Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2
Author: Dandridge, Doug
Date: 2012-12-12 23:00:00+00:00

Exodus: Empires At War

Book 2

By

Doug Dandridge

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to writer Poul Anderson.  You transported me to world of wonder across the Universe.  From Galactic Empires at war, to future spies striving for king and country, I enjoyed your stories of the Polesotechnic League and the Terran Empire.  Thanks for the memories.

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

Follow my Blog at http://dougdandridge.com

Follow me at @BrotherofCats

Copyright © 2012 Doug Dandridge

All rights reserved.

Please respect the hard work of this author.  If you found this book for free on a pirate site, please visit Amazon and buy a copy of your own.  I feel that I charge a reasonable price for this work.

For more information on the Exodus Universe, visit http://dougdandridge.net for maps, sketches and other details of this work.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Doug Dandridge’s Author Page at Amazon

Science Fiction

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm (Coming Spring 2013).

The Deep Dark Well Series

The Deep Dark Well

To Well and Back

Deeper and Darker (coming Summer/Fall 2013)

Others

The Shadows of the Multiverse

Diamonds in the Sand

The Scorpion

Afterlife

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

Others

The Hunger

Daemon

Aura

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“Missiles firing,” said the tactical officer.

Captain Dame Mei Lei sat in her command chair, battle armored with helmet nearby.  The Jean de Arc bucked slightly as she released a spread of missiles from the starboard tubes.  The port threat had been taken care of by the remnants of the fighter force that had originally struck the enemy fleet.  They had continued on, accelerating away from the action.  Two hundred fighters had swarmed over the enemy force, taking out the three cruisers and the super destroyer pair of that force.

The battle cruiser was now firing on the other force, which was more distant than was thought at first.  They had fired as well, and the battle cruiser's fighters were forming a screen between their mother ship and the enemy, waiting for the incoming missiles.

“Missile ETA in fifteen minutes,” said the tactical officer, his voice cracking with tension.

We’ve all been under too much tension for far too long, she thought, watching the holo display.

“I wonder why they haven't thrown their fighters at us,” said Commander Jackson from CIC.

“We don't know enough about the capabilities of those platforms,” said the tactical officer.  “They may be too short ranged to be employed against us.”

“Ours could chase us three times around the system,” said Jackson.  “I wouldn't assume theirs were any less capable.”

“Maybe they just didn't think of it,” said Sean, his voice flat.

“What did you say, your Majesty?” asked the Captain, wondering if he was being sarcastic.

“What if they didn't think of it,” said Sean, his voice coming alive.  “What if they don't think as well as we do?  After all, we are the most powerful race in this region of space, able to out think most of the dozens of other sentients in this region.  Maybe we are smarter on the average than the Ca’cadasans.  Maybe we are better at strategy and tactics than they are.”

“They are more advanced than we are, your Majesty,” said the tactical officer.

“By what,” said Sean.  “Maybe a couple of decades.  Maybe less.  I can tell you that some of the advanced tech I have seen from these demons from our past is similar to what we have on the drawing boards right now.  Hell, some of it is in predeployment trials right now.”

“And they were thousands of years ahead of us, thousands of years ago,” said the Captain, nodding her head.  “And that time includes a thousand years in transit, without a lot of advancement going on.  Now they are only decades ahead of us, if that.”

“They are too big,” said Sean, smiling into the link.  “They have rolled over everyone they have ever come in contact with.  There was no pressure to advance, while we were involved in the fight of our lives against other powers that were more or less technologically equal to us.  In some cases superior.  And we continued to advance so we could continue to win.”

“And we learned from those who had ruled this space before us,” said Jackson.  “We picked up their tricks, and tech from our friends.”

“They are still really big,” said the tactical officer.  “Even if we catch up with them.  I think it was Stalin who said quantity has a quality all its own.”

“You know your history, Lt. Commander,” said the Emperor, his eyes glowing.  “It will be a fight.  But we may have the advantage in smarts.  As long as we keep those dumb asses in Parliament out of the way.”

He's coming back to us, thought the Captain, a smile breaking out on her face.  He can see hope in the future, and that is lifting him up.

“We have translation ahead,” called out the tactical officer.  “Something big.”

The Captain's eyes narrowed.  Of course there was so much going on in the near hyperspace to this system that they were having trouble tracking individual ships.  But it couldn't be coincidence that the ship was coming in right here, right now.  And they were so close to the hyper limit themselves.

“Can you tell whose it is?” she asked the tactical officer, feeling her chest tighten.

“It could be one of our super battleships from the size of it,” said Jackson hopefully.  “Or it could be...”

“One of theirs,” said the tactical officer.  “Thirty light seconds ahead on our present bearing.”

Cast of Characters

The Exodus III

Admiral Quong Lee:  Commander of the Exodus III

Lt. Commander Deborah Blake:  com officer

Admiral Molotov:  Commander of covering force

Lieutenant Krishnamurta:  helm

High Captain Mrrashatana Zzrathrasensi:  Commander of Ca’cada pursuit force

Admiral Chang Lee:  Fourth grandson of Quong

Chief Engineer Sandra Stoops-Lee:  Chang's wife

Science Officer Horace Mgumba

Chief of Security, Jamal Streeter

Head Councilwoman Elizabeth Hampton

The Capital

Emperor Augustine Ogden Lee Romanov I:  31st ruler of the Empire of New Terra. Born Year 933 (67 years old).  Crowned in Year 994, after the death of the Emperor Justinian I.

Empress Annastasia Romanov:  Wife of Augustine.

Crown Prince Dimetre Ogden Lee Romanov

Princess Amanda:  wife of Dimetre

Prime Minister Count Mejoris Jeraviki:  Leader of the Lords and Opposition to the Emperor.

Archduke Frederich Mgana:  political affiliate of PM

Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski:  the Chief of Naval Operations

Field Marshal Betty Parker:  Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps

Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri:  Army Chief of Staff.

Prince Henry:  The Spare.

HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II (BB 1458)

Chief Petty Officer First Jana Gorbachev:  Chief of Laser Ring B.

Petty Officer Martinez

Lt SG “Count” Jasper Bettencourt:  Son of a count and friends with Sean.

Lt. Constance Salvatore

Ensign Connie Caldwell

Lt. Commander Bryson Popodopolous

Captain Sebastian Ngano:  Captain of the Sergiov.

Lieutenant SG Prince Sean Ogden Lee Romanov:  Born Year 971 (29 years old).  Fifth child and the third son of the Emperor Augustine Romanov, serving as a weapons officer on HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II (BB 1458)

HIMS Joan de Arc (HBC 2984)

Captain Dame Mye Lei:  Commander of HIMS Joan de Arc (HBC 2984).  Member Fourth Fleet Scout Force.  Born Year 936 (64 years old).

Commander Xavier Jackson:  XO.

HIMS Johann Peterson (DD 26575)/

Dot McArthur, DDF 63587

Lt Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf:  Commander HIMS Johann Peterson (DD 26575).  Born Year 962 (38 years old).  then Commander H VII Destroyer Dot MacArthur.

Lt. SG Katherine Schuler:  XO, then commander, Johann Peterson.

Ensign Lasardo:  tactical officer

HIMS Seastag (Stealth/Attack 421)

Commander Bryce Suttler:  Commander HIMS Seastag (Stealth Attack 421).  One of new generation of wormhole sink stealth attacks.  Born Year 955 (45 years old).

Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic.  Tactical

The Donut

Doctor Lucille Yu, PhD:  Assistant Chief Scientist and engineer of the Donut Project.  Born Year 928 (72 years old).

Dr. Rafael Gomez:  Negative Matter Engineer.

Dr. Baxter:  Chief of Administration.

Sestius IV, F2 Star

Cornelius Walborski:  New settler and farmer to frontier world Sestius IV, and member of the local militia. Born Year 973 (27 years old)., from New Detroit, now Neu Romney

Katlyn Walborski:  Cornelius’ wife.

Sergeant McFadden:  his squad leader

Doctor Jennifer Conway:  Physician and fiancé’ of Captain Glen McKinnon.

Captain Glen McKinnon:  Captain Imperial Marine Corps.

Senior Sergeant Hogan:  Imperial Marine Corps NCO.

Commodore Chung:  the system commander

Colonel Klein (Brigadier):  Commander of Imperial Army Garrison Sestius at Willoughby (the capital).

Lt. Colonel Samantha Thomas:  commander of the independent medium infantry battalion

Captain Laura Montenegro:  Battle Fort commander

Corporal Sheila McMurty:  militia

Montano Montero:  Steadholder

Conundrum III: Sector Four HQ.

Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda:  Admiral in command of 4th Naval District.  Born Year 863 (137 years old).

Field Marshal Maxwell:  Sector Four Ground Force Commander.

Captain Henninman (Hen):  Adjutant.

Commander Nagaya:  Intelligence Officer.

Massadara III: Fleet Base, Port Massadara

Vice Admiral The Countess Esmeralda Gonzalez:  System commander.

Major General McKenzie Zhukov:  System Army Commander.

Captain Jessica Frazier:  Senior system flight officer.

HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo

Admiral Sir Gunter Heinrich:  Commander Task Group 4.9.

Beria:  Admiral Heinrich’s Steward.

Captain Maria Steinman:  CO of Leonardo.

Captain Myra Lamborgini:  Flag Captain Task Group 4.9.

Janaikasa

Major Samuel Baggett:  Executive Officer, First of the 789th Infantry (Light), 988th Infantry Division.  Born Year 941 (59 years old). (Colonel at Sestius, Frederick defense).

Lieutenant Kreiger:  Weapons Officer Under Baggett.

Brigadier General Alphonso Marquett:  Interim Commander 789th Infantry.

Sergeant Major Terry Zacharias:  Senior NCO in Baggett’s battalion, and on Sestius.

Ca’cadasans

Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow:  Ca’cadasan conquest fleet commander. Born 2843 AD (1,418 years old).

Fraggaraata Zre’ghattasa IX: Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire.  Born 1940 AD (2,321 years old).  Son of the sitting Emperor at the time of human contact, older brother of the Prince killed in human contact.

Pod Leader Klesshakendriakka

Low Admiral Hrisshammartanama

Pod Leader Llillissarada’ing

Elysium

Archduke Horatio Alexanderopolis:  His Imperial Majesty’s Ambassador to the Court of the Elysium Empire.  Born Year 821 (179 years old).

High Lord Grarakakak, Brakakak:  High Lord of Elysium Empire.

HICS (His Imperial Czar’s Ship) Ekaterina

Lt. Commander Kathomas Hubbard:  Commander.

Others

Ahmadhi-ghasta Mallakan:  Grand High Bishop of Lasharan Jakarja Lashana  (Church of the Gods Vengeful).  Born Year 915 (85 years old).

Ensign Mark O’Brien:  copilot fighter Heraklion III

Timeline

2151 AD:  Hiro Yamamoto discovers subspace portal generator.  Opens subspace dimension to transport of human colonists.

2160 AD:  Alpha Centauri B4 colony established.

2173 AD:  Tau Ceti III colony established.

2208 AD:  Humanity has spread to eight inhabitable systems within 20 light years of Sol.

2250 AD:  12 million humans living outside of the solar system.

2254 AD:  First contact with Ca’cadasans on Epsilon Iridani V.  Human colony destroyed without warning or trace.  Incoming ship discovers colony destroyed and runs back to human space with news.

2256 AD:  Human colony at Altair V attacked and destroyed.

2257 AD:  United Solar System Fleet established to fight alien threat.

2260 AD:  Battle of Tau Ceti, humans meet Ca’cadasans with a five to one advantage in mass and are handily defeated.

2261 AD:  Construction started on the six Exodus ships to allow some of humanity to make it to safety outside of human space.

2264 AD:  Ca’cadasans, having destroyed all of humanity’s colonies, attack the solar system in force. Five completed Exodus ships attempt to leave the system under heavy escort.  Two are destroyed before they can make it into subspace.  Two enter subspace with pursuit, while Exodus III makes a clean breakaway into subspace.

2264 - 3260 AD:  The Long Voyage.  With several fueling stops and explorations, Exodus III travels along the galactic rim and toward the core, traversing 9,760 light years from Sol.

3261 AD:  Supersystem discovered, along with remains of ancient civilization that had once owned it.  First human colony founded on Jewel.  Year 1 of New Human Empire.

3268 AD (Year 8):  Humans make contact with traveling merchant ship from Elysium Empire. Discover thriving civilizations that sprung from the ancient civilization that used to inhabit the Supersystem.

3361 AD (Year 100):  Population 2,000,000+.  Establishment of the Fleet.

3460 AD (Year 199):  Beginning of Terraforming projects around super system.

3573 to 3579 AD (Year 312 to 318):  First Gardasian War, human victory.

3589 to 3592 AD (Year 328 to 331):  Second Gardasian War, human victory, Gardasian race absorbed into human empire.

3619 to 3621 AD (Year 358 to 361):  First Markanan War, human victory.

3669 to 3676 AD (Year 408 to 415):  Second Markanan War, human victory, Markanans absorbed into human empire.

3696 to 3698 AD (Year 435 to 437):  Kiniman War, Kiniman race absorbed into the human empire.

3724 to 3733 AD (Year 463 to 472):  First Crakastan War, human victory.

3744 to 3762 AD (Year 483 to 501):  First Lasharan War, human victory.

3772 to 3784 AD (Year 511 to 523):  Second Lasharan War, human victory.

3797 to 3801 AD (Year 536 to 540):  First Margravi War, human victory.

3803 to 3808 AD (Year 542 to 547):  War of Revolt, Imperial Victory, 150 million humans leave Empire to found Republic of Mankind.

3809 to 3814 AD (Year 548 to 553):  Civil War, Constance the Great triumphs over Cassius the Terrible (II).

3815 AD (Year 554):  New Constitution establishes Constitutional Monarchy.  (Bill of Freedoms added in Year 607).

3841 to 3846 AD (Year 585 to 590).  Machine Revolt.  Human built autonomous robots rebel against humanity.  Billions die before revolt stopped, Man in the Loop Law enacted.

3848 to 3853 AD (Year 587 to 592).  Second Crakastan War, human victory.

3873 to 3876 AD (Year 612 to 615):  Third Cracastan War, human victory.

3892 to 3897 AD (Year 631 to 635):  Second Margravi War, human victory, ends with alliance of Margravi and Klashak with human empire.

3913 to 3936 AD (Year 652 to 673):  First Galactic War (against Lashar, Crakasta and Fenri).

3984 AD (Year 723):  Donut Project approved and construction planning begins.

3984 to 4000 AD (Year 723 to 739):  Elysium War, marginal human victory.

4007 to 4008 AD (Year 746 to 747):  War of Man, humanity (Imperium) against humanity (Republic).  Political pressures bring an end to short, sharp war.

4009 to 4114 AD (Year 748 to 853):  The Century of Peace.  Empire involved in no extra empire or border hostilities.

4065 AD (Year 804):  Dissidents from New Terra Republic found the Grand Duchy of New Moscow.

4114 to 4131 AD (Year 853 to 870):  Second Galactic War, Elysium, Lashar and Fenri against Empire, New Terra and Margrave/Klashak, human victory.

4167 to 4180 AD (Year 906 to 921):  Third Galactic War, humanity's victory.

4206 to 4216 AD (Year 945 to 955):  Klang Consortium attacks New Moscow.  Empire of Terra and Republic of New Terra come in on New Moscow’s side.

4256 AD (Year 985):  Donut Generates first working wormhole gate.

4261 AD (Year 1000):  Empire celebrates 1000 years of existence and growth.

Prologue

Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M'tinisasitow looked at the holo tank and gave a snort of appreciation.  Twenty more vector arrows had just appeared at the edge of the plot, figures showing their velocity as they moved toward the fleet.  Fifteen more were slowing to a stop at the anchorage.  There has to be almost ten billion tons of shipping out there, he thought, cataloguing the battleships, scout cruisers and escorts that were forming up.  And that doesn’t include the force on their way to the smallest of the polities, and the scouting forces already within the space of the largest.

The Great Admiral turned away from the plot and looked at the viewer that showed the great bulk of the logistics base that was going up here, beyond the hyper VII limit of the great blue star.  The star itself was nothing more than a painfully bright pinpoint in the distance.  The base was by no means complete, but more freighters were arriving every day to add to its mass, until it was a complete half billion tons of station.  They were following standard Ca’cadasan practice of establishing a base of operations, even though they hoped to capture hundreds of systems within the first phase of the operation.

“It is impressive, my Lord,” said Low Admiral Mrrissramwatta Hrisshammartanama, commander of one of the assault forces.

“Yes,” agreed the Great Admiral, glancing back at his subordinate, then back at the viewer.  “Three separate conquest fleets in the same region.  Something that this part of the Galaxy has never seen.”  Though it must be common enough on the other frontier of the Empire, thought the supreme commander.

On that frontier the Empire was fighting an enemy such as they had never seen.  An Empire of great if unknown size, that for some reason did not see its eventual consolidation into the Ca’cadasan Empire as a good thing, and was protesting that eventuality with great vigor.  Despite that he had still gotten more units assigned to his command, with more coming.  Because this was the species that had betrayed its surrender and killed an Imperial heir, and as such much suffer the full wrath of the Empire.

“You still intend to proceed with the attack plan, my Lord,” continued the Low Admiral.

The Great Admiral turned quickly on his subordinate, then noticed that there were a half dozen more high ranking officers with him.  “What is this?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Nothing more than an attempt to see if you might change your mind, my Lord,” answered the Low Admiral, who seemed to be the spokesman for the group.  “Beyond that, nothing at all.”

The Great Admiral took the officer at his word, but still called for his marines on the link.  He wasn’t about to take a chance of a coupe, unlikely as that was in a hierarchy like that of the Empire, where everyone knew their place.

“I believe that this plan is the best,” said the Great Admiral, giving a head toss of agreement with his own speech.  “I feel that it is best to disrupt all three of the human polities at the same time.”

“And we feel that it would be best to roll over the smallest kingdom, this New Moscow, first.  Then to go after the second.”

“And I feel, though it really is not your concern, that if we attack New Moscow the other two polities will rally,” said the Great Admiral, his voice rising.  “And then we will be facing both of the other aroused Empires of the Humans.”

“But it is standard doctrine to take one opponent at a time,” said the Low Admiral, the males around him giving head shakes of agreement.

“And this is a new situation,” said the Great Admiral.  “We have never before had to contend with one species that had multiple kingdoms that are both in competition with each other and allies.”  Though how a species could split into such a conglomeration of competing factions was beyond any of their thought patterns.  That the humans being such a race of individualists might account for their disconcerting habit of progressing at such a rapid rate.  That was something the Empire had never before encountered, being used to rolling over less advanced or less weighty opponents throughout their long history

“Very well, my Lord,” said the Low Admiral, giving a bow of respect.  “It is yours to decide.”

“That it is,” agreed the overall fleet commander, turning back to the holo and zooming in on some ships that were mating up, two scout cruisers and four escorts to a battleship, prior to moving to their deployments.  He turned back to his officers and clasped both his lower hands to his chest in salute.  “Now it is time to start.  For the Emperor.”

“For the Emperor,” growled the officers, returning the salute.  They turned and left the room, and the Grand Admiral breathed a sigh a relief.  Mutiny was not a tradition in the Ca’cadasan Empire.  Obedience was.  But being in the presence of so many hormonally driven alpha males was always a tension builder.

The Grand Admiral turned back to the holo plot and watched as the groups of ships began to drop off as they translated into hyper and started on their missions.

Chapter 1

Some people like to say that aliens have souls.  I don’t know for sure whether they do or not.  But I do know that if they do they are not like ours.  Our souls are connected to our God.  The same God that is worshipped in many forms by our major religions.  The God of the Universe, the creator of all.  Aliens do not worship this God.  Instead they worship lessor beings who cannot truly be called Gods.  So they do not have souls in the same sense as we do.  Mankind has been given by God the right to govern the beasts of the airs, land and seas.  And aliens are not better than these.

Speech by Theo Streeter, Duke of Coventry, to the Humanity First Party.

“And that’s about all I can get away with on that front,” said Field Marshal Betty Parker, the Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps.  “Any more and the Lords will be screaming bloody murder.  “On the positive side, all of my Marines will ship with heavy battle armor.”

“There is that,” agreed Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri, Chief of Staff of the Imperial Army, a smile on his broad face.  They all knew that only about a third of the planet based Marines were equipped with heavy armor, while all those serving aboard naval vessels had a suit of the expensive and deadly equipment.  That the overall commander of the Marines was making sure that all Sector Four reinforcements brought the one ton suits with them was saying something about her commitment to the Emperor’s directive.

But we are all pledged to follow his commands, thought Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkoswki, the Chief of Naval Operations.  Within the oversight of the Parliament.  And this meeting has completely circumvented that oversight.  But they were ten kilometers beneath the Septagon, the most secure office building on the planet, and they were in geometrically heightened levels of secrecy down here.

“I am afraid that I have gleaned all I can as well,” said the Army COS, looking down at his flat comp.  “An armored battalion here, a heavy infantry battalion there, plus more light infantry than I’m comfortable with moving into a potential hot zone.  Those guys are mostly meant for urban patrol and garrison, not a heavy stand up fight against an invasion force.”

“So how many were you able to free from their core world resorts?” asked Len in his New Texas Drawl.  All laughed at that characterization of core world dispositions, which was how those serving on the frontiers saw them, while the heads of the services spent most of their time in the most protected system of all.

“Forty armored battalions, fifty-three heavy infantry battalions and another two hundred odd battalions of infantry and artillery,” said the Army COS, a frown on his face.  “Some damned Lords interfered with the transfer of a hundred more, screaming bloody murder the whole way.  And that’s where we stand.”

“So about two hundred thousand men,” said the Admiral, looking at his own flat comp.  “To add to the fifty thousand Marines Betty came up with.  A quarter of a million land warriors.”

“Wish it could be better,” said the Grand Marshal.  “I’ve got seventy-four divisions on alert for movement orders, with the staff sworn to secrecy.  So if the balloon goes up I can at least get them loaded and shipped with minimal delay.  And how’s it look on the Fleet front.”

“About the same as yours I’m afraid,” said Len, pulling the smoking pipe from his mouth.  “I have about five hundred ships redeployed to Sector Four on the pretense that they are going to relieve vessels due to come back to the Core Sector.  Hopefully no one will look at those orders too closely.  And we still have to look at this mess that might blow up on the Lasharan frontier.”

“Might?” said Betty with a frown.  “I thought the intelligence was good.”

“Oh, it’s good,” agreed Len, taking the pipe back in his mouth and sucking more smoke into his lungs.  “At least as good as intelligence can be coming from a friendly power.  I think with the advanced we’ve gotten, and the mobilization of the Margravian Fleet, we should be able to dodge that bullet.  The Margravian forces are already deploying into Kleshakian space and forming up with the Kleshakians.  But our own intelligence is warning of some movements over on the Crakista frontier.”

Mishori shook a bit at the mention of the Margravians, who as an insectiod race was not prone to give humans the warm and fuzzies.  But psychologically they were much like humans, and had proven staunch and loyal allies since losing to the Empire a hundred and fifty years before.

“Now that’s good news,” said Betty, her frown deepening.  “Why couldn’t it be someone somewhat incompetent, like the Fenri.”

Len nodded his head in agreement.  Both Empires were about the same size, half that of the human Empire.  But the Dinosauroid Crakista were much better at the game of war than the Ursoid Fenri.  The Fenri fought from passion and anger, while the Crakista were cold, calculating opponents.

“When it rains it pours,” said Len, blowing out smoke with his words.  “And it’s sure pouring now.”

“You think the lizards will that much of a problem?” asked Betty, her own grimace showing her distaste for that life form.

Not that she’s a bigot, thought the Chief of Naval Operations.  They all had to deal with various forms of aliens at official embassy functions and on deployments.  But some forms just rubbed people wrong.  With Mishori it was insectoids, and with Betty lizard forms, even though the Crakista were not lizards, and were not even dinosaurs.  They just favored those beasts more than any other in the Terran bestiary.

“Oh, I think we’ll beat them again,” said Len, knocking the ash out of his pipe and starting to clean it.  “I would like to just go ahead and beat them till they’re down, no matter the policy of the Empire of not becoming a conqueror.  Because they just keep coming back for more.  But this might not be the best time to have to deal with them again.”

“You think they might be in an alliance with our long lost friends?” asked the Grand Marshal, pulling a cigarette out of his pack and lighting up.

“Why must you disgusting men burn those weeds in here?” asked the Commandant, wrinkling her nose.

“Because we can,” answered both men in unison.  Everyone broke out in a short laugh.

“And isn’t it funny how no one wants to say their names,” said Betty, fanning the smoke away from her face before the room fans kicked in and pulled it away.  “They’re called Ca’cadasans.”

“If that’s what they are,” said Len, knowing she spoke the truth.

“And who else might be running around in our space in Hyper VII ships?” said the woman, glaring at the CNO.

“Could be lots of folks,” said Len with a frown, shaking his head, then holding up a hand when he saw the angry look in Betty’s eyes.  “I know.  I think it’s them as well.  Just like Augustine.  I’m just pointing out that we don’t know for sure.”

“But we’re likely to find out in the near future,” said Mishori, and all nodded their heads in agreement.

“Last issue on the agenda is Bolthole,” said Len, keeping his voice low and feeling foolish when he recognized what he was doing in the totally secure room.  But it is one of the most highly kept secrets in the Empire, he thought.  Everyone in this room knew about it, including the location.  That was true for less than a dozen people outside the operation itself, and most of the crew that flew between the Empire and the Bolthole system were deep conditioned to not even remember the coordinates when they weren’t actually navigating to the system.

“And how is our secret military system doing?” asked Betty, the frown leaving her face.

“So far according to plan,” said Len, pulling up the information on his internal memory, reading the encrypted files in his head.  “The main base is coming in ahead of schedule, though the planetary terraforming project is slightly behind schedule.  But it’s the base that matters, if we’re going to get the system's industrial potential up to producing fleets of ships.  The planet is just for support of the industrial component, R and R and fresh food and such.

“So how long before we start seeing warships coming in from free space?” asked Mishori, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he spoke.

“Probably not for a couple of years yet,” confided the Admiral.  “But it will happen.”

Len sat there for a second to let everyone digest what they had just said while he thought about the base, which had originally been the idea of the Emperor.  An industrial system that could produce everything needed by the Fleet, including antimatter, it was thought to be unassailable by any current enemy, since its location outside of Imperial Space was completely unknown.  That sector of space was not the claim of a polity, though Exploration Command ships were busily cataloging the sector for future exploitation.

“That is always a possible refuge if we can’t contain the Ca’cas here,” said Mishori.

“And for what,” said Betty in an angry tone.  “So we can wait for them to move on to that sector, discover Bolthole, and wipe us out just like before.”

“I think what she’s saying Mishori, is that Bolthole is not the final refuge,” said Len with a nod to Betty.  “Neither is the Other Universe Project, or the expedition to the Magellanic Clouds.”

“There is no fucking refuge,” said Betty Parker, her face reddening.  “Don’t you get that?  The whole idea of building this Empire, of expanding as quickly as we have, was to be able to fight the Ca’cas on our own ground when they finally showed their ugly faces.  They can’t be that much more advanced than we are, not any more.  And if they are, surely we will be able to catch up this time around.  I know that my Marines will give their all to fight them, as will the Fleet and the Army.  Hopefully that will be enough.  But if it isn’t I know this Marine will go down fighting.  I wasn’t born to run away from my home when it’s threatened.”

“Fair enough,” said Len, glancing over at Mishori.  “I know that I’m not going to run either.  But the choice of the human race sending out seeds again is not with me.  Thank God it’s not with me.”

The other two nodded their head in agreement with that.

*     *     *

Sean sat in the command chair of a flag bridge, looking into a huge holo tank that showed an entire system.  Green arrows indicated that there was a very large fleet around the battleship that Sean knew he was on.  The flagship of that fleet.  And the number of red arrows at the other end of the system showed they were facing an opposing fleet of equal if not superior size.

Sean looked around the bridge at the dozens of officers and crew that were working at their stations.  He could see and feel the tension on them, but when they looked his way they seemed to derive a sense of calm from him, and went back to work with determination.  That was one of the things that told him this had to be a dream, the people having such confidence in him as their commander.

Sean’s view shifted outside of his body and he was looking at himself, his face a mask of concentrated thought as he looked back into the holo.  A viewer sprung up in holo next to his seat, and he saw the face of the CNO of the Fleet, Grand High Admiral Lenkoswki, speaking to him with respect on his face.  And then Sean noticed his own face.  It was not the face he wore now.  It was an older face, not much older than now, but lined with thought and worry.

And then he saw the rank insignia on his uniform, and the jeweled golden circlet on his head.  Both only worn by the seated Emperor.  And if he was Emperor at such a young age, then what had happened to his father and brothers?  Nothing good, or he wouldn’t be in this position.

Sean woke from his dream, knowing that it was one that sprang from the curse of his family.  Some called it a gift, but he knew better.  And it was said to be strongest in one who was destined to become Emperor.  Something he was sure would not happen to him, as long as his father and Dimetre were alive.  As long as dad and older brother are alive, he thought, wiping his hand across his sweat covered brow.

The Prince buried his face in his hands.  He tried to tell himself that it was only a dream, but it had been too lucid for such.  No, it was a prophetic vision.  And he wondered once again why his family had been cursed with such.  It wasn’t like they were religious leaders, like the Pope, or the Patriarch of the Orthodox religions, or the Imams of the Moslems.  They were secular heads of State, and the State had no real official religion, though Reformed Catholicism presided over most official functions, like coronations.  But it was not impossible for the Emperor to use another head cleric of another faith for a coronation or a marriage of state.

Sean dismissed those thoughts from his head.  They were a way to avoid the main concern, that something might happen to father, mother and the rest of the family.  It had to be the rest of the family as well, since Dimetre and Henry were ahead of him in the line of succession.  Hell, even his big sister Fiona was ahead of him technically, though she had officially renounced her claim when she refused to marry a man who would have cemented a political alliance, and instead married the man she loved.  But she could still make a claim, if it came to it.

But what can I do about it? thought the Prince, looking over at his personal computer terminal.  If I send a message to dad it will still take five or six days to get to him.  It would have been faster if Massadara was on the hyperlink network.  Someday it might be.  But not today.  And if I send a warning, what can I tell them.  That at some unknown time in the future something might strike down the whole family.  Father might use it to keep the family from gathering together in public.  But not for everything that happens in private, like family gatherings.  Is there even a way out?  Sending them a warning might cause the action that brought them to danger.  Sean shook his head as he cleared the thoughts from his head again.  He could go crazy thinking about things like this.  He thought for a while longer and got up from the bed.

His mind made up, Sean got out of bed and walked over to his desk, turning on the computer with a thought.  He had to tell them about the dream.  It was his duty as a family member and someone within the Imperial succession.  Then it would be father’s to do with as he wished.  And I’m sure he’ll make the right decision, thought the Prince as he keyed in the message.  But he still had the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that whatever he did here today, it was too late.

*     *     *

Ahmadhi-ghasta (Grand High Bishop) Mallakan of the Grand Temple of Jakarja Lashana (Church of the Gods Vengeful) stood on the bridge of the battleship Marrala’s Hope and surveyed the holo tank.  Thousands of vessels showed in the tank as green arrows.  There were several hundred warships among that armada, the rest being merchant vessels of one type or another.  The merchant vessels were armed, with whatever could be scrounged up to outfit them.  That didn’t mean they would fare too well against the real warships that might try to stop them from delivering their deadly cargo.  Mallakan could only hope that those foot soldiers of the God of Destruction could land and fulfill the wishes of their grim deity.

“We are ready to translate, my Lord,” said the Captain of the battleship, his thin body bowing at the waist.  His twin macro eyes were oriented toward the floor in a sign of respect, while the quad motion eyes continued to scan the room.

“I wish I could go with you, my son,” said the religious leader, feeling true regret that he was not allowed to give his life for the cause.  But the Deity had communicated to him that he was too important to the cause to throw his life away as a soldier.

“You are needed here, your Holiness,” said the Captain, rising from his bow and looking the Grand High Bishop in the eyes.  “We will take many of the infidels with us, do not worry.”

“I know, my son,” said the cleric, looking over the busy bridge of the ship.  She’s not as advanced as the ships she may be facing, but she can at least give a good account of herself.  “See that the Soldiers of God get to where they need to be.  Send the souls of the unbelievers to the hells of our Lord.”

“I didn’t know they had souls,” said the Captain, his face lined with confusion.

“Oh, they have souls, and that is the truth,” said the cleric, showing his teeth in a cruel smile.  “Small shriveled souls that wouldn’t know truth if it bit their heads off.  But souls nonetheless, that will feel the torment of the hells of our Lord for eternity.  Send them to that eternity, Captain,” he said, his voice rising, clasping the officer by his shoulders.  “Send them to the cruel embrace of our Lord.”

“I will, my Lord,” said the Captain, lowering his eyes again.  He looked back into the eyes of the cleric and smiled.  “It is time for us to go.  We have a long slow journey ahead.”

Mallakan gave a head dip of acknowledgement.  It would indeed be a slow journey for these ships.  They would be crossing the frontier in hyper II, a mere creep of about thirty-two times light speed, in a pseudo kind of way.  It would take two months to get over the frontier in a manner that would hopefully keep the enemy from detecting them.  Of course some would be caught.  You couldn’t send tens of thousands of ships through hyper without some by chance getting within sensor range of a listener.  But hopefully most would get through, and then jump to hyper V, the limit for most, for a speed run to their targets.  While, again hopefully, the ships that were detected would bring a swarm of response, weakening the defenses of the target systems.

“The blessings of the God be with you,” he said to the Captain, moving his hand in the sign of the ritual.  Mallakan then turned and limped away, his leg hurting him as usual.  But pain is life, and it showed that I am still here, doing the will of my God.

*     *     *

Lucille Yu tapped into the intercom as soon as she saw what was going on.  “Stop,” she yelled over the link to the control room, where they were just about to open another wormhole.  “What in the hell are you doing.”

The man at the control panel turned around with a shocked expression on his face.  “I’m opening a wormhole,” he said.  “We had the energy built up, and I thought the production schedule called for producing one whenever we had the energy.”

“The Emperor is coming today, you idiot,” said Lucille, feeling bad as soon as the words left her mouth.  She calmed herself down for a moment, then starting talking in slow measured speech.  “The Emperor is coming today, in fact in less than three hours.  And we had planned to open a wormhole while he was here.  We wouldn’t be able to do that if you depleted the energy matrixes and we had to start feeding them again.”

“The production schedule said nothing about saving up for a demonstration,” said the man, his face going from angry to confused.

“It sure did,” said Lucille, checking the schedule herself, then cursing under her breath as she saw that the space that should have contained the demonstration for the Emperor was blank.  What the hell, she thought, sending an override through the system to see who had authorized the change and coming up with a blank.  She sent another command and put the demonstration back on the schedule.  “Well, it does now.  So keep your fingers off that control panel until you’re told to do so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the tech who had almost ruined the big day.  “I’ll make sure no one touches anything until the time comes.”

“You do that,” said Lucille, standing up and taking a couple of turns around her office, cutting the link with a thought.  “You do that.”

Lucille swore again under her breath and walked into her private bathroom.  Splashing some water on her face, she looked in the mirror and frowned at the worry lines around her eyes.  Time for another facial, she thought, thinking about the procedure the well to do used to keep themselves looking young.  She was one of those well to do now, so it was well within her reach.  She continued to look at herself in the mirror, liking what she saw otherwise.

Lucille was a tall woman, with the blond hair and blue eyes of her mother, and only slight epicanthic folds, the gift of her father’s heritage, showing the origin of her last name.  People were always surprised when they first met her, expecting a small Asian woman, then finding a blond Goddess.

I better check those wormhole production chambers, she thought, wiping the water from her face with an absorbent hand towel that sucked the moisture from her face.  She walked back to her desk, pulling the view of the two production chambers that were to be used for the demonstration from the computer and displaying them on the holo.

Each production chamber was a sphere about sixty kilometers in diameter.  The outer surface was a mass of grabber units that kept it anchored in space.  The ends of each of the twenty-eight graviton projector units showed as circles on the surface, their microwave receiving units built into that section.  Each of the twenty kilometer long by ten kilometer wide units pointed into the twenty kilometer vacuum chamber in the exact center of the sphere.  When activated the units formed a temporary singularity in the center of that chamber, ripping open the fabric of space.  At the same instant another rift was opened in the next closest unit, and the tunnel formed between them, a wormhole that could be used for transit from one section of space to another.  Negative matter was then injected into the edges of each opening to keep it open, the amount of negative matter making the opening the desired size.  And then the two openings would be moved to wherever the humans wanted them to be, and a new wormhole gate would be in place.

Someday we’ll find a better way, she thought, looking across the schematic, comparing it to the real thing, and seeing that everything seemed to be in order.  Right now this works well enough, but it will be so much better when we can form them in place.

Satisfied, she shut down the holo and walked out of the office, heading toward the lift and her quarters.  It wasn’t every day that a sovereign came aboard, and she had to look her best.

*     *     *

The cockpit of Heraklion III was not really crowded, though it could not be called spacious by any means.  Centuries ago someone had decided that spaceships did not have to be so cramped that crews became claustrophobic over time.  Especially when missions across solar systems might take weeks, even for the non-hyper fighters.  So the cockpit, which measured four meters by four meters for the crew of four, was not really cramped.  And there was a small living section further back if one needed privacy.

So Ensign Mark O’Brien wondered why he felt so out of place this day on what should have been a routine protection flight.  He had never felt this jittery since coming on the Imperial Protection Detail.  And they were in what had to be the most protected space they could imagine.  Only Imperial warships of the detail were in this sector of space.  Nothing else was on the screens, and the hyper limit for the black hole was over thirty light hours away.

“You going to be OK, Ensign?” asked Lt. Commander Phoenix, the ship commander.  All were in their battle armor, which would give them a few percentage points chance of surviving if something took out the ship.  Helmets and gloves were racked behind the acceleration couches.  No use being uncomfortable without need.

O’Brien glanced over at Warrant Officer Three Juriviscious, sitting next to him in the pilot seat, then back at Petty Officer Flounce at the sensor/com station.  Both seemed to be cool and composed.

“I’ll be fine, sir,” said O’Brien to the senior officer, offering up a smile.  “Maybe it’s being so close to that damned hole to hell out there.”

“Nothing to worry about, sir,” said Juriviscious with a wide smile.  “We’ll be in stable orbit the whole way.  Same one the station is in.  As long as we don’t hit the station and spiral into the hole we’ll be OK.”

“And if we do hit the station?” asked the ensign, his eyes widening.

“Then we get to explore the other side of the event horizon,” said Flounce with a laugh.  “Don’t worry sir.  You won’t feel a thing when the spaghettification happens.”

“Enough of that,” said the Commander.  “Let’s get ready for launch.”

Heraklion is reporting she’s ready to deploy,” said Flounce, turning to look at the Commander.

Ahead the big doors to the hanger bay were opening, and the other three ships of the flight were powering up.  Juriviscious pushed the commit button and set the launch sequence in motion.  It was too close in here, even with the size of the hanger, to allow human reflexes to move the ship out of the bay.

One left the hanger first, moving into the star field outside the ship and out of sight.  Two followed, then Three left the deck and moved on the trail of her sisters.

“See,” said the Commander, leaning forward and putting a hand on O’Brien’s armored shoulder.  “Nothing to it.”

“Yes sir,” said the ensign, starting on his weapons check and finding everything in working order.

“Proceeding to the patrol point,” said Juriviscious, punching in the commands on her board.

“Primary due on board in twenty-five minutes,” came the voice of the flight commander over the intercom speakers.

Which means all the security is in place on the station, thought O’Brien, looking over his scanner.  And the only things out here are Imperial ships of the protection force.  So why am I still feeling like something really bad is going to happen.

Nothing could happen at this time and place.  The only armed people had been deep scanned and deep conditioned, and were guaranteed to be no threat to the Emperor or his family.  So nothing could happen, could it?

Chapter 2

A great man on Earth once said that war is just an extension of diplomacy.  I say nonsense.  I have been involved in diplomacy all my life.  Diplomacy is war, plain and simple.  Only the dying may take an extended period of time.

Ambassador Sandra Alexandropolis in a speech to the Parliament.

Augustine Ogden Lee Romanov looked over at his eldest son, Dimetre, and smiled.  The Crown Prince looked bored, and Augustine couldn’t blame him.  Cabinet meetings were not much fun, even if they were held on the Central Station Dockyards.  “Patience,” he whispered to the young man who would not see the throne for another century, unless there were unforeseen circumstances.  “We’ll be out of here in an hour and on our way to the Donut.”

The younger man nodded and smiled.  He’ll be a good ruler someday, thought the Emperor, looking around the table, then glancing back at his wife, Dimetre’s Princess, and Henry, occupying the spectator seats in the large chamber, along with several undersecretaries and the cabinet staff.  And they look bored as hell as well, thought Augustine, shaking his head.  Or at least impatient to get to the wonder of the Galaxy.  I’ll try to wrap this one up fast.

“I hereby call this meeting to order,” said Augustine in his best official voice, silencing the several conversations that had been going on between ministers.  “I thank you gentlemen and ladies for being able to meet at such short notice.  I figured that Central Station was a perfect spot, as some of you live on New Terra.”  He nodded at a couple of figures that were holographic projections of the real people.  They were so clear that they seemed to be really in the room, and there was such a short transmission difference between here and both the twin planets that it really didn’t inconvenience any of the participants.

The four ministers from the Lords sat on the end of the table, clustered together.  Not all the Lords were enemies of Augustine, and his friends had steered several members his way that met with his satisfaction.  Lord Halbrook, the Minister of the Exchequer, was not one of them.  The small man smiled, then looked over at the alien member of the Lords with unconcealed distaste.  Not that the centauroid Phlistaran Minister of Security, Lord T’lisha, had much to worry about, outmassing the human by a factor of four.  Halbrook also had little to fear, as the large mammalian was actually on New Terra.  He was also an ally of the Emperor, as was Lord Garis, the Minister of State.  And Lady Hannah had risen through the ranks of the Imperial Marines to get her second star before retiring, and was one of the best Ministers of War the Emperor had ever known.

He looked to the side of the table, where sat the three Scholars.  Professor Martin was one of the most brilliant physicists the Empire had ever seen, now an organizer more than a researcher as he headed the Ministry of Science.  Historian Professor Loristrates had been well published during her time at the Imperial University Capitulum, and now led the Ministry of Education.  While Professor Klashpek, a large dinosauroid, headed up the Ministry of Communications.

The Emperor then nodded to the Ministers who had been nominated for their positions by the Commons.  Augustine let another smile play across his face.  The Ministers from the Commons were staunch allies all.  Ms. Landrulis, the small humanoid Matlican Minister of Labor, was the smallest being in the room, but far from the dumbest.  Mr. Klein, the Minister of Agriculture had done a fine job running one of the most underfunded Ministries in the Empire.  Josh Jenkins, the Under Minister of Colonization, was also doing a wonderful job manning the Ministry, while his boss was out touring said frontier.  And H’rressitor of the Gryphon species was doing a bang up job as Minister of Commerce and Industry.  Clara Chung, the Minister of Justice, was the only wildcard on the Commons side that Augustine was just not sure of.  He had hoped she would be on his side, but rumors told him otherwise.

“We’ll start with finance,” said the Emperor, nodding at Halbrook.  “Any inroads on freeing up funds for Bolthole?”

“We have tried, your Majesty,” said the Lord in a nasal voice.  “We truly have.  Without raising taxes to an exorbitant level I really don’t see how anything can be done to finance that project.  Especially as it is a black op.”

“But a necessary one,” said the Emperor, leaning forward to glare at the Minister that he was stuck with for the next five years.  “The Empire needs that industrial base.”

“And for what, your Majesty,” said Halbrook, glaring back.  “We have the most powerful fleet in this region of space.  Some would say the most powerful in the Galaxy.”

“Not the Galaxy,” said the Emperor, pointing his finger at the Minister.  “That honor still belongs to the Ca’cadasans.  We need to build our strength, or else we’ll…”

“The Ca’cas are just a nightmare used to frighten children,” said Halbrook, to the stares of the other Ministers.  “We have not seen a Ca’ca ship in over two thousand years.  How do you know they are even a going concern?”

Augustine stared at the Minister.  He interrupted me, thought the Emperor.  While not illegal, it was unheard of.

“They had been a going concern for almost three thousand years before we met them,” said Augustine, slamming his hand on the table.  “Why wouldn’t they still be?”

“And why aren’t the ancients still around?” said Halbrook, pointing his finger at the Emperor.  “They were more powerful than the Ca’cas, with a larger Empire from what we could see.  And they disappeared.  So why not our boogiemen?”

“I would like to say something here,” said Professor Loristrates, raising her hand.

“By all means,” said Augustine, happy for the interruption as he contemplated the murder of one of his Ministers.

“The ancients were not a true conquering empire,” said the woman in a quiet voice.  “And they existed for over twenty thousand years.”

“Just my point,” said Halbrook, nodding at the woman.  “The Ca’cas were an expanding military Empire.  And they made a lot of enemies, without and within.  So who’s to say that they’re even still around?”

“Because Empires like that only fail when they meet a stronger exterior opponent,” said the historian, raising her voice.  “And they will not have met their match in the last two millennia, you idiot.  Or at least we can’t assume they have.  Some of us live in the real Universe, not the fantasy world that some Lords live in.”

“Why you common born bitch,” said Halbrook, glaring at the woman.  “How dare you speak to your betters in such a manner?”

“I will have civility in this meeting room,” said Augustine, raising his voice.  “From both of you.  And I would remind you, my Lord,” he said, turning his stare toward the Minister of the Exchequer, “that this is a free society.  And I respect the credentials of the professor far more than the birthright of any noble.  And since we can’t get anywhere with the Exchequer coming up with the funds the crown needs, I say let us move on.  How goes the colonization efforts, Mr. Jenkins?”

“We are having problems opening up enough slots to keep everyone happy, your Majesty,” said the young man with an infectious smile on his face.  “As soon as we open another world for colonization we are inundated with requests.”

“And why are the people not allowed to move,” said Halbrook, seeming to want to keep his nose in every argument.

“Planets have to be opened at a sustainable pace, my Lord,” said Jenkins, looking at his flat comp.  “We have to have the area to put them.  It doesn’t do anyone any good to pile a bunch of unprepared colonists on a planet to watch them die.”

“And most are coming from the core worlds?” asked Augustine, trying to avoid another argument, asking a question he already knew the answer to.

“Yes, Majesty,” said the young man.  “Over ninety seven percent of them.  The rest seem to be the disaffected in the developing worlds.  But most want to have children, so they move from the crowded worlds, where they need licenses, to those that will give them unlimited reproductive rights, while it opens up more licenses on the core worlds.”

And so we keep expanding the population base without overcrowding the interior worlds and getting behavioral sinks, thought the Emperor.  That had been ordered by proclamation from one of the early rulers, who did not want to see the problems of crime and poverty that came with overcrowded resources.  Jewel and New Terra were super densely populated, but they were able to bring in enough of everything by space to leave large wilderness areas on the surface.  Other core worlds had population limits, flexible of course, if just a bit, so that people could move for business or other purposes.  But they were mandated to remain at least fifty percent wilderness, with another ten percent as outdoor recreation space.  So living worlds could remain living worlds.  And on colonized worlds with indigenous life, those wilderness areas had to populated by the native organisms of the planet.

“And the terraforming?”

“I understand you visited one of the new open worlds, your Majesty,” said Jenkins, raising an eyebrow.

“Quite an experience, I must say,” agreed Augustine.  “And according to my figures you should have another ten opening up within a year.”

“They are prime destinations, your Majesty,” said Jenkins with a nod.  “Perfect for terrestrial life.”

“Any word on Hephatius IV?” said Halbrook, leaning forward.

He’s not going to like this,” thought the Emperor, looking at his own flat comp.

“It’s a death trap,” said the Under Minister without hesitation.  “Exploration teams have called it the deadliest terrestrial environment imaginable.  It’s like the planet goes out of its way to kill us.”

“The scuzzzies, I mean the abos, seem to do OK,” said the Minister, who had invested his own money into opening what looked like a verdant world.

“Because they evolved there,” said Jenkins, looking over at the Emperor.

“Why don’t we just send a division of Marines down to the surface and take charge,” said Halbrook, his voice tone trying to make it sound like a reasonable proposition.  “Then we can clear cut that damned forest for the colonists.”

“And destroy the most magnificent biosphere we have ever seen,” said Professor Martin, holding out in hands in a pleading stance.  “The Ministry of Science would never condone such a move.”

“Then don’t condone it,” said Lord Halbrook, glaring at the man.  “We don’t need the permission of your ministry to exploit the resources of that world.”

“But the biodiversity?” exclaimed Martin.

“Exactly,” said Halbrook.  “That diversity could lead to exploitable products that could increase the wealth of the Empire.”

“Increase the wealth of those who can buy their way into the forest,” said Martin, returning the glare.

“What are you saying,” said Halbrook, his voice rising.

“I have decided that Hephatius will remain an Imperial protectorate,” said Augustine, watching the reaction in the Minister.  “Off limits to all but researchers.  And of course anyone who invested will receive compensation.”

The face of the Minister fell, and Augustine knew the man was calculating the loss he was going to take on his expected return.  Well, too damned bad.  Those people there want to be left alone, and so they shall be.

The meeting went on for another half hour, and Augustine found himself looking at the time.

“We will meet again when I get back from the Donut, gentlemen and ladies,” he said, nodding at a couple of Ministers to stay.

“May I have a moment of your time, your Majesty?” asked Halbrook, trying to stay in the room.

“After my return,” said Augustine, waving the man away.  The looks from a couple of Secret Service agents got the man moving, and soon the room was empty except for the Ministers of War, State and the holo image of the Minister of Security.

“So how does it look on the Lasharan front?” he asked Lady Hannah.

“We should be able to handle anything they throw at us,” answered the ex-Marine General.  “The only problem is the damned fanatics might give us a bloody nose.  I don’t like to involve civilians in war, but it takes two to follow that rule.”

“Just do the best you can,” said the Emperor, nodding his head.  “I have your subordinates figuring out the best way to spread the wealth so we don’t get caught flat footed in any sector.”

“The Three Stooges,” said Jana Hannah with a laugh that brought a smile from Augustine as he thought about those real old comic routines that he too was a fan of.  The rest of the people in the room, with the exception of the Imperial family, returned blank looks.  “They’re good people,” she continued.  “I hope you don’t have them doing something that gets them hung.”

“Not worried about yourself, Duchess?” asked the Emperor.

“Not a bit,” she replied.  “Haven’t met anyone yet in Parliament I couldn’t take one on one, or even two to my one.  “But, do you really think we’re about to see our old friends again.”

“The curse has been acting up lately,” said the Emperor, his smile turning up to a frown.  “I don’t get a clear vision of who is steamrolling us, but can you think of anyone else in this neck of the woods.”

“Hell no, Majesty,” said the woman who had been born a commoner and gained social rank through her own meritorious service.  “And if you think it’s going to happen, that’s good enough for me.”

“And ideas Prince T’lisha?” asked the Emperor of the holo image of the large Phlistaran.  “What does the IIA tell you?”

“Nothing definite, Majesty,” rumbled the deep chested centauroid.  “Rumors and supposition.  But my agents are hearing an awful lot of rumors and suppositions.  Enough to really worry me.”

“Sector Four?”

“As near as can tell, Majesty,” said the spymaster.  “Near as can tell.  No guarantees, but it looks like something is going to come down hard on us in that region of the Empire.  And I have something that might be of interest.”

The holo projector in the middle of the table came to life, showing the image of a ship.  All present in the room sucked in a breath with the exception of the big alien, who knew what was coming.

“It looks a bit different,” said Lady Hannah, her eyes widening.

“Not too unexpected after two thousand years,” said Augustine, looking at the massive vessel, then over at his master of spies.  “And where did this come from?”

“It was taken by a battleship that encountered this vessel in sector four,” said the Phlistaran with a toothy smile.  “In fact, your son’s ship, the Sergiov, was involved in this encounter.”

“Leave it to Sean to stick his nose into something like this,” said Augustine, his face warring with trying to decide on a smile or a frown.

“The ship displayed unfamiliar hyperdrive resonances,” continued Lord T’lisha.  “Not that we had any comparisons to what they resonated when we last encountered them, seeing as how we did not have hyperdrive at that point in our history.”

Ours, thought the Emperor, nodding as he looked at the image of the big alien.  They are so integrated into the Empire that they now think of we as being one whole, not humanity as the conquerors.

“Why don’t we show this to the Lords and Commons?” asked Jana Hannah, her eyes narrowing as she continued to study the ship.  “This is proof positive that the Ca’cadasans are on our doorstep.”

“Would you answer that, Lord T’lisha,” said Augustine.

“Because the Lords and Commons would never believe it,” said the big alien in a voice like distant thunder.  “They would say that it was a trick of computer animation, making up something that we want them to believe.”

“And I also would not want this released to the public, ladies and gentlemen,” said Augustine, waving a finger in the air.  “I don’t want a panic.  We need to move what we can while we can without people clamoring for shipping to get them to nonexistent safety.  But we know that the enemy is at the gates.  And it cannot be long before the enemy comes out into the open with a massive attack.  Which brings us to the next question.”

He turned toward the Minister of State.  “And our known friends and enemies, Lord Garis?” asked the Emperor.  “What can we expect of them?”

“From the enemies,” said the cultured Lord.  “A stab in the back.  What else.  I know the Lasharans will do whatever they can to discomfit us.  The Crakastans as well.  But I think we can handle the Fenri and the Muxxar using diplomacy.  As far as allies, I know we can count on the Margravi Hegemony and Klashakians Concordium through anything, especially on the Lasharan front.”

“Which leaves the Republic of Elysa,” said Lady Hannah.  “Always the wild card.”

“I think we can depend on them as long as the Brakakak are in charge of the Republic,” said Augustine.  “At least as long as High Lord Grarakakak is in charge.”

“You’ve met the High Lord, have you not, Majesty,” said the Minster of State.

“I have, and I liked him,” said the Emperor.  “He is an exceptional member of an admirable species.  And I am sure he will see the need to unite against the threat that is coming.  At least as soon as he sees it coming too.  But we still must depend on our own resources to blunt the assault until we can come up with an overwhelming response.”

Augustine looked at the time in his link as the internal alarm sounded.  “I’m sorry, Ministers, but I have an appointment on the wonder of the Galaxy.  When I return we will meet on this matter again.”

The ministers all acknowledged their leader as they left the room.  They’re a good bunch, thought Augustine as he escorted his wife and family from the room into the long corridor leading to the wormhole gate.  Probably better than I deserve.  Then he thought of his Minister of the Exchequer and shook his head.  Actually they are karmic payment for having to put up with Halbrook and the Prime Minister.

*     *     *

“Prime Minister,” called out the voice from down the hall.  “Can I have a moment of your time?”

Shit, thought Prime Minister Count Mejoris Jeraviki as he looked back and saw the figure of Grand Duke Carlos Maldonado, the head of the Brotherhood Party faction of the Lords.  The last shithead I want to see.

“I was heading back to my estate, your grace,” said the Count, flashing a politician’s smile.  “Can it wait for tomorrow?”

“Just a moment, Prime Minister,” said the silver haired man who was the Emperor’s champion in the Lords.

Well shit again, thought the Count, pushing open the outer door to his office and allowing the Grand Duke entry.  I can’t very well refuse him during business hours.  The Count shook his head and tried to calm his heart.  He had wanted to be at his home when the shit went down, where he wouldn’t have to play act his reactions.

Jeraviki said a couple of words to his private secretary and led the Grand Duke to his private office.  He waved the man to a chair.  “Would you like a drink, your grace?”

“No thank you,” said the elder Lord, waving it off.  “My physician says I need to go easy on the alcohol.”

Too bad, thought the Count, going over the bar and making himself a strong one.  It would do my heart good to see you fall dead on the floor of the Lords.

“I asked the Duke of Coventry to join us,” said the Grand Duke.  “I am interested in hearing his input as well.”

“Input on what?” asked the Prime Minister, taking a seat, his mouth suddenly dry.

The door opened and the ebony face of Theo Streeter, the Duke of Coventry, looked in.

“Come in, Theo,” said Maldonado, waving a hand.  “Do come in.”

“What is this about?” asked Streeter, who everyone knew was one of Jeraviki’s staunchest allies.

“Have a seat, Theo,” said the Grand Duke of New Spain.

This is my damned office, thought the Prime Minister, gritting his teeth.  Who does he think he is?

“The Countess gave me a rundown on your actions the other day, Mejoris,” said the Grand Duke, leaning toward the prime minister.  “I shouldn’t have been surprised, but even I did not think you could act like such a pig.”

“Why you bastard,” said the prime minister.  “How dare you talk to me like that?  I am the leader of the Lords.”

“For now,” said the Grand Duke.  “For now.  But I might try to pull together a coalition to unseat you.  And then you will be just another Count sitting in the Lords.”

“And who would you propose take my place?” asked Jeraviki, raising an eyebrow.  “Yourself?”

“I would better serve our Empire and our sovereign than you,” said the Grand Duke with a smile.  “And I wouldn’t get your hopes too high, Theo.  I think we have just about had enough of your xenophobe party.”

“You don’t have the votes to unseat us,” growled the PM.

“Not at the moment,” agreed the Grand Duke, nodding.  “But there are some disaffected conservatives who could be convinced to jump ship, and the Countess has said she will bring the Liberal Party in as well.  So you could soon find yourselves outvoted.  And then there’s the matter of Consolidated Ether Paddles.  A company in which I believe you two gentlemen own a combined fifty-four percent of the stock holdings ”

“And what about it?” asked Jeraviki, feeling sweat begin to bead on his forehead, despite the perfect climate control.

“You sold what?” said the Grand Duke, ignoring the PMs question.  “Ten billion Imperials in the last two years.  Which put what in your pockets?”

“We made a standard profit,” said Streeter, his voice angry but his face showing his anxiety.

“You would have, if you have put the standard mix of Super-platinum in the grabber units.  But I think you know as well as I that you only put in sixty percent of the super metal that the specs called for.  So they last, what.  Ten years, instead of the twenty years that the contract calls for.”

“You can’t prove that,” yelled Streeter.

Oh, shut up, thought Jeraviki, knowing that this man would not have brought up such a charge if he couldn’t prove it.  All one had to do was pull one of the grabbers that Consolidated sold to the Fleet and subject it to a thorough analysis.  And they couldn’t even blame it on the Super-metal plant the Super-platinum came out of.  That plant sold to many other concerns, and there was no problem with their product going into those manufactories.

“I still don’t understand why you oppose Fleet expansion,” said the Grand Duke, shaking his head.  “That doesn’t make sense to any of us.  There would be so much more to make selling shoddy products at full price.  I suspect that something other than making money is going on, but I can’t see what.  Well, if we keep digging I’m sure we can find it, eventually.”

“And who is we?” asked the PM, wiping the sweat from his face.  They already know too much.  We can’t afford for them to discover our true agenda.

“Oh, Lady Sergiov has some of her best operatives on it,” said the Grand Duke with another smile.  “And you both know how much of a bulldog Ekaterina is.”

Imperial Intelligence Agency, thought Jeravika with a shudder.  And investigation into his affairs was somewhat out of their jurisdiction, and he could use IIB to raise hell with IIA.  But IIA would not give up an investigation that they were fully involved in, and finding the dirt would bring forgiveness to that agency.

“We still can’t figure out what those devices you attached to the grabbers are,” said the Grand Duke, looking from man to man.

“What devices?” asked Jeravika, feeling confused.  We’re guilty as hell of watering down the supermetals.  But nothing else.

“These devices,” answered the Grand Duke, pulling a small holo projector from his coat pocket.  The projector lit up and a small schematic sprung into existence in the air above it.

“It looks like some kind of alien technology, buried in the metallic portion of the grabber, where it wouldn’t be seen.  One of Ekaterina’s wonderboys decided to scan the metal with nano and found this.  And then found it in the next twenty he looked at.  But he can’t figure out what it is.  Any comments, gentlemen?”

“I have no idea what that is,” said Jeravika, glancing at Streeter and seeing the same confused look on the other lord’s face.

“Well, no matter,” said the Grand Duke, nodding.  “We already have enough to take you down.  We’ll just see about removing all the offending grabber units, though that will take some time.”

“And what could we do to convince you to not, let us say, disrupt the government?”

“Well, my Lord, that is the business I wanted to talk to you about,” said Maldonado, showing his best political smile.  “It would still take time to gather the support we would need.  And don’t believe we won’t be able to.  And still more time to gather information for a criminal investigation.  But in the meantime there are bills the Emperor would like to see passed.”

“Like funding Bolthole and Fleet expansion,” said Streeter, a scowl on his face.

“Like funding Bolthole and Fleet expansion,” agreed the Grand Duke, nodding.  “Some things I am sure you can agree would be for the good of the Empire, if not for your own purses.”

“I would agree with no such thing,” said the PM, shaking his head and pointing his finger at the Grand Duke.  “I do not see why I should agree to what looks like blackmail.”

“Not blackmail,” said the Grand Duke, his smile widening.  “Just political maneuvering.  Something the two of you are quite familiar with.  And I am sure that Purgatory is not all that appealing for someone of your status.  Nor yours, Duke Streeter.”

“And if we agree to help pass these bills, and I am sure the others that you will propose?” asked Streeter.

“Then we will postpone making any waves,” said the Grand Duke, holding his hands open in supplication.  “Then you can continue the session, then retire, let us say, for your health.  As long as you promise to stay out of politics , and relinquish all control of defense related industries.”

“And if I decide to challenge you on your investigation?” asked Jeraviki, glaring at the man.

“Then you will lose, my Lord,” said the Grand Duke, returning the glare.  “Make no mistake.  We will win.  But overall the Empire will lose.  And that I would not wish to see, much as I would like to see the both of you serve time.  But of course the decision is yours.”

“I will have to consider your proposal, your Grace,” said the PM, glancing over at Streeter and noting the angry glare the man was giving the older Lord.  And I’m sure you will not be succeeding me as PM either, Theo.  I would be pissed too.

“Don’t take too long to consider,” said the Grand Duke, getting up from his chair and bowing to both men.  “I wouldn’t want to see your legacy ruined due to a vote of no confidence.  Or much worse.  Gentlemen.”  The Grand Duke turned away and walked toward the door.

“That bastard,” said Streeter as soon as the man left the room.  “What are you going to do?”

Nothing I can tell you about, thought the Count, wanting to run after the Grand Duke and strangle him.  “I’ll think of something,” said the PM, his tone cutting off Streeter’s reply.  “Now I need to go to my estate.  I’ll call a meeting of the faction tomorrow, and we can talk over our options.”

If we even have anything to worry about tomorrow, thought the PM, a smile on his face.

*     *     *

“Calm down Prime Minister,” said the man only known to others as the tall man, who knew himself as Agent One.  “You should not be discussing this on a com link.”

“The damned thing’s secure,” said the PM in a growling voice.  “Don’t you think I know how to keep things secure on my end?”

No, thought the agent provocateur who knew more about security than any other man in the capital.  I don’t think you know shit.  And you’re about to become a liability.

“I want that motherfucker dead,” yelled the PM, his voice rising.  “He threatened my power and I want him gone.  You and your employers owe me that much at least.”

“I will talk with you tomorrow,” said the agent, grimacing.  “Where it’s more secure.”

“Where?” asked Jereviki, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if that would prevent anyone from hearing him that might be listening in.

No indication of that, thought the agent, who monitored such things.  But he knew that monitoring didn’t always reveal who was listening.  If he could do it, so could others.

“I’ll meet with you when and where I want to,” said the agent, looking over at the screen that showed the Prime Minister pacing in his study.  “As usual.”

He could feel the fear in the man’s breathing, and relished that fear.

“What about the scapegoat?” asked the PM, and the agent grimaced once again.

“All is prepared,” said the agent, knowing that the liability would have to be removed before the fool made any more comments over the com link.  “Now we need to stop talking about this.  I will see you tomorrow.  Out.”

The agent cut the link and glared at the console for a moment.  Everything was going so well, and if it continued to go well the plan would succeed, and the blame placed.  And then a loose tongue would be taken care of.

*     *     *

The Room was not all that impressive once past the armed guards and the bunker thick door.  It was bare except for the object in the center, and that was enough to attract all attention.  The mirrored surface was perfect, reflecting back the forms of the observers.  The supports, the frame of the mirror as it were, large thick lengths of metal, took up a good portion of the fifteen meter square room.

“So that is a wormhole gate?” asked Anastasia, holding onto her husband’s arm.

“That it is, your Majesty,” said the gate technician who was leading them to the portal.

“And what holds the wormhole open?” asked the Empress, pointing at the mirrored surface.  “I thought they closed on their own.”

“That they do, your Majesty,” agreed the man with the smile of one used to answering questions from people he dared not show condescendence to.  “Negative matter holds it open.  And those large supports you see there are actually built around a U-shape of Superplatinum which develops a strong magnetic field to hold the charged negative matter in place.”

“And it’s safe?”

“We’ve sent hundreds through this gate alone,” said the tech, the smile pasted on his face.  “And thousands through other wormholes.  Everyone checked out as perfectly healthy.”

“Just trust them, my dear,” said the Emperor, looking into the worried face of his wife.  “I’ll step through first, OK.?”  He looked back at his two sons and Dimetre’s wife.  Dimetre and his spouse both looked excited, while Henry had the same nervous look on his face as the Empress.  Just like his mother, and because of that not the best choice to run the Empire.

“I will go first, your Majesty,” said the technician.  “Then I will come back through so you can see for yourself that it is safe.”

“No need, young man,” said Augustine, starting toward the portal.

“I insist,” said the man, holding up his hands to motion the monarch to a halt, then turning and disappearing into the portal.  It looked like he was walking into a solid mirror, until he had completely disappeared and the surface rippled for a couple of seconds.  One of the security detail followed on his heels.  It had just set to perfection again and he was coming back through, followed again by the security agent.  “All is ready, your Majesty,” said the man, gesturing toward the portal.

“Then let’s do it,” said Augustine, feeling some butterflies in his stomach despite knowing intellectually that there was no danger here.  And I’m going to be asking millions of people to use these things in the near future, he thought.  So I might as well start.

And with that thought the Emperor strode through the mirror.  He almost panicked for a moment as he lost all sensation in the first leg through, then remembered that he had been warned to expect that.  He continued to walk through, with a feeling that he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to.  The wormhole was sucking him in, and no resistance he could offer would keep him from coming out the other side.

And then he knew nothing.  He was aware that he still existed, but all sensation was gone, and all thought.  He came to awareness on the other side, in a room that was a bit more impressive than the one he left.  A room filled with people.  He recognized many of them, scientists he had talked to, and his own security personnel.  The Emperor turned and caught the hand of his wife as she came through the mirror.  He smiled at the relieved look on her face, then turned back to the waiting people.  Let’s get this show on the road.

Chapter 3

In our enlightened society there are very few crimes for which the penalty is death.  Murder, whether a crime of passion or in cold blood, is not one of them.  We can rehabilitate the mind of the murderer, or at worst wipe it clean and start over with a fresh personality.  No, the only crime that deserves the death penalty is treason, causing damage to one’s own species or people for personal gain.  And Regicide, which in many ways is the same thing.  For what is more damaging to a species or a people that cutting off the head of the government?

Justice Jonathon Kuamahu during the sentencing of the murderer of the Emperor Chung Ling Lee.

"Welcome to the Donut, your Majesty," said the portly man, approaching the Emperor as he stepped from the portal.

Augustine looked around the large chamber that had been transformed into a formal greeting room.  Tables with cloth in the Imperial colors of gold and red stood near the walls, covered with bottles of wines and liquors, trays of delicacies and bowls of fresh fruits.  Hundreds of scientists and technicians in their best dress clothing stood around the tables.  A chamber orchestra toward the front of the room played the Emperor's march.  Newsmen were kept to the fringes, their cameras hovering over the chamber, vying for the best shots and clips.

The security people had come ahead through the wormhole, meeting up with their counterparts who were already on the station.  They were hugging the walls and trying to blend into the crowd.  Kind of a waste of manpower, thought the Emperor.  After all, everyone in this room had been checked out as much as humanly possible.

Augustine looked back at the wormhole portal as Dimetre and his wife came through.  Except the shimmering edges of the portal where negative matter was held in a vacuum filled stasis field, it looked just like a doorway into another room.  Which it was.  Except that the next room was over forty light hours away.  And it had taken the same amount of time to go that distance as it took to walk from the next room.

The Dimetre offered his hand to his wife and gently pulled her away from the portal to walk to where the Emperor was standing.  A moment later the spare came through on the heels of the heir.

Prince Henry would probably never have any real power in the Empire, except for the minor power of his name.  But he was a likable young man, who was probably as ill-suited to rule as anyone in the family.  Augustine put an arm around Henry and walked toward the chief scientist, his hand out in the offer of a shake.

"Good to be aboard, Dr. Baxter," said the Emperor, looking down at the ebony face that was filled with a wide smile.  Not the first man to be in charge of the massive project, but his name would forever be linked to it as the man who had supervised its completion as a working industrial complex.

“I believe you have communicated with Dr. Lucille Yu,” said the Director, turning to the tall blond woman at his side.  She smiled levelly at the large man who was her Emperor.

“A pleasure to meet you in person, Dr. Yu,” he said, taking her hand and brushing his lips across its back.  “I would like to introduce my wife, the Empress Anastasia, and my sons, the Princes Dimetre and Henry.”

“I would recognize them in a moment, your Majesty,” said Dr. Yu, extending a hand to each of the Imperials in turn.  “They are on the V more often than the stars of cinema after all.

“But I am taking up too much of your important time,” she said with a grin, gesturing to a small group of people to come forward.  “I would like you to meet my team.”

The Emperor made pleasantries with the scientists who had pulled off the greatest engineering project in the known universe, then allowed the Director to steer him and his family over to the refreshments, while the orchestra played background music.  Augustine had to admit to himself that the food was first class, and they had a fine vintage of wine and good beer to go with it.  Whatever they spent on the party is a drop in the ocean compared to the cost of this thing, he thought as he sipped wine and listened to Yu spout production figures for negative matter and how one of her scientists had figured out the problem with making enough of it.  Scenes from the outside of the enormous station played in a holo tank and along wall screens.  An infinitesimally thin ribbon it seemed until a couple of freighters and a heavy cruiser entered scenes and gave it a sense of scale.

Without robotic factories and nanoprocessing, even with the need for human oversight, such a project would not have been possible.  With robotics they had been able to match the industrial might of a dozen core worlds just to build this station.  And the hoped for dividend was about to be realized.

“Are you ready for a quick tour of the station, your Majesty?” said Baxter, the smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Of course, Director,” answered Augustine.  “I don’t think I have enough life span left for the complete tour.  But the quick tour will do nicely.”

The Emperor and his family were ushered from the room to a maglev tram that sat in a nearby room.  The long train had several compartments with comfortable seats for dozens of passengers in each section.  There were four seats to a row with a spacious walkway between pairs.  The entire outer skin of the train was transparent, though the Emperor was sure it could turn opaque at a moment’s notice if subjected to a light amp attack.  As the family took their seats, security personnel and station staff around them, the train began to move.  Slowly at first, the conveyance accelerated smoothly as it built up velocity.

“We will come first upon one of the many energy generating chambers,” said Director Baxter as the train moved down a long corridor, loading stations blurring by as the vehicle picked up speed.  There was no feeling of acceleration as the tram’s inertial compensators kept everything at a steady one gravity to the floor.

Suddenly the train shot out into an enormous chamber that seemed to go on forever.  Augustine looked to the side and could make out the far wall, and four of the massive generator units reaching from the center out.  Fiber cables the width of battleships stretched from floor to ceiling, while equally thick strands ran from unit clamp to unit clamp.  The car shot past the ten kilometer wide units.  A quick glimpse of the intervening kilometer and the next section of generators flashed by.

“There are six hundred and forty generators in each thousand kilometer long strip,” said Baxter, an ecstatic look on his face.  “Thirty two thousand units to a fifty thousand kilometer long block.  Fifty blocks equal a million six hundred thousand units.  Using the rotation energy of the hole to form a dynamo they can produce two point eight eight times ten to the twenty-seven joules of energy per second.  When working flat out, that is.”

Augustine noticed a flare of electric blue here and there around the passing generators.  They were whizzing by too quickly to get a good feel for the energy, but he was sure they were quiescent at the moment.

“Just how much energy is that?” asked Anastasia, looking at the other side of the passing chamber.  “For us mere mortals that is.”

“Imagine burning over ten thousand tons of antimatter every second,” said the Director, his face beaming as he proudly displayed his station.  “More than the entire fleet uses at full battle readiness, for over an hour.”

“That much to open a wormhole?” asked Henry, his eyes wide.

“Much more than that,” said the Director as they passed through another room, then another.  The tram speeded up to where the huge generators became a blur and the rooms passed faster.  At the next to last of the fifty rooms of this block it began to decelerate.  It passed into another room after fifty, this one filled with a different shaped unit as large as the generators.

“Level four quantum crystal matrixes,” said the scientist as they flew through the room.  “Enough on the station to hold the energy generated from hours of production.  All released in an instant to form a wormhole.”

“Impressive, Director,” said the Emperor.  “It’s almost too much to comprehend.  Too much to believe.”

“But it is true, your Majesty,” said the scientist.  “It is technology such as no one alive has seen.  And it is ours to command.”

The tram began to slow as it reached the end of a series of battery rooms.  It lost velocity quickly and quietly, until it slid slowly into a room with a station and came to a smooth stop.  The passengers left their seats as the doors to the tram opened and security fanned out, meeting with their compatriots who had already secured the stopping point.

“We’ve traveled about sixty thousand kilometers from the chamber where you entered the Donut, your Majesty,” said the Director.  “About two tenths of a percent of the circumference of the station.”

“And the station is in orbit around the black hole?” asked the Empress, hanging onto her husband’s arm.

“At about point five c angular velocity,” agreed the Director.

“How does it handle the stress?”

“Well, your Majesty,” said the man, moving toward a door that had opened on the side of the stop.  “The station is made of superstrong carbon materials, as well as the most advanced alloys.  And we have over forty-five million grabber units on the ring that are controlled by the central computer.  They not only keep the orbit stable so we don’t end up wobbling into the hole.  They also push and pull at critical moments to keep the stress on the ring from building to overwhelming levels.”

“That must take a bit of energy,” said Augustine, as they walked into a large room that had groups of couches scattered about.  A bar was open against one wall, tenders filling glasses with champagne, or waiting for orders.

“Nothing compared to what the station is producing,” said the Director.  “Even throttled back to almost nothing, like we are now.”

“Dr. Baxter,” said Lucille Yu, coming up to the conversing group.  “I’m afraid I have to excuse myself for a moment.  Something has come up in negative matter production that I have to see to.”

“Well,” said Baxter with a frown, “come back as soon as you can.  We’ll be here for about a half hour, then head over to the nearest antimatter production center to look at that.”

Can’t be something the man wanted to hear about, thought the Emperor. Especially in front of the VIPs.  But things happen, especially in a brand new operation.

“If you’ll follow me, your Majesty,” said the Director, leading them to the center of the room and motioning to a series of couches.  As he gestured the roof of the room became transparent.

Looking straight up and out the Emperor could see a couple of small objects with blinking strobes in the space outside the ring.  His vision adjusted for a moment until the distortion straight up came into focus.

“The black hole?” he asked, pointing up.

“Yes,” said the Director, nodding his head.  “Not much to look at is it?  But watch this.”

Suddenly lines of electric blue came snaking from thousands of contact points on the surface of the Donut spinward and antispinward from the observation room.  After several seconds delay the points erupted from the surface thousands of kilometers further in both directions.  As more and more of the points came into focus the lines nearest began to join, to form larger lines of electron fire.

“The speed of light it the limiting factor here,” said the Director, as the beams of electrons moved toward the event horizon over seven million kilometers away.  “You will not see a true image of the process further away as it is occurring many seconds out of phase with the image coming to your eye.  Even the central computer will not see the process in real time.  Instead it uses algorithms to predict what is happening further along the ring and keep the timing of the process within parameters.”

The long lines moved closer to the event horizon.  Within an instant of the first one touching an electric nimbus grew into existence around the horizon.  More of the large lines touched, until there were over twenty of them in view.

“There are in fact fifty of the electron beams that will wrap around the event horizon of the rotating and charged black hole,” said the Director.  “The actual intensity of the beams are being filtered out by the polarized observation skin.  Now comes the real fireworks.”

The beams began to bend as the swirling gravitation force swept them around the hole.  The nimbus around the event horizon brightened, becoming almost painful to look at despite the polarized observation skin.  The beams coming out of the nimbus brightened as well, as the black hole became the largest electric dynamo in the history of the human race.

“We’re at full output now,” said the Director.  “The energy is being shunted in the banks of quantum matrix batteries. Until…”

The lights on the station dimmed imperceptibly for just a moment, then strengthened.  The nimbus faded slightly, then faded out.  A few arcs of electricity flared between the horizon and station, and from point to point on the inner skin of the station.  Looking small with distance, each was the equivalent of all the major lightning strikes on a gas giant in a year.

“The majority of the energy was beamed off of the station,” said Director Baxter, his own attention fixed on the diminishing light show.  “The wormhole generator took the energy and created a wormhole that was kept open with negative matter before it could close.”

“And how does the generator open a wormhole?” asked the Empress, smiling, then taking a sip of champagne.

“The energy is beamed to a series of graviton projectors that increases the gradient of space for a few moments, Majesty,” said the Director, his face glowing as he talked about his element.  “It forms a temporary black hole, which rips open space and attaches to the rip formed by another black hole formed just a hundred kilometers away.  They link through a wormhole that we keep open with gravitons as the holes collapse to nothing.”

“What’s going to happen to that wormhole?” asked Dimetre, looking at a replay of the generation event on a wall viewer.

“It’s probably going to be used as a naval vessel heat sink,” said the Director.  “We plan to start making some passenger transport gates next week and move them around the capital system.”

“All of that energy to create one worm hole?” asked Henry, expanding his flat comp and inputting some information.

“Most of it,” said Baxter.  “We probably moved some of it to antimatter and negative matter production.  Those are also commodities that the Empire needs as much as can be made.  So we make it.”

“What’s that?” said Dimetre, pointing up and to spinward.  Something bright flared there in space.

“I’m not sure,” said the Director, getting a distant look as he tapped into his com link.

“Your Majesty,” yelled one of the security personnel, running up while holding his hand to his temple, obviously linking into something.  “We need to get you out of here.  We…”

Augustine looked up to where Dimetre and the Director were looking, seeing the small dying sun of a MAM explosion, and felt his heart sink.

*     *     *

The Imperial Fleet Protection Squadron had only dispatched a few ships to the locale of the Donut.  A heavy cruiser, two destroyers and their compliment of eight space fighters had seemed enough to guard the Imperial Family when they were on a completely secured space station of enormous proportions.  A space station protected by its own squadron and a series of orbiting forts, as well as built in defenses.  Especially when they were over thirty light hours within the hyperlimit of the black hole.  Nothing was going to sweep out of hyperspace and surprise the Imperial Family on their tour.

Only four of the space fighters were on patrol while the tour was going on.  The other four were being held as a reserve.  Two of the fighters were in formation between the station and the hole; the other two were in a flight above the station.  The larger warships were stationed to the side of the ring, where they would be out of the way of the planned display.

The fighters moved their six hundred ton bulks to the sides of the ring when warned that the fireworks were about to begin.  No one wanted to be caught in the energy bath that would soon be washing over that region of space.  Set into a following orbit around the hole that matched the rotation of the station, the crews sat back and watched the display.

Ensign Mark O’Brien was sitting in his chair in the copilot/weapons officer’s seat of fighter Heraklion III watching as the display began.  He felt calm and excited at the same time.  Excited to be in a front row seat at a demonstration of the Donut’s power.  Calm that his mission was such a milk run, the Emperor as protected as a human being could be.

The light show began; space filled with enormously large and bright electron beams that were like the filaments of stars.  Mark kept his eyes on the viewer, feeling awe at the release of energies that could bend the laws of physics.  Then something changed.  He felt a lurch in his stomach.  He felt the viewer fading as if into a distance, and then a covering blackness as consciousness faded.

Viper felt like he had awakened from a long sleep.  He could remember images of life that had passed in the last months.  He could not remember any clear images that would have been the memories of waking life.  It took a second to orient himself.  Only a second and his mind was functioning at peak level.

He quickly punched in a protocol through his weapons board.  Receiving an interrogative from the ship’s computer he punched an accent, followed by another code.  The board flashed its acknowledgement.  The crew’s vitals, normally sent out to the mother ship over a close range link, were now masked with a false overlay that showed all’s well.

Satisfied with that part of the takeover, Viper looked around the tiny bridge of the fighter.  Lt. Commander Phoenix was staring at the display, all his attention riveted to the screen.  The pilot, Warrant Three Jurviscious, was relaxing in her chair as if watching a movie.  He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Petty Officer Flounce was hunched over staring at her own view screen.

The com/sensor tech was the greatest initial threat.  Viper quietly reached his hand down to his sidearm and by feel set the frequency.  Then in one smooth motion he stood, drew and pivoted in place, the pistol coming up to point at the back of the tech’s head.  Hair burst into flame as flesh vaporized and the invisible beam cut into the skull and through the brain below.  It exited through the forehead and reflected off of the viewer as it struck.  The reflected energy flash burned the dead tech’s face before it fell forward.

The programmed assassin turned the pistol toward the Commander, who was staring at him with a shocked expression.  The beam had been set to a frequency that would be absorbed by flesh and bone, and reflect from the plastics and alloys that made up the bridge.  He swept the beam into the Commander’s neck, slicing through skin, muscle and bone.  The man’s head fell from his neck, the cauterized wound showing no blood.  The body followed an instant later.

As the pilot tried to get out of her seat and pull her weapon at the same time, Viper hit her in the face with his right elbow, sending her back into her seat with a bloody mouth and broken teeth.  As she tried to clear her head he shot her between the eyes, driving her into the permanent blackness of death.

“Chief Ferrel,” he called over the com link as the pilot’s body slumped in her chair.  “We need you on the bridge immediately.  Please respond.”

“On my way,” came the voice of the engineer from his rear compartment.  Moments later the man came through the opening hatch to the bridge.  His eyes registered shock for a moment before the assassin shot him through the head.

The assassin overlay that controlled Ensign O’Brien sat the man’s body in his chair.  The Viper persona looked over the display, noting the other fighter, the flight leader, ten kilometers to the front and a couple of kilometers to the side.  He noted the position of the heavy cruiser Heraklion, the mother ship of the fighters, about twenty thousand kilometers to the stern, and one of the escorting destroyers thirty thousand kilometers to the bow.  And he made sure the primary target was where he was supposed to be.

Fingers flying over the weapons board, Viper assigned all of his offensive missiles to targets.  The computer flashed a warning over his screen, reminding him that he was targeting friendlies.  The assassin persona punched in a series of override codes that he wasn’t supposed to have access to.  Codes that allowed one man without voice recognition to override the safety protocols of the system.  The board flashed readiness and part of the panel started flashing a red commit.  Viper pushed down on the panel and grabbed the fighter’s control stick.

The two access hatches on the bottom of the fighter opened and the four antiship missiles dropped into space.  It took a millisecond to orient onto targets.  Then the drives kicked in and sent the missiles toward their targets at five thousand gravities of acceleration.

In a little over half a second the first missile screamed into the small frame of fighter Heraklion II.  The velocity of the missile itself was enough to blast into the hull of the fighter, kinetic energy superheating the structure and tearing the small object apart.  The hundred megaton warhead detonation was almost an afterthought, vaporizing materials and crew and mixing their gases together.  Within a millionth of a second after detonation the fighter’s carried warheads and fusion plant went critical, adding five hundred megatons of energy to the blast.

At fifteen kilometers distance there was enough density of gas coming back to rock Heraklion III.  And some larger particles, one of which hit the port wing of the craft and tore a hole in the structure.  Viper already had the fighter turning toward the primary target.  As the craft shook he kicked in full military power, one thousand gravities of acceleration, on a vector that would take him under the Donut in a couple of seconds.

The second missile, targeted on the heavy cruiser, sped on a trajectory that would intersect the warship in twenty-nine seconds.  The cruiser was not at alert status, her Captain and crew believing that they would not be called on to fight any threat to their charge on this day.  To their credit they had targeting systems and laser rings up and running within ten seconds of one of their fighters exploding in space.  Within fifteen seconds both forward laser rings were pouring full power into the antiship missile.  At sixteen seconds the missile detonated in a bright point of light.

Missile three was on course for the closest destroyer, arrival time just under thirty-five seconds.  That ship was even faster on the draw than the cruiser, taking the missile out over twenty seconds from impact.  Both missiles targeting warships had failed to reach their targets.  They had accomplished their secondary mission as distracters, taking the ships’ attentions off of missile four which was on a heading toward the surface of the ring.

Viper oriented the fighter toward the ring as she came underneath.  Locking onto the region where he knew the target to be, he triggered the nose and wing lasers at full power into that section.  Made up of superconducting alloys just like Imperial warships, the laser energy was transferred quickly out from the point of impact, not allowing the heat to burn through.  The point of impact was still much hotter than the surrounding absorbing area.  And it formed the target point for the incoming missile.

The missile struck the station at over four hundred kilometers per second, imparting a considerable amount of kinetic energy into the impact point.  The warhead went off on impact, dwarfing the kinetic energy as a hundred megatons of explosive power ripped into the station.  The tough skin was penetrated, vaporized, allowing the flood of heat and other radiation to enter the interior of the station.  On such an enormous object this was a pinprick.  In the couple of square kilometers of surface nearest the blast it was Armageddon.

The observation room was near the edge of the Armageddon, as the hotspot generated by the fighter was not precisely on target, so the missile was not precisely on either.  The rooms under Armageddon were scoured clean of anything they contained.  The observation room was merely broken open to space and flooded with radiation.  The occupants were probably dead from radiation poisoning eventually.  They were surely dead from being sucked out into space.

The Emperor and his family might have survived the exposure to space for several minutes, while they were pushed toward the black hole by the explosive force of atmosphere leaving the observation deck.  They didn’t survive the gigawatts of laser energy the fighter played over the opening once the assassin picked up his target’s tracker leaving the station.

Seconds after the explosion that killed the Emperor, Empress, Heir and Spare, the Heraklion opened up on its detached fighter with its A and B rings.  The fighter shimmered for a brief second as terawatts of heat transferred into her.  Then she went up in a bright flash as her fusion bottle ruptured.  A fraction of a second later the lasers from the destroyer reached the spreading plasma cloud, stirring up the mess.  Within an hour all of the debris would fall into the black hole, unrecoverable by man.  The only thing that remained was the mystery of why a crew sworn to protect the Emperor had murdered him and his family.

*     *     *

The call went out to the Central Naval Base through the wormhole.  Within minutes naval personnel were coming through the gate to investigate what had happened.  Within an hour another wave of investigators, this from the Imperial Secret Service and the Imperial Investigation  Bureau, were roaming the station.  There was not much to investigate with the bodies of victims and perpetrator gone.  Even the murder weapon had been destroyed.  But someone had to be responsible, and the investigators went about their jobs with fire in their eyes.

Dr. Lucille Yu was brought into an impromptu office where several investigators from the civilian organizations sat with a pair of Naval Intelligence officers.  The eyes of the men were a combination of hard and shocked, and the scientist could imagine what was going through their minds.  Their beloved Emperor, the one they had been charged with defending with their lives, was gone.  Along with him had gone the one who would have succeeded him.

“We have some questions for you, Doctor Yu,” said a hard faced black man in a suit which screamed government agent.

“And you are?” she asked.

“Senior Inspector Jiminez with the IIB,” said the man, looking down on her as if he wanted to step on her.  “And from here on I will be asking the questions.  Is that understood?”

“Maybe I should have a lawyer present,” she said, trying to appear confident and knowing that she was failing miserably.

“You can talk to your lawyer later,” said the man with a cold smile.  “Right now you need to talk with us.”

“But my rights.”

“Damned your rights, woman,” growled the large man, glowering down at her.  “We’ve have the sovereign of the Empire assassinated while visiting your station.  Along with the Heir and the Empress.”

“And all the chief staff of the station,” chimed in another of the investigators.

“With the exception of you,” said Jiminez.  “Why did you leave the tour before the assassin struck, Dr. Yu?”

“I was called away,” she said, a shiver coming over her as she thought about how close she had come to death.  And sorrow at all that had died, especially her friends and colleagues.  “There was a problem with the negative matter production that they wanted me to look at.”

“And they couldn’t have sent you the information?” asked Jiminez.  “Or asked the negative matter expert?  Dr. Gomez I believe.  And please sit down before you fall over.”

Yu sat in the offered seat, with the investigators all circling her like a pride of carnivores waiting for the kill.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” said Yu in a quiet voice.  “I had to be near the central control room in order to look at the data in real time and suggest the adjustments,” she said in a strengthening voice.  “And Dr. Gomez was such a fan of the Imperial Family I thought he might enjoy their company more than I.”

“So you didn’t like the Imperial Family?” asked one of the military investigators, looking at a flat comp and making notes.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like them,” said Yu, shaking her head.  “I adored the Emperor.  But I don’t really like parties all that much.  And Gomez always went on about wanting to talk with the Emperor.”

“So you really don’t know anything about this assassination?” asked Jiminez, looking down at her.  “I would like to believe you.  I really would.  But I can’t take that chance.  We have some techs with a mind probe here.  So I guess we’ll just have to use them.”

“But,” said Lucille, thinking of the very unpleasant procedure which some people equated with mind rape.  “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Perhaps you are,” said Jiminez, motioning for one of the other plainclothes investigators to come over.  “But we can’t take that chance right now.  I need to know as much as I can about what happened here.  I’ll apologize later if I’m wrong.”

The other large man grabbed Lucille Yu by the arm and pulled her out of her chair.  Before she could gain her balance or protest she was hustled from the room.

*     *     *

“You really think she had anything to do with this mess?” said one of the naval investigators.

“I don’t know,” said Jiminez, frowning as he thought of a seated Emperor killed on his watch.  “It may not really matter.  We need someone to point the public outcry at, and she may have to do.  I think we need to send her to Purgatory for a while no matter what the probe shows.  As a guest of course, if she warrants it.”

"Why not let her go if the probe shows her to be innocent?" asked the first naval investigator.

"I believe whoever was aboard that fighter had been cleared by standard deep probe," said Jiminez, staring at the naval officer who nodded his head.  "Well, obviously something slipped by the probe where that officer was concerned."

"Impossible," said the Commander.  "The system is foolproof."

"Never underestimate the power of fools," said Jiminez with a tight smile.  "But whatever the cause, there was an unreliable on board that fighter who was not caught in the standard deep mind probe.  So a negative result in this case proves nothing.  And we may need the facilities of Purgatory to actually break whatever deep conditioning she may be under."

"Filthy place, Purgatory," said one of the Secret Service men, shaking his head.

"Sometimes a necessary place," said the senior IIB man.  "Sometimes an escape proof prison is needed for those too dangerous to leave alone and too useful to kill."

"A fool proof prison," chimed in the Commander.  "But one must never underestimate the power of fools.  At all levels."

Jiminez fixed the naval officer with a stare that would have terrified most men who had entered the IIB man's jurisdiction.  But Fleet is not really in my jurisdiction, he thought.  The Commander's ass might be out in the wind with his own superiors.  But civilian authority would not be able to touch the man while he was in uniform.

“I believe that she is the only one in a senior position at the station who survived the attack,” said the second naval investigator, diverting Jiminez' attention.  “We need her here so the station can keep functioning.  The Fleet needs the wormholes this station is producing.”

“Just promote some of the subordinates,” said Jiminez, staring at the man.  “They should be able to keep everything working.  She might be the only lead we have, and we are not going to let her out of our grasp until we are sure that lead goes nowhere.  Or we get something else solid to follow.  So she gets a trip to Purgatory where she can be isolated from the rest of the Empire until our needs are met.”

“We’ll see about that,” said the Commander, closing his eyes and making a link to someone that Jiminez knew could cause him trouble.

The agent closed his own eyes and sent a transmission through the wormhole gate, knowing that his superior was only three light seconds from that gate, on the planet Jewel.  And soon there would be a jockeying for power as everyone tried to save their asses and find a scapegoat.

*     *     *

The Emperor’s death, along with that of his wife and his Heir, were the only things on the news channels of Jewel.  The news would soon reach the nearer Core Worlds over the hyperwave relay system.  And a message was surely heading to the Fleet HQ in Sector Four, where it would be sent by courier to inform Prince Sean that he was now the ruler of the most powerful human kingdom in the known universe.

It went well, thought Prime Minister Count Mejoris Jeraviki, watching the talking heads on the holo.  The entire family had been more or less wiped out, with no surviving remains, either of them or the assassin, his reports had stated.  Now they have to get the message back that the third son is also dead and we will be able to put our puppet in place.

“It went well, didn’t it,” said a soft voice from the shadows of the study.  The Prime Minister jumped in his skin for a second, both at the sound of the voice and the repeating of his recent thoughts.

“As promised,” he said, turning to look at the tall, dark man emerging from the shadows.  “I am sure your mysterious employers will be well satisfied with the results.”

“And you will become the true power behind the throne, my dear Count,” said the man, bowing toward the noble with a smile on his face.  "How feels it to be at the pinnacle of power for one not born of the Imperial Family."

"It feels good," said the Prime Minister, looking down at his hands.  The hands that would hold the power of the Empire.  He glanced up and a worried look crossed his face.  "Are you sure no one will trace your activities to me?  It would mean my life if anyone were to find out that I had anything to do with the death of the Imperial Family,

The dark man smiled for a moment while shaking his head.

"My employers were afraid that you might show fear in this situation," said the man, the smile never leaving his face.

"Who wouldn't be afraid," said the Prime Minister, turning away and walking to a cabinet near the fireplace where he kept liquor.  "They will be turning over every stone looking for the head of the plot.  The Imperial Investigation Bureau and the Secret Service will be tripping over each other in their efforts to bring someone before the people.  Someone they can point the finger to and say, 'here is the devil who killed the Emperor'.  And then they will parade him before the people and make an example for those who contemplate regicide."

"One such as you," the dark man said under his breath.

"What was that," said the Prime Minister, pulling a bottle of fine Scotch from the cabinet.

"Nothing," said the dark man as he pulled a heavy pistol from under his coat.  He quickly set the charge and pointed the weapon at the Prime Minister.  He waited until the man turned with bottle in hand.  The Count's eyes went wide as he saw the pistol, and his mouth silently formed the word no.

The dark man fired the heavy military laser on a wide beam, holding the trigger down for two seconds as it pumped eight hundred megawatts of energy into the Prime Minister and the wall behind him.  Clothing flared to ash and flesh flashed to vapor.  The bottle in his hand burst in a fireball of burning alcohol and glass vapor.  The man's bones caught fire, much of it turning to superheated powder.  The wall behind the Prime Mister caught on fire as paint vaporized and an old painting flashed to ash.  The liquor cabinet ashed under the heat, said ash blown into the air as the bottles within exploded.

The dark man stepped back from the heat as he lowered the pistol, shielding his face with his other hand.  Before him were the remains of the Prime Minister, some blackened pieces of his major bones and ash that was swirling around in the flames.  Alarms sounded through the otherwise quiet house.  The dark man took aim at the floor and fired another long burst, destroying the bone fragments and turning the hard rock that had been hidden by the carpet into lava.

The job completed, the dark man shook his head and faded back into the shadows.  He did not kill for pleasure, though it had been a pleasure to eliminate this loose end.  If he tarried there would be others that would see him, and he would be forced to kill again.

Chapter 4

War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things.  The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse.  The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.   John Stewart Mill

Lt. Colonel Samuel Baggett ducked his head and stepped out of the shuttle onto the hard surface of the landing field.  He squinted his eyes as he looked up into the light blue sky at the bright disk of the F class star.  He jumped up and down for a second, whistling in satisfaction.  It felt good to have real gravity under his feet again, even if it was a little more than that of his last duty station.  Somehow the graviton generators on board ship never got it quite right, though it was better than zero gee, or being squashed by tremendous acceleration.

"Some different smells, sir," said Sergeant Major Zacharias as he followed the Colonel out of the shuttle.

Baggett nodded his head as he brought the air into his nose.  It smelt of green growing things, flowers, and an unidentifiable musky odor.  Cleaner than that damned Lasharan world, he thought.  There were bound to be some aliens here as well, since some of the species of the Empire tended to follow humans to the frontier.  But they would not be the kind of aliens to shoot at his men from concealment.

"Smells good to me, Terry," said Baggett, looking out over the landing field where a dozen other shuttles had landed.  Heat waves rose from the tarmac and the skins of the landing craft.  Men were forming up into platoons in front of each shuttle as he watched, their platoon leaders and sergeants making sure all was in order.  As he watched four of the platoons marched off and formed up into a company.

The high whine of engines caught his attention and he turned to see three more shuttles coming in for a landing.  His eyes automatically scanned the surrounding buildings of the town before he caught himself and allowed himself to relax.

"Nice to come in on a world where we are welcome, eh, sir," said the Sergeant Major, smiling up at the taller officer.

"Guilty as charged, Sergeant Major," said the Colonel with a laugh.  "It will take a while to get the eyes taken out of the back of my head."

"Perhaps we can relax a bit then, sir," said the battalion's top NCO.  "Be nice to not have to worry about the populace hitting us with rockets at night."

"We've still got to keep the boys and girls sharp, Terry," said the Colonel, nodding toward up field where some transports had landed and were loading up troops.  "We can't afford a slack unit.  It could hit the fan any moment out here.  And we have to be ready for it."

"Let the children blow off a little steam first, sir," cautioned the Sergeant Major.  "We'll get to working their asses soon enough."

Lt. Colonel Baggett nodded while he watched an air car come in for a landing about a hundred meters away.  A squat man in the dress reds of an Imperial Marine officer jumped from the car and trotted toward the shuttle.

"See to the troops, Sergeant Major," said Baggett, turning to his NCO.  Zacharias snapped to attention and rendered a perfect parade ground salute which Baggett returned with the same crispness.  Can't let those of our sister service think we're sloppy, thought the Colonel as he turned toward the approaching Marine.

“Captain Glen McKinnon, Colonel” said the Marine in a loud voice, snapping to the position of attention and rendering a precise salute.  Baggett returned the salute with the sloppier version normally rendered by a superior to inferior rank.  The Marine dropped his salute and put out a big right hand, his blue eyes twinkling from his smiling freckled face.

“Good to meet you, Captain,” said Baggett, grasping the offered hand in a firm grip.  “Are you the official welcoming committee?”

“Sort of,” said the Marine, wiping a trickle of sweat from his forehead with his left hand.  “My company will be working with your battalion as support and orientation.”

“And your company is?”

“Company C.  First of the Two Ninety Ninth Marines, sir,” said the younger officer with a smile.  “Heavy Infantry.”

“So you’ll be my fire company,” said Baggett, looking out over the field where another trio of shuttles was coming in for a landing.

“Yes sir,” said the Marine, gesturing toward his air car.  “If the Colonel would please follow me to our transport I’ll take you to Planetary Ground Forces HQ where we can get you oriented.”

“Lead on,” said Baggett.  The Marine turned away and led him toward the air car, leaving the Colonel to walk with his own thoughts to the vehicle.  The car was Imperial Red with the globe and anchor symbol of the Marines on both sides and the front hood.  The Colonel knew the car could easily change its spots, becoming whatever color scheme was best for the situation.  It was unarmed as far as he could see, but that too could be changed.

Baggett buckled into the front passenger seat as the Marine officer fed power from the generators to the grabber units.  The car lifted smoothly from the ground and turned away from the city, over flying the field and the activity.  Soon they were over rolling hills that had been planted in terrestrial grain crops which swayed in the breeze.

“This is a hot world, Colonel,” said the Captain, glancing over at the Imperial Army officer.  “Probably a lot hotter than you’re used to.”

“I’ll have you know, Captain,” said Baggett, staring at the other man.  “I was under fire on a daily basis where my battalion was stationed last.  My men were constantly under fire from a hostile populace.  I really don’t think this world will be as hot as you think.”

“No shit,” said the Marine, his eyes widening.  “Where were you stationed?”

“On one of the Lasharan conquest worlds,” said Baggett, his eyes taking on the faraway look that only one who has lived in combat can achieve.

“I can see what you meant by hot,” said the Marine, whistling.  “But I’m talking about temperature.  That’s an F Class star up there.  And it will burn you clean up if you’re out in it too long.  I had problems with peeling like a sunburned baby when I first got here.  Finally got the nanites working right though, so now all I do is sweat.”

“Unless you’re in the air conditioned suits,” said the Colonel, a tone of envy in his voice.

“There is that,” said the Marine, nodding his head.  “Almost makes it pleasant to go on maneuvers.  They make damned big targets though, compared to a man in the light armor you’re used to.”

A trumpeting sound came to the Colonel’s ears as they passed over a field and into what looked like feathery native vegetation.  An open field of fernlike plants came into view.  Some large blocky animals moved across the field, stopping occasionally to crop the ferns, while others of the herd browsed at the tree line.

“Some of the native life,” said the Captain as he brought the air car down to buzz the creatures.  They stared at it with small eyes.  A few of the larger bulls trumpeted challenges to the nuisance while the rest continued on with feeding their bulks.

“Not really dinosauroids,” continued the officer as he pulled over the trees and continued on his way.  “More mammalian.  Those were a herd of the mid ranged herbivores.  Up to thirty tons on the hoof.”

“Thirty tons,” hissed the Colonel.  “That seems pretty damned big to me.”

“Seemed that way to me too.  Until I saw some of the real giants.  And you need to watch out for the carnivores.  They can get up to twenty tons.”

“Do they look at us as food?” asked the Colonel.  “Are we compatible proteins?”

“Yes and no,” answered the Captain, aiming the car for a flat topped hill that loomed ahead.  “They look at anything that moves that they are capable of bringing down as food.  And we are not compatible.  Which won’t stop them from filling their bellies with indigestible human meat and suffering indigestion later.”

“Right,” said Baggett, watching a large biped moving through the trees, stalking a larger herbivore.  “So go armed in the back country.”

“At all times,” said the Captain.  “We’re always being scrambled out to the brush to rescue some idiot who gets surrounded or stranded or some fool stunt.  Or to try and recover the remains of said fool.”

The air car slowed as it came over the hill, then stopped and dropped toward the flat top.  With a slight thud the car touched down.  The Captain unstrapped and left the car, the Colonel on his heels.  They headed for a ten meter diameter pad near the center of the flattop.  As they reached the center the Captain whispered something under his breath and the circle began to drop down into the hill.  After twenty meters a thick piece of alloy slid closed overhead.

“This is the secondary Planetary Defense HQ,” said the Captain as they continued down another hundred meters.  “There are several other entrances in.  Place wouldn’t stand up to much if it were targeted though, so primary is under one of the mountains in the Cascades range, about three hundred klicks from here.”

The lift came to a stop and the men stepped off.  It went back up as soon as they stepped away.

“It’s a central capsule for a destroyer,” said the Captain as they walked down a corridor.  “Not much protection, but all they really thought they needed when it was first put in.”

“Same companies as built the shelters for all the cities on the core worlds I would guess,” said Lt. Colonel Baggett.  Wall fixtures were the same as he had seen in his tour of a shelter on New Brandenburg.

“The same,” agreed the Captain, who had spent quite a bit of time in the heavily shielded crew compartments of warships.  “They mass manufacture them, without some of the warship fixtures of course, and dig them into the ground where needed.  That way the populace has someplace to hide if the enemy brings the shit to the system.  I think even the capital has several thousand battleship central capsules linked so they can cram three billion people into emergency barracks if they need to.”

“More like tens of thousands of shelters,” said the Colonel as they walked the corridor.  “Linked with military shelters and a network of connections.  Like it will ever really be used.  Anyone gets that far into the Empire through the Fleet and we’re truly fucked.  They make sense out here though.  Any decent task force can take the high ground on one of these worlds, and maybe the citizens can hold out for a while underground until relief comes.”

“Here we are,” said the Captain, stopping at a door that had a pair of Marine guards standing outside.  He presented his eyes to a retinal scan in the wall and placed his thumb over a plate below it that read his print and his DNA at the same time.  The panel flashed green, indicating to the guards that he was cleared even as their implants gave them the same information.  The Colonel repeated the process and the door slid open.

It looked like any of a hundred other briefing rooms the Colonel had seen in the past.  There was a smattering of different uniforms, Imperial Army, Marines and Navy as well as the brown of planetary militia.  Men and women were sitting around the table discussing things they were looking at on their flat comps.  A couple of officers sat with distant looks on their faces, probably communicating with subordinates on implant com links.  Cigarettes and cigars sat smoking in ashtrays next to steaming cups of coffee.

Baggett sneezed as a whiff of smoke hit his nostrils.  He thought smoking was a filthy habit.  But since cancer was a thing of the past, and even damage to the lung capacity of smokers was corrected automatically by nanites, it was practiced widely.

“Over here, Colonel,” said the Marine Captain, pointing to some seats that were set by the table, directly in front of the holo tank that displayed the blue green marble of the planet.  He followed the officer over, noting that the other battalion commanders were already seated, and the regimental commander was sitting near the head of the table, next to a naval commodore.  As soon as Baggett planted seat to pad the senior naval officer cleared his throat.

“Welcome to Sestius IV, men and women of the 789th Infantry,” said the commodore, looking around the table.  “I am Commodore Chung, the system commander, and I must say we are glad to have you here.  We know that you and your troops are combat veterans, and any system would prize such men and women.  I will command such of the defense of the system as the navy can mount.  I can also assure you that we will be able to call on aid from fleet bases.  I cannot assure you when such aid will arrive.  Depending on whether the relief force is hyper VI or VII it could be hours to days.  That is all I promise.  The defense of the planetary surface from whatever gets by us will be your concern.  Therefore, I turn you over to the planetary commander, Brigadier General Klein.”

Baggett turned his eyes to the officer sitting beside the commodore.  The man he had thought of as Colonel Klein, his regimental commander.  That worthy smiled at the commodore and looked out over the table.  Another man, wearing the brown of planetary militia with single stars on his collar, glowered at the regular army officer who he probably thought was usurping his command.

“Purely a brevetted rank,” said the soft spoken regimental commander, who looked more like a college professor than an infantryman.  “It was decided by the commodore that as we are the largest body of fully trained troops on the planet, and a veteran unit, we would form the nucleus of the provision division we will assemble on this world.  And since Brigadier Marquett found both a promotion and a transfer awaiting him on arrival, I got tapped for the position.”

The man smiled at his officers, and Baggett knew the man had to be appreciative of his rise.  He knew he would be, and he trusted Klein much more than any part timers that would otherwise be up for the position.  Klein was combat tested, and recent combat at that.

“Basically, gentlemen and lady,” said the Brigadier, nodding at the one woman of senior rank in the room, a Lt. Colonel of Infantry that Baggett did not recognize, but whose name flashed on his implant as he looked at her, “we will be dividing up the regiment into three combat commands.  Each will consist of a battalion of light infantry, a battery from the regimental artillery, and an engineer platoon, along with part and parcel of the regiment’s air defense assets.”

Blinking lights appeared on the holo globe of the world along with names.

“Willoughby, the capital, will be the center of one defensive region.  Canton and Frederick, both regional capitals, will be the center of the others.  Each combat command will have attached a company of combat suited Marine heavy infantry and a mixed company of medium and heavy armor.”

“What about the integration of the militia?” asked one of the militia colonels seated at the table, his face set in what looked like a permanent scowl.

“The militia will be attached to the combat commands,” said the newly minted Brigadier.  “The Willoughby command will have five battalions of militia plus an allotment of their armor and vehicular units.  The other commands will have four battalions of militia along with an allotment of armor and vehicular units.  Each combat command will be commanded by the CO of the regular infantry battalion assigned.”

One of the militia colonels raised his hand and looked about ready to choke.

“Yes sir,” said the Brigadier, nodding toward the man.

“Why not put the militia commanders in charge of the combat commands?” asked the man, looking to his fellow brown uniformed officers and getting nods of agreement.  “After all, our commands are already regimental size.  And we outrank the regulars.”

A few of the Regular Army officers made comments about damned amateurs under their breaths.  The Militia Brigadier looked ready to open his mouth, took a glance at Commodore Chung, and thought better of it.

“I do not mean to disrespect you gentlemen,” said Brigadier Klein, looking around the table.  “But all of my battalion commanders have just come from an occupation duty that amounted to daily combat.  I know how they think and how they will react.  Plus, they are being brevetted to the rank of Colonel for this operation.  So they are of equal rank to the militia regiment commanders, and in charge due to their Imperial Commissions.”

Damn, thought Baggett, a smile creeping across his face.  From major to full bird in less than six months.  Even if the rank was temporary, it was still more than he had hoped for many more years to come.

“What about my soldiers?” asked Lt. Colonel Samantha Thomas, commander of the independent medium infantry battalion that had helped to garrison the planet before the arrival of reinforcements.  Her soldiers were not the one man tanks the Marine heavy infantry was, but were still more heavily armored and weaponed than the newly arrived light infantry.

“You, my dear, will be a part of my reserves,” said the Brigadier.  “Along with the remaining company of Marines, an armored company and the remaining two battalions of militia.  You will also need to find a set of colonel insignia for your collar.”

Baggett raised his hand and waited for the Brigadier to acknowledge him.  The man looked his way and nodded.

“What about aviation assets, the rest of the artillery and the planetary defense batteries, sir?” he asked.  “Will we be assigned any of those assets?”

“No, Colonel,” said the Brigadier.  “You will not, with the exception of a command and control bird and a couple of sting ships.  We will keep a tight rein on the other aviation assets and assign them temporarily as needed.  Planetary defense…”

“Let me answer that question, Brigadier,” interrupted Commodore Chung, “if I may.  Planetary defense will be tied into the orbital defense system.  We only have a couple of batteries of emplaced lasers and some missiles.  A brigade of mobiles have been assigned to us, but only the first battalion has arrived.  Does that answer you, Colonel?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you really think anything is going to happen out here, commodore?” asked one of the militia colonels without waiting to be acknowledged.

“Something can always happen out here, Winton,” answered the commodore.  “This is the frontier.  If you’re asking if it’s anything we can’t handle, I just say that any pirates that attack us will be annihilated by my small system command.”

The assembled officers chuckled at that pronouncement.

“But if we’re hit by a large task force of fearsome aliens with capabilities beyond ours.  Let’s just say we will die in the finest tradition of the Fleet.  And then you all will die in the finest tradition of the ground forces.  After hopefully killing a lot of the enemy and protecting the settlers until the cavalry can arrive from other stars.”

“Not really what I wanted to hear,” said Colonel Winton.

“This is the frontier,” said the Commodore.  “If you wanted to be protected by armored corps, massive planetary defensive batteries and battleship squadrons, you should have stayed on the core worlds.  We run risks out here.  Hopefully this will amount to nothing but some panic at the level of command over some snooping or exploring aliens that just wandered into our neighborhood.  But we have to be ready in case it is not.  That’s the smart way to bet, after all.  Instead of betting that it’s just some harmless, peace loving newcomers to the region.

“Now gentlemen and lady,” he continued.  “I leave you to figure out how to hold the land fort.”

The commodore rose to leave, and all the assembled officers got to their feet.  The Militia officers moved toward each other after the naval officer left, talking in soft tones and glancing at the regulars.

Hope this doesn’t devolve into a pissing contest, thought Baggett, thinking that he would kind of like to have an armored corps on the planet himself.  And realizing that he would not get his wish.  He had what he had.

*     *     *

Cornelius Walborski took a puff from the pipe and allowed the sweet smoke to fill his lungs.  He felt the buzz of the narcotic herb flow through his body in a rush of pleasure.  Holding out the pipe to his wife, the farmer held in the smoke.

"Thanks, honey," said Katlyn, taking the pipe and bringing it to her mouth.  She pulled in the smoke, then put the pipe on the table.

"This is really good," she said, sighing her pleasure.

"The market had a really good shipment," said Cornelius.  "And our homegrown crop will be ready in a few months."

The cannabis was a mild drug, even though it had been improved over generations.  Most people preferred mild and good, and mild drugs were legal in the Empire.  Nanotech had eliminated the truly awful effects of most intoxicants.  The misery of addiction still existed, especially with the harder drugs that were still illegal, and lucrative.

"I felt the baby kick," said Katlyn, her hand on her stomach and a smile on her face.

Cornelius put his hand on her stomach as he held her close.  He felt the baby move under his palm.

"Hope the little guy isn't getting too high," he said with a drug induced giggle.

"Not a hope in hell," said the soon to be mom.  "I got a booster of placental nanites the other day.  Nothing but nutrients and oxygen will get through those things."

She looked at him for a moment and then looked away, her eyes distant.

"What's wrong, hon?" he asked, putting his hands on her arms and turning her toward him.

"Just that there's been a lot of talk on the net," said Katlyn, tears in her eyes.

Cornelius knew about the rumors that were going back and forth across the planetary news, communications and database service known as the net.  All of the citizens were able to access it through their implants.  Or, being a free society, they could isolate themselves from it as they wished.  According to the net there was a reason that all of the troops were landing recently.  The government wouldn't give them a lot of information about what was going on, but rumors were that it wasn't good.  There had to be something out here that was scaring the government into redeploying troops.  Especially to a nowhere frontier planet with no worth to anyone but the few hundred thousand people who called it home.

"I don't know what's going on, hon," he said, putting his arms around her.  "I just know that we're getting ready for something.  The militia has been assigned to support the regulars.  And the regulars that I've seen are bad mothers.  They're fresh from a combat assignment, and they're wolves.  I feel that if anything happens we will be in as good a hands as possible.  You hear me?"

His wife looked into his eyes as he wiped the tears from them.  She nodded her head and gave him a slight smile.

"Good," he said, smiling.  "Let's get ready for bed."

Just as the words left his mouth the dogs started barking.  He heard some of the livestock making noise.  Noise that did not sound good.

"Damned predator got into the fields," he said, getting up from the couch.  He reached for a bottle on the table and pulled out a nanocapsule, popping it into his mouth.  Shaking his head he felt the intoxication fleeing from his brain as the sober pill took effect and the nanites entered his system.

"Be careful," said Katlyn, concern in her eyes.

He grabbed the rifle by the door and turned back to her as the noise outside rose in volume.

"I will," he said, smiling.  "The dogs will be with me out there, watching my back."

Cornelius opened the door to the sounds of his dog pack barking and growling at something that hissed.  They're a good bunch, he thought, stepping out into the illuminated night.  He had six of the beasts on the farm.  All genetically enhanced farm dogs that were much faster and smarter than anything on this planet.  Just not as big.

As he ran out to the closest field, where all of the noise was originating, he saw that two of the forty kilo dogs were facing down a quadruped that must have massed over four hundred kilos.  The other four dogs were spread out, completing a circle around the beast.  One of the bitch dogs limped a bit, and he could see the glistening of blood on her flanks under the floods.  He felt a stir of pride as he saw that the native had some liquid glistening on its hide as well.  The dogs had drawn blood, and were keeping the animal from hurting any of the cattle that it had come after.

Cornelius knew how to handle a weapon.  He had learned hunting in the backwoods of his home world, leading the local Lord’s friends on expeditions.  And had learned more after coming to the frontier world.  He made sure the rifle was set as he wanted and put the stock to his shoulder.  A squeeze of the trigger and the rifle bucked into his shoulder, sending a six millimeter round at six thousand meters per second into the creature.  It fell like a poled steer as the round penetrated its skull and destroyed its brain.

The dogs ran up to it and growled, one taking a bite out of the creature's leg and spitting out the flesh, making sure that it was dead.  The dogs were too smart to eat the meat, knowing that it wasn't nourishing for them.

Have to pull it out of here with the tractor, thought Walborski, looking at the carcass.  Otherwise scavengers would come for it, some as big or bigger than the beast.  He patted the heads of a couple of the dogs as they ran up to him, tails wagging.  Better than any electronics or defense robots, he thought of the dogs, who actually showed affection toward their master.  But you're a fucking buzz kill, he thought as he looked at the dead critter.  Shaking his head he started off for the vehicle shed to get the tractor and take care of the mess he hadn't asked for.

*     *     *

Lieutenant SG The Prince Sean Ogden Lee Romanov sighted in on the target as he readied the projectile.  He was aware of his surroundings, where he stood in relation to the target.  All distractions were filtered out as he focused.  A movement of his hands and the projectile was on its way.

The basketball swished through the net as the Prince shot a perfect three pointer.  He trotted over a bit and picked up the round ball as it bounced off of the hardwood floor.

Be nice if there was someone to play with, he thought, looking around the wide rec deck.  There were games going on six of the twelve courts on the deck, and a couple of singles practicing shooting on another one.  Two of the courts were configured for volleyball.  One had a pickup game while the other had some hardcore players practicing setting and spiking.  Some of the racquetball courts were also busy, and a couple of dozen crewmen were running the four hundred meter oblong track that overlooked the playing courts.

The Prince looked over at his bodyguards.  The two Marines in light armor were conspicuous among the crewmen and women in their workout gear.  One Marine stood near the wall by the basket, his eyes constantly roaming the floor.  The other stood in the area between courts, her vision scanning the running track.

For the sake of God, I'm on board an Imperial warship, thought the Prince.  No one wanted to get near him with his bodyguards intimidating all and sundry.  And he wasn't allowed off ship, at least until the Captain calmed down and started treating him like an officer of the Fleet again.

The Prince tossed the ball into a nearby bin and walked from the court, the Marines hustling to get one of them ahead of him while the other trailed behind.  He wished he could just order them away, but they were under orders from both the Lt. Colonel in command of the battleship's Marine battalion and the Captain of the ship.  They would die before they left his side, and he couldn't wish that on anyone for doing their duty.

"I'm going back to my cabin, people," he said to the guards as he headed through the door out of the rec deck and into a corridor.  The guards nodded, one of them subvocalizing into a com link.  Sean walked down the corridor until he came to a lift.  One of the guards opened the door and made sure that the lift was empty.  Clearing the lift, the Marine motioned the Prince on board.  The second Marine followed and the lift took off, going up three decks and forward a hundred and fifty meters.  The door opened and the Prince headed down the corridor, Marines in tow.  As he approached his cabin one of the Marines ran ahead and through the door while the second Marine put a restraining hand on the Prince.  First Marine came out of the cabin and motioned all clear.  The Prince entered his cabin and the two guards flanked the door and kept watch outside.

The Prince looked around the small living room that he normally shared with another Lieutenant SG.  Said Lieutenant had been moved for the moment, leaving the Prince alone.  The living room was nothing spectacular to look at with twenty five square meters of area containing a couple of couches, a coffee table, and some shelving covered with mementos and minor works of art.  One of the two doors led to his personal twenty square meters of bedroom and his private bath.

The Prince threw himself into a comfortable chair that sat in front of the common desk.  Turning on a flat comp, the Prince keyed in an address and waited for a moment while the holo cameras registered his presence.  As the flat comp started blinking the Prince looked into the cameras.

"Hello father, mother," he said, forcing a smile onto his face.  "I'm sure you have heard the news by now.  I assure you that I am well, or as well as I can be when I am what amounts to under arrest on the ship on which I serve.  I wanted to be treated like any other officer of the Fleet.  Now I see that that want is impossible.  I am treated like the member of the Imperial Family that I am.  A fragile gem of dubious value to be protected, instead of the gallant officer putting his life on the line for the protection of the Empire."

Sean put his face in his hands for a moment, massaging his temples as he thought of what he would say next.

"I want to resign from the service," he said to the camera.  "I want you, father, to have my name stricken from the lists of active officers.  I know this will come as a disappointment to you.  I know how our family holds the military service to the Empire as important.  That we show the people we are also willing to serve on the front lines.  But I feel that it is a sham.  I am not allowed to protect and serve.  That is an illusion.  Play acting in some scripted theatrical production for mass consumption.  And I am tired of playing this part.  So please, father.  Call me home.  I am ready to take on whatever political duties you deem fit for me.  Or no duties at all if I am not deemed fit."

Sean looked around the living area for a moment, his eyes locking on the picture of the Emperor and Empress that was one of many on the ship.  He tightened his jaw as he looked back at the camera.

"I love you father.  I love you mother.  I hope that you will welcome me back to the capital, and to our home.  Sean out."

The Prince hit the transmit key before he could change his mind.  He knew that his code and the status of his recipients would insure that the message went through uncensored.  As a member of the Imperial Family his security clearance was as high as the military gave out.  And the Emperor had no security clearance.  He was above that, and privy to any information that he wanted to view.

The Prince got up from the desk and the comp went off.  He could feel the stickiness of the sweat he had worked up in the gym that had dried in the coolness of the cabin.  He felt like a shower, followed by a nap.  And then he would demand an audience with the Captain, using his social rank if necessary.  As long as he was on this ship he would do his duty, and work his duty station.

*     *     *

“My God,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda while he listened to the message that had come in on hyperwave.  “The entire family.”

“Yes sir,” said his adjutant, Captain Henninman, in a hushed voice.  “The whole damned family.  We don’t have a seated Emperor.  And then the Prime Minister on the same day.”

“That makes one of my junior officers the supreme ruler of the Empire,” said the Admiral, shaking his head.  “And our ultimate boss.  Which, of course, he doesn’t know yet.”

“What are we going to do about that Admiral?” asked the adjutant, his eyes assuming the faraway look of linking to the base’s net.

“Do we know where the boy is right now?”

“Last reported position of the Duke Roger Sergiov II is Massadara Logistical Base,” said the adjutant, reading the information from his link.  “Information is from a report which is three days old, brought in yesterday by the biweekly courier.  She was scheduled to leave the system by the end of the week for a border patrol with her squadron.”

“So three days from now,” said the Admiral, nodding.  “We can get a courier there in two.  Send a courier out now.  Then send the next three available couriers out on a border sweep looking for that ship.  Just in case she left early.  Put orders on all the couriers for the Prince, I mean Emperor, to transfer to the courier for transport to this base.  Then we can send him up the pipeline to the capital and get him installed.”

“Yes sir,” said the adjutant, unfocusing for a moment while he sent the information into the command net and dispatched the vessels.  “They will be off shortly, sir.  Anything else?”

“Not right now, Hen,” said the Admiral.  “I just pray to God that he’s still safe, and we can get him home before the balloon goes up.”

Just give us a few more days, Lord, prayed the Admiral silently.  I don’t want to know how the government will stand another death of an Imperial Family member.  The Admiral stood up from his desk and went to the credenza, hoping for a drink to settle his nerves.

“Sir,” said Captain Henniman, running back into the room.

“Problem, Hen?”

“Unscheduled courier came in from Massadara, sir,” said the Captain, a worried look on his face.

“Unscheduled?”

“Next courier is not due for another day.”

“So what was the news?” asked the Admiral, feeling hollow in the pit of his stomach.

“There was an assassination attempt on the Prince,” said the adjutant, a shocked expression on his face.  “Somebody tried to kill him planet side.”

“But he was alright,” said the Admiral.  “When the courier left he was OK?”

“Yes sir.  He’s confined to the ship now, where they can look after him.”

“I doubt this is coincidence,” said the Admiral, slamming the flat of his hand on the desk.  “Someone is trying to decapitate the Empire.  And I doubt that the timing is arbitrary.”

“Orders, sir?” said the adjutant.

“Change the orders to the couriers.  The Prince is to come back aboard his own ship.  Unless there is a Hyper VII Capital available to bring him.  We can’t take a chance that someone won’t try and attack his transport.  I want something in place that can fight off an attack.”

“Yes, sir,” said Captain Henniman.  “I’ll send the orders out right now.”

“And keep this information under wraps, Hen,” said the Admiral.  “Transmit the message for the eyes of Admiral commanding Massadara or the Captain of the Sergiov only.  I don’t want anyone else getting information they might be able to use to hurt us.  It’s going to be a hard enough hit on morale knowing that the Emperor and the heir are both dead.”

“Aye sir,” said Henniman, walking from the room as he transmitted through his link.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” whispered Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, running through the chain of events in his head.  Something is about to hit us hard.  That’s the only reason you decapitate a command structure.  To make sure that decisions are not being made while you attack.

The Admiral hit a pad on his desk panel comp and waited for the acknowledgement.

“All staff are to meet in conference room G3 ASAP,” he said through the comp. “Be prepared for a long one, ladies and gentlemen.  We have our work cut out for us.”

Chapter 5

Political tags - such as royalist, communist, democrat, populist, fascist, liberal, conservative, and so forth - are never basic criteria. The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire.  Robert A Heinlein.

For such a sparsely populated planet, Sestius seemed to have a disproportionate number of injuries.  At least it seemed that way to Dr. Jennifer Conway.  Like it wouldn’t, she thought, remembering where she was.  Frontier Worlds had lots of people engaging in hazardous occupations, working around unpredictable animals and machinery that could crush them without notice.  Add to that the arms that most everyone carried, and the heavy use of drugs and alcohol, and of course there were going to be a lot of injuries beyond the ability of local clinics and medics to treat.  And many facilities could not afford an auto-doc, which meant a flesh and blood doc must be called in.

Fifty-three minutes, more or less, she thought, looking out over the heavily forested countryside as the air car flew back to Willoughby.  That was what they taught in med school.  If a person who has ceased to live by all standard measurements could be gotten into some form of stasis, they could be revived.  After that there was nothing to bring back.  The body might live again, but it was not that person.  In fact it was the worst nightmare imaginable.  And twenty two of the men and women in that mining town had passed that limit and were permanently dead.  But, my god, did he have to kill those children, she thought, cringing at the memory of the four small bodies that had inhabited the morgue along with the eighteen adults.

She had treated the fifteen severely injured.  Twelve would remain at the clinic, where they could receive adequate care and then return to work on the radioactives mine that the town serviced.  Three were placed in stasis and were to be shipped to the capital so they could be rebuilt at a proper hospital.  At least I was able to work on them, thought the doctor, a slight smile coming to her face.  That made it all worthwhile.  And if only we had been able to see what was coming down the pike for that poor man that shot up the town.  But it had taken everyone by surprise.  And there hadn’t been enough left of Jacob Schneider to even think of reconstruction outside of cloning.  And everyone knew the trouble that cloning would result in.

The air car jerked and alarms started going off, the lights on the dash blinking red while a short siren sounded.  A light on the panel indicated that the right front lift fan was not working, and a glance toward that section of the car revealed a cloud of smoke rising from the fan and trailing from the moving car.

“What happened?” she asked the car.

“A native avian flew into the number one fan,” answered the car.  “The fan mechanism is shattered.”

“Can we make it back to the city?”

“Unknown at this time,” answered the computer that was the brain of the vehicle.  “The three fans are providing sufficient lift.  But number three is starting to overheat.”

“Crap,” said Jennifer under her breath.  The nanites incorporated into the car should have kept all the systems in top condition.  But somehow, in the care of fan three, they had failed, and while all engines were working it wasn’t something that anything noticed.  I wish I had a grabber equipped car, she thought.  Then there wouldn’t have been anything for a bird to hit and destroy.  Wait a second.

“Car.  How had the body of a flippen bird destroyed the fan?  Wouldn’t the alloy be strong enough to handle it?”

“Not known at this time,” said the car.  “According to all know information about life on this planet, an avian should not have destroyed the fan.  It should have been shredded and ejected.  However, it did hit the fan, and currently the fan is not working.  And fan three is in the process of failing.”

“Crap again,” said Jennifer, this time in a loud voice.  “Can you set us down before we come in for a crash landing?”

“Searching for landing areas at this time,” said the computer.  “Nothing within a ten kilometer radius.”

“Crap a third time,” said the doctor, looking at the dash screens, then out the canopy, hoping that maybe her organic vision could find something the car’s active sensors could not.  A forlorn hope, she thought, knowing that she still had to do something.

“Fan three is failing,” said the car in its infuriatingly calm tone.  “Losing altitude.  Prepare for crash landing.”

Jennifer checked her restraints, knowing there was little else she could do.  She checked the link to make sure the car was sending a situation report to the authorities, and breathed a sigh of relief on noting that it was.  The green canopy was rising toward her, and the car started to twist around, before the computer corrected and pulled it back.  It was losing speed all the while, but it remained to be seen if it was enough.

And then the canopy of the dense forest was no longer below, it was slapping at the bottom of the car.  With the cracking of small branches the car fell through the foliage.  Fifty meters down it hit a large branch, and careened off course, skirting a couple of really large trunks that reminded Jennifer of the Redwoods of her home world.  The car smacked into one of those trunks and turned over, and Jennifer cried out as the protective foam filled the cockpit and cushioned her bouncing ride among the trees.

With a final crunch the tough canopy slammed into a trunk, cracking the plastic that was supposed to be proof against any conceivable impact.  The car twisted in the air, the fans trying one last push to slow her downward progress.  Another slam and there was only one working fan, and then the car slammed to the ground and slid along, ripping through a couple of smaller trunks and coming to an abrupt stop against one of the larger specimens.

That feels like a concussion, thought Jennifer, the strange smell in her nostrils and fuzziness of thought giving her the clue.  The car rocked back, then stopped in place.  The hardened foam began to break apart as the car told it that it was no longer needed.

“I am continuing to send out a signal,” said the computer.  “Acknowledgment of search and rescue team is on the way received.”

“Open the canopy,” said Jennifer, pulling the quick release buckles on her straps and releasing herself from the seat.  Her mind felt definitely fuzzy, but she wanted to get out of this vehicle as soon as possible.

“That is not recommended,”” said the car in its calm tone, as if it had not just suffered a crash that was catastrophic to its system.

Which it hadn’t, thought Jennifer.  The computer was a black box system, and nothing short of something that vaporized it would affect it much.  “I want air,” she said, her voice rising.  “And I want out.”

“That is not recommended,” repeated the car, and the canopy refused to retract.  “It is dangerous out there, Dr. Conway.  The only logical action is to wait in the safety of the car until aid arrives.”

“Double crap,” said the doctor, hitting the emergency release within the cockpit of the car.  With a swishing sound the canopy started to rise.  It jerked to a stop for a moment, then released with a grinding snapping sound, then continued to rise and slide back.

Jennifer pulled herself out of the car, feeling a little weak.  She knew she must be forgetting something but continued to pull herself out of the car and put her boots on the ground.  The head was still dizzy, and her vision slightly blurred.  She reached back into the car and pulled out her basic medipac, then, leaning against the car, searched through it for what she wanted.  The emergency nanite injector confused her for a moment, but she puzzled out the setting and placed the device to her neck, directly over her carotid artery.  A push on the proper area of the cylinder sent billions of nanites through the skin and into the artery.  Their target was the brain, where they would start to repair the concussive damage of the crash.  Her head felt a little clearer as soon as she injected the nanoscale robots into her system, something she was sure was mostly psychological, as it would still take minutes to see an actual physical effect.

The doctor looked around the woods, her eyes pulling in all of the little light that was reaching the needle carpeted floor.  To her enhanced eyes it was the same as the beginning of dusk, dark, but not too dark to see.  She sniffed the air and caught the scent of flowers, different than any she had ever smelled, with a definite undertone of something strange, but still intoxicating.  Her eyes located the blooms up the trunk of one of the trees, hundreds of them, with a buzzing of this world’s insect analogues working their eight legs among the flowers as their proboscises plunged deep into the reproductive organs of the parasitic plants.

“Dr. Conway,” came a voice over her link, relayed to her by the car.

“Conway here,” she replied, starting at the noise of something moving through the branches above.

“This is planetary search and rescue,” came the voice of a young woman.  “We have your locator beacon and should be there within the next fifteen minutes.  Stay in the car, ma’am, and all will be well.”

“I’m already out of the car,” said Jennifer, looking up and over as some lower branches shook under the weight of something heavy.

“I recommend you get back in the vehicle, ma’am,” said the woman in a sharp tone.  “It can get kind of hairy in the deep woods.  I think you should…”

A face from a nightmare thrust down from the branches above, and Jennifer screamed out before she could stop herself.  It was a wolfish face, but much larger than any canine the doctor had ever heard of, the size of a grizzly’s head.  Long sharp teeth grinned from the slavering mouth, and orange eyes looked coldly out of a hairy face.  Another movement and the beast came flying out of the trees in an arc that would have taken him into the human if she didn’t move.  She did, jumping and back peddling as her hand reached for the sidearm she always carried, a movement that Glen had trained into her.

The creature hit the ground on all fours, then stood to tower over the human.  The creature had to weigh a half ton, much larger than a gorilla or most bears.  It had the body of some kind of ape, and hands like a chimp on all limbs.  It was obviously an arboreal animal, and just as obviously a carnivore.  It let out a screech that was answered from the trees, then stalked toward the woman.

Jennifer turned to run, hearing the intake of breath and crunching of needles as the creature ran after her.  She flipped the engage button on the pistol, aware that it would take a couple of seconds to build up the charge of fast moving matter in the built in accelerator.  She glanced back at the animal, which was keeping the same distance between them, and wondered if she might be able to make a dash back for the air car.  A look at the loping stride of the creature disavowed her of that wish.  It would pluck her from her seat before she could get the canopy down.  She looked down at the pistol and saw the red light turn to green on the top, and knew that she was as ready as she would ever be.

One of the enhancements that had been bred into humans was greater speed and agility than was the baseline before the changes.  Jennifer spun on the run, throwing herself backwards on an arc that would land her on her back on the needle covered ground.  She brought the barrel of the pistol around, lining it up on the beast, seeing the claw tipped paw coming toward the gun out of the corner of her eye.  As soon as the pistol was pointed center mass she pulled the trigger.

The particle beam only threw a small amount of matter, less than a gram in any single shot.  While not being shot at relativistic speeds, it was still traveling quite fast enough to develop considerable energy.  Jennifer had only been able to get one hand on the pistol before she had to fire or be ripped by those massive claws.  She felt like the pistol was going to fly out of her hand and hit her in the face, despite the miniature grabber units on the barrel that offset the recoil somewhat.  That didn’t happen, more from luck than any skill on her part.  The effect on the carnivore was as advertised.  The beam, a dirty red with the sound of a thousand angry bees, struck the creature on the left side of the massive chest.  That area flew into an eruption of steam, blasted out of existence.  The heat generated by the beam spread almost instantly from that area.  Fur blazed, then fell as ash, while the meat for over seventy centimeters in each direction cooked and charred.

Jennifer screamed as the superheated steam hit her hand and wafted back into her face.  She reflexively shut her eyes, and saved her vision, but the burns across her face hurt like hell.  She remembered Glen telling her to not shoot at anything under twenty meters of range.  There had really been no choice.  It was either shoot or die, so she had shot.

Jennifer fell back to the ground, expecting the body to fall on top of her.  When that didn’t happen she opened her eyes, barely keeping a scream from her lips from the pain of moving her facial muscles and the skin that overlay them.  Then all attention was on the beast, which had fallen down in place like a sack folding in on itself.  Jennifer smiled for a moment, the smile turning to a frown as she saw that a half dozen more of the beasts had arrived on the ground and were advancing cautiously on her position.

“Crap yet again,” she said, looking around, trying to find a place that she could defend.  But there were only the trees, and she doubted climbing would protect her from things that lived and hunted from them.  There were some rocks about fifty meters further to the right, but she doubted she could outrun the creatures to make it to them.  Then her decision making was taken from her as two of the beasts, the largest of the sextet, roared and charged at her.

Jennifer swung the pistol toward the nearest beast and sent off a shot that struck it in the face.  The head exploded under the assault, sending red and pink tissue everywhere.  A glob hit Jennifer on the left hand, burning into her flesh, and she cried out as she dropped that hand from the pistol.  She kept enough presence of mind to continue bringing the pistol to bear on the other carnivore, pulling the trigger as soon as it came on target.

This shot was not very good, and the beam missed the beast to the right of its head.  It took the right ear off the head of the beast and caused burns to erupt on the side of its face.  The beast roared and fell away to the side.  Jennifer took the moment of chaos to run for the rocks.  The creatures seemed confused for a moment, between her retreat and the damage to several of their own members.  But only a moment till they were back in pursuit.

Jennifer jumped over the first rock, a meter high specimen, and plopped down behind it, turning with a quick motion and bringing the gun back to bear.  She expected to see four creatures coming her way, maybe five if the injured one joined the assault.  She gasped as she saw the ten beasts coming at her, fanned out in a spread that she could not cover completely.  She fought down her panic and aimed at the one that looked the most dangerous, firing as soon as the barrel lined up.  The shot went wide, not even injuring the creature.  The sound of the passing particles must have disturbed it somewhat, because it fell to the ground, rolled away, then back peddled as soon as it regained its feet.  Jennifer fired two more shots, also misses, and the creatures backed away and took cover.

They’re smart, thought Jennifer, firing a couple of more shots into the woods to keep them thinking about her weapon.  Ape smart?  Could be.

There was some rustling in the low shrubs by some trees and the doctor took a shot at them.  The part of the bush the beam hit scattered leaves and branches, and the area around the strike burst into flame.  She didn’t know if she had hit anything other than vegetation.  A moment later the bush shook again and she took another shot, again scattering shrubbery and starting a small fire.

The doctor looked at her left hand, where a piece of the second beast she shot had hit her.  There was a nasty burn on the back of her hand, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a short time.  She felt her face and winced at the blisters she felt on her skin.  Also something that would heal quickly with treatment.  If the damned things don’t get me and eat me first.

Several bushes rustled and she took shots at them.  A howl at the second shot let her know she had hit something, though from the timber of the yell and the grumbling roar that followed she was sure it was not fatal.  The trees rustled overhead and she fired a trio of shots that way.

A beast came charging from cover, heading her way with a roar and a flash of teeth.  Two more followed, and Jennifer almost panicked.  She took aim at the first and pulled the trigger.  The pistol bucked, but not as much as she thought it should.  The beam struck the beast in the lower stomach, and it rolled away with a whine, paws clutching at its stomach region.  Jennifer swung the pistol to the next target and squeezed.  And squeezed again when nothing happened.

Shit, she thought, looking at the side of the pistol and seeing that the proton charge was empty.  She glanced up at the charging animals, joined now by another trio coming behind them, and realized she would not have a chance to reload.  Her hand shook as she did the only thing she could, reaching for another proton pack and hoping that she was wrong about the progress of the beasts toward her, or her speed of reloading.  Anything that might get her out of this.  She mouthed a quick prayer, then an apology to Glen, while watching the first beast jump to the top of the rock and look down at her, red eyes squinting.  It reached a large paw toward her and she knew that it was over.

The animal fell to the side at the same time as a quintet of wounds opened on the opposite aspect, blood spurting into the air.  The beast rolled from the rock onto the ground, and Jennifer found herself looking at a scene of salvation.  Another three of the beasts were down, and the rest were running for the trees.  Jennifer caught movement out of her eye and turned toward the four newcomers, all in battle armor and carrying heavy assault rifles.

“Are you OK, doc?” asked one as he bounded to her position.

“I will be now,” she said with a smile, a feeling of relief passing through her body, followed by one of fatigue.  “I will be now.”

*     *     *

Sean was enjoying this dream.  He had been afraid to go to sleep, after the last couple of horrible lucid dreams that had ruined his nights.  But this one was one he could enjoy.  He had Jana Gorbachev in his room, and was peeling the clothes from her taunt body, his hands lingering over her small breasts, stroking her flat stomach.  She was the forbidden older woman, the one that excited him.  Through almost three decades his senior she was still a very attractive woman, young by the standards of Imperial society.  And totally forbidden to one such as he.  In his chain of command, a commoner, and not someone to cement an alliance with another strong family.

Sean leaned down and placed one erect nipple in his mouth, sucking on the tender bud while she sighed.    Her hand reached down and started to stroke his rising penis, eliciting a groan from his lips.  He teased the nipple with his teeth, then moved up to kiss the mouth and taste the moans that were coming from the soft orifice.  And recoiled as soon as her face came back into view, because it was no longer a face, but the sardonic grin of a skull.

The dream shifted, and Sean knew he was in one of the prophetically lucid dreams that were part of the gift.  He found himself at his duty station in the control room of the B ring.  Jana was again alive, calling out commands and sit reps from her station.  The ship was shaking from multiple hits, and Sean was getting out of his seat.  Another hit threw him to the floor, and he looked up to see something blast through the ceiling of the chamber and spread fire throughout.

The view shifted, and Sean was no longer inside the ship, but had become an omnipotent observer from outside.  The Sergiov was a wreck, breaking up, while in the near distance ships of an alien configuration closed.  It took a moment to recognize that those ships were similar to the ones he had seen in an earlier dream.  And then a missile struck the Sergiov and plasma spewed in all directions as the ship broke up.

Sean sat up in bed with a cry; the emotional impact of the real seeming dream still with him, though the visuals were now nothing more than memory.  When is that supposed to happen? he wondered.  The main drawback of the dreams was the lack of a time or location reference.  It could happen tomorrow, or ten years from now.  Based on his feelings for the Navy, and his appearance in the dream, he would guess much sooner than ten years.  Beyond that he just didn’t know.

Sean was still a young man, and in a moment his thoughts shifted to the other, more pleasant part of the dream.  She would kill me if she knew I was thinking of her that way, he thought, a smile stretching his face.  Or would she?  After all, it would have to be flattering to have the attentions of a member of the Imperial Family.  Sean dismissed that thought from his mind as he got up and got ready to face the day.  It was not worth the effort.  Beside all the social and military obstacles, he was sure she didn’t feel any attraction toward him.  She treated him as a surrogate child, and that was all.  No matter what he wanted, that was all.

*     *     *

Purgatory was the one prison planet in the Empire.  There were other prisons in the Empire, some even built on moons, but none that dedicated an entire heavenly body for the warehousing of the most dangerous residents of the Empire.  An airless rock rotating around a gas giant in an independent orbit of the great black hole of the Supersystem, it was as an escape proof prison as had ever been devised by man.  That didn’t mean that no one had ever escaped.  One had.  But getting through a hundred kilometers of rock and past the patrol ships made it one tough prospect.  Add to that the on call presence of the Navy, and it was almost sure death to even attempt getting away.

All of this was going through Lucille Yu’s mind was she sat in her cell, waiting for the interrogators to arrive.  She already hated this place, but it was an easy place to hate.  She had seen none of the other fifty thousand inmates, having been totally isolated from the general population since arrival.  She hated the low gravity of the rock, the cold temperature that seemed to seep into her bones despite the climate control, the food that had a taste of institutional sameness.  She hated the skin tight prison uniform they had given her, insurance that she would not hide anything on her body.  As if she could, with billions of spy nanites in her system and constant external scans of every description.  Most of all she hated being away from her work at such a critical time, when the thinking head of the organization had been all but decapitated from the working body.

I should be thinking about the death of the Emperor, thought the scientist, shaking her head.  I should be more bothered by the death of the ruler of the Empire and his family.  But it’s so hard to get past the deaths of so many colleagues.  It’s just too damned much to deal with.  I don’t have any more tears to cry.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door to her cell sliding open.  She looked up to see one of the Imperial Investigation Bureau interrogators standing in the doorway, his cold eyes looking into hers while a tight smile played across his face.

Damned sadist, she thought, standing up from the bed that served as her seat, the one piece of furniture in the Spartan room.  She noted that the two guards were with the questioner.  There were always two of them, always armed with sonic stunners.  As if she would be crazy enough to try to out muscle them.

“I hope you have some new questions for me today,” she told the man as he walked into the room.  The floor extruded a chair, the same kind of comfortable chair all the interrogators used.

“I would not make light of your situation,” said the man, sitting in the chair while the two guards flanked him.  He activated a flat screen comp he had pulled from his belt, looked it over for a moment, then turned a baleful gaze toward the scientist.

“Oh, I’m not making light of anything,” said Lucille, anger getting the better of her fear.  “I’m not making light of the fact that you have come in here to question me fourteen times in the last two days.  That you always ask me the same questions.  That you have not allowed me to talk with an attorney.  I make light of nothing.”

“An Imperial judge has waived your right to counsel,” said the interrogator, leaning forward.

“Waived my right,” said Lucille, shocked that such a thing was possible.  “But it’s a, right.”

“Not in a case of regicide,” said the interrogator.

“But I’m innocent,” said Lucille, putting her face in her hands and feeling the tears she thought were exhausted come dripping from her eyes.

“All the tests agree with that statement,” said the interrogator, looking down at his flat pad.

Lucille felt shock again, followed by rage.  She started to stand up, to tower over the man, but the guards waved their stun guns and she was forced to retreat back to her seat.  “If everything you have proves my innocence,” she stammered, “then why are you doing this?”

“All tests showed that everyone aboard that fighter were totally loyal to the Imperial family,” said the man, shaking his head.  “Everyone was clean to the best of our ability to detect, by processes that had never failed.  But they failed, and the Imperial family died at the hands of their own protectors.  Which gives us little trust in the tests that have cleared you as well.”

“That’s insane,” screamed Lucille, pounding her fists into her legs.  “That’s fucking insane.  You can’t prove I’m guilty, and by all the tests you can devise I’m innocent.  But you don’t trust the fucking tests.  So I’m supposed to rot here forever.”

“That seems to sum it up,” said the interrogator.  “If you had stayed in the chamber and died we would of course clear you of any complicity.”

“So If I died I would have been cleared,” said Lucille, her voice rising in hysteria.  “That sounds like a fucking witch trial solution.  Why don’t you just dump me in the water, and if I drown I’m innocent.”

The interrogator shook his head and got to his feet.  “If you would just cooperate we could finish here, and get on with our lives.”

“You mean confess,” said Lucille, shaking her head.  “Confess to something I know nothing about.  And then I will be set free?”

“Of course not,” said the man, walking toward the door, the two guards following while keeping their eyes toward the prisoner.  “Then you will be executed, and the rest of us can go back to life as normal.”

“But not me,” said Lucille, watching the chair collapse back into the floor.  “Because I will be dead.”

“The alternative is to spend the rest of your life here, being questioned,” said the man, the door opening before him.  “I would not wish that on my worst enemy.”

With a last look at the prisoner he was out the door, the guards following.  The door slid closed, and Lucille was once more alone.  At least for the moment.  Until they scheduled the next session, and she was again confronted with the nightmare that her life had become.

Chapter 6

In ages past many predicted that man would no longer have any need of God.  That science would explain everything that needed explanation.  But as science has progressed, and man has progressed, it seems that the Universe is just as mysterious as ever, if not more so.  And man still has a need of God.

Pope Charles IV, Reformed Catholic Church.

Sunday was a day of rest.  At least in theory, and when he was not at reserve training.  But today Katlyn had wanted to attend church, voicing the opinion that they needed to get into a congregation for support and comfort.  So here they were, in their best clothing, sitting in the pews of one of the churches that had sprung up in the village of Neu Romney, that nearest to their farm.

He had to admit that the minister was good, if not what he was used to.  He and Katlyn had been Neo Methodists on New Detroit.  There was a church of that denomination in Frederick, but not out here in the village.  And it was too damned far to travel just to sit in an hour service.

“And God said that we should love our neighbors as ourselves,” intoned the Minister of the Reformed Christian Church of the Stars, a portly looking middle aged man with bright eyes and a ready smile.  “And that means all of our neighbors, human and alien.  Christ said that if a man strikes your cheek you should turn the other to him.  But what of the man who makes ready to smite you with his sword?”

The preacher stopped talking for a moment, letting the question sink in to the congregation.  There were over three hundred people in the church for the service, about three quarter’s capacity, which was very good for a village this size with more than a dozen houses of worship.

“The old testament shows that our God could be a warrior God,” said the preacher, looking from eye to eye in the congregation.  “He did not condone murder, or violence for its own sake.  But he also did not allow for enemies to kill his faithful with impunity.  The Israelites formed armies, and smote their foes, and God smote their foes.  As we are expected to smite our foes, to protect those that we love.”

“That was a great sermon, preacher,” said Cornelius, shaking the man’s hand as he and Katlyn left the church.

“I’ve not seen you around before, have I?” asked the minister, looking Cornelius in the eye.

“I don’t think so,” said the Walborski, returning the gaze.  “I work a farm outside of town.  About the only time I get into town is when I have to pick up supplies, or during militia weekends.”

“They’re good to have around, those boys,” said the minister, keeping a tight hold on the farmer’s hand.  “I’m retired Imperial Army myself.  Got to be a colonel before they decided I needed to do something else.”

“It seems like every other person on this planet is retired Army, Navy or Marines,” said Cornelius, as the man released his hand.

“Once you’ve seen the Galaxy it’s hard to go home,” agreed the minister with a nod.  “Good to see you.  Come by the rectory someday and we’ll have a talk.”

Cornelius was now aware of the impatient people behind him trying to get a word with the preacher and then move on to the rest of their day.  He guided Katlyn by the arm and moved her down the walkway and out to the sidewalk.

“I like him,” said Kaylyn, looking back at where the preacher was still greeting people coming out of the church.

“We can come back if you like,” said Cornelius, nodding his head.  “Sunday after next.”

Katlyn looked disappointed for a moment, then nodded her head.  “Because you got drill next weekend.”

“No reason you can’t come by yourself” said Walborski with a smile.  “Be good to establish our presence with a minister, in case we need the kind of help they can give.”

“You fucking asshole,” yelled a voice from the sidewalk ahead.  “How dare you show yourself in my neighborhood?”

Cornelius looked over, his face reddening as he looked at the man he hated most on this world.  I can’t help it if I’m not much of a soldier, he thought, looking at the face of the First Sergeant.  The man had slurred his words, and was obviously drunk.  On a Sunday morning, was Walborski’s next thought, until he saw the Church of Satan symbol on the front of the man’s shirt, hanging from a gold chain.

“I asked you a question, you fucking maggot,” yelled the man in a slur, stomping up to the pair.  “What the hell are you doing in my fucking neighborhood, you shit licking excuse for a man.”

“I would thank you to not talk that way in front of my wife,” said Walborski, his own temper rising against his better judgment.  He was sure the man could take him apart in a second.  He was also sure he wouldn’t back down with his wife here.

“I don’t give a damn about the slut,” roared the part time NCO, pushing his face into Walborski’s.  “The fucking whore chose you as a man, which just goes to show that she’s not only a slut, but a stupid slut.”

That was all that Cornelius could take.  He swung a fist at the man, hoping that maybe the First Sergeant was drunk enough that he would get hit before he knew it.  No such luck, and the Top Sergeant blocked the blow easily, then hit Cornelius in the chest with what seemed like a sledge hammer.

Cornelius fell to the ground, hard upon his back, looking up at the angry drunken face of the part time NCO that thought he wasn’t worth the meat he came wrapped in.  Katlyn tried to pull the man away, but he flung her around with a strong arm, then pushed her stumbling away.  The Top Sergeant then kicked Cornelius once in the buttocks, then again in the arm.  The second kick hit proper and Walborski cried out as a bone in his arm snapped.

“Get up, you son of a bitch,” yelled the militia First Sergeant, bringing his leg back for another kick.  “Get up, you sorry excuse for a soldier.”

Cornelius tried to get up.  He wanted to hit the man with all his strength, knowing that he would just get knocked down again.  The Top Sergeant started to move his leg forward in a kick when a hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around.

“Who the fuck are you?” yelled the drunken Top Sergeant.  “Oh, the fucking preacher.  Well, I’m going to hurt your Christian ass too.”

The top brought back his fist and the preacher hit him in the face with a hand that was a blur.  The Top Sergeant went down, falling into the churchyard grass to lay still.

“Are you alright, son,” said the preacher, kneeling down beside Cornelius, while Katlyn came and knelt on the other side.

“Where did you learn to lay out a man like that?” asked the farmer, sitting up and cradling his arm.

“I forgot to tell you,” said the preacher with a smile.  “I was a Ranger officer.”

“That explains it,” said Cornelius, looking back over at Katlyn.  “Rangers don’t wear battle armor.  It gives them away.  So they get augmented instead.”

“And once a ranger,” said the smiling preacher, “always a ranger.  Now let’s get you some medical attention.”

“What about the First Sergeant?” asked Cornelius, looking over at the now snoring man.

“Don’t you worry about him,” said the preacher.  “I’m sure the militia will have a slot somewhere for another private.”

*     *     *

Gabriel Len Lenkowski had enjoyed his job as Chief of Naval Operations.  Of working with the Fleet, and in particular with this Emperor.  But the Emperor was gone, and he knew little about the son who was now first in line for succession.  If he was still alive, that is.

The Admiral looked out over the city as he walked along the roof of the Hexagon, the military headquarters for the Empire.  The huge office building stood almost a kilometer in height, dwarfed by the many megascrapers of the city.  It outdid any of them in girth, more like an Arcology than an office building.  And it extended under the earth for several more kilometers, ending in the bunker like shelters that were proof against all but heavy kinetic rounds or warheads in the gigaton range.

“You ready to launch?” he asked the crew chief as soon as he entered the shuttle that was waiting on the landing platform.

“As soon as you strap in, sir,” said the senior CPO who chiefed the Admiral’s personal craft.  “You of course want your usual position?”

“Of course, chief,” said the Admiral, walking past the crewman to the cockpit hatch, which opened at his approach.  Len slid into the chair next to the pilot and strapped himself in.

“Welcome aboard sir,” said the pilot, a young Lt. Commander.  “Wish the circumstances were better.”

“Me too, Sally,” said the Admiral, trying to force a smile on his face that would not come.  “Me too.  Just get me up to the Valkyrie pronto, and we can get this business over with.

The pilot nodded, checked a few indicators, and took the ship up on grabbers.  The Admiral looked to the side at the huge city that just the other day was in the middle of a millennial celebration.  Supposed to last a whole year, thought the Admiral.  There had been events planned out for the entire T-year, to culminate in the Imperial Athletic Games that would have brought maybe a billion people to the planet.  Instead we have a yearlong period of mourning for an assassinated Emperor.

The shuttle passed over Peal Island, the nine hundred square kilometer land mass at the mouth of the bay.  Down there was the primary academy for training officers of the fleet.  Len was scheduled to make a commencement speech for this year’s graduating class, those who had spent their four years of classroom studies and were preparing to go on field studies.  He wondered how the war the Emperor knew was coming would affect that graduation.  The fleet would need more officers, and soon, and many of those young men and women might have to get on the job field training, in a shooting war.

The island and the surface of the ocean dropped behind and below as the ship moved into space, pulling the gravities needed to go directly to geosynch and the ship waiting for the Admiral.  He trusted the Captain of that ship, as he trusted the Admiral of its task force.  He could not force them to take the risk that he knew he must.  A risk to both free an innocent woman, and get military necessary production back on schedule.

The forward port hanger of Valkyrie was ready for him, with a full Marine honor guard and gathered ship’s officers to pipe him aboard.

“At ease,” he barked as he stepped from the shuttle onto the deck of the hanger.  “Thank you for the welcoming committee, Captain Mathers,” he said to the blond commander of the vessel.  She tilted her head, then led him to the flag bridge he would occupy for this short mission.  The bridge was occupied by a full complement of officers, even though there would only be two battleships involved in this day’s events.

“I’ll be on the bridge,” said the Captain to the Chief of Naval Operations who had been commandant when she had graduated from Peal Island five decades before.  “We are ready to do whatever you feel is necessary sir.”

“With no hesitation, Connie?”

“None at all, sir,” said the small trim officer.  “If you want that damned wanderer destroyed we will be obliged to do it.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” said the CNO with a smile.  “I appreciate this, Connie.  Now get her under way.”

“Aye aye, sir,” said the Captain, snapping to attention and giving a salute, then spinning on her heel and walking from the flag bridge.

“We are under way, sir” said one of the officers sitting a station on the lower level.

“Odin is also under way,” called out another officer.

“Thank you,” said the Admiral, plopping back in the elevated chair that allowed him a total view of the large bridge.  He couldn’t even feel the twenty million ton superbattleship moving, which was not surprising, given her well-tuned compensators.  He looked over at a wall repeater which showed the fifteen million ton battleship that was Valkyrie’s consort on this impromptu mission.

“Ten hours to hyper limit,” called out an officer.

“Incoming message for the Admiral,” said the com tech from her position on his level.

“I’ll take it in my day cabin,” said the Admiral, getting up from the chair and heading for the exit that led to the Admiral’s cabin on all capital ship flag bridges.  One of the advantages of standardization, he thought as he headed into his cabin.

As soon as he took a seat at the desk in the cabin he activated the com with his link, and was unsurprised to see the image of Ekaterina Sergiov, the head of the IIA, appear.

“So,” said the woman with a slight accent of her home world, St. Peiter, coming through her educated overlay.  “You are in space.”

“I don’t see that I have any other choice,” said the Admiral, the slight touch of fear in his chest.  He was doing this on his own, and the consequences could be grave.  “I failed my Emperor and my friend.  I can’t allow the search for a scapegoat to hurt the Empire.  And what are your findings.”

“She is innocent,” said the head of Imperial Intelligence, her face troubled.  “I have told that to my counterpart in IIB, and he will do nothing about it.  He will not say it, but I think you are correct, Len, my friend.  He needs a scapegoat, and is not willing to admit that he was caught with his pants down.”

“Hell, we were all caught with our pants down, Kate,” he said to the woman he had once been married to, in what seemed a lifetime before.  Before their careers had pulled them apart.  “I feel like I have betrayed Augustine myself, as if I launched that missile that tossed him and the Imperial family into that damned star eater.”

“We all failed the Emperor,” said the chief spy of the Empire.  “At least we have admitted it on behalf of our two agencies.  That damned McGregor would not admit to any failings.  His Bureau must maintain a perfect record, even if we both know it doesn’t have one.”

“Did you try him again?” said the Admiral, knowing what the answer would be, but hopeful nonetheless.

“Yes,” said the woman, her angry eyes glaring into the screen.  “He said it was a criminal investigation, and so in his jurisdiction.  And warned me to keep my agency out of it.  When I asked him about what proof he had, he said he didn’t have to have any.  He could hold her indefinitely.”

“And sabotage the efforts of the Donut Project to get the Fleet what they need,” said the Admiral in a growl.

“How far are you willing to go?” she asked, her eyes showing her concern for an old friend and lover.

“As far as I have to,” he replied, slamming a hand down on his desk.  “We’ll be eight light hours from com link to the capital, so they won’t be able to contact McGregor.  I really don’t expect much resistance.  But whatever they give I will push back, and harder.”

“I’ll back you up,” said Ekaterina with a nod.  “You know that.”

“I know,” said the Admiral, feeling his eyes moisten.  “And I’m sorry I failed you in the past.”

“No need,” said the spy master with a smile, her own eyes glistening withheld tears.  “We both got what we wanted out of life.  And we parted as friends.  What more could we ask?”

“True,” said the Admiral, holding back his own tears.  They both sat there in silence for a moment.  “You watch your back,” he finally said to the chief spy.

“My back is watched,” said Ekaterina.  “You do the same.  There will be people after your hide.”

“This is my office for the duration,” said the Admiral with a chuckle.  “If they want to try for me they’re going to have to come through the Fleet to get me.”

“I just hope it doesn’t result in civil war,” said the woman, her eyes narrowing.  “That’s something we surely can’t afford, especially now.”

“We have the Fleet and the Army on our side,” said the Admiral, the image of a civil war also in mind.  “I think it would be very short, if it came to that.  Not that I want that to happen.  But I also cannot let things proceed the way they are.  McGregor is in the Lords’ pocket.  No doubt.  And I cannot let him proceed with what he is doing.  That project is just too important to the safety of the Empire.”

Well, be careful,” said the chief spy.  “Remember, we all felt that the Emperor was safe in the hands of the Fleet.  It only takes one assassin in the right place to make all the security in the world useless.”

Ekaterina broke the link at that, and the Admiral thought of what she had to say for a moment.  The sense of guilt came back to haunt him.  The Fleet had failed to protect their Emperor.  Even worse, a trusted member of the Fleet had killed the Emperor and most of his family, as well as fellow officers and spacemen.  It was a blot on the honor of the Fleet, and to his personal sense of honor.  But I’ll be damned if I let it lead to even more dishonorable actions.

The Admiral lay down on the bed that was provided with the cabin, ordering it through the link to set itself to his personal comfort level.  His brain was in turmoil, but his link projected the deep delta waves that placed him into an immediate slumber.  The link woke him up at the same time the slight nausea of hyper translation would have done the same.

“We’re in hyper I Admiral,” came the voice of Captain Connie Mathers.  “Mission proceeding according to plan.

“Thank you, Connie,” replied the Admiral, getting up from the bed, smoothing his uniform, the wrinkles falling away.  “I’ll be on the flag bridge.”

The officers and ratings all jumped to attention as the Admiral walked onto the second level of the flag bridge, his eyes tracking onto the large holo tank in the center of the room.  He waved a hand, sending everyone back to their ease, wondering again who had come up with the silly custom of men and women stopping their important work to stroke the ego of some bastard just because he entered their line of sight.

The holo displayed the whole of the supersytem, from the black hole in the center to the seventh star out in its lonely orbit.  All of the planets were indicated with vector arrows and numbers that signified speed of orbit and distance from the flagship.  He thought through his link and his personal view of the holo changed, zooming in on the flagship and her consort.  Their vector arrows appeared, and the line of the hyper I limit showed behind them, the line of hyper II ahead.  The mission profile was to jump each hyper as soon as they got to it, staying below point two light relative velocity, until they jumped to hyper VI.  Then it was a least time accel/decel profile to the target, popping out of hyper VI directly into normal space.  Of course the target would know they were coming, and would also know they were Imperial Fleet vessels.  With luck they would not think anything of it.

The Admiral went to his seat and sat, brooding on his thoughts and waiting for time to pass.  The ship in time jumped up to hyper II, then III, then along the line up to VI.  At this point the vessels went into an acceleration profile, two hundred and fifty gravities just a little under half way there, then two fifty decel the rest of the way.  All this time the Admiral thought about what he was doing, having doubts, thinking through possible consequences, knowing that if the Emperor were still alive he would not have this problem thrust upon him.  Augustine would have handled the situation with a word.  Even Sean would have handled the situation.  Of that the Admiral was sure.  Because Sean was his father’s son, above all else.

But Sean is not here, thought the Admiral.  Someone had already made an attempt on the Prince.  And they might have made further attempts on his life since the news had come from Sector Four.  Of course Sean was now protected by the Fleet.  But the Fleet had failed his father, mother and brothers.  The only family member in direct line was a child who would be too easily manipulated.  So that left the problem square in his lap.

High Grand Admiral Len Lenkowski, Chief of Naval Operations, had sworn an oath when he entered Imperial Service, to defend the Empire against all enemies, foreign and domestic.  Intentional or not, the act of Director McGregor of the IIB was hurting the efforts of the military to prepare for a war they were sure was coming.  Parliament might not agree with that assumption, but the Emperor the Admiral had sworn to serve was sure of it, and that was good enough for him.

“Translating back to normal space,” came a call from the nav officer on the ship’s bridge.

Damn, thought the Admiral as the nausea struck.  What happened to the time?

The ship slipped through the iris that was filled with normal space, away from the strange space of hyper.  They were slowly coasting, moving at a mere six hundred kilometers per second.

“Range to target four hundred twelve thousand kilometers,” came the voice of the navigator again.

Almost a perfect translation, thought the Admiral.  Eleven minutes at current speed, though the ship was now piling on deceleration so she could come to a stop just short of the small planet.

“Imperial warship Valkyrie,” came the voice over the com.  “This is Purgatory control.  What are your intentions?”

“Don’t answer that,” said the Admiral to the staff.  “Let them sweat for a moment.  Tactical.  Target all laser and particle beam systems of the task force on their defensive weapons.  Distribute targets between Valkyrie and Odin.  All Marines to assault shuttles.”

The confirmations came back quickly, the plan being set into motion by an experienced team.

“We are getting inquiries from the defense force,” called the com officer.

“Who are they?” asked the Admiral, focusing on the holo tank which had reconfigured to show the local area.

“Imperial cruiser River Platte and two destroyers,” called back one of the tactical officers.  “Along with four IP frigates belonging to the Imperial Bureau of Prisons.”

“Inform the Fleet ships that they are no longer under local control, but are to stand down and prepare to aid us,” ordered the Admiral, looking at the holo and focusing on one of the civilian ships.  “Send my authentication codes.”

“And the Bureau ships?” asked the second com tech, looking over her shoulder at the Admiral.  “They’re lighting my board, Admiral, sending multiple inquiries.”

“Tell them to also stand down,” said Len, glaring at the frigate he had brought into zoom focus.  “Under pain of being fired upon.”

There, he thought, switching his view to another frigate.  I’ve stuck it in for good now.

“We’re still getting inquiries from the planet,” yelled out the chief com officer.

The Admiral checked the status of the ship, noting that they were only thirty-four seconds from a complete stop.  “Put them on the line.”

“Prison planet Purgatory,” came the voice over the com.  “Valkyrie, what are your intentions.  Repeat, you are approaching restricted space and are warned away.  This is Central Control of Prison Planet Purgatory.”

“This is High Grand Admiral Lenkowski,” said the Admiral in his most forceful voice.  “Chief of Naval Operations for the New Terran Empire Navy.  We are here on official Fleet business.  You are holding a prisoner illegally, and we will take her with us.”

“Launch,” said the Admiral, leaning over and looking at the Marine liaison officer.

“Launching,” said that officer.  Moments later the holo was filled with the green arrows of assault shuttles, moving away from the battleships and toward the planet.

“You are not authorized to take prisoners from this installation,” came the voice of Central Control.  “You must have permission of the Imperial Bureau of Prisons, or a court order to take a prisoner.”

“Nonetheless, we have come for a prisoner that you will release to my custody,” said the Admiral.  “Prepare to be boarded by my Marines.”

“Their weapons are fully powered,” said one of the tactical officers.

“Any attempt to take anyone off this station will be met with deadly force,” said the Central Controller.  “This is an illegal action, and will subject all participants to prosecution and arrest.”

“Please,” said one of the techs with a laugh.

“Do not fire on our shuttles,” said the Admiral, hoping the damned fools would see reason.

“They’ve fired a shot,” said the tactical commander.  “No hit.  Looks like a warning shot.”

“Take out all of their weapons installations, except for the fort,” ordered the Admiral in a cold voice.  The tactical officer looked back at the Admiral with wide eyes.  “Now, Commander.”

“Aye aye, sir,” said the Commander, turning back to his board.

There were eighty-five weapons installations on the planet’s surface, lasers and missile batteries, and three dozen platforms in space.  The battleships opened up with all laser batteries and particle beams.  In moments the installations, not made to stand up to capital ship bombardment, were silenced.

“The fort is sending capitulation signals,” said the com officer.  “The naval personnel aboard have taken over.”

“I kind of thought they would,” said the Admiral with a smile.  “Now I can only the hope the one on the other side of the planet does the same.”  He looked over at the Marine officer.  “Keep me apprised of the assault.”  The officer nodded and kept at his board, talking into the com link.

“One of the frigates is firing missiles,” called out the Commander in charge of tactical.

“Take them out,” ordered the Admiral, knowing he didn’t have to give defensive commands.  The captains in charge would see to that.  The ship vibrated slightly at that thought, the battleship cycling counter missiles.  There really was no chance that a frigate would shoot its way through the defenses of two capital ships.

The holo showed the reward that came the way of the frigate, as it exploded in space under the assault of hundreds of pentawatts of laser power.

“If any of those others are stupid enough to fire, blast them,” said the Admiral, his attention drawn to a high mounted side screen where the assault shuttles were blasting the doors of the hanger bays, then flying in.

The Admiral fretted for a couple of minutes, worrying about what might be happening during the Marine assault.  Something he couldn’t do anything about, which made it so much more worrisome.

“We are meeting some resistance,” said the Marine Liaison Officer.  “Nothing really unexpected, sir.  And nothing our boys and girls can’t handle.”

Pray God we just keep the casualties light on both sides, thought the Admiral.  He knew that none of those fighting was responsible for this mess.  For the most part the prison security force were good men doing a job.  And some of them were going to die for it because they were standing in the way of what should be done.

More time passed.  The Admiral restrained himself from watching through the cameras of the Marines.  There would be too much temptation to step in and micromanage.  Something the Corps didn’t condone, much less the Navy.

“We have her, sir,” said the Marine Liaison Officer.  “She’s in good shape.  And the Colonel is also reporting some surprising prisoners we thought long gone.”

Len looked at the dozen names that scrolled across his link, whistling at some of them.  Men who had disappeared, presumed dead.  Held in captivity in that hell hole for how long?  “Make sure they get aboard as well.”

Within another half hour it was over, and a signal sent to the IIB HQ on Jewel would still be seven hours in transit to reach anyone who could do anything.

“Everyone is aboard, Admiral,” said the liaison officer.

“How many casualties?”

“The Marines have three permanent dead,” said the officer, the smile leaving his face.  “Another fifty-four that should all return to duty.”

“Thank you Lord,” whispered the Admiral under his breath.  He didn’t ask the casualty figures for the defenders.  He didn’t want to know.  “Bring the prisoner to the flag bridge, if you please, Major,” he said to the Marine Liaison.  That man nodded.

“Central Control,” said the Admiral, switching on the link back to the outgoing com.  “We will be leaving now.  Thank you for your cooperation.”

“You will regret this, Admiral,” said the voice of the controller.

I already do, thought the Admiral, again thinking about those who had died this day.  He got up from his seat and headed back to the day cabin, staggering just a step as the ship jumped back into hyper VI.

A few minutes later the door buzzer sounded.  “Come in,” he said, watching the door as it opened.  An officer stood at the door.

“She’s here, Admiral,” said the man, gesturing the tall blond woman with slightly slanted eyes into the compartment.  The Admiral nodded his thanks and gestured the woman to a chair.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what this is about,” said the Admiral, leaning forward across the desk.

“Not as much as I’m thankful to get out of that place,” said Dr. Lucille Yu, a smile creeping across her face.

“We’ll make sure you don’t return,” said the Admiral, noting the intelligent eyes of the woman.  “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“So,” said the scientist in a soft voice.  “What happens to me now?”

“You go back to work,” said the Admiral.  “Getting the Fleet what it needs from the Donut Project.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” agreed the Admiral, holding his hands open to her.

“And what’s to stop them from putting me back in that place?”

“We’re to stop them,” said the Admiral.  “We’ll get you back on the station and keep you secure.  It will mean having to give up some privacy.”

“But I’ll be able to work,” said the woman, tears coming to her eyes.  “That’s all I want to do.  Do my work, and help my society.”

And Len Lenkowski knew he had made the right decision this day.  Now he just had to live with the consequences.

*     *     *

“I am so glad you could come, High Lord,” said the Archduke Horatio Alexanderopolis, Imperial Ambassador to the Empire of Elysium.

“I wish the reason for my coming was not of this nature,” said the High Lord Grarakakak, chief official of that Empire, clasping the hand of the human in a delicate member of his own.

That did not surprise the human, who had known the Brakakak noble for many decades.  He understands us so well.  As well as any could understand one of another species.  Hell, another evolutionary tree in all reality.

“My deepest condolences,” continued the avian sentient, bowing and looking at the floor.  “It is always hard to lose a leader, especially one as competent as Augustine.”

“Thank you my Lord,” said the Archduke, gesturing the avian to take a chair that was configuring itself to the Brakakak physiology as they spoke.  “Would you like a drink?  Bourbon?”

“Thank you,” said the Lord of Elysium, fitting his body into the now suitable seat.

The Archduke made the drinks and handed the High Lord his human favorite.  He made his way to the facing seat and took a position across from the colorful avian.

“He was more than just a sovereign to me, my Lord,” said the Archduke, nodding his head toward a holo portrait of the Emperor and his wife.  “He was my friend, as was his father before him.  I used to hold him in my lap when he was a child, while myself and his father played chess.”

“It was a harder blow for you than most,” said the High Lord, again bowing his head.

“Thank you, my Lord,” said the Archduke again, wiping a tear off of his cheek.

“And I understand that the two heirs were also killed?”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the ambassador, his ears perking up as he understood the main reason the leader had come to the embassy to visit him.  Not that he doesn’t truly care.  But he still has the interests of his people as his prime focus.  And a change in leadership of the most powerful Empire in the region is always something to be concerned about.

“And that leaves the youngest son as the heir?’ said the High Lord.  “A serving naval officer.  Hopefully not one on the Lasharan frontier.”

“No, my Lord,” said the ambassador, taking a sip of his own drink.  “Sector Four, on a battleship.”

“That would make sense,” said the High Lord, who then took a sip of his own drink.  “No use risking him, so best to place him in a quiet sector.”

Again it amazed him that the High Lord of another Empire knew so much about the Terrans.  But then again this had been the preeminent Empire in the region prior to the coming of the humans.  And Elysium had an intelligence apparatus second to none.

“We are worried about this young man who may become Emperor,” continued the High Lord, setting his empty glass on the side table.  “He is an unknown commodity.”

“I am sure he will continue the policies of his father,” said the ambassador, arching an eyebrow.  “That boy was taught well by Augustine.”

“That is not what concerns us,” said the High Lord, his beak like mouth quivering, a sign of nervousness in his species.  “We are more concerned as to whether he will be his own man, or a puppet to your Lords.  And we are especially concerned that he not become a pawn of the Humanity First Party.”

“I don’t see anyone from Augustine’s family being associated with those idiots,” said the ambassador, shaking his head.  “As to how much he can hold up against the pressure of other politicians?  I really don’t know.  Unfortunately, he was not trained for the position of Emperor.  That was going to be his brothers.  Until whoever this scum was who decided to kill them changed the equation.”

“Our intelligence is looking into that very thing,” said the High Lord, the feathers standing up on his head.

They’re good friends, but they don’t make very good poker players, thought the ambassador, nodding at the High Lord.  Some species just hadn’t evolved to be deceptive, like humans.  But the Brakakak had other species to aid them.  Some that were still only rumors to the ears of Imperial Intelligence.  Like shape shifters?  Was such a thing really possible?  “I appreciate the aid,” he said after that moment’s pause.  “And I would appreciate if you contacted me fist about anything you find.”

“Of course,” said the avian, his beak opening in the species version of a smile.  “I don’t totally trust the heads of your intelligence and investigative agencies.  I can’t tell you why, not yet.  But someday I hope to be able to tell you.”

Shit, thought the ambassador, nodding his head.  You know a lot more about what is going on than we do.  Decadent Empire indeed.

“And when will the funeral be?”

“I would hazard a guess that it will be in three weeks to a month,” said the ambassador, grimacing at the thought of the Emperor and his family dead.  “It takes time to get everyone that wishes to attend the ceremony to the capital.  Including that young man you are so interested in.  Of course there won’t be any bodies.  That damned black hole will be their graves.”

“So sad,” said the avian, his head feathers rising again.  “We have told you about that black hole.  It was the home of the ancients, and they are now gone.  It is an evil thing, a destructive thing, and trying to harness it for good will ultimately fail.”

“Not my decision,” said the ambassador, waving a hand.

“And will you be going to the funeral?”

“With all the things going on out here,” said the ambassador in a sad voice, shaking his head.  “With the attack coming from the Lasharans.  We need someone out here to handle things.”

“I can’t think of anyone better,” said the High Lord, standing and walking over to the human, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “We will of course have a day of mourning here in the capital for Augustine and his family.  And I would appreciate if you would speak at the service.”

“My pleasure, High Lord,” said the human, rising from his own seat and clasping the hand of the avian in his own.  “I wish I could say I was looking forward to it.  But…”

“I understand completely, my friend,” said the avian, giving a human head nod.  “But maybe it will provide closure.  And in the meantime, I will get with my spy masters and see what we can see.”

And I hope that you find the smoking gun, my friend, thought the human as he saw the avian from his office.  I want to see the bastards responsible for this fed into a fusion furnace, and hear their last screams.

Chapter 7

There are no physicists in the hottest parts of hell, because the existence of a 'hottest part' implies a temperature difference, and any marginally competent physicist would immediately use this to run a heat engine and make some other part of hell comfortably cool.  This is obviously impossible.  Richard Davisson

Lucille Yu sat at her desk in the Director’s office of the Donut Project, looking over the negative matter production figures and frowning, wondering what else she could do to boost them.  We’ve tried everything I can think of, she thought, not for the first time lamenting the passing of Dr. Gomez in the assassination attempt that had taken so many of the senior scientists of the project, along with the Imperial family, and dropped them in the black hole.

Lucille stood up from the chair and started to walk the office, which still didn’t feel like hers.  She looked up at the holo portraits on the wall.  Those at least were hers, landscape scenes from New Hanou, pictures of family, even one of her favorite Alsatian dog.  There were still a few physical portraits on the wall that had belonged to the late Director.  She hadn’t the time or the heart to ask for their removal.  She still felt that this job was too big for her, beyond her capabilities to manage.  But it was hers by default, there literally being no one else that knew the job well enough.

Lucille called up the clock in her link, and was surprised at how much time had gone by.  As soon as she realized the time the hunger came.  Enough hunger that she decided to head to the local cafeteria and get something quick to eat, rather than waiting for a delivery to her office.  Besides, she thought, heading for the door, I want to get out of this room for just a bit.

The pair of Marine guards snapped to attention as she left the office, their eyes still continually roaming both directions of the hall.  Chung, the IIA operative, smiled at her while his eyes assumed the slightly faraway look of a link.  Lucille knew he was informing the rest of the Imperial Intelligence Agency team that their charge was leaving her office.  There were six more agents that she knew about, and probably twice as many that were undercover, unknown to her or anyone else on the station but their bosses.  And of course the Marine platoon that was the real muscle of her protection team.

“Where to, ma’am?” said the always polite Chung, from his accent also from New Hanou, though he looked the part of a native much more than she did.

Lucille looked at the man for a moment, wondering how much his background had to do with him being the Agent in Charge of her detail.  She did have a comfort level with the small man that was just not there with most of the other agents.

“I would like to eat at the cafeteria now,” she said, then waited for the agent to make sure that information was with the security detail.

“Very well, ma’am,” said Chung, gesturing for her to follow the lead Marine guard while the other fell in behind her.  She saw a couple more of the lightly armored Marines come out of a ready room, prepared to guard her office while she was gone.

“Anything new?” she asked the IIA agent as they walked down the corridor to the bank of elevators.

“We’ve had to turn some more IIB agents and police away,” said the man with a tight smile.  “Other than that, nothing.”

“And how long will this go on?”

“As long as it has to,” said the agent, stopping for a moment so the Marines could check the elevator.  “Our orders are to protect you at all costs, ma’am.  You are vital to the running of this station, after all.”

I just want to go back to having a normal life, thought Lucille, shaking her head.  She thought again of the prison they had taken her from, the indignities she had been subjected to, and thought that she would take this over that.

The cafeteria was not crowded.  There were some people there, eating before going back to whatever shift they were on.  The IIA agents and some more Marines were already there, and Lucille was led to a table well off from those of the other patrons.  The food was brought to the table and scanned.  Lucille sat before the meal, not feeling as hungry as before, but knowing she needed to fuel.  She looked up at the agent and caught his eye.

“Sit down, please,” she told him.  “I can’t enjoy the company of my peers, so I guess you are my only choice.”

The agent took another look around, then took the seat opposite hers.

“I didn’t mean that last comment to sound like that,” said Lucille with a grimace.

“That’s quite alright, ma’am,” said the agent.  “I know it has to be hard on you.  But we don’t want you spirited away to someplace we don’t know about, so we do what we must.”

Lucille nodded her head, thinking of all the security that had been put in place since the assassination of the Emperor.  Too late for him, but maybe enough to safeguard the facility.

“So, how did they get in this time?” she asked the young agent, taking up a forkful of noodles.  “I thought the wormhole gate was secure, and you were checking everyone.”  She then took a bite of her noodles and looked at the man’s face.

“The gate is secure,” said the man, his eyes always moving across the cafeteria.  “Anyone coming across is checked thoroughly.  But there were already undercover agents on the Donut.  And there will probably be more coming in by ship.  Because you are so far in a gravity well that may not happen for at least a couple of days to a week.”

“And what will they do if they catch me alone?”

“We don’t think they’ll kill you, if that’s what worries you,” said Chung, looking into her eyes in a manner that sent a thrill up her spine.  “They might try to kidnap you, bring you back to a detention facility so they can continue their scapegoating.  Though we cannot for the Universe figure on how they would do that.”

“So why the heavy security?”

“Because the Admiral wants it,” said the agent with a shrug of his shoulders.  “And he is in good with my boss.”

Thinking about the detention facility she had been rescued from, she was glad to have the security.  Anything that allowed her to do her work was a good thing.

“High Admiral Lenkowski wishes to schedule a conference at your earliest convenience,” said the voice of her AI over the link.

“Tell him I can talk to him in ten minutes,” she replied over the link.

“I’ve got to hurry,” she told Chung, then took a last forkful of food into her mouth.

“I’ve received the updated itinerary,” said the agent, giving a hand signal to another agent.

Within eight minutes Lucille Yu was back in her office, sitting at the desk and waiting for the connection.  The Admiral was over forty light hours away through normal space.  If he was still in orbit around Jewel that would place him at much less than a light second from the central docks, where the wormhole gate to the Donut was located.

Right on time the holo formed in the chair on the other side, the figure of the Admiral.  Except for the slight shimmering transparency it looked as if the man really occupied the seat.

“Dr. Yu,” said the Chief of Naval Operations.  “How goes it?”

“I feel like I’m trapped with all this security around me,” said Lucille, raising her hand before the man could reply.  “I understand the need for it, and it sure beats being in a cell.  But it’s not the environment I prefer.”

“I know you’re a scientist, used to intellectual and personal freedom,” said the Admiral after a small delay.  “But we need you there, not in some damned cell being messed with.”

“And I thank you for that,” said Yu with a smile.  “I assume you have been able to keep the long arm of the law from interfering with your business.”

The Admiral laughed for a moment.  “It’s surprising what twenty million tons of battleship can do to keep that long arm at a distance.  But what about your work?  How is wormhole production going?”

“I have some good news there,” said Lucille, letting a smile creep onto her face.  “We are opening a new hole every thirteen hours.”

“That’s wonderful,” said the Admiral, leaning forward in his seat.  “You were only doing one about every twenty-four hours before.  How’d you do it?”

“Those theoretical boys you sent me deserve the credit,” said Yu, feeling a blush come over her face.  “They found some wastage in the graviton reservoir, and found out how to form the hole with a little less overall energy.  They almost doubled production.”

“Excellent.  We can really use all the holes you can give us.”

“We’re still having some problems in negative matter production,” said Yu with a frown, looking down on the screen of her flat comp.  “I wish we could find someone like Gonzalez.”

“We’re looking into building some more production facilities,” said the Admiral, nodding his head.  “But right now we need heat sinks and communications links.  Save up the excess negative matter and we’ll build some ship gates down the road.”

“We can do that, Admiral,” said the scientist with a smile, her imagination showing her those ship gates, shortening the time between core worlds to almost nothing.  “We can do that.”

*     *     *

High Grand Admiral Len Lenkowski sat in the command chair on the flag bridge of Valkyrie, looking at the blue and white planet spinning below.  A planet he could bombard into ruins, if given time.  Of course that planet had the defenses to destroy the super-battleship he was using as his command post.  There were people down there who would be more than glad to do just that with those defenses.  Fortunately for him, the planetary defenses were controlled by the Imperial Army and Navy, and they were still on his side.

“We have a shuttle requesting permission to dock, Admiral,” came the voice of the Captain of the Valkyrie, Connie Mathers.  “What are your orders?”

“I assume they are more of our friends,” said the Admiral, grinning over at his security officer.

“The same,” agreed the Captain.

“Allow them to dock, and to leave their ship,” said the Admiral, nodding to the security officer, who nodded back before his eyes took on the look of someone linking.  “I’ll be right down.”

The Admiral took his time getting down to the hanger, stopping on the way to chat with officers and crew, letting someone else use the first available lift, basically wasting time.  When he arrived outside the hanger he looked through the vid relays to see a delegation of what had to be police and lawyers waiting, a couple in an argument while others paced back and forth across the deck.  He gave the signal and the fun began.

The Marines came in first from the large cargo hatches to the side of the landing bay, a full squad in the heavy armor they wore for planetary assault, their weapons in plain display as they covered the men and women.  Two more squads came in from the passenger doors, their weapons held at the ready but not pointed at anyone in particular.  When they were in place and had gotten the attention of the police the Admiral ordered the door to his front open.  He walked into the hanger with a detail of officers as if he owned it.  Which of course was close to the truth.

“See here, Admiral,” said the oldest of the people, a short squat woman, moving toward him.  The Marines moved their weapons and the woman thought better of approaching the man she had come to see.  “Is this display to intimidate us?”

“Of course, my Lady,” said the Admiral, giving a slight bow to the woman he recognized as the Countess Judy Decker, current Sergeant of Arms of the Lords.  “Since that is obviously the purpose of your visit today.  Or could you not have entrusted this task to someone a little less highly placed.”

“The Lords are not intimidated,” said the woman, sending a bull dog glare at the Admiral.

“Of course not, my lady,” said the Admiral with a smile.  And how many regiments have the Lords, thought the Admiral, remembering and paraphrasing an old quote he had heard somewhere.  “And what can I do for you today?”

“You can answer the summons to appear before the Lords,” said the woman, a smirk creeping across her face.  “To answer an inquiry into your conduct with regards to the prison planet Purgatory.  Conduct that resulted in over a hundred deaths to Bureau of Prisons and Imperial Investigation Bureau personnel.  A summons, I might add, that you have ignored to this point.”

“Communications have been spotty between my ship and the planet, my Lady,” said the Admiral, playing the game.  “I’m sure you understand how traffic might become lost in the interference.”

“Bullshit, Admiral,” said the woman, her glare becoming even more intense.  “Don’t give me that crap.  This ship is fully capable of receiving any transmission sent its way, regardless of the circumstances.”  The woman continued to glare, while her contingent was beginning to look very uncomfortable to be in proximity to what looked to be a heated verbal battle in a room full of armed Marines.

“So, Admiral,” continued the woman, making the rank sound like a curse word, “we have decided to skip the middle man.  I have here in my hands a summons from the House of Lords to appear before a committee of inquiry into the incident involving the Purgatory prison planet.”

The woman moved forward and extended a disposable flat comp sheet to the Admiral.  Len hesitated for a moment, then took the sheet from her hand and perused it.

“Let the record show that High Grand Admiral Gabriel Lenkowski has received the summons from the Lords,” said Decker, looking over at one of her contingent that must have been the official recorder.  “And now I will have your answer, Admiral.  Will you accompany me down to the planet, as required by that summons?”

The Admiral stood there for a moment, staring at the women in disbelief.  He folded his arms across his chest and looked into the Sergeant of Arms eyes.  They can’t really expect for it to be that easy, he thought.  I would go down, appear before their committee, then disappear.  If they even let me appear before their committee.

“No,” said Len, shaking his head and continuing to look into her eyes.  “I am not willing to accept your summons at this time.”

“Then let the record show that the Admiral has refused a lawful summons to appear in front of the House of Lords,” said Decker, a smile of triumph growing on her face.  “You therefore leave me no choice, Admiral.  You are hereby placed under arrest, and will accompany us back to the planet.”

“No,” said the Admiral, a little more forceful than before.  “I am not under arrest.”

“What do you mean?” said the woman, confusion on her face.

“Arrest means that you can take me into custody,” said the Admiral, pointing a finger at the woman to emphasize the you.  “That you can control my movements.  That is not going to happen.”

“You defy the power of the Lords?”

“I have the power here,” said the Admiral, chopping his hand in the air at each word.  “Not the Lords.”

“You men,” said Decker, looking around the hanger at the Marines and naval officers who were with the Admiral.  “In defending this man,” she continued, pointing a finger at the Admiral, “you are in violation of an order from the Civil government.  You are subject to charges of treason if you continue to do so.  Do you understand?”

Not a weapon wavered, and every military man and woman on the hanger looked hard faced at the woman and her companions.

“The Fleet is family,” said Len Lenkowski, glaring at the Parliamentary and IIB functionaries.  “We stick together.”  He stopped for a moment to let that sink in.  “I will be glad to come down when we have a seated Emperor to stand in judgment.  Until then you can order me to appear all you want.  And you can hold your breaths while you wait for all I care.  Now this meeting is over, my Lady.  You can get back on your shuttle and leave, or I will throw you and all your aids in the brig.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Decker in a cold voice.

“I dare much,” said the Admiral, a smile on his face.  “I swore an oath to defend the Empire against all opponents, foreign and domestic.”  The smile left his face and the Admiral’s voice rose.  “And right now the biggest enemy I see to the stability of this realm is the House of Lords.  We are without a seated Emperor, and all you can do is argue about who to install in the monarch’s seat.  Which sniveling sycophant would be the best choice to fill the throne?  Who would bow down to the Lords with the least amount of persuasion?  Well, we have an heir.  The third son.”

“And where is he?” asked Decker, her own face reddening.  “Where is this prospective Emperor when he is needed?”

“Serving the fleet,” roared the Admiral.  “Serving the Empire.  And as soon as he is back in the capital he will become Emperor.  An Emperor the military will back, over whatever idiot cousin you choose to install.”

“How dare you,” said the Countess again.  “You speak treason.”

“Get her off this ship,” said the Admiral, nodding to his men and then turning away.  He walked out of the room to the screaming of the Countess.  I have to admit, he thought.  She’s got courage, if not a lot of common sense.  He looked over at his aide, a Lt. Commander who gave him an incredulous look.

“Think I could have handled it better, Myra?” he asked.

“Maybe a bit more diplomatic, sir,” said the younger officer, walking down the corridor with him.

“They now know where I stand,” said the Admiral.  “And I know where they stand.  To me that seems the best diplomatic solution.”

The young Lt. Commander shook her head, but she couldn’t help to smile as well.

*     *     *

“Just who in the hell does he think he is?” yelled interim Prime Minister Theo Streeter, Duke of Coventry.  The dark faced man slammed his hand on the table causing the other members of the committee to jump in their seats.

“He said that he will respond when we have a seated Emperor,” said the Countess Judy Decker, a scowl on her face.  “The man has no respect for our office.”

“We will have a seated Emperor by the end of the week,” said another of the Core World Lords who made up the interim committee that was overseeing the Emporal branch of the government.  “What was that cousin’s name again?”

There was murmuring around the table for a moment before the Duke slammed his hand back on the table.

“It doesn’t matter who it is,” he exclaimed.  “As long as he does what we tell him.”

“Derrick Jackson Ogden,” said one of the other Lords, looking at a flat comp.

“What?” asked the Interim Prime Minister.

“That’s the name of the young man we wish to seat on the throne,” said the Lord, holding up his comp to show the picture of a handsome but not very bright looking young man.  “Third cousin.”

“Wasn’t there anyone of closer relations?” asked the Countess Decker.

“Of course there were,” said the Prime Minister.  “But they would have been more of a problem when it came to handling.  So they have been isolated, for now.  But what are we going to do about this Admiral?  Can the army do something?”

“The chief of staff of the Army has replied,” said Lord Huang, the secretary of the committee.  “He says it is not the Army’s business to control the Navy.  And he has no ships to do so if it were.”

“He’s in bed with the Admiral,” said the Prime Minister, almost spitting the words.  “He was in the clique with the Emperor as well.  Is there some way we can get to him and put someone else in his place?”

“I don’t see how,” said Decker, shaking her head.  “Grand Field Marshal Yamakuri is on the premises of Fort Jakarta, on the New Jakarta continent of New Terra.  He’s surrounded by an entire armored division, and only travels in military transport.  Escorted military transport.”

“And all we have are the Parliamentary Guard,” said the Prime Minister, putting his head in his hands.  “While that traitor sits up there in orbit in the most powerful warship in the Fleet.”

“My Lords and Ladies,” came a call over the conference room com.  “There is something on the trivee you need to see.”

“What now,” growled the Prime Minister as the holo faded in over the center of the table.  The Galactic News Service logo, GNS, rotated in 3D above the holo field, which showed a man in uniform talking before some kind of camera.  Text at the bottom of the screen indicated that the man was aboard HIMS Valkyrie in orbit around Jewel.

“Son of a bitch,” said Decker, leaning over the table and looking at the face of the man.  “The son of a bitch went public.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” said Lord Huang, his eyes widening.

The Prime Minister made a motion for everyone to be quiet as he raised the volume on the cast.

“And they were holding her with no evidence, simply to keep her out of the public view,” said Admiral Len Lenkowski to the camera.  “A woman they knew was innocent.  Just so they would have a scapegoat.”

“And this justified your using the Fleet for a prison break?” said the voice of a reporter identified on the holo as Yasagi Musagawa, a well know investigative journalist for the network.

“If I did wrong I will gladly answer for the crime,” said the Admiral, his face solemn.  “As soon as we have a seated Emperor to decide on my disposition.”

“And that will occur on Friday,” said the reporter.  “Six days from now.”

“No,” said the Admiral, shaking his head.  “It will not.  The Emperor’s son is with the Fleet in Sector Four.  He is now the rightful heir, and all attempts are being made to contact him at this time.  When he…”

“Program off,” said the Prime Minister in a shaky voice.

“You know that is already on the way to the hyperwave relay at the edge of the system,” said Decker, her voice strained.

“Of course it is,” said the Prime Minister, looking around the table.  “And what are we going to do about it?  Even if we send a signal to the relay stations it will arrive too late to do anything.  That signal will be sent out by relay as soon as it arrives.  We’d just be chasing it with a useless command all the way to the core worlds and main sector systems.”

I’m not certain the relay stations would accept a command from us,” said Decker with a head shake.  “After all, they are under Emporal administration.  And there’s likely to be naval personnel there as well.”

“Call up the news networks,” said the Prime Minister, looking over at Huang.  “We need to do some damage control here.”

And we need to do something about this Admiral and his General friend, thought the Duke, drumming his fingers on the table.  We can’t let the military stand in the way of the lawful civil government, even if we have to do something unlawful to stop them.

*     *     *

“I understand, my Lord,” said the tall man, sitting in his shielded command center in a nondescript building.  He knew where he was.  That was not true for anyone else in the organization, and especially for the people that were their contacts in Imperial Government.  “I will see what I can do.”

“Well, you better do something,’ said the Duke who was the interim Prime Minister of the New Terran Empire.  “If you want us to have a puppet in place that the people will accept, these men need to be eliminated.”

“I’m not sure you should be saying that over this line,” said the tall man, grimacing.

“I thought it was secure,” said the Prime Minister, his tone changing to one of fear.

“It is as secure as we can make it,” agreed the tall man, thinking of all the multiple encryption routines that had gone into the communications net.  “But nothing is one hundred percent secure.  That is why we still use face to face meetings.”

“Well, is there anything you can do?”

“I will see, minister,” said the man.  “I will see.”

He terminated the connection and sat in his chair for a moment, contemplating the possibilities.  We could probably get to the General, even through his security.  The Admiral will be the more difficult target.  Maybe the entire ship will have to go, though I hate to make a move so bold.  And what about the Commandant of the Marines.  Surely she is also in this.  Maybe I need some direction.

The man sat and thought for some time, coming to the conclusion that he needed to kick this up to his employers, who had come through so marvelously whenever he needed the hardware or the muscle.  He keyed in his link and set up a meeting.  And wouldn’t you be surprised at who you are actually aiding, Prime Minister, he thought, a smirk on his face.  And how horrified when you discover what they are actually after.

Chapter 8

Humanity never seems to be satisfied by whatever system they are under.  Oh, they will live under it, and prosper, and sing its praises.  And then they will wish that things were different.  The fact is that the rulers are the only one ever really satisfied with any political system.  And even they have doubts.  Empress Catherine the Great, in an address to the media.

“So what can I do for you today, Lieutenant,” said Captain Sebastian Ngano of the Sergiov, steepling his fingers and looking over them into the eyes of his subordinate officer.

I will not be intimidated, thought Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, standing at stiff attention and looking over the top of his commanding officer’s head.  Even telling himself that he did feel some intimidation standing here in the Captain’s office.  Not the one attached to his day cabin by the bridge, but his main office, attached to his quarters deep in officer country.  The walls were covered with pictures of the Captain with many people, some Sean recognized as members of the Commons.  That and a number of awards the officer had garnered during his service, and several models of warships on the credenza behind the wide desk.

“Sir,” said Sean, barking it out like he was on an academy parade ground.  “The Lieutenant requests an immediate return to duty.”

“You attended Peal Island, did you not, Lieutenant Romanov?” said the Captain, his broad dark face looking up at Sean’s.  “Of course you did, since that’s the one on the Capital world.  Well, so did I.  And though I appreciate the ramrod they put in your back, you can relax and act like a human being here.  We are no longer on the island.”

“Yes sir,” said Sean, coming to a military rest position and looking the Captain in the face.  “The Lieutenant wishes to be returned to duty.  Immediately.”

“And you don’t have to use that third person thing they teach at the academy,” said the Captain.  “They don’t like that much in the real fleet.”  The Captain paused for a moment and looked the Prince in the eye.  “Or is that an imperial third person?”

“The Lieutenant,” started Sean, then shook his head and corrected himself.  “I mean, I don’t want to be treated any different than any other officer, sir.  I…”

“Bullshit,” said the Captain in a growl, slamming his palm on the desk with a crack.  “Your being here to demand that you be returned to duty proves the lie in that statement.”

“The lie…”

“You let me finish, Lieutenant,” said the Captain, glaring into the Prince’s eyes.  “Then you can have your say.  Oh, I know that you try to be egalitarian, act like one of the boys and girls.  And I have to compliment you on that attitude.  But the fact of the matter is that you are not just one of the boys and girls.  You’re one of the rich kids up the block.  Even those with noble upbringing cannot compare themselves to you.  And you really think we are going to treat you like one of the boys and girls?  Well, do you?”

“Sir, I wish to be treated like…”

“Not wish to, Lt. Romanov,” said the Captain, lowering his voice.  “Did you really expect to be treated just like one of the boys and girls?  Considering who your father is, is that a realistic expectation?  Well.  Is it?”

Sean stood for a moment without talking, thinking about what the Captain has said.  “No sir,” he finally replied, feeling his face heat up.  “I really don’t expect that, now that you explain it that way.”

“Good,” said the Captain, nodding his head.  “Now we’re getting someplace.  And you realize that right now you are a high profile target for some every dangerous people?”

“Do we know who they are?” said Sean after giving the Captain a head nod.

“No, and that makes them even more dangerous,” said the Captain.  “And your safety is my concern.  Of course the safety of all my officers and crew is my concern.  But right now you are more of a target than all of the rest put together.  So that is why the caution.  But I will tell you that we have completed advanced background checks on everyone on this ship.  Any who were suspicious in their origins have been transferred.”

“Were there many of them?” asked Sean, a shiver running up his spine at the thought that a shipmate might try to kill him.

“Only a couple,” said the Captain with a smile.  “So you may return to duty, with my blessings.  What you cannot do is leave the ship.  At least not at this time.”

“I understand,” said Sean, his body relaxing now that he had gotten what he wanted.  “I just wanted to get back to duty.  This being under protective watch was a bitch, sir.”

“And it’s something you may have to get used to again,” said the Captain, looking behind him and picking up a model from the credenza.  It was the model of a frigate, not the latest design, but neither anything from antiquity.  “This was my first command.  The Organia.  She was small and slow, with little in the way of firepower.  About a hundred and fifty crew, including the squad of Marines.  But she was all mine.  I didn’t have to share her with anyone.  Do you know why I’m showing you this, Lieutenant?”

“Because you want to make a point,” said Sean, nodding his head.  “You still long for that first command.  Even more than you did the command of that heavy cruiser behind you.”

“Very good, Lieutenant,” said the Captain.  “Relish the role you play now.  The lack of responsibility as you gain experience.  Because someday you might regret that these times didn’t last, when you have had ultimate responsibility thrust on your shoulders.  Dismissed.”

The last words of the Captain had a foreboding feel to them, and Sean couldn’t help but think back on them on the way to his quarters to prepare for duty.  But I will never have ultimate responsibility, he thought.  The older brothers have that covered.  So why did that statement bother me so much.  Sean tried to put it out of his mind as he got into a duty coverall.  But no matter what he did, it kept coming back to haunt him.

*     *     *

“Only twenty-six hours to translation,” said Captain Dame Mei Lei as she looked over the tactical screen.  The convoy was still in good formation, just like she had set up at the start of the voyage.

“Captain Dupfers on the com for you ma’am,” called out the com tech, nervousness in her voice.

And well you should be nervous, child, thought the Captain as she grimaced.  The fool of a contract ship’s Captain had set her off several times on the voyage, with his daily complaints of one thing or another.  The destroyers aren’t close enough to cover my ship properly.  The destroyers are too close and are making my helm nervous.  The troop transport ahead is too close and its grabber ripples are disrupting the smoothness of my passage.  The troop transport is too far ahead and I’m having to fight his hyper grav waves instead of coasting on them.

The problem with hyperspace, she thought, is that damned fools can still send com lasers your way if you’re on the same level and close enough.  She thought of maybe translating up to VII, or moving far enough away in V to get out of the idiot’s range.  But that would get everyone wondering if she had lost her mind.  Which might be the correct call.

“Put him through,” she finally said with a sigh. “Might as well get it over with.”

“Commodore Lei,” said the frowning face as soon as it was on the screen, making the temporary rank sound like a slur.  “I must protest your decision to put my Haikado Maru behind that tub of Captain Merlson’s.”

“And what is Captain Merlson’s ship doing to your precious freighter now, Captain Dupfers?” asked Mei Lei in her sweetest syrupy voice.

“Don’t you be condescending with me, commodore,” hissed the freighter’s Captain.  “I will protest your treatment of me and my ship to the highest levels of the admiralty.”

“Protest away, Captain,” said the Captain of the Joan de Arc, staring at the man.  “Your protest will no doubt arrive on their desks at about the same time as my protest of your disruption of the smooth operation of this convoy.”

“But your protest will not much affect my career,” said the contract Captain with a cold smile crossing his face.  “My line has a long term contract with the Empire.  And I have a long term contract with my line.  How is your contract, commodore?  So.  Are you going to listen to my complaint, or will the admiralty?”

“Go ahead, Captain Dupfers,” said Mei Lei with a sigh.  “What can I do for you today?”

“It’s that damned Captain Merlson,” said the freighter skipper.  “Those grabbers of his are out of tune and are stirring up the fabric of space around us.”

“We’re almost at our destination, Captain,” said Mei Lei with a scowl.  “Surely you can put up with some minor turbulence for another day.”

“I demand that you move us ahead of him,” screamed Dupfers, his face turning red.  “I demand…”

“Demand all you want, you pompous fool,” said the acting commodore, fighting hard to keep her temper under control and leaning forward in her seat.  “We are in hyper,” she continued, in a voice like she was talking to a child, “in close formation, so I don’t have anyone wandering off.  There are turbulences in space when ships using ether grabbing drives are near to each other.  These are the kind of turbulences that experienced spacers grow used to.”

“Will you move me up in the formation, or will I have to do it myself,” he yelled over her.

“If you attempt to move your ship from formation without my express orders I will have your vessel boarded and you arrested,” said Mei Lei in a coldly calm voice, feeling exquisite fine control holding her emotions in check.  “Do not think for one minute that I will not.  Now I am finished with this conversation.  Captain out.”

The screen went blank on the image of the man opening his mouth to try and get in a word.  The Captain put a hand on her head as she felt the beginning of a headache.

“Still dealing with that bastard,” said Xavier Jackson over the private com link.  She checked the time on the ship’s net and saw that he was to relieve her in another hour.

“You could still be in bed,” she replied, “instead of tapping into bridge communications.”

“I’m already up and getting the blood flowing,” said the man, projecting a laugh over the circuit.  “I figured I better be ready to deal with the bastard when I come on duty.  You know he screams his head off for you to come at his beck and call.”

“And you do a very good job of denying his requests,” she said with another smile.  “I’m surprised he hasn’t threatened to bring you before the Emperor for ignoring him.”

“He has,” he said through the link.  “But I do believe his Majesty has more important things to worry about than a mere commoner naval commander.  And I’m surprised you haven’t ordered a surgical laser strike on his bridge before now.”

“I would like to order him on point and bring back Rittersdorf,” she said.  “But then I might have to explain to the admiralty how I let several billion Imperials of weapons and equipment get lost along with a piece of shit freighter I was supposed to be watching.”

“Almost be worth it,” said the exec, projecting a smile.

“At least we will be free of him after we reach Massadara,” said Mei Lei, feeling the tension headache leaving her as she concentrated on relaxing her scalp muscles.

“Unless they saddle us with him for the return trip,” said Jackson, projecting a frown.

“They wouldn’t do that,” said the Captain, feeling the headache coming back from where it had been retreating.  “We’re too valuable a scouting asset to be riding herd on a collection of rust buckets.  Aren’t we?”

“I would have thought so before they saddled us with them,” said Jackson.  “But you never know with the admiralty.  Anyway, I just wanted to see what your take was.  I’ll be up to relieve you shortly.  Jackson out.”

Mei Lei thought about what her first officer had said for a moment.  Surely they wouldn’t waste a state-of-the-art resource like Joan de Arc to permanent convoy duty.  They had a lot of space to cover out here.  And something going on that they didn’t quite understand, but looked like it might develop into trouble.  If they couldn’t see that her battle cruiser was much more valuable scouting…

“Ma’am,” called out the helm, looking over his shoulder.

“Yes,” she said, looking up, her eyes widening as she saw the tactical display.  “That damned idiot.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the helm.  “He’s putting on some gee to move ahead of Merlson’s ship.”

The convoy was actually decelerating at about a hundred gravities, working their way down to point one c so they could translate back into normal space at their destination.  Dupfers had cut back on his decel, letting his ship fall up on the freighter to his front, as he put in enough side vector to move around the offending leader.

“Get Gazelle on the com,” ordered Lei, looking over at the com tech.  “Tell her to match velocities with that maniac and board him.  I want him thrown in their brig and kept there until I tell them to release him.  They are to put an officer aboard to con the ship to destination.”

The com tech nodded and turned back to her station, getting to work.

Maybe we can have a nice little naval engagement once we get rid of this cluster, she thought.  Even thinking of bringing the ship into battle brought a smile to her face.  At least there she could open fire on the offending miscreants.

*     *     *

The trivee projected the face of the Admiral into a holo field at the front of the room, the GNN logo in a wrap around at the bottom.  The beautiful Asian woman was standing next to him, and the picture kept switching back between the officer and the reporter.

“No,” said Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski, the location noted as a chamber aboard the superbattleship Vakyrie.  “I don’t believe that the IIB has done much of a job on this investigation.  They determined that an innocent woman, Dr. Lucille Yu, a scientist that is a necessary component in the Donut Wormhole Project, was guilty, without any proof whatsoever.  They incarcerated this woman on Purgatory and closed the case.”

“So you believe that someone else was responsible for the death of the Emperor?” said the young woman, whose name, Joan Wang, showed below her picture.  “Even though the killer was identified as one Ensign Mark O’Brien, of the Emporal Protection Force?”

“That young man was just the pawn used in this assassination,” said the Admiral, an angry scowl on his face.  “Hell, he had no motive to kill the Emperor.  We believe he was deep conditioned by someone to override his inhibitions of harming the Imperial family.”

“But he was deep conditioned to protect the Imperial family as well, was he not?”

“Damn right he was,” said the Admiral, nodding his head.  “Like all members of the Emperor’s Guard.  But someone has found a way around that conditioning.”

“And how is that possible?” asked the reporter, her face serious.  “I thought there was no way to get through that kind of conditioning.”

“That’s what they say,” said Lenkowski, the scowl growing deeper.  “That’s what they say.  But I believe someone has found a way around that.”

“And who would that be?”

“When I find out you will know,” said Lenkowski, looking straight into the camera.  “When I find out everyone will know.”

“What our viewers want to know is why you took it upon yourself to assault an Imperial prison with a military force to take a woman out of lawful custody,” said the reporter.  “In fact, according to the IIB and the Imperial Prison Commission you released twenty-three other prisoners, and had hidden their location from the proper authorities.”

“That is because the proper authorities had them in detention illegally,” said the Admiral, his voice rising.  “I am not about to allow those people to disappear again.”

“And that is why you are staying on this warship in orbit around the planet?” said the reporter.

“I don’t want to get into a conspiracy theory,” said the Admiral, nodding.  “Neither do I want to disappear like those people you have been asking about.”

“So you take the law into your own hands?”

“I am a sworn officer in the Imperial Navy,” said the Admiral, glaring out at the invisible audience.  “The oath I swore was to defend the Empire against all enemies, foreign and domestic.  And I think we have an enemy domestic in this case.  And so I acted.”

“And you are above the law that is calling for you to report to a hearing of the Lords Council?”

“I am responsible to the Emperor,” said the Admiral.  “And when an Emperor is seated, I will answer to him.”  Lenkoswki looked into the camera for a moment, a tear starting in one eye.  “Augustine was a good man and a good Emperor.  He did not deserve what happened to him.  And the people of the Empire do not deserve to have his leadership taken away.  I will find out who is responsible.  And I will see that they are brought to justice.”

The holo switched to the face of another woman in the Capitulum studio of the Galactic New Network, looking straight into the camera.

“Patriot fighting a battle against those who took the life of the Emperor,” said the woman.  “Or a megalomaniac with no control on his power.  What do you think, Imperial Citizens?

“And in further news, the capital has completely shut down all activity as it goes into official mourning for the Emperor and his family.  The Imperial Athletic Games, scheduled to have begun next week in honor of a thousand years of Empire, have been cancelled.  All flags are flying at half-mast.  And…”

“Off,” yelled Interim Prime Minister Theo Streeter, the Duke of Coventry, and the holo died.  He turned his angry face on the woman in charge of the Lords’ security, Sergeant of Arms Countess Judy Decker.  “Why can’t you get him before a justice committee?” he screamed at the woman.  “He is making a mockery of the Lords.  Of the entire Parliament.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” asked the woman, standing up and going face to face with her superior.  “He is sitting on a twenty million ton warship, one of the most powerful in the fleet.  Which is surrounded by other warships.  What do you want me to do?  Order a broadside to broadside battle with Customs’ cutters against battleships.  I’m sure that would play out well on the news.”

“And still no luck on getting naval personnel to see that they are violating the law?”

“Not a chance,” said the woman.  “Fleet is loyal.”

“And what about a surgical strike,” said the Duke, looking at the ceiling and thinking.

“With what?  IIB Commandoes?  SWAT?”

“Yes,” said the Duke.  “Exactly.  With those people.”

“He is surrounded by Imperial Marines, minister,” said the woman, her voice rising in exasperation.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have naval commandos aboard as well.  The best of the best.  They would go through anything we sent their way like a laser through paper.  No, as long as he is aboard that ship he is beyond our reach.”

“Then maybe we need to take that ship out,” said the Duke under his breath, visualizing the superbattleship going up in an explosion and solving all their problems.

“I’m not sure I heard you right, minister,” said the Countess, a frown on her face.

“You just keep trying to get him before our committee,” said the Duke, pointing a finger at the woman.  And I’ll see what else can be done.  If I can ever get that damned agent to act.

*     *     *

“The scouting pods will be going in within the next six hours, my Lord,” said the officer, standing at the doorway of the Admiral’s private command room.

Low Admiral Hrisshammartanama grunted in acknowledgment as he stared into the holo tank that occupied the center of the room.  It showed the local area, ten light years in diameter.  A dozen stars occupied the view, only one of which was of interest.  And around that star were the vector arrows of the Low Admiral’s force, moving toward the target in hyper VII.

I wonder if we will ever find a way to go faster, thought the Low Admiral, thinking of how far they were from the imperial capital.  Almost two years travel time at their best rate.  And five centuries before it would have been almost a decade, while they were still limited to hyper VI.  And in that time these humans have developed travel through three levels of hyper, from IV to VII.  What drives them so?  And is there any way we might be able to incorporate their drive within our own Empire?

The Low Admiral gave a head toss of negation at that thought.  The emperor had declared that this species was to be destroyed.  Then he thought of the humans that still survived within the Empire, though they only survived at the sufferance of the Emperor, and only that they might be of aid against their kinsmen.  But such a waste, he thought, willing the holo view to expand and show more of the local area.  More stars filled the field, more with the icons of inhabited systems, numbers underneath showing what they knew of those clusters of planets.  Two other systems showed the icons of Ca’cadasan assault forces, all timed to strike at more or less the same time.

The only thing we don’t know is how many ships are in each system, he thought, staring at the stars as if willing them to give up their information.  They could be empty of vessels, everyone out on patrol.  Or we could fly into a system brimming with warships, and no one will know what happened to us, only that we didn’t return from our mission.

Hrisshammartanama grunted and scoffed at that idea.  He was sure that his ships were superior to those of the humans.  He was also sure that they could swarm him under by weight of numbers if they possessed that advantage.  But that was unlikely, was it not?

The Admiral walked from his private room and onto the bridge, waving the crew back to their positions as he walked to his chair.  They are doing important work, he thought, looking at the viewer that showed the star ahead, and the vector arrows of his assault force moving into place.  Ahead were the three scouting pods, eight ships each.  Curving to the side were the containment forces, moving to seal off the system and keep leakers from getting out to carry the word to others.  To either side of his ship were the other battleships, paired up with the cruisers and escorts they carried with them, the standard deception of the fleet that would hopefully fool the enemy as to his numbers, for just a while.  And behind were the troop transports and their escorting vessels, there to complete the conquest of the system as soon as he smashed the vessels and anti-ship defenses of the enemy.

“Any indication that they know we are here?” he asked his tactical officer.

“No, my Lord,” said the officer.  “We have had no contact with their vessels since we took out that squadron of their scouts a couple of hours ago.”

The Low Admiral grunted at the remembrance.  There had been five ships in that group they had found in hyper VI, all just under a million tons.  They had fought skillfully.  And they had died quickly, overwhelmed by the Ca’cadasan ships.  But they had left a positive impression on the Admiral.  This was not an opponent to be taken lightly.  He had tried to impress that on the captains, but wasn’t sure they had seen his point.  They will learn, he thought, turning away from the tactical officer and looking at the main viewer.  They will learn, or they will be replaced by death.

“They are surely detecting us by now, my Lord,” said the sensory officer.  “We are well within detection range for hyper VII.”

“And they will be confused by what they are seeing,” said the tactical officer, a smug look on his face.  “They will wonder, and worry, and finally panic.”

And that they will not do, you pompous fool, thought the Admiral, shooting a glare at the oblivious officer.  This is not a species that panics.  It is species that perseveres, and I hope we can knock them out quickly.

Chapter 9

War is hell, but that's not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love.  War is nasty; war is fun.  War is thrilling; war is drudgery.  War makes you a man; war makes you dead.  Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried.

“We’re picking up emissions from the hyper VII band,” said PO Jaworski, the sensor tech on duty on the system picket ship HR-11987.  The ensign on duty, and the only other officer on the ship beside the Commander, looked up from the book he was reading on his flat comp.

“What do they look like?” asked Ensign Kim in a bored voice as he looked up at the tactical plot with showed some fuzzy contacts about two light years out.

“Hard to tell sir,” said the tech, focusing on his panel’s graphical display.  “Their emission lines don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen.  No sound like I've ever heard.  They have to be large energy emitters to be detectable from that far out.”

“Any idea of speed or direction?” asked the ensign, clearing the book from his comp as he linked with the ship’s computer, bringing up data on unusual emissions.

“Estimates are pretty poor right now,” said Jaworski, playing with his instruments.  “We’re not a damned battleship.  They carry more than our total mass of these kind of sensors.”

Kim nodded as he thought of any way of getting more information.  The picket was a very small ship, operating a light week out from the hyper limit of Massadara.  She was based on the same ten thousand ton hull as the courier and fast attack craft, but packed electronics into the spaces those craft used for cargo or weapons.

“First guesstimate,” said Jaworski, “is ten or more large objects moving at about point five c in hyper VII.  Decelerating at about three hundred gravities, according to Doppler readings.  Should arrive at translation point for Massadara in about six hours.”

“Damned tight for a guesstimate, PO,” said Kim, hitting the alarm.  Within seconds the rest of the crew of the fourteen man vessel was out of bed, including the Commander.  She was the first of the new awakes, running into the small bridge still pulling her shipboard coveralls on.

“Report,” said Lieutenant JG Martinez as she threw herself into her command chair.  The PO tech rendered a quick summation of what he had found.

“This doesn’t look good,” she said, watching the tactical display which now indicated two dozen of the large warships, that’s what she thought they must be, heading for the system.

“System outer buoys should pick them up in a little under two hours,” said Jaworski, looking up from his board.  “Ships in the inner system should get them about ten minutes later.”

“And if we send our data in?” asked Ensign Kim, chewing on his lip.

“They’ll get complete data in about a week,” answered the Commander, chewing on one of her nails.  “Whatever will happen will definitely have happened by then.”

“What if we go hyper and run for the system?” asked Spaceman First Wittaker, taking her position at the helm station.

“They’ll know where we are and run us down,” said Kim.  “We can only do hyper V, and they can do hyper VII.”

“Send a signal to the system,” said the Commander to the just arriving com tech, Spaceman Second Anderson.  “Give them the specifics by grav wave.”

The com tech looked at the information scrolling across his board and frowned.

“It will take about five minutes to send one cycle of that message,” he said.  “The bare facts.  Number, speed, heading and ETA.”

“Damn,” cursed Martinez.  FTL com had always been the dream of the navy.  The hyperdrive could be used to pulse gravity waves, which since they also traveled in Hyper VIII were almost instantaneous.  But they were also clunky, in that the information had to be sent in a slow binary code that left a lot to be desired.  The wormhole gates promised a workaround to the communication problem.  But the picket ship did not have a wormhole on board, and was unlikely to be chosen for one in the near future.

“OK,” she finally said.  “Cycle what we have through four repetitions.”

“Then what?” asked Kim, looking at her with wide eyes.

She could feel the weight of the decision on her shoulders.  She would decide, and they would either live or die with that decision.

“Then we run like hell in normal space,” she answered.  “Away from the hostiles.  And we stop and play rock at the first hint of a translation to n-space by our newly arrived friends.  We are here to give warning to the system, which we are doing.  We are not here to die for…”

“More contacts,” called out Jaworski, as red dots appeared on the tactical display, much closer to the picket ship.  “Estimate twenty or more ships, mass between destroyer and light cruiser.  Speed point four c and decelerating at three hundred gravities.  Estimating ETA at hyper boundary in four hours.”

“OK,” said the Captain.  “Add that to the transmission on the next cycle through.  We’ll keep transmitting as long as we can and then make our break for it.”

“A couple of the ships are changing vector,” said Jaworski, looking back at the Captain.

“Estimated target of the course change?” asked Lieutenant JG Martinez, feeling a knot in her stomach.

“Us, ma’am,” answered the sensor tech.  “Us.”

*     *     *

Klaxons went off all through the HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo, the battleship that was leading Task Group 4.9 of the Imperial Fourth Fleet.  Along with the alarms notification was sent throughout the ship over the net to the implants of every crew member.  Within moments everyone aboard the fifteen megaton flagship was awake, if not completely alert.  Those off duty pulled on duty coveralls and sealed boots at the cuffs.  Some waited for a moment, cursing the drill that was being called on their off time.  Until the this is not a drill call came through the alarm.

Admiral Sir Gunter Heinrich pulled himself out of a deep sleep as the alarm went off.  His first thought was a drill as well.  That notion was dismissed as he remembered that he was the ranking officer in the system, and no drill would be scheduled affecting his flagship without his knowledge and approval.  He sat up in bed and sent a command through his implant for coffee, then swung feet to the floor and stood up.  A quiet knock on his door got his attention.  His steward walked in with a tray holding a cup of steaming coffee, white and sweetened, with a carafe of refill.

“Thank you, Beria,” said the Admiral, taking the cup from the tray and putting it gingerly to his lips.  He felt better after a sip of hot liquid.

“Ready a duty uniform, if you please, Beria,” he said to the steward.  “While I see what all of the hoopla is about.”

The Admiral jacked into the net and overrode the cacophony of requests and demands that were flooding it.  His priority code took him directly to the flag bridge, where the duty officer answered.

“Commander Nagaya here, Admiral,” said the officer.

The Admiral could feel the controlled fear in the man through the circuit.  But controlled was the key.  He knew this was an officer who would do his duty no matter the threat.

“What the hell is going on, Nagaya?” he asked, looking over the data himself in his mind’s eye.

“Sir,” said the officer.  “A long range picket about a light week out picked up the gravity waves of a force moving through hyper VII.  A large force, coming our way.”

“Did they identify the force?”

“No sir.  The coded transmission indicated that they were an unknown but probably highly advanced threat.”

“Any further information?”

“The transmission went through two five minute cycles,” said the Commander.  “At about one minute into the third cycle we picked up the gravity waves of two translations from hyper VII to n-space by vessels between destroyer and light cruiser mass.  The transmission ended at that point and contact has not been reestablished.”

Probably lost, thought the Admiral with a stab of regret as the steward brought in a duty coverall and a set of boots.  Unless they were very good, or very lucky.

“OK,” said Heinrich, letting the steward pull the coverall onto his body.  “Alert the staff that I will be in the flag conference room in two minutes.  I want all known information on the threat force as well as our own forces within the system.  How is the system alert proceeding?”

“All personnel on planetary surface or orbital stations are being recalled,” said the Commander.  “Estimated that all ships will be ready to boost in an hour.  Ground forces are also on alert.  System commander requests contact, and wishes to know your intentions.”

“OK.  I’ll get on with her and coordinate.  Heinrich out.”

The Admiral sat for a moment to let the steward put his polished boots on.  He stood up in the comfortable uniform, regretting the fact that he would probably be in combat armor within a couple of hours.  He nodded at the steward, picked up his cup of coffee, and walked from the bedroom through his large and ornately furnished living area.

The Marine guard at the entrance to his quarters snapped to attention with a rifle salute.  The Admiral returned the salute and strode off down the corridor through the fifty meters to the flag bridge and the conference room next to it.  Crewmen scrambled along the corridor, checking that all systems were working or heading for duty stations.

I won’t insult Captain Steinman by asking her if she is prepared for combat, thought the Admiral.  It’s her ship, and I’m just a guest on it.

Stopping outside the conference room he linked with the system commander who was getting ready for her own staff meeting on the one completed Class I fortress in orbit around the planet.  Normally that officer would plan and order the defense of the system, along with the dispositions of any warships currently around this star.  But Heinrich was in command of a full task group, with four star rank, while the system was a Vice Admiral with three stars.

“Vice Admiral Gonzalez,” came the voice of the system commander over the link directly into Heinrich’s auditory centers.  “I guess you have gotten the news.”

“Yes Countess,” said Gunter, nodding to an officer heading into the conference room.  “We will be preparing our plan of action as soon as I finish consulting with you.  Any ideas on your part?”

There was a half second delay as the signal was routed between the station on the other side of the planet and the battleship.  Something which spacers were used to and compensated for without thought.

“The outer buoys should pick them up shortly,” said the system commander.  “I’m torn between engaging them at maximum range with missiles, or taking them on in system where the forts and orbitals can support your ships.”

“Awful long range for missile engagement,” said the Admiral, figuring the envelope out in his head.  There really was no such thing as a maximum range for a missile in practical terms.  His capital ships could fire a one hundred ton missile with a crystal matrix energy storage capable of accelerating the missile at five thousand gravities for two hours.  That would get the missile up to about point nine six c, the practical limit for travel within a system.  The missile could also coast at that speed for as long as it needed to, and still have power to randomly evade and correct its course as it got near the target.  The forts carried an even larger missile at two hundred tons.  They needed the larger missile to carry the more massive fusion warheads that were mandated for use in weapons systems near inhabited planets.  Versus the MAM warheads the ships carried.  The fort missiles could boost at five thousand gravities for three hours, due to their onboard fusion reactors.  But at a range of light hours the missiles would be depending on their intelligent but limited internal comp systems.  Against someone who had not yet been proven to be an enemy, with unknown capabilities.

“What about a manned response,” said Heinrich.  “All of the fast attack in the system, your fighters, and the fighters off of my capital ships.”  Each of the battleships carried a full sixteen ship squadron of space fighters, while his battle cruisers carried a half squadron, giving him.  “I can throw in five hundred and seventy fighters, added on to your fighter strength.”

“That gives me seven hundred and seventy,” said the Countess, “along with thirty six fast attack and the non-hyper system ships.  What about your carriers?”

Heinrich had a fleet carrier and two light carriers in the system along with his other ships. They carried about six hundred and forty more of the fighters and attack craft.

“I’d prefer to hold them in reserve,” he said, thinking it over.  “If these are hostiles that kind of swarm might be enough to tilt the battle in our favor.  And I’d like to have your forts ready to support us on call.”

“Very well,” said the Countess.  “You’re in command.  So I will do my best to support you.”

“But you don’t fully agree with my suggestions,” he said, hearing the worry in her transmission.

“I’m charged with protecting this planet,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.  “Of course I would like to see any threat to it taken care of well away from the planet.  Missiles hitting the planet with gigaton warheads traveling at point nine c do not do much good for the ecosystem.”

“And I’m charged with protecting the territory of the Empire, including the vessels under my command and the personnel manning them,” answered the Admiral.  “I’m going to do my best to keep the planet from being mauled by hypervelocity missiles.  But I have to use all of the assets available to me, and that includes the planetary and orbital defenses.  Now I’ll get a release of the fighters and have their group commanders’ report to your command net.  Heinrich out.”

The Admiral walked into the conference room as he pulled out of the link with the other Admiral.  Men and women were gathered around the table, engaged in low conversation or sitting quietly as they linked into the net.  An Intelligence Commander looked up as the Admiral entered the room and yelled for attention.

“Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen,” he said as he plopped into his own chair at the head of the table.  “Any update on the threat?”

“No sir,” said the intelligence officer, her Asian face reflecting the worry of someone who dealt in information and had little of it.  “We only know that there are a lot of them, and they are on their way.”

“OK,” said the Admiral, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee.  “Let’s move the whole group out to ten light minutes from the planet, in the direction of our friends.  After we get everybody out there we can put the group into formation.  Just what do we have in system, by the way?”  He asked the last already looking at the ship figures on the net, but knowing that there might be errors or changes that a staff member might be able to correct.

“Current strength in the system,” said Captain Myra Lamborgini, the Flag Captain, “is eighteen battleships, six battle cruisers, twenty heavy cruisers, sixteen light cruisers and fifty four destroyers.  There is a fleet carrier and two light carriers in system, and four couriers.  We also have a trio of system defense cruisers and eight system defense destroyers.”

The Admiral ran the figures through his head and grunted.  He knew he had another twelve battleships and ten battle cruisers on patrol.  And most of his light cruisers, the eyes of the fleet, would also be on out system patrol.  He wondered if any of them had run afoul of this threat.

“There are also the fighters on board the warships and the carriers,” continued the Flag Captain.

“I’ve released the ship’s fighters to system command,” said Admiral Heinrich, looking at his Flag Captain as that officer grimaced.  “She will also keep control of the in system warships and the forts, though she’ll coordinate their fire with ours when it comes to it.  We’ll keep the carrier birds for our own planning.”

“Why give her our fighters, sir?” said Commander Kelvin Hanson, the flight operations liaison.  “That’s about half of our fighter strength.”

“Vice Admiral Gonzalez wants to meet them as far out in the system as possible,” said the Admiral.  “To ascertain their intentions and capabilities.  I understand her concerns, so I released enough of our fighters to give her some punch if needed.”  And they’ll all be operational, he thought, or at least as much of all of them as will matter.  He remembered in his classes back at the academy how in the distant past, mostly on old earth, when a commander could count himself lucky to have eighty percent of his equipment functional when going into combat.  And a lot of that was from wear and tear as they called it then.  He knew that all of his equipment, fighters included, were maintained in top shape by the nanites incorporated into their systems.  The same microbugs that updated electronics as necessary.

“Any reinforcements expected?” he said, looking back at his Flag Captain.  “Anyone due back from patrol?”

“There might be a couple of cruiser teams coming in at any moment,” said the Flag Captain, pulling out a cigarette and puffing it into ignition.  “But nothing expected on the horizon.”

“There’s a convoy expected in today,” said Commander Sylvester Lafayette, the logistics liaison.  “A Hyper VII battlecruiser, a light cruiser, five destroyers and nine auxiliaries.”

“Right in the middle of the fracas,” said the Flag Captain, frowning.  “I don’t think those warships are going to do us enough good to warrant the cost of those other ships.  They have a couple of brigades of troops and about five thousand naval support personnel.”

“Can we warn them off?” said the Admiral.  “Where in the system will they come in?”

“Plane of the ecliptic,” answered Lafayette.  “About thirty degrees spinward from the hostiles.”

“We might be able to find them with a courier,” said Captain Lamborgini.  “Warn them to stay in hyper and get out of here.”

The Admiral thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.

“I don’t have enough couriers,” he finally said.  “I want two of them sent immediately to Sector HQ.  One of them must get through, in case the hostiles have curtained the system without us knowing it.  I want the other two on the far side of the system, ready to translate with the news of our demise, if it comes to that.  The convoy will just have to take its chances.  Hopefully they’ll follow SOP and translate an escort in first to check out the system.  And they’re probably already in detection range by the unknowns.

“Let’s get a plan together, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, standing.  “We’ll meet again when the group gets to the assembly point.  Hopefully we’ll have more information at that time.  Dismissed.”

The staff left their seats and hurried from the conference room, eager to get to their duty stations and do their part to ensure the survival of the human force.  The Admiral knew that part of that eagerness was fear, and the desire to busy themselves to defuse that fear.

Of an enemy we refuse to name, he thought, feeling his own fear bubble up inside of him.  It has to be them.  They finally came.  Just like his Majesty said they would.

“If I can talk with you for a moment, sir,” said the Flag Captain, stepping up to him.

“What is it, Myra?” he asked, picking up his coffee cup and thinking about breakfast.  “Is it those fighters I gave the system commander?”

“No sir,” she said, fidgeting.  “That’s your command decision, and one I don’t have a problem with.  No sir.  It’s a little stickier problem.”

“Well out with it Captain,” he said, looking into her eyes.  “Before we die of old age, or those unknowns fry our guts.”

“It’s the Prince, sir,” said the Captain in a hushed voiced, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.  “What are you going to do about him?”

“What would you like me to do with him, Captain?  He’s a serving fleet officer.  I can’t order him off of his ship just because there’s a possibility that he might die in combat.  He could refuse that order and be well within his rights.  And even if I did have him dragged kicking and screaming from Sergiov, he could have my head.  And it’s not like he is likely to become Emperor anytime in the future.  He’s has two older siblings for God’s sake.”

“It would still not be a good thing to have a member of the Imperial Family die under your command sir,” said the Captain forcefully.

“Then I have to be sure I win the battle,” he replied.  “With minimal loss to our forces.”

“Oh come on, Admiral,” said the Captain, looking into his eyes.

He could see the fear in her as well.  He could also see the control of that fear.

“You know as well as I do who those people are who are coming at us.  The last time we fought them they destroyed our civilization and sent the remnants of our race out into the dark.”

“We’re a lot stronger now than we were then,” he said with determination in his voice.  “And a lot more advanced.”

“And what are you going to do with the Prince?”

“What do you suggest?” he said in a low voice.  “I can’t remove that ship from my order of battle.  I need everything I can lay my hands on.”

“Then put him under arrest and have him removed from his ship,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring up at the Admiral.  “Put him on the first courier you send out.  Then he’ll at least have a chance of getting home.”

“I don’t have any charges to bring him up on,” said the Admiral.  “It would be an insult to his family name.  Something he would regret for the rest of his life.  So do you have something else to suggest.”

“At least put his ship in the second echelon,” she said, looking down to the floor.  “Then he will at least have a chance to survive if everything goes to shit.”

“I can do that,” he said, nodding his head.  “But I’m not sure he would be happy that I did that.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” said the Captain.  “Some ships have to go there if you use any formation I would think you would.  At least six battleships.”

“OK, Captain,” he agreed, nodding his head.  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to us not surviving the battle.”

“And where will you place our ship, sir?”

“Where do you think, Captain,” he said with a sigh.  “Right in the center of the action.  In the finest tradition of Nelson.”

*     *     *

It had been the middle of the night in the city of Port Massadara, the capital and largest city on the planet.  There were over a million people living in the city, whose population had skyrocketed since it became known that the system was becoming a regional military base system.  That meant that the five hundred thousand permanent residents had been joined by another half million transients who had been housed as best as could be until permanent residences could be built, or they could be transferred out to the farms or villages they had contracted for.  It also meant that there weren’t enough shelters available for all of those people.

Major General McKenzie Zhukov was one of those people roused from a dead sleep.  In his case it was more of a personal awakening by staff, not by sirens or emergency messages over the net.  But the confusion was just as great.

“So what the hell do we know?” he asked a staff officer on the way to the control center ten kilometers beneath the military headquarters building.  The walls reminded him of a warship’s, which was apt since the shelter was the same central capsule used by Imperial destroyers.

“Not much, sir,” said the young Lt. Colonel who was the watch officer tonight.  “Just that a large number of unknowns translated into the system and are on a heading for the planet.”

“Have we received any intel from the Countess or her staff?”

“Very little, sir,” said the Colonel, walking fast to keep up with the General.  “Her liaison officer will be here shortly, but I’ve come to the opinion that they are still trying to sort things out themselves.”

“Reasonable,” said the system Army commander.  “And I would guess we have some hours before they are a threat to the planet.”

“Probably at least ten hours till a possible missile strike,” said the younger officer.  “Closer to twenty four before we could see a possible ground assault.”

“And the ten hour window really doesn’t matter all that much,” said the General to the nod of the Colonel.  If they hit us with relativistic missiles there won’t be a living planet to land on.  Even one and all the buildings are coming down, and all the close surface shelters are cave ins.

The door to the conference room slid open as they approached, the two military policemen waving them in.  The room was already half full.  Zhukov ran a tight command, and most officers tried to beat him to wherever he was going, if they knew what was good for them.

Attention,” yelled the planetary Command Sergeant Major, Sid Willis, his dark face reflecting the overhead lights.

I don’t know how he does it, thought the General, looking at his right arm, standing there in perfect garrison uniform.  He knew the man had to sleep, but he couldn’t prove when that occurred.

“At ease,” yelled Zhukov, striding toward his chair at the head of the table, where coffee had already been set.  He spun into the chair and glared at a couple of officers that ran in late and moved quickly to their chairs, their eyes avoiding the General’s.

“So what do we know so far?” he asked the assemblage, noting that some of the faces out there looked shocked.  Stunned might be the better term.  Thought they were coming to a peaceful planet in a quiet sector.  But Zhukov had learned early on in his career that quiet sectors only meant they hadn’t burst into flame, yet.

“We have ships in the four million ton range translating at the hyper barrier after leap frogging down from VII,” said the naval liaison officer, Commander Pierre DuCox, looking up from his flat comp.  “At least twenty, probably more.  First alert received by grav wave transmission by a picket.  Nothing heard since.”

Which means they are probably dead, thought the General, shaking his head.  Someone has to man the listening post, and it’s just the luck of the draw if something comes along while you’re out there.

“We have a lot more activity out there,” continued the Commander.  “Looks like capital ships.  And first indication is that these are the Ca’cas.”

“Shit,” said one of the other officers, and the General glared him shut.

“We always knew this day would come,” he said, looking around the room.  “We always hoped it would come later than sooner.  But here it is and we have to deal with it.”

“But, sir,” said a Colonel in charge of the shore defense batteries around the capital city.  “The Ca’cas?”

“Calling them cute names isn’t going to change the reality of them,” said the General, frowning.  “The Ca’cadasans may be coming to dinner, and it’s up to us to set a fine table for them.  If them it is.  If not, then we will just have to prepare a welcome for whoever it is.  But we will prepare that welcome, and set a price for their feast.”

The table was silent, and the General knew that all of them were scared to death.  He didn’t feel all that brave himself at the moment.  He was hoping for maybe a promotion to lt. general, maybe colonel general before he retired.  Maybe a minor title and some land.  Now it looked like he might have the chance to play hero, something he had tried as a younger officer in a couple of wars.  Something he had hoped he wouldn’t have to do again.  But here it was.

“We will meet them as they land, gentleman and ladies,” he said in his best forceful voice.  “Now where are the militia commanders.”

“They’re on their way,” said the Colonel who was his adjutant, Reese.

The room erupted in laughter for a moment, and the General slapped his hand on the table.  “There will be none of that,” he roared.  “None of that at all.  The militia will be fighting and dying beside us, and they will be treated with respect.”

“They don’t have the equipment or the training to stick with my boys,” said one of the brigade commanders, Brigadier Chow.

“Then use them to screen your men,” said Zhukov with a nod to the one star.  “I know they’re no damned good, but they can catch it so the first team can strike back.  Understood?”

“Understood,” said the Brigadier with a smile.

“Now I want the rest of you to look over our plans and see which is the most likely,” said Zhukov.  “Then figure out B and C and we’ll meet back here in an hour.  Meanwhile, I’ll try to get on the com to the Countess and see what she thinks.  Clear?”

“Yes sir,” echoed the room.  Before the words finished leaving their mouths he was out of his seat and headed for the door.

I might be going into an unexpected campaign, he thought as his boots hit the hall.  But I will not fail from lack of effort.

*     *     *

On the surface of Massadara the people swarmed like ants in a kicked over nest.  Civilians ran to the shelters, trying to get their loved ones and few precious belongings underground where they might survive.  Shuttles took off and landed as fast as they could cycle, bringing reserve personnel up to the orbital stations and noncombatants back from space.  Ground units formed up at barracks, then scattered to their predetermined hiding places.

“It still looks too conspicuous to me,” said the battery commander as he flew in the air car over the number three laser mount of the ground based defensive artillery.

The other three mounts of the battery, at the points of a diamond shape five kilometers on a side, blended in with the terrain and vegetation to the point where only someone who knew where to look could find them.  But number three, with patches of dying grass and parts where soil had washed away from the plasticrete outer covering, looked just like what it was.  A weapons position that had not been well hidden.  The laser dome was hidden by the foliage it would burn away on its first shot.  But the fifty meter circle around that point made a good facsimile of a target bulls-eye.

“Not much we can do about it now,” said the CPO of the battery.  As they watched dump trucks came along and dropped piles of dirt over the crete, while dozers pushed them flat.  “Maybe the hostiles won’t notice anything amiss.  After all, they can’t be real familiar with us.”

The Lt. Commander looked up as a flight of four atmospheric fighters flew over, a contrail behind each ship as they moved at high Mach in the upper atmosphere.  He looked back down at the position and frowned.

“I just hope it doesn’t draw fire to the other mounts before they go into action,” he said, looking down again.

“Take us back to the control center,” he ordered the driver.  At least he and the men he commanded would be under a half kilometer of earth and armor, where they might survive.

*     *     *

“We’ve been picking up the emissions from the capital ships for almost a half hour now, ma’am,” said the operations officer.  “The smaller ships are just making their presence known.”

“Thank you Commander,” said Vice Admiral The Countess Esmeralda Gonzalez, looking at the firming tactical plot in the system holo tank.  The tank was zoomed into that small corner of the system, out beyond the hyper limit.  There were over fifty of the smaller dots of the escorts, followed closely by the twenty-four larger dots of capital ships.  And behind them were twenty dots of an intermediate class of ships.  Troop transports? she wondered.

The outer buoys had been tracking the destroyers for over an hour and sending their limited grav pulse information in-system.  Now the emissions were readable into the life zone of the system, strong enough to overcome the dampening of the star’s gravity well.

Still not clear enough to make a real time guess as to their intentions, she thought.  If only they could have waited a few more years.  Then we might have had enough wormholes to make instantaneous com a reality.

“Ground force commander wants to talk with you, ma’am,” said the com officer.

The Countess looked around the command center of the orbital defenses.  The thirty naval personnel were going about their duties with quiet efficiency in the large chamber, monitoring communications and analyzing tactical displays.  But she could feel the tension in the air.  She wished she could promise all of them, and all of the other personnel under her command, that everything would be alright.  But even here, in the most heavily guarded center section of the two hundred megaton fort she could guarantee nothing.  Except that she would give them the best she had.

“Put him on,” she said as she leaned forward in her chair.  The tactical display changed view to a large chamber where people in Imperial Army uniforms did much the same as her people were doing.

“Countess,” said Major General McKenzie Zhukov, smiling through the transmission.  “My analysts feel those must be troop transports coming in behind the capital ships.  They’ll probably translate after the battle in space is decided and move up to land their ground forces.”

I think I figured that out myself, she thought, then shook her head.  He couldn’t know that I knew that.  He’s just offering up the information he has.  It would be criminal not to.  She looked at the decorations on his uniform, including an armor badge, infantry badge and heavy infantry badge.  There was also an award for valor and several minor decorations.  At least he has a lot of experience, she thought.  That was better than the bureaucrat brigadier she had been saddled with before Zhukov’s arrival.

“That’s our take on the matter too, General,” she said, looking at a side screen that had a top down view of the system, showing the estimated separation from the coming storm.  “Good news bad news, huh.”

“Yes ma’am,” agreed the man, nodding his head.  “They probably aren’t going to blow the planet out from under us.  But you can bet they’re going to try and dig us out of the ground.”

“Are you ready?” she asked, knowing better than to ask if he could stop it.

“I have a division of light infantry, a brigade of armor and a brigade of heavy infantry,” he said.  “I’ve spread them around the ground with an eye for surviving any kind of bombardment they might bring down on us.  And I’ve put the mobile ground defense artillery units where they can surprise the hostiles, and maybe hurt them during their landing.”

“Militia?”

“I’ve tried to get them under cover and dispersed as well,” said the General, a frown on his face.  “Some of their commanders will not listen to reason and insist on holding the cities.  And I don’t have time to arrest them and try to make their troops do what I want them to.  They’ll just have to do as well as they can, and maybe they’ll be a bit of a distraction.”

“What about civilians?  Are they protected?”

“We’re trying to move most of them into the wilderness camps,” said the General, the frown turning into a scowl.  “Some of the fools insist on going into the under city shelters though, and I’m not going to fight with them if they want to be trapped like rodents in the ground.”

“Like you will be General?” she said with a smile.  The planetary command center was buried under ten kilometers of rock and a hundred meters of armor.  But she knew it was still a target.

“No ma’am, Countess,” said the man, his New Texas drawl coming to the forefront.  “I plan to evacuate when they are an hour out from bombardment range.  I believe I can fight the battle better out there with my men than trapped in here.  We’ll keep this bunker powered up, and maybe draw some fire as a diversion.”

“Sounds like a good plan, General,” she said, nodding her head.  “I’m sorry you had this burden put on you.  The Lt. General that is supposed to command the system should be here later today.  But I’m afraid he will not be here in time.”

“No problem, Countess,” said the man, smiling.  “When I made general’s rank I was told there might be days like this. I can just pray to God that we all make it through.”

“Then pray for me, General,” she replied, smiling.  “To whatever God you see fit.  Gonzalez out.”

“Hyper translations,” called a voice over the com systems.  “Multiple translation emissions at the hyper limit.”

Chapter 10

I have yet to see any problem, however complicated, which, when looked at in the right way did not become still more complicated.  Poul Anderson.

Pod Leader Klesshakendriakka looked at the tactical display while he fought off the nausea of translation.  The display was constantly changing as new information came in from the leading ships of the pod of scouts.  Solid red triangles indicated known enemy installations.  Hollow triangles gave the locations of probables.  As the huge hexaped watched two of the hollow triangles blinked and turned solid, numbers appearing under them, a probable turned to a known.

“The system is alive with emissions,” said the Subcommander who was in charge of the pod’s tactical systems.  “I have electromagnetics across the spectrum.  From the third planet, two asteroid belts and several of the outer moons.  And a large number of what have to be space vessels.”

“What about orbiting the planet?” growled the pod leader, looking at that living world on the holo viewer.  “That is our primary concern.  Not the damned moons or belts.”

“There are three large energy emissions in orbit,” said the Subcommander, returning his stare as one of the upper nobility were wont to, not fearing the wrath of a military superior but social inferior.  “Probably fortresses.  The scopes have located and cataloged them by visible spectrum.  There also may be a couple of civilian docks as well.”

The tactical display changed to an orbiting platform.  The pod leader did not know what the structures on the outside of the platform signified, but was sure that some were weapons systems.  And some of the holes in the structure had to be missile tubes.  The platform itself was very large, and to lend it scale there was a large warship in the foreground.  Of course this vid was showing what had been going on near the station almost four hours before, the light from that time period just reaching this area at the hyper limit.

“We also have a number of large vessels in orbit,” said the Subcommander, pointing out what the pod leader already knew.  “And some, from their vectors, must have left the vicinity of the planet and are heading out in our direction.  So they must have started scrambling as soon as our hyper emissions were detected.”

“And the information is over four hours old,” growled the pod leader, returning to his earlier thought.  “Conditions could have changed drastically since those light waves left the vicinity of the planet.  By the hells they must have changed somewhat.  They must have known we were coming for two or three hours before we popped out of hyper.”  And that’s one of the big tactical problems, thought the pod leader, and not one that we’re likely to solve any time in the near future.  No way to sneak up on anyone from hyper.  And it takes too damned long to make a trip in from interstellar into a system in sublight.

“We know that they have probably not manufactured additional fortifications,” said the Subcommander, showing his teeth in a grin.  “And they have probably not miraculously teleported more warships into the system.”

What a sarcastic ass, thought the pod leader, glaring at the Subcommander.  He gave a head shake of resignation.  “Pulse all active sensors at the inner system.  Full sweep, since they already know that we’re here.”

“Need I remind the pod leader that this will tell them what we are when they receive those sensor pulses.”

“And need I remind you that light waves will have told them that by that time,” replied the pod leader.  “No matter our stealth capabilities.

“Ship master,” called the pod leader to another male sitting at a panel to his front.  “Move us into the system toward the planet.  Two hundred and seventy gravities.  And signal the rest of the Pod to keep formation.

“We will go in and fight for our information,” he said to the Subcommander.  “So that the group leader will have the best data to judge by.

“Prepare to fire long range on those orbital targets,” the pod leader ordered the Subcommander.  “Let’s stir this hive up a little and see how they react.”

A pair of long range missiles left the bow of the ship, accelerating at eight thousand gravities.  Each of the other seven ships in the pod fired a pair as well.  The sixteen missiles headed in system, tracking their targets by the four hour old emissions.  Four of the missiles were hard coded to attack the orbital stations.  The other twelve were coded to track on those stations and veer off on targets of opportunity as they presented themselves.  If those targets were large enough to warrant an attack.

And may first blood go to us, he thought, as his ships oriented to the planet and surged ahead.  The two other pods of the scout force moved at angled vectors to their pod.  Anticipation was high as the pack moved in for the kill.

*     *     *

The sixteen groups of forty-eight fighters had matched velocities and vectors by the time the Ca’cadasan scouts had translated at the edge of the system.  Their sensors had given them a direction and basic distance to the alien ships as they had left hyper VII and entered N-space with the flood of energy they had released from a smooth transition.  It was enough to get them started in the right direction.  And the fighters had not had the problem of giving themselves away by hyper emissions.

“Let’s get this show moving,” said Captain Jessica Frazier, seated in her command chair on the small bridge of an attack fighter.  She was the senior flight officer in the system, in charge of the station based fighters.  Normally she would command the fighters from a distance.  But the distance was too great for any kind of control, and it was thought that she should be on the scene to make the decisions that might start, or prevent, a war.  She thought the logic sound, even though she had thought her days of leading fighter groups from the front were over.

The pilot nodded and punched in his commands on the flight board.  The com officer sent the signal to the rest of the craft that set them in motion.  Soon all of the fighters and attack craft were in motion toward their target.

“Keep it down to seven hundred gravities,” she reminded pilot and com.  “We don’t want to give our capabilities away too soon.”

Both officers nodded.  The Captain switched her attention back to the tactical display that she had in her head.  Four groups of six hundred ton space fighters led the formation, in four V shaped groupings two light seconds apart, between two and three light seconds ahead of the main body.  Each of the groups of forty-eight fighters were led by a pair of fighters configured for recon, with attached sensor pods and four probes in place of the internally carried antiship missiles.  The other fighters carried said antiship missiles in their internal magazines.

The other twelve groups followed, made up of mostly fighters, with eight squadrons of one thousand ton attack fighters carrying four of the more powerful Mark XII antiship missiles, as well as a pair of decoys.  There were also eight attack birds configured as command and electronic warfare platforms, with more sensor, jamming and decoy equipment on board.  Frazier’s bird was one of those.

“Background static is increasing,” called out the sensor officer.  “Everyone is trying to keep everyone else from getting a good look.  We’re compensating so far.”

“And adding our own static to the mix.” said Frazier.  “And it’s going to get worse.  Much worse, when all those transmissions overlap.”

The seven hundred and sixty-eight fighters accelerated toward the targets.  She knew that two squadrons of ten thousand ton fast attack craft, nineteen ships in all, were also heading toward the target on different vectors.  They would provide a real punch if they could get their missiles through.

“Keep us steady and on target,” she told her pilot, looking at tactical again.  “We’ll just see how they react when they see us.”

*     *     *

A cloud had hung over courier ship HLC-12305 on the entire voyage out from Sector HQ.  While not told the nature of their priority message, some of the crew had heard the news over the net before leaving the system.  The Emperor and his two oldest sons were dead.  They were on the way to the system where the third son’s ship was supposed to be.  It didn’t take genius to guess what the priority message might be.  And it didn’t take a psychologist to figure that the message would not be welcomed by the young man it was intended for, out on the frontier of the Empire.

CPO Lysander Popodopolis sat in the tiny bridge of the twelve thousand ton vessel, watching the interplay of shades of red on the viewer that looked out over the dimension of Hyper VII.  The ship was decelerating to translation point.  The pilot and navigator sat to his front checking their panels, while the com/sensor tech sat to his left looking over her instruments.

Lysander looked over at the sensor tech as she made a sound in her throat.

“Something interesting, Melissa?” he asked.

“Maybe something, Chief,” she answered, looking back at him.  “I’m getting a lot of grav waves coming into the sensors.  Hyper VII to n-space translations all over the place.”

“Can you identify who’s making them?”

“I’m not sure, Chief.  But the frequencies are like nothing I’ve ever seen.  I’m running them through the comp right now to see if I can come up with a match.”

Not that she’s got the skills of a chief tech on a destroyer, he thought, or she wouldn’t be here.  He was sure she would be able to tell known from unknown though, especially with the help of the ship’s comp.  He reached over and punched a panel on the arm of his chair.

“This is an alert situation,” he called over the com.  “Everybody get to your duty stations and be prepared for anything.  We may be entering a hot zone.”

He leaned back in his chair as the last bridge crewman came in, jumping into the tactical seat.  It entered his mind to increase the decel to the max and come up short of the hyper limit.  Then they could stay in VII and head back to sector.  But he would never live it down if it turned out to be nothing but a training exercise in the system ahead.  And he had a priority message deliver.  And that meant at all costs.

“Weapons ready,” said the tactical tech, looking up from his boards.

Two twenty gigawatt lasers and some point defense autocannon, thought the CPO as he looked at the sensor data.  Maybe enough to get them back into hyper.  Maybe not.  Depended on what waited for them in the system.

“Bring us out a few light minutes further than normal, McMurty,” he said to the helm.  “Just in case we have to duck back in and take off before we run out of room and hit the limit.”

The helmswoman nodded her head and glanced over at the navigator.

I can always send the message in and get the hell out, thought Popodopolis.  Then they can’t say I didn’t fulfill the mission parameters.

He leaned back in his chair with a tight humorless smile and followed the tac data as they continued toward the system.

*     *     *

“You know what this is about sir?” asked CPO First Jana Gorbachev as she slid into the lift just before the doors closed.

“The system is under attack,” said Sean, looking over the tactical data through his link with the battleship’s tactical computer.

“So why the yellow alert?” asked the confused NCO.  “I mean, if we’re under attack and all.”

“Because they are more four light hours away,” said the officer, checking the schematic again.  “Right now we’re moving to a rendezvous point with the rest of the task group.’

The lift started moving, heading toward the bow of the ship, sliding through layers of the forward central capsule that contained their quarters, mess facilities and recreation decks.  It picked up speed quickly, as shown by the movement of the digital indicator beside the door.  There of course was no feeling of motion, the lift’s inertial compensators saw to that.

A warning light blinked on the indicator as they left the heavily shielded capsule and moved out into the working area of the ship.  Sean looked down to his breast and checked the radiation badge, making sure it was a new one.  He didn’t really worry so much about extra rads.  He and Gorbachev were both in the light armor that was required to work in the weapons and engineering spaces of the ship, and both had more than enough nanites in their systems to handle even a killing dose.  But people survived in space by taking advantage of all the redundant systems.  That had been drilled into him at Peal Island, and Captain Ngano insisted on adhering to those operating regs on his vessel, with no exceptions.

“I think you’re doing fine, sir,” said the NCO, breaking into the Prince’s thoughts.

“Huh,” he said, wondering what she was talking about while taking in her fine featured face.  And you are very fine, he thought, dismissing it as soon as it came.  He had no business thinking that about a subordinate, and one that wasn’t even an officer or a noble.

“I said you are doing fine, sir,” she repeated, looking him in the eyes.  He felt a thrill run up his spine.  “You are a good officer.  And when the shit hits I am sure you will be OK.”

“Thank you, chief,” he replied, breaking eye contact before he said something he regretted.  He was saved by the doors opening, revealing the landing room for that deck.

“Let’s go,” said Gorbachev, leading the way across the landing and to the hatch leading to the ring control room.  The thick door opened as they approached, then closed behind them, and they walked the short distance to the next door, which opened directly onto the control room.

“Officer on deck,” yelled out the Petty Officer in charge of the duty watch.  Sean waved everyone back to their seats.

“Everyone check their battle armor?” he asked, and saw the negative shakes of all in return.  Of course not, he thought.  They just got an alert, and they’re checking the systems first like good spacers.  “Go ahead and check it, then we’ll do a complete diagnostic on the system.”

That set everyone into motion, people moving to their personal battle armor cubbies and opening them, giving them an eyeball check, then a diagnostic.  All were supposed to be fully charged and repaired in the cubbies, like most equipment aboard.  And like most equipment aboard a warship things could go wrong with automated repair and maintenance systems, so it was best to check everything at intervals.  And this seemed like a good time, while they had it.

More of the crew came in and Sean set them to checking armor while he sent those who had completed that task to checking the emitters.  As far as he knew they were all in great shape, even the one that had been giving them trouble.

“How are the power matrixes?” asked the Prince of his chief NCO when she made it to her station.

“We have fifty percent charge on all matrixes,” she said, looking over the graphs that came on holo display.

Just where they’re supposed to be while we’re sitting in system, thought the Prince, leaning over her shoulder to see the graphs.  “Go ahead and bring them up to ninety percent.  We’ll bring them up to full when we are expecting action.”

“Yes, sir,” said Gorbachev, setting the charge to power up the storage cells.

There were over four hundred thousand tons of the crystal storage matrixes on board Sergiov, and sometimes that didn’t seem like enough.  They were level three, same as those used on infantry weapons, and a compromise between safety and power storage.  Level one and two were much safer, but also much weaker.  And four was used for explosive devices, like infantry grenades, and was very unstable.  And no one wanted four hundred thousand tons of unstable crystalline matrix on board a warship.

After all the checking was done, Sean linked into the system to see if any orders had come down.  They had.

“Everyone can stand down besides the duty crew,” said Sean to his senior NCO.  “Get some food and rest, then we’ll send the duty crew to get some.”

“Yes, sir,” said the NCO, nodding her head.

“And Chief Gorbachev,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.  “There’s no one I would rather have on my team than you and these men and women.”

“Yes, sir,” said the chief, smiling, then turning to go back to the lift and some down time, while the Prince took his place back at his station and made sure for the fourth time that everything was OK.

Chapter 11

I don't believe in an afterlife, so I don't have to spend my whole life fearing hell, or fearing heaven even more. For whatever the tortures of hell, I think the boredom of heaven would be even worse.  Isaac Asimov

“We have translations,” came the voice over the com circuit.

Captain Laura Montenegro sat up in her chair and pushed away from the desk where she had been working on requisitions.  She was the manning the system commander slot for the Sestius System while Commodore Chung was out touring the asteroid processing facility which had opened for operation last week.  Which put him over forty-five light minutes away from the base and basically unable to command the planetary defense system.

“Montenegro here,” she said over her com link as she ran from her office toward the lift.  “What do you have?”

“Multiple translations from Hyper VII,” answered the tactical officer.  “Don’t know where they came from, but we didn’t pick them up until they came into n-space.”

Damn, she thought, running into a waiting lift.  The doors closed behind her and the lift started up.  They did have to come in while the main sensor array was being replaced.  Normally they should have picked up the incoming ships hours before they entered n-space.  The outer system buoys were due to be emplaced next week.  There were no hyper capable ships in system to use their own sensors.  And the station’s was out as a new and improved system was being put in.  Of course old, unimproved and working would have been better than new, improved and not functioning.

And all of the nonhyper defense ships are out in the outer system to provide early warning, she thought with a grimace.  It was very likely that their light speed com transmissions were on their way into the inner system right now.  Maybe to arrive any minute.  But as they didn’t have hyperdrives they lacked the ability to send gravity wave code transmissions, which made them pretty damned worthless.

The Captain came out of the lift at a run, down the corridor seventy meters to the command center.  The Marine sentry saluted as she hit the door panel with her open palm, keying the entry with her prints and genetic code.

“What do we have?” she shouted as she ran into the control room.  A trio of officers and a half dozen enlisted personnel sat their stations, while the holo tank blazed with red dots in the outer system.  They knew better than to jump to attention in the midst of an emergency.

“We have translation of ten vessels massing between destroyers and light cruisers,” said the duty officer, a dark skinned Lt. Commander rising from the command seat to make way for her.  She nodded her thanks as she sank into the chair and he stood near.

“Do we know whose vessels, Lt. Commander Mauhana?” she asked, looking at the system schematic.  The red dots were almost on top of the last reported position of their one system defense destroyer.  The three corvettes were scattered along the perimeter of the system.  Maybe they would be able to get back to the inner system to do some good.  And maybe not.

“No idea, ma’am,” said the Commander.  “We just know they’re not anything we’re familiar with.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, the thought striking her.  “How are we getting this information without our sensor array?”

“A freighter in orbit picked them up and is transmitting to us,” said the Commander.  “Their Captain is still trying to decide whether to run for it or take the crew down to the planet.”

Damned tramp freighter sensors are the best we can do, thought the Captain.  We’ve got to do better than that.

“How long till the sensor array is online?”

“At least four hours, ma’am,” said a tech from his station.

“We’re getting another feed from the freighter ma’am,” called the sensor tech.  “They report hyper emissions approaching the system in the VII band.  At least four large objects.”

And all they had to fight at least fourteen unknown ships were three out of place corvettes and a Class IV orbital fort.  At thirty-five million tons they were the smallest fortifications in the Imperial inventory.  And the fighters.

“Contact ground station,” she ordered, a plan forming in her mind.  “Have that group of space fighters launch to orbit and report here.”

“Aye, ma’am,” said the com tech, sending the orders out.

That’s gives me eighty total fighters to launch a strike with, she thought, along with four fast attack craft. And they won’t be able to see real time into the system.  So where to hide them where they’ll do the most good when the time comes.

*     *     *

In the early morning alarms and sirens were going off over the cityscape of Willoughby.  After a few minutes sleepy citizens were rushing about, grabbing children and supplies.  Many headed toward the wilderness and prearranged sanctuaries, while others crowded into the underground shelters that were placed for their protection.

The regular troops and Marines ran to their armories and gathered weapons and equipment, then headed for their assembly points.  Most of the militia went to their armories as well, got their equipment and weapons, and headed out.  About two thirds of them actually reported to their units.  The rest reported to their families and led them to sanctuaries and hiding places.  They would worry about legal repercussions on another day.

On his farm six hundred kilometers from Willoughby, near the Regional Capital of Frederick, Cornelius Walborski woke as the house alarm went off.  He reached for the clock, sleep clouding his mind, before realizing that it wasn’t the clock.  He opened his eyes and saw that it was only a little after three AM.  He noticed that there were sirens in the distance and the dogs, his and the neighbors, were barking up a storm.

“What is it?” asked Katlyn as she struggled to wake.

“Damned colony wide alarm,” he said as he attempted to link into the net.

Her eyes opened wide and she sat up straight in bed.

“Are we under attack?” she asked, looking around the now lighted room.  One of the dogs, the inside guardian for the night, jumped into the bed and moved around anxiously, tail wagging.

“I don’t know,” he said, linking to the information.  “It’s a real alert though.  Keeps repeating on the net that it isn’t a drill.  I guess I had better go in and see what’s happening.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Get in the house shelter,” he said, looking into her frightened eyes and grasping her arms.  “Take the guns and the dogs down there with you, and as many of the cats as you can round up.  And wait until I send you a message on what to do next.  But sit tight.  It’s probably just a damned drill of some sort, no matter what the net is saying.”

Cornelius dressed quickly, belted on a sidearm and walked to the door.  Katlyn met him there, wrapped her arms around him, and put her lips to his.

“Be careful,” she said, breaking the connection with his mouth and keeping her arms around his shoulders.  “And come back to me.”

“I’ll be back,” he agreed with a strained smile.  “You stay under cover until you hear from me.  OK.”

She nodded her head and he went out the door.  He ordered a pair of the dogs that followed him to stay, and he got on his cycle and started the engine.  Looking to the west he could see Frederick lit up in the distant night.  Spotlights shone into the clouds, giving a visual alarm to those who might not actually receive the auditory signals.

The armory at the village was crowded, even though he was one of the first fifty men there.  Many had brought along family members who were looking for news.  The new First Sergeant, who always seemed to be there first even when he was a Platoon Sergeant, had no answers for them and was telling wives and children to go back home.  The men entered the armory and headed below ground to collect their weapons and equipment.

“What’s going on Top?” asked Walborski as he walked to the entrance of the armory bunker.

“Do I look like a fucking newsy, Walborski,” said the First Sergeant, glaring at him.  “Get your ass in there and draw your shit.”

“Yes sir, First Sergeant,” said Walborski, giving the man a salute and hurrying down the steps.

Walborski saw his squad leader in the armory proper, standing alongside the armorer who was handing the troopers their rifles and other weapons, as well as ammunition and power packs.

“Sergeant Crowder,” said Cornelius, stopping in front of the NCO.  “What’s going on?  Is it another damned drill?”

“Not what the net’s saying,” said the Sergeant, looking at the Private.  “Didn’t you link in before coming down?”

“I did just that, Sergeant,” said Walborski, nodding his head.  “But I don’t know what to believe on that thing sometimes.”

“Well believe this one, Private,” said the Sergeant.  “We have incoming hostiles.  Unknown hostiles.  Heading into the system.  They should be here in about twenty hours if they turn over and decel for insertion.  A lot sooner if they just blow by and shoot at us.”

“And what good are we going to be if they do that?” asked another Private, taking his rifle from the armorer and checking to make sure it was right.

Well,” said Crowder, sneering at the Private, “if you survive the kinetic weapons’ hits, I guess you can help the other survivors.  And pray that someone comes out here and bails our asses out of this mess before we run out of consumables.”

“Consumables?” asked Walborski, taking the rifle that Crowder was holding out to him and looking at it quickly to make sure that it was his.

“Yeah,” said the Sergeant, leaning on the counter between him and the Privates.  “If they hit us really hard it could bring down every structure on the planet.  Cave in the underground shelters.  Even tear half the atmosphere off this world, and poison the rest.”

“Damn,” said Walborski, accepting a full load of ammo, power packs and grenades from Crowder’s assistant.  “So we’ve got to hope they want to come down here and kill us up close.”

“Only way we’re going to get some of them,” said the Sergeant.  “Now you boys need to be moving off and getting into your gear.  I’ve got other customers waiting.”

Cornelius nodded as he moved off.  He dodged a couple of troopers already in full equipment, making his way to his platoon’s lockers.  There were a half dozen other men and a couple of women already in there, pulling off their civvies and putting on their combat gear.  Walborski opened his locker with a hand print and started pulling his clothes off.

“We’re just cannon fodder,” said Corporal Sheila McMurty, pulling on her protective skin suit.  The suit adjusted itself to her body in a moment.

“Cannon fodder?” asked Cornelius, pulling off his undergarments and grabbing his own skin suit.  The fabric would provide some ballistic and radiation protection, as well as shelter from the elements.  He put one leg into the suit and pulled it up.

“Yeah,” she said, sitting and pulling a boot onto her left foot.  “We’re going to be nothing but targets.  Drawing fire so the real soldiers know what to shoot at.  Just you wait and see.”

She cinched the boots tight while Walborski pulled his body into the loose fitting garmet.  The hood went on last.  He made sure everything was in place, then pressed the seal on the front of the suit closed.  As it sealed the suit tightened, adhering to his shape like a second skin.

“You’re exaggerating, Corporal,” said another Private, pulling on his armored vest and checking the fastenings.  “They’re going to take it on the chin.  Just like us.”

“Sounds like everyone’s about to get it,” said Walborski, sitting to put his own boots on.  He knew that the regulars had better suits and armor than the militia.  His setup was at least a half century behind theirs in capability.  But from what he had heard a big foot was headed their way to stomp them.  And better equipment would only allow an extension to the misery.

“That’s about the truth of the matter,” said the Corporal, grabbing her helmet and placing it on her head.  “I didn’t really think about this part of it when I came out here.  Or when I volunteered for the militia.”

“At least you got to volunteer,” said Walborski, pulling on the rest of his kit.  He knew it weighed about thirty-five kilos, not counting his weapon.

“Get a move on troops,” yelled the acting First Sergeant, walking by their platoon ready room.  “We don’t want to keep those bastards waiting for us, now do we?”

Cornelius thought for a moment before he started to file out of the room with the rest of the platoon to form up outside.  Is he talking about the regular army?  Or the aliens coming to kill us?

Cornelius walked out of the armory bunker and into the still dark morning.  He could see a sliver of light on the horizon as daybreak approached.  His platoon was forming up, and he went into his place in his squad line.  There were still some empty spaces there, and he wondered if they were going to show up at all.  He knew that some of the men would have run.  Stayed with their families and not put their lives on the line.

Too late now, he thought.  He had reported in and drawn his equipment.  His ass was the Empire’s at the moment.  Unless he could look for his first chance to run, when all the hell broke loose.

*     *     *

Dr. Jennifer Conway heard the alarm through the uplink of her implant.  Moments later it was followed by an urgent call on her personal com.  Unfortunately she was up to her arms in the belly of a mom undergoing a cesarean birth.  It was amazing, with all the genetic corrections humanity had made to itself over the years, how babies still did not cooperate on how they positioned themselves in a mom’s womb.

“We’re almost done,” she said, pulling the baby from the opening she had made.  She severed the umbilicus with a laser scalpel, and handed the wet form to one of the waiting women of the freehold.  The baby started crying as he opened his lungs, the lusty cry that a doc wanted to hear after a birth.  She took a quick glance at the baby and it looked good.  The woman dried the baby off and placed him in the assessment/care unit that the doctor had brought with her.  In it the baby would undergo a complete physical scan, down to the genetic level.

“Let me get you closed up here and we’ll be done,” she said to the sedated but conscious mom.  Using self-dissolving staples and the laser, set to close the wounds, she sutured the opening, injecting nanites into the closures.  The microscopic robots would repair the damage she had done, so that in a week or so it would be as if the wound was never made, with no scarring.

When she was done she checked on the baby, who turned out to be almost perfectly healthy.  Except you didn’t have the sense to stay in the proper orientation, she thought, as she looked at the worried patriarch of the freehold entering the birthing room.

“Is something wrong?” she asked Montano Montero, the head of the extended family that had decided they needed to live far from what passed for civilization on the frontier world.

“There is an alert on the net,” said the short, swarthy skinned man, nodding his head.

“I picked up some kind of alarm,” she said, looking at the other people in the next room through the doorway.  Several of the men wore sidearms, and one had a military assault rifle in his hands.  “What’s going on?”

“We’re being invaded,” said the head of the freehold, worry creasing his brow.  “A task force of unknowns has entered the system and is moving toward the planet.”

“Oh god,” she said, feeling her face flush.  “Do we know they are hostile?”

“They’ve not fired on us yet,” said another man, by his looks a son of the freeholder.  “Or at least we haven’t picked up any indication that they’ve fired on anything human, from four light hours out.  But the bet is that they’re hostile since there are a dozen large vessels driving in, with more still in Hyper VII.”

“Hyper VII?”

“Yeah,” answered the younger man.  Conversation rose and fell in the living room behind him as more residents of the community entered.  “They’re advanced alright.  At least as technically advanced as we are.”

“I suggest you stay with us, doctor,” said the elder Montero.  “We have plenty of cached supplies, and a whole wilderness to hide in.  You’ll be safer with us than in the city.”

“But they’ll probably need me more in the city,” she replied, thinking of the wounded and dying that might soon be flooding the hospital.

“It’s your call, doctor,” said the man.  “But you’re welcome to stay with us.”

“Let me get on the com link for a minute, Mr. Montero,” she said.  “And I want to check on your new grandson at least one more time.”

The man nodded his head and turned away, looking as if he was walking with the weight of the world on his shoulders.  A new little one to worry about, thought the doctor.  Not the best time to come into the Galaxy.  But he’d had no choice, and now he was here, for better or for worse.

With a thought Jennifer tapped into the com link.  There was one blinking message marked the red of urgent, as well as a few others that were the yellow of routine.  She tapped into the urgent message first and was relieved when the face and voice of the most important person on the planet came into her mind.

“Get in touch with me as soon as you can, Jen,” said Captain Glen McKinnon, his brow furrowed.  “All shit is coming down here and I’m having to get my command ready.  By the time you get this message I’m sure you will know probably as much as I do about what’s going on.  But please contact me.”

Jennifer put through the call immediately as the message ended.  She waited for a couple of minutes while a waiting signal warbled.  She realized that the system was probably carrying more traffic right now than it was used to.  Even with the built in reserve.  Finally the signal changed, and the blue eyes she loved came into her mind.

“You’re safe,” he said as soon as the connection was completed.

“I’m OK,” she said, smiling.  “I just had to help a little guy out of the womb so he could greet our invaders.”

“Where are you?”

“About a thousand kilometers north of Frederick,” she replied, sending him a map image from the net.  “I think I’m going to head back to town, though I’ve been offered sanctuary here at the freehold.”

“I almost wish you would stay there,” he said, concern in his voice.  “You might be safer there if what we think is coming comes.”

“I could probably do more good at the hospital,” she said, thinking of her route.

“We’re going to evacuate the hospital into the underground shelter’s clinic,” said the Captain.  “And I don’t see the town or the shelter being very survivable.  I really wish you’d stay there.  For my peace of mind.”

“And what about my peace of mind, Glen McKinnon,” she said over the link, her temper flaring.  “While I’m safe in the wilderness you’re going to be fighting to keep a superior force from landing.”

“I’ll be in the best armor his Majesty can buy,” said the Marine with a projected smile.  “Surrounded by the roughest lads he could provide.  And you won’t be in armor.  So take them up on their hospitality, please.”

“OK,” she said, feeling her eyes tear up.  “But you promise to take care of yourself.”

“I will, hon,” he replied, sending his love over the circuit.  “I have to leave now.  That ape of a First Sergeant is signaling me.  Love you.”

“Love you too,” she replied, and the circuit unlinked.

She walked over to the baby who lay in the chamber, kept warm and monitored.  Everything looked normal, so she gently lifted the baby from the tank, wrapped him in a warm blanket, and brought him over to mom.

“Here you go,” she said to the exhausted mom, placing the baby on her chest.  Mom wrapped her arms around the child and smiled at the baby, then smiled up at the doctor.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the woman, looking back at the face of her baby.

Jennifer nodded and walked out of the room, seeking the patriarch.  She found him discussing defensive plans with his sons.  He turned his head and nodded at her as she walked up.

“I’ll be glad to take advantage of your hospitality, sir,” she said, glancing at the sons who had looks of relief on their faces.  They would have a physician in their midst, no matter what happened to them.  “My fiancé wants me to stay here and not risk the city.”

“Smart man, your man,” said Montero, smiling.  “Is he going to hole up somewhere too?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said with a grimace.  “He’s a Captain in the Marine battalion.  He has a company to lead.”

“Good boys, those Marines,” said Montero, rolling up a sleeve and showing off a mobile tattoo of the Imperial Marine Flag on his upper arm.  “I served forty years myself.  Got up to first sergeant.  If anyone can handle an invasion they can.”

Conway nodded, pasting a smile on her face to keep from crying.  But even the best can be overrun and killed, she thought.  Please God let him get through this.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had prayed, or what she had prayed about.  But it seemed a good time to start back.

*     *     *

“Brigadier on the horn, Colonel,” said the Sergeant Major, walking into the command center.

Baggett looked up from the display, wondering why the division/regimental commander hadn’t commed him directly through the planetary net link.  Probably overloaded with traffic, he thought after a moment, nodding at the Sergeant Major.

“Good to see you sir,” said the Colonel as an image appeared on the large viewer.

“Everything shaking down alright, Sam,” said the Brigadier and planetary ground force commander.

“I wish we could have had a couple of more months to shake it, sir,” said the Colonel, frowning.  “Especially the militia.  We never got into training cycle with half of them, and they aren’t on the same page.”

“What do you mean, Sam?” asked Klein, turning in the view to grab something and scribble a signature on it.  The army continued to run on paperwork, thought Baggett.  Even in the face of an invasion.

“A battalion of them showed up ready for action,” said Baggett, grinning.  “Full gear, powered up.  They looked to stand around for hours until I had the Sergeant Major tell them it would be at least twelve hours before we had to worry about anything here.  And that only if the hostiles lob hypervelocity missiles at us from n-space entry.”

“Well, go gently on them, Sam,” said the scholarly looking man with the soft voice.  “They might be dying for us in the near future.”

Baggett nodded his head as he thought back on the plan they had worked out soon after landing here.  The militia would do most of the defending of fixed positions.  The work that would sustain the most casualties during a hostile planetary insertion.  His regulars, along with the Marines and the armor, were to form the reserve that would strike the enemy at the most opportune time.  Of course they didn’t tell the militia that they would be the cannon fodder of the Imperial forces.  But they would be that nonetheless.

“It’s also the terrain, sir,” complained the Colonel, pulling up a map on the holo tank that he knew the General would see over his viewer.  “I wish I had more time to scout the terrain and set my tertiary and quaternary positions.  Right now I will have to improvise my ass off.”

“Which, by the way,” said Klein, “you are very good at.  One of the best I have seen.  So I feel good about you improvising.  And remember that we never have enough of anything.  No commander ever has had enough troops, support or time.  We make do with what we have and try to do the best with it.  I don’t expect you to destroy this enemy single handedly.  I really don’t expect our whole force to do more than bleed them, and let them know they’ve been in a fight.  And that we will do.”

“Any word on clearing up the net on this ball?” said Baggett, bringing up his last major concern.

“It’s flooded right now so citizens and civil defense can get through with their messages,” said the General, nodding his head.  “We have to give them a few more hours of priority so they can get their affairs in order.  But in a couple of hours we’re going to lock the system down.  Ninety-five percent will be military traffic only.”

“That sounds good enough, sir,” said the Colonel.  “And I’ll have my command ready to hit them hard when they come down.”

“I know you will, Sam,” said Klein.  “I’m depending on you to make the Frederick area hot for our new friends.  Now I need to check on some of the other areas.  Signal me if you need anything, and I’ll try my best to give it to you.”

“I will, sir,” agreed Baggett, smiling at his commanding officer.  “I’ll scream like a stuck pig if I need help.”

The viewer went blank and Baggett got back to his paperwork.  He wondered if other men, on other worlds, had done the same while death made ready to besiege them.

Chapter 12

People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do.

Isaac Asimov

Lucille Yu was sitting at her desk, looking over the requisitions on the comp when the alert signal chimed her link.  What now, she thought, shaking her head and wishing they would go away.  When that didn’t happen she reluctantly connected to the call.

“There was a rupture in one of the negative matter storage tanks,” said the voice of a worker she didn’t recognize.  She looked him up on her link and sighed.  Todd Pertrov, Bob Landry’s assistant.  Yu switched over on her link and looked at the tank in question, a large upright globe that contained the charged negative matter within a vacuum using a magnetic field to keep it contact with the skin of the tank.  But now the globe was missing a good portion of one side, the matter cancelled by its counterpart.

Goddamn, thought Yu, looking over the damage to the wall that was adjacent to the tank, with a wide hole eaten through its meter thick metal.  It really didn’t matter what the material was made of, diamond, neutronium, whatever, the negative matter would cancel it.

“How much negative matter did we lose?” she asked the young man, cringing as she waited for the number.

“About eight tons,” said the young engineer, shaking his head, his expression that of a man who looked like he was about to cry.

“That much,” said Lucille, shaking her head.  Enough to make a hundred passenger gates, or almost enough for a ship gate.

“That’s not the worst of it,” said the man, his voice cracking.

“What could be worse?” said Lucille, staring at the man’s face on the holo screen.

“Chief Engineer Landry was on site when the rupture occurred,” said the man, his voice cracking again as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Was he hurt?” asked Yu, afraid of the answer.

“He’s gone,” said the Engineer, shaking his head.

“Gone?” asked Lucille, feeling her heart sink.  She brought up the vid from the link, her breath catching in her throat as she watched the side of the tank rupture and Landry get caught in the stream of negative matter that washed over him and made him cease to exist.  Not even an atom of the man was left, and Lucille, who was a believer, wondered in horror if there was even anything left of the man’s soul.  There has to be, she thought, looking down at the table.  God wouldn’t make a spirit that could be destroyed by anything, would he?

“There will of course be a service for Chief Engineer Landry,” said Lucille, looking up at the man.  “We’ll look at what we have to do to repair the damage afterwards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the engineer with a nod.  “I was hoping you would say that.  Chief Landry always said you were a good boss, and a good woman.”

Lucille felt her throat catch once more, thinking of the subordinate who thought so highly of her.  Gone forever, as if he had never been.  No, she thought, not that.  He would live in the memories of those who worked with him, and in the history of this place.

“Would you say some words at the ceremony, ma’am?” asked the engineer, tears now freely flowing down his cheeks.

“Of course,” she replied, nodding her head.  “Please let me know when it will happen and I will be there.”

The man nodded and the screen went off.  Lucille put her face in her hands, wondering what else could happen.  The Director and so many of my friends, the Emperor and his family, and now this.  The Donut was not supposed to be a hazardous duty station, unlike The Other Universe Project.  But it was becoming one.

Lucille pulled herself together after that thought and brought her paperwork back up.  She knew she had to get in touch with Admiral Lenkowski and let him know that they would fall short on the promised production.  If he can’t handle it, then fuck him, she thought, slamming a hand on the desk.  I need to get out of here for a bit, was the next thought.  The work could wait.

*     *     *

Sean sat at his station in the control room of the B ring of HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II, feeling just a little bit foolish.  The station was manned and ready, full crew at posts, as the ship coasted out system, waiting for the other ships to form up on her and the other nine battleships that formed the nucleus of the force.  The nucleus so far, as another eight battleships and all of the other vessels were in the process of matching vectors and velocities before heading toward the presumed hostile force.

We could be here for a day with nothing happening, he thought, looking around the control center at the techs.  The system was on alert, a presumed hostile force on the way in.  As far as he could tell the crew could still be on one third on two thirds off rotating watch.  But the regulations of the Fleet called for a warship to be on war footing when going to meet an enemy.

“You seem very quiet, sir,” said CPO Gorbachev from her station.

“I’m bored to death,” said the Prince, looking over at her.  “I may be on my way to an engagement that will kill me.  But good God, I am bored to death.”

“It will get hectic enough later, sir,” said the NCO, standing up from her panel and coming over to his station.  “When we close things will happen way too fast.”

“This reminds me of the sailing days,” he said, looking up at her.  Seeing her blank expression he explained.  “Something we learned about in the academy.  On old earth, before powered propulsion of watercraft, they used to fight with sailing vessels.  You would see the enemy by the tops of his sails coming over the horizon.  And it might be hours before he was close enough to fire on.  Maybe even days if you were chasing him.”

“But when he got within range wasn’t there a lot of firing at each other,” she said, nodding.  “And a lot of time to fire.  I think that’s the main difference here, sir.  When they get close we will both be going at a high fraction of c.  That’s what I mean as too fast and furious.”

“This is the Captain speaking,” came the command over the com.  “All station send half crews to refreshments.  Condition amber.”

“So we can send half the crew to eat,” said the Lieutenant.  “You go ahead and go, ensign,” he ordered the other officer.  “You too, chief.  I want you on station while I’m gone.  Take what enlisted personnel you want with you.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, looking over the techs and deciding who should go first.  “We’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he said, leaning back in his accel couch and trying to get comfortable in the bulky outer hull armor.  “I’m going to close my eyes and take a nap while I can.”

At least the Captain agreed to let me come back to my duty station, before the shit hit the fan.  It would have been even more boring to be confined to his cabin while the action was occurring out in the working areas.  He leaned back in his couch, closed his eyes, and set his implant to a light sleep, knowing that any alert over the net would wake him instantly and completely.

*     *     *

“We’re at point three three c, ma’am,” said the navigation officer.

Captain Jessica Frazier nodded her head and checked the tactical display.  They had traveled a little over seven hundred million kilometers out from the planet in four hours.  About forty light minutes.  They were still waiting for the radar and lidar returns on the hostiles that were moving into system.  Not her own actives.  The inner system had sent out waves of directed energy to target the enemy ships.  But it would still be a four hour wait for the inner system, three hours for her command, to see some of that energy reflected back.  Hopefully.

They were picking up the infrared emissions of the hostiles, glowing like small stars as they generated large quantities of energy to power their vessels.  She was depending on the radiation flowing out from the star to mask her seven hundred sixty eight tiny points of light.  She would find out eventually if that was something she should depend on.

"Ma'am," called the com officer a second before the craft’s own sensors reacted.  "Recon birds picking up incoming on passives.  They report missile tracking radar coming in from the port side, fifteen degrees."

"Tell the recon birds to paint them with tight beam sensors," she told the com officer.  "I want to know as much as I can about what's coming."

"Won’t that give our position away, ma'am," said the navigator over his shoulder.

"I hope not," she said, looking at her plot.  The thirty objects were glowing with infrared. Not enough to be boosting at full power.  And not giving up enough information to satisfy her curiosity.  "I'm hoping the angle of the beam won't give their launching ships any bleed.  And they should be low enough intensity that maybe they'll mistake them for the inner system tracking net."

After a couple of minutes the Captain began to wonder if the missiles were too well stealthed to get a range.  The silence dragged on.  She was getting some initial figures from infrared, but she didn’t know enough about their emissions to make a determination.  At four and a half minutes they got their first returns.

“Initial range forty million kilometers,” called out the sensor officer.  “Velocity two eighty two kilo klicks per second.”

“Point nine four c,” said the pilot, whistling.

The sensor readings stacked up on each other as the missiles raced the sensor returns.

“Seven seconds till match,” said the sensor officer.  “No variation of course.”

“They’re not targeting us,” said the pilot.

“No indication of infrared signature increase,” said the sensor officer.  “They’re not boosting for course change.  Passing us on the port.”

“What else can you tell me,” said the Captain as she watched the objects move by at a million kilometers to the port side.

“Mass, about one hundred fifty tons,” said the sensory officer.  “Their equivalent of a capital ship missile?”

“Time to target,” asked the Captain, “assuming planetary orbit.”

“Forty-one minutes,” said the navigator, looking at her board.

“Signal the inner system,” order the Captain.  “Send all of our information.  How long till they receive our transmission?”

“Thirty-nine minutes.”

“Damn,” said the Captain.  “Two minutes warning.  And they’ll probably pick them up on their own sensors before that.”

“Still might give them thirty seconds to a minute earlier warning than without,” said the navigator.

“That might be the difference,” said the Captain, praying to herself that it would.  Please give them the few extra seconds needed to take them all out.

“They’re traveling pretty damned fast, ma’am,” said the sensor officer as he transmitted the message.  “Might be the radiation front they’re generating by their speed will knock some of them out.  Or one might hit a micrometeor and blow out.”

She hoped that might happen.  The missiles were traveling at a high enough velocity that even particles standing still in space, if any such existed, would be hard radiation as far as the missiles were concerned.  Like spaceships they were generating a dual electromagnetic field, the first part putting a charge on anything in encountered to its front.  The second part of the field, of the opposite polarity, would shift the particle around the missile.  Of course, particles which already had a charge might be switched in charge and then get through.  But micrometeors were a different story.  They were much thicker in the inner system, which was one reason ships normally limited their velocity to point three c or less near the relatively crowded interior planets.

“We’ll just have to pray for the best,” she said, looking at the red dots receding from the plot.  “And hope maybe God relocates a convenient meteor storm where we need it most.”

*     *     *

“Troop transports have translated,” said the Subcommander tactical officer to pod leader Klesshakendriakka.  “The entire force is now in normal space.”

“And what do we have to report to them?” growled the pod leader, looking at the tactical display of the entire system before them.  There was the large red dot of the occupied planet, which they could assume still had the same orbital platforms that they had picked up on system entry.  There were several blinking hollow dots that might or might not be warships.  Sometimes there were the heat signatures of fusion plants.  Other times they faded from sight.  And there were the over seven hundred objects that had been traveling in their general direction, picked up from infrared.  Then they too faded.

“They are putting out so much static and garbage it’s very difficult to tell what is going on,” said the Subcommander.  “Their invisibility fields and holographs are very good.  Probably better than ours.”

“Yes,” agreed the pod leader with a snarl.  “They seem to be a level of difficulty above what we have encountered before.  But they are still inferior to us in most respects.”

May the God make it so, thought the pod leader as he tried to make the tactical display give up its secrets by force of will.

“Send to battle group commander what information we have,” said the pod leader to his subordinate.  “Caution him that we believe there is a strike on its way from the inner system.  We’re not sure what it comprises, but it seems to be big.”

“Aye Lord,” said the com officer.

The pod leader leaned back in his chair, stretching both sets of arms.  It was his command’s duty to find out the information that the battle group needed to permit forcing the enemy into an engagement to the advantage of the group.  And he had a feeling that they would need all the advantages they could gather against this foe.

*     *     *

“We have incoming missiles,” called out the tactical officer of the HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo.  Captain Maria Steinman looked up from the communiqué she was working on and glanced at the tactical that showed twelve objects quickly approaching.  Three seemed to be locked on to targets while the others were still veering back and forth as if seeking a kill.

“What’s coming?” she called out to tactical as she looked over the group disposition.  All of the ships were in travel formation and starting to accelerate toward the point chosen for the engagement, based on preliminary data.

“Twelve capital ship missiles,” called out the tactical officer.  “Velocity point nine four c.  Coming in from the port bow of the formation at thirty degrees from our vector.  Estimated range fifty million kilometers.”

The Captain knew that the figures quoted were based on the computer’s estimate of the missiles’ position.  And that was based on the travel time of the return signal versus the estimated velocity of the missiles.  So it was about two point nine minutes till they reached the outer periphery of the group.

“Order fleet to standard missile engagement,” she said to tactical.  “I’ll kick it up to the Admiral and get his confirmation.”

“This will give our position away,” said the tactical officer.  “Especially when there are gigaton warheads going off nearby.”

“Better that than being given away by warships exploding,” she said, cutting of the argument.  She instead sent out a call to the group commander that was answered immediately.

“Of course, Captain,” confirmed Admiral Sir Gunter Heinrich from his flag bridge.  “Do whatever is necessary to defend the fleet.  We’ll send the information through fleet circuit to the forts and tell them there is a quartet heading their way.”

“Thank you sir,” said the Captain.  “We’ll get the defenses up and knock them down.”

The circuit went dead and the Captain switched her attention back to the tactical plot where a quartet of destroyers were leaping ahead at three hundred gravities.  The smaller vessels were attempting to get between the capital ships and the capital ship killers, bringing their close in weapons to where they might do some good.

Be hell if they get in the way of one of those killers, she thought.  But it would be hell if one of the battleships, battle cruisers or heavy cruisers got hit too.  And that would be a hell of a bigger reduction of their fire power than having a tin can taken out.

Long range missiles were better weapons at long range than they were at shorter engagement ranges.  They moved much faster after building up velocity over many minutes to an hour, which made them more difficult to track.  They carried a hell of a lot of kinetic energy, normally many times the destructive power of their warheads.  And they carried countermeasures that made them deadly by the time their targets acquired them.  They were too much for a human mind to track and engage, even when linked to computers.  So the computers were given their orders and did their best without human interference to kill the missiles that were trying to kill their ships.

The tactical display blossomed with green arrows, as the destroyers and the next layer of vessels, the cruisers, fired a salvo of intermediate range interceptor missiles.  At eight thousand gravities the sixty-four counter missiles accelerated at seventy-eight kilometers per second.  Their target acquisition systems painted space ahead of them, picking up the ghosted images of the incoming missiles, whose own systems jammed and projected false information to draw the pursuers off.  About half the missiles fell for the false information, losing lock.  Some regained, then lost again.  As they neared their targets only about a dozen had a firm lock.  The rest detonated at their best guess closest approach, flooding a small section of space with radiation and debris.

The incoming missiles released decoys that boosted away at thousands of gees, beaming out the sensor frequencies of the incoming missiles, attempting to spoof the sensors of the counter missiles.  The missiles themselves absorbed as much of the sensor frequencies as they could, then rebroadcast at intervals intended to fool the interceptors as to the missiles’ range and velocity.  At the same time they moved in erratic, almost random patterns.  One of the interceptors broke through the jamming and false sensor images to detonate within thirty kilometers of its target, its twenty megaton warhead sending a blast of radiation and debris into the missile.  At the closing velocities two of the wave of penetrators hit the nose of the missile, converting to a heat jet that blasted into the incoming projectile and exploded its warhead.  Two of the other interceptors exploded within hundreds of kilometers.  They didn’t hit the incoming missiles with any penetrators, but their radiation and smaller particles were enough to destroy the sensor heads and motivational computers, sending the inert missiles on ballistic trajectories that would miss the fleet, and eventually take them out of the system without causing any damage.

The second wave of counter missiles had much the same result, destroying two of the incoming outright and disabling the targeting systems on two more.  The ships of the group were able to track their ballistic course and move out of the way.  The five remaining missiles continued to bore in, coming within the engagement envelope of the short range interceptors.

The short range interceptors were nothing more than one hundred kiloton bars with a sensor cluster on the nose, crystalline batteries and grabber units.  The batteries became the warheads if needed.  They were accelerated out of the tubes of the destroyers at twenty thousand gravities, switching on their own drives and piling on velocity at twelve thousand gravities.  With luck they would hit their randomly evading targets.  They had about ten seconds to boost and acquire.  There were no direct hits, but several proximity bursts took out two more of the missiles.

Laser rings on the two closest destroyers searched and tracked targets.  The closer the missiles came, the more accurate the light speed weapons became.  Mostly because they were targeting objects that could move from side to side before the beams arrived.  Each destroyer put out four beams from each of its four rings, sweeping them across the sky in a pattern that hoped to catch the missiles with enough energy to detonate their warheads.  One missile was seared by several beams, but not enough energy was imparted to do sufficient damage.  One was caught straight on for a thousandth of a second.  Enough time for the fifty gigawatts of a second beam to pump fifty megawatts of its energy into the nose of the missile.  The missile’s own electromag field shed some of the energy, while its reflective skin shed some more.  But the thirty megawatts that did get through was enough to blast into the nose and rupture the containment vessel of the antimatter warhead.  With a bright flare of light the missile disintegrated.

The last two missiles locked onto the closest destroyer and bored in, weaving around in a semi-random pattern, avoiding the beams.  At two seconds out the close in weapons fired on best guess best hope trajectories.  Hundreds of guns on the hulls of the destroyers fired tens of thousands of rounds each second.  The fifty millimeter projectiles were accelerated out of the guns at a hundred thousand gravities, then kicked in their own short range drives at twenty thousand gravities.  Their simple warheads burst at closest approach of the fast moving objects.

One missile took a dozen direct hits and scores of near miss bursts.  The missile flew apart as the warhead detonated a hundred thousand kilometers from the destroyer Katie McPoole.  About a ton of debris struck the destroyer in the nose, tearing off fifty meters of the length of the ship and killing a dozen crew.  The rest of the missile flew out into billions of fragments that scattered across the side of the fleet.  One piece penetrated the A ring of the light cruiser Augustus and disabled two of its emitters.  Another hit the superstructure of the battle cruiser Remke and put a hole through the outer skin, killing six crew and injuring another dozen.

The second missile took one direct hit behind the warhead section, along with several near misses.  The missile swerved sideways and struck along its length into the midsection of the McPoole, in the process of coming apart in the thousandth of a second between being struck and striking the destroyer.  Almost six thousand gigatons of kinetic energy transferred into the two hundred thousand ton warship.  Made of the toughest alloys the Empire could devise, with carbon nanofibers and a nanoliquid shock absorber between layers of armor, it was not enough.  The escort vessel shattered from the force that transmitted through it.  Every bulkhead, every panel, every deck plate warped and broke loose. Three hundred and eighty naval personnel and Marines were pulped, their battle armor suits crushed, as they were flung at thousands of gravities into the hard remains of the breaking up ship.  The five hundred megaton warhead of the missile was more of an afterthought that heated to vapor some of the ship that was already flying into pieces.

Within milliseconds the containment fields on all of the antimatter on the ship failed.  The tons of the volatile substance stored in reactor fuel cells, missile warheads and other key parts of the vessel contacted the matter of their containers.  Gigatons of explosive force pushed the ejecta away from the ship with increased speed.  A small star birthed for several seconds, then faded.  It caused minor damage to several of the ships in the fleet, whose hardened armored skins were proof against particles massing in the milligrams and less that impacted their hulls.

“They’re gone,” cried the helm, staring at the viewer that showed the shielded image of the explosion.

“And the enemy knows something of our position,” said the Captain.  “Not much, but more than they did.”

“The whole crew of that ship is dead ma’am,” said the helm, looking back over his shoulder at her with shock on his face.

“And there are liable to be a whole lot more joining them,” she said in a quiet voice.  “Before this day is over.  And they might include us.  They gave their lives to protect the striking power of the force.”

“Captain,” came a voice over her link as the Admiral contacted her privately.  “Maintain course to the agreed upon point.  Then stop us dead in space and prepare to execute the plan.”

“Yes sir,” she said, hoping that his plan would at least make their deaths meaningful.

Chapter 13

Battles, in these ages, are transacted by mechanism; with the slightest possible development of human individuality or spontaneity; men now even die, and kill one another, in an artificial manner.  Thomas Carlyle

“Missiles coming in, ma’am,” called out the voice of the fort’s tactical officer.  Vice Admiral The Countess Esmeralda Gonzalez had just received the message about the missiles from the fighter strike that was still heading out to meet the enemy.  Less than ten seconds later and they were picking them up on active sensors.  Four of the bastards.  Not that many, and definitely not enough to saturate the fortress’ defenses.  But at point nine four c hit on the planet could kill a million or more citizens, depending on where it landed.

“Fire long range interceptors,” she ordered, “and prepare close in systems to engage.”

As she said the words the station fired fifty of the long range interceptors at the incoming missiles, followed by another fifty just seconds later.

“Prepare to move the station, ma’am?” asked the tactical officer in a hopeful tone.

Nobody wanted a large missile hitting them at a substantial fraction of light speed.  And the station could, in an emergency, dodge at a little over five gravities.  But the station commander was thinking of the planet, and what a hypervelocity strike could do to the people on the surface.

“Six hundred gigatons,” she said shaking her head.

“Ma’am.”

“That missile would strike the surface with six hundred gigatons of energy,” she said.  “That’s about one three hundred fiftieth of the dinosaur killer the records say struck Earth millions of years ago.  Not enough to kill all life on the planet.  Enough to cause considerable havoc.  Especially if it hits on the settled continent.  Or in the ocean just off that continent.”

“So we won’t be moving the station ma’am?”

“No son,” she said, looking at the tactical display of four red arrows and two waves of a hundred green arrows converging.  Three of the green arrows intersected two red and the dots faded from the screen.  The two red arrows continued on as the remaining forty-seven defensive missiles of the first wave flowed on.  Then the second wave hit the two missiles and they faded away.

“I guess there wasn’t a need, ma’am,” said the tactical officer as the remaining green arrows were sent destruct signals and disappeared.

“Not this time,” she agreed, looking into his eyes.  “Now I want your department to look at all the data we gathered on those missiles.  I think the next time we face them it will be at saturation levels.  And make sure the fire plan for Admiral Heinrich is up to date.  I’m sure we’ll be firing offensive missiles well before we need the defensive tubes.”

“Aye ma’am,” said the young Commander, hurrying back to his station.  The rest of the command crew looked away as she scanned the deck.

I’m sure that saturation is going to come, she thought, unless Gunter can pull off a miracle.

*     *     *

“Commodore Chung should be here in fifteen minutes,” said the com officer, taking off her headset and looking back at the temporary commander of the fort.

“I don’t think we’ll be here,” said Captain Laura Montenegro, watching the tactical display that showed a mass of red arrows approaching the planet.

Forty missiles traveling at point nine four c, she thought.  And we’re the only target worth hitting, unless they’re trying to hit the planet as well.

“Fire counter missiles,” she ordered.  The fort released all tubes, sending thirty counter missiles toward the oncoming flood.  Another launch followed seconds later, and then another.

“Fire off all of the offensive missiles we can cycle,” she ordered.  They had already launched fifty of their own fusion powered, fusion warhead missiles to seek out whatever they could find coming in from the outer system.  She thought they might be able to get another thirty out of the tubes before they were vapor.

“Set orbital batteries for automatic,” she said to the frantic tactical officer.  “Override safety protocols on my authority.  I want them taking anything entering their range under fire.”

“What something friendly comes calling,” called the tactical officer.

“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” she answered, as she watched the first wave of her counter missiles reach out toward the incoming enemy ship killers.  “We don’t have anything in the system worth worrying about.”

“Commodore Chung?”

“Signal him my intensions and suggest that he hide in the outer system,” she replied.  As she spoke the fort sent out another salvo of counter missiles, bringing the total to one hundred and twenty in space.

The red arrows reached for them, as the time on target figures decreased with the ticking of the clock.  The first salvo of counters would reach them when they were about ten seconds from the fort.  The last when they were three seconds away.

She looked around the control room, smelling the fear on the crewman.  Everyone was doing their jobs, at the same time lost in their own thoughts of the death that was coming for them.  The wave of green arrows that were the counter missiles reached out, accelerating at eight thousand gravities.  Ten larger arrows followed the wave, accelerating at five thousand gravities, the offensive missiles.

People watched and waited with bated breath as the lines moved together.  They met, and a half dozen green arrows intersected four of the red arrows, flaring and then fading from the display. In the dark of space four brilliant dots flamed for a couple of seconds and then were gone.

The second wave of counter missiles met the incoming weapons.  Thirteen green arrows become one with seven of the red arrows, blotting them from existence.  The third wave only knocked out five of the incoming missiles, the fourth wave eight.  Leaving sixteen missiles still closing on the orbital fort that was the primary target.

Close in defenses kicked in by computer control before the fourth wave of counter missiles reached their targets.  Fifty tubes on the outer side of the station spit out short range interceptors at twenty thousand gravities.  They went through four cycles of missiles, two hundred total, in the time they had.  Nine of the hypervelocity incoming were taken out by the short rangers.  The station opened up with lasers and automatic projectile weapons at three seconds out.  Missiles dodged a dozen times a second, pulling hundreds of gravities with each maneuver.  Some missiles pulled into beams or streams and were vaporized.  One bore in straight, its brain hoping to fool the defenses with a constant path.  Gigawatts of laser energy from a half dozen beams took it in the nose, destroying it down to the warhead containment that exploded, sending tiny pieces of missile on millions of vectors.

Three missiles made it through the defensive fire.  One was hit a ten thousandth of a second out, shredding the body of the missile.  Large multiton pieces struck the station, blasting great holes into the body of the fort and killing most of the crew.  The second missile came in whole, striking and detonating with thousands of gigatons of kinetic energy and antimatter warhead.  The station blew out into a cloud of vapor and debris.  Small sections, none more than a fraction of a ton, were propelled into the atmosphere where they burned up from the friction.  There were no survivors, none even having time to launch an escape pod.

The third missile flew through the cloud of vapor and debris at point nine four c.  It broke up and it fell into the cloud, the warhead section detonating from the impact that sent antimatter against matter through the containment field.  Four large sections went through a hundred kilometers of atmosphere like streaks of light, super heating but still solid in the four ten thousandths of a second they moved through the gas.

The remains all struck within a hundred kilometers of each other.  Fortunately for the humans on the planet the point of impact was the relatively uninhabited northern continent of the planet, an Australia sized island of forests and grasslands.  Unfortunately for the few humans who did live on the continent the strike was not survivable unless they had been near enough to a shelter.

The twenty ton piece struck fifty kilometers in from the west coast of the continent, generating a force of four hundred gigatons, blasting out a one hundred kilometer crater and punching through the planetary crust.  The western edge of the crater would have immediately begun filling with water, except for the six ton section that hit with two hundred gigatons of energy, vaporizing water as it gouged out a fifty kilometer crater and setting fluid in motion that would form five hundred meter tall waves when it hit the continent six thousand kilometers to the west.  Two other one ton sections hit within the forming crater of the largest piece, adding their forty gigatons of energy to the mix.  The mushroom cloud from the impact reached to the top of the atmosphere and spread.  The wall of heat washed over the continent, incinerating everything within two thousand kilometers of the impact.  The blast wave followed close behind, swirling the ash of the skeletons of trees and knocking over what hadn’t been totally crisped.

Hundreds of kilometers from the impact the thirty ton predator crouched.  The matriarch of the pack, she watched the herd of herbivores as other pack members crept into position.  The sky to the west brightened with a flash as the herd stirred with a low moaning sound.  The matriarch rose on her haunches, turning toward the light with a nervous growl.  The ground bucked beneath her feet and she fell over on her side.  As she struggled to her feet she gave a howl of alarm to the pack, signaling for them to run and hide.  Too late, as the wave of heat washed over her, setting her fur aflame.  Before the howl of agony could leave her mouth she was turned into an ash caricature of herself.  An ashen statue that was scattered by the blast wave that followed quickly behind the heat.

The eighty ton adult herbivores scrambled to their feet as the sky flashed.  Mothers looked for calves as the herd started to run away from the flash, lowing into the night.  The shock wave through the ground knocked many off their feet, while others struggled on.  Not that it did the ones that retained their feet any good, as the entire herd was burned to ash at the same instant as the predators who had stalked them.

An hour later the elder son of McGurky Freehold, who had ridden out the disaster with the few members of his family who had made it to shelter, came out of the ground.  He stared open mouthed at the devastation. There was no vegetation in sight, only the swirling ash that was the remains of trees and meadows.  Most of the outbuildings were gone, and the manor house of the freehold was scorched on its outer walls and leaning at a severe angle.  He looked to the west and saw the red fountains of magma arching tens of kilometers into the sky, hundreds of kilometers away.  The man looked at that reddened sky and shook his fist, tears coming to his eyes.

The entire planet shuddered from the earthquakes that would move through the crust for hours, setting off aftershocks that would continue for days after the event.  Those on the coast of the continent to the east, who saw the streaks of light followed by the burning trails of the remains of the fort, knew what had happened.  While they grabbed their belongings and prepared to leave the danger zone for seismic waves the first tremors hit, knocking people off their feet and objects from shelves.  In an earlier time the shocks would have toppled buildings as they opened crevasses through the soil and rock.  Walls swayed and rocked as windows compressed and expanded.  When the first tremors passed the buildings stood, their carbon fiber construction up to the test of massive quakes.  The residents decided not to chance their sturdy construction to crushing walls of water, and left the coast in a flood of air cars.

*     *     *

“What the hell was that?” yelled Cornelius Walborski as the ground moved beneath his feet.

“Stay away from the shelves,” called out Sergeant McFadden, his squad leader.  “Or keep your damned helmets on your heads so nothing hits you there.”

“What’s going on, Sergeant?” said Walborski after another shock hit the shelter where the squad was gathered to rest.

“They took out the orbital fort,” growled the NCO, trying to look fierce and only succeeding in looking as scared as the rest of the squad.  “Hit it with long range missiles and blew it out of the sky.”

Cornelius knew that the Sergeant had served a ten year basic enlistment in the Imperial Marines, and so probably knew things he didn’t.  But he still couldn’t imagine missiles taking out the huge bulk of an orbital fort.

“How big were their warheads?” he asked, still trying to grasp the power needed to blow up the huge station he had seen under construction in orbit on coming to the planet.

“From a hundred megatons to a gigaton,” said the Sergeant, looking over at the Private.

“Is that enough to destroy a fort?”

“Probably not,” agreed the NCO.  “Maybe the gigaton range could do it.  But those forts are built as sturdy as battleships, with a lot more mass.  It was most likely a kinetic hit, the missile coming in at near light speed.  And one that missed the station and hit the planet instead.  Those could generate thousands of gigatons.”

“Why even put a warhead on them then?” asked Walborski, trying to get his head around that much destructive power.  “That seems like a piddling amount of energy compared to what it generated just from momentum.”

“They don’t always get to pile on that much velocity,” said the Sergeant.  “Especially in ship to ship.  Or they’re fired at objects moving away.  Or they don’t get a hard hit, and have to detonate close enough to do some damage.”

“You think they’re going to hit us with more missiles, Sergeant?” asked another of the privates, fiddling with his rifle, which now seemed to all of them a pitiful weapon compared to what they were talking about.

“Not much we could do about it if they did,” said McGurty . “But I think they’ll land and take this world away from us.  At least I hope so.”

“Why do you hope that, Sergeant?” asked Walborski, confused.  “It’s not like we’re going to stop them from coming here and killing us.”

“That’s true,” said the NCO with a feral grin.  “But if I’m going to die I want to take as many of them with me as I can.”

*     *     *

Jennifer Conway started in her sleep when the earth shook beneath her bed.  She looked blearily at the room as she tried to shake the sleep from her eyes, calling up the time on the net.  She had only been asleep for an hour when whatever it was had awakened her.  She dove deeper into the net as another tremor hit the bed and knick knacks trembled on the shelves of the guest room.

“You all right, doc?” called out a voice after a knock sounded on the door.

“Yes,” she replied just before the net opened up to her mind after a slight delay.  “What’s happening?”

“We don’t know yet,” said the man, popping the door open slightly.  It was one of the Montero grandsons, his voice filled with worry.  “The ground started shaking is all I know.”

The delay of the net was very uncharacteristic.  The doc looked over its information with a catch in her throat.  All those people dead, she thought as she looked over the report of the orbital fortress destroyed.  Almost a thousand crew vaporized in an instant.  And then the ground fall of the parts of a missile onto a, luckily, sparsely inhabited continent.  But an entire ecosystem obliterated as if the creatures that made it up had never evolved.

“We’re getting some information on it now,” said the grandson, still standing behind the partially opened door to shield her for modesty’s sake.

I’m sure I’m getting more, she thought.  As an emergency responder she would of course have a higher level of access than a freeholder.  And the information she was getting was not good.

The hospital is going to be busy, she thought.  Modern buildings of course didn’t collapse from tremors.  They had to take a direct hit or a near miss by something really powerful.  But people still fell from high places, or had things fall on them.  There were hundreds of reported injuries that would require medical attention.  And she, one of only a score of fully trained physicians, was a thousand kilometers away from the nearest major hospital.

“Get your grandfather for me please,” she said as she pulled herself out of bed, her mind made up.  “I need to tell him something.”

*     *     *

“So that’s what we have, Colonel,” said Brigadier Klein on the holo.  Baggett and his staff officers were sitting in their command bunker listening to the transmission that was telling them the only effective orbital defense for the planet had been taken out.  All that were left were the defense platforms on automatic.  And he didn’t have a lot of faith in those.

“Any damage to us here on the ground?” asked Baggett, looking into the face of the holographic image.

“Nothing on that continent as far as ground defenses, no,” said the General.  “We still have the full capabilities of our ground based assets, such as they are.  And the orbital platforms are intact.  I understand they will take the enemy under fire at the optimal range programmed into their AI’s.”

“No man in the loop for them?” asked Baggett, raising an eyebrow.

“We still have override control on them,” answered the Brigadier.  “But with a significant delay we have to let them do their own fighting without ground based oversight.”

“Any estimate on the arrival of our friends?”

“We’re missing the sensors of the fort, of course,” said the ground force commander.  “But infrared from the defense platforms put them at a three hundred gravity decel.  Heading our way with an ETA for insertion of eight hours.  The heavies will get here an hour behind them, with the troop transports following probably another hour or two.”

“So we start getting hit in eight hours,” said Baggett, looking at his staff and seeing the worried expressions on their faces.  “Ground assault in ten to twelve hours.”

“That’s about it, Colonel,” agreed the Commander.  “How are your forces?”

“All of the regulars are where we want them to be,” said the Colonel.  “I have about eighty percent of the militia still in place, with a twenty percent desertion rate.  I still hope those bastards will fight when their families are at risk, putting some pressure on the invaders.  But they’re not going to help the main effort.”

“Well, let them go do their thing,” said the General.  “No use expending effort in trying to round them up.  Just try to keep more from running.”

“Yes sir,” said Baggett.  “That’s what I was planning to do anyway.  No use stirring up the animosity of the militia that are sticking with us.”

“Good plan, Colonel,” said Klein.  “Now let me get back to planning our last stand here.  Com me if you need anything, and I’ll try to get it for you. Klein out.”

“So we wait,” said Sergeant Major Zacharias, looking up at the tall Colonel.

“So we wait,” he agreed.  “And keep the damned militia digging in and fortifying their positions.”

“So maybe enough of them survive to shoot back when the ground troops come in,” said the senior NCO with a huff.

“So some of them survive,” agreed the Colonel.  “And maybe get to kill some of the enemy before they get snuffed out.”

Chapter 14

The expendability factor has increased by being transferred from the specialised, scarce and expensively trained military personnel to the amorphous civilian population.  American strategists have calculated the proportion of civilians killed in this century's major wars.  In the First World War 5 per cent of those killed were civilians, in the Second World War 48 per cent, while in a Third World War 90-95 per cent would be civilians.  Colin Ward, Anarchy in Action

“OK,” said Captain Jessica Frazier, looking at her tactical plot.  “Light them up and prepare to fire.”

The com officer transmitted the orders to the strike.  Orders they already knew were coming, that were more a confirmation that the time had come.

The strike had coasted for the last four hours at a velocity of over ninety-eight thousand KPS, covering a billion four hundred million kilometers with cold engines while subsisting on crystalline matrix batteries.  Total distance since launch was over two billion kilometers.  The enemy scout ships, radiating hot on infrared, were at eighty-four thousand KPS and had traveled one billion two hundred million kilometers.  There was still a six hundred million kilometer separation between the approaching forces, fifty-four minutes at their present velocities.  But the strike force was about to change that equation.

Seven hundred and forty-eight strike/superiority fighters and attack fighters ignited their fusion reactors to full and leapt ahead at nine hundred gravities.  In thirty-three minutes the enemy would pick up the infrared emissions and know that they were coming.

Frazier watched the clock as the fighters added eight point eight two KPS per second to their velocity.  Five minutes passed.  Ten.  Twenty.  It would still be another six minutes before the enemy caught the first waves of infrared coming from her now hot birds.  The group’s velocity at one hundred eight thousand KPS, point three six c, she looked at her tactical/sensor/com officer.

“Fire first salvo,” she ordered.  On her attack fighter the doors to the two belly compartments opened up, as they opened on all of the other ships in the strike.  Four shapes dropped down from the compartment, their internal engines warming up.  After a two second drop, in which time they fell behind the launching ships about nine kilometers, the missiles powered up their drives and sped forward at five thousand gravities.  It would be twenty minutes before the enemy picked up the heat signatures from the missiles, their first warning.

There were three target groups ahead, a total of twenty-nine vessels.  Two hundred fifty-six of the large Mark XII antiship missiles and one hundred and twenty ECM decoys left the attack fighters.  Twelve hundred of the smaller Mark X missiles left the smaller strike/superiority fighters.  Most of the Mark XII missiles were targeted at the central group of enemy scouts, while the Mark X’s were evenly spread between the groups.

The Mark X’s boosted for twenty-five minutes, gaining seventy-three thousand KPS acceleration, and cutting off with about two minutes of powered flight left in their batteries.  The missiles were up to a velocity of one hundred eight-two thousand KPS, point six one c.  And the fighters were coming in sixty-eight million kilometers behind them, at point four six c.

*     *

“We have missiles ahead,” called the tactical officer of the pod flag.  “Over a thousand of them.  Velocity One eight KKPS.  Estimated masses between ten and fifteen tons.”

“Attack fighter missiles,” exclaimed the pod leader, looking at his plot.  “And there’s bound to be fighters behind them.

“Signal the rest of the pod,” he commanded, making a quick decision.  “Launch all on board fighters.  They’re to hit the missiles with counter fire, then tear through to the following fighters.”

“Aye sir,” came the acknowledgement from the tactical officer, and the signal went out.

Each scout ship carried a dozen of the fighters, much smaller than those used by the humans.  Massing a hundred tons with a crew of two, they were meant more for close in defense and short range strikes as compared to the human birds.  Within a minute there were over fifty of the small vessels boosting from their mother ships at twelve hundred gravities.  A minute later they were joined by more than fifty others.  Each of the other two pods deployed about a hundred of the craft as well.

The fighters had about a minute to engage the incoming missiles.  Missiles that were on random avoidance and filling space with jamming and decoy signals.  The fighters launched their own missiles, taking out hundreds of the missiles with hits and proximity misses.  They targeted with lasers and took out about fifty more missiles.  And a few unlucky fighters took out missiles by getting in the way of the hypervelocity objects.

Then the still considerable mass of missiles were through the fighters.  Over eight hundred of them tracked the Ca’cadasan scout ships, trying to break through the jamming and countermeasures the six hundred thousand ton vessels were putting out with all of their power.  Countermissiles speared out from the scout ships, taking out over two hundred of the human weapons.  Less than twenty seconds out close in weapons opened up, sending waves of projectiles and coherent energy beams into space.  The Ca’cadasan electronics warfare suites were better than the humans, and broke through the jamming to find and destroy targets.  But human technology was good enough for almost three hundred missiles to vector in for a target run.

Ca’cadasan weapons continued to fire as the missiles approached, taking out many at the last second.  The vaporizing missiles sent streams of matter into the electromagnetic shields of the enemy ships.  Some of the matter got through, to hit the ultrahard hulls of warships.  Surface installations were obliterated.  A few plasma spears thrust deep into vessels, killing crew and disrupting vital systems.

Most of the missiles could not achieve a solid enough lock to hit the ships.  Some did, and seven of the scout ships were shattered when objects with a closing speed of over point eight c struck through their hulls.  Miniature suns were born of those collisions, which flared and died in seconds . Many other missiles went for proximity kills, detonating one or five hundred MT warheads at closest approach.  Another six of the Ca’cadasan warships were pummeled in that manner, to become drifting hulks.  Only eight of the vessels in the three groups came through with minor damage, joined by eight other vessels with varying amounts of harm.

Twenty-six missiles lost lock completely and went nowhere.  They would attempt to turn back onto targets, but lacked the energy to kill their velocity.  They would eventually coast out of the system and be lost.

*     *     *

“Missiles on target now,” called out the tactical officer as his display indicated where the missiles should be.  They were still two light minutes out and could not see if their missiles had any success.  But they had to move now or waste the rest of their load.

“Fire remaining missiles,” ordered Frazier.  The fighters dropped another fourteen hundred missiles.  These would not have the time to accelerate to the velocity of their predecessors.  But if they caught a shattered scouting force they might finish them.

Moments later the tactical officer called out.  “We have incoming.  Over two hundred small objects coming in to front.”

“How small?” yelled the Captain.

“Smaller than us,” said the tactical officer.  “About capital missile size.”

“Fighters?” she asked, as the data firmed on the incoming.

“Accelerating at twelve hundred gravities,” called out tactical.  “Probably not missiles.”

“Prepare for evasive,” ordered Frazier as the small vessels approached.  The enemy fighters launched missiles just a second before the humans launched their antifighter missiles.  There was no dog fighting between the forces.  They were moving too fast for that, and could not alter their vectors enough to make a difference.  Objects streaked between the two forces that were closing at over point eight c.  Lasers opened up as the range closed to light seconds.  Then the human fighters were through the wall of Ca’cadasan’s, fighters turning on their axes’ and firing at the retreating objects.

Three hundred human fighters continued on, opening the gap with a hundred surviving Ca’cadasan fighters.  Captain Jessica Frazier’s fighter was not among the survivors that plunged into the formations of Ca’cadasan scouts.  Her children, her husband, her Abyssinian cat, would wait for one who was not coming home.

The second wave of human missiles hit the scout ships.  The missiles were easier targets this time, moving at a mere point four three c.  They still achieved some direct hits, annihilating three of the survivors.  Proximity hits destroyed another two ships. Four relatively undamaged and seven damaged vessels came through the barrage, preparing to face the reduced wave of manned fighters.

The human fighters streaked past the scout ships, firing their lasers and other close in weapons.  The ships were too well protected by electromag fields, too heavily armored against projectiles, for the fighters to do more than sting them.  The fighters were not so well protected. Hits by gigawatt lasers tore through weak electromag fields and flashed hulls.  A couple of Ca’cadasan ships sustained heavy damage when struck by out of control fighters.  Not a tactic favored by humans, but effective nonetheless.

Less than a hundred fighters passed the Ca’cadasan scout force, heading out system.  It would take those most of the rest of the day to kill their velocity so they could return to the inner system.  They were effectively out of the fight after losing six hundred and fifty vessels and over three thousand crew.  But the Ca’cadasans had been stung hard by the humans, and knew that the conquest would not be as cheap as they had entertained when entering the system.

*     *     *

Pod Leader Klesshakendriakka’s ship was among the heavily damaged.  He cursed under his breath as he checked the data coming through his command circuit.  Four hours after the attack by the human fighters and still only half of his acceleration units were online.  A quarter would require a complete rebuild, which would take days to weeks.  His ship would have to turn over now if he wanted to make the planet orbit.  Three of his ships could make it in the original mission specified time, but the other eight would not.

“The pod will stay together,” he ordered the Captain who had appeared on his chair screen.  The Captain had been in another pod, and had devolved to Klesshakendriakka’s command when both of the other pod leaders had been killed, one along with his ship.  “I will listen to no more arguments.”

“At our present vector and accel we will not get to the planet much ahead of the battle force,” said that officer.  “We will not accomplish our mission of scouting ahead.”

“And we will not accomplish that mission by being destroyed out of hand,” said the pod leader in a hard tone.  “Your three ships will not survive long in the inner system.  Even with our damage, eleven ships are a stronger force than three.”

“I can see that point, pod leader,” said the other Captain, scowling.  “But I still believe…”

“I do not care what you believe,” growled the pod leader into the com.  Several of the bridge crew looked over, some in alarm, others with a smirk, as they caught the argument between the leaders.  “You will do as ordered.  We will stay together as a group, with your ship and the other two undamaged vessels in the lead.  And you will stay on a tight leash.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” growled the angry subordinate, his eyes burning dangerously.  “Out.”

One I will have to watch, thought the pod leader.  One who might call him out for a blood match at the end of this mission, if both survived.

*     *     *

Courier ship HLC-12305 came out of hyper VII on the closest direct line approach from sector HQ.  Which put her about four and a quarter light hours from Massadora base.  CPO Lysander Popodopolis looked at his plot and didn’t like what he saw.

“Lot of radiation out there, Chief,” said Melissa Jackson, watching her tactical board.  “Neutrons, gamma, you name it.”

“Like someone’s fighting a war,” said PO McMurty, the helm.

“Get us a link on the planet so we can tight beam our information,” said Popodopolis.  The mission came first.  Once they completed their vital task they could worry about what the other information might mean to them.

“Found her right where she’s supposed to be,” called out Jackson.  “Lot of other objects out there moving around quickly.  Or there were,” she said with a shrug.

Yeah, thought the CPO.  We never know what’s going on in real time unless it’s right on top of us.

“Get the transmission aimed for transit to where she’ll be when it gets there,” he ordered.  Which would entail calculating where she actually was right now, not over four hours in the past, then projecting her location for more than four hours in the future.

“Got her,” said Melissa after a few moments.  “Laser aimed.  Wait a second.  We’ve got something nearby.”

“What?” gasped Popodopolis, his eyes going wide.

“I don’t know, but it’s bigger than us and starting to radiate heat.  At about ten light seconds.”

“Send the message,” he ordered, and Jackson hit her commit button.  “Get us out of here as soon as the message is off,” he ordered McMurty.  “Evasive at maximum gee and into hyper VII as soon as you can.”

“It’ll take us about five minutes to have enough power to open a portal,” yelled the helmsman, his fingers hovering over his board.

“Message away,” yelled Melissa as she turned back to the courier commander.  McMurty started to push his own commit.

The little vessel rocked as the high frequency laser hit them.  Gigawatts of energy struck through the weak electromag field and into the hull of the vessel.  Light was converted to heat and kinetic force.  Popodopolis had a moment to realize he was dead as the temperature went from warm to hot to superhot.  His fire resistant uniform flamed at the same instant as his skin.  He opened his mouth to scream.  Superheated air entered his throat and lungs.  The bridge exploded with the rest of the vessel, blowing out into space with flaming air and other combustibles.  A fraction of a second later the flames were blown out by the antimatter explosion that turned the debris field into the plasma of a very temporary star.

*     *     *

“They’re radiating,” called the tactical officer as she stared at her board.

“Are they making any moves toward us?” asked Commander Bryce Suttler, leaning forward in his chair.

“No sir,” said the tactical officer.  “I don’t think they know we’re here.  Range three point six million kilometers.”

About eleven light seconds, he thought, smiling.  In any other ship, including the older stealth/attack vessels, they would have been made long before this.  Seastag was something entirely different.  Even running her stealth electromag, bending light to become invisible in all spectrums, she radiated about as much heat as a small buoy sitting dead in space.  Her skin was made of the best insulators known to human science.  They reflected enough heat back into the ship to make her an unsurvivable oven, if not for the wormhole.

The wormhole sat in the engine spaces, a mere fifty centimeter hole to another part of space.  This part inside a special satellite in orbit around the black hole of the capital supersystem.  A satellite whose only purpose was to accept the heat of the stealth/attack ships into her one degree above absolute zero absorbing field.  The superconducting cable from the Seastag pulled almost all of the excess heat from the ship, plunged through the wormhole, and gave the heat up to a limitless heat sink.  Making the ship an infrared hole in space.

“Damn,” cursed the tactical officer.  “That courier is transmitting.  They just went off the heat scale at their nose.”

Sending their message before moving into the system, thought Suttler.  Must be important.

“What’s our boy doing?” he asked of the six hundred thousand ton enemy vessel.

“Nothing yet,” said the tactical officer.  Seastag was moving silently at a couple of gravities, trying to set up the shot to do the most damage possible.  “Dammit, they’re firing,” called out the tactical officer.

Or they fired, thought Suttler, eleven seconds ago.

“Fire,” yelled the Commander.  The crew set into motion the prearranged attack plan, aiming at where the ship would be when the weapons impacted.

The ship didn’t carry its lasers in rings like most warships that needed all around fire capability.  Instead the centrally mounted forward laser put out two terawatts of coherent energy in a single beam.  To the sides of the beam were particle beams weapons that fired antiprotons at point nine five c.  The beams were set to hit a hundred meters to either side of the laser at the range to the target, with a twenty-five meter radius spread.  The four forward mounted tubes fired missiles that were as advanced as the ship firing them.  Made for short range work, the missiles accelerated at ten thousand gravities and could go for ten minutes before running out of power.

The first the enemy ship knew it was being fired on was when the laser beam arrived.  The scout had been trying to be stealthy itself, and so only had its invisibility electromag up.  The X-ray laser hit the skin of the vessel, erupting superheated matter into space at it poured energy into the hull.  Pouring energy into a single point for three seconds, it moved up the spectrum to gamma rays to defeat the electromag reflecting skin of the ship, and swept from bow to stern and a rate of twenty meters per second.  The point of impact spewed alloy and atmosphere into space where the beam had punched through.

Antimatter particle beams arrived about nine seconds after the laser started its work on the hull.  The ship could see them coming on sensors, but was still unprepared and had not initiated random dodging maneuvers.  For three seconds the antimatter raged over the hull, kilograms converting kilograms of matter to energy bursts that ruptured hull and spewed heat and radiation into the ship.  As the enemy ship began to raise its electromag shields to defeat the charged particles the beam changed to uncharged neutrons, the stealth/attack switching its particle beam to a function that stripped the charge off of the antiprotons as they left the accelerator cannon.  While not as deadly at the antimatter, they penetrated the electromag screens as if they didn’t exist, and imparted their considerable kinetic energy into the enemy ship.

Within four seconds of the uncharged particle assault the enemy ship began evasive maneuvers.  Now it was a matter of luck for beams to strike.  Anticipating this the stealth/attack had gone to random fraction of a second bursts that targeted the area around the ship.  There were a few lucky hits, but not much further damage.  Still the alien scout was heavily damaged, with much of its sensor and close in weapon defenses stripped.  It tried to fire on the almost invisible ship that had struck it so hard, bracketing the area with lasers and firing a salvo of missiles.

Seastag faded back into the background radiation of the universe, powering down her reactors and creeping away at ten gravities on batteries.  A couple of laser bursts came near, one close enough to slide around the ship’s light bending invisibility field.

The four missiles bored in on the enemy ship, accelerating at ninety-eight kilometers per second per second.  At fifteen seconds out each of the missiles dropped its first decoy, a ton of quantum matrix batteries, grabber units and transmitters.  The decoys accelerated at the same rate as the missiles while moving in a random pattern.  The transmitters blared out as much static as possible in every frequency except for the missiles’ active sensor band.  The band changed every five seconds, both on the missiles and the decoys.

Seastag slipped into the background of static as she released her own decoys, which whipped out to several thousand kilometers and began to mimic a stealthy ship moving away.  But not as stealthy as Seastag.  The enemy released a volley of her own missiles, which moved back and forth in a search sweep as they moved out.  Some picked up the decoys and drove toward them.  Others didn’t pick up anything and moved outward at eight thousand gravities to eventually die in the space between the stars.

At three minutes the Seastag’s missiles dropped their second layer of decoys, the first burning out and coasting on at over seventeen thousand KPS.  The new decoys sent out static like the first layer.  The ship fired a wave of twenty counter missiles.  Four found a lock and drove for the same two missiles.  Two lost lock in the jamming and one actually detonated close enough to take out a missile.

At four minutes the missiles dropped the third layer of decoys as they drove in at almost twenty-four thousand KPS.  The ship fired close in interceptors and took out a second missile.  The interceptors lost lock on the other missiles in the static.

At five minutes the missiles were moving at just below thirty thousand KPS, maneuvering in erratic patterns to avoid the ship’s defenses.  One was hit by a defensive laser and detonated four thousand kilometers from the ship.  Its radiation added to the background against which the last missile maneuvered.  The missile closed within twenty kilometers of the ship.  The on board tracking computer realized that this was as close as it was going to get and detonated the warhead.

Five hundred megatons of explosive power ignited off the port stern of the scout ship.  The blast effect in space was negligible, but megajoules of heat and radiation hit the stern of the ship in a wave.  Two grabber units, the port stern laser dome and a trio of missile tubes were taken out.  Atmosphere gushed from already weakened areas.

Suttler watched the damage assessment on his panel, including the visuals of the scout ship’s sides.  She was badly hurt, and he would have loved to hit her again.  But his was a stealth/attack ship, designed to strike out of the darkness and fade away.  They could pick up the heat signatures of other vessels moving toward them.  It was time to fade into the immensity of space and begin the stalk anew on another ship.  Looking at the battered hull of the enemy scout he had to guess there were at least a hundred casualties on board, if not many more.  Enough revenge for the courier.  And he had given the enemy something to think about as they cruised about as if they had owned the system.  Let them keep on trying, he thought as he licked his lips in anticipation.

*     *     *

It was over three hours since they had been hit by the fighters, and pod leader Klesshakendriakka was beginning to feel nervous about plunging further into the system.  They were picking up dozens of objects on infrared, none radiating too strongly, and couldn’t tell what they were.  But they were there and they obviously didn’t have good intentions toward his ships or his people.

“We could fire some probes ahead to get an idea, my Lord,” said the tactical officer.  “Best estimate is that they’re still hours ahead at our current decel.”

“Order the lead ships to do that,” he said, looking at his plot.  This system was supposed to be a fiercely defended base from what their intel indicated.  So there should be some capital ships ahead.  He actually would have expected the enemy to meet them further out where the chances of a stray missile hitting the habitable planet were minimized.  And what if the enemy ships were all out system, on patrol or some other task.  They might just come in behind the Ca’cadasan force.  Though they should get some kind of warning from the ships patrolling the zone beyond the hyper limit if anything was getting near.

Maybe we’ve hit the worst of it before the orbital defenses, he thought with a relaxing breath.  It would be nice if the system was a pushover.  Not expected, but then he could get back to the fleet alive and take command of a repaired ship.  Or maybe a new vessel, just come from the shipyards.  Or go home and breed with his wives, to bring a new generation of warriors into the Empire.  If only…

“We’ve picked up incoming missiles,” called out the tactical officer.  “Tracks being relayed from lead vessels.”

Which still had their sensor arrays intact, knew the pod leader.

“Do you have the launch platforms recognized?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice calm.  If it was more of the fighters they had to be close and maybe the missiles wouldn’t be coming in too fast.

“No, my Lord,” said the tactical officer.  “Wait.  They’re powering up and we’re picking them up on infrared.  Twenty vessels.  Each about twice as large as ours.  Maybe more.”

“Are they heading for us?”

“Give me a minute please, my Lord,” said the nervous sounding officer.  “I’m attempting to do a track from their emissions.  Missiles are identified as three hundred and twenty coming in at five thousand gravities.”

Maybe we can survive those, thought the pod leader, attempting to do saturation problems in his head.

“They’ve launched another volley, my Lord,” said the tactical officer, looking over at the pod leader.  “Three hundred and twenty more.”

Six hundred and forty missiles, he thought.  Almost sixty missiles for each of his ships.  And the defensive systems were not in top shape on most of those vessels.

“Order the pod to target those launching ships and fire everything we have,” he yelled, watching the two waves of red arrows that were twenty-six minutes away.  Green arrows appeared on the plot as his eleven ships flushed waves of missiles at the enemy.  They had launched over four hundred when the arrows stopped appearing.

“We are emptied, my Lord,” said the tactical officer.  “The enemy ships are accelerating away to port at two hundred and sixty gravities.”

Ten minutes passed as the bridge crew sat nervously watching the approaching waves of death.  Fifteen minutes, as the closing velocities increased.  At seventeen minutes the ships started flushing their stores of counter missiles, trying to knock down what they could at range.  The pod leader shook his head as at twenty-one minutes over three hundred missiles made it through the defensive wall of counter fire.

Short ranged interceptors took over at twenty-two minutes and took out another hundred of the missiles.  Close in defenses took out another ninety, leaving ten missiles for each of his remaining ships.  They came at a combined closing speed of over point four eight c.  And when they hit, what was left of the Ca’cadasan scouting force was plasma and debris floating through space.

The heavy cruiser force continued on its way, accelerating to its next firing position for the fight involving the invader’s capital ships.  They were able to blanket the enemy missiles with a far more intact defensive fire.  Still a score of enemy missiles got through to proximity hits, one to a straight on penetration that crippled a heavy cruiser and left it a wreck.  Five more ships took damage, but nineteen launch platforms were left for the next act of the play.

Chapter 15

A visitor from Mars could easily pick out the civilized nations.  They have the best implements of war.  Herbert V. Prochnow

“McArthur reports she is ready to translate to n-space, ma’am,” said the com tech from her post behind the Captain.

Captain (acting Commodore) Dame Mie Lei nodded her head and looked at the approaching hyper limit on the tactical display.

“Commander von Rittersdorf reports a lot of translation energy from the system, ma’am,” continued the com tech.  “He thinks it’s the reverb from a number of recent translations from the VII band.”

The Captain sat up a little straighter as she heard those words.  Only two of her ships could translate to and from hyper VII.  Rittersdorf’s Dot McArthur and her own Joan de Arc.  There weren’t that many hyper VII capable warships around in human space, for there to be a lot of them moving toward this one system.

“Tell him to be careful, com,” she ordered, wishing she could do a face to face with the younger Commander.  But they were too far apart in hyper V to contact in that manner.  Coded text would have to do.

“Acknowledges, ma’am,” said the tech.  “Translating now.”

Their own detectors picked up the destroyer moving down to n-space in the static of grav waves.  She hoped it was alright out there in normal space, and that she wasn’t leading the convoy of helpless ships into a battle.

“Get the rest of the convoy on com,” she ordered the tech.  “Last minute orders before we hit the hyper limit wall.”

“Aye ma’am,” said the tech.  “All ships on the circuit.”

“This is Captain Mei Lei,” she said over the circuit, knowing the ships were close enough for the voice transmission to get through to them all, if not video.  “There is unusual activity from the Massadora system ahead.  You may think I am an old lady, but I want to play it safe.  All ships increase decel.  Anyone who can come to a stop before reaching the hyper limit is to do so, except for my two leading destroyers.  I know the freighters won’t be able to come to a stop before the limit so you will translate as close to the limit as you can and continue decel on the other side, with the destroyers riding herd.  The other escorts and the troop transports are to wait in V until we come and get you.”

“Ma’am,” said the tech, looking up from her board.  “Everyone out there wants to talk with you right now.”

“Tell them I’m busy,” she said, watching the tactical.  Her ship could stop before reaching the limit, but instead she let the ship decel at normal.  The velocity decreased by the second, until they were almost to the hyper five limit.

“Translate now,” she ordered.  The helm acknowledged with a nod and punched in his commands.  Space stretched ahead, opening an almost perfectly circular hole through which the star flecked black of normal space could be seen, highlighted by the red tinged backdrop of the hyper V dimension.  Then Joan de Arc was through the hole.  The Captain felt the momentary queasiness and could see the look of nausea on the faces of some of the bridge crew.  The reaction of all sentient brains to the movement between spatial dimensions.

“We have a contact, ma’am,” called the tactical officer, looking at his board, then back at her.  “It’s firing missiles.”

“Target?” she yelled out, feeling her gut contract and wondering what she had dropped them in the middle of.

*     *     *

Lt. Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf felt his stomach turn as his ship reentered the normal universe.  It took a second to clear his head, focusing his eyes on the screen.  He felt a wave of anxiety come over him as he noted all of the dots and vector arrows that were appearing on the tactical plot, even as he looked at a rash of erupting white pinpoints that signified high energy blasts on the visual scan.

“What do we have?” he asked his tactical officer.  Lasardo seemed to have recovered faster than the rest of the bridge crew, an asset in a tactical officer.  He was switching attention back and forth between plots and screens, formulating a quick report for his Captain.

“Lots of radiation coming out of the system,” he answered, looking back at his Captain.  “Gamma and neutron both.  Probably hundreds of antimatter detonations.”

“What about all of those infrared signatures?” asked the Captain as the plot added in accel and velocity figures.  Some of the dots changed to arrows as the ship’s computer correlated its observations.

“There are thousands of signatures in the system,” said the tac officer, frowning.  “Going to take a while to figure out what they all are.”

“Estimate,” ordered the Captain.  “I need to get a report to the convoy, and don’t have time for perfection.”

“Thousands of vessels in the system engaging in combat,” said the tactical officer.  “Everything from strike fighters to battleships.  Ours and theirs, whoever they are.  So far I can’t tell who’s winning.  And, oh, by the way.  The information is several hours out of date.”

“OK,” said von Rittersdorf, glancing anxiously at the plot.  “As soon as we’re able let’s go back into hyper and let the commodore know what’s going on here.  Maybe she’ll know what to do.”

“We have a contact,” said Lasardo in a squeak. “Larger than a destroyer from her heat signature.  About three light minutes out system.”

“Ours or…”

“We have missile signatures.  A half dozen on their way.”

“Evasive,” ordered the Captain.  “Move us and prepare defense systems.”

“Another six missiles following the first salvo.”

“How long till we can go back into hyper?” gasped the Captain as his ship began to accel perpendicular to the hyper limit.

“We’re entering the limit now,” called out the helm.  “It’ll be two point six five hours to kill our velocity and begin to come back out.”

Damn, thought the Captain.  Almost six hours to come back out to where we can go hyper.  And if I hyper out now we run into the barrier and undergo catastrophic translation right back into N space.

“Watch out for the rest of the convoy,” he ordered, while his ship moved into the system and he wished for a change in the laws of physics.

“We have a translation,” called out the navigator.  “Consistent with an Imperial battle cruiser.  Three light minutes out.”

“The enemy?” he asked.

“Almost on top of them.  More translations,” continued the officer.  “Two destroyers and four freighters.  A light minute further out from the flag.”

“Transmit our information through hyper generator,” he ordered the com tech.  “Give them everything we have.”

“Orders,” said Lasardo, glancing back.

“Purely defensive for now,” said the Captain.  “We’ll hope the commodore can take care of them for us.”

*     *     *

“Target them and fire,” yelled the Captain as the enemy ship’s proximity registered on the plot.  The ship was four light seconds away, and had been as caught off guard by the battle cruiser coming into n-space as they had been by her being so close on their entry.  But the enemy scout ship was already engaging a target, all of her sensors and weapons systems locked on, and the battle cruiser wasn’t.

The battle cruiser was pointed at the enemy scout and pulling point one c, thirty thousand KPS.  The ship engaged her ether paddle drive, the grabbers, piling on two point nine four KPS of accel every second.  The Jean de Arc turned at an angle to bring all of her laser rings to bear, being able to boost in any direction no matter the orientation of the ship.  The ship initiated all standard attack patterns without excessive commands, the sign of a well drilled crew.

The nanomaterial of the laser rings allowed the photons out into the beams of the attack pattern.  A and C rings fired single beams of x-ray energy at the estimated location of the target.  B and D rings each fired three beams that flared out for where the target might be if it had headed in any of those directions, then swinging in to the center to converge on where the vessel would be if not evading.  The target was still in the process of trying to decide how to evade as the beams struck.  Terrawatts of energy poured through the electromag screen of the enemy ship, striking across the hull, vaporizing alloys and carbon armor, pushing heat into internal systems that shattered them, setting crew aflame to burn to ash.  The enemy ship bucked as atmosphere was vented to space, pushing the vessel like chemical rockets.

The ship adapted, as warships were built to do.  A liquid layer in the armor flowed into holes and solidified.  The nanomaterial of the outer skin adapted to the frequency of the incoming lasers and changed their arrangement, becoming almost totally reflective to the x-rays.  The incoming lasers changed as well, sliding down to ultraviolet and defeating the reflectivity of the skin.  B and D ring beams swept in, burning swathes through the skin until they intersected with the beams from the A and C rings, doubling their power.

The Ca’cadasan ship lost dozens of her smaller grabber units, four laser domes, and a half dozen missile tubes.  Two missiles coming out of their tubes detonated under the attention of coherent light, their two hundred megaton warheads going off a couple of kilometers from the hull and sending heat and radiation back into the ship.  Dozens of close in defense systems and another six grabber units failed under the assault of this energy.

“Take her missiles under fire with the lasers,” ordered Captain Mei Lei, watching the enemy ship buck and spew flaming atmosphere.  “Hit the ship with a short salvo of missiles.”

Six missiles left their tubes, heading at five thousand gravities toward their target, adding to the substantial velocity imparted to them by the moving battle cruiser.

The enemy missiles were on target toward the human destroyer.  Their sensors were locked onto the ship, expectantly waiting, as much as a machine could, for defensive fire and countermeasures from their target.  They had not gone into evasive mode yet, as they were still too far away to be effectively targeted.  Even beams of light from the enemy ship would not reach them for several minutes, well after they started evasive maneuvers.

The combined beams of all four laser rings targeted one of the missiles, unerringly hitting it and tracking for the fraction of a second it needed to put terajoules of heat into the missile.  The missile exploded as containment systems failed, milliseconds after the outer skin began to boil away.  Antimatter touched matter and the missile turned into a pinpoint flare of ultimate bright.

One after the other the lasers tracked on the other five missiles of the second wave, destroying them.  The ship then went after the first wave, further away and harder targets.  Three still fell to the lasers, gone before they could come near to threatening McArthur.  The final three kicked in evasive maneuvers, whether from transmitted command from their launch platform or because their simple electronic brains had finally decided that something was up, the humans would never know.  The final three missiles were overwhelmed by the McArthur’s defensive fire, blasted into plasma on the outer rim of the system.

Ten seconds after launch the battle cruiser’s missiles were engaged by what was left of the enemy scout ship’s defensive systems.  Three missiles were still killed.  At twenty seconds the missiles detonated to attempt proximity kills, the ship having maneuvered enough to make a direct hit improbable.  One missile went off two kilometers from the bow, flooding the already damaged ship with heat and radiation.  The other two went off within five hundred meters of each other, three kilometers off the stern.  Hull alloy vaporized and atmosphere gushed through new holes as the ship shook from the blast effects.

“I’ve always wanted to try this,” said Captain Mei Lei as her ship came to within a hundred thousand kilometers of the crippled enemy.  “Charge plasma torpedo.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the tactical officer, a twinkle in his eye.

Plasma torpedoes were really an ancient idea whose time had gone.  Kept on ships more for a sense of tradition than anything else, they could be devastating at close quarters.  But close quarters were not seen much in modern warfare.  In the secondary fusion reactors near the bow of the battle cruiser the ten tons of gas was heated to over a million degrees in seconds.  The mass was then ejected through the single bow tube of the battle cruiser, which only carried one to reduce her mass for other things.  Held in a magnetic field by a carrier packet that rode along outside, the mass exited the ship at point two c and headed toward the target.  The packet was only intended to hold the mass together for five seconds.  It took two to reach the target.

The mass of superheated plasma hit the side of the ship like a tidal wave.  The gas burned into the hull like acid, turning alloy, ceramics and carbon armor into vapor.  The plasma washed through the openings in the hull made by lasers and missiles, jetting in and destroying everything in its path.  Most of the crew died from the influx of heat well before the plasma actually entered their compartments.  Systems failed throughout the ship, and the ship died as its antimatter reactor went into shutdown with volatile antiprotons still in the feed.

The ship, glowing from heat saturation, blew outward as softened superstructure buckled under the antimatter blast.  The temporary star threw debris that was mostly vapor into space.  And then it was gone with all the beings who had plied space with her.

“Tight beam McArthur,” ordered the Captain to the com tech.  “Tell her to stay put and we’ll match velocities with her.  Then we’ll see what information we can gather from this in system row.”

“What about the convoy, ma’am?” said Jackson, her exec, over the circuit from CIC.

“The troop transports can get away in hyper VI with their escorts,” she answered.  “Now about the freighters…”

“Freighters and their escorts have translated into the system, ma’am,” said the sensor tech, looking nervously at her Captain.

“Those freighters will take two hundred million kilometers to come to a stop,” she said, pointing at her plot of the system.  “And they’re not survivable.”  She looked at Jackson in the CIC screen as if challenging him to object.

“You’re right, skipper,” he acknowledged, nodding his head.  “They’re wrecks no matter what.”

“Order the destroyers to pick up the crews from those ships and set them for self-destruct,” she told the com tech.  “They can use missile warheads if they can’t get the ship’s fusion reactors to blow.  Then they can translate back to hyper, make contact with the rest of the convoy, and get the hell out of here.”

“And us, Captain?” said Jackson over the com.

“We perform the primary mission of these wonderful ships the Emperor has placed in our trust,” she said with a tight smile.  “We probe, gather information, and hopefully get it back to the Fleet.  And possibly ourselves with it.”

*     *     *

“Are they running from us?” asked the young Lord who manned the tactical station.

“No puppy,” said Low Admiral Hrisshammartanama, glaring at the tactical plot that took up the center of the command bridge.  “Do they not teach you anything at the training hutch?”

The officer tried to turn a fierce glare toward the older Lord.  But his eyes dropped quickly from the burning gaze of an officer that could order his life ended in an instant.  No matter the young Lordling’s family ties.

“I do not understand?” he finally said.

“Explain it to him, subofficer,” the Low Admiral ordered one of the bridge NCOs.

“My Lord,” said the subofficer, his nose twitching in nervousness at being the one ordered to tell a lord in front of his peers that which he should have known.  He licked his lips and continued under the gaze of the Admiral.  “The enemy force is not running from us.  Instead they have set up a situation where they will try to match velocities with us as we decelerate toward the planet they defend.  That way, my Lord, they may attempt to keep us engaged in close combat for the greatest length of time.”

“So they can be destroyed by us,” grunted the young Lord, looking around the bridge.

“That may be the outcome,” said the subofficer.  “Not the one they are hoping for.  They hope to do considerable damage to our force while they are in range.”

“Why do we not accelerate, then,” said the young Lord, “so we might thwart their plan?”

“They might wish us to do that as well, my Lord,” said the subofficer, nodding.

“And then, pup,” growled the Admiral, “they will have accomplished part of their mission.  We would not be able to insert into planetary orbit, but would have to swing by the planet and come back.  Giving them more time to organize their ground defenses.”

“But they cannot win,” argued the young Lord.  “Why would they sacrifice themselves in an unwinable fight?”

“They are a brave species,” said the subofficer.  “From all we can tell from their maneuvers so far, it is acceptable for them to lose their lives if it causes us difficulties.”

“They intend to make us pay a price,” said the Admiral.  “How much of one remains to be seen.  But pay it we will to take this system away from them.”

*     *     *

Vice Admiral The Countess Esmeralda Gonzalez’ face went white as she read the eyes only transmission that had just been delivered to her by the cryptology officer.  He had looked nervously on while she read the paper flimsy he had hand delivered.  Wondering what my reaction would be, she thought, as she turned reddening eyes toward him.

The entire Imperial family, she thought as the shock continued through her system.  And a war starting on our borders.  Coincidence?  She wasn’t sure, but it could send the Empire’s response curve into a crash.  And the heir to the throne was about to meet that new enemy in combat that could very well prove fatal for him.

“Copy a message for Admiral Heinrich,” she ordered the crypto officer.  “Send this same message and append it with my recommendation that he gets the Prince to safety by any means possible.  For his eyes only.”

The crypto officer nodded as he jotted the message down on a flimsy pad.  He looked up at the Admiral as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to find the words.  He gave a quick salute and hurried from the control center.

If we can get an Emperor seated maybe we can avoid some of the paralysis of shock, she thought, looking into the space shown by the main viewer.  And at least avoid any of the idiot cousins that Parliament might want to foist on us.  She linked to the net and ran over what it had on the heir.  Not a spectacular career, but competent.  And if he’ll listen to the military he should do fine.

“Two hours to launch, my lady,” called out her tac officer from his station.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to pull the depressed look from her face.  Can’t have everyone going into battle with this weight on their shoulders, she thought.  They had enough on their plates as it was.

*     *     *

Admiral Sir Gunter Heinrich stood on the flag bridge of HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo, the battleship that was leading Task Group 4.9 of the Imperial Fourth Fleet, trying to keep his face from showing the shock he felt.

“The whole damned family,” he whispered as he handed the message flimsy to his flag Captain.  Captain Myra Lamborgini looked over the flimsy, her eyes widening as she swallowed.

“You realize what this means?” she asked, handing him back the note.

“It means the little shit officially outranks us,” he said with a shrug.  “And even though he has not been through a coronation, he is for all intents and purposes the Emperor.”

“And we have to get him to safety,” she said, nodding.  “Without letting him know what kind of power he has just come into.”

“We have to let him know,” said Heinrich, looking at the tactical plot.  “How can we lie to our Emperor?”

“A lie of omission,” said the Flag Captain.  “To protect his life so he can exercise his power for a greater good.”

“I don’t know.”

“You know he will refuse to leave if given the choice,” said Lamborgini, staring into the eyes of her Admiral, who was also her lover.  “He has that damned honorable streak about him.  The same one his father had.  He would see it as his duty to die beside his comrades, especially if he is now the Emperor.  And we would have turmoil in our government.”

“Order him placed on a destroyer and taken from the system?” asked the Admiral.  “Is that what you would do?  Without letting him know why?”

“I suggest ordering his ship to leave formation and make a run for hyper,” said the Captain, running her fingers through her hair.  “That way the ship’s Captain could pretend to be following a tactical command from his Admiral, and the Prince wouldn’t have to know what is going on before it was too late to do anything about it.”

“I just don’t know,” said the Admiral, pacing a short distance and back.

“I know it takes a ship from your order of battle,” said the Captain, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick rub.  “But we need to get him out of here somehow, and you know this is the most expedient manner to do it.”

“Admiral,” called the tactical officer in a tense voice.  “You’ve got to see this.”

“What have you got?” asked the Admiral striding over to the tactical station, his Flag Captain at his heels.

“Tactical feed from the ships,” explained the Lt. Commander.

As if I needed that instruction, thought the Admiral, since his flag bridge didn’t have independent sensor feeds that didn’t go through the warships.

“We have eighty objects out there now decelerating down our throats,” said the officer, pointing at the red arrows in the large holo tank that showed an overview of the system.

“Eighty?” asked Lamborgini in disbelief.  “How could they have kept those other ships hidden?”

“I think they calved them,” said the tac officer.  “Each of the thirty million ton capital ships was really a twenty-five million ton capital ship with a four million ton supercruiser and two of the scout ships riding on her.  They just separated to prepare for battle.”

“And the smaller ships have better accel than the capital ships,” said the Flag Captain into the Admiral’s ear.

“Get me the Captain of the Sergiov,” he called to the com officer.  “Ears only.  Right after him get me the commander of their squadron so I can tell him what I have in mind.”

“Where will you take it, sir?” asked the com officer, knowing that she wouldn’t be privy to an ears only comcast.

“I’ll be in my day cabin with the Flag Captain,” said the Admiral.  He looked over at the tactical officer before leaving the bridge.  “Keep me immediately apprised of any more changes to the enemy order of battle.”

“Aye sir,” said the tac.  “Anything at all I’ll send right through to you.”

Admiral Gunter Heinrich nodded to the officer, then walked from the large room through the hatch to his day cabin, where he could be near to the flag bridge at all times.

“Their squadron is not going to like it,” said the Flag Captain, plopping down in the second chair in the cabin while the Admiral took the one behind his desk and linked to the com.

“You were the one arguing for this,” he said with a grimace.  The coal black face of Captain Ngano appeared on the viewer and the Admiral raised a hand to signal for the battleship commander to wait.  The bottom of the viewer displayed a numeric of the time lag, twelve, meaning that the other battleship was over six light seconds away.

“I’m just stating fact,” she said softly into his ear.  “But we have to do it.”

Heinrich nodded and turned back to the screen.

“Captain Ngano,” he said in a command voice.  “I have shocking news for you.  And orders that may be just as shocking.”

*     *     *

“Why not just send him over to a destroyer on a shuttle?” asked Captain Sebastian Ngano, looking at his task group commander on the viewer.  He waited the few seconds for his message to reach the flag, then come back to him.

“I realize you don’t want to pull your ship out of the formation,” said the Admiral over the com.  “But we are in a combat situation, and there’s no telling what might happen next.  I don’t want the Emperor out there in a fragile shuttle if missiles start coming out of nowhere.  Nor do I trust his life to a damned tin can.  Your ship is one of the most survivable units in the group, he’s already on your ship, so I’ve decided that you will be the package to carry him to safety.  Is that understood, Captain?”

“Yes sir,” said the Captain, letting the mixed feelings wash over him.  He was more likely to survive by running, as would his crew.  He would gain the admiration of the fleet for being the Captain who brought the Emperor to safety.  But he would be letting his fellow spacemen down by withdrawing such a powerful unit from the group.  And the whole thing was out of his hands.

”I am signaling your squadron commander as to my actions,” said the Admiral.  “So don’t bother getting in touch with her.  Just get your ship moving as soon as possible.  I’m sending the Jana Kleinman along with you to run interference if you need it.  I figure a destroyer might just be able to screen you from long range missiles.  At least a little bit.”

“Yes sir,” said the Captain, looking over at the small tactical display on the wall screen.  The destroyers and light cruisers were spread out behind the battleships in the formation, between the capital ships and the approaching decelerating enemy.  One of the destroyers’ vector arrows began changing and it started moving closer to Sergiov.

“Good luck, Captain,” said the Admiral.  “That young man is now the most important asset in the system.  Do whatever you need to get him home.  Heinrich out.”

The screen went blank and Ngano leaned back in his chair for just a moment.  Should I tell the Prince, he thought, going through the possible responses to that in his mind.  No.  His Majesty the Emperor.  Best to not.

The Captain jumped up from his chair and strode from his day cabin back onto his bridge.  The men and women were in battle armor, helmets and gloves off but near.  He could feel the tension in the air as the bridge crew tried to keep busy enough to drive thoughts of the upcoming battle from their minds.  There was a lot to do on the bridge, but in another fashion not that much, and the officers and enlisted personnel had too much mental reserve to not focus some on the imagined horror of the next two hours.  Plopping into his chair he noted that all the eyes on the bridge were focused on him.

“Helm,” he said to the young man seated in front of him at the control board shared by the navigator.  “Put us on a course out system.  Quickest vector that keeps us away from any known hostiles.  Full power, execute.”

The helmsman punched in the commands that set the ship in motion.  She stopped boosting toward the planet and put all of her acceleration into a new course that would cause her to bend away from the formation and end up at the hyper limit.

“All crew,” said the Captain, tapping into the internal com through his link.  “All crew.  Prepare for acceleration tanks.  Emergency acceleration in ten minutes.”

“What’s going on sir?” asked the exec over the link, at the same time as the helm and navigator turned back to look the question at him with their eyes.

“Can’t say just yet, exec,” replied the Captain.  He looked around as the floor units opened and the acceleration tanks rose from below.  “When I can say you will be the first to know.  Just know that we have orders from the Admiral to do exactly what I’m ordering.”

The tanks rose to the full height of their cylindrical forms and their doors opened.  A bit of fluid came up from the floor and then stopped, as each tank made sure it had an uninterrupted flow from the liquid storage units.

“Everybody make sure you’re jacked into your systems,” ordered the Captain.  “All repair bots on remote.  Then everyone into the tanks.”

There was some grumbling on the bridge as crew members began to walk to and back into their battle armor cubbies.  Backing up into the retaining arms, they opened the seals on the armor and allowed the cubby to pull it from them, stripping them down to their skin suits.  Some of the crew left their gloves and helmets attached to the holders at their battle stations, while others brought the attachments with them and placed them in their holders within the cubbies.

The skin suited crew then climbed into the acceleration cylinders.  The doors slid shut and sealed as crew members fitted breathing masks to their faces.  As the doors became seamless parts of the cylinder walls the liquid started to flow in again, until each and every crew member was covered and floated upright in the tank.

The Captain got up from his chair as the last crew sealed into the tanks.  He made sure that his link was working in interface with all of the ship’s systems he needed to interact with, got out of his armor, and climbed into the tank.  He jacked into the ship’s command and control system as soon as he pulled the breathing mask on and the tank started filling with liquid.

Sergiov was accelerating at two hundred and fifty gravities, her maximum safe increase.  That acceleration limit was based on the power of her inertial compensators, which could absorb about two hundred and fifty-five gravities on all of her crew accessible areas, giving her just a little bit more of a safety margin if needed.  The grabber units of the ship, the ether paddles as they were known by physicists who worked on the theories of such things, were capable of more than three hundred fifty gravities of acceleration.  This gave the ship a reserve so she could maintain capabilities through damage to the space propulsion system.

The crew was enhanced through nanosystems above and beyond the normal populaces’ enhancement, with increased blood flow to the brain and venous compression in the legs forcing blood back to the heart.  They could take up to ten gravities for minutes at a time without blackout, though it was still dangerous to leave an acceleration couch.  And the tanks, floating the crew’s bodies in a liquid cushion, would allow them to handle an additional thirty-two gravities.

The Captain monitored the ship’s systems while he floated in the liquid, assuring that everyone was safe and secure in the tanks.  When the last red crew icon turned green and he was sure all were where they needed to be he sent the command through the circuit.  Sergiov’s grabber units increased the force of their pull on space as the reactors fed them more power.  The gravities built up until the battleship pulled two hundred sixty gravities, then up to two hundred seventy, then two hundred and eighty.

The crew was still linked into their systems, ready to fight the ship if need be.  If it became clear that danger was imminent the ship would be powered down to normal safe max and the crew would leave the tubes, armor up, and assume their stations.

But so far so clear, thought the Captain as he plotted the vector curve that his ship would take out of the system.  Now all he had to wait for was the reaction of the enemy to see how exciting this little cruise might get.

*     *     *

“I wonder what the hell’s going on?” asked Lieutenant SG The Prince Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, moving to his armor station and pulling the unsealing straps.  He backed up into the cubby unit and felt the armor lock into the retracting arms.  The armor opened up and was pulled off of him into the cubby.

“I’m sure the Captain will let us know when we need to know,” said CPO Gorbachev, her own armor peeling off into the storage unit.  She stretched her arms over her head and waited for the tank to rise up from the floor.

I just hope it’s not something to do with me, he thought as he put his gloves and helmet into their carriers in the cubby.  It would be just like them to do something to protect his hide even at cost to the group.  I’m a serving officer, he thought.  But he kept his thoughts to himself.  His subordinate would just think he was bitching or moaning.  She’s so good at just obeying orders without question, he thought, then reconsidered.  It really wasn’t a fair assessment.  He had known the woman long enough to know that she thought out commands, and what they might mean to her.  But she was a professional, and knew her place in the scheme of things.  While he had been raised an Imperial, with ideas as to his own value and how others should treat him.  Which was not always the way the navy treated him.

“I’ll talk to you in a bit, sir,” said the CPO as she stepped into her tube and sealed it behind her.

The Prince stepped into his own tube and sealed it, then seated his breathing mask as the liquid bubbled up around him.  He waited a few minutes, making sure that he was jacked into the laser ring system.  The system came up clear and he could look at all of the laser emitters and the storage ring, noting that they were in perfect order and ready to go.  He tried to branch off a little further into the net, to get the overall tactical situation that generally all of the crew were able to gather.  And ran into a wall.  Much of the awareness of the net was blocked to him.  He couldn’t see the path the ship was on.  When he attempted to find a reason for that block he ran into a security block.

The last klaxon sounded outside the tube and he knew he was trapped there for the duration of emergency boost.  Unless he could figure a way to hack the system, get the tube to let him out, and somehow miraculously survive thirty gravities of acceleration.  Instead he tried to hack the block, using all of his IDs, including his Imperial Family code.  To no avail, as the system continued to lock him out.

They’re doing something they don’t want me to know about, he thought, clamping down hard on his mouthpiece in anger.  He attempted to get through to the Captain, and ran into the same block.  The ship went through higher acceleration as he worked, and was up to full emergency boost by the time he realized he would not be able to get the commander’s attention.

They don’t want me to know or be able to do anything about it, he thought.  And I’m trapped.

He beat a hand against the hard transparent plastic of the tube, cursing to himself in frustration.  There was nothing he could do.  They were doing something to protect him.  Not a serving officer of the fleet.  But the youngest son of Emperor Augustine.  And there was nothing he could do.

Chapter 16

People have asked through the centuries why the Terran Empire needs an Emperor.  There was even a War of Independence fought over this question, and the establishment of the separate Terran Republic.  But one thing has become clear over the years.  A people need a leader they can look to, they can fight for, they will even willingly die for.  And the head of a Royal Family supplies the best figurehead of all.  More so than any president, premiere or prime minister in history.

Speech by the Emperor Augustine I at the opening ceremony of the Imperial Thousandth Anniversary.

“One of their large vessels is doing something,” said the tactical Subcommander of the flag vessel.

Low Admiral Hrisshammartanama looked up from his meal and stared at the tactical display, noting the one ship blinking with a changing vector arrow.  To the left and below the ship a smaller dot was also changing vector.

“What’s the current range?” he growled around a mouthful of roast meat animal.

“About one hundred and sixty million kilometers,” said the tactical Subcommander, glancing with a twitching snout at his superior.

“Under nine light minutes,” growled the Low Admiral.  “And they still have not fired a missile at us.”

The junior officer looked at him blankly for a moment, while the Admiral waited for a comment.

“Missiles are most effective at range,” he said, his eyes wide with exasperation.  “They would do well to get them up to high velocity by firing at long range.  Yet they wait.  I wonder why.”

The tactical Subcommander continued to stare and say nothing, while the Low Admiral wondered to himself about the thinking processes of younger officers.

“Well, I guess we should do something to stir them up,” said the Low Admiral.  “Have all the ships in the force fire a salvo of missiles at the enemy formation ahead.  And another salvo at their orbital platforms.”

“We might hit the planet if we fire at their orbitals,” said the other Lord, looking intently at his commander.  “The priests won’t like that.”

“The hell with the priests,” growled the Low Admiral.  “We won’t try to intentionally harm the planet with its precious life,” he said with an upturned lip, showing a tusk in the sign of a sneer.  “But we are not attempting to take this planet for our own use, but only as a temporary base of operations.  The systems we will settle will be taken by other forces to establish our presence in this border region.  I want those orbital platforms hurt, if not destroyed.  And longer range missiles come in faster.”

“Aye, my Lord,” said the tactical officer, turning back to his board.  “Two salvos will be fired.”

The Low Admiral grinned again before he attacked his food.  He would sweep the humans from this system before another day had passed.  How could they hold damage to a planet against him if he accomplished that?

*     *     *

At two hundred million kilometers to the port of the alien force were seven ships that had so far escape enemy detection.  The task force commander watched as the clock ticked down, then gave the order.  Within a million kilometers of the Fleet Carrier Sargasso Sea, her two accompanying light carriers and the four escorts waited the assembled strike.  Over four hundred strike and attack fighters were arrayed in space, sliding sideways in the General direction of the local star with the same velocity as the ships that had launched them.

“Go,” ordered the senior Captain in charge of the Fleet Carrier.  Her orders were transmitted to the waiting fighters and the strike commander, the senior wing commander from Sargasso Sea’s fighter compliment.  That worthy signaled the rest of the strike, waited a few seconds, and then ordered her own pilot ahead at nine hundred gravities.  The first part of the human counter strike was put into motion.

*     *     *

“They’re firing sir,” called out the tactical officer.

Admiral Sir Gunter Heinrich looked up from the message he had been reading to stare at the tactical display.  Hundreds of red arrows had blossomed among the larger red arrows of the enemy fleet.  The vector arrows were starting to open some distance, piling on acceleration above that of the seventy-one thousand KPS of the launching ships.  But they would still take some time to move a significant distance away from the force.

“We were expecting this any time,” said the Admiral to Flag Captain Myra Lamborgini, who was standing near his chair trying to look nonchalant, in the best tradition of the Fleet.  She nodded her head as she watched the plot alongside of him.

At least we don’t have to walk the decks while sharpshooters from the rigging of other ships shoot down at us, he thought.  He could sit in his chair and cringe all he wanted, and most of the crew wouldn’t know.

“The fighters should be on their way,” said Captain Lamborgini, looking intently at the plot.  “They’re eleven light minutes out, so we should be seeing their IR signs, soon.”

“And the enemy will see them a few minutes later,” said the Admiral, looking up at her.  “I guess we can’t let them launch unchallenged,” he continued.  “Even though it’s still almost two hours before we have them in close range.”

“Missiles are better at long range,” she said, parroting the old military adage.

“I wanted them to be part of the layers of attack,” said the Admiral, pouting.  “I guess I don’t get everything I want.

“Tactical,” he called out, looking over at the Commander’s station.  “I want a salvo of capital missiles from every ship that carries them.  Battleships and battle cruisers.  How many will that give us?”

“Five hundred and sixty-two, sir,” called out the Commander.  “Leaves us with seven thousand ninety-eight in the group, not including the smaller missiles from the destroyers and cruisers.”

“Order a salvo on the enemy, then,” said the Admiral, tapping a finger against his temple.  “Better make that two of them.”

“Yes sir,” said the Commander.  “That will give them something to think about.”

“I would wish it were enough to blow them out of space,” said the Captain, her eyes boring into the tactical officer at his station.

“That would be too much to wish for,” said Heinrich.  “We know they have technological superiority over us in some areas.  We may be superior to them in others.  But I don’t think we can come to any kind of conclusion that they will have a hidden weakness to our weapons.  No.  They will take some punishment and give some punishment, and we will have a fight ahead of us.”

The green icons of missiles appeared on the tactical display.  The first salvo went out over a ten second period, the ships not fully synchronized on their launch.  Salvo two took an even longer time to dispense.  Soon it too was on its way, and two waves of missiles accelerated away at five thousand gravities.  They would actually be losing speed for over twelve minutes as they killed the velocity the launching ships had imparted to them on the wrong vector.  And they would never be traveling as fast when they reached their targets as the missiles launched from his heavy cruiser force or the orbital forts.

And probably won’t do as much damage, thought the Admiral as he watched the numbers appear below the enemy missiles.  Thirty five minutes flight time from launch, or about twenty-six minutes from time of detection.  And they were essentially chasing his force as he was accelerating away from them.  His own missiles would reach the enemy in about forty-two minutes, taking into account the opposing force’s velocity toward the missiles.  That was a plus, as they would come in faster relative to the enemy than they could under their own power against a stationary force at the same flight time.

Now we wait, he thought as he looked at the numbers again.  Never the most pleasant thing to do while objects were flying at significant fractions of the speed of light, aimed at taking your life.  But all he or any of the other members of the group could do at the moment.  That, and making sure that everything they could do to stop the enemy missiles was done.

*     *     *

“We’re picking up objects on an intercept vector to starboard,” called out the tactical officer.  “Infrared signatures indicate over four hundred.”

“Missiles?” asked Low Admiral Hrisshammartanama, looking up from his force tactical screen.

“I don’t believe so, my Lord,” said the officer, looking over his own readouts.  “They are accelerating at about nine hundred gravities.  Well below the capabilities for missiles that they have so far shown.”

“Must be more of those small attack craft they hit our scouts with earlier,” said the older Commander who served as the Low Admiral’s staff officer.  “That means at least sixteen hundred missiles when they get closer to us.  Much closer.”

“Can we hit them at a distance with our own missiles?” asked the Low Admiral.

“Uncertain,” said the Commander, scratching at a horn in a sign of contemplation.  “They are very small, and can dodge much quicker than a larger vessel.  But maybe some missiles actually armed with our countermissile warheads might take out some of them.”

“Mate a salvo with those warheads and send them at them,” ordered the Low Admiral.  He looked over at the tactical Subcommander.  “How long before our missiles hit their main body?”

“About nineteen minutes, my Lord,” said the young Lord, his snout wrinkling.

“You have a worry, young Lord,” said the Admiral, baring his tusks with a sarcastic smile.

“It’s just that I’m wondering why they don’t,” stated the officer.  His eyes went wide as he looked at his board.  “We have incoming from the main enemy force.  Over five hundred incoming.”

“Estimated time of arrival and velocity?” asked the Low Admiral, leaning forward in his chair.

“They will be traveling at one hundred two thousand KPS relative to the star,” said the tactical officer.  “One hundred fifty-nine thousand KPS closing with our speed.  About point five three c.  ETA five minutes, twenty-seven seconds.”

“Response, sir,” said the Commander/staff officer.

“None at this time,” said the Admiral.  “Let’s not throw away our firepower until the main effort.  I’m sure we’ll be able to take care of this.”

“Second salvo coming in,” called out the Subcommander.  “Total over one thousand missiles.”

“As I said,” continued the Admiral.  “We’ll weather this attack and wait until we’re closer.  I think this enemy is attempting an elaborate maneuver.  Let us not do what I believe they expect.  We will wait.”

The other officers nodded their assent.  But what else could they do, when their master had spoken.

*     *     *

“Missiles at two minutes out,” said the tactical officer on the flag bridge.

Admiral Gunter Heinrich felt himself tense involuntarily even though there was really nothing for him to do in this situation.  The ship’s captains and squadron commanders were in place to deal with the situation, and at this point he was merely an observer.  An observer nervously watching the tactical plot as the enemy missiles bore in at one hundred twenty thousand KPS relative to his ships.

The destroyers and light cruisers were arrayed in a defensive wall a million kilometers behind the main force of capital ships.  Two thousand kilometers by two thousand kilometers, the wall covered four million square kilometers.  Of the sixteen light cruisers, four were dedicated fleet missile defense ships, with more countermissiles and close in sensor arrays than most light cruisers.  There were eight dedicated fleet defense missile escorts among the fifty four destroyers. Each quadrant of the box was commanded by one of the special light cruisers, with two of the special destroyers as backup.  Three light cruisers and eleven destroyers filled in the defense of each quadrant, with the two remaining destroyers stationed where the four corners of the quadrants met.

Their mission was simple.  To kill enemy missiles before they got to the capital ships they were defending.  Their secondary mission was to survive so they could attack succeeding salvos of missiles.  And to make sure that they did not use all of their missiles to defeat one salvo, leaving the fleet open to the next layers of attack.

The sensory systems of the escorts picked up the missiles on passive infrared as the weapons came rushing in.  At three light minutes the active sensors radiated tight beams to define the locations of the incoming swarm that was to arrive in seven minutes.  They attempted to derive a pattern from the thousand missiles that were starting to weave and dodge.  In some cases they might find one, but in most the missile AI was good enough to keep the pattern as random as possible.

At two light minutes subjective the escorts launched their first salvos of long range counters.  These were about a quarter the size of regular offensive missiles, with little of their stamina.  The thousands of missiles streaked out at eight thousand gravities, attempting to fight their way through the electronic static of the incoming birds.  Some were spoofed by the decoys the incoming missiles were now releasing.  Others locked on, only to lose the lock and wander off into space.  Still others bore in for a kill, only to lose the target at the last second as it juked or swerved at thousands of gravities, leaving empty space to the closing killer.  A couple of dozen counters achieved hard kills, slamming their bodies into the incoming missiles in spectacular bursts of light and radiation.  And a hundred took out missiles with proximity kills as their warheads went off within tens of kilometers of the incoming, and destroyed them with particles of hard radiation or debris.

The eight hundred and fifty survivors continued in, accelerating all the while.  The second salvo of counters had to contend with the sensor jamming radiation of their earlier mates’ kills and misses.  They still took out over a hundred of the missiles.  Seven hundred fifty continued on and were caught in a counter missile salvo launched by the capital ships.  Seven hundred continued on, some pulled in by the sensor returns from the escorts, the rest keeping to program and looking for bigger targets.

The escorts now launched the shorter ranged counter missiles.  The light cruisers carried between twelve and sixteen double launchers that fired two missiles every two seconds.  The destroyers carried between ten and twelve single missile launchers with a similar rate of fire.  Within seconds space was filled with thousands of missiles, accelerating at ten thousand gravities.  The only hitch was their boost duration, which was about twenty seconds.  They still took out over two hundred of the incoming enemy weapons.  As they approached their targets miniature nuclear devices went off under the depleted plutonium rods in the warhead.  A heavy vapor of depleted plutonium spewed out from the disintegrating counters, spreading hundreds of meters in circumference and catching the speeding missiles in kinetic traps.

Three hundred of the missiles veered onto tracks targeting the escorts.  More of the short ranged missiles shrieked out, while lasers and close ranged rapid firers attempted to engage them, most failing as the missiles moved at over a light second away, only in real time targeting in most cases for a fraction of a second.

Two of the escorts took direct hits that shattered hulls and sent flaming plasma throughout the body of the vessels.  A light cruiser and three destroyers were damaged to varying degrees, while another half dozen ships took minor damage.

The hundred or so missiles that passed through the escort wall to attack the capital ships faced another barrage of short ranged missiles, interspersed with lasers and rapid firing close in weapons.  Only a score of the missiles made it to attack range, scoring a half dozen proximity hits that caused superficial damage to the huge capital ships.  And then the wave was gone, while the ships reoriented on the second wave that was on its way in.

It was mostly the same story with the second wave.  Three hundred missiles made it through the fire, and continued to plunge into the system.  Capital ships took them under fire with long range interceptors for a minute, until the missiles had passed and were on their way into the system under eight thousand gravities acceleration, and out of catch up range for the interceptors.

“Send to Admiral Gonzalez that’s she’s going to have company shortly,” said Gunter Heinrich as he watched the missiles in his plot.  “In about forty minutes, I would think.”

“Yes sir,” said the com officer, sending the ordered instructions.

“And after you’re through with that tell the destroyers and cruisers to start rolling them out.”

*     *     *

At least he’s letting me have access to the tactical plot, thought the Prince as he watched the unfolding drama in his mind.  They were now about eighty light seconds from the fleet, and actually just a few light seconds closer to the enemy.  But they were moving out on the curving track that was imparted from boosting at a ninety degree angle from their most recent vector, which was still imparting considerable velocity on their track.  Within an hour the enemy would be past them, and they would open up the gap between them and the hostiles.

Damn the old man, thought the Prince again, his anger shaking through him.  Who are they to pull me out of the fight?  He could think of no other reason to take one of the most powerful units in the group out of the looming battle.  And he would make sure they paid for it when the battle was over.  Or at least Captain Sebastian Ngano would pay, since he was not sure if Admiral Gunter Heinrich would still be around.

*     *     *

“What do you think about the enemy ship that seems to want out of the fight?” asked Hrisshammartanama of one of his more senior officers.

“They want to protect something really bad would be my guess,” said the older Lord.  “And they want it out of our way.”

“No telling what it is,” said the Low Admiral, scratching his head.  “But if they don’t want it harmed it’s probably a good idea on our part to harm it.”

“I agree,” said the other Lord, giving a feral smile.

“Fire a hundred missiles their way,” ordered the Low Admiral.  “Let’s see how a pair of ships handles that kind of a meal.  And order all the out system pickets to watch for them.”

*     *     *

“They’re firing a spread of missiles on our vector, sir,” came the voice of the tactical officer to the Captain.

Damn, thought the Captain, floating in his tube of liquid.  They could have waited just a bit longer.  Given us some more velocity to work with.

“ETA,” he asked over the link.

“Twelve minutes,” came the voice of the tac officer.

“Ship,” he said in his mind over the link.  “Decrease acceleration to two hundred fifty gravities.  Sound klaxon.”

The ship obediently reduced acceleration while sounding the klaxon.  The Captain ordered that he be linked to the ship’s company.

“Now hear this,” he said over the circuit.  “We have been targeted by enemy missiles.  All crew out of the tanks and to your duty stations.  Repeat.  All crew out of the tanks and to your duty stations.”

The liquid began to withdraw from his own acceleration tank, swiftly sucked up into the holding tank. As soon as it was down below the opening, that door unsealed and the Captain moved out.  He hurried to the armor cubby near his chair, which opened at his approach, and backed into the opening shell of his armor.  The armor swung shut on him and he moved forward, out of the cubby, reaching back for his helmet and gloves before the small chamber closed.  His tank had lowered into the floor in the meantime, and the floor hatch had slid shut, the nanoseals closing so that the area looked like the solid surface it now was.

The rest of the bridge crew was already out and at their stations by the time he got to his chair.  They’re all younger than me, he thought with a grimace.  Able to move faster.

“Projected time to impact?” he asked as he sat in his couch and felt it attach to his armor.

“Ten minutes, sir,” called the tactical officer.

“Load jammers in all stern tubes,” he ordered.  “Set them to go off six minutes after firing.  Fire.”

“Aye, sir,” called out the weapons officer, sending the orders.

“Prepare all decoys for launch.  I also want a spread of offensive missiles fired on intercept course, right behind the jammers.  Let’s see what a couple of dozen five hundred meg warheads might do.”

“Jana Kleinman is requesting instructions, sir,” said the com tech, looking over at the Captain with beads of sweat on her brow.

“Send her my intentions,” he replied.  “Ask them to fire a spread of offensive missiles to come in and detonate right behind ours.  Full decoys, and integrate into our fire control.  I want them close enough for real time.  Say two thousand kilometers.”

“Aye sir,” said the tech, turning back to her board.

“We will ride this out people,” said the Captain, clenching his fists.  “We will make it.”

The rest of the bridge hurried about their duties, sparing a glance every few seconds at the tactical plot that showed a hundred red arrows on the way.

“And send some Marines down to get that damned Prince up here,” said the Captain as an afterthought.

*     *     *

“Ring is at full power,” called out a Petty Officer from his station in the control chamber.  “Matrix is fully charged, and there is ninety-nine percent feed from the couplings.”

“Check, sir,” said Gorbachev from her station.  “All systems within parameters.”

“Are all ratings at stations?” asked Lt. SG Romanov from his post.

“Yes sir,” called back the chief.  “All armored and ready to go.  Repair robots ready as well.”

“Missile impact in eight minutes,” called a voice over the link.

The Prince allowed himself to meld into the ship for a moment, looking at the now unblocked tactical display.  A hundred red arrows moved toward them, while dozens of green arrows reached out to them.

“Lieutenant Romanov,” came a voice he didn’t recognize from behind.  Turning in his couch, the Prince found himself looking at two battle armored Marines.  One had Gunnery Sergeant’s stripes on his helmet and armored chest.  The other had corporal stripes and carried a shipboard assault rifle.

“What can I do for you, Gunny?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Captain’s orders,” said the NCO.  “You are to accompany us to the bridge.”

The damned bridge, he thought, looking in disbelief at the man.  The Captain was going to save him no matter what, and not allow him to comport himself like an officer of the Fleet.

“Now, sir,” said the gunny, his hand on the butt of a sonic stunner that was holstered at his side.

“We’ll take care of it sir,” said CPO Gorbachev, giving him a tight smile.  “We’ll make you proud.”

Sean nodded his head and ordered the couch to release his suit with a thought.  The Corporal moved aside as he came up to the Sergeant, who led him from the chamber as the Corporal fell in behind.

They entered the lift and Sean turned toward the doors as they closed.  He stared ahead without a word.  The Captain’s word was law on the ship.  And the Marine professionals were bound to obey that word, no matter the protests of a junior officer.  No matter his family.  So he would not accomplish anything by protesting to them.  Threatening them.  Attempting to bribe them.

“Missile impact in six minutes,” came the voice over the net with infuriating projected calm.  The Prince called the tactical plot up in his mind as the lift moved downward fifty meters, reoriented, and sped away along the central conduit of the ship.

In his mind he was watching the red arrows moving closer.  And the green arrows reaching out to them.  The first dozen of those arrows were within fifteen seconds of the incoming war birds when they showered space with a cascade of energy.  Blinding the incoming missiles on all frequencies, throwing off their targeting systems.  The red arrows bore on ahead, toward the target that they could no longer see, but which was entrenched in their inertial systems.

As the enemy missiles passed the jammers they reacquired the battleship and plunged ahead.  That was when the first wave of offensive missiles reached them and detonated in space.  Not interceptors, they had still been targeted on the incoming missiles, and had done their best to find them and kill them.  They turned to bright expanding dots on the display, and four of the red arrows disappeared.  A second wave of missiles, these from the destroyer, detonated two light seconds behind them and took another three missiles off the board.

The lift came to a stop in the center of the amidships central capsule and the doors opened.  The hallways were completely empty of crew, everyone gone to their duty stations.  The Gunnery Sergeant gestured toward a door set into the bulkhead across from the lift.  There were a pair of Marine guards stationed outside the door, sitting in acceleration couches within recesses and holding shipboard rifles in their armor gloved hands.  The gunny stopped in front of them and gave them a code word.

“In you go, Lieutenant,” said the Marine as the heavy doors to the bridge opened.

Sean gave him an angry look that seemed to slide off the man, not a bit of concern showing in the Marine NCO’s eyes.  With a hundred missiles coming in I’m probably the last thing he needs to be concerned about, thought the Prince as he walked in the door.

“Missile impact in five minutes,” came the calm voice over the net.

All of the bridge stations were manned with space armored officers and crew.  Despite the environmental control most of them were sweating, and Sean could feel the fear in the room.  The same fear that was twisting at his guts as the enemy missiles bore in.  But everyone was going about their duties efficiently, training taking charge in the stress of the moment.

The Captain gestured the Prince over and waved at one of the two empty acceleration couches on either side of his chair.  The extra chairs for the XO and a visitor.  He was the visitor to the bridge, and the XO would be down in the Combat Information Center (CIC) in another capsule of the ship.  Both the heads of the ship, primary and auxiliary, in the most protected portions of the heavy vessel.

Sean fell back in the seat and felt the latches attach to his armor, holding him in place.  The Captain was subvocalizing orders and did not look like he would brook a disturbance at this time, so Sean held his tongue and looked around the large chamber.

“Prepare for emergency military boost,” came a calm voice over the com.  “Emergency boost in ten seconds.”

The Marines had already scrambled from the room, heading for their emergency stations. Their armor would move them through the increased gravity of the boost even if they felt like they were about to fall.  It was still safer to be in a couch.

Sean looked up at the ceiling overhead, the meter thick chunk of alloy containing wire runs and pipes that fed the bridge.  He thought of the outer skin of the ship, ten meters of ceramic, carbon fiber and hard alloy armor, with a meter thick layer of nanoliquid between the two sections.  The nanoliquid would fill and seal any holes punched through that strong mass.  Then there were tanks of liquid, stores, and two hundred meters of whatever else the ship might have before the five meter thick armored skin of the central capsule.  Then hundreds of meters of ship before the bridge, located in almost the exact center of the capsule, just above the central umbilical.  A lot to punch through to get to this protected spot.  And something that was all too likely to happen if they were pounded by those following missiles.

Just then all thoughts fled as a giant hand seemed to push him back into his couch.  The ship went to two hundred and sixty gees, five above the capacity of the inertial compensators, and the crew felt as if they were on the surface of a superheavy planet.  Sean forced his lungs to work, as his armor pulled outward with his breaths to increase the force that his poor muscles were trying to exert.  He gritted his teeth as his vision started to blur.  Then his implanted systems came online and forced the blood flow through his veins, feeding his brain the needed oxygen.

“It’s a pure bitch,” came the voice of the Captain through his com circuit on a one on one link.  “I hate it.  But every little bit of accel might make the difference.”

Sean tried to nod his head but it wouldn’t move.  He looked at the tactical in his mind’s eye again, seeing the ninety three remaining missiles meeting the first wave of interceptors.  On one view arrow met arrow and seven of the red arrows disappeared.  In real space view seven bright points blossomed as fast moving matter met fast moving matter, and antimatter containment breached.  And eighty-six red arrows continued to gain on them.

More objects appeared on the plot as decoys were released that would attempt to mimic the signals and sensor profile of the battleship.  Each boosted away at the same accel as the battleship and tried to lure missiles toward them.  Some succeeded for a while, pulling a couple of dozen missiles off the kill track.  Of those about ten lost lock permanently, while the others reacquired after a few moments of continued seeking.

A second wave of interceptors contacted the incoming, taking out eleven of the remaining seventy-four, leaving sixty three coming in at over point five c.  A third wave of interceptors hit six more, leaving fifty-seven screaming in silently through space.

Close range interceptors started cycling from the ships as fast as they could launch, putting multiple hundreds of the small missiles in space.  Box cells on the hull released another hundred interceptors.  Fifty-seven missiles became forty-eight, then forty-two, then thirty-seven.  And then they were within the close range envelope and boring in on the battleship, which had terminated all forward boost and was getting ready for the end game.  The ships began to swerve and jerk in random directions as they released another wave of decoys.  Everything from large terawatt lasers to fifty millimeter cannon filled the space behind the ships as they attempted to bring the swiftly maneuvering missiles into their firing arcs.  A dozen missiles exploded, then five more, two colliding with each other in their maneuvering.  Twenty missiles continued in, three more picked off by close in weapons.

Then the destroyer made the ultimate sacrifice, as it was supposed to.  Sean felt his mouth form a scream his lungs could not support as the two hundred thousand ton ship pushed at over three hundred gees into the path of several of the missiles.  One hit the bow, followed a ten thousandth of a second by one to the stern.  The ship vaporized in an instant in a blinding flare, which expanded again as the antimatter breached containment.  Six closely following missiles were caught in the expanding cloud of debris and pummeled, their own velocity breaking them apart through the cloud in a series of bright flares.

Nine missiles made it through the thinning barrier, locked onto the battleship.  Close in weapons fired a furious cloud of metal, knocking out three more that detonated close enough to put heat and radiation into the outer skin of the ship.  Six closed on the ship, four sure to make contact and shatter the capital ship and its precious cargo.

The Sergiov jinked in three directions within a millisecond at two hundred and eighty gravities.  Sean felt his stomach turn and the beginning fuzzy daze of a concussion as his brain rattled around in his skull.  But three of the sure hits were thrown off the strike.  They detonated at closest approach, two within a hundred meters of the battleship.  Sections of the thick hull were breached by heat and radiation, alloys vaporizing and gassing into space.  Atmosphere followed the gaseous metals, until the nanoliquid within the hull filled the openings and hardened.  The two outliers also went off, adding their radiation from ten and thirty kilometers respectively.

The last missile was hit by several rounds from close in weapons and an ejecting plate of hull metal in the last ditch defensive system.  That missile broke up and detonated within milliseconds, sending a wave of material particles into the hull at point five c.  Several of the larger particles penetrated the hull and projected deep into the ship, and the vessel shuddered under the impact.

Klaxons sounded as the damage reports came in over the net.  One hundred sixty-four killed.  Another fifty-two injured.  Several grabber units put out of action, as well as many close in weapons and a half dozen counter missile tubes.  The most serious was the damage to the port stern missile magazine, which was now jammed beyond immediate repair.  The missiles could be shifted to other magazines as space became available.  And fortunately none of the warheads had been damaged within their shielded compartment, or that side of the ship might have been a total wreck.

“Nothing else approaching,” called the tac officer over the circuit.  “We got them all.”

“Or they about got us,” said Captain Ngano, a slight smile on his face.

Sean saw the smile, thought about the dead crew, and was within an instant of yelling at the man. Then he caught a look at the Captain’s eyes and realized that the man was in pain at the loss of crew.  And at the loss of the escorting destroyer and all aboard her.  And that the smile was the relief that any human might feel at still being alive.

“I am sorry, my Prince,” said the man, looking straight into Sean’s eyes with a look of sorrow. Sorrow at something else.  “I will explain as soon as we are back to emergency boost.

“Slow the ship to normal acceleration,” ordered the Captain.  He switched to the all ship circuit and talked into the com.  “All crew.  Prepare to reenter the tanks.  Emergency boost in five minutes.

“Get ready, your Majesty,” said the Captain as he sat up from his couch.  The tanks were in the process of rising up from the floor, and the bridge crew was hurrying to get out of their armor.  “I’ll jack into your personal circuit once we are boosting.  Then I’ll explain it to you.”

Sean nodded his head as he stood up and moved to an empty cubby.  Explain what to me? he thought as he let the cubby pull the armor from him.  He had a bad feeling.  Whatever it was he wasn’t going to like it.  And ‘your Majesty’, he thought with a grimace.  The Captain had always gone out of his way to not put a tag of birth on his young officer.  It must be very bad indeed.

Chapter 17

No Captain can do very wrong if he places his ship alongside that of the enemy.

Horatio Nelson.

“Fire,” said Vice Admiral The Countess Esmeralda Gonzalez into her com circuit.  The station bucked with a series of quick vibrations as it flushed its missile tubes.  Ten seconds later it flushed again.  Then again.  The three waves of green arrows appeared on the plot, along with the arrows from the other fortress.  Three hundred of the large missiles, each three hundred tons with their own self-contained fusion reactors, carrying five hundred megaton fusion warheads, were on their way.  The forts would continue to fire, wave after wave, until their magazines were emptied.

They should be up to terminal velocity by the time they get where they need to be, she thought.  They were also bigger targets than capital ship missiles, carrying fusion warheads instead of the smaller antimatter variety.  But since nobody wanted several teratons of antimatter warheads this near a planet, where an exploding station could drop them to the surface, the safer fusion warheads were what the forts carried.

“Incoming missiles in twelve minutes,” called out the tactical officer.  The Admiral switched her internal view of the plot, moving outward to where the ninety enemy missiles were coming in at point eight c.  She could feel the vibrations of the station change slightly as the counter missile tubes started their firing sequence.  The great thing about the forts was that they had lots of room.  So the long range counters were larger than their equivalents on ships, which a much longer range.  And she would use that range to keep pumping them out throughout the approach profile of the enemy.  As she watched the plot the green arrows increased and moved out in their waves, while the red arrows moved in.

*     *     *

“Com from the orbitals,” said the com tech, looking over his shoulder at the Admiral.  “Personal from Admiral Gonzalez.”

“I’ll take it on my internal,” said Admiral Heinrich, switching into his own link.  Unfortunately, he knew, the other Admiral was over thirty-six minutes one way com time from him.  He could listen, but his reply would take over a half an hour to get back to her.

“We came through as good as could be expected,” said the Countess over the link.  “Some damage to the other fortress.  We took a couple of minor hits from fragments.  But they weren’t as hard to take out as we had thought.”

She paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully into the cam unit.  “Their missiles were very good to get those hits without achieving saturation.  Not really super weapons, no.  Better acceleration than what we have now.  With slightly better ECM and penetration aids.  But nothing we can’t overcome with numbers.”

“If only we outnumbered them,” said Heinrich under his breath.

“We’ve sent everything your way we could launch,” she continued.  “Within the time frame.  Praying that everything works out within the plan.  Gonzalez out.”

There followed a mass of technical data which Heinrich shunted into the tactical systems for his staff to look over.  It did seem too easy, so far.  The big bad ogres were not so frightening after all.  And that seemed more frightening from his professional perspective than anything.

The Admiral started a second as a hand touched him on the shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.  Flag Captain Lamborgini looked down on him, her face tense.

“It’s time, Admiral,” she said, nodding toward the large tactical screen.

Heinrich looked up as a series of green arrows appeared over all of his ships, then spread out and away.  They were launching their own missiles.  The enemy was within thirty million kilometers, a range that would continue to shrink over the next two hours before the enemy passed them and the range opened again.  For a half hour of that time they would be within effective laser range, and the gun battle would dominate the engagement.  Either of the forces could be shattered by that time by missile fire.  Or both.  Both or the enemy’s would be a satisfactory outcome from a strategic point.

“May god be with us,” he said as he expanded the tactical display to bring all the players onto the scene.

*     *     *

Low Admiral Hrissnammartanama watched the tactical display as all of the players moved across it.  Nothing was in real time, based as it was on best guess estimates of sensor returns of objects still light minutes away.  But the best guess estimates were normally very good.

Over four hundred of the largish attack fighters of the humans were coming in from the starboard quarter, moving at point two c relative to his force.  They had just lit their reactors up after presumably coasting for an undetermined time from their launch vessels, and were about fifteen minutes from contact.  Nineteen medium sized vessels, about three times the mass of his scout ships, were sitting to the port side and had released about two thousand missiles.  The weapons were coming in at about point six eight c relative, and would make contact in about ten minutes.

And to his front he had over a thousand missiles, launched from planetary orbit, coming in at point nine c relative (about .7 absolute), and the missiles launched by the enemy fleet, over five thousand, moving at considerable less velocity than the other weapons, but estimated to contact his force in ten minutes.

“Except for the small vessels we’ll be dealing with their weapons all about the same time,” said the tactical officer with a tight look on his face.  Just as he finished the plot changed as twelve hundred missiles left their launch bays on the human fighters.  The vector arrows started moving toward the Ca’cadasan force, and soon numbers appeared underneath.  ETA of ten minutes.

“A masterful engagement,” said the Low Admiral, showing his teeth in admiration of a skillful opponent.  “He attempts to use everything he has to saturate our defenses.”

“We have an understanding of his systems now, my Lord,” said the underofficer, looking at the screen.  “He will not do as well as during the first engagements.”

“He will still draw blood,” said the Low Admiral.  “Just hopefully not as much as he desired too.”

The Low Admiral looked at the screen for a moment more, then looked over at his tactical officer.

“Fire five full salvoes at the enemy,” he ordered.  “Set them to continuous target tracking.  I want them to seek out whatever comes up next if they miss their first targets of opportunity.  Ships, orbital stations, whatever they can line up.  And send a full salvo at that group of ships to our port.”

The tactical officer nodded in acknowledgment and worked at his board.  Soon the tactical display was filled with the vector arrows of the Ca’cadasan missiles heading toward the enemy, until six thousand of the projectiles were on their way.

*     *     *

“We have enemy missiles on an incoming trajectory,” yelled out the tactical officer.

Admiral Sir Gunter Heinrich looked up from his chair where he had been contemplating the future and saw the storm of vector arrows now heading for his force.

We knew we were going to stir up a hornet's nest , he thought as he stared at the holo tank.  And the hornets were coming on with stingers to the fore.  He could feel the shiver of fear run up his spine as he contemplated his own removal from existence.  What would his family think of his leaving them?  What would his Empire think of not having Sir Gunter Heinrich leading His Imperial Majesty's warships into battle?  Of course the dogs would miss him, if they even remembered him, it had been so long since he had been on his estates.  Or would he be the only one to notice that he wasn't here anymore.

The Admiral felt himself chuckle at the absurdity of that last thought.  How would he notice if he were no longer here?  Unless one of the major religions was correct and there actually was an afterlife.  He was not a believer.  His belief was that when life ended consciousness, existence itself, ended.  And right now he did not want to believe that.  Not with non-existence staring him in the face.

“Total of six thousand missiles heading our way,” called out the tactical officer in an artificially calm voice.  The voice taught to young officers in the academies, to portray the proper attitude of nonchalance to the crew.

“Are you OK, Admiral?” asked Flag Captain Myra Lamborgini, looking over from her chair, her head looking tiny in the combat armor that might allow her at most a minute more of life.  Her eyes were wide and sweat was beading on her face despite the perfect climate of the flag bridge.

“Fine, Myra,” said Heinrich, wiping a bit of sweat from his own forehead and smiling.  “Scared to death at what's about to happen.  But fine.”

The Flag Captain's eyes went even wider at the admission of her superior and lover.

“It's out of our hands, Captain,” continued Gunter, shaking his head.  “We live or die based on the performance of these young men and women, and the equipment that they operate.”

Lamborgini nodded her head and returned his tight smile.

“At a time like this I wish I were an ensign,” she said, looking at the plot.  “Or a Lieutenant JG, working the weapons console of a frigate.  Doing something, with at least the illusion that what I was doing would make a difference in whether I lived or died.”

“Not a ship's Captain, Myra?” asked Heinrich, his eyebrows looking a question.  “Not the one in charge of the play?”

“Hell, Admiral,” she said, shaking her head.  “Our Captains have no more control of their destiny than we have.  Their ships are plugged into the program.  They're just spectators.  Just like we are.  Until the first barrage arrives, ships die, and the plan changes.  Then those who survive become masters of their fate again.  At least to the degree where they can decide how they are going to play the next wave.  Maybe they might even survive the whole show.”

“I wish I had told you more often how much I love you,” whispered Heinrich, leaning over toward his Flag Captain and placing a gloved hand on armored knee.  He wished it could be the touch of his flesh and blood hand on her bare skin.

“But you had your wife and family,” she said with a catch in her throat.  “Appearances need to be kept.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, feeling his face tighten.

“Our first wave should be reaching the enemy in one minute,” said the tactical officer.  “ETA of enemy missiles, four minutes.”

“We shouldn't be going these places at a time like this,” said Lamborgini, flashing a quick smile.  “If it's our last moments, we shouldn't waste them in recriminations.  If we survive, we can talk about this later.”

Heinrich nodded his head, then made sure the seal on his helmet was tight.  The faceplate could be dropped and sealed just before the enemy missiles struck.  He turned his eyes back to the plot, watching as the green arrows of his attack reached out toward the enemy, and the red arrows of the enemy's strike moved across space toward his force.

*     *     *

The Low Admiral could feel the massive ship buck slightly under him and knew that the counter missiles were cycling though the tubes.  Every ship in his force, from the twenty battleships, through the twenty cruisers, all the way to the forty scouts, were flushing counter missiles as fast as they could cycle.  All targeting the most dangerous wave, that of the orbital forts that were traveling at over point nine light speed.  After several cycles the missiles switched targets, going with one wave toward the missiles coming from the far cruiser force.  The next cycle targeted the wave from the fighters.  Then two cycles on the missiles coming from the enemy battle force.  And so it went as the fleet attempted to put all the missiles they could into space, and knock down as many enemy missiles as possible at the longest range they could.

“First wave contact in one minute,” called out the tactical officer, while all watched the fastest moving arrows approached.  Three hundred red arrows that showed on the display as larger sensor targets than the others.  They began to turn into pinpoints of light as counter missiles reached out, dozens of counters to each of the offensive weapons.  A hundred winked out, then another fifty, then fifty more, as hard and proximity kills took out the weapons that had been launched over an hour before by the orbital platforms.  Ninety six continued on, their seeker systems making adjustments while they picked out targets, priority given to the largest.

Close in systems took out over half those remaining, while heavy jamming spoiled the targeting of a score more.  Twenty missiles got within range to actually accomplish their mission.  Four hit scout class vessels, blotting them from existence with gigatons of kinetic energy.  Fourteen went for proximity kills when it became apparent to their electronic brains that they were not going to hit their targets.  They caused some damage to a pair of massive battleships and a trio of cruisers.  One hit a cruiser dead on the bow, shattering all the way through the two kilometers of vessel, while one made a glancing hit on a battleship, killing all aboard as compensators fail to handle the change in inertia in the spinning ship.

Next in were the missiles from the cruiser force, traveling at point seven light.  The systems on the Ca'cadasan ships were able to burn through the jamming and gain firm solutions on most of these weapons.  Two thirds were blotted from the heavens before they were three minutes out.  A mere dozen got within kill range, causing minor damage to a quartet of cruisers and a pair of scouts.

The missiles from the fighters had better luck.  Smaller targets, the dedicated jammers were able to hide most of the killer weapons in a cloud of static.  Waves of interceptors flew toward them, in their numbers attempting to break through the jamming and acquire targets.  Tens of thousands of the smaller missiles flew into the static cloud, and some were bound to come close enough to a missile to lock target and attempt a kill.  Kill they did, putting waves of particles and debris into the path of incoming weapons in proximity kills.  There were even a few lucky hard kills.  Almost half the small fighter missiles broke through the first wave of interceptors.  Half of those died at the hands of the second wave, until a thousand missiles came within the range of the close in systems.  In seconds the threat was over, at the cost of one of the battleships, hit by a score of missiles in a paroxysm of statistical improbability, and a half dozen of the smaller ships damaged to varying degrees.

The last to fall were the missiles of the human battle fleet, coming within seconds of the others.  Only two hundred made it through the counter missiles.  Of those a mere thirty-four came through the close in systems.  Two more Ca’cada battleships were damaged, while a cruiser and two scout ships flared like miniature stars until their plasma had spread too far to sustain its fire.

“Enemy task force is firing,” called out tactical as the Low Admiral thanked the gods the flagship had escaped unscathed.  Thousands of red arrows blossomed on the holo tank, vector paths and velocities appearing underneath as data were gathered.

“All ships fire at will,” ordered the Low Admiral, his voice a roar.  “Obliterate them.”

“They are firing energy weapons at us, my Lord,” said tactical.  “Scout Graco-12 reporting that they are taking lasers in the Gamma range on their hull.”

“Return fire with our own energy weapons as well,” ordered the Low Admiral.  “Statistical probability targeting until we get within direct fire range.”

Between the fleets was now played the game of laser tag, ships firing their energy weapons, as computers attempted to gauge the whereabouts of enemy ships still light minutes away.  Frequencies were changed back and forth in an attempt to defeat electromagnetic fields, cold plasma shields and reflecting nanosurfaces.  Minor damage was done here or there in the opposing fleets, as ships maneuvered at random to escape incoming beams.  Missiles intersected beams by chance, containment fields rupturing under the heat of coherent light, small suns flaring in the blackness of space.

The fleets closed the distance under the limitations of normal space.  Missiles grew less effective as the range decreased, cutting down on their terminal velocity as distance closed.  While the energy weapons grew in effectiveness.

*     *     *

“Launching long range counters,” called out the tactical officer.  HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo bucked slightly as she cycled counter missiles into the fleet defense plan, while the main missile launchers continued to pump out offensive weapons.  Six thousand vector arrows crowded the holo tank, starting to cluster some as they picked targets.  Larger arrows showed groupings of successive waves of missiles, moving out from the enemy ships and headed toward the fleet.  Waves of green arrows showed the offensive power of the human force moving toward the enemy.  Successive waves were not as well organized as the earlier waves.  The human ships were trying to get everything they had off before they became floating hulks, or clouds of plasma.

“Returns coming in from sensors on the first strikes,” called out tactical.  “Best guess estimates being correlated.”

“ Dammit,” growled the Admiral as he watched the figures coming up on the repeater screen.  Only one of their monster ships destroyed, with damage to a probable three others.  One or two cruisers and maybe a half dozen destroyers.  Less than a fifteenth of their firepower.

“Well,” said Lamborgini, giving him a soft smile, “we only expected to distract them.  Maybe sting them a little.”

“Now we hope that our surprise is complete,” said the Admiral, nodding.  “Though I don't think we'll be around to see it.”

“Long range counters entering enemy missile envelop,” called out tactical.  “Engaging.”

Heinrich watched as enemy vector arrows dropped off the plot as the counter missiles attacked.  Some were dropping off.  Not enough.  And the following waves were soon to come into the range of the longest counters, while the first wave was coming to the attention of the short range weapons.

“Bannon and Ji both register as hits,” called out the tactical officer, after enemy missiles intersected the hulls of the two destroyers.  The green icons blinked red for a moment and then faded.  With them faded the lives of over six hundred men and women.

“Lancaster hit by lasers,” continued the tactical officer, as another icon flashed red.  This time the icon did not fade, but continued to blink from green to red.  The ship was still in the fight, but had suffered near catastrophic damage from the lucky laser hit.

The second wave of missiles entered the envelope of the destroyer and cruiser screen.  Several of the battleship icons flashed red, all but one continuing to blink while that one faded out.  At the same time two cruisers and a trio of destroyers blinked red and faded away.

“Hits registered on one of the enemy battleships,” said the tactical officer.

Heinrich watched the feed as four missiles blossomed into antimatter fire and radiation.  They blotted out the long range view of the enemy vessel.  As the fire receded the flag bridge crew cheered as the enemy ship came back into view.  The front end of the ship had a chewed up look, damaged from the blasts of several multi gigaton warheads.  The ship had a slow spin on it, as if it could no longer control its own motion.

“Prepare for impact,” came the voice over the shipboard net.  The holo tank misted over for a moment, red arrows disappearing from view.  Some came back into view, while others became part of the fuzzy mass that the jamming had made of them.

“We haven't seen that before,” said Lamborgini as the ship juked in several directions at once, overloading the compensators for a moment.  She grunted as she was pushed back into her couch, then pulled up into her armor.

“Didn't expect they would give all their capabilities away,” grunted Heinrich as he settled back into his couch.

The ship bucked again, this time in one direction, then bucked upward.  Klaxons began sounding through the flag bridge as lights dimmed, then emergency lights came on.  The holo tank faded out completely.

“We've been hit,” called out Lamborgini, looking at the dead repeater screens by their couches.

“But how bad?” asked the Admiral, pounding an armored fist on his couch armrest.  “Dammit.  I need to know what's going on.”

“Even if you can't do anything about it?” asked the Flag Captain, looking squarely in the Admiral's eyes.

“Especially if I can't do anything about it,” said the Admiral, grimacing.  “Especially if I can't do anything about it.”

The lights came back on and the emergency lamps went out.  A second later the holo tank came back to life as the secondary feeds from the ship's sensors and com circuits routed through.  The ship bucked again from a near miss, then sections of the holo faded out as radiation overloaded part of the ship's sensory skin.  The holo remaining showed that most of the screening ships had been swept away, and most of the battleships were blinking with damage, even as a pair of the dots faded away.

“Dammit,” yelled the Admiral as a temporary sun blossomed among his fleet on the repeater screen.  “How much are we hurting them?”

“No way of telling sir,” said the tactical officer from the other side of the holo tank, his face a mask of concentration as he tried to force his systems to pierce the new and improved jamming the enemy was putting out.  “We've got to be hurting them some.  But I don't know if it will be enough.”

Leonardo bucked again as energies struck, klaxons sounding while damage control reacted.

“B ring has been heavily damaged,” called out the tactical officer.  “Port forward missile batteries have been destroyed.”

Something slammed into the ship and lights dimmed yet again.  Heinrich looked up at the ceiling of the flag bridge, which was buried in the center of the heavily armored central capsule.  He could imagine the destruction to the areas of the ship outside of these refuges.  Where about a third of the crew would be working at their battle stations or on damage control parties.  And more would be leaving the three central capsules as the battle raged, replacing casualties and forming new damage control parties.

“Damn,” cursed Heinrich yet again.  “I wish we knew what was happening to those sons of a bitches out there.”

The ship bucked once again, and the holo tank went out again.

*     *     *

“Their ships are tough,” said the tactical officer, staring into the holo of the enemy fleet.  Those ships were being pounded by the missiles and beam weapons of the Ca'cadasan ships.  The jamming was throwing off their targeting and defensive systems.  But they were weathering the storm better than any vessels the Ca’cadasans had encountered in known memory.

“The humans have advanced since we last met,” said the Low Admiral, sitting on his throne like chair while his flagship bucked under him.  “Twice as many ships and they would probably come out of this fight the victor.  But they do not have twice as many ships, do they?”

“No, my Lord,” said the tactical officer, bowing his head.  “They do not, unless they hide them well.”

“I do not think they would allow us to defeat them in detail if they could help it,” agreed the Low Admiral.  “And I think our electronics capabilities have caught them off guard.”

Three of the enemy battleships flared on the holo, then faded away as they were destroyed, two by missiles, one by the massed beam fire from the Ca’cadasan ships.  Only a few of the human screening force were left in place, and another of those flared under fire and disappeared.

“Hit them with everything we have,” ordered the Low Admiral, waving a hand at the holo.  “Hold nothing back until they are no longer in our path.”

The flagship bucked as the ship fired off another volley of missiles, then shook from the near misses of a pair of enemy weapons.  The Low Admiral sat in his chair, showing the nonchalance of a professional naval officer; while he watched the ships of the enemy fleet die one by one.

*     *     *

“I love you, Gunter,” whispered Flag Captain Myra Lamborgini.  She lay back in her couch, her breathing heavy as her lungs fought the gravity overload that was getting past the flagship's compensators.

“Incoming missiles,” shouted the tactical officer.

Gunter Heinrich looked down at his repeater screen and realized that the HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo was a wreck.  Over half of her grabber units were off line, which was the polite way of saying destroyed.  She had only a couple of functioning counter missile batteries, not enough to cover the entire area around her.  Her X and Y laser rings were still functioning, barely, with over half their emitter batteries gone, while A and B rings were complete trash.  Two thirds of the electromagnetic field projectors were offline, meaning that most of the hull was uncovered with any kind of beam protection, while those areas that still had some coverage were not covered well.

They built her tough, thought the Admiral.  The ship had absorbed enough firepower to ravage the surface of a planet.  That she still functioned at all and had living crewmen was a compliment to her designers and builders.  I just wish I knew how many of the bastards we took with us.

The ship quivered as if struck by a megaton hammer.  Delicate equipment sparked for a moment, until the automatic repair systems took over, shunting power around areas that were damaged while nanobots started to rebuild the areas of greatest concern.  Heinrich grunted in pain as his internal organs slammed into his skeleton.  His skin and muscle compressed against the padding of his armor.  Then the vector of force changed directions and he felt his spine crack.

At least Thomasina will not be feeling this, he thought, remembering that his beloved dog was in stasis in his cabin, as was the protocol for pets kept aboard ship before going into battle.  Too bad the same can't be said of Myra and myself.

“I love you too,” he whispered over the private circuit.  “I wish I could have done better.”

“You did all that you could,” she replied.

He could hear the physical pain in her voice, realizing that she too had internal damage.  Like probably everyone else on the ship.

“I wish I could have done more,” he said.  Then the ship shook again and consciousness left his body.

The first missile hit the stern of the ship, which was pointed toward the oncoming enemy so the laser rings could come to bear.  At point three c, it was not traveling very fast as far as missiles were concerned.  It still imparted a considerable amount of kinetic energy, transferred from the multiton missile into the fifteen megaton battleship.  The angle of the strike sent the ship into a fast spin, just before the antimatter warhead detonated, sending waves of heat, and radiation into the split hull of the ship.

The second missile hit amidships, penetrating the side armor and exploding into the vessel.  The blast burned into the ship, cutting through the central capsule and incinerating the contents, the crew who were sheltered in that last sanctuary.

The Admiral, his Flag Captain, and all the members of the fleet command staff, mercifully unconscious, flashed to plasma in an instant.

The few dozen crewmen who were still alive didn't have enough time for thought as every containment vessel on the ship failed under the hundreds of gigatons of force that had pummeled them.  Several hundred warheads, the containment pods attached to the main reactors, and the fuel that was stored for a future that would not come, tons of the oppositely charge material, contacted matter and released additional hundreds of gigatons of energy.

HIMS Archduchess Constance Leonardo converted to plasma in an instant, blasting outward with the energy of a miniature star.  A star that radiated for mere seconds before its plasma had spread out far enough for the light to dim.

Three other battleships survived to see the flagship's destruction.  They and the four remaining escorts were destroyed soon after.

Chapter 18

For centuries we have looked for the ultimate weapon, the device that will make all enemies fear to attack us.  Ladies and Gentlemen, we have always had that weapon.  It is men and women like yourselves, willing to put their lives on the line, that is the ultimate weapon.

Grand High Admiral Hiraku Yamaguchi in an address to the graduating class of Peal Island Naval Academy.

Low Admiral Hrissnammartanama cursed as he looked over the damage figures of his fleet.  He knew it could have been much worse, and in fact was very light considering.  But no commander wanted to see damage to their own forces.

Two of his twenty battleships were complete wrecks, one totally destroyed, the other a floating hulk.  Three were too badly damaged to risk another engagement, while four, including the flagship, had sustained light damage.  He had also lost four cruisers with another five damaged, and eight scouts had been taken from his order of battle.  Which meant he still had two thirds of his initial firepower to throw at the planet.

The enemy still had the cruiser force that had hit them from the flank, though he was sure his return fire had at least damaged some of them.  And the ships that had carried the fighters.  Those fighters had boosted over his formation and were on a heading out of the system.  His forces on the perimeter of the system would take care of them, or they would end up being of no consequence.

“Detach a battleship and four cruisers after their cruiser force,” he ordered his tactical officer, who began to relay the orders to the fleet.

“What about the ship they sent away before the battle?” asked the tactical officer, looking over at his Admiral.  “They must have been important to remove from the enemy's order of battle.”

“Order two of the cruisers and a quartet of scouts to go after them,” ordered the Admiral.  “Also send signals to our outer system cordon to not allow that ship to pass.  I don’t want them escaping into hyper and getting whatever it is they want to protect back to their space.”

The tactical officer shook his head in assent and turned to send those orders as well.

*     *     *

On Sergiov, Lieutenant SG Sean Ogden Lee Romanov watched on the repeat of his viewer that was appearing in his link as the human fleet was destroyed by the enemy.  He knew that the action was in the past, having occurred at least fifteen minutes before, but still winced as heavy warheads exploded within the fleet, taking ships and thousands of fellow fleet officers and crew into oblivion.

In the hollow pit of his stomach he felt his betrayal of the fleet and of all the men and women who had just died.  Not that our staying would have accomplished anything, he told himself, watching the plot of the enemy fleet that was still on course for orbital insertion on the planet.  Their presence would at most have resulted in the death of another enemy battleship.  Probably not that much, more likely the destruction of a scout ship or a cruiser.

He thumped his hand against the side of the acceleration tank, needing to feel the pain of the blow to force the condemnation from his mind.  He did not need to drop into a pit of despair at this moment.  If what he had been told was true he was now the reigning Emperor of the Terran Empire.  At time of war, against the threat they had all feared might someday come.

That thought almost sent him down another tunnel of despair.  His father and mother, dead.  His elder brothers, ahead of him in the succession, dead.  It had never been planned for him to take the throne.  He had planned for a naval career, maybe retiring as a Captain or minor Admiral.  Maybe an ambassadorship or some other government office.  Then becoming the favorite uncle of the next set of heirs, sitting them on his knee and telling them lies about his adventures in the big bad galaxy.

No, he screamed in his mind as he watched a replay of the destruction of the fleet.  This is not supposed to be happening.  I am not the proper material to make an Emperor.  I am not what my people need at this time.  They need someone with the confidence to rule.  I'm not even that good a junior naval officer.

Sean felt the tears come to his eyes, dripping into the glasses he wore in the acceleration tank.  A fat lot of good he would be to the human race, when he could not even control his own emotions.  When all he could do was wallow in a pity pot that threatened to become the focus of his existence for years to come.

“Your Majesty,” came the voice of Captain Ngano over the com circuit.  “We are heading out system at best acceleration.  As far as we can tell there is nothing ahead of us.  Which, unfortunately, doesn't mean a damned thing.”

“And what are we going to do when we get to the hyper barrier?” asked Sean, wondering if he really cared.

“We have two choices, your Majesty,” replied the Captain.  “We can either turn over within the next twenty hours, so we can transit the barrier into hyper as soon as we reach the limit.  Or we can go full bore out into interstellar space, turning over in a couple of days and making transit in interstellar space.  I would recommend the later course.”

“You're asking my permission on the course of action?” said Sean, wondering why the Captain was bothering.

“You are our ruler, your Majesty,” said the Captain.  “You are the one we swear allegiance to.”

“Some ruler I am,” said Sean, shaking his head in the fluid.  “You didn't even think much of me as an officer under your command.”

“You are all that I have,” said the Captain in a pleading voice.  “You are all that any of us have.”

Sean thought about that for a moment, feeling the despair rising again.  Despair for himself.  Despair for the human race.  He pushed the despair down, remembering his heritage.  He was descended from the imperial line, from the Ogden's, the Lee's and the Romanov's.  From the people who had led the human refugees from a handful of starvelings into becoming the greatest political and military entity of this sector of the galaxy.  It was time that he grew up and faced what was, not what he wanted things to be.

“Then I guess I'll have to become what you need,” he said to the Captain.

“We have ships vectoring from the enemy fleet,” said the Captain.  “They may have set our options for us.”

“I'll become what you need me to be,” Sean whispered to himself, “if I live long enough.”

*     *     *

“It looks like someone just fought a hell of a battle in the inner system,” said Lt Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf, looking out of the view screen at Captain Dame Mie Lei.  Dot McArthur was heading in system about a light second ahead of Jean de Arc, all of her sensors straining to pick up all of the hours old information coming out from the environs of the inhabited planet.

“I agree, Maurice,” said Mie Lei, looking at the holo tank that displayed everything they knew about the system.  “And it looks like our side lost.  Whoever the enemy is will storm over that planet in eight hours.  And there is nothing we can do about it.  Except for getting the information out to the fleet.”

“What are your orders, ma'am?” asked the destroyer commander, leaning forward in his seat.

“One of us needs to get back to sector HQ with this information,” she said, looking into the screen over steepled fingers.  “It doesn't really matter which one, as long as they find out.  If they just keep sending ships in here piecemeal, not sure of what is happening; they'll just get chewed up.”

The Captain sat for a moment, thinking about her options.  The enemy can't have any ships faster than mine in hyper, can they? she thought.  Hyper VII was the final dimension capable of sustaining matter as they knew it.  Wasn't it?  VIII was only good for transmitting radiation, such as com waves.  Unless these aliens knew something that humanity and its friends didn't, which was entirely possible.  And my decision might make the difference as to whether this sector is lost to us, and maybe the Empire and humanity after that.  So I've got to make the right decision.

“OK,” she said to her subordinate, trying to appear confident.  “We'll split up.  I don't think that your ship will give us enough additional firepower to fight our way out, and splitting gives us two chances to get out of the system.  I want McArthur to boost upwards from the ecliptic, while we'll boost down.  Transmit all the information you have to anyone you come in range of.  That will increase the odds of the intelligence getting through.”

“And the convoy?” asked the younger man, his eyes narrowing.

“They will have to fend for themselves,” she replied, the anguish showing through her eyes.  “It's of vital importance that we get the information back to headquarters.”

“Yes ma'am,” said von Ritterdorf, nodding.  “And for what it's worth, I think you made the proper decision.  If I make it through I will make sure that the admiralty knows of my opinion.”

“Thank you Maurice,” said Mei, flashing a quick smile.  “But my hide will be the one they hang if it's a wrong decision.  I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Incoming transmission,” said the communications officer, looking over at her commander.  “Double encryption routine Zeta Five.”

“That's the highest level,” said von Rittersdorf, sitting up in his chair.  “Where is it coming from?”

“Insystem,” said the Jean de Arc's com officer.  “General bearings of the battle.”

“Message decrypted,” said the com officer.  “Putting it on screen.”

A very dark skinned man appeared on the veiwer, his face lined with worry.  The eagle symbol of a naval Captain appeared on his uniform, which Mei was sure was a simulation, as no one in the inner system would be wearing a dress uniform at a time like this.  The words HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II (BB 1458) appeared at the bottom of the screen.

“To all Imperial warships in the Massadara system,” said the deep baritone of the man.  “This is Captain Sebastian Ngano of the HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II.  This is a priority One Alpha message.  All ships are ordered and commanded to render assistance to this vessel.  We have a passenger of utmost importance who must safely leave this system.  Repeat, we have a passenger of utmost importance who must safely leave this system.”

“One Alpha gives him the authority to request any assistance he feels is necessary,” said von Rittersdorf over the com.  “If he is who he says he is.”

“Data banks verify the identity of the Captain of HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II as Captain Sebastian Ngano,” said the com officer.  “Visuals match the man's appearance in records.  Voice analysis indicates that he is under stress, but probably not duress.”

“Tactical,” ordered Captain Lei.  “Have you gotten a location on the transmitting vessel?”

“Aye, Captain,” said the tactical officer.  “Location is an Imperial battleship on heading zero four three by one seven three by two one seven.  Velocity of point five c with an acceleration of two hundred and eighty four gees.”

“So they are tanked,” said Rittersdorf.  “Beating ass for elbows out of the system.”

“It must have been important for them to leave the inner system before the battle was joined,” said the tactical officer.

“We have enemy ships on our vector,” said the Captain on the transmission.  “Probably more that we can handle.  They have the acceleration to catch us, and they will catch us.  Our VIP must be gotten safely from the system.  This is an Alpha One priority.”

“Captain,” said the com officer, her voice rising.  “Checking the Sergiov's records indicate that a Lieutenant SG Sean Ogden Lee Romanov is serving aboard the battleship.  Maybe that's who they are trying to get to safety.”

“Isn't he the third living son of the Emperor,” said von Rittersdorf.  “Why the priority?  He isn't even the spare.”

“Unless something happened that we don't know about,” said Captain Lei, looking over at her com officer.

“Send a transmission to that ship, Lieutenant,” she ordered the officer.  “Coded Zeta Five.  Inform the Captain of my intentions to come to his aid.”

“Orders for McArthur?” asked von Rittersdorf, his brows furrowing.

“I don't see where your ship will be of much help to us if we get into a full out battle,” she replied.  “And I really hope we can get in and out without having to get into a knock down drag out.  So your prior orders stand.  Get out of the system and get that intelligence to command.  On my authority.”

“Yes, ma'am,” agreed the Commander, nodding his head.  “We're heading out.  Von Rittersdorf out.”

“Godspeed, Commander,” Captain Lei whispered under her breath.

“Helm.  Set an intercept course for that battleship.”

“Aye, ma'am,” replied the rating who was steering the battle cruiser.  “Setting course for intercept of the battleship.”

“We should be matching courses in twelve hours ma'am,” called out the navigator from her station.

“Very good,” said Mei Lei, wondering how much difference it would make if it wasn't.  The laws of physics controlled their actions now that a decision had been made.

“Tactical,” she said as she swiveled her seat, looking over at the weapons station.  “I want a solution on those enemy ships  ASAP.  Then I want you to fire a full three spreads of long range missiles at them.  Let's get their attention.  And maybe we'll get lucky.”

“Aye, ma'am,” replied the tactical officer, setting his board to track the enemy ships and come up with the optimum firing solution.

“I will be in my cabin for the next couple of hours,” said the Captain, standing from her seat.  “Crew is to rotate off station for meals and rest breaks.  All crew to be at stations in armor when we are four hours out from Sergiov.”

“Aye ma'am,” echoed the officers as the Captain left the bridge, wondering if the decisions she had made would allow her ship to accomplish its new mission.  And maybe even bring its crew back home alive.

*     *     *

“We are passing through the debris of their fleet, my Lord,” said the tactical officer.  “Our first wave of missiles should be striking their orbital fortresses by now.”

“Good,” said Low Admiral Hrissnammartanama, wiping his muzzle with a mid-hand and giving his cup back to a slave for refilling.  “Very good.  I would prefer to make an easy planetary insertion, without having to worry about battling those monsters.”

“Yes, my Lord,” agreed the officer.  “It would be well to.  My Lord,” said the officer, his voice rising and his eyes widening.  “We have launches.  Hundreds of missiles.  Nay, over a thousand missiles.  Accelerating at five thousand gravities.”

“From where?” demanded the Low Admiral, coming to his feet and slapping the cup bearing slave from his path.  The being landed hard on the floor of the command chamber, the bottle of wine flying from his hand to smash over the hard surface.  He looked up with fear etched on his face, as the Lord of the ship strode over him without a backward glance.

“We have no launching vessels on sensors,” said the tactical officer, panic in his eyes.  “I don't know where they are coming from.  All ships are sweeping the area.  First impacts in less than one minute.”

“Find those launch vessels,” said the Admiral, growling deep in his throat.  “Find them before they launch another spread.”

“Sensors are backtracking the enemy missiles,” said the tactical officer, moving around his panel to put some distance between himself and his towering Lord.  “They are coming from the debris field.  But there are no launch vessels among the debris.  Only debris.”

“The enemy commander reaches from beyond the grave with his cleverness,” said Hrissnammartanama.  “He seeded space with launching pods, mines, whatever they call them.”

“We will defeat this stratagem,” replied the tactical officer.  “Their weapons are not effective enough to destroy the fleet.”

The Admiral watched the holo display as the red arrows moved toward his ships, and the green arrows of counter missiles reached out to intercept them.  Red arrows began to drop off the display, though others launched as soon as their platforms got within range of a Ca’cadasan ship.

The arrows came too close to one of the scout ships.  The holo displayed the blinking red dots of missile detonations.  The scout ship's icon began to blink as well, then went bright red before it faded from existence.  Hrissnammartanama looked up at a wall display to watch the scout convert into glowing plasma, which was then kicked out by the greater fury of the internal explosion of its onboard antimatter.

Other ships were hit, some sustaining light damage from near misses, others taking the full hits of gigaton warheads.  Within minutes it was over, and three Ca’cadasan battleships had joined the obliterated scout ship, while a pair of battleships and numerous lesser vessels had been damaged to the point where they were of no use to the Low Admiral.

“They have exacted partial revenge,” said the Admiral, watching the display.  He stood there for minutes, as the remaining ships of the force he had led to this system continued to decelerate toward the planet.  He then turned away from the frightened tactical officer and walked back to his seat, motioning for the slave, who had picked himself up and cleaned the broken bottle's remains, to bring him more of the wine.

*     *     *

“We have an incoming transmission, sir,” said the com officer on Sergiov.  Everyone was in the tanks, jacked into the systems.  The battle was well behind them, and the Captain was trying to squeeze everything he could out of his ship, hoping against hope that the enemy would not catch him before he was able to escape the system.  Or get his passenger on a ship that could.  The ships that were following him were still a half billion kilometers behind.  But even with his crew in the tanks the cruiser class ships of the enemy were still generating twenty-five gravities more acceleration than his ship was capable of.

They were also continuously firing missiles at his ship, and he was continuously firing back at them.  So far Sergiov had been lucky enough to take out everything that was coming after them.  Part of that was that the ship was accelerating away from the vessels that were firing at him, which took off a small but significant amount of the firing ships' terminal missile velocity.  And the chasing ships were adding to his missiles' terminal velocity, allowing him to get in some close detonations through their defenses.

“What do we have?” he asked through the net, not sure what they had coming his way and trying not to allow his hopes to get too high.

“Jean de Arc,” replied the com tech, looking through the data banks.  “Hyper VII capable battle cruiser of latest design.”

Damn , thought the Captain.  It was better than he had hoped.  The latest design of hyper VII ships were not only as fast as anything known in hyperspace, able to reach the highest transmittable dimension, they could pile on twenty gravities of acceleration better than any hyper VI battle cruiser, which gave them a forty-five gravity advantage over the Sergiov.  About the same as the pursuing Ca’cadasan ships.  That came at a cost, though, as the battle cruiser carried about half the missile load of a hyper VI ship of that class.  But a full complement of defensive ordnance.

“Transmission decrypted,” said the com officer, leaving the command circuit as the replay of the signal was routed to the Captain's private band.

“This is Captain Dame Mei Lei,” said the slender Chinese woman who appeared on the vid.  “We have received your message and are on our way at best standard speed to your location.  ETA twelve hours, ten minutes.  Hang in there Sergiov, and we will be there to come to the rescue, at least for your passenger.”

“Best standard speed,” cursed Ngano, looking at the calm young woman in whose hands the fate of his passenger would rest.

“Send a return message on tight beam,” ordered the Captain, summoning his com officer back to the command circuit.  “Eyes only for the Captain.  I'll leave it to her to tell whomever on her crew she sees fit to give the information to.  But I want her to know exactly who the passenger is, his importance to the Empire, and my request that they get in the tanks and pile on all the accel they can manage.”

“Yes sir,” replied the com tech, giving the Captain a virtual nod over the net.  He cut the circuit so he could compose the message and send out the simulacrum of the Captain over the tight beam.

That will shave a half an hour off their arrival time, thought Ngano, going over the possible scenarios in his mind.  His ship might be a wreck by that time, but as long as the Emperor was still alive, and could be transported to that fast ship, he would have accomplished his mission.

*     *     *

Captain Dame Mei Lei sat in her day cabin, the one attached to the bridge, holding Satin, her silver and smoke Himalayan, in her lap.  The cat was purring while the Captain stroked it, watching the vid of the Sergiov's Captain's most recent message.

“So this young man is now the Emperor,” continued the Captain, looking out at her from an hour ago in real time.  “He must be gotten to safety, no matter what.  So, Captain Lei, though I do not have command over you, I am requesting that you get everyone in the tanks and pile on the extra thirty gravities.  The Emperor's life is in your hands, and your hands alone.”

“Damn,” cursed the Captain, looking down at her beloved pet.  “I guess I need to get you ready for the tank as well.  I know you don't like this, precious, but I have no choice.”

The Captain massaged a point on the cat's back in a certain way.  The cat purred for a moment, then went completely limp as its conditioning was activated.

“Bridge,” said the Captain as she lifted the cat from her lap and carried him to the pet tank that was installed in the cabin.  The com circuit heard her command and connected her to the bridge.

“Yes, Captain,” said the tac officer, who had the con in her absence.

“Signal the ship to prepare to tank,” she ordered while she slipped the breathing mask over the cat's face and checked the seal.  “We go to emergency boost in ten minutes.”

“Aye Captain,” came the reply from the bridge.  “Emergency boost in ten minutes.  Computing course change for intercept at new velocity and trajectory.”

Mei Lei lay the cat gently into the fluid tank, then checked that he was breathing normally.  Satisfied, she pushed the commit button and the tank sealed itself, protecting the delicate animal from the acceleration that was to come.  She then hurried out of the cabin and onto the bridge, where the tanks had already raised from their storage areas beneath the floor and were starting to fill with fluid.

“Captain on the bridge,” called out the com officer, the first to see her.  Everyone stiffened for a moment.

“As you were,” she ordered, walking over to her personal tank, opening the hatch and pulling her breathing mask from its container.  She checked the mask, then took a few practice breaths.  Fitting the mask, she then jacked into the computer, linking with the ship and the over three thousand crew who would man the virtual systems while in the tanks.  She climbed into the tank and hit the commit, sealing the hatch and completing the sequence that would fill it with liquid.

The Captain kept checking crew status as personnel continued to tank up across the ship.  The last red icon turned green with a full two minutes to go.  Klaxons continued to sound in case someone had not gotten the message, and was somehow unaccounted for.  At the correct moment the klaxons were silenced and the ship boosted an extra thirty gravities beyond the limits of the compensators.

*     *     *

Low Admiral Hrissnammartanama watched the viewer showing the approaching planet.  It was beautiful, as were most life bearing planets in the Galaxy.  Blue of water and green of vegetation, with an overlay of white clouds.  One of the southern continents showed a red glow in the grasslands, along with the smoke that had been generated by the magma that was now coming to the surface, following the strike of fast moving debris on the crust.  There was also a swirling pattern of clouds in one of the northern oceans, where another fast moving object had punched through the crust under the water.

“It will heal, priest,” he said to the robed Ca’cadasan who stood with him looking at the world.

“Better not to damage it in the first place,” said the priest, looking over at the Admiral with a show of teeth.  “But it was necessary for the people to be victorious, so it was necessary for the planet to be hurt.”

The viewer switched to a close up of the orbital region of the world.  Several large chunks of orbital forts floated in the space, among groups of smaller debris that were all that remained of the planet's close in defenses.

“There may still be ground based weapons on the planet,” said the Low Admiral, waving a hand toward the world in the background.  “As well as troops defending the planet itself.  It should not require much damage to the planet to take the surface, but there will be some.”

“You have the blessings of the Gods to do what may be necessary,” said the priest, bowing to the Admiral.

The Admiral returned the bow, happy that the formalities were over.  Now he could reduce the planet as needed, taking this world away from the enemy so that his people could have it for their own use.

“My Lord,” said a young officer, walking into the command chamber and rendering a salute.  “A message from our pursuit ships.”

“And what is the message?” he asked the young officer, impressed by the bearing of the man, for he could tell that the news was not good, and the officer was coming forth without fear.

“The enemy is soon to be overtaken,” said the officer.  “But aid is coming to the enemy ship.”

“What kind of aid?”

“A lesser ship, larger than one of our cruisers, is on a rendezvous with the enemy battleship.  This ship is very fast, my Lord.  Faster than our cruisers, maybe faster than our scouts.”

“How is that possible?” asked the Admiral in a growl.  “Are they more advanced than we thought?”

“I believe I have an answer to that, Admiral,” said the tactical officer, looking up from his board.

“Go ahead, young Lord,” said the Admiral, glancing at his tactical officer.

“These aliens may be in the middle of a refit cycle,” said the Ca’cadasan Lord.  “There may be one level of ship that is manning the front lines, while others are being built and deployed, to eventually take the place of the vessels now being used.”

“That is a good theory, tactical officer,” said one of the other command deck officers.  “May I speak, my Lord?”

“Go ahead,” said Hrissnammartanama.  “Everyone's opinion should be heard this day.”

“They must not have too many of these newer class ships,” said the officer, “or we would have met more of them this day.”

“But they will have more of them, in the near future, and we will meet them,” said the tactical officer.

“Send a signal to all ships on the periphery,” ordered the Low Admiral.  “They are to send couriers back to the fleet with this information.  The faster we consolidate and strike at the human systems, the sooner we can take them out before they accrue any more advancements.

“And young messenger,” said the Admiral, before the officer could leave with his Lord's commands.  “I also want more vessels to join in on the hunt of that enemy ship.  We must stop them from getting whatever they are carrying out of the system.  Its importance shows in that they will risk even more ships in helping it to leave.”

The Admiral and the command deck officers went back to their study of the approaching planet, and their stratagems for taking it.  The rest of the system would receive its orders and respond accordingly.

*     *     *

Sergiov pitched yet again, partially completing its evasive maneuver before the missile detonated, within a hundred meters of the battleship.  Sean winced in his acceleration tank as he slammed into the hard plastic of the side.  His elbow was still numb when he floated back into the center of the tank.

That was too damned close , he thought, just like he had thought the several dozen times other missiles had come close enough to send more than just heat and electromagnetic radiation into the ship.  The stern of the ship had taken a pounding.  He tapped into the ship's computer, looking over the schematics of the damage.  The last blast had taken out Z laser ring, which had only been working at twenty-five percent at that point.  The Y ring had been knocked out almost twenty minutes earlier.  Most of the stern counter missile tubes had also been destroyed.

The Prince looked over the performance measures of the ship, noting that some of the inertial compensators had been damaged, and the overall acceleration of the ship had fallen by ten gravities.

Sean switched to a view of the overall action, and the enemy ships continuing the pursuit.  There was still one cruiser and three of the scout ships following, slowly catching up.  They had heavily damaged one of the scouts themselves, the ship coasting in space five hundred million kilometers behind.  One of their missiles had also damaged a cruiser with a near miss, and the Jean de Arc had gotten in a lucky shot that had hit the cruiser on its damaged side, shattering the vessel into trillions of fragments and plasma.

Will we make it out of here? he thought, as he looked on the sensor grid and noted that there were more alien ships vectoring in for the chase.  Jean de Arc, was vectoring in from the side, ahead of Sergiov and sliding over.  Sergiov would continue catching up with the battle cruiser, while it slid into the same vector as the battleship.  If the battleship was still here.

And if I don't make it, my sister Valeria will become Empress, even though she's only three.  Or one of the idiot cousins will seize the throne, and that bastard of a Prime Minister will rule the Empire through him.

The battleship began to rotate in space, the grabber units capable of boosting the ship at full power in any direction, no matter the orientation of the ship.  At first Sean was not sure what the Captain was about.  Then he realized that the ship's commander was placing his still operating bow section where it would do the most good, facing the nearest pursuit.  Which meant.

No , he thought.  That would put Gorbachev and the rest of his team in harm's way.  That of course was their job, just like everyone else on the vessel.  But he was supposed to be with them, leading them and taking the same risks that they were.

Except that I have a bigger job to do, he thought bitterly.  I can't allow Valeria to become Empress with a regent in charge.  Or the Parliament to select and rule through a proxy in time of war.  I know what father wanted.  So I am the one who has to lead, even if I'm don't want to.

And he couldn't get to them even if he wanted to, in the heightened gravity field of the boosting ship.  Leave this tank and he would be crushed to the floor.  His blood would not flow, his heart would stop beating, and he would be unable to draw breath into his body.  He would die, accomplishing nothing.  If he ordered the ship to slow down, overriding the Captain, they would be caught before the battle cruiser could match vectors with them, and most likely everyone aboard the ship would die.  Not a very satisfying state of affairs, with no choices that were desirable.

So his friend, Chief Petty Officer Jana Gorbachev, and the rest of the team operating laser ring B would be risking their lives.  Something they had taken an oath to do, in defense of the Emperor and the Empire.  Something he had taken an oath to do as well.  But his life had changed, and was no longer just his life to give.

Chapter 19

True service is sacrifice.  Anyone can serve their people when it is convenient.  It takes an exceptional human to practice service when the cost is their life.

Marine Commandant Julius Caesar Strang.

Captain Dame Mei Lei backed up into the cubby, allowing the unit to fit her with the battle armor she might need in the coming half hour.  They were five minutes from vector matching.  Both ships had untanked their crew, and Jean de Arc was hiding as best she could in the shadow of the battered battleship.  Said ship was still taking a pounding from the enemy vessels that would soon be in effective energy weapon range.

“We are ready to launch shuttles in four minutes, fifty seconds,” said Captain Nagano over the com.  He was getting into his armor as well, preparing to sacrifice his ship to make sure that his Emperor got out of the system.

“We will wait until we have everyone aboard before we go to maximum normal accel,” she replied, stepping out of the cubby and walking over to her bridge couch.

It had been decided, after much hot debate, that every shuttle on the battleship would launch and try to make it to the battle cruiser.  All of the wounded who could be gotten aboard shuttles had been placed in stasis and put on a shuttle, along with some of the healthy crew who were deemed nonessential.  Of course more would become wounded in the interim, but that couldn't be helped.  What could be done would be done to get the injured away.  And the Emperor's shuttle would just be one of many maneuvering between the ships, one of thirty three targets for the enemy to concentrate on, giving the young man a much better chance of making it to the safety of the battle cruiser.

“You should boost as soon as the Emperor is aboard,” said Ngano, frowning over the screen.  “He is the most important part of this maneuver.”

“And I forbid it,” said Sean Ogden Lee Romanov on the split screen, seated in the cabin of one of the shuttles.  “You will wait until all of the shuttles are aboard.  Or at least those capable of making it.  I will not run to leave others behind who have a chance of making it out.”

Both sides of the split screen shook for a moment.  Mei knew that the battleship had taken another near miss.  Her own ship bucked slightly as she sent a volley of counter missiles and some offensive missiles out.  The weapons maneuvered in space, weaving around the battleship and heading toward the enemy vessels.

“We could possibly help you to defeat the enemy ships,” said Mei Lei, knowing what the answer would be.

“And I forbid that,” said Captain Ngano, his face growing hard.  “This system is doomed.  We are doomed, no matter the outcome of this little fire fight.  Your ship has the speed to get the Emperor out of here.  But not if you're pounded as badly as we are.”

“He is correct,” said the Emperor, nodding his head.  “I don't like agreeing with him, not at this time.  But we need to get out of here.  I realize that.  I'm not running out of fear.  I'm running out of necessity.  And I plan to be back, with whatever it takes to push these sons of a bitches out of here.  So follow the plan, Captain Lei.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Mei Lei, feeling a shiver run up her spine.  She had doubted whether this rescue was the proper course even while she embarked upon it.  In the back of her mind had been the nagging suspicion that she should have taken the information she had and gotten out of the system.  That had been reinforced by a scan of the then Prince's personnel files.  Not a horrible officer, but semi uninspiring.  But this man, though young, had fire.  She could see the late Emperor in him, and realized that this man was more important than any intelligence they might take from this system.  This man was worth saving, and she would do whatever it took to save him.

“Opening flight bay hatches,” came the command over the Sergiov's com net.  Captain Lei could hear the slight whine over the shuttle com link as the Emperor's craft started to warm up.

“Launch in two minutes and twenty seconds,” came the call over the battleship's net.

“Our shuttles are being launched at this moment,” said Jackson, the XO, over the battle cruiser's com circuit.  “Fighter launch commencing as well.”

The Captain watched the smaller repeater screens showing the four flight bays, as Jean de Arc got her own unmanned shuttles out of the way, and her eight long range fighters launched on their protective mission.  The shuttles and fighters moved out into space, turning to head back toward the battleship.

“Launch in one minute,” said the controller over the com circuit of Sergiov.

Captain Mei Lei looked on as the counter clock moved down the range, clicking off the seconds.  At ten seconds, with ship separation at less than one hundred kilometers, the Jean de Arc cut all acceleration, as did the HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II.  At that moment the battleship launched all of her shuttles, as well as venting most of her stored water from tubes in the bow section of the ship.  She also launched a plasma torpedo from her one working bow launcher, followed by a series of plasma torpedoes in a ten second series.

The enemy were still too far for the plasma torps to actually harm them.  That was not the point.  The torpedoes were set to explode after traveling fifty thousand kilometers, flooding the space between the predators and prey with a sensor shield of plasma and radiation.  The water vapor falling behind the battleship had much the same purpose, spreading out into an opaque barrier.  Following were the unmanned shuttles launched from the battle cruiser, boosting along at a leisurely pace toward the enemy.  They would provide targets for the enemy ships, and upon destruction they would spread more particles and debris in front of the chasing vessels.

Several of the shuttles were destroyed within seconds of passing the stern of Sergiov, swept through by laser beams the enemy ships were firing as they tried to kill the shuttles on the way from the battleship to the battle cruiser.  More vaporized under the intense power of capital ship and cruiser class lasers.  Some of the beams got through to the evacuation shuttles, which were darting and dodging to avoid targeting.  The beams were sweeping more or less at random, because of the distance they had to travel and the blocking field they traversed.

*     *     *

Sean sat in the cockpit of the shuttle, having used his rank to gain a place where he would not feel completely helpless.  He wondered if that was a good choice as the shuttle juked and dodged on the way to the battle cruiser.  Here he could see everything the enemy was sending his way in an attempt to kill him.

A nearby shuttle, less than two hundred meters away, went up in a cloud of vapor as a laser struck it through the stern.  The Emperor's shuttle's pilot pulled his joystick over hard, sending the ship away from the explosion, then pulled up on the stick to avoid a collision.

These damned ships are too close together, thought Sean, his hands clamping down on his armrests.  But there really wasn't a choice if all the shuttles were to get away.

“Here we go,” said the shuttle pilot, reducing his acceleration as he changed his vector for the stern port shuttle bay on the battle cruiser.

Sean wished they would head for the bay nearer the bow, so that another shuttle could make it to the safety of the ship instead of him.  He knew that thought was foolish.  His shuttle had as many wounded and evacuees as any of the others.  And the whole mission was to get him to safety.

The pilot was good, going in under his own control faster than the autopilot would allow.  The shuttle barely cleared the opening and came to an almost stop, moving to the rear of the deck.  The shuttle set down perfectly on the lift pad, the landing struts thudding down on the deck.  The elevator immediately started on its way down, making room for more ships.

Sean felt himself take a breath of relief.  He knew that he did not want to die, no more than any other man or woman in this engagement.  And his chances to survive had just increased astronomically.

*     *     *

“We have the last aboard, ma'am,” said the tactical officer from his post, his face pinched in concentration.

“Helm, accelerate at full power,” ordered Captain Dame Mei Lei, feeling the tension building in her.

“Aye, ma'am,” replied the helmsman, his fingers dancing over the controls, setting the Jean de Arc to accelerate at over three hundred gravities.

“How many did we lose?” she asked the tactical officer, rubbing her face with her hand.

“Four, ma'am,” replied that officer with a grimace.

The Captain clenched her teeth as she thought about the over two hundred souls that did not make it to her ship.  But over eight hundred more had made it, including the most important passenger.

“Get those people into tanks,” she ordered, her eyes scanning the tactical holo.  “Or stasis if they are too wounded to tank.  We go to emergency boost in five minutes.”

“Aye ma'am,” replied the com officer, getting on the circuit and sending the orders.

“And tell Ngano that we have his package and are running with it.”

The com officer nodded at the orders while she sent the first, intership, message.

Now it's up to Sergiov, she thought, looking at the battered battleship on the viewer.

*     *     *

“The Emperor is aboard the Jean de Arc,” called out the com officer, looking over his shoulder at the Captain.

“Tactical,” shouted the Captain, feeling the rush of adrenaline hitting his system.  “What is the status on the missiles?”

“We have moved all that were capable of movement to the working launchers,” said the officer, a thin smile on his face.  “That gives us fifty-three offensive weapons.”

“Very well,” said the Captain, letting out a shallow breath.

“Fire every missile at the enemy force,” he continued.  “All beam weapons capable of firing target those vessels.”

“That's only the B ring, sir,” said the tactical officer.  “But they are at seventy percent.”

“Very good,” replied Ngano, knowing that his ship could still sting in electromag.  “Helm, full acceleration toward the enemy.”

“Aye sir,” said the helmsman, his eyes wide, but his fingers moving as ordered over his board.

“I am proud to have served with you,” said Ngano to his bridge crew.  “You have made me proud.  You have made the Empire proud.”

The crew looked at their Captain, shoulders squaring as they nodded at his pronouncement.

“And we are proud to have served with you Captain,” said the tactical officer, his face solemn.  “Aboard the best ship in the fleet.”

*     *     *

“The ring is fully charged, chief,” said the tech manning the status board.  “Power is flowing smoothly through the remaining emitters.”

“Thanks spaceman,” replied Gorbachev, looking over her own status board.  There was nothing they could do about the emitters that were not feeding into the ring.  Nothing short of complete replacement would accomplish that.  And that was unlikely to happen this side of hell.

The board showed that the ring was releasing its energy in a single beam, sweeping it across the enemy formation.  The ship shuddered once again from a near miss.  Gorbachev cheered silently as the sensor returns indicated a hit to one of the enemy destroyers.  And a secondary detonation on that vessel blew out most of its bow.

“Do us proud, Lieutenant,” said the chief in a whisper as the ship shuddered once again.  She could feel a tear rolling down her cheek, behind the faceplate, where she couldn't reach it.  “Do us proud, my Emperor.”

*     *     *

They had hooked Sean into the battle cruiser’s systems as an observer as soon as he was aboard, at his insistence.  The tank he was in was much the same as the one he had vacated on Sergiov.  The AI of the computer was much the same as well.  But he knew he was not on the battleship anymore.  He could see the battleship on the sensors, absorbing punishment as it decelerated back towards the enemy ships.

Sergiov took a major hit, spinning on its axis as she vented atmosphere and fluids.  Pieces of ship flew off into space.  The remaining laser ring fired, a sweep that scored a hit on one of the super destroyers that seemed to serve the enemy as scouts.  The bow of the ship erupted into space as the beam superheated the matter of the vessel.  Sean noted that the one working laser was the B ring, and he cheered on his old teammates as he thought about Gorbachev, who was most likely in control of the ring.

Sergiov jumped from a pair of near misses, more of her hide vaporizing under the attention of some multigigaton warheads.  The B ring went dark, and Sean hung his head, thinking about the people he had known that were most likely dead.  A plasma torpedo, probably the last functioning weapon on the ship, fired a blast.  The remaining enemy cruiser, closing on the battleship and hitting her with the cruiser's one remaining laser dome, caught the plasma blast full on.  Superheated plasma cut through the hull, channeling into the corridors beyond, incinerating everything in its path.  The cruiser blew into hundreds of large fragments, and innumerable small pieces.  One of the spinning pieces hit the heavily damaged super destroyer, knocking it off course as it shattered the hull, sending more pieces of alien ship spinning off into the blackness.

The human battleship absorbed a score of fragment hits, setting it on a permanent spin while opening most of the port side of the ship to space.  Sergiov spun into the void, while the remaining super destroyer, generating no power of its own, continued on after the path of the battle cruiser, which was leaving it farther behind every second.

It's over, thought Sean, bowing his head and saying a quick prayer for his dead comrades.  Sergiov was a complete wreck.  If anyone survived they had to be trapped deep in the ship.  But the alien task force was wrecked as well, and the Jean de Arc had a clear path for the outer system.

Chapter 20

Most wars start with a bloody nose.  Yours or theirs, someone starts out being hurt.  That doesn’t mean you lost, only that they have now got your attention.

Admiral Jo En Walenstein at the commencement of the First Elysium War.

“I don't like the looks of this, Captain,” said Commander Xavier Jackson over the com link.

Jean de Arc was continuing out system at maximum emergency boost, crew still in the tanks.  The enemy had two task groups coming after them.  One consisted of three cruisers and a pair of super destroyers, while the other only had two cruisers, but had four of the super destroyers as consorts.  Both were more than enough to destroy the Jean de Arc in an open battle.  The battle cruiser was staying away from both of the groups, using her acceleration advantage to best effect.  But she would not be able to decelerate to go through hyper at the limit.  She would have to plow on into interstellar in normal space, hoping she could shake off pursuit.

Now she was picking up the emissions from ahead as other enemy ships vectored onto intercept courses.  They couldn't tell how many or what type yet.  But anything that got in the battle cruiser's way could cripple her before she left the system.

“Anything we can call on for help,” said the Captain, studying the system schematic in her mind.  “Some of the ships based here were out on patrol when the enemy struck.  Isn't that correct, your Majesty?”

“That is correct,” said the Emperor, his mind's voice low.  “There was at least a battleship division, and some three cruiser squadrons on patrol.  We were expecting them back any day.”

The poor kid is still in shock, thought Mei Lei as she pondered what he said.  Soon will come the survivor's guilt, then the depression.  He needs to be active in this thing if he's to heal.

“Those ships could have met with this enemy and been destroyed,” said the tactical officer.  “Or they could come in on the other side of the system, doing us no good at all.”

“I don't see where we have much choice in our vector,” said Mei Lei to the others.  “It's the only one that avoids our pursuit.  We need to keep going on this vector until we figure out what lies ahead of us.”

“That is a wise choice, ma'am,” said Jackson.

“Your Majesty?”

“I leave the decision in your hands, Captain,” said Sean, giving a mental nod.  “Now I need to think about other things.”

I hope those other things aren't how useless you feel right now, you Majesty, thought the Captain, giving him a mental smile.

“So now we wait,” said the tactical officer.

“So now we wait,” agreed the Captain.

*     *     *

“Transmission from a courier, Admiral,” came the call over the net.

“What's the message,” said the Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, looking up from his desk while a holo formed in the air above the heavy furniture, showing the face of a young Lieutenant, a busy claim center behind him.  “Is it from Massadara?”

“No sir,” said the com officer.  “This one is from Klassandra System.  Pretty much the same as the last six couriers sir.”

“Another massive attack out of nowhere by forces unknown,” said the Admiral, remembering those last six ships and their frightening news.

“Yes sir,” agreed the junior officer, nodding his head.  “With vids of the Ca’cadasan ships.”

“And still nothing from Massadara,” growled the Admiral, slamming his hand on his desk.  “Still nothing about the safety of the...”

Admiral Mgonda shut his mouth quickly, earning a curious look from the Lieutenant.  It was still not common knowledge out here that Prince the Lieutenant Sean Ogden Lee Romanov was now the Emperor of the Empire of New Terra.  And that his life was at risk, if not already ended.

“Send the message up the hyperlink net,” he ordered the officer.  The Lieutenant nodded and cut the connection.

The Admiral ordered another link with a thought.  A handsome woman, her ebony face shining, appeared on the holo.

“Sir,” said the woman, snapping to attention.  Mgonda could see the busy flag bridge behind the woman, the command staff of a squadron preparing for deployment.

“Are you ready to go, Mara?” he asked, nodding his head at the busy bridge.

“Ready, willing and able,” said Mara Montgomery, giving her superior a tight smile.  “You give the word and we'll go and get the Imperial butt out of the crack it’s in.”

“You always were a sacrilegious bitch, Mara,” said the Grand Fleet Admiral with a laugh.  “I wish I had more to send with you, but yours are the only Hyper VII ships I could gather on time.”

“Hell, Admiral,” she said with a gesture toward her bridge holo.  “We have two squadrons of battle cruisers, two squadrons of light cruisers and two and a half squadrons of destroyers.  If we can't perform a rescue with that, then it'll take a battle fleet to do the job.”

Mgonda thought there was a big disparity between eight small capital ships, two dozen cruisers and thirty four destroyers and a full battle fleet.  But he had picked Montgomery not just because the battle cruiser squadrons were part of her organic scouting force.  He had picked her because she was an audacious and cocky bitch, like many officers in the scout force.  If she couldn't do it, there was no Hyper VII force capable in the sector that could.

“You have the word, Admiral,” said the sector commander.  “And may God go with you.”

“I will take the Goddess with me instead,” said Mara Montgomery, a devout Wiccan.

“I will still ask the blessing of the Pope and all the saints upon you,” said Mgonda with a laugh.

“I'll take it.  We'll break orbit in five minutes.  You should hear from us in nine days, eleven at most.  Montgomery out.”

Well, thought the Grand Fleet Admiral, looking at the dispatch he was working at on the flat comp, I've set in motion all that I can do right now.  Until the rest of the battle fleet gathers.

Ignoring the dispatch for a moment and summoning another holo, the Admiral looked over the map of the sector, with the scattered icons of his assets.  Some were sure to be gone, destroyed by this invading enemy.  Others would take weeks to contact.  All that had been contacted were on their way to rally points.  And hopefully there would be something coming up from the core systems in the near future.

*     *     *

“Missiles firing,” said the tactical officer.

Captain Dame Mei Lei sat in her command chair, battle armored with helmet nearby.  The Jean de Arc bucked slightly as she released a spread of missiles from the starboard tubes.  The port threat had been taken care of by the remnants of the fighter force that had originally struck the enemy fleet.  They had continued on, accelerating away from the action.  Two hundred fighters had swarmed over the enemy force, taking out the three cruisers and the super destroyer pair of that force.

The battle cruiser was now firing on the other force, which was more distant than was thought at first.  They had fired as well, and the battle cruiser's fighters were forming a screen between their mother ship and the enemy, waiting for the incoming missiles.

“Missile ETA in fifteen minutes,” said the tactical officer, his voice cracking with tension.

We’ve all been under too much tension for far too long, she thought, watching the holo display.

“I wonder why they haven't thrown their fighters at us,” said Commander Jackson from CIC.

“We don't know enough about the capabilities of those platforms,” said the tactical officer.  “They may be too short ranged to be employed against us.”

“Ours could chase us three times around the system,” said Jackson.  “I wouldn't assume theirs were any less capable.”

“Maybe they just didn't think of it,” said Sean, his voice flat.

“What did you say, your Majesty?” asked the Captain, wondering if he was being sarcastic.

“What if they didn't think of it,” said Sean, his voice coming alive.  “What if they don't think as well as we do?  After all, we are the most powerful race in this region of space, able to out think most of the dozens of other sentients in this region.  Maybe we are smarter on the average than the Ca’cadasans.  Maybe we are better at strategy and tactics than they are.”

“They are more advanced than we are, your Majesty,” said the tactical officer.

“By what,” said Sean.  “Maybe a couple of decades.  Maybe less.  I can tell you that some of the advanced tech I have seen from these demons from our past is similar to what we have on the drawing boards right now.  Hell, some of it is in predeployment trials right now.”

“And they were thousands of years ahead of us, thousands of years ago,” said the Captain, nodding her head.  “And that time includes a thousand years in transit, without a lot of advancement going on.  Now they are only decades ahead of us, if that.”

“They are too big,” said Sean, smiling into the link.  “They have rolled over everyone they have ever come in contact with.  There was no pressure to advance, while we were involved in the fight of our lives against other powers that were more or less technologically equal to us.  In some cases superior.  And we continued to advance so we could continue to win.”

“And we learned from those who had ruled this space before us,” said Jackson.  “We picked up their tricks, and tech from our friends.”

“They are still really big,” said the tactical officer.  “Even if we catch up with them.  I think it was Stalin who said quantity has a quality all its own.”

“You know your history, Lt. Commander,” said the Emperor, his eyes glowing.  “It will be a fight.  But we may have the advantage in smarts.  As long as we keep those dumb asses in Parliament out of the way.”

He's coming back to us, thought the Captain, a smile breaking out on her face.  He can see hope in the future, and that is lifting him up.

“We have translation ahead,” called out the tactical officer.  “Something big.”

The Captain's eyes narrowed.  Of course there was so much going on in the near hyperspace to this system that they were having trouble tracking individual ships.  But it couldn't be coincidence that the ship was coming in right here, right now.  And they were so close to the hyper limit themselves.

“Can you tell whose it is?” she asked the tactical officer, feeling her chest tighten.

“It could be one of our super battleships from the size of it,” said Jackson hopefully.  “Or it could be...”

“One of theirs,” said the tactical officer.  “Thirty light seconds ahead on our present bearing.”

*     *     *

“We have them,” called out the tactical officer, as the Captain looked up from his command throne.

“Yes, we have,” said the Captain, his teeth showing in a predatory smile.  “The Admiral will reward us well for this accomplishment.  Prepare to destroy them.”

“All forward weapons to bear, my Lord,” said the tactical officer.

“Fire,” said the Captain, and the Ca’cadasan battleship bucked from the release of missiles.

*     *     *

“We have incoming missiles, ma'am,” said the tactical officer, looking back at her from his station.

Armored as are we all, thought Mei Lei, looking at the display where missiles had sprung into existence on the holo.  Lot of good it will do us when those missiles hit.

Already the Jean de Arc was launching a full spread of defensive missiles.  But they would not be enough against the volleys that beast ahead of them could put out.

Traveling at point six c, the battle cruiser would hit the first missiles in thirty-five seconds, and be past the battleship in fifty.  Then it would be the enemy missiles trying to catch them from the stern, which would be a losing proposition for the missiles.  But the battleship would still be able to hit them with lasers well after they cleared it.

The Jean de Arc bucked as she went into evasive maneuvering, all of her electromagnetic shield power shifted to the front.  Fighters accelerated ahead and interposed themselves between their mother ship and the enemy.  And they would hit the first spread of missiles before they even had the next volley on their sensors.

“All forward tubes fire,” ordered the Captain, praying for a lucky hit.  “Keep firing until the magazines are empty or the tubes melt.”

*     *     *

“What in the hell is that?” asked Commander Bryce Suttler, sitting up in his chair.  Seastag had been waiting in stealth on the edge of the system, hoping that some prey would come along.  The Imperial battle cruiser was heading their way, and Suttler had intended on helping them out, and maybe bagging some of their pursuit in the process.  But he hadn't expected this.

“It's one of their battleships, sir,” called out the tactical officer.  “I don't think they know we're here.”

The readouts showed the battleship to be less than one hundred thousand kilometers away, much closer than a light second.  His ship was at extreme risk, but they weren't paying him to play it safe when his sovereign was in danger.

“All weapons ready to go?” asked Suttler, knowing the answer before he asked.

“Aye, sir,” said tactical, giving his commander a quick smile.

“Helm, line us up,” ordered Suttler, and the helmsman gently nudged the ship to point at the enemy. “Fire.”

Seastag released all her tubes at the same instant that she fired her forward facing lasers and particle beams.  The triple array of terrawatt lasers took less than point three three seconds to strike the enemy vessel.  The battleship's electromag shields were augmented to the front, weakened to the sides and stern, in anticipation of a slugging match with another capital ship.  And the knowledge that nothing threatened her from any other angle.  The lasers penetrated the attenuated shields and burned into the hull, vaporizing alloy and composites as they swept across the ship.  One second into strike and they shifted frequency, before the skin of the enemy ship could react and configure to reflect them away.

The four antimatter particle beams, traveling at point nine five c, struck after a point three five second flight time.  Antimatter combined with matter with the predictable results, flashing with explosive power that blew out surface installations on the vessel.  Installations that included close in defense systems, missile tubes, and electromagnetic shield projectors.

Twelve missiles left their tubes at the same instant as the beam weapons were fired.  The latest design, accelerating at ten thousand gravities, the missiles headed straight toward the enemy battleship, jamming systems at full blast.  Taking advantage of the damage being inflicted on the enemy ship, they stayed in the new sensor shadows being created by the beam weapons.  Ten seconds behind them came another twelve missiles, then another twelve ten seconds behind those.

*     *     *

“What is that,” growled the ship Lord, his eyes darting to the tactical display.  The beams were coming from a point in space, followed by a spread of missiles that had appeared from nowhere.

“It appears to be an advanced stealth craft, my Lord,” called out the tactical officer, while the ship shuddered under the strikes of the powerful beam weapons.  “It does not show on our sensors.  Not even infrared.”

“How can that be?” asked the Captain, looking at the damage figures appearing on his display.  “We don't have such abilities.  How can they?”

“They obviously are beyond us in at least one area,” said the tactical officer.  “We cannot firm up a bearing on them.”

“Then fire at the origin point of the beams and missiles, you fool,” yelled the Captain, as his ship shuddered and lost two more missile tubes and a trio of laser domes.

“Yes, my Lord,” cried out the frantic officer, sending the commands through his board.

*     *

“Incoming missile,” called out the tactical officer as the red arrow made it through the wave of interceptor missiles and drove for the battle cruiser.

“Brace for impact,” called out the Captain, grabbing the arms of her chair.

Laser ring A fired a tight beam at the missile, hitting it within ten thousand kilometers of the ship.  Radiation and heat flooded into that section of the ship, taking out two missile tubes and a battery of close in weapons.  Jean de Arc bucked as she sent out a volley of missiles.  So far nothing had gotten through the enemy defenses, and Captain Mei Lei was wondering if they would hurt the enemy at all.

“Explosions on the port side of the enemy vessel,” called out the tactical officer, looking back at the Captain.

“From where?” asked Mei Lei, sitting up in her chair.  “We're not hitting them with anything.”

“From somewhere to their port side,” said the tactical officer.  “We're not sure what it is.”

“A stealth attack ship,” yelled out Jackson over the circuit.  “There were supposed to be some in this area.”

“All weapons target the port bow of that ship,” yelled the Captain, slamming a gauntleted hand on the arm of her couch.  “Fire at maximum rate.”

Laser rings A and B of the battle cruiser fired massive beams at the indicated area of the ship, while the ship shifted slightly to allow the Y ring to come to bear.  The tubes continued to fire missiles at maximum cyclic rate, while the close in defensive weapons brought the incoming missiles under assault.

For the second unexpected time in days the forward plasma torpedo spoke as well, sending ten tons of superheated gas toward the enemy ship.  The first torpedo exploded four hundred thousand kilometers out, taking a trio of enemy missiles with it.  The second missed the incoming missiles that were still targeting the battle cruiser, the enemy having switched most of their fire the ship that was most galling them.  It struck the forward section of the battleship, behind the ravaging lasers and particle beams from the battle cruiser.  The battleship rocked with the fury of the attack.  It redirected some of its lasers back at the battle cruiser, striking its bow and wrecking the plasma torpedo tube.

*     *     *

“We're taking fire sir,” said the tactical officer as the ship bucked from the laser strike vaporizing some of the outer hull.

“Do tell,” said Suttler, looking at the display.  Seastag was continuing to hit the enemy ship with beam weapons, though doctrine called for them to break off the attack and slink off to obscurity.  But the ship with the Emperor was still under attack by an enemy they could not avoid.  And Seastag was the only help that ship and the Emperor had.

“Continue firing,” he ordered, his hands tight on the arms of his chair.  “Maximum rate.”

“Aye, sir,” said the sweating tactical officer as the ship shook again from a hit.  “Superconducting cables are sucking up some of that heat and pushing it through the heat sink.”

“Hope it's enough,” mumbled the Captain as he leaned forward in his seat.  The ship bucked once again.  Suttler smiled as he looked at the damage displays on the enemy ship.  She was being savaged, though she still possessed fangs.  For the moment.

*     *     *

“Incoming missiles,” yelled the tactical officer.  “They have breached our defenses.”

“From which foe,” called out the Ca’cadasan Captain, seeing red arrows on the holo approaching from both sides.

“Both sides, sir,” screamed the tactical officer, his eyes wide.

Four missiles detonated within kilometers of the battleship's port side, sending a hail of radiation and material particles into the ship.  The battleship shuddered like a tortured beast as atmosphere and vapor jetted into space.  Another missile bore in behind them, being hit at the last second by a close in weapon.  The gigaton antimatter warhead blew a hundred meters off the port bow, pushing the bow around as the heat and radiation killed most of those manning that section of the ship.

Three missiles came in from the front, some of their velocity borrowed from the battle cruiser that was pushing point six c.  They came in at an even greater velocity.  The first two were detonated by close in system less than five hundred meters off the bow of the ship, adding to the destruction caused by the other missiles.  The third plowed straight into the battleship, striking full on as an intact missile.  In nanoseconds it and the bow were converted to plasma as an energy release to dwarf the warhead took place.  Shock waves traveled up the body of the ship, overloading the inertial compensators and killing all aboard.  The ship shattered, superhard materials liquefying and breaking apart.  The gigaton warhead went off half a nanosecond after the impact, adding its energy to the destruction of the ship.

*     *     *

The Jean de Arc, damaged but still intact, passed through the debris field that was the remains of the enemy ship, heading outward into interstellar space.  Lasers and counter missiles cleared the larger pieces from the path of the ship as she moved outward.

“Thank you, Commander,” said Captain Mei Lei over the com circuit to the stealth attack ship.  “We owe our lives to you.”

“A pleasure, Captain,” said Suttler a couple of seconds later.  The ships were separating at a terrific rate due to the velocity of the battle cruiser.

“Will you make it?” asked the Captain, concern in her voice.  “I know you took damage.”

“We're translating to Hyper VI as soon as we get up to speed,” said Suttler. “We're too damaged to continue to hide here.  But we'll make it back to base.”

“Good luck,” said Captain Mei.  “We need to get rid of about point four light speed velocity before we can do the same, in about nine hours.”

“Even with your damage?” asked Suttler, fifteen seconds after he received Captain Mei's response.  The time lag was increasing second by second.

“We were lucky,” said Mei Lei, looking over her ship's damage.  “We have only light damage to our hyperdrive, thank God.  We should be able to repair that in less than eight hours.  A couple of grabber units gone, but all of our inertial compensators are working.  Most of the damage was to weapons and defensive systems.”

“We'll translate out now,” said Suttler, nodding his head.  “I don't think they have anything near enough to catch you before you get to the translation point.”

“We can hope,” said Mei, grimacing.  “If another of their capital ships gets to us I don't think we can fight it off.  Even one of their cruisers would probably be more than we can handle.”

“Bye then,” said Suttler.  “And may God save the Emperor.”  The sensors flooded with his signal as his ship opened a hole in space and pulled it in after itself.

“God speed, Commander,” whispered the Captain, as she looked once again to her holo of the system.  “And may God save the Emperor.”

*     *     *

Captain Dame Mei Lei sat in her cabin chair, stroking her cat.  Satin purred in her lap as he took what he felt was his due.  The Captain reached for her glass of wine as she looked up at her guest.

“We should be at Conundrum III in four days, your Majesty,” she said to the Emperor.  “Then they can get you back to Jewel, and you can be officially installed.”

“I'm not going back to the capital,” said Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, putting his own glass of the ship's best wine on the table to his front.  He leaned back in his chair, relaxing in the comfortable robes he had been provided by the ship's nano-manufacturers.

“But your Majesty,” said Mei Lei, “you need to be crowned before Parliament and the people.”

“We have a war coming to our front door, Captain,” said Sean, leaning forward.  “I refuse to retreat to the safety of the capital while the fleet fights for our racial survival.”

“But your Majesty...”

“No,” said the Emperor, waving a dismissive hand.  “My mind is made up.  Not even the Grand Fleet Admiral at the sector HQ will tell me what to do.  He is under my command now, not I under his.  I will stay here and organize our war effort, while I send my commands back to the capital through the relay.”

“Yours to command, your Majesty,” said Captain Lei, bowing her head.

“The ship is functioning well?” asked Sean, feeling the comforting thrum of machinery through the seat.

“Hyper VII all the way,” said the Captain.  “We're a little beat up in other respects, though.”

“I'll make sure that the ship of our newest Imperial Knight is given priority repairs,” said Sean with a smile.

“About that, your Majesty,” said Mei Lei, opening her hands out to Sean.

“No arguments about being in the right place at the right time,” said Sean, smiling.  “That is part of heroism.  And I claim the right to reward you.  I think Countess would be a fitting rank to go with Imperial Knight.”

Mei Lei shrugged her shoulders, giving up on the fight.

Satin meowed, then jumped onto the table and took a running leap into the lap of the Emperor.  Mei Lei's eyes widened as her mouth dropped open at the social disaster.

Sean put his hand on the head of the cat and rubbed the soft fur.  Satin purred deep in his chest, pushing his own head against the hand of the man.

“See,” said Sean, looking down at the animal.  “Even your kitty agrees.  Don't you boo boo.  And you can't argue with such a sensitive animal.”

“I guess not, your Majesty,” agreed the Captain, wondering what she would do as a Countess and Knight of the Imperium.  And she felt sorry for those who opposed this Emperor.  He was truly the son of his father, and a scion of his line.

The End

Excerpt from Exodus: Empires at War: The Rising Storm.

“What is the status of the followers,” said Captain Dame Mei Lei, sitting in her command chair on the bridge.  She cast a worried glance at her precious cargo, the once High Prince Sean Romanov, who was in the guest chair to the side of hers.  Once High Prince in that the murder of his father, mother and oldest brother had left him the heir to the empty thrown of the Empire, and the defacto Emperor.  Until yesterday he was just another Lieutenant JG in the fleet, though a very well know one with powerful connections.  Now he was her commander in chief as well as someone that she would give every life in her small command to protect.  It was what they were all sworn to do, and the infuriating jackass wouldn’t allow them to do it.  He wanted to participate in every danger with them, like he was still a junior officer and a spare heir.

“We still have four contacts on our tail,” said the sensory tech over the com link.  “Definitions have firmed.  All are four million ton vessels.”

Four of their damned heavy cruisers, she thought with a scowl.  Two of them were about the same mass as her vessel, and more than a match for her in firepower.  Four of them would handle the hyper VII battle cruiser with ease.  And the only help she had was the Hyper VII destroyer Dot McArthur, cruising alongside in hyper.  I could send the destroyer at them and hope he delayed them somewhat, she thought, dismissing it as she had it.  The destroyer and its young Captain had stuck around the system and rendezvoused with Jean de Arc, and she had been glad to see him.  And all sending him back would accomplish was his death, for probably no purpose.  They would just blow past him and continue after us, and he wouldn’t even slow them down.

“What is their closure?” she asked, still staring intently at the screen.

“They will come into known weapons range in thirty one hours, fourteen minutes,” called out the navigation officer.

“So I need to come up with a solution before then,” she said out loud, then glanced at the Emperor with an embarrassed reaction as she realized he had overheard her.

“What are you going to do, Captain?” said the young man she had outranked a week ago, who now outranked her astronomically.

“I’m not sure,” she said, thinking over the possibilities.  Her ship had been built to be a heavily armed scout, to go searching for information, to fight for it if need be.  But not to go slugging it out like a battleship.  And there were battleships out here as well, somewhere.

“What was the enemy’s velocity when they came after us into hyper?” she asked her navigator.

“About point one nine nine light speed, ma’am,” answered the young man.

So they probably have similar limits for entering and exiting hyper, she thought.  Imperial ships could only enter and leave hyper at twenty percent of light or less.  That was about the limit that the hyperdrive could project an opening ahead of them.  Any faster and they would be past the opening before it was ready for their transit.  At best they would just miss it and have to try again further on down the line.  At worst they would hit the turbulence field of the nascent opening, which could cause damage to the ship.  So the enemy couldn’t do any better it seemed.  Now she just had to do the math and see what they could pull out of their asses.

After a couple of minutes of thought Mei huffed in frustration.  She couldn’t find a way out that rescued both ships under her command.  No matter what they did to slow down the enemy, they would still be on their heels.  They would either continue on and catch the Imperial ships before they could transition, pounding them with weapons in passing.  Or they would slow to transition near to the pair and pound them in normal space.  Only two solutions presented themselves, and neither were what she would call attractive.

“Your Majesty,” said the Captain, looking over at the Emperor.

Sean took a moment to realize he was being addressed, not surprising since he had been a Lieutenant JG the day before.  He finally realized he was being addressed and turned his attention toward the Captain with a bemused look.

“Sorry, Captain,” said Sean, a smile crossing his face.  “It will take some time getting used to that title.”

“I understand,” she said, returning the smile with a feeling of true sympathy for the young man.  She had been raised in a middle class family herself.  Her exploits in the service had earned her a small patent of nobility.  But it had taken several years before the mantel felt comfortable on her shoulders.  She wondered if Countess and Imperial knight would ever feel comfortable.  “I have several solutions, neither of which makes me happy.”

“So I’m sure they won’t make me happy either,” he said, his boyish smile looking strained on his tired face.  “So what are they?”

“One,” she said, ticking off a finger.  “We send Dot McArthur back on a suicide attack on the enemy while we try and slip away.”

“And I’m sure the Captain and crew of the destroyer would be most appreciative of that strategy,” said the Emperor, his eyes narrowing as his voice grew cold.

“Your Majesty,” said the Captain, leaning over toward him.  “In your new position you will have to either order thousands, possibly millions, to their deaths, for the greater good.  Or at least for the hope of the greater good.  Or you will have to condone the actions of others who do so in your name.”

“Not something I’m looking forward to,” said Sean with a nod.  “At least I can try to distance myself from the people I have to send.”

“You can, your Majesty,” said the Captain.  “I wouldn’t recommend it.  You need to know something about the people who serve you, so they are not just paper markers to be moved and removed from a map.  But let me tell you I think the first plan is not really feasible.  I don’t think the destroyer will be able to do enough to delay the enemy.  I think I would be throwing their lives away for no gain.”

“So what’s the second plan?” said Sean with a frown.  “I think I can guess, it will have something to do with your ship.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said the Captain, feeling her face tighten at the thought.  “It would involve us falling back on our enemies and engaging them in combat, while you get away on the destroyer.  I believe that we could attract enough attention to allow Dot McArthur to fall through hyper and get out of sensor range of the enemy.”

“So the better solution is to sacrifice over ten times the crew to let me creep away,” said Sean in a loud voice.  His face reddened, and Mei knew what he was feeling.  “I forbid it.  Do you hear?  We will get out of this somehow, some other way.”

“And what way would that be, your Majesty,” said the Captain, leaning back in her chair.  She had thought this would happen.  He wouldn’t accept what had to be.  But in their current situation they were going to be caught and killed anyway, and the new Emperor of Humanity would be killed with them.  Which would allow whatever weak cousin the assassins of the Emperor and the rest of the family wanted to manipulate to be put on the throne.

“I don’t know,” said Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, head down as he looked at the floor.  “I just don’t know.”  He looked up, tears in his eyes, but the eyes themselves were the piercing orbs of his ancestors.  “I do know that I’m tired of people dying for me.”

“It’s something you had better get used to, your Highness,” said the Captain of the battle cruiser, her heart going out to the young man who had never expected this kind of responsibility.  “The men and women of the Fleet, the Marines and the Army are under oath to lay down their lives for you.  It is up to you and those you appoint to command to make sure that those lives are well spent.”

Sean sat there, nodding his head and saying nothing.  Again Mei Lei felt her heart going out to him.  He was very young.  In some years he would have worked his way up the ranks and gotten a command of his own, probably a Frigate, making him responsible for a little over two hundred people.  Then up the command rungs until he got command of a Capital ship, three thousand or more people.  Maybe a squadron command, before his birth and lineage offered him (really ordered) another position outside of the military.  And if something unfortunate happened in the succession, he might be called upon to become Emperor, with a century of command and diplomatic experience behind him, like his oldest brother nearly had when he died along with the sitting Emperor.  Instead it had all come falling down on him.  And he hadn’t even been able to assume command of the Empire he in fact commanded.  Or to mourn those who had died, family, comrades or others.  She would not have wanted to be in his shoes for anything.  Right now the command of her battle cruiser was really more than she wanted, but there was no one else to do that job, so it was hers.

“How long do I have to transfer over to the destroyer?” asked the Emperor in a little boy’s voice.

“I think about four hours,” said the Captain, going through her preliminary plan one more time in her head.  “We need to set up the situation some.  I want to be as sure as can be that we are going to fool them.  Otherwise they will just take off after the destroyer and we won’t have accomplished anything.”

A blur moved out of the corner of her eye, and Mei Lei found Satin sitting in her lap, purring deeply.  She looked down at the silky fur of the Siamese and felt tears coming to her own eyes.  The cat of course didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know what danger they were in.  That was for the humans to feel, as they worried about their animal charges.

“He’s such a beautiful cat,” said Sean, looking at the animal sitting in the Captain’s lap.  “Reminds me of the cats we had around the palace.”

“You have many of them growing up?” she asked, holding onto the big male possessively.

“Dozens at least,” said the Emperor with a small smile.  “Always under foot.  Mother loved them.  Siamese, Persians, Himalayans, Havana Browns, Bengals.  Dozens and dozens of purebred cats.  I also liked the cats that lived all over the grounds.  Just plain alley cats, but all wonderful in their own right.”

“Yes they are,” said the Captain, hugging the cat close, then lowering him to the floor as he voiced his displeasure.  “Sorry, Satin.  But momma has things to do.”

“Do you want me to take him with me?” asked Sean in a quiet voice.

Mei Lei had to take a moment to make sure she had heard him right.  She looked longingly at the silky cat as he walked away, tail held high in the air in the question mark that meant cats were OK with the world.

“I would like that very much,” she said, reaching over to pat his hand.  “Keep him for me until I can return.  Or make sure he has a good home if I don’t.”

“The best,” said Sean, grasping her hand.  “The palace grounds, where he will never want for anything.”

“He will like it being outside,” she said, sniffling a moment.

“They like it wherever their humans are,” said the Emperor with a nod of his head.  “Even if it’s the deepest darkest regions of an asteroid mine.  They like being with us.”

“I have preparations to make,” she said with another sniff.  “Please excuse me, my Lord.”

“Of course,” said Sean, standing and taking the Captain’s hand.  He planted a kiss on the hand as he bowed.  “Thank you for all you have done for me.  And all you're about to do.”

The Captain could feel herself blushing as she nodded, smiled, and turned away.

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is an ex-professional student with degrees from Florida State University and The University of Alabama, and coursework in Psychology, Biology, Geology, Physics, Chemistry, Anthropology and Nursing.  Doug has interest in all of the fantastic, including science fiction, fantasy and horror, as well as all eras of military history.  Doug is a prolific writer, having completed 25 novel length manuscripts.  He is still seeking a major publishing contract, but has decided that self- publishing is the way to go at this time.  His work can be found on Amazon and Smashwords, as well as his own website.  Doug lives with his five cats in Tallahassee, Florida, and currently has no social life, as he is too busy writing around his work schedule.

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Books by Doug Dandridge

Science Fiction

The Deep Dark Well Trilogy

The Deep Dark Well:  An Adventure 40,000 years in the making.  Pandora Latham was a Kuiper Belt Miner from Alabama.  She’s used to landing on her feet, even when the next surface is through a wormhole, halfway across the Galaxy and 46,000 years in the Future.  Pandora must discover the secret behind the end of civilization, and the enigma of the Immortal Watcher, the last survivor of the Empire that once ruled the stars.  Her decisions will set the path for Galactic recovery, or a continuation down the roads of Barbarism.

To Well and Back:  Pandora Latham is back, working Watcher’s plan to restore Galactic Civilization.  But first she has to deal with the Xenophobes of the Nation of Humanity, back in the Supersystem with their sights set on making the Galaxy their own.  Pandora is angry at the hyper religious Nation, and you don’t want to make a woman from Alabama angry.

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1:  The introduction to the Exodus Universe.  Two thousand years prior mankind fled from the Predatory Ca’cadasans, traveling a thousand years and ten thousand light years to a new home.  Now the greatest power of their sector of space, things seem to be going well for the New Terran Empire.  Until the enemy appears once again at the gates.  And the years have not softened the aliens’ stance toward Humanity.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2:  The saga continues.  The Ca’cadasans attack at the moment when the government of the Empire is at its most chaotic.  There are other enemies as well, waiting for their chance to fall on the overwhelmed humans.  And a young man with no ambition for power finds himself in the position he most dreads.

Other Scifi

Diamonds in the Sand:  When a perfectly healthy scientist falls dead of an apparent heart attack, it is up to Sarasota Police Detective Lieutenant Gary Lariviere to find out what really happened.  The scientist was working on Nanotechnology, a secret desired by everyone from the Government to the Mob.  There are too many suspects, including the woman that Gary comes to love.  The Army had made Gary better than human, but had they prepared him for the terrors that had been unleashed by the new technology?

The Scorpion:  The Scorpion had been the world’s deadliest living terrorist.  Kestral McMann had been in on the kill.  Now The Scorpion is back as a mind upload, using clones to penetrate the tight security of an isolationist United States.  McMann is the only man who can stop him.  But can McMann survive the threat of his own side, and the insane President who leads the Nation, in time to stop The Scorpion from plunging the Great Satan back into the Stone Age.

The Shadows of the Multiverse:  Something has been periodically wiping intelligence from our Universe through the ages.  It’s back, and it’s up to three unlikely heroes, the Captain of a Battle Cruiser, a Physicist turned Archeologist, and a Child, to save the intelligence of the Universe from Monsters from another Dimension.  Can they learn to use the powers of their unusual Quantum Minds to defeat creatures that have been playing the game for billions of years?

Afterlife:  What if you didn’t believe in the afterlife of the World’s Religions?  And what if science offered you the alternative, survival within the Virtual World of a computer, where your mental abilities are magnified and you can do anything you want?  And what if the World decided that your way was wrong, and declared war on you, meaning to destroy your reality?  What would you do?  Afterlife, a tale of survival at all costs.

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1:  A nuclear war in Central Europe opens the gates between dimensions, sending millions of Earth Humans into a land of myth, archetypes and fantasy.  The Evil Emperor of the Ellala Elves sees the humans as energy to fuel his transformation to immortality.  But the humans have brought their own weapons with them, as well as a race of Demigods who will battle the fantastic armies of Refuge.  The war is on, and only one side will ultimately survive.

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2:  The Ellala have a plan to destroy the human military and capture the civilians.  And the humans find that their weapons will soon cease to function.  So it’s use it or lose it for the Earth Humans, and they use it with a vengeance.  Tanks against Mages, Attack Helicopters against Dragons, and Nuclear Weapons against Death Gods.  And the other peoples of the planet come forth as allies to the humans that they see as the fulfillment an Ancient Prophecy.  But will it be enough?

Refuge: Doppelganger: Set thousands of years after the arrival, Kurt von Mannerheim, the Immortal Emperor of the Imperium of Free Nations, must give up everything to save his Empress, the Elfin Princess Gwenara Elysius von Mannerheim.  The world is at a crisis point as the Evil Tarakesh Empire, under its Immortal Emperor Heinrich Stuppleheim, prepares to overrun the world with its Nazi Ideology.  And Kurt must face a creature of legend that may prove too much for even his physical and mental abilities.

Other Fantasy

The Hunger:  Abused wife, drug addict, prostitute; Lucinda Taylor had been victimized by men all her adult life.  Left for dead by her pimp, Lucinda was turned by a passing vampire.  When he is destroyed she becomes a free agent, slaking her hunger for blood on the bottom dwellers of society, the type of men who once victimized her.  The crime boss of Tampa is her next target, and the City by the Bay is about to become a bloodbath.  But can Lucinda avoid those who are hunting for her; the Priest, the FBI man, and a pair of Vampires who would like nothing better than to send one Avenging Vampire forever into the dark?

Daemon:  A Steampunk Fantasy.  The world is dying, the victim of the magic used by society for the last three hundred years.  Daemon Corporation thinks they have the answer, stealing the life from other worlds, bringing from other dimensions the intelligences that inhabit them for sacrifice on Earth.  But something has come with them, a force that is killing the employees of Daemon Corp.  It is up to Forensic Mage Detective Jude Parkinson to find a way to stop the unstoppable, while keeping the head of Daemon Corp from silencing him to keep the dark secrets of the company out of the public eye.

Aura:  Triplets are born on a world where the magical Aura decides the fate of its owner.  Ariel is a girl with more than double the normal Aura, destined to become a mighty Priest or Mage.  Aiden has a less than normal Aura, and is destined to be a soldier or laborer.  While Arlen has no Aura at all, and is seen as an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Baalra the Dragon God, which has no power over those with Negative Auras.  Fate will rip the siblings apart, then bring them back together as they battle to defeat the Dragon God and leave the Evil Empire, before Ariel is taken as the Avatar of Baalra, his mortal vessel on Earth.

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Excerpt from The Deep Dark Well

Two huge shapes pulled away from the squadron, heading toward the Donut at one gee acceleration.  Vengeance watched them through the wormhole viewer he had opened.  Real time viewing through the small aperture, only the edge distorted by the gravitational lensing.

“Damn,” he cursed.  He had hoped that all of them would have come forward into his trap.  He wouldn’t have destroyed them all, only a quarter of them.  The others he would have allowed to run back to the safety of the perimeter, to quiver in their suits at the close call they had escaped, not knowing he could destroy them all.  But only when they had gotten within two billion kilometers, the optimal range of the graviton beam for the purpose he proposed.

Vengeance could pull them into range, using the attractive power of the beam, but he could only pull four at a time, as that was all the large projectors he had powered up and in alignment at this time.  The rest would back out of range of the attractor beam, gaining enough velocity to escape.

So he would wait.  Wait for the ships to come closer, and possibly the others to follow.

*    *    *

Admiral Miklas Gerasi kept a close watch on the two warships he had sent ahead.  They were on the center of the tactical display.  Screens throughout the bridge were linked into the views sent back by the ships.  Data constantly streamed back to the flagship’s computers.  Communications personnel were in constant touch with all departments of the scouting ships.

They should be able to take care of themselves.  All of the ships of the squadron were of the same design.  The only difference between the flag and the rest were the extra communications and computer resources needed to command a complete squadron.  As far as he knew his squadron was as powerful as the combined fleets of all the powers within the system.

They should be able to take care of themselves.  And if he were sure of that he wouldn’t have sent them ahead as scouts.  He didn’t know what defenses the station contained.  Possibly none.  Possibly enough to defeat the combined resources of the Nation of Humanity and all of its enemies.

“Range, ten million kilometers and increasing,” said the navigation officer.  He had been ordered to give their location every million kilometers inwards, even though the displays showed the numbers.

Already thirty-three light seconds inbound.  Thirty three seconds before they would know if anything happened to the two ships.  Over a minute for a round trip transmission between the scouts and the rest of the squadron.

Gerasi felt the sweat bead on his forehead.  He knew the bridge was kept at a very comfortable temperature.  But he hated being out of immediate contact with members of his command.  When he had been a ship’s captain he hadn’t that worry.  All of his command was always a nanosecond away.  As commodore there had been some concern, but normally his division of two or three capital ships had stuck together.  But as admiral, he had to detach units to beyond the reach of his command all the time.  It was just that this situation was different from patrolling the reaches of the Nation, where you could always get support within a couple of hours at most.  Here there was no support.  His task force was it.

He chuckled to himself as a thought crossed his mind.  When he was a captain he relished the idea of being out of the range of his squadron commander.  Even as a commodore he was still the king only when his division was separated from the rest of the fleet.  Commodore Elishas must be worried about moving out of support range of the squadron, but still fired up about being on her own.

“Sir,” interrupted the science officer.  “Gravimetric sensors show several anomalies ahead.”

“What kind of anomalies?”

“Unknown.  But some kind of severe fluctuations in the gravity field of space.”

“A point source of mass?” asked the captain.  “Or the artificial gravity of a ship?”

“Could be a point source,” agreed the science officer.  “Neutronium or such.  It would have to be a monster of a ship to give those kind of readings.”

“Nav sensors show nothing besides our ships,” said the navigation officer.

“Transmit data to Commodore Elishas,” ordered the admiral.  “Keep a tight analysis on those fluctuations.”

Just another thing to worry about.  It probably meant nothing.  After all, the space around a black hole was supposed to be alive with bizarre phenomenon.  But it didn’t feel right.

*    *    *

The huge cylinder rotated into place.  The wormhole com link made the distance between it and its control center meaningless.  The wormhole sensor link made the distance between it and its target meaningless.  The unit powered up, energy flowing along the millions of kilometers of power cables within the cylinder.  Gathering at the conversion chambers.  Power spiked to maximum, as the beam of gravitons, the messenger particles of gravity, streamed through the expanding wormhole sensor link.  Target, the Nation of Humanity battle cruiser Dolphin.

*    *    *

The engineering crew of the Dolphin were about their normal business.  Basically their business was to be there when automated systems malfunctioned.  Or when damage occurred during battle that needed to be repaired quickly.  Currently all fusion generators were on line, powered up to three quarters full.  All that was needed for alert status.  It was always good policy to keep a reserve.  The matter/antimatter generators were off line at this time.  That much energy was only needed when the space destroying drive was on line.

Crewmen and women were dressed in their battle gear, hard composite armor panels over environment suits, proof against most of the types of hard radiation one might find in a space battle.  Helmets were for the most part detached, hooked to belts or set on stands near duty stations.  Everything was running smoothly and efficiently.  Inertialess drives were tuned perfectly, energy storage packs at full charge.  Cooling systems were damping the heat of fusion reactors to the radiators on the skin of the ship.

Everything was running smoothly and efficiently, until disaster struck without warning.  The first inkling the engineers had that something was wrong was when objects sitting on shelves or workstations began to slide and fall to the floor.  Within moments these same objects were flying through the air, followed by helmets and other heavier objects.  Then the crew had to grab onto whatever was at hand, or be pulled across the floor toward a gravity source much greater than that generated by the ship’s artificial field.

The central fusion center was hit the worst, and the first.  The large room was sucked free of atmosphere, a roaring wind pulled into the high center of the chamber.  Crew grabbed for helmets, then quickly for holds to keep from being pulled along with the air.  The environmental systems struggled to dump enough air into the room to keep it stable.  Not enough, not nearly fast enough.

Here objects were swept into the point, to disappear in a flash of light.  To disappear from sight, but not from the Universe.  A helmet swept in, obliterated in an instant.  A crewman was pulled in, his screams over the intercom squelched at the instant of his contact with the point, though it took a moment for the gory mess of a disrupted body to be pulled in as well.

Survivors belted themselves to whatever was available, using the safety straps provided on their environmental suits.  These were the witnesses to the next phase of the destruction.  Braces pulled loose in silence from the nearest fusion reactor, crumpling like tin foil as they struck the point source, to disappear.  The closest crew followed, belts tearing, or bodies and suits coming apart under the inexorable pull of gravity.  Only those furthest from the source were to survive, for now, though the pain of tidal forces brought screams of agony over the ship’s intercoms.

Matter was squeezed together by the terrific concentration of gravity.  Even compressed beyond the resistance of the electron shells.  Charges flowed from protons, turning all into a mass of neutrons swathed in a thin shell of electron liquid.  Gravity increased as more gravitons entered the mix, informing time and space of the existence of mass that didn’t really exist.

The point source began to move, forward, pulling in more and more matter, as it crushed its way through the bulkhead to the next compartment.

*    *    *

“Commodore,” yelled the engineering liaison from his station.  “We are under attack.”

“From what?” asked Elishas.  She was still trying to puzzle the data on the anomalies sent from the flagship.  And there had been no warning of any kind of attack.

“We don’t know,” answered the officer.  “But it’s tearing the engine rooms apart.”

“On screen,” she ordered.  Immediately an image formed, of a distortion of glowing air, swinging swiftly through the antimatter reactor room.  Objects flew in blurs into the object, ripped from their places.  A cooling pipe tore loose as they watched, to disappear in a flash.

“If it ruptures one of the antimatter storage tanks,” said the hushed voice of the navigator.

Yes, thought Elishas.  If it ruptured an antimatter storage tank the Dolphin would be reduced to a great number of small particles moving from the center of the explosion with great speed.  Then the point was through the next bulkhead and moving forward.  The bridge crew breathed a sigh of relief.  A short-lived sigh.

“It’s coming forward,” cried the science officer, echoing the thoughts of others.

The ball of neutronium was indeed coming forward, growing more massive with each traverse of a chamber, pulling crew and equipment into its embrace.  The ship shuddered from the assault as bulkheads began to buckle.  The view screens followed its progress.  To the relief of the commodore it stopped, in the exact center of the ship.  Already a thousand tons of matter had been compressed.  A small proportion of the ship, to be sure, but still a threat.

Billions of kilometers away the graviton beam was switched off.  Instantly the source of gravity that had pulled the thousand tons of matter into a microscopic neutronium sphere disappeared.  Matter could not exist in such a concentration without sufficient force pulling it together.  There were still sufficient charges within the ball to generate the natural repulsive forces of like charged matter.

Within a nanosecond of the removal of force the ball exploded outward, particles reaching an appreciable fraction of the speed of light.  This explosion in itself would have destroyed the vessel beyond recognition.  The rupturing of the antimatter storage tanks, followed closely by the destruction of the negative matter pods, assured that little in the way of matter was left to clog the lanes of space.

*    *    *

Dolphin flared as a brilliant light on the view holo, followed an instant later by the form of the Tiger Shark.  Bridge crew covered their eyes instinctively, though the display would never reproduce light powerful enough to damage eyesight.

“What happened?” demanded the admiral, his mouth dropping open at the spectacle of the complete destruction of two of his vessels.  No warhead he knew of could have destroyed them so quickly, or approached so invisibly.

“Should we move the squadron back?” asked the captain nervously.

“Yes,” said Gerasi, his voice hushed.  “At flank speed.”

“Helmsman,” yelled the captain, “full speed astern.  Transmit orders to the rest of the squadron to do the same.”

“Stop us when we are another billion kilometers out,” ordered the admiral.

“You don’t intend to run from this display of power?” asked the captain incredulously.

“We don’t even know what it was,” answered Gerasi, strength creeping back into his voice.

“The gravitation anomaly spiked just before the destruction of the two vessels,” said the wide-eyed science officer.  “Ejecta consisted of neutrons, gamma particles and microscopic particles of matter.  It will take some time to completely analyze the remains from this distance.”

“We sure as hell are not going to get any closer to that thing until we figure out what happened,” said Gerasi.  And what then.  He couldn’t go back to the home system empty handed, especially with the loss of two capital ships.  But what good to sacrifice all the vessels.  All the crews.

“Transmission coming through,” said the com officer.

“Put it on,” ordered the admiral.

The creature appeared on the holo.  No longer looking frightened.  Its voice no longer trembling with fear.

“How did you like my little pyrotechnic display?” it asked, a smile cracking its narrow face.

“You were responsible for this?” yelled Admiral Miklas Gerasi, waving a fist at the holo.  Of course the creature would not be able to respond for over an hour round trip transmission.  He couldn’t wait till he had the creature in his grasp, able to communicate by means of voice and pain, instantaneously.

“Of course I was responsible for this,” said the creature.  “Oh, don’t look so shocked, my dear admiral.”

“You, have instantaneous communications?”

“Of course,” it replied.  “Only primitives such as yourselves do not.

“I had hoped that all of your little ships would have stepped into my parlor.  Then I would not have to worry about watching your vessels, filled with semi intelligent monkeys capering about their controls.  Now you have been warned.  Stay away from the Donut.  If you approach closer than two billion kilometers you will never again see the stars of your home.  Bring this warning back to the men who sent you.  This is my space, and mine alone, and I do not intend to share it with any half evolved protohumans.”

“And what name shall I give my Patriarch, when he asks who gave this ultimatum to an admiral of his fleet?”

“Tell him Vengeance gave the ultimatum.  Tell him Vengeance awaits whatever he might send to test my resolve.”

The holo went blank before Gerasi could reply.  The admiral stared into the display of stars that took its place for a moment.

“Halt the squadron,” he ordered.

“You don’t mean you believe him about the two billion kilometer limit?” asked the captain with a shaking voice.  “The crew will not like being so close.”

“He would have destroyed us already if he meant to,” said the admiral.  “Besides, who commands here?  The crew, or me?

“I want an analysis on the remains of the two vessels he destroyed,” said Gerasi, as he left his seat and headed for his day cabin.  “Keep me informed.”

Table of Contents

- Dedication

- Books by Doug Dandridge

- “Missiles firing,” said the tactical officer.

- Cast of Characters
- Timeline
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20

- Excerpt from Exodus: Empires at War: The Rising Storm.

- About the Author
- Books by Doug Dandridge
- Excerpt from