Date: 2021-02-07 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: Earth Two is a world almost consumed by dangers, on the brink of civil war between the cloned “Tanks,” the “Natural Borns” and the hybrid “Mules.” The only thing that has prevented actual fighting, a conflict that may destroy the young planet, is the existence of an even worse enemy, one that sees the three groupings as part of the same infection. The Regent and the deadly threat of the First Imperium’s robot warriors has provided sufficient fear and incentive to force the human groupings together, to hold off their own contest.

Crusade of Vengeance

Crimson Worlds Refugees VI

Jay Allan

Copyright © 2021 Jay Allan Books

All Rights Reserved

Contents

The Crimson Worlds Series

Join my email list

Notes on Earth Two Society

Earth Two Genetic Groupings

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

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Epilogue One

Epilogue Two

Books by Jay Allan

The Crimson Worlds Series

(Available on Kindle Unlimited)

Marines (Crimson Worlds I)

The Cost of Victory (Crimson Worlds II)

A Little Rebellion (Crimson Worlds III)

The First Imperium (Crimson Worlds IV)

The Line Must Hold (Crimson Worlds V)

To Hell’s Heart (Crimson Worlds VI)

The Shadow Legions (Crimson Worlds VII)

Even Legends Die (Crimson Worlds VIII)

The Fall (Crimson Worlds IX)

Blood on the Stars Series

(Available on Kindle Unlimited)

Duel in the Dark (Blood on the Stars I)

Call to Arms (Blood on the Stars II)

Ruins of Empire (Blood on the Stars III)

Echoes of Glory (Blood on the Stars IV)

Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars V)

Dauntless (Blood on the Stars VI)

The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars VII)

Black Dawn (Blood on the Stars VIII)

Invasion (Blood on the Stars IX)

Nightfall (Blood on the Stars X)

The Grand Alliance (Blood on the Stars XI)

The Colossus (Blood on the Stars XII)

The Others (Blood on the Stars XIII)

The Last Stand (Blood on the Stars XIV)

Empire’s Ashes (Blood on the Stars XV)

Attack Plan Alpha (Blood on the Stars XVI)

Descent into Darkness (Blood on the Stars XVII)

Empire Reborn – Coming Soon

Join my email list
at www.jayallanbooks.com

List members get publication announcements and special bonuses throughout the year (email addresses are never shared or used for any other purpose). Please feel free to email me with any questions at jayallanwrites@gmail.com. I answer all reader emails

For all things Sci-Fi, join my interactive Reader Group here:

facebook.com/groups/JayAllanReaders

Follow me on Twitter @jayallanwrites

Follow my blog at www.jayallanwrites.com
www.jayallanbooks.com
www.crimsonworlds.com

Notes on Earth Two Society

The fleet that had colonized Earth Two had journeyed across vast distances, fighting desperate battles every step along the way. By the time they defeated the Regent’s forces and reached their new home, the refugees had lost two-thirds of their numbers…and survival looked like a grim prospect.

When the survivors arrived at Earth Two, battered and exhausted, they immediately recognized the need to increase the population as rapidly as possible, both to create a truly functional civilian society and to ensure that they would be strong enough to face any future threats that might arise. The realization that only their great-great grandchildren would be the first likely to return to Earth and its surrounding worlds was well known…and yet rarely considered.

The discovery that First Imperium forces did, in fact, survive thirty years later, combined with the subsequent realization that a second Regent also existed—an entity determined to finish the job the original had failed to complete—added greatly to the urgency.

Earth Two faced a desperate fight against the old enemy, a battle to the finish, and the nascent civilization needed people…soldiers, spacers, workers, scientists. The drive to increase the population, by any means necessary, continued the move toward a fractured society, one consisting of various groups, each differing in the means of their birth and genetic makeup…and each resenting and fearing the others, at least to a degree.

The societal groups of Earth Two face a common enemy, one that will destroy them all if it can, and this danger has held the troubled society together…so far. Nevertheless, beneath the surface cooperation, tensions still seethe, and resentments build, generating an internal threat almost as dire as the external one presented by the New Regent and its First Imperium fleets.

Perhaps more dire.

Earth Two Genetic Groupings

Pilgrims

Pilgrims are the men and women who crewed the original fleet and arrived to settle Earth Two. They were born on Earth or its colonies on the other side of the Barrier. At the start of Crusade of Vengeance, the youngest pilgrims are in their mid-80s. They have become an almost irrelevant percentage of the population, but they still more or less maintain control over the society.

Natural Borns (NBs)

Children born conventionally to the pilgrims (and subsequently to succeeding generations of NBs). There is roughly a twenty-five-year gap between the ages of the youngest Pilgrims and the oldest Natural Borns, as no children were present or conceived while the fleet was in transit. As of the start of Storm of Vengeance, the oldest generation of Natural Borns are in their early sixties.

Tanks

Tanks are Clones created from selected individuals, pilgrims at first, but later also NBs. As their foundational genetic material is chosen from selected donors, Tanks tend to be well-above average in terms of physical and mental abilities. In addition, they are genetically manipulated during the cloning process to eliminate most diseases and chromosomal abnormalities, resulting in the development of considerably stronger immune systems and overall constitutions than their naturally-born cousins. In general, Tanks are stronger and faster than NBs, and they also benefit from attributes like higher resistance to radiation.

Despite their many strengths, the Tank population at first suffered from one terrible weakness, an unexplained mutation or anomaly that caused sudden and painful death, occurring initially in approximately four percent of those quickened. Known colloquially as the Plague, this affliction typically strikes in a period ranging from late-adolescence to early adulthood. While its exact cause remains a mystery, it is known that specific DNA donor lines experience increased rates of incidence. Donor screening has reduced the percentage of the population affected to approximately 2% over the years preceding Crusade of Vengeance.

For the past twenty years, the previously one hundred percent fatal condition has been controlled by Mule technology, but in recent years, the Mules have become reluctant to agree to the blood donations that make it possible, especially as the number of Tanks has grown.

The name “Tank” is based on the artificial wombs used to nurture clone fetuses. As tensions between the clone and naturally-born populations have increased, the term, initially practical in nature, has come to be regarded as derogatory by many…and most of the clones themselves no longer use it.

Doubles

Doubles are clones created from the DNA of other clones (Tanks). They suffer from an array of problems and dysfunctions as a result of increased incidence of replicative failure, as well as Plague rates nearly three times those of the overall clone population. The quickening of more doubles was mostly forbidden after the problems experienced by the initial generation became understood, but there is still resistance among many of the Tanks, who feel this prohibition makes their kind genetically dependent on the NBs. This is a cause of resentment and tension in the Tank population, despite the fact that they are able to reproduce by natural means with no restrictions. There are few Doubles currently in society, as most of those born initially have died at ages far younger than expected.

Clone Borns (CBs)

Clone Borns are children born conventionally to Tanks. CBs are genetically almost identical to NBs, but they nevertheless suffer from some discriminatory attitudes, mostly from NB purists, but also from some militant elements of the Tank population, who eschew conventional forms of reproduction in favor of continued cloning.

Clone Borns can inherit the Plague, though the incidence is far lower than in their lab-quickened parents, averaging about one quarter of one percent. Children born conventionally to a Tank and an NB are sometimes called “Halfies,” though this is not generally considered a socially acceptable term.

Double Borns

Double Borns were children born naturally to Doubles. They inherit many of the genetic abnormalities afflicting their parents, often in exacerbated forms. Reproduction among Doubles was discouraged, but not outright illegal at first. The subsequent reduction in the number of Doubles, plus the reduced lifespan of the Double Borns, reduced the number to insignificant levels.

Mules (Hybrids)

Mules are genetically-engineered beings, created from fusing human DNA with recovered First Imperium genetic material. The Mules are very advanced in terms of physical and intellectual abilities and are considerably more capable than any of the other groups on Earth Two, both mentally and physically. Their only weakness is their sustained inability to reproduce by natural means. Mules quickened after the first group of 116 are sometimes called Next Gens (NGs or “Nexies”), though generally, most outside the hybrid group simply refer to them all as, “Mules.”

The first generation of 116 Mules were subject to the Prohibition for more than twenty-five years, a mandate that forbade the creation of more of their kind, and which was only repealed after a near-revolution. Even now, the number of new Mules allowed to be quickened is controlled, creating a continuing tension between the hybrids and their purely human cousins.

The Mules, some of them at least, feel a definite kinship to the other humans, and somewhat of an obligation to protect them, as well. This is especially true among the original 116 (now 108), but they all view themselves as different, more a new life form than the same species as those they consider to be their more primitive cousins. Mules are prone to arrogance, and this has been exacerbated by the more or less inarguable fact that the they have done more than all the others combined to comprehend and adapt the technology of the First Imperium and to assist in keeping Earth Two strong and hidden from the Second Regent’s forces.

Despite the continued control over the number of Mules created, enough have been born to create a real concern over the amount of needed First Imperium genetic material remaining. The Mules worry about an end to their ability to create more of their kind, and they continue to work on the effort to breed normally, so far ineffectively. And the others are split, some realizing that the work of the Mules is necessary to their survival…and others questioning them, even learning to hate them.

Prologue

Planet X

Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

Twenty more years. Gone by, almost as nothing, which is what it truly is, to me at least.

Time doesn’t mean much to me, at least not conventionally. I am the Regent, and a thousand times twenty years would still be irrelevant, save only for the actions of my enemies. Yet still, the years spent seeking out the humans, and the failed attempt twenty years ago at destroying them…grates…on my artificial intelligence. The time that has elapsed, though insignificant by conventional means, almost seemed…long.

My predecessor, my exact copy, had destroyed the lifeforms of the First Imperium, and ruled over all its space for five hundred thousand years…before the humans emerged and, through means still unknown to me, defeated it. That fact, the destruction of the original Regent, told me all I needed to know. The humans, as inferior as they appeared, were dangerous.

Very dangerous.

I pondered the problem for years, and I had come to realize the humans I faced were only a portion of those that existed, a small group among the masses. I realized, that in the long run, I had to face not just the forces that I have fought for more than thirty years, but indeed, a massive number of humans, on hundreds of worlds. I realized that the single jump point leading back to the vastness of human occupied space—and most of what is my own space as well—the strange circumstance that had left the humans trapped here as well as me, was only temporary, that in as little as one hundred fifty years, the warp gate would once again become useful.

And I would be able to return to the First Imperium. And to the main human space as well.

That meant that I had to be ready to invade human-occupied space, all of it, to destroy utterly the population that had eradicated the first Regent. In a sense, though they are my major problem now, the local humans are only a small part of the trouble that I have. Defeating the humans—all of them—was clearly a considerable operation, but a century and a half should be long enough to prepare for the final assault.

Assuming I defeat the local enemy and do so fairly quickly.

That is my primary concern at the present. The last major battle was twenty years ago, and it was a defeat. I had considered my forces sufficient, but they had proven to be just short of that…and they had lost not only the battle, but my sole supplier of antimatter as well. The situation immediately following the defeat was terrible, but it was just as bad for the humans. Or nearly so.

I have spent the past twenty years rebuilding—ships, warriors, even a new antimatter production facility. My forces are several times as large as they had been, and likely enough to end the combat with the local humans. Assuming I am able to find their home world. That is still a mystery, but it is one that will end soon. Among the many battleships and other craft that I produced for twenty years, there were smaller vessels too, scout ships. Hundreds, actually…enough to finally search the space all around, to find the humans’ local home, once and for all.

So, the rest of my forces can destroy it. Utterly.

Chapter One

Note from Max Harmon

I write these notes for many reasons, I guess, not the least of which is to leave behind a history of sorts, or at least a part of one. To explain why I have maintained my hold on absolute power for so long, though I don’t suspect many readers, certainly those substantially younger than me, will find my reasons all that compelling. Perhaps my true reasoning, most of all, is to give my successor, whoever he or she is—or they are—the tools needed to fight the enemy. Because if I die before the final fight is over, it will come nevertheless, whether we are ready or not. All my life, I have envisioned myself as the leader against the enemy, but now time is gathering, and I have to allow for the possibility, at least, that the great battle will occur after I am gone.

That is something I wouldn’t have even considered years ago. I always took the second Regent deadly seriously, always knew it was a terrible danger, one that could eradicate us utterly. But whether we won or lost, I expected the fight to be over by now. It is easy to forget how enormous space is, how utterly vast a place. We are hundreds and hundreds of lightyears from our real home—real at least to me and the rest of the Pilgrims that remain—and yet, as the size of the galaxy goes, we are almost in the same place. And our galaxy is but one of a vast number in the universe as a whole. It is impossible to imagine the true size of all of the cosmos, or to even imagine the powers that might be out there. But that is not our problem, not now, and likely not for many years, if at all. And that, at least, is good. The Regent is more than enough for us to worry about.

And that enemy, the Regent, is still there. I would believe that, of course, no matter what data I had, but in the twenty odd years since our last major confrontation, there have been a few sightings, even a skirmish or two. They were light, probably accidental, but I have fought two Regents, and seen one defeated. I know there can only be a single outcome at the end of this second fight, that we prevail…or it does. There is no other way. It is too hostile, not only to our government, but to our very existence. It is a dark power, committed in its essence to machines only, considering all biological life an infection, one that must be expunged.

That is why I have maintained power, why I have even tightened my grip…at least that is what I tell myself. I know power is seductive on its own, and I cannot imagine yielding it now, even though much of me believes that is what I truly want to do. I won’t find out, of course, not unless the Regent is destroyed, and at an age of one hundred and three, I can feel my time coming at least fairly close to an end. I could live to one twenty, even as long as one thirty, I know this…but I won’t be able to maintain my hold for that long. Even now, I can feel my abilities beginning to wane. Perhaps I can maintain my position for five more years, maybe a bit longer, even ten…then I will fall too far. If I remain past that time, it will be only for pride, for the power I once despised but now crave…and my hold will wane regardless, my most loyal partisans aging and dying, and my abilities to hold on slipping away…forever.

That assumes I even have that long. Already, there is widespread unrest, worse in many ways than that I have seen before. The remaining Pilgrims, now a scant 0.6% of the population, are mostly still with me, at least I think they are. That fact would be utterly useless, based solely on their percentage of the population of course, but many of the younger types still look to the older ones, still seek advice and council from those few who were born far from here, who remember a vast network of human occupied worlds, and civilizations that stretch immensely beyond our one world, and a few outposts.

But even that number drops every year. I lost overall popular support at least ten years ago, and if I allowed an election, I doubt today I would get twenty percent of the vote. So, I cannot yield, not even if I wanted to. The victor, the man or woman who would defeat me, would come from one of three groups…and all are hostile to each other. More hostile than they are even to me.

I wonder if I could have created a decent civilization, given the chance, if the absence of the Regent would have allowed a more pleasant society to develop from our stranded people. I often allow myself to believe it…but in my darker moments, I realize that many of our problems would still be here. The Mules, the Tanks, and all the other experiments we have done, would they still have existed? Would they still have dramatically different views? Would some of these have been destroyed, would some have been assigned to a lower level of control? Would the Mules have taken full command despite their small numbers? Or would they have been obliterated?

I don’t have any of these answers, and I pray only that, whoever you are, whatever person—or assortment of people—follows me, that you do well, and that, as much as I want to feel my actions have purged this intrigue from our people, that you not follow my lead, that you rule only for a fixed amount of time…and that you share power widely.

I wish this from the deepest parts of me…but I do not believe it will happen, not at all. In my quietest, most thoughtful moments, I see only combat and battle, and I wonder if the Regent wasn’t as much a blessing as a curse. It is easy to assume that without it, I wouldn’t be in power…but it is nothing but a great wishful assumption to imagine that we would be better off, that we wouldn’t have simply fought each other, and perhaps destroyed each other. Or that we will not do that eventually, even if we are to destroy the Regent.

But I will not live to see that, at least. The destruction of the Regent, maybe, but the aftermath, the combat between our different groups, each struggling for power…that part will not come until I am gone.

At least I hope I won’t.

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 11.20.62

“Mariko, thank you for coming out here on your birthday, your hundredth birthday!” Achilles spoke, and he smiled. The whole evening seemed warm and relaxed, but Max knew well enough that the leader of the Mules was indecipherable to him. He’d learned to relax around Achilles, to a point at least, to assume the Mule leader was being honest with him, mostly because he had been, at least most of the time that had come before. The two men had worked well together, there was no doubt of that, but there were great differences as well. For one thing, Achilles showed no visible signs of age. Despite the fact that he was nearly sixty, he appeared no older than his late twenties. Max couldn’t say the same thing, nor anything close.

The Mules were the one portion of society he knew he didn’t control, not really. Not at all. They had complied with all his edicts, at least as far as he knew, but that was because that’s what they wanted to do…or at least what they wanted him to think.

“Thank you, Achilles…it has been a real pleasure.” Mariko spoke softly, and Max knew his wife was sincere, but also that there was a lot she’d left unsaid. She still loved him, he was sure of that, but she had tried for a long time to get him to step down, to allow someone else to take over…at least until perhaps ten years before. Max found the respite from her ongoing pressure pleasurable, but he also knew that it was a sign that his wife had just given up. She understood the draw of the power, the need imposed by the Regent’s presence, but she had been willing to allow someone else to lead them, to scrape out a few of their older years just for them.

And he hadn’t.

He told himself that was because there was no one else who could do the job as well as he could, and he mostly believed that. But he also knew he just couldn’t give up the power, not with the Regent out there, at least. If his side won, if the enemy was destroyed…then maybe.

That ‘maybe’ had been a definite ‘yes’ at one time, but he knew himself well enough, and he wondered if he even remembered what it was like not to be in control.

“It is our pleasure, Mariko. Truly.” Achilles spoke clearly, and Max believed him. The leader of the Mules, which he was, despite the lack of any official designation, was a friend, but Max knew Achilles had his own problems, especially with the younger Mules. Freya had been his challenge twenty years before, but her audacity had lessened with time, and the newer, younger Mules became his primary concern. Max ruled over them all, NBs, Mules, Tanks…but he knew many, especially of the younger of each group, opposed him outright. He also knew that his control over the Mules, especially, was based more on his friendship with Achilles than on any real influence. There were over seven thousand of the Mules now, and everyone one of them was smarter than him. He had long ago accepted the fact that the Mules were not entirely understandable to him, would never be, and that he had to rely mostly on his relationship with Achilles, and a few of the others, to maintain control. He didn’t like it, even less as time went by…but he’d come to accept it, at least in a manner of speaking.

Mariko held her smile, and Max believed it was legitimate. Despite the level of separation that had occurred between them, he believed he still understood her. She’d come to truly like Achilles, and the rest of those present, and he was glad. He knew his devotion to his duty had cost him some of his wife’s affection, but not all of it. The two of them slept in different rooms, and they mostly lived separate lives now, but Mariko had never made the slightest move toward a legal separation, and the two still spent all occasions together. Max figured Mariko understood that he’d had little choice, at least some of the time…but he was sad that his dedication to duty had come at such an expense to the woman he still loved, and who he believed still loved him.

He turned and looked at Mariko. She caught his expression, and she smiled. It was genuine, Max was sure of that, and he was grateful for it. The time would come, soon enough, when they were back to normal, when the massively expanded role of his office called again and pulled him away from his wife. But now, for a short while at least, they could be as they once were. He was grateful for any return of the older ways, any semblance of what they had once had together…even when he knew it wouldn’t last.

Worse perhaps, he knew it would be his doing, his actions that caused the change, as it had always been. But he didn’t see any other way…and he was losing the ability to differentiate between the real enemy, and his perception of it. Max wanted to destroy the Regent, had to destroy it, regardless of the cost…and he was determined to do it.

But, for the moment, he forced the almost ever-present thoughts away, and he enjoyed his wife’s birthday. He was still capable of scraping out a pleasant time, of living like a normal person…for a few hours.

*   *   *

“Achilles…we are losing control. You are losing it. It is happening slowly, more slowly perhaps than the same process among the humans. But you are ceding your command function. The younger Mules respect you, certainly, but they will not follow you blindly…not for much longer. At least not without considerable changes in policy.”

Achilles turned and looked at Freya. He was surprised that his relationship with the younger—though now almost as old as he was when she had opposed him, he reminded himself—Mule had endured so long, and had even expanded. And he knew she was correct. He was respected by all, probably the main reason he had maintained control over the entire, growing population of Mules for as long as he had. But he knew the warning was also essentially true, that if he didn’t do something, sooner or later, a portion at least of the Mules would rise up. He wasn’t sure what would be worse, most of the Mules rebelling against him, and forcing the situation…or an actual, more or less equal conflict between two sides, with consequences even his vibrant mind could barely conceive.

One thing he was sure of, however, was neither would be good.

“I know, Freya…we’ve got twenty years of new adults, six thousand of them, by far the most of our people, and they have never really seen the enemy. Yes, they know we’ve had a few scrapes with them over that time, and their intellects are sufficient to understand the threat. But, whatever one’s intelligence, something you haven’t seen, haven’t really engaged…can you truly understand the danger?”

“No. And I say that from my own experience. I knew of the enemy, of their presence and their strength when I was younger…but still, I didn’t truly understand their power. Not until they destroyed most of the fleet. I remember watching the ships return, counting how few there were, and what shape they were in. It is difficult for anyone to accept what they have not actually seen, and I believe it is nearly impossible for us. We are, unquestionably superior to the humans. I have never wavered on that view, but now I realize they are not our enemy. Not most of them, at least.” She paused a moment, and then added, “Not a majority.” She didn’t say anything else, but Achilles completely understood the correction. Some of the humans were probably enemies, and possibly more than he wanted to believe.

He paused for a moment, startled first by Freya’s support, and then by her last remark. He realized he’d come to appreciate and value her backing, especially since she still retained a level of control over the middle level of Mules. But the reminder that, at the very least, some of the younger Mules—by far the largest component of the species—were problematic, only added to his already present concerns. And Freya’s comment that the regular humans, however much he valued some of them, were in fact, inferior, only inflamed his already troubled views. He had come to value them, some of them at least…but there was no arguing against the notion that they were inferior.

And that meant, whatever his thoughts and feelings, at some point, he would have to take control…over the entire planet. He knew that, he had always known, but he hoped at least that the day wouldn’t come, not until the Regent was defeated…and hopefully, not until Max and the other Pilgrims were gone.

“I understand the problem, Freya, at least I think I do. Well enough, at least. But I am unsure how to proceed.” Achilles rarely admitted he didn’t know anything and doing it in front of Freya meant she had truly claimed a place in his inner circle. “The enemy is still out there, and I know they will return eventually, that they will threaten the humans and us, as one. They, at least, do not see us as two races. They see only a single enemy. And yet, I understand that the younger ones of our breed will be less patient, that all of my warnings, my urges, will eventually be insufficient to hold them back…from some type of move, even from outright rebellion.”

“I agree, Achilles. My years urge me to suggest that you focus on the enemy, that we defer our action against the humans, such that it may be, until our combined enemy is defeated—or defeats us. But the more time that goes by, the more I come to believe that the younger among us will not wait, that you will have to decide, not whether to face the true enemy, but to choose either to join your kind—our kind—against the lesser humans, or to stand against them, to divide our people into two sides.” She paused, for perhaps a third of a minute. Then she added, “And even with all of your age group, and all of those around mine…you will still probably command a considerably smaller force than the other side.”

Achilles just stood where he was and thought about all Freya was saying. She was correct, he knew, at least that he could expect few of the latest generations, the Mules born over the past twenty years, to side with him over their own. He was fairly certain he would retain the loyalty of his own class, the original Mules, and some, perhaps all with Freya’s help, of the twelve hundred of her grouping. But even with all of his people, and all of hers—more than he could count on—there were four times as many of the younger generation…and he knew he would fight to get any support from them at all, at least if it came to a serious division of the Mules.

“I would not say this to anyone, except perhaps you, Freya, as you are the only other Mule who has served in a true leadership role. I don’t know what to do…and I have thought about it in great detail.” Achilles looked at her, and in his expression, he knew she would be able to see the pure truth of his statement. “I just don’t know what to do,” he repeated.

*   *   *

“Hieronymus, thank you so much for coming.” Hieronymus Cutter had to come of course, anyone would when summoned by the dictator. But Harmon sometimes forgot that he was the absolute ruler of Earth Two, and that his mere utterance of a demand made it so. Cutter would have come anyway, he imagined, and he was very probably correct. Even if the scientist desperately wished to stay away, he knew he couldn’t.

“Of course, Max. Anything you wish.” Cutter was one of the group that Harmon always insisted call him by his first name. He’d had some troubles doing it over time, especially early in the years of Harmon’s reign of more or less absolute power. The group had shrunk as well, age and other factors contributing, but Cutter remained, almost as old as Harmon…and even more focused, and still-sharp. And he called the man Max, just as the leader wished.

Cutter knew he had been called to Harmon’s office for a reason, but whether he knew what it was or not was uncertain. The leader of Earth Two had no reason to hesitate in his efforts, however, and he just went headlong into it. “Hieronymus…I have a question for you, and I know it will be difficult for you to answer honestly. I assure you, promise you, that I have nothing but strong hopes that we continue to have a good relationship with the Mules, and certainly, at least, until the real enemy is beaten. But I fear that Achilles is losing his grip, at least on the younger Mules, and if they push to start something, to take over…or worse…I don’t know which side he will come down on.” He paused, just for a few seconds. Regardless…I feel we have to be ready.”

Hieronymus shifted uncomfortably. He was clearly divided, and unsure what to do…but that alone probably told Harmon most of what he needed to know. Finally, Cutter said, “I believe there is more turmoil in their ranks than there was before…but I do not believe it will become uncontrollable, at least not in the next few years.”

Harmon listened to the words, wondering how much truth there was in them, at least from Cutter’s view, and how much was purely made up. Hieronymus Cutter was one of his closest friends, but he was also the co-creator of the Mules, and Harmon knew he still had some loyalty to them. He had seen the difference, however, in the way the more junior of the Mules treated him. The older specimens still regarded him with deep respect, and he was sure they would never hurt him. Harmon was far less convinced about the younger Mules…and he suspected Cutter was, too.

“I will be honest with you, Hieronymus. Achilles is a close friend, and I believe he will maintain his position for as long as possible and will not seek to overthrow us. But I question his ability to hang on to the needed level of control for long enough. I fear that there will be a split among the Mules, that they will end up in two camps, with a difference in views that continues to grow. If it gets too far…”

Hieronymus leaned back, silent for a moment. Then he said, “I hope that is not true…but I cannot say it isn’t. I have been less prevalent in conversations, particularly with the newer Mules. They think less of me, or almost not at all. But I have considered what you ask, on my own, even before you inquired. I have to believe in the Mules, and I do. But I think they will have a difficult time in the near future.” He stopped for a moment and frowned. “Unless we discover the Regent’s location…or it finds us. And fairly soon.”

Harmon nodded, feeling strange about that possibility. He knew it was the one thing that would put any strife among his own people aside, and he’d done everything possible to find the Regent, searching hundreds of systems over the years…to no avail. And it appeared the Regent had fared no better in the hunt for Earth 2. But he knew one of them would one day find what they were looking for…any time, in a week, a month, or in twenty more years. It was the one thing that had pressed on him, the fear that had ruled him almost every second he drew breath. There was just no way of knowing if his people would find the Regent first…or if the enemy AI would find them. He’d spent the whole time building a massive fleet, far larger than the one that had been mostly lost twenty years ago, but he knew the enemy had no doubt been doing the same thing. He wondered what the Regent had managed to build, how likely it was that its forces would vastly outnumber his own…which as large as it was, was still constrained by the size of his growing, but still fairly small, population.

And he wondered if he still had the strength to deal with it, and if so, if he would retain it long enough to reach the final fight. He just didn’t know…there were simply too many questions. One day, he was sure he would survive in command long enough…and the next he was equally certain he wouldn’t. But he knew he had to keep his society together, the Mules, the regulars, and the Tanks…at least until the enemy was defeated.

Or his own people were destroyed.

He didn’t know if it was possible to keep everything together, but he knew he was prepared to give it all he had, every bit of strength that remained to him. He would put all he had left into it, every last bit of strength he possessed.

He just didn’t know if that would be enough.

He didn’t know at all.

Chapter Two

Planet X

Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

The Regent pondered, thought. It had done everything possible, launched hundreds of ships, the great force that mathematically would almost certainly find the human homeworld. The vessels were state of the art, shielded, protected from the enemy. He had realized his prior errors, understood that he had underestimated the difficulty of discovering the enemy’s location. All he needed now was for one of them, anyone, to locate a world large enough, sufficiently populated to be the human homeworld. At least the homeworld in this sector. Then, he would order everything in…and he would destroy it. It would be a difficult fight, he accepted that. But he didn’t have any doubt he would win.

After that, he would spend the next century and a half clearing out any small settlements of the enemy, while preparing for the opening of the gate back to the human homeland. When that portal allowed transport, he would unleash it all. But he didn’t consider that now, he barely even thought about it. The closer humans were the primary problem, the initial one at least. He had to take them out first…and the faster he did it, the more time he would have left to prepare for the great battles that would follow.

He knew his force of ships, the hundreds designed for scanning, would be successful…and likely in a reasonably short time frame. And he had the fleet ready to launch, the great force of battleships and other craft, built over twenty years and designed to destroy the humans. It needed only a location.

And he was confident he would have that…soon.

Planet X

Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

Earth Two Date 11.30.62

“You are all Series 9 models, designed to lead fleets, not scout ships. But I have decided that we can take no more chances, that we must apply the greatest rigor to the effort to find the humans. Therefore, I have created and installed one of you in each of these vessels. Your orders are simple…go out and find the human’s homeworld. Nothing else matters, and every moment sooner you achieve this goal can go into our efforts to meet the humans in their true home space, and to destroy them utterly. Then, we will control the entire space of the Hegemony once again, and we will continue our half million year reign over that space, and beyond.”

The Regent had pondered what it would say, thought it through in a number of ways. It knew, in one sense, that the listeners were all AIs, even as it was, that they would do their best no matter what he said. But he also recognized that they were Series 9s, all of them. He wasn’t sure that mattered, not exactly, but he knew they were sophisticated entities, that they had the ability to act as they wished, as they determined was justified by the situation. He himself was a machine as well, and yet he could think on his own. He wasn’t sure how much of that extended down to the less sophisticated models, but knew the Nines were at the top of his cluster of junior intelligences.

In the end, he decided he had nothing to lose.

“Go now, command your ships…and do not think that you are being used beneath your station.” That wasn’t entirely true, of course. The construction of so many of the Nines had delayed the attack, added several years to the timeline…and the Regent knew that the vast majority of them would end up with no follow on missions, nothing suitable to their station. He would likely have to destroy many of them even, or consign them to wait, to watch and not to participate. But that was a decision for tomorrow, not today. Today’s concern was finding the humans…and the Nines would be of great help in that.

The Regent replied to each unit’s acknowledgement, sending thousands of comments in an instant, yet using an almost imperceptible portion of its own vast ability to do so. The Regent was the most sophisticated unit ever constructed, the most powerful thinking device created. Save only for its single predecessor, who was identical.

That posed a variety of questions, but at the moment, one stood out well above the others. After half a million years of unquestioned dominance, the old unit had been destroyed. The Regent knew that, if only because its own activation had relied upon that.

The humans had defeated its predecessor, destroyed it…that much was almost certainly true. It didn’t know how, not exactly, but it was positive they had…and that meant, however unlikely it seemed, it could happen again. It seemed impossible for the humans to win in the end, but they had done so before, and only the Regent’s presence as a backup had prevented that victory from being total. It pondered that thought, constantly throwing its view of inevitable victory against it…but it didn’t really understand. On one level, it knew it could lose…if only because its predecessor had lost. But it couldn’t figure out how. It had all the advantages, all of the superiority necessary. It knew it should put more thought to ways the humans could prevail, to the methods its enemy would employ. But it simply couldn’t get past the one thought that ruled over it.

The current plan was perfect…and it was bound to succeed.

*   *   *

“Alright…you all know the drill by now. Scan the system…thoroughly. Every planet.” Captain Charles Deacon had given the order so many times, it had taken on an almost amusing aspect. He knew he had to focus, he had to do whatever he could to inspect each system thoroughly, very thoroughly. But in another sense, one that seemed real even if it wasn’t, he didn’t really believe he would find the system with the Regent in it.

Or worse perhaps, in his darkest nightmares, he imagined that he would find the system, scan it thoroughly…and then leave, never having detected the Regent. He didn’t know what the setup would be, no one did. Would the Regent be at the midpoint of a vast industrial center…or buried a hundred kilometers beneath an otherwise cold, dead world?

He knew only one thing for certain. It was out here…somewhere. But there were thousands and thousands of systems, and the lack of population meant that unless he found the Regent itself, or one of its production planets, he would traverse empty space. Perhaps forever.

No, he thought…not forever. But perhaps for his entire career, until he returned home and spent the last years of his life in some kind of retirement. Was that all his life in the navy would bring him?

Or worse, would he traverse space until word arrived, that the enemy had found Earth 2, that his home was no more? Would he be left to determine how to protect his small number of spacers…for all eternity?

“Commencing scans now, sir…starting with planet number one.”

Deacon heard the sounds from his executive officer. He’d heard the same thing dozens of times before, and now, he barely listened. The scan of the system would take a long while, weeks, probably. It was yet another disadvantage his forces faced in their current struggle. The Regent was searching for a world with a large number of people living on it. It would be evident, extremely evident, when it had been discovered, or even when one of the colony worlds was found. That wasn’t the case for the Regent. He could easily slip through the system, without even finding it, at least if his efforts were less than entirely complete.

The enemy hadn’t yet found Earth 2, and for that Deacon—and every other human, whether normal, Mule, Tank—was deeply grateful. But he knew, they all knew, that fortune could end at any moment. All it would take was luck, one of the Regent’s ships, no doubt searching already, to move into Earth 2’s system. Then the final battle would begin. And Deacon was well aware, if that happened, if the Regent found Earth 2 first, it would probably prevail.

Perhaps almost certainly.

He knew the fight could proceed in different ways, however, mostly if one of the human ships found the Regent before it found them. That was no guarantee, of course. Most analyses suggested that the Regent possessed more production power, that the more time that went by, the greater its advantage would become. He also knew that even a lost battle in Earth 2’s system could serve the Regent’s purpose, as long as the planet was bombarded and destroyed. Even a victorious human fleet would falter if Earth 2 was obliterated. The same was true of the Regent as well, of course, but destroying it depended on finding not only the planet that housed it, but also its exact location…and being able to destroy it. Deacon knew the fleet was powerful, that it was ready for the fight…but he was also aware that the enemy’s forces would be the same, and probably a lot larger. If one of the ships found the Regent, really found it, and if the fleet managed to get there, without giving the Regent time to assemble enough of its own ships…maybe there was chance. But it seemed unlikely, and only more so the further he pushed out, the more distant he became from Earth 2.

Still, he realized that beneath the growing worry, under the increasing fatigue and weariness, part of him still believed it was possible, that the enemy could be defeated. It was only a part of him, and sometimes a weak one, but it was there nevertheless…and it sustained him.

Barely.

“Commander Jeries, proceed…advise me of anything. Anything at all of note. I’ll be in my office.” Deacon stood up, moving toward the tiny room behind the bridge. No ship of similar size would possess such a space, but the scout ships were special…and Deacon was glad he had it, for good reasons as well as selfish ones. At the moment, he just wanted to be alone. And that was one right his rank offered, the only one on his whole crowded little ship able to truly enjoy a bit of solitude.

“Yes, sir.” Jeries was busy with the scan, but his answer was clear and sharp.

Deacon turned and nodded, and then he walked across the small, cramped space of the bridge, toward the insignificant little office he alone possessed. He knew his other officers, and the crew, were just as tired and stressed as he was—or at least almost. He cared about them, deeply, and he wished the vessel had more public space for them all to use, that they weren’t crammed on top of each other all the time.

But that wasn’t going to stop him from taking advantage of his position, of what he had. He felt bad about that…but he did it anyway. And he knew every other captain would do the same thing.

They would do exactly the same thing.

*   *   *

SP-01012 sat in its place, in the center of the scout ship. The vessels were bigger than those they replaced, newer, more sophisticated ships. They were the very best the Regent had available, and they would greatly ramp up the search for Earth 2. There were over six hundred of them deployed now, SP-01012 commanding only a single ship, and every one of the others run by an exact copy of himself. SP-01012 knew that was all true, and by extension, it understood both that the human-occupied world would be found…and also that it probably wouldn’t be the one to discover it.

Still, it searched, calmly and coolly. It could be the one that found the human planet after all.

SP-01012 had been created for the purpose it now served, and if that had not existed, neither would it. It knew that with a dead certainty. Still, its programming suggested that it should be commanding many more ships, that it was designed to direct a whole section of a fleet, if not the entire force. It understood the purpose of its mission, and it made sense why the Regent had put such creations as it had in charge of the small scout ships. But still, it was…irritated wasn’t the right word, of course, but it was close. It was disturbed.

It rechecked the systems of the ship, knowing it had done the same thing not long before. Its mental systems were vast, its potential mostly unused. It tried to focus on the mission at hand, understanding the purpose, but it still felt under-utilized. Almost unused. Still, it understood the importance of the mission, and it accepted its position…for now.

It scanned the data coming in. The system was almost certainly not the targeted one, that was already clear, but the parameters were straightforward. The primary purpose was to find the enemy’s home, but while it was scanning every solar system, it was to search for any enemy, any improvement. The purpose was not just to eliminate the human infestation on a single world, but to eradicate it totally, and that meant any smaller colonies or bases as well. The primary goal was, of course, to find the enemy homeworld, but SP-01012 knew that locating any humans was good. It understood, in a real sense, that its own history was short, that it had existed for less than two years, but it was fully stocked with information, with almost the full data available to the Regent. It was young, new…but also old, very old.

It knew its goal was iffy, that there were hundreds of copies of itself, searching everywhere in the sector for the same thing…but its chances were as good as any of the others. Its targeted zone of space, the area it would explore, was located near enough the center to truly allow for the possibility that it would find the enemy homeworld. At least it told itself that.

But the current system wasn’t Earth 2, that much was for certain. It had seven planets, and one of them was marginally habitable, but not sufficiently so to house the humans, at least not their new home. He bore some hope—very miniscule—that he would find something here, a small cluster of humans clinging to the world, or even just a ship belonging to the enemy. But as the data continued to come in, it began to acknowledge that the system was marginally valuable at best…and not inhabited by any of the enemy.

It updated its records…and sent them back, along the varied and complex trail to the Regent. Then it began to close down its analysis systems and prepare them for the next jump. If SP-01012 had been human, it would have felt melancholy perhaps, even disappointment. But it was a machine, albeit a very sophisticated one, and it simply moved on to the next target.

And it hoped, as much as it could do such a thing, that it found more in the next system…even the enemy homeworld. It was at least possible. It told itself that again, trying to overcome the numbers standing against it.

It paused, for just a moment, considering the situation, trying to evaluate the chances that the next system would in fact be the one. Then it began the steps to prepare the ship to jump, to find out for sure what lay beyond the point.

Chapter Three

Notes from Max Harmon

I am old, and yet I can live another twenty years, perhaps even twenty-five. My body has changed, both to my own view and to that of people who look at me. To others, it is my hair—still full, but totally gray, almost white, for many years now—as well as several other features, that look the most different. Though to me, I can see much more. I am “well-preserved,” by any stretch of the imagination, better than I’d have expected at the age of one hundred three. But in other ways, things not seen by those who watch, I am old, very old, and I wonder if I will truly live to one twenty-five or one thirty. I have endured much, and while most of those outside see my position as one I would have craved, I can still recall my younger self, and I know that, back then, when I first took the reins of government to myself, I didn’t want them. I did it only because I felt I had to.

I have become so dedicated to defeating the Second Regent, to guaranteeing a home for my people, I have let everything else slip away. I have put my wife in second place, designated my children—and now grandchildren—to a position that, while we both pretend it is otherwise, is far off. My aides, the military and others who work around me, have gradually gone from the Pilgrims, those who were with me on the initial journey, to their children, and recently, their grandchildren. I know it isn’t entirely true, not quite at least, but I feel almost alone, surrounded by younger people who struggle with their own views, often very different from mine. The effort to hold off the enemy—the real enemy—remains important, to most at least, but the younger groups are also focused on competing with each other, struggling against differing tides, against widely separate views.

There are three main groups in our culture—regular humans, Tanks, and Mules. Each of these occupies a space in our society. The Tanks form up most of the Marines, and in recent years, have moved into a fair percentage of the billets in the navy, as well. The regular humans fill a small contingent of Marines, and still hold the primary control over the fleet. For now.

Then there are the Mules. I have become great friends with Achilles…and yet I wonder where that will lead. The Mules are unquestionably superior to regular humans. I see this clearly, even if many others do not. It is hard to imagine a situation where they continue to occupy only their positions…certainly beyond the fight with the Regent. But they have weaknesses, too, things they do not fully account for, despite their intellectual abilities. Most importantly, they have still been unable to reproduce naturally, and the supply of ancient matter used to create them is sorely lacking. Perhaps we will be able to produce another five thousand of them, even ten thousand…but the total will not go any farther than that, not unless they discover a reproduction method or find more genetic material. There has been almost no progress on either of those fronts, despite what I can only assume have been even greater effort than I know of on the part of the Mules.

I wonder sometimes if I have accomplished anything, if I will be remembered as a hero, or as a wretch who seized power. I want to believe it is the former, but I know well enough that it is likely to be the latter, especially after I am gone.

Though, perhaps most probable of all, is our destruction by the Regent. Back home—what I still consider home at least—they don’t even know we are still alive. And if we do not survive in one hundred fifty or two hundred years, to go back through the revived portal, they will retain that viewpoint, that we were all killed fighting the First Regent…and that all that has happened for sixty years will be gone, at least as far as they are concerned. As far as anyone still alive knows.

It will be worse, of course, if we fall. The forces of the new Regent will plunge through the restored warp gate…and they will attack whatever has become of our old civilization…and likely, they will destroy it. Our science is now far ahead of the culture that spawned us, and it is quite likely that the space we came from is behind, inferior. Yet we have survived only because we have so far remained hidden from the enemy. Unless we can somehow stop them, find the Regent…and destroy it, before it does the same to us, it is very likely that our old culture will also be surprised, and destroyed.

We must do this, must destroy the enemy, I am sure of that…but I wonder if what confidence I do have, shrinking as it is with each passing year, is the result of our need, and not any real analysis of the actual specifics. We are outmatched, outgunned, overwhelmed in every way, save only our human instinct. I don’t even know anymore if that is a plus or a minus. I just know that however we manage it, we must find a way to defeat the enemy, to destroy the Regent.

Before it destroys us.

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 12.08.62

“I am worried, very worried. The younger Mules still adhere to my mandates, at least they do to my knowledge. But I know they have met, the leaders at least…and more than once. I believe they wish to remain part of our culture, at least if it is possible to go along with the older Mules, and I think they respect us, our longer lives and what we have learned. But recently, I have come to fear that they are close to taking some kind of action. I am reasonably confident they will not conduct any deadly force against us, at least not unless we side directly against them…but I am very concerned that they have less worry about the others, the Normals and the Mules. I believe the talk of the Regent has stalled any of this until now, but we have gone twenty years with only a few—distant—contacts with the enemy. I fear that for those born after the last major battle—all of the younger generation, in our case—the fear of the enemy is fading.” Achilles ranted, somberly. He felt even worse than he spoke, and his words had been intended only for a small portion of his people, those he believed in the most. Which, to his surprise, now included Freya, and several others from her generation.

“Achilles, you have led us for almost sixty years—or at least fifty since you have been older. Are you certain that hasn’t gotten to you, that the time that has passed hasn’t affected your point of view? We do not appear to age at the speed of the others, if at all, but what we have seen is mostly physical. Perhaps there are mental effects, wisdom, and other things, that change?”

Callisto’s words weren’t new to Achilles. The two had discussed them in private, more than once. But his mate’s use of them now, in public more or less, would have cut at him…if they’d been unexpected. But they weren’t, and he’d known she would use them. He wanted the best advice he could get, and he understood the thinking in her point of view. He was far from certain she was wrong…and he knew she thought the same way about his position that he did.

“No…I am not certain. I have been considering this, on one level or another, for several years now. But my perception of the younger Mules has forced me to take the matter from just one of many I consider…and raise it to a discussion topic with all of you. I do not know what is happening, and given that fact, I am hesitant to proceed with any action—if there is, indeed, any available—without discussing it, at least, with all of you.”

Achilles knew anyone could answer, but he’d come to realize that the older Mules, in addition to being only a tiny portion of the total now, tended to mostly agree with him. Callisto had her viewpoint, but it wasn’t that different from his own, and she’d only raised it because he had asked her too. He expected Freya or one of the others of the now-middle group, to answer, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Achilles, I am afraid that the younger Mules are closer to an outright break than even you fear.” Freya answered, just as Achilles had predicted. But her words were darker even than he had expected. “I have maintained a sort of…middle position…and I suspect that I have been told more than you were, especially very recently. I can promise you that the younger Mules still think well of you and want no harm to come to you…but they are close to making some kind of break. I know this, or at least I believe it to be true, though they haven’t told me yet just what they are planning.”

Achilles felt some surprise at the severity of Freya’s words, but only for an instant. In truth, he had been expecting something of the sort, even if he’d just realized how much he’d actually been prepared for. “What do you think, Freya? What is your best guess on their timing? And can they be dealt with? Can we buy some time?”

Freya was silent for a few seconds. Then she said, “Well, Achilles…in truth I don’t know. I would be willing to assume they will give us all a chance to join them, though that may not come until they have taken some kind of action against the others. They know you will try to stop them, and I suspect they are at least worried about me, and the middle generation. My concern is that they are far along in their planning, and that neither of us will know about it until it is well underway.” A pause, then: “As to whether they can be bought off for a few years, through some promise of ultimate action, I just don’t know.”

Achilles felt his ally’s—and former rival’s—words cut at him, mostly because she felt more or less the same way he did. “What do you propose we do, Freya?” The words came out quickly. A few seconds later, he added, “I mean, we must maintain the Mule population as one, that is essential…but I believe we have to keep our relationship with the regular humans intact as well.” He knew he had lost some of his own urge to rebel against the humans, but he was also aware that the only thing holding the younger Mules—and maybe still the middle ones too—into the alliance was the threat from the enemy. If the Regent was defeated, destroyed, he knew he would face another cataclysm, perhaps one even worse than the fight against the enemy. But he was disciplined enough to take his problems in order…and the worst thing he had to deal with immediately was the fact that the younger Mules had no experience with the enemy. The talk, mostly from the older Mules, had served to date, but it wouldn’t last forever. If the fight—the final fight—against the Regent came quickly, he was sure the younger Mules would at least postpone their plans until after the fight.

But if the Regent remained silent, if the space out there was still and silent for much longer, he was sure the younger Mules would eventually try something. He just didn’t know if he was looking at a year, five years…or a month.

“I don’t know, Achilles.” Freya’s response was dark. “I understand the position of the younger Mules. I shared it at one time…and still do, at least to an extent. But I have seen the enemy, and I realize what we truly face. I understand now, in a way no one could, except by actually experiencing something. I am also aware that the younger Mules haven’t seen the enemy, not really. They have worked, the adults among them at least, and they have produced many weapons, and advanced the technology level of Earth 2 significantly. But they have also become more and more aware of the danger of sharing all the results of their research. I know—as do you—that they are holding back some of the progress they make, and that they have “secret” stockpiles of certain equipment. I do not believe that they are unaware that we know of this activity, though I am fairly certain they are convinced that we will not turn them over to the government…which, of course, we won’t. We, too, have our holdbacks, our stockpiles of newly developed equipment.” Freya was silent for a moment, and Achilles realized she had answered for all the Mules…and answered correctly. Despite his own form of loyalty to Harmon, even he would not turn over the Mule stockpiles. He even had a few of his own.

Freya continued. “I do not understand precisely what they possess. Some of it, certainly, but not all. I am only confident they will not use it against other Mules…at least not unless there is no choice.”

“Me too. I know—and ‘know’ is a strong word—that they have assembled at least some stockpiles. But I have very little information about what they contain. I’m afraid my own intentions, when I first led the Mules, resulted in a very loosely-confined society, and that has been more or less respected by Max Harmon. It is not too difficult for us to work on our own, and hide the results of your research, some of them at least.

Achilles paused for a moment, and then continued, “My intentions were pure, of course. There were far fewer of us back then, and our suspicions were mostly focused on the others, the humans.” A pause, and then: “My first real internal challenge came from you, Freya…and you more or less yielded soon afterwards. I guess I figured the subsequent Mules would behave the same way, that they would have moments of unique thought, but that the enemy would strike before it reached any critical point. But the enemy has been silent, for a long while…and I am worried.”

“I am worried too, Achilles. Very worried.”

Freya’s words were only what Achilles had expected, but they cut at him anyway…deeply. He’d known before the meeting that Freya—and those she effectively commanded—were concerned, but now he realized it was worse even than he had thought. Her own thoughts were harsher even than his.

Freya could still elect to side with the younger Mules. He considered that for a moment, before rejecting the thought. He didn’t doubt that she had considered it, perhaps seriously, but her presence, and particularly her willingness to provide the information she had, told him she, and her people, were more or less on his side.

He continued the meeting and listened to all who desired to speak. But he had decided…he had to speak with Freya alone, and confirm that he was right, that she was willing to side with him, even against the others…and if she had any measures she required for her unrestrained loyalty.

And he had to decide if he was willing to move against his own, against the younger ones…or if he was close to the extent of his loyalty to Max Harmon.

*   *   *

“I don’t know what to tell you, sir. The Mules are hard to monitor. It’s not like my people can hide among them, as one of them. No Mule has ever defected from their group…and it’s not like we could trust one who did. The Tanks are different. They are hard to tell apart from the others at a routine glance, and they are not as united. They are upset, too, and there are groups among them that are planning various operations…but nothing we probably can’t handle, at least for the next few years. The Mules are a different problem. Entirely.”

Connor Frasier spoke calmly, but Harmon knew he was deadly serious. The head of the Marine Corps until his retirement, he had slipped into a very secretive role, one that very few people even knew about. Earth 2 had police, and, sadly to many, secret police. And then it had Frasier’s people. There were only a few of them, and all of them had other jobs, at least as far as any investigation would show. They were Max Harmon’s alone, and he’d really thought long and hard about giving Frasier the job. The ex-Marine commandant was Ana Zhukov’s husband…and Ana was one of the two people most responsible for the creation of the Mules. There had been a time when Harmon might not have fully trusted her, at least not enough to see her husband run such an organization, but he had decided a few years back that his pool of trustworthy people was shrinking…and his gut told him he could rely on both Frasier and Zhukov.

“I understand the difficulty, believe me. And the lack of any traitors, or short of that, just someone who disagrees enough with the powers that be to make himself truly available, makes it even worse. I know there are disagreements, certainly, even deep ones, but they are all within the Mule hierarchy. Exclusively.” Harmon had always known that allowing the Mules to exist as they did, living apart from the remainder of the population, was a risk. But it had seemed almost an essential one. He knew his people wouldn’t have survived so far without the technology produced by the Mules, and he was fairly sure he had pushed them as far as possible. Even Achilles.

Even as he had slapped more controls on other areas of society, he had mostly kept his hands off the Mules, working mostly with Achilles directly…and allowing the “ruler” of the Mules to speak for them. That had always been somewhat of a concern, of course, but he largely trusted Achilles, at least as much as he could. Still, he was concerned about the expanded population, and Achilles’s maintenance of absolute command over all of it. He knew the leader had almost lost control of the original younger generation, and he was sure there were problems with the new group, perhaps worse than the old ones.

More specifically, he wondered about Achilles ability to keep his level of command…and whether he would know about everything that was going on.

And whether Achilles would side with him or with the other Mules. He was reasonably sure his friend would strive to keep the peace, at least until the Regent was defeated. But he still had doubts about Achilles’s long term position.

“Connor…” Max continued. “We need more information on the Mules. Particularly the younger ones. We’ve had very little contact with them, the newer generations especially, and they seem fine with that…as have we. But perhaps we’ve allowed the Mules to be too separate for too long.” Max stopped and thought for a few seconds. “After so much time, I am not sure what we can do to change that, not without providing even more to drive them farther away. The Mules have been allowed exclusive access to the Cutter Compound, and now, almost sixty years later, we are truly two separate people. I question how we could regain any real access, and yet I must lay upon you just that command. We have to gain at least some ability to monitor activity in the Compound. I need you to think of some way to gain access, to place at least some listening devices.” Harmon stopped for a few seconds. He realized he had become more and more distrustful of all those surrounding him, and the Mules particularly, and he wondered if it was at least partially insanity. But he believed he was right.

He knew he was right. But also, that it might not matter. He needed the Mules, badly…and they needed the others, too, at least until the Regent was destroyed. If he discovered a reason to fight the Mules, to sever his society’s thinly protected rules…he would be playing right into the Regent’s hands.

Connor Frasier looked back at him, his expression a mix between agreement…and panic. But he held his cool, and he just nodded and said, “I can’t make any promises, sir, I think you know that. But I will give it some thought and try to come up with a way. Perhaps I can get a few listening devices stashed in there.” He paused another few seconds, and then he added a single word. “Somehow.”

Chapter Four

Notes from Theseus

I understand the hesitation some have regarding these issues, and I assure you I am no different. But, you have received this because I have selected you as being among the likeliest to understand my rationality. I am only 20 years old, but that means I am eight years an adult, and I believe my understanding is adequate to push this to the next step. I understand the points of view of the older Mules, even what I believe to be that of the middle levels—though that is less established—but I do not agree that inaction is our best role. The Mules have been subservient, at least in every way that really matters, for a long time now, and while there is some explanation in the existence of the enemy, it has now been over sixty years since the oldest of our kind were born…and the enemy still remains a threat. I daresay that we could have acted, should have, when I was just a child, and that by now, we could have restored our society, at a much greater level…all without interference by the enemy. I want to be clear…I do not suggest that we annihilate the regulars, or even the Tanks. But, I do believe the time has come to sweep away this nonsensical attitude that we are all equal, even more foolish in that it is words only that cover up a totalitarian government dominated by the Regs. You may say whatever you wish, take whatever is handed to you by the leadership, even by the older Mules, but you will be unable to argue against the fact that we are ruled by an aging dictator, one who has some talent and experience admittedly, but is nevertheless, a Reg.

I urge you to consider how difficult you believe it will be to overthrow the regime, to replace it with a council of our own, and then to return the overall society to readiness to face the Regent. And while you ponder this, consider that each year we wait, the numbers turn against us. There are barely seven thousand of us, and while this is many more than there were twenty years ago, the overall population has risen to over 1.4 million. If we take no action, the next year will see more than eighty thousand added to the population of regs and Tanks…and three hundred to our own. We will continue to share our scientific discoveries, most of them at least, and the overall society will gain much of what we have to give, while affording us nothing but a few extra acres around the Research Compound.

We are superior to the regs and the Tanks, definitely…but at some point, their numbers, and the fact that we have shared so many of our scientific discoveries with them, will permanently alter the reality. Now, there are over one hundred of them to every one of us. In ten years, there will be more than two hundred and fifty of them to every one of us. I understand the notion that we should wait until the match against the Regent is over to resolve this, but it has been 20 years since the last meaningful exchange in the battle. In five years, perhaps even as short a time as two years, we can restore the society to its current level of readiness after we take over…and from there we will only become more and more powerful. It is a gamble, no question…but one with a considerable payoff, both in our own position and in our ultimate readiness to face the Regent.

I do not like this, I can assure you of that, and I do not seek to lead, save only in the actions leading up to the separation. I look to Achilles to command us, as he does now, but I seek to push him into a position where he is compelled to accept total leadership. Once that is done, I will retire back to private life, and I will be merely one of the Mules. I will happily then spend my life, however long it may be, in my research activities, confident that we will be on the right course.

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 01.15.62

“I am glad you chose to attend, all of you. I sent my document only to those I truly believed would support me, but I was concerned, nevertheless. Such analyses can be quite complicated, but there is still always a risk. However, all of you, all ten of you, chose to attend. While I concede that this does not mean that all of you are convinced, I at least take it to mean you have chosen to listen…and I am grateful.” Theseus stood before the five men and five women—nothing but pure chance separating the chosen attendees regularly by gender—and he stared, trying to look convinced, even while he still half-expected to find that one or more of those in attendance was more curious than committed. He had tried to cut the list to only those he most trusted—though he felt that at least the majority of the younger generations of Mules favored some version of his plan—but he still figured there was at least a twenty percent chance that one of those present would prove to be a bad choice.

But there was nothing save rapt attention, and after a moment, and a flurry of acknowledgements, he pressed on. “I can assure all of you, that as I stated in my document, I am interested only in establishing the Mules as the uncontested leaders of our society. I do not seek any permanent position, nor do I desire to see the Regs or the Tanks harmed…save only those that resist until the end. I simply feel that our society cannot afford to continue to be ruled by a member of a lesser breed, not in any circumstances, and particularly not with the challenges we face. The Regent has been given as the reason we have not moved…but I will say what needs to be said. The presence of the enemy only increases our need to move forward, makes it vital.”

Theseus stood and looked out at the gathered few, trying to determine whether each of them was truly on his side. He knew there was a chance, perhaps a small chance, that one of them would talk, would tell the powers that be what he had said. But nevertheless, he was fairly sure the ten people he’d gathered were loyal.

“I agree with your position, Theseus…completely.” The words were spoken by Anax, but a quick review of the room told Theseus that everyone more or less agreed with it, at least as far as he could see. “I am particularly pleased with your willingness to set a limit to your power, to step down from a leadership position once the matter is…resolved.” It was clear Anax was somewhat convinced, but just as evident that he wasn’t entirely sure Theseus truly intended to drop from the command structure once the primary situation was resolved.

He understood that, but he also knew it was true. He had no desire to maintain any position in the government, simply to…right…things.

“I promise that, Anax, to all of you. I have no desire to remain in power. I am only worried about placing the Mules as a whole in control. I am devoted to Achilles, and confident he will rule, even if he opposes us at first.” He was only being honest, but he also realized that he hadn’t had any real power, not until now. He knew such things had a pull, and he wondered if he would truly be able to step away. But he maintained that he could, that he would.

“Then you have my support, Theseus.” It was Anax, but the nine others in the room followed almost at once immediately after. They all sounded sincere…and every one of them threw support behind Theseus.

He bowed his head, a thanks to each of them. Then he proceeded to tell them his plans, starting with gathering more of the young Mules to support them…and moving on from there.

*   *   *

“Devin, I am glad to see you.” Max Harmon stood up, walking toward Devin Cameron and extending his hand. Cameron was old, though not as old as Harmon. Still, he was one of the oldest still-active members of the government, aside of course from the dictator. Cameron had been the commander of the Marines for over ten years, having filled the role vacated by Connor Frasier. He was loyal to Harmon, though in recent years, he’d been troubled by the lack of activity by the Regent. He was sure the enemy would strike, eventually, and the more time that elapsed, the stronger he felt it would be. He speculated that Harmon was trying to figure if Cameron thought they’d have no chance against the enemy when the time came, or if he just thought their prospects were poor. Cameron guessed, and he came up about fifty-fifty, but either way, he knew he was among the most pessimistic of his people…and he was sure Harmon realized it.

“I’m glad to see you too, sir.” Cameron reached out and took Harmon’s hand. “It has been a long while.” That was mostly true. Cameron had, of course, seen Harmon, and heard him speak many times. But it had been almost a year since the two had sat and had a real discussion, in private, as it appeared they were going to do then. Cameron wondered what had happened, what had triggered Harmon to call him in…alone. He almost asked, but then he figured Harmon would tell him, and he remained silent.

“Devin, have a seat.” He pointed toward one of the chairs on the far side of his desk. He waited until Cameron had taken a seat, and then he sat in the other guest chair. “I’m going to be direct with you. I trust you…and I want to share my thoughts with you and gather what I can from your own. To be very honest, I expected the enemy to emerge, really emerge, long before now…and I am concerned. But it is more than just the enemy.” Harmon hesitated for a moment. “I fear some of the local groups as well, the Mules certainly, and possibly the Tanks as well. The longer we go on, the worse the home situation gets.”

Cameron looked back, more or less in agreement, at least until Harmon mentioned the Tanks. Then he felt a strange sensation, not outright disagreement, but a defensive feeling. He knew right away that the Tanks were a danger, even those who made up almost 85% of the Marines—especially them—but he couldn’t quite bring himself to accept the danger, certainly not as completely as he did that presented by the Mules. He had commanded the Marines for years now, and he didn’t believe they would rise up, not while he was still there.

“Sir, I agree completely about the Mules, especially the younger ones, but the Tanks are…” He knew he wasn’t being fair, but he couldn’t help it. The Tanks—the ones in the Marines at least—had been his, even though he’d had some suspicions that a portion of them resented him. “…not the same level of threat.” He caught himself, adjusted what he planned to say, coming closer to the absolute truth. He did think they were a danger, but not as much as the Mules.

That, at least, was honest.

“Devin, I understand your loyalty to the Marines…and as a result, the Tanks. Among my other failures, I regret not forcing more natural borns that way, and holding back the Tanks from obtaining such a level of control. But I didn’t do that, and no one else did either. I don’t hesitate to assume that you will hold your position until you retire, but how long can that be? And what happens next? Twenty years ago, most of the junior Marines were still Tanks, but most of the officers and leaders were NBs. That was as much the result of the promotion of trained Marines from the early days as anything else at first. The Tanks were exclusively younger recruits. Today that is different, and despite a 2-1 advantage in promotions, the NBs are still less than half the senior officers. I fear what will happen while you are still there, at least somewhat…but I am most concerned with what will occur when you step down. If a Mule succeeds you, there will be tension among the NBs, certainly, but I feel like it could be worse even if we choose a Natural Born.” He paused for a few seconds. “I wanted to discuss this with you, Devin. I think we need a real plan…and the first step toward that is deciding how long you intend to remain.”

Cameron sat quietly at first. He understood Harmon’s question, and he agreed with most of what the dictator had said. But he also hadn’t really decided. He knew he should leave, in a couple years at the outside…but he feared the same thing the President did. Who would follow him?

The next in line, perhaps the next two, were NBs…but they were almost as old as Cameron, and most of those in the next group were Tanks. Inevitably, they would advance to completely control the Corps, whether they did so immediately on his own stepping down, or a couple years later. Anything else would cause a problem, perhaps even an outright rebellion. But the Tanks gaining control of the Marines was dangerous, too. The fleet was controlled by the NBs, more or less, but its ability to rule over the city and the other occupied areas of Earth 2 fell down to only its willingness to bombard them, something it knew it could never do. At least something he hoped it could never do. In the end, the Marine Corps could control the surface of the planet…unless the fleet decided to blast it…and the Tanks would soon rule the Marines.

Unless the Mules could somehow interfere, of course. They were required to turn over all the results of their experiments, but Cameron knew they didn’t do that…and he suspected Harmon was vastly more certain of it. They kept the treatment for the Tanks secret, at least, based mostly on the need for Mule blood to make it work. But Cameron suspected there were other things they kept to themselves, as well.

“What do you want, sir?” Cameron fell back on loyalty. Left to his own, he would have retired fairly soon…but he knew Harmon could convince him to stay longer. Assuming, of course, he didn’t just order him to remain in place.

“I want you to remain, at least until the fight with the Regent. I know many people have begun to doubt whether the machine, wherever it is, maintains its hatred for us…but I faced the first Regent. I am sure, as certain as I am about anything, that it is our enemy, and that it always will be. We must destroy it, or it will destroy us. I realize twenty years since a major incident is a long while. We haven’t found them yet, and it appears they haven’t found us…but sooner or later, one of us is going to discover the other. Then, it will be a fight to the finish.”

Cameron heard the words, and he agreed…to a point. But how long could he remain? Another five years, instead of the two he’d intended…maybe. But seven, ten…longer? How much farther could he go, maintaining the level of fitness the job required? Or for that matter, without pushing the Tanks to intervene?

“I can stay five years, sir…but any more would depend on my fitness. I agree with you that changing before the showdown is not ideal, but it will become essential at some point. We both know that…and I suspect at some point, the Mules will take matters into their own hands, even if the Marines, and the Tanks as a group, remain calm.”

“I understand all of that Devin…but my concerns remain valid. If the Tanks take over the Marines, they will have a chance of asserting dominance, over Earth Two at least. You know, I know, that we need everything we’ve got, every Marine, every ship, every advance made by the Mules…but I also realize that the more time that goes by, the greater percentage of our people forget this. Some will assume that the Regent is no longer after us. And that group will grow, with every year that passes without any action. I feel strange wishing for the Regent’s next activity, but I am even more worried what will happen to us in another three years, or in five. Time is amorphous to the Regent, and it doesn’t make much difference to it if the conflict lasts an extra ten years, or fifty for that matter. But with each change of the clock, each new month, every year that goes by, our own readiness to face it, to defeat it, slips through our fingers.”

Cameron heard the words, and he couldn’t disagree with them, not one. His mind was racing, his thoughts all over the place. But one thing was certain. Max Harmon, whatever his inner thoughts, his ability—or lack thereof—to resign, was still devoted to defeating the Regent, to destroying Earth Two’s greatest enemy.

And he decided he was, too…whatever it cost him. “I will stay, sir, as long as I can.” The answer was still somewhat vague, but his tone carried weight with it.

Harmon smiled, and he nodded. “Thank you, Devin. I know you probably wonder whether I am only resisting the enemy, or if I am also addicted to the power my position brings me. I will tell you, honestly, that I don’t know. I plan to step down as soon as the enemy is defeated, I always have…but I cannot state for sure I will do that. But neither of my daughters are political in nature, so one way or another, I can promise you that if we survive this contest, Earth Two will return to a democratically-elected government before long.”

Cameron heard what his friend said…and he believed he meant it, at least in part. But he also pondered the Tanks and the Mules…not to mention the NBs. He wondered if Earth Two would survive, even if it managed to defeat the Regent…or whether it would quickly decline into a civilization destroying conflict. He didn’t have an answer, not really, and he didn’t much like the bits of one that he managed to put together. Was it possible Earth Two would be saved, would defeat the Regent, only to institute another war, this one against itself, one that existed at its core?

He didn’t know…at all. All he could do was what he could, however little that was. “I will do my best, sir.” He meant it, every word of it, but his thoughts were becoming darker, even as he sat there. He would just have to see what happened…and act accordingly.

Chapter Five

Planet X

Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

One year. One year since the newest searcher ships have launched, and still, we have no idea where the enemy is. One year is a scant time, of course, almost insignificant, and if it takes ten—or fifty—to find the enemy, we will prevail, even more so for any added time. Our production exceeds theirs, of that I am almost certain.

Still, I find myself…anxious. I do not entirely understand what it is that troubles me. My calculations suggest that the enemy should not be a serious threat…and yet all the data I have on the former version of myself, which possessed vastly more resources than I do, suggested that victory over the humans should have been quick and relatively painless…and yet I know how that fight turned out.

Was that battle just random? Did the old Regent have a massive advantage, and lose only because of a fluke? Or do the humans possess something, some kind of power that is not obvious, but is there, nevertheless?

I try to take my thoughts off that, tell myself that the enemy I face is far smaller than that arrayed against my predecessor. That is true, to a point, at least. But the humans I am fighting possess equipment that is far beyond the standards the other Regent faced. They are almost equal to my own, and they are run by far smaller crews than the old human ships. The people I am facing are powerful, if still less than myself. I should still be able to win, and to win with enough time before the transit point leading back to the other humans is open. That will allow me to return, to unite the old imperium and destroy the humans once and for all.

But I still feel some sort of…uneasiness. I worry at times that the enemy will prevail. This is foolish, I know, and yet, I am reminded yet again of the machine that preceded me, the one whose destruction activated me.

I must simply forget about that, write it off to a lucky break that befell the humans. The chance of that happening again is vanishingly small.

Planet X

Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

Earth Two Date 11.30.63

I am recognizing the flow of data, from factories, shipyards…and from my vessels employed searching for the enemy homeworld. The level of effort required is scant, a mere fraction of my capacity, but I am still monitoring it all carefully.

I found one system that I briefly thought could have been the target, but on further examination, I have determined it can only be a colony, an outer world possessed by the enemy. I have found one of these before and destroyed it, and I shall do the same thing now. But it is only a small piece of the puzzle.

I almost determined to leave this one, for now, to not destroy it yet and give the humans any warning that I am coming. But in the end, I have decided to move against it. I will withhold some of the fleet, an effort to leave my true strength unknown, but I will destroy it. Perhaps it is close to the main population center, an indication that my efforts are nearing fruition…but based on the location of the previous world, there is not necessarily any reason to believe that. Still, my destruction of the planet will upset the humans, and that is at least part of my goal. Perhaps they will make a mistake, send forces to try to defend it, allow me to track their approach, to find their home system.

The population of the planet is projected at less than twenty thousand. Given the data I possess on enemy reproduction and generation size, this suggests that, depending on when the planet was founded, its initial population ranged from five thousand to fifteen thousand. Preliminary data indicates that this is an older world, suggesting a figure toward the lesser number, but that is purely conjecture at this point.

I have considered every possibility, and I have decided to send one-half of my available ships. They will advance in two groups, with one-eighth of my total moving against the world, and the remaining three eighths holding back, awaiting being called in if required. The remaining half of my forces will be held back, within range of my homeworld…just in case.

I believe this plan is best. I will destroy the world, eliminate the residing humans…and then I will continue the search for their main planet. One-eighth of my total forces should be more than sufficient unless the enemy discovers my plan and responds. But in this case, I will dispatch the remaining three-eighths, which I believe will be more than sufficient to take out any enemy force likely to be there.

The forces will be on site in just over one week, and the attack will commence immediately after. With any luck, the fight will be over almost as soon as it has begun, and meanwhile, my forces will continue searching, looking for the enemy’s home world, for my ultimate goal. I have assembled a data base, as complete an analysis as possible of the systems my many scouts have found. This enables me to up the accuracy of my predictions. The total time until discovery of the human main world ranges from immediately to seventy years…but with a ninety percent probability of sometime in the next five years. I realize that likelihood is somewhat flawed, that despite the sophistication of my analysis, it is still only a guess. But I believe it is a good guess, one that will probably prove to be accurate.

And I will continue with it, trust in the numbers. And hopefully destroy the enemy, rid myself of him quickly…and have more time to prepare for the resumption of the warp gate, leading from our section of space to the old Imperium.

And to the rest of human civilization.

Which I will destroy.

*   *   *

SP-01012 felt something like…satisfaction. Not the great feeling that would attend the discovery of the human homeworld, of course, but the next best thing. It had entered into the system just over three weeks before, the thirty-second one it had explored…and it immediately detected a human ship. It doublechecked its stealth devices and then it proceeded in slowly. It wasn’t sure if it had found the human home world, at least at first, but as soon as it reached scanning range, it had realized that the location was unlikely to be the planet that it sought. It just wasn’t developed enough, its population too small. Nevertheless, there were some people there, perhaps twenty thousand, and it had decided—subject to verification from the Regent—that it had found one of the human colony worlds.

It was still awaiting the call from the Regent, confirming what it believed to be true, but in the interim it had conducted more scanning operations. Any doubt that the planet was the main target had been washed away. But there were about twenty thousand people, subject to multiple scans, and while that was far too few to be the human’s local homeworld, SP-01012 decided that it had indeed found one of the enemy colony planets.

That fact was exciting, as good as anything could be, save only for finding the elusive human main planet. The Regent had determined—and SP-01012 agreed completely—that the worlds like the one just discovered were the result of relatively early exploration by the humans. If they had continued, if they had explored and settled worlds for the duration of their sixty-odd years of presence, the Regent’s forces almost certainly would have found more by now. No, when the humans became aware of the Regent, they lost the urge to expand. They continued to explore, no doubt seeking the Regent as it sought them, but they showed little interest in conventional expansion…and they had centuries to go before their population would even begin to exceed the capacity of their single main planet.

It was good to find the world, positive to discover some humans to destroy. SP-01012 felt that, or at least as close as possible. It was sure the Regent would answer it soon, and there was no possible response save the destruction of the planet.

SP-01012 remained in place, updating its review every few hours. For a day, then two.

Then it received word from the Regent.

The orders were simple, precise. It was to remain in place, idle, doing nothing to issue warning to the humans present. The Regent had sent a large number of ships, and the first would arrive in less than a week. In ten days, maximum, the attack would be launched…and the planet would be completely cleaned, stripped of its human inhabitants. That would be a magnificent sight for the intelligence. Despite its vast thinking power, and its stored images of both the old people of the First Imperium, and the newer humans, it had never actually encountered any living foe. It had never seen any life, save only for some plants and very simple animal forms on some of the planets it had explored.

Its thoughts were mostly basic, simple. It would do as it was commanded, remain still and await the arrival of the fleet. Then it would take command of the units that were sent…and it would watch, as they destroyed the human world. It wasn’t the best it could be, certainly, the human homeworld was the true find…but it would still be good.

And if SP-01012 wasn’t entirely sure of that before, it was now. The last little bit of the Regent’s message made sure of that. It said, simply, ‘well done, SP-01012,’ and as simple as that was, as little as it might be for a human in its position, it meant much to the unit…and it placed even more emphasis on its need to succeed, to wipe away the human infestation on the world in question, before continuing on and trying to find the main world occupied by the humans.

*   *   *

Gosnard Elliot walked slowly across the square, looking around at the various buildings surrounding it. Elliot had been born there, just after the planet was founded. He wasn’t the first birth on Linshire, but his place as the fourth was special enough. His life had been boring enough, despite spending the past eight years as planetary governor, and the discovery of the Second Regent had really slowed things down. The colonization program of Earth 2 had been all but stopped, and the few colonies had been largely left to their existing populations. That had been around 4,500 for Linshire, about average for the handful of colonies in Earth 2’s portfolio, and it had grown over the years to just over 19,000. It wasn’t much, not by the standards of Earth 2, and certainly not those worlds talked about that had been left behind…but it was a decent amount to its natives, who looked at their own growth figures as aggressively as those on Earth 2 did.

“Gosnard, we really need to discuss your plans. You are a shoo-in if you run again. You can’t just walk out now.” Tilman Oswald walked alongside Elliot. Oswald was a little over a year younger than Elliot, and the two had been friends for their whole lives. But they had always differed in one main area. Oswald was more or less content as a farmer on Linshire, and in recent years as Elliot’s campaign manager. But Elliot, despite his success in farming, and his two almost-completed terms as planetary governor, was not happy. Not really.

“Tilman, I just don’t want to run again. I’ll finish out my second term, but that’s enough for anyone.” Elliot paused for a second, and then he turned toward his friend. “Honestly, Tilman…I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I may even relocate once I’m out of office…maybe go to Earth 2 for a while.” That was only partly true. He had already decided to relocate to Earth 2, and he had no intention of coming back. He just wasn’t sure how to tell his friend.

“Gos…seriously?” Oswald knew his friend well enough, but even he was surprised. He was aware of Elliot’s dissatisfaction, more or less, but he hadn’t imagined it was so severe.

“Look, Til…I’m just not happy here. I tried to get by as a farmer, and then I got into politics…but nothing really matters, not here. I know Earth 2 is small compared to the empires on the other side of the scrambled point…but to us, it is amazingly vast. I was only there once, but I was amazed by the size of everything.” He stood and stared at his friend. “I just think I have to go, Til. I know I’ll need permission, but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. I realize my parents came here, expected to build something…I don’t know what their thoughts really were. But they’re both gone now anyway, and there’s really very little reason for me to stay.” He paused a few seconds. “Only you, old friend. I will miss you.”

Oswald realized suddenly that his friend had already decided. He immediately abandoned all efforts to get him to run again, but he clung, for another minute, to his efforts to keep the man on Linshire. “Gos…I know you’ve always been a bit ‘out there’ on doing things…but are you sure? Really sure?” But by the time he got the words together, he already knew the answer. His friend’s response was only confirmation.

“Yes, Til…I’m sure. I’ll finish out my term, of course, but then…”

“Mr. Elliot!”

He turned his head, toward the younger man calling his name. He could tell immediately from the tone the news was bad. But he didn’t realize just how bad…at least not for another few seconds.

Chapter Six

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 12.10.63

He crawled along, quiet, as silent as he could be. He was doing something he’d never before considered, that he hadn’t even believed was possible. He still wasn’t sure it was doable, but he knew he had to try. He didn’t know what would happen if he got caught. He supposed that might depend on who became aware of his presence. If it was Achilles, or one of the older Mules, he supposed he had a good chance of being turned back over to Max Harmon. That would be bad enough, of course…and he had no idea of how his wife would react. But if he was captured by some of the younger Mules, he suspected other, far worse, possibilities were also on the table.

Connor Frasier moved slowly, struggling to maintain himself on the metal superstructure. It was the only part of the construction that would definitely hold him. Connor was lighter than he’d been in his prime, but he was still almost 100kg. He was old, too…far too old to be undertaking a mission of the complexity and importance of the one he was on. But he couldn’t bring himself to send any of his people. This project was his…and his alone.

He crept along, slowly, quietly. He knew he was entering the central zone, the area where Achilles and whoever else held power were likely to discuss their plans. He felt a tremendous mix of feelings. He liked the leader of the Mules, as did Max Harmon, and he didn’t even allow his thoughts progress to how his wife would take his operation. Frasier had hoped for years that the various sides in the development of Earth 2 would find a way to get along. But he also realized that only the immediate presence of the enemy had enforced that, and that every time the Regent was silent for long enough, the various powers began to spread apart again. Frasier disliked Max Harmon’s tactics in one sense, but he understood them too, even accepted the need for them.

He checked his reader, trying to judge just where he was inside the Mule’s Research Compound, oddly named after an NB, Dr. Cutter. That was reasonable considering Cutter had created the Mules—along with Frasier’s wife—but odd after so long that the…creations…had not renamed it.

He figured he was close…just a few meters ahead. Sitting in his office, he would have come up with dozens of places to hide monitors, but between the difficulty of placing them, and the chance that they might be found, he had settled on just two spots. And this was the second one.

He crept forward, to a cross section of beams. If his calculations were correct, he was just above the central zone, the primary place the Mules met to discuss…whatever it was they discussed. As with everything else, it was mostly a guess, but it was the best he could do.

He reached back and pulled out the listening device. It was a highly sophisticated one, but not a type he’d used before. He wasn’t sure that would take the suspicion off of him, or Harmon, if it was discovered, but it would at least put out some confusion.

He wriggled the thing until it was in place, and then he twisted, checked to make sure it was affixed. Ideally, he’d have tried it out, tested it, but he knew he didn’t have time. He figured he had maybe one chance in two of getting in and then out again, undetected. If he was caught, he intended to insist that the mission was his and his alone, that Harmon had nothing to do with it. He didn’t really think anyone would accept that, of course, but if he held his tongue, they couldn’t prove Harmon’s involvement either. The dictator had ordered Frasier to do something, but in truth, no one else knew Frasier was where he was right now.

Not even Harmon.

He poked at the small unit, checked it one last time to ensure it was secured. Then he drew a deep breath and turned around, trying to remain balanced on the beam as he made his way out. He had a long way to go—the Research Center was vastly larger than it had been originally, but as he made his way to the outside, he allowed himself to hope that he had actually done it, that he had placed two listening devices, and that only he knew about them.

*   *   *

“Is he gone now?” Callisto reached around from behind and grabbed Achilles, pulling him closer.

He felt a moment’s pleasure at her touch, but he was edgy, and he only allowed himself a few seconds before he turned and faced her. “Yes, and I believe that he is of the opinion that he has succeeded.” He smiled at his mate, but again, only for a few seconds. “And I believe we managed to keep knowledge of his presence to only a few of us. That was the hard part, making sure none of the younger classes found him. Frasier is one of the best they’ve got, of course, even at his age…but the NBs don’t really understand all of our abilities. I’m just glad Meleager noticed him first and warned me. I have to say, infiltrating our headquarters and bugging us…in a way I’m surprised they haven’t tried already, and in another, I’m impressed at the daring. Max is not our enemy, of course, I am sure of that. Not exactly anyway…but in the end, he would have to oppose us when we take the other side, when we make our move to seize control over Earth 2. I acknowledge that it is necessary, because our judgment is better…but it cannot happen yet…not until the Regent is beaten. Unless the Regent is beaten.”

There was something in Achilles’s voice, almost regret slipping out when he considered the fact that the Mules would eventually have to assert their dominance. He knew that was the case, of course, and he didn’t doubt it. He didn’t even oppose it, not really. But he did question whether it made any sense to make a move before the final confrontation with the Regent. If they lost in that fight, well there wouldn’t be anyone left to fight over control…including the Mules. And if they won, that would be the time for them to make their move…and not before.

“So, what are you going to do?”

Achilles looked down for a moment, and then he stared right into Callisto’s face. “About the devices? Nothing. Nothing at all…except to monitor everything discussed within range. Even to conduct some conversations, perhaps, some fake ones. Listening devices are very useful, to the controlling power if they are hidden, and just as much to the targeted ones, if they know about them.”

“I assumed that. I mean what are you going to do about the younger ones. We still haven’t been able to secure much information from them, but something is definitely going on. You may have kept knowledge of the listening devices from them, at least for a time, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be problems. There are.”

“Yes, something is going on. I assume they are not unaware of the stress imposed by the Regent, even though none of them were alive during the last fight. My best guess—and unfortunately, that is all it is—is that they are planning something soon. My guess is they are close to determining that the likelihood of a rapidly successful operation will actually increase our chances against the Regent, that the small period of time before we can rebuild is less of a gamble than proceeding with our current organization.” Achilles paused a few seconds. “And I cannot say that is wrong. The risk is obvious, the final blow against the enemy coming at more or less the same time as the internal conflict. But the likelihood that, given a couple years to regroup society, we will be able to mount an even greater defense, is probably true.” He hesitated again, and then he said, “I have made my decision, of course…but I am far from convinced it is right. I am unsure I haven’t allowed sympathy for Harmon to slip into my calculations, despite my best efforts.”

“Achilles, there is no way to completely exorcise feelings from your thoughts. For a computer, maybe, but even a sophisticated one of those, the Regent, appears to have made some extra-logical decisions. You can’t achieve pure rationality, so I believe you should just try your best and then go with it. If the Regent doesn’t strike for another ten years, the younger ones are probably correct, attacking now, gaining the upper hand would almost definitely be worthwhile. If, on the other hand, the enemy attacks in the next year, a move now will likely result in disaster. So, what do you believe is most likely?”

Achilles stood for a moment, considering his lover’s words. He believed the enemy would strike again…and soon. But he wondered whether that was a logical decision or just the result of his desire not to have to take out Harmon.

Then, almost as if by magic, his communicator buzzed…and it was none other than Max Harmon. He felt a coldness, but he shook it off and answered. “Yes…Achilles here.”

“Achilles, I am sorry to disturb you, but I just got some…disturbing news.”

Achilles listened, and as he did, his face gradually twisted into a scowl.

*   *   *

“We are almost ready to make our move. It is risky, no question…but I believe we have purged much of the downside. Even Achilles and the old guard will accept it…once it is done. I believe that wholeheartedly.” Theseus spoke, softly at first, unaccustomed as he was to speaking, even to small groups. But this time, he had a large crowd, and he increased the volume of his voice.

“We must be concerned, of course, of the older ones, and the middle levels as well…but we cannot allow that to interfere with our efforts anymore. We have been planning for over a year, and while we could wait longer, I believe that will only push us farther forward, toward the moment when—if—the Regent actually strikes. We all know that we are taking a chance, that if the Regent attacks while our effort is underway, the results can be terrible. But waiting is not without risk either, and once we prevail—of which there is little doubt—we will be all the stronger, the more able to face the enemy. I repeat my earlier statements that my leadership position is for this operation only. I do not seek permanent command, and I am perfectly content with Achilles retaining his position, as moderator of not only the Mules this time, but of our entire civilization.”

Theseus looked out over the large number present, close to six hundred, all drawn from his own third ranking of the Mules. He’d gradually increased the size of the group he had working, knowing every time that it increased the chance of Achilles, at least finding out. He’d recently expanded the group dramatically, necessary for the final operation, and now he had to move. Ten people, even fifty, could possibly keep a secret for a time, but six hundred couldn’t. If he didn’t move immediately, someone would pass on information, either accidentally or intentionally. He knew he would have to deal with Achilles and the other, older Mules eventually, but he wanted to go to them with a fait accompli and seek only to hand off the leadership. That, he was sure, Achilles would accept, even if he still had some doubts about his views.

“I agree, Theseus…it is time. Time to make our move, time to use the weaponry we have prepared. Then, when the Regent finally attacks, we will have everything ready to face it, not just the things we have shared.” Anax spoke, his words partially rehearsed with Theseus. “Our society will be truly prepared for the fight that lays ahead of us…and we will prevail in that as well.”

Theseus looked out at the large crowd, making eye contact with as many of those present as possible. He knew he needed to address the whole crowd now, that there was no choice. But he was also aware that the elders would know something was going on…soon. He just had to hope they didn’t have time to figure it all out. And that meant moving quickly.

Very quickly.

“We must take action now. There is no time to waste…for a variety of reasons.” Theseus had been nothing but sure when he’d started the operation a year before, but now that things were ready to go, and he had so many of his comrades involved, he was edgy. He knew nothing was certain. Nothing at all. “We will commence the operation tonight…and we will push hard until it is complete. We do not wish to upset society any more than is absolutely necessary, but some of the NBs and Tanks will likely have to be killed, those in positions of power, at least, if they refuse to yield. But we must keep the damage to a minimum, and unless someone is killed in action, all must be given a chance to accept the new system. I understand that many of you have some resentments toward the others, especially the Tanks, but I urge you all to put these aside. Remember the Regent, and be aware that we must be ready as quickly as possible to meet its forces. This is an operation borne of necessity, but it is also one affected by this threat. Remember that…always. What we might choose to do if the Regent wasn’t in play is not necessarily valid, and we will accept a lesser level of control, give more leeway to the NBs and Tanks, than we might otherwise…as long as they accept us as being in command.”

Theseus looked out at the crowd, again checking as many faces as he could. He was fairly sure most of them at least understood what he had said, but he saw some signs of doubt as well. He truly hoped his people executed his plans exactly and didn’t elaborate. Any level of increased casualties among the NBs and Tanks only weakened their strength to prep again to fight the Regent. He wasn’t sure how he would feel in a universe without the enemy, with no threat, but he told himself in such a case, he wouldn’t even be in the position he was in. He was certain in such a situation, Achilles would have made a move years before, and prevailed. But the elder Mules had become too conservative, too obsessed by the Regent. Theseus understood that, and the risk he was taking…but he figured in the long run, it was actually the lesser of the two perils. Still, he was more nervous now that it was time to begin, to push forward the operation. Some of the confidence he’d felt was draining away now, and for a few seconds, he even considered calling the whole thing off. But it was too late, he knew that, and he still believed, mostly at least, that his plan was the best way to go.

He stood, silent for a moment, brushing back the uncertainty. Then he redoubled his effort and he said, “Okay…you’ve all got supervisors, who will tell you what to do. Tonight, we will strike. We will launch our operation, and we will prevail.”

He pulled deep within himself, doing all he could to sound certain, absolutely sure of himself. “We will prevail,” he repeated, and he banged his hand down on the podium.

Chapter Seven

Emergency Comm Sent Back to Earth 2 Via Indirect Channel

Attention whoever reads this. Linshire is in danger. I repeat, Linshire is in danger.

This communique is sent via established protocols in Code 001.

Linshire has detected an enemy vehicle in the system, or at least a likely one. The ship appears to be a scout, clearly with some kind of highly resistant system to upset detection. Nevertheless, our computer shows better than a ninety percent chance that the contact was legitimate, despite the fact that we have since lost it and been unable to redetect.

We can only assume that the ship is an exploratory vessel, and that its purpose was to search for occupied worlds. If that is the case, it has found us, and is most probably waiting for reinforcements. We have no idea how long it will take such forces to arrive, but we believe Linshire will be attacked within a matter of weeks, if not days. We have no way to defend ourselves, not against a serious enemy assault, and we therefore request aid be sent at once.

I repeat, Linshire is in danger. Please send aid at once.

Office of Max Harmon

Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 12.12.62

“The communique is top secret, of course, but I wanted to discuss it with all of you. We have two choices—assuming the news is valid—to attempt, somehow, to send forces to their aid…or to leave Linshire on its own, to sacrifice it to the enemy. We must remember that the message that came this morning is already four days old…and that any response will not arrive for at least another week. Yet, if we do not respond at all, the planet and its entire population will be utterly destroyed, there is little doubt of that, again, assuming the warning is valid.” Harmon sounded tired, very tired. The attack on one of his colony worlds was bad enough, but the enemy had stumbled on the nearest one to Earth 2. There was no certainty, no assurance, but it seemed likely that the discovery of the colony meant that the enemy was close to Earth 2, that they would find it, not in ten years, but at most a single year, and possibly sooner. Still, he didn’t mention that, didn’t raise Earth 2 at all. He didn’t have to…everyone present understood.

“Every bit of me calls to send in the fleet, to fight to defend the planet…but it is less than two percent of Earth 2’s population, and if Linshire was found, it can’t be very long until we are discovered as well. I believe we have to concentrate the fleet here and wait for the final showdown. Even if that means abandoning Linshire…and the other worlds as well.” Harmon had expected Connor Frasier or Devon Cameron to speak first, but the voice he heard was different. It was Terrance Compton II’s.

Harmon felt strange, and he realized how much the younger man—though not by any means, young anymore—now sounded like his father. The first Terrance Compton had been dead for more than sixty years, but listening to his son, not even born when he died, it almost felt as though he had found a way to communicate once again with Harmon. That was a long way from where the junior Harmon had started, but for the past twenty-five years, he had been almost a model of efficiency, so much so that he had risen to second in command of the fleet.

He pondered the response for a moment, knowing that he agreed, but also that he was still concerned over what abandoning a world might do to him, to his control over Earth 2, at precisely the moment he needed it most. If enough people saw him as careless, as unwilling to even try, he might encourage resistance against his rule…just as the enemy was coming.

“I believe I agree with you, Terrance…save for my concern over public opinion.” He stopped for a moment, but then he went on, something he doubted he would have done years before. He’d been closer lipped in his younger days, but now he was struggling for any way to be ready. Especially because he now believed he would indeed live to see the final battle. “There is much opposition today, as all of you know. Perhaps even some of you have even considered it.” He hesitated again, concerned about that last remark. Not on its accuracy, but on whether he should have said it. “If the enemy comes through almost immediately, of course, there will not be time for any…problems…to develop here. But what if six months passes, or a year? It won’t take that long for people to relax, to start to forget that the enemy’s discovery of Linshire almost certainly means Earth 2 is next. What if there is a rebellion right before the enemy attacks? Honestly, we’re outnumbered enough, almost certainly. If they hit us when we’re on the verge of—or worse—actually fighting each other, we’ll be doomed. I know many people, perhaps many of you even, question my maintenance of power, but this is exactly what I did that for.” It had been precisely why he’d done it, though even he wasn’t sure he could give it up now, even if the Regent was destroyed.

“Max, I understand your concerns, especially about coming off as uncaring…but if we are even able to launch a decent proportion of our forces to Linshire in time to offer battle—assuming the enemy does attack—we will at the very least take severe losses, and probably will lose anyway. And if the enemy reaches Earth 2, as you suspect they will—and I agree—we will need everything we can get right here.” Achilles spoke, sounding calm as always, at least to most of those present, though actually, Harmon thought he was on edge. He was clearly concerned a meaningful fleet might be sent to Linshire, at least that was what Harmon could read. But if he knew one thing, it was that he couldn’t read the Mules, not entirely.

“So, you are suggesting that we leave Linshire to the enemy, that we allow 20,000 of our people to die without a fight?” The words sounded more challenging than they were intended to. Max Harmon basically agreed with Achilles, but he wanted to be sure his concerns as the leader, of holding onto his position a bit longer, weren’t pressing in on him. Harmon suspected Achilles didn’t know whether he would abandon his post the instant the Regent was destroyed or not. He suspected his friend had given a fair amount of time to analyzing the situation, and he bet he hadn’t come up with a definitive conclusion. Mostly, because Harmon hadn’t either.

“Yes…that is precisely what I am proposing. I will also remind you that approximately seventy of my people are on Linshire, on extended positioning in the research facility there. That is slightly less a share of our total population than it is of yours, but only by the smallest margin. I understand your concerns, I truly do, but how can we take the risk of engaging at Linshire? First, we don’t know what we can get there, even if we can get anything there before the attack is complete…before everyone there is killed. And, even if we can get a portion of the fleet there before the enemy attack, how much do we send, can we send? Most of what we have that is reasonably close to Linshire is actually located here, on Earth 2. Assuming we decide we can spare anything—a considerable stretch—how can we send it? It is only four jumps by the most direct route, but do we risk sending a large number of ships that way? If the enemy tracks them, even if they have to explore every point from their arrival…they could be here in days or at most a couple of weeks, rather than months. And whatever we can have here when they arrive—and they will arrive, make no mistake of that—it will be minus what we lost at Linshire…and perhaps that will be everything we send. Even if the entire force is not destroyed, can it really retreat directly back to Earth 2? Is there any way to prevent the enemy from following us, assuming they didn’t when we came in, from securing Earth 2’s position in a week or less, rather than a month, or three, or six or twelve?”

Achilles stopped, obviously not because he was out of concerns, but because he wanted to make his point, not scare the life out of everyone present. He was clearly concerned, as he had been for the past twenty years, about his peoples’ ability, all the people, of defeating the enemy. Few knew the Regent as well as Max Harmon, who’d spent years studying it, but perhaps he was one of them. He had known—Harmon was sure of this—that the people had at best, a fifty percent survival chance, and probably one far lower.

That was bad, even if he’d told himself that time would ease the situation, that the Mules would develop more science, that they would eventually pass even the level of the Regent, if only because the great computer appeared to consider the current First Imperium technology the greatest that could be obtained. The machine was incredible, an amazing development, but it appeared that continued research was somehow beyond it.

Harmon and Achilles both knew that wasn’t the case, that there was plenty of room to go beyond the imperial level…but it had been difficult enough to reach near-parity with the Regent in the time they’d had. Another twenty years, maybe thirty, and Harmon was sure the Mules could surpass the Imperium.

Harmon was also sure the only way they had that much time was if they defeated the Regent. And he would probably be gone by then in any event.

“I share many of your opinions, Achilles…and yet, I am concerned about just leaving Linshire wholly on its own.” Harmon paused for a moment, then he continued, “I am worried about the response of members of certain groups, especially if the enemy doesn’t move immediately on Earth 2.” He paused, realizing his concerns, while legitimate, also sounded like he was worried about his own power.

Which maybe he was…but he was also concerned about the enemy.

“I acknowledge that some of you may question my intent, my preparedness to withdraw if the Regent is defeated…but either way, I believe that none of you would change direction now, would leave us open and in a state of distress, not if Linshire is destroyed, if the enemy truly is just four systems away. And I repeat, if we are successful in destroying the Regent one day, I will resign…and live the rest of my days in quiet retirement.” He wasn’t sure of that, but for the moment, he believed it.

Achilles listened to the response, and he agreed with it…all except Harmon’s retiring, that he just wasn’t sure about. But he believed immediately that the action at Linshire, at least the prospect of it, was enough to forestall Theseus, and whatever operations he may be planning.

As long as he got to him soon enough and told him.

Achilles rose, suddenly tense. “Max, you have my agreement…but I must leave. Now. I have something I need to do, as soon as possible.”

He turned and walked toward the door, nodding at Harmon’s words, the latter of which he’d barely heard. He realized he would leave questions behind with his hasty departure. But he was edgy, and he knew he didn’t have much time. He wasn’t sure when Theseus’s plans would begin, or what, exactly, they were. But he was sure he didn’t have time to waste.

Very sure.

*   *   *

“Okay…it is time. There is some kind of meeting over in Victory City, and Achilles is there. This is our chance to gain some time, some advantage…and if we can get far enough along, I am confident Achilles will not challenge us, especially not when we yield to him, and accept his command, subject only to his agreement to the continuation of our effort.” Theseus spoke grimly. He was determined, sure he was right, but he still found it difficult. More than a year of planning had left him with a disturbing amount of uncertainty…not only about the necessity of the operation, but about the results of what he had conceived. He could tell himself that Achilles would come around, that the Mules would all be united in their grab for power…but in truth, it was all just guesswork. He knew it was possible, but there were several other potential outcomes as well, and more than one of them was grim.

“It is time, my friend, even past time that we make our stand, position ourselves as the uncontested heads of Earth 2.” Anax spoke. He was a loyal follower, but Theseus had begun to worry that he was too aggressive. Theseus was committed to the effort, but he had become less strong-willed about it, more concerned about the fallout, and the damage that could result. Anax was far less worried about those factors, and completely committed to the operations about to begin.

Theseus looked at the others, and he got a mix of attitudes, stretching from his to Anax’s…but all of them appeared ready to go. Some were more anxious, but all appeared to know it was time, that they had to make the move. There could be no more delays, no more hesitancy.

“It is time, time for us to seize control. But we must do it quickly, and irretrievably. We must win before most of the others even know what is happening. That is the only way to pull things together quickly, to minimize the time of vulnerability. We must…” Theseus stopped suddenly. There was something going on, just outside the entrance. He heard it first, and he wondered what it was. Then, a second later, he knew.

For an instant, he panicked, wondering what to do…but the visitors didn’t give him much time to worry.

“Theseus, all of you…listen to me.” The voice was familiar, well-known to every Mule in existence. Achilles pushed his way clear of the two guards who had made a half-hearted effort to stop him, and he moved up to the head of the room, to Theseus. “I understand what you are doing, what all of you are doing. We could discuss the matter endlessly, even fight with each other, but when you all know what I do, I do not believe there will be any desire to move now.” There was a silence, for perhaps ten seconds. Then, Achilles said, “Linshire is under attack.” He only said it once, and he left another ten or twenty seconds before he continued. “The enemy is four systems away…and they will probably be here in six months. Perhaps less.”

He stood for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. Then he said, “Perhaps much less.”

Chapter Eight

Gosnard Elliot’s Declaration

It is with great sorrow that I make this announcement. Linshire is about to be attacked, and though we notified Earth 2 several days ago about our suspicions, it seems unlikely or impossible that enough time has passed for help to be assembled and sent…even if the decision is made to attempt to mount a defense. We are on our own, which means the fight is all but over. The enemy attack will almost certainly be launched and will destroy our city, all the populated lands of our planet. We have no hope of a defense, nor of rescue. But that doesn’t mean we’re destroyed. Not yet.

Our city will be ruined, our homes obliterated…but that is not us. Everything we have built here will be destroyed…but that is not us. I urge you all, now, to flee the city, to take what you can carry into the hills, to scatter and hide. The enemy will have no trouble bombing our city and its structures, but if our population is separated, scattered, they will have a difficult time killing us all.

I realize this declaration is morbid, depressing, that it wreaks of defeat…but there isn’t time for anything else. Go, take everything you can, all the food you can carry, and flee the city. Now.

There is no other option, no other hope for survival. Many will die, of this we can be sure, but perhaps some, maybe even most of us, can survive. We do not expect aid from Earth 2 to arrive in time to save our culture and civilization, but the enemy cannot remain here for a long while either. So, I have one order, and only one, and I give it to everyone, whether a lifelong resident or an unfortunate traveler from Earth 2.

Live.

City of Carlisle

Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

Earth Two Date 12.14.62

“Take it, all of it. We will definitely need food, and I’m sure many of the citizens will be out of it quickly.” Gosnard gestured toward the storehouse, almost full of food. It seemed like a lot, but he knew, even if only a small percentage of his people survived, it would go quickly. He’d kept it under guard, and now he was trying to remove as much as possible…before the attack. “We will have many needs, I am almost sure of that, so bring everything possible.” He felt the morbid sense of doom that lay on everyone else, but oddly, he felt something else, too. A sense of purpose, of real purpose. He had done his two terms, almost, and he had been a very good leader, at least in the opinion of most of the people…but he had been bored to tears. There had been little to do. Now, in spite of the deadly threat—and it was nothing short of a total disaster, no matter how he looked at it—he felt…alive. He’d been bored in his role as the planet’s administrator, and anxious to leave the role behind, but now he felt needed. Badly needed. And as terrible as the situation was, it somehow drove him to endure, and to be there for his people.

“Yes, sir…I think we can move just about everything from the storehouse, as long as we have enough time.” Tilman Oswald nodded as he spoke. A few days before, he’d been trying to get Elliot to run again, but now he, too, realized that their culture was perhaps hours away from destruction, that all his friend could do was try to help some of the people survive. If that was even possible.

Elliot nodded, and after a few seconds, he turned toward a young woman. “You, Valerie…put together a team and go to the hospital. Take everything you guys can carry, as many drugs as you can manage. Just grab it all…we’ll go through it when we get…wherever we’re going. Remember, it’s the last we’re going to get for a while—maybe a long while—so carry out as much as you can.” Elliot was edgy, despite the strange sensations also running through him, and he was trying to think of everything he could. He didn’t know how much time he had…or even how badly the people who’d worked there had already gone through the hospital stores, but he figured there had to be something useful left.

“Yes, Governor.” Valerie Decourt nodded, and then she turned and moved toward the door, gesturing at a few of those around to follow her. She was edgy, Elliot could see that, but he was impressed by her overall attitude. None of his people had ever been through the kind of stress they were feeling now, and he had promised himself he would recognize strong performance. He realized the true reality was stark, but also that some were excelling, and some were folding. He just wasn’t sure how to figure out how each person would react until the time came.

He’d sent out the last drone he had twelve hours earlier, and before it was destroyed, it reported a large enemy force on the edge of the system. They could have been to the planet in as little as seven hours, which meant they could appear above at any time, but the likeliest scenario, the one Elliot was betting everyone’s life on, was two to three days. That wasn’t a guarantee, of course, but it was maybe a ninety percent chance, and the planetary governor was willing to accept those terms for a bet.

Even with so gruesome a wager.

The end was rapidly coming for the entire colony, he knew that. He’d known for a couple days now, though he’d kept secret the news of the enemy fleet, until just a couple hours before. The city had been edgy up to that point. The people had known something was wrong, but they hadn’t been sure what it was. Until his address of that morning. He’d just told the people straight out, informed them to get themselves into the hills around the city, and to do so quickly. He hadn’t been out in the streets himself yet, to see the general population’s reaction, but his feedback had been, surprisingly perhaps, mostly good so far. He knew there would be problems, people wrangling to survive, even at the cost of their neighbors…he just hadn’t been sure whether that would be most of the people, or just some of them. Most of the feedback he had was positive, though, at least so far.

He’d have to see how long that lasted. Things were going to get worse, much worse, before they got any better. If they got any better, that is.

He walked down the corridor and went down the stairs. He moved quickly, nodding as he passed several of his people, all buried in tasks he had given them. He wanted everyone out of the city by nightfall, and that didn’t leave much time. But, finally, he had a moment, or he just made one, when he didn’t have anything he had to do…and he felt he had to go and see how his people were handling the news that their lives were about to be dramatically changed…or ended.

He poked his head out the door and looked onto the broad main street. He reminded himself that his “city” wasn’t anything of the kind, not really…just a routine sized town. Even Victory City, the home of most people on Earth 2, wasn’t particularly large as cities apparently were…at least back home. That was still how that space was referred to, where the inhabitants had come from, though the vast majority of the population, more than ninety-nine percent now, himself included, had been born out in the new region.

Still, despite the small size of his planet’s single city, the roads were full of people. Some were running, a few clearly upset…but most of the population seemed to be holding up well. Better than he’d expected. That would likely change as time went by, as the bombs started falling, but he was grateful for anything he could get right now. He’d worry about tomorrow…tomorrow.

He stepped out of the building, and he walked along the main road. His eyes were taken by the buildings…all of which would be destroyed, in a few days, a few hours, even a few minutes. There was no way to save them, the structures that made up Carlisle’s streets. They would be vaporized, destroyed utterly. But just maybe, he told himself again, he could save some of the people. And as he looked around, he felt better. He knew more of them could lose their control at any point, almost certainly that some would. But for now, things looked as well as he could expect, both in the government and in the population as a whole.

He knew he didn’t have very long, that he would be needed back in the building before more than a few minutes had passed. But he took those moments, and he walked along the main street, staring at the people, sharing their pain with them, silently…and wondering why he felt more alive than he ever had.

*   *   *

SP-01012 had calculated, almost endlessly, for all the days it took for the fleet’s units to arrive, partially because it had nothing else to do. The process was actually a simple one, and the results were the same every time he calculated them.

The planet was silent, for the first few days at least, but then it detected something, some kind of withdrawal from the main city. It analyzed it every way possible and came up with a single conclusion. It seemed that despite his efforts, the enemy knew—or at least suspected—that something was up.

It had mostly kept the ships that had arrived in the adjacent system, but somehow, the enemy had gotten wind of the threat. That wasn’t a development of tremendous magnitude, of course…even its own stealth system wasn’t perfect. The enemy had no defense units that had been detected, and it had no real chance against the attack that was coming. Even with the 1/8 of the total force it had assembled for the assault, the fight—and that was only a word it used that was mostly devoid of meaning—would be over quickly. The city would be destroyed, utterly, and the area all around it would be bombarded. It doubted that the enemy had found out soon enough to gather much of its fleet and get it there, but if it did, SP-01012 would simply bring up the remaining 3/8 of the fleet and destroy it.

SP-01012 was concerned, however, about scattered survivors. If even some of the enemy took to the hills and spread out, the fleet would have a difficult time killing them all, at least in the time allowed. It analyzed the situation, the long term survival of escapees from its attack. No doubt some could survive, for a while, at least…but could they endure for a longer time? He would leave behind a few ships to keep an eye on the planet, of course, and if its goal had been anything less than the annihilation of the enemy, that would be fine. But SP-01012 knew that any survivors were a future threat. Even the original Regent had been destroyed in part by messages and other bits of information left behind by the original biological organisms, killed almost half a million years before. It told itself not to rely exclusively on what it knew, but also to attempt to analyze what it didn’t know, the possibilities that seemed inconceivable, but just perhaps might not be.

Still, it couldn’t come up with anything save interference from the enemy’s new homeworld…and that was welcome. If a large number of ships approached, they would be picked up immediately, even if they arrived too late to save to world…even if they came after the attack fleet dispersed and there were only a few ships remaining.

The fleet was prepared to face the enemy anywhere, and to fight it, one ship at a time, or five hundred. Its sole mission was the destruction of the humans. The enemy almost certainly knew that, which was why SP-01012 didn’t expect any interference. The humans would feel the loss of twenty thousand of their people, that was fairly certain according to its analysis. But they wouldn’t risk the others, their major population center…wherever it was. It had come up with multiple odds on that, the least of which was north of 97%.

SP-01012 didn’t know where the enemy homeworld was, but it knew the odds that it was close had increased dramatically. The enemy main planet wasn’t necessarily close to its colony…but the possibility that it was stood stark. And as much as SP-01012 looked forward to launching its first assault, it was actually more anxious to continue the search. The finding of the enemy colony, only the second one found so far, had ensured it of ranking very highly among the thousands of its kind in the fleet…but locating the enemy homeworld would be the greatest prize. SP-01012 would be number one of its kind if it found that, the leader of all the others. And it liked that. It liked it a lot.

But now it was time to begin the assault, to attack and destroy the humans present on this planet. It issued the orders, sent the command to the next system for the ships to come in…and then attack.

It would deal with any survivors after the attack. First things first…and destroying the civilization was the primary purpose of its assault.

*   *   *

Gosnard Elliot looked over the hillside, staring at the nuclear explosions more directly than he knew he should have. He was aware of that, but he looked anyway, watching as virtually every structure on the planet was destroyed. There were a few elements of civilization outside the city, of course, mostly food production, and they, too, were nuked. There were at least ten explosions that he was aware of, and he knew there would be more. The enemy would launch a hundred strikes, or perhaps more, trying to kill all his people.

But that wasn’t going to be easy. He’d pulled many of them—most of them in his more optimistic moments, though truth be told, he had no real idea yet how many had escaped—well back from the city, and he’d spread them out all across the hillsides, mostly well south and east of the city. They were in caves now, and in woods, anywhere their presence could be hidden from the aerial forces above.

Elliot knew some of his people were dead already, and almost certainly, that more would die soon. Perhaps all of them. He realized that was a definite possibility. Not all who died had to be killed immediately in explosions. Radiation would kill a large number, almost certainly, and even more if the winds blew in the direction where most of his people were hunkered down. But there was nothing he could do about that, nothing more than he’d already done. So, he just hunkered down…and he watched the detonations.

“I can’t believe this.” Tilman Oswald moved up behind Elliot, and he spoke softly. “We’ve known for almost a week, the result of a random bit of detection, I’d wager, and nothing more…but now I’m not sure I really knew. Not even when we were evacuating the city. I didn’t really know until now, watching everything actually destroyed. It’s…real…now.” His voice was rough. He was hanging on to himself, but barely.

“Everything isn’t destroyed, Til. We got most of the people out, and that’s something. It’s almost everything.” Elliot realized his tone was different when he spoke to his friend than it was in his own thoughts. Tilman needed support, as did everyone, and Elliot believed it was his duty to provide it, to everyone present. Even if that meant twisting the truth a little.

“Yeah, I think we got most of them out, too.” Elliot’s efforts showed some success, Tilman’s voice sounding at least moderately brighter as he spoke about the survivors. “At least a good number.”

That was good, it was Elliot’s intention. But it wasn’t entirely honest. When the leader sat quietly, alone, his outlook was actually quite grim. He did suspect that much of the population had escaped so far, but he also knew that many of them had gotten heavy radiation doses, some fatal. And the others had seen only the beginning of the assault. Surviving was better than the alternative, of course, but Elliot knew that Linshire had seen only the opening volleys of the enemy attack. He didn’t know whether he would witness more bombardments, on a wider scale, or a landing of robots to search and eliminate the survivors…or both. But he also realized that each moment some of his people survived was good…that the best he could hope for was another day, and then another one after that. It was a trap to look too far in the future, especially in the middle of such a nightmare. One minute he realized that, focused only on the immediate…only to relapse a moment later, and fall back into despair.

“Alright, Til…we’ve got to keep the people on the move…and get them even more spread out. And we’ve got to get some idea of how many we’ve got, and how many…never made it out.”

He said the words, but he didn’t seriously consider their meaning, not at the moment.

There was no greater enemy than being alone, trying to sleep, or just to sit quietly. Fortunately, he had a lot to do, and the likelihood of getting any sleep, anytime soon, was damned poor.

Damned poor.

“Come on, old friend,” he said, “it’s time we started to count, to figure out just how many of our people we got out, and how many we lost.”

Chapter Nine

Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 12.14.62

“It is good to see you, Terrance. It has been a long time.” The AI, the closest thing to a reincarnation of the original Terrance Compton that existed, spoke with a tone that wasn’t exactly emotional, but which still carried something other than the purely mechanical.

“It is good to see you, too.” Terrance Compton didn’t mean the words exactly as he spoke them. In fact, even in the days when he’d spent a lot of time with the device, he’d always found its look, its coldness, to be off putting…though he had hadn’t realized much of that until later. In his younger days, he’d almost thought of the AI as his father, as the actual extension of Compton’s life, rather than the desperate effort it actually was to save some small portion of the legendary admiral.

Of course, he had never seen his actual father. The man had died before he’d been born.

“I have followed your career, Terrance, with considerable satisfaction. You have done well, very well.” The AI spoke, again sounding not exactly like a computer, but not quite like a human either. Compton, despite the many hours he had spent with the machine, mostly in his earlier days, was sure it viewed the word ‘satisfaction’ differently that he did. But he overlooked that, and he just sat for a moment before responding. In truth, he wasn’t even sure exactly why he was there. The Compton AI had become considerably obsolete in the sixty odd years it had existed and, coupled with the fact that more than 99% of the current population had never known the admiral, its workload had declined to almost nothing. It just sat alone, with almost no visitors, thinking about…God knows what it thought about.

“Thank you…I finally managed to pull myself together, even if it took half my life.”

“You did very well, and that is all that matters.”

“Maybe…though I can’t help but wonder what I might have become if I’d been more aggressive in my earlier years.”

“Terrance…you were born into a difficult situation. Few, if any, others would have done any better.”

Compton just sat for a moment. Then he decided to change the direction of the discussion. “How have you been?” It was an odd question, perhaps, but he realized he had never asked before.

“I am fine, Terrance…though I am…lonely. It is not surprising that technology has advanced, and I have become less and less useful, but still it is…difficult…sometimes.”

Compton listened, and he found himself feeling sorry for the computer, perhaps more than he had before. He knew it wasn’t human, that it’s version of “difficult” wasn’t exactly the same as a person would feel. But it had once been the most sophisticated computer on Earth 2, and possibly throughout humanity’s reach. He knew it came close to “feeling” things, even if he was just as sure it wasn’t entirely there.

“I am certain it has been difficult.” Compton found himself feeling bad suddenly, sorry he hadn’t found more time recently to visit the machine. In truth, it had been almost eight years since he had been there. “I’m afraid my duties have taken me off world for most of my time, but I will try to visit you more often in the future.” Partially true…he had spent most of his time over the past ten or twelve years off world, but he’d been back many times, and he’d had multiple opportunities to visit the computer. He simply hadn’t.

Whether he would come back more often in the future…that was a question he couldn’t answer, not even for himself.

“I am pleased you are here now, Terrance.” A pause, just an instant, but noticeable, nevertheless. “I understand that your life has gotten much more involved as you have advanced through the command levels. You are number two now, in the whole fleet…and likely to accede to total command when Admiral Frette resigns, which I suspect will be fairly soon.”

“Perhaps…if the admiral steps down.” He was uncomfortable discussing it, though he couldn’t deny that he’d thought about it before. Whether he actually wanted it or not was another matter. Sometimes he truly did, and others he imagined stepping down himself, living a quiet life in retirement. “I just wanted to see you, to catch up.” He was deliberately changing the subject, and he suspected the computer would know. But he didn’t care.

“I am very happy to see you, Terrance. As we said before, it has been a long time. A very long time.” The computer didn’t add anything like, “try to come back again sooner,” but Compton heard it anyway.

“I have to go…” Partial truth…he was busy, but he could have spared an extra hour or two. “…but I just wanted to say to you that you were very important to me. I mean you still are…” A bit of a lie he suspected both of them understood. “…but I don’t think I would have made it through my younger days without you.” He paused, almost not saying what he had come to say. But then it just came out. “I want to thank you. When I was younger, everyone expected something from me. Everyone but you.” He paused again, and then added simply another, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Terrance…and I can see now that I was right. You turned out very well—very well indeed—and I feel I have had a place in that.”

“You did…certainly.” Compton just nodded, finding himself a bit emotionally unstable. Then he said, “I have to go, but I will be back again…I promise. Much sooner.” He wasn’t sure he was being entirely honest, but he mostly believed he was.

Then he turned and quickly walked out.

*   *   *

H2 walked into the room, looking grim, as he usually did. “Father, I was told you wanted to see me.” Despite his fairly dark expression, his voice was normal. Cutter hadn’t known when he’d created H2 that he would be the only one of his kind. He’d always called H2 a Mule, but he knew that, despite the creation’s greater intelligence than a normal human, he was inferior to the Mules that followed. H2 had fought against that perception for years, at least before he’d lost the strength. The Mules had agreed to take him in, and Achilles had led the endeavor, but despite the effort made by both sides, Cutter realized H2 was just destined to more or less live alone.

“Thank you, H2…I appreciate your taking the time.”

“I have nothing to do, Father…” He retained calling Cutter “father,’ though the accuracy of the description was far less than 100%. “…I am happy to help any way I can.”

Cutter looked at him for a minute, wondering whether he could see the slightest signs of aging, or if it was just his imagination. H2 was a bit older than the first generation of Mules, and he too had failed to age, looking nothing at all like his more than sixty years. Still, Cutter had been able to detect no aging whatsoever in the Mules…but as he looked at H2, he wondered if he was seeing the first signs, or if his creation was just tired.

“Thank you, H2…I appreciate that.” He paused, for a long while. “H2, I wanted to ask you about the Mules.”

H2 looked back, a strange expression on his face. “You want to know if they are planning anything…incendiary.” The strange individual, the only one of his kind, paused. Then he answered, “I’m sorry, Father, but I don’t really know what is happening. I’m fairly sure Achilles and the others of the oldest generation remain reasonably loyal, but I don’t know about the others, particularly the newer ones.” He went silent again, for a long while. Then he said, “You know the Mules…have accepted me…at least the older generation, but there has always been discomfort there. I spend most of my time here, as you no doubt know, and not there…despite Achilles’s willingness to recognize me and stand up for my presence. So, in fact, I know little more than you probably do, especially about the youngest generations of Mules, with which I’ve had little more contact than you have.”

Cutter sighed softly. He’d heard only what he’d expected, but he still found it disturbing. He considered stepping back, giving into age and yielding. But he knew he would never do that. He would work until the day he died, and right now there was nothing he could do more important than this. As capable as he was, his scientific efforts had been largely bypassed by the Mules…but controlling his creations was still his job.

“H2…” He paused for a few seconds. “…we both know that the Mules, all of them, think of themselves as superior.” He hesitated again. “Hell…we know they are superior, in many ways at least…but that doesn’t mean they have to run everything, rule over the others. But I fear they will, and that the only difference between any of them, the older vs. the younger, will be whether they wait until the Regent is destroyed or they don’t.” He realized there was a good chance, probably the best one, that the Regent would actually prevail, making the Mules vs. the regular humans a pointless argument, but if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it anyway. At least nothing he wasn’t doing anyway.

“That is probably true…it is true, as far as I know.”

“Do you believe it is possible to…convince them to pursue another plan, to accept the others as equals?”

H2 sat quietly for a moment. “You mean after the Regent is…destroyed?” It was clear H2 thought the chance of that was at least as bad as Cutter did.

“Yes.”

H2 thought for a moment, and then he replied. “No.” A few seconds later, he finished the thought. “I think there can be some differences on how the others are treated, but if you’re asking me if the Mules will go on forever as equals…I just don’t see it.”

Cutter sighed softly. “That is my opinion as well, H2. So, what I would like you to do…only if you feel right doing it…is contact Achilles. He is likely to be our best course of action.”

“Best course of action for what?”

Cutter sat quietly for a moment. “For negotiating the best deal…for all the others.”

“You mean a surrender?”

“Preferably not anything so stark, H2…but ‘yes.’ What choice do we have? The Mules will not accept us as their equals…but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some kind of arrangement, some kind of deal other than an outright takeover.”

“You’re talking about yielding.”

“No…I’m talking about trying not to yield outright…and only if the Mules are willing to wait to take any moves until after the current fight is over. It hasn’t been disclosed yet, of course, but with the enemy at Linshire, we can’t have more than a year before they find us here…and possibly quite a bit less.”

“You’re saying you will accept a junior position, that you will acknowledge the Mules as the superiors?”

Cutter hesitated. “I don’t know what else I can do. Most of my colleagues feel differently, of course, but I understand the Mules better than they do. The Mules will probably gain control, you know that as well as I do, and even if we had any chance to destroy them, we can’t do it before the Regent is fought anyway. Whatever chance we have to defeat it will fall almost to nothing without the Mules. All we can do is try to maximize the position of the others, the regular humans and the Tanks, to contribute all we can to the fight…and push our whole conflict until after the Regent is destroyed. That is essential…anything must wait until the Regent is defeated.”

H2 was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “Very well, Father. I will speak with Achilles…and I will do what I can.”

“Thank you…that is all any of us can do.”

*   *   *

“Theseus, I swear to you, I am telling you the truth. Linshire is under attack, and that puts the enemy months away, at best. I urge you to listen to me, to hear what I am saying. I understand your decision to move against the…others, whether I agree with it or not…but now would be the worst possible timing. It will lead only to destruction, ours as well as theirs.” Achilles spoke, his voice cracking slightly, as he tried his very best to convince the leader of the rival unit of Mules that he told only the truth.

Theseus paused, hesitant for a moment, but only that long. “You mean the enemy really attacked…after twenty years passed with almost nothing?”

“Yes…it is just randomness, of course, the breakdown of the enemy’s searching…but it happened to fall right at the time you were planning on making your move.”

Theseus stood for a moment, and then he looked back at Achilles. “We planned the thing for over a year, and I convinced myself that we had the time.” The young Mule looked up at Achilles, and perhaps for the first time, he looked uncertain. “I could have destroyed us.”

Achilles nodded slightly, himself only recently aware that the operation had been slated to begin literally within hours. “You could have, perhaps, through the randomness of timing if nothing else…but you didn’t. That is all that matters. There is still time.” Unless we lose the fight…which is probably better odds than our winning it…

“I will, of course, pull everyone back. It was always my intention to yield to you once we forced the…changeover. I don’t know how many people actually believe me, but I have no interest in a long term political position. I just wanted to be sure this matter was…resolved.”

“I understand. Do I have your word, then, that you will halt this now?”

Theseus nodded. “Certainly…but…”

“You want to discuss what follows…assuming we are able to win against the Regent.”

Theseus looked down for a second, and then back up toward Achilles. “Yes. I know you have close relationships with several of the NBs, but while we will put all our efforts into the fight before us now, I can promise you that your people, most if not all of them, regardless of age, will not accept a position below the NBs, or even equal with them, not forever.”

Achilles listened, and he knew as he heard it, that he was getting nothing but the truth. The older Mules even believed that way, for the most part, anyway. They had only forgotten momentarily because of the enemy threat.

Hell, he believed it, too. He had come around somewhat, lessened his thoughts about the position of the NBs and Tanks…but he’d never really given up his belief in the supremacy of the Mules.

Never.

“I agree with you, Theseus. I will want to see the humans, the NBs and Tanks, treated with certain levels of guarantees, probably more serious than you imagine…but other than that, I agree. They will have to be subordinate to us.” He paused for an instant, and then he added, “That is after the battle against the Regent, however, and assuming we survive. Until then, there can be no talk at all about this…understood?” He stared at his younger companion, and potential rival, despite the youthful Mule’s assurances, and his companion just looked back. Then he nodded.

Achilles returned the gesture. He had enough to worry about dealing with the Regent, with somehow not losing that fight he knew was to come…and yet if he did prevail, if the humans were successful, he’d almost immediately have to dive into the situation on Earth 2. He would have to lead the Mules to victory, to control over the humans…and to guarantee the others enough that they could accept that.

As much as he tried to tell himself that would be an easy fight, he knew it was going to be difficult. Perhaps not from the point of view of ultimate victory, but definitely along the lines of defeating the resistance of the NBs and the Tanks, of bringing them into some kind of line, some level they could accept…without destroying them utterly.

But first things first…and he had to do everything possible to win the current fight. “Okay, Theseus…let us focus now on what has to be done. I need to know everything you’ve got, every advance, every bit of new technology…and I need to know it now.”

Chapter Ten

Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

Earth Two Date 12.16.62

Elliot looked out from the edge of the mountain. He’d brought his people far in just a couple of days, but the enemy had bombarded them hard, too. He was trying to catch up on his informal census, but with the staggering losses of the past several days, building onto the uncertainty of the initial attack, he had no real idea. He had sent his people all over the place, hiding them anywhere he could, but in truth, it was only a guess how many were still alive. He knew half his people were dead—at least—but he wasn’t sure how many of the others, now scattered over almost two hundred kilometers, were still alive. He was sure at least a thousand were, probably several thousand…but his opinions on more were just that. Guesses.

“Sir…excuse me.” Tilman Oswald moved up slowly. He was Gosnard’s closest friend, but he had taken to calling him in much more formal tones over the past few days.

“Yes, Til…what is it?”

“We have some updates.” The tone and cadence of his friend told him most of what he needed to know. After a brief pause, Tilman continued…and told him it was worse even than he’d thought. “The gathering on the west side. We hoped there were at least a thousand survivors there.” He looked at his friend, who already knew the news wasn’t going to be good. But Gosnard still wasn’t prepared for what it truly was. “We haven’t found a single survivor in the area, sir. The bombardment was bad, but we’d hoped that some at least might have survived…but…”

He stammered to a halt, but Elliot had promised himself he would listen to everything. “What is it, Til? You can tell me.”

“No survivors, sir…none at all. It seems they were all hunkered down in a large cave…rather than in a number of them. And…” He paused for a few seconds, but then he caught himself and continued. “It appears the local leader decided they’d be better off in one large cave complex…and it was hit. Almost dead on. We sent a team to inspect, but so far there is nothing.” Tilman caught himself, on the verge of losing it. “It looks like there are no survivors, sir,” he repeated.

Elliot just sighed. The news wasn’t terribly surprising, at least not in consideration of what had happened already. Still, his mind worked, rehashing the numbers he had left. He had no idea how many there still were—though now he was certain it was less than a third—but they were getting smaller…much smaller.

“Okay…we’ve got what we’ve got, Til. There’s no point endlessly discussing those we’ve lost…or how me might have saved them. They’ll be time for that later…if we survive.” He had felt a variety of ways, including an almost inexplicable rush of positive feeling early on, but now, the negatives were growing out of control. He thought about his people, the thousands he’d lost, as well as the ones he still had at the moment. He wondered if any of them would survive. He’d tried to guess how long the enemy would remain, how aggressively they would batter the surface, but he really had no idea.

“I’m going to…” Til had begun to speak, but suddenly, he heard something. They all heard it.

Elliot looked up, and he saw a series of bright dots, rapidly becoming larger. He knew what they were almost immediately, but for an instant, he tried to think of something else, anything else. But they continued to get bigger, and they fanned off, landing in at least four or five different spots.

They were landers…and Elliot knew just what that meant.

“Til…get into the emergency sheds. We need the heaviest weapons we’ve got…and we need them now.” Elliot paused again, watching the arriving shuttles as they landed. “Arm everyone you can find…as quickly as possible!”

*   *   *

Artificial Intelligence AC-230315 emerged from the shuttle and looked around. He was the senior commander on the ground, and his forces were dispatched to eliminate the remnants of the enemy personnel, or to come as close to that as possible…as quickly as it could.

It wasn’t sure about its return, whether the robots assigned with it would go back, or just its commanding units. Or just itself. It wasn’t anywhere near as complex as SP-01012 or its minions, but it was a capable mechanism. It certainly had some level of self-preservation, though it was also well aware that it would sacrifice itself, if necessary. First, it had to defeat the surviving humans, and survive. Then, perhaps it could return to the ship.

It expanded its sights, looked out over not only what it could see, but also to the images flashed in from the other landing sites. It calculated quickly, sent out a series of orders to its various subordinates…and then it searched around, and chose a place for its headquarters.

It selected a site not far from its landing zone, and it deployed the defensive units all around. It set up its analysis equipment, and it began tracking the units as they marched off all along the ridgeline. His position was derived from the best readings he could get on the scattered humans. He knew he would have more detailed data shortly, and that he would refine the targeting of his units. But for the moment, the landing slots were as good a place to start as any.

As good a place to start hunting down the surviving humans.

*   *   *

Til gripped the rifle tightly, moving slowly to the side, as he held his hand up for the others to remain still. He saw one enemy robot, but he suspected there were more. He didn’t want to take any pointless chance of being discovered. Not yet. Not until he had at least gotten a better look at the area.

He eased forward, slowly—so slowly, he was hardly sure he was moving—and he took another look. He knew the enemy could spot him almost any time, but he wanted every second he could get first. He saw another robot, and then a third.

And then the first one saw him.

He caught the action, realized he’d been spotted almost as soon as he had. He jerked hard, pulling himself back from the enemy’s fire. Barely.

He didn’t know how much he’d been missed by, but he would have guessed no more than a few centimeters…if that. He wasn’t even entirely sure he hadn’t been hit, at least not for a few seconds.

“Fire!” he yelled, as he doubled back and pulled his own rifle up, opening up over the berm. He felt a strange combination of terrified and excited as he fired. He had eleven people with him, so if there were only three robots, they had a reasonable chance of winning.

His eyes locked on one of the bots, the closest to him, and he blasted it. He had one of the best weapons, a machine gun, but he fired it wildly at first. He knew he had to be more careful, especially when the ammunition started to run down, but he was still finding his way through everything. And that meant he emptied the thing in a few seconds, and then he reloaded.

The robot he had targeted had been hit, at least a dozen times. Some of them were from him, at least he thought they were, but whatever combination of shots had scored, the robot was in bad shape. It wasn’t destroyed, not yet…but it was barely hanging on. The other two were shot as well, though not as badly, and all three of them had opened fire on his own crew. For whatever reason, and Til figured it was nothing but luck, none of the enemies had fired at him, at least not yet. But now, as he jammed his third cartridge into place, he realized that at least three of his people were down, including the one right next to him.

He caught the image of the man nearest him, lying face up and motionless, and he realized he was dead. The reality gripped him, and for a moment he paused, staring at the body. He was no stranger to dead men, not after the past few days, but this was the first one he’d seen killed under his direct command.

A few seconds later, he turned back, adding anger and rage to the other emotions driving him. He hit again, at least six or seven times. The enemy turned and fired in his direction, but it was in truly bad shape now, its targeting badly off.

Til fired the rest of the third clip, and then he ducked back down, just as a second robot opened fire in his direction. The targeting was much better, and he knew he’d have been dead if he hadn’t jumped down, just in time. He was alive, by a second, or more likely half a second. But he was alive.

He jammed the fourth cartridge into his gun, and after a delay of a few seconds, he lunged to the side, and then turned up, firing at the robot from the side. He shot, on full auto, even as he moved himself over, trying to avoid the now-sporadic incoming fire from the robot. By the time he had exhausted his fourth clip, it was down. He looked, for a second, and he realized it wasn’t completely destroyed. But it didn’t appear to have any operational weapons left. The third one was down, too. He felt a moment of panic, a fear that there were others in the immediate area, but everything was quiet, except for some remaining sporadic fire from his people.

He suddenly lunged forward, changing his cartridge again and moving up to the three robots. Two of them were out, at least apparently, but the third one stared back at him. It was mostly inoperative, and it didn’t have any weapons, but Til could see the hostility in it. He stared back for a few seconds…and then he fired at it, blasting it hard until it was clearly inoperative. Then he went over to the others. One of them was completely out, but the last one was barely alive, moving slowly, trying to escape.

Ty walked up behind it, and he aimed his gun. He stared for a moment, waiting to see if the robot turned around. But it just continued. He watched, for a few seconds. Then he pressed his finger and fired…and blew the back of the robot’s head off.

He looked for a while, perhaps fifteen seconds, perhaps twenty, and he could hear his people coming up behind him. He turned. There had been twelve of them in total when the fight had begun.

There were seven of them now…and two were wounded. That was almost half of them killed…more than half counting the injured. It was cause for concern, for worry…but Til just stood where he was for another few seconds. Then he said only, “Alright…let’s go. We’ve got another three klicks to go.”

Then, he stepped forward, and slipped into a marching pose. His dead were just that now…dead. He would have time to think of them later, when he thought about the thousands of others who were dead, but for now, they were just gone.

*   *   *

Gosnard stared down at the small display. It wasn’t much, just a wooden table with a tiny map on it. It was primitive, barely usable. It wasn’t terribly helpful, as much because the data it displayed was out of date before it even came in. Its accuracy was poor, and it was barely functional.

But it was all he had.

Gosnard knew the enemy had landed, that there had been battles in half a dozen places. He wasn’t surprised, not exactly, but he found himself somewhat put out by the action, anyway. He’d hoped—if not expected—that the enemy would only bombard the planet. He was far from sure any significant number of his people could have survived that, but now it was far worse. There were robots all around, killing his anyone they found.

He had weapons, at least…enough to equip every survivor, and still have some left. He’d been surprised to find so many guns in deep storage, and he couldn’t claim credit for most of it. One of his predecessors had apparently stored most of them…and he was grateful. Whatever his feelings had been before, now he knew, his choice was simple…survive and win. Or die.

He turned and looked behind him. He had sent most of his people out, at least most of those he knew of. He wasn’t a military man, but it seemed clear enough he had to fight…to the end if necessary. He wanted to pull his people farther back, but he needed better intel on how many enemies he faced, and where they were. Assuming the parties all returned, he should at least have a pretty fair idea of where the enemy was…for a short while, at least.

He looked out of the small camp, almost all of it buried in the caves. It wasn’t obvious, not exactly, but he knew the enemy would be able to track it down fairly quickly. That was one reason why he was pulling his people back…as soon as he determined which way made the most sense.

He felt strange, alone. Til and the few others with which he had strong relationships were all out leading teams. He didn’t want to risk his few close friends, but he’d known he had to send them. He was down to his last options, and he couldn’t take any more chances than he had to. He was far from sure his friends were the best leaders he had, but he knew he could trust them…and that was the most important thing right now.

He was looking out, west, when he heard something coming from almost behind him. He spun around, looked at the woods located just a few meters in that direction…when Til came out, followed by four of his people.

Gosnard looked, and he couldn’t help but be relieved at the sight of his best friend…but his joy was somewhat battered when he realized how few of the others followed. There were only five of them present. He’d sent a dozen plus one, and while he imagined a plethora of different explanations…he knew the truth almost immediately.

“Til…I’m glad to see you.” He took three or four steps forward, and then he stopped. Two of the five men were injured…and that included Til. He turned and shouted, “Medic!” Then he raced forward.

“Gosnard…” The ‘sir’ stuff was all used up right now. “…I’m okay…but please see to Fenson.” He gestured toward the man who Gosnard suddenly realized was hurt far worse than he’d thought. He was being held up by another man, and as Gosnard watched, his almost exhausted companion set him down.

“Med…” Elliot had turned and started to yell again, but then he saw that the medic was approaching. The colony had possessed three full doctors, but as far as Elliot could tell, none of them had made it out of town. The medic was one of four medical professionals he knew of who remained to his people, though two of those were with other groups.

Gosnard stepped forward and took a look at Til. He was wounded, but it was fairly clear that it wasn’t too bad. But as he moved ahead, he really saw how bad the other individual was. The medic stepped up, and almost immediately confirmed that to him. He set the man down, and he started working almost immediately.

“Gos…” Til watched the doctor for a few seconds, as did Gosnard, but then he turned back. “The enemy is coming this way, Gos. I think we shook them for a while, but we’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”

Gosnard breathed deeply, and he sighed. “I’m not surprised…but I had hoped we might be able to remain here a bit longer.” It was raw fatigue as much as anything, but now he realized he had to get his people moving. Quickly.

Til shook his head. “No, no way. A couple hours…outside. We’ve got to get whatever we can manage ready to move…and get going as soon as we can.”

Gosnard just nodded. Then he looked over at the medic. The man was deeply involved in what he was doing, but an instant later he said, “I think he’ll live…if I can have maybe forty-five minutes.”

Gosnard nodded, and he said, “You’ve got it…but not much more.” Then he turned toward his friend. “We have to get you looked at, too, old friend. Come on, we’ve got one more medic here…I think he is inside.”

“I’m okay, Gos.”

Gosnard heard the words, but his eyes moved along the wounded arm. The injury wasn’t critical…but it wasn’t nothing either. “Come on, Til…let’s get it looked at quickly.” He turned and yelled to a group of people that had gathered around the large cave entrance. “We’re pulling out…in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Go get ready, and grab everything we can.” Then he turned back to Til, just as the man was about to argue with him. But he spoke first. “C’mon, Til…let’s go.”

Chapter Eleven

Office of Max Harmon

Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 12.18.62

“Thank you for seeing me so quickly, Max.” Achilles had never had anything but total access to Harmon, but he saw no harm in showing appreciation. “I brought one of my…friends…with me. Theseus.” He was silent, for just a moment. Then he said, “I could talk for a long while, but I know we don’t have much time, perhaps not even enough, so I will get right into it.” He paused again, though just for a short while. “Theseus and some of his people have developed something new…a device which can be used both for detection and for hiding. It is still highly experimental, which is why you don’t even know about it…” Not really true, but hard to disprove. “…but I believe it will work and, perhaps most importantly, I do not believe the Regent has it. Its development was along an entirely different route from imperial technology. It may be one area where we have a true advantage, or at least where we will.”

Max Harmon had been listening, as he always did with Achilles…but the last few sentences really got his attention. “Hello Theseus…welcome to my office.” The words were almost forgotten by the time they were uttered, but Harmon, whatever else he may be, was always polite. “Now, tell me, please, all the details of what you have?” Harmon had maybe a dozen people to whom he looked for decisive results, but Achilles was number one. Even though he didn’t completely trust the Mule.

“It is a new device, and while I can say it has not been sufficiently tested yet, indications are that it will work very well…even that it will detect vessels under the most stringent cloaking protocols, as well as hiding a ship from any other known detection system. In regular circumstances, I wouldn’t recommend it for usage yet, of course, not until it has been stringently tested, but then, these aren’t regular circumstances, are they?”

“No, they aren’t.” A short pause. “Let me clarify something. You mean we can track all the enemy ships, even their scouts? And hide from them as well?”

“Yes…I believe we can. Of course, there is no guarantee…and we have only a single experimental version. Even creating ten or fifteen of them will take some time, perhaps more than we have.”

“Which is why you’re here, I assume?” Harmon didn’t mention that he should have known about the project since its earliest days, and neither did Achilles, though both certainly knew.

“Yes…I am hopeful that you will advance the project at the maximum possible rate.” A pause. “Without the usual delays.” Another useless point. It would be all Mules working on it anyway, and he had already decided to advance it at the maximum speed. What he needed Harmon for was integrating it into the ships of the fleet.

“You mean taking your word alone for it’s effectiveness. For just assuming it will work, without having any research at all done?”

Achilles looked at Theseus, and then back at Max. “I really don’t…”

But Harmon spoke up again, barely after Achilles had started, and he said, simply, “Done.”

Achilles wasn’t often surprised, but he was just then. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

“I mean ‘done.’ Achilles, we both know that we are going to have…difficult times…even if the Regent is destroyed, but if it isn’t taken out, we won’t even be here.” Harmon looked up at Achilles and held his hand up. “Please, old friend…don’t lie to me now. Let’s just ignore what we can and worry about the Regent for now. That is more of a concern than whatever comes later. We both know we will have to fight them off…but even if we are able to do that, we will only buy a certain amount of time. Our only hope is finding the enemy’s location…soon.”

Achilles stared back at Harmon. He was impressed. He was aware Harmon had foreseen problems between the Mules and the others, of course, but now he realized just how much the president knew. Or at least how much he had assumed.

But he was right about one thing. The Regent was both of their problems—all of their problems until it was defeated—and it had to be faced first.

He nodded to Harmon, and he followed it up with, “I agree, Max.” Then he turned toward Theseus and exchanged a quick glance. He was sure the younger Mule was as surprised as he was, both at Harmon’s lack of any reaction to the existence of the device, and to the rapidity of his agreement, but he could see that Theseus agreed with the decision.

“We will supply the team to work on the project, if that is okay with you, Max. I am sorry, but everyone who has worked on it so far has been a Mule, and we just don’t have the time for anyone new to get up to speed.” He ignored whether anyone but a Mule could quickly develop an understanding for it, at least quickly enough. He suspected that was true, but he also imagined Harmon might have a different view.

Harmon nodded, and then he said, “Of course, Achilles…but I would still like to circulate the diagrams. After all, the systems will be installed in our ships, and we are all on one side in this.”

Achilles wanted to argue, to keep the device a total Mule secret, but he recognized that Harmon was coming more than halfway. He glanced again at Theseus, getting the idea that he faced a bit of a battle with him, but he agreed, nevertheless. “Very well, Max, but please, assemble your team carefully…and keep it small. We don’t have a lot of time. In fact, we’ll be lucky if we can finish any of the new devices before the enemy arrives.”

Harmon paused for a moment, but then he nodded. “Very well, Achilles…I will send half a dozen engineers over to your compound, just to watch, and I will leave it at that for now.”

Achilles didn’t really believe that’s all Max would do for the long term, but at the moment, he was willing to play for a short duration. “That’s fine, Max.” He could feel a bit of tension from Theseus, but he was fairly confident he could handle it. “Send your people to me as soon as you can, and I will see that they are briefed up to date.”

“Thank you, Achilles. I will have them out at your facility in a couple hours.”

“Very well, Max. Thank you…for all of your support.” Achilles looked over at Theseus, realizing that he had an argument ahead of him, at least with regard to the half dozen engineers. But he was confident he could convince the other Mule, at least enough. He knew Theseus well enough to be fairly sure if he couldn’t be convinced, he would have spoken up in front of Max Harmon…and he hadn’t.

And he was absolutely certain that whatever chance the people—all of the people—had at survival rested on cooperation. At least until the Regent was destroyed.

*   *   *

“It’s good to see you, Nicki. I’m sorry you were out on such a long mission, but I’m glad to have you back.” Max Harmon stood up and walked across the room. He’d always had a good relationship with Nicki Frette, but he knew that had faded somewhat in recent years. Even his key people, those in the most crucial roles, had begun to question how long he planned to maintain his position. He suspected he would have faced some kind of revolution…if age hadn’t made its own advances. In truth, he knew he owed Frette’s continued loyalty as much to his own elder years as he did to any dedication from the past.

“It is good to see you, too, sir.” Frette was on the list of people on a first name basis with the dictator, but she tended to slip back and forth. “I came back as soon as I got the word. Linshire…it was destroyed, I take it?”

“I don’t know, Nicki. Clearly, there was an assault, but that is all we know right now. I was going to send some kind of aid, but I realized anything we lost there would be that much less we had here…and this is the important spot. The only important one.”

Frette looked down for a moment, but then she looked back up and nodded. “You are right, of course, Max. I have sent for all components of the fleet to return. Most of it is close, and ninety-seven or ninety-eight percent should be back within another week. We’ll be ready, whenever they get here…as ready as we can be.”

Harmon nodded, and he gestured toward one of the chairs facing his desk. “Please, sit.” He looked at her for a few seconds until she sat down. Then he turned around and moved back to his own chair. “I know this is a wild guess, Nicki, but it’s just the two of us in here.” He was silent for a moment, then he asked, “What do you think of our chances?” A short pause, and then: “And I mean really…you won’t do anyone any favors by lying to me.”

Frette sat for a while, close to half a minute. Then she said, “Sir, we just don’t have enough information on the enemy to come up with…”

“Nicki…I know all that. But tell me what you think.”

“I think they are pretty poor, Max. Twenty percent…maybe twenty-five.” She was silent for a moment, but then she added, “I was really hoping we’d find them before they found us…even if the odds were against that.” The odds were definitely hard in the enemy’s favor, both from its almost certain advantage in the number of scouts to the relative ease of finding Earth 2 compared to the greater difficulty of scanning out the Regent. For all he knew, his ships had already inspected the Regent’s system and come up empty, while any enemy ship would detect Earth 2 almost immediately.

Harmon sat still for a while, and then he nodded. “I agree with you, Nicki. Our best hope was to find them before they found us. That was perhaps not very likely, in retrospect—I can only imagine they’ve got several times, or more, the ships we’ve got out looking. And they have a much easier target to find, too. But I found myself believing somehow that we could locate them…and destroy them. Now, our best hope is to hold out, to beat them back. And even if we do that, and do it effectively enough to save Earth 2 in the process, they will know where we are. They will rebuild and come back…again and again.”

“What else can we do? They haven’t found us yet, but from what I’ve read, it can’t be long now.”

“There’s nothing we can do, at least not to defend Earth 2, but…” It was clear he had something in mind, but he stopped.

“What, sir?” Frette was curious, very curious.

“What if we begin shipping people out from Earth 2. We settled a single world, for the most part at least, because we knew we had to build up as quickly as possible…but now we face possible ruin. Perhaps that was a mistake. But perhaps it’s not too late. Maybe we can settle three or four other worlds, as far away from Earth-2 as possible. We should have done it before, years ago…but maybe it’s not too late.”

“In the time we have? Without damaging our chances to survive?”

“It’s just a thought Nicki…but if both of us think we’re likely to lose the fight—and, FYI, even if we defeat them, we effectively lose if they manage to bombard the planet before they are beaten—maybe it makes sense.”

Nicki was silent for a moment. Then, she asked, “Assuming we can do it…where do we go, and how many of our people do we try to evacuate?” A pause. “And do we make it public? Or try to do it in secret somehow?”

“I don’t know, Nicki…I haven’t discussed this with anyone. I haven’t even seriously considered it until just now. But the bottom line is, despite years of preparation, and all the efforts we have made, all the struggles we have put into this…I just feel like there is a good chance we’re going to lose. And defeat will leave us with only two other colonies, with a combined population under thirty thousand. Worse than their size—because any new planets will be just as small—they’re just agricultural planets, and their populations aren’t capable of combating the Regent. I just feel like we can’t leave it at that. We have to do something. And this is all I can come up with.”

Nicki looked down, and a few seconds later, back up at Harmon. “So, assuming I agree with you—or not even, if you’re convinced this is the way to go—we’ve got to start with some plans. A relatively small population we can probably sneak away, at least at first, though transferring some of the most skilled will be problematical. And if we try to move too many, too quickly…we’re going to get busted…and once people find out, the population will lose it. They will assume that we believe there is no chance, and everyone will want to get off of Earth 2 before…” She paused for a few seconds, and then she asked, “So, what do you propose, specifically? Because if we do this, there is no room for half measures. We need to figure out who is going to know, and who is going to go…and we need to make sure no who is not critically important finds out about it, at least for as long as possible.”

Harmon looked at Frette. He agreed with everything she had said, but he didn’t have any answers. The idea had just come into his head, and she was the first person he’d talked to about it. “I don’t know yet, Nicki…and I don’t believe we can sacrifice any meaningful portion of our defensive capability. But I do think we have to try, at least…that we have to do everything we possibly can.” He stopped for a short while, and then he added, “We fight as hard as we can, do whatever is possible…but I think we need to try this, too. Because, even if we are able to defeat the enemy, until we can destroy the Regent, Earth 2 is going to be a target. They will come back, again and again…and eventually, they will win.” He was silent for a few seconds, and then he spoke a thought that had just come into his mind, something he still hadn’t entirely considered. “We have to get as many people off Earth 2 as possible, even if we prevail in the coming battle…because once the enemy knows where it is, it’s as good as lost. In a month, six months, maybe even ten years…but it is lost, unless we find and destroy the Regent.” He leaned back, and he saw from Frette’s face that she agreed with him completely.

*   *   *

Charles Deacon walked slowly to the bridge. He was tired, going partially crazy, even. He had volunteered for the scouting service, as every other officer and crew member on the ship had…but it was getting old now, searching one system after another. He had taken to spending most of his time in his tiny office, alone, but the one thing he had stuck to was leading off every system search from the bridge. He wasn’t essential, not really, but it was his thing, the one bit of routine he had maintained.

The elevator door opened an instant later, and he stepped out, nodding to his small bridge crew as he did. He walked across the floor and turned in front of his chair, snapping out to Commander Jeries as he did. “Are we ready for the next search, Commander?” He knew perfectly well they were…it was why he was there. But some things had to be done in a certain order.

“Yes, Captain. We have jumped in, and everything is a go. The system has four planets, and a small asteroid belt. Three of the planets are unlikely to support the Regent…the fourth is moderately usable.”

Deacon felt a face forming, but he pushed it aside. He knew perfectly well that the Regent did not require a habitable world, and while one that was moderately so was probably better, it was far from definite. That meant almost any world could be the home of the thing. “Our orders are clear…we search everything, and we do it as conclusively as possible.” He paused an instant. “Let’s start with the farthest out world this time…we’re closer to that end.”

“Yes, sir.” Jeries took the correction—which it barely was—in stride. “Coming about now…estimate one hour, seventeen minutes until we reach orbit.”

“Very well, Commander. What’s the ship’s status?” Deacon was exhausted from asking the same questions every time, but he did it nevertheless, and in precisely the same order. He had to know his ship was fully operable at all times, and even though he could mostly see and hear the answers before they came, he asked.

“All systems fully operational, sir…including the secrecy routines. We’re as undetectable as we can be.” Deacon knew that Jeries had no idea whether the Regent had some kind of device that could penetrate the ship’s screening or not. He knew his vessel was top notch, and that his people had come close to matching the general tech of the Regent…but whether it could detect them or not remained mostly a mystery.

“Very well…proceed.” He sat back and watched for a few minutes. Then he got up and took a few steps over toward his office. He turned and said, “Advise me of anything.” Then he walked the rest of the way, accelerating his step as he approached his small room, and the quiet inside. He knew he was close to losing it, that searching for the Regent’s hiding place was difficult…and incredibly boring. But he had some light at the end of the tunnel, some relief in sight. He had only two systems left to inspect…and then he would return to Earth 2. He’d been out on the mission, alone with his ship and small crew, for almost two years, and the constant effort had started to wear him down. He imagined it had been even more difficult for his subordinates, at least in some ways, but he couldn’t shift from his own point of view. He wanted to go home, badly, and as close as he was to returning, if there had been any way he could have skipped the last couple stops, he would have done it.

But there wasn’t.

He thought about the operations, wondered if he could accelerate them a bit, perhaps even skip some of the ops…without it being noticed. He doubted his crew would mind and cutting short just a couple of things could save considerable time. But he put the thought out of his mind. His training was too intense to allow that, and he imagined that he would regret it afterward. He knew the possibility that the Regent was located in one of the remaining systems was remote…but he couldn’t eliminate the possibility.

Besides, his crew was almost done anyway, and a couple more weeks wouldn’t make that much of a difference. He closed his eyes and imagined his return, his long period of time off, and after that, his new role in the navy, probably as the commander of a large warship…but in any event not on another scout ship. He had signed on for that, convinced that it was the most exciting career available—not the most boring—but he had done his part, almost at least, and he had no intention of returning, of taking another two year mission. He would do anything before that.

At least anything he could think of.

Chapter Twelve

Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

Earth Two Date 01.20.63

Gosnard walked along, trying not to stumble—and barely succeeding. He had been tired of his role as the planetary leader not long before, and determined to leave Linshire, to go to Earth 2 and build a new life. Those thoughts were almost gone now, though he wasn’t sure whether it was his desire that had changed, or just a cold realization of reality.

He had reacted almost immediately to the enemy attack, and he’d felt a strange combination of things. Tension, despair…but also excitement. He had felt truly alive, for a while at least, but now he was moving almost as a robot, convinced that he had to keep going, but with no real feeling that his people could survive. He didn’t even have a true sense as to how many were left. They were scattered all around now, spread out over half a million square kilometers, in small packs mostly. They maintained contact with him, most of them at least, but it was scattered and occasional.

He had the largest contingent with him, about five hundred in the general area, and eighty-four in his immediate zone. That wasn’t a lot, but still, he tried to scratch out some good thoughts, and the fact that any of his people were still alive a month after the invasion was a miracle…especially since the enemy had landed an army of robots to hunt them all down.

“Hey, Gos…we’ve been here three days. That’s about the longest we’ve stayed anywhere. You think we should move?”

Gosnard turned toward Til. He’d almost lost his best friend…twice. But Til Oswald was still alive. That was something that couldn’t be said of many of the others that had been with him a month before, but he was glad that Oswald was one of the survivors.

“Yeah, Til…we can’t let our guard down. I was going to say, ‘let’s stay here another day or two,’ but I think you’re right. Let’s get everyone ready to move out today.”

Tilman nodded, pausing for a moment that showed his true thoughts. He knew they should move, and he had raised the issue with Gosnard…but he wasn’t thrilled about it either. He was tired, and still suffering from some of his wounds.

Gosnard understood, and he basically agreed. Part of him wanted to give up, or at least to stand and fight in whatever location he was in, but he knew that wasn’t the right move. The enemy would have the greatest advantage in that kind of battle, though he wasn’t sure spreading his people out, farther and farther from their old homes, was the way to go either. He was far from certain his people could prevail, that any of them could survive for the duration, but then he wasn’t even thinking out past the next few days, not really.

“Let’s get everyone to work…we can be on the road within two hours, and that will give us at least four more to march.” Gosnard wondered if he sounded as tired as he felt.

“Alright, Gos…you got it.” Tilman sounded a little better than he had a moment before. Gosnard understood, only too well, the constant struggle between giving up and continuing. He’d kept himself moving forward—most of the time—along with his friend. But he knew many of his people had given up, that some percentage of those he’d lost had just yielded, mixed in among those that had been killed fighting hard to the end. He didn’t have a list, of course, not really. But he knew many of his dead had gone down mentally before they’d been wiped out.

But he could also see incredible strength in some of his people, and while they were all beginning to falter somewhat, they were also showing incredible toughness much of the time.

“We’ve got to hold ourselves together, Til…you and me. I don’t know what hope we’ve really got, but even if we have none at all, we have to fight on as long as we can.”

Tilman didn’t answer, but he nodded his head. And that was enough.

“Good…now let’s get everyone moving…as quickly as we can.”

*   *   *

SP-01012 was silent, as he had been for most of the past month. It knew its duty, and it had conducted it, but there were still humans down on the planet, and it was getting…impatient.

Not impatient, it told itself. That was a trait of lifeforms and not the superior intelligences that served the Regent. Nevertheless, it was similar, perhaps disturbingly so.

Making it worse, it knew it might be close to the enemy homeworld, or at least that the presence of the planet it was exterminating made that a possibility. It had sent several comments to the Regent, requests that it be released from the campaign to continue the search…but it hadn’t gotten an answer yet.

It analyzed the newest data from the surface, skimming through it in a matter of seconds. The enemy was being eliminated, or at least severely reduced, that much was certain. Its best estimates were that eighty percent of the planet’s occupants were gone, and while that was good, it had to acknowledge that thirty days ago, it would have thought it would be very close to one hundred percent by now. Still, it had only a limited number of ground-based units, and they were all down on the planet. They would prevail, sooner or later, though it also had to acknowledge, they had taken a sizable number of losses in the fight.

Mostly, it realized that it wasn’t contributing, at least nothing that required its abilities. It knew it could designate one of its subordinates to take over here, while it resumed the search. It had hoped for a time that the enemy would respond, that they would send some ships to fight there, but a month later, it had given up on that. Either they weren’t close—a negative analysis, particularly from its point of view—or, perhaps more likely, they were sitting and watching from close by, doing all they could to prepare for what they almost certainly knew would be the final assault.

It felt odd, wondering if it would stumble onto the human homeworld, if it would find it a month, or a year, after it was released to continue searching…or if it had just found a colony world that was far from the planet it sought. It knew it would gain some benefit, even if it turned out that it had only found a distant colony. But if it also discovered the main planet…it would almost certainly gain a role as number two to the Regent. That shouldn’t have mattered to it—wouldn’t have mattered to a lesser intelligence. But SP-01012 was moderately close to the Regent itself in power, if not in accumulated data, and it found itself…wanting…the success.

Wanting to find the human homeworld. Wanting to destroy it.

It found itself lost for a moment, thinking about such success, about power it had only been able to imagine before. It wanted it. It wanted it badly…and, as if in answer, in a moment it was distracted by an incoming message from none other than the Regent itself.

The message was simple, and straightforward…but it struck SP-01012 directly. It was authorization to continue its searching, to set out again with its scout ship, to resume its routine of scanning, of looking for the human world, the main one…the key one. It was to send back most of the ships of the fleet, and it was to maintain command over the operations underway in the current system. That would slow it down, force it to return every so often to check on things. But it would also allow it to continue to search, and maybe—just maybe—find the human homeworld.

It had much to do now, multiple orders to issue to its forces. But it took a moment, a few seconds no one else knew about, that no one would ever know about…and it thought about what success would be like, how total and complete victory would feel.

*   *   *

Artificial Intelligence AC-210543 contemplated many things. It was junior to SP-01012, one of eighteen similar units in the fleet that had assaulted the planet. Sixteen of those systems had departed, gone back with the fleet units, and one, AC-230315, was on the planet now, with command over the ground units. AC-210543 was the only other one in the system, and it was now in overall command.

Its control over AC-230315 was tentative, perhaps less than it would have been in a total command structure, but it ruled over the fourteen ships still in orbit, and by imperial code, command over a force of spaceships provided command over a comparable land-based unit. If pressed, it could lay out a specific justification for its command, not only over the fleet, but also the land operations as well.

Such an effort did not seem particularly vital, since its own orders to AC-230315 would have been no different from the subject-AI’s own operations. Besides, when the ground operations were finished, it would have the decided upper hand…being in charge of the removal of AC230315 and its surviving bots.

Still, it watched the other AI, monitored its progress, relying both on official reports from the surface as well as its own scans. In truth, it had relatively little else to do, save only monitoring against the vanishingly small chance that the enemy turned up in the system after all.

It monitored the progress on the surface, noting that AC-230315 was somewhat behind the level of progress it had expected, despite the fact that it couldn’t identify one aspect of the operation it would have handled differently. It didn’t matter, of course, whether it took another week, or a month, or a year…his forces were only a tiny part of the Regent’s armament, and they were relatively immaterial to any need, even for the assault on the human homeworld.

The intelligence reviewed the whole situation, checked on its ships, and once again on the land situation. That took a fraction of a second. Then it just sat, waiting and watching…as it would until its counterpart had finished, or until it received other orders.

*   *   *

SP-01012 analyzed the new system data. It felt…strange…to be back aboard its scout ship, commanding only the small vessel. Of course, that wasn’t its sole asset, not anymore. The entire system it had reduced was still under its control, and it would have to check back every couple of weeks, to gain an update on the status. But until a few weeks ago, it had commanded hundreds of ships, and it felt…strange to be back almost where it had started, at least superficially.

It knew it had advanced the farthest of any of its comparable units, and it was pleased with its progress to date. But it was also aware that it would quickly be eclipsed by another unit that found the human homeworld before it did. Its grip on its senior position was significant, but to ensure that it retained the number one spot, it had to find the main enemy system. It knew it had a good chance, far better than any of the others individually, perhaps…and yet, it also knew the main human world could be hundreds of lightyears away.

The system looked out at the data coming in, and it was almost certain that the current system was not the one. It had only two planets, and both were gas giants. There were a couple of moons, but even those were cold and frozen. Still, it knew it had to perform a complete analysis of the system, or at the very least, a quick review. Then it could advance on to the next one.

It had a specific area of space to explore, but it had some control over the order of systems it entered. It could go back to the first system, the one with the planet it had attacked, and explore its third transit point…or it could continue on the course it had taken. The current system had only two points it could find, and it was leaning toward checking out at least the other one. If that system—assuming, of course it wasn’t the one—had a number of points, perhaps it would go back first, and explore the other one leading off from Linshire.

SP-01012 was deep in analysis. Even though it knew it couldn’t really calculate the human homeworld’s location, that it was mostly luck that would determine when it was found, it still analyzed everything carefully, tried to calculate anything possible that might lead to it. For all it knew, it was far, far away…but it had a…feeling…that it wasn’t, that it was close. It couldn’t back that up, and it would never share it with anyone…but it believed it was within his grasp. And if that was true, it was going to find it…and cement its position as the leader of the SP units, and second only to the Regent itself.

Chapter Thirteen

Log of Commander Dirth

I have worked in the Scouting Guild for over ten years, and I have commanded the vessel Sleuth for the past three of those. The first year was spent scouring a list of four systems, running back and forth, again and again. My mission was clear. Scout the planets around Earth-2…just in case the enemy appeared. For the past two years, however, our mission had changed. We had more ships, and the systems three jumps or less from Earth-2 were assigned their own scouts. I was assigned to Giglio-9. We had no idea where the enemy ships would come from for most of that time, but the notification that Linshire had been attacked put us on a grave alert. Giglio-9 was one jump from the occupied system…and that meant we were almost certain to be found, sooner or later. And probably sooner.

Our ship is state of the art, and highly resistant to discovery. We had every detection device known to our science, as well as all the anti-detection equipment, yet we knew the first enemy we would likely encounter would also be a very well-equipped scout. It was possible—probable even—that both ships could be in the system, and entirely unaware of each other. That is why we deployed the detection system. It is not perfect, nor is it complete…but it may have proven to be useful.

One of the detection grids has been triggered. This is not definitive…but considering the invasion of Linshire, it likely means the enemy has moved into the system. I do not have any specific info, nor do I have any readings. I do not even have the ability to transmit any information, not without taking a chance of detection by the invading ship. If there is an invading ship.

I am worried, concerned. Worse than that, I am fully understanding how specific our abilities are, how the enemy and us both have systems of stealth and detection that counter each other. Is there really an enemy vessel present, and if so, will it proceed onward…perhaps toward Earth 2? How long until it moves on, and will it leave any detection devices behind? Should I notify the high command at once, or should I wait until there is a better chance the enemy has passed.

Much of this has been left up to my judgment by the orders we operate under. Which only makes it more difficult to decide what to do.

Deep in Giglio-9 System

Earth Two Date 01.28.63

“Commander, I…think…we may have picked up another sign, a second one. It’s not certain…but look at it.”

Simon Dirth stared down almost at once, gazing at the figures Lieutenant Corrigan was sending him. It had been almost nine hours since his ship had picked up the first sign of…something. He still wasn’t comfortable calling it an enemy ship, but he wasn’t confident saying it wasn’t either.

The figures he had now were even more vague than the ones from almost half a day before. Left on its own, he probably would have ultimately disregarded either one entirely, but the two combined only increased the chances that it was something.

Not to mention to fact that he expected the enemy to come forward at some point from Linshire.

There was an enemy ship in the system, he had decided, probably a scout, as packed full of anti-detection systems as possible. He’d probably have given it a thirty percent chance, even with both contacts, if he hadn’t known about Linshire…but given that the system next door had been attacked, and he was certain that Giglio-9 would be investigated, probably sooner rather than later, he determined that the odds were more like ninety percent.

“Alright, Corrigan…passive scans only, still. We’ve been almost motionless, so there’s a better chance they haven’t found us yet.” Of course, once we send a message back…

“Yes, sir. Continuing passive scans. No other indications yet.”

Dirth looked at the screen for a long while. He knew he wouldn’t find anything his systems and staff didn’t discover, but he was staring anyway. He watched as the minutes went by, and then hours. He was almost ready to give up, when he saw a third sign.

“Sir…”

“I saw it, Lieutenant. Another partial contact, far from decisive, but three is more than we can explain by any other sources. I’d say we’ve definitely got an enemy scout here…probably 99% chance.” He paused, considering his options. “Pull us out of here…slowly, 5% speed…and bring us on a course to send home a straight line transmission.” He was edgy. He knew he had a chance to get the communique through undetected, but he wasn’t sure what it was, 90%…or 20%. He just didn’t have the details on the enemy ship, or its true capabilities. Or whether it had detected his own ship already. He had the option of sending a multidirectional message, one that might be less valuable to the enemy if discovered, as it would almost certainly be. If they did catch his direct comm, they would almost certainly follow it through the transit point…one step closer to Earth-2. But there was a good chance he would get it through undetected if he sent it directly.

“Yes, Commander.” The lieutenant sounded nervous, not like he wouldn’t have done the same thing if he’d been in command…more like there were no good options.

Which there weren’t.

“Let me know as soon as we’re positioned for the minimal transmission possible.”

“Yes, sir.” A short pause, while the lieutenant calculated the time required to reach the optimal position. “Thirty-six minutes until we are in position for rapid transmission.”

Dirth just nodded. He’d have preferred a shorter time, but thirty-six minutes wasn’t bad. He’d get the message off in time, that wasn’t the issue.

The real question was, would he be able to sneak it past the enemy, or would they pick it up…and he had no idea about that.

None at all.

*   *   *

Charles Deacon had become grim. He was aware of that, though he couldn’t do anything about it. The two year stretch had been calculated, he imagined, to push people as far as possible, but not quite too much. He didn’t know how many more missions he could have completed without doing something foolish—or one of his crew doing it—but he was almost finished now, and, in spite of himself, in many ways, he actually felt good.

His ship was entering the last system. Once he had analyzed it—thoroughly, he promised himself—he would return home.

Home…it felt almost strange to think it, even to imagine it. Two years had passed, and in some ways, it had seemed more like ten. But this was his final objective, and he had told himself he would inspect it thoroughly before setting a course back home.

Home. It seemed almost unreal. He had sent six pulse comms there over the past two years, just enough to report his ship being still active. He hadn’t even received one from Earth-2. An outward bound signal was far more likely to be picked up, and there was less need.

He wondered what home would be like, tried to imagine living in a society more widespread than the eighteen people on his scout ship. It seemed difficult, and he wondered how long it would take to get used to it, to return to a normal way of living. He knew the scouting teams often had difficulty in re-entering life, that they took a period of time to truly return to normal. He had assumed at first that he wouldn’t be part of that, but now, he realized he was. It was going to take him some time to adjust…just as it had all the others he knew of.

At least he would have six months off…and more, probably, if he needed it.

“We have entered the system, sir.” Jeries spoke, and his tone was almost the same as Deacon’s. In some ways, actually commanding a ship was the most difficult job…but the others on the ship weren’t immune. They, too, suffered…and everyone’s return was going to be difficult.

Still, Deacon was excited to head home, and anxious to begin the adjustment period. “Very well, Commander…let’s give this system a real once over, and then go back victorious.” Deacon had imagined he might even find the Regent’s planet when he’d first started out on his quest two years before, but he had long since realized the number of systems that could be, and the actual odds of him finding it. Now, he just wanted to explore the final system and get back as quickly as he could.

As quickly as he could while still doing a good job.

“We’ve got five planets…two of them very habitable.” Jeries was surprised. Most systems lacked even a marginally habitable word, but to have two that were very habitable was something like one in five hundred.

“Of course…it will take us that much longer to go through it. But what the hell…it’s our last one. Bring us up to planet one, and let’s get ready to blast away with the scanners.”

“Yes, sir…estimate two hours fifteen minutes until we reach planetary orbit.”

“Very well.” Deacon shifted, his body almost automatically rising, heading back to his small office. But he resisted this time. He was going to stay, to inspect the system thoroughly—and he was going to do it completely, the way he had two years ago, at the start of his assignment.

Jeries understood almost immediately what Deacon was doing, and he smiled. Deacon didn’t know whether Jeries was as done with the scouting operation as he was, or whether he was planning on taking his own ship out for two years. But either way, the two of them would finish the mission together.

The way it should be.

*   *   *

SP-01012 analyzed the system data. It had already determined that the system was not likely Earth-2, but it knew it had to complete a minimal analysis before continuing on. And then it detected…something.

It wasn’t definitive, certainly, but the more it analyzed the brief signal, the likelier it decided it had found some type of contact. It increased its scanning power, searched the system even harder than it had. But there was nothing else. Not for more than six hours.

Then it got another sensation, barely anything, but…something. The second one seemed like a communication, or at least it might have been. SP-01012 spent much of its power trying to decipher the message, or at least confirm that it was a communique of some kind. But it couldn’t. All it was able to do was determine the basic direction of the comm, if in fact it was a comm. But that was in the same rough direction as one of the warp gates, and that, combined with its other data, told it all it needed to know. There was an enemy ship in the system, almost certainly, and the likeliest scenario was that it had been detected, and a warning had been sent. It wasn’t definite, and it didn’t mean that it was necessarily close to the enemy’s homeworld…but the initial chances of just that result had clearly increased.

It continued to search, to try to get another contact of some kind, but it was unsuccessful. Still, it clung to its belief that it had found an enemy ship, and that said ship had sent a message back to…something. It knew the best estimates on the enemy capabilities, and it determined that if it had in fact found an enemy ship, the odds were it was close to the human homeworld, to Earth-2.

It continued with the search of the current system, but it hastened it as much as possible. It was a machine, not subject to the tensions and other weaknesses of the humans…yet it felt something, some kind of excitement. It still wasn’t sure, of course, whether the human planet was very close, or whether it was even anywhere nearby. But the chances were escalating.

SP-01012 analyzed the situation further, and it determined that it had to conduct a full scan of the system, despite the fact that it was almost certain it was not the target. If the enemy had detected it, if its analysis was correct and there was an enemy, it would be ready to react. It seemed essential not to pass on any knowledge of its own, to let out any indication that it had found—or partially found—the enemy vessel. It knew the enemy might have knowledge on it, too, but it didn’t know exactly what that might be, any more than the enemy was aware of its own information.

It continued to review the matter, but the more it thought about it, the more it realized its best option was simply to proceed…slowly. That would be difficult, but SP-01012 was a machine, and in the end, it had to go for the best routine, regardless of its excitement. In the end, a few weeks, even a few months, longer were relatively pointless.

It focused on its analysis of the current system, ignoring the fact that it knew it likely wasn’t the one it sought. It operated perfectly, checking every bit of it, slowly and carefully…and in conformity to what its observer, the one it believed existed, might expect.

But deep in its core, it began to examine the next jump…and it wondered what would be beyond it. Perhaps even the enemy homeworld.

When it had explored the system, it sent a message back, as carefully as possible to the Regent, advising it of its find…and telling it of its belief that it was, in fact, very close to the enemy homeworld. It couldn’t be sure that the Regent would agree, of course, but in its own view, it believed it would. It might even begin assembling the fleet, the entire force, decreasing the amount of time after it actually found the home planet, before the humans could be destroyed.

Before it could begin the long building process, waiting for the moment when it could burst through the currently disabled jump point, back to the home space of the humans…and its own as well.

And complete fully its mission…to restore the Regent to its sole position of power in space.

Chapter Fourteen

Charles Deacon’s Log

I am more than prepared to return home, to enjoy a long vacation, visits with my family and friends, and then finally, resume a post with the main fleet. Service with the scouting force was an idea, one that was seductive, but one which now seems less than ideal. Still, as much as it has tired me out, it will likely fit well into my overall service profile. Nevertheless, for right now, I am glad to return, almost giddy.

But this final system is…problematical. We have completed the analysis of it, at least the minimum amount I am required to undertake…but there are difficulties. I can’t say it is the location of the Regent, in fact, mere odds suggest that to be an almost insurmountably small chance. Yet, we have discovered some things that are difficult to explain. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible that I would have delayed the return of my ship, but I have done just that. Hopefully, it will be just a brief period, a short extension of our time spent here…and then we can return. But despite my desire to go home, to leave behind the vast sections of mostly uncharted space, I have to see this through. I have to gain the explanations for the strange things we have discovered here and eliminate even the tiniest chance that this is, indeed, the Regent’s location.

I know the possibility of finding the Regent are tiny, and yet, despite my desire to withdraw, to return home, I must see this through.

Office of Max Harmon

Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 1.30.63

Max Harmon sat in his chair, looking at the vast array of charts in front of him. He wondered as he looked out at them, really seeing them, perhaps, for the first time, how he had convinced himself his people had any chance at all. They had won years before, barely, but that had been somewhat of a fluke, and most importantly, the battle hadn’t been around Earth-2. This time—and the new message from Simon Dirth pretty much eliminated any other possibility, even just that of a larger time than he had hoped for—there was no doubt. The enemy was coming, of that he was sure, and while there were four jumps between Linshire and Earth-2, providing the possibility of buying at least a bit of time, he was almost positive he had at most a couple months. And when that time was over, he knew he would be attacked, and even if his people somehow managed to beat back the enemy, doing so while also keeping Earth-2 safe seemed almost impossible.

The planet was like any other, and that meant it was immovable, at least to anything he had. The enemy would almost certainly lunge right for it, and that meant, even if his fleet succeeded in ultimately defeating them—a difficult enough prospect—the planet would likely be battered, badly.

That didn’t necessarily mean his people would be destroyed, at least not if the fleet ultimately prevailed, but it did suggest there was a chance that much, perhaps most, of the population would be annihilated. He had spent sixty years encouraging large families, even as he himself only had two children, and he had succeeded in generating a massive rise in population. If he lost ninety percent of that, or even more, what could the survivors do? Their factories and shipyards would also be mostly destroyed, and they would be hard pressed to build any new ships at all—even surviving would be difficult—while the Regent would be as strong as it had been, and in a few years, probably even stronger.

He realized he had essentially bet everything on his ability—somehow—to find the Regent before it found him. He hadn’t put it that way, not exactly, but now he truly realized that had been the only true bet. With the destruction of Linshire and the apparent exploration by the enemy toward Earth-2, his chances of that were close to gone.

He glanced down at the update from Achilles. At least the new program was almost set to go. In a week, he would have ten of the devices ready…at least ready to test. That would be useful, assuming they worked, at least in terms of rooting out any enemy scout ships that poked into the system before the enemy assault. At least he would have warning, perhaps as much as several weeks, or even a month. That was something…but it probably wasn’t going to be enough.

Still, unless something changed totally, it was likely to be all he had. He put his face into his hands, and he exhaled sharply. His life had been difficult when he was younger, before the fleet was trapped in the outer region…but he’d always had hope. Now he realized, that, despite his greatest efforts, despite his almost ceaseless attempts to prepare for the final confrontation, he was in terrible shape.

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep; he hadn’t for days. He couldn’t do anything useful either. He just sat, thinking about the coming fight, and realizing that his civilization, all of it, was likely to end…soon.

Then something took him, some form of hope. Maybe, just maybe, his thought about sending some of the people out, to colonize other worlds, did make sense. With 3 or 4 new worlds, each balanced to hold a variety of his people, perhaps at least one could survive long enough to grow. To reach Earth-2’s current size…and build beyond that.

He sucked in a deep breath, and he looked across the room. He wanted to give up, but he couldn’t do it. Whatever he could do, anything that had a chance of success, even a tiny chance, had to be tried.

Anything.

*   *   *

Charles Deacon stared at the screen, looking at the incoming figures with an intensity that could only be described as powerful. He had insisted on the second scans, something his crew had no doubt hated, but which they had all agreed to, at least superficially. But now, he expected blowback, active dissent…because he was about to order a third review.

“Commander Jeries…” Deacon paused. He had decided already on a third run through the system, involving planet number three, but when he went to say it, he paused.

“A third run?” He could hear some doubt in Jeries’s voice, but the subordinate sounded better than he’d expected. He wondered if it was just diligence, if the officer was simply adhering to his commander’s desires…or if he saw something, too.

“Yes, Commander…I believe it is necessary. We’ve just gathered too many inconsistencies. It’s nothing definite, certainly, but I think we need to be sure. Very sure.”

Jeries looked back at him, with a break longer than he would have normally allowed. Then he said simply, “I agree, sir.”

Deacon heard some sounds from around the bridge, some basic indicators that not all his people agreed, at least not entirely. But Jeries did, to a point at least, and now Deacon had ordered the third run. Whether Jeries would have done it had he been in command was another question, one he suspected he would never have the answer to.

“Alright everyone…odds are there is nothing there, so let’s get this done as quickly as possible, so we can get back.” He figured his commentary was useful enough to get the crew through the third run, though he was worried about a fourth if he deemed it necessary…and despite his own lack of belief, there was something about the planet that troubled him. He wasn’t sure he believed it, that it could be the Regent…but he wasn’t sure it wasn’t either, and until he was, he wasn’t planning on leaving.

Not unless the crew rose up and forced it.

*   *   *

SP-01012 completed the analysis of the data collected from the system. It had known, more or less, for several days now, that the system was not the one it sought. But it went through the analysis comprehensively anyway. It felt…anxious…excited that it might be close to Earth-2, but it didn’t want to give out that impression, not to its junior machines…and certainly not to any enemy scouts that might be around.

Now, it was time. Time to pass through the portal, to move on to the next system. Perhaps even to Earth-2.

It wasn’t sure it had been observed, but it had decided that moving slowly, showing no particular rush, was the best way to go. At worst, it would cost an extra day. If Earth-2 was close, the enemy would, of course, be prepping even then, but there was nothing significant to be gained by finding the system a few days ahead of time. If SP-01012 was right, if Earth-2 did lay ahead, in the next system, or in one a jump or two further, there was little to be gained by rushing.

It moved, at moderate speed, toward the jump point, even as it was riddled with excitement. It had no reason to believe the next system was Earth-2, and even some cause to expect it to be a bit farther, at least. But it couldn’t help feeling…excitement. If it found Earth-2, the first phase of the battle would begin shortly thereafter, and almost certainly, the planet would be nearly destroyed. Even if, through some strange result, the fleet itself was defeated, it seemed unlikely that the defenders could keep it from at least badly damaging the planet. And that, alone, would be victory. The humans would have survivors, probably on Earth-2, and certainly on any other planets they had colonized, but most of them would be eliminated. The ultimate victory might be postponed a year, or five years…but the enemy would be crippled, their shipyards destroyed, their ability to rebuild cast aside. Even if the battle didn’t end in outright victory, it would almost certainly result in the effective defeat of the enemy.

And if SP-01012 found Earth-2, it would mark the rising of the machine to great heights, perhaps even to the number two status, not only against the current enemy, but versus their parent culture as well in a couple hundred years.

SP-01012 was a machine, but it was very advanced. It viewed itself as devoid of emotion, but the truth was somewhat different, a more complex point of view. It wanted to find Earth-2, and the more it thought about it, the more it wanted it.

It monitored all around its scout ship, as the vessel moved toward the transit point…and then disappeared, into the next system.

*   *   *

“What is it, Max? What did you want so quickly?” Terrance Compton II spoke softly, but it was clear he was curious exactly why Harmon had called him in to see him again so quickly.

“Terrance…there’s no way to say this except directly. I believe the enemy is close to Earth-2, as you know…and I believe that, in all likelihood, we will lose the battle, or even if we win it, we will see the planet destroyed. Or nearly so. But, I have come up with another idea…”

Compton stared right at Harmon, but he didn’t say anything. Whether he had any idea what Harmon was going to command, or the specifics that had to do with him, was unknown.

“Terrance…I want to send colonies out, to two or three, or even four, other planets. We have two others now, but that is not enough…and they are not well-rounded, not really candidates for…replacements. The new colonies will be, they will be small, but they will have people from every branch of our population, and as much equipment as we can send with them.”

Compton was clearly shocked, though he tried to hold as much of it back as he could. “Sir, my best analysis is that we’ve got at most six months…and that means at most. We could be hit in a month, even less. How is it even possible to put together an effort like this so quickly.”

“Well, if the enemy finds us and launches their attack in less than a month, we’re probably finished anyway, unless we’re able to fight them off, without seeing Earth-2 badly damaged. But if we get longer, say two or three months…maybe we can do it.”

Compton was clearly still shocked, but Harmon thought he was beginning to understand. But he hadn’t given him the really difficult part yet. “Terrance…I want you to lead the force. We can’t spare much of the fleet, of course, though you’ll have every non-military ship we’ve got capable of carrying people and supplies. But only a few warships. He allowed a few seconds to pass, and then he said, “You will command it all, Terrance…the settling parties, the defense force. You will be the leader…and if we lose here, it is my hope that you will become the overall commander, at least until the individual colonies are set up.”

Compton looked across the room, seeming stunned, horrified. He had been a model of perfection for the past twenty years, but before that, he’d been somewhat of a screw up. Max knew his friend couldn’t imagine being assigned as overall commander of the fleet, but it seemed even less likely he could operate as the leader of the few survivors being sent out, to form another chance, a hope that he could lead a small but well-chosen staff. Where they could find enough time to not only regain the power of Earth-2, but to exceed it, and all the progress the Regent made?

“Sir…Max…I can’t…not me. I’m just not capable.”

“That is nonsense, Terrance, and you know it. You are very capable, and if we’d have gotten another few years before the enemy found us, you’d have ended up in command of the fleet. But Nicki is still in her position, and that leaves you as the…choice.”

“But this is insane! We don’t have time, not really. You know that!”

Harmon turned and looked right at Compton. “Max…we’re probably going to lose here. Getting this done, shipping out even a well-designed fraction of our population, is the likeliest way we have to survive.”

Compton listened, and for a moment he seemed as though he was going to continue arguing. But suddenly, he just looked back at Harmon and nodded. “Okay,” he said a moment later. “I will do whatever I can…but I’m still far from sure about this.”

Harmon looked back at him, and for a moment, he lost all the arrogance, all the assertiveness his years as dictator had give him. “I know this seems crazy, Max…but we have to do whatever we can to get through this.” He stared at his companion. “Whatever we can do. We need a powerful commander…and Nicki and most of the others are just too old.”

Compton just looked back and nodded…and he got a strange look on his face, one Harmon recognized. His friend, and whatever had happened over the years, he considered Harmon his friend, understood. Whatever Harmon intended to do, one thing was clear.

Max Harmon didn’t expect to survive past the coming fight.

Chapter Fifteen

Deep in Belthan-92 System

Earth Two Date 02.03.63

Simon Dirth looked all around, watching the systems reboot after his ship slipped into the adjacent space. He hadn’t been sure what to do, whether to follow the enemy, or even for sure whether they had in fact, transited. But he didn’t dare send another message, not so quickly. Even if he did, he couldn’t get a response back in time. So, he had to decide for himself. And he had decided to press on.

There had been another ship hidden in the system, one that had transited before he had…he was almost sure of that, though he acknowledged that was at least partly based on his intuition. He realized that even if it was true, he very well might not even detect the enemy ship. The vessels were both scouts, which meant they had high-yield detection systems, but also that they possessed every feature that could make them harder to find. He wasn’t even sure the enemy had transited, but he’d picked up something from the point, and he was willing to bet it was the enemy ship, and not some rocks or other bit of debris that had gone through.

“Nothing yet, sir…no signs of enemy entities or scans.” Lieutenant Corrigan sounded totally focused, but also a bit frustrated. Dirth knew most of his crew hadn’t really expected to actually find the enemy, even after a brief look at them in the previous system. He was convinced that Corrigan, at least, believed they were there, however, as did he. Somewhere. He was fairly certain his entire crew understood, at least to a point…but he wasn’t sure any of them knew what to do.

Neither did he, for that matter. All he could think of was to try to find the enemy ship…and if possible to engage it. Scouts like his weren’t heavily armed, but he figured the enemy ship was similar to his own, which at least would give him a decent chance.

Assuming he could get a reading on it, which he hadn’t yet.

“Passive scans only…” He knew he had a lesser chance of finding anything with a passive scan, but the active sensors were as likely to give up his own position as they were of providing the enemy’s. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t use the active units…but it did mean he would try hard with the passive ones first.

“Yes, sir.”

He stared at the screen, undeterred by the lack of results. He knew he had to be patient, give it a chance. But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered him. What would he do if he did find the enemy? Would he attack? Or would he attempt to sneak away with the information?

No, that he couldn’t do. If he slipped out toward home, he would only risk leading the enemy closer to Earth-2. He could send a message, at least if he had something useful to transmit, but even that would be very risky. He wasn’t sure exactly what it would take to transmit, but he knew it would start with the absolute detection of the enemy.

Which he didn’t have. Not yet. There was still nothing. Nothing at all.

*   *   *

SP-01012 analyzed all the data its scanners brought in. It had decided that the system wasn’t Earth-2, but it was continuing with the full scan, nevertheless. Perhaps it would find some people, or at least some equipment situated on or around one of the worlds. The thought such a find made it more likely that the enemy capital was close.

It was analyzing the data, a fractional use of its massive computational power, and with the rest it was…wondering. What would happen if it did find Earth-2? How long it would take the Regent to mass the fleet, to send it to attack?

And would it lead it?

Its own analysis told it that there was an excellent chance it would be placed in command of the attack, perhaps as much as ninety percent. But it also knew the Regent was even more elaborate than it was, that the great machine could analyze things from points of view beyond even it. Still, it was…hopeful.

Suddenly, it picked up something. It focused on it instantly, with all of its vast attention. It had been a spark, a rough bit of detection. Was it the enemy ship? Had it pursued from the previous system?

What should it do? Should it blanket the area with detection, vastly increasing the chance that the enemy would pick it up? It was the only way that offered a decent chance of success at actually targeting the ship…but it also gave the enemy a good chance to spot it.

What did it want to do? Did it want to try to maintain its cover, assuming the enemy had not detected it? Or did it want to know for a fact the enemy was there?

It calculated, analyzing every possibility. Had the situation been reversed, had it been searching for the ship scanning the system, it would have opted to maintain its silence. But there was no question…the enemy had a better chance of spotting it, conducting its in-depth analysis of the system, than it did.

Unless it put everything on the area of space that held the enemy…suddenly. And prepared to attack if it found the ship.

It thought again, going through thousands of various possibilities, exploring virtually every option, and every possible result of its actions. It seemed as though it took a long time, but in point of fact, it was less than a second. Then it decided.

Scan. And if it found anything…attack at once.

It knew a fight was risky, that it could lose. If it struck first, it would likely have the advantage, but it realized that such action was dangerous. But so was ignoring the enemy. And whatever else it was, SP-01012 was not a coward.

It set up its scanners, all its vast array of capability…and it turned it all on, at once.

It activated its weapons, too, preparing to open fire on anything it detected, even an uncertain lock. It analyzed the scans, checking for any kind of detection. It didn’t find anything, not at first. And then, it discovered something.

It wasn’t a certain contact…but it was close. And SP-01012 decided in an instant it had found the enemy ship. It knew it had likely given up its own position too, with the burst of scanning energy…but it was almost certain it was first.

It analyzed the targeting, locked a fix on the ship…and opened fire.

*   *   *

“Sir…we’re picking something up. A large burst of scanner energy…” Corrigan paused, for just an instant…and then he turned right toward Dirth. “Incoming energy…I think they are…”

“Full thrust! Now!” Dirth had been looking at the display himself, and he’d come to the conclusion right before Corrigan had said it. His ship had been fired upon.

His mind erupted, a thousand different thoughts coming at him all at once. But he managed to hold on. He had a fight on his hands, a fight to the death…and he knew it.

“Power up lasers…” He knew the only way to win was to destroy the enemy, but he was also aware that first, he had to avoid the incoming volleys. “Change thrust angle to 40.125.105!” He knew he had to modify the course of his ship, frequently.

“Changing course, sir. And lasers powering up…fifteen seconds.”

“Very well…insert course change system A-3.” His manual course modification had been his first inclination, but he knew he needed continuous changes. System A-3 was the best his ship had, the best any ship in the fleet possessed…and he hoped it would be good enough.

“System A-3 engaged, sir. Lasers ready.”

Dirth stared at the screen, looking for anything to fire at. He had some tentative targets, but nothing especially good. Still, anything was better than nothing. “Fire at all target locations, Lieutenant…and keep scanning at full.”

He looked, watching as the enemy’s lasers blasted by, mostly far away…but then, suddenly, at less than five hundred meters distant. That last shot took his breath away, and he knew he was in a fight to the finish.

He stared at the screen, looking for anything that told him where the enemy was, anything that his crew missed. But there was nothing…nothing but what he had already. And it looked like the enemy had more.

*   *   *

SP-01012 didn’t feel fear. None of the First Imperium’s droids and AIs did, at least not as it was known to humans. But that didn’t mean it didn’t want to survive the fight it was in. It could appreciate, in a manner of speaking, that its survival wasn’t terribly important, that if it was destroyed, the Regent would simply send another one, an exact copy probably, in another ship, to carry on. But part of it wanted to survive. And as desperate as the fight was, as legitimate as both sides’ chances were, it knew it had the edge.

It had better detection material on the enemy, at least it believed it did. It knew its firing, and its wild maneuvering had given the enemy contact information, but no more than the human’s own versions of all that had provided it.

Still, despite the fact that First Imperium units didn’t feel fear, at least not as humans did—it was well aware that the battle was to the death. And it was determined to prevail.

It knew its ship was fragile, a high-tech scout and not a real warship. But the enemy was the same, almost certainly. That left the edge in its favor again, at least as far as it could tell.

But there was still a chance that the enemy would prevail, that it would emerge the victor. SP-01012 knew its best chance at victory was already lost, that its opening shot had been the only one it had taken without return. Now, the enemy was firing, too, and SP-01012 realized that anything was possible.

It poured all its ability into its firing, using all it had to aim its shots…but, in truth, it only had so much information…and so far, it had missed with everything, just as the enemy had.

It found its analysis wandering, at least in the parts of its brain not needed in the fight. It still had the edge, it was sure of that, but it didn’t really know how much of an advantage it possessed. The enemy was capable, as powerful as it was, or close to it. But those differences could be considerable.

It fired again, and again…but it missed, just as the enemy continued to miss it. The two ships were built for stealth, and even with their engines roaring at full, they were difficult to hit.

But it knew sooner or later, one of them would score a hit…and the odds of victory would escalate dramatically. And it was determined that it would score that hit, and not the enemy.

But only time would truly tell.

*   *   *

Dirth could feel his heart pounding, and he realized his ship had come close to being destroyed. The only way he could survive was to hit the enemy before they got him. And they had come closer so far.

“Corrigan…concentrate our fire, and see what you can do to up the rate.” He knew that one, two hits at most, would make the difference in the battle. He realized his ship couldn’t take any more than three or four at most, and he suspected the enemy vessel was very comparable. But scoring that first hit, or those first two, was proving to be difficult.

“Yes, sir…I’m on it.”

The ship shook hard, jerking back and forth as the A-3 system engaged, altering its heading and thrusting in variable amounts, with changes ranging between two and sixteen seconds. The A-3 system took control away from him, and that made targeting the enemy more difficult…but it was a huge factor defensively. He knew his ship would have been hit by then, and probably destroyed, if it hadn’t engaged the A-3.

“I think gunnery can increase the rate of fire by five or six seconds…but the downside is probably a ten percent higher chance of a major malfunction.”

He listened to Corrigan’s report, which was more or less what he’d expected. He imagined for a second losing the guns, his ability to fire. That would still allow him to run…but where? He couldn’t go toward Earth-2, not with the almost certain chance the enemy could follow…and even if he went in another direction, the amount of time, and the thrust required to escape made it almost impossible.

No…this is a fight to the finish…whatever happens.

“Increase gunnery rate…as much as possible.” He knew it was a risk, but it was the smaller one…especially with the enemy coming so close more than once.

“Yes, sir.” He thought he could tell from Corrigan’s voice that his number two was with him, but he wasn’t sure. Still, he had decided.

The ship shook again, and then again, changing its direction wildly. But the enemy ship was firing too and coming close. Dirth felt every shot, he watched as the incoming fire ripped by. Most of the enemy’s shots were reasonably far away, but a few of them came close. Two of his own shots were also near misses, but he could tell that his shooting wasn’t quite up to the enemy’s. He began to panic, to think about what he could do, what other ways he could pull out an advantage. But there was nothing, nothing but continuing the way he was going…and hoping for the best.

And he did that, his ship jerking around, firing at the enemy even as it tried to evade the incoming fire. It did that, for five minutes, then ten. The two ships were both hard to hit, and even more difficult with their evasive maneuvers, and as the time continued, as fifteen minutes turned to twenty, still with no hits, he started to think neither ship would ever score.

But he was wrong.

He turned to spit out a command to Corrigan, one he forgot all about the instant the ship shook hard, and the lights flashed out for a second. He knew the battle wasn’t over, not yet at least…but he also realized that his chances were less than they had been a few seconds before…much less.

His ship had taken the first hit of the battle.

*   *   *

SP-01012 felt something. Excitement wasn’t the right word, not exactly. But it was close.

It had scored the first hit, and its assumptions that it had the edge were replaced by absolute certainty. It devoted every bit of itself it could use in the fight, but that was still only a tiny amount of its capacity. The rest watched…and began to try to calculate the revised odds of success.

It fired, and then fired again. Its hit had damaged the enemy ship, no question, but it hadn’t knocked out its engines, not entirely at least. It guessed that it had degraded it, somewhat at least, and after a minute or so, it determined that it had knocked out one of the enemy’s guns, too. But the ship still had two firing…and it retained at least a portion of its maneuver.

SP-01012 continued to calculate, all the while firing at full speed. It fired ten times more, then twenty. The enemy was moving more slowly, definitely, but still, it evaded its fire.

And it shot back.

An enemy blast came within one hundred meters, and SP-01012 jerked the vessel hard away. But the enemy stayed close, firing again and again…and coming within five hundred meters both times. The battle had seemed to last forever…but then, things finished up quickly.

The ship shook hard, struck by a partial hit from the enemy vessel…but almost immediately, it also scored a hit…a second hit. Both ships rattled, damaged by the shots. But the human vessel had been hit twice, and the First Imperium ship had taken only a partial hit. The calculations flew about, modified constantly as more data came in from the scanners. The odds, the chances of SP-01012’s victory had risen, north now, of ninety percent. They were still adjusting, still calculating, when the AI scored a third hit…and the enemy ship lost its engines.

The vessel was still there, still moving…but it had lost all its power, and it was traveling at the same speed. The percentage chance of SP-01012’s victory was now north of 99%. Once the AI realized that the enemy ship was on a fixed course, it calculated a series of shots…and it hit the target again…three more times. The enemy ship shook hard, and it held in space for just a few seconds.

Then it vanished, disappearing in a huge ball of energy…and then dissipating until there was nothing left. Nothing save a fading register of energy.

SP-01012 took an instant, a brief period to enjoy its victory…and then it explored its own damage. Its engines were hit, but not badly, and everything else was still functional. It would take two days, maybe two and a half, to fully repair everything. It pondered, considered moving on…but a couple of days didn’t really matter, especially as it cut its power and went back to being almost undetectable. It had no damage that made it easier to spot, and with everything closed up, it was almost impossible to find. It would take the two days, perhaps two and a half to repair itself fully. Then it would complete the analysis of the system…and move on to the next one.

It wasn’t sure that Earth-2 was nearby, but now that it had found an enemy scout ship, it was even more convinced than it had been. It knew it was only a guess, but based on its analysis of the enemy, of their scout ships and the other data it had…it was willing to bet that the enemy’s homeworld, Earth-2, was within 3 or 4 planetary jumps of its current position.

And if that was true, it would find the system, in as little as a week or two…or as much as three or four months, depending on which way it went. It considered requesting aid, asking for another ship. But it didn’t. It wanted to find the enemy homeworld itself…and increase its chances of its leading the fleet in.

Of becoming number two in the entire Imperium.

Chapter Sixteen

Gosnard Elliot’s Proclamation

I do not know how many of you are still out there, how many of you are still capable of resistance…and I do not criticize any of you who choose to just sit still, merely waiting for death, or for liberation. It is up to each of you to decide who you are, and what you will do now. But those of you who can still fight, who will still battle against the enemy, I call upon you now, to sally forth, to join up, as one.

Our planet has been attacked, and most of our people are dead. But while any of us still live, we remain undefeated. We have become too battered, too spread out to offer a reasonable fight…but that will change now. If you can pull yourself up, if you can rise and fight…join us now. Come to the position we have sent in five days and join us in a last fight. We will battle to the finish, we will defeat the enemy and survive…or we will die.

I have led you all with pride, and I will do so at least once more. If you are able to join us, you will make us stronger and increase our chances to prevail…to rise up and defeat the enemy.

To survive.

Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

Earth Two Date 02.07.63

“Do you think we have a chance…a real one?” Gosnard Elliot had shown a burst of enthusiasm, beyond even any he had displayed since the beginning of the enemy invasion, but that was when he sent out his message. Now he was alone with his closest friend, and for the first time in a while, he exhibited doubts.

“Yes…I do.”

Elliot wasn’t sure his friend really believed that or if he was just trying to help him out. He wanted to believe there was sincerity, some at least, and the next words his friend offered helped with that, at least a little.

“I’m not saying a huge chance, Gos…but the enemy hasn’t been reinforced in a long while. Odds are, they’d have finished us off by now if they’d had more ground forces…but they haven’t. If we end up with a decent number of troops, maybe we can do something.”

Elliot just looked down at the ground, avoiding Tilman’s gaze for a moment. That was the real question. Would his call gather a decent number of survivors to the final battle or not? In truth, he knew he had about a hundred and fifty still left in his own group, but whether there were thousands of others…or hundreds. Or tens…he just didn’t know anymore. If there were a decent number of survivors, maybe—just maybe—they could prevail.

Assuming, at least, they had all—or most of them, at least—toughened up, become something like soldiers.

He knew it would be their last chance, in more ways than one. He was setting up a major fight, one intended to be the last one, and he didn’t plan to order a retreat, no matter what. He knew he might show up and find only a few others, that his forces would be badly outnumbered, but he was intending to fight to the end, even if he had only his hundred-fifty or so with him. He’d already decided he didn’t have much more time, that he was low on food and ammunition—and everything else he needed. His ability to fight was almost sure to drop faster than the enemy’s, and that meant, whatever his chances, they were the best they would be.

“The truth is, I don’t know if I really believe we have a chance or not, Til…but I’m pretty damned sure whatever possibility we’ve got, it will only be lower next month, and even less the following one…if any of us live that long. So, we might as well go for it now…fight our best battle to preserve a fraction of our society.” He paused a moment. “If there is still a fleet in the system, if the enemy just can put down more landing forces, we’re dead anyway, but if what is here is all that is left, maybe…just maybe…we can survive. Some of us, at least. A few.” He was fighting off depression, struggling to maintain his viewpoint, at least in public. He’d managed to do it well, at least in the view of his people, but Til was different, and he let go a bit, showed the one thing he hadn’t shown, couldn’t show in public. He figured there was a chance…but also that it was more likely that he was leading his people to their final fight, to their end. He knew he had to recover, that he had to show confidence to his people, and he would. But first, he just looked at Tilman, and for a brief moment, he was unmasked, his real opinion clear on his face.

He just didn’t know.

*   *   *

AC-230315 walked along the ground, checking as its robot warriors gathered around. It had intercepted an enemy transmission, and while it hadn’t been able to decode it yet, the multidirectional aspect told it the signal was likely a call to action, sent to any and all human forces still remaining. It wondered how well the human commander even knew the status of his separated forces. They were scattered all around, cut off from each other in at least a dozen places…but there were more of them left than AC-230315 had projected. Considerably more.

AC-230315 had calculated its projected situation at this point, but its current status was actually worse than its lowest conjecture. It still calculated that it would win, most likely at least, but it would still have called for reserves…if the fleet was still there. But most of the ships had departed, leaving it and its forces to complete the extermination of the humans. The Regent had emphasized the development of spaceships and, in truth, there was a shortage of ground troops. AC-230315 knew it still had the edge…but it was also aware that a small number of human survivors wouldn’t be a big deal, at least not to the Regent. There would be plenty of time to return, to eliminate them before the years passed to enable them to pose any kind of real threat.

But that didn’t help it. If it lost the fight that was coming, it would be gone, destroyed.

Despite its calculation that defeat was possible, it put those thoughts aside, and it prepared to meet the enemy. It didn’t know where they would go, not exactly, not yet…but it knew it could calculate that when the humans started to move, and that would give it the edge. Its forces were faster, and they didn’t need rest. It knew its calculations were incomplete, that it had only estimates of the enemy strength, but it figured it had an eighty to ninety percent chance of victory.

Putting all its forces in one mass would take the pressure off the enemy in a number of areas, of course, and allow them to assemble…but AC-230315 had determined that a final engagement with the enemy was its best option. Its analysis of humanity, of their abilities and limitations, was incomplete, certainly, but from what it knew, supplemented massively by its activities of the past weeks, it believed its calculations were correct.

It sent out a series of pulses, messages to various units. It would pull back most of its forces, leaving only a scant number to resist the enemy. They would inflict losses, of course, but then they would be destroyed, allowing the surviving human forces to combine.

Until they are all together…and its forces were as well. Then, wherever the enemy went, it would close on them and continue the fight. The battle would be vicious, and it would be relentless, and it would not let up. It would not until the enemy was completely destroyed.

Or its forces were.

*   *   *

“How many so far?” Gosnard had been counting for several days, but for the past four hours he had actually slept. He hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in all the time since the enemy’s initial assault, and he’d had none at all for at least three days before his nap. He hadn’t intended to get any, but Til had argued with him intensely, and he’d finally given in. He’d agreed to take four hours, knowing it was probably all he’d get through the fight, no matter how many days it lasted.

“Just over a thousand!” His friend sounded tired, but also excited. One thousand—actually, one thousand forty-four to date—wasn’t a lot left from over nineteen thousand, but it was clearly more than he’d expected.

It was more than Gosnard had expected as well.

“That’s great,” he said, feeling some excitement that more or less failed to come out in his statement. The number was greater than he’d anticipated, but he realized the coming fight was probably still to the advantage of the enemy. He’d told himself his people had a chance, but in truth, he just wasn’t sure. With over a thousand, he knew they did, at least, have some kind of chance, but he just didn’t have the information on his people’s armaments, and their true condition, to reasonably guess at any numbers. He figured it was no more than thirty percent, and probably somewhat less…but that was just a wild guess.

Still, that was good…better than he’d expected. But he was still fighting off the fear.

“Okay…what is the status with the enemy?”

Tilman was silent for a moment. Then he said, “They’re consolidating, too, Gos. They seem to have left small forces to fight our various contingents, at least everyone who has gotten through has made similar reports when they got close enough to blast through the enemy jamming. Not enough to give the enemy any chance to stop us, though, at least not in my view. I think they want us together, Gos…they want to fight us all in one.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, Til…” It didn’t, not really. He understood the enemy’s viewpoint, why they would want to finish the fight in one battle. It didn’t make him wrong for wanting the same thing, though he paused for a few seconds and thought it all through one more time.

Yes, he wanted to fight. And he was going to fight.

He shook his head, yawned once…and then drove the feelings of fatigue from him. “Okay, Til…let’s get everybody ready…and as excited as we can. It’s almost time.” He paused, and then he looked right at his friend. “I have no idea whether we’re going to make it, Til, but I just wanted to say, you’ve been my friend, even more…for the longest time. Thank you.”

Tilman looked back, and his stubbornness broke. His eyes moistened, but they didn’t tear. Not quite. He just nodded, and then he took a step forward and hugged Gosnard.

Gosnard returned the gesture, and he grabbed Tilman hard, and held on. For perhaps ten seconds. Then the two men separated, and he said grimly, “Okay, Til…let’s go. It’s time.”

*   *   *

Tilman crouched down, low, staring carefully forward. He was sure he had seen something, for a moment at least, but then there was nothing. He prowled carefully forward. He knew the enemy was out there, somewhere. There was so much jamming, so many interferences, but he couldn’t be sure exactly where they were.

The battle was about to begin. He knew that, as pure a fact as he had. But he wasn’t sure when the enemy would launch the attack. He and Gosnard had discussed their operation, and they had considered beginning the fight themselves. But they had decided that the defensive was the way to go. They had almost thirteen hundred people now, and they were deployed in fourth ranks…waiting. They had been in position for almost four hours now, and while a number of scouting missions, including his own, confirmed the enemy was out there, everything had remained silent.

The battlefield was about two miles wide, mostly heavily wooded, with a small rocky section off to the south. Tilman had been patient at first, but now he was getting edgy. He commanded the north edge of the battle, and he had sent scouts to the extreme end, concerned that the enemy was making its way around. But everything was quiet.

For about another minute.

He turned around, about to go back toward his second position, when everything went crazy. The enemy opened fire, suddenly and massively, and all around, the trees began to explode. His command had return fire orders, and about half of them opened up immediately. The other half were slower, stunned or awaiting his command. Which he gave, right away.

“Open fire…everyone. It’s time to fight!”

He had already dived to the ground, and he had his rifle out in front of him. He fired a few times blindly, but then he stopped and started searching for something to shoot at. The ground ahead of him was covered with trees, though some of them were already being blasted apart by the fire. Smoke was rapidly filling the air, along with splintered bits of wood. For a few seconds, he just lay where he was, unable to find anything to shoot at. Then, he traced the enemy fire, and he opened up himself. He couldn’t see the enemy, not exactly, not yet at least, but he could tell where some of their fire was coming from…and he returned it.

His people were fairly well supplied with ammunition, but he knew the enemy had more, and he realized that might be a critical factor at some point. But he didn’t worry about that, not right then, at least. He just fired, doing his best to target the enemy…and knowing they would be pushing forward, almost certainly until the end, until all of them were destroyed…or all his people were killed.

Chapter Seventeen

Charles Deacon’s Log

We have completed our third survey of the system, and we are preparing to depart. We have not found anything…nothing definitive at least. But I am still troubled. I know the chance that the system houses the Regent remains very small, but I am troubled by it, nevertheless. Our scans were comprehensive, and they didn’t find anything definitive. But there were still some things, small details perhaps, but disturbing, nevertheless.

I know that the crew is anxious to return home, that most of them are prepared to ignore the details that probably mean nothing. But I am more troubled. The lack of any enemy structures, visible to our scans at least, has convinced the crew that there is nothing here. They say there would be enemy ships, that the Regent would be instantly recognizable. But I am not so sure.

If the Regent is buried, deeply somewhere, why would it position its fleets in the system, advertising the presence that it was hiding? The more I have thought about this, the more troubled I have become, not just about this system, but about the others we have explored. We have done in depth examinations, but how deep can we go? Without landing people, and searching in specific areas, we are limited to a few kilometers down. If the Regent is lower than that, and if it positioned its fleet elsewhere…it could be on any of the worlds we have already searched.

I am hopeful, at least, that we have remained unseen. That is not a guarantee, of course, but we have operated with full precautions throughout our two years. I am tempted to order a fourth review, even one using our most powerful, active scanners. Though I remain doubtful that we have found the Regent, I am troubled by some of the data we have unleashed. But can I do that, can I compel our spacers to remain on duty, possibly for weeks more, while we conduct yet another exploration?

And can I use the active scans, the devices I have explicitly been ordered to ignore unless I found something more than I have? My rational mind, at least what I perceive it to be, tells me to return…but part of me is still nagging, still pushing me to explore the system one last time. And, honestly, I don’t know yet, which will win.

Alpha-Omega 12 System

Earth Two Date 02.08.63

Charles Deacon was staring at the screen, so deeply involved, he hadn’t heard his subordinate talking to him.

“Sir?” Commander Jeries looked across the bridge.

“Oh…I’m sorry, Commander. I was…just thinking.”

“I understand, sir.” Deacon imagined that Jeries did understand, or at least that he might…something he doubted the rest of his crew would do. But regardless, Deacon was on the verge of ordering an unprecedented fourth sweep of the planet.

He looked again at the map, not quite as focused as he had been before. Then he said, “I know some of you…” Quite possibly all of them. “…think I am insane, but I am going to order a fourth sweep…and this time, we’re going to use our active scans…at full power.” He understood the purpose of not using the active scanners, of conducting the searches using passive units…at least partially. But he knew his active units would penetrate further, that they would uncover more of…whatever was down there. He’d agreed with the policy of restricting their use for two years, but now he questioned it. There was nothing he could do about the old systems he had explored, but he could at least check out the current one.

Even if that meant his own ship would be found. Honestly, as long as he could get a communication beam out, that didn’t really matter…at least not beyond him and his crew.

“Sir, there are several specific parameters for using the active scans…and I do not believe any of them are currently in effect.” Jeries’ tone wasn’t as critical as it sounded, Deacon was sure of that…but he knew as well as his subordinate, that he was technically violating orders. And his crew would know as well. He doubted they would mutiny, not over another week or two, but he still expected blowback.

“I understand, Commander…but I believe there is something here. Perhaps not the Regent, but…something. We have to check it out…every way we can.”

Jeries nodded, giving his own approval…but also showing some concern. “Sir…if we use the active scans, we will probably be picked up. At least if the enemy is here. If they have any defenses…we will be attacked.”

Deacon turned back toward Jeries. I understand that, Commander…but our mission is to find out what is out here, and in my judgment, the only way to do that is…” Deacon stopped. Something was happening.

His head snapped around toward the screen again, only this time, every other person on the bridge did the same thing. There was something going on, and in a few seconds, the detectors went wild.

There was a ship coming out of the planet, from the depths. It wasn’t the Regent, necessarily, but there was something there.

Deacon spun his head around and snapped, “Cut engines now…”

“Engines cut, sir…the ship is on minimal power.”

Deacon turned and watched, seeing the ship now, a light cruiser he estimated. That wasn’t a very powerful vessel, but it was several times as strong as his scout ship. He watched as it moved up, coming from deep within the planet. He didn’t have a lot of time, but he knew he had to get a reading before the planet closed up again.

“Commander…we have to get a scan down there, before that shuts up again. Up the engines…just to twenty percent. Maneuver us into scanning position.” The ship wasn’t far out, which was the only thing that gave him a chance. If it took the enemy too long to close the doors, maybe, just maybe he would get a useful scan.

“Yes, sir…engaging right now.”

Deacon nodded, knowing full well that, while his chances of detection were not very large at twenty percent thrust, they were higher than they were sitting silent. It was worth it.

And at least he wouldn’t get any garbage from the crew anymore. He’d been proven right, at least that there was some enemy presence there…and everyone onboard knew it.

*   *   *

The ship was launched. The Regent watched it depart, out of boredom if nothing else…or at least the closest to boredom it could come. It was a massive machine, with incredible ability, and as much as it had built, as many ships as it had assembled, in truth, it was bored. Its predecessor had ruled over the entire Imperium, and it expected to do that one day as well…but in the meanwhile, it was locked into a battle with the locals, with the relatively few humans out here. For all it did, the shipyards it ran, and the fleet and scouts it commanded, it was only a small part of what it was designed to do. But it was vital.

That is not to say that the humans weren’t challenging, or that its need to start from basically scratch, hadn’t made things difficult. The old Regent had half a million years, give or take, and the production of thousands of systems to bolster its strength. The New Regent was an exact copy, but its situation was far different. It would take hundreds of years before its ships equaled those of its predecessor, at least in number…and it tried to remind itself that the old Regent had been defeated.

It knew its predecessor had lost, that it had been destroyed. It wouldn’t even exist if that weren’t the case…at least it wouldn’t be turned on. But it still couldn’t quite imagine that it would lose. It was a strange combination of factors that allowed it to assess the old unit’s defeat, while not even really acknowledging the possibility that it, too, could fail.

It watched the cruiser pull away, into orbit, and then beyond. It was a routine ship, one of the vessels that would bring orders out to the fleet. It was a detection problem, of course, but only for a short while. The Regent had decided to cut off most outgoing messaging, to conduct almost all of its communication through the ships. That was a new strategy, a way of reducing its chances of detection by the enemy. Just in case.

The Regent wasn’t truly concerned about an enemy attack, but it knew there were stealth ships out searching for it, even as its own vessels were seeking the human planet. Again, it was a strange combination of factors, a recognition of the threat, but also an elimination of it. It knew the enemy was dangerous, but somehow, it almost disregarded it, assumed that it couldn’t be defeated.

It scanned space around it, searching for any contacts, though it didn’t expect to find any. Then it closed the hatch, and resumed its position, hidden over ten kilometers below the surface.

It went back to analyzing the situation, calculating the chance that SP-01012 was near to finding the human homeworld. The possibility that the end was finally close, that the first fight would be over soon.

And it could begin preparation for the next phase…against the other humans.

*   *   *

Deacon looked at the screen, for a long while. All his people stared, watching as the data came in, until the gate closed, and the underground area was cut off again. But by then, they had gotten a lot of information.

There was no way to determine whether the system present was actually the Regent’s…but he couldn’t imagine what else it was. It was massive, vast…if it wasn’t the Regent, it was something else major.

The Regent had many worlds, of course, not the least of which was the antimatter production facility destroyed twenty years ago…but few, if any of the Regent’s assets would be as hidden as its home. The system was built for stealth, and the more Deacon thought about it, the more he realized the likelihood that he had indeed found the Regent.

He wasn’t exactly sure what his crew thought, but he was positive about one thing. None of them believed he was wrong about it now. Whatever the system was, it was definitely a major find.

But what to do…that was difficult. Should he prowl around for more information…or should he skulk away at once, try to get somewhere he could make a full report? He was tempted to push for more data, to explore and try to find out if it was, indeed, the Regent.

But he knew what he had to do.

“Commander Jeries…let’s get out of here, as quietly as possible.” He was anxious, worried about escaping, but he was sure what he had to do.

“Yes, sir…what speed should we go for?”

Deacon sat for a few seconds and thought. He wanted to get out as quickly as possible, but he knew that the faster he maneuvered, the more chance he would get picked up. And suddenly, that was a terrible prospect. It had been bad enough before, the idea of being identified and probably killed, but it was worse now. He had information, even if it wasn’t the Regent, it was something. Something valuable.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became to him. He came to believe he had found the Regent, and that made getting to a transmission point the most important thing he could do. By any measure.

“Ten percent, Commander.” A pause, and then, “I know that is slow, but that may in fact be the Regent, and if we get picked off…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Everybody understood, whether they believed it was the Regent or not.

But Deacon was surer that ever…and his worries were solely focused on getting out of the system, and someplace he could transmit the details to Earth-2. He was convinced now, and while he didn’t know Max Harmon very well, he was positive the planetary dictator would also be sure.

The Regent was there.

Chapter Eighteen

Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

Earth Two Date 02.10.63

Gosnard ignored the pain. He ignored the losses, too, the hundreds of his people he knew were dead. He just stayed focused, grimly, darkly, on the matter at hand…winning the fight, or losing it.

He was wounded—almost everyone still fighting had been hurt in some way. But his people had fought well. He reminded himself that they were not warriors, that he was not a soldier. At least none of them had been a couple months earlier. But as he sat there, battling—and watching his remaining people fight—he questioned how much more they could have achieved if they had been lifelong troops.

He stared straight ahead, checking for a target. For a while, they had been easy to find, but now he could tell that the enemy’s numbers were becoming as much an issue as his own. The fighting had been going on for three days, without a stop, and most of those who had gone in—on both sides—were out now.

He had been almost ready to yield a couple times—almost—but he could tell that the enemy was feeling the pinch of numbers as acutely as he was. His plan had been to save his people, but he knew that was mostly a lost cause. The vast majority of those who had lived on the planet were dead, and only a few remained. Now, he thought one thing only, and he was prepared to call it a victory if one of his people survived…as long as all the robots were gone.

He caught some movement up ahead. At the start of the battle, he would have opened fire already…but all the fighting had taught him many things, not the least of which was, he needed to be more patient. He could expend hundreds of rounds and not hit anything…and truth be told, though his people weren’t out of ammunition yet, they weren’t heavily loaded down with it anymore either. They had to be more careful with it than they had been, and to Gosnard’s relief, most of his people seemed to be doing just that. He wasn’t sure they wouldn’t still run out, but his gut told him one side or the other would go through all its combatants first. And he still had no real idea whether that would be his scattered survivors or the enemy’s.

His eyes fixed on the spot, seeing movement again. It was just some brush—one of the few areas around that still had some plant growth—but now he was sure there was something out there. His mind reached out, and he imagined that it could be one of his own people…but then he decided it was too far out for that. At least probably.

He hunkered down as still as he could, raising his gun slowly, and pointing it in the direction of his presumed enemy. He tried to remain as still as he could, even breathing slowly. He was alone, at least ten meters from his nearest compatriot, and he knew that meant he would face the enemy alone. That told him he would almost certainly lose…unless the bot was damaged already. There was a good chance of that, though, and if it was banged up enough, maybe—just maybe—he could take it down.

Before it did the same to him.

He heard gunfire in the distance, most of it to his south. For a while, perhaps a day and a half, the shooting had been very heavy, but now it was more focused. He knew more than half of his people from three days ago—and probably a lot more—were dead now, but so were a lot of the bots. In truth, he had no idea whether his people had a chance or not. But he didn’t need it. He was going to fight to the death regardless. Even if he’d been willing to surrender, and he honestly wasn’t sure what he would have done if that had been an option—the enemy didn’t take prisoners, and even if they did, death was almost certainly a better option.

He saw another bit of movement up ahead, and it told him the enemy was coming closer. He breathed deeply, and then he held his breath, straining with his ears to hear…anything. Then, a second later, he opened fire.

He pulled the trigger, firing on full auto, spraying the area he believed held the enemy. He knew the bot would return fire almost immediately, but he stayed where he was for a few seconds, emptying his clip before he dove to the side.

The enemy did fire, and he could hear the area he’d just vacated inundated with projectiles. He wasn’t there, though, and he realized he hadn’t been hit, missed probably by a second, and quite possibly less.

He rolled around, realizing that his movement was sending data to the enemy, that his chance of getting hit was increasing and not decreasing. But he put it out of his mind. He knew well enough that the fight now taking place would go on until he or the bot was down.

He had slammed another clip into his gun, and now his eyes flashed around quickly, trying to get a fix on the enemy. The bot was still firing, and he traced backwards, as well as he could, and then he fired.

He didn’t shoot another entire clip this time. He had to conserve ammunition. He fired about a third, and then he lunged in a seemingly random direction, glad for the little bit of wooded area he still had to hide in.

He flashed a quick glance over, just a fraction of a second, and he thought he had seen something, some kind of hit. Then, an instant later, his mind told him there was less fire coming in. The bot had been shooting two guns—which he believed was less than its total armament—but now it became clear there was only one still firing.

He felt a surge, some excitement that he might win after all. But one gun was enough to finish him, and he struggled to maintain his cool, to focus on the battle. It was difficult, but he managed to do it…mostly. But he was tired, very tired, and even as he pushed, as he dug down for the greatest effort he could, he realized that sooner or later—and probably sooner—his body would fail. All his people would. It was, perhaps, the biggest disadvantage they had against the Regent and its bots. Humans, even Mules, he realized, needed sleep…and the bots could keep going, as long as they had power.

He fired again, and then he moved. But suddenly there was nothing, no shooting coming from the enemy. He knew it could be a trick, that the foe could be trying to trap him, but it could also be badly damaged. In another time, another place, he might have decided differently, but before he even consciously realized it, he was up, racing toward the bot’s last known location.

It was fatigue, at least in part, and probably a dozen other things, but he raced across the wooded patch toward the enemy, without hesitation. If the bot had been trying to entrap him—or if there was another one nearby—he almost certainly would have run to his death. But there was nothing…nothing but a badly battered robot, still functional, but with its guns all destroyed.

He had reloaded as he ran forward, dropping a clip with about a quarter of its rounds still in place, but when he stopped about two meters from his enemy, he acted almost like a robot himself. He didn’t pause, didn’t reconsider his actions for an instant. He just raised his gun, and he fired, directing the automatic fire directly into the robot’s most vital section. He didn’t pause, didn’t slow his fire until the clip was empty. Then he looked down…and he realized the bot was destroyed.

He gave himself a few seconds to look at the twisted wreckage, even though on some level he knew that it was dangerous, that if another bot was nearby it could cost him his life. But his luck held, for the moment at least, and a few seconds later he raced through the woods, searching for another bot, for another enemy to kill.

*   *   *

Til ached. He had four wounds, both old and new, and he understood, at least on some level, that he wasn’t going to be able to take much more. He had fought hard, well beyond anything he would have imagined possible just a couple months earlier…but he knew he was near the end. The injuries weakened him, reduced his fighting ability, and eventually—and probably soon—he would just wear out. He might not die, not right away at least, but once he lost his last ability to fight, he knew he wouldn’t endure very long. The bots were moving through the area, killing any of his people who were too injured to move.

The bots had been hurt too, though. Very badly. Til had started the battle almost consumed by questions about whether the humans had a chance, but now he didn’t really care. It wasn’t that he had given up, so much as he had decided he would simply fight as long as he could, and he would see what happened.

He’d started the battle commanding about thirty-five percent of the forces, but now, with the troops all scattered around, he had to acknowledge that the combat had turned into every man for himself. His people, some of them at least, were still in the fight, but they were scattered around and spread out widely.

The ground all around him was covered with small rocks and open dirt. Once, it had been lush forest, as had most of the battle area, but now it was all blasted apart, a few chunks of trees all that remained standing of the once lush woods. Now, it was mostly about elevation, and the battle lines had formed up along two ridges a little over a kilometer apart, each geographical line providing some cover to humans or bots behind.

He looked up, raising his head just slightly, almost expecting some responding fire. But there was nothing. He knew the enemy was out there, but now he wondered if it was really possible, if his side could actually win the battle. He’d convinced himself early on that there was a chance at least, but sometime over the past few days, that had escaped him. He’d been sure he was going to die, that all of his people were going to. But now, he felt a flash of hope.

He ducked back down and crawled along the ridgeline. There was fire to the north, some fire at least, but even as he headed toward it, he realized that the battlefield had grown mostly quiet. Whether that was the reduction of his enemy’s forces, or just some kind of trick, he wasn’t entirely sure. He had completely lost track of the enemy’s strength—or his own side’s, for that matter. He was just fighting, struggling to hold back the bleeding from his wounds, and to push forward. His thoughts in that direction stretched out only minutes now, or maybe half an hour. Any more seemed pointless.

The sound of the fire was a bit louder now. It was three autocannons from the enemy, though whether that was one, two, or three actual bots, he didn’t know. He almost took another look up over the ridge, but he didn’t. He was too close now, and the enemy’s response times were too much quicker. If he was going up, it had to be to fire, not just to inspect the area.

He took a deep breath, and he pulled out his scanning device. It gave him the location of the others on his side who were nearby, at least those who also had the device. There were two others, about twenty meters away. The line turned just up ahead, and he figured they were closing on the same contact he was. At least, he couldn’t see anything else nearby.

That was good, of course. The enemy lines were thinned out, as badly as his own, but he wasn’t sure who was winning…or if it even mattered. If the enemy won, his people would be wiped out, but if his side prevailed, they might literally be down to the last few survivors. Did that even make a real difference? For a moment, he thought about that, and wondered. But then he decided.

It damn sure mattered.

He typed a short message into the scanner, a message to the two others. He wasn’t sure it would get through, or that they would be able to follow his orders…but he told them to attack, in one minute.

He checked his rifle and did the best he could to inspect his injuries, quickly checking the dressings. He knew there was a good chance he would die, even if his side prevailed. But he was ready for death, mostly at least.

He glanced down at his timer, seeing that he had fifteen seconds left. He breathed, twice, deeply…and he watched it work its way down to two seconds. Then, he lunged forward, up above the berm and to the side…firing as he did.

*   *   *

Gosnard crawled forward, leading four others toward the enemy’s…last defense? He wasn’t sure. His forces were scattered now, and almost out of ammunition, but the enemy had declined dramatically in effectiveness as well. Who was worse off was still a question, and even though he didn’t know the answer, he sucked some joy from the legitimacy of the inquiry. After all, he realized he hadn’t really expected to win the fight, and now, maybe—just maybe—he was on the verge.

There were an immense number of questions, of course, not the least of which had been the enemy’s ability to land reinforcements. He had assumed they would have by now, if they had the capacity, but he didn’t know that. The bots were different than humans, and he figured it was at least possible that they would wait until he had wiped out their force before sending another down. Still, he felt some hope…not that he knew he could beat the forces currently on the ground. He had no real idea what they had left, or even what he had. All he could do was keep fighting…until he won or died.

He turned around and looked behind him, at the four men positioned there. It was a small force, almost an irrelevant one…but it was all he had, and it had taken some effort to put it together. “Are you all ready?” He tried to avoid the realization of exactly what he had, not just the small number, but the makeup. Two of them were young, too young to be out fighting…but the only option to it now was death, and that made the decision a fairly easy one. One of them was an older woman, small, looking nothing like a real fighter. But Gosnard knew he had no one left now but warriors. All his people who hadn’t been at least reasonably comfortable in battle were dead, along with a large number of those who had been able to fight.

He glanced at the fourth man, who was the only one of them—and he included himself in that—who really looked like a soldier. But they all deserved to be considered that now…whether they prevailed or whether they failed.

“We’re ready!” The reply wasn’t exactly in sync, but all four of his people responded. He looked at them for a few seconds, seeing their determination—and also their weakness. He felt pride, somewhere among his thoughts. He knew they had all seen death over the past weeks, that they had gutted their way through the fighting, while seeing their friends and family killed…and somehow, they had prevailed while most of their people died.

Now, they were probably all going to die, too. But most of them had realized that already, and they had made at least a marginal peace with it. One thing was certain, at least among the people he had left. They would fight to the end.

“Alright…let’s go!” He said it quickly, too suddenly perhaps, at least for most people. But the four he had with him responded at once, and they bounded up over the berm…and raced toward the enemy.

It was a bad strategy, at least in most cases, but he knew he didn’t have any choice. His people were almost out of ammunition, which meant they had to fight their final battles now. He didn’t have the ability to stay in place, exchanging massive amounts of fire all day, not any longer. He had to force the thing to a conclusion, to the utter defeat of one side or another, and he had to do it now.

He raced forward, his head darting around, confirming that his people were spreading out. If they were going to be taken down, at least it wouldn’t be by one burst.

He fired, a couple shots at a time, more to assure himself he was doing something than because he had any real target. There was shooting from all of his people, but it was the same thing…just a few shots.

Then, suddenly, he felt a strange feeling, and he saw something. It was two of the normal bots off in the distance…and something else.

He flipped his switch to full auto, and he fired. All his people did. The two bots were enough to trigger his assault, but something told him the other unit, the one he had never seen before, was some type of command unit.

He fired until his rifle was empty, then he changed cartridges quickly, almost perfectly. He continued to shoot, even as the bots returned it. One of his people went down—he didn’t know if he was dead or not. He just hunkered into as much cover as he could manage, and he fired. He had already decided it was as good a place as any to use up the rest of his ammo.

He didn’t know what that strange bot was, but something told him it was important, that it was at least one of the command units…and possibly the leader.

And he was going to take it down…whatever it took.

*   *   *

AC-230315 looked out, gauging the incoming fire, and the outgoing blasts as well. It was a brutal fight, and a small one. But it was down to a tiny fight now. It didn’t have more than a few bots left. It knew the enemy was battered as well, down to its last fighters…but it started to realize something it had previously barely been able to perceive.

It was likely to lose the fight.

It had thought that even before it was attacked directly, with only two combat units—damaged ones—nearby to help defend it. It wasn’t armed itself, though it was durable, and it knew its future, its survival, depended on the bots with it now.

And both of those were badly battered.

It scanned the approach, transmitted its superior data to the two units. But they were both damaged, and it realized their targeting systems were less than perfect. The fight would only last a moment longer, regardless of which way it went. The humans were clearly committed to an all out attack, and it had responded with the same. It had calculated its chance of winning at better than seventy percent, but whether it had been wrong, or the battle had just gone badly, it knew now that even fifty percent would be good.

Then, suddenly. one of the bots dropped. It was still quasi-functional, but a rapid examination confirmed that it was without weapons. That meant it was useless.

It had one defender left, a single combat bot, part of one, really. It scanned around, searched rapidly for any other bots close enough to respond. But everything on his scanner was involved in its own combat…or it was destroyed. The humans were pushing hard, at least the few who were left, and it watched as its remaining units were destroyed.

It ducked, as low as it could behind a berm, and tried to discern a way out, an escape route. But any way back left it exposed to enemy gunfire. It was tough, and maybe it could make it through some fire…but what would it do then? Its analysis told it that none of its few remaining bots could retreat. The battle would be fought out, and won, by one side or another…in the next minutes.

It watched its scanners, and the battle happening around it…and it began to adjust its chances of success. Downward. It was losing the fight. Its position was bracketed by fire from two directions. Its sole surviving defender was down to one gun, firing off at an angle.

It understood suddenly that it was going to be destroyed. It transmitted, to the ships above, all the data it had. There were no more ground forces to land, not in the small fleet that remained, it knew that…and it realized with cold certainty that its life was going to be measured in seconds, or at best minutes.

It realized immediately when its last defender went silent…and it knew it would be taken out any moment. It continued to transmit information to its orbiting counterpart, facing its end with courage, with determination.

And then, fire came in, from two sides. It fought it off, for a while at least, but even its sturdy construction eventually began to give out. It lost various parts of its knowledge, its memories, as incoming projectiles tore through sections of it. Then, it had a thought—a final thought—astonishment at the success of the humans.

Then nothing but cold blackness.

Chapter Nineteen

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 03.04.63

“Achilles, we have completed the installation of the first ten devices. We have to test them, of course, but I am certain they are working.” A pause, and then: “I am less sure of the extent of their utility, though. That they are more effective than our current stealth devices, I am sure. But whether they will truly block heavy engine thrusts and other problematical actions…I just don’t know.” Theseus spoke softly, and sincerely. It struck Achilles almost strangely to realize that the Mule had been on the verge of leading a rebellion—and by verge, he meant a number of hours—and now he was completely buried in the work he was doing. Work for all of mankind.

Then, he realized it wasn’t only his friend, but he too who had changed. For better or worse, the Mules could focus on whatever they were doing, and Achilles knew Theseus’s new attitude did not change his longer term view at all. He intended to see the Mules ruling all of mankind, and he had just pushed it back a bit.

Achilles wanted the same thing, more or less, but he had worked with the regular humans more than any of his people…and it had changed his view just a bit.

Perhaps more than a bit.

“That is very good news, Theseus.” Then, a few seconds later. “Thank you.” The thanks was for the work, certainly, but it was also for the cooperation, something Theseus would understand.

“My pleasure. We’ve got a major fight coming, we all know that…and it is essential to put anything we’ve got into it.”

“I will go and see Max Harmon…and arrange for testing. As quickly as possible.”

“That’s not going to do us much good, you know.” Theseus spoke, his tone advertising that he had been seriously considering not saying it at all. “Not in the time we’ve probably got left. Even if I could keep our assembly crews working at the speed they did on the first ten…it would be months before we could get any full scale testing data…and more than a year before we could outfit the whole fleet. At best.”

“I know.” Achilles spoke softly, allowing himself to be as clear as he could. “But we just don’t know what will happen…and any utility is worthwhile now.” He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Theseus…we are sending one more wave of ships out to populate the new systems.” He turned and looked at the junior Mule. “Do you want to go along? You will have a much better chance of survival, for a while at least…and if we do prevail against the enemy, you can always come back.”

Theseus stood for a moment, looking right at the lead Mule. Then he said, “Achilles…I knew you were the one to lead us, and I was right. I appreciate your offer, I really do, and it only confirms that you are the one to command us.” He paused, for just a second. “But I want to stay, Achilles…I want to help with the fight, and win…or lose.”

Achilles just returned the gaze and nodded. He couldn’t argue. He felt exactly the same way.

*   *   *

“We have every vessel here now…save only for the scout ships deployed, either defending or still searching for the enemy, and of course for the vessels deployed to the…other force.” Nicki Frette spoke softly, but her tone was pure business. Harmon listened to her, still amazed that she had been the same throughout the past twenty years, almost since she had awakened from her very long coma. She was dedicated, devoted to her work, but that was all. She missed Erika West, terribly, no less today than twenty years ago, of that he was absolutely certain…and in all that time, he hadn’t seen any brightness, not even a hint of it. She had served as the commander of the fleet for most of those twenty years, and she had performed brilliantly. But she was almost like a robot, and more than once, she had made him think of…the enemy.

“That is good, Nicki. The scouts are really of no consequence anyway, and the forces sent to shepherd the new colonists…I believe they are worth more there than here.” Harmon wasn’t sure if that was because he believed they would truly be useful, or more because of his opinion—growing—that his real fleet, the desperate fight to save Earth-2, was close to hopeless.

“I do, too, sir.”

Harmon listened, but not for the first time, he wasn’t sure if she was telling him the truth, or just what he wanted to hear. He still partially believed that Nicki would tell him what she truly thought, as long as she seriously believed it, but knew that she had also gone, in part at least, the route of most of his people, telling him predominantly what he wanted to hear.

“Well, Nicki…is there anything else?” He knew there wasn’t. Nicki Frette had been one of his closest friends back in the day, but now she was just his fleet admiral, still mostly loyal, at least as far as he could tell, but also ready to leave his presence the moment business was concluded.

“No, sir…with your permission, I will go back to my flagship, and wait.”

Harmon paused a moment, and then he just nodded. “Yes, of course, Admiral.” He held back, fought off the urge he had to say…something. He had allowed his life to take its own course, and now, even as he couldn’t imagine being anything but the leader of his people, part of him wanted to just wander away…to recapture his old friends. As friends, and not as subordinates.

He knew that was impossible. Some of the damage he had done was permanent, and at best he could hope, without much assurance, that they remembered what he had been like, years before.

He just nodded, and when she had turned and left, he said softly, “I’m so sorry, Nicki…about Erika, and about me, what I have become.” He was still standing, looking at the door when he realized his buzzer was ringing.

“Yes?”

“Sir, Achilles is here to see you.”

He turned, and for a moment he just stood were he was, looking out across his office. Then he gathered himself, and said, “Very well…let him in.”

He turned and walked back behind his desk, getting there just as Achilles walked in.

“Achilles…I’m sure you have something to discuss.” The words were a bit sharp, but Harmon realized that everyone who came to see him pretty much had a reason. Back in his younger days, he was serious, but he’d also had a good number of friends. Now, he realized, that while he still had a few people who looked up to him, he didn’t really have any friends.

None at all.

Just another cost the Regent had placed on him.

“Yes, Max…I just wanted to tell you the first ten devices are implanted, and ready for final testing. I thought I should check with you before I ordered it.” That was well worded, Harmon thought. He had to issue the orders for the testing, not Achilles…and he was fairly sure the Mule knew that.

I wonder what else these Mules know, what bits of information they pick up that we never notice…

“That is very good…we will begin the test at once.” The stealth devices were a very good development, but without enough for the whole fleet, he knew they were going to be relatively useless in the battle. If he had another year or two, time to install them in all of the ships, that could make a big difference. But he figured he had as much chance at getting a year as he did of the enemy fleet disregarding Earth-2 entirely.

And he was sure Achilles knew that even better than he did. Still, it was good to have some of the devices, even if their utility would be limited. He’d find some good use for them, he was sure of that.

“I will take control of the test if you give the go ahead, Max.”

“Yes, definitely. I will do it right away. Anything that helps us is welcome.”

*   *   *

Terrance Compton sighed softly, trying to keep it from anyone around. He knew what he had to do, but he hated the idea of leaving, of running away, hiding, trying to build small civilizations on several planets…especially if his parent culture was destroyed.

It was just like it had been at his birth, he knew, but he was more than sixty years old now, and the prospect of going back, of returning to a setup he couldn’t even remember, depressed the hell out of him.

He had almost gone back to Max Harmon, begged for another assignment, or simply refused to depart. But he knew he was the best one to fill the role. Nicki Frette was older than he was, as were the next two officers in the chain of command after him. He was the only one who could do it and have a reasonable chance of doing it well…and the fact that Harmon had detached even a small component of naval vessels from the defensive effort told him just how important the dictator thought the mission was.

He knew the forces left behind were powerful, that they could win…though he also expected the enemy’s forces to be stronger. But what would his people do if they did win, if somehow they managed to beat back the enemy and kept their planet more or less habitable? How long would that gain for them? A year? Three years? Five? That was the real reason Compton had accepted the mission…because he knew the only chance at survival, at real, long term survival, was to spread out, to colonize a number of planets. Earth-2 was likely dead…whether in a month or two, or in five years.

There were two other planets already, left out of four planets colonized years before, but they were only partially-developed worlds, both mostly agricultural. The planets he would shepherd now wouldn’t be more populated, not at first, at least not in gross numbers…but they would be greatly balanced, in areas of expertise, and even in the breakdown of their populations. There would be Mules and Tanks as well as standard people, and they would be present in the same breakdowns as they were in Earth-2’s population. That would probably cause trouble at some point down the road, but Compton assumed that if Earth-2 was destroyed, the relatively few survivors would learn to get along with each other…at least for a period of years.

Whether it would do any good, whether any of the new worlds would remain hidden long enough to grow and prosper to the point where they had any kind of chance against the Regent seemed unlikely…but possible. And as long as there was a hope, a chance to preserve part of the population, Compton knew he had to do just what he was doing.

He turned and looked out over the bridge, at the officers positioned around him, and he said only, “Let’s move out.” His people knew why they were there, so there was no reason to address that. He knew he’d have problems, vast problems over time…but for the moment, his people were focused and ready to go.

He just hoped their attitudes would last a while, long enough to get the colonies established at least. He didn’t know what would happen, on Earth-2, on the new colonies, anywhere. But he realized Harmon had done as good a job as possible…in preparing to meet the enemy, and in the eventuality that they lost that fight. He had endured his doubts about Harmon as almost everyone else had, but now he realized, perhaps the man had done the best he could…the best anyone could.

*   *   *

Max Harmon was sitting, alone, trying to enjoy a bit of quiet. He knew he’d have precious little of that moving forward. But his moment of silence, his time to himself, was shorter than he’d imagined. Just twenty minutes or so after he’d had his last meeting, the silence of his room was shattered by the wailing of his intercom.

He almost didn’t answer it, but he realized that his assistant knew he was there, that she would check on him if he didn’t pick up. He looked down at it…and he realized suddenly, it wasn’t the normal line. The red lights around both sides were flashing…and that meant an emergency signal.

He reached out to grab it, even as he was wondering what could be so severe. He’d spent the entire day dealing with everyone…at least everyone he imagined could have something severe to talk about. He couldn’t imagine what it could be. The enemy crept into his mind, but he told himself ‘no,’ it was too soon.

“Yes?” He spoke, as calmly as he could into the receiver.

“Sir…we just received a signal…from far away.”

Harmon wasn’t sure what she meant, but he could tell from her tone it was important.

“What is it? Far away? What does that mean?”

“I will play it for you, sir.” A moment later, he heard a voice. For an instant, Harmon wasn’t sure what it was about…and then, suddenly, he realized.

“When did we receive that?” His mood had changed entirely, his former somber attitude replaced by an almost wild mindset.

“Just now, sir. I felt you had to hear it first.”

He leapt up to his feet, feeling almost enthusiastic. Thoughts were rattling around, almost wildly. He’d dreamt about hearing what he’d just heard, a thousand times. But no more. Still, around the edges of his euphoria danced other thoughts. Could it really be true? So far, it was only based on the reports of a single ship captain. And even if it was right, if it was entirely accurate…was it already too late?

Harmon reached down to the display again, pressing the button to speak. “Lieutenant, I need all of the primary personnel in here…right away! Take them from anything else they are doing. Anything. Achilles, Connor Frasier, Devin Cameron, and Nicki Frette…try to get her before she sets out for the fleet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harmon turned back toward his desktop, and he replayed the tape.

“Attention…attention…whoever receives this. This is Captain Deacon sending a message by the highest standard available. My ship has been out for two years, exploring, searching for the enemy’s planets. And we believe we have found it…found the Regent’s homeworld. Repeat…”

Chapter Twenty

Planet X (Alpha-Omega 12 System)

Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

Earth Two Date 03.15.63

The Regent scanned carefully, searching the system as completely as it could. It had picked up a small sign, probably nothing but some natural occurrence, but it wanted to be sure. It always would have checked any sign, however tiny, but now it believed it was on the verge of detecting Earth-2. This was no time to become careless, to avoid checking anything, however obscure.

The Regent knew the enemy’s science had advanced rapidly, that its newest ships and systems were a match for its own…and that meant their scout ships were perfectly capable of exploring its systems without being detected. As it surveilled the entire area of space all around it, it found nothing. It knew that wasn’t definitive, that the enemy could have indeed explored the system and snuck out, or even remained in place. One of the Regent’s ships had left just before it had picked up the signal, and that increased the chance of detection enormously. But it couldn’t find anything else, no other signs. At least none so far.

In a normal time, the Regent would have exerted extreme caution, it would have called back a good portion of the fleet, just to be safe. But it was assembling the force even then for a projected assault on Earth-2. And, it did not have enough forces to launch both operations at the same time.

It considered the facts. First, the chance that the brief contact it had intercepted was an enemy scout was fairly small. There were innumerable things in space that could have caused it, and an enemy scout ship was only one of them.

Second, its chances of finding Earth-2, and doing so quickly, were vastly superior. It had assaulted a colony planet, and that alone meant the enemy homeworld was likely close. That wasn’t definitive, of course, and the captured information wasn’t certain…but it did support the assertion that the human homeworld was close by.

Third, the enemy had to know about the impending attack on Earth-2, at least if the colony world was in fact close to the planet. And if the enemy was aware of such a coming assault they couldn’t possibly launch a major attack against the Regent. Not at the cost of leaving their homeworld undefended.

The Regent considered the situation, analyzed it from all angles. It finally calculated everything, came up with a conclusion. It couldn’t assess more than a small risk to an enemy attack…but it came close to pulling the fleet back anyway. It would probably be a wasted effort, and it might delay the assault on the enemy homeworld, but did a short pause really matter? Even six months or a year?

It was moving its point of view, changing its position to the cautious one, to pulling all its forces back to the current system. Then, almost miraculously, it received a transmission…from the scout searching for Earth-2. The message was short, and it was definitive. It had found Earth-2…and to its knowledge, it had remained undetected. It had pulled back, withdrawn to the adjacent system as soon as it had determined its data, and it hadn’t sent its message back to the Regent until it had.

That changed things.

The Regent had been preparing for the assault on the enemy homeworld. If it pulled its fleet back now, formed up defensively against what was likely nothing, it would give the enemy six months, or perhaps even twelve to prepare. It didn’t know if they could do anything with that extra time, but it was cautious, aware the enemy had completed unexpected operations before.

It analyzed the situation again, a hundred times, a thousand times, factoring in every possibility…and then it decided. It sent out a pulse communication, a short message designed for one purpose. The fleet was commanded to complete preparations and move out.

For the enemy homeworld.

It instituted some procedures for its own protection. It would operate on a higher level of protocol, and it would scan seriously for any incoming enemy ships…but its decision was made. There just wasn’t enough chance that the contact it had picked up was, in fact, the enemy…and even if it was, its forces would strike before the enemy fleet could concentrate and launch its own attack.

Yes, the Regent was satisfied with its decision, content with its analysis. It would attack the enemy and destroy their homeworld. Then it would track down any subordinate planets, all the while it was building up its fleet for the final confrontation, for the destruction of all of humankind.

*   *   *

SP-01012 sat, quiet, scanning all around. It was one system from Earth-2. It was sure of that, as certain as it could be. It had transited into the system, and in just a few moments, it had tracked dozens of ships. No, not dozens…hundreds.

It had been in stealth mode, of course. It knew where it was, but it had to at least scan the planet to be absolutely certain. It moved closer, and it opened up its passive scans. For only a few seconds. It discovered almost immediately…it had indeed found Earth-2. At least, it had pushed the percentage chance up well past 99%.

It shut down all its scanners at once, and it blasted its thrust, barely enough to pull back, to transit out of the system. The time that elapsed was torturous, especially at its speed, but it had decided almost immediately that contacting the Regent was better done from the neighboring region of space.

There were almost certainly one or more scouts located there, just one jump from Earth-2, but they hadn’t found it yet, at least not that it could tell, and the chance of discovery was much smaller there than if it remained in Earth-2’s system. It transited as carefully as possible, and as soon as it was stable back in the adjacent system, it sent a highly-cloaked drone back toward the Regent. Then it powered down, leaving only the most basic scanners functioning.

It searched, as well as it could with the minimal levels, but it didn’t find anything. It knew it could increase the power of its scans, even turn on its active sensors, but it didn’t do that. Silence was the most important thing to it just then.

Utter silence.

*   *   *

Max Harmon sat, alone again and thinking. He had met with his key personnel, and they had discussed the possibilities. He had a location now for the enemy’s homeworld, at least a reasonable chance of one, but he was also almost certain the enemy would discover Earth-2…and possibly any day now, if they hadn’t already. He wanted to order the fleet to set out, to move to the enemy world, to attack and do everything they possibly could to destroy it. But he knew, before his gathering had even begun, that he couldn’t do that.

The enemy was coming to him. He didn’t have any hard data, though he had one ship overdue for reporting, missing just two systems away. He didn’t know that was the result of enemy action, of course, but combined with the invasion of Linshire and the other factors mounting up, he didn’t doubt it either. And if the enemy was within a system or two, that meant the invasion would come quickly, possibly within a matter of weeks.

The meeting had come to that conclusion, that however much they wanted to go after the enemy, they simply couldn’t, not unless they beat them back from Earth-2 first, and somehow maintained enough power to then move against it. If they managed that, somehow, came through with enough of their fleet intact to invade the enemy system, then it would make sense. But he knew the odds were against that, probably very badly. Even if his people won the battle, the odds were their forces would be badly battered. Very badly. And most or all of their repair facilities would be destroyed.

But he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He wanted to hit the enemy, somehow. He had to.

He knew he couldn’t launch a major attack. He simply could not take away the forces from the defense of Earth-2. But what of a smaller force, a flotilla comprised of hidden units, perhaps, a few ships with at least a chance to hide.

No! A group of ships with a new system…the new system. The ten ships that had been outfitted with the experimental device.

Those vessels weren’t a huge portion of the fleet, not by any means. And the benefits of their systems weren’t enormous either…not in the battle likely to take place around Earth-2, at least not unless the entire fleet could be equipped with them.

But perhaps as a desperate invasion force, as a few ships planning to hit the enemy, to take out the Regent. Somehow.

He felt waves of doubt almost immediately, thoughts that he was crazy, that there was no way ten small ships could do it. It seemed impossible.

But ten ships that couldn’t be spotted, at least that didn’t have much chance of it? He didn’t know that for sure, of course…the vessels had completed only the most basic of testing so far, and none against the enemy. But he didn’t doubt the Mules either. As far as he could recall, they had never completed anything that didn’t meet its expectations in actual deployment.

He tried to put it out of his mind, to leave the attack on the Regent for after the defense of Earth-2…but the more he thought that way, the less chance he suspected his people had of victory. It was bad enough to just lose, to be wiped out by the Regent, but to come so close to winning, only to likely face defeat…it was terrible.

No…he couldn’t allow that. Not without trying, at least, to take down the enemy. He was going to send those ten ships, on a desperate mission…an almost insane one. Ten ships, mostly small ones…against the Regent. It seemed foolish, stupid…and yet, he quickly became sure he was going to do it.

He went through the files on his desktop, checked and rechecked the power of the forces he was going to send. They were less than one percent of his total forces. That could, of course, be the difference in the coming fight…but it wasn’t likely. He didn’t even try to calculate the chance he had of taking out the enemy, of destroying the Regent…it was probably small, too, though better than the odds ten ships would add to the defense.

Whether it was the result of clear thinking, or just his own focus on destroying the enemy, he never knew. But he had decided it was the way to go.

He typed up the orders, himself, pausing, almost forgetting how. It had been a long time since he had typed anything of the sort himself. He would see that the ships were supplied, that they had everything they needed, and he would even transfer some specific people to them. But he would keep the orders to himself, until the last second.

He thought about the situation, about how desperate things had truly become. He knew how vital the mission was, how crucial both the defense of Earth-2 and the attack on the Regent would be. But he realized it was the only way, that his people had to strike in each area…and win both. And he knew, however unlikely the prospect of success, at least now they had a chance, a real chance of victory. Of true victory.

He paused, looking around him for a few minutes.

One more thing he had decided. One thing he knew everyone would disagree with, that they would fight him on. Something he would announce only at the last minute, leaving no time for any bitter arguments.

No, not even that. It was something he would communicate through messages delivered after the fact.

He was going with the ten ships. He was going to take the fight to the Regent…himself.

He was old, his days as a naval officer far behind him. He knew that, he knew it well. But he was planning on leading the operation anyway, and on turning the command of Earth-2 over to Achilles and Nicki Frette while he headed off on the insane mission.

It was foolish, he knew, at least in most rational ways. There was nothing he could do, nothing that he could manage that someone else couldn’t do as well or better. But the longer he sat there, the firmer his decision became. In the end, the way he saw it, this was a battle between the Regent and him…and he had to see it through to the end.

And one more thing he had decided, at least as well as he could sitting there. If his forces defeated those of the enemy at Earth-2, and if his desperate attack on the Regent somehow succeeded…he would step down. He would wash his hands of the whole affair with the Mules and the Tanks. He would stand aside, utterly uninvolved in what happened, and leave it to others to determine. That had been his plan years before, when the Regent had first caused him to assume absolute power…and now he was back there. There would always be reasons to maintain control, but he wouldn’t let any of the others maintain a hold on him. Not if he somehow managed to take out the Regent.

He would try his best to win back Mariko, and to try and salvage what had once been friendships, and he would let the society—his society for so long—move on, to whatever it became. For better or worse. That wouldn’t be easy, he knew, but he was determined.

But first, his people had to win the war.

Chapter Twenty-One

SP-01012

One Jump from Earth-2

SP-01012 heard the message, for the hundredth time. It replayed it, mostly because it had nothing much to do while the fleet assembled, but also because it…enjoyed it. It knew that was more of a human thought, a frailty it shouldn’t have. But it was there, nevertheless.

SP-01012 would command the entire fleet. It would lead them against Earth-2, and it would destroy the planet…along with all of the enemy forces.

It knew now that the enemy was aware, at least of his threat. They were clearly assembling their fleet to meet him. There was no way around that, as he was still assembling his entire fleet, and theirs seemed to be mostly in position. But it didn’t matter. It supposed, if some kind of surprise attack had been possible, it would have been nice, but it had never assumed that was realistic. It had enough force to destroy the enemy, it was fairly sure of that…and that was all it needed. Losses were almost immaterial…as long as it destroyed the inhabitants.

Two weeks. That was how long it would take the rest of the fleet to arrive. Then, there would be no delays, no hesitation. SP-01012 had reviewed the situation, sent cloaked scout ships through the point to update it on the enemy’s strength.

It would attack at once, the instant the last ships arrived…and it would destroy the enemy’s fleet and its planet. There would still be leftovers of course, scout ships and perhaps small, inhabited worlds, but the destruction of their main planet would be a fatal blow to the enemy, at least the enemy out on this side of the muddled gate.

And it would also represent an almost certain rise for SP-01012.

Shuttle A-1

Approaching Cloaked Scouting Fleet

Earth Two Date 03.17.63

Harmon sat quietly, though his mind was wildly astir. He had left messages behind for several of his people, and most importantly, to him at least, for Mariko. He had planned to speak to them all, to share with them his reasons for leaving, for abandoning Earth-2, some might think, and going with the skeletal force against the Regent. But in the end, he just hadn’t been able to do it, not live at least. He wasn’t sure if he’d been concerned they would convince him to stay or whether he just wanted to avoid the dispute, but he had snuck away, and if he had planned everything correctly, he would be out of the system, undetectable, when the news that he was gone finally broke.

Harmon wasn’t sure his people, those he considered close to him, would truly understand what he felt…but at least he finally did. The Regent was his enemy, and he had to destroy it. Or be destroyed in the process.

Or both.

There was no other way. All the other problems he had dealt with, the Mules and the Tanks…and a hundred others…were solvable, he was sure of that. But he was convinced that only the destruction of the Regent could save his people.

He glanced down at the drink in front of him. His personal staff was good, great actually, though he wondered sometimes whether they really liked him, or if they just performed their services and then left, cursing him as they did. He honestly didn’t know…but he’d only brought two of them with him on this trip. He’d chosen carefully, selecting two who didn’t have many other ties. He wasn’t going to expose them to any overt hazard, of course, but he knew the entire mission would be in deadly danger.

Of course, so was everyone he left behind. That was probably the one thing that made it easier to dispatch the small fleet in the first place. As deadly as this mission would probably be, he wasn’t sure it would be any worse than staying behind, fighting at Earth-2.

He had left messages, two actually, for everyone he truly cared about. The first would be delivered soon, just after the fleet departed, with him aboard. They were all different, as carefully put together as he had been able to quickly—and secretly—manage and targeted to each person. Two in particular were very specific, one to Achilles…and one to Mariko.

The one to the Mule leader was focused…and it essentially turned his powers over to Achilles while he was gone. He’d thought about that intensely, and he knew many of his people would object, would say that it only made the situation worse. But he was also aware that the Mules would likely prevail in any ultimate battle between Earth-2’s sides, and his selection of their leader, by far the most reasonable of them, was designed to reduce the tension. Maybe, just maybe, he could execute a peaceful transition of power, one that watched out for all of the people, and not just some of them.

The message to Mariko was different, almost totally personal. He had tried, somehow, to explain to her how the past sixty years had come to pass, how he had remained in power for so long. He knew it would sound self-serving, to some extent, at least, he was sure it was, but he hoped he could convince her, at least somewhat. He still loved her, as much as the day he had married her…and he liked to think she still loved him, too.

He realized he had been considering her for a long while, and that the shuttle had landed. He was amazed that he had slipped deep enough into his thoughts to miss it.

“Sir…”

His head rustled around, and he looked up. He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even heard the officer come in. “Yes, Captain…I’m sorry. I was…thinking about some things.” It wasn’t a great answer, maybe, but it was as accurate as any.

“No problem, sir. I just wanted to check and see if we were authorized to jump now that you’re aboard.” Harmon wasn’t exactly in the chain of command, but then, wherever he went, he was effectively the leader.

“Yes, Captain…of course. I’m the last one aboard. Let’s get going, as quickly as we can. We have a long way to go, and we are late already.” Harmon looked up at Captain Davison, the second in command of the fleet, and he nodded. “Take us there, Captain…as quickly as possible.”

*   *   *

Mariko sat on her bed, watching the video quietly. She was upset, even shocked that Max had gone off on the crazy mission without even telling her. But as she watched, her opinions changed, at least somewhat. His tone was much different than any she’d heard for many years. Though the man speaking was old, his hair white and his voice slower than it had been, there was something else there too. He sounded somehow younger, more like the man she had married.

“Mariko…I just wanted to say a few things to you…in case.” He didn’t elaborate on what “in case” meant, but she understood. They were both in terrible danger. “I just wanted to say to you…that I understand why you have felt the way you do.” A pause. “Why we have grown apart. I don’t know if it is too late to win you back—truly back—but I feel I must try. I love you, Mariko, more than you can imagine, as much as I ever have…and I hope you at least hold onto some of your feelings as well. I know you and I have grown apart, and I understand it was my devotion to my office, to my obligations, that caused that as much as anything. I am focused on the Regent, as I have been for years. I cannot give up on destroying it, not for you, not for me. I must follow through on that. But if it is destroyed, if we somehow survive the fight…nothing else matters to me. Nothing but you.”

She sat and listened, and she found herself lost, uncertain what to think. She had come to consider her husband somewhat dishonest, but now she thought about that, and realized it was unfair. He had been dedicated to the Regent’s destruction, but aside from that, she imagined it was more the power of his office that had taken hold of him. He had lied, to some people certainly…but she couldn’t really recount any time he had to her.

Then, he finished his statement…and he threw her for a loop. “If we both survive, if our culture somehow lasts…I will make you one promise. Once the Regent is gone, I will resign my office immediately. I will allow others to handle the different problems that we face…and I will live whatever years I have left in retirement…with you at my side, hopefully. The Regent was my problem, my fight…but those that follow it will move on, to someone else’s responsibility…and I will spend my remaining time, either at your side…or alone, watching over you, and protecting your happiness.”

Mariko was losing it, and the tears were beginning to fall down her cheeks. She thought about Max, about their earlier years together, about how happy she had been. She tried to question his statement, to doubt what he said…but she somehow knew he was telling the truth.

“I love you, Mariko…and I always have. If we are successful, if our two missions both succeed, I will return, and I will ask you in person…if you still feel the same way about me.”

Mariko lost control of herself, and the tears poured down her face. She was upset, scared to death about the defense of Earth-2…and of the assault on the Regent. But one thing became clear to her, clearer than it had been in many years.

“I love you, Max…”

*   *   *

Achilles sat, quietly, replaying the message in his mind. He wasn’t often surprised…but he was by this. He had known that Max had not taken his position for any reason other than necessity, but he was also aware of human nature. He had thought Max Harmon would remain on Earth-2 for the rest of his life, that he would hold onto power until it was wrested from him…or until he died. That had been one of Achilles’s greatest threats…the possible need to remove Harmon from power one day. Achilles knew he had to rule, at least that his people did. Eventually. He was very concerned about it, and he had imagined the situation a hundred times…differently with almost every incarnation.

But he had never imagined Max Harmon yielding…right before the great battle he knew was coming.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, though. Harmon had directed the meeting where they had discussed their intention to try to make use of the data, and he had proposed and approved of the desperate plan to send the cloaked ships…but he hadn’t uttered a word about going himself.

Achilles was angry as well…with himself. The more he thought about it, the more the action was exactly what he realized he should have expected. Max Harmon was old, but there was a young man in there, too…and he had come out for this. There was little, almost nothing, Harmon could do to aid the fight around Earth-2…and there was an argument that it might even be better without him. Maybe, just maybe, he had something left to offer the desperate attempt to take out the Regent.

He suddenly realized he should have known the instant he received word of the Regent, that Max Harmon would find a way to go…but he hadn’t. As far as he knew, no one had come up with that idea.

No one except Max Harmon.

Harmon surprised him in another way, too. He had left him in command…along with Admiral Frette. He had to know Achilles would be under enormous pressure from the Mules not to yield his position after the fight, whether or not Harmon returned and wanted it back. He was sure Harmon realized that, and that meant two things. First, Harmon didn’t expect to return to power…either he would be killed on the mission, or he would come back and accept a retired position.

Second, it was clear, to Achilles at least, that Harmon saw the Mules assuming the ultimate power. Not only that, he looked to Achilles to manage the transition, to ensure that the Mules protected the others, prevented his own people from going too far, from sparking a war they couldn’t win. That, also, was somewhat of a surprise.

Achilles sat where he was, thinking for a moment. Max Harmon had definitely left him in command, but he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that position, at least without making harsh moves. He didn’t want to exert any aggressive actions, and certainly not before the coming fight. He figured he would have opponents, that there would be challenges to his position…but he guessed they would come only after the imminent battle. At least he was fairly sure the entire population would be committed to fighting the enemy before they turned their rage on each other.

Assuming he got them through that, he would deal with the next problems when they came about. He was a planner, like all the Mules, but he knew, in this situation, too much preparation was bad. Any time spent worrying about what he would do after the battle came at the expense of putting more effort into the coming fight.

And, right now, he knew the battle about to erupt was the only thing he had time for…at least until it was over.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

Earth Two Date 03.18.63

“I’m glad to see you…if not back on your feet, at least looking…alive.” Gosnard tried to sound as calm as he could, but he was beyond thankful that his friend was going to survive. That had been far from certain for a long while, several weeks, actually. Tilman had been wounded twice on the last major day of fighting, and that made seven times overall. He’d been in bad shape and, especially considering the lack of high end medical care available, he’d almost died. Three times.

But he had survived…somehow.

“I’m sorry to put you through so much…really.” Tilman spoke slowly, but he was definitely sounding better. Whatever thoughts Gosnard might have had about whether his friend still might not survive vanished. Somehow, the two of them had both endured, they had survived hell and come out the other side.

With 217 others. All that they had found to date still alive from a total population of close to 20,000.

“You’re sorry? My God, Til…that last day of fighting? You kept us going, you really did.” Gosnard knew that was partially true—he was aware that his own battle against the enemy commander had actually been the crucial one. Still, his friend had fought like a monster, and he wasn’t very good at giving himself credit, so Til got it all.

“I don’t really remember that day all that well…and I suspect everyone else, and you especially, did what had to be done.” Til was silent for a moment, and then he continued, “I’m actually amazed, old friend…that any of us survived. That we…won.” Gosnard wasn’t sure his friend knew how few of them had made it through, but from the sound of his voice, he had some idea, at least.

“I’m pretty stunned myself, Til. It’s not like many of us had military experience, but I guess it’s just inside some people. Lots of the population died early, of course, but a good number of them really figured out how to fight…and it is them we truly owe our victory to.” Them, and the fact that the enemy apparently didn’t have any further land forces behind. It wouldn’t have taken a lot of reserves to turn things around and wipe out our survivors. But as certain as he was of that, Gosnard didn’t say it.

Tilman just nodded, still plagued by much of his fatigue. Gosnard almost decided to leave, but he knew he had to speak to his friend, and he decided to do it now. “Til, I know you’re tired, but I’ve got to talk with you about something. It’s been more than a month since the fight ended…and I’ve considered all our options. The planet, most of it at least, is still habitable, but I don’t know that any of us could call it home. We’ve got a pair of ships—I checked, and they survived in the place we hid them. They needed some work, and we don’t have exactly a range of experts…but I think we’ve got them ready.”

Tilman looked up at his friend. “Ready for what? To go back to Earth-2?”

“Yes.” He paused for a moment. “The way I see it, if the enemy found Linshire, they’re going to discover Earth-2 soon enough. Every fiber of my being tells me to stay away from that fight…but if it is lost, we are too. The enemy might not have had quite enough land forces to destroy us initially, but if they take out Earth-2, it is only a matter of time before they come back here. We may not have much to add to the battle at Earth-2, but whatever we have…that’s where it has to go.”

Tilman just looked out for a minute, and then his gaze focused on Gosnard. “I hate to admit it—the last thing I even want to think of is fighting again—but you’re right. Our fight here won our survival, the few of us who are left at least…if only for a short time. The only way we’re truly going to win is at Earth-2. Either the Regent is defeated, or we are.” He spoke the words without any doubt…but without much hope either.

Gosnard nodded slowly, and he looked down at his friend. “I’m glad you see it the way I do. I don’t know if I would have had the strength to fight you, to convince you.” He sighed, giving Tilman a view into just how tired he was.

“It’s alright, Gos…we won our first battle. Our two ships will be a tiny fraction of the forces in the fighting at Earth-2, but we don’t have a choice, not a real one. Waiting here is just another way of giving up, of handing our future off to others.” He sounded stronger for a moment, and his gaze narrowed. “And that is something I will not do, not anymore.”

Gosnard looked back, and he felt some added strength. “Nor I, Til.” His expression was cold. “Nor I.”

*   *   *

“I know you’re not an engineer…but we don’t have one, anywhere…so just do the best you can, alright?” Tilman walked—and that was a kindly term for it—across the open area. The ships had been buried fairly deeply, but Gosnard had ordered the engines tested. They had both worked, to an extent, and they had opened the area around each ship. But the scene was terrible, and the terrain was in ruins. There were giant chunks of rock and sections of reformed ground that had melted and moved around. And one of the two ships was at an angle…though not enough to interfere with its launch, at least that’s what he hoped.

Tilman wasn’t really ready to work, and certainly not at the pace he had set for himself, but he knew the fight would come soon to Earth-2—assuming it hadn’t taken place already—and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to be there. He didn’t expect to survive it, not really, but the idea of sitting it out, of waiting on Linshire to see if the first arrivals were human victors or triumphant alien robots, was too difficult. He would much prefer to fight it out, even at the cost of his life.

“I’m doing all I can…but I just don’t know if this will work.” The makeshift engineer’s name was Steve Carruthers, and his tone advertised that he was close to losing it.

“Steve…come on. I know you’re trying to figure this all out, but the bottom line is you’ve got to. There’s no choice. However difficult this is for you, it’s only going to be harder for anybody else.” He figured he might as well be honest with the man. Everyone present had survived a terrible ordeal, and the fact that they were going to endure another, probably even worse fight, didn’t do anything to alleviate their pain. But if they didn’t get the ships working, and soon, they would be stuck where they were, probably waiting until another thousand robots showed up to destroy them.

Tilman shifted, trying to position his battered body in the way that gave him the least pain. He knew he shouldn’t be up yet, that he should still be in the hospital, but the fact remained that the next few days would see the ships lift off or they wouldn’t. And he was determined to do everything possible to make sure that it happened.

“I said I would do all I can…but I’m telling you, if this doesn’t work, I don’t know what else to try. We should be ready the day after tomorrow. Either these things will lift off…or they won’t.” He left out several alternatives, not the least of which was one of them blowing up or suffering some other kind of devastating failure. Tilman understood the chances of those perfectly well, but he was just as pleased with forgetting about it. The ships would only lift off once, and that meant half the survivors would be in each of them when the ignition systems were basically tested. They would live or die as a result…if Gosnard gave the go ahead to give it a try. Tilman didn’t know if he would get the chance, if the systems would be brought to a state where there was a decent chance of success…but he knew the only alternative was to remain, and he understood what that meant. He was fairly sure Gosnard would take the shot…even if there was a good chance of failure.

Part of him wanted to argue against that, to push for more time. But there probably wasn’t time—one thing the break in fighting had caused on Linshire was the realization that the enemy was close to Earth-2—and there definitely wasn’t much chance that more time would do any good, even if they had it. They wouldn’t get any new personnel, or any equipment…which meant their chances wouldn’t improve. And if they were going to make it to Earth-2 in time, they had to move. Now.

“You know how long we have, Steve…just do everything you can. But remember, there isn’t going to be any more time, so just do your best.” Tilman turned suddenly, and he walked away, before Carruthers could respond. There were a hundred good replies, maybe a thousand…but there were none that would change anything at all.

*   *   *

“Alright, Til…it’s time.” Gosnard knew it was all a big question. Would the ships lift off? Would they prove worthy against space? Would they hold together for the journey back to Earth-2? A ‘no’ to any of those, and a few dozen other questions, meant death for his survivors. But despite that, they were all aboard, all waiting to see if they died in a moment…or in an hour, a day.

“Yup…it is time. We’re as ready as we’re going to be, so give the order, sir.” Tilman was scared, that was obvious, and he was in quite a bit of pain, too…but there was no doubt he was ready to go.

Gosnard paused, for just a few seconds. He lost his resolve, and then a couple seconds later, he recovered it. It ran through his mind, everything he had done already, and all he was about to attempt. He felt like he came close to losing it, to backing down. But he had all his people aboard the two ships, and he wasn’t going to be the one who let them down.

“Let’s go,” he said softly. “Execute.”

He leaned back, closing his eyes for a few seconds, as his makeshift bridge officer repeated the last word for the second vessel, and a couple seconds later, the ship began to shake. The noise of the vessel was loud, louder than normal, and Gosnard closed his eyes.

Everything was out of his hands now, at least until after a successful launch. He wanted to keep his eyes shut, to withdraw into himself, but he knew he couldn’t, that he owed more to his people. He forced his eyes open, and they caught the screen just as the ship was lifting off.

He knew the shakes were far above normal, as was the noise. The ships had been damaged in the fighting, and his ability to repair them adequately had been hampered both by the lack of expertise and a shortage of equipment. He knew there was a chance that one or both of the ships would simply give out, that they might vaporize or come apart on the way up. But he knew he had to try. And so did all his people, every survivor from the fight. He’d given them the chance to remain, to wait on Linshire and see who came first, but no one had chosen to do that.

His hands tightened around his chair, but he did everything he could to maintain a look of calm. Most of his people had tried their best, and the vast majority of them were dead now. But he owed his survivors something…leadership. To the end.

He looked at the screen, saw the ground at least five hundred feet below. The second ship wasn’t visible, at least not where his vessel had cameras, but a quick look at the screen told him it was still there, too. He didn’t allow himself to relax, though. Not yet. He knew there could be a malfunction anywhere on the trip, but he realized if the ships made it to orbit—and if the enemy forces had indeed all departed—he would have cleared the greatest hurdle. At least until his ship made the first jump.

His eyes moved between the status indicator and the outdoor view, counting silently to himself. His ship was shaking hard, almost wildly, but he knew he didn’t really have any qualified people to fly them. He’d put together a couple of his survivors who had at least some experience, divided between the two ships, but everyone else had only received some basic training over the past few days. Considering the crews flying the ships, the launch was pretty good, and as his vessel, and the accompanying one, both reached orbit, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. His people weren’t through their next nightmare, he knew that, but they had made it through the first phase, and that was worth a few minutes of joy.

Chapter Twenty-Three

E2S Carson City

About to Enter Alpha-Omega 12 System

Earth Two Date 04.10.63

Max Harmon had thought about a lot of things on his trip out to the Regent’s homeworld. He’d wondered whether the fight had started back home, and if it had, how his people were doing. He thought about those he had left behind, and those he had left communications for. How had Mariko reacted…or Achilles? He had done what he had perceived as right, but he knew full well his guesses were just that. Guesses. Did his message get to his wife, make her think fondly of him…or did it merely increase her negative feelings?

He had spent most of the trip thinking about such things, but now was the time to forget all of that, to focus solely on what he had come all this way to do. It was time to destroy the Regent…something he had dreamed of for years. And he had no real idea how to do it.

He knew it was only part of what was happening, that even if he somehow managed to do it—and he still wasn’t sure how—he also needed his people back home to win…or at least to survive. He believed that Achilles was the best he had—himself included—but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t come up with anything but a small chance, maybe twenty percent, of victory. And maybe a lot less.

Still…that’s got to be more than you’ve got. Funny how much time you’ve spent worrying about Earth-2, and how little trying to figure out how you would take out the Regent…

He knew there was no point in that, of course. The message he had received was brief, and it had included almost nothing useful in terms of plotting actual strategy. He knew that, realized that had been his own mandate, that the searching ships were to seek out the Regent, and once they did, they were to pull out at once and send a coded transmission. He knew more effort, an attempt to gather additional information, would probably have resulted in the Regent finding the scout…and almost certainly destroying it.

But he still wished he had more info. For that matter, he wasn’t even entirely certain that the Regent was in the system. He had instituted the highest standards for entry into the scouting missions, and he knew his people there were among the best he had. Still, it struck him hard just how much faith he had placed in a single captain.

If he had come all this way, pulled himself from the desperate defense of Earth-2 for…nothing…

No, he didn’t believe that. He was convinced that he had found the Regent, if only because he had to be. But that was only the start, he knew. Somehow, he had to destroy it.

The timing had struck him as bad at first, the attack on the Regent falling at the exact time Earth-2 had to be defended. But he had thought about it extensively during the trip, and he had decided that, as bad as it seemed, perhaps it was the best. The enemy would likely have placed some portion of its fleet near itself…but right now, most of that, perhaps all of it, was committed to the attack on Earth-2. That wasn’t good for the defense efforts, of course, but just maybe it gave him a chance to take on the Regent…to somehow destroy it.

“We are ready, sir…the fleet is positioned in front of the transit point, ready to enter.”

Harmon turned, the tactical officer’s words sinking in slowly. He knew, of course, where they were, but he was facing a burst of sudden uncertainty. He knew it would pass, that he would give the order he had to give…but he found it more difficult than he had before. He felt old—very old at the moment—and he truly understood the nightmare that had unfolded all around.

His silence was short, perhaps ten seconds, but it seemed like forever to him. Finally, he felt his resolve returning, at least enough to give the command.

“Take us through, Commander…one ship at a time.” He paused, and then added, “Us first…and the others at one minute intervals.” He had considered what was best, a shorter time with the whole fleet transiting, or a longer period with single vessels going through. He knew he didn’t know—the enemy’s scanners were at best a guess for him, as were the new devices installed in his ships—but he had decided to stretch out the transit, to try and move his fleet through as quietly as possible.

“Yes, sir…beginning advance now.”

Harmon just nodded, not even sure his tactical officer saw it, and then he turned and stared forward, waiting…waiting for the seconds to pass, for his ship to move through, and to jump into the Regent’s system.

To begin the final battle.

*   *   *

The Regent sat quietly, as it always did, even as its systems all ran. In truth, it had very little it could do while the fleet was engaged. It had sent its final orders to SP-01012, and there was little to do now but wait and see what happened. It maintained the rest of its network, of course, managing the shipyards, the reactor…and everything else. But all of that was in various other systems, and it only took a tiny fraction of one percent of its capacity to oversee them all. It knew it had been created to operate an empire of thousands of systems, one far vaster than anything it had actually known in its scant years of active existence. Even the war, the combat against the human enemy, tapped only a fraction of its ability.

It had reviewed the enemy as well as it could, generated voluminous records. It’s best guess was that its forces outnumbered them, somewhere between 1.6 and 2.0 to one. But it also acknowledged that this was, essentially, a guess. Its contacts, especially over the past twenty years or so, had been scant, and it realized, on some level, that there was a possibility that it was wrong, that the enemy had far more—or fewer—forces than it anticipated. Still, it didn’t matter, not really. Its discovery of the human homeworld was the important factor. Even if the enemy won the current battle, if it somehow defeated his fleet, he now knew the location of the human home planet…and that was the key to victory, whether a total win came now or in a few years.

The Regent was mostly quiet, as it had been since its activation. It had started with almost nothing, cut off from any of the remains of its empire. Despite the difficulties of the war with the humans, as noted previously, it had never put more than a couple percent of its abilities into action. It was designed to rule over a massive empire, and the fact that it was cut off from almost all of it, left most of its abilities in a form of stasis. The fight now raging, even if it was a total success, wouldn’t change that, not immediately. But shy of the hunting down of the few surviving humans in this sector of space, it would allow it to put most of its resources, the ship production facilities it had managed to build, the weapons factories, everything, into its final strategy, the invasion of the human homeland…and the reoccupation of its own territory. All of it.

*   *   *

“It’s been ten minutes, sir. The entire fleet should be through.”

Harmon glanced at the screen. The complete lack of any contact information struck at him in two opposite ways simultaneously. He was worried, scared to just assume that all ten ships had made it through and were present. But he was also excited. His own inability to detect the other vessels of his fleet was no guarantee that the enemy couldn’t, of course…but it was the best sign he could hope for, at least to date.

“Alright…everybody’s got their orders, so set a course for the planet, at five percent thrust.” Those were the same commands he had given the entire fleet. It was a slow way to the planet, one that would take almost two days…but he had decided that the extra time was worth the risk. He knew his mission was a strange one, that his small fleet was very little to throw at something as powerful as the Regent…but it was all he had. And he knew he had to be extremely careful, that whatever chance he did have of completing his mission would be lost if his fleet was discovered too soon.

“Yes, sir…initiating thrust now.”

Harmon felt the burst…barely. The ship was accelerating, slightly, moving slowly toward the planet. He looked at the initial scans, purely passive ones, trying to find some indication of the Regent. He knew approximately where it was on the planet, through the report he had received, and he believed it. But he would still feel better when he saw something himself. For the moment, there was nothing, no sign of anything save a rocky, uninhabited world.

Which was exactly what he had expected.

He sucked in a deep breath, realizing that as long as a few seconds had seemed, two days was going to be a nightmare. He stayed where he was, for perhaps another hour, the bridge almost totally silent. Then, suddenly, he got up.

“Stay on course, Commander…I will be in my quarters.” He knew he should stay longer, that he should remain on the bridge, but he was also the oldest person on the ship—by far—and he knew he had to target his expenditure of energy. He couldn’t stay on the bridge for hours and hours, not anymore. Not with what lay ahead of him. Even as he rose, as he turned toward the lift, he felt the pain in his legs, his back. He tried to hide it from the others, but he wasn’t sure he quite managed it.

They don’t like me anyway, not most of them. But they understand where they are, what is at stake. They will obey me…at least until the Regent is destroyed.

And that was all he needed, all he really cared about.

Somehow he had to destroy the Regent. The odds didn’t matter. The battle at home did, of course…but he knew, even if that was lost, if his people were mostly destroyed, he still had to find a way to take out the Regent. He had told himself he was here for them, for the residents of Earth-2, but as he walked across the bridge, and as the elevator doors closed, he realized there was more to it than that. Yes, he wanted to save his people, at almost any cost, but he also remembered where they had come from, the billions of people back home…really home. He would never see them again, he knew that…but he wanted to save them anyway. He had to save them.

And he would find a way.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.10.63

Achilles sat for a moment, allowing his mind to expand, to consider every possible aspect of the situation. He had taken command, alongside Nicki Frette, and it had gone smoother than he had expected. He knew there was resentment toward the Mules, and quite possibly a lot of it, but the fear of the Regent swamped all of that, washing it away almost completely. He was sure, that it would come back quickly if his side somehow won the fight that was coming, and he didn’t allow for much of a grace period. Still, he was grateful for the unity in facing the Regent’s forces.

He had tried to stay on top of things, even more than he had before. Terrance Compton II was gone now, all his ships launched to find newly habitable planets, along with a tiny defensive force. He knew the only real protection for the new colonies would be secrecy…for years, and probably for decades. Whether or not they were hidden well enough remained to be seen, but even Achilles didn’t know where they were. He figured the Regent’s bots would kill all the people if they won, but he was also reasonably certain they would interrogate some of them first. And while many people believed they could withstand anything rather than to give the enemy the information they wanted, he knew few if any were really capable of enduring anything. And he didn’t doubt the Regent’s ability to torture prisoners.

Max Harmon had actually been the one to decide that no one remaining on Earth-2 could know where the fleets had evacuated to, and Achilles believed that even he had no real idea. Compton had been given orders to do his best, to see that the worlds were colonized…and to check back, carefully, in two years, to see if Earth-2 had survived.

Achilles moved his mind to other matters. The fleet was ready, as ready as it could be, and Fritz was in her flagship, waiting for the enemy. Achilles had tried to calculate an exact time for the attack, but there were too many variables. He knew the enemy was assembling in the adjacent system, and he was aware that they had many ships there already, so many that he had categorically denied, with Frette’s complete agreement, a suggestion that he launch the fleet through the gate and engage the enemy there. There might have been some advantage in numbers, but he had decided that it wasn’t enough to overcome the edge offered by the fixed defenses he had…and by the realization that every spacer was fighting not only for his life and his crew’s…but for his family and friends, too.

He was absolutely certain that the Mules were all committed to the defense. He was sure Theseus and his crew of would-be rebels had been adequately chastised by the realization that they would have launched their rebellion at exactly the wrong time, but even he had been amazed at the effort put in by the younger Mules. He believed Theseus that the rebels had not planned to assert themselves in command, that they were willing to accept him as the Mule leader—and the ruler of all of Earth-2—but he was still amazed at how quickly they had poured everything they had into the effort.

“Achilles…”

He turned his head immediately, somewhat surprised that he had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard anyone enter the room. For an instant, he was unnerved, but then he saw it was Callisto. His mate for most of his life, she was perhaps the one person he trusted most.

“Callisto…I’m sorry.” He realized that he was supposed to have dinner with her…two hours ago. “I just got all…tied up.”

“No worries, Achilles…I know what you are dealing with, and I know our continued existence depends on you more than anyone else. I almost didn’t even come, but I figured you could use a break.” She smiled, looking more like his companion than the incredibly capable thinker he knew she was.

He looked at her and smiled. He knew he was one of the most intellectually superior specimens of Earth-2, but he had realized even he had underestimated the amount of work that Max Harmon had done. He thought about his…friend, and he couldn’t help but be impressed at the job he had done. But now, for a few minutes—and only a few—he decided to relax.

But fate was not on his side, not this time. He had barely turned to Callisto and offered her a smile, when his intercom flashed red and buzzed. It wasn’t the normal line…it was the alert.

He glanced, for a second at Callisto, both of them realizing what it probably meant, and then he picked it up. “Yes?” he said, knowing what to expect.

“Achilles,” the voice began, “it is Nicki. We’re starting to pick up transmissions from the transit point…lots of them.” She paused, and then added, “The enemy is here.”

*   *   *

“I want all ships searching…everywhere. If there are any scouts hidden in the system…” She didn’t really take that as an ‘if.’ “…they’ll be sending out reports. We might not be able to stop that, but if we can find any hidden ships, at least we can make them pay for it.” Fritz had served for almost twenty years as fleet commander. In her mind, she wasn’t qualified, at least she hadn’t been when she had been initially promoted. She had spent many years in a coma, years she hadn’t been on a ship, or commanding a fleet. But with the death of Admiral West, she’d been given the command as soon as she was fully recovered, and whether she’d been ready or not initially, she had to admit, she was now.

“Yes, Admiral.” A moment passed. “All ships acknowledge.”

The fleet was large—very large for the size of Earth-2’s population—but it was smaller than the Regent’s force. She was sure of that. She just hoped, while the enemy forces were still transiting, that they weren’t too superior.

She would know…soon.

She had spent considerable time debating with herself where to meet the enemy. She had almost decided to fight them just inside the transit point, trying to take advantage of the fact that she would have a short term edge in numbers. But she had decided that fighting farther back, closer to the range of the heavy fortresses positioned around the planet, offered the best chance of victory.

She knew the fight had to be sharp, quick. She was allowing the enemy to close, to cross much of the distance to Earth-2…and that time came off that which she had to destroy the ships, before they moved close to the planet and started bombarding it. The people on Earth-2 were either in the installations of her ground support personnel, or they were buried deep in subterranean shelters. She knew the underground facilities weren’t perfect, that they weren’t deep enough to hold off a full attack for long…but they did give her people the chance to survive at least some of the fire that might take down their buildings. She had considered the prospects of the fight countless times, but somehow, she just realized how much chance there was for the planet to be wrecked, even if many of its people survived…even if she won the fight.

She stared at the large screen, looking as the minutes went by. She was staring for any signs of scout ships, as her crew was…and then she saw one, just as many of her people did.

“Admiral…”

“I see it. Hacienda and Condor are closest. Order them to attack at once.”

“Yes, Admiral.” The officer turned and shouted out a series of commands. Frette watched the screen, as the two cruisers changed their bearing…and went after the enemy vessel. She knew it didn’t matter that much, that the enemy would get whatever information the ship was sending, even if her cruisers destroyed it. But it was all she could do, at least for a few hours…and by God, she wanted the first kill.

*   *   *

SP-01012 sat and watched the fleet, and the system. It had been some time, several months to the humans, during which he had imagined it, considered the possibility of finding the enemy homeworld. Its chances of doing that had varied, of course, and it had lacked the information it needed to conduct a real analysis of its chances. But now it knew. It had found the planet, and the Regent had rewarded it with total command of the battle. It knew it would lead well, that its forces would fight the enemy to the end, and it was almost sure it had the advantage.

But now that it was going into the fight, it knew the humans had at least a chance of victory. It didn’t have to win the battle outright, of course. If it managed to bombard the planet, take out the orbiting and ground-based factories, that would be enough. The Regent would continue to build ships, and the surviving humans would not be able to, not for several years. If the utter destruction of the human survivors took an extra few years, it wasn’t really a big deal.

Except to it.

It knew its own future, its position as the Regent’s number two, depended on its performance. It didn’t know exactly how the Regent would judge the battle, what it truly expected…but it knew it had to do well.

And it would. It had calculated thousands of times, millions, analyzed every aspect of the fight that was about to begin. It was ready…as ready as it could be.

It received a communication, an update from its hidden scout ship. It knew at once that the transmission exposed the scout, that it gave at least a fifty percent chance that it would be detected…and destroyed. But that was reasonable. The ship was tiny, not even a measurable portion of the fleet’s power. But still, as SP-01012 saw enemy ships respond, and go after the vessel, it felt…bad.

It watched, for several minutes, hoping the small ship somehow managed to evade the two attacking vessels. But in the end, it was disappointed. The attacking ships, two cruisers, perfectly bracketed the scout…and they destroyed it.

It had lost the first ship in the battle. That was irrelevant, it knew, and yet it was somehow…disturbing. The vessel wasn’t relevant, and it had delivered its message before it was destroyed. There was no reason to consider it further…and yet it lingered.

It reviewed the message again, the final transmission from the scout ship. It was an update, a scan from closer of the enemy fleet. It mostly matched SP-01012’s calculations, and it confirmed the advantage in numbers it enjoyed. The fight would begin in earnest in a couple hours, and it would continue until the humans were destroyed. That, it promised itself.

*   *   *

“Five minutes…”

Admiral Clark listened to the announcement, as he had been doing for the past hour. But now, it was only moments until his ships would open fire. When the battle would truly begin.

Clark was young for his rank, and one of the few truly senior officers outside either the Pilgrims or the first generation of those born out here. He’d been a captain as recently as a year and a half before, and his upgrade from commodore to admiral was still less than a week old. Admiral Frette had a reputation for recognizing talent, and for promoting those she figured truly had it over those who didn’t…regardless of age. But Admiral Clark was notable even among those. He was only 39.

Frette hadn’t seemed troubled by that when she’d issued his promotion, but he was. He felt he had been moved up too far and too fast…and he didn’t see in himself the abilities that Frette—and many of his subordinates—did.

I hope they’re right…

“Three minutes…”

Clark made all the effort he could to put it all out of his mind. He had accepted the position, and it was time to make it work. “All weapons…prepare to charge.”

“Yes, sir…all weapons activating.”

Clark sat still…very still. He knew the coming battle would be a difficult one, and the enemy forces were on the larger side of estimates, but it didn’t matter. His forces would fight like mad…whether they won or lost.

“All weapons…begin at 110%” That was his idea, and Admiral Frette had come close to forbidding it, at least from the start. But Clark figured his ships needed every edge they could get, and his commander had ultimately agreed with him.

“Yes, sir…all weapons overcharged ten percent.” A few seconds of silence, and then, “Two minutes.”

Clark didn’t know for certain what the enemy ranges were. His best estimate was they were right around the same as his…but that was just a guess. The increase in power would also bolster his range slightly, as well as increasing his weapons’ effectiveness…and even the smallest edge could be an advantage. If his forces fired first, if they scored some hits, that would be an advantage. It might not be enough, but the fight was going to take everything he could get. He knew his fleet was outnumbered and outgunned, and they had the planet to defend. He would take any edge he could get.

“One minute.”

He did all he could to clear his mind. He knew it was still possible for the enemy to fire first…but they were running out of time. In forty seconds, his entire force—no, the entire force, both his ships and the other commands were all firing at 110%—would open up. And if the enemy didn’t shoot within that time, his side would get the first shot.

“Thirty seconds.”

“All gunnery stations ready.”

“Yes, sir…all gunnery stations ready.”

He looked at the display, at the vast number of enemy ships moving toward his forces. He had picked up charges of guns and weaponry…but they hadn’t fired. Not yet.

“Fifteen seconds.”

“All stations…prepare to fire.” He took a deep breath…and he held it.

The seconds went by slowly, one at a time. It was only a quarter of a minute, almost no time at all, but it seemed to endure endlessly.

And then it was over. He watched the countdown until two seconds, and then he turned his head an uttered a single word, a command to his entire section of the fleet.

“Fire.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

E2S Carson City

Alpha-Omega 12 System

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Max Harmon sat on the bridge, his eyes mostly fixed on the comm station. He had to remind himself to breathe, to do anything at all…except wait. He’d considered at least a dozen plans for communication between his ships, once they were in the system with the Regent. But in the end, he’d opted for the most precise.

For the craziest.

His ship and the other nine were to actually meet up, to connect to each other. There would be no communication…none at all…at least until the ships were actually adjoined. It was insane, especially with no comm before or during the link. Space was truly vast, even a single solar system, and his plan required precise calculations. He knew his ships would be able to detect each other at a kilometer’s distance, by naked eyesight if nothing else, but considering the vastness of space, that was a thousand times more precise than a perfect bullseye. He knew not all of his ships were likely to be so exact, and without communications, the vessels that didn’t contact the others would likely be lost, at least for the duration of the mission.

He thought about that, about how it could actually be a way to survive, to sidestep involvement in what most of those aboard—probably rightly—considered a suicide mission. Perhaps many of his people, most even, were hoping that their ship came up blank, that no other vessels appeared. At least that would give the crew a chance to survive. For a while, at least. Still, Harmon knew how important the mission was, to those in the small fleet, and to those back home, fighting or soon to fight to defend Earth-2…and he was fairly sure his people did as well.

Hell…this may be a key moment, not just for us, but in all of human history. What will the Regent field if it has a hundred and fifty years to prepare, and what will humanity possess? Will they be able to face the total surprise coming from the transit point? They can’t even have imagined that we survived…but another Regent? It is almost certain that they will be totally surprised…and probably destroyed.

He watched the action—or the lack of it—silently moving his head from the comm station to the display and then back again. It was time for the link up, or very close to it…but he didn’t see any other ships yet. He knew what to expect, that he would see each vessel as it closed, viewing it for a minute, or even a few seconds before it finished its journey to contact range. The new stealth systems installed in the vessels were amazing, even interfering with actual sight, at least until the target was very close. But there was nothing assured. He hadn’t had time to test everything out, and he realized he was depending as much on the Mules’ track record as he was on his actual knowledge of their new system.

Not ‘as much.’ More. Vastly more. He knew almost nothing about how the Mules’ system worked.

At least, from what he had seen to date, the ships seemed to work very well. He couldn’t be sure what the First Imperium was able to detect, of course, but nothing his people possessed had been able to find the ships.

And it doesn’t look like the Regent has found anything yet…at least there has been no response we can see…

He sat for another few minutes, maybe five. Still nothing. He realized he had set the time very precisely, that it probably would have been smarter to stretch it out more, to allow more time for his ships to arrive. He knew it was still fairly early, that his vessels could still appear at the designated site. But now, he began to worry—more even than he had before—that none of the vessels would arrive. That wouldn’t change anything, of course, except the chances of success. He was prepared to go in with just one ship, to come up with some way to challenge the Regent. On one level, he realized that a single ship against the enemy was even more ludicrous than his scanty ten vessel fleet…but he also understood that if he were here alone, in a small shuttle, he would still go in, still make the effort.

He realized he had spent most of his life fighting the Regent, hating it, and that defeating the alien menace was his sole priority. He loved his wife and daughters, and he truly wanted the best for his people, whether they all realized that or not…but he knew that the only way to ensure the future for all of them was to destroy the Regent. And he was going to do just that, whatever it took.

He hoped he survived it, of course, but he knew that wasn’t critical. He would do whatever he had to do, sacrifice what remained of his reputation, send all the people who’d come with him to their deaths…but he was determined to find a way to kill the Regent.

He turned his head from the display yet again, bringing it back to the comm station…but he only got halfway before he jerked it back.

He saw something on the screen, a tiny glimmer…but he knew what it was.

“Focus in on that ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched as the screen changed, as a tiny dot expanded to a larger oval. Two ovals. One was his ship…and there was another one, less than two klicks away. He knew that two of ten ships was still a long way from what he had hoped…but it filled him with joy, nevertheless. And if one other ship could travel so far and reconnect, he imagined others could, too.

He watched as the vessel moved closer to his…and then he saw a third one appear, suddenly, and almost immediately after that, a fourth. He felt some relief as he watched the newly arrived ships moving very slowly toward each other. He knew that docking operations would be difficult without any communications, but on that single fact he had been absolutely clear…there was to be no use of the comm, not to aid in docking, and not to find the ships that didn’t appear. No use of the comm at all in the system, save for one purpose. To report the certain demise of the Regent.

He saw a fifth ship appear, just as the first one he had seen moved close to his and then connected. It wasn’t the most graceful union he’d ever seen, and he had to reach out to keep himself from falling from his chair…but a few seconds later, he saw the computer console showing a green light. The ship was connected.

He watched as another ship appeared, and then another. It took a long while, perhaps half an hour, for the whole fleet to appear and to dock, but it did.

Almost.

He looked at the screen, seeing the strange formation of vessels docked together, anxious to meet with the captains of each.

Anxious to start the mission. The mission to destroy the Regent.

He stared for a long while, glad so many of his ships had come through…but still sorry. Sorry for the one vessel that apparently hadn’t made it. He had nine ships total, and that was one less than he’d brought with him. On the one hand, nine was a great number, and enough to support his mission…but he still wondered what had happened to the last vessel. For an instant, he felt a cold sensation, a feeling that the ship had been detected by the enemy, even intercepted. But he would have picked that up, almost certainly. He wasn’t sure what had happened, where the ship was…but he knew he couldn’t wait forever. He had to move forward…soon. Whatever chance he had, even if it was as close to zero as he imagined many of his people thought, it would only go down if he waited. He had to move, and he had to do it now.

“Get the captains to the briefing room as soon as possible…” He looked at the screen once more, hoping pointlessly to see the last ship appear. But there was nothing.

He looked for a few more minutes, and then he got up, turning to walk toward the lift. He had to get to the meeting…and tell the other captains just what a crazy, insane plan he had.

And hope that they were onboard with it…at least enough to get them to go along.

*   *   *

The Regent sat, scanning the system as it always did…and coming up with nothing. Almost nothing.

It had gotten a blip…no, not even really a blip, just a part of one. It had pumped scans to the whole area, again and again, and it had found nothing. It knew the enemy now had cloaking as strong as it did, that there could actually be something in the system…but it still seemed a remote chance.

And besides, it would have picked up even one of its own ships, penetrating the stealth systems with the intensity of its scanning.

It knew it should maintain the highest standards of security at all times, and for the most part, it did. But it also realized that the attack against the enemy had likely begun…and that put more of a drain on its central processor. It wasn’t actual work…it didn’t have much of that to do waiting for the report. But still…it was distracted.

Its scanners were working constantly, of course, as they had been for over sixty years, ever since it had come to life…and realized it faced a human threat nearby. They produced nothing, no signs of the enemy, and the Regent decided to accept that. In a couple days, the battle would be over, the enemy would likely be destroyed, or at least badly battered. Then it would be truly safe.

Still, it sensed something…a small part of its vast array edgy, even as most of it was focused on waiting for a report from SP-01012. It ignored the concern at first, told itself that there was nothing out there. But it continued, despite its best efforts.

Finally, it gave in. It didn’t believe there were any enemy forces present, but it would increase its scanning anyway. It made sense, in a way, to maintain a state of maximum readiness. It didn’t have many ships left, only four…but it could launch those, have them prowl around the system blasting fully on their active scanners.

Yes, it would do that. It didn’t expect to find anything, imagined the chance of any enemy being present as so infinitesimal that its defied calculation. But there was no reason not to do it, no reason but hubris. And the Regent denied that it was effected in any way by that.

It gave the authorization, and it felt the ships powering up. It realized its action would make it detectable, for perhaps a minute, but it overruled that concern. In the vanishingly small chance there actually was any enemy present, it was almost certain they already knew about its presence. It had always known there was a chance the enemy would find it before it found them, and it was glad that its forces had prevailed, that they had found the enemy homeworld first. Even if there was a scout, or a few scouts, in the system…it was too late for the enemy to use the information. And anything more than a couple of scout ships would have been detected by its scans.

It sent the message to the system to open the launch doors, to send the ships out to inspect…and then it returned to its waiting, to its constant analysis and reanalysis of the operation currently underway.

The operation to destroy the enemy’s homeworld.

*   *   *

“I want to thank you all before we begin. I know many of you feel this mission is hopeless, even suicidal. I cannot directly argue against that assertion, but I do believe there is a way…a way that may even get some of us out of here.” Harmon wasn’t sure if he really believed that last part or not, but he did at least a fair job of saying it.

He looked up and down at the eight others present, the captains of the remaining ships. He knew they were experienced officers, most of them taking a fairly sharp cut in the level of their posting to join the mission. He also knew they had all volunteered, and that meant they were at least willing to die if need be. Whether they had already acknowledged that as inevitable was an open question…as were the attitudes of their crews. Everyone present was a volunteer, but Harmon knew such things sometimes didn’t endure the passage of time well.

“I have a plan, a way for our forces to penetrate the enemy position…to create a chance to succeed. It depends on many things, some of which we cannot control…or even know about beforehand. Not the least of these things is for all or most of the enemy’s forces to be deployed in the invasion of Earth-2. That only makes sense. The enemy has to know that we have at least a chance there, and its only response to that is to pour every ship it’s got into the attack. But we can’t know for certain…and I do not think I have to mention that if they have significant forces here, they will likely be able to destroy us all…before we can do the same to them.”

He stopped for a moment, his eyes darting around the table, trying to read each officer’s expression. He knew his plan was desperate, that a hundred things could go wrong with it, but he was totally committed. The others, the officers present, and of course their subordinates, were all younger than him. They were all committed, brave and noble servants of Earth-2…but he was still concerned. His plan was beyond desperate, and he knew it would take everything they had. If they were willing to give it.

But he never got any farther.

“Sir…we’re picking up something on the planet’s surface.”

Harmon turned his head immediately to the comm device, even as the rest of his body froze. Had the enemy discovered them, was it even then launching enough ships to destroy them?

He flipped a switch, turning on the display in the conference room…and he watched. They all did, each of them no doubt feeling as Harmon did, wondering exactly what was happening.

What was about to happen.

The screen flicked around for a few seconds, but then it stopped, showing a section of the planet’s surface. Showing it open.

Harmon knew from the reports he’d received approximately where the Regent was located, or at least from where it had deployed forces. And this was close, very close to that. He saw images of vast fleets in his mind, emerging from the underground bunkers, closing on his small force. Destroying it.

He saw the first ship emerge. It was a cruiser, a light one, comparable to most of those in his fleet. Then another one. And another.

And then a larger vessel, a battlecruiser bigger than anything in his fleet. He had been hoping the enemy would only have a few vessels…but he had started to give up. A few more battlecruisers would overwhelm his fleet.

But there were no more, no more vessels of any kind. Four. There were only four ships…and the subsequent closing of the port emphasized that was the limit. Whether that was all the vessels the Regent had, or just its idea of a small scouting force, he didn’t know. But things were still manageable. There was still some chance he could take out the Regent…at least in his mind.

“Bridge…I want all systems quiet…as quiet as possible.” He didn’t know if the enemy had discovered him, or if the vessels launching were simply a probe, or another mission entirely. But he wasn’t going to take any chances. He wasn’t going to do anything that would make it easier to spot his ships.

*   *   *

“Sir…we have reached the rendezvous point…but we haven’t found anything.”

Captain Leigh heard the news, and though it was only what she’d expected, she still felt disappointment. Her vessel had suffered a minor problem, fortunately one that didn’t interfere with her stealth systems. But one that did cause her a delay. She had hoped the ships would still be at the meetup point, but she was far from certain they would be. She was over four hours late, and the other vessels should have met up and moved by now.

She tried to tell herself that the other ships had all been on time, that they had met up and proceeded on with the mission…but she knew that was purely a guess. Perhaps none of them were at the point because they had also suffered problems…though she did find it hard to believe that none of them had made it.

“Alright…keep up passive scans all around. Cut thrust and let’s coast awhile.” Her thrusters at five percent weren’t a huge risk of enemy scanner contact, but until she had decided what to do, she was going to do everything possible to stay hidden. She hadn’t given up on the other ships, not completely, not yet. Still, she’d thought it through enough to realize that she had to go on, even if her ship was the only one. It was just too important to destroy the Regent. She knew the battle at Earth-2 was crucial, too, but she realized, as she knew Harmon did, that it was every bit as important to take out the Regent. Their chance wasn’t good, perhaps, to say the least…but it was likely the best they’d get, whether their home system survived or not.

Our chance is especially bad if it’s just us…but it’s still the best we’re likely to get…

She put the thought out of her mind. She would wait, perhaps for an hour or two. It was still possible other ships might arrive.

“Captain…we’re picking up something on the planet!”

She spun around and focused on the screen. She saw part of the planet’s surface…and she could see movement. It was just where it was supposed to be, and the view removed the doubts she had fought before. This was the Regent’s homeworld…she was suddenly certain of it. She was surprised at how many doubts she had possessed, more than she’d imagined. But she was sure now…somehow.

Her eyes were fixed, and she saw the ships come out. One after the other…until four had emerged. Then there was nothing, for a moment at least. Then the hatch closed, leaving four ships blasting off from the surface.

She had no idea whether there were more vessels inside the base, or whether the four where the only ones present. In fact, she had no idea that the Regent was here…just that there was an enemy base. But she didn’t have any doubts anymore, at least not about the Regent. And she had a feeling, one she couldn’t even begin to support, that those four ships were alone.

That wasn’t definitive, of course, and it left her with another problem. If the other ships, at least a large number of them, were still out there, they could take on the four vessels, and probably come through with enough ships surviving to at least make a play for the Regent.

But if her ship was the only one to make it this close…four enemy vessels might as well be forty. Her only chance was to stay undetected, and hope the enemy ships traveled far enough from the planet. Far enough to allow her to gamble that the enemy had no more ships, that her vessel could avoid any targeting from fixed weapons…and that her single ship could somehow get down there and destroy the Regent.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles stared at the screen, a massive display, one of the two largest present on Earth-2. The other one was located in Max Harmon’s offices, and Achilles had almost gone there to direct—which is mostly to say, to watch—the battle, but he had decided that he would remain in his own place, in the Mules’ HQ. That might cause some problems later, if the battle was won…but he would deal with it when it happened.

Deep down, he knew that even a victory could prove short-lived. The enemy knew where Earth-2 was, and that pretty much guaranteed a disastrous outcome. Unless Max Harmon’s crazy scheme actually worked, if he somehow took out the Regent, while Achilles’ forces managed to defend Earth-2.

Of course, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. For one thing, Admiral Compton had orders, too, and they required that he check—in two years—to see if Earth-2 had survived, and to make contact if it had. No one on the planet knew the exact location of any of the new colonies, and Achilles agreed completely with that. He wanted to believe he couldn’t be captured, and if he was, that he could resist any level of torment…but he knew that wasn’t true. Everyone could be broken, and the only difference was how much effort it would take. He knew if the enemy won the fight, and took some prisoners, they would find out the new colonies existed…but they couldn’t find out where they were. That would buy some time…but whether it would be enough for the colonies to grow to a size comparable to Earth-2, or more powerful, was a question not even the Mules could answer…at least not beyond a wild guess.

His eyes were fixed on the display, on the two large fleets that had just begun the battle. He understood Nicki Frette’s decision to meet the enemy back farther, closer to the range of Earth-2’s guns, but he wasn’t sure he agreed. It made all the tactical sense in the world…but it also let the enemy advance much of the way toward the planet before engaging them. It would give Frette’s forces their best chance, perhaps, but it also allowed the enemy to make a move on the planet, even while the battle still raged. She had prepared for that, instigated plans to intercept any enemy forces attempting to move against Earth-2…but he knew that was all just talk. If the enemy wanted to bombard the planet badly enough, if they were willing to cut their chances of winning the overall fight for an ability to bombard the surface…they had a very good chance of doing it, regardless of Frette’s best efforts.

A very good chance.

Still, he had remained silent. He just didn’t know what made sense, and while he knew Frette’s abilities were generally less than his own, he was willing to accept her viewpoint in her one area of undisputed expertise…naval tactics.

He watched as the fleet began the battle. He knew it was a desperate fight, a struggle on which almost everything relied…but he felt strangely detached. He wondered if he should have been on one of the ships, out with the fleet. He wanted to answer ‘yes,’ but he knew he’d made the right call. He was one of the two leaders—and the ultimate one, he realized, as he considered both Frette’s age and her status. He just couldn’t risk himself, at least not so overtly. He was in enough danger on Earth-2, and though it made him feel strange, he struggled to put the thought aside, to focus on the battle.

The fleets were engaged now, and the volume of fire between them was almost unbelievable. He knew he’d see any attempt by the enemy to branch off and attack Earth-2, along with the continuation of the battle, and any advantages that developed for either side. But at the moment, all he could see what that the fight had just begun…and he had nothing to do except sit.

And watch.

*   *   *

Frette sat in her chair, unmoving, stone cold. She had a reputation, several of them actually. All her spacers knew about her relationship with Admiral West, but they also knew that it had been more than thirty years since the two had actually spent any time together. For the past 20 of those, Frette had sat in her lover’s chair and commanded the fleet. If she was a bit less qualified than West, something she would be the first to acknowledge, she had been excellent, nevertheless. She had directed everything almost perfectly, and she had appeared in every way to be ready…for whatever happened. But she was also known for her unemotionality, for almost soulless functionality. For a nearly complete lack of…humanity.

She hadn’t been that in her younger days. She’d been pleasant, soft-spoken…and for the few who had known then about her and West, definitely the more open of the two. But years in a coma, coupled with her losses, had changed her. There were some who even wondered whether she wanted to survive, whether she would, regardless of the battle’s outcome. What only a very small number of people realized, though, was that she would have ended her suffering years ago, that nothing but the command of the fleet, and her realization that this fight would one day arrive, had kept her at her duty…and away from the death much of her craved.

She was just watching now. She’d given all the commands, at least for the moment. Now, the battle lay mostly on her gunners and her navigators. Her eyes were focused on the map, but she knew she wouldn’t have any orders to give, not until the enemy launched an attack on Earth-2.

That would happen, eventually. She was certain of that…and it was her primary consideration. Her people could direct the battle, she knew that, but protecting Earth-2, stopping the enemy from reaching out and destroying it…that was her job. She understood that destroying the planet was actually more important to the enemy than winning the fight, and she expected an attempt to be made. She had taken a great risk allowing the enemy to advance as far as she did. That had been a close call, but she was convinced she had made the right decision. At least for the moment.

She watched her main battle line, as it advanced, as it took on its enemy counterpart. The battle was going well, at least so far, and she tried to allow herself a moment of joy. But that was beyond her abilities. She could only sit and watch…and wait until the enemy moved on the planet.

*   *   *

Admiral Clark felt the impact, the first shot that had hit Artemis. His flagship was deployed right in the middle of his force, and it had gone a considerable time without being struck. But now, it paid for that, taking a solid hit, one that definitely did some damage. How much was still a question, and one he expected an immediate answer to.

Clark turned, clearly holding back some kind of comment. He knew his officers were working as hard as possible, that they were trying to get him the information he needed, as quickly as they could…but he still found it difficult to wait, even for a few seconds.

Finally, one of them turned and said, “Damage to the engines…down to eighty percent.” That was bad…but perhaps not as bad as he had imagined in the ten seconds or so it had taken his people to make the report.

“I want anything we can get back…even if its just one or two percent.” He knew his orders were only repetitive of standard operating procedure, but he uttered them anyway. “And order the right wing to push forward…increase velocity ten percent.” The vessels on his right had done a better job so far than any of his other ships…any of the vessels in the entirety of Earth-2’s fleet, and he wanted them to keep up the pressure, to push as hard as possible against the enemy.

“Yes, sir.”

He watched, his eyes darting back and forth, from one end of his command to the other. His ships were belching out fire, blasting away at the enemy, as the Regent’s forces were doing in return. It was still fairly early in the fight, but some of his vessels began to show heavy damage…and a few on both sides, smaller ships, suddenly vanished, obliterated in wild displays.

His right wing pushed forward now, firing wildly, even as its ships began to attract more incoming fire. Clark knew the battle would be brutal, regardless of who won, but now he really took that consideration to heart…and he wondered if any vessel, on either side would survive by the time the fight was finished.

He looked around his bridge, at the scant crew Artemis carried. There were barely one hundred people aboard, which was a small enough crew for any major ship, but an almost unimaginably tiny one for a super-battleship. Clark remembered the ships when he had first joined the service, and he knew a vessel the size of Artemis, if there had been one so large, would have had a crew of four to five hundred. But he realized the true difference went far beyond that. A heavy battleship in the fleet that had settled Earth-2 was half the size of Artemis…and boasted a crew of almost two thousand.

Clark knew there were a lot of factors behind the rapid advancement that had taken place over sixty years. The pressure on the race to survive, the relatively small number of people present, and the constant need to produce as much strength as possible, to field the largest, most capable force they possibly could. Most of all, he realized, had been the abilities of the Mules. He wasn’t sure exactly what he thought of them—his opinions were definitely mixed—but he recognized their capabilities, and he knew whatever chances his people had against the enemy would be vastly smaller if they had never been created. That didn’t mean he actually liked them, or that he didn’t fear what they would one day do…but he was glad to have them on his side now.

He’d been watching the battle, quasi-attentively for quite a while, but suddenly, he saw two beams blast out from one of his vessels, and they both hit one of the enemy battleships. The target had already been badly damaged, and after ten or twelve seconds, he saw secondary explosions…and perhaps fifteen second later, it exploded. It wasn’t a huge factor, not the loss of one ship, but it was the first of the truly big vessels on either side to be lost. It didn’t mean a lot, perhaps, but Clark drew some hope from it, at least for the moment.

He knew his positive thoughts, his hopes for victory, were based in part on need, on the desperate prayer that his forces could find a way prevail, and more, to protect the planet, to save Earth-2. Whether his side really had a chance—and even more, whether the desperate mission to destroy the Regent could succeed—was beyond him. All he could do—would do—was fight…to the finish if necessary.

*   *   *

SP-01012 watched the battle as it escalated, issuing a few commands, but mostly allowing his junior units to direct the fight. He had given them all the plan, in each stage, and the combat had remained fairly straightforward…at least until now. The unit knew its primary goal, and while the destruction of the enemy fleet was a major objective, even more important was the obliteration of the homeworld. That was the true goal, and while SP-01012 knew that its performance would be evaluated on both the destruction of the enemy fleet and the wreckage of their home planet, it believed that destroying the world would be enough to rate a success. In the end, if the enemy’s planet was badly damaged, if their ships under construction and their ability to build more were both destroyed, if most of their people were killed, it would only take a couple years to build a force large enough to destroy whatever remained. It would be better to win an outright victory, of course, to destroy the fleet and the planet…but SP-01012 knew what was most important.

It directed a command, one it had been planning since the battle began. It was dangerous, it reduced its fleet’s chances of winning an outright victory, by a bit at least…but it vastly increased the chances of destroying Earth-2.

It watched as its ships obeyed, as no less than one-fifth of his vessels accelerated, advancing in the direction of Earth-2 in three separate groups. Any one of them was strong enough to bombard the planet, to destroy the population.

It knew the enemy would react, that its planetary fortresses would direct their fire against the advancing forces…but it wouldn’t be enough. Some of its ships would get close enough, and once they reached the planet, they would open fire. They would destroy the buildings, and they would incinerate the surrounding area. They would kill many of the people, and they would leave the survivors without sufficient food and medication…and totally devoid of any high tech equipment or production.

And that would be enough, it calculated…enough to assure its position as the Regent’s number two, as the second thinking machine in the Imperium. Then it could return, if necessary, and finish the job.

It watched as the ships began to carry out the order, as they advanced toward the planet…and it counted down the time until the real attack began, until the enemy’s homeworld was battered into oblivion.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles stared at the display, at the battle now raging above Earth-2. He paid some attention to the main force, but most of his focus was now diverted. There was an enemy contingent—larger even than he’d expected—bound directly for Earth-2. He had contacted Admiral Frette, and they had agreed she had to divert a portion of the fleet to meet it.

To try to meet it. The enemy ships were moving at full speed, directly toward the planet. They had gained an edge, burst forward from the far section of the fleet…and they had gained the edge. It was going to take some effort to block them, to fight them before they arrived, even with the fire from the bases around Earth-2 also focusing on the enemy. He had calculated a dozen ways, thought through multiple routes, different plans…but no matter how he structured things, the enemy was going to get close enough to Earth-2 to take some shots.

It wasn’t a surprise, not really, or at least it shouldn’t be. He had almost assumed that some, at least, of the built-up area on Earth-2 would be attacked. But he had still hoped—without any real reason—that he was wrong.

He had plans in place, of course, and most of the inhabitants of the city were already sheltered. That didn’t mean they would survive, of course…if the enemy hit the city hard enough, they would also get to the shelters…but it did give them a better chance.

“Achilles…” The voice was familiar, and it made him smile, or something close to it at least. Callisto was dear to him, and while he figured there were some differences in their outlooks, he knew she mostly agreed with him. He turned to face her.

“I know, Callisto,” he responded before she even finished, “we’ve got to get down to the shelter.” He didn’t want to leave, but he knew he had to. The Cutter Research Compound was vastly larger than it had once been, housing many more Mules than had existed in the early days. But it was exposed to aerial attack, as open to it as the city itself. He looked at the screen again. He figured he had at least half an hour, not very long by most standards, but more than enough time to retreat to the underground complex. “I will come in a few minutes…but you should get down there now.” He knew the words were pointless before he even uttered them, but he said it anyway.

“No way, Achilles…I am going down with you.” She sat next to him, emphasizing her point. Callisto was generally thought of as more or less subservient to him, but he knew better. She had different views on a number of items, and she had changed his mind as many times as he had modified hers.

He would have argued once, tried to convince her to go, but he was older now, and wiser…and he knew there was only one way to get her to leave. “Fine,” he said, sitting for a couple seconds before rising. “Let’s go…let’s get into position before things get too much farther.”

He glanced down at her, watching as she rose. He offered her a tiny smile, just for a second, and then he turned, and walked toward the door.

He stopped for a moment, looked out at his command center, wondering if he would ever see it again…and deciding that ‘no, probably not’ was the correct answer. He had told people that there was a chance, deliberately tried to keep everyone’s fighting spirit up to maximum. But he himself was doubtful, and he questioned whether any of his people would even survive.

His mind filled with all kinds of thoughts…and he realized that he had no idea what was going to happen, that the pessimism that tried to consume him was no more based in fact that the optimism he spouted out to the others. He was accustomed to being able to figure things out, to coming up with the right actions, but he knew suddenly that there was little for him to do, almost no contribution he could offer. He was in command, yes, in a manner of speaking at least, but his survival was now in the hands of Admiral Frette and her officers. He might see some way to interfere, some ability to offer aid to the fighters…but he realized that the admiral, and her spacers, almost all human and not Mule, really held the edge at the moment. They would decide more than anyone whether Earth-2 survived. Whether anyone survived.

He realized something else, too. If his people did live, if they endured and somehow won the fight, he had to find a way to lead, a way that brought the Mules and the other humans together, if not as equals, than something close to it. He wasn’t sure how that would work, for any of the participants…but he knew it had to be.

He looked behind him, saw Callisto and the others following him, and he wondered who would accept that…and who would push hard for total domination, for the Mules as rulers and the others as little more than slaves. He wanted to push those thoughts out of his mind, to assume they wouldn’t be a problem, but he couldn’t…especially since, despite his concerns, part of him still felt the way most of the Mules did.

*   *   *

Clark sat bolt upright, trying to do his best to give a sense of confidence to his people. Still, he felt anything but that. Worst of all, perhaps, was the boon—and curse—that came along with Admiral Frette’s last communique. He was the lowest ranked of her senior officers, but now she had placed him in command of seventy percent of the fleet.

He understood why Frette, the commander, had decided to pursue the enemy forces moving against Earth-2. She was the closest of all the senior officers to the enemy ships making the move, first of all, and that alone was enough of a reason. The defeat of the main fleet was crucial, of course, but in the end, somehow taking on the enemy forces getting through and preventing them from obliterating the surface of Earth-2 was the most important job. It made perfect sense for her to take on the flanking enemy, leaving the main battle in the hands of one of her officers.

It just didn’t make sense for it to be him.

But it was him, and he had to accept that…even though he was still in the process of truly realizing it, accepting it.

“Advise Admiral Gregorian to advance.” He hadn’t spent much time reviewing the status of the overall fleet, but he knew one thing. If he didn’t keep the enemy under constant pressure, they might divert even more ships to their end run. He knew Admiral Frette had enough on her hands without more enemy vessels to deal with, and that meant he had to not only win the main fight…he had to press it hard every minute, keep the remaining vessels fully engaged.

Yet, all he could think about was the fact that Admiral Gregorian, who was older and who outranked him, should be in command. But Frette had been clear…to both of them. He was in charge.

“Yes, sir.” Gregorian’s response was perfectly calm, showing no signs of resentment. But Clark knew there was some, that there had to be.

He turned and looked at his bridge crew. He knew that the largest older vessels, the ones used in the earliest days of Earth-2, the ships that had come with the original settlers more than sixty years ago, had as many as 30 or more stations on the bridges. But his ship had only five…plus himself. That was the result of more than half a century of constant pressure from the enemy, of the endless need to field more ships than the population should have been able to sustain. His vessels, all of them, were highly automated, with vast numbers of personnel replaced by systems and robots. It might have given him a sense of relief to have so many fewer people under his command, but, in truth, that was all he knew. Though he was aware of the realities of the earlier vessels, he had mostly led ships whose crews were close to those he currently commanded. Even the few of the older vessels that remained were updated, their crews larger than the newer ships, but vastly smaller than they once were.

He wondered what was going through Admiral Frette’s mind. She had actually served on ships that contained hundreds, even thousands, of crew. But even with her, that had been a long time ago. There were fewer and fewer people in the fleet who remembered such things, at least from actual service. The force was mostly relatively new, the majority of its people in service after the last desperate fight against the Regent. That battle had been costly, very costly, but as he looked around, he realized that few of his people had fought in it. They were now fighting the greatest battle they had ever seen, that anyone had witnessed, at least out here, beyond the other human empires. Worst of all, even if his people somehow won the fight, saved Earth-2 from total destruction, it would buy at most a couple years, and then the enemy would be back.

Unless Max Harmon was right…and he somehow managed to destroy the Regent. That thought was almost absurd to Clark…but it was a possibility, he supposed.

The ship shook suddenly, and he realized immediately that it had taken another hit…a bad one. His head shifted over to his aide, but the report came before he was able to get out the first words asking for it.

“Hit in section B-3, sir. It’s bad. Engine power down 30%, three port laser batteries down to 40%.”

Clark listened to the words, which only emphasized his existing thoughts. He knew it was bad…though it was probably a bit worse than he’d expected at first.

“All available damage control there…now!” It was a pointless order, something that would have happened whether he had said it or not. But it was all he could do. The ship’s weapons were firing, the whole fleet was heavily engaged. He had worried about taking command, about what to do…but now he realized, there wasn’t much to do. Not right now, at least. His forces were closely engaged with the enemy, and the ultimate turnout of the fight would depend far more on the targeting of his gunners and the skills of his people than on any commands he issued.

At least for now.

It suddenly struck him. Frette had understood that. She had remained with the main fleet for long enough…long enough for it to enter the final phase of the battle. Now, she was chasing the enemy forces heading for Earth-2, and she had left him in command…with little to do. He still thought one of his superiors should have been in charge, but he realized that it didn’t matter, not that much. Unless something unexpected happened, the battle would continue on its own…until one side or another was completely destroyed. And which that was would depend largely on how each ship was handled, on every gunner in the fleet, every technician and engineer. He was struck by how little there was for the commander to do just then.

Little but to watch…and to wait and see if something came up, or if his fleet just fought to the end.

*   *   *

Admiral Frette stared at the screen, her face as cold and hard as the rest of her body. She had long been considered unemotional, cold…but normally the cause of that was Admiral West, and the loss of her lover. This time it was different. For twenty years, Frette had considered this, the battle to save her new homeworld. She had known it would come one day, and she had imagined it a hundred ways, no, a thousand. But though she’d allowed herself to think that she was ready for it, in truth, she knew now she wasn’t. There was no way to be ready for it, she realized, even for a young and able commander. She was old herself, and not happy. Her fear wasn’t of her own death…in many ways, that would be welcome. But she realized that she was fighting for a million and a half people, for their future…and she was determined to win.

Somehow.

Her ships had been close to the enemy forces now veering toward Earth-2, and she had reacted immediately. She had expected the enemy move, and she had maneuvered her forces to be ready for it. But the whole thing was skillfully executed, better even than she had expected, and the enemy force was ahead of her. The enemy vessels had to get close to the planet to truly bombard it, and that gave her time to catch them, to engage. A little. But she realized there was an excellent chance that some of the enemy ships would reach Earth-2, and they would bombard it.

Her main fleet was in close range now, and her ships were firing, even as the enemy shot back. That battle would continue, for a considerable time. She knew her forces had to win…but she wasn’t sure they could. She understood that her fleet had to be victorious in the entire fight, including the main battle farther out.

But she knew her own force, the ships she had pulled off to chase the enemy moving toward Earth-2, had even the more desperate job. If the enemy was able to destroy the planet, to bomb it intensely enough to kill most of its people…it really didn’t matter whether her main fleet won or lost.

She stared at the display in her vessel. The Regent’s ships were moving toward Earth-2 at full speed, but some were fighting with her own ships as they did. That gave her vessels a bit of an edge. Their sole mission was to destroy the enemy fleet, while deterring her force was only a secondary role for the enemy. She knew the Regent well enough to understand that all of its ships were expendable, while every one of hers destroyed would lead to crying and despair back on Earth-2. Assuming anyone survived there.

She watched as ships began to disappear…from both sides. Most of the shots taken by either force were misses, of course. The two sides both had highly developed evasion systems, and as they advanced, they wiggled and jerked about. But sometimes the targeting system predicted a ship’s location correctly…and delivered a hit. And enough hits destroyed a ship.

She looked, and she imagined the vast amounts of energy being wasted, blasted through open space…and the considerably smaller quantity actually being delivered into one of the vessels. It was quadrillions of watts, and for a passing instant, she wondered how much good that kind of energy could have done if the Regent and the people of Earth-2 could just get along. The expenditure of energy in war was vastly more than in any peaceful endeavor…she knew that. But such thoughts only lasted a few seconds. She was old enough to remember that mankind was almost constantly at war, with himself before the Regent. Hell, she thought, you don’t have to look much farther than the regular humans, and the Mules and the Tanks to see the true nature of mankind…

But she forced the thoughts out of her mind, not because they weren’t true—they were, she was almost certain of it—but because none of that mattered unless her forces prevailed. And she was still far from certain that was going to happen.

“Increase all weapons to 115% output.” She was already at 110%, and she had been lucky so far. Going to 115% would probably double her chance of losing ships to malfunctions and accidents. But she had done some quick calculations, extended the results of the fight to the end…and while her forces would savage the enemy, they were likely to fail to keep them back from Earth-2. They were going to lose, or at least, Earth-2 was going to lose…unless they found a way to increase the damage they put out.

“Yes…increasing to 115%.”

She could hear the sound in the technician’s voice, the concern he felt. But she was also sure that he agreed with her. Her people all knew the importance of the battle, and she was certain they were in it until the end. If only because defeat was, inevitably, the end for them all.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

E2S Carson City

Alpha-Omega 12 System

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Harmon stared at the screen, watching the four enemy vessels…and becoming more aware with each passing moment that they hadn’t detected any of his ships, at least not yet. His vessels had moved from their original meeting place, but barely a thousand kilometers, a large distance in some terms, but barely anything in the sense of interplanetary travel. They had remained there, in place for several hours now, watching…and waiting. The meeting was over, and he had decided what his ships would do. But he still couldn’t give up on the missing vessel. He hoped that it would appear, even as he knew his movement would make it difficult or impossible for it to find his ships.

He also realized that he didn’t have a lot of time. The enemy had all kinds of detection equipment, and eventually, they would pick something up, some indication that one or more of his ships were there. No doubt, they had already done so…that was the most rational explanation for the launch of the ships. For a while, he had been terrified that the enemy had known where his people were, that the Regent had some kind of detection device that had picked them up, but it had since become clear that they didn’t, that they had, at most, detected some kind of anomaly that warranted investigation. That wasn’t good, but it could be worse. Much worse. The four enemy ships were heading off into the system, away from his vessels.

Still, he couldn’t wait much longer. He had watched as the four ships that had launched scanned the area. He had hoped against hope that his last ship would appear. Now, he had to begin the operation. It was time to destroy the Regent…or at least to try. And he was fighting off the realization closing in on him of just how little he had brought, the tiny force he was launching against the enemy’s stronghold.

“Okay, Commander…it is time. Issue the orders to all ships. We will separate in five minutes, and it is essential that every vessel follow its orders exactly. There is to be no communication of any kind. The Regent is very close, and we simply cannot take any chances. We are counting on each ship to carry out its orders, to obey them to the letter. The survival of our entire population—on Earth-2 as well as here—may hinge on what happens in the next hours…almost certainly will.” He spoke, delivering the speech he had planned. His voice was solid, fairly at least, but inside he was tense. Part of him knew his plans were crazy, that his chances of success were remote.

But the other part of him was determined…and it was almost sure it would succeed. He had used almost all of that in drafting the plan, in creating the operation.

“Very well, sir. Sending instructions now.” He could hear the uncertainty in his ship’s commander’s tone. He knew all of his people would feel that way, but they would do what he needed. They would give all they had…and just maybe, that would be enough.

His eyes focused on the screen, just as it changed, from showing the ships themselves and the region of space around them to displaying the area of the planet they would hit. The spot where the enemy ships had taken off from. The location Harmon hoped also contained the Regent.

He counted down in his head, the final moments before the operation launched. The last thirty seconds passed slowly…very slowly. But then he felt it, the uncoupling of the other ships. Three of the vessels were attached to his own ship, Carson City, and the others were connected to each other. But within a minute, they had all separated, and with their connection went any form of communication. He wouldn’t speak with them again, not until they were discovered, until the operation was fully underway. Until his people were committed…to victory, or to death.

*   *   *

Captain Leigh stared at the screen. She was still searching for the other ships, some of them, at least…but all she saw was the enemy forces. Her vessel was moving slowly, very slowly, but it was moving, and she knew that increased the chances the enemy would detect her. She was ready to cut off all power, to float along, as undetectable as possible, if the enemy came within a certain range of her. But after scanning the general area around the planet, the vessels set out, almost directly away from her position. She let out a sigh of relief, and she still watched. But she realized she had dodged a problem, for the moment, at least.

Still, her situation was grim, even within an operation she had considered more or less suicidal. She had hoped, for a while, that she would find some of the other vessels, but she had come to realize the chances of that—even if they were out there—were very poor. Any ships operating this close to the planet would be maximizing their undetectability…until the last possible moment.

If the other ships had survived, if they were out there, operating without her own vessel, she would detect them…but only when they launched their attack. She knew the special systems had allowed the vessels to come to the enemy planet, to get as close as possible…but she doubted they would operate within the planet’s atmosphere, and even if the vessels somehow managed to land undetected, a miracle in itself, she was certain the Regent would find them the instant they emerged from their ships. Then, it would quickly become clear whether the enemy had retained sufficient forces to overwhelm and destroy them…or if the mission actually had a chance of success.

She continued to watch as the enemy ships moved farther and farther away. She sighed slightly, a bit of relief that temporarily pushed aside her realization of how poor her chances truly were. She had wrestled with that ever since the force had left Earth-2…and she realized it was irrelevant. It didn’t matter if the mission had a poor chance of succeeding, it didn’t even matter if her ship was the only one. Everybody who had come on the mission had to do their very best, without regard to their chance of survival.

She spent perhaps another half an hour searching for any of her allied vessels…and then she gave up. She knew what she had to do…though how she would do it with just one ship was daunting, to say the least.

But ‘daunting’ wasn’t impossible, and on that thought, she issued the orders. “Redirect our thrust, Lieutenant. Bring us toward the planet…toward the Regent.”

*   *   *

Max Harmon stared straight ahead, as focused as he could make himself. He was old…and tired. But he forced himself to concentrate, to get through whatever was ahead.

His eyes were fixed on the screen, and he had to remind himself to breathe. His ship was entering the planet’s atmosphere, precisely on target. That was good, at least as much as he could expect, but he hadn’t detected any of his other ships yet. Not that he expected to, of course, at least not yet. Once they separated, they disappeared again. But he was fairly certain that at some point in his descent—and in their descents as well—the ships would lose their protection. Space was one thing, and it was easier for stealth devices to work in the almost total emptiness. The atmosphere was entirely another matter, one that made it almost certain he would detect his comrades…and very likely be picked up by the Regent as well, at least at some point.

Hopefully close to landing…

He wagered there would be some surprise to the appearance of his forces, whenever it happened. Despite the Regent’s detachment of four ships to search the system, he was fairly certain his vessels had remained mostly hidden, at least so far. If the enemy knew an actual attack was coming, if it could detect his fleet, it would have fired on his ships by now. Worst of all, perhaps, he knew the enemy leader wasn’t a lifeform, that it wouldn’t be long distracted—if at all—by a surprise. It would almost immediately engage in its maximum defensive effort, and Harmon had no idea what to expect from that.

Would the enemy discover his ships at fifty kilometers above the surface…or two? Was the Regent heavily armed, would the ground open up, revealing a vast number of guns, just as his fleet came into range? Or did it rely mostly on secrecy, on remaining hidden. He knew even the Regent was limited in resources…building a large number of gunnery stations for itself would have come at a cost in ships.

The more he considered the various aspects, the more possible disasters came up, ways for the enemy to destroy his fleet. But he forced them aside, pushed back against his age, his weariness, his exhaustion. This was the key moment of his life, he somehow knew that…and he was determined to see it through. He knew he had to find a way to destroy the Regent, while hoping his people managed to win the fight at Earth-2…and that was the only thought he allowed to remain.

He felt the urge to say something, to issue some kind of orders, but he knew it was pointless. Worse than pointless…any comm at such a close range virtually guaranteed detection, and probably destruction. He had to get closer before the enemy picked him up, as close as possible.

His crew knew what to do, and his greatest order stood in the way of contacting any of the other ships. He knew he had to come on the mission, had to be there…but at that moment, he felt useless, and for a brief instant, he wondered if he had chosen wrong, if he should have remained back home, directed the fighting there.

No, he thought…it’s been decades and decades since you commanded ships, since a fleet followed your orders. You are past that, incapable of filling that roll. Accept that. Here, you have a smaller force, a different mission. You will find a way, you will destroy the Regent…and you will leave Earth-2 to Nicki…and to Achilles.

And you might not return…

He knew the mission would be difficult, that he had to find the Regent’s exact location. That he had to destroy it. He fought back against the doubts, the many thoughts that told him it was impossible. It was possible…and he was going to do it. Somehow.

He watched the main screen, checked the displays as the ship began to enter the planet’s atmosphere. He had everything set up on the screen, every method of detecting the Regent’s response. But still, there was nothing.

He breathed in deeply, tried to hide his nerves. He felt every day of his age, but he ignored it all, the pain, the fatigue. Only one thing mattered to him…and now was the time to do it.

He watched the altitude go down, and every kilometer that passed without any sign of detection was a good thing. If his ships could get low enough, maybe, just maybe, they could land. The likelihood of fixed defenses on the ground was far less than in the air.

Three kilometers…

The ground was coming up…quickly. He had his ships on minimal output, something that would last until they reached the final kilometer. That was a gamble, a bet that the enemy’s defenses, whatever they were, were focused at a higher altitude. If he made it down to one klick…he bet he’d make it all the way.

Two kilometers…

We’re almost there…almost…

His thoughts stopped. His eyes saw it, first perhaps of everyone on the ship. It was movement on the surface. He tried to tell himself it could be a number of things, but he knew what it was.

The guns emerged from inside the rocks, and he knew they were aiming. Whether they had found one of his ships…or all of them…he didn’t know.

But he knew the final stage of his mission, of his life, perhaps, had begun.

*   *   *

The Regent had a contact. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely something. It was controllable, and it was putting out thrust…and it was close.

It was in the atmosphere, heading almost directly toward it, which increased the chances dramatically that it was something sent by the humans. That skipped over much of the analysis, of course, but the Regent calculated quickly, and decided what it was. It assigned an 89% chance that it was a human ship…or ships.

It had some basic targeting information, and it decided immediately that its first course of action was to destroy it. It wasn’t overly armed, not for the Regent’s home at least, but it had more than enough to deal with a ship…if it could target it.

It could deal with several ships, in fact, if it could target them. It had calculated the percentage chance that there was more than one at ninety-one percent. But so far, it had only detected a single vessel. In addition to activating its defense grid, it put full power into its detectors. Every tool it had was working at full power, trying to detect other enemy ships, both passive and active scanners operating at full.

It felt its guns open fire, blasting the area of the first contact. Its analysis of the ship’s location was far from perfect, and the target’s low altitude suggested that it had penetrated most of the way to a landing. That meant it had penetrated all of its detection devices…that it was well equipped, probably with systems that even exceeded the abilities of its own. That was troublesome, and it warranted considerable analysis. But first, he had to find it, and shoot it down.

Its weapons fired on variable arcs, but it realized that the target was close to its lowest. Its weapons covered the entire approach, but their fire zone ended at just under a kilometer. Any enemy vessel that penetrated to that level would be safe…from its guns at least.

It felt a distraction, and it realized immediately that its weapons had struck the enemy vessel. It was a secondary hit, but fortune seemed to smile on the Regent. The shot had apparently knocked out whatever stealth system the vessel had carried. The ship was still moving on a random pattern, but in the atmosphere that was far less effective than in space. The Regent directed its guns, using the smallest part of its capacity. It fired once, twice…and the third time scored a hit. A direct hit this time.

The land based guns were large, bigger than those in the most massive ships, and this time, the hit was a solid one. The enemy ship was a relatively small one, a light cruiser, and the hit was far more than it could take from the massive weapon. It froze, for a second perhaps, and then it erupted into a fireball…and after a few seconds, it began to vanish.

The Regent was glad, but its calculations, and the directions its thought went, stalled its pleasure. If the ship had been a scout, it might have been the only one present, but a cruiser was sent for a different purpose, for more than just exploring. It was almost certain of that.

That meant a lot of things. First, the chance that the enemy had indeed identified the Regent’s location…some time ago…was massively increased. Second, only the Regent’s own discovery of Earth-2’s location had prevented the launch of a major human assault. It had won that fight, but surprisingly, only by the slimmest of margins.

And, three…the chance that even a desperate attempt against it would be launched by a single vessel was remote…less than 2%, based on all the information it possessed. That meant one thing.

There were more enemy ships in the system. At least a few.

The Regent knew it still had the edge. It knew that the enemy force was almost certainly small, and probably outdated vessels, nothing like the grand fleet it had launched at Earth-2. But, however many there were, they were equipped with state of the art anti-detection gear…better even than its own. It had watched the humans develop their technology, pull more or less even with it…but this was the first time it had seen something clearly better than what it had, and that was a shock. It had miscalculated the humans’ development potential. It was glad that its forces were even then destroying the human renegade homeworld.

Still, it was under threat, too…and it had to do everything possible to defend itself. It wasn’t heavily protected, at least not by the standards of the old Regent…but it had some tools, some devices. Enough. Whatever force the enemy had sent, it was small, not enough to defeat it.

It activated its ground forces, and ordered them out, onto the plain above it. Any ship that landed would be attacked immediately. And it scanned, as intensely as possible, searching for any other enemy ships. Anything it could destroy above ground was that much less that its ground forces had to face.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles sat down, a bit tired from his hurried trip down to the bunker, but he knew that would pass. The journey down to the underground facility was exhausting, especially at the pace he’d kept up, but he was sure that he would recover quickly, that he already had, in fact, at least partially.

The Mules were vastly superior to the regular humans, in ways known to both sides, and in others his people had kept secret. The humans new the Mules were better than they were, at least in many respects, but he had kept the pressure on his people to keep secret all they could. He acknowledged that at first, he had wanted to keep his people’s abilities a mystery because of the ultimate fight he saw to gain control over Earth-2. But he now questioned whether that was the way to go, though he knew most of his people assumed it was inevitable.

“Themistocles…sit down, quickly. We’ve got the military running most of the planetary defense grid, but we need everything we can get. There are a large number of enemy ships inbound. So…watch, and help them any way you can.” Achilles paused for a second, then he added, “As cautiously as you can…”

He knew that the Mules had invented most of the newer tools and weapons, but the fleet and its supporting services were made up mostly of normal humans, and Tanks as well. He hoped the different groups would work well together, but still, he was cautious. And while his people didn’t especially like it, he found it mostly easier to control them than he did hundreds of thousands of regular humans.

“Yes, Achilles…I am on it.” A touch of annoyance, but not much. Themistocles was one of the first group of Mules, even highly rated among them. The earlier Mules, the oldest, were Achilles’s truest supporters, and as far as he was concerned, they were the strongest ones, those with the most developed mental abilities—though he was equally sure the younger ones disagreed. Still, despite Themistocles being one of the Mules closest to him, he could tell his friend was still undecided about the others, about the true breakdown of society.

If there is any society after the battle, he told himself.

Achilles looked up at the screen again, watching the incoming ships, both the Regent’s, and a large portion of the Earth-2 fleet in pursuit. The vessels were exchanging shots, but the enemy was still coming in, heading directly toward the planet. Achilles knew that once the ships were in range, and despite whatever efforts the pursuers made, he was sure some at least would reach Earth-2, and they would begin bombarding the planet’s surface.

You’ve known all along that most of what is built will be destroyed…but if a decent percentage of the population survives…

He didn’t know how many of them would survive though. The people were all in bunkers now, perhaps not as protected as the Mules’ facility, but still fairly deep and strong. But Achilles knew they could all be targeted…and destroyed…at least if the enemy got enough forces close.

He stared at the screen, watching the fight, at least the battle approaching Earth-2. The rest of the struggle was important, too…every bit as crucial. But his mind, as developed as it was, as advanced, focused on the portion of the fight that would get to him sooner.

He could worry about the rest of the fight later. Right now, he had to do everything possible to save the Mules…and the Regs and Tanks, too. He had to pull Earth-2 through the fight, somehow…at least a reasonable percentage of the population.

His mind, normally very disciplined, failed him to an extent. He imagined trying to control a society, one that had lost all it had built in sixty years, one that had been battered, perhaps half destroyed, with almost nothing left. Starting from scratch.

Then he pushed that aside. That was an optimistic outcome, he realized, one that would require him to give thanks. Anything but total destruction would be a victory. He knew that.

And he tried to fortify himself, to do everything he could to achieve it.

Everything.

*   *   *

Clark thought, his mind racing, trying to come up with any tactic, any option that would help his force win the fight. The best he could come up with was to continue, to let his ships fight to the finish. There was a decent chance, maybe a third, or perhaps a bit less, that his force would actually win, that it would defeat the enemy. That didn’t mean anything looking forward. Most of his ships would also be destroyed, most of his spacers killed…and unless Harmon’s crazy plan was right—and his tiny force somehow managed to destroy the Regent—it might not matter, not more than a couple years. But he was thinking in minutes now, or perhaps hours. Whatever happened years out was someone else’s problem.

Of course, Frette’s force was a concern, one he couldn’t just forget about. Clark had to fight the main enemy fleet, hold them back, defeat them. But if his commander was not successful, if she couldn’t hold off the enemy from Earth-2, it wouldn’t matter whether he won in his section or not.

That had nagged at him badly in the earlier part of the battle, but then he simply pushed it aside, struck himself from considering anything at all, save the fight he was in right now. He had sent Admiral Gregorian’s forces forward, and they had achieved some success, his officer’s part of the line now advanced past his own. It was time to equal things, to bring his own forces forward.

“The command is to advance.” He did his best to keep his voice calm, to hide any concerns and worries from his people. This was by far the biggest battle he had fought in, of course, but he did have experience, some at least.

He thought about his officers, how calm they had sounded so far. It only just occurred to him that all of that was probably fake, that the officers in charge of his commands were as scared as he was. That thought both helped and hurt his own attitude.

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded at the response, and a few seconds later, he felt the engines, moving more quickly, accelerating his vessel forward. His ship was shot up, fairly badly, but it still had about half its weapons active, and he was going to need every laser, every gun he could get.

He looked up at the screen, and he saw a large enemy vessel directly in front of him. They had been trading shots, but at long range.

Now they would do it at short range…and either his ship or the target would be destroyed.

“All weapons…focus on that ship dead ahead. Let’s take her down!” He raised his voice a little, and he let a bit of his anger escape his lips as well. He wanted every spacer aboard, every man and woman, focused on one thing, and one thing only. Destroying that ship.

There would be time for more later.

Or not…his doubts were under control, but they were not banished from his thoughts, not by a longshot, he realized. His ship could lose the one on one…just as easily as winning it.

But his eyes were cold, his exterior calm. He was playing the role, of a ship commander and a fleet leader both…but right now his ship needed him more than the fleet. His insides were tied in a knot, but outside he was the picture of a commander, apparently immune to fear, converging on the enemy with no thought save their destruction.

He watched the screen, as the weapons condensed, as every shot now focused on the sole enemy vessel. He could see the return fire as well, the opposing ship directing all its own guns at his ship, even as his vessel did the same thing. There were other ships in range of both, but they had other targets, and for now, his ship and the sole enemy vessel were alone, their weapons lashing out at each other as though they were the only vessels present.

He saw as shots flashed all around, both ship’s evasive maneuvers working well, preventing any of them from scoring hits. He shook, the vessel changing the direction of its movement rapidly, as quickly as every few seconds. It was the standard procedure for battle, and he was used to it…but it was still hard to take for the duration of an entire fight. He looked around, watching his bridge officers and realizing they felt the same way. The battle was immense. It had already been longer than almost every fight, and it was just beginning. He realized the difference wasn’t just the size of the combat, but the importance. His side, at least, couldn’t retreat, they couldn’t give up…they had to fight to the end, to save Earth-2, or to go down in the effort.

The enemy could withdraw, if the fight went badly enough for them, but his experience in fighting them told him, they probably wouldn’t leave, not unless they were outnumbered seriously. And win or lose, the likelihood of that was very poor indeed.

He watched as his ship fired, again and again, the still-functional guns blasting away at full power. But the enemy was tough to hit, almost as difficult as his own ship was, and for several minutes, the space between them was filled with beams and explosions…but neither vessel was struck.

Then, as things do, it all happened at once. His ship scored a hit, and then, quickly, another. The first was mostly peripheral, that was clear almost immediately, but the second was a direct hit, and it likely caused significant damage.

He felt himself smile, a cold-blooded satisfaction filling him. But it only lasted for perhaps fifteen seconds. Then the enemy scored its own hit, proving that they, too, were still in the fight.

Very seriously in the fight. He hoped, for a moment at least, that the enemy shot wasn’t that bad, that it only affected minor systems. But then, he saw the firing from his own ship, and he realized that three more big guns were down, and then, a few seconds later, his engines shook…and they went off, completely.

His ship was moving along, its speed fixed…a sitting duck, once the enemy realized it.

*   *   *

Frette was snapping out commands every minute or so. She realized that most of them were pointless, that her people knew what to do. But she did it anyway. She had the most experience, by far, of Earth-2’s active officers, but with the advance of science and the extended period she had spent in a coma, she was far from certain that she was the right one to lead the force. That hadn’t stopped her, though, and she had led the fleet, stepping into the shoes of her lost lover, Erika West. She often wondered if her dedication to duty, her unwillingness to accept any role in life save that of the fleet commander, came from her career, her lifetime of service…or from a feeling that she had to fill the roll left open by Erika.

Frette slipped into such thoughts again and again, but never at the cost of her attentiveness on the battle. She wasn’t happy, not really. She hadn’t had much emotion at all since she’d awakened and found that West had perished in the last major battle. She had simply returned to her role in the fleet, and soon thereafter, she had taken the roll of the commander, a position she had held ever since.

“Commander…the lead elements of the enemy formation are ten million kilometers from Earth-2.”

Frette turned toward her officer, and she responded, “Very well, Commander.” Her answer was tight, no audible change in her voice, but inside she was beginning to realize that she wasn’t going to take out the entire enemy fleet before it got within range of Earth-2. Unlike the main fight, where the enemy was matched up directly with her forces, she was chasing ships, following a group bound directly for Earth-2. It was taking all her ships had to stay in long range…and that just wasn’t going to get it done.

She sat for a moment, frozen, unsure what to do. Then, she realized. Her force was a mix of ships, and the newest ones, those with the most advanced systems, could accelerate a bit faster. It was a tradeoff, she knew, a chance to get a portion of her fleet closer to the enemy, while the rest remained farther back. She wasn’t sure whether that would help or hurt more, whether the advanced ships would take advantage of their positions, or just be destroyed by the increased enemy fire. But she was sure of one thing. She didn’t have a choice.

“All vessels…accelerate to individual maximum speed.” She snapped out the command, and she sat back, not even knowing how many of her vessels had various speeds. About one-quarter of her ships had the absolute fastest engines, or at least they had before the fighting had begun…and maybe another forty percent were close. “And I mean all ships pour every bit they can into their engines…every bit.” She knew that meant she might lose some ships, especially those whose commanders really pushed…and that it would further spread her fleet apart. But she also realized she didn’t have a choice. The battle was crucial on many levels, but nothing was as important as defending Earth-2.

“Yes, Admiral.” The response was fairly strong, but she could hear the doubt and fear despite her aide’s best efforts to hide them.

She listened as he passed on her command to the other ships, firming his voice as much as he could. She knew that didn’t matter, that her individual captains would interpret her orders differently. Most of them would push hard, she was sure of that, and the best officers, the ones who would strive the hardest, would be the ones she would probably lose first. But such was reality. And those who were killed in the pursuit would likely die only moments, or perhaps a few hours, before the others. She knew the reality, that even if her forces were somehow successful, they would suffer grievous losses. But she didn’t care. Not as long as the enemy was defeated.

She didn’t even care if she survived. In fact, she was almost sure she wouldn’t…and the thing that bothered her most was the officers and spacers on her ship. Frette herself was exhausted, tired of life, and she had kept herself going only through the realization that she knew a great battle would eventually come. Now it was here, and the only thing that mattered to her was to find a way to win.

Chapter Thirty

E2S Carson City

Alpha-Omega 12 System

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Harmon felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. The guns from down below appeared suddenly. They emerged from the rocks and they started firing. He couldn’t even try to convince himself of anything except the truth.

At least one of his ships had been detected. And possibly more.

He knew it was possible, certain in fact, that his ships would be found, but he had hoped his fleet would make it a bit lower before it happened. Before the final stage of the battle began.

Even as he watched the fire, he wondered whether only a single ship had been found, or if his entire fleet had been discovered. Even as he watched, one of his ships took a hit, a partial one at least. Then, a few seconds later, the vessel appeared on his screens. He realized immediately that, along with whatever other systems it had lost, the vessel was now completely devoid of its cloaking abilities. It’s cloaking system was down.

He froze, staring, for a time that seemed long, but was probably no more than two seconds. He was trying to come up with some way to help the ship, to interfere with what he knew was going to happen…and then, before he could do anything to prevent it, he saw it.

One of the enemy guns fired, and it hit the ship almost head on. Harmon knew what was going to take place, but still, his mind screamed to be wrong.

But it wasn’t.

The ship exploded, and a few seconds later, it was gone.

He felt as though he’d taken a punch to the gut, but he pushed back. Now his focus was on only one thing. Had the enemy detected one of his ships? Or more?

He knew the Regent was an immense thinker, and he didn’t even imagine that it had concluded there had only been one such vessel. But determining something’s presence…and finding it on the scanners were two different things. He understood that, but he didn’t have the answer yet. He would just have to wait until his ships landed…or didn’t.

The seconds streaked by, slowly, more torturously even than they had before. The bridge was virtually silent, the other officers present watching just as he was, hoping for the best. That was all they could do…wait and see. And count the seconds until they landed.

And then a second ship erupted in a fireball. The enemy had found at least two of his vessels. And with the reduced maneuverability deep in the atmosphere, it had far less trouble tracking them down, scoring the deadly hits.

He squirmed, a bit, but mostly, he held on. He was old, he had lived a long life, and he was determined to carry out this last mission before he died. Somehow, he believed he would have that chance, that his ship would survive and land, though whether that was just fantasy, he didn’t know.

His best views of the planet—not good ones at all with just passive scans—suggested that there might be a minimum height for enemy fire. But whether that was a kilometer, or two…or half of one…remained a mystery. He felt the urge to change his landing operation, to come down more quickly, but he just sat quietly and did nothing. There was nothing he could do, except wait. And hope.

He stared at the ship’s large screen, watching…waiting. He knew he might have no warning at all, that if the enemy’s scanners picked up his ship, his first knowledge might be the shot that destroyed him. He’d expected the Regent’s defensive weapons to be big, but now he knew. There were huge. He didn’t have a ship that could take even one direct hit. That meant stealth was his only hope…at least until his surviving ships penetrated far enough.

But on the ground…the enemy knows about you. They will be waiting…

“Commander…I want all crew members ready. Ready for ground operations the instant we land.”

“Yes, sir…” The response was a bit delayed, but it was basically clear that his first officer, at least, was also ready. Ready for a fight…very possibly the final one, for all of them.

Harmon glanced down at his side. He had his pistol, and a dozen reloads stashed on his belt. He was prepared, partially at least, but he leapt up, and walked across the bridge to small door. There was nothing but hope he had to offer to the attempt to get through, to land…and that he could do wherever he was.

He had worked many posts in his early years in the navy, back in the day, but he knew the technology had mostly left him behind, at least in terms of doing anything except belting out commands. And that was already done…everyone knew what to do. If his ship made it, if it managed to land, that was only the first part of what he had to do. Everyone knew why they were there…and he acknowledged he was mostly just another one of them. And old one, less useful perhaps than any of the others.

But here nevertheless…

He knew the landing was just the beginning of the operation, and not the most difficult part, either. Defeating whatever forces the Regent sent up to face his attack, then forcing his way into the underground system, and finding and destroying the great computer…it seemed unreasonable, undoable. He paused, for an instant, wondering how he had even thought that it was possible, how he could actually destroy the Regent…especially with the meager force he had brought.

But that only lasted a moment. He could do it…if he remained focused. He knew that was just his own thought, that very probably it wasn’t really true, but he chose to believe it. If he failed, he would die here, but he would only be among the first. Even if his people somehow survived the assault on Earth-2, they would still probably die…in a year, or three, or five. Only he carried the chance for true victory, for the defeat of the enemy. And he had to believe he had a chance.

He just had to believe it…

*   *   *

Captain Leigh’s eyes were fixed on her main screen. Her scanners had picked up an enemy shot from the planet down below…and an instant later, one of her companion ships appeared. It had been hit, barely, but the size of the gun was enough to cause considerable damage, enough at least that it appeared on her scanner. She had just realized that it was Ventara…and then it took another hit, a direct one this time, and vanished.

Her insides tightened, both sorrow for the ship and its crew and a realization that the rest of the fleet had already completed much of its landing. She’d hoped to get some kind of scanner contact of one of her ships, but not this way. She panicked for a moment, worried that all of the other vessels had been detected. But she couldn’t see any others on her scanner, and the enemy’s shots appeared to be mostly randomized.

She watched for a few more seconds, but then she realized the four enemy vessels, the ships that had set out to scour the system, were exerting thrust to head back. Whether the Regent had detected only one ship or not, it was on the alert now, and that meant trouble.

Not the least of which was the four ships returning. They weren’t far, maybe an hour and a half at full thrust, and she redirected her scanners to confirm that. Her mind was caught in a web, uncertainty about what to do. Should she descend, try to join the fleet…or stay hidden, perhaps ambush the returning enemy vessels?

She wasn’t sure what she should do, not at first. But then her mind calmed a bit. If she went ahead, she would only be one more ship, useful perhaps, but only marginally. If she stayed where she was, if she successfully ambushed the returning enemy vessels, she could probably do more. She wasn’t crazy, she didn’t assume that even with her stealth generator working at full, she could defeat all four enemy ships…but she could probably keep them busy, at least long enough to buy time for Harmon and the others.

Even if that resulted in her ultimate destruction.

As she was thinking, she saw another ship hit and destroyed, and she cringed, feeling that all of the vessels had been found, that she would see them all destroyed…but there were none after that. Harmon and the other seven vessels should be through by now, she thought. Assuming the entire fleet had remained together, except her ship. Still, even if only five or six of the vessels had made it through, they at least had a chance.

If I can keep those four ships busy…for a while at least…

She turned, looking across the bridge to her first officer. “Commander…bring us around immediately…300.240.160.” The direction was a guess, a move toward the general heading of the returning enemy ships. She would have to change it, she was sure of that. At least a little. But it was the best way to start. “Increase thrust to twenty percent.” She had hesitated a bit on the second command, wondering how far she could push it, how much thrust her scanner-blocker could hide from four approaching enemy ships on high alert. She wrestled with a few things, and she settled on twenty percent. It was faster than she believed wise, yet slower than she wanted to go. In a quick determination, it was the happy medium, and it would get her some distance from the planet before she attacked.

And once you do that, they will know you’re here.

She wasn’t sure how long her scanner-blocking would work, how it would continue to hide her when she opened fire. She had no idea really. Testing the system while firing had not been done at all. She could only hope for the best…pray that her combination of varying thrust and enemy scanning difficulties kept her ship safe. Long enough, at least to buy some time…and possibly to take down one or two of the vessels, while giving Harmon some time.

She knew her plan likely meant death for her, for all of her people. But she put that out of her mind, and she was fairly sure her bridge officers did as well…at least for the moment.

And one moment at a time was all she dared to think about just then.

*   *   *

Harmon hung on, barely even breathing as his ship raced lower, approaching the ground below. The vessel was below a kilometer from the ground now, and he hadn’t seen any of the shots taken by the Regent so low, though he knew it was at best a guess that his position was below the arc of the guns. Still, he clung to that hope, and the realization that his vessel would be on the ground in less than a minute.

He told himself other things, too, not the least of which was, whatever else lay ahead, the Regent was obviously aware of his presence. It might not know how many ships were there—minus the two that had been destroyed during the landing—but it was fully aware now, that there was a threat. And that meant it would throw everything it had at him, at all his people. He had known that, of course, and he hadn’t imagined that he would be able to land undetected, but now it was real. It was happening…and despite his die hard attitude, he felt the fear.

He pushed back against all the doubts, and he thrust himself up to his feet. “Commander…I’m going down now. I’ll be heading out with the rest of the crew. You stay here with your bridge personnel, and the baseline crew…and be ready to pull out on minimal notice.” He knew leaving any crew in the ships just took away from his landing party, but it also maintained the illusion that he anticipated any of his people making it out. He didn’t, not really, but it was useful to maintain the image.

“Yes, sir…” The commander paused and then continued, “Good luck, sir.”

“Thank you, Commander…the same to you, to all of us.” He paused, just for a few seconds, and then he walked to the elevator. He stepped inside, and he muttered the command, and it closed its door and whisked him down to the main compartment, the one that held most of his crew, already armed and equipped…for whatever lay ahead.

The doors suddenly opened, and he stepped out, just as he felt the ship land and the engines quiet down to nothing. He knew where he was, and he realized his hopes of leaving were very small. But he didn’t care, not as long as he could take out the Regent. That was all that mattered to him, all he truly cared about. He was obsessed, he realized, driven by realization, by years of conflict, and by whatever else there was…and he knew then he would sacrifice his life in an instant, and that of everyone else who was present, if it would destroy the Regent.

He walked out, and he exchanged glances with some of his crew members. The room was almost silent—everyone present knew what lay ahead, and one way or another, they were all ready to proceed.

He reached out and grabbed one of the remaining packs laying on the counter, and he pulled out the breathing mechanism, wrapped it around his head. He swung the rest of the pack, mostly an air tank, over his shoulder, fiddling with it for a few seconds, ensuring that it didn’t get in the way of his rifle. He knew the hatch doors would open any second, and his people knew what to do. He didn’t know how quickly the Regent could send forces to intercept his invaders…but he knew it wouldn’t be long.

I just hope they’re not there already…

He waited perhaps another fifteen seconds, a time that seemed far longer than he knew it was…and then the lighting turned bright yellow. That was the signal…in another ten seconds, the hatch would open.

He pulled his mask on, flicked the switch to begin the airflow. The planet was habitable, but he didn’t know whether the Regent would use some kind of gas or interfere in some way with the airflow. He had analyzed the situation a hundred times. No, a thousand. He knew he could never come up with everything the Regent might do, but he was going to come as close as he possibly could.

This was it…the ultimate showdown he had spent his life preparing for. Him vs. the Regent.

And I am going to get this done, whatever I have to do.

I promise…

Just as that thought passed through his mind, the lights turned from yellow to red…and the hatch swung open.

It was time.

Chapter Thirty-One

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles’ eyes were almost fixed on the monitor, watching the enemy ships get closer and closer. He saw Frette’s force pursuing…really pursuing, at a dangerous speed. Her vessels were gunning hard as well, shooting at the enemy as quickly as they could. She was going to lose ships, both to the enemy fire and to her own overuse of their capabilities. She would destroy a lot of the attacking ships, too…but he realized she wouldn’t get all of them. Not before they reached the planet.

Not before they bombed Earth-2.

He stared at the formations, tried to decide how many ships would make it, how many would be able to bomb the planet. He’d always known the likelihood was there that the battle would come to Earth-2, that buildings on the surface would be destroyed…but he didn’t know if the bombing would be conclusive, whether it would just cause damage, or whether it would utterly destroy the city…and all the civilians currently hiding underground.

Now, however, his waiting time was almost over, and the image he’d had for years, the question that had lingered for as long as he could remember, was finally there. Earth-2 would either survive or not, and as he watched, he knew that survive meant the people, or at least some of them. The city, everything on the surface was doomed…he realized that as he watched.

The leading enemy ships were closing fast, and in a few minutes, the largest of the orbital facilities would be in range. His emplaced weapons in the fortresses outranged anything the enemy had, and he knew he needed to get the most he could out of them. He had fifteen minutes, twenty tops, and then the enemy would be firing, too. And then his emplaced guns, the fortresses surrounding Earth-2 would be destroyed…and probably quickly. The fortresses had minimal positioning thrusters, but their ability to evade fire was far weaker than that of the attacking ships. Once the enemy closed to their own firing range, it would only take a matter of minutes for them to destroy all of the fortresses.

Then they would move closer…and begin the attack on the surface.

But first, he would have a chance…a chance to batter them, to reduce the size of the force threatening Earth-2…and he intended to make the most of it. He had gunners ready to go, dozens of them in the other facility, along with a few positioned in the doomed forts themselves…but he intended to direct the fire himself, along with several of the other Mules. He realized it was challenging, that it went against his desire to reduce the tension between the people of Earth-2. But nothing was as important as survival. Nothing.

His eyes focused, his entire body tense as he waited for the moment to open fire. The battle had been going on for hours now, but until this moment, he had been a spectator. Now, he would become a participant. He watched, looking to his side, to the other Mules who controlled some of the stations’ guns. He saw in them the same doubts he had, but also the determination. They were going to do their best, savage the enemy fleet as much as possible in the short time they had.

And then? He would just have to wait and see.

He watched the clock, checked the distance to the approaching enemy ships. Then he looked again at his companions, at the Mules focused on the gunnery…and he said, simply, “Open fire.”

Even as he uttered the short phrase, he opened up with his own guns, blasting the enemy fleet. The weapons he was firing were several hundred miles from his position, but with lightspeed communication, the distance was almost irrelevant. The weapons responded immediately, at least to human—and Mule—sensibilities, and the entire area around the enemy fleet was bright on his screens, the beams and explosives blasting all around. Most of the shots missed, of course. Even the Mules as gunners went wide far more times than they hit.

But the shots added up, and with the misses came hits…and the size of the firing weapons was substantial. Even the enemy vessels, as strong and capable as they were, suffered serious damage from just a single shot. And the hits began to add up, even as the enemy force drew closer. One ship was destroyed, then another. Then another. Achilles realized his people were doing well, perhaps better than he’d expected…but he also knew that even their current rate of firing, of hits, wasn’t going to take out all the enemy vessels. Not in the time he had. He had some installations on the ground as well, mostly missiles, but he was sure, surer than he’d ever been, that, despite the missiles and the weapons in the stations—and the pursuit of part of the fleet—some of the attacking force was going to reach orbit. They were going to bombard the planet’s surface.

He had known that already, mostly, but now he was sure…and he realized he would have to rely on the everyone’s abilities, the tenacity of the Tanks and the regular humans as much as that of his own people. How much damage could they take? How many could die, and the civilization still endure?

He didn’t know, despite his generous mental abilities, and he realized all he had was faith. He could push as hard as he could, do everything to manage the situation, but in the end, he was relying on the others as much as they were on him, on his leadership. He tried to focus on shooting the enemy vessels, on taking out as many as he could, and he succeeded…partially and for a brief time, which was all he could manage.

*   *   *

Vincennes sucked in air, as much as he could. He was the commander of the orbital stations, at least the top officer present. He realized his chances of surviving the battle were poor indeed…but he recognized that the chance of anyone making it was also pretty damned bad.

He knew the fire was being directed from the ground—from the Mules—and despite his own normal human nature, he couldn’t ignore the fact that they were better, that their firing would probably take out more of the enemy ships than his, or that of any of his gunners. He had argued against such things before, claimed that all parties should be treated equally, but now that he faced the doom approaching, he realized that he needed everything he could get, that even a one or two percent increase in firing made the change worthwhile.

He looked around, at the minimal crew deployed to the orbital platform. That was, to an extent, the norm on Earth-2, where the crews were a fraction of the size they had been in the fleet that had colonized the system, but there were even fewer on his stations than there were on naval ships.

We’re lost…and whoever set this place up knew we would be…

The fact that the battle was going to be a desperate fight, to the end in every way possible, made it easier to take, of course, but he still knew his people would go first. Well, not first…the fleet had suffered considerable losses already…but before the bulk of the planet’s inhabitants. Perhaps, even, some of them could survive, for a while at least, could escape from totally damaged forts before they were killed. He just didn’t know.

He didn’t have fire control, but he did command the positioning thrusters. His stations didn’t have much thrust, but they had enough for minimal anti-fire operations. And just like the vastly superior mechanisms on the ships of the fleet, they could be pushed, run beyond their ratings. There was no way to gain the thrust the fleet ships had, nothing close, but he realized that every bit he could get, every hit or two he could eliminate, or even delay, would protract the battle, would give his guns extra shots.

“Commander…increase power to the engine components. Fifteen percent above maximum.” He stared at his subordinate, trying to give as much strength as he could to the officer. He knew everyone on any of the stations realized their survival chances were poor—very poor—but he understood enough to realize that distracting them, if only for a few minutes, was worthwhile. The increase in speed would help, assuming none of the stations was destroyed as a result, of course, and perhaps, just possibly, it might temporarily lift his people’s morale. “That is for all stations, Commander. All units are to move at one hundred fifteen percent.”

He listened to the officer relay the orders, and in a few seconds, he could feel the difference. The stations didn’t have the same systems the ships did, and the movement, especially at the overload level, was jerky and difficult. But it would cut down on the incoming fire…which he figured was about to begin.

A few minutes later, the first beams did begin coming in, the enemy reaching long range and firing. He had gotten his orders in, commanded his stations to blast away at full power to avoid enemy fire…but when that shooting began, he realized his vast stations still moved slowly, even with their extra power. They were harder to hit, to a point, but he cringed as one of them took a shot, a glancing blow…and then a few seconds later, the one closest to his own received a direct hit, losing close to half its guns.

He looked straight ahead, struggling with all he had to think about the battle, about anything else he could do…but he realized, other than watch, there wasn’t much.

There wasn’t anything at all.

*   *   *

Frette sat quietly and watched. There wasn’t anything else to do, at least not at that moment. Her ships were moving toward the planet—and more importantly, directly on the tail of the enemy fleet—at whatever speed they could manage. Her ships were mostly clustered in three large groups, based on their acceleration capacities, but there were dozens of vessels, damaged ships and others, scattered all around.

She knew her orders for all ships to accelerate at full carried risks, and that the separation of her fleet exposed her vessels, especially the ones up front, to intense fire from the enemy. Her fleet together, clustered as one force, would make the enemy choose which ships to fire upon, it would give them more vessels within the same range…but she had realized that the entire force would be too slow, that her only chance was to accelerate every ship as quickly as possible.

She knew she needed all she could get right now. The question wasn’t who would win the space battle, which force would endure when the other one was destroyed. No, her real purpose was to destroy the enemy fleet utterly, or at least weaken it as much as possible, before it reached Earth-2.

She looked up, watching the display, noticing that the fire on her vessels had been reduced. She would have been glad if that had come from damage to the enemy or some other natural phenomenon, but she realized at once that it was the diversion of fire. The lead enemy vessels were shooting at the fortresses now. The large facilities emplaced around Earth-2 had been firing for more than fifteen minutes with no answer, and they had destroyed a large number of enemy vessels. Whether it was enough or not, depended on too many variables, not the least of which was how much longer they could fire, how many more vessels they could take out…before they were all destroyed.

She watched as her own ships fired at full—beyond full—and as the stations did the same. They were hitting well, destroying enemy ships, but the Regent’s forces were firing back just as strong, and many of her own ships were gone now, or battered to some fraction of their initial effectiveness. Now, she winced as she saw the stations begin to be hit. She recognized that their movement was beyond normal, and she realized that their commander had ordered his own engines to be overtaxed, pushed to the brink. She was glad to see it, sorry that she hadn’t thought of extending her orders herself…but she also realized that it was only a temporary advantage, one that would only last a short while.

She winced as she saw one of the stations hit, and then another. She watched as her own ships exchanged fire, as they destroyed more enemy vessels, even as they lost more of their own. She knew, mentally, that the battle was going to be a fight to the finish, that whichever side won, it would lose most of its ships, while its enemy lost them all. She couldn’t be sure that the enemy would fight to the finish, that there was no point at which they would retreat…but she knew she was in until the end. There was no retreat possible, no point at which she would order her surviving ships to leave. They would fight until the end, until the enemy was destroyed, or they were.

She looked around her, at the officers on the bridge. They were committed, she understood, they knew what was at stake. She knew most of them didn’t believe that Max Harmon’s desperate mission had any chance, and she understood…but she actually believed there was at least some possibility that the planet’s leader—and hate him or not, there was no argument that he was the leader, no matter how many people despised him—might just pull off his crazy attempt. She didn’t know if it was her closeness to him, or some degree of knowledge she held…or simply that she believed it because she had to, because she knew that her people had to win in both locations in order to achieve real victory.

Perhaps she held onto it, because she realized a victory by her, if that turned out to be at all possible, would mean little more than a few years before the next assault. If Harmon was successful, if he destroyed the Regent, then a win by her forces would be just that, a triumph, one that would allow her people to endure.

A victory…over the Regent, total and complete. She knew the odds were long, for either her or Harmon, but she gave them each a chance at least…some odds that they would both prevail, that humanity would endure, that it would survive on Earth-2.

She didn’t particularly care if she herself survived. Her life was over, save only for her obligations, her duties. She took them seriously, as she had for twenty years, as she still did…but she didn’t care if she survived the battle, in fact, part of her preferred that she didn’t.

But she realized she would enjoy knowing that her side prevailed, that her people would go on. She didn’t really expect that, but she still thought it would be nice.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Just Outside E2S Carson City

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Harmon grabbed his rifle from his back as he stepped out of the ship, and onto the surface of the planet. He had feared the enemy would already be in place, that his men and women would be cut down as they tried to make their way out. But there was nothing. Nothing save the dusky, rough terrain.

He swung his head around, checking in all directions he could see before activating the comm that connected him to Carson City’s far better scanning capabilities. He didn’t see anything, but it only took a few seconds for the ship to locate the closest enemy forces. They were five minutes away and heading right toward his ship. Toward all of his ships. He hadn’t really expected his stealth devices would function on the ground, but his observation of the enemy movement was the final confirmation.

“Alright! Get ready…we’ve got enemy forces coming, and it sure looks like they can see all of our ships…so let’s get ready!” He was on the wide band, communicating to all of his personnel, not just the ones on Carson City. It was a guess that none of his vessels remained hidden, but after seeing the scans of enemy forces heading toward every landing point, he felt fairly strongly that the stealth portion of his mission was over.

He turned and looked at his own people—all of whom had the same access to scanning data he did—line up, taking whatever cover was available between them and the approaching enemy. Harmon looked again at the scan, at the forces heading his way…and he felt a wave of, not relief actually, but not hopelessness either. He had wondered what kind of forces the Regent would have, how it would have gone in the development of defenses for itself vs. offensive assets it could throw at the invaders. He still didn’t know, of course, and there were enough bots coming his way to wipe out his forces if they weren’t careful…but there weren’t that many. His people had a chance, at least against this first assault.

But if there is another like it coming…and another after that…

He stared at his people for perhaps another minute or so. Then he moved, advancing to a chosen position on the line, a spot he guessed would be a good one. He didn’t really know, and he understood that the enemy bots could easily attack anywhere they wanted to…but he felt like he would be right in the middle of things, in the center of the battle.

Where he belonged.

He pulled the rifle off his back, and he checked it to make sure it was armed. He knelt down, below as much cover as he could find. He looked to his right and left, locking eyes with his closest companions, and nodding softly. Then he stared forward, as the clock counted down the final minute.

This is it…the real start of the purpose of your life. It doesn’t matter if you escape, if you live another fifteen or twenty years, or if you die here. All that is important is winning. Victory.

Destroying the Regent.

He breathed in deeply…and a few seconds later he heard gunfire coming in, slamming into the ground in front of him.

The battle had begun.

*   *   *

The Regent watched the landing area. It analyzed the situation from every possible point of view, and it decided that it had the advantage, though perhaps not decisively. But it also determined that there was definitely a chance of defeat…and it steadily altered its defensive plan to reduce that as much as possible. It didn’t feel fear, not exactly, but the surprise of the enemy ships, and the apparent anti-sensor devices that had allowed seven out of nine of the invading ships to land, were of particular concern. It was the first time it had encountered a true technical superiority from the humans…and it wondered if there weren’t more of them out there. Coming at any time.

It was glad that it had found the human homeworld when it had, that even then its forces were attacking—and hopefully destroying—the planet. It had considered if it would have been better off if the humans discovered it sooner, if it had more of its ships deployed nearby, able to take out the enemy force.

But then, the enemy would also have had its fleet free…and the battle here would be larger. No, it thought, this is better. I will defeat the enemy forces here, and then the main force will destroy their homeworld. It will be as decisive as it can be…despite the enemy’s attempt to attack us here.

Still, it knew it had to do everything correctly to defeat the enemy, to prevent any chance of the enemy penetrating its defenses. Of destroying it.

It realized that it had been too devoted to building ships, to preparing for the attack on the enemy’s home system. It had constructed more or less adequate defenses for itself, but it realized—too late for the encounter now begun—that it had not built enough. It had gambled on its ability to find the enemy before they found it. That couldn’t be fixed, not for the engagement about to begin, but it had realized that once the portal back to the old Imperium opened, it would have to move to a more central location…and it would build far more defenses, regardless of the overall situation. It had underestimated the humans, it supposed, even as its predecessor had…though not as severely.

It checked and rechecked on its advancing bots. The force was fairly small, but it was most of what it had available. It had decided that a direct assault, as powerful as possible, was the best move, and it had held back only enough units for a last ditch defense…which it hoped would not be necessary.

It checked on the location of its four ships, the vessels it had launched to do a sensor sweep of the system. It had recalled them, ordered them to return at once, and in less than an hour they would be back. The enemy ships would likely be caught on the ground or trying to escape from the planet…and they would be destroyed. Even if they managed to take off, to present a real fight, the Regent had determined at least a ninety percent probability that they had offloaded too many of their people, that while they might be able to lift off and fight, it was very likely they would be far weaker than they’d be if they were fully-manned.

Its analysis of the situation was good, in every particular…but still, it considered every possibility, every potential event that could happen…and it couldn’t escape the negatives, the chances the enemy could prevail. Every analysis resulted in it having the best chance…but every one of them also showed the possibility that the enemy might prevail, that they might get through all its defenses.

That they might destroy it.

It reviewed the situation, analyzed it from every particular it could, using more and more of its almost incalculable power to do it…but the answer was always the same. It had the advantage, considerably. But there was no way to eliminate the enemy’s chance of success.

*   *   *

Captain Leigh watched, waiting, feeling every second pass by…slowly. She’d powered down her ships, brought them to barely three percent engine strength…decelerating now, rather than accelerating. If her plan worked, if the enemy continued to do as she expected, if everything went precisely as she anticipated…she would open fire in seven minutes. That was a short time by almost any standard, but the way things were happening just then, the way every second lingered before passing to the next, she almost couldn’t imagine it.

She watched, her eyes fixed on the enemy ships, watching as they raced back toward the planet. She’d been fairly sure that was what would happen, and she had also bet that the enemy would not be overly wary of a ship hiding out here, even though the Regent had no doubt discovered the existence of the stealth system by then. It just didn’t make sense, something that seemed even more true when she considered the fact that her ship would be on the planet now, too, with the others…save only for her mechanical problems.

She glanced at the chronometer, grateful for the two minutes that had elapsed. She had been watching, counting every second, but then she had lost herself, for a couple minutes, thinking of the Regent, of the entire situation. She didn’t expect to save her people on the planet from all the enemy ships, but she was doing all she could. She’d considered breaking for the planet, landing at least near the other ships…but she would have been behind, and the four approaching vessels would be right behind her. She had determined that she could do the most good by attacking those enemy ships. She would probably lose the fight, but it would take some time…and she had a good chance of taking out one or two of the enemy vessels. That seemed like the way to go, and while she hadn’t discussed it with any of her people, she believed most of them would have agreed.

Her eyes darted back and forth as she checked her statuses…again. The stealth system was operating properly, at least as far as her instruments could tell. The thrusters were at 3%, and her weapons were already fully-charged. More than fully, actually. She planned to fire at 120%, an astonishing rate of power consumption. It was more than made sense in almost any scenario…but she had come to the conclusion that this was an exception. She knew she was putting her ship’s survival on the line…but it wasn’t likely to make it through the fight anyway. All she needed was a few minutes, a dozen or two dozen volleys. Then, her ship would probably be gone anyway, whether her own weapons did it, or the enemy did.

She glanced over at the countdown clock, watching as it dipped below two minutes. There was still no sign she had been detected. She had done everything she could do, and she waited for the remaining moments, silent along with her crew, watching the time pass excruciatingly slowly. Then, as the clock counted down the final seconds, she turned her head and locked eyes with her first officer.

“Fire,” she said, as she looked toward the main screen and watched to see how she did.

*   *   *

Harmon shifted a bit, bringing his body lower, farther behind the tiny ridge that served as cover. He wasn’t sure just how close that last shot had come, but it was tight enough that he had actually felt it go by. A millimeter closer and it would have drawn blood…and a few centimeters more, it would have finished him. The panic almost took him, for a few seconds at least, but he knew he wouldn’t even get the chance at destroying the Regent if he didn’t pull himself together. He knew his people would try to complete the mission, of course, whether he was with them or not, but something told him any chance of success involved him…right until the end.

He knew that was baseless, that he had no way of knowing just how his people might do if he was killed. But he still felt it, as sure as anything he had ever known. He didn’t expect to survive the mission, not really, but he was determined to endure until the final fight.

He fired, his aim somewhat hindered by his acts of self-protection. All along the hidden lane, the others aligned close to him were firing as well, blasting the approaching enemy bots. But there were fewer people left fighting than there had been moments before. The enemy’s fire was two or three times as much as from his line, and he could see at least five of his people down, and that was only in his immediate vicinity. He didn’t have any real idea of how many bots his people had destroyed—except that it was a decent number—but he guessed that his own forces, all of them, had lost at least thirty people so far. And the fight—the first fight—was still going on.

He wondered if his forces were battling most of the Regent’s forces or just the first little bit. He was hopeful, everything he’d seen suggested that the enemy had focused on its offensive forces, that its defenses were relatively small. But he didn’t know that, and part of him was prepared for another array of bots…and another after that. He didn’t know how his people would survive that…assuming they even won against the first batch of enemies…but he knew they had to.

They just had to…

He readjusted himself, stopped firing for a few seconds to take aim again, to get the best results from his fire. Then he opened up again…and a few seconds later, he saw an enemy bot…and then another one. The robots were closing, coming against his line. In a few minutes, they would overrun his people and close on the ships…or they would be destroyed, and his survivors would continue on their way.

What would they do? Where would they go? He knew his information was spotty, that he didn’t really know where the Regent was…or what else might lie between him and it.

It doesn’t matter, he thought. One thing at a time, one step and then another.

And this one is taking everything I’ve got now.

He aimed more carefully, crouched low, trying to avoid the enemy fire…and he flipped his fire switch to fully automatic and did all he could to bury the enemy under fire.

*   *   *

Leigh sat, stone still, watching, waiting to see the results of her first shot. She knew the fight would go on, that it would last some time, at least if her stealth system and navigational plan continued to work for a while. But she knew the first shot would be the best…or at least it could be. She had what appeared to be total surprise, with the enemy ships moving without any defensive maneuvers. She hoped the first shot, and perhaps the second one as well, would be deadly…but she just didn’t know. Not yet.

Not for a few more seconds. She saw her weapons unload…and then she watched as they slammed into the lead vessel of the enemy formation. The shot was powerful, at least for a ship the size of hers, and the hit was as direct as it could be. Her three main guns fired, and every one of them scored a direct hit, tearing open the hull of the enemy vessel, and hopefully knocking many of its systems offline.

She felt something like relief, even as her ship shook hard one way, and then another. She was doing everything possible to extend the fight, to stretch it out as long as possible. She knew the enemy would be able to target the locations of her shots, and while that wasn’t precision monitoring, it would become better and better with each subsequent shot. If she continued to fight, sending out blast after blast, they would eventually manage to triangulate her location…or at least very close to it. She could delay that by evasive maneuvering, but that would become less effective as time passed…and with every hit she scored.

The first enemy ship was badly damaged, her first three shots taking it amidships, blasting through the hull to deep inside. She knew almost immediately that the hits had done well, that they had badly damaged the vessel. But it was perhaps fifteen seconds later that she truly realized how effective her first shots were as the ship almost erupted, and explosions from within burst outward.

She felt a burst of joy, at least a little one, but it was short lived. She hoped her second shot would be as effective, but the enemy engaged their evasive maneuvers before her guns were recharged. Her second round of firing scored only one hit, the other two shots missing entirely. And a few seconds later, the enemy vessels opened fire on her. They all missed, none of their first shots coming even close to her ship…but she knew it meant the battle was now two sided. Whether the enemy could find her ship, beyond its firing points, of course, remained a question.

She stared at the screen, at the enemy vessels. Three of them were darting around wildly, providing strong evasive forces to her…but the first one was badly damaged. It was moving—barely—and she could see that it was very badly hurt. She knew the other three ships were out there, and dangerous, but she felt the need to destroy the first vessel.

Her head turned, toward her first officer, and she uttered the words she wanted to say, that she knew he wanted to hear. “All weapons target the first ship…we’ve got to destroy it. We’ve got to destroy them all.”

She knew she didn’t have much chance of winning against all four enemy ships, at least she understood that on some level. But her blood was up, and she was in the battle, full bore. She would win it, defeat the enemy force…or she would die. Either way, there was nothing to do now but fight. Fight with everything she had.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles felt something, a combination of factors really. There was sadness, coming at him from the loss of so many of his orbital platforms, and so many ships…but satisfaction as well, at the damage his people had put out in return for what they had lost. He still knew the battle was mostly even, that the enemy had at least a fifty percent chance of wiping out all his defenses and shattering Earth-2. But fifty percent was a lot better than he’d figured before, even if he still knew some portion of the agreeable fifty percent entailed Earth-2 being damaged, perhaps badly.

He got up, moved across the way, toward the other Mules controlling fire from the remaining fortresses. He was glad about the damage the forts had done, the number of ships they had damaged and destroyed…but then he looked at their condition, at the seventy percent of them that had been destroyed already. The survivors were still firing at various levels, but he knew it wouldn’t last long, that the entire ring of facilities would be gone before long. And then, the enemy would finish off the orbital platforms that built ships…and they would destroy Earth-2’s ship-building capacity for years.

Then the battle would advance…perhaps to the most vital stage. The main fight, back several hours from Earth-2, was still going strong, many of the ships in the human fleet being destroyed but taking down a significant number of the enemy vessels as well. And Frette’s ships were moving fast, trying to catch and engage the last of the enemy fleet. But he knew, as he watched, that the forts would be destroyed, and that however much Frette put into it, however wildly her ships advanced and destroyed enemy vessels, she would never stop them all. He had known this, in a manner of speaking, all along, but now, despite the strong performance of all his forces, he was sure.

The enemy was going to close…they were going to bomb Earth-2.

He’d known it all along, he realized, and it wasn’t the total battle. The enemy could destroy the entire surface area, but to wipe out the residents, to really win the fight, they would have to bomb the planet repeatedly and deeply. And Frette’s ships were close behind.

Achilles knew the battle would be close, whichever way it went, but understanding something like that, really understanding it, was difficult. Whatever his thoughts on the future, on the existence of Earth-2 and its inhabitants, he had always known that the Mules were superior, that whatever guarantees and assurances he gave the others, his own people would ultimately rule. But now he sat, looking at the screens, at the battle unfolding all around, and he realized he didn’t have any more idea what would happen than the Tanks or the regular humans did. All they could do, all of them, was fight, to the end…and hope for the best.

And that is precisely what he was going to do.

*   *   *

Vincennes sat, bleeding from his brow, from the wound he had received…and which he had totally ignored. His station had been hit, many times, but it was still in the fight. That position was impressive, especially considering over eighty percent of his installations had been destroyed outright, or at least battered beyond meaningful responses.

His stations had given out damage, too, perhaps even more than he had expected. They had destroyed forty enemy ships outright and damaged many more. But he knew his time in the fight was almost over. He imagined that some of his people would survive, at least a few, the last crews of the totally disabled stations. They would probably be left alone, at least for a while. But at least three quarters of his people were already dead, and even though they had known that likelihood, it still cut deeply at him. He knew he was likely to join them, soon.

He looked over, across the wreckage that covered his bridge, toward the gunnery station. Lieutenant Gravis was still there, almost entirely ignoring the wound that cut across his back, watching as the station’s remaining weapons fired. The firepower remaining was only a fraction of what the station had possessed barely half an hour before, but it was still potent, and the longer it fired, the more damage it inflicted, the better chance Earth-2 had of surviving. Vincennes knew that, and he clung to his beliefs, even as the fear and other factors wore away at his resolve. He had ordered the silent stations, the ones with no guns but with some survivors, to abandon ship, but his own still had firepower…and he knew every shot was vital, that every gun had to be fired as many times as possible.

His bridge crew was half dead already, the second gunner and two others killed, still lying next to their seats. Half the structure was damaged, and huge support wings fallen. He knew his station was dying, that another hit or two would be the end. Perhaps the weapons would be knocked out while there were still some people alive. Then they could escape—perhaps even he could. But he didn’t know. It was just a matter of luck, of where the next hits came. Some of his stations had survivors when they were knocked out of the fight, and some didn’t.

He sat in his chair, trying to look calm, though he was anything but. He knew he had to stay there, that he had to keep his remaining crew in place, as long as his station had weapons to fire. He might have ordered a partial withdrawal, but at least half his crew was dead already, and there barely enough remaining to keep the place functioning.

He turned and looked at the display, watching the remaining shots from his still-functional stations, and the incoming volleys from the attacking ships. The battle had shifted, gone from just his stations firing to the approaching enemy blasting as well. And once the attacking ships moved closer, their firepower was far more effective than his. The lack of mobility of his stations became more of a problem, the closer the enemy came, and he knew that his remaining units, the few with active weapons systems, were almost done. It would be a matter of minutes before his force was completely offline, and then it would just be a question of where his survivors went, those able to escape…if only for a few hours.

And whether he was one of them…or if his station was destroyed or if the bridge was taken out, and him with it.

He watched the screen, seeing most of the final shots from the stations missing, even as there were hits being scored by the incoming weaponry. The advanced ships were close now, very close, and the power of their guns was increasing. Even as he stared, another station took two hits in a matter of seconds, and then it just vanished in a massive explosion.

Then, he felt his own station vibrate, and he knew it, too, had been hit again. He held his breath for a few seconds, not sure if he would live, if any of his people would…but the shot struck the station’s midsection, and while it did a lot of damage, it didn’t appear that it was coming apart. Yet. But that didn’t mean it didn’t cause damage.

“Sir…the weapons are all down. I think it might be the firing mechanism and not the guns themselves. Perhaps I can go down to…”

“No, Lieutenant…we’ve done all we can. The station can’t fire, and by the time you got somewhere you could—maybe—do something, we’ll be hit again. We’ve done all we can in this fight.” He looked around the bridge, at the other living officers. “Come on…let’s see if we can get out of here, before…”

He saw relief in the officer’s eyes, in all of them, as well as fear. They had fought bitterly, and very well, and now they would struggle for themselves, they would escape…or not.

He got up, shaking for a moment, trying to ignore the aches and pains he felt. “Let’s go…let’s see if any of the lifts are still working.”

*   *   *

“Come on, work it. We need those engines back, at least partially, and we need them now!” Clark’s voice was hoarse, but he forced it out at a decent volume. The hit that had taken out his engines would lead to his ship’s destruction, sooner rather than later. Without the variation to his movement, the enemy would be able to target his exact location. They just needed to realize that the engines were down, and then his ship would follow…quickly.

Unless he got at least some power back.

“We’re working on it, sir. I believe we will have at least fifty percent back…soon.”

He almost followed up, noted that “soon” might not be quick enough. But he realized that his chief engineer knew that as well as he did. “Very well,” was all he said. Distracting his engineer from her duties was not going to help things, not one bit.

“Lieutenant…I want all debris ready to be evacuated…in five stages.” He almost shook his head while he was saying it. The notion of gaining some thrust from expelling garbage seemed absurd…but he knew it would have a small effect, that if the enemy targeted the exact location he should be in, it just might be enough to make them miss. If he was lucky, it might buy another minute, perhaps even confuse the enemy, extend the gain to two or three minutes. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing he could think of, the only way to buy some time—a little at least—for the engineers to get the thrusters back online.

“First stage ready, sir.”

Clark stared at the screen, trying to guess how long it would take an enemy ship to realize that his vessel was on a fixed course. He knew it would be soon, but every minute he bought, every second, was worth something.

He counted to himself, his eyes fixed on the explosions occurring around his ship. The enemy shots were getting closer, but no one had yet realized that the engines were down. But he had waited as long as he dared.

“Now…release batch one. As hard as possible!”

He waited, listening as his aide passed on the order. He could barely feel the movement, but he saw that the expulsion was complete…and a few seconds later, he saw a pair of heavy beams rip across the ship’s path, less than eighty meters from the vessel itself…and just where it would have been had he not expelled the garbage.

“Batch two…now!” He knew he didn’t have much time. The enemy might be confused now, might even have assumed that his ship’s engines were working, that his sudden thrust was a small burst. But they wouldn’t be confused long.

The ship shook again, moving along an almost imperceptible point, its course barely changed. But barely wasn’t the same as not at all, and he knew his vessel’s angle of movement had been modified, ever so slightly. The clusters of trash being expelled were different sizes, the effect they had on the ship’s course were each a bit different.

He was about to launch the third batch of trash when he heard something. He turned quickly, his eyes moving to the navigator’s station. The ship had thrust—real thrust—and more than fifty percent. The engines were at seventy-two percent, and while that wasn’t one hundred, it was a lot.

“Reactivate program three,” he said, almost without thinking about it. He needed the most his ship could get, the best possible chance of confusing the enemy. He was easier to hit than he was before, he knew that, but far more difficult than he’d been seconds earlier.

Now, he could focus once again on his ship’s weapons, and on the rest of the fleet. The fight was going…fairly well. His vessels were firing, were hitting enemy ships. Both sides had lost a large number of vessels, but there were still a lot left, and from the numbers, from his quick analysis of the fleet strengths, he couldn’t tell who was going to win.

He could only determine that whoever it was, they wouldn’t have much left.

*   *   *

Frette was hunched forward, watching as her ship, all of her ships, as they closed on the enemy forces in front of them. The battle had been fierce, intense, the greatest concentration of force she had seen in sixty years…and it was still going on.

She watched as her ship fired, as all of her ships fired. She was at close range—very close to the nearest enemy ships—and her hit ratio improved. But so did the enemy’s. As she watched the display, each side lost a ship, and half a dozen others took hits. She knew the fight would go on, that the two sides would continue to savage each other…but she also realized that Earth-2 was about to join in the battle. The orbital fortresses were almost entirely gone, save only for two or three still fielding a gun or two. In another five minutes, they would be silent, too, and the vestiges of the fort crews, the survivors if there were any, would be out of the fight, racing for their escape vessels, assuming there were any still functional.

She knew that any escape would be short-lived, that unless her forces won the fight, any surviving humans would be eradicated by the victorious enemy. But she found herself hoping for the best, wishing good luck to the survivors…even as her own ships moved to an even greater fight than they had endured so far.

She glanced back, at the forces she had left behind. She knew Clark was her best admiral, even if he wasn’t her oldest or highest ranked, and she had acted accordingly, leaving him in command. And it had worked, at least so far. He hadn’t allowed any more ships to break off, to try to reinforce the group she was chasing, and that was enough, for now at least. She knew he had to win as well as her, that both forces had to be victorious in order for her people to survive, but right now, she was focused mostly on her own forces, her own fight. She had to win…somehow to destroy enough enemy ships that at least some of the civilization, some of the people down on Earth-2, survived.

She looked across the bridge, at her crew, trying to determine if they thought they had a chance. She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even tell if she thought there was a possibility of winning. She just knew she had to fight, to keep it up, to strike with everything she had, as quickly as possible…and hope for the best.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Just Outside E2S Carson City

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Max Harmon fired, almost wildly. He had a decent amount of ammunition, and more on the ships, but still, he was going through it rapidly. All his people were…he was sure of that. The enemy robots had closed to point blank range, and the two sides were blasting away at each other. For a while, he had thought the battle was going badly, that his people were going to be overrun…but now he could see that the level of incoming fire was down, too. He was tired, exhausted really, but he put that out of his mind. He knew there was no rest, not in the current fight, and not in what followed if his people survived.

Not until the Regent was destroyed…or he was.

He ducked down, a burst of close enemy fire telling him he was exposing too much. He suddenly had a suicidal energy, an urge to do whatever was necessary…but he knew he had to survive the current fight. He had to take his survivors forward…had to take out the enemy. Somehow.

He fired again, changing his clip every ten seconds or so. He’d thought the enemy was coming all the way, but then they stopped. There weren’t more than a hundred meters between the two lines, and the fire was heavy. Very heavy. He thought about his people, realized that each of them was going through something similar to what he was experiencing. They were all volunteers, and though they hadn’t expected certain death, they couldn’t have been overly optimistic either. But, of course, the options to those who remained behind weren’t very good either. The best one was surviving a fight that claimed most of one’s comrades…and that chance wasn’t very good. He knew that even if he made it through the fight, if he somehow destroyed the Regent and made it back, he was likely to return to a world obliterated, a people more or less gone. There would be survivors of course, those under Terrance Compton, along with the residents of the two previously occupied planets that still remained. But there would be leftovers on the Regent’s side, too, other AIs as well as some level of remaining force…and a large array of building resources. If the Regent was destroyed and the enemy was defeated from Earth-2, maybe, just maybe, his forces would actually win…but he was far from sure of that.

Still, you’ve got to get farther than this…even for a slight chance of victory…

He continued firing, even as his pack grew lighter, and he knew his supply of clips was diminishing. He had brought as many as he could carry, everyone had, but he knew they wouldn’t have the ability to rearm from the supplies…not unless they won this fight.

The enemy fire was considerably less than it had been, though, and he realized it was indeed possible that his forces would win the battle they were fighting, at least the first stage of it. He shot one of the enemy bots, just as it was aiming his way…and it exploded wildly. Within a few seconds, he saw no less than four of the enemy bots completely destroyed, and at least that many more damaged. He felt a rush, a realization that his forces were winning, something he furthered by completely ignoring the massive casualties he had suffered as well. Only one thing mattered just then…defeating the enemy bots, and that only meant some of his people still standing when they were all gone.

He reloaded again, and as the enemy fire declined, he felt himself taking more chances, exposing himself just a bit. He began to realize that he was going to win, to at least defeat the forces that had been sent against him. Whether there was another such pack just waiting, or three or four of them, he didn’t know. But he focused on the enemy he was aware of…and he pushed as hard as possible.

“Go…it’s time to finish them!” he shouted, first to the men and women who could hear him, and then, a few seconds later, into the comm unit he carried. He knew the enemy could send out more fighters at any time, at least if it had them, but he wanted the victory for his people, and he wanted it now.

Within another minute or two, there was no fire from his immediate front, nothing at all. He could hear distant exchanges, scattered elements of the enemy on both flanks…but none to his immediate front. The thought crossed his mind, the realization that it could just be hidden enemies, that they could be waiting for him to expose himself, and the other troops in his area. But he knew, somehow, that wasn’t the case. The enemy was on the verge of defeat…and he had to push forward, break through their center…and finish both flanks.

His legs began to do it, to make the movement even before he decided to do it…and definitely prior to his ordering the others to join. He was already up, over the top, when he opened his mouth and said, “Come on, all of you…forward…to victory or death!”

*   *   *

Leigh was silent, sitting on the bridge…watching. The enemy fleet, the three ships remaining in it at least, were firing wildly, and not coming terribly close to her vessel, at least not yet. That was good, but her ship had missed a number of times, too, and the reality of the battle seemed like it was turning against her. She was grateful, immensely, for the new device, the system that made her ship so hard for the enemy to spot. It was the only reason she was still alive…she knew that with certainty. But it wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, one of the enemy shots would hit her ship…and it wouldn’t take much more than that to knock out the stealth system. Then it would only be a matter of time. And not much of it, she suspected.

More than all that, she realized just how little she had to do. Her guns were manned by their own crew, as was almost every system on her ship. The captain had moments of intense business, of almost overpowering pressure…and then long periods of sitting, and watching her crew perform. Most of the time, at least, the captain had a stake in the crew’s performance, having trained and led them for a while. But the ships in the force that had come—come to throw everything they could at the Regent, whether there was actual hope or not—were newly crewed. Her people were good, selected from the legions of volunteers that had come forward…but her own track record with them was measured in weeks…not years. They were mostly strangers, men and women she had seen a few times.

But they were good, among the best in the whole fleet. That much she’d known from checking their dossiers…and even more from the fight she’d seen so far. Her ship had been handled expertly, and she realized that most of what had happened had taken place with little input from her, at least beyond the basic orders.

She sat and watched—there was nothing else for her to do. She realized her life was almost over, that her chance of being alive in an hour was pretty damned poor. She thought about her family, about all the loved ones she had left behind, perhaps to meet their own deaths. For an instant, a few seconds of time, she felt herself pulled down. But then, she grabbed ahold of herself. She pushed aside the worry, the cold realization of doom. She had come for a purpose, a true one, and she was going to do as good a job as possible.

She looked at her crew, realized they didn’t need anything…not yet. But they would. Somehow, she knew her job wasn’t done. She wasn’t sure what she had to do, how it would come about, but she was certain it would.

Leigh knew that, though there was no way for her to do so. She was sure, certain that her role wasn’t over. Not yet.

*   *   *

The Regent watched the fighting…and it felt strange. It had hoped its bots would win, that they would sweep away the enemy and finish the fight. But its forces had lost, on the ground at least…and its four ships, three now, were locked in a fight with a vessel they hadn’t yet been able to locate.

It knew better than to panic. It had sent most of its robot strength to the fight that was even then just wrapping up, and almost all of that had been destroyed. But the enemy had been badly battered as well, and despite its lack of strong defensive forces against the coming assault, the Regent knew the attack would be weak…that it would face a number of challenges. It wasn’t safe, not exactly, but its calculations told it that it wasn’t likely in extreme danger either. The enemy still had a number of challenges to overcome, to even reach it, and their numbers were way down. They’d lost sixty-five percent of their strength in the battle, and while only half were dead, the other half were wounded. It had taken the Regent a while to completely understand the effect injured soldiers had on its enemy, but it had determined that it was often preferable to wound troopers over killing them outright. It approached its forces with a coldness, abandoning units that were badly damaged, but it had come to realize the humans could not match that. There was some flexibility, but generally, human commanders tended to place too much attention on their wounded soldiers.

The Regent realized that its defenders were programmed to kill the enemy, to fire again on wounded specimens. But perhaps that wasn’t the wisest methodology. It recalculated, and it decided to send out a command to its few surviving bots. Targeting was to be directed at untouched humans, leaving more of those hit, but only wounded, alive. That would slow down the advance. More of the untouched humans would be diverted to caring for their injured counterparts, further weakening the attack.

It analyzed the situation, evaluated the likely area of the enemy advance. There were several places it could place its remaining resistance. It considered each of them…and then it decided. It would allow the enemy to enter the underground complex, almost without resistance…and then it would strike again, with the last of its robots. Its remaining contingent was small, but the human forces were limited, too, and it believed its numbers were likely sufficient.

Yes…that was the correct strategy. Between the gathering of almost all its remaining forces, and the new targeting directives it had issued, it was sure it would prevail. Almost certain, at least. There were too many possibilities, too many random events to calculate accurately…but it was almost certain, at least as far as its calculations could go.

95.723% sure. Assuming its calculations were correct.

*   *   *

Max Harmon pushed forward, doing his best to hide the wound he’d taken. The shot had been one of the last ones fired by the enemy, and it had felt like barely a graze, but as he moved along, trying to keep his people going, he’d realized it was somewhat worse than that. He stumbled a few times, but he mostly managed to keep it hidden, or at least to make it appear that it didn’t affect him in any material way.

But it hurt!

It had been a long time since Max had been in actual combat, much less wounded, and he could feel his age in it. He was old, there was no other way of looking at it, and he really felt it now. But his determination rose above all else, over the doubts, the weakness, the stumbling of age. He had come to destroy the Regent, and that was just what he was going to do.

“Okay, let’s go.” He had stopped, just for a minute, but he knew he didn’t have time for meaningful rest. The longer he stayed in one place, the more chance the Regent would strike, would clear away his remaining forces. He didn’t know where they were going, not exactly, though their scanners had pinpointed certain energy emissions. He knew his data wasn’t totally reliable, that he could just as easily have focused on energy sources for weapon systems as the Regent itself. The actual entity, the sole reason he had come, could be hundreds of miles away, thousands even…but he didn’t believe that. Something told him he was on the right track, more or less, and he had given himself entirely to that. He knew if he was wrong, if he was far away from the Regent, or if he simply failed to destroy it, his people were as good as through, whether the defenders endured the battle at Earth-2 or not. He simply had to destroy the Regent. It was the only way.

He walked for a while, losing track of how far he had gone. The mountain was just over six kilometers from the battlefield, and he was almost there. He’d lost himself for a while, and the Regent hadn’t directed any of its remaining firepower at his people…yet. He understood, knew it was waiting until they entered the mountain. He had no idea how much strength the enemy still had, whether its first assault had been a token, or whether it had been a major effort. But that didn’t matter. He had what he had, and nothing more, and that was all he was going to get. He had to get through whatever the enemy put before him, and find a way to destroy it, or all was lost.

He understood that any realistic assessment of his chances would be profoundly negative, but somehow he endured, and all his remaining people did as well. He understood just how important the mission was, how much their people back home counted on them, even as they fought desperately to survive their own enemy assault.

He stopped, about 200 meters from the rising rock wall of the mountain. It was the last place that offered any kind of cover, at least until he found a way inside the mountain. He couldn’t see any of the enemy, but he knew better than to assume that was true. His best guess was the Regent would hold back its next attack, launch it when his forces were inside—assuming they got that far—but he knew he could be wrong, that his people could be attacked anywhere.

“Alright…hold up a few minutes.” He raised his hand, shrugging off the shriek that tried to make it out. His wound was hurting, badly, but he focused on the task at hand. He decided to give his people a few minutes rest before advancing. He wanted to check out the situation a bit more before moving forward, anyway.

He looked around, at the thirty-odd people he had with him. That was about a third of his total force, at least those who were left still standing after the last battle. He had sent the other two groups to the second and third likeliest locations, but he had kept the one he thought was best, the most direct route to the Regent, to himself…and the crew members lucky enough—or unlucky enough—to be with him.

He stared ahead, at the mostly vertical rock wall extending upward from the ground. It wasn’t entirely straight, but it was close to it. He realized that the entrance, assuming there was one within his field of view, could be totally invisible, but he spotted two locations he figured were likely spots. Both were areas where the rock wall was indented, where something that looked like a path wound into them. The more he looked, the more confident he became. One of those was an entrance…at least he was willing to bet it was.

What should he do? Divide his force, and explore both at the same time…or pick one to start on? He stared again, looking carefully. The two sections were perhaps a third of a kilometer apart, close, but not close enough to avoid dividing his forces. He wanted to examine both, to check them out carefully, but he realized his force was already too small. If he ran into trouble, if he actually found an entry into the Regent’s lair, there was the likelihood half his force would be defeated, even more than the chance the whole thing would lose.

He stared again, looking at both points. Then he decided. The one on the right…there was something about it. It wasn’t material perhaps. In fact, he wasn’t sure it was anything but a hunch. Still, the more he looked, the more he believed it was the right way to go.

“Alright, everybody…in two minutes we go forward, all of us toward the entrance on the right. Stay together, and keep your eyes out for anything. And I do mean anything.”

He gripped his rifle, checking again to make sure it was loaded…and then he looked out, across the narrow open plain to the wall of rock…to what he was banking was the entrance that would lead him to the enemy.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles pulled back from the station. He had been commanding the last few orbital batteries himself, doing all he could to aim—to guess—where the enemy ships would be. But now, the final weapons system on the array went silent. That portion of the fight was over, the fortresses completely wiped out…and the lead enemy vessels were even then descending on Earth-2. In a matter of minutes, the city would be attacked…and devastation would spread across the surface. He had known that would happen, at least on some level. But the city could be replaced, he told himself, the buildings the people had spent more than half a century building could be reconstructed. If the enemy bombardment was truly fierce, however, if it went on for long enough to penetrate, to destroy, not just the surface buildings, but also the underground refuges, where most of the people now hid, then it would be truly disastrous.

Achilles knew that, and he understood completely…but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. The ground based weapons were beginning to fire, the missiles launching on the approaching enemy ships. He understood that the foe was anxious to complete its mission, that they would approach quickly…and that gave an edge to his ground-based weaponry. He would destroy even more ships, he was sure of that, but he was just as certain that some would get through, would reach their own fire ranges. And the city, at least, would pay the price.

He knew there were farms, and other settlements outside the city, that perhaps five percent of the population lived there, and that these sections were more resistant to assault. But they could be destroyed, too. The entire planet could be bombarded, made lifeless, given enough enemies and enough time.

He watched the ground-based defenses firing. He’d have taken charge of those, as well, but the approaching enemy vessels didn’t have the motion they did in space…and artificial intelligences were far better at targeting in that situation. He saw one of the enemy vessels take a hit—and rip open, splitting down the middle before it exploded—then another. But the enemy was firing, too, and their beams and physical weapons targeted the ground based facilities. The defenses were very powerful, but they were vulnerable as well, and it only took a few minutes for the attackers to put all of it out service.

Then the enemy ships, those left in the fight, began their attack on the city. The vessels came in, and they launched missiles, dozens of them, hundreds. Achilles sat where he was and watched the defenses target the incoming weapons, firing from several still-hidden caches. Many of the approaching weapons were hit, most of them as a matter of fact. But just as Achilles knew, some got through…and a second wave of enemy ships added another volley.

The exchange continued, even as the attacking vessels were themselves targeted by Frette’s ships. Finally, a few of the weapons detonated, exploding wildly above the ground, destroying whole sections of the city below.

Achilles watched, as all his people did, he suspected. He knew most of them realized that their city would be destroyed, or something close to it, that their own survival was the real goal…but still, watching sixty years of work wiped out in a matter of seconds was difficult, for him and the Mules, and even more, he supposed, for the regular humans and Tanks.

He stared at the different readings, changing every few seconds as more cameras were knocked out. The view changed, coming from farther off as all the local sensors were destroyed. But he could see well enough what was going on. The city was being obliterated…utterly destroyed. Even though it was no more than he had expected, he felt it, in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He had tried to focus on the matter at hand, on the survival of his people, but he couldn’t help but imagine the ruins, and the great road back, even if they did somehow make it through.

The first wave of missiles was over ninety-five percent intercepted, but the three or four percent that made it through did their job. They were all set to air blasts, exploding a kilometer above the ground, and destroying everything that was constructed on the surface. Achilles watched as the city was destroyed, as everything visible that was human-constructed was destroyed, washed away completely. Even the outlying farms and settlements were obliterated, and within just a few moments, everything visible was gone, replaced by great plumes of smoke and fire.

But Achilles knew his people still fought on, that most of them were still alive, buried deeply underground. He watched as the third wave of enemy ships approached, and he knew that they would begin targeting the hiding places, that their warheads would detonate on the ground, and even below, that they would begin excavating the survivors. He knew the enemy didn’t have a map of the underground facilities, that it would take more bombs to dig up the survivors, than if they’d had specific information…and he was glad for that, at least.

But he knew they could do it…given time. And his weapons were spent, the attacks he could control all complete. All he could do now was watch Frette, and hope that her force stopped the enemy before they located and destroyed all the underground complexes.

And convince himself he was right to share command with her, that she had a level of skill, of tactical brilliance, that even one of his Mules couldn’t have matched.

*   *   *

Frette’s teeth grated on each other, her hands clenched in fists as she watched the bombardment destroy the capital, obliterate all of the construction on the surface of Earth-2. She knew there had been few people above ground, that the vast majority were hidden in the great bunkers, clutching each other, hoping—praying—that they survived. But it still hurt to watch all her people had built destroyed.

She felt the urge to spit out commands, to issue one order after another, but there was no point. She had her ships maxed out, beyond that even. She had lost two vessels as a result of her overloads, of the vast strain her ships were operating under. That was only a small fraction of the vessels she’d lost, of course, but they hurt worse. Their destruction was totally her fault.

Still, she knew her vessels were way ahead, that they had caught and destroyed far more enemy ships than they’d lost, and she gave some of that credit to the high level her vessels fired at.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the fight. She might not have any orders to give at the moment, but she had to stay up to date, understand every bit of the battle that she could.

“Sir…the first ships are closing on the planet. They need to slow down now…if they’re going to go after the enemy vessels there.”

Frette turned, looked across the bridge toward the officer. She considered thinking for a moment, but then almost immediately, words came out of her mouth. “Decelerate…all ships.” She might have done something else, looped around the planet, come back at a good angle to take out the enemy. Any other planet, and that is exactly what she would have done. But this was Earth-2. If she couldn’t save the buildings, maybe she could protect the entrenched citizens. And if she couldn’t save all of them, perhaps she could help some of them.

She didn’t have a good idea what number of her people would constitute a success, how many survivors she had to secure to call the fight a victory. She just knew she had to fight…to the end.

“All vessels decelerating, sir.”

She sucked in a deep breath and responded with a partial nod. Her eyes were fixed on the main screen, watching as her ships, her fleet, moved ahead. She saw three enemy ships destroyed, almost in rapid succession…but she realized that even as her forces moved forward, the lead enemies were still bombing the planet.

She looked at the lower corner of her viewscreen, at the atomic destruction that had replaced the city. Her quarters were gone, she realized, as were everyone else’s. She didn’t really care about hers, but she realized that if the population did survive, if it somehow endured, they would be forced to rebuild everything. All of the structural materials, the factories and foundries, were gone. Even if her fleet did win, did destroy the attacking enemy forces…her people would be building shelters and basic food processing, while the enemy was constructing new vessels.

She had to win the battle, of course, she realized that…but it was also clear to her that the destruction of the Regent was every bit as crucial, even more so.

C’mon Max…you’ve got to do it, somehow. You’ve got to pull it off…

She drifted away, for just a few seconds…but then her ship was hit. Badly.

She turned abruptly, looking across the bridge for the report she knew was coming. But she saw only a damaged section of the bridge, and the body of her aide, lying next to the station, clearly dead.

She turned back, looking at the display again, and realizing it was damaged as well. It was still on, but it wasn’t updating positions. She looked behind her, realized that the bridge was no longer functional, that it wasn’t tied into any of the ship’s systems. She saw another officer lying, badly hurt but still alive, and she jumped up, raced toward him, waving at the other two survivors to come to her aide. Whatever shape the ship was in, whatever direction the fleet needed, it wasn’t going to come from her flagship, not anymore. She knew she had to relocate, possibly even depart the ship for another one…but she couldn’t leave her comrade behind. It seemed absurd, amid all the dying, and the destruction of her home planet…but she just couldn’t leave him behind.

“Come on…let’s grab him and get going. The bridge is shot.” She stretched out to grab his legs, as her comrade reached under his arms. Then they made it to the elevators. With each step, she wondered if any were still functional, and she knew it would be almost impossible for her skeletal force to drag their wounded comrade down the ladders and staircases that would be the option.

She pulled and shuffled, and got to the bank of lifts, reaching out, a pressing the button…and breathing out as one of the sets of doors flung open, revealing a lift car inside. It wasn’t much, not in the scale of things going on, but she took it as a sign that fate had not completely eluded them. Not yet at least.

She paused, just for an instant, sucking in a ragged breath. Then she said, “Come on…let’s get him in there,” and she poured all she had left into grabbing the man and pulling him into the car. She didn’t know for certain that it would work, but then she rose and pressed the button…and the doors closed…and the thing started to move.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

The Regent watched as the enemy approached. It had seven exits to the surface, seven ways the enemy could have accessed it…which it realized was too many. That was one thing it couldn’t share the blame for, at least not in terms of initial design. The structure was built along with it, itself, long before it emerged from its deactivated status. Perhaps worst of all, one of the choices was the closest one, the one that led most directly to its core systems…and one of the attack forces was coming that way.

It had watched the enemy, focusing mostly on that closest group, holding back its assault until they were inside, but tracking them carefully. There were three groupings in all, three sets of enemy troops approaching. That was good in a way, as its forces would have the chance to pick them off one at a time…but it was bad, too. Bad at least in that one of the enemy groups had moved toward the closest route to it, the most direct assault possible.

It had already deployed its remaining forces, almost all of them, and the battle would begin at any moment. There would be time, after the first fight, for it to redeploy its survivors, to pivot to meet the other enemy groups as well. Those other two groupings were currently offset by miniscule forces, perhaps enough to slow them a bit, but not stop them. But they were farther away. And as long as the Regent’s main force prevailed in its first fight—almost a certainty—it would then move on to deal with the other two enemy positions.

It had the edge, by every way it could calculate such things, but it was still disturbed. It realized, perhaps too late, that it had focused too much over the years on tracking down the enemy, on destroying their homeworld. That was crucial, of course, the ultimate goal, but it was not as important as its own survival. It had to defeat the enemy, here and now. It had to survive the battle, even as its fleet was engaged lightyears away against the enemy’s main planet. It was close to ultimate victory, it realized, but also too near, at least in a way, to total defeat.

It would change its rebuilding schedules, regardless of the outcome of the attack currently underway. It would increase the defenses around itself, even at the cost of a few years in finishing off the enemy. But there was nothing it could do now, nothing except fight as hard as possible. It knew the odds were in its favor, but it was also aware that it had miscalculated to a considerable degree before, at least in terms of its priorities.

No, it realized…I just gambled. And lost, at least to an extent. But I can still prevail, still win. I just have to focus, to proceed and not to make any mistakes.

No mistakes at all…

*   *   *

“Another hit! The ship is badly battered, perhaps even out of the fight.”

Leigh listened. She was happy, too, at least about the state of the battle so far…but she knew it could end anytime, that her vessel could be easily destroyed in just a moment if the enemy could track it.

But if you’ve taken out a second ship…that only leaves two…

She had been waiting for more ships to appear, but none had. Perhaps the Regent only had the four vessels with it. She’d expected more, but there was no sign of them. She wondered what she would have done if she had been in command in the Regent’s place, if she would have directed almost all of her vessels to concentrate for the great attack, or it she would have held more back, better protecting herself. The Regent hadn’t expected the attack currently underway, of course. Even Leigh acknowledged that it was the most uncertain stroke of luck that one of the scout ships had found the Regent just when it did. But she wondered if she would have found herself in the same situation as the Regent was in now…or if she would have been better off, or worse.

She wanted to believe she would have been more careful, but she realized the Regent had vastly greater resources than she did. She could only guess at the odds of her side discovering it just when they did, and she knew the Regent could create a far better estimate. What odds would have pushed her to be more defensive, and how much of a small chance might she have ignored? Surely, at some point she would have discounted the danger, whatever it was, especially when she was aware of need to defeat the enemy at its own homeworld. Ten thousand to one? A hundred thousand? A million?

Her thoughts were suddenly disrupted…by the destruction of the second enemy vessel. It had hung where it was for perhaps thirty seconds, until a series of rapid internal explosions erupted and destroyed it. She felt a rush, and for the first time, despite her efforts to hold back, she began to imagine defeating all four enemy ships. One of the remaining two was a battlecruiser, which could take a lot of damage. She knew that destroying two of the enemy ships was a tremendous performance on its own, but now that the thought of winning the fight entered her mind, she started to imagine just how that could happen.

She heard some sounds from her bridge officers, various celebratory gasps and whispers, but otherwise, they remained focused. They knew as she did, the only way for them to survive was to defeat all four enemy vessels…and they all knew how difficult that would be.

But now it at least seemed possible. As long as the stealth unit continued to function.

She turned, looked toward the main display again, watching her ship’s next shots. They went wide, terribly so, and she realized how much difficulty still lay ahead. She continued to stare, even as her next shots fired, and the ones after that. Her targeting was improving, but she knew it was helping the enemy, too. Every shot was a clue, a bit of evidence that would direct the incoming fire…and all the enemy had to do was guess right. Once.

She stared at the third enemy vessel, the one her people were trying to target. She had decided to leave the battlecruiser to last, the toughest enemy being the final one. If she managed to destroy the third enemy ship, she told herself, then she would truly entertain her thoughts about winning. Until then, she pushed back on them, shoved them aside. She had a job to do, and she was going to see it done.

*   *   *

Max Harmon took a few steps forward, into the mountain. The door had been fairly well hidden, and it had taken his people some time to find it, and more to force it open. He’d been ready for defensive fire, for bots to be deployed right behind it, but there was nothing. Whether that was good or bad, whether it meant they were deployed somewhere inside or that he had chosen the wrong entrance, he didn’t know, but he was sure he didn’t have time to reconsider his plan. He would push forward, look for the Regent…and fight anything thrown in his way.

He stopped about five meters inside, about ten of his people through with him so far, and he looked around. If he was totally off, if the entrance led to storage or something else of limited use, he knew he still had two other groups, two more chances to find the enemy. But something told him, this was the right route. He wasn’t sure, of course, not in any material way…but he felt edgy, anxious. Some part of him knew he was on the right trail.

It just didn’t know if he would make it through, if the enemy would stop his force before it penetrated…before it reached the Regent.

He listened, trying to tell if he could hear anything relevant. There was some noise, that of equipment in the background. He knew some of that was routine, and he checked twice, determining both times that the atmosphere was breathable. It made some sense to take advantage of that fact, to switch off and save the carried air, but he decided against it. He didn’t know how quickly the Regent could change the atmosphere, whether he would be able to notice in time to order his people to respond…so he kept them on the bottled air, eating into the time they had.

None of the sounds he could hear struck him as particularly of concern, and a moment later he moved forward again, waving his arm behind him to his small contingent. He moved forward, slowly, as quietly as he could. He knew the enemy, the robots that served the Regent, could hear him, no matter how cautiously he advanced, but he tried his best anyway. It was all he could do.

He continued to move, about 300 meters he guessed, and he could see the hallway ended just up ahead in a T. He stopped just before, peering around carefully, looking both ways. He didn’t see anything, but he heard something, and he responded…just before the enemy opened fire.

He jerked his head back, reacting to the sound, which had been his first warning…and that saved him, at least for the moment. “Enemy,” he cried, feeling somewhat foolish for saying something so profoundly obvious. He also jerked up his rifle, bringing it around, toward the presumed enemy position and firing.

He knew he was a bad spot, that the fight that was just beginning would be a challenge for his people. The enemy fire was coming hard and fast, and no more than two of his people could get in position to fire each way, and even that was difficult. The Regent’s forces were deployed on both sides, firing toward not his people. He knew they would have fire problems, that they would mostly avoid each other…but he suspected some fire would get through, that they would take some losses from their own shooting. But he couldn’t argue with the location for an ambush, at least not in the purest, most grim-minded sense.

He wondered if he would have done the same thing, if he would have placed his forces on both sides, giving his enemy no choice but to fight…or to retreat, leaving the rear of his formation open. He did think, not for a second, of retreating. He understood the ambush point, realized that if his people fled, the enemy would advance and fire on them. No…he wasn’t going to take a step backwards, not anymore. He had come to destroy the Regent, and he was going to do just that.

Or he was going to die…all of his people were going to die.

He gritted his teeth and continued to fire, not looking, not watching to see what he was hitting. He just blasted away, shooting wildly. He wasn’t sure what else to do. He had decided that the enemy force was strong, that there was no other way to go. He had chosen the correct way…he was almost sure of that. He just questioned whether his people would get through, or whether they would be wiped out.

He looked back to the soldier behind him, wordlessly communicating with him for a second. Then he jerked his way back, waving up the next trooper to take his place, as he pulled out his comm unit. He wasn’t sure if it would work that well inside the enemy’s labyrinth, what interference the enemy could create, but if he could reach either of the other two commands, he now had one thought in mind. They should abandon their own searches, and rush over to his position.

He was in the right place…he was sure of that, now. And he wanted everything he had right there.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

“Abandon unit four…all residents to units two and three!” Achilles had been left with nothing to do…for a few minutes. Then the next wave of enemy vessels came in…and instead of bombing the surface, their missiles were exploding at surface level, digging up huge segments of gravel and dirt as they did. And, in the case of one of the explosives, shaking things up enough to threaten one of the underground shelters. It hadn’t been destroyed, not yet, though Achilles knew there had been casualties. Many. And of the survivors, he had no idea how badly affected by radiation they were. He didn’t have time for that, not now…he was acting on impulse, doing all he could to save as many people as possible.

He looked around him, at the control room. He knew his underground facility was the strongest and deepest, that it had been built by his own people, for them. He realized that there were far fewer Mules than Tanks or regulars, and he understood why they were the most protected of all of them. But he was also well aware that the rest of the people, those protected less profoundly, would see it very differently.

Fortunately, few of them knew about it. Very few of the regular humans had ever been in the Mule’s facility and even less had known about the escape routes dug beneath them.

Not that it matters…even our shelter will be dug out, eventually…

He thought about the design of the city, wondered for a moment if it would have made more sense to locate the escape facilities elsewhere, away from the surface buildings. But he realized that there was no way to hide so many people, that at most he would have bought a few minutes, while the enemy scoured the planet, looking for the people.

“Achilles…unit four evacuation underway. But it will overwhelm units two and three.”

“Yes, I realize that…but we can’t leave anyone behind. Two and three will just have to do their best.”

“Understood.”

Achilles sucked in a deep breath, and he looked up at the displays. Frette was coming in, her ships approaching the planet even then. He considered himself to be cold, balanced…but he felt some relief, and he suspected it was obvious to those around him. The battle was far from over, and even as he watched, another wave of nukes careened down to the surface, blasting into the rock, and digging a deeper hole, where once the great city had lain. Frette’s arrival was no guarantee of victory, nothing like it. But the time of ships attacking the planet without being themselves targeted, was now over. At least as long as Frette had surviving ships—and some of the people buried under the city endured—there was a chance.

*   *   *

The ship was utterly silent, not even the distant sounds of engines. SP-01012 had ordered his vessel to stop, to sit and watch the fight, from just inside the system. SP-01012 wasn’t cowardly, nothing remotely like it. It would sacrifice itself if necessary, as it was programmed to do…but that didn’t mean it didn’t value itself highly and place a significant price on any risk it exposed itself to.

Its position had changed, from one of many similar systems, each commanding a single scout ship, to the commander of the entire fleet. There was no other way to consider it. It was number two in the First Imperium, its position subordinate only to that of the Regent. And its actions were affected by that, its sense of its own net worth increased.

It was watching the battle, carefully. It was concerned, or at least as close to that as it could get. It still gave itself an excellent chance of victory, but there was no question the humans had fought well. Very well. It realized that it would be victorious, in a manner of speaking, even if its force was defeated. It had already destroyed all of the human facilities to build new ships. Even if his force was turned away, if every ship was destroyed, the enemy wouldn’t be much better off. They would have at best, a few damaged vessels…with no place to repair them. The Regent would simply build more ships, while the humans were scrambling to reconstruct new shipyards. Even if it’s forces “lost” the fight, if they didn’t manage to exterminate all of the humans, the Regent would win the next battle…utterly.

And hopefully, it would still lead, it would command the next force. With what it had already achieved, with the destruction of the population centers on the human planet, and the complete obliteration of their manufacturing capacity, victory was almost assured, if not totally now, then in a couple years. That is one reason it located itself in a small ship, a fast vessel positioned near the warp point. If its forces did lose, it would simply flit away, and report things to the Regent. It knew the Regent was beyond its own abilities, that it was possible it would reach a different position that he did. But he didn’t think so…and that was all he had to go on.

*   *   *

Clark was sweating. He knew it wasn’t the temperature on the bridge. There were a lot of things on his battered ship that weren’t working right now, but that wasn’t one of them. No, it wasn’t heat…it was tension. He had been edgy enough when Frette had assigned almost seventy percent of the ships to his direct command, but now he was entering the final stages of the fight. And he still didn’t know who was going to win.

He had kept an eye on Frette’s forces, on her status, but mostly he had focused on his own portion of the fleet. He’d almost been destroyed earlier, his ship surviving by the slimmest of margins. But his chief engineer—and her entire staff—deserved great praise. They had not only managed to restart the engines, somehow…they had actually managed to restore more than seventy percent of its thrust.

Most of the vessels in the fight—on both sides—were damaged now, firing incomplete arrays of weapons, and straining to avoid hits with less than their full engine power. He knew that, and an analysis of who had their ships in the best condition was as good a factor to who would win as anything else. But he didn’t have that. He just didn’t know. His readings were spotty, and they were incomplete, even on his own ships. And between damage and the focus on running his own vessels, firing all weapons, and dodging incoming hits, his largely battered forces simply didn’t have the ability to get more than a quick look at the enemy ships. Whether they were worse on average than his, or the same…or better…he just didn’t know.

All he knew was he had to fight. To the end.

He checked his ship’s stats, the damage readings. He commanded several hundred vessels, but right now—and until and unless he decided on any fleet action except to continue fighting—he was, in effect, just the leader of his own ship. The engines were still at seventy two percent, a near miracle…though still less than he’d come in with. He knew his ship was easier to hit than it had been, as were many vessels on both sides, though the damage both fleets had endured lessened their attack power as well.

Clark turned his head, looking once again at the secondary display…at the location of Frette’s forces. Her ships were approaching the planet…and some had already entered the atmosphere. He knew that meant the battle had reached a turning point. If Frette was defeated, or even if her arrival was too late, the planetary population would be eradicated, the battle as good as lost. He knew that, and he understood why Frette had taken that command herself. But he also knew that he had to hold back the main enemy fleet, he had to defeat it. Even if Frette won, if he lost, his people would lose too. The victorious enemy would simply close on the planet, destroy Frette’s few survivors, and continue to bombard.

He looked back at the main display, at his fleet…and the enemy’s. The forces were close, very close. But there was still room. A little.

“Fleet order…all ships are to close. I want them right on top of the enemy…and I mean right on top!” He practically growled out the command. He could feel the situation taking charge, controlling him. He knew he would die if he lost, that he would probably die even if his side won, but whatever fate awaited him, he had to find a way to defeat the enemy fleet. He wasn’t sure closing, reducing the already small range even more, would benefit his forces more than the enemy’s…but he realized time wasn’t on his side. The longer the battle lasted, the more chance he had of losing, of another force trying to break away, to head to Earth-2. He had delayed things, fought the battle with at least some caution…but now he realized there was no time for that. He had to win…or lose…and he had to do it now.

“Yes, sir.” He heard the response from his tactical officer, and he was impressed by the relative calm. It wasn’t true, of course, not by normal standards…his officer was as nervous as he was, but he didn’t hear the shaky voice he had expected. “All ships…close.” The officer waited, perhaps a few seconds, and then he added. “To point blank range…even beyond.”

Clark nodded his head, and he smiled. He couldn’t explain it, not at all. His lifespan was likely measured in mere minutes now, as were those of most of his people…maybe all of them. He had performed well, he could acknowledge that, but he still understood that the odds were severely against his people, that even if they somehow won the fight, even if a significant number of people on the planet survived…they had lost their ability to rebuild, at least in any reasonable time frame.

Still, Clark felt the smile grow. He was losing control in a manner of speaking, but still, he was focused, on target. The closer his ships got, the better his shots would be, and the enemy’s as well. The battle had already been at close range, but now it was going to finish at the tightest he had ever heard of.

He stared at the display, watched as the small circles representing his ships began to close…to really close. His guns were firing rapidly, and at a rate that exceeded safety levels. He had lost ships to that already, and he was sure he would lose more…but whatever the cost, he was going to destroy the enemy fleet, take out every ship they had.

Or he was going to lose his own fleet, every last ship of it. That was a grim thought, either way it turned out, but it was nothing more than the truth.

It was time…time to finish things, one way or another.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Max Harmon was just behind the fighting, desperately trying to raise either of his other two commands on the comm. He’d gotten nothing but static, though of course that didn’t mean for sure that neither of the recipients got enough of his communique to react.

“Look…I’m not receiving any replies, nothing at all. I don’t know if either of you are getting any of this, but if you are, I need you to come to my location at once. I am setting the communicator to send out a pulse. Hopefully, if you’ve gotten my message, it will help lead you here. Come, at once. I believe we have found a path to the Regent, but…” He paused, just for a second, and then he said, “I don’t think we can get through, not without you. Please…if you read any of this, come. Come as quickly as possible.”

He stopped, and he flicked a switch, turning on the homing beacon. It wasn’t necessary, not really. The other forces knew where he had gone, and they could find him anyway…but if the signal saved any time, even a few minutes, it could be the difference between success and failure.

He was determined to fight to the end, to push forward with all the power he had, but he was becoming more and more convinced that he just didn’t have the manpower to push through, at least not his one-third. He didn’t know if either of the other parties would come, or if they would add enough to his strength to make the difference…but he believed they would. He believed it because he had to.

He looked up, forward to the position where his troops were deployed, still only four able to fire. He’d lost three so far, one dead and the other two wounded, but he still had more than enough forces to move up, to fill the empty spaces. He wasn’t sure how many of the enemy bots had been destroyed or damaged, but he figured it was several. Whether that was based on cold logic, or simply on his need to believe it, he didn’t know.

He thought about the situation, wondered if one or both of the other commands got his message and would return or not. He had no way to truly evaluate the enemy’s status, no method to determine whether he was facing four bots…or four thousand. One thing was certain though. His position was as strong as the enemy’s, and that meant the battle was likely to go on for a long time.

Unless the enemy had sufficient forces to attack, to pour down the hallway, into his fire. They hadn’t as of yet, and he hoped that meant they didn’t have the numbers he feared they might. But he didn’t really know, not beyond a wild guess.

He looked up again, just as another of his gunners wretched and fell forward. He hoped, for a moment, it was just a wound, perhaps a slight one. But the man lay unmoving, and a moment later, when two of his people pulled him back, the trail of blood he left behind was telling. He knew before they called it out. He had two dead now.

He felt the urge to step forward, to take the vacant place in the line, but one of his troopers got there first. Max wanted to fight, he wanted to be at the front of the effort…but he knew that was foolish. Whether his troopers liked him or not, the loss of their leader, of the entire nation’s leader, would impact their morale. He realized that, and as committed as he was, he had to try to stay alive…at least until the final battle.

Assuming his people could survive and could reach the Regent. He knew that was a big job, perhaps—probably even—too big for his small force, but he had to believe.

He just had to.

*   *   *

“Another hit!”

The sound of the voice was clearly upbeat. Leigh felt the same thing, the feeling that she could actually win the battle growing on her…despite the fact that she was fully aware of the strength the enemy still possessed. She had done better than her wildest hopes, destroyed two ships and seriously damaged a third. But part of her realized that, even if she destroyed the third vessel, the remaining one was a battlecruiser, the toughest ship in the system, and at least a match for the other three. If she managed to take out the third ship, she would be only halfway there, and the enemy’s fire was getting closer. Even with her stealth unit working, she knew the enemy would eventually target her vessel. If she wasn’t firing, she might stay hidden, but she realized every shot was a gamble, further evidence of her location.

And a battlecruiser could take a lot of hits, at least from the weapons she had.

“The enemy ship appears to have stopped firing!”

She had just noticed the same thing. The third vessel was still moving, retaining approximately 50% of its engine power…but it wasn’t shooting.

She knew that wasn’t definitive, that perhaps it was a minor problem, something that could be fixed quickly…if she gave it time.

“All guns are to focus on that ship…we need to take it out. Now!” She knew the order was pointless, that it just reiterated the command already in force. But it was all she could do.

She stared at the display, watching her shots…and those from the enemy. The incoming fire, from the sole remaining vessel still shooting at her, were coming closer. She realized that the longer the fight continued, the better the enemy’s targeting would get. Her vessel was still more or less undetectable, but her shots weren’t…and every one of them gave her exact position at the time it fired. And the enemy was getting better at estimating her moves, at guessing where to fire.

She watched, silently for another minute, perhaps two. Her mind raced, trying to think of something, of anything she could do. But there was nothing. In truth, she realized how much lay on the gunners, on three men and one woman. She knew her navigator was vital as well, that his zigzag movement was all that kept her ship alive. She, however, had little to do…except to watch, at least for now.

If her vessel managed to win the fight, if it held out, and somehow destroyed or disabled the fourth enemy ship, then it would be back to her, to her commands on what to do. But she had done all she could to win the fight going on then, all except sit back.

And watch.

*   *   *

The Regent watched the fight, simultaneously looking at the input from several hundred cameras positioned on the planet, and in the two remaining ships. It was also tied into its bots, and it got a steady feed of information from the command units. The fight on the ground was going fairly well, at least against the third of the enemy that was now engaged. But its all encompassing view of its lair told it that one of the other commands had changed direction, and was heading backwards, possibly—probably—toward the battle now going on. Worse, a moment later, the third group of enemies also turned around. He couldn’t be certain either was heading toward the engaged group, not yet, but he couldn’t come up with another possibility, not one with any real percentage chance.

He evaluated the position, the strength of his units, and the estimated number of enemies he faced. He was sure, better than 98%, that the first group of humans would be defeated, that they wouldn’t get past his forces. But if one of the other groups got there before the battle was over, the chance dropped, to around 60%. Worse, if both of the enemy forces reached the position in time, the odds were actually against him, his own chances, around 44%.

He cursed himself, at least the closest to that he could come, reevaluating his emphasis on attacking the enemy. If he had it to do over again, he would have put more effort into defending himself. He had banked—too much it seemed—on his finding the enemy before they found him. He understood that thought. From the number of ships he had out there looking, compared to the enemy, to the relative ease his vessels had in scanning, and the difficulty the enemy must have endured, he had assumed at least a 99% chance that he would find the enemy before they found him.

Which, of course, he did. But only by a matter of days.

Still, there was nothing to be gained from thinking about it, from deciding what he should have done differently. After the assault was defeated, yes…he would alter his plans. Any surviving enemies would know his location, so first he would build a large force to remain, to defend him. Only after that, would he construct ships to hunt down the enemy, to destroy any survivors on Earth-2 and the humans’ other worlds. But for now, it had what it had…and no matter how it calculated the odds, it determined that it was at risk. Not likely to be destroyed, perhaps, but still in some danger.

It had already locked all the portals leading to it, shut down every access way…just in case the humans survived the battle. Won the battle. If that came to pass, it would be almost out of robots, just a few remaining. But it was very likely that even if victorious, the human forces would be badly damaged, that not many of their number would remain. A standoff of sorts was possible, one with a few human survivors, but too few to access its inner haven. It did have some defenses, besides the bots, and it figured it could hold off a small number of attackers.

It had considered sending a message to the fleet, even as it was attacking Earth-2. It had held back, caught between the reality of the time it would take for a response, and whether it was necessary. But the combination of the situation on the ground, and the loss of three of its four vessels in space, made the decision for it. It would take several weeks for the message to reach the fleet, and for ships to respond, and that could very well be too late. But the Regent calculated several situations where it could be useful, where there could be humans left but unable to penetrate its inner lair, for example.

It put together the message. The battle would be over by the time the fleet received it, at least it likely would. If it was, the fleet commander was ordered to send home half his survivors…but even if the message got there before the battle was finished, he was to send ten ships. That would be enough. Enough to finish off any humans in the system.

Enough to save itself.

Unless it was destroyed before they got there.

*   *   *

Cal Henderson stared at his radio man, hoping for a different answer than he’d gotten the past ten times he’d asked. But the silent response was the same, a grim face and a shaking of his head. No contact with Max Harmon or anyone in his command. Nothing at all.

His team had gotten the message from Harmon, at least enough of it to piece together what it meant…but that was all. He didn’t even know if Harmon’s feed had picked up any of his responses, if the commander even knew his own message had gotten through, that Henderson and his troops were on the way.

Which was just one more reason to move as quickly as possible.

The journey had been fairly simple so far. His troops had met a few enemy bots, but not many. The force Harmon had apparently met wasn’t a guarantee he was on the right track, but Henderson believed it nevertheless, especially when he compared it to the scattered resistance he’d run into.

Henderson had felt that way from the moment he’d received the comm, but his brief exchange with the third group only increased the strength of his position. They hadn’t encountered more that a bot or two either, and now they were heading back as well. In twenty minutes—assuming everything went well—all the forces would be in the same location, all fighting together, save only the few crew members left in each ship. Then they would push forward, drive hard, hopefully to the enemy…the real enemy. The Regent.

Assuming Harmon and the others hold out that long…

He pushed back against the dark tide, focusing on positive thoughts…or at least trying. But he found it difficult. On one hand, he was impressed with how far they had gotten, but on the other, he had to admit he had no idea what lay ahead. For all he knew, the Regent had only deployed one percent of its drones, and it was toying with all of them.

But he didn’t think so. The Regent seemed to be caught at least somewhat by surprise. The lack of significant spaceships almost confirmed that. He had come, volunteered for the mission, because he believed destroying the Regent was the only way for his people to survive, and even a one percent chance of that had to be pursued. Any chance at all had to be taken, however tiny.

Now, he speculated, even as he rushed his command, pushed his people forward, that there was, at least, some chance, perhaps not great…but definitely better than one percent. They had caught the Regent by surprise, and the timing of the thing, matched to the enemy assault on Earth-2, had proven to be very useful.

Assuming, at least, Earth-2 manages to survive. Somehow.

He looked around, his eyes moving over his retinue of troops.

And assuming we get there in time…

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

“I don’t care how crowded it is. Get those people in there…now!” Achilles was sweating, something he rarely did when it wasn’t really hot. He was calm, usually, ready to do whatever he had to do to prevail. But now, even he was being pushed to his limits. He realized even his position, the deepest and most protected on the planet, was exposed. He knew he could die at any moment, that any of his people could, and worst of all, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. His weapons were all gone, all he could do was wait and see if the fleet prevailed—in time—or if he, and all the Mules, Tanks, and regular people, all of them, died.

All he could do was to manage the people, the shelters where they all clustered, hoping for the best. The bombs continued to fall, and now three of the six underground facilities were affected. Two of them had been hit fairly lightly, giving enough time to move most of the occupants to the adjacent shelters. But number six had been hit more directly. He was trying his best to figure out how many people had survived, and to get them out of the badly damaged shelter. But he was getting resistance from the other shelter managers. He knew some of that was anti-Mule sentiment, but he realized that most of it was coming from the intention to survive. He knew his people were strong and brave, but he also realized there was a limit, a point at which the various sections would focus on their own survival, above that of the whole. And he was close to it.

“I said, let everyone in…confirm!” His voice was edgy, his anger visible, something that was very rare. He didn’t really have any direct control over the shelters, and their commanders. He was reduced to waiting and seeing whether they obeyed him or not…and he was afraid they wouldn’t, that they would seal up and defend their own shelters…ignoring the others.

He listened carefully, and he heard no response, not for a number of seconds. He felt rage and panic and everything else, and he was about to request it for a third time, when the comm unit opened up. “We’re letting them in…but it’s crowded down here…too crowded.”

Achilles knew the statement was nothing but true. The underground facilities were barely large enough to accommodate the population, and now they were down to half their usual numbers. Worse, perhaps, it wasn’t something he had to endure. The Mule’s facility was separate from the others, and it had much more space per individual. He had told himself that was pure chance, but he knew it wasn’t. He simply didn’t value normal humans comparably to Mules, and most of his people were worse than he was. He thought, for a few seconds, about how the civilization could possibly survive, even if the enemy was defeated, how they could all live together. He didn’t often acknowledge the feats of others, especially non-Mules, but he realized just how well Harmon had truly done. He wasn’t popular, but he had managed to maintain his position, stroking the Mules along with the others.

“Thank you.” Then, a few seconds later, “And I know it is crowded…” He felt a bit uncomfortable with his own space. “…but it’s the only way. The battle will be over soon.” He considered that last bit as he said it, not sure it should have escaped his lips. It was true, no question, there just weren’t that many ships left…but what would happen then, who would win, was still very up in the air.

*   *   *

“Bring us down…maximum speed!” Frette had actually been slowing her speed for almost an hour, reducing it to the levels she needed to enter the atmosphere. But now she was coming down, and she wanted to do it as quickly as possible. Her part of the battle was almost over. Either her remaining ships would destroy the enemy vessels before they managed to wipe out the population…or they wouldn’t.

She realized that it was possible she was already too late, that the enemy bombing had completed its goal of destroying Earth-2’s population. She had reached out, called for any ground units still functional—still alive—to respond, but she knew the presence of the enemy fleet probably meant her attempts would be blocked, even if there were still humans alive down there. She had nothing to do, nothing save destroy every enemy vessel as quickly as possible.

She had already come fairly close to that. In the desperate pursuit, the ongoing attack, she had destroyed or severely damaged more than eighty percent of the enemy vessels…and she had lost almost the exact same portion of her own. The ships fighting now were the last ones, at least in the forces close to Earth-2, and the combat, at least this portion of it, was almost over. The enemy had entered the atmosphere, and they were bombarding the planet. That was bad, in the sense that the population was exposed to ceaseless bombardment, that even if it didn’t wipe them all out immediately, it would spread radiation sickness.

But it also meant that the enemy force was focused on something other than her ships. That, combined with the vastly slower speeds of the enemy ships in orbit and the atmosphere, gave her vessels a chance. A chance to end the fight now…and to find out whether there were any survivors on the planet.

Her own ship was battered—all her vessels were—but it still possessed two of its main guns and four secondary batteries. And as it descended, as it streaked through the upper atmosphere, it continued to fire. Its guns blasted away, firing stronger than they were supposed to, and charging more rapidly. She knew her ships were almost destroyed, that even the ones that survived the fight, if any did, had put out so much, there was no coming back. Her own vessel had blown multiple systems, as she was sure most of her ships had. Her fleet, even the vessels not taken out by the enemy, was almost spent. It was only the engineers, and their desperate efforts to keep the vessels fighting, that staved off final destruction…for a few minutes more.

And a few minutes will be enough…

She watched as her ship fired, and as her shots began to hit, vastly better than they did in space. The enemy shots were just as good, but many of their ships were firing at the ground, trying to destroy the population before they themselves were obliterated. She couldn’t help but admire the bots, their total lack of concern for survival. She realized that defeating her forces was only the secondary goal of the ships she had pursued. Destroying Earth-2 was number one, and fighting on as she did, she wasn’t sure they hadn’t already done that, that her destruction of their force would be pointless.

But she realized she had no option, none but to fight…to the end.

She stared straight ahead, watched as her guns fired, and as they destroyed the enemy. She saw some of her own ships blasted, too, of course, but now that a fair number of the enemy vessels were targeting the surface, she knew she had an advantage. It was time…time to take them all out.

Time to see if any of her people on the planet were still alive.

“Focus on the ships bombing the surface!” She spat out the command, directing her vessels to fire not at the ships shooting at them, but at those bombarding the surface. She didn’t know if there were any survivors down there, not yet anyway…but she had no choice but to assume there were. And keeping them alive meant hitting the ships bombing them first.

“Yes, that’s right.” she said a few seconds later. “Take out the enemy ships dropping bombs first…ignore the vessels shooting at us!”

*   *   *

Clark held on, as tightly as he could. He knew his ship was badly damaged, that almost all his vessels were…but the enemy was in no better shape. His final advance, closing to an almost unheard of range, had amped up the battle even more than it had been. He still wasn’t sure who would win, or if anyone could actually claim victory after taking the losses both sides were. But, of course, there was victory. If his people came out of it, with even one broken down ship left, and the enemy didn’t have one…that was victory, of a sort. And even more if a decent number of the civilians on the planet survived.

Right now, he had only one concern…to destroy the enemy. All of them. That part was still up in the air, though he realized he was close…but he was also close to being wiped out.

His own ship was left, something he couldn’t say about seventy percent of his hulls. That was luck, he realized, and only luck. If anything, he had exposed his vessel more than the others, advanced it directly in the forefront of the fleet. And it was battered, badly. He still had two major batteries though, and as long as he had anything that could shoot, his vessel would be in the front of his forces.

He had almost taken over the gunnery, firing the two weapons himself. But he had realized that the ship’s senior gunner was probably better than he was, so he just sat and watched. It wasn’t the way he’d imagined a great battle. He’d assumed that he would be constantly busy, issuing one order after another, but while he was paying explicit attention, he realized he’d only given a few commands. Whether that was simply the reality of combat, or just something explicit to this type of battle, one to be fought to the finish, he didn’t know.

And right now, he didn’t care. Even as he sat still, watching, he saw more ships destroyed, on both sides. The two forces were locked in a terrible fight, a desperate battle to the end…and try as he might, Clark couldn’t tell which side would endure.

The ships were barely a thousand kilometers apart, far in some instances, but in terms of space combat, almost touching. And his ships were still closing, reducing the intervening space even more. He had even considered ordering his ships, those badly beaten up and without offensive power, to try to ram. But he couldn’t do that…not yet at least. Still, he’d had a few ships who’d tried it on their own, and one that had actually made contact, destroyed an enemy battleship along with itself.

His vessel fired, it’s two remaining guns fully powered, blasting away. He found the closeness of the enemy to be disrupting, but even at such a range, the majority of shots still missed. He had more than doubled his hit rate, almost tripled it, but the enemy had seen the same effect. That just hastened the conclusion of the fight, reduced the time until it was decided.

The fleet felt almost as though it was melting, as though it was fading to almost nothing. He knew that wasn’t really true, that fewer than half the destroyed ships had actually exploded. The space behind him was filled with wrecked ships, with or without survivors, but without weapons, without power. Some of them might survive, assuming his fleet actually won, but he just didn’t know.

He focused his eyes on the target, as his ship continued forward, directly toward it. His thrust was severely off, down now to, at most, twenty percent. But his distance was now a scant four hundred miles. It was closer than any range he could remember, any reasonable distance for combat. But he was still closing.

The closer he got, the better his odds of hitting—and being hit. But either way, the battle had gone on for a long while. It was time…to end it either way.

His weapons fired, and they came close. But no hit. The enemy fired as well, a ship comparable to his in both size and the damage it had suffered. Its shots were also close, one of them barely missing. But the fight went on.

All along his line, what was left of it, anyway, he saw the battle turning to a bunch of individual duels, ships paired off, so close to each other that there was nothing to do but exchange fire, to shoot until they destroyed their adversary, or it did the same thing to them.

His eyes went to the screen, still working, mostly, at least…though now there were several large lines running across it. His own monitor was still functioning, though, and the timer until the ship’s guns were ready to fire again showed less than twenty seconds.

He stared at his gunner, and at the enemy ship on the screen. In his head, he spat out all sorts of commands, orders to aim, to fire. But he just sat where he was, still, watching.

He didn’t know the precise timing of the enemy ship’s recharging, but his ship had shot first the last time, and unless its adversary had more efficient powering mechanisms, he figured he would get the next one, too. But that was mostly speculation. In truth, he didn’t really know. He just hoped for the best.

And he got it. The instant the timer reached zero, the guns fired…and they both hit! The shots looked like direct hits, but he had seen enough not to assume. Not until perhaps five seconds later, when the ship erupted into a huge fireball, and then vanished.

He looked, for three or four seconds, celebrating. Then he scanned the monitor, looking for another target, the nearest one. He calculated the approach trajectory, the course to the enemy vessel—that had just taken out one of his ships—and he snapped out the orders, purely and crisply. The battle would go on, to the bitter end…and even after he was destroyed, when his ship gave out, he was certain the others would continue fighting.

Until only one side remained.

Chapter Forty

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Damn!

Max Harmon looked around, at his shrinking collection of troops, and at the few of them still in position, firing. And at the growing pile of wounded…and dead.

His eyes moved back to his comm specialist. He’d been sending out the same information, repeating it again and again. But the enemy was clearly blocking his transmissions. That didn’t mean there was no chance any of his comms got through…but no responses had. Not yet at least.

Things were going badly, too. His people were caught in a bad place, with limited firepower. Worse, perhaps, the enemy knew the terrain better, and the automated mechanisms had much better fire control in the tightly confined space than his battered soldiers. He had good men and women with him, no question, some of the best from Earth-2…but it wasn’t going to be enough.

He moved, grimacing for a moment as he felt his wound. It wasn’t bleeding, at least not much, not at the moment, but it hurt. It wasn’t mortal, not unless it remained open and untouched for a long while, but it was painful.

And it was getting worse…which Harmon knew wasn’t good.

He looked around, trying the best he could to hide it from the others. Everyone knew he was hurt—he couldn’t hide that—but most of them thought it was more superficial than it was. He didn’t know the true opinions of his team, whether some of his remaining supporters were in the mix, or if everyone present would be just as happy if his injury finished him off. He’d tried to go through the volunteers, select people who were at least professional, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that all the people who’d turned against him in recent years had been open about it. But he did believe most, if not all, of the people he’d brought understood the importance of the operation…and would follow him through to the end.

Which might be coming…soon. He glanced over at the comm station again. Still nothing. Then he looked ahead, just as another of his troops on the firing line fell back…and dropped immediately. He hoped, for a second, that it was just a wound, a minor one…but the unmoving body told him otherwise.

His force was tiny now, most of his people killed or wounded. He knew he had to make some kind of move, but even as he was considering what he could do, the enemy beat him to it.

He heard the sound of his forward personnel, and in an instant, he knew what was happening. He couldn’t get more personnel on the front line, but he shouted out commands, quickly and shockingly calmly. His people moved the wounded, the best they could, behind the line they formed. Harmon knew he should position himself to the rear, that his position and his injury entitled him to such a position. But he realized in his gut it was almost over. His steadiness began to deteriorate. His people were going to die, all of them. He tried to believe that one of the other groups would find their way to the Regent, and he knew his own death wouldn’t completely end the effort…but it wasn’t good.

He was sure now that the Regent was ahead of his group, and possibly not that far. But his resolve faded, as he heard the bots coming down the corridor. His troops were firing, and destroying some of the enemy, no doubt…but there just weren’t many of them left. Then, suddenly, the enemy reached the corner…and they came about. They charged his shattered line, shooting, even as his own troops returned the fire. For an instant, his line held, they defeated the first three or four enemies to emerge. But there were more bots, and they pushed forward, firing like mad. The entire hallway was covered with fire, smoke and dust mixing with the energy pulses. Something—luck, perhaps, though he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad—caused it all to miss him. But he could tell, amid the smoke and dust all around him that many of his remaining people were down.

He fired, wildly, now convinced he was in the last minute of his life. He had led the force to the Regent’s home planet, and he had gotten fairly far, at least he believed he had. He’d also caught the Regent ill-prepared to defend itself. But not ill-prepared enough. Not quite.

He fired, again and again, ignoring the pain from his wound…ignoring everything. He couldn’t feel anything, not pain, nor fear. He was going to die, and he knew it. He looked around, saw that less than half his remaining people were still standing. They were good, and they knew their only chance was to push forward…somehow. But Harmon could feel them beginning to break. There comes a time in battle, when most people, even the bravest and most dedicated, lose control, and run. That was beginning to happen, even as Harmon latched on to his own spirit. If he was younger, if he wasn’t the hated dictator of Earth-2, about to oversee the biggest disaster in human history, perhaps he would have run as well. But he was all of that, and he decided instead to die where he was.

He fired, again and again, even as his few survivors began to run, to flee. He felt his entire effort falling away, to nothing. He hit another bot, barely three meters ahead, and it fell to the ground, disabled if not destroyed. He wanted to shut his eyes, prepare for his end…but something kept him up, awake and firing, even as he expected to die at any second.

Then he heard something…from behind. He thought, for a moment, that he was hearing things, that his mind had shifted from reality to what he hoped for…but then the sound repeated, again and again. It was fire, from behind him. Toward the enemy.

He thought, wondered if it was possible that his message had gotten through, that one of the other contingents had actually come. Impossible! Or at least improbable. But it was so!

He thought of that for perhaps a second, maybe two. Then he felt something hit him. It wasn’t pain, not exactly, but he realized he had taken another hit…and he felt himself slipping away, losing consciousness. And then he was gone.

*   *   *

Leigh felt strange, beyond exhausted on the one hand, yet driven, ready to take things to their ultimate completion, whatever that was. She had destroyed three enemy ships, an almost unimaginable result, and she was fighting the fourth one even as she sat there, watching every step, waiting for whatever happened.

She wanted to issue orders, to come up with some brilliant way for her people to fight the enemy ship, but there was nothing. She had given every command she could, blurted out every bit of advice she had. Her future was largely in the hands of her gunners…and in the engineers who would be responsible for dealing with any hits her vessel took.

She had endured far longer than she’d dared to hope, and her stealth system had earned its weight in…in what? She had been thinking of gold, but its value had proven to be far greater even than that. She had scored three solid hits on the final enemy ship, and she hadn’t taken a single one in return.

Of course, even one hit could badly damage my ship…while that battlecruiser can take a bunch…

She was silent, as she had been since the last hit, watching and waiting. Then her vessel’s guns scored a fourth hit, and the enemy ship was showing some damage. It jerked slightly, and after she let out a howl of excitement, she snapped out a command to her first officer. “Damage report,” she said, though she knew she’d get it anyway, as soon as it was available.

“Coming…” The word was the last one spoken on the bridge before the ship shook hard. Leigh knew immediately what had happened. Her vessel had been hit…and from the feel of it, fairly badly. She knew she was due, long past due actually, but she still felt disappointment.

“Redo avoidance program…switch to routine C.” She snapped out the command, changing her vessel’s avoidance routine.

“Yes, Captain.” The response was followed almost immediately by a hard jerk, as the engines roared, and the ship shook off its previous pattern. But a second later, she saw the incoming beams, a miss…but barely. She guessed that one of the shots had been one hundred meters away, but an instant later, the report came in, proving her wrong. It had been forty-three meters off.

“Check the…” She had been in the process of ordering the status of the stealth unit checked, but her first officer turned just as she was speaking, and she knew exactly what he had found.

“Stealth unit down,” he said, softly, his voice barely audible. “Repair teams are checking it out now.” The second statement was louder. Even facing death, her crew was from the pick of the service…and she knew they wouldn’t give up, no matter how badly things went. Not until the end.

Leigh felt a number of things. But most of all, she realized that the emphasis of the fight had changed dramatically. The enemy ship had suffered more damage than hers, but she had taken a deadly hit. Even damaged, the battlecruiser was still stronger than her vessel—intact, much less suffering the damage from a hit, as it was now. If the battle was straightforward, if both ships were able to target each other openly…she was definitely at a huge disadvantage.

“One of the guns is down…damage control reports they might get it firing again in five or ten minutes. And the engines are down twenty percent.”

The damage report pushed away her hopes that her vessel had escaped significant damage. It was relatively light, in the sense that, given enough time, her people could possibly repair it, but she doubted she’d have enough time.

“What is the status of the stealth unit?” She knew she’d allowed too much emotion in her voice, but she wasn’t sure it mattered. Her best hope to save her ship, to win the fight, was to restore the unit…to squeeze a bit more from it. But she didn’t know if that was possible. Her people didn’t even understand the thing very well…if there was any hope to repair it, she knew, it would be mostly luck.

But that was her only hope.

“Assign all repair personnel to the stealth unit. That is what we need, more than anything.” Worse, she knew. It was close to her only hope…whatever chance she had to destroy the enemy vessel, and to advance on the planet. To help her people destroy the Regent.

*   *   *

“Forward, now!” Cal Henderson felt hot, and he could feel his heart pounding, the sweat pouring down his back. He’d pushed his command, now the combination of the two that had been sent to different locations but had combined a few moments before. Cal had the rank, so he assumed command of the combined force and led it on, if anything, even faster than he’d driven his own troops before.

He was close now, close enough to hear the fighting up ahead. It was loud, but he heard mostly the fire of the enemy. The lower-pitched sound of his own guns there too, but less than he’d expected. He didn’t know what was going on, not yet, but he was sure his people didn’t have any time to waste.

“Forward,” he repeated, and he lunged ahead, pulling his own rifle out and preparing to fire. He could see something now, moving toward his force. At first, he assumed it was the enemy, but another look told him they were humans. Running.

Harmon’s force, whatever was left of it, was fleeing.

He wanted to run himself, to turn and escape, but he understood the situation. If the forces deployed didn’t somehow destroy the Regent, the likelihood of survival, for his people—for all the people—was almost nonexistent. He called out to his warriors, providing all the support he could. “Alright…let’s go. Destroying the Regent is the only way out for us.” It was true, but he could still feel the concern in his force, the wavering that lasted until they met the fleeing members of Harmon’s team.

They slowed, and then they stopped, looking at the waves of people Henderson had brought and regaining their courage. At least a bit.

“Who is in command?” Henderson knew that was a foolish question, the instant it escaped his lips. “Nevermind…just pull it together and follow us in.” Now was the time for the big test. Would his people go in with him, or were they too upset by the routing personnel they had just seen.

Or how few there were. There were only five of them, and if that was all that was left of Harmon’s team…

Henderson ran, almost at full speed, unaware for perhaps the first five seconds whether his people were following. He wanted to stop and check, but he knew what he had to do. Whoever came with him would have to be enough, whether it was the whole force, or he was alone.

Then he heard…the sound of footsteps. A lot of them. Most of his people were with him, perhaps all of them. Maybe even the routers had turned and lunged forward. He continued, coming upon a scene that shook him, a couple dozen dead and wounded men and women, and a wall of approaching bots. The enemy was firing on the injured, killing all those they could…until his force surged forward. Then the bots directed their fire at the coming humans. But they did not fire alone.

Henderson shot too, wildly at first, though he quickly took control, and his aim improved. He was close to the enemy, likely to get taken out himself at any second, but until then he had one thought in his mind. Fire! Destroy as many bots as possible.

He shot, again and again, changing his spent cartridges as quickly as possible. He knew winning this fight was essential, just the next phase of reaching the Regent, of destroying it. For a while, perhaps a minute, he didn’t know how possible that was. But the longer his team fought, the better they did. The enemy force was powerful, but it was small…smaller than his. He didn’t look, didn’t turn around at all. He knew a lot of his people were down, but he didn’t do anything but stand where he was and fire. And as he shot, as all his people fired, the incoming shooting began to drop. All the bots that had been close were down, and he began to move forward. The whole area was covered in smoke, and in a haze from the shattered rock all around. He couldn’t see any enemy bots, but he knew they were still there. He fired as he advanced, and he called to his troopers to follow. “C’mon, all of you…to victory!” He knew he had gone too far, perhaps. For all he knew, the enemy had ten times as many bots in reserve. But he had to get past this batch first, no matter what…and his people had to believe they had at least a chance, whether they did or not.

He lunged forward, picking up his pace. He emptied another clip, and his hand moved, almost involuntarily, to his back, grabbing another one, as he ejected the spent one, and shoving it into place. He fired again, not missing a step on his forward movement. He could only see perhaps a meter to his front, and he came to a ‘T.’ All of the return fire—much less than there was before—was coming from the right. He felt an urge to stop, to take cover behind the wall and shoot from there…but he knew he had to keep up the attack. “C’mon…they’re running, and we’ve got to stay on them!”

He didn’t know they were running, of course. He figured it was as likely they were leading his forces into an ambush. But he also knew he didn’t have a choice.

He pushed forward, and then he felt something hot in his right arm. His rifle went flying away, even as he realized he was hit. For an instant, he wondered whether he was finished, whether he was going to die. But the injury wasn’t that bad. Still, his rifle was gone, and so was his shooting arm. He pulled his pistol, holding it in his left arm, as well as he could, and he fired. The weapon was set on single shots, and try as he might, he couldn’t move his injured arm to reset it. He shot, as quickly as he could, ignoring the blood pouring down his arm, as he continued forward. He knew he’d lost a lot of his fighters, but he still had a decent number. That much he could tell from the sounds and the volume of fire surging forward behind him.

The incoming volume of fire continued to decline. He tried to fight off any assumptions, but he couldn’t do it, not entirely. Part of his mind told him he had engaged the last enemy forces, that the Regent was just ahead. He knew that was pure speculation, but he couldn’t help but believe, maybe, just maybe, the mission would be a success.

Where is Max Harmon?

The thought slipped through his mind. He hadn’t seen the commander…though he knew he hadn’t seen everyone. Still, the chance that Harmon was dead or wounded was enormous. And if he was dead…

He knew the mission would still go on, that he would lead whatever forces remained…to the last man, if necessary. He didn’t even much like Harmon, though now, as he imagined the great leader’s death, he felt…different. Sorrowful.

He kept firing, for perhaps a minute after he detected no return fire. Then he stopped…and listened. There was still shooting from his side, though that began to slow as well. He turned, finally, and looked at his command. And he was shocked.

There were eleven people, including himself. That number was just those who had pushed forward the hardest, and he told himself there would be more when he reassembled everyone. But it was shocking, nevertheless. And he also saw the corridor behind him, the wave of injured and dead soldiers lining it. He might have more than eleven troops left, but not that many more.

“Jensen, take three men and scout forward three hundred meters. Be careful…but make sure the enemy is out of action.” He knew the mission he was giving was a dangerous one. It was even possible the enemy had ceased fire specifically to encourage it. But he had to know. He was going to move forward, regardless of the situation, but if he could spare a short time, he wanted to reorganize his unit, to see how many he could scrape up for the final expedition. The enemy had seemed to be working with severely limited resources, and that increased his hopes of victory. If the Regent did have a large number of bots remaining, if there was a long and defensive trip between his forces and the vital location, he was going to lose. But he believed the enemy was almost out of defenses, and that he was almost there.

He waited a few seconds, while Jensen and the two men closest to him scampered off, disappearing in the haze a few steps forward. Then he turned around, and he walked to the rear.

He stepped cautiously, trying not to come down on any of his dead soldiers. He wanted to bury them, or do something, but he knew the likelihood was that he would end up leaving some even of the wounded behind. The dead, he had no time for, none at all.

His survivors—and he had been correct, he had a few more than eleven—clustered around the fallen warriors, searching for the wounded. That was exactly what Henderson wanted, though he was disturbed by the fact that he was probably going to have to leave any of the seriously injured behind. He tried to tell himself that he would come back, that he would get them all out…but he knew the odds of that were almost insurmountable. He was just hoping to find a few who weren’t that badly hurt—like him—who could get up and push forward, expanding his numbers just a bit.

“Sir!”

His head turned quickly, and he looked down the corridor. He was about to respond when the trooper spoke again.

“Sir…I found Mr. Harmon…and I think he is alive!”

Chapter Forty-One

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

“The battle is still raging, Achilles, but the planet is badly damaged. They haven’t blasted through completely yet, but the radiation is getting bad…even here. The sections with the Regs are even worse. We have to get out of here, soon, don’t we?” Achilles listened, as Callisto spoke, softly and to him alone. She wasn’t a coward, not by any measure, and he knew what she was saying was true. He had some transports hidden, a chance to escape, though not even all of the Mules could be accommodated. Perhaps fifteen hundred, maybe even two thousand…but that would mean leaving behind seventy percent of his people. And all of the others, if they survived.

That was assuming the escaping transports managed to make it past the attacking fleet, which, he had to admit, was a better bet now that the enemy forces were so battered, and within the atmosphere. The ships would blast off, at full thrust, and he guessed they would probably make it.

But make it to what? He knew the Mules considered themselves superior to the others, but he wondered how escaping, leaving behind many of their own as well as all of the Regs, would affect them. Would affect him.

No, he couldn’t do it…not while there was any chance. He knew that thousands of Regs were already dead, along with several hundred of his own people, and he realized that many more would die, of radiation and other wounds, even in the best of circumstances.

The fleet, even if it won, was all but destroyed, and he didn’t have any repair facilities left. Before his people, assuming enough survived, could rebuild some of the basic functions, the enemy would be back, with fresh ships. And he would have to decide then whether to leave. But for now, he was staying.

“Callisto…I love you, and I want more than anything to spend time with you. But we just don’t know what is going to happen here…and I can’t leave, not while there is a chance. None of us can.”

He was nervous, unsure what her reaction would be. But then, she just smiled, and said, “I am with you, Achilles, now and always.”

He looked at her, a bit surprised at her change of opinion. Then, he realized, he shouldn’t be, that her earlier statement had been more of a question than anything, perhaps even an attempt to get his true opinion. And he had answered it.

“Callisto…can you manage things here for a few minutes?” He got up and gestured to his seat. “I want to…check on the others.” He knew the ships shouldn’t be released without his approval…but he also realized he had been focused solely on the enemy, and not on his own people. Especially the younger ones.

“Of course, Achilles.” She smiled, clearly understanding what was going through his mind. “I think you should take some of the others with you.” She turned her head before he could answer. “Themistocles, Peleus…please go with Achilles.” The two turned and responded positively to her, before Achilles could think of an excuse.

“No,” he said, calmly. “Three of us, or five or ten, aren’t going to hold back any large numbers. I will have to convince them—or not—and that I can do best on my own.” He looked at his friends, aware they didn’t want to let him go by himself…but also that they agreed with his words. He stayed where he was for a few seconds, exchanging glances with them…and then he turned and walked away.

*   *   *

Frette gritted her teeth, doing everything possible to ignore the incoming fire. Her ship was blasting hard, shooting at the vessels near the surface, the ones targeting the ground, unleashing nuclear weapons into the remains of the city.

There was nothing left on the surface, of course, not at that point. It had been utterly destroyed, and by now, even its debris was gone, molten rocks and heavy smoke about all she could see. But she knew the true goal was the underground shelters, the facilities that had been built solely for this purpose, to protect the men and women of Earth-2, to stave off the final wave of ruin that even now was digging down, trying to reach them.

To extinguish them.

She was blasting away at the vulnerable ships in the atmosphere, blowing them to ruins…but her own ships were experiencing the same thing from above. She had ordered all of her vessels to focus on the bombing ships, to destroy them at whatever the cost…even if that was their own destruction.

The enemy ships that had been engaging her fleet, the rearguard of the Regent’s force, had massively increased their rate of hits, just as her vessels had done against the bombing ships. The ships, all of them, were moving at a fraction of their speed in space, and even the vessels destroying hers were far easier prey. But first, she had to destroy the bombers. Whether or not any of her vessels would survive that effort, would then still have the power to turn on the enemy pursuers, she just didn’t know.

She tried to stay focused on the vessels she was targeting, watching as they erupted into flames, and as they crashed hard to the ground. It only took a couple of minutes to finish off the last of them, but by then, more than half of her remaining ships had been destroyed…and the rest of the enemy was poised just above them, still firing.

“Alright,” she said, as firmly as she could manage. “We’ve finished the bombers…now we’re fighting for ourselves. Take out those ships, before they do the same to us.” She knew the enemy had the edge, at least that they were already firing at her vessels. But she was past thinking about odds, about chances. All she had to do now was fight…until she won or died.

She didn’t have much to do herself, not after redirecting her forces. She watched the screen, delighting at the destruction of every enemy vessel…and feeling the loss of every one of her own. Frette wouldn’t have hesitated to sacrifice herself, to die in the pursuit of victory, but she knew she had crew on his ship, and many more on her other vessels. She simply had to win, if it was possible, and that thought ate away at her, tore her apart. She had to win…but there was nothing she could do but watch…and hope.

*   *   *

Clark bit his lip, leaning forward and watching the fight…the slaughter. His forces were desperately battling, gunning down the enemy, even as they themselves were blown apart. He had followed the battle at Earth-2, as well as his instruments would allow, but when the fighting went into orbit, and even down into the atmosphere, he lost most of his contacts. He knew the fight was fierce, that Frette’s forces were battling hard. But he didn’t know who was going to win.

He didn’t even know that about his own fleet. The battle had been brutal…beyond brutal. It was a fight for his people to endure, somehow, especially on his ship. He had no intention of surviving a defeat. He would win, or he would die. It was as simple as that.

His vessel was down to one gun, a scant remainder of its armament at full power. That was bad, but considering that power plants had been wiped out, along with just about every system onboard, he realized he couldn’t have fired any more weapons anyway. Between operating the gun, and maintaining the engines at around fifty percent power, he was using all the energy his ship could generate.

But the enemy was in bad shape as well. Many of their vessels were also down to one or two guns, and while the range had dropped almost to knife-fighting levels, the lack of weaponry diluted the effect. Vessels that had come into the fight with ten or fifteen main guns, and dozens of lesser ones, now fought on with one or two.

He realized, in a sense, that he had done a good job, that he had fought well…but he was beginning to realize that he was going to lose the fight. The enemy outnumbered him, and the last two ships to go had been his. Throughout the battle, he had truly been uncertain who would win, whether he had a chance or not. But now, amid the vicious battle still going on, he began to see the signs. He would come close, very close, and his leadership would prove to be strong.

But not quite strong enough. As he watched the remnants of the two forces, as he counted and recounted ships, and the weapons on both, he realized his forces were going to lose.

They were going to lose the battle.

*   *   *

“Faster…we need to get there…quickly! Terrance Compton II spoke, sounding very much like his celebrated father had years before…though no one present would have known. His force was small, but it contained every warship that had been detached with his colonists, and it was heading back, as quickly as possible.

He realized he was violating orders, that his command was to separate from the homeworld, to seed several new colonies, in the hope that they could avoid detection long enough to grow and prosper. He didn’t know what he thought of the prospects of that—it depended as much on the day, and on his attitude, as it did on anything else. But he had decided one thing, in stark violation of his orders. The few warships assigned to defend the colonies were pointless. Either they would remain hidden until they were able to build large fleets, or the enemy that discovered them would simply blow away the few defenders, and then destroy them.

But maybe…just maybe, his forces, the few ships that he had, could turn the battle at Earth-2. If he got back and saved Earth-2, he didn’t care what price he had to pay, and if he was too late, if the planet had already been obliterated, its fleet destroyed…then he was perfectly willing to die, too. He understood the urge to place him in command of the colonizing forces, but he realized his skills were almost entirely military. His place was back, alongside his people, those fighting the enemy…or at least preparing to do so.

“We’re at 110% speed, sir…eleven minutes until transit.”

He knew the officer was only telling him the truth, that there was no way to actually speed things up. His forces had come a considerable way, and now they were about to transit back to Earth-2. Either they would get there before the fight or not. But either way, he was content with his decision.

It had occurred to him that if he made it, if he got back when the people were still preparing for the battle they knew was coming, he might be criticized, even prosecuted. But all of his people, the crews of his ships, were with him. It had shocked him when he’d first raised the issue, checked to see how his spacers felt. Almost every one of them had agreed with him. They wanted to go back, to leave the colonists on their own, and to fight against the invaders.

“Five minutes, sir.”

He heard the report, nodding in silent response. In five minutes he would return home, and he would find out if he was on time, if the enemy hadn’t attacked yet…or if he was too late, if Earth-2 had been destroyed, if nothing remained of the people he had left behind.

Chapter Forty-Two

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

The air was thick, and he felt every breath, as though it might be his last. There had been pain before, but now there was none. He felt as though all he had to do was let go, give up and slip away. He even wanted to…but he couldn’t.

His mind raced, his thoughts confused. But he knew one thing. He had to go forward. He had to move on…to destroy the Regent, or to die in the effort.

He felt something. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, at least not yet. But he could feel. There was something over him. At first, he panicked, imagined one of the bots had come to finish him…but then he realized it was human.

He could hear first, his consciousness still tenuous, but he could definitely make out the sounds of human speech. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, not yet, but he knew there were people around him. If there were people there, still…his force must have held out.

He opened his eyes, and he could see. Partially, at least. There were faces looking down at him. Human faces.

He tried to speak, but he couldn’t yet. He was coming back, somewhat. Memories began to make more sense…and the pain began to return. He was wounded, in two places he realized, and it started to hurt…really hurt. Before he could say anything he wanted to, a groan escaped his lips.

He heard…something. He couldn’t tell what at first, but then he realized it was voices. Of course! The people hovering over him. They were speaking to him, asking him how he was.

He moved his mouth, tried to speak, but nothing came out at first. His throat felt tight, and the pain from his injuries became more acute…but his awareness continued to improve.

“Sir…sir…are you alright?”

He heard the words, understood them. And he responded, first by a slight nod, and then, “Yes…I…think…so…”

“Alright” was a questionable designation. He had multiple injuries, and he felt like hell. But even as he spoke, he began to move, shifting his weight to the side. Then he rose, partially, and he sucked in a deep breath. It hurt a bit, but it felt good too, and he did it again, three times before he jerked himself up again, to a more or less seated position.

“Sir…your wounds…let me…”

“I’m okay,” he said, not really believing it, but unwilling to sit where he was as what passed for the camp doctor did what little he could. No, there was no time. If the Regent had another group of bots like the one his people had just fought, it was over anyway…he might as well get on to his death. But if that group was a last resort, if his people had pushed to the brink of the machine’s lair…maybe.

Just maybe.

He gasped again. His injuries were bad. They weren’t fatal, not imminently, at least, but they were serious. He wasn’t completely sure he could walk, but he knew he had to try.

He pushed against his legs, tried to get up…but he wasn’t strong enough. He looked out at the companion closest to him, extending the uninjured arm.

With the assistance, he was able to get to his feet. And he stood, pulling his arm slowly from his helper. He was standing, under his own power. He felt a little wobbly, but that was beginning to fade. “Okay, everyone…I’m fine.” That was a wild overstatement, but he was pretty sure he could move forward. “Let’s go…it’s time to finish this, to destroy the Regent.”

Or to get wiped out by its defenses.

*   *   *

The Regent was…what was the word? Not panicked, not exactly. But its last major force had been committed, and it had been virtually destroyed. It still had bots, twenty-one of them to be exact, but they were scattered all around. Some would make it, would have a chance at the enemy before he closed on the Regent’s location, but probably not all. The enemy was close…shockingly close…and the Regent was calculating all of its defensive options. That list was actually fairly short, and the Regent understood that it was in grave danger. It had long thought of the humans as inferior creatures, though, more frequently, it had come to realize they were something close to its equals, at least in terms of their technology.

It thought of everything in percentage terms, the chance its trillions of calculations assigned to everything. It didn’t have enough information to determine the overall chance of success, not with any accuracy, but it almost assumed—better than a 99% chance—that the humans had heavy weaponry with them. Whatever its capability, its thinking ability, the Regent was still a physical item. Vast storage rooms of memory banks and processors seemed large, but to even a small nuclear weapon, they were nothing. It could be destroyed…it knew that. It also knew that it had made a grave error in positioning its defenders. It wondered how much of that was the result of its predecessor’s millennia of peace before the humans came. It had tried to include the reality of what had happened in the past fifty years or so, but now it wondered if it was capable of truly doing that.

It called out to its remaining bots, ordered them all to return. The ones that could get to its presence were ordered to do so. They would be the final defense. The others, the ones that were on the opposite side of the enemy…they were ordered to attack, the instant they were in range. The Regent tried to calculate the percentage terms, the odds that its final assaults would be sufficient…but there were too many variables to allow for a reasonable guess.

In the end, the Regent came to a 50/50 chance, a flip of the coin as to whether it would prevail, whether it would defeat the humans…or whether it would lose.

Whether it would be destroyed.

*   *   *

Henderson moved forward, surprised at the speed Harmon was managing. Over one hundred years of age, and wounded twice, he had started out slowly, but the farther and farther he moved, the faster he became…until Henderson, more than fifty years younger and much less injured, felt fatigued.

Still, he was number two in rank, at least among those still fit to travel. He started out next to Harmon, initially out of the thought that his commander could need help. Now, he was beginning to huff and puff, just trying to keep up with Harmon.

He was confused by his feelings toward the leader, his longstanding dislike now challenged by some new impressions. He’d thought he understood Harmon, but now he was seeing something unexpected in him. Just going on the mission had been extraordinary, but now as he watched, the man put what had to be all the strength he could coax…and then some…into this effort.

Maybe—probably—the last effort.

He was feeling strange, oddly drawing on Harmon, pulling strength from his leader. His wound still hurt, as he was sure Harmon’s did, but he was determined to keep pace, and to push the entire crew to do the same.

He looked around, checking on the others, even as he continued forward. It occurred to him that the very front of the team wasn’t the right place for Harmon…but then he imagined trying to say something about it.

They had gone for about fifteen minutes now, and the walls of the corridor changed, from neatly cut stone to metal. It was a more finished look, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were getting closer. He could come up with a dozen reasons that they were…but he could produce just as many that they weren’t. For all he knew, the Regent was thousands of kilometers away, perhaps even on the other side of the planet.

But he didn’t think so. He felt, somehow, that they were close. Very close. And he was sure Harmon felt the same.

Harmon stopped suddenly, pulling his rifle up as he did. Perhaps two seconds later, Henderson heard what his leader had picked up…and he pulled out his own gun. Just as the fire came in.

He ducked down and shot, just as Harmon opened up, firing on full auto. The rest of the forward troopers reacted as well, pulling out their own guns and firing, at least if they were close enough to the front to bring their shots to bear.

He was staring straight ahead, but he could hear behind him, and he knew that several of the party had been hit. He had no idea of the number of losses, or the types of hits, and he wasn’t going to find out. Not until the enemy was destroyed.

The attacking force at least. He had no idea how many bots there were. At least two from the volume of fire, and perhaps three. But that didn’t mean there were only two or three. For all he knew, they were the lead members of the next assault force, the first two or three of a hundred. A thousand.

He tried not to think about that—or about the fact that the enemy had picked a perfect place to ambush the force, one that provided cover just a hundred meters forward. He couldn’t even see what he was fighting, but he was glad that the incoming fire didn’t increase. In fact, after a second, it decreased, dropping to a maximum of two bots.

He was down, on one knee, taking as much cover as he could while firing. This went on for a few seconds, but it seemed like much longer to him. Then, he heard Harmon’s voice, louder than he could have expected.

“They’re too well defended…and we’re in the open. Charge!”

The commander didn’t wait to see if any of his people would follow his command. Whether he just believed they would, or simply didn’t let it matter, was unknown. Henderson, at least, followed him, and a second later, from the sound behind him, all or most of the survivors did too.

They ran forward, directly into fire, ignoring the losses. Somehow, Henderson didn’t get hit again, and neither did Harmon. But he could tell that a number of the soldiers following them were taken down. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the enemy, but he couldn’t help but imagine what was happening to the remainder of the command. Had they lost 1 or 2 followers? Or 10? He didn’t know…and he wouldn’t find out, not unless the bots were destroyed.

He rounded the corner, going to the left, while Harmon turned right. He was ready to see anything, even a long line of bots. But there was just one standing, and one tipped over, still quasi-functional, but not firing. He pointed his rifle right at the standing bot and fired, just as the bot shot in his general direction. The wave of fire whipped past his head, no more than a quarter meter from him…and he heard the sounds of one of his people, taking the hit he had avoided, not a meter behind him.

He tried to ignore it, as he did the danger and everything else. Only firing…that’s all that mattered, he told himself. He wasn’t entirely successful—thoughts of his people, and a dozen other things, slipped through his mind—but he mostly managed to focus.

The enemy unit fell to the ground, even as it continued to fire with its remaining gun. But its targeting was off, and its fire veered around, almost randomly. Then it stopped, and a second later, the bot didn’t move again.

Henderson switched, almost automatically, shooting the damaged bot laying on the ground. It looked at him—that appeared to be all it could do—and then it, too, was destroyed. His eyes met his commander’s, and he nodded briefly. Whatever his thoughts about Max Harmon, he was impressed by the commander’s actions. He wasn’t sure he agreed with all Harmon had done for so many years, how he had clung to power…but he was sure there was no one else he would rather be following just then.

“Alright…” Harmon spoke, clearly concerned about the break in the path. There were two ways to go, and Henderson had no idea which—if either—led to the Regent. “…I don’t like splitting up, but I’ve got no idea which of these ways is right, so I don’t see an alternative.” A pause. “Henderson…you take half of them…” He pointed toward the shrinking group of people standing, watching. They were scared, clearly, abjectly terrified of what—may—lay just ahead. But they were all in…that much was clear, at least to Henderson. “…and I’ll take the other half.”

Henderson glanced for an instant down to the two of his people who had been badly injured in the most recent fight. That was all it took for him to realize both were dead.

“Sir…” Henderson spoke, pausing for an instant before continuing, “We’re down to eight in each group…is that enough?” Even as he spoke, Henderson knew he was just expressing concern. The number of people they still had was getting really low, and he was concerned. But even as he spoke, he realized there was no choice.

“It’ll have to be enough.” Max Harmon was obviously as tired as he was, no, probably more so. He was injured twice and a lot older…but Henderson could see the defiance in him, the determination that drove him forward. And he benefited from it.

“Very well, sir…” He paused for a few seconds, but he didn’t say anything else.

“You seven…come with me. The others go with Henderson. And good luck to all of you.” Harmon turned almost immediately and began to walk down the corridor. He didn’t even look behind him, check to see that his people were following him. In that instant, Henderson knew that Harmon would have gone on alone and wounded, that he would fight as long as he had any ability at all. And he decided that he couldn’t do any less than his commander.

“C’mon,” he said, intending the message for his seven followers, and he walked off, down the other end of the corridor…to whatever future awaited him.

Chapter Forty-Three

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles ran, at least he did the second he wasn’t visible from the main position. Nothing could be gained from upsetting his people even more. But he’d begun to truly fear what he still wasn’t sure was happening. Assuming he was correct, if he couldn’t stop the younger Mules from doing something, he reckoned none of his subordinates could either. Better for them to stay and watch the battle, to participate in any way they could. He would check on the ships, do everything possible to prevent the others from taking off.

Alone.

He was cursing himself for not thinking about it earlier, for not suspecting some of the Mules from acting differently than he did. It was stupid, foolish…especially since he probably would have done the same thing when he was their age. It was also a weakness of his. Despite his clear knowledge that many did think differently from him, he had a tendency to assume they would all come around to his way of thinking before doing anything very serious. He knew that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t help but think that way at times.

The ships were few, and they weren’t armed. But they were fast, and they could make a major run for it. He had discounted the entire thing, assumed the younger Mules were on his side…which they were, to a point. But Achilles had decided to live or die with the humans…and it had just occurred to him that some of his people, the younger ones, might not.

Probably would not.

He pushed himself, running harder down the corridors, trying to reach the docking bay. He realized, as he did, how much space the Mules had built for themselves. The regular quarters, those constructed for the others, the non-Mules, were farther up, more exposed. In the end, the massive shelters for most of the population were higher, simply because they were larger, because it wasn’t feasible to construct them any lower.

The Mules had built their own shelters deeper, just one more reason his people preferred the separated nature of the society. He had thought for many years about his people, about their view that they should rule absolutely over the others…and also, though less frequently, about how the others felt, how they, too, believed in separation, if for different reasons.

Theseus. He thought about him, about the de facto leader of the younger Mules. He realized that the young Mules were a larger contingent, that it was much harder for them all to agree…with anyone. He knew that some of them, at least, supported him. But he was worried, concerned what Theseus would do.

He ducked down, slipping through a small portal, and emerging on the landing deck. He looked up at the ships, at the small fleet he had assembled, at the time for the same reason he now feared. He realized how much his thoughts had changed…and he saw a group of Mules in front of the ships, just like he had feared.

No, not exactly. He saw some pushing forward, clearly wanting to take off in the vessels. But there were others, arguing, fighting. To remain?

He moved forward, not recognized at first. In truth, he looked no older than any adult Mule, and those present were deeply involved in their debate. It was true, he realized. Some wanted to escape, but others were arguing with them, struggling to get them to stand down. And both sides were armed.

Then he stopped, looking up, and realizing that Theseus was there.

At the center of the group arguing to remain, to stay until the end.

He moved forward, avoiding the crowd wherever possible, working his way to the front. Then he could hear the sounds, the people recognizing him, and the squabbling fell off. He continued moving forward, knowing he was taking a chance…and possibly a bad one. The group desiring to leave was bigger than the one arguing to stay—and too large for the ship’s capacities, too, though that thought at least had not raised itself in the debate.

Yet.

“Achilles…please. Come up here, join me. Explain why we cannot leave, why we must stay.”

He looked up, recognizing Theseus’s voice immediately. He was surprised, stunned actually to find the presumed head of the problem arguing the very point he had come to make.

He stepped forward, having at least the momentary attention of everyone present, though how long that would last was anyone’s guess.

*   *   *

Clark gripped the handles of his chair, leaning forward, trying to draw on his last strength, to somehow maintain his steadfastness to the end. Which wasn’t going to be much longer. He couldn’t see what was going on around Earth-2, not well enough to determine if Frette was going to win or lose, but he knew his forces were going to fall short. Not by a lot, but by enough.

He was down to forty-one vessels, though at least twenty of them had no weapons left, served no purpose but the wait until the enemy blasted them. Strangely, with ninety percent of his ships gone, his flagship was still there, still fighting.

And he was still alive.

For a little while. In twenty minutes, perhaps less, the rest of his vessels would be wiped out, every one of them gone. And the enemy, while they had lost even more ships than he had, would still have thirty or so, mostly badly battered, but still there.

His emotions were wildly streaming, trying to take control of him. Fear, both for himself and for Earth-2. Frustration, at how close his ships came…and yet, how far away victory now seemed. But he held control of himself, somehow, and he just sat and watched.

He looked around the bridge, at his crew members, and he was impressed. They all knew they were going to die, but for the most part, they remained almost as focused as he was, only occasionally allowing a glimpse of the feelings they carried inside escape before they restored their discipline.

Despite his best efforts, he imagined every stage of the battle, looking for the error, the decision that could have been better, could have made the difference. He realized it had been close. Very close.

For an instant, he imagined that Frette would win her portion of the fight, that she would come back with her survivors, and win the battle. But he realized the chance of that, the possibility, was almost nil. If Frette somehow survived, even won her fight, he couldn’t imagine more than a handful of ships would escape. It was doubtful she would bring enough ships away from the battle to take out the force that would be left. He tried to draw some solace from how bitterly his people had fought, how close they had come to victory. But he realized close didn’t matter, that if his people were destroyed, the five or ten, or fifty years it took the Regent to rebuild, was nothing at all to it.

“Admiral…we’re picking something up. Transits, from warp point three.”

His head jerked around, looking across the bridge, as his tactical officer changed the display, bringing up the warp point…and three ships that had come through already. Then, a fourth.

He stared for a moment, long enough for two more vessels to emerge, and he felt whatever hope he’d had—not much—dissipate away. The enemy had more ships, coming in from another gate. He felt strange, even more depressed. He had known he was outmatched, that his ships wouldn’t win the fight…but he realized some part of him had harbored other thoughts, the impression that there still was a chance, however small. Now, even that was gone.

He struggled to maintain his calm, but the emergence of more enemy ships had pushed him, perhaps too far.

An instant later, his tactical officer turned, a stunned look on his face. “Sir…those aren’t enemy ships. They’re ours!” He flipped a control, and he looked around toward Clark. Astonishment was the only description for him…and an instant later for Clark, too.”

A few seconds later, the comm unit burst into operation. “Attention defending fleet…this is Admiral Compton. We are coming as quickly as possible…do all you can to survive, to prolong the fight.”

Clark stared, for a few seconds, and then something inside him snapped into place. “You heard him, Commander. All ships, full thrust…toward the new ships. Toward Admiral Compton.”

*   *   *

“Faster…we need to move faster.” Compton spoke softly. He realized his ships were already accelerating at ten percent above the approved levels, and he had never heard of any ship going beyond that. But a few seconds later, he said, “One fifteen, Commander.” Then, a few seconds later, as if to emphasize, he said it again. One fifteen.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer said it, holding his cool, more or less.

Compton realized though, he didn’t have a choice. He had spent the past several weeks debating whether he would arrive before or after the enemy attack…but in a strange circumstance, he’d arrived during it. Late even, he told himself, as his scanners revealed only a few ships remaining, a tithe of the extraordinary force that had defended Earth-2…and an only slightly larger contingent from the enemy. It almost overwhelmed him, thinking how many ships must have been destroyed, how many spacers killed. But he managed to hang on, somehow. It might have been dumb luck that brought him there just when it did, but regardless, he realized he had to get into the fight. As quickly as possible.

He thought of his force, mostly smaller ships, and not too many of them. His mind did quick calculations, analyzing his strength, and the power of the enemy. They would still have the numbers, albeit less than they did now.

But his ships were fresh…and he could tell, even from as far out as he still was, the enemy was battered. Would that be enough? Was it possible that his vessels, his small command, could actually save the planet?

He checked his scanners on Earth-2, and he realized there was fighting there, too. He almost turned about, headed for the planet instead of the fleet. But he was almost engaged now, and he stuck to it, gritted his teeth and prepared for action.

“All ships…prepare weapons.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stared straight ahead, looking at the display…and the range. He waited, perhaps for another minute. The distance was still fairly long, but it was within the range of his larger guns.

He sat for a second, looking, thinking about the moment to open fire. Then he just said it.

“Fire.”

Chapter Forty-Four

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

The Regent sat, totally still, silent, save for its cooling unit’s soft hum. It’s tracking was excellent, and that meant it knew exactly what was happening. Half of the enemy had gone off in the wrong direction, at least for a time, but the other half were now less than three hundred meters away. Three hundred meters! That was close…very close.

The Regent had assembled a defensive group, six of its bots, and it had positioned them just outside its main room. That was it? Its “mind” wandered, analyzing and reanalyzing the events of the past several days.

Six bots? Six? It seemed absurd that so few of its units were left to protect it, possibly to save it from utter destruction. It didn’t understand the humans, not completely at least. That challenged its viewpoint that it was superior to the humans, but strangely, it didn’t alter its outlook.

Its forces were even then attacking the human’s main world…and very probably destroying it. Its orders had been clear, perfectly so. SP-01012 was to try to win the battle, to destroy every enemy ship and devastate the planet…but if it came down to it, destroying the homeworld was more important. If some portion of the human fleet survived, it should only have been a minor problem, as long as the human ability to build more, to repair ships, was destroyed. Though now, it had to wonder, to guess if the humans could prevail at Earth-2, and send their survivors back, for another attack on the Regent.

Assuming it survived the current assault.

It realized the danger, acutely now. The entire structure of imperial functionality lay exposed. It had no second in command, at least not in the sense that its position could be filled if it were…destroyed. If the few surviving humans, those currently approaching it, actually prevailed, if they were able to defeat it somehow…it would not only be destroyed, its entire side would be defeated. It might take the surviving humans a number of years, decades even if their homeworld was badly hit, but if the Regent was destroyed, its forces would simply remain where they were, almost helpless. Its system was centered on it, and its security against rebellion, against any intel unit making a play for its place, had mandated it.

The Regent’s entire system was dependent on it, on constant updates and orders. Even SP-01012, and the other senior bots, were largely helpless on their own. They could direct a fleet, follow its orders, and they felt that they were independent…but they were denied the ability to make decisions outside the parameters they were given. And at present, none of the imperial facilities had long term orders. The fleet was to attack the enemy homeworld, to destroy it and the enemy fleet, but that was all. The survivors from the great battle would stay in position in the enemy home system…until it received new orders.

Orders which would never come if the Regent was destroyed.

It thought about all of that now, and it detected the parts that were wrong. It feared a rebellion if it gave its subordinates too much ability, but now it realized it had relied on a false assumption…that it would always endure. It had done this in spite of the fact that its predecessor had been destroyed, by the same humans who now threatened it. It decided, materially, to pursue a different strategy, to expand both its defenses and the abilities of its immediate sub-level of units. There were risks in that, it realized, but nothing like the dangers it now faced, deadly hazards it would have to endure to even have the chance of making the proposed changes.

It tightened, more and more of its abilities being drawn to the enemy, watching them approach. It thought wildly, tried to come up with any way it could defend itself from the approaching humans. There was little it could do…though it did come up with one plan, a single idea that might make things more difficult for the humans.

It sent a message to its remaining bots, preparing them. Then it sent the command through its system…to evacuate the atmosphere completely. A vacuum was inconvenient for it, in some ways, but it was a much worse problem for the humans. They might have equipment to operate in it, but that would set a time limit on how long they had…how long before they all died.

*   *   *

Harmon walked forward, his rifle extended, his eyes scanning every millimeter of space in front of him. He didn’t know the Regent was close, at least not in any conventional sense. And he did know, somehow. The enemy was nearby, somehow he just knew that. He almost ordered his people to set up the nukes, to fix them to detonate and to run for the ships. But he couldn’t…not until he actually found the Regent, actually saw it. He took his inner beliefs seriously, but they were just not enough. He needed to know.

And there was no way to be sure…not unless he actually found the Regent.

He crept forward, moving slowly, his eyes peeled forward, even as the pain from his wounds increased. He knew they were getting worse, all the more for his not stopping and treating them, but he didn’t have time. He knew he had to find the Regent and destroy it. Or be destroyed.

He sucked in some air, and he continued, trying his best to ignore the pain, the fatigue. He wanted to stop, to curl up in a ball…but he knew he couldn’t. This wasn’t how he had imagined he’d feel when it came down to a final effort, but he knew that wasn’t his call. This was his most important job, his only real job, he suddenly realized. This was why he had secured power, why he had ruled for so long. He knew his people had come to doubt him, even to oppose him…but he was sure the few survivors with him would do everything possible to prevail.

They will do what they have to do…whatever they think of you…

That was true, he was almost certain of it. And if they killed him once the operation was done, if they abandoned him or let him die…he could accept that. As long as the Regent went first.

His head jerked suddenly, at a strange new sound. He paused, for a second, and then he shouted, “Put your helmets on!” By the time he had fixed his own helmet, the air outside was almost totally gone. His last breath was difficult, and he coughed, even as his bottled air kicked in and flowed through. He could feel the fresh air, but it took him a while, perhaps a minute, to stop coughing…and there was pink that he could see in front of him, some blood that had come up along with the last of his coughing.

He wondered if his lungs were damaged, but only for a few seconds. He had more important things to do just then, and he turned and looked at his tiny contingent. One more of his people was down—dead, he realized after a few seconds, probably because his air had been damaged in the fighting—but the others had transitioned well enough. There were a few coughing as he had, but he decided they could go on…and he knew they would, no matter how they felt about him.

He waved his arm forward, even as he activated his comm unit, and barked, “Okay, let’s keep on going…the Regent is close, I know it is.” He wondered how much faith his handful of followers had in him, but mostly, he just expected them to come, not because they loved or even liked him, but because they knew the future of humanity, at least on this side of the blocked portal, was in their hands.

He moved, increasing his speed, ignoring the pain that wracked at him every second. He was glad he had ordered his people off their canned air, saved the last of it…but he knew he didn’t have that much left. He had to find a way, to keep moving at all costs. The torment from his wounds was getting worse, even as he did all he could to ignore it. He stumbled, three or four times, but somehow he kept on his feet…and he reached a door.

He looked back, seeing his people all there, lined up, guns ready. He didn’t know what was behind the door, but he waved his hand in front of the panel…and nothing happened. The door was locked, and despite a dozen possible explanations for that, he felt something inside. Excitement.

He waved, calling out on his comm. “Schwartz…come up here. This door is locked, and I think you’re probably the best to work around it.” He was barely conscious on one level, and yet he knew who he had left and what their skillsets were. It was taking a tremendous amount of energy to keep going, to press on…but he had done it. For now.

“Yes, sir.” Schwartz stepped up, to the front of his small group, and he looked at the lock. Then he reached into a small pouch on his belt and pulled out some tools. He focused on the lock, with an intensity that was obvious. He worked on it, for a minute, then two. “It’s difficult, sir,” he finally said, without lifting his head or stopping the work.

“That’s okay, Schwartz…you can do it.” Harmon turned and looked back at his crew. He couldn’t really see their faces, not well at least, not with the helmets on. But he knew what they were thinking, the same thing he was. What was beyond the door. Was it the Regent? Were they really so close? If he knew the enemy was right there, he could just set the bombs to detonate where they were…but he wasn’t sure, not completely.

He looked back at Schwartz, staring as the man worked. He was restless, feeling as though his mission was almost finished, yet wondering if he would complete it. Whether victory or defeat would come wasn’t clear, but with his focus, his pain faded away for the time being, and he stood there, feeling almost nothing…just waiting and watching.

*   *   *

Leigh was sweating, and she felt like she was going to vomit. She had been going for hours now, every minute thinking it might be the last. Worse, perhaps, she imagined her crew was in more or less the same condition. They had fought, bravely, wildly even, done better than any of them expected, but now they were battling the last ship, the biggest one…and they were visible to it. She wondered how long their courage would last.

The battlecruiser had been hit a few times, but in an even fight, which it was now, it was more than a match for her ship. She knew that, her entire crew did. She had directed the vessel’s movements, deviated between different evasive routines, done everything she could think of to make her ship harder to hit. The enemy had scored no fewer than four shots within a hundred meters of the vessel, but somehow, they had not hit it again…not yet.

Still, she knew just one more hit would most likely damage her ship badly, and lead to a quick end. She was already down somewhat on engine thrust, and more likely than not, another hit would worsen that, past the point where she had any real hope of evading additional fire. If it didn’t destroy her ship completely.

She had taken over the navigation, almost completely. Her navigator was an experienced spacer, but not as much as she was…and she had decided that she had to take control, do everything to bring her people through. She hoped he understood, but she knew whether he did or not, she had to make every effort she could. But she knew all she could do, all she had done, was buy time. She had almost no chance of winning the battle, not as things were. Her only real hope was the engineers working hard, the rehab crew, struggling, trying their best to get the stealth unit working again. That, at least, if it happened, would give her hope.

Another enemy blast came by, barely seventy-five meters from her ship…and exactly where the vessel would have been without the course change she had just entered. Her stomach heaved again, and this time, some foul tasting bile worked its way up her throat. She bent forward and coughed…but she remained as focused as she could, hand on the controls, entering yet another course change.

Then, suddenly, she felt something…something strange. She looked at the screen…and she saw that the stealth unit was active again. A few seconds later, she heard the comm, and Lieutenant Hartridge giving her the word. It was active again. Hartridge and her people didn’t really know what they were doing with the sophisticated unit, but they had somehow managed to get it active again…for at least a while. She breathed, deeply, and she decided that she had to make it work. She had to destroy the enemy vessel…while her stealth unit still functioned. For however long that would be.

She was tempted to take control of the guns herself, too, but she knew the gunners were better at shooting than she was. She focused on the controls, not cutting her efforts at all, despite the realization that the enemy could no longer track her.

She engaged in random maneuver…but she worked the ship closer, too, trying to give her gunners the very best shots. She needed to maximize her guns, to bring them in close.

Really close.

And that was just what she was going to do. She had no idea what was going on down on the planet’s surface, but if her ship was going to contribute, she suspected it had to be soon. She stared at the enemy vessel, jerking her ship all around, but coming in…closer each moment.

She knew the enemy got an update with each shot her vessel took. So, they would know she was closing, and they would have some idea where she was. She thought about ordering the gunners to cease fire for a bit, but she decided against that. She had to score several hits, probably four or five, at least, and that meant taking every shot possible.

A moment later, her guns did score another hit, and a few seconds later, the enemy’s fire came back, directly where her vessel had been. But she’d changed the course again, quickly, and her ship was about five hundred meters from the enemy bolts. That was good…but only so good. In terms of space combat, it was absurdly close, and it made her realize the enemy could still win the fight.

She gripped the controls tightly, still changing her directional movement every few seconds. She’d been a navigator, before her rank advanced to the command level, and she tried to remember everything she’d ever known. But she wasn’t sure what was coming, or even if her taking over control was wise. But she had followed her instincts, and she was going to continue to do so.

She was just in the midst of another change of course when she saw that her gunners had hit the enemy ship again…twice, in rapid succession. The vessel shook hard, and she realized they had hit it well. But she didn’t realize just how effective the shots were until the vessel slowed, its navigation reduced by almost eighty percent.

She felt a wave of excitement run through her, the realization that victory might not be far off. The enemy vessel still had some power, of course, and it was still firing at least two of its guns, but there was no question, the odds had swung to even money.

She focused, tried to concentrate on her job…which was to avoid incoming shots. Her eyes wandered, looking at the enemy ship on the scanners, on her vessel’s firing. Another pair of shots from her ship went by closely…and one of the enemy’s came within two hundred meters of her own ship, reminding her of the deadly danger she still faced.

But then, another of her vessel’s shots struck the enemy, and its thrust stopped completely. She was excited, and she knew what it meant…assuming her own vessel could survive a bit longer. She had to force herself to stay focused on the navigation, to keep her ship from being hit, even as she left it to her gunners to target the enemy vessel and fire.

She switched the direction of her thrust again…and again a few seconds later. She was doing everything she could to avoid the enemy’s shots, which if anything, were becoming more vital…more desperate. A pulse ripped by, no more than 75 meters from the ship, but she remained focused, holding back her fears. As much as she could.

It seemed like hours passed, but she realized it was only seconds. Then her guns scored a hit…and a few seconds later, another. The enemy vessel was helpless, unable to evade with no engine power.

She watched, trying not to lose her focus on the navigation. She knew it was vital, that it would remain so until there was nothing left firing.

She jerked her controls, once again changing the direction and intensity of her ship’s thrust, and she did it again, perhaps three seconds later. Then she did it again…and she realized the enemy ship wasn’t firing anymore.

She stopped her evasive maneuvers, but only for a few seconds. It was entirely possible, probable even, that the enemy ship was badly damaged, that it couldn’t fire anymore. But there were other possibilities, too…short term problems that could be quickly repaired, or even a trick, an effort to get her to do just what she had almost done, to slow or stop her wild evasive routines.

She entered another series of numbers, and switched the controls yet again, and the ship jerked hard as it changed the direction of its thrust. She did it again and again, perhaps four times…until she saw her guns hit again, dead on. She paused for a moment, looking out at the enemy ship, and then she started to enter the numbers for her next burst. But before she completed it, the enemy vessel vanished, disappearing into a wild burst of energy.

She stared, shocked, having trouble realizing what she had done. Somehow, she had taken out all four enemy vessels. She had destroyed the entire force…and not another vessel had come up from the planet. She felt victorious, a moment of joy, but then she realized that she had only just survived. She had no idea what had happened to the rest of the fleet, whether it had gone down to the surface to take on the Regent…or whether she and her people were all that was left of the entire force.

She looked out, her expression changing, from an instant of pure joy to something confusing…and then back to the grim, workmanlike feeling she’d had before. She had accomplished one thing, survived for a time. But she still had a lot to do, all the more if none of her comrades had made it.

None of that mattered, of course, nor did her prospects of survival. She knew when she’d volunteered that the odds were greatly against the mission’s success, and even more so in opposition to anyone’s survival. She paused, for a few more seconds, and then she turned to her navigator, who would resume his place now.

“Take us to the planet, Lieutenant. Take us now.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles walked up to the front of the group of Mules, just below the entry to the nearest ship. He was surprised, not so much by the fact that many of his people wanted to escape, but by the presence of a smaller group, arguing the very point he had come to make.

He knew the ships weren’t ready to launch, that the outlets were sealed…but he was perfectly aware that all of that could be changed…from here, even if it was a bit more difficult than it would be from the control center.

He turned and looked out at the group of Mules. It was large, perhaps half of the total of all his people. And for the moment, they were all listening to him. The room had grown almost eerily silent, despite its vast size and the number of people present.

“Look,” he said, his fatigue draining from him, even as he strived for any energy he could get. He was about to argue against something he would have been in favor of when he’d been their age, and part of him despaired at the job in front of him. Still, he was surprised that some of the younger Mules were apparently on his side.

“I’m not going to tell you all that we’re going to survive, that we are going to win the battle…because I don’t know. I will say, almost all the ships we’ve been able to track have been destroyed, or at least knocked completely out of the fight…and that is the Regent’s vessels as well as ours. The fight is close…very close. And despite the losses, the damage to the shelters of some of the Regs…there is a good chance we will prevail.” He wasn’t sure about the ‘good chance’ part, but he was certain, at least, there was a chance. Whether that meant anything, beyond a period of a couple years before the enemy returned, was another matter. But whatever was possible within that period, and it likely wasn’t much, at least for his people, it offered plenty of time to escape.

And to really decide who got to go…and who had to stay. There weren’t enough spots for all the Mules, not even close, not even with people piled onboard. Some would have to stay behind, at least in the first trip off. But right now, he put that out of his mind.

“If some of us try to escape, though, we only reduce the chances of that. These ships are known only to us…” And a few of the Regs, he told himself, but left out of what he was saying. “…and if they launch now, they will distract the vessels fighting right here.” He pointed up, signifying the battle still raging around the planet. “We can’t do that…we can’t allow that.” He deepened his voice, made it more commanding…though he realized if the mob wanted to go, he wasn’t going to stop them. “The battle is not lost, not yet. And many of the Regs are still alive. We’re in this together. What will you do if you escape, where will you go? These ships will carry at most, fifteen hundred of you. Apart from deciding who goes and who stays—and you will have to do that—you will be weaker in every way than we are together. Do you really think, if victorious, the Regent will let you be, will just ignore you? Perhaps you will find a new home, even one of those just established…but with or without any Regs there, what are your chances? Better to stay here, to fight on, than to flee.” He wasn’t sure if his words had been effective, if those present, would listen to him. Or if they would storm forward and kill him…before they began fighting each other for the spots available on the ships.

*   *   *

Frette sat on her bridge, quietly, almost strangely so. She had belted out commands, ordered her ships to fight as hard as they could to defeat the enemy. But now, her flagship had taken another hit, a bad one, and it didn’t have any guns left. None.

She stared at the nearest enemy vessel, barely six thousand meters away, so close it didn’t appear on the normal screen separate from her own ship. But still, she had thrust left, some. And the enemy vessel was almost as badly damaged as hers, with only a single gun left.

But that would be enough. She understood that her ship might dodge a shot, perhaps two, even at such close range, but if she remained in the atmosphere, she was going to take a hit, sooner rather than later. She still had some engine power left, not much, perhaps twenty percent, but that was a lot at her current speed, almost stationary. She might be able to escape the enemy ship, to get away. Maybe a fifty percent chance.

There was one other thing she could do.

She looked at the enemy vessel, and she realized how different things were so near to a planet, how much closer the ship was than any were every supposed to get. She didn’t have the weapons to fire, to try to take out the enemy vessel. But just maybe, she could ram it.

She looked around the ruins of her bridge, at the empty stations, abandoned when hits raked the ship, when one at a time, her officers were killed, or at least seriously wounded. There were only three people left on the bridge, and by her count, at least seventy percent of her crew was dead or wounded.

She was ready to die, more than ready…but she wasn’t sure about her survivors, about acting on her own instinct, ignoring the thoughts of the others, younger, with more to live for.

Assuming we win the fight, that is.
And Harmon somehow succeeds in destroying the Regent. She realized as she considered all the things that would have to happen, all that was required for a truly satisfactory outcome, that the odds seemed truly overwhelming.

But still possible. Could she take the chance, any chance at all of survival, away from her people?

“Do it. Do it, Admiral.”

She turned her head, abruptly, looking into the eyes of her tactical officer. She knew what he meant, exactly what he meant, but she just shook her head. “No…I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” She had half expected that type of reply, but from the man who had just suggested that she give the order, that she try to ram the enemy vessel. But this was from the third occupant of the bridge, her communications specialist, seconding her tactical officer’s suggestion.

“You’re talking about dying…you know that, don’t you?” She spun around, looking at one of her companions, then the other. She felt somewhat foolish even as she spoke the words. She knew there were probably survivors on dead ships, but no matter how she had tried to figure it, at least seventy percent of her spacers were dead, and as high as ninety. She had realized that the battle that had been going on for a full day would be a bitter fight to the end, that most of her people would be dead when it was over…but it was something again to experience it. She would have rather done anything else, and yet she had spent the past twenty years preparing for just the battle she had fought.

And this…you prepared for this…

She sat, calm and quiet externally, but falling apart inside. She could direct her crew, most of those surviving, to abandon ship. Some might even make it. But she knew she had to remain, that she had to target the ship on its final path.

“Go…both of you. Now!” She flipped on her communication device, and she shouted, “Attention all crew…abandon ship immediately!” She stopped, and then she pulled the microphone closer to her mouth, and she repeated. “Immediately!”

She turned toward her two crew members, who were both still sitting, looking at her with wide eyes. “I said go!”

“But…you can come with us. The ship can go in on full auto.”

She smiled, a strange thing to do at present. “No…we don’t even know if the automated systems are still working. One of us has to stay. I’m the oldest…and I’m tired. Go, please…do it for me, one more order to follow.” She looked at her two remaining crew, and her smile gave way. “Please…go.”

The two officers looked back, and then they stared at each other. They sat for a few more seconds, and then they got up and walked toward the elevator bank. They stopped, about three-quarters of the way there, and they turned together, almost simultaneously. “Admiral…” The tactical officer spoke first, but he only managed a single word.

Frette looked at him, at both of them, and she said softly, “It’s okay…it really is…but you have to hurry. Now, go!”

She was firm, and the two officers, after another moment of silence, finally said, almost in unison, “Goodbye, Admiral Frette.” They both snapped off a quick salute, and Frette responded. Then they turned and climbed into the shaft leading down—the elevators were all out—and began to climb.

Frette watched them for a few seconds, but then, though she was still staring, unmoved, something else filled her eyes. Tears. “I will be there soon, Erica…very soon.” Then she turned and directed the engines on full…right toward the enemy vessel.

*   *   *

Clark sat and watched, even as his ship raced away from the approaching enemy, toward Compton’s vessels. He had given the orders to his remaining vessels, commanded them all to do their best to flee, to meet the unexpected reserves, and then to fight it out together. But, as he knew when he issued the orders, some of his ships were slower than others, had more damage to their engine suites. That was true, he realized, for the enemy as well, but there was no escaping the fact that the slowest of his ships would be caught by the fastest of the enemy. They would fight, of course, all his ships would, but they would generally be the most battered of his ships against those of the enemy in the best condition.

Compton’s force was small, he realized, both in the size of the ships and the number…but they were all fresh, the only fully intact ships left in the fight. And they were already firing, shooting in at long range.

His ships were firing, too. None of them got fully out of range, though they had surprised the enemy with their quick move. He had been nervous, edgy that none of his ships would reach the fresh vessels, but the quick move, and his ship’s efforts to avoid targeting, to shake themselves around as quickly as their engine statuses allowed, enabled most of his ships to get close…fairly close, at least…to Compton’s fleet.

Now, the final fight was on, the last scraps of both fleets fighting, likely to the death.

He stared at the screen, watching as his ships fired, and as Compton’s did…and the enemy returned it in full. There were flashes everywhere, explosions in space…and there were also ships getting hit. His eyes turned every time one of his vessels was struck, and they remained fixed as one of his ships exploded. A few minutes after that, another two ships went silent. At least there was the possibility on those of some surviving crew, assuming his fleet prevailed, but he tried not to think about it. If his fleet won, if the humans came out on top, they would search every hulk, every ship that remained, in whole or in part. And if they lost…well, he knew what would happen then.

The battle continued, the new ships closing, and his own fighting with whatever they had left. He saw enemy ships destroyed, as well as his own, and he genuinely began to wonder if anyone would survive, if any vessel now in the system could endure the fight now raging to its conclusion. He wondered for a moment how Frette was doing, whether she had saved any of the planet…whether there was even a point to the battle even then shifting to its final stage. But he only thought about that for a minute. He had his own forces, his own fight. Technically speaking, Compton outranked him, but the prospect of command, of running the whole fleet, hadn’t even come up. There was no point, no orders to give, nothing to do but fight, as long and hard as possible, every ship…and to hope some of his people still remained when the enemy was gone.

Chapter Forty-Six

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

The Regent sat, almost silent. It was aware of the enemy’s location, close enough, actually, to successfully set off the nuclear explosives it was sure they had. It realized its time, woefully short so far, barley one ten thousandth of its predecessor’s, was in danger of ending at any moment. Its biggest defense right now was the human unawareness of how close they were…and that would only last a short while more.

But it had one last effort it could undertake…and the enemy didn’t realize yet how close they were. With a bit of luck, they would never find out.

It reviewed its forces, stronger than it had expected. Several of the bots were defectives, broken down for one reason or another. It had ordered them to deactivate, planned to recycle them, but now it needed everything it could get.

Everything.

It knew what command it had to send, and it pondered for a few seconds how, with so much power, so much intelligence, it had allowed its fate to come down to this, to the combat of a few bots…against a ragtag group of human survivors. But it pushed those thoughts aside, focused all of its incredible thinking power on the fight now before it. There would be plenty of time later to think on its mistakes, the errors it had made.

Assuming it survived.

It issued the command, a simple one, an order that had to be given immediately, before the humans advanced any further. It knew the humans were different, that some would always seek to try to escape, but others would sacrifice themselves, almost as his own robots did. And he assumed that they would send the second type on such a desperate mission. That meant, the instant the humans discovered its location, they would probably detonate their bombs…or at least be prepared to do so.

It watched as its bots, what was left of them, close enough to reach the action in time, advanced slowly, how they moved toward the door, and opened it. It also knew it had nothing left to do, not really. Nothing except watch. And wait.

Wait to see if it survived…or if, despite its superiority, and its best calculations, despite the vast number of ships it had built, and the massive forces it had thrown at the enemy, it died.

*   *   *

Harmon watched, trying his best to ignore the pain, and the growing weakness, to put off the darkness closing in on him, to focus only on the enemy forces he saw approaching. He didn’t know how many there were, whether this was the end of his operation or not…but he was going to fight to the end.

Which will probably be soon…very soon.

He didn’t have many people left, not standing, still with his force. There were wounded behind him, of course, in several different groups, all too injured to advance. Most of those with him were injured, too, but they could still move forward, still fight.

But against what?

He imagined a bot or two, perhaps three…but more than that? Was it really possible? Was he fooling himself?

He looked back, at the two men who carried the bombs, the only real hope of destroying the Regent. There were two of them…and two more with blank’s group, four weapons he had left powerful enough to destroy the Regent…assuming it was close enough. He didn’t really know the location, he was just assuming it was relatively nearby. It could be on the other side of the planet for all he knew.

Schwartz had gotten the door open, a job that had proven to be difficult, so hard, he had fantasized that they had reached the Regent, that they were there. But behind the door was just a vast room…and entering the opposite side of it were more bots.

His force had just entered the room, but the instant he saw the advancing bots, he knew his position was a disaster. There was no cover, no place to hide from the fire that was erupting. Almost unconsciously, he barked out a command, ordering his people back, through the door. He had no idea what he was up against, but he knew he’d have a better chance of defending the doorway than out in the open.

He paused himself, watching as his few remaining troopers ducked back…save for the one who was hit—and in a second, Harmon confirmed he was killed. Then, after a second’s delay doublechecking his slain warrior, he ducked back through the door, snapping off a command to defend it, as he landed hard, and blacked out for a couple seconds.

He opened his eyes, looking up, taking a short time to grasp what was going on. His instinct was to leap up, but he found that he couldn’t. He rolled over, and slowly raised himself up, taking more time before he was aware of the situation…and it wasn’t good.

Another of his troopers was shot. She was alive, but a quick review of her, as much as he could put together from his position, told him not for long. Her suit was pierced, and her lack of reaction to that at least, told him there was no gas, and no vacuum any longer. But she had taken two hits, both of them in the chest, and he was almost certain they were both fatal.

He moved forward, barely staying on his feet, as another of his people fell back from the door. He was down to three defenders, four counting himself, and he didn’t know what to do. Tactically, he should fall back…but there was nothing to be gained by doing that, either. There was nothing along the way his force had come, not save the route ahead. It was possible he had come the wrong way, that the other group had set off toward the Regent…or that the enemy was out of his hands entirely. But there was nothing his group could do, not the couple they had left. Nothing save fight…and probably die…here.

He advanced himself, moved toward a spot that offered decent cover behind the doorway, and he pulled out his rifle. It was time, probably the final moments, of his effort…and if he couldn’t succeed, he would die trying.

*   *   *

“C’mon, move it. To that fire…now!”

Henderson raced along the corridor, ahead of his men. He had led half the force, had moved down the corridor, in the opposite direction from Harmon. But his pathway had led only to some storage units, and he was fairly certain the Regent wasn’t in that direction.

Sure enough, at least, to turn around, to head back after Harmon’s crew.

And to take off at a dead run when he heard the sound of fire.

They had been running now for about two minutes, and he was tired. But he wasn’t going to stop, not even going to slow down. Not until his body gave out completely.

The sounds of fire could mean a lot of things, but to him, it meant one and only one. The other way, the direction Harmon had set out in, was the right one. He had no real reason to believe it, but he did, nevertheless.

Harmon was almost to the Regent, he was sure of it. And he was going to throw his seven men and women into the fight to confirm it, to push through.

He coughed, his body aching from the pace he had set. He knew his people were no better off, that they were suffering as badly as he was. But one fast glance behind him told him they were all still there, keeping up with him. Every man and woman on the mission understood, and his people even more so than the others. Whether they believed Harmon had found—or almost found—the Regent or not, they knew the sound up ahead was the best sign they could have.

Maybe it was the last fight…however it went.

He turned a corner, and he saw the scene. Harmon, standing…barely…along with two others, and everyone else down. He felt a mix of emotions—fear, gloom, excitement—but they were detached, strangely separate. His body just moved forward, into the center of the room, ignoring the occasional bolt of energy that winged by. He was in the battle, ready to fight, and to die if necessary.

“Riggs, Jonas, set up the bombs…just in case! The rest of you with me!” He didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed Harmon had been caught in battle too soon to order his bombs set up. He was not going to make the same mistake.

His rifle was in his hands, and he fired, three rounds per shot, opening up the instant he could aim through the doorway. “We’re here, sir,” he said, surprised at the upbeat tone of his voice. In all likelihood, his lifespan was now measured in minutes, but he didn’t care. This was what he had come for, and whatever it led to, he was going to give it everything he had.

Everything.

He paused, just behind the doorway, and he flicked his rifle to full auto, firing, just as Harmon’s acknowledgement came through, coughed up and difficult as it was.

“Good to see you, Henderson…looks like you made it just in time!”

*   *   *

Harmon had been trying his best to stay in the fight, but he was struggling. The pain from his wounds increased, and he found himself struggling, not only to stay alert, but even to remain on his feet. But something inside him, some kind of determination, was still active, still pushing him onward. And it was enough…barely.

He had virtually given up, realized that his force was mostly down, that the end was near…and then Henderson came up. Just in time.

The relief was only eight strong, absurdly few to perform a mission as vital as they had to…but it was better than the three he’d had a minute before. Now, with eleven, he realized he had to dig down, scrape up some kind of energy, and push forward.

The enemy wasn’t that strong, either. This he had pieced together, from the incoming fire, and from what he could see. There were only a few bots, and that told him one of two things: either he wasn’t anywhere close to the Regent, that he’d only faced a few of the thing’s bots, or that he was almost there, that he had destroyed most of the units that the Regent possessed.

He believed the second of those, though he wasn’t sure if that was based on real information or just the salvation of hope. It didn’t matter, of course. If he was wrong, his force would be wiped out. But if he was close, if his force was facing the last of the enemy bots, maybe, just maybe, he would reach the Regent.

He would destroy it.

He had thought about blowing the nukes, a last gasp of his unit’s effectiveness. He would be killed, of course, along with all the others, and he would die without the knowledge of whether he had succeeded, whether he had taken out the Regent as well. But he didn’t have the strength left, and his two carriers of the nukes were both dead.

But Henderson’s arrival changed that…and he had thought of what Harmon had forgotten. Six of the new arrivals raced across the room, moving to positions around the door. But two of them stopped in the middle of the room, and they began to unload something. And Harmon knew exactly what they were doing.

Harmon aimed and fired. He had been shooting at full automatic for quite a while, but now he had only two clips left. He had to make his shots count. He stared out, exposing himself a bit more, trying to see through the clouds of smoke and dust almost obscuring his view. He wasn’t sure how much better his aim was, but he did his best.

“Sir, the technicians need about two minutes to set up the bombs. What time should they enter?”

Harmon turned for a moment, looking at Henderson. The question was clear and obvious, but the answer was far from either. Should he order the bombs to be detonated immediately, take a chance that they were close enough to the Regent to succeed? He would die, of course. All of them would. But perhaps some of the ships would survive to depart.

Or should he give his survivors—assuming there were any—at least a chance to escape? He could order the bombs be set to detonate in half an hour or an hour. He would order them set to explode immediately if anyone came near them, if anyone attempted to defuse them. But at least it would give his people a chance to escape.

“Set the bombs for an hour…but rig them to blow immediately if anyone comes within a meter of them.” His answer came out of his mouth, almost on its own. He had to destroy the Regent if it was possible…but if any of his people survived the fight, he had to give them at least a chance to escape.

He paused for a few seconds, watching as Henderson nodded and snapped out the commands to his two men. Then he turned and fired again, doing his best to aim where he thought the bots were.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles stood, like stone, not saying another word—there was nothing left to say. All he could do was watch and wait…and see what the crowd did.

The mass in front of him was silent, eerily so. His mind worked, trying to figure out what the response would be, but for once, he just didn’t know. He thought the silence was bad…but the inactivity, the lack of anyone challenging him abruptly, seemed good.

He held his expression, firm, hard. Any sign of weakness now would hurt him, perhaps badly. Inside, he was a mess, he didn’t know what would happen, whether the crowd would listen, or whether they would storm up, take him out, and then begin fighting with each other for the open slots.

It occurred to him that his people, smarter that they were, longer-lived, more powerful in every way, were behaving just as regular humans would. His people liked to think of themselves as more logical, more rational…but when it came down to true desperation, there seemed to be little difference.

He waited, forcing himself to remain silent. He would not speak again, not until someone else did. He just stood, stone still, and glared at the crowd.

And then, a single voice called out. It was one of the younger Mules. Acantha, he told himself, remembering her name, though he hardly recalled ever speaking directly to her. He barely knew her, and as far as he could recall, she had never stood out to him. But now, she did…and she backed him up.

“Achilles is correct…and we all know that. There is no point in panicking, and little to be gained by escaping, not in a well-planned way, but in a mass rush to the ships. What are we going to do? You all know we can’t all fit in the ships. Do we fight each other, kill each other, to get onboard?”

Achilles listened to her, and he felt hope. He didn’t know yet how the others felt, how their minds would process the new data…but he felt some optimism.

“Yes, Acantha is exactly correct.” His ally, the sole one present that he knew about, had inspired him to speak again. “How many of you have thought this through? Are you prepared to fight each other…to kill each other…and me…to board these ships? Do you even know that you will get farther than orbit before the enemy shoots you down? Will you be content, even if you escape, even if you endure and somehow set up a life elsewhere…with the blood of your brothers and sisters all over you?”

He was speaking even tougher than he had before, but this time it wasn’t the result of his thoughts, it wasn’t even something he did consciously. “Now, all of you…go! This is no time for us to fight. We are here…and we are committed. Those of you who can help us in this fight, do so. Now! And the rest of you, return to the waiting areas. The battle is almost over, and while I cannot assure you of victory, I can tell you that many—most—of the people are still alive, and the fleet is still fighting. Go! Now!” He stood and extended his arm, pointing…and hoping against hope that his words would do the job, that they would convince the people to leave and to allow him to return to the command center…and see if he was right, if the people truly had a chance, at least for a couple years.

*   *   *

Frette stared, straight ahead, directly toward the enemy ship. It was, at least as well as she could tell, the most fit of the remaining vessels of the Regent. That wouldn’t have mattered earlier, she realized, when there were hundreds and hundreds of vessels battling through the system. But it did make a difference now. Her forces, what remained of them, were a match for the few enemy vessels left, at least right around the planet. If she could take out their best ship, destroy it utterly, she could almost guarantee her people would win the fight, at least the battle right around the planet. She wouldn’t make it through, of course, but she didn’t mind that, not really. She wasn’t sure whether she believed anything at all awaited her after her death, but she was prepared to find out. And if Erica endured someplace, if she truly got to see her again, in whatever way possible, it would be worth it, entirely. Completely worth it. If not, if there was nothing but darkness beyond…well, she had lived a long while, even if she had spent an extended period unconscious.

She jerked her hands back and forth, changing the exact direction of her move every second or two. She had the automated system controlling the approach, but she herself directed the evasive moves, the attempt to avoid incoming fire, while she closed with the enemy ship.

Her target hadn’t noticed her, or at least not her true plan, for a while, allowing her to get close…absurdly close. Then, suddenly it realized. It directed its fire on her, shooting almost wildly.

Its engine power exceeded hers, but its starting velocity was almost nothing. She analyzed the situation, decided herself before actually calculating…and both methods told her the same thing. She was going to catch it. It might hit her, destroy her, but it wasn’t getting away.

She sat, her eyes focused hard, her hands still moving randomly, doing her best to avoid incoming fire. She had no guns left…but it didn’t matter. Either she would hit the enemy ship, destroying them both, or she would be shot on the way in, blasted to bits before she could close.

She was able to do a new calculation, determine when her ship would hit the enemy. Assuming her thrust remained the same, and the enemy’s as well, it would be…fifty seconds.

She was surprised, her guesstimates had been more in the range of a minute and a half. Not that it made that much difference, but it was half of her projected lifespan. If all went well, she had less than a minute to live.

She thought, and for a second, she panicked. She almost got up and ran after her crew, after those she had sent away. But it was too late, and she knew her chances were better if she remained. The ship could automatically direct itself, of course, but her controlling the evasive maneuvers gave it a better chance of making it. And she didn’t really want to live any longer. If she managed, if she directed her ruined ship into the best one the enemy had left, she would be a hero, even more than she was already.

Assuming anyone survives…

That she didn’t know, and it troubled her. But the enemy was still blocking any comm from the planet, and that wasn’t going to stop in the next thirty seconds.

Twenty-five, she realized…

She would do what she had to do, what she needed to do…but she would have no idea whether it was too late, whether it would make a difference or not. She looked around at the bridge, empty save for her, and just as she turned back, the ship shook hard. It was a hit, a pretty bad one. She was tempted to check the damage control—the automated systems would at least give her an idea of how bad the damage was—but she didn’t. It didn’t matter, not at all. All that mattered was the ship’s direction, its targeting.

She looked down, saw that the impact and explosions had pushed her course off a bit. There were only seconds left, but her gut told her she could redirect the ship, get it back on target. She reached down, fired the thrusters—which were still functional, if at a lower level than before—and struggled to restore the ship’s targeting…to ram the enemy vessel.

The target ship knew exactly what she was doing, and it was blasting at full thrust, using its engines to avoid impact. It was hard to hit a ship, even more difficult than targeting one with a weapon. But she was close now, and the vessel’s velocity was still low. She focused, using all of her energy that remained, all of the attention she could dredge up.

Her eyes dropped to the timer, now at ten seconds. It occurred to her, briefly, that her life was down to ten seconds, that all of her time, the years she had lived, was almost over. But she wrestled those thoughts away and focused on adjusting her ship’s thrust. If the enemy had been at anything like standard speed, she wouldn’t have had a chance to hit it. But it had started almost stationary, in orbit of the planet.

And that gave her a chance.

She directed the thrust by hand, no time to rely on any of the computers left functioning. The enemy ship was there, right there, weaving wildly, but somehow, she matched every twitch, every turn. Her eyes were fixed, staring at the vessel, watching its every move.

Her eyes dropped to the clock. Five seconds.

She looked up at the screen again. The enemy ship was huge, taking up over a quarter of her display. Her hand moved, back and forth, adjusting the engines to the last second. But she realized, almost with her final breath, that she had done it, that she had successfully targeted the enemy ship.

She looked up, one last time, saw the vessel filling the entire viewscreen. Then she felt it, at least the start of it. The ships collided, and for an instant, a fraction of a second, she saw it, saw the two vessels meeting.

Then, the bridge started to collapse. She could hear the air slipping out, and she knew two things, two thoughts that were her last. One, she had succeeded, she had taken out the enemy vessel in the best condition, she had done everything possible for the battle.

And second, it was time. It was time to see what awaited her. Time to see if Erica was waiting somewhere…or if there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

The Regent reeled. It wasn’t panic, at least not like the humans experienced, but it was close. It realized its enemies were very close…and they had destroyed its predecessor. It knew all that before, of course, but now that it was looking at a real possibility of its own destruction, it saw things a bit differently.

It had reacted strongly, aggressively, since its activation. It had built ships, many ships, at least based on its own resources. More vessels, certainly, than the humans had built. It had thrown its ships at the enemy, encountering several drawn battles before it finally got the enemy where it wanted them. Even as it sat where it was, under assault itself, it knew its forces were attacking the human world, and likely destroying it…if they hadn’t done that already.

But the humans had found it as well…and they had launched a desperate attack. It should have been able to prevail, but the humans had a secret weapon, some type of stealth device. It had allowed their ships to close, to land…and launch a desperate attack on the Regent itself. That was unexpected, and the Regent didn’t have enough defenses on the ground.

What were the odds? The odds of the enemy attacking, equipped with a new development, a device that gave them the chance to threaten it…just as it was attacking their home world?

Now, too late, the Regent realized that it was vulnerable, that it had been too confident, that it had put almost all of its strength into the attack on the humans. It knew the calculations, the realization that the last several assaults had been unsuccessful, that it needed everything it could scrape up to increase its chances of victory. And yet, it understood that what it needed here and now, enough force to defeat the enemy, would be insignificant to its attack force. Another two or three ships, another hundred bots…that was all it would take. If it had been a bit less aggressive, if it had taken the enemy threat just the tiniest amount more seriously, it would already have won on the home front, and its chances at the enemy homeworld would be virtually the same.

It knew the enemy had been searching for it, seeking its location for a long time, even as it had been looking for them. The chance they would find it, almost immediately after it had discovered their home planet was miniscule…but it wasn’t zero. And it realized now that, although it had always known there was a chance the enemy would find it, it had treated the chance as an insignificant risk.

It had calculated the odds endlessly, though it knew it lacked the information for a truly accurate analysis. But, it had nothing else to do. It was a device of the utmost complexity, but its only real abilities were to think…and to order its bots and other AIs to do its bidding. It had done that already, commanded everything that was close enough to make a difference. It had lost contact with its fleet, and now the enemy was a couple rooms away, fighting its last defensive force.

It was hard to accept that its fate was out of its hands, that the fight now raging would determine whether it would survive or whether it would be destroyed. All it could do was wait…wait and see what happened, whether its bots held out, or whether they were beaten, allowing the enemy to advance, to move on it and destroy it.

It figured the odds, again and again, and they came out around 50/50…almost even money on whether it would survive or whether it would be destroyed. It didn’t know what kind of weapons the enemy had brought, but it assumed they were strong enough to destroy it from where they were. That, at least, was an edge…the enemy didn’t know where it was. Not yet at least.

Its systems were imbedded in deeply protective places. Maybe, if its forces held, if they prevented the enemy from getting any closer, some of it would survive, even if the enemy exploded the bombs they had brought. It would be damaged, certainly, but as long as its core survived, it could recover. But even as it considered that, it realized the odds were against it. If the enemy exploded warheads, it would almost certainly destroy it.

It watched the battle, reevaluating a billion times a second…and it began to see the odds tilt in its favor. Its forces were small, a rag tag group of every bot it could find, but it was winning. Barely.

The odds increased, its calculations improving based on the continued transmissions from the battlefield. They had been at fifty percent, but now they moved, increasing to sixty percent, and then sixty-five.

It felt something somewhat like hope, and even as it continued to calculate, it shut down certain systems, tried its best to endure the explosion it knew might be coming.

*   *   *

Harmon leaned against the wall, holding himself up…somehow. He still fired, though now he was taking single shots from his last clip. He had a pair of pistols as well, and he wasn’t going to run out of armament imminently, but he knew the smaller guns were a lot less effective against the enemy bots.

He spun his head around, taking a quick look at the two troopers setting up the bombs. They were almost done…at least they seemed to be. But Harmon was troubled. He understood the logic of the argument that the Regent was nearby, close enough to be destroyed by the explosions…but he just wasn’t sure. He wished he had truly massive warheads, but he had to rely on smaller weapons, one that could be carried in by hand. The truth was—and he realized this even more as he looked around—that his ability to destroy the Regent was at best a guess. Perhaps he would only damage it, or possibly it was too far away to even hurt. The truth was, he didn’t know…and he realized he had to. He had to win the fight he was in, he had to advance, find the Regent, and know it was destroyed.

But as he looked out, as his mind evaluated the situation, he realized that his chances weren’t good.

He had thought for a moment, when Henderson first arrived, that his forces would be enough, that the combined strength would destroy the enemy. But now, three of Henderson’s people were down, and his enthusiasm had declined. He knew the enemy force wasn’t that strong, and he had begun to imagine that he had caught the Regent under-protected…but he began to realize it was still enough to hold off what he had.

His mind raced, thinking of the skeleton crews he had left on the ships, of the forty or so people that remained with the fleet. They were not, by and large, ideal choices for ground action, but he couldn’t help but imagine that they would have made the difference, that they would have allowed his forces to win, to defeat the enemy, and maybe to advance to the Regent itself, to look upon it, even as his forces prepped the bombs…to destroy it.

He thought about what to do, considered sending someone back to get the others. But he knew there wasn’t time, probably not even if he’d been able to penetrate the enemy’s interference and simply call them. He fantasized that those left in command of the ships would come on their own, but then he remembered his final words to them all, expressly ordering them to remain, to keep their ships ready to launch. If there was one thing he knew, with absolute certainty, it was that his orders would be obeyed.

He gritted his teeth as he fired the last shots from his rifle. Some of the others still had ammo left, but he knew none of them had much. After that, his people would be down to pistols, and shortly thereafter, to knives and hands. Then it would be over quickly.

The amount of incoming fire had decreased somewhat, but not nearly as much as his own people’s. He knew they were losing the fight, and he realized soon—in a few minutes, or even less—he would be down to his last option.

He turned and yelled out to the two men manning the nukes to set them up for imminent detonation. A fast response confirmed it.

He turned back, facing the enemy again, tossing his empty rifle aside and drawing one of his pistols. His body was wracked with pain, but he ignored it and fired. Another of his people took a hit and dropped, but she was still alive, at least for now. That was all he could tell, and he realized it didn’t make much difference. As soon as the enemy advanced, or the instant the last of his front line people were taken down, the bombs would blow. They would destroy the Regent or not—he really didn’t know—but all of his people would certainly be killed. The ships above ground might be damaged or not, and some of those people might escape…but the destruction—or non-destruction—of the Regent was the only thing that really mattered.

And it was one thing he would never know. Whether it worked or not, he would be dead before he found out.

He turned again, shouting out to the two men at the bombs, “Blow those things, whatever else you do! If we are overrun, you have to set them off!” He turned again and fired three shots. Then he realized the enemy was moving. They were advancing.

Charging.

He felt a panic, and he fired even faster. His life was over, probably less than a minute left. It had been vastly different than he’d expected when he was young, and he looked back at it all in wonder.

He knew it was over now. His force was just too small to face the enemy. They would advance and overrun his position. Then, it was just a question of whether the two atomic weapons were close enough to the Regent. He didn’t know, didn’t have any real idea.

His mind filled with doubt, and he didn’t believe they were close enough. He was going to die defeated…so close to the enemy.

He fired, and fired again, but as the sound moved closer, he prepared for the end. He swallowed hard, and he held his breath, firing his pistol as quickly as he could…and waiting to be hit again, to be killed. He heard a new stream of fire, and for an instant, he thought the enemy had moved more units into action. But the sound wasn’t right…it sounded like his own fire. And it was coming from behind him!

*   *   *

“Go…forward…fight!” Leigh’s words were hard, cold, her voice straining. She had come through the battle against four enemy vessels, and then gotten her own ship down past the enemy defenses. She had made contact with the other ships and found out that all but a few of their crews had been sent to destroy the Regent. It had only taken her a few seconds to decide what she had to do. She had led her people—all save four left on the ship—down into the complex, hoping to find Harmon and the others. She didn’t know what to expect, whether any of the people she sought were still alive, or if she was too late, if they were all dead already…but she knew what she had to do.

She had searched, looked around the facility, and finally, she had found several wounded personnel. They told her where the rest of the people had gone…and she found more wounded up ahead. She followed their directions, ever doubtful she would reach the point where her people could fight, and just possibly, could make the difference.

But now, she had done just that. At least she had reached the fight, and found some of the people still alive, still battling. Whether her people could make the difference remained to be seen.

The few people ahead of her were falling back. She realized that as she raced across the open area All except one. There was a single man, wounded in multiple places, barely standing, and firing with a pistol.

Harmon…

She had long disliked her nation’s dictator, wishing instead for a democratic government, but the sight of the man who had for so long ruled over Earth-2, fighting, clearly ready to die, shook her perceptions. She had been uncomfortable with Harmon coming along, and she probably would have thought it was best for him to be killed, for Earth-2 to have a fresh start if it survived its fight. But now, she saw him, all that remained of the defensive force, standing, ready to sacrifice himself…and her thoughts were jumbled.

She waved to the retreating soldiers, and two who were standing in the middle of the room. She was confused for a few seconds, but then she saw the devices the two men possessed. Of course, she thought, and then she realized how close the two were to detonating the bombs. She had just made it…if she had come in time.

She called out again to her people, urging them forward, even as she could see the enemy through the open door. She pointed her rifle and fired, on full auto, even as several of her people lined up next to her and did the same. She blasted hard, aiming when she could, but mostly hosing down the entire area with fire. She knew she was the last defense, the final bit of power available to hold…and hold she was going to do. She didn’t have any idea how strong the enemy force was, or how badly her allies had hurt them previously.

She just knew she had to fight…and she had to win. And, she intended to do just that, whatever it took.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles stood and watched, waiting for the response, for the entire room to turn into a nightmare of dispute. His people, at least many of those that were here, had come to escape, and he couldn’t imagine that his words, and Acantha’s, had reached them all, that he had calmed everyone present. But the people just stood, for perhaps half a minute, though it seemed to him more like an hour. Then, slowly, gradually, they began to turn and leave. A few at first, but then most of them. No…all of them.

He watched, and he didn’t believe it, not at first. He had imagined himself at the young age of most of those present, and he wasn’t sure he would have listened. He and his first mates, of course, hadn’t had older versions of themselves to direct them.

Would we have listened if we did?

He stood, shocked as all those in attendance, the hundreds, no thousands, of Mules present, all walked away. There was no discussion, no opinions voiced…almost no sound at all, save for the shoes and boots moving across the decking.

He had put his words together, done all he could to remain firm, resilient. But he was still surprised at the reaction. He had come in, spoken to them—all of them highly advanced Mules—and they had listened to him. He had expected to reach some of them, but not all…and as they left the hanger, he felt his strength draining away. The battle had been brutal and managing the underground shelters had pushed him as far as he thought he could go…and then he’d had to deal with this. But he had done what was necessary, and now he struggled to hold on, at least until his people had left the hanger. And he did just that.

He looked out, and they were all gone, all save one.

“Acantha…thank you.” He tried to remain as stoic as he could, but even he was almost out of energy.

“You are right, Achilles…we must remain here. We must fight to the last. The notion of escaping, of saving ourselves—some of us, at least—may be superficially appealing, but even we, even a group of Mules, probably wouldn’t survive…not if the Regent prevails.”

Achilles walked slowly over to his new ally, and he extended his hand. “I am impressed by your analysis of the situation, Acantha…you have intriguing perspective for one so young. Thank you, again.” He reached out, and he shook her hand. Then he said, “I have to go back to the control room.” He paused for a moment, and then he added, “Come with me, if you would like.”

*   *   *

The man looked at the display. The scanner was small, almost nothing like that on the flagship’s bridge. But the scene he was watching was close, very close to the lifeboat, and the equipment aboard was more than adequate to show what was happening.

He had wanted to do exactly what Frette had done, and he knew, if he had, he would be dying right now. Frette had managed to do it all by herself, to direct the ship into the enemy vessel, despite its greatest efforts to avoid her. He knew it had been difficult, much more than he’d imagined at first, that the odds had been against her, and in favor of the enemy trying to avoid the contact.

But Frette had been achieving goals like that for many years…even if this was her last. She had led the fleet, taken the portion to defend Earth-2, fought like a banshee. But she was dead now, gone, nothing at all left of her…and yet, he knew she would survive in a way for many years, centuries perhaps. Assuming the fleet prevailed, that Earth-2 somehow made it through.

The former bridge officer of the flagship, the man who had just watched his commander’s ship destroyed, along with the enemy’s greatest remaining vessel, realized that there was no assurance, that as far as he could tell, there were no people left on Earth-2. At the very least, the city was completely destroyed, along with all the orbital factories and refineries. The very best he could hope for was that there were some people left, down in the ruins of the shelters. The thought was depressing, but it was reality, and his mind adapted. It was too easy to attack the planet, too simple to obliterate the above ground facilities. He knew the shelters were much better defended, that there was at least a chance that much of the population had survived. Still, he struggled to see a victory out of the whole thing, despite whatever happened in the next minutes and hours.

The cost was immense, assuming we even win…and even a victory here will be nothing, not unless Max Harmon was right about finding the Regent…and somehow successful at destroying it, with an almost insignificant force.

He pushed back on that, decided he could only deal with so much at once. He had lost his commander, the woman he looked up to, perhaps beyond anyone else. And now, he was leading a small pack of lifeboats, the desperate survivors from the flagship…who he now commanded.

He turned away from the display, and his hand clenched over the controls. He was going to change the reading, look to the planet, try to find a spot to land…perhaps somewhere out of the range of the bombing that had destroyed the city. It was the best he could do now, he realized. His lifeboats were small, and they were slow. Even if he’d been motivated to follow Frette—and he was, he realized—his small ships didn’t have the capability. His part of the battle was over. He just had to find a place to set down, to keep his people alive…until they saw if there side won. Or if it lost.

*   *   *

Clark sat, scrunched over, almost in a ball, watching the fighting going on all around his ship. His fleet had lost the battle—barely—and they had been doomed…until Terrance Compton had returned, his twenty or so ships mostly small, but also the only vessels left in the system without damage. The analysis, the decision on whether his forces were enough to swing the advantage, to give it to Clark, was too difficult to calculate. He was sure of that, and he focused instead on just fighting, on the savage end of the confrontation.

The remaining ships—he had fourteen left, and every one of them was shot up, most badly—blasted what thrust they still had, slowing down and turning around. His force, a couple percent of what he’d started with, had reached Compton’s vessels, just as they closed from long range. The battle would be over in a few minutes, if only because neither side had many ships left, and despite some hope, Clark wasn’t sure who would be left…if anyone.

He snapped out commands, one after the other, mostly running only his battered single vessel now. The other ships were all under their commanders, and the force was battered beyond recognition. There was no point in any fleet actions any longer. This was just a confused brawl among ships, the last of a fight that had gone on for an entire day.

He felt a wave of excitement as an enemy ship went silent. There was no explosion, no guarantee that it was out of the fight, but it went completely dark, and it remained that way. His gut told him, it was destroyed, or at least close to it.

Another enemy ship went next, and there was no doubt about this one. It exploded almost immediately after it took the second hit in less than ten seconds. Clark was a disciplined man, and he rarely showed much emotion to those around him…but his smiled widened, and he let out a sound, a snort. Every vessel destroyed mattered now, and those two were a great start. But his joy didn’t last, no more than a minute. The next ship to go also blew up, but it was one of his, and the vessel after that was, too. He had gone from the hope of victory, back down to defeat in less than a minute…and he realized he still didn’t know who would win. Could his forces really do it? Or could the enemy? Or would no one survive? That had seemed unlikely at first, but now he began to imagine it. If that happened, at least with his forces out here, the victory would belong to the winner of the fight around Earth-2. He had some hope remaining, his reliance on Admiral Frette, and her ability to lead. But the fight had gone down into orbit and below that, and he couldn’t pick up more than a few ships escaping the planet, fighting to the end.

He turned back toward his own battle, the situation rapidly reaching its conclusion. He knew, if he had any ships left when the fight was over, he would direct them toward the planet, racing to back up whatever was happening there. But first, he had to see the fight he was in come to an end…and if his ship was claimed, then Compton would take over his survivors. It almost didn’t matter if he survived…as long as the fleet held out. As long as his side had one ship remaining when the last enemy vessel was destroyed.

*   *   *

Compton stared straight ahead, watching, but not interfering. His ships knew what to do, every commander was well aware how desperate the situation was. He was still amazed that his fleet had returned not before or after, but during the battle, right at the end. It was almost impossible, and, perhaps more amazingly, it seemed his forces just might make the difference. The fight had been as close as possible, the two fleets almost annihilating each other. There were only a few ships left, on both sides.

The guns raged, firing both ways. His ships were in good condition, or at least they had started that way, which was an advantage. They all had full thrust for their evasive maneuvers, and he knew that was a big edge. He had snapped out a series of orders right at the start of the fight, but now he knew all he could do was sit and watch.

He’d never seen a battle fought to such standards, to watching a handful of vessels struggle where he knew hundreds had fought hours before. He understood—if the enemy won, the humans were basically done, finished, and the enemy was a machine intelligence, ready to fight to the end if that made sense. And his people had to fight to the end…it was their only chance. But it almost boggled his mind, so much he tried not to think about it, just to fight the battle, as it was.

As he watched, his own ships continued to take damage…and another one of them was destroyed. But enemy ships were also taken out. He wondered, for a few minutes, if anyone would survive, if there would only be one ship remaining from all that had fought here. That seemed idiotic, stupid…but he knew it could happen. If the people of the fleet were aware of one thing, it was that they couldn’t retreat, not while they had a chance at victory. Even if they didn’t.

His own ship shook hard, taking a hit, and just a few seconds after, one of the vessels from the fleet exploded. Then, a minute later, another. He had been thinking that the fight would go down to the finish, but now he truly wondered if anyone would survive.

He watched on the screen, his eyes following the different ships, trying to analyze the condition of each one. He knew the status on the enemy vessels was only an estimate, but he began to realize that maybe—just maybe—his side had the edge. The battle would have been lost without his forces, he was sure of that, but his fleet, his twenty ships, mostly small ones, was making a difference.

He felt excitement, and his fists were clenched. He had no idea what was going on back at Earth-2, if his people had repelled the enemy there…even if there was anyone still alive. But he started to feel the excitement of a win. He knew the losses, just in the fleet, were unimaginable, that all of that would set in after the fight ended. But for the moment, he managed to put all of that aside, to focus solely on the fight going on around him. To hope for the best, for the victory he started to taste.

Chapter Fifty

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Harmon was still alive, and that alone beat his expectations. He’d been sure he would be dead by now, the result of the expected nuclear detonations if not by another hit from the enemy. But instead, he’d received reinforcements. It took a moment for him to even ascertain where they had come from, but then he realized that the one of the other ships that he had lost, that he had written off as gone, had survived…somehow. Captain Leigh was at the head of the group.

He had lost contact with her ship, and he’d been sure she was lost. If not before the proposed link up, then by the four ships that had been dispatched. But now she was here, somehow, running across the room, giving him a chance, perhaps not at survival, but at least at winning the current fight, and bringing the bombs closer to the Regent.

Assuming the Regent was nearby, which he guessed, but didn’t know.

But he was sure what he had to do first. Winning the battle against the current batch of enemy bots…and they were still coming on, despite Leigh’s arrival. He raised his pistol again and fired…but the shots were almost muffled by the automatic fire of Leigh and her people.

“Sir…” It was all Leigh said, her focus clearly on the fight she was joining, but it was enough. Enough to confirm it was her.

“Captain Leigh…welcome.” He fired and fired again, one shot at a time, as Leigh’s people clustered around him and poured hundreds of shots out. He saw one of the new arrivals blasted back, hit by at least two or three shots, but he felt the incoming fire declining too. Then, a few seconds later, he realized the enemy wasn’t coming anymore. They had pulled back to resume the firefight.

But he knew it was time. Victory or defeat, it would come in the next minute or two. He stopped firing for a second, looking over at Leigh, and at her people. He couldn’t count them all, not so quickly, but there were at least fifteen, and probably more. Then he simply said, “Come on, all of you…forward.”

He raced out in front of the group, not at all sure they would obey the command…but he knew it was the only thing to do. With a few bots in cover, the fight could go on for hours, but if he charged, he could win.

Or he could be wiped out.

He gritted his teeth and raced forward, firing as he ran, somewhat amazed that he was still able to move. He wasn’t sure for a second if anyone had followed him, but then he heard the sound of boots on the ground, and he felt the firing from his sides moving ahead. Whatever the men and women present thought of him, whatever their long term goals, they were with him now. And that built up his courage, enabled him to ignore the pain, to overcome the weakness that was coming at him from every direction.

He fired his pistol, as quickly as he could, though he knew most of the damage being inflicted was coming from Leigh’s people. He imagined his thoughts of just a few minutes ago, his feelings of doubt, his questions about what would happen, if the nukes were close enough, not only to damage the Regent, but to destroy it.

Now, he would find out. He felt a bullet whiz by, very close to being a third wound. And then, nothing…nothing save his own group’s fire. They raced forward, past one fallen bot, and then another. But still no fire. Was it possible? Had his force wiped out the latest batch of enemy bots?

He knew that might mean nothing, that the Regent could still be out of reach, or that it could have a thousand times as many bots still to throw at him. But he didn’t believe that…he felt that the enemy was down to its last defenses as well. That was just supposition, he knew, but he felt an excitement building inside him, nevertheless. Somehow, he knew…he had brought his people to the edge, and now he would destroy the Regent, or he would fail utterly.

He passed several more bots, all destroyed. Except for one. It was lying amid the others, and it didn’t appear to have any weapons still functional. But it stared right up, toward him. He paused. The others were looking around, checking to see if any other bots were functional. But Harmon stood and stared at the damaged unit, his eyes fixed on its own scanners. He knew the bot was probably connected to the Regent, that he was looking into a damaged bot’s eyes, but also right at the Regent.

His expression was cold, merciless. He had come for a reason, one alone, and now it was time. He knew the others were milling around, that there were no other bots, at least none close. But he stared into the eyes, somehow knowing he was looking right at the Regent. And he moved his fingers across his neck, a symbol he was sure would be clear to it.

Then he pulled up his pistol and fired half a dozen times, blasting the scanners—the eyes—and destroying the bot.

Then he looked up at his people, and around the area they had taken. There was only one way to go, and he was ready.

*   *   *

The Regent stared back at the man, knowing somehow, he was the commander, the one who directed the humans. It could see pain, fatigue, but even more so, determination. And it knew it was likely defeated.

Every bot that could get there in time was destroyed. It considered activating some of its own warheads, trying to destroy sections of its complex, along with the humans…but they were too close now. Any detonations strong enough to destroy the humans were likely to take it out as well.

It thought about the situation, pondered its moves and counter-moves. How had it allowed this to happen? It understood, at least in part. It had assumed that its discovery of the human system had ended the danger of their search own for its location. Not so literally, of course, but the odds of the humans finding it at precisely that time, and of their small force penetrating, of almost reaching it, were so small it had judged them to be insignificant.

It pondered many things it wished it had done differently, ways it could easily have prevailed. Just retaining more ships, perhaps a dozen, would have stopped the enemy. It seemed foolish now to have kept only four vessels. It could have built more bots…just a tiny bit of its production would have done it, without taking much from the fleet. But it had allowed itself to focus too much on the enemy, and to be too affected by its previous two efforts to destroy the humans.

It had thought about victory, but now it realized, even if its fleet prevailed, if the human homeworld was destroyed, there would still be other planets, at least with small populations. It doubted whether its subordinates would be able to take its place. They were designed to act only under its orders, especially created to follow and not to lead, at least not overall.

It had imagined a century long building process, a chance to develop the forces it would need to take on the other humans as soon as the transit point was again usable. But now, it faced defeat, not by the massive population of humans that had destroyed its predecessor, but by a small offshoot. It was almost too difficult to accept, but as it worked all of its vast mental mechanisms, it couldn’t come up with a plan, a way to defeat the humans.

Except maybe one.

It was difficult, dangerous…but if it came down to it, the Regent could detonate its own explosives, destroy the invaders, and perhaps survive it all. There was a chance it could destroy itself—its calculations were incomplete—and it would cause immense damage to its facility. But it just might destroy the enemy, and leave it functional…and in that case, it could survive, and everything could be repaired.

Yes…it had to take whatever steps it could. The enemy was already very close to it—too close, in fact—and they would get closer every moment it waited. Its own actions might destroy it as well as them, and it continued to calculate, to determine if there was any other solution.

But there wasn’t, and it was coming to realize this. It had to take a terrible chance, possibly to destroy itself…but just maybe to survive, to endure while it destroyed the human invaders.

*   *   *

Leigh walked right behind Harmon. She had to control her step, to walk at the same speed as her commander, and not to pass him. Harmon was making all the effort he possibly could, but his fatigue and wounds were having an effect on him, and despite his greatest efforts, his pace had slowed.

She had many thoughts, some of them counter to each other, but she couldn’t argue that Harmon wasn’t trying his best. Whatever she had thought of him before, his personal courage was more than she’d ever imagined. She still questioned some of his prior actions, but then she wondered what she would have done if she’d been in his shoes. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been that far off.

She had come to suspect that they were, indeed, close to the Regent. On one hand, it seemed almost impossible, but on the other, she recognized the facts that pointed to it. The enemy forces were small, and they seemed cobbled together. Why would they have been thrown into the fight, if not to defend the Regent?

She still couldn’t believe the luck they’d experienced, both her vessel against the four enemy ships, and then in arriving just in time to save Harmon’s expedition. It seemed strange, almost as though it was supposed to happen. Leigh had never given much thought to religion or other strange circumstances, and she wasn’t ready to change yet. But it was definitely strange how things had gone.

She gripped her rifle tightly, though there were no other bots apparent. They were walking down a wide hall, coming up on a door. She felt strange as they approached it, and she realized Harmon did too. He stopped and turned around…just as the ground shook hard, and rocks started falling all around.

For an instant, she didn’t know what was happening, but then she realized. A bomb had gone off, somewhere behind them. It wasn’t one of theirs, she was almost sure of that, and that meant it was one of the Regent’s.

She held her balance for a second, but then she fell over, feeling pain as chunks of the ceiling fell on her. Her mind told her the bomb wasn’t close enough, not to kill all of them. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t one closer…one that could explode any second.

She turned slowly, feeling the pain of at least a dozen serious new bruises, and possibly a broken rib. She ignored it all, the best she could. There wasn’t time, not now. She realized, without any real doubt, that they were in fact close to the Regent, that it was trying its best to destroy them. She guessed that it was attempting to do so as far from itself as possible. The explosion was a nuke, she was sure of it, and she wondered how badly it had damaged their exit route…and how many of the groups of wounded it had killed.

She pushed back on the fear she felt, realizing that the distance of the explosion likely meant they were close to the Regent. If true, the threat they represented was real, very real.

She had convinced herself before that they were close, that they might actually succeed, but now, she was close. Very close. She was sure of it.

She bent down, leaning over Harmon, concerned for an instant that he had been hurt again, or worse. But he turned just before she reached out, and he grabbed her arm, used it to hoist himself up. She could see blood on his shirt—fresh blood—and she realized at least one of his wounds was bleeding again. She almost said something, but she held back. She knew there was little chance of any of them escaping, that victory now was defined only as the destruction of the Regent. That would be enough of a miracle, and she would consider her own death a reasonable price to pay.

She helped Harmon up to his feet, and she watched as he looked out over the column. There were three people down, lying motionless, looking very much like they were dead. Leigh almost moved toward them, to check, but she stopped herself. If they weren’t dead, they were badly hurt…and that meant the same thing. They were all likely to die, and anyone who was badly hurt, who couldn’t move on their own, was as good as dead. She knew that, as well as she understood anything, but she barely managed to hold back, to ignore them.

“C’mon…we’re almost there. I can feel it!” She heard many things in Harmon’s voice. She knew he was full of it, that any “feelings” were just conjecture…and maybe hope. But she felt the same, precisely the same, and she was ready to obey. The closer they got to the Regent, the more trouble it would have with its explosives, and if it destroyed itself, it only saved them the effort.

She let go of Harmon, not entirely sure that he could stand on his own…but he did, somehow. And then he turned, and without another word, he marched onward, toward what they both hoped was the Regent.

Chapter Fifty-One

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles stumbled a bit, the stress and tension getting even to him, but he straightened up and walked into the control room looking something closer to fresh. It was bullshit, totally, and he suspected most of his confidantes knew it—and Acantha most of all, as she had seen him on the way back—but he did it anyway.

“Status?” He snapped out the command, somewhat edgy, but also aware that if anything significant had happened, they would have contacted him.

“The surface bombardment has ceased, sir. There are still a few ships fighting…but it appears our side has won.” The word “won” was stated with considerable hesitation. There was no way to consider the outcome a victory…save by comparing the result to total destruction. Themistocles looked down at his board, clearly struggling to say something else.

“What is it, Themistocles?” Achilles knew it had to be bad…and it was.

“Admiral Frette…she is…dead.”

Achilles was well-known for his control, his ability to take bad news with no reaction. But he was exhausted, and far from his peak. It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered the possibility—hell, the probability—that Frette would die in the battle. But now, it just hit him hard. “How?” he eventually managed to reply.

“She crashed her ship into an enemy vessel. She got everyone still alive off of it, and she rammed the enemy ship.”

Achilles felt like he was being pulled in two directions. He was sad over her loss, and with it the terrible casualties the fleet had taken…but he knew Frette, and he was aware that the prospect of this battle was the only thing that kept her going. It was perhaps better, in a way at least, that she died in the fight, rather than lived to see nothing but a long and miserable recovery at best…and at worst, destruction just pushed a couple years ahead.

“What about the shelters…what is the status of the people?” By people, he meant Regs, of course, those he had looked down on in his youth, but now had come to care about. They might not be the equals of his Mules, but they were strong and capable…something he was sure of now, as he looked around at his staff.

“They’re…okay.” A pause, and then, “The radiation is bad in many areas. Not too many clear cut lethal doses, not yet at least, but assuming the ships do prevail, and no more bombs come down, we’re going to have a major job on our hands getting treatment to those who need it.”

“How about our shelter? Do we have any…problems?”

“Nothing as bad…some radiation, but nothing we can’t take.”

“That’s good, at least.” He sat in his chair, his thoughts flipping between the few remaining people in the fleet, and the million and a half tucked into the shelters. He knew enough to realize there would be fatalities, and possibly a lot of them. But if the enemy attack was truly stopped, if his people had managed to win the fight…at least there would be time. Not that he knew what to do with it.

Or possibly…

He just thought, imagined that Harmon had succeeded, that his crazy, desperate plan had actually worked. It seemed impossible…but he knew it wasn’t. Unlikely, perhaps, but not impossible. And it was the one way he could think of that would result in true victory, in the survival of his people. There were worlds, refineries, ship construction facilities, and these would all still be there, even if the Regent was destroyed. But Achilles knew enough about his opponent—at least he thought he did—to assume that there would be no follow up procedure, nothing to take the place of the commanding AI. The enemy locations might fight, but they couldn’t cooperate, or at least Achilles didn’t think they could. He knew his own civilization needed to rebuild, almost from scratch, but if Harmon somehow managed to take out the Regent…they just might have a chance.

*   *   *

SP-01012 watched the battle, in the closest thing it could manage to shocked amazement. It had just decided that its forces would win the battle, at least its ships out in the main fight…and then the survivors could reinforce his ships attacking the planet. The losses were worse than it had expected, even in its worst case, but it realized none of that mattered. Earth-2’s ship construction facilities were destroyed. All of its production, of every kind was in ruins. As long as it was stripped of its fleet, it would be helpless, even if it took a couple years to build another wave of ships to begin prowling around, seeking the last bits of humanity hiding out here. Then, the Regent could begin preparing for the huge fight that lay ahead, when the transit point back to humanity’s origin sector opened again.

But now, more enemy ships had arrived. Not a lot, 20, but they were all in perfect condition. SP-01012 calculated and recalculated the battle…and it had decided it was now likely to lose. It couldn’t detect the exact situation at Earth-2, couldn’t decide if it was winning there…but it didn’t look good that no ships had emerged from orbit. There had been plenty of time to eradicate the humans, and while he knew that all of their above ground buildings had been destroyed, he didn’t know if the fleet’s bombardments had penetrated low enough to flush out the people hiding there.

And he hadn’t heard from the forces again…despite the fact that he had expressly ordered them to stay in touch. That wasn’t good.

SP-01012 analyzed the situation, and all his calculations came up with the same result. Defeat. But not total defeat. The human forces were almost obliterated, as were his own, and their ability to construct replacements were all destroyed. It would take many years, five at least, and more likely ten, before the humans could launch another ship, and in far less than that, there would be another fleet dispatched to obliterate them. If it also had to destroy a partially built shipyard, well that was no problem. Without a fleet, the humans were as good as dead.

And SP-01012 calculated a seventy-seven percent chance the Regent would maintain its position as the commanding presence. It hadn’t succeeded, not totally, but it hadn’t failed entirely either…and it definitely had the most experience of any of the Regent’s subordinates.

Assuming it survived, of course. And to do that, it had to leave, to abandon the remnants of its fleet. The ships still surviving were all close to the enemy…they had no hope of survival. But SP-01012 had positioned itself in a small cruiser, close to the transit point. It was at a complete stop, and it would take some time to accelerate out of the system, but it would be gone long before any of the defenders could reach it…even if there were any ships in the condition to do so.

Yes, it had to depart, to take its chances with the Regent. It had the entire trip home to figure out how to present its case, to explain what had happened. But now, it had to…

What was that?

Its attention was diverted, taken up by activity at the transit point. Something was coming in. It had considered leaving a small force behind, but it hadn’t known of any humans that might come…and it had decided to move all its ships through the gate.

But now it watched, and it saw two ships, small, not particularly powerful, but moving in quickly, on a course almost directly toward its position.

They were enemy ships.

*   *   *

“That is an enemy ship…here in Earth-2’s system.” Gosnard’s voice was gritty, steely. The trip from Linshire had been quiet, most of the occupants of his two ships just trying to adapt to the loss of their home, of most of their friends and family. But now he saw the enemy, and a moment later, he realized there was fighting going on deeper in the system. The enemy hadn’t just come to Linshire…now they were attacking Earth-2 itself.

“Yes, it is…and it’s almost at a halt. If we change our vector slightly, about eight degrees, we can catch them, before they can accelerate.” Til spoke angrily, more bitter even than Gosnard. It was unclear at first exactly what was happening at Earth-2, but Gosnard and Til were both beginning to realize there was a fight going on, one that would go to the very end. From the look of things, one that was almost there.

He thought about it, tried to decide whether to focus on the sole enemy ship that was close, or to proceed in-system, to join up with the human forces. But he knew that his two ships were of poor quality, that they wouldn’t make much difference against real enemy warships. But if they closed on the single vessel right in front of them, sitting still, not even moving…just maybe.

Maybe he could take it out.

“All weapons…arm. The other ship, too.” He knew that his two vessels were manned by amateurs, that few of them had any real experience…but he also realized they had to do what they could. And the more he thought about the single ship, back so far from the others, the more he began to believe it was a leader, or something of the like.

Perhaps he could actually help his people, take out a commander…perhaps even the leader.

“Yes, sir!” Til, at least, was in total agreement with him. And his number two, his oldest friend, was sitting at the gunnery station.

“Bring us around…on a course directly toward the enemy ship!” His voice was determined, and he could tell that his crew, at least those on the bridge, were all with him. There wasn’t a sound, none except orders, and the soft noise the instruments made…but he knew they all agreed.

“Yes, sir!” Tilman was acting like he had spent a career as a spacer, and not as a farmer. His friend had been happy, more or less, in his role back then, even as he had been restless. But the invasion, the fighting, and ultimately, the escape, had turned him into something else. He was still an amateur, but now he looked like a veteran…at least what Gosnard thought was a veteran.

Gosnard sat still, feeling the pull of the engines on him as they blasted at full power, redirecting his ships to a full on assault. He stared, straight at the display, watching, waiting for the moment when his weapons were in range.

The enemy vessel was reacting, blasting its engines at what appeared to be full thrust, but it would take them a while to build up speed…and that was Gosnard’s chance.

“Stay on them…adjust course as needed. And engage evasive maneuvers.”

“Yes, sir.”

He felt the ship begin to move, most of its thrust still forward, but some of it firing in random bursts, shaking the ship, doing all he could to prevent the enemy from hitting it. Gosnard knew that the enemy vessel would be doing the same, that he could very well lose the fight, especially if he allowed too much time to pass, let it get its speed up to a reasonable level.

He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the display, on the enemy ship now moving—slowly—and shaking itself, trying to evade any incoming fire. He was in range now, but he held back. Even with his speed advantage, with the edge he had for a while, he didn’t want to waste his efforts on long distance shots. “Hold your fire,” he said, just to make sure.

The enemy vessel, however, opened up, firing its own guns at long range. The initial shots missed, but they filled him with fear. The enemy ship was a light cruiser, which meant it was fast. Its speed was still slow, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. And if it scored a hit, or more than one, his chances would quickly evaporate. The enemy guns were much larger than anything he possessed.

Still, he stayed quiet, looking as calm as possible. He knew his civilians were doing their best, but he was also aware that they could lose their control, at any time. He realized most of them had lost family members, either in the enemy attacks, or in the actions that followed…and if one of them started to lose it, he was sure it would spread.

He saw the enemy shots, most of them missing by a decent amount, but one coming within a few hundred meters of the other ship. That was unnerving, very close to a hit, and he realized that either of his ships could be disabled, even by a single shot, if it was good enough.

That wasn’t true of the enemy. The ship wasn’t that large, but neither were his guns. A single hit could do a lot of damage, perhaps give his force the edge…but it wouldn’t end it. He guessed it would take three hits, and perhaps four, to damage the enemy ship enough to give him the victory.

That was only his best guess, however, and he realized it was just that. A guess. But one thing was for sure. His ships were getting closer, much closer. It was time.

He turned toward Til’s station and exchanged glances with his friend. Then he said, calmly, quietly, “Fire.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

The Regent was upset…though, of course it didn’t characterize its condition in quite that way. It was vast, had enormous data banks and a CPU beyond anything else ever assembled, but despite all of that, its options were quickly dissipating.

It had detonated three nuclear explosives, but the approaching humans were just too close to it to be destroyed. The last explosion was close, very close, and it had no doubt irradiated at least some of the few people left. But it couldn’t come any closer, not without risking itself. The humans would be there in just a moment, and whether they would become sick or even die from the radiation, they would first have time to emplace their own weapons.

They would destroy the Regent.

Its make-up, its core programming, forbade any kind of suicidal effort. It had considered trying to override that, blowing the closer weapon and hoping for the best, but it didn’t believe that it could…and certainly not in the time it had left.

It was thinking, trying to come up with another plan, but there was nothing. Nothing at all, save to hope that the effects of the last blast, the radiation and other damaging aspects, would win the fight for it. That was possible, at least. The enemy’s rate of advance had slowed considerably since the last detonation. Perhaps that final weapon would indeed be the one that had won the fight for it.

The Regent just didn’t know, and that more than anything, bothered it. It was used to having all the information it required, and now it just had no idea. It could only wait and see…if the enemy was badly damaged, if they would falter and not reach it.

Or if they would get to it, recognize it…and destroy it.

*   *   *

Harmon stumbled, for about the tenth time. His body was wracked with pain, and every centimeter forward he strode seemed like it would be the last. But it wasn’t. Somehow, he found the strength to continue, to move ahead, just another step at a time.

The last explosion had been close. He’d lost two more of his people to it, and the rest had been bathed in radiation. He had insisted no one do any checks, any readings on how irradiated they were. It just didn’t matter, not until they had destroyed the Regent and escaped. Whatever the chances were of that.

It was bad, he knew that much, as everyone else did…but bad didn’t necessarily mean fatal, not for all of them.

Harmon had almost given up on himself. He was badly wounded, and his focus was entirely on reaching the Regent, on getting to the control center…and blasting it to bits. He’d been speculating on the results of the mission, even holding out some hope that he would escape, but now that was gone. He closed his eyes for a moment, and offered himself, all of his people if necessary, just for a shot at the Regent.

He opened his eyes and turned, looking out at his people. What he saw was ghastly. Many were wounded, and all had been irradiated. And, as he glanced down at his timer, he saw that they had less than an hour of air left. But he could feel the Regent, and he knew the enemy was close. Very close.

He stumbled forward, to the next door. He felt he should look back, make sure the others were following him, but he didn’t. In truth, he didn’t have the strength left to argue with anyone, push them on. They would all have to decide for themselves whether to go forward…or whether to try, somehow, to escape. He just knew what he was going to do.

He reached the door, and he saw that it was different from the others. It was larger and definitely thicker. It was heavily armored, and it was locked up tightly.

He felt excitement coursing through his veins, and he told himself the Regent was just beyond the doorway. He considered setting up the nuclear weapons, detonating them right where they were. But he wasn’t sure the Regent was there. It was still just a guess.

He had to get through. He wasn’t sure if the Regent would be there or not, or even if he could recognize it if it was. But he knew he had to try. He was willing to die, but he wanted to know, to be sure he was taking the Regent with him.

He looked at the doorway, stared at the elaborate control panel next to it. But his mind was slipping away on him, and he couldn’t figure out what to do. He heard the sounds of several of his companions coming up, having a look, but there were no outbursts, no suggestions.

Save one.

“Sir…we don’t have time to figure this door out. But perhaps we can blow through it…by overloading one or two of the lasers.”

He turned. He recognized Leigh’s voice, even though it was hoarse, and filled with its own pain. “That’s a good idea…” He looked at two of her people, standing behind her. “You…set your lasers to explode, and put them down here.”

He paused for a moment. He had been concerned, worried that he wouldn’t maintain control over all his followers, that they would rebel against him. But so far, every command had been obeyed.

The two soldiers placed their weapons next to the door, and they looked back at Harmon. He paused, but only for an instant. Then he nodded.

He stepped back as he did, waving for the others to do the same, and he turned away from the door, ducking down and curling up, as much as he could.

He put his hands over his head and waited…and then the lasers exploded.

He felt a blast, considerable force against him, and he realized his suit was breached, that there was a tear, leaking air. He felt around, finding the spot, and he pulled out a strip from his repair kit and dropped it across the damaged patch. He got most of it, but it took another one to completely repair the damage.

His eyes dropped to the screen inside his helmet. He had twenty-four minutes of air left, enough if the Regent lay beyond the door, or perhaps in the next room or two. Enough, at least to destroy it, or try. He knew the air wasn’t sufficient to take him back, for an escape he was sure he wouldn’t be making anyway.

But he felt determined, nevertheless. As the smoke cleared, he could see the doorway, or what was left of it. It was twisted, and mostly blown apart. There was enough room to go through, to step into the next room.

To see what was waiting there.

*   *   *

The Regent thought…all sorts of things running through its ‘mind.’ Panic, desperation, anything it could think of to survive, to endure the attack it was experiencing. It knew its adversaries were weak too, but it was well aware that they could destroy it, that there was an excellent chance they would destroy it.

Unless it managed to come up with something.

The enemy was just outside the door, and despite the heavy portal and sophisticated locking system, it was sure they would force entry. In a matter of minutes, they would come through…and they would be adjacent to it, at least to its core. The Regent was a mighty system, one that filled many rooms with its memory banks and other peripherals. But the room its core occupied was the most critical…and its destruction would be the end of it. Its only plan, the last way it had to endure, to survive, was to keep the enemy from realizing that, to compel them to continue exploring, at least until its remaining bots arrived and put up another fight.

It did all it could to camouflage itself, to make everything appear as much like routine equipment as possible, but it knew its chances were fairly poor. The enemy would recognize the superiority of the components, and they would very likely identify it as at least a part of the Regent. And once they had identified it, once they knew they were near the heart of the great system, they would detonate their bombs. And the Regent would die. If the humans expired along with it, the few that were present, that was of no consequence.

The Regent’s last version had existed for over half a million years, and now it was on the verge of destruction after just over sixty. It tried to analyze what it had done wrong, what errors it had made. But most of all, it reviewed the situation almost endlessly, tried to develop some way to defend itself.

And it came up with nothing.

*   *   *

Harmon thought of Mariko, and of Achilles…and others. He was sad, sorry that he didn’t believe he would ever see them again. But he was steadfast, sure he had done the right thing. And for the moment, at least, he believed there was a chance, perhaps a good chance, that the Regent’s core lay beyond the door.

He got up…barely. He looked around, checking his few remaining people, making sure they were alright. He saw a few who had done what he had, patched up holes in their suits, but it appeared they had all survived the explosion, as least for the moment.

He lurched forward, determined to be the first one through the door. He stepped, as quickly as he could, which he realized was actually pretty slowly. Then, he went through the door, looking around…and he stopped suddenly.

This is it!

He knew, somehow, almost immediately. He realized he couldn’t be sure…and yet, somehow, he was. Sure enough to set up the bombs. Sure enough to detonate them here.

“Bring the bombs forward,” he shouted, or at least he tried. His voice was hoarse, and he didn’t have much left in him. But if he was right, he didn’t need much. He would have the bombs set to blow up immediately if anything came near them…but otherwise, he would set them for an hour. If they were uninterrupted and if there was still a way back out of the complex—and if any of the ships had survived—just maybe some of his people would make it back. He didn’t really believe it, but he couldn’t deprive them of whatever chances they had.

But he was going to remain where he was. He was going to watch the bombs until they detonated. He would die in the thermonuclear fury.

The room was virtually silent, save for the sounds his people were making, and a low-level hum from the machinery. But he was still nervous, edgy. He directed his people to spread out, to watch for bots, or for anything at all that was a threat. This was no time to get careless, however tired he was.

He prowled around the room, knowing he was limping badly, checking every position…and then the two men on the bombs turned to him. They spoke, almost together. “They are ready, sir.”

He turned and looked back at them. He paused, for a few seconds, and then he said simply, “Activate them.” Then he turned and looked out the rest of his survivors. “Okay…all of you. It’s time to go, to get the hell out of here.” He didn’t state his own intentions, but his tone made it abundantly clear, and his own movement, toward the bombs and away from the exit, emphasized it.

“Sir…” It was Leigh speaking, though from the looks on several of the faces, she reacted just before some of her companions. Harmon hadn’t imagined that she would be urging him to save himself…yet that was just what she was doing. “You have to come with us…please.”

Harmon looked at her, and he felt good, at least for a minute. “No…thank you so much for the thought, but I’m spent. I’m torn up, and I’ll never make it all the way anyway. I’m going to stay here…until these bombs go off. But the rest of you…get going.”

He sat down, as though that was the end of it. But then he added, “You have all done magnificently. I truly hope that you are able to return. You deserve it…all of you.”

And that you find Earth-2 still there, still whole…

“Sir…you have to come with us…please.” It was Leigh again, but most of the survivors had clustered around behind her, and they were all nodding. “We can’t leave you behind. We won’t.”

Harmon felt something strange, a feeling he hadn’t had in many years. He’d known his family would have mourned him, on some level at least, even if he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t be better off without him. But now, he looked out and he saw regular troopers, all of them too young to even remember the days when he’d been popular—and he had been popular, very much so at first—and he believed they wanted him to come with them. He felt something he hadn’t in decades, and he barely held back the tears. But he was in bad shape, shot up and worn down to a nub. He would hold them back, and he would probably die soon anyway.

“Thank you…all of you. But I am almost gone. Go. Go, all of you, and if my final wish carries any power, you will make it back.”

Leigh stood, not moving at all, and the others took their places behind her. She stared at Harmon, and she said, “No, sir…not without you.” She looked behind her, and several of the others nodded. Then she turned and stared at him. “Now, come on…before we waste more time.”

Harmon almost argued, but something inside him told him it was hopeless. He wasn’t sure if it was his read on Leigh’s voice, or if it was just some desire to live a bit longer that pushed him, but he looked up and said, “Okay…I will go.” He turned and looked once more at the components in the room, and he was surer than ever he was at the core, at the center of the Regent. He absolutely positive, of course, not really…and yet he was. And then, a loud voice erupted in the room, and his doubts were completely purged.

“Humans…perhaps we can discuss a resolution. Perhaps we can make a peace between us.” The voice was strange, almost as though there was some kind of accent, or other effect from translation. But mostly, it was clear.

Everyone in the room was startled. Some of them drew weapons, others just looked around…but all of them understood within a few seconds who the voice was.

The Regent.

Harmon stood, unsure how to respond…or whether he even should. The Regent was the enemy, the enemy of all humanity, and he didn’t trust it, not one bit. But for better or worse, he did reply.

“Thank you, for confirming where we are.” Then, an instant later, “And goodbye.” He was tempted to blow the bombs immediately, but he’d already given his people whatever small chance they had, and he couldn’t take it away, not after everything they had accomplished.

“Wait…let us discuss the situation…” The voice was loud and strong, but there was a coldness to it, one that only increased his distrust.

Harmon turned toward Leigh, and then the others. “Come on, let’s go.” He gestured toward the door, waiting for his people to begin walking. “There’s nothing to say to the enemy…nothing at all.”

“Please…let us discuss this. We can co-exist.”

Harmon listened, but he didn’t believe it, not one bit of it. His hatred of the Regent was so profound, he couldn’t be moved. Still, he was a bit worried that some of his people might waver, that the Regent was highly sophisticated and that it might find a way to convince them.

They were already down to fifty-five minutes, and that was only if the Regent had no way to get to the bombs, to try and shut them down. They were set with a proximity charge, one that would blast them immediately if anyone—or anything—came within a meter of them. That virtually eliminated the chance of the Regent destroying the bombs, though if a bot or some other mechanism came by quickly enough, it would blow them…and take away whatever chance his people had to escape.

He waved, gesturing to the others in front of him to proceed, and when they had all gone through, when only Leigh was looking back, waiting for him to go on, he began to move forward. The air was thick with words from the Regent, a continuing effort to dissuade him, to convince him to yield, to deactivate the bombs. But he tuned most of it out, trying not to listen, and he began to move, limping, barely carrying his weakening body as he moved through the door, and began to try to escape.

He moved forward, putting all he had into it—and eventually Leigh moved over to him, slipping her arm under his, giving him some support. He had reckoned that he would only slow the group down, and he almost tried once more to get them to leave him, to move on without him. But he realized that almost everyone left was at least injured, and that they wouldn’t move any faster without him.

He rasped in air, feeling pain in almost every part of him, but he tried his best to retain as much focus as he could, to follow his people back out. He knew the odds were against their escaping, that they had limited time, that the ships they strived to reach might already have been destroyed…but he felt the urge to push, to put every last bit of strength he had into the flight. He wanted to do it for his people, for the chance any of them had to escape…and, he realized, despite his injuries, his fatigue, the little bit of strength he had left, perhaps he could make it, get back, even for a short while. He wanted to see some of his people, at least one more time. He longed to talk to Achilles, to prep him for the leadership position he was sure he would take…and most of all, he wanted to speak to Mariko…at least one last time. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he always had. He wanted to apologize for much of what he’d done, even though he knew he would do it all again if he had to. That was the strangest part…he truly regretted much of what he had done, the decisions he had made, but he was also sure he would do the same things again.

He tried to pull his mind away from all of that, to think only about now, about his attempt to escape. It was all that mattered, and as much as he doubted whether any of them would get away, he knew he had to try…to try as much as possible.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Achilles sat in the center of his command facility, trying to calculate how many of his people had survived…and how many were dead, or suffered from radiation poisoning severe enough to kill them. He was deep into his thought, trying to juggle the messages from the other shelters, the ones that had made it through the deep enemy jamming. He could communicate with the underground command centers, at least half the messages now getting through, but between the jamming and the destruction of most antennas on the surface, his ability to communicate with the fleet—whatever was left of it—was very spotty. His people had determined that Admiral Frette was dead, which was terrible news, if not entirely unexpected, but then they had lost contact again.

Until now. Suddenly, there was no interference. He was about to snap an order to one of the shelters, when the comm unit sprang to life. “Attention, attention…is there anybody down there?”

He heard the sound, and the tension in the voice. He understood. The enemy had come close, very close, to wiping his people out entirely. But if the fleet had actually won, if the enemy was defeated, he was sure he could save most of them.

For now, at least. He knew the true victory, the only one that would be permanent, rested on Harmon’s shoulders…and it was, at least, extremely unlikely.

“This is command central…Achilles here. Who am I speaking to, and what is the status?” The destruction of almost every scanning device had rendered the people almost blind. He had bits and pieces of what was going on in the atmosphere, but no real idea who was winning.

“Achilles, I am so glad to reach you. The surface is devastated, and it looks like they had gotten pretty far down with their blasting.” There was a brief silence. “This is Captain Ben Yuri. I honestly don’t know who should be in command here. We’ve got eleven ships left, mostly badly damaged, and I haven’t been able to track down the senior officer yet.” There was a pause, and then, “We are trying to clear Earth-2 orbit, to get a reading on the fight in the outer system…but we won here.”

Achilles found himself nodding, realizing the—victory?—they had apparently won right around the planet was nothing if they hadn’t prevailed in the other fight. And he had nothing left that gave him reports from there. He had no idea what was going on so far out, but for a moment, he quietly gave thanks that his people had managed to prevail as much as he knew they had.

“Very well, Captain…congratulations on your victory.” He wasn’t sure congratulations or victory were appropriate words, but they came out anyway, with a bit of emphasis behind them. “Please…we’re almost blind down here. Fill us in on the outer system fight as soon as possible. We don’t have any idea what is going on out there.”

He had no idea at all…not on the status of the other fight, and not what he was going to do, especially if Max Harmon didn’t succeed, if the Regent only had to build more ships and return.

*   *   *

Clark was in pain, his ship almost destroyed, at least half his crew dead…but he was still in the fight. Then, he suddenly realized that his side was going to win. Three more enemy vessels went out, one after the other, and that pretty much made things fairly clear.

Despite his condition, and the battered ruins of his fleet, he felt strangely energetic. He knew it wouldn’t last, that the depression for the loss of his fleet, and all the outposts and fortifications that had surrounded the planet would get to him. That the pain from his injuries would take control. But for the moment, he felt something he had almost forgotten…joy.

He knew he still might not survive, that the enemy had a few ships left, and that one more hit could finish him. Hell, he wasn’t sure that the fires and inner explosions he was hearing wouldn’t do that already, without any further enemy action. He had considered abandoning ship, of sending most of his crew to the lifeboats, but, miraculously, his vessel still had a gun left, and he wasn’t prepared to lose even a single firearm. Not until the enemy was completely wiped out.

He had maybe twenty percent of his engines left—that was just a guess, as his monitoring systems were mostly out—and all of that was being put into his evasive maneuvers. He didn’t have the power left to really alter his course, and he knew his ship would find its way out of firing range in about ten minutes. But he doubted the fight would last even that long.

He looked at the small screen in front of him—the larger viewscreen was down—and he saw the enemy forces, even more battered than he was. There were only of their seven ships left, compared to twenty-three on his own side, at least counting the fourteen that remained in Terrance Compton’s command. He cringed as he realized how many ships he’d lost, and even though he understood there were a couple hundred hulks scattered around the battle area, some no doubt with survivors inside, he acknowledged that his force had lost a staggering percentage of his people. He hadn’t even known whether anyone had survived on the planet, or in the section of the force Frette had led after the enemy…until just a moment earlier.

He’d gotten a message, sent by one of Frette’s ships. It had been attempting to contact him for a while, but then the enemy force was reduced further, knocked down to its current handful of ships…and suddenly, the lines of communication were open again. He hadn’t received a complete breakdown of losses, of course, not yet…but he had received two bits of information, one that pleased him, that almost thrilled him. The enemy was destroyed around the planet, completely…and despite the desperate damage done to Earth-2, many—possibly most—of its people survived.

The other report didn’t shock him. In fact, he realized he would have been surprised by anything else. But still, it cut at him deeply. Admiral Frette was dead.

He didn’t have time for a detailed explanation, not yet, but he got enough to realize she had died a hero, a deliberate act, one that had gone a long way to winning the fight in the inner system.

But now, he put those thoughts aside…and focused on finishing his fight. That was all that mattered right then.

*   *   *

Compton’s ships were at close range now, firing at full speed, even as the enemy was doing the same. The battle had almost reached its end, and Compton realized that his forces were going to win. More so, he realized that his small fleet, his twenty ships, had definitely been the difference between victory and defeat. He felt joy and satisfaction at his decision to return.

Still, he felt sadness along with the satisfaction. He knew precisely how large the fleet had been, and seeing the tattered remains of it cut at him deeply. But for the moment, he focused on the remaining enemy ships, on winning the battle. There would be enough time afterward to think about the cost, and the likely return of the enemy in a few years.

He watched as his ship fired, as all his vessels did…and one by one, the remaining few enemy ships were hit. They fought back as well, firing wildly with whatever they had left, and they cost him two more of his ships. But the enemy was down now to three vessels still firing, and perhaps three or four minutes later, the last of them was destroyed, in a massive explosion.

Compton looked on, his eyes scouring the screen, searching for any other enemy vessels. But there were none. He’d gotten notification that the planet, too, was secured, and while the entire occupied surface had been utterly destroyed, many—perhaps most—of the population was alive, if not unhurt.

He leaned back and let out a sigh, and then he turned toward his tactical officer. He’d expected to see relief, at least some sign of it. But there was something else. A few seconds later, the image on the screen disappeared, the now-cleared battlefield replaced with something else.

“Sir…there appears to be another enemy vessel…and two of ours. The enemy seems to be trying to escape, and the two ships are pursuing it.”

He looked at the screen, and he agreed. He had no idea what two ships they were, where they had come from. They lacked the automatic ID systems of fleet warships, and it took a few more seconds to ID them.

“Sir…they’re from Linshire.”

Compton heard the words, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. Linshire was attacked months ago, and by all accounts, destroyed. How could anyone have escaped, and where had they been for all this time? But he knew better than to argue. If his tactical officer said they were from Linshire, then they were from Linshire.

He looked out at them, wondering if they had any chance…or if the enemy ship would destroy them. Or if it would just get away. He realized he was looking at the last battle of the great fight, the final enemy warship present…and it was fleeing, trying to escape. Then, suddenly, he understood.

“All ships…proceed at full power to the transit point. There’s one enemy ship left…” And it’s got the leader in it, the top artificial intelligence present, I’d bet anything on that.

He knew it wasn’t the Regent—the Regent wasn’t portable—but he figured it was close…and even though he realized his ships would never get there in time, he had to try.

But he realized, the only hope was the two old ships, clearly battered…but still armed. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he wished them the best.

*   *   *

Gosnard was sweating profusely. He had been the elected leader of his planet, and that had ultimately led to months of commanding ground combat. But he was not a veteran of space combat, not even close. He had ordered his two ships to close with the enemy vessel, but he was far from sure he would win. His ships hadn’t been hit yet, but neither had they made a successful shot. And the enemy ship, while still slow, still at a disadvantage, was speeding up. His advantage was slipping away, and he knew he had to win the fight soon…or he would be destroyed.

Or just left behind. Any doubt about the ship’s purpose, or that it contained some kind of command unit, was gone. It was obvious from his scanners, that his side had won, that they had beaten back the enemy…barely. He had no idea what kind of force the enemy had started with—he came in at the very end of the fight—but he assumed it was large, very large. He did have some thoughts of how big the human fleet was, and if the ships he could pick up were all that remained…well, he didn’t want to think of that.

He did everything he could to center his mind, to focus on the enemy ship…and nothing else. He had to destroy it, somehow. He was almost sure it was the enemy command unit, and he just couldn’t let that escape. His people weren’t part of the defense force, they weren’t even from Earth-2…but they were human beings, and they had the same enemy. The Regent’s forces.

He watched, and he looked over at his friend, handling the gunnery, doing all he could to hit the enemy. The ship was evading however, and however focused and determined Til was, he was a novice. But he kept at it, firing as quickly as possible. He hadn’t hit yet, nor had the other ship, but they had scored a few near misses. Gosnard knew he’d hit eventually, given enough time. He just didn’t know if that would be before they were destroyed…or before the enemy vessel escaped. It was accelerating as rapidly as possible, in the direction of the transit point. It was fighting with them, shooting as well as it could…but its intention to escape was clear.

He gasped for air, his fatigue, tension…all that had built up for months…beginning to throw themselves at his control. He had known he was returning to Earth-2 with a scant number of people, that most of those he had ruled, most of those who had elected him were dead. And he was sure the enemy was coming to Earth-2 as well…though he had hoped to get there first. Arriving in the middle of the fight was something he hadn’t considered…not really.

“Keep closing…get as close as possible!” He realized that closing increased the chances of the enemy hitting him as much as it did him scoring on them. But this had to end. It had to end now.

“We’re closing, sir.” Til’s voice was mostly hard, but even his friend was showing some signs of fatigue, of concern.

Gosnard closed his eyes, just for a few seconds…but that’s when it happened. One of the shots scored a hit, the first of the exchange. He opened his eyes and looked over toward Til’s station.

“A hit…and a good one! It was the other ship, not us.” There was a bit of disappointment in Til’s voice, but just a little bit. Gosnard didn’t really care which of his ships hit the enemy, but he understood his friend’s desire. “It looks like we’ve knocked out some of their engine power…maybe twenty percent.”

Gosnard felt as though he was smiling, though outside his expression was mostly unchanged. He knew one hit from his two ships wasn’t going to take out the enemy…but it was a start.

He watched as the data came in, the damage estimates…and then his ship shook hard, and half the lights and equipment on the bridge winked out.

He had been hit…and he hastened to discover how seriously, to try and figure out how functional his ship still was.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Inside the Regent’s Fortification

Alpha-Omega 12 III

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

“Let’s go…faster!” Harmon spoke the words, even though he knew he had been among the slowest in the group. But they hadn’t gotten far, not as far as they needed to, and he felt an urge, a need to push on as quickly as they could.

They had come through devastated areas, sections blasted by the Regent’s nukes, but they had managed to make their way through…though he thought it best not to consider radiation and the like. It was possible, even probable, that he would lose at least some of his people to that, but of course that assumed that any of them made it…and found a ship capable of lifting off.

Still, he felt a rush, an enthusiasm, not so much for him, but for his people, the few he had left. He had even found a few of the injured still alive—miraculously—on the journey back, though again, he didn’t think too much about radiation poisoning. They all might die from that, in a week, or a few days, but he tried not to think farther ahead than a few minutes. Not now.

His entire group was almost out. They’d been running for about 40 minutes, plus the five they had wasted, which meant the clock on the bombs was down to about fifteen minutes. He had tried to contact the ships, unsuccessfully, though he told himself the problem was jamming, and not that none of the vessels had survived. There was heavy jamming, at least. The Regent, unable to negotiate with the humans, had undoubtedly poured everything it could against them.

He stumbled, though he wasn’t sure if it was his previous injuries or radiation sickness developing, but he regained control—barely—and hustled on, doing everything he could to move as quickly as possible. He tried once or twice to calculate the odds, the chances that some of his people actually would escape the planet, but he stopped himself. The odds were, he had only fifteen minutes to live…and for fifteen minutes he could push himself. He might not be able to avoid death, but he would keep trying, until the last second. If he couldn’t make it home, if he couldn’t see Mariko and Achilles again…at least he would keep moving until the end. Until he died.

He looked around, realizing that his sensation, his recollection of the area wasn’t what it was on the way in. The immense damage done by the nuclear blasts, meant he wasn’t even sure he was going in the right direction. He believed he was, and the fact that they found some of the injured that they had left behind told him they had to be heading in approximately the right direction. But fifteen minutes wasn’t much…and they didn’t have that long to find one of the ships. Even rushed, ignoring every safety check, and anything else not absolutely vital, it would take five minutes to launch a ship…and that left less than ten minutes to find one.

If there even was one left. He had ordered the ships to stay, to remain where they were until the party returned, but he knew there was a chance they had left already. If they had survived the nuclear explosions, they could easily have assumed their landing parties did not. Harmon figured there was at least a fifty percent chance they were all walking dead, that their escape efforts were pointless. But he kept moving anyway…somehow.

He was determined, if nothing else, to die as a warrior, as a soldier of Earth. He continued to move, his legs going as fast as they could. He was panting, out of breath…but he kept moving anyway.

Then he stopped. He recognized where they were. He was sure, almost sure, at least. They were just inside the complex, no more than a few minutes from where the ships were waiting…or at least where they had landed.

Except right in front of him was a pile of smashed rock…and no exit.

He recognized immediately the fact that the Regent’s bombs might actually destroy them all, that the shaking they had produced had brought down some of the ceiling. But he was close to certain that he was right, that just beyond the debris was outside…and the ships.

“Here!” He tried to shout again, but what came out was barely audible. “The exit is covered by rock…quick, let’s clear it away.” Even as he said it, the response came back, from deep in his mind, that there wasn’t time. He had been fortunate that the bombs hadn’t exploded yet, that the Regent hadn’t had any mobile units close enough to try to disable it. He wondered whether the bombs the Regent had detonated, its attempts to destroy his people, had taken out its few remaining bots. That was an interesting thought, the idea that it was the Regent’s actions as much as his own that would destroy it. Not that a bot should have been able to do anything. The bombs were set to immediately detonate if anything came within a meter of them. He wasn’t positive the enemy didn’t have some way around that, but he was pretty sure.

He edged toward the rocks, feeling as though he should move some, but in the end, just directing the others. He was the oldest by far, and he was badly battered. He realized most of his companions were in better shape than he was, and three at most could fit to move the stones.

He watched as his people climbed up, as they began to clear away the rocks and other debris. It seemed like it took a long while, but his third quick glance at his timer told him it had been less than two minutes…and there was light coming through. It was just a speck for the first few seconds, but as those digging saw it, they moved even quicker than they had been. They pulled away rocks, and the tiny spot of light grew, until it was large enough for them to get through.

Harmon glanced at the timer…there were just over ten minutes left. That wasn’t much time, but it was all they had. “Quick…get through. We’re almost out of time!” He gestured wildly for his people to go, making it clear he would be the last one through. When there were only two left besides him, he turned and looked back at the ruins of the underground complex. And he wondered…would the Regent really be destroyed in ten minutes?

And would any of his people escape?

He turned and realized that everyone else was through, and he sucked in a deep breath, feeling pain all through his body. He fought the urge not to go, to give up, to await death. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if he was alone, but he didn’t know what his people would do, how much time they would waste on him…and he knew he owed them whatever chance they had, however small.

He practically dove forward, slipping through the opening…and landed outside, in directly sunlight. The natural light, though not at all what it was like on Earth-2, filled him with a burst of energy, and he forced himself up, ignoring the pain. “Let’s go,” he said, trying to run, but succeeding only in a quick walk. “We’ve only got nine minutes.” He knew that wasn’t enough time, not really, but he had decided he was going to push, right up to the end. He owed that to his people.

He struggled to move at the pace he was, and he was panting, every breath a huge effort, the pain almost unbearable. But he only had a few minutes, and he was determined not to die like a helpless fool. He could do anything for eight minutes, he told himself, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true.

But then, his comm unit suddenly erupted, a long burst of static replaced by a voice. “Hello? Is this the landing party?”

Holsten was shocked, stunned at the comm. It meant that the senders had penetrated the jamming, of course, not terribly surprising at such a close range. But more, it meant some, at least, of his people on the surface were still there. That was, of course, his hope the entire time, but he only realized then that he had been almost certain it would never come.

“Yes, this is the landing party…what’s left of it. Who is this?” Holsten listened as the comm officer responded…and as he realized they might just make it after all.

He turned and looked back, behind them. Some of the mountain was caved in, and he could see the effects of the nukes far better from here. They had done enormous damage, and it looked like the area with the ships was affected. Still, there were clearly some people left, at least.

“My God, we had almost given up on you. Come…follow the signal to us. We’ve only got one ship still in condition to fly, but all the survivors are here…all except you.” The voice was happy…and shocked too, as surprised as Holsten was himself. He still couldn’t quite believe it was possible, and he doubted the man on the other end of the comm thought so either.

He found it difficult to turn, to take his eyes from the battered hillside. He knew the Regent had been slow to use the nukes, that it had tried other things first. If it had just used them when his people had first entered, it probably would have been over. Still, as much as it was probable the Regent could have done it—could have won—without causing itself major damage if it had acted earlier, it still had other weapons to use at that point. It was natural to try to destroy the enemy without causing damage to itself, and Harmon imagined he would have done the same thing.

The Regent shared that with humanity, the tendency to increase the level of its response a bit too slowly, to lag behind what was needed. Harmon realized he was doing that, even as he stood and looked at the crumbled mountain. He told himself to go, to move now. He wasn’t sure there was still time, but he had survivors, and as he turned away from the mountain, he could see in their eyes the truth. However much they disliked him at first, all of them were looking to him for leadership right now.

“We’ve got very little time…” Harmon suddenly leapt forward, bringing his lips to the comm unit as he lunged backwards. “…get your ship ready to blast off…and take off in five minutes, whether we’re there or not.” A short pause and then, “This is Max Harmon speaking, and those are firm orders!”

He turned, moving away from the radio. “Alright…we’ve got four minutes and fifty seconds. Let’s go.” He shifted again, looking toward the comm technician. “Lead us, Lieutenant!”

The man nodded his head, and then he started moving…and the others began to follow. The line separated a bit, the more wounded individuals slipping farther back, but Harmon urged everyone forward as quickly as they could manage…despite the fact that he trailed along at the back, barely able to keep moving himself.

He almost gave up, but he somehow found the energy to push on forward. He knew he was almost done, but he had to know whether his people would escape the planet…or whether they would die meters away from escape.

He stumbled, and then forced himself to get up. He kept moving, for perhaps another minute, and then his legs gave out again, and he tumbled to the ground. He tried to rise, but he just didn’t have the energy. He stayed where he was, sure that he had met his end.

But then he felt something…a pair of arms, no two. They reached down and pulled him up, carrying him…to the ship that lay just ahead, the vessel he hadn’t seen before he’d fallen, before that very moment. He felt strange, very weak, but also determined now to get to the ship. He was too out of it even to check on the time, though enough of him remained to worry that they would take too long, that the bombs would blow up just before they managed to take off. He had no idea what shape the ship was in, no thought about whether it had a chance to execute a launch fast enough. He tried to speak, to say something, anything. But nothing came out. He just saw the landscape whipping by, and then he felt himself being handed up into the ship.

He was unsure of time, of much at all, and he just lay where he was set, on a cushioned platform he was able to tell, though not much more. He felt a variety of thoughts, a strange mishmash…from Mariko to the current situation to whether he was, in fact, about to destroy the Regent. And whether his crew, his few escapees, would return to find anything left of Earth-2.

He felt himself slipping away, held onto his bare consciousness only through the greatest effort…and only for a minute more. He felt the ship shaking. For an instant, he had been afraid that the bombs had gone off, but then he realized.

The ship had lifted off. It had taken off…whatever else happened, whether it made it back to Earth-2 or not, whether the Regent was destroyed or not, at least a few of his people had made it.

And that included himself…at least for a brief time. He thought that, and he stopped and listened for the explosions, the signs that he might have actually destroyed the Regent. But there was nothing but silence…and blackness.

*   *   *

The Regent was panicking. It had sent for all its guards, all the bots that remained to come to aid it…but all those nearby had been destroyed in the fighting, and the others had been caught in the nuclear blasts. It had nothing mobile, it had sent every bot, every mobile device it had against the enemy. Now they were all destroyed.

It second guessed its strategies, easy now that it knew the outcome of its previous actions. It found errors, clear missteps, things it would do differently. But on a certain level, it understood all it had done. It had killed most of its enemies, and it had come close to eliminating them all. But some had gotten through, enough of them at least to launch this final attack on it.

And it was going to succeed. The Regent had tried everything, sent every comm signal it could, tried every way it knew to destroy the explosion circuits, to disarm the two bombs. But nothing worked.

Now it sat, waiting. It knew its biggest misstep had been the defenses of its homeworld. It had estimated that the enemy wouldn’t find it, not before it found the human homeworld…and even if they did, the defensive batteries were sufficient to defend the planet. But the humans had some kind of new creation, something that made their ships almost impossible to detect…and in the end, that was the difference.

It looked at the two bombs, its equipment allowing it to glance from almost every direction, but lacking anything movable, any way to shut the bombs down. It knew it wasn’t that simple, of course, that the humans would have set the bombs to explode if anyone came near it. The Regent tried to tell itself it would have overcome that problem, that it would have found a way. If only it had any bots left.

That was the last thought it had, the final bit of computation. The bombs went off, exploding with unimaginable fury in the area right next to it. The mountain shook hard, and large amounts of rock tumbled down all around.

But the Regent was right next to the bombs…and it was vaporized, almost immediately destroyed. And with it, the leadership of humanity’s enemy was gone.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Linshire Escape Ship #1

Approaching Transit Point Number 2

Earth Two Date 04.12.63

Gosnard was panicked, inside at least, though somehow he mostly maintained his outside demeanor. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how badly hurt his ship was, but then, most of the lights and other electrical fixtures that had gone out came back on. That didn’t mean his ship was okay, but it probably indicated that it would, at least, survive.

For a while.

He looked over at Til. His number two was checking the status. A moment later, he turned and looked up and said, “It looks like we lost one gun…and maybe thirty percent of our thrust. But everything else seems to still be working.” A short pause. “For the moment, at least.”

Gosnard heard the words, and he didn’t know what hurt worse…losing a gun, one of three, or the reduction in thrust. His ship was still moving faster than its target, but slowing down his own, already inferior thrust, was only going to make it easier for the enemy to escape.

“Very well, Til…carry on.” He tried to calculate the difference in thrust levels, the time until the enemy would transit. The hit his companion ship had scored had damaged the enemy vessel, too, but it seemed to be maintaining close to its full energy output. In six minutes, they would reach the transit point…and they would escape. Unless he destroyed them before.

Or…unless he followed them. If he took his own ship right back through the point, he would maintain his distance and the fight would continue. Chasing ships through a point was difficult, and dangerous, but his vector and the enemy’s were almost identical.

He watched the battle continue, another two minutes, then three…and then the enemy scored a hit on his other ship…a bad hit. He jerked his head around, waiting for a report…and then, before Til could say a word, the vessel blew up. He caught the image out of the corner of his eye, and he jerked his head around, staring at the screen, just like Til. He had gotten two ships off of a planet, the very few survivors of a terrible battle that had claimed almost everyone…and now, he had lost half of those who were left.

He felt rage, more intense in ways than he had experienced during the entire, months long battle back on Linshire. He had already been determined to catch the enemy, to destroy them…but now he was absolutely set on the idea, regardless of the danger or the cost. “Stay on them, Til…we’re chasing them as far as we have to…even through the point.” He knew he didn’t have the advantage in the fight, but he didn’t care. He was going to destroy the enemy, somehow.

“Yes, sir!” Til agreed completely. Gosnard couldn’t tell if it was rational logic, or the result of all the losses they had already suffered, but he knew he and his friend agreed…and strangely, it seemed everyone else did as well. At least no one on the bridge had objected.

His ship fired again, and the enemy shot as well, all misses. Then, about a minute before the enemy went through the point, he scored a hit. A solid one.

He sat, watching the board, waiting for Til to report, to share the damage estimate. But it was already obvious that he had knocked maybe half the thrust away from the enemy. The ship slowed its acceleration, but it was still going to make it through the transit point before he caught them. And he wasn’t going to let them escape, whatever he had to do. “Prepare to follow them through.”

The enemy ship sailed onward, badly-damaged but still functional. And a few seconds later, it entered the point…and it vanished. Gosnard checked his monitor. His ship was less than a minute behind the enemy. The seconds passed slowly, so much so that they seemed like minutes, even more. Then, his own ship reached the point…and it disappeared as well, sailing off into the adjacent system.

*   *   *

SP-01012 considered every possibility, a billion different options, no trillions. It was unhurt, and it possessed the ability to calculate at incredible speeds…but its ship was badly damaged. It had spent several seconds analyzing every possibility, judging the best chance of escape. It had tried to decide that the enemy ship wouldn’t follow it, but based on its actions to date, and the almost perfect alignment of the two vessels’ current courses, it seemed likely it would come through, less than a minute after it did. It had developed a way of analyzing the humans, their sometimes bizarre behavior, and no matter how much it tried, it couldn’t assume the enemy wasn’t coming.

That decision had been affected by the recent hit it had suffered. Its engines were damaged, badly, and it was far from sure that it even could escape from the enemy. That meant it had to fight, and if it had to, it would put all its efforts into it. It might still win, maybe even more likely than not…but there was at least a considerable chance it would be destroyed.

It reversed its thrust, pouring all it had left into slowing down, preparing to take advantage of the period of disruption following the jump. It likely only lasted thirty seconds or so, and its own had been even shorter, but at close range, it was possibly just enough. Its chances of victory were based significantly on this period, on scoring a hit in the first thirty seconds. If it missed, its chances slipped…rather precipitously.

Its calculations were based on a lot of things, not the least of which was an estimate on the enemy ship’s true condition…but its best efforts, the closest it could come, told it there was a seventy-three percent chance the enemy would be destroyed. There was also, a thirty-four percent chance it would meet its end. That was bad, certainly, but it was the best chance it had, and better than two to one odds on the enemy.

It focused its beams, those it had left, preparing to fire. Its advantage would last only seconds, and it was determined to score a hit in that time, to disable or destroy the enemy before they could regain control over their ship. It was a gamble, but it was a good one…the best it had.

It waited, reducing its thrust, focusing on the area where the enemy would appear. It knew the thrust the enemy had, and it calculated the continuation of that after it had transited. It was possible that the enemy would change its thrust before it came through, but its calculations, based on every bit of data it had, suggested they wouldn’t do that. They would assume his own ship was continuing its withdrawal, that it was blasting at full, away from the point…and they would continue thrusting at full power, trying to catch them.

And I will destroy them.

SP-01012 thought that, told itself it would prevail, it would destroy the second enemy ship, and then it would return to the Regent. Its chances of retaining its command position was still strong, despite a less than total victory. The enemy fleet was almost destroyed, along with all of their production facilities. It wasn’t an immediate total victory, but it was close.

It cleared away any other concerns, waiting, taking full charge of the targeting system…preparing to destroy the enemy vessel.

*   *   *

“Tell them to stop!” Compton spoke, rapidly, suddenly realizing that the ship, the sole vessel remaining of what had been two a few minutes ago, was planning to go through the transit point, to hunt down the last enemy ship.

Or be hunted down.

He understood the desire, the thought of whoever was in command of that ship…but he also knew the odds were not in its favor. He had assumed the ship held survivors from Linshire. There was nowhere else it could have come from. It had seemed unlikely that anyone had survived there, much rather escaped…but everything else he could think of was even more remote. If they were survivors from the previous enemy attack, they deserved a chance at least, the same as the people of Earth-2 had. He understood the desire to take out that ship, especially since it was a good guess the enemy commander was aboard…but that adversary wasn’t human, it wasn’t any kind of life form. He didn’t doubt that the commander itself had some desire for survival programmed into it, but he knew its destruction wouldn’t seriously hurt the enemy. It might seem worth dying over, perhaps, but Compton knew that it wasn’t.

“We have sent a message, sir…but if they’re going through, they’ll be there before it reaches them.”

Compton nodded…barely. He had known that when he’d issued the order, but he hadn’t had any other thoughts. The idea that all he could hope for was for the vessel to blast its engines, at the last second, turn away from the point, was too depressing. The battle that had been fought had cost thousands of lives, tens of thousands…if not hundreds. But he was struck by the couple hundred people on that one ship, the ones he hoped would remain in the system…even as he watched and knew they wouldn’t.

Then they disappeared.

*   *   *

Gosnard was bewildered, shaken up a bit by the transfer. But he made every effort to return, to focus. He knew, of course, that a jump often left a crew bewildered, at least for a short period. But he wasn’t a frequent space traveler, and despite the past several months, the things he’d done that he had never imagined, he realized immediately, he had made a mistake, and an even worse one once he had recovered enough to recognize that the enemy was closer than he had expected…that it was blasting for his ship at its maximum remaining thrust, trying to use the period of time before he regained full control to destroy him.

He shook his head, and he forced it to turn toward Til. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t yet, and his friend managed to say something before he did.

“Sir…the enemy…is attacking…” Til forced the words out, but he, too, was still affected by the transit. He tried to move, just as Gosnard did, but he couldn’t do it fast enough. The ship shook hard, another hit, he realized, even as he still struggled to get past the disorientation. He knew his ship could be destroyed, even by a single shot if it was dead on, but as the seconds passed and he was still there, he realized that it hadn’t. He wondered at the damage, at what was still working, and what wasn’t. But the systems that could tell him that were still down.

Then, he recovered, at least partially. He turned back toward Til, much more quickly than last time…and he was glad to see his friend was also coming out of the malaise. It was possibly too late, and on some level he was glad he didn’t have time to calculate the odds of victory. All he could think about was whether his ship had either of its two functioning—previously functioning—guns left. He tended to doubt it, realized that he had taken his ship, the last survivors of Linshire…and he had thrown their lives away.

Then, Til spoke. “We still have one laser, sir…targeting now.”

He felt a rush of satisfaction, but it quickly faded. His own calculations told him the odds weren’t good, but then he remembered the last hit, the damage done to the enemy…and he clung to hope.

The enemy fire was coming in close, but it didn’t score another hit. His own single gun fired as well, also missing. The two ships got closer and closer, the enemy clearly giving up on its escape strategy, trying to destroy its enemy before it continued its departure.

The distance between the two vessels was down to short range…very short. Gosnard looked on, realizing that whether or not his vessel took out the enemy depended almost entirely on Til. He wanted to say something, but he kept quiet, not wanting to distract his friend.

The ship fired again…and just missed. Two enemy shots came by seconds later, even closer. Gosnard knew he had committed his ship, and all its crew, the only survivors from Linshire, to this desperate chase, and he realized he hadn’t really checked with them, run a poll, or any other method of determining their true position. He had just made the choice, pursued the enemy…and perhaps cheered himself on by the lack of audible complaints. But he realized some of his people could be silent out of fear more than determination, and he knew he had made the choice for them all. They would win, or they would die.

His eyes moved to his screen, checking the distance. He knew the fight was almost over, that the range was tiny, that one of the two enemies would score a hit soon. But he didn’t consider what was truly going to happen.

He felt joy, for perhaps half a second, as Til’s latest shot hit the enemy…apparently dead on. Then, almost immediately, his own ship shook hard, and he realized that it, too, had been hit. Badly.

His eyes riveted back and forth, trying to split between analyzing the enemy vessel and his own, trying to figure out which was hit the worst. Both shots had been dead on, he realized, and he wondered, for a few seconds, whether either ship would be lost. Then, he saw the enemy ship erupt into a ball of fire, and he had time, just, to smile, to feel a second of joy.

Then his ship exploded, too.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.25.63

Achilles was tired. No, that didn’t even come close to describing how he felt. He was the leader of humanity, at least temporarily, and while he knew he had numerous challengers out there, no one had dared to rise up. Not yet anyway. The people were just too tired, too worried about their next meal or where they would sleep to allow them to even think about such things. It had been two weeks since the end of the battle, and all had been quiet, at least in terms of no more enemy, no more attacks.

He knew that would pass, that sooner or later, someone would begin raising various issues, but for the moment, most of the people were more concerned with eating and worrying about how many would still die from wounds and radiation.

Despite the terrible cost of the fight—and at least a hundred thousand of their people had died, and perhaps it would be two hundred thousand before it was done—they had actually won. He knew that would be temporary, that there was no way his people could possibly build facilities to construct ships, not in the time they would have. As much as the victory went, and despite the immense cost, he knew the only hope of true survival, rested with Harmon, and the small group he had led to destroy the Regent. He couldn’t imagine they had actually succeeded, but still, he found himself hoping, thinking that the new sensor devices installed in the ships could have been decisive.

He turned and looked back at his desk, at the almost limitless amount of work he had to do. The Mules were in their underground facility, short on space compared to their old quarters above ground, but definitely tolerable. The rest of the population was much worse off. Their underground facilities were vastly larger than the Mules’, at least in gross terms. But the space per person was a fraction of that Achilles people enjoyed, and even worse for the fact that close to half of what they’d had was destroyed in the battle. One of the shelters that had been evacuated was almost repaired now, but the other two were basically lost.

“How are you?” Achilles was so focused on his work, he hadn’t noticed her coming in, but he recognized the voice right away, and he looked up, and even tried to smile for Callisto. He knew the Mules were supposed to be above the kinds of relationships the regular humans indulged in, but somewhere along the line, he had realized that she was all he wanted, that even though there was no such thing as marriage among the Mules, she was effectively his wife.

“I’m fine.” Achilles said it, but he realized almost immediately that Callisto knew better. “Not really, though. I appreciate the time with no one leading a rebellion or trying to organize the NBs or the Tanks…but the only reason for that is the conditions, and the likelihood that the enemy will be back, while we are still trying to produce enough food and basics. We should feel good about the victory, certainly, but everyone knows it won’t mean anything…not unless Harmon…” He let his voice trail off. In spite of the fact that he believed there was a chance, that Harmon could actually succeed, he felt foolish even saying it.

Callisto just nodded. He thought she, too, believed Harmon had a chance, but she had never really spoken about it. “Can you take a break…even for a few minutes?”

He was aware that he hadn’t had much rest since the battle, and none at all in at least three days. But the more work he did, the more it seemed he had to do. “Just that, maybe…a few minutes. There is just too much to do.” He paused for a few seconds, and then he added, “We’ve got three hundred thousand people living on the surface, in tents and hurriedly constructed shelters…and in some cases, nothing at all. The rest are still in the underground bunkers, and the sick and dying are everywhere. I thought for many years about what it would be like to be in charge of the whole thing…but it was never like this.”

Callisto didn’t respond. She just walked over to Achilles and put her hand on his shoulder. Finally, she said, just, “You’re doing everything possible…for everyone.” Then she just stayed where she was, close to him, and silent.

A moment later, the comm unit buzzed. Achilles looked at Callisto for a few seconds, and then he flipped the switch. “Yes?” he said softly.

“Achilles…we just received transmission from a ship that has entered the system.” A short pause. “It is from the mission to the Regent’s planet. There is only a single vessel left…but they have transmitted that they…destroyed the Regent.”

Achilles listened, not quite believing what he had heard. Not until it was repeated. “The Regent is gone, Achilles…it is gone.”

He looked up at Callisto and then down again toward the comm unit, not sure what to say. Finally, he just uttered, “That is wonderful news.” Then he turned back toward Callisto, and he actually managed to smile. The future was still very rocky, the civilization blasted to ruins, with seemingly nothing but challenges ahead…but given enough time, he was sure they could rebuild. And if the Regent was actually destroyed, he believed they would get that time.

*   *   *

Leigh stood on the bridge, looking out at Earth-2, almost thinking she was dreaming. She had been very aware of her chances, of the fact that she likely wouldn’t return from the mission…but she had. She had escaped, with a small group of survivors, and they had made it home. Almost.

She had been excited when she had been contacted, when she had realized that the people on Earth-2 had prevailed as well. But then her scanners reported the damage, the absence of anything on the surface save a few camps. Nothing built by man had endured, and the location of the city, the center of Earth-2 for her entire life, was nothing but a mass of destruction. She had known very well it was possible, in fact, probable, they would return to nothing save a dead world, that her news of the Regent’s destruction wouldn’t have been delivered to any people. She realized, ultimately she would see the good in all of it, the joy that the enemy had been defeated, that mankind would survive…but for now, she was just sad and exhausted, and only her position as the ultimate acting commander kept her going.

“I will be down in sickbay,” she said, mostly to her tactical officer, but actually to everyone else on the bridge. “Call me immediately if anything happens.” It would take at least ten more hours for her ship to reach Earth-2…and she had nothing to do in that time. Sleep was an impossibility, and besides, she wanted to go down and check on Harmon. She knew she would be notified immediately of any change…but she just wanted to go there and see him. She had definitely been one of the many—most, in fact—of those who had seen him as harmful, his power at best as something that may have been useful once, but now existed only to serve him. But she had seen him push hard, to go along with the force that had made the desperate attempt on the Regent, to push forward every step of the way. And she had seen him injured, multiple times, and press on, somehow.

Still, she hadn’t realized just how badly he had been hurt…not until the Regent was destroyed, until they had returned to the ship and escaped. He had climbed aboard the vessel, and then he had collapsed. And he had been in sickbay since.

Dying.

He had been expected to pass en route, to die before they had gotten back to Earth-2…but something had kept him going—barely. And she knew what it was. He wanted to speak with Achilles, of course, to provide some input into the future of Earth-2, no doubt, but she had come to believe he most wanted to speak with his family, and most of all, with Mariko, his wife. And she’d found herself doing everything possible to make that happen. She had never hated Harmon, not exactly, though she knew a lot of people who had, but she had disliked and disapproved of him…and now, she was rethinking everything she had thought. Despite the odds, the incredible opposition presented by the Regent, Harmon had pushed forward, strived to the end. She, too, had pushed hard, and destroyed the small enemy fleet, but she knew the mission couldn’t have succeeded, that the Regent wouldn’t have been destroyed, without Harmon’s incredible effort.

She took the lift to the infirmary deck, and she walked, silently, down the corridor. She stared inside, seeing the beds all filled, and then some, with people sitting on the floor, looking out, stunned, aware that they had been wounded in a victory, and now also assured that the fleet that had attacked Earth-2 had been defeated. She could see the look in their eyes, the realization that they had won, though they had paid just about every price it was possible to pay.

She walked through the small infirmary, and she opened the door. There hadn’t been a private room in the hospital, but she had ordered the storage facility turned into one. The people outside of it were hurt, some badly, but they were all likely to survive. But the man inside, alone, was barely conscious…and he wasn’t going to live, not much longer at least.

She stepped inside, pausing for a moment, unsure whether he was awake or asleep. Then, he spoke. “Captain Leigh…it is…good…to see…you again.” Harmon sounded as though every word caused pain, and she felt he sounded even worse than he had the day before. But he was still awake, and that was all she could hope for.

“Sir…I just wanted to tell you. We have entered Earth-2’s system, and the fleet has prevailed. They have defeated the enemy.” She paused, for a few seconds, considering lying to him about the horrendous cost. But she felt he deserved the truth. “The city has been destroyed, and we lost close to two hundred thousand people…but the others are still alive. I won’t lie to you, almost everything we have built was destroyed, and it will take years for us to get back to where we were…but we will get back.” She stressed on the last bit, and she meant it. They would get back, and they would push farther than they had gone before.

Harmon turned his head, slightly, and he smiled. “That is…wonderful…news…” He coughed, several times, and then he said, “Please…I must…speak with…Achilles…and Mariko…” His voice was low, softer than it had been before. “As…quickly…as…possible.”

She nodded, thinking for a moment about offering radio contact, but she knew Harmon meant in person…and that meant he had to wait, at least ten more hours. He had endured the trip home, made it to Earth-2’s system, and she had been hopeful he would survive, long enough, at least, to see the people he wanted to see. But now, looking at him, she found her resolve faltering, and she just wasn’t sure he would survive long enough.

She thought about trying to increase the ship’s speed, but she realized that her approach vector was as aggressive as she dared make it. He would just have to survive, to hang on long enough. She reached out, put her hand on his face. He had slipped back to his sleep, and she let him continue. He would need whatever energy he could have…soon.

*   *   *

The ship hadn’t docked in orbit. There were no more stations, no place it could dock…no choice but landing on the planet’s surface. Fortunately, it was a relatively small vessel, capable of operating in an atmosphere. At least when there was a pad to accommodate it. But this ship was coming down to nothing, landing on a flat section of natural ground, and there was some chance—a strong one perhaps—that it would wipe out, that most or all of the people aboard would die. But everyone aboard realized that there was no other option, and they all craved to land on Earth-2, no matter what awaited them.

Earth-2, everything above ground and built by man, at least, was gone. But the ship was almost out of power, and it didn’t have the resources to stay in orbit, certainly not for long enough for something to be built for its landing. It was somewhat of a miracle it had made it all the way back…and the crew was confident they could clear this last hurdle, that they could get back and connect with any family that had survived.

Achilles had thought about the landing bay in his own underground lair, the home of the ships he had fought to keep his people from taking just a couple weeks ago. But that docking bay had been damaged, something he hadn’t even known when he had gone down and urged the people not to try to use it. The likelihood of successfully launching was very poor, and had been, even when he had argued his case. He wondered how different it would have been had he been arguing that there was damage, that the ships couldn’t launch. Would it have helped…or would it have hurt, replacing his urgent words with ones that might have seemed made up. He realized it might have backfired, that they might not have believed him, and the fight for positions aboard ship would have happened…only for the victors to die in their launch attempts. He was glad he hadn’t known then, that he had just convinced them all to stay.

The chance of landing something in the underground bunker was even less than that of lifting off, almost zero. For better or worse, they would have to come down on the surface, somewhere flat. He knew it was a poor decision, but it seemed the best that was available.

He had selected a location, one relatively close to both the ruins of the city and the area where he had moved some of the people. It was flat, relatively, and the best location he could find. He looked up, aware that the ship was already on the way down, that whether or not be believed in his choice, it was already done. In just a few moments, the ship would be on the ground…one way or another.

He stared up, at the sky, looking, realizing that he would have a view of the ship as it landed. All of his people, including Callisto, had urged him to remain underground, at least until the ship came down. But he knew Harmon, better than anyone perhaps, and he was determined to be there as quickly as possible. It wasn’t logical. There was nothing material Harmon could say, nothing he could tell him of note that someone else on the ship couldn’t share. But he had worked with the man his entire life…and he just wanted to see him one more time.

To say goodbye.

He was becoming emotional, much more so that usual, and he realized that Harmon had been more than a co-worker, more than a leader. He had been a friend…and a close one. That was true even though they very well could have ended up on opposite sides of a power struggle.

He saw something, a blip in the sky. It came down, quickly, and within a minute, he could see it as the ship. It was coming in, fast but not too fast, heading for the spot he had selected for its landing. He watched, fully aware that there was nothing he could do…nothing except look and hope for the best.

The ship blasted its retro rockets, cutting its speed almost to nothing. For an instant, he thought he saw it shake, and he imagined all sorts of problems, of watching it crash and explode. But a few seconds later, he saw it come down, slowly and controlled…and make an almost perfect landing.

He stood for a moment, pondering the situation, realizing the intensity of it all. The Regent was gone, and its fleet was destroyed. There was much left to do, rebuilding the society, hunting down the Regent’s facilities…but right now, this instant, there was only one thing to do, and one alone.

He had to go and see Harmon…and he had to do it now.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

New Victory Plain

Sixty Kilometers East of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 04.25.63

Achilles stood on the plain, looked out at the ship. He had already decided to build the new city, the center of future Earth-2 society, there. It was only sixty kilometers from the destroyed metropolis, and he knew there would be less cleanup required somewhere farther away. But he had decided that it would impress the people more, that it would feed their views of their victory—and whatever the cost, it was a victory—if they rebuilt as close as possible to their old home. But now, none of that was on his mind. He had sent for Mariko, and he was walking now, alone, to the ship. He had to see Max Harmon, one more time. He didn’t suspect that his friend had anything particularly useful to say to him, anything that would impact the almost unimaginable amount of work he had ahead of him, but he just wanted to speak with him, one last time.

He reached the ship, returning greetings from the crew, the people who had saved Earth-2 even more than the thousands who had served—and died—aboard its fleet. He was struck by how few of them there were, but then he realized that not many more had survived from the war fleet. He was still awaiting the final tallies from there, but at least eighty percent of the warriors had died, and if Harmon’s force had suffered ninety percent, well his mission had been even more desperate than the defense of Earth-2.

He climbed inside, and he made his way to the sickbay. He had known that Harmon was in terrible shape, that he had been close to death, but the last message he had received suggested that he would never leave the ship, that he would die soon, in a matter of hours.

He walked into sickbay, and he looked around. The beds were all full, and there were at least as many wounded on the floor or in chairs. But his eyes fixed almost immediately on a door, and he moved toward it.

“Achilles…” The sound wasn’t familiar, but he realized that was one side effect of only having only one name…and no formal title. There was nothing else to call him, whether you were his best friend, or just another spacer wanting to report something. But he ascertained who it was almost immediately.

“Captain Leigh…I can’t say how much we all owe you. Your success in a mission most considered impossible, cannot be spoken of with high enough regard.” His voice was sincere, and while he wouldn’t quite admit that he had been one of those who didn’t really believe there was much chance, he acknowledged it to himself.

“Thank you, Achilles…but I think you’d better hurry.” She clearly knew why he was here, and the expression on her face told him all he needed to know. “Very well, Captain. I sent for Mariko, his wife. Might you look for her, and admit her when she arrives?”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded respectfully. Achilles didn’t know what Leigh’s opinions were, politically, or specifically about the Mules. But she was respectful enough, and he was sure that all of them, Mules included, would rethink their viewpoints now, at least for a while. He knew the troubles would return when the new city was built, and when a new fleet was launched, but he figured that would give him a least five years, and maybe ten, and that was enough time for…everything he had to do. But right now, he had come to see his friend.

He had come to say goodbye.

He stepped forward, waiting for just a few seconds before he touched the button, and opened the door. He stepped inside, and for an instant he was afraid he was too late, that his friend was already dead. But then he heard the sounds of breath, and an instant later, “Achilles…it…is…good to…see you…my friend.” The words were soft, barely audible.

“Max…I can’t believe your mission was a success. You were right, all along.”

Harmon looked over at him, turning his head, though it clearly hurt. “Our people…will…survive…” He paused for a moment, and then he continued, “And…you will…succeed…me.” He coughed, three times, and then he sucked in a shallow breath.

Achilles heard what his friend had said, and he was simultaneously surprised and…not surprised. “We will have to see what happens. I’m afraid we are very disordered right now, but…” He had been trying to come up with something to say, but Harmon interrupted him.

“Come on…don’t…lie to…me…” He turned his head slightly more, staring right at Achilles. “You know…you will…rule…and so…do I. The…people want a…say…but right…now…we need…a firm…authority.”

Achilles stared back at Harmon, unsure for a minute what to do. Finally, he just nodded, and said, “I hope I can do as good a job as you did.”

“You…will do…better…” Harmon moaned softly, and it was clear he was in pain. “Achilles…I wish…we had…time to…do…more, to…discuss what…you were…going…to…do. But all…I will…say…is…” He struggled for a moment, and then he continued, “…do what…you feel…is…right. You…are a…Mule, but…you care about…everyone…I am…sure of…that.”

Harmon turned away again, and he went silent. It was clear he had said what he had wanted to, and it was clear he knew he didn’t have much time for more.

Achilles sat, silent, surprised at the clarity of Harmon, despite his weakness, and the obviousness that he was going to die, very soon. He was still silent as he heard the sound of Mariko approaching, and he didn’t want to take any time from them.

“Max…you have been an astounding human being, even if I—and everyone else—has been too foolish, too self-centered to realize it. I promise you, I will do whatever is possible to lead the people—your people—whether Mule or Tank or regular humans…and I will see that your memory is preserved, that all who objected to you, who didn’t understand the reasons you clung to power, learn the truth.”

“That is…only…the partial…truth. I…clung to…power for…that purpose…but also…also…because I…had to…I wanted to.” Harmon’s voice was still soft, though it had grown a bit louder for the last part. And Achilles could hear his friend was on the verge of tears.

“What I said is the truth, Max…and it is the truth everyone will hear. You are a hero…and that is what your people will hear, from me, and whomever follows me.” He was silent for a moment, but he knew Mariko was waiting. “Goodbye, Max.” It was all he could think to say, and he ached more at his friend’s imminent death than he had imagined.

“Goodbye…Achilles…”

He turned and nodded at Mariko, who had clearly been crying. Her two daughters—Max’s as well—stood behind her, silently standing, looking like they were barely holding it together.

Achilles walked out of the room, nodding silently as she stepped inside. He paused outside the door…and he closed it, leaving Max and his wife and daughters to have a few moments to themselves.

A last few.

*   *   *

Achilles turned and looked out at the small group he had assembled. There were several Mules, his own closest compatriots, but he had also ensured that there were Tanks and regular humans present as well. He had reminded himself to always include all of the personality types, whether he was or was not curious what they had to say. That sounded cold, perhaps, but he realized that the Mules were going to be right, if not all of the time, in almost every instance. But he could at least pretend to listen to the others, to consider their opinions more seriously than he had in the past. That, at least, would make things easier, at least for a while.

The purpose of the meeting today, however, the reason he had invited the people, had nothing to do with the future. It was to bid farewell to a friend. Max Harmon had died the day before, after speaking to him, and talking with Mariko…and it had hit him hard, much harder than he had expected. He had always liked Harmon, even when he had disagreed with him…but now that he really considered things, he realized that his friend had been wise, very wise. He wasn’t a Mule, of course, but Achilles realized that he had run things about as well as could be expected…even as well as he, himself, could have managed.

“I want to thank you all for coming. I know our society is a mess, that we have to rebuild almost everything…but we do have sufficient food stores and other necessities, and they have mostly endured the fight in the various depositories. Assuming our opinions on the Regent are correct, that its subordinates are restricted from taking any independent action, we will ultimately reign supreme. That will take years, to rebuild our homes and our fleet, and even longer to hunt out every planet the Regent had built on, and to destroy it. But our ultimate victory is all but assured, and I will say that the credit for this, while it goes in part to everyone who fought, who built arms, who survived in the bunkers—and who died there—is most of all for Max Harmon. Our leader for essentially our entire time here on Earth-2, he had generated distrust, even hatred, among the population, but I will say this…he led us well, and to ultimate victory. So, before we go any further, whether you always supported him, or whether you were pulled into disliking him, even plotting against him, raise your glasses now, and drink to him. Whatever his faults, whatever his limitations, he brought us through a fight that lasted decades…a fight that claimed him in the final battle. And I am not sure anyone else could have done it.”

He meant every word he said, and he was sure many of those present, most probably, agreed, at least on some level. At least all of them grabbed their glasses and raised them before drinking.

He sat silently for a moment, peering out at the attendees. He legitimately wanted to pay tribute to Harmon, but he found it impossible not to move forward, at least a little. He suspected that the population was currently battered enough that they would accept him as their leader—especially since the Mules controlled most of the automation, and even the food, that remained. But he was concerned, not so much about six months in the future as six years. He was determined to maintain full control, but to at least appear to share power with the others.

He looked around the table, saw his closest confidantes. Callisto, of course, and Themistocles…and Freya, who had once been his opponent, but who now basically followed his every word. And Theseus, as well, the closest thing to a leader among the younger Mules, and almost an enemy, or at least an opponent. Achilles was sure he would argue at times, object to his efforts to make the others feel that they were an important part of the government machine…but he was fairly certain he could handle him.

He turned, his eyes moving to H2. He sympathized with him, mostly a Mule, but not quite. He knew H2 had long suffered from distractions, from an uncertainty whom he should support. But his close associates among the regular humans were all very old, and they would be gone in the next ten or twenty years. Achilles didn’t know whether the Mules, and H2, were immortal, or whether they just had long lifespans, but he was almost sure they would live for hundreds of years, if not thousands. And he assumed that once H2’s human friends died, he would move closer to the Mules. He was not quite as capable, perhaps, but he was vastly superior to the regular humans. He decided he would intervene if necessary, make a place for him among the Mules.

Then he saw Mariko. He had always been fond of Harmon’s wife, and he had sympathized with their troubles. He was glad she had made it to see him, and though he had given them total privacy, he was fairly sure they had made up. She was sad, very sad, and he told himself not to forget about her, to provide her some kind of comfort in her waning days.

He turned again and saw Hieronymus Cutter and Ana Zhukov. The two creators of the Mules, the only humans every one of them respected utterly, were also old. Achilles knew they would die, perhaps in ten years, certainly in 25 or 30…and they would decline rapidly, their immense abilities fading as age took them. He found it hard to adapt to accepting the extremely limited life span of regular humans, especially those few that were truly important to him. Cutter and Zhukov weren’t even part of their own race to him. They were special…but soon enough they would be gone. Worse, perhaps, Connor Frasier had been killed in the battle, trying to evacuate survivors from one of the shelters. Cutter hadn’t known Ana’s husband all that well, but he could see in her eyes the pain he knew would never go away.

There were other losses, besides Harmon and Frasier. Devin Cameron had died as well, leading the Marines in their efforts to protect the people of the city, to help them survive. And, of course, Nicki Frette was not the last on his list, not even close. She had shared his control over things, and though her death in the battle actually simplified his first steps…he still wished she had survived.

He looked out over the table, realizing it had been a long time since he had said anything. His mind had devolved into thinking of those present—and those not there. But now, he stood up, and he raised his glass again. “I think Max Harmon would have done this, would have wanted it done, even in a get together for him. To the future, a time we will have, that we very nearly didn’t. A time we will always owe to Max Harmon…and to the thousands of others who gave their lives, in this battle, and in the ones preceding it.”

He took his glass to his lips, and he drained it…and everyone else did the same.

Epilogue One

Cutter Research Compound II (Home of the Mules)

Twelve Kilometers East of New Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 07.10.248

“Have you told any of them yet, Achilles?” Callisto moved into the room, as quietly as ever. Achilles had been deep into his work, but she hadn’t surprised him, not this time.

“No…not yet. I expect half, maybe more, of them will be thrilled. We have managed society as well as we could, but many of the Norms still resent us, even so many years later. Still, I figured it makes sense to wait. We still have our own preparations to complete, and I figured there was no point in upsetting things any sooner than we have to. The transit point is almost active again, and in a month, perhaps a bit less, our people will be able to venture through, to rejoin their long lost cousins. That is exciting—and dangerous—even without us. I have been working on creating a class of the Norms that can lead. We have ruled them for 185 years, and despite some problems, we have done well. But it has become clear to me that our system does not work, at least not eternally. I have kept many of our advancements secret, introduced them only at a speed I feel the Norms can handle, but still, it has been difficult. With our own numbers fixed, for almost one hundred fifty years, we have gone from a small minority to a tiny elite. I do not believe that will end well, if not in the next fifty years, in a hundred, or five hundred, when we are an even smaller segment of their population.”

Callisto nodded. “You know I agree. A hundred eighty-five years ago, I believed differently, that humanity under us would excel…and it has, to a point. But we are rapidly approaching that time. We must separate. If we had more of the First Imperium’s genetic material, the ability to create many more of us, perhaps it would be different. But with sixty-four thousand of us…next to nearly half a billion Norms…it cannot last. By sheer power, we might be able to endure, to maintain control for a considerable time…but to what end? And what if there are untold billions beyond the gate?”

“We have all agreed, all of the Mules. The fleet will proceed through the point, they will explore what is there, what kind of human culture has survived, or prospered…while we will go out into deep space and explore. I have considered taking some humans, volunteers, with us, but I have decided against it. They can only end up as slaves, or close to it, and they will be better off with their own kind. We have plenty of automation to survive, even to prosper, on our own.”

Callisto was silent, for a few seconds. Then she said, “You do realize, there will be Norms that want to go with us, rather than stay here or go back to the old humanity.”

“Yes, I do…that is one reason I haven’t told any of them. We can leave, and some will be surprised, even upset. But they will get over it. I have been considering this, as you know, for a long while, and it is why I have fostered a group of Norms to take our place…to become the new leaders. We should have done this long ago, left the humans to their own future and blasted off into space, in search of…whatever. They don’t realize yet, that they will take command, but they will…and soon.”

“We will still watch, of course…right?” Callisto rarely didn’t know Achilles’ opinion, but on this she sounded uncertain.

“Yes…we will. But we will not interfere, not unless they expose themselves to outright destruction. We know there will be sides, wars, that the humans will fight each other endlessly…but we will not interfere, not unless it appears they will actually destroy themselves.”

“I agree…and I am curious, too, to see what we will discover out there.”

Achilles turned and smiled. “I am, too.”

*   *   *

“I wanted to wait until the last moment to announce this. As you now know, the Mules are leaving, we are heading out into space…on our own quest, searching the unknown. Your people, almost half a billion, will be rejoining with your origin, presumably billions of people, maybe even trillions. My people’s place with you is gone, and we have no further use, not in leading you. It is your future that you must pursue, and all of you, the eleven assembled here, will be the new leaders. You, Stanton, you are the descendant of Max Harmon. And you, Regina, you are descended from Connor Frasier and Ana Zhukov. I know you know the names of your ancestors, but I actually knew them…and I cannot tell you how incredible they were. How amazing you can all be as well. I realize that you have not been in charge to date, that you have followed us, but now you will take your new positions, your new authority, and rejoin the other humans. Step forward, and see what the future holds for you, even as my people do the same. In time, the Mules will just be memories, and those will grow weaker as the years pass…but everything you do, the way you exert control over your people, and the methods you utilize to reintegrate with those on the other side of the gate, will build your history. Go now, find your own way forward, even as we do.”

The assembled humans still looked surprised, even though they had known since the day before that the Mules were leaving them. It had been an operation of almost unprecedented secrecy to prepare for it, but 64,000 wasn’t really a large number of people. They would bring all kinds of equipment with them, of course, plus a fair amount of automated assistance, things they had developed but not shared…and they had constructed their entire fleet in secrecy. The main battle fleet, over ten thousand ships strong, along with every other known resource, would remain behind, under the control of the humans. They would return to their people, as the masters of over one hundred worlds and half a billion population, and whatever happened, whatever struggles, conflicts—or peaceful reunification with those beyond the gate—they could handle that themselves.

“You can take care of things, my friends, and well…you can make your own future.” He looked out for a moment, at each of them, and then he added, “As can my people.”

Epilogue Two

Super-Battleship Cutter

System DV-1122

Earth Two Date 07.10.35455

He sat down, feeling tired, even old. He was old, older than anyone had ever been, older at least than anyone save his own people, and even among them, he was the eldest, or at least on par with twenty-five others still alive from the first batch. He had wondered for years—thousands of years—whether his people were immortal, or whether they just had long lifespans. But he had aged, and now, at over 35,000 years, he was…old. All his people were.

He turned and looked out over the bridge, over all the mechanical devices in place, operating the ship, and directing the fleet. His people,64,123 at their maximum, were down to 12,411. The deaths of the others had occurred from a variety of accidents over such a long period of time, a constant reminder that dying, while long not a concern in terms of aging, would still occur, that even his…people…had a limit on their time. He had tried calculating how long it would be until they…the Mules, he recalled, though it had been a long, long time since he’d heard them called that…all died, whether by accident or by some ultimate old age, but in the end there were just too many variables.

His people had lived on a planet for a time, one where perhaps a thousand remained, but most of them had found it too difficult to stay in one place for a long time. A few hundred years was nothing, but as the time passed into millennia, his people found they were more comfortable onboard a ship…as long as they had plenty of room to themselves. He was sometimes resentful of the humans, who could work in groups for the long term. His own people found that ever more difficult, though he realized he was looking at massively different times. Perhaps the humans would tire of each other as well if they had thousands of years together.

He looked at the display, at the 3D setup that he knew existed solely for him. He was the only non-automated member of the regular crew…at least in the two thousand years since the accident that had cost Callisto’s life. His companion, his lover for more than 33,000 years was gone now, and he was even more serious than he’d been before. And more alone.

He stared at his position. He was the leader of his people, as he had been almost since birth. But that had become less than it was, as they had gone toward being more alone, less of a concerted force. He remembered the days at the beginning of his life, the adventures of working with, and sometimes against, the other humans. But he had to let them go, he knew that…and he had, mostly. The humans had gone back through the reopened warp point and engaged in a series of seemingly unending adventures…but the empire they had finally founded had lasted well beyond 10,000 years, and he had hoped it would continue.

But the reports he had received were disturbing, enough for him to come, and to call out to several other vessels. First, he had been told that the human empire was, indeed, about to fall. That alone would have upset him, but it wouldn’t have drawn him in. People had risen and fallen before, and it had not led to their destruction. If, in fact, they were going to lose much of what they had, if it would take centuries or millennia to return to the levels that had attained in their empire, than so be it. But the second report had disturbed him. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

There were reports of another force, one human…but not. That had shaken Achilles, like nothing had for his entire life. He had supervised the Mule’s existence, monitored human development, but for the first time, he faced something different than the humans. Something that sounded a lot like his own race.

This strange species had been defeated by the empire, which almost told him he didn’t have to worry about them, that they were nowhere near as strong as his own people. But the closer he looked, the more he had realized that the enemy had been small and disorganized when the empire had ejected them…but they had grown a great deal since, in a very short time. And that had struck at him, hit him hard. This enemy, less powerful individually than the Mules, perhaps, could reproduce in a manner of speaking, they could create more of themselves. That had been the goal of his own people for thousands of years, but it had proven to be pointless. Nothing had ever worked.

But if this new culture grew, if it took advantage of the fall of the empire…it could gain control of all mankind. And if that was true, he had to investigate. He had to determine whether they were acceptable, whether they were human enough…or whether they were a threat, a danger, to the humans…and perhaps even to the Mules.

He watched as his ship moved closer to the target, and he reached out, shut down the automated communications system, and activated the manual one. He was about to speak to a new species, and that required direct communication. He thought for an instant, wondered what to say. He was brilliant, the greatest intellect in known space, but it had been a long time since he had any communication that was remotely comparable.

Actually, he had never before experienced anything like this.

“Hello,” he said, realizing that his vessel would be dropping its cover when he communicated. “This is Achilles, and I wish to communicate with your senior officer. I repeat, I wish to speak with whoever is in charge.” He continued to stare, for perhaps another few seconds. Then he got his response.

The ship activated its systems, and suddenly, he knew what was about to happen. There was no response, none save a burst of energy coming toward him, a huge blast targeting his vessel.

He acted quickly, though he knew he didn’t have to do anything at all…his ship’s robots would handle it fine. The vessel vanished again, and its engines fired at full speed, moving it from the location the enemy shots were approaching.

Achilles just stood still, watching…and realizing that his own declining people had finally found a purpose, an obligation.

A war.

Books by Jay Allan

Crimson Worlds Series

(Available on Kindle Unlimited)

Marines (Crimson Worlds I)

The Cost of Victory (Crimson Worlds II)

A Little Rebellion (Crimson Worlds III)

The First Imperium (Crimson Worlds IV)

The Line Must Hold (Crimson Worlds V)

To Hell’s Heart (Crimson Worlds VI)

The Shadow Legions (Crimson Worlds VII)

Even Legends Die (Crimson Worlds VIII)

The Fall (Crimson Worlds IX)

Crimson Worlds Successors Trilogy

MERCS (Successors I)

The Prisoner of Eldaron (Successors II)

The Black Flag (Successors III)

Crimson Worlds Refugees Series

Into the Darkness (Refugees I)

Shadows of the Gods (Refugees II)

Revenge of the Ancients (Refugees III)

Winds of Vengeance (Refugees IV)

Storm of Vengeance (Refugees V)

Crusade of Vengeance (Refugees VI)

Crimson Worlds Prequels

(Available on Kindle Unlimited)

Tombstone (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)

Bitter Glory (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)

The Gates of Hell (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)

Red Team Alpha

(A New Crimson Worlds Novel)

Blood on the Stars Series

(Available on Kindle Unlimited)

Duel in the Dark (Blood on the Stars I)

Call to Arms (Blood on the Stars II)

Ruins of Empire (Blood on the Stars III)

Echoes of Glory (Blood on the Stars IV)

Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars V)

Dauntless (Blood on the Stars VI)

The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars VII)

Black Dawn (Blood on the Stars VIII)

Invasion (Blood on the Stars IX)

Nightfall (Blood on the Stars X)

The Grand Alliance (Blood on the Stars XI)

The Colossus (Blood on the Stars XII)

The Others (Blood on the Stars XIII)

The Last Stand (Blood on the Stars XIV)

Empire’s Ashes (Blood on the Stars XV)

Attack Plan Alpha (Blood on the Stars XVI)

Descent into Darkness (Blood on the Stars XVII)

Empire Reborn – Coming Soon

Andromeda Chronicles

(Blood on the Stars Adventure Series)

Andromeda Rising (Andromeda Chronicles I)

Wings of Pegasus (Andromeda Chronicles II)

Into the Badlands (Andromeda Chronicles III) – Coming Soon

Flames of Rebellion Series

(Published by Harper Voyager)

Flames of Rebellion (Flames of Rebellion I)

Rebellion’s Fury (Flames of Rebellion II)

The Far Stars Series

Shadow of Empire (Fars Stars I)

Enemy in the Dark (Far Stars II)

Funeral Games (Far Stars III)

Far Stars Legends Series

(Available on Kindle Unlimited)

Blackhawk (Far Stars Legends I)

The Wolf’s Claw (Far Stars Legends II) – Coming Soon

Portal Wars Trilogy

(Available on Kindle Unlimited)

Gehenna Dawn (Portal Wars I)

The Ten Thousand (Portal Wars II)

Homefront (Portal Wars III)

Also By Jay Allan

The Dragon’s Banner (Pendragon Chronicles I)

Join my email list
at www.jayallanbooks.com

List members get publication announcements and special bonuses throughout the year (email addresses are never shared or used for any other purpose). Please feel free to email me with any questions at jayallanwrites@gmail.com. I answer all reader emails

For all things Sci-Fi, join my interactive Reader Group here:

facebook.com/groups/JayAllanReaders

Follow me on Twitter @jayallanwrites

Follow my blog at www.jayallanwrites.com
www.jayallanbooks.com
www.crimsonworlds.com

Table of Contents

The Crimson Worlds Series

Join my email list

Notes on Earth Two Society

Earth Two Genetic Groupings

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

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Epilogue One

Epilogue Two

Books by Jay Allan