring data through the now-connected circuit and into the thinking machine implanted in his neck and connected to his cortex. His personal AI interpreted and organized the data it received, feeding it into the biological sections of his greater brain complex at a managable rate. The speed of thought and data analysis was far faster than any purely biological entity could match. Even the Highborn required implants to meet that maximum potential.

  He considered the data on the system the fleet had just entered. There was one inhabited planet, notwithstanding smaller groupings of humans on research stations and mining outposts on three of the other worlds and moons. The populated world was old imperial, now possessed by those calling themselves the Hegemony. Tesserax’s data suggested the leaders of that polity practiced a policy of genetic segregation, the highest among them called, ‘Masters.’ It was amusing, at least to the extent that Tesserax allowed himself time or thought for such superficialities as humor, to imagine such lower born creatures according themselves elite status for no more reason than they were surrounded by even more inferior animals. The humans served their purposes, of course, when properly controlled. The crew of S’Argevon consisted almost entirely of such creatures, harvested from former imperial worlds and modified to increase their abilities and usefulness…and to suitably pacify them.

  The Highborn were never slow to utilize brutality when it served their purpose, but the need for thousands upon thousands of slaves to man the fleet’s vessels was better served by simple cortex modification. The resulting Thralls were docile and obedient to the Highborn, who they worshipped as their gods, and savage and fierce in combat. The removal of the other detritus that plagued the minds of the humans made them quite useful, and allowed a great warship like S’Argevon to operate with only eleven of the Highborn aboard. If the vessel had not been a flagship, four or five would easily have sufficed. The humans still required sleep, of course, and their bodies were weak and fragile, but all resources had their drawbacks, and there were many advantages to using the primitive biologics as soldiers and ship crews. Even after the disasters that had destroyed the empire, billions of humans still survived, providing nearly endless new subjects to serve the Highborn.<
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  Tesserax analyzed the data he had just received. The system had been fully scanned. The population of the primary world was estimated at seven hundred forty to seven hundred sixty million. That was a considerable density of human infestation, greater than any in the systems the fleet had passed to that point. He considered for a moment, evaluated the possibility of conducting harvesting operations. The Highborn needed more humans, to serve the fleet, to work in factories and mines. The return to the space claimed by the Hegemony had long been planned, and replenishing the inventory of human populations to serve was a primary purpose of the operation then underway.

  Still, there would be time, and more than enough densely populated worlds to exploit. GH9-27C1 was adequate, with a sufficient infestation to justify harvesting, but perhaps it could better serve in another capacity, as had all the infested planets the fleet had passed through to date.

  “The fleet will commence cleansing operations on the infested planet.” He could have issued the command with a thought, directed the AI to issue the necessary verbal commands to the crew. But he’d given the order himself, something he often did, mostly for the benefit of the lesser creatures serving the ship and the Highborn. There had been many efforts to connect the humans into the neural net, but the few who survived the necessary implantation surgery had quickly gone insane. The primitive creatures were useful, to a surprising degree, but they definitely had their weaknesses.

  “As you command, Highborn.” The human, the highest ranked and rated then in the control room, spoke with awe and reverence.

  Tesserax had deemed the planet not worth the trouble of commencing harvesting, but he had another reason for ordering the obliteration of three-quarters of a billion inhabitants.

  To inflict terror on the humans.

  The analysis of the engagement at Venta Traconis suggested strongly that at least one of the Hegemony vessels had been able to penetrate the phase shifting systems of the fleet and establish a usable target lock. There was no doubt that one of the vessels in the Highborn fleet had been hit, though the damage inflicted had been minimal. Nevertheless, it was a matter of some concern, even though many had suggested the single hit had been a fluke. That was weak-mindedness, of course, a victory of arrogance over analysis. The chance of a ‘lucky’ hit at the ranges of space combat was so remote, it was virtually indistinguishable from zero in mathematical terms.

  Such failures of intellect were no longer relevant, of course. The subsequent engagement at GH9-24D8, the Upsilon Vega System, as the human referred to it, had left no doubt. In an unexpected display of initiative and analytical capacity, the humans had developed a way, crude and inefficient perhaps, but at least somewhat effective, to overcome the phase shifts of the Highborn’s vessels. Nineteen hits had been recorded in that battle, and the utter destruction of the engaged enemy force had been little enough compensation for that shift in the tactical situation. One of the Highborn vessels had even suffered moderate damage and was still under repair. None of that changed the tactical situation, of course, but it did suggest a rather higher cost for the overall operation in terms of losses suffered.

  Tesserax had only intended to exterminate the infestations on underpopulated worlds, quarantining the others until such time as pacification forces could suitably convert the raw masses into useful and docile servants of the Highborn. But he’d come to the conclusion it was best in the early stages of the invasion to make an ally of fear.

  He focused on the data pouring into his cortex, and in his mind, he saw the surface of the planet, vast cultivated fields and hillsides, and, mostly along the coasts, more than thirty large metropolises. The construction was primitive, of course, but somewhat impressive in its own limited way, at least in terms of scale. For a moment, all seemed normal on the planet. But then, the sky was full of small metal objects. Warheads. Moving toward their targets.

  The planet and its cities were protected, of course, first by orbital platforms, and then by ground-based interception systems. The space stations had been obliterated in an instant by the nearest fleet units, though three of the larger installations had required second hits to completely destroy them.

  Then, the wave of missiles descended, arcing out in precisely targeted patterns, their number and courses perfectly plotted not simply to wreak havoc and destruction, but to utterly cleanse the planet.

  The missiles rained down everywhere. Tesserax watched more than a dozen scanner feeds at once. In his mind, he could see what was happening, cities obliterated in firestorms of thermonuclear fury. Millions of the humans were dying, he knew, though that was a detail of no particular consequence. It was the strategy that interested him, the manipulation designed to break the Hegemony’s fighting spirit. There was some waste, of course. The radiation-intensified blasts would aid in the total extermination of the current population, but they would also render the planet useless, at least before an expensive and time-consuming rehabilitation could be conducted. But that was of only slightly greater concern than the extermination itself. Old imperial space was full of habitable worlds, and heavily infested with humans suitable for modification. If it served to destroy ten or twenty worlds, and a few billion of the inhabitants, so be it.

  The Hegemony Masters consider themselves advanced, capable. Now they will learn they are little more than animals.

  Let them see the scorched, radiation scarred surfaces of worlds that had held millions of their kind. Let the fear march forward, before the Highborn fleet, doing its work, breaking the will of the humans.

  Then, the survivors will learn their place. They will learn to serve us.

  They will learn to worship us, the gods who reign over them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Planet Calpharon

  Sigma Nordlin IV

  Year of Renewal 267 (322 AC)

  “I don’t really care, Akella. You can ask the Council’s permission, or you can simply provide my people with the full data record on your own authority. But my condition is an absolute one. I will request that the Senate dispatch the rest of the fleet to Calpharon, and also direct my forces already present here to undertake hostilities against the Others as soon as I receive authorization…but only if you immediately turn over all scanning and targeting data on the enemy forces. Cooperation is a two-way street, Akella, and I will not even consider committing Confederation forces to battle unless we have all relevant data on effective tactics to engage the enemy.” Barron had been arguing all morning with Akella—more debating, perhaps than arguing, but the fact remained, the Hegemony leader had been slow to consent to his two primary requests.

  Demands.

  He wanted the targeting data, including the most recent algorithms derived from it…and he wanted a Hegemony team dispatched at once, with orders to assist Commodore Fritz and her people in operating Colossus. They were demands difficult for any recent enemy to accept, but no more than coming to an adversary’s aid, as Akella had bade him to do. He had come to see the threat of the Others, but if Akella wanted Confederation assistance, she was going to have to meet him halfway.

  “Those are difficult conditions to meet, Tyler. The Council is unlikely to authorize the release of such sensitive military information, even if I strongly urge it…and they are absolutely never going to agree to train your people to operate Colossus. A large majority of the Council still supports every effort to reacquire the vessel. There was even a vote authorizing me to offer your government a large payment for Colossus’s return. I never followed up on that, of course. It is clear to me your people would never surrender the vessel…and I understand why they wouldn’t. I do not see our efforts to absorb the Rim in quite the same terms you do, Tyler, but it is perfectly understandable to me how your people feel.”

  “Akella, I believe all you’ve said about the Others. I believe they are a threat to the Rim as well as the Hegemony. But I, too, have to convince my people to join yours, and that will not be easy. My first demand, I consider nothing less than
essential. What is the point of sending Rim warships here if they are not able to target the enemy ships? If you really want help against your enemy, you have to show us you will do everything to enable us to provide that aid.”

  Akella didn’t answer, but she nodded gently, a gesture that told Barron she understood, and that she agreed with him. Which, of course, didn’t necessarily solve the problem.

  “As for Colossus, my argument—my insistence—is based largely on the same premise. Clearly, the ship is a tremendous asset in any fight, at least if it is properly operated and supplied. If you are indeed serious about defeating the Others, you will also want Colossus in the battle line. And the only way you’re going to get that—short of invading the Rim again—is to show my people how to operate it. We will get there ourselves, decipher its secrets, but that may be in five years, or ten. Longer than your people have, I suspect.”

  Akella nodded again, and then she said, “I am convinced, Tyler Barron. Indeed, I was before this last effort at persuasion. But I am not the problem. As you have no doubt realized, my position on the Council—and as Number One of the Hegemony—is not one of absolute power. There is much I can do on my own authority, but both of your…requests…fall beyond that purview. I can argue as emphatically as possible, use every political ploy I can conceive…but I still believe I would come up short of the required support.” A pause. “Or, I can simply do as you ask…secretly. That would be risky, extremely so. Such an act is certainly sufficient for my rivals to initiate removal proceedings against me…with a considerable chance they would succeed. For most of my life, a good part of me would have welcomed such a result. I could return to my lab, and spend my life in quite research. But we face a terrible danger now, one we may not survive, despite all our best efforts. Political dissension would be the Others’ ally now…as would Number Two’s ascension to the top leadership post. He is a vain man, greedy and focused far more on his own pursuit of power than on leading the Hegemony through the coming ordeal.”