Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Space Opera; War; Fiction; Military; Science Fiction
Description: Day of Infamy The Empire is preparing for the next Ca'cadasan onslaught. But this time they plan to bleed the Cacas to the point where they are ripe for the next counteroffensive to roll them back to their own space. The Caca Emperor had his own plan, one that will send the human peoples reeling The Ca'cadasan Emperor realizes that as long as the humans have their wormhole generating station the war will be in doubt. He comes up with an audacious plan to strike at the Donut from out of the dark. The Cacas now have wormholes of their own, and while not in the same quantity as the humans, still
Publisher: Catbrother Publishing

Exodus: Empires at War

Book Eleven

Day of Infamy

by

Doug Dandridge

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to my loyal fans and friends who stood by me, encouraged me, and showered me with good wishes while I struggled with health problems.  This book, produced during a trying time, is for you.  Thanks to all of you.

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

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Copyright © 2016 Doug Dandridge

All rights reserved.

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

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

The Story So Far is now located at the back of the book, on the recommendation of many fans.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Doug Dandridge’s Author Page at Amazon

Science Fiction

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4: the Long Fall.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike:

Exodus: Empires at War Book 8: Soldiers

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 9: Second Front.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 10: Search & Destroy.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command:

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Beast of the Frontier.

Exodus: Machine Wars: Book 1: Supernova.

Exodus: Machine Wars: Book 2: Bolthole.

The Deep Dark Well Series

The Deep Dark Well

To Well and Back

Deeper and Darker

Theocracy

Others

The Shadows of the Multiverse

Diamonds in the Sand

The Scorpion

Afterlife

We Are Death, Come for You

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest:

Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

Others

The Hunger

Daemon

Aura

Marathon

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Cast of Characters

The Capital

Emperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov:  Emperor of New Terran Empire.

Empress Jennifer Conway Romanov:  Sean’s Wife and Physician.

Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom:  Chief of Naval Operations.

Captain Xiun: Sondra's aide.

Admiral Ekaterina Sergiov:  Chief of Imperial Combined Intelligence Service.

Countess Esmeralda Zhee: Member of the Lords’ Opposition Party.

Angel Sergio Martinez:  Former Naval Commando, and now assassin known as The Angel of Death.

Tomas Gijardo:  Business Analyst and citizen living in Capitulum.

Chief Warrant Officer Debra Wasserman:  Imperial Army fighter pilot.

Nick Stumpfield:  Leader of the Temporal Realignment Faction.

Admiral Hoshi Nakama:   Commander, Central Docks.

Captain Victoria Crenshaw:  Duty Officer, Central Docks.

The Fleet

Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda:  Admiral in command of Hyper VII battle force.

Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski:  Commander: Battle Fleet.

Commander Xavier Jackson: Captive of the Ancients.

Admiral Mikas Silveski:  Imperial Commander Second Front.

Vice Admiral Mashara Ignoa: Gryphon Commander on Second Front.

Admiral Mikal Kalashnikov:  Military Commander of the Donut.

Captain Javier Chavez:  Imperial Fleet Inertialess Fighter Wing Commander.

Vice Admiral Mei Lei:  Scout Force Commander.

Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf:  Commander, Scout Force Destroyer Squadron.

Imperial Army

Cornelius Walborski:  The Count.  Ranger Lt. Colonel and three time holder of the Imperial Medal of Heroism.

Klavarta

President Manstara: President, Nation of New Earth.

Thallia Thrann:  Klavarta Underdirector of Interspecies Relations.

Admiral Regis Larista:  Commander, Klavarta Fleet.

Ngerita Olsaf:  Larista’s Chief of Staff.

Ca’cadasans

Jresstratta IV:  Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire

Great Admiral Ljarritta’ran: Ca’cadasan Admiral in charge of New Terran Front.

Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana: Commander: Second Front

Doctor Ivan Smirnov:  New Moscow Scientist, working on wormholes for the Ca’cadasans.

Tom Jasper:  Captain of the Ca’cadasan Infiltration Ship Laughing Troll.

Others

Devera Walborski:  Warrant Officer Medic and the wife of Cornelius.

Rebecca Walborski:  Sean and Devera’s adopted daughter.

Dr. Kenji Guatarrez:  Time Travel Researcher.

Klorasof:  Ancient.

Prologue

“Everything is almost in place, Supreme Lord,” reported the Supreme Admiral, the overall commander of the Ca’cadasan fleet.

The Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire Jresstratta IV looked at the trio of males on the holo, trying to determine how they really felt about this plan through the normal wooden expression of their kind.  The Supreme Admiral seemed to be showing a little excitement, while the other two were stone-faced.  No, that wasn’t quite true.  The Great Admiral who had come up with the plan, the Chief of Operations, appeared to be slightly nervous.  Not surprising, since failure would fall upon his head.

The Emperor looked at the holo plot hanging in the air to his front.  The locations of the two infiltration ships were just within the space of the human Empire, transmitted to the capital by the wormholes they carried.  The other groups, many of them, were still positioned on the Ca’cadasan side of the frontier, except for the forces that had already snuck across.

“What of our human pawns?” asked the Emperor.

“They know what they need to know,” answered the Great Admiral who had formulated the plan.  “They think there is a chance that they might return from their mission, the fools.  And once they aid us in destroying the Empire of their own people?  Then what need for them?”

Then they will follow their people into oblivion, thought the Emperor.  Not a just reward for the service they would perform, but what had been decreed by the last Emperor, the current Monarch’s father.  And as unjust as he felt it to be, he saw no reason to reverse it.  His people believed without reservation that the human species needed to be exterminated, and he felt no need to steal their well-deserved revenge from them.  It would be hard on the human species, but they had brought it on themselves.  The Emperor dismissed thoughts of justice and again focused on the plot hanging in the air.

It’s a complicated plan, thought the Emperor with some trepidation.  If it succeeded, the human Empire was sure to collapse, and his fleet would roll over them.  If it didn’t?  Then he could lose a fleet, but then again, he had plenty of ships to form other fleets.

It was an audacious plan, something the Ca’cadasans didn’t excel at.  The plan for the main battle was something that most commanders of the past would recognize.  With the exception of the wormholes those forces would be carrying.  Not enough for what the Emperor wanted to do, but all he had at the moment.  They couldn’t do what the humans did with their thousands of portals.  They didn’t have the weapons that the humans fired through their wormholes, weapons that gave the enemy a great advantage.  But if used wisely they could still serve as a force multiplier, and catch the humans off guard.  And that was the audacious part of the plan, not simply depending on the firepower of the massive fleet.

If the second part of the plan worked they would take the advantages away from the humans.  They would no longer have their wonderful and terrible wormhole weapons, nor would they have the ability to shift forces across their Empire like they had in the past.  That they would still have some wormhole gates was a given, but they would not have the network they had built up over the war.  They would find themselves scrambling to work around the collapse of that network.

If the second part of the plan worked, it really didn’t matter if the fleet won its battle.  It would probably be the last victory of the human fleet in this war.  If it didn’t work, it also might not matter if the fleet won its battle, but it would hasten the end of the humans if it did.

“Proceed,” ordered the Emperor, his teeth showing in a predatory smile.  “Cut the head off the beast, and give my people a victory.  Give me a victory.”

*     *     *

“We still advise that we wait until the Cacas launch another offensive, your Majesty,” said Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom, Chief of Naval Operations for the Imperial Fleet.

“I was always taught that the offensive was the only way to win a war, Admiral,” replied the Emperor of the New Terran Empire, Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, the first of his name.

“The defense still has its advantages, your Majesty,” said the senior officer of the Fleet.  “It’s true that we will eventually have to take it to the enemy, but I would rather wait until we have more of the technological advantages we are developing before we start pushing our fleet into their space.  If we can engage them in some battles that play to our defensive advantages, we can whittle them down a bit.  But don’t worry.  I think that in another year we can go on an offensive that will eventually take us to their home world.”

“And then we can beat them in what?  A year?  Five?”

Sondra smiled at the naiveté of the Monarch, who, though extremely intelligent, was still very young.  He was a budding military genius, well read on all of the aspects of warfare.  But all of the wars that he had studied had been relatively short lived affairs, from one to six years.  An artifact of fighting either on the surface of a planet, or across a relatively reasonable distance through space.  This would not be such a war.

“At least a decade, your Majesty,” said the CNO.

“But, it’s only six months travel time from our frontier to their capital.”

“And if there was no resistance, we could go from our frontier to their capital in that time.  Just a nice hyper VII cruise.  Unfortunately, we will have to fight our way through an enormous fleet and hundreds of well-fortified systems.  Sure, we can bypass some of them, and the wormholes will take some of the pressure off of our supply lines.  But it would be foolhardy to thinks these beings are just going to roll over and die once we start penetrating their space.  And if we take their capital?  We still could have an enormous empire to conquer if they don’t decide to surrender.”

“And I doubt they would,” said Sean.  “After all, there are a lot of species in this Galaxy that are looking for payback.   And they will try to avoid that at all costs.”

Sondra nodded.  Something she liked about this Emperor was the way he tried to look at the facts before making his decisions.

“We have a long hard road ahead of us.  Thank God we have the tech advantages we have, and we will only increase our lead.  If we don’t jump into any frivolous offensives and waste our forces, and if we hit them where they are weak, we will win this war.  But against an opponent so large, nothing is a given, and I advise caution.”

“Then that is what we will do,” said Sean, nodding.  “We will do as you and your planning staff think best.”

As long as we are correct, thought the CNO.  As soon as we make a mistake, we’re fired, and someone else will take charge.

Chapter One

You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life. Winston Churchill

CAPITULUM, JEWEL:  NOVEMBER 10TH, 1002.  D-52.

Warrant Officer First Debra Visserman pulled the stick of her F-48 Peregrine and banked through the high clouds.  She was cruising at eighteen thousand meters over the city, her airspeed set at Mach two.  She wanted to push it harder.  The sixty ton aircraft felt like a hobbled stallion to her experienced touch, wanting to break free and gallop across the sky.  At her present altitude she could push up to Mach thirty-five, except she would then be breaking a dozen regulations against such speeds over an occupied area of the planet.  There were also rules against attaining that kind of speed over any of the wilderness areas of the world, lest the aircraft frighten the wildlife.  In fact, just about the only place she could open it up was over the ocean deeps.

She looked down at the nighttime cityscape below, several hundred thousand square kilometers of the most occupied land in the Empire, the capital, with over three billion inhabitants.  Toward the center were the towering megascrapers, many reaching above five thousand meters in height, interspersed with lower archologies that still towered over a kilometer into the sky.  Radiating out from the central region was a lower sprawl of skyscrapers and smaller buildings, set among neighborhoods of low rise and single family housing.  The huge urban area was one of the reasons there were so many rules in place restricting her handling of her hot fighter.  Not only the way in which her hypersonic booms might disturb the populace, but the threat of an out of control aircraft falling into the city like a kinetic weapon.

Like I would let that happen, thought the confident young woman, who had placed at the head of her class in Imperial Army flight school among almost five hundred classmates.  She had almost five hundred hours in the Peregrine, a thousand overall among all types of atmospheric craft.  It was like a part of her, and she felt like she was wearing leg shackles under all the restrictions.

“You are entering a restricted air zone,” said the craft’s computer voice, what they all called Bitching Betty, a term that had come down from the antiquity of prespace civilization.  “You are entering a restricted air zone.”

“OK, you bitch,” replied Debra, making sure that it wasn’t going out over the com.  She banked the fighter over again, moving out of the airspace of the Constance the Great spacesport, the largest and busiest landing field in the Empire, before she started getting complaints from the air-space controllers of the facility.  There were at least a dozen shuttles always on one or another stages of approach, and an equal number on their way up to high orbit and beyond.

“This is Alpha Three Seven,” she said over the com, connecting to her own base, just outside of the city.  “Permission to ascend to two hundred thousand meters.”

“Permission granted,” came back the voice almost immediately.

She was not surprised, as she was out on a training mission, and extra-atmospheric flight was one of the areas she needed more time on.  The Peregrine, like most advanced atmospheric fighters, used an array of grabber units for propulsion, and really could function as a short range spaceship at need.  Flying back into an atmosphere was a trickier proposition than heading out, and it was a skill that all atmospheric fighter pilots were expected to master, since they might be assigned to an assault carrier in the future, flying support and air superiority missions from orbit.

Visserman set her plane on its tail and rocketed upwards, rising high above the planet until she was in low orbit, watching as the partial globe of the star poked over the horizon.  She checked her tactical display, made sure nothing was in the way, and pushed the craft up to thirty thousand kilometers an hour, flying out to sea and into the rising sun for ten minutes, then quickly decelerating back down to four thousand kilometers an hour and pushing her nose down, heading back for a reentry.  In about a minute the fighter was biting back into the atmosphere, and shook with the turbulence of hitting the gas envelope of the planet.

The pilot leveled the craft off at twenty thousand meters, then banked again and went into a steady descent until she could see the ocean waves below, then leveled off again, kicking in the acceleration until she was flying Mach ten only a couple of hundred meters above the water.  Her computer cautioned her on her speed as she approached the coast line, and she was down to just below the speed of sound as she crossed one of the popular city beaches and headed for her base.

The base, Paulus Sevestal Field, was an operational fighter field tasked with the defense of the city and this hemisphere of the planet.  Not that there was much need of defense at this, the veritable center of the Empire.  It was laid out with the protection of the based aircraft in mind, with covered revetments spaced out around the runway.  Laser, particle beam and missile emplacements surrounded the field, there to protect the aircraft and crews from attack.  Or at least to provide training for the soldiers still learning to master those systems.

“The Colonel would like to see you, ma’am,” her mechanic told her as soon as she climbed out of the aircraft.  “At your earliest convenience.”

Crap, thought the Warrant, wondering what this might be about.  She couldn’t think of anything good, unless her transfer to a unit aboard an assault carrier had come through.  With that thought came a smile, and she hurried across the field to the administration building.  Capitulum was situated in the tropics, and always seemed hot to her.  Debra was from Frisco, the city on the peninsula in the upper temperate zone of this same continent, and was used to cooler temps, except for the winters that were downright cold.  She had worked up a sweat through her flight suit by the time she had gotten to the building.

“Reporting as ordered, sir,” she announced as she stepped into Colonel Gonzalez’ office, rendering a perfect hand salute.

“Have a seat, Warrant Visserman,” said the officer, pulling up a flimsy that had been sitting on his desk.  “Or I should say Chief Warrant Officer Two Visserman.”

“I’m getting a promotion?”

“Some idiot thought you deserved one, based on your skill as a pilot.  Lord knows it couldn’t be because of your decorum and attention to military protocol.”

“Who put me up for promotion?” asked Visserman, confused.

“I would be that idiot, Chief,” said the Colonel with a wide smile.  “You’re one of the best natural pilots I’ve ever seen, and it will be a shame to lose you.”

“I got my reassignment?” asked Debra in an excited tone.  “Not that you haven’t been a great commander and all.”

“You’ve gotten a reassignment to a basic flight school, Chief,” said the Colonel, his smile turning down to a frown.  “I know it wasn’t what you wanted, but it’s what the service needs.  We need for your skill to rub off on some new pilots, so that’s what will happen.”

“Yes, sir,” said Visserman with a sinking feeling.  She could remember talking with her own instructors in basic flight school.    All had talked about how a training assignment was a no way out ticket to the rear.  Most of them had loved the idea that they could stay at home with families, not putting themselves at risk.  The really good ones had been disappointed that they had been stuck in limbo with no way out.  “When do I go?”

“Two months from now,” said Gonzalez, looking at the flimsy.  “You’ll transfer through wormhole to Ruby.  You’ll have four days free to do with as you please before you have to report.”

Visserman felt like the bottom had fallen out from under her as she left the Colonel’s office.  Four days, she thought, wondering what she would do with them.  She could go home, only she didn’t feel at home in that place.  Or I could just stay in the city and see some of the sights I haven’t had time for.  And drinking with my mates at night.  That settled it.  She would stay here and drink with her buddies, the people she felt closest to.  And let they, who still had a chance at a slot at the front, to commiserate with her.

*     *     *

Lucille Yu sat at her desk and looked at the bank of holos that surrounded her, surveying her own personal empire.  Not really hers, since she owned none of it, not even the desk she sat at.  But her responsibility.  Not the military part, the millions of personnel who swarmed the station, both as a duty station and a passage to elsewhere.  Not the labs and weapons development workshops.  Not the weapons aboard, those placed on the station for self-defense, as well as the massive constructs that sent their power across the light years to the battle fleets.  Nor did she have a stake in the thousands of wormhole passenger gates that were starting to link the Empire in a way that generations past would never have imagined.  Or the negative matter and antimatter production that supplemented the other industrial centers of the Empire.

No, her empire centered around the production of wormholes, her area of expertise.  Over seventy percent of the station was dedicated to generating the energy needed to make those wormholes, using the rotational energy of the black hole it orbited around.  The twenty-five million kilometer circumference station contained three million of the enormous generating devices that wove a sheet of electrons around the black hole and used that rotation as a giant dynamo.  Pentatons of crystal matrix batteries, the most efficient way to store power outside of antimatter, were stored here, soaking up energy for each creation event.  This machinery was the reason the station existed.   It had taken over a hundred years to build the structure and pack it with that machinery, something the doubters had said was impossible the entire time it was being built.

And it’s mine to run, as long as I coax the most wormholes I can out of the thing, and don’t break it in the process, she thought.

One of the holos lit up, the one showing a camera view from over the top of the black hole.  The distortion at the center, outlined in a ring of light from the surrounding stars bent around the event horizon, was the black hole.  The ribbon of the station, glowing with a multitude of built in illuminators, seemed tiny, fragile, almost invisible against the backdrop of space.  The ribbon sat a little under four million kilometers out from the center of the hole.  The event horizon was about a hundred and eighty kilometers out from the singularity, and would have been invisible if not for the thick halo of light.

The inner side of the ribbon lit up with a blue light as the generators started to produce their electron beams.  At ten points on the ribbon the beams combined to create much more massive lances of light that shone through space.  Electrons reached down toward the event horizon at very near light speed, to a point five hundred thousand kilometers above it where a smaller ring of supermetal alloy orbited around the mass.  Electron beams linked, then bent as they were spun around in the enormous electrical dynamo the system created.

For fifteen minutes the dynamo spun, building up power that was stored in the crystal matrix batteries until they were packed with energy.  At that point the power was shunted into massive microwave projectors on the hull of the station that fired off their energy to the pair of wormhole generators twelve light seconds out.  They pumped all of the energy in the batteries, followed by a final spike from the generator.

Lucille looked over at another holo, this one showing the interior of one of the wormhole generating satellites.  Within were eight great arms, each holding something invisible in the magnetic field cups on their ends.  The area around the objects glowed as a matter stream was fed into them, maintaining the mass that was slowly evaporating.  Huge superconducting cables wrapped each of the arms, conducting the fierce heat coming off the objects.  Micro-black holes, each massing billions of tons, more than the rest of the satellite altogether.

As energy surged through the chamber the arms moved closer together, electromagnetic fields rivalling those of a world enfolding each arm, strengthening it.  The cups moved to the edge of a twenty meter circle, just barely holding the charged black holes against the gravitational force that wanted to pull them together.  They maintained that range for a nanosecond, stressing the space between the holes, then pulled apart, the arms straining at first to move them, the motion speeding up until they reached a velocity of one meter per second.  The area in between the holes rippled, then ripped open, the opening of a nascent wormhole forming.

Enormous graviton projectors took the energy transmitting from the Donut and beamed them as attractor particles, increasing the pull on the wormhole, holding it open as the micro-black holes moved back into their holding areas.  Magnetic field generators formed a donut shaped field just outside of the hole, moving it into the wormhole opening.  The graviton generators powered back, letting the wormhole start its collapse onto the negative matter now held in the magnetic field.  Negative matter projected antigravity, and repelled itself, and it now held the hole open as a small frame of supermetals was moved out to catch the wormhole and hold the negative matter in another electromagnetic field.  And there they had it, the opening of a new wormhole, framed and ready to go.

The same process was going on in another wormhole generating satellite sitting a thousand kilometers distant in space.  Wormholes needed two openings, and both sought the nearest portal, forming the tunnel that was the connection between them.  Robots entered both chambers, which were still much too hot for organic beings to enter, and would be for some hours.  The wormhole ends were carried out to be boxed, then shipped to wherever they were bound.  In some cases both ends would leave the system, in others only one.

What would become of the pair?  They might be shipped to the Second Front, or to some other destination where it was desired that both ends be.  In some cases they would become ship gates, or passenger gates.  Or weapons ports to missile acceleration tubes and particle beam accelerators.  Or wormhole heat sinks.  That was not her domain, the decision on how to use them was the purview of the Admiralty.  Her only responsibility was to keep cranking them out, and another pair of generators were already online, the Donut starting to spin up its massive dynamos to powered up the next creation.

Lucille leaned back in her chair and let out a satisfied breath.  The greatest machine that humankind, or really any other species, had ever created.  Hers to control.  It wasn’t invulnerable, but as protected as it was by security, sitting in the middle of a sixty-four light hour radius hyper-shadow, it was the closest thing to it.

*     *      *

“We’re almost ready for the next event,” said the alien technician who was manning the control board.

Dr. Ivan Smirnov nodded, then realized that not everyone in this control chamber was familiar with the human head gesture.  “Let me review the numbers before your initiate,” he told the tech, his voice coming out of the translator in the alien’s native language, just as that being’s speech came out of the translation device in his.

The human scientist knew that this facility was not on the same scale as the Donut, an object he had actually toured on a scientific delegation from New Moscow.  This ice moon had originally been slated to become a new supermetal production site, using the icy surface and the deeps of space far from its primary to cool the process.  A thousand great fusion reactors sat on one side of the large moon, while most of the rest the surface was taken up by huge banks of crystal matrix batteries that were more efficient in the frigid temperatures.  The great particle accelerators used in the creation of supermetals were quiescent, unneeded for this task.

The fusion reactors had been pushing power into the batteries for six days now, building to the peak that would be needed to create a wormhole.  Above the moon was a huge satellite containing two wormhole creation chambers, set up much like the human version that Smirnov had seen during his tour.  It was a makeshift production process at best, but it worked, even though one of the plants could only produce a wormhole every six days.  The Cacas were trying to make up for that by converting a score of moons to wormhole production, allowing them to create up to twenty-three wormholes a week, about nine percent of human capacity.  Or it would be by the time all the moons were finished.  New ones would be added, but it would be more than a decade before they could even begin to produce half as many wormholes per week as the one human station made.

Smirnov glanced over at the Caca supervisor and his guards, all of whom were glaring at what they considered the lesser beings in the chamber.  The lesser beings who had been responsible for all of their scientific innovations, what there was of it, for millennia.

The numbers hit the mark, and Smirnov gave the command.  Thousands of kilometers of microwave projectors beamed their energy up to an equal mass of receiving antennas on the satellite, starting the process.  In fifteen minutes they had a new wormhole, ready to be shipped off and put to use.

Smirnov smiled as he watched the end of the process.  To everyone involved it seemed as if they now had a perfect example of one of the weapons the humans had used against them.  What they didn’t know was Smirnov had programed some minor quantum variations into the hole.  It would work perfectly, for a time.  Eventually, a week, month or year in the future, something would go wrong with the hole, and it would collapse.  He could only hope that a lot of Cacas were nearby when that happened.  Or, better yet, transiting the tunnel at the time.

Chapter Two

A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.  Winston Churchill

BORDERLANDS, NOVEMBER 12TH, 1002.  D-50.

“We are well into the space of the human Empire, sir.  My Lord,” said the Navigator, looking at Jasper, then the Ca’cadasan Overlord.

Four four eight three one, known for this mission as Ship Master Tom Jasper, watched in relief as they got to the point where they could start playing the role that would hopefully get them to the target.  He looked back at the Master, wondering once again why they had to come on this mission, when his people could have handled it very well by themselves.  He then looked at four four three seven six, known as Mary Sowell, the First Mate, as well as his mate.

It had taken them thirty-six days to come through the borderlands space in hyper IV, something they could have pushed through in a day and a half in VI.  But by transiting in four, they were putting out a hyper signal that transmitted only a sixteenth of the distance that they would in the much higher dimension, while picking up the enemy at sixteen times that range.  The fear had been that a human ship would still coast past them, picking up their hypersignal and jumping down to investigate what would appear to be a smuggler or infiltrator trying to sneak into their space.

Now they were in the space where an Imperial merchantman might be expected to be.  Still some suspicion this close to the border, but a place where they might be able to talk themselves out of an inspection.  Then again, they might not.

“What has the plot looked like?” asked the Overlord.

The Captain looked at the plot, currently set on a twenty light year radius.  Their normal range of hyper VI detection was about a light year, but anything jumping would be detected for a few moments out to two and a half to three light years.  Unfortunately, they would also be detected to the same range when they jumped to VI.  But they would jump to VI in one step, giving the enemy only one chance to detect their translation.

“We have seen nothing for over a day, my Lord,” said the Sensor Tech.

“I believe it is safe enough,” said Jasper, looking back at the Ca’cadasan.

The male was silent for a few minutes, thinking.  Jasper knew the Masters were not the fastest of thinkers, with less flexibility than his own people.  He had been raised to think of the Masters as superior in all ways, physically and mentally.  It soon became obvious to anyone who worked with them that they were truly the physically superior species, or at least the stronger, longer lived race.  It also became obvious to anyone working around them that the Ca’cadasan were not mentally superior to most of those they ruled, especially the mentally flexible humans.  The only reason they ruled such a large Empire was the luck of timing.  They had advanced at a time when their neighbors weren’t to far ahead of them, and became too large to fail as they steamrolled single and small multisystem species afterwards.

“Proceed,” ordered the big male.

“Jump,” ordered Jasper a moment later.  The lights dimmed for a moment as the ship put all of its power into the hyperdrive arrays, which projected a wave of gravitons to open a temporary hole between the dimensions.  The ship slid smoothly through the hole from the red background dimension of hyper IV into the brighter red higher dimension of VI.

The ship coasted in VI for ten minutes, holding her entry velocity of point two light.  She actually had the capability of jumping at point three light, in the same range as most of the warships of both sides.  But she was playing the deception game, and anyone picking her up before or after jump would see what they wanted to see.

“No tracks,” called out the Sensor Tech.  “As far as I can tell, there is nothing out there listening to us.”

Which might not mean they weren’t there.  In the past, any ship listening to hyperdrive emissions could only transmit the information to other waiting ships by grav wave, detectable by the ship they were tracking.  The humans had changed all that with their wormhole tech, and their other strange methods of instantaneous com.  That seemed to Jasper the mentally superior species, his long lost people, and recently he had started wondering if he was serving the right side.

“Accelerate up to point eight five light,” he ordered.  “One third maximum acceleration.”

The Helm nodded, then pushed forward the grabber units up to the maximum that a freighter was expected to do, about one hundred and seventy gravities.  In actuality Fool’s Bane could pull five hundred and fifteen G’s, similar to most warships.  But again, she was playing a game, and had to look the part.

They pushed the ship ahead for many hours, eventually getting up to point eight seven light, slightly above the norm for merchant ships, but not outside the realm of possibility.  They travelled several hours more before Jasper felt a sense of relief.  They were well inside the Empire now and had not been challenged.  In fact, they had seen nothing on their scans.  A bit of luck, but not unexpected when military forces had so much space to cover, and most of them were congregated at the frontier they had already penetrated.

“Time to target system, forty-six days,” called out the Navigator.

Jasper nodded.  When they reached the target system they would be three day’s transit from their objective.  The other ship was five days ahead, since they had a much longer transit into the gravity well of the black hole.  With luck they might even make it back home at the end of the mission.  They had a wormhole, after all, and if the Masters gave permission they could step across twenty thousand light years in an instant.  He didn’t expect that to happen, either for them to survive to that point, or for the Masters to even consider extracting them.  But it didn’t hurt to stay hopeful.

*     *     *

CAPITULUM, JEWEL. NOVEMBER 18TH, 1002.

Angel Sergio Martinez stood on the balcony of his townhouse and looked out over the city of Capitulum, lit up like a true gem in the night.   The balcony was situated a thousand meters up on the megascraper.  Jewel was situated in the edge of the northern tropics of a planet slightly colder than Old Earth.  It could get uncomfortable during the day, and sometimes at night, if one were not in the climate controlled confines of a building.   The added altitude took a little bit of the edge off of that temperature, though sometimes the winds could get a little rough.

Tonight it was perfect, and the man known to the Underworld as The Angel of Death was enjoying the sight of the city, feeling its pulse as he watched the chain of lights that were aircars moving across the night sky.  The city, with over three billion inhabitants, truly never slept.  At any time of day or night there would be at least a billion sentient minds awake, if not always sober and alert.  More during the day, of course, but the night life was legendary.  If he had not been such a wanted man he might be enjoying that night life himself.

Since leaving the Fleet, where he had served as a Naval Commando until being thrown out for reprisals against sentients on some shithole world, he had always gone first class.  There had been exceptions, during a mission, a contract.  But since money had been plentiful he had always enjoyed the life that was his when he wasn’t planning and executing a hit.  The Imperial Government had frozen as many of his assets as they could find, but he had too many hidey holes, purchased under too many aliases, for them to find everything.  And now his lifestyle was at risk, since he was turning his back on contracts.  After his last run in with the Imperial authorities, after he had decided that the Emperor did not need killing, his name was anathema in the Underworld.  Now his hide was wanted by both sides of the law.

And what the hell is Sergiov going to think when I give her the information I have, he thought.  Ekaterina Sergiov, recent Director of the Imperial Intelligence Agency, now overall Commander of Imperial Intelligence, had wanted him to come in and serve the Empire.  She had said the Emperor need not know that he was now on her team, since the Monarch might still want his neck.  He didn’t really trust her enough to put his life in her hands, since with a word the most powerful man in the Empire could overrule any deal she made.

He thought of what had been waiting in the interrogation room located under a small building fifty kilometers from where he now stood.  Was she serious? he thought, thinking of the woman who had been his prisoner for some months.  Or was it just the delusional thinking of a madwoman?  Fucking time travel?  Who the hell would try fucking time travel?

As far as he could tell, Countess Esmeralda Zhee had been telling the truth.  Or what she thought was the truth, which wasn’t always the same thing.  He had questioned her for months, using every technique in his repertoire.  He had been a master of his trade, and getting information out of unwilling subjects had been a useful tool.

Well, Countess, your days of manipulating people in the Parliament are over, he thought with a slight smile.  They would never find Zhee.  Her disappearance would remain a mystery.  High powered lasers had taken care of the body, incinerating it down to the molecular level.  Those molecules had been whisked away and dumped into the city sewer system by his filtration system.  Not even a cell remained, and absolutely no DNA.  She was gone as if she had never existed.

Am I a monster? he thought.  He didn’t think he had been one when he still served the Empire.  The Lasharans he had killed had butchered some of his men, after wiping out an entire missionary village of their people who were trying to distance themselves from their death cult of a religion.  When he had killed those guerillas, burning them at the stake, it had been an act of rage.  The killings he had done since were without passion, simply cold and calculating.  He had thought he had lost all of his emotions.

Zhee had changed that perception.  He had hated her, and had brought untold agony to her before her demise at his hands.  That had been satisfying at the time, hurting the noble who had tried to have him killed for failing in his mission to take out the Imperial Family.  Now he had to wonder if he had lost touch with reality himself.

Time to make the call, he thought with a slight feeling of anxiety.  His com system was supposedly untraceable, but he also knew the capabilities of the people he was dealing with.  He took one last look around the luxurious townhouse, then summoned his car to the rooftop landing pad.

Five minutes later he was in his vehicle, cruising at random through the air pathways along the traffic patterns.  With a thought he coded his com unit to contact the central hub installed in his townhouse.  It was connected to another hub ten kilometers away by supposedly untraceable laser optics.  After use the cable would be disassembled by the built in nanites, and while it might be possible to eventually trace its former path, it would be difficult and time consuming.  That secondary hub would send coded signals out to forty external connections that would route into the citywide com net.  One at a time, switching around every couple of seconds, it would be a nightmare to try to trace any one of them.  IIA could and would do so, given a few minutes, and then would come the toil of tracing up the path.  All they would find in the meantime would be the townhouse that was no longer his habitat.

“Director Sergiov,” he said into the com, activating the coding that would put him through directly to the head spy.  It still took a moment for her to activate her end.

“Angel.  What can I do for you?  Have you decided to come in?”

“Don’t bother tracing the call,” said Angel.  “It will do you no good.  And I think I prefer staying out and free at the moment.”

“We won’t try and find you, Angel,” said Sergiov.

And I’m supposed to believe that? thought Angel with a chuckle.  “What I have to tell you is very important, so listen.  Countess Zhee was very forthcoming with a little persuasion.”

“So you had her.  We wondered where she had gotten off to.”

“I had her, and after a little conversation she told me everything.  I let her go, on the condition that she leave the capital and disappear from public view.”  There was no way he was going to confess on the com to a capital crime, no matter what promises were made.  “The tale she told me was like something out of a bad holo vid.  But under the pressure she was at during the moment, I believe her.”

Angel was silent for a moment, letting Sergiov digest what he had already told her, and then started into the story.

“Time travel,” exclaimed Sergiov.  “Are you flippen kidding me?”

“I am not, Director.  And if you think about it for a moment, it will make sense to you as well.  Her faction believes they can go back in time and destroy the Cacas before they ever became a power, and therefore rescue humankind from what history has wrought.”

“But, everyone born since the coming of the Cacas will cease to exist.  The Empire will cease to exist.  Her people would erase trillions from the timeline, including themselves.”

“The crazy fools think it worth the sacrifice, and they don’t care who doesn’t agree.  Anyone not on their side is against them, including the Imperial family.”

“You mean?”

“They, along with a party whose origins are unknown to them as well, think it is worth it, that humankind will experience a golden age of expansion.”

“My parents.  My grandparents.  All of our ancestors, wiped from history.  It must not be.”

Angel could tell that Sergiov was horrified.  That was the emotion he had wanted her to take from this com.  Now, if she could only spark the same feelings in the Emperor.

“I’m going now.  I predict you will locate my first relay at any moment, and then it will only be a matter of seconds before you start the trace.”

“Wait,” shouted Sergiov, but Angel had already severed the connection.  His car ejected the com box into the sky, where it fell apart on the way to the ground, disassembled by its internal nanites.

They will have some kind of plan to get the resources they need, whether from the Emperor, or from some other source, he thought as the car left the pattern and headed out of the city, changing its transponder code several times along the way.  He didn’t have any love for the Cacas, and wished them hell and fire.  But he also had no wish to have never existed himself.  That was something that his ego could not stand.

*     *     *

“Do you believe him Director?  I mean, Admiral.”

Sean still had trouble remembering some of the new titles his people sported.  Ekaterina Sergiov had been the Director of the Imperial Intelligence Agency, the primary civilian spy agency for the Imperial Government.  She had served under his father for almost two decades.  Sean had decided on advice from his cabinet to link all of his intelligence agencies under one administration, to make sure that all necessary information got to where it needed to be.  So Sergiov had been given the nod.  And the rank of a four star full admiral, so she would be able to command military operatives.

“I don’t know, your Majesty.  He sure seemed to believe it.  Voice stress analysis implies truthfulness.  But then again, he is a psychopath, and the same rules don’t always apply.”

“It sounds so unbelievable,” said Sean, hoping that it was all just fiction.  “Time travel?  Is it even possible?”

The Emperor knew that many of the species that had occupied this region when the humans showed up certainly believed it was possible.  All had their stories of the Ancients, the technologically superior beings that had ruled this space and bootstrapped so many other species out of their stone ages.  It had been said that they had experimented with wormholes, then with time travel, going back into the past to right the wrongs other beings had suffered.  With disastrous results.  There were eighty-three confirmed nebula in the region that had been formed by stars too small to go supernova blowing up anyway.  There were many theories about that phenomena, including mystic interpretations that the Universe would not tolerate a paradox and had struck back, to the more scientific explanation of space compression waves causing a spike in fusion.  And when the humans had started building the Donut, over a hundred years ago, many of the governments in the region had issued dire warning that the Ancients had once built such a station, and it had destroyed them.

“We have nothing on record to suggest that it’s possible, or impossible for that matter, your Majesty.  At the moment I would just have to say that we don’t know.”

“Well, at least they don’t have any wormholes to experiment with,” said Sean, waiting for the agreement from his Spy Master.  None was coming, and he felt hollow in the pit of his stomach.  “They don’t have any, do they?”

“Well, your Majesty, I, er, have to admit that we are missing four wormhole pairs.”

“And how in the hell did that happen, Admiral?” shouted Sean, his temper spiking.

“It happened before I was given my current position, your Majesty,” stammered the woman.  She breathed out a sigh, obviously calming herself.  “No excuses.  I did not realize they were missing until I ordered a complete scan of the records.  Someone had appropriated the four under a shipping order that specified a Fleet experimental station, for top secret testing.  Those wormholes never made it there, though information was placed in the system indicating that they had.”

“Just wonderful,” growled Sean, jumping up from his seat, the cat on his lap jumping off at the last moment, its hind claws digging in and wounding the tops of his thighs.  He glared at the cat for a moment, which showed good judgement by running out of the room.  “So, parties unknown have four of our wormholes.  And from what we can gather, wormholes are needed for time travel.  But how in the hell would they use them to go back in time?”

“I have no idea, your Majesty.  There are some hints in the research literature, but nothing definite.”

“Hold on, Ekaterina,” said Sean in his best attempt of the moment at a calm voice.  He sat back in his chair and sent an order over his implant into the com system.  It took a minute or so for the person at the end of that request to answer, time in which he hoped his intelligence director was sweating.  I really can’t blame her for something Naval Intelligence should have been on, and before her watch.  Someone else needs to be crucified for this, and at least this will make her and the people she drags over the coals more alert in the future.

“You Majesty,” said a voice over the com, as a second holo opened in the air over his desk, showing the face of Lucille Yu.  The woman was obviously just out of bed, fatigue in her eyes.

“Sorry to get you up, Lucille.  But we have a bit of a problem here.  Admiral Sergiov is also on the com, and I’ll let her explain the problem.”

Sergiov rushed the story, hurriedly filling in details as she went.  Yu’s face went from disbelief to horror during the monologue.

“Is it possible, Director Yu?” asked Sergiov, her tone hopeful that she would get a negative answer.

“Oh, it’s possible,” said Yu in a hushed voice.  “We actually had a man lecturing at the Donut some months ago about time travel.  He was requesting a wormhole to use to test his theories.  When I checked out his theory, it turned out to be nonsense.”

“Well that’s a relief,” said Sergiov.

“Not so fast, Admiral.  I dug a little deeper, and found that Dr. Kenji Guatarrez was a highly respected physicist with Imperial University, who had published several papers on alternate dimensions, including one he surmised moved in the opposite temporal direction from ours.”

“And that means?” asked Sean, his forehead furrowing in thought.

“That there was a possibility of another dimension in which time moves in the opposite direction.  If you were in that dimension, considering its suitability for supporting life, you couldn’t tell the difference, since to the occupant of that dimension time would seem to flow on the proper path.  But if you returned to our dimension you would find yourself in the past.”

“How far?” asked Sean, the sinking feeling growing.

“It depends on several variables.  The correspondence of the passage of time in each dimension.  One second to one second, or an hour or year for each second.  And of course, how long you spent there.”

“And you say this Dr. Guatarrez was lecturing on the Donut.  Did he go back to the Imperial University? And to which branch?”

“Some operatives from Naval Intelligence took custody of him right after I shut him down for lecturing on a forbidden topic.  I would have to assume that he is in Fleet custody, or had been and has since been released.”

“We have no record of this Dr. Guatarrez being taken into custody by Naval Intelligence,” said Sergiov.  “No record of interrogation or incarceration.  And several months ago a missing person’s report was filed by the Imperial University Capitulum’s physics department, and by the good doctor’s wife.”

“This is damned peculiar,” said Sean, shooing away the recalcitrant cat that was walking back into the room, a plaintive meow coming from its mouth.  “We need to find this man, as soon as possible.  Before he and the people who took him can do too much damage to the time line.”

“How much could they do?” asked Ekaterina, again the hopeful note in her voice.  She was not destined to get any hope from this conversation, thought the Emperor.

“It depends on how far back they go?” said Lucille.  “If they go back far enough they could disrupt the entire time line, erase everything we know of today.”

“Get your best people on it, Ekaterina.  No matter what you need to do, find him.  And make sure some of the Imperial Judges know that we may need warrants at a moment’s notice, and what is at stake.  Or at least as much as I’m willing to tell them.”

“I would like to put Angel Martinez on this, your Majesty.”

“The assassin?  The one who was going to kill her Majesty and myself?”  Sean felt the anger rising again, forcing it back, knowing that he needed to keep a clear head here and make good decisions untouched by emotions.

“He has the Underworld contacts that we don’t have.  And I wouldn’t be surprised if these people are somehow tied in with the Underworld.  If just to get what they need outside of official channels.”

Sean thought for a moment, reasoning past his emotions.  The man could have killed he and his wife, but had hesitated until the opportunity was past.  Men like him didn’t hesitate without reason.

“Very well, Admiral.  Recruit him for this mission.  Offer him full amnesty for all crimes, past and present, if he succeeds in giving us information that leads to our finding Dr. Guatarrez and the people who have taken him.”

“I want to say one more thing, your Majesty,” said Yu as soon as Sergiov had dropped off the com.  “And please don’t take it the wrong way.”

Sean nodded, and waited for what the woman was about to drop on him.

“As tempting as it may be to mess around with the time line, as satisfying as it might be to go back in time and put it to the Cacas, saving humanity for all time, you must resist that temptation.  It is most likely to result in a disaster.”

“Don’t worry, Director.  I doubt there is anything that would make me want to tread that path.”

Chapter Three

If a man consults whether he is to fight, when he has the power in his own hands, it is certain that his opinion is against fighting. Horatio Nelson

IMPERIAL SPACE.  DECEMBER 1ST, 1002.  D-31

They picked up the approaching scout pair well outside the range of normal commercial sensors.  The Captain watched his crew closely to make sure no one gave away the game as they watched the two destroyers coming toward them.  But his crew did as they had been trained to do, making the ship appear to be a harmless merchantman on its way to deliver a cargo.

“What do we have?” asked the Overlord, the large Ca’cadasan male who was on the ship with a trio of his fellows to make sure the humans did as they had been ordered.

Bastard, thought the Captain.  He and his people were loyal members of the Empire, and the Masters had no cause to treat them as unreliable.

“We have a pair of destroyers on approach, my Lord,” he forced himself to say in a subservient tone.  “They don’t appear to be adjusting their course.”

The destroyers forged on in hyper VI, moving at point nine light.  If they had been planning to match vectors they would have already started to change their courses.

“We’re receiving a signal from a ship identifying itself as the Roger Corman,” reported the Com Tech.  “They’re asking us to verify our identification signal.”

“Send them the information,” ordered the Captain, watching the ships closely on the plot.  If everything went well the destroyers would fly past them and continue on to wherever they were going.   If they grew suspicious they would have a two minute window to savage the freighter with their lasers.  They would not have as much luck as they thought, but they would still be within missile range.  And there were two of them.

The Captain looked back at the Overlord, watching as the male set his jaw.  So, he’s nervous as well, though he wouldn’t let such feelings show to such an inferior species as ourselves.

“The destroyer is asking for visual.”

The Captain stepped over so the Ca’cadasan wouldn’t be in the image.  “Open visual.”

“This is Commander Leticia Romero of the Corman,” said the olive skinned young woman on the holo.  “Your name, destination and business please.”

“This is Captain Tom Jasper.  Laughing Troll is on a course for the Jewel system.  We are empty at the moment, but have been promised a cargo at the Capital planet.”

That was something easy to fake at this time.  Since the start of war, the amount of traffic into most of the core worlds had tripled.  It would be believable enough that a tramp would be heading into one of the busiest systems in the Empire looking for a cargo.

Some moments passed as the image of the Captain of the destroyer looked off holo.  The crew sweated, waiting for the decision.  The Captain prepared himself to order the deployment of the weapons systems.  He thought he could take two destroyers, but it wasn’t a given.  Even if he won the fight, Fool’s Bane could get savaged.

“Fool’s Bane.  You are cleared to proceed.”

“Thank you, Commander Romero,” said the Captain, trying not to let his relief show on his face.  He wondered how much their clearance had to do with no suspicion on the part of the Imperial officer, and how much on they were just in a hurry to get to where they were going, and didn’t want to waste the time decelerating and coming back for something that wasn’t that suspicious.

The holo blanked, and the Captain turned to stare at the tactical plot as the destroyers first drew even with his ship and then passed.  It took almost twenty minutes for them to disappear from the plot, out of sensor range, and that was when the Captain allowed himself to breathe easy again.

“Good job, Captain,” said the Overlord, giving a head motion of acceptance.  “Continue your course.  I will be in my quarters.”  With that the male turned and left.

He wants to spend as little time as possible with the lower species, thought the Captain with a huff.  He glared at the closing hatch of the bridge, then turned back to look at the plot, zooming out to see the entire course.  He wished he could take full advantage of his ship’s capabilities and bound ahead to point nine five light, but he didn’t want to take the chance, the Overlord present or not.  To his thinking, the sooner he could get to the target and get the mission over with, the better.  He amended that thought after a moment, remembering that this mission was likely to be at the end of a one-way trip.

*     *     *

ELYSIUM EMPIRE HOME WORLD, DECEMBER 3RD, 1002.

“Welcome, Lord Grarakakak,” said Archduke Horatio Alexanderopolis. Meeting the slender avian being in the study outside his office.  “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

Alexanderopolis was a stocky man of middle age, just over a hundred and eighty, and had been the Ambassador to the older Empire for more than two decades.  In that time he had become one of the few humans who was actually fluent in the tongue of the dominant Brakakak, a series of crackles, hisses and whistles that were difficult for the human language producing apparatus to reproduce.  The Ambassador had found it very useful to understand the cultures of the people he had to deal with, including the language.

“I wish to speak in private, Ambassador,” replied the High Lord in his own language.  Grarakakak could also speak fluent terranglo, but their game was whoever started the conversation in the other’s language directed the speech to that tongue.

Horatio nodded, gesturing toward the bar.  He understood what the leader of the Empire was talking about.  Despite all the high tech safeguards used for personal government communications, people still tapped into top secret communications.

Horatio mixed drinks for the both of them.  The High Lord loved human bourbon.  In fact, it was one of the biggest exports from the New Terran Empire to Elysium.

“What’s on your mind, High Lord?” asked the Ambassador, handing the Brakakak lord his drink, then taking a seat across the table from the avian.

The slender graceful being took a sip of his drink, his flexible beak opening and closing in pleasure as he placed the glass on the side table.  “Nectar of the Gods,” said the High Lord.  He leaned forward in the seat that hadn’t exactly been built with his people in mind.  “There will be a vote in council tomorrow about the war, your Excellency.”

“So I have heard,” replied Horatio, placing his own drink on a side table lest he spill it on himself if the coming news was too disturbing.

“The vote will go against the war,” said the High Lord, giving a very human head shake.  “I have one vote on my side, but the other three are adamant about leaving the war.”

“But, why?” asked Horatio, thinking now that putting his drink down had been a good idea.  “Surely they understand the threat.”

The High Lord looked embarrassed, sitting there in silence for a moment.  Horatio knew that the Brakakak were the dominant species of the Empire.  They were on the average the more intelligent of the species, and their culture the far superior.  They made up almost thirty-five percent of the population, by far the largest proportion.  But the Empire’s government was built around the concept of representation for all species.  There were five seats on the supreme council, and each went to a member of the five most representative species.  There was a lower council that actually made the laws, also in proportion to the percentage of the population each species commanded.  The Brakakak were the largest percentage by far, the next most numerous species only commanding twenty-one percent of the seats.  Unfortunately, the Brakakak did not command a majority in either the upper or lower councils.  If they did not make deals with other species, basically nothing got done in the Empire.

“I think most of them understand the threat,” said the High Lord, looking away for a moment, then back into the eyes of the human he called friend.   “But some of them also feel that your Empire will become just as big a threat in the future, after this current war is over.”

“We have never been expansionist,” said Horatio, knowing that what he said was not quite true.  The early Empire was very much an expansionist state, even when they didn’t plan to be.  Wars were fought, new territories were acquired, sometimes by accident, sometimes to prevent a species that saw itself as the injured party from rising again to threaten humanity.  “At least in recent history.”

“The Lasharans might not agree with that statement,” said the High Lord, giving his species’ equivalent of a frown.  “But I have to agree that your Empire has shown remarkable restraint over the last couple of centuries.  Not everyone in my government agrees.  They think you are spending the lives of our people so that you don’t have to lose your own.  They feel you will weaken our forces, then use your enlarged military to conquer.”

“And what can we do to change their minds?”

“I’m not sure we can change their minds.  But some concessions might help.”

And here we go, thought the Ambassador.  “Like what?”

“There is much concern about your wormhole technology, as well as your other methods of instantaneous communications.”

“We share our com net with your forces.”

“Yes, by placing your ships with our task groups, and allowing us to talk through your com net.  Some of the leaders in our military feel this gives you the ability to censor our communications.  Even if you are not doing that now, it gives you the ability to do so.”

“We have reopened a com and passenger gate into this system, High Lord.  And what about the ship gate between your largest shipyard and the Donut system?”

“Some would argue that this serves only your Empire.”

“So giving your military some of their own wormholes would change the vote?”

“It would help, but maybe not enough.  I realize you are stretched thin, and we could not expect being equipped with wormholes to the same extent as your own fleet.  But at least one on every task group command ship.  And some of your instantaneous com specialists on flagships down to the squadron level, if not individual vessels.”

“I cannot guarantee that we will give you what you want.  That’s up to the Emperor, and might be something better left for the upcoming summit.”

“I understand that, Ambassador,” said the High Lord, his expression showing embarrassment.  “However, if we vote tomorrow to withdraw our forces, then they will be withdrawn until at least the summit, if not beyond.”

“I don’t think the Emperor is going to like this, Lord Grarakakak.”

“And I am sorry that your leader will not like a decision our sovereign government makes.”

“And I thought you were on our side.”

“Oh, I am, Ambassador.  I want you to win this war.  I want your Empire to go on being good neighbors with my people.  I definitely don’t always agree with my own government, but I am charged with being the face of that government, and must bring their concerns and decisions to you.”

“Okay.  I will let the Emperor know what your fellow Lords require for continued cooperation.  I’m not sure what he will be able to do, since he must also work through Parliament.”

“And we both know that he has a lot more power to do what he wants in wartime.”

Horatio nodded.  The High Lord knew of what he spoke.  There were checks and balances in the Imperial government, and the power of the Emperor was limited, except during war.  Then he became the ultimate power in the Empire, though he still had some limitations.

“Anything else?”

“We would also like a discussion about giving us some of your wormhole weapon systems on the table.  Oh, not the actual hardware, except for some examples we can use to engineer our own.  And the plans and schematics of the technology.”

And that will go over really well with Parliament, thought the Ambassador, shaking his head.  There’ll likely be some heart attacks when they hear this.

“I’ll talk to the Emperor and see what we can do.  You understand that the Klassekians have an agreement with our government to serve in our military.  They would have to volunteer to do the same with yours.”

“I understand.  Hopefully we can work something out.”

Good thing we’re not expecting an attack anytime soon, thought the Ambassador as he led the High Lord out of the sitting room.  Of course, this was war, so the unexpected happened all the time.

*     *     *

CAPITULUM, JEWEL.

It wasn’t the most exclusive jewelry store in Capitulum.  That was reserved for the moderately rich, and entry was by invitation only.  Of course, the nobility and the very rich didn’t shop for their jewelry in stores.  They had their pieces made to order.  But Newmans was as exclusive as someone of Tomas Gijardo’s wealth and status could afford.

“I would like to see that one,” he said to the clerk, pointing to a one carat ring in the case.

“A good choice, sir,” said the Malticon clerk, barely able to look over the counter from his one meter and a third height.  His species looked as close to human as possible, with the exception of some differences to his limb joints and fingers.  They fit into human society much easier than most species, and there had to be a couple of hundred million of them in the city.

Wonder if you say that to everyone, no matter their choice? thought Gijardo, taking the ring from the humanoid hand and turning it to catch the light.  I think I can afford this, and I think she’s worth it.

Tomas was an up and coming business analyst with one of the largest firms in the city, which made it one of the largest in the Empire.  Someday he would be a big name in the firm, and then he might be one of those who ordered specialty jewelry.  But for now this was all he could afford.

“I’ll take it,” he told the clerk.  From the return smile he wondered if the being was getting a commission on the sale.  He swiped his wrist over the sensor, authorizing the transaction through his implant.  As far as he knew it was a foolproof system, safe from any hackers or cyber criminals that might still exist in this day and age.  What criminals there were still made a living, but not from preying on people’s savings and bank accounts.

Tomas walked from the store and onto the street, his eyes taking in the sights of the city.  This section of Capitulum was made up of towering megascrapers, reaching thousands of meters into the sky, each taking up an entire city block.  Interspersed among them were small parks, also city block sized, bringing slices of nature into the urban landscape.  The streets were busy, swarming with people about their business.  All of the buildings boasted lines of street side stores, from individual specialty shops like the jewelers, to mega department stores that took up the second and third stories of the buildings.  Above those stores were business offices, belonging to accountants, lawyers, lobbyists and others.   And above those in most of the buildings were the apartments of the people who worked here.

Many of the stores advertised the upcoming Christmas holiday, an event that had been adopted by many of the alien citizens.  Some because they had converted to one of the Christian denominations of the humans, most because everyone enjoyed a good party, and Christmas was a great segue into the New Year’s/Empire Day holiday.  Holoboards lit up with the news of sales, competing with the propaganda grams trying to arouse the patriotism of the people.

Tomas knew that the Empire was at war.  Things were bad in Sector IV, and in the other human polities.  Some core worlds had been hit, hard.  People were dying, and some resources were becoming scarce as they were funneled into military production.  But here in the capital they were still safe and sound.  Food, clothing and energy were plentiful, and if there were fewer new aircars on the market, that was something Tomas could live with.

No way they’re going to get me in uniform, he thought as he walked into the building that housed his firm.  That was for the little people, those who didn’t work for one of the most powerful corporations in the Empire.  He would be protected through the entire war, while others went to fight, so he could continue his rise to power within the organization.

He took the private lift to the firm’s floor, thankful to finally get away from the crowds.  Sometimes he wished he lived on one of those frontier worlds, where every day was an adventure.  Then he remembered the war, and was happy to be living in a place that was untouchable.

Later that evening Tomas took the lift up to his luxury apartment.  Space was not a concern in this society, and even people on the dole had at least a hundred square meters of living space in Capitulum.  Tomas’ living space was much larger, over nine hundred square meters divided among two bedrooms and bathrooms and a large central gathering area.  Which included a good sized balcony, on which he sat with a drink, enjoying the evening.  The wind screen was up at the moment, holding out the rush of air that ran between the buildings most of the time.  Still, it was a pleasant evening, the sun reflecting from the surfaces of the buildings around his.

Megascrapers rose around him, towers thin or flattened to give most of the apartments within a view of the outside world.  It was a fairy tale landscape of impossibly fragile looking buildings rising above the clouds.  They looked fragile, but with modern materials they were anything but.  Off in the distance was a large archology, a thousand meters high, covering over two million square meters of ground space.  The majority of the apartments in that structure did not have an outside view.  They either opened onto the inner courtyards, or used smart screens to recreate the outdoors.  Tomas actually thought the smart screens did a better job than an actual window, no matter how large, since the view could be changed to whatever the occupant wanted.  But there was status in having an actual physical portal on the world at large.

And with smart screens one could screen out all of the advertising hanging in the air around the city.  Holos were everywhere, at street level, up in the sky.  Some were just generalized boards, but some actually took their cues from whomever was looking at them and displayed targeted ads.  Tomas wasn’t really sure how that worked, since their implants were supposed to be shielded from direct taping.  The holos did light up the town at night, much like the old video boards he had seen on the history vids, and that added color to the city, though he wished there was a little less of it.

Tomas’ implant warned him that it was time to get ready to go out.  He thought about his coming date with the love of his life, checking out a new club in one of the older sections of the city, where all the buildings were low rises, though tastefully historic in nature.  First they would eat at a small bistro where he had reservations, thanks to some name dropping of his bosses.  Then the club, where they could dance and talk to the wee hours of the morning.

It was a good life to Tomas’ way of thinking.  And one he planned on enjoying as long as he had youth on his side.  He thought about his great grandfather, a man who had lived over three hundred years, and was currently in a hospital, expected to die at any time.  He visited regularly, something he saw as a familial duty.  Hospitals were more or less places for people to die.  Medical science was advanced enough that long hospital stays were almost unheard of for normal citizens.

We pay too much for hospitals and clinics as it is, thought the young man, walking out of his apartment and calling for a taxi on his implant, ordered to meet him on the rooftop landing pad.  People are healthier than ever, he thought, getting in the lift and commanding it to go up, hoping there wouldn’t be too many stops along the way.  Humankind suffered none of the genetic disorders that had plagued it in the past; diabetes, hypertension, cancers, heart disease.  Only someone who really wanted to became overweight.  And it took an exceptional microbe to last more than a couple of hours in a nanite protected body.  But government insisted on having more than enough hospital and clinic space and staff, as well as emergency medical personnel and vehicles, all of which came out of Tomas’ pocket.

Foolishness, he thought as he left the lift to the sight of the cab coming in for a landing.  He stepped into the cab and sent it the address for Margo’s apartment.  Soon enough we’ll be living in the same space.  Margo was an old fashioned girl, raised on a frontier planet.  And she refused to move in with him while they were still nothing but friends and sex partners.  In less than a month that would change.

*     *     *

“Christ,” cursed Sean, looking at the face of his most trusted Ambassador in the holo hanging over his desk.  “I don’t think I can push that through Parliament.  They’re already up in arms about us giving our allies access to so many of our secrets.”  Secrets they might use against us in a future conflict, thought the Emperor, shaking his head.  He didn’t concern himself about possible might be future events, not when he had an annihilation event on his doorstep.  But not everyone in the government had the same attitude.

“The High Lord says they are going to vote tomorrow on a measure to bring their fleet home, your Majesty.  What are we going to do if their ships start leaving their posts?”

What can we do? thought Sean.  Fire on them?  Start another war?  Of course he could deny them access to the wormhole gates and make them take the long way home, a petty move that would earn him few friends in their Empire.

“Fortunately, there is no indication of a Ca’cadasan offensive in the immediate future,” said the Ambassador, raising an eyebrow, turning the statement into a question.

Sean nodded, saying nothing.  The Ambassador of course did not know everything that was going on.  Need to Know was a concept the Empire took seriously.  The Ambassador to a friendly power needed to know what was important for their job, which did not include complete military intelligence.  There was an indication that something might be happening on the frontier facing the Ca’cadasan Empire in the near future.  A lot of ship movements, including penetrations of the frontier.  There had been months of skirmishes between groups of vessels up to the task group size.  Intelligence agreed that it was time, and missing the Elysium ships could be telling in a coming fight.

The Ambassador gave him another questioning look.  The Ambassador was not an idiot, and as a former Admiral he still had connections with the Fleet.  But Sean was not about to confirm or deny anything dealing with either front.  And there’s a major offensive in progress on the Klavarta front.  Something neither the Ambassador nor our allies in this region of space need to know the details of.  It’s enough that they know we have allies, and that they are fighting hard for the common goal.

“Make sure the High Lord knows that the Crakista are still onboard,” he told the Ambassador.  “As well as the Klassaks and the Margrav.  If they leave the alliance, they will miss out on the benefits of our community.”

“I don’t think they want to leave the alliance, your Majesty.  I think what they do want is to be on an even technological playing field with us.”

“And they will get this by our giving them wormholes?  They still won’t be able to make their own without an enormous industrial investment.  The same with the launching and particle beam systems.  And they’re already complaining about what the war is costing them.”  Sean felt himself getting angry.  As if he didn’t have enough trouble with his own people, now he was having to deal with the childish tantrums of other governments.

“What do you want me to do, your Majesty?”

Do I give in to Elysium? thought Sean.  If he gave them wormholes and Klassekians, he would then get the same demands from the other members of the alliance.  He doubted his traditional allies, The Klassak Concordium and the Margravi Hegonomy, would jump ship, since they owed their existence to his Empire.  The Crakista had said that they would side with the humans because the alternative, the Ca’cadasans ruling the Galaxy, was unthinkable.  The Crakista used reason to make their decisions, not letting their emotions interfering.  Though it might be a good decision to force the humans to give up all of their secrets, since the logical response to their withdrawing from the alliance would be to beg them to stay, no matter what it took.

“Try to get them to see reason, Ambassador.  If the Ca’cadasans win, Elysium is the next to fall.”

“And if they still insist on a technology share?”

“We will deal with that when it comes.”

Sean dismissed the com, no longer wishing to talk about this problem.  He reached up and rubbed his neck, working on a kink.  There was not an Emperor he could think of who had to deal with so much.  A war that might exterminate the human species had never happened since the days the predecessors had left Sol system on the run.  Dealing with so many other powers that had their own agendas?  The Empire was used to fighting its own wars.  The Death Machines that humanity thought they had destroyed, returned and threatening an entire region of space.

“Your Majesty,” came a call over the com while he was still thinking about what he needed to do next.  “We have a problem on the Fenri Front.”  The face of Sondra McCullom hung in the air over his desk, people moving frantically behind her in the war room.

What the hell now? thought Sean, composing himself to deal with the next crisis.

Chapter Four

Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base. All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. Duty is the essence of manhood. George S. Patton

NEW MOSCOW SPACE.  DECEMBER 10TH, 1002.  D-21.

Great Admiral Ljarritta’ran watched as the second ship gate took shape on the viewer.  His ship had come through the first one, brought in by a blockade running scout ship.  His superbattleship was one of the first through, and was now surrounded by a hundred of her sisters.  The Emperor’s Grip was of the first group of the newest class, sporting laser rings instead of domes among other improvements.

“The other gate will be ready in another half an hour,” stating his Chief of Staff, walking up behind him.

“We need to learn how the humans put their gates together so fast,” growled the Great Admiral, who in less than twenty days would be leading his fleet against the humans in this sector.

“We will, my Lord.  But for the moment, this is good enough.”

The Great Admiral gave a head motion of agreement.  They didn’t need to get their entire fleet into this space in a day.  Not even a week.  And to be honest, he hadn’t really expected to have this many wormholes at his disposal.

With all of the activity at the frontier, moving ships back and forth through the hidden picket line that the Ca’cadasans knew had to be there, they had slipped fifty scouts through to the other side of the pickets.  Three of the scouts had carried wormholes, a trio of the only four he had at his disposal.  In the future there would be more, but four wormholes were needed elsewhere, and two were on the Second Front.  So four was all he had, and one had to stay at his base on the other side of the frontier.  There were more being made, but they had to be shipped through hyper to their destinations.  Sending one through a wormhole was a recipe for disaster, unless one wanted the resultant megablast.

And all three made it, he thought, rubbing both pairs of hands together.  Two were in this system, one in another, and all were bringing his fleet into this space behind the pickets. Unless the enemy stumbled upon him by accident, unlikely since they had taken a page from the Klavarta book and chosen red dwarf systems that were unremarkable in their frequency.

“Make sure that no ships leave these systems in hyper until we are ready,” he told his Chief of Staff for not the first time.  “I don’t want some fool giving us away before we are ready.”

The Chief of Staff gave a head motion of acknowledgement.  The male was one of the few in the fleet that knew the entire plan.  The Great Admiral thought it too complicated, but he had to admit that it would lead to a spectacular victory if it succeeded.

The humans were coming to depend on their wormhole weapons, which were giving them an advantage in almost every engagement.  Missiles that left the launchers already at near optimal attack speed.  Particle beams an order of magnitude more powerful than anything a warship could carry.  Without them they would be a much less formidable opponent.  Denied their use in the middle of a battle, it was thought that they would panic.

They won’t panic, thought the Great Admiral with a snarl.  The humans might be many things, but they weren’t prone to losing their heads in combat.

“The decoy force will attack in sixteen days,” reminded the Chief of Staff.

And that will start the offensive, thought the Great Admiral.  Five thousand ships hitting the frontier, moving through like a sledgehammer and attracting all the attention.  Then his force would move out on three axis, making for the New Moscow system and two others, making a couple of stops along the way to force the enemy to battle.  That would attract more of the enemy’s attention, and then the real blow would fall on the enemy home worlds, and the battle would swing his way.  Or so it was hoped.

“I will eat,” the Great Admiral told his subordinate.  “Let me know if any news comes from command.  Otherwise, I am not to be disturbed.”

*     *     *

CA’CADASAN SPACE BORDERING KLAVARTA SPACE.  DECEMBER 15TH, 1002.

“There appears to be no organized resistance ahead of us,” said Chief of Staff Ngerita Olsaf to his commander.

Admiral Regis Larista nodded to her chief of organization and looked at the large holo that hung in the center of the bridge.  The tactical plot showed her force moving into Ca’cadasan space on several axes of advance.  Her flagship was with the main force, about a half day’s travel in hyper VII behind the leading force.  There were plentiful scouts around both forces, making sure that nothing that saw them could report back.  If they were lying doggo in space, they would be tracked and swarmed as soon as they tried to jump into hyper.  And so far, there had been very few Ca’cadasan ships that had attempted that, and none that tried to send grav pulses to vessels down the line.

And that’s what worries me, thought the Klavarta Admiral.  This current Monster admiral seemed to be smarter than the average Ca’cadasan.  It was unclear how smart, but he did things differently than the rest of his people.  She was not sure if the lack of covering forces was a sign of great intelligence or great stupidity.  And not knowing which was what was causing her great anxiety.

“How far are we from their base system?” she asked the Chief Navigator.

“Fifteen days, ma’am.  We will begin deceleration in thirteen days.”

That was putting them quite a distance into the space of the enemy.  Over five hundred light years in, which would make any attempt to escape that space a fifteen day chase, if not more.  The Klavarta fleet had already experienced a long chase from the Monsters in their own space, which had almost turned into a complete disaster for her people.  Running through an enemy space that they did not know that well could be even more disastrous.  She couldn’t afford to lose this fleet, and now she was having second thoughts about having proposed this offensive.

But if it’s successful, we can take this entire border region away from them, she thought, trying to still the anxiety.  A very big if.

“I will be in my day cabin,” the Admiral told her bridge crew as she stood up from her seat.  “Be sure to alert me if anything comes up.”  Not that she expected anything to happen this soon.  The two most likely outcomes would be that they had taken the Monsters by complete surprise.   Or that the Monsters were waiting for them, ready to spring a trap.  Either way, nothing was likely to happen until they reached the enemy base, which would leave her with over two weeks to worry about which it was to be.

*     *     *

“We have received the signal, my Lord,” said the duty officer, his face appearing on the com holo.  “They have crossed the frontier.”

Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana grinned as he heard the news.  The enemy was on the way, and he was as well prepared as he could be for them.  Prepared enough?  He thought so.  He hoped so.  Only battle would prove if he was correct.

“And they are unaware that we know they are coming?”

“As far as we can tell, my Lord.  We received no notification that any of their ships were waiting in normal space.  As far as we know, they all came over the frontier in hyper, and nothing dropped down to normal space within the sensor range of any of our ships.”

The Great Admiral gave a head motion of agreement.  The plan had been his, and he was very pleased with the result.  Scout ships arrayed along the frontier had counted the enemy ships, waiting a day until all had passed, then sending grav pulse signals down the vertical line until they reached the end, some ten light years to the far side of the human formation.  From there the signals were transmitted up the line, out of detection range of the enemy, until they reach a point where they were again transmitted laterally to the base and his headquarters.  It had taken some seven hundred scouts to string the com line, and almost four hours to send the signal all the way up.  Those ships would form another layer of force to help prevent an enemy retreat in good order.

“Send word to the Emperor that the enemy is on the way.  We should find ourselves engaged at about the same time as his offensive goes forward against the other humans.”

He knew the Emperor would be pleased.  There was always the concern that the humans would reinforce the front under attack with units from the other front, if they were available, sending them across the thousands of light years by wormhole.  Now it looked as if both fronts would be engaged in a fight for their lives, and neither would be able to give aid to the other.

*     *     *

THE HEXAGON, CAPITULUM.  DECEMBER 20TH, 1002.  D-11.

“Ma’am.”

Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom looked up from the document she was reading on her flat comp, a frown on her face.  Sometimes she wished she had never accepted the position of Chief of Naval Operations.  Sure, it was the ultimate position in the fleet.  No one else in her service was allowed to wear the seven stars of her rank.  It also meant that the buck stopped with her, as far as military planning was concerned.

Only that’s not really true, she thought.  The Emperor always seemed to stick his nose into everything.  He had the right, but most Emperors before him had simply made their wishes known and let the professional officers deal with the how and wherewith.  She hadn’t had that much oversight when she had been the commander of Home Fleet, and many times she had found herself wishing that she was still there.

“What is it, Xiun?” she asked the young Captain who was her aide.

“The Commander of the New Moscow system is on the com.  Says she had a problem.”

“Of course she does.  And she couldn’t kick it up to Mgonda or Lenkowski?”

“The Admiral says she tried to get orders from Admiral Mgonda, but he told her to talk to you.”

“Great,” said McCullom, turning off the flat comp.  “Send her to me.”

A moment later the holo sprung to life over the desk, showing the worried face of the Vice Admiral in charge of the system and all of its space based defenses.  Three stars glinted on each collar, and she should have had enough authority to handle any situation in the system that didn’t involve a full invasion.  Unless that damned new Czar is making new demands.

“What can I do for you, Admiral Schwartz?”

“It’s the Elysium fleet, ma’am.  They are demanding transit clearance for the ship gate back to Sector IV HQ.”

“How many ships are they requesting transit authority for?”

“All of them, ma’am.  Their entire fleet.”

“And what the hell is their entire fleet doing in your system?” asked McCullom, sitting up straight in her chair and grabbing a stylus to twirl in her fingers, anxiety about the overcome her.  The Emperor had warned her that the Elysium fleet might be withdrawn, but she had thought it an idle threat.  Or at least something that wouldn’t happen for some time.

“They have been coming in over the last couple of days, ma’am.  When I asked them what they were doing here, all they would tell me is they were a sovereign power, and to ask their commander when he arrived.  I kicked it up the chain, and was told that they were within their rights.  Admiral Mgonda thought they were just trying to reorganize before the next action, and ordered me to cooperate with them as far as possible.”

“So, what is your question, Admiral?”

“What the hell should I do, ma’am?  We need their ships on this front.  Can we let them leave?”

“What do you suggest, Admiral.  Shutting down the gate?  Opening fire on them if they attempt to transit their ships?”

“No, ma’am.  But they’re leaving the front.”

So they are.  And all we can do is hope the Emperor can talk some sense into their leaders at the summit.  “Listen to me, Admiral.  You will allow them transit of the gate, and allow them to send any coms through ahead of time that they wish.  And you will be polite and cooperative in all ways.  We will still need their help in the future, and it will do nobody any good to let tempers flare and feelings be hurt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the other Admiral, looking off the holo for a moment.  “We have transmitted authorization.”  She was silent for a moment longer.  “They are reporting that they will begin transit in five minutes, and will complete it in twelve hours, fifteen minutes.  They are requesting that we clear all traffic from the other side for that time period.  They are also requesting that the gate back to the central black hole be cleared as well.  It seems like they are going home.”

And there really is nothing we can do about it, thought McCullom as she terminated the com, then sent a request from her own office.  Moments later the face of the Emperor was looking out of a new holo above her desk.

“The Elysium are going home, your Majesty,” she told the Monarch, watching as his expression changed and he looked down for a moment.

“Well, we knew it was coming.  The Elysium government voted to withdraw them, but I was hoping we could work something out before they actually did it.”

“So, your Majesty, what do we do?”

“We make do with what we have.”

“And should we move more of our own ships up to take their places?”

“Not yet.  We’ve got a number of them in for refit.  Continue to rotate them back for those refits while we have the time.  We aren’t expecting anything out of the Cacas for the moment, and hopefully that situation will maintain.”

“They are continuing to probe the front, your Majesty.  They might be planning something.”

“And what do your experts tell you, Sondra?” asked the Emperor, his forehead furrowing in thought.

“The experts say that the Cacas couldn’t have reorganized on this front in the amount of time they have had.  But…”

“You don’t agree, Admiral?”

“It just strikes me as irresponsible to assume that the enemy cannot do what we can.  We organized the offensives that pushed the Cacas out in a couple of months.”

“But the battleground was in our backyard,” argued the Emperor.  “The Cacas have a very long supply line between their industrial base and the front.”

“And intelligence thinks the Cacas might have wormholes of their own,” said McCullom.  “I know its unfounded as of yet, but we have to think in worst case scenarios.”

“You are correct, Admiral.  But we also have to balance our need for cautious preparation with the need for not overtaxing our forces with unwarranted heightened readiness.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, your Majesty.  Losing an ally, even if it turns out to be temporary, is weakening us at a very bad time.”

“Okay, Admiral.  What do you want to do about it?  Move more ships to the front?  Uncover or reduce some of our inner system defenses?”

“That would be a start, your Majesty,” said the CNO, nodding.  “When the Caca fleet strikes, they will hit us on the frontier, not in the Core worlds.  If we don’t stop them there, we will be giving them the frontier worlds.  The Core worlds will not be in any danger until the Cacas fight their way through our defenses and the frontier sectors.”

“Okay.  I will authorize a redeployment of twenty percent of the Core world and uninvolved sector naval forces.  No more.  And even that is going to end up in a fight with Parliament.”  Sean had been fighting that battle the entire war.  The majority of the members of all three houses of Parliament were from the most populous sector of the Empire, the Core worlds.  Naturally they were invested in protecting their constituents.  Even the Lords, who gained their seats through inheritance, wanted the people in their systems to be happy with them.  And, in the opinion of the Emperor, too many of them were more concerned with their own hides than with the safety of the Empire.

“What about our redeployments for upgrades?” asked the CNO, her tone implying that she wasn’t really sure what the correct answer to that question would be.

That gave the Emperor another pause for thought.   In most circumstances upgrades to ships could be done on the spot in a couple of days.   Some nanites and a controlling computer to organize them and lead them in their tasks, and electronic systems could be upgraded to the latest standard, often overnight.  The ships being pulled back for refit were undergoing a different process.  They were undergoing needed structural enhancements and the installation of new large systems, based on what had been learned in combat thus far.  If the refits were postponed, they would still remain effective warships, just not up to the new standard.

“We will continue to rotate ships back for refit,” he ordered his CNO.  “Five percent at a time shouldn’t be too much of a strain, especially since we will be replacing those ships with new deployments, all of which will have been upgraded already.”

“Very well, your Majesty.  I will see that it is done.  On the plus side it will give the crews a week or so to get in some shore leave on a Core world.  That can’t help but raise their spirits.”

“While it leaves us slightly weaker at the front,” said Sean, voicing her unvoiced concern.  “Try not to worry, Admiral.  The summit is coming up.  I’m sure I’ll be able to get the Elysium Empire to recommit their ships.”  I hope.

Sean disconnected from the com and went back to work, looking over the points he planned to bring up to the Lords in their upcoming session.  There were a lot of concessions to Elysium in his points.  Hopefully enough to get the ally back on board the joint deployment, and not too much for the Lords to stomach.  He was ten minutes into it when a priority com came across his implant, with the signature of the CNO.

“Yes, Sondra?” he asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice and failing.

“I just received a communique from Admiral Mgonda, your Majesty.  Task group commanders are reporting to him that Crakista task forces are pulling out of their assigned systems.   They are giving no explanation, though they are reported to be politely rebuffing our requests for such.”

“Just fucking great,” growled Sean, slamming a fist on his desk.  Now they had another gap to fill in their order of battle.

“Might I suggest we withdraw some ships from the Fenri Empire, your Majesty.  They’re just about out of the fight, after all.”

“But they’re not out of the fight,” replied Sean, holding his voice down by force of will.  “I want them knocked out of the war before we start pulling ships out.”  Or at least until we actually know the Cacas are attacking.  “And don’t even think about asking for ships from the Bolthole campaign, or the Second Front.  Those are vital areas of operation.”

“Very well, your Majesty, but my primary concern is our Front, and we are bleeding ships at this moment with these defections.”

“Trust me, Admiral.  I will take care of that.  We’ll have Elysium and Crakista back in the fold in no time.”  And now if only I could believe that as well.

Chapter Five

History shows that there are no invincible armies. Joseph Stalin

JEWEL, CAPITULUM.  DECEMBER 21ST, 1002.  D-10.

Debra Visserman had never really like these precision flying drills.  She preferred to be in the sky by herself, or at most with a wingman, able to maneuver as she wished.  Not with other fighters less than ten meters to either side.  Even with full avoidance systems engaged, there was too much risk of something going on.

“Tighten it up, Visserman,” ordered the Colonel, observing the group from another aircraft well separated from the sixty-four fighters that made up the formation.

Visserman sent the acknowledgement, then made sure she was centered between the other two fighters, her eyes rarely leaving the craft twenty meters ahead that she considered the greatest risk.  If that ship went into an emergency decel to avoid something to its front, she would have about one second to make her move or possibly run into it, dropping them both to the ground as twisted wreckage.  If they were lucky they might eject.  If not, both pilots would also be twisted wreckage.

Through every window of her cockpit she saw the tall buildings she would be flying around.  The holographic system of her ship duplicated the surroundings of Capitulum perfectly, showing her the course she must fly to avoid the buildings while giving the crowd on the ground the best show possible.

I’ll be glad to get to that training unit, she thought, surprising herself.  She had been dreading the transfer to a non-combat assignment, until now, when she realized that really all this group did was perform as a glorified show flight, and nothing more.  Their ostensible job was to protect the capital from atmospheric attack.  As if that will ever happen, she thought with a snort.

“Execute roll over,” called out the group commander over the com.  “On my mark.  Mark.”

The maneuver was much too dangerous for actual pilots to execute.  Preprogramed automatic systems took over, rolling the entire group over, ships on one side going up and over the others, until every fighter was oriented with cockpits facing the ground.  The maneuver disgusted the Warrant Officer, who hadn’t become a pilot to ride in a robot controlled craft.  Of course she still had to be there, according to the ‘Man in the Loop’ law.  The ongoing war with the Machines had reiterated the importance of that doctrine.  Though the damned missiles that spaceships throw at each other are under computer control, she thought with a scowl on her face as she looked up to see the ground passing below.

The Empire jettisoned the law quickly enough when it suited them, or when it was necessary.  Ship missiles could attack targets light hours from their launch platform, with no way to control them from that distance.  She hadn’t heard of people lining up to volunteer to ride the weapons into their targets, so computer control was the only way to do it.  On the positive side, those missiles only had a maximum power time in the twelve to fifteen hour range.  After that they were just a rapidly coasting inert object, still dangerous, but unable to change their course to go after targets their brains might decide to attack despite the wishes of their masters.

“One more go and we’ll call it a day,” said the Colonel over the com as they came to the end of the run.  “And remember, the Empress and quite a few VIPs will be watching.”

Debra cursed under her breath.  The damned Colonel didn’t have to repeat the performance.  He was up above hovering in a craft piloted by someone else.  And she could care less who was watching them fly like a bunch of robots over a parade.  She craved combat, and surely there was enough of it to go around.  But for some reason it was being denied her.

“How did she handle?” asked the Crew Chief after she had stopped her craft in its revetment.

“Like shit,” she screamed, stomping off across the tarmac and leaving the wide eyed Crew Chief speechless.

*     *     *

Sean woke with a scream on his lips, staring wide eyed into the darkness.  The room lights came on at the sound, and he looked to the side to see that Jennifer was not in bed.  It took him a second to remember that it was midday, that he had laid down for a nap, and that she wasn’t due home until evening.

“Is everything okay, your Majesty,” came a voice over the intercom that he recognized as one of his Secret Service detail.

“It’s fine, Collin,” he answered, remembering the name that went with the voice.  “Just a bad dream.”

“Are you sure, your Majesty?”

Sean could imagine the young man sitting in the monitor room, probably looking on a vid screen, forbidden of the Imperial bedroom but still used when the Service thought the situation warranted it.  He was obviously monitoring the Emperor’s vitals over remote pickups, making sure Sean was not under duress and answering accordingly.

“I was just a dream, Collin.  Probably brought on by stress.”

“Would you like for me to send one of the servants in?”

“I’ll call one in a moment, Collin.  For the moment, I just need to think, so please give me some quiet.”

The intercom died, though Sean was sure he was still being watched.  He didn’t like it, and he had the command in his implant to shut down all of their surveillance when he wanted.  When he in the Empress were alone he cut their feed, and the hell with whether they liked it or not.  When she wasn’t with him he humored them, but he would be damned if he let them observe his sex life.

Sean lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, letting the environmental systems dry the sweat off his body.   He could recall two dreams, both of a disturbing nature, though the first had been more so.  The same dream he had gone through many times, with a little more clarity in each rendition.

Capitulum was being bombarded from orbit, while attack ships, something missing in the past dreams, wove through the sky launching warheads and firing beam weapons into the towers.  Mushroom clouds were rising across the city, while tall buildings and massive archologies crumbled from kinetic strikes.  He couldn’t identify the enemy, but did he need to?   Who could it be but the Cacas.

The dream had the feel of a prophetic event, the curse of his line.  He had been told it had nothing to do with the supernatural, but was a quantum event tapping into probabilities, much like the quantum entanglement of the Klassekians.  He really didn’t believe in the supernatural, so the explanation, that was really more of a lack of one, had to do.  What he did know was that this event was likely to occur in the future.  What he didn’t know was how far in the future.  That it had occurred multiple times seemed to indicate that it was going to be soon, but how soon?  A week? A year?  Longer?

The second dream had shown the Emperor on the flag bridge of a ship in combat.  The ship was rocking from hits, while it was dealing out even greater destruction to the Caca ships around it.  Reports were coming in about losses, but even more about victories, and the name New Moscow kept being mentioned.  This was the first time he had a dream exactly like this.  He had numerous views of battles, including one where he, as a much older man, led a fleet into the home system of the Cacas.  So how did this dream mesh with the other?  Or did it?

The Cacas are going to fight their way into the home system, he thought, closing his eyes and trying to relive the imagery of the dreams.  They will invade the Core systems and bombard them from orbit, ending with Jewel, and we will have lost the war.  The imagery of the second dream came back through his almost photographic memory.  Unless we stop them at the frontier, where they are now.  And I have to be on the flag bridge of one of those ships for the victory to occur.

He wasn’t sure if his interpretation was correct, but it was probably close to the mark.  How close he couldn’t tell.  That was the curse of the gift.  It offered glimpses of a possible future that might not come to pass, on an indeterminate time scale.  If he did something it might not come to pass, or it might, depending on what action he took.  And if it did not come to pass, something even worse might, caused by the actions used to prevent the event from happening.  It was enough to drive the person with the dreams mad, and there had been tales of former Monarchs who had been treated for insanity while they remained mere figureheads of the Empire.

I have to make sure I’m with the Fleet in the next battle, he thought.  Perhaps by being on the scene he would be able to make a snap decision that saved the battle.  And prevented the first dream from becoming reality.  Was that the smart way to bet?  He didn’t know, but it was the way he would bet this time.

*     *     *

Angel had been in rougher places.  The Fleet had placed him in more dangerous situations, but then he had all of the resources of the Imperial Navy at his beck and call.  Even when he had worked as an assassin he had often been able to count on the resources of his employers.  Not so this time.  This time he was truly a lone wolf, and there was nothing between him and death but his own strength, skills and wits.

Every eye in the bar turned his way as he walked in.  He knew his disguise was good, the best money could buy.  It included false DNA traces that would be scattered about as he moved, and a nanolayer that prevented his own cells from falling from him to get sucked into nearby sensors.  At least most of the time.  He hadn’t set off any of the alarms on the remote drones that had populated the streets outside this area, which was a good sign.  That there were so many more of them than had been the case some months before, when he had attracted the attention of the authorities, was anything but good.  At least there had been none when he had entered this neighborhood.  Too many young hackers in the employ of the local Mob, and any drones that wandered into this airspace became spare parts for that organization.  It was a game that had been played for thousands and years, cops and robbers.  And whenever the cops developed some new tech, the robbers soon had the answer.

The bar hadn’t had a sign in front of it, and only those that knew the code were admitted.  Angel had bought the code from a lowlife who had gone into severe withdrawals and needed money for his favorite fix.  Angle thought he would be better served to have sought medical help, which could have cured him of his addiction in no time.  But addicts didn’t think that way, they wanted the high as much as they regretted the low, probably more so.

The bar was half full, about what the assassin had expected.  Most of the tables had two or more patrons, about two thirds of the bar seats were full, and a few slutty looking barmaids moved languidly to bring drinks to customers.  While he watched one of the barmaids, a Malticon, laughed at something a customer said, then led him by the hand toward a curtained doorway.  Angel needed to imagination to figure out what was going on there.

Angel made his way to the bar and slid onto an empty stool.  The woman behind the bar, this one human, moved up and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll have a whisky,” he told the woman.  “Neat.”

As he accepted his drink another Malticon moved up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  Angel tensed for a moment, overriding his inclination to react to aggression with the same.

“I haven’t seen you before,” said the human looking alien.  “Want some company?”

The Malticon was dressed in childish clothing, her hair in pigtails.  The aliens were prized as sex workers, their small tight bodies desired by many humans, while their alien physiology had made them the perfect prostitutes, incapable of pregnancy and unable to transmit human diseases.  Of course nanites had made those advantages moot, and as of seven hundred years ago human females were also immune to pregnancy and STDs.

“Not at the moment,” said Angel, turning a cold stare on the female.  “Maybe later.”

The Malticon hurried away, and Angel was sure she would bother him again.  He had a way of looking at people that made them want to be elsewhere, a trait that had served him well in the past.

The next one to approach him was a human, male, who had the look of someone who had something to sell.  And there were only a few things likely to be in the inventory in a place like this.

“You looking to get high?” asked the man in a loud whisper.  “I have the best Dust and Zip in the city.”

Angel stared at the man, wishing he could kill the vermin on the spot.  Dust was a synthetic powder that put the user into a weeklong state of euphoria and hallucinatory dreams.  It was highly addictive, in some cases making an addict with the first use.  Zip was made from a plant from some frontier world eight hundred light years away.  It was an interdicted substance, but still found its way into the Core worlds.  Zip gave the user amazing energy, and the feeling of invulnerability and omnipotence.  It was also highly addictive, and only put the user in the desired state for several hours, after which the addict needed another dose.  Sleep was impossible, eating became problematic, and most users died within a month of becoming addicted.  Angel didn’t know why anyone would take the drug, but there were plenty of people who would.

That was the problem with modern society, even though so many of the ills of the past had been cured.  People no longer wanted for food or shelter, or cheap entertainment.  They lived long lives, and could be cured of all known maladies, and most of the unknown ones as well.  But many people were on the dole, unfulfilled, something that many people overlooked among the wonders of a society in which every working citizen could be many times more productive than at any time in the past.  So there were still thrill seekers, and drugs, and crime for those who wanted more out of life than sitting in their homes all day long dreaming of better things.  There was less crime than in the past, but it still existed.

“I’m looking for a man,” said Angel, flashing a data chip that was encoded with over a thousand Imperials.  They were legitimate currency, untraceable, used when people wanted to buy and sell things and not have an official record of the transaction.  Even the Imperial Government dealt in them, since it was always useful to be able to get things without anyone being the wiser.

“I took you as someone who would want a woman,” said the Dealer, who it seemed was also a pimp.

“The man’s name is Harold Devries,” said Angel, his tone of voice indicating that he was not in the mood for banter.  “I was told I could find him here.”

The Dealer stared at him for a moment, as if deciding what to do, then nodded.  “Wait here,” he said, then turned and walked away, going to a table where four bored looking men sat.  He got into an animated conversation with one of the men, and Angel focused in on the conversation with the pickup built into the armor he wore under his clothes.  The table had a security field around it, protecting the people from being overheard.  It was a good one, but not good enough to spoof his systems.

“I don’t know who he is,” said the Dealer.  “But he was asking for you by name.”

“I don’t like the looks of him,” said one of the men at the table.  “He looks like the law.”

“Go tell him you don’t know where I am,” said one of the men, identifying himself to Angel as his target.  “Give him this address, and tell him that I will meet him there.”

And I will be met by a dozen of his boys and made to disappear, thought Angel, putting his glass on the counter and getting off the stool.  He walked to where the four men sat, aware of their stares the entire way.

“What the hell?” asked one of the men.  Two of them reached hands under coats, and Angel was sure they had the grips of pistols in those mitts.

“I mean no trouble,” said Angel, holding up his hands.  He hoped the men had enough sense to not shoot him in front of witnesses, but in this environment that might not be a given.  People at other tables started to slide their chairs, probably to remove themselves from the line of fire.  If I have to I can still take them out.  But dammit, I didn’t come here to kill some hoods for no return.

“What the hell do you mean?” asked the only other man at the table who had spoken.

“I need to talk with Harold,” he said, looking directly at the named man so Devries would know that Angel recognized him.  “I can make it worth your while.”  As he said that he moved the fingers of his right hand slowly and a data chip appeared there as if by magic.  It was a little trick he had learned in the Fleet, good for winning drinks.  The chip was encoded with a hundred thousand Imperials, enough to entice even a mid-level hood.

Devries motioned to the Dealer, who nodded and moved off.  Angel realized that was more trouble, but he would have to deal with it.

“Well, let’s step into my office,” said Devries, pushing back his chair and getting up, the other men following suit.

Angel nodded and followed Devries and one of his men, the other two falling in behind.  They went through the curtained door, into the back of the bar, where the smell and sounds of sex permeated the air.  They continued through to a solid alloy door.  Angel had no map of this place, is was on none of the city databases, but his sensors told him there was a long narrow open space behind the door, probably an alley.

Devries opened the door and went through with his lieutenant, while one of the following men put a hand on Angels back and pushed him through.  The Assassin didn’t resist.  It suited his purposes to go into the alley.  But he knew he had to be careful from this point on.

The alley was dark, but to Angel’s enhanced eyes it was like bright twilight.  He could see the other men waiting in what they must have thought were shadows, two on each end of the alley.  Devries turned toward him while the other three formed a circle around him, surrounding him to prevent escape.

“And just what the hell can I do for you?” asked Devries.  The men around him laughed, and Angel was sure that this meeting was not going to end well for someone.

“I understand you did some work for some people.  Involving the use of some muscle to acquire some specific items.”

“Who sent you?” growled Devries.

“I’m here on my own,” said Angel.  “This is a personal matter.”

“I don’t quite believe that,” said Devries with a grin.  “Take him.”

The other three men started to move while Devries reached into his jacket to pull a weapon.  The men must have thought they could surprise and overpower the Assassin.  Why not, since they were used to dealing with the scared and the weak.

As soon as the words left the crime boss’ mouth Angel began to move, his body going into the fugue state of the enhanced.  Everything around him seemed to slow to a crawl, while to his sensibilities he was still moving at normal speed.  To the criminals attacking him it seemed as if he was moving in a blur, three times the speed of a normal human.

Angel grabbed the first hand to reach for him, grabbing the wrist and twisting, feeling satisfaction as he felt the bones snap.  The man opened his mouth in a scream, but Angel was already moving to deal with the second man, planting a powerful side kick into his solar plexus, doubling him over and flinging him away.  A spin on his foot and he was bringing a fist into the throat of the third man, crushing his larynx and sending him to his knees, choking.

Devries had pulled his pistol by this time, an illegal high powered laser, a military weapon forbidden to civilians on the core worlds.  He had pulled the trigger before lining it up, meaning to sweep it through Angel like an infinite sword.  The beam may have moved at the speed of light, but the arm of the man wielding it did not.  Angel ducked and blocked at the same time, pushing the man back, then pulling a hard uppercut into the jaw of the boss.  Devries fell onto his back, out.

Muscle Number One tried to hit Angel with his good hand while his other flopped on the end of his arm.  Angel gave him another broken limb for his trouble, this time at the forearm, then kicked the hood in the groin, doubling him over.

He hit the second man, the one he had side kicked, now stumbling toward him with a hand on his side, in the head with a spinning backhand, sending him off his feet and out of the conscious world.  Man three was on his knees, still choking, now spitting up blood.

The other men came out of the shadows, weapons in hand.  None had lasers, and he made all the guns out to be magrails, projectile weapons that could send a round through him at three thousand meters a second.  The two to one side were still raising the weapons, and Angel decided they would be first, since he was already turned their way.  He lowered his head at the same time that he raised his weapon, not giving the people behind him a shot at the back of his head.

The particle weapon hummed in his hand, sending an angry red beam at a sizable fraction of the speed of light into the body of the man on the left.  Red steam spurted into the air as a good sized chunk of the man’s torso disappeared, the fast moving particles turning their kinetic energy into heat as they burned into the hood’s body.  A fast sweep and the beam struck the side of the next man’s neck and then up into his head.  That body part disappeared into steam and exploding brain matter as the skull blew out from the pressure.

Something struck Angel hard in the back, and he grunted from the impact.  One of the hoods had shot him in the back, but the thin mesh armor under his clothing had stopped it, not without some of the pain of the impact coming through.  Angel ducked, turned and rolled as more rounds struck his body.  He came around in a prone position, firing his pistol as soon as it lined up on the first target that came into sight, sending another mutilated body to the ground.  A round hit the pavement less than five centimeters from Angel’s head, and he quickly took care of that problem before it became too much of a hindrance.

Devries was coming to when Angel walked over to him, his eyes still unfocused.  Angel was sure the man had a concussion, and it would take some minutes before internal nanites repaired the damage.  The Assassin made sure his three partners were done for, sending a short burst of protons into each.  The pistol was too hot to reholster, so he put it down on the ground for a moment while he removed an injector from his coat.

“Who the hell are you?” mumbled Devries, his eyes still unfocused.

“Your worst nightmare,” said Angel.  “Just know that you tried to take out the Angel of Death, and your people paid the price.”

Devries eyes now showed panic as he realized who he faced, a legend, and like most legends it was something he hadn’t really believed in until his face was rubbed in it.  “What do you want?” he stammered.

“I want some information,” said Angel, putting the injector against the man’s neck.  “And since you decided not to do it the easy way, that leaves the hard way.”  Angel activated the injector and sent the drug through the skin of the man, sending him back into the darkness.  He hefted the crime boss over a shoulder and jogged toward the end of the alley.  He would need a place to work on the man to get what he wanted, and to make sure he got all that he wanted.

Chapter Six

When confronted with two alternatives, life and death, one is to choose death without hesitation. Yamamoto Tsunetomo

IMPERIAL CORE SPACE.  DECEMBER 24TH, 1002.  D-8.

“They’re hailing us, my Lord,” said the human Captain, Tom Jasper, turning toward his Ca’cadasan overlord.

The light cruiser had approached from the edge of detection range, speeding in to intercept and matching course and velocity with the ease of a predator.  They had not contacted the freighter during the approach, had made no demands for the ship to decelerate or alter course.  The bridge crew had watched nervously as the warship moved from the sensor detection and into visual, then moved into the course that left them apparently motionless in relation to the freighter that was moving at point eight five light in hyper VI.

“Of course they are,” said the large Cacada male.  “Answer them.  You know the procedure.”

The Captain nodded, turning back to the holo that showed the enemy ship, matched to their velocity and seemingly hanging fifty kilometers off the port bow.  The laser rings of the light cruiser were illuminated.  They were fully charged, ready for action.  He was sure the same was true of their particle beams.  The ship was, after all, patrolling the space at the heart of the human Empire.  Laughing Troll was only seven days from the cluster of stars the humans termed the Supersystem, and it had been thought that the searches would be more intense the closer they got.  Still, it was hoped that they would be able to pass, but this ship looked ready for a battle.

“This is the registered freighter Laughing Troll,” said the Captain, sending his information over on the same transmission.  “We are empty, but seeking cargo in the Capital System.”

“Stand by,” came the voice of the human commander.  The other ship had not established visual, also a bad sign.

“Perhaps you and the other males should prepare to hide,” he told the Overlord.

“Not yet.  It will take them at least ten minutes to launch a shuttle and board us.  We have plenty of time to work with.”

Suddenly the nose of a shuttle poked over the top of the cruiser, launched from the other side of the ship where the freighter didn’t have a view.  It banked quickly and headed for the freighter, its nose laser glowing with power.

“Laughing Troll.  Your registry does not match what we have on file.  Stand by to be boarded.  Do nothing.  If you make any hostile moves, or attempt to avoid boarding, you will be destroyed.”

Which means if we try to do anything to their shuttle, thought the Captain.  The shuttle approached quickly, giving them little time to react.  That it was hyper capable was obvious from its leaving the hyperfield of its mother ship and heading toward the other large ship in the tableau.

“They are suspicious,” said the male, crossing both pairs of arms over his chest.  “But not sure.  And they do not know what they have caught.”

The freighter outmassed the cruiser by a factor of ten, though in most cases the armor and weaponry of the cruiser would be more than a match for any cargo ship.  When Laughing Troll had her complete weapons package deployed she would be the superior of the cruiser, but most of her weapons were still on the other side of the wormhole.  Her hull was tougher than it looked, much tougher than the ship facing them, more in the class of a heavy cruiser.  Her hidden electromag projectors could erect a battle cruiser class field, and could run up that barrier in an instant.

“What are your orders, my Lord?”

The male looked over a couple of holos, making the decision on whether to continue to play dumb or to strike.  If they were discovered before they struck, the job would become much more difficult.  Fortunately, the main cargo hatch was already oriented toward the cruiser.  Of course, if the cruiser had a wormhole com, their command would already know what they had encountered, and this mission might be over before it truly began.  That was less than likely this deep into Imperial territory, but not impossible.

“Order a missile through the wormhole, to enter in twenty seconds.  Then start to open the cargo hatch.”

Jasper nodded, then looked at his crew members and gave them another head nod.  He looked back at the holo that showed the enemy ship, waiting for their reaction to the cargo hatch starting to move.

“Laughing Troll.  Why is your cargo hatch moving?”

“We thought you might want to inspect our hold while your shuttle is out in space.  It would save us time.”

“Close your hatch, now.  You will make no move until you are told.  Do you understand, Laughing Troll?”

“We understand, cruiser.”

Of course the Captain ordered no such thing, and the hatch continued to slowly open.  The Captain cringed as he waited for the cruiser to make the next move.  He didn’t think a couple of blasts of laser energy would hurt them too badly, but things could happen.  And serious damage might be hard to restore in the time they had.  Finally, the Captain nodded at his Tactical Officer and the hatch froze, still open.

“Laughing Troll.  You are ordered to close your hatch, now.  Failure to comply immediately will result in your ship being fired upon.”

“Something is wrong with the hatch mechanism, cruiser.  Give us a moment.  Give us…”

The missile came flying out of the wormhole from the other side, moving at point zero zero two light.  Not fast in the terms of missile warfare, its target was close, the weapon covered the hundred kilometers in less than a thousandth of a second, before even the computer system on the enemy ship could take any kind of effective reaction.  The grabber units started to move it, laser batteries began to lock on, but the capital ship missile struck the cruiser before anything could be done besides those initial reactions.  One laser ring got off a shot that missed, and then there was no time to adjust as the missile hit with enough kinetic energy to slam the ship out of alignment.  An instant later the warhead detonated, a gigaton of force that slammed into the bow of the cruiser, vaporizing a hundred meters of length and sending the ship into a heavy tumble.  The freighter’s lasers, ten units with the power of battlecruiser rings, tore into the ship, several striking the ruined bow and blasting into the vessel.  Moments later antimatter breached, and the ship went up in a flare of plasma.

The shuttle started firing, its small nose laser tearing shallow runnels down the hull of the Q-ship.  Laughing Troll returned fire, putting a powerful beam into the thin hull of the shuttle near its engineering section.  Another quick blast from one of the freighter’s laser domes and the shuttle was disabled.

“Launch a shuttle and bring that crew aboard,” said the Overlord in a growling voice.

“They’re starting to evade, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking past the Captain to the Cacada male they all knew was the true authority.

The shuttle was obviously hyper capable, and while it might not have the range to reach another Imperial ship, it might.

“Burn off their grabbers, but make sure that you do not destroy their hyperdrive.  I want that ship.”

Laughing Troll’s advanced laser system took out the grabbers without a problem, while the freighter launched its own hyper capable shuttle to match velocities, grapple, and drag the enemy craft into the cargo hold.  From there they pushed the shuttle through the wormhole gate into the Ca’cadasan system containing the other end of the tunnel.  The males there would finish the capture of the crew and conduct the interrogation.

“Orders, my Lord?” asked the Captain.

“Close the hold and constrict the wormhole,” growled the male.  “Then continue on.”

The Captain nodded, then looked over at his Helm.  That human acknowledged, then double checked the course, nodding back at the Captain.  “Estimated time to entry to the enemy home system, one hundred and seventy-three hours.”

One hundred and seventy-three more hours, thought Jasper, running a hand across his sweating brow.    And then it was another two days from the hyper barrier to the double planet.  They really could do the trip in much less time with their military grade grabbers, but it wouldn’t do to attract that kind of attention.

SUPERSYSTEM, SPACE OUTSIDE HYPER BARRIER OF CENTRAL BLACK HOLE.  DECEMBER 25TH, 1002.  D-7.

“We’re about to leave hyper, my Lord,” said the Captain, looking up at the Cacada male who stood over him.

Ahead was the dark blot of the largest gravity well that anyone on the bridge had ever seen.  Probably the largest that almost any member of the Empire had ever approached.  It was an intimidating sight, made more so by the fact that it would take Fool’s Bane over a week to get within range of its target.  Over a week during which they could make a fatal mistake that turned the scrutiny of the enemy on their ship, basically ending their mission.

“Jumping from hyper, now,” called out the Helm, and the back dot of the hole opening between the dimensions appeared ahead.

The ship slid through the hole, the feeling of brief nausea coming over the human crew.  The Captain looked up at the Cacada male, who looked like he was about to pass out on his feet from the passage.  The human had always wondered at the weakness of the huge beings who were so strong in almost every other measure.

It took fifteen seconds for the Cacada to recover, time when the being was helpless.  In that time the ship’s passive sensors and computer system had started on their catalogue of the system objects.  First and foremost was the massive black hole in the center, the reason for this system’s being.  It was immediately detectable by its graviton emissions, which actually made it much more difficult to pick up the lesser emissions of all of the other objects in the system.

“What have we got?” asked the Overlord in the voice of a male in distress.

“Only the black hole so far, my Lord,” said the Captain.  “Coming in at the estimate of twenty-eight standard masses.”  Twenty-eight times more massive than the Ca’cadasan home star, upon which all such measures were compared.

“What of the rest of the system?”

“No large planetary bodies that we can detect, my Lord” said the Sensor Tech, working her station and interpreting the incoming data.  “We are picking up a large object on visual.”

The central holo changed its view, zooming in on the image of a slender ribbon bisecting a distortion in space.  The ribbon was slightly lopsided as they had not entered the system perfectly aligned with the orbit of the structure.  It was well lit by its own external lighting, looking in the distance like a child’s toy.  Until the scale of the distance, sixty-two light hours, registered, and they realized how large it really was.

“That is the target,” said the male with a predatory grin.  “Continue into the system on the planned course.  I want us broadcasting the recognition code all the way in.”

And if the code is not legitimate, we are doomed, thought the Captain as the ship forged ahead at just under two hundred gravities, high for most merchant ships, but not unreasonably so, and nowhere within the range of a warship.  It would take them over two hundred hours to get into their attack range.  Over two hundred hours of time for them to be scrutinized, detected, tracked down and destroyed.

“We’re starting to pick up other objects, sir,” said the Sensor Tech, turning to look at her Captain and eliciting a growl from the Cacada.

“Show me,” growled the male, pointing a large lower right index finger at the human female.

The holo switched views, first zooming in on a section of space near the target station, to a cluster of other large objects in order around the back hole.  The view switched again, this time showing what appeared to be a wormhole ship gate.  It zoomed out, and the objects were indicated by blinking icons, Ca’cadasan script underneath.  A dozen gates, over a hundred warships hanging out.  Other vessels were transiting toward and away from the gates, moving the materials that kept the human Empire in the war.

“We have them,” shouted the male, raising all four fists into the air.

Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? thought the Captain.  There was no guarantee they would get within attack range.  In fact, if the Captain were a betting man, he wouldn’t have given them a chance in hell of getting there.  Unless these humans were asleep.

*     *     *

“I’ll be done in a moment, honey,” said Margo Saunders, looking up from her desk as Tomas walked into the classroom.

There were about thirty children in the room, clustered at workstations talking among themselves and working on their lessons.  Tomas wasn’t really sure he liked children all that much, having never been around that many of them.  He had to admit that these seemed to be very well behaved.  He had asked Margo one time why these kids still needed to come to school, since they could learn everything they needed from the city databases.

“They get socialization,” said Margo.  “They still work at home, two days a week, and physically come to school another two days.”  That left them with one play day each week, when they visited the zoo or museums, or simply played in the park.

Supposedly the children learned to get along with other children, which would translate into getting along with other adults when they got older.  He guessed that it worked, since he had been through the same process himself, and hadn’t turned out that antisocial.

“Class dismissed,” said Margo, getting up from her desk.  The students started talking louder as they shut down their stations and gathered up their things.  Tomas watched them, thinking that he might find them kind of cute someday, with a little work.  He looked over at Margo, wondering if she might someday become the mother of his child, if they could get a reproductive license.  It might take some time, but he was sure he would eventually be able to get one or more, since his company would not be willing to let him relocate, and he didn’t want to go to a branch office on some no name world out in the frontier anyhow.

“How did your day go?” he asked the love of his life as she came up to him and give him a quick kiss.  “I’m surprised the little monsters haven’t killed you by now.”

“You know they’re not that bad,” said Margo with a smile.

Tomas wasn’t sure why Margo worked as a teacher, running two shifts of thirty students each through her classroom each week.  It was nowhere near as lucrative as his own profession, and required some altruism as well.  It was work, which meant she was not on the dole, and it seemed to give her a purpose.  That was one of the things he loved about her.  She was not out to get ahead no matter what, like the people he worked with and against.  She lived in a different world, and had made it clear that she intended to stay in that realm.

“Do you have any plans for Empire Day?” he asked as they left the room to head for the lift.  Margo lived in this building, as did all of her students.  It was a working class building, again not as high of socioeconomic status as where he lived, but respectable, since no one in this structure was on the dole.  All had purpose, even if it was only in supervising waste disposal robots.

“I guess I’ll spend it with you, since I don’t have anything better to do,” she said in the laughing tone he loved.

“And what are you doing at the moment?” he asked in a similar tone, running a hand through her hair.

“Your place or mine?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Well, since we’re only fifty floors from your apartment, and mine is at least seven minutes from here by aircar…”

“Mine it is,” she said with a laugh.

Later, as they were both laying back in her bed basking in the glow of their after lovemaking aura, Tomas found himself turning and looking into her face.  He knew rationally that she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world.  There were biosculpted actresses and models, and sometimes just women of wealth, who were breathtakingly beautiful.  But Margo had a natural beauty that those women didn’t, something of the mythical girl next door of Old Earth.  He looked at her through the eyes of love, rose colored glasses that made her appear much more lovely than any of those artificially enhanced women.

And she was very good in bed.  He wasn’t sure how good he was, not objectively, but she seemed to be satisfied, as evidenced now by the flushed skin on her chest and face.

“I wish you would go ahead and move in with me,” he said, reaching over and stroking the side of her face

“I work in this building,” she protested.  “My contract calls for me to live here near to the school.”

“I could support you, you know.  I could even buy you out of your contract.”

“I’m a teacher, Tomas.  It’s what I do.”

“Then teach in my building.  There are kids who need instruction in my building as well.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Tomas lay there and thought.  He wished had had brought the ring, and even thought about running home and getting it.  But he thought it better to wait until the time he had planned, when it would have the most impact.

“Look, I spend time at your place on the weekends.  And you come over here on the weeknights, at least some of them.  Why can’t you be satisfied with that for the time being?”

I guess I’ll have to be, thought Tomas, now wondering more than ever how his proposal would go over.  What if she thought he was pressuring her, trying to make her give up her life.

“Oh, don’t be so sad,” she said, rolling over and facing him, placing both hands on his chest.  “We’ve got each other, we have tonight, and the future looks bright for the two of us.”

For some reason those words sent a shiver down Tomas’ spine.  A shiver of dread.

Chapter Seven

Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain - and most fools do. Benjamin Franklin

DECEMBER 26TH, 1002.  CAPITULUM, JEWEL.  D-6.

“Jennifer,” yelled Sean as he walked into their living area.  This was a private room, large enough to entertain a score of people among lavish furnishings, but only open to personal friends of the Emperor and his wife.  The trappings of Christmas still occupied the room.  A fresh cut tree that was still giving off the wholesome odor of pine, decorations that had been in the family for generations adorning it.  Some presents, unwrapped and scattered about.  The servants had, of course, cleaned up the wrapping paper and other trash.  Not everyone in the Empire celebrated this holiday.  In fact, it was little known on whole worlds, those supporting population majorities of other faiths.  As Reformed Catholics, the Imperial Family had followed the tradition since the founding of the Empire, even the non-believers among them.

“I’m in the nursery,” she called back, her voice carrying over the cries of a baby.

Sean smiled and headed for the room that had been converted into a nursery for the twin boys.  The room was finished in boy blue, with numerous cartoon characters on the walls.  Jennifer knelt on the floor beside a small apparatus used for holding the babies in place in the warm water of the small bath.  She had a soapy sponge in her hand, and was rubbing over the back of the baby that was in the water, holding his head up with the other hand.  The baby was not really crying in fear or anger.  They both had gotten over that reaction to the bath, but Augustine still complained when he was made to do something that wasn’t his idea.  So he was irritated and showing his displeasure.

Sean looked into one of the twin cribs as he passed by.   Glen was wide awake, looking at the mobile hanging overhead as he kicked his legs and waved his chubby little arms.  Frog’s legs were what Sean thought of when he saw his children lying on their backs.  Bow legged little skinny limbs that made them seem to serve no useful purpose but to get in the way of whatever the care givers were trying to do.  Glen was smiling and cooing, and the Emperor was once again struck by the very different personalities of the physically identical boys.

“You could have a nanny do that, you know,” said Sean, kneeling down next to his wife and kissing her on the cheek.

“I enjoy doing this,” she said, finishing with the sponge, then ladling water over the soapy skin of the infant with that same hand.  “They’re my babies, and I want them to bond with me.”

Sean had to admit that the babies had bonded with their mom.  Though he had to think that they weren’t just his and Jennifer’s children.  They were the legacy of the Empire, the hope of the future, if there was to be one.

“Where are the guardian agents?”

“I told them I wanted to be alone with my children,” said Jennifer, looking at her husband with a frown.  “I know they’re necessary, but I really don’t like them looking over my shoulder.  They make me feel like I’m a risk to my own children.  And this one is done.”

Jennifer picked up Augustine and carried him to the changing table, making sure to support his head.  She lay the still complaining baby on the table and starting working on him with the towel, making sure he was completely dry.

“Why don’t you dress your son while I get the other little dirt monster into the bath.”

Sean nodded and pulled out a disposable diaper, then arranged it under the baby.  He still didn’t have the confidence of his wife, and was very careful with the child, probably more than necessary.  But he had the diaper on in no time, then dressed the baby, another skill that was just barely developed.  In one way it felt wrong for an Emperor to have to spend time dressing a baby when they had people in the palace to do that, well paid and very good at their jobs.  In another way it felt so natural to take care of his own children, and it made Jennifer happy to know that the father was taking such an interest in his children.

He looked over at his wife as she worked on running a soapy cloth over Glen, who took it as calmly as he took everything else.  Jennifer beamed at her son as she used a cloth that might have been used on a common child whose parents were on the dole.  Most people on a core world, and especially one like Jewel, would only have one child per couple, if that, and then only later in life.  Just enough to keep the population up on worlds that were already overcrowded.  He and Jennifer could have as many children as they wanted, and he thought of the injustice of such a thing.  If a commoner had more children than they were supposed to, they would face severe penalties up to and including losing the children and having their personalities wiped.  Every child he and Jennifer had would be celebrated by the Empire.

Of course commoners could always move to the frontier if they wanted large families, something that was encouraged.  The frontier could be dangerous, especially during wartime, though ten times more people had been killed so far on core worlds, two in particular, than on all the frontier and developing worlds and spaceships put together.  But the perception of less developed worlds being more at risk continued.

“Could you put him in his crib?” his wife asked, looking over to check on how her husband had dressed the baby and giving him a satisfied smile.

Sean put Augustine in his bed, flat on his back, and the child was out in an instant.  The baby had a full set of nanites in his body, as well as a basic implant, and would be monitored at all times by one of the nurses.  There would be no accidental or unexplained deaths with these twins, and the parents wouldn’t have to worry about being woken in the night by crying babies needing to be fed or changed.  That was one thing Sean had insisted on, since he needed his rest, and Jennifer had been glad to go along with him on that insistence.

“Get this one dressed while I get their bottles ready.”

Sean dressed Glen, again amazed at the difference in the personalities of his children.  Augustine would probably grow to become a feisty lad, one who would sit the throne with authority, and probably need some tempering and control while he learned to rule.  Glen would be calm and controlled on his own.  By precedent he would not become the Emperor, unless something happened to his brother.  All because he had been lined up wrong in the womb and had come out second.  Of course, precedent had been overturned in the past, when the older sibling was determined not to be competent for the post of ruler.  He didn’t think that would happen with Augustine, especially since the experts were telling him that his manner as a baby would not set his future personality as an adult.

Sean smiled at the baby and received one in return.  He really couldn’t tell what the little being would look like from his current baby features.   But he had seen the geneticists’ representation of what they would look like at various ages, from toddlers up to young men.  Both would have Sean’s complexion, a mixing of the African-American Streeters, the Chinese Lees and the Russian Romanovs that were dominant in his line.  Jennifer would add some lightening with her Northern European complexion, but neither would ever be confused with pure Irish.  Jennifer’s red hair and Sean’s ice blue eyes, looking out of strong faces that reminded the Emperor more of his father’s than his own.

“I’m ready for bed,” said Jennifer when she was finished putting up the bathing equipment.

“I’m ready for some sleep myself,” said Sean.

“I didn’t say sleep,” said Jennifer with a slight smile.  “That’s for after.”

After, Sean was too awake to sleep, while Jennifer went under like a pole axed animal.   He retreated to the terrace outside their room to stare into the night while he enjoyed a pipe, an affectation he had decided to adopt after becoming a father.  He was alone, or as alone as could be expected, to all appearances by himself, though he knew that almost a platoon of armored Marines watched over him.  He went with the illusion of solitude, staring out over his city, down the hill from the palace complex.  Megascrapers dominated the twin downtown sections, rising up multiple kilometers into the air like narrow fingers.  Most were dark at this time of night with the exception of a few lights on in apartments and offices occupied by night owls, and the ever present navigation markers.   Smaller skyscrapers surrounded the megascraper areas, and the city sprawled out for hundreds of kilometers in almost every direction.  The sky was still full of the traffic of aircars, here and there an emergency vehicle with flashing lights running past the queue.

In four days it would be Empire Day, the traditional New Year’s Day by the standard calendar that was used for Imperial business.  Government functions would be closed for the day, all of the schools would be out, and the military parade would be held downtown.  And I’ll miss this year’s, he thought.  Jennifer and the babies would be the center of attraction, while he was off on a meeting with the leaders of Crakista and Elysium on the homeworld of the reptilian species, the first summit of all the major rulers since the war had engulfed them.  He would be back soon, thanks to wormhole travel.  That thought brought a moment of disquiet, not as powerful as a prophetic dream, but just a feeling that he needed to take care of business and get back here as soon as possible.

Sean put the still smoking pipe down in the holder and headed back into the house.  He walked back into the house, ready for sleep and the start of a busy morning ahead, before he walked through the wormhole net to the summit.

*     *     *

CAPITAL SYSTEM, CENTRAL DOCKS, DECEMBER 28TH, 1002.  D-4.

“Wormhole traffic control has cleared us for transit, ma’am,” said Captain Ahmed Shamir on the side holo.  “We’ll be going through in seven minutes, Duchess.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Rear Admiral the Duchess Mei Lei, sitting back in a chair in her main quarters and watching a holo image of the space they were moving through, stroking the fur of the soft Himalayan cat in her lap.  Satin purred deeply in his chest, his blue eyes locked onto the face of his mistress.  “And am I to assume that the rest of the task group will be following us through.”

“All have been given passage right behind us,” said Shamir, nodding his head.

“Then let me know when central docks have us lined up for slips,” ordered Mei.  They were after all a couple of days early, but the Admiral thought it might be good to get some of her people leave on one of the double worlds, Jewel and New Terra, or for some the terraformed moon of Ariel.

“At once, Duchess.”  The holo went blank, her Captain knowing her well enough to tell when she was through talking.

Mei sat back in her chair, a hand on her cat to steady it as the seat reclined.  She still wasn’t used to having Duchess on her name, but people sure liked using it.  She smiled at the thought.  The war had been good to her, raising her two ranks and giving her a patent of nobility.  That thought was followed by an attack of guilt, as the faces of all the people she had lost came to her.  Starting with her Exec, Xavier Jackson.  A man who would probably have his own ship by now, if not a squadron, except he had done Mei’s job and had been the last person off the ship, leading to his death when it catastrophically translated out of hyper.

Satin gave her a plaintive meow, breaking her from her mood.  She stroked the cat and laughed.  “I know.  You’re the important one here.”  Actually the little animal was doing his job, keeping her from retreating into a morose haze of depression.

With a thought she brought up a side holo, showing the ribbon of the Donut stretching around the central black hole.  The hole had been cleaned up of any orbiting matter except for the huge station, and the only indication that it was there the distortion in space that caused it to be enveloped by a halo of starlight.  The Donut itself was illuminated by the hundreds of millions of lighting elements built into its structure, as well as the reflection from the halo.  It all looked so tiny, until one remembered that the infinitesimally thin ribbon was actually a hundred kilometers in width, and over fifty in thickness.  It was the largest structure that humankind had ever attempted, if not the greatest ever imagined.  Those would be the Dyson Spheres of legend, and the Admiral wondered if humankind would ever attempt such a construction, which would have to take thousands of years of effort.  She didn’t think so, since the number of inhabitable planets, with those easily terraformed added in, was almost limitless.

The Donut was the greatest weapon of the war, taking over a century to construct, and giving the Empire almost unlimited industrial capacity.  It was also the most heavily defended asset in human space, more so than the capital, since it was the only structure whose loss could mean defeat.  A lot of the experts were now calling it unassailable, but Mei didn’t believe it.  There was no such thing.  As more than one ancient strategist had said, any weapon developed that couldn’t be destroyed would just attract the ultimate attention of the enemy, who would do whatever was needed to destroy it.

“Prepare for transit,” called out a voice over the ship com system, through multiple thousands of speakers and every implant aboard.

The Admiral changed the aspect of the holo viewer to show the shimmering mirror ahead.  It was mostly dark, though the miniature representation of the halo and the running lights of the gate itself reflected from it.  And the growing image of her flagship, the Jean de Arc.  The even smaller images of the rest of the task force behind reflected in that surface, seven more battle cruisers, twenty light cruisers and forty-two destroyers, all hyper VII scout ships.

Jean de Arc was the second ship of that name to serve under the Admiral, both first as her fighting platform when she was a captain, then later as her flag as a commodore or admiral.  She was a member of the newest class of hyper VII scout capital ships, what looked to be destined to be the largest class of battle cruiser ever built.  She measured a little over twenty-three hundred and fifty meters in length, six hundred meters in width, and five hundred meters in height from hyperdrive array to hyperdrive array.  She massed eight million three hundred thousand tons, with a maximum safe acceleration of five hundred and twenty gravities, and had a complement of over three thousand five hundred naval personnel, including a small Marine battalion of four hundred and fifty.  There were more powerful ships in the fleet, as well as faster and more agile vessels, but nothing with her combination of the two, and the Admiral would not wish to be on anything else.

The battle cruiser hit the center of the mirror, traveling at a sedate five hundred meters a second.  In less than five seconds she was through, into another system, the crew fighting off the effects of the wormhole transit.  The clock on the ship said four point seven seconds, but to the crew it had seemed like hours suspended in some kind of strange limbo where they were everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  Mei sat in her chair getting her wits about her after going through that surreal experience.  Satin meowed, and she looked down on the little beast, wondering what his experience had been like, or the experiences of the several hundred other pet animals aboard the ship.  Did the cat experience something similar to what humans did, or was that reserved for animals with higher functions?   Someday, someone would find out.  But for the moment they just didn’t know, and most didn’t care.

Now they were back home.  Jean had shipped from here with a wormhole, one that could be used as a com port and could also be configured into either a cargo gate, heat sink, or a launch system.  It could go from heat sink to cargo gate in a few minutes, but configuring it to a launch port could take up to ten minutes on the ship, and even longer on the other end.  Since a wormhole could not be safely transited through another wormhole, every ship in the task group that had one had left it behind to be deployed to another vessel.  They would pick up new ones at Central Docks, shipped over from the Donut.  Every battle cruiser and light cruiser, and one out of every four destroyers, would receive a wormhole, since her group had been designated a priority scout formation.  Every ship would also receive at least one of the Klassekian com techs, either as a primary com resource or as a backup.  And while here their ships would receive some upgrades, including a new stealth package that would make them much more difficult to detect in normal space, as well as a new outer skin of ablative armor and structural reinforcement.

Mei opened a series of holos up around her chair, looking at the views of the double planetary system of Jewel and New Terra, also known as the Capital Twins.  Jewel’s formal designation was Sanctuary BIIIA, New Terra as BIIIB.  The G0 class star known informally as Home, slightly larger than Sol, shone its golden light on the four living worlds of the system that were part of the Sanctuary Supersystem, most often just called that last.  Jewel and New Terra orbited around a center of gravity that was from fifty thousand kilometers out to Jewel, and fifty-two thousand to New Terra.   The small, terraformed moon Ariel, home to two hundred and fifty million citizens, orbited both worlds at a distance of four hundred and ten thousand kilometers from the center of gravity, a course that took twenty-one point six standard days.  Its size and albedo made it four point seven times brighter than Luna was on old Earth.

Jewel was the Jewel of the Crown of Empire, a world slightly larger than old Earth, with a surface gravity of one point zero five.  Like its sister world, it received point nine six luminosity from its primary, and was a pleasant world all around.  Its biosphere was made up of a combination of native life and transplanted Terran forms, with the majority of the wilderness lands given over to the native.   Its day was twenty-two point one standard hours, the same as its sister, while the year was four hundred and twelve of those days.  As the center of Empire, its official time ran on the twenty-four hour day and three hundred and sixty-five day year of the standard calendar, something which at times caused problems as seasons rotated at a different rate than the holidays of the calendar.    With eleven point one billion sentients on the world, one point seven-five of them non-humans, it was the most populated world in human space.  Its night side was turned toward her on the holo, with the illuminated areas of many of the largest cities in human space along the shorelines and rivers of the continents.  Including Capitulum, with three point one billion citizens.

The other globe interested her more, and was the destination she would choose for leave, if she were to actually get any.  New Terra was a planet terraformed with Earth life, which did not possess any large oceans.  Instead, multiple large areas reminiscent of craters had been converted to large lakes, some well over a thousand kilometers across, interconnected by a system of rivers.  There was a huge sea of grass larger than the fabled steppes of Earth, and a scrub and sand desert that took up three thousand kilometers of width from pole to pole, the region she was most interested in seeing.  Six point eight billion citizens called New Terra home.

And at the point between the worlds, where gravity balanced out, was Central Docks.  Already large at the start of the war, the complex of space stations, docks and building slips had expanded to the point where it was almost unrecognizable to the woman who had last seen it when taking charge of her ship a year and a half earlier.  It had at least tripled in size, and every building slip was full of new construction.  It looked like the entire fleet was being built here, which she knew was an illusion, since Central Docks comprised less than eight percent of the total military shipbuilding capacity of the Empire.

“Any word about our slips?” asked Mei.  It would take about two weeks for the work to be done by the highly automated facilities, but there was offloading of missiles and antimatter to be accomplished before then, which could take several days.

“Central Docks control is saying five days, ma’am.  They suggest starting to offload our hazardous materials as soon as we can.”

“Which we can do in five days with a reduced crew,” said the Admiral, opening a holo to the Captain.  “Go ahead and send the people who have been the longest without shore leave to their preferred destination.  Signal to the other ships to do the same.”

“What are you going to do, ma’am?”

“I’m going to take a quick two days on New Terra, then come back here to make sure they don’t screw up my ships.”

“I’ll stay aboard until you come back, ma’am,” replied the Captain.  “I’ll get them started on the offloading.”

Mei nodded, then started on packing an overnight bag for her side trip.  She was looking forward to having dirt under her feet and real live atmosphere around her.  And just maybe I can take a short trip out to my never before seen duchy when I’m satisfied that they’re not going to screw up the refits.

Chapter Eight

The brave man inattentive to his duty, is worth little more to his country than the coward who deserts in the hour of danger. Andrew Jackson

SPACE OUTSIDE OF HOME SYSTEM.  DECEMBER 28TH, 1002.  D-4.

“We’re being hailed, sir,” called out the Com Tech.  “They identify themselves as the cutter, Pee Three Eight One.”

Must be a small ship if they don’t even have a name, thought Jasper as he looked at the plot.  Laughing Troll had just come out of hyper I after stairstepping her way down.  She had been looked at all the way in by hyper capable vessels to this point.  Now she was the responsibility of the system patrol.

The plot showed a system busy beyond belief.  He had thought the home system of the Ca’cadasan Empire crowded with traffic.  It looked like a frontier system compared to the human Home.  There were scores of ships outside the barrier, the closest what appeared to be a light cruiser about a half light hour out to spinward.  There were hundreds of what must have been merchant ships on courses in and out of the system.  The largest were above twenty million tons from their graviton readouts, the smallest well under a million tons.  Some of the vessels were recognizable as warships be their emissions, and there were some that were frankly unknowns.  And near the spinning twin planets in orbit around each other was a cluster of signals so dense that in the distance they looked like one huge emission profile.  The docks and shipyards of the enemy, one of their primary targets.

“We have visual on the cutter,” called out the Tactical Officer, and a holo came to life by the Captain’s chair, showing a squat craft that by its emission profile was in the fifty thousand ton range, much smaller than any real warship.  The view showed that the craft lacked hyperdrive emitters, meaning that it was built for insystem work only.  Jasper knew it had to be armed, probably a couple of gigawatt lasers, a short ranged missile or four.  Possibly a small particle beam.  Enough to damage most commercial ships, maybe take out their propulsion systems.  He was sure his ship could take it out in a heartbeat in a slugging match.  The cruisers and destroyers that populated the outer reaches of the system made such a move suicide.

“They’re requesting that we maintain our acceleration and bearing while they match,” said the Com Tech.  “They’re reporting that they will be boarding.”

Jasper nodded and looked back at the Ca’cadasan male who was the true mission leader.  That male had a worried expression on his face, and the human wondered what he had expected.  They were entering the human home system, and it had been unrealistic to assume they would just be passed on here.

“How long till they can match with us?” asked Jasper, taking action where the Cacada male seemed to be paralyzed.

“Twenty-eight minutes, sir,” responded the Tactical Officer.

“Make preparations,” barked the Cacada, finally coming to his senses.  “Now.”

The crew got to work, jumping up from their stations and running to the activation points across the ship.  The weapon’s mounts within the holds, set to slide into place in firing ports when needed, now detached and moved into the wormhole, opened in a smaller gate configuration.  In less than ten minutes all of the weapons were thousands of light years away in the Caca base system the wormhole led to.  Across the ship false bulkheads slid into place, hiding compartments and equipment that they really didn’t want the humans to know about.  The larger than normal grabber units were already hidden, much of their mass slid into compartments.  The same with the electromagnetic field projectors.  On the bridge complete stations swiveled into the wall, replaced by ratty looking jury rigged controls of the type found on many tramps.

“We’re ready, my Lord,” the Captain.

“Play your roles well, or this mission will be over before it truly begins,” growled the male, stepping back into a compartment where his compatriots already waited, letting the false bulkhead slide into place and cover their hiding place.

Some minutes later the cutter pulled alongside, dwarfed by the freighter, like a small dog worrying an elephant.  Without another warning they launched a shuttle, the even smaller craft closing and coming to a stop outside of one of the freighter’s airlocks.  It mated with the larger ship through a boarding tunnel, and soon armored customs agents were coming aboard.

“Do you have a copy of your manifest, Captain?” asked the young woman leading the four agent party.

“Of course, young lady,” said Jasper, handing her a chip that she plugged into her hand comp.

She spent a few moments looking over the manifest, then looked up at the Captain with a frown on her face.  “Running empty?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We had some hard luck at our last port of call,” answerer Jasper.  “Nobody on that damned poor little world had anything to sell.”

“And you came to the Capital system because?”

“There was sure to be a useful cargo to be had here, ma’am.  After all, if we can’t find something in the Home system that they want out on the frontier, I might as well retire.”

“Makes sense,” said the Customs Officer.  “Let me take a short look around, and I see no reason to not send you on your way.”

She flashed a disarming smile at the Captain, and Jasper wondered if she was trying to take him off guard.  They didn’t have the kind of sensor equipment with them they would need for a deep scan of the ship, which didn’t mean they wouldn’t find anything with what they had.  And if they did the game was up.  They could easily overpower this team, but they would have to leave the ship and go back to their own eventually.  They couldn’t just be coerced to send a message to their ship that all was well.  The ship would know something was up, and in less than an hour warships would be within beam firing range.

The agents split up into two teams, one going with the Captain, the other with Mary, his Exec and mate.  They spent about a half an hour poking into nooks and crannies, then moved back to the airlock.

“Good luck on getting a cargo, Captain,” said the Officer.  “Maybe we’ll see you on the way out.”

I seriously doubt it, thought Jasper.  “Could be.  Have a great day.”

Jasper was still sweating as the shuttle left his ship and returned to the cutter.  There was always the possibility that they had noted something and were just smart enough to get themselves to safety before signaling help.

He didn’t allow himself to feel safe until an hour after the cutter had moved off and nothing else moved toward him in that time.

“I think we are safe, my Lord,” he told the Cacada male as the bulkhead rose and the huge aliens stepped back onto the bridge, which was again configured as a high tech warship control center.  “I suggest we keep the weapons on the other side of the wormhole for now.”

“I agree,” said the smiling male, looking at the plot.  “We have made it through the final obstacle.  The humans will now pay for their arrogance in challenging their betters.”

Jasper looked at the being for a moment, then looked away before the Cacada could read his emotions.  He had to wonder if the Ca’cadasans actually were the superior species.  He looked back at the plot, which showed the thriving system of the humans, and thought of the target the other ship was trying to strike, something he didn’t think the Ca’cadasans were capable of building.

He drove the thoughts from his mind before he did something to give himself away.  He still had a mission to complete, one that would benefit his own small branch of humanity.  But it would mean disaster for the species as a whole.  Crap, he thought, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the treasonous thoughts out of his mind.  He took another look arund the bridge wondering who else might be having these thoughts, if anyone.  And what they could do about it if the majority were against them.

*     *     *

CRAKISTA HOME WORLD, DECEMBER 29TH, 1002.  D-3.

“Welcome to our homeworld, your Majesty,” said the reptilian being on the holo.

“Thank you, Madame Commissioner,” replied Sean, using the only human term that even came near to the actual meaning, depending on the translation program to make the proper interpretation.

The main viewer, still visible beyond the holo, showed the surface of the planet below.  It was an arid world, the place where the Crakista, not really reptiles, had evolved.  It was a harsh climate as a whole, though areas of luxurious green shone in large patches, the fruits of a technological civilization.  That much of the world was still desert was due to the indigenous sentients wishing to preserve as much of the natural environment as possible, and the ability to sustain a large population without the need for using up the entire surface.

“The others have already arrived, your Majesty,” said the being with a facial expression that most closely imitated a smile in her people, if one could ignore the longish snout and sharp teeth.  The Crakista were omnivores, much like humans, but they sure looked like obligate carnivores.

Sean looked around at the other holos that showed the ships of the other leaders.  The Elysium battleship looked like something designed by the elves of legend, though he knew it to be a tough and efficient warship.  The New Terran Republic ship appeared to be a variation of his own Empire’s vessels, which for all intents and purposes it was.  The Klashak and Margravi ships also closely resembled Imperial ships, which made sense since they obtained most of their military tech from the humans.  The Crakista ships, of which there were scores in orbit, were nothing like any of the other vessels.  With even more graceful lines than the Elysium ship, the Crakista warship was of a size with the human vessels, but with a shimmering surface that showed a number of intricate designs.  Of course those would disappear when the ship went into combat, but the showing of them was one sign that the Crakista were not contemplating action at the moment.

“I thought I was on time,” said Sean, wondering if he might have insulted his hosts by being unintentionally late.

“You are perfectly on time, Emperor Sean.  The others arrived early, though we still do not see the utility of this.”

Always logical, thought the Emperor with a smile.  The Crakista did not lack emotions.  In fact, they had more empathy and kindness than most humans, and when angered they could go into a killing rage that would frighten the bravest enemy.  But they had learned ages ago how to sublimate their emotions when making important decisions.  They used logic, and only logic, when making life or death decisions.  Which didn’t mean they didn’t feel the pain of their decision, and didn’t regret them sometimes.  They just never let them influence what needed to be done.

“Your shuttle is clear for entry into our atmosphere,” continued the Crakista council leader.  “We will be expecting you shortly.”

The shuttle waited in the mid-port hangar.  An assault shuttle, used for delivering Marines on surface attacks, they were the most heavily protected small craft in the imperial inventory.  Secret Service guards waited.  Sean had ordered that his armored Marines were not to accompany him, much to the protest of his security.  But he didn’t think a lack of thirty heavily armed Marines would affect his security much.  Either the Crakista acted in good faith and protected him, or nothing mattered.  If they decided they wanted to kill him, his battleship wouldn’t be enough to save him here in their space.

On the flight down he looked over the surface of the planet on the viewer.  There were scattered cities, several in the multi-million range, though nothing near as large as those on Jewel.  The capital came up over the horizon, no larger than many of the other cities.  He zoomed in on the urban area, marveling at the many tall buildings that looked like gossamer threads reaching four or five kilometers into the sky.  All were brilliantly colored, though the effect was anything but garish.

As Sean walked from the shuttle onto the landing field he was struck by the dry heat, before his attention was totally captured by the multitude of small beings that stood on the tarmac in organized ranks, wearing the uniforms of the Crakista military.  Several beings stood at the bottom of the stairs that had been rolled up to the side of the shuttle, these in sheer and colorful clothing.  There were three dominant colors of skin on the aliens, brown, yellow and red, the three races of the dominant species of this Empire.  The beings at the base of the stairs exhibited all of these colors, and Sean remembered that the Crakista were a very egalitarian people.  Not all sentients were, just as humankind hadn’t been at times in its history.

A band started playing as the Emperor moved down the stairs.  The instruments sounded like water tinkling over rocks, counterpointed with braying.  He was sure it was a stirring rendition of something that moved the Crakista, but doubted it would be much in demand in the Empire.  The military personnel all brought a right fist into the air, then thumped them on their chests, their version of the formal salute.  They held their hands in place until an officer shouted a command to drop them to their sides.

There were other aliens out there as well, not in uniform, performing tasks around the landing field.  The Crakista granted all of their sentients citizenship in the Empire, much like the humans.  But they didn’t allow them in their military or top government positions.  Their view was they had founded the organization that protected all, and shouldn’t be expected to give up their power.

“Welcome, your Majesty,” said one of the Crakista in heavily accented Terranglo, holding out a small hand.

Sean was always struck by how small and delicate the reptilians were.  They really weren’t reptiles, after all, closer to dinosaurs, though not quite those either.  They moved with an economic grace that few other beings could match, only the Avian Brakakak coming close.

“Thank you, Commissioner,” replied Sean, taking the hand gently, then bending to kiss it in the way of his people.  “It is a true pleasure to meet you in person.”

“I hope that this summit will be productive for all of our peoples,” she said, looking up at Sean’s small security detail coming down the stairs.

Sean glanced back.  He was sure that all of his agents were sighted in by snipers.  His military would have done the same with any security in proximity to himself, just in case.  He looked back at the five Commissioners, all now looking expectantly at him.

“Let me introduce my fellow servants of the people,” announced the Commissioner, gesturing to each leader in turn while saying some unpronounceable names.

“I am sure that we will find a way to work through our differences,” said Sean, nodding to the other leaders.  At least I hope so.

An hour later the Emperor was sitting in the conference room with the other leaders of the alliance.  To his right sat President Julia Graham of the New Terran Republic.  She wore a worried expression, and Sean was sure many of the same things were going through her mind as his.  The Republic was dependent on the Empire to help shore up their military.  That included wormholes, and any of that tech that made its way to the other allies probably wouldn’t end up with her people.

To his left sat the Czar of New Moscow, Sergie Baryshnikov.  His was the most junior member of the alliance, due to the hit they had taken from the Cacas, turning them from a respectable power into what amounted to a beggar state.  That monarch also looked stressed, for good reason.  The fleets that had pulled out of the alliance had been helping to garrison his kingdom, and now his people were more at risk due to their absence.

On either end of the table sat the representatives of Klashak and Margrav, both looking like they felt out of place being in a conference with the big boys.  The Klashakian representative was a squat being with gray skin, looking for all the world like a rock with tendrils.  His people were as bright as any, but with limited physical abilities that had made them easy prey for the Lasharans.  They could still run a warship as well as anyone, but contributed very little to the ground effort.  The Margav representative looked like a large insect, and his seat was set on grav plates to reproduce the light gravity of his homeworld, while he wore a breathing mask to give him the proper higher oxygen atmosphere his people needed.

Across the table sat the representatives of the Elysium and Crakista Empires.  Originally the conference had been planned so that the allies could discuss the strategies they would use to defeat the Ca’cadasans.  Now it had changed into a discussion on how the New Terran Empire could keep the alliance together, how much they had to give the other powers in order to convince them to remain in the fold.  Not what Sean had been planning on.

“I think it comes down to how much we can trust the human governments,” said Lord Grarakakak, looking pointedly at Sean.  “We never really wanted you to build that station in the first place.  There are so many risks, so many unknowns.  But since you have built it, the station has proven a benefit to your Empire’s military.  So much so, that should you happen to win this war, you will become the supreme military power in this arm, if not the Galaxy itself.  Which leaves us with a problem.”

“Actually two of them,” said the Crakista representative, looking over at the Brakakak and receiving a nod to proceed.  “First off, your hording this tech makes our militaries little more than junior partners, to be used as you wish.  We can be used to blunt enemy attacks, at a high cost to our ships and people.”

“And we don’t use your people in such a way,” complained Sean.  “I can guarantee that we only send your forces into battle when they are necessary for victory, or at least avoiding disaster.  Our own forces are still our primary resource, and we are very cognizant of the lives of our allies.”

The two representatives of the two smaller allies, Klashak and Margav, both gave their versions of acknowledgement.  Both had been human allies for centuries, and had seen the sacrifices the New Terran Empire had made in protecting them from the Lasharans.  Both had paid the price in later wars with that Empire, and neither had regretted standing with the humans.

“Which doesn’t answer the second problem,” said the Crakista.  “You are already moving ahead of us in technological leaps and bounds.  By the time the war is over, even with the sharing of electronics and ship weapons, your wormhole tech will make you the most powerful species since the Ancients.  And that is something we cannot tolerate.  If you have this tech, so must we.”

“We given you some wormholes already,” said Sean, rubbing his temples.  They were asking for more than his Empire was willing to give.  He looked down at the table for a moment, thinking about what they asked.  Plans, schematics, maybe even engineering aid to build their own wormhole generators.  But really, what can they do with them.  They don’t have a suitable black hole to build a station like ours.  They still might be able to adapt a smaller hole for the process, or brute force it with large ice planet stations.  The first would take decades, maybe even a half century or more.  The second would mean they could make their own wormholes, but never on the scale of the human race.  He turned back to the Crakista leader.

“I thought you had said you were willing to throw in with us, seeing that we were a better choice than the Ca’cadasans.”

“And we still believe that, but we would rather be your partners than your subjects.”  The Crakista raised a hand before Sean could open his mouth.  “I know.  You will guarantee that it will not happen, in your lifetime.  But you will not live forever, and the next Emperor might have other priorities.”

All I have to do is say yes, and they will send their ships back to the front.  But without the permission of Parliament, I would just be telling a lie.  And if I forced the measure through without their approval, I would end up paying for it in the future.  But I have to make a decision.

“I…”

“Your Majesty,” came a voice over his com.  “We’re receiving a message through the wormhole.  The Cacas have gone on the offensive in the kingdom of New Moscow.”

Sean looked over at President Graham, then at the Czar.  Both had looks of concentration on their faces, receiving messages on their coms.  He could tell by the aspects of the other leaders that they were also getting information from their own staffs.

“We’re under attack,” said Sean, seeing the understanding in their faces.  “Will you come to our aid?”

“Until you meet our demands, we will not be committing our forces to your war,” said the Crakista leader, glancing over at Grarakakak, who was giving forth a very human nod.

“Then the hell with both of your governments and people,” cursed Sean, jumping to his feet and gesturing to his Agents.  “We’re going.”

The Emperor stormed from the room, passing the Crakista soldiers who hurredly got out of the way.  He had just insulted their leader, and he wondered for a moment if they might try to stop him from getting to his shuttle.  But they had to know that doing so would lead to war.

“Send the ambassadorial staff down,” he said into his com.  They had been brought along to meet with the staffs of the other leaders, once they had hammered out some of their talking points.  Now he had to hope that they could keep a dialogue open.  The one thing he did know, the one thing he believed, was he had to be on the flag deck of a ship when the battle was joined.

“How fast can I get to the front?” he asked his Chief of Staff when he had boarded the battleship.

“We can get you to the Augustine in about three hours, your Majesty,” answered the Captain who was serving as his aide this trip.  “She’s starting to move out to the hyper barrier, but we can slow her down for the moment.”

“Then do so,” said the Emperor, pulling up the information that they had on his implant.  So far the Cacas had been spotted in three forces, the largest heading directly for New Moscow, ETA five days.  Augustine’s force was in another system, but could be vectored to intercept either of two of the Caca fleets, though not the main one.  And it wasn’t vital that she get into hyper for another twelve hours, and in fact she needed to pace her approach with her task group so that the others could arrive at the same time.  Which would give him plenty of time to get to her before she was at too high a velocity for the wormhole portal to handle the difference in inertia.

“Let’s get going.  But put me on the com to Lord Grarakakak before we transit the wormhole.”

A moment later the face of the Brakakak noble appeared on a holo, and from the expression on his face Sean thought he was both troubled and embarrassed.  But then he wasn’t an expert on the facial expressions of that species of sentient.

“I wish to tell you that I hope you can defeat the Ca’cadasans, your Majesty,” said the Brakakak before Sean could speak.

“I hope we can too, Lord Grarakakak.  But if we can’t, the Kingdom of the Czar will again be overrun, and we will lose what little military power they have laboriously rebuilt.”

“I am sorry, your Majesty.  I am not the sole ruler of my Empire, and I have to get others to agree with me before I can get my people to commit to action.”

“You might want to work on that agreement, High Lord.  Because I have a feeling that things are about to get really tense out on the frontier, and if they don’t go our way, the action will be moving closer to your Empire every day.”

Sean cut off the transmission, then pulled up the tactical plot again, trying to memorize what was going on while his agile mind worked through the possibilities.  Right now it looked like his force was larger than the Cacas in total tonnage, and he had the advantage of wormhole weapons.  Of course, he couldn’t be sure that was all that was heading his way.  Thank God for the wormhole weapons, he thought.  They had given him an advantage in several fights in the past, and he wasn’t sure what he would do without them now.

Chapter Nine

Gentlemen, when the enemy is committed to a mistake we must not interrupt him too soon. Horatio Nelson

H +1.

“We’re sending the final targeting data across, now,” said the Com Tech, looking back at her Captain, then to the Ca’cadasan Overlord who was actually running the operation.

“To the glory of the Emperor,” stated that being in the harsh guttural language of his species.

Fools Bane sat in curving path that would eventually take her into a close orbit of the black hole, within three light minutes of the event horizon, about fifty-four million kilometers out.  They were already receiving queries about their intended course, much too close for comfort according to those in charge of security, especially for a tramp that didn’t carry the certification of safety such as an Imperial warship or a major carrier would have.

We should have brought more ships, thought the human Captain, looking at the selection of targets in the system.  The station itself was the priority, and the original plan had called for them to get within close proximity of that target before launching.  That wasn’t going to happen.  Too many suspicions had been raised, and they would be intercepted well before they got within any kind of range where they could put a quarkium warhead into the structure.  Anything they launched from out here, almost a light hour from the target, would take over two hours to get to the station, and would be intercepted by an overwhelming defensive fire from the Donut.  And they would also have to penetrate the naval forces, what there were of them, that would position themselves between the tramp and the target.

And then there were the four rings of gates, three complete with thirty-two of the structures, one with only seventeen, but sure to be completed in the near future.  Not as important as the station that made them, but targets whose destruction would cause great harm to the war effort of the New Terran Empire.  Those gates were over a light hour out from the station, and set in rings spaced fifteen light minutes along from their nearest neighbor.  They were twenty-one light minutes from the nearest of those rings, the partially completed one.

If only they would have allowed us into close proximity of the station, we wouldn’t have had this problem.  But the fact was that they did have the problem, and it wasn’t going away, so they would just have to make do.

“Final dispositions of attack groups coming through, my Lord,” said the Com Tech, looking at the Ca’cadasan who actually ran the mission, before turning his attention to the titular human captain.

The Captain looked over the information scrolling across the holo screen hanging in the air to his front.  Over forty-three thousand ship attack and fighters would be coming through the wormhole they were going to open.  That hole was going to be eight hundred meters in diameter, large enough to deploy a complete space attack or fighter group, fifty-six craft, through in a ten second window.  With seven hundred and sixty-eight groups, it would take a little over two hours to deploy the entire attack force.  He wondered if they would have that time, since the closest Imperial ships could hit them with missiles in slightly less than two hours.

No one said we were coming back, thought the Captain.  That went for him and his crew.  That went for the tens of thousands of pilots and gunners that would come through with the attack waves.  If they could take out the wormhole generating station it would be worth more than the less than a hundred thousand lives they would give.  It would win the war.  Of that the Captain had no doubt.  And it would prove once and for all to the Masters how valuable he and his people were to their Empire.

He looked back at the Ca’cadasan Overlord, noting the sly expression on the beings face, as if he knew something that the human crew didn’t.  And that worried the Captain even more.

*     *     *

The Commander of Laughing Troll looked over his tactical plot with a different perspective from that of Fools Bane’s commander.  The Jewel/New Terra System was only one hundred and five thousand kilometers in diameter, about a third of a light second.  Even adding in the moon Ariel and it was still less than a light second in radius.  Everything was within range, though it was more important to take out some targets earlier in the queue than others.

“Final targeting information has been sent through to the strike groups,” sent the Com Tech.  “Acknowledgement of receipt coming through.  Estimated time to first deployment, forty-nine minutes.”

Jasper looked at the information coming through on the holo screen.  His attack would be much smaller than the one launched on the black hole station, a mere five thousand, six hundred odd attack ships and fighters, one hundred groups.  It would take them seventeen minutes to complete their transit through the hole, and they would head for their targets in the order of priority.  The docks first, then the capital planet, and after that the two other inhabited worlds.  If they could smash the docks and take out the government, they would have accomplished their part of the task.  Maybe not as important as taking out the wormhole generating station, but still, cutting the head off the snake was always useful.

*     *     *

“Admiral on the bridge,” shouted the first crewperson to see her.

“At ease,” replied Mei Lei, walking onto the command and control bridge.  It seemed strange to be on this control room of the battle cruiser.  She was used to the even larger flag bridge, from which she exerted command and control of the entire task group, and not just one ship.  But she had allowed the Captain and his staff to have leave, something they didn’t get often.

“Anything to report?” asked the Admiral, feeling foolish as she did so.  They were hanging in space about five thousand kilometers from the Central Dock main station.  This was one of the safest places in the entire Empire, and she would have been shocked if something were going on.

“No, ma’am,” said the acting Tactical Officer, a grin on his face as if he also recognized the silliness of the question.  “Just normal traffic.  Preparing to launch another shuttle in five minutes with a full liberty party aboard.”

Mei smiled at the thought of more of the ship’s crew getting out and onto a real planet’s surface for a change.  This shuttle was scheduled to go to Jewel, where the majority of her people had gone.  “Let me know the moment anything of an import happens,” she told the Tactical Officer, who had bridge duty this watch.  “I’ll be in my cabin, making sure the logs are up to date.”

The ship seemed emptier that it actually was, the corridors empty of life.  There were still eight hundred and fifty people aboard, over a quarter of the crew, the number mandated for minimal security even while in a friendly port.  A third of those people had the duty watch, while the rest were either asleep or at some form of recreation.  She returned the salute of a rating who was on the way somewhere in a hurry.

And tomorrow we go into dock to get a new nanoskin installed, she thought as she approached the door to her quarters.  That skin would make the ship much more stealthy, especially when paired with the wormhole she would carry back at the front.  Some other structural modifications would be made, but there would be no need to have any crew aboard for the two weeks it would take.  She could actually get some shore leave herself, between the meetings she would be expected to attend at the Hexagon.

And things seem to be heating up at the front, she thought with a frown, wishing she were there.  But the orders that had just come down had been clear.  Her ships were to go through refit.  There was very little one scout group could do in a battle than would involve over thirty thousand ships.

Satin awaited her as she entered the sitting room of her quarters, jumping down from the couch and running up to his mistress.   The cream colored cat sat at her feet and looked up with a soft meow.

Mei picked up the cat with a laugh, stroking his soft fur.  She carried the cat to the couch and sat down, laying the feline in her lap and lying back.

I love you, kitty cat, she thought as she closed her eyes and felt the deep purr of the little beast.  But perhaps it’s time to seek some human companionship.  It had been ages since she had a lover, male or female.  She really wasn’t sure what she would prefer at this time.  Just someone warm and loving and passionate.  And compassionate.  Now that she was a duchess she also had to have some consideration for an heir, which meant a father, though that would have to wait until she had a year of time to devote to being a mother.  It would not be wise to be aboard a warship while carrying a child.

The thought of a child brought another smile to her face, and she lay back on the comfortable couch, her cat in her lap.  Soon she was sound asleep, dreams of the duchy she had never actually visited, but was planning to while her ships were in dock, soon on her mind.

*     *     *

Tomas Gijardo looked over the sidewalk from his table at the café, sipping a fine coffee as he thought about his plans for the day.  Imperial day weekend, he thought, watching the crowds moving through the streets.  Major businesses and offices were closed this three-day weekend.  Schools, colleges, even the Fleet Academy at Peal Island.  Even the great majority of stores were closed, with the exception of restaurants, bars and entertainment establishments.  The Imperial Zoo and Botanical Gardens would have record crowds this day, and transportation services would be packed.  An hour from now the titular Main Street, running past Parliament and the Reformed Catholic Cathedral, would start, running for thirty kilometers toward the Constance the Great spaceport.  All the high and mighty of the city would be there to watch the endless display of bands, floats and military units that would move by.

“Hi, handsome,” said a soft voice, just before the lovely blond woman slid into the seat across the table from the office manager.

“Hello, beautiful,” answered Tomas, looking into the blue eyes of the love of his life.  “Beautiful day for it.  And what would you like to do this day?  Parade?”

“Ugh,” said Margo, making a face.  “And have to fight through those crowds.  How about we go visit the Imperial Museum for a bit, then a nice lunch.”

“And after that?”

“After that,” she said with a smile.  “I think we should spend some time together, alone.  Your place or mine?”

*     *     *

Rebecca looked into the ashes of the fire as she whittled away the piece of wood.  She didn’t know what she was making, if anything.  Her mind was only half on the pastime, the rest of it was where she wanted to be, in the city, waiting for the parade to start.

Leave it to Cornelius to want to take us on a camping trip on the biggest holiday of the year, she thought, the frown on her face deepening.  She loved her adoptive father.  How could she not, when he had saved her life, then saved her from being just another orphan given into the hands of the system.  But his idea of fun, to go out into the wilderness and away from the comforts of civilization?  That left her scratching her head.  Didn’t he get enough of that on deployment, she thought, slicing another sliver of wood, this time pushing a little too hard.

The knife sliced through the wood and into her thumb, cutting deep.  She hissed in surprise, not really feeling the pain as the ultra-sharp blade entered her flesh.

“Careful,” said Cornelius, suddenly there and kneeling at her side.  He pulled out a cloth and wrapped it around her thumb, stopping the bleeding.  “You have to pay attention to what you’re doing when you’re handling a blade like this.”

“I know,” she said with a grimace as he pulled the cloth away for a moment to check out her injury.

“Not too bad.  Your nanites should have it closed up in no time.  You’re lucky you didn’t cut the damned thing off.”

“I told you she was too young for a knife like that,” said Devera, looking over from the camp chair she was sitting in as she watched Junior hitting the ground with a stick.

“I had a knife like that when I was her age,” said Cornelius, giving his wife an angry look.

“And you had been raised by your father, the hunt master, to be a little Tarzan.  She hasn’t had that training.”

“She did well enough on Azure, on her own,” said Cornelius, gritting his teeth.

Rebecca was beginning to feel very uncomfortable at the adult argument going on because of her.  She knew it wouldn’t lead to anything, married couples had arguments all the time.  Still, she didn’t like the idea that she might have done something that drove a wedge, no matter how temporary, between her adoptive parents.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, throwing the piece of wood into the remains of last night’s fire and standing up.  She sheathed the monomolecular hunting knife, one that Cornelius had called a Bowie, into its special case.

“Don’t go far,” said Cornelius, looking at her as he pointed a finger in her direction.  “I know this isn’t Azure, and there are a lot of safeguards built into this recreation area, but it still wouldn’t do to not be aware of your surroundings.”

Rebecca nodded, then turned away and walked quickly down the path that had taken them from the car park into the so called wilderness.  The arguing died behind her, and she was happy that it hadn’t grown in volume.  They would hash things out, and then they would be back to normal, and she didn’t have to go through the uncomfortable feelings of listening to the two most important people in her life arguing about her.

The path was peaceful in many ways, winding through a forest so unlike any wilderness area on her homeworld.  Here there were no plants, or even worse, the hybrid plantimals, that would kill any animal life that got within reach.  There were some poisonous plants, and Cornelius had made her well aware of them, but you actually had to do something stupid to be harmed by them.  Dangerous animals roamed the true wilderness areas, some as deadly as anything Azure had.  But the repulsion systems placed throughout the recreation area kept them confined to the true wilderness, and away from people.

And within the hour the celebration would kick off in the Capital city, the largest in the Empire.  And here she would be, stuck out here in these woods, away from all the excitement, on the other side of the mountain range from civilization.  She might be able to see the fireworks when night came, and she was sure she would see the suborbital light show from here, if she stayed in a clearing.  But she would still miss all the excitement of the people, the parades, the thousands of open air concerts.  The pageantry.  Most of all she would miss seeing the Empress and the twins on the reviewing stand as the largest of the parades passed by.

Why in the hell did I have to end up with such a farm boy of a father, she thought with a slight smile.  There was a little bit of anger in that thought, but not much when she thought about it.  If he hadn’t been such a farm boy, and a hunter, she would not be here this day.  And neither would Junior.

*     *     *

“Everything is ready, your Majesty,” said the Chief of Detail for the Empress’ protection staff.

Jennifer looked up from where she had been looking down on one of the twins.  Augustine was being his usual surly self this morning, crying and complaining at every turn.  Glen lay peacefully in his crib, cooing and smiling at the world.  Both babies had been fed, both had been bathed and changed.  Both had gotten all the attention that any infant could want.  And both were acting as polar opposites.

I wonder if the Empire will wish that Glen had been the first one into the world, thought the Empress, smiling down on her complaining son.  By precedent the first born child was the heir, the next in order the spare.  There had been exceptions, such as when an heir and turned out to be unfit for the role of Emperor.  But being a difficult baby was not grounds for dismissal from the inheritance that birth had bestowed.

“I guess the little terrors are ready as well,” said Jennifer, almost laughing at the expressions on the faces of the people that were helping to raise and protect her children.  They may be the objects of adoration to you, she thought, looking at the faces.  But to me they’re my children, nothing more, nothing less.

The chosen nurses took hold of their charges, lifting them from their cribs and placing them in the carryalls that had been designed for them.  They were larger than those used by most mothers in the Empire, and that size was not because of any extra luxury built into the baskets.  No, they were the most protective carryalls that the science of the Empire could devise.  And the detail carried attachments that would make them even more protective.  Glen and Augustine might only be her children to her, and a big only.  But they were the most precious of gems to the people of the Empire, symbols of the heritage that was humankind’s in this space.

An elevator took them up to the rooftop landing pad, where a half dozen heavily armored aircars waited.  One was the luxury conveyance that would carry the Empress and Glen to the reviewing stand, along with agents of both of their protective details.  Augustine would fly in another of the cars, just as luxurious, with his own protective detail aboard.  At first Jennifer had balked at being separated from one of her sons, but on this both Sean and the Secret Service had been unbending.  With two children, they were not about to carry both eggs in one basket, especially in something as inherently vulnerable as an aircar.

The cars left the rooftop, along with four other identical appearing cars that carried more of the security detail.  All appeared identical on the outside, but their interiors were very different.  Three were quick response vehicles with armored security agents ready to act as a reaction force.  One was a command and control vehicle.  And all were targets that would hopefully absorb any attack directed against the Imperial Family.

As soon as they were in the air the twenty Marine assault carriers formed up around them, each carrying a reinforced squad of Marines in heavy battle armor.  Overhead flew a squadron of atmospheric fighter craft.  Enough firepower to fight off any conceivable assassination attempt, and there was really no danger of anything larger this deep into the Empire.

Jennifer looked with approval on all of the precautions.  She wished that it wasn’t necessary, but since it was, she was glad that it was the best possible.  In fact, her children were in many ways the most protected in the history of the human species.  They were constantly monitored for any kind of medical emergency, they had the best nanosystems in the Empire injected into their bodies, making them essentially disease and all but poison proof.

Glen cooed, a behavior slightly ahead of the developmental norms of his age.  Both of her children were advancing faster than normal, part of their genetic heritage.  Jennifer ran a finger along his face, stopping on his lips, as the baby kicked his legs and waved his arms in the uncoordinated manner of infants.  The Empress felt her eyes begin to tear up as she thought of the life that was ahead of him, even if he didn’t become the Supreme Ruler.  If both survived to the day that their father died, Augustine would become the Emperor, while Glen would become the heir to his older brother, unless that brother happened to have children of his own at that time.  And when Augustine’s first child was born, Glen would move in order to become the spare once again, continually moving down the ranks as more children were born to his older brother.  Still, Glen would be expected to hold a high position in the Imperial government.  A High Ambassadorship, an Admiralty appointment, or the head of some government commission.  His life would not be scrutinized to the point of his brother’s, but he would still remain in the public eye for as long as he lived.

The minutes seemed to fly by as the beautiful mother played with her child in his carrier beside her.  She was thinking that they might be the jewels of the Empire, but to her they were her and Sean’s children.  She would see to it that they were raised as normally as possible, a daunting task considering their positions.  The Chief of Detail across from her closed his eyes, and she knew he was linking in with the rest of the huge security apparatus that surrounded them.

“We will be landing in one minute, your Majesty,” he told her, eyes opening again to show he was once more in the here and now.  “Allow the detail to disembark first, then you and the nurse. We will wait in the secure location under the stands until it is time to move into the public eye.  Once in the stands, stay in the designated area.”

Jennifer nodded, thinking on the details for a moment.  They wanted people around her to take any possible attack on themselves before it got to her or the children.  She was wearing protective clothing herself, impact armor and an internal laser reflective layer that would defeat most magrail weapon shots while deflecting up to two seconds of laser fire.  If she was shot in the head none of that would make any difference, of course, so security would try to prevent that.  Once she was in the stands there would be an electromagnetic shield and a transparent kinetic barrier in place to protect her.

She had asked Sean about all of the precautions, if it was something that every Emperor had to go through.  He hadn’t thought they had been quite this restrictive, though he believed that history had taught that some of the more despotic Emperors had even greater security in place.  But since there had been multiple attempts on the lives of the Imperial family in the last couple of years, including the successful assassination of a sitting Emperor, his wife and his heirs, as well as the latest attempt on Sean and her, it had been decided that the most stringent methods were called for.  And she was willing to go along, as long as it kept her children alive.

The aircar landed without so much as a bump, the finely tuned inertial compensators taking up any force that the pilot wasn’t able to smooth out.  The hatch lifted away, forming overhead protection, and half of the security detail deployed from the vehicle.  Marines in their signature heavy armor were already in view around the area the detail had deployed to, and Jennifer knew there would be more of the troopers hanging in the air, constantly on the watch.  The Chief of Detail nodded to Jennifer just before he got out, and the Empress followed the nurse who was holding Glen’s carrier out into the open.

The morning sun was bright in the sky, warm on her skin.  She looked down at Glen, who was out into a deep sleep.  Augustine wasn’t complaining for once, and when Jennifer looked down on the heir she was happy to see a peaceful sleeping expression on his face.  Pleasant dreams, baby, she thought as she followed her Chief of Detail and the two nurses into the safe room underneath the viewing stand.

“We go up in fifteen minutes,” said the Chief of Detail.

They were supposed to be in place five minutes before the head of the parade reached the stands.  The parade started seven kilometers from the stand, toward the harbor, though still quite some ways from the water.  It ended twenty-three kilometers further on.  It would take three hours for all the bands, floats and military units to pass, and then Jennifer could go back home, where she preferred to be, safe and secure with her babies.

“It’s time,” said the Chief of Detail.  The nurses had checked the babies, making sure both were still dry, waking them for a moment to give them some milk, then letting them both drift back into a deep sleep.  Jennifer led the way this time, the two nurses with the babies coming up behind her.

As soon as she appeared on the reviewing stand the crowd of people within sight of the area went wild.  There were almost a hundred people on the stand already, high ranking officers, members of Parliament, city officials.  Jennifer’s spot was in the center at the front of the stand, with open areas on either side of her for the babies.  She looked back for a second at the large screen viewer over the stand.  Her face was on the center of the screen, while two boxes to either side showed the sleeping babies in their carriers.

The Empress waved at the crowd, now feeling every part the most important lady of the Empire.  She made her way to her seat and looked over the crowd as soon as she was comfortable.  Across the street were several hundred meters of seating, twenty-eight rows up, with thousands of VIPs sitting in their finery.  The street was packed in both directions, some citizens in their best clothes, many others in their party casual.  The crowd was about eighty percent human, but a good showing of the large alien population of the city was present as well.  And everywhere she looked there were people in uniform, mostly those on liberty or leave, here for the celebration, but also a good number of soldiers and Marines in armor, adding their surveillance to that of the police.

The sound of a band came to her ears through the noise of the crowd, bagpipes in the forefront of a Highlander unit of the Imperial Army, the lead party of the parade.  They were still minutes off down the street, marching forward.  I wish Sean were here, she thought, looking over at Augustine.   This is really his place.  She shook her head, knowing that Sean was where he needed to be, improving the morale of the troops on the front on this day of celebration.  She looked again up the street, determined that she was going to enjoy herself and take in the sights.

*     *     *

Chief Warrant Officer Debra Visserman kept her F-48 Peregrine flying straight and slow as she cruised over the line of the parade.  She was the wing of the group commander, toward the center of the sixty-four plane formation as it flew over the marching units at a stately one hundred kilometers an hour at two hundred meters altitude.

This is bullshit, thought the pilot as she nursed her ship along at what she thought was an insult to the capabilities of the aircraft.  The only active weapons she had on the craft were the lasers and particle beams, and all of them were powered down.  Missiles had been left behind, since this was only a show formation, and she wondered what would happen if they needed to fight this day.

Don’t be a complete ass, she thought with a laugh.  What the hell is going to happen here.  It took nine minutes to go from the origin of the parade to the terminus, and at the end the group pulled noses to the sky and rocketed upwards in a starburst, all craft diverging in pairs until they covered the sky.  Moments later another group did the same, followed by another, the entire wing.  More aircraft would fly over the crowd, Army and Fleet, but their job was done for the day.

There’s a fight going on at the front, she thought with a scowl.  And that’s where I should be, defending the airspace of a planet that might actually be attacked.

“Return to base,” ordered the Colonel in charge of the group.

Visserman almost asked for permission to stay in the air so she could get a good view of the festivities, but knew better than to ask for this on such a day.  Air traffic over the city on a day like this was a nightmare, and the last thing they needed were some hotshot pilots mixing it up with Sunday drivers.

“Where to now, Chief?” asked her crew chief after she had set the fighter down into its revetment.  “Going into the city to enjoy the party?”

“I don’t think so, Sergeant,” she told the man who was responsible for the performance of her ship as much as she was.  “I think I’ll just hang around the base, and maybe catch a couple of vids.  The party doesn’t really interest me.”

Debra walked away from the revetment, headed for the barracks where her quarters were housed.  She knew the Crew Chief was shaking his head.  He couldn’t wait to get off the base and stuck into the party.  But all she wanted to do was fly.  Preferably in combat, though that seemed like it would be denied her.

Chapter Ten

Nobody ever defended anything successfully, there is only attack and attack and attack some more. George S. Patton

H HOUR

“Wormhole expanded to mission parameters,” came the call from the cargo compartment, where several of the human crew were making sure the gate was fully operational.

“Signal coming through from command,” said the Com Tech, monitoring her instruments.  “Second mission ship reporting that all is ready.”

“T minus one minute,” called out the Tactical Officer, monitoring a second com channel coming through from the mission commander on the other end of the wormhole gate.

The aura of excitement permeated the bridge, or maybe that was fear.  This was the first time the Ca’cadasan military had ever attempted such a maneuver.   The humans and their Empire had been doing this for well over a year, but no one knew how many problems they might have had before they perfected the method.  The Emperor had not wanted to wait for trial and error learning.  He wanted a successful attack launched, and had ordered the mission to go ahead.  Now it was up to his military servants to make his wishes reality.  Or fail.

There is no failure, thought Tom Jasper, looking over at his human shipmates who were busy updating targeting information to the attack groups.  There weren’t many changes.   A few newly arrived ships in orbit around one or other of the worlds, waiting for the go ahead to begin shipping their cargos down to the surface.  They were not priority targets, but they were targets, and they would also be serviced when the time came.

A buzzer went off, and the timer counted down to the final twenty seconds.

“Opening cargo hatch,” said the Captain, hitting the commit switch on the control board he stood before.  Down in the primary cargo hold, a mostly empty space eight hundred meters long by six hundred high and wide, the huge loading hatch moved out then swung open.  Set back a hundred meters inside the hold, where it was partially shielded from observation, the five hundred by five hundred meter mirrored surface of a wormhole gate sat.

“Fool’s Bane is starting their launch sequence,” called out the Com Tech.

“Get our first groups through,” said Jasper to the Tactical Officer.  People here were going to know something was up really fast, as soon as the warning came through from the Donut.

“First group coming through, now,” called out the Tactical Officer.  A moment later the noses of the first attack group, these fast accelerating fighters, came erupting from the mirrored surface at fifty kilometers a second, coasting along with most of their systems powered down, almost invisible in space.  The fifty fighters of that first group were through in a staggered formation that took eight seconds to traverse the gate.  Two seconds after the last had cleared, the first of the next group started through at the same velocity, coasting on the same heading as the fighters that preceded them.  The spacecraft each cut in a couple of gravities acceleration, just enough to spread their formations out further, reducing the risk of collision.

That was one of the greatest risks to pushing so many craft through the wormhole gate in such a short time.   A collision on the other side could push one or more craft into the frame of the gate at a high enough velocity to shatter that structure, closing the portal and ending the mission for most of the fighters.  Fifteen groups made it through, ten of fighters, five of attack craft, before the first mishap occurred.  Not on the far side of the wormhole, but after transit, when two of the ship attack craft brushed each other before they could open up the distance.  Fifty kilometers a second didn’t seem like much to spaceships that could get up to almost three hundred thousand kilometers a second.  It was enough to generate the kinetic energy needed to breach the hull of one of the craft, tearing through into one of the missile holds and causing a second breach, this of a two hundred megaton warhead meant to heavily damage and potentially kill a warship.

At that moment the warhead was one hundred and thirty-one kilometers from the Laughing Troll, far enough that they put minimal heat and radiation back into the ship, just enough to trigger the detection meters.  Half of the squadron they were with didn’t fare as well, situated as they were within hundreds of meters of the detonation.  There was little in the way of actual blast in the airlessness of space, consisting only of the mass of the missile and the two craft involved in the collision.  Six craft detonated as well when the heat and radiation hit them.  Warheads, even the antimatter kind, were encased in tough materials, and only five more of the weapons detonated, including two among the ships that had collided.

“Well, that changes everything,” said the Captain, looking over at his Com Tech.  “Send the signal through.  Tell them to start accelerating on entry to this space.”

“That will give them away,” growled the Cacada overseer.

“I think those blasts already gave the game away, my Lord.  Now it’s most important for them to get to their targets as fast as possible, or preferably to launch at range.”

The Cacada stood there for a moment, thinking it over.  Much longer than a human would have, and not for the first time did Jasper wonder how such creatures had risen to rule such a large Empire.  “Go ahead,” said the Male, crossing his arms over his chest and taking on an aspect of having come up with the idea himself.

Jasper nodded and waved for the Com Tech to send the orders, looking at the timer that showed that they had wasted a half minute due to the recalcitrance of the Overlord.  Now all of the fighters and attack ships started boosting toward their targets at their maximum acceleration, appearing on every tactical monitor in the Jewel/New Terra system.  Not that every sensor in the system wasn’t already turning their way, thanks to the half dozen bright flashes of antimatter warheads erupting in a place where no such were supposed to be.

*     *     *

“What the hell is going on?” yelled Admiral Hoshi Nakama, looking up from his evening meal as the warning klaxons went off across the huge primary Central Dock station.  The four star flag officer was in overall charge of the facility, which included the thousands of building and repair slips, warehouses and parts assembly stations, and the fortresses set about the entire area.

“We’re still trying to determine what is going on, sir,” said the Captain who appeared on the holo that formed over the table.  “What we do know is there were some large detonations in space about twelve thousand kilometers toward Jewel.  Radiation patterns are consistent with antimatter blasts.  Thirty seconds after the blast a number of small spacecraft appeared on the scan boosting at high acceleration.”

“Identification?”

“We’re not sure, sir.  But I doubt they are friendlies.  We’re running an analysis on their grabber resonances, and they don’t match anything Imperial or allied.”

“Order all forts and ships to battle stations,” ordered the Admiral.  “Don’t fire until we’re sure they’re hostiles.”  The Admiral had visions of blowing some experimental craft out of space while they were on a training mission.  And if he was the one to order such, he could probably kiss his career goodbye.  If the order came from some ship or fort commander, he could blame them.

“We have missile launch, sir,” called out the Captain on the holo, shock showing on her face.  “Missile launch from the unknowns.”

And that tells me all I need to know, thought the Admiral, jumping up from his seat and starting for the control room.  “Order all forts and stations to launch fighters.  Rules of engagement are to take any unknowns under fire.”

Nakama was still wondering who this enemy was, and where they had come from, when he entered the station control room.  About half the consoles were manned, normal for a regular shift, but seconds later people starting coming in, reporting to their battle stations.

“We think they’re Cacas, sir,” said Captain Victoria Crenshaw, the duty officer.  “Resonances are a close match for their ship launched fighters.”

“And where in the hell are they coming from?” asked the Admiral, sitting down at the station that was reserved for him.

“We’re still trying to determine that, sir.  They seem to be originating at this point, or at least this is where they are kicking in their grabbers.”  The holo viewer showed a nondescript freighter at that point.

“Could they have carried them here?” asked the Admiral as another fifty-four icons appeared just away from the freighter.

“We have a lock on their missiles, ma’am,” called out one of the techs.  The main holo switched to a tactical view, showing the icons of the enemy fighters, acceleration figures below them, and the even smaller markers of the missiles with higher numbers underneath.  Friendly icons were also blinking, showing targets as predicted from the missile track.  Including the station they were sitting on.

*     *      *

“We’re tracking over five hundred small spacecraft, ma’am,” said the Assistant Tactical Officer who was the highest ranking member of his division onboard.  “About half of them have launched missiles.”

“Only half?” asked Mei Lei as she took the captain’s seat on the bridge.  “Have the firing ships flushed?”

“I doubt it, ma’am,” said the officer, speaking loudly over the klaxons that were calling what remained of the crew to their battle stations.  “We’re estimating that the ships that have fired have launched at most two missiles.  I think they have launched on their prearranged targets, and are now holding back for targets of opportunity.”

“Any larger vessels on the scan?”

“No, ma’am,” said the officer, looking at his board.  “All weapons are manned, such as we are able.”

“Make sure our close in defenses and lasers have as many people as we can spare,” ordered the Admiral, looking at the tactical plot and making her decisions.  “I don’t think there is going to be any need for our main missile batteries in this engagement.”

The Admiral looked over at the Com Tech, a Klassekian, who was on duty at the communications station.  “Send out a signal to the rest of the task group.  All ships are to follow my lead.”  She looked over at the Assistant Tac Officer.  “Send all data we have on the unknowns to the other ships.  And coordinate some kind of firing response on all the unknowns and anything they launch.”

“Grabbers are online, ma’am,” said the Chief who was manning the helm station.  “Orders?”

“Until we have a destination, I want us moving in the best evasive pattern you can generate.  Understood?”

A destroyer, thankfully not from her group, ate a missile at that point, its icon blinking for a moment, then disappearing from the plot.

“All ships, execute firing plan, now,” she ordered, leaning back in her seat and trying to think of anything else she could do at this time, and coming up with a blank.

*     *     *

Fool’s Bane launched within seconds of her sister ship.  The fighters she carried didn’t even try to hide like those launched from the Laughing Troll.  They had a long way to go, and a short time to get there, and accelerated at their maximum rate as soon as they left the wormhole.  They also launched at the largest target any of them had ever seen, something they really couldn’t miss.  The problem was getting the warheads to the target through all of the defenses, which was one reason this attack was over twenty times larger than the one hitting the capital.

We should have known they wouldn’t let us close to that thing without a challenge.  The mission had been planned with that challenge in mind, though it had been hoped that they might get in closer.  As soon as the challenge had come, Fool’s Bane had sent the signal initiating H-hour, and their sister had also launched her attack.

Fool’s Bane had expanded her own wormhole past the hull of the ship, in a frame a kilometer on a side.  Instead of releasing entire groups of fifty-six craft, the gate pumped out four group wings of two hundred and twenty-four fighters and attack ships.  They didn’t gain any momentum from this end of the hole, only carrying through what they had brought in.  The same phenomenon that made it dangerous to transit from fast moving platforms that were beyond the limited means of the wormhole to absorb inertia.  The freighter was pushing point one three light, and the fighters were coming out with enough velocity to keep from falling back into the moving hole.

It took a little over sixteen minutes to release the first attack wave toward the Donut, almost fourteen thousand fighters and over eight thousand ship attack craft, twenty-two thousand craft, heading out of the wormhole at over point one five light.  As soon as all of the ship attack craft were in space and closing up into one mass formation, they released half of their long range assets, sixteen thousand missiles accelerating at eight thousand gravities.

When that wave was done the freighter pivoted in space and launched the first of the wings toward the rings of gates.  Each group was almost forty-four hundred craft, each targeted on one ring.  These moved out of the gate at point one five light, ignoring the momentum of the freighter moving in the other direction.  There was no expectation that they would fight their way through the defenses to take out the entire ring, but any gate they could destroy would help the overall strategic situation for the Ca’cadasan Empire.

As soon as that first gate ring attack wave was released the freighter pivoted once more, releasing another twenty-two thousand attack platforms toward the Donut.  In all it would launch over a hundred thousand attack ships and fighters at the huge station, and twenty-two thousand toward the ring forts.  Even those numbers weren’t enough to win a sustained battle, but they didn’t need to.  They needed to strike, to put as many powerful weapons into targets as possible.  Enough weapons in the right place and the Ca’cadasan Empire would win a battle and a war.

*     *     *

“Talk to me, Admiral,” said Lucille Yu into the com over the sounding klaxons.

“We have an incoming attack wave of fighter class craft heading at us,” said Admiral Mikal Kalashnikov, looking out of the holo.  “Five thousand so far, with more appearing on the plot every ten seconds.”

“Where the hell are they coming from?” asked Yu, a shiver of fear running up her spine.  She had thought that something was going to happen, but this was the last thing she had in mind.

“We were tracking this tramp freighter on approach to the station at one light hour distance.  We contacted them by grav pulse and demanded identification.  When they couldn’t give us a satisfactory response my duty officer vectored a destroyer toward their location.  Moments later they started launching.”

“Can you stop them?” asked Lucille, the only thing she really wanted to know.

“We should be able to,” said the Admiral, doubt on his face.  “It’s a suicide mission.  It has to be.  Bu then again, they can’t expect to launch an attack this deep into this gravity well and get out.  Which means they will be harder to stop.”

Lucille pulled up the tactical plot on the wall of her office, watching as more icons appeared by the freighter, and icons started to appear from the Donut and the forts that guarded her.  She didn’t see what a freighter full of fighters was going to be able to do against all the firepower the Empire had in the system.  She watched as the counter got up to ten thousand fighters, wondering if a freighter could really carry that many.  She quickly looked up some information on the database, checking at the carrying capacity of a ten million ton fleet carrier, a larger ship than the freighter.  She cursed under her breath as she saw that the largest of the carriers could carry a little more than two hundred fighters, and that by cramming more into the hangars than they were built for.  And almost fifty times that number had already come through.

Could they have wormholes? she thought in alarm.  That had been the greatest fear that she and her production teams had had since news came that the Cacas had captured scientists from New Moscow.  The creation of wormholes wasn’t a great secret among the humans people.  It just required industrial resources and a great power source.  The Donut was their power source, which enabled them to make up to thirty wormholes a day.  But it had taken them over a century to construct the huge station, and there were other industrial concerns that required tremendous power generating facilities.  Such as supermetal manufacturing planets.

“Admiral,” said Lucille, linking back into the com with the Station Commander.  “I think you’re going to need to target that freighter as soon as possible.”

“What’s your thinking, Director?” asked Kalashnikov.

“I think they have a wormhole on that freighter.  And as long as it’s active, they can keep pumping their resources out into the system.”

*     *     *

Jennifer was enjoying the unit of Highlanders that was marching in front of the reviewing stand, high stepping it as they raised their rifles in salute, the bagpipers and drum major leading the way.  Suddenly sirens sounded over the city, drowning out the pipes and all the other music sources along the parade route.

“What’s going on?” asked the Empress of her Chief of Detail, looking down at her twins, who were still both asleep, though anything but peaceful.  Both infants were jerking in their carriers, their eyes moving back and forth rapidly under the lids   They were both having dreams, from their expressions more like nightmares.

“We’re getting a report that the Central Docks are under attack,” said the Chief of Detail, a shocked expression on his face.

“From who?”

“We don’t know yet, but they have launched on our ships.”  The Secret Service Agent looked out with unfocused eyes for a moment, obviously in link.  “We need to get you and the heirs to safety.”

“Are they coming here?”

As soon as the words left her mouth both children opened their eyes, not in the normal manner of infants having difficulty coming into the world of the awake, but from tightly closed to as wide open as they could get in an instant.  Both babies were soon screaming at the top of their lungs, their fear filled eyes moving back and forth, then locking upwards into the sky.

Did they have a prophetic dream? thought the Empress, staring down at her children.  She had studied the history of the phenomenon, and it had never before been seen in children this young.  Then again, how would anyone know if they had or not.  Obviously, whatever they had dreamed was scaring the hell out of both Augustine and Glen, and there was an attack going on in the system.  It seemed like too great a coincidence.

“We need to get you out of here, your Majesty,” said the Chief of the Detail, nodding to the nurses.  The two women came forward, holding attachments that they put on the carriers.  As soon as they were in place they closed up and sealed them in armored containers.  Inside they released light sedatives that calmed the children and put them back into a deep sleep.

“Get into your armor, your Majesty,” said the Chief of the Detail as an unmanned suit walked forward, then opened up for her.

“What about the rest of these people?” asked Jennifer, gesturing at the city.

“They’ll be opening the shelters,” said the Chief of Detail, motioning her along after the armor closed up around her.  The nurses followed, herding the two floating armored carriers along with them.  “Now, we need to get you to the shelter under the palace.”

“No,” said Jennifer, stopping for a moment and shaking her head.  “I won’t have my children closed up underground in a target area while an unknown enemy drops kinetics on us.”  She stood for a moment thinking.  “Get us out to the Imperial Compound.”

“OK,” said the Chief of Detail, moving his charges along until they got down to the landing pad and into the vehicles.  Again, Augustine went into one of the cars, while his Mother and twin brother went into another.

“I want to see Glen,” said Jennifer as the aircar left the ground.

“Not until we get you both to safety,” ordered the head agent, holding up a hand to stop the nurse from doing anything.

“The baby will be fine, ma’am,.” said the Nurse, smiling at Jennifer.  “The armored compartment will see to all of his needs, and keep him calm and sedated.  If he does need anything the monitors watching him will let us know.”

He needs his mother, thought Jennifer, looking away and out through the side window of the car as the city dropped below.  So far everything still looked peaceful, with the exception of numerous aircars heading up and out at maximum velocity, and the packed squares and streets starting to empty as citizens headed into buildings or ran for transportation hubs that would take them to their homes.

“We have enemy craft heading for Jewel,” stated the aircar pilot over the intercom.  “Fighters are scrambling, and we are receiving instructions to follow a course back to the palace.”

“Not the palace,” said Jennifer, sure that going back there would be a mistake.  It was, after all, a major target, noticeable from space.  It was a well defended target, but those defenses were intended to take on maybe a squadron of insurgents, not a major attack.  “Tell them we are going to the Imperial Retreat.”  The image of the Retreat was on her mind, over eight hundred kilometers to the northwest of the city in the Rainbow Mountains, overlooking one of the large tributaries of the mighty Capitulum river that flowed through the capital.

“Get on the com and tell central command that we are heading out of the city on a northwestern course,” said the Chief of Detail over the com.

“What if they ask for our destination?” asked the Pilot.

“Need to know.  Tell them only our general heading, and that this is the Empress’ business.”

Jennifer looked nervously through the camera function of her suit’s HUD, panning the view upward, to where bright pinpoints were appearing in the daytime sky.  Jewel was locked into a mutual orbit with New Terra, and this hemisphere was always pointed toward the center of gravity where sat the Central Docks.

I wish Sean were here, was her next thought, revised even as it passed through her mind.  In a way she was glad he wasn’t here, because if this thing went completely south, at least he was out of danger.

*     *     *

“What the hell is going on?” asked Tomas Gijardo as the emergency broadcast came breaking through the privacy block of his implant.

He looked down into the eyes of his lover as she came out of the ecstasy of love making, her own orbs with a confused expression in them.  “What?” Margo asked in an out of breath voice.

“This is an emergency broadcast,” came the voice over the link, at the same time as it came vocally over the apartment entertainment system.  “All citizens are ordered to take shelter in the nearest available facility.  Repeat, all citizens are ordered to take shelter.  This is a life or death situation, and for your own safety you are ordered to the shelters.”

Tomas tried to tap into the planet wide database system, something that every citizen was supposed to be able to access at any time, and ran into a blank wall.  The only thing coming over was the same maddening warning, overriding everything else.

“What’s going on?” asked Margo again, pulling the sheets around her as she sat up in bed, her eyes following her naked lover as he walked quickly to the large window overlooking the city.

“I don’t know, but it can’t be good,” he answered as he looked out from the window of his eight hundred and sixty-third level apartment, over twenty-five hundred meters above the street.  The view of the city was spectacular from this vantage, though it was too high to make out any details of the streets.  There did seem to be an inordinate number of aircars hitting the sky, with more joining them every moment.

Won’t do any good to try to get an aircar, thought the businessman, who didn’t have one of his own, and doubted there would be any for hire by the time he had gotten dressed and down to the garage level or up to the rooftop landing pad.

“Get dressed,” he told Margo, pulling his own clothes off the chair where he had flung them and pulling everything on as fast as possible.

“Where are we going?”

“The closest shelter,” he replied, sealing up his shoes, then pulling on a shirt.  He tried linking into the net again, this time with some success, as the list of shelters came up, along with the numbers of people who had already taken cover in each one.  The numbers changed as he looked, and it appeared that the closest shelter was not going to be available by the time they got there.

The shelter system had been in place for centuries, expanded through the years by the rightfully paranoid human government.  The two hundred and seventy thousand linear kilometers of transport tunnels were part of the system, used for overflow after the deeper, more secure refuges were filled.  The heart of the system were the eighteen thousand deep shelters, made up of the central capsules of battleships manufactured by the same companies that build them for Fleet use.  Each capsule was four hundred meters long by the same in width, with a height of two hundred and forty meters, giving each capsule an area of over thirty million cubic meters.  Each had its own water supply and food synthesizer, with power reserves that would last for several years, and, most importantly of all, the excavating equipment to dig a way back to the surface if needed.  Each shelter could hold a hundred thousand people, since they were devoid of most of the machinery that was installed on the central capsule of a warship.  That gave the entire system a capacity of one point eight billion people.  Impressive, but the population of the city was over three billion, which left a lot of people out in the secondary and not nearly as well protected overflow.

Each central capsule had a skin of ten meters of carbon fiber impregnated alloy armor, and was buried a kilometer or more beneath the ground.  Each was shielded by a number of lower tech inertial compensators that would protect those within from concussion.  They would handle a surface blast of over a hundred megatons.  Unfortunately, the same could not be said of major kinetic strikes.  One that hit directly over a shelter would still blast through all of the covering earth and plasticrete, through the armor, and into the heart of the capsule, killing everyone within.

“Here,” said Tomas, throwing a small pistol to the woman before he pulled a larger version and slid it into his belt.

“Why do we need these?” asked Margo, looking at the small protector in her hand.  Capitulum was a weapons restrictive city, like most on core worlds.  The Protector was one of the weapons allowed, a moderate velocity magrail carrying twenty rounds maximum in the sealed magazine.  When fired it would transmit a location signal to the nearest law enforcement agency.  It was a perfect weapon for self-defense in an area where the greatest threat would be petty criminals. And not so great a weapon for committing crimes.

“We’re under attack, sweetheart,” answered Tomas, throwing her the jacket she had worn this day, then picking up his own.

“From who?”

“We’re at war, honey.  Guess?”

“The Cacas?  So what in the hell are these pistols going to do for us?”

“This is life or death, Margo.  And we may have to defend ourselves against our competition in trying to survive.  Now let’s get the hell out of this death trap while we can.”

*     *     *

“Alert,” yelled the speakers on the base.  “All pilots to your craft.  This is no drill.”

Chief Warrant Officer Debra Visserman looked up from the game she was playing, her implant kicking her out of the virtual reality world she had been inhabiting for the last twenty minutes.  She was just about to attack the dragon with the sword of power that was throbbing in her hands.

[What’s the situation?] she sent over her implant.

“The system is under attack,” came back the voice of the group commander.  “We believe it’s the Cacas.”

“Shit.”  Visserman was on her feet in an instant, grabbing her flight jacket and running from the room.  “Do we know how they got here, sir?”

“We have no way of knowing that at the moment.  Just get to your ship and get her in the air.  We’ll worry about the rest after we’re in position to attack.”

The signal died, and Debra knew the Group Commander had no more time for her.  He had to get himself ready, as well as coordinating his sixty-three other aircraft and pilots.

The ready room was total confusion, all of the pilots in her squadron trying to get to their cubbies at once and everyone getting in the way of everyone else.  She elbowed her way past a frightened looking second lieutenant, then made her way to her own cubbie.  Backing in quickly, ignoring the shouts of the offended officer, she let her battle armor suit close up around her.  Without a second look at the officer, who was not in her flight, she was out the door of the ready room and running across the tarmac to her revetment.

Her F-48 Peregrine was sitting in the revetment, the crew chief and another enlisted rating making the last minute settings to prepare her for a combat flight.

“Give us one more minute, ma’am,” said the Sergeant, tapping a button on the control panel by the wall.  “She’ll be good to go.”

Visserman wanted to yell at the Sergeant, to get him to hurry up, but she knew the man and knew he was doing his best at the moment in a tense situation.  She nodded as she looked over at the other enlisted soldier as he slid a pair of proton packs into the nose compartment of the ship.  At the same time a pair of sealed tubes rose up from two hatches that had opened on the tarmac underneath the plane and inserted themselves into the weapons bays of the fighter.

“She’s ready to go, ma’am,” said the Sergeant, pulling off the last attachments that linked the aircraft to the diagnostic system.

The cockpit cover retracted while the Chief Warrant Officer lifted her suit off the ground and maneuvered over the seat, lowering herself into place.  As soon as her butt hit the seat the locks in the cockpit grabbed her suit and held it in place.  She ran a quick diagnostic on her fighter over her HUD, then powered up the ship.  The Sergeant and his subordinate moved away from the ship, the NCO raising his hand in the air in a farewell gesture.  She only hoped it wasn’t a final farewell, and that her ground crew, and the base, would still be here when the mission was over.  And that she would still be around to return.

Well, you wanted a combat tour, she thought as the fighter lifted off the tarmac and she nudged it forward for a moment.  Looks like your wish has come true, though you didn’t want it to be in the capital system.

She pulled the joystick back and pushed the throttle forward, rocketing upward into hypersonic speed in seconds.  Debra tapped into the com net, getting a situation report so she could see what she was up against.  As the data came over the link she realized that her worst fears had not been bad enough.

Chapter Eleven

By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail. Benjamin Franklin

The brand new hyper VII missile defense destroyer Marta Jornell was the first ship to eat a missile.  A ship purpose built for missile defense, she probably would have survived the single missile homing in on her if she had been loaded with weapons and crew.  As it was, she was empty of any kind of munitions, and had nobody aboard except from builders putting on the finishing internal touches.  None of her sensors were active, and the construction crew didn’t even have time to know that they had been targeted before a five hundred megaton warhead detonated amidships, vaporizing several thousand tons of the destroyer and sending the rest on a fast tumble out of the ecliptic of the system.

After that more ships were hit, some unmanned, others with enough crew and weapons to mount a defense.  It was still a one-sided slaughter, here and there a Ca’cadasan fighter taking a beam hit or running into the stream of a close in weapons system, exploding in the emptiness of space.  Most of the hits were on Imperial ships, and within minutes a task group worth of vessels were so much scrap.  The enemy weapons hadn’t the time to generate the velocity for the kind of kinetic kills that normally shattered ships, and warships, even the lighter varieties, were very tough beasts.  Cruisers took multiple hits before they were killed, while some of the battleships took a half dozen detonations and were still salvageable.

Over a thousand Ca’cadasan fighters were now engaged in attacking the Fleet repair and construction center which had been caught flat footed.  There had been no reason to believe the Cacas were capable of attacking them here, and now they paid the price.  Ships that had taken from six months to a year to construct were destroyed in seconds.  Crew were killed before they could get to their stations, while valuable ship builders were wiped out aboard ships getting ready for trials, or on shuttles taking them back to their habitats.  One of the habitats, a huge spinning structure that was home to twenty thousand workers and their families, lit up the targeting computers of a Caca ship attack craft, and ate a ship killer missile that reduced its unarmored hull to millions of fragments, the bodies of helpless civilians floating among them.

Space was sprinkled with the flares of antimatter explosions.  The first minutes went to the Cacas.  After that the ships that were crewed and armed started coming to ready stations, while the many forts started launching their fighters and adding their beam weapons to the mix.

*      *      *

“Missile impact in eighteen seconds,” called out the Duty Officer, Captain Victoria Crenshaw, who had now assumed the position of tactical officer on a platform that had never been intended to fight a battle.

“Engage,” ordered Admiral Hoshi Nakama.  “Pull out all the stops.”  With that order he gave his Captain permission to fire everything she had that would bear, no matter what might be in the background that could be hit as well.  There was a lot of valuable equipment out there, but the Central Station was the most valuable piece of property in this space, and the Admiral was not about to lose it on his watch.

Sixteen weapons were coming in.  The station was too big for one of them to destroy it, but four would probably do the job of putting it out of commission for a year or more.  Now the lasers aboard started swinging through space, seeking the missiles that were coming in on evasive paths.  One weapon evaded at the last second, crashing into a cutter that was trying its best to get out of the way.  Four more detonated from direct laser hits from batteries that wouldn’t have been out of place on a battleship.  Eleven came on, into the firing arcs of the close in weapons systems.

Close in weapons systems were based on an old idea that had never gone out of style.  Each weapon consisted of three fifty meter long magrail tubes that were extended when in use.  Each tube would accelerate the thirty-five millimeter shells to an exit velocity of point three three light, at the rate of three hundred rounds per minute.  Fifteen rounds would leave each weapon each second, arming as soon as they were free of the tube.  Each round was a simple casing around a class IV crystal matrix power cell, more powerful than any explosive this side of antimatter.  It powered the blast of the round as its simple sensor system calculated the closest approach of a material object.  If all worked well that detonation occurred in front of the missile, and the resultant puff of plasma was enough to destroy the sensor head of the incoming weapon.  With a little more luck the missile would be knocked off course, or even destroyed as its warhead breached.  In the seven seconds it took the missiles to close with the station, the two hundred and ten autoweapons that could bear had put out over twenty-two thousand rounds, streaming them in cones that took up the most area.  Eight missiles detonated far enough away that they had minimal effect.  A laser took out one more, and two got close enough to cause damage.

One missile detonated within five hundred meters of the station, sending waves of heat and radiation into the twenty centimeter thick hull.  Alloy vaporized, holes opened, and atmosphere and people came streaming out of the openings.  Those who been able to get into battle armor had a chance of survival, a chance of making it back to the station or another platform.  The ones who hadn’t were either killed instantly, or choked out their last breaths in the vacuum.  There was no one to rescue them, everyone else busy trying to fight back or survive themselves.

The second missile hit dead into one of the lower sections of the station, an area of quarters and several hundred repair hangars.  The missile penetrated the hull and went in to a depth of a hundred meters before the one gigaton warhead went off, sending a blast wave out that ruptured thirty cubic kilometers of station and incinerated everything flammable within the area.  The hundreds of destroyers and cruisers in the repair hangars also sustained variable damage.  They were all tougher than the station, but they weren’t invulnerable, and the substance of the station perpetuated the blast like a vacuum couldn’t.  Scores of ships were ravaged by the explosion, damaged to the point where it would take what was essentially a rebuild to be put back into service.  The others all sustained some damage, from major to minor.

“That was a hit,” called out Crenshaw as the deck jumped underneath their feet.

No shit, thought the Admiral as the damage klaxons sounded.  He looked at the damage schematic that showed almost an eighth of the station for all intents and purposes gone.  Bulkheads cracked, blast doors blown in, thousands of life monitors offline in a chilling technological display of death.

“We have nine more incoming,” shouted out one of the Techs manning a tactical board.

Nakama stared at the icons coming toward his station, fewer than in the first spread, but then again, he had fewer weapons to try and take them out.

“Splash three,” shouted out the gleeful Tech.  “Splash two more.”

The Admiral looked over at the tactical plot, watching as fast accelerating icons came in from the side and three more missiles fell off the plot.

“Those are our fighters,” said Captain Crenshaw, a smile on her face.

Every fortress in the dock area, every platform that carried them, had been launching fighters as fast as they could get pilots into them.  They had been able to get less than a thousand into space, from the five thousand or so that were stationed at Central Docks.  But they were joining the fight.

As the Admiral watched the plot, a unit of seven Ca’cadasan attack fighters, six hundred ton vessels, fought to change their vectors to get away from a full squadron of human short range birds.  Unlike the long range attack fighters that massed up to a thousand tons, these smaller craft were made for close in system defense, and were capable of over twelve hundred gravities acceleration.  The squadron had been making a head on approach, and now boosted on a vector change that curved them in from the side and behind the Caca fighters.  An exchange of weapons and all of the Cacas were gone, along with three of the human fighters.

“We have Cacas heading for Jewel,” called out one of the Techs.  He looked back at the Admiral.  “Orders, sir?”

Nakama stared back for a moment, trying to make the most important decision of his life.  His command was Central Docks, and it was one of the most vital facilities in human space.  It was also the place his very important carcass happened to be at the moment.  He might wish that didn’t make a difference, but it did.  He knew the Donut was under attack at this time as well, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, so it was out of his mind.  But Jewel was also important, the most heavily populated planet in the Empire, as well as the seat of Government.  The Empress and the heirs were there, and the damage to the morale of the Empire would be unimaginable if they were killed.

“Order a fighter strike to go after those fighters,” he ordered, a sick feeling running through his stomach as he spoke.

“That will degrade our own defenses,” said Crenshaw, doing her job in letting him know the consequences of his orders.

“I know.  And we will just have to do the best we can.”

The Captain smiled in return, letting him know she had also thought out the harsh equations of battle and approved of his decision

“Have we found where those damned fighters are coming from?” the Admiral asked his command crew.

“I think they are coming from that freighter,” said one of the Techs, looking back at the Admiral.

“How in the hell are they getting so many fighters out of that one ship?” asked Crenshaw, pinpointing the vessel on the tactical plot.  They couldn’t actually see the ship, not with all of the other objects in their space, especially with all the added flotsam and jetsam about.  Which meant they couldn’t hit the ship with any of their defensive lasers.

“They have a wormhole,” said Nakama in a hushed voice.  The intelligence people had floated it as a possibility, but he had dismissed it in his own mind.  After all, it had taken his own civilization decades to perfect the technique of generating the shortcuts through space.  And they had only become practical with the completion of the Donut.

“I didn’t think they had the capability to make them,” said Crenshaw, mirroring his own thoughts.

“Made it, found it, or shit it out their oversize asses, I think we are dealing with one.  Send…”

The station shook again, this time from several minor hits in the five to ten megaton range, fired from some of the faster space superiority fighters that were mixed among the ship attack craft.  These missiles were made to take out other fighters, but any damage done to the station had to be a plus as far as the Cacas were concerned.  The lights blinked on the control deck, then went out completely for a moment before the emergency lights came on.

“Send a signal out to whoever we have that’s combat ready,” continued the Admiral, knowing that he had to get this order out before anything else happened.

“All communications are down, sir,” called out the Lt, Commander in charge of the com crew.  “I’m receiving nothing.  I think that last hit must have cut us off from any of the com arrays.”

“I think everything has been cut off, Admiral,” said Captain Crenshaw, looking up from the board she had been monitoring, a worried expression on her face.  “We’re strictly on local emergency resources at this time.”

“Dammit,” growled the Admiral, slamming his hand down on a chair arm.  He looked around the control room for a moment, amazed that any of them were still here.  All were still in their skinsuit duty uniforms, none had had the time to get into their battle armor.  None had had the presence of mind to even think about it.  They had periodic drills, but no one had really thought this station would ever come under attack.  Nakama looked at his Com Officer.

“Commander Jingar.  Get together a team.  I need to get a message out to the nearest section that still has com access.  And get us connected back into the net.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the Commander, getting up from his seat and heading for his armor cubby, pointing at two of his people to follow suit.

“I should go, sir,” said Crenshaw, waving for the commander to go back to his seat.  “I know this station better than anyone here.  Even better than you, sir.”

Nakama looked at his duty officer for a moment, all of the things that could go wrong running through his mind.  But there was no guarantee any of them would be here after the next few moments.

“Go,” he said, waving her toward her battle armor.  “But be careful.”

The Captain smiled and ran to her cubby, backing in and letting it put her armor on over her skinsuit.

“Everyone get into your armor,” ordered the Admiral.  There was nothing they could do at the moment anyway, and the armor could be the difference between life and death.

“I’ll get through, sir,” said Crenshaw before her faceplate lowered.  “Don’t you worry.”

But that’s my job, thought the Admiral, feeling helpless now that he was cut off from having any input to the battle, no matter how little.

*     *     *

“Orders, ma’am?” asked the Chief who was running the helm, looking back at his commanding officer.

Jean d’Arc was evading as best the Chief could do with a ship that was more or less stuck in one place.  Lasers and close in weapons were manned and firing at everything that came with their firing arcs.  As she glanced at the plot she saw another squadron of Caca ship attack craft come sweeping in, putting missiles into every ship they could hit.  Those that were still in the process of construction or major refit were easy targets, and most were hit by weapons that left them tumbling wrecks.  Most flew off on odd tangents, some went into other ships in collisions that caused minor damage to the intact ships, and in some cases continued the breakup of the heavily damaged warships.

Mei and her task group were now in the fight.  She had lost a couple of ships at the start, before they had gotten their crews to battle stations.  Some more had been damaged since, but trying to kill a ship that was powered up and moving was a completely different proposition from hitting a bunch of helpless new construction.  The Admiral grinned like a predator as half the Caca squadron disappeared under the fire of her ship’s weapons.  A friendly fighter that had been following too close, trying to move in for a kill, died as well, a victim of the misnamed friendly fire.  Mei felt bad for the pilot, but at the moment her task group was more important than a single fighter that might happen to wander into the kill zone.

“Might I suggest that we move out of the Central Dock area and give ourselves some room to maneuver,” said the Tactical Officer.

Mei thought that over for a moment, then rejected it.  They were where they needed to be.  Their present position put them in major peril, but it also allowed them to engage the enemy in the most efficient manner where the enemy was attacking.

“Make way, but keep us near the outer region of the Docks,” ordered the Admiral.  She looked over at her Tactical Officer.  “Engage the enemy, but also look out for concentrations that we can head into.  Com.  Inform the rest of the squadron of our intentions.  They are to do the same.  I don’t think they need stick with us, though I would prefer that we stay in small groups at least.”

The Com Tech went about getting the message out while Mei continued to study the plot.  More enemy craft kept coming, seemingly out of nowhere, in endless numbers.

“Captain von Rittersdorf is reporting that he and two of his squadron will be sticking with us, ma’am,” said the Com Officer.

“Excellent,” said Mei with a grin.   “No one I would rather have guarding our flank.”

“Any other orders to go out, ma’am.”

“Find out where in the hell these guys are coming from,” said Mei, her eyes flashing.  “There has to be a launch vehicle somewhere.  I want to find it and kill it.”

*     *     *

Most of the attack wave heading into Jewel was coming in on the dayside, on the hemisphere that was always facing Central Docks and the planet New Terra.  The hemisphere of Capitulum and many of the other megacities of the planet.  The attack craft that were carrying ship killer missiles veered off from the planet and moved into a launch position on the six orbital forts, five of which were in a position to take them under fire.  The forts were launching their own anti-fighter missiles, as well as some ship killer weapons that were tasked as area kill devices.

Missiles streaked out from the attack ships, heading for the quintet of forts that were in sight, as well as a half dozen superfreighters and four liners in far orbit.  The forts had the ability to defend themselves, the freighters not so much.  Heavy warheads detonated several thousand kilometers above the atmosphere, doing little more than shining momentary bright lights on the surface.  All six of the superfreighters took hits, blasting their thirty million ton bulks with a gigaton of force each.  The bulk freighters were mostly empty space, sturdy enough for their task, but without the inherent toughness of warships.  Ten million tons of ship and twenty million of cargo were scattered across space, much of the bulk going into the atmosphere to burn up on the way in.  Some of the larger pieces didn’t go up in vapor, and became the first offensive objects to strike the planet.

The liners were a little sturdier, if still unarmored, and they were also finished by single warheads they couldn’t battle.  The missiles heading into the civilian traffic stations above the planet fared much the same, though it took several hits to destroy the three massive objects in orbit.  The weapons heading for the forts had a harder task, as those structures were made for battle, a hundred and twenty million tons of heavily armored mass each, with weapons aplenty.   Each was targeted with from ten to nineteen missiles each, and only two weapons total got through, to detonate on the hulls that were battleship tough.  As the flashes cleared away the two forts were still in action, if at a reduced capacity.  Return fire killed over a hundred of the Caca ships, and the survivors veered off, letting the next wave have a crack at the forts.

Another group of Caca craft sent the first wave of kinetic penetrators into the planet below.  Each was a rod of dense metal massing about a hundred tons, small grabber units accelerating it well beyond the reach of gravity alone.  Most were aimed at the capital city, the primary target, some at specific locations, others at random areas in order to cause chaos.  Several hundred penetrators were launched, and over fifty of them hit the debris that remained of the freighters and liners, either vaporizing on impact or damaged to the point where their original trajectories were only a wish.

Forty squadrons of the smaller fighters, the first wave, lanced into the atmosphere as the first of the pinpoints of light that were the kinetics striking flared.  Five hundred and sixty fighters, they diverged on individual squadron paths and started on a search for targets of opportunity.  Into the heaviest defensive fire in the New Terran Empire.

*     *     *

I got you, you son of a bitch, thought Visserman as she pulled her fighter into an approaching angle on the flight of Caca craft.  Her Peregrine responded to her practiced touch like it was a part of her, and as soon as the indicator lit she triggered her twin particle beams at maximum intensity, walking the lines of hyper-velocity protons into the hull of one of the enemy fighters.  Alloy blew out, the cockpit flared, and the craft dropped dead from the sky in a tumble that was soon superheating from the uneven friction of an uncontrolled reentry.

The Chief Warrant pulled her fighter around, killing her velocity in an instant, then pulling down at maximum acceleration into the atmosphere, lining up on the rear of another Caca bird.  Particle beams still in need of some cooling, she took aim this time with her nose laser, hitting the tail of the Caca fighter with the megawatt range weapon and burning off one of its stern grabber units.  The Caca fighter veered, whether from the action of the pilot or the unbalancing of its thrust due to the loss of the grabber she couldn’t tell.  Since her finely honed reflexes moved her with it, she really didn’t care, and she hit it again with a laser, this time burning through the hull along the port side, pumping enough heat into the craft to blow it out of the air.

The other two ships in the flight now took note of her, pulling up and around.  That made her task a little more difficult, since these two would now try to kill her as a team.  But it was also keeping with her mission, as this pair would not be able to search for targets if they were trying to deal with her.  As she pulled her fighter on its side and banked away she saw a couple of flashes from the ground, kinetics hitting the city below.  She cursed again, dodging away from nearest fighter that tried to line her up, staying as close as she could so she didn’t have to worry about their missiles.  She also didn’t want to get in a missile duel at this time.  She doubted she would have a chance to rearm, and she had a feeling she would need her long range sting later on in this fight.

Chapter Twelve

Whether people be of high or low birth, rich or poor, old or young, enlightened or confused, they are all alike in that they will one day die. Yamamoto Tsunetomo

“Jesus Christ,” screamed Margo as the ground shook under their feet.

“They’re hitting the city,” said Tomas, looking up at the ceiling as if he could get information on what was going on overhead.

The ground shook again and again as multiple kinetics came down.  The lift continued to smoothly move them to the lower levels of the building.  Unfortunately, everyone else in the building was also trying to get down and out, and he had to keep overriding the system that wanted to stop on each floor to let more people on.

“Should you be doing that?” asked Margo.

“If we want to get to the bottom of the damned building I do,” answered Tomas, wondering if he should cut her free as well.  He thought about it a moment and decided against it.  Just earlier this day he had thought of her as the love of his life, and he needed to do whatever he could to keep her alive if he wasn’t going to live the rest of his life thinking of himself as a bastard.  As long as he could keep her from getting him killed.

The building shook again, this time a much deeper shock, and the actual lift car shuddered to a stop.  A rumble sounded outside, and the light blinked for a moment, then came back with a lower intensity.

“I think this is where we need to think about getting off,” said Tomas, hitting the emergency door override code.  The door slid partially open, revealing that they were actually between floors.

“How did you know how to do that?”

“I’m a survivor, honey.  I make it my business to know how to work things.  Now, we need to get off this thing.”  He looked at the door and saw that the opening for the lower floor was too narrow to get his own body through, though Margo might be able to.  But then they would be separated by a floor, and there was no telling what shape the stairs were in.

The building shook again, this time from a shock wave that had to be much further away.

“Here, you climb up through that opening,” he told the woman.  “I’ll give you a boost, then I’ll follow.”

Margo nodded and started through the opening with the assist of Tomas boosting her foot.  As soon as she was through he climbed after her, having to squirm a bit to get his heftier body through the opening.  He was almost afraid that someone would be waiting on the lift landing.  At a time like this he couldn’t trust anyone.  It was a relief to find only Margo there, and to see that she had enough sense to have her Defender in her hand.

Looking up at the markings over the lifts he cursed.  They were on the hundred and eleventh floor, much lower than his apartment, but still a long walk down the stairs.  A lift harness was going to be his next large purchase, but the plan to get one in the future did him no good at this point.

“I guess we need to start walking down,” said Margo as the building shook once again.

“One second,” said Tomas, moving to the end of the hall where a large glasssteel window overlooked the city.  “I want to see what in the hell is waiting for us when we get down there.”

The window looked down on the river at an angle, all the way out to the bay and Peal Island, the home of the Fleet Academy.  The air was filled with haze, making it difficult to see in the distance, but he had no trouble seeing the mushroom cloud that was rising from the center of the island.

“Are they hitting us with nukes?” asked Margo, coming up beside him.

“Probably kinetics,” he answered, pointing to a deep crater on the other side of the river that was starting to fill with water.

“What the hell was down there?”

“Probably a shelter,” he answered.  “The kinetic penetrated down, and probably took out the whole thing.”

“Those poor people.”

Tomas nodded.  It was a chance going down in those things, but there were thousands of them, and the odds that a kinetic would hit the one you were in were pretty remote.  He looked over at the huge archology that had stood on the other side of the river from them, which was now a crumbled wreck bowed in the middle where the kinetic had struck.  A megascraper nearby was sheared in half, one side of its tough structure still reaching for the sky, the other side gone.

Something flared in the distance and another cloud started its rise.  Moments later the ground shook again.  Bright lines shone through the clouds of dust, while other streaks appeared momentarily and something high up in the atmosphere flashed fire and died.

“Well, we’re fighting back at least,” he said, pointing toward another flash.  “I just hope it will be enough.”

He looked back at Margo, who was still staring in horror at the city that was the center of the Empire.  It was a huge megalopolis, and only a small portion had been impacted as of yet.  Which didn’t mean it wouldn’t get the shit pounded out of it before all was said and done.

“Enough looking,” he finally said.  “We need to get out of here.”

“What happens if the building gets hit before we get out?” she asked.

“Don’t think about that,” he told her as he led the way to the stairs.  Because if that happened, the odds were they would never even know what killed them.

*     *     *

“OK, everyone,” yelled out Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom over the noise of the War Room.  “Everyone evacuate the building.   Head to the garage and get an aircar out of here, or to the basement and jump to the Donut.”

“We have a battle going on at the front, ma’am,” called out chief tactical officer, a Vice Admiral.

“And you won’t be directing any battle if they drop the Hexagon on our heads,” replied McCullom as another tremor went through the floor.  The Hexagon was probably the most heavily armored building in the city, but it wouldn’t withstand a high impact penetrator dropping onto the roof.  One wouldn’t collapse the whole structure, but with bad luck it could come right through the ceiling of the War Room and kill every valuable officer and enlisted spacer in the chamber.  And she was pretty sure this would be a primary target.

“Why aren’t they using antimatter warheads?” asked on the Techs, getting up from her station and looking at the nearest exit.

That was the question, thought MCullom.  The Cacas, however they got here, were using high yield warheads up above the atmosphere.  If they dropped a gigaton into the center of Capitulum, it would be really bad.  A quick check of the databanks showed just how bad.  The fireball would be over fifteen kilometers across.  Even the supertough structures of the city would be vaporized in that region.  Another five or six kilometers out and most of the structures would be heavily damaged, leading to some collapse.  In a prespace city that region of almost total collapse would reach out up to thirty kilometers from ground zero.  With modern materials there would be some damage, even to those structures, but nothing penetrating.  Basic stone and wood structures, of which there were still many examples even in this city, would be totally destroyed out to seventy-five kilometers, though the modern buildings wouldn’t even be touched, and the massive archologies and high-rises would shadow most buildings down range of them.  One of the worst affects would be from thermal and radiation damage.  People in the open out to thirty kilometers would simply be gone, even if they were partially shaded by buildings.  Citizens out to two hundred kilometers could suffer third degree burns and major radiation sickness.  Under normal circumstances all of those people could be saved and repaired.  In a city that was well smashed that could be a problem.

They could actually do much more damage by dropping a gigaton’s worth of ten megaton warheads, or the equivalent in kinetics.  Though she really couldn’t understand why they just didn’t saturate the city with gigaton range warheads.

The room started to clear out, people heading for one of the two evacuation points.  McCullom had already decided on her path.  The Donut had its own War Room, fully manned, ready to take over all of the datalinks from the battle going on at the Front.  Sure, the Donut was also at risk, currently under attack, but it would be hours before any enemy weapons got close enough to do any damage to the structure, whose very bulk made it as damage resistant as any object known to humanity.  It would take thousands of hits by gigaton range warheads in a compact area to break it apart.  There was always the risk of the quark warheads the Cacas had used in the last attack on the Donut.

“We need to go, ma’am,” said Captain Xiun, her aide.

The building shook again, then an air blast erupted over the city, something carrying some antimatter warheads breached under ground fire.  The Admiral followed her Aide and the security detail to the lift.  Fortunately, the War Room was under the ground level of the building, only ten floors up from the subbasement that housed the secure wormhole room.  The closest garage was twenty floors up, seventeen from ground level.  As long as the lifts were working it was much less than a minute’s ride.  If they went down, all of the very fit military personnel would be able to navigate the stairs quickly.

“In here, ma’am,” said her Aide as he waved the heavily armored Marines aside.

McCullom stopped in place for a moment, conflicted about leaving the building, her post, even though it wasn’t necessary for any of them to stay here.  She turned for a moment toward the Marine Sergeant in charge of security.

“Get every Marine in the building suited up who has one,” she told the anxious NCO.   “Then evacuate the building and report to the local authorities.  They’re sure to need you.”

“But the security of this portal?”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that at this time.  And we can secure it at the other end just as well.  Now go.”

As she was talking more of the personnel in the building ran into the room and through the portal, until there was a stream of them.

“Hold up,” shouted Captain Xiun, stopping he exodus for a moment.  “We need to get you out of here, ma’am.”

McCullom nodded, then followed the first of her security detail through the portal, feeling the confusion once again of transiting spacetime instantaneously.  It was a sensation she was sure she would never get used to, but it got her from here to there faster than anything else.

“Ma’am,” said a man in a Marine Brigadier’s uniform.  “We’re receiving a message from the Emperor.  He wants to talk to the ranking person available, which I’m guessing would be you.”

McCullom moved away from the wormhole, not wanting to block the way of the others coming through.  Xiun started giving orders, sending the techs and officers to the tram station that would take them to the auxiliary War Room and its ancillaries.

“Your Majesty,” said McCullom as soon as she was linked in.

“Admiral.  I’ve been apprised of the situation, so don’t bother to go into those details.  What I want to know is if you have any information about the Empress and the children?”

“Last I had heard, sir, they were on their way out of town with her security detail.”

“Not to the palace?”

“I don’t think so, your Majesty.  The detail asked for air clearance all the way to the Imperial Retreat.  I know, because I issued the clearance myself.”

“Thank god,” said Sean, his voice breaking.

There was a hesitation for a moment, and McCullom wondered what must be going through the Emperor’s mind.  No matter the outcome, this would be a black day for the Empire he led.

“What are your plans?” he finally said.

She linked into the structure’s tactical net and got a look at what was going on through the wormhole links.  “We still have the wormhole gate going through to the Central Dock area.  I’m not sure why they haven’t taken that out yet.  But we can still shift forces at this time.”

“Don’t do anything to weaken the defenses of the Donut,” cautioned the Emperor.  “If you can, transfer some ships from the other Supersystem worlds into the space around Jewel.  But if we have to lose one, I would rather it was the capital.”

“Are you sure, your Majesty?”

“Hell no, I’m not sure.  The one thing I am sure of is that if we lose the Donut, we lose the war.”

“Will you be coming back from the Front, your Majesty?”

“It will take seven hours for the ship I am on to get down to a safe transfer velocity,” said the Emperor.  “And we would have to leave the fleet to do so, since I am not about to stop all of these warships in space while we have a priority target ahead of us.”

McCullom nodded, then grunted her acknowledgement as she realized the Emperor would not see the head nod over a link com.  She understood the problem.  Missiles could transit over a wormhole at just about any velocity, since they were robust enough to handle the stresses.  Ships could also transit at a high velocity, if not as great as unmanned missiles.  A person was another matter.  The wormhole could absorb maybe a tenth of the speed of light differential between origin and target.  Anything over and the person would come through traveling at too high a velocity to survive, and would most likely be splattered against the nearest surface.

“We will try our best to hold down the damage, your Majesty.”

“I know you will, Admiral.  Save the Donut, eject the Cacas from our home system, and rescue my family.”

The link died, leaving McCullom to stare into space and think about the task before her.  Not much, really.  Just defeat a force of unknown size and capabilities, while trying to save the capital planet, a good portion of the shipbuilding capacity of the Empire, and the supreme weapon without which they would be the losers of this war.  Yeah, simple.

*     *     *

“If you take those ships away from me, your Majesty,” said Vice Admiral Naomi Okafor, her brown eyes staring in disbelief out of her ebony face, “I’m not sure my force can accomplish our part of the mission.”

“And if they destroy too much of the home system, it probably won’t matter if you do,” said Sean, closing his eyes and running his hand across his forehead, stopping to rub his temples.  “Those are the only ships that could make a difference in small numbers.  We don’t have time to get an entire battle fleet back to them, but those carriers might be able to do the job.”

“I’ve ordered the ships back to the wormhole gate to the Supersystem,” the Admiral said, nodding her head.  She still wasn’t sure about the order, but her Monarch had spoken, and it was her job to obey.  I’ve got the other ships, she thought, looking at the plot that showed her five hundred vessels sitting in front of another wormhole gate, while the three vital units that had been her ace in the hole were in transit back to the gate that led back to the Supersystem that was the heart of the Empire.  “It will take them almost an hour to get into position to transit.  What orders would you like me to give, your Majesty?  Which target should they move to aid?”

“And what order would you give, Admiral?  The Donut, or the capital and Central Docks?”

It was a shocking decision, and she could see why the Emperor was so stressed at the moment.  The Capital System was the center of everything, not just the seat of government, but the heart and soul of the Empire.  And Central Docks was still the largest shipbuilding and repair facility in human space.  With it gone, the Empire would find it much more difficult to keep up with the Caca in numbers.  But the Donut?  If it were gone, the war was lost.

“I would order them to launch their fighters as soon as they entered the proximity of the Donut.”

“And, God help me, that is the order I am going to give.  My heart is telling me to come to the aid of the Capital system, but the cost of losing the Donut is just too great.”

“We are sending the orders now, your Majesty.  Is the primary operation still on?”

“Of course, Admiral.  Make sure your people know what the Cacas are doing in our home.  Then hit them as hard as you can.”

The holo went dead, and the Klassekian Com Tech looked back at the Admiral, the strain of transmitting complete video from his sibling showing on his alien features.

Admiral Okafor looked at the timer over the plot.  Less than fifteen minutes till they jumped.  Hopefully into the trapping position the staff had planned.  And she thought once again of the Emperor, who was on the verge of fighting two battles within his mind.  The one against the Cacas, as dangerous as it was still cut and dried.  And the battle within his own soul, as he chose what was best for his Empire, even at the cost of his own family.

*     *     *

The ground shook underfoot moments after the soft crumps of some explosion sounded in the far distance.  Here and there one of the weaker trees toppled, while rocks fell from the mountain range into the multiple valleys, smashing through the forest, crushing the villas the rich and the houses of the common people with no regard for wealth or worth.  Whole mountain villages disappeared under megatons of rock, rivers were damned up to flood their upper reaches, animals fled for their lives, often running to their own doom.

“What the hell is happening?” shouted Devera as the ground threw her off her feet, then tried to bounce her.  “Is this an earthquake?”

Rebecca looked at her adoptive mother with an expression of panic on her face.  From what she had learned in school geography, this part of the planet was not tectonically active.  If the ground was shaking there was something other than the movement of tectonic plates to blame.

The shaking stopped as soon as it started, then another shock hit, and another, with no rhythm that she could discern.

“Those are kinetics dropping,” yelled out Cornelius, his own reflexes keeping him on his feet.  “Someone is hitting the capital.”

“Who?” asked Rebecca, reaching out and grabbing Junior where he had toppled to the ground, crying in panic.  She wrapped her arms around the child and hugged him close, comforting the toddler.

“I don’t think we need many guesses,” said Cornelius, kneeling at the side of his children.  “I…”

A crack of wood and a scream behind them cut the Ranger short, and he jumped to his feet, turning in the air to orient himself on the source of the cry.  Rebecca looked over, to see her adoptive mother lying on the ground, a large branch lying on top of her.  Cornelius grabbed the branch, which would have required the strength of several men to lift, and pulled it off her with his adrenaline fueled augmented musculature.  Throwing the thick branch aside, he knelt down at the side of his wife.

“She’s still alive,” said Cornelius, placing gentle hands on her chest.

Rebecca got to her feet, picking Junior up and moving toward her parents.  She could see that Devera’s chest was rising, and that her breathing wasn’t regular.   Blood was bubbling at her lips.  Even Rebecca knew that these were signs of internal injuries, and not something they could treat out here in the woods.

“Hang in there, honey,” said Cornelius in a quiet voice.  He looked up a Rebecca, his face a shifting mask of emotion.  “I’m going to have to get her to the car.  I can put her into cryostasis with the bag I have in the trunk.”

“Should you move her?” asked the concerned child.  “What if she has a spine injury?”

“That can be repaired, as long as I can keep her brain intact.”  Cornelius bent down and picked up his wife in his arms, then straightened up and shifted her into a more comfortable carry.  “I’m going to run back to the car with her.  You follow with Junior as fast as you can.”

Rebecca nodded, a chill running down her spine.  I shouldn’t have any trouble getting me and Junior back to the car, she thought as she watched Cornelius turn away and start off down the path at a dead run, faster than any normal person could move.  Devera groaned as he ran, and the child said a quick prayer that her adoptive mother would make it.  Even as fast as the Ranger could run, it was at least ten minutes back to the car.  If she stopped breathing she had five minutes before brain deterioration started.  They could still save her, but with some of her memories gone.  There would be no telling which of those memories would be missing.  It might be enough for the military to get a functional soldier back, who could be retrained to make up for what they had lost.  It might not be enough for a family member.

“Let’s go, stinker,” she told Junior, picking him up into a side carry and walking down the path.  At his size, and her still being a child with the strength of a pre-improvement sixteen year old, there was no way she would be able to run with the child.  In fact, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be carrying him the whole way.  Part would be him walking beside her while she held his hand.  It would be slow going, but it would be the only way to go.

The ground continued to shake with the arhythmical beat of bombardment.  They weren’t as strong as before, which probably meant they were further away.  She had no idea what was going on in the city right now, but she was more than happy that she wasn’t there at this time.

*     *     *

“Captain von Rittersdorf would like to speak with you ma’am,” said the Com Tech.

“Put him on,” said Mei Lei.  “You have a plan, Maurice?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the dashing young Duke on the other side of the com holo.  “It seems that the capital planet is also catching hell.  I suggest that I and my squadron head for the planet, to help them out.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” asked the Admiral, leaning forward in her seat.

As the young Captain explained his plan, something unorthodox but not unheard of, she found herself nodding.  “You have my permission.  Just make sure you don’t drop any of your ships onto the surface.”  Since each vessel carried enough antimatter to explode like a hundred gigaton bomb, a breach close to the planet would be catastrophic.  But the Admiral was willing to take that risk at this point.   Still…

“Jettison all of the antimatter you have aboard except for enough for a couple of working hours at full energy usage,” she ordered the Captain.  “Set them for a course outside of the Jewel/New Terra system.  Program their tracking devices to come on in twelve hours.”

“You think that will be enough, ma’am.”

“If it isn’t, I think retrieving that antimatter will be the least of our problems.”

*     *     *

The Empress looked out the side of the car toward the palace, and the mountainside to the west of it.  There was already one crater on the palace grounds, with the partial collapse of one of the large wings of the building.  There were mushroom clouds rising from the foothills of the mountains, where the villas of the Lords and the rich commoners who lobbied the government lay.  It looked like over a score of penetrators had come down, taking out maybe thirty of the villas, not a very good return for the investment.   As far as she knew, most of the villas were unoccupied by all but the service staffs, and all the elites were elsewhere, enjoying the break that Imperial Day Weekend brought.

What puzzled her were the heavy strikes on the eastern side of the mountains, the ridges overlooking the city.  The mushroom clouds rising there were thicker than those on the foothills.  What in the hell are they aiming at? she thought.  As far as she knew there was nothing there, unless the Cacas had received some faulty intelligence, or unless there was some significance to mountains overlooking cities in their culture.

“Keep your suit locked up, your Majesty,” said her Chief of Detail.  “We just got word that some Caca fighters might be coming in on us from the east.”

“Can we outrun them?” asked a frightened Jennifer, more afraid for her twins than herself.

“Not a chance, ma’am,” said the frowning agent, reaching over and activating the interlocks on the baby carrier, making sure it was sealed up.

Jennifer looked nervously at the carrier, knowing that the precious cargo inside was as protected as could be.  The armor of the sphere was actually thicker than that on her suit, and its rounded shape gave it more intrinsic strength as well.  It also had the state of the art electronic systems that would protect the occupant from concussion, inertia, and falls.  Still, she would have felt better with the baby in her arms.  With both of her children with her actually.

“Here they come,” yelled out the pilot from the forward compartment.

The aircar suddenly juked in space, down and to the side, while the others in the convoy followed suit.  The top cover of Marine fighters turned around in the air, flying backwards and putting every weapon they had onto the enemy craft.  The rearmost aircar exploded in the air, hit with a missile, while the rest continued to scatter and their fighter cover started weaving through the sky in dogfights with the enemy.

“We should have gone on as singletons’,” said the Chief of Detail under his breath, just loud enough for the Empress to hear.  “We’re attracting too much attention.”

A missile sped in at another car, which fired its countermeasure at just the right moment to lure it away.

“We’re losing our top cover,” shouted the pilot.

“Where the hell are they going?” shouted the Chief of Detail.

“They’re pursuing enemy fighters, getting drawn off,” replied the pilot.

“Well, get on the damned com and get them back here.  They have one mission, and they’re not performing it.”

“Why are they coming after us?” asked Jennifer, resting a hand on Glen’s carrier, as if she could give him more protection.

“We have the look of something important,” said the Chief of Detail.

“That’s why you think we should have separated?”

“Yes, your Majesty.  And I’m sorry I made the wrong call.  But we still have a chance.”

“They got the rearmost bird,” called out the pilot over the intercom.  “Splashed her.”

The rear car was one of the Marine chase vehicles, heavily armored and armed, with six Marines in heavy combat armor aboard.

“Did anyone get out?” asked the wide eyed Chief of Detail.

“It looks like five of the Marines are levitating down, sir,” answered the Pilot.  The car banked furiously and shivered as it released some of its own countermeasures, small drones that would mimic the heat and electronic signature of the car for several minutes.  One of the drones lured in the missile that had been tracking the car, blowing up on the closest approach of the weapon and taking it out as well.

Jennifer stared at the explosion that was a hundred meters from the window she was looking out of.  She was thinking that if the Marines could survive a hit like that, she and her babies all had a good chance of surviving as well.  Not anything approaching certainty, but enough to give hope.

“We just lost the Prince’s car,” came the stricken voice of the Pilot over the com.  “It ate a missile.”

“Anything come out?” yelled the Chief of Detail, while Jennifer opened her mouth in a silent scream.

“I think we got a camera shot of some bodies.”

“And the carrier?”

“I didn’t see the carrier, sir,” chimed in the Copilot.  “And we’ve got another enemy fighter locking us up.”

Jennifer leaned her helmeted head against the carrier that contained the only baby she was sure was still alive, wondering how long he would still be among the living.

*     *     *

“No you don’t, you sons of bitches,” growled Chief Warrant Visserman as she got a lock on one of the two Caca fighters boring in on the attack.  She didn’t know what that group of aircars was carrying, but from the look of that many official vehicles it must have been something important.  She pulled the trigger on her joystick and released one of her missiles, watching what looked like a streak of light jump from her fighter to the rear of the enemy craft ten kilometers ahead.  The enemy ship went up in a flash as the kinetic force of the missile drove the warhead deep into the craft before detonation.

Visserman locked onto the other fighter as it started to veer away.  She checked her six for an instant, the fear that something might creep up on her rear sending a shiver down her spine.  She had already seen a score of her own people go down to Cacas coming in from the rear.  With a pull of her trigger she sent a missile at the other Caca ship, which released its countermeasure drones just before her own weapon left its bay.  The missile only had a flight time measured in microseconds, but was curving in the wrong direction as soon as it was out, striking the decoy.

“Shit,” yelled Visserman as she pulled her fighter back onto the tail of the enemy, switching over to beam weapons.  As her nose swept past the enemy fighter she engaged, sweeping twin particle beams and her nose laser through the enemy fighter, slicing off a wing and sending the Caca into the ground.  The Caca was able to cut in enough thrust to make a soft landing, but his ship wouldn’t be flying anywhere else this day.

“I’ll let the Marines handle you,” hissed Visserman as she pulled back up and looped her plane over.  That had been her sixth kill of the day, one past ace.  But she was thinking of how great it would be to make double ace in one day, since this could be her only day of combat.

*     *     *

“That hotshot took both of them off our tail,” shouted the Pilot.  “We’re clear, for the moment.”

“Are we going back to look for Augustine?” asked Jennifer, raising her faceplate to wipe away the tears.

“We’ll drop back one Marine vehicle to search,” said the Chief of Detail, shaking his head.  “They’ll call in help.”

If they can get it, thought the Empress, about to protest, then thinking better of it.  She knew the focus now would be on getting the only remaining heir out of the danger zone.  She was just an afterthought, important enough, but nowhere near as vital as the next Emperor.

“Just get Glen to safety,” she replied, not even sure that her other child still even existed.  There was a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if her whole life had gone.

*     *     *

“Should we tell the Emperor about his heir” asked Captain Xiun, looking into the eyes of Admiral McCullom.

The War Room aboard the Donut was just as spacious as that in the Hexagon.  The building had taken some hits, and a lot of damage, but so far it was still standing.  How long that would be true no one knew, since the enemy was still attacking Jewel.  Their attack on Central Docks was still going strong as well, and there was no telling how many ships they would lose before this day was over.  The first wave to hit New Terra had gone in, and so far the preliminary reports were that the Cacas had run into a buzz saw.  New Terra was a complex of military bases and training facilities, and there were plenty of weapons to be used by enthusiastic if not totally trained recruits.

“Let’s leave the Emperor in peace for now, said McCullom, shaking her head.  “How soon until the first enemy missiles are in striking range?”

“One hours and thirty-five minutes,” said Xiun, who had gotten on top of the local situation soon after they had arrived.  “They will be coming in at point nine one light.”

“And the fighters behind them”

“They are three and a half hours away, ma’am,” said Xiun, closing her eyes for a moment to read the link.  She opened her eyes and looked at her superior.  “They can’t expect to actually destroy us with those missiles, can they?  I wouldn’t count on them getting that many hits, if any.”

“They wouldn’t have launched the attack if they didn’t think they could do something,” said McCullom, holding up a finger.  “They’ve been known to make mistakes due to their arrogance, and this might be another one of them.  But it wouldn’t do for us to become so arrogant that we make the same mistakes, now would it.  So we spend this time trying to analyze just what they are trying to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed the Aide.  “I’ll get the staff working on it immediately.”

“Put everyone on it, Captain.”

“What about the front?”

“They will take care of themselves.  Lenkowski and Mgonda have full staffs.  We were just there as a backup, to catch anything they might miss.  Now we have to let them assume all responsibility for their commands, while we take care of this battle.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get everyone right on it.”

*     *     *

“We’ll start bringing through fighters again,” said the Captain of Fool’s Bane, looking at his Ca’cadasan supervisor.  He looked back at the plot that was monitoring the system, and the one next to it that was showing the activity of the wormhole.   A hundred thousand missiles had come through in five minutes, accelerated on the other side according to a timetable, entering the hole and translating through while it was aimed at the Donut.  It was a maneuver demanding pinpoint accuracy, and nothing the Ca’cadasans had ever tried before.  Amazingly, the first part of the launch had gone perfectly, nothing getting in the way, every missile coming through without incident.

The problems had come when the ship had turned to take each of the series of wormhole gate rings under fire.  Someone had miscalculated, and the ship had not been able to move in time, sending several thousand missiles flying out into empty space.  There was no way they could change their course at this time without giving away the game.  Almost eight thousand had gone out on the proper course, and the ship had been able to line up on all the others on the proper timetable.

And in a little over an hour they should be approaching their targets, coming out of nowhere, thought the human with satisfaction, never for an instant thinking that what he was doing might doom his species once and for all.

Chapter Thirteen

A military man can scarcely pride himself on having smitten a sleeping enemy; it is more a matter of shame, simply, for the one smitten. Isoroku Yamamoto

H-1.

“There it is,” said the woman, stepping out of the wormhole that connected her not just to another place, but another time.  The space around them rippled just a bit, a tremor that went through their bones, causing both to grunt at the slight pain.  “Right where it was supposed to be.”

“It’s just a little thing,” said the man, gritting his teeth for a moment until the spasm passed.  “One small life.  But it can change so much.”

“Let’s do this,” said the woman, stepping away from the shimmering mirror that hung in the air behind them.  In front of them was the round object they had seen through another wormhole several days prior.  Or is that several weeks in the future, thought the woman.  The temporal concepts still confused all of them.  It was enough to know that they had gotten to where they were supposed to be at the proper moment, well before the search and rescue people would find the object.

“It looks pretty badly beaten up,” she said as she opened the access port and plugged the small device into the dock.  She read the data coming through for a moment.  “It took a lot of damage, but the interior is still intact.”

“We knew he survived,” said the man, looking around.  “Get the damned thing open so we can get this over with.”  He tossed the small bag he was carrying to the ground and readied his heavy particle beam rifle.

The woman nodded and accessed the locking mechanism.  With a hiss the sphere opened at the top, revealing the occupant, who started screaming bloody murder as soon as he was exposed to the air.

The woman picked the baby up, looking him over, not worrying about the emotional state of the infant.  “He appears to be healthy, though I wish he would shut up.”

“Just make sure you don’t drop him,” said the man, opening the bag and taking out the body of a like sized baby.

He tossed the body into the compartment from which the heir had come, then motioned for the woman to step back.  She pulled the override device from the port and complied, pulling a covering over the child that blocked out all signals from his implant.  The man aimed and fired his particle beam rifle, vaporizing the small body until there was nothing left but generalized protein residue.  He continued to lay the beam over the carrier until much of it had melted, then fired a couple of more shots for good measure, putting a couple of representative holes through the side.

“That should do it,” said the man, motioning back to the wormhole.

The pair headed for the portal to the future, while spacetime rippled around them once again, then they were through.  The portal closed behind them, its purpose served.

Minutes later the first of the search and rescue vehicles came in, settling down next to the ruined carrier.  Moments later the signal went out that the heir’s carrier had been found, and that the baby was dead.

*     *     *

It had been an arduous journey through the wreck of the station to get to a part where everything was still functioning.  At one point the station had shook from another hit, but that had been it.  Crenshaw wasn’t sure if the enemy had been beaten back, or had just decided that the priority was now the shipping and building slips that comprised the majority of Central Docks.

“Captain Crenshaw,” said the young Commander of Engineering when she had made it back into the powered part of the station.  “We’ve lost all contact with Command and Control.”

“I just came from there, Commander.   We need for you to get together a team to restore power and communications.  And I need to get word out to our forces.  We think we know where the enemy fighters are coming from.”

*     *     *

The battle cruiser shook from another hit, from the intensity not much of a weapon for attacking warships.  The launching fighter sped away, trying to change its vector and actually flying into a close in weapons stream that scattered its pieces through space.

“Those fighter missiles are not doing much damage, ma’am,” called back the Tactical Officer.  “But if they put enough of them into us..”

Mei Lei nodded, looking at the damage schematic.  A ten megaton missile barely penetrated the armor and through to the hull underneath.  Unfortunately, that missile had taken out two eletromag field projectors and a cold plasma injector, as well as damaging two barrels of a close in weapons system.  They could die the death of a thousand cuts from those kind of weapons.

A brilliant flare lit the near space, a much larger warhead going up from the hit of a close in weapon.

“Captain Matthers is reporting damage to his forward most laser ring, ma’am.”

Mei was about to reply to the Com Tech when that rating’s eyes went wide.  “We’re receiving an all units broadcast from Central Dock.  Targeting information coming through.”

Mei looked at the information that was populating the plot, wondering what Central Dock could tell them about the environment that they didn’t already know.

“What the hell is that?” she asked, watching as a blinking red circle appeared about twenty thousand kilometers from their location.  At first it was unrecognizable, until the sensors zoomed in to show what looked like a tramp freighter.  “They want us to open fire on a tramp?”

“That’s the order, ma’am.  They think that’s where the wormhole is located.”

“The wormhole?  They think these fighters are coming in through wormholes?”

“That what they seem to be saying, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Any way to verify their conjecture?” asked the Admiral, horrified at the thought of firing on a freighter that belonged to Imperial citizens.

“What in the hell would they be doing sitting there without being touched?” asked the Tactical Officer, looking back at her, an eager expression on his face.

What indeed? thought the Admiral, making up her mind.  The enemy had made a major mistake stationing their gate so close to the system.  It probably would have served them better if they had stationed it fifteen light minutes away.  But then again, they wouldn’t have gotten the advantage of surprise they had achieved.

“Target that ship with all laser rings,” ordered the Admiral.  “Let’s make sure we take it out.”

“What the hell is that?” exclaimed the Tactical Officer as another object appeared on the plot, followed in less than four seconds by another, then a third.  “My God.  Those are supercruisers.”

The four million ton ships that served the Cacas as their intermediate sized warships started to move as soon as they were through the gate, arraying themselves between the freighter and the Admiral’s force.  Ships kept coming through the gate, until there were ten of the vessels, arrayed in a protective sphere around their gate.  The lasers from the task group now had the electromag fields and armor of the Caca ships to deal with.  Those ships were firing back with every beam weapon they had, a knife fight that was almost even.  And meanwhile more fighters were coming through.

*     *     *

“What’s that?” cried Margo as the trumpeting sounded over the rumble of explosions in the distance and sirens close by.

“I don’t know,” said Tomas, grabbing her arm and pulling her close to the building.

The climb down the stairs had been long and arduous, but they were both young and in good shape, and it had been down, after all.  The entrance to the basement and the subbasements below it had been sealed off by what looked like an armored blast door, and if there was anyone on the other side, they weren’t paying attention to the pair yelling and pounding on the closure with a piece of metal.  So they had vacated the building and gotten out on the street, worried that a kinetic might come down on the structure and collapse it on top of them.

The outside had been frightening, and had almost driven them back in.  The air was filled with so much dust they were constantly coughing, and the ever present haze obscured their sight to no further than a couple of hundred meters.  In that distance they could see a couple of buildings that had collapsed.  It was almost impossible for a modern structure to be taken down by ground shocks, no matter how powerful, so they had obviously been hit by something coming down from above with major force.

The trumpeting grew louder, and the pair tried to press their backs through the wall, wondering what new horror had been unleashed on the city.  And then the forms had grown out of the haze, monstrous beasts with heads on the end of long necks, running as fast as they could plod along.  The first pair were followed by three more, an adult and two juveniles.  They disappeared once again into the haze, their trumpeting slowly growing more faint.

“They must have come from the zoo,” said Tomas, giving the haze one more wide eyed look.

“Those poor creatures,” said Margo.  “And I thought we were scared.  They don’t have a clue as to what is going on.”

Tomas nodded.  He agreed with her assessment.  Something must have hit the zoo, probably more kinetics.  There was no telling how many of the animals had been killed.  These five must have been the lucky ones.  If they had been close enough to the hits, even their great bulk wouldn’t have saved them.

“We need to get under cover,” said Margo, pulling at Tomas’ arm.

Something grunted, coming from the same direction the big herbivores had come from.  The grunt was answered, and then two large bipedal creatures came trotting out of the haze.

Tomas pulled Margo back to the wall, hoping that they hadn’t been spotted by the two creatures that had to be carnivores.  Their large heads swung this way and that as their nostrils distended, picking up the scent of the quarry they were tracking.

The eyes of one looked in the direction of the two humans, and it grunted, getting the attention of its partner.  That one looked over with the intense eyes of a killer, and Tomas wasn’t sure what to do, other than stand still and hope he didn’t soil himself.   He and Margo had guns, but he doubted they would stop creatures like these.

The carnivores looked at each other, and Tomas thought they must be trying to decide if these little things in front of them were worth the effort.  One started to lean forward, jaws agape, and Tomas thought he saw the end of his life, sliding down the throat of the beast.  The hooting of the large herbivores sounded from the direction they had gone.  The carnivore looked up, grunted, and both were on their way, trotting down the street.

Tomas let out his breath as Margo almost collapsed to the street.  Both looked down the street the direction the beasts had gone, then up the way they had come from.

“We need to get off this street,” said Margo, and this time Tomas agreed with her.  There was no telling what else was out there.  If the zoo had been hit there could be a million creatures not native to this world roaming the streets.

“Let’s see if we can find an underground station,” he finally said.  It might not be the best shelter, but it was better than nothing.  And right now it looked a lot better than being eaten.

*     *     *

A bright flash to the east was followed by a thunderous boom some moments later, along with a shock wave that rocked the aircars in their tracks.  Jennifer looked to the east through the side window of the aircar, which had automatically darkened from the flash.  A massive fireball rose over the site of the blast, over fifteen kilometers in diameter according to the HUD display of her suit, making it a hundred megaton device.  The fireball rose, forming the distinctive mushroom cloud rising up into the high atmosphere.  Another weapon flashed even further to the east, and the Empress had to wonder if there were any going off well behind them.

“What could they be going after?” she asked her Chief of Detail.  “Those are residential areas.”

“And the working areas for many of the people living there,” said the Chief.  “A lot of small factories and businesses there, as well as outlying campuses of Imperial University.”

“And the people?”

“I expect that most of them will have gotten to shelters by now, or evacuated.  And those were air bursts, nothing those underground would have to worry about.”

Jennifer knew speech meant to calm her nerves when she heard it.  She had learned all she could about the capital city when it became certain that she was going to become Empress.  The city was heavily defended, probably more so than most experts thought necessary, though after today none of them would admit to that viewpoint.  There were massive ground defense batteries in every direction, in a circle a hundred kilometers from the built up areas.  There were smaller batteries meant to take on any smaller craft that might come in.  The one thing they didn’t have were enough shelters for the population.  They were lucky if they had enough for half.  Which meant half the population had to make do with whatever they could find.  The underground, the interiors of stout buildings.  Many would probably stay in their homes, which might normally be safe enough, but not with kinetics raining down on them.

“I have bad news, your Majesty,” said the Chief of Detail after listening to his link for a few moments, his face growing more troubled by the second.

Jennifer wanted to shout for the man to shut up, to not tell her the lie she knew was coming.  Only it wouldn’t be a lie.  It would be the truth, and something she desperately didn’t want to hear, though she needed to know.

“Search and rescue found the Prince’s carrier.  It fell out of the car.”

“And Augustine?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“The carrier was penetrated.  It looks like a particle beam hit it and burned through.”

Jennifer brought her hands to her face, striking the plate that was in the way.  She lowered the plate and stared at the man, praying that she had heard wrong.

“As you know, your Majesty, the carriers are made to handle the destruction of the car that’s carrying it, as well as any kind of concussion.  But a particle beam can still burn through.”

The Chief stopped, looking into the face of the horrified mother.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I don’t know what else to say.”

And the man had rambled to make it through the words he didn’t want to say.

“And the Prince?”

“It looks like the Prince was vaporized, ma’am,” said the Chief, closing his eyes for a moment, then looking at her with some of the most pain filled eyes the Empress had ever seen.  “I am so sorry, ma’am.  We failed you.  We failed the Empire.”

The physician in Jennifer wanted to tell the man that he didn’t fail.  That things just hadn’t worked out.  But she couldn’t do that, not at this moment.  All she could think about was the new life that had been snuffed out.  A young man destined to rule the Empire, if they survived this war.  A war he knew nothing of.  And that hadn’t meant a damned thing, since it had still killed him.

“Get my surviving son to safety, Agent,” she finally said in a tone that could cut steel.  “We’ll worry about everything else once that is done.”

*     *     *

H-3.

“We’re hitting the outer atmosphere, sir,” reported the Assistant Engineering Officer who was the acting tactical officer of the Dot MacArthur.

“Keep her steady, Helm,” ordered Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf, looking anxiously at the plot.  He knew the Admiral had been joking about smacking his ships into the planet.  Still, if he did that, he would never live it down.

The plot showed Mabana on his port side, about a hundred and fifty kilometers to the east, while the Paxton was the same distance to the starboard.  The other six ships of the squadron, all he had brought back from the front, stayed higher up, just at the edge of the atmosphere.  They would fire down with their lasers and particle beams, while the three he brought lower would use not only the beams, but the close in projectile weapons as well.

The ship shook a bit from atmospheric turbulence, not too bad, just enough to let them know there was something out there other than vacuum.  He felt a thrill at doing something very few captains ever got to do.  With grabber units a warship could actually touch down on the surface, but most officers wouldn’t even try without good reason.  And basically, there were very few situations that gave one good reason.  This was the only one he could think of.

“Here they come,” shouted the acting Tactical Officer.  The ship vibrated as she released particle beams and streams of close in weapons fire at the swarming enemy craft.  This had been part of the plan, to give the enemy a target they could not ignore.  Not while the improvised antiaircraft platforms could slaughter them at will.  The close in weapons were set to accelerate up to a fraction of their capacity, a mere ten kilometers a second, the shells still set to explode on closest approach to the target.

Rounds cracked out at what still amounted to hypersonic speed in the gaseous envelope of the atmosphere, detonating all around the enemy craft where they didn’t physically strike.  In seconds they had cleared a half hundred enemy craft from the sky, while most of the remaining moved way at their best speed.

“Keep after them, tactical,” shouted von Rittersdorf as the ship shook from a couple of missile hits.  The ten megaton warheads blew through the armor and did moderate damage to the hull underneath, but it was nothing the warship couldn’t handle.  And any weapons like those that hit his ship, moving fifteen kilometers above the surface in rarified atmosphere, were weapons that were not hitting just above the city.

*     *     *

“What the hell,” gasped Visserman as she looked above her to see the warship move down into the atmosphere.  At first she through it might be part of the enemy attack, but very soon her sense got over the initial panic and she recognized it   A query of her ship’s computer confirmed that it was a destroyer, and she could see several more on her HUD in the distance.

What seemed like madness made a lot of sense as she noted the destroyer was firing just about everything she had at the enemy fighters over the city.   Lasers, particle beams, even close in weapons systems.  Most of the shots missed, but there were more than enough hits to keep the enemy busy dodging instead of attacking.  Some of the misses hit within the city, those fired on a downward angle.  Particle beams ripped into structures already heavily damaged, while exploding shells detonated on roadways and the wrecks of vehicles.  And every second at least one enemy fighter met its end.

Debra made damned sure that her Identification Friend or Foe was active.  She didn’t want to get shot down by her own side.  Next she pulled lower and away from the destroyer, not willing to test her luck.  Close in weapon rounds were detonating all through the air, and in less than a minute there were at least thirty enemy aircraft turned into spreading clouds of debris, while a score or more fell to the earth trailing smoke.  A few rounds exploded near her craft, going off prematurely, a sign that they had picked up her IFF, but were traveling too fast to completely avoid harming her.

In moments she was out of the firing pattern of the destroyer that was still taking the enemy fighters under long range fire from her beam weapons.  Shrapnel fell below on the city, the shells all detonating before they passed the altitude of two kilometers.  That meant that some still hit the tops of the megascrapers, causing minimal damage to structures that had already been evacuated.

It seemed to her that the Fleet had its shit together, at least here.  Now, if they could only plug whatever route the enemy was using to keep pouring fighters into the twin planetary system.

*     *     *

“It seems like a certainty, your Majesty,” reported Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda over the com holo.  “This large force is heading directly for New Moscow, and is most likely going to bypass anything on the way.”

“And we think they have a wormhole?” asked Sean, trying to keep his mind on the battle and not on the fight that was still going on in the capital system.  There was nothing he could do about that fight, and he wasn’t about to order a superheavy battleship like Augustine I to slow down and leave formation so he could jump back to the Donut, and from there to Jewel.  Though he wasn’t sure what jumping to Jewel would mean, since from last report the Hexagon was badly damaged and evacuated, and Central Docks would still leave him some fifty thousand kilometers from the capital, with no way to get there through the enemy assault.

“That would be the smart way to bet, your Majesty,” said the man, one of the highest ranking combat commanders in the Fleet.  And someone whose opinion Sean trusted completely.  “They can’t have many of them, and we know where two of them are at this moment.”

In the Supersystem, thought Sean with a grimace, nodding.

“But a major offensive like this would call for having a wormhole, if they have any.”

“And they have what, two thousand ships in that formation?”

“That’s what our scouts are telling us,” agreed the Duke.  “A large force, but not as big as expected.”

The other two forces moving in, one toward the Republic, one at the Empire, were larger.  And there were some moderate concentrations of up to a thousand ships in New Moscow imperial space.    But if they did have a wormhole in all of the larger forces, they could reinforce any of them at need, moving forces in for an attack, then pulling them out to support another thrust.  And two can play that game, thought the Emperor, sure that his side could still play it better.  After all, the Cacas couldn’t have more than a score of wormholes total, versus the thousands possessed by the Empire.  An example of that was the wormhole equipped scout that had tracked this force they were discussing.  The enemy couldn’t have enough to equip scout ships with them, meaning that information only came as fast as ships could transit back to the fleet.  Sean and his forces had not only the wormholes, but now the Klassekian com techs, equipping thousands of scouts with instantaneous com.  What they knew he knew, as soon as they did.

But our reinforcements for New Moscow are now heading elsewhere, though the Emperor, closing his eyes and clenching his fists.  Ships were being rerouted all over space.  What had been tasked as reinforcements for New Moscow were heading by whatever gate they could find back to the Supersystem.  And the Elysium and Crakista ships they had been counting on to augment his fleet were at home, under the orders of leaders who were acting like pouting children.

“Do you want me to order those ships rerouted, your Majesty?” asked the frowning Admiral.   “We can still get more ships into the New Moscow system before those Cacas ships get there.”

“And when will they get there?” asked the Emperor, meaning the enemy.

“ETA is forty-one hours, your Majesty.”

And we have no idea what else the bastards are going to bring through into the home systems.  If we don’t reinforce, they are likely to defeat everything we have they, and then destroy everything at their leisure.

“I’d hate to lose New Moscow a second time,” interjected Mgonda.

“I would too, Admiral.  But I would hate to lose the heart of the Empire even more.”  Sean shook his head, hating to make another of these calls that sentenced people to death so that others could live.  But it was his call.  “Keep moving ships toward the Supersystem.  New Moscow will just have to hold out until we can get to them.”

“And our soldiers on the planet?” asked the Admiral.  “Should we order them evacuated as well?”

“No, Admiral.  They are to defend the planet against anything that comes at them.  I will not abandon New Moscow.”

“You can’t do everything, your Majesty,” cautioned the Duke.  “Trying to do it all with not enough will just end up throwing lives away for nothing.”

Don’t you think I know that, Admiral? thought Sean.  There were political considerations here as well, something the Admiralty might not want to think about, but something he must consider.  “Just follow my orders, Admiral.  This is on me.”

Just one more defensive fight, here and at home, he thought, thinking of his Fleet’s dispositions.   They had   been preparing for this day since the Cacas had been kicked out of the Empire, over a half year before.  They had upgraded everything they could, added as many new ships as possible.  If they could take out this attacking force, they could go over onto the offensive, at about the same time as new construction started rolling out.  At about the same time as their Klavarta allies of the Nation of New Earth started fielding their own new units.  One more defensive fight, then we’ll see how you like it when the initiative is ours.

But even as he thought that he wondered if it was a pipe dream.  If the Donut were destroyed they might not have another offensive in them.  If it were destroyed while they were still in the early stages of engaging the Cacas, without their wormhole weapons, they might not win this fight.  If the Fleet were hurt badly, and they lost the source of their greatest technology, it could spell the end of the human species.

And I’ll go down in the history books of some other species as the last leader of the human race.

*     *     *

“Just hang in there, baby,” said Cornelius as he sealed his wife up in the cryo bag.  She had stopped breathing some minutes before.  Which meant she still had some minutes before she started to sustain damage to her brain.  As soon as the bag was sealed he hit the programming pad on the center of the apparatus.  In seconds the interior of the bag started to freeze its contents.  In less than a minute the body of his wife would be frozen, maybe not hard, but enough to stop all metabolic processes.  It was old technology, used to bring the first refugees to the Empire, and had been constantly improved through the centuries.  The Ranger was very familiar with the bags, which had been used to save countless lives through the centuries on the battlefield.  He had no doubt that the bag would preserve his wife until she could be treated at a medical facility with high tech nanosurgery that would make her as good as new.

Intellectually he knew that she would be alright.  Emotionally, it was a different matter altogether.  Emotionally he was as stressed as he had ever been on a battlefield.  This was the love of his life.  He had lost one wife in the past, and didn’t want to have to lose another.

“You’ll be just fine, honey,” he said, more for his own peace of mind than anything else.  He lifted the bag, weighing almost twice what his wife weighed on her own, without problem, his augmented muscles more than up to the task.  Locking he car, he leaned against the vehicle, getting himself back together, wondering how much longer it would take Rebecca to get Junior to the parking area.  Just after that thought entered his mind he heard a scream and a yell, and knew that something was wrong.  In an instant he was running flat out to the edge of the parking area, and the path to the camping area where they had hoped to spend a holiday weekend having a good time.

Chapter Fourteen

However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results. Winston Churchill

“Doggy,” said Junior in a happy voice.

“What are you talking about?” replied Rebecca, turning to look back at the child who should have been walking on his short legs behind her.  What she saw brought her to a complete stop, hands going to her mouth to stifle a cry.

Jewel was a class III threat planet, the same as Old Earth.  Not the most dangerous of worlds.  Azure, the world she had grown up on, was a class I, the most dangerous category, while Sestius, the planet Cornelius had told her about was a II, leaning toward a I.  Class IIIs still had their share of dangerous life, and the wolves were among the most dangerous of all.  They were not really wolves of course, though they did have a passing resemblance to the Old Earth canines.  They were long and lean, with projecting snouts full of a double row of sharp teeth.  The paws actually had razor sharp retractable claws, an addition that put them more in the class of the big cats as a threat.  And they hunted in packs.  Normally they were kept out of the recreation areas by the use of sonic fences.  Their presence here meant that those fences had gone down.

One was about three meters from Junior, sniffing, teeth exposed.  They knew what humans smelled like.  They knew they were bad business altogether, but this one must have decided that a small human might be a good kill.  Junior was looking at the wolf with the open expression of a child who had found a new playmate, with no idea of the danger he was in.  The wolf went down on its haunches, ready for a spring that would bring its jaws to close around the throat of the small human.

Rebecca had lost her brother, Ben, on Azure, shot down by the Cacas.  She was not about to lose her step brother.  The monomolecular blade swished from its sheath as she ran forward, an angry cry on her lips.  The wolf turned at her cry, trying to bring its body around to face the new threat.  Rebecca swung her knife before the beast could complete its turn, slicing the weapon in at the left haunch and dragging the blade through to the left shoulder, where it exploded outward in a spray of blood.

The wolf hissed in pain, more like a cat than a canine, and tried to turn back on its attacker, who had stopped next to the toddler.  Before it could complete the turn it fell over onto its left side, the damaged muscles no longer able to hold it up.  It lay there, mewing in pain, then letting out a howl that was answered immediately from close by.

Rebecca grabbed Junior by the shoulder and pushed him behind her, just before five more of the wolves, the rest of the pack, came bursting out of the brush.  They stared at their wounded comrade for a moment, then up at the human with the knife guarding the smaller child.  She stared at the wolves, knowing there was no chance she would be able to handle all of them.  There was a tree behind her that she might be able to climb, though the claws on the paws of the beasts indicated that they might be able to climb as well.  And there was no way she was going to abandon her brother.

Two of the hissing beasts hunched down, getting ready to spring into an attack, and Rebecca was sure that this was the end of her life.  She might be able to slash one with her knife, but not both of them, and the rest of the pack was maneuvering into position to rush in as a second wave.

A loud roar sounded from the path behind the pack, and all of the creatures turned to face the new threat.  Cornelius came running at them, moving faster than anything the beasts had ever seen.  Rebecca stifled a cheer, not wanting to distract her father, who was moving as fast as she had ever seen him.  She had forgotten how fast the augmented could move, and he was faster than most.

One of the beasts jumped at the Ranger.  Cornelius, his own knife gripped in his right hand, swung with his left and connected with the chest of the wolf, flinging the creature tens meters through the air to smack into the trunk of a tree, rebounding to lie motionless on the ground.  The next beast met the knife blade, impaling itself through the heart before the Ranger flung it away as well.  A third beast died a moment later, and that was enough for the pack.  It recognized the superior killer, and was not willing to risk its continued existence on continuing the attack.

“Are you all right?” asked Cornelius as he stood over the children, sheathing his blade.

“We are now,” replied Rebecca, sheathing her own blade and picking up the now crying Junior, who had finally figured out that it hadn’t been play time.

Cornelius looked down at the animal she had attacked, now bled out on the ground.

“Thank you,” he said in a soft voice as he placed a hand on her head.

“I wasn’t about to let them have Junior,” said Rebecca with a slight smile.  “And how is Devera?” she asked, the smile leaving her face.

“I got her into cryo,” he said, reaching for Junior.  “She’ll be OK, I think.   Let me carry him, and we’ll get back to the car.”

“And then back to the city?” she asked, feeling concerned about not being there, and afraid of going back.

“There’s nothing we can do there,” said Cornelius, shaking his head.  “I think we’ll head low and slow toward the west coast, to one of the smaller towns there.  It’ll have a hospital, and someplace we can shelter.”

“And the Cacas?”

“Again, nothing we can do about them, now.  But in the future, I’ll try to make their lives as difficult as possible.”

Rebecca nodded as she walked behind her father.  She was determined that she would make life as difficult for them as she could as well when the time came.

*     *     *

“We’ve got as many people as we could spare into the forward missile control rooms,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Very well,” said Mei, nodding.  “Launch as soon as you’re able.”

Her task group was moving toward the freighter that was thought to be the carrier of the Caca wormhole gate.  Unfortunately, that freighter was not the target that lay ahead.  Instead, it was the eight supercruisers that were arrayed in a defensive shield in front of that supposedly weak ship.  She still outmassed them, with the six battle cruisers, fourteen light cruisers and sixteen destroys she had been able to rally to her from her command.  At the moment her ships were trading beams with each other, while the Cacas were adding missiles to the mix.

Yes, we outmass them, thought the Admiral with a frown on her face.  But they were severely undercrewed.  Due to lessons learned with robots, disastrous lessons, all warships were built with multiple safeguards in place that could only be circumvented by organic sentient control.  Warheads could be placed on the bodies of missiles, but only when people with the proper clearances in the missile mating control rooms authorized the procedure.  Missiles could be loaded into tubes, when authorized by organic sentients in the missile loading rooms.  The missiles could be fired from the bridge, after the other steps had been taken.  There was a reason warships carried large crews, and not just for damage control.

“Launching first volley,” called out the Tactical Officer as the ship shook slightly from accelerating the missiles from their tubes.  As soon as they left the tubes they were accelerating at fifteen thousand gravities, well above their sustained rate.  But at this engagement range there was no need for any kind of sustained acceleration.  Not with a range of fifteen thousand kilometers and closing.

Enemy missiles came in, blotted from space in bright flashes of gigaton explosions.  The Imperial missiles really did no better.  The weapons were travelling at too slow a velocity to be effective, and were really doing little else than absorbing enemy beam fire.  If that was all they would do, Mei would take it.  At least those beam weapons weren’t hitting her ships.

One of the enemy ships shook as a concentration of lasers struck her hull, followed by a fast moving antimatter particle beam.  The task group, as per orders, now concentrated on that wounded ship, quickly reducing her to slag.  At the same time the enemy concentrated on a pair of light cruisers and a destroyer, turning them into spinning hulks.  At this rate the Imperials would definitely win this engagement, but there was no telling what might come next out of the enemy wormhole.

“Range to enemy, fourteen thousand kilometers,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Velocity, six hundred and twenty kilometers a second.”

All beam weapons were hitting at what amounted to full strength, with minimal spread.  They would become incrementally more powerful as the distance closed, but not enough to really matter.  What would matter was that in less than twenty-four seconds they would be close enough to throw things from the airlocks at the enemy.

A destroyer took a missile hit, as unlikely as that seemed.  Unlikely didn’t mean impossible, and what wasn’t impossible was sure to happen eventually.  A moment after the destroyer went into a tumbling spin an Imperial missile hit one of the supercruisers.  The more massive ship weathered the hit, which took out a half dozen of her laser domes.

“The enemy wormhole is continuing to spit out fighters,” said an officer from CIC who was running the understrength analysis section.

And if they continue to do that, we will be able to take out this screen and go for the wormhole.  She would have a shot at the freighter in less than twenty seconds.  Or she could try something else.

“Once we break through the Caca warships, I want us to swing in to point all our forward tubes into the wormhole.  And then we’ll give them something to remember us by.”

*     *     *

“Sommerkorn is reporting heavy damage to her forward systems,” reported the Com Tech.

Von Rittersdorf looked over at the holo that centered on another of the destroyers in his command.  The ship was hanging bow down, all of her forward grabbers gone, multiple holes through the hull in that area.  The ship had been hit by over dozen missiles, twenty to fifty megaton weapons, that by themselves were not enough to take out the destroyer.  Smartly targeted on a single area, they had done a good job on her.

MacArthur herself shook from a hit, this one going in amidships and blowing through the hull.  Another holo came into being, showing the red of damage on the destroyer.  The Captain hissed a sigh of combined relief and concern.  The damage was bad, and casualties were reported by their lack of life signs, or the screaming of their implants to show that they had been injured and were in need of help.  Due to being undermanned, there were fewer casualties than there would have been.  But also, because of being understrength, every casualty was felt even more.

“Order the commander of Sommerkorn to pull back into space,” ordered Maurice.  “I don’t want them falling into the planet.”

“We have another wave of enemy fighters coming in, sir.  Most of them are heading for Sommerkorn.”

Of course they are, thought von Rittersdorf.  That was the wounded beast, and in killing her, they could drop the ship into the city, causing great damage.

“Try to cover her as best you can,” he told the Tactical Officer, well aware that his ship was getting dangerously low on munitions for her close in defense batteries.  All of his ships were, though they had killed well over a thousand enemy fighters in the expenditure.

He watched the main viewer as the hundreds of fighters swept in.  They started launching from over a hundred kilometers out, their missiles taking off like streaks, many if not most heading for the almost crippled destroyer.

MacArthur and her sisters swept the air with lasers, the beams moving back and forth, blasting missiles out of the sky.  Many of the missiles had antimatter warheads in the ten to twenty megaton range, detonating in blasts that threw hundreds of other missiles off course, knocking some from the sky to fall into the city below, detonating among the metropolis at random.  Those hitting in low rise areas spread out for a dozen kilometers in each direction, destroying those few structures of low strength, rolling over those of sturdier construction.  The warheads hitting within high rise areas blew most of their power into the air, funneled by the tough materials of the skyscrapers that were able to weather the overpressure.  It was bad news for anyone out in the open, though those within the sturdier structures were safe enough.

That was the main reason the enemy had started off the attack with kinetic weapons, coming in at such high velocity that they were able to penetrate even the toughest of structures.  Some were still falling, but most had been used up, forcing the fighters to use the weapons they carried for use against their own kind and small craft.

“We’re out of port side ammo,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“Helm, turn the ship to bring our starboard batteries to bear,” ordered the Captain, not sure if that maneuver could be accomplished in time to help the damaged destroyer, which was slowly starting to rise on a course that would take them to a low orbit in a few minutes.

Suddenly, a score of warheads exploded in the air, sending shock waves through the sky among the swarm of Caca fighters.  Dozens of fighters found themselves within the fireballs of the ten to twenty megaton warheads, more than their hulls could handle.  Over a hundred more tumbled through the air, many losing control completely and going into spins that only ended when they smacked the ground twenty kilometers below.  Most were able to pull out, and soon had gathered back into a group, this time their attention fixed on what was below.

“Where did those rounds come from?” shouted the Captain, as his ship continued to turn, bringing her still supplied batteries to bear.

“Mobile ground defense guns,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at his Captain, a smile on his face.  The smile turned over in an instant.  “Now they’ve attracted the attention of the Cacas, and I think they pissed them off.”

MacArthur brought her batteries to bear, sending out streams of explosive rounds that splashed over a score of enemy aircraft before they knew what was happening.  More rounds sped from below, hypervelocity warheads that seemed to be streaks of light before detonating.  The destroyer targeted and knocked individual aircraft out of the sky, while particle beams and lasers came from below, executing more of the enemy fighters.

The surviving Caca craft continued their attack.  No matter what you could say about the creatures, they had courage, and no quit in them.  They knocked out eleven of the twenty guns that had ravaged their formation, then rose back into the sky, heading back to hit the destroyers that were still spearing them out of the air one by one with lasers.  And right into a swarm of imperial fighters that came streaking in with all weapons firing.  In moments the attack was broken, only a few Caca fighters still in the air and streaking away at hypersonic speed.

“Is that it?” asked the Helmsman.

“Maybe for here,” said the Com Tech.  “Sir, I’m picking up calls on the com for aid.”

“Where from?”

The central holo tank changed its view, showing the globe of the world, with blinking red dots showing areas that were still attracting the attention of the enemy.  This included another five metropolises on the surface.  None were getting the attention that Capitulum had gotten, but all were taking damage, all were sustaining casualties among their populations.

“Send out these dispositions to the other ships in the squadron,” ordered von Rittersdorf, working the control board at his seat and linking ships in his squadron with destinations.  “Every captain is to do everything possible to destroy as many Caca craft as possible.  Now let’s be about it.”

He looked back at the schematic, sure that they were close to a victory here on Jewel, if sustaining the losses that had been incurred could be called victory.  It was one they would have to take, and be glad for it.

*     *     *

“Admiral.  We have restored communications.”

Admiral Nakama looked over at the tactical plot that came back to life as data links were reestablished.  He already knew that his station had not been hit again.  That was made obvious by the lack of the shock waves that were always generated from a major warhead hit.  Still, his eyes widened as he saw the damage that had been done to the docks and repair slips that orbited around the Central Station.

But we’re still here, he thought, looking at the plot now with an eye for enemy units, and the combat that was still going on.  There were still plenty of red icons on the plot, and he felt a shiver of anxiety as he wondered how many enemy fighters were still coming through their wormhole.

“What word on their wormhole?” he asked his Tactical Officer.  “Did anyone go after it?”

“It looks like Duchess Mei has her task group attacking it,” said the Tactical Officer as the plot zoomed in to show a number of Imperial ships closing on a trio of red icons, all too large to be fighters.

“What are those?” asked the Admiral, pointing to and highlighting the red icons, one of which blinked and disappeared even as he spoke.

“Enemy supercruisers.”

The Admiral hissed in a breath.  If they were bringing those ships through, what might be coming next.

*     *     *

The Captain stared at his doom as it approached.  There was only one more defending supercruiser between his freighter and the enemy, and it was being pounded.  His own ship was now armed, the equipment having been brought over through the wormhole before the waves of fighters, and installed as soon as his crew could get it in place.  His ship was now capable of fighting off enemy fighters, maybe a small group of destroyers.  He had no illusions as to his ability to take on the battle cruisers that were heading his way.

“Tell headquarters that we need reinforcements, now.  Otherwise, this part of the operation is about to come to a close.”

He looked back at the Ca’cadasan Overlord, who was staring at the plot without expression.  “We are about to be destroyed, my Lord,” he told the true leader of the mission, the one put there to make sure that he fulfilled what his task.  Now, having seen the home of a mighty empire of his own people, he was having reservations about serving the Ca’cadasans.  Reservations that had come too late.  He could only hope that he had not caused so much damage to these humans that they could not recover.

“We have served our purpose,” said the huge male, his eyes never leaving the plot.  “Now we die for the glory of the Emperor.”

The last of the supercruisers exploded in a fury of breached antimatter.  And now there was nothing between the freighter and the enemy force that was coming for it.  “We need reinforcements, now,” yelled the Captain, looking over at his Com Officer.

“One more ship will be coming through,” said the Cacada, his tone flat.  “And we will do unto them what they have done to us.”

One more ship, thought the human, his mind trying to grasp the meaning of what the Master was saying.  One more ship?  He recalled the reports he had seen, information he was not supposed to be privy to.  About what these humans had done on the other front, by pushing a ship with a wormhole through a wormhole.  The explosion was said to be spectacular, enough to destroy thousands of ships.  And what better target for such a blast than this gathering of ships and two inhabited planets, one the heart of the enemy Empire.

“No,” shouted the Captain, his mind made up in an instant.  He had come on this mission prepared to die, and he still was.  But now he was ready to sacrifice his life for another purpose, and not the one those who had sent him would have approved of.

The Captain snatched the particle beam from his holster and turned on the Cacada.  The being looked at the human, his eyes growing wide, his mouth opening to shout a command.  Eyes and mouth both disappeared in a splash of red tinted superheated steam.

The second Cacada on the bridge tried to snatch his own weapon out, roaring rage and defiance.  The creature was too slow, like all of his kind, and a large portion of his right upper chest disappeared in another burst of steam.

The Captain turned back to his bridge crew, several of whom had weapons out and drawn, pointed his way.

“Why,” said Mary, his mate.

“They meant to kill us all along.  And all the people in this system.”

“We have one more ship on approach to the other side,” called out the Com Officer, still seated at her station.

The Tactical Officer turned back to his board as warning signals sounded.  “We are taking full lasers to the hull.”

“Damage?” asked Mary, her eyes and weapon never leaving her Captain.

“Minimal so far,” reported the Tactical Officer.

Laughing Troll was now a heavily armed and protected warship.  With ten meters of sprayed in armor and twice the electromag protection of the attacking battlecruisers, she could now take a pounding.  Unfortunately, her weapons were not up to the same standard, equaling those of maybe a quartet of destroyers.

“Mary, we must close down the wormhole,” said the Captain.

“But, they’re sending through another ship,” said a  confused Mary.

“They’re sending through a bomb.  To completely destroy this system.”

“We have hull burn through to lower cargo hold.”

“This is the only chance our people have, and you know it,” said the Captain.  “The Masters have always wanted to destroy our race, and you know that as well.”

“Ship is about to enter the other end of the wormhole,” called out the Com Officer.

“Only one ship?” asked Mary, looking back at her mate, her expression changing.

“Yes, ma’am.  They….”

“Close the wormhole,” she shouted, lowering her weapon.

“Ma’am?”

“Close the wormhole, now.”

The Tactical Officer nodded and imputed the code, causing the frame on this side to turn off its magnetic containment field.  In an instant the negative matter held in the field flowed out, cancelling much of the matter in the frame as well as itself.   No longer held open by the negative matter, the wormhole winked out of existence on this end, a moment later gone at the other, just before the ship that was about to transit went through the now empty frame on that side.

*     *     *

“Continue trying to take out that gate,” ordered the Admiral as her flagship kept pouring lasers and particle beams into the mirrored surface.  The electromagnetic fields in front of the mirror were distorting her beams, while the frame was protected by very thick armor, almost thirty meters, behind more of the powerful field generators.

Many of the shots were going through the wormhole, which might have been doing great damage to whatever was on the other side.  That was something she had wanted to do.  But they were doing nothing to shut it down.

“It looks like we’re going to have to destroy the ship around it, ma’am,” reported the Tactical Officer.

“Then that is what we’ll do,” said Mei.  She had little doubt that her force could take out this converted merchant ship in a couple of minutes.  What she did doubt was her ability to destroy every possible vessel that might appear through the portal.

“It’s, gone,” exclaimed the Tactical Officer, pointing to the forward viewer that was centered on the freighter and the opening that led to the portal.

“Did you hit the frame?”

“Not as far as I can figure, ma’am.  The weapons on the freighter have ceased firing, Admiral,” continued the Tactical Officer.  “Do you want us to cease fire, ma’am?”

“Continue to fire.  There’s no telling what they might spring on us next.”

“We’re receiving a transmission from that ship, ma’am,” called out the Com Tech in an excited voice.  “Someone who says he’s the captain, and that he wishes to surrender his ship and crew to us.”

A portion of the hull of the freighter glowed and puffed out as a burst of gas.  A hole appeared in the hull at that point, and several other laser beams struck through the opening into the vitals of the ship.  They had already figured that this freighter had much heavier hull plating than normal. In fact, it acted suspiciously like multiple meters of warship armor.  As she watched, its cold plasma encased electromagnetic field dropped, the glowing area of plasma that had intersected the light amp beams quickly spread and dissipated into the vacuum of space.  The same would be true for the plasma that had not been excited to a heated state, but it simply went from slightly opaque to not there.

The Admiral thought for a moment.  The battle was not over.  There were still enemy fighters and attack ships in the system, still going about their business of targeting and firing on Imperial assets.  The intelligence haul from taking this ship intact could be huge.  Allowing its continued existence could be disastrous.

“Order the group to cease fire on the freighter,” she called out, hoping she was doing the right thing.  “Continue to fire on any other Ca’cadasan vessels we can target.  And at the first sign of that ship doing something untoward, I want everyone to fire everything they have at her.  Now put the enemy Captain on the viewer.”

Mei sat up straighter in her chair when the image of the enemy captain was before her on the viewer.  “Human?” she blurted out, even though it was obviously human, unless the Cacas were trying to pull something by sending the image of a human across.

“We are the descendants of humans captured by the Masters when they destroyed our homeworld.  We were raised to obey, and were sent on this mission to cause as much damage to your system and your fleet as possible.”

“And what changed your mind?”

“The sight of our own kind fighting valiantly changed my mind.  That, and the lies they told us about this mission.  We thought we had come to hurt you, but their plan was to totally destroy these worlds.”

“You know they mean to exterminate our kind,” said Mei, wondering how much she could trust this being, knowing she really couldn’t.  She glanced over at the Tactical Officer and nodded, then back at the captain on the viewer.  “We are sending a Marine platoon over to board your ship.  Cooperate, and I will guarantee your safety.  Try to pull something, and they have orders to shoot to kill.”

“I understand.  And yes, I finally realized that they meant to exterminate all of humankind.  We were only kept alive so that the Masters would have someone to infiltrate your military and governmental institutions when contact was again made.  I had heard rumors, but had always dismissed them, thinking we were too valuable to the Masters.  But when they tried to send across a device that would shatter your world, in contravention of their own religious principles, I realized that it was all a lie.”

Mei held up a hand to signal the Com Tech to kill her transmission for a moment.  “Tell the Marine officer that I want this one alive.  I don’t want any accidental discharges, or shot while trying to escape.”  The Tech nodded and started the transmission to the shuttle that was just about to enter the open bay of the freighter, where the wormhole had resided minutes before.

She hated giving that order, but she knew emotions would be high at this time.  After all, surrender or not, laws of war or not, the captain and crew of this ship had been responsible for millions of deaths and massive destruction, to this, the heart of the Empire they had all sworn to protect.

“Sitrep?” she asked of her Tactical Officer, looking at the plot.

“There are still over three hundred enemy fighters working over Jewel.  We have eight hundred fighters in the air, with more launching every minute.  Ariel and New Terra are secure.  And ma’am.  A carrier just came through the wormhole near Central Dock and is launching all their fighters.”

The battle wasn’t over yet, but the enemy didn’t have much left, and that number was going down by the moment.  Even as that thought entered her mind she found herself looking at another building slip going up in a blast of actinic fire, heralding the death of another capital ship before she had even been born.

*     *     *

“We need to get you and the heir down into the shelter,” said the Chief of Detail as the aircar landed on the roof of the Imperial retreat.  Low rumbling noises were still coming from the south, where multiple mushroom clouds were starting their collapse, while more rose into the sky.

The jungle below the compound, looking down the mountain to the large river flowing through the valley, the same waterway that ran through Capitulum, was alive with the calls and shrieks of wildlife, terrified of the unknown sounds coming from down river.  That and the streaks in the high atmosphere traveling at over a score of the speed of sound, their deep booms actually shaking the trees below.

The heir, thought Jennifer, following the agents who were guiding the protective carryall.  She was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that Augustine, the child that had been the heir an hour before, was no longer alive.  That his younger brother was now the inheritor of Empire.  She would have problems even caring about the aspect of the situation.  All she really cared about was that her child, one of the twins she had borne and loved, was dead, before he had even started his life.

The lift took them down, through the three story dwelling and the four levels of basement, continuing through the rock of the mountain until there were ten kilometers of solid stone over the thirty meters of battleship armor that was the final protective layer.

“Let me have him,” said Jennifer as the nurse opened the container, revealing the sleeping form of Glen.  The baby stretched, yawned, then started crying as his eyes sprang wide open.

“Perhaps we should let the doctor look him over first,” said the Chief of Detail, moving into the path of the Empress.

“Get the hell out of my way,” she screamed in his face, trying to push the augmented man out of the way and failing.  “That is my baby, I am a doctor, and I will see to him.  Now get out of my way, or I will see that you are relieved of duty as soon as my husband returns.”

The agent nodded and stepped out of her way, looking over at the nurse and giving another nod.  Jennifer was at the side of her son in an instant, lifting him from the carrier and placing him against her, head over her shoulder.  She immediately caught the odor of a baby who had eliminated into his diaper, and she carried him out of the room to the nursery, where a changing table and supplies were located.

“I can change him, your Majesty,” the Nurse offered.

“I will do it,” said Jennifer, unwilling to let Glen out of her hands.  She lay the crying baby on the table, then undid his diaper and wiped with the soiled garment.  Tossing it in a waste hamper, she grabbed a wipe and went to work, then looked over at the Nurse.  “Prepare a bath for him.  I think he needs more than a change.”  She looked back down at the squirming, crying baby, realizing that he was probably hungry as well.  She rubbed a finger over his face, trying to sooth him, as the tears fell from her eyes.

You’re the only one I have left, she thought, shaking her head.  I will be damned if I let anything happen to you.  They’ll have to go through me first.  I will let no one separate me from you.

The nurse brought the tub filled with warm soapy water, and the Empress busied herself with the care of her child, just like any other mother, occupying her mind with the simple task so she wouldn’t have to think about the one she would no longer be able to care for.

Chapter Fifteen

Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm. Winston Churchill

H-4.

“Understood,” said the large male, standing at the back of the bridge.  He looked over at the two other males and gave a head motion.  All three males drew their weapons and pointed them at the humans who manned the stations.  “Step away from the stations.  Touch nothing.”

“What is going on?” asked the Captain, holding up his hands and making sure not to touch anything.

“The other ship is gone,” said the male.  “Or at least that is what headquarters thinks happened.  Their wormhole collapsed.  Command wants to make sure that doesn’t happen here.”

“We have three ships entering the system through one of the enemy wormhole gates,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“What are they?” asked the Captain, starting to move toward that station, stopping in his tracks as he remembered the weapon pointed at him.  “Why are you pointing you weapons at us?  Are we under suspicion?”

“There is some concern about why the wormhole died that led to the other ship,” said the Ca’cadasan male.  “It was like it was terminated on the other end.”

“We are loyal to the Empire and Emperor,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at the male.

“Be that as it may, you are not to touch any controls.  The battleships will handle the tactics of this battle from here on.”

“Can we at least continue to look at the displays, so we can give you our input?”

“You may,” said the male, giving head motions to the other two Ca’cadasans.  The male moved over until he was standing behind the Tactical Officer, looking down on the tactical plot.  “What do we have coming through their gate?”

“From their signature, it looks like three capital ships, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, glancing back at the huge male.  “We can’t tell at this point.”

“They will not be able to influence this fight from where they are,” said the male, looking at the Captain.  He closed his eyes for a moment, linking into the com net with the other ships around him as well as command through the wormhole.  “You are to move your ship into close proximity of the human station.  The battleships will guard you on the way.”

“So we are allowed to touch the controls?” asked the Helm.

“No one is to approach the wormhole control panel,” said the male, as one of the other Ca’cadasans moved to stand in front of that station.  “Otherwise, you are now permitted to control this vessel.”

“Why do they want us to move so close to the station?” asked the Captain, looking at the Ca’cadasan with trepidation.  Their mission called for them to close, but to still stay at a safe distance and launch fighters and missiles from range.  He looked at the tactical holo, bringing it up in a zoom near the station.  The first wave of missiles were still fifteen minutes from contact, and the station was still quiescent.  He had no doubt that when it did fire it would be spectacular.  And the thousands of small craft, fighters and attack ships, were moving into the path of the missiles.  Some would still get through, and considering the size of the station, some of those were sure to hit.  He didn’t think the same would hold true for his ship, or even the task group of battleships that would escort her.  Its firepower would have to be enormous.

“That is not for us to ask,” said the male, a grimace on his face.  “We have been ordered to move this ship next to the station.  Now start us on the way, before those ships out by the wormhole gates are able to bring us under fire.”

Those ships had already fired on them, missiles were on the way, but it would still take almost an hour and a half before any of them got within attack range.  They were already moving toward the station at point four three light, and would be there moments after the missiles from the warships reached them.  After they weathered that storm, the only weapons they would have to worry about would be those fired from the station and its defense squadron, which would be enough.  Even as he thought that another battleship came from the wormhole, exploding into space at a velocity of point six light, pushing ahead of the freighter and joining the score of ships already aligned ahead of Fool’s Bane.

Another battleship came through, then another.  This was a part of the plan that the human crew had not been apprised of, or else it was improvisation from command.  The Captain wondered if an entire fleet was coming through, and it so, why did his ship have to get so close to the station.  Surely if they sent enough ships through they could take out the station before the defense fleet by the gates could intervene.  But why put their only chance of escape so close to that monstrous behemoth of firepower?  If the gate went, and it was awfully exposed in the current configuration that allowed it to transit twenty-five million ton ships, those battleships would have no escape from human space.  Unless they brought enough over to actually win a battle here.

Is this the place where the Empire will defeat the other humans in a final battle? thought the Captain as the force ahead of him kept growing.  A quick calculation in his head showed that an unlikely scenario.  They would at most be able to get a couple of hundred battleships through before they were within beam range of the station, and the Captain was sure his vessel would be a priority target.  So there would be a large force of Ca’cadasans, but not enough to defeat what the humans could bring through.  Which meant this was a suicide mission, plain and simple.

“That’s the last one,” said the Ca’cadasan male, looking over the plot.  There were now forty-five battleships arrayed around the freighter.  Thirty-five directly ahead, starting to cycle counter missiles at the weapons coming out from the station.  Ten to the side and rear, completing the bubble.  The missiles coming from the station would be approaching at a considerable fraction of light speed.  There were sure to be hits, and casualties, but the formation was set to assure that none would be to the freighter.

“What is the plan here?” asked the Captain, staring at the Master.

“Just navigate your ship according to our orders,” said the Master, returning the stare.  “We will accomplish our goal, which is all that you need to know.”

The Captain looked away.  He could read the signs.  Ca’cadasans were almost insanely brave, willing to sacrifice their lives on the command of any superior.  But they still felt fear, especially when the task ahead was one they were sure they wouldn’t survive.  And this Master was sure he wasn’t going to survive this mission.  Which meant he and his crew wouldn’t either.

“I’m devoted to the Emperor,” he said to the Master.  “I will do whatever is necessary to complete the mission.  But I would like to know what we are doing, in case something happens to you and the ships around us, and it is up to me to finish the mission.”

“Nothing will happen to me,” said the Master in a growl.  “And if anything does, do you really think your flimsy carcasses will survive.  Now don’t say another word.  Not if you want to live to see the end of this mission.”

The Captain turned away.  When the Masters talked that way, they meant it.  He sat back down at his station and accessed the ship’s computer, making sure that the information was coming through on a flat screen that was not viewable by any of the Masters from where they stood.  And he started pulling up information on wormholes.

*     *     *

“Launching fighters, now,” called out the Wing Commander from his personal ship.  The tactical plot showed the rest of his wing leaving their hangars, five at a time from the four egress ports, until all one hundred and eight of his fifteen hundred ton fighters were in space and accelerating onto the proper heading.

“We need you to get up to speed as fast as possible,” said Rear Admiral Lucille Mason over the com.

“I know, Admiral,” replied Captain Javier Chavez, looking over his tactical plan.  Unfortunately, his ships could only come out of the inertialess bubble drive at the exact same velocity as they entered.  It would take over an hour to get up to an optimal attack speed, one that would be useful upon exiting the bubble.  They didn’t have that hour.  His profile called for accelerating up to point two light, then erecting the bubble and forging ahead.  Half of his force would be going after the enemy ships, popping out and getting in some shots before the enemy ran away from them, then jumping back into inertialess drive to catch up, repeat, and hopefully do enough damage to the enemy to stop their attack.

He had some new weapons aboard his ship, missiles that had worked well in testing.  This was not testing, and none of his crews had fired any live weapons.  From what he had heard the next iteration would be even more accurate.  Right now they were like throwing rocks at a moving vehicle and hoping for a hit.  But they were what they had, and no matter what they couldn’t allow the Donut to be taken out.

“I estimate we will be in first attack range fifteen minutes before the enemy ships get within beam range.”

And the rest of his wing, as well as all the ships of the other wings, would go after the missiles of the third wave.  The station would have to handle the first two waves on its own.  On paper that shouldn’t be a problem.  Unfortunately, battles weren’t fought on paper.

“Good luck and Godspeed, Captain,” said the Admiral, now through the Klassekian Com Tech who was obviating the growing delay as the fighters moved away from the carrier at over a thousand gravities acceleration.

Time seemed to stretch ahead in slow motion, even though it only took about eight minutes to build up on the velocity they had already carried from their launch vessel.

“Erecting bubble,” said the Pilot, as the electromagnetic bubble came to life and firmed up around the ship.  Moments later the negative matter injected into the bubble surrounded the ship, and it was cut off from the Universe around it.  “Going to maximum acceleration.”

The acceleration readout started rising, until it was registering twenty thousand gravities, none of it felt through the negative matter screen.

“We’re on profile,” called the Pilot, looking back at the Wing Commander.

“Feed him the navigation information constantly,” the Captain told his Klassekian Com Tech, hoping she was up to this kind of mission.  “I also want constant readouts on the other ships in the wing.”

The alien shook her head, her eyes wide.  She had been put through a crash course in how to be a spacer.  A month, when the course for enlisted personnel was six, and they really weren’t considered fully up to speed until after a year in the Fleet.  And she had gone from her own culture, a thousand or more years behind the technology of the Empire, to working with the most advanced tech known to humanity.  Which made her an unknown commodity in the eyes of the Captain.

“Just do what they taught you and everything will be fine,” said the Captain, holding up a hand.  “And don’t be afraid to ask if you’re not sure.  I would rather you do that, than be afraid of looking foolish.”

“Yes, sir,” said the alien in her strange accent.

Chavez looked back at the plot, watching as all of the ships of his command moved toward the enemy, on the proper profile, all of them depending on the strange looking aliens to get them to where they needed to be to do their job.

*     *     *

H-5.

“Lenkowski’s port flank is in contact with the enemy, ma’am” called out one of the Warroom Officers, looking up from the floor.

McCullom nodded as she sent the implant command to the plot, bringing up the view of a star system to the far side of the Kingdom of New Moscow.   Icons appeared on the plot, clusters of them, over a thousand Imperial and allied ships.  There was a large gap between them and another cluster of ships, the Caca fleet that was coming into the system.  She zoomed in on the enemy force.  Information started to display below individual icons that were now vector arrows.  Acceleration, probable identification of mass and class, weapons fire.  All of this was based on probability using the information available.  At a distance of light hours, trying to scan ships based on their graviton emissions only, accuracy was sometimes wanting.  It was a major problem in naval warfare, though it could be used by a smart planner for advantage.  Which they were hoping would happen here.

“Lenkowski’s force is firing,” called out the officer who was following that battle.  Smaller icons appeared, thousands of them, vector arrows pointing at the enemy force.  What wasn’t showing on that plot were the several thousand missiles that had sped from wormholes at high velocity, almost undetectable until they had closed to within ten light seconds of their targets.  The enemy had still not opened fire, and as minutes passed the Admiral had to wonder why.  Missiles were most effective at distance, where they could build up their velocity.  It didn’t make sense to not fire, unless they were low on missiles, which shouldn’t be the case.  As far as Fleet intelligence knew, this force had not fought since it had come across the frontier.

“Mgonda’s flank force is in contact with the enemy in hyperspace,” called out another officer.

That was going to be a very different battle.  The human force, all hyper VII ships, were heavily outnumbered by the Caca force.  They were closing at near light speed, already firing missiles at each other.  There was no way they could sneak missiles in, since every weapon was producing the graviton emissions of an active hyperdrive.  When they were close the Imperial ships with wormholes would start to launch.  The Fleet vessels were starting to change their vector somewhat, minimizing the time they would be within beam weapons range of the superior force.

More alerts sounded.  This was going to be a massive fight, across scores of systems.  All were in the early stages.  In the past none would have any idea of the other battles going on.  Now they were all linked and every group commander was aware of how the larger action was playing out.

And unlike the vids or movies, where every action occurred within minutes of a sighting, these battles were actually boring to watch, especially through the preliminary stages.  With the exception of the infrequent ambush, there were always hours between detection and generating hits with missiles.  As someone in the past had said, hours of boredom punctuated by moments of terror.

“Missile impact in five minutes,” called out a voice over the intercom.

MCullom looked up at the local plot.  This was no distant fight.  This was the attack aimed at the Donut.  Five minutes meant they were about four and three quarters light minutes away, and that the station would be firing every weapon it could bring to bear.  These were the missiles that had broken through the swarm of destroyers and fighters that had moved out to form a screen.

Unfortunately, the station by its very size had some disadvantages compared to a ship, despite its mass and the strength of its supporting members.  While it carried a large number of weapons, a destroyer class laser projector every ten kilometers of circumference, with cruiser and battleship class interspersed along the outer hull, it still didn’t have the localized density of a warship.  It was hoped the total number would be enough to stave off any attack.  Now they would find out if that optimistic plan would work.

“We have three hundred and sixty-eight missiles still on approach,” said the voice over the intercom, coming from the command and control center of the station.  “They appear to have much better penetration aides that the Cacas have displayed in the past.”

And that’s what we were afraid of, thought the CNO with a grimace.  There had been intelligence suggesting that the Cacas had bagged a number of human scientists when they overran New Moscow and cut large swaths through the Empire and the Republic.  Of course the scientists, who could be coerced into helping the Cacas, could give them much greater insight into human technology.  And the Empire wouldn’t have a clue as to how that insight helped them until the improvements were used in combat, like now.  The same was true of the tech humans had captured from the Cacas, though they were hindered by the fact that they didn’t have the Ca’cadasan scientists to go along with it.

The station was putting counter missiles into space, thousands, so many that the overloaded control center was having problems aiming them.  And they were having problems locking onto the now obviously oversized missiles.  Another deficiency that would have to be addressed in the future, if there was one.

They built them bigger so they could cram more countermeasures within, thought McCullom as she watched missile spawned subweapons explode in front of counter weapons and blot them from space.  Surely they won’t be mounting those monsters in their warships.  A shiver of fear ran through her.  There was no telling what improvements they might have made to their ships as well.  All of those meeting engagements going on at the frontier might show that her fear was unfounded, or not.

Still, incoming missiles were dropping off the plot.  Lasers started to blast away, their aiming systems trying frantically to lock onto missiles coming in on ballistic paths, not engaging their grabbers until the last second.  There were still hits, with multiple lasers targeting each missile.

“Estimating that missiles will hit this part of the station,” said one of the Techs in the Warroom, pointing to the schematic of the huge structure.  It was rotating at a furious rate in order to counterbalance the pull of the black hole.  Over twenty-five million kilometers in circumference, the missiles would strike only a relatively small area.  That was actually more worrisome, since localized damage could lead to its destruction.

Because of the sheer size of the structure, the far points were actually over forty-one seconds one-way transmission time from each other.  Wormhole gates spaced every one hundred and fifty thousand kilometers around the station not only allowed people to move from place to place much faster than could be managed by the high speed tram system, they insured that no spot on the Donut was more than a quarter second one way communications range from the control center.  That allowed for the coordination of systems such as the array of millions of grabber units that kept the station in equilibrium around the black hole.

“Missile strike in thirty seconds,” called out the voice over the intercom.  Over a hundred weapons were still coming on, all of them now engaging their grabber units to ensure a hit.  And among them were a half dozen even larger weapons that appeared as ghosts on the sensor systems.

Fifteen weapons struck, including five of the larger weapons.  Most exploded with a multigigaton blast of kinetic energy, the gigaton of force that was the standard capital ship warhead adding its destruction to the total.  Multiple kilometers of hull vaporized at each hit, the fury of energy sweeping through the area and ripping apart crew and equipment.  Blast doors fell into place, sometimes diverting the fury, sometimes not.  Most of the hits were in lightly manned areas, parts of the structure housing electromagnetic projectors or crystal matrix battery packs.  Hundreds of these units were damaged or destroyed, negligible compared to the total number.  Areas with significant organic habitation suffered serious casualties.  But the very size of the structure limited what could be done by standard missiles.  Several kilometer-wide structural braces absorbed the blast with minor damage, while the even thicker supporting cables were never touched.

Where the larger missiles hit there was much more in the way of destruction.  These were Quarkium devices, many times more powerful than antimatter warheads.  Each generated hundreds of gigatons of fury, not at all a redundant addition.  Four detonated just before impact, sending fury like a shotgun blast into the station and through to the other side, fifty kilometers distant.  One hit the edge of an inhabited sector, killing hundreds of thousands, while the others blasted through electromag generators, each twenty times more massive than a Ca’cadasan superbattleship.  One warhead was late on the detonation, and the missile disintegrated on impact.  Unlike an antimatter warhead, a simple breach would not set off a Quarkium device, so it only caused a little more damage than even the standard antiship missiles, its larger mass imparting a bit more kinetic energy to the mix.

The hits were all over two million kilometers to spinward, information on the damage, visual and through instruments, coming through almost instantly, despite a wormhole portal being wiped from existence.  The vibrations of the blasts followed at the speed of sound, about eleven thousand kilometers a second, taking about three minutes to propagate through the alloys of the structural beams.

“Second wave will contact in seven minutes, forty-eight seconds,” called out the voice over the intercom.

“Make sure you track those larger missiles,” said McCullom in return, wondering just how they were going to do that.  Enough of the larger warheads could cripple the station by taking out a good percentage of the energy generating and storage units.  She wasn’t sure how they were going to track these things.  There was only the hope that someone would figure it out in time.  And the prayer that none of them would hit one of the major support cables, or the worst case scenario, three or more of the vital structural supports.

“The enemy ships are on a course that will intersect the station in fifty-eight minutes, ma’am,” said the officer over the intercom.

And why in the hell would they do that? thought McCullom.  It made no sense to send in ships when they could keep sending in missiles.  Ships were big targets, and any that got within a light minute of the station were sure to take light amp hits.

“Keep a watch out for their wormhole,” she ordered both her own people and those in the control center.  That was another hopeless task.  If they dropped it behind they were sure to stealth it, minimal energy, all heat pumped back through to the other side.  Unless something came through the wormhole that was pushing out gravitons, or was large enough that it could be seen visually, the odds were that they wouldn’t find it.  And if they kept launching missiles through that were not boosting and were already up to a high relativistic velocity, it would be just about impossible.

*     *     *

“That took long enough,” said the Fleet Captain who was the duty officer on the deck of the station control center.

The low vibrations of the explosions, felt from almost a million kilometers distant, came through the deck.  A minute and a half, thought Lucille Yu as she monitored the stability of the station.  Those blasts had been like enormous fusion engines, pushing that section of the station closer to the black hole.  Pushed far enough and even the grabber units wouldn’t be able to compensate, and a good third of the station would disintegrate in the gravity field of the hole, while the rest flew out into space.  They hadn’t been pushed that far, and the automated systems were handling everything fine.  Still, everyone had felt better having the only one aboard who had actually handled the system on manual during such a crisis.

“How long till the next strike?” asked Jimmy, standing beside her chair.

“Six minutes,” said Lucille, looking at the plot that showed the station and its orientation to the hole, as well as the vectors of the incoming missiles.  “And just our luck.  This time we get to take the brunt of the attack on our aspect.”

Lucille looked over at the Captain for a moment after she made sure that the station was returning to trim.  “I would appreciate it if you didn’t let them land too many more punches on my station, Captain.  We need this thing to be in good enough shape to keep putting out wormholes.”

“We’re doing our best ma’am,” said the Captain, as many of the scores of people sitting at stations within the chamber turned to look at the Director with disbelieving expressions on their faces.  “There are no guarantees when the missiles are flying.”

“And why are their ships heading for us?” she asked, pointing to the main tactical plot.  “They can’t possibly think they can destroy the station with those ships in a close in fight.”  Lucille was not a military expert, but she had learned enough about warships and their weapons systems during her time running the Empire’s only wormhole generating facility.  The battleships would be armed with missiles, much like the ones that were already heading their way.  Those weapons were best if fired from a distance.  Sure, the ships would be coming in at almost point six light, but the missiles would be travelling faster still if launched from where they already were.  They had powerful laser batteries, and could carve holes through the lightly armored hull of the station, while the station burned them with dozens of times the laser power.  They could also more than match all of the battleships with particle beams, including both antimatter and negative matter.

“The Admiral has already apprised us of their approach, ma’am.”

“They must think they have some way of destroying the station, Captain.  You mustn’t let them get into close proximity of my station.”

“We’re working on a response.”

“I think I have one,” Lucille said under her breath as she tapped into the satellite control network.  Everything associated with wormhole production and ship fitting was safely out of the way.  But some of those assets had been designed to be last ditch weapons.  And now it was time to move a couple of them into place.

Chapter Sixteen

Battles are won by slaughter and maneuver. The greater the general, the more he contributes in maneuver, the less he demands in slaughter. Winston Churchill

Sirens sounded across the city, through the air and through the implants of the inhabitants.  The warbling sound had a different quality to it, one which most of those hearing it could recognize, having been played during the infrequent drills that had been conducted by civil defense.  The signal through the implants of the citizens left no doubts.  All was clear.  The attack was over.

“Well, at least we didn’t have far to climb,” said Margo, squinting her eyes against the heavy stinging smoke in the air, then looking over at her companion.

Tomas Gijardo nodded, feeling the tears running down his cheeks.  Both wore respirator masks over their mouths and nostrils, but their eyes were uncovered.  The smoke stung, but Tomas was not sure if that was why his tears were flowing.  He was crying inside as well, seeing the damage to the city he had been born and raised in.

“We were lucky,” he said, turning toward Margo, putting a hand under her chin and tilting her face up.  He leaned down and kissed her, the rush of surviving a disaster of such magnitude a sexual charge.  “And no one I would rather go through Armageddon with.”

Other people were starting to come to the surface from the shallow storage room the two had found shelter in.  One large gate opened in the side of a building, the first lifts coming up from the deep shelter below.  Dazed people walked through the gate, while others exited further down the street.  Overhead the emergency vehicles began to appear, ambulances, search and rescue vehicles.  There was no telling how many people were trapped in collapsed buildings.  Looking down the street at some of those structures, Tomas wouldn’t have given much for the survival of whomever had been inside them when they came down.

“I wonder how bad it is?” asked Margo, holding onto Tomas as they stepped over some low rubble and onto the street.

“It looks bad enough here,” said Tomas, though he could imagine that it was much worse in some other places.  With a thought he tapped into the carrier wave of the all clear announcement and started to download the local news.  “Here,” he said, sending the signal over to her implant.  He moved her gently to the side, away from the traffic that was starting to flood the street, as she was caught up in the same scenes of destruction that he was watching through the direct feed to his occipital lobe.

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Margo as a view of the city from up high came over the cast.  There were hundreds of smoking pits in the downtown section, many with the rubble of crumbled mega and skyscrapers piled up to one side.  Kinetics had come down there, the best weapons for taking out modern high strength buildings.  The Cathedral was gone, only one partial tower remaining.  Nearby Parliament had done better, somewhat.  About half the building remained.  The Imperial Zoo had taken a near miss, meaning that most of the animals had probably survived.  The Botanical Gardens had not been as fortunate, taking what looked like a direct strike by a nuke.

The view panned to the east, toward the hundred thousand square kilometers of low rise development.  Some the damage there had been done by kinetics as well, but there were patches of swept clean areas that were the sign of explosive warheads detonating above them.  A few buildings, tougher than the rest, had survived the blasts.

Now the view panned west.  Constance the Great spaceport had been cratered in a score of places, while warheads had taken out one whole side of the field’s infrastructure.  The main terminal in the area had survived with some damage.  The thousands of manors overlooking the city on the western hills had come through mostly intact, maybe ten percent of them destroyed, more damaged.  And Tomas felt his breath sucking in without thought as the image of the Imperial Palace came into the view.  The true center of power in the Empire, it had been a symbol recognizable by all citizens for generations.  One whole wing was gone, a deep crater taking its place.  That was the wing used by the Emperor, his family, and those who took care of him.  The other wing was damaged by a near miss, part of the crater taking a bite out of the north section.  The center section, the part where most of the formal functions involving the Emperor took place, had survived mostly intact, though the large shallow dome over the middle was holed in several places.

“It could have been worse,” said Margo, shaking her head.

We’re only seeing what went on here, thought Tomas, holding her close.  It’s probably worse than we imagine.

*     *     *

“Bring us to yellow alert,” ordered Admiral Hoshi Nakama, trying to pull his eyes away from the tactical plot and failing.  There were no more red icons on that plot.  As far as they knew, all of the enemy fighters and warships had been taken care of.  If any had survived, they must have put down on one of the inhabited worlds.  What they weren’t doing was still smashing imperial vessels and shipbuilding infrastructure.

“Are you sure, sir?” asked Captain Crenshaw, standing in her battle armor near the tactical station.

“I think yellow is sufficient,” stated the Admiral, though he could understand where the Captain was coming from.  They had been hit, hard.  The station itself had been heavily damaged, losing over a third of its facilities, and sustaining several hundred thousand highly skilled casualties.  Fifty-three ships had been damaged to the point where it would be better to just recycle their materials and start over.  Many more were damaged to the point where they would be facing months of reconstruction to get back to where they had been at the start of this day.  And scores of bays were now sealed, hatches distorted by impact or welded into place.  More time and effort would have to be spent to open up those bays, then reseal them so they were become functional workspaces once again.

Hundreds of other vessels had been destroyed either in free floating docks, or where they had sat in space, waiting for the final touches before their shakedown cruises.  Altogether the fleet had lost hundreds of capital ships, the primary targets of the attackers, and at least as many cruisers and escorts.  Tens of thousands of crew and shipbuilding engineers had been killed.  And again more than a hundred free floating docks had been destroyed, more resources lost.

“We can’t keep everyone at the highest alert status,” continued the Admiral.  “We need to continue all rescue efforts while maintaining the watch.  Any word on what’s happening on Jewel?”

“From what we’re hearing,” said one of the Com Officers, turning to look back at the Admiral, “they got hit hard.  At least a hundred million casualties, including the heir.”

Nakama opened his mouth to speak, and found that he had nothing to say.  He wasn’t sure what was worse, the idea that over a hundred million people had died, or that the fact that one baby was killed seemed more painful.  But that baby was destined to become the future Emperor.

“And the Donut is still under attack,” continued the Com Officer.  “It has sustained an undetermined amount of damage.”

And the Fleet is involved in a battle with the Caca fleet at the edge of our space, thought the Admiral.  The Emperor must be going crazy.

“Admiral.  Admiral Mei is on the com.”

“Put her through.”

The face of the tiny woman who had commanded the scout group through the battle appeared on the holo, an anxious expression on her face.  “Admiral Nakama.  We have started interrogating the Captain of the freighter we captured.  We need to warn the Donut that something really bad is coming their way.”

*     *     *

“You’re cleared for landing, Chief,” said the voice of the traffic controller of the field.

“Thanks,” said Visserman, the only words she felt like saying at the moment.  She was exhausted, physically and emotionally.  She had wanted to see action, and had become an ace in a day, accounting for nine enemy fighters.  She had never wanted that action to occur in the skies of the capital planet.  The nine fighters she had shot down had a significant effect on the battle.  But it had not prevented the deaths of over a hundred million people, as well the destruction of much of the city.

I should have been able to do more, thought Debra as she brought the fighter in for a soft touchdown, just away from the hardened hangar outside which stood a Fleet rating, waving her in with paddles.  Her own base had been heavily damaged; she wasn’t even sure if her own mechanic had survived, and the nearest operating field was on Peal Island, which had escaped with light damage, only a couple of kinetic hits that had fallen on unoccupied class buildings and dorms.

The fighter touched down on the tarmac, while a small tractor came from the hangar to hook up and pull her under cover.  Visserman sat in the cockpit, her mind continuing to replay the fight over the skies, the last scene in her mind the Imperial aircar going down after taking the blast of a particle beam.  She had taken that enemy out, too late.  And had later heard that one of the Imperial family had been aboard the aircar that she had been too late to save.  She didn’t know which member of the family it was.  That really didn’t matter, since any member killed on her watch, while she was supposed to be protecting them, was more than she could tolerate.

“We’ll make sure everything’s working in your ship and rearm her, ma’am,” said the rating, with the rank tabs of a Petty Officer First on his uniform.  Probably used to servicing the training craft that cadets would take up as part of their coursework at the Academy.  “Why don’t you go over to the pilot’s ready room and get some food?  They’ll have a cot for you as well, if you want some rest.”

“Any word on the enemy?” she asked, wondering if there was something on the net that hadn’t been communicated to her.

“Nothing in local space.  They captured the ship that had the wormhole on board.  And things are still up in the air at the Donut.”

“Wait,” exclaimed Debra, turning in her tracks.  “Wormhole?  The damned Cacas have wormholes?”

“It seems so, ma’am.  At least a couple of them.  One here, one in Donut space.”

The Cacas have wormholes, she thought in disbelief.  And they’re threatening the source of ours.

“Nothing we can do about it here, ma’am,” said the Petty Officer, walking around the outside of her ship and giving it a once over.  “All we can do is get everything ready in case they come back.”

What could she do?  She was an atmospheric fighter pilot, and the action was now in another system, and in a place where the only atmosphere was within the containers intelligent beings put into that space.  Her ship could move through vacuum, but no one was ever going to mistake it for a spaceship.

“Thanks, PO.  I’ll go and get some of that grub.”

The walk across the tarmac wasn’t long enough for her to process all of her thoughts.  She didn’t feel much like eating, but knew that she needed to put some fuel in her body.  The cot didn’t look very comfortable, and she wasn’t sure she could quiet her mind enough to actually sleep.  That thought was still on the edge of her awareness when darkness closed in on her.

*     *     *

“The Donut is reported heavy damage and casualties, sir,” said the Com Tech from her station.

Sean looked away from the plot where he had been watching the battle unfolding across thousands of cubic light years of space.  As far as he knew, he was the first leader ever to be able to follow the events of a complete campaign in real time.  Every one of his forces had at least a dozen ships equipped with wormholes, tapped into the net.  His flagship, an Augustine class super heavy battleship, had eight of the portals installed, giving her unprecedented com capabilities, as well as other things.

“What kind of damage?  And try to get some idea of the casualties.”

He had already heard a report from the Capital System, and it had been enough to raise his rage and anxiety to their maximum limits.  He still wasn’t sure how he was keeping everything under control.  Losing a son and heir would have been enough to push most people into losing it.  Losing over a hundred million citizens of his capital city would have been enough as well.  Both?

One of the holos floating in the air around the Monarch changed, showing the view of a Ca’cadasan superbattleship coming apart under the particle beam barrage of another Augustine class ship, the protons, accelerated through a massive accelerator on the Donut, moving much faster than any ship generated beam could.  The protons blasted through the armored hull like it was made of plastic, ripping into the interior and setting off multiple breaches of internal antimatter.  The twenty-five million ton ship was gone in a flash.  The screen switched views, this time showing an Imperial heavy cruiser in the process of eating a high relativistic missile, the one point six million ton ship and over a thousand crew gone in an instant.

“They’re reporting dozens of impacts with missiles.  Holes through the hull, some dozens of square kilometers in extent.  Reports of over five hundred electromagnetic generators damaged or destroyed.  Casualties estimated at about a hundred thousand.”

Sean nodded, thinking about what he had just heard.  Five hundred of the generators represented a substantial amount of resources, as each massed more than a battleship.  There were over three million of the devices on the Donut, what gave it the massive power generating capacity it needed to make up to thirty wormholes a day, with the excess going into antimatter and negative matter production.  It had taken over fifty years to construct and place all of those devices, which meant it would take considerable time to replace the damage as well.

And if they take that out, we lose all of that capacity, as well as our wormhole production.  He looked over at a holo that was showing another Ca’cadasan ship dying under the particle beams of the same Augustine class ship that had killed the last one.  Those beams were an order of magnitude greater than any other shipborne weapon in this war, and if the Donut were taken out, they would lose that weapon as well.  They would still have the missile acceleration tubes in free orbit around the Donut, those which already had wormholes installed.  They would have no more, and any ship with one of the launch systems that was taken out, along with its end of the tunnel, would be irreplaceable.

Sean opened his mouth to speak, shutting it immediately as he realized there was really nothing to say.  What could he order that wasn’t already being done?  His people on the Donut and manning the system defenses would do everything they could to protect that vital resource.  Anything he could say now would just be a distraction.

“The Captain is reporting we are targeting the nearest Caca ships,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer from his station on the flag bridge.  A moment later the ship shuddered slightly as its four wormhole launchers let loose their first volleys of high relativistic missiles, one hundred and twenty weapons travelling at point nine-five light toward targets that were much too close for them to have achieved that velocity on their own.  The ship shook again as four more wormholes loosed streams of protons, or in the case of two of them, antiprotons.  The beams slashed out, on a wide spread, obliterating incoming enemy weapons and fighters.  Those that made it through were instantly taken under fire by the ship’s lasers and close in weapons, until that threat was neutralized.

“Targeting and firing again,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer.  The ship shuddered again as another hundred and twenty missiles came out of their portals at point nine five light.

And we have to hope that they overlook those acceleration tubes, thought the Emperor as he watched another of the enemy ships disappear from the plot, this one from the missiles launched by this vessel.  These wormhole weapons were his ace in the hole, that and the ability to shift forces across great distances.  If he lost them in the middle of a battle, this fight might be over before it really began.

*     *     *

Admiral Mei sat back in her seat, watching the floating holo that showed the questioning her Marines were putting to the captive humans.  True interrogation would come later, at the hands of Fleet Intelligence.  Her Marine Commander was just there to get some preliminary information, something that might help them battle the other ship, the one that was targeting the Donut.

“We think they were trying to bring another wormhole through the one we were carrying,” said the handsome human who had been the leader of the penetration squad that had navigated the freighter into Imperial space.  “I’m not completely sure what would have happened, but from running the math, I knew it wouldn’t be good.”

My God, thought the Admiral.  She knew what would happen.  The same thing that had happened at the homeworld of the Klavarta.  An explosion that had scoured the surface of a world clean, actually shattering the crust and destroying over ten thousand Caca ships.  What would it have done to the Capital system? she thought.  Scoured the surface of Jewel clean, at least the hemisphere facing the blast.  It would have left the planet denuded of atmosphere, while the cracked crust would have spewed magma into the vacuum around the planet.  All of the structures of Central Docks would have been blown away, completely obliterating the yards and every vessel in it.  New Terra would have suffered less damage than Jewel, but it would still be close to a total loss.  Ariel would have come through with the least damage, probably no more than a severe dose of radiation, enough to kill most of the life on the world.

Eighteen billion people killed, she thought, shaking her head, her eyes locked on the face of the man, a member of her own species who had been raised to hate his own kind.  To think of the Cacas as not just his masters, but almost as the Godlike beings whose destiny it was to rule the Universe.  Willing to do whatever it took to help his masters accomplish their goals.  All of their goals, including the extinction of his own species.

Only something had happened within him, a change of heart.  According to the Captain there were over a hundred thousand of the slave humans in the Ca’cadasan Empire, all brainwashed from birth to help the masters destroy their own kind.  Unless they had not been told the real plan?  Maybe they hadn’t been told that the masters wanted to push their species to extinction.  And this one had figured it out.

“Make sure that information gets to as many wormhole equipped ships as possible,” said the Admiral, looking at her Com Tech.  “Tell everyone that the information has to get to the Donut.”

If her group had been fully operational she would have had enough wormhole coms to get through herself.  The way everything was so disrupted at the moment, she wasn’t even sure if anyone she would be talking to could get through, so the only choice was a broadcast to everyone.

“Orders, ma’am?” asked the Helmsman.

Mei looked at another Com Tech, nodding to get his attention.  “Order all ships to take aboard any available crew and weapons we can load in the next fifteen minutes,” she ordered.  She knew it was really time she didn’t have, but some of her ships had taken a beating, and if she was going to fight a large Caca force she would need every crew member she could get to effect repairs on the way to battle.

“Then order the group to go through the wormhole to the black hole system.”  We might not accomplish anything.  We might be too late.  But if there’s even a chance that our being there might make a difference, we have to be in place for the opportunity.

“Admiral Nakama is stating that he can have volunteer crew aboard us in ten minutes,” said the Com Tech, looking back with a strained smile.  “And as many missiles as they can put aboard our hangers in that time period.”

Mei nodded.  They could move the missiles once aboard through the internal shift tubes that linked all the magazines.  It would take some time, and effort, but with more people they could get it done.

“We also have some more ships asking if they can join us, ma’am.”

“The more the merrier,” said the Admiral.  “But I only want hyper VII ships.  The VIs can stay here and guard the system, in case something else comes along.”  The wormhole gates to a few of the other supersystem planets had disgorged more warships during the battle.  She was sure that had been part of the Caca plan, why they had attacked with fighters at first, to try to lure as many Imperial ships into the zone of destruction as possible.  Some of those ships needed to stay here, for she would be damned if anything else hit them out of the depths of space without the system being covered.

Chapter Seventeen

If we take the generally accepted definition of bravery as a quality which knows no fear, I have never seen a brave man. All men are frightened. The more intelligent they are, the more they are frightened. George S. Patton

“My Lord.  We are picking up numerous objects in orbit around this station.”

The High Admiral in charge of the mission looked up at the plot, tearing his mind away from the thought that he would never see his sons again.  Unlike his subordinates, who had been ordered onto this suicide mission, and had obeyed unquestioningly, as was their way, he had volunteered for a hopeless charge that could win the war for his kind in a day.  And bring glory and honor to his sons, advancing them in their careers.

“Show me.”

Whatever they were, they weren’t radiating gravitons, so were probably not ships.  And all of them were very large, in the hundreds of millions of ton range, many much more massive.  The Ca’cadasan ships were only getting sensor returns on them now, and none of them were stealthed.

The one that appeared on the screen was a squat cylinder, the sensor readouts showing a length of over fifty kilometers, a width of twenty.  It was putting out gravitons, the kind that were generated by the simple mass of the object, and not by any technological means.

“Mass reading estimated to be over a hundred billion tons,” called out the shocked Tactical Officer.  “Purpose unknown, but I believe it is a wormhole production satellite.  Should we target it?”

“No.  We will move forward with the primary mission.”  I would hate to fail for the lack of a missile, thought the High Admiral.  “And what is that?”

This object was over a thousand kilometers in length, though less than a single kilometer in width, looking all the world like an enormous needle.  It massed less than a billion tons, probably closer to eight hundred million.  Thousands of smaller objects inhabited the vastness of the space around the station, most of unknown purpose.  They must have been factories, docks, antimatter storage containers.  The industrial potential indicated was massive.  The destruction of so much potential would be devastating to the war effort of the humans, but it was still nothing compared to their station, which represented a thousand of the power generating worlds his own Empire would need to equal its energy producing potential.

“Second wave of missiles should reach the station in another minute,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Most of the missiles were visible on the plot, the specials looking like ghost images even to Ca’cadasan sensors.  Many were dropping off the plot each second as counter missiles from the station took them out.  The plot showed the third wave, still five minutes from contact, followed by the first wave launched by the warships, over six minutes behind that one.

“Time until we reach detonation range?”

“Seventeen minutes, my Lord.  We should launch our last missiles in thirteen minutes, then follow them in.”

“Then that is what we will do,” ordered the High Admiral.  “And I will want detonation within ten thousand kilometers from of the hull of the station.  Leading vessels will shoot by before then.”  And just maybe we can survive the blast and get out of this system, he thought.  That wasn’t in the plan of the people who had sent him, but if it got him out alive it was his plan.

“One of the large objects is on the move, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing to an icon that denoted one of the large cylinders.  The vector arrow showed that it would cross their path about four hundred and fifty thousand kilometers ahead when they were still two minutes from the station.  “Perhaps they intend to use it as a mobile battery against us.”

“Do we know what weapons it might have?”

“No, my Lord.  It’s not boosting at a very high rate.  Only a couple of gravities.  So it doesn’t seem to be any kind of weapon system.”

“Then we’ll ignore it if we can.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

They would have been better served to have more of their warships close in to the station, thought the High Admiral.  They had taken out over fifty warships with long range fire, light cruisers and destroyers, and not one capital ship.  The enemy must have felt that the station was unassailable by any kind of sneak attack.  They were wrong.  He had also lost a couple of ships, since the warships, when they had still existed, and the station were putting out considerable firepower.  But nothing had gotten close to the freighter, which had been his primary concern.

The Admiral watched the second wave on final attack approach.  It looked like about fifty of the weapons would strike the station, including five of the quarkium warheads.  Probably not enough to seriously harm the station, much less destroy it.  But hopefully enough of a distraction to allow them to get the real weapon into engagement range.

Something exploded ahead.  Something massive, probably of higher megatonage than the quarkium warheads they were firing at the station.  Something that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“What in the hells was that?” asked the High Admiral, looking at the Tactical Officer.

“I’m not sure, my Lord.  It just seemed to come out of nowhere.”  The officer looked over his panel, getting what information it could give him.  “Range was one million kilometers.  Estimated yield, over one terraton.”

The High Admiral felt the tension increase in both pairs of shoulders as his eyes widened.  That was the equivalent yield of a thousand of their ship killer missiles.  And they had no idea where it had come from.  Within five seconds eight more of the explosions rippled through space, most no closer than the first, one within the distance where it was flooding two nearby ships with heat and radiation.  Seven more went off, then, after a short break, eleven more.  One went off within five kilometers of a ship.  The vessel came apart under the blast, hull alloy vaporizing away as armor peeled off.  The remains of the ship continued on, without a living crew to fight it.

“Go to evasive maneuvers, now,” shouted the Admiral.

“It will increase our time to contact with the station,” said the Helm Officer.

“But it will give us a greater chance in actually getting there,” growled the Admiral.  “Now do what I say.  And give the other ships my orders.”

*     *     *

“The first missiles should have detonated by now, sir,” said the Pilot, who was also the wing Tactical Officer.

And we have no way of knowing their effect, thought Captain Javier Chavez.  Unless they strike a boosting vessel.

“Command is reporting that one enemy battleship has ceased boosting,” said the Klassekian Com Tech, looking at the Wing Commander.

So one hit, or more probably a near miss, thought the Captain.  Out of forty of the new missiles launched.  In a way that was not much of a favorable exchange, since these weapons were extremely expensive.  But then again, so was one of the Caca superbattleships.

The Mark XXXI inertialess missile was a new brainchild of Admiral Chan’s Research and Development Command.  Using the same inertial bubble as the craft that equipped Chavez’ wing, they were launched from the fighters while they were under boost within the drive.  The missiles erected their own bubbles as soon as they left the bodies of the fighters, still contained within the launching craft’s bubble.  As soon as they were ready they boosted away, through the negative matter screen of the launch vessel, accelerating up to a maximum of three times light speed, a much higher velocity than the fighters.  From that point they headed out on their programmed course, with no way on knowing what was going on in the outside Universe.  They could only drive toward their target, dropping out of their bubble when they reached the point that they had been aimed for.  With luck there would be something there worth the spectacular explosion that occurred when a material object massing eighty tons reentered the Universe and all of its inertia caught up to it.  It was the equivalent of eighty tons of antimatter, three terratons of destruction.

The missiles were very expensive, using enough negative matter that eight missiles equaled a fighter.  They were a devastating weapon, and almost useless as they were.  It was hoped that someday some form of guidance or control system would be developed that would give them some kind of accuracy.  This was not that day.

“Preparing to drop back to normal space,” called out the Pilot, making last second checks on his board.

“Give me an update on the plot,” the Captain ordered his Com Tech.  He wished there was a better way to get this kind of information while they were in the bubble.  Passing communications was one thing, but he thought it was asking a bit much of the quantum linked being to transmit this much information.  The Klassekian did her best, and what came across was surprisingly detailed, if still suspect.  Not anything against her abilities, but everything was being scanned by graviton emissions against a radiation backdrop unlike anything the tactical departments had ever seen.  Hundreds of vessels large and small, the emissions of the largest object in known space, the black hole it orbited around, explosions like nothing seen in Imperial space.

Still, he had to admit the plot that was coming through her sibling to be projected into the ship’s computer by implant seemed to be very detailed.  The second wave of enemy missiles was almost at the station, followed closely by thousands of attack fighters, a third wave following.  All of those were well ahead of his four squadrons.   At his current velocity he would not be able to catch them before they struck, but hopefully the other two and a half wings would be able to intervene.  His targets were coming up on him now, moving at point five five light, heading for the station.  They had not fired their missiles, something that was troubling to the Wing Commander, since that kind of tactical decision flew in the face of all doctrine.

“We need to acquire targets as soon as we’re back into normal space,” said the Captain, pointing at the nearest ships.  “We might only get one shot at them before we have to go back into the bubble.”

The Pilot nodded, not saying a word.  The Captain didn’t blame him.  This was the kind of situation to tax the abilities of the best of pilots.  He would have to change vectors and pick out targets at the same time, then fire an instant later.  Knowing that the enemy would be sure to fire on his ship as soon as they were no longer masked by the negative matter bubble.

“Now,” yelled out the Pilot, the only warning any of the bridge crew would get.  The bubble dropped, normal space appeared on the viewers, and the plot firmed up, showing a ship bearing down on them at a closing speed of point three light.  Range, twelve light seconds.

*     *     *

“That was one of the support cables going,” shouted out one of the Ratings who was monitoring damage to the station.

Lucille looked up at the station schematic, seeing the blinking red area about five hundred thousand kilometers up to spinward.  The outer portside cable, a five-kilometer thickness of superstrong alloys and carbon nanofibers, was missing a six kilometer section.  The other five were intact.  The station was made so that three of the cables, the primary structural support keeping the fast rotating structure together, were enough to keep it from flying apart.  It helped if the remaining cables were evenly distributed.  If the cables were in different regions of the station all of them could be cut, theoretically.  It was not a theory that Yu wanted to test.

“That had to be one of their big warheads,” said Lucille, looking over at the duty officer.  “No way a simple ship killer could take that out.”

The damage extended deep into the station, in fact blasting all the way out the other side, but fortunately not retaining enough force to take out a second cable.  It had wiped out another couple of dozen generator units, which was bad.  But not as bad as the inhabited section it had taken out as well, and probably ten thousand people with it.

The deck shook, too soon to be the shock wave from the quarkium warhead that had taken out the cable.  And not strong enough, if Lucille was any judge.  It was one of the ship killers, still strong enough to blast a kilometer or two into the station.  Fifteen of those had struck, as well as three more of the super-warheads.  Sheltering deep enough in the station would protect against the normal ship killers.  There really was no place to shelter from the super-warheads.  All you could do was hope one didn’t hit close enough to wherever you were, and that the station didn’t come apart around you.

“Look at this, sir.  Ma’am,” said one of the Techs, throwing up a slowed down holo.  It showed a massive explosion inward from the station, well toward the event horizon of the black hole.  A missile with a quarkium warhead that had missed the station.  And then had gone off before reaching the event horizon.  The explosion had lived for microseconds before being sucked into the black hole, the inexorable pull of gravity stopping the explosive force before it had travelled more than a thousand kilometers from its source.

Nothing can escape from it.  Nothing can harm it.  She stared at the hole for a moment, watching the reflection of light around the event horizon, the distortion of the stars on the other side.  It was the source of their power, the energy they generated to make wormholes.  And could it be used to stop this enemy who was determined to destroy the station?

“The wormhole generation satellite is almost in place,” called out another Tech, bringing Lucille back to the here and now, and the next task.

“I will take control of the satellite,” said Lucille, pulling up the holographic control panel to hang in the air before her.  “Starting countdown, now.”

*     *     *

“Objects ahead,” called out the Tactical Officer, pointing at the forty-two new icons that had seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Where the hell did they come from?” asked the High Admiral, scowling.

“They must be some of those impossible fighters we were told about in the mission briefing,” said the second in command over the com.  “But why did they jump back into normal space ahead of us.  They lack any kind of closing speed.”

That was true.  The fighters were actually still moving toward the station at almost point three light, while the Ca’cadasan ships were coming up behind them at point five five.  The closing speed was only point three light, almost standing still as far as state of the art targeting systems were concerned.  And anything they fired would start off killing the momentum of the launching vessel while trying to claw their way back to their targets.

“Their firing, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, as one hundred and sixty-eight icons, four for each fighter, appeared on the plot.  The vector arrows were actually pointing away from the Ca’cadasan force, the figures below them showing deceleration at fifteen thousand gravities. They dropped away from the launching fighters, letting the oncoming Ca’cadasan ships catch up to them at an increasing closing speed.  That closing velocity would never get much above point five light, still too slow to avoid most laser targeting systems.  And then it happened.

“Half the icons disappeared,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, his voice close to panic.

“Where?”

The explosions went off all around the Ca’cadasan force.  The inertialess missiles had not had time to get up to more than point six light, but that still brought an inertia rebound that converted sixty percent of their mass to energy.  Eighty-four explosions, none aimed with any kind of accuracy, at a force that was spread with a score of kilometers between the ships.  Some of the blasts went off behind the force, a few to the side, most in front, sending their waves of heat and radiation into the oncoming superbattleships.  One exploded on top of a capital ship, leaving little more than spreading plasma and debris particles expanding in space.  One went off a little further from a ship, far enough that it didn’t shatter the vessel, close enough that it still killed most of the crew and left the battleship a tumbling wreck.

The fighters started to close as well, firing their lasers and particle beams into the oncoming warships, maneuvering for all they were worth to avoid return fire.  Their conventional missiles closed to attack range, most falling prey to defensive fire.  A few achieved close misses, adding slight damage to some of the warships.  Then the weapons of the Ca’cadasan ships started targeting the fighters.

*     *     *

Two down, thought Captain Chavez, watching as the graviton emissions of two superbattleships dropped off the plot.  They were still ten light seconds distance, and it would take some moments before he actually saw what happened to them.  As long as they were out of commission that was really all that mattered.

His ships were now firing their pea shooters at the vessels that outmassed them by over fifteen thousand times.  Any hits they got would be absorbed by electromagnetic fields and armor.  But his force had given its best shot, and they had no more missiles to fire.

Two of his fighters dropped off the plot, and he decided that it was time to get.

“All ships are to go back into bubble drive, now,” he ordered, looking over at his Com Tech.  “Set course for the station, all fighters to come out in defensive configuration.”

The orders went out, and moments later the negative matter bubble was in place, thirty-nine fighters disappearing from the sensors of every near ship.

*     *     *

“One light minute to target,” called out the Weapons/Tactical/Sensor Officer from his position in the forward cockpit.

And what a target it was.  The High Captain, who was the leader of the entire first strike, couldn’t take his eyes off the tactical plot that showed that target.  It was the biggest target he had ever seen, since the Ca’cadasan fleet didn’t make a habit of attacking stars.  Over twenty-five million kilometers in circumference, almost eight million in diameter, larger than the width of most stars, though not near as massive.  Probably the largest intelligently designed object in the known Universe.

The flight of twenty-five thousand ships had come out of the wormhole well below their maximum velocity for safety reasons, then had started boosting on a least time profile for the station.  They weren’t able to use the standard strategy of coasting most of the distance, making it difficult for the enemy to track them.  They were boosting the entire way, first accelerating, then decelerating, putting out heat and gravitons.  Only the humans had solved the problem of staying stealthy, but only by using wormholes and boosting at very low rates.  So they were being tracked the entire way, as evidenced by the defensive fighters that had blown through their formation, trading missiles and beam weapons.

Ca’cadasan attack fighters were less massive than human ship launched fighters, even the space superiority version.  At six hundred tons, they carried a crew of three, verses seven for the human birds, and were more maneuverable.  The attack fighters massed eight hundred tons and carried a crew of four.  The human fighters they tangled with were specifically designed to fly protection for planets and space stations, and lacked the endurance of ship attack fighters.  They massed a hundred tons each, with a crew of two, and were the most maneuverable craft in this fight.  They were also the most lightly armed, their lasers and particle beams commensurate with their size.  They had destroyed over two thousand of his ships on the pass, versus about fifteen hundred of their own.  The human fighters had turned on the grabbers, decelerating at fifteen hundred gravities, trying to kill their momentum so they could come back and attack the Ca’cadasan ships that were deceling at twelve hundred gees.

“Setting up attack profile,” the other officer said.  This was also not a standard attack, where they would be roaring in at maximum velocity to put missiles into ships.  There weren’t enough missiles in both strikes to do more than sting something the size of the station, and stinging it wouldn’t help the main strike that was coming in behind both waves of fighters.  No, their mission was to locate defensive structures on the station and take them out.  The most frightening part of that mission was locating defensive structures, which could only be done by enticing them to fire on the fighters, not a proposition that encouraged thoughts of long term survival.

The fighters had reached a stage where they were almost at a standstill compared to the station’s position, if not its rotational velocity.  As they slid closer the weapons on the station, lasers placed on the hull, close in autoweapons, particle beams, started firing at the Ca’cadasan ships.  They were still hard to hit, going into evasive maneuvers that made small targets multiple light seconds away difficulty to pin down.  Hard didn’t mean impossible, and on the final approach hundreds of craft were blasted out of space.

“Starting target acquisition,” called out the other officer, running the tracking software that linked with the other ships of the wave, locating weapons that had fired, marking their positions on the station among nearby installations, then cataloguing and prioritizing them.  The fighters swung into a tight orbital path around the station, moving against the rotation.  Fighters started to fire on the station, two hundred megaton missiles targeting laser domes and particle beam nozzles, lasers and particle beams striking out at the close in auto-weapons.  Secondary targets included hatches, sensor domes, and any other installations which defied identification.

Weapons systems struck back, blasting fighters into fast moving debris.  Some hit the station, generating small secondary explosions.  Small, that is, in relation to the size of the station.  And then the defensive fighters came boosting back in, mixing it up with the enemy fighters in what would have been called dogfights in atmosphere, but were considered insanity at the speeds they were moving.  Over a thousand ships were gone on each side in less than a minute.  The attacking force spread as it completed orbits around the station, until the space near the outer skin was one continuous fur ball.

*     *     *

“We’re going to take years getting this thing back together again,” said one of the Officers in the War Room.  Vibrations from explosions were coming through the hull continuously, muted not because of their lack of power, but due to the massiveness of the object they were transmitted through.

If we’ve still got a station left to repair, thought Admiral McCullom.  It had taken a hundred years, and a good percentage of the industrial capacity of the Empire to build it in the first place.  They didn’t have the industrial capacity to spare in the middle of this war, nor the time.  If it was destroyed they lost it, and with it the war.

“The evacuation is proceeding as fast as we can get them through the gates,” said one of the Com Techs, looking back from her station.  “The station commander is asking if he can start moving military personnel through.”

“No,” growled McCullom.  “We will defend this station to the last.”

“What about getting as many wormholes off the station as we can?” asked another Officer.  “Just in case.”

“And how would you evacuate them?” asked Sondra, pointing to the plot, which was covered with objects quickly changing their orientation, when they weren’t just disappearing altogether.  “Put them on shuttles and try to fly them through that mess?  And what do you think the Cacas are going to think of any ships we try to sneak through them?”

And that was the other thing.  It had seemed like a good idea at the time to put most of the wormholes here on the station, where they could serve as the instantaneous com and logistics links of the Empire.  That had been the purpose of putting so much space on the station not devoted to energy generation and storage, or to industrial concerns like antimatter and negative matter production.  The station was to be the hub of the industry of the Empire, with business travelers stepping from planet to planet through this hub.  Now they might have to rethink that, and spread the hub to multiple locations.  Unfortunately, two thirds of the wormholes in the Empire linked to this station, and if it were gone, so were those links.  Or were they?

“Get me Dr. Yu on the Com,” ordered McCullom, an idea forming.

Chapter Eighteen

If everyone is thinking alike, then somebody isn't thinking. George S. Patton

“What information have you heard from the Empire?” asked the Klavarta Admiral over the com holo.

“Nothing good, ma’am,” replied the human Vice Admiral.  “They hurt us, bad, in the Capital system.  Reports are still fragmentary.  Preliminary reports are that we beat off the attack, but they hurt us.  Over a hundred million dead, hundreds of ships lost, docks, shipbuilding facilities.  It sounds like we lost a major battle, though it could have been worse.”

“And the Donut?”

“That’s still up in the air,” said the Vice Admiral.  And unfortunately, more than two thirds of our wormholes terminate at the Donut, or one of the orbital stations around it.  If the Cacas take those out, we’re in a lot of trouble.

“We can’t do anything about it,” said the Klavarta.  “So I guess we need to concentrate on what we can do.”

We could pray, thought the Vice Admiral, herself not a believer in any deity.   She didn’t think more than half of the citizens of the Empire did, and she wasn’t sure there was any kind of religious belief among the Klavarta.  But it was just about the only thing she could think of.

“So you want to go ahead with the offensive?” asked the Vice Admiral.

“I don’t know what else we should do,” said the Klavarta.  “We have the ships in place, and the eyes of the enemy are on the other front.  Your intelligence is saying that they have reinforcements coming this way, but they aren’t here yet.  So now is the time to strike.”

And intelligence hadn’t been too sure about their information, thought the Vice Admiral, looking over at the tactical plot that showed the projected dispositions of the enemy units, mostly clustered around the score of inhabited systems nearest to their primary front base.  The enemy had been weakened in the last Klavarta operation, coming on the heels of the attack by the Cacas deep into the Nation of New Earth’s space.  Losses had been heavy on both sides, but the Klavarta had new construction coming out of the shipbuilding slips, and some reinforcements had come through from the Empire.  And they had wormholes, over a hundred of them, with more coming.  Half the wormholes reached back to the Empire, two to ship gates that would allow vessels from either front to transit immediately to the other.  The rest to weapon systems that doubled as com portals.  The other half had come to the front with both ends carried in sealed containers, and were now functioning as ship gates and com portals for the Klavarta Fleet.

“I still wish the intelligence was a little more, firm,” said the Vice Admiral.  “It would have eased my mind if more of your scout ships had come back from their missions.”

“The ones that came back reported information that agreed with your intelligence estimates.”

And that was what was bothering the Vice Admiral.  Anything that had come across any unsuspected shipping might have been destroyed.  While it was unlikely that everything sent out that stumbled upon something would have been snapped up, it was always a possibility.  And any intelligence they developed in the Ca’cadasan Empire, an expanse twenty-five times larger than the New Terran Empire, would of course be sparse, and suspect.  But this was not her command, or her Empire’s.  She and her ships were here to support the Nation of New Earth in their prosecution of the war.

“We will move on our targets in six hours,” said the Klavarta Admiral, a firm order that left no room for argument.  The Klavarta turned on the holo.  “Send the orders to all units.”  Looking back at the human Admiral she smiled.  “And if you would be so kind as to let you units know my orders, and transmit them to my units in their proximity.”

The human nodded, then turned to her own com people to give them the command.  The ship carried one wormhole.  There just weren’t enough on this front to give any vessel more than one.  She also carried a half dozen Klassekian Com Techs, each the member of a different sibling group.  There was still pressure by the Klavarta to assign some of the aliens to their commands, but so far the Empire had been adamant at keeping them aboard their own ships and stations.

“Then let us be about it.  In four days we strike the first targets.  We’ll adjust our objectives depending on what we find.”

Which was at least some common sense from the normally aggressive Klavarta, who seemed predisposed to charge in and think later.  That was probably the truth, since they were genetically engineered to be fighters.  At least some of the Imperial human thinking was starting to rub off on them, and they were willing to be audacious while still taking precautions that the audaciousness didn’t lead to disaster.

Six hours later the ships started to move.  It was still a two-day journey to their target.  Other task groups started off at the same time, still more later, so that all the groups would reach their targets at approximately the same time.  Most of the ships were still the raider and small destroyer class of the Klavarta, soon to be replaced for the most part by larger Imperial designs.  The only problem was, the Klavarta were not willing to let go of perfectly good ships while they could still be of use in the war.  Their philosophy was that warriors were cheaper than the weapons they used, so they sacrificed warriors to get the most of the weapons while they had them.

*     *     *

“Magnificent,” said the Great Admiral as he watched some of his reinforcements coming through the new wormhole gate.  It was to date his only wormhole gate, the other three deployed to ships.  And with things heating up on the other front, he wasn’t expected too many more in the future.  There actually was one more on the way.  He knew this because the ship carrying it was in communication with the capital, which was in an instantaneous link with his headquarters through this very gate.

The superbattleship finished its translation, coming through at less than a kilometer per second.  It wasn’t going anywhere beyond the system for the moment, so there was no need for high velocity.  It took four seconds for the ship to complete the transit.  Twenty seconds later another ship came through.  All were of the older designs.  Only a few of the experimental vessels, the new battleships, were in commission, and this was still considered a secondary front.

“They aren’t sending everything you asked for,” said his Chief of Staff.

“It will still double my force,” said the Great Admiral, thankful that he still had his command.  What they were sending him would not have doubled his original command.  Not even close.  He had lost so many ships and crews in his assault on the Klavarta that he barely had enough to hold the frontier as it was.  He thought a strong attack by the Klavarta would crack his defenses, and leave the worlds behind him helpless.  And with a five-month travel time from the industrial heart of the Empire to his command, he hadn’t thought he would get the reinforcements he, or his successor, needed.

Now potential reinforcements were just a short jump away.  This very day his force would grow by two thousand warships.  Tomorrow by the same amount.

“We’re receiving a grav pulse message, my Lord,” said a male, running onto the observation deck of the station.  “It comes from the surveillance line.”

The Great Admiral grunted his acknowledgement.  They had taken a page out of the Klavarta book, and left a line of scout ships leading from deep into their territory all the way to this base.  The earlier offset line had given them early warning of the enemy entering their space.  Now this one gave them the final alert that they were indeed heading here.  Just like the Klavarta had done to him, he had stationed his ships just within grav pulse range of each other.  Three hundred ships, stretched across just under two hundred light years in normal space.  Under orders to not reveal themselves until a major movement of enemy ships was detected.  Then, of course, the ships that had picked up the movements would be located, and there was the possibility that enemy ships would be dropping into normal space looking for them.  But the ones further up the chain would not be detected, since they would have transmitted their messages already and have gone silent by the time the enemy got within detection range.

“The report we’re getting is that an enemy fleet is continuing to move in our direction.”

“Show me,” ordered the Great Admiral.

A holo plot sprang to life in the center of the chamber, and the Great Admiral and his staff turned their backs on the viewer that was showing the new arrivals.  The holo showed the local stars, out to three hundred light years from the base in the direction of the Klavarta, only a score in the other direction.  The volume of stars looked like a thin mist among a sea of black.   Two blinking red dots had vector arrows leading from them, one behind the other, about thirty light years out, where the first of the scout line ships were stationed.  And the vector lines were definitely pointing toward Ca’cadasan space in the general direction of the base.

“And I guess we can assume that they are coming here, on a direct assault?”

“That would be the most likely scenario, my Lord,” said the Chief of Staff.  “If they are smart they will be coming here in mass, especially since they know we have spotted them.”

“That would be the smart way to bet,” said the Great Admiral.  “But I am unwilling to bet that way.  The Klavarta themselves would be likely to rush at us like enraged animals.  The other humans with them would not, and we must count on them trying something unexpected.”

“Your orders, my Lord?” asked the Chief of Staff.

“Put the fleet on alert.  All recon groups are to move out to their pre-arranged positions and prepare to maintain contact with the enemy when they come within range.  Force A units are to form up into battle groups and move to a light hour from the hyper-limit.  The rest are to go into their waiting positions.”

“And then?”

“And then we wait and see what shows up at our door.”

*     *     *

This might not be the best idea I’ve even had, thought Angel Sergio Martinez, landing on the platform of the building in his very expensive high tech armor.  The armor could be stealthed to a degree that would surprise most members of the Imperial military.  It was stronger, tougher, and had more gadgets, all coming at a premium price.  And it was also very recognizable, when not in stealth, as something different than anyone else would be wearing this day in this city.

Right now that wasn’t his worry.  He took a moment to glance at the city around him, his heart sinking as he took in the destruction.  A kilometer away was the Imperial Library, the central branch of the largest collection of books and papers in human space.  Fifty square kilometers of footprint on the ground.  The thoughts and theories of a hundred million scholars, the imagination of the same number of fiction writers.  Books from old Earth, some originals.  Most of the really valuable tomes would be held in the secure vaults under the building, but from the collapsed state of the structure, it wasn’t a sure thing that those vaults survived.  There were a half dozen craters in the building, and easily a third of the structure had collapsed from kinetic hits.

A kilometer separation to the north was the Imperial Art Gallery, covering another twenty squares kilometers of ground footprint.  Millions of reproductions from old Earth, along with some priceless originals.  Tens of millions more works that had been created since humanity had reached this space.  The building hadn’t been damaged to the extent that the library had, but it seemed not for lack of effort.  Seven holes cratered the building.

The bastards, he thought, imagining the gloating faces of the Cacas.  A rage bubbled up from his stomach.  He may have been a roughneck Naval Commando at one time, and then an assassin.  But he still appreciated the finer things in life, and the Cacas had struck at the heart of the Empire.  His Empire.  It had been a long time since he thought of it as such.

The cries for help came once again over his audio pickups, and he turned his attention back to the here and now.  Part of this building was collapsed, and there were citizens in this part with no way out.  Search and rescue was out in force, probably every surviving member who could still move.  But given the magnitude of this disaster, they were not enough.  There wasn’t much one person could do, but whatever it was, he would do it.  And he was better equipped than most.

“Move as far back from the rubble as you can get,” he said over his suit loudspeaker, hoping that his words would make it through to the trapped.  He gave them ten seconds, then activated his suit laser, cutting through one of the beams that formed the wall.  Sparks flew, and the power level on the laser went down slowly as he cut through.  Checking the wall with his suit sensors, bouncing deep radar beams from the rubble, he picked the next cutting point and went to work.  That done he did another check, making sure nothing he was about to pull out would cause a collapse.

Angel dug his gauntleted fingers into the plasticrete and tugged with all the force the suit could generate, using his grabbers to steady his armor as it moved back.   His suit looked like a medium suit that had been augmented.  Actually its actuators were more powerful than those used in the larger heavy suits, and he had little trouble ripping ten tons of masonry out of the fallen rubble and depositing it on the ledge behind him.  Another jerk and the wall was lighter by another ten tons of masonry.  He checked the structure once again, made one more cut, and pulled another chunk out, this time exposing the space within.

People looked out at him.  He could see five, but his infrared system made out seven more.  Two of the red figures were cooler than normal, the sign of losing body heat, an indication that their metabolic processes had ceased.  It was also a sign that they had not been dead that long, and were probably recoverable.  The only problem with that being the search and rescue apparatus was heavily overloaded at this moment.  By the time anyone got here to revive them, it would be too late.  And though his suit had many capabilities, revival was not one of them.

“We need help,” said one of the people he had just freed.

“I’m not search and rescue.  Now that I’ve gotten you out, you need to wait until the proper authorities come.”

“My wife and child need help,” cried the man, grabbing Angel by the shoulders.  If he had meant to push or pull the suit he was out of luck.  “Please.”  He turned and looked at the two people lying on the floor.  One adult, and one infant.

How in the hell did you rate a reproduction license? thought Angel, looking into the distraught face of the man.  As a core world, Jewel was already at the population limit.  Actually well above what any other core world was allowed, being the capital.  With a continuous flow of people on planet from elsewhere, children were rare on this world.  So an infant was unexpected.  Angel linked into the net, getting the location of the nearest intact hospital.

“I’ll take them to the nearest hospital.  That’s all I can do.”

Angel picked up the woman in one arm and cradled the infant in the other, backing out of the room until he was again in the open.  He took one last look at the father, then boosted into the air on his grabbers, accelerating at a low enough speed, a couple of gravities, that he wouldn’t cause significant extra brain damage to the infant.

The hospital was ten kilometers from the building.  One of the thirty-seven in the city, and one of the larger ones at that, it was a miracle that it hadn’t been targeted.  Fourteen others had been, or at least had been close enough to targets that they had taken significant damage.  In less than a minute he was there, landing on one of the platforms designated an ambulance landing pads.  There were four ambulance aircars on the roof, one in the process of taking off.  He could see another in the air at a distance.  Medical personnel were on the roof, unloading the seriously injured from the remaining aircars.

“These two need immediate stabilization,” he shouted at one of the teams, running over to them, laying the mother on the roof, then putting the child on top of her.

“Wait,” shouted one of the staff who had the look of a doctor.  “Who are they?  What happened to them?”

But Angel was already in the air, looking for someone else to help in this smashed city.  He turned his audio sensors to maximum, trying to find those who needed his help the most.  And thinking.  It was time he outgrew this selfish streak of his, and started worrying about his species and his kingdom, and not just his own comfort.  He hoped that Ekaterina Sergiov had survived this attack.  He was ready to take her whole deal.  He knew he was only one man, and there wasn’t a lot one man could do in a war this large.  But what he could do he would.

*     *     *

“Releasing holes, now,” said Lucille Yu, manning the station that was linked to that operation in her control center.

Admiral Mikal Kalashnikov nodded, still not sure about this plan.  But they needed to do everything possible to stop the enemy, and he was sure that throwing kitchen sinks wouldn’t do the job.  But he still wasn’t sure that black holes would be much better.

Unfortunately, only two of the wormhole generators had been in the proper orientation to be of use.  They were vital assets, but he would sacrifice them all if it would save the station.  The generators could be replaced in a year, the station a century.

Each of the two generators, a matched pair, were accelerating on a vector that approached the enemy fleet at an angle, the best that could be done.  The Admiral would have preferred a straight on approach, but the generators had been orbiting the central black hole, and the laws of physics dictated that the angled approach was the only one possible.  Each carried eight of the micro-black holes used to rip apart space.  Each was a highly charged mass of several billion tons, held in a massive electromagnetic field in a cup of pure supermetal alloy.  Each of the holes was radiating at several hundred thousand degrees, the heat absorbed through a superconducting system and offloaded through a wormhole heat sink.  That radiation was caused by the mass loss inherent in the nature of small black holes, hundreds of tons a day.  It wouldn’t take long for the holes to lose mass in increasing measures as their own bulk shrunk, until they reached a point where they exploded in a furious multi-gigaton blast.  Regular feeding of an equal amount of ions to the loss kept them stable.  They would only last a couple of months without that feeding, and would self-destruct well before they became wandering hazards to navigation outside the hyper barrier.

The huge generators came apart as the separation charges blew.  Moments later the multiple arms of each generator pod reared back, then moved forward, cutting their electromagnetic fields at the end of the arc and sending sixteen micro-black holes toward the enemy force.  Each was moving at slightly above the velocity of their containers at time of launch, about point zero one light.  That was as fast as they would ever go, lacking any kind of ability to accelerate on their own.  The containers themselves started to decelerate so that they wouldn’t catch and overtake the projectiles they had just released.

The weapons were on their way.  Weapons with no guidance systems, no means to adjust vectors.  Unlikely to actually hit a target, but capable of destroying that target if they did.  Admiral Kalashnikov watched their track on the plot for a moment, then turned his attention to other matters of the defense.  There was nothing more he could do about this attack, which would either accomplish something, or not.

Chapter Nineteen

Desperate affairs require desperate measures. Horatio Nelson

From a distance the slender ribbon around the distortion in space looked fragile.  In the cosmic scheme of things it was, but the hundred kilometer wide, fifty kilometer deep construct was probably the toughest object in known space.  It needed all of the toughness at the moment as the Ca’cadasans tried to destroy it.

From the distance all seemed well, the bright pinpoints of nuclear and antimatter blasts looking like briefly lived sparklers in the darkness.  Some larger pinpoints showed, the gigaton shipkillers, and the larger terraton quarkium warheads, by themselves not enough to destroy it, but paving the way for something that could.

Several hundred Caca fighters continued to circle the station, hitting every weapon position they could target, while thousands of space superiority fighters kept up the chase, blasting them out of existence when given the opportunity.  Their attacks were also mere pinpricks, but every defensive weapon position they took out was another that couldn’t target the other weapons that were targeting the station.

Two thousand missiles of the third wave sped toward the station, on their way to weaken it further.  Three hundred multi-pentaton blasts erupted in space around them, not well aimed, making up for their poor targeting with the fury of their blasts.  Hundreds of missiles were caught up in the blasts, blown away, or thrown off course at the point where there wasn’t enough time to get back on track.  Moments later two and a half wings of intertialess fighters appeared from out of nowhere, heading toward the station at point three light, the missiles catching up, heading toward the station at point nine light, a point six c closing speed with the fighters.  The fighters had twelve seconds to fire at the missiles as they came in, putting laser and particle beam shots into the weapons.  As the missiles passed they had a further nine seconds to fire before they had to raise their negative matter bubbles and boost away on a course that would avoid collision with the station and the black hole.  Only a hundred and seventy-three missiles made it past the fighters, including all forty-three of the larger tougher quarkium weapons.  Forty-one hit, including twenty-two of the quarkium warheads, the most at this point.

*     *     *

“They hit us hard with that volley, ma’am,” said the Aide, looking down at his seated Admiral.

“Time for us to leave,” said McCullom, getting up from her seat and looking across the large chamber, where most of her staff had already left their stations.  She felt like a shit for abandoning the station, right after abandoning the capital city.  But she knew in both cases it was the right decision.  They weren’t here to fight for the defense of the station, but to coordinate the fleet across all of the battlespaces that was the war.  If the station went they would lose much of their communications capabilities, but there would still be enough, with the offsite wormholes and Klassekian com techs who had been evacuated earlier.

And from what her staff had told her in their analysis of the enemy attack, something really big was about to hit the station.  Probably wormhole through wormhole big, something that would dwarf any of the warheads.  We needed to have a contingency plan for something like this, she thought, grabbing her comp pad.  Some way to get our most important assets off the station.  Unfortunately, almost all of the active wormhole gates were placed in semi-permanent settings.  They would take hours to remove from those placings, not to consider the time it would consume to move them to a dock, get them aboard a ship, and away.  The only other way she could think of doing it better would compromise security and increase the chances of an accident doing the same thing to the portals.

“I’m tired of this shit,” exclaimed one of the junior Captains, walking to her front.  “We’re acting like a bunch of cowards.”

She didn’t even know the officer’s name, something she should have chided herself about, especially since he was just below flag rank.  But she probably had two hundred captains on her staff, and five or six hundred commanders.  They also moved, new ones coming in all the time while others rotated out.  Probably wishing for a ship command, where he could stand and fight.  But his remark hit home, and Sondra found herself rounding on the officer.

“When you have a ship command, you can stand and fight all you want, Captain,” she growled at the officer, seeing the panic growing in his eyes.  “As long as the situation requires it.  Right now, we are in the shit, and chances are we are going to lose this station.  Now, if you want to stay and man a battery, you have my permission, Captain.  Otherwise, you will get your ass through the portal and we will continue to do the jobs we have been assigned.  Understand?”

Her nose was almost touching that of the other officer, who was probably thinking that his career was over.  She decided to take a little pity on the man.  “I wish there was something I could do here as well.  I could stay here and die, which would be the coward’s way out.  Or I could leave and continue to do my duty, knowing that we failed to protect our most valuable asset on my watch.  Now, if you really wish to stay, I’ll let you.  But you can probably accomplish more if you come with us.”

The young Captain nodded his head, closing his eyes for a moment.  She put a hand on his shoulder and motioned him toward the chamber exit.  The man walked away quickly, and McCullom motioned for her Aide to go.

The vibrations from one of the larger hits came through the deck, over three minutes from the time of the explosion.  The Aide picked up the secure briefcase and led the way from the room.  There was a wormhole portal room only eight hundred meters down the corridor from the war room.  Marine guards hustled them past a crowd of people, military and civilian, trying to get off the station.  The military were probably all nonessential personnel or those passing through the station at the wrong time.  Their implants would alert those checking the evacuation if they were someone in dereliction of duty, so it was doubtful that too many would try.

“Ma’am,” said the Aide, his eyes unfocused for a moment in the sign of link.  “Director Yu wants to speak to you.  She says it’s important.”

McCullom nodded as she accepted the link from the Director, not sure what could be so important at this moment.  I need to order her off the station as well, she thought, and all of her staff.  They might just be the minds we need to salvage something from this disaster.

“Dr. Yu.  I need for you and your people to evacuate the station in case of the worst.”

“I think they’re going to trying and pull and wormhole through wormhole event on us, Admiral.”

“I believe you are correct, Director.  Which is why we need to get you off.  I think there’s a very good chance we will stop them, but if we don’t, we will need you and your people.”

“I think I have a way to stop them, Admiral.  We ran the simulations and it looks like it would work.”

“What would work?  And why aren’t you talking to the station commander about this plan?”

“I wasn’t able to get through to him, Admiral,” said the Director in an exasperated tone.  “We’re having communication problems.  Or he’s got too many other things on his mind.  All I know is his com link is no longer accessable by me or my people.””

Like trying to save the station, thought McCullom of the Admiral being off the com, stopping and stepping out of the way of the others trying to get through the portal.  “We’re doing everything we can to stop that damned ship from closing on the station, Director, but war, unlike science, is not an exact art.  If we can’t get rid of the screening ships, I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do to stop it, unless you have some kind of superweapon up your sleeve.”

“We can use another wormhole to suck them up at the moment they are transiting the second hole through their own.  I know it’s a long shot, and the simulations said as much, but it might be our only chance.”

“And how would you suck up a massive explosion through a wormhole?” said McCullom, trying to visualize such a thing and failing.  “It’s already in the best vacuum we know of.”  The Admiral knew that was not strictly true.  There was still matter in that vacuum, in very small quantities, but there.  Even in intergalactic space.  The best research labs could produce an almost absolutely perfect vacuum, but only in small volumes, and even that kind of a void wouldn’t be enough to suck up such an energy surge.

“We don’t use a vacuum.  We use the hole.”

“The hole?”  McCullom still wasn’t sure what the woman was talking about.  She had already mentioned the wormhole.

“The black hole, Admiral.  The damned thing could eat a supernova.”

“And you think you can channel the energy from the explosion into the black hole?  What happens if three wormholes intersect?”

“I don’t know that, Admiral, but I doubt it would be any larger than one passing through another.  Most of the energy comes from the conversion of the matter involved, the ship transiting, or containing the hole being transited by the other.  Or it could add up to something a thousand times greater.  Not that it would matter if even a wormhole through wormhole explosion occurred next to the Donut.”

The Admiral thought about that for a moment.  The blast of an eight to ten million ton merchant ship converted to energy in the wormhole through wormhole incident would be enough to blast through a significant portion of the ring.  All it really had to do was sever it, and the structure would come apart, some of it falling into the black hole, the rest flying out of the system.  Some of the wormhole portals might actually survive such an event.  But the means of generating more would be gone.  It was risking Dr. Yu if she let the woman stay for a chance of saving the station.  If they didn’t stop the enemy bomb ship she would die.  But it would be worth the risk if it saved the station.

“Here,” said Yu, and a moment later the data of her plan came across the link in a burst, the salient features already at the front of the Admiral’s mind.  The rest would be there to digest when she had the time.  But from what she saw, there might be a chance.

“Try your plan, Dr. Yu.  I will forward authorization to the station commander.  If it doesn’t work..”

“Yes?”

“Try to get yourself through a wormhole and off the station before it’s gone. The Emperor will have my ass if anything happens to you.”

“I will do my best, Admiral.”

And we both know that there isn’t a chance in Hell you’ll be able to get off.

McCullom nodded to her Aide, then headed through the portal, a feeling of relief battling with the guilt of leaving this station to its fate.

“We’re setting up, Admiral,” said one of the staff officers as she stepped out of the portal, fighting off the disorientation that came with wormhole transit.  “We have some links into a wormhole network that don’t go through the Donut, and some Klassekians to take up the slack.”

“Let’s see what we can do to help coordinate the battle,” she said, heading toward the lift that would take her to this backup war-room.  Moments later she walked into the large chamber, her eyes roaming to take in the scene.

“Let’s get to work, people,” she said to the hundreds still standing around, most in shock from the pair of bombardments and evacuations they had just gone through.  “We’ve just been hit hard, now let’s get to work and figure out how to kick some ass in return.”

*     *     *

“We have permission,” said Yu, looking up at Jimmy.  “And I wish you would go ahead and get your ass off this thing.  There’s no need for you to be here.”

“You’re here, so here I stay,” said the Head of Station Security.  “And besides, this is my duty station until I am relieved.”

“And if I got word that you were relieved of those duties?”

“I would still stay here, love.”

Lucille shook her head, then got to work.  There was no more time for banter, now it was time to see if her harebrained scheme could save the station.  She searched through the station inventory to make sure they had what they needed, and in a place where it could be employed in time.

“I need this wormhole taken from its shipping container,” she told her staff over the com link.  “One end needs to be mated to a self-expanding gate, then mate it with a boosting pack and put it out on through an outer hatch when you get the order.”

“And the other side, Director?” asked the spokesman for the staff.

“Move it to the inner side and get ready to put it out the hatch with a boost pack.  And I need this done within twelve minutes.”

“I’m not sure we can do it in that time frame, ma’am.”

“No excuses.  Just get it done.  Move as if your life depends on it, because it does.”

Lucille severed the connection, then started to run some more simulations, looking at all the variables, trying to work the timing through to perfection.  It was an impossible task, since those variables kept changing from moment to moment.

“Can you do it?” asked Jimmy, standing at her shoulder and looking at the graphics of the event she was planning.

“Oh, I can do it.  The question is, will I do it at the right moment?”

Jimmy went silent with that, something that Lucille was grateful for.  She kept playing with the simulation, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to come up with the final solution until the moment arrived.   But she couldn’t help herself.  She had to do something with the time, and she couldn’t think of anything else to catch her attention.  The station floor shook again under her feet, the slight tremor indicating its distance.  At that she went ahead and set up a program to do the best it could at the last moment, probably better than she could do, though it wouldn’t have her intuition to guide it.

“Just let us hang in there,” she whispered in prayer.  She wasn’t sure what she was praying to, and really didn’t think there was anything there to listen to her.  But it couldn’t hurt.

*     *      *

“Just get the damned thing aboard,” yelled the Commander, pointing to the large missile that sat in the middle of the chamber.

Some of the ratings had been complaining over what seemed to them to be a crazy idea.  He agreed it was crazy, but crazy might be what they needed.  Two ratings lifted the heavy sealed box with antigrav grapples, then moved it into the open nose of the missile, where the warhead would normally sit.  It joined another ten of the containers already there.  There was probably room for two more of the containers.  Another missile lay on its side twenty meters away, naval personnel loading it as well.

This had been an order passed down from on high.  No one knew where it had come from, but it had carried the authority of the Station Commander, so it had been implemented with urgency.  Every crated wormhole, those which had yet to be shipped from the station, were being put into capital ship missiles, the type that were put in the wormhole acceleration tubes for combat launches.  All would be launched as soon as they were loaded, on upward courses away from the battle, at twenty thousand gravities accelerations.  Hopefully they would get away moving at such high acceleration and on evasive maneuvers that they would escape, and could be recovered later.  That would save a couple of hundred wormholes, which could be recovered later, just in case the station was destroyed.

Other wormholes, some of those already installed in the station, were being pulled from the hull and being put in survival containers that were made to eject from the station if a disaster occurred.  That might save a hundred more.  Not much, but better than a total loss.

Only we won’t be here to see if they survive, thought the sweating Commander.  Because they surely wouldn’t.

*     *     *

The massive ship shook from the burst of plasma from a near miss striking the hull.  The High Admiral grimaced once again.  He had known this was a suicide mission, the best case being to survive the attack on the station so they could fight a couple of more battles in these human core systems before ending.  Now, with the fire coming at them from the station, the wave of missiles coming up from behind, and the impossible fighters and their overstrength missiles popping up at unpredictable intervals, he wasn’t sure they would even be able to accomplish the first goal.

“That is one tough bitch,” said the Tactical Officer as a series of pinpoint bursts flared over the ribbon ahead.  Five were larger than the others, quarkium warheads made specially to take out large hard targets.

The High Admiral wasn’t so sure that the station was that tough.  It was just unbelievably huge, which had a toughness of its own.  Even the quarkium warheads were only pinpricks to its mass.  If three could hit perfectly, severing all the support cables within ten kilometers along the circumference, they might be able to destroy it.  The odds of that happening with millions of kilometers of swiftly rotating ring were as near to impossible as any mathematician could ask for.

“The wave of missiles coming up from the station are curving their trajectories,” said the Tactical Officer, his eyes darting back to the holo screens hanging above his station.  “They all seem to be tracking on the freighter.”

The High Admiral grunted.  Normally, in the case of a massed enemy, weapons were sent in the direction of a force, group targeting.  Each missile targeted on the best object of opportunity, as targets dropped off the plot, missiles retasked to other targets.  Or they could all be set to go after a particular target, like a flagship, which ran the risk of massive overkill.  Missiles were not an unlimited resource in a battle.

“It’s like they know what we’re trying to do, my Lord,” said the Chief of Staff.

“Of course they do,” said the High Admiral, giving a head motion of agreement.  He looked over at the Com Officer as he punched in his dispositions at his own station to be transmitted.  “Make sure the force gets these orders.  We will do everything we can to protect the bomb ship.  It is the reason we are here.”

“What about the missiles coming from behind?” asked the Tactical Officer as the battleships started to change their positions in relation to the freighter.  Most moved to directly in front of the ship they were to protect, while a few closed in tight to the side.  Two ships stayed in the rear, ready to take on anything that might pop up unexpectedly from that direction.

“When we have dealt with this wave, we will reconfigure to cover the rear.  Maintain the variations of vector to throw off their beam weapons.”  He looked the Tactical Officer straight in the eyes, making sure he had the male’s attention.  “When we get closer we will worry about our deployment to deal with their close in attacks.”

And we will all be within range of the blast when the bomb ship goes off, he thought, making another head motion, this one of disbelief.  Unfortunately, whether he believed it or not, it was going to happen.  It was the result of the only ending that would be the result of a successful attack.

Chapter Twenty

Any man worth his salt will stick up for what he believes right, but it takes a slightly better man to acknowledge instantly and without reservation that he is in error. Andrew Jackson

Me Lei swore as she looked at the feed coming from the closest ship of the gate guardian squadron.  Hers was the first ship through, the rest of her task group following.  The ship she was getting the feed from was less than five thousand kilometers away, meaning the information, which was coming through that ship’s wormhole com system, was as instantaneous as possible.

“Why can’t they stop them from getting next to the station,” cried the Helm.

Because we never saw the possibility of this happening, thought the Admiral.  The only two possibilities of an attack were from something coming in from out of the system, which would be seen before it got within any possible engagement range.  Or it could come through one of the wormhole gates, just about impossible with the gate squadrons on guard.

No one had thought that the Cacas might be able to insert a wormhole equipped Q-ship into the system surreptitiously, then bring missiles and warships through that gate.  It had caught everyone off guard, and if not for the alertness of some ship captain who was paying attention it would have closed with the station before someone had noticed that some inconsequential tramp freighter was even there.

“I’m getting some chatter over the command circuit, ma’am,” called out the Com Officer.   “They’re talking about the possibility of the enemy using a wormhole bomb on the station.”

“What the hell is a wormhole bomb,” said the Tactical Officer, turning his confused face toward his Admiral.

Something above your need to know, thought the Admiral.  Of course the information had been disseminated among the Admiralty and any commander group level or above.  And the scientists who needed to work out the theory of how to use such a weapon in the future.  If they set off something like that next to the station, we’re going to lose it.

“Is there anything we can do to get there before them?” asked Mei, feeling stupid as she asked the question.  Of course there wasn’t, or there would already be a mass of warships there, boosting toward the enemy with no concern for their own survival, knowing that if such a device went off and they were within a hundred thousand kilometers of it, their destruction was assured.

“No, ma’am,” said the Helm.  “All we can do now is sit and watch.  Though we could vector to a course where we might be able to intercept any Caca ships trying to leave the system in the direction of the nearest Supersystem world.”

“You think that is where they will be heading?” she asked the Tactical Officer.

“If any survive?  That’s where I would head.  They might be able to get there and smash up some more of our assets.  We should be able to get to the barrier before they do.”

And face how many of their larger more, powerful ships? thought the Admiral, dismissing the worry as soon as it came.  No matter the cost, they needed to take out any ships before they could get away.  If they set off a wormhole bomb next to the station, they would also be taking out their last means of instantaneous communications with their command.  And then the Empire couldn’t afford to let any of their ships get away to bring news back to their command that the Donut no longer existed.

“Everyone in the tanks.  I want to make sure we’re there to greet them.   Send the order to the rest of the squadron, then inform the gate squadron commander of my intentions.”

The chorus of acknowledgements came back as the tanks rose from the deck.  Within minutes the task group, eight battlecruisers, thirteen light cruisers and eighteen destroyers, were on the way, their crews within the acceleration tanks, boosting at thirty gravities above their maximum safe rate.  If everything worked out as planned, they would be there hours before the enemy reached the barrier, maybe a couple of light hours in.  That wouldn’t bring back the Donut, but it would insure that word of its destruction never reached the Caca high command, and they would remain in doubt.

Unless they have too many ships remaining for me to handle, thought the Admiral.  And I’ll still take them out, even if I have to sacrifice every ship in my command.

*     *     *

“We think they’re trying to destroy the station with a wormhole bomb,” said McCullom, looking into the face of her monarch through the wormhole com.

“Christ,” cursed Sean, wondering how much more he could take this day.  As much as I need to, he thought, straightening his back.  But it was all too much.  Until this day they didn’t even know that the Cacas had wormhole technology.  Now they not only knew that their enemy had the secret to the Empire’s greatest tech, they had also hurt the Empire severely with that technology.  And they had hurt him personally.  The revelation that the enemy was capable of using a wormhole bomb had come with the capture of the first ship in the Jewel/New Terra dual system.  And now the second enemy and its escorts were closing with the station on what could only be a close in attack.

“Can we stop them?”

“We’re trying, your majesty.  But we never expected this kind of an attack.  We never saw them coming through wormholes into space so close to the station, already inside the reach of our system force.”

“We should have had a larger force stationed next to the station,” said Sean, feeling his temper rise, squashing it, knowing that it would do no good to throw recriminations into the face of his CNO.

“We should have, your majesty.  And it’s my fault we didn’t.  You can have my resignation, if it pleases you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” shouted Sean.  “I need you to get your people together and figure out what we’re going to do if we lose the station.”

“Lose the war,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Unacceptable.  I do not intend to be the last Emperor.  Station or not, we will find a way to win.  We’re smarter than the Cacas.  We can outthink them.”  Though it doesn’t seem like it at this time.  “And do whatever you can to save that station, so we don’t have to fall back on a contingency plan we never imagined we would have to use.”

“Your Majesty,” called out an excited staff officer manning one of the analysis stations.  “We’re getting reports from Admiral Lenkowski’s force.  They have the Cacas on the run in their sector.”

“Tell Len to be careful.  We’ve had enough surprises for today.”

“We getting the take on that battle ourselves right now, your Majesty,” said McCullom.  “Our analysts are looking it over at this time.  We’ll get back to Admiral Lenkowski as soon as we have something.”

Sean looked quickly at the tactical plot.  There was still that worrying red arrow heading toward new Moscow.  He didn’t have enough ships in its way to stop it, and New Moscow didn’t have enough in system to stop them when they got there.

“Get to it, Admiral,” said Sean, dismissing his CNO, turning away from the plot staring at the blank air where the com holo had been moments before.  He turned and paced the deck.  They still had a battle to win.  If they could fight the Cacas to a standstill today, they could still buy some time.  Time to get more ships out of the building slips and prepare for the next wave.  Less ships than they would have had before the Cacas hit Central Docks, but probably more that the Cacas had thought they had.  Central Docks was important, but still less than twenty percent of the Empire’s ship building capacity currently resided in the Supersystem, of which the Docks were less than eight parts of that twenty.  And Central Docks, while ravaged, had not been destroyed.  The greater loss would have been the capital planet, and from all reports, though decimated, Capitulum was still there.

“We’re going into action, your Majesty,” came the call of the ship’s captain over the com.

“Acknowledged,” said Sean, switching his view to the super heavy battleship’s tactical.

Her group, seven of her class, along with a hundred standard battleships and over four hundred escorts, was maneuvering on the flank of the Caca force, over a thousand ships.  All were launching missiles, putting them into space at distance.  At first look it appeared that they were heavily unnumbered, a losing proposition.  A closer look showed the three other forces closing in on the enemy.  They were trapped, well and good, and the chances that any of the Caca ships would get back to the hyper barrier were slim at best.  If they had a wormhole com the rest of the Cacas would get word of their defeat.  Sean was banking on them not even having that.  The Cacas couldn’t have that many of the things, not enough to have equipped every one of their forces.  Or at least that was what he was counting on.

*     *     *

“My Lord.  You need to see this.”

“What is it?” asked the High Admiral, walking to the tactical station.

“We have sixteen objects on approach from thirty degrees to port.  They don’t seem to be accelerating, but their graviton emissions are similar to large warships.  And they’re radiating a considerable amount of heat.”

The High Admiral stared at the plot.  He had served in the Ca’cadasan fleet for over two thousand years, and he had never seen anything like this.  But whatever they were, they were coming for his fleet.

“What do the other sensors show?”

“Nothing, my Lord.  They don’t appear on radar or lidar, despite their proximity.”

While not impossible, the human stealth ships showed as much, it was also highly unlikely that something radiating so much heat would also be employing that kind of a sensor masking field or hull.

“Estimated time of contact, one minute, thirty-four seconds,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Open fire on them.  I don’t care what they are, I want them blown out of space.”

The ships started cycling counter missiles at the incoming objects, while lasers lanced out to strike the things.   And all seemed to have no effect on the objects, not even changing their vectors in the least.

“Hit them with shipkillers,” shouted the Admiral.  “Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”  He wasn’t sure what evasives would do at this point.  If these were some new kind of impossible warship they would be among his force in less than a minute, and there would be no way to dodge their beam weapons, or whatever else they carried.

The capital ship missiles sped out, to die in blazes of glory near to the objects.  Some of the blazes seemed to be somewhat diminished, another anomaly that they couldn’t begin to understand.  And still all sixteen objects came on, a few on slightly altered vectors, but not what would be expected from non-accelerating ships hit by a gigaton of explosive power.

“Prepare for impact,” yelled out the High Admiral as the objects closed the last million kilometers.  Ships maneuvered frantically, trying to put as much distance between themselves and objects of unknown capabilities.  One ship barely made it out of the way, and the object passed within a hundred meters of the hull.  Alloy warped, skin bubbled from the heat, and then the object was past, and the ship was left with minimal damage.

Another ship was not so lucky, and the object hit it and passed through as if the tough vessel was no more than vacuum.  It passed in an instant, eating a thirty centimeter hole of absorbed matter, warping materials twenty meters further on either side.  The ship would have survived the strike, if not for the path that went through the ready store of antimatter and breached it into the engineering compartment.  The ship went up in a flash, antimatter breaching more antimatter, until the ship was gone.  And the object that had caused the breach continued on, no worse for wear, a hundred thousand tons more massive.

The High Admiral stared at the plot, cursing under his breath.  It could have been worse, but losing any ship to whatever the things were was bad enough.

“Not a very effective weapon, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “Despite their destructive power.”

The High Admiral had to agree with that assessment as he watched the heat sources continuing outward.  They seemed to have no guidance system, or any means of changing their vector.  Their only advantages seemed to be invulnerability, and the ability to sneak up on their targets.

“Keep a look out for more heat sources,” he told his Tactical Officer.  “And make sure that those that have already passed don’t come up without notice.  On your life.”

The Tactical Officer gave a head motion of acknowledgement while gulping, his eyes wide.  The officer knew that if any other of the ships were destroyed he would quickly follow their crews into death.

*     *     *

“They’re continuing in on a maximum decel profile, sir,” said the Chief of Staff, stopping at Admiral Mikal Kalashnikov’s station.

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said the Admiral as he studied the simulation data of the only known wormhole bomb explosion, the one set off by the Empire among the Caca ships around New Earth.  That ship had come through an almost stationary wormhole.  The ship itself had only been moving at a couple of kilometers per second.  And they are bringing in a ship carrying a wormhole moving at a significant fraction of light.  If they set the bomb off more than a light second from the station, the effect will be negligible.  If they wait too long, the ship hits the station, possibly breaches, and destroys the wormhole it’s carrying.  Or it misses the station and goes in too close to the black hole, most of its blast absorbed.  Maybe even into the black hole.  Of course, no matter the range of the blast, the momentum of the ship would carry some of the force into the station, the shotgun effect.  But there would be spread, and it wouldn’t take much to render the blast incapable of severing the ring.  Not that it would do the poor spacers and civilians under that blast any good, but the supports would survive, even the secondaries.

“They’re trying to give themselves a margin of error,” the Admiral told his Chief of Staff.  “What will be their estimated velocity as they enter the hundred thousand kilometer range?”

“About point two light,” said the Chief of Staff.  “Meaning they will hit the station in about one point six six seconds from the time they reach that distance.  But they will need to detonate within twenty thousand kilometers to insure the breach of ring integrity.”

And if they transit the other ship through at one hundred thousand kilometers, the blast will still be developing by the time they reach that distance.  In fact, it will still be building as they actually hit the ring.  Which will give Yu about a second to make the catch.  And hopefully they will be on a predictable course at that time.

“Okay.  Get this data to Dr. Yu.  I think she might be able to make use of it in her own calculations.”

The station shook again from multiple hits.   Kalashnikov pulled up the schematic of the station to see where the hits were clustered, then breathed a sigh of relief.  All the hits had been along a section taken up entirely by the huge electromagnetic generators that made up the power feed of the wormhole generating system.  Each unit was more massive than a battleship, and there were three million of them across the station.  Some of the hits had taken out a generator each, striking directly on the top of one of the units.  Others had taken out two, three, even four in one case.  They could handle the loss of fewer than two score generators, and the hits hadn’t been on an inhabited portion of the station.  Most likely no one had died in that volley, and that was what mattered to the Admiral.

*     *     *

“Thank you, Commodore,” Lucille told the Chief of Staff, trying to smile and failing.  “We’ll definitely be able to use this.”

The holo blanked, leaving her alone with her thoughts once again.  She ran another simulation, then pulled up a holo of the man in charge of getting the wormhole terminuses out of the station.

“How are we coming on those portals?”

“We’re about to launch the outward hole,” came back the voice of the man in charge of that operation.  The holo dilated to show the small ship hangar where the operation was taking place.  The hundred meter wide hatch was open, the streaks of star trails, caused by the rapid rotation of the station, the only thing in view.  The gate was sitting up under the power of its grabber units in the center of that view, the mirrored surface reflecting the rear of the hangar.  Several space suited figures stood to the side, giving scale to the gate, which had to be twenty meters in diameter.   The frame itself added another ten meters to a side, and large grabber units projected from the rear.  Unseen on the holo, but known to the Director, similar grabber units were also set on the front, giving the frame the potential for a huge amount of acceleration.  That would give off quite a graviton signature.  Hopefully, given all of the other signatures in space at this time, as well as the enormous background radiation of the black hole, it would go unnoticed.  And the frame was made of sensor absorbing materials, while the wormhole itself would be completely invisible to any kind of scan.

As she watched the gate rushed out of the hangar.  It would accelerate like a missile out of the station, killing the angle vector of rotation while boosting toward the enemy.  With a thought she switched the com to the other end of the operation, where a much smaller frame sat in a smaller hangar.  Ships didn’t normally leave the station from the inner aspect, only small repair vessels, mainly remotely controlled robotic craft.  Here the only view through the twenty meter wide hatch was a distortion, ringed by a bright circular band.  The mind numbing image of the central black hole, something that no rational mind could really understand, despite the way their technology used it.

The space was suddenly lit by a bright flash that went on and on.

“Why the hell is the energy generating system on,” shouted Lucille.  The station used the rotational energy of the black hole, and the charged plasma field around it, as a dynamo.  The only reason they would need the system functioning at this time would be to generate wormholes.  The entire defensive system of the station couldn’t eat the energy of the crystal matrix batteries in a week.  And the flare of trillions of tons of electrons, a web the wormhole they were launching would have to transit, could play hell with the survival of the gate.

“We’re turning the system off now.”  It took some seconds for the electron storm to die down, even after the power feed was cut off to the millions of units.  Yu fumed as she waited for the storm to subside.  Even second wasted was one they couldn’t afford.  And this part of the operation was the one that required the most delicacy, the most finesse, as it was maneuvered close to the black hole, time to be sucked in below the event horizon at the same moment the other end of the passage was encountering the enemy bomb ship.  To soon, and the wormhole could collapse before it had grabbed ahold of the freighter.  Too late, and there might not be enough suction to pull in the explosion.  If the ship exploded too close to the station, and the connection had not been made, it wouldn’t matter that a narrow swath of it flew into the outer end of the wormhole.

“Launching wormhole gate, now,” came the voice of the supervisor of that part of the operation.  The gate lifted on its grabbers and sped out of the hangar.  It would accelerate until it reached the calculated transit speed, then decelerate until it was hanging above the black hole at the limit of the ability of the frame and grabber units to hold station without collapsing.

“We have control,” said another voice, the Fleet pilot who would guide the gate to its final destination.  Lucille almost wished one of her own people could guide the portal, but she had to admit that none of them had the skill that the best Fleet pilot still on the station had.  Though she had to wonder why the pilot, a full Captain, was still aboard the station when so many others were in space battling the enemy.

I hope he’s good enough, she thought, following both gates on a pair of holo plots hanging in the air before her.  Whatever the case, it was out of her hands.

*     *     *

“What in all the Hells is that?” blurted out the High Admiral as the bluish halo erupted on both sides of the ribbon ahead.  “Some new weapon?”

“It seems to be some kind of electrical discharge, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer.  “None of it directed at us.  One of the theories of using a rotating black hole as an energy source is to use it as an electric dynamo.”

“And you think that is what they are doing here?  And it’s no threat to us?”

“It could be a real threat, my Lord, if not direct.  That is a lot of energy.  Only an order of magnitude below what an average sized star puts out in the same time period.  If they’re using it to power a weapon, it could be a fearsome device.”

And nothing we can do about it now, thought the High Admiral.  They were now within less than two light minutes of the station, still decelerating, and would be within that prime engagement range for more than four minutes.  A laser with that much power would vaporize one of his ships in an instant.

“What do you want us to do, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“There is nothing we can do,” said the High Admiral, feeling a chill sweat running down his back.  Strange, he thought.  Even though I know I am soon to die, within the next couple of minutes, possibly in several days, I still don’t like the idea.  Ca’cadasan males were supposed to be fearless, but the Admiral had found that they feared well enough.  No intelligent creature sought its own death in normal times, and most not even in the worst of circumstances.  And the thought of being vaporized before his death had the meaning that a successful strike would bring was terrifying.  “We move ahead with the attack.”

Chapter Twenty-One

We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid. Benjamin Franklin

Sean sat back in his seat, staring at the plot, while the ship shook slightly from the launch of missiles.  The battle was going on around him, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.  While this fight, a small part of the much larger battle going on across a score of systems, was important, it paled in significance to the one going on in home space.  And that battle was about to reach its climax.

Thank god the missile launchers are still working, thought the Monarch.  The thousand kilometer long missile tube accelerators and their wormhole gates were in orbit around the central black hole, far enough away from the Donut that even a wormhole bomb wouldn’t destroy them.  There were hundreds of the arrays, each carrying from two to four of the launch tubes.  They were a thousand kilometers long, true, but less than a couple of hundred meters in width, long, thin needles in space.  Just small sensor returns among thousands of large objects in orbit around the black hole.  Not something to garner the attention of the Cacas at the moment, while they had a larger target in view.  But if any survived the strike, they might go hunting for other targets.  Or they might break away and head out of the system, intent on still other targets.

The ship vibrated again, this the signature resonance of the particle beam cannons fed from the Donut itself.  There were hundreds of those as well feeding the Fleet.  Kilometers wide, each larger than the warship they fed, they accelerated protons or antiprotons up to one hundredth thousandth below light speed, making them the most devastating beam weapons of this war.  And if the station was destroyed, they lost all of those particle beam accelerators as well.  Not as great a loss as the missile tubes would be, but still not something to look forward to in the middle of a major engagement.

“The Caca force is breaking off the action,” stated the Emperor’s Chief of Staff.  The woman smiled.  “Right into the teeth of the force they don’t know is there.”

We hope, thought the Emperor.  If the Cacas ran into the ambush unaware, this part of the battle would be over, with losses to the enemy force more than double that of his own.  They needed to win this battle decisively, a victory that would buy them time before the next wave, instead of locking them into what could become a hopeless battle of attrition.

He turned his attention back to the unexpected battle, the main fight that might seal the fate of the Empire.  The enemy was now little more than two minutes from contact.  The station was firing every weapon that would bear, but only a third of the weapons were still intact.  The remaining Caca fighters were still taking them out here and there, and what was left was not enough to stop the force of warships surrounding the bomb ship.

We should have thought if this.  We should have emplaced heavier batteries on the structure, more forts in orbit.  A couple of squadrons of battleships.  But we thought they couldn’t strike us in this manner.  Only through infiltration, and we have that covered.  But divisions of Marines and soldiers on the station don’t do us much good against an attack from space.

He stared at the timer, counting down to the moment of decision.  Two holos stood open in the air, one showing a plot of the action, the other a live view of the station.  The first indication he would have of disaster was if those two holos disappeared.  And then the reports would come in, and he would know that the battle against the Cacas had just gotten harder by an order of magnitude.

*     *     *

Here it comes, thought Lucille as the enemy ships came into final approach.  She fed the last calculations into the system, shunting them to the two pilots controlling the wormhole gates.  The Director wished she could be controlling both of them, and she hated to be so out of control.  But she was not an expert pilot or ship handler, and the best people for the job were on it, or at least she hoped.

The wormholes were not in the perfect positions, but were close enough to work.  The outer gate started expanding while the bomb ship was still thirty-one seconds away from the station, twenty-nine from the wormhole.  The ship was traveling at point two light, on a trajectory to meet the portal at a distance of one hundred and twenty thousand kilometers.  If the bomb went off at that distance, it would still cause damage to the station, mostly due to the shotgun effect.  But it wasn’t the optimal distance.  The cover superbattleships were already beginning to diverge from their covering duties, starting to pile on the acceleration as they pulled away and started to change their vectors.

It took two seconds for the gate to go from five hundred meters in diameter to over a kilometer, centered right along the path of the freighter.  There was a danger if the ship moved through the gate before it moved its own triggering ship through its portal.  It would be the same wormhole through wormhole event, and there was no telling if the wormhole destabilization would occur too soon to actually absorb any of the explosion.  But the explosion would be far enough away from the station that it probably wouldn’t destroy it, so that intercept was thought best.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the point of view, the wormhole equipped ship on the other end of the Caca wormhole chose that time to transit.  It was a miscalculation, and one that served the humans well.  The force a million one gigaton warheads went off as the wormholes contacted, coverting both ships into fast moving particles, the definition of pure energy.  They blasted out in a globe from the center of the blast, those at the front going slightly faster, the trailing particles a little slower.  They blasted apart the gate frame holding the wormhole open, starting its collapse.  But not soon enough to keep a good portion of the blast from entering the hole.

At the other end the pilot dropped the portal he was controlling through the event horizon of the black hole, causing the gravitational force at that point to manifest at the other end of the tunnel.  It pulled over half the blast into the wormhole, to disappear below the event horizon, forever harmless.  An instant later the wormhole winked out of existence.

The remaining blast came in on a fan, striking the edges of the circle that it cast on the station.  A dozen Ca’cadasan warships, those on the fringes, disappeared in the blast, converted to plasma, then blowing out in their own ball of antimatter breaching plasma fire.  A trio of ships that had already passed the human gate were sent into tumbling paths that took them into the station.  All exploded in spectacular blasts that took out hundreds of cubic kilometers of the station each.  Two blasted all the way through, and one took out a single main support cable.

The rest of the warships survived, something for which they had the human wormhole to thank, though they were sure not to think so.  They were still changing vectors, trying to get away, when some of the blast caught them.  Two more went into tumbles that took them into the station, both pushing through at angles that penetrated several kilometers before they flew back out into space.  Both were now on trajectories that would take them close to the black hole, and neither had their propulsion systems online.  Not that it would have done much good with the approaches they were on.

One ship fell directly into the black hole, coming apart from the tidal forces well before it entered the event horizon as a collection ripped apart fragments.  The other ship was somewhat more fortunate, if it could be called fortune.  It went into a close orbit around the hole that spiraled inward, giving the crew time to recognize their deaths before they came.  Tidal forces took all of them before the hole ripped apart the vessel, sucking them beyond the knowledge of intelligent beings.

Seven ships made it past, all piling on the acceleration, over five hundred gravities, trying to get away.  Lucille breathed a sigh of relief as she watched them go on the tactical plot.  Relief turned to sorrow as she pulled up the casualty figures on the station.  Many of the strikes had occurred on inhabited sections, and though many had been evacuated from the station, many more were still aboard.

“Get me the station commander,” she said into the com, then waited for the connection.

“The station command center is offline,” came back a voice over the circuit.  “Switching you to axillary control.”

“Commodore Menendez speaking.”

“This is Director Yu.  I would like to speak with the Station Commander.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” replied the Commodore.  “The station command center was destroyed in the attack.  I’m afraid the Admiral didn’t make it.”

“And you’re in charge, Commodore?”

“For now, ma’am.  Until we can get a more senior officer back aboard.”

Lucille blinked back her tears.  She had not been particularly close to this Admiral, but he had been the face of the military aboard the station.  A representative of all who had died in this attack.  The station had survived, and it would be repaired, but the lives lost could never be replaced.

“Have we driven them off?” she finally asked after collecting her thoughts.

“We think so, ma’am.  They are still accelerating away, so it looks like we have.  We’ll know if they don’t change vectors within the next hour.”

Lucille nodded, then exited the com with a thought.

“You need to eat something, my dear,” said Jimmy, turning a worried glance her way.  “You’re shaking.  I think you need a good shot of blood sugar.”

Lucille noticed that she was feeling really weak, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten.  She didn’t feel like eating, not after what she had been through.  But she needed to be at her best, especially with the work she had ahead of her this very day.

Yu followed her Security Chief out of the control room.  The halls outside were almost empty.  This area of the station had not been hit, fortunately, since most of the strikes had wreaked havoc on the areas that had been struck.  In some of those regions it had been a total loss in people and machinery.

The pair moved out of the way of a group of military techs moving cryo containers through the hall, the two meter long by half a meter wide containers floating through the air on their antigrav repellers.  The techs were moving quickly, and as they passed down hall more came pushing additional units out of a hatch that led to one of the gate rooms.  They were also in a hurry.  If they could get to those who died without too much damage to their brains in time, they could recover them.  If not, then those people would be lost forever.

“We didn’t see this coming,” said Jimmy, nodding at the score of soldiers moving almost the same number of cryo units.  “We didn’t have enough of those units aboard.  I doubt anyone thought we would need that many.”

“And how many people will meet a permanent end because we didn’t think of that?”

“Maybe not as many as you would fear, Lucille,” said Jimmy, shrugging his shoulders while glancing sideways into her face.  He turned his face forward, a grimace on his lips.  “Large areas are gone, and most of the regions around them are filled with rubble.  Probably three quarters of those seriously injured or mortally wounded will not be reached in time.”

“That’s, awful.”

“It is.  It’s relatively the same for battle between warships.  Except that the hits we took would have obliterated any warship.”

Lucille thought about that as she walked.  The Donut was not a warship, though she was afraid after this attack it would more resemble a battle station or orbital fort.  The only thing that had saved it had been the enormous size of the beast.

“I think you should get some sleep after we get some food in you,” said Jimmy as they entered the cafeteria.  It was empty of people, even the attendants had either evacuated the station or gone to other duties during the attack.

“I don’t have time for sleep,” said Lucille, walking up to the vending dispenser that served snacks around the clock.  “I have to plan.  We need to get this station up and running as fast as possible.  That’s the only way we’re going to beat those bastards.”

“Can we beat them?” asked Jimmy, grabbing a sandwich from a dispenser, then ordering a coffee from another.  “I mean, now that they also have wormholes?”

“If you went up against an enemy with one weapon, and you had a hundred armed men, would you give that foe a chance?”

“Not one in hell,” agreed Jimmy, a slight smile playing on his face.  “I see your point.  Except they have more than one weapon, even if they will never be able to match us in wormholes.”

They sat at one of the empty tables and started attacking their sandwiches.  Lucille felt ravenous, her lack of food over the last day now making itself felt.  She thought about what Jimmy had said.  The Cacas did outnumber them in ships, in bodies.  That was a troubling thought.  And then she remembered that they still had this station, which could still manufacture wormholes at a prodigious rate.  One she doubted the Cacas would be able to match well into the future.  She looked over at Jimmy, who had already finished his sandwich and was looking at the vending area for something else.

“We have the one weapon they can’t match, Jimmy,” said Lucille as she gestured to the vending area, as if giving him permission to get more food.

“And what is that?” said the Agent as he got up from the table and headed over to the dispenser.

“Our brains.  Those damned bastards have been in the conquest business for thousands of years, and we have almost caught up with them in technology.  Actually passed them in quite a few areas.  And we will continue to pass them, leaving them behind, until their numbers and ships mean nothing.”

*     *     *

The High Admiral looked at the plot that showed the disposition of the forces in the system.  The huge station, the most important object in view, was in the center of the plot.  There were still some of the tiny icons of Ca’cadasan fighters and attack ships circling the station.  They had no more missiles, no more proton packs for their particle beams.  All they had left were lasers, and those were mere pinpricks on the station.  Most did not even have the time to attack, busy as they were trying to avoid thirty times their number in enemy craft.

He still had seven superbattleships, enough for another strike on something.  They could kill a planet, take out a strong enemy force.  But all of their power would just sting that station, and there was an enemy fleet on the way, one that would arrive at the object well before they could kill their momentum and return.

We should have brought more, he thought.  But the Admiralty and the scientists had thought that one of the wormhole bombs would be enough to destroy the station.  And then the humans would have to spend a hundred years to build another.  But the humans had come up with something, like they always seemed to, and the plan had not worked.  The sad part for the Empire was that they had not brought enough for a plan B.  And they were paying for it.

Now all we can do is run from this system and try to hit something else of value, he thought, hoping that they could avoid the impossible fighters of the enemy and whatever the new hell weapons they had wielded were.  They had known from the beginning that they would not be returning home, but it had been thought that they would already be dead.  Now the future, short as it would probably be, was an unknown.

*     *      *

“We’re ready to raise the inertial bubble at your command, sir,” said the Pilot, looking back at his Wing Commander.

Captain Chavez nodded, looking at the plot that showed the enemy ships pulling away from the station at point four eight light and piling on the acceleration.   They had been boosting for four hours now, and had reached well over a light hour distance.

“I still think we should go back to the carrier and load up on missiles, sir,” said his acting second in command, Lt. Commander Wilma Streeter.

Streeter had actually been the senior squadron commander in another wing.  That wing had sustained over seventy percent casualties, while his own had lost over half their own strength, including their own senior squadron leader.  Now he had a small wing of seventy-nine ships, none carrying missiles, proton stores exhausted.  All they had were the lasers that were always the last resort in combat.

“I want us letting those bastards know they are not welcome here,” said Chavez, shaking his head.  “And I want them heading where we want them to go.”

The Klassekian Com Tech had brought word that a scout group was boosting at maximum acceleration to a point six light hours in from the hyper I barrier.  They would get there four hours before the enemy, then lie in wait with everything powered down.  The enemy, of course, would have been decelerating at that point so they could be down to point three light by the time they hit the barrier, so they could do an immediate jump.  His force was the only one capable of catching up to the enemy from behind at the moment.

The Lt. Commander nodded her head in acknowledgement, though the lack of expression on her face showed how she felt about the order.  With missiles they could actually kill some of the Caca ships, if not all of them.  With lasers, they could at most harass them, while the enemy ships could still blow them out of space when they were out of the bubble.

“I have calculated our course, sir,” said the junior officer who was his Navigator.  He fed the numbers, course, acceleration, deceleration and time, to the Pilot of the fighter and to the Com Tech, who made sure all the information got out to the other ships.  The calculations called for them to jump in one point three minutes, and that information went out as well.

“Preparing to raise bubble, sir,” called out the Pilot five seconds before the timer ticked down.  As it hit zero every ship in the force released the negative matter from their tanks.  The negative matter was pulled into the bubble that gave the drive its name, cutting the ships off from the normal universe.  The craft were already moving at point six light, which would be the maximum velocity they could be at when they finally came out of that bubble.  The inertialess drive was a wonderful invention, but like all such discoveries it had serious limitations.  One of those limitations, the rebound effect of inertia coming back as they left the drive, was the basis of the new weapons they had used against the Cacas this day.  The weapons that had been as inaccurate as feared.

“Starting boost,” called out the Pilot as the grabber units started pulling the fighter forward at one hundred and ninety-six kilometers per second per second, the equivalent of twenty thousand gravities of acceleration.  The first wonder of the drive was that they felt none of those gravities, which would normally have been well above the capability of a fighter’s compensators to handle.

In fifteen minutes they achieved the second miracle of the drive, passing the speed of light.  Twenty-five minutes after that they reached their maximum cruising speed of twice the speed of light and were catching up with the enemy force.  They were only in cruise for a short period before they started their deceleration, timing it so they would come out in front of the enemy ships at the proper time to allow them to attack.  And so it would go over the next four or five days, unless they had no more craft left to attack.

*     *     *

“We will have the station back up and running by tomorrow, your Majesty,” said the blond haired woman on the holo.

“That fast, Director?” asked Sean, not sure if he could believe it.

“It’s true we took a lot of damage,” she said, her face falling.  “And lost a lot of people.  But the station came through better than I had feared.  We only lost one of the six support cables in one small area, we still have ninety percent of our grabbers and an even higher percentage of our electromagnetic generators and crystal matrix batteries.  Of course we’re now missing the micro-black holes that ran one of our production stations.  It will take a couple of weeks to create the sixteen replacements we need.  And I would like to build another backup set just in case.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” said Sean.  “So we will not be producing as many as we were?”

“We should be able to hold up our end, your Majesty.  We’ve always been running with one extra production facility, so we could perform maintenance on one while running the other four.  For now, we will just have to run the eight satellites continuously in four production sets until we can get the fifth set up and running.”

“I think our priority now is to repair the damage to the station, and at the same time fortify the defenses of the structure.  The next enemy fleet that closes with that monster will regret coming within range of its weapons.”  Which doesn’t mean they won’t try, or that they won’t succeed, he thought.

“I understand, your Majesty,” said the Director, nodding.  “I think we can handle the strain of continued production.  At least I hope we can.”

“We need those wormholes, Director.  Research and development has big plans for them.”  And that’s all I can say about that, he thought.  He trusted Lucille Yu as much as anyone in his Empire.  But need to know had been formulated for a very good reason.  What one didn’t know, they couldn’t let slip.

“Your Majesty,” came a call over the com.  “You need to see this.”

“I have to go, Director.  We’ll talk when I get back to the Capital.”

“Let me say how very sorry I am about your son, your Majesty,” said Yu just before the holo died.

Sean found himself staring at the empty air where the holo had just held the image of the Director.  He had been busy the last day, too many things going on, and the thought of his heir being dead had been pushed to the back of his mind.  Yu had brought it forward with her condolences.   He knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him, that she had only wanted to express her deepest sympathies, something that obviously hadn’t come easy for her.

My poor darling Jennifer, he thought, closing his eyes.  She was alone with her grief.  Oh, she had people around her, people who cared for her.  But that wasn’t the same as having her husband and her dead baby’s father with her.

“Your Majesty?”

“Show me.” Sean opened his eyes to see a scene from the multi-system battle that had been raging for the last two days.  The Caca were still pushing hard, and taking heavy losses, as were his forces.  He wasn’t sure who would break first.  If the Cacas did he would have a respite, time to get his forces back together and prepare for the next wave, while getting his new plans in motion.  If his forces broke the Cacas would again take the Kingdom of New Moscow.  And it was still looking like that system would not be able to hold up to the attack of a large force of Cacas heading their way.   And if they had a wormhole, they would have a base from which to continue their offensive into the Empire, reinforcing at will from the heart of their Empire.

The ship he was looking at was a Caca superbattleship.  Only this one had laser rings instead of the domes they normally carried.  That in itself was bad news, since the domes, while giving good all-around firepower, also limited their capacity to put laser fire on a single target.  That had been an advantage to the Empire.  The Cacas had learned, and now were imitating.  The ship was still losing the fight, taking a pounding from the human ships around it.  One ring exploded as it absorbed a blast of protons from a particle beam, while lasers boiled away hull alloy.  There was a flash on the hull, too large to be a beam weapon.  It could only have come from a missile.  While the blast was still expanding the effect became manifest as the ship’s hull bulged outward, then ruptured.  In an instant the ship was gone in a flash, replaced by plasma speeding out from the source of the explosion.

“I could wish we had taken that ship,” said Sean, thinking of the other secrets the vessel might have held.  They had captured ships the last time the Cacas had been in the Empire, but it was obvious that they had made changes.  It would be helpful to know what those changes were.

“We can order our captains to try and make a capture,” came the voice of Admiral Lenkowski over the com.  Len was leading a third of the fleet in this battle, holding an entire flank and fighting to hold onto a half dozen systems.

“Try to make a capture, if possible,” ordered Sean.  “I would really like to get a look at what’s hidden in those ships.  But not at a risk to the crews or ships.”

This was the second surprise of the day.  The first had been even more disturbing.  One mass attack by inertialess fighters had met with disaster as the enemy had somehow placed fire on their exit point from their warp bubbles.  A third of the attack force, the equivalent of an entire wing, had gone up in a wave of fire.  The remainder had suffered further casualties, no surprise there.  There was always a risk in any action where small fragile craft mixed it up with massive warships.  The disturbing part had been that the enemy had seemed to know when and where the fighters would emerge.

We’ll have some new surprises for them in the near future as well, he thought.  The inertialess drive was really a variation on the Alcubierre warp drive, something that had eluded mankind in the early days of interstellar travel, and then forgotten as subspace was discovered and exploited.  Then the entire concept had faded into oblivion as humanity had used the much more efficient method of hyper-dimensional travel.  Now possibly its time had come again, if not for interstellar travel, then for moving quickly in battle.  There were still some obstacles to conquer, but the research and development people were saying they would have it in the coming year.  Right now that sounded like music to the Emperor.

But if they can track them, somehow, we might have more problems than we can handle, and one of our most potent weapons might not be as effective as hoped.

“Anything else?”

“We also have this view of an enemy ship, your Majesty, taken from a distance,” said the Chief Analyst over the com.

This view was at an angle, looking from forty-five degrees above.  There was some blurring from the distance and the velocity that the ship was moving at.  This ship also had laser rings, and it had somewhat different lines than the standard Caca superbattleship.

“What are we looking at?” asked Sean, not sure what they were seeing.

“Here is the plot,” said the Chief Analyst.

The plot showed the enemy ship as an icon, moving forward at point three light.  Suddenly another icon appeared, moving at point six light and accelerating ahead at eight thousand gravities.  A couple of seconds later another appeared, then another, two seconds apart, until there were seventy on the plot, all accelerating ahead.

“Wormhole launches?” asked Sean.

“We believe so, your Majesty.  Unfortunately for them they haven’t perfected the system.  The missiles came out much further apart than our wormhole launchers would have sent them, and at a much lower velocity.  We believe that they are launching them from free space and accelerating them up to the gate over a light hour’s distance.  We doubt they have launching facilities such as ours, and are trying to make do with what they can cobble together.”

“And they made a major mistake, didn’t they?”

“Yes, your Majesty.  They could have snuck them up on us if they had just let them coast toward us.  Instead, they weren’t satisfied with their velocity, and had to push them up to an attack speed.  We actually caught on to them after their first launch.  That attracted our attention, and we looked in on their second launch.”

So now they have wormhole capable launches as well.  Not as good as ours, and certainly not as many.  But still troubling.

“Do you want us to capture that ship, your Majesty?” asked Admiral Lenkowski.

“I want it destroyed,” said the Emperor.  “They can’t have too many wormhole equipped ships.  They’re still force multipliers, no matter how primitive they are compared to ours, and I want them off the field of battle.”

“We’ve thought of something else, your Majesty.  Even our most pessimistic estimates give them the ability to make at most a couple of wormholes a week, compared to thirty a day for our production facility.  They had four of them tasked with the attack on Jewel and the Donut.  They couldn’t have more than a dozen of them tasked for this entire battle.”

“And they would have been better served to have kept their wormhole equipped ships hidden,” said Sean with a tight smile.  “That’s the only way they can keep communications open between their forces.”

“Now that we know what to look for, we’ll take out their command and control vessels,” said Len.

And teach them another lesson, thought the Emperor.

“We have another force appearing outside of the New Kiev system,” said another of the Analysts.  “Coming in from antispinward.  It looks like we’re not going to be able to hold there, your Majesty.”

Sean looked over at the large scale tactical plot that showed the entire battlefield.  New Kiev had once been a prosperous system, with a population of over two billion.  The Cacas had taken care of that population.  Every man, woman and child had been killed, either in the military action of the invasion, or from the ravenous hunger of the huge carnivores, to which most other intelligent species were a food source.  The system was of no importance any more, except as a battleground, since most space faring races still preferred to fight in normal space, where the danger of a catastrophic translation was non-existent.

“How many wormholes still in the system?”

“We’ve lost four in the fight so far, Majesty.  Which leaves twenty-seven, including the ship gate.”

“And we don’t have any reinforcements waiting at the other end of that gate?”

“What reinforcements we had for that system had already gone through to stack the odds against the force we were already fighting.”

“Then order those ships out of there,” said Sean with a frown.  He didn’t like giving up on a fight, but he had finally learned the wisdom of retreating when necessary.  “I assume that all of the wormholes are aboard hyper VII ships.”

The Chief Analyst looked off holo for a moment, bringing up the order of battle.  Sean shook his head, hoping no one had been stupid enough to equip a hyper VI ship with a wormhole.  Doctrine was to only equip hyper VII ships with wormholes, since they would be both capable of outrunning pursuit and incapable of using a wormhole gate without dumping the one they carried.  He would have ordered all of their wormholes closed down if that is what needed to be done to rescue that force to fight another day.  He would order the shipgate closed down if they couldn’t save it.  Earlier in the day it had seemed like they would have to save every single one no matter what the cost.  Now he could lose every single one in that system and they would replace them in a couple of days.  Less than a day when the Donut was back up to full capacity.

“And the ships that can’t use the gate?” asked Lenkowski.

“See if we can lure a large force of their ships, here,” ordered the Emperor, looking at the plot and indicating another once prosperous system that was now dead as well.  “If we can gate enough ships in there to lay in wait, we should be able to take out that force.”

“That should work, your Majesty,” said Lenkowski.

And the next time we meet the Cacas, they may be able to do the same to us, thought Sean.  A frightening thought.  Even if the Cacas were never able to match them in number of wormholes, they would still have enough to shift forces around, much as the Empire was doing now.

“Tell all the task force and group commanders to proceed cautiously from this point,” he told his staff after that last thought hit him.  “They might try to pull something similar to what we have been doing, now that they have wormholes themselves.”

The holo died at a thought, leaving Sean alone again with his problems.  At heart the only thing he cared about the battle was that it would end.  And then he thought again on the small life that had been snuffed out on Jewel.  One of many millions, but to him the most important one of all.

Chapter Twenty-two

When in doubt, don't. Benjamin Franklin

“The enemy fleet is moving into the system, my Lord,” said the male who was acting as the Fleet Tactical Officer.  “Our initial force is moving out to meet them from their staging point.”

Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana gave a head motion of acknowledgement and continued to stare at the plot.  He was about to enter unknown tactical territory, with no idea how things would turn out.  Of course, until we happened upon these vermin once again, everything was so predictable.  We showed up with overwhelming force, the poor fools we confronted either pissed themselves and gave up, or fought and lost, and we won another conquest.

The humans on both fronts, and on the other front their allies as well, we’re not such easy prey.  They fought hard and they fought smart, and they didn’t give up just because of a loss.  And unfortunately, they didn’t always lose.

“And they are coming in on the vector we anticipated?”

“Yes, my Lord.  They appear to be rushing headlong into our trap.”

And appearances can sometimes be deceiving, thought the Great Admiral.  It appeared to be a massive fleet moving into the system.  At least forty thousand of the Klavarta vessels, though most were the small raider class they used so extensively.  Maybe a couple of hundred larger ships, almost the size of the cruisers used by the Ca’cadasans.  There were forty other, larger ships, of the configuration used by the other humans.

He had a force of more than two thousand ships moving out to meet them as they came in from the hyper barrier.  Only five hundred of his vessels were the superbattleships that formed the strength of the Ca’cadasan fleet.  Another five hundred were supercruisers, with the remainder of the force being made up of scouts.  He actually had more tonnage than the enemy, but he knew that another force was on the way in, far out of detection range.  Having only four wormholes in his entire command, he had to use some judicious decision making in his deployments.  One of those deployments was a superbattleship sitting doggo in space a couple of light years from the system, along with two more on different axis of approach.  One had picked up the incoming fleet, and had sent the details through its wormhole.  Another ship had picked up the follow-up force, twice as large as the first one, coming in from a different angle.

Their strategy was clear.  Lure out his fleet with the first force, getting it away from the base and its orbital structures, while the second force came in behind it and destroyed the infrastructure and forts.  Afterwards, both forces would have his fleet trapped between them, and they would win.

Only it wasn’t going to go down that way.  Not since he had his own wormhole gate in orbit around the base planet, and had been bringing in reinforcements over the last week.  Now those reinforcements were lying cold and powered down in deployments that would allow them to take the second force in the flanks as it came deep into the system, while his first force fought a running battle with the leading enemy fleet.

“We should be able to route them in a day,” said the Chief of Staff, a predatory gleam in his eyes.  “And then begins the chase back to their home world.”

Wherever that might be, thought the Great Admiral.  He doubted they would run back to their home world, and there was no way to pick it out through the normal means of checking out the prime stars.  Most intelligent species who had developed on green worlds preferred those planets, which were most numerous around G and K class stars, and infrequent around Ms.  The Klavarta were satisfied with the secondary stars and space habitats, and red dwarves were the most numerous stars around.

*     *     *

“We have them, Mr. President.  Madame Vice,” said the Klavarta commander of the fleet, Admiral Regis Larista, transmitting to the nearby Imperial battlecruiser that was carrying a wormhole.

“Be cautious Admiral,” said Admiral Mikas Silveski, the commander of all New Terran Empire forces on this front, lent to the Klavarta for the war.

Lent to us, but not for our unrestrained use, thought Larista, stopping a head shake in mid-motion.  That was unfair.  Over a third of the human fleet assigned to this front was with her now.  If anything happened to her force they would share in the disaster.

“I am sure Admiral Larista will keep an eye out for trouble,” said another of the people in on the com conference, speaking in a strange accent.  A small side holo showed a non-human face, with a semi-rigid beak and fine feathers.  Vice Admiral Mashara Ignoa was a Gryphon, among the most numerous alien species in the New Terran Empire, and full citizens of that polity.  He not only commanded the human element of her fleet, but was also second in command of the entire force.

“I have full confidence in the Admiral,” said the Klavarta President, Manstara.  Beside him stood the pure human Thallia Thrann, the Vice President of the Nation of New Earth.  “But I have a bad feeling about this new commander of the Monsters.”

As do I, thought Larista.  Before, the Ca’cadasans had been arrogant, and predictability grew from that arrogance.  They had been able to fight the Monsters to a standstill for a long period of time, mostly because of their predictability.  And now things were changing.  The Monsters showed hints of those changes in the last campaign.  They no longer just charged into battle, they retreated when expedient.  And their ships were also changing, adapting, borrowing the traits and techs from their enemies.

And things are changing for us as well, thought the Admiral, glancing at the holo that showed the Gryphon officer.  A very short time before, their nation killed any and all aliens that entered their space.  There was still much guilt among both the Klavarta and the pure humans over those policies, even if they hadn’t been the fault of those who now ruled and commanded.  They had been the policies of the mad immortal rulers of the nation.  The humans and aliens of the New Terran Empire had thrown off the yoke of the rulers, and in the process had destroyed most of the invading Monster force.

This conference was part of the changes that were happening in the Nation as well.  A dozen people in ten different locations, light years apart.  It was something that would have been beyond the imaginations of most of the people on this com conference just six months earlier.

“The enemy force is firing, Ma’am,” said Captain Ngerita Olsaf, Larista’s Chief of Staff.

“Tend to your force, Admiral,” said the President.  “I assume your people will keep us informed of what is happening.”

“I assure you they will,” said Larista.  A moment later most of the holos died, the connections severed by the President, leaving only her senior commanders still on the com.

“All of their ships have fired, Admiral,” reported the Chief of Staff.  “We have fifty thousand missiles in space.  Our own ships are returning fire.”

The flagship didn’t shake.  It was in the second force, and was not actually on the battlefield as of yet.  The plot showed the battlefield that was the enemy system, the two forces approaching each other, the enemy from insystem, the Klavarta from out.  The icons of missiles appeared on the plot, the fifty thousand vector arrows from the enemy appearing as a solid mass in the wide view.  The Klavarta force had just launched, their missiles also appearing as a solid mass.  What wasn’t showing were the ninety missiles fired by the three wormhole equipped ships, streaking silently, without a trace, toward the enemy force at point nine light.  A minute later a second volley followed, indicated by the numbers underneath the launching ships which came up as the holo zoomed in automatically.

It took ten minutes for the three ships to go through their launching cycles, putting nine hundred silent killers into space.  They had the advantage of approaching the enemy without the chance of detection, until they were within the range in which their stealthy bodies could be detected by active sensors.  And they would be speeding in at a high engagement velocity, true ship killers.  When they turned on their grabbers they would light up the scans of every ship in the system, almost instantaneously.   That was their disadvantage.  They would have to go active in order to strike targets.  The targets appeared to be in a close cluster on the plot, but in reality were more than a hundred kilometers apart, making their formation more of a sieve than a mass.  If the missiles turned on their grabbers too soon, they could be targeted at range by counter missiles, falling into close engagement range after lighting up every targeting sensor in the enemy fleet.  If they engaged their drives late, they ran the risk of not being able to change their vectors enough to actually hit anything.  And if they engaged drives at the perfect moment, they still had little choice of what target they hit.  If luck was with the humans, they would all strike major targets.  It was more likely that they would get a twenty percent kill rate, one hundred and eighty ships, which was high in a missile duel.  But most of those kills would be the scout ships that screened the force.

In a half an hour they would be ready to fire again, as soon as new missiles were pre-accelerated in their launch tubes back at the Donut.  A little less than forty minutes to reach their launching velocity in the acceleration tubes, they would launch in the same order as before, if that was what was wanted.  Or they could be held for some time until needed.  And the Admiral was sure that they would be needed in this fight.  Would that he had more, but there were other fights going on, and the Empire had to first look after their own.

Once they won this battle they would have bought more time.  Time they could use to bring the new ships online and surprise the Monsters with something different.  She didn’t think the new ships would win the war, at least not in one fell stroke.  But now that they were allied with the New Terran Empire, more and more innovations would roll off the designing boards.  As surprising as the Monsters were becoming, the two human powers would become even more so.

“Any sign of other ships in the system?” the Admiral asked Olsaf.

“None that we have seen, ma’am.”

“Excellent.”  We have them, thought the Admiral, then remembered what the President had told her.  Be cautious.  Because if she lost this fleet, the Cacas would once again be knocking on their door.  If that happened before they built the new fleet, they would surely lose the war before any more innovations came to the fore.

*     *     *

“Show me more,” ordered the Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire, Jresstratta IV.  He was enjoying himself, having a good time, something that came infrequently of late.  Emperors had sent males and ships into battle for generations.  Jresstratta had done so himself for over a thousand years, though most of the fights he had sent his people into had been one sided.  Not so over the last three years.  And unlike any time in the past, he had a real time view of the battles.  He could see what was happening, how both sides were moving and reacting.  And he could see the mistakes being made in each fight.

Not what I have been told, he thought, watching the three holos hanging in the air in front of him.  One showed the tactical plot of a system, another a much closer tactical view, the third a real time view of the space around the ship carrying the wormhole.  Not what they wish to tell me.  But what I can pick and choose to watch for myself.

His line was one of the most intelligent in the Empire.  The original Emperor had been the best strategist and tactician that the Ca’cadasans had produced to that time.  And he had bred into lines that produced scientists and thinkers.  It was all well and good to be strong and brave, a great warrior.  But a good leader needed more.  And then his people had, for the most part, placed the Emperor away from the decision making, isolated behind sycophants who told him what he wanted to hear.  No more, he thought.  They still wouldn’t allow him to lead in battle, but now he could judge the results himself, give the orders, and make sure those orders were carried out.

As he watched the plot, following an exchange of missiles, a hundred and eighty vectors arrows sprung into existence less than ten light seconds from the edge of the Ca’cadasan force they were targeting.  There was no warning.  They were just suddenly there, their graviton emissions indicating hard vector changes.  A few were taken out by close in weapons systems.  Many more missed their targets, though some reacquired new ones further in.  And forty-two ships disappeared from the plot.

The Emperor stared in disbelief.  He had heard about the wormhole launched missiles, and their disproportionate kill rate as compared to other weapons.  But seeing it was a different thing, even if it was just a graphical representation on a tactical plot.  He knew his own military was trying to develop wormhole launched weapons, but they were still years behind the humans, and didn’t have the wormholes to boot.

Another view, this time from a camera, shot from one ship toward another.  Both were traveling on the same vector at the same velocity, so the other ship appeared to be standing still in the view.  Suddenly a quartet of stupendous flares appeared around the other ship.  The one directly behind looked like a star had been born out of empty space.  Two more grew out of empty space to either side.  And a moment later one appeared right on top of the superbattleship, engulfing it in a blast of almost impossible fury.  The ship came apart in an instant, three large multiton pieces, a score of smaller, and a cloud of various size particles.

“What in all the hells were those?” roared the shocked Emperor.

“Something new, Supreme Lord,” answered one of the Admiralty staffers who was standing by to answer questions.  “We think it is a weapon akin to their impossible fighters.  Very powerful, but extremely inaccurate.”

“Doesn’t look like they need much accuracy,” said the Emperor under his breath.  The blast looked to be in the terraton range, more than a thousand times as powerful as the gigaton class ship killers that both fleets were throwing around.

“They send out much the same signal that the impossible fighters do,” said the staffer.  “Unfortunately, by the time we pick them up, they are only seconds from coming out of their warp.  And by then it’s too late.  They detonate on reentering normal space, so hitting them with close in weapons really accomplishes nothing.”

“We must have that technology,” said the Emperor in a loud voice.  “We must duplicate it.”

“The impossible fighters, Supreme Lord?  Or the missiles?”

And why do we keep calling them impossible fighters, when they’ve been shown to be extremely possible, thought the Emperor with a head motion of disbelief.  “Both.  We must have both of those technologies.  Perhaps the human scientist who has helped us with wormholes can help us with that as well.”

“We will make him help us, Supreme Lord.”

The Emperor gave another head motion, this one of negation.  When will my people learn that pain and fear will not result in the best the human scientists can give us.  “I will want to talk with Dr. Smirnov myself,” said the Emperor.  “Bring him to my chambers in an hour.”  He looked back at the holos, where the action of the battle was still unveiling.  And to another set where the battle in the enemy space on the other side of the Empire was also in progress.  “Make that two hours.”

“He will be there, Supreme Lord.”

“And be gentle with him.  I want him well treated.”  As long as we give him safety for himself and his family, he will work for us, if not entirely willingly.  But willingly enough.

*     *     *

The news services were all over Capitulum in force, as well as all the other cities of Jewel.  The expensive ultra-high definition holo was centered on a young woman talking, the Galactic News Network logo below her image.  And behind her, the image of the city, shattered buildings, smoking pits.  Here and there an intact structure still towered, off in the distance entire neighborhoods of low rises were still sitting peacefully under the smoke filled sky.

“We probably won’t have total casualty figures for days,” said the young woman.  “But the preliminary count is above two hundred million in Capitulum alone.  Other cities hit include Frisco, New Paris, Rio and New Shanghai, with the death toll in the tens of millions.  Earth Town, also filled with vacationers there for the long weekend, was hit with a half dozen kinetic weapons, and over three hundred thousand people were killed, including many children.”

Jennifer stared at the holo in shock, tears rolling down her cheeks.  With eleven point one billion citizens, Jewel was a crowded world, one that was a desirable destination for people from all over the Empire.  As such, only a limited number of reproduction licenses were issued in any year, only enough to keep up with the limited losses from death and emigration.  And in a population whose members lived to over two hundred years, in many cases three hundred, there were only about forty million babies born in a given year.  They were scarce among the population, though an amusement park like Earth Town was sure to have as many as half its attendees be children.  Parents brought them to see the reproductions of old Earth, the Eifel Tower, cathedrals, a section of the Great Wall.  And many of those three hundred thousand people killed would be children.

Jennifer looked down at Glenn, lying in her lap, the bottle she was holding in his mouth as he happily sucked away.  So innocent, with no knowledge of what had happened this day.  Do you miss your twin? she thought, looking into his blue eyes.  Or is it someone you will never remember, only to know him from pictures and vids we show you when you are older.

The view from the newscast swept across the city, where rescue crews were digging through the rubble, trying to recover survivors and those who could be resurrected before it was too late.  They would try their best, and in many cases that wouldn’t be enough.

“Do you really want to continue watching this, your Majesty?” asked her Chief of Detail.

Jennifer looked up with angry eyes at the Secret Service Agent.  You lost my son, she thought, holding back her rage.  Your one job was to protect the heirs, and you failed.  She shook her head, closing her eyes, then opened them to look back at the holocast.   She knew the agents had done their best to get her and her sons out of the target that the city had become.  If not for them, she and the precious life she held in her lap would also have been killed.  She looked back up at the Agent.

“I am the Empress, and these are my people.  I need to see what happened to us.”

The Agent nodded, his face one of stone.  Jennifer turned back to look at the holocast as she took the bottle from Glenn and pulled the baby to her shoulder, patting him on the back in the age old method of burping a baby.  The holo was now showing an aerial view of the city, sweeping outward from the bay, the irregular shape of the metropolis nestled up against the mountains to the West, the hills and forests to the north.  Three hundred and seventy-five thousand square kilometers of city, the largest in the history of humankind.

The cast then went on to show the Imperial Zoological Gardens.  Here the tragedy was as great, as the large gardens, almost three thousand square kilometers, had also been packed.  Several large warheads, or kinetics, had struck close to the gardens, and a multitude of people and animal exhibits had been destroyed.  Many more of the exhibits had been freed, and some were dangerous in the extreme.  Crews were working to round them up, to stun them and bring them back into captivity.  Some would have to be put down, and that again was a tragedy.

It would take years to repair the city, decades to replace all of the animals and the botanical exhibits in those gardens.  More reproductive licenses would be issued, more people would immigrate, and eventually there would be nothing to show that anything had ever happened here.  Except in the memories of the people who would miss the loved ones they would never see again.

This news of course was going out over wormhole to all of the other systems hooked into the wormhole com net.  All of the other core worlds, major industrial developing worlds, any with large Fleet installations.  Other developing worlds and the larger frontier worlds would get the news through the hyper link net, which could take as long as a couple of days to appear on their planetary news casts.  And still others would not get the news until a ship called on their system, meaning from a week to a month.  But all would eventually get the news about what the Cacas had done to the heart of the Empire.

And we’re lucky the Donut survived, thought the Empress.  Otherwise we might not have an intact wormhole net.

“Son of a bitch,” growled the Chief of Detail as the scene switched on the holocast, this time showing a man in battle armor pulling debris away from a rubble pile, then lifting some injured people from the destruction.  “I’m sorry, your Majesty.  It’s just that…”

“What?”

“That’s the armor worn by the man who tried to kill you and the Emperor.”

Jennifer took a closer look at the man on the holo, reversing the picture and running it again when it switched.  “It is him.  What the hell is he doing?”

“It looks like he is rescuing people, your Majesty.”

“Why would that monster do something like that?” asked Jennifer, shifting Glenn back into her lap and placing the nipple of the bottle into his mouth.  She knew the staff around her here in the bunker wanted the professional nurses to take care of the now heir.  But she didn’t want to let the baby out of her sight.  Not the only one she had left.

“Maybe he isn’t quite the monster we feared,” said the Agent.  “After all, he could have killed you and the Emperor.  And he didn’t.”

“But he was still a killer.”

“Yes, he was,” agreed the Agent.  “But he…”

The holo changed, showing the image of a young woman in a Fleet uniform.  “Your Majesty.  The Emperor is on the com.  He wishes to talk to you.”

The face of the man she loved, the father of her children, the ruler of human space, appeared on the holo as the newscast faded away.  She wanted to yell at him, to call him names, to throw questions in his face.  Why weren’t you’re here, protecting your family?  She stopped herself, reading his face, seeing the stress and strain written there.  Sean was a young man, not even forty, with at least two hundred natural years ahead of him.  Yet he looked like a man of a hundred and fifty, reaching the lower boundary of middle age.

And his eyes?  They had the hundred-yard stare that she had seen in too many combat veterans.  An endless stare that seemed to look at all the terror of the war he was fighting, and, seeing no escape, turned inward.  And sorrow.  A deep, abiding sorrow.  She knew it was tearing him apart.  So many of his subjects.  His heir.

“I was hoping you would call,” she said, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice, and failing.

“I am so sorry,” he said, looking down and breaking eye contact.  “I wish I could have been there for you.  For Augustine and Glenn.  If there had been any way, I would have been there.”

Jennifer was silent, not knowing what to say to this man.  She understood the physics that had kept him away.  He had been aboard a warship, traveling at high relativistic speed for the last four days.  It was impossible to transit a wormhole at that velocity.  The gates could absorb some momentum change, but velocity differences above point ten light were too much to handle.  The ship, a super heavy battleship of the latest design, was needed in battle, so it could not slow down.  But you didn’t have to go.  You could have stayed here.  You could have watched the battle from here, instead of haring off to the far side of the Empire.

“Augustine is dead,” was all she could say.  And you should have been here.  Immediately the thought struck her.  To do what?  To repel the Caca attack by Imperial decree?  They might have ridden together in the same car, but the Secret Service would have insisted that one of the children ride in a separate car.  Would Augustine still have died?  Would theirs have been the target car instead.  The philosophers continued to hash out the vagaries of changing the time line.  One person in a different place could change much, maybe everything.  Sean being in the capital wouldn’t have changed the Caca attack, but what he did change might have killed them.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again.  “If there was anything I could do to change it, I would.”

She nodded.  They would have much to talk about when he returned.  She decided it was time to change the subject, before their talk hurt both of them too much.  “How goes the battle?”

“We’re at the point of decision,” he said, looking up, some of the life, the fierceness she had known in the past relighting his eyes.  “This ship and its task group will be going back into battle, soon.  And then we will know.”

“And the Donut?  I understand we have won that fight.”

“We won, but the battle is not over.  It will not be over until those Caca ships have all been destroyed.”  He spat out the last words, and his eyes narrowed.  Now his mood had changed.  She had never seen him so angry.  This was the man the Empire needed at this moment, not the one crushed by grief.  And she would let the Empire have him.

“This is your heir now,” she said, holding up Glenn.  “This is who you fight for.  Leave him a strong Empire, and crush his enemies.”

Sean nodded, then the holo went dead.  A moment later the newscast came back on, but Jennifer was no longer interested in what it had to say.

“I will go to bed now,” she told her Chief of Detail, who looked like he could use some sleep himself.  “Please have a nurse put Glenn to bed.”

She was sure dreams would come reliving this day.  That part she dreaded, but at least she would not have to think about them during her sleep, only react.

Chapter Twenty-three

A sincere diplomat is like dry water or wooden iron. Joseph Stalin

D-2

“This is the moment,” said Thomas Sparkmen, the man Kenji Guatarrez knew as the Interrogator.

“Are you sure?” asked Achieng Okoye, the woman the scientist thought of as the Disapprover.   They were all following the newscast that was reporting the death of Prince Augustine Ogden Lee Romanov, the heir to the Empire.  “What do you think, Nick?”

Nick Stumpfield, the leader of the group, stared at the cast for a moment longer.  “We need to look at the incident ourselves, to see if the Prince survived the crash.”  He gestured to the one tech in the room, who worked the holographic gear.  A moment later the view changed to a shot of the Empress’ aircar convoy as it fled the city.

“How are you getting this vid?” asked Guatarrez, leaning forward in his seat.  He was still the unwilling guest of this organization, which was more powerful than he had at first thought, but he was a comfortable prisoner.  Especially since he had proven his theory of dimensional time travel to them.

“We have our sources,” said Nick with a smile.

Guatarrez nodded.  He had seen that these people could get pretty much whatever they needed.   He wasn’t sure who Nick Stumpfield was, but he had heard some of the lower ranking people in the organization call him lord.  Nick hadn’t liked that, and had been quick to let them know not to use that title in public.

The vid showed the aircars starting to juke and dodge, then one of them was hit by the angry red of a particle beam, slicing into the power plant of the car with a splash of alloy.  The car immediately lost power and fell from the sky trailing smoke.

“Was that it?” asked Okoye, pointing to the vid.

“I think not,” said Sparkmen.  “That was one of the perimeter cars.”

The view switched to another of the cars, this one near the center.  Again, a bright beam came down, missing.  The second beam didn’t miss, and the back of the car exploded outward, then it started to fall.  Fifty meters into the fall it exploded, and several objects were ejected from the ball of fire.”

“Zoom in on that one and slow the vid,” ordered Stumpfield.

The Tech did as he was told, and the view zoomed in as it slowed to a crawl, centering on a globe that was falling toward the ground.  The outside of the globe had some scorch marks on it, but the damage appeared superficial.  The globe continued to fall, taking a minute to drop a hundred meters in the view, then slowing to a near stop.

“That’s an escape pod,” said Okoye.  “And from the size, it was made for a child.”

“And it fell under power, and pretty much intact,” said Sparkmen.

“Which is still no guarantee that it contained the Prince,” said Okoye.  “Or that he made it out alive.”

“It would be smart money to bet on both,” said Stumpfield.  “After all, the reports of what they found do not seem to make sense.  Anything that took a hit that could totally destroy the body of the passenger would not look like that falling from the aircar.  It would have a damned big hole in it.”

“Haven’t the authorities seen this vid?” asked Guatarrez.  “Wouldn’t they know the Prince was still intact, and that what they found didn’t make sense?”

“They never saw this,” said Stumpfield, looking over a replay of the vid.  “Our operative that got it out made sure there were no copies left behind.”

The leader looked up and over at Guatarrez.  “So, can you get a wormhole to that time?  First I would like to see the Prince alive before we send people back.”

“If we start right now, we can probably get one to that point in time in a week our time.”

“And I don’t think we can get the transfer ship insystem in that time, Nick,” said Sparkmen, who seemed to be in charge of those assets.  “This system will be on lockdown, and we will have to tread softly.”

Nick looked off for a moment, then nodded.  Even though the dimensional transfer craft was very small and very stealthy, it would not do to have it picked up on sensors and intercepted.  There would be all kinds of questions this organization wouldn’t want to answer.  “We will wait a week, so let’s say two weeks.  But go ahead and send the signal to the operations team.  Let’s get the asset started on its trip.”

So, in two weeks they will be able to see if the Prince is on that escape pod.  And then?

“I hate using so many wormholes for this one project,” said Sparkmen.  “We could only get our hands on so many, and I doubt we will be able to get more in the future.”

“We can retask the one we send back for a look,” said Guatarrez, wondering a moment later why he did.  After all, he still wasn’t sure what the ultimate plan of these people was, and if he approved of that plan.  But first and foremost he was a scientist, and curiosity ruled him.  He desperately wanted to see if his theories would test true.

“What do you mean?” asked Stumpfield, staring straight into the scientist’s eyes.

“After viewing the Prince, we can put the carrying vehicle back into the backwards dimension, then allow it to go back again, to the time before the time we viewed the heir in.”

“And the time frame?”

“We get it back out to the point in space where it can jump back into the backwards dimension, then bring it back in while it advances forward again.  Say, a month, while we advance another three weeks.  So when we go back to retrieve the Prince, it is five weeks from now.”

“That sounds good,” said Stumpfield with a smile.  “Good time frame as well.  I really don’t want to approach their Majesties for another three months anyway.  Let them deal with their loss, build their anger, and then we offer them the hope that their son and heir is still alive.”

“Won’t he then be the younger of the two brothers, by over five weeks?” asked Okoye, a confused expression on her face.

“He is still the first born,” said Stumpfield with a smile.  “I don’t think anything is said about biological age in the laws of succession.”

*     *     *

“We have been picking up additional ripples in the time stream, Commander,” said the alien who slid soundless across the floor.  “Small at the moment, only involving a single life, maybe a few more.  But we are afraid the ripples will grow from this point.”

Xavier Jackson stared at the Ancient, one of the few remaining of the race that used to rule this region of space.  He had been their guest for several years now, since they had rescued him from the deep space he had found himself drifting in after a catastrophic translation from hyper.  It had looked hopeless.  There was no way he could have been found by his own people, but the aliens had much better tech than his people.  He had been hearing the refrain for over a year now, that his Empire was a threat to the time stream with their use of wormholes.

“The enemy is also using wormholes,” said Jackson, looking into one of the multiple eyes of the Ancient.  “You’ve told me so yourself.”

“That is also the fault of your species,” accused the Ancient.  Its expression was impossible to read, since it didn’t possess what Jackson would consider a face.  The motion of its six tentacles were the way in which it expressed its emotions, and Jackson had learned how to read those.  The creature was agitated, nervous, angry.

“Blaming all the ills of the Universe on us,” said Jackson with a smile.  “I didn’t think we were so powerful.”

“Once you built that wormhole generating station, you assumed that power.  Only you don’t have the wisdom to handle it.”

“Like your people?” asked Jackson, taking a seat and reaching for a drink decanter.  “Didn’t you tell me about your own experiments, and how they resulted in so much death and destruction.”

The alien stared at him for a moment, and Jackson wondered if maybe he had said too much.  The Ancients were not a cruel people.  In fact, they were quite the opposite.  But he had seldom seen one so agitated.

“Maybe no species has that wisdom,” said Klorasof, turning away in a circle on his locomotion cilia.  It sat there for a moment as Jackson poured himself a drink, then spun back around in a motion that almost blurred his form.  “That is why we must stop species from playing with the time line.  And I know what you will say.  The use of wormholes does not have to lead to playing with the time line.  But that is what seems to happen, over and over again.  If you continue to press your enemies, they too will be tempted to mess with time.  And so it must stop, now.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“We will have a gathering of my people.  All will come to this place.”

“And then you will launch all of your ships on an attack on the station?”

“No, Xavier Jackson.  We will send one ship.  We do not have the energy reserves to bring a fleet into battle.  We will pool our resources so that our most capable vessel will be able to fight at full efficiency.”

“Perhaps you could approach us in peace, and ask for the power of the station to recharge your energy cells,” suggested Jackson.  Klorasof had told him once about how they had used their black hole station to power the baby universes they used for energy, and how they could no longer charge them without that station.

“You would have made a good diplomat, Xavier Jackson,” said the Ancient.  “And that is why you will be going with us.  So that you may talk your people into evacuating the station before we destroy it.  And then you can go home.”

“Home?”

“Of course.  We are not a cruel people.  And once your people know that we are still here, there will be no need to continue your captivity.”

Except you will send me back to my people after you have taken away our means of winning a war we must win, thought Jackson, keeping his face expressionless.  He continued to look at the alien, who had all of its eyes focused on him, waiting.  Unless I find a way to stop you.

*     *     *

“Admiral McCullom,” said the Com Officer, looking up from his station.  “We have a transit request from both Elysium and the Crakista.”

“What are they asking to do?” asked Sondra, sitting up from the position she had been in on her chair, near to falling asleep from the exhaustion.

“They are requesting transit to the black hole system.”

“I think they’re a little late to help out there,” there McCullom with a scowl.  “Maybe if they had come back a couple of days ago.”

The Com Officer started talking into his system, his voice too subdued for the Grand High Admiral to follow.

“They’re both requesting further transit authority to the front,” said the excited
Com Officer.

“How many of them?” said McCullom, coming to her feet and running to the officer’s station.

“It sounds like all of them.  Their entire fleets.”

“Damn.  Send them all the permission they need.  Then get through to every gate along their path.  I want all other traffic stopped when they’re ready to transit.”  McCullom could feel the smile stretching her face.  They’ll probably still want something in return.  But if they’re coming into the battle, I don’t care what they ask for.

“And get me the Emperor on the com.”

*     *      *

“Are you sure, Sondra?” asked the Emperor, glancing back at the plot that showed how the battle was going.  They were winning every fight, except the one they were yet to be involved in.  The largest enemy force was still on the way to New Moscow, not more than a day away.  And he didn’t have enough there to stop them.  And if they had a wormhole aboard?  Then their fleet would grow in the system while they challenged him to come and get them.

“They’re pumping ships through the gates as fast as we can take them, your Majesty.  One very fifteen seconds.  We’re routing them toward the front in the most efficient way possible.  I have a good portion of my staff planning their transits, and they are accepting our directions.”

Sean looked back at the plot, at the one system that was vital to his plans out here, and the one that was in the most danger.  And he knew where those ships needed to be.

*     *     *

The High Admiral cursed under his breath as he watched the impossible fighters appear once again on the plot.  If only we had some of the new detection devices aboard, he thought.  Unfortunately, they were still a new development, and they were not an easy install.  It took a complete refit of the sensor system to work properly at any range.  And since this had been for all intents and purposes a suicide mission, it had been decided that it was not worthwhile to put these ships through that refit.

Not my decision, thought the High Admiral as a couple of the fighters flew close to his ship, hitting it with lasers.  The lasers on a fifteen hundred ton fighter could not do much to a twenty-five million ton warship.  He doubted they were even piercing the armor.  They were no more than a nuisance, but they were keeping his crews on alert, since he couldn’t afford to take a chance that the next attack would have missiles aboard.

They were now fifteen hours from the station, over three light hours distant and moving at their maximum safe velocity of point nine five light.  That put them sixty-one light hours from the hyper I barrier, a little over sixty-one and a fifth standard hours.  In ship’s time that would come to eighteen hours.  That was if they wanted to cruise through the barrier point at their maximum speed.  Instead, they would start decelerating at three light hours from the barrier, reaching it at point three light, their maximum translation speed.  And adding another eight standard hours onto their travel time.

More impossible fighters left their warp and moved into the attack.  Again they caused no harm, but the close in weapons and laser batteries took out three of the twenty-one craft before they could jump back into the warp.

How many are they going to sacrifice? thought the High Admiral.  The humans were showing insane courage.  Their fleet was still on his tail, and as he watched they launched another spread of missiles at his force.  It would take over thirty hours for the missiles to close to attack range, and they would be closing at a mere point zero two light.  This would put them in laser engagement range for thirty-three minutes, and they would be easy targets while crossing that light minute.

“How does it look ahead?” he asked his Tactical Officer, looking at the plot.  This system was like no other he had ever been in.  Most systems extended from two to four light hours from the primary before navigable hyperspace was reached.  Sixty-four light hours.  And nothing in it but the primary, except for the objects built by intelligent beings.

And all of those objects are still behind us, he thought as he growled deep in his throat.

“We are picking up nothing ahead of us, my Lord,” replied the Tactical Officer.  “But, this system is different.  I can’t make sense of some of our readings.”

The High Admiral gave a head motion of acceptance.  Their graviton readings were, strange.  The huge point source, infinite mass in infinitesimal space, spinning, was sending out graviton pulses that masked other sources.  Things that were close, other ships, missiles, were still detectable.  Objects at distances over four light hours were problematic.

“The enemy ships will be less than a light hour behind by the time we reach the barrier,” said the Navigation Officer.

Which meant they might be able to get some missiles into his force at a dangerous closing speed.  But then he would be through the barrier, and they would still have to decelerate.  Or they could choose to start to decelerate so they could jump after his ships as soon as they reached the barrier.  In which case they would never get a good shot in normal space.  Either way, the advantage was his.

“What is the nearest system to us on the heading we will be on when we leave this desolation?”

“One of the systems orbiting this black hole, my Lord,” replied the officer, looking at a holo hanging over his board.  “Umber.  A K class star twenty-three light hours beyond the barrier.  Three inhabited planets.”

“And there is sure to be a system fleet there, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “They will not let us near any of the inhabited planets.”

“Then we will smash whatever infrastructure we might find in the outer system, then head on to another target,” said the High Admiral.  And with luck we will be able to do that to several systems before they bring us to battle.

*     *     *

“We are on an intercept course, your Grace,” said the Navigator, looking back at the Admiral.  “Coasting along.  As long as they don’t change course, we will intercept in twelve hours standard time.”

Mei Lei nodded, wiping her hair before climbing back into her shipboard skinsuit.  Her ships had all boosted for the required time with the crews in the tanks, allowing the vessels to accelerate at an additional thirty gravities.  They were now up to a velocity of point nine light, and were on a course that would bring them across the path of the enemy just ahead, able to put missiles down their throat.

And now, if only we had more missiles, thought the Scout Force Commander.  That was their one lack.  They were going in for a refit back at Central Docks when the attack came, and most of their missiles had been offloaded, with the others to follow the next day.  And they had only been able to load a few more on the vessels before they went through the gate to here.  Her flagship only had thirty-three aboard.  Her whole force less than five hundred.  They had full proton packs, and of course the lasers were always at full power as long as the ships had reactors.  But nothing had the impact on space combat that missiles did, and without wormholes aboard, what they had was all they would ever have for this fight.

“Let system command know our position,” the Admiral told her Klassekian Com Tech, who could instantaneously transmit the information to one of her birth siblings.  That sibling was not in this system, but was stationed in another system on the frontier, the area from which the scout force had been dispatched.  From there the transmission would go through a wormhole to the Donut, and to the system command.  A round trip of thousands of light years, all in a moment.

“Message from command,” said the Com Tech.  “They have another surprise waiting for the enemy.  They’re hoping that it will help us.”

And I wonder what that is, thought the Admiral.

Chapter  Twenty-four

A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week. George S. Patton

“Jumping, now,” called out the Helmsman of the flagship.

Sean braced himself for the nausea of the translation from hyper to normal space.  He had always been an easy translator, but he was tired, mentally and physically.  And that made the normal stress of translation even more difficult.

He took one last glance at the plot that showed an enemy force heading toward them in normal space at point five light.  The Cacas were retreating from one of his groups, not yet down to translation speed.  And his force was going to jump right into the middle of them before they could get away.

They know we’re coming, he thought with a grin.  And a fat lot of good that will do them.

The translation nausea hit, thankfully brief, and suddenly the massive ship was shaking from missile launches and particle beam shots.  Augustine, an ironic name now the Emperor thought on it, was now equipped with four wormholes.  They had offloaded the others onto ships that had come through wormhole gates and didn’t have their own.  Two were presently configured as missile launchers that were spitting out thirty weapons each in thirty second streams, all travelling at point nine five light.  The other two were attached to particle beam accelerators in place back at the Donut, each capable of sending a hundred kilograms per second of protons or antiprotons at just under one hundredth thousandth of light speed.  They were the most devastating beam weapons in known space, and at the moment they were ripping holes in the hulls of two Caca superbattleships.  Four of her sisters were with her, firing the same kind of weapons.

The Cacas fired back, their beam weapons doing little against the thick armor of the super heavy battleships.  There were some holes blasted through into the outer layers of the ships, while most of the enemy missiles were blown out of space.  A few hit, releasing a gigaton of explosive power, but adding little in the way of kinetic energy.  That was still enough to cause significant damage to even a ship of Augustine’s mass and armor, while it shattered destroyers and light cruisers, and sent heavy cruisers into out of control spins.  Augustine shook from a pair of hits spaced three seconds apart, and damage klaxons sounded throughout the vessel.

He knew his wife and his counselors would continue to give him hell for leading from the front.  And he knew he needed to be on the sharp edge of the battle, with the teeth of his fleet, rending and tearing at his enemy.  It fed the rage within him, while relieving the stress of this war and the way it was damaging his people and his Empire.

For this battle the wormhole weapons had been mounted on tracks just under the armor, accessing through a series of portals running from bow to stern.  They didn’t really need much within the ship, since the actual weapons were thousands of light years distant.  They moved along their tracks to bring the most enemy ships under fire, stopping at each portal to release some seconds of particle beam, or a stream of missiles, before taking a few seconds to speed to the next portal, where they repeated the process.  If the Donut had been lost this strategy would not have been possible, at least for the beam weapons.

The fleets engaged in passing, a total of a little under two minutes.  As they separated the missiles continued to fly, though those from the Cacas were now trying to accelerate to overcome the velocity of their launching ships, while the human vessels without wormholes put out missiles that were catching up to the enemy at point five light, not the best closing speed, but still dangerous.

Augustine had taken damage, not crippling, but enough to leave a thousand of her crew dead.  Duke Mormont, one of her sisters, had gone up in a flare of plasma as thirteen warheads struck and her antimatter stores breached.  Two destroyers that had guarded her too closely went up with her.  One other ship would be spending time in a shipyard before she was combat ready.

Seventy-three enemy superbattleships had been destroyed, hit by high velocity missiles or punctured by particle beams that breached their engineering spaces.  Forty-six of their large cruisers and over a hundred of their scouts had joined them in death.  A mere forty-one ships in total had made it away, and Sean’s forces would be after them.  The five Augustine class ships had torn the guts out of a strong enemy force.  And that force had been the last reserve the enemy had in this part of the battle.

“Order our own reserves into battle,” ordered the Emperor.  He had to hope that would be enough to break the enemy.  At the moment he had no more ships to throw into the fray, at least here.  And still no way to reinforce New Moscow with any of his ships, not anything that would get there in time.  Only his allies could save that system, if they were able.

*     *     *

D-5

“We’re at the barrier, Ma’am,” said the Chief of Staff.

“Order all ships to jump,” she said in a hushed voice.  She had led a fleet of over eighty thousand ships into this system.  She was retreating with less than twenty thousand.  Much less.

I should have been more cautious, she thought.  The President warned me, and I thought I was listening.  But dammit, I wasn’t.

The battle had started off so well.  They had the enemy ships where they wanted them, coming out to meet the Klavarta force being led by the Imperial commander, the Gryphon Admiral Mashara Ignoa.  Her force had come in on another vector into the system.  Of course the enemy had been able to detect her before she jumped into normal space, but they were already engaged and unable to do anything to stop her.  Her force moved into the system, brushing aside the few pickets before her, launching a swarm of missiles at the backside of the enemy force.  It looked like it was going to be a slaughter, until the rest of the enemy ships came out of hiding and launched in mass at her force.

And we hadn’t a clue they were here.  Our scouts had no indication that they had so many ships, and no sign of those ships entering the system.  Wormholes had said the Imperial Admiral, just before his ship had gone up in a ball of plasma, taking one of her own portals with it.  The twelve ships that still had wormholes had given good account of themselves, spitting out stream after stream of high relativistic weapons.  But her main force was short on missiles, a problem the enemy didn’t seem to have.

The ships jumped, and she felt the slight nausea her kind experienced during the transition.  The last thing she had seen had been the mass of enemy ships heading for the barrier, on her tail.  The other force, less than two thousand ships, had left the system an hour before, another large enemy fleet coming after them.

Once we’re in hyper, we’ll have no trouble outrunning them, she thought, looking at the plot, trying to see something that might give her idea of how to turn this around, and failing.  Unless they have something else hidden from us out there in deep space.  She thought about that again.  She might not be able to outrun all of their ships.  As long as they could stay within sensor range, they could follow.  And she would lose more ships.

She couldn’t even talk with command at this point.  The human battlecruiser that had been her liaison had also been lost, and with it her instantaneous com.  There were still some ships with either the wormholes or the quantum entangled aliens aboard, but none within hyperspace com reach of her vessel.  She might send some code through grav pulse to a ship that could transmit to base, but she couldn’t have the conversation that she wanted.  In another way, it was good that she couldn’t have that conversation, since most of what she had to say were apologies for the ships and crews she had lost.

“What course, Ma’am?  Back to forward base.”

“Hells no,” growled the Admiral.  “We would just be leading their fleet back to another target they could destroy.”

She pulled up the holo plot of this bordering section of the Nation, looking for a destination that she could use to her advantage.  Nothing jumped out at her, nothing that solved all of her problems.  She could resort to the age old Klavarta tactic of run and scatter.  That was sure to get some of her ships away from the pursuit.  And what if the enemy didn’t break up their forces to chase her ships?  They could forge into the Nation to hit targets of opportunity, while her force was too scattered to do anything about it.

This star, she thought, zooming the holo in on one nondescript K class star.  Not a major system, but still important enough, with a fleet base and system defenses.  Two weeks travel time, long enough to gather some reserves and have them meet her force.  Enough to win a battle against the Monsters?  Maybe, or not.  But enough to hurt their force badly enough to halt any offensive action against the Nation?  Maybe.

“Send a code transmission to all ships, to be repeated,” she ordered her Com Officer.  “All ships are to head to this system at best speed, but they are cautioned to not break from the fleet.  Any ships with instantaneous com are to report my intentions back to command, and to request that all reserve ships they can muster meet us there.  Preferably well before the enemy gets within sensor range of the system.”

The Com Officer nodded and went to work to send the long message out in the digital code that was the limit of grav pulse communication.  It took a good couple of minutes to send out the code, which was followed by several minutes of every ship within range repeating the message.  They moved out from there, until every ship in the fleet knew what they were to do.

Now, all we have to do is stay ahead of the enemy force and lead them into the trap, she thought.  Easy, if this commander could fall for the same ruse he had pulled on her.

*     *     *

“We have won the battle, Supreme Lord,” reported the Great Admiral, looking into the face of the Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire, Jresstratta IV.  “The enemy is fleeing in disarray.”

“And your estimates of their losses, Great Admiral?” asked the Emperor.

The Great Admiral had ambivalent feelings about the wormhole technology.  True, it gave him the ability to reinforce quickly, if the ships were available.  It gave him access to the latest intelligence reports and analysis.  It also allowed those in the capital to look over his shoulder, to scrutinize his every decision.  He wondered how the humans dealt with that, or if it didn’t bother them to be micromanaged to such an extent.  The way they show initiative in action, they must have found a way to deal with it.

“I believe we have gutted their primary offensive arm, Supreme Lord.  We have destroyed at least three quarters of that fleet.  Maybe more.  And are in pursuit of the remainder.”

“And who is leading this pursuit?”

“I am, Supreme Lord.”

“No, Great Admiral.  You will not.  You are one of my best tacticians, and I will not see you killed in a useless act of bravado.  You will remain at the base and direct the entire front.”

“But, Supreme Lord…”

“You will do as I say, Great Admiral.  Put one of your wormholes on the flagship of your largest force, and advise that commander from the base.  But you will not put your life at risk by leading from the front.  Understood?”

“Yes, Supreme Lord.”  The Great Admiral did not like the order, though he understood it.  The Great Admiral was enough of a realist to know that he was more intelligent than most of his species.  He was an asset to his species, and their military.  He recognized that the Emperor knew that as well, and Jresstratta IV was also one of the rare intellectuals in the Empire, who would not sacrifice a rare commander just so that male could prove his courage.

“And thank you for your good news,” continued the Emperor.  “We need such as this time.”

“The other attacks didn’t go so well?”

“We have no idea how the attack on their wormhole generating station went.  All communication was lost about the time the bomb ship detonated.  Which could mean anything.  What didn’t happen, Great Admiral, was the sudden cessation of their wormhole weapons in the battle at their front, as we thought would happen.  Make of that what you will.”

The Great Admiral felt a feeling of dread in his chest.  We didn’t take it out.  Somehow, they foiled that attack.  That had been a major hope in the planning of the attack, and the timing of it.  Prisoners had revealed that most of the wormholes, including their miraculous weapons, led back to the station.  If the station was destroyed, so would be their wormhole missile launching systems and particle beams.

“They have already destroyed sixty percent of our fleet, though we believe they also suffered heavy losses.  But the point of decision is still in doubt.”

The Great Admiral gave a head motion of acknowledgement.  If they could take the main system of that human kingdom they could still call that battle a victory.  And even if they didn’t, if they could still get most of that forty percent out, it would be of great benefit to the Empire.  Ships that had faced the humans, their battle experience passed on to those who hadn’t faced the maddeningly innovative creatures.  In the past they might have stood and fought, and lost every last ship, as Ca’cadasan commanders tried to prove their courage.  Now, at least, the commanders of ships and squadrons were at times making the smart decision.

“Will we try another strike at their station, Supreme Lord?”

“That may be in the works, Great Admiral.  That may be in the works, though I doubt we will be able to sneak an attack in on them another time.”

No, thought the Great Admiral.  The next time it will have to be overwhelming force.  A battle fleet.  It would be worth the sacrifice, even if not a ship made it back.  The problem was getting a battle fleet that deep into their space.  If they had fought their way that deep into the human Empire, the war was all but won.

“Keep the pressure on them, Great Admiral,” said the Emperor.  “We have new weapons coming down the pipeline.  Weapons such as the humans use against us.  We will meet them at their own game, and then our more massive industrial base will begin to tell.”

The holo died, the Emperor cutting him off without another word, as was his right.  The Great Admiral thought for a moment of disobeying the ruler’s order.  He could lead his fleet better than any of his subordinates.  Since he considered himself a loyal servant of the Empire, he decided he would follow the order.

“Get me High Admiral Changanostra,” he said into the air, knowing that the com would pick it up and he would soon be in touch with his most talented subordinate.  Still, it might take some moments, since the Admiral’s ship was nearing the hyper barrier, and the nearest ship to his with a wormhole com was light minutes away.  It was really the only ship that would have such a com in the pursuit force, and the Admiral in charge of that vessel might see it as a slight that he was not picked to lead the force.  Let him see it as a slight, thought the Great Admiral as he waited.  Changanostra was the best male for the job, so he would get the overall command, and the Great Admiral would order his officers to switch ships.

New weapons, was the thought his mind sought while he waited.  Actually it had been weapons such as the humans use against us.  So again we copy, he thought.   Copy the people who innovate such as we can’t.  And what else will they bring out in the meantime?

*     *     *

“We have tested the impossible fighter prototype, Supreme Lord,” said the male in charge of the project over the com holo.  “They work, Supreme Lord.  They work, and we should be able to produce them in quantity within the next couple of months.”

“We need to stop calling them impossible fighters,” said the Emperor.  “Such a silly name, since we now know that they are perfectly possible.”

“Yes, Supreme Lord,” croaked the male, a confused expression on his face.  He had called the Emperor to report a triumph, only to have his speech corrected.

“Do we have the negative matter for mass production?” he asked the male.  Negative matter was not something that the Empire had much need for, only using it for esoteric experiments and such.  The Emperor knew the answer to the question before he asked it, but wanted to see what the Director of Project had to say about it.

“No, Supreme Lord.  As it stands, we might be able to produce enough to manufacture twenty fighters a month.  We need more production if we are going to mass produce them.”

“Then we will have more production,” said the Emperor.  “I will immediately order the allocation of resources to build production facilities.  I want those fighters as soon as possible.  I am tired of us being on the receiving end of their technologies.”

“Yes, Supreme Lord,” said the male.  What else could he say?  He was not in charge of anything outside of his project.

“Good work,” said the Emperor, smiling.  “Now give me a working fighter and you can ask what you want of me.”

The Emperor cut the com feed, turning to look at the tactical plot of the battle his forces were retreating from, wondering what they might have done if they had the same attack fighters as the enemy.  Something capable of exceeding the speed of light in normal space, though it had been explained to him that they were not really in normal space.  Whatever the case, they had been a devastating weapon that had hurt his forces badly.  True, some of his ships could pick them up, at least at close range.  From reports he had seen some of his ships had devastated attack wings that had swept in, obviously depending on their ability to disappear from enemy sensors while they were in their inertialess bubbles.

And even though we destroyed over half their deployed fighters, they still ended up on the positive end of the exchange.  It is an exchange I would take at any time.

With that thought the Emperor went back to work, going through all the decisions major and minor that were his to make in war or peace.

*     *     *

“I can’t wait to hear what his Majesty has to say when he sees this,” said Dr. Abel Schneider, looking over the holo of the prototype floating in the air before him.

And I think his Majesty has too much on his mind at the moment to be bothered, thought Admiral Chuntao Chan.  The poor man.  But this is really something he should see and celebrate.

The ship on the holo was like nothing anyone in the Empire had ever seen.  Short and squat, the most noticeable feature was the perfectly circular ring around the center, held out by a quartet of pylons attaching it to the body of the ship.  A true Alcubierre drive, she thought.  Something that had been theorized for over two thousand years, but never built.  First subspace, then hyperspace had come along and obviated the need for the drive.

Alcubierre drive also used negative matter, but used a much more efficient warp field to propel itself through space.  Or it might be more accurate to say that it didn’t propel itself at all, while the space around it moved.  Theoretically, it was possible for the drive to move the ship at a pseudo-speed of thousands of times the speed of light.  Still far short of the maximum travel speed of hyperspace.  Ships in hyper VII moved at a pseudo-speed of more than thirty thousand times the speed of light.

It was also much easier to track compared to the inertialess fighters they were already using.  The graviton emissions from the warp was in the same range as a destroyer, and they could be tracked easily all the way across a system.  They were not stealthy, and when they lit up the drive everyone for light hours in any direction would know that they were there.  Moments later the variations in the graviton signal strength would give one the vector of the ships.

It had one advantage that no other ship had.  It could go from a standing stop to ten times light speed in less than twenty seconds. It could go from that speed to a stop in the same time.  Even faster if it just dropped the warp field, which would cause it to come to a complete but gentle stop in space.  The prototype was able to hit ten point three light.  Future versions would probably go much faster, but what they had at the moment was good enough.

The prototype massed five thousand tons.  It used too much negative matter, enough to equip a squadron of inertialess fighters.  The production fighter they envisioned would mass a mere three thousand tons, about twice that of the inertialess attack fighters, and use four and a half times the negative matter.  And they were developing an entire line of missile weapons to go with it.  Beam weapons were more of a problem, since they could only be used once the craft was out of warp, which meant standing still, a state in which they were easy targets.

Still blind as a mole, thought the Research and Development Admiral, considered to be one of the most brilliant minds in the Empire.  But we can work that out in the same way as we did the inertialess fighters.  It would take several months to actually have a deployable fighter, several months after that before the first squadrons were formed.  But when they were, the Cacas would be in for another shock.  Maybe one they couldn’t recover from.

Chapter Twenty-five

The time to take counsel of your fears is before you make an important battle decision. That's the time to listen to every fear you can imagine! When you have collected all the facts and fears and made your decision, turn off all your fears and go ahead! George S. Patton

“The Cacas are starting their deceleration toward the hyper barrier, Ma’am,” said the Analyst, standing to the side of the CNOs station.

Sondra McCullom looked up from the plot she was studying.  The battle of New Moscow (the Second?  Third?), or was it the battle of the frontier, was just about to begin.  They had beaten the Cacas, again, in every place but that system.  And they had sustained heavy losses themselves, which made the words of King Pyrrhus come to mind.  Too many more victories like this and they wouldn’t have a fleet.  By all estimates the Cacas still had a massive fleet, with more ships on the way.  Now it was up to her and the planning staff to figure out how to beat the next force, and the one after that, until there were no more enemy fleets to beat.  Only if we can still defeat them in the New Moscow system, she thought.  If they lost that system, and the two gates leading into it, while the enemy had one of their own, that would become what could only be called a new enemy home system, able to bring in reinforcements at will.

The Grand High Admiral didn’t have to ask which Caca force was decelerating toward which hyper barrier.  The one moving toward New Moscow had been decelerating for some time, and she knew to the minute when it would be entering that system.

“And what are our forces doing?”

“The pursuit force is still on their tail.  Half is decelerating so they can follow the Cacas into hyper.  The other half is continuing to move at their maximum speed, hoping to catch them before they reach the barrier.”

Sondra nodded as she called up the information on her station.   There were seven Caca superbattleships driving toward the barrier.  There were still about fifty of the inertialess strike fighters shadowing them, making attacks of opportunity that really amounted to nothing.  If one hit a Caca ship and came out of its warp at the same time it might kill one.  It wasn’t something she could order, compelling a crew to go to its death to take out an enemy.  And it wasn’t something most ship commanders would contemplate.  If the station was still in danger she might have considered it.  Since it was not, she wouldn’t.

The following force was made up of six battleships, four battlecruisers and fourteen escorts.  It was a force that might be able to take the Cacas.  Probably not, but it was a possibility.  Splitting the force would leave them with one truncated squadron that might damage some of the enemy ships, maybe even kill one or two, but would not stop them.  The other truncated squadron would chase them through hyper, unable to catch them, but able to keep tabs on them.  It was a hard decision, and maybe not the one she would have made, but it was the one made by the commander on the spot.

“What about the special missiles?”

“Two of the inertialess fighters are on the way, each carrying two of the special missiles.  They should strike within the next fifteen minutes.”

And the chances that they will hit anything with those weapons is just a little better than the chances of winning the Imperial Sweepstakes, thought the Admiral with a snort.  The weapons had been developed to hit large structures in predictable paths, like orbiting fortresses, shipyards or possibly groups of ships.  Hitting dispersed warships, especially those moving at a high rate of speed, was the next best thing to impossible.  But there was always the chance, no matter how slight.

“And Duchess Lei’s group?”

“They are on course to make an intercept, ma’am.  We have contact with them through their Klassekian Com Tech.  We have not been able to track them since they went cold, and we’re hoping the same is true for the Cacas.”

The Duchess was trying to strike out of the shadows, taking the enemy by surprise, and her ships had stopped boosting over twenty hours before.  They were still generating a bit of heat, but not gravitons, and hopefully the Cacas had not noticed them.  At least the huge aliens had not altered their course in a manner that suggested they had seen her force and were now trying to avoid her.

“Keep me informed,” she told the Analyst, turning back to her station.  She had work to do, and at the moment the Battle of the Donut was a sideshow.  She really wanted to kill those Caca ships, but they were not as important as what was going on elsewhere.

Now, what can we do to stabilize the Second Front?  And take back New Moscow if we have to?

*     *     *

“Disposition of the enemy?” asked the High Admiral, staring at the system plot.

“No change, my Lord,” replied the Tactical Officer.  “The two groups are still diverging.  The first will hit us in two hours.  The second looks like it will translate into hyper on a following course two hours and fifty-three minutes after our jump.”

“Foolish of them to split their forces like that,” said the Chief of Staff.  “We will defeat the first force, then lead the second on a chase they cannot win.  They should have just sent all the ships after us on maximum acceleration.”

Foolish? thought the High Admiral.  Unless they know something we don’t.

“How many missiles do we have left?” he asked his Tactical Officer.

“This ship, my Lord?  Sixty-one.  I believe the entire force has just under two hundred.”

That was a good sized wave against a force the size of the one coming up on their stern.  When they fired them they would have to decelerate to overcome the momentum they were carrying from their launching ship.  It would take them over an hour to get down to what was basically resting speed before they started their actual acceleration toward the target.  They would actually be using the forward velocity of the chasing force more than anything they generated.  The High Admiral checked the figures in the computer.  Closing speed would be above point nine light, within the optimum velocity, if just a little under.  Waiting any longer would mean less distance of transit, and a lower closing speed.

“Fire all missiles on the force that is closing with us,” he ordered his Tactical Officer.

“Are you sure, my Lord?”

“Are you questioning my orders,” growled the High Admiral.  “If I give an order, I expect to have it obeyed.”  His voice rose to a shout.  “Without question.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the wide eyed officer in a hushed voice.  “Orders sent out to all ships.  Launching all missiles.”

The superbattleship shook slightly as it released every missile in its stern tubes, then started the rotation that would bring port, bow and starboard tubes around.  After the starboard tubes had released it rotated back to the bow aiming at the enemy, firing the only reloads aboard.  The other ships also released every offensive missile they had, leaving the fleet devoid of long range weapons.  The missiles adjusted their deceleration for a couple of minutes, forming up as a solid mass that would strike in the same instant.  That accomplished, the weapons went into full deceleration, starting to kill the velocity they were carrying from the launching ships.

“Enemy ships are returning fire,” called out the Tactical Officer.

The vector arrows of missiles appeared on the plot, almost a hundred of them, then another wave, followed by another.  Those ships were running with full magazines, and they would have over two thousand missiles still aboard the force.  By the time they caught up with the Ca’cadasan force they would be closing at less than point four light, and the Ca’cadasan ships still had sufficient counter missiles, barely, to take care of that attack.

And then they will wait until they are much closer, and we have decelerated down to point four light ourselves, and send another wave, maybe two or three, at us.

It was worrisome, but he could only fight the battle in front of him, and worry about the next stage when it came.  If he could fight off those waves, which would still be closing at less than optimal velocity, with just his lasers and close in weapons, and wait until the enemy ships were within beam range, he would have them.

“We have those fighters coming in again, my Lord,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “We’re tracking two, coming in on a different vector than we expected.”

The inertialess fighters had continued to dog his force, coming in on high velocity attacks without teeth.  They were down to an estimated forty or so, and since they hadn’t fired missiles on any of their passes, it was assumed they had none.  The fighters always went off on the opposite vector from their approach, which made sense since they still carried considerable momentum, speeding off at point nine light.  As soon as they were out of their pitiful laser range they jumped back into their warp and accelerated away.  Which meant they had to go through deceleration, stopping in space, and coming back, a maneuver that took some hours to accomplish.

Two coming in on a different vector at an unpredictable time meant they were not part of the original groups.  Which meant, what?  That they might have missiles?

“What is their velocity?”

“Estimated velocity, one point seven five light.”

Which meant they weren’t slowing down for an attack.  Which meant?

“We’re picking up four more objects, my Lord.  Separating from the fighters and heading our way.”

By the Gods, thought the High Admiral.  Those were the missiles they had fired at his force before they had closed with the station.  They were highly inaccurate, but if they detonated close to a target.

Four brilliant flares blossomed in space as the missiles cut off their warp drives and the hidden inertia caught up with them.  Three of the explosions were too far away to do much more than warm the hulls of three of his vessels.  One detonated within two hundred kilometers of one of the ships, flooding the hull with heat and radiation.  Hull metal boiled away, grabber units overheated and went offline, and the ship went into a slight tumble.

“Continue on,” ordered the High Admiral as his bridge crew looked at him with questions on their faces.  That ship was doomed, and there was nothing they could do for her.  They would have to stop decelerating to stay with her, which would increase their time in normal space, and their risk.  It was not worth that risk.

The damaged ship continued to roll, its remaining grabbers trying to right the spin and bring them back to an even keel.  It took some minutes to straighten out, and the ship began to decelerate at its maximum rate, only two thirds of what the other vessels could make.  It continued to gain distance on the other ships, almost two kilometers per second per second, adding on to the total every second in a geometric progression.

“The fighters are moving away, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “They don’t seem to be decelerating.”

So that was their one shot, he thought, staring at the plot, trying to detect other threats.

*     *     *

“We’ll be within our planned missile firing range in five minutes, Ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at his Admiral.

Mei Lei sat still in her chair, unmoving except for the motion of her head.  The plot was showing the enemy force, six ships now, the seventh falling ahead on its damaged propulsion system.  The vector arrows of Imperial missiles had almost reached them, those that had avoided the Caca counters.  Those counters had unexpectedly ceased going out before the human weapons had finished crossing their engagement range, and the Admiral had to suspect that they were out.

The Caca missiles had already struck their targets, and now there were only a pair of battleships and a half dozen destroyers still closing on them.  All they have left are their lasers, and maybe some particle beams, she thought.

Six Caca superbattleships, and she was coming out of the dark with eight battlecruisers, sixteen light cruisers and twenty-one destroyers.  They still outmassed her, but some of them were damaged, while all of her ships were at full capability, with the exception of missile loads.

“What is von Rittersdorf’s status,” she asked her Com Tech.

The Klassekian closed her eyes for a moment, going through multiple sibling groups of her species to reach the Com Tech aboard the Duke’s ship.  He was leading nine light cruisers and thirteen destroyers from his own destroyer flagship.  They would come in to the rear of the Cacas, passing behind them at fifteen light seconds, bringing them under fire on the approach and the retreat.  They had very specific targets.  She hoped that her own squadron would capture most of the attention of the enemy, as well as most of their fire.

“Estimated time until they see us?” she asked.

“They will of course see us once we launch,” said the Sensor Officer.  “But I’m thinking a minute or two before that time.”

“And there is nothing they can do about our being here at that time,” said the Tactical Officer with a smile.

They want to strike out, to kill the creatures who attacked the capital and this system, she thought.   All well and good, but the enemy could still hurt them.  She would probably lose ships in this encounter.  She would surely lose people.  They all knew the score; this was what they had signed on for.  But she still felt the crushing weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

The tactical plot told the story.  They were approaching the enemy at a thirty degree angle from the front, their velocity point six light.  Everything was powered down as much as possible.  No electromag fields; lasers and particle beams powered down.  Particles had been sleeting through the ships for the last twenty hours, but all of the crews were sheltering is the most protected parts of the vessels.  They would be in the one light minute beam range of the enemy for a total of three and a third minutes, coming and going.  Three and a third minutes of trading close in beam fire, and the heavily armored Cacas would have the advantages.

“Power up all weapons and protective systems the moment we fire,” she ordered.  The lasers could feed off the fully charged crystal matrix batteries, while the particle beams would take about a half minute to spin up to full speed.  Electromagnetic fields would take only a couple of seconds, while the cold plasma injected into the field would take some more seconds to spread through that field.  They would only need that protection on one side, so they could change out the plasma every couple of seconds if necessary and still have enough for the engagement, barely.

All of the ships had started out with some missiles, those that hadn’t yet been offloaded and the few they had been able to take aboard.  They had shifted them around during the coast, using remote chemical thrusters to move the missiles outside the protection of the ships and through the hard radiation of space.  Since the ships weren’t accelerating, it was the same as moving them between vessels that were standing still, except for the velocity generated radiation.  Now each of the battle cruisers carried at least thirty-five capital ship missiles, three of them thirty-six.  The light cruisers in the forward force had twenty-seven or eight missiles, while the destroyers had an average of twelve.  The ships in the rearward force were without missiles.  That wasn’t their purpose.

“Missile launch in three minutes,” said the Tactical Officer.

That was according to SOP, but it still had driven the Admiral crazy throughout her career.  She could read the timer herself, as could everyone else on the bridge.  But regs called for the Tactical Officer to keep everyone informed.  She checked the digital timer herself, the one at the top of the tactical plot.  It read two minutes and forty-eight seconds, and one ticked off was she watched.  When it hit zero the battle would officially be joined.

*     *     *

“I have objects coming in from thirty degrees from the port bow, five degrees above the ecliptic,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “At least twenty of them.”

“Natural objects?”

“I think not, my Lord.  They’re closing at high relativistic speed.”

“Then why haven’t we picked them up before now?” asked the High Admiral, his anger rising at the fact that the officer hadn’t spotted them before they had gotten so close.

“They must be powered down, my Lord,” said the anxious officer.  “Grabbers, weapons, even their electromag fields.”

Which means they risk considerable radiation, thought the High Admiral, a shiver of fear running down his spine.  They wanted him and his ships that badly.

“When will they be within beam weapons range?”

“In about three minutes, my Lord.”

The High Admiral stared at the approaching ships, wondering why they hadn’t fired yet.  Possibly they didn’t have missiles, but that would not be the way to bet.  So their commander had something else in mind.  Time ticked down, until the enemy was right on the edge of effective energy weapons range.

“They’re firing missiles, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“The ship grabbers have come online, my Lord,” reported the Sensor Officer.  “We have eight of their scout capital ships, seven of their large escorts and eight of their small escorts.”

“How many missiles?” shouted the High Admiral, his anger again getting the best of him.

“Two hundred an eighty-three of their capital missiles, my Lord.  Three hundred and one lighter missiles.”

Almost six hundred missiles, coming in at point six light, accelerating at eight thousand gravities.  They wouldn’t add much to their velocity total on the way in, but they would be dodging and evading the whole time, keeping his lasers busy.  And then he knew the enemy commander’s plan, and he had to admit that it was brilliant.  He might be able to still win the battle due to his larger ships, and the fact that the enemy missiles wouldn’t be carrying their maximum kinetic energy.  But either way, he was going to be hurt, badly.

*     *     *

“Missiles away, ma’am,” called out the Tactical Officer as the ship shook slightly from the launch of her forward tubes.

“Powering up grabbers,” reported the Helm, starting the ship in its evolution to bring the port tubes to bear, followed by the stern and starboard.  The ship would remain in an orientation to bring all of her laser rings to bear, falling across the front of the enemy while the helm tried his best to present an unpredictable target.  All well and good, for about half of their run.  The middle part would see them taking fire no matter what.

“They’re engaging missiles, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer while he was setting up his fire plan, something he would be adjusting throughout the entire run.

Mei let out a grunt as she watched missiles disappear from the plot, nailed by lasers.  The closer the missiles came, the better the Caca targeting.  Still, it kept them from concentrating on the human warships that now slid into beam weapons range.

“Opening fire, now,” called out the Tactical Officer.  The four laser rings each put out a quartet of beams, bracketing one of the Caca ships and making sure that at least one or more would score a hit.  The Cacas were forced to put all of their fire on the missiles in the hope of stopping them.

It was a forlorn hope.  Eight of the capital ship missiles made it through, four of them striking one Caca ship, two another, while the two singletons hit a third and fourth superbattleship.

The superbattleship hit by four missiles was hammered, huge breaches opened in the hull as the ship went spinning off.  Most of the crew were dead from the overload of the inertial compensators as four one gigaton warheads propelled the ship off in the opposite direct.  A moment later one of the antimatter containers aboard breached, and the chain reaction turned the vessel into an expanding ball of plasma.  The ship hit by two survived, though most of its weapons systems went offline.  The ships hit by single missiles mostly shrugged off the hits, though they did lose grabber units and laser domes.

Forty-one of the smaller missiles, not prioritized in the same manner as the capital ship weapons, made it through.  The ship that had been hit twice took nine hits from the smaller weapons.  It came out the exploding flares of the nine two hundred megaton warheads with a slight spin and heavy damage to the hull.  One previously untouched ship attracted twenty-three of the smaller missiles, and suffered the same fate as its sister that had taken the four capital missile hits.  And then there were four, two still in good shape, one with moderate damage, and one barely limping along.

The lasers from the human force hit, at maximum range and on the spread fire plan doing little damage.  Still, the cumulative effect on pumping heat into the enemy ships while taking out surface installations added up.  The human ships were able to get fifteen seconds of unanswered fire in thanks to the missiles, but then the Cacas struck back with a vengeance.

Ships started taking hits from Caca lasers.  They were still on evasive, and the Cacas were forced to fire spreads to insure hits.  A couple of battle cruisers were hit, one of the light cruisers, three destroyers.  The smaller vessels sustained hull penetrations, small, but still damaging.  The battle cruisers had enough armor to shrug off most of the laser hits for the moment.

As the forces closed both sides started narrowing their spreads as the travel time of the beams decreased.  Both sides started to fire with the devastating particle beams.  And both sustained mounting damage.

First kill in the knife fight went to the Cacas, as a destroyer flared into plasma as a particle beam dug deep into its guts and antimatter breached.  A light cruiser died next, not totally destroyed, but rendered mostly lifeless and without power.  Then another destroyer, tumbling off into the night with its systems wrecked.  Two Cacas concentrated on a battle cruiser, and soon a fourth wreck was added to the total.

“How are we doing?” the Admiral asked her Tactical Officer as she watched a fifth ship go tumbling away.

“We’ve taken out half the gabbers on one of the ships, and wrecked the upper hyperdrive array on another.  Estimating total enemy beam weapons now at sixty-four percent.”

Which was great, except all of that laser dome damage was along one side, and the superbattleships were rotating to align their still intact sides with the ships they were fighting.

“And what about our ships?”

“We’re taking a pounding, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer with a grimace.  The battle cruiser shook with his words, struck by a particle beam that blasted through hull and armor to take out four of the emitters on a laser ring.

Any time now, Maurice, she thought, watching as more damage indicators came up on the schematics of her ships.

*     *     *

“Open fire, now,” ordered Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf.  The Cacas had not reacted when he got within beam range, either not picking him up or too busy with the Duchess’ force.  He held his fire for twenty seconds, letting the range fall.  But now was the time.

Dot MacArthur shook slightly as she unloaded both of her particle beams onto the closest Caca ship, the powerful streams of protons hitting its upper hyperdrive array and eating large runnels into the structure.  At the same time her lasers hit the same array toward the front, burning into the forward field projectors.

All of his ships had designated targets, and every Caca ship got its share of attention.  They started firing back, which took some of the pressure off the Duchess’ force and onto his.

“We’ve just gotten hit hard in the stern,” called out the voice of the Chief in charge of damage control.

“Any damage to our weapons systems?” asked the Captain.

“No, sir.”

“Then we’re good to go.”  He looked over at the Tactical Officer.  “Keep pouring it on.  I don’t want one of these sons of bitches getting out of this fight hyper capable.”

*     *     *

“Enemy ships are now leaving effective beam range,” said the Tactical Officer, looking up at the High Admiral who stood glaring over his shoulder.  The male did not look happy, nor did he have a right to.

“Status of the hyperdrive?” asked the Admiral into the com.

“We can at best make hyper III, my Lord,” said the Chief Engineer.

Which made them the fastest ship in the force, what remained of it.  He still had three ships, though the term really didn’t apply to two of them, which were more hulks than anything else.  Neither of them could even get into hyper.  They were doomed.  And with only hyper III in her future the same could be said of his ship.

The enemy had been hurt as well.  They had lost two of their scout capital ships, as well as seven smaller vessels.  Much less than the tonnage of one of his ships.  It had been a decisive victory for the humans.  It had been a decisive defeat for his side in all respects.  They had failed to take out the station, and now they would not be able to set a raider force on their shipping.

“Orders, my Lord?”

“We will stay with the other ships, and fight the other human force when it comes up on us,” he said.

“We may still be able to escape into hyper, my Lord,” replied the Tactical Officer.

The High Admiral gave a head motion of negation and sat in his chair.  We are doomed.  And we stand a better chance of taking more of their ships with us if we stay together.  He said a prayer to the Gods, that the souls of his crews would be accepted into the presence of the great warriors of the past.  He wasn’t sure that would happen, since they had failed their Emperor, but he could always hope.

*     *     *

“Jumping into normal space, now,” called out the Helm Officer.

The Great Admiral gave a head motion of acknowledgement, staring at the plot.  The rest of his fleet was gone, either destroyed or on the run.  But he still had several thousand ships heading into the main objective of the mission.  According to the information they had gotten from the human officers they had taken prisoner, this system was now lightly defended.  And the allies of the humans had pulled their ships from the front.

It seems that their alliance was not as strong as they thought.  They are weaker than we had thought, and if we can take this system, and install a gate, the next move will be into the heart of their empire.

The lights dimmed for a moment as the nausea of translation hit.  Ahead was the bright star of the New Moscow system, the plot coming alive with the graviton emissions of ships.  Only a couple of hundred, about what he expected.  He knew the humans had at least one gate in the system, but their attention had been elsewhere, and they hadn’t been able to ship reinforcements here.

“Order all ships to head for the planet,” ordered the Great Admiral.  “We will brush aside everything they try to put in our path.”

“You need to see this, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “We are getting this from one of the lead ships.”

The tactical plot changed, converting into a holo viewer that showed what was happening in the orbit of the planet.  Or what had happened over two hours prior.  The frame of a wormhole gate was centered in the holo, a large ship transiting from it.  Immediately after another came through.

“That is not a human ship,” exclaimed the Great Admiral.

“No, my lord.  It looks like one of the vessels from the Empire the humans call Elysium.”  The view panned out, showing many more of those ships in orbit, as well as an equal number of another configuration of vessel.

The Great Admiral recognized those.  The warships of the reptilian forms known as Crakista.  There seemed to be a lot of their ships as well, but how many?  Enough to challenge his force.

“We’re picking up graviton emissions, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, an expression close to panic on his face.

“How many?”

“Estimate over six thousand, my Lord.  And we still have ships coming from out of the wormhole.”

The Admiral pulled the data up on a side holo.  Actually it looked like there were two wormhole gates, and they were both transiting ships according to the new graviton sources that kept springing up every ten seconds or so.  They were bringing them in as fast as they could.  And the ones already in the system were heading out toward them at over five hundred gravities.  Moments later a hundred and sixty thousand more graviton sources appeared on the sensors, missiles traveling out at ten thousand gravities.

“It looks like the humans have shared their newest missile technologies with their allies,” said another officer over the com.

That was such a foreign concept to the Ca’cadasans, who, while they might use a subjugated alien race for certain tasks, would never give them their best military tech.

“Orders, my Lord?”

“Get me command on the com,” said the Great Admiral, looking over at his Com Officer.  “How long before we can configure the wormhole into a gate?” he asked his Tactical Officer.  They only had the one, and he wasn’t sure how fast they could build up his forces.

“At least two hours, my Lord.  We can possibly get about two hundred ships through each hour.  But the missiles will be arriving in a little over four.”

So we can get at most four hundred ships through before the missiles arrive.  Not enough to take on that force.  Even as those thoughts were going through his mind the enemy launched again, putting another hundred and sixty thousand missiles into space.  If they kept launching at the rate they were going there would be a million missiles hitting his force before he got more than those four hundred additional ships through.

“Start launching at the enemy,” The Great Admiral ordered.  “We might as well get ours off where they can build up to attack velocity.  How long to turned the force around and get back to the barrier?”

“Three and a half hours, my Lord.”

“Great Admiral,” came a familiar voice out of the com as the face of the Emperor appeared before him.

“Supreme Lord,” said the Admiral, getting out of his seat and dropping to one knee.

“I have been apprised of your situation.  You are to vacate that system as fast as possible.  I want you to get those ships and crews back.  They do us more good surviving to lead the next offensive, than being reduced to scrap in that system.”

“I am sorry, Supreme Lord.”

“I authorized this mission, Admiral,” said the Emperor.  “I should have delayed until we had more ships, and hit both the frontier and their home systems with greater forces.”

The Great Admiral thought for a moment.  They could get into hyper before those missiles reached them, barely.  From there they could transit for an hour or so, then jump back to normal space and deploy the gate.  It would take the enemy force almost two days to get out to the barrier, and almost a day for any other forces to get within range.  They could get their ships through the gate, but..

“We will lose the wormhole, Supreme Lord.”

“Then lose the damn thing.  They’re valuable, but not more so than all of your ships and crews.  So go ahead and retreat, by my command.”

The holo died, and the Great Admiral, relief and shame warring with each other within him, turned to his Com Officer.

“Give the order.  All ships are to immediately begin deceleration.  They are to head back to the barrier and jump.  Now.”

The Com Officer gave a head motion of acceptance, his expression one of relief.  They would all live to fight another day.  Which was really all they could accomplish at this point.

*     *     *

“They are leaving the New Moscow system, your Majesty,” said the Avian creature on the holo.

“Thank you, Lord Grarakakak,” said Sean, bowing his head.  “I am indebted to you.”

“It was the least we could do, your Majesty.  After all, we let you down in your hour of need.”

Sean knew that was true, but he wasn’t about to say anything at this time.  That could wait until they met again, to take up the business of the summit that had been interrupted by the Caca offensive.

“I’m surprised that you came to the front yourself, my Lord.”

“If the human ruler could do so, then I thought it was something I should do as well,” said the High Lord of the Elysium Empire.  “But it is not something I wish to repeat.”

And I don’t blame you there, thought the Emperor.

“Then I will see you at the summit in a week.”

“Is that enough time, your Majesty?” asked Grarakakak, bowing his own head.

“Time is not on our side at the moment,” said Sean, knowing that he would have to get his grieving done in the allotted period.  “We need to get things worked out before the damned Cacas strike again.”

The High Lord bowed again, then the holo went off.

“Get this ship down to wormhole transit speed as fast as you can, Captain,” the Emperor ordered the ship’s commanding officer.  He would be going home, to see what had been done to his people.  And to he and his wife.

Epilogue

JANUARY 9TH, 1003.

The Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire, Jresstratta IV, stared at the holo plot of the Imperial Human Front, alternating that stare with a glare at the males present within the room.  He looked down at the table, willing calm upon himself.  No one in this room was to blame for the disaster.  It had been a good plan.  If they had taken out the station and the smaller structures in orbit around the black hole, they would have probably won the battle.

We should have sent a larger force through the wormhole, he thought once again, closing his eyes for a moment.  The male in charge of planning for the operations was at fault in underestimating the humans.  That male would never make a mistake like that in the future.  His fellow members of the Admiralty had made sure of that.  And so we lose another of our more intelligent planners, thought the Emperor in regret.  The male had been in error, but he would have learned from his mistake.  There would be no learning now, no improvement.

And it was my decision.  No matter what advice was given, I made the final decision.  We should have sent twice the force through, three times?  They still didn’t know what happened, since no one had returned from the attack.  In fact, they didn’t know what had happened at both targets.  The strike at the enemy capital had gone awry when the wormhole had collapsed and the bomb ship had nothing to transit.  They didn’t know how much damage the rest of the attack had done.  Surely some, maybe a lot.  But not enough.

And the attack on the wormhole generating station?  Again, they had done some damage, as detailed in the messages that had come through the deployed wormhole prior to all com ceasing.  The bomb ship had gone through, and the explosion that came back-blasting through the wormhole had shown that the reaction of wormhole through wormhole had occurred.  But as far as they could tell it had not done the job.  Why?  There was no way to know at this time.  Maybe if their agents in the human Empire could find out they might know, and then could adjust their plan.  Though he didn’t believe the same plan would work on a second attempt.  The humans would be warned; they would be ready for it.

“Can we attack them with a large force?” asked one of the males in the chamber.  “Maybe send a battle fleet into their space.”

“That will only be possible when we have defeated their fleet on their frontier,” replied another male.  “Anything else we push through will be tracked down and destroyed before it reaches their core systems.”

The Emperor gave a head motion of agreement.  Early in the war they might have pushed their fleet through.  In fact, they had hit a few of the core systems of the humans.  Now, with their wormhole gates, the humans could shift large fleets from system to system.  Any heavily populated system the Ca’cadasans attacked would immediately have the bulk of the human home fleet flooding into the inner system.

“We should have waited until we had a larger force at the frontier,” said another male.

The Emperor glared at the male for making such an obvious point.  But he had agreed with that decision, so it rested on his shoulders.  The Ca’cadasan fleet was widely scattered around the borders of the Empire.  They were there to expand the Empire, moving in on other species as soon as they were discovered and adding them to the community.  A large percentage of the fleet was scattered throughout Imperial space, holding down the species that might try to rebel.  It took time to gather those forces.  Six months in some cases to reach a conquest fleet, then another six months to get them back to the capital.  What they had gathered would have been a sufficient force to defeat the humans if the attack on the wormhole generating station had succeeded.  When it didn’t, the force was insufficient.

“We will have another force in place within three months,” said the Supreme Grand Admiral, the male in overall charge of the fleet.  “And I believe that we have enough of a force in that border of the Empire to stop what the humans have left from pushing into our space.”

“I want the next attack force double the size of the one that went in this time,” said the Emperor, his glare taking in every male in the room.  “With as many wormholes as we can place on them.  And I want weapons like those the humans are using against us.  Pre-accelerated missiles, high capacity particle beams.  What they have, I want.”

“It will take time, Supreme Lord,” answered a male who led military R&D.

“And the sooner we start, the sooner we will have them,” growled Jresstratta, sending the male a glare that made him look away.  “I am tired of excuses.  If the humans can do it, we can also.  So if we find that they are using something successfully against us, I want it.”

“The defensive battle on the Klavarta front was successful, Supreme Lord,” said the Supreme Admiral, trying to change the subject.  “And our fleet is in pursuit into their space.”

“Which is all well and good, Supreme Admiral,” said the Emperor, turning a baleful eye on the officer.  “But they are not our biggest problem.  These damned humans, with their wormhole technology, are the greatest threat to the Empire we have ever faced.”

“Might I remind my Supreme Lord that we now have wormholes as well,” said the Supreme Admiral.

“And they have more of them,” roared the Emperor, slamming all four fists on the table.  “And they will continue to have more of them, many more, for years to come.”  He stood and looked around the room, again making eye contact with every male.  “We need to think.  We need to plan ahead of time, and not just rush into things.  I want every one of you to start using your minds.”

The males stared at him with expressions of disbelief.  They are typical males of our species, thought the Emperor.  All hormones and glands overriding the higher functions.  At that moment the Emperor felt the hopelessness of his situation.  His people were strong and fierce, and rash and unthinking.  They really didn’t deserve their position in the Galaxy, and if not for luck and timing, they would just have been subjects of another species.

But they are my people, he thought, turning and walking away from the table, feeling the silent eyes on his back.  I must do everything I can to assure that we retain primacy.

*     *      *

“I want my city restored,” said Sean, staring out of the window of the aircar.  They were passing over the downtown region, where the stumps of buildings that had towered kilometers into the air now dominated a nightmare landscape.  To one side, near the river, was the remains of the Imperial Stadium, home to some of the most successful sports teams on the planet.  No one would be using it for some time.

“It will take a lot of time and effort, your Majesty,” said the mayor of the city, Lord Tyrell Swofford, sitting across from him in the passenger compartment of the car.  “I understand that the Empire has other priorities at this time, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

A soft hand squeezed Sean’s, and he looked for a moment at his wife, sitting silently by his side.  Their reunion had been strained at first.  Accusations had flown from both sides, the things they needed to say at the moment.  Until both had made peace with the fact that Sean being in the city would have made no difference either way.  Glenn was back at the Imperial Retreat, being treated like a precious porcelain doll by the Secret Service.  They still had much grief to work through, but now was the time to act their parts as the figureheads of the Empire.

“Yes, we have other priorities,” said Sean, looking back at the Mayor.  “But this is the heart of the Empire, and I will not have it remain a ruin.”

The city wasn’t quite a ruin.  Almost seventy percent of it was untouched, and about ten percent had only been lightly damage.  The twenty percent that had been hit hard though?  It looked like a warzone, which was exactly what it had been.

“What’s the total casualty figure, my Lord?” asked Jennifer, looking out the window and wincing.

“We may not know for weeks yet, your Majesty, but we know at least two hundred and seventy million lost their lives.”

Jennifer winced again.  Sean knew how she felt, because he had the same feeling.  The total for the entire planet was just under three hundred million.  A drop in the bucket compared to the twenty billion or so that had been killed in this war.  Sean didn’t like thinking that way.  The human polities considered all sentient life precious, unlike their enemies.  That was their largest divergence of philosophy.  But it was damned difficult to think in terms of millions and billions, and summon up the energy to grieve for all of them.

“Every intact hospital in the city is packed to overflowing,” continued the Mayor, looking at the Imperial couple with red rimmed eyes.  “And every other city on the planet.”

And a number of the wounded from the Donut and Central Docks were also flowing to Jewel.  Most were going through the wormholes to other worlds.  What it came down to was modern society was not ready to handle such numbers of casualties.  People in the Empire lived longer and were healthier than at any time in human history.  There were no more genetic diseases, and nanotech could cure any contagion, including the unknown alien variety.  Healing was accomplished quickly and easily.  Even the dead could be brought back to life if treated in time, and the injuries not too severe.  But still, when people were caught in the middle of a battle, there were a lot of injuries that required more extensive treatment, like limb and organ regrowth.

“I know this is a hard time for the both of you,” said the Lord Mayor in a hushed voice, looking down at the floor.  “And I am sorry to intrude on your grief.”

“It is a hard time for us all,” said Jennifer with a tight smile.  “We are not special in that regard.”

There would be no state funeral for Augustine.  Instead, he would be remembered along with all of the other casualties in memorial services across the Empire.  The Imperial family would have their own private service for the fallen prince.

It could have been much worse.  If the wormhole bomb had gone off, Jewel and New Terra both would have taken a beating.  Both worlds would probably have lost everything on their facing hemispheres, the capital world certainly.  The people on the opposite hemisphere of Jewel wouldn’t have gotten away scot free.  Most of them would have died when the blast wave reached around the planet and blew most of the atmosphere off.  Central Docks would have been destroyed, along with every slip and factory in the area.  Central Docks had taken a lot of damage, but it was still in business.  Ships were still being refitted, or finished.  Some had been destroyed, many more heavily damage, but the damage could be repaired.  And the Donut?  And battered as it was, it was already churning out wormholes.

“We have a com coming in from the CNO, your Majesty,” announced the pilot.

“Sondra?” said Sean in his mind as the connection was made.

“We have the details worked out on that plan we discussed, your Majesty.  It appears to be feasible.  We can be ready to launch in one week.”

Sean produced a killer’s smile that caused the Lord Mayor to recoil from its savagery.  Let’s see how you like being punched in the face, he thought, imagining the Caca Emperor looking on a similar scene in his capital.

*     *     *

Lucille watched on the camera view as twenty lasers, each the size of a battleship, pumped almost unimaginable torrents of photons into the center of the production chamber.  They had already fired for minutes, their beams striking the center, compressing space itself with their interaction.

“There it goes,” said the Tech who was supervising the process.  As he said that a tiny distortion appeared at the center of the chamber, absorbing the beams, not letting a photon escape.

Fifteen more to go, and we’ll have the guts of a pair wormhole generators, thought Yu.  Those would take longer to construct, though they already had the framework and most of the manipulating arms to work with.

The ion drives came on while the powered back lasers held the new micro-black hole in the center of the chamber, aboard the satellite that had been constructed for just this purpose.  It had been used to create all of the wormholes used to rip apart space and create each end of the wormhole bridge.  Now the hole would be flooded with thousands of tons of negative ions.   They would disappear through the miniature event horizon, while their magnetic effects continued to manifest in normal space, allowing them to be manipulated by the arms of the wormhole creation chamber.  It would take most of a day to finish this job, then the holes would be held in a magnetic field and fed enough matter to compensate for the amount that evaporated away each day.  Otherwise they would soon shrink to an unmanageable mass and explode.

They were still producing wormholes with the remaining generator chambers, each creating six a day, for a total of thirty between the five pairs of units.  But they needed this sixth one so they would have a maintenance rotation that would keep them all functioning, and avoid the disaster that could come from overworked units.

We lost almost ten percent of our generators, thought Yu, walking out of the control room.  Fortunately, we had enough redundancy built into the system that it won’t affect our production, too much.  They had also lost about eight percent of the crystal matrix batteries that stored the energy need to push the wormhole production process over the edge.  Still not a real concern at the moment.  But possibly worrisome for the future.  Each battery pack massed millions of tons, and the crystals took a year to grow to that configuration.  The power generators, each larger that a battleship, could be built in a little over a month each, but they had been constructed for the station over a period of fifty years, and that had been during times when the Empire didn’t need all of their manufacturing capacity to build warships.  She doubted she would see replacements for either system in the near future, which made protecting what they had even more important.

We’ll be lucky to get enough hull plating to repair all the external damage, she thought, glancing at Jimmy as the agent came up on her side as an escort.  That wasn’t a priority.  As long as the structure was solid, the Admiralty didn’t much care about how the station looked.  They walked into the primary station control, surprised to see all the Fleet personnel hanging about the place.

“Director Yu,” said the new station military commander, Admiral Winfield Sung.  “I was just about to page you.  We’re going to begin reconstructing the station defenses, and I thought you might want to be privy to the changes.”

“What are those?” asked Yu, walking up to the holo that was displaying some long piece of machinery rotating in the air.   “Are those the lasers from the black hole generator?”

“They are indeed.  And as soon as you are finished making what you need, we’re going to pull them out of the satellite and install them in the station.”

“But, why?”

“Because, Doctor, we need all the fire power we can put on this big cow.  And the lasers fit the bill.  Each of them puts out more photons than a group of battle ships.”

Lucille stared at the unit.  She didn’t like the idea of gutting the satellite.  What if they needed it again?  But she had to admit to herself that those beams could take out any known ship, probably with a single hit.

“We’ll emplace ten of them around the outer rim of the station, equidistant.  Then five on the top, five on the bottom, and we’ll have total coverage.  We’ll add in the same number of wormhole launch ports that can be used for either missiles or particle beams.”

“You think the Cacas will be back?” asked Jimmy, raising an eyebrow.

“No reason to think they will,” said the Admiral.  “No reason to think they won’t.  If they do return, they’re sure to bring along a lot more firepower, maybe enough to blast through the system fleet we’re going to station here.  And if they do, we need to have something that will stop them dead.”

The holo changed, showing a cylinder that was floating next to a battleship for scale.  The cylinder was wider than the ship, though not as long.

“And here we have the new defense satellites we will be emplacing in the next couple of months.  Thirty of them in a globe around the station, one light minute out.  Each will have a wormhole launcher for missiles and particle beams, as well as a ninety emitter laser dome.  That will give it the light amp power of two battleships.”

“And this will stop them?”

“I think the next Caca force that comes through here will regret it,” answered the smiling Admiral.  “For a minute or so, before they are turned into vapor and plasma.”

“Seems like a lot of resources to place into static defense,” said Jimmy.

Lucille shot her lover a glare.  This station was her baby, and anything they could do to protect it was all right with her.

“This station is the single most important resource in the Empire, son,” said the Admiral, looking at the Secret Service Agent like he was a complete idiot.  “You are producing our single most important tech, as well as being the transportation and communications hub of the Empire.  We’ll have over four hundred particle beam accelerators in the near future, as well as going on a thousand missile preaccelerators in orbit.  I can think of no one single structure in the history of humankind that was as important.”

“I think we’re going to get along fine, Admiral Sung.  Anything you can do to prevent what almost happened here the other day, I’m for.”

“Hell, Doctor,” said the man in a drawl that did not go along with his Eurasian features.  “I wanted more, and I may still be able to get some additional resources.  But I do guarantee you that I will defend this station to my last breath.  And since my wife prefers that I don’t get myself killed, I will do everything I can to make sure I don’t take my last breath on this station.

“Now, if there aren’t any questions, I would like to see as much of my command as I can this day.  Even though I understand I could spend a lifetime here and never see it all.”

Yu smiled at the man, earning a jealous look from Jimmy.  Oh, come on lover.  This guy is married, and he doesn’t seem the kind who would fool around.

Lucille settled into her command room chair as the Admiral and his retinue left the chamber.  The control room steward brought her some coffee, and she settled down to review what had been done, and what still needed to be done.  She motioned for another coffee.  She felt that she would be drinking a lot of it in the next couple of months.

*     *     *

Cornelius sat on the side of the bed and took his wife’s hand.  She smiled at him, then at the toddler who was scrambling for attention next to his dad while Rebecca tried to hold him down.

“I can’t seem to remember anything about that day,” said Devera, shaking her head.

“It was a day most of us would like to forget,” said Cornelius, glancing around the private room that was full of flowers from well-wishers.  People in the military, nobles, even one from his Majesty.  He thought that was probably the work of a secretary, since their Majesties had much on their minds these days.  He put a hand on Junior’s head as he thought about his friends losing their child.

“And how did you get me a private room like this?’ asked Devera, glancing at the window that looked out on a park.  Humbolt was not a large city, which was why he had brought her here.  Its hospital, serving a large rural area, was first class.  It was also overcrowded, like every facility on the planet, and a room like this could have housed four or five patients at the moment.

“I think being a noble, an officer, and a friend of the Emperor helped a bit,” said Cornelius.  “And no, I don’t feel a bit of guilt using those attributes to get my baby the very best.”

“And our home?”

“I’m afraid the palace took a beating, though not as bad as it could have.  It will be some months before we’ll be able to move in, if we even want to.”

“What do you mean?” asked Devera, her eyes narrowing.

“I’ve bought a house here, overlooking the ocean,” he told her, hoping she would like this news.  “Plenty of room for the kids, and we’re not on a bullseye.”

“And my work?”

“You can continue your studies here, and do rotations at the Army hospital north of town.”

Devra looked doubtful for a moment.

“Give it a chance, honey.”

“And where will you be?” she asked with a catch in her voice.

“I’m afraid I’ll be shipping out by the end of the week.  You know how the Empire can’t get along without me.”

He could tell by her expression that she didn’t like the idea at all, and didn’t see the humor in it.

“I’ve been given a battalion.  The second of the two oh fifth Rangers.  And a special mission.”

“I wish you could stay here, Cornelius.  You’ve given enough for the Empire.  No one else has ever won three Imperial Medals for Heroism.  You deserve a break.”

Cornelius closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.  He wanted to tell he that he didn’t want a break.  That he wanted to get back out there and hit the bastards that had wrecked Capitulum right in their broad faces.  But that would only cause her more distress.

“Maybe after this mission.  I’ll ask for a favor after this one.”

And he could tell that she saw through the lie, but was too tired to argue.

“We still have five days, and you’ll be out of here by tomorrow,” he said, scooping Junior up in his arms.  “I need to get these two some food, before they turn feral and attack us from hunger.”

Cornelius felt awful as he left the room with the children.  The mission they were going to give him was sure to be dangerous.  They always were.  And one of these times he would not be coming back.  Which would not prevent him from going out on yet another one, because this was what he was good at, and the Empire needed him to keep on.

The End

The Story So Far

In 2254 the human species had spread to eight star systems after the discovery of the Subspace drive, allowing humankind to achieve pseudospeeds of over eleven times the speed of light.  That was the year the human species first encountered the long lived Ca’cadasans, three meter tall horned carnivores whose empire had been expanding for thousands of years.  That was the year the aliens attacked the Epsilon Iridani V colony.  When the heir to their imperial throne was killed after the colony had surrendered, the Emperor ordered the complete extermination of the human species.  After a short, sharp war, humanity had no other option than to try and flee the killer aliens.  The six Exodus ships were built, each capable of moving fifty thousand humans in cryostasis, along with all the knowledge of the human species.  One ship is known to have gotten away through subspace, a dimension through which the more advanced hyperspace faring Ca’cadasans are not prepared to follow.  Four generations of crew navigated the Exodus III over ten thousand light years in a thousand years, reestablishing humanity in a system of eight stars in orbit around a black hole, the Supersystem.  Once the home of an extinct species that had helped raise most of the intelligent races of the area to technical civilizations, it was also the perfect region for the newcomers.  Over the next thousand years the New Terran Empire fights, wins and expands in a number of wars, improving their technology at breakneck speed, becoming the dominant military power of the region.  Humanity also improves its genome, becoming stronger, faster and smarter, and seemed destined to rule the Perseus Arm, given time.

On the thousand year anniversary of the empire, Emperor Augustine I is having prophetic dreams, the gift and curse of his line.  He has seen the ancient enemy returning, finding the human species disunited in its three governments, and utterly destroying them.  Augustine has fought to expand the military, running into obstructionism from the Lords House of Parliament.  It is an uphill battle in the Constitutional Monarchy the Empire has become.  Meanwhile, the Donut, a century long engineering project, is nearing completion.  The enormous station, built as a ring around a black hole, and using the swirling gravitational energy to generate wormholes, has begun to make the many portals that will be used to eventually link the Empire.  And spies have infested the Empire, a race of shape shifters who make most security measures moot, adding sabotage and espionage to the problems facing the Emperor.

Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, the third son of the Emperor, is a serving naval officer on a battleship in a relatively quiet sector, with no thoughts of ever assuming the throne.  He was a mediocre officer, despite his superior intelligence.  With two brothers ahead of him in the succession, and a still young father, the throne seems like the least his worries.  By this time the Ca’cadasans have made contact with some of the enemies of the Empire, and sent the information back to their leaders.  The ancient enemy has been found, and can now be eliminated.  Ships begin to disappear in Sector IV, and sightings are made of vessels that fit no known description.  Many people refuse to believe these are the Ca’cadasans, and some think that Empire must have fallen in the near past.  The Emperor continues to try to rally support for increasing the size of the human military, while Parliament fights him on the economic effects of such a move, and alien powers protest that the humans are planning territorial expansion.

There is an attempted assassination attempt on Sean, and a successful attempt on the Emperor and his two older sons during a tour of the Donut.  The assassin is an officer of the Imperial Protection Detail, causing distrust to grow among the agencies charged with the security of the Empire.  The same day as the assassination, the Leader of the House of Lords is killed in his home.  Sean is now the heir to the Empire, and the man who must be seated as soon as possible on the throne, but he is almost a week’s one way com range from the capital.

The Ca’cadasans now attack, sending large fleets into several industrial or base systems, and smaller forces to many other stars.  The Massadara system, a major Imperial base, is one of the systems attacked.  Sean is serving on one of the battleships that happens to be in that system, and is aboard the vessel as it heads into combat with the enemy.  Word comes to the system that Sean is the uncrowned Emperor, and his ship, against his protests, is ordered out of combat.  His ship, the Sergiov, heads out of the system before the main battle begins, a small Ca’cadasan force on its heels.  The main battle is joined, and, though it inflicts casualties on the Ca’cadasan fleet that is only about a decade ahead in technology, it is defeated, and the system falls.

The Sergiov is battered by the enemy, and Sean is rescued from the ship by Captain Mei Lei and her hyper VII battle cruiser.  The battle cruiser fights its way out of the system with the help of Commander Bryce Suttler’s stealth/attack ship, and, along with Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf and his destroyer, starts on the voyage to get Sean back to the capital and the throne.  The Ca’cadasans track the two vessels, and Sean escapes on the destroyer while Mei sacrifices her ship in a battle with the Ca’cadasan supercruisers.  The battle cruiser Jean de Arc falls out of hyperspace in a catastrophic translation, a low survivability event, but nonetheless manages to survive and starts the long journey home.

Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery is dispatched with her scout force to locate Sean and get him back to the capital, while von Rittersdorf plays hide and seek against the Ca’cadasans, trying to get the unseated Emperor to safety.  Von Rittersdorf catches one of the much larger Ca’cadasan ships in a brilliant ambush which destroys the enemy ship, while causing severe damage to his own.  Montgomery’s task force enters the system, and she dispatches the other two supercruisers, then takes the Emperor aboard her flagship.  Von Rittersdorf begins the long journey home in his crippled ship with escorts.  Sean learns that one of the nearby systems is under siege and, against the protests of the Admiral, orders her to take her ships to break that siege and evacuate the colonists on the frontier world.  Meanwhile, the Leader of the House of Lords advances plans to put an Imperial Cousin on the throne while the true heir’s whereabouts is unknown.  The Ca’cadasans invade and take the kingdom of New Moscow, and make serious inroads into the New Terran Republic, the sister governments to the Empire.

On Sestius IV Brevet Brigadier General Samuel Baggett fights the landing of the Ca’cadasans with his mixed command.  Farmer and ex-hunter Cornelius Walborski deserts the militia to get his pregnant wife to safety.  Though bleeding the enemy, Baggett is forced to fall back into the wilderness before the enemy ground warriors.  Walborski’s son is born, but his wife is killed while they are running from the aliens.  The farmer goes mad, and stalks the jungle with the skills he had learned as an assistant hunt master, killing many aliens in the jungle.  He meets the legendary Preacher of special ops fame, now a retired Ranger and current minister on the planet.

Montgomery’s task force takes the system and the planet, and evacuates all those that want to leave, just before a larger enemy force enters the system and forces it to flee.  Sean meets Dr. Jennifer Conway, who has lost her own fiancé’ in the invasion, and falls in love with her.  The scout force fights a running battle back to Conundrum base, rescued at the last moment by the fleet of Duke Taelis Mgonda.  Von Rittersdorf makes it to safety, while Mei Lei and her crew are rescued from hyper by another battle cruiser.  The XO of the Jean de Arc, Xavier Jackson, falls out of hyper while trying to rescue some crew who could not get off the ship.  Surviving the translation, he is rescued by beings from legend, the Ancients that everyone assumes are extinct.

On the Donut it is discovered that an ancient race known as the Yugalyth, another creature from legend, capable of changing its very body form over a period of days and duplicating any creature, is at large.  A Yugalyth agent imitates Dr. Lucille Yu, the station Director, and attempts to destroy the huge construct.  Dr. Yu uses quantum teleportation, an experimental technique that only succeeds in moving about half the material being teleported to its target, to teleport negative matter to destroy the bomb the creature put on the station attitude control board.  The new enemy is discovered, one which originates in the realm of the Empire’s close ally, Elysium.

The Knockermen, a reptilian race in the Elysium Empire, revolt against the dominant Brakakak.  The Brakakak eventually curb the revolt, but are forced to commit their entire fleet to searching out the rebels and breaking the rebellion.  The leader of Elysium and his family are forced to take refuge with the Terrans during the battle of the capital.

Sean comes back to the Supersystem by the wormhole gates that are now being deployed through Imperial space.  Chief of Naval Operations Gabriel Lenkowski gathers a fleet that transports Sean to the capital planet, where, with a large force of Marines, he lands during the coronation ceremony and stops the Lords from crowning his cousin.  Sean is now Emperor, Commander and Chief of the Imperial Military, and, given his wartime powers, the most powerful Monarch in a century.  His companions go off to other commands; Mei Lei to a battle cruiser squadron, one equipped with new wormhole launched weapons; von Rittersdorf to lead a new destroyer squadron; and Baggett to command of a heavy infantry brigade.  Cornelius Walborski, on the recommendation of Preacher, joins the Imperial Army with hopes of being augmented and becoming a Ranger.

The Ca’cadasans hit Conundrum, the HQ of Sector IV, hours after Sean jumps through the wormhole from there.  They take the system, and land troops to complete the conquest of the planet.  Sean is forced to engage in a hit and run war against an enemy that is still more advanced, and more powerful, than his own fleet.  He orders his units to refuse combat when possible, and only to fight when they can inflict maximum damage on the enemy.  Q-ships, militarized merchant vessels with quantum teleporters capable of sending antimatter into the interior of an enemy ship, bait and destroy Ca’cadasan raiders.  The Lords go on the warpath against Sean, demanding that he commit his fleet to a major battle.  His prophetic dreams indicate that one of the core worlds, the heavily populated industrial planets at the heart of the Empire, is a target.  But the dream does not tell him when.

Wormhole gates are dropped in occupied systems, then maneuvered to planetfall, allowing ground forces to insert.  This is done on most of the occupied worlds, allowing the units to engage the aliens in Guerilla warfare.  Preacher leads a Ranger brigade against the Ca’cadasans on the surface of Conundrum, and the campaign forces the enemy off the planet.  The Lasharans, religious fanatics, are again attacking the frontiers of the Empire, and Baggett’s unit, as part of a heavy infantry corps, is sent to take their home planet and occupy their primary temple, breaking their will.

The Ca’cadasans strike at the Cimmeria system, utterly obliterating the two inhabited industrial worlds located there.  Sean retaliates by sending forces through wormholes to strike behind the main enemy fleet and destroy their bases.  The Fenri Empire, old enemies of the humans, sign an alliance with the Ca’cadasans, and the New Terran Empire launches a spoiling attack on those aliens.  The logical beings of the Crakista Empire, seeing the Ca’cadasans as the greater threat, join the human cause, ordering their military to offer all possible aid to the humans.  Things are beginning to look up until the Ca’cadasans launch yet another assault, almost overrunning all of Sector IV.

Sean and Jennifer become lovers, a fact taken advantage of by the Yugalyth agents, who kidnap her and threaten to kill her if Sean does not place himself in their hands.  Sean agrees, and has himself equipped with a pair of small wormholes that allow him to kill the kidnappers when they think they have him in their power.

Cornelius completes Ranger school, finds a new love himself, and is assigned to the planet Azure, one of the deadliest in the Empire.  He and his men stalk the Ca’cadasans through a jungle that is an enemy to both, and encounters a new client race of the Ca’cadasans, the supremely competent hunters called Maurids.  Cornelius saves and is saved by a young girl, Rebecca, and completes the mission his company couldn’t, destroying a Ca’cadasan headquarters.  He returns to the capital system again a hero, one of the few to win the Imperial Medal of Heroism twice.  He marries, and gains a new mom for his baby son, and his adopted daughter, Rebecca.

Sean, in need of a victory, plans an ambush for the Ca’cadasan fleet in the Congreeve system, a frontier world made up to look like an industrial developing planet.  The Cacas, using the Knockermen, send in a strike force to take out the Donut.  And the Empire sends in a strike against the Fenri Empire, the new ally of the Ca’cadasans.  Cornelius attends Officer Candidate School and is well on his way to becoming an officer, while the Opposition Party of the Lords continues to cause trouble for the Emperor, threatening a No Confidence Vote in Parliament.

The strike into Fenri space is a success, taking the heart out of their fleet and capturing several of their industrial planets, sending the small mammalians into a frenzy.  The Fenri still have some power in their fleet, and organize an offensive that kicks the NTE naval force out of their space, stranding Baggett and his soldiers on the surface of one of the planets.

The Ca’cadasan strike force makes it to Elysium space, commandeers a Brakakak light cruiser, and takes the station in orbit around that Empire’s capital world.  The Cacas jump through the wormhole to the Donut, bringing thousands of troops and four Quarkium devices, intending to destroy the station.  The Knockermen destroy the Brakakak station with the device that they were given by the huge aliens.  And Walborski, heading through the Donut on a short leave to see his wife and children, finds himself involved in another battle.

Sean lures the Ca’cadasan main fleet into battle, springing his ambush, and ravaging the enemy fleet.  They turn into a tougher opponent that he planned on, and some of the enemy fleet escapes to head back to their base, leaving the Imperial fleet with a lesser victory than wanted, and higher casualties than expected.

Cornelius organizes a team to keep the Cacas from exploding one of their devices on the Donut, and only one of the bombs is detonated.  The station, though damaged, survives.  Meanwhile, Baggett’s force in Fenri space resist the ground assault with heavy casualties, until relieved by the Fleet, and the Fenri are all but knocked out of the war.  Natasha Sung is meanwhile closing in on her goal, the aliens who are also fighting the enemy at the other side of their empire.

The alliance fleet reorganizes and prepares to attack the Cacas, while they are still reeling from their defeat.  Using the cover of a supernova explosion, which covers the resonances of ships transiting hyperspace, Sean launched a multi-winged assault on the remaining Ca’cadasan forces in the Empire.  The fleets strike without warning, bringing the Cacas to battle and all but annihilating their forces.  The Caca commander orders his remaining ships to get away as they can, then is incapacitated during the escape.  The Great Admiral’s second in command does the unthinkable and surrenders the remaining fleet.

The Emperor discovers that about a billion New Moscow citizens are being held in the former Kingdom of New Moscow, including over seven hundred million on the homeworld.  The Cacas are processing the humans for their protein, and Sean orders their rescue at all costs.   A combined New Terran Empire, New Terran Republic and Crakista fleet invades the space of New Moscow, intent on rescuing the prisoners.  The main concern is that the Cacas will kill their captives before the ground forces can rescue them.  Using their wormhole technology, the Empire is able to insert a heavy corps and numerous special ops teams, including a company led by Cornelius Walborski, to storm the camps and rescue the hundreds of millions of prisoners.

The prisoners are freed, and the Empire starts to evacuate them through wormholes, while a massive Caca fleet is tracked on the way to the system, due to arrive well before the main Imperial force.  The Fenri, with Ca’cadasan help, strike at the Imperial force invading their space, and inflict a significant defeat on them, sidetracking the invasion force and compelling the Imperials to go back on the defensive so they can regroup.

Commodore Natasha Sung reaches the space of the rumored power fighting the Ca’cadasans on the other side of their Empire.  She finds that the Klavarta, as they call themselves, are actually genetically engineered human warriors created by the survivors of the Exodus IV, thought to have been destroyed.  It is discovered that the original leaders of that mission still controlled the New Earth, as their nation was called.  They were clones, a process that allowed humans to live past their normal life span with artificially grown bodies with one fatal flaw.  They were all psychopaths, and these leaders had led their people in a campaign of genocide against many of their neighbors, making them hated in their own region.  Still, the Empire works to forge an alliance, though the Emperor has doubts that Parliament and the citizenry will approve that treaty.

The Fenri are pushed back by a new Imperial offensive, losing much of their space and their fleet.  What seems like a complete victory for the humans turns into a stalemate as the Fenri turn to a war of raids and ambushes.  The Cacas appear quiescent, as they gear up for another offensive against human kingdoms.

An assassin attempts to take out the Emperor and Empress, but hesitates in taking the shot, then is chased away by security.  Angel, an ex-Naval Commando, wonders why he is working for the kind of people that would kill the leader of their kingdom during wartime.  He decides he is fighting for the wrong people, and determines to take out the traitors who threaten the Empire

A Ca’cadasan fleet, working with intelligence giving them the location of the Klavarta homeworld, moves to strike, while the Empire plans their own strike to take out the cloned leadership of New Earth.  The Cacas strike, and the Empire is forced to advance their own operation, killing the clones while at the same time reinforcing the Klavarta with some of their own forces through wormhole gates.  The Cacas win the battle, but the Empire is able to evacuate most of the Klavarta and their pure human masters through the wormhole.  Sean then orders a wormhole equipped ship throughthe wormhole gate, causing an enormous explosion that destroys almost half the Ca’cadasan fleet. The Klavarta are reorganized as the leaders of their nation, and the Nation of New Earth is created to occupy the area formerly ruled by the clones, from there to continue the war of the second front.

The Cacas no longer operating near the New Terran Empire, emphasis shifts toward the Fenri Empire, on their heels and all but defeated.  They release a number of raider teams to attack the shipping and planets of the Empire, battleships and battle cruisers searching the transit lanes, far from the bulk of the Imperial Fleet.  It is up to the outmanned light ships of a quiet sector to track down these ships and destroy them.  After several hard fought battles they take down the raiders and foil the plans of the Fenri Emperor.

On the Second Front the Cacas begin another offensive, this time under a commander that has more intelligence than most.  The Klavarta and their allies from the Empire at first fall to the Cacas, then fall back into a planned retreat, eventually catching the invaders in a suboptimum deployment and turning the enemy advance into a retreat.

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is the author of over twenty-five 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 two and a half year period as a self-published author, Doug has sold over one hundred and twenty-five thousand ebooks, paperbacks and audio books.  He has amassed over 1,800 reviews across his books on Amazon, with a 4.6 star average. 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 five cats and one outnumbered dog 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.

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 Walbroski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire.  But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the most deadly planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas.  Can Cornelius survive his first mission?  Or will  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: 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.

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?

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: 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.

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Table of Contents

- Title
- Dedication
- Books by Doug Dandridge

- Cast of CharactersThe CapitalEmperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov

- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-two
- Chapter Twenty-three
- Chapter Twenty-four
- Chapter Twenty-five
- Epilogue
- The Story So Far
- About the Author
- Books by Doug Dandridge