The Others

by Jay Allan

  All she wanted was to rest, to close her eyes and sleep. But that wasn’t a possibility. First, she needed some medical assistance. Her arm was an inconvenience, a painful one, but the worst problem, she suspected, was radiation. She had no idea how much protection the building had offered her, but the growing turmoil in her stomach suggested she hadn’t entirely escaped the unseen effects of the dirty explosion.

  Even more importantly, she had a very limited time to make her bid for power. She was assuming Villieneuve was dead, of course, though she had no way to verify it. Still, even without her primary adversary in the picture, she knew she had to get a foothold before word got out that the First Citizen was dead. Once the secret spread, every fleet admiral and high government official would be evaluating his or her chances to seize the top position. Ciara wasn’t scared of a good fight, not usually, but her own resources were scarce at the moment, and she had almost no preparations in place. Too many of her contacts, her potential allies, had been rounded up after the coup attempt, and many of them had died for their involvement in her plot. She could entice new ones, of course, gather confused mid-level officials to support her efforts, but it wouldn’t be easy. She would gain those the old-fashioned way. She would promise them more than her rivals did…and she would convince them she had a chance at success.

  That last bit would be the hardest part. Giving away prospective offices and cash awards were simple enough things to do. But presenting her dirty, disheveled, injured self as a real contender for power was going to be a challenge.

  She thought about Kerevsky, wondered how angry he would be that she’d deviated from the plan so aggressively. She thought she could probably entice him back to her corner—though she was in no shape for a seduction, so that couldn’t be part of the plan. Perhaps more enthusiastic assurances of a lasting peace between the Confederation and the Union. Villieneuve had been nearly obsessed with defeating the Union’s neighbor, but Ciara was more than willing to enforce a peace—and even ally with—the Confederation…if that was the price of the help she needed.

  But there were other problems. The embassy would be the center of attention. It was too dangerous to go there, at least while things were in so much turmoil. She was on her own for the moment. Fortunately, she still had some resources of her own. Not too many, but some.

  Those would have to be enough. She was desperate, more desperate than any of her potential rivals. And that was a weakness she could turn to a strength, if she could make determination and a refusal to lose work for her.

  Of such things, power was born.

  Chapter Thirty

  HWS Leonidor

  Orbiting Planet Pharsalon

  Ettara-Mordlin III

  Year of Renewal 267 (322 AC)

  The Battle of Pharsalon – The Attack of the Highborn

  “Second division, increase thrust to thirty percent. Fourth division, alter vector plus forty, minus ten, plus forty. Get those ships around, and into range.” Chronos was snapping out orders, almost without pause. He had enough aides, enough communications officers to relay his commands however quickly he spat them out, but even so, the sweating Kriegeri all around the control room showed the exhaustion they were feeling, the desperate fatigue from keeping up with their commander’s frantic pace.

  Chronos was facing the Others for the first time. Perhaps that was why he was so driven, why he defied the sense of hopelessness already working its way through the fleet. He’d turned off his analytical mind—at least with regard to the force matchups. He didn’t need despair. He didn’t need to determine his forces had no chance of victory.

  He had to make a chance, somehow. He had to stop the Others stone cold, before another three hundred million citizens—and half the antimatter production in the entire Hegemony—were lost.

  His demeanor defied the sense of order and intellect that had driven him his entire life, and it released the warrior within, the savage fighter who paid no heed to odds, to technology. That spirit had lived inside him his entire life. It was, no doubt, what had pushed him toward a military life, when, at his lofty ranking, he could have chosen any profession, or none at all. But what had strengthened it, truly released it, were his experiences on the Rim. The Confeds and their allies had fought without pause, without regard for the odds so heavily stacked against them. They had lost battles, lost worlds, including their capital, but they’d continued the fight. Had they analyzed the odds, followed a logical course, they would have surrendered. But they didn’t, and they’d become the first known humans to escape absorption.

  Even in the face of Colossus, they’d stood firm, without any detectable signs they had ever considered yielding. That almost instinctive, animalist determination to fight without regard to the losses they endured suggested a lower order of thinking. But that logic had been wrong. The Rim fighters had learned from the Hegemony even as they’d battled fiercely. Their engineers had certainly gleaned technological advancements from watching the battles and analyzing what they saw.

  Chronos had learned some things as well, and first and foremost among those was never to give up. He’d also come to understand that the warrior’s urges that lived in him were not antithetical to his ordered mind, that he could release them, draw strength from their power without surrendering his judgment, his incisive thought.

  He’d never been the underdog before, never faced a superior enemy, and he wondered how he would have handled it if he’d hadn’t witnessed the insane will and courage of the Rim warriors.

  “Farizar and Kirizon have been destroyed, Commander.”

  Two battleships. Chronos stared out, at the space where the icons representing the two lost ships had been seconds before. He had his battleships out in front, pressing forward against the enemy, but also acting as a kind of bait. The Others mostly disregarded his cruisers and escorts, but they targeted the big battleships moving toward them at high velocities. That was bad, in every context save one. It allowed the even larger, more powerful monitors to move forward, to escape fire while they closed to their own firing ranges. It was a coldblooded tactic, one he’d never had to employ before against mostly overmatched enemies. But the idea of sacrificing battleships to serve as cover chilled his blood, even in his agitated, aggressive state. It was insane, each of the vessels lost representing years of construction and millions of Hegemony credits…not to mention over a thousand trained Kriegeri. But Chronos was certain of one thing, a fact his analytical mind and the warrior side then in control agreed upon. Whatever chance there was of victory, of defeating the Others, the cost would be horrendous, like nothing he had seen before, even in the deadly battles on the Rim.

  “All divisions, continue thrust and vectors. All units are to follow the tactical plan, regardless of losses.” His voice was like ice.

  He glanced to the side of the display, to the large cluster of small ovals a million kilometers behind his fleet. Ilius’s ships.

  Chronos had developed the plan, ordered his second-in-command to remain behind, to wait for an opening to intervene, one he knew might never come. But as he saw more of his ships destroyed, and no small number badly damaged, he began to wonder if he’d made the right choice. Could he really afford to keep almost half his strength out of the fight for any amount of time?

  Out of the fight now, but they’ll be up soon enough. Running into a head to head brawl isn’t going to work. Not against the Others. Ilius knows what he is doing.

  He thought about slowing his ships down, about drawing the enemy farther forward. That might help Ilius’s fleet gain a positional advantage.

  No…it’s not possible. You have to close, get your people in this fight, too. If you stay back, let the enemy blast the fleet while you can’t shoot back, you’re finished.

  Chronos realized in an instant just how the Confeds, how Tyler Barron had felt, enduring railgun fire as they raced forward to bring their own primary beams into play.

  And they got through that war…

  It
was a meaningless comparison, of course, but it still helped him.

  A little.

  “The forward line will prepare to open fire.” His first twenty battleships would enter range in less than a minute.

  First nineteen…

  He stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on that thin line of ships, and right on the spot where one had been seconds before. He had more strength coming up, the might of the Hegemony, massed as it had never been before, but he didn’t know if it would be enough. One side of his brain said yes, the other no. But none of that mattered. At the very least, the one-sided phase of the battle would soon be over. His ships and people would continue to die…but in a moment, they would start killing as well.

  “Forward line entering range, Commander.”

  Chronos looked ahead, his eyes cold and focused.

  “Open fire.”

  * * *

  “I want those railguns double shotted, Hectoron, and I mean now!” Helas sat calmly on her bridge, ignoring the danger from the withering enemy fire, brushing away the dark cloud of despair even then eroding the morale of her spacers. They could take it, she knew. Kriegeri were raised for military service, and often committed to their units at young ages. They were tough to break.

  But the carnage unfolding all around was wearing them down.

  “Yes, Commander.” The officer sounded just a bit uncertain. Most of Helas’s people were veterans from the Rim War, and they’d all seen the Confeds and their allies exceeding the recommended energy levels, overpowering their guns to increase effectiveness in battle.

  But loading two antimatter canisters into a railgun designed to take one was something else entirely. As far as Helas knew, it had never been tried. She’d made an effort at analysis, tried to do some quick calculations to determine if the weapons—or the ships that carried them—could stand the strain. But then she looked up at the display, saw her ships being blasted to scrap, she gave the order anyway. They were all going to die if she did nothing, and if there was no escape, she damned sure intended to drag some of the Others down to hell with her.

  She’d volunteered to command the advance force. Hell, she’d begged Chronos to give it to her. He’d been hesitant, no doubt knowing just what the loss rates were likely to be, but he’d given in. He probably hadn’t had much choice. Her role in pulling the forces back from Venta Traconis had made her somewhat of a hero. Chronos had asked her if she was sure one last time…and then he’d approved her request.

  She regretted it, a little and on some deep and submerged level. But even as she sat there, watching her ships destroyed all around her and resorting to increasingly desperate actions, she knew she would do it all over again if she had the chance. This wasn’t an absorption attempt like the Rim War had been, not a typical conflict…it was a fight to the finish. And there was no other place she could be except in the leading wave.

  “Gunnery reports double-loaded batteries ready to fire. Omaliar and Wallisia are also ready.”

  She looked straight ahead. Her ships had been firing for ten minutes, and they’d scored a number of hits. There were two enemy vessels showing signs of significant damage. That was something, and better than anything she’d seen in Venta Traconis, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close Even with Chronos’s main force coming into the battle, adding their fire to that of her ships, she had to do better...

  “Hectoron…fire.”

  * * *

  What the hell was that?

  Chronos had been moving his eyes across the display, alternating between watching Helas’s ships get blasted to scrap and turning away when he couldn’t take it anymore. But something had just happened, something different, and though he’d seen it, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He needed to be sure.

  A few seconds later, he was.

  “Enemy vessel destroyed, Commander. We have multiple confirmations.”

  Chronos heard the words, and he’d seen the ship disappear from the display with his own eyes. But he still had trouble acknowledging what had just happened. Somehow, it didn’t seem quite real.

  Several Hegemony forces had faced the Others before the current fight, with no confirmed kills to show for the losses they suffered. He’d come to Ettara-Mordlin with the intention of ending that streak, of destroying many enemy ships. Now, he realized, some part of him, at least, hadn’t really expected to achieve that goal. In spite of all his bravado and confidence, he found himself surprised his people had scored a kill.

  However close the Others were to untouchable, it was not clear that was the one thing they were not. Helas had just proven that. One ship destroyed was far from decisive, or even tactically important, but it was first blood, and in a situation where real doubt had existed about the enemy’s vulnerability, that was everything. It was hope. It was a reason to fight on, to pour everything into the struggle.

  The loss ratios were still abysmal, over forty Hegemony ships crippled or destroyed so far, for the one vessel Helas’s task force had just become destroyed. But it wasn’t about ratios, not in this instance. Helas had proven again the targeting revisions worked. But, for all of that, there was something else, something Chronos couldn’t quite place…

  That enemy ship was destroyed too quickly…

  “Commander, the scanner readings are very confusing. We tracked two shots that struck the enemy ship, and…”

  “And?” Chronos’s tone was sharp, demanding. It was no time for his aides to sit in stunned silence. He needed information.

  “According to our scanner replays, both Hysarius and Volkom scored railgun hits…but their projectiles appear to have inflicted damage far beyond any projections. Data reviews of the inbound paths indicate the weapons’ velocities significantly exceeded standard levels.

  “Exceeded? How do you explain that, Hectoron?”

  “I…I cannot, Commander. I apologize.”

  Chronos didn’t respond, not right away. The Kriegeri were admirable in most cases, at least to his sensibilities, but they could sometimes become a bit obsequious, especially around high-level Masters when they didn’t have information that was requested. Or demanded. Some Masters were less patient with their subordinates that Chronos considered appropriate. He didn’t tolerate it in his command, at least when he saw it. But he knew it happened.

  Chronos also knew he couldn’t expect the officer to have the answers. He didn’t have them himself yet.

  “No apology necessary, Hectoron. Let us work the problem. Divert all data flow from the scanner array and the replays to the main AI. I want answers, and I want them now.”

  “Yes, Commander.” The officer turned and leaned over his station, carrying out Chronos’s command to the letter. Perhaps half a minute later, he had an answer. At almost the same moment, the solution suddenly appeared in his own mind. And it all made sense. A terrifying, dangerous kind of sense.

  “Commander, the AI theorizes that Commander Helas’s ships are…”

  “Yes, Hectoron, I know…I know exactly what they are doing…”

  And God help them. God help us all…

  * * *

  Barron watched the battle unfold on the display, his attention riveted, even as he marshaled every bit of the strength inside him to stay where he was, to keep his fleet back at the transit point. It went against everything he believed to hold back and watch an ally’s ships being savaged, even when that ally still seemed half like an enemy. He had his orders, and they’d been given to him in clear and precise terms, written skillfully enough to deny him any possible justification for ‘misunderstanding.’

  One by one, the ships of the Hegemony advance force were obliterated, even as they stayed grimly in the fight, inflicting their own damage on the deadly enemy. Then, something changed. The impacts from the Hegemony railguns increased in intensity. The energy readings were tentative, certainly at the distance from Barron’s ships to the battle underway, but the spike was sharp and noticeable. The Hegemony railguns were somehow hitting harder. Barro
n was confused, at least until he saw the data on the projectiles heading toward the enemy fleet.

  The velocities were enormous, almost 0.03c. That was far greater than any of his ships had faced during the war, a difference he found inexplicable. Had the Hegemony made a breakthrough of some kind, an advance in their weapons technology? One Akella had kept secret?

  No, that doesn’t make sense. She would know we’d see the increased capability, so why hide something…

  His thought stopped cold as realization set in.

  They’re overpowering their guns…

  Barron knew the concept well. He’d used it multiple times, usually to good effect, though not without consequences, burned and scarred crew, even destroyed ships. Weapons were rated for maximum power outputs, and moving beyond those levels increased the risk of burnouts, and even catastrophic malfunctions.

  But Barron’s experiences had been limited to running increased energy levels through conduits into his primaries and lasers. Hegemony railguns were powered by antimatter, and...

  They’re increasing the antimatter loads…

  It suddenly made sense. And it didn’t. Feeding more juice into a particle accelerator was one thing, but the railguns blasted chunks of superhard metal out into space. The basic system was already hard on the surrounding structure, one reason only Hegemony capital ships carried the great weapons.

  How much more can those hulls take?

  As if in answer to his thought, one of the forward Hegemony ships disappeared, but not from enemy fire this time. A few seconds later, another one blinked off the large screen.