The Others

by Jay Allan

  She pulled herself back into the present. She was standing in front of a door at the end of the hallway. It was time.

  “Captain, this is the main broadcast center. When you are inside and ready to begin, simply wave your hand, and the broadcast will begin. It will go live throughout Megara, and be immediately transmitted to the other planets of the system, as well as all space stations and ships in transit or port.”

  “It will go to other systems, as well, right?”

  “Yes. Our broadcasts go to every planet in the Confederation. As soon as the signal reaches the telecom station positioned at each transit point, it will be recorded and sent through via drone. The transmission will then be sent across that system, to all worlds and other pockets of habitation…as well as to the telecom stations at the other transit points in that system. The time to receipt and rebroadcast varies. The transmission will reach orbital stations around Megara and nearby ships in a matter of seconds, and the outer planets and moons in just under six hours. Complete transmission to every inhabited world in the Confederation takes a little less than eight days.”

  Andi nodded. “Thank you.” In other circumstances, she might have found a detailed description of the Confederation’s communications lines interesting, but her mind was elsewhere at that moment.

  She walked through the door, into a large room with a high ceiling. There were immense screens on each of the walls, larger even than the main display on Dauntless. And, in the middle of the room, there was a single podium.

  She walked over to it, and stepped up onto a small raised dais. She took a deep breath, fighting off another wave of nausea as she did. Then she stood silently for a moment, gathering her thoughts. She’d faced the worst violence humanity could concoct, but the thought of speaking to the entire Confederation suddenly seemed daunting.

  You hope you’re speaking to the entire Confederation. The Senate could cut the broadcast…if they act fast enough. There was no way for the Senate—or any other authorities—to send orders to stop the transmission, at least none that could travel from system to system any faster than her signal. Quick action, getting word to the telecom station to stop the drone before it transited, would be the only chance.

  That was why she’d scheduled it for this moment…when every Senator was in the Compound, debating the very issue that concerned her.

  Why the head of Confederation Intelligence was going to create a power failure on the Compound grounds, plunging the politicians and their staffs into total darkness, and subjecting them to a short communications black out.

  She wanted the Senators to hear what she had to say—in fact, she was counting on it. She just wanted a little delay, just long enough to eliminate the chance of any trickery, any efforts by the Senate to violate the free communications laws of the Confederation.

  When they saw what she had to say, and realized that the hundreds of billions in the Confederation were going to see the same transmission, they would capitulate. She was as sure of that as she’d ever been of anything.

  Either that, or they would face the wrath of voters for forsaking the Confederation’s greatest military hero…and ignoring the pleas of his pregnant wife.

  She waved her hand, and an instant later, she cleared her throat.

  “Citizens of the Confederation, greetings. My name is Captain Andi Lafarge and, among other things, I am the wife of Admiral Tyler Barron. I am here now to tell you of the situation the admiral currently faces…and about delays in sending aid to him. And also of the malfeasance and incompetence of the Senate in ensuring the safety of the Confederation and the Rim…”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  HWS Leonidor

  Orbiting Planet Pharsalon

  Ettara-Mordlin III

  Year of Renewal 267 (322 AC)

  The Battle of Pharsalon – The Inferno

  Chronos had never seen carnage like that unfolding all around him, not even in the worst battles on the Rim. His ships were deep in the fight, all that remained of his battleships and monitors deep in range and returning the enemy fire. They were scoring hits, and killing enemy vessels. But the cost was almost beyond imagining.

  The Kriegeri were fighting heroically, their skill and steadfastness a validation in Chronos’s mind of the Hegemonic system. Those warriors were doing what they’d been born to do, what their natural skillsets allowed them to do. And for all the Rimdwellers considered the genetic rankings somehow evil, there was little or no resentment for the system among the Hegemony’s residents. Society was well ordered, its residents funneled into roles they could handle, jobs and responsibilities within the range of their abilities.

  And, of course, those who’d been absorbed during their lifetimes knew another way, the barbarism and misery of so many worlds in the aftermath of the Great Death. Hegemonic rule brought structure, and if it curtailed some level of unrestrained freedom, it traded food and shelter and medicine for it, and allowed those absorbed to lives of plenty, supported by technology. Few in the history of the Hegemony had rebelled against such a trade.

  At least before the Rimdwellers. But they didn’t suffer as most of the others did. They may call the Great Death, the Cataclysm, but what they think of from that terrible time was nothing compared to what worlds coreward endured.

  Chronos winced as another of his monitors blinked off the display. It was a rare expression of emotion, at least while he was on duty. Masters, too, were compelled to play their own role in the Hegemony, and as Number Eight and commander of the fleet, Chronos was barred from being human, from expressing fear or weakness. His people had to see him as a rock, unbreakable. They had to draw strength from him, power to face the mysterious and deadly enemy.

  As he watched the battle raging, he could see his officers, his division commanders, developing their own tactics to fight the Others. The enemy was advanced, their might overpowering, but as he saw the ingenuity of his people, the creativity of their maneuvers, he felt something vaguely like hope the Hegemony could learn to defeat the enemy.

  If we last long enough. And we can’t do it alone.

  He was more certain than ever that his people needed help. Even the wildly creative maneuvers he was watching were not things he could credit solely to the Kriegeri’s training or the Masters’ intellect. He believed in Hegemonic society, but he could see the weaknesses in it as well. Placing someone in a genetically predetermined role eliminated incentives to progress farther.

  His commanders had learned the wild battle tactics he was viewing not on their own, but out on the Rim, from the Confeds and their allies. The societies on the Rim seemed bizarre to Chronos, but he couldn’t argue that the wild scrum for position and prestige—one that was open to anyone with the drive and energy to pursue what he or she wanted—created a kind of…feral…energy, one that seemed to spur creativity.

  We’re better for our interaction with them, however unfortunate the circumstances.

  His eyes moved to the extreme end of the display. There were roughly sixty small symbols there, clustered around the transit tube. Barron’s Confed ships.

  Chronos had done all he could to convince Barron the Confederation and its allies had to join the fight, but as he sat there, watching his unit commanders behaving a lot like Barron’s subordinates, he suddenly knew with unexplained certainty.

  We need each other. It’s the only way we can win this war.

  He saw the way the cultures complemented each other…and after six years of war against the Hegemony, no one knew how to face a technologically superior enemy like the Rimdwellers.

  His hands tightened on the armrests, as Leonidor shook. For an instant, Chronos thought his flagship had been badly hit. But the damage control reports quickly put his mind at ease. One of the deadly enemy beams had grazed the vessel, slicing open some outer compartments, and overloading part of the scanner array.

  That was close…

  Chronos held his cold, impassive pose, but inside, he was shaken. If that shot had bee
n a hundred meters or so toward the ship’s insides, Leonidor could very well be a cloud of dust and plasma.

  His people were hurting the enemy, but their losses were too high. They couldn’t hold. He needed Ilius’s forces.

  Now.

  He looked along the display, toward the large cluster of small circles, the three hundred ships he’d positioned behind. Ilius’s command. It was time to call his second into the fight.

  But his eyes stopped cold, just short of where he’d intended to look. The tiny dots were out of position.

  Ilius was already on the move.

  * * *

  “Antoine, get your squadron together. We’re running a preparedness drill.” Jake Stockton stood out in the hall, speaking softly as he gave Blue squadron’s current commander an order. His old command would always hold a special place in his heart, but even though the squadron remained Dauntless’s senior formation, it carried no resemblance to the pack of hungry wolves he’d commanded so long ago. That Blue squadron had been the creation of the young ‘Raptor’ Stockton, the pilot who had feared nothing, who defied an enemy to dare to take a shot at him. That kind of unrestrained bravado was the province of those younger than the current Stockton, of those who had seen a good deal less death and suffering.

  “I don’t understand, Admiral…you mean now? While the battle is going on? That’s somewhat of a…a surprise, isn’t it?”

  “Do you understand what ‘readiness’ means, Lieutenant? How much warning do you expect when I am testing your ability to respond under difficult and surprise conditions?”

  “But there was nothing on the comm, Admiral. No alert status or other orders.”

  “I just gave you your orders, Lieutenant…and unless you want to spend the next ten years hauling radioactive waste on a scut cargo shuttle, you will follow them. Without further questions.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Good. Now, see that you’ve got your people down in the bay and ready in fifteen minutes. And alert your flight crews. I want you all in place, and your fighters ready to go on a moment’s notice. It’s time we got past lazy celebrations and remembered we’re all warriors.”

  “Yes, Admiral. At once.”

  But Stockton could barely hear the words. He’d turned around even as he was still speaking, and by the time the stunned officer replied, he was already back out in the corridor. He had five other squadron leaders to visit, and it was time-consuming doing it without the comm.

  But if he used the regular lines, someone besides his pilots and flight crews might hear. He knew the rules of engagement, and what Admiral Barron was an wasn’t allowed to do. But Stockton believed in being prepared…for whatever happened. And he’d seen nothing in the rules that prohibited some impromptu training exercises. It was of no matter if said drills left his fighters fueled and armed and ready to launch.

  He’d managed to get the word to six of the other ships, via shuttles and trusted officers. That was far from the fleet’s entire fighter strength, of course, but it was thirty-six squadrons, six full wings, that would be fully prepared, ready to launch on an instant’s notice.

  Just in case Tyler Barron decides to…interpret…his orders with a bit of creativity…

  * * *

  “All ships, this is Commander Ilius. You all know why we’re here, and what is at stake. This system is vital to our defensive efforts, and it is also on a direct line to Calpharon. We must hold here. We must drive the enemy back. You can see the losses our comrades have suffered—and also the damage they have inflicted on the enemy. It is time…time for us to come to their aid. Time to drive the enemy back.”

  Ilius had never been one to give stirring speeches to his warriors. It had never really been the Hegemony way. But he’d listened to some of the rousing comments Tyler Barron and his comrades had made during the war. At first, he’d assumed such things worked in the chaotic atmosphere of the Rim nations and their armed forces, but that they’d be misplaced in the well-ordered Hegemony service. But now he was leading his Kriegeri into a battle he knew was almost hopeless. He’d almost been paralyzed by his own fear, and he’d taken a lesson from that. Kriegeri were chosen for their genetic suitability for battle, and they were flawlessly trained. But they were still human beings. If Ilius himself was not immune to fear, neither were his spacers. They needed his encouragement, the excitement he could rouse inside them.

  They need me to lie to them, to tell them we have a chance to win the victory here…

  He hid his own dark thoughts, and he held back the cold fear still pressing against his defenses. The fleet was drawing blood from the enemy, and that was good news. But it didn’t take a Master level mathematician to see where the loss ratios would lead. The fleet couldn’t win. The choice would come down to retreat or extermination.

  He didn’t know which he would choose if he commanded the fleet. His fear wanted him to run, to order the ships he led to make a mad dash for the transit tube, but some part of him saw the relief in a glorious death, in fighting to the end. He couldn’t decide if that was the courageous option, or a coward’s way out of a war he was sure his people would lose.

  Fortunately, Chronos was in command. Ilius was grateful he had so few options himself. All that had been left to him was to choose his axis of advance…and he’d done that with all the skill and intellect he could muster. He was throwing all his ships against the enemy’s extreme left wing. If his ships could get up to the line quickly enough, they just might enjoy local force superiority, at least for a little while.

  He turned toward his chief aide. “All ships are to increase thrust to full power.” He intended to minimize the time his ships were vulnerable to the enemy guns, while still outside their own firing range, even if that meant his ships would engage at high velocities and zip right past the enemy ships. That would make withdrawal more difficult, and risk trapping his entire force, but it exchanged a respite from almost certain heavy losses for possible future danger. That was a deal Ilius was prepared to accept.

  He nodded as his aide passed on acknowledgements from the various sub-units of the fleet. Then he took a deep breath. His ships were entering the enemy’s firing range. He’d done all he could to minimize the duration, to prepare his vessels for maximum evasive maneuvers. There was nothing left but to run the guns.

  To blast forward at full until his ships were close enough to open fire and make the fight a truly two-sided one.

  * * *

  “The Hegemony fighters are exhibiting a greater degree of unpredictability than we projected. Our losses are considerably higher than even the most pessimistic forecasts.” Tesserax sat at one end of a large polished metal table, his immense form casting a three-meter shadow across the floor as he addressed his comrades, the Supreme Council of the Pacification.

  “I concur, Grand Admiral.” Phazarax’s voice was deeper even than Tesserax’s. His position as head of the church gave him final authority on all matters dealing with the lower creatures of the Hegemony and the other former imperial sectors. “Our scouting mission of a century ago suggested no such flexibility of thought, and projections strongly indicated the Hegemonic society would have become less flexible, more calcified than what we are witnessing here. That assumption, for unknown reasons, has proven to be incorrect. They are still no threat, of course, to your forces, Grand Admiral, not in any real sense. Our losses, while unexpected, can be replaced, and I do not perceive any sequence of events in which they are able to make a real stand against our forces. My concern lies elsewhere, in the aftermath of conquest. We determined that the Hegemonic society was one well-ordered to produce new slaves to sustain our growth and expansion, one reason we allowed it to exist for so long, to develop on its existing course. We expected to find human beings with considerable drone-like characteristics, accustomed to close direction, and yet as the battle continues, we are witnessing no small degree of independent initiative. I had always expected we would have to terminate all or most of the Masters, b
ut now I find myself speculating about what degree of harsh measures will be required to return the lower castes to a state of pure obedience.”

  “Your concerns are valid, of course, High Priest, and such decisions, when the time comes, will be largely yours to make. Yet, perhaps the problem is not as severe as it might appear. Analysis of the systems we have encountered to date suggests that Hegemony population levels exceed our estimates, perhaps by a considerable margin. Even if we are compelled to terminate larger numbers than expected to break any resistance, I am confident that more than enough will remain for our purposes. There may even be utility to it all in the end. A properly broken population may be more adeptly directed to their new purposes than one that is merely docile to start. As long as there is an excess of population, there is little real concern if termination levels are doubled or even tripled.”

  “I am inclined to concur, Tesserax, though I believe you were correct to call this assembly, that the matter was, at least, worthy of discussion. Are all present in agreement with the Grand Admiral’s assessment? Its resolution that the Pacification proceed in accordance with the original plan.”

  A round of acknowledgements moved down the table, with almost perfect order and timing. It was unanimous.

  “Very well then.” Tesserax bowed his head to those gathered around him. “My thanks to each of you for this unscheduled meeting. I wanted to confirm that we were all in agreement before I proceeded to increase the intensity of operations in this system. Specifically, with the High Priest’s agreement, I plan to launch an extermination assault against both the inhabited planet and also the seventh satellite of the star, which our scanners indicate contains a primitive antimatter production facility. It is now clear why the Hegemonic forces chose this system to make a stand, and my analysis is, the simultaneous destruction of a major population center and the elimination of what must be a significant percentage of their antimatter production can only serve to further unnerve and distract the forces now engaged with our fleet.”