The Shield
Date: 2019-11-17 05:00:00+00:00
Description: No One Said That Fighting the Cacas Would Be Easy. But They Didn't Mention It Would Be Necessary to Fight Your Own Side. The Ca'cadasans are set to finally destroy the allied fleet on the Nation of New Earth Front. But Beata Bednarczyk will not go out easily. Grand Fleet Admiral Bednarczyk is finally the master of her own destiny, the supreme commander of the allied fleet, though her sword has been blunted by the last campaign. Still, she has everything her Empire can give her, including some untested tech that could salvage the front. Still, she is saddled with the incompetent Klavarta Alpha
Publisher: Unknown

Exodus: Empires at War

Book 16

The Shield.

by

Doug Dandridge

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to one of my all-time favorite authors, David Weber. When I was going through a hard time, David was there with kind words that help me to crest the rise that loomed ahead. Thank you, and thank Honor Harrington for being such an inspiration.

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

Follow my Blog at http://dougdandridge.com

Follow me at @BrotherofCats

Copyright © 2019 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. I would like to thank Ruth de Jauregui for lettering my cover. I think her work really improves the snap of those covers, and I am fortunate that she does the.

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

Prologue

Space is enormous. That really goes without saying, but most people have no idea what that really means. Intelligent beings evolved in the smaller environments of planetary surfaces. Not even aware of the whole surface, but the tiny portion they could take in from horizon to horizon. Solar systems themselves are so large that most organic minds can't comprehend the immensity. And each star system is less than a dot in the sea of emptiness that seems to stretch into infinity.

Grand Fleet Admiral Beata Bednarczyk looked into that infinity from the flag bridge of the superheavy battleship Romulus, her most powerful unit and currently the only member of her class among the admiral's fleet. Twenty-eight million tons of warship, even less of a dot in the enormous emptiness. Taking up the center of the view screen was the only rocky planet in the system, really a moon of the only gas giant. In orbit around a dim red star.

Over eighty percent of the stellar bodies in the Galaxy were red dwarves, most useless to star spanning civilizations. A few had planets or moons that supported carbon based life. Those were explored and exploited, but they were few and far between. Even more rare were those planets which supported methane based life. The odds were astronomical that any of those worlds would have intelligent life. And here they had hit the jackpot.

As if I really care, thought the fleet commander, not quite meaning it. She was not here as part of Exploration Command. However, she had the resources that had nothing better to do, so survey crews had descended to the surface. She wondered how many other red dwarf systems were out here that had something of interest. The problem was, there were so many systems within any moderately sized star nation, a billion or more in most cases, that the resources to explore them all were not available. In most nations a survey ship was sent to every star at least once for a look over, to make sure that said system was not being used by criminal organizations. Then they were visited again every year or two. But not here, in space that New Earth had only recently liberated from the Ca'cadasan Empire. And with a war going on, the resources were just not available. Until she came along, looking for a place to hide and consolidate her fleet.

“The destroyer squadron will be arriving at the target in the next twelve hours,” said Captain Sigurd Janssen, her chief of staff. “Any orders?”

Beata shot a glare at her COS. She knew the officer didn't approve of her tactical decision. He didn't have to approve. He was only doing his job by playing devil's advocate, but she was growing weary of his attitude.

“No orders. They are to continue the mission as ordered. Understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said a frowning captain.

The ships would be crawling through hyper I for the next twelve hours, all but undetectable. At the end of their journey they would hang in hyper I, small targets generating minimal gravitons, undetectable by ship sensors at a distance greater than a couple of light hours. Sitting as they would be at three light days, it would take a massive system sensor array to pick them up. So far the humans had seen no sign that the enemy had any such arrays in Pleisia. The turning point would come when the ships jumped down to normal space. There was no hiding that signal for over a light month in any direction. Beata could only hope the enemy admiral decided they were just what they looked to be, scouts, not worth his attention. If he decided to fire on them the missiles would give themselves away, and it would be over three days journey from the center of the system.

At the same time a dozen destroyers already in place would jump into hyper and head out. Another distraction, to make it look like a change of shift. The problem was, there was really no need for such a turnover, and she had to hope the enemy commander just took it for granted.

“Ma'am. Admiral Montgomery in on the com.”

“Put her on,” said Bednarczyk, a smile stretching her face. She considered Mara her most capable officer, as well as one of the very few people she allowed close enough to call a friend. Timothy Hahn, Natasha Krushchev and the others she had brought from her last operation were all capable, but Mara deserved special trust. Audacious and cautious at the same time, with a tactical brilliance seen in few officers, the admiral thought herself lucky to have the other woman on her staff. Soon she would be promoted out of her current position. A win for the Empire, if a loss for Bednarczyk.

“We're ready, ma'am,” said the beautiful redhead, her blue eyes virtually glowing. “May the Goddess be with us.”

Beata wasn't sure what she thought about Mara's religious beliefs. She had left her own Lutheran religion behind, and Paganism seemed even more far-fetched. As long as her subordinate received comfort from her beliefs it was fine with the commanding officer.

“I still have reservations about not keying all of my officers in on the operation.”

Beata nodded. She had her own reservations. But with the suspected leak to the Cacas, she wasn't willing to take chances. She was pretty sure of her own officers, who would have no reason to turn traitor. She wasn't sure of her allies, and it just seemed best to keep a lid on all information not necessary to getting the ships to where they needed to be when they had to be there.

“I know. But we only have one chance at this, and I refuse to see my operation go off the rails because of some random conversation.”

That  no one would tap into this conversation was an absolute given. I was impossible to get a read on anything in transit through a wormhole, and the transmission through ship systems went into the best encryption in known space. Not that it couldn't be broken, but the odds were long against anyone even getting a read on it to start with.

“Your captains know. And it will only take minutes for them to inform the rest of their crews.”

“True,” said the tall, willowy woman who was physically everything the shorter, stouter Bednarczyk was not. “Still, they won't have as much time to digest the plan, and suggestions won't be forthcoming.”

“We'll just have to deal with that,” said Beata, somewhat impatiently. “Now, what is your take on the Pleisia system?”

Mara was sitting in another of the innumerable red dwarf systems in this region, her fleet doing exactly the same thing as Beata's contingent. Nothing. The destroyers hanging out on the edge of the Pleisia system, as well as the stealth/attack ships simulating holes in space further in, were under her command.

“We're picking up the graviton emissions of a large force within the system,” said Mara, a frown crossing her lovely face. “But I'm not buying it. There's too much movement for a fleet sitting in port. Like they want us to see what they want us to see.”

“So you think they're pulling the same trick they used on Admiral Klanarat?”

“I would bet my soul on it,” said the serious faced four star. “They want us to walk into their trap. Then, when we have stuck enough of our neck into the noose, they are going to open the trapdoor and let us swing.”

Beata grimaced at that imagery. Hanging was not a common punishment in the Empire, though it was still used in some local jurisdictions. She had seen one in her life, and thought it horrific to see a living being choking out its life at the end of a rope. She could imagine the same for a fleet trapped within the hyper barrier of a system when a star was made to go nova. They would all be scrambling to try to get into space where they could translate to hyper, or behind rocky bodies. Panic would ensue. And most would fail.

“Keep a look out for anything they might be hiding well outside the system,” cautioned Beata, raising a hand to halt her subordinate's objections. “I know you will, but it makes me feel better to know that I reminded you.”

“Yes, ma'am. And you also know how difficult it is to pick up someone lying powered down in that vast an expanse of normal space. We will be sweeping it, and I will have every sensor not tasked for something else looking. But the odds are we won't find them.”

And if we do find them, then what? thought the fleet commander. Her fleet would lose many of its advantages in hyper, and the enemy would be able to jump out of the way of missile swarms. Just have to worry about that when it happens. Her staff would be working on contingencies, of course. However, no one could foresee every possible contingency.

*     *     *

Great Admiral Mrastaran Hlrata sat the commander chair on the bridge of his flagship, a twenty-five million ton beast of a Ca'cadasan super battleship. Around him the bridge hummed with activity, officers monitoring all com frequencies and sensor reads. They were looking for the alien fleet. The great admiral knew it was coming. What he didn't know was when, or how.

“No sign yet, my Lord,” reported Admiral Trostara, the Ca'cadasan chief of staff.

“They have to be coming, Lords,” said one of the sensor officers, looking back at his two superiors. “These humans are too soft hearted to let us kill other aliens.”

Mrastaran grunted in agreement. If they had been fighting only the Klavarta, as they had been before they contacted the other human empire, he wouldn't have been able to agree to that. Those xenophobes would have smiled as they thought of someone else doing their work for them.

Of course they have to come, he thought, giving a head motion of negation. Don't they?

He knew if it was up to him, if he was put in their place, he wouldn't have come. His fleet, preserving his ships, would have been the priority. In fact, were it up to him he would be presently be forging into the center of the Klavarta nation, New Earth. Unfortunately, it was not up to him. The Emperor had demanded that he set this trap and keep his fleet here to destroy any human ships that tried to escape.

“The human scout ships we have been tracking have started jumping,” reported another of the sensor officers, his eyes locked on his screens.

“What kind?” asked the great admiral, not able to keep everything going within his mind at the same time.

“Ships from their Empire on the other front, my Lord. Over two hundred thousand tons.”

Mrastaran grunted again. He knew the Klavarta ships were the more numerous, but he had more respect for the Imperial version. Only half the size of his own scout ships, they were more powerful for their mass. He had to wonder why they weren't using the less massive Klavarta scouts. Those would have been just as effective as scouts, and their loss wouldn't have been felt quite as tragic to the Imperial commander.

That had also come as a shock. He was hoping he would be facing a Klavarta commander. In fact, his intelligence had told him that the leader of the force he had routed had survived, and should have been given command of the fleet. Instead, the Imperial commander, a female, the one who had given him so much trouble in this same system, had been given command. That one was trouble, plain and simple. Intelligent and unpredictable. So, how was she going to approach? Not through a wormhole, since she would not be able to bring her other wormholes with her.

“We have other destroyers jumping out, my Lord. It's looking like they are changing them out.”

“Which probably means they don't have wormholes on any of those ships,” said the chief of staff.

Mrastaran wasn't sure of Trostara's point those ships could have sat there for months, subsisting on their stored supplies, wormholes or not. They wouldn't need them, unless they intended to send streams of wormhole launched missiles into the system. The admiral knew he wouldn't risk such a precious resource on vessels as light as those. One hit from a major warship and they were gone, and the wormhole with them. No, they were good enough scouts with just those strange aliens aboard.

If only we could capture one of them for study, thought Mrastaran. Ships were not easy captures in the kind of battles fought in this war. Most of the losing side lost everything, ships shattered in space. And the few they had been able to board had none of the Klassekians still alive. He was still hopeful that...

“You have a com, my Lord. From the Emperor.”

By the Gods, thought the admiral, wishing that he didn't have to talk to the little shit. Or that someone would challenge the youngster to a duel. Unfortunately, such was not allowed, and only someone in the Imperial succession would benefit if it were. Mrastaran was ninth in line for the throne, so it would have done him no good. The rules had been changed by the last Emperor concerning duels in the fleet. An inferior could still challenge a superior, though the one challenged could decide with what the fight would be waged. Attacking outside a challenge usually meant the challenger was quickly killed by the commander's security. And it was illegal to challenge during an active campaign, lest it disrupt the chain of command at an inopportune time.

“Supreme Lord,” said Mrastaran as the young face appeared in the holo.

“Great Admiral,” said the young male in his still not mature voice. “Have the humans started to move yet. I need them to be destroyed, so your ships can transfer back to this front.”

“They had been moving scouts around the system, Supreme Lord,” said Mrastaran, bowing his head, as much to hide the grimace on his face as to show respect. “But so far nothing from their main fleet. Might I suggest that we might get more of a response if I move my fleet toward their capital?”

“No,” hissed the young fool, glaring out of the holo. “I want them gathered up and destroyed without the risk to our ships. I need those ships.”

And they aren't going to do what you want just because you wish it, thought Mrastaran, trying his best to keep the disdain from his expression. His efforts must have been good enough, since the little idiot didn't start ranting, raving and threatening.

“Perhaps if you started killing more of the populace of the planet it would get them moving. Surely they have com to that surface. Start sending your soldiers down to process the natives for rations.”

Mrastaran didn't like the sound of that one bit. Not only were the Plesians, from all accounts, a foul tasting lot. There were millions of armed natives down there. And even worse, there were an estimated twenty thousand of the Klavarta ground warrior subspecies. Those were enough to terrify any Ca'cadasan, even though the big aliens outmassed them by more than two. The warrior subspecies was a nightmare. Jaws that could break bones working teeth that spelled the doom for any creature whose throat they clamped around. Spines, claws, moving with a speed that could only be matched by the augmented humans of the human Empire, or possibly the Maurids of his own Empire.

And my request for Maurids was turned down without explanation, thought the great admiral. He had to wonder if there was something going on with their slave/allies. Something that wasn't going to turn out well for the empire.

“We will do what we can, Supreme Lord,” said Mrastaran, bowing his head again. What else could he say? From what he had heard this weapon had already been used on the other front, so these humans had to know of its existence. So why would they poke their heads into a trap they had to be aware of. And if they didn't come here? Mrastaran could see this punk of a ruler yelling for the great admiral's head if things didn't go exactly the way he wanted.

If only we had someone else in charge, thought Mrastaran. Treasonous thoughts, but something he couldn't help himself from thinking. If only they could find someone to take the Emperor's place, in the case of an unfortunate accident.

Chapter One

An ethical man doesn't need a consensus of his allies in order to act against something he finds reprehensible. Joseph Brodsky

MARCH 30TH, 1004. PLEISIA SYSTEM.

Captain (Brevet) Henri Francois-Ramirez held in the stomach contents that threatened to spill onto the deck as the destroyer Zulu entered normal space. The captain, whose permanent rank was still commander, had never been an easy translator. He normally took medication to calm his stomach before a translation, which also made him somewhat drowsy. That couldn't happen when translating in so close to the enemy, so he had gone without.

Zulu was a brand new destroyer, given to him since it had a better com suite than any of the other ships in the squadron. Named after a proud warrior people, who had used superior tactics to carve out an Empire in Iron Age Africa, he really didn't want to dishonor its name by puking.

“Sir,” called out the tactical officer, Lt. Senior Marsha McTaggart, looking over from her station and not showing the least sign of translation sickness. “Everything appears to be as expected.”

“Jarvis is transmitting their data dump to us, sir,” said Lt. JG Tangana Kenyata, looking up from his com board. “We're forwarding it back to command.”

“What about our other ships?”

There were eleven other destroyers in the squadron, replacing a like number of ships that would set a course through hyper as if they were leaving the vicinity. Every ship had a Klassekian aboard, though in their cases as backup. Main com was through the deployed wormhole they all carried, unusual for a squadron of such small ships.

“All are reporting that they translated in without incident, sir. Nothing to report.”

Henri let out a breath of relief. He, of course, didn't want to lose any of his ships, or the very important cargo that all carried. To him the ships and crews were more important than any cargo they might have carried. Command wouldn't have thought that way.

And I wonder how Gloria is doing? He thought, the image of his new bride coming to mind. Gloria Francois-Ramirez was the captain of another destroyer. She had been serving on this front, but regulations called for any married couple to be deployed to separate commands. Not just because they might make decisions based on saving their spouse, but because hesitation might bring on a disaster during a battle. So Gloria had been transferred to the main front.

It was a good rule, one that also applied to non-married personnel who were involved in a sexual relation. Of course some high ranking officers kept their affairs hidden, but couples that were married had their records immediately forwarded to Bureau of Personnel on Jewel. There was no hiding it, so now they were separated except for the infrequent times they might be able to get leave together.

I'll think about you later, my dear, thought the squadron commander, opening his eyes and taking in the system plot. It was all well and good that his people were reporting that all was well and good. He needed to see that for himself, since the responsibility for the squadron rested on his narrow shoulders.

All appeared to be well. Twelve destroyers spaced out in their intervals around the system. They were groups along one side of the system, close enough to move through normal space at a low acceleration and gather into their assigned groups. There were several score concentrations of enemy ships within the system. At first glance they appeared to be patrolling. Computer studies showed those apparent patrols to be too random and lackluster. Intelligence thought they were using the same devices they had deployed to fool the Klavarta before the rout of their main fleet. Something to make Admiral Bednarczyk think they were setting a trap.

Also on the plot were the dozen stealth/attack ships still in the system. The Cacas would know they were there, but not where they were located., since they were giving off no graviton emissions. They were transmitting their locations through their wormholes, and the captain was seeing them through that. When the time came those ships would be firing streams of wormhole launched missiles, still not giving themselves away. The Cacas would be able to draw a line back from the trajectory of those missiles, but would not know where upon that line their enemy sat.

His ships could also fire streams of missiles, but only when the command came down. Until then it was important that the enemy not realize they had wormholes aboard their ships.

“Orders, sir?” asked his exec, Lt. Commander Crystal Ngursky over the com from the combat information center.

“We sit and we monitor, Crys,” he told her, looking into her ice blue eyes. “I'll take first watch, so you and Daphne,” he continued, naming Lt. Commander Daphne Suarez, the chief engineer of the ship and third in command, “go ahead and get some rest.”

We might as well get it while we can, thought the squadron commander. Because when the balloon went up, they were unlikely to be getting much rest until the fight ended. If they made it that far.

“Iroquois reports enemy contact, sir,” called out one of the com techs, near panic on her face.

“What?” blurted out Henri, shocked.

“They're taking fire, sir. They're...We've lost contact.”

They had always considered the possibility that an enemy might be lurking nearby, despite the constant surveillance the scouts had given this system. But no one really believed that such an unlikely occurrence, dropping out of hyper close enough to an enemy ship that they would be hit with energy fire, would occur. Yet it had happened.

Almost three hundred crew, and the precious cargo that would concern command more than the loss of some spacers. They didn't even have a chance to fight back.

“Enemy vessel is grav pulsing, sir,” called out the sensor tech on duty.

Reporting back to their command. Well, he could talk to his ships too, without giving away positions by graviton emissions. Except they already know exactly where we are, he thought. Were more ships about to be hit?

The next hour was filled with tension, as the captain waited for more reports of short, sharp battles to come in. Or for something to come out of the darkness and hit his ship, blasting it to plasma. Ending his life and his plans for the future.

*     *     *

“One of our scouts is reporting contact with an enemy scout, sir.”

“And the result?” asked Mrastaran, sitting up straight in his chair.

“Enemy ship completely obliterated.”

The great admiral leaned back in his chair with a grin of satisfaction. His staff had thought it a waste of time to boost a hundred or so of his scouts into the outer system with strap on fusion engines. The area was too vast, the targets too small. Yet one had hit pay dirt, and an enemy spy ship was dead. It would have been better if they could have boarded and captured the enemy scout. That was probably too much to ask for, though.

“Might we get another kill?” he asked the shift tactical officer.

“Unlikely, sir. But stranger things have been known to happen.”

Yes they have, thought the great admiral. Yes they have.

*     *     *

“We've lost one of the destroyers, ma'am. The Iroquois.”

Beata sucked in a breath. It was always bad to lose ships and crew. But this was worse, with what they had been carrying. One twelfth of her planned deployment had gone up in plasma, just like that.

“What's the chance they have more surprises waiting for us, Tac?” she asked, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

“Unlikely, ma'am. The ships of the translating in squadron were light minutes away from those ships which translated out. Chance. Bad luck. But unlikely to happen again.”

And unlikely to have happened once, but it did, thought the admiral. The enemy commander was a canny son-of-a-bitch, and who knew what else he had waiting.

“Any orders, ma'am?” asked the duty com tech. All of the primary officers were on duty breaks, since they would be needed at their posts when the operation commenced.

“Have all ships in that insertion contact the chief of staff,” she said, thinking about how Janssen was not going to like going into the battle sleep deprived. Well, it was his job, and she wasn't getting a lot of sleep herself. “We need to re-task them to other insertions.”

This will work, she thought, shaking her head. If it didn't there would be a lot of dead, humans and alien, and the responsibility would be hers. The Emperor might disagree, since his had been the final determining vote. No matter, she would always know that she should have come up with a better plan.

But there were no better plans, she thought. While she realized she wasn't the greatest tactician in the fleet, those who were so considered had looked it over and thought it as sound as could be. Given the circumstances.

Even with the new untried tech. Everything depended on that. Her ships, the lives of their crews, the planet. There had been some dissenters to a plan based on something yet to be field tested. However, Admiral Chan had looked it over and approved it, and when had that woman ever been wrong.

Well, there was that one time, thought Beata, closing her eyes and letting out a calming breath. Such things were known to happen, but hundreds of brains had looked over the tech, and all had agreed that it would work. Though not all agreed as to its efficacy. She would just have to trust that everything would work as advertised. What other choice did she have?

*     *     *

The Klavarta warrior froze in place as the being he was stalking turned nervously around, taking in his surroundings. His nostrils flared as he took in the stench of the alien. Though only a stench to other species. The Caca might have smelled like a bouquet of flowers to others of its kind. The Klavarta doubted that as soon as the thought entered its mind. It knew enough about the sense of smell from the early lessons in biology it had endured before graduating to warrior training. Animals, including those with intelligence, evolved their sense of smell, adapting chemical locks for the keys of various odors. Often creatures from a different evolutionary line couldn't even sense what to a native animal would be a klaxon call of a warning. Unfortunately, the Klavarta could sense the Cacas as a foul, sulfur odor, and it thought the Cacas would be able to pick up his kind as well. Just not from as far away.

The fierce biologically altered human was large for his species, but the Ca'cadasan he was closing with outmassed him by three. To many it would seem insane that he would try to force a hand to hand kill. However, the warrior was confident of his ability to kill this enemy, quickly and silently, if he could get close enough. If revealed to the enemy he was likely to end when the others in their patrol turned their powerful particle beams on him. This one would surely die, though.

Against a low tech opponent this would have been an easy stalk. The warrior was naked, leaving behind all but the monomolecular knife gripped in a strong left hand. There would be no noise from rustling clothing or clanking harness. Even the knife could have been left behind, though it gave the warrior comfort to have a weapon that could penetrate just about anything.

The Klavarta placed a foot carefully on the ground, shifting it instinctually as it felt a twig underneath the foot-pad. Something it wouldn't have been able to do with boots. As a plus, its skin shifted with the shadows, much like a chameleon's. The warrior had covered its skin with a botanical scent that blended in with the forest around it, masking it from the noses of the enemy. Not that it thought the Cacas had that sharp an olfactory sense, but some of their servants were known to be very sharp. Surprisingly, none of those servants, who would have been perfect for this environment, had made their presence known. Something to worry about, though command, not giving any details, had hinted that they would not be showing up on this front.

Maurids were a terror, much as the Klavarta warriors were. Fast, strong and tough, with natural weapons that were almost the match of the genetically engineered humans, they possessed a much more sensitive sensorium. Those creatures would have had no trouble detecting the silent assassins.

The main concern the Klavarta had in moving against the Cacas was body heat, something they had little luck in masking, something that could be detected with simple sensors. The botanical covering help to break up their heat signature, not enough to hide them completely, but sufficient to make them look like something they weren't.

The enemy warrior shifted nervously, and the Klavarta froze in his tracks once again. He was within leaping range, but would have preferred to be closer. Unfortunately, it was looking like he was not going to get within the range he preferred. He tensed his muscles, then released, propelling his hard muscled body forward. The Caca saw him out of the corner of its eye and started to attempt a block. Right in the way of the monomolecular blade. It sliced into the armor and through the flesh of the forearm underneath. The Caca jerked its arm, trapping the blade for a moment. But leaving its throat open to the natural weapons of the Klavarta.

Canara's hard left hand darted in, the five long, razor sharp claws aimed perfectly. Penetrating the flesh and into the airway of the alien. With a quick jerk the captain ripped the throat out of the Ca'cadasan warrior, silencing the call that would have turned into a scream.

Around him in the forest short screams and yells sounded. Klavarta warriors who hadn't been as fortunate with their kills. The enemy had still died, but now the rest of them knew that there were assassins in the dark, and the Klavarta were sure to sustain casualties of their own. Of course the well trained, well conditioned Klavarta would all die without a sound, so Canara would have no idea of the butcher's bill until he reached the rally point, if he made it there at all.

Shots started flaring the darkness with their bright red beams. The angry buzzing of multiple weapons sounded, making the movement of the surviving Klavarta even harder to detect. The bright flashes spoofed the heat sensors of the enemy. That enemy would be expecting their attackers to hunker down or retreat. However, that wasn't how the Klavarta played the game.

Canara ran as fast as his modified musculature would carry him, very quickly indeed. Right at a pair of Cacas who were firing at something in the other direction. At four meters distance the captain launched himself into the air, coming down between the Cacas. His blade darted into the neck of the one on his left, slicing through the twin spines that ran through the thick column of muscle and bone. That Caca fell like a poleaxed meat animal. The other Caca he struck with his right hand claw, trying to get the same kind of kill he had achieved to start this fight. He hit armor, and his claws slid off and away.

The Caca brought its pistol to bear at close range, and Canara thrust in with his jaws. The sharp teeth penetrated flesh, while the jaws clamped down with a killing force, crushing the windpipe of the alien. A quick jerk of the head and the Caca was spurting its life blood into the night. Its foul taste flooded Canara's mouth, and only his killing instinct let him follow through to insure the death of his opponent.

His two victims lying lifeless on the ground, the captain took a quick second to collect himself. His limbs were trembling, he was breathless, while his heart pumped fast enough to pound the walls of his chest. Contrary to popular belief, his subspecies were not so cold blooded that they didn't feel fear. The scientists who had engineered them generations before had been wise enough to realize that fear was useful. Canara didn't want to die, and neither did any of his warriors. Which made them fight all the harder.

A quick scan showed another Caca, trying to crouch down and find a target for its particle beam. The Klavarta had come into this attack with no intention of retreating into the night with an enemy taking potshots at their backs. No, only one side would survive this fight, and the officer was determined that it would not be the Cacas.

Less than a minute later it was over, the Cacas of this detachment all gone to their reward, if such really existed. Canara let out a quick whistle, starting everyone back to the rally point after a quick search for their own wounded. They wanted to gather up all their survivors, but not at the cost of providing Ca'cadasan gunships with targets for strafing runs.

“What's the count?” asked the captain of his senior NCO, a grizzled male who had come through the fight with a badly burned right arm. It was a miracle that the particle beam hadn't burned the limb clean off, but the Caca had probably been more worried at the time about not dying than in killing the attacker.

“We lost thirteen, sir,” said the senior sergeant.

Which means I have thirty-three left, thought the saddened officer. Out of the one hundred and eighty-three his company had mustered before the Cacas had come. Less than a platoon. But still enough for another hit and run raid, on another night. After the Plesian irregulars had tried their hand at some strikes.

No, Captain Canara of the New Earth Army did not want to die. At the moment he didn't give much hope of surviving this fight. The only solace he would received would be the knowledge that his own life would be paid for by many more of the enemy.

*     *     *

Great Admiral Mrastaran stared at the casualty figures coming up from the planet with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

That many, he thought, closing his eyes. He had known there would be losses, but not entire companies, wiped out where they bivouacked at night. His first real experience with Klavarta warriors, and they had so far proven every bit as effective as the Maurids or the human augmented from the other Empire.

If only he had Maurids. A dozen of them with every company and the night ambushes would cease. Not that he had any illusions that the killing would stop. Maurids were tough, but so were the Klavarta warriors, and there would be losses among the wolf like sentients. But the loss ratio would have shifted in his favor. Unfortunately, for some unknown reason, the slave/allies were not available on this front. Of course rumors circulated, as they always did. Rebellion, a word not uttered often within the Empire, since every sentient species knew what that would get them. But with the humans on the other front driving in whole planets had risen in revolt. So why not the Maurids. If that were so, Mrastaran thought the odds of this war had shifted a little more in the favor of the humans.

“I suggest we remove our troops from the hinterlands and concentrate them in the cities,” said his chief of staff.

“Unfortunately, that young, fo,” mrastarann gave a head motion of negation as his clamped his mouth shut. The other male was a trusted subordinate. But, then again, no one was to be trusted when negatives were said about the Emperor. If word got back the utterer was likely to be short a head, while the reporter gained a rank.

“Unfortunately,” the great admiral began again, “the Plesians have fled the cities for the hinterlands. The harvest is sparse in the cities.”

Only the very old and the infirm were still in the larger habitations, unable to make the arduous journey into wilderness. That there were way too many of the beings out in the forests to survive was a given. They would eat the lands to desolation. However, they probably thought they only needed to survive for a couple of weeks, then the humans would be back and the Ca'cadasans driven off.

Such faith in their saviors, thought the admiral, huffing out a breath. More fools they. Of course, they wouldn't know the plans the Ca'cadasans had for them. Mrastaran felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. Of course he was a Ca'cadasan through and through. He felt no guilt at killing an enemy. For vengeance, for duty, even for food. But here he was being asked to exterminate an entire planet, an entire genetic heritage. No, not asked. Ordered. Action demanded by a child who should never have ascended to the throne at his age.

“Are the broadcasts still going out?” asked Mrastaran, letting out a deep sigh. Something else ordered by the Emperor. A broadcast capturing the Ca'cadasan actions on the planet, letting the two groups of humans know what was happening to those they wished to save. The admiral wasn't sure how much good this was doing, sending video signals out to the humans far outside the system. Unless they had some wormhole equipped ships hiding in the inner system. Something they were well capable of.

“Steadily, on all video frequencies, my Lord. If they're out there, they will be picking them up.”

Maybe with another species this tactic would cause them to act in a manner that was detrimental to their plan. Not with the humans from the Empire on the other front. While capable of great passion, anger, rage, even the softer emotions which Ca'cadasans had so much trouble with, some exceptional members of the species could remain rational, even cold blooded, no matter the provocation. They were the most frightening of enemies, able to harness their passion in the most un-passionate way, using it to drive their intellect.

“And the special ships?”

“Ready to move on your orders,” said the chief of staff.

Mrastaran felt another twinge of guilt, a feeling most Ca'cadasan officers would deny, even as they felt it. The projection ships, the vessels that would stir up the plasma of the star to nova, would be manned, something that ensured the deaths of the crews. A skeleton crew on each, but still some hundreds of warriors on each vessel. They were all volunteers, of course, but what did that mean when all had been brainwashed from birth to think of death in the cause of their Emperor to be a desirable outcome. Maybe some Emperors were worthy of that sacrifice, but not this one.

He had twelve of the vessels, modified twenty-five million ton super-battleships. Stripped of their primary offensive weaponry while maintaining defensive batteries, they were still more vulnerable to attack. Extra reactors powered the magnetic coils that would stir the substance of the star. All twelve would be needed to start the process. Eight could carry on once the process was started, though it would take longer. Four could complete the process to nova once it had progressed far enough.

Of course the humans already knew about the process, the ships, everything, since the trap had been sprung on them a couple of times on the other front. They knew what the projection ships looked like, and would try their best to take them out before they could complete the process. It was his job to prevent them from succeeding, so his side would succeed in destroying their military power on this front. Mrastaran didn't think this plan was going to work. The humans, of course, would make an attempt. But not at the price of losing their entire fleet. They were compassionate and would want to save these sentients. But they wouldn't risk losing the entire war on this front to save one system.

Try telling that to the young fool in charge. He thought that nothing was beyond his so called genius. Once again the thought of a coup entered the mind of the admiral. Something that went against all of the tenants of his warrior race. Sometimes it was necessary to go against tradition in order to preserve the best of it, and if this Emperor continued to rule Mrastaran could see nothing but disaster in the future of his people.

Chapter Two

Keep the faith, don't lose your perseverance and always trust your gut extinct. Paula Abdul

“So, are you sure of the dispositions of your enemies?” asked Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, Sean the First, over the com.

“When is a commander ever completely sure of the dispositions of her enemies,” answered Beata with a tight smile. “But we left the system almost a month ago, and I'm guessing if we take too much more time the bastards will go ahead and detonate the star. Just to spite us.”

It wasn't technically a detonation, any more than setting off a thin layer of liquid explosion on the surface of an armored vehicle was its destruction. The term just seemed to catch on when nothing else suggested itself.

“And that would suit you, wouldn't it?” asked Sean, eyes narrowing, though his tone didn't change.

“I know that is something you wouldn't prefer, your Majesty,” said the admiral, closing her eyes and waiting for the recriminations to fly. But she had to be honest. “I think I could chew his fleet apart in a series of system battles on the way to the capital. But...”

“You understand that, while that might be the best strategy militarily, politically it is not something we can pursue,” said Sean, shaking his head. “We have to show the people out there that they are all important to us, no matter what they look like.”

“Yes, sir. I agree would agree with that, and I will fight this battle to the best of my ability in the way you order. I just have to point out the difficulty of the task.”

“I think its a brilliant plan, admiral. Given that the Cacas have already seen the direct approach on the other front, this one may catch them flatfooted.”

Beata hoped so. When she had asked Chan if she had any tech that might allow them to fight the battle in this way, she hadn't expected what had been presented to her. It was brilliant, and her use of it was also something that only a top commander would have been able to come up with. But would it work?

“You still have reservations about the tech?” asked Admiral Chuntoa Chan, the weapons development genius of the Empire. The tech idea was hers, but she wouldn't be the one sticking her head in what could be a deathtrap.

“Yes. I do,” said Beata, nodding. She technically outranked the RnD admiral, but that woman had the ear of the Emperor, and a past record of unbridled success.

“It worked in all the tests,” said Chan in a defensive tone. “And we have seen the results of other detonations on our front.”

Beata nodded, but doubt still lived in her heart. “This star is the next best thing to an F class. Only a tiny amount of mass more, and it wouldn't be sitting on the far end of the G scale.”

“Tiny amount,” said Chan with a short laugh. “You're talking about the mass of multiple Jovian size planets.”

“Which, in all fairness, compared to a star is nothing,” said Sean, his face in the holo looking to the side, where his connection to Chan must have resided. “Admiral Bednarczyk has a point. And it's her ships and people we're putting at risk. Though I must say, they are just as much mine as hers.”

Chan had come through so many times in the past. She had pulled Beata's butt out of a crack on the Machine front. It had gotten to the point where everyone thought the science and tech expert couldn't fail. It was sure to happen eventually. The woman wasn't infallible, after all. Beata just had to hope that her first failure of the war was further on down the line.

“Now, about the dispositions of the enemy,” said Sean, returning to the original subject, as was his right. “Have you pinpointed their positions?”

“As well as can be expected, your Majesty. They are being very careful to not move anything they don't have to. We are picking up some movements, and they can't hide their infrequent jumps in and out of hyper. But as far as we can tell, they are staying close enough to keep in laser com range of each other.”

“Makes we wonder if it might be worth while to sneak a wormhole bomb into the center of their formations,” said Sean, raising an eyebrow.

“I would take over a week to sneak the ship with the initiating wormhole into any of their formations,” said Chan, shaking her head. “They would be sure to pick it up before it got within range, unless we used one of the stealth/attack ships. And it would take them even longer, based on their present positions.”

Beata wondered if that were true, or if Chan simply wanted to test her tech. She didn't want to think like that of the woman. I hate getting involved in this political crap, she thought. Give her an enemy and point her at them and she was happy. Political infighting was something else entirely.

“Well, that would have been too easy,” thought Sean.

If they could get a wormhole equipped ship into the near center of an enemy formation, they would be able to send another vessel, another wormhole, through it. The resulting explosion was the most powerful sentient produced blast known. The technique had been used to destroy a Caca fleet in proximity to the original Klavarta capital world, along with scouring that world clear of life.

“As far as we can tell, the Cacas are in four large formations spaced at twenty light hours outside the system. Or they might be decoys, and the main forces could be somewhere else entirely.”

“That would pretty much protect them from the particle stream, since it would have spread beyond it density of effectiveness at that point,” said Chan, nodding. “Or they could just jump into hyper if need be.”

“And in the system?” asked Sean, shooting a glance off holo at his tech expert.

“Ships around the planet, and in orbits around some of the other planets, your Majesty,” said Beata, pulling up her tactical plot and forwarding it over the com net. “One of the stealth/attack has reported a wormhole gate in orbit around Pleisia, probably their escape hatch for their manned vessels. Another has caught hints of their projection ships near the closest planet to the star. This Mars sized rocky world. We have verified that a small defense force is along with them, maybe a hundred ships, and we suspect they also have a wormhole they can use to gate them out when needed.”

“My analysts have looked over the data sent by the admiral's staff, and we agree,” said Chan.

“I hope you are keeping a tight lid on the information,” said Beata, a chill running down her spine. There was evidence that someone in the Klavarta command was feeding intelligence to the Caca commander. While no one could figure out why any Klavarta would be foolish enough to do such a thing, it seemed like the ambush sprung on the Klavarta battle fleet had been facilitated by such a gift.

“Don't worry, Admiral,” said Chan, turning a cold stare at Beata. “Only my top people have looked at the data. I have the utmost faith in the reliability of each and every one.”

“Sorry,” said Beata, cursing her own stupidity at starting another argument with Chan. “It's just that so much is riding on the enemy not guessing what we're up to.”

“We understand, Admiral,” said Sean, looking off screen and mouthing something to Chan. “Sergiov thinks the leak is with the Klavarta side. So, as long as you keep them out of the loop, I think we'll be fine.”

And you say that as if its the easiest thing in the universe, thought Chan, feeling slightly bitter that she had been forced to lie to an ally. Another political maneuver that went against her grain.

“Ekaterina is working with their top intelligence people to root out the traitors,” said Sean, a sour expression on his face. “She believes they are close.”

Which means we could be looking at weeks to months before the leak is sealed, thought Beata, fighting to keep her expression neutral. She didn't doubt the intelligence chief was doing her best, but again she got the feeling that too many people in the upper echelons of the Imperial military were too busy covering their asses.

“And your dispositions? Are you satisfied with them?”

“I could use a couple of thousand more ships,” said Bednarczyk, frowning. “But I'm guessing you're tired of hearing that from all of your commanders.”

“If I had them to give to you, they would already be there,” replied Sean, shrugging his shoulders.

Beata smiled. It was an old tale. No commander was ever satisfied with the force they had at their disposal, even when they outnumbered the enemy by a considerable margin. Of course, in her case, she was still outmassed by more than four to one. Her wormholes would make up for some of that discrepancy, but not near enough to even the odds.

She still had Romulus, a twenty-eight million ton super heavy battleship, and the most powerful vessel in this fight. She was augmented by the recent arrival of her sister, Remus, a unit of equal power. Unfortunately, the enemy had five or six thousand of their twenty-five million ton superbattleships, still a unit to be reckoned with. Added to her two super heavy units were over nine hundred standard, sixteen million ton hyper VII battleships, along with four hundred and forty-one hyper VI ships that had been hastily recommissioned after a rebuild for this mission. Along with several thousand smaller vessels, from five hundred and ten battle cruisers, along with numerous smaller cruisers and destroyers. Over five thousand Imperial ships, more than she had ever commanded.

Along with those were seven thousand Klavarta ships, including over three hundred of their newest battleship class. They were almost exact duplicates of the Imperial hyper VIIs, though their internal systems took advantage of the ability of the Alphas to handle more gees in a liquid environment. Still, the majority of that force was outmassed and outgunned by every capital ship in the Caca fleet. Worse still, that entire force was under the command of Grand Fleet Admiral Klanarat, the cousin of the New Earth president, and the leader of the disastrous route that had landed them in this situation in the first place. The admiral had been placed under her command, sworn to follow her orders to the letter. And she thought that anyone who took that Alpha's word would be a prime candidate for buying land on a gas giant. The Klavarta were steady enough, even courageous to the point of recklessness. It was their loose cannon of a commander that worried her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The Slarna, Gernas and several other alien allies also had ships in this fight, over four thousand of them. Again, they were outmassed and outgunned, but used correctly they could still deliver a blow to the enemy. What worried her was their inability to take much of a hit and survive. She would do her best to not put them into a hopeless situation, but they would have to take their chances along with everyone else.

She was supposed to have one hundred and fifteen wormholes for this fight all in the outer system, plus those carried by the twelve stealth/attack ships. The Klavarta had done everything possible to convert all of their gate wormholes into offensive launchers, even if that meant borrowing a play from the Caca book and moving masses of missiles through normal space for hours before sending them through a hole. Eighty-three of her holes were mated to launchers back at the Donut, making them her most effective weapon. Unfortunately she had lost some of her wormholes, and would have to find some way to compensate for their absence.

Added to her offensive capabilities were several scores of carriers, human and alien, all holding from fifty to a hundred and twenty of the most advanced warp fighters yet. Capable of a pseudo space warping speed of twenty-three light, carrying missiles that could churn out four lights more over a short course, used effectively they could tilt the balance. Of course they couldn't transit hyper, so were useless on the far side of the barrier. Or they would have been. The tactical experts had come up with wrinkles for their use, another unknown that might or might not work.

“And all of your ships are ready?” asked Chan, her eyes narrowing. “You have a very small margin here, so you must make sure every vessel is ready when you need it.”

Beata pulled up a series of holos that showed her heavier classes of ships. Basically they were the same ships. But not really. Changes had been made to their outlines as equipment was nanowelded on. There had been major changes to their shield generators, their cooling system, even their reactors. And for part of the fight they would be without their laser rings, all of those projectors feeding other systems. To make up for that thousands of counter missile box launchers had been attached to the hulls of her larger ships, hundreds to the smaller. Hopefully the enemy wouldn't get anything into fast solution missile range while the laser rings were offline, but maybe masses of counters could make up for that.

“We're as ready as we'll ever be,” she said finally, and with finality. “The crews have trained on all the maneuvers we will be calling on them to perform. Now, with a bit of luck...

Or much more than a bit, she thought. If the mission went as planned everything should work out, at least the initial phase. Then all she would have to do was take on a massive battle fleet set up beyond the hyper barrier and defeat them.

“All of my alien commanders have been told what they needed to know,” she continued, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She still didn't like the idea of not telling her subordinates the entire plan. That went against centuries of tradition. Subordinates were told the entire plan, so when the supreme commander's flagship turned into a cloud of plasma they would know what to do. Not that Beata planned on dying, but then no one did.

“The I guess all I can say is good luck and Godspeed, Admiral,” said Sean, looking straight into her eyes with his amazing ice blue orbs. “We'll be praying for you.”

For all the good that will do, thought Beata as she smiled at the Emperor. Throughout history, both sides had prayed to their deities. And it had still come down to the blood, sweat and tears of mortals to decide the matter.

*     *     *

“This is intolerable,” growled Grand Fleet Admiral Jrasstra Klanarat, looking at the image of the largest of the Imperial ships on a zoom view holo.

Less than two months before the six star flag officer had been the senior admiral in the New Earth fleet. Not only the chief of naval operations, but the commander of their battle fleet. A long and successful career lay behind him, glory lay ahead as the admiral destined to crushed the Monsters on this front. Then had come the battle that had sunk his dreams of glory, when an overly clever Caca commander had suckered him into a trap.

It wasn't fair. Caca admirals were not supposed to be clever. They were supposed to attack in the same old way, like a bull ramming its head into a wall. And be defeating in the same old way, swiftly and efficiently. Only this one had used the predilection of their opponents to underestimate the Ca'cadasans, and to see what they wanted to see.

It wasn't my fault, thought Klanarat, an old hand at playing the blame game. If naval intelligence had done their job, he would have known what kind of commander he was facing. The Caca had seemed to be a mind reader, guessing exactly how Klanarat's fleet would be disposed. Intelligence should have know the enemy had such a commander, and warned their supreme commander of his presence. If they had, he was sure he could have defeated the Monster.

And now he was subordinate to the unaltered human bitch from the Empire that was the senior partner in the alliance. An intruder, an outsider. With a smaller force than his own. Yet the president, his own cousin, had betrayed him and taken the chance to redeem himself as fleet commander away.

“What have they done to their ships?” he asked as he looked at the holo. There were strange projections all over the hull, as well as what looked like reactor cooling units on the outside. It would boost their reactor power for a limited time, but it made the ships much more vulnerable in a close in slugging match. What was worse, the humans had not shared their plans with him. He had no idea what those devices on the ships were supposed to do. He only knew what the human admiral expected him to do.

“Our analysts are studying them, sir,” said his chief of staff, Captain Freedrich Gammara. “We have some guesses at to what they might be, but have no idea what they will be used for.”

“And how is the planning coming for my counterstroke?” asked the admiral, turning narrowing eyes on his subordinate. The captain was not his most recent chief of staff, but an assignment from fleet.

“Are you sure that plan is a good idea, sir? If the human admiral doesn't know what we are doing, we're liable to hinder more than help.”

“And you are to do as I say, Captain. If you don't want to find your ass on a shuttle back to the capital with a letter of reprimand in your personnel file.”

“Yes, sir,” said the other officer, snapping to attention. “Yours to command.”

“Remember that,” said the admiral, pushing down his rising rage. “I will win this battle. This idiot doesn't know what she is doing, and her fantasy play will lead to defeat. That is when I will come in and route the Monsters.

Klanarat took a quick walk around his flag bridge. He wasn't used to the luxury of space this new class of ship gave him. It was almost an exact copy of the New Terran Empire standard hyper VII battleship. A much more powerful unit than any he had commanded in the last battle. He still had some of those older units in his order of battle. In time they would be replaced by this class, but for the moment their weren't enough building slips to completely swap out the ships. If not for the losses in the last battle, he would have had a majority of the older units.

“Make sure that all of my group commanders get the plan before we go through the wormhole.”

“But, the human admiral is insisting on com security. Nothing to be transmitted until we reach the other side of the wormhole.”

“And she is not in charge of my force,” growled the admiral. “I am in charge here, not her. So do what I say.”

“Yes, sir.”

Klanarat thought that this Alpha was one that would bear close watching. His last chief of staff had been so agreeable. Not so much this one. Klanarat wouldn't have been surprised if Captain Gammara hadn't been ordered by the president to keep close watch on his senior officer.

“Get me the chief of security,” said Klanarat into the air after the chief of staff had left the bridge.

“Commander Walatch,” answered the Klavarta warrior, his nightmare face looking out of the holo.

“I have some orders for you, Walatch. Concerning one of my new officers. And you are to follow them to the letter without question. Understood?”

Chapter Three

To state the facts frankly is not to despair the future nor indict the past. The prudent heir takes careful inventory of his legacies and gives a faithful accounting to those whom he owes an obligation of trust. John F. Kennedy

“Be careful with that thing,” yelled Captain Henri Francois-Ramirez over the com to the crew who were busy wrestling one of the precious wormholes off the ship.

He was anxious, extremely so, since at the moment the eight of the ten wormholes he had carried into this space were still aboard his ship. They were residing in the stern hangar bay, held in armored cradles that would protect them from most bumps and bruises. Of course, if the destroyer were taken out by a ship killer, or a laser hit breached the reactors, nothing would protect them.

They had already lost nine of the precious portals. The captain thought it had been good fortune that the Cacas hadn't hit one of the destroyers that had ten, about half his command. They still had that extra wormhole that would have been lost if, say, Zulu had been killed. Not that it was much comfort to anyone, himself included, that an entire crew had died in an instant.

“Sasha,” yelled out an engineering petty officer. “Make sure that you have that grapple secure before you start trying to move your side.”

Henri watched as the admonished rating triple checked the connection of her grapple, then made a hand motion at the other crewman securing the opposite side of the wormhole.

The wormholes themselves were less than a millimeter in diameter at this point. Small holes were unstable, and needed to be handled with care. Once they had inflated to about ten centimeters their stability increased ten fold. It was a trade off. The smaller holes could be better protected, and so these had come across in the smallest form that was still somewhat stable.

It was a lonely feeling being out here in so much emptiness, the only friendly ship for hundreds of millions of kilometers. Hopefully the only ship, thought the anxious commander. Soon that would change, and though it probably wouldn't save Zulu if an enemy located and fired on them from close range. Still, company was comforting.

“That ones out,” stated the exec, Lt. Commander Crystal Ngursky, monitoring the same take from CIC.

“I concur,” replied the chief engineer, Lt. Commander Daphne Suarez, who was actually suited up and on the hangar deck.

I can see that for myself, thought Henri, looking over at the sensor readouts that showed the one meter wide container floating away from the ship on the proper trajectory. Cold gas jets flared to change its orientation and move it where the humans wanted it to be. A minute or so into its burn it deceled, coming to a relative stop in space away from the destroyer that was still coasting away.

It was unfair to get aggravated at his people for doing their jobs. The reason so many eyes were on the procedure was to make sure that mistakes were caught before they could become disasters.

I just wish Gloria were here, he thought, picturing his new wife in his mind for a moment. It would be a comfort to be able to talk to her. Then again, given the extreme risk of this mission, he thought it selfish of him to want her on it along with him. He didn't think she would agree with that sentiment. She would want to share the risks with him.

“Another one out,” called out Suarez.

“Confirmed,” replied Ngursky, her own tone calm and soothing. “Unit is on proper trajectory. Jets functioning within parameters.”

So far, so good, thought Henri, letting out a breath. He looked over at the feeds from the other ships, ten more destroyers performing the same evolutions. So far no major mishaps. A few close calls, though the captain had to admit that even those close calls probably wouldn't have amounted to anything.

“Com coming in from the Admiral,” called out Lt. JG Tangana Kenyata, looking over at the captain, making sure the man heard him.

No need to ask which admiral the com officer was talking about. He checked the timer before connecting, seeing that he was slightly behind schedule.

“Update, Captain,” said Beata Bednarczyk, looking out of the com holo hanging in the air.

One wormhole would be retained aboard each of the destroyers until the flagship that was to carry it was alongside. Of course their Klassekians could maintain the coms, but not with the bandwidth offered by the wormholes.

“We're down to the last three holes on my ship, ma'am,” replied Henri, fighting to keep his voice steady as he reported his inability to stick to the timetable. “We'll have them all out and ready within two minutes.”

“And your other ships?” asked the woman in a tone that would cut ice. “I'm receiving reports that some of them are not as far advanced on the timetable.”

“Five minutes at most, ma'am. If you want we can start to expand your travel gates.”

“That would be best. Get those gates expanded and we'll give you some company.”

To do the job I'm failing at, thought the over-anxious officer.

He doubted it would come to that. This was something brand new, and they hadn't received sufficient training time to make it an automatic process. Still, he had obviously disappointed the closest thing to God on this front, and that disappointment could make or break his career. Francois-Ramirez stared nervously at the viewer as the last of the wormholes was ejected from the ship.

A quick glance showed that four of the ships still had work ahead before they divested themselves of their holes. At least Zulu would not be among the laggards. That might mean something. Or not.

“We've started to expand the first gate, sir,” called out the chief engineer.

Henri zoomed the viewer in on that action, watching as what was a four meter by four meter square grew before his eyes. Eight meters, then twelve, as new sections were fed through the wormhole, attaching themselves to the frame and stretching it out. There were slight pauses every couple of seconds to allow negative matter to be ejected into the frame, filling the magnetic field. Their repulser effect was what kept the wormhole open, while the rip in space tried to snap closed. The captain wished they could speed up the process, but any leaking negative matter would cancel out the matter of the frame, and the whole thing would collapse on itself.

“Almost there,” said the chief engineer, tension filling his tone.

The gate was currently a hundred meters on a side. Smaller craft could now come through, but no one would think of bringing anything large thought until the gate was much larger.

“That's it,” called out the exec.

The gate now filled the screen, only slightly less dark than the space around it. The grabber units were barely pulling any power, just enough to keep it steady. Undetectable at anything over a couple of light seconds.

Is there anything within that range, lying hidden and waiting? thought Henri, a chill running up his spine at the thought that they might be deploying into a trap out here. If there were enemy ships near he would know in a second, when they started grav pulsing messages, or opening fire without warning. At close range it would only take minutes from launch to strike. With luck, from the admiral's point of view, those shots would hit destroyers and not gates. Henri didn't think that way, though it was his job to make sure that was the outcome.

“Second gate at fifty percent.”

The captain glanced over at another viewer. They would deploy two gates at each point. They would leave one open even after all the ships had come through, while the other was repurposed to a launcher. Then nine ships at each location would take wormholes aboard and become the launch platforms, while the gates handled the mass launches, if needed, from normal space on their end.

“Ships are requesting permission to transit the first gate,” called out the com officer.

The captain double checked the plot, making sure that there was nothing that might get in the way of the transiting ships. He only had his ship in the area, as well as a half dozen engineering pods set to rescue any wormholes that might lose power and drift away. Really nothing that could get in the way, but it paid to be sure. If a ship came coasting through the portal only to run over a wormhole there would be hell to pay.

“Permission granted. Transmit a take of everything in our local neighborhood.” Then it was up to the captains and helms of those vessels to make sure they deployed properly.

“First ship transiting, sir.”

The nose of the first vessel poked through the mirrored surface of the portal. Normally ships transiting would move through in a flash. Not up to relativistic speed, but fast enough that ships from hundreds of meters to a couple of kilometers in length were through in under a second. The first ship, a heavy cruiser a kilometer in length, crawled through in ten seconds. With infinitesimal bursts of energy to its grabber units it started to veer to port, moving to its assigned parking station. One of the wormholes was soon moving toward the cruiser that would be carrying it into the battle.

Five seconds later another heavy cruiser was through. Followed by another, then a series of light cruisers. Normally capital ships would have started through by this time. The admiral had other plans for them, and none would be coming into the outer system deployment points.

“Permission given to access the battle plan,” said the exec, reading the order on a screen in CIC.

Henri pulled up the same order on a repeater screen and sucked in a deep breath as he read the plan. He had thought it unusual to go into a campaign without a full briefing, though the rumors of leaks had explained that order. Now, reading the insanity of the plan, Henri now wondered if the reason the plan hadn't been discussed with subordinate commanders was because command knew there would be a number of refusals and resignations. He had to admit, if the plan worked, it was truly brilliant, something that had never been tried before. If it didn't, Admiral Bednarczyk would go down in the history holos as the most insane military leader of all time.

The parade went on for hours, ships coming through. Cruisers, destroyers, fast attack craft, finally swarms of warp fighters. Every entry point had a number of human ships, some of which would carry the wormholes. All also had their alien contingents, mostly Klavarta, followed by a number of Slarna. After a period of seven hours all of the vessels that were to be deployed outside the system were in place.

Now it was a waiting game, one which no commander enjoyed. Even in shock at the revealed battle-plan, everyone wanted to get on with it. Even the supreme commander.

*     *     *

Beata thought there could be no officer more anxious than herself. All of her human capital ships were with her, sitting in the Black Hole system of the core Supersystem. Along with every one of the largest and most advanced of the Klavarta ships and some selected vessels. Even though some of the larger allied ships were the flags of their formations, their commanding admirals were assigned to the outer formations. Sean hadn't wanted to risk sacrificing all of the allied heavies. In one instance an allied commander had been assigned to her, along with his battle squadron, for several reasons.

First, she needed his capital ships for the shield as they were calling it. And secondly, she wanted him on hand so she could keep a close watch on him. If there was anyone who had earned her distrust, it was Admiral Klanarat. Of course, the people sitting here in the Supersystem still didn't know the plan. She was waiting for the protests to fill her com channels as soon as the plan was revealed. Since only the Klavarta would accompany her into the fire, and she had the agreement of their president to her plan, she didn't think she would have too much trouble with Klanarat. Still, she was sure he would be calling her over and over again with his protests.

That's what com officers are for, she thought with a tight smile. Oh, she would take his coms if they had anything important in them, and trusted her officers to make that decision.

“Any updates on enemy dispositions?” she asked her chief of staff.

“As far as we can tell, they're still where they have been,” said Captain Janssen, staring at the screen in front of his station. “We have ninety-five percent confidence as concerns their real ships and their decoys.”

“Ninety-five, eh? Well, I guess that will just have to do.”

There was some tension relieving laughter on the flag bridge. Beata was glad to hear it. There was enough pressure on everyone. They were expected to save an entire planet and the billions of sentients that lived on it. Then turn around and defeat an enemy fleet that out classed hers in both mass and firepower.

But not in quality of tech or crews, she thought, shaking her head. The Empire had started out the war a decade behind the Cacas. Now they were slightly ahead, far ahead in some areas. And humans on average were just brighter than Cacas, and intelligence when operating high tech devices was not something to be discounted. However, as one past leader that the Emperor liked to quote had said, quantity had a quality all its own.

When it came to the quality of the commander? That was an open question. Beata liked to think that she was more than a mental match for any Caca, and she had spanked this one in the last battle. Which proved nothing. The intelligence given them by their alien allies within the Ca'cadasan Empire gave her a good appreciation for the quality of the Great Admiral. She felt great responsibility that the secret of the Maurids had been revealed to her. Not that it was that great a secret anymore, with the fierce aliens now in open revolt against their masters. But intelligence services operated out of habit, and Sergiov would go to her grave before any information dubbed secret passed her lips to unapproved sources. At least she didn't have to worry about Maurid ground troops appearing on this front, though ground combat was the least of her worries at the moment.

Great Admiral Mrastaran Hlrata. Two thousand four hundred years old, which made him mid to late middle age in the typical lifespan of his species. A close cousin in the Imperial family, holding a position in the succession somewhere between fourth and tenth. Under the old emperor that would have been a secure position, ensuring his survival no matter his success on the battlefield. Under the new one, the youth rumored to have killed his own father, any moves that looked threatening would ensure nothing less than death, for the admiral and his whole family.

Fucking barbarians, thought Beata, shaking her head. They needed to defeat this Empire once and for all. Not wipe out the species. That was something Sean would not countenance, even if the majority of the people in his Empire called for it.

Back to the assessment of the enemy, thought Bednarczyk, pulling up an image of the Great Admiral. Not that he looked all that different from any other Caca she had ever seen. They all looked pretty much alike to her. Maybe a xenophobic sentiment, but true for most species. They recognized among their own readily, even though there were always noticeable differences within a species.

Mrastaran was known as an intellectual among his people, a philosopher admiral. Not the physically strongest. Not the greatest fighter. It was a miracle he had made it to his position. Which spoke volumes about his intelligence.

So, where has he been all this time? A commander like this should have won some of the battles his people had lost. Or at the very least have gotten more of their ships out of the battles they had lost. The enemy wouldn't have been in such dire straights if this male had been in charge. So, why in the hell hadn't he been a battle fleet commander, at the very least, if not the front commander.

Because he didn't play the challenge game with the other males, thought the human commander. He obviously made sure he was never without security that he trusted. If a challenge was made he would accept with a choice of weapons that he was better with than any other Caca. And if anyone just attacked him on his bridge, his security would reduce them to ash. However, he probably didn't earn the respect of his peers, and so was relegated to backwater fronts, areas of the Empire where the only task was to hold the slaves down.

Not that this front was all that important. Beata dismissed that thought was soon as it came. The Cacas hadn't committed more than twenty percent of their battle fleet to this front, versus fifty to the other, with the remainder still pulling occupation duty. That was an important percentage, which could have made things much more difficult on the main front. The Klavarta had done great service to the war effort in tying down those ships. And if this admiral defeated them, all of his ships would soon be facing the New Terran Empire and its allies on the other front.

The smart play would have been to let the Cacas destroy the one system, all of the genetic diversity that lived there. To engage them in running battles on the way to the New Earth capital, then defeat them in a final battle that brought in one of the battle fleets from the other front.

Instead, it was only her on this front, and all the political leaders demanded that she save that world. Not that it was a bad sentiment, but if it cost her the largest allied battle fleet on this front, what would it gain them? Pleisia would still die, along with tens of millions of human and alien crews.

On this front, she thought with a laugh, looking at the viewer that showed the enormous ring circling the central black hole. She wasn't technically on the other front, though it was a quick step through a wormhole gate. Those gates were not up and running yet. There were other tasks for the wormholes before she got to use them for transport. Instead, there were thousands of ships, including all of the human capital ships and most of the allied ones, waiting. Including most of her carriers, which would not be acting as fighter platforms on this mission. The warp fighters would come along, more of them than had participated in the last battle.

Hanging in near space were objects that dwarfed all of her ships. A hundred kilometers in length, massing in the trillions of tons, they were not coming through the wormholes, but they were very important to the plan. Probably the most important assets. They wouldn't be going through the holes, but what they projected would.

“All of the attack ships are in position, targets fixed,” called out the com officer.

“They are to open fire on my command,” ordered Beata, switching her attention to another holo, the one showing the plot of the system. “Make sure the captains know that they need to kill everything near the planet, as quickly and efficiently as possible. But damn sure make certain they have everything converted to plasma before they start un-shipping their wormholes.”

Not that the captains needed the order. They had been well briefed, and she trusted them to do their jobs, just like all her people. But this whole thing depended on everyone doing their job to perfection, something that seemed statistically unlikely. Still, she couldn't personally aim every missile, hit every target.

“Starting firing sequence,” spoke a voice over the com, the commander of the stealth/attack squadron, setting in the order that would have every ship launching at the same time. “Now.”

Chapter Four

Kings may be judges of the earth, but wise men are the judges of kings. Solomon Ibn Gabirol

“Now,” shouted Captain Terrance Mann, commander of the stealth/attack ship Nautilus. His command went out over the net to the other five ships in his squadron that were close to the planet Pleisia. The other half dozen vessels would not take part in this attack. They were scattered about the system, acting as intelligence gather vessels. When the time came they would join in the fight, but not for this part.

The command went through the wormhole back to the black hole system, routed through normal com channels, then out through another five wormholes. It was not instantaneous, but it was the next best thing to it.

The twelve stealth/attack had been spending the last month in the system, the only human vessels still around. They had laid low, barely moving, putting out very little heat. What heat they did generate was sent through the wormhole to a near absolute zero sink. They had taken great care to not be detected, but it had still been a nerve wracking experience that Mann had no desire to repeat. Of course, if this plan failed, he wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again.

Mann glanced over at his com officer, but most of his attention was riveted to the local plot. There was a supercruiser and four of the Caca scouts in near space. Along with about a hundred of their decoys. The other stealth/attack had similar concentrations in their areas. Some a couple of more, one a few less. If all went as planned, only the decoys would be around, and they could be destroyed with lasers at the leisure of the soon to be arriving warships.

The decoys were interesting for what they did, though they weren't a threat as far as anyone could tell. Ten thousand ton robots that moved with bursts of gravitons that mimicked much larger objects moving through space. All of their energy generation was fed into the grabber units, so there couldn't be room for weapons aboard, could there? Well, thought Mann, we'll soon find out.

The ship shuddered slightly as it released its first stream of missiles. The helmsman sat motionless at his station. All maneuvers had been programmed in, and nothing as slow as an organic mind could keep track of the maneuvers the ship would go through. The missiles were all out and on their way in less than a second. Most were heading straight for their target, though some had to engage grabbers and shift onto the proper course. The ones that had a straight shot were undetectable. Not so those that had to correct. The calculated solution had taken some double checking, and the next stream would be ready in thirty seconds. Mann didn't want to have to take that second shot.

*     *     *

“My Lord,” shouted the tactical officer of the Ca'cadasan supercruiser on station. “We have graviton emissions. We...”

The Ca'cadasan ship commander had a fraction of a second to look up from his meal, his last one, though he didn't know that in his last split second of awareness. He saw the flashing icon of human missiles coming in at high relativistic speed. And then his ship, his crew and himself were all part of a cloud of spreading plasma.

*     *     *

“Sea Slug is reporting that they are preparing a second shot,” shouted out the com officer. “Enemy ship is pulsing a message.”

And they'll have thirty seconds to let the enemy commander know that we're here, thought Mann, clenching his fists. If everything had worked a planned, the only thing the enemy would have known was that they detected some sparse graviton pulses near the planet. Maybe not even enough to catch their interest with all the other graviton sources about. They would know something was up hours later when they caught the visual of the planet's proximity at the speed of light.

“Make damned sure they get it this time. The rest of the ships are to eject their wormholes and start the process.”

It would take several minutes for the gates to form on this side, a little longer on the other as their ends of the wormholes were moved out of their launch tubes and transported to the optimal location. But from this moment on the stealth/attack ships, at least this half dozen of them, were no longer in business as stealthy killer platforms. They would be next to useless in the coming fight with their pitiful onboard missile armament and tiny laser batteries.

With luck they would be able to go through the gates back to the Empire. Unfortunately, there would be so much coming through from the other side that transfer might not be possible. They would continue to sit in orbit uselessly, until other ships decided the outcome of the battle. Not a comforting thought.

*     *     *

“We're receiving a grav pulse transmission from the vicinity of Pleisia, my Lord,” called out a com officer, near panic in his tone. “They are under attack by the human stealth craft.”

Mrastaran looked up from the reader, where he was perusing a philosophical text from one of the human greats. Not something that many Ca'cadasans would understand, but he found it fascinating. Not fascinating enough to ignore the entry of the enemy onto the battle field, and into his trap.

“I really didn't expect them to enter the system so close in,” he said in a soft tone.

“My Lord,” said the com officer, not hearing what the admiral had said under his breath.

“They must have a good reason for doing this,” he said, not paying attention to his officer, who continued to give the admiral a blank stare.

He had expected the humans to try and take out his projector ships, once they located them, with their stealth ships, while the rest of their fleet moved in from the outer system. But they were making another play, one he didn't yet understand.

“Orders, my Lord?”

“Give me a moment,” shouted the admiral, looking at the plot.

The only enemy on that plot were the destroyers that had dropped in a day or so before. And they only had an approximation of where they were. They could be light minutes from those positions by now, in any direction in a globe of possible vectors. Creeping along at ten gravities or less, building velocity, beaming their built up heat into interstellar space as microwaves. There was a chance that those microwaves would beams would be intercepted. Unlikely.

They can't be coming in without their wormholes, he thought as he dismissed one scenario that leapt into his mind. They couldn't have put them aboard those destroyers, could they? Their most vital resource on such fragile platforms. Or maybe they had them aboard the stealth ships all this time. Only a very daring commander would take such a risk. Or a foolhardy one. If they were coming in near the planet they would find themselves in a trap they couldn't escape. If outside the system, as he had thought, then they would find themselves in a hyperspace battle they couldn't win. Either way, he would destroy them here.

Really, he had hoped he could destroy them without killing this system. He had been wrestling with guilt ever since the order came down. While he might not be a believer in the old religion, not really, philosophically he agreed with their tenants. He tried to live his life by them, and now he was being asked to betray all of his principles.

And if I don't, my sons, under the knife blade of that maniac of an Emperor, will die.

His sons were important to him, more than just about anything, but so were his principles. It was a no win situation as far as he was concerned, and the decision point was nearing.

“Send orders for the projection ships to move into position,” he told his com officer.

“Should they start the process, my Lord?” asked the officer, looking back expectantly. “My Lord?” said the male when no reply was forthcoming.

“Not yet. But they are to be prepared to start the process as soon as they receive the command.”

He had twelve of the ships, with skeleton crews, only a hundred or so technicians and a couple of officers, all volunteers. He could detonate the star with eight, though it would take fifty percent longer to reach the critical point. Once near that point four could do the job. At moments from detonation one could send the star over the tipping point.

Of course there were the two dozen scouts that would guard the projection ships. They wouldn't do much against capital ships, or streams of missiles. From the reports he had read from the detonations the Empire had completed on other stars, the seeker heads on missile streams traveling at relativistic speeds would erode away, and it would be pure luck if they hit anything. Even the stealthy craft would absorb too much heat from close proximity to the star to remain hidden. The scouts would be sacrificed, necessary, but another part of this whole process that didn't sit well with the admiral. Add to that the one hundred and fifty warp fighters placed to stop enemy fighters, and a lot of brave males were going to die. The warp fighters might escape, able to outrun the photon wave. Or they might not. The reports were unclear, but something in the disrupted star affected the fabric of space nearby, and warp didn't always work as expected.

I'll just be glad when this whole dirty business is over with, thought Mrastaran, closing his eyes. He would be glad when this whole war was over with, and he could live on his chosen home planet and spend the rest of his life reading and contemplating. If that day ever came, and the humans didn't still overrun the Empire.

*     *     *

“Nautilus is reporting that all of the enemy ships have been taken care of,” reported Janssen, his forehead wrinkled in thought. “All according to plan. Almost.”

Except that now the enemy knows were are active at Pleisia, a couple of hours sooner than we wanted. “Start sending them through in the planned order.”

The ships would go through slow, with as little graviton emissions as possible. Any enemy sitting out beyond the hyper barrier would still know something was going on, but their intelligence would be limited. For the moment.

She watched as a destroyer squadron pushed through the portal, three at a time. She still felt some guilt at sending the fragile ships into harms way ahead of her ships of the line. That's what they were for, she had to remind herself. An ambush with heavy enough weapons would take out a battleship the same as a destroyer. If the tin cans could set off that ambush, and allow her larger ships to enter combat with weapons locked and firing, it was worth it. But try telling that to the parents of the dead destroyer crew.

“Report coming through from the Jason Sullivan,” said the com officer, naming the squadron leader of that destroyer group. “All clear. They are fanning out at one half gravity to cover the approaches.”

“Send us through,” ordered Beata, nodding at the screen that held the image of the ship's captain. “Slowly.”

*     *     *

Mann watched the lean shapes of three destroyers come out of the wormhole gate he had erected. It took them ten seconds to get through and clear, boosting slowly as per the operations order. The next trio was through, then the next, when the sight the captain was hoping for appeared.

“That's a monster,” said the helmsman, all of his attention on the forward viewer.

Yes, thought the captain as the nose of the super heavy battleship Romulus poked through the portal. The ship was over three kilometers in length, massing twenty-eight million tons, making it the largest class of warship in the war. So far at least.

He felt some relief that the flagship was finally here, in this system. They were committed now, and they would win or die in this system.

*     *     *

Beata prepared herself as best she could for the translation through the gate. The subjective feelings were terrible, a time distortion that made it seem as if the person transiting was stuck in limbo forever. It couldn't be forever, but it seemed to be year after year of supreme boredom, even when the real time could be measured in nanoseconds.

Unfortunately, people who had made multiple transits started to feel the mental effects. Anxiety, severe depression, with some ever falling into a complete psychotic break. It had become such a problem that the fleet was losing a full ten percent of its personnel during each operation. Something had to be done about it. And in a society which used medical nanotech, something had been done.

The medical experts and psychologists had been treating mental disorders through brain restructuring for centuries, and it was really nothing to fix the minds of those affected with madness. However, that wasn't enough, when madness could strike any spacer or marine at any transit. When they were needed to work the ship in an emergency. So something else was done.

Beata felt herself blanking just before the ship hit the wormhole. The same subjective nightmare might have been going on, but her mind was oblivious to it. A moment after her mind and body were through the portal she was again awake. There were a couple of moments of disorientation, something no commander wanted to feel while her ship was moving into harms way. Still, with the way certified clear by the scout ships, it was not worth risking her mental well being.

“We're through, ma'am,” called out the captain over the com holo, his own eyes slightly disoriented. “Remus is coming through in six seconds.”

She would have her two most powerful units here in that time. Normally they would both take a wormhole aboard when her entire force had come through. Not this time. Those wormholes would be needed for something else entirely. If the whole crazy plan even worked.

Chapter Five

What we learn only through the ears makes less impression upon our minds than what is presented to the trustworthy eye. Horace

“We have missiles on track toward the star, my Lord,” called out the tactical officer. “From the proximity of Pleisia. ETA seven hours.”

And they might be sending streams of wormhole launched missiles from out here, thought Mrastaran, looking at the plot that was showing thousands of missiles heading toward the star, and his projector ships. They would not have clear targets until they got much closer, and when they got too close their seeker heads would erode away from the particle density around the star. There might be a couple of lucky hits, though even that was unlikely with the volume of the area they would be entering.

“Should we start the process, my Lord?” asked Admiral Trostara, Mrastaran's chief of staff.

“Not yet,” said the Great Admiral, a troubled look on his face. When he gave the order the system, and every living thing in it, was doomed. He couldn't bring himself to give that order just yet. He told himself it was because he wanted the enemy to push more ships into the trap, but he wasn't sure that was the true reason.

“We will watch the enemy when the light image of their arrival comes at us. Once I am sure there are enough ships in the trap to make it worth our while, I will give the order.”

“But, the Emperor has demanded that we destroy them,” said a stammering chief of staff.

“And so we shall,” said Mrastaran, arising from his seat and clapping the other male on the shoulder. “As his Supreme Lord commands.”

He still didn't know where the rest of the fleet was. There had to be more ships, and those ships would have the majority of the wormholes. Right now it was a stalemate out here. He didn't have a target to launch toward. But neither did they. Or at least he hoped so. He had been moving his ships at slow acceleration, after all. They could have streams of missiles traveling his way at high relativistic speeds and he wouldn't know it until they were less than a minute from contact with his outer screens. Those screens were deployed five light minutes out, which should give his main force, the ships that mattered, a good long warning that they had trouble coming.

Of course the enemy had to know that he had screening ships, and with that warning he would simply jump into hyper and avoid all of their weapons. Anything he fired at them would be just as useless. Except it would give him their location, and he could force a hyperspace battle that they couldn't win.

“Commander inner task force reports that all is ready, my Lord,” called back one of the com officers. “He anxiously awaits you command to start the process going and destroy the enemy fleet.”

And why is he so anxious to give up his life? thought the great admiral. It was another insane tradition of his people, that the father went to his death so his sons could advance. When the philosopher that was this admiral thought it would be much better for those sons to have their father around.

“He can wait a little longer,” said Mrastaran, looking into the face of the com officer. “When the time is right, he can make his and his males' sacrifice.

“Keep looking for those other ships,” growled the admiral, looking around his bridge, making eye contact with every male. “If we don't get those wormholes, this will be a hollow victory.”

“What if they have them near the planet?” asked the chief of staff. “I know they couldn't have brought them with them through the gates, but maybe they had them aboard their stealth ships all the time.”

“A possibility,” agreed Mrastaran, turning toward the other admiral. “But I don't think so. She wouldn't have brought all of her wormholes into the trap, where they couldn't do anything but be destroyed.”

“A female,” scoffed Trostara, giving a head motion of negation. “Who knows what goes through her head?”

And our people continue to underestimate the females of the enemy, thought Mrastaran, returning a negative head motion, though not in agreement with the other officer.

*     *     *

They had not caught sight of an enemy soldier in hours. Captain Xferd Canara did not think that a good sign. There were still deep shelters on the planet, though the damned Cacas had used nuclear demolition charges to seal most of them up. From what he understood about what was planned by the enemy, they would probably be able to ride out the storm down there, while dooming the few Plesians who might have been able to survive in the shelters. The bastards.

“Well, we know Admiral Bednarczyk is up there in orbit,” the officer told his gathered men, along with some hundred of the Plesian guerrillas. “So she must have something planned. A leader like that is not one to commit suicide.”

“We hope,” said one of the Klavarta warriors, sparking some laughs.

“So, what do we do, sir?” asked another of his long time troopers.

“We dig in near the entrances to the shelters the big bastards went into,” he said, a tight smile on his face.  “And we rig charges to bury them when they try to come out. It's the least we can do.”

“And if the admiral doesn't prevent the nova event?” asked one of the Plesians, one of the few who could speak the modified Anglo that was the official language of New Earth.

“Then we set off the charges before we are hit by the photon wave,” said Canara, letting out a breath. “Let them dig their way out, if they can.”

Canara was hoping it didn't come to that. That the human admiral could prevent the detonation. From what he understood, if she couldn't, they would be hit with a photon wave, massive amounts of light particles that would fry everything on the surface of the planet, at least what was facing the star. Following some time behind would be masses of particles, traveling fast enough to be considered hard radiation. Everything not deep underground, or under water, would be fried.

Even if she stopped the event, as he had come to think of it, as if it were some kind of celebration, she would still be facing the Caca fleet. She hadn't been able to defeat them the last time around, though as he understood it she had fought a brilliant hit and run campaign that had hurt the Cacas with little loss to her own force. Could she do it again? And would it be enough to drive the big bastards out of this system for good?

Hell, I'm just a ground pounder, thought the warrior with a huff. If he had been meant to understand space warfare he would have been born an Alpha, after all.

“Let's get to it,” he ordered after one last look around at the lush foliage that might soon be crisped vegetation. “I wouldn't want our guests to come poking their noses from underground and think we forgot about them.”

*     *     *

“All of the capital ships are through, ma'am,” said Captain Janssen, getting up from his chair and heading toward the plot.

Except for Mara's small allotment of the battle cruisers still in the outer system, everything heavier than a cruiser was with her. With six wormholes, none configured as a launch port.

“Get everyone into position as soon as possible,” she ordered, taking a look at the the wormholes on the plot. They were starting to turn now, getting into the positions she needed them to be in for the plan to work.

The portals themselves massed next to nothing, being rips in space with no material substance. The frames that held them open were more massive than they looked, containing huge quantities of high density superconductors and micro-circuitry, as well as thick supermetal alloys holding it all together. They had many grabber units, enough to move them, but not at any high rate of acceleration. No one had ever thought that to be a need. Maybe in the future. When operated in hyperspace, something they were not often called on to do, they had to be linked in with surrounding warships to take advantage of their hyperfields. A self contained wormhole gate able to operate in hyper was also in the works, but the R and D mavens couldn't say when it would be available.

Other objects were still transiting in a delicate operation that threaten to end in disaster at any moment. Advanced computers controlled a process that no organic mind could keep up with. Large and bulky objects moved through, grabbed immediately by heavy tugs that were about twice the mass of a heavy cruiser. Once the components were gathered at an assembly area piloted construction rigs were called on to assemble something this space had never seen. Of course that process was also controlled by computers, but the Man-in-Loop law mandated organic supervision of such powerful machines.

This has got to work, thought Beata, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. There were so many resources gathered here, her ships being the least of them. If disaster struck and all of this was destroyed the Empire would go on, but it would amount to a major setback to the war effort.

“Are we tracking anything heading for us?” she asked, more out of anxiety than anything else. She felt foolish as soon was she asked that question. Of course she had tens of thousands of eyes watching the plots of thousands of ships. If anything made the slightest blip on the graviton sensors she would know within seconds.

“Nothing, Admiral,” said Janssen, shaking his head. “Of course, they could have a hundred thousand missiles launched from their own wormholes winging their way to us, and we wouldn't know until just before they made their attack runs.”

“Thank you, Captain. Just what I needed to hear.”

Janssen was doing his job, but sometimes the admiral wished her people didn't have to be so literal. She knew that the enemy had wormholes, and if they had shown no sign on any front of having duplicated the launch accelerators of the Empire, they had proven capable of sending tens of thousands of missiles through those gates. They used up most of their battery power on the other side of the gate accelerating up to speed, but retained sufficient energy to make final maneuvers at the end of their runs. Not as efficient as the missiles of the humans, which retained all of the energy in their crystal matrix batteries, allowing them to make major course adjustments if necessary. Still, the Caca weapons were dangerous enough, and a couple of hundred thousand popping up at the wrong moment could doom the operation before it ever truly got under way.

The whole plan was based on observations of technology from aliens who were millennia more advanced than any of the current combatants. One of several forms of what were called ancients, they could do things with gravity that the Empire's scientists could only dream of. Yes, they had artificial gravity, inertial compensators, grabbers, all using the manipulation of gravitons, and all requiring massive expenditures of energy. The ancients that had attacked the Donut some time past had used a graviton based force shield that had protected them from most of what the defenses could throw at them. They also used a power source far beyond anything the humans possessed, at least in its compactness. Only overwhelming firepower from the most heavily defended installation in the Empire, along with the intervention of a human aboard the alien ship, had saved the enormous station.

That human had survived, ejected in a life pod by the aliens before their ship impacted the black hole, something even their technology couldn't protect them from. The man, Commander Xavier Jackson, had given the Imperial scientists much to contemplate, including how the aliens used zero point energy, a source of almost unimaginable power. And some way far beyond the science of the humans. Jackson was a trained fleet engineer, but it was doubtful that even the most brilliant scientist in human history would have been able to duplicate what they saw aboard that ship. Still, Jackson had given them information that started them on the search for the fabled zero point energy. And a working force field that could actually stop all material and energy sent into it.

They had also gleaned information from the ancients who had saved the Klassekian home-world by transiting the entire planet into another dimension. Another use of unimaginable power, something the humans couldn't contemplate doing for many centuries, at the very least, probably millennia. Teams had been working on the huge constructs the ancients had woven into the very fabric of Klassek. So far with no results. The damned things were all but invulnerable, and the one human ship, a battle cruiser, that fired into it with lasers had been transported into the same dimension the planet had been sent into. Fortunately for it and its crew, they had been able to come back with the returning planet. No one was willing to risk going into a shadow dimension with the possibility of no return, so progress had stalled out there.

Hopefully, what they had learned would be enough to protect this planet from a nova. A Supernova? Most scientists discounted that hope, stating that a supernova was too powerful for anything to stop. But given the energy that could be tapped from the zero point? Maybe, but that fabled tech was something that wouldn't benefit anyone in this situation. So they went with what they had, on a wing and a prayer.

“Admiral Chin is estimating they will have everything up and running within three hours,” said Janssen.

“Get me Chin on the com,” ordered Bednarczyk. She knew the man really didn't need her bothering him at this moment, but she couldn't help herself.

“Admiral,” said the Asian man who appeared on the com holo. “I'm kind of busy at the moment, ma'am.”

“Just tell me you will have this thing ready on time,” she said. “And that it will work?”

“I can do neither of those things, Admiral,” said the engineer. “I can tell you that it will work in theory, and that we will do our very best to make it happen. And that I my butt will be on the line along with the rest of you. If it doesn't work, I'm fried along with you.”

“I really wish you could lie,” said Beata with a tight smile. “It would have made me feel much better.”

“Sorry, ma'am.” said the man with a return smile. “I didn't get my reputation in the fleet by telling people what they wanted to hear.”

Which was one of the reasons the man had risen to the rank of full admiral, four stars, before his one hundred and twentieth birthday. There was talk that he would take Chan's position when she retired. Beata, along with most of the other hierarchy of the Fleet, thought the only way Chuntoa Chan would leave her office was on a gurney. But that this man would continue to rise high was a given, unless he died in this system.

“It's my ass on the line too, ma'am,” continued the other admiral. “If I didn't have some confidence that this would work, you can believe that I wouldn't be here.”

Beata nodded. She had been briefed by the CNO, Sondra McCullom, on the position Chin was to hold. He didn't have to be here. He could have supervised from the other side of a wormhole, but the man had insisted that he needed to be on the spot, in case communications got fuzzy during the height of the operation. It was comforting to think that the engineer, who had never been a combat officer, rising through engineering, was willing to take such risks. Of course, not being a combat officer had little to do with courage, and Chin was obviously no coward.

“As far as getting it ready on time, I think we will beat the estimates by a good quarter hour,” said the engineer. “But don't quote me on that. We engineers have a reputation to uphold where it comes to timetables.”

“Then I'll leave you to it, Admiral,” said Beata, giving the man a nod.

“Thank you. And if I could ask you, please keep the Cacas off my ass.”

“No promises,” said the fleet commander, shaking her head. “Just remember that they will have to go through me to get to you. So, if we're going to die, we go together.”

“Comforting enough,” said Chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You've already garnered a reputation as someone who never gives up. Comforting enough.”

The com holo died, the engineer ignoring protocol for the superior to terminate the conversation. Beata huffed out a breath at the lack of decorum the lower ranking admiral had shown. Not that she was going to do anything about it. His type were often eccentric, and any complaint she raised about him would simply be ignored by people who knew better.

Still, she felt slightly better having talk with the engineer who would put all of this together. He might not be able to pull it off, but if anyone could, she was betting on him. Betting her life.

*     *     *

“That was the last group, my Lord,” reported Admiral Trostara, sitting in a situation room deep in the flagship where he could monitor every bit of the data coming in.

The Ca'cadasans had a total of ten wormholes with the fleet. Three of them connected back to the largest fleet base on this front, the rest to the center of the empire, where the missile launches would come from. They were getting real time feeds from the other battle groups, each of which had two of the holes.

At the moment all of the wormholes had been expanded into gates, and swarms of tens of thousands of missiles had transited each, on a heading toward Pleisia at point nine light. Maybe not as fast as the human weapons, not able to be tasked on demand. Still, couple of hundred thousand weapons were sure to take the starch out of the humans, and more were being accelerated toward the portals as the two males were speaking. In twenty minutes another couple of hundred thousand weapons would be on their way through the wormhole gates and into this system.

“And now we wait and see,” said Mrastaran, looking at the plot, watching the take from the planet. The image he was seeing showed it as it was five hours before, transmitted through the wormhole carried by his closest scout force. He estimated that the humans would strike in another hour and a half. Or at least they would see what happened five hours before at that time stamp.

Even as fast as we travel, when space seems to be ours, it is still too vast to contemplate, thought the philosopher admiral. They took it for granted that space was theirs to do with as they pleased, and they were still crawling from place to place on the universal scale. The wormholes the humans had introduced had shrunk that immensity somewhat more. Or had it, really. Ships still had to move through hyper to bring wormholes to their destinations. It would still take decades to reach another galaxy, and those the closest. To reach the other side of the universe? It would take many Ca'cadasan generations to even penetrate half that distance. And while in a system they were still restricted by the speed of light.

So all he could do was wait. And fire swarms of missiles, hoping that there was an enemy on the other end for them to strike. He wasn't sure what they were doing, but if they were inserting a fleet into Pleisia orbit they had to have some kind of plan. They had seen this weapon used on the other front, and had to realize that it would be deployed to this front as well. He knew they were trying to save this planet. How? was the question. They couldn't evacuate the world. There weren't enough ships in their fleet to pull that off in a timely manner. Even if they put a number of wormhole gates on the surface they couldn't pump people through fast enough. What could they save in that way? Millions, tens of, maybe a hundred million. Out of a population of over four billion. A drop in the bucket, using one of the human terms.

No, they were planning something else, and intelligence couldn't figure out what it was. They had tried launches from long range with varying effectiveness. They had tried the stealthy approach with their sneaky attack ships. They had stopped some detonations, had failed with others. But from what he had read in the reports none of the operations were really worth the death of a system.

Is any return worth the destruction of so many evolutionary lines?  He could just refuse the order, tell his projection ship commanders to move away from the star, engage the humans in a standard battle. He had the weight of ships to beat her. Killing this world was not necessary. But if he did that orders would come down from the Emperor, relieving him of command. If he refused that order some subordinate would surely take his head. And nothing would be accomplished.

“It's happening, my Lord,” said Trostara, waking his commander from his daydream.

Mrastaran looked up at the viewer, just in time to see the bright flares that marked the deaths of warships. Almost all of them were gone in an instant. The one scout remained, the one that had performed its duty to the last, pulsing the message that had alerted the Great Admiral. Thirty seconds later it was also gone, a spreading cloud of plasma marking it destruction.

The half dozen stealth ships appeared, turning off their light distorting fields. Moments later they were ejecting small objects. Objects that grew over time, until they were recognizable as wormhole gates. It seemed to take a long time, but checking the clock the admiral could tell it wasn't long at all. The noses of the small human scout ships poked through, a sensible precaution of the other commander. They fanned out, covering the approaches. Then the prizes started through, starting with the largest ships in the human arsenal. Larger even than Mrastaran's battleships. Standard battleships followed through, vessel after vessel. The humans were coming through in strength. But they wouldn't have their wormholes with them, would they? He didn't see what they were accomplishing.

“How long till first missile strike?”

“Three and a half hours, my Lord.”

Too long, he thought. What if they're coming through to make a show, then popping back into their space?

There were just too many unknowns here. A consequence of the light speed barrier in normal space. Now if the human commander was conveniently pulsing him the information he would know what was going on. Otherwise?

“Any information from our source in the Klavarta Command?” Mrastaran asked his chief of staff.

“Not anything since the intelligence that they were planning an operation here,” said Trostara, showing a negative head motion.

That intelligence source had served the Ca'cadasans well. But this time the human commander had kept her plan close to her vest. All he knew was that she was coming here, and the approximate timing. Not anything regarding what exactly she was planning to do.

Mrastaran had hesitated all he could. If he didn't give the order, someone else would. Great Admiral Tonnasar would be happy to carry out that order. That male had wanted command of this fleet from the start, and with the Emperor on his side Mrastaran would be dead in an instant. There were many close the Mrastaran who would be willing to do the actual deed. Maybe even Trostara. The two males had worked together well, but the Great Admiral had no illusions as to what the other admiral would do if given the order.

“We could move closer, up to the barrier, and lessen the flight time of the next wave of missiles,” suggested the chief of staff.

“And then they would know where we are, and we still wouldn't know their location. Unless...”

“My Lord.”

“Those destroyers of theirs. The ones that jumped in the other day. They had their wormholes aboard them, and are bringing in their other ships.”

“Would they take such a risk?” asked the chief of staff.

It went against all common sense. Wormholes were carried by capital ships, giving them the best protection, ensuring that they could continue to fire through a long battle. Destroyers were fragile vessels. Even a near miss by a ship killer missile and they would be tumbling wreckage. So to put multiple wormholes on a fragile ship was madness. Or at least what any sensible commander would think.

“This one would take such a risk, if the payoff was great. No, if we move through hyper now, they will know where we are, and a hundred wormholes will be launching undetectable missiles in our path through the system. And we will be at greater risk from our own weapon. So we sit here.”

“And the projector ships?”

It has come down to this after all, thought Mrastaran, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth.

“Send the order,” he said through his clenched jaw. “They are to start the process, immediately.”

He wondered if he had given the order too late. Maybe the humans had some way to protect the planet, though he couldn't think of how. He wondered if it would really be that terrible if they could. If things worked out that way, the Emperor couldn't blame him for the process not killing the planet. He would have a clear conscience. And then he could destroy the human fleet the way a Ca'cadasan warrior preferred. In honorable combat.

Chapter Six

Ancient societies had anthropomorphic gods: a huge pantheon expanding into centuries of dynastic drama; fathers and sons, martyred heroes, star-crossed lovers, the deaths of kings - stories that taught us of the danger of hubris and the primacy of humility. Tom Hiddleston

THE DONUT, SUPERSYSTEM SPACE.

Dr. Lucille Yu had to admit that she was feeling just a bit anxious with what was about to happen. Not that there was all that much risk to the Donut itself. At least not the structure of the enormous station in orbit around a thirty solar mass black hole. The Cacas had once detonated two Quarkium warheads aboard, and the station had weathered the storm. No, she was worried about what the energies they were going to generate and project might do to the trillions of tons of delicate electronics aboard the station.

The tall, petite woman was still surprised on a daily basis that she had been tapped to lead the scientific and operational aspects of the station. Still less that a hundred, she had not been alive when construction on the station had commenced. There were many older colleagues who had expected to be appointmed, but she had been jumped over all of them. When she had brought that up to the Emperor it had been pointed out that His Majesty was still considered too young to lead the Empire by many of the nobility.

Normally, at this time in her day, she would be working in her office lab, going over reports. Those were generated by the huge science and engineering staff under her supervision. She routed anything she thought might be of interest to the military to Admiral Chan, a woman she had established a good working relationship with. Chan trusted that what was sent her way would prove interesting. Not always with the current technology available, but maybe sometime in the future. Yu herself supervised the projects that might have commercial benefit, if not military, though at times those spheres overlapped.

Though the Donut had always been envisioned to have a military application, moving fleets long distances in an instant, the original focus had been commercial. The Emperor who had envisioned the project had foreseen a time when the station would be the home to the largest corporations in the Empire. Not just their headquarters, but much of their manufacturing facilities as well. That ruler had been called mad when he approved the request from a cabal of engineers to build the largest mega-structure yet envisioned. He had persisted, sinking a considerable percentage of his own fortune into the project, finally pulling in the thousands, then millions, of investors needed to fund such a large project that held no promise of payoff for a century or longer.

It had paid off, and the twenty-five million kilometer circumference ring stretched around the black hole, generating enough energy to create up to thirty wormholes a day. Those wormholes, envisioned as a way to cut down on transit costs for goods and passengers, had delivered so much more to the military, including the ability to launch streams of pre-accelerated missiles traveling at high relativistic speed through ships thousand of light years distant from the platform. Extremely powerful particle beams were another result. It was still paying dividends on the commercial front, which needed all the muscle it could muster to fuel the war effort. It had been predicted that the station would pay for itself in twenty years of operation, saving time and antimatter in almost unlimited quantities. That payoff was delayed, but it was accomplishing an even more important goal, that of saving the human species.

Well, this is quite the gathering, thought the scientist who had never thought she would be working so close with the military, looking around the large conference room.

Chantoa Chan was here, as was expected, since this operation was really her baby. Along with several of her top assistants, though many more were in the main control room visible through the conference room window. A couple of scientists from Imperial University in Capitulum were seated against the wall, rounding out the civilian contingent.

The military group, discounting Chan and her people, was made up of Sondra McCullom, the Chief of Naval Operations, and a couple of her staffers, including Admiral Ekaterina Sergiov, Chief of Combined Intelligence. Also attending, though in their cases through holographic projection, were the two senior field commanders of the Fleet, Grand Fleet Admirals Gabriel Len Lenkowski and Duke Taelis Mgonda. Both men were dashing figures in their dress uniforms, though Len had the look of a college professor. While Mgonda looked like a holo star, his bright teeth contrasting with his dark complexion.

There were several ministers and Lords in attendance, including the Countess Haruko Kawasaki, the Prime Minister, and the Baron Emile von Hauser Schmidt, the majority leader in the Lords, and the staunch allies of the Emperor. The huge form of Minister of Security Lord T'lisha, a Phlistaran, loomed behind the two human lords. He was in charge of security. For this end of the operation, for the Emperor's safety, for everything. The crocodilian face shot an disapproving look at the gathering, and Yu didn't have to guess how he felt about having so many VIPs in one chamber. One hit, one disaster, and the head was chopped off the Empire.

And rounding out the assemblage, and definitely not the least among peers, was the Emperor himself, along with the man who had risen from common roots to become a duke, a general, and the best friend of the young Monarch. Yu stared at Major General the Duke Cornelius Walborski for a moment. The most decorated man in the history of the Empire, the only three time recipient of the Imperial Medal of Heroism, he was probably the most dashing figure in the room. Cold blue orbs, the eyes of a killer, stared out of his face, contrasting with the many laugh lines around eyes and mouth. Yu thought that she owed her life to that man, and the Empire owed more than it could ever repay. Without his intervention the station might have been destroyed by the Caca infiltrators who had come aboard through the wormhole link to Elysium.

“Well, the Donut has been many things in this war,” said Sean, looking over the people in the room, then glancing up at the dozen large view screens along the high wall, surrounding the one largest, a screen ten meters in width. “But today we project its vast power directly into a battle. Today, the Donut goes to war.”

There were a few cheers, some claps. Most here didn't think this was going to work. Hell, Lucille wasn't sure herself, and she caught the eye of Admiral Chan to see a slight head shake. This was all unexplored territory. They all knew what kind of energy the station could produce. That was a given. Sending it through the wormholes to do what they were proposing. Now that was something else.

The director looked at the window beneath the viewers that gave the assemblage a look at the swarm of technicians and scientists who would be running the show. Yu would have nothing to do but watch, unless disaster reared its ugly head.

“Are you sure this is safe?” asked Lord T'lisha in his rumbling voice.

“Please, my Lord,” said Sean, shaking his head. “We've been over this again and again. And my mind is made up.”

The Phlistaran huffed and crossed his arms over his deep chest while his four clawed feet clicked in the floor.

“Director Yu had assured me that nothing they do here will destroy the station,” continued Sean, flashing a smile toward the scientist. “She...”

“What I said, your Majesty,” interrupted Yu, not willing to let anyone, even the Emperor, put words in her mouth. “What we are doing with the power generation is something we already do thirty odd times a day. No problem. The station will not come apart and fall into the black hole. That part I can guarantee. What I can't guarantee is how the machinery of this station is going to respond to us sending that energy through new pathways, and projecting it through a wormhole.”

“Actually, six wormholes,” said Chan, eyes narrowing. One thing the woman was known for was being exact, and she couldn't stand ambiguity in others.

“Be that as it may, there is a chance for a rebound effect, your Majesty.”

“I think we're safe enough here,”said Len with a grin that soon turned to a frown. “I mean, you all are safe enough there. Me and Taelis are both as safe as can be.”

“And that comforts us all, my Lord,” said T'lisha in a sarcastic tone.

“And I am not a Lord,” said Len, crossing his arms over his chest and donning a defiant look. “Never wanted such, and never will.”

Lucille had never thought much about the nobility, until Sean had offered her a patent for her work on the Donut. Now she was sure that she would take it if offered. Lenkowski was well known as a man who was proud of his commoner heritage. And after all, he commanded more real power than a half dozen archdukes. Real power, in his thousands of ships. Of course, Sean could take those ships away from him at any time.

“What is your problem with nobility?” asked Baron Schmidt, raising an eyebrow. “It didn't seem to do our young general here any harm.” He aimed a look at Walborski, who ignored him completely.

Most of the Empire had no problem with the Imperial system it had embraced from the inception. There were nobles, who had large land grants, sometimes of up to a quarter of the land on the planet. Commoners still owned their own land, and the governing noble couldn't take it away from them without due process. As far as wealth went, the two richest people in the Empire were Sean and another noble, an Archduke. The next eighteen wealthiest people were all commoners. And some of the Members of the Commons had just as much, if not more, political clout than any Lord.

“We're receiving a message from Admiral Bednarczyk,” came a voice over the intercom.

“Put her on,” ordered Sean.

The face of the diminutive admiral appeared in a holo bubble over the table. The bubble made it seem that she was facing everyone in the room, though all of her attention was on the Emperor.

“We're picking up indications that they have started their projector ships, your Majesty,” said the woman in a soft voice that clashed with her fierce expression. “We're estimating they will produce a nova in  one hour, twelve minutes.”

Yu studied the woman who was truly on the point of the spear. The Donut might be going to war in a fire support role, but this officer was there, on a ship that was threatened with destruction. One hour and twelve minutes, thought Yu, doing some simple math in her head. Add in ten minutes for the photon wave to reach them, followed by the particle waves in another six minutes.

The photon wave itself would blast through the armor of the lighter vessels. The capital ships might survive it, though undoubtedly some some would die, and many of the surface installations would be blotted out of existence by what amounted to a large scale laser bubble. The facing surface of the planet would be torched, all life reduced to ash, even the majority of the atmosphere blasted off into space. That would have serious repercussions for the entire planet, even that not directly exposed.

Six minutes later the particles would arrive, fast and extremely energetic. Like a massive particle beam weapon. Those particles would blast through whatever protection the ships had left. They would all die, unless they stayed behind a large body like a planet. That wave would go on for hours, until the entire ejected mass, up to two percent of the star's matter, was flying out of the system. It would continue to do damage for many light hours. Due to the inverse square law, it would be losing power, until at four light hours it would have spread to a particle density of one five-seventy-sixth of it intensity at Pleisia. Anything unprotected at that range would still die, but most standard particle shielding would be enough.

“Are your projectors ready, Admiral?” asked Chan, her face set in concentration.

“My chief engineer assures me that four or them will be complete well before that wave arrives. The other two, iffy.”

“They need to be ready,” said Chan in a lecturing voice. “If not, you need to cover only as much of the planet as you can, and you ships of course.”

“How many people will die if they don't have them all up and running?” asked Sean, eyes narrowing.

“From three to five hundred million, your Majesty,” answered Chan without an instant's hesitation.

Yu did the same math, and came up with essentially the same answer. There were other variables at play, but from any angle it was a massive killing.

“Do your best to get those two up and running, admiral,” said Sean. “Then make sure that all of your ships are placed behind the shield.”

“We might be able to use the ship fields to mitigate the effects on the area that isn't covered.”

“Those ships will die, Admiral,” said Chan, shaking her head. “Don't try it.”

And we really don't know if any of this is going to work, thought Yu. The odds were in their favor, but it wasn't a sure thing. Not at all.

“When will you be starting up the generators, Director?” asked the Emperor.

Yeah, and right now we're not making wormholes. That shouldn't be a disaster, but more were always needed, and this operation would cost them a half dozen or more. If things started to burn out, many more.

“The crystal matrix batteries are filled to capacity, your Majesty. All hundred trillion tons of them. We can't shove any more power into them until we drain some out.”

“Just make sure you keep everything running smoothly, Dr. Yu,” said Sondra McCullom, eyes narrowing.

Yu could tell that the pressure was on her. Everyone expected her to come through. After all, she was the expert here. Except that no one was an expert when it came to this. They were taking theories based on what had been observed from some very advanced aliens, and extrapolating what they could do.

“Yes, please,” said Sean, a pleading look on his face. No matter what happened here, no matter who else felt responsible, Sean would take the entire blame on his shoulders. When he had nothing to do with proposing the process, or making it work. It was enough that he had given the final okay. He was that kind of man, and that made one Dr. Lucille Yu feel very comfortable that Sean was in charge.

“We're picking up graviton fluctuations from the star,” called out Bednarczyk over the com.

“Those are a very close match for what we have seen before from this Caca weapon,” said Chan, leaning forward in her chair as she studied the sine wave that appeared in a holo to her front.

“Close?” asked an alarmed Sean.

“This is a different kind of star that the ones we have observed in the past. More energetic. But in theory everything should work.”

“We're estimating detonation in forty-two minutes,” came the voice of one of the stellar scientists observing the situation.

“What happened to my hour and some odd minutes?” shouted Bednarczyk, near panic in her voice.

“Different star..” stammered the stellar scientist.

“I know,” shouted Bednarczyk. “More energetic.”

“Perhaps we should think about bringing Admiral Bednarczyk and as many of her ships as we can squeeze through the wormhole,” said Countess Kawasaki, her own tone one of near panic.

“And I'm not abandoning any of the ships or people I brought here,” replied Beata. “So don't ask.”

Lucille could see the indecision on the face of the Emperor. If he gave a direct order the admiral would have to obey. Wouldn't she? If not, he could have her relieved and arrested. But would he do that?

“It will work, your Majesty,” said Chan, turning her own version of a pleading look at the Emperor. “All of my experts agree that this is a high probability of success.”

“Only high probability, Admiral?” asked Sean, looking as if the weight of the Galaxy was resting on his shoulders.

“Very high probability,” said Chan, shaking her head. “Nothing is certain. But I would say ninety-five percent is very good.”

Unless you're looking down the barrel of that gun, thought Yu. She kept her silence. There was nothing she could say here that would help. Her station was ready to perform its part in the act, and that was all she could do.

“Projectors are ready to go. Aligned and drawing power.”

Yu looked up at one of the screens that showed the projector. It was actually one of their micro-black hole production facilities. Twenty-four lasers, each as massive as a battleship, merging their beams to build the pressure to push a small amount of matter past an event horizon. Each massing multiple billions of tons, they made the micro holes that were used in other massive constructs to rip open the fabric of space and create wormholes. There was no need to use those other machines, since their ripping open small rents in space would serve no purpose here.

“Receivers are in place on this side,” called back the chief engineer, Admiral Chin. “All are aligned and ready to go. Except for our projectors.”

The viewer switched to show one of the nearly completed devices. Each was as large as the laser projectors. They had come through in sections more massive than a dozen battleships, pre-planned for quick construction on the other side. They were also experimental, though they had worked in small scale tests, using graviton beams to shift large asteroids around. They might need larger devices, and many more of them to move planets, but in theory it was possible.

The humans had known that a construct like the Supersystem, eight stable stars in perfect orbits around a black hole, could not have been a natural occurrence. Especially not with each sporting multiple planets in perfect stable orbits, many with life, the rest capable of easy terraforming. The ancients had used their own station to power devices much like these, to move planets and even stars around.

Still well beyond the capabilities of the Empire, but someday that might not be true.

“Detonation in twenty-nine minutes,” called out the chief stellar scientist.

“What the hell is happening to my margin,” called out Bednarczyk, her anxious face appearing in a holo.

“It seems the Cacas have made some improvements of their own,” called out one of the chief engineers.

“Wonderful,” shouted Bednarczyk, shaking her head. “Why didn't someone slap me before I agreed with this craziness.”

Yu knew the admiral was brave enough. She had read the reports of the machine front, and no coward could have fought and held those bastards at bay until Chan's plan had taken them out. But this was something different.  If the devices didn't work, there was no action the admiral could take to survive, unless she ducked behind the planet and left the people to die.

“Maybe the admiral should move her fleet behind Pleisia,” said Lucille, her eyes roaming the room and seeing approval in some, disapproval in others. “At least she could save her people.”

There was no way a nova could burn through a large rocky planet like that. If it were a supernova the whole world would be turned to vapor and blown out of the system. Only this event was not that powerful. She made eye contact with the Emperor and saw the indecision in his eyes.

“Your call, Admiral,” said Sean after some seconds of hesitation. “If you want to bail, I'll support your decision.”

Now that decision was in Bednarczyk's court, and Yu could see the shifting emotions that denoted her own unsoundness with her ability to reach the right one.

“We have four of the projectors ready to go, ma'am,” said the voice of Admiral Chin, his face appearing on another floating holo. “Or we will have in another ten minutes. And I think we can get the other two up and running before we are hit.”

“Then we'll stay the course,” announced Bednarczyk, her jaw firming. “Just give us the power we need when we need it.”

The tension in the room had ratcheted up considerably. Everyone had come in knowing that this might be a near thing. But all had had faith in Chan and her miracles. No one had thought that some of the variable might shift. This just proved that even the best of them could be wrong.

Chapter Seven

Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings. Robert Herrick

“Detonation in nine minutes,” called out the officer that was their equivalent of chief scientist.

“So, the estimates were off,” stated Admiral Trostara, staring at a sine wave that indicated the graviton emissions of the star.

And those brave crew are already dead, though Mrastaran, unable to say a word. The particle density around the star had to be so high that any shielding would be useless. The machinery of the ships, antimatter reactors, graviton projectors, would continue functioning up the the final flare. Then those vessels would be carried away as plasma. According to the old religion, the souls of the males who had made the ultimate sacrifice would also be carried away to paradise, where there was plenty of food, and males could fight to their heart's delight without fear of injuries. Even though Mrastaran still adhered to the principles of the faith, he had lost all belief in the supernatural or an afterlife centuries before.

Of course, on the plus side, the missiles the humans had fired would never reach their targets. They would be caught in the expanding waves, photon and particle, and swept away.

“The improvements seemed to work,” continued the chief of staff.

And we're working with a different kind of star than any that have been detonated in the past, thought the Great Admiral. Well, he had to think that the humans knew what he was doing, and had their own estimates based on past experience. And now they would be caught off guard as well.

“When will our first missiles arrive?”

“Estimating first attack in one hour and twelve minutes,” called out the tactical officer.

So those were all a waste, thought the admiral. Anything forging into that particle wave would be destroyed. If not from the wave itself, then from the breaching antimatter warheads.

“And when will we have another launch available?”

“Just over three hours after you call for it, my Lord,” replied that tactical officer.

Mrastaran huffed out a breath of frustration. He knew the humans could call on missile streams in an instant. They had accelerator tubes that kept the missiles moving for long periods, and could get fire on demand. Unfortunately, his people had no such, though they were working on the development of such a system. Instead, they launched in normal space and built up speed over many hours. Once the missiles were started toward a wormhole they were committed. If he didn't want them, the missiles could be directed to veer off. And then, after hours spent catching them, they would have to have their crystal matrix batteries recharged. Not a satisfactory state of affairs, but all he had to work with.

“Order another couple of waves, targeting the planet.”

If he was correct, the outgoing missiles of those next volleys would hit the particle wave after it had already spread to the point where the small bodies of missiles could survive. Especially if they kept their seeker heads covered, a Ca'cadasan innovation, until they had passed through the worse of it. He still didn't know what the human commander had planned, but he didn't think she had just put her neck on a chopping block for him to cut.

*     *     *

“Detonation in five minutes,” called out the voice of a scientist over the com.

Beata didn't know who that was. She didn't recognize the voice, and there were so many people involved in this back at the Donut, she couldn't possibly know all of them.

“What's our progress, Chin?”

“Number five should be up and running in three minutes. Number six is going to take, longer.”

How much longer? She wanted to shout that question, but the engineer knew what was at stake as well as she did. His people would be working at their fastest rate. Which meant they still had to check their work as they went, lest they miss some important steps on the way.

“How is our ship spread?” she asked Janssen.

The man was still at his station, and hadn't moved in minutes. If not for the occasional nodding of his head she could imagine him dead. If not for the tension of the moment she could think him asleep.

“All are in optimal position for coverage of the four projectors, ma'am.”

Which meant there would be none for coverage of the fifth projector, or the sixth. She was willing to put ships in place to cover that fifth unit, but not the sixth, unless things changed a lot in the next two or three minutes.

“Put them in a five unit spread.”

“Yes, ma'am,” shouted Janssen over the noise of spinning turbos that was filling the ship.

The ships started to shift slightly. Thousands of capital ships from three different governments, all slotting into place. The projectors were aligned and ready. Everything was as ready as they could make it. Now, it only had to work.

*     *     *

Sean was flipping his attention from the face of Lucille Yu, to the viewer looking in on the Pleisia system, to the control room glimpsed through the window. He really couldn't tell if everything was going according to plan at Pleisia, though the ships and projectors all seemed to be in place, as far as he could tell. Yu looked worried, and he couldn't blame her, since he was worried as well. The control room, that vast chamber the size of two soccer pitches, was swarming with activity. Hundreds of technicians monitoring their boards, Scores of supervisors moving from place to place, stopping at some for quick conversation. Of course computers would be handling everything. The people were there to monitor every detail, ready to shift power through auxiliary circuits, or shut it down altogether. If their slow organic reflexes could act in time.

“Photon wave will hit in one minute,” called out a voice.

“Shunt power, now,” yelled Yu, clenching her fists.

A shudder passed through the station as relays the size of battleships opened and power was bled from the trillions of tons of crystal matrix batteries. Other than antimatter the most powerful energy storage system devised, the massive banks could power three or four wormhole generations before they were drained. For this process they would project energy for several minutes before draining completely.

“Power is moving through the wormhole, ma'am. Everything is within predicted limits.”

The Emperor looked at the take of one of the viewers that was showing a laser projector. It was really a chamber used to create the black holes used to make wormholes. Twenty-four massive lasers that normally pushed inward to compress matter beyond an event horizon, the constructs were pealed open so that all the beams could fire ahead. They had been modified as a last resort weapon to defend the station, capable of blasting through a hundred battleships in an instant. The energy they were pulsing was invisible except for periodic flashes as something, dust or debris, entered the beam.

“Energy is impacting the projectors on the other side, ma'am. Everything within the norms.”

And what the hell is the norm for this? thought the young Emperor, clenching his teeth. Nothing like this had ever been done. It would either succeed or not. Worse case? Many of the vital systems of the Donut fried or melted, and they were looking at a couple of months to start producing wormholes again. The Empire could survive that, but it would cause some strain at the fronts. Of greater consequence was a failure that gutted the capital ship strength of all the fleets on the second front. That would cause a collapse on that front, then a greater pressure on his front. He closed his eyes for a moment and said a quick prayer.

“Start the power up process,” ordered Lucille, tension in her voice.

Another screen showed the curvature of the station, the inky blackness of the black hole underneath. A light halo ringed the hole, bent by the gravitational force. A smaller ring, if such a word could be used, was locked in a close orbit around the hole, its massive grabber units keeping it in place. There was spares for that ring, but so far in the operation of the Donut none had been pulled in. Huge tugs, larger than a super heavy battleship, waited to grab things that might be in danger of falling in. Sometimes they even did some good.

The whole thing look so small, since there were no objects in the view that a human mind could use to assign scale. Everything was too big, massive. And then the power up process started and the screen stepped down its brilliance so that humans could actually watch.

Through the centuries there had been many theories of other forms of energy, but after millennia humans had been forced to admit that there was only the fundamental forms they had always known. Photons, or light; electrons, or electricity; and kinetic, the momentum of fast moving particles. Add to that Gravitons, the messenger particle of gravity, and you had all of the forms of energy that humankind could manipulate. That had proven enough to give them mastery of space. Now electrons streamed from the station to the inner ring. Brilliant arcs, hundreds of them, each as powerful as the simultaneous lightning strikes on a Jupiter sized world, cranked out by thousands of multi billion ton dynamos that had been installed in the station over the last fifty years. Some were older tech, but all were sufficiently efficient for the process.

The energy started to flow into the crystal matrix batteries, replenishing them as fast as they were draining. Normally the huge dynamos only ran for a minute or less, allowing them to cool before the next run. This time they would be asked to shoulder a much longer run. Just one of the potential crash points.

Electricity was beamed from the batteries to hundreds of close orbiting satellites, then beamed as microwaves to the laser projectors sending power through the wormhole gates. The beams were as centered as could be. The slightest deviation could cause a burn through of the frame of the gate, and it would collapse out of existence.

Sean stared in fascination as the station did something it was not supposed to do. There were massive energies out there, any one of them strong enough to take out a battle fleet. And until now confined to this system.

“We're getting some energy spikes in the older generators,” called out a voice over the com. “So far not enough to worry about.”

“Keep a close eye on them.” shouted back Yu. “You know what to do if you get overheating.”

“What's going on?” asked Sean, his own anxiety spiking.

“Nothing to worry about, yet,” said Yu, pasting and insincere smile on her face. “Some of the older units don't have the ability to handle overheating like the newer generators. We had been planning on upgrading them, but the opportunity never presented itself. We should have enough redundancy in the system to handle this.”

Should have, thought Sean. The station had been called on to do so much. They had never been able to slack off wormhole production for any system upgrades. Only now did they have enough wormholes that they could afford the shutdown, and there was still no time for upgrades.

“Photon wave impact in thirty seconds.”

“How are you, Beata?” asked Sean, feeling guilty at taking her time at this moment, not able to help himself.

“Powering up shield, now,” called out the fleet commander, the stress in her voice palpable. “Get those ships online, dammit.”

Sean held his tongue. She was in charge of what was going on at that end, and it was obvious that she didn't need any interruptions.

“Shield is up. All ships electromag projectors at full. Oh my God.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by nothing. Just the image of the star flaring, an event that had had happened ten minutes before and whose image was only just arriving with the photon wave.

“Get her back,” shouted Sean, the feeling of dread about to overwhelm him. “Get her back now.”

*     *     *

Grand Fleet Admiral Beata Bednarczyk flinched as the view-screen showing the star flared. For an instant she could see the star ejecting its unimaginable weight of matter. Then the brilliance was just too much, even with the viewers stepped down to protect the eyes of the organics using the system.

I'm dead, she thought. But she felt no pain. Nothing seemed to be happening.

“The shield is up and holding, ma'am,” said Admiral Chin, his face appearing on a holo that hung in the air beside the fleet commander. “I'm afraid unit six has sustained some exterior damage. Crew still aboard was able to shelter in the inner vault. I'm hoping they can still get her up and running before the particle storm.”

Beata shook her head in disbelief, staring at the screen that was pointed toward the star. It was still overly bright, but with a thought she stepped it down even more. To see the shimmering wall between her fleet and the deadly star. Not everything was stopped by that field. Some was getting through, and the wall of ships, their own electromagnetic fields touching, were throwing of sparks as the fields bent the light and sent it away. The ships were running reactor hot, maximum power. Every laser ring had been disconnected from its power runs, which were now feeding the hulls. The power was flowing along to the external electromag projectors each ship had been equipped with for this fight.

The field in front of her was made up of gravitons, actually bending the fabric of space much as a black hole or neutron star would. Bending most of the photons up or around, sending them off in a halo effect. Saving the ships and the planet from the fury of the photons. Protecting them. But for how long?

Thank you, Chan. You magnificent bitch, thought Beata, eyes wide as she stared at the cosmic event that should have killed her and all her people.

The field was similar to what the ancients who had attacked the Donut had used. Not as compact, probably not as impenetrable. But solid enough. The Empire didn't have the compact power systems of those ancients, but what they did have was the most powerful dynamo in human history. That and the experimental graviton projectors it was hoped would someday help them move planets when needed. Instead they had been modified to project their gravitons into a curving field.

“The Emperor is on the com, ma'am.”

“Admiral? Are you okay?”

“We're fine, your Majesty. We're...”

The admiral took a quick moment to check on the status of her ships and all the others. Romulus had sustained some minor damage to her hull, including about three percent of her electromag projectors. Other ships were reporting in, some with more damage, none serious.

“Nothing major, your Majesty. My fleet is still here, and ready for the next act.”

“Particle wave estimated in seven minutes, ma'am.”

“We're taking some of the generators out of the loop for a moment, Admiral,” said Director Yu over the com. “We need to cool them, but they should be ready by the time that next wave reaches you. Photon wave should be through in another couple of seconds.”

And then the real fun begins, thought Beata as a grimace set on her face.

*     *     *

“Well, that was intense,” said Sondra McCullom, shaking her head.

“No more than being on the receiving end of a Caca missile storm,” said Duke Taelis, smiling. “In fact, if it had been such, she would have suffered many more casualties.”

Sean nodded as he looked over those figures, sent by the individual ships and collated aboard the flag. The great majority of the fleet had sustained no serious casualties. Maybe a few injuries. Some broken bones and such. Some ships had lost a crewman or two as power leads flared out and flooded rooms with electrons or superheated gas. Overall they had suffered thirty-one deaths, which among such a massive fleet being hit by so much energy was amazing. Only they hadn't been hit by much of that energy. The graviton shield, as they were calling it, had worked as well as expected.

Now, we just need to develop a portable one for our ships, he thought. That would be the dream, and almost impenetrable shield against matter and energy. Something out of science fiction. Only until they solved the zero point energy problem they wouldn't be able to power something like that. The experts were saying a century to solve the problem, though at the moment they had no idea even where to look for the solution.

“Now comes the real test,” said Admiral Chan after letting out a deep breath. “The photons were mass less particles. Of course they had momentum, and a hell of a lot energy. The plasma wave, or particle wave if you will, is carrying mass, along with more heat energy than the photon wave. And it's going to last a lot longer too.”

“But they should make it, right?” asked the alarmed monarch. He was wishing that he had just given up on this planet. It had seemed like a nice enough world, but what did it really offer to humankind?

More than a billion years of distinctive evolution. Along with billions of sentients. That's what it has to offer. He still wasn't sure if that was worth the lives of so many imperial and allied spacers. But it was the decision he had made. Maybe the ships could have been unmanned, maybe only skeleton crews. Only they would have a battle to fight at the end of this.

“Theoretically, it should, your Majesty,” said the diminutive woman, shrugging her shoulders. “I was willing to bet my reputation on it. My life?” She shrugged again. “There's a reason I'm not aboard any of those ships.”

And you would be if I had ordered it, thought Sean. The admiral would go where he told her to go, but losing her would be too great a blow to the empire.

“One minute to impact,” called out the stellar scientist who was the voice of the working crew in the control room.

“Resume the lasers through the wormhole,” ordered Yu, staring at the view of the planet and the blocking fleet with intense concentration. “Start the generators.”

The light show started up on one of the viewers, while the whole station hummed slightly. Massive energies were again on the move, replenishing the batteries before they could fully drain, beaming power to the multitude of sats, switching off as the station orbited. Then feeding power into the laser rigs.

“All is up and running, ma'am,” called out one of the control room engineers. “Everything nominal.”

*     *     *

“We're picking up massive graviton emissions from near the planet, my Lord,” called out the sensor officer, looking back at his admiral.

Mrastaran had been pacing the deck, back and forth, for the last twenty minutes. He hated this waiting to see what had happened. The Graviton emissions from the star had shown that the detonation had occurred, the outer layer of the star blown off and speeding toward the target. By all estimations the photon wave, the initial strike of the nova, was just about to hit the planet. And Mrastaran would be responsible for the death of a planet and its total genetic diversity. The greatest sin of the religion he no longer really believed in. What if it were true, though, and he ended up in some terrible afterlife for his actions.

Then at least I will see this Emperor, eventually, to keep me company.

“What is it?”

“It's like nothing I've ever seen, my Lord,” said the wide eyed male. “It's massive. And I'm running it through our data banks. Which...” The male looked down for a moment, then up, his eyes even wider. “We have nothing like it in our data repository. It's a new phenomenon.”

“Which means the humans are up to something,” said the chief of staff.

“How big a graviton emission are we talking about?” asked Mrastaran of his sensor officer, the only one on the bridge with the knowledge to make such a estimate.

“Astronomical, my Lord. More than ten thousand battleships could generate. More.”

“Maybe we should consider a strategic retreat, Great Admiral,” said Admiral Trostara, an expression of terror on his face.

Mrastaran knew the other male was brave enough, but what they were seeing was enough to send a chill of terror down his own spines.

“Are they the kind of emissions a boosting ship makes?” asked the great admiral.

“I don't think so,” responded the sensor officer. “They're unlike anything we've ever seen. And the photon wave has got to have hit them by now.” The male looked confused. “That fleet should be plasma, but whatever they're using is still just as powerful. And, it's stopped.”

“Estimation on the first missile wave?”

“Two hours, ten minutes, my Lord,” called out the tactical officer.

Mrastaran did some math in his head, something he was very skilled at doing. That would put the missile storm at the planet in eight hours and fifteen minutes. They would pass the photon wave at just over four light hours out from the star, far enough, with a deep enough spread, that the raising of their own electromag field for a few seconds would get them through. A half an hour later they would pass through the particle wave. That was more problematic, and most would not make it through. Some would.

“Next wave?”

“Two hours later, my Lord.”

And those missiles would make it through and to the target. Still, that would give the enemy, if there still was one there, ten hours. He could wish he could get them there sooner, but physics were physics, and there was no getting around them. Unless they made a jump in and launched from three light hours away. And give their position away to whatever enemy was waiting out here. Maybe the majority of their fleet.

And the nova would have disrupted the fabric of hyperspace in this region. Not as much as a supernova. They would still be able to jump, but the hyper barriers would have moved a bit. Mrastaran looked over at his navigation officer.

“Calculate the rebound of the hyper barriers due to the nova. I want to know when we can make a jump and come out right outside the I barrier.” He looked over at the tactical officer. “I want the numbers on collapsing our gates and redeploying them right at the barrier. I want this timed so that the next missile wave through launches as close to the enemy as possible.” He turned back to the navigator again. “And then, once they are through, I want another jump to get us out of there before we get a stream of wormhole missiles in our lap. With a few scout ships left in place.”

That might doom those ships, but it would give him information he needed. He could track those missiles back to their origin, at least the vector. With some luck he could pinpoint them, and then he would have them. A hyperspace jump and he would be on top of them. He knew he could win a fight in hyper.

“The graviton wave is back, my Lord.”

And I need to find out what that is that's sending our sensors into an uproar.

*     *     *

Henri stood behind his sensor officer and watched in disbelief the sine wave of a massive graviton emission. Unlike anything he had ever seen, ever heard of.

“What in the hell is it? And is it ours, or theirs?”

“I have no idea, sir,” said the sensor officer. “I'm just damned glad that we are near whatever it is.”

Information had come down minutes before that the enemy was going to nova the star. And that their force by the planet was going to do something to deflect. The com hadn't stated what, but this massive emission of gravitons, more than any fleet could generate, had to have something to do with it.

“Orders coming down from the force commander, sir,” said Lt Jg Kenyata from his com board. “The force is going to change vectors at low acceleration.”

Which meant his ship, and the three others from his squadron, would be among the destroyers leading the way. They were currently eight and a third light minutes from their initial entry point, almost a hundred and fifty million kilometers. They were moving at a snails pace compared to most fleet maneuvers, but even at ten gravities velocities could build to respectable levels.

“It's back, sir,” called out the sensor officer some minutes later.

Which means that our force is still there, near the planet, thought the young ship commander. What shape they were in was anyone's guess. But still there meant the battle was proceeding according to plan, right?

Chapter Eight

When under attack, no country is obligated to collect permission slips from allies to strike back. Charles Krauthammer

For what I'm about to receive, I thank you, thought Beata as she watched the particle wave approach. The wave was moving at near point nine light, fast enough to cover a vast distance but slow enough to announce its presence on light speed sensors.

“Impact in ten seconds,” called out the sensor officer.

Space shimmered once again in front of the fleet. This time all six of the graviton projectors were up and running. Power was feeding into them from the lasers. Everything smooth. That made the admiral wonder when the disaster was going to strike.

As if this isn't enough of a disaster, she thought, bracing herself. The experts had said that some of that particle storm was going to make it through. Slowed considerably, but still moving fast enough to pack a punch.

“Now,” shouted the sensor officer.

The shimmering field darkened, lightning flashed across it as particles were stripped of their charges. Titanic forces played against each other, fighting for supremacy.

The Romulus shook, the hull ringing from impact. The electromag field caught and repelled even more of the particles, but some still got through.

“When is this going to end?” shouted the admiral, engaging her helmet system to shut out the cacophony that was filling the ship. Everyone was in their battle armor, more material, integrated electromag fields, the last barrier between their fragile bodies and the incoming storm.

“Estimating the storm will pass in seven minutes and fifty-one seconds,” shouted out Admiral Chin over the com. “We'll make it. I hope.”

Beata wondered how it was on the smaller vessels of her fleet. Romulus and her sister were the heaviest, the other battleships giving up twelve millions tons to their superiors. And the older battleships in the Klavarta order of battle, along with the human battle cruisers, were even smaller.

“We're getting a com request from Admiral Klanarat, ma'am.”

That poor son of a bitch must be near to shitting his britches, thought the admiral, a tight smile on her face. That was fair enough, since her own bladder was fighting her to release.

“Put him on.”

The terrified face of the other admiral appeared on a holo that kept fading in and out. Beata knew the Alpha was not a coward, no matter what she thought of his judgment. Everyone in the fleet had to be terrified to the edge of a panic, but she couldn't indulge any of them.

“We need to get out of this, Admiral Bednarczyk,” shouted the Alpha.

“And where would you suggest going, Admiral Klanarat. Leave the defensive formation and you're dead, along with all your people.”

“Then what?”

“Hold on. We're....”

“Power feed is down on projector three, ma'am. Covering with remaining projectors.”

“Get me Director Yu.” Beata didn't know what was going on, but with only five projectors they were getting hit even harder. If more went down they were doomed.

*     *     *

Captain Xferd Canara stood in the hatch of the command APC he had been assigned, looking up at the sky. Ten of his warriors sat in the body of the vehicle, hoping to use its armor as protection from the hellish storm. Canara didn't see the point. If the storm reached them, they were all dead, unless they had kilometers of rock and soil overhead. And all of those places were already occupied, while the experts argued over whether there was any safe place on the planet.

It's beautiful, thought the warrior, looking up at the shifting patterns of auroras playing across the sky. The planet had its own auroras, but the unit was stationed near the equator, where such phenomenon weren't seen. These were caused by sleeting particles entering the atmosphere.

I don't feel like anything is amiss, thought Canara, watching as the auroras intensified. He would start feeling ill if he was taking too many rads, wouldn't he? Though the Warrior subrace of the Klavarta were more resistant to radiation than most, there was no creature made of carbon based protoplasm that could handle what was coming at them. So whatever the Imperials were doing, it was working.

So, when does this stop? he thought, wondering how long those ships up there could keep up their protective fields. Long enough? There was nothing he could do about it either way, and it was a helpless feeling he didn't like.

*     *     *

Sean gripped the arms of his chair, wondering when it was going the stop. The entire station, what was supposed to be the most stable man made platform in space, was shaking like a shuttle blasting into an atmosphere. It had started several seconds before, a slight shudder that had quickly built up to the teeth rattling shake.

“Did you expect this to happen?” asked Sondra McCullom, holding on to her own chair arms for dear life.

Kind of overdoing it, aren't we, Sondra, thought Sean. Of course, the CNO hadn't recently ridden a warship into battle. She had been a combat commander at one time, but upon her promotion to fleet commander she had taken over Home Fleet. Supposedly a cherry assignment, it was one most high rankers, dreaming of glory, would pass on. Then had come the shuffle with Len, an officer who really didn't want to be CNO, and she had been moved to that position, one that suited her disposition.

“Something like this happened during the initial testing,” answered Lucille Yu, staring at some holos that appeared in the air to her front. “We normally only run the generation protocols for three and a half minutes, then power them down until the next event. We produce a wormhole every forty-eight minutes during a normal day.”

Sean checked the time on his implant. They had been running the dynamos for five and a half minutes so far, full power. Two minutes past the sweet spot.

“Well, do something,” yelled McCullom, glaring at the director.

“Short of shutting it down, there's really nothing we can do,” said Yu, shaking her head.

“Will it hold together?” asked Chan, looking decidedly more nervous than Sean had ever seen her.

“It should.”

Too many damn shoulds, thought Sean, grimacing. The station had to hold together. It had stood the detonation of several quarkium devices. A little shaking shouldn't do much. If it did, if the station fell apart, they would not only lose that fleet in Pleisia space, they would have lost the most vital resource in the Empire. And they couldn't replace it, not in anything less than a hundred years. Maybe a little less, the second time around. They could still make wormholes, just like the Cacas, the Elysium Empire, the Crakista, even the Klavarta. Maybe a couple a day if they converted a number of supermetal production sites over to making wormholes.

Every one was looking his way, waiting to hear his decision. Another one that could cost many lives if he made the wrong one. Including his own.

“Keep it running,” he said through his gritted teeth. “It's march or die time, ladies and gentlemen.”

There were some confused looks in the room at that last statement, though all the military people understood. This was the time to dig in their heels and fight, no matter the consequences.

*     *     *

Grand Fleet Admiral Jrasstra Klanarat stared at the viewer in shock as his ship tried to shake itself apart around him. He had protested when the additional electromag projectors had been added to his ships, and the laser emitter power feeds were rerouted. His protest had been acknowledged, but the orders stood, and he found himself bringing a force into an action he had not been fully briefed on.

If I knew it was going to be this madness I would have resigned, he thought as he gripped his chair arms.

The admiral, along with all the crews of his ships, was in full battle armor, the suits filled with the same oxygenated liquid that filled all the crew compartments of the vessels. He could see that he was still being exposed to heavy radiation, though the liquid environment helped to absorb some of the neutrons. He knew it had to be worse on the Imperial, Slarna and Gernas ships, which didn't have that extra particle shielding. Plus the Alphas, having been engineered for space, were much more rad resistant. Still, if he continue to sit through this kind of radiation exposure even his own people would start getting sick.

“How much more of this do we have to endure?” asked Captain Freedrich Gammara, Klanarat's chief of staff, his voice bubbling in fear.

“I, don't know,” stammered the admiral, closing his eyes and mumbling a quick prayer, then opening them to stare at the massive lightning storm playing over the graviton shield all the way to his own flagship's electromag fields. But whatever the plan was, it doesn't appear to be working. If we survive this, and the Imperial Admiral doesn't, I'm taking this ragtag fleet over.

*     *      *

Admiral Mara Marie Montgomery sat in her flag bridge command chair, gripping its arms just as tightly as if she were in the middle of the storm, and not six light hours away. Eventually that deluge would reach her, but it would have spread so far by that point that her electromag fields would fend it off without problem.

Dammit, Beata. Why did you have to go along with such a crazy plan? Beata was more than her superior officer. She was a mentor, and a friend. And she was sitting in the center of a hell-storm, and Mara should have been beside her.

Instead, she had been given a heavy cruiser as a temporary flagship while all of her battle cruisers had been reassigned to Beata's main fleet. The admiral had need every heavy ship she could get her hands on, which in this case meant everything over four million tons.

The reason for the reassignment had been given as the need to keep an Imperial officer in command if something happened to the grand fleet admiral. If something happened to all the alien commanding officers, some of whom were still aboard their flagships in the center of that storm. It would have made sense to assign some of them to smaller ships so they wouldn't be sitting on the bullseye, taking them off of their flagships. Operational security had made that impossible.

Mara smiled briefly as she thought about the howls of protest that would be raised by the allied governments on this front. If the plan worked, the howls would eventually die down. If it didn't, and the hearts of the allied fleets were vaporized, those governments would withdraw from the alliance. Not that it would make any difference, since they would then have nothing to offer. A cold equation that made Mara uncomfortable, and hardened her resolve to not rise to the position where she had to play such political games.

“Report.” she ordered, looking over at her com officer. Of course her ship had a wormhole, so she had instant com back to the Donut, and through it to Beata's fleet.

“There's a lot of chatter over the com, ma'am,” said the young officer, his face scrunched up in concentration. “People panicking. I'm trying to cut through it.”

“My siblings on the fleet are also near panicking,” said her Klassekian com tech. “Only our link is allowing them to keep it together as much as they have.”

Shit. This is not good. If the highly discipline spacers, who could keep it together through the storm of battle, were about to lose it?

Mara herself felt as if she were about to lose it. In any battle she had ever been in she would have been able to do something to try and salvage the situation. Move through hyper to catch the attention of an enemy. Interpose her ships and their defenses between an aggressor and his target. Let off streams of missiles. Here she could do nothing that would help in the least. It was a feeling she didn't like one bit.

*     *     *

“How much longer?” shouted Beata over the roaring in her ears. She wasn't sure if that background noise was real, or a result of the shaking she was receiving. It felt like the ship was plunging into atmosphere. There couldn't be that many particles making it through the graviton screen, could there?

“Four minutes, ma'am,” reported Chin, still maintaining his calm, or at least the facade of such. “Eight at the outside. We're not really getting all that much of it. Maybe three percent.”

Three percent, thought the terrified fleet commander. She could only imagine what ten percent would do. Fifty. All of it.

“Radiation levels are climbing,” called out one of the sensor techs.

“Some of the neutrons are making it through the shield,” stated Chin, his own voice cracking slightly. “And of course those are blasting right through the electromag fields.”

“All ships are to inject as much cold plasma into their fields as they will hold,” ordered Beata.

That was a last resort measure. The ships only carried so much of the gaseous plasma, chilled to near absolute zero and stored in special containment vessels. Cold plasma could absorb the energy of lasers, and stop most neutral particles. It would heat up after some exposure, until it itself posed a threat. At that time the electromag field would release it and more plasma would be ejected, until there wasn't any left.

“Radiation levels are stabilizing,” called out the sensor tech that was monitoring the flux.

“Projectors two and five are overheating, ma'am,” said Chin. “We need to shut them down for a moment.”

“And then we fry? No thanks. We ride the odds.”

She made her decision. If they left those overheating projectors up and running they might fail within the event time frame. If she shut them down, more particles would come sleeting through, and all of her people would die.

And then the decision was taken out of her hands.

*     *     *

Great Admiral Mrastaran stood in front of the viewer, watching the take they were getting from the system. An image of what had occurred over six hours before.

“They have erected wormhole gates, my Lord,” said Trosara, stating the obvious. “Six of them.”

“Yes. But what in all the hells are those things?” asked the great admiral, a pair of right index fingers pointing at the viewer.

Large objects, each the size of a large capital ship, were coming through each of the gates. One after the other until scores had come through each, with more following. Heavy push tugs started to maneuver the sections, for it was obvious that they were part of some larger construct, into position. Smaller machines, or were they vessels, darted in and started making connections. As soon as two sections were connected the were pushed together and the engineering machines welded them together.

The constructs started to grow, quickly. This was obviously a well practiced maneuver. The great admiral couldn't figure out what they were for, but the humans wouldn't have brought them into that space unless there was a good reason. But what?

*     *     *

“Perhaps we should evacuate the station,” said Baron Hauser, his face a shade of pale associated with illness.

“We have over a hundred million people on this station,” replied Director Yu.

We really didn't think this whole thing out, thought Sean. The station was crowded with life. Every intelligent species in the Empire, and from most of the allies, were aboard the station. Engineers, technicians, com experts, scientists, security. Also the representatives of every major and many of the smaller corporations of the Empire. Every shipping concern. But then it would have taken weeks to move them all off, the same time to move them all back. If that had been a consideration, this operation would have been stillborn.

The look the baron shot the Emperor let Sean know the man was thinking the same thing. It had seemed so simple, the risk to the station so minuscule as to be almost non-existent. He still didn't think that the structure was in any danger, but all the trillions of tons of vital equipment was another thing altogether.

“We just lost thirty-one percent of the superconducting runs, ma'am. Switching power to the other runs.”

“Which puts them at risk,” said Yu, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“I thought these were high temperature superconductors?” asked Duke Taelis, one of the two people in the room who didn't have to worry about their own safety. That he and Len were still worried was a given.

“They are high temperature superconductors, your Grace,” replied Yu, her eyes still locked on the readout holos in front of her. “But running them at ten thousand degrees makes them failing superconductors. Rerouting through the rest of the network. And we have sixteen percent capacity back.”

“We just lost shield projector five, ma'am,” came the voice of Admiral Chin over the com. “That gives us only four to work with. I'm boosting the power on one and two, but need you to adjust the laser feeds to them from the inoperative projectors.”

“Will do,” said Yu without argument. How could she argue with the man on the spot. There was no time for debate, only for action.

“Shield is firming up, but it won't last for long,” shouted Chin.

“How much longer is this going to last,” shouted Lord Tlisha, his basso voice hitting a high note that Sean had never before heard from the massive Phlistaran.

“Two more minutes,” said Chin, his voice cracking. The man was definitely sounding ill, and Sean had to wonder how much radiation the people out there were absorbing.

“We just lost another superconductor run,” called out the voice of the station's chief engineer. “Rerouting. We'll have the power back in thirty seconds.”

And how many lapses will they survive? thought the Emperor, forcing himself to remain silent. Nothing he said now would be of any use, and might prove to be a distraction the working station personnel didn't need.

Hold on admiral, he thought, his eyes moving from viewer to viewer, trying to take in too much. He had felt this helpless before, but thought once he assumed the throne he would never feel that way again. And now he was finding out how wrong he had been.

*     *     *

“Radiation levels reaching lethal levels,” said the soft computer voice in the admiral's suit. “Recommend leaving this area immediately.”

If only it was that easy, thought Beata, grimacing. Her stomach had turned, and she was on the verge of vomiting in her armor.

“Admiral,” came a voice over the com. “Commander Levitt here.”

“Shit.” Beata knew what the ship's chief surgeon was going to say. And she didn't have a good answer for the woman.

“I'm receiving reports from all over the ship of people collapsing. We need to get out of this rad storm, now.”

“And how do you suggest we do that, Commander. If we move we're dead.”

“We might be dead if we don't move.”

“Might versus will be. I'll have to take the might. Just be ready to move out and start treating people as soon as this is over.”

“The particle storm is starting to fall off, ma'am,” said the sensor officer. “Down to seventy-two percent. And falling rapidly.”

“We're showing overheating on projector five,” called out Admiral Chin.

Shit. Bad news follows right on the heels on the good. Beata wasn't sure what the long term physical effect of this day would be. What she did know was she was going to have nightmares about this nightmare for months on end.

“Particle density down to forty-one percent.”

“Nanite immune system offline,” said the computer voice. “Massive cellular damage detected.”

Beata's vision started to blur. She wondered how the people closer to the outer hull were reacting. There weren't supposed to be many out there, most having been ordered to take cover deep inside the ship, Those required to work out there were clad in engineering armor, with two hundred percent better rad protection. Still, they would be getting many more rads, so that might not be enough.

All citizens of the Empire had nanites within their bodies, both the smaller mechanical type and the slightly larger biological kind. It protected them not just from all known contagions, but any conceivable germ. They also repaired cellular damage, such as that caused by radiation. However, too many fast moving particles sleeting through the body and the nanites took damage as well. By this point there were probably less than ten percent of the initial nanite contingent still in the bodies of any crew, and they would soon be suffering the effects of rad damage without the ability to recover.

Here we go, was the last thought she had before the vomit came rushing up her throat and she sprayed the inside of her helmet. Normally the suit nanites would handle that, but the suit nanomachines were also on the decline.

“Particle density down to twenty-three percent,” said the sensor officer, retching with every other word. “I'm sorry ma'am.”

Beata wanted to tell the young man that it was okay. That she was proud he was still doing his duty. But she was too sick to push out the words.

“We're up to one hundred and twenty percent of capacity on the remaining projectors,” said Chin, coughing out the words.

Beata looked at the screen, still showing the arcing lightning of charged particles interacting with the ship's electromag field. It was beautiful. What she didn't see were the neutral particles that were sleeting through the fields and into the armor. Most were stopped by that armor, but many were flying through to continue on into the crew.

Had the ship's shaking declined, or was she imagining it?

“Particle density at nine percent and falling fast.”

“We're going to make it,” said Chin in a whisper.

And how many of us didn't she thought as her vision blurred once again.

“Five percent.”

“It may take its time dropping from here on,” said Chin, huffing out a breath of relief. “But it's essentially over.”

“Get those nanites distributed,” said Beata over the com, just before her vision went black and she knew no more.

*     *     *

“Powering down,” called out the chief engineer.

It took several seconds, but the vibrations ramped down until they were gone.

“What is the status of the fleet?” asked Sean, closing his eyes and trying to eject some of the stress that was overwhelming him.

“The fleet's still there, your Majesty,” said McCullom, her eyes closed as she linked with the fleet com net through her implant. “But we're getting reports of significant casualties.”

“Can you get Admiral Bednarczyk on the com?”

“She's listed as one of the casualties, your Majesty.” said McCullom. She grimaced as she listened to further reports. “Admiral Klanarat is temporarily in charge.”

Sean didn't like hearing that. He and the Klavarta president had agreed that the Alpha would not be in charge of the fleet from here on. But if the commander was incapacitated, and he took over by dint of his rank, what could they do?

“Get me President Klanarat on the com,” Sean ordered. He needed to get something worked out where the Klavarta fleet admiral didn't sabotage all of their efforts to get to this point. And soon there would be another battle to fight.

Chapter Nine

Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars. Khalil Gibran

“Get me Admiral Bednarczyk, right now,” ordered Admiral Chin. He took a moment to take in some water through the helmet nipple. Not just because of a tremendous thirst, but also to wipe the vomit taste from his mouth. He would take care of his face and body when he was out of the armor and in the shower, though that might still be some time in the future. There were issues that still needed addressing.

The storm was over. Particle density was down to four percent, and would remain at near that level for some hours. The ships could handle that with their own electromag fields, and the Donut had withdrawn its support. From what he had heard over the com it was having problems of its own. Nothing he could do about it, and he needed to concentrate on the job at hand, starting with the flagship.

“Admiral Bednarczyk is in the Romulus' med center,” said a computer voice. “Status. Unconscious and going through rad scrub and cellular regeneration.”

“Shit.” There would be a lot of that going around. Chin was surprised he had retained consciousness, as close to the hull as he had worked. His stomach had emptied, he had suffered from extreme weakness, but he had been able to keep it together and maintain control of the graviton shield. He had grabbed a nanite injector from the shielded container in his compartment and pushed them through the suits infusion port. While still sick, he was already starting to feel better, though it would take a full night's sleep, maybe more, to regain all of his faculties.

“Who is in command?”

“Next ranking officer, still conscious, if Grand Fleet Admiral Jrasstra Klanarat. Should I contact him.”

“No,” shouted Chin, preempting that disastrous routine from firing. “Block all transmissions from Admiral Klanarat to this ship, and repeat the message that Admiral Bednarczyk is busy and will be with him as soon as possible. And inform all Imperial com officers that they are not to talk with the admiral.”

Chin knew how Bednarczyk and the Emperor felt about the Klavarta admiral, and he was not about to see that Alpha take command of the fleet, even if temporarily. They needed to get organized, and quickly, and that loose cannon could do nothing positive to help the situation.

“Who is the next in rank Imperial officer within the fleet?”

“Fleet Admiral Hahn is the next highest in rank. But the admiral is also incapacitated.”

It made sense that the senior officers, mostly older humans, would have a harder time with the radiation. Chin thought it a miracle that he had fared so well. Statistical probability called for the radiation effect to be spread unevenly among its recipients. Not that much of a difference, but enough.

“The next highest rank and time in rank is Full Admiral Uriah Chin.”

Chin stared at the computer terminal in shock. He had come here to supervise the deployment and employment of the graviton shield. He was no a line officer, had never commanded a warship. But now was not the time to split hairs.

“I hereby take command of the Imperial Fleet on this station. Until such time as Admiral's Bednarczyk or Hahn are capable of taking it from my hands.”

“Acknowledged.”

Chin wasn't sure how this was going to go over with both his command or that of the Klavarta. At the moment he didn't much care. What mattered now was the mission.

“I want the damage reports from all Imperial and allied ships in proximity to Pleisia,” he told the AI, ticking off a mental checklist. “To be collated and arranged by priority. I want my staff to gather for a conference in five minutes in the nearest conference room, by holo if not in person. And I want a link to Fleet logistics.”

They were going to need parts and supplies, megatons of them. The ships had their own spares aboard, and the capability to make what they needed. But the damage might go beyond that.

*     *     *

“The storm should have passed Pleisia by now, my Lord,” reported the chief of staff, Trostara.

Mrastaran gave a head motion of acknowledgment, his eyes still locked on the screen that was showing what had happened in Pleisia orbit many hours prior. The devices were almost all fully assembled, at least the ones he could still see around the curvature of the planet. The rest were out of sight, but it was obvious that whatever they were, they were set to interpose something between the planet and the star. The wormholes were also on the other side.

“I still wonder what those things are,” said the great admiral. “And could they possibly survive that inferno.”

“Either they already have, or they haven't my Lord,” said Admiral Trostara, walking over to his commander. “You need to make a decision on whether we are going to move or not. The launch will be coming through in just over an hour.”

The Great Admiral put his head in his upper right hand, doing the math in his head once again. If they jumped they would be in hyper with carrying no momentum in with them. At maximum acceleration it would take just under an hour to get to the barrier, then back into normal space. Still, it would cut four hours off the flight time of the missiles coming through the wormholes. It would give his position away to the enemy, but if he spent the fifteen minutes needed to get all the missiles from the first launch through, he could jump back into hyper and move. After that he could set the gates again and send the next launch through.

“Take down the gates and prepare to translate into hyper. I want us to emerge at this point, set up the gates, and fire, while we decel and prepare for another translation.”

“It will be done, my Lord.”

“My Lord,” called out the tactical officer, looking up from his station. “Report from the analysts back in the home system.”

“Well, tell me,” growled Mrastaran, glaring at the younger male. “Then get back to calculating the best firing solutions for our wormhole launch.”

“Yes, my Lord,” stammered the young male. “The scientist think those objects on the hulls of the enemy ships are electromag projectors of a new type. They're estimating they will boost the field by four hundred percent.”

“That still wont be enough to protect them from the photon wave, much less the particle storm,”  protested Trostara.

“No,” agreed Mrastaran. “But it may be enough to handle whatever bleeds through those other things.”

“You think they have some other technology? Something to shield their fleet and the planet?”

The great admiral stared at his chief of staff for a moment, wondering if the male was really that obtuse. “Why do you think they would move such massive objects into the system? To let them be vaporized.”

Just because they had something they thought might protect them from a nova didn't mean that it would. But if he had to bet, he would put his money on the ingenuity of their engineers.

“Whether it protects them or not, it has to sustain some damage,” said the great admiral, still watching the event that happened in orbit six hours prior. “And if they take enough damage, we can destroy them with a launch or two. Then take out whatever they left out here.”

*     *     *

“How did the station come through, Director?” asked Sean, doing a mantra in his head to calm his nerves. Short of the escape from the Cacas at the beginning of his short tenure as heir, and the time when Jennifer had been kidnapped, this had been the most anxiety provoking episode in his life.

“We were hurt,” she admitted, looking over from the series of holos she had been studying. “Nothing we can't fix. But as a wormhole producing station we are crippled.”

“You can't make wormholes?” asked Chan, her voice breaking.

“Oh, we can still make them,” said Yu, shaking her head. “Four a day. Five a day. But it will be weeks before we can get up to again ramping out thirty a day.”

Sean felt the frown forming on his face. He hadn't expected their production to be hurt so badly. But it the shield had seemed to work.

“Admiral Bednarczyk,” he said into the air, asking for a connection.

“This is Admiral Uriah Chin, your Majesty. Admiral's Bednarczyk and Hahn are incapacitated at the moment. I have taken  temporary command.”

“And who is he?” asked Sean, almost silently mouthing the words to McCullom.

The CNO nodded and sent a holo image his way, a short record on the engineer, which, Sean noted, had no real command experience. And this man was in charge.

“I didn't want the Klavarta admiral getting wind of the injuries to our high rankers,” said the engineer, his face appearing in a holo. “I hope I made the correct choice.”

“You did indeed, Admiral,” said Sean, again grimacing. He didn't want that idiot Klavarta in charge of anything out there. That he was in nominal charge of the Klavarta fleet was bad enough, since New Earth provided most of the ships on that front. “And how are we doing out there?”

“The fleet was hurt. I'm estimating that we will be up to fifty percent capacity within the hour. To get back to full capacity will take much longer.”

“And the planet?”

“I think they came through okay. We're getting reports of some power outages, minor injuries resulting from equipment failures. But they came through. We'll know more about radiation damage down there in the near future.”

Sean nodded. He wasn't worried about that. Radiation poisoning, unless severe, was nothing to worry about with modern medical technology. In a few days everyone down there would be okay, if they survived the coming battle with the Caca fleet. The Emperor reminded himself to make sure that a couple of medical divisions were sent to Pleisia once the smoke cleared. He really didn't want to be an asshole about it, but he didn't want to put thirty or forty thousand more noncombatants at risk until he was sure that system was secure.

*     *     *

“I demand that you put me through to Admiral Bednarczyk,” yelled Grand Fleet Admiral Klanarat, staring at the image of the human com officer in the holo.

“As I told you, sir, the admiral is indisposed at the moment. She will be in touch with you as soon as she finds the time.”

“This is intolerable,” screamed Klanarat. “I am one of her force commanders. In fact, I am in command of the largest force in this operation. She will damned sure become available and talk to me.”

“I am sorry, Admiral. I have my orders, and I will obey them. Now, is there anything else?”

“Yes. What is your name, so I can include it in my protests to President Klanarat and Emperor Sean.”

“Commander Alonzo Pizarro, sir,” said the young human, what looked like a slight smirk on his face. “And you are, of course, welcome to register a protest to whom ever you like. Now, if there is nothing else.”

Klanarat nodded to his own com officer, who cut the connection.

“Something is up over there,” he said to no one in particular.

“Do you want our casualty figures, Admiral?” asked Captain Gammara, his chief of staff.

“How bad?”

“Not really bad at all,” said the other Alpha, trying and failing to keep a smile off his face. “Seven dead across the entire force. Several thousand injured, mostly from radiation sickness. Most of those will be returning to duty by tomorrow. As far as the ships go, the news isn't as good. Reports range from ten to seventy percent of systems down, and from several hours to a week to make repairs.”

“No reactor breaches?”

“No sir. The larger ships have their thickest armor over the reactors. Add to that the really strong containment fields, and nary a neutron made it through. Maybe some neutrinos, but we can't keep them out no matter what we do.”

Klanarat took a moment off from his rage to think about that. He could see the wisdom of the human admiral in not allowing her cruisers or destroyers to stand in the line behind the graviton projectors. The smaller ships had lighter armor over their reactors, and the danger of a breach would have been very real with them. Of course, if the graviton shield hadn't worked, every ship in the fleet would have gone up in a flare of plasma as antimatter contacted matter. He had to admit she had made the right call there. Still, the damage and the injuries, and....

“She's injured”, he stated to his COS. “Probably radiation poisoning. Incapable of functioning. Which leaves me the highest ranking healthy officer in the fleet.”

“I'm sure she will recover, if that is even the case,” said Gammara, giving his admiral a questioning look.

“That isn't the point,” said Klanarat, gesturing with his hands in rapid motions. “She's not fit for command at the moment, which means it should be mine.”

Klanarat looked over at his com officer, ignoring the expression on his chief of staff's face. “Send out a message to all ships in the fleet. I am assuming command, until the time that Admiral Bednarczyk can prove she had recovered. Then send a message to the President, informing him of my decision.”

“And your protest?” asked Gammara, frantically trying to sidetrack his superior.

“I can deal with that later on. Right now the important thing is to make sure that firm leadership is in place.”

*     *     *

“He's done what?” shouted Sean, looking at the face of the leader of New Earth on the com holo.

“He has issued orders to the fleet, all of the fleet, to follow him. Until Admiral Bednarczyk can come forth and prove that she is fit for duty.”

Which ain't going to be happening for at least a day. From what Sean had heard the admiral would be fine, in a day. But the doctor, Levitt, was insistent that she be allowed to rest for twenty-four hours, while the nanites worked their magic on her cells. She might be able to rise and take command sooner, but Sean was not willing to risk her health. Not after what she had been through.

“You realize that my people will not follow him,” said Sean, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the Alpha. “I will issue orders to that effect if it is not clear.”

“That would be unwise, Sean,” said Klanarat, his own forehead creasing. “We can't afford a division at a time like this. The real battle is about to begin.”

“And that is why I can't turn my people over to that incompetent fool,” said Sean, his voice rising with his anger.

“He made a mistake, Emperor. Don't tell me that you have never made one. In fact, I seem to recall seeing records of decisions you made that cost millions of lives.”

“And resulted in victories, not defeats,” said Sean, his voice lowering, taking on a dangerous edge.

“Be that as it may, Admiral Klanarat is now the senior officer of both of our contingents by two grades. If I sacked him now there would be hell to pay in congress.”

Sean nodded, knowing that what the president spoke was nothing less than the truth. New Earth was governed by a three branch system, and the legislative branch was made up of two houses, both elected by the people. That came with some strengths, such as not having to deal with an entrenched aristocracy that could not be removed from office. That was also a weakness. Legislators were beholding to the people who elected them, and often made poor decisions based on what the mob demanded.

However, Sean had a responsibility to his people as well, and wasn't about to let them go into battle under what he considered a walking disaster.

Maybe if I transferred one of my other six star admirals to that front, immediately, it might stabilize the situation,” thought Sean, dismissing that thought as soon as it came. Lenkowski and Mgonda both had their hands full, and he couldn't afford to pull them away from their commands. The next thought to cross his mind was to brevet Admiral Montgomery up to grand fleet admiral. Again, that might not fly. Maybe one rank, but not two. If only Timothy Hahn was still healthy, he could be promoted up one rank.

“What are you going to do, Emperor?” asked the President in a slightly sarcastic tone.

Sean realized that tempers had flared to the point where it might be better to just back away and talk about this later. He couldn't afford that, and neither could the fleet.

“One thing I will not do is order my people to follow that Admiral. Put another man in charge and I'll see what I can do. But not that admiral.”

“And I've told you that is impossible,” said Klanarat, his voice rising again. “Just order your people to follow him until Admiral Bednarczyk is back at the helm. Surely nothing bad can happen in that short a time period.”

“And we have a large Caca fleet still in the system, Mr. President. You know they are firing on our fleet around that planet as we speak, if they haven't already. I need someone in command that I can trust.”

“Very well. If that's your final word. I'll get in touch with Admiral Klanarat and let him know that your people are not playing on his team.”

You better, thought Sean, barely keeping his temper under control. His people had paid a price supporting the Government of New Earth. A heavy price, and one that had been necessary to the survival of those people. He had an urge to just order all of his ships and people through the wormholes back to the Empire. Then collapse every wormhole that led to their space and let them take care of themselves.

No, I can't do that, he thought, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Those were the actions of a child, not the leader of the human species.. But he had leveled an ultimatum to President Klanarat, and he couldn't back down. He would pay for it later, of course. Like so many decisions, one delayed was sometimes the best decision.

“Get me Admiral Chin on the Com.”

*     *     *

“I'm sorry, Admiral Klanarat,” said Uriah Chin, looking into the face of the Alpha on the com holo. “Admiral Bednarczyk is in command of this fleet, including your ships. The action you are taking is gross insubordination.”

Chin wasn't familiar with the facial expressions of the subspecies of Klavarta, but if he had to guess, he would say that the Alpha male was furious.

“Then produce Admiral Bednarczyk for me, or order your ships to respond to my commands.”

“Admiral Bednarczyk is not at your beck and call, Admiral. You are at hers. As soon as she is available she will get with you. Until then, you would be wise to continue to prepare your fleet for combat. We are predicting that Caca missiles will be arriving here within the next two hours.”

That was another problem, and one which the injured fleet didn't have an organic solution to. He had an idea, one he had been thinking about even before arriving in this space. He wasn't sure it would work, but the theory was sound. He dismissed the transmission from the Alpha so he could continue to work on his idea.

“Start moving the graviton projectors into position,” he said into the com to his people.

*     *     *

“Those are the last of that wave, my Lord,” said Admiral Trostara, standing over the command chair of the great admiral. “Are you sure you want to move the forces. The next wave will be here in less than a half an hour.”

“And we have been here for forty-five minutes,” growled Mrastaran, looking up at the other male. “We estimated that the enemy have wormhole equipped ships in from one to six hours of this point. Worse case, we have wormhole launched missiles roaring in within the next fifteen minutes. And I'm not willing to take that chance. So we will translate into hyper and move to here. The other forces are to make similar moves.”

Trostara gave a head motion of acceptance and moved away to transmit the orders while Mrastaran, continued to look over the plot, trying to figure out where the enemy might be out here. Still no sign of them, and there wouldn't be if their commander was smart. He had no reason to think whatever commander the humans had left in the outer system was not intelligent.

The great admiral looked on a side holo to see the wormhole gates of his force collapsing. Soon it was being pulled aboard the flagship, while the other two were taken aboard other superbattleships. An instant later Mrastaran felt the nausea of a translation overcome him, the flagship opening the portal into hyper I and sliding through.

Mrastaran never knew if he was correct about missiles going through his position or not, but he was just as happy to not find out. The probes he had left behind would let him know, along with the vector they had traveled on. That, and the time they arrived, would allow him to pinpoint the enemy fleet. And then they would be his.

Chapter Ten

A truly strong person does not need the approval of others any more than a lion needs the approval of sheep. Vernon Howard

“I am sorry, Admiral Klanarat. But I am not taking commands from you. The human Admiral, Bednarczyk, is in charge of this fleet.”

Klanarat stared open mouthed at the alien, a Slarna, standing on the bridge of its ship and threatening....

“That's mutiny, Admiral Connandra. I will have your head.”

“I do not serve at your pleasure, Admiral Klanarat. I serve at the pleasure of my government, not yours.”

Klanarat looked over at another holo that showed the smallish, four million ton battleship of the alien. The Slarna had the smallest ships that had been committed to the line. Paradoxically, their relatively low tech ships had held up better than most under the particle storm. Something to do with their specific alloys, and something that would have to be looked into. But not now.

“I'm warning you..”

“Warn all you want, Admiral Klanarat. There is nothing you can do or say that will change my mind.” The holo disappeared, the connection severed from the other side.

The Gernas, the only other ally that had been on the line, had already refused him, which left him with his fleet, and his fleet alone. He still had all of his escorts out in the outer system. From five to seven light hours away. And over sixty percent of the total ships in this fleet.

“Prepare the fleet to move on my command,” Klanarat told his chief of staff, Captain Gammara.

“But, Admiral. Admiral Chin's tactical officer sent over a threat assessment. They are expecting enemy missiles at any moment.”

“All the more reason to get off the bullseye,” growled Klanarat, glaring at his COS. Why is everyone giving me such a hard time, he thought. It just made sense to move. If wormhole missiles were coming in at them, and they were undetectable until thirty seconds away, it was best to be moving. The missiles would either miss or be forced to change vectors, becoming visible from much further out. “We move in five minutes, on this course. Maximum accel.”

“Not every ship will be able to keep up, sir,” protested Gammara.

“Then they will have to do the best they can,” growled Klanarat, holding down a temper that threatened to take over. Not realizing that he was already acting on emotions, and not his reasoning ability.

*     *     *

“This the latest take from the planet,” said Tronasta. “Still some hours in the past.”

Mrastaran leaned forward in his chair. It was an enemy, and he knew he should only be feeling anger toward them. But their ingenuity was impressive.

“A graviton field projector,” said Mrastaran, voice filled with awe.

“You have heard of this?” asked Trostara, his voice filled with doubt.

“From a research paper captured with their University in the Kingdom of New Moscow. One of their scientist was working on it. The same scientist that gave us the secret of wormhole technology.”

“Then he could probably reproduce it as well?”

“I'm sure he could,” said the great admiral, a smile playing across his face.  If that idiot of an Emperor hasn't had him executed in a fit of rage when he didn't produce a miracle immediately.

“How did they power such a thing. It stood up to the particle storm from a nova. That would take more power than our entire fleet could produce. More than they could possibly generate.”

“Their wormhole producing station,” said Mrastaran, the answer coming to his sharp mind immediately. “They must have beamed the power through from their station.”

“Then the war is lost?” cried out Trostara. “No matter the outcome here, we can't fight power like that.”

Maybe not and win a military victory, thought Mrastaran, staring at the viewer. But maybe we can still convince them to sign a peace. It might be our only hope.

And the first step to getting that peace was to win the battle here, and crush every ship the enemy had in this system.

*     *     *

“We ready for the second act?” asked Sean, feeling decidedly nervous as he was looking over at Director Yu.

The woman wore a pained expression on her face. Sean was sure she was thinking of the further damage this act might cause to her station.

“It won't be as much of a strain,” said Yu, as if she tried to make herself believe it.

Still, it needed to be done if the fleet were going to survive this battle. And possibly even win it.

“We have a full charge on the crystal matrix batteries,” called the chief engineer from the control room. “We can feed through a quarter of the charge we had to deflect the nova storm, and keep the batteries charged by running the dynamos at half strength.”

“Sounds good,” said Sean, smiling at Yu. “Just be prepared to go full out if it doesn't perform as expected.”

This time they were going to try to stop something different. Deadly in its own way, a missile storm of tens of thousands of one hundred ton objects traveling at high relativistic speed, carrying one gigaton yield antimatter warheads. Something that had never before been done, but then this was the day for such things.

“Your Majesty,” came the voice of Admiral Chin over the com. “We're ready on this end. And that idiot Klanarat is boosting away from the planet. He won't be covered. I've tried to tell him that, but he's ignoring my coms.”

“Get me the president,” said Sean, a sinking feeling in his gut. He really didn't care if the idiot Klavarta Alpha got himself blown to plasma, but he would be taking a hell of a lot of valiant spacers and valuable ships with him. And that couldn't be allowed to happen.

*     *     *

“We're receiving pulses from one of our probes, sir,” said the sensor officer, his helmeted head looking back.

Everyone on duty was still in battle armor. They had been given time in shifts to get out of the suits, shower, eat, and get back into the hardware that had been cleaned and serviced by newly installed nanites. They were still in a battle, even if the enemy hadn't been seen. They were out there, and they were sure to hit the fleet with everything they had.

“Show me,” ordered Chin.

The stealth/attack craft in that had remained in the system had seeded it with hundreds of thousand of small probes, all no more than a couple of kilograms. They weren't good for much more than picking up nearby disturbances and pulsing for several seconds before their power gave out. The stealth/attack had all been carrying wormholes, so they had access to almost unlimited supplies of whatever command wanted them to deploy. Including mines. Those had been positioned behind planets, moons and larger asteroids so they would survive the nova storm. The probes hadn't, and over ninety percent of them, those in the shadows of planets, had been taken out. But enough remained to give some coverage.

A point appeared on the plot, showing the location of the probe. A second later another fired up, allowing the tactical officer to plot them as a line, pointing right at them.

“Estimating contact in three and a half minutes, sir,” called out the tactical officer. “We have graviton emissions,” said the officer in a tone filled with tension.

“They're too far out to start engaging their grabbers,” protested Chin. He knew enough about tactics to know that wormhole missiles only engaged grabbers when they were at the end of their runs. Unless.

“A bunch of then are veering away, heading toward the Klavarta fleet.”

“Shit.”

And because of the stupidity of the Klavarta admiral, they were out on a limb, in ships that had at most fifty percent of their defensive capabilities, uncovered by the shield Chin was about to raise.

“Are the warp fighters ready?”

“Three wings are armed and ready to go, but the others haven't transited the wormhole.”

Chin nodded. They only had four working projectors, so the two wormholes not being used for powering the shield were purposed as ship gates now, and the warp fighters assigned to the fleet were coming through.

“Order those wings to engage warp and go after the missiles targeting the Klavarta.”

“They won't get all of them,” said the tactical officer, while the com officer started to send the orders.

No, they wouldn't even get a useful fraction of them. But it they saved some ships and lives it would be worth it.

*     *     *

“I am ordering you to immediately change course and repair back to the planet,” said President Klanarat in a hard tone to his cousin. “Admiral Bednarczyk is still in charge, and you will not take independent action without her express permission.”

“But, Mr. President. She is not in charge. She would not take my coms, so I have no doubt that she is incapacitated, unable to assume command.”

“And their Emperor has assured me that she is still in command.”

“Then he is a liar,” shouted the admiral, feeling his rage rise. He didn't trust the humans from the Empire, and he trusted their leader least of all. As far as he was concerned they were just using his people to soak up Caca fire so it wasn't directed at their own fleet.

“I will pretend I didn't hear you call a valued ally, one who has done his all to aid us in our fight, a liar. Without them we would have already been overrun.”

Klanarat narrowed his eyes and cut back the retort at the edge of his lips. The president could relieve him on the spot, and order his own people to arrest him if he refused. The admiral knew the political ramifications of such an act. He had his own friends in the congress. But if he pushed it too far, he would be relieved, and no amount of political capital would save his career.

“I..” he started.

“Sir,” called out a panicked officer watching the fleet sensor sweep. “We have missiles engaging grabbers and changing vectors.”

“How?” stammered Klanarat. “Where to?”

“They are tracking to come at us, sir. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands.”

“Engage all defensive systems,” yelled the admiral, ignoring the shocked face of his president on the side holo.

“Sir,” called the engineering officer over the com. “We are operating at thirty-three percent electronics capacity. Our tracking and ECM systems are barely working. And we only have one laser ring up.”

And the rest of the fleet is not in much better shape, thought the panicked admiral. He had planned to make repairs while they were on the move and looking for a place of safety. And an enemy to engage. Now they were separated from their only support, in a damaged fleet that really needed to be in dock and not maneuvering for battle.

“Can you defend the fleet, Admiral?” asked the president in a hushed voice.

“I, don't know. But I need to concentrate on the fight now, sir.”

Klanarat dismissed the holo and turned all of his attention to the plot, where a huge wave of missiles were completing their looping turns and heading toward him.

“Range, one point three light minutes,” called out the tactical officer, his voice cold and flat in the way of officers facing death and determined to do everything they could before it struck. “Velocity, point nine light. ETA, one minute and fifty-one seconds.”

The only positive the admiral could see was that his ship was near the edge of the formation, away from the missile swarm. He didn't know if that would save him. In fact, he wasn't sure if it should.

*     *     *

“Those missiles are going to hit the Klavarta in less than a minute, sir,” said the tactical officer, looking back at Chin.

“And how long before they would have reached us if they had continued straight on?” asked the engineer, wondering if that was all of them, or only a portion.

“Two minutes and ten seconds, approximately.”

“Director Yu,” he said into the air, engaging the com back to the Donut. “We're going to need full power in one minute.”

“You'll have it,” said Yu.

Chin could hear in her voice that she didn't want to put her station through more in this day. Still, they wouldn't be pushing the power levels up as high as they had against the force of nature they had faced several hours before. Hopefully.

“Klavarta fleet is maneuvering, trying to stay together in formation.” called out the sensor officer. “Maximum accel in four hundred seven gravities.”

Crap. Klavarta could normally accelerate at five fifty gravities or above, which meant that many of those ships had damaged drives, power runs, or both.

“You keep following them,” he ordered the sensor officer. “While you,” he said to the tactical officer, “keep your entire focus on what might be coming our way in, about a minute.”

“Yes, sir,” said both officers in unison.

He still didn't know all the people on the flag bridge. There really hadn't been time for introductions. But everyone seemed to be accepting his commands, and he couldn't fault them on their attention to duty.

“Go ahead and fire up the shield,” ordered Chin as the timer he had set on his implant got down to one minute and counting. “I want full power in thirty seconds.”

“We have Klavarta ships and Caca missiles disappearing from the plot, sir,” said the sensor officer. “From the ratio, it isn't looking good for the Klavarta.”

“Missiles coming in at us, sir. Engaging grabbers. ETA, fifteen seconds. Field at fifty percent strength.”

“Dammit.” Chin was thinking that he should have ordered the shield up even sooner. He had given all the commands he could. Anything else he could say at this time would just distract the people with their hands on the controls.

“Lasers ready and tracking,” called out the tactical officer.

The light amp weapons couldn't penetrate the firming shield, but they were primed and ready to take on anything that might make it through.

“Contact,” yelled the tactical officer as missiles slammed into the other side of the graviton shield. They all carried terratons of kinetic energy, along with the gigaton warhead. Some energy came through with each strike, unfocused. A few ships were hit with heat and light, and nothing else.

“It's working,” yelled Chin in triumph. “We have our magic shield, your Majesty.”

The magic shield that had been the dream of every weapons planner for generations. Able to stop matter and energy both. Stopping missiles that would shatter a battleship. Now all they needed was a power source. They could, of course, use the Donut, in limited situations. But it wasn't an elegant solution.

“We're starting to get burn through, sir,” called out the tactical officer.

“We need more power, Director Yu.”

“We're sending it,” yelled the director over the loud humming that had appeared in the background of the transmission. “We're sending it.”

“Power had increased by sixty-five percent,” said the tactical officer. “Still getting a couple of burn throughs, but nothing significant.”

Chin looked at the readout on holos he pulled up to surround his station. A hundred missiles a second were impacting the shield, bringing all their energies into the collisions. The shield itself was a circle fifteen thousand kilometers in diameter, enough to cover the entire face of the planet as well as the ships. It was placed twenty thousand kilometers out from the surface, far enough that even the burn throughs, energy that penetrated and continued on in paths curving from the course of the weapon that produced it, were little risk to the planet. Little, but not no risk, and a few wide beams did hit the planet, slicing through the atmosphere and striking the surface of the world. Several kilometers in diameter, they left circles of ashed vegetation or steaming water. Or the swirling ash remains of people who had been out and about.

A couple of ships were hit, but their own electromag fields did much to mitigate the effect. There was some damage, some casualties, but nothing like what they would have sustained had they been facing the missiles without the shield.

“I think that was it,” shouted the tactical officer as a trio of missiles impacted.

“Keep the shield up for a couple of minutes. And once the shield is done I want mines scattered out to a light minute in front of us.” Chin was not willing to let them get close unannounced, and the mines would track on any material object that got within a hundred thousand kilometers, as picked up by their active sensors.

“How are you holding out, Director?” he asked of the woman of most importance to this mission back on the Donut.

*     *      *

“We're picking up graviton emissions from a light minute to spinward of the planet, my Lord. Klavarta ships and our missiles. It appears that they were making a run for it and attracted the attention of our weapons.”

“But not all of them?” asked Mrastaran, studying the plot what was now alive with graviton traces.

“No, my Lord. Only a third of the missiles were programmed to seek other targets. The rest are set to bore straight in and take out whatever is in proximity to the planet.”

The tactical officer looked back at the viewers and holos surrounding his station. Mrastaran sometimes wondered how anyone could sort through all that information, but tactical and sensor officers were good at it. The reason they were in their jobs.

“Graviton spike near the planet, my Lord,” yelled out the excited officer. “Whatever they were using before, they've started it up again.”

Could they stop a missile storm with that device? thought the great admiral. Since they had survived the nova storm, as evidenced by those ships maneuvering and being attacked by his missiles, he had no reason to doubt their ability to stop his missiles.

At least its tied to the planet, he thought. If they had that shield around their ships and could come out after him, his force was doomed. He didn't think they could do that. And why in the hell did those Klavarta ships leave the protection of that shield?

They had to have planned something. But from the results he was reading from the surging and cessation of graviton emissions, things weren't going as planned.

“Our missiles heading into the planet are ceasing graviton emissions a short ways out,” said the tactical officer. “Not at random like we would expect, but all at the same distance, like they're running into a wall.”

That graviton source, thought the great admiral, feeling a chill running up and down his spines. They have a shield that can stop matter and energy. That was still speculation on his part, but the data was there, screaming at him. If they were restricted from using it in hyper, or with small groups of ships that didn't have access to the power source, there would be a way around it.

I wish I could see what is going on, was his next thought. In a normal fight within a system he still might not be seeing what is going on, but he could pick up the movements of the enemy by graviton emissions, and the destruction of their ships by the cessation of those emissions. In this stage of the fight the enemy was sheltering behind their shield, not moving. They would probably still pick up some faint emissions from the large number of ships using their grabbers for station keeping, but not through the massive surge of that field.

“We have tracking on the Klavarta force, my Lord,” called out the second tactical officer. “Two thirds of the graviton emissions have disappeared. A few ships are still boosting with power, heading back to the planet. The rest are barely putting out emissions.”

“Analysis?”

“I would say that most of that force was either destroyed, or hammered so hard that it has been reduced to drifting hulks. And the rest, while still capable of boosting, is heavily damaged.”

Mrastaran gave a head motion of appreciation. This was an intelligent male, among too may who weren't, and would bear watching in the future.

The great admiral grunted as he looked at the plot. There were icons denoting the faint emissions of damaged warships limping back toward the planet. There was separation between groups of ships and that distance was growing. The planet showed as it own graviton mass, barely seen through the heavy blocking of the shield.

Mrastaran was already thinking of ways to get around that shield. Surely a moving fleet couldn't utilize it, though he could think of some ways it might. Could they surround a fleet with it? There were too many unanswered questions here, but the admiral decided to look at all the data and see what he could come up with.

And maybe next time I won't be fighting this infuriating female, he thought, reminding himself once again that both sexes of human were intelligent, just like most sentient species. He had wondered in the past why Ca'cadasan evolution had separated the genders to such an extent.

But this particular female, Beata Bednarczyk, had proven exceptionally difficult. So far he had faced her twice. The first time he hadn't known what was going on for ninety percent of the battle, and when he did figure it out she as on the way out of the system and he was unable to stop her. This time, so far, she was invisible to him behind a shield of mostly unknown capabilities. And he had no idea what she was up to. Surely not just covering and hiding. That wasn't like her from what he had read in the intelligence briefings.

If I can capture her alive, I will, thought the admiral. She wouldn't go into the ovens like so many other captives. He would treat her well, so that he might have long conversations with her.

That's a tradition that needs to end as well, thought the admiral. They could grow enough food in protein vats, and though the meat might not be as tasty, it was barbaric to kill sentient beings to butcher for meat.

“When are the next spreads of missiles coming through?”

“In nine minutes, my Lord,” said the primary tactical officer.

“Prepare to jump back into hyper after they come through and move to this point.” He looked over at the com officer. “Send my orders to the other groups.”

He still didn't know where the humans were, except for those at the planet. He would do his best to return the favor. He could dance as long as they could.

“The Emperor is on the com?”

Or I could, it not for the interference of idiots.

*     *     *

“Admiral on the bridge,” called out the loud voice of a junior officer.

Chin opened his eyes, wondering who it was, and not bothering to get to his feet since he was currently the senior officer on the ship.

“At ease,” called out a familiar voice.

Chin turned his head quickly as his eyes shot open.

“I thought you wouldn't be ready for duty before tomorrow,” stammered Chin, pushing himself out of the command chair.

“Liking command, Admiral?” asked Beata with a smile. She still looked tired, her skin pale, but her voice sounded strong.

“You can have it back, Admiral,” said Chin giving her a good once over with his eyes. “I thought the doc said you wouldn't be ready for duty until tomorrow?”

“She didn't want to let me go, but I've a battle to fight. And I can die just as well on the bridge as in med bay if we get blown to plasma.”

“And how did you convince her to let you go?” asked Chin, tilting his head as he watched her fall into the chair. She didn't appear to be fully recovered, but then there were a lot of people working frantically on ship's systems who were still puking their guts out.

“I convinced her that I would put her out an airlock if she stood in my way,” said Beata, a cold grin on her face. “I wouldn't have, of course, but my reputation as a stone cold bitch preceded me, and lent veracity to my threat.”

Chin laughed. He had heard some of the stories of Admiral Bednarczyk. Stories that had caused him some anxiety before reporting here. Which was kind of silly since he was going into a situation he might not come back from. That was something to worry about.

“What do we have?”

“You didn't access the reports on the way up?” asked Chin, sure that she had.

“Of course. But I like to hear it from the person who sat in that seat while I was absent.”

“Well, Admiral Klanarat made a boneheaded move and got two thirds of his command shot to hell. Meanwhile, the Caca admiral keeps sending missile swarms at us, and the shield has so far stopped them.”

“Okay. And I think you did fine, Admiral Chin. Especially the way you stood up to Klanarat. Now, I think the ships and the shield needs your attention.”

Chin shook his head and smiled. There would be no rest for him. Looking at the small woman who had left a sick bed to assume her duty position, he couldn't really feel sorry for himself.

“And now,” said Beata, turning her attention to the plot. “It's about time we made the Caca bastards react to us.”

*     *     *

“Okay,” said Captain Michael Lauren, looking at the plot that showed him everything they knew about the situation in the system. “Everyone has the possible target.”

Such as it is, he thought. They had a score of possible exit points for the enemy, based on the best targeting solutions for the planet. The Cacas might come out in any of them, or none, though the tracking through hyper was firming up some of the possibilities.

“Everyone get there at your best speed and be prepared to hit them hard. Or to go back into warp and run to the next location.”

The warp fighters, the new improved version, capable of twenty-three lights and carrying missiles that could reach twenty-six, were the only thing they could currently hit the Cacas with. Any normal space missiles sent their way, either ship or wormhole launched, would only pass through empty space when they reached the current positions of the Cacas. The warp fighters had the speed to rush to them and hopefully get in some hits. Maybe.

Of course they were putting out gravitons themselves, and could be tracked, even in hyper. Still, the enemy was constrained by the hyper barrier, like a wall that kept them out of part of the battlefield. If they came out of hyper and went past the barrier, they became targets for everything the allied fleet could send their way.

“That one,” called out Lauren, pointing to a graviton blob on the plot. It was at least ten thousand enemy ships, and they couldn't turn in time before they had to drop to normal space. Against normal weapons that wouldn't have been problem. An hour to change vectors, go back across the barrier, and they were home free. But not against the warp birds.

“They have to come out within the next two minutes, or run into the barrier,” said the pilot. “So they're coming out.”

“All ships in my wing. Go to that heading at maximum velocity and prepare to launch,” called out Lauren, looking over at his Klassekian com tech. He had another surprise in store for the Cacas, and he was hoping they didn't like it.

*     *     *

“What happened, Admiral?” growled the immature voice of the Emperor, his young face glaring from the holo.

They pulled something out of their bag of tricks, you young fool, thought the admiral, pasting a confused expression on his face. “What do you mean, Supreme Lord?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Admiral. You detonated the star, but they are still there. What? Did you wait too long?”

“I had no way of knowing that they were going to use that device, Supreme Lord. Intelligence had no inkling of it.”

“And how did they deploy such a powerful source of energy into that system?”

The young Emperor had a pouting look on his face, and Mrastaran felt a chill of terror running up his spines. That was the look of a young fool about to order death.

“We think they projected it from their great station through wormholes, Supreme Lord.”

“Is that even possible?”

They're humans, idiot. Anything is possible with them. “If they did it, it's possible, my Emperor.”

“I want you to destroy their fleet. And I want you to send enough weapons through those wormholes to destroy that station once and for all. And I want you to finish that battle within forty-eight hours. Am I understood?”

I understand that you are a fool and a madman, thought Mrastaran. He knew there was no way he would be able to get launches through the enemy wormholes. The humans wouldn't allow that to happen. They would shut them down before he got into position to make those kind of launches. But tell this idiot, who thought he was a gift of the Gods to the Galaxy, that? That was asking for death.

“Understood, Dread Lord. But if I might make a suggestion. Trying to defeat them on a timetable will lead to needless casualties. Ships and crews you will need on the other front.”

“I don't care. Ships out there are doing me no good here. Lose some ships, then send the rest to me. I'm counting on you, Great Admiral. Don't disappoint me.”

The holo disappeared, the Emperor disconnecting from the holo. That there was still a transmission going out from his ship informing the Emperor of everything going on in the system was undeniable. That some male was reporting on the actions and words of the great admiral was also without a doubt.

“What are you going to do?” asked Admiral Trostara. “Advance the timetable.”

Mrastaran looked at the other male, wondering it he were the one making reports to the Emperor. Well, there was nothing for it. The Great Admiral was determined to win this fight, and rushing it was not going to do it.

“We continue with my plan, Admiral. I will win this fight, and I will gift the Emperor with a large enough force to make a difference against the human empire.” Disobeying the Emperor might bring doom upon Mrastaran and his family. Obeying him would lead to disaster, and the same result for him and his people. So he would follow through with his original plan and do his duty to the Empire.

“Admiral Lissart's force is coming out of hyper near the barrier, my Lord,” called out the tactical officer. “A large group of human warp fighters are vectoring on them.”

They were going to sting him. That wasn't a large enough force to destroy Admiral Lissart's group. Still, he would have to talk to the lesser admiral about his lack in the art of navigation.

Chapter Eleven

Wise kings generally have wise counselors; and he must be a wise man himself who is capable of distinguishing one. Diogenes

“We believe we have figured out what the Caca Admiral is up to, ma'am,” said Captain Sigurd Janssen over the com.

Beata looked over at the face of the man tasked with analyzing the patterns of the enemy fleet. The captain was in the Combat Analysis Center, a compartment on the flagship that allowed Beata's staff to look over the maneuvers of her fleet versus the enemy while trying to infer their plan.

“I don't think you're going to give me good news, now are you Sigurd?”

“No, ma'am. We are looking at the points their ten groups are coming out of hyper at. And assuming each of them have a wormhole, we can expect a mass of missiles from each point within the next three hours. They are trying to bring them in on vectors that will get around the shield. And there is a very real possibility of impacts on the planet.”

“Shit.” Beata should have expected as much. After all, they had already tried to kill the planet, so why would they suddenly care about collateral damage.

“I believe they will jump into hyper again and move to another set of points, firing more masses.”

“Are we sure that they have ten wormholes?” asked Beata, closing her eyes, wondering what else she was going to face. Intelligence had estimated no more than eight wormholes for the Cacas facing her. As few as six. Of course, intelligence had been wrong before, and missing the mark by a pair of wormholes was not unheard of.

“No, ma'am. But it's better to overestimate in these circumstances than sell them short.”

Of course Janssen was correct, though overestimating enemy resources could lead a commander to be too cautious, at a time when decisive action was needed.

“What is your estimate on the ETA of the stream launched before they jumped back into hyper?”

“Four hours and seventeen minutes, ma'am.”

Beata did the math in her head, coming up with a quick estimate. The missiles coming in from the outer reaches would get to her maybe a hour or less after the launches from the cardinal points. And the enemy would be making more launches from other points that arrived even closer to that large mass. Add to that the missiles that had been launched well before the Caca's jumped into hyper, and she wouldn't really know what was about to hit her until a minute before they reach her.

Or they would have, if she hadn't have sent all of her destroyers out to scatter sensor probes in a globe around the planet, six light minutes out. It would hopefully give her an extra five minutes.

“Admiral Chin,” she said, connecting the com to the conference room where the engineer had set up his command group. “Status.”

“The fleet is at sixty-four percent capacity across the board, ma'am.”

“We think we are going to be hit from multiple points within the next three hours. What will we have by then?”

The face of the engineer went pale. “Not enough. Maybe seventy percent.”

“Try to do better,” growled Beata. Her experience with engineers was that they always overestimated the time frame on repairs. This time, this man, she didn't think that of.

“I'll do the best I can, Admiral,” said Chin, letting out a breath. “It's my ass on the line as well.”

Beata dismissed the com before she said something to the engineer that she might regret. So far the man had performed above expectations, and she didn't want his performance suffering from anger or resentment.

“We have a missile swarm coming in, ma'am,” called out the flag tactical officer. “ETA, four and a half minutes.”

“We need power within three minutes, Director Yu.”

“The director has retired, ma'am,” said an unfamiliar voice. “She was exhausted. But I will be glad to process your request.”

“And you are?” asked Beata, cutting off a remark about soft civilians. Yu was a civilian, and she had been through a day more stressful than most. She would be needed in the near future, and at her best.

“I am Chief Engineer Sheffield, ma'am. I am the first shift duty officer for wormhole production. And I will be with you through the night.”

“As will I, Admiral Bednarczyk,” said the familiar voice of the Emperor.

“Thank you for sticking with me, your Majesty. But don't you have other duties?”

“Which I can perform here,” said the young man, his face appearing on a holo.

Sean looked tired, but no more than any other officer who had been through a full and stressful day. Beata reminded herself that he was a trained Fleet officer, though one with a less than stellar reputation. She really didn't care about that. He had performed well as Emperor, the man the Empire had turned to in its time of greatest need.

“I'm going to make sure you get whatever we can give you, Admiral,” said Sean, a tight smile on his face. “You just frustrate the hell out of the Caca commander. Win that fight. Sergiov thinks that all you need to do is delay him for seventy-two hours to spark a recall from their Emperor.”

“So, I just have to survive,” said Beata in a sarcastic tone. “That's such a relief.”

Sean laughed. “Put that way, I guess it's still a tall order. But one I think you can pull off.”

I hope, thought Beata, nodding. She hadn't really thought much of Sean when he had first ascended the throne. Listening to him now she felt only the utmost respect for him. As well as hope for the Empire going forward.

*     *     *

Mara Montgomery didn't like the way this battle was going. She was sitting out in the deeps of the system with over a hundred wormholes, and so far she hadn't fired a shot.

“Dammit,” she growled, getting up from her command chair and storming over to stare at the central flag bridge plot. She turned and looked at her chief of staff, Captain Michael Goruptal. “Get me some damned targets, Captain.”

“They're right there, ma'am,” said the captain, cringing. “Only problem is, they'll be gone before anything we fire gets to them. At least our warp fighters have a chance of hitting them.”

Mara scoffed. Not that she didn't respect the efforts of the fighters and their crews, but she was a battle cruiser officer. She wanted her ships, even if the largest Imperial vessel she had was a heavy cruiser, to get stuck in and make a difference.

“We think we have some possible targets for you, Mara,” said Bednarczyk, her own face appearing on a holo.

“About time,” said Mara, not caring if her frustration was clear to her superior. “And  how are you holding up?”

“Ask me that in three hours and I'll have an answer,” said the scowling admiral. “If I'm still here.”

“You will be, ma'am. You're too cantankerous to let the stupid bastards kill you.”

Beata smiled, an expression that warmed the heart of the lower ranking flag officer.

“Just put some missiles on those targets. You'll probably waste a lot of shots, but any hits, any cuts, will prove useful. I want you to goad this admiral into making a mistake we can exploit.”

“You think it's the same one you faced in this system before?”

“I have no doubt. This one is smart. And as much as I respect that intelligence, I don't like the way he was willing to sacrifice a planet to kill my fleet. I want him dead, before he causes any more problems for our allies.”

“We'll do our best, ma'am.”

“I know you will. And if anything happens to me, you're in command.”

Mara didn't like the sound of that. Not that she was unwilling to assume fleet command. It was just that the politics of this multispecies, multigovernment coalition might be more than she could handle. Hahn should probably be in command, once he was out of med bay. If his ship survived. She knew that admiral well enough to know that he would not dispute Bednarczyk's order as far as command was concerned.

“And don't worry about Klanarat. His president will take care of him.”

The holo disappeared, leaving Mara with her own thoughts for a moment. But only a moment. She pulled up the data on the targets that Beata had sent her, looking at the projected positions of the enemy fleet over the next five hours. It was all conjecture, but the best they had. Over three hundred possible locations that the enemy might come out of hyper at and launch.

“Each wormhole is to fire on one of these points for fifteen volleys. Afterwards, when they have reloads in the accelerators, they will fire on these points.”

It would be like sending blasts of a hunting scatter-gun blindly into the air. After many rounds you might hit something. And hopefully she might get in some hits as well.

*     *      *

“Fire,” called out Captain Lauren as his wing made its final approach of the enemy force.

That force was trying to frantically beat it back across the barrier. Unfortunately for them, they weren't going to make it. The plot showed their thousands of ships, all trapped in normal space. And the converging vectors arrows of the other nineteen fighter wings moving toward the enemy force.

The warp fighter dropped two of its four missiles from the undercarriage rack. Due to the architecture of the ship and its warp field, only two of the weapons could deploy at a time. They engaged their own warp fields with the bubbles of their fighters, slid through that field, then took off at twenty-five lights. It was a normal launch, just like so many others. Only these missiles were thirty percent more massive than any deployed before, with fifty percent longer range.

Two hundred and sixteen weapons took off at a range of fifteen light minutes, running straight and true toward the enemy force. Running time, thirty-six seconds.

“All ships. Turn on this vector and come around for a second firing run.”

The one hundred and eight fighters all turned in space, slowing down to five lights, moving out a bit, then vectoring back onto the target.

“Second launch, on my command. Launch.”

In seconds another two hundred and sixteen weapons were on the way, arriving forty-eight seconds after the fist volley. Within minutes more fighters were approaching to within firing range, while Lauren's ships were on their way back to their rally points and reloads. Those reload points consisted of individual freighters with skeleton crews. Nothing much would be revealed to the enemy, and the fighters would soon be looking for other prey. After three reloads of their assigned wings they would be empty and useless, the crews standing by their escape pods just in case the Cacas fired on them.

The other wings appeared in minutes, cycling their own missiles into the enemy. Warp missiles were less accurate than normal space weapons, but conversely they were harder to hit themselves. They carried no momentum, losing the kinetic power of regular missiles, though their warp fields did eat into the armor and hulls of the targets. Against capital ships they rarely achieved kills, but could still cause considerable damage.

The missiles drove into the thousands of Caca ships. When the two volleys had spent themselves seven Caca ships were dead in space, while another three were slowed. And soon they were dealing with more missiles in hundred lot loads. Within a half an hour Lauren and his fighters were back. The new missiles kept them far out of the range of the Ca'cadasan defensive fire. No enemy warp fighters appeared,  at least from that group, though several thousand were launched from other groups. It was a side show in the main fight, but it was the only blow the humans landed for many hours. A pinprick of sorts, but still satisfying to the human who wielded the pin.

*     *     *

“We can give you half power in ten minutes, Admiral,” said the chief engineer over the com.

“That will have to do,” said Admiral Jrasstra Klanarat, looking at the engineer on the holo.

Engineers were another subspecies of Klavarta, genetically modified to be smaller than Alphas, able to fit their bodies into the smaller spaces of the ship. They had many of the same attributes, including the ability to breath the oxygenated liquid that allowed the subspecies to handle the extra gravities that floating in liquid conferred.

The admiral found his eyes straying back to the plot. The damnable plot that showed what was left of his force, what had been the majority of the fleet. He had led them out of the protection of the shield, the device erected by the ingenuity and power of the Empire that was their ally. Not trusting in their shilef to protect his ships. But it could have been much worse, if the other powers had listen to his demands for command. He had led almost fifty percent of the ships that had been tasked to defend the planet. The other fifty percent had been the Imperials and the other powers, who were still more or less intact.

Ostensibly the admiral still commanded the majority of the smaller vessels, cruisers and destroyers, that sat in the outer reaches of the system. A lot of good they had done him, sitting from six to nine light hours from his capital ships. His scouts and his screens.

What in the hell was I thinking? thought the admiral, shaking his head. He knew what he had been thinking, though in retrospect it now seemed the actions of a madman. Or an idiot. He had wanted to get off the bullseye, then eventually strike at the Cacas, not just to hurt them, but to salvage his own reputation. So he had hailed off from behind the best protection they had to expose his force, without the ships that would normally be their missile screen, against an enemy whose position he didn't even know.

Well, we know where they are now, he thought, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Not that it did them any good. The Cacas were in a position to fire without fear of retaliation. They had hyper to jump into. And any battle that the outer allied force tried to bring to them was playing into the hands of the enemy while sacrificing most of their own advantages.

Why couldn't I just die, thought the admiral, opening his eyes and staring straight ahead. He looked around the bridge, at the faces of so many other young Alpha men and women. If he had died, so would have they. The admiral wasn't that selfish. Or was he? His actions had caused the deaths of millions of his people in the pair of battles he had fought as fleet commander in this war.

“How soon before we get back to the safety of the shield?” he asked, wincing as the last words left his mouth. His force would still be sitting behind that shield if he hadn't had charged out on a fools mission. Well, maybe not intact, since every ship in that group had been damaged to some extent.

“One hour and twenty minutes, sir,” said the young woman who was his navigator.

“We've received a com, sir,” called out the Klassekian com tech.

“Put them on,” said Klanarat, thankful at the moment that he didn't have a direct connection back to the president. No telling what that august personage would be screaming at him.

“Engaging holo,” said the Klassekian, closing his eyes. The being was using the information coming in through the link, visual and audio, that the Klassekian with the transmitter was seeing and hearing. The image formed, distorted from going through so many minds, but recognizable nonetheless.

“Admiral Klanarat,” said Bednarczyk.

“Admiral Bednarczyk. I see that you have recovered from your injuries.”

The woman said nothing for a moment, staring at him out of the holo, and Klanarat felt a chill of discomfort from that look.

“I take it that your little foray didn't go well,” she finally said, not even acknowledging his comment on her being injured. Not that it mattered.

“No,” he said in a whisper. “No,” he said in a louder voice. “Not well at all.”

“I have some warp fighters moving toward you. They just came through the wormhole that we aren't using for power transmission. They will escort you back to the fold. If they can.”

“If they can? What do you mean by that, Admiral?”

Beata's eyes narrowed. “We have one thousand fighters, or thereabouts. If another wave comes in like the one that recently struck you, they will not be able to stop it. I don't think your force will survive another strike. But the wing commanders are under orders to do the best they possibly can to reduce those waves to the point where you can survive.”

“I understand.”

“Then I will talk to you when you get back to me. Bednarczyk out.”

Meaning she didn't have any more time for him, unless and until the Klavarta force joined her defensive screen. It angered him, but he could see the point. With exception of the fighters, there was really very little she could do for him. She wasn't about to come out and escort him back with her capital ships. The shield was their best bet of surviving this mess, and leaving it behind was the act of an idiot.

Like me.

*     *     *

“The commander is dead,” said the com officer, reading the grav pulse transmission from the force that was still beating its way back from its plunge past the hyper barrier.

Probably a good thing, thought Mrastaran, closing his eyes. The high admiral had made a major error. Even though he had lost less than thirty ships out of his complement of almost ten thousand. That force was still losing ships to the warp fighters. And as far as Mrastaran knew, they had not accounted for a single enemy warp fighter. The humans were launching from far beyond the range of the warp lances on the ships. They pulled away a light minute or more before coming into range. The missiles had to enter range, and the force was accounting for more than half of them before they acquired. Close in weapons dropped more, but those classes of weapons were not very effective against them. A mass of missiles versus a mass of defensive weapons led to some hits.

“Low Admiral Janarst has taken charge as the senior officer,” continued the com officer. “He is making his way out of the system and intends to jump into hyper as soon as he can.”

Which will be what? Three hours. The force had almost shed all their velocity into the system. Now they would have to accelerate out, which would take the same amount of time it had taken to move in. Fortunately, they would be close to translation velocity when they crossed the barrier, and they would be safe from the warp fighters. Meanwhile, the enemy fighters would continue to chip away.

The force was not that important. It was more of a decoy to attract enemy attention. But to Mrastaran any Ca'cadasan lives and vessels lost for no real return was criminal.

“Preparing to translate,” called out the navigation officer.

Mrastaran felt his stomach clench, protesting the coming nausea. He knew he would have at least nine more translations out and the same number back in before this fight was over. Not something to look forward to. And definitely not something he wanted to end, because then he would have to face the Emperor.

Chapter Twelve

I still think it would be a great mistake to go into a war without support of our friends and allies. John Dingell

Duke Taelis Mgonda sat in the comfortable command chair of his flag bridge of the superheavy battleship Emperor Augustine, named for Sean's father. The dark face of the duke presented a calm and composed image to the Universe. While at the same time his heart raged against that very Universe as he stared at the regional plot.

Mostly that plot displayed a satisfying image. Many stars that had recently been highlighted in red as belonging to the enemy were now green. Liberated by his fleet, a hundred billion or more sentient beings freed from tyranny. That was the good. The five stars that blinked red were what angered him. Those had been living systems, with multiple planets swarming with life. Some were life forms that were of little interest to anyone but biologists. Still, they were living creatures doing what life did. Getting by. Instead, everything in those systems had been killed by the Cacas.

Bastards, thought Taelis, the calm still on his face the lie. They had set traps for his fleet. Three had gone off without hurting his fleet in the least, the ships stopping well outside of the effective range of the photon and particle waves. Two had destroyed just over a hundred ships between them. There had also been two that he had been able to prevent. He had been anxious about sending ships into those systems, but the Emperor had ordered it, and the fleet was Mgonda's on at the discretion of the monarch.

Nine billion sentient beings had died in those systems, with a like number perishing in Lenkowski's territory. More than had died in the Empire, even with the planets Cimmeria and Aquilonia figured in. Just on the chance that they might catch enough Imperial ships to make it worth while.

Their was a movement afoot in Parliament, especially the Lords, to call for the extermination of the Cacas, should the war keep going in the favor of the Empire. The Emperor would not allow such, and in general the voters were not in favor of genocide. Mgonda would have seen such a motion as an abomination earlier in the war. In fact, earlier in his career, when he had been a ship, then a squadron, then battle group commander, he had faced the Lasharans, and thought if any species deserved extermination, that was the one. But even they deserved a chance to change.

The Cacas, though, were responsible for ten times the amount of misery the Lasharans had caused. Did they deserve another chance? He knew what his vote would be, but looking at that plot was causing second thoughts.

Mgonda's was an old family, nobles since the beginning of the human kingdom when it had only encompassed a system or two around the black hole. Dukes for seven hundred years, six generations, they had become comfortable in their positions. Taelis was the first born, rising to duke on the death of his father. Tristan hadn't died in bed like most nobles. He had been a serving fleet officer, a tradition in the Mgonda family, and had died with his ship fighting the Fenri.

Taelis had continued the tradition to remain with the fleet. He had given his proxy to his sister, Tranada, twenty-one years his junior, passing by the three siblings between her and he in age. There had been a lot of family resentments over that decision, but frankly Taelis hadn't trusted the others. Tranada hadn't really wanted to sit in Parliament, but she had proven extremely proficient at politics.

Mgonda was well read in Earth history. The Emperor considered himself an expert on that history, and one day he might even get to Taelis' level of knowledge. He was well aware of how the aristocracy in so many eras had acted. Despots, most of them. The Empire had laws and traditions that prevented such from ever happening. Freedom of speech, of association, freedom to live one's life as they wanted.

A duke controlled a continent and the surrounding continental shelf. Controlling might be too broad a term. A duke was the steward of that continent. Responsible for the fifty percent of the territory that was mandated as public lands, as well as the five percent that was the personal property of the nobles. That land was divided into equal shares for the duke and his counts, nobles who were responsible for country sized areas. Only the archduke, the governor of the planet, had more power, and even he was limited.

A private citizen could make any statement they wanted, as long as it didn't give aid and comfort to an enemy. Newsies were constantly running hit pieces on nobles, and there was nothing the aristocracy could do about it. In fact, most of the dozen richest citizens in the Empire were commoners, and even Taelis had an industrialist in his duchy who had garnered more wealth than the duke and counts combined. It was a strange arrangement, but it worked. There was a stewardship of the public lands that stayed with the same family for perpetuity. While the average citizen had the freedom to advance themselves to the best of their abilities.

“Admiral Lee is reporting that his force has jumped down into normal space, your Grace,” reported his chief of staff, Captain the Countess Samantha Shaw. “Out beyond the hyper three barrier.”

Mgonda nodded. That was now SOP on this front. Ships would come into normal space far beyond the effective range of the nova. That allowed them to scout the system before ships entered. Unfortunately, it also slowed down their timetable, forcing the fleet to change their operating procedures. And buying the Ca'cadasan Empire much needed time. But time for what?

“Lee reports that they had spotted Caca projector ships near the star.”

Which, as they had already learned, could mean much or nothing. The Cacas had placed battleships in positions to mimic the projector ships. Imperial vessels had avoided those systems, only to find out later that they had been spoofed.

At least Sean has seen reason, thought Mgonda, thinking about the command that had just come down with the Emperor's signature on it. There would be no further rescue attempts of systems where the Cacas had set an ambush. There would be public outcry over that decision as well, but the duke heartily approved. The people of the Empire were the primary responsibility of the Emperor, not aliens who didn't belong. That was a difficult decision, dooming whole genetic lines, and some would say the Emperor's hands would be dripping with blood for making that call. That, of course, was pure bullshit. All of the blood was on the hands of the Cacas, and the Emperor had merely removed the Imperial contribution of lives that would be added to the equation.

Now if they had the new graviton shield tech, a rescue attempt would be a possibility. Unfortunately, there were only six of the projectors, and all would be needed to erect a shield. Add to that the necessity to use almost all the power generation capacity of the Donut, and shields were a rare and precious resource not to be used lightly.

“Tell Lee he is to sit out there for twenty-four hours. Observe and report back before he moves.”

As General Grant said in the nineteenth century war that preserved the United States, you have to spend lives to save lives. That was true, in most respects. But why spend lives when it was impossible to save the lives you were trying to rescue.

Sometimes the duke regretted his decision to remain in the Fleet when his father died. He was tired of ordering men and women to their deaths. But this had been the war, the command, he had been waiting for. And truth be told he was one of the two best field commanders the Empire had. Maybe the best. He couldn't turn his back on the people. And this war looked like it could still go on for a number of years. After it was over, though, he just might consider retirement. Not to sit in Parliament. His sister could continue to act as his proxy. But to sit in comfort at his duchy seat, perhaps sail the warm seas.

“Admiral Lenkowski is reporting a large Caca force moving through his area of operations,” said Shaw, hurrying back over to her admiral. “Here.”

The plot changed to show Len's area, the positions of his ships highlighted. And the red icon of a Caca force near the center of the plot.

“They're estimating ten thousand ships. Admiral Lenkowski is reporting that he is moving to catch them in the target system.”

“Crap,” growled Mgonda. Why couldn't he get a fat target like that? It was doubtful that it was an ambush, since even the Cacas wouldn't sacrifice so many ships as bait. Or would they?

Should I warn Len? he thought. No, Len was smart enough to be careful, and would resent Taelis reminding him of the obvious. Len would proceed cautiously, and unleash hell on the Cacas when they entered his sights.

It wasn't fair, but it was just. Len had some new tech aboard a small percent of his fleet. Another miracle from the scientists of the Empire. And this time Chan's team had not been a major mover in developing it.

*     *     *

“My Lord,” called out the force tactical officer, looking back at his admiral. “The enemy fleet has just jumped down into hyper I. Estimated time to the barrier, thirty-one minutes.”

Superior Low Admiral Lrastar looked at the plot that was showing an enemy fleet he couldn't handle moving into the system he was charged with defending. The superior low admiral was newly named to his rank, itself something new. Until recently there had only been four ranks of flag officer, five if the rank of Supreme Admiral, the overall leader of the fleet, was taken into account. The current supreme admiral had decided that they needed new ranks to account for the larger fleet organization the Ca'cadasans found themselves with.

At the start of this war the Ca'cadasan fleet had been divided into conquest fleets, subfleets and battle squadrons. The current battle fleets, recycling the term, were many times larger than the original conquest fleets, though not large enough it would seem. Now they had the Front Fleet, Battle Fleets, Battle Forces, Scout Forces and System Defense Forces. Within them were squadrons and super-squadrons. The rank of Senior Captain had also been added to differentiate between those that led capital ships, and those who commanded the lesser vessels.

The icon of the enemy fleet was slowly moving inward. They were actually coming in at many times light speed, but the scale of the plot made them seem slow.

“Something's wrong, my Lord. Some of those ships are boosting faster than they should.”

“Using acceleration tanks, perhaps?” Both sides used the tanks, liquid filled chambers that would fit one crewman, and absorb over thirty gravities beyond what the inertial compensators could handle.

“Possibly,” said the tactical officer in a tone of uncertainty. “But why only these few. One hundred and nineteen. Why only use the tanks with those few, when the others could benefit as well.”

Lrastar didn't like it, no matter the explanation. When dealing with humans the unexpected or unexplained normally meant some kind of new development. New tech. Unfortunately, Lrastar, leading such a small system defense unit, just over three thousand vessels, didn't have any kind of instantaneous transmission capabilities. Short of sending a vessel through hyper, there was no way he could send a message to command informing them of this development. And based on the disparity of forces, he doubted anything he sent would actually get through.

If only we didn't have to deal with that petulant child of an emperor, thought the admiral. He hadn't had anything to do with the assassination of the last emperor, the father of the current. In fact, everyone who could be proven to have had a connection had died soon after. That was too damned convenient. If he hadn't had anything to do with it, he had still approved. Sort of. It went against their traditions to usurp the rightful ruler. Then again, this ruler had been trying to make too many changes. Even if the rank and file of the fleet had agreed with the changes, they were too much, too soon.

This child emperor was making changes of his own. He had gone back to the traditions of the fleet, fighting to the last ship and being in decisive battles. Unfortunately, the Ca'cadasans were outclassed in most of those fights, and the fleet would have been better served to have allowed retreat. An example would be his situation here. There was no way he could win the coming fight, and he had no projector ships to set off the star. If he had taken the obvious course of action and sent his fleet out to break and run, even if he survived he wouldn't, in the long run.

Lrastar was a believer in the old religion, along with over eighty percent of the rank and file. He didn't like killing planets. He couldn't care less about individual aliens. They were inferior, according to Ca'cadasan tenants, even though he had found some that could out think any male of his species he could think of. Genocide was a different matter, and the Ca'cadasan religion could name no more heinous crime than the destruction of an evolutionary line. The humans were the exception, but now it seemed that those beings had simply refused to go into the night.

There had never been an emperor in the history of the people who had ruled for less than five hundred years. If most of the officers and a good number of the ratings in the fleet had their way, this one wouldn't even make it a decade.

“Those ships are going too fast,” said the tactical officer in an excited tone. “They won't be able to slow to translation speed before they hit the barrier.”

That made no sense. The humans weren't about to throw their ships into the barrier for no reason. Both sides, in fact every known species that wasn't a member of the ancients, were limited to a point three light translation speed or less. It had to do with how far ahead the hyperdrive arrays could open a hole up in front of the ship. Far enough out and a ship moving at point three light would slide through it perfectly. And no one had, so far, been able to come up with a workaround. Until now, maybe?

*     *     *

“You understand, your Majesty, that this is just a test run,” said Johann Peterson, the chairman of the board and majority stockholder of Peterson Shipbuilding and Transportation. “It's going to be up to your people to find the tactics to use the tech to its best. But I'm confident that this is going to result in a lot of changes.”

Sean looked over at the man, who at one time had been considered a thorn in the side of the Empire. Peterson had fled a system that had been on lock-down. A fleet was gathering in that system, and intelligence had suggested that no one be allowed to leave lest the information get out. Peterson had taken exception to this, and had fled the system in his custom build yacht. A yacht that incorporated a subspace drive alongside the traditional hyperdrive. Subspace drive, the tech humans had used to leave their home system and relocate to their present home, was much slower than hyper. But since no one had used it for centuries, it was untraceable with the technology the fleet was using to try and track Peterson down. It had opened up new possibilities for system insertion. Of course the Cacas had responded, and installed subspace disturbance sensors to their ships. Still, it had been of benefit while that lasted, and Peterson had earned a full pardon for what the Fleet had designated a treasonous act.

A huge problem with hyperdrive was the translation velocity, to and from hyperspace. For the humans the limit had been point three light for the last two hundred years. And the lack of progress on improving the maximum velocity had made it seem like it was a lost cause. The problem seemed simple on the surface. Just increase the projection distance of the hyperdrive, moving the hole further out in front of the ship, so it could fall through. Move too fast, and the ship got to the translation point before the rip in space had fully formed. Best case scenario? Nothing happened and the ship continued on in normal space or hyper, as the case might be. Worst case? The ship took major damage. Rarely catastrophic, but enough to reduce it to a drifting hulk until major drive repairs were made. The best theoretical hyper-physicists and engineers had attempted to solve the problem with no luck.

Until now Sean would have stated as fact that no industrial concern had theorists and engineers as good as the fleet. Peterson had proven him wrong, and his people had solved the problem.

“The Cacas should start wondering by this time,” said Peterson, looking at the icons on the plot. One hundred and nineteen ships were accelerating at fifty gravities higher than the rest. Another advantage to the new hyperdrive projector was the ability to use their extra capacity to boost the acceleration of the vessel and add to the compensator capacity to make that work without crushing the crew. The one hundred and nineteen vessels would now be reaching the halfway point, the turnover, where they would start decelerating at the same rate that they had accelerated to get there. The other ships would get to that point some minutes later, starting their own decel profile.

“This is fascinating,” said Admiral Chuntoa Chan, looking like she was on the verge of exhaustion with everything going on, sitting in one of the conference room seats by virtual proxy. “My analysts are already starting to come up with tactics to use this against the enemy. I wish we could draft Mr. Peterson's people onto my staff.”

“That wasn't the deal, Admiral,” said Peterson.

Sean knew that he could change that deal whenever he wanted. Still, it was bad policy to make an agreement with a major defense contractor and renege on it.

“Mr. Peterson's people are his, and will continue to work on his projects,” said Sean firmly. “Of course, if any want to leave, we will be glad to take them.” he looked at his research and development admiral with narrowed eyes. “No headhunting, Chuntoa.”

“I wouldn't think of it, your Majesty.”

Liar, thought Sean with an internal chuckle. He knew the admiral would like nothing more than to have every creative scientific and engineering mind in the Empire under her department. The Emperor had always thought that a bad idea, as had his father. Hence the division of wormhole production and utilization specialists under Dr. Yu. Chan had most of the weapons specialists under her, but the people who actually produced the wormholes were not.

“There's still the problem of what the Cacas are going to do with this knowledge,” said Peterson, frowning. “Once they know we have it, they are sure to turn their scientific resources to duplicating it.”

“Well, since they are all idiots,” said Chan with a smile, “I wouldn't be too worried about that.”

“They might not be the brightest species in the Galaxy,” said Sean, waving a finger in the air. “But don't forget. They have species in the Empire every bit as intelligent as us.” But they are so bad at organizing those resources, and treating their people well, that it might not be a concern.

“Of more import is how that will stretch their supermetal production,” continued the Emperor, moving into territory that Peterson would have more understanding of than Chan. “They've already converted a third of their production planets to making wormholes. Their ship production is still very much below ours, and if they discover this and try to catch up, it's going to push shipbuilding further on down the list of priorities.”

“And it won't for us?” asked Chan.

“If I could, your Majesty?” asked Peterson, holding up a hand. “Admiral Chan. We have tripled our supermetal and negative matter production since the beginning of the war, and then tripled it again.  Currently we have more than we need, though that will change as we start to convert our ships to a new standard.”

Sean groaned when he heard those words. Peterson would become even more wealthy, but ships would have to be taken out of service to be refitted.

“It takes over one hundred thousand tons of supermetals to rebuild the hyperdrive arrays to this standard. We will actually have to increase production to do everything we want to with those materials.”

“And we are starting to hit our limit,” said Sean, shaking his head. “We have to encourage our allies to produce more, which might lead to problems in the future.”

Stronger allies could become stronger enemies in the future. But they had to worry about the here and now, and let the future take care of itself.

“But the Cacas will not have a hope of increasing their production to meet us. Over time they will find so many of their projects starved for materials. They will have to make a choice as to what projects to commit to. And no matter the choice, it hurts them and helps us.”

“And here we go,” shouted Peterson in glee. The ships were approaching the hyper barrier, and would arrive still pulling point three three light. Too fast to translate, doomed to fall out of hyper as wrecks. Or worse.

*     *     *

“They, they jumped to normal space,” called out the tactical officer. “Resonances are consistent with a normal translation. None of the harmonic overtones of the catastrophic variety.”

“How fast were they going?” asked the Chief of Staff.

“Point three three light,” answered the tac officer.

“Impossible,” blurted the COS.

Not if they're doing it, it isn't, thought the admiral. “They must not have many of their ships equipped with this yet.”

“Why do you say that, my Lord?” asked the COS.

“Because many more of them would be coming in like that if they had. This was a test run, against a system they knew couldn't report back to command.”

“And now they're boosting at five hundred and seventy-five gravities, my Lord.”

Another shock. That was fifty gravities more than that class of hyper VII battleship was known to pull. The other advantage, and one that might shift the tactical balance even further than the ability to open rips in space so much further ahead of the ship. At the moment the admiral was glad that his sons and their mothers were on the out of the way planet where he had established his home. Because things were not looking good for the Empire.

*     *     *

“I'm guessing that they're even more shocked now,” said Peterson, leaning forward in his chair and looking at the plot that was transmitted through the wormhole.

Sean nodded. He had liked the idea of being able to go in and out of hyper at a higher velocity. But the increase in acceleration had thrilled the admiralty. They would have been able to increase acceleration by multiplying the number of grabbers on each ship, but the new hyperdrive arrays gave more bang for less mass than grabbers.

The ships were adding an extra four hundred and ninety meters per second to their velocities. One thousand seven hundred and sixty-four kilometers per second in an hour. They would still be limited to point nine one light in most cases. Going faster increased the particle storm the ships would be passing through, a risk no commander was willing to take if they had a choice. There were plans afoot to tackle that problem, but it was more of a brute force approach that would add mass to the ship for no other return.

“Well, it's not a war winning tech on its own,” said Chan petulantly.

“Sorry I couldn't come up with the Galaxy destroying device you military types are always looking for,” growled Peterson, glaring at the image of the admiral.

Sean winced. He wanted these two to work closely together. The sum of their contributions was greater than the parts. Peterson did have a point. The military was always looking for the better weapon. Translation: something that killed the enemy in ever greater mass lots. Civilians didn't think that way. In fact, to Peterson the greatest possible tech was one that allowed the products of the Empire to flow freely and quickly. And Imperials to flow into his pockets. Not an unreasonable way to think, when the human species was not in a war of extermination.

Chapter Thirteen

There will be no end to the troubles of states, or of humanity itself, till philosophers become kings in this world, or till those we now call kings and rulers really and truly become philosophers, and political power and philosophy thus come into the same hands. Plato

The Emperor Jresstratta V paced back and forth on the dais before his throne. The guards and servants watched his movements nervously, hoping desperately to not attract his attention. The Emperor was a holy terror to his staff. Most would have gone elsewhere, sought other employment, if that were not  a treasonous act. And under this ruler there was only one punishment for treason. Death, slow and painful.

“Idiots,” screamed the Emperor, looking up at the ceiling as if he were addressing the gods above. “I am surrounded by idiots. Or traitors.” As he said the last he turned his sweeping gaze on the Ca'cadasans and aliens in the chamber. He felt a thrill run through him at their reaction, at the power he commanded.

That's right. I'm in command here. And everyone in the empire better remember that.

He started pacing again, looking over at the huge hologram that took up the center of the audience chamber. It seemed to stretch on forever, the illusion of the three dimensional projection. It showed the entire empire, as well as the regions of space controlled by the opponents. Unfortunately, the Ca'cadasan territory had been steadily shrinking, while that of the enemy had grown at the same rate. Every star lost was resources taken from the Empire and added to those of the enemy.

Taken from my empire, raged the youngster, clenching his fists. My birthright.

“Get my Supreme Admiral here, now,” he shouted, looking over at his chief servant. “Now, I said.”

Jresstratta threw himself into his throne chair and pouted. He wanted his people on hand at all times. Forgetting that his species slept more than most, ten hours a day or more. Something was wrong with him, since he could only sleep at most six hours. And he insisted that all of his servants, from the lowest to the highest, like the supreme admiral, keep the same hours as himself.

The emperor jumped from his seat and stormed to one of the balconies overlooking the city. The palace was still unfinished, despite more than a year having passed since the enemy attack on the capital system. Another thing to drive him into a rage. He understood that much of the rest of the city still needed repairs, and his people, the workers, needed their quarters. But this was his home, and it was a crime that he had to look around and see the unfinished areas.

Jresstratta smiled as he looked down on the avenue running through the center of the city, leading up to the palace. And the hundreds of crosses, metal X's, that lined both sides. The bodies of Ca'cadasans and alien slaves were crucified on those structures. Beings who hadn't worked as fast as the emperor thought they should to finish his home. The Xs were actually six armed stars for the Ca'cadasan, constructed so the six limbed beings could be properly positioned.

The bodies closest to the palace were rotting husks, having hung there for weeks. Going further out the corpses were fresher. The stink of the nearer bodies was almost unbearable, and the young Cacada reminded himself to order them pulled down and replaced with new corpses. Or the living beings who would become corpses on the cross. There would always be more, since there were always enough idiots to populate the prisons for failing to do their duty toward their emperor.

Fifteen minutes later an anxious looking Supreme Admiral came rushing into the throne room, to find the emperor again sitting his throne and playing with a sharp dagger. The male was puffing, out of breath, his tongue almost lolling out of his mouth.

“It's about time, Supreme Admiral,” growled the Emperor, pointing down to the floor.

The male did as he was instructed, and fell to his knees and looked toward the floor. The male was trembling, though from fear or rage the young emperor couldn't tell. Not that it would make any difference to him. He was ruler by divine right, and his subjects were his to do with as he pleased. His toys. If he could have read the thoughts around him he might not have felt so complacent.

“Supreme Lord,” stammered the admiral. That was never a good sign, since it indicated that the male was about to impart bad news to the being who held his life in immature hands.

“What is it, Supreme Admiral?” Jresstratta looked down on the male like a hunting animal on prey he had downed.

“The males of the fleet are complaining about the restrictions. Once again.”

The emperor coughed in disbelief. These beings could do what he said, and only what he said. Drinking and whoring, or the Ca'cadasan equivalent of the second, were interfering with their work. They needed to work their hardest if the empire was to survive. Of course he needed to imbibe, and what was he to do with the harem of concubines he had inherited from his father except use them for his pleasure.

“Tell them that I will hear of no more complaints,” he roared, stepping down from his throne to stand over the groveling admiral. “I want the complainers to be punished, severely. A thrashing for the first offense. Out the airlock for any more.”

“But, my Lord. The morale..”

“I would rather that they fear me,” roared the emperor, feeling the blood rush to his face in rage. “And those that don't fear me shall die, so the rest may learn their place.”

The emperor looked back at the plot, recalling what he had called this male, the supreme commander of his fleet, in to discuss.

“I want the hated humans stopped, no matter the cost. It is unacceptable that they take more of our sacred territory. Rally the fleet. Rally the spacers. Order them to stop the enemy at all costs. I don't want to see any more of my systems taken from me.”

“If we lose the fleet in a series of major battles, we will have nothing left to stop them with.”

“That is defeatist talk, Admiral. The side with the greatest conviction will be the winner. And what are you doing about this new technology the humans are using against us on the other front?”

“The shield they are using to stop the nova, and our missiles?”

“What tech do you think I'm talking about, you idiot?” The emperor spit on the floor, foam forming around his lips. “Of course that shield. If they have it, I want it. And no excuses.”

“We don't even know how it works, Supreme Lord. It will take time to learn the principles behind it, and even more to duplicate it. If we can even power the thing.”

“Then light a fire under the feet of our scientists. I realize that they are not Cacada, but they live or die at my sufferance. Remind them of that fact.”

“But, we have already lost so many of our top scientists and engineers, Supreme Lord,” stammered the admiral.

“How? How can they flee when we control all of the shipping in the empire?”

The admiral didn't answer, and the emperor had suspicions that the admiral didn't know how they were fleeing, if they even were.

“And I want you to keep a close watch on Great Admiral Mrastaran, Supreme Admiral. I feel that he is not employing his fleet to the best of his abilities. We need those ships on this front. I want him to wrap up his battle within the next twenty-four hours and start moving his fleet back here.”

“It is going to take him longer than that to pushed the enemy out of that system.”

“I don't want him to push them out of the system,” roared the Emperor, his immature voice cracking. “I want the enemy fleet annihilated. Then, we can reinforce our forces facing the human empire and leave a smaller force to conquer the Klavarta. I want every one of those bastards killed. Every one of them admiral, understand. And every human on this front as well.”

Again the admiral didn't speak, though his body shook more profusely.

“Oh, very well. Mrastaran can take forty-eight hours. After that I want him to report to me here. I want him to explain his tardiness to me with the threat of crucifixion looming over his head. Dismissed.”

The Supreme Admiral pushed himself to his feet, continuing to avert his eyes from the emperor, and stumbled away.

Coward, thought the emperor. Ca'cadasan warriors were supposed to be fearless, going into battle without a thought for their own safety.  It seemed that all of his males were ruled by fear. He smiled as he thought of the purge he would enact as soon as the humans were falling back on all fronts.

*     *     *

If the emperor could read the thoughts of the Supreme Admiral he would never have made it out of the throne room. There was some fear, but most of the shaking that the admiral had exhibited had been rage. The former emperor would have never have treated his admirals in such a way.

And I had wanted the Jresstratta IV to fade away, so we could return to the old traditions, thought the admiral, feeling the total shame of having to prostrate himself before the piece of filth who had taken over the crown. But what we got in return was beyond our worst nightmares.

Right now the war looked all but unwinnable. There were some possibilities, some ways in which something might be salvaged. But not if this young man remained in charge. He was wasting his fleet on actions that accomplished nothing except putting Cacada in the sights of the enemy. He was alienating his people, driving the alien scientists that were the one hope of catching up technologically with the humans into self imposed exile. Jrasstratta was an immature petulant child who might, someday, if he learned wisdom, become a good ruler.

The Supreme Admiral gave a head motion of negation at that thought. This willful young thug would never learn wisdom. He would lead the Ca'cadasan people to disaster, and the eternal empire would die around him. If the humans were smart they would reward the fool for helping them to win the war. In fact, if they had a clear shot at him they would probably pass. He was more of an asset to their side than he was to his own people.

But what can we do? thought the admiral as he walked from the palace and headed toward the admiralty building. The stink of the dead and the cries of those still holding onto life on the cross accompanied him, reminding him of the nightmare they were living.

They needed someone of ability who could come in and take the empire in a firm hand when Jresstratta was gone. He couldn't force himself to think of killing an emperor, but thinking of him as disappearing was acceptable. But the empire would be in disarray, at a time when such couldn't be afforded.

Jresstratta had killed most of his relatives, including several children and one infant, insuring that there would be no usurpers in the wings. Mrastaran was next in the succession, and the Supreme Admiral was sure that link would be eliminated as soon as he was called back to the capital. The admiral wasn't sure Mrastaran was the best choice for emperor. He adhered to too many new and strange ideas, and was more of the philosopher than a warrior. Still, he was intelligent, composed, and would be a thousand times better than what they had now.

We just need to make sure that he gets back here alive. And that he is willing to take the throne.

*     *     *

“Something must be done about this young fool who sits the throne. His actions have angered the gods, and until they are appeased we can expect no victories.”

“That is treasonous speech, High Priest,” said the Patriarch of the Church.

“And you will turn me in for my speech, Patriarch?”

“Of course not,” said the older male, glaring at his subordinate. “But I can't answer for other ears. You know that this, young fool, as you called him, has no fear of us.”

After the religious revolt had been put down, the leaders all put to death, the emperor had ordered the church reformed. New leaders, people his informants had told him he could count on. Only they had also been true believers, the ones that saw the position as a calling, and such were never in agreement with what they saw as blasphemy.

“The people are growing restless, Patriarch,” said the high priest, grimacing. “They feel that the gods have abandoned us. The reason we are being pushed back on all fronts.”

The Patriarch gave another head motion of agreement. There was nothing in what the priest had said that he would disagree with. The majority of the Ca'cadasan people, over sixty percent, were still true believers. Another twenty percent were casual believers. They adhered to the traditions, celebrated the holy days, and really didn't pay much attention to the religion otherwise. Maybe three percent were adherents to some alien religion or other. That was frowned upon, but as long as the celebrants kept their actions out of the public eye, that was ignored. Except the new emperor took exception to Ca'cadasans gaining comfort from religions that weren't part of their culture.

The rest of the males were what the humans called atheists. They had no religious beliefs. Some might actually practice the rites to fit in, but didn't believe in gods or the supernatural.

Even the Patriarch, a true believer, though not as fanatical as some of his subordinates, knew there was more to the setbacks in the war than interference, or lack of, from the gods. There were growing disparities in tech, superior tactics. And he had to admit, even though his religion declared that Ca'cadasans were the superior life form in this galaxy, that the humans were simply more intelligent.

The point of the high priest was not lost on him. The ordinary citizen, military or civilian, were angry with the way the emperor was prosecuting this war. The infractions against the laws of the gods, planets and species killed wholesale. Soon that anger would boil over. And no matter how many Ca'cadasans or aliens were crucified, they would eventually revolt. Ca'cadasans on the whole were a courageous species, and fear of death would not stop the males from rising up to try and overthrow this emperor.

“Council your priests on maintaining the calm,” said the Patriarch, raising a pair of right hands with palms out. “I think eventually things will happen to redress the current situation. And our people will not have to sacrifice their lives needlessly.”

“I will try,” said the priest in a hushed voice. “But trying to calm a boiling pot doesn't always get the results you want.”

Chapter Fourteen

When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don't throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer. Corrie Ten Boom

“Admiral Bednarczyk is asking for a progress report, Admiral,” said the voice coming in over his implant.

“Tell the admiral that we are working as fast as we can,” said Chin, watching as his hands placed a strip of high temp superconductor into place. An instant later one of his hands brought up a nanite sprayer and gave the repair a dash of the microscopic robots that would bind it into place.

Chin had left the control center, leaving his assistant in charge of monitoring the fleet wide repairs. There was too much work to be done, the fleet was on the clock, and he couldn't see not using his hands for something he was better at than most.

The port side of the fleet had been exposed to the photon and particle storms. Most of the extra magnetic field projectors had been attached to that aspect of all the ships, though there were some all over the hull. The port sides had taken the most damage. It was an unusual damage pattern. Very few hull breeches, almost no systems totally destroyed. But enough to make systems inoperable.

Add to that the systems that had been rerouted to make their resources available, like the laser emitters that had been disconnected from their rings to feed the new electromag projectors. They no longer needed those extra projectors, whose only other other function was to shield the ship from beam weapons, something they were known to do poorly. Now, with missiles coming in, they had a much greater need for lasers, something that could knock a percentage of the incoming weapons out of space.

“We need another load of nanites out here,” came a voice over the com.

Chin recognized the engineer who was working on one of the graviton projectors. The devices only had a small area for quarters and workshops for the resident engineers. They were masses of solid machinery and electronics, with minimal space for people to gain access to internal systems. Those massive constructs had sustained damage as well, similar to what the ships had received. One was out of service completely. That had allowed the fleet to use its power portal to bring in more ships, useful, but a one sixth deterioration of their total coverage.

Along with the damage to electronics and machinery, the total destruction of almost ninety percent of the nanites in the fleet had set back their repair efforts. The fleet had banks of seed nanites in heavily shielded containers. Most of those had survived. There weren't enough of those to replace the losses. So a decision had to be made. Lean in the direction of using most of what was available for immediate repairs, or use less than seventy percent of them and let the rest work their magic of replicating themselves. Given time they would replace all the nanites. If they had the time.

“The admiral says we are about to be hit. She needs everything back online, now.”

As if ordering it could make it happen, thought Chin. The engineer still didn't understand why line officers thought playing on the fear of destruction would make the engineers work any faster. They could only work so fast, if they were to make the repairs of the quality needed.

Only one more, thought Chin, making the last connection on his side of the emitter. He checked the progress of the rest of his local crew and grunted in satisfaction. This unit would be up and powering the laser ring in three minutes. If that wasn't good enough for Admiral Bednarczyk, that was too bad.

*     *     *

“Missile wave coming in from straight ahead, ma'am. ETA, four minutes, thirty-eight seconds.”

Beata nodded, watching the symbols appearing on the plot. The missiles, wormhole launched, had yet to engage their grabbers. Enough of the probes the destroyers had seeded in front of the fleet had picked up the fast moving objects within a couple of light seconds and pulsed. A few of the enemy missiles then appeared as they engaged grabbers and went after the tiny probes. Where they hit it was a win for the humans, since it removed one of those possible ship killers from the field. The probes could be replaced, and hundreds of thousands of tons were still due to come through the gate.

“Donut is reporting power in three minutes.”

Beata looked over at the viewer that showed one of the gates they were using as an energy portal. Quiet at the moment, all would change when activated and millions of pentawatts of energy came beaming through to hit the receiver on its target graviton projector. More energy than the largest industrial planet in the empire could produce, and only one of five, it could have been six, it was awe inspiring to even think about.

“What about our laser power?”

“Overall, we have seventy-one percent across the fleet. Romulus herself has sixty-seven percent.”

Beata ran the figures through her implant linked to the ship's analysis computer. The numbers that came back looked good, on the surface. The predicted loss figures came up and it still looked favorable. Until the admiral remembered that every one of those hundred odd ships represented a thousand or more crew.

“Ma'am,” said Captain Singurd Janssen shouting over the com. “Our people are reporting that projector four is a total loss. It will have to go back to the Supersystem before it can be repaired.

That had been bad luck, probably the worst they had suffered, so far. Projector four had been rammed by an out of control battleship. The ship had been destroyed as well, though most of the crew had been able to get off. The projector was too massive to be totally destroyed, but a seven kilometer deep hole pierced in the side had made it beyond the capacity of local repair.

“I think I have an idea for using the fourth energy projector, ma'am,” said Captain Lokar Thrandos, the Klavarta Alpha who was Beata's liaison with the New Earth fleet.

“We don't have anything to aim the energy at, Captain,” exclaimed Janssen in exasperation.

“Oh, I beg to differ, Captain,” said the Klavarta, a slight smile on her face. “I think we do.”

*     *     *

Looking up at the night sky, Captain Xferd Canara was reminded of the lightning storms over the jungle of the planet he had grown up on. Just a thousand times more massive. The Klavarta warrior stared in awe as a thousand bright flashes of light a second erupted far out from the planet.

He wasn't sure what was going on out there, but it had the looks of a massive fight, and he felt sorry for the spacers who were facing that onslaught. That wasn't a feeling he normally had for spacers, but he and his were relatively safe on the surface. Unless a couple of those missiles broke through the defense and smacked into the planet.

A couple of leaves fell on his face, and he gave the nearest tree a quick glance. The vegetation had a  withered look to it, the effect of photonic overload and particle radiation. Not enough to kill everything, though if they had not been shielded that would have been the result. Enough to cause cellular damage to the vegetation, life that couldn't burrow into the ground or hide under water like the animals.

The light show went on for almost a minute, and Canara estimated that a hundred thousand warheads had detonated out there. He wondered how that translated into destroyed allied ships. From what he understood, this was just one of many attacks that would be coming in. The enemy seemed to be determined to hit the allied fleet with enough firepower to wipe it out, no matter how long it took.

*     *     *

“Okay,” said Admiral Montgomery over the com. “You all have your navigation marks, and your targets upon exit. Jump in, fire quickly, and jump back into hyper.”

“You know they're going to come hightailing out to catch us,” said one of the captains, a Klavarta whose ship would be among the escorts for the one wormhole equipped ship in his formation.

“That's the plan,” said Mara, feeling a slight twinge of guilt at what she was ordering these people to do. She had not asked for volunteers. The ships were hers to command, the lives hers to spend. Her responsibility was to spend those lives wisely. If her plan worked the losses among the decoys would be low, the damage to the enemy high in proportion. If not, and she lost all of those ships for little return, she would still have the majority of her fleet and her wormholes.

“You go in one minute,” she said, looking at the faces on numerous holo screens hanging in space around her. She didn't know most of those people, and still couldn't differentiate between most of the aliens. Another twinge of guilt. A commander should know the people she was sending into danger. Unfortunately, this was was just too damned big for that to be possible.

“Wormholes have finished their launches,” called out the fleet tactical officer. “On target and on time.”

“Get going people,” said Mara. She watched the task force that had come from her group on the plot. It had separated from the main force almost a half an hour before, creeping along at three gravities to put distance between themselves and the task group. Of course, even though they didn't put out enough gravitons to attract notice in the roiling battleground of the system, they were releasing heat. Not much, and even less since they were not running with inertial compensators, the crews that were not Klavarta leaning back in acceleration couches to handle the crushing gravity. Most of the remaining heat was beamed away as microwaves on a vector that, with luck, wouldn't cross paths with any of the enemy ships. If any farther vessels picked up those emissions an hour or more later it wouldn't matter.

“Jumping to hyper,” said the image of the task force commander, a Klavarta Alpha. The graviton wave went out from the one hundred ships, and the Cacas knew exactly where that task force was, as well as its current vector. The graviton emissions kicked up as the ships went to full acceleration.

Mara looked at the time over the plot. The force would be in hyper for exactly five minutes, gaining a twenty light second distance from their point of origin. Then they, and their cargo, would drop back into normal space. The wormhole equipped ship would fire on one of the Caca forces that had revealed itself earlier. It would take twenty minutes for their missiles to reach that force, which might have jumped into hyper and moved away by that time. Mara hoped so, because that was the force she was trying to lure into her trap.

She wished she could let them move through hyper for a much longer time span, but the one thing she didn't want was the Cacas catching them in hyperspace, where the big aliens had all the advantages. No, normal space would be fine.

The scout force, now outer force, commander chewed on her lip as she watched her ships move across the plot. That was a habit her mother had tried to break, and her ex-husband had constantly complained about. Too bad, because it was one way to deal with the stress of watching ships she knew were going to be hit hard after moving.

“Jumping back into normal space,” reported the Klavarta commodore who was in command. “Releasing normal space assets.”

Mara, of course, couldn't see those assets, but she knew what they were. Six hundred fast attack craft, four hundred warp fighters, and tens of thousands of mines. She also had thirty-five wormhole launchers waiting for their next loads, each having sent twenty volleys on the way. They were headed for the four points she thought most likely for the emergence of the Cacas. She had plotted them with precision, so even the ones that didn't have targets in their baskets could shift vectors and head for the emerging Caca force. They wouldn't be as effective as missiles coming in straight and silent, but they should still have an effect.

“We have translation from the closest Caca force, ma'am.”

Mara grunted as she watched that signal appear on the plot. Not the entire Caca force. She wasn't sure how she felt about them splitting like that, since it meant fewer ships in the basket. She grinned at her presumption. There was no way she could have taken out that entire force, and the thousand odd they sent would be a workable target. It might even allow the force she had sent to make it out with most of its ships and crews intact.

Yeah, and then you woke up, she thought.

“The other task forces are jumping back into normal space, ma'am.”

Those two groups, cut out from two of her other battle groups, were on the same mission, supported by they home groups. She wasn't sure the Cacas would snap at all the bait, but she could hope, couldn't she.

“One other Caca force translating,” called out the tactical officer. “Just under a thousand ships heading for task force three point one.”

“What about two point one?”

“Nothing so far, ma'am.”

Well, hitting a pair of them would still get the attention of the Cacas, and maybe make them step more carefully. Now, if only there was something she could do about the forces that were firing on her friend.

“The third force is jumping, ma'am. Looks like they all took the bait.”

And so much for the luck of one of her task forces.

*     *     *

“We have a human force jumping into hyper, my Lord.” The male was silent for a moment. “Two more.”

I have them, thought Mrastaran. Not knowing where the enemy ships were out here had been driving him to distraction. He knew they were out here, in strength. Not knowing that strength or their location was unacceptable, but the enemy wasn't asking for his acceptance.

“The three closest groups to them are sending detachments on search and destroy missions. All are jumping now.”

“Looks like the battle group commanders are decisive,” said Admiral Trostara, grinning. “They are to be commanded.”

“How many ships in the human groups?” asked Mrastaran, watching the graviton signal of moving ships in hyper on the plot.

“Estimating a hundred in each group.”

That's not enough. What the hells are they up to? It had to be a trap, and he needed to act decisively himself.

“Get in touch with are ships. Tell them to break off.”

“My Lord?”

“It's a trap, you dolt. And they are heading blindly into it.”

“Transmitting, my Lord.”

The flagships pulsed a graviton code that would reach all three detachments in seconds. But...

“We have a lot of interference out here, my Lord. Most of it coming from those damned big things in orbit around the planet.”

Damned big things was a good description. The Ca'cadasans had not been able to spot them on the time delayed take of the event hitting the planet. Or, more accurately, being stopped in its tracks before hitting the planet. Since then they had seen the projectors moving into positions pointing out, ready to defend against his missile waves. Close to them had been huge tugs, and the shapes of human battleships, both giving him the scale he needed to assess the projectors. They were massive, probably as large as any deep space objects the Ca'cadasans had ever made.

“Get them, now. Tell them to break off.”

None of those forces had a wormhole, and light speed wouldn't reach them in time. In fact, light speed transmissions wouldn't reach them at all until they were in normal space, and then after a considerable time had passed.

“We're sending, my Lord. But I'm not receiving an acknowledgment. Wait, getting one from our second group detachment. They're reporting that their changing vectors.”

So one was moving out of the trap, but the other two were continuing on, blind to their danger.

*     *     *

“The Caca force is almost on top of us, ma'am,” reported the Klavarta commander in the calm voice of a warrior about to face an extreme threat. “Estimating ten seconds to translation.”

Mara smiled, though inside she was feeling anything but happy. One Caca force was coming in right where they wanted it. The other wasn't quite on target, but it looked like it was going to be close enough to be workable. The third was changing vectors. Someone over their was using their brain. Probably that unusual great admiral of theirs.

“They're translating. Opening fire.”

*     *     *

“Translating now,” called out the navigation officer.

Senior Captain Krishas grinned as he watched the plot. Finally he would be able to destroy some human ships. To see them converted to plasma at close range. So far this entire campaign had been less than satisfactory. The first battle had been shooting at ships they couldn't spot while taking fire. This battle had, so far, been much the same. But now he had the chance to close with the enemy.

Krishas was a battleship squadron commander. He had his own squadron, plus fourteen more, totaling seventy-five capital ships. Along with him were over two hundred of the large Ca'cadasan cruisers and seven hundred scouts. More than enough to put paid to the accounts of the much smaller enemy force.

The translation nausea hit, again, and the senior captain found himself fighting to hold in the contents of his stomach as the bridge swam before his vision. Everyone on the bridge, all Ca'cadasans, were in the same state for at least ten seconds, some as long as a minute. The thought struck the captain through his disorientation that the proponents of adding aliens, especially easy translators, to the bridge crews held merit. The suspicious and arrogant Ca'cadasans in command would hear of no such nonsense.

“We have missile launch” called out the tactical officer in a distorted voice. “Five thousand, no ten. Twenty?”

How could so few ships get out so many missiles in such a short time? His vision starting to clear, the captain saw the truth of the matter. Those missiles weren't coming from the enemy force, at least not most of them. They were launching from small platforms, most undetectable, scattered about the enemy force. There were missiles coming from the ships, of course, and as he watched a massive swarm erupted, ten times what should have been possible.

They have box launchers on the hulls, thought the captain. His mind reeled on the edge of panic. He calmed himself, noting that his own ships were returning fire, and there were enough outgoing weapons to annihilate that force.

“We're picking up missiles on final approach. Estimating sixty. Velocity, point nine five light.”

So they had a wormhole aboard that task force, and were getting in their hits while they could. His own defensive weapons opened fire. He wouldn't get them all, but he doubted more than a handful would make it through his barrage.

“More missiles coming in from spinward. On final approach and changing vectors.”

Those weapons were very detectable. Krishas looked over at the central plot to see over a thousand missiles in six different groups curving in on his position.

“Launch from system south,” called out the tactical officer, voice breaking in obvious panic.

Where in the hell are all these things coming from? thought the senior captain. And how in the hells are they getting in shots from so many different vectors without us knowing they are there?

The senior captain stared in horror as eleven of his ships blinked on the plot, then disappeared. Either their propulsion systems had been knocked out, or they had been destroyed. Either were catastrophic outcomes, since a ship that couldn't boost, couldn't jump into hyper, was a total loss.

Not all the weapons struck at the same time. They detonated at a distance as defensive weapons found them, or they hit ships with impacts or proximity kills over a period of ten seconds or so. Ca'cadasan weapons were also going off among the enemy force, which was reduced to a collection of hulks or spreading clouds of plasma.

When twenty seconds had passed the enemy fleet had ceased to be. There were a couple of drifting wrecks, but most were gone. And Krishas had lost half his force. The senior captain breathed a sigh of relief that his flag hadn't sustained any damage.

“Missiles on approach. Estimating twelve hundred. Velocity, point nine five light. ETA, twenty-five seconds.”

“Where in the hells are they coming from.”

“From here, sir,” said the tactical officer, shaking off his panic and doing his job. “Range, unknown, but it must be outside of our sensor range for passive objects.”

Which meant these weapons had been fired from a distance of multiple light minutes. Since his ships had only been in this space for about a minute, that meant they had been fired at this point ahead of time. It was a trap, and he had stumbled right into it.

“We have more close in missile launches, my Lord.”

Krishas stared wide eyed at his tactical officer. He had nothing to say, no orders to give. After all, when one was just about to die, what was there to say?

*     *     *

“Both task force commanders engaged are reporting the total loss of their groups. One point one is reporting that the Caca force was totally destroyed. Three point one is estimating ninety-three percent losses. The remainder of that group have jumped back into hyper and are moving away.”

Smart of them, thought Mara. They could have stayed to perform search and rescue, and been hit by the next wave to come in. In both situations there were still ten waves to come, though a signal had been sent to them with orders to change vectors. She was hoping those weapons might still do some good. Though a betting woman, Mara would not bet on the odds of that happening.

“Casualties?”

“One point one is reporting that eighty-four percent of their crews were able to get out. They don't have firm figures on how many survived.”

Mara winced. Those ships had jumped with skeleton crews, about twenty percent of their full complement. There was no possibility that they would have been able to make repairs, and what they had was enough to run the systems for the time they would be needed. Most used consoles on the outer hull, and bailed in the life pods before the ships were hit. Some couldn't get out in time. And there was a high risk that the pods would be blown out of space by exploding ships and warheads.

Now they would drift in space, turning off their beacons until they received the signal to engage them. They could survive in those pods, or in their suits if they hadn't been able to get to the escape capsules, for over a week.

“Three point one is reporting seventy-three percent, ma'am.”

Still not bad, when they had been put into a situation where their ships couldn't possibly survive.

Not really, thought Mara, looking at task force two point one as it jumped into hyper and started to move to another position. That group had survive, if only because someone had called the enemy force off, or their commander had a brain. She doubted this tactic was going to work a second time. Only if she moved several thousand ships, a target the enemy couldn't ignore, would they move again. On the plus side, they still didn't know where her larger forces were located. They could trace the paths of the missiles back and have her relative position along that line. But not exact. Still, if that commander over there was the smart son of a bitch they had faced before, she could expect spreads of missiles coming in at her three forces. They wouldn't get many hits, but any they got would pinpoint her for the follow up volleys.

Still, they had to do something. She couldn't just hang out here in space and let Beata continue to take a pounding, while Mara had over a hundred wormholes. She had hit them, and now they would react to her, while she prepared her next strike.

“How about our fast attack craft and fighters?”

“Light casualties on the fast attack craft,,” said her chief of staff. “Ninety-three percent survived without damage. They're reloading their tubes as fast as they can and readying themselves to move.”

That was the brainchild of Captain Michael Goruptal, her chief of staff. Fleet chiefs of staff were promoted into their positions because of their tactical acumen, so they could be groomed for higher command. Goruptal was intelligent, unorthodox, and she thought the world of him. He had come up with the idea of holding back forty percent of the mines for a second shot if needed, which hadn't been necessary. Now, at the command of the small vessels many of them had ejected their missiles at almost zero velocity. The fast attack craft were now moving around picking up the full sized capital ship missiles that fit their own tubes perfectly.

“The fighter force was not involved. No casualties.”

“Order them to stay put. I want them in position to support the fast attack craft when they move.”

The situation in the outer system was already pure chaos. She intended to make it more so. The Caca commander might be bright, though she doubted he was as smart as her or Beata. She was also sure that the lesser commanders were nowhere near as smart as any of her subordinate commanders. And she was willing to let them make all the dumb moves they would on their own.

Chapter Fifteen

There are ups and downs, but whatever happens, you have to trust and believe in yourself. Luka Modric

“Admiral Chan loves your Klavarta captain's idea, Admiral,” said Sean, looking out of the com holo. “Of course, Director Yu doesn't like it at all. She's worried about losing that asset.”

“But you approve?” asked Beata, closing her eyes and taking a breath. She still hadn't fully recovered from her radiation exposure. The nanites, a more than full complement, were doing their job, but she would only start to feel right after a couple of days worth of sleep. Something she couldn't think of doing until this fight was over.

“I understand her point. That is one expensive piece of equipment, and something that will prove useful to our future plans.”

“But...?”

“But your ships and crews are more important to me. As well as that planet we spent so many lives and energy to defend. So yes, you have my approval. I just hope it works.”

Beata looked closely at her monarch, a young man less than a fourth her age. Sean looked tired, on the verge of exhaustion. At his age, still not in his mid-thirties, he would recover quickly, if given the chance to get some rest. She was concerned about him, but it really wasn't her problem or decision on how closely he supervised his military. So far he had not interfered with the tactical decisions of his commanders, as long as they were sound and fit into his strategic vision. That was the way it was supposed to be.

The Emperor, the CNO, and their analysts were in charge of strategy. You go here, take these objectives, give me your requirements, then figure out how to do it.

“Try your best to keep that projector in one wormhole gate intact, and don't let anything the Cacas fire poke their noses into the black hole system.”

“I'll try my best,” said Beata, mentally crossing her fingers as she spoke. If the Cacas did what she thought, she would be happy to whittle down their massive wave at the loss of a wormhole, or even the energy projector. Anything that would give her a fighting chance.

“Next wave coming in, ma'am,” called out one of her tactical analysts. “This should be the last big one.”

And you think that's a good thing, thought Beata. They had estimated that this was the last one from the combined Caca fleet that had been sending massive waves at them. They had then split and moved to the compass points of the system. Which meant that nothing was going to come from that point from now on, unless they moved back to that location. After this they just had to worry about the separate launches from constantly shifting cardinal points. Which could be more of a threat than that one big launch.

“Estimation of first launch from those twelve points?” she asked. She doubted that missiles would be coming from all of those points. As far as she knew, the Cacas didn't have enough wormholes to launch from all of those points. Since she didn't know which ones were real, and which were decoys, and wouldn't  until weapons started coming in, she had to play it safe and act as if all had wormholes. And they very well might.

The admiral looked at the plot, taking in her own dispositions. The Klavarta fleet, what was left of their capital ships, was in the process of limping in. They would be behind the shield in another ten minutes, decelerating with as many gravities as their damaged ships could pull. This was the danger point for them. They were back in the bullseye, and they didn't have the coverage of the shield. She had over half of her destroyers, few as they were, out covering their allies. It might lead to total loss of her scouts for no return if the Klavarta ships still got blown to hell. She felt responsibility for her allies. They had just followed the orders of a fool. And if she could help them get to safety, and lend their defensive firepower to her efforts, it was worth the risk.

“Admiral Klanarat is on the com, ma'am. He says its urgent.”

Of course he does, thought Bednarczyk. “Put him on.”

“Missiles have passed our probes, five light minutes out,” called out the tactical officer. “ETA, five minutes, thirty-two seconds.”

Beata took another quick look at her dispositions as she readied herself to deal with the insubordinate admiral. Her ships was all deployed near the edges of the shield, ready to take out anything that looked like it was going to loop around the defensive field. She could have clustered them toward the center, and that would have protected them from virtually anything, since the shield would stop all the missiles. Some of the radiation would punch through. But anything looping around might hit the planet, and she hadn't sacrificed so much to see it and its inhabitants killed.

“Admiral Bednarczyk,” said the hated voice of Admiral Klanarat.

I won't have to deal with you too much longer, thought Beata. The orders had already come down relieving him of command. She had decided to sit on it until he was back in the defensive position, to ensure that he didn't cause any more trouble.

“I need you to shift the shield over to protect my ships.”

“Sorry, Admiral. No can do. The destroyers are out there to help defend your flank. We don't have time to move the projectors, and I can't afford to open up any gaps in our coverage.”

“Admiral. We need you to protect us. If you fail to do so, I will register a protest with your Emperor.”

Good luck with that. Beata knew that Sean would back her on this. The New Earth president might not like losing the last of his capital ships, but even he would realize that his own admiral had gotten his ass in a crack by himself. Beata didn't really care about those ships. The Klavarta were building more, a lot more of the much bigger ships, in the same class as the standard battleships and battle cruisers of the Empire.

“Damn you, Admiral. These are my people.”

Then you shouldn't have led them out where they became a big target. They didn't know they were being fired on, but their commander did know that the enemy had wormholes, and the capabilities to launch massive waves of fast moving weapons.

“Their blood is on your hands, Admiral.”

“ETA, four minutes.”

“That's bullshit, Admiral. You are the only one at fault here. You have put me in a bad position. I had to make a choice of protecting you or protecting this world behind me. And I have come down on the side of the billions of beings sitting on the surface of Pleisia.”

“ETA, three minutes and thirty seconds.”

“I suggest that you shut down you drives, now,” said Beata, a thought coming to her. “Give the enemy no emissions to track. After this volley passes you can continue to decel, then come back in.”

“No. I will get under cover as soon as I can. I...”

“Admiral. You are relieved of command. I am having my com officer transmit the verification from your President. Now, put your second in command on the com.”

“No. No. I...”

“We don't have time for this, Admiral. I am sending an order to your security chief. Consider yourself under arrest. I...”

“This is Fleet Admiral Tavasrta,” said the voice of an Alpha, as another face appeared on the com holo, replacing that of the grand fleet admiral. “I am ordering our ships to stop boosting. I only hope you know of what you speak.”

Me too, thought Beata. She knew it wasn't her fault that the Klavarta were in this predicament. She could have left them out there, shut down and not giving out any emissions. If Klanarat had been reasonable it might have worked. Or he might have cut all com and continued on.

“Impact in one minute, thirty seconds. Field at full strength.”

Or at least as full as it can get without that sixth graviton generator, she thought. Because of the lack of that one generator her field was covering one sixth less area. She could have spread it out to get the same range of coverage. But not the same strength.

The wave hit, thousands of warheads a second detonating as they hit what amounted to as solid space. None of the matter made it through, but the light did, and that light carried a lot of heat. Burn through was the term the engineers had come up with. If a ship was too close to the shield it could take serious damage to its hull. Those further back still took some damage, not much, but noticeable. The crew of the facing aspect stayed further in, safe. That was not where the danger came from.

Scores to hundreds of missiles a second looped around the shield, boosting out then in, looking for targets. Ships launched counters, fired lasers, cycled their close in auto-cannon. Those systems were not one hundred percent on any of the ships other than the destroyers that hadn't faced the nova ejection. Warheads started going off around the edge, destroyed by counter fire. A couple of ships were hit, gone in an instant. More took damage from missiles detonating a couple of hundred meters from their targets, sending plasma into the targeted ships at the same velocity the missile had possessed.

Beata grimaced as she watched the pair of ships fall off the plot, the blinking cursors of those that had been damaged. And three of the Klavarta ships were hit and gone. She wasn't sure what had caused them to attract those missiles. It seemed like pure chance. The good news was that the Klavarta would be under cover by the time the next wave arrived. The bad news of that? She had no idea how effective those separate streams were going to be.

“Some of those missiles are pulsing graviton signals on the way in, ma'am. Right after they pass the thirty light second mark.”

“How many?”

“Hard to say, ma'am. What with all the graviton echoes and all. Several hundred at least.”

Right about the time we would be picking them up if we didn't have the sensor probes out covering the path in, thought Beata. That was bad. It would give the Cacas a look at how her fleet was defending against them. Allow them to adjust their future shots to take advantage of her defenses.

“Send that data off to one of your departments, Sigurd. Let's see if we can find something that can be used against the enemy.”

*     *      *

“We're crunching the data coming in from our probes, my Lord.”

Mrastaran leaned forward expectantly in his command chair. They had seeded each of their launches with several hundred probes, missile bodies without a warhead, packing sophisticated electronics and sensor packages in its place. They were programmed to start sending information back at the same time as the other missiles started their final boost, masking their transmissions. Hopefully. It was a very restrictive way to transmit data, but it was better than nothing.

“What are we getting?”

“You understand that this is all preliminary, my Lord. It will take some time to analyze the data.”

“I know that,” growled the great admiral, glaring at his chief of staff for a moment. He cut off the insult he was going to add. It would only spur the other male's resentment.

“We're getting a good analysis on the shield. Estimating a diameter of fifteen thousand kilometers. Everything that is striking the surface is being destroyed. I'm thinking that some of the heat and radiation is getting through, but we can't tell how much from those probes. They just don't get enough of a look traveling at their speed, and they can't get a good read on the other side.”

“Just determine the best way to attack that thing.”

Mrastaran could imagine sending the entire stockpile of the Ca'cadasan Empire into that defense for little return.

Each wave lasted just over a minute from front to rear, and probes were seeded throughout that mass. Mrastaran looked at the readouts from the grav pulses. They were limited to a transmission rate of a couple of kilobytes a second, horribly inadequate. Add to that all the graviton static, and they weren't getting much from any one probe. Getting it from several hundred, parsing and comparing the data, might give them something.

“That wave has finished its attack, my Lord. We picked up a pair of their ships detonating.”

Or they assumed that they had breached their antimatter. Since the ships weren't boosting, there was no cessation of those emissions to verify their destruction.

“Next wave will be in attack range in twelve minutes.”

That would be the next form of attack. Missiles coming in from five different directions. Three of those points were using two wormholes, two of them a single. Those, combined, would be just as large as the singular strikes they had been launching before moving.

Mrastaran's forces had already moved four times since that initial launch. Three more launches were already on their way. The fourth was just about ready to burst out of the gates. With the information they were now receiving they could alter their launch points and profiles to get around the shield.

Unless they can curve it somehow, thought the great admiral. They hadn't seen that yet, but that didn't mean it wasn't coming. Mrastaran was tempted to just combine his fleet and head into the system as fast as he could get to the planet. Unfortunately, he had seen that act before, and wasn't willing to chase the ghost that enemy fleet would become once they could see where he was the entire way in.

“Battle group four is reporting wormhole launched weapons coming in. Estimating nineteen hundred weapons, all in the smaller range.”

Which meant it was their new, undersized weapons that carried less in the way of kinetic energy. Still enough to totally destroy a battleship, and with more of them there was more chance of hits.

“Order them to track those missiles back to origin. Then they are to reorient their wormhole and launch on that vector.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He thought he could hurt that force. While he couldn't pinpoint their position, the missiles he sent along that vector would eventually hit them. Wouldn't they?

Maybe, he thought. The enemy could move their ships after launch, boosting at a low acceleration rate. Not all that far before the wave got to them. Maybe far enough to generate some hits. Maybe not.

Mrastaran yelled out at the top of his lungs, slammed his lower fists into the arms of his chair. The bridge crew turned to stare at him, terror flitting across many of their faces. Mrastaran closed his eyes and gave a head motion of negation. He had not meant to engender that emotion in the males who were working under him. Ca'cadasan commanders who did that on purpose were beneath contempt, as far as he was concerned. But he was getting damned tired of having to fight this kind of battle. He had the ships to bring the enemy to battle and blow them out of space. Especially if he used his fleet wisely. But the enemy was not allowing him to fight that battle.

Close with the enemy? And take fire from multiple points all the way in. While he couldn't move one of his gates at the same acceleration as his ships, and a big fat target moving at speed was likely to be blown out of space.

Meanwhile, the clock was ticking, and the lives of himself and his family members were on the line. Which meant he might have to make a decision that could cost the Empire dearly. He didn't care how it effected the child Emperor, but his loyalty to his people, his species, was as great as ever.

No, he would stay the course for now. His wives and his sons were in as safe a place as there was in the empire. With loyal friends in secure, unpopulated regions. No place was totally safe, but he thought there was a good chance they wouldn't be found. Except for his three surviving older sons who were serving in the fleet. They would be too easy to find, and surrounded by legions of potential enemies.

“Battle groups four is reporting losses, my Lord. Thirty-one ships destroyed.”

Actually a low loss rate for so many missiles. But.

“Next wave coming in,” shouted out the com officer tasked with monitoring that force.

And there could be twenty or more streams attacking that force over the next ten minutes or so. And if each took out thirty ships, he would lose six hundred ships from that force. Unlikely, since that first stream had hit an inordinate number of ships, and now they were ready to defend themselves from that quarter.

The humans had a term for such losses, one that Mrastaran had found fascinating when it wasn't happening to him. A death of a thousand cuts.

*     *     *

“Deploy buckler,” said Beata, crossing her fingers and hoping that this worked. “And how are we doing on our first line defenses.”

“The sensor probes have been thickened, ma'am,” called out one of the com officers who was in charge of contact with the destroyer and fast attack shell.

“We're still placing the laser mines,” called out another officer. “Fifty percent of the counter batteries have been set in place.”

Which meant fifty percent of those batteries weren't in place. Fine, if their deploying ships survived the next attacks. If not, a lot of weapons would be wasted.

They were assuming that the next attacks would be coming in from a half dozen directions. Maybe more. Those waves would all be much smaller that the mass they had been facing. Overall, it would be the same number, with the same potential for destruction. They didn't know the timing of those attacks. Maybe they would come in at the same time. Maybe they would be spaced out. All up to the Cacas. And which of the dozen groups would actually be able to launch? They were assuming that only some of them had wormholes, but that was an assumption that could get a lot of them killed.

“Probes are picking up incoming missiles, ma'am. Indications are they will be in attack range in seven minutes.”

They had put out another layer of probes, further out, giving them another two minutes of warning. The data as far as size of the wave could be suspect, but the range and vector should be good.

“Raising the shields, now,” called out Chin from his control center.

“We have the vectors on the enemy missiles. One still coming in from straight ahead, three to the port side, one to the lower starboard side.”

The lines appeared on the plot, showing a representation of the swarms coming in. Of course they weren't a one dimensional line. They were almost a quarter light second in width by this time. Against the unified shield three of the swarms would be avoiding it almost altogether. The bucklers, or the smaller one projector shields, were in the way of four of the swarms. One was coming in with nothing to stop it, except for the normal defenses.

“We're shifting the bucklers, ma'am.”

The projectors could move. Not as fast as a ship, but fast enough to move the face of the buckler a  little less than a hundred kilometers a second. In the best of circumstances that would be enough. In the worst?

“Can we get something in the way of the swarm?”

“No, ma'am. That one is going to hit us full force.”

“Shift fire onto that swarm. I still want some engagement of the others, but the priority if to stop that one.”

Even the ones hitting the bucklers would have some leakers getting around the sides. They needed weapons to stop those. Or ships if worse came to worse. Mostly destroyers, few as they were in her fleet. It was still better, in the cold calculations of combat, to lose two hundred thousand tons and three hundred crew versus eight to sixteen million tons and thousands of people.

“Orders going out,” called out the chief of staff.

The computers were spitting out the orders based on the data, automatically sending them out to the ships and formations in question. Beata looked over the maneuvers quickly, inputting her approval as soon as she got a good idea about what was being done. There was too much movement here, too many vessels, for any organic brain to fully comprehend.

The missiles came in, over ninety-five percent of those aiming at the bucklers stopped dead. Most of the leakers were blown from space by counters, lasers and close in weapons. The mines played their part, sending out the counters that were their payload into clumps of missiles. Those with lasers fired out broad beams, enough to kill a missile by warhead breach. Some made it through nonetheless, and a half dozen ships disappeared in clouds of plasma.

The last swarm was engaged in the old manner, ships plying every defensive weapon they had to take out missiles before they could engage. Counters were aimed at general groups, lasers took on the groups until they got in close, when they joined the close in projectile weapons at targeting weapons that threatened the individual ships. Counters, the latest iteration, went out at twenty thousand gravities. Beam weapons at light speed, or near enough in the case of particle beams. The close in weapons accelerated thirty-five millimeter shells out of magnetic barrels, achieving point two light. They weren't very accurate, but they made up for that in mass. And all it took, at the velocities involved, was one hit.

Beata concentrated on that unblocked formation. The front of the wave dissolved in flares of fire as they hit the defenses. The plasma they released was a double edge sword to the missiles behind them. It made it more difficult for the defensive weapons to acquire, while at the same time degrading the sensors of the offensive weapons. There were so many coming in that some hits were inevitable. And even near misses, a warhead going off close to a hull, or sending a stream of plasma forward, could cause considerable damage.

Thirty-one ships, eleven destroyers, nine Imperial capital ships and eleven alien vessels, disappeared from the plot, while producing bright pinpoints on the viewers.

The attack went on for just under a minute. Sixty nerve racking seconds of terror for crews as they wondered if their numbers were going to come up. Ending in dead and injured, those whose luck had run out.

“Well, that went as good as we could expect,” said Janssen over the com.

Unless you were on one of the ships that got hit, thought the admiral, biting back a comment. It had actually been a good outcome. There would probably be greater losses in future attacks. And enough would erode her firepower to the point where she couldn't effectively engage the waves.

“Ma'am,” came a voice over the com. “Laser ring A is back online. With six emitters. We should have the other emitters back online within ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” said Beata after huffing out a tension relieving breath. Now her flagship, as least, was at full weapons capability. Except for the lack of a wormhole launcher that was. She had lost ships, but every attack was facing more capable ships.

We might just make it through this thing, she thought. As long as the enemy eventually gave up. If they sat out there and sent unlimited waves of missiles at her eventually she wouldn't have anything left to defend the planet with.

Chapter Sixteen

Winning is great, sure, but if you are really going to do something in life, the secret is learning how to lose. Nobody goes undefeated all the time. If you can pick up after a crushing defeat, and go on to win again, you are going to be a champion someday. Wilma Rudolph

“Analysis has determined that they lost about fifty ships with that strike, my Lord,” said the chief tactical officer. “Next one will be coming at them in twenty minutes.”

So we will eventually win this thing, if we fling the total missile production of the Empire at them, he thought. A ludicrous thought, since his head would be on a spike well before he emptied their weapons' coffers.

“We will sit here and fire the next wave from this point. The other forces will move to their next positions and fire.”

He was still hoping that the multitude of forces would continue to fool the humans. He knew that would not last for long. They would determine where the attacks were coming from, and track those units. They would know where the next waves were coming from, and ignore the decoys.

“Force seven is reporting that they are taking fire. Missiles coming out of nowhere at high velocity.”

How in the hells are they getting those weapons on target? thought the great admiral. The only thing he could think of were blind launches at a number of points, hoping for hits. A waste of missiles, since they couldn't be getting more than one hit in a thousand launched. Still, it was serving a purpose, keeping the Ca'cadasans alert to incoming fire that might or might not be there. And it wasn't like they had a magazine limit.

So far, if he was given the time, he was winning this fight. It couldn't go any other way. Except that he had the petulant child with a timer looking over his shoulder.

He was just about to take his next shot, all the other units were back in normal space, and all the wormholes had been erected and were waiting on their shots to come through.

“We have warp tracks, my Lord,” called out one of the tactical officers. “Twenty-four hundred fighters, moving at twenty-three lights. ETA to force three, seven minutes.”

Force three had two wormholes, now expanded into gates. If the shot was coming through in three minutes, they couldn't do anything about it. Collapsing the wormhole would mean those missiles went into the gate at the other end, destroyed as soon as they hit the narrowing at this end. If they didn't destroy the wormhole, always a possibility. Or they could be vectored away, still wasted, since they wouldn't have the battery power to decel to a stop. It would take six minutes to collapse the gate for travel in hyper. Nine minutes, and the enemy fighters would be there in six.

“They are to take their shot, while defending their gate at all costs.”

It was a risk, but one he was willing to take, since the odds were in his favor. Of greater concern was how the enemy had gotten those fighters within range without giving them away. Unless they had opened a wormhole in that region and brought the fighters through. Which meant they could go back through after the strike and move through another wormhole for an attack from a different region.

“Missiles coming through, my Lord.”

All eight of the gates would be transiting missiles now. All were at the same distance from the planet, so the missile waves would arrive within seconds of each other. Several other waves would strike before then.

“Eta of fighters to force three, three minutes.”

That force would be taking down their gate, collapsing it, moving parts of the structure through the wormhole itself. The Ca'cadasans were still not as proficient as the humans at this maneuver, but they were getting better at it. Faster.

“Fighters within range in one minute.”

The human were always making improvements, faster than seemed possible. Mrastaran was sure the reason was they used willing scientists who had a stake in the war, unlike his empire, who used slaves. Now their fighters were turning out three lights more than they had. And from what he had seen from the last attack, their missiles were also faster and had longer legs.

“They're firing, my Lord. Velocity, twenty-six lights.”

Mratsaran said a prayer to the gods he didn't really believe in. He had often wondered if the gods would side with people who disobeyed their commandments. He didn't think so, though when he had believed he hadn't thought the gods would do anything no matter what the believers did.

“Ninety-six hundred missiles coming in. The force is beginning to engage with counters.”

So they launched all of their weapons, thought the admiral, surprised. The normal pattern for the humans was to launch half their weapons, make a quick analysis, then come around for a second launch. But this time they had launched all of them.

“Hits within the force. A lot of hits.”

“What about the wormholes?” growled the admiral.

“They weren't hit, my Lord. But...” The male stammered. “The fighters are turning around and heading back in.”

The enemy had warp lances on their fighters, and could cause some minor damage to the ships. This was unusual behavior for them, since a close in attack put the fighters at risk.

“They're launching, my Lord. Ninety-six hundred missiles.”

The great admiral stared at the male in shock. Everyone knew that the human warp fighters carried four missiles each. These had been equipped with double that amount. Strapped on, or another class?

“We have hits, my Lord. Less than the last wave, but still hits. And...”

The male stared blankly into space.

“And?”

“They hit one of the gates, my Lord. Blew through one of the supports. It collapsed instantly.”

Mrastaran felt the chill of panic run up his spine. That was one eighth of his wormholes, gone. One eighth of his long range firepower. If he been on the other front he would have had more. Instead, he was on this secondary front, with limited resources. With the losses from the last battle, the eight he had with his force was all he had. Seven, he corrected himself.

“The hells with this,” he growled, looking at the system plot, connecting the locations and finding one that all the forces could get to before the next launch, calculating the time needed to erect the gate. If he concentrated them again he would be better able to defend his remaining gates against the warp fighters. Spreading out his pickets.

“All ships are to gather at this point. We will gather all of our fire power in one basket and hit them hard. Wormholes and shipboard launchers.”

He would fire everything he had at them, see how they handled it. He had less than a day remaining before the emperor would call him home. He had to win it by that time, or figure out if he was going to obey or not. It might not make a difference as far as his fate was concerned.

*     *     *

“They're on the move, ma'am,” said Janssen, brow furrowing. “Preliminary indications are they are heading for this region. We think they are consolidating their fleet again.”

So they're going for a defensive formation. But will they set up there for multiple launches, or will they move after one?

“Mara. They're on the move. Are you ready?”

“We're ready, ma'am. All accelerators are full of missiles. Once they come into normal space, if they hit where we think they're going, we will have task force three within fifteen minutes of them.”

“What do you want to do?” she asked the outer system commander, the one with most of her firepower in her hands.

“I think we will start launching when they are five minutes from that entry point. That should give us enough confidence that they are indeed going to come out there, and our weapons will strike ten minutes after they have emerged. And they will have time to expand their gates, which will fix them in place long enough for all of the missiles in the queue to reach them.”

“Sounds good. And as soon as your first missiles strike, vector all of your fighters onto them.”

It would still be a pinprick, unless they took out the targets they wanted. The missiles would go to active seeking as soon as they were within thirty seconds of the enemy fleet. They weren't looking for ships. Those would be easy enough to acquire. No, they were looking for the gates, a much harder target to acquire. But if they could get even one of them it was a victory.

Beata had another couple of tricks up her sleeve. If the enemy made the movements she wanted. With most Caca commanders she would judge that a high probability event. Against this commander, there was no telling.

*     *     *

“All gates are up and ready to go, my Lord. Missiles will be coming through in six minutes.”

Mrastaran wished they would have been ready sooner, but it was what it was.

“Go ahead and sent the orders out to all ships. I want twelve volleys out and on the way toward the planet.”

“Not more?”

“No. I want enough to fight a major battle against their outer system force, when they show their hand.”

Mrastaran had a pretty good idea where the enemy forces were out here. Not their exact positions. They were sure to be on the move, low acceleration, beaming their heat out into galactic space. By this time they could be up to one hundred and eight kilometers per second, gaining another forty-nine meters per second every second. Plus whatever velocity they had been carrying from low level acceleration from hours past. Potentially they could be to a thousand kilometers per second, vector unknown. He could fire masses of missiles on wide spreads and be sure of getting some hits. But maybe not enough to justify the expenditure of missiles.

Over a million missiles left the fleet, massing on the plot and heading out. The newest weapons in the arsenal, they were accelerating at ten thousand gravities. It would take them seven hours to reach their target, boosting the entire way. Since they didn't have to hide, they were shifting their vectors the entire way. When they got to their targets they would be coming in from a three hundred and sixty degree hemisphere, curving around to move in a half globe. That should have positioned enough to get in around the sides of the shield. The enemy would still be able to engage them with their shipboard weapons, but a wave like that should still get a good number of kills.

The second wave went out, another million missiles. Fifteen seconds later the third, then the fourth. Before the fifth could leave its launchers the wormhole launches went out. Another million missiles, these would get there before the ship launched weapons. He would continue launching as they became available. Eventually, after pounding them with wormhole launched missiles, the ship launches would reach and combined their mass into the attack.

It would whittle down the enemy fleet. With luck they might get some hits on the graviton projectors. Waves from the separate launches were still on the way in.

Mrastaran almost felt sorry for the enemy, watching waves of doom roll toward them. He...

“My Lord. We have missiles coming in at point nine-five light. Nineteen hundred. They started boosting a second after our passives picked them up.”

“Why would they do that?” asked the chief of staff.

Yes, it didn't make sense to go to active that far out. They could come in and acquire his ships from graviton emissions, and by not boosting until the last second they would be harder to track, harder to hit. They...

“They going after the gates,” shouted the great admiral. “Get as many ships as you can in the way of those weapons.”

The orders went out, with the normal lag times and slow reactions of the species. Ships still got in the approach paths, taking out missiles with their counter fire. Over nine hundred got to with attack range, all maneuvering to miss ships if possible. That wasn't possible for several hundred of them, and over seventy ships went up in clouds of plasma. Three hundred made it through, looking for a gate. A half dozen found it, and two hit. With a pair of tremendous flashes the gate frame broke into two pieces, the mirrored surface of the wormhole flickering, then collapsing in on itself.

“We lost a wormhole, my Lord,” called out a tactical officer.

“We're picking up warp fighters coming in, my Lord. Two different vectors, estimating over forty-five hundred.”

Mrastaran shook off the shock of losing another wormhole. He had consolidated the fleet just for the purpose of avoiding the loss of another wormhole, and the enemy had taken one out within minutes of his setting up. And now that mass of fighters. Surely coming in to take out another one of his remaining seven wormholes.

I need to destroy your fleet, thought Mrastaran, watching the icons of two warp fighter forces. Wormholes were still precious in the Ca'cadasan fleet, and he had lost two of them in less than a day.

If only we had a launch system like the humans have. All of the human wormholes were protected within the hulls of ships. They could still be destroyed along with the carrying ship, but they were nowhere near as fragile as large gates. The fleet was supposed to get them, if not in the same quantity as the humans. It was promised, but he could see no sign of any progress.

*     *     *

“Fighters have all launched, ma'am,” said Mara over the com.

Beata already knew what her subordinate was going to say. She had been watching the take from the outer system on the plot. Twenty-five hundred of the older space superiority fighters, each carrying four warp missiles. And just under two thousand of the newer bomber version. They really weren't bombers, since they carried missiles, eight of them, and not bombs. Still, the experts had determined that the primary focus of the warp craft was to bring missiles within range of the enemy and launch. There would be fewer space superiority ships produced in the future, while the factories cranked out the larger bombers.

“It looks like we got some of their ships, but our analysts are giving a ninety-eight percent chance of missing the remaining gates.”

Not unexpected. The enemy would try to defend those gates with everything they had. The fighters would rendezvous with their colliers, hanging further out by themselves, then come back in.

“Splash one wormhole,” came an excited voice over the com, transmitted from one of the fighters through the Klassekian net. “Repeat, splash one wormhole. Confirmed.”

Beata thrust a fist in the air, the age old sign of triumph. There had to be more wormholes in that force, at least four, maybe more. But one less was something.

Beata thought for a second about the Battle of Midway, a fight between carriers on old Earth. Wormhole gates took the place of fighters here. She had all of her large carriers with her at the planet. Their fighters were elsewhere, since it would have been a disaster to lose them with the ships. The carriers lacked the offensive firepower of the other capital ships. They did possess almost the same defensive fire, as well as large reactors and the capability to erect strong electromagnetic fields. Perfect for her purposes, even if they lack the armor of real capital ships.

“Another missile stream is acquiring.”

Another missile stream, another chance to get a gate. The odds were long, but playing the odds was the only way to go in this battle.

“We have enemy wormhole missiles coming in. Four vectors. Velocity point nine light. ETA, seven minutes.”

And so it went on. Stroke and counter, in what had to be the most unusual battle of the war.

Chapter Seventeen

When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies in yourself. Tecumseh

“We're through,” called out the helm of the Empress Annastasia Romanov from the control bridge, his voice still blurry from the effects of the knockout drug.

Not everyone took the drug. Most took to their beds, saying the trigger word under their breath and fading into a trance. The actual translation woke them, and they stumbled into wakefulness in less than a minute. Still, a minute in space could be the difference between life and death. Those who needed to be at their stations took the drug, a nanotech brew that also wore off as soon as the translation was over. Just like those in the trance, the recipient didn't notice the time distortion consciously. The seemingly eternal wait that eventually drove people mad.

Len was not an easy wormhole translator by any means. If he hadn't been vital to the fleet he might have been reassigned to a shore base, avoiding wormhole travel at all costs. He was in this till the end, and would be looking forward to several nights of restless sleep, with fleeting memories of the translation. The medical experts were working on that as well, though no progress had been announced.

Annastacia was a superheavy battleship, twenty-eight million tons of warship of the same class as Admiral Bednarczyk's Romulus, though more than a year older. The name held a particular place in the heart of the grand fleet admiral. He and the then Countess Annastacia Lee, the future Empress and mother of Sean, had been lovers when he had been a mere rear admiral. It had been a short lived affair, one the countess had soon forgotten, one the young admiral had never gotten over. He had been with other women after her, short lived affairs that did little to heal his hurt. And here he was, flying his flag in the ship named after the Empress who had died with Emperor Augustine in the assassination that had made their youngest son Sean the heir.

“The system is secure, Admiral,” said his Chief of Staff, Captain Victoria Sanderson. “System command is reporting that they are ahead of schedule.”

Len nodded, still trying to shake the lethargy from his brain.

Lrothically was the name of this system in the language of the natives, or Lroth to the Imperials. A G4 star sat in the center of a system with eighteen planets and eighty-four moons, as well as three asteroid belts. Unusual for a G class star, it had everything a fleet needed to repair and replenish, with the exception of antimatter sats and negative matter production. Those resources could come through the wormhole, and antimatter sats were in the process of construction and emplacement close to the star.

The Empire had been in this system for all of ten days. Scouting, making sure that there were no hidden traps, especially something that could cause the star to nova. Cleared, they had started the construction of the base, which was to be the launching point of First Fleet's next thrust into Caca space.

Which we're kicking off in three days, thought Len, a sour thought since he was missing almost a tenth of his fleet strength. The price of advancing technology.

In peacetime, meaning most of Lenkowski's time in the fleet, technological progress had been slow and steady. New discoveries or advances in well used tech, they had come along. And been incorporated into the ships of the fleet over time. Because they had the time to spare. Not now, and the changes came quickly. In many cases improvements had been made by nanotech in place, taking a day or two to make the changes. Other improvements needed time in a shipyard.

The new hyperdrive arrays took a couple of weeks in a shipyard. It was a war winning technology, and one that needed to be implemented in as many ships as possible. Unfortunately, it needed to be deployed in entire formations, squadrons, battle groups. All of the ship needed to accelerate in normal space at a similar rate, jump from hyper at the same velocity. Which meant he was sending formations through the wormhole net back to central docks and the Black Hole system for the refit.

“Don't worry, Admiral,” said Sanderson, walking over to his chair.

Len looked at the woman, a century his younger, with a resentful look. She was an easy translator, both from hyper and from wormholes. It was his job to groom her for higher command, and hopefully her next assignment after her stint here would be as a commodore, commanding a battleship squadron or task force.

“We'll get most of those ships back before we kick off the offensive,” she continued with a smile.

“And then we'll be ordered to send other formations back,” he growled, getting up from his chair and making sure he was steady before taking a step toward the central plot. At the moment he was more concerned with what he had on hand, versus the increased capabilities he would have in the future.

Annastacia had yet to be refitted, and he refused to let her go until they reached a pause in the campaign. Most commanders were attached to their flagships and crews, but Len was more attached than most.

“Let's see what we have,” said the grand fleet admiral, closing the holo that showed ships coming through the wormhole behind him to get a view of the new construction.

First he looked at one of the antimatter sats, this one near completion. An accelerator panel ten kilometers in length, with solar panels stretching out tens of kilometers to each side, it used the power of the star to change protons into antiprotons. The fleet, as well as most space based stations, ran on the substance, still the most efficient energy storage known. Someday, if they ever unlocked the secret of zero point energy, that would no longer be true. Today, they needed all the antimatter they could get.

He switched the view to orbital fortresses, manufacturies, asteroid mining stations. To the gathered ships waiting in far orbit around one planet or another. Antimatter tankers, missile colliers, freighters. A mighty fleet in its own right, but fragile, lightly armed.

Most of the warships were beyond the hyper barrier, where they could jump into hyper at a moment's notice. And intercept anything that came at the system from interstellar space.

“We will have a conference for all the battle group commanders in eight hours,” he told Sanderson. “Wake me if anything of importance comes up.”

Len didn't expect anything to come up while he was asleep. After all, the Cacas nearest outpost was over twenty light years away, with shoals of scout ships in between. Satisfied that all was as it should be, Lenkowski retired to his quarters for a meal and some sleep.

*     *     *

“Admiral to the flag bridge,” blared the speaker in the sleeping quarters. At the same time his implant tingled in the back of his brain. He opened his eyes, a chill running through him. It was a sign that all was not as it should be.

“What's going on?”

“We have a Caca scout on approach, Admiral,” answered Sanderson, a small tremor in her voice. “It's grav pulsing like crazy. And we don't know why.”

“I'll be right up.” Lenkowski had a bad feeling about this. The only reason that ship would be pulsing would be to contact something within proximity to the system. The star?

“Put everything on alert,” shouted Len as he strode onto the bridge. It was still partially manned, but more crew came running in before he got to his seat. “Alert anything within close range of the star to run a complete scan. I...”

“Sir. We're picking up graviton emissions from all over the system. Small craft, in the ten to twenty thousand ton range. Thousands of them.”

Len plopped down in his chair, his eyes riveted on the plot that was now alive with icons. As the tactical officer had said, thousands of them. Even worse was where they were positioned. The asteroid belts, moons of the gas giants, some of the rocky planets in the inner system. Threatening everything.

At least they are still some distance from priority targets, thought the admiral. Just as the thought ran through his mind and he opened his mouth to issue orders, the tracks of warp fighters appeared on the plot.

*     *     *

Admiral Kleshnik let out a grunt that was a combination of impatience and satisfaction. He had been waiting in hiding for almost three weeks. The trap had been set with patience and cunning. The ships hidden deep beneath the surfaces of asteroids and moons.

Ca'cadasans were not the most patient of species. They saw a foe, they struck at that enemy. It was not in their nature to hide, especially for long periods of time. However, the orders from their superiors, and therefore from the Emperor, were clear. Wait here, until they received the signal, and then strike. And strike hard.

The admiral had known that this would be a suicide mission. His one purpose from here on was to cause the most damage to the enemy he possibly could before he joined his ancestors in the afterlife. Now, looking at the data flying across the screen of his station, his eyes widened at the target rich environment his command was presented with.

Ships, thousands of them. Stations and satellites in the hundreds. He looked around the tiny bridge of his attack craft, seeing the same satisfaction in the expressions of his males. There was no need to send out orders. Every formation commander, every ship's captain, knew to strike at the targets closest to him. This promised to be a red day, and Kleshnik highlighted his first target and sent his ship on its way.

The fast attack craft were something new. Purpose built for this kind of mission, the twenty thousand ton ship carried seven crew and six missiles. It was capable of seven hundred gravities acceleration. There was little in the way of defensive systems, a couple of old fashioned laser domes and the standard electronics package for small vessels. It was not made for survival. Only to hit hard and destroy.

“They're reacting, my Lord.”

Of course they are. Maybe it will do them some good. But it won't save them from disaster.

*     *     *

“Battle stations. All crew to battle stations. This is not a drill.”

Across thousands of ships rang the cry of impending battle, the same as had been used by the wet navies of old Earth. On warships crew got into battle armor and ran to their stations. Engineers and damage control parties stood by to handle the repairs that might make a ship combat capable again. Weapons systems, from the individual controls of missile tubes to the integrated fire control stations, were manned and ready. If all went well, the smaller control stations would not come into play. If the master control stations were knocked out, at least the weapons could still be fired in local control. Every possible auxiliary control station was manned. Ships could be reduced to near hulks and still be under control. A hit by a missile traveling at relativistic speeds would make all of that preparation moot.

On the military freighters, tankers, and stations crew assumed their battle stations as well. In their cases the crew consisted of frightened spacers who could only pray that they didn't become targets. They were armed, and were theoretically capable of knocking missiles out of space before they hit. That was fine against a single missile, maybe even a couple. Against a swarm they were as good as dead. The civilian spacers on their ships were in an even worse state.  Their ships might carry a couple of weak lasers, and it was doubtful that they could even target and engage a single missile.

In most cases the newly revealed attackers were still some distance from their targets. In others, they came out of hiding right on top of weak targets ill prepared. The red day began.

*     *     *

Lenkowski stared in horror at a plot that was alive with icons. The icons of the enemy attack craft, soon joined by many times their number of boosting missiles. And the icons of boosting Imperial ships. Warships accelerating into harm's way, trying frantically to interpose their hulls between the weapons of the enemy and the helpless. Logistic ships and merchies trying just as frantically to get out of the way. The warships were boosting at five hundred gravities or more, the logistic ships and freighters at less than three hundred. Numbers started to appear beneath the missile icons, acceleration, velocities, lines linking them with probably targets.

Missiles started to disappear from the plot, hit by laser rings, counters, finally close in weapons. The tracks of hastily scrambled warp fighters appeared, those vessels heading out on missile interception missions. It looked like it was going to be a slaughter either way, but the admiral could hope that it was less of a disaster than he feared.

Antimatter sats started fading away on the plot like soap bubbles popped by a playful child. The ones already in service had no people aboard. It was simply the loss of a billion Imperials in materials with each of those killed. On those with construction crew still aboard, several dozen skilled workmen went up in plasma along with their stations. Pods were bailing from those further from the enemy. Still no guarantee of survival with all the weapons flying around, at least those had a chance.

Logistics ships were hit by missiles that were still barely moving. The ship killer warheads were enough to turn them into tumbling wrecks, in cases where they didn't breach the antimatter. With tankers that was always the case, and several flared into bright stars each minute, damaging everything around them for several light seconds.

Len watched as several hundred missiles headed toward the orbital stations revolving around the habitable planet. They were in danger, as was the planet beneath them.

“Captain,” he yelled over the com. “Get us over there, between the incoming missiles and that station. And send out orders for all nearby warships to join us.”

The captain immediately shouted out the orders of his superior, something that elevated him in the opinion of Len, then turned back to the admiral.

“You realize that moving into that position will put us at extreme risk.”

“Better us than those stations,” said Len, watching as the captain nodded.

There were from thousands to tens of thousands of personnel on each of those stations, and he would be sitting a seat in hell before he let that happen. Annastacia boosted toward the position, letting off waved of counters as her lasers ranged out to maximum range. Pod were ejecting from the stations, people getting off and down to the planet. If a couple of missiles struck that surface that might not have been an escape for them.

Len sat on the edge of his command chair, watching the incoming icons. Hundreds of them, then more. Over a thousand. Followed by hundreds of the new fast attack craft. The admiral was sure these were suicide attackers. They had no intention of coming out of this alive, and a prime target was ahead of them. With only the one battleship and a score of destroyers to stop them.

*     *     *

Kleshnik watched the viewer as they drew closer to the planet with its priority targets. There was a battle ship moving into position to intercept his weapons. One of their big bastards, larger than even the enormous vessels of his own people. If he could take that out? It wasn't the priority, but if it intersected a missile by accident he would shed no tears.

We're going to do it, he thought, his eyes focused on the battleship and the large station directly behind it.

The one shortcoming of this plan was now becoming apparent. They had left their under surface hangers with almost zero velocity, and though they had a high acceleration rate, they hadn't been boosting long enough to gain much momentum. The same with the missiles they fired. They were slow moving objects in the equations of modern battle. Their warheads could still kill most of their targets, but they were easy kills on the way in, and hundreds were dropping off the plot as he watched.

The ships further out had advantages his local force didn't. They had time to accelerate to targets, as did their missiles. It would take some time for them to strike as well, time the human crews to use to evacuate their vessels or platforms. That was fine. The ships and what they carried was what was important.

An orbital platform flared with plasma, then broke apart. His crew cheered, though he still sat pensively, knowing that they hadn't accomplished their part of the mission. Counter missiles were starting to loop in from other enemy warships moving toward them, while their lasers were sweeping his missiles from space. And then a missile hit the battleship, and the bright flash obscured it from sight. Destroyed?

*     *     *

Annastacia Romanov shook from the shock of a gigaton warhead strike. Len's gauntleted hands grabbed the arms of his chair as he cursed. The ship rumbled from the hit, lights flickered, and the admiral wondered is he needed to head to a life pod.

“We took a hit amidship, sir,” called out the flag tactical officer. “Estimated one gigaton warhead. Damage all over that region, but the ship is still fighting.”

Len nodded. Nothing more than he expected. Heavy ships should be able to shrug off a ship killer or two, as long as they didn't carry sufficient kinetic energy to shatter them. What worried him was the degradation of combat capability. His ship needed to keep taking out missiles and fast attack craft, lest the disaster grow larger. Missiles continued to fall off the plot, until few remained, and then none. Until only a few score fast attack craft remained, boring in on their last ride.

*     *     *

The Ca'cadasan admiral stared at the viewer. The battleship was streaming atmosphere from hull and armor. Large sections had a scorched appearance. But with few exceptions its weapons were still firing. All of his missiles were blotted out of space, the weapons of that battleship joined by those of a dozen capital ships and scores of smaller ships still boosting in. His fast attack craft had been falling off at an alarming rate, until only his ship and one other remained.

“Aim for the battleship. Try to hit her where the missile struck.”

Not that it would do much good against the kind of armor, not with the pitiful velocity he was carrying. He checked his system plot for an instant, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face. They had done much to the enemy across this system. Not the best case, but surely not the worst.

“It was an honor commanding all of you,” said the admiral as the contact alarms went off. Just before he, the crew, the entire ship, turned to plasma under the attentions of a battleship laser ring.

*     *      *

“It all my fault, your Majesty,” moaned Lenkowski, his image in a holo hanging in the air. “If I had taken a closer look at the system, all of those men and women would still be alive.” The admiral was on the move aboard his ship, touring the damage, the com holo moving ahead of him.

Sean was silent for a moment, looking over the casualty figures from Lroth. They were calling it the Battle of Lroth, but the emperor thought the Bushwhacking at Lroth would have been a better name. They caught us completely off guard, thought the Emperor. Weapons powered down, crews taking care of housekeeping duties. He glanced up at the holo, the background of which was a battle damaged corridor, open to space. Battle-suited figures moved in the far background, making repairs, the flare of torches casting dark shadows.

“It was my fault, your Majesty,” said Ekaterina Segiov, her image sitting in one of the conference room chairs. “We should have seen it coming.”

“Let me ask you something, Len? Knowing now where they were hiding, was there anything else you could have done to ferret them out?”

“I, don't know. Maybe setting off seismic charges on all of the large asteroids and using sensors to detect hollows. But...”

“Something that we have never bothered with,” said Sean, holding in his anger as he looked over the figures again.

They had lost hundreds of logistics ships, including eighteen antimatter tankers and thirteen missile colliers. A couple of liners were among those ships, carrying civilian contractors. A hospital ship. A wormhole gate. Every single antimatter sat in the system, as well as over ninety percent of the asteroid mines. And two of the orbital structures hanging in space around the planet. Neither of those had been very large, though one had been a habitat with thousands on board.

An enormous loss of materials. Even worse, tens of thousands of people, military and civilian, lost. And the ship named after his mother heavily damaged. Those damned bastards, he thought, clenching his fists. A suicide attack by fanatical aliens.

He recalled the tapes he had reviewed of the battle. Len had acted quickly, and had saved important facilities over the planet.

“I am so sorry that the intelligence apparatus failed you, your Majesty,” said Sergiov, jockeying for her position in the blame game, trying to take her share of the guilt. “You will have my resignation in the morning.”

“And mine, your Majesty,” chimed in Len.

“We don't have time to spend laying blame and trying to find a scapegoat,” roared Sean at the top of his lungs. He stopped, took a deep breath, and calmed himself down.

“If anyone is to blame, it's me,” he said in a soft voice. “I am responsible for approving all of our security measures.”

“Your..”

“No, Kat. Without our pipeline into the Caca High Command, there was no way you could have seen this coming. And Len. You had good reason to have lowered your guard. The last Caca was seen in that system ten days ago. We all know they aren't the most patient of sentients, and I, for one, hadn't expected them to lay low for so long.

“As far as resignations go, neither of you are to do such a thing. If you dare, I not only won't take you resignation, I will bust you down a rank and let you serve some time in the brig. I need you. Both of you. So you will do your jobs to the best of your abilities, and take precautions in the future that this will not happen again.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” both admirals said in unison like recalcitrant children.

“From now on we will do a more thorough search of every system we intend to set up as a base. I know it will take time, and give the Cacas the same. But I will not see my people slaughtered by such an attack again.”

He should have known something like this was coming. His fleet, mostly the silent service of the stealth/attack ships, had done the same to the Cacas many times in the past. The big aliens were not the brightest aliens in the Galaxy, but they did have some with native intelligence. And even someone with an average IQ could come up with good ideas.

“I have already ordered more patrols in systems we have taken from the Cacas,” said Len. “And pickets to hang out near our shipping concentrations.”

“Good. I'll make sure Mgonda does the same. And as for you, Kat.”

The image of the woman looked up at him with widening eyes, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“I understand that you lost your pipeline into their command when the Maurids revolted. Not your fault. However, I want you to develop every asset you can find, on any of the planets we have taken.”

“I don't have the people for that, your Majesty. I'm already stretched too thin.”

“Then mobilize the Maurids. Get every one of those sly bastards on the job. Drop a couple of thousand of them on every planet we've taken. Hell, most of those planets already have large contingents of Maurids. I understand that they make fantastic intelligence agents.”

Thinking of those wolf life aliens, Sean could imagine nothing more intimidating this side of a Phlistaran. Better yet, they were quick thinkers, intelligent, diplomatic when need be.

“I should have thought of that,” said Sergiov, her voice dipping back into whining self recrimination.

“None of that, Kat. You didn't see it coming? Well neither did the rest of us. And you're still in shock. Not the best state to think well.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“I'm in shock, but I've been through enough that I can deal with it much faster.” Sean also wondered if his improved genetics had something to do with it. Back when the entire human species had been improved, made to be smarter, more resilient, stronger and faster, his line had been altered beyond that of the general population. His IQ was at the top of the bell curve, though sometimes he still made decisions that made him doubt that. Some of the augmented operatives of the Empire, Secret Service, Rangers and Naval Commandos, were slightly better physically, but only a few people, such as Chan, approached his intellect.

I'll get right on it your Majesty. And, thanks.”

The image flickered and faded from view, leaving the Emperor alone with his thoughts. He immediately pulled up the map of their region of the galaxy, studying the dispositions on both fronts.

On his front he still had nineteen hundred light years to go to the Caca capital, after pushing over two thousand light years into their Empire. The Klavarta still had three thousand to go, and he doubted if they would make too much more progress in the near future.

His eyes landed on that Empire, and focused on the region where Bednarczyk was fighting for her life. Depending on the outcome of that fight, he might soon be facing the entire Caca fleet on his front. Still, if things went his way, he should at the Caca capital in two years, three on the outside. Except there was more to that Empire than the thousand light year wide corridors he was forging.

There was an enormous amount of territory out to the sides, above and below. Twenty times more than they had already occupied, and his forces were spread too thin as it was. It reminded him of Russia, and then the Soviet Union, on old Earth. They had traded territory for time, and had eventually won two wars using that tactic. Doing a quick estimation, he believed it would take decades to complete to conquest. He doubted the Cacas would fold like the Fenri. Taking their capital and their major industrial systems would hurt their efforts. Enough? They could spend decades raiding into the space he controlled, and he would be forced to react.

This type of war was not what he wanted. He couldn't think of any human ruler through history that would have wanted this. He wanted it over and done with. His Empire needed a break, time to reorganize and use the Donut for peaceful purposes. Unfortunately, he was in the grapple, and whining and complaining about it would do no good.

I need to meet with Chan and her brain trust, he thought. He normally felt much better after looking over the fruits of their research. It gave him hope that he might be able to finish this thing in a reasonable time, with minimal losses. But then, days to weeks after those meetings, reality intruded and slapped him in the face.

Chapter Eighteen

The senses deceive from time to time, and it is prudent never to trust wholly those who have deceived us even once. Rene Descartes

“That was the last of their separated launches, ma'am,” said Janssen, looking out of the holo.

Which means that we have the first of their massive launches coming at us. Or should I say, the first of their new set of massive launches.

The plot was showing what they knew about the enemy fleet. They knew there were still a lot of them, over a hundred thousand vessels, in a defensive formation around their remaining wormholes. It was estimated that the Cacas still had four of them. Possibly five. With the launch system the Imperials were using three would be a nuisance. With the mass launches the Cacas were using it could be overwhelming.

There was a constant train of warp fighters heading for the enemy, releasing their missiles, then running back to the support ships. The enemy had gotten lucky and knocked out some of the fighters. The fighters had had enough luck to get their missiles through the mass of ships separating them from the gates, getting one more. Since then they had tightened their defensive formation around their precious portals. The only way she could think of to attack the gates now was from the front, a very narrow front, into the teeth of missile storms. Most probably a recipe for disaster.

Three hundred thousand of her own weapons were heading toward the Cacas, boosting, tracked by her, and she assumed the Cacas, as they accelerated. She doubted they would do much. Maybe take out many Caca missiles as they passed in space, but not enough. Never enough.

And finally, she had fast attack craft moving in from both flanks. Also seen, and fired upon. The enemy missiles hadn't reached them yet, but she expected the losses to be heavy when they did. Still, they were another distraction, and she could always hope that their missiles would do some damage to the enemy fleet.

Her semi-hidden ships were still taking the Cacas under fire with wormhole launches. Again they were hurting the Cacas, taking out a couple of dozen ships with each launch. She calculated that if they could keep up that rate of fire, the Cacas would be destroyed in a couple of years.

She needed something to change, drastically, or this fight was as good as over.

*     *     *

“I really don't like the idea of you sending my ships to the other front, your Majesty,” growled Duke Taelis Mgonda, looking at his monarch on the holo.

“Last I heard, those ships belonged to the Empire. You were just given permission to play with them.”

“You know what I mean, your Majesty.” From the way the duke cut off his words mid-sentence, it was obvious he wanted to say something else.

“Given the information we have on the Cacas, Duke Taelis, what is the earliest you can move?”

“A week? Two?”

“And meantime I have an allied fleet in risk of total destruction over on the New Earth front.”

“And you believe that a few thousand more ships can make a difference against the juggernaut the Cacas have assembled in that system,” said a scoffing Mgonda. He knew he needed to be more diplomatic here, but was tired of holding back his words. Plus, he had determined that Sean respected honesty, as long as it didn't cross the line into disrespect.

“By themselves, no.  Along with some of the other things we are about to pull, maybe.”

“I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Frankly, I hope so too.”

Mgonda's biggest worry was that a strong element of his fleet might be wiped out in a battle that was already lost. Of course, Sean was correct. The ships were the property of the Empire, and therefore his as custodian of the Fleet. Mgonda was fortunate to have them in his force.

“How goes the search?”

“We have yet to find anything, your Majesty. But we'll keep up the search.”

Mgonda still wasn't sure about that order. He had thousands of ship, mostly destroyers, scanning every rock in a half dozen systems. The capital ships had better sensors, but he wasn't willing to put those ships at risk to an ambush by mines and smaller vessels. Destroyers were made for this task. Hard on the crews, but better to lose three hundred than three to four thousand.

“I have no intention of getting bit on the ass,” continued the duke, leaving unsaid the fact that it had happened to his friend and rival. “I...”

“We are under attack,” came the voice of a panicked com officer over the fleet net. “Thousands of them.”

Mgonda pulled up a holo from that system, one sitting fifty-three light years to the flank of his present position. A system that was rich in resources, and one the Empire planned to put to good use. With a thought he sent the take to the Emperor.

“Another one,” said Sean, his voice a growl.

“We're on it, your Majesty. I have only destroyers and light cruisers in that system. All of the capital ships of that force are sitting out beyond the hyper barrier. Ready to provide fire support.”

Unfortunately, that support was hours away from the ships being hit at the moment. Fortunately, the crew on the scouts had been at battle stations, all crew in armor and ready to fight.

“We have a strong screen around all of our logistics trains in all of our kick off systems,” said Mgonda. “I really don't see how this will slow down our offensive. If you leave those ships with me, I'll take another couple of hundred light year of depth from them in a single bite.”

“Len was hit hard, Duke Taelis,” said Sondra McCullom, her own face appearing in a floating holo. “We have determined that he needs extensive replacements for his logistics train.”

“And I don't,” said Mgonda, his expression flat. “So give me the go ahead and he can catch up.”

“Sorry, Duke Taelis, said Sean, shaking his head. “I will not let you forge on ahead with an extra exposed flank.” Of course there would be exposed flanks, with both fleets. That couldn't be helped. But the one between them was something that could be avoided, and Sean would avoid it if at all possible.

“But..”

“That's my final word, your Grace,” shouted Sean. “Play by my rules, or I'll find someone else to lead that fleet.”

*     *     *

That young fool. Who does he think he is, threatening me? thought Mgonda, biting off the retort that would probably have beached him despite his ability to lead the fleet. He took a deep breath, looking at the face of his monarch in the holo. Sean was silent, obviously giving Mgonda time to think.

He's the man you swore your oaths to, thought the Duke, closing his eyes for a moment. You swore to obey his commands at any cost, up to and including your life. So it's about time you honored your oaths and stopped skirting insubordination.

“Yes, your Majesty. Your Fleet, your rules, and mine to serve.”

“I'm sorry Duke. I didn't want to get into a shouting match with you. You are one of my best commanders, and I need you. But I will not stand for having my orders questioned.”

“And you shouldn't, your Majesty,” agreed Mgonda, nodding. “It won't happen again. Believe me.” Mgonda had been thinking of retirement just the other day, but he didn't want to lose his command on the verge of victory.

Sean nodded, then cut the transmission. Mgonda stared into the air for a moment before looking back at the plot. It was set to the system where the Cacas had sprung their ambush. Thankfully he hadn't lost much, and the ships he had there were making quick work of them.

Thanks Len, he thought, picturing his old friend and reminding himself to give him a com to try and lift his spirits. Len had taken it on the chin, but in doing so he had alerted the rest of the fleet to the Caca's plan.

*     *     *

“Shadow has reported in, your Majesty,” said Ekaterian Sergiov over the com holo. “He would like to talk to you himself.”

“Then tell him to get in touch with me,” said Sean. He was starting to feel a little overwhelmed at the moment, but was willing to give the Maurid leader some time. He was important to the Empire, despite controlling no fleets.

“I have him on the com if you want to talk with him now.”

“Go ahead.”

Another holo opened in the air to the side of Sergiov's. The long snouted face that looked out at him, obsidian eyes looking into his, was the leader of the Maurid resistance to the Cacas. Shadow's facial fur, like the rest of his body, was jet black. Maurids came in all colors, orange, tan, striped. Even pure black and solid white, though those colors were relatively rare. No matter the color, every single one of them was a deadly killer, and even seeing one through a holo sent a chill down Sean's spine. He thought he might be able to take one hand to hand, though his Secret Service Detail would not allow such. His friend Cornelius had killed several in hand to hand. Then again, Cornelius had killed Cacas with his bare hands as a demonstration of human superiority.

“Your Majesty,” said the alien in good Terranglo, slightly slurring the words. “It is good to see you again. And once again, I want to thank you for what you have done for my people.”

Sean nodded, thinking about what he had done for them. The Cacas, or at least their new Emperor, had decided that the Maurid species needed to be exterminated after their treachery against his empire had been revealed. The Fleet had invaded several Maurid worlds, killing the Cacas and liberating the Maurids. Being what they were, the Maurids had joined in the fight with a relish. And then the Cacas had tried to pull a trap on the Fleet by threatening a Maurid world with extermination by nova. The Fleet had won that fight, taking out the projection ships at the last moment, and saving billions of Maurids in the process.

There were still Maurid worlds under Caca occupation. The Cacas were bombarding them from space, knowing better than to land troops on the surface. They had also shown restraint in killing the systems, probably because the Empire was in no position to try a rescue attempt. Still, billions of Maurids had been saved, and the aliens were showing their gratitude in supporting the Empire fully.

“I have sent the word out for my agents to start asking about, hoping that some of the native populations have heard about the Caca ambushes. I doubt there is anything there, but those in space have probably seen indications of the construction of hiddy holes. It will take some time to get the message into Caca space, but with your help, it can be done.”

“That's a tall order, Shadow,” said Sean, shaking his head. “Anything we send to a system in Caca space will be tracked. I think it a better idea to send some of your people along with the Fleet. We can drop them on the planet and let them do their work, while others go to whatever stations and mines are in that system.”

“That will work,” said Shadow, grinning. “I would request that some of your people come along with each of my teams. Your intelligence operatives, maybe some of your Rangers.”

“I'll get you some people, Shadow.”

“I would like to have Walborski on my personal team.” said the still grinning alien. “I would learn more of you humans, and he is a good teacher. If he's available.”

“He is now.”

*     *     *

“You have a priority com, General,” called out the secretary from the outer office.

Brigadier General the Duke Cornelius Walborski swore under his breath, wondering what fool had something stupid to say to him now. This assignment seemed to go on forever. Sean had promised him he wouldn't see action again, but he had hoped that the Emperor would change his mind. Instead, he had been watching, supervising, others train for front line action, while he wrestled with the paperwork of the training command.

The concept of the training was interesting. Augmented humans and normal Maurids working to mesh into units that could be sent on infiltration missions. There had been training in and out of suits for both species. Most of the missions would be run on planets with breathable atmospheres, but there was always the possibility of infiltration through airless moons and asteroids. So far the training had been going well, and the first units were almost ready for deployment. Maurids and augmented Rangers were of a kind, cold blooded killers with a code of honor. They got along well, despite their obvious differences.

“Who is it?” asked Cornelius, expecting to hear the name of some supply officer or such, telling him that they were out of the meat that Maurid's preferred.

“The Emperor,” said the secretary, her voice hushed.

“Your Majesty,” said Sean into the air, establishing the connection.

“Duke Cornelius,” said Sean, his smiling face appearing on the holo. “We are having some new problems with the Cacas on our front. Shadow is working on getting intelligence, and he has requested you.”

“Another desk job?” asked Walborski in distaste.

“A field assignment. I wouldn't have called on you, except that Shadow seems to respect your abilities for some reason.”

Walborski smiled. At one time he would have thought that he would never have liked or trusted a Maurid. He had seen them kill people on Azure in a very brutal manner. Not that he wasn't brutal himself, but he didn't tend to leave body parts scattered about. Having worked with Shadow, lived with him really for weeks at a time, his perspective had changed. He had found Maurids to be very family oriented, loyal to a fault with those they saw as friends, possessing many admirable qualities. And they were the best natural hunters and killers he had ever been around.

“I look forward to working with the leader of our alien allies, your Majesty.”

“I was hoping you would feel that way. Get your kit together, kiss Devra and your children goodbye, and get out to the forward Fleet base as fast as you can. Sean out.”

Cornelius was grinning from ear to ear as his Emperor and friend's holo disappeared. He took a look around his office, a place he had never come to love. A field assignment. Maybe not one that allowed him to kill Cacas, directly. However, if it allowed others to kill them in the future, he would consider it a job well done.

*     *     *

“They've turned the damned wormholes our way, ma'am,” called out the tactical officer.

“Should have figured,” replied Mara, looking at the viewer that was showing the enemy fleet as it was, two hours before.

Even as she watched the surface of a portal rippled, and effect that went on for some time. The sign that fast moving objects were coming through, at too high a velocity to be visible. Missiles. The other wormholes were also turned, and the plot showed the aiming point to be her other forces. They had decided that she had become too much of a nuisance, and were attempting to swat her.

“ETA?”

“The missiles should be coming at us at point nine light, over two hours. Which means they will traverse that distance in two point two two hours. So say, approximately thirteen point two minutes till they get here.”

Mara glared at the officer who had taken too much time giving her details she didn't need.

“All ships go into defensive formation Charlie Three,” she ordered one of her com officers. Looking over at another she shouted out another order. “Get the information to the other forces.”

The other forces were slightly further from the enemy, and would still be some minutes before they had a visual on what Mara had already seen. A little bit of an additional heads up couldn't hurt. Especially as all three forces had four gates open and were accepting ships from the black hole system. That made the wormholes vulnerable, and some of the ships coming through weren't very good at defending themselves.

Battleships were coming through, along with destroyers and light cruisers, dedicated missile defense ships. The majority of the vessels were logistics ships, carrying mines and missiles. The ones that had already transited were busy placing mines, portable missile launchers, out in front and to the side of her fleet. That made them very vulnerable to what was coming in, and none of those ships weren't fast by any respect.

“Get those ships back into the fleets. Fastest boost. And I want more destroyers out there covering them.”

Destroyers and cruisers were something she had an abundance of, since almost all the lighter ships in the fleet had been given to her. The destroyers were spread wide around her force, most facing the enemy. The light cruisers were closer in, defending her heavies, some of which had her wormhole launchers.

“All warp fighters are to vector on the closest missile stream. Take them out, but be careful.”

That was one of the most dangerous missions for a warp fighter, coming in to kill fast moving missiles that weren't giving themselves away with their graviton emissions. Still, they were good at the mission, and she would rather lose some fighters and their half dozen crew versus million ton ships with hundreds or thousands of crews.

“They're moving ma'am. But most of them won't get on the streams in time.”

I should have known they would pull something like this. I got caught up in thinking that they wanted to kill Beata at all costs.

“The gates are being turned ma'am. Their reorienting onto Admiral Bednarczyk's force again.”

Which means they have had time to send four or five waves at us, thought Mara, grimacing.

“ETA?”

“Twelve minutes, approximately.”

“When they reach the ten minute mark, all ships are to start cycling counters as fast as they can launch.”

The counters would be fired blind, without a target, accelerating in the general direction of the swarm. They would normally be tracking the incoming weapons from their graviton emissions, but here they wouldn't have that luxury. The counters would pick them up at ten light seconds, barely enough time to react. But some would get hits, and maybe force many more missiles to go into evasives, giving themselves away.

At the ten minute ETA mark every warship in the fleet started cycling counters through their dedicated launchers. There was a ten second load time, and each launcher got off six shots a minute. More than a hundred thousand a volley, heading out at twenty thousand gravities.

At six minutes out the wave of counters began to intersect with the incoming wave of missiles. The missiles remained silent, using only passives to find their targets. The counters pulsed radar and lidar with as much power as they had. In the fractions of a second they had they pushed their boost up to thirty thousand gravities, going after whatever they could find. The incoming missiles started to change their behavior after several had been hit. Their simple brains couldn't figure out the tactics of the enemy. But they could determine they were under attack, and that the objects moving around them were not massive enough to be ships, their programmed targets.

Counters started to detonate, some with direct hits, more with proximity explosions as the weapons' brains determined that they were as close as they would ever get to their target. They didn't have much time, not at the combined velocities of the weapons, and there were many opportunities that were missed. Many of the incoming missiles boosted, trying to get away from their hunters, and giving themselves away in the process. Bright spots flared in the darkness, barely getting to Mara's fleet ahead of the missiles. More pinpoint flashes flared, missiles hitting their fellows as they tried to avoid the counters ahead.

Ten seconds later the next wave of counters struck, another ten seconds after that. Mara still didn't know how many were still coming in, but from the continuation of flashes, the flares of graviton waves, the cessation of the same, she had to guess it was still near three quarters of a million weapons.

“Fire the shotguns,” ordered Mara, wondering if the new weapon would do any good, or if she should just stick with the standard counters.

“Next in the queue,” called out the tactical officer, sending the orders out to all ships.

The newly arrived merchies and logistics ships shut down their drives. If they weren't in a safe place by this time they would never reach it, and boosting just led the missiles right to them. All of the warships were boosting, luring the weapons into their target basket. The newly arrived capital ships stuck close to the gates, their last defense.

“Shotguns away.”

Mara stared in morbid interest at the plot as that wave moved out. They looked like standard counters on the way, accelerating at the same rate. They would track and pursue their targets in the same manner, until they reached two light seconds distance, just over one light second separation. At that point the front of each counter exploded in a flare that took out the entire bow section. Each released two thousand tiny dots that accelerated toward the nearest target. A fraction of a second later the bodies of the counters exploded outward, filling space with a fast moving cloud of fragments.

A hundred thousand enemy missiles disappeared, hit by the tiny balls of dense matter wrapped around a minute' amount of antimatter. Enough to blast through the body of a missile and breach the antimatter in the warhead. More went off as they hit the cloud of sharp fragments. It was a great defense, though not perfect, and three hundred thousand weapons slid through or boosted around. Into the target baskets of the laser rings and particle beams of the warships.

Mara took in a deep breath as her fingernails dug into her palms. Thirty seconds later she let out the breath as the last missiles disappeared from the plot. She had gotten them. All of them.

“We have hits on the fleet, ma'am,” called out the tactical officer. “A hundred and thirty four ships. Light cruisers and destroyer, with two heavy cruisers. Most were total losses.”

A part of Mara died inside as she thought about those deaths, while at the same time she felt the triumph of defeating such a swarm. There would be more coming her way, but every one fired at her was one less that Beata had to worry about.

“Battle force two is reporting that they are engaging an incoming swarm, ma'am.”

And battle force three will be picking up their wave in another six minutes. Her force was safe for the next twenty-five minutes, and she was thinking it might be time to make another move. Off the bullseye.

*     *     *

“We're picking up a lot of graviton emissions from the area to galactic north, my Lord. Thousands, more. The smaller emissions of their counter weapons.”

“We have them pinpointed, sir,” said the chief of staff. “Might I suggest that we jump part of our fleet into hyper and close with them.”

Mrastaran put his head in an upper right hand and thought. The last time he had tried to attack an enemy force he knew the location of he had gotten reamed. He didn't doubt they would have a lot of weapons waiting for him to translate back in close to them. He could move his entire fleet, but then he would have to cease the attack against the collection of large ships near the planet. The clock was ticking, and he needed to wipe out that force to spare himself from the headman's ax.

“Go ahead and send a force to that point. Let us say five hundred battleships and the appropriate escorts.”

“And the other two, my Lord. We have another pinpoint from their graviton emissions.”

Which meant another human group was being hit, with the third soon to follow.

“We wait on those. Let's see how the first handles itself before committing more ships. I want the defensive positions around our gates to remain strong. And keep up the fire on the planet and the ships around it.”

Admiral Trostara bowed his head slightly. Mrastaran could tell from the male's body posture that he didn't like the great admiral's decision. Mrastaran was willing to let the male think what he might, as long as he followed orders. He might not be in command that much longer, but while he was the fleet would follow his mind.

Chapter Nineteen

When you're focused on your enemy, then you are ignoring your allies. Stacey Abrams

“We have a Caca force splitting off from the main group and moving toward us in hyper. Twenty-five hundred ships, five hundred of them battleships.”

“Are we ready to move?” asked Mara.

“Yes, ma'am. Any changes.” From the expression on Goruptal's face, the man expected some.

“No. Let's go with our initial movement order.”

She would be jumping with all of her heavy cruisers and seventy percent of her lights and destroyers. Her newly arrived battleships, the logistics ships and the gates would remain here. With luck the enemy would send signals to their missiles still on the way here and vector them toward her emergence point. She wouldn't be there by the time those weapons arrived. Her force would have fought its battle and either been victorious, or not.

“Translating, now,” called out the fleet navigation officer.

Lights dimmed and the slight nausea of moving into a higher dimension hit. Twelve thousand ships moved through hyper, leaving almost five thousand light cruisers and destroyers behind, along with four hundred battleships and several hundred logistics vessels. More battleships were arriving, one through each of the three gates every thirty seconds. They came with orders to not put them at risk. She had scoffed at those orders. How could she use them in battle without risking them, after all.

She wondered why the Cacas had sent such a small force after her, and if it would continue to pursue her once they saw her strength. If that was all of it she was certain that she could take it in battle.

“More enemy ships jumping into hyper, ma'am. Five thousand ships. The first group has stopped decelerating.”

Now they're taking me seriously, thought Mara with a tight smile. So let's see what kind of chase we can lead them on.

“They have to have seen our other two groups by now,” she said, staring at the plot. “Why aren't they sending anything after them?”

“I think their commander is being cautious, ma'am,” said Goruptal. “We've already tricked him once, so he's probably thinking we're trying to pull something again.”

Just our luck to get a Caca who thinks before he acts, she thought. On the positive side, even with the larger Caca force that was sure to converge on her as soon as she left hyper, she might survive this running fight she was setting up.

*     *     *

“Admiral Montgomery is on the move, ma'am,” reported Captain Janssen through the com holo. “An estimated seventy-five hundred enemy ships are moving through hyper in two groups. I believe they will converge on her position once she is in normal space again, if they don't go after her in hyper.”

I hope you know what you are doing, Mara, thought Beata. She had made her thoughts known to her subordinate, then trusted the other woman would formulate and execute a workable plan to frustrate the big aliens. She had always trusted Mara, and the scout force commander had never let her down. Still, it was in her nature to second guess the people under her, and it was the cause of much anxiety.

“You think they have turned their attention back to us?” she asked.

“Undoubtedly, ma'am. Estimating that the next big wave will arrive in two hours. And in other good news, they have to have become aware of the positions of the other two groups, but have yet to move on them.”

Beata thought about that for a moment. The Caca commander was taking action to crush one of the groups he knew about, Mara's in fact. But he was also erring in the direction of caution, probably because he had been burned in ambush before.

The admiral checked on the status of her ships. She still had over seven thousand effective capital ships, along with five hundred destroyers, some newly arrived. All of those ships were over eighty percent effective, and repairs were ongoing. She also had almost a thousand heavily damaged ships that might or might not be repaired in this system. And the two hundred logistics ships, busy unloading their cargo. Those captains were moving as fast as they could. The danger in that was mistakes were made when people hurried the process of unloading and deploying.

“You have a priority com call, ma'am,” called out the ship's communications officer.

I wonder what Sean wants now? she thought as she nodded at the image in the holo.

“Admiral,” said the voice of Ekaterina Sergiov as her face replaced that of the com officer in the holo. “We believe that the male you are facing is on a strict timetable, issued by his child emperor. He has to defeat you, and fast, or he will have failed.”

“Then why isn't he moving faster?” growled Beata, wondering why this was important. The enemy would keep pounding her, and if that male was relieved of command, the next would do the same. Or would they?

“The dossier we have built on Great Admiral Mrastaran indicates that he cares for the lives of the people under him to a greater extent than most Caca leaders.”

The poor bastard, thought Beata, instantly grasping the implications of such a being in the face of his orders. He was on a timetable, and if he didn't succeed before the time had passed, he would be facing punishment. Probably severe, for he and his family. But rushing things would get more of the people he cared about killed. What a conflicted position he was in. Beata could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

“That's all well and good, Admiral,” said Beata, putting her hands on her hips. “But this bastard will keep sending missiles at us no matter his timetable. The same with whomever takes command when he's recalled.”

“It might do no good at all, Admiral Bednarczyk,” said the intelligence chief, eyes narrowing. “I just thought you would want to know more about your opponent. And take hope in the fact that he might continue to make errors.”

“Admiral Montgomery is jumping back into normal space,” called out her tactical officer.

“Thanks for the information, Admiral,” she told Sergiov. “But there's something about to happen that calls for my attention.”

Sergiov terminated the transmission at her end, leaving Beata with the feeling that she had angered the other woman. Too bad. Intelligence might send tingles down your spine, but not mine.

Beata walked back to her command chair and took a seat, getting a ring side view to the ensuing action.

*     *     *

Mara watched the enemy ships approaching on the plot. She had hoped they might come at her in two formations. That would be just like the arrogant bastards. But someone over there was thinking, and they had joined up before coming at her.

“Wormhole launchers are ready, ma'am. All hyperdrive arrays are powered up and ready to go.”

Once a ship powered through one of the dimensions of hyper, no matter if one or how many at once, it had a cool down period before it could translate again. Her slowest ship, and therefor her fleet, had a cool down times of just under thirty seconds. She was assuming that the Cacas had the same limitations.

“How are we coming on the deployment of the mines?”

“Twenty-five percent are in space and drifting into position. Should we deploy more?”

“That should be enough. We'll save the rest for the next deployments.”

“Estimating Caca translation in one minute, eighteen seconds.”

So we have a little bit of a wait, thought Mara. It would be the longest of the many waits they would have. None of the others would be much longer than thirty seconds. Or much shorter.

The admiral watched the icon of the Caca force creeping nearer like a swarm of doom. She was sure they were coming after her. Why not? She was where they could see her, and surely she hadn't had the time to set much of an ambush. What she didn't know was how close, or in what orientation, they were going to come out of hyper.

The scout force commander was on the edge of her seat, watching, waiting. And then..

“We have translation.”

“All ships, orient on the target,” she shouted, too loud for her own tastes.

All of the warships swung around, the wormhole ships orienting their noses on the entry point, all the others turning a broadside and starting their spin.

The noses of the Caca ships poked into normal space, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and sliding forward. Mara's fleet was also moving, fortunately away from the Cacas at point three light, her fleet's translation speed.

The twenty-nine wormhole launchers all let off their first swarms of sixty missiles, sending seventeen hundred and forty missiles at point nine-five light into the Caca force. The other ships launched their broadside, then pivoted around to let off their stern tubes, then around to fire the off broadside. The Cacas loosed their own first volley as well.

“Estimated enemy missile contact in fourteen seconds.”

“All ships are to jump, now. Head for the next point.”

Every ship oriented in the proper direction while the enemy missiles continued to close. Beams, light and particle, linked the fleets, causing damage. A trio of human and allied ships flared and died under the attentions of super-battleship laser rings. At nine seconds to contact the allied ships jumped into hyper, letting the enemy missiles slide by in normal space.

Her force moved in hyper I, accelerating to change vector while maintaining the same general velocity. Mara wanted to be able to jump back into normal space when she thought it best, and wouldn't have time for deceleration. Her wormhole equipped ships oriented their noses back at where the enemy fleet would come from and prepared for their next shots. While behind her the trap was sprung.

*     *     *

The ground rumbled underfoot as Captain Xferd Canara looked up at the sky from the doorway of his bunker. The sky was alive with short lived streaks of light. Canara knew what they were, though he had never seen them in such a quantity. Particles smaller than grains of sand, streaking into the atmosphere at relativistic speeds. The remnants of the hundreds of thousand of missiles that had been blasted from space. Most of that debris missed the planet, fortunately. And what did hit was mostly too small to pose much of a threat to structures, though people caught in the open could suffer serious injuries.

Canara reached up and tapped his helmet. Its tough alloy might repel a particle, or it might not. Still, he would feel it when it hit. So he was taking a risk standing out here, though the upper lip of the doorway did offer some protection. If a larger particle came through there would be no stopping it.

“Captain,” came a voice over his com. “Do you see that village down the road from you? To the north?”

“Just a moment sir,” replied the officer, moving out of the doorway and jogging to where he could get a look. He sucked in a breath as he saw the flames reaching for the sky from the mostly old construction village. Enough heated particles had hit to start a conflagration that was threatening to destroy the old town.

“What do you think you should do about it, Captain?”

We're supposed to help these people. Win their hearts and minds, thought Canara, not sure he wanted to be out in this type of storm. Helping to save their village would go a long way for establishing good will.

“I think I should go there and help them fight the fire.”

“I think that's a good idea, Captain. I really didn't want to make that an order, but if you feel up to it, the military and the government would be grateful.”

And here we go, thought the officer, running around to the front of the bunker so he could rally his men. He had decided that he would leave it up to them as well. And he wondered if anyone would actually follow him.

*     *     *

Ensign Kallaris Plisias hadn't liked it the first time he had been in this system. And this time it was worse. He was now the three bird in Charlie squadron of his wing, a promotion of sorts. A promotion earned in the blood of the officers and crews who had died in those positions during the last battle.

“Engage,” came the order over the com net, his Klassekian tech looking at him and voicing the words.

They really didn't even need to move, since the enemy fleet was moving toward them through normal space. With a wave of his hand toward the pilot/tactical officer the ensign ordered the launch of four of their six missiles toward the enemy.

At the same time the tens of thousands of mines fired, sending their missiles into the front of the enemy fleet from close range. The enemy was quick on the trigger, already at battle stations. Still, it had to come as a shock, and many of the missiles made it through the defenses. Flares and flashes moved across the enemy fleet, and ships tumbled through space. Scout ships burst into plasma under the attention of gigaton range warheads. Supercruisers took heavy damage and tumbled away through space. Battleships fared better,  since the missiles carried less than a full measure of kinetic energy. Any damage was good damage, as far as the members of the allied fleet were concerned.

And now we're on the receiving end, thought the ensign, cringing inside, waiting for the mass of fire that would likely sweep his wing from existence.

There was some fire, and fifty-three fast attack craft out of the thousand sitting in space disappeared in blasts of plasma. And then the Caca fleet was gone, translated back into hyper I and on the track of the warships that had left sixteen seconds before.

*     *     *

“Exciting enough for you, sir,” called out Lt. Commander Crystal Ngursky, the exec, from her duty station in CIC.

“I believe I will take boredom any day,” said Captain Henri Francois-Ramirez, gripping the arms of his command chair on the bridge.

Zulu was on the port rear flank of Montgomery's force, a screening position that would put her in the way of enemy missiles heading for the big ships. He only had two ships from his original squadron, one  lost, the rest with the other battle formations. And being chased by a large enemy force that would give them no quarter.

Not that they would want quarter from the Cacas. Not when the most likely outcome of surrender was assignment to the stew pots of the big carnivores.

I wish you were here, Gloria, he thought, He could have used the emotional support. Then again, he was glad she wasn't here. She might be facing danger on the other front, but her ship would be part of a huge force steamrolling their way into the Ca'cadasan Empire. Not safe, but not in danger of total annihilation like the force that Zulu was assigned to.

“Picking up translation resonances from behind,” reported Lt. Sr. Marsha McTaggart, the stress palpable in her voice.

Here we go again, thought the captain, bracing himself for the action.

*     *      *

“They jumped into hyper and are heading after us, ma'am.”

Mara had hoped the ambush would have delayed them longer, given her another half minute or so. It seemed that the commander of that force was determined to close with her, and was ignoring the pinprick they had received.

“Estimating seven thousand and forty ships in that force, ma'am,” said Goruptal. “We hurt them.”

Over four hundred and fifty ships had been removed from their order of battle. Maybe not destroyed, though many would have been. But rendered unable to jump into hyper, which suited her purposes just fine.

“Wormholes firing,” called out the tactical officer.

“Two volleys, and then we jump back into normal space,” shouted Mara, unable to keep calm in the excitement of battle. Everything depended on her making the right moves. She knew she could win this, though she was also sure she could lose.

“Volley one away. Enemy fleet is accelerating toward us.”

That was a bad move on their part, though she understood the thought behind it. They wanted to close with her and destroy her. They were already in beam range, though most of the photons and particles would fall out of hyper before they reached her. They would be able to track her missiles on the way in, but at their velocity there would still be hits.

“Battle force One Beta reports that they are ready to move.”

“Send the order out to get them moving. All other forces are to move as well.”

The plot came alive with new graviton emissions. The other two battle groups, reinforced with a couple of hundred battleships each, and the ships she had left behind. All moving into hyper and heading onto vectors that would move them to where she wanted them.

“Second volley away. We have incoming missiles.”

“Jump.”

The fleet dropped back into hyper I, the enemy missiles overtaking their previous positions and sailing by. She thought the Caca commander had to be livid with fury. He saw his target, and then it disappeared. He still had fifteen seconds before he could translate down, and in the meantime she was rolling as many mines as she could, while releasing standard fighters and a couple of hundred fast attack craft that had been tractored onto the hulls of some of her heavy cruisers.

“Enemy will be able to jump in twelve seconds. We can move back into hyper in eighteen.”

“Damn.” The enemy would be able to fire on her for six seconds. And she would open fire with everything she had as soon as their noses poked out of hyper.

Chapter Twenty

One who gains strength by overcoming obstacles possesses the only strength which can overcome adversity. Albert Schweitzer

“Enemy missile swarm inbound. Range, nine light minutes. Estimating two million weapons.”

Double anything they had sent in so far. Beata was hoping what they prepared would be the answer to this Juggernaut. If not, she would be losing a lot of ships. Too many and the next wave would roll over her.

“Move the bucklers back into a circle around the central position,” ordered the admiral, standing in front of the viewer, feeling a bead of sweat rolling down her face. “Leave the opening in the center.”

She was thinking she should have done this before now, but she wanted to be ready to adjust to the individual streams that might still be coming in. Now it was obvious that they were settling on a unified launch, spread wide enough that many would come in past the edges of the shield, whether it was unified or the buckler configuration. They would boost in, trying to change their vectors to engage targets. Most wouldn't be able to, and they would go sailing on by, unable to change their vectors enough to engage. Many would come in on a prescribed path set by the bucklers inside their paths. Her ships were set to handle those. The center was guarded by several hundred ships, a force seemingly too small to stop the mass that would be coming through that opening.

“ETA, seven minutes. Wormhole ready. Donut is reporting that the projector is powering up.”

Now, if everything goes right, thought the admiral. She barked a short laugh to relieve the tension. When had everything gone right? That was why she had a couple of hundred ships, mostly light cruisers and destroyers, guarding the area to catch anything that made it through. She hoped it was enough.

“Six minutes. Ships are reporting readiness status. We have a couple that haven't gotten into position yet.”

And some wouldn't, thought Beata. They were moving under control of the central command from her flagship. There were too many ships, too many independent vectors, for the ships to safely maneuver on local control. Once they slid into place they would again have control, since not even the computer on her ship could move everything where it needed to be to deal with their local threats.

“Five minutes.”

What if this is the wrong move? she thought, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering strongly. This was untested tech, being used in a novel and untested manner. If it worked to perfection she would turn away this blow. If not, she might lose a good portion of her fleet. The planet might get hit by many missiles traveling at relativistic speeds, killing everything on that world.

“Four minutes.”

The missiles on the outer edge of the swarm were starting to boost now, changing their vectors to get the best chance of an attack around the sides of the shield. The five graviton shields in their current configuration stretched out to twenty thousand kilometers, with some gaps in between at the inner and outer edges. And, of course, the five thousand kilometer wide gap in the center.

“Three minutes.”

The missiles in the center started to boost, driving for the gap in the graviton emissions they were now detecting. If the missiles had been true AI they would have been surprised that such a gap existed. With their simple brains they only noted the lack of a field and drove forward to take advantage of it.

“Projector is at full power. Ready to fire on your command.”

“Two minutes.”

Beata was going to wait until the clock got down to one minute. Her tactical analysts had calculated that the beam would be optimal at that range, taking the enemy missiles under fire for the more than a minute it took to close that distance. She could wait no longer.

*     *     *

“Beaming energy to projector six,” called out the chief engineer from the Donut control room.

The viewer to Yu's side showed the light show linking the inner edge of the Donut and the surface of the black hole. It had been going on for some time, feeding energy to the five devices that were powering the graviton projectors, beaming microwaves through their wormhole gates. Additional microwave projectors came online on the outer surface to the Donut, adding their beams to the mix, and newly designated projector six lit up with power, adding to that already residing in its massive bank of crystal matrix batteries. An instant later the million pentawatt beam of invisible energy left the front of the projector, set mere meters from the gate, lashed into place with purpose built connections to the wormhole frame.

The most powerful laser ever fired, it was still invisible. The wormhole surface rippled as the photons penetrated, moving across the thousands of light years and coming out as if it was less than a meter. In truth it was much less than that. Normally a laser beam would be focused by a powerful grav lens. There was no lens powerful enough to focus this beam, and it spread quickly. In fact, it was meant to spread quickly, and the outer edges of the beam actually hit the edges of the graviton shield, distorted as they slid through. There was nothing to damage there, and a beam that could kill a battleship in an instant was projected beyond the shield.

Beata held her breath as she waited for something to happen. The missiles continued in, and so far she could see no effect to the laser beam. The experts told me to wait until they were at the on a minute's mark, she thought, grimacing. Maybe she had been too impatient.  Maybe the beam wasn't working as advertised, and the missiles would cruise on through the hole in the shield.

“Ships on the periphery are starting to engage. Off ship assets will be opening fire in thirty seconds.”

The thousands of ships on the edge of the shields had started to fire their counters, sending them out as fast as possible. Thirty seconds later thousands of mines and floating box launchers released their loads of counters. Thousands of enemy weapons dropped off the plot every second. Lasers and particle beams joined the fight, and many more thousands of missiles were destroyed or damaged.

It was looking like some weapons would get through out there. Not many, but enough to cause some damage to her fleet. And the mass moving up the center was still coming on, the laser seemingly having no effect.

Suddenly a missile exploded, its antimatter warhead breaching. A couple of missiles near it followed suit, struck by the plasma from their destroyed brother. Two more went off, then several score. Then hundreds and finally thousands. It was looking better, but too many were still coming on.

“All ships in the center. Start targeting weapons that look like they're going to make it through. Fire at will.”

Those ships abstained from firing missiles. Anything they fired would go through the laser beam and would be immediately destroyed. The beam obeyed the square of the distance rule, and was more powerful closer to the wormhole, falling off as it widened with the increasing distance. Not much, hopefully not enough. Thousands of missiles were exploding every second, but over a million had vectored toward this hole, and their simple minds were not smart enough to try to change vectors. Not that it would have made any difference, and it didn't to the three quarters of a million missiles that were heading straight into the shields.

“Thirty-five seconds to the hole.”

Beata was wondering what would happen if a bunch of missiles, or even one, made it through the wormhole. Theoretically that was impossible, but it was looking like reality might not fit perfectly with theory.

“Twenty eight seconds.”

A second later every single missile the laser was shining on exploded, a sheet of bright plasma obscuring the space beyond.

“Yes,” shouted the tactical officer.

Yes indeed, thought Beata. There were still missiles to deal with, but they had knocked more than half of them out of space with that one weapon.

Missiles started hitting the shields, detonating from the collision with space made solid by the graviton fields. Nothing material made it through, nothing larger than a particle and relatively few of them. Photons made it through. Only a black hole would have stopped them, and a field like that would have been impossible without an unimaginable power supply. So light came through, and the heat that the light carried. It wasn't a laser, but it did heat objects, and many ships on the other side of the field took mostly minor hull damage.

On the sides the engagement was also over quickly. With weapons moving that fast, they were either killed within seconds or they continued on, some to strike targets. Icons flashed on the plot, then disappeared. Each represented hundreds to thousands of people, gone in an instant, their ships vaporized along with them. Beata cried out inside as she watched those vessels cease to exist, a little part of dying with each.

“It's over,” called out the chief of staff, Captain Janssen.

“When can we expect the next wave?” she asked, ready for a repeat performance.

“Not for at least another twenty minutes,” said Janssen. “Possibly longer.”

“Ma'am,” shouted the tactical officer. “They're on the move.”

Beata zoomed in the plot, taking in the vector arrows and acceleration figures under the massed icons of the enemy fleet. The vector arrows pointed almost straight at her, the acceleration figures showed they were boosting at maximum. The enemy fleet was coming into the system, all indications pointing to them crossing the barrier in less than thirty minutes. They were coming for her.

*     *     *

“Great Admiral Mrastaran,” said the Supreme Admiral of the Ca'cadasan fleet. “You are charged with treason to the Empire, and hereby relieved of command. You are to report to the capital post haste for your disposition.”

Mrastaran felt himself shrink inside. Disposition? The other male might as well have said execution, since both words meant the same thing in this case. Treason because he hadn't been able to meet the unrealistic expectations of an immature Emperor. And there was only one punishment for treason in this Empire. They wanted him back there so they could place his head on a pike, or his body on a cross, an example to others who failed this lunatic of a ruler.

“Great Admiral Tonnasar,” continued the supreme commander of the fleet. “You are hereby promoted to command of the Klavarta front. Your Emperor commands that you close with and destroy that enemy within the system post haste.”

“That is a bad idea,” blurted Mrastaran, seeing the disaster such an order would precipitate.

“Silence, traitor. You are through with issuing commands or making suggestions. You and your flagship are to transit through a wormhole gate and come to the capital planet, immediately. Great Admiral Tonnasar. You are to fire on Great Admiral Mrastaran's flagship in he disobeys.”

“With pleasure,” said the grinning face of the other great admiral, Mrastaran's greatest rival on this front.

You finally get what you want, thought Mrastaran, bowing his head to the inevitable. He would go back to face a kangaroo court, if even that. It might simply be an Imperial Decree that ordered his end, and that of his family. He felt another shiver of terror as he thought about the males aboard his ship. They would be put to the question, making sure that none of them had been tainted by his actions. Many, innocent or guilty, would die as well.

Whatever Tonnasar was going to face, it would be fearsome. Mrastaran could see what the enemy had erected through their graviton emissions, the individual shields outlined in their energy readings. And the huge hole in the center, where most of his missiles would have headed. Where all of his missiles had disappeared, as if into a black hole. There might have been ships there that took out the missiles, but not in such a massive wave, forward to back. No, they had something else in there, something the Ca'cadasans had never before faced. Well, it was no longer Mrastaran's problem. He had given his all to this rotten Empire, and they deserved no more from him.

Good luck, you fool, he thought as he looked at the face of the other great admiral. This human female is going to hand you your head.

*     *     *

“You know what to do, Mara?”

“Yes, ma'am. Though I still can't believe that the canny bastard is coming at you after seeing that demonstration.”

“I don't think that, canny bastard as you called him, is still in command over there,” said Beata, wondering what had happened to that male. Hit by a lucky shot, among his mass of ships? Or relieved of command for not meeting a time table, as Sergiov had suggested. That last was hard to believe. That was a thinking admiral, one of the few the Empire had faced in this war. How could a nation on the ropes make the mistake of recalling such an officer.

The ships that had been chasing Mara had all been recalled, moving through hyper to rejoin their fleet. They were going to come in as a hammer blow, holding nothing back.

“We can always hope,” said Mara, nodding. “Either way, I will wait until they cross the hyper barrier in, seventeen minutes, then move into position.”

The enemy fleet had been on the move for a half an hour, starting out at point one five light and building up. Beata wasn't sure if they would come straight at her, building velocity the whole way, or decel to come to a stop near the planet. She had prepared in her mind for either contingency. She would prefer the straight in without slowing approach. It got the enemy into her basket much sooner, and gave them less time to think about it.

“They came at us in the same old way,” said Beata, contemplating the battle ahead.

“That quote from the, Napoleonic Wars, was it?” asked Mara, brow furrowing in thought. “And you're going to handle them in a whole new way.”

“I hope,” said Beata. If the enemy pulled some kind of unexpected maneuver she might not get her shot. With Mrastaran she would have bet on something surprising. With his replacement? Who knew. If he had even indeed been replaced. She was banking on a lot of unconfirmed assumptions. Of course, she had little choice. Even if she turned all of her wormholes into gates she couldn't get more than a quarter of her ships away.

Her orders to Montgomery also mimicked something that Wellington had done to Napoleon at Waterloo. Not exactly the same, the biggest difference being that she was not dealing with infantry lines, and the enemy was heading away from Mara's command, not straight into it.

“Do they have their gates up?” she asked Mara, the other admiral being in a better position to get a visual.

“We're picking up a visual, now,” said Mara, smiling. “From twenty minutes ago.. They have taken down and stowed their gates.”

Beata breathed a sigh of relief. While it was theoretically possible to move an open gate at a good clip, it was ill advised to try to maneuver one at warship accelerations. They might still have tried it, but it seemed that they hadn't.

“Okay. We're going to go for our shots in fifteen minutes. As soon as our gates are clear.”

“Admiral,” called out the tactical officer. “The enemy just released a volley at us. Over a million missiles.”

And we'll be back in shielded configuration well before those reach us, she thought. The enemy missiles had to accelerate along the way, and would take well over six hours to reach her. The enemy would take much longer. Closer to twelve. She would hold her own fire for another hour, making sure the enemy was deep enough in that it would take hours to come to a stop, more hours to get back to the barrier. Leaving the choice of closing the most desirable option despite the fire they would be receiving.

*     *     *

“Second volley is away, my Lord. Do you want to follow it up with another.”

“If I wanted another I would have already told you, dolt,” growled Great Admiral Tonnasar. While happy to have finally been given front command, he was not so dense as to not recognize the dilemma he was in. He had to succeed, no matter the cost. Or else the child Emperor would be demanding his head as well. A traditional Ca'cadasan patriarch, he wasn't as worried about his own head as he was the lives of his descendants. They must survive to carry on the line, no matter his fate.

“Any response from the enemy?”

“No, my Lord. Wait. Their outer forces are jumping into hyper. Or at least some of them.”

“How many?”

“No more than a couple of hundred in each group, my Lord.”

“As soon as they come back into normal space launch a volley spread among them,” ordered the great admiral.

“They'll just jump back into hyper, my Lord,” cautioned his tactical officer.

“Of course they will, dolt. Don't you think I know that. But it will make them think about us, and wonder if we might have more weapons winging their way at them from a wormhole launch.”

He still had his five wormholes, loaded onto a quintet of battleships, including his flagship. They were configured to launch, though in a limited manner. The missiles were being accelerated at the moment back in the home system. In five single files, hundreds of missiles long, they would simulate the missile streams of the humans. Not as close together as the human missiles, there would be over a second between each weapon. Still, they would be coming out at point nine light, moving silently, untraceable, toward the enemy. If even one hit it would give the enemy something to think of.

Mrastaran was a fool, thinking he could just bombard them out of existence from a distance, thought the great admiral. That was not the traditional Ca'cadasan way. They preferred to close and get into a pounding match, depending on the mass and beam weapons of their huge battleships to win. Firing volleys of missiles on the way to match their enemy's fire.

“Any response from the enemy force by the planet?”

“No, my Lord. And from all indications their shields are down.”

I wonder why, thought the great admiral. If it had been him he would have had them up the entire time his enemy was on approach. Unless they had reached their limit and needed to be rested. Or maybe some were damaged. Whichever it was, their lack had to be good news for him. Didn't it?

*     *     *

“Firing now,” called out Mara over the com, as her ship bucked slightly under her. The other twenty-eight wormholes of her local force were also firing, sending seventeen hundred and forty weapons at point nine-five light toward a point that would intersect the enemy fleet in the near future.

“Other forces firing,” said the com officer.

Which meant another thirty-four hundred weapons were on the way. Thirty seconds later it would be another five thousand odd missiles on the way, on and on, until they ran through all thirty reloads. Then would come the wait for the new reloads to get accelerated up.

Beata had alluded to Waterloo when she had discussed this strategy with Montgomery. Wellington had arrayed his infantry in front and to the sides of the column of Old Guard that was attacking, firing volley after volley into that group until they broke. Of course, she didn't have ships to the side, and she was firing into a group of ships that was moving away from them. But the analogy hadn't been lost on the scout force commander. Rake the enemy with fire they couldn't return, then mimic another Wellington tactic when they returned fire. Wellington had his men lie down when the French fired their artillery. Mara would do one better by jumping back into hyper.

“We're firing as well,” said Beata over the com.

Mara knew exactly what her mentor was doing, reprising something the commander of Bolthole had done in the past. Her gates were open, all six of them, while scores of warships on the other side were cycling missiles through their own wormhole launchers. The missiles streams passed through the gate at point nine light, slightly slower than Mara's, a nod to the difficulty of sending missiles through the gates at that speed. It was unlikely they would have hit, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Over eight thousand weapons headed out toward the enemy fleet, followed thirty seconds later by another eight thousand. This went on for fifteen minutes, until all of the ships had shot their load.

Fifteen minutes until the next thought the fleet commander. Maybe five or six more after that, and then she would raise the shields again. Low energy, hopefully giving away little. And drawing the enemy further into her trap.

Chapter Twenty-one

Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat. Theodore Roosevelt

“Incoming missiles from astern, my Lord. Distance, three light minutes. Velocity, point nine five light.”

“Not unexpected,” said Tonnasar, looking over at this tactical officer. “I assume the pickets are taking them on.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Tonnasar had ordered pickets, four hundred thousand ton scouts ships, out to four light minutes in a globe around the fleet, thicker toward the bow and stern aspects of the formation. It was their job to engage any incoming. Preferably with missiles, though if they intercepted one with a hull it was not a great loss. That was their job, and the great admiral cared not if any of them survived this battle. After all, they were cheap and easily replaced.

“They got all of that wave, my Lord,” reported the tactical officer a minute later. “We lost fourteen ships, my Lord.”

Tonnasar waved an upper right hand dismissively in the air.

“Another stream coming in. Fifteen degrees to port of the last. Same velocity.” The tactical officer was silent for a moment, reading the light speed transmission from the stern scouts. “And another, twenty degrees to starboard of the original wave.”

“So we have them firing at us from three positions. Calculate a solution and turn our wormhole equipped ships. I want a volley sent at all of them.”

The five super-battleships turned, releasing their missiles streams over a couple of minutes, then turning their forward aspects back at the primary enemy. Those missiles would probably do nothing, but Ca'cadasan SOP was to return fire whenever possible. Even if it revealed something the fleet would rather have let remain hidden.

*     *     *

“These are the probable launching vessels, ma'am.”

Mara agreed with her tactical officer. They had picked up the emissions from those ships that indicated that they were turning, while continuing forward with the rest of the fleet. She could think of only one reason for that turn.

“Calculate missile arrival, at point nine five light, and prepare to jump before they get here.”

“So far they have been limited to point nine light, ma'am.”

“I realize that, commander. However, I would rather have a margin of error. I would much rather not lose any ships to that launch. In fact, once we jump into hyper, move us six light minutes from here and come back into normal space.”

She thought that the enemy would eventually give up if she kept ahead of them. They were more likely to concentrate on Beata's force, a much large concentration of ships that couldn't escape into hyper.

“Second launch queue coming up in three minutes,” said the tactical officer in anticipation.

Like most weapons officers, he felt much better when he was sending fire into the enemy. Mara agreed with that sentiment.

*     *     *

“We have missiles coming in from ahead, my Lord. Estimating eight thousand weapons. Velocity, point nine light.”

Slower than normal, thought the great admiral. But so many. I didn't know they had that many wormholes.

“Orders, my Lord.”

“We continue in, dolt.” He wasn't about to disappoint an Emperor who was already angry at the lack of progress on this front. Tonnasar wasn't about to disappoint him again. “Launch another volley their way. And set the missiles to seeking along the way.”

His normal launch missiles would cross paths with anything still coming his way. As soon as they picked up enemy weapons in close proximity some would turn to home in on the new targets. They probably wouldn't get many, but any Ca'cadasan weapons that missed would adjust course and head toward the enemy force.

“That will give away our attacks, my Lord.”

“Don't you think they have already predicted our launches, dolt. When I want your opinion, on anything, I will ask for it.”

Tonnasar turned and missed the resentful look the tactical officer sent his way, not realizing that he had cut himself off from his best source of counsel in battle.

*     *     *

“We have missiles boosting, ma'am. One light hour, twelve minutes out.”

Why in the hell are they boosting that far out, thought Beata, yawning. She was feeling so damned tired. She needed to get to bed and sleep for a dozen hours. Not yet, she thought. She needed to be here, on this bridge, until this thing ended.

“They're probably going after our missiles, ma'am. Yes. Some of ours are going into evasives.”

So now both sides knew when the next launches were coming in. They still had to deal with the missiles coming in at high relativistic speeds. While the enemy missiles were still in the process of accelerating, and would be speeding along at just under point eighty-four light by the time they reached her.

“Do you want to test the laser's range ma'am?” asked Janssen, anticipation on his face.

They had figured that the huge laser wouldn't kill instantly out past five light minutes. But it would still impart significant heat at forty light minutes. Beata thought it better to not wave their hold card in the enemy's face. Let him keep on coming in, then she would remind him, forcefully,

“I don't think to, Captain.”

Janssen's face fell like that of a little boy denied desert. Like most people who had commanded ships he came up through the weapons division. He was still a weapons officer at heart, and had yet to meet a laser, particle beam or missile he didn't like. And now he had partial control of God's own laser.

“Yes, ma'am. Excuse my suggestion, ma'am.”

“Come on, Sigurd. We're are going to whack them with our great big bat,” said Beata, stifling another yawn. “We'll just let them get closer.”

*     *     *

“Ma'am,” shouted out the tactical officer. “We have Caca ships jumping into hyper.”

“Where?” exclaimed Mara, turning to look at the officer. “How many?”

“Four groups. Just over a thousand each. Three are vectoring onto each of our forces out here, while one seems to be heading for a point near enough to support any of the other three if needed.”

“So, that canny bastard had some aces up his sleeves as well.” Mara barked a quick laugh as she thought of a Caca playing cards, aces up all four sleeves.

“Orders.”

“We stay where we are and continue to fire on their main fleet,” she said after a moment's thought. She believed she had enough ships to take on those forces and beat them. Still, there was no use taking too many chances. “Deploy as many mines and floating box launchers as we have. Send orders out to all fast attack craft and warp fighters. I want them vectoring toward the closest of our groups to them.”

Mara preferred fighting a battle of maneuver. Sometime, though, it was good to get into an old fashioned slugging match. In fact.

“Make sure that our battleship forces are on the move. I'll want them here to lend us their firepower.” Mgonda and Lenkowski might not like her putting their ships at risk. Well, they could just deal with it. She needed the firepower right now.

*     *     *

“First volley will reach the enemy in approximately eighteen minutes, my Lord.”

“And what are they doing about it?” asked Tonnasar, leaning forward in his chair. He was starting to feel fatigued as well. Ca'cadasans had slower metabolisms than most other species, and could go long times without sleep. When the need did hit them, it was like a hammer descending on their heads.

“From the graviton emissions, they are still covering behind their shields. What I don't understand is why they left that massive hole in the center. It looks like a setup to fire through.”

“Perhaps they will mass their ships there and concentrate their fire,” suggested another officer.

“I don't think to, my Lord,” said the tactical officer, shooting his fellow male a hostile look. “It would make more sense to have the shield joined to their front. Let our weapons run into something they can't penetrate. Concentrate their firepower on the edges to catch anything that might vector around. It's what I would do.”

“Possibly they aren't as smart as you,” said the other officer sarcastically.

“We continue in until I say otherwise,” said Tonnasar, giving a head motion of negation. He didn't care how many tricks, how much smoke and mirrors, the humans used. He was going straight for the throat, as Mrastaran should have, and nothing was going to change his mind.

*     *     *

“Enemy missiles are approximately six light minutes from contact. Velocity, point eight-five light.  ETA, just over seven minutes.”

“Tactical officer. You may send the signal to the Donut. Engage the laser.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said the excited officer, sending the coded signals at the push of a preprogrammed button.

Beata looked at her local plot, making sure with her own eyes that nothing had strayed into the path of the beam. The wormhole gate was less than a thousand kilometers from the shield opening, and everything had been ordered to stay out of that space. At greater risk would be ships on the other side of the shields, destroyers and minelayers. A little bit of inattention could be a disaster for that vessel that strayed into the firing line. The plot showed all clear, and everything had been warned off minutes before, so she felt confident it was fine.

“Laser firing,” called out the tactical officer. “Donut reports that they are feeding energy to all systems.”

Beata nodded. All systems meant the five working graviton projectors, energized by their own power projectors, in their case sending microwaves, and the one laser projector. All were drawing unbelievable amounts of power from the station, the only thing that had that much of an energy reserve.

“Beam is firing. Output is steady at one million pentawatts.”

The admiral whistled on hearing that figure. Her superbattleship could put out ten pentawatts through each of its laser rings, for a total of forty. The beam was putting out the power of twenty-five thousand ships of Romulus' class. It wasn't as focused as the ship's beams would be. But then, it didn't have to be. At five light minutes the spread of the beam, ten kilometers at the projector, was wider that most planets. It obeyed the square of the distance law, and was quite attenuated at that point. As the enemy was about to find out, it wasn't attenuated enough.

*     *     *

“We have missiles dropping off the plot, my Lord. Tens of thousands of them.”

“Already,” blurted Tonnasar. “They're still, what, five light minutes from contact. Are we picking up graviton emissions from their counters.”

Normal laser range was one light minute. After that the spread was too wide for them to be effectively deployed. There might be some lucky hits out that far, but not that many.

“How far are we from them?”

“Twenty-eight light minutes, my Lord. We will come to rest a couple of light minutes out in two hours and thirty minutes.”

Tonnasar was starting to have his doubts. The three waves he had sent in ahead of this last one had also disappeared, but there had been enough graviton emissions from the enemy, what they had interpreted as being counter missiles, to have made a reasonable assumption that the humans were using standard defenses. Which had led to the assumption that his force had hurt the humans, probably badly. Human volleys had come back at him, both wormhole launchers, though those had stopped just before his own first volley had reached them. It was looking to be a standard battle, the only twist the shields the humans were using. His plan was to close to where he could more around and fire in on the enemy ships. He had no doubt he would defeat them easily with the disparity in ships and mass.

The great admiral thought it over a minute. He would continue in, cautiously. At five light minutes from rest he would still have time to change vectors and move away at an angle.

“Another volley, my Lord?”

“A half volley. Let's see what they do with it.” He didn't want to waste all of his missiles. Enemy weapons were still coming in from astern, though the wormhole launches had definitely stopped from the front. They were just pricks of a small sharp object as far as he was concerned. A couple of ships with each volley, maybe more. And his own ships were about to reach them and take them into close combat. In another minute or so those forces would no longer be a concern. Unless...

“What are those things, moving toward the enemy forces?”

“They appear to be groups of enemy battleships, my Lord. Five hundred each. They will arrive at those positions between one and two minutes after our forces jump. Orders?”

Tonnasar looked over at the tactical officer, wondering why the male wasn't offering suggestions like was his infuriating habit. It never would have come to the awareness of the admiral that he had a way of shutting people out.

“Our people should be able to handle those,” he said, really fishing for an answer than making a statement.

“Of course, my Lord. Our forces are translating in now.”

*     *     *

“Enemy is translating in, ma'am. Good call.”

Mara nodded, her eyes locked on the plot. The enemy force, twenty-five hundred vessels, five hundred battleships, was moving from hyper I to normal space, emitting huge waves of gravitons. On right on top of the position she had predicted they would come out at.

“It's good to know they are still so predictable,” she said. With the other admiral, the one they had fought through most of two battles, that was not true. The current one seemed to be the standard brainless model, though Mara had to remind herself not to get too cocky herself.

This one was coming out just as she had predicted. Not all of her defenses were set there, just in case they deviated from their normal pattern. These had not, and they had come into normal space with tens of thousands of mines pointing at them from every direction.

“Engage,” she ordered, and every single weapon on her force, ship mounted or hanging in space, opened fire.

The enemy force barely got off a shot. It melted away under the onslaught of missiles and gamma ray lasers from the mines. Those that didn't die then were picked off by her ships, scores firing at every survivor. Soon there were no survivors, and the battleships jumped into normal space with no targets.

“Force two is reporting they have destroyed the enemy, ma'am. Force three is involved in a heavy battle. Seems the enemy jumped in much further out than predicted. They are losing ships, a lot of them.”

Mara grunted. The vagaries of war. That could have been her and her force. Only luck had prevented that outcome for her. Looking over the incoming figures on the battle she saw they were still going to win, though not in as one sided an affair.

“Fourth enemy force is heading force three, ma'am.”

“Order force two to jump into hyper and head over to help them. All battleships are to vector onto us.”

“And what are we going to do, ma'am?”

“We're going to move into the system and shepherd their main force along. In case they make a decision not in our best interests.”

*     *     *

“The hull temperature is rising, my Lord,” blurted out the sensor officer. “Ten degrees in the last minute.”

“How is that possible? Our ship alone?”

“No, my Lord,” reported the com officer. “I'm getting reports over the fleet com net that hull temperatures are rising. On the parts of the ships facing the enemy. Going up by tens of degrees in a minute.”

“Their weapon, my Lord. That must be it. A weapon of unimaginable power.”

“Impossible,” shouted Tonnasar, giving a head motion of negation. “We...”

“A com is coming in over the wormhole, my Lord,” said the com officer. His voice dropped. “It's the Emperor.”

Tonnasar felt twin chills run down his spines. He didn't know what the child wanted, but he was sure it wasn't a congratulatory call.

“Supreme Lord.”

“How goes it, Admiral? Are you about to destroy the humans?”

“Soon, Supreme Lord. Soon. But we have run into some complications.”

“Complications,” roared the young male, his face darkening in anger. “I don't want to hear about complications. I want to hear that you have destroyed the humans, and nothing less. Don't disappoint me.”

The com faded, leaving the admiral in fear for his life. If he failed here, his life and the lives of his sons were forfeit.

“We need to get him back, my Lord,” chimed in the chief of staff. “You need to explain, let him know what we are facing.”

“We continue in,” growled Tonnasar.

“But, my Lord.”

“We continue in. Victory or death, for us all.”

*     *     *

“They still coming on in, ma'am,” said Janssen, his voice brimming with disbelief.

“They have to be experiencing hull heating,” said the tactical officer. “They must realize that things are about to get very bad for them.”

Beata nodded, not wanting to speak and spoil the moment. The enemy were still coming in. If they turned tail and ran Beata still would have won. She would have defended the planet, saved the people, and thwarted the designs of the Cacas. And killed more of their ships than she lost. But that was not enough.

“How is the weapon doing?” she asked. With the enemy coming in she needed it to be working perfectly.

“The heat levels are up in the red, ma'am,” said the tactical officer. “We might want to power down low enough for the cooling systems to work.”

“Power it down, then. But be ready to fire on my command.”

If the weapon failed now she was facing the massive Caca fleet coming down her throat. She would still have the shield, and no way to stop the enemy from working his way around it.

“We have a failure in one of the main power leads, Admiral,” said Yu over the com. “You powered down just in time. But we need to replace it, now.”

“How long before you can get it corrected?” said Beata, feeling deflated.

“We have to replace over fifty kilometers of main power lead,” said the director. “We need more nanites than we have on the unit. It will take at least a half an hour to replace.”

“Please get it up and running,” said Beata, a feeling of impending doom coming over her.

“We'll do our best, admiral.”

“In the meantime, people,” said Beata, turning her attention back to things she could do something about. “Let's get some missiles headed their way.” She switched gears, connecting with someone else who could help. “Admiral McCullom. Could you move that projector out of the way so we can get some of those wormhole equipped ships launching?”

“It will take about ten minutes,” replied the CNO, coming on the com. “But we'll get it done.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Queens perhaps perform better in the role of monarch because they never take their position for granted. Many kings have failed because they believed that the public would love them whatever they did. Queens knew better. Kate Williams

“Hull temperatures are falling, my Lord. Whatever they were hitting us with has stopped.”

“How long till we reach them?” asked Tonnasar, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Fifty-three minutes. Range, eight light minutes, seventeen seconds.”

“I want all ships that can bring their rings to bear to open fire on the enemy.”

“We're well out of range, my Lord,” said the tactical officer in a tone bordering on insubordination.

“You idiot. We don't need to hit pinpoint targets. They hit us with a dispersed laser beam. I think it's time we returned the favor.”

Tonnasar knew that firing his lasers on a dispersed pattern wouldn't do much. But it might impart some heat into their hulls, damage systems, harm crew.

“And fire a volley of missiles. Out to the sides, above and below, so they can curve around their shield.” He knew he couldn't fire up the center, since his own lasers would destroy those missiles.

“My Lord. The enemy units outside the barrier have destroyed the forces we sent after them. Two of those forces are moving inward.”

Coming after us, thought Tonnasar. He felt a sense of defeat over the ships he had lost out there. Nothing to do with the crews, but that had been part of his power. Those forces coming into the system, away from their escape route, was a mistake. He would swat those forces soon enough when he had finished with the enemy ahead.

*     *     *

“We have heating on some of our ships, ma'am,” said Janssen, coming onto the com. “I think they are doing to us what we tried on them.”

“Make sure the ships have their own fields up and cold plasma injected,” ordered Beata, trying to think what else she could do. The shields could stop missiles, even particle beams, but the best they could do against photons was bend them from their path. If trying to defend a point target that would be enough. But bending them when they were going after a massed fleet really didn't accomplish much.

“How long before the heating becomes a problem?” she asked her chief of staff.

“Twenty minutes,” answered Janssen. “A little more.”

So we'll worry about that after they get close enough to blow us out of space, she thought. Unless she moved her fleet behind the planet, there was little else she could do.

“Ma'am. They're firing a spread of missiles on a vector that brings them out and away from their fleet,” called out the tactical officer. “I think they're going to change vectors halfway through their flight and come in from the sides.”

“How many missiles?” asked Beata, pulling up a graphic that showed the predicted paths of the missiles.

“A million. At least.”

It was coming down to the decision point, and the weapon she needed wasn't ready.

Beata checked the timer over the central holo. There were now two readouts, missiles and enemy fleet. For the missiles it was six minutes, twelve seconds and counting. And the fleet would arrive in forty-seven minutes. Due to the disparity in weight of fire she could imagine the result.

All of her own ships were already gathered at the edge of the shield, less the couple of hundred lighter vessels she had guarding the central opening. With the laser working that number had seemed adequate. Not now, but she didn't have time to shift her dispositions, and those missiles that would be attacking her flanks were the priority.

“All ships on the flanks are to fire two volleys at the enemy,” she ordered. “Missiles are to be programmed to engage their weapons in passing.” Any that didn't strike or try for a proximity kill would continue on to the enemy fleet. The admiral had no idea how many that would be. Or if it would have any effect. It was all she could do for now, until her wonder weapon was back online.

*     *     *

“Their missiles are engaging ours, my Lord.” The tactical officer was silent for a minute, watching his readouts. “They took out about a hundred thousand of our weapons. The rest are continuing in. We have four hundred thousand or so enemy weapons vectoring toward us.”

Tonnasar let out a harsh laugh. That was only four missiles for each of his ships. He would swat those from space with minimal losses. And any other weapons the enemy sent his way. “Any indication that they are still launching from their wormholes.”

The great admiral was still bothered by the fact that they had launched more missiles at him at relativistic velocities than was consistent for the number of wormholes they were thought to have. Somehow they had figure out how to do launches like that. That they had stopped after they had put up their shields seemed to indicate that those were the only wormholes they had. The important thing was those preaccelerated weapons were no longer coming his way from ahead. He was still taking hits from behind, but those were nothing to worry about. His rear scouts were taking care of those.

It was decision time again. He could start to vector to pass wide around the planet. Or he could vector without such a change and come in on the sides of the enemy. It was time to commit, and since he had not seen their super weapon in some time, he decided on the second option.

“All ships, go to option two. Fire as soon as you are within range and have a target.”

The plot showed his fleet starting to change their vectors, the globe of the fleet expanding as all the ships went out toward the nearest compass point to their current positions.

We're coming for you, humans. I hope you are quivering in fear.

*     *     *

Bednarczyk was not quivering in fear, but she was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The massive enemy missile wave had struck. The mines she had deployed had taken out more than half of them, the ships most of the rest. Still, she had lost over a hundred ships, and now the enemy was starting the maneuver that would bring them in on her flanks, in a circle and firing in. When they achieved that position her fleet would die. Worse, from a timing perspective, they would soon have ships leaving the targeting basket of the big laser. As they moved closer to their final position all of them would be clear, and her weapon would be all but useless.

“I need that laser, director Yu.”

“I know, admiral. And my people are working as fast as possible. Trying to get them to move faster will only degrade their performance.”

“I understand that, Director. But my people are about to die. In great big job lots. Understand?”

“Understood,” said Yu in a hushed voice. “We're hurrying. Give us three more minutes.”

Beata scowled as she brought up a graphic that showed the enemy fleet expanding their circle. At three minutes most of them would still be in the basket. At five she would have more than half of them. At seven the majority of the enemy ships would be clear. She could still shift the wormhole and bring a portion of them under fire, unless they noticed the wormhole and launched on it.

Yu was as good as her word, and at the three minutes mark the ready light came up on the tactical officer's board.

“We're ready, ma'am.”

“Fire. Full power.”

Beata, not a superstitious woman by any means, crossed her fingers, hoping that nothing else went wrong. If it failed again she and all of her people were doomed.

*     *      *

“My Lord,” shouted out the sensor officer in a panicked voice. “Hull temperature just shot up by ninety-three degrees.”

“Reports coming in across the fleet that ships are heating, my Lord.”

Have they suckered me in? he thought, paying grudging respect to the humans. They had shown more nerve than he thought they would have, allowing ships to be destroyed while they laid off with their big gun.

“Hull temperature is rising at eighty-three degrees per second, my Lord. Internal temperatures rising as well.”

“Get us out of this trap,” he yelled, looking at his helmsman. “Full emergency thrust.”

The gees forces pushed down on the great admiral, thrusting him back in his chair. He struggled to breathe under the crushing weight of ten gravities. The great admiral would just have to deal with it, if he wanted to live.

“Hull temperature at three thousand degrees and rising,” said the sensor officer, struggling to get each word out. “Internal temp at fifteen hundred just under the hull.”

And even worse, from Tonnasar's perspective, it was starting to feel hot on the bridge, the most internal and protected part of the ship. Sweat started running down his face, from rising temperatures and fear

*     *     *

“We're starting to overheat again,” said Yu over the com. “I'm afraid we're going to have to pull the cooling system and replace it with some wormhole heat sinks.”

“Fine,” growled Beata. “Do that when I don't have a life or death situation in front of me. Just keep giving me that laser.”

“It might short out again.”

“I don't care if the damned thing melts into an expanding puddle of metal. Give me that laser as long as it will run.”

“Will do,” said Yu.

Beata breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that the director wasn't arguing with her. Just one more minute, she thought. Seventy-five percent of the enemy ships were still in the basket, the wonderful light of the laser shining on them.

Forty seconds later the first enemy ship breached antimatter, its magnetic bottles failing as the superconductors failed under the additional heat. Another ship went up, then another, then twenty, until ships started flaring en mass all along the front of the enemy fleet.

“Heating is reaching critical,” shouted Yu over the com.

“Just a few more seconds,” cried Beata. “Just a few more seconds.”

She was so close to victory. The Universe couldn't be so cruel as to bring her this far just to let her fail.

*     *     *

“My Lord,” shouted the chief engineer in a strained voice over the com. “The antimatter containment systems are on the verge of failing.”

“Well, do something,” croaked Tonnasar, his chest laboring to take a breath.

“What?” said the engineer in a hushed voice. “We..”

That was the last word the engineer would ever mutter. The last the admiral would ever hear. One of the antimatter pods in engineering breached, the magnetic bottle falling and letting a couple of tons of antimatter contact the metal of the vesicle. The explosion wiped out the engineering section, blowing the hull outward in plasma and shards, and breaching all of the many antimatter containment units close by. And instant later the entire ship was superheated plasma, spreading in a cloud that was heated further by the laser light shining upon it. That really didn't do anything further, of course.

*     *     *

“The laser just went off, ma'am,” called back the tactical officer.

“Director Yu.”

“Sorry, Admiral,” said Yu, her face coming up on a holo. “That projector has given up the ghost. It's going to take at least a week to change out all the systems and upgrade it so this won't happen again.”

And I hope we're still her to appreciate all of your hard work, thought Beata.

“Estimating that we took out just over half their fleet ma'am,” said Janssen, triumph in his voice.

And the half that remains is going to kill us, thought Beata. It wouldn't be so one sided a battle, and she would kill more of them, but it still wouldn't be enough without a miracle. A moment later the miracle happened.

“The enemy fleet is changing vectors again, ma'am,” said the tactical officer, disbelief in his tone.

“On what heading,” asked Beata, wondering if they were going to go for a longer engagement range.

“No particular heading for the force,” said Janssen, his grinning face looking up at her from his station. “They seem to be moving onto headings that will get them out of the system by the fastest possible route.  They're not firing. They're just boosting, running.”

Beata stared at the man in disbelief. The Cacas had her. They still had enough ships to destroy her, and were moving into the perfect position to do so. And she was without her weapon.

But they don't know that, she thought. For all they knew she was moving her weapon to take another portion of the fleet under fire. They wouldn't know what portion, and so they were fleeing for their lives to get away from a weapon they couldn't fight.

“We've won,” she said in a hushed voice. “We've won,” she said louder, so her bridge crew could hear her.”

The people erupted into cheers and yells. The triumphant sounds of people who realized that they had cheated death and would live to fight another day.

Well, Sean will be pleased. The bastard that rules their Empire, not so much. She didn't really care what the Caca emperor thought, or felt. She could only wish him a long and painful death.

“Tell all of our people to not let down their guard,” she ordered, coming back to the here and now. “They can still launch on us on the way out. And someone over there might grow a set and decide to attack us again.”

She didn't think that was going to happen. The Cacas had faced a devastating new weapon they couldn't handle, and were trying to get away from it as fast as possible.

“Mara,” she said, initiating the com.

“Ma'am.”

“Fire at will at their ships as they move out of the system. But remain on this side of the barrier.”

“Yes, ma'am. I understand.”

Beata didn't want her subordinate or her force to be in a position where the Cacas could move on them in hyper. She didn't think that broken force would do such, but it was better to not give them the temptation.

“Admiral. This is Dr. Levitt. I have to insist that you get some rest.”

Beata felt the exhaustion coming over her, as well as the nausea of her lingering radiation sickness. “Give me another couple of hours, to make sure this enemy is indeed heading out of our lives. Then I'll take to bed for a solid twenty-four. Promise.”

If the congratulatory messages that were sure to come in from all and sundry didn't keep her up. She wondered how offended the Emperor would be if she refused his call? Whatever, she figured she had earned enough capital with this victory to survive.

Epilogue

Mrastaran studied the writings of a long forgotten male named Jaraqa, one who had lived a hundred thousand years before, when the Ca'cadasans were still living in stone cities. He had always been interested in the teachings of that male and others of his time period, though most of his species knew nothing about them. This was about the time when the tradition of breeding with the stupidest females available had started catching on. It was thought that females who were nonverbal would not intrude on the conversations of their betters, the warrior males.

The great admiral recalled his own mother, a brighter than average female who could actually carry on a simple conversation. His own wife could do the same, and he thought of human genetics, how they had proven that traits were handed down from both parents. Could that be why his brothers and sons were brighter than normal for his species, and most of the rest were stupid, to say the least. He believed so, and the race had degenerated because of their breeding traditions.

So the Ca'cadasans had come to rely on the talents of aliens for their scientific and engineering projects. People who didn't have a vested interest in his species. Having such a slow metabolism didn't help either. True, his species lived much longer than any other they knew of, but their hearts beat slower, their brains processed at a much slower rate. They were much stronger than most, and the defenders of the species thought that was a sign that they were superior to others. While the humans were so much faster, more agile, and most importantly, smarter. The species needed to change, to breed lost attributes back into the gene pool. That was unlikely to happen, and with this war raging, the Ca'cadasan race might not have any more time.

“We are coming through the wormhole into the home system, my Lord,” came the voice of his chief of staff, Admiral Trostara.

There was an edge of fear to that tone. Mrastaran could understand that. The chief of staff had served under him, on the same ship, and had been tarred with the same brush. It was likely that everyone aboard this ships would be caught up in his purge. Unfair, but the Emperor had the right to execute whomever he wanted.

“Thank you, Torstara. I will try my best to distance you from me.”

The other male gave a head motion of acceptance. Ca'cadasans were a fatalistic race, necessary in their society. The humans weren't like that. From what the great admiral understood, even their emperor had limitations on his power. People were executed in that empire, rarely, and only after a magistrate had heard all of the witnesses. His alien subjects served willingly, given full rights and participation in their society. It was a foreign system, but it worked. It worked so well that they went from reeling under the onslaught of the Ca'cadasans to driving them out, to pushing into the empire's territory within a few short years.

We're doomed, he thought. He had made his peace with his coming end, if not that of his line. He could not reconcile himself to the fact that his species was going to lose this war, unless they made some major changes. There probably wasn't enough time for that many changes. The humans had not been known to exterminate whole species, something they called genocide. Something like his own people's aversion to ending genetic lines. The new emperor had turned his back on the tradition and the religion that spawned it.

Mrastaran recalled something he had read from a philosopher from the far past. How the Ca'cadasans had misinterpreted their early victories over the other species that inhabited the closer star systems. They had defeated their own invaders, through luck as much as fierce determination.  After that they had been the only space faring race in their region, and the conquests had come easily. Always a step ahead of whomever they encountered. Including the humans. The Ca'cadasans had interpreted their successes as a boon from the Gods, a sign that they were destined to rule the Galaxy. Possibly the Universe. Mrastaran had always though that philosophy to be defective, especially after encountering tales of ancients so far ahead of the Ca'cadasans that his people might as well have still been in the stone age.

The great admiral pulled up a holo to look at the capital, a planet his ship was decelerating toward at this moment. It was still a ways from being rebuilt. The young fool was making sure that his own palace was complete, while ignoring the needs of his people. From what he had heard from his oldest son, there was rising dissent in the capital, a bubbling pot that was sure to boil over.

“My Lord,” called out the com officer. “We have shuttle on approach. They are requesting permission to board.”

And who might that be? he thought. A delegation from the emperor, sent up to put him under arrest, would not be so polite. They would demand entry, in the name of the emperor, and threaten anyone who stood in their way.

“Did they say who they are?”

“No, my Lord. But they did say that they are here at the order of the Supreme Admiral of the Fleet.”

That didn't sound like an arrest party. The Emperor would have sent his own Secret Police, or his personal guard, up to conduct the arrest.

“I'll meet them on the hangar deck,” replied Mrastaran, getting up from his chair. He thought for a moment about putting on his dress uniform, but didn't know what good it would do him. Instead he walked from his cabin in his shipboard dress, curious to see what was going on.

And we all live in fear for our lives, he thought on the way to the lift, unable to pull his mind away from the problems his people faced. The humans act out of duty, and honor, and the will to defend their own. Why can't we be like that?

He entered the hangar in time to see a standard assault shuttle slide through the cold plasma field that kept atmosphere in when the heavy doors were open. The great admiral felt a strange sense of calm when the shuttle settled on the deck with its extended landing jack. Good news or bad, this would all soon be over.

Mrastaran felt his mouth fall open as the Supreme Admiral of the Fleet walked down the ramp, accompanied by a male wearing the robes of the Patriarch of the Ca'cadasan Church. He could think of no reason why these two males would be here, or why a delegation of admirals and generals follow on their heels.

“All hail Mrastaran,” said the Supreme Admiral, his words echoed by the rest.

“I thought I was here for an execution. Not a triumphal reception. Has the Emperor changed his mind.” Such would be like the child, who was just as likely to order an execution a few minutes later.

“Jresstratta, the fifth of his name, is dead,” said the Patriarch in a deep voice. “Killed by the men sworn to guard him.”

Mrastaran stared in disbelief. It was no more than the child deserved, especially after being linked to the death of his father. But two assassinations in as many years, in an Empire that had never had an Emperor killed before.

“Who is in charge?” asked the great admiral, imagining all kinds of claimants.

“No one, at the moment,” said the Supreme Admiral. “We were hoping that you might step in and assume the throne.”

“Me. Gentlemen, I have no desire to be Emperor.”

“You are next in line,” said the Patriarch, bowing. “Jesstratta killed all the other claimants, making sure their would be no figure to rally around. With the exception of yourself, due to the fact that you were fighting a battle on the other side of the Empire.”

“Rest assured, you would have been stricken from the list of possible successors, win or lose,” said one of the accompanying admirals, one Mrastaran was not familiar with. “Luckily, you were far away and engaged in a fight. As soon as it looked like you weren't going to do the job, he recalled you.”

“My sons?”

“Safe,” said the Patriarch. “We spirited them away into the safekeeping of the church.”

“You eldest and his ship was ordered to a far frontier, Great Admiral. Your grandchildren and their mothers are safe as well.”

“That still brings us to the need of the moment. We need someone on the throne, to rally the people and prevent revolution. We need you, Mrastaran.”

“But, I don't want it.”

“Then you are the best claimant we could imagine,” said the Supreme Admiral, bowing his head. “If not you, it will have to be one of your sons.”

That almost sent Mrastaran into a panic. Much as he didn't want the throne, he didn't want his eldest to have to shoulder that burden.

“I will do it, reluctantly.”

“Then all hail Mrastaran. The first of his name,” intoned the Patriarch, bowing deeply, while the rest of the males took a knee.

Well, crap, thought Mrastaran. He had been looking forward to retirement after this last campaign. Until it seemed like his long rest would be the sleep of death. Now he was faced with the biggest job he could imagine. I might not be able to save us, but I will give it my best shot.

The End

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is the author of over thirty self-published books on Amazon, including the very successful, Exodus: Empires at War series, the Refuge techno-fantasy series, The Deep Dark Well Trilogy, as well as numerous standalone science fiction and fantasy novels.  In a six-and-a-half-year period as a self-published author, Doug has sold well over two hundred and eighty thousand eBooks, paperbacks and audio books.  He has amassed over 6,000 reviews across his books on Amazon, with a 4.6 star average, and a similar number of ratings on Goodreads with a 4.12 star average. His first traditionally published series, Kinship War, is now out, and he has written a novel, When Eagles Dare, in Chris Kennedy and Mark Wandrey’s Four Horsemen series. He served in the US Army as an infantryman, as well as several years in the Florida National Guard in the same MOS.  Doug, who holds degrees from Florida State University and the University of Alabama, lives with his four cats in Tallahassee Florida.  He is a sports enthusiast and a self-proclaimed amateur military historian.

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.

Deeper and Darker:  Pandora Latham is on the warpath.  Watcher, her lover, and the only man who can once again unite the Galaxy, is a prisoner of the Totalitarian government of the New Galactic Empire.  The Empire thinks they have the upper hand, but they have never faced someone like Pandi, and the peoples of the Galaxy that she has rallied to her cause.

Theocracy:   A young gunpowder era monk becomes the only hope for his doomed world as he is caught up in the game of empire between two more advanced cultures.

Theocracy Book 2: With the aid of Watcher, Patrick O’Brien and his partners, including some new alien allies, quest across multiple worlds in a search for the control center that could save his world.

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.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3:  Sean is rescued, but he is not about to go back to the safety of the capital without striking back at the Ca’cadasans who have invaded his Empire.  But will his decision put the lives of thousands at risk, as well as risking the safety of his own Empire, by depriving it of its leader.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4:  Sean is crowned Emperor and attempts to organize the Empire for war against the Ca’cadasans.  But he finds that planning battles and winning battles are two different things. Defeat follows defeat.  Can anyone snatch victory from the jaws of defeat?  Or will the new Emperor fail before his reign even really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger:  Cornelius Walborski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire.  But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the deadliest planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas.  Can Cornelius survive his first mission?  Or will a promising career end before it really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle:  Sean and the Empire need a victory before human morale goes completely into the black hole.  He develops a plan to bring the Ca’cadasans into battle in space of his choosing.  But the Cacas are not an easy opponent, and they have plans of their own, for the Donut.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike:  The Empire has weathered the Ca’cadasan onslaught, and now it’s the time to strike back with an offensive of their own.  A victory could win the war.  But will it?

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers:  The Cacas have been ejected from Imperial space, for the moment.  But millions of citizens of New Moscow are still held captive in death camps in their former empire, processed for rations for the large aliens.  Sean is determined to save as many as he can, and the Fleet and Army are prepared to carry out his directive; free the prisoners at all costs.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 9: Second Front:  The exploration mission sent around the edge of the Ca’cadasan Empire has found the other Empire at war with the large aliens.  They are not as expected, and Sean must order his military to perform actions that could vilify him in the eyes of his new allies.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 10: Search & Destroy:  The Fenri, all but beaten, have not given up, and their new plan promises random death and destruction in the Empire.  The Cacas have launched a new offensive against the Klavarta, and their new commander is much more intelligent than the last.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy:  The Cacas have a plan to end the war by taking out the capital system and the Donut at the same time.  Only the bravery of the Imperial military can prevent a disaster from which the Empire can’t recover.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 12: Time Strike: The Cacas have launched another invasion, and Sean had been approached with the idea of hitting them where it hurts, back in time.  But messing with the time stream is never a good idea.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 13: Retaliation: The Caca offensive has been turned back, and now it’s the time for the Empire to get some payback. But desperation will often breed deadly reactions, and this time is no different.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 14: Rebellion. The Cacas have come up with a horrifying new weapon that destroys entire star systems. Meanwhile, the religious cast of the Ca’cadasan Empire revolt against their Emperor.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command:  Three novelettes concerning Exploration Command, the arm of the Fleet tasked with pushing back the boundaries of the Empire, and discovering the technology needed to win the war.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Beasts of the Frontier:  Three novelettes and three short stories about the dangers of the frontiers of the Empire.  The Cacas are not the only threat.  Sometime the danger is the wild, at other times, other humans.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 1: Supernova:  When a civilization is discovered that has a special ability that would be of tremendous benefit to the Empire, great excitement is generated.  When it is found that a nearby blue giant star is due to supernova in less than a year, destroying that world, excitement turns to a frantic race to save as much of that species as possible.  And enemies from the past, lurking in space, bring forth a new war to the embattled Empire.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 2: Bolthole:  The Machine Intelligences are back, with a vengeance.  While the Empire is busy fighting a war of survival against the Cacas, the murderous killing machines they had created hundreds of years prior are now ready to strike back.  And the Imperial stronghold of Bolthole is in their sights.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 3: Death From Above:  The Machines are on the move, and their great planet killers have the Bolthole system in their sights.  Only the courage and ingenuity of the organic defenders can save the only system that stands between the machine intelligences and the life forms of the sector.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 4: Retribution: The Empire goes on the offensive against the Machines, using their superior technology to take out system after system. And finding out along the way that they have a bigger problem than they thought.

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.

We Are Death, Come For You:  When aliens strike the Tau Ceti colony, humankind knows that something bad is on the way.  They prepare as best they can, but will it be enough against superior technology?  The aliens are death worshippers, and only the extinction of the human race will satisfy their evil intent.  There are wonders of tech on the horizon, but can they be deployed in time?  Or will humankind have to depend on the smallest of their techs to save them?

The Monster: When a scientist test his new teleportation device on himself, he comes out the other side better than before. But something is missing, and the world has a new terror unleashed on it.

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: Book 3: The Legions:  The human invaders are now without their technologies, at least those using explosives and internal combustion engines.  But they still have knowledge of many other techs, especially the arts of warfare as practiced by the greatest infantry of the ancient world.  Will it be enough to stand up to the half lich Emperor and his magical forces?

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest:  When the evil half lich Emperor sends his minions on a mission to find the Crown of the Lost Gods, an artifact which can control the minds of millions, it is up to Kurt von Mannerheim to stop them.  Along with his fellow immortal, Jackie Smith, the human Physicist/Mage James Drake, the Ellala Ranger Fenris and the Grimakan Priest Garios, they must head to the frozen north to foil the plan and ensure that the evil artifact never sees the light of day.

Refuge Book 5: Angels & Demons: Kurt is back with the Army of the Alliance, marching on the capital of the Elf Half-lich who is the enemy of everything good on the world. The Evil Emperor has little in the way of military power, but he had powerful other worldly allies. Can Kurt and his friends summon aid from their own Gods or will the Army of the Alliance be crushed so near to their goal.

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.

Books with other Authors:

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:  Novellas by New York Times Bestsellers Kevin J. Anderson and Michael A. Stackpole, along with Prometheus Award Winner Dani and Eytan Kollin, Baen Author Sarah A. Hoyt, and Exodus Empires at War Author Doug Dandridge, make this a must have book for the military science fiction aficionado.

A Fistfull of Credits: Fourteen authors write fourteen short stories set in the Revelations Cycle Universe.  Doug Dandridge, Mark Wandrey, Chris Kennedy, Chris Nuttall, Brad Torgerson, Jason Cordova, Kevin Ikenberry, Jon Del Arroz and others.

Tales of the Lyon’s Den: Another anthology set in the Revelations Cycle Universe. Doug Dandridge, Mark Wandrey, Chris Kennedy and many others.

Those in Peril: (The Phases of Mars Book 1): Alternate History of Naval Warfare. Doug Dandridge, James Young, Chris Kennedy and many others.

Lockdown: A Collection of Ten Terror-filled Zombie stories:  The name says it all.

Apocalypse: Fiction River: A number of tales in which the world ends, from the whimsical to the horrifying.

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