The Others

by Jay Allan

“Thank you, Clint.” A pause. “I mean it.”

  “Ease up on yourself, Andi. What you did was incredible. You’ve done more for the Confederation with that maneuver than anyone else in any of this…and even more for Tyler. Even here, kept away from the front, you fought the fight. And you won.”

  She leaned forward and hugged the admiral, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said again, as she pulled slowly back. Then, a moment later: “So, when do you leave?”

  “Tomorrow.” He managed something like a smile. “I…ah…I took some steps before I had authorization to make sure the fleet was provisioned and ready, just in case. I guess that was forward thinking of me.”

  Andi, against every expectation, matched his tentative grin. “Well, I guess that was handy, wasn’t it?” Her face slipped back into a nondescript expression. “Take care of yourself, my friend. Come back. All of you. Please.”

  But even as she said it, she knew not all of them would come back.

  She just hoped some of them would.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Highborn Vessel E’Septalon

  Imperial System GH8-14F3

  Year of the Firstborn 384 (322 AC)

  The Battle of Pharsalon – “The Flank Attack”

  “We are underway, Grand Admiral. Your orders are understood and will be obeyed.” Hellerax sat in his chair, his massive stature greater even than Tesserax’s. Even among the Highborn, the self-styled gods of the galaxy, he was an impressive sight. His implants seemed perfect, well-located, with their exo portions polished to a bright sheen. He was younger than Tesserax, not one of the Firstborn, but his abilities had powered his advancement, and placed him in command of his own attack force.

  He’d received his orders, and he’d acknowledged, though it would be almost an hour before the message reached Tesserax’s flagship. For all the technology of the Highborn, aside from carrying messages through jump points, the speed of light remained the upper limit on communications.

  Hellerax’s ships were tasked with the final phase of the battle, the maneuver that would turn the Hegemony’s defeat into annihilation. The orders were clear. Emerge from the deep outer system where his ships had been hiding, and proceed toward the enemy’s jump point, cutting them off, trapping their survivors in the system where they could be attacked from multiple vectors and exterminated. The command of the flanking force was an honor, a high posting for one not of the Firstborn, and Hellerax was determined to make full use of it.

  He’d run the calculations three times—just in his head, of course, it was nothing more than basic third-level differential vector calculus—and the results had been the same. His ships would arrive before the enemy could reach the jump point. There was no chance the Hegemony fleet would escape. Only a single variable had remained, the force that had remained out of the fight, sitting just inside the jump point while the battle raged.

  Those ships would have been close enough to intervene, but the scanners confirmed the data he’d received a few minutes earlier. They were already retreating through the jump point. Indeed, most of them had already gone. Perhaps the Hegemony forces had detected his flanking force, realized that their main fleet was doomed. The vessels that had departed were few relative to the size of the force that would be destroyed, but Hellerax was relieved to be rid of them. Their positioning had placed them well to interfere with his flank attack, even to threaten his entire force.

  It was a pity that even such a small force should escape, but once those vessels were gone, and his own ships were firmly position, the die would be cast. The cream of the Hegemony’s strength would be destroyed, leaving only scattered forces to defend over four hundred inhabited planets.

  The Highborn would move forward to victory, and the humans, the vast masses of genetically inferior animals, would learn the new reality. They would learn to serve and worship the Highborn.

  For eternity.

  * * *

  “All ships, maintain fire, double loads on all shots.” Ilius had lost thirty-one ships. Twenty-eight of them had fallen to enemy fire, and three to the breathtakingly dangerous practice of jamming in double-strength antimatter loads before firing his railguns. He’d counted at least six different ways the reckless tactic had backfired, sometimes causing moderate damage…and others total disaster.

  But he’d also seen the effects on the targeted enemy ships. The Others’ ships were enormously powerful, far more advanced than the Hegemony’s own. But when one of those railgun shots slammed into the hull at twice the normal velocity, even the hardened, shielded alloy of the enemy warships shattered and vaporized.

  The hit rates were up, too, in addition to the higher damage inflicted by each impact. The Others’ ships had seemed almost like something untouchable, otherworldly, but his people had gunned down enough of them to put that particular view to rest. They were superior, far stronger than his own ships. They had massive advantages in combat.

  But they could be killed.

  “Knicherus, Lovenus, and Trangus report railguns out of action, Commander. Trangus indicates a possibility of restoration. The other two ships will require several months in spacedock to repair their weapons systems.”

  Ilius didn’t respond, and he took mercy on himself and didn’t try to calculate the odds on any of his damaged ships reaching a spacedock. He was about to order all ships whose railguns were down to advance and engage with secondary weapons systems, but a glance at the display told him they were already doing just that.

  Advance, for his ships, actually meant deceleration first, and then acceleration in the opposite direction, back toward the transit tube. His fleet had reached the enemy position at high speed, and zipped right by. Now all his ships were blasting their engines, working down their velocities along the vector leading in-system…and his ships without railguns were in the lead, diverting all available energy to engines, struggling to close with the enemy and stay in the fight, somehow.

  Ilius had always felt pride in his Kriegeri, but now that swelled beyond what he’d experienced before. He’d wondered how his warriors, always brave, but also always the stronger combatant, would handle facing a superior enemy. He’d been concerned, that their resolve would crumble, that they would not be able to match the grim endurance the Rimdwellers had shown in similar circumstances.

  That doubt was gone. Utterly. Facing overwhelming odds had brought something out from deep within his Kriegeri fighters, a strength he’d never seen before.

  No, not ‘never.’ You saw it in Barron’s warriors…

  His people had done their best, better than he’d dared to expect. But, as he looked out across the display, a conclusion solidified in his mind.

  It’s not going to matter. The battle is lost.

  His people had blooded the enemy. No, more than that, they had hit the invaders hard. But they’d paid a staggering price for that. And his ships were too badly damaged, his crews too exhausted to continue much longer. He had to pull out. He had to get his fleet back where he could reorder his formations and repair at least some of the damage suffered.

  But he did nothing. He just sat and watched his ships continue the fight. They were too far in, with no real chance to escape.

  His only choice was to die running or die fighting.

  And that was no choice at all.

  * * *

  Chronos knew the battle was over. All that remained was to determine what remained of Hegemony military power. If he lost his entire fleet, his people were doomed, whatever dim hopes remained extinguished utterly. The forces that remained, back at Calpharon, and scattered through all the inhabited systems of the Hegemony, were too few, too weak to mount a reasonable defense. At least without a core of the fleet he now commanded.

  His people had fought hard, and in many ways, they had done better than he’d dared to hope. Now, it was time to save as many of them as he could. The dash back to the transit tube would be costly and dangerous, but he was sure he could get a good number of
ships out. If he gave the order immediately.

  But Ilius’s ships were the problem. His friend’s ships had moved deeper in-system than any other Hegemony forces, carried past the enemy line by their high velocities. He would order Ilius to withdraw as his own forces did, but he knew as he gazed at the positions of those ships, they would suffer terribly on their journey back to the jump point.

  It was even possible they would be wiped out.

  But there is no other choice. It is time to order the retreat…

  “Commander! Scanners are picking up enemy ships inbound from the outer system.” A pause, then, in an even more emotional tone, “They’re heading toward the transit tube, Commander. They’re positioning themselves between us and our line of retreat.”

  Chronos’s head swung around wildly, his eyes moving to the end of the display and focusing on the new contacts. It was a sizable force, not as large as the main fleet units he was facing, but big enough to blast his worn and damaged ships to bits as they raced toward it…and past it to the tube. And they wouldn’t be alone. The main enemy fleet would be on his tail, pursuing his fleeing ships. His forces would be trapped between the ships on their tails and the flanking force.

  He’d be lucky if a dozen ships made it out of the system.

  It was a trap, and you fell right into it. Fool!

  His thoughts were dark, his self-recriminations merciless. He’d lost the fleet in a single battle. He’d destroyed the Hegemony.

  He watched as the last of Barron’s ships moved through the tube. He didn’t blame the Confederation commander. He’d exceeded an order or two himself in his time, but he’d never committed treason. He felt a spark of resentment at the Confeds for leaving his people to their deaths, but it didn’t last. His warriors in the system, very likely about to die, had been the enemies of Barron and his spacers, killed their friends and comrades. The Rimdwellers might have agreed to help, and they might have made a difference. But there wasn’t time to get over the past, to find a way forward.

  Chronos turned back to the main section of the display. He almost ordered his forces to stand where they were, to fight until the very end. But even without significant hope, he had to make a run for the tube. If he could get twenty ships out, or ten…or even one, it was better than nothing.

  Some way to keep the fight going, even without hope of victory.

  * * *

  “Admiral, all main fleet units have transited. Only Dauntless, Repulse, and Indomitable remain in the system.”

  Barron could hear the frustration in Atara’s voice, the unspoken message screaming somehow from her perfectly on point words. We should not be running.

  Barron agreed, almost more than he could endure. But now wasn’t the time for treason, if there ever was such a time. The Confederation faced a new enemy—there wasn’t any doubt in his mind about that—and strife between the fleet and the Senate could only hamper the war effort. When they saw all the data he had collected, even the most recalcitrant Senators would have to acknowledge the danger. He’d always believed he best way to handle politicians was to scare the hell out of them. That wouldn’t be hard. He was a combat veteran of two decades’ service, and he was scared to death.

  “Advise Repulse and Indomitable they may transit when ready.” There was no particular reason to hold Dauntless back, but somehow it helped him being the last to transit, the last to abandon the old enemy, the Hegemony warriors he was rapidly coming to think of more as allies.

  Chronos is no fool. He’s done some real damage to the enemy, convinced his warriors they can hurt the Others. They’ll do better next time. He’ll pull back…my guess is any time now. He’ll make a run for the transit point, pull his fleet out, battered, but still a force in being. There would be another fight, Barron was sure of it, and with any luck, his forces and the rest of the Confederation fleet would take their places in the battle line.

  Atara relayed the order to the two other battleships herself. Her tone was deadpan, totally without emotion. He’d served at her side in multiple battles, victories and defeats alike, but he’d never seen her look so…beaten.

  Barron took a deep breath, and he looked one last time at the display, at the Hegemony fleet, for so long a feared and hated enemy, fighting with all the spirit and courage anyone could ask of veteran warriors. There was still resentment—he suspected some of that would remain all his life—but his respect was continuing to grow.

  He held his gaze as one more enemy ship, and four of Chronos’s battleships, vanished from the screen in the continuing melee. Then, his eyes dropped to the deck.

  “Atara…bring us around in line behind Repulse. We’ll transit immediately after…”

  “Admiral!”

  Barron’s head swung around, trying to determine where the voice came from. His eyes settled on Ensign Caravelle, the most junior officer on Dauntless’s bridge.

  “Enemy ships, sir…at least I’d bet they’re enemy ships. Coming in from the deep outer system.”

  Barron looked back at the display, and he saw it. At least forty contacts, looking very much like the Others’ ships.

  “I think you’re right, Ensign.” He turned toward Atara. His first impulse was to order his last three ships to accelerate, to expedite their transit. But the words that came out were completely different.

  “Repulse and Indomitable are to abort transit and decelerate to station-keeping velocity.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” There was an energy in Atara’s voice, one that hadn’t been there a few seconds before. One Barron understood, but also thought misplaced. He knew she wanted to engage, to come to the aid of the Hegemony fleet—something he thought amusing considering the rage she’d still nursed when they’d first arrived—but three Confederation ships moving against more than three dozen enemy vessels was no cause for celebration.

  “All ships are to launch full spreads of probes. I want all the data we can get on those ships.”

  But even without the enhanced scans, the reams of analysis the AIs would pump out, Barron already knew what was happening.

  The enemy had beaten the Hegemony fleet to the system, at least an advance force. And they’d hidden deep beyond the farthest planet, out among the comets and deep space debris surrounding the star in the vast zone between the system and interstellar space.

  It was a trap. The whole thing was a trap all along. And Chronos fell right into it.

  You would have fallen into it as well…

  His mind was racing, analyzing, trying to sort the information coming in too quickly to assimilate. But behind the uncertainty, the frantic confusion, a single conclusion was forming, one that struck Barron like and iron fist to the gut.

  The Others were going to position themselves in front of the transit point. Chronos’s ships would be forced to run right into the waiting guns of massed enemy ships…and they would have the rest of the Others’ fleet hot on their tails, firing all the way.

  His one assumption, the belief he’d used to justify his withdrawal, to convince himself he wasn’t really abandoning his new allies, was gone, replaced by one unassailable fact.

  None of Chronos’s ships were going to escape. At least not many. Hegemony military might would be broken right in the Ettara-Mordlin system.

  The war would be as good as over before he even heard back from the Senate, before a Confederation vessel fired a single shot.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Temporary Government Headquarters

  Liberte City

  Planet Montmirail, Ghassara IV

  Union Year 225 (321 AC)

  “I want to thank you both, for your support. Gaston Villieneuve has been at the very pinnacle of the Union government for more than thirty years, and I do not dispute that he has exhibited enormous drive during that time, nor that he has some accomplishments to his name. But he has caused considerable harm as well, with his unrestrained paranoia, and his inveterate hostility toward the Confederation. A century of wars has stunted our eco
nomic growth, and defeat in the last of those conflicts brought us to the brink of ruin. I promise you both, and all those who support my term as First Citizen, there will be no more pointless war. I offer a future of prosperity, of growth in our economy that will rival that of the Confederation. I will see that we finally exploit long under-utilized resources. I will bring nothing less than cooperation with our former enemy, and even financial support from the Confederation that enables us to grow, to create wealth, to calm a restive population.”

  One of the men facing Ciara looked back, somewhat unconvinced from the look on his face. “There is much in what you say that is cause for satisfaction, Minister Ciara, yet I question how much of it is possible. Help from the Confederation? That seems a difficult proposition. Four wars and millions dead has created considerable enmity on their side of the border as well as on ours. You are very persuasive, Sandrine. Our presence here attests to that fact. But much of what you offer seems dangerously tentative.” The general stopped short of according her the First Citizen’s title she’d given herself. She felt her stomach tense slightly, and she reminded herself, the support she was thanking her guests for had not yet been fully given.

  Simply put, she still had to close the deal.

  She’d gained a shaky kind of control over Liberte City, and an even more tentative hold over the planet as a whole. But she was ahead of herself with the ‘First Citizen’ title, and she knew it.

  “General, I understand your concerns. These are uncertain times, and yet, I believe we must rely on our trust for each other. I take you at your word that you can deliver the Liberte City garrisons, and effective control of all vital military bases on the planet…as well as the orbital defense forces, which are not even under your direct command. What is served by my doubting you, by my insisting on proof you cannot provide? I know you, I understand your stature among those you claim to represent. And I take you at your word.”