by Nick Webb
He took a deep breath, knowing that the news would come as a shock to even his senior staff. At least, it did to Jake, who couldn’t believe his ears. A strike at the heart of the Empire? The Resistance High Council’s balls were far larger than he’d given them credit for.
Captain Watson continued. “We intend to strike fast, and strike hard, using some of the advanced capabilities of this new fleet. Not just military installations, but political and industrial sites will be targeted as well.” His voice had steadily risen throughout the speech, and now reached a crescendo. “With this strike, we intend to decapitate the head of the Empire, and in the chaos that follows, we will take the opportunity to achieve our primary objective. The liberation of Earth!” He pounded his command console for emphasis, and the entire bridge crew erupted into cheers, and Jake, through his own cheering, could imagine the answering cheers from the rest of the ship, and on the other eight new starships.
Watson held up his hand for silence. “I know all of you are concerned, maybe even a little afraid. Afraid for your families we’re leaving behind on Earth. Afraid for reprisals against other Resistance brethren serving elsewhere in the fleet. Afraid for yourselves, because unless you haven’t been listening this will be an incredibly risky proposition. But know this. I’ve served in the Resistance and Imperial fleets my entire career. I’ve been a captain, an XO, a navigator, a soldier, a chef, a lover, a painter, and a gardener, and in all my time in this sphere, I’ve yet to rub shoulders with people as fine as the ones you serve with today. I asked the High Council for the best, and they gave me the best. Remember that as we take the fight to the enemy. We fight not for conquest, but to liberate the heroes you see around you, their families, and the very birthplace of civilization. Godspeed. Watson out.”
The bridge crew erupted in applause once more, which continued until a message appeared on the comm officer’s console.
“Sir, the Fidelius is commencing an open broadcast. Shall I display?”
Captain Watson nodded. “On screen.”
The view of the sprawling shipyards, with the Earth as backdrop gave way to the interior of the Fidelius’s shuttle bay, the only space aboard the moderately sized light cruiser that could host the gathered people.
A rostrum had been set up in front of the giant, transparent wall of the bay, behind which several ships were visible. Jake recognized the newly-elected president of the United Earth League, an oddly-pale Senator Galba of the Corsican Imperial Senate, various other Earth dignitaries, including the president of the Asian Republic and a host of senators and other lawmakers from a variety of smaller states within the large federal republics that comprised the majority of Earth’s population. Jake’s eyes flitted back to Galba—perhaps the man was sick. He certainly looked thinner than he had just hours before.
In addition, a section of the rostrum seating was filled by citizens—survivors from Dallas, Jake could tell by the orange ribbons pinned to their coats—and the audience facing them included athletes, intellectuals, authors, artists, and other dignitaries from across the globe. The entire audience faced the huge, transparent wall that made up one side of the shuttle bay, affording a view of the floating shipyards beyond, and scattered around it, the Nine. Nine dull-black starships, brightly lit viewports pinpricking the ships’ surfaces like a field of dense stars, as if creating their very own starfield to compete with the actual one behind them.
Senator Galba rose from his seat and approached the podium set up on the raised dais in front of the transparent wall. His voice sounded deeper than it had earlier. Perhaps the man had just caught a cold. “Dear friends. People of Earth, and the Empire. It is my pleasure to come before you, with all the humility and dignity of my rank as a spokesman for the people of our glorious, galactic Republic …”
Jake snorted audibly. “They’re calling themselves a republic now?”
“Cut it, Mercer,” the Captain barked, drawing a finger across his throat.
“… and in the presence of those who lead us, those who inspire us, and those with whom we mourn.” At this point he turned to the survivors section of the dais and bowed low. “As a united people, we again beg your forgiveness and your mercy, and declare our undying friendship …”
The XO grumbled and let loose a caustic snort. “Wow, the bastard’s really laying it on thick, isn’t he?”
A curt glance from the Captain shut him up.
“… and it is from those ashes that we find rebirth. A rebirth, and a renewal, symbolized today by the fleet we send out in your name. A fleet to end the cruelty and the injustices of the pirates. A fleet to stand as a bulwark against the raving barbaric hordes that surround the fountain of civilization, even the worlds of Earth, and Corsica, forever united—”
With a harsh crackle, the sound cut out, replaced by static. The video continued as a new voice replaced the Senator’s, and the wary members of the bridge crew eyed one another nervously.
“People of Earth and people of the revolting planet known as New Rome. The second Roman Empire will fall, and a new, glorious, Earth-led empire will rise in its place! And with this heroic act, we scoff at you, Emperor Maximillian, you filthy son of a slave-whore, and we defy you to match our bravery and our strength. Watch as your finest burn!”
The video-feed from the ceremony had continued throughout the interruption, the Senator apparently unaware of anything wrong. But something odd appeared behind him. Something quite out of place, and quite jarring to see.
Something fast.
Something emerged from the Phoenix’s front bow, which was visible in the distance through the transparent wall behind the Senator. It was fast and dazzlingly bright—nearly brighter than the sun. Hardly larger than a common torpedo, it leaped away from the Phoenix, growing terribly brighter and brighter behind the transparent wall of the shuttle bay, until people in the audience rose slowly to their feet, mouths open, heads cocked to one side, staring upwards in disbelief. The camera jolted as the shimmering torpedo struck the ship, and the video cut out before Jake could see the aftermath.
“What the hell?” Captain Watson leapt to his feet as the viewscreen switched to a video feed from the bow of the Phoenix, revealing an NPQR Fidelius caught in the throes of a fiery explosion that was quickly muffled out by the vacuum of space. He spun around. “Po! Was that us?”
Jake had never seen Po’s face so white. “I don’t know sir, the only one with bridge control of the quantum field torpedoes is Smith…” she glanced up at one of her men in the tactical octagon, who had risen to his feet. “Smith?”
“A message from Admiral Trajan,” said the young Ensign, in a voice that trembled slightly, staring directly at Captain Watson. “There is no peace for the wicked.” He lifted his arm and pointed a gun straight at the Captain.
And fired.
The bullet caught the Captain in the shoulder, and as Smith fired again, the XO leaped in front, shoving Watson aside as the second bullet lodged in the XO’s chest.
Watson, his face stricken by disbelief, looked up as the marines stationed by the door to the bridge ran towards Ensign Smith. But before they could reach him, the man calmly raised the gun to his own temple, and pulled the trigger.
Gore splattered the deck as Smith fell, and in the confusion that followed, Po somehow managed to call for the medics as Ben attended to the fallen XO. Jake knelt next to the Captain, who, though pale, looked like he’d be just fine.
Po glanced at Ben, who looked at Jake, who mouthed the words, “Oh shit.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ADMIRAL TRAJAN GRINNED AT THE viewscreen before turning to smile broadly at Captain Titus, who, seeing the destruction of the NPQR Fidelius, felt a knot tighten in his stomach. All those people. Senator Galba, the Earth president, the people … all dead. A grizzly image of the chief engineer’s bloody, white face reared up in his mind and he shook his head to refocus.
“Captain. It appears the Terrans have betrayed us. How very unsurprising. Please deploy a grav
itic pod to Sol orbit. Signal all available Imperial fleet ships to shift immediately to high Earth orbit.”
“Sir? Are we expecting any fleet ships there?”
“Why yes, yes we are, Captain. I had an inkling something like this might happen, so I made preparations just in case. It seems I had some foresight after all.”
Indeed, thought the Captain.
“We can’t wait the eight minutes for them to receive a transmission sent directly from the Caligula, sir?”
“No, Captain, we cannot. The rebels have made their move and now we must act before they destroy us all.”
“Very well, sir. Ensign Evans, deploy a gravitic message pod. Signal all ships to converge on our position.”
Ensign Evans nodded as Admiral Trajan sprang into action. “Patch me through to the fleet.” The assistant comm officer touched a button on his console and motioned for the Admiral to speak. “This is Admiral Trajan aboard the NPQR Caligula, to all Imperial starships in orbit around Earth and its moon. It appears the Resistance is not quite done with their atrocities against the Empire. All ships, move against the nine renegade vessels and destroy them. Do not stand down until they are dead, or have surrendered. Glory be to the Corsican people and its Emperor. Trajan out.”
He signaled to the comm officer to cut the channel, and then turned to the tactical station. “Lieutenant, open fire on their flagship—the Firebird. Target its armaments for now, focusing first on its new quantum field missile tubes. When all offensive capabilities are destroyed move on to another ship. Do not target gravitics. I repeat, do not target gravitics. Evans?” he said, turning back to the communications station, “Is the message pod away?”
“Sending it now, sir,” said the young man.
“Good. Send messages to the rest of the fleet. Have the light cruisers divide up into two groups and target the Roc, and the Falcon. Have the frigates divide up and join with one of the capital ships, then order each battlegroup to converge on a rebel ship, targeting weapons first before moving on to other systems. Advise the battlegroups to take out their quantum field missiles first before moving on to ion beam cannons, and then railguns and finally their torpedoes. Again, no one targets gravitics. We want the surrendering ships intact.”
As Trajan continued barking out orders in his clipped, husky voice, the first railgun rounds began shooting out from the Caligula towards the Firebird, followed by bursts from the ion cannon batteries. The Firebird answered with volleys of its own, and Captain Titus could feel the ship shudder with the blows.
The battle was joined.
***
“Dick, did you order that missile?” the angry face on the viewscreen said, glaring down at the Captain.
Watson, his shoulder bloodstained, had managed to get to his feet and slide into the captain’s chair. “I most certainly did not! But thanks to our Ensign Smith, a whole lot of good people are going to die today, Admiral.”
The man on the viewscreen—the commander of the Firebird and the Resistance’s most senior admiral—scowled at a readout nearby. “Looks like the fleet is mobilizing. Dick,” he said, turning back to face the Captain, “I’ve got a feeling we’re being played. Admiral Trajan is here as you know, personally commanding the Caligula. I wouldn’t put it past him to plant someone like Smith on one of our ships to make it look like treachery.”
“Possible, sir. The question is, what do we do?”
“I’ll contact the High Council, but I’ve got a feeling what they’ll say: high-tail it out of here to Corsica and press our advantage while we still have it. Bloody hell, Dick, did you see that blast? One missile, one missile, and that entire starship was gone. Corsica won’t even know what hit it. Prepare to make the shift to Alpha Centauri. We’re crunching the numbers now and we’ll transmit them to the fleet as soon as they’re ready,” he glanced back at his console. “Here they come. Engage them at will until we make the shift. Firebird out.”
“Captain!” Po announced in an elevated but calm voice. “The NPQR Severus is moving to engage, sir. She’s opening fire.”
The Captain jumped to his feet. “Return fire. Railguns, full spread. Ion beam cannons, fire at will, target their railgun turrets—we can’t afford to lose our quantum missile capabilities. How many do we have left, by the way?”
Po glanced at her readout. “Fourteen, sir.”
The Captain started barking orders as explosions rocked the ship and damage reports came flying in, and he shrugged off Jake as he tried to wrap the man’s shoulder with strips of cloth ripped from the fallen XO’s uniform.
The surface of the Severus was like a flurry of fireflies as ordnance shot off her bow and starboard flanks, targeting the Phoenix’s aft and port side.
“Captain, they’re targeting our weapons. Two railgun turrets are out … make that three.” Another explosion rocked the ship. “And there goes an ion beam cannon.”
“Keep on returning fire, Commander. And no, Mercer,” he said to Jake, seeing the look in his eye, “keep all fighters aboard. We’re making the shift as soon as those calcs come in from the Firebird. Dammit,” he muttered, grabbing hold of his armrest as the ship lurched to the port side, “where the hell are those coordinates?”
Ben yelled into his comm. “Heavy casualties reported on decks thirty-two through forty-six, aft. Emergency crews respond. Emergency bulkheads are closing, sir, we’ve got exposure to vacuum down there.”
“They hit us in our ass,” the Captain muttered as he glared down at the XO, as if talking to an old friend. Jake imagined the dead man’s gruff voice growl some irreverent response.
“Po. Target the bastards with a quantum field missile. Rail crews, focus all forward railgun fire into the path of the missile.” Captain Watson steadied himself as the ship lurched again to port.
“Sir,” the officer at the sensor station looked up, his face ashen. “I’m getting multiple new contacts. Lots of ships shifting into orbit. Big ones.”
Jake glanced at his own console. Damn. Fifteen more capital ships, all converging on the raging battle outside the shipyards.
“Fire that missile, Po. Rail crews, clear a path.”
“Missile is away, sir.” They all looked up to see the bright, white light shoot away from the front bow of the Phoenix. The distance between it and the Severus shrunk, before all the railgun fire from the Imperial ship converged on the incoming missile. Several high-velocity slugs later and the missile burst into a fantastically bright explosion—the shock front rocked the Phoenix.
“Damage to the Severus?”
Po scanned her board. “Minimal, sir.”
“Captain, coordinates coming in from the Firebird. Transferring to the helm,” said the comm officer.
The helmsman turned his head towards the center of the bridge. “Sir, engineering reports that gravitics are out. We’re not going anywhere.”
The gravity of his statement sat heavy in the air as explosions continued to rock the ship.
A blast from the starboard side of the bridge and an accompanying fireball leveled the entire bridge crew to the floor. The last thing Jake saw before drifting into unconsciousness was the broken, bloody head of the XO, a new shaft of steel buried in the dead man’s temple, and beyond him on the deck, the Captain, bleeding from the nose and ears.
***
“Admiral Trajan, sensors show more fleet ships shifting into orbit. The Parma. The Executor. The Centurion. The Chimaera. I’m counting fourteen … no, fifteen heavy cruisers,” said the tactical officer, grinning with delight. “We’ve got them on the run, sir. I’m detecting multiple gravitic signatures from the nine rebel ships. From those that aren’t too damaged, of course.”
The Admiral spun to face the Lieutenant. “What are you talking about? Which ships are too damaged to make a gravitic shift?”
The officer scanned his board. “The Phoenix, the Roc, and the Heron, sir.”
Trajan glanced at his console, a peeved look on his face. “Captain, when this is over, summon
Captain Brouillette of the Severus. Have him report in person to me.” Titus nodded, wondering if he might have to send an accident report to Captain Brouillette’s family later that day.
The tactical officer continued, “Sir, the Firebird is making a gravitic shift—power levels are rising, sir, she’s going to get away—” his head shot up to look at the viewscreen. “Hot damn!”
Titus spun around to look at the viewscreen to see the source of the officer’s expletive. The telltale flash of an anti-matter reaction died away from the screen, leaving the devastated wreck of the Firebird in its wake. Secondary explosions ripped through the wreckage, and the ship broke apart into three or four smaller smoldering chunks, each streaming with expanding jets of smoke, debris, and bodies.
Trajan nodded in approval, and sat down in the Captain’s chair near the command station. “One down, eight to go. Tactical, continue fire on the nearest rebel ship that is still active. Comm, signal to the arriving fleet to fire at will, targeting weapons systems only.”
“Sir! Multiple quantum warheads coming from the Raven! They’re targeting the Honorius, sir.” They all turned to look at the screen. The Honorius, and two smaller frigates nearby, erupted with a volley of railgun fire, setting up a blinding defensive screen, which knocked out four of the incoming torpedoes.
But not the fifth. It streaked through the intense array of railgun streams and collided with the Honorius, which, after a bright flash, seemed to disintegrate before their eyes in an expanding puff of debris, just as the Fidelius had fifteen minutes earlier. Titus could hear a bridge officer mutter an expletive at the sight.
He snapped his head in the Admiral’s direction. “Sir, each of those ships is armed with fifteen of those monstrosities. They’re far more destructive than even our most powerful nuclear warheads. We can’t afford to—” a raised hand from the Admiral and a stern look from his solitary eye shut him up.
