Date: 2013-05-22T18:00:00+00:00
Description: They're Back, and They want to End us. The Ca'cadasan Empire is at the gates, and they mean to destroy the human race. But we will not go quietly into the night. The saga continues, as Sean Ogden Lee Romanov finds himself the uncrowned leader of the New Terran Empire. After two thousand years the old enemy has found them, but the humans are no longer the technologically inferior species they once were. A thousand years of Empire has forged a mighty military that has never lost a war. The Ca'cadasans are still slightly ahead in tech, are much larger, and have never failed in a conquest. There i
Publisher: Catbrother Publishing

Exodus: Empires At War: Book 3

The Rising Storm

A Book of Interstellar War

By

Doug Dandridge

“Take that,” yelled the Tactical Officer, getting lock on the now straight path missile.  A laser shot out, full power, full one second duration, striking the missile dead on and exploding it in space.  Antimatter broke containment, flooding space with radiation.

“Electromag field is handling the radiation,” called out a tech on one of the ship defense boards.  “Can’t say how long that will last, ma’am.  The strain of handling the normal radiation of this place was bad enough.”

“And that radiation will only last for about thirty seconds before it all falls back into normal space,” said the Sensor Officer.

“Which really won’t do us any good,” said Mei in a whisper.  “We’ll be through the cloud in a few seconds, but the damage will be done.”

“Targeting second missile,” called out the Tactical Officer.  Laser A started cycling through its firing sequence, trying to hit the moving target.  The fully functional ship would have taken a single missile out in a moment, and only a saturation attack would have made it through.  Now it had trouble with just the one.

The second missile actually got closer to the ship before being taken out, and the radiation storm was much worse.  The electromag screens took up most of the charged particles, but allowed the neutrons through, causing more damage to the ship’s systems and to the organics within.

“Sensory skin degraded thirty-four percent,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Electromag field is at critical,” yelled the tech who was monitoring that system.  “Working at twenty-three percent of optimal.”

The next missiles came in as a pair, making it even harder to target them, especially with degraded sensor systems.  The A ring brought one missile under fire, while the much reduced B ring fired at the other.

“Fire plasma torpedo,” yelled the Captain, standing up from her seat.  “Now.”

The ship bucked slightly as it released ten tons of superheated plasma.  It moved out at point nine light, a tenth of light speed faster than the launching ship.  Its following capsule converted to energy as soon as it left Jean de Arc’s hyper field, it started to expand as soon as it left the launch tube, and a ton of it dropped out of hyperspace each second, turning it into a growing but evaporating ball.  Still, it lasted long enough to hit one of the incoming missiles, which could not figure out how to avoid an object already twenty kilometers wide at that point.  The closing speed of over point nine light shattered the missile as soon as it contacted the cloud. Antimatter hit matter plasma and released more energy, sending a flood of elementary particle into the near space.

The Captain felt the sickness come on and knew that the ship was being filled with killing radiation.  A quick check of her implant showed that she had already taken a lethal dose, but that could be corrected, if they made it out of this mess.

The second of the pair took a direct hit from ring A and exploded far enough away to do no additional damage.  Which left the last two that were coming in.  A ring tracked on one missile, missing multiple times before getting a hit.  Not enough of one to destroy, just enough to cause the missile to lose lock for a moment.  The missile reacquired, then was hit full on by another shot, blasting it out of space.

The second missile avoided the weakened B ring.  The pair of hits were too cursory and weak to do much to the missile, and it bore in to strike the ship on the upper hyperdrive projector.  The weapon was not a capital ship killer, detonating with a mere two hundred megatons of force.  The missile and three quarters of the projector went up in vapor, and the explosion ripped two hundred meters into the hull of the ship, stopped only by the underlying central capsule.

The Captain was flung to the limits of the straps holding her in her chair, her armor absorbing much of the force.  The telltale feel of a concussion rattled her mind, and she was confused for a moment, wondering what the loud warbling noise in the background meant.  She cleared her head, still nauseated from the radiation sickness, and looked around the bridge at the confused crew.

“Report,” she croaked, hoping she would get a reply.

“We’ve been hit, hard,” said the Tactical Officer.  “That last missile really knocked the shit out of us.”

“I could tell that,” said the Captain, grimacing.  “Medical.  Emergency distribution of nanites.  Now.”  She could tell that some of her nanites, probably most of them, had been knocked out by the radiation storm.  Medical would have shielded supplies, enough for the entire crew.  And they needed them now.

“Damage control,” she called out next, noting that her implant was not bringing schematic information into her mind.  “What’s the condition?”

“We have damage to all systems, across the board,” came the hazy voice of the officer in Damage Control.  “Electromag still working, but the system is straining to handle the normal radiation load.  Three quarters of our functional grabbers are down, and I’m not sure how many we can make operational.  Hangars 1 and 3 have been obliterated, as have outer decks one through fifteen in the central dorsal region.  Central Capsule B has a ruptured skin.  And Laser B is totally inoperative.”

My God, thought the Captain, putting her face in her hands.  What will the butcher’s bill be?  She looked back at the tactical plot, seeing another pair of missiles following them, and a minute back another pair.  “Get on those repairs.”

One of the missiles disappeared from the plot, and the Tactical Officer smiled. “Those following weapons are much easier to deal with,” he said.

“Captain,” called out a strained voice over the com.

“What is it, Engineer?”

Lt. Commander Jose Hernandez hesitated for a moment.  “The upper hyperprojector is completely destroyed.”

“Can it be rebuilt?” asked the Captain, afraid of the answer.

“There’s almost nothing left of the unit, Captain,” said Hernnadez.  “Rebuild is impossible.”

“It seems the other unit is keeping us in hyper,” said Mei, looking at her side viewer that showed they were still in the presence of hyperspace.

“The one unit can keep us in hyper, Captain.  That isn’t the problem.”

“So what is the problem, Engineer?” said Mei, knowing that she was missing something, and with a foggy brain not able to figure out what it was.

“It takes much more power to go in and out of hyper, ma’am,” said the Engineer, taking a deep breath before continuing.  “We have enough projector power to maintain ourselves in hyper.  But we cannot leave, except by catastrophic translation.”

“Oh,” said the Captain, the predicament finally getting through to her.  “And how long can we maintain our presence in hyper IV.  I’m assuming it isn’t indefinite.”

“No, ma’am,” said the Engineer.  “We have enough antimatter to maintain ourselves in hyper for two weeks and two days.  After that there’s nothing we can do to prevent our dropping back into normal space.”

And we won’t survive another trip like that, thought the Captain.  That first was a once in a lifetime chance, and we don’t get a second.

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to writer Jerry Pournelle.  Your vision of future warfare captured my imagination, both in the manner in which it pointed out what would be change, but also in what would stay the same.  The warriors would be much as they always were, despite the changes in technology, and even the changes in their own genetics.  They would remain human, with all the strengths and weaknesses that entailed.  Thank you for your vision.

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

Follow my Blog at http://dougdandridge.com

Follow me at
@BrotherofCats

Copyright © 2013 Doug Dandridge

All rights reserved.

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

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

Acknowledgements:  I would like to thank all of my fans, especially those who sent emails or commented on blogs about how much they enjoyed the first two books of this series.  Your kind words gave me the impetus to continue through the not so kind words left in some reviews.  And special thanks to John Engelman, who helped with the proofing of this book.  The lack of many errors was due to his diligence, and any mistakes that remain are my fault entirely.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Doug Dandridge’s Author Page at Amazon

Science Fiction

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

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

The Deep Dark Well Series

The Deep Dark Well

To Well and Back

Deeper and Darker (coming Summer/Fall 2013)

Others

The Shadows of the Multiverse

Diamonds in the Sand

The Scorpion

Afterlife

We Are Death, Come for You

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

Others

The Hunger

Daemon

Aura

Sign up for my Newsletter at Mailchimp to receive news about upcoming projects, releases and promotions.

Cast of Characters

The Capital

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

Field Marshal Betty Parker:  Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps

Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri:  Army Chief of Staff.

Jakobe McGregor:  Director Imperial Investigation Bureau.

Countess Judy Decker. Sergeant of Arms of the Lords

Count Hector Romanov Sutter. Third Cousin to the Emperor

Commander Zhen Yin. former naval commando and adjutant to Admiral Lenkowski.

Interim Prime Minister Theo Streeter: Duke of Coventry.

HIMS Joan de Arc (HBC 2984)

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

Commander Xavier Jackson:  XO.

Lt. Commander Jose Hernandez: Assistant Chief Engineer and acting Chief Engineer.

Prince Sean Ogden Lee Romanov:  Born Year 971 (29 years old).  Fifth child and the third son of the Emperor Augustine Romanov, Heir to the Throne of Empire.

Lieutenant Lance Tucker:  Former sergeant and Officer in Charge of the Heir’s Security Detail.

Gunnery Sergeant Gertrude Johanson: Former private and Senior Sergeant of the Heir’s Security Detail.

HIMS Johann Peterson (DD 26575)/

Dot McArthur, DDF 63587

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

Ensign Lasardo:  tactical officer

HIMS Seastag (Stealth/Attack 421)

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

Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic.  Tactical

Vice Admiral Sheila Mtwambe: the head of the Silent Service, as they were called, at least for Sector IV.

The Donut

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

Jimmy Chung: IIA Agent in Charge, Donut.

Captain Matthew Callahan: Fleet Intelligence Officer on the Donut.

Sestius IV, F2 Star

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

Katlyn Walborski:  Cornelius’ wife.

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

Captain Glen McKinnon:  Captain Imperial Marine Corps.

Senior Sergeant Hogan:  Imperial Marine Corps NCO.

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

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

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

Colonel Walther Jodel, The Preacher:  Former Special Ops Officer, retired to Sestius.

Conundrum III: Sector Four HQ.

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

Commodore Blake Griffith: battleship squadron commander.  HIMS Smaug.

Commodore Jacqueline Murphy: the commander of the superbattleship squadron.

Commodore Blanca Gomez: Sector Four Fleet Intelligence Officer.

Rear Admiral Joshua Peritelli: Commander Hyper VI Scout Force, Sector Four.

Hyper VII Scout Force, Sector Four.

Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery.  Commander, Hyper VII Scout Force, Sector Four.

Captain Josia Greenefield. Flag Captain of Scout Force.

Captain Broderick Stafford. Captain of Scout Force Flagship Sir Galahad.

Commodore Conridus Basingee.  Task Group Commander, Scout Force Four.

Lt. Commander Samantha Ogden Lee. Flag Com Officer, Scout Force Four, and cousin to Sean.

Ca’cadasans

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

Group leader Thiaxoquillana: Ca'cadasan cruiser group leader

Admiral Hresstilokahaz: leader of Ca'cadasan relief force to Sestius.

Brigade Leader of Ground Forces Groptalangolar:  Commander of Ca’cadasan Ground Forces on Sestius.

Officer of Scouts Hrenderixilix:  Scout Platoon Leader, Sestius.

Elysium

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

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

Brigadier General Connie Contovy:  Military Attaché to the Embassy.

Gertrude Bauman:  IIA Station Chief.

Others

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

Chief Petty Officer First Jana Gorbachev:  Chief of Laser Ring B, BB Sergiov, now prisoner of Ca’cadasans.

Timeline

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

2160 AD:  Alpha Centauri B4 colony established.

2173 AD:  Tau Ceti III colony established.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4261 AD (Year 1000):  Empire celebrates 1000 years of existence and growth.  January 1, 1000 local Galactic calendar.

March 15th, 4256, Ca’cadasan invasion of Empire begins in earnest with the attack on Sestius and Massadara.

Prologue

What we wish, we readily believe, and what we ourselves think, we imagine others think also.  Julius Caesar

PLANET JEWEL ORBIT AND CAPITULUM, CAPITAL CITY OF THE NEW TERRAN EMPIRE, MARCH 18TH, 1000 STANDARD CALENDER.

High Fleet Admiral Sir Gabriel Len Lenkowski, Chief of Naval Operations, sat at his desk in the shipboard office, seemingly looking out over the huge park that stretched to the north of Imperial Naval Headquarters.  Seemingly in that this was only a holographic projection on the wall of the office.  Seemingly in that the High Admiral was really at feverish work within his mind, tapped into the databanks of the Super-battleship Valkyrie.  These were in turn capable of tapping into every military and governmental database in the Capital City below, which meant that most of the information known to man was at his mental fingertips.

He gazed out over the maples and oaks in the park, their leaves rippling in the breeze coming off the bay a half dozen kilometers distant.  From his height in the imaginary building on the hill he could see the miniature sails of larger pleasure vessels upon that water.  He sighed as he looked at those ships, thinking back to his history lessons, learned so earnestly in the Academy so many years ago.

In some ways we are no more advanced than they were in the days of sail, he thought, his mind turning inward.  Oh, we can travel almost infinitely faster, but the distances are almost infinitely greater as well.  And just like the frigate captains of old, the men who commanded the pickets of the fleet were powers unto themselves.  They had no way of knowing when they entered a system and saw an alien ship ahead if it was friend or foe.  Or if their actions might make it one or the other.  They had to be on their toes, but not too provocative.  And directions from headquarters might take months to reach them, on the closest approaching ship, whose orders might also be out of date.  Many times it was months before ships on patrols to the less densely populated regions were known to be missing.  It might be many more months before they were discovered, if at all.

I don’t even know all of my admirals, much less my captains, thought the man as he scrolled through the personnel lists in his mind.  Oh, he could bring up their names, as well as a dossier on every man and woman in the fleet.  But he truly didn’t know them.  He wouldn’t even think to look at them unless someone further down the chain tagged them for his attention.  So he was more insulated from the men who actually fought for the Empire than any leader in history.

The High Fleet Admiral dismissed the thought from his mind as he concentrated on the most important sector of the Empire at this moment.  The sector that was under assault by the ancient enemy, returned to attack the human race once again.  All he knew right now was the information that had been sent to sector command over the series of hyperlinks that were this era’s equivalent to telegraph lines strung between the colonies.  And the return reply of the sector commander with his dispositions.  And really nothing else, except that the new Emperor of Terra was aboard one of the warships that was likely to meet the enemy.  And that the young man didn’t know he was Emperor yet.  And maybe never would, if he died in combat.

We have to make sure that doesn’t happen, thought the CNO, looking back into his office.  But how?  The CNO buried his face in his hands for a moment as he agonized over the situation.  The new Emperor in waiting was a very young man.  But he was a young gentleman of the Fleet, who had undergone fleet training and a deployment to a warship.  The next in line, a distant cousin, had none of the training that the military instilled in their young ladies and gentlemen.  The military’s sense of honor and duty.  And from what the High Admiral had heard, the man was a fop who was beholden to several members of the Imperial House of Lords.

“We’ve just received a message from Sector 12 HQ,” came a voice over the intercom.  “I think you will want to see it before we upload it into the databanks.”

“On my way,” said the Admiral, slapping his hand on his desk and hoping the news was something that would allow him some action.  Because no matter how long it had been since he had been at the spear point of the fleet, it was still hard to sit and wait, while others took the action that caused a win or a loss.

*     *     *

“What a fricken mess,” said Capital Police Lieutenant Ishuhi Rykio as he walked into the room.  It was definitely a murder, though there was no body in evidence.  But then bodies tended to disappear when subjected to large amounts of laser energy.  All that was left of this one was the fine ash that was the remains of bones, and the vapor that had been whisked from the room by the house’s environmental controls.

“So, what do you have, Robbie?” he asked the forensics man who was kneeling down and looking at some diagnostic equipment.

“Definitely someone wanted whomever they vaporized to be gone,” said the forensics man.  “Same with the house staff.  There had to have been a couple of perps for them to do this and get out before rescue arrived.”

Especially in a high security neighborhood like this, thought the detective, shaking his head.  This was a Lord’s house, for God’s sake.  Nothing short of a warship’s laser batteries would have been able to get through the roof or walls.  And no one could have brought a weapon in, unless he was authorized by the homeowner to do so.

“Military class laser?” he asked, looking around the room and visualizing what must have happened.  The plastics and some of the metals in the room were partially melted.  All of the rugs and tapestries, which in all modern dwellings were fire resistant to the point of being virtually fireproof, were gone, burned to ash.  The walls and ceiling had a scorched look.

“Definitely,” said Robbie, nodding to the small smudge of ash where the victim had been standing.  “Powerful enough to vaporize the victim and leave no genetic trace.”

“Crap,” cursed the detective under his breath.  They might have a real case here, involving an important member of the House of Lords.  In fact, Grand Duke Carlos Maldonado of New Spain, while not the highest ranking Noble on the planet by any means, was one of the senior members of the Lords, the leader of the Brotherhood Party.  And they couldn’t even be sure if he was one of the victims in this house.  The Lords had many privileges, and being able to move around without monitoring was one of them.

“Yeah, crap,” agreed Robbie, looking up from his viewer.  “Hey, make sure you spray that wall.”

The officer Robbie had yelled out to waved and started spraying down the wall with nanites. They would investigate anything on and in the wall, sending their findings back to Robbie.

“We have no suspect,” said Robbie.  “The room was basically burned of any kind of organic substance as far as we can tell.  So no DNA or other markers to identify the murderer.  No footprints on the carpet, carpet’s gone.  And the halls around here have so many scuff marks through the day it will be one hell of a bitch to identify anything not supposed to be there.”

“Why couldn’t he have used a nice, normal KE weapon?” asked the detective.  “Then we could just take out the slug.  Or even a civilian version of a laser.”

“Because he was a professional,” said Robbie, arching an eyebrow.  “Same reason no alarms went off on house or weapon during its use.”

Ishuhi nodded and looked around the room again.  Of course an assassin would make sure that any weapon he used had no alarm function, making it illegal as hell.  Any normal killing with a civilian and even most military weapons would cause a signal to be sent to the nearest police station.  And of course an assassin, or even just a murderer, wouldn’t really care if what he or she was using was illegal.

“The whole room must have been filled with steam, ash and fire,” he said to Robbie.

The forensic investigator turned his head, his eyebrow arching as he nodded.  “Your point.”

“The assassin must have been wearing some protective gear if he didn’t want to be burned or scalded.  Maybe that’s something we can look into.”

“In a city of three billion people,” said Robbie with a laugh.  “On a planet with over fourteen billion.  Yeah, we can look for that.  But I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for an answer.”

“No,” said Ishuhi, nodding as he reached for his secure communicator.  “No, but I just thought of something.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” said Robbie as Ishuhi linked to the Ministry of Defense computer to see if he could gather any information, and ran into a secure firewall that wouldn’t recognize his clearance.

Now that’s interesting, he thought.  He looked over at Robbie.  “Just that this is the second high profile political murder in less than a week, in a city that normally doesn’t see more than one a decade.

*     *     *

MASSADARA SYSTEM, 100 LIGHT YEARS FROM THE OUTER IMPERIAL BORDER OF SECTOR FOUR.

Captain Bryce Suttler stared at the viewer as it brought the scene from light hours away into the bridge with crystal clarity.  Resolution was not a problem.  He wished it were in real time, but the laws of physics must be obeyed.  At least for now, he thought, remembering the briefings he had received on the up and coming wormhole technologies before he took command of Sea Stag.  There were a lot of things on the drawing board that excited the R & D people.  But the drawing board was not the here and now.

Sea Stag sat just inside the hyper limit of Massadara, grabbers powered down, her stealth skin absorbing all radiation that might give her away to prying eyes.  Heat had always been the problem with stealth operations.  Space vehicles tended to radiate like small stars when they were going about their business.  Several solutions had been tried in the past to get rid of waste heat in a surreptitious manner.  Some had worked, after a fashion, such as converting heat to microwaves and beaming them away from the enemy.  Until that enemy blundered upon the beam and the game was up.  Small holes to hyper had also worked to a point, but limited a stealth ship to the outer reaches of most solar systems.

The wormhole in the center of the ship was still disturbing in some ways to captain and crew.  It messed with the mind to look at it, even if it measured less than a meter in diameter.  It just looked wrong, sitting there in its frame of negative matter, suspended in the air in magnetic fields. Various wires and conduits passed into it, and across the almost infinite distance of space to its point of origin.  The main conduit passed almost all of the waste heat and other radiative energies of the ship back to an absorbing station, rendering Sea Stag almost totally invisible at anything but right on top of it range.  That invisibility aided the ship in its two primary functions.  It had fulfilled one of those functions during the battle for this system, destroying one alien destroyer, and seriously damaging another, striking out of nowhere with lasers and missiles.  And being in on the destruction of an enemy battleship, along with the battle cruiser that had been carrying the Heir who was to be Emperor.  The dream of every stealth/attack ship, to take out a capital vessel.  Now it was fulfilling its other primary function, spying on that same enemy as they went about occupying the system they had just conquered.

“Hope this gives them some idea of what we’re facing,” said the exec over the circuit from his station in CIC.

“I just wish the feed were going to sector HQ, instead of the home system,” said the Captain, watching the seemingly tiny shapes of the alien ships swing in orbit around the planet.  A planet that had been a human possession up to a couple of days before.  “It’s all well and good that home gets the information, but sector could act on it faster.”

“Something really big is moving up through hyper VII, sir,” came the voice of the sensor tech over the link.

“Another one of their super-battleships?” asked the Captain, calling up the sine wave graph of hyper signals.  They were all over the place, showing the local hyperspace a swarm of enemy activity.  Activity that made it too hot for the Sea Stag to attempt to leave the area.  And one wave was really huge, like a tsunami among regular combers.

“I think we’re about to see something new,” said the Captain over the general link.  “All crew, remain on alert.”

“And here we are with only two missiles,” said the Exec with a groan.

Only two is right, thought the Captain, shaking his head.  The Sea Stag was not a large ship, only about destroyer size at two hundred thousand tons.  She carried thirty ship killer missiles when fully loaded out.  Almost all of those had been expended in the battle three days before.  And though the planners were talking about using the wormholes for resupply, that hadn’t happened yet.  Not enough to even dent that thing, unless we fire them from far enough away that they can build to relativistic speeds.  And something that big will probably have a lot of protection.

The Captain drove the new arrival from his mind and focused back on the system.  Several of the huge alien ships that had been dubbed super-battleships, though they were even larger than the human ships of that designation, were accelerating down into the system, along with the escorts that always accompanied them.  He looked back at the planet and noted the shuttles constantly boarding and leaving the ships in orbit, no doubt bringing ground forces onto the surface.  The planet itself, where he could see the day side, was partially obscured by dust.  After the terminator line, on the night side, patches on the continent glowed with heat from the bombardment that had taken out installations and facilities, and maybe some of the cities that had been growing on the frontier world.

So much promise, he thought, looking at the scans that showed the debris in orbit that used to be space docks and forts.  So many dreams shattered.  This system had been chosen to be a major base of the Fleet here on the frontier, which guaranteed it the fast track for growth and development.  All that development’s gone, thought Suttler.  Damn them.  We’ll just have to come back here and push them out.  Make them sorry they ever followed us from old Earth.

“Sir,” came the voice of the sensor tech over the link.  “We have a revised estimate on that thing.”

“Bigger or smaller?” asked the Captain, hoping for the latter.

“Well over two hundred million tons,” said the tech, awe in his voice.  “It’s starting the step down sequence.”

Damn, thought the Captain, trying to imagine an object that big moving through hyper.  The biggest thing the Empire had that would travel through Hyper was one of the forward bases, which maxed out at sixty million tons, and traveled at the Hyper V rate of tramp freighters, at a crawl compared to modern ships.

He watched the hyper sine waves as the behemoth continued to move down, then erupted into normal space.

“Mass reading puts it at just under three hundred million tons,” called the excited sensor tech.

Suttler whistled to himself.  That was larger than the big forts used to defend the core worlds.  And it had been moving through hyper VII.

“Do you have a track on it yet?” he asked the tech.

“It’s about two light hours to spinward,” answered the man.

So two hours until we actually see it, thought the Captain.  He cursed again from impatience.  But there was nothing he could do about physics.

The two hours passed, like they always do.  A lot of information came in, not good.  There was nothing good about a successful enemy consolidating his hold on what had been a friendly system.  But information was information, and they had gathered enough signals intelligence to get a good grasp on both the enemy’s language and their security procedures.  Still, the Captain had trouble keeping his patience until the light from the new arrival reached them.

“It looks like some kind of fortress or space dock,” said the Exec over the link as they both looked at the monster on the viewer.

“Probably serves the purpose of both,” agreed the Captain.  “Look at that acceleration though.  Has to be at least three hundred gravities.”

“We already know their inertial compensators are better than ours,” said the Exec in a low voice.  “Probably everything they have is better.  Doesn’t seem to be as far advanced as we expected.  We’ve almost caught up in the time since last contact.”

“I wish they had waited another twenty years then,” said the Captain with a shrug.  “Even ten.  Then they might have been surprised.”  We can still fight them, thought Suttler.  Like World War I battleships fighting their World War II equivalents.  We just have to bring a lot more tonnage to the party, when they possess that advantage as well.

“I think they already were surprised, sir,” said the Exec.  “I don’t think they expected the fight they got here.”  He highlighted some of the knocked out alien ships, drifting through space, intermingled with the wreckage of the Imperial force that had died here.

“Agreed,” said the Captain, who switched to another part of the link.  “Get the entire take through the wormhole,” he said to the com tech.

Now we just continue to wait, he thought, wondering when the enemy would get around to noticing them.

Chapter One

Death waits for no man, or woman.  We are not promised the days of our lives.  Medical science tells us we will live over two hundred years, many people three hundred or more.  No matter how hard we try we cannot extend the human life span past that, without the use of cloning or mind transfer.  And what shows up then is not really what we would call human, though it possesses a mind and body.  Death waits for no man, and even medical science cannot keep death at bay forever.  Or in many cases even for very long, for we still live in a dangerous Universe, a fact that is forgotten by the many people who live on the supposedly safe surfaces of civilized planets, not knowing that things can appear from the heavens and render that supposed safety the illusion it really is.

Speech by Emperor Augustine I to Parliament, prior to New Year’s Eve, December 31st, 999.

MARCH 18TH, 1000.  SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM SYSTEMS.

Petty Officer Gabriella Martinez sat in the sensory compartment, on the early morning watch, her awareness almost totally taken up by the equipment she was linked with.  This was considered boring duty on a boring watch.  Gabriella considered New Madrid, one of the core worlds of the Empire and her home, boring.  This was the adventure she had signed up for.  The adventure of the Imperial Navy, guarding the space of the Empire within and without.

Sitting in the sensor room, linked into the ship and scanning all the equipment, still left a part of her mind free.  She thought about how far she had come in the service, and the goals she had before her.  Possibly officer school.  She was, after all, good at what she did.  She had originally wanted to serve on one of the big capital ships, a battleship or battle cruiser. The service had thought otherwise.  They thought that the smaller scouting vessels needed talented operators even more than the big battle line ships.  And so she had ended up on a Frigate, not even one of the newest of that class.  But the adventures had been as promised, between the long stretches of boredom.  She had seen things she never would have imagined.  She had been in on hunts for pirates and alien spies that had brought her, the eyes of the ship, to the forefront.  And now she got to sit in the large cubical staring into the space around her, and trying to pick up the faintest signal that might mean something.

HMS Freeport massed a little bit over ninety thousand tons, with a crew of two hundred and thirty, including her twenty man marine detachment.  Her weapons would not make her much of a threat to any cruiser, much less a capital ship.  She carried half a dozen antimatter warhead torpedoes, so theoretically she could destroy a battleship, with a lot of luck and some severely stupid reactions on the part of the bigger vessel.

Freeport sat between the stars at the moment, in normal space.  A G2 primary was off her bow by three light years, while a K5 sat two light years to her stern.  All of her active sensors were powered down.  She was sitting there like a dog sniffing the grass, her ultra-sensitive passives collecting any and all energies that sluiced by, sampling them and feeding the results to Gabriella.  The actual skin of the ship was the largest sensor aboard, though there were some specialized antennae and cameras.  But the nano weave outer skin was registering the impact of all energy upon it, even the neutrinos that mostly went through the ship without slowing down.

Others were watching the visual displays.  Gabriella did not even pay attention to them, because they would have distracted her from the other information that was flowing in.  The space she was aware of was made up of flashes of energy, and sounds that were translations of the energy.  It seemed like space was signing to her, the music of the spheres.  She could also pick up the faint tones of far off ships moving through hyperspace, the sounds translating into meaningful information about the size and distance of the vessel, and the dimension of hyper the ship was moving through.  There were also a lot of echoes through the ether.  Echoes that told Gabriella of great energies being released, in normal space and hyper, probably weapons of some kind, though a few of the telltales were ships translating into or out of hyper.

“PO Martinez to bridge,” she said over the com, at the same time that she was processing the raw data into something they could observe with their own eyes.

“What is it, Martinez?” came back the voice of Lieutenant JG Watts, the duty officer.  “All the noise out there giving you a meaning?”

“Yes sir,” said the petty officer, looking at the new raw data coming in, immersing herself into it.  “Something really hairy is going on to the Galactic North of us.  Sounds like some big ships beating the hell out of each other.  Then there is something that feels like an Imperial battle cruiser passing to the north on Hyper VII.  It’s booking, and there are a lot of rumblings through that dimension that indicate something else is trying to follow her.”

“Any idea what?” asked the Lt JG from the bridge.  “Do I need to wake the Captain?”

“That’s your call, sir,” said the Petty Officer as more noise washed over her.  She knew that she had talent, but trying to sift through all of this information was almost too much.  Almost.  She was determined that she would get through it, no matter what it took.  “I’m still trying to parse all the data.  But whatever it is, it doesn’t sound like someone is throwing a concert for charity.”

“OK,” said the watch officer.  “Keep close observation on anything that happens and let me know. I ’m going to get the old man up.”

“Aye sir,” said Martinez, sitting up as some new resonances made themselves known to her.  As the connection with the Exec terminated she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and allowed her stream of consciousness to become one with the energy resonances that impacted the ship.

Energies that were initiated in normal space sent resonances through all levels of hyper as the gravitons that penetrated all the membranes of space.  Even Hyper VIII, through which nothing material could pass, transmitted these resonances.  They were very faint in eight, and only lasted for an hour or so.  Since in VIII they traveled the proportional distance of over sixty-five thousand times that of normal space, they would propagate almost eight light years from their source.  From the strength of the resonances she now picked up from the hyper sensor in the resonance chamber of the ship, she could tell they were almost at that limit.

“What do you have, Martinez?” asked Captain Jerry Ishida as he entered the com circuit.  She could tell by his tone that he was still getting himself ready, but was probably already tapped into the ship’s systems.

“Hell of a battle to general galactic north of us, Skipper,”  she replied through her own link. “Something big just moved by about six or seven light years to the north.”

“Would increased sensitivity help?” asked the Skipper.

Of course it would help, thought Gabriella.  What he really meant was would it help enough to risk exposing them to an enemy.  The antennae that thrust into hyperspace was inside a vacuum bottle in the nose of the ship. It didn’t take much energy to keep the almost microscopic hole into hyper open, and that little bit of energy’s resonance wouldn’t do much to give them away.  By convention the hole was opened into hyper VI, since that was the dimension most military and fast commercial traffic moved through.  It also allowed them to communicate with other ships through hyper.  The portal itself wouldn’t remain open in a strong gravity well, like a star’s.  And it would take energy to move the opening up two dimensions into hyper VIII, or even to VII.  That energy could give Freeport away to anyone that was sitting close and quiet.  From all the noise raging through the dimensions she couldn’t imagine that happening.

“I recommend shifting the sensor up to VIII,” she said into the com link.  “I think it is little risk, since I believe we will be moving soon anyway.”

“You’re so right, PO,” said the Captain.  “As soon as we have a little better idea of what’s going on we’re going to move to the squadron commander and let her know.  Just let me know as soon as you have a good idea as to what’s happening.”

The Captain signed off the link and Gabriella waited a few moments for the sensor shift.  There was a loud burst of noise as the dimensional port moved.  It was loud mostly because it was so close.  Others would be able to pick it up, but only if they were closer than a light year and listening for just such an event.

The Universe clouded over as the signal was attenuated from the lower dimensions of hyper.  At the same time it bloomed like a flower as signal strength from the upper dimensions increased.  This was the dimension of energy.  Nothing material could survive for more than a few moments, even when protected by the bubble of space-time ships surrounded themselves in to traverse hyper.  Living things wouldn’t even survive a second.  It was within theory that there might be even higher dimensions, and some evidence of it.  But no one had been able to actually touch those higher dimensions, so they were really of only theoretical interest.

Now she could pick out more details from the resonances, much like an aficionado of the orchestra could pick out the individual instruments among hundreds.  She shuddered as she caught the resonances of matter antimatter warheads going off what must have been hours ago.  The smaller disturbances of nuclear weapons were interspersed, then the massive wave of a lot of antimatter going into a long, drawn out detonation.  Obviously a large ship blown apart, its antimatter stores exposed to matter.

“Captain,” said Martinez, tapping back into the command circuit.  “It sounds like a big battle.  I mean big, dozens of capital ships.  Hundreds of large warheads, and maybe a dozen ships, all going up.”

“Can you give me a direction,” said the Captain, tension in his voice.

“Approximately thirteen degrees by twelve degrees from Galactic North,” she said, her mind searching the data banks that she was sure others were as well.  She’d apparently gotten it first.  “Massadara would be on that heading.  There’s a fleet base there.”

“Very well,” said the Captain, his voice resigned. “Prepare to get under way.  Heading for squadron command.  We need to get this information up the line.”

Gabriella listened with her own sinking feeling, mirroring the Captain’s tone.  If they went into hyper, then everything within several light years would know where they were.  But there was no helping it.  The information was more important than they were in the scheme of things.  That was their job.  She stuck to her station and continued to listen as the ship went through powering up for hyper and making a direct jump into VI, her highest level.  After achieving the new dimension the ship boosted forward at three hundred twenty gravities, her maximum without putting everyone in the tanks.  The petty officer was happy that the order didn’t come down.  She hated it in the tanks, like most sensible people.  And it was difficult to fight a ship from within the confines of the tanks, despite the extra acceleration they allowed.

An hour into Hyper VI she picked up the tracing of two very large ships passing behind them.  On the same course as the human capital ship she had picked up earlier.

“Captain,” she transmitted, at the same time sending the raw data to the bridge repeaters.  “Something big going toward one of ours.”

“They look like they know we’re here?” asked the captain, his voice nervous.

“I don’t think so,” said the petty officer.  “Couldn’t tell for sure, but at least their profile hasn’t changed.”

“Then keep monitoring, and let me know if anything changes.”

Gabriella acknowledged and did as she was ordered.  She kept a close watch on those other contacts, but they continued on their way.  With a sigh of relief she watched them go, happy that they weren’t the target, and wondering what was so important on the ship they were following that they kept on its tail and ignored the frigate.

*     *     *

“What is the status of the followers,” said Captain Dame Mei Lei, sitting in her command chair on the bridge of the Hyper VII battle cruiser Jean de Arc.  She cast a worried glance at her precious cargo, the once High Prince Sean Romanov, who was in the guest chair to the side of hers.  Once High Prince in that the murder of his father, mother and older brothers had left him the heir to the empty throne of the Empire, and the defacto Emperor.  Until yesterday he was just another Lieutenant SG in the fleet, though a very well-known one with powerful connections.  Now he was her Commander in Chief, as well as someone that she would give every life in her small command to protect.  It was what they were all sworn to do, and the infuriating jackass wouldn’t allow them to do it.  He wanted to participate in every danger with them, like he was still a junior officer and a spare heir.

“We still have four contacts on our tail,” said the sensor tech over the com link.  “Definitions have firmed.  All are four million ton vessels.”

Four of their damned heavy cruisers, she thought with a scowl.  Two of them together were about the same mass as her vessel, and more than a match for her in firepower.  Four of them would handle the hyper VII battle cruiser with ease.  And the only help she had was the Hyper VII destroyer Dot McArthur, cruising alongside her.  I could send the destroyer at them and hope he delayed them somewhat, she thought, dismissing it as she had it.  The destroyer and its young captain had saved her and her ship the day before, when they were trying to escape the system.  And all sending him back would accomplish was his death, for probably no purpose.

“What is their closure?” she asked, still staring intently at the screen.

“They will come into known weapons range in thirty one hours, fourteen minutes,” called out the navigation officer.

“So I need to come up with a solution before then,” she said out loud, then glanced at the Emperor with an embarrassed reaction as she realized he had overheard her.

“What are you going to do, Captain?” said the young man she had outranked a week ago, who now outranked her astronomically.

“I’m not sure,” she said, thinking over the possibilities.  Her ship had been built to be a heavily armed scout, to go searching for information, to fight for it if need be.  But not to go slugging it out like a battleship.  And there were enemy battleships out here as well, somewhere.

“What was the enemy’s velocity when they came after us into hyper?” she asked her navigator.

“About point one nine nine light speed, ma’am,” answered the young man.

So they probably have similar limits for entering and exiting hyper, she thought.  Imperial ships could only enter and leave hyper at twenty percent of light or less.  That was about the limit that their hyperdrive could project an opening ahead of them.  Any faster and they would be past the opening before it was ready for their transit.  At best they would just miss it and have to try again further on down the line.  At worst, they would hit the turbulence field of the nascent opening, which could cause damage to the ship.  So the enemy couldn’t do any better it seemed. Now she just had to do the math, and see what they could pull out of their asses.

After a couple of minutes of thought Mei huffed in frustration. She couldn’t find a way out that rescued both ships under her command.  No matter what they did to slow down the enemy he would still be on their heels.  They would either continue on and catch the Imperial ships before they could transition to normal space, pounding them with weapons in passing.  Or they would slow to transition near to the pair and pound them in normal space.  Only two solutions presented themselves, and neither were what she would call attractive.

“Your majesty,” said the Captain, looking over at the Emperor.

Sean took a moment to realize he was being addressed, not surprising since he had been a Lieutenant SG the day before.  He finally realized he was being addressed and turned his attention toward the Captain with a bemused look.

“Sorry, Captain,” said Sean, a smile crossing his face.  “It will take some time getting used to that title.”

“I understand,” she said, returning the smile with a feeling of true sympathy for the young man.  She had been raised in a middle class family herself.  Her exploits in the service had earned her a small patent of nobility, a knighthood.  But it had taken several years before the mantel felt comfortable on her shoulders.  “I have several solutions, neither of which makes me happy.”

“So I’m sure they won’t make me happy either,” he said, his boyish smile looking strained on his tired face.  “So what are they?”

“One,” she said, ticking off a finger.  “We send Dot McArthur back on a suicide attack on the enemy while we try and slip away.”

“And I’m sure the Captain and crew of the destroyer would be most appreciative of that strategy,” said the Emperor, his eyes narrowing as his voice grew cold.

“Your majesty,” said the Captain, leaning over toward him.  “In your new position you will have to either order thousands, possibly millions, to their deaths, for the greater good.  Or at least for the hope of the greater good.  Or you will have to condone the actions of others who do so in your name.”

“Not something I’m looking forward to,” said Sean with a nod.  “At least I can try to distance myself from the people I have to send.”

“You can, your majesty,” said the Captain.  “I wouldn’t recommend it.  You need to know something about the people who serve you, so they are not just paper markers to be moved and removed from a map.  But let me tell you I think the first plan is not really feasible.  I don’t think the destroyer will be able to do enough to delay the enemy.  I think I would be throwing their lives away for no gain.”

“So what’s the second plan?” said Sean with a frown.  “I think I can guess.  It will have something to do with your ship.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said the Captain, feeling her face tighten at the thought.  “It would involve us falling back on our enemies and engaging them in combat, while you get away on the destroyer.  I believe that we could attract enough attention to allow Dot McArthur to fall through hyper and get out of sensor range of the enemy.”

“So the better solution is to sacrifice over ten times the crew to let me creep away,” said Sean in a loud voice.  His face reddened, and Lei knew what he was feeling.  “I forbid it.  Do you hear?  We will get out of this somehow, some other way.”

“And what way would that be, your Majesty,” said the Captain, leaning back in her chair.  She had thought this would happen.  He wouldn’t accept what had to be.  But in their current situation they were going to be caught and killed anyway, and the new Emperor of Humanity would be killed with them.  Which would allow whatever weak cousin the assassins of the Emperor and the rest of the family wanted to manipulate to be put on the throne.

“I don’t know,” said Sean Ogden Romanov, head down as he looked at the floor.  “I just don’t know.”  He looked up, tears in his eyes, but the eyes themselves the piercing orbs of his ancestors.  “I do know that I’m tired of people dying for me.”

“It’s something you had better get used to, your Highness,” said the Captain of the battle cruiser, her heart going out to the young man who had never expected this kind of responsibility.  “The men and women of the Fleet, the Marines and the Army are under oath to lay down their lives for you.  It is up to you and those you appoint to command to make sure that those lives are well spent.”

Sean sat there, nodding his head and saying nothing.  Again Mei Lei felt her heart going out to him.  He was very young.  In some years he would have worked his way up the ranks and gotten a command of his own, probably a Frigate, making him responsible for a little over two hundred people.  Then up the command rungs until he got command of a Capital ship, three thousand or more people.  Maybe a squadron command, before his birth and lineage offered him (really ordered) another position outside of the military.  And if something unfortunate happened in the succession, he might be called upon to become Emperor, with a century of command and diplomatic experience behind him, like his oldest brother nearly had when he died along with the sitting Emperor.  Instead it had all come falling down on him.  And he hadn’t even been able to assume command of the Empire he in fact commanded.  Or to mourn those who had died, family, comrades or others.  She would not have wanted to be in his shoes for anything.  Right now the command of her battle cruiser was really more than she wanted, but there was no one else to do that job, so it was hers.

“How long do I have to transfer over to the destroyer?” asked the Emperor in a little boy’s voice.

“I think about four hours,” said the Captain, going through her preliminary plan one more time in her head.  “We need to set up the situation some.  I want to be as sure as can be that we are going to fool them.  Otherwise, they will just take off after the destroyer, and we won’t have accomplished anything.”

A blur moved out of the corner of her eye, and Mei Lei found Satin sitting in her lap, purring deeply.  She looked down at the silky fur of the Himalayan and felt tears coming to her own eyes.  The cat of course didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know what danger they were in.  That was for the humans to feel, as they worried about their animal charges.

“He’s such a beautiful cat,” said Sean, looking at the animal sitting in the Captain’s lap.  “Reminds me of the cats we had around the palace.”

“You have many of them growing up?” she asked, holding onto the big male possessively.

“Dozens at least,” said the Emperor with a small smile.  “Always under foot.  Mother loved them.  Siamese, Persians, Himalayans, Havana Browns, Bengals.  Dozens and dozens of purebred cats.  I also liked the cats that lived all over the grounds.  Just plain alley cats, but all wonderful in their own right.”

“Yes they are,” said the Captain, hugging the cat close, then lowering him to the floor as he voiced his displeasure.  “Sorry, Satin.  But momma has things to do.”

“Do you want me to take him with me?” asked Sean in a quiet voice.

Mei Lei had to take a moment to make sure she had heard him right.  She looked longingly at the silky cat as he walked away, tail held high in the air in the question mark that meant cats were OK with the world.

“I would like that very much,” she said, reaching over to pat his hand.  “Keep him for me until I can return.  Or make sure he has a good home if I don’t.”

“The best,” said Sean, grasping her hand.  “The palace grounds, where he will never want for anything.”

“He will like it being outside,” she said, sniffling a moment.

“They like it wherever their humans are,” said the Emperor with a nod of his head.  “Even if it’s the deepest darkest regions of an asteroid mine.  They like being with us.”

“I have preparations to make,” she said with another sniff.  “Please excuse me, my lord.”

“Of course,” said Sean, standing and taking the captain’s hand.  He planted a kiss on the hand as he bowed.  “Thank you for all you have done for me.  And for all your about to do.”

The Captain could feel herself blushing as she nodded, smiled, and turned away.

*     *     *

Group leader Thiaxoquillana growled deep in his throat as he glared at the tactical display in the holo tank.  He couldn’t change the laws of physics, in normal or hyperspace.  The situation would resolve when it resolved.  Not the most comforting thought to an impatient member of an impatient species.

“How long till contact?” he growled at the navigator.

“Under current constraints,” said the officer, looking back with a nervous twitch in his eye.  “Eleven hours to weapons range.”

Thiaxoquillana cursed the Gods under his breath.  That word constraint said it all.  They had at least thirty gravities accel on the aliens.  They could easily catch them in four hours or less.  The problem was they couldn’t let their velocity profile get too far out of match with the enemy.  If they pursued too fast the enemy could decel and drop out of hyper, while Thiaxoquillana’s force swept by, maybe doing enough damage to cripple the enemy, maybe killing them, but not sure of either result.  By the time they were able to drop into normal space the enemy would be lost.  And his orders were to make sure they didn’t get whatever they thought was so valuable away.

“And we could be celebrating along with the rest,” he growled, sparking some fearful glances from his subordinates.  He thought of the taste of fresh meat.  He had heard that human was very good.  Instead, they were here chasing after some ships that had run from the fight.  Run for an unknown reason.  He only hoped that they could take some prisoners, so that he could stock his own larder.

*     *     *

“What do you have?” asked Commodore Blake Griffith in his New Texas drawl, walking onto the flag bridge of HIMS Smaug.  The bridge crew looked up at the squadron commander and went back to their duties.  Griffith was not much on what he considered useless frippery on his bridge.  What the captains of his ships did with their crews was their business.

“Something big went by in Hyper VII about fifteen minutes ago,” said the sensor tech, looking at the raw data coming from Smaug’s own sensory room.  “It gave off the resonances of one of those new Hyper VII battle cruisers, traveling along the galactic plane west to east at about half light speed.”

Griffith did the math in his head as the tech was talking.  So they were doing about eight thousand light relative to normal space.  But not much of a hurry, or they would have been up to eighty or ninety percent of light.  Unless they had recently started their Hyper transit.  And there was a destroyer class ship tucked in tight, traveling along with them, if that small spike meant anything.

“What came along next?” he asked, knowing that he wouldn’t have been summoned to the bridge just because an Imperial ship had been picked up in hyper.

“Just these, sir,” said the tech, as a series of colorful wave diagrams appeared in the holo tank.

Griffith had come up the ranks as a sensor officer before his first command, and prided himself on keeping up with the field.  He leaned forward in his chair, looking at four almost identical images that were like nothing he had ever seen.

“Between three and four million tons each,” said the tech, looking back at his Commodore.  “Resonances like nothing I’ve ever seen.  Same general heading as the battle cruiser, slightly higher velocity.”

“So these are chasing an Imperial battle cruiser through Hyper VII?”

“That would be my interpretation, sir,” said the tech with a nod.

“Captain Bailey,” said the Commodore over the circuit, while an image of the willowy blond officer appeared on the main screen.

“Commodore,” she said in her thrilling contralto voice.  “What are your orders, sir?”

“Are we past the hyper barrier yet?” asked the Admiral, almost kicking himself in the head when he thought about it.  Of course they had passed the hyper barrier if they were picking up this kind of information.

“We passed the Hyper I limit twenty minutes ago,” she responded deadpanned.  “We’ll be to the hyper II limit in another hour at our current rate.

“Send this order to the other ships of the squadron,” said the Commodore, looking at his com officer.  He then looked back at the Captain.  “Jump immediately to Hyper I, and to the next levels as soon as they become available.  Then the squadron will proceed in a heading directly after those ships in hyper VI, maximum acceleration to the safety limit.”

“We’ll be in six and they’ll be in seven,” admonished the Captain.  “Four times our rate of pseudo speed.”

“Only a little over half actually,” said Griffith with a nod.  “Unless they change their velocity profile.  But either way, I want to be behind them.  If they drop into normal space, or go for a system, I want us there as soon as possible.”

“Aye aye, Commodore,” said the Captain with a salute.  “We’ll do our best to get them.”

“I know you will, Constance,” he replied to the ship’s Captain who was also his flag captain.  “I just hope we can do something.”

A moment later the Smaug opened up a gate and flowed into the dimension of Hyper I.  Nearby the battleships Czar Nicolas I and Emperor Hirohito did the same.

*     *     *

MASSADARA SYSTEM.

Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M'tinisasitow gnashed his teeth again as he looked down on the world his fleet had gained.  It was a lovely world, or had been.  Now clouds of dust and smoke wafted high into the atmosphere.  Things would be cooling down on the planet for the next decade or so, until it was snowing at the equator.  Then it would swing back, and become lovely again.

“It is terrible to see such a thing,” said the high priest, looking over the Great Admiral’s shoulder.  “A living world ravaged.”

The Great Admiral knew that what he had done went against the teachings of the universal church of his people.

“Would you have rather we lost more of our own against these barbarians?” asked the Great Admiral, showing his teeth in a challenge to the priest.

“Surely not,” said the priest, keeping his own lips over his teeth.  “But a living world.”

“I did not destroy it, priest,” said the Great Admiral, himself not much into the religion of the masses, which taught that living planets were a gift from the gods to be cherished.  Not that everything on the surfaces of those planets was sacred.  Not the intelligences that sometimes infested them.

“No, but the missiles you threw at it did some severe damage,” replied the holy man.

The Great Admiral turned away, tired of the argument.  There had been a couple of massive forts in orbit around this world, which had been some kind of fleet hub to the enemy.  That and dozens of other large space structures that were thought to be dry docks and repair facilities.  He was already fighting a battle with an enemy that massed as much as his force.  And were skillful to boot.  Despite the superiority in weapons it had been a near thing.  The last thing he wanted was to assault a defended planet with damaged ships.  So he had sent ahead a few volleys of missiles that had built up to relativistic velocities on the way in.  The giant forts had some ability to maneuver, after a manner, and they were heavily armed with defensive weaponry.  Still, the missiles that got through did hit.  Pieces of destroyed ordnance and parts of missiles that had struck the forts did end up plowing into the planet, with predictable results.

The Great Admiral looked at another screen that showed one of the small cities that dotted the surface of the planet.  Large horned shapes in body armor walked the streets, two of their arms holding rifles while the others carried other devices.  They were herding smaller forms, the humans who were being rounded up for interrogation and eventual butchering.  Most of the humans moved along meekly, their faces showing the shock of the situation.  The ones we’ve captured said their empire has not suffered a major defeat to another species in hundreds of years.  Had never lost a war.  And now all of that is about the change.

The Great Admiral looked over the architecture of the city, surprised at some of the forms he was seeing.  Though behind his empire in technology (though not as much as his side had figured) the monkeys still had very creative and innovative minds . Innovative enough to defeat his Empire?  He didn’t think so.  But then the force he had fought had scared the hell out of him.

Something moved on the screen, and the view swept out to some smaller figures in hard battlesuits, firing their weapons at his own ground forces.  One of the horned figures went down, then another, while beam weapons, visible in the smoke and dust, sought out the human soldiers.  There were several explosions and the humans went down, the ground troops swarming toward them to get the bodies for the larder.  As a half dozen Ca’cadassian troops stepped over the humans some planted charges ignited, blasting the half dozen soldiers away.

“Damn,” screamed the task force commander.  “They have to stop thinking of these humans as helpless prey.  They’re predators, and damned successful ones at that.”  He saw someone entering the chamber out of the corner of an eye and turned to see a courier, dropping to one knee with his fist to chest in a salute.

“Yes,” he said to the spacer as he walked over.

“We have important news, Lord,” said the messenger, continuing to look at his feet as protocol demanded.

“And what might that be?” he asked, glaring down at the messenger who shivered under the gaze.  He growled a slight chuckle under his breath.  Killing the messenger was not unheard of in his society, and most messengers didn’t know how their news would be received.

“Several prisoners have revealed information on an important personage in the enemy fleet, my Lord,” said the messenger, holding a flimsy up for the Great admiral to take.  “We have been informed that one of the officers of the fleet was a member of the royal family of this Empire.  The son of the Emperor, in fact.”

The Great admiral thought for a moment.  It would be a real triumph for him to be able to hand the son of the enemy ruler over to the intelligence service.  But…

“Where is this son now?” he asked the messenger in a growl, feeling some satisfaction at the fear that was making the man’s limbs tremble.

“As far as we can tell he was spirited from the system,” said the messenger in a quavering voice.

The Great admiral cursed and smacked one hand into the other.  The messenger’s trembling increased, until it looked like the being would fall to the floor.

“Go,” said the Great Admiral to the messenger, confirming that the man’s fate would not end in this room.  “Tell my subcommanders to find this one, if they can.”

“And if they can’t,” said the courier in a quavering voice.

“Then I will hope that we have destroyed him already.  And if not, what can the younger son of one noble accomplish?  May he tremble in fear at what he has seen in this system.”

Chapter Two

One death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.  Joseph Stalin.

SESTIUS SYSTEM, MARCH 18TH, 1000.

The earth had stopped rumbling under foot for almost fifteen minutes.  Cornelius Walborski lifted his head above the edge of the trench he was dug into and looked out over the smoke and dust filled terrain.  No rumbling meant no kinetic weapons dropped for a while, no sympathetic tremors, no balls of fire reaching into the air.

“There they are,” came a voice over the com circuit.

Cornelius looked up to see a trio of assault shuttles moving across the sky.  Shuttles of an alien design, still under the constraints of the laws of physics and aerodynamics.  Cornelius felt the sick center of fear in his guts as he watched them heading for the main landing field in the city of Frederick, not twenty kilometers from his position.  Fear for himself, having to face whatever those shuttles contained with outdated equipment.  Fear for his wife and unborn child, hiding out in the shelter under his house.  Shelter that seemed very inadequate while facing an invasion of who knew what.

An autocannon opened up nearby, its swift burping sound cutting through the air.  A moment later a couple of missiles swooshed from the antiaircraft vehicle that was hidden from the eye.  The missiles climbed toward the shuttles while the cannon continued to fire.

The shuttles juked and jinked in the sky.  The missiles exploded as they ran into the defensive fire from the shuttles, the craft unloading a wave of spreading steel.  Most of the cannon rounds also exploded in that field, though the explosions on the nose of the nearest aircraft showed that not all were intercepted.  That shuttle nosed down, trailing smoke, to pull up at the last moment and slam in a skidding landing into the ground.  The other two shuttles moved away, getting out of range of the antiaircraft vehicle.

A whooshing sound filled the air and that vehicle, well camouflaged as it was, exploded into an incandescent ball, targeted by the ships in orbit for a kinetic barrage.  Cornelius ducked low, hoping that his position wouldn’t be next.  They hadn’t given the enemy any reason to target them yet, but spotting them would be enough.

There was another bright flare.  Walborski shielded his eyes as he stood up in the trench, looking for the source.  A small hill a couple of kilometers away had shed some of its hardened foam covering, revealing the turret of a multi thousand ton mobile shore defense gun.  A bright beam of light rose from the long laser barrel, highlighted through the dust and smoke.  Twin barrels alongside the laser recoiled back at three second intervals, sending kinetic rounds at the target.  Over the horizon another beam lanced into the sky, another unit of the mobile battery firing on the ships in orbit.

Something flashed in the sky.  Cornelius looked up, his visor polarizing against the glare.  Something had exploded well above the atmosphere, a bright pinpoint of light.  Then came the dread whooshing sounds of kinetic projectiles, coming down on the now revealed battery.  The private looked over at the closest gun, still blazing away with laser and rail guns.  Something struck the earth nearby, sending up a cloud of dust as the earth rumbled underfoot.  The four turrets of the close in defense system on the huge track opened up, each with several multiple barrel weapons putting up a cloud of metal, while metal storm barrels along the turret added their fire.

Several objects exploded above the track, maybe a kilometer high.  As soon as they flashed smaller objects hit the turret and hull of the massive vehicle, pieces of the projectiles that had been shattered higher up.  The turret clanged like a struck bell, but the weapons continued to track and fire into space.  Hundreds of small particles raised spurts of dirt around the vehicle.

“I just wish they weren’t so close to us,” said Jacob Bennett, Walborski’s only friend in the platoon, standing next to him in the trench.

Walborski looked over and gave his friend a quick grin.  “I agree.  And you know another thing I wish?”  His friend shook his head in the negative, and Cornelius’ smile widened.  “I wish we had a lot more of them.”

“Hell,” said Jacob.  “I wish we had a battle fleet in system that could have kept these assholes away from us.  That’s what I wish.”

Walborski nodded his head, then turned back to watch the slugging match between shore defenses and invading ships.  A deafening blast filled the air, and a flash of fire followed by a mushroom cloud came over the horizon.  They must have gotten one through, thought Walborski as he looked at where the other gun had been stationed.  Beams of light came down on the nearest gun, splashing and widening as they hit the massive weapon’s electromag field.  Another kinetic struck nearby, sending a mushroom into the air as the ground groaned underneath.

“Look at that,” yelled another squad member.  Walborski looked up to see several distant objects smoking through the sky. They were coming down at an angle and looked to hit dozens of kilometers from where the militiamen covered, if not further.

“I guess that will teach them,” said one of the other men.  A loud clanging sound brought them all back to reality, and Cornelius looked back at the nearest mobile gun. Something had struck the turret hard, and one of the kinetic cannons was out of action.  The rest of the hill shook for a second, then crumbled as the huge vehicle pulled forward and started to move away.  Its laser rotated down and it was obviously running for another position.  Kinetic rounds continued to come down but were knocked from the sky by the vehicle’s defensive systems.  The air shimmered over the mobile gun.  Cornelius had talked with the crew of one of the machines, so he understood that the weapon was using most of its generated energy to produce a distortion field over it.  One that the enemy would have trouble seeing through with visual, radar or any other spectrums.  To them the gun would always appear to be shimmering from place to place, displacing by hundreds of meters, never giving a firm target.  “What about a nuke, or AM warhead,” he had asked the crew chief of that gun, while the smiling officer looked on.  “I guess we’re fried then,” said the chief.  “We can just hope they don’t think we’re worth the effort.”  Obviously the enemy didn’t think they were worth the effort, or just weren’t thinking, because only kinetic rounds and light amp weapons continued to fall, and the vehicle lumbered away.

As soon as the mobile gun was over the horizon booming sounds started coming from the distant city.  Walborski looked at his fellow troopers, then back at the city, where new clouds of smoke and dust were rising.

“It will be our turn soon,” he said to himself.  “May heaven help us.”

*     *     *

“Crap,” yelled Captain Glen McKinnon, zooming in on the landing field with his suit systems.  “As if we didn’t have enough problems.”  A trio of large landing shuttles were on approach to the field, a strip near the edge of Frederick that was already swarming with Ca’cadasan troops, huge figures in battle armor that looked formidable as hell.  Colonel Baggett had set him the mission of interdicting the shuttle field, but it didn’t look too promising with all those big bodies down there, some setting a perimeter to keep the field, others starting to form up and move off the tarmac and into the city.  One of the shuttles slowed to a stop and lowered itself to the field.  Moments later a vehicle began to disembark, something that looked much like a light tank.  The other two came down on either side and started to disembark their own vehicles.

But then again that’s the enemy’s job, to make things difficult for us.  I wonder why they tend to cluster so close together, thought the Captain, a plan coming to mind.  He linked into the tactical net, looking at what assets were available.  That looks like something I can use, he thought, sending his request up the line, then sending orders to his own company while waiting for acknowledgement.  When it came the three shuttles had unloaded and were getting ready to take off, while another trio came through the clouds and started on their approach.

Approval came back from command, and McKinnon quickly set his plan in motion.  Within moments the roar of incoming rounds filled the air, and the Imperial Marines moved forward.

*    *    *

Doctor Jennifer Connelly cringed in her seat as another planetary bombardment projectile streaked out of the sky.  They had been coming down regularly since she got within visual range of one of the only three settlements the planet boasted that could be called a city.  She knew they weren’t aiming at her, because they hadn’t hit her.  As far as she could tell they didn’t even see her through all the dust that was saturating the local atmosphere.

The aircar came out of the next cloud of dust, revealing the center of the city.  Jennifer felt a wave of nausea come over her as she looked at the place where the regional medical center should be.  In its place was a large crater.  Her eyes teared up as she thought of the other doctors, nurses and other colleagues who had worked in that building.  She prayed for a moment to the God of her youth that some might have made it out.  She opened her eyes and made a decision that was risky, but might at least get her to someplace where her skills would be useful.

“Is there anyone on the net,” she subvocalized as she tried to contact the planetary data and communication web.  Static came back at her, then some faint signals which might or might not be anything.  She looked up through the top canopy of the aircar, knowing she wouldn’t see anything in orbit, but still acting on the very human reflex of looking where she wanted something to be.  Probably blew all the orbital assets out of orbit, just like the fort.  That had been one of the first things the enemy had taken out, the orbital fort that was also the space dock and command and control center for the system.

The car had a backup com system that didn’t depend on the net, something that all emergency responders were required to have on a frontier world like this.  If she used it she would be broadcasting a here I am signal.  And anyone who answered her would be doing the same.  She had second thoughts and took her hand off the controls.  There had to be somewhere she could go.  The Marine barracks, she thought.  They would find something for her to do.  And it would have to be a relief for her fiancé, the captain commanding the Marine company garrisoned here, to know that she was OK.

As soon as she made the decision she turned the aircar onto the course for the barracks, on the other side of the smoking, cratered landing field.

As she reached that field a pair of landing shuttles came roaring over.  They didn’t look like they were human construction, but they were not too far off the mark, form following function as it did.  She sped up the car, wanting to get over the field fast, dropping the car low and trying to hide in smoke.  She had almost made it to the far side of the field when something slammed into the side of the car, alarms blared, and she angled down toward the ground.

*      *     *

Brigade Leader of Ground Forces Groptalangolar looked out over the field, grunting his satisfaction.  After some initial resistance by enemy forces that could only be called inferior, his troops had captured the landing strip, and now reinforcements were coming from space to build his force to what would soon be overwhelming numbers.  He looked down at the bodies of some of the humans that lay at his feet, toeing one with a heavy armored boot.  They look like children, he thought of the smallish figures that he knew were grown adults of that race.  But then most sentients seem like children to our mighty race, he thought, his mind running through some of the slave races he was familiar with.

A shuttle landed, and a tank started to roll off the ramp extending from the back of the spacecraft.  Two more came to a soft touchdown on either side and started to disembark their armored vehicles.  As soon as I have sufficient armor I will do a pincer movement around the outside of this city, thought the Brigade Leader.  Then we will have them trapped in their warrens, these puny creatures.

“Incoming,” yelled a voice over the command circuit, at the same time that scores of objects appeared on the Brigade Leader’s HUD.  The sound of incoming ordnance soon filled the air, and every vehicle and air defense mount on the landing field was soon filling the sky with light amp weapons.  Puffs of smoke appeared in the sky, followed by the booms of exploding shells. A second wave followed the first, and the Brigade Leader prayed to the Gods that the enemy would keep firing, as his radar and fire control computers would then have a target for his own artillery.

As the last word of the prayer left his mouth objects streaked out from the surrounding buildings and aimed for the shuttles that were leaving the field.  The center shuttle seemed to attract the most attention, as a half dozen missiles struck and blasted it from the sky, to land burning on the tarmac.  The other shuttles also caught some missiles, one tilting to the side and falling into a nearby city park, the other climbing heavily upward, trailing smoke.

Antipersonnel fire also struck all over the field, while another wave of artillery and mortar rounds arced over, these from another set of weapons, while the first set ceased fire.  The Brigade Leader listened to his own artillery fire at the first set of enemy weapons, which he knew from experience were already on the move out of the target area.

“What in the name of the Gods is that,” called out a voice over the com circuit that the Brigade Leader recognized as one of his battalion commanders.  The objects appeared on his HUD almost as soon as the voice, ten streaks moving at high speed that struck at the field.  Five of them went for the newly arrived tanks, and when the blasts sounded across the tarmac two of the vehicles were burning wrecks.  The missiles were followed by a quintet of streaking aircraft that dropped cluster bombs and fired lasers and particle beams across the concentration of Ca’cadasan military might.  And then they were gone, leaving behind smashed vehicles and dead and dying soldiers.  The only good thing about them from the Brigade Leader’s standpoint was their speed had restricted the time in which they could do damage.

And then a new set of yells called over the circuit, and the Brigade Leader was soon witness to the best of the enemy tech, which was very good indeed.

*    *    *

Glen smiled as he watched the blossoming explosions high over the city, the result of enemy light amp weapons hitting the incoming artillery.  Smiled because he knew the enemy had to be thinking they had foiled the attack.  That had been followed by his own people shooting down two shuttles with infantry class antiaircraft missiles, while his heavy weapons gunners targeted the troops in the open.  And then the aircraft had roared over, or more accurately had been followed by their roar as they sped by at Mach ten.  And the field now had the confused feel of an ant’s nest kicked, hard.

“Now,” yelled Captain Glen McKinnon into the com.  “Attack.”

One hundred and eleven heavily armed and armored Imperial Marines moved forward, floating over the ground on their grabber units.  Another fifteen continued to fire their heavy lasers and particle beam weapons from their covered positions overlooking the field.  Scores of Ca’cada went down under the wrath of the heavy weapons, while more went to cover, many in positions that did not allow them to engage the charging Marines.

Glen had watched the enemy for many minutes before initiating the attack.  Observed their armored clad soldiers, and realized that the Ca’cadasan battle suits were not as good as his own.  They gave their owners greater strength, as well as very good protection.  But they lacked the levitating ability of the Imperial heavy battle armor.

The one ton Marine suits were the ultimate in Imperial land warfare infantry weapons.  They boasted heavy armor, built in electromag and stealth fields, as well as power packs and ammo stores for the weapons.  The majority of the Marines were equipped with heavy mag rifles that were more of mag cannon, able to fire a 15 millimeter round at up to twenty thousand meters a second.  Some carried auto grenade launchers, while others carried particle beam weapons.  Whatever the weapons, they soon proved their ability to penetrate the Ca’cada armor, and within seconds of the attack there were scores of dead and dying Ca’cadasan soldiers lying on the field.  More dead than dying, as the weapons of the Marines tended to cause catastrophic damage to soft tissue after penetrating hard armor.

Glen moved forward on his grabbers, trying to use what little cover there was between rushes.  The particle beam rifle in his hands spit out fast streams of protons whenever a target presented itself.  He had left behind a trio of fallen suits with smoking holes testifying to the effectiveness of the weapon.

The Ca’cadasan weapons were also powerful, as befitted massive rifles and beamers held by three meter tall sophonts in powered armor.  Glen grimaced as the icons of Marines blinked red then faded from his HUD, his men, dying under his command.  He cringed internally as his HUD showed enemy weapons reaching for him and missing, while prioritizing his targets so he could strike at the most dangerous first.

In moments his company was halfway across the field, and the enemy was falling back en mass.  Glen painted a larger than normal Ca’cada in ornate armor that seemed to be the commander of something, maybe the entire force, and called in artillery on that position. The rounds came in, this time at low level, almost a flat trajectory, and exploded around the Ca’cada commander, lifting him from the ground to land in a shattered unmoving mass.

The timer in Glen’s comp signaled that it was time.  “Retreat,” he ordered over the com, sure that they were now being targeted from space.  Seventy-one acknowledgements lit his screen.  Thirty-nine men had gone down, but they had killed, by his estimate, hundreds of the caught off guard enemy.  All now jetted their suits at maximum into the city, just before beams came out of the sky.  Some didn’t make it, victims of the warship class beam weapons.  Others were taken out by Ca’cada ground troops.  When McKinnon counted heads in the city he found that only sixty-three who had gone in and come back out, including himself.  That they had bloodied the enemy's nose counted for something.  But Glen estimated that another such battle would leave him without a command, if he were lucky enough to survive.

There wasn’t too much time for thought about the toll.  The battle was moving too fast, and the Captain soon had orders to move his men to another area of the city, to rescue some militia who had got it caught in a crack.

*     *     *

Colonel Samuel Baggett looked out over the burning city, his heart sinking.  He had known going into this defense that it was hopeless, that the best he could ask for was to bleed the enemy and gain some time.  Of course bleeding the enemy also meant bleeding his own force, and there was no way he could win the battle of attrition.

“We’re ready to move, Colonel,” came the voice of one of his company commanders over the com.

Baggett looked out over the city park that his position fronted, seeing nothing that would interfere with the completion of this operation.  He looked over at the man standing next to him in the standard medium armor of the Imperial Army.  The tough looking soldier had his faceplate raised, and was chewing on a cigar.

“What do you think, Terry?” asked the Colonel of his Sergeant Major, Terry Zacharius.

The man looked up to scan the sky.  “I wish we had more cloud cover.  Or even a better jamming net up over the city.”  The senior noncom looked over to the side of the park, where there was still heavy fighting going on among the buildings, and sighed.  “But I guess we had better move them out if we’re going to get any of them to safety.”

“Captain Zimmer,” said the Colonel into the com.  “Go ahead and move them across.”

“Moving out now,” said the slightly accented voice of the officer.

As Baggett watched the first of the medium infantry troops came from the buildings on the other side of the park and started his way.  Sure was nice to get upgraded, thought Baggett, zooming in on one of the high tech suits.  Still not in the class of what the Marines have, or the heavy infantry, but better than the light equipment we had at our last posting.  Just wish we they had given us more time to train on it.  But then, the enemy couldn’t be expected to give you time.

The Colonel tensed as the first of the other figures started across.  Civilians, caught in a trap by the advancing Ca’cadasans.  Old men, women, office workers.  He caught sight of some children being carried or pulled along by adults, their parents, teachers, or other caregivers.  There were even some women carrying babies close to their chests, and one man with a child carrier on his front.  He looked up again, praying that the eyes in the sky would not see what was going on beneath their view.  Or would ignore what to them would look like insects scurrying for cover.

The strike didn’t occur until the people were over halfway across the park.  There were hundreds of them out in the open, moving as fast as they could over the terrain that was cluttered with fallen trees and the holes made by explosive ordnance.  And then before his horrified eyes a half dozen people simply exploded into vapor and ash, gone.

Baggett screamed out into the com, trying to get the people to move, while he glanced up and saw the traces of a quartet of light amp beams, visible where they interacted with the smoke and dust.  He looked back at the people, seeing the beams sweeping into the largest concentrations of them, to vaporize the helpless civilians, here and there hitting a soldier and killing him as well.  Soon there were a score of suits lying on the ground, burst open from the pressure of their expanding contents.  Trees and shrubs were aflame, and the smoke built up over the park, causing the invisible beams of the lasers to stand out in flares of blue.

“Come on, come on,” called the Sergeant Major, his own face white with fear and anger.  They were coming on, some reaching the edge of the park and making it into the buildings on the Colonel’s side.  Soldiers moved with them, most refusing to abandon their charges, though their armor would have moved them swiftly into cover.

“I need some help here,” yelled the Colonel into the planetary net.  “Any antiship assets.  I need help.”

“Glad to oblige, Colonel,” came a calm crisp voice over the net.  “Send your information.”

The Colonel sent the information on his location and the trajectory of the beams with a thought, then continued to stare out at the carnage before him.

*    *    *

“Here they come,” came the voice over the local com circuit.

Cornelius swore under his breath as he leaned against the side of the trench and aimed his rifle toward the movement through the smoke.  He had set the weapon for single shot, maximum velocity, as ordered.  They didn’t know what kind of body armor this enemy wore, but had to assume it was as good as any the Empire had.  Of course, he thought, as he looked through the view screen that cut through the smoke on enhancement settings, if that’s true, then these things won’t dent them.

There was movement through the smoke.  The images looked wrong in many ways, more like some representation of demons than any intelligent species he had ever heard of.  They wore helmets, but great horns curved from them into the air.  And it looked like too many limbs were moving around.  At one point he could count four, three of them attached to some large weapon. More figures appeared, until dozens of the creatures could be seen advancing in a crouch.  That they hadn’t seen or opened fire on Cornelius and his comrades he could only attribute to the jamming that was saturating the atmosphere.  He could see them due to his systems using the one clear band that wasn’t being jammed.

“On the command to fire,” came the Lieutenant’s voice over the net.  “Fire.”

Walborski stroked his trigger.  The rifle bucked into his shoulder hard, though the small grabber units took up most of the recoil.  His round hit center of the alien he was aiming at, spinning the creature around and off to the side.  Cornelius aimed at another and let off another round, again getting a hit.  This one staggered back and then down to one knee.  Then it brought its weapon up and sprayed a stream of something at the trenches. As the first one hit it exploded in a small but violent blast that knocked two of the militiamen back with clouds of blood.  Then the rounds walked up the trench, taking out soldier after soldier.

Cornelius fired again at that target.  His first round struck the alien’s weapon with a clang.  The alien shook the rifle, then tried to do something with it as Walborski’s second round bounced off the enemy’s face plate.  He saw something that looked familiar hanging from the alien’s armor and targeted that, bringing in the view and centering before pulling the trigger, just like he had done when hunting on New Detroit.  He knew he had guessed right as the object exploded into a glare of fire that threw the alien back, weapon flying out of his hands.  Several other enemy close by were also flung away by the explosion of the grenade.

The farmer turned militiaman glanced around a moment and didn’t like what he was seeing.  Dozens of militiamen were down, many not moving and disrupted parts of their anatomy showing why not.  Even as he watched his squad leader took a projectile to the helmet that blasted all the way through, blood and brains spraying from the exit hole.  A round cracked past Joel’s head, recapturing his attention and shocking him out of his shock.  He turned back toward the enemy that was still advancing.  That enemy was sustaining casualties, but there were more of them to start with, and they were putting the humans out of action at a five to one rate.

Walborski felt panic starting to take charge as his friends and neighbors died around him.  He wondered where the promised artillery support was.  The ground rumbled underfoot, and he was sure someone was being hit by something, but not where it was doing him any good.  A few men clambered out of the position and started to run, their panic already in control.  Cornelius watched as both of them were shot in the back, and decided that he would die facing the enemy.  He turned back and brought his rifle back to his shoulder, and froze in place as the large war machines started grinding up the road to support the enemy.  That’s not fair, his mind screamed.  They didn’t need the help.

Cornelius cursed the fates as he picked out a target he might be able to do something about.  A trio of enemies was setting up a big weapon on a tripod.  It looked like some kind of heavy beam weapon, something that Walborski was sure the humans wouldn’t want brought into action.  Flipping the selector on his rifle to full auto, looking at the HUD on his visor for a readout of ammo and selecting mini-grenades, he took careful aim, then pulled the trigger and held it.

*     *     *

Fifty kilometers to the west of the city of Frederick, on the edge of the lands that had been terraformed, the giant mobile gun moved its turret.  The vehicle was not a tank, though it could move its multi kiloton bulk on both treads and grabbers.  Its primary purpose was to fire back at orbiting vessels that were bombarding the planet.  The original battery consisted of five of the vehicles.  They had all contested the initial landings, and two had paid the ultimate price.

In the control room of the vehicle the crew linked in to the other two members of the battery.  They picked up the target on passive sensors, while the turrets moved onto a firing solution.  Automatic systems loaded the main magnetic accelerator cannon, while the secondary particle beams powered up, spinning their protons up to point five light within seconds.  When all was ready a human crewman hit the commit button, and all systems fired according to the plan formulated by the primary gun’s firing computer.

All three vehicles bucked back a bit as their accelerator cannon fired their one hundred kilo charges at one hundred thousand meters per second.  A second later the particle beams fired, tracking onto the same Ca’cadasan scout ship that was the target.  They continued to fire while a second material projectile was launched at the ship.  Seconds later they stopped, bereft of the protons that charged their chambers.  Immediately the three vehicles lifted on grabbers and began to move, mobility being their only salvation at this point.  The battery settled in new locations moments later, or at least the two survivors had.  The battery commander’s vehicle lay crushed and burning on the hillside, the price it paid for firing on an enemy that controlled the orbits.

*     *    *

Sixteen thousand kilometers up, in medium orbit, lay the target warship.  It was a four hundred thousand ton scout, the smallest true combat ship of the Ca’cadasan Fleet.  Its current mission was ground support for the invading forces.  It currently was firing on a concentration of the vermin known as humans, out in the open, a perfect target for its weapons.

Four of its laser domes were targeting the open area, which was partially obscured by smoke and dust.  On infrared it could pick out its targets, and unerringly strike them from existence.  Soon into the firing pattern infrared became less effective due to the fires and other hot spots in the target area.  That didn’t prevent the ship from firing, from doing her duty to Emperor and race.

The six particle beams struck the hull in just over a tenth of a second after being fired.  The scout was not ready for the assault, there being no enemy warships in the system, and it being assumed that all shore based anti-ship artillery had already been silenced.  The beams struck along the ventral area of the vessel and imparted their kinetic energy into the ship, carving deep runnels in the hull.  Much of the kinetic energy was transferred into heat energy, overloading many local ship systems.  Two of the currently firing laser domes were hit and shattered as the beams continued to lock onto the ship, guided by the ground based systems computers.

In two and two thirds minutes the first trio of kinetic rounds arrived, tracking onto the course of the ship to intersect her perfectly.  After the pummeling by the particle beams the scout ship was missing much of her ventral sensor system.  She still picked them up with seconds to spare and opened fire with her lasers, knocking two of the kinetic rounds from the sky.  The rounds exploded with eye hurting brilliance, giving some indication of their package.  The third round hit the scout dead center, penetrating deep into the hull before the antimatter warhead, containing a kilogram of the substance, exploded, taking out most of the rest of the ventral systems of the vessel.  Six seconds later the other three rounds arrived, with nothing to track or intercept them.  All struck, all detonated, and the crippled ship continued along in orbit, taken out of the fight.

*    *    *

The Colonel cursed under his breath, wondering when the aid he had called would materialize.  The beams continued to sweep back and forth across the park, losing some of their accuracy with the abundant heat sources and swirling clouds of smoke.  Civilians were stumbling out of the open area, many with the aid of soldiers.  Two of the beams winked out, though the two remaining were still deadly.  Baggett cried out as the beam intersected a mother holding a baby, and both lives were snuffed out in an instant while their material forms were reduced to hot steam and ash.  He looked up and cursed, and wished he had something he could use to strike at the ship.  But he was helpless here on the ground.  He looked back down to see some more people coming across, sticking to the edge of the park.  The beams moved at random now, and he held out hope they would make it across, especially after he saw the three small children running with a parent, and the father holding another infant.  Then a beam started their way, incinerating the wood and vegetation that hadn’t totally destroyed, moving unerringly where he didn’t want it to go.

“No,” he screamed as the beam almost reached the people, then winked out of existence.  The civilians continued across, then into the buildings, safe for the moment.  The Colonel said another prayer for the souls of the fifty or so who hadn’t made it, wishing he had a target that he could fire at, while promising death to any Ca’cada he got within his sights.

Other men appeared at the opposite edge of the park, the men of the company that had been holding the Ca’cadasans at bay.  They moved quickly, using their grabbers to fly over the ground.  Just before they all made it to cover the enemy appeared, their three meter tall armored forms coming out of the ruins and moving quickly across the park.

This is more like it, thought the Colonel, sighting on one of the forms with his heavy mag rifle, set for maximum power.  Other soldiers were already firing at the enemy, a combination of beam weapons and projectiles reaching out to strike the enemy while they were uncovered.  The Colonel ignored all of them, squeezing the trigger of his weapon, which bucked hard into his armored shoulder.

The fifteen millimeter round left the barrel of the rifle at ten thousand meters per second, the rifle and the armored suit of the Colonel taking up the recoil.  At its velocity the round flew almost flat trajectory across the five hundred meters separating shooter and target.  It struck with a thunk that the Colonel could barely pick up on his audio, though the turning heads of some nearby Ca’cada troopers made it clear that they heard it.  Ca’cadasan armor was tough, but not tough enough to prevent penetration of the hardened armor piercer.  The soldier staggered, was able to right himself, but showed no indication of ability to come forward.  The second shot, to the faceplate of the soldier, had a more immediate result, knocking him back to fall over and land on the ground in a heap that didn’t move.

Baggett shifted his aim to another target, thinking that only a city environment would give him such an opportunity for close in shooting.  Normally, armored soldiers would engage with kilometers still separating them.  In urban attrition warfare the weapons made to strike at kilometers did double and triple damage at close range.  The second target fell over as easily as the first, and soon the Colonel was hunting for targets as the Ca’cada went to ground, behind cover, what there was in the scorched park, their stealth fields at full power.

Moments later the Colonel’s suit was registering coherent light falling on his gloved hands.  Not much, just a trickle, but enough to let him know his positions were under attack.  He pulled his rifle and hands back into the building he was using as his redoubt.  There was some smoke in the air, but nothing like would be expected if the building were not made of modern building materials such a carbon steel alloys and plasticrete.

Then the kinetic rounds and ground based artillery started falling on the regiment’s position.  The buildings were strong enough to resist the strongest earthquakes and accidental crashes by aerial vehicles.  They were not made to withstand kinetic rounds dropped from space or modern ground based artillery.  Pieces of building flew into the air and fell to the ground while the earth shook underneath.  The building next to Baggett’s took a direct hit from space and folded in on itself.  A dozen soldiers went off the circuit, killed in the hit, while others struggled in their medium suits to claw out of the rubble.

“I think it’s time to boogie, sir,” said the Sergeant Major over the circuit.

“Right you are, Terry,” said Baggett, checking the status of the regiment on his HUD.  Second Battalion was already set up on the river about a kilometer back, dug in with weapons set.  Third was still in blocking positions, with what militia they could gather, on the outskirts of Frederick, making sure that the regiment wasn’t cut off by the Cacas.  The Colonel marked where he wanted the three companies he was with to go after they hit the river defense, into a backup position about a five hundred meters further back.  That way they could lend indirect fire to the defense, and be in place when that line was cracked, which was sure to happen.  He sent the commands while he was vacating the building, headed into the open for a couple of seconds, then across more rubble that gave him a bit of overhead cover.

The Colonel looked at his armor reserves while he was on the move.  He still had almost a company of light armor and most of a platoon of heavy.  But no air support, he thought with a curse.  He had understood the General’s insistence on keeping control of all air assets, but that had been predicated on his actually being able to contact Division Command.  And that had not been a reality for almost an hour.  Did they take Division out? he thought as he moved across the open area to the river, then over the body of water, waving to the troopers who waved at him.  Division should have been under cover, with com signals originating from a remote location, so that shouldn’t have happened.  But you can never say for sure.  And God knows there’s a lot of static in the air around this rock.

A bright flash to the north, followed by a rising mushroom cloud, caught his attention, and he said a quick prayer for whomever had been caught under that blast, while asking God that he and his be spared that kind of attention.  And then he was back to the business at hand, making sure that his trained killers were in the best position to take out as many enemy as possible, no matter the cost to he and his soldiers.

*    *    *

“My soldiers need more fire support,” growled the General, storming into the task force command bridge.  He glared at the Low Admiral in charge while standing in a posture that showed his willingness to run over the other officer.  “They are being chewed up in ground combat with those damned rodents.”

“We are providing all that we can,” said the Low Admiral, his own hormones rising to the challenge.  I only wish that the battleships had been retained in this system, thought the naval officer.  But high command had taken his most effective combat vessels, citing their need elsewhere, leaving him a single battleship, three cruisers and a half dozen scout ships, besides his troop transports.  And two of his scout ships had been heavily damaged from ground fire.

“You have ships sitting idly by, doing nothing, while my men are caught in a battle of attrition on the surface,” growled the other male, pointing a claw at the holo screen, which indicated friendly and enemy units, then at the other senior officer.  “I demand fire support for my brigades in the cities.”

“The ships are not the problem,” said the Admiral, his fur bristling.  “The problem is the lack of targets.”

“What about all those targets?” said the General, waving a hand at the holo and walking toward it.  “There seem to be targets aplenty, more than you can possibly strike.”

“That is a best guess representation,” said the Admiral, walking to stand on the other side of the holo.  He made a gesture to another officer.  “This is what we’re really seeing.”

The holo erupted into a mass of static, the surface of the planet almost totally obscured, the symbols of units jumping here and there, fading out completely, then fading in again for a moment.

“What the hells is that?” yelled the General, staring at the screen.

“That, my fine General, is the result of jamming by both sides, mixed in with heavy smoke, dust and other atmospheric disturbances.  As well as multiple hundreds of blazing fires interfering with infrared.”

“And that’s the best you can do?”

“That is the best we can do, at this time,” said the Admiral, giving a head motion of acknowledgement.  “Their electronic warfare suites are very good.  Not quite as good as ours, but they serve.”

“But I need ground support,” growled the General, glaring in anger at the Admiral as if the whole thing was that officer's fault.  “And I need it now.”

“And where would you like this ground support?” asked the Admiral, gesturing to the tech, who set the screen back to map view.

“Here, at the edge of this landing field in the capital,” said the General, pointing to the city in questioned, then pointing to the edge of the field when the view zoomed in.  “Then here, at this cluster of hills on the main highway.”  Again the view zoomed in on the terrain feature in question. “And this area here,” said the General, pointing to the second largest city on the planet, then at an area near to a river that flowed through the eastern area.

“You’re sure?” asked the Admiral, a look of doubt on his face.

“I’m positive,” said the General, baring his sharp carnivore’s teeth.  “Smash them flat, and I’ll be able to conclude this campaign.”

Chapter Three

Ground warfare has not changed much over the ages.  The support of warships, aircraft, and heavy vehicles are still the forces that sometimes swing a battle.  But the real fight is that between infantry, to take and hold the ground that the enemy wishes to deny them.  True, the weapons of that infantry have changed, as has the protection they strap on their bodies.  No longer are pikes employed to keep the enemy from coming to grips, or are breastplates, shields and helmets used to protect the bodies of soldiers.  One heavily armored Marine could take on and destroy an entire regiment of pikemen, possibly even a battalion of twentieth century infantrymen, though those worthies might employ weapons heavy enough to destroy even powered armor.  But one thing has remained the same.  The heart of a warrior is necessary to use the weapons to defeat an enemy, especially if that foe is similarly armed and armored.  Anything less than courage and dedication to the cause will lead to defeat.

Speech of Field Marshal Joris Carmichael to the Graduating Class of the Imperial Army Officer Academy, Harris Scarp, Jewel, year 886.

SURFACE OF SESTIUS IV, MARCH 18TH, 1000.

“This is going bad quickly,” said Sergeant Major Terry Zacharias over the com.

“I see what you mean, Terry,” agreed the Colonel, looking at the feed from the front lines as the large forms of the Ca’cadasans closed on the river.  The aliens were laying down heavy fire, both from their personal weapons and from artillery to the rear.  The human soldiers were hunkering down in the cover they had made, but still a round would come down right on a position to blot the occupants out of existence.  Or the Caca soldiers would pick off a human trying to fire at them.

Even through the heavy suppression fire the humans were getting in their licks.  Ca’cadasan soldiers fell from spot on rifle or beam shots, while mortar and artillery rounds came down from above.  The counter battery was beginning to make that activity dangerous for the human gunners, and the Colonel could see that half his organic indirect fire was already gone, with more joining every second.

“Maybe we ought to pull back,” yelled the Sergeant Major over the com.

“Hell no,” roared the Colonel, looking at the battlefield map in his mind.  “First Battalion still needs some time to dig in, or this bunch will roll right over them, and push us out of town.”  And that means running across the farmlands with these assholes on our tails the whole way.

“They’re going to do that anyway,” said the Sergeant Major over the roar of incoming projectiles.  “We’re losing the artillery duel.  And after that we’re really screwed.”

“All companies are to hold their ground at all costs,” yelled the Colonel, sending the command over the circuit at the same time.  “No retreat until I issue the order.”  The acknowledgements came back over the net, most sounding none too happy.  Well tough.  If they don’t hold I could lose the entire regiment.  No matter what one major and a couple of captains think.

Baggett watched the enemy advance on his HUD, almost cringing himself at the sight of the big warriors moving forward in rushes.  Some were still getting knocked down, but not enough.  Then a bright flash blotted out the picture, which when it adjusted showed the big warriors being blown off their feet like leaves caught in a tornado.  A mushroom cloud was rising, and then three more flashes came, all on the open area on the other side of the river.  His own troops ducked into their trenches and holes, but they were protected by their armor and the earth, and weathered the strikes just fine, while the enemy force was obliterated.

“That has to be friendly fire,” said the Sergeant Major over the com.  “I mean friendly fire from their perspective.”

A couple more kinetic rounds came down from space, striking further back into the city, causing more damage to the Ca’cadasan brigade.  The artillery fire slackened, then slackened some more before stopping entirely.  Troopers cheered, then cheered louder as a quintet of ground attack craft came roaring over, wagging their wings in greeting to the soldiers.  Behind them thick columns of smoke rose into the sky, the result of their bombing run on the disorganized enemy artillery parks.  A red particle beam lashed out from the city, missing, missing, then hitting one of the fighters, which dropped low, trailing smoke.  Its pilot bailed out over the human positions while the aircraft did a turn in the air on autopilot, flying back over the city.  It was hit again and crashed where it would do the human force the most good, right where the enemy was.

And then everything went still, except for the crackling of distant flames.  Baggett looked out over the carnage through the take from the Sergeant Major’s suit.  There was too much dust to see much, but from what could be seen there were no Ca’cadasan bodies on the sward across the river.  They had all been blown away from the open area by the kinetic blasts.  He checked his status board and saw that second battalion still had three hundred and twenty-seven effectives, or about half their initial strength.  That figure was deceptive though, since the unit had lost all of it heavy and indirect fire weapons.  With a thought the Colonel commanded first battalion to move back to the river and take over second’s positions, while second moved back to rest, reorganize and become the reserve.  He hoped that the Cacas would give him time to rearrange his lines.  It didn’t take long to figure out that they wouldn’t.

*    *    *

“Fuck this shit,” hissed Cornelius Walborski, trudging through the woods, the road in sight.  The road would have made for much easier treading.  The road also would have led to a quick and early death.

The militia private looked back at the man following him, then forward at the back of the soldier he followed.  He hadn’t seen anyone he had recognized for over an hour.  As far as he knew he was the only survivor from his platoon.  Maybe the only survivor from his whole company.  And for what? he thought, shaking his head.  His unit had gone down to the invaders like wax in front of a laser torch.  He really didn’t see what they had done except attract the enemy to where the regular infantry could attack them.

And attack them they had, humans in medium and heavy battle armor, they had killed the enemy in a flank attack that had saved that part of the city, until more of the enemy came.  And then it had been time to run.

The ground rumbled underfoot, then again, until Cornelius had counted seven of the strikes from kinetic weapons.  At least nothing like that one from the other day, he thought, keeping one foot moving in front of the other in the obsolete armor that only gave him enough of a strength boost to carry itself and his equipment.  That one was something else.  He had heard that it was a missile that had slammed into the planet at near light speed, and had killed a small continent in the process.  Don’t know why they didn’t hit us with a whole bunch more of them, thought the private who knew little of the strategy of warfare, space or planetary.

The dust was heavy in the air around him, and he looked over at one point at the body of a small native arboreal dweller, this planet’s version of a squirrel.  It lay still, and Cornelius knew that it must have smothered in the same dust that would be racking his own lungs if not for the filters on his helmet mask.  It can’t be doing too much good for the livestock, he thought, which brought thoughts of Katlyn to mind.  I’ve got to get out of here, he thought, looking around and seeing no way out for the moment.  But now his mind was made up.  His wife needed him.  She would be safe and secure enough in the basement of the house, breathing filtered air, but there was no guarantee that the room wouldn’t be breached.  And she was more his responsibility than the rest of the damned planet.

A hand went up in front, relayed down the line, telling everyone to stop in place.  Walborski knelt on a knee, his rifle cradled in one arm while the butt stock went under the other.  The ground rumbled yet again, a steadier sound like something heavy moving over the earth.

“Move out,” yelled a voice of command over the com.  “Get your asses to cover.  Now.”

People to front and rear began to move, no two along the same path, as the command did not give an indication of which way to go.  The whistling sounds of incoming ordnance came through the audio sensors of the suits, and Walborski was only sure of one thing, that being right here right now was not a good thing.

Cornelius was thinking about leaving the ranks while choosing his path.  Something exploded behind him and made up his mind on which way to go, whichever direction took him away from the barrage the fastest.  The ground was still rumbling underneath, from what he didn’t know.  He did know that he would prefer to not meet up with whatever was causing that.  He ran through the woods for what seemed like an hour, but his suit clock and internal link told him was less than ten minutes.  He came to a fence line and climbed over, crouching down and taking stock of the situation.

The field looked like a pasture, and beyond was a house that looked like many of the farms on the planet.  There were several brown and white lumps scattered across the field which the man could not make out.  Something was glowing on the horizon to the north, and a pair of mushroom clouds rose into the sky to the west.  Some sonic booms above caused him to look up to see the contrails of a couple of aircraft high above.  There was a flash and one of the planes started to fall, and a louder crack sounded seconds later.

Walborski removed his helmet mask for a moment, wishing he hadn’t as soon as he breathed in the dusty air.  Air that smelled of death, decay and loosened bowels.  He walked in a crouch toward one of the lumps, gagging as the strong odor hit him.  It was a horse, once a beautiful animal, and he realized all the other lumps around him were also dust and ash covered horses.  Their noses had a bluish tint, indicating suffocation as the cause of death.  He quickly placed his own breathing mask back over his face, trying to keep his stomach from heaving its contents back into the face piece.  He looked at the once beautiful animal with tears in his eyes.  He had always loved animals, one of the reasons he had wanted to become a farmer.  And the evil bastards from the past had done this to these precious babies.

The rumbling sounds came again, something moving heavily over the ground.  Cornelius stayed low and made his way to the edge of the field.  Before he got there something big poked its nose into the open, a long barrel that proceeded the body of the vehicle that carried it.  Walborski did not recognize the configuration of the vehicle as it moved into the open, its heavy treads crushing brush and fence underneath the weight of the mechanical monster.  That it was a tank there was no doubt.  That it wasn’t one of the human’s vehicles was also of no doubt.

The tank was out in the open now, and Walborski expected any minute to be taken under fire by the machine.  He hunched down as far as he could go, using the body of a horse for what concealment it offered.  A second barrel came into view, followed by another tank.  Both looked to be in the two or three hundred ton range, a little larger than an Imperial light tank.  And then a trio of what looked like robots came jogging up beside the tanks, and Walborski recognized them for what they were.

Mecha, he thought, seeing the canopies that contained their operators.  The machines were about eight meters tall, the five meter body mounted on four meter long legs that sprouted from the sides.  Cornelius had seen pictures of them in history books, machines that, though heavily armed, were too difficult to conceal and not heavily armored enough.  But the Cacas still used them, which made sense since they were a conquering force and not a defensive one, and more portable firepower was of great use to them.

Please don’t see me, he prayed in his mind, wishing his low tech armor had some of the stealth features of the heavy suits.  Even a medium suit or a high tech light armor panoply would do to get him out of here.  If he stood up and ran the armor he wore would compensate for the gear he carried, including its own weight.  And he would still move like a slow running man to be picked off at leisure.

A loud, almost deafening clanging sound brought his attention back to the tanks.   A glowing track showed along the turret of the vehicle, a turret that was turning to seek a target. There was another heavy clang, but this time something penetrated into that turret and blew it off of the body of the tank.  The other tank began to back up, too late, as something slammed a hole through the side of its turret and pushed it off the road.  The Mecha turned to run, but a particle beam lanced out and took them one after the other, leaving their smoking remains on the ground.  One Mecha lay on its side, the half cooked body of its operator falling out of the hole the particle beam had carved through the canopy.

Walborski turned in shock to see a shimmering image pull back and out of a revetment that had been dug in the field beyond the farmhouse.  It was stealthed, under an invisibility field that camouflaged it well, if not perfectly.   It moved smoothly out of the revetment that was now a target, its treads a couple of meters above the ground as it maneuvered on its grabbers.  The field shimmered for a moment, revealing the entire vehicle to the militiaman’s sight.  A heavy tank, over a thousand tons of mass, and like nothing the Cacas had been seen to employ, yet.

Cornelius ran from the field, not wanting to get caught up in this war of giants.  Something went by behind him that knocked him from his feet, followed by a loud crack, then a clang.  He turned where he lay to see a red mark on the turret of the heavy tank through the break in its invisibility field caused by damage to the turret.  The tank continued to move, then spat a fast moving object from its main rail gun.  There was a series of loud cracks and red streaks leapt into the sky.  Walborski looked up to see a group of atmospheric craft coming down at the tank.  Two of them exploded in the air and fell in pieces, while the remaining four started rippling off missiles at the tank while sweeping it with their lasers, shining visible through the atmospheric dust.  Most of the incoming missiles exploded as if striking a wall, the defensive lasers of the tank taking them out.  Another of the aircraft exploded, and the three remaining fried off another swarm of missiles.

What the hell am I doing? thought the farmer turned militia soldier.  I could get killed watching the show.  He picked himself up and ran for the nearest wood line, hoping that he would be too inconspicuous for the battling war machines to take notice.  Another blast sounded from behind and the militiaman was lifted from his feet and propelled toward the wood line that now looked less like a shelter and more like something hard to splat against.  He was bracing himself for impact when his trajectory changed and he fell to the ground, hitting hard, all the air going out of his lungs.

It took a few moments to roll over and look back at the source of the blast.  The heavy tank sat there, its treads on the ground, invisibility field off.  The turret was skewed and was wrapped in a mass of flames.  Walborski picked himself up from the ground and stared at the armored vehicle that had seemed so invulnerable from his infantryman’s perspective.  He thought the enemy had won that fight, since they could field more of their lighter tanks, Mecha and aircraft.  While that heavy unit was wiped from the Terran order of battle on the planet forever.

With one more backward glance he headed into the woods, glad at least that he was in one of the terraformed section of the planet, and the vegetation was all Terran normal or adapted.

“Meet at these coordinates,” came a transmission through his helmet, and the map display on the faceplate showed a position about ten kilometers outside of Frederick.  I can’t see going back into the line now, thought the farmer.  I got more important things to think about.  Like a wife with child.

The farmer sat down on a nearby log and took off his helmet.  He pulled a few small tools from his belt pouch and went to work on the helmet, disconnecting the transmitter and tracker, leaving the receiver functioning.  Might need that, he thought as he put the helmet back together, letting out a hacking cough.  And I can always reconnect the transmitter if I need it.  Satisfied that the job was done he put the helmet on his head, took a couple of breaths of clean air, and started on his way.

Within minutes he came to the road, and a hundred meters further up was a Y junction he recognized.  Left went to the rendezvous point the message had indicated.  Right went to Neu Romney, and then to his farm.  Without a moment’s hesitation he crossed the road and headed up the wood line next to the right hand road.  He walked steadily, ignoring his fatigue, knowing that he had to get to his wife and make sure she was all right.

*    *    *

“But we can’t just leave them here,” cried Doctor Jennifer Conway, tears streaming from her eyes.  She looked over the line of cryo tubes that contained the bodies of many of her colleagues from the hospital, and many more patients.  She looked up at the big armored suit that stood nearby.  “The bastards will kill them if we leave them here.  If we get them away they can be repaired and revived, most of them.”

“There are two choices, honey,” said the familiar voice through the suit’s speaker.  “You can leave with me and they will die, but you have a chance to live.  Or, you can stay here and they will die, and so will you.  And I’m not about to let you take that second choice.”  The big armored Marine tossed her a coverall.  “Put this on, right now,” he said in a commanding voice.

Jennifer nodded and pulled the coverall on, all the while looking at the cryo tubes, then to the people who were trying to figure out a way to get them away from here.  Another glance showed the reason for the consternation of the medical staff.  All of the vehicles that were to be used to evacuate these patients, burned out hulks on the parking surface.

“Doctor Chung.  Doctor Abraham.  The nurses.”  Jennifer couldn’t stop looking at the cylinders as she zipped up the garment, a coverall that would give her some protection against projectiles and light amp weapons.  She knew Glen was right, that her staying here would result in her death for no purpose.  But to have rescued these people from the shattered hospital, only to leave them to be destroyed by the remorseless enemy.  It was almost too much.

“We need to go, babe,” said the Captain, opening an arm so she could grab onto his suit.  “The rest of you need to run,” he called out to the other medical staff.  “There is nothing you can do here but die.  And we can sure use you for all the other wounded there’s sure to be.”

Some of the staff nodded, then turned and ran, headed away from the sound of the firing.  Others shook their heads and looked at the cryo tubes, making their minds up to stay, not able to abandon the helpless.  The sounds of fighting were very close now, explosions, the crack of hyper velocity rounds, the buzz of a particle beam.

“I’ve done all I can,” said Glen in resignation.  He put his arm around his woman and lifted into the air, then flew on just above the ground, heading for the next row of shattered buildings.

Whistling sounds filled the air, soon drowned out by explosions.  Jennifer tried to look back, to see what was happening.  Glen placed a big armored mitt in her way.

“Don’t look, babe,” said the big man, a catch in his voice.  “You don’t want to see.”

Glen landing in a cleared space between the rubble of buildings.  An NCO ran up, saluting.  “Get the doctor some transportation,” he told the man, looking over at Jennifer.  “I’ll join you as soon as I can,” said the Marine Captain, putting an armored hand gently on her shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” asked Jennifer, looking up at the big Marine who was so important to her.

“Make the bastards pay,” growled McKinnon, looking down at her, then over at his gathering men.

Jennifer looked at the company, noting that there were a lot of missing men, realizing what that meant.  “Be careful,” she told the Marine, blinking her eyes as tears began to flow again.

“His Majesty doesn’t pay us to be careful,” said Glen with a chuckle, speaking loudly.  “He pays us to kill sentients and break things.  And that’s what we’re going to do.”  He lowered his head close to Jennifer’s and spoke in a low voice.  “That was for public consumption you know.  I will be careful, just so I can come back to you.”

The NCO came bouncing up, pointing to an aircar that sat over by the one semi-intact building in the area.  “Good job, Sergeant,” said McKinnon.  “I’ll meet you at the rendezvous,” he said to his woman, putting his gauntleted hands on her shoulders.  “When you get there stay put.”

Jennifer nodded her head, then turned and headed for the aircar.  She was not surprised to find that it was a military model, with all the safeguards that such craft contained.  As she lifted it low into the air she looked back to see the Marines charging around the cover of the building, and the sounds of fighting grew from near the hospital, along with the play of light and explosions that shown over the obscuring rubble.  Then, not wanting to see anymore, the doctor took the aircar in a direction that left the city, staying low and letting the vehicle’s ground following sensors carry it just over the surface clutter that used to be a city.

As soon as the car was clear of the city she opened it up, keeping low, setting the compass to take her where she wanted to go.  You come back to me, Captain Glen McKinnon, she thought as the air car flew into the setting sun.  Don’t you dare be another heartache.  And with that she thought about all the people who had already died, and cried away the time to the sanctuary.

*    *    *

Colonel Samuel Baggett swore again under his breath as he looked at the battlefield map on his HUD.  The sun was going down, and darkness was soon to follow, not that it made much difference to modern military forces.  They had been fighting in the city since early morning, when the first of the Ca’cadasan troops had come down from orbit.  His regiment was one in name only, it was more like an under strength battalion at this point, while the enemy Brigade had gained strength through the day.

We bled the bastard though, he thought with a small smile on his face.  And their friendly fire hurt them badly as well.  In fact, he did not remember seeing or hearing of any support from orbit coming down on the city since early afternoon.  That could change as soon as we lose our jamming assets, he thought, knowing that the enemy would find and silence most of the electronic warfare platforms by early the next day.

Now he faced another problem.  His units were hanging on by their teeth at the edge of the city, keeping the road open for what civilian evacuees there were.  Baggett wasn’t sure what good this did, since most of those people would die in the next couple of days, along with the last of his command.  I guess it’s just human to hold on and hope, though I really can’t see much hope in this situation.  All we’re accomplishing is making some Caca mothers mourn the passing of their sons.  If the Cacas even have mothers.  While he was sure they did have some kind of delivery gender in their culture, humans really didn’t know enough about the species to be able to say anything about family structure.  All they knew was that the Cacas were bad news, to be avoided at all costs.  And that’s kind of hard to do when they come into your backyard.

So, what do I do about a Caca armored force pinching my flanks, he thought, looking back at that HUD map.  The map showed a number of Ca’cadasan tanks, sort of a hybrid between light and medium tanks in the Imperial inventory, striking at his right flank along with an unknown but assumed large number of what he could only call mecha.  The visual showed the remainder of his mixed armor company holding out against that onslaught.  The two heavy and seven medium tanks were holding their own, destroying an enemy vehicle with each main gun shot.  What had once been eight light tanks were now two, their armor and electromag protection no match for the heavier enemy vehicles.

As he watched another of the mediums went up in an explosion, hit by the guns of three of the enemy tanks and several of the mecha.  He had to admit the enemy knew the rule of concentrating fire power, and another light tank died a moment after he had that thought.  Two enemy tanks went up in catastrophic blasts, victims of his two heavies and their massive cannon.

More enemy vehicles appeared in the distance, sending indirect fire into his ground troops as they closed with the armor battle.  Baggett watched the battle anxiously, at any minute wanting to order his men to break out of the closing trap.  That would be the doom of many of the civilians, those without transport who were trying to get away on foot.  If his command was destroyed here it might mean the deaths of many more.  The plan was to fight the enemy to the end of the Terraformed area and into the wilderness.  That campaign was over before it began if he didn’t do something.

The Colonel was just about to open his mouth and order the retreat when a cluster of green dots entered the screen, flanking the enemy thrust.  He switched his view to that part of the field, feeding from the multitude of micro-robot probes in the air, and let out a yell of joy.  Medium armor suits were swarming the enemy, cutting down the infantry and hitting the mecha with anti-armor rockets, while heavier weapons took the tanks under fire.

A series of explosions rocked the enemy concentration, and the Colonel’s HUD showed the tracks of incoming mortars.  In seconds the enemy was reeling in shock.  In minutes they were swept from the battlefield, the remnants falling back with infantry suits on their tails, hitting them with everything they had.

“You looked like you could use some help,” came the voice of Lt. Colonel Samantha Thomas, commander of the 4089th Independent Infantry Battalion (Medium).

“How’d you get here,” said Baggett, boosting with his suit toward her position indicator on the HUD.  A trio of troopers fell in with him, his guard detail on the battlefield.

“Overland, of course,” said the laughing commander.  “Hugging the ground and the low areas.”

“No, I mean how did you know to show up here when I needed you?”

“Don’t know about that, sir.  But the General assigned us to reinforce you, so he might have known something I didn’t.”

“General Klein is alive?” asked Baggett, surprised.  “I thought he was gone.”

“Headquarters got plastered to Hell and gone,” said the light colonel, stopping for a second to check on an incoming com and sending a command.  She looked back at the Colonel.  “We knew they would find it and take it out with KE.  But the General set up a HQ in the wilderness, and relayed com through mobile platforms.  The Cacas keep taking them out, but we always have a new one going soon after.”

“I haven’t heard from HQ all day,” said Baggett, recalling the one transmission he got mid-morning that was cut off after authentication.

“You area seems to be getting a lot of attention,” said the other officer, squatting down as if she was a little more conscious of her exposed position.  Baggett squatted next to her.  “Seems like the Cacas are looking to take Frederick first, while expending enough effort to keep the other areas in check.  Don’t know why they aren’t concentrating on the capital.”

Doesn’t really matter where they concentrate, thought Baggett, turning his HUD feed to the road leading out of the city, a thoroughfare packed with civilians who would be lucky to see tomorrow’s dawn.  They have the strength to do pretty much what they want, and unless this is only a local invasion, which I doubt, relief will not be coming soon.  We’re just a small colony out here on the frontier, and the Fleet will be concentrating on protecting and retaining the important systems.

“So what do you want my boys and girls to do, Colonel?” said Samantha Thomas, breaking him out of his gloomy thoughts.

“So, your battalion is attached to my regiment?”

“Can’t see us trying to blindly strike out for headquarters,” said the other officer, her tone still upbeat.  “And you’re the commander of this region.”

“And your battalion is bigger than my regiment,” said Baggett, looking down, feeling the guilt of losing so many of his men.  And what did you expect, genius?  This is real war, not just a police action against the Lasharans.  He shook his head, demanding of himself to get back to the here and now.  “We’ll keep your battalion intact under your command,” he said, looking out over the battlefield, then at the officer.  “I’ll organize my other combat strength into a second battalion, and my rear echelon people into a reserve, for what it’s worth.”

Baggett shook his head again as he looked down the list of what he had left.  At least we have the medium suits.  If we were still light infantry I probably wouldn’t have any strength left at all.  And the Cacas would have taken this city without bloodying their noses.

“What about the militia?” asked Thomas after ordering her own people to cease pursuit and go into the defensive.  “How many are left on your order of battle.”

“I think the better question is how many are left that I can depend on,” said the Colonel, frowning.  “I had about five thousand of them this morning.  There’s maybe five hundred left, but how many died and how many just ran away I can’t tell.”

“Should I tell my people to look out for deserters?”

“Don’t bother.  The poor saps are probably trying to protect their families.”

“My people have families too,” said the Light Colonel in an angry tone.

“You?”

“My husband and children aren’t on the planet,” said the woman, the angry tone changing to one of sorrow.  “They were supposed to be here by next week.  I’m glad they aren’t here, but I worry about them being out there in space with this invasion going on.”

Baggett nodded his head sympathetically.  He was divorced, and his wife and children lived on one of the core worlds, which was very well defended.  Defended enough?  He hoped there would never be an answer to that question.

“Form up your battalion and take defensive positions a couple of klicks behind my other battalion.  I’ll start leapfrogging them back by units through the night and see if we can protect these civilians.”

“Yes, sir,” said the other officer, rendering a quick salute, then turning away to get her unit organized.

The fighting went on through the night.  If not for suit injected stimulants and the nanites removing wastes from his bloodstream, Baggett was sure he would have passed out sometime before the dawn.  But he had protected the retreat, at the cost of a third of his remaining soldiers.

*    *    *

Doctor Jennifer Conway looked down on the road leading away from Frederick to one of the satellite towns, where it would branch off to villages.  There were a lot of people on that road, more than she would have thought possible.  I thought there were more aircars available.  Why are people driving in a traffic jam, or walking.  No matter the reason, it was happening, and she was feeling guilty about having a four seat aircar to herself when others were struggling to get away from the killing front that was the Ca’cadasan advance.

Jennifer looked over at the empty passenger seat, then back again at the people that were moving along the ground, looking through the aircar camera system at their faces in passing.  She saw a farm field ahead and made up her mind, pushing the landing order into the car’s control panel.  The car glided down and hovered for a moment over the desired spot, then lowered itself to the ground on whirring fans.  Jennifer pushed the open canopy button and it slid to the rear.  She stood up in the car, intending to yell to the people on the road and get some riders, hopefully a mother and children.

What she saw from the road startled her, which quickly turned to fright.  There were scores of people out there, most of them coming over the field’s fence.  There were women and children among them, but the majority were angry or frightened looking men, and most of them were armed.  There was everything from clubs to rifles, and some of the men were in militia uniforms.  And they were all hurrying toward her car.

Maybe I should forget this and just get the Hell out of here, she thought.  All she had to do was fall back in her seat, hit the canopy close button, and lift off.  This was a military aircar, so it should be able to stand up to whatever weapons they had out there.  But that would be the coward’s path, and she was determined to save some of those children, no matter what.

“Stop right there,” she called out in a loud voice, using the tone she used when stating orders in the hospital.  Most of the people stopped and looked at her, but a couple of big men kept walking.  Jennifer pulled the particle beam pistol from its holster and pushed the activation stud.  The pistol whined for a moment, then the load light came on.  She pointed the pistol into the air and fired a shot.  The angry bee sound cut through the talking and murmuring of the crowd, and even the most belligerent of the men stopped in their tracks.

“I can take three, maybe four people with me,” she said, looking over the crowd, gun pointed to the sky.  “I will take children, and a mother if she has several.”

“We want that car, woman,” said one of the men, this one with a mag rifle in his hands and a militia helmet on his head.  “I am with the government, and I order you to turn that car over to me.”  He looked at her and a slight smile moved across his face.  “Official business, you know.”

“Bullshit,” yelled Jennifer, looking the man in the eyes and making him flinch.  “I am not giving up my car, and I can’t take all of you to safety.  So what will it be?  Will a mother with multiple children step forward?”

A man and a woman were speaking about forty meters from the car, he nodding, she shaking her head.  Finally he stepped forward a bit.  “Would you take my wife and children with you?”

Jennifer saw that the woman had three small children, the oldest no more than five.  She nodded her head and motioned for the woman to come forward, holding out a hand to stop the man.  She felt bad doing that, when they might not see each other again, but was unwilling to let him come within range to take the car from her.

“I’m Millie Thurgood,” said the woman as she made it to the car.

“I’m Jennifer.  Now get your little ones aboard, quickly now, so I can get us out of here.”

The woman nodded and started to put the children into the car, placing the oldest in the seat next to Jennifer, taking the rear seat for herself and her younger children.  Jennifer was starting to relax when a bullet hit the windshield and ricocheted off.  Jennifer ducked down, not sure how the windshield would handle fire.  Several more followed before the firing stopped.  She looked out the windshield, which was lightly scored in several places, to see two men fighting over the rifle.  One was the husband of the mother in the car, and that woman screamed out his name, then put her hands over her face.  The man with the rifle shoved the husband back, then shot him with a burst of automatic fire that opened his abdomen with gouts of blood.

The rifleman turned back toward the car, his face a mask of rage, and started to raise the rifle.  He stopped and his expression changed as he found himself looking at Jennifer, leaning on the top of the windscreen with her pistol pointed at him.

“That was murder,” she said in a cold voice, her finger on the trigger.  The people near the man saw what was happening and moved away quickly.  Jennifer had never killed a sentient being before.  She still wasn’t sure she could pull the trigger much as she wanted to.

The man must have noted her hesitation.  A smile grew on his face and he jerked the rifle to his shoulder, his last move in this world.

There was no hesitation now as Conway pulled the trigger.  The barrel of the pistol and the head of the man were linked by the red beam.  To the observers it looked instantaneous, the time frame being too small for the human eye to distinguish.  The man’s head exploded in blood, bone fragments, pieces of brain and a red tinted steam that flowed out from the strike.  The body fell to the ground as soon as conscious control was removed.

“Doug?” Croaked the crying woman, looking over at the doctor.

“He couldn’t have survived that shooting,” said Jennifer, closing the canopy and lifting the car into the air.  “Now, everyone hold on.”  She accelerated the car forward, wondering if she had really accomplished anything there, with the deaths of two men resulting from her act.  She looked over at the five year old child, peacefully asleep in the seat, and decided that she had.

*     *     *

MASSADARA ORBIT, MARCH 18TH, 1000.

Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M'tinisasitow crossed both sets of arms across his chest and bowed his head.  The quartet of priests to his front solemnly said the words of the mass funerary service, while another threw pieces of Cacada meat into the braziers around the altar, reminding those present that they were sending the spirits of warriors of the race to the heaven, where they would commune forever with the souls of Emperors and heroes past.  Would that I ascend into the heaven when my time comes.

The High Priest stepped to the fore and intoned the words of the ancient language that only the religious cast knew.  The Admiral hated this part, not because the words were not beautiful in their structure and intonation.  No, he thought it silly to recite things to the officers and crews that they had no way of understanding.  He thought it was intended to invoke a sense of awe in the non-religious cast Cacada, but to him in only made them think the priests were a class of arrogant fools who considered themselves better than anyone else.

The service ended when the bells rang and the braziers flared, and the priests walked off of the altar and through the archways to the place where only they were permitted.  The Admiral looked at his timepiece and cursed under his breath.  A Cacada could never tell how long the service was going to run.  That was up to the High Priest.  But today they had pushed the limit and the service had lasted over two hours.

The Admiral walked out of the chapel, and chalked up his obligatory weekly attendance as over.  Many could get away with not going, but he was too noticeable to do such.  And he did not want to be branded a heretic, especially as outspoken as he was against some of the church’s policies that impacted on his ability to make war.

“Admiral,” called out another officer as M'tinisasitow walked the corridor to his office.  “May I have a word?”

“Of course, High Admiral,” said the higher ranking officer to his subordinate who was in charge of the fleet’s supplies.  “What can I do for you?”

“It’s the antimatter, Admiral,” said the worried looking male.  “With all of our ships moving from system to system on quick strikes as they are, we will soon be running short.  We need to capture a production facility, or get one of our own up and running.”

“We have tankers on the way,” said the Great Admiral, thinking about the problem.  “Or at least I have sent orders for such to come our way.”

“And that is one of the problems, Great Admiral,” said the logistics officer as they walked side by side and other males got out of the way.  They ignored the slaves, who made way or got trampled, as was their lot.  “We are at the end of as long a supply line as the race has ever faced. Two years back to the heartland and capital.  Over six months to our nearest logistics base.  While this enemy has internal lines of communications.  They can ship equipment and supplies from their core worlds in two months or less.”

“What would you have me do, High Admiral?” asked the Great Admiral, giving a head shake of confusion.  “The situation is as it is.  I do not think the primates are going to give up a production facility that easily.  I have some of my special ops looking at the possibilities of a raid that gains us an antimatter storage facility, but I do not hold out much hope.”

“Have you seen the extent of these primates’ Empire?” asked the other officer in a low voice.  “I know that the higher ranking prisoners were all mind wiped before capture, but even their ordinary spacers know much about the extent of their Empire, and their history, much more than I would expect one of ours to know.  And while it is not near as large as ours, not a twenty-fifth the size, it still is much more than we can expect to take in one bite.  We may be fighting this war for decades, if not longer.”

It better not last decades, thought the Great Admiral.  We’re only a little bit more advanced than they are as it is.  In a decade, maybe less, they will have caught up.  We can still probably roll over them with numbers, but there will be a lot of Cacada dead, and many will be the fathers who will cry for their sons.

“There must be some connection between a short life span and innovation,” said the other Admiral, mirroring the Great Admiral’s thoughts.  “How else did these creatures advance as fast as they did?  When we met them in their home system they were little better than primitives, barely able to leave their system.”

And all we have done is envelop such species from the beginning of the Empire, thought the Great Admiral, who was confident he was one of the most intelligent of his species.  While they have been fighting wars in which it was advance or be defeated.  And so we run into the second worthy opponent of our era, right after we run into the first, on the other side of the Empire.

“I hate to tell you, High Admiral, but we will not be the priority front at this time.  Things do not go well along the other arm.”

“What’s the latest news?”

If you can call news six months old the latest, thought the Great Admiral with an internal laugh.  Light speed was still the limiter, even in hyper, and VIII was the best they could do with communications relays. “The enemy is strong, from what I’ve heard, and as advanced as we are.  They are not a conquering species, but still have a considerable holding of volunteer species.”

“Then they are doomed to lose,” said the lesser Admiral, giving a head nod of assurance.  “They face a true warrior race.”

And that’s what the fools in the other arm thought when they attacked without doing a thorough job in gathering and analyzing intelligence.  Now we are in the fight of our lives over there, while the opportunity to destroy the humans is here, and may not last long.

“We will discuss this later, High Admiral,” said the Great Admiral, stopping before the soldiers guarding his office.  “Bring up your questions for the staff, and I will see that they address them.”

The other Admiral gave a quick bow and moved away, while the Great Admiral gave his guards a perfunctory salute as they presented arms, then moved through the door and into the outer room of his suite.

The Friesi slave jumped up from her seat at the reception desk and bowed low to the Great Admiral.  The Admiral preferred warmed blooded furred sentients to work around him, but really didn’t care about their reproductive methods.  The round eyed eight limbed Friesi laid eggs, but of course this slave was sterilized, so she wouldn’t become distracted by the whole mating thing.  The Admiral barely glanced at her, other than to make sure her collar was intact.  To him she was no more a living thing than the station computer, and much less valuable.

The main office, his home on the station, was luxury such as he was not used to.  The room was huge, with comfortable furnishings of great worth, and a huge viewport looking out of the station.  The Great Admiral preferred the bridge of a flagship, but until he organized a campaign and sent a fleet off that was worthy of his personal command, this was his working space.

The Admiral accepted a drink from the slave that was waiting in the room, serving tray in hand.  Another of the thousand or so species the Empire owned, the Admiral didn’t even remember what it was called.  That it delivered drinks of an intoxicating nature to the officer was all he cared about it.  The Admiral had not a thought about how the drinking of so much alcohol affected his mind.  It was something the race did, all members of the race, as it had always been, from back in the day when the first armies marched with shouldered pikes out of the Imperial Capital to subjugate the planet.

Looking down on the blue and white globe below the Admiral thought of how good it was to add more living worlds to the Empire.  Cacada preferred to be in the open air of a living world, with the light of a day star on their faces, something that could not be duplicated aboard a space ship, or even a great habitat.  Worlds were sacred to his race, and they had only destroyed two in their history.  One was the planet of the hated humans, who had violated the most basic rule of war, at least as the Cacada fought it, and killed an Imperial heir in the process.  The first had been the world of the first to resist the Ca’cadasan Empire, who actually had the effrontery to severely damage the home world of the race.

He wished he were down on the surface of that world.  His ground officers had told him that it was too dangerous.  A bright pinpoint flash on the terminator between night and day emphasized that point, and he linked into the system to see what was going on, a kinetic strike or something from the enemy.  What he saw shocked him, and he immediately linked with the ground command, sending out a request to the commanding general.

“Yes, Great Admiral,” answered the ranking ground commander in the system, who had established his HQ on the surface.  “What can I do for you?”  The sounds of something burning and the shouts of males were in the background, never a good sign.

“What is going on down there?”

“The humans are what is going on,” said the fatigued voice of the General.  “Sorry bastards left a nuclear mine in place among the ruins we were using as a supply dump.”

“What’s the damage, General?”

“I have lost over five hundred warriors and a couple of thousand slaves.  The slaves are meaningless for the most part.  I can conscript humans for the job, and work them until we’re ready to kill them.  But I need more warriors, and not just to replace those killed in the blast.  The humans fight like Graata, hiding in the shadows and shooting when they are sure of a kill.”

“Can’t you find them from their equipment emissions?”

“Oh, we can find the regular soldiers right enough, at least most of the time.  What we cannot find are their civilians and special troops who snipe at us endlessly.  They use these.”  An image of the General formed on a nearby holo projector, holding what looked like a toy weapon, until one remembered that to the scale of the humans it was actually a good sized gun.  “This thing is made out of some kind of a non-aromatic plastic compound that our sensors cannot pick up.  It fires a high velocity chemically propelled projectile, and is deadly at long range.”

“Can’t you track it by the chemical residue of the propellant?”

“It’s difficult, but can be done,” said the General with a head nod of assent.  “But only after it has been fired, and then I have a dead warrior on my hands.”

“You will get more warriors,” said the Admiral, cursing to himself as those would be males he couldn’t use on the next phase of the campaign.  There were a series of flashes on the night side of the planet, and checking the Admiral made sure these were kinetic strikes from his people.  “And how many humans do you think are left on the planet?”

“Humans weren’t the only sentients here,” said the General with a frown.  “We’re having as much problems with some of the others.”  Another image appeared on the holo of a centauroid creature with scaly skin and an alarming set of jaws. Next to it for scale was a Cacada warrior, and the alien, though not as tall, was the larger.  “This is a Phlistaran.”

“Formidable.  But it should make an easy target.”

“But some of the other sentients are even smaller than the humans, and able to hide from us until they fire.”

“So how many sentients in all, General?  I read from the data banks we recovered that there were about thirty million of them on the planet when we invaded.”

“And we probably still have a million out there in the wilderness to take care of,” said the General.  “And they never congregate in large groupings, so we have to go into the brush and hunt them out.”

“A million,” said the Admiral, the feeling of being overwhelmed coming over him.  Not an absolutely enormous number, and we hold the orbitals.  Still, if it’s estimated that we need a soldier for every two of them, that’s a half million warriors.  “Keep at it, General.  We want this planet, and we don’t want humans on it anymore.  So keep at it.”

I wish I could just blast this planet’s atmosphere into space, but the priests would have a fit.  There are too many witnesses now.  Maybe another world, when I only have a couple of priests to deal with, but not now.  And the image formed in the Admiral’s mind of missiles missing their target and hitting a world instead.  He was shocked that he was thinking heresy, but not so shocked as he was at letting a ragtag bunch of civilians kill his warriors.

Chapter Four

No one wants to fight in hyperspace.  Shields do not work well, the limit of light amp weapons and even visual is almost at ludicrous, while particle beams and plasma weapons basically send their energy out of hyper and into normal space almost as soon as it leaves the hyperdrive field.  Only missiles are really effective, but not at the same range that they are in normal space.  And any major interruption in a ship’s generating power or hyperdrive field means a catastrophic translation back to normal space.  So fighting in hyper is like a knife fight between two poorly armored, blind and fearful drunks, in which a major injury is the same as death.   Grand Fleet Admiral Constance Kowalski.

HYPERSPACE, AREA BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM, MARCH 19TH, 1000.

Sean found himself sitting in yet another acceleration couch on yet another bridge.  The couch was the same as the last.  The bridge was smaller, as befit a destroyer.  It was still a very modern layout, as the ship was brand new.  He could tell looking in the holo tank that the electronics were also new.  But with the yearly nanotech upgrades to all fleet ships, every bridge had electronics that were at most a year old, keeping the entire fleet up to date on the systems and subsystems that kept a ship running.

“She’s putting out, isn’t she,” said the captain, Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf, looking over the holo from his command couch.

Sean looked over at the sine wave graph that was showing the hyperwave static being put out by Jean de Arc.  The big battle cruiser was simulating resonance problems with her hyperdrive as she decelerated at maximum rate.  Her signal was messing up the tracking systems of everything near, and hopefully covering up the resonance signature of the smaller destroyer.

The destroyer was also decelerating at maximum rate.  It had to be glowing like a small star with its radiated heat.  Fortunately that heat would only travel so far before its photons dropped through hyper and back into normal space.

“We’re almost ready for first translation,” said the helmsman from his console.

Sean looked at the velocity display and saw that they were at point two one light.  At the rate they were dropping they would be at point one in just a couple of minutes.  Then they would see if the plan worked.

“What do you think their chances are?” asked Sean of the captain, looking again at the hyperwave sine.

“Not good,” said the Captain with a grimace.  “I know the Commodore will do all she can to win.  But I don’t think it will be enough.  And winning isn’t her mission,” said the young officer with a trace of bitterness.  “She doesn’t need to win to accomplish it.”

No, thought the new Emperor of the New Terran Empire.  She just needs to die gloriously, so I can skulk away to safety.  He thought for a moment about one of the things the Captain had said.  Commodore.  She had been in charge of a convoy that had stumbled into a battle. How many of those other ships had gotten away?

“Captain,” said Sean in a quiet voice, waiting for the man to look at him.  When he did it was with cold eyes that made the Emperor flinch just a bit.  After all, just a very few days ago this man would have been his superior, capable of giving Sean any order up to and including sending him to his death.  Now the roles were reversed.  “I didn’t ask for any of this,” said Sean.

“I know you didn’t,” said the Captain, his eyes softening.  “I know you didn’t.  But the job is yours, by right of birth.  And this job is mine, by obligation of oath.  We’ll try and get you out of here, your Majesty.  I just hate leaving a damned good officer, and damned good woman, behind.”

“I know,” said Sean, feeling his own eyes mist up.  “I had to leave a lot of shipmates behind, including the CPO who rode herd on me.  It’s not easy to run when others are dying to keep the path open.”

“Just remember that when you sit the throne,” said the Captain, turning back to look at the main viewer display.  After a few moments the Captain straightened up in his chair.  “Drop to six.  Try to make it as smooth as possible.”

A black maw opened in front of the ship on the viewer, looking out into a reddish dimension very much like the one they were in.  A queasy feeling passed through Sean, and he knew that they were dropping down to VI.  On the viewer the space looked just a little less bright.  The black pinpoints of gravity wells were visible in the distance, the shadows of the stars in normal space reflected in this dimension.

“Give it five minutes and drop to V,” ordered the Captain.  He looked back at Sean.  “This might not work, your Majesty.  They might just be able to maintain tracking on us, and come in on our location.  I’m hoping they might have too much trouble in normal space to find us, but that’s not a guarantee.”

“Nothing is guaranteed,” said Sean, nodding his head.  “Right.  I will guarantee something though.  Get me back to the sector HQ, and I will lead the force that comes out here to avenge our losses myself.”

*     *     *

Mei Lei watched the sine wave as Jean de Arc decelerated through hyperspace.  There was no way to see the enemy ships on visual until they reached about five light minutes relative to this space.  About the same maximum range of light amp weapons, though firing at anything that distance was a waste of effort, as most of the photons making the beam would have dropped into normal space at that range.  At the current closing rate they would be in visual in about one half hour.

Can’t even send a spread of missiles at them, she thought.  Normal space missiles didn’t carry hyperdrive, and would catastrophically translate to normal space as soon as they left the battle cruiser’s hyper field.  She had ten of the large hyperdrive capable missiles on board, and had already ordered the largest possible warheads placed on them.  But with only ten she wanted to be able to pick her targets, rather than send something down the pike that they would see coming for minutes ahead of time.  Not that I really expect much from them in the first place.

“Hostiles have started to decelerate, ma’am,” came the call from the sensor officer, sitting at her station, getting the direct feeds from the techs on their rooms.

“Thank you,” she replied, looking over at the engineering station.  “How are the systems?”

“Lasers at ninety-eight percent,” said the assistant engineer sitting at that station.  “Still some minor damage to electromag projectors on the port bow area.”

Not that we’re going to need them here, thought the captain.  Electromag shields didn’t work well in hyper, and were thought by some to use more power than it was worth.

“Prepare to go into fusion state,” she ordered, as she relaxed her own mind for the link that would make the crew one with their ship.  There were a number of acknowledgements, voice and com link.  The link was something new, and was not universally accepted by the fleet.  But the Jean de Arc had it incorporated into her command and control systems.  The crew had trained with it, but the Captain hadn’t trusted it enough to use in the past combat situation.  Now they were in the classical hopeless situation.  And the Captain didn’t see how it could hurt them in a hopeless situation.

Mei Lei let herself slip into the link, letting her individuality flow into the mass of the ship’s crew.  Then she was part of the group mind, linked through the connection of the thousands of other minds that made up the ship, as well as the central computing system.  She was diminished in some respects, as a community now controlled the ship.  But she still had the majority vote in that community as captain.  She saw through the sensors of the ship, the skin transmitting all of its information into the processors, and from there to her mind.  At the same time she saw, heard and felt through her own body, aware of the bridge surrounding her while she basked in the universe beyond.

The group mind drilled on scenarios while they waited for the enemy to close.  Some turned out better than others, though none were ideal.  All ended with the battle cruiser destroyed.  The worst outcome was the warship destroyed while the enemy got by them with minimal damage.  The best was the enemy getting one intact ship by while the others became wrecks.  And the problems with simulations was that the enemy didn’t always do what the computer thought they would.  Which was another reason to not have computers running ships.

Visual obtained on the hostiles, came the thought through the system.  And there they were on visual, just as Lei remembered them.  Much larger than Imperial heavy cruisers, each maybe half the size of the battle cruiser.  Four of them.  She looked closely at the hulls of the enemy.  Their ether paddles were of a different form, and they had hyperdrive nodes scattered over the hull, not in the two massive constructs that Imperial ships used.  They were intimidating as hell, and the Captain could feel the fear and concern of the crew through the link.  Those are the targets, thought the Captain, her thoughts echoing throughout the system.

The enemy ships were also decelerating, allowing the battle cruiser to close, while making sure they could follow her into normal space if that was necessary.  Lei had been hoping they could just shoot through with a rapid closing rate, but the enemy was not going to cooperate.  In the time remaining the ship and its crew ran another series of simulations, using the speed of the processors to fight scores of battles in the minutes remaining.  They tried going with everything at one enemy.  Spreading their fire power around to all.  Accelerating at the last moment.  Different angles of retreat.  In every instance the Jean de Arc was destroyed, while at least two of the enemy forged on through hyper.

The distance closed.  There was no way to retreat.  Even if the battle cruiser went to full acceleration the other way, they would still continue toward the enemy ships for some time.  It was as inevitable as falling into a black hole.  And maybe just as deadly.

Fire, ordered Mei Lei through the collective mind.  Faster than a human could measure time the battle cruiser, still technically under human control, prioritized targets and aimed weapons.  Within microseconds the four laser rings, all fully charged from a dozen emitters each, fired concentrated beams of coherent energy.  Three lanced out for one target, while the last, which couldn’t be brought to bear on that one, fired at a different target.  At the same time five of the hyperdrive missiles were flung from their tubes to aim at the fourth target.

Enemy beams impacting, came the voice of the system.  Lei did not need that voice.  She could feel the beams impacting the hull of her ship.  Tons of matter vaporized within seconds.  A bit of the input from the skin, the sensory organ of the ship, went dead and the image from outside shrunk just a miniscule bit.  Then the nanobots in the hull reconfigured its reflective abilities to match the incoming beams, bouncing most of the energy back into space.  Within seconds the frequency of the incoming beams changed, as did that of the outgoing, in a game to try and stay ahead of the protective systems.  Jean de Arc shuddered and twisted as jets of material, converted to plasma by the enemy beams, acted like thrusters.

The five missiles moved toward one of the enemy ships, the closest to the port side.  That ship turned most of its beams toward the incoming missiles, scoring two catastrophic hits on one missile that turned it to plasma and radiation as the antimatter warhead exploded.  Sensors on all ships were overloaded for a moment, taking several seconds to recover.  One of the missiles was fried by radiation and continued past the target into hyperspace, where it would cruise until it ran out of power and translated back into normal space, most probably as a plasma cloud.  Another missile was knocked spinning into space by the explosion of the first warhead, its hyperdrive field going down and throwing it out of hyper.  The fourth was hit by the enemy’s close in weapons and detonated seven kilometers from the ship, flooding space with heat and radiation.  The enemy’s sensors were swamped for another couple of seconds, which allowed the fifth and final missile to get in close, within four hundred meters, before it was taken out.  The side of the alien ship superheated from the blast.  Metals and plastics vaporized and set the ship into a spin that took her temporarily out of combat.

The other three aliens continued to pump lasers into the battle cruiser.  All of the ships, still light seconds apart, were shifting up and down and side to side to throw off the aim.  Jean de Arc aimed for the presumed hyperdrive nodes on her primary target.  It was hard to hit with all the movement, and mostly the beams ran roughshod over the hull of the other ship, at times hitting something vital, but mostly just doing general damage.

Jean de Arc was taking terrible damage from the enemy beams.  Mei Lei experienced the empty feeling, along with the rest of the crew tapped into the system, as consciousnesses disappeared, their physical selves destroyed.  About a third of the crew had action stations in the three central capsules of the ship.  The best protected areas, containing quarters, the computer core, and medical, they also contained the central control stations of the ship.  But two thirds of the crew were outside the capsules, in engineering, weapons or damage control.  All crew were battle armored.  But personal armor would not stop gigawatts of laser power through a hull rupture, or a blast of plasma sweeping through corridors after a direct hit.  Personalities were dropping off the net with alarming frequency.  But the group mind could only adjust and go on.  It had no other choice.

Alarms sounded through the system as lasers ate through the upper hyperdrive array, knocking out cell after cell of the gravitron emitters.  The hyperdrive field dropped partially, but enough field strength remained in place to keep the ship in hyperspace.

Impact in ten seconds, said the alarm over the circuit.  Lei watched the schematic as her ship slid toward the closest of the enemy vessels, looking very much like a collision was going to take place.  At the last second Jean de Arc decelerated just enough to avoid the other ship.  But the hyperdrive fields intersected for a second, and the battle cruiser fired a spread of missiles at that moment.  The missiles were able to go from hyperdrive field to hyperdrive field without intersecting hyperspace, allowing them to exist all the way to their target.  They came too fast for the enemy to react, striking the hulls and burrowing in before coming to a rest.  As soon as they were released the battle cruiser accelerated away, trying to put as much distance as possible from the other ship.  They got twelve kilometers between them and other vessel before the warheads detonated.

The detonations of a dozen multi-gigaton warheads, several meters inside the hull of the ship, were devastating.  There was nothing to be done on the enemy ship but die, as the explosive power ripped that side of the vessel apart.  Great gouts of plasma ran through the corridors of the vessel, incinerating everything and everyone they came across.  The ship was kicked away at a hundred gravities of acceleration imparted by the explosion, then ripped apart as the internal power systems ruptured and spilled their own antimatter into the ship.  In an instant the ship disappeared in a flash, all of its matter and most of the energy kicked out of hyperspace as the hyperdrive fields disappeared.

The ejection of the other ship saved Jean de Arc, just as the Captain had hoped.  In regular space the explosive force would have severely damaged the battle cruiser, maybe destroyed her.  She still took a good hit of heat and radiation that damaged her skin and surface systems.  A few of the crew closest to the skin blinked out of the net, taken out by the radiation that overwhelmed their internal defenses.

That’s why no one wants to fight in hyper, thought the Captain as she planned the next move through the group mind, checking on her ship’s status and seeing what resources she still had.  Several hyperdrive missiles looped in from the other ships, far enough off that the battle cruiser was able to take them out with lasers.  Jean de Arc released her last five hyperdrive missiles, then dove and looped.  Laser ring A had lost half its capability, emitters knocked out, while ring D had lost a third of its.  The rest of the rings and the diminished ones continued to fire, locking onto the one enemy ship that had not yet been damaged.

Hit, thought Mei Lei in exultation, as the lasers took out four of the enemy’s hyperdrive nodes, then lanced out to take out four more.  Suddenly the ship wavered in space for a moment, then disappeared with a flash, leaving only two enemies to deal with.

A couple of missiles came in, along with the lasers of the remaining ships.  Space was so flooded with static and distortions, the sensory skin of the ship so damaged, that it could not get a lock on one missile.  As a laser took out more cells from the lower hyperdrive array, the missile was knocked out a mere hundred meters from the top array.  Particles and radiation flooded the array, taking out over half the cells.  Suddenly the worst was happening, and Jean de Arc was forcibly ejected back into normal space from Hyper VII.

The group mind panicked as mind after mind dropped off the net.  Mei Lei felt herself pulled up in her seat by a gravitational anomaly.  She watched in horror as her helmsman was pulped in his armor, blood splashing against his face plate, which shattered outward after cracking.  Gravity was going wild across the ship as it slipped through the hyperspace barriers.  Decks and bulkheads cracked, crew were slammed into walls with enough force to kill.  One of the computer cores shattered under the stresses, while the second core went dead as its power feed and battery backups were shredded.  In the hangar deck vehicles flew at each other as they broke through their restraints.  All across the ship emergency beacons were coming on, at a time when the crew could do nothing about them.

Mei Lei was thrown out of the group connection, along with every other living crew member.  Her head felt like someone had struck it with a very large blunt object.  She knew that other crew members would take days to recover their wits from an unexpected disconnect.  She didn’t have time for that.  Her ship was in danger.

Pulling up a schematic through the local processor she saw that the ship had hundreds of broken conduits, hundreds of hull breaches, and a total mess of downed systems.  She had lost over a thousand crew in the translation and the battle, and there were almost a thousand serious injuries.  Catastrophic is right, she thought, almost overwhelmed by the damage.  But we made it.  That in itself was a minor miracle.  Ships did make the enforced transition.  Less than ten percent of them, and they were always damaged.  In fact, while she was thinking about it the main viewer came back on, focused on the spreading plasma cloud that had been an enemy ship that had gone through the catastrophic translation.  But we made it.

Alarms went off all over the bridge.  A secondary computer system had finally been brought online, all the local processors joining through whatever bypasses the system could find.  The Captain checked that system and felt a shiver of fear run up her spine at what she saw.  “Containment breaches in progress,” stated the system over the speakers.  “Containment breaches in progress.”

One of the two large reactors, three antimatter containment pods and a half dozen warheads were all blinking red on the ship schematic.  A quick look at a display showed that there were still engineering personnel near that reactor.  And there was nothing else she could do except what she had to.

“Authorization on my command, jettison containment risks,” she ordered, feeling a sinking sensation in her stomach.

Subsystems grabbed the warheads in question and moved them swiftly to the nearest missile tubes.  The warheads were ejected through the magnetic tubes used to impart the initial acceleration to the missiles, tumbling out into space.  Large armored hatches swung out in the engineering section and the three containment vessels sent out into space on their built in grabber units.  Toward the rear center of the ship the hull section was blown off into space.  The reactor separated from the deck as rockets fired and sent the huge system away from the ship.  Two dozen engineering crew accompanied it, including the chief engineering officer, caught by the ejection of air and flung into the cold depths of space.  All were in their battle armor, able to survive for days.  None would live past the next couple of seconds.

“Move us out of here,” yelled the Captain at the navigation officer.  “Best possible accel, down.”

The navigation officer looked at her with a shocked expression, then back over at the crumpled form of the helmsman.  The armored suit was crunched like light foil, and blood was all over the floor beneath the mangled body.

“Move us, dammit,” yelled the Captain, as she sprung out of her couch and ran the three steps to the helm console. She pushed a couple of buttons and felt the heavy press of acceleration.  Only two hundred gravities, she thought, and it was still too much for the abuse compensators to handle.  She fell to the floor under the load, her lungs laboring to lift her chest against the nine gees that were leaking through the compensators.  Her vision began to go dark, then focused again as the nanobubbles in her blood stream released oxygen to her starved brain.

Mei Lei was not a religious person, but at times like these, when her life and so many others were on the line, her upbringing in the Reformed Catholic Church came back.  She said a prayer over and over, not for herself, but for all the people she commanded, especially for those in engineering who had been ejected into space at her command.

The ship shuddered, the effect of something slamming into the hull at high speed.  And then the pressure went away as the navigator took away the acceleration.  The Captain could breathe again, and took a few moments to see if any part of her might be injured.  When she could locate no pains other than the minor ones she expected, she forced herself up from the floor, looking forward toward the viewer.  Bright light still struck the hull, the remains of a dozen antimatter explosions.  There was some more damage to the hull, but the ship had survived.  She said a short prayer of thanks, and asked forgiveness of those she could not save.  Then she forced herself to her feet and stumbled back to her command couch.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” stammered the navigation officer, looking back at her with downcast eyes, glancing several times at the remains of the helm officer.

“I wish you had responded,” said Mei Lei is a soft voice.  “But I understand.  We were all in shock.”

“You weren’t,” said the com officer, her own eyes red and wet.  “Thank the Gods, you weren’t, or we would all be dead.”

And not just some of us, she thought, remembering those engineering personnel who had been sent out of the ship with the reactor.  She felt a twinge of guilt, even as she realized that if she hadn’t ejected that reactor they would all be dead, after it exploded and ruptured the stored antimatter.  She stabbed a switch on her couch arm, activating the com.

“Engineering.  I need a status report as soon as possible.”  As she said that she looked over at the slumped over figure of the second assistant engineer.  She thought he wasn’t dead, but he was injured.  A corpsman made her way over to the officer as the Captain watched.

“Should I send a distress signal ma’am?” asked the com officer, her frightened eyes looking out of her faceplate at the Captain.

“No,” said Mei Lei, shaking her head.  “No one on our side would get it for years.  The most likely recipient would be our enemy.”  And nothing passing by in hyper will get it, not unless they happen to drop back to normal space to sample the traffic.

“I have a preliminary report, ma’am,” came the voice of the assistant chief engineer over the primary circuit.

“Give it to me straight, Commander,”  ordered the Captain, steeling herself for the worst.

“Ok, ma’am.  Here it is.  We’ve only got the one antimatter reactor, and one of the backup fusion reactors.  We have enough grabber units to give you a hundred gravities, but inertial compensators can only absorb about forty.  And with the structural damage we sustained I wouldn’t push her more than twenty if you can.”

“Ok, Chief,” she replied, looking at the astrogation information on her main console.  They kept the speed and vector they had while in hyper, and were moving at point three seven light.  At twenty gravities it would take days to come to a stop.

“Navigator.  What’s the nearest source of metals and volatiles from our location?”

“Give me a minute, ma’am,” said the navigator.

“Everything OK up there?” came the voice of Commander Jackson over the com.

“We survived, Commander,” answered the Captain, cracking her helmet and removing it, feeling that if anything were going to happen with the atmosphere it would have already.  “Most of us at least.  How are things in CIC?”  She visualized where the Commander was stationed, in the mid hull central capsule, at about the same place the bridge was in the forward capsule, as protected as could be.

“We took some systems damage,” he rumbled in his deep basso voice.  “In fact, we just reestablished com with your section.  I understand the main computer core is down.”

“More like shattered,” she said, looking at a damage control readout and wincing.  Laser rings A and C were also shattered, completely destroyed, while B and D only had less than fifty percent capacity each.  Port missile battery had only one tube able to load, while the starboard side had half its tubes out of commission.  One of the plasma tubes was working, which made sense since it fed from the backup fusion reactors, and only one of them was functional.

“We should have the secondary core online in ten minutes,” said Jackson.  “It seems to be in good shape, but the power and data feeds were severed.  We’re getting them replaced as we speak.”

The Captain looked at the data feeds that were just coming online, frowning at the lack of hyperwave detection.  That was the only way they could detect the ships nearby that were still in hyper.  Without it they were blind outside of normal space.

“Are you getting any hyperwave signals back there?” she asked Jackson.

“There won’t be any until we fix the system.  Both of the ship’s hyperwave resonance chambers were destroyed during our forcible ejection to normal space.”

Lei thought about that for a moment, not liking the implications.  Anything could be cruising around them in hyper, ready to drop out into normal space right on top of them.  “See if you can get that lack fixed as soon as possible.”

“Yes ma’am,” replied the Exec.  “I don’t like the feel of being blind any more than you.  Like we’re naked in space.”

“Any suggestions on where we should go?” asked the Captain of the man she was supposed to solicit advice from.

“Wherever we can get to and exact repairs,” he answered.  “Besides that, I don’t have a clue.”

“My idea as well,” answered Mei Lei, running her fingers through sweaty hair.  “If you get any other ideas let me know.  Otherwise, keep on getting anything repaired that needs it.”

“I have a destination ma’am,” said the navigation officer, his own helmet off now, his face visibly pinched with stress.

“What do you have?”

“Closest target is a small nebula field about four days, twelve hours from here at current acceleration profile.  There are several catalogued metallic asteroids in the field.  We only need to make minor adjustments to heading, which will take thirty one hours at twenty gravities.  Then of course deceleration onto a matching velocity.”

“Plot it and go,” she said, looking at the tactical graph he had thrown up on the main viewer.  One more thing to check up on, she thought, as she sent the call out, inwardly cringing at the information she was sure she was going to get.

“Chief Surgeon Mohammed,” came the answer to her hail.  “This had better be important.”

“I know you’re busy, Commander,” said the Captain, in her mind’s eye seeing the carnage that the medical officer and his staff must be dealing with.  “I just need a quick casualty report.”

“There’s going to be more of them if I don’t get back to work,” said the man in a whiny voice.  “But I’ll tell you this.  We have one thousand one hundred and thirty-four dead or missing.”

Or missing, she thought with a cringe.  Crew who had been totally destroyed or blown into space without a trace.  Or possibly trapped somewhere.  But if their internal IDs weren’t working that normally meant the worst, since anything that could take out those systems normally didn’t leave a living body behind.

“How about wounded?”

We’re overflowing all of the medical decks,” said the man.  “Over a thousand of all categories.  Most will probably live, but I’m not sure of fifty or so of them.”

Over two thousand casualties, she thought, bowing her head.  She was saddened by the figure, but knew it could have been worse.  It gave her fifteen hundred healthy crew to work the ship, plus whatever the medical people could return to her.

“Thank you doctor,” she replied in a soft voice.  “I’ll let you get back to work.”

The man signed off in a huff, leaving the Captain to her own thoughts.  We’re still here.  If we can just creep out of here and get to someplace to make repairs, or at least get to protection, we might just make it.  The Captain bowed her head again, saying a prayer to the God of her childhood, and the son of that God who was said to be God as well.  Please let us make it out of this, she finished.  After all they had been through, just to survive would be enough.  And let the Emperor make it to safety, so that this sacrifice will not have been in vain.

*     *     *

Smaug and her consorts were cruising through hyper VI, sensors questing for the track of the ships that had passed by in VII.  Commodore Blake Griffith looked at the tactical plot which showed the most probable location and heading of the vessels of interest.  Crap, he thought to himself, seething inside, and careful not to show it to his flag crew.  We’re still saddled with these damn slow ships, while this new enemy flits around us in VII.  The days of these dinosaurs are over.  Now it’s the time for the fast ships coming off the slips.  And we don’t even have weapons that can reach them up there into that rarified dimension.

His ships carried the kind of hyper missiles they would use to kill those that were like them.  They could fire missiles in any of the dimensions VI and below, and the missiles could move up or down through the dimensions, as long as they were going slow enough for translation.  Soon they would have to carry missiles that could go up to VII, like the VII capable ships.  That would make them bigger, to have the same range as acceleration.  So the VI ships would have to carry fewer of the hyper capable missiles, or fewer normal space missiles, so they could carry more of the weapons needed to fight a hyper spatial battle.

And I bet the old foe has missiles that can kill in VII and on down, so they can hit us wherever we are with impunity.  And I can only hope that their ships come down to my level, which only a fool would do if they didn’t have overwhelming odds in their favor.  So they always have the weather gauge against us, as the ancient mariners used to call it.  They could choose to attack or retreat at their pleasure.

“The sensor chief is picking something up, Commodore,” called out the Flag Sensor Officer.  The sound came over the speakers, a noise that sent chills of fear up the spines of any warriors who plied the hyper dimensions.  The sound of a large mass being ejected forcibly from hyperspace.  And well over ninety percent of the time that meant the total destruction of that vessel.

“The chief thinks it’s one of the intruder ships, sir,” said the officer, looking back at the flag officer.  “About the four million ton range.”

The tactical plot now showed where the chief, who was monitoring and correcting the computer input, thought the vessels were.  Still over ten light years toward the core of the Empire.  Still over twelve hours away at their present speed and heading.

“So the battle cruiser is giving a good account of itself,” said the Flag Tactical Officer.

The Commodore nodded his head, knowing that the battle cruiser was still outnumbered and outmassed.  A moment later the sound of a second vessel ejecting from hyperspace came over the speakers.  The crew started to cheer, and the Commodore let a smile cross his face.  Then came the sound all were dreading, faint as it was in the distance.

“That was the battle cruiser, Commodore,” said the sensor officer.  Now the bridge was silent.

“Continue on present course,” said the Commodore to the com officer.  He looked back at the plot that showed the markers of three destroyed ships.  We’ll either catch up with the bastards, or we will continue on to Conundrum to report in.  Most probably the latter, since we really don’t have a hope in hell of doing anything to them, if they’re still in the area.  I also think they won’t try to do anything to us, since we out mass those two ships left by a factor of twelve.  Unless they have something else waiting for us.

*     *     *

Group Leader Thiaxoquillana sat back in his couch and stared again at the main viewer.  The ship his group had been engaged with had disappeared, along with the telltale burst of energy that signaled a catastrophic translation back into normal space.  But she had also destroyed two of his ships.  Half of his group gone in combat.  The ship had been half the mass of his entire force.  And he had possessed superior technology.  And they the better commander, as far as he could tell.

“Any news on the smaller ship?” he asked his tactical officer.

“No sir,” said that officer, bringing a hand to his chest, his own eyes troubled at the result of the battle.  “It must have gotten away in all the noise.”

The Group Captain snorted in agreement.  With warheads exploding and ships being hurled through the hyperspace barrier there had been enough noise to overload all the systems.

“Since the larger ship attacked us,” said the tactical officer, “and covered the smaller getting away, I think whatever we are after must be on the smaller ship.”

“And they are probably far away and much lower in hyper by now,” said the Group Captain, waving a dismissive trio of hands.  “Like looking for a Thrallmak in a Drarrata field,” he finished, using a well-worn cliché of his people.

“Order Captain Jarrahhanna to search along the path the aliens were taking before the bigger came back to engage us,” he ordered the com officer.  He turned in his chair to look at the helmsman.  “We will move a billion kilometers to the port and follow that same track.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to drop into normal space and make sure the bigger ship was finished?” asked the tactical officer.

“What use?” said the Group Captain with another dismissive wave.  “If they weren’t destroyed it will still take many hours to get down for a jump to normal.  We will never find them, unless they somehow survived against all odds, and are foolish enough to come back into hyper.  And I doubt they would be that foolish.  No, we will track the one that got away, though I doubt we will catch them either.  But we must try.”

*     *     *

Sean winced as the resonances of a large ship being kicked forcibly out of hyper came through the net.  He was linked into the ship, feeling, seeing and hearing through the sensory skin and the hyper resonance chamber.  It was a God like feeling, even in the relative sparseness of hyperspace.  That feeling was the reason that most ship’s crew could not spend too long in linkage.  It was addictive, and some people ended up becoming true wire heads.  Tolerance to the link was a major factor in the selection of officers for command.  His family had been bred to link with computers, and had much greater tolerance than just about anyone else in the Empire.

A small but sturdy body shifted in his lap and meowed plaintively.  Sean ran his fingers through the Himalayan’s soft coat while he winced at the last of the resonances that denoted a ship undergoing catastrophic translation out of hyper.  It’s like he knows that something happened to his mistress, across all of this distance.  For years researchers had been trying to prove that there was some kind of psionic link between some creatures that circumnavigated space and time.  There had been no definitive proof, but that didn’t kill the belief.

“That sounded bad,” said the Captain of the Dot McArthur, sitting in his command couch near to Sean’s observer seat.

“Large enough to be Jean de Arc you mean?” said Sean, breaking the link and looking at the Captain.  The cat jumped from Sean’s lap and padded across the bridge to sit by a door, clearly disturbed by the tension.

“I don’t mean to make light of it, your Majesty,” said the Captain in a low voice.  “Just stating fact.  That was the resonance of an eight million ton object, or thereabouts, leaving hyperspace through a forcible ejection.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” said Sean, bowing his head.  “It’s just that I’m tired of people dying trying to get me to safety.”

“I too am sorry that Captain Lei is probably dead,” said the Captain with a grimace.  “I say probably, because though the odds are bad of surviving that kind of event, they are there.  I have served with her for the past couple of months, and found her to be both an efficient officer and an admirable human being.  I do not want them to be dead.”

“And she and her crew will be listed as missing in action for how long?”

“At least several years,” said the Captain with a sigh.  “Captain Lei is now nobility.  Earned, I believe, while in your service.  So there will be lands and other property to be distributed to heirs.  That could take as long as a decade, just to make sure that she isn’t coming back.”

And that was the rub, the Emperor knew.  In the vastness of space people often disappeared for multiple decades.  And then they were found.  There had been a number of sensational trials when a multi billionaire came back and wanted his stuff returned.  So the decade rule was enacted, the minimum time that could pass before an estate would be distributed to relations.  Unless there was conclusive proof of the person’s demise.  Which normally didn’t happen during a catastrophic translation.  I’ll have to look up Captain Lei’s record, thought Sean.  See what she did to gain a minor patent, the one she held before I made her a Duchess.  He now had that kind of access.  Really access to anything that he had a need to know, which was anything and everything in the Empire.  He looked back at the Captain, who he had just noticed seemed very young for his command status, even in a society where people were young over the age of a hundred.  We’ll be seeing lots of young ship commanders, he thought, if this coming war is anything like I imagine it will be.

“You were born into the nobility, were you not?” he asked the Captain.  As soon as the question left his mouth and he saw how the man’s face clouded, he knew he had hit a sore point.  And he knew what it was.

“My father was a Count on one of the Core Worlds,” said the Captain in a strained voice.  “I am a younger son, and so got the title of Baron.”

A count on a core world, one of the developed central planets of the Empire, would rule over part of a continent, or a large group of islands.  Hundreds of millions of people would look to him for leadership.  And the Fleet was a way to make some difference for a younger son.

“It doesn’t help, you know,” said the Captain with a shrug of his shoulders.  “But of course you know that.  You have to prove yourself.  Prove that you got your rank not because you are the son of Lord Hawhaw, or whomever your father is.”

“Where was your last assignment?” asked the Emperor, leaning forward, interested in the reply.  This man had been in destroyers, or at least frigates, all of his career.  Those were the officers who were promoted to command those kinds of ships.  The little vessels that screened the larger from the enemy.  Or hunted through the dark.

“I had another destroyer,” said the man, his eyes assuming the faraway look of a combat veteran, “an older one.  We were in another sector, on anti-pirate patrol.  I had two other destroyers under my command.”

“Any action?”

“More than I really wanted, your Majesty,” said the man with a crooked grin.  “But we did some good.  There are a lot of murdering bastards no longer stalking the outer reaches because of our patrols.”

“So, where do we go from here?” asked Sean, going back into link for a moment and hearing nothing.

“They seem to be out of range now,” said the Captain, nodding his head.  “And in answer to your question, we get you back to sector headquarters.  From there they can see how to get you back to the capital for your coronation ceremony.”

“All the way to sector HQ in hyper II?”  Sean did the math in his head.  If they got up to point nine light they would get up to a pseudo velocity of fourteen lights.  Years to get to sector.

“I think we should continue on at hyper II for another hour,” said the Captain, his eyes going flat as he linked.  “Then up to hyper III.  I think we’ll jump then every couple of hours until we’re at VII, and then run for the sector capital.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me, Captain,” said the Emperor, getting to his feet and clapping a hand on the officer’s shoulder.  “Now I have a cat to comfort.  Get me if anything comes up.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said the Captain.

Sean walked over to the cat, bent over, and scooped the big Siamese up into his arms.  “It’ll be OK, my big boy.  You’ll see.  It’ll be OK.”

Sean left the bridge carrying the cat, wondering about what he would do when they reached that far away sector HQ.

*     *     *

MASSADARA SYSTEM, MARCH 20TH, 1000.

“We’re receiving a message from base, sir,” said the Com Officer, Lt. JG Natasha Cummings, over the intercom.

Commander Bryce Suttler grunted as he shook the sleep from his brain.  “And how are we getting this message, Lieutenant?”

“Through the wormhole, sir,” said the officer.  “You were right.”

“I seem to recall another officer making the suggestion first, Lieutenant,” he said bringing his feet to the floor and ordering coffee through his link.  “Good work.  I’ll be up in two.”

When Suttler reached the bridge it was in its normal state of activity, fully manned, as it was supposed to be in a combat zone.  Watch officers were looking intently at the viewers and passive sensors, observing the activity within the system several light hours away.

“Anything new?” he asked, waving the crew back to their seats.

“Same old, sir,” answered Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic, the Tactical Officer, moving from the Captain’s chair where he had been standing watch.  “No new ships have entered the system since you retired.  Three of the battleships have left in a group, on a heading for in sector.  That leaves eighty-five of the capitals, along with their consorts.  Oh, and the Cacas have been sweeping with actives in our area, but as far as we can tell they have not gotten a return.”

As far as we know, thought the Captain of the Sea Stag.  His ship was supposed to be all but invisible on any scans, active or passive.  With an advanced enemy of unknown capabilities that may have not been true, and the only way they would know was when an object, ship or missile, started on a heading their way.  And we don’t know if they're only scanning our area, or if they are randomly scanning the entire perimeter.

“That’s still a lot of capital ships gathered in this one system,” said the helm officer.

“I’m sure they’re not here to defend the system,” said the Tactical Officer.  “That looks like a battle fleet to me.”

“But what’s the target?” asked Suttler, looking over at the Com Officer.  “Any luck on breaking their code?”

“Not yet, sir,” said the young woman with a frown.  “It’s quite sophisticated.”  She looked at her board for a moment, then back at the Captain.  “Personal communication coming in from Fleet for you Captain.”

“I’ll take it in my ready room,” said Suttler, getting up from his chair and heading for the hatch.

The ready room was small aboard this ship, like most areas as compared to a regular warship.  The Stealth Attack Ships needed all the space they could designate for machinery and weapons.  There were still some large open areas aboard, like the gym and rec rooms.  But even that space had to come at a price to others.

Suttler took a seat at the desk and keyed in to the link. A holo came to life over his desk, and he found himself looking at Vice Admiral Sheila Mtwambe, the head of the Silent Service, as they were called, at least for Sector IV.

“Admiral,” said Bryce, surprised that he would be talking to someone so high up the chain of command as the Stealth commander of the Sector.  “What do I owe this contact to?”

“You’re doing a fine job out there, Commander,” said the Admiral in a voice deeper than most would expect from a woman.  “In fact, you are one of the few stealth ships we actually have in place to observe the enemy.  Fine job getting where you needed to be, and good thinking about using the wormhole to communicate with us.”

“That was actually the idea of my Com Officer,” said Bryce, still feeling the pleasure of the compliment of an officer he respected.

“Well, whoever came up with it, it’s brilliant.  We have established contact with all of the other stealth wormhole ships in the sector, though none are in as good a position as yours.  Though there are some moving into position as we speak.”

Bryce nodded his head, thinking of the hard proposition that the easy words conveyed.  Those ships would stair step into the systems of interest, leaping down hyper levels beyond the detection range, it was hoped, of the vessels around that star.  While also hoping there weren’t unknown pickets further out in space.  And then a month’s movement through normal space, coming to a rest far enough out system that it was hoped nothing would notice them, or the stealth field didn’t break down at the wrong moment, or a hundred other little things.

“I also wanted to congratulate you for your part in getting the heir free of the system,” continued to Admiral, a smile on her face.

“Is he alright?  I mean, did he make it back to Conundrum?”

The Admiral was silent for a moment, as if contemplating what to say over the channel.  Why does she hesitate? thought the officer.  Surely this is the most secure means of communication possible.  Nothing could leak out of the wormhole, could it?

“His Majesty has not been heard from since he left the system,” said the Admiral in a low voice.  “Neither of the Hyper VII ships, the Jean de Arc or the Dot McArthur, have been heard from.”

“Then he is lost,” said Suttler, feeling downcast.

“I didn’t say that,” said the Admiral, shaking her head.  “There are too many possibilities.  Those ships may have had to power down and hide from the pursuers.  Or they could be damaged and making repairs.”

But the most likely explanation is they were tracked down and destroyed, thought the Captain, who had a keen understanding of Imperial politics, having been raised in a Sector Assemblyman’s house.  And that means chaos, as the military tries to keep Parliament from foisting an idiot on us.  Maybe even enough chaos to start a civil war, at the one time when we can’t afford one.

“We must remain hopeful, and do our duty, no matter what it calls us to do,” said the Admiral, her face grave.

Bryce nodded his head, taking in the words and not having any trouble deciding whose side the Admiral was on.  Like most of the senior brass she was a staunch Monarchist, and not at all on the side of the Parliament in any dispute against the crown.  After all, the Crown had supported the military through the many brush wars of the last century, while Parliament had always been wont to vote their wallet, and against the best interests of the Fleet and Army.

“You be careful out there, son,” finished the Admiral, smiling from the holo.  “You keep giving us good information, and get back to base in one piece.  Mtwambe out.”

The holo faded, and Suttler was left to his own thoughts.  He knew he would get a promotion when he got back to base, whenever that happened.  Hell, he thought, I might get a double promotion and a title out of this month’s work.  Saving an heir had to be worth something, even if the heir was later lost, unless there was a cover up to keep blame from falling on the military, which was always a possibility.  Destroying millions of tons of enemy shipping in the battle of Massadara, as well as providing valuable intelligence from a presence within the enemy’s sphere would be worth a promotion in and of itself.  But first we have to make it out of here, thought the dashing young officer.  I’m not really into posthumous awards.

*    *    *

“Any word on who the humans were trying to get out of the system, and what became of him?” asked the Great Admiral, walking down the corridor with his Chief of Intelligence, Admiral Kleroconida.

“We have interrogated many of the prisoners from the enemy naval force, my Lord,” said the male, giving a head nod of negation.  “And all I can tell you was that he was a prince of the Imperial Family.  Even the lowliest spacer knew that much, but not much else.  We don’t know where he stood in the succession of this Empire.  According to one of the human’s we interrogated this was considered a quiet sector, and the prince was sent here to get military experience without actually being put at risk.”

“And then we swept in like a storm,” said the Great Admiral with a laugh.  “So much for prior planning.”  He stopped and looked at the Intelligence Officer.  “And no idea where he stood in the succession?”

“None that we have talked to knew the answer to that question.  And we are sure that the prisoners are frightened of us and our interrogations.  Any who seemed to withhold information have been executed in front of the other prisoners, then butchered in their view before becoming rations.”

“So you do not think they are withholding information about this prince, and what he means to their Empire?”

“I do not believe so, my Lord.  But still, I wish to put an operative among them.”

“Ben?” said the High Admiral, thinking of the one pet human they had aboard.  He had sent for more from the surviving human colony, the one the Empire had established so they would have agents for such a task if they ever met humans again.  “I thought he might be useful here, and have had him study the captives, so he might blend in better.”

“Excellent,” said the Great Admiral, giving a head motion of exuberance mixed with congratulations.  “Then we will use him to get the information we need.  See to it.”

The other officer acknowledged the order and turned to walk away.  “And Admiral,” said the Great Admiral before he could move too far.  “Send out a signal to all ships, coming and going, to keep a lookout for any enemy ships that may be trying to sneak out of the space we now control.  I do not know the importance of this prince, but he was of concern enough to the humans where they withdrew a capable capital ship out of their order of battle.  And rendezvoused with one of their fast scout capitals.  So he must be of some importance.”

Later the Admiral dined with some newly arrived captains of battleships.  The roast human was perfect, and the Admiral reminded himself to compliment the chef when he had a chance.  The head cook was also a slave, but considered very valuable by the officer whose palate he served.  The Admiral didn’t think a thing about eating members of another intelligent species that just had the misfortune to be made up of compatible amino acids.  If they didn’t eat them the humans would just go to waste rotting on the surface, or floating in space.

“Gentleman,” said the Great Admiral, holding up a glass of wine imported from the capital planet.  “To the Emperor, may he always rule in the light of the Gods.”

The other officers raised their glasses and returned the toast, while the Great Admiral studied them, and decided the fates of they and their ships.  There were still raids to send out, small systems to take.  But he was planning a major attack on several of the enemy fleet bases, and wanted to keep a good sized force back to build around.

“My Lord Admiral,” said one of the officers.  “There is something that we are curious about, and maybe you can answer the question.”

“And what it that, my good Captain?” asked the Admiral.

“We have heard that these humans have become super intelligent demons in the years since we last met them,” said the Captain, an expression of worry on his face.  “It is said that they can think faster than our best computer.  The only reason I ask this Admiral is not because we fear the vermin, but to gain facts to dispel the rumors among our crews.”

“They have improved themselves in the intervening millennia,” agreed the Great Admiral, signaling for the slaves to come forward and fill their glasses.  “They are smarter and stronger on the whole than before, and have improved their technology considerably, but still not up to our level.  So no, they are not super beings.  However, they are smart and devious fighters, and that is something you gentlemen will always want to remember.  Do not take them for granted, or they will hand you your horns.  Fight them with a combination of caution and audacity and you will do fine.”

“That is good to know, Great Admiral,” said the Captain who had asked the question.  “I will remind my officers and crews of that point.”

“Just remember that they have a certain inbred deviousness that seems to be genetic to their kind.  If you think they are doing something obvious, look for another action it is hiding.  We have many advantages over them, including our intelligence gathering apparatus.  We have agents we can infiltrate into their ranks.”  Or at least we will in the near future.  “We will know more about their operations than they will know about ours.  And that is an advantage I aim to press.”

Chapter Five

It would have been difficult to have designated the exact direction to Mecca from each and every planet in human space.  We could point out the general direction from every one of thousands of worlds.  But each of those worlds orbits around its own star.  And each of those planets rotate at different rates.  It would have been a mathematical nightmare to fix the direction to Mecca based on where each world was in its rotation and orbit, and then to figure the location needed to pray to from every point of that surface.  But Mecca, the location where the Prophet, may Allah bless his name, ascended into heaven, is as much an idea as a place.  So on each world where people of the Faith settled a symbolic Mecca was established, for the use of that world.  And so has the Faith progressed in these times.  The Faith has also progressed in the way it views the divergent beliefs of other humans.  No longer are these seen as the enemies of the Faith, placed here by Satan to ensnare the race of Man.  Not when there are other forces in the Universe who would like nothing better than to see humankind fail, or even better from their point of view, to depart.  No, now we see other worshippers of God, in all his many possible guises, as fellow journeyers on the road of destiny.  Because if we cannot work together despite our different beliefs, we will never be able to work together against those of different biologies, who would like nothing better than to see us wiped from the Universe.   Teachings of the New Koran, written in the Imperial Year 121.

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, AND IN ORBIT AROUND JEWEL.  MARCH 21ST, 1000.

“So this is the young man we have all been hearing about,” said the Interim Prime Minister Theo Streeter, Duke of Coventry.  Today he felt a little more secure in that position, knowing that Grand Duke Carlos Maldonado, his political opponent, would no longer trouble him.

“This is he,” said the Imperial Investigation Bureau Director Jakobe McGregor, smiling, leading the slender pale faced man into the luxurious sitting room.  Countess Judy Decker, Sergeant of Arms of the Lords, looked up from the plate of food she was addressing to give the noble a look.  She then leaned over and whispered something in the ear of Archduke Frederick Mgana.  She looked back at the young noble with a smile on her face.

He is perfect, isn’t he, thought the Prime Minister, holding his hand out to Count Hector Romanov Sutter, Third Cousin to the Emperor, and the man they proposed to place on the throne. Bright enough to act the part.  Not so bright that he will try to wrest control from us.  Perfect.

“Welcome, Count Hector.  Welcome to Capitulum.  Are you ready to assume the throne of Empire?”

“I am, Prime Minister,” said the fit young man, gripping Streeter’s hand in a crushing grip.  “But only as it is necessary to protect the realm.  I have no desire for power.”

But you do have the desire to get out of debt, thought the Prime Minister, returning the grip, using his ex-professional athlete’s strength, squeezing until the young man grunted.

“You have, of course, met my colleagues,” said Streeter, nodding to the pair sitting on the couch.

“Of course,” said the young man, bowing with the courtly manners of the Imperial Family.  “My Lady.  Your Grace.”

“He was difficult to locate,” said McGregor, putting his arm around the Count’s shoulders again.  “It took some of my best people to find him.”

When one is hiding from the mob, it should be difficult to locate you, unless you want to be dead, thought Streeter.  Now the mob will be hiding from him.  I’ll have to ask McGregor later what he did with those men of his.  Probably paid them off, but I would be more comfortable if they were eliminated.

“And the people he owed his debts too?” asked Streeter.

“They have been paid off, and told that it is no longer in their best interests to bother the Count,” said McGregor.  “We made sure that they understood.  Those that survived.”

The young Count smiled at the last, the grin of a man who had been tormented and lived to see his tormentors pay.  He has a cruel streak within him, thought the Prime Minister.  Good.  We might have need of an Emperor that turns the people away from the crown with his excesses.  So they can turn to the Parliament for relief.  Even the military can turn to Parliament.  He looked back at the young man, already seeing the greed for power that lived behind his eyes.  The same greed that Streeter felt.

“After this day forward you will always be in the spotlight,” said Streeter, noticing that the young man stood up straighter and smiled at hearing those words.  This was one who was tired of being in obscurity, who wanted to be cheered and adored by the public.

“Have a seat over here, Count, and we will talk about your coronation.  And how, after you become Emperor, you and the Lords can work together to make this a better Empire.”

*    *    *

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski, the Chief of Naval Operations, to the woman in the holo.  “Where the hell did they dig this one up from?”

“The young man was actually hiding out on a frontier planet in Sector Seven,” said Ekaterina Sergiov, Chief of the Imperial Investigations Agency.  “He had crossed the crime syndicate on his home world by not paying his gambling debts, and they didn’t seem too concerned about his civil rank.”

“Seems to be a trend here,” said Len, looking at another screen that showed Hector Romanov Sutter’s service record.  “He was busted out of the service for gross insubordination and dereliction of duty.  Thought it was more important to drink and play cards than stand his watch.  I’m surprised he didn’t serve time in a military penitentiary.”

“He had too many strings to pull,” said Ekaterina.  “Being a member of the Imperial Family has its privileges, whether we admit it or not.  I know that Augustine wouldn’t condone such, but the position of Imperial family is enough to cow many minor functionaries, even in the military.”

“It didn’t seem to stop the crime syndicate he owed money to,” said Len, shaking his head.  “Too bad they didn’t get to him before that bastard McGregor did.  Then he would have to waste time looking for another puppet.”

“They almost had him,” said the Director of IIA.  “Given another two or three days he would have been found by the locals, after having died a horrible death.  Instead McGregor gave the mob a lesson they will not soon forget.”

“And so we are stuck with this, this thing, if the heir cannot get back to the capital in time,” groaned Len.  “No character, no courage, no intelligence.  This kid is useless as a leader of a destroyer watch, much less the entire Empire.”

“We need that boy here, at the capital, Len,” said the Head of Imperial Civil Intelligence.  “Not just words, or rumors that he might be alive.  But here, where people can see him, talk to him, know he is real.  Then we need to get him in that chair, put his ass in the seat of Empire, and get this madness under control.”

“He’s not the man his father was,” said Len, shaking his head as he frowned.

“He doesn’t need to be,” said the woman.  “Is he an honorable young man?  What does the Fleet think of his character?”

“He has a temper,” said the Admiral, looking at the young man in question’s record.  “And a tendency to court the edge of insubordination.  But his honor is beyond reproach, as far as we can tell.”

“We agree,” said Ekaterina, her own eyes taking on the faraway look of a link.  “And he might not be his father, yet, though he is good enough for the here and now.  The promising thing about him, according to his psych profile, which believe me goes much deeper than anything the Fleet uses for its selection processes, is he can be his father.  He can be as good an Emperor as we have ever had.  Or…”

“Or what?  And why don’t I believe I’m going to like this.”

“The wrong circumstances can make the young man a tyrant.”

“Like the mad Emperor?”

“Not at all,” said the woman, shaking her head.  “He will not resort to the kind of depravity that Cassius was known to embrace.  He will still be an honorable young man with a sense of justice.  Only it will be harsh justice.  Not what any of us want in a ruler.”

“But you are still willing to endorse him?”

“It’s not my place to endorse him,” said Ekaterina.  “He is, by the law of succession, the rightful heir to the throne.  And he is a better choice than the one the Lords want to foist on us.”

“And would you still endorse him if that were not true?”

“Of course,” said the Intelligence Chief with a smile.  “Compared to Count Hector, the High Prince is a saint, and just what we need.  We just need to see that he is handled correctly, and allowed to grow into the position.”

“And if he is dead?” asked Len, staring into the screen.  “If Sean was killed in the attempt to get him to safety?”

“Then we have a real problem on our hands,” said a frowning Ekaterina.  “A civil war at the least.  Not much of one, I am sure, since the Lords don’t have much in the way of military force.”

“And what side will IIA be on?” asked Len, leaning forward on his desk.

“Why, the winning side, of course,” said the woman.  “I’m not fool enough to stand against the Fleet and the Army with a bunch of spooks.  Just pray it doesn’t come to that.”

I do, thought Len as the connection ended.  Every night, that our rightful Emperor may be seated, and we can concentrate on where we need to focus.

*    *    *

ELYSIUM EMPIRE, CAPITAL SYSTEM.

“Welcome, Lord Grarakakak,” said the Archduke Horatio Alexanderopolis, Imperial Ambassador to the Star Empire of Elysium, as the brightly dressed avian stepped into his office.  The wonderful odor of the most powerful being in that Empire wafted through the room, and the colorfully feather sentient took the offered seat that configured itself to his non-human body.

“Would you like a drink, my Lord?” asked the human, sliding his chair over and reaching into the cabinet on the wall.

“No thank you, your Grace,” replied the avian in his musical voice.  “I have business to discuss with you, and I am sorry if I come across as ungracious.”

The ambassador looked into the face of the sentient.  He was as familiar as any human with the Brakakak species.  That said, even he had problems reading them sometimes, even an individual he was as familiar with as the highest civil official in the Elysium Empire.  But he could tell that the being was troubled by the quivering of his beak, and the way his hands flitted while he spoke.  But troubled about what?

“Go on then, my Lord,” said the Ambassador, using the common rank the High Lord insisted upon, there being no real Emperor in this Empire.  Empire was the human designation, as was the name, since the real name was unpronounceable to most humans, and Alexanderopolis knew they considered themselves more of a Cooperative.

“We have been hearing troubling rumors about this young man your Lords intend to place in the Emperor’s Office,” said Grarakakak, leaning toward the Ambassador.  “Very troubling rumors.”

“Which, unless I miss my guess, means your intelligence apparatus has given you very good information about him,” said Horatio with a smile.

“He is not really the sort of man we would want to have dealings with,” said the High Lord of Elysium, giving a very human nod.  He reached into a vest pocket and pulled out a human made data chip.  “I do not think you will want to either.  I am sorry, my friend.  But if young Count Sutter becomes the head of your Government, which is to say a puppet to the Lords, I do not think you will be retained in this posting.”

“Probably not,” said Horatio as he pushed the data chip into a slot on his desk.  I was friends of Augustine, and his father before him.  Which means I am political enemies with many of their enemies in Parliament.  And who would want me representing their interests in the capital of the next strongest Empire in this region of space.  The holo came up over the desk as the computer read the chip, and Horatio grunted as he scanned the report.  He shook his head in disgust, then looked over at his friend.

“Not what I would want as the ruler of my largest neighbor,” said the Ambassador, shaking his head.  “Can’t blame you for your distrust of this man.”

“We feel he will be nothing more than a puppet,” said the High Lord, waving toward the holo.  “And we do not trust your Duke Streeter, the current Prime Minister.”

“Interim Prime Minister,” Horatio reminded the alien.

“Not if he has his way,” said Grarakakak.  “And I believe he will have his way, unless he is stopped.”

“Not much I can do about it, Lord Grarakakak.  Not out here.”

“But your Len Lenkoswki can do something about it,” said the High Lord, showing his knowledge of Imperial politics.

“Sure.  If he wants to start a civil war.  And none of us wants that.”

“That might be better than letting the Lords have their way.”

“It’s not even all of the Lords,” said Horatio, feeling the need to defend his government, despite all the evidence against them.  “Most of them have the best interests of the Empire at heart.”

“But they are not the power in the Parliament,”  said the High Lord.  “For a Democratic Government there is too much real power in the hands of too many hereditary leaders.  I do not think you picked the best form of government from your history.”

“It has served us well up to this point,” said Horatio, bristling under what he again saw as an attack on his government.  Not that he’s wrong, thought the Ambassador.  It just goads to hear an alien be right about our shortcomings.

“And how goes the campaign against the Lasharans?” asked the High Lord, clearly changing the subject in a diplomatic manner.

“We have mobilized that front, and our allies are ready,” said Horatio, happy to change the subject.  “Beyond that, we have to wait for the invasion and see what happens.”

“I will leave now,” said the High Lord, getting to his feet.  He started to walk out, seemed to think of something, and turned toward the human. “You have a well-fortified facility here, do you not?”

“I think your intelligence can tell you how well defended our embassy is,” replied the Ambassador.  “We couldn’t withstand an attack by your military.  But, let us say, any civilian group who tried to take our embassy would soon regret the decision.”

“I may have a favor to ask of you, my friend.  In the near future.”

“Ask it and it shall be yours, High Lord,” answered Horatio, curious to know what the being might be leading to.

“Don’t commit to anything you might regret later, my friend,” said the High Lord, his face serious.  “Just know that there may come a time when I need help, and offer it if you can.”

The avian gave a short bow, then left the office, leaving the Ambassador to his own thoughts about what might be occurring.  After a few moments he got on the com and set up a meeting with his intelligence chief and the Naval Attaché’.

*    *    *

LASHARAN INVASION FLEET, SPACE BETWEEN LASHARAN HEGONOMY AND NEW TERRAN EMPIRE.

Admiral Hakana Mallakan had known this was a suicide mission before he had agreed to undertake it.  Agreed was not really the right word if truth be told.  As one of the many hundreds of nephews of Ahmadhi-ghasta (Grand High Bishop) Mallakan, he had been expected to volunteer his services on this crusade.  Anything else would have been considered an insult to his family and his religion.  Marrala, the God of Destruction, demanded much of his adherents, up to and including their lives.

Still, he had felt good about this mission, and had sensed a positive attitude among the males and neuters of his warriors.  Despite the fact that his battleship, the Anger of Marrala, was structurally fifty years behind anything the Imperials deployed, though her weapons and instruments had been upgraded to a standard only twenty years behind the vessels she might face.  Ships such as his had been known to win battles against vessels of superior tech, if they were used skillfully.  And he fully expected to not have to fight any naval battles on the way to his target.  To get into that kind of battle was to lose.  No, his job was to get the ships carrying the troops to their targets and give them some orbital support.  Nothing more or less.

The trip across the frontier had been frightening, creeping in Hyper II for a month, trying to avoid the picket ships that were out there to catch just such an attempt as this.  Many ships didn’t make it through.  The sounds of vessels falling out of hyper were a daily punctuation to the danger of trying to sneak across the frontier of a foe that was on the alert at all times.  It had been a relief to jump up to IV with the frontier a couple of light years behind.  More ships had fallen at that point, victims to their own translation noise.  But the fallen had allowed the others to make it through.  There were not enough enemy pickets to stop everything, and most of the fleet made it well into human space, where they began their high speed, relatively, runs to the targets.

And now, even though the enemy knew something was up, they would not be able to do anything about it.  Technology and physics ensured there were no instantaneous communications, and it took time to move ships.  The humans knew a hammer blow was falling, and could only watch helplessly as it struck.

And now he was here, in the target system, called by the humans Malagaski, by his own people Grosocor.  There were still plenty of his people on the planet, which the humans occupied while they tried to change the Lasharan peoples’ viewpoint on religion.  He would put a stop to that by landing two hundred thousand freedom fighters, and weapons for millions more, onto the planet.  Then let the humans bloody their noses trying to pacify a people who would not allow such.

“It is as we were told,” said the Mahada Klakhana, the religious leader of this force, looking at the viewer that revealed the entire system.  “There is nothing here to stop us.”

“We are picking up the emissions of three destroyer sized craft and a half dozen frigates, Lord Admiral,” said the neuter who was manning the sensor station.

The Admiral nodded as he looked at the neuter, a bred warrior of their people.  A fighter, but not a thinker.

“Order the force to head for the planet at best speed,” he told his com tech, a male.  “The warships will lead the way and sweep those pests out of our path.”

The com officer raised an upper arm in acknowledgement, while his other digits worked on sending the message.  In moments the warships were moving ahead of the freighters at their maximum acceleration of one hundred ninety gravities, leaving the commercial ships to plod along at thirty gees.  The battleship, her two consort cruisers and ten destroyers moved forward, questing with their active sensors now, sending probes that would take six hours to cover the system and return.

“I’m picking up ship emissions from behind,” reported the Sensor Tech.  “Dozens of them.”

The Admiral switched the viewer to a rear view just in time to see twenty freighters explode under the attention of beam weapons.  Each of the merchant ships had thousands of warriors on board, and almost seventy thousand Lasharans died in that first barrage.  The tactical plot came up on another viewer, showing the dots of the enemy ships, just beyond the hyper barrier, right in line with the attacking force’s vector toward the planet.

More freighters went up under the attention of beams that were too powerful for their weak electromagnetic fields.  The enemy ships were now moving forward, with considerably more accel than the Lasharan ships could make.

“We are betrayed,” shouted the priest, waving all four fists in the air.  “Maralla will damn them.”

That may be, thought the Admiral as the plot blossomed with thousands of missiles heading for the Lasharan warships.  But we won’t be around to see that revenge.

*    *    *

It was much the same through the over one hundred systems the Lasharans had targeted, which included all of the systems they had ceded to the Empire through right of conquest.  In most warships met the intruders as they came out of hyper, blasting them from space.  In others, swarms of fighters overwhelmed the pitiful defenses of the merchant ships, while the few warships looked helplessly on until it was their turn.  In some systems the Lasharan ships actually made it to the planets, where they were taken under fire by shore batteries, then landed in the face of fortified Imperial Troops.  In the end it was all for naught, and hundreds of thousands of Lasharans joined the lists of their Church’s martyrs.

While this was happening in human space, the humans’ allies of Margrave and Grashar rolled across their frontiers with the fanatical aliens and laid waste to every military base and facility for fifty light years.  And after the Lasharans had been taken care of in human space the human defense force consolidated, becoming a strike fleet that moved into Lasharan space and did much the same as their allies for a fifty light year buffer.  In the end the Lasharans were much weaker than before, and the humans and allies much better positioned for the next round.

*    *    *

MASSADARA SPACE.

“Sir,” came the voice of the Tactical Officer over the intercom.  “We might have a problem.”

“Define problem,” said the Captain, looking up from the work he was performing on his ready room desk.

“About a hundred ships coming in from direction of the outer frontier,” chimed in the Sensor Officer.  “They’re stair stepping their way into the system, and we’re right in the way.”

“I’ll be right up,” said Suttler, closing the holo down that had the report he was dictating for higher command.  Ships had continued to come into the system, until there was a total of ninety of the big twenty-five million ton battleships, along with over two hundred of the four million ton cruisers and over three hundred of the five hundred thousand ton scout ships.  Scouts and cruisers had also been leaving the system throughout the last couple of days, mostly on vectors that would take them into the sector.  But another hundred vessels coming into the system was big news.

Suttler came through the door into the bridge and could feel the tension.  Not that the tension ever decreased much for long, not out here on the edge of a hostile system with no support.  If they were ever found out they were dead.  The enemy would commit ships to an exhaustive search that even their stealth technology would not defeat for long.

“They’re coming in directly on bearing of twenty-five degrees,” called out the Sensor Officer as she saw the Captain walk onto the bridge.  “Forty-two capital ships, fifty-eight cruisers and fifty-seven scouts.”

Suttler whistled at the count.  Over a hundred and fifty enemy vessels.  “And we’re in the way?” he asked, looking at the Tactical Officer.  That man nodded his head and the tactical plot appeared on the screen, with a line from the enemy positions running through the star system to the inhabitable planet.  And the line was right over their position, which was only light minutes outside of the hyper limit.

“How in the hell did that happen?” asked the Captain, not really expecting an answer.  They were actually ten degrees to spinward from the most direct path from the frontier, and ten degrees up toward the disk, just so they wouldn’t have to worry about what seemed about to happen now.

“They’re coming in at just under point three c,” said the Sensor Officer.

Better than we can do, thought the Captain.  Major advantage to them.

“And they tend to translate closer to the barrier than we do,” continued the sensor officer.

And that’s our hope this time, thought the Captain, looking at that plot as seeing the dots moving slowly toward them.  “Be nice to figure out how they can translate at such a higher velocity than any of our ships.  I want all of them tracked with every sensor on this vessel.”

“We won’t be able to do a complete scan on all of them,” said the Sensory Officer, frowning.

“Then get the closest with a complete scan, but I don’t want an idle instrument on this ship.  Or an idle observer.”  The crew looked back at their boards, and Suttler felt he had seized upon the thing most likely to keep them from brooding on the possibility of enemy ships translating onto their position.  That was his job.

It won’t be good if one of them opens up a portal in the space we’re in, he thought, staring at the plot.  It had been known to happen, rarely, but still enough to get a general idea of what can happen.  If space were stretched through a spot that Sea Stag occupied she would be stretched with it.  And the stealth ship was likely to break up, lose containment, and explode.  It wouldn’t do the translating vessel much good either, as the hole she hoped to use would be partially plugged, and there would be a collision involving vessels moving at low relativistic speeds.  Not that he cared a damn what happened to a Caca ship, but his he cared much about.

“Enemy ships are six light minutes from the barrier,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Traveling two point seven light relative to normal space.  Time to barrier, two point two minutes.”

“Recording all grav wave resonances,” called out the Sensory Officer, who was sweating like everyone else aboard.

Should I have ordered them in battle armor, thought the Captain, wiping a sleeve across his own face.  What would be the use?  If one jumps on top of us we’re dead in an instant.  If they detect us and fire on us we’re dead a little later, but still dead.  And at least we can be comfortable while we wait for the verdict.  And it would have taken too long to power everything up for battle from the total down status they were now at, a status made necessary if they were to escape detection.  The enemy would hit them much too hard before they had fields up.

“One minute thirty seconds to the barrier,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Bryce for a moment felt like telling him to shut up.  The sweat was starting to roll down his own face, and he understood how people fighting in the old submarines of history must have felt.

“One minute to hyper barrier.”  The plot showed the alien ships almost on top of them. “Point seven five minutes.”  Now they were on top of the stealth ship, just in another dimension.

“Leading ships point five light minutes.”  People on the bridge started to relax, but the Captain still felt the tension in his body.  They weren’t out of it yet.  If the enemy all translated at about the same point, up ahead toward the star, they were safe.  But Fleets had been known to translate simultaneously, and there were still ships coming across their position.

“Lead ships point two light minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“Translation,” called out the Sensory Officer.  “We have translation one point eight light minutes ahead.”

The grav waves were flooding the sensors as the ships continued to move into normal space, still invisible to the observing ship due to the light speed limit of that space.

“Start sending the data we have back to base,” said Suttler to the Com Officer.  “It might take a couple of hours to give them everything we have.”

“Yes, sir,” called out the Com Officer over the resonance waves coming through the bridge speakers.

The first of the enemy ships appeared on the viewers; scout craft, the five hundred thousand ton small craft, each double the mass of Sea Stag.  All were moving into the system, starting to accelerate now that they were back in normal space.  They only had their basic particle shields up to front, giving the human ship a perfect view of them from astern.  Every camera and energy sensor on the stealth ship was taking in every detail.  More of the scouts came onto the screen, seeming to appear out of nowhere as they were at first blocked out by the holes they opened in space, then revealed as those holes collapsed on themselves.

“We’re getting beautiful data on them, sir,” called out the Sensory Officer, smiling and looking at the viewers.

Next came some of the cruisers, looking much like larger versions of the scout ships.  Again they appeared out of nowhere, then started accelerating, and the sensors were pulling in the resonances of their grabber units while the computers matched those resonances to their heat signatures and acceleration rates.  This went on for minutes, and then the real show began as the twenty-five million ton battleships began to appear.  The sensors locked onto the closest pair and began to record the images that showed every surface installation, every energy signature across the huge ships.  In minutes they had gathered more information about the layout of the big ships than the Empire had to date.  The computers crunched the data and sent it up the line, while the raw information was also sent in pure form.

“This is a stroke of luck, sir,” said the Tactical Officer as more battleships appeared, followed by more of the cruisers.

“And a moment ago we all thought this was a sign of doom, myself included,” said Bryce, staring in amazement at the huge enemy force that didn’t even realize it was being watched.  “I…”

“We have a translation,” called out the Sensory Officer in a tone that let everyone know right off this was not more of the same.  “Distance, almost on top of us.”

“Shut down all passives,” called out the Captain, turning in his seat to point at the officer.  “Stealth field at full power.”  At his command the ship turned its light bending field, powered down so she could gather the best data possible, to full power, and the vessel seemed to fade away from the Universe.

Suddenly there was a vessel in space, sitting no more than a thousand kilometers away, much too close for comfort.  It was only an enemy scout ship, which could still destroy Sea Stag in a fair fight with no trouble.  And alert the other ships to her presence if she couldn’t finish the human vessel.  Everyone held their breaths, again, then sighed as the ship started to accelerate into the system, opening up the distance she had gained from coasting from her point of entry at point three light.

“That was too damned close,” exclaimed Lieutenant Ngovic, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck to relieve the tension build up.

“Damn right,” said Suttler, watching the plot that showed the enemy force moving into the system.  He turned back to the Com Officer.  “What’s it sound like out there?”

“They’re all chattering away ship to ship,” said the officer.  “Without a care in the world.”

“Of course,” said Ngovic, nodding.  They control this system, and there’s no one here to contest it.  And anything they transmit will take years to reach the nearest star system.

“Keep sending everything back to base,” said Suttler, looking at the Com Officer.  “And I mean everything, no matter how unimportant it may seem.”

And we continue to sit here and watch, relaying the information back, while you bastards have no idea there’s a hawk flying around, spying into the chicken coop.

*    *    *

Chief Petty Officer Jana Gorbachev remembered the tales of Hell her Orthodox Catholic mother had told her when she was growing up.  Tales meant to frighten a young girl, to make her think about what she was doing, so as not to risk ending up in so frightening a place.  But despite her good behavior she had ended up there anyhow.  Because if this wasn’t Hell, it was the closest thing she could imagine to it.

The cell where she and twenty of her crewmates were crammed was like something out of a fantasy about life centuries prior to space travel.  The ten by ten meter room was filthy, unlike the spotless quarters that were kept for prisoners aboard Imperial warships.  Clean clothing wasn’t a problem, as they had been stripped naked before being herded into the chamber.  Clean skin was, as they were not offered so much as a basin of water, and must perform their toileting into a hole in the floor, in front of everyone else.  Bedding consisted of the hard floor, and the temperature regulation was either too hot or too cold.

And probably all of it on purpose, thought the NCO, glaring at their large captors as they came to gather some subjects for interrogation.  They couldn’t even keep track of the days of their captivity aboard what had to be a ship or a station in space.  There was no way to tell time in the always darkly lit compartment, and no way to register it.

The aliens were coming back; one of them holding a human in his arms as if the man was a small child.  Jana could tell by the endless stare from the man that he was totally broken.  She had already been through one session herself, and could see how someone could be broken down completely by several of them.

The alien put the man down on the floor, where he stood staring into the air.  Jana waited for them to open the wire mesh door and let the man back into the cell, but the Cacada made no move to do so.

The second alien drew what to them would be a short blade from the sheath on his belt.  He drew his arm back and the humans in the caged screamed out.  Jana knew she was among them, yelling the word no at the top of her lungs.  The Cacada didn’t hesitate at all, and the ultrasharp blade sliced easily through the neck of the crewman, splattering blood into the cage to splash the other humans.

The body swayed on its feet for a moment, then fell to the floor, blood spurting from the stump of the neck for a little bit of time.  The head rolled on the floor, the same sightless stare on the face it had possessed in life.  With finality the body pumped one last spurt of blood, then stopped, while some remaining fluid dribbled out onto the floor.

“This is a human who did not cooperate,” said one of the Cacada in guttural but passable Terranglo.  “He fought us until there was nothing left of his mind, and so became of no use to us.  Now he will be used for the only thing humans are good for, food for the warriors of the race.  If you fail to cooperate a similar fate will befall you.”

And with that the two Cacada males left the chamber, one dragging the body behind him by a leg.  The head was left where it fell, a reminder of what the alien had said.

Some undetermined time in the future more humans were taken away, some to return intact, others to be butchered in front of those remaining in the cage, until the numbers dwindled.  Jana herself was taken on two other occasions.  The interrogation was frightening and excruciating, and she tried her hardest not to scream, failing each time.  She told the aliens some of what she knew, always holding back the most important information, still shamed that she had revealed anything.  She came back to the cage covered in her own urine and feces, and often vomit as well.  But she always came back, so must have satisfied their captors in some respect.

And then came the day when the new prisoner was brought to the cage, the first time the population had actually grown.  He said he was from the Duke of Landris, one of the other ships destroyed in the battle of Massadara, and he spoke with the accent of Cimmeria.  After a couple of days he was accepted as a survivor and not some kind of enemy trick, especially after he was removed one time for interrogation and came back in similar shape as the other humans who had undergone the same treatment.

One day, after they had been given their unpalatable rations, the new man approached her and asked if he could take some floor space next to her.

“I’m Ben, by the way,” said the man by way of introductions.  “I was an engineering petty officer.”

“Jana,” said Gorbachev, holding out a hand and shaking.

“So, you were a weapons chief on the Sergiov?” said the man, smiling, before biting into some unknown and tasteless vegetable.

“Guilty as charged,” said Jana, wondering what job the other man did in engineering.  Or how long he had been in rank.

“So, what happened to the Prince?” asked the man.  “The bets in the other cell were that he got away, but I didn’t think he had a chance when the Cacas hit your ship.”

“He got away, alright,” said Jana with a smile, shoving what doubts she had about talking with the man to the back.  He’s human, after all.  How could he be a spy for the Cacas?  And she felt the need to talk it out, to assure herself that the sacrifice they made was worth it.  She couldn’t help herself.

“So he can go back to a life of idleness, lording it over the peasants, while we sit and rot in this cell,” said the man in a disgusted tone.

“So he can go back and assume the throne,” said Jana, feeling her hackles rise at the man’s tone, talking about an officer he didn’t even know.  “It was vitally important that he get away, since his brother had been assassinated along with his father.”  It had to be worth it, she thought again, looking down at the floor.  And even if it wasn’t, we still would have died in the battle line with the other ships, wouldn’t we?  She couldn’t think of another outcome.  Their presence may have resulted in the destruction of another enemy battleship, if they were very fortunate.  That still wouldn’t have made any difference to the final result.

She looked up to see the man staring at her, and wondered if she had said too much.  But everyone in the Task Force knew what Sean was.  And many learned about the death of the Emperor before the battle ended.  So what’s the harm.  She shrugged it off and continued to talk with the man about other things.  Every once in a while the topic came back to Sean, and she wondered what was the interest in the Prince, especially now that he was out of the system.

An hour later the man was taken away, and she wondered if she would see him again, short of watching his execution in front of the bars.

An hour after that a quartet of armed Cacada appeared in the outer chamber, led by one who was arrayed as an officer of some sort.  “Jana Gorbachev will come forward,” said that male in a loud voice.

Jana stood there amongst her peers, frozen with fear, unable to move.

“Jana Gorbachev will come forward,” repeated the officer, while his troops started to move toward the bars with stun rods in their hands.

The people around Jana moved away, cowering in the shadows, hugging the walls, trying to get as far away from the target as possible.  She looked hopelessly around, thinking of joining them in the shadows.  She shrugged her shoulders, knowing what that would accomplish.  Nothing.  She took a hesitant step forward.

The door opened and the officer looked in on her with eyes that told her he would like to make a meal of her.  “Why did you not step forward at the first command?” said the officer.

“I was afraid,” said Jana in a child’s voice.  “What are you going to do with me?”

“Nothing pleasant, I assure you,” said the officer, pointing at the woman.  One of the troopers stepped forward and grabbed her wrist before she could react.  She was then dragged down the corridor, through several doors, and to a room that was hot and steamy.  She screamed and yelled the entire way, and screamed even more when brought into the last room, which reminded her of a kitchen with its heat.

The guards then turned and left, after the officer said something in an unknown language to a different kind of alien that was waiting in the room.  He then followed his men from the room, leaving her alone with the strange being.

The creature was tall and slender, with a slick bluish skin that reminded Jana of that of a dolphin.  Her eyes were large and luminous, and she was obviously mammalian and female, with a set of six teats on her narrow chest.  The alien woman took one of Jana’s hands in her sleek seven fingered one and led her into the next room, where a large sunken tub sent steam into the air.

“A bath?” said Jana, confused, as she had thought she was being led to her doom.  The being gestured to the water, then led Jana into the steaming water.  It was a little hot at first, but soon Jana was allowing herself to relax in the luxuriant heat.  The alien brought out something that looked like a natural sponge and some soap, and started to clean Jana’s skin and hair.

Is this another part of the interrogation process? thought the woman as she lay back in the hot water, letting it soak into her tense muscles.  Giving her the carrot, in place of the stick.  And when that didn’t work would the stick return.  Might as well enjoy the carrot while it lasts.

Later the human woman sat in a chair while the alien trimmed her nails and hair.  Jana was now starting to wonder what she was being prepared for.  This was not just preparing her for another interrogation.  And it was not the doom she had expected, but surely something of advantage to her captors.

She looked up as the large male officer walked into the room.  She wondered if she could outrun him, for though he was big and long limbed, he also moved in a less than agile manner as compared to a human.  She shrugged her shoulders again, knowing that outrun him or not she would either be shot down or captured.  There might come a better time, or maybe not.  But this time was definitely not good.

“The slave will put this on,” said the male, holding out an unsnapped ring.

It took Jana a minute to recognize the collar, and when she did she cringed.  “No,” she yelled.  “I will not wear a collar.  I’m not a dog.”

“No,” said the male with a feral smile.  “You are not whatever beast you name.  But you are a slave, and you will wear this collar.”  The male tossed the ring toward her and it landed in her lap.

Jana stared at the collar for a moment.  It was a ring of some hard alloy, and she was sure it had some built in features to keep her from escaping, or rebelling.  She put her hand on the cool metal and recoiled like she had touched a poisonous animal.

“The slave will put on the collar, or the slave will be punished,” said the male, his eyes narrowing.

The Chief felt a shiver run up her spine at the tone and words of the male.  Using the third person made her nothing but an object, which she was sure was the objective.  And while she didn’t know what punishment might be used, she was quite sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.  She picked up the collar and pulled it further open, then set it around her neck.  As soon as it was around her throat it closed shut on its own, and she frantically pulled at it in a panic.  There was no seam where the opening had been, and she knew there was no way she could get rid of the collar.

“Now, the slave will follow me,” said the male, turning his back and starting to walk out of the room.

“Don’t I get some clothes,” she yelled after him.

“Slaves do not get clothing,” said the officer, turning back to face her.  “Slaves have no need for clothing, as slaves are kept in the regulated environment aboard ship.”

“What happens if the hull is breached?  Do we get suits, or some emergency survival sphere?”

“If the hull is breached the slave dies, as is intended,” said the male, showing his sharp teeth.  “Now the slave will get up from the chair and follow me, immediately.”

Gorbachev wasn’t sure what to do, but knew she did not want to follow the Cacada to wherever he wanted to take her.  He gave her another cruel smile and touched the finger claw of a right hand to a wrist band he wore on his lower left hand.

The pain was excruciating, a sensation like molten metal pouring down her neck, chest and breasts, making her gasp, then scream, as tears poured from her eyes and snot from her nose.  As quickly as it had come the pain left, and Jana looked down, afraid of what she was going to see.  Her mind imagined a horribly burned or maimed body.  Relief flooded her as she saw that her skin was untouched.  Induction field, was her next thought, something that impacted directly on her nerves, and could make her feel any sensation that her captors wanted her to experience.

“The slave will follow this male, now, unless the slave wishes to feel more pain.”

Jana was on her feet in an instant, coming right up to the male until he put out a hand and motioned her back.  He walked from the room and she followed a couple of meters behind, not wishing to receive more instruction in obedience.

They moved down a curving corridor that Jana thought must be along the outer edge of the station, and from the curvature she could tell that this was a large structure.  At least as big as a class one fort or a large space dock, if not larger.  There were Cacada males everywhere, and none of their females, and she wondered what kind of society the Ca’cadasans had that excluded their women from even rear echelon military professions.  Very protective, or just male dominated, in which females were seen as lesser beings.

There were also many slaves moving through the ship, all naked, all wearing collars much like hers, those that had necks.  Or rings around other parts of their bodies if they did not.  She counted at least a couple of dozen different species of aliens on the walk, most mammalians of some sort, though there were a few reptilians, an insectoid, and several that she could not classify.  It was apparent that all had been conquered, and that the Ca’cadasans did not incorporate subjugated species into their military, unlike the humans.

After a walk that had to take twenty minutes or more the officer turned down another corridor, this one leading outward.  Fifty meters out they came to a door with two armored warriors standing guard.  The soldiers saluted the officer and the door opened, leading into a large, ornately furnished chamber with a huge floor to ceiling portal looking out on the planet Massadara III.

A large male was sitting in a chair, his back to the door, looking out over the planet.   The officer growled something in a language Gorbachev could not understand, and was answered in kind. The escorting officer touched the pad on his arm that controlled the collar, and suddenly Jana could understand what the beings were saying.

“So this is the one who worked under the one they call the heir,” said the big male, turning his chair and looking at her with predatory eyes.

“She is, my Lord,” said another voice in the same language, a voice she had really not expected to hear.

Jana turned to her head to see the man she had known as Ben walking in from another chamber.  The man wore shipboard clothing of an ancient design, such as the Chief had seen in the history texts.  And he wore no collar, showing that he was a trusted servant and not a slave.

“You fucking traitor,” yelled Jana, turning her body in the man’s direction and taking a step toward him.  A moment later the thought of murder was no longer in her mind as she writhed on the floor in agony.  The pain seemed to go on forever, though she knew it was only moments.

When the pain left she tried to get back to her feet, and found that her muscles didn’t work.  That caused another moment of panic, the Chief believing that some permanent damage may have been caused.

“The slave will learn her place,” said the officer who had escorted her to the chamber.  “We can cause pain, and we can cause pleasure.”

Jana gasped as the most intense wave of pleasure she had ever felt ran through her body.  Ten times more pleasurable than the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced, it was almost painful in its intensity.  And immediately she could see that this kind of stimulation could be more dangerous than the painful kind.  The word addiction came to mind, as in willing to do anything to get more of it.

“Stand up,” said the male, who from his ornate horn decoration seemed to be a very high ranking officer, maybe the station commander.

The pleasure stopped, and Jana found that her muscles now worked.  So they can paralyze as well, thought the Chief, more hopelessness pressing down on her psyche.

“I would like to know more about this heir,” said the high ranking male.  “This Prince Sean.  What kind of a man is he?”

“You can go to Hell,” said the Chief, glaring at the alien, even as she cringed inside from what she knew was coming.  The Cacada male didn’t disappoint, and the wave of pain that struck her was worse than the one before.  When it was over she lay on the floor, shaking and whimpering like a whipped cur.

“Would you like her, Ben?” asked the high ranking male, and Jana opened her eyes in fear as the words struck home.

“Very much so, my Lord,” said the human who Jana considered a traitor.  “She is very attractive, and I have not had sex in so long.”

“Then she is yours,” said the male, and Jana felt the paralysis come over her again.  “She is only a female, after all.  And all they are good for is breeding.”

Jane waited, feeling the panic rise up in her again.  She was not a virgin, but had never really believed that she would be raped.  Not in her society, and especially not with her fighting skills.  And now it was about to happen, and there was nothing she could do about it.  The moments went by, and then a hand gripped her shoulder and turned her over onto her back.  Ben was standing over her, naked, an erection sticking out from his groin.  He moved her legs apart, then positioned himself and entered her.  To her shame she was moist, something that may have been attributable to the control the aliens had over her, or something psychological which she was not aware of.  Either way it brought her shame as he thrust in and out of her with the big aliens standing over them, watching the act with clinical detachment.

Fortunately it did not last long, and soon she felt the man ejaculate inside her.  At least you won’t get me pregnant, you fucking pig, thought Gorbachev.  Her internal nanites would take care of that problem.  If only they could take care of her humiliation as well.

Chapter Six

To have command is to have all the power you will ever need. To have all the power you will ever need, is to have the world in the palm of your hand.   Tiberius Caesar.

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, AND IN ORBIT AROUND JEWEL.  MARCH 22nd, 1000.

Hyper VIII was the strangest of the known hyper dimensions, with a ratio sixty five thousand five hundred to one to normal space.  There were theoretical dimensions above it, including the hypothetical Plank Dimension, in which every part of the Universe was within a microscopic distance of any other part of the same cosmos.

Because of the energy requirements to breach the dimension, much less stay in it, it was not useable for movement of material objects.  Some genius in the past had discovered a way to use the otherwise useless dimension.  Very small holes could be opened in the dimension and kept open, large enough for small probes to be inserted to just inside the foreign space.  Radio and other electromagnetic signals could be transmitted to other probes through hyper VIII, making ultrafast if not instantaneous communications possible.  A light year was covered in eight minutes.  Lines of hyperlinks were routed between important star systems of the Empire.  Ten a light year, with a manned substation containing repair and replacement facilities every two light years.  All of the core worlds were on a hyperlink, though not all to each other.  Sector capitals and other important military worlds were also on the link, allowing news from one end of the Empire to reach the other end in eleven days.

*     *     *

“So, are you settling in to your new role, Count Sutter?” asked Streeter of the young man who was sitting on the couch with drink in hand.  Streeter wondered for not the first time if the young noble wasn’t a drunkard.  He always seemed to be putting something in his body, alcohol or other drugs.  He seems to hold it well enough, thought the Prime Minister, smiling at the future Emperor.  Might give us more control over him.

“Thank you, my Lord Prime Minister,” said the young man with a slight slur.  “I am just going over a list of the senior commanders in the Fleet.  Decided who should be retained, and who cashiered.”

“We of the Lords, of course, will have recommendations to give you, along with our suggestions as to who should stay, and who should go.”

“Of course,” said the Count, taking another swallow from his drink.  “But these two definitely have to go.”

The Count touched a tab on his flat comp and a holograph sprang into existence above the paper thin device.  A trio of faces rotated above the machine.  Two of them the Prime Minister recognized right away, the last he did not.

“I see you have Lenkowski and Mgonda there.  Two very good choices.  But who is that third?”

“Her Lady, the Countess Esmeralda Gonzalez,” said the Count, an angry sneer on his face.  “My old commander.  The bitch who had me drummed me out of the service when I served aboard her ship.”

Streeter linked into his own database for a moment, frowning as he saw that the now Vice Admiral had most recently been stationed as system commander of Massadara.  Which system had been reported to have been attacked by whatever enemy was rampaging across Sector Four.  “I don’t think you need to be worried about that one, your Majesty,” said Streeter, his frown turning into a smile.  “She was last in command of a system that was overrun by a hostile power.  I doubt she is still among the living.”

“Then I want her dishonored in some way,” said the Count, his face reddening.  “I want her remembered as a failure who persecuted an innocent young man out of the service.”

“The memory of her legacy is really the purview of the Fleet,” said Streeter.  “Parliament is not really in charge of what amounts to their personnel decisions.”

“But as Emperor I will be in charge of the Fleet, will I not?” said the Count with a smile.  “They have to listen to me, right?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Streeter, wondering where this was going.  “You will.  Though the assignments of lower ranking flag officers will not really something you should concern yourself with.”

“I will concern myself with what I want to concern myself with,” screamed the Count, slamming his hand through the holo and down on the flat comp.  “When I am Emperor I will be in charge, and you will have to do what I want you to do.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” said Streeter, giving the young man a bow.  And if you believe that, my young puppet, you aren’t as bright as you look.  And you look none too bright right now.

The Count was staring off into space now, and Streeter nodded at the security men who were charged with the protection of the man they had designated the heir.  The chief of the detail nodded back, and the Prime Minister backed out of the room, sure that the young drunken fool would be babysat while he continued to drink himself into a stupor.

“You better see this, Prime Minister,” said a staffer, running up to Streeter.

“What now,” growled the PM, glaring at the woman.  “I’ll be in my office.”

Streeter walked into his luxurious working room and yelled for the holo to come alive.  An image appeared above the desk of the man who was making things so difficult for the Lord, and he cursed as he saw the Logo of the Imperial News Network at the bottom of the holo.

“And we cannot afford to make this noble the Lords would foist upon us the Emperor,” said Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski on the tridee vid the holo was feeding from.  “His military record speaks clearly that he does not have the character needed for the job, especially not with a war looming on the horizon.  A war in which the first shots have been fired.”

“What about the response from the Prime Minister that the Count is now a responsible citizen, and a role model for other nobles?” asked the off view reporter.

“A leopard could more easily pull off his spots and become a house cat,” said the Admiral, his intense face looking out at the audience, which included most of the planet Jewel.

And very soon the core worlds,” thought the Prime Minister.  As soon as it gets on the hyper relay.

“We have evidence provided by Naval Intelligence that this, Count, who is an Imperial Cousin, was hiding out on a frontier world because of his gambling debts.  He was negligent when he was in the Fleet.  And he is still a reprobate.”

“But doesn’t the Empire need someone at the helm?” said the reporter.  “Especially if we are starting a new war.  One that threatens to be the largest to date.”

“Better no captain than a bad one,” said the Admiral.  “And besides, Augustine’s third born son is still out there.  As soon as we can get him to the capital he will be installed.”

“Then produce him,” yelled Streeter at the holo, raising a fist.  “Produce him, or get out of the way of your betters.”

Streeter punched the remote on his desk and the holo died.  His next move was to link to a private number and wait for a response.  “This better be important, Prime Minister,” said a voice on the other end that always sent shivers up his spine.

“It is.  I need to meet with you.  It is very important.  We need to discuss some things that need to stay between us.”

“Very well,” said the cold voice.  “Meeting place 5G.  One hour.  And don’t be late.”

The circuit died, and Streeter once again wondered how he had gotten into bed with such frightening people, before remembering that the frightfulness was just what he needed at this time.  And besides, Jeraviki got us on the back of this tiger.  So I have no choice but to hold on and ride.

The meeting place was a park about a forty minute walk from the Lord’s Office Building.  One of the stipulations for a face to face was that the Prime Minister come on foot, and that he bring no one with him, not even a single bodyguard.  For a man like Streeter this was a very big deal.  He did not like exposing his skin to a risk that a diligent flunky might be able to put his body between his charge and the threat.  And there was also the threat of the man he was meeting with, though he couldn’t imagine a single bodyguard that could handle that one.  Maybe not even all of his bodyguards together.

The park itself was a pleasant place of placid lakes, winding walking paths and beautiful flowering plants, with skyscrapers on all sides except to the south, which was bounded by a megascraper that reached ten kilometers into the sky.  There were no aircars overhead, this being a no fly zone specifically to maintain the peace of the park.  Streeter found the bench that had been specifically indicated for this meeting and took a seat, trying to keep his eyes from roaming and seeing the man he did not want to see.

“You were followed,” said a voice from behind the bench.

Streeter resisted the urge to turn around, continuing to look forward.  He thought it would be worth his life to see the man’s face.  “That’s impossible,” he stammered..  “I was careful.”

“You are an amateur, and can never be careful enough. There was an operative following you, Naval Intelligence.”

“Lenkowski?”

“Most probably.  We eliminated him.  Lenkowski will never know what happened to him.”

The man slid into the bench next to the Prime Minister while Streeter was still shuddering from what the man had said.  They had disappeared an Imperial Naval Intelligence Agent, in the middle of the capital city of the Empire, and no one would ever know what happened to the man.  The same could happen to one Theo Streeter, Prime Minister and Duke of Coventry, if he gave these people cause.

Streeter couldn’t stop himself from looking at the man, much as he didn’t want to give the impression of too much curiosity.  The man had the same build as the one he had met before, but the face and hair was different, and he wondered if the agent used a holo projector, or a more low tech approach.  Streeter breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he was not looking at the man’s real face, and so couldn’t identify him.

“We are secure here,” said the tall, slender man, his eyes looking straight into Streeter’s.  “There are no bugs, and I have a voice shield in my proximity, so no one will hear us.  So, what was so important, Prime Minister,” said the man, arching an eyebrow.

“We need for Grand High Admiral Lenkowski to be silenced,” said the Prime Minister, his anger overcoming his fear.  “He is saying too much to the newsies, and we need his tongue stilled.”

“Admiral Lenkowski is aboard the Valkyrie,” said the tall man, his tone one of talking to a child.  “One of the biggest and most modern vessels in the Fleet.  And he never leaves it.  So how do you propose we get to him?”

“I don’t know,” said Streeter, his voice a whine.  “You’re the assassin.  Can’t you blow the ship up or something?”

“Their security is too good to get an explosive device of that power aboard,” said the agent, shaking his head.  “And I for one don’t happen to have any multi-gigaton warheads, or the launch vehicles for them.  You don’t know where I can get one of those, do you, Prime Minister?  One sitting around unguarded, that won’t be missed.”

“Of course not, damn you,” said Streeter, in his flaring anger forgetting for a moment who he was addressing.  He looked at the man wide eyed when he realized what he had done.  “I’m sorry.  I really am.  But we need to do something about this man.  He is acting above the law, and is having an adverse effect on the orderly process of the succession.  Can’t you send an assassin up to his ship?  Someone who can infiltrate his security and kill him?”

“That would be a suicide mission, Prime Minister,” said the tall man with a frown.

“But you have people conditioned to do such missions, don’t you?”

“Yes, Prime Minister, I do.  But they are assets I don’t like to expend unless needed.”

“They’re needed right now,” said Streeter, his voice rising in frustration.  “Don’t you see that?  This man is a threat to all our plans.”

“Very well, Prime Minister.  I will assign an agent to eliminate the Admiral.  But then you will probably want the Commandant of the Marines and the Army Chief of Staff killed as well, and those will also be suicide missions.”

“Let’s just see how the death of Lenkowski changes the dynamic,” said the Prime Minister, a smile on his face.  “Maybe the others will see the error of their ways when they see that they can be reached.”

“They are trained military officers with a lifetime of service behind them,” said the man, a look of doubt on his face.  “I doubt they will act out of fear for their lives.  Those kind of people live for duty, no matter the cost.”

“Your view of people is very different than mine,” said Streeter.  “Everyone has a degree of self-interest within them.  Even well trained senior military officers.  They had to play the political game to get where they are, and I doubt they would put themselves at risk, now that they have achieved the nice, cushy positions that political maneuvering has gotten them.  As soon as they see what we can do to the best protected of them they will get in line.”

“Very well, Prime Minister,” said the man, the look of doubt growing on his face.  “We will do it your way, this time.  Now do not contact me again, unless it is absolutely necessary.  Remember, we don’t deal with fools here.  Your enemies are also competent.”  And with that the agent walked away.

Streeter stared at the man for the moments it took him to go down a walkway, then disappear into some foliage.  For a moment there he could have sworn that the man was moving with a non-human gait, but dismissed the notion.  He was obviously human.  No other species could mimic humans so completely, except for the Malticons.  And the man was definitely too tall to be one of the little people.

*    *    *

Sometimes I underestimate the murderous self-centeredness of humans, thought the creature known as the Tall Man.  He shook his head in a practiced gesture as he walked to his aircar, aware of his own operatives forming a loose cordon around him.  And that Prime Minister is a prime example of why they must not be allowed to remain the dominant power in this sector of the Galaxy.  Self-interest that is harmful to the good of the collective.  What a disgusting species.

The operative thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.  Not all humans are like that.  The Emperor wasn’t, and neither is this honorable man I must order killed so a dishonorable one can prosper and further the plans of my masters.

The Tall Man climbed into his aircar at the parking garage and set it to take him to his home.  While in the air he was thinking of which operative might be best for this mission.  He’s a good one, thought the agent, picturing a young man who had just been deep conditioned.  Be a waste in a way, but they are here for us to use after all.

*    *    *

THE DONUT, IN ORBIT AROUND THE SUPERSYSTEM CENTRAL BLACK HOLE.

The staff and crew of the Donut were still in shock.  Though it was to be expected after the Emperor, Empress and the two oldest sons were all killed in an assassination that also killed many of the most prominent scientists and administrators of the enormous station.  Doctor Lucille Yu wondered for the hundredth time why she hadn’t been included in that number.  If not for the call that took her out of the area, she would have been among the dead who had plummeted into the black star the ring form station orbited.  The Imperial Investigation Bureau and the Secret Service had wondered why she had received that call.  They had found no connection, because there was none.  But since the young pilot of the space fighter who had blown the observation compartment out into space, after killing his three crew members, and dying under a hail of laser fire from the larger escorts, had passed every psionic probe known to science, the IIB was not taking her innocence for granted.

At least they let me get back to work, she thought, as she looked over the figures from the central computer on her link.  Or should I say the Navy decided to let me get back to work, despite what the scapegoaters wanted.  She looked around her office for a moment, still not really believing that she was free.  I didn’t think I was ready to become the director, but I was the senior survivor.  That last thought caused her to catch her breath, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.  The rest of the Empire was mourning the deaths of the Imperial family.  And though she too felt sorrow at their passing, she had the deaths of many closer friends and acquaintances claiming precedence in her thoughts and feelings.  She hadn’t even liked all of them.  Some had been arrogant assholes who lived to push their own careers and agendas.  They had still been like family in so many ways.

Lucille put her face in her hands and let some of the tears come.  Some were for herself.  The interrogation by the Imperial Agents and the military had not been pleasant.  Psionic questioning could brutalize a person, worse than physical rape, and that was what it felt like on some level.

“No,” she shouted, slamming a hand on her desk.  “No.  I will not act like a victim.  I have important work to do.”

Linking back into the system she drove the thoughts of loss from her mind and got to work.  She checked the figures for negative matter production, needed to keep the wormhole gates open.  She grunted as she looked at those figures.  Much higher than they had been, but still below the necessary level.  They were slowly stockpiling it though, enough to open more personal gates, as well as some of the much smaller gates the military was requesting.  The worlds of the Supersystem were all soon to be connected to the Donut, meaning that people would be able walk from one planet to the next in seconds, transferring gates at the Donut.  Still not enough for any appreciable commerce, but a start.  We would already be there if not for the request of the military for the holes they wanted.  If it was peacetime we could forge the kind of travel net we wanted.  Now we have to face other priorities.

“Ma’am,” came a voice over the link.  “We’re about ready to open a big one.  Just thought you might want to watch.”

“Thanks, Taylor,” she replied to the engineer that was heading the formation team.  “I would love to see it.”

Lucille went into station link, her mind melding with a node of the computer that ran the operation.  Suddenly her visual centers had access to millions of cameras, and she was being given the best take on every part of the event.  Figures flew through another part of her brain, while her auditory center listened in on the conversations of the techs running the operation.

In some ways it was like watching a tridee vid.  She was looking down on the black hole, the terrible monster that sucked matter out of existence and out of the universe.  The thin ribbon of the Donut was illuminated by the light of nearby stars, and its own external lighting.  Sudden bright lines of light sprung into existence, linking the station with the hole.  Hundreds of thousands of electrodes, each larger than a battleship, churned out the current, sending it into the event horizon of the spinning, charged black hole.  The spinning mass grabbed those electron beams and spun them around, turning the entire system into the largest imaginable electric dynamo, generating power from the gravitational force surpassing that of the entire Empire.

“All storage cells at full capacity,” came a tech’s voice, like that of a narrator.  Lucille looked at the graphical display that showed all two hundred thousand of the ten million ton capacitors at maximum capacity.  The system would soon drain them while the massive generator kept feeding energy into them for the next stage.

“Transferring power to grav units,” said the tech, and Lucille switched views yet again.

The two globular arrays were actually in a separate orbit from the station, just a hundred thousand extra kilometers out from the black hole.  Too dangerous to be within the station, where the forces they worked might destroy the structure, they were kept where they could only wreck themselves if something went wrong.  Lucille looked over the spheres, visible in a split view, since they were ten thousand kilometers from each other.  Each globe was sixty kilometers in diameter, each set with thirty-eight huge graviton generators arrayed around the sphere, pointing inward.  Some had speculated that a larger array of such generators could move whole planets, making them more comfortable as terraforming targets.  Some had speculated that the ancients had done just that thing to set up the Supersystem orbiting the black hole, since it was very unlikely to be a natural formation.

Now those thirty-eight graviton projectors powered up and sent beams of gravity into the center of the globe.  They each concentrated on a point about ten meters from the exact center of the sphere.  Combined they actually pulled on space in a circle, outward from the center.  There was nothing to see for several seconds.  Lucille looked at the graphical data that showed the forces at work.  To a physicist like herself that was exciting enough, as mankind produced forces that rivaled that of the black hole, if of much smaller magnitude, generated indirectly by the hole.

With a sudden flash of light space tore, a circular rip that expanded.  The radiation released would have killed the crew of a shielded battleship, one reason the structure was not located on the station, or even near it.  Within a microsecond of the first hole forming a second one opened in the center of the other sphere.  The holes linked automatically, the rifts reaching for the nearest like rift, forming a no distance bridge through the space of ten thousand kilometers, a working wormhole.

A hose now moved along an expandable arm through space within both spheres.  They bent inward and precisely positioned themselves.  As soon as they were in place they started to spew thick plasma into the mouth of each hole.  The plasma reacted in a curious manner, pushing away from itself and forming a circle against the edges of the hole.  The charged negative matter then held the hole open, which was forced to maintain its shape by the graviton generators, which were now powering down, as they did not need all their generating capacity for this stage.

The holes sat suspended in space, magnetic forces keeping the negative matter in a stable configuration.  These holes were about ten meters in diameter, small cargo transporters that would link worlds light years apart, once they were delivered to their future homes.  Not the ship gate they were hoping for, but that would come.  Now telelinked robots moved into place and with deft motions assembled the structure that would keep the negative matter in place while protecting materials passing through the hole from touching the deadly stuff, which canceled out itself and any matter it touched.

Lucille got the priority call before the process was finished.  She checked the code and cursed under her breath.  The Navy was calling her.  She shuddered as she thought about how the Navy had treated her until a week ago.  The mind rape they had subjected her to, in the name of Imperial Security.  She wanted to send a refuse contact command, but knew she couldn’t do that.  Not if she wanted to retain her job and her freedom.  She checked the signal origination and saw that it was from Naval Headquarters in Capitulum, on Jewel.  Coming through the wormhole connection to the central docks and then to the planet, so almost instantaneous.  And possibly coming from any number of offices.  Stealing up her courage, she acknowledged the connection.

“Hello, Doctor Yu,” said Rear Admiral Thomas Jackson in the link.  He was in Lucille’s mind’s eye, sitting behind his orderly desk.  Of course he could have been anywhere, including sitting on a toilet, and the system would send the video he wanted it to send.  Lucille breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized the man, the Naval Liaison with the Donut.  Not the man to be interrogating her about what she had or hadn’t done today.

“Did I catch you at a bad time, Doctor?” said the man as Lucille stayed silent.  “This is very important.  I swear to you.”

“It’s OK,” said Lucille, trying to appear strong.  “I was just watching the opening of a cargo gate.  We’re planning to build quite a few of those before we tackle a ship gate.”

“Afraid you’re going to have to cut back on the medium large gates, Doctor,” said the Admiral, a smile coming across the link.  “We need lots of communication links.  Thousands would be nice, but at least hundreds.  One for every major command in the Empire.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes going wide.  “One of the other races?”

“Oh, it’s another race OK, but not one we’ve dealt with in a while.  This is still considered confidential, but it’s being disseminated to enough people that we can’t keep a secret tag on it.”

“The old enemy,” said Lucille, feeling her stomach sink as she said the words.  It was something most people, herself included, had wanted to pretend didn’t exist.  If they were here?  There had been much speculation on the news lately, and everyone knew there had been fighting in Sector Four against an advanced opponent.  But nothing official on their identity.  Until now.

“As far as we can tell, yes,” said the Admiral, a troubled expression on his face.  “If so, we’re either facing a very long war, or a short and violent one.  Neither one good for us.  And right now our biggest priority is fast com, which the wormholes can give us.”

“And after that?”

“Everything,” said the Admiral with a barking laugh.  “As many as you can give us, as fast as possible.”

“I think we can give you a small wormhole every hour,” said Lucille, looking at the figures on her own system.  “If we work the system twenty four hours a day.  “Which could cause long term problems.”

“What about your backup spheres?”

“That could lead to more problems in the future,” said Lucille.  “But of course you need them now.  So maybe thirty-six to forty wormholes a day.  The smallest ones, of course.  Many less of the gate variety.  That’s the best I can promise.”

“It will have to do,” said the Admiral, nodding.  “We have ordered construction of more of the wormhole generation spheres.  A dozen more for starters, and the first pair should reach you in about two weeks.”  The smile left the Admiral’s face and he leaned forward with a troubled expression.  “And what chance do you think the enemy might have this kind of technology?”

“I wouldn’t think they would,” she replied.  “This was a massive project, and something no other race we know contemplated.  So if I had to bet, I would bet against it.  Maybe in a hundred years, once they know we have it, if they want to make that kind of investment.”

“I was hoping you would say that, Doctor,” said the Admiral, a hint of relief coming over the link.  “I will tell you this in strict confidence, since you are running a vital manufacturing concern.  We know that this enemy is just a bit more technologically advanced than we are.  Not as much as we had thought, but it’s still there. Our experts feel that within a decade we will surpass them in technology.  Does that make sense to you?”

Lucille thought for a moment.  The monolithic enemy, conquering everything in their path, nothing presenting much of a challenge for thousands of years.  Falling into stagnation, not really needing to advance all that much.  A conservative society that abhorred change.  Versus a people who had known a thousand years of war against vigorous and expansive races on all sides.  Who had to adapt and evolve to win, because winning meant survival.

“It makes perfect sense, Admiral,” she said after running through her thoughts.  “Of course, if we get into a war with them that sort of thinking may change.  Unless they just use weight of numbers and roll over us.”

“That brings me to your project, Doctor,” said the Admiral.  “As you said, it’s doubtful they have a handy dandy wormhole maker stashed away.  Since we are so outnumbered, then we need to make sure that we can amass our forces where they can achieve local superiority.  Instantaneous communications will surely help.”

“I can see that, Admiral,” said Lucille, who thought of herself as having a good working knowledge of strategy and tactics, going back to her own days as a tactical officer on a heavy cruiser, before she retired that career and sought another.

“But we have some other plans as well,” said the Admiral, his voice lowering.  “Something we would like to discuss with you in private.”

Meaning a secured room somewhere at Naval HQ, thought Lucille, shuddering as she thought about her last interaction in sealed rooms with naval personnel.

“I’m sorry about what you have been put through, Doctor,” said the Admiral, doubtless reading her emotions through the  transmission, his sympathy coming through the link.  “I wish we could undo it.  And I won’t force you to come to a meeting at Naval Headquarters.  But your input would be appreciated.  I think your insights might be vital to the completion of this project.  Admiral Lenkowski will be there, so the meeting will be held on his flagship.”

And if I’m not safe on a twenty million ton warship, thought Lucille, I guess I’m not safe anywhere.

“Does the project have a name?”

“You will be briefed into it during the meeting.”

“Which is when?”

“Tomorrow at 10 AM, Capitulum time.  It shouldn’t be hard for you to make it.”

No, thought Lucille, nodding her head.  Only a step through a wormhole, the same one the Imperial family used to get here.  No, the hard part will be dragging my dead ass through the gate and into the memories of the last week.

“OK,” she finally said, feeling even more dread settling over her.  “I’ll be there.”

“Very good, Doctor,” said the Admiral with a transmitted smile.  “Looking forward to seeing you.”

The Admiral severed the connection with a transmission of who she would meet at Central Docks, so she could be taken to the superbattleship where the meeting would be held.  Leaving Lucille to sit alone with her thoughts.

*     *     *

SUPERBATTLESHIP VALKYRIE, IN ORBIT AROUND JEWEL.

“But Representative Gershaw, we need those ships,” said Admiral Lenkowski into the holo, where stood Member of the Commons Elisha Gershaw, Chairman of the Commons Committee on Military Affairs.  Normally the Chairman would be on the planet Forge, home of the Commons, or on his home world.  But today was to be a joint session in the chambers of the Lords, to discuss the succession and other topics.

“I realize you need ships at the front, Admiral,” said the MP, shrugging his shoulders.  “But the people of my homeworld would crucify me if I took their protection away.”

“But your homeworld is on the opposite side of the core space from Sector Four,” said Len, his voice rising.  Calm down, Len.  You’ll not get anywhere losing your cool with these people.  “Look, Mr. Gershaw.  If we don’t stop the Ca’cadasans in Sector Four then they will overrun the entire Core Sector.  And where will your constituents be then?”

“Let me think about this problem some more, Admiral,” said the MP.  “Talk it over with some colleagues, and then I’ll get back with you.”

“Very well, Mr. Gershaw.  But don’t take too long.”

“You know, Admiral.  You might get more cooperation from Parliament if you went ahead and appeared before the Lords, as ordered.”  The man turned away and the holo went blank, leaving Lenkowski to stare at the air above the projector.

“And if I appeared before the Lord’s Committee I would disappear, just like those poor saps we found in the prison at Purgatory,” said the Admiral in an angry tone.

“What are you going to do, sir?” asked Commander Zhen Yin, his new adjutant, looking up from the flat comp she was making notes on.

“It would really help if we had an Emperor to make sure that all the little boys and girls behaved,” said Len, thinking of Sean.  “And not that jackoff the Lords are trying to foist on us.”  Len started pacing, back and forth, organizing his thoughts.  He stopped, looked at the holo, and made up his mind on what needed doing.

“Take down these orders,” said Len, his eyes still on the holo.  “I want one half of all capital ships stationed in Home Fleet territory detached from their duty stations.  They are to report to Conundrum as the components to the new Battle Fleet.”

“Parliament will raise hell when they find out about that,” said Yin, giving the Admiral a quizzical look.

“Let them.  And I’m sure the MPs from the frontier and developing worlds will be all for it.”  Len stopped for a moment and looked at his new adjutant.  She was of Chinese extraction, a small, neat officer who moved like a cat.  He had looked at her record, and knew that part of that was her lifetime of martial arts training, and part the augmentation she received while a member of a Naval Commando team.  Good enough looking to bed, he thought, but dangerous enough to entertain second thoughts about trying.  He also knew that she had a top security clearance, and had been checked out to the deepest levels for loyalty.  His decision made, he continued his orders.

“I want all shipyards to go immediately to double shifts.  I know Parliament won’t like that either, and they’ll have to eventually approve the expenditures.  But if we don’t get up to full war production, and quick, it won’t matter what they do.”

He looked at his adjutant for a moment, and she gave him a level gaze back.  Should have known that a commando wouldn’t get rattled just because the high brass is studying her.

“If you’re going to be working with me, Zhen, you need to know about Bolthole.”

“Bolthole?  What is that?  I’ve never heard that term before?”

“Good thing, because if you had I would have to rethink our security procedures,” said the Admiral with a wink.  “It’s about as top secret as it gets.  And only a dozen people know the location.  You will not be one of those, but it’s about time you learned of its existence.”

So the Admiral told her about the hidden system that was outside the boundaries of the Empire, that was being built up to become the largest shipyard and manufacturing center in known space.  When he was finished explaining what he could he gave her the clearance and code words she would need to access the information.

“And the plan was that entire Fleets could be built there during a conflict, free from the fear that an enemy might come raiding the yards and destroy hundreds of millions of tons of shipping,” said Yin, furrowing her brows in thought.

“That was the thought,” agreed Len, smiling.

“Genius.  And who thought of that?”

“The Emperor Augustine, of course,” said the Admiral, his face scrunching up with emotion.  “The Imperial family were all geniuses.”  He opened his eyes to the concerned face of the Commander.  “Of course, that can’t be said of all the family outside of the direct line.”

“Like this cousin the Lords are trying to install,” said the Commander, nodding her head, a troubled look on her face.

“God help us if that idiot gains the throne,” said Len, nodding back.  “The best thing that could happen then would be for Streeter to keep a firm leash on him.  At least the Prime Minister has some brains, if no sense of honor.  But let that young reprobate slip the leash, and we’re all on a ship about to drop out of hyper.”

“There’s a courier from Grand Marshal Yamakuri coming aboard,” called out the voice of a Security Chief over the intercom.

“Were you expecting a courier?” asked Yin, her brow furrowing.

“No,” said Len, shaking his head.  “But then again, Mishori wouldn’t have felt the need to send a courier if he could tell me why the man was coming.  Don’t be so suspicious, Commander.  We’re near the center of one of the most powerful units in the Fleet.  I really don’t think anyone will try anything here.”

The Admiral walked over to his desk and hit the com.  “Has the courier been cleared?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the Security Chief.  “We verified his identity and cleared him through the Hexagon.”

“Then send him on up,” said the Admiral, looking over at Yin.  “I know I might seem a little paranoid.”

“No, sir,” said the woman.  “They are out to get you, so you can’t be too careful.”

Including getting someone from special ops to be my constant companion, thought the Admiral, smiling at the Commander.

The door to the officer opened and a fit young man in Army dress uniform was escorted in by the Marine sentries.  He had colonel rank on his shoulder boards and a ranger tab on his sleeve.  Augmented, thought the Admiral as the man walked toward him.

“I’m Colonel Jansen, Admiral” said the man, sticking out a hand.

“Must be some important information you’re carrying, Colonel, to come all the way up here,” said Yin, looking at the man suspiciously.

“Vital,” said the man, still moving toward the Admiral, who was coming out of his seat.  “And of the highest security classification.”

Lenkowski wasn’t sure what was going on at first.  The man’s eyes seemed to change as he was just about to touch his hand to the Admiral’s.  Yin jumped toward the man, moving in a blur of speed.  He turned with the same kind of speed, thrusting his right hand, the one he had been offering to the Admiral, at her.  Yin’s left hand struck downward on the Colonel’s right, and a small tube with a needle on the end fell to the floor.

Lenkowski hit the alert button on his desk while sending a call for help through his link at the same time.  The two enhanced humans battled it out, both sending out strikes and intercepting them with blocks at incredible speed.  Yin got in a hit on the Colonel’s collarbone, and a return punch caught her in the chest, knocking her back.  Both the blows would have disabled a normal human, but their reinforced bone structure shrugged them off.

“Halt,” yelled the voice of a Marine NCO as two of the armored men moved into the room.  Yin moved back a step and went totally still, obeying the Marine’s order, knowing better than to not do as she was told.

The Colonel went to the floor, his hand darting for the object he had dropped.  As he sprung back to his feet the sonics struck him.  He resisted, trying to maintain his upward momentum and reach the Admiral.  As his eyes began to unfocus the assassin jabbed himself in the hand with the object he carried, then fell to the floor, eyes rolling up in his head.  By the time the Marines could get to him he was dead.

Lenkowski shook his head, trying to clear it from the residual effects of the bleed off from the sonics.  Yin was at his side in an instant, checking his vitals through her link.  “Just take it easy, Admiral,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “The medics will be here in a second.”  She looked at the senior of the Marines.  “Get this thing into secure storage,” she said, pointing at what was obviously a murder weapon.  “I want to know what it was.  And I want an autopsy on that body.”

I definitely made the right choice for an adjutant, thought the Admiral, watching the woman in action.

Later the Admiral contacted his counterparts in the other services, information in hand.

“Well, I know I didn’t send a courier your way,” said Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri, the Army Chief of Staff.  “I have my intelligence people checking the records at the Hexagon now to see where he might have come from, and who in the building might have vouched for him.  So far no luck, but we’ll keep at it.”

“Just make sure that you keep some of my people around you at all times, Len,” said Field Marshal Betty Parker, Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps.  “I’m just glad that there were some within range when this went down.”

I’m going to have some of my own people around too, thought the Admiral, not saying it out loud for fear of offending his old friend.  He looked over at the two hard looking ratings that Yin had assigned to his personal security detail.  Both had the tattoos that naval commandos liked to sport on their arms, the Orca against a Galaxy.  Should have had some of them on the job to start with.

“You two be very careful as well,” said Len, looking at the split holo that showed both of his fellow service chiefs.  “I know you are both on military installations, surrounded by people you trust.  But if they can strike at me on a superbattleship, I’m sure they can strike at you on the planet’s surface.”

“You’ve been more of the mouthpiece of our triad, Len,” said Betty, giving him an intense look through the holo.  “They want to shut you up, before your talk to the news services upsets their plans.”

Len nodded, knowing she spoke the truth.  He had intentionally left them out of the whistle blower loop, preferring to take all of the risk himself, especially since he was off the planet, and not as easy a target.  And you saw where that thinking got you.

“Maybe we should think about implementing the Gamma Epsilon contingency,” said Mishori..  “We could have everything locked down by midnight Capitulum time.”

That would mean martial law in the least, and possibly civil war, thought Len, chewing on a finger.  We would hold the upper hand, but could still find ourselves fighting the planetary police forces, as well as the armed agents of a bunch of governmental agencies.  Not really what we need at this time.

“No, Mishori.  I don’t think the time has come for that contingency, yet.  Soon, maybe.  But not yet.”

“I’ll defer to your judgment,” said the Army Chief of Staff.  “But perhaps we need a face to face to discuss our options.”

“I agree,” said Betty, nodding.  “And I couldn’t think of a better place for it than that big hawking ship of yours.”

“Very well,” said Len after a moment’s thought.  “Let’s all meet up here tomorrow at oh eight hundred.”

And this would be so much easier of that boy would just get his ass to the capital so we can install him as Emperor, thought the Admiral.  If he’s alive that is.  I pray God he is, or we may all die in a military firing squad when the new Emperor takes over.

*    *    *

NEW TERRRAN EMPIRE EMBASSY, ELYSIUM, MARCH 22ND, 1000.

“So, Gertrude, what’s the word on the street?” Ambassador Horatio Alexanderopolis leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers on his stomach, waiting for the young woman to speak.

“The word on the street is trouble, Mr. Ambassador,” said Gertrude Bauman, the Imperial Intelligence Agency Chief of Station for the Embassy.  “My sources tell me that the Knockermen are making waves in the assembly.  And that these waves may spill out to the capital in general.”

“But only among the Knockermen?” asked the Ambassador, thinking of the big reptilian creatures who were the third most populous race of the Elysium Empire, and were very well represented here at the capital.  Maybe too well represented.

“There may be some disaffection spread to the other races,” said the agent.  “But yes, mostly among the Knockermen.”

“From what I understand they are not a large presence in the military,” said Brigadier General Connie Contovy, the military liaison for the mission.  “Hard to kill, yes.  But not very swift or agile, and with modern weapons hard to kill is kind of meaningless.”

“And what is the military presence of the Brakakak in the capital?” asked the Ambassador, almost afraid of the answer, which confirmed his fears when it came.

“There is about a division of light infantry on the planet, which is mostly Brakakak,” said the General.  “And maybe forty percent of the police and security force is of that race.”

“And the system Navy?”

“Not much there either, your Grace,” said the officer.  “About fifteen warships, mostly with mixed crews.  The good news is that there are no majority Knockermen among them.  But if this flares into a revolt that could change in a moment.”

“And how likely is that to happen?” he asked his IIA Chief.

“From what I have been hearing from my network, very likely,” said the Station Chief.

“And the High Lord was telling me he might be asking for a favor sometime soon,” said Horatio, looking at the holo picture on the wall that showed a tranquil lake on his homeworld, and wishing he were back there.  “And what are our assets if we have to withstand a siege?”

“We have the Marine combat company, of course,” said the General.  “About two hundred troops, and the suits to equip them.”

“Say fifty embassy personnel that are or at one time were in the military, or who belong to intelligence services,” said Gertrude.  “We have the heavy suits to equip them as well, and another forty people.”

“And the Embassy defenses, electromag and weaponry, are solid,” chimed in the General.

“And if we’re hit from space?”

“Then we’re shit out of luck,” said the Army officer with a frown.  “A couple of medium yield kinetic rounds and this building is gone.  Of course, we can survive in the shelter, which is a destroyer central capsule.  But if they bring down some heavy stuff we’re fried.”

“I don’t think they will do that right in the middle of their capital city, sir,” said Gertrude, glancing at the officer, then back at Horatio.  “That would cause a lot of collateral damage.  And kill a lot of sentient beings.”

“Depends on what the Knockermen view as acceptable damage,” said the General, looking at the agent with a superior expression.  “Or who they see as sentient beings.”

“They wouldn’t want war with our Empire,” said Bauman, crossing her arms over her chest.

“If they spun it right, they might be able to blame their opponents,” said the General.

“No use arguing about what they might or might not do, based on what we think they are thinking,” said Horatio, a slight smile on his face as he thought about what he was saying.  “Here’s what I want to do.  Get those people checked out on suits that might be able to use them.  And keep the Marine reaction force ready in suits all day, every day, rotating them through it.  Everyone else, myself included, needs to be familiarized on weapons, and that includes any children over the age of twelve.  We may not be able to withstand an assault, but I sure want whoever tries to roll over us to remember that humans might become their worst nightmare.  Now let’s get to work.”

An hour later the Ambassador was on the small range underneath the Embassy, firing both particle beam pistols and mag weapons.  He thought he would carry a mag pistol, but wanted to know how to use the rifles if need be.  Once a Marine, always a Marine, he thought as he sent round after round into the target.  But that had been over a hundred and fifty years before, and though he knew he could shoot, he wasn’t sure he was up to the physical rigors of combat.

After firing he went to watch some younger people wrestle with the complications of using powered armor on the Marine training range, something that looked so easy to most people when they saw a professional do it, and excruciatingly hard when trying to do it themselves.

“It’s going to happen soon,” said the Station Chief to the Ambassador the next day at lunch.  “My cells tell me that the weapons are coming out, the warriors gathering.”

“How soon?”

“Maybe as soon as tomorrow.  Maybe next week.  But definitely no later, unless the Knockermen chicken out.”

An hour later the High Lord sent a coded message through to the Embassy.  “Remember that favor I asked about?  I will need it soon.”

The next morning the Ambassador was awakened from his bed by a warning signal over the Embassy com.  As soon as he woke he could feel the rumbling through the bed, and knew that a civil war had started in the Elysium Empire.

*    *    *

“So, he is the heir to the throne of his Empire,” said the Great Admiral, looking across the table at his Intelligence Chief.

“That is what the human who worked with him believed,” said the Intelligence Admiral.  “And from the monitoring of her physiology we have no reason to doubt her.  Or that she believes there is no one else that can really do the job, at least in the eyes of their navy.”

“And she is not holding back any information?”

“Of course she is, Great Admiral,” said the intelligence officer with a grin.  “It is only natural that she would try to protect her people.  But with Ben as her bed mate we feel that she will begin to divulge more information, over time.  I think you agree that such a source into the mind of their ruler does not need to be served to the men.”

“If that ruler is even alive,” growled the Great Admiral.  “We have no evidence that he is, and all indications to the contrary.”

“And we do not know that he is dead, either,” said the intelligence officer.  “And we know enough about human ingenuity to believe he might have made it.  And if he has, then we will have insight into his thinking processes.”

“I also did not like the way she was looking at Ben when she found he was the one who had betrayed her.  I’m not sure it is such a good idea to put them together.”

“She is a female, and he is a male.  What is the risk to him?”

“She is a modified female, and is much stronger and faster than he is,” said the Great Admiral.  “And remember that females can be warriors among this species.  She could probably kill him hand to hand without much of a problem.”

“Barbaric race, to make their females into warriors,” said the intelligence officer with an expression of distaste on his face.

“They are not the same as us,” said the Great Admiral, leaning over the table.  “You must remember that if you are going to understand how they think.  Even though they have an Empire, it is not the same as ours.”  The Great Admiral leaned back and pushed a signal button on the table.  In seconds a serving slave came running into the room.  “The humans are more like her than us, though not the same at all.  Remember that.”  The Great Admiral made a waving motion with an upper hand and the slave left the room, keeping her eyes down.  He almost laughed as he thought of the resentment of a slave who didn’t dare show it to one who had the power of life and death over them.  Though that slave’s species was not eatable to Cacada, so she would only be killed, not that it would make much difference to her.

“It is so hard to wrap one's head around different ways of thought,” said the Intelligence Officer.  “So much easier to believe that they have the same logical basis for planning that we have.”

And I wonder how much of that logical basis is true, thought the Grand Admiral, looking at a holo of the system on the wall for a moment.  He looked back and met the eyes of the other Admiral.  “Would you like a field command, instead of what you are doing?  I could appoint another officer if that would be more satisfactory to you.”

“No, my Lord Great Admiral,” said the Intelligence Officer, a look of panic in his eyes.  “I prefer the job I am doing, and will endeavor to do it to the best of my ability.”

The Great Admiral gave a head motion of acknowledgement while looking at his intelligence officer.  He doesn’t have the nerve to fight in a front line position.  It is best for all that we make use of his mind while not putting him in a position where his panicking might cause deaths to more worthy warriors.  The Great Admiral thought back on the male’s record, remembering that he had been a battleship captain prior to being promoted to low admiral.  A very successful captain, with a string of victories over species the race had conquered.  But eventually even a successful officer could lose his nerve.

“Do not worry then, Admiral,” said the Great Admiral, putting his upper right hand on the male’s shoulder.  “You shall be aboard my flag when we sail.”  The most protected ship in the fleet, since I also value my own hide.  “Go ahead with your plans to keep Ben and the female together.  Just remember, if anything happens to either of them, it is your responsibility.”

The other male gave a head motion of acceptance, then saluted, upper right fist to his chest, and moved away.  The Great Admiral walked into his office and past the outer chamber slave.  In his own office he stopped in front of the portal to take a look at stars that were still unfamiliar to him, knowing that one day they would be the stars of his Empire.

Chapter Seven

The funny thing about people is that they prefer planets underfoot.  We can build all the habitats we want, and people still want the open air of planets.  And since we need a large population to survive as a species, we need lots of worlds for those populations to grow on.  There is also something inherently defensible about a planet.  They are hard to destroy, not impossible, but very difficult.  And other species also want planets.  Seems like anything that developed in that kind of environment, and we all did, wants to live and procreate in such a setting.  They want those planets as well, and since destroying them does not get what they want, they have to take those planets away from the people dwelling on them.   Colonel Janice Bellows, On War, Imperial Year 354.

SESTIUS SYSTEM, MARCH 23RD, 1000.

I’m almost there, thought Walborski, looking up the road from the edge of the wood line that ran along its side.  He recognized the turnoff to the farm that was just before his.  And then around the curve and he would see the entrance road to his own property.  Deciding that at this point the road was covered better than the field he would have to traverse in a couple of moments, Walborski walked onto the paved surface that was covered by a canopy of trees  He checked up and down the road carefully before moving forward, making sure he hadn’t missed anything that might be waiting for him..

The farmer knew that something was seriously wrong as he made that turn on the curve.  There were trees down all over the road ahead.  His entrance was about a hundred meters further down the road, and all of the trees had been knocked down at that point.  With a sinking feeling in his stomach Cornelius took off at a run, fatigue and caution forgotten, jumping or weaving around downed trees.  The sky was tinted orange ahead from the rising sun, giving the farmer more light than was generated by his night vision faceplate, but he still bumped his armored knees against some hard trunks, or stumbled over branches.

“No,” he cried out, not wanting to believe the sight that greeted his eyes.  The entire field was flattened, even the fence posts gone.  The ground was bare under the rising sun, crops burned or blown away.  The barn was gone, and the most horrible sight of all, there was no house.

Cornelius looked up through tear streaked eyes at the cause of the destruction.  A couple of hundred meters out from the boundary of the farm, where Sestius life took over, was the burned out hulk of one of the massive mobile shore defense guns.  Probably the very one he had seen setting up there weeks before.  Its gun was tilted over, and even the heavy turret that must have weighed two hundred tons was askew on the hull of the vehicle.

Cornelius could see it in his mind, the gun firing at the enemy ships in orbit, which may have fired back with light amp or particle weapons.  Then had come the kinetic penetrator, blazing in so fast it would have looked like a streak of light.  It was probably a very near miss, generating enough energy to kill the vehicle as well as everything for a kilometer around.  And kill Walborski’s dreams with it.  The shadow of the gun had kept the damage down to a lesser degree on this side of the weapon.  Still, enough force had been generated to take out the house and barn, both made of tough modern materials.

Katlyn was his next thought, and he ran across the open area as fast as his legs would take him, aiming for the flattened space where the house had stood, where the basement was still he hoped.  Please God, let her have stayed in the basement like I told her to, he prayed silently.  She should have, unless she was out with the dogs, letting them relieve themselves when the blast hit.

“Katlyn,” he cried as he bounded onto the hard surface that had been the floor of the house and the top of the basement.  It was made of stronger material than the house, as the basement was to be the final shelter on the farm in case of storms or other disasters, though probably not an alien invasion.  “Katlyn,” he yelled again, reaching for the handle to the door and seeing that it was missing.

He scraped for purchase, trying to find a way to raise the door, then pounded on it, yelling his wife’s name over and over.  There was some noise coming up from below, and Cornelius thought it sounded like the dogs.  But if something had happened to Katlyn they would not be able to open the door.

Cornelius was thinking about trying to shoot through the door, trying to take out the lock and allow him to raise the door.  He was leery of trying that, as the round might go through the door and strike Katlyn or the dogs.  Still, it might be worth the risk of there wasn’t anyone inside to raise the door.  If Katlyn was injured already she might be in desperate need of help.  He had brought the rifle to his shoulder and was steeling himself to fire when there was a fumbling sound at the door, then it lifted out.

“Cornelius,” cried Katlyn as she lifted the hatch and looked out.  One of the dogs shouldered past her and out into the air, yelping and jumping as it saw Walborski.  The other dogs were also yelping and trying to get out.

“I am so happy to see you,” said the farmer, setting his rifle down and reaching a hand into the opening for his wife to grab.  He helped her out of the hole, then retracted his faceplate and placed his lips to hers, savoring the sensation that minutes before he thought he might have lost forever.  He broke the connection and looked down into her face.

“I’m so happy to see you,” said Katlyn, tears in her eyes.  “It sounded like the world had ended back there.”

“I bet it did,” said Cornelius, looking over at the knocked out shore battery gun.  Katlyn followed his gaze.

“Oh.  My God, just like you said.”  The woman shook her head, as if the act could make the world she didn’t want to realize go away.  She looked back at her husband with a shocked expression on her face.  The dogs continued to cavort around them as if nothing else in the world mattered.  A couple of the cats came up to the opening, looked out, and didn’t seem to like what they saw, disappearing back into the basement.

“Is it over?” asked his wife, a look of hope coming over her face.  “Did we beat them?  That’s why you’re back, isn’t it?”

“I wish it were, honey,” said Cornelius, shaking his head.  “Frederick’s gone, or nearly was when I left there.  The Cacas rolled over my unit like we were nothing.  The Army did a bit better, but they’re outnumbered.”

“The militia didn’t do anything?”

“Oh, we did something,” said the man, standing a little bit straighter.  “I killed at least one of the son of a bitches,” he said with pride.  “Might have got more than that one, but it was hard to be sure.  And for every one we killed they got five of us.”

“So what are you doing back here?” asked Katlyn, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.  “You didn’t desert, did you?  Oh honey, you know what they do to deserters during time of war.”

“Honey, in another twenty-four hours there won’t be any authority left on this planet worth a damn.  At least nothing that will be interested in tracking down civilians.”

Cornelius started down the stairs into the basement, taking his wife’s hand in his and leading her down.  His eyes took in the large room beneath the ground, almost as big as the house was, and filled with all kinds of things that might prove useful.  “We need to take what we can carry and get out of here,” he said, walking over to a storage bin and pulling rations from it.

“Why can’t we stay here?” asked Katlyn, her voice whining.  “We have what we need here, and we can stay hidden.”

“There won’t be any hiding from those bastards,” said her husband, pulling down a bag and putting things in it.  “They’ll go to every habitation and make sure we’re gone.  If not today or tomorrow, then next week or month.  Now, I’m going to bury a lot of the stuff we can’t carry over in the woods a couple of klicks from here.  You get together some packs with necessities like medical supplies, ammunition, and the dried rations.”

“What about the animals?” said Katlyn, picking up one of the cats, who had come out of hiding and was checking out what his humans were doing.  “We can’t just leave them.”

Walborski thought about that for a moment.  He loved the animals too, but this was no time for sentimentality.  Their survival was at stake.  “We’ll take the dogs,” he said, petting one of the big animals on the head.  “They will give us security, and can mostly feed themselves.”  Which is very true, he thought.  The dogs had nanites that allowed them to process the native food.  While the same was not true in the reverse, they could still be killed by the native wildlife that didn’t know better.  “We’ll give them packs to carry, at least all but the two I want to scout for us.”

“And the poor cats?” asked his wife, hugging the tabby to her chest.

“We can’t take them,” said Cornelius, holding up his hand to stop his wife from protesting.  “It wouldn’t be fair to them.  They can’t keep up, and I’m pretty sure they would just wander away anyway.”

“We can’t just leave them to die,” complained Katlyn, holding the cat tighter..

“We’ll leave the basement open a crack,” said Cornelius, reaching over and running a hand over the cat’s soft fur, then putting his hand on top of Katlyn’s.  “They’ll be able to get in and out, and hunt whenever they want.”

“You don’t think the Cacas will kill them?”

“Hell no,” said the farmer with a smile.  “They only have the ass for us.  Not our pets.  Now let’s get to work.”

The sun was high in the sky by the time the farmer had buried what he wanted to hide, and was starting to go down by the time he had the packs ready.  Tapping into the military communications net didn’t give him a lot of information, but from the snatches he heard he didn’t think the Cacas would get to his property before the day after tomorrow.  He decided on that he allowed his wife to bed down until morning, instead of making her walk through the jungle at night.

The sun was barely over the horizon when they were into that jungle, the six dogs with them, sniffing everything, but smart enough to let their human master investigate before they stuck their noses in anything.

“Where are we going?” asked Katlyn, who was only carrying a small pack due to her pregnancy.

“There’s a place some people told me about when we were getting ready for the landing,” said Cornelius, keeping his eyes peeled for trouble.  He smiled at Katlyn and noted with approval that she was carrying her rifle at the ready, though he thought she would start getting more careless as fatigue set in.  As long as she’s ready to back me up.

“What kind of place?”

“Someplace that has a lot of cover, water and food,” said Cornelius, listening as the dogs huffed around them.  “Some of the Marines knew about it, and thought it would make a good rendezvous point if everything went to hell.  I’ve got the coordinates on my hand comp.”

Suddenly the dogs started to raise hell up ahead, and the ones with the pair started that way at a run.  “Let’s go,” shouted Cornelius, lowering his faceplate and checking his rifle.  He ran ahead, Katlyn struggling to catch up, keeping his pace down so she wouldn’t be left behind.  When he caught up with the dogs he was glad that they both were armed.

*    *    *

Colonel Samuel Baggett recalled hearing about something call The Wilderness Campaign from the time of old Earth.  He didn’t remember much about it, except it was during the North American Civil War of a prespace century.  He was sure that whatever it involved it would not be anything like the wilderness that he had his back to.

All night the static in the atmosphere had been clearing as the enemy systematically eliminated the human electronic warfare assets.  Some of those assets were too small and dispersed to be eliminated entirely in any time frame less than weeks.  Still, the enemy was getting a better look at the ground from space at any time since he had arrived.  That had spelled death for more of his forces, including the young Lt. Colonel who had come to his rescue the other day.

This kind of war was totally unlike anything he had experienced on Janaikasa, fighting the Lasharan rebels.  Here he was the outnumbered and outgunned force.  Here he needed to use stealth and guile to bleed the enemy, while keeping his force alive.

I still have more than six hundred effectives, thought the Colonel, looking over his HUD.  Not a lot of heavy weapons, but enough to hit and run for weeks if necessary.  And what then?  He looked up at the sky, just as he did every morning, hoping to see Imperial assault shuttles landing reinforcements.  And what then, he thought in a continuing train.  We can’t be the only system these bastards are hitting.  We’re probably low on the list of systems to relieve, if there even is such a list.

“All the civilians are into the forest,” said the voice of Sergeant Major Terry Zacharias over the com, bringing a smile to the Colonel’s face.

Zacharias had been in the thick of the fighting the whole way, and hadn’t suffered a scratch.  The irrepressible little noncom was one tough and smart SOB, and Baggett was glad to still have him.

“We’ll start falling back to the forest in five mikes,” said the Colonel over the com.  And with luck we’ll be under cover before the demon fuckers even realize we’re gone.  Not sure how well the civilians are going to do in this here wilderness though, the Colonel thought as he envisioned the forest filled with all those huge carnivores, and even the herbivores that could be deadly just because of gigantic size.  They’ll just have to do as well as they can.  At least most of them are armed, and hopefully I can use some of them as guerillas.

“We have movement to our front, Colonel,” said the voice of one of the new company commanders, just a platoon leader the day before.  “Sounds like rumbling, but different than the barrage.”

“Let me listen,” said Baggett, jacking the gain from his helmet earphones up to max.  It was a sound that was unmistakable to one who knew what to listen for.  The creaking of metal, crumbling of building fragments underneath.  And there were several of them.  Baggett looked at his HUD, which was transmitting what the officer saw, and cursed under his breath as he saw what looked like a long gun.

“Those are tanks, Lieutenant,” he said, checking the rest of the front and seeing more armored vehicles just out of easy detection range.  They screwed that one up.  Should have waited a little longer and just come on when they were ready.

Kinetic rounds started coming down from the sky, most into the farmlands in front of the Infantry positions.  Some were falling into the wilderness, knocking down multiple square kilometers of trees at every strike.  The ground rumbled underneath, and some cursing came over the com.

“Quiet on the com,” came the voice of the Sergeant Major.  Baggett mentally nodded his head.  Any signals could be traced, though the probability was remote that any single transmission would.  Multiply that probability by several hundred and the enemy would be sure to pinpoint one signal.  The best protection was to only send necessary info, and to move after each transmission set.

“What’s this look like to you, Terry?” asked the Colonel over the private circuit between them as he changed positions.

“It looks like a rolling barrage, sir,” said the Top Sergeant.  “I think they’re going to come in right after this and roll over our positions.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” said the Colonel.  He engaged the general circuit.  “All units are to leave their positions immediately.  Repeat, leave your current positions immediately, unless you are already in the wilderness.  All others move into the wilderness immediately.”

The acknowledgements came back immediately over the com, and Baggett’s HUD showed his men streaming into the heavy forest as fast as they could move.  There were still keeping good order and separation, something needed when the enemy could always switch their targeting and hit the forest at will.

Less than a minute after they evacuated their trenches and holes the barrage came down on where they had been.  Bright flashes lit the area.  The rounds were not all that powerful, less than a kiloton each, but they were striking in mass, and any troops who had been underneath the strikes would have been killed, or at least seriously injured and their suits incapacitated.  Rounds continued to come down in the wilderness as well, and Baggett lost about a dozen troopers to the barrage, though the unarmored civilians fared worse.  But when the enemy rolled over the Imperial positions with tanks and armored infantry moments later they found nothing living.  And enough booby traps that survived the barrage to make their lives miserable.

*    *    *

“Come and get it lads,” said Captain Glen McKinnon, holding up a box of recharge units for his men to see.  The Marines were good at this stuff, he had to admit, looking at the air van which had carried their resupply to this small clearing in the endless forest.  The van was parked under the covering canopy of trees and covered in camouflage netting, as undetectable as possible from air or space.

The van had enough consumables to resupply a company like McKinnon’s had three days before his casualties.  One hundred and ninety men.  Now he had thirty-six men, and enough supply for five resupplies.  And that was only if he didn’t lose any more men, which was not probable.

“Everybody charge up and load up,” said the Captain, watching as the men descended on the equipment.  Not that I have to tell them, but a commander has to say something at times.  But the men know what to do.  The remainder were his best and brightest for the most part, out of a company that was already made up of outstanding individuals.  Still, some of the best could still get killed.  There was some amount of randomness in battle.

“When are we going to get some rest, sir?” asked one of the men.  All had their faceplates retracted, and all faces were maps of fatigue and the shock of seeing those close to them killed.

“You’ll be the first to know, Chekov,” said the Captain, looking to one of his remaining NCOs and motioning the man over.  There were no other officers, they being picked off almost from the start of the battle.

“Yes sir,” said Senior Sergeant Kalvin Hogan, not bothering to salute, as they were in a combat zone.

“Let the men get what rest they can as soon as they load up on consumables,” said the Captain, feeling like he was going to fall over himself.  There was only so much that nanites and stimulants could do in place of organic sleep.  “Make sure everyone has as much strapped to their suit as they can carry.”

“And when will we be moving out, sir,” asked the Sergeant, his own tone dripping with fatigue.

“Let me check in with the Colonel,” said the officer, wishing he could sleep some as well.  Or just get out of this damned suit.  It’s been almost eighty hours since my skin has been exposed to anything but canned atmosphere.  But getting out of the armor in an unsecured location was not a good idea.  Things happened, and the enemy didn’t always act according to your plan.

McKinnon spent the next ten minutes trying to get through to the colonel in charge of the Frederick Region Defense, even though the Frederick Region was no longer in Imperial hands.  The static was too much for his suit’s com systems, and while he thought he had someone two or three times, they always faded away.

“OK, everybody,” called out the Captain after his last futile attempt.  “We will be taking a four hour break and moving at twilight.  Four guard shifts, I leave that up to Sergeant Hogan to set, so everyone can get three hours sack time.”

There was a combination of smiles and groans at that announcement.  All the men wanted some sack time, and would take what they could get.  As professionals they knew the score, and moments later three quarters of the suits were on the ground, their occupants snoring away, while the chosen first shift stood silent posts.  The Captain made a check on the dispositions, then laid down himself after leaving instructions to wake him a half hour before twilight.  With a mental command he shut himself down into a deep dreamless sleep.

“Wake up, sir,” said a voice in his head after what seemed like no time at all.  The words triggered his brain to come fully alert.  Still, he groaned as he saw the time in his head.  Less than two hours.  So something must have been happening.

“We have Cacas flying overhead,” said Sergeant Hogan, kneeling beside the recumbent officer.  “And the listening post has heard them moving in the woods.”

Glen pushed himself off the ground, the strength of the suit moving the weight with ease.  “Is everyone up?”

“Or in the process,” agreed the NCO.  “You were a priority.  Here’s what we have.”

The Sergeant’s suit sent a short range burst of data to the Captain’s processors, and his HUD showed him the situation as they understood it.  There were two aircraft flying over in a pattern that indicated a normal sweep, eyes in the sky for the troops below.  And to the west were what looked like a platoon of enemy, moving in squad Vs slow enough to indicate they thought something was in the area.  Probably picked us up on chemos, thought the Captain, frowning.  So they won’t have a solid fix on us unless they can triangulate with some troops at another angle.  And they don’t know what they’re facing.  A dozen scared civilians, or a Marine division.

And from what he had seen so far, the Marine suits were far superior to anything the Cacas had.  Of course, he didn’t know what backup the enemy had, which would have made it an interesting tactical problem if he and his men’s lives weren’t on the line.

“Get the men into position,” he said, marking the placements on his HUD and sending it across to the Sergeant.  “We’ll set up an ambush and catch them in a crossfire here.  And detail a pair of Marines to take out those aircraft.”

“Yes sir,” said the Sergeant, moving away on his grabbers.

The Marines were taught to fight in and out of the suits, in a variety of habitats and gravities.  The Captain knew the suits were not ideal for an ambush, as they gave off too many electronic signals, especially when engaging grabbers.  On a battlefield that was probably not a big deal with all the electronic overload.  In an ambush situation they weren’t ideal, and the Captain thought for a moment of just ordering the men to filter out of here.  But then he would have to give up the air van and the techs that were manning it, and all the military supplies it was carrying.  And he was not willing to do that.

Two short bursts of static came over the com, the signal that all was ready.  This was followed by several more of the same signal, and the Captain made ready to send out the order to open fire.  That was when all hell broke loose in the form of the enemy taking his men under fire.

“I’m hit,” yelled someone over the com.  There were more yells, and the Marines started to return fire.  It soon became evident to Captain Glen McKinnon that they were the ones that were trapped, as enemy appeared from unexpected places and closed the cauldron about his unit.  Several of his men’s icons blinked red, then faded, and he cursed as he lost six Marines in less than thirty seconds.  And then the aircraft opened up and a bad situation went to worse.

Sergeant Hogan was still alive and in the circuit, and his section was holding out, but the enemy was forcing back the Marines on every other part of the perimeter.  More icons dropped off, and the Captain knew he was facing annihilation here.

“What the Hell?” said the voice of Sergeant Hogan over the circuit.

“Talk to me, Sergeant.  What’s going on?”

“Someone else is shooting at the bad guys.”  There was an explosion in the air, followed by a flaming enemy aircraft falling from the sky into the jungle.  A second explosion sounded moments later and the second aircraft followed the first.  “I don’t believe it,” said the Sergeant over the com.  “I just don’t fucking believe it.”

McKinnon didn’t believe it either as his HUD showed the enemy disappearing from the area, killed or running.  And whatever was taking them out didn’t show on the display at all.  The Captain was on his feet in a moment, heading toward Sergeant Hogan’s position.  He stopped as soon as he saw the man standing with the Sergeant, and the other men behind him still looking out into the jungle.

“This is Mr. Donahue, sir,” said the Sergeant, looking at the Captain and gesturing to the man dressed in what looked like a Gilley suit to the officer, who had seen them used by special ops people before.  “He and his fellow freeholders came to our rescue.”

“Pleased to meet you, Captain,” said the middle aged man, holding out a hand.  “I was in the Marines myself at one time.  Recon.”

“And your men?” asked McKinnon, gripping the hard calloused hand in his metal gauntlet.  And he could take me apart if I weren’t wearing this suit, thought the Captain, looking at the military spec particle beam rifle that was slung over the man’s shoulder.

Recon Marines didn’t depend on armor or hardware for their missions.  They carried their enhancements inside, genetic modifications that made them stronger and faster than most.  That way they didn’t give off electronic bleed that would give them away.  And they could move more silently than snakes.

“Some of the other boys were also special ops,” said the man, nodding back at one man who looked like a body builder and moved like a cat.

“How many men you got with you?” asked McKinnon, thinking about how he might be able to use these natives, who obviously knew how to move and fight in this jungle.

“I have a hundred and fifteen men,” said the Freeholder, pointing a thumb into his chest.  “Including myself.  And before you ask, none of us are willing to follow the commands of the military.  We fight our own war, and if it benefits you, so much the better.”

A couple more men stepped into sight, one carrying a heavy laser, one other a hyper-v launcher, like the ones used to take down the aircraft.

“We need to move out,” said the Freeholder, looking beyond the Captain at the small clearing where sat the air van.  “The Cacas will be back, and we fight them on our terms and ground, not theirs.”

McKinnon looked back at the air van, still filled with weapons and equipment they couldn’t carry.  He looked back at the Freehold leader and noted the interest in the man’s eyes.  “Take what you want.  We’ll carry all we can, and you can help yourselves to what we can’t.  Better than leaving for the enemy or blowing it in place.”

“Thank you,” said the older man, making a head gesture toward some of his men, who ran over to the van. He looked back at the Captain. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want you tagging along.  Not in those metal suits.  We don’t want the Cacas homing in on your emissions.”

“What about your own equipment?” asked the Marine, a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he had been going to ask the man to lead him and his to safety.

“We travel weapons cold,” said the man, holding up his particle beam rifle to show that all power was off.  “Everything cold.”

“And what if the Cacas sneak up on you?” asked Sergeant Hogan.

“I shouldn’t have said everything cold,” said the Freeholder with a smile.  “We have these signal detectors.”  The man touched a small box that hung from his belt.  “Picks up everything within a couple of kilometers, same as the ones we used in special ops.  Actually picked up your rigs a kilometer further out than that of the Cacas.  I guess their equipment is a little better shielded than yours, or doesn’t use as much energy.  Of course, if you transmit we’ll pick it up either further out.”

“And infrared?” asked Hogan, reaching a hand out and touching the fabric of the Gilley suit.

“This suit keeps most of that in,” said the man, touching the chest area.  “We vent them when we’re moving to get rid of some heat without broadcasting it upwards.”

“Must be hot as hell when you close it up,” said the Captain, wondering how he could get some of those things for his men when they didn’t have power for their suits.

“Better than being heated up by a laser or PB,” said the Freehold Leader, looking over at his men coming back from the van with bulging packs and more slung weapons.  “Thank you kindly.  Me and mine will be on our way.”

“Could you take the two techs with you?” asked the Captain, looking back at the two jump suited Marines standing by the van.  “They don’t have suits to give themselves away.  And I’m sure they could come in handy when you need to build or repair equipment.”

“Since they are Marines, it would be my pleasure,” said the Freeholder, gesturing to a couple of his men and pointing to the techs.  “We even have some gear that will help them blend in.  Not as well as we do, but enough.”

“Thank you,” said Glen, that weight off his shoulders.  He wanted to move fast, and the techs would have slowed him down.  But he was also not willing to just leave them here in the jungle by themselves.  That would just be sentencing them to death.

The leader waved in reply and turned away.  With that the men all moved quietly into the jungle and faded from sight.

“Get the men ready to move,” said the Captain, looking over at Hogan.  “Wish we had time to bury the men, but…”

“The men understand, Captain,” said the Sergeant.  “It’s time for the living is what it is.”

“Those commandos sure were impressive,” said McKinnon, thinking back to the origin of the word that he had learned at the Academy.  Farmers who had gathered weapons, got on horseback, and rode to fight what to them were invaders of their homeland.  He thought those ancient men of Earth would approve of the commandos of Sestius.

Moments later the Marines were moving on their own, heading toward what McKinnon knew as a place of safety.

*    *    *

SESTIUS, MARCH 24TH, 1000.

Cornelius had never seen anything like the creatures that had attacked the dogs.  They looked kind of like apes, big creatures almost a ton in weight, with wicked looking carnivore’s teeth and clawed hands.  One of the dogs was dead when Cornelius and Katlyn got within sight of the battle.  Another was torn apart before their eyes, while the rest of the small pack retreated to stand close to their humans, providing some protection while expecting it in return.

“You watch our backs, honey,” he told his wife, then brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired.  The ten millimeter round traveled from the barrel at over three thousand meters per second, the rifle bucking soundlessly into the farmer’s armored shoulder.  The round struck the creature center mass, right in the chest area, and dropped it quivering to the jungle floor.  He took aim and fired again, and again, dropping two more animals.  One flung something his way, a rock that bounced from his helmet, and would have surely dropped him lifeless if not for the armored protection.

Walborski switched the selector to auto and started to spray the rest of the creatures.  The magazine of his weapon contained a two hundred round load, and the power pack of the rifle would let him fire a dozen mags before he needed to change it.  He slaughtered the beasts in front of him, then turn in time to see a pair coming for his wife, who stood there in shock.

“Look out,” he yelled, bringing his rifle around.  An incoming stick hit Katlyn in the head and she started to go down.  The farmer fired a burst into the nearest creature, realizing that he would not be able to shoot the second in time to keep it off his helpless wife.

The dogs saved the day, two of them going for the hind leg of the creature, another sinking its teeth into the carnivore’s buttocks. The creature screamed and turned, throwing off the two dogs that had grabbed its leg.  The one holding onto the posterior dug in and refused to let go.  The carnivore tried to reach back for the dog.  That thought left its mind forever as Cornelius put a shot through its head.

The dogs started barking now, raising a furious cacophony of sound, looking up into the trees.  Cornelius raised his weapon and sprayed a continuous burst that raked the leaves, until his ammo counter hit zero.  He switched to his under barrel grenade launcher, firing the five onboard projectiles upwards to explode in the canopy.  A heavy body fell, to strike hard on the ground and lay unmoving.

Cornelius looked up for a moment more, using his faceplate’s sensors to scan for body heat.  Seeing none, he dropped to his knees and helped his wife to a sitting position.  She had a cut on her forehead that was dripping blood, and some more blood seeping down her long blond hair.  “Can you hear me, honey?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, shaking her head.  The four surviving dogs surrounded them and a couple licked her face.  She looked over at where the two dead dogs lay, among the big bodies of the alien carnivores.  “Oh no,” said Katlyn, her hands to her face.  “Not Rodney and Pepper.”

Cornelius shook his head as he looked at the two animals.  Rodney had been his favorite, the Alpha male of the small pack, while Pepper had been a sweet and subservient female.  “We still have the others,” said the man, reaching for his first aid kit, then starting to work on Katlyn’s wounds.

After dressing the cuts Cornelius looked around, frowning.  “It’s going to get dark, and soon.  We need to find someplace to shelter before then.”

“And how are we going to do that?” said Katlyn, a hopeless expression on her face.

“We head for some rocky area and look for caves,” said the farmer, looking around the forest.  Two of the dogs were actively sniffing their dead comrades, while another two started biting chunks out of the dead carcasses of the carnivores.  Cornelius doubted the meat tasted all that good, but the dogs were pragmatists, and would eat while they could.

Suddenly all the dogs went to alert, ears pinned back, hair standing on their backs.  Cornelius hissed and gave them a hand signal, then slid a new magazine in his rifle.  His eyes scanned the woods in the direction the dog’s muzzles were pointing.  Katlyn knelt beside him, her own weapon ready, fear and anxiety playing across her face.

“Ho,” yelled out a voice from the near trees.  “I’m human.  I’m coming in, so don’t shoot.”

Cornelius kept his weapon ready until he saw that it was indeed human, a woman of average height dressed in clothing that blended her in with the jungle.  A pistol was holstered on her side, and a rifle was slung over her shoulder, while she presented both open hands.

“We heard the firing and came to see if we could help,” said the woman, lowering her hands as Cornelius lowered his rifle, then pushed Katlyn’s down.

“Where did you come from?” asked Cornelius, while the dogs ran over to the woman with tails wagging.

“We have a Freehold about an hour’s walk from here,” said the woman, making a hand gesture.  A trio of women came out of the jungle, dressed and armed similarly to the first.  “Me and the girls were out on a patrol when we heard you shooting.  Looks like you ran into a pack of Jakelodons.  Lucky you had the dogs to warn you.”

“Yes, it was,” said Cornelius, looking at the hard looking but not unattractive women.  “Where are your men?”

“They’re out hunting Cacas,” said the woman who seemed to be the leader, slightly older than the other three.  “Why don’t you come along with us and we’ll shelter you for the night, or maybe longer if you can prove useful to us.”

“That sounds wonderful, Cornelius,” said Katlyn, standing up and getting wide eyed looks from the women.

“You shouldn’t have brought her out here in her condition,” said the leader.

“I really had no choice,” said the farmer, looking back the way they came.  “The Cacas were going to kill everyone they could find, and I didn’t think our basement would be enough of a deterrent.”

“Good point,” said the leader, looking over Katlyn.  She looked back at Cornelius.  “And you were a soldier?”

“Not much of one,” said Cornelius, shaking his head.  “I was in the militia, and we got our asses kicked.”

“Looks like you did OK here,” said the woman, walking over to the body of a Jakelodon and giving it a kick.  “My name’s Becky, by the way,” said the woman, walking back over to the couple and holding out a hand that Cornelius grasped.  “Becky Sutton.  My husband Bradford is the leader of the Freehold.  We’re not real big, even though we’ve been here for quite some time.”

Moments later they started through the jungle to the Freehold, the three other women watching carefully.  Cornelius kept his dogs close at the suggestion of Becky.  They went slow enough for Katlyn to keep up, and the woman kept looking at his wife with a concerned expression.

“Now watch your dogs,” said Becky, holding up a hand to halt the party.  “We got some guardians here they really don’t want to tangle with.”

“Guardians?  Like what?” asked Cornelius, holding onto the straps he had leased the dogs with, just before a brown furred creature reared up and looked them over.  He heard a grunt and another looked from behind a tree, then a third.  The creatures were massive, the one standing at least four meters tall, and it had to weigh over a ton.  Cornelius felt a shiver of fear as he looked at the creatures, things out of the primordial nightmares of man when he only had spears to protect himself.  The dogs started to bark and pull forward, then thought better of it when one of the other animals growled.

“They’re modified Kodiaks,” said Becky, walking up to one of the bears and putting out a hand for it to sniff.  The bear snuffled for a moment, then leaned into the woman while she gave it some hard pats on the shoulders.  “They do much better out here than dogs, or even large modified cats.  My husband and I raise them, and sell them to other Freeholders.”

“They’re not dangerous,” said Katlyn, looking with wide eyes at the bears.

“Hell yes, they’re dangerous,” said one of the other women.  “Unless they see you as part of the family.”

“And if you stay we’ll have to get them used to you,” said Becky, leading the way into the fenced in area that was the center of the Freehold.

“You don’t farm?” asked Cornelius, looking over the several outbuildings that blended into the woods.

“We have some farming lands,” said Becky with a nod, looking at Katlyn again.  “But it’s too exposed at a time like this.”  Becky walked over to a large pen that was empty except for some bowls.  “You can keep the dogs in here for now.  Once we get them acclimated to being around the bears you can let them roam.  The bears already know what dogs are, and won’t harm them as long as they don’t mess with the cubs.  And the cubs are in a secure den.”

“I appreciate what you’re doing for us,” said Cornelius.  “We’ll just stay the night and move on in the morning.”

“You may have to stay longer than that,” said Becky with an enigmatic smile.

That evening Katlyn went into labor.

*    *    *

“Why did it have to be a world like this?” asked Officer of Scouts Hrenderixilix, glaring back at the jungle they had just walked out of.  A jungle that sprouted new terrors at every step.  “And those cursed humans.  Why don’t they come out and fight like males?”

“Because they know they would get whipped in a stand up fight,” said the officer’s chief underofficer.  “Because they are too smart to do so.”

“Then curses on their damned smarts,” said the officer. “May it do them much good when we have sent them all to Hell.”

“I find this planet magnificent,” said the underofficer, pointing a claw at the grazing herbivores on the other side of the large open grasslands.  “Where else could you see such creatures?”

“Yes, they are magnificent,” said the officer, who like all his kind had been raised with an appreciation of nature.  He looked at the hundred or so massive herbivores, their long necks cropping the leaves from the trees on the edge of the small prairie.  And the smaller but still massive species who in their hundreds grazed on the grass.  “But I would rather enjoy this world as a tourist or new colonist, and not someone who must fight inhabitants who know it so much better than we.”

“It is all clear,” came a voice over the com, one of the advanced scouts.

“It is clear, my Lord,” said the officer on another circuit.  Moments later a hundred Cacada had appeared in the open area, still spread out.  They advanced to the center of the open area, and another hundred followed them from the jungle.

“We will take a break here for a half an hour,” said the company commander over the circuit.  “Hrenderixilix, take your section and scout out the jungle on the other side.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the officer, biting off the curse words he wanted to say.  We always have to be on the move, while the other males can rest and relax.  I should have requested a line platoon instead of the scouts, and ignored the talk of glory the assignment officer tagged this type of unit with.

“Get the males ready to move,” he said to the underofficer, who also suppressed a groan.  “I know.  But the lord and master has spoken.”

The underofficer gave a head motion of agreement.  Both males knew what the penalty was for disobedience in the forces of the Empire, and neither would have wished that on their worst enemy.

*    *    *

Colonel Samuel Baggett looked through his binoculars at the enemy forces in the small prairie before him.  The man beside him nudged him in the side and pointed up the oblong area where about thirty of the Cacas were moving toward the jungle.

“We have something else planned for them,” said the man, the leader of this group of the Freehold Commandos, as they were taking to calling themselves.

Baggett nodded his head.  He looked again on the field, and thought of what he could have done to the Cacas with a company of his own.  But the purpose of this day’s work was to watch the Commandos in action.  He had even left behind all of his own equipment except for an emergency transceiver and a weapon, and both of them were powered down.  The Commandos carried no high tech equipment except for the same, and for this mission their transceivers were off.

“Will your people know when to set it off?” asked Baggett, still amazed that the Freeholders could operate without communications.

“They’re my family, my neighbors,” said the leader, Ted Clarke.  “They’ll know what to do.  Ah, it’s about to start.”  The leader pointed to the mixed herd of herbivores that was now moving restlessly about.

Baggett had never thought of using animal pheromones as a weapon before.  But he could see the logic of it.  A pack of predators was being stirred up on the inside edge of the forest.  Soon they would erupt in a murderous rage, against themselves and everything else that moved.  And then the fun would begin.

The herd moved again, edging away from the forest and the scent of predator that was growing stronger.  A big female trumpeted, then another, while the smaller bison like herbivores started lowing.  And then it happened so fast that Baggett was not sure he was actually seeing it correctly, as thirty tons of carnivore came rocketing into the herd, followed by a dozen more.

“We call them Bearcats,” said the Commando Leader, pointing at one of the big animals taking a swipe at an eighty ton female herbivore, its claws striking in a splash of blood.  Another of the big carnivores came in and the first one turned on it with another swipe.

Appropriate name, thought the Colonel, looking as one of the carnivores rocketed into the air and landed on the back of a sixty ton male herbivore.  They were built much like stout cats on a massive scale, with heavy bodies and long curving fangs.  Their coats were thick like that of a brown bear, with much the same coloration.  And they looked like the worst nightmare the Colonel could imagine.

One male Jassanic Beast, the largest herbivores on the planet, and a couple of pseudo-bison were down, and the Bearcats were still drawing blood from one another.  The leader had explained it earlier.  They had used a mixture of hunting and mating pheromones to drive the carnivores mad.  The chemicals had been mixed in the local lab, and were never secreted together in the wild.  But now they were, and the confused carnivores were mad.

The mixed herd broke, heading away from the jungle’s edge and toward the center of the prairie.  The carnivores broke with them, in a killing lust, wanting to take down prey and also wanting to avoid their pack mates as much as possible.  And the mass of heavy bodies headed right for the resting places of the Ca’cadasan infantry.

*    *    *

Officer of Scouts Hrenderixilix turned when he heard the trumpeting sounds.  Turned to see the huge carnivores attack the even bigger herbivores, then the whole mass of fighting beasts stampede toward the company it was his job to protect.  But now he couldn’t see what he could do to protect them.  Except.

“Get that heavy laser up, here,” he yelled to the crew of the one truly heavy weapon his lightly armed platoon possessed.  “Set up and fire into the front of that mass of animals.”

The males moved quickly despite their shock.  The males in the company were also reacting, though for many that reaction was to run directly away from the oncoming beasts.  Some stopped and fired, knocking down one of the smaller herbivores here and there.  Their shots seemed to be having no effect on the monster herbivores and their massive predators, and the officer did not see how mag rifle rounds could affect such masses of bone and muscle.  And then his heavy weapon was set up, the crew firing.  The beam, highlighted in the dust of the grassland but still nearly invisible in the sun, struck into the front ranks of the herbivores, cutting through legs like an infinitely sharp blade and dropping screaming, honking animals to the ground.  He saw a particle beam from the company killed one of the biggest of the herbivores, then another kill a predator, and he thought for a moment that they might be able to stop this disaster in mid-track.

*    *    *

The commandos were ready for that response from the enemy.  All of the people had heavy hunting style weapons, capable of sending a massive rounds on a flat trajectory over a long distance.  There were also four of the heavy sniper rifles used by Imperial Special Ops.  The Freeholders had come to this planet to live their own lives without too much outside interference.  Being heavily armed with the best money could buy was part of that proposition.  And many of the men and women had contacts that allowed them to get their hands on such weapons.

The four sniper rifles fired almost as one.  Each put a twelve millimeter round into the air at three thousand meters per second, recoiling heavily into the shoulders of their firers despite the bipod legs that absorbed much of the force.  The round itself was a shell of depleted Uranium surrounding a grabber unit and crystal matrix battery, with a miniature shaped charge in the nose.  The distance to the targets was variable, but all the rounds hit with at least a fifteen thousand meter per second velocity, some much more.  The two Cacada who were firing heavy weapons into the stampede went down with exploding helmets, as did the big male who seemed to be trying to rally the troops.

*    *    *

Officer of Scouts Hrenderixilix watched in horror as the laser gunner’s head disappeared in a cloud of red despite the helmet the male wore.  A moment later the assistant died in a similar manner, then another of the crew.  No one else made a move toward the weapon, which seemed to be a magnet of death.  The officer looked up to see the stampede reaching the Cacada troops, outrunning the heavily armored troopers easily.  There was very little firing going on, and what there was didn’t have much effect.  Most of the males were simply running for their lives in a race they would lose.

The wave washed over them, and eighty ton herbivores crushed armored Cacada to the ground as if they were shelled insects.  The smaller herbivores drove into warriors and lifted them from the ground, to fall underneath heavy hooves.  And carnivores grabbed Cacada in their mouths, or raked them with claws.  When that didn’t penetrate the armor they simply flung the males long distances, or reared up to bring all their weight down on the warriors.

The Cacada didn’t stand a chance, and in less than a minute the company was gone, less the score of survivors who made it into the jungle.  And the sniper rounds had shown that the humans were present there.  The officer doubted if any of those males would make it out alive.  Then it was time to think about his own men.

“Underofficer.  Get the men into the jungle.  We need a rally point where we can call for extraction.”

The underofficer acknowledged, and soon they were all under cover, while the officer tried to contact help.

*    *    *

Baggett almost felt sorry for the Ca’cadasans.  Almost.  It was unbelievable seeing that mass of animals roll over the enemy infantry.  And the commandos had shot down anyone who looked like they might be able to stop it.  Have to find out how they got those weapons, thought Colonel.  His soldiers had some, but not enough for this kind of warfare.  And I have to remember to tell my own officers to watch out for situations like this, he thought, playing the image of an eighty ton herbivore crushing a Caca underfoot with each step in his mind.  It could happen just as easily to us.  But the Cacas didn’t include flight in their suits, which seemed kind of strange considering how advanced they were in so many other ways.  Must be something from their past experience that made them forego that tech.

“And where are we going now,” he asked the Commando Leader, walking beside him through the jungle.  He noted that the man was always looking, his eyes darting from foliage to overhead to ground, always on the lookout for danger.  Lord knows I’ve lost some men in this mess to inattention, he thought, remembering how deadly this planet could be.  He thought back to yesterday when they had come to the rescue of some civilians trapped by arboreal predators.  Too late to save some thirty of them who had been torn apart for later consumption.

“We’re going to see the end of this group of Cacas,” said the man, looking over with a cold smile.

They stopped before a group of people, two men and a woman, who were crouched low and speaking.  “They in the trap?” asked the leader.

“Walked right into it, easy as you please,” said the young woman, who had the coldest eyes the Colonel had ever seen.

“It started?”

“Not yet, but it can’t be long now,” said the leader.  There were some yells in alien voices, and the young woman broke out into a laugh.  “It’s started,” said the leader, nodding a head to the Colonel.  “Give it a few more minutes and we’ll go have a look.”

The Colonel thought about that for a moment, his stomach turning.  Have a look at what, he thought, imagining a horror.

*    *    *

Officer of Scouts Hrenderixilix settled himself into the crook of the tree roots, looking over his rifle at the path he expected the humans to come across.  The rest of his platoon was nestled in tight around him.  They may get us, he thought, but we’ll make them pay.  He looked over the skull of a large animal that was also part of his cover.  There were a lot of bones around here, and he wondered if it might be some kind of animal burial ground like he had heard of on other worlds.  The bones had a half dissolved look to them, as if something corrosive had worked them over.  Not something I need to be thinking about now.  There were very real dangers in the humans out there in the jungle.

He had tried to contact HQ, but there had been too much static on the com.  It had sounded like static generated by someone for the express purpose of keeping him from making contact.  He still hoped they might be able to make it out of here, if they could hold out.  HQ would have to send someone to see what happened to an entire company they lost contact with, wouldn’t they?

The first the officer knew something was wrong was when a pain shot up his left leg.  He looked down and tried to move so he could see what had happened, but the leg would not comply.  He twisted and turned and finally got some movement.  To his horrified gaze there was something coming out of the ground and puncturing the thin material at his knee joint.  And it felt like his leg was on fire.

The officer pulled out his molecular knife and positioned the blade so he could cut through the whatever, he wasn’t sure if it was animal or vegetable.  The blade cut through easily enough, but whatever had gotten into his leg was still at work, and the pain grew and spread.  The officer turned to get at his med kit and panicked as his left arm wouldn’t come off the ground.  It was then that he noticed the screams and cries coming over his com.  He screamed himself when he felt something moving through his abdomen, followed by an excruciating pain.  And now he knew the reason so many skeletons were gathered in this part of the forest.

*    *    *

“I lost a whole bunch of cattle to one of these things before we figured out what it was,” said the Commando Leader, gesturing toward the Cacada who were trapped like flies in amber.  There were still screams and moans coming from the living aliens, and bright colored tendrils erupted from spots on their bodies, eating holes in the armor and moving to other spots.  “Damndest thing we ever saw.  Big damned flesh eating fungus living in the ground.  Has acid strong enough to eat through most metals.”

The closest Ca’cadasan looked at them with imploring eyes, and the Colonel could think of nothing he could do to help the creature.  Except kill it.  He started to reach for his side arm when a hand grabbed his forearm and he found himself looking into the cold eyes of the young woman.

“No mercy,” she said in a sharp voice.  “The fuckers came here to kill us all and take our planet from us.  So they can suffer Hell on Earth before they get to whatever Hell they claim.”

The girl turned a walked away, her head turned to the side to glare at one of the Ca’cadasans who now had growth covering his face.

“She’s a cold hearted bitch, isn’t she,” said Baggett, realizing at the last moment he didn’t know her relation to the leader.

“She sure is,” said the leader in a proud voice.  “She’s my daughter.  Me and her momma raised her right.  At least for these times.”

Chapter Eight

In a manner, plying space is much the same as traveling the oceans in the time of sail.  Merchants ships plod along for weeks to months between ports.  When they boost, no one is really sure if they will get there.  And if they don’t, no one is really sure what happened to them.  Meanwhile, warships try to guard the space lanes to the best of their abilities, within the limits of their sensory envelopes, in much the same way as lookouts on the tops of masts scanned the oceans, unable to see what was beyond the horizon.  And in the same way the captains of ships, both merchant and military, must make their own, seat of the pants decisions, without resort to higher authority.  We tend to think that space travel is safe, because the vast majority of vessels that leave inhabited systems return to others.  It is anything but, and the maps of space could be labeled with multiple graphics of here there be monsters.  A History of Space Travel, Imperial Year 433.

SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM, MARCH 21ST, 1000.

“We’ve got a problem, sir,” said the Sensory Tech over the com.

Maurice von Ritterdorf swore under his breath as he looked back at his most important passenger, one whose importance dwarfed that of the entire sector fleet as far as the Empire was concerned.  The new, uncrowned Emperor looked back at him, and the Commander could tell that the man, who had been a prince and Lieutenant SG just days before, was keeping himself under control and not trying to run the ship.  Smart move, thought the Captain of the DD-VII Dot MacArthur.  Rittersdorf was sure that his capabilities were much better honed than those of the Emperor.

“What do you have, Chung?” he asked the tech, a Chief Petty Officer who was the best the ship had.  She was back in her own compartment near the Combat Information Center, where she could be isolated, which gave her a better take of the resonances she listened to that gave her an idea of what was populating the hyperspace around them.

“It sounds like two of those big cruisers the enemy uses,” said the CPO in a voice that sounded calm on the surface, but anything but to the man who commanded her.  “They just entered our range.  I’m still trying to firm up the signal, but I think they’re on our ass.”

“So the sacrifice of the Joan de Arc didn’t put them off the chase,” said Sean Lee Ogden Romanov, new Emperor of the New Terran Empire.  He nervously stroked the fur of the silky cat that sat in his lap.  The cat of Captain Mei Lei of the Joan de Arc.

“They gave us time, your Majesty,” said the Captain, noting that the young man still grimaced a bit when he heard that title given to him.  Good, thought von Rittersdorf, himself the younger son of a Count.  Maybe he’ll doubt himself enough to listen to those older and wiser than he is. “ I plan to use that time to our best advantage.  They can’t go much faster than we can, if they can go faster at all.  We can do point nine c in VII.”

“And if they can do better than point nine?” asked the young man, his troubled eyes staring into the Captain’s.  “If they have better particle shields.  How long until they catch us?”

The Captain had to think about that for a moment.  A look into the young man’s eyes told him that the prince turned Emperor was not thinking only of himself.  “We should be good for a couple of days, if not more.  And we might be able to come up with something in that time span.”

Von Rittersdorf swiveled his seat away from the Emperor and looked over at his navigation officer.  “Lieutenant.  I want you to look at every system within two days of us.  Give me some options to work with.”

“I don’t want to see us leading anything into a helpless inhabited system.”

“And I would not do that, your Majesty,” said the Captain, swiveling his chair to look back at the young man.  “My main hope is that we can lead them a chase until something else comes to our aid.  Sector Headquarters knows that you were at Massadara.  I’m sure they will be exhausting every resource to try and find you, until you are proven lost.”

“And why would they go to such effort?” asked the Emperor, the shadows in his eyes again showing his doubt.

“Because you, my fine Imperial Scion, are the best option they have for leading the Empire in this war,” said the Captain, pointing a finger at the young man.  “And don’t tell me you don’t agree. I grew up in a noble house, and know something of the politics that pass for patriotic reasoning among some of those self-serving fools.  They will try to put an idiot cousin on the throne, someone they can control.  And that is not what the Empire needs at this time.”

“And I’m a better choice?” asked Sean, shaking his head.  “I’m the third son.  I was never expected to gain the throne, with two brothers and a sister ahead of me in the succession.  Even when the sister gave up all claim to the crown.”

“I never expected to come to my father’s title either,” said von Rittersdorf, shrugging his shoulders.  “But there is no telling what the future may bring.”  The Captain held up a hand as Sean made to speak.  “I know.  I know.  There is no comparison between the Count of some out of the way developing world and the Emperor of humankind.  But think of it.  You were kept in a protected position because the Emperor, your father, wanted insurance against the unforeseeable future.  He had the faith that you could rise to the position, while at the same time hoping that it would never fall on your shoulders.”

“So the last hope of the Empire is on a destroyer running from a superior force,” said Sean with a slight smile.  “Looks like my father didn’t spend enough time planning for this eventuality.”

“I don’t think anyone saw this eventuality coming,” said the Captain, shaking his head.  “I know there were some, your father included, who thought the old enemy might find us someday.  But they didn’t know this would be the day.”

Sean sat there for a moment, looking at the floor, then back up at the Captain.  “I really don’t think I’m the man for this job.  But I’m also sure I’m better than some of those idiot cousins you mentioned.  Who really are idiots.”

“Leave it to me,” said von Rittersdorf with a smile.  “I will get you out of this and home again.  Or none of us will make it home.  On that you have my word.”

“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better,” said the Emperor, a smile on his face.

“Because, unlike those cousins, you are not an idiot, your Majesty.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said the young man, laughing, his fingers stroking the fur of the Himalayan cat, Satin.  He got a firm hold on the animal and stood up.  “I think I’ll get Satin something to eat.  And maybe a little something myself, if that is alright.”

“We are here to serve, your Majesty,” said the Captain, standing from his chair and bowing.

*    *    *

“We have them, my Lord,” said the Sensory Officer from his station, hunched over his board.

Group leader Thiaxoquillana jumped to his feet and walked, almost ran, to the sensory station, as that tactical plot updated on the main viewer.

“Show me,” growled the Group Leader, elation fighting with frustration.  I lead but a division, with two of my ships destroyed.  I need a success here, or my head is at risk.  The Group Leader leaned over the Sensory Officer, one hand grabbing and tugging one of that worthy’s horns in a sign of approval.

“They are straight ahead, my Lord,” said the officer, showing carnivore’s teeth with his smile.  “You were correct to send us on this vector.”

Of course I was correct, thought the leader, a grin on his face as he looked at the signal of a much smaller vessel in hyper VII.  They flee us, so what else could they do but straight line it away from our battle with the larger ship.

“It appears to be one of their scout vessels,” said the Sensory Officer, pointing a clawed finger at the small object on the edge of the field.  “In the two to three hundred thousand ton class.”

And we come after them with eight million tons of warships, thought the Leader.  “So when we catch them we will crush them.”

“I would have to agree, my Lord,” said the officer, a grin on his face.  “They are approximately two point five billion kilometers ahead.  At their current speed we should catch them in a little under two day cycles.”

“Could they speed up now that they know we are here?” asked the Leader, trying to do the math in his head, and failing.

“Their hyper radiation shielding does not seem to be as advanced as ours,” said the Sensory Office, dipping his left horn in a signal of negation.  “I believe point nine light is their limit, unless they wish to die of radiation poisoning.”

“Very well,” said the Leader, again grasping the subordinate’s horn.  “Follow them,” said the Leader, turning to point at the helm.

“My Lord,” said the Helm Officer, standing up from his seat and assuming a posture of challenge.  “I must protest this action.”

“On what grounds,” said the Leader, turning and walking toward the helm station.

“We put our ships at risk to chase a small scout deep into enemy space,” said the Helm Officer, his stance still challenging, but stiffened with respect.

He knows better than to overstep the bounds, thought the Leader, baring his teeth in a growl.  More the pity.  His death would get the attention of the rest of the crew.

“There is every indication that the, small scout, as you call it, has something of great importance to the enemy,” said the Sensory Officer, looking back to glare at the Helm Officer.  “We would be remiss in our duty to let them deliver their cargo to safety.”

“And what is this important cargo,” said the Helm Officer, spitting out each word as an insult to the Sensory Officer.  “Some wealthy parasite consumed with his own self-importance.  And we run the risk of being taken by the enemy, delving so deep into his space.”

“Are you so cowardly that you would pass up a chance for glory?” said the Tactical Officer, standing and shaking his head from side to side, a ritual display of derision.  “You must have been raised by your mother, to lack honor so.”

The Group Leader glared at the Tactical Officer for a moment, driving him back to his seat.  The insult the male had delivered was the greatest among his people, coming as they did from a non-sentient female who could only raise them to advanced childhood.  He turned back toward the Helm Officer while that worthy was opening his mouth to reply.  And soon would follow unsanctioned bloodshed, on the bridge of his ship.

“I order both of you to stand down,” roared the Group Leader, pointing a clawed hand at each of the officers, then turning his glare toward the Sensory Officer.  “You also.  We are out here on the business of the Emperor, not to settle personal disputes.  If any officer raises a hand toward another I will have your intestines draped across the landing bay.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, My Lord,” echoed the officers, all bowing heads and bringing a left hand to their breast in a subservient salute, different than the salute of honor performed with the right hand.  He could smell the fear in the room, and his nostrils dilated with the scent treasured by a dominant male such as he.

“We will catch that ship,” he said, still using his best command voice.  “And we will find out what is on it.  Or we will destroy it, so it cannot deliver its cargo to where our enemy wishes it to be.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” echoed all of the males, and the Group Leader turned and walked back to his command chair, while the officers sat at their stations.  I may have trouble with those three in the future, thought the Group Leader, looking at the stiffened backs of the officers.  When the campaign was over any of the officers could challenge him to combat.  But the Group Leader hadn’t risen to his present status without being accomplished in personal combat.  On that day he was sure he would taste the blood of his enemies.  Until then the humans would do just fine.

*    *    *

MARCH 22ND, 1000.

Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery glared at the tactical holo as if she could make it give her more information from willpower alone.  By the Goddess, where would you go if you wanted to get the prince to safety.  Montgomery had left the Conundrum System with the only Hyper VII rescue force that Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda could come up with at a moment’s notice.  She had left the system with two squadrons of battle cruisers, two squadrons of light cruisers and two and a half squadrons of destroyers.  A formidable scouting force, but not really the kind of battle force she wanted to go head to head with the invaders.  Who, if she understood correctly, were the most formidable enemy humankind had ever faced, two thousand years ago, or in the present.

They had been heading for the Massadara system, where the prince was reported to be, stationed on the battleship HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov.  Then had come the passing courier that had been fleeing from battle in that system with important intelligence for Sector Headquarters.  They had not been willing to slow down, and the Admiral could not blame them, as the word they had for Admiral Mgonda was of vital importance.  Massadara had been taken by a superior enemy force.  All of the system forces had been destroyed, including the Sergiov.  But a newly arrived Hyper VII battle cruiser and her destroyer consort had made contact with the Sergiov and then fled the system, after the captain of the battleship had sent out a priority one request for assistance.

And that could have only meant one thing, thought the Admiral, pulling up the log of hyper readings.  Sergiov offloaded the prince, and then the Hyper VII ships took him away from the system.  Now where in the Hell did they go?

The Admiral had split her forces, sending four battle cruisers, twelve light cruisers and twenty destroyers off to deploy in a picket between Massadara and Conundrum.  She led her force of four battle cruisers, twelve light cruisers and fourteen destroyers on an extended sweep of space, sensors scanning the heavens for signs of hyperdrive passage.  They had picked up many over the last day, none of a Hyper VII battle cruiser, and many of ships that didn’t match any profile in her data banks.  And three very strong signals of catastrophic translation from Hyper VII to normal space, which could be picked up over a dozen light years.  That was not a good sign in a search for two Hyper VII warships, not at all.

“Admiral,” called the Flag Com Officer, looking up from her board.  “We’re getting a signal from Jacob Chung, transmitted up the line.”

One of the destroyers, thought the Admiral, coming up to the com station.  On the far flank.

“We’re only getting grav wave relay,” said the Lt. Commander, giving an apologetic look to her superior.  “No vid, not even voice.”

“Comes with the territory, Commander Lee,” said the Admiral to the distant relative of the prince.  “So what do we have?”

“Chung reports picking up a pair of unknown resonances passing to starboard,” said the Com Officer, looking intently at her board.  “Two vessels in what she estimates to be the four million ton range, though that could be off.”

“We don’t have any warships in that mass range,” said the Admiral, looking over the Commander’s shoulder to see the scrolling grav wave message.

“Message coming in from Clermont,” said the young woman, pushing a tab and scrolling another message across the board.  “They report picking up the signals of a Hyper VII destroyer.”

And Clermont is a little forward of Chung, and about three and a half light hours to starboard.  “That’s them” said the Admiral, pumping a fist in the air.  “That’s what we’re looking for.”

“Are you sure, Admiral,” called out the ship’s Captain, Broderick Stafford, who had been in on the circuit.

“By the Goddess I am sure,” said Montgomery, a broad smile cracking her ebony face.  “That is them.”

“But there’s no battle cruiser,” said the Captain, doubt in his voice.

“That was one of the catastrophic translations we heard,” said the Admiral, putting a hand on the Com Officer’s shoulder.  “Send a message to the rest of the force.  They are to follow Galahad. Detach one destroyer to report to Commodore Basingee’s force and give them our projected course and destination.”  The Admiral hurried from the com station and back to her own chair, linking into the ship’s comp and pulling up a map of the region.  “Captain Stafford.  Plot a course for that destroyer based on its heading, and get us there at best speed.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the Captain, his voice tone showing that he wasn’t sure it was the correct decision, but unwilling to argue with the woman who had played hunches so many times in the past and been proven correct.

HIMS Sir Galahad reoriented herself and started pulling space on a new vector, building up speed at the rate of three hundred gravities acceleration.  The other ships of the force followed her course as soon as they received their orders, minus one destroyer which had orders to seek out the other scout force.  Soon the information was disseminated among the entire crew of the eight million ton ship, and excitement grew as they realized they were on the track of the future Emperor, to bring him to safety from the jaws of death.

*    *    *

“But we’re only three days away from Conundrum,” said Prince Sean Lee Ogden Romanov in an exasperated voice.

“And they are less than a day behind us, your Majesty” said Captain Maurice von Rittersdorf, feeling like he had beaten this horse before.  “I am not willing to place our escape on the pure chance of a meeting with Imperial warships.  The only thing I can count on is this ship and my crew.”  The Captain looked around the conference room for a moment, seeing the unbelieving stares on the faces of his officers that he was talking to the Monarch as he was.  But if I don’t, then who will.  And what am I to do if we are caught in open space by a force we don’t have a chance of fighting?  Eject him in a life-pod, and hope they don’t find him?

“I still think we have a better chance making for the Sector Headquarters and hoping a patrol comes our way,” said the uncrowned Emperor, giving the Captain a forceful glare.

“Are you ordering me to make a move that I consider unwise and detrimental to the mission?” asked von Rittersdorf, returning the glare.

“Of course not,” said Sean, shaking his head.

“So you will allow me to make the decisions that will make the difference between you living or dying?” said the Captain.

The Prince sat there for a moment, not saying a word, and von Rittersdorf worried for a moment that the royal child might actually change his mind and give an order that would doom Dot MacArthur and all who sailed aboard her, including the Royal Personage.

“I would not think of it,” said the prince, enunciating each word.  “I do not agree with the decision, but it is your ship, and I am not in your chain of command.”

Not yet, thought the Captain, realizing that if he succeeded in this mission this young man would soon be giving commands that would result in the life or death of millions of soldiers, spacemen and marines.

“Good,” said the Captain, turning to look at his Navigator.  “So what do you have for us, Lieutenant?”

“This system,” said the young officer, no older than the prince, pointing at the holo that had sprung to life over the table.  “Zeta Alpha Three Seven Nine.”  The holo zoomed in to show a small red dwarf star of unremarkable status.  The holo zoomed again to show the system.  “While it doesn’t look like much, it serves our purposes in several respects.  First, there are no known habitations, so no civilians will be put at risk.  Second, this system is a true junkyard.  Three asteroid belts, twelve gas giants, and almost three hundred moons.  If we can’t disappear here, I’m afraid we can’t anywhere.”

“What about this outer belt?” asked the Captain, pointing at the system feature on the holo.

“That’s the prize, as far as this system is concerned,” said Lieutenant Kenyata, the navigator.  “Of course it is very spread out, being as it is many astronomical units from the star.  But there are a lot of rocks, both metallic and carboniferous, in that ring, as well as several concentrations of asteroids.  Very unusual.  And then there is its most useful feature, as this belt is almost right on top of the hyper limit.”

“Wow,” said Lieutenant JG Giovanni Lasardo, the ship’s tactical officer.  “That’s perfect.”

“Indeed,” said the Helmsman, Lieutenant SG Katerina Stepanov, looking at the holo like she was already taking the ship through that space.”

“It will depend on what we find as we exit hyper,” said Kenyata, pointing a finger at the zoomed holo and indicating a cluster of rocks and iceballs.  “According to our best info, from records of the last system scan, we should find this cluster close to our exit point.”

“And how recent is that scan?” asked the Captain, remembering that these mostly useless systems were only visited by the Survey Corps about once a decade, unless something of interest was found.  There were just too many stars in Imperial Space, hundreds of millions of them.  Only a couple hundred thousand of them had any interest to industry or science.  Only about ten thousand had either habitable planets, or planets that could be terraformed to become so.

“Unfortunately about ten years ago,” said the navigator, shaking his head.  “It is scheduled for a visit this year, but with a war coming…”

No telling when it will be visited by a survey team again, thought the Captain, staring at the holo.  “But things should not be much different without some outside influence,” said von Rittersdorf.  “After all, celestial mechanics are very predictable with enough data points, and the system has been visited dozens of times.  Good work, Lieutenant,” he said, nodding to the Navigator.  “This is better than I thought we could come up with.”  He looked over at the Helmsman.  “How much vector change will be needed, Katerina?”

“I would think no more than five degrees,” said the young officer, looking at the holo while she input information on her flat comp.  The holo moved out, and a line connected the MacArthur and the system.

“Then let’s get to it,” said the Captain, looking over and seeing that the prince seemed to want to say something.  “Yes, your Majesty?”

“And what do we do after we get to this dream system?” asked the young Monarch.

“Why, then we disappear,” said the Captain.  “Not the noblest thing to do, but probably the smartest.”

“And it their sensors are better than ours, and they catch wind of us?”

“Then we run again,” said the Captain with a smile.  “We know their screens give them an advantage in hyper, but I think we just might be able to outrun them in normal space.”

“I leave it in your hands, Captain,” said the Monarch, standing and giving the officer a short bow.  Then he was out of the room.

The Captain looked at the door to the conference room for a moment, then gestured that the meeting was over.  I feel for him.  Finding out that his entire family is gone, then losing his ship and all his shipmates on the same day.  And now with nothing to do.  Von Rittersdorf sat there and thought for a moment.  He had really not chosen the role of mentor to an Emperor, but now he was stuck with it.  And there must be something the young man could do to take his mind off the here and now, and the recent past.

*    *    *

This is as bad as being aboard Sergiov, thought Sean, looking at the trio of Marine guards who had been set as his nursemaids.  That thought brought on another wave of sorrow.  Gorbachev.  Bettencourt.  Commander Popodopolus.  Captain Ngano.  All gone.

Sean hit the lock as soon as the door closed behind him, then plopped onto the couch that took up much of the small living area.  He buried his head in his hands, feeling the tears begin to flow from his eyes.  Mother and Father.  Dimetre.  Henry.  All gone.  Leaving me all alone.  I don’t want to lead the Empire, not in a damn war.  I’m completely over my head.

A soft head butted against his arm, then butted again, and Sean dropped his hands and looked over at the silvery furred cat that meowed at him.  “I’m not good company right now, Satin,” said the Emperor.  The cat looked up at him and meowed again, and Sean smiled, putting a hand on the animal’s head and sliding it down to the beast’s neck.  Sean kneaded the muscles of the cat, eliciting a deep purr.  The cat looked at him and meowed again.  “Miss your mistress” asked Sean, feeling more sorrow at the thought of Commodore Mei Lei and her crew, sacrificed so he could make his escape.  How many are going to die to get me to safety?  And is it worth the sacrifice?

Sean lay back on the couch, and Satin climbed over him, then nestled in beside him.  Sean smiled as he ran his hand through the cat’s fur, still wondering what he was going to do with this position he didn’t desire.  Before he could think much more about his problems he dropped off to sleep, the cat purring against his body.

*    *    *

“They are slowing,” called out the Sensor Officer, looking back at the Group Leader.

“And why would they do that?” asked the Group Leader, staring at the tactical holo that showed his ships in relation to the enemy they chased.

“I know not, my Lord,” said the Sensory Officer.

“Tactical Officer?” said the Group Leader, looking over at that officer.

“One possibility would be problems with their electromagnetic screens,” said the Tactical Officer, staring at the holo.  “Or they are slowing down to drop out of hyper.”

“And why would they do that?  Navigator.  What is there nearby that they may head for?”

“The only object is this red dwarf star,” said that officer, illuminating the stellar object on the holo.

“And why would they do that?”

“Unknown, Group Leader,” answered the Navigator, dipping a horn in a sign of confusion.  “Red dwarfs are normally the most uninteresting of objects.  They must know something that we do not.”

“That would be assuredly so,” said the Helm Officer, looking over at the Navigator with an expression of scorn.  “Since this is the space of these vermin.”

“And that tells me nothing,” growled the Group Leader, giving a hand gesture of exasperation. “Navigator.  Can we catch them before they drop from hyper?”

“We could, my Lord,” said the Navigator.  “Unfortunately, such a path will run us into the hyper barrier of the star.”

And then we are pushed into normal space, and most probably destroyed, thought the commander, remembering what had happened to the larger enemy they had battled days past.  And to one of his vessels as well.  “When do we need to decelerate?”

“Within the next couple of hours,” said the Navigator, looking over at the Helm Officer, who gestured agreement.  “We should come out of hyper about an hour after they do.”

“Could we take them out with missiles?” asked the Group Leader of the Tactical Officer.

“I wouldn’t think so, my Lord,” said that officer, giving a head nod of negation.  “Their electromag screens are no better than those of our ships.  Much above point nine five light and their systems will be disrupted by hyperspace radiation.  They would probably reach the enemy ship about the time they are dropping out of hyper, and run into the hyper barrier.”

“So we just continue after them, and maybe get some missiles into them in normal space.”

“That would be my suggestion, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Helm Officer,” said the Group Leader. “Follow that ship, and come out at the hyper limit as close as you can.”  And once we have you in normal space, you will be our meat.

*    *    *

“Send the destroyers in,” ordered Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery, looking at the plot that showed the take from the lead scout vessels of the force.  “All of group one.”

The computer of course was extrapolating the view from the sparse grav wave signals coming from the rear most destroyer.  It showed the two enemy super-cruisers heading toward a red star, within the sensory envelope of the destroyers.  It was hoped that the battle cruisers were still out of the sensor range of the enemy.  If they could see the destroyers that was not really a problem.  They would probably discount the five small warships ability to successfully fight them.  And they were starting to stair step down the levels of hyper to make an entrance into the system ahead.

“What do we know about that system,” the Admiral asked her Flag Captain, Josia Greenefield.

“It is a very cluttered system, ma’am,” said the younger man, pulling up a holo on a splitter screen.  “Lots of asteroid belts, gas giants and moons.  Really more than would be expected from such a small star.  I bet that the captain of that ship their chasing had taken that into consideration.”

“Makes sense,” said the Admiral with a smile.  “And maybe that ship can find a way to hide long enough for us to come to its rescue.

“Lt. Commander van Dyke,” said the Admiral, walking up behind the assistant com officer, filling in for Commander Lee so she could get something to eat and take a rest before the main action.  “Send a signal to cruiser groups two and three.  Order them to curve around the system to blocking positions.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the officer, going to work on his board to send the coded signals to the ships in question.

“Then send to the rest of the battle cruiser squadron to follow our lead,” continued the Admiral, putting a hand on the com officer’s shoulder, then turning and walking back to her chair.  “Captain Stafford,” she said as the main viewer switched to a scene of the Flagship’s main bridge.  “Take her in at maximum decel.  When you can jump her down to VI, and then stair step in.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the Captain, looking off the holo to call orders to his bridge crew.

Just hold on, little destroyer, thought the Admiral as she set her forty-five million tons of warships into a plan that hopefully would bag them two enemy ships, and rescue the young man they had come to get.

*    *    *

MASSADARA SPACE, MARCH 23RD, 1000.

“We’re getting a message from base,” called out the Com Officer.  Bryce turned from where he was signing a screen carried by his yeoman and looked at the officer, asking the question with his eyes.

“They’ve broken the Ca’cadasan code,” said the smiling officer.  “A copy of the software is being downloaded now.”

“Helm,” said Bryce to the officer, sitting there looking bored, as the ship was not moving.  “Maneuver us into a position where we can best intercept the bleed from their signals.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Helm Officer, fingers working his board as he looked over at the Sensory Officer.

“Sending you location data now,” said that officer, her fingers blurring over her control panel.

“Take us there slow, Helm,” cautioned Suttler.  “I don’t want anything giving us away to the bastards before we have a chance to listen to their mail.”

The Helm nodded and set the ship in motion, boosting at a mere ten gees toward the designated station.  The ship was giving out appreciably no heat, all of it sucked down the wormhole instead of radiated out into space.

Suttler looked at the plot, knowing that the enemy was mostly using tight beam transmissions from ship to ship.  But even with tight beam there was some bleed off, signal missing the target and continuing into space.  And the stealth vessel, almost as much spy ship as killer from the dark, had very sensitive sensors for just the purpose of picking up this bleed off, which could expand to a disk a thousand kilometers in diameter this far from the source.  There would also, of course, be some broadcasts if one ship, such as a flag, wanted to send out a system wide signal.

It took some hours to get to where they wanted to be.  At ten million kilometers from that point they started to pick up signals more regularly.  The regularity grew as they approached the stopping point.

“Helm,” ordered the Captain.  “Maintain tracking on inhabited planet.”

“Aye, sir,” said the officer, setting the ship to maintain a position that lined up with the planet in its orbit.

Suttler studied the plot, noting the ships in orbit around the planet, and the big mobile station that had to be the command and control facility for the system.  “Launch antennae drones,” he ordered.  A moment later eight small drones separated from the ship and moved out a couple of hundred thousand kilometers, forming a ring around the vessel oriented toward the planet.  Each connected with the ship through an ultralow powered laser, the whole forming a long baseline antennae that scanned the system.

The Com Officer sat at her board, listening to the incoming traffic while the computer automatically categorized and organized it, shunting signals that could be translated off to the decryption program.

“I’ve got something interesting here, sir,” called out the Com Officer, looking toward the Captain.

“Put it on the screen,” said Suttler, leaning forward as the image began to form.

A large Cacada appeared, sometimes clear, sometimes blurry with static.  He looked like one in control from his bearing, and the silver and jeweled decorations on his horns.  He was speaking, and it amazed Bryce how musical the language sounded despite the deep voice of the creature.  It was easy to forget sometimes that these were sophisticated creatures from a long lived civilization.  But still barbarians in so many ways, thought the Captain, watching as another species of sentient came into the screen for a moment to give a goblet of liquid to the Cacada, then backed away with its eyes to the floor.  A definite slave species.

The translation program started to kick in, changing the Cacada words to something a human could understand.

“So, Low Admiral,” said the Cacada, looking thoughtfully into the viewer.  “You understand your instructions?”  The commanding officer of the system looked into the screen for a moment, obviously listening to the reply.  “You must strike the three systems at the same time, so none of them can have a chance to warn their headquarters.  Then we can hope to pick off ships as they enter the systems in singles or small groups.”  Again the silence for a few moments.  “The G5 star is the most important system, but don’t neglect the F6 or the K2, as they all form that protective triangle that bars our way to the truly populous worlds of the human Empire.”

“Are you getting this to HQ?” Bryce asked the Com Officer.

“Yes, sir.  Both the translation and the raw data.”

“Be nice if they gave us some coordinates to go with this,” said the Tactical Officer.

Might as well wish for their complete strategic plan, thought the Captain, happy to be getting what they were.

“You go in fourteen hours,” said the Admiral, tilting his horns in some incomprehensible, at least to the humans, gesture.

“I hope that’s enough time for HQ to do something,” said the Helm.

“It’s gotta be,” said Tactical, looking over his shoulder at the Captain.  “It’s gotta be, right sir?”

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” said Suttler, looking at the screen.  The Cacada moved a bit, reaching for something, and the holo revealed behind him looked interesting.  “Send that holo over to my screen, and computer enhance,” he ordered the Tactical Officer.  Moments later the holo was on his screen, enhanced as much as the computer could make it.  He enlarged a section and almost whooped for joy.  There were stars labeled on the holo, and lines connecting them with symbols.  He didn’t know all what that meant, but was sure the people in intelligence would figure it out, especially if they kept feeding them more information on top of it.

“We will be moving the station before you return,” said the Admiral.  “The planet is well and truly pacified.  My staff has suggested that we would better serve the Fleet by stationing outside the hyper limit, so that incoming vessels don’t have to waste time going into the system.”

There was some more of what could be called chatting, nothing of real military interest, but enough to send back to intelligence for analysis.  One could never tell when the most trivial of information could actually be of supreme importance.  And it was all verbiage for the translation programs.

Fourteen hours later, the force began to move.  The warships were in three groups, heading for the hyper barrier on a bearing that would take them into the Empire.  The base began to move outward on a much reduced acceleration, on a heading that would take it about half a light hour from where the stealth ship was stationed.  Sea Stag sent all of this info up the line, filling headquarters in on an enemy that thought it was in a totally secure system, away from the prying eyes of the opponent.

*    *    *

On the fourth meeting with the Great Admiral, as she learned he was called, Jana had no more defiance.  She knelt on the floor before the male, cringing at the thought of more pain.  The nightly visits by Ben were almost as bad.  Jana enjoyed sex, on her terms.  Having it forced on her by someone she despised as a traitor was not her terms.

“So this Sean is nothing more than a spoiled male of your species,” said the Great Admiral, looking down on her.  “A child of privilege, who was serving time in the military to enhance his reputation.”

“That about sums it up, my Lord,” said Jana, using a calming mantra to keep her heart steady, so the monitors of the aliens would not catch her in a lie.  And judging from the dearth of punishment they have meted out since the questioning began, it must be working.

The shiver of pleasure caught her off guard, and she gasped, then moaned as the intense waves moved through her body, her reward for being forthcoming.  She looked forward to the pleasure, telling herself that she was not becoming addicted to it, and knowing it was a lie.  It would be a hard habit to shake if she ever got out of here, not that escape was likely to happen anytime soon.

“And his father, Augustine was it, was actually a formidable Emperor, before his assassination by one of his own guard?”

“Yes, my Lord,” answered Jana, looking down at the floor, ashamed that she was cooperating as much as she was.

“You humans are vermin,” said the Great Admiral, turning away from the portal and walking to stand over her, all four fists balled.  “How could one of you have killed someone divine, like an Emperor?  You deserve to be wiped from the Universe.  And you will be.”

“We don’t consider our Emperors divine,” said Jana in a low voice, waiting for a blow to fall, almost hoping for one that would end her life.

“And so they aren’t,” said the Great Admiral with a gloating smile on his face.  “Only the Emperor of the Cacada is truly divine, and all the Universe must bow before him.  But to consider your own Emperor as a mere mortal in barbaric.”

Jana kept her head down, refusing to make eye contact with the big male, even as she wished to look up and see if the fists were coming for her.  So far the Cacada had not given her any physical punishment, only the pain and pleasure inducer.

She could hear the male moving away with heavy footfalls on the floor.  When she looked up she saw him accepting a drink from another slave, this one a slim purple skinned humanoid.  They’re always drinking, she thought, watching as the male chugged the beverage down and throwing the glass at the slave.  She had gotten a smell of the drinks several times, even served them herself when they wanted to reinforce her subservience to them.  And they were very heavy on what smelled like alcohol.  And from what she had learned of Cacada physiology, and she shuddered at the thought of how she had learned that, they ingested the same proteins as humans.

Are they a race of alcoholics? she thought, wondering how that could be used against them.  Humanity had purged the alcoholism gene from the pool centuries before.  There were still drunks, but they were drunks because they wanted to be, not because of some genetic compulsion.

“So this Sean will not make a strong leader?” asked the Great Admiral, gesturing for the purple skinned slave to fetch another drink.

“No, my Lord,” said Jana, again trying to calm her heart.  “The Sean I worked under would never be able to handle the responsibility.”  And may God grant that he learns quickly, and becomes the man we saw below the surface.

“So very bad for your people,” said the smiling Cacada.  “And so very good for ours.”

Just keep that arrogant attitude, thought Gorbachev, nodding her head.  And may it bite you in the ass.

Later she was back in the room she shared with Ben, not due to her own desires, but instead to his.  She had discovered that he was an unenhanced human, one she was much faster than, and even though a woman, she was at least as strong as the well-built man.  He lay down beside her and put his hands on her, and she stopped herself from shuddering at the touch of the man she considered the worst kind of traitor.  After he used her she would go to the local bathing facility and scrub for hours, trying to get him off and out of her.

“How many of your people are there?” she asked him one night, forcing herself to wait for her cleansing session.

“Several thousand,” said Ben, looking far off as if imagining his home.  “Maybe ten thousand. The masters were very generous to allow any of us to survive after the treachery of our people.”

Ten thousand slaves raised and brain washed to worship these demons, thought Jana, putting her head against his shoulder when she wanted to grab his head and snap his neck.

“Do you know why they spared you?”

“So we could serve them,” said the man, almost shivering with ecstasy as he thought about that service.  “So we could be here to aid them when they finally contacted our recalcitrant brothers.”

“And what are their plans for us?”

“To crush you, of course,” said the man, his face showing no distress at that thought.  “The Galaxy is theirs to rule by right of Divine will.  We were wrong to oppose them.”

Jana stared at the man, now feeling sorry for him more than hating him.  Not that I still wouldn’t wring his neck if given a chance, she thought, but the story of his people was tragic.

“The masters are divine, and any race would be proud to serve them,” continued Ben, and Jana forced herself to listen and act fascinated, playing the part of the spy, and hoping that one day her information would be of use to the human race.

Chapter Nine

War first, one hopes to win then one expects the enemy to lose then, one is satisfied that he too is suffering in the end, one is surprised that everyone has lost.   Karl Kraus.

RED DWARF SYSTEM, SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM, MARCH 23RD, 1000.

“Right there,” said Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf, the Captain of the Dot MacArthur, pointing a finger at the score of asteroids clustered on the screen.  “That’s where we need to be.”

The Captain looked over at the Sensory Officer.  “How long till they translate out of hyper?”

“Estimate eighty-six minutes,” said the officer.  “But that estimate is based on them coming in right at the hyper limit.”

“Which is the way that we have to think,” said the Captain, glancing back at the Prince/Emperor.  “To think any other way is to give in to despair.”  The Captain looked at the helmsman.  “How long for us to get inside that cluster at best decel?”

“Eighty minutes,” said the officer, a worried look on her face.  “They are about four light minutes from us, on a course away from our position.”  She turned back to her control board and started the ship on the planned course.

“Almost like it was fated,” said Sean, his expression still worried, but a slight smile creeping across his face.

The next seventy minutes were tense, as crew looked from holo to countdown timer, following the tracks of the enemy vessels as they forged closer.  If they translated too soon they would catch an image of the destroyer and know exactly where she was.  Then they would have to speed across the system, and hope they could find another place to hide.  They might be able to outrun the alien warships in normal space.  They would not be able to outrun the missile those warships would fire at them.  And no one had any illusions about being able to intercept all of the missiles that two four million ton warships could send at their destroyer.

“They’re very close to the barrier,” said the Sensory Officer, looking over his shoulder at the Captain.

A lot closer than I would want to get before a translation, thought the Captain, staring at the holo of the tactical plot, then back at the real time vid of the asteroids that were almost around them.  And we still need to get to cover five minutes before they come into the system, or they will still see our image.

“That one,” said the Captain, pointing at the big rock to their left, an asteroid that had to be over twenty kilometers in length.  “Behind it, now.”

“Hold on,” yelled the Helmsman, at the same time as acceleration warnings sounded over the intercom.

MacArthur could handle a little over three hundred gravities on her inertial compensators.  The Helmsman now applied three hundred and ten gees to a combination acceleration, deceleration, slowing the destroyer and slipping her sideways behind the large asteroid.  It felt like an armored giant was standing on the Captain’s chest, and he couldn’t draw breath for several seconds.  The ship slid to a near stop and the pressure was gone, and everyone looked at the timer that showed five minutes and several seconds to go before the enemy ships hit the barrier.  It was still a tense wait, like playing hide and seeking and wondering if the cheating little brother was sneaking a peak.

“I have never liked that,” said the Emperor, running a hand over his shoulder and grimacing.

“It beats being blown out of space,” said the Captain, looking at a splitter holo of the asteroid they were now parked behind.  It was a lumpy rock, full of cracks and crevices, most too small to do them any good.  And still the timer ticked down.

The translation alarm went off before the timer hit zero.  Still probably time enough for the light from the destroyer to have made it past the enemy ships.  The Captain looked at the tactical display, then at the visual, which showed one of the enemy ships coming through the hole it had ripped in space, transmitted on tight beam from a small drone that had left the destroyer just before she started on her difficult maneuver.

Moments later the second ship entered normal space, and they coasted along into the system, glowing with the heat of their deceleration.  That they didn’t immediately head toward the small asteroid field was a good sign.  They hung there in space, decreasing their speed until they had a destination, looking over the system with all of their sensors.

“Helm,” said the Captain.  “See any good places where we might be able to lay low?”

“I’m looking, sir,” said the Helm, her eyes darting as she looked over the holo that hovered above her board.  “Not anything that would hide us well.”

“Well look quicker,” said the Captain, glancing up at the main viewer, which was showing one of the ships vectoring toward the asteroids, while the other moved much more slowly on a path that would take her right behind the cluster.  “Because I think we’re running out of time.”

The surface of the asteroid continued on below them.  They were barely moving in relation to the rock, which was only a couple of hundred kilometers in diameter.  Much further and they would have to reverse course, or appear around the other side of the rock, where the enemy would probably see them.

“What about there,” said Sean, pointing to a deep shadow on the surface of the asteroid.

“What is that?” asked the Captain, looking over at the sensory officer.

“Some kind of deep crevice in the surface,” said the officer, looking at his board.  “Maybe a little bigger than the others.”

“Dimensions?”

The Sensory Officer played with his board for a few moments, then looked back at the Captain.  “About one thousand and fifty meters by three hundred meters.  And to an average depth of two hundred and fifty meters.”

“So we could fit inside it?’ asked the Captain, the possibilities flying through his mind.  “Since we’re nine twenty five by two seventy by two thirty meters.”

“It might be close,” said the officer.  “And we might scrape off some alloy.”

“Scraping’s better than being vaporized,” said the Captain, nodding at the Helmsman.  “Can you get us in there?”

“I really don’t like this idea, sir,” said Lieutenant JG Lasardo the Tactical Officer.

“If you have a better idea, Tac, tell me now,” said the Captain.  “No.  Then get us in there.”

“We’re picking up more hyper traces,” said the Sensory Chief over the com.  “Trying to firm them up now.”

What the hell now? thought the Captain, a sinking feeling in his chest.  More of the bastards?  He looked back at the young man who was his to protect, wondering if they would get out of here.  Not if they send ships around the system to cut off every escape vector.  Maybe I need to just fire up the grabbers and run as fast as I can.

The viewer showed a split screen, one side the large crevice that was to be their hiding place, the other a tactical schematic of Dot McArthur sliding toward that crevice.  Like all grabber equipped vessels, meaning all Imperial warships, the destroyer could move at any acceleration on any vector in any orientation.  She could move sideways across the system at a full three hundred gravities if that was necessary to keep a weakened side away from the enemy.  The Captain leaned forward in his chair, still wondering if this was the right thing to do, or if it would just put his ship in a position where she couldn’t use most of her weaponry while an enemy pounded them, then boarded.

“They're ours,” yelled the exultant voice of the Sensor Chief.

“What are they, Chief?”

“Imperial destroyers,” said the Chief, trying to calm her voice tone.  “Four of them, coming this direction in Hyper VI.  I picked up their translation from VII to VI, and their stair stepping their way into the system.”

“They must have picked up those Caca bastards,” said Lasardo, a smile stretching his face.  “And they’re coming in to see who they are, and what the Cacas are doing.”

There was a slight bump, followed by a deeper rumble, then some more bumps.

“Easy does it, Lieutenant,” said the Captain to the Helmsman.

“It’s mostly the computer, sir,” said the young woman, frowning.  “It’s way too tight to try a manual entry.”

There were some more bumps, and the Captain could just imagine what was being done to the nanoskin of the ship.  Of course, McArthur was harder than the rock and metal veins of the asteroid, and the skin was self-repairing.  And it’s better than getting blasted out of space.

Von Rittersdorf allowed a smile to break across his face.  The situation had changed.  It had turned into a hide until either the enemy found them or moved on situation, to a case of hiding long enough for the help to come to them.

*    *    *

“There are enemy ships coming down Hyper behind us,” said the Sensory Officer.

“What kind of ships?” asked the Group Leader, feeling some panic as the thought of entering a trap came to mind.

“Four of the small enemy warships,” said the Sensory Officer, listening closely to the earphones.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” said the Tactical Officer, a carnivore’s grin on his face.  “They just come to die with their comrade.”

“If that’s all there is out there,” said the Helm Officer, his own forehead wrinkled in worry.  “What if this is a scout force for a larger squadron?”

“Now is the time for bold action,” said the Tactical, giving the Helm a withering glare.

“Have you located the prey?” asked the Group Leader, staring at the tactical display.  There was nothing out there close enough for them to have reached outside of the small cluster of asteroids straight ahead.

“They are nowhere in sight,” said the Sensory Officer.  “Not in open space.”

“And if they are using stealth systems?” asked the Helm Officer.

“Our technology is better,” said the Sensory Officer, sneering at the Helm Officer.

“That ship was able to use Hyper VII,” said the Helmsman, using a tone as if he were speaking to a child.  “That is not too backward, now is it?”

“No matter how good their stealth tech, they would still have a problem getting rid of their waste heat,” said the bristling Sensory Officer.  “We would pick them up on infrared in seconds.”

“They are there,” said the Group Leader, pointing at the holo which showed the cluster of asteroids.  “That is where I would go if I were trying to play rodent to our hunter.”

There were grins all around the bridge, as the males were reminded that they were the hunters here.  It was against their code of honor to run and hide while they were capable of fighting.  Not that it didn’t happen on occasion, when the odds were insurmountable and it made more sense to save the resources of the Fleet and Empire.

“Send a probe toward those rocks,” said the Group Leader, looking over at the Tactical Officer.  “Let us see what’s behind them.”

The officer gave a head gesture of affirmation, then pushed his claws into the holes of his board.  An instant later a probe appeared on the screen, a modified missile, moving toward the rocks at a thousand gravities.  Just a little over halfway there it deceled at the same rate, then went into a coast as it came near to the rocks.  It was radiating on every known band of sensor, radar, lidar, grav wave, and deep radar among others.  The take started coming back on the screen of the Flagship, showing the surface of rock and metal asteroids.

“Where the hell are they?” asked the Sensory Officer, growling at the holo, which showed nothing but asteroids.  The probe continued on for a moment, clearing the cluster, then deceled and came back.

“They’re not there,” growled the Tactical Officer, his eyes slitted as he glared at the holo.

“Order the probe to do a slow sweep of the surfaces of all the rocks,” said the Group Leader.  “And launch two more to join in the search.  Order Son of Grafada to send a trio as well.  Sweeping past these rocks and looping back in behind.  I want these rocks swept like the coat of an Agrada,” said the Group Leader, referring to the favorite riding beast of the Ca’cada, a one ton carnivore with thick fur.

There was silence on the bridge for many minutes as they crew watched the take from the probe and the two warships began to creep in among the rocks.  It was unusual for the asteroids of a belt to congregate such, unless they were in the Trojan points of a planet.  Unusual did not mean impossible, and it was simply statistical probability that this score of rocks had gathered close, where their small mutual gravity kept them, bumping and jarring through the years that the cluster had existed.  They were still some distance from each other, on average, a couple hundred kilometers or more, though there was one close trio and two close pairs.  One of the supercruisers was now behind the rocks at an angle, sending her active sensor probes over every surface that presented itself.  The Group Leader’s ship moved in from the front, into the center of the cluster, radiating sensory probes at all angles.

“Where in the Hells could they be?” asked the Tactical Officer, his hand darting claws into control holes over his board.

“They found another way out,” growled the Helm Officer, looking back at the Captain.  “They are not here.”

“They are here,” yelled the Group Leader, slamming a pair of fists on his left chair arm.  “Now find them.”

“The small ships are down to Hyper II,” called out the Sensory Officer, his eyes narrowed.

“Order Son of Grafada back to the hyper limit,” said the Group Leader.  “Best acceleration.  I want them to blow those destroyers out of space before they can get back into hyper and tell someone else where we are.”

The minutes ticked by, the crew searching frantically, trying to find the target before they had to run from something else that might be coming in hyper for them, behind those destroyers.  If there is anything, thought the Group Leader, realizing that glory sometimes required risk, or it wouldn’t be glory at all.

*    *    *

The tension level was even higher on the bridge of the human ship, the stakes higher.  On the holo the tactical display showed the enemy beginning to move through the cluster.  They were radiating on every band of active sensor and were not hard to locate.

“I have a visual,” said the Sensory Officer, and a view of one of the enemy ships came on the holo.

“Where the Hell are you getting that?” hissed von Rittersdorf, sitting up straight in his chair.

“From the drone we deployed earlier,” said the Sensory Officer, looking confused at the Captain’s reaction.

“And it’s out in the open?” asked the Captain, coming out of his seat and storming over to the sensor station.

“Destroyers have translated into II,” came the voice of the Sensor Chief over the com.

“Get that damned thing under cover before they spot it,” yelled the Captain at the officer.

“But, it’s just a probe,” said the officer, pushing the touch panel to his front and ordering the small device to seek cover.  “It’s heavily stealthed.”

“Of all the idiot things to do,” yelled the Captain, storming back to his seat.  “They have better tech than us.  Just because we can’t pick it up doesn’t mean that they can’t.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the Sensory Officer, hunching his shoulders.  “I didn’t think it would…”

“Well think in the future,” said the Captain, glaring at the officer.  “Or ask someone to think for you, before you get us all killed.”

“Yes, sir,” said the officer, looking down at the floor.

“Just do it by the book from now on,” said the Captain, shaking his head.

“Incoming destroyers have translated into I,” came the voice of the Sensory Chief over the com.

The Captain looked back at Sean.  He had to admit that though the young man had a worried expression on his face, he didn’t seem any more frightened than any of the rest of the crew, himself included.

“Ship one has changed course,” called out the Sensory Officer.  “They’re heading this way.  Ship two is changing vector and accelerating back toward the hyper barrier.  I think they’re going to lay for the incoming destroyers.”

“Lasardo,” called out the Captain.

“Sir,” said the Tactical Officer, turning in his seat.

“I want our biggest warheads on the starboard missiles.  Move the first couple of loads out of the ship and ready to go.  As soon as that bastard presents a target I want you to fire him up.  We can at least take the bastard that is coming for us.”  He looked back at the uncrowned Emperor again, waiting for a reaction.

The Emperor looked the Captain in the eyes and nodded his head, a slight smile on his face.  He already has a good hate going for the bastards.  Good.  But we still need to get him out of here, or it’s all for nothing.

*    *    *

“Small enemy scout ships have translated into I,” said the Sensory Officer.  “Estimated time to normal space, two minutes, twenty seconds.”

The Group Leader looked up at the timer that was ticking over the tactical plot, knowing that they might have to break off the search if there were more ships following those scout ships.  When the timer clicked past the minute mark a blip appeared in the system near them.

“I’ve got something,” yelled the Sensory Officer, looking back with a grin.

“Show me,” ordered the Group Leader, looking away from the plot that showed the approaching destroyers in Hyper I, nearing the limit.

A visual appeared on the screen of a small robot probe, darting back into the cover of the rocks.

“They are here,” said the Group Leader, pumping two left fists into the air.

“We have another track,” called out the Sensory Officer, holding a lower left hand on his earphone and staring intently at the screen above his board.

“More destroyers?” asked the Captain, his eyes narrowing.

“No, sir,” said the Sensory Officer, his voice quivering a bit.  “Much larger.  Eight to ten million ton range.  Two of them.”

“Their small scout capital ships,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Group Leader.

“Small is a relative term,” said the Helm Officer.

Yes, thought the Group Leader, scowling.  We might be able to take one of them, but two is a different proposition.

“Two more have appeared on the plot,” said the Sensory Officer in a resigned tone.

“Find that target ship,” growled the Group Leader.  “Nothing else is important.  And order the Son of Grafada to move into position to engage those small scout ships.”

“Aye sir,” said the Com Officer and Tactical Officer at the same time.

That was a stupid order to give, thought the Group Leader as the other males went to their tasks.  Son of Grafada is already three light minutes from us, and will not receive our transmission until they are already engaged with the enemy.  It was still easy to forget, even for experienced warriors.  When ships moved a distance away, communications were problematical at best.

“I think I have something, sir,” said the Sensory Officer.  “Power readings from this rock.”

The asteroid in question appeared on the tactical plot, with a blinking red dot showing the anomaly, a heat source that shouldn’t have existed on a lifeless rock this far from its star.

“They must have found a crevice or cavern that allowed them to hide their ship,” said the Tactical Officer.

“It will be their grave,” pledged the Group Leader, pointing a right upper claw at the screen.  “Move us into position where we can destroy them.”

“The small scout ships have translated into the system,” called the Sensory Officer.  “Son of Grafada should be in position to open fire.”

“We will have the target in sight in three minutes, five seconds,” called out the Helm Officer.

The Group Leader smiled.  First he would destroy the ship that carried the unknown but precious cargo.  Then he would use the death of Son of Grafada to cover his own retreat out of the system.

“We have more hyper tracks,” called the Sensory Officer.

“What?”

“Ten of the small scouts, and a dozen of a larger vessel.”

“And they’re all around the system,” stated the Group Captain, looking at the plot and feeling his own doom approaching.  At least we can make sure that the thing they were trying to get to safety dies.

*    *    *

The four destroyers came out of hyper as close to the limit as possible, within a second of each other.  They started to scan the system, looking for the enemy they had come for.  A few minutes after entry that was made unnecessary as one of those targets opened up on them with lasers, particle beams and missiles, having seen them at the same time they saw it.  It fired well before it had a visual lock, using an estimation based on their exit from hyper and their coasting velocity.

The ships were ready for trouble, electromag fields powered up to max, all weapons systems manned and ready.  Hyper VII destroyers carried fewer missiles and tubes than standard VI ships.  They carried a much more robust Hyperdrive grav projector than other ships in their fifty thousand tons of extra mass.  And the matter-antimatter reactors to power that projector.  And their laser and particle beam batteries were also much more robust, to take advantage of that extra energy.

Moments after the incoming lasers struck their fields they fired back, while at the same time shifting into evasive maneuvers to make enemy targeting more difficult.  This avoided most of the incoming particle beams of the enemy.  Most but not all, and one of the ships was hit hard by two proton beams that punched through her electromag cold plasma field and tore through the hull.  The ship was hurt, but not out of the fight.

All of the destroyers started flushing missiles out of the six tubes each had that could track on the target.  Those leaving the two bow tubes had the added momentum of the accelerators pushing them toward their targets.  Those from the four side tubes were simply ejected into space and turned toward the target, their only acceleration that of their own grabbers.  Five thousand gravities was a lot of acceleration, but nowhere near the eight thousand gravities the Ca’cadasan missiles were pulling heading for the human vessels.

The human ships acted in the best tradition of the Fleet, trying to close with the enemy while constantly evading fire and giving all they had.  They were still outclassed by the enemy ship that out-massed their combined weight by a factor of four, and had superior tech as well.

Ten minutes into the engagement the leader of the destroyers was shattered by a trio of missiles that got through the defenses.  Seconds later another destroyer was sent tumbling in space, her nose opened up by powerful lasers and particle beams.  The other two separated and went into maximum evasives, flushing decoys and setting jammers at max, their battle now one of survival until the heavier units arrived.

*    *    *

“That crevice ahead,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing to the dark spot on the asteroid.  “That’s where they are.”

“Prepare to fire,” called out the Group Leader, sitting up straight and tense in his seat.  “As soon as weapons bear.”

“Aye, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, a couple of claws in control board holes, ready to fire.

*    *    *

The human officer moved first, hitting the commit panel on his board, starting the computer sequence that tracked and fired faster than humanly possible.

The missiles left the tubes at the same time as the four sitting outside the ship leapt forward at a target less than twenty kilometers away.  The enemy made the mistake of coming in too close, nearer than needed.  The missiles had less than a second travel time before they struck the enemy vessel.  The enemy had its electromagnetic cold plasma field at maximum strength.  Unfortunately, that kind of defense was useless against missiles, which had to be knocked down by counter-missiles or close in defense systems.  They were too close for counter-missiles.  Close in defense weapons were able to track and destroy two of the human weapons, which detonated with two hundred megaton blasts of antimatter fury.  Heat and radiation reached out in all directions, and McArthur caught some of that fury, enough to knock her laser c ring offline.  The two forward rings pumped out energy at their maximum rate, as did two of her four particle beams.  More of the heat and radiation went into the enemy ship, taking out laser domes and electromag generators, as well as all of the missile tubes on that side of the ship.

Three enemy missiles were leaving their tubes at the moment of the blast.  They detonated in sympathetic explosions, causing more damage to the ship, the catastrophic kind, taking out the surviving electromag generators and weapons systems.  One missile slammed into the crumpled slag that was now the end of the missile tube it was traversing.  The gigaton blast shattered that portion of the ship, killing Ca’cada by the thousands and vaporizing materials a hundred meters into the vessel.

The four remaining human missiles flew through the blast, in the process of breach in the fraction of a second it took to get to the hull of the enemy Supercruiser.  They added their redundant force to the catastrophe that was already in progress.  The shock killed every still living Ca’cada aboard, before they even realized what was happening.  All systems went offline, including the grabbers, and the ship was pushed away from the asteroid at a hundred gees acceleration.  The asteroid was also pushed away in an equal and opposite reaction, and the starboard side of the destroyer boiled its own alloy into space to join with that gassing off the rock and metal of the planetoid.

At a hundred kilometers from the asteroid containment failed in the matter antimatter reactors, and the Ca’cadasan ship evaporated into a star bright blast in the hundred gigaton range.  All the rest of the antimatter went off nanoseconds later, from warheads and storage containers all over the vessel.  When the plasma had spread into space there was nothing left of the vessel.

On the bridge of the Dot McArthur the crew lolled in semiconsciousness in their chairs turned acceleration couches, all encased in their shipboard battle armor.  Klaxons were going off in the background as the Captain fought his way out of the haze that was enveloping his brain, the symptoms of a concussion.  He pulled up a schematic of the ship in his mind and almost cried out at the damage his beautiful ship had sustained.  Went and got the hell torn out of my command, didn’t I, he thought looking at the computer tallied casualty figures that showed forty-two crew dead and a hundred and fifty-one seriously injured.  He couldn’t tell from the computer record how many could be returned to life, and how many would be permanently gone.  And what about the Emperor, he thought, trying to call up the young man’s life signs.

“You’re going to be OK, Captain,” said a voice, and von Rittersdorf turned his head to look at the young man in question.  Sean had his helmet off, and there was some blood from a small cut on his forehead.  “I think your right arm is broken.”

“Not as broken as my ship,” said the Captain with a small smile.  “How’s the cat?”  Only later did the Captain realize the inanity of that question.  Of course the cat was tanked in stasis, and came through it better than the human crew.

“You should see the other guy,” said the Emperor, a wide smile on his face.  “You did it, Captain.  You killed the bastards.”

“And you got hurt?”

“Probably less so than everyone else,” said the young man, shaking his head.  “It’s in the genes, after all.  Wouldn’t have made much of a difference if they had vaporized this ship.”

“I’m just glad we could get you out of this mess, your Majesty,” said the Captain, sitting up in his chair and wincing as he moved his right arm.  The hard suit was acting as a splint, but there was still pain.  It abated somewhat as his suit injected pain killers into his system, though at a thought he reduced the dosage.  He needed a clear head, or as clear as possible.  “There’s still the other one to worry about, and I don’t think we can do much against them.”

“We have translations into the system,” called out the voice of the Sensor Chief over the still working ship’s intercom.  “Battle cruisers.  Two, no four of them.”

“I guess that takes care of that problem, Captain,” said the Emperor.

*    *    *

“Translating,” called out the voice of the helm of HIMS Sir Galahad.

Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery grimaced as the wave of nausea washed over her.  Fortunately she was not in the top five percent of negative reactors, so she wasn’t barfing her guts out on the deck.  Unfortunately, she was in the next five percent, and felt like vomiting would be a good thing.  By the Goddess, why did I choose the Fleet? she thought, knowing the answer.  She loved the Fleet, traveling through space, just not the going in and out of hyper part.  But that was the price of being a serving officer and force commander.

“Enemy ahead,” called out the ship’s Tactical Officer, relayed a moment later by the Flag Tactical.

“Orders?” asked the Captain, as the other three ships of the squadron translated around Galahad.

Montgomery looked at the tactical plot for a moment, pushing the nausea to the back of her thoughts, her quick mind taking in the situation.  There was the enemy supercruiser ahead, the two still operational destroyers dueling it out with her, while the dead hulk of another destroyer floated against the star field.  She felt guilt at sending the destroyers in against an enemy like that, knowing that they would take casualties.  But the mission came first, and this mission was vital.

“All ships open fire on that enemy in sight,” she called out, then looked over at her Flag Com Officer.  “Any word on the other enemy.”

“Dungon reports there was a massive explosion from the asteroid field,” said the officer, her eyes narrowed.

“Any idea what it was?” asked the worried Admiral, hoping with all her heart that it was not the ship they had come to rescue.  And if it is, then by the Goddess we will have our revenge on these soulless creatures.

“No, Ma’am,” said the Com Officer.  “But her captain thinks it was too large to be made by a breaching destroyer.  More like something made by one of these guys.”

Pray the Goddess that it was not the ship the Emperor is on.

The Ca’cadasan ship was making a run for it, a light minute ahead.  The squadron started in pursuit, flushing missiles and firing all energy weapons in a dispersal pattern, trying to score hits on the enemy ship despite her evasive maneuvers.  The enemy was firing back, scoring a hit here and there that was mostly shrugged off by electromag cold plasma fields.  She was also firing missiles, but could not achieve critical mass enough to get through the defensive fire of a quartet of larger ships.  A particle beam took off one of the Ca’cadasan ship’s grabbers, then another flared from a laser hit, and suddenly the vessel did not have a chance of getting away from the human vessels.

“Order the destroyers to the asteroid cluster,” said the Admiral to the Com Officer.  “They are to search for any human vessels, and fire on anything Caca that they find.”

“Prisoners?” asked the Com Officer after she sent the message.

“If any surrender, but they are to take no chances.  Only stripped naked and fully scanned.”

The officer got to work, and moments later the two survivors of the destroyer group were pulling for the asteroids.  The battle cruisers continued to pursue the enemy ship, until the call came through.

“Dungon reports they have received a transmission from a human destroyer.  The Dot McArthur.  The ship reports they destroyed the other enemy supercruiser.”  The Com Officer, Commander Lee, stopped talking for a moment, a look of shock on her face that soon metamorphosed into a joyful expression.  “They have the Emperor aboard.  And he is fine.”

Thank the Goddess, thought the Admiral, blinking back tears.  That Captain is about to garner more attention than he ever imagined for this.  Probably a Dukedom, and command of a Squadron, and well deserved.

“Dungon reports that McArthur is heavily damaged, but her captain reports he could still make it back to base at Hyper IV.  He requests that the Emperor be taken aboard one of the battle cruisers ASAP.”

“Of course he does, Ms. Lee” said the Admiral with a laugh.  “And I’m sure you would like to see your cousin onboard a larger ship as well.  Captain Stafford.  Cease pursuit and put us near to the McArthur, if you please.  The rest of the squadron can finish up here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Captain with a smile.

Sir Galahad changed her vector and curved toward the asteroids. The rest of the squadron finished up very soon after, and another Ca’cadasan invader of human space died far from its home stars.

*    *    *

SESTIUS SPACE, MARCH 23RD, 1000.

Jana was surprised at the next meeting with the Great Admiral to find that the planet no longer dominated the portal.  She stared at empty space for a moment.  No, she reminded herself, looking at the glory of millions of stars through the Galactic Disk, not empty.

“We’re moving,” she said as the Great Admiral walked into the room.

“Yes, slave,” said the big male.  “We are moving.”

Then she noticed something else.  The male was speaking in his language, and she was hearing and understanding him in that language, without recourse to the translation program in her implant.  I’ve learned their language over the interviews, she thought, wondering how she could gain use from that new skill.

“I want to ask you about your military dispositions in this sector,” said the Great Admiral, taking a glass from a slave and falling back into his heavy chair.

“I am just a Chief Petty Officer, my Lord,” said Jana, keeping her eyes to the floor.  “I was never apprised of any high strategy.”

“But you still would know something about what was in your sector,” said the Great Admiral. “Through the gossip line of the lower personnel, which we both know is sometimes more accurate than high level communiqués.”

“I am sure that I know nothing of interest to the Admiral.”

The Cacada reached up and touched a claw to the pad on his left lower wrist.  Jana braced herself for pain, and was surprised when it didn’t come.  No, something was missing.  It took her a moment to figure out what it was.  The constant hum of low level pleasure that had been her companion for over a week was gone.

What is he trying to accomplish, she thought, looking at the male who was smiling and waiting patiently.  The minutes went by with no effect.  And then it hit her.  Her stomach cramped up as a cold sweat broke out on her brow.  Her entire body started quivering.  She felt like she was going to throw up.

“Do you know what is happening?” asked the smiling male.

“Withdrawals,” answered Jana through chattering teeth.

“Aye,” said the male.  “Withdrawals from the neurotransmitters your body and brain has become accustomed to.  Neurotransmitters released by your body while a constant thread of pleasure ran through you, now absent as the stimulation is no longer there.”

The male got up from his seat and walked over to her, looking down from his three meter height onto her quivering form.  “It is the same with most species, including my own, though yours is particularly susceptible to it.  You have been turned into an addict, addicted to your own neurotransmitters.  If left to yourself you will experience the most agonizing misery possible.  You will not die, while the whole time wishing that you had.”

Jana wanted to resist the pressure of her body and mind betraying her, but could not.  This time, when the male asked her about military dispositions she answered to the best of her ability.  And when the hum of pleasure again entered her body she felt the complete and utter shame of herself, and knew the next time it happened she would do the same thing.

*    *    *

THE DONUT, MARCH 23RD, 1000.

“The new batch of wormholes is going out now, Dr. Yu,” said the shipping manager over the com link.

“Thank you,” said Lucille, putting down her cup of coffee and taking a look at the freighter that was carrying the latest run of miniwormholes, destined to become com links or heat sinks aboard Imperial warships.  They had found a more efficient way to make the minis, creating them at microscopic size and then ballooning them with gravitons, a method that was found not to work with the normal wormholes.  The minis collapsed when they were pushed beyond the one centimeter range.  There might be a way around that, she was told by the physicists and engineers.  But what it was they couldn’t say.

The freighter, actually a hyper VII destroyer, was now accelerating away, another destroyer escorting her.  The wormholes were considered important enough by the military that they weren’t taking the chance that sabotage or some form of piracy taking them away before they could be deployed.  If we could figure out a way to send a wormhole through a wormhole, thought the director of the project, dismissing that idea as soon as it came.  The interference of other dimensional spatiality would collapse both holes, with undetermined consequences.  It still amazed Lucille that the holes could be transported in hyperspace, crossing dimensions of reality while maintaining their integrity.

They were producing thirty of the miniwormholes a day, and the destroyer was carrying one hundred eighty of the holes in their special carrying containers, each of which held both ends of the hole and the negative matter rings that kept them open, suspended in a magnetic field.  One end of each hole would be installed in a ship, the other either in a com link center or a heat sink.

Yu looked at her agenda for this week, noting that passenger and cargo gates were on the schedule for the next six days, while four had been run off the day before.  The military had been screaming for a couple of ship gates, but after the last disaster she just didn’t have enough negative matter to build one side of one gate.

Lucille put her face in her hands and forced the tears back.  She had forgotten about Dr. Landry, who had been obliterated when the negative matter tank had ruptured and sent tons of the material over him.  Not even the smallest particle of the man still existed, and Yu, a practicing Christian, wasn’t sure what the ramifications of that was on the man’s soul.  Was the soul even any kind of material?  If it was then Landry’s soul was gone as well.  And coming as it did after the death of the Emperor, his family, and so many of the Director’s colleagues.  It was really too much to take.

The signal at the office door interrupted her thoughts, and she thanked her God for the interruption.  “Come in,” she said over the intercom, and the door opened to admit her personal IIA agent, Jimmy Chung.  The small Asian man smiled and walked to her desk, and she gestured that he should take a seat.

“What can I do for you today, agent Chung?” she asked, leaning forward on the desk.  She found the man attractive, even though he was not really what she would consider her type.  He was short for a man, part of his racial heritage, while she was tall for a woman of any ethnic group.  But he had a warm smile and intelligent eyes.  The smile left his face and she knew that whatever it was, he had come here to discuss business.

“I had a talk with Director Sergiov today,” said Chung, naming the head of the Imperial Intelligence Agency.  “The analysts back on Jewel have been looking over the reports, and they seem to feel that we have a saboteur aboard the station.”

Yu nodded her head as he finished.  She had wondered the same, but had not wanted to say anything until she had more proof.  But the experts had looked at the same information and come to the same conclusion, and being experts they hadn’t been afraid to voice them.

“The final clue came from the negative matter tank,” continued the agent, pulling out a small chip and placing it on the desk.  The chip projected a holo above it, which showed the tank as it had been before the rupture.  “The agent did a good job of making sure that all of his device was in the ejection zone, so the negative matter would annihilate it without a trace.  Unfortunately for him there were a few magnetic eddies from the intact bottle units, and this one small area was shaded by an overlapping field.”

The view changed to a close up of the ruptured tank, looking like something that acid had eaten a hole in.  Lucille knew that the wall across from it looked just as bad, though one bizarrely shaped area had less damage that the rest, the result of a human body intervening between the tank flow and the matter of the bulkhead.  There was also a small projection of metal that had been joined to the rest of the outer hull of the tank.  And on that projection.

“This was part of the casing of whatever had been left on the tank.  We found part of a molycirc board and a sliver of matrix battery, class III.  Very highly energized, but unstable.  We believe this was a device for interrupting a magnetic field.”

“So they cut off the magnetic field underneath the plating, causing a rupture in the magnetic bottle.”

Exactly,” said the agent, nodding.  “The one major problem we have is that no one appears on the surveillance memory placing this device.  In fact, looking back over all the faults that have occurred, we have not found anyone placing anything suspicious in any of the areas of interest.  In fact, a recording of this side of the tank just before the event does not reveal this object, which we know was there.  Now look at this.”

The view shifted to the scene that haunted Lucille’s nightmares, of Dr. Bob Landry getting caught in the stream of negative matter and ceasing to exist.  The view reversed, then went into slow motion, and it was obvious that the man saw something on the tank and was turning, his mouth open to shout a warning.  “The cameras had overrides on them that prevented them from recording that device on the plate.  But Dr. Landry saw it, realized what it was, and turned to shout when it did its work.”

“The overrides didn’t work on him,” said Lucille, horrified at what was being revealed.  “And we have a saboteur and murderer aboard the station.”

“Sure looks that way,” agreed Chung.  “Murder is serious enough, but this sabotage is interfering with the military’s efforts to upgrade their capabilities.  So you know what I’m talking about, Doctor?”

“Treason,” answered Yu, a shiver running up her spine.  One of the few crimes that still invokes the death penalty.  “Do you think this person had anything to do with the assassination of the Emperor?”

“I have no idea,” said the agent, staring at the holo behind Yu that showed the outside of the station.  “I wouldn’t think they weren’t connected.  They could have been separate cells, one not knowing what the other was doing.  Other people are looking into the assassination, and my primary job is to keep you safe.  Other operatives will be looking into this one.  But we just wanted you to know that we are going to place our own surveillance assets around the station.  Something the saboteur shouldn’t be able to mess with.”

“Whatever you think you need to do, Agent Chung.”

“Very well,” said the Agent, getting to his feet.  “I have just one more request.”

“And what would that be?” asked Lucille with a wide smile on her face.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I would love to,” said Lucille after just a moment’s thought.  “I would love to.  Your place or mine?”

Chapter Ten

The Ca’cadasans first started on the road of conquest on their own world, as one society grew to empire, then began the march of assimilation upon their planet.  Later, when their urges for new lands forced them into space, they found other races who had not progressed as far, and conquered them as well.  The Cacada were like a species of alien conquistadores, looking for the next city of gold, and taking everything in their path.  There was only one species that really stood up to the Cacada, about a thousand years into their empire.  Though more advanced than the predators, the aliens were heavily outnumbered, and not at all warlike.  The Cacada annihilated them completely, and advanced their own technology by a millennia.  That was the last difficult conquest for the race, until they ran into the humans, who, though not near as advanced, were at least as warlike.  The human race was destroyed, or as much of it as the Cacada could find.  The survivors ran, reestablished themselves, and continued to advance, until the Cacada found them again.  This time there would be no easy victory for either side.

History of the Ca’cadasan War, Imperial Year 1215.

SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM, MARCH 23RD  THROUGH 24TH, 1000.

The asteroid exerted a very small gravitational pull, something the ship could compensate for with minimal effort.  The rock was perfect for their needs, containing most of the major metals and minerals, as well as volatiles.  Measuring a hundred kilometers on a side, the small planetoid also could provide some cover if something unwanted came along.

“The only thing missing is supermetals,” said the Assistant Engineering Officer, who was acting Engineer of the ship.

“We won’t be getting any more of those,” said Commander Xavier Jackson, resting his elbows on the conference table.  “Not short of a supply ship, or a factory complex.”

And there won’t be any of those out here, thought Captain Mei Lei, looking at the holo of the asteroid rotating in the center of the table.  Supermetals did not occur in nature.  Not even a supernova was capable of producing the metals that existed on an island of stability in the higher numbers of the Periodic Table.  Only advanced industrial processes could create them, on minor planets that were converted into massive factory complexes, used until the planet grew too hot, then moved to the next frozen planet or moon.  And something so sensitive would only be built around the star of a core or developing system, where it could avail itself of the security of the Fleet.  The metals were vital for modern technology, especially the technology of the Fleet.

“So what’s the word on the hyper projectors?” asked Jackson, looking over at the Engineer.

“I believe we can build them back to Hyper IV units,” said the officer, a frown on his face.  “Too much of the super platinum was taken out when the units ruptured during the catastrophic translation.  I just don’t have enough to do any better.  Same with the compensators.”

“What about the missiles?” asked the Captain, looking away from the rock.

“What about them?” asked Lt. Commander Jose Hernandez, a puzzled expression on his face.  “We still have fifty-eight functional offensive missiles, and a couple of hundred defensive.”

“Of course,” said the Captain.  “We can use the supermetals in the missiles to prop up some of the repairs.”

“It will leave us all but unarmed,” said Lt. SG Yomatov, the acting Tactical Officer.  “Two of the laser rings are down for the count, and we might be able to get fifty percent from the other two.”

“I think propulsion is more important than weapons at this point,” said Jackson, looking over at the Captain.

“I agree with the XO,” said Mei, nodding.  “We sure as hell aren’t going to outfight any of those supercruisers in our present state, missiles or not.  And the sooner we can get back to base the better.”  She looked over at the Engineer.  “So get all of those missiles apart, and use what you can on the ship.  And any antimatter in the warheads as well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer, noting the orders in his flat comp.  He looked back at the Captain with a frown on his face.  “We’ve got about half the repair bots working, and might be able to get some more going in a day or so, but we’re still missing a lot of them.”  The frown changed to a smile as he continued. “Nanites will not be a problem.  Our nanoreplicators can make as many of them as we need.  And we can repair the structural damage to the ship with metals from the asteroid, though the skin will be a bit more of a problem.”

“Do the best you can,” said the Captain.  “I think it might be better to be able to stealth the ship from the front and one side if we can.  We can always maneuver that part to the enemy.”

“So we run and hide back to base,” said Jackson, looking from face to face.  “As soon as we can move the ship with some chance of success at hyper.”

“That would seem best,” said the Captain, looking for any sign of disagreement and seeing none.  “Then let’s get to work, and see if we can make Jean de Arc at least the semblance of a warship.  Then we sneak home and let the yard dogs have a go at her.”

As they left the meeting room Mei gestured for her Exec to follow her and headed down a corridor to another, smaller conference room.  “I’ve taken the liberty to have lunch sent in for us Exec,” she said as the door opened and the small woman led the very large man into a four meter square room with a meter and a half wide table in the center.  There was a small roast and platters of potatoes and vegetables on the table, and two place settings.

“Dig in,” she told her Exec, as she cut the roast and put some on her plate, followed by the mixed vegetables.

“At least we don’t have to worry about food for a while,” said the Exec, then winced at the troubled expression in his Captain’s eyes.  “I’m sorry, Captain.  I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know, XO.  But it still hurts to walk around the ship and not see all the familiar faces.  And the injured.”

“It’s not your fault, Captain,” said Jackson, putting a large hand on top of hers.  “The crew knows that.  There was only one way to get the Imperial jackass home, and that was for our ship to fight a superior force, with no hope of survival.  And we survived the unsurvivable.  You know the odds of coming out of a catastrophic translation.”

“One in twenty of anything of the ship involved surviving at all” said the Captain, nodding her head.  “One in a hundred of anyone aboard surviving.”

“So we went through two events in as many hours that were almost guaranteed to kill us all, and most of us came out of it alive, if not uninjured.  That’s a miracle in my book, Captain.”

“And how does the crew feel about it?  The same way as you do?”

“I don’t rightly know, skipper,” said Commander Jackson, bringing a smile to her face with his American colloquialisms.  “I think they're all still a little bit in shock.  And I for one can’t blame them.”

“In too much shock to function?”

“No, ma’am.  They’ll come out of it, given time.”

“Something we do not have a lot of,” said the Captain, putting some butter on a slice of hot bread.

“But we have a little bit of a layover here,” said the Exec with a smile.  He took a bite of roast and smiled wider.  “This is really good.”

“The cooks were handpicked by a food loving Executive Officer, if I remember correctly,” said the Captain with a laugh.  “And the kitchens can function without high tech if necessary.”

“Well, what I was saying Captain, was this little layover here will be good for the crew.  Including the hard work they will have to perform."

“With you cracking the whip, Exec?”

“I have to be the one, ma’am, so I can insulate my Captain, and not let her Godhood be questioned,” said Jackson around a bite of food.

“It’s so good of you to act as my High Priest,” said Mei, laughing, then spearing a piece of roast with her fork.  “Barbarian.”

“I didn’t think I needed to put on manners in front of my CO,” said the Exec, laughing, then spearing some potatoes.

“Well, eat up,” said Mei Lei, cutting another piece of roast for herself.  “Because I don’t think we’re going to have much time over the next couple of days.  I’m hoping we can get out of here in one piece.”

*    *    *

“We should have the first of the hyperwave resonance chambers online in a moment,” said the voice of Commander Jackson over the com.  “And number two by tomorrow.”

“Great work, XO,” said the Captain, sitting in her bridge chair and checking out the repairs on the ship’s schematics.  The auxiliary computer core was running all automatic functions on the ship, and they were even getting full power from the remaining MAM reactor.  There were still some structural weak spots, but they were being taken care of.  I think we’ll leave the mining and smelting equipment on the rock when we leave, thought the Captain.  If we have need of them again before we get to base we’re totally screwed anyway.

“Resonators should be online, now,” called out the XO.

A tactical map appeared on the main Holo representing space for a parsec in each direction.  At first there were a couple of traces, with more appearing each second as the ship’s computer crunched the incoming data.

Jackson whistled over the com from CIC.  “There’s sure a lot of traffic out there.”

“There sure as hell is,” said Mei, staring at the holo.  “Chief,” she called to the technician who directly monitored the chambers, who could read them much like old Naval sonarmen could echoes in the oceans.  “What can you tell me?”

“Not a lot, yet,” said the technician from his quiet room.  “There’s a whole lot of traffic in VII.  That’s most of what we’re picking up at range.”

“Resonances?”

“Definitely our big horned friends,” said the Chief, with a tone that projected a scowl.  “Picking up something else.”

The resonances came over the bridge speakers, and they were something that everyone was familiar with.  A tramp freighter moving along in Hyper V, very close, within a couple of light days.  Mistuned hyperwave field projectors caused the ship to put out more noise than she should have.  For all that she should have been safe in Imperial territory.  Should have been.

They could also hear the other resonances, the strange ones that signified the new enemy.  “Some of the Caca ships have heard the freighter,” said the Chief.  “They are changing vectors.”

And though it would take them hours to change their vectors and velocity enough to drop into V and pursue the freighter, it was already doomed, unless something came to its aid.  Something like the battle cruiser they sat in.  But it was too damaged for battle.

Mei looked at the screen that showed work crews on the asteroid, tending to the mining and processing machines. Robots were transferring processed metals to the ship, where they were being melded into the structural members and skin of the vessel.  There would be some faults in the vessel, but they would be sturdy of skin and bone.

Minutes later the second resonance chamber came online, patched, evacuated of gas, and opening a tiny hole into the Hyper dimensions.  The hyper tracks increased with the sensitivity of the second detector, and the space around them looked even more frightening.

The next day they were ready to leave.  The Chief again manned the hyperwave detector rig, and again they looked at the space around them seething with the energies of prowling death.  And they waited for the signals to all be as far away as could be expected while they accelerated through normal space at their top rate of seventy gravities.  Testing the systems.

“I think this is going to be as good as it gets, ma’am,” said the Chief over the com.

“I agree,” chimmed in the XO from the CIC.  ”Signal strength has been decreasing for the last hour.”

“Then let’s do it,” said the Captain, looking at her Helmsman.  “Prepare to jump into I.”

“Aye, ma’am.  Preparing to jump into Hyper I.”

“Engage,” said Mei Lei, looking at the holo viewer.

“Engaging.”  The lights of the bridged dimmed for just a moment, and the space ahead rippled.  It rippled again, and a red pinpoint appeared that rapidly expanded into a hole, showing red space scattered with the black dots of gravity wells.  “Entering Hyper I,” called out the Helmsman, and everyone waited with baited breath to see what would happen when they went into the higher dimension.  It was rare for things to go wrong with a hyperdrive ship in the dimensions when everything was working properly.  With Jean de Arc, there was no guarantee that everything would work properly.  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the ship slid into Hyper I without a problem.

The ship moved through Hyper I for the next hour, listening to the signals around it.  They then translated up to Hyper II, repeating the process until they reached IV, as far up the scale as they could.  And then they accelerated, listening closely for any resonance signals that might indicate a vessel able to detect them, changing vectors as needed to stay as far away as possible.

It burned the Captain to have to slink through the night, even though they were accomplishing their task of gathering intelligence.  Now they just had to make it back to someplace where they could tell someone who could do something about it.

*    *    *

BRONSON, JAXSOV AND PARADISO SYSTEMS, NEAR CONUNDRUM SPACE, MARCH 24TH, 1000.

Headquarters was able to use the information transmitted by the Sea Stag to come up with the three probable targets of the Ca’cadasan force heading into the Empire.  All were developing systems of some importance, though not vital.  All had strong system defenses, but not enough to handle the warships that were heading their way.  The Admiralty had to come up with something fast.  It was finally decided that a trap would be set in one of the systems, the largest, to which the biggest enemy force was headed.  It was also within the range of Conundrum, the Sector Headquarters.  By the time the Ca’cadasan force had left the Massadara system the intelligence from Fleet HQ had reached Conundrum through the hyperlink system, which gave Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda time to dispatch what force he had to the Bronson system, the only one close enough to the Sector base for the Fleet to arrive before the enemy.  And based on the forces involved, it was vital that the Fleet do so.

“We’re in position, Admiral,” called out the Flag Captain.

Mgonda nodded his head as he looked at the plot.  In terms of space and time they had arrived in the veritable nick of time.  The dots of the enemy ships coming toward the system in hyper almost covered the plot, at least forty of their battleships, as well as a hundred smaller craft.  If they stair stepped into the system his force was in the perfect position.  If not, then headquarters would probably never know what happened to him and his force.

“Still glad you came out with us?” asked Commodore Jacqueline Murphy, the commander of the superbattleship squadron the Admiral had attached himself to.  This was her flag bridge, aboard Empress Catherine the Great.

“I really had no choice,” said Mgonda, not able to take his eyes off the plot.  “I didn’t have a senior enough commander to assign this force too in system.”

“And you couldn’t have brevetted Admiral Quang to command this force?” asked the Commodore, disbelief in her voice.

“I could have,” replied the Admiral, nodding his head.  “But I was tired of sitting at that damned base with nothing to do but wait on news that wasn’t coming.”

“The heir?”

“Who else.  So much depends on getting that boy to the capital, and I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive, or what happened to the force I sent to find him.”  And if Mara Montgomery can’t locate him and bring him back, I guess he is lost.

“Be hell to pay if you don’t come back from this mission,” said the Commodore, looking with a worried expression at the plot herself.

“At least I won’t have to pay it,” said Mgonda, flashing a smile at his subordinate.  “That’s someone else’s problem.”

“Enemy force starting to translate down to VI,” called out the Flag Captain, who was serving as Fleet Flag Captain for this mission.  “Looks like they’re going to follow their usual pattern.”

And that’s the risk, thought Mgonda, watching as the ships translated down from seven and continued on at point three light.  If they translate like we’re told they like to, we’ll be in the perfect ambush position.  If they come out in one of the higher dimensions of hyper, we’re liable to find ourselves in a long range missile engagement we can’t win.  So come in close, you fat bastards, and let’s do this as a knife fight.

He looked at his own forces in the plot.  He had a formidable force himself, including this squadron of three superbattleships, as well as nine squadrons of regular battleships and five of battle cruisers, plus over a hundred and fifty smaller vessels.  The system defense force, which included four of the battleship class monitors, was also out here with him.  Despite that, the enemy force outmassed his by almost double.

“So keep coming in, you bastards,” he said under his breath.  “So I can get in the first stab without a reply.”

“Translating down to V,” called out the Flag Captain.

The enemy Fleet was staying bunched, not sending the scouts in ahead.  They think they have overwhelming force to take out a system like this, thought the Admiral, looking at another screen that showed the inner system, Bronson III in orbit around the G5 star in the center.  The planet boasted a population of over three hundred million, as well as significant planetary and space based industries.  Its loss would wound the Empire, not a mortal wound, but with enough like this the human polity could bleed out.

The time seemed to tick by slowly, though the Admiral knew that to be an illusion.  Time moved as it did.  His ships were still moving into position, but would complete their maneuvers in plenty of time.  Many were launching objects into space, to join the thousands of floating things already there.

“Translating into I,” called out the Flag Captain.  “Range twenty-four light minutes.  ETA at barrier, eight point eight minutes.”

The Admiral looked over at the Commodore, who smiled back nervously.  “We’re as ready as we’re going to be,” said the officer.

“All squadrons report ready, sir,” said the Com Officer.

“All ships are weapons released,” said the Mgonda, walking across the flag bridge to the com station, where several techs were working alongside the officer.  “Tell the Captains to pick their targets with care.  I don’t want to see everyone firing on one ship.  No overkill.”

“ETA, six minutes,” called out the Flag Captain.  “Holding steady to projected course.”

“That’s right,” said the Commodore, pacing the deck, little more than an observer, like her admiral.  “Come on in and eat death.”

“Plasma screens at full on all ships,” reported one of the com techs.  “All weapons at full power.”

“How long for them to raise their fields to full?” asked the Commodore, staring at the plot.

“I have no idea,” said the Admiral.  “Say a little better than ours.  Ten seconds to fully power electromag fields.  Maybe twenty to build up a full load of cold plasma.  So we have to make every second count.”

If their tech is similar to ours, and they don’t use the plasma in hyper due to the loss.  So many ifs.

“ETA to barrier, five minutes.”

“Launching last of the fighters,” called out the Flight Liaison Officer.  “Everyone’s in space.”

“And they have fighters too,” said the Commodore.

“It will take them time to launch them,” replied Mgonda, never taking his eyes off the plot.  “Time we are not going to give them.”

“ETA to barrier two minutes,” called out the Flag Captain, while the time clicked by on the clock above the holo.

The Empress Catherine the Great was exactly eight light seconds from the barrier.  If the enemy appeared true to form they would be six light seconds away, six seconds travel time for the beam weapons.  But there were other things that were going to be much closer.

“ETA ten seconds.”

“We have translations,” yelled the Sensory Officer a few moments later.  “Multiple translations in the direction of the star.”

And after a six second delay there they were.  Twenty of the huge battleships, thirty-three of the cruisers and scouts.  And among them the bright flares of antimatters explosions, as mines detonated and missiles fired from remote launchers into the surprised enemy vessels.

The Catherine the Great’s huge bulk bucked and shuddered as she fired missiles and particle beams to join the lasers that were already reaching for the targets.  Every ship in the force fired at the same time, the instant they spotted a target, and within seconds every one of the ships in the enemy group was being hit.

The enemy ships were drawing away with their velocity, to run into more mines, more missiles, and a force of destroyers and fighters firing down their throats.  Within seconds half the enemy group was crippled, and even those who weathered the storm sustained severe damage.

More enemy ships popped from hyper with no idea of what was awaiting them.  Some got a less than a second glimpse before coming through the openings to hyper I.  That was too little to do much with.  The mines they were among were the heavy hundred gigaton antimatter variety, and at the least flooded the emerging vessels with waves of heat and hard radiation, shorting systems both electronic and organic.  And three of the enemy battleships took critical damage as mines went off less than a hundred kilometers from their hulls, to be followed by fast flying missiles that struck unprotected outer skins.

Ships continued to translate in, all to be hit by something as soon as they entered normal space.  One ship opened its portal right on top of an Imperial destroyer.  The two hundred thousand ton human scout ship broke apart as the space it occupied stretched it past its limits.  The four million ton cruiser that came through the opening hit the remnants of the destroyer at point three light, just before the antimatter aboard the human vessel breached containment.  A dead cruiser continued into the system, spinning and gushing gas.

Within a minute phase one of the ambush was over, all mines and remote missiles detonated.  There were still a score of functional alien superbattleships in existence, as well as over thirty of the smaller vessels.  All had damage, but all were functional to some extent.

“And now we have the knife fight,” said Mgonda, whose force had so far sustained very light casualties.  The destroyer and a couple of score fighters gone, as well as some damage to a few cruisers and destroyers.  That was about to change, as the icons of missiles erupted from the ships of both sides on the holo.

Missiles are most effective at range, where they can built up to relativistic speeds before driving in at their targets.  Now missiles were being struck down soon after leaving their launch tubes, doing damage to their own vessels.  And lasers and particle beams continued to jump between ships, doing massive damage to armored hulls.

Catherine the Great shook from hits, then more hits, taking punishment from a pair of the enemy capital ships.  Duke Abraham, another of the superbattleships, seemed to attract the most return fire, catching it from a half dozen enemy ships, while other human warships pounded them in return.

One of the enemy battleships exploded, followed by another, then one of the human superbattleships, the Duke Abraham, that was a lesser vessel than the enemy’s standard capital ship.  Soon ships were exploding all through the battle, mostly enemy, but enough human ships to make the butcher’s bill heavy.

And then it was over, with the last of the damaged enemy cruisers and scouts, less than a dozen vessels, heading insystem, with human cruisers and destroyers on their tails.  They could not jump into hyper without killing their velocity and coming back out.  And none would be around long enough to do that.

“That was a great victory, Admiral,” said Commodore Murphy.  “A decisive victory.”

“Still hurts to lose ships,” said Mgonda, looking at the debris that clouded the scanners.  The Admiral looked around the bridge at the relieved looking crew, feeling some of that relief himself.  “I wonder how the other systems are doing?” he said, looking out at the stars on the main viewer.

*    *    *

Jaxsov System would have been chosen as the system to be defended, if it hadn’t been the furthest of the three from Conundrum base.  As it was, any ships sent there would have arrived too late, and at best have been caught up in a fight they couldn’t win.  So the system was left to its own devices in a war in which there were not enough resources to be everywhere at once.

Jaxsov VI had been inhabited for almost two hundred years, with a growing population of over four hundred million.  The F5 star bathed the planet in a strong light, from far enough away to make the planet a paradise for its inhabitants.  There was also a large industrial presence on the planet and in space, and Jaxsov VI provided missiles to the Empire’s fleet.  When the aliens came there were two superfreighters in orbit around the planet, loading up on missiles that were without the warheads that would be attached back at Sector Fleet headquarters.  The production of the last quarter, there were enough launch vehicles to fill the twenty-five million ton cargo capacities of each merchant ship.

Commodore Magda Lynn was awoken from a sound sleep by the report that unknown ships were approaching the system.  “How many?” she asked the Sensory Officer on the command deck of the class one fort in orbit around the planet.

“Over a hundred,” said the Commander, looking wide eyed at the Commodore.  “At least forty large capitals.”

The Commodore swallowed what she was about to say, her heart beating faster.  It really wouldn’t help to tell the control deck watch that we’re screwed.  Not that they don’t already realize that.

The Commodore walked away from the sensor station, hands behind her back, trying to appear calm, running down her assets in her mind.  There was, of course, the class one fort, over a hundred million tons of orbital fortress, with offensive and defensive weaponry to match.  There were also two class two forts and a class three.  And none of them can maneuver worth a damn, she thought.  The Fleet really didn’t like the concept of forts, thinking the resources and manpower could be much better used to build and crew warships.  But they made the civilians feel better to look up into the sky and see them in orbit.

Then there was the insystem task force, made up of non-hyper warships whose job was to live or die with the system.  She had three ten million ton monitors, eight cruisers, and sixteen destroyers. All were capable of better acceleration than their hyper counterparts.  And all were underpowered as far as beam weapons went, though they could still throw a good weight of missiles.  And finally there were the Fleet vessels in the system.  A pair of battle cruisers, three heavy and two light cruisers, and a sextet of destroyers.  And the force coming through hyper would crush them like a hammer striking a walnut.

“The captains of the superfreighters are asking what you want them to do,” said the Com Officer.

“Prepare to die gloriously,” said the Commodore under her breath, looking over as the Tactical Officer, Commander Schmidt, came running onto the bridge.  “Any ideas on how to defeat this juggernaut coming down our throat.”

The Tactical Officer sat there for a moment, then looked up at the Commodore with a smile.  “I think I might have, ma’am.”

Minutes later the Commodore was talking with those captains on a conference link.  They both stared at her like she was mad, and considering the idea she wondered if she perhaps was.

“I really don’t see how this is going to help us,” said Captain Gersha of the Bohemian Queen.  “I mean, the missiles don’t even have warheads.  And they only have a one tenth charge to their batteries.”

“But the enemy doesn’t know that,” said the Commodore, trying to look serious when she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.  “Now, I want you to get all the missiles into space that you can, and link them to my fire control.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Captain Lee of the Shanxi’s Folly.  “Might as well try your crazy idea, as nothing I can think of is going to get my ship to outrun the wolves.”

“When I give the order get all of your people out of the launch area,” said the Commodore, pointing her finger at each of the two men in turn.  “Five minutes later we will launch, and any of your people who get caught still attached to a missile are your responsibility.  Comprende?”

“Totally,” said Lee, and the viewer went blank, then showed a scene of the local starfield, one that would soon be filled with enemy vessels.

Now all I need is for the enemy to cooperate, and we’ll all be happy on this end.

*    *    *

Low Admiral Gronachonaxic gave a feral smile as he waited for the translation to normal space.  Some of the scouts had translated earlier, from much farther out, then rentered hyper, so he had some idea of what he faced in the system ahead.  Some of his fellow admirals, and many of his captains thought he was too cautious in taking such action, but he didn’t care about their opinions, not when it made him feel better to know what was there.  Nothing to be concerned about as far as he could tell.  Five of their forts, and a couple score ships, none in the class of his heavy capital vessels.  And an industrialized system, that had to be important to the human war effort.  He would leave that industry smashed, the planet devoid of human life, and open the way for further conquest.

The nausea of translation was soon past, and the Low Admiral looked with satisfaction as his entire task force formed up and started to accelerate into the system.  The planet was three light hours ahead, and they would be able to insert into orbit in a little over thirty hours.

“Fire a couple of volleys of missiles into the system,” he ordered, as soon as Tactical had firmed up all the targets, at least based on what was going on three hours ago.  The flagship bucked slightly as she released her missiles, and the plot soon filled up with thousands of missiles heading into the system.  With luck that will be the end of the battle, thought the Low Admiral.  At two hours in things began to change.

“We have missile launches,” called out the Sensor Officer, and the plot changed to show tens of thousands of arrows coming from the planet toward them.  The plot changed to a viewer, and showed some close up shots of individual weapons, then zoomed back to show a mass of objects moving toward them.

“How many?” asked the Low Admiral, knowing this was a scene from hours before, the light from the missiles just reaching them.

“Tens of thousands,” called out the panicked Tactical Officer.  “No, a hundred thousand.  Two hundred thousand.”

“Two hundred thousand,” said the Low Admiral in a dropping voice.

“Three hundred thousand, my Lord. More.”

“How could they fire so many missiles?” asked the Helm Officer.  “That’s more than three hundred battleships would carry.”

“What’s their acceleration?” asked the Low Admiral, falling back into his chair and staring at the plot.

“About one thousand gravities, my Lord,” answered the Sensory Officer.

“Why so low?  What can they be trying to accomplish.”

“We know they are not stupid, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “So they must have some strategy.”

“We have more missiles incoming,” yelled out the Sensory Officer.  “Several hundred, launched from their vessels, about a half light hour from the planet.”

“Get us out of here,” yelled the Low Admiral to the Helm Officer, then turned to scream at the Com Officer.  “Order all ships to maximum decel, then back out of the system and jump to hyper.”

“But the mission,” said the Tactical Officer, an expression of disbelief on his face.

“The mission will not be accomplished if we are destroyed,” growled the Low Admiral, the shame of running battling within him with the hope of living.  “There is no way we can weather that kind of a saturation attack.”

The Low Admiral threw himself into his couch as the warning hoots sounded across the bridge.  A moment later the heavy hand of pseudo-gravity pushed him back, until he was taking many more gees than normal.  As heavy planet dwellers the Cacada could handle more gees above their norm than most races, and now the ships all piled on ten gees above what their compensators could handle.

Over the next couple of hours the ships lost inward velocity and started to curve vectors until they were racing back to the hyper barrier.  And all the while the storm of missiles came closer.  There were some explosions in that missile field, most likely caused by collisions, but otherwise they were nipping at the heels of the Ca’cadasans.

At the hyper barrier the ships began to jump to I, some having to put on a burst of emergency decel that caused multiple injuries throughout the vessels.  But they all made it, and the Low Admiral breathed relief as he saw that his entire force was in hyper.

“Set us on a heading back to base,” he ordered the Helm Officer.

“Shouldn’t we try again?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“By the power of the Gods, no,” said the Low Admiral.  “I will not face that again if I can help it.  And base must be warned that these systems further in may be more heavily fortified than thought. We may need larger forces to attack them.”  And we may still take unacceptable losses.

*    *    *

The control deck of the fort erupted in cheers as the enemy jumped back into hyper.  The enemy salvo had hit over an hour ago, at the cost of two forts, a dozen warships and one of the superfreighters.  The Commodore thought they had gotten off lightly, considering that the worst case scenario would have been total annihilation.

“Wasted a lot of missiles, though,” said the Sensor Officer, looking at the plot that showed hundreds of thousands of drifting and coasting missiles.  Those that had enough battery power were slowing, the rest were heading out of the system.

“Better them than us,” said the Tactical Officer, beaming that his plan had worked.

“We’ll try to salvage what we can,” said the Commodore, looking at the same plot that showed the enemy moving away, jumping into hyper II.  That had been a major concern, that they might come right back.  And the system wouldn’t have been able to pull the same bluff a second time.  “The most important part is that we’ve saved the system, for now.”

She walked over to the Com Station, keeping her eyes on the plot and praying that the Cacas didn’t turn around.  “Order a courier to Conundrum,” she told the Com Officer, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “They need to know about this attack.  And that we need more protection if we’re going to supply missiles to the fleet.”

But how much can they give to this one system, when so many are at risk.

*    *    *

Paradiso System did not have the fortune of the other two targets.  The inhabited planet nestled in close to the K class star.  There were over a hundred million people on the world, which had agricultural and mining concerns, as well as some light manufacturing.  What it didn’t have were defenses, beside a trio of orbital forts, Class Three and lower, and a small system defense force.  It didn’t even have the temporary luxury of visiting warships, at least not at this time.  All the people in charge could do was watch the incoming hostile ships on the plot, then try and reason with them when they popped out of hyper.

There was no reasoning with the Ca’cadasans, not on this day.  They didn’t leave the planet a lifeless ball.  That was against their moral code.  They did kill everything in space, and hit every concentration of humans on the planet.  They even landed ground troops to hunt down every human they could find in a day’s time.  That done, they left the few hundred thousand survivors cowering in hiding places and left the system.

Chapter Eleven

Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men.  It is the spirit of the men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory.  General George Smith Patton, Jr.

SESTIUS SYSTEM, MARCH 24TH THROUGH 26TH, 1000.

“That planet is eating my men alive,” growled the General, stalking across the command deck.

The Low Admiral watched the other male through hooded eyes, thinking of a way to respond that would get the officer out of his hair without starting a blood feud.  “What do you want of me, General?” he finally asked, deciding to take the direct approach.

“I would like you to bombard the humans into submission, so we can get on with exterminating them and get out of here,” said the General, his voice a dangerous growl.

The Low Admiral looked at the viewer that showed the planet below.  The gray scar of the destroyed continent, one end glowing with magma, was passing by, and the Low Admiral winced again over the threats of damnation the priests had leveled against him for that.  It’s not like I tried to hurt the planet with that missile.  It was meant to destroy the orbital fort, which another missile took out before it could get there.  He turned toward the General.

“The priests will not allow me to devastate the surface of the planet, General,” he said, holding up a lower hand before the other officer could speak.  “I can hit population centers and military installations.  I can even hit concentrations of the enemy in the wilderness, if I am given their location.  What I cannot do is incinerate a continent’s worth of ecosystem.”

“All because of that damn silly religion,” growled the General, committing the sin of being an apostate.

I could have him impaled for such a statement, thought the Low Admiral, dismissing that reasoning as soon as it came.  He is too good at his job to risk killing, and allowing one of lesser ability to take his place.

“You know that it is a tenant of the religion the Emperor subscribes to,” said the Low Admiral in a measured voice.  “I will hear no blasphemy on my vessel, General.  Is that clear?”

The General glared at him for a moment, and the Low Admiral wondered if he would have a fight on his hands.  After a moment the General looked down, then bowed.  “I am sorry if I comported myself poorly on your vessel, my Lord Admiral.  I will accept whatever aid you may give me.”

“And I will be glad to give you that support, in the air and in space,” said the Low Admiral, feeling a flush of relief come over him.  “Just get me some targets I can hit, and I might even ignore the restrictions a bit.”

*    *    *

Jennifer found herself up to the elbows in blood and guts as soon as she reached the sanctuary.  The trip had mostly been uneventful, except for a tense moment when she had spotted some aircraft in the distance.  She had looked over her shoulder the rest of the flight, wondering if some high speed war machine was going to come up her tail and blast her from the sky.

The landing area around the sanctuary was crowded with people and very few vehicles.  One of the Marines on duty had tried to wave her off, but she was having none of that.  She had brought the military aircar down under the guns of a trio of men, who had finally relaxed when they saw who she was.  Jennifer climbed out of the car as soon as the canopy retracted, then started to help the children out onto the plateau.

“Who are they?” asked a soft suited Marine, walking up and looking at a flat comp.

“They are some refugees I picked up on the way,” said Jennifer, not liking the way the man was looking at the mother and her children.

“They can’t stay,” said the Marine, pointing a finger at the mother.  The children crowded in close to her, looking at the man with wide eyes, while the mother stifled a cry.

“And why not?” asked Jennifer, glaring at the man and putting a hand on the mother’s shoulder.

“This place is only for Marines and their dependents,” said the man, returning the doctor’s glare.  “We don’t have room for them.”

“Then I guess you don’t have room for me either,” said Jennifer, planting her hands on her hips.  “Since I am neither a Marine nor a dependent.”

“You’re the lady of a Marine officer,” said the man.  “Maybe not technically a dependent, but still in.”

“If they don’t stay then I don’t stay,” said Jennifer, frowning at the man.  “I will not let you put them out in that wilderness.  They wouldn’t survive the next couple of hours.”

“I have my orders, ma’am. I…”

“Doctor Conway,” said another Marine, a woman with the silver bars of a lieutenant on her collar.  “Thank Allah you are here.”

“I was just leaving,” she said to the officer, turning to get back in the car.

“But, why?” asked the officer, looking over at the enlisted man.  “What is going on here?”  She turned back to the doctor.  “Doctor Conway.  We have injured in need of your services.  More than our medics can deal with.”

“And I have people I am responsible for,” said Jennifer, looking at the mother who was climbing into the aircar.  The officer looked at the enlisted man, a question on her face.

“She has civilians with her who are not authorized to be here,” said the man.

“Oh, for Allah’s sake, private,” said the officer.  She looked back at Jennifer.  “Of course they can stay, Doctor.  I couldn’t live with myself turning children out into that death factory of a jungle.”  The Lieutenant turned back to the man.  “Have someone settle them into quarters, and get this car out of here.

“Would you come with me, Doctor?  We have some patients for you.”

“What’s going to happen to my car?” asked Jennifer as she followed the officer past the lake and toward the entrance to the caverns.

“We’re parking all vehicles in the jungle, so we don’t give away our location.”

“Can’t they spot all the people from space?”

“They could, if we didn’t have a holo projector showing them an empty plateau,” said the woman, leading Jennifer into the cavern.  “Holo also spoofs their infrared, some.  We still don’t want to risk parking hot vehicles out in the open.  Sergeant Liatrell,” she yelled, and a Marine with the insignia of a medic ran over.  “This is Doctor Jennifer Conway, Captain McKinnon’s friend.”

“Thank God you’re here, Doctor,” said the medic, holding out a hand that was enclosed in a surgical glove.  Jennifer took the hand, aware that the glove would remain sterile and clean no matter what.  “We’re patching them up, but some still need more permanent fixes.”

“Do you have an autodoc here?” asked Jennifer, following the medic toward a part of the cavern she had not seen before.

“No ma’am,” said the medic, leading her through a door into a long room that was full of beds, each with an injured person on it.  She was sure it was a barracks that had been converted to a ward.  “We were going to move the battalion’s doc up here next week, but it hadn’t happened.  Now, we have a surgery in here.”

The medic led her into another room that had been fitted out as a surgery.  There were two surgical tables in the center of the room, and various medical devices arrayed around them.  There were surgical field machines projecting arms over both tables that would keep the operating areas free of inimical organisms.

“We’ll triage them, and then bring them in as you’re ready,” said the Medic, nodding toward a hutch that contained gowns, gloves and instruments.  “Ms. Lao here is a trained surgical nurse from Willoughby.  She will be assisting you, as will a couple of my medics.”

“Very good,” said Jennifer, getting into a gown and then pulling on some gloves.  “You get them in here, and I’ll get to work.”  That was all that was needed to be said.  She was a surgeon, and here were patients who needed her skills, and she would work on them as long as she had the strength to stay on her feet.

The next hours were a series of broken bodies laid before her on the tables.  She closed wounds, restructured intestines, transplanted artificial organs as needed.  Missing limbs were ignored for now, the patients would have regrowth buds programed and planted in the near future.  Her whole focus was to save lives that might be lost, even while the nagging doubt that all of this was for nothing nested in the back of her mind.  But even though she was sure the Ca’cadasans would eventually find them, and all here, wounded and whole, would be killed, she worked on.  Moving from table to table, letting the medics complete the closings and transfer the patient so that a new one could be brought in.

Jennifer felt ready to fall over from exhaustion as she worked on a young Marine who had been torn open by a particle beam.  His shoulder and left arm were charred, completely dead, and she cleaned the necrotic tissue off with a laser scalpel, then sprayed the area with dual purpose nanites that would seal any open vessels, and scour the area for dead tissue and infection.  “This one’s ready,” she called out to the medics so they could finish the pain blocks and healing sprays, then looked over to the other table, which was empty.  She looked a question at her nurse.

“That was the last one, Doctor,” said the woman with a tired smile.

“You look like you could use some sleep,” said one of the medics.  Jennifer nodded her head and the man led her off to a room with a bed.  “Thanks, Doc.  Without you we would have lost at least a dozen of those people.  Now we only have to make sure the Cacas don’t get their hands on them.”

Jennifer nodded her head at that as well, then stumbled over to the bed and fell in.  She was already out when the medic pulled the sheet and blanket over her.

*    *    *

Katlyn went into labor and stayed in labor for almost twenty-four hours.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” said Becky, running an ultrasound wand over the distended abdomen of Cornelius’s wife.  She looked up a holo screen and frowned at the image.  “The baby is not coming out right.  He’s in a breech position.”

“Is there anything you can do?” asked Cornelius in an anxious voice, holding onto his wife’s hand.

“Sure,” said the woman, giving him a strained smile.  “We’ll just do a Caesarian.”

“Don’t you need a doctor for that?” asked Cornelius, eyes wide as he watched the women pull some instruments from a drawer.  Katlyn moaned, and he put his free hand on her sweat covered forehead.

“If we had one, sure,” said Becky, laying the instruments out on a cloth.  “If we don’t?  Well, let’s just say we’re self-sufficient around here.  This won’t be the first one I’ve performed.”

“I’m starting to get worried, Becky,” said one of the younger women.  “The men aren’t back yet.  They should have been back hours ago.”

“They’re on a combat patrol,” said the older woman in a calm tone while she checked the instruments.  “They’ll be back when they’re back.”

Cornelius could tell that the woman was worried about her family members out there in the jungle, and about the operation she was soon to perform.  But she was keeping it together like the self-reliant person this world had made of her.

Becky positioned herself to the side of Katlyn and pulled the pregnant woman’s shirt up to expose her stomach.  She sprayed the combination disinfectant healing spray of nanites on the distended skin, waited a few moments, then ran a laser scalpel over the flesh.  There was the sound of meat searing, and a thin, bloodless line opened up across her lower abdomen, below the swelling made by the baby.  Becky brought the scalpel back and forth, cutting through muscle, then into the amniotic sack.  Cornelius looked anxiously at this wife’s face but saw no pain or discomfort there.  The nanites were doing their job and blocking the pain.

Another slice and the fluid spilled out, and Becky reached her hands into the mother and pulled the baby out.  She looked him over, smiling in satisfaction, and looked over at Cornelius.  “He looks perfect,” she said, then sliced through the umbilical cord and slapped the baby on the buttocks.  The little boy drew in a deep breath of air and cried lustily, and everyone in the room smiled.  Becky wrapped the baby up in warm cloth and handed him to the proud father, who knelt by the mother and showed her the son that had just come from her body.

Becky went to work with a staple machine, closing up the wounds, then spraying it with nanites that would heal the opening to the point where not even a scar would remain.

“Congratulations momma, poppa,” said Becky, cleaning the instruments and getting them ready to go back into the cabinet they came from.

“Thank you,” said Cornelius, his mind traveling the imaginary road and seeing himself with a pregnant wife going into labor in the jungle.  She would have died, the baby would have died, and I wouldn’t have wanted to live.

“You are very welcome, poppa,” said the woman, putting away the last of the surgical instruments.  “I’m really glad I found you.”

“Mom,” yelled the voice of a young man over the sound of the front door being flung open.  “Mom.”  The young man, wearing camouflaged clothing, a rifle over his shoulder, came rushing into the room.

“Kaleb,” yelled Becky, running to the Freeholder and wrapping him in an embrace.  She put her hands on his arms and held him away to look him over.  “What’s wrong?  Where are the others? Your dad?”

“He’s alright,” said the almost breathless young man.  “Uncle Josh is dead, and so is cousin Johnny.”

“Oh no,” said one of the other women, putting her hands to her face.

“We got to get out of here, mom,” continued the lad, his eyes darting around the room.  “The Cacas know where this place is.  They’re on their way here.  The rest of the men are trying to slow them down, but I think they’ll be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Oh shit,” said Cornelius, looking at the baby in his hands, then at his wife, and figuring coming here might not have been the Godsend it seemed.

*    *    *

Glen McKinnon was getting tired of this jungle around him.  It was slow going, even in the heavy suits.  They could make much better time by going over it, or even by going low through the open areas.  They could also be killed by anything from the air or space that saw them out in the open.  And it wasn’t like they were uncomfortable in their suits, with their perfect environmental control.  They were safe as long as they avoided the larger animals, and the Cacas.

The problem with the Cacas was that they controlled the space and the air, and were able to move their troops anywhere they wanted.  They kept moving blocking forces in the way of the Captain’s command.  He didn’t know whether they found him, though he was trying to maintain signals security as much as possible.  Or whether they were just random sweeps.  They all forced him to change direction and creep around, and he was almost tempted to have the men leave the suits and move in their soft skins.  Except that would then open them up to the possibility of animal attack.

We didn’t have to creep around all of them, he thought with a smile, remembering the one group they had run into the other day.  That group had not been a danger to anyone.  They had been slaughtered by something, ripped apart by weapon blasts.  And everything useful had been taken from their bodies. Had to be commandos.

And there had been another group that day that his own people had put paid to, wandering into their midst before they knew the Cacas were there.  Luckily it was before the aliens knew the humans were there either, and the heavy armor suits and the weapons they carried had put paid to the enemy.  At the cost of two Marines, reducing his force even more.

McKinnon signaled a halt and gestured for his command team to gather around him.  There were no more officers, and the five NCOs were more than enough to command the reorganized squads he had left.  He looked at the faces revealed by the retraction of faceplates and found himself saddened by those who were missing.  Never really expected to be in a situation like this, he thought.  Always thought we would have the orbitals, and the air support, and not be the ones having to hide.

“Ramirez reports that there’s a cave ahead,” said Corporal Lavette of the second squad.  “Big enough for all of us to hunker down and get some rest.”

“We’re about a day’s travel from the sanctuary,” said McKinnon, bringing up a map on his HUD.  As near as I can tell, he reminded himself.  There were no more sats in orbit, at least not their birds, and all the ground based transmitters had been taken out, so there was no positioning system to rely on.

“About two hours if we push it by air,” said Sergeant Bethany, her face sweat streaked in the jungle heat.

“About an hour to get blown out of the air,” said Sergeant Chu, looking at Bethany and making a gesture showing what he thought of her intelligence.  Bethany started to reply.

“Shut up,” said acting Top Sergeant Hogan.  “The Captain wanted to tell you what he wants you to do, not listen to your gripping.”

The two NCOs shut their mouths and looked attentively at the Captain, only glancing in anger at each other a few times.  They’re Marines, thought the Captain.  They may bellyache some, but they’ll do as they’re ordered, even if it costs them their lives.

“So we’ll spend the night in the cave,” said the Captain, looking around at the faces of his NCOs and reading the total exhaustion on them.  “Then, in the morning, we’ll march the last thirty kilometers to the sanctuary.”

All of the heads nodded, hopeful expressions on the faces of some.  They all knew what marching meant.  Actually walking through the jungle, not floating on grabbers, which gave a much higher energy signal than the suit servos which moved them in walking and running.  And the grabbers also caused some warpage of local space, which could be read a grav waves at distance in a relatively clear environment.

The cave turned out to be spacious enough for all of the Marines, all twenty-three of them.  There was the body of some large, large being a relative term on this planet, creature who had inhabited the cave.  The burn scars of particle beams showed on the body that was partially devoid of scorched fur.  The Marines had wanted the shelter, and it had been the beast’s misfortune to also want it.

The next day everyone was as rested as they had been since the start of the invasion, and the small platoon was soon wending its way through the jungle.  McKinnon was wondering the whole way what was waiting for them at the end of the journey.  For some it would be elation, as they found family and friends at the other end.  For others it would be disappointment and heartbreak that those they cared about hadn’t made it, and probably never would.  And for the families waiting it would be the end of the wait, for good or bad.  And which one will it be for me? he thought, an image of beautiful Jennifer with her long red hair in his mind.  She should have made it.  She had an aircar, after all.  Then the thought of why he and his men couldn’t fly there came out of ambush in his mind.  There were no guarantees, and he wouldn’t know for sure until he got there and held her in his arms.  Or didn’t.

“We have movement up ahead, sir,” said Sergeant Hogan in a whisper, moving quietly back to the commanding officer.

“How much?”

“A lot,” said the Senior Sergeant, worry in his voice.  “At least a hundred Caca infantry.  And there are aircraft bringing them into a clearing about three klicks up the jungle.”

“And we’re about two klicks in from the open area across from the sanctuary,” said the Captain, hissing the words like a curse.

“I don’t think they’re here for us, sir,” said Hogan, his voice strained with anxiety.  “I think they’re there for the sanctuary.”

“And I think you’re correct, Sergeant,” said the Captain, wondering what he could do with twenty-three Marines against what could be a thousand Ca’cadasan infantry with air and space support.  But he had to do something, even if only to bring them to the attention of the Marines in the sanctuary.  “Get the people together, except for a couple of point lookouts.  And then we’ll just see what we can do with these multi-million Imperial suits the Empire gave us.”

*    *    *

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the battle armored Marine that stood at the head of the upward slanting path.  “Only Marines are allowed.  We picked this sanctuary for our own people, and there’s just not enough room for any more.”

Colonel Samuel Baggett glared at the young officer, wanting to grab him with his bare hands and strangle the man.  He knew that the outcome would not be to his liking, as the Marine’s suit was much more powerful than his medium armor.  “Look, son,” he said, enunciating each word.  “I have seven hundred tired and hungry men behind me, and a couple of thousand civilians.  I need a place to stay for a while, until we can make other arrangements.”  And if you believe that other arrangements part, you really are a dumb Marine.

“I am sorry, sir,” said the Lieutenant, standing his ground.  “But my Colonel has ordered that only Marines and Marine dependents are to come onto this plateau.”

“I outrank your Colonel,” said Baggett, raising his visor and bringing his face close to the Marine officer’s, who also had his visor raised.  “And I am the overall commander of this district, so your Colonel is under me in the chain of command.  And I am ordering you to allow me and mine up here.”

“I can’t do it, sir,” said the now white faced officer.  “The Colonel says we only answer to Fleet at this point.  The Colonel..”

“I have the force to sweep you boys clean off this plateau,” growled Baggett, linking into his Sergeant Major’s com and ordering a few troop deployments for emphasis.

“We have better equipment,” said the Marine, squaring his shoulders.

“And I have many more troops,” yelled Baggett, getting tired of the game.  “Now you let me through to talk to your Colonel, or by God you won’t be around long enough to regret it.”

As the Colonel yelled out the last a score of Imperial Medium Infantry came out into the open, their weapons, which included several particle beams and a hyper-v launcher, all pointed at the now shock faced officer.  “I don’t want to start a war between the services,” said Baggett, lowering his voice.  “But by God I will if you don’t let me talk with your superior.”

“I’m contacting her now,” said the Marine, his pale face now sweating.

A few moments later a hard faced Asian woman in an undress uniform appeared, walking down the trail.  Baggett recognized her, Lt. Colonel Cho Kwan.  She was not technically in his chain, as her HQ company had been assigned to the Willoughby sector.  And the determined set of her face let him know he was not about to cow her.

“What is the meaning of this, Colonel Baggett?” asked the woman, coming to a stop with her hands on her hips, looking up at him.

“The meaning of this, Colonel Kwan, is that you are in my sector and are withholding resources that I need, for my soldiers and the civilians we are protecting.”

“Everything on this plateau and the caverns connecting to it came from Marine and Fleet stores,” said the officer, glaring up at the soldier.  “Nothing from the Army, which has its own supply pipeline.”

“We are not in that pipeline now, Colonel Kwan,” said the Army Officer, towering over her, leaning forward to try as use his height as intimidation, and seeing immediately that it wasn’t going to work.

“Be that as it may, Colonel Baggett, we only have enough for our own.  Sorry, but that’s a fact.”

“I could take it, Colonel Kwan,” said Baggett, wondering if he could really order his soldiers to open fire on people who were supposed to be on the same side.

“You could try, Colonel Baggett,” said the grim faced woman.  “You could…”

The sounds of explosions came echoing across the open prairie below the plateau.  All of the military people started, then went low.  They had heard enough of those sounds to know what they meant.  The jungle started up again after the four kilometers of width to the grasslands.  The grazing beasts on that prairie started to hoot and low, and started moving away from the jungle.

Baggett lowered his faceplate and took a look in the direction of the sound, using his HUD to zoom in.  He saw figures moving out of the jungle, firing weapons back in.  There was smoke in the air, starting to obscure the view.  A red beam came out of the jungle and struck the cliff a hundred meters to the north.  Particle beam, thought the officer, and then watched as a series of explosions rippled among the big, horned figures that he now recognized as Ca’cadasans.

A moment later dozens of aircraft rocketed into the sky, firing beam weapons and rockets at the sanctuary area.

“Looks like you were found out, Colonel,” said Baggett, getting on his own link com and ordering his people under cover.

The other colonel was yelling into a com link, her face going pale, not liking what she was hearing on the other end.

“We’ll leave it to you, Colonel Kwan,” said Baggett, backing up, keeping his own weapon turned on the Marines.

“You can’t leave it to us, Colonel Baggett,” cried the woman, her eyes pleading.  “We need your help, or we’ll be overrun.”

Baggett gave the woman a salute, then turned and ran down the thirty meters of steps.  Something exploded behind him, sending dirt and fragments of rock into his armor.  He turned to see the place where the Marines were standing was now cloaked in smoke and dust.  The Colonel gave another salute and faded into the jungle, wondering about the circumstances that had turned military officers into Warlords, only looking out for their own.

*    *    *

Captain McKinnon had settled on a flanking maneuver, which made him take some time to get them in position.  He had too few Marines to attack along a wide front, and assaulting a narrow front left him too open to a flanking maneuver by the enemy.  With a flank attack he could concentrate his forces and watch his one flank, as he wasn’t too concerned about a maneuver in the open area.  He could see that coming and react accordingly.

It took about twenty minutes of moving through the jungle to get into place, some tense moments as Cacas were either avoided, or killed silently and efficiently by Marines with the right skills.  Finally all was ready, and McKinnon keyed his com with three quick bursts of static, the signal to go forward.  Two squads moved out, while the third, with the Captain and his command team, formed the reserve, and waited a few moments before following the other groups.

Despite the noise the heavy suits made crashing through the jungle the Cacas were totally surprised.  McKinnon watched on his HUD feed as the first squad came charging out of the jungle and caught fifteen Cacas flatfooted, looking in the other direction at the edge of the jungle.  As soon as the Cacas were sighted ten of them were down, hit with fast moving mag rifle projectiles, or lasers and particle beams.  The remaining five tried to return fire, but were cut down before they could complete swinging their weapons onto their killers.

Second squad did almost as well, taking a few more seconds to reach the enemy platoon command group.  The results were the same.  Lots of dead Cacas and no Imperial casualties.  The second squad of Cacas fell just as easily.  The third was a little more trouble, and several of the aliens fled into the open area and fired back into the jungle.  There were no Imperial casualties, and McKinnon was beginning to think they might be able to pull this off in a miracle play.

When they hit the next platoon things began to change.  Though still obviously confused, these Cacas were able to react to the flank attack with return fire, and the Marines took their first casualty, a young trooper hit by a particle beam and many hypervelocity rounds.  More Cacas moved out onto the prairie and fired back into the jungle, which went according to the Captain’s plan.  They were out in the open, where the people on the sanctuary plateau could see them and hear them, and the surprise of their attack was ruined.

Finally the attack ran out of steam, hitting a line of Ca’cadasans who poured deadly fire into the Imperial Marines.  The platoon was down to nineteen Marines at this time, and they were facing forty or more Cacas, with more rushing into the battle every moment.  McKinnon maneuvered his reserve element back into the jungle, intending to come on the Caca line.  On the way he ran into another platoon moving up, and was soon in a firefight of his own.

“We need to keep moving forward,” he yelled over the com to Sergeant Hogan, who was with the other elements.

“We can’t move into that fire,” yelled the Sergeant over the link, the noise of explosions in the background.  “If we get up and charge we’re dead.  They’ve got some heavy stuff set up here, and I think they just brought in a heavy particle beam.”  The high pitched buzzing noise sounded in the background.  “Yep, and it's ripping through the jungle.”

“Well stay low, Sergeant.  And return their fire.  We’re going to hit them here while we still have a chance.”

McKinnon switched over to his squad circuit and stood up.  “Follow me,” he yelled, then started forward in a run.  He swung his heavy particle beam rifle toward movement, ripping a beam through the armor of a Caca soldier before the male could react.  A laser splashed on the Captain’s armor, luckily a light beam that did little damage.  Glen shot that Caca down as well, then a third who was firing away with a mag rifle.

“We’re going to do this,” yelled the Captain into the com, jumping through some bushes and sweeping a clearing with the angry red of his particle beam.  A heavy beam of similar angry red speared out and hit the Captain in the chest, burning through the suit of powered armor in an instant.  Jennifer, was the last thought Captain Glen McKinnon, Imperial Terran Marines, had, before his thoracic area flashed into ash and charred meat.

“Retreat,” yelled Sergeant Hogan into the com.  The remaining ten Marines fought a retreat from contact, a very difficult maneuver.  It was a tribute to their skill that four actually broke contact and got away.

*    *    *

“We need to get further into the caverns, Doctor,” said the medic, looking nervously at the entrance to the complex.  “The Cacas are going to be here any minute.”

The ground rumbled under foot, and dust fell from the ceiling.

“Any chance the Marines will be able to hold them?” asked Jennifer, not wanting to run again, and worried about her patients.

“Not a chance in Hell, Doctor,” said the medic, watching as other medical people started carrying the patients that couldn’t move out in cryo tubes, walking the path into the connecting tunnel that went much further back into the mountain.  “They have us outnumbered and outgunned.  Feel those vibrations?  Those are space based particle beams striking this mountain.  And if they start dropping penetrators we’re screwed.”

“And what about those Marines out there fighting?”

“They’ll try to buy us time,” said the NCO, his eyes still following the line of cryo tubes being carried by battle armored Marines.  Civilians, dependents and otherwise, were also crowding through the entrance, and there were many that had already been quartered back there that were moving further back.  “Those that can will escape, some through here, the rest down the mountain and into the jungle.”  The medic looked around for a moment, then whispered to the woman.  “I always thought this was a bad idea.”

“I thought you people had thought this all out,” said Jennifer, allowing the man to grab her arm and move her along.

“Oh, it would have been a great hidey hole for maybe a hundred people,” said the Medic, moving her out of the way of another cryo tube.  “But there was no hope of keeping it secret with constant landings and takeoffs on that plateau.  You would have thought the higher ups would have thought of that.  Even a damned stupid Marine medic like myself could see the problem.”

They moved down the thirty meters or so of the tunnel and came out in the next large cavern, a majestic opening twenty meters high and about forty in diameter.  The men in the armored suits moved the cryo tubes up another path to a side cavern.

“What are you going to do with those patients?” she asked the Medic, uncomfortable at seeing them carried into a dead end.

“We’re going to leave them there in hiding.”

“But, but, the Cacas will find them and kill them,” said Jennifer, horrified at the thought of again leaving people behind.

“Look,” said the Marine, turning to face her.  “There are places down here where we won’t be able to get the suits through.  We’ll have to leave them behind, and then it will become a real problem carrying those cylinders.  And the cylinders themselves will be one unholy bitch to carry.  We may hit places where they won’t fit.”

“But the Cacas…”

“Won’t find them,” said the Medic, pointing to where the last cylinder was going into the smaller cavern.  “We are going to seal that spot up, and they won’t have a clue that they are there through all that rock.”

“And if we can’t come back for them,” said Jennifer, not liking the idea the more she heard it.  Two of the armored Marines moved back from the entrance, and moments later the red stabs of particle beams hit the ceiling of the cave entrance.  With a rumble and a roar rock dropped down, and the men played their beams over another section, ceiling the cavern in thick rock.

“If we can’t come back for them they die, when their power runs out in a couple of years,” said the man.  “And if we can’t come back it’s because we are dead, all of us, and they would have died with us.”

Jennifer shook her head, still not liking the idea and seeing no way out of it.  Especially now that the sealing was a done deal.

“Get back,” yelled out a Marine in battle armor, crowding through the tunnel to the outer complex.  Another followed him through, and a loud rumbling sounded from the other side.  Two more Marines squeezed through.  “Everyone, get back to the far end of the cavern.”  The officer looked over at the Medic.  “Get her out of here, Sergeant, and the rest.”

“What about the people outside?” asked Jennifer, thinking of Glen, and what he would do when he got here and they were gone.

“Everybody that’s coming through is already here,” said the man, giving the Sergeant a glare.

“Let’s go,” said the Medic, grabbing the Doctor’s arm and moving her along.

They moved to the rear of the cavern while the sound of falling rocks came from behind.  Jennifer stopped at the entrance to the tunnel that led to the next cavern, turning and watching the battle armored Marines playing beams over the inside of the tunnel to the outer complex, collapsing rocks into its length.  Two more men in armor floated in the air, boring holes in the ceiling, then placing long rods of explosives in the holes.

“It’s going to take heavy equipment to get through this cavern when they’re done,” said the Medic, touching her on the arm and pointing to the tunnel they needed to go through.

This tunnel seemed spacious enough, and light panels had been bonded to the ceiling ever five meters, shedding a warm glow on the rock.  The next cavern was as large as the one they had just vacated, with a sparse light that gave just enough vision to keep from running into things.  It was crowded with people, and the earlier arrivals were being led into a tunnel that they were forced to duck into.  The armor suited Marines, six of them, came through the entrance, and started to play their particle beams over that tunnel, again bringing a rock fall from the ceiling for the length of the passage.

“OK,” yelled out one of the men, and five backed their suits against the edge of the cavern and opened them up, climbing out and taking some of the weapons and equipment off the suits for later use.  The one still in his suit looking at the blocked tunnel.  The wall of the cavern rumbled and some rocks fell from the ceiling.  The rumbling grew louder, the walls and ceiling of the other cavern collapsing in on itself, making the chamber impassable.  The last man opened his suit and climbed out.  “Get her out of here,” he yelled, pointing at Jennifer.  “Goddammit, Sergeant, don’t make me tell you again.”  The man, obviously an officer or high ranking NCO, turned back to his people.  “We’ll play tail end Charlie.  I don’t think they’ll be coming through that, but if they do, we need to be able to buy some time.”

“Come on, Doc,” said the Sergeant, leading her to the tunnel.  “We really need you near the front, so you can set up a clinic if we need one.  Of course, that’s going to be easy to say, hard to do.”

Jennifer would have lost track of the time if not for her implant giving her an accurate account of the trip.  They walked, climbed and sometimes crawled through the cavern system for over ten hours.  Jennifer ended up with skinned knees and elbows, and an almost starvation level of hunger.  There were dead ends and backtracks, and she asked the Sergeant one time about the aliens being able to deep radar this range and get a fix on them.

“Oh, they can deep radar this mountain alright,” he had replied, wiping a grimy sleeve across his dirt caked face.  “But this system is so extensive they wouldn’t have a prayer of guessing which branch we went through.  Hell, I don’t even know where we’re going to come out, but I hope the guys on point do.”

At the end of ten hours some words came whispered back up the line.  “There’s an opening ahead,” said the Sergeant, relaying the message to the Doctor.  “And it’s clear.”

“Thank God,” said Jennifer, wiping at the moisture that was beading on her forehead with a damp cloth.  “I’m tired of living like a mole down here in the depths of the planet.”

Soon there was the cooling breeze of air from the outside, and after a short climb up a steep wall they were coming outside.  Night was on this portion of the planet, though her internal clock told her that daytime approached.  There were people milling about in a small clearing, and Marines tried to get them to keep moving.

“Doctor Conway,” called out a Marine officer, hurrying up in his armored suit.  “Doctor Conway.  Over here.”

Jennifer walked over to the man, wending her way through the crowd of people, thinking that this made too good a target for the Cacas, despite the heavy cover of the jungle.

“We have wounded we need you to look over, Doctor,” said the man, the rank insignia of a first lieutenant on his suit helmet.  “You feel up to it?”

Like I have a choice, she thought while nodding her head.  She took that damned oath seriously, and only if she were dead or dying would she refuse to render treatment, especially in an emergency situation.  She followed the man through the jungle, her eyes and ears alert despite her fatigue.  There were a variety of sounds coming from out of the darkness.  She really couldn’t tell what they were, but her imagination filled in the details with deadly creatures.  She put a hand on the butt of her particle beam pistol, something that was always with her unless she we bathing.  Glen had emphasized keeping the weapon with her, and she felt better with its substantial weight on her belt, even with the guard of a heavily armed Marine.

They entered another small clearing in which a tent had been erected.  Not a bit of light showed through the fabric, and as she entered she noted the almost airlock arrangement of the double doors that preserved the blackout outside.  She was led through a ward that had patients lying on cots, many of them unconscious.  All were peaceful, and Jennifer once again thanked modern medicine, which did not demand that people suffer when pain could be controlled.

The operating room had a regular table and all the equipment she expected in such a theater, and she wondered if the Marines had planned for the contingency of their sanctuary being overrun.  Knowing them, they had.  She got into the sterile field and gloved, then waited for a moment as her first patient was carried in.  The medic who had led her through the caverns came in with that patient and stayed, putting on his own gloves and mask in the sterile field.

The patients started coming in, fast and furious, the worst first.  Soldiers, civilians, even children, many with horrific burns.  One little girl had her right arm burned off at the shoulder. Jennifer fought back the tears as she worked on the child, stabilizing her shock with nanites, then working to remove the dead tissue that might later cause complications to the regrowth process.  She worked for hours, doing what should have been the work of an entire hospital unit.  She did not know how much time had passed, or how many patients, but the injuries began to get less and less serious.

One man was brought in who did have more serious injuries than the last few, including both arms broken and a shattered knee, as well as massive burn scarring on his chest.  The man was still conscious, but seemed to be in no pain, the nanites injected in preop doing their job well.  She started to work on the man, and then his features finally broke through her fatigue.

“Sergeant,” she said, looking into the man’s eyes.  “Sergeant Hogan.  Can you hear me?”

“Sure can, Doc,” said the man in a weak voice.  His eyes focused and he smiled.  “You’re the Captain’s lady, aren’t you?”  The smile quickly turned to a frown.

“Where is Captain McKinnon?” she asked, afraid of the answer based on his reaction, but needing to know.  “Do you know where Captain McKinnon is?”

The face of the man scrunched up, and tears began to form at the corners of his eyes.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I truly am.”

“What happened, Sergeant?  What happened?”

“The Captain’s dead, ma’am,” said the Sergeant in a choking voice.  “The Captain’s deader than shit.”

“Did you see him go down, Sergeant?” asked Jennifer in a hushed voice, feeling the numbness of shock invading her system.

“He caught a particle beam, ma’am,” said the Sergeant, closing his eyes.  “Leading a counter attack against the Cacas, so that you people could be warned of their attack.  When we tried to disengage he attacked again, to disrupt their assault.  And he caught a particle beam that opened up his suit.  He’s dead, alright.  He’s dead.”

The Marine was starting to become hysterical, and the Medic injected something into the man’s neck.  In an instant he was out.

Jennifer worked on the Sergeant, blinking back tears.  It’s not his fault that Glen died.  So you will do a good job on him.

After the Sergeant there were only two more patients, and Jennifer worked on them in mechanical fashion, feeling nothing.  She didn’t hear the Medic speaking to her when she was done, and allowed herself to be led away out of the tent.  It was day outside, the filtered sunlight coming through the trees.  She barely noticed as she was led to a small tent, then put to bed in a sleeping bag.  Her last thoughts were how her life had gone to shit after coming to this frontier world.  And then she was out, the mercy of unconsciousness taking away her sorrow, for the moment.

Chapter Twelve

Some people may have wondered why an Imperial government was formed.  It was formed because the officers of the Exodus III decided they wanted the power.  It eventually evolved into a Parliamentary Empire, with a constitution that protected the rights of the people, at the demand of those people, who, after all, were the real strength of the Empire.  In most cases through history such a government eventually evolved into a true Parliamentary system, with the royal or imperial family assuming the positions of mere figureheads.  But in an expanding Empire that stretched across hundreds, then thousands of light years, it was found that many times what was needed was a single strong ruler in the right place and time.  The sectors retained their governors, the planets their archdukes, the Empire its Emperor.  Thus, the Empire was able to function quickly and efficiently in times of war or crisis, without having to wait for governing bodies to gather their members from across the stars.

History of the New Terran Empire, Imperial Year 788.

RED DWARF SYSTEM BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM SYSTEMS, MARCH 24TH  AND 25TH, 1000.

After the events of the last couple of days, the shuttle ride from McArthur to Sir Galahad was anticlimactic.  The assault shuttle from the battle cruiser was heavily armed and armored, like any craft intended to take Marine combat troops into harm’s way.  The two attack fighters stayed close to the shuttle, making sure that the inconceivable didn’t happen.  And the two squads of Marines sent over from Galahad were babysitting a young man who couldn’t possibly be intentionally harmed at this point.

But they’re Fleet, thought Sean with a smile.  And they mean well.

Sean looked over at the two Marines who had been assigned to take care of him aboard the destroyer, Sergeant Lance Tucker and Private Gertrude Johanson.  They had refused to leave his side even when the other Marines came aboard to escort him to the shuttle.  Their Captain had told them to watch him, and they were going to continue to do so until someone higher ranking than their Captain told them otherwise.  And the Lieutenant of Marines from the battle cruiser did not count.

Sean was silent and deep in thought on the short trip across.  He was minutes away from a trip home, to become the Emperor of Humanity in a time of war.  Which gave him almost absolute power over the military and the civilian industries that supported it.  Not a job he wanted, but his nonetheless, unless he wanted to hand the job over to an idiot cousin.  And he would not inflict that on the sentient inhabitants of the Empire for anything.

We need a leader, he thought, and if I don’t feel I’m the right man, then I need to become that man, starting now.  He had promised such to his old Captain, to Chief Gorbachev, to all the people he had left behind, and he meant to fulfill that promise.

He was on his way to meet with an Admiral.  A low ranking Admiral, to be sure, but still a Flag Officer.  And he needed to stop acting like a junior officer, and start acting like a Monarch.

The battle cruiser drew closer on the screen mounted by his seat.  He looked over the strange form of the Hyper VII warship, with larger than normal grabber units and larger graviton projectors, top and bottom, than the usual Hyper VI ships.  She needed the larger units to penetrate into the Dimension of VII, which took more than four times the energy than that used to penetrate into the next lower dimension.  And he knew that the extra hardware came with a price.

The fighters veered off, and the shuttle approached the cold plasma field that kept the atmosphere in the hangar, so that it need not be cleared of air when launching or landing small craft.  The shuttle slid through the field with a slight bump of turbulence, and the field closed up behind it.  Sean’s viewer shifted to the stern of the shuttle, and he saw the thick doors, a continuation of the ship’s outer armored skin, sliding into place.  Not taking any chances with my precious hide, he thought with a chuckle.  Failures to the plasma field, though rare, had been known to happen.  And they don’t want my Imperial hide sucked out into space.

The Marine guards from Galahad unbuckled and got out of their seats.  A squad headed for the exit, then disembarked.  A Marine NCO came back and nodded at the Lieutenant.

“We can go, your Majesty,” said the officer, gesturing toward the exit.

I guess this is my life from here on, thought Sean, the feeling of being trapped coming over him again.  No real freedom, always watched.  And now even more so, after what happened to the others.

“Come with us Sergeant, Private,” said Sean to the two Marines who had been his keepers aboard McArthur.

“Sure we shouldn’t stay aboard for the trip back to our ship,” said the NCO.

“About that,” said Sean with a smile.  “I think I have a surprise for you two.  So come on.”

The two Marines looked speculatively at each other, then got yo their feet to follow the Emperor, who had a smile plastered on his face.

As the Emperor (uncrowned) came through the hatch and onto the ramp a band struck up the Imperial Anthem.  Sean glanced that way for a moment, surprised that there was a real band aboard the vessel.  Piped in music would normally suffice, and this told him something about this admiral.  He looked straight ahead to where a row of men and women in dress uniforms stood.  One line was made up of Marines in full dress reds, the other of naval officers in dress black.  At a command the Marines snapped to present arms.

Sean again felt the discomfort at being the center of attention.  He shrugged the feeling away and walked down the short ramp.  As his foot hit the deck the naval officers all simultaneously rendered a hand salute.  Three officers stepped out of the ranks and pivoted precisely, heading in his direction in perfect step.  The tall ebony skinned woman in the center wore the double stars of a rear admiral on her shoulder boards, while to her right stood a muscular blond man with the eagles of a captain on his boards.  To her left was a short, slight man of swarthy complexion, also with captain’s rank.

“Your Majesty,” said the Admiral with a bow.  “Welcome aboard the HIMS Sir Galahad.”

“My Lady,” said Sean, taking her hand, looking into the intelligent face and the features of West African Descent.  He wasn’t sure of her social rank, but all flag officers were granted at least a knighthood.  He brought her hand to his face and brushed the back of it with his lips.

“May I introduce the Captain of the Sir Galahad, Broderick Stafford,” said the woman, motioning to the big blond man, who bowed to Sean.  Sean took his hand and shook in in the universal greeting of human males. “And this reprobate is Captain Josia Greenefield, my Flag Captain.”  Sean took the smaller man’s hand, then looked back at the Admiral.

“So what’s the plan from here, Admiral?” he asked, taking a look around the otherwise empty hangar.  A hangar that had been emptied for this greeting ceremony.

“I think we should wait for the rest of my task force to join us here,” said the Admiral, looking the young man straight in the eyes.  “Then we will head back to Conundrum, where we can see to getting you back to the capital.  I have already ordered a pair of destroyer back to base to relay the good news.  But I would feel much better having the other battle cruisers with us when we go into hyper.”

Because once we’re in Hyper we’ll be broadcasting our whereabouts to everything out there.  Especially in VII.  “And what about the Dot McArthur?” he asked, knowing that the destroyer would not be able to make better than V on the way back to base.

“We’ll send a couple of tin cans along with her for escort,” said the Admiral, looking over at her Flag Captain.

“I would feel much better if you delegated a light cruiser along with the cans,” said Sean, the programmed instinct of command starting to rise within him.  “They saved my hide, and I would hate to see them come to grief before they can get a fully functional ship underneath them.”

“See that it’s done,” said the Admiral, looking over at the Flag Captain, then giving Sean a curious look.  She then noticed the two Marines in shipboard battle armor that were marked with McArthur’s name.  “I think the Sergeant and the Marine can go back to McArthur.  We’ll assign a platoon to be your bodyguard until you can get personnel from the Imperial Division.”

“I wish for these two to be part of my detail,” said Sean, pointing to the pair.  “I’ve grown used to them.”

“Then I’m sure the Lieutenant in charge of the platoon can add them to the roster,” said the Admiral, looking a little flustered from being ordered about in such small matters on her own force.

“Sergeant Tucker,” said Sean, looking over at the NCO.  “You are now Lieutenant Tucker, Officer in Charge of my security detail.  And since you will need a good Platoon Sergeant, Ms. Johanson, you are now a Gunnery Sergeant.”

“That is most irregular,” blurted out the Marine Lieutenant, flushing with embarrassment as he realized who he was talking to.

“Imperial prerogative,” said Sean, smiling at the officer.  “I believe that is within my powers, Admiral, is it not?”

“It is, your Majesty,” said the Admiral. “Very well.  Lieutenant Yamaguchi,” she continued, looking over at the shocked Marine officer.  “If you would show Lieutenant Tucker and Gunnery Sergeant Johanson to their quarters.  I leave it to you to help the new lieutenant to organize his security detail.”  The Admiral looked back at the Emperor and bowed.  “If you would follow me, your Majesty, we will see about getting you settled into your stateroom.”

Probably the VIP quarters, thought Sean as he followed the ranking officers.  I could get used to that.  The Marine guards fell in around him, four to the front, four to the rear.  Now this part I could do without, he thought of the security, but didn’t see any way around it.

*    *    *

“We have translations,” called out the Sensory Officer.  “Four battle cruisers, twelve light cruisers and twenty destroyers.”

As expected, thought the Admiral, looking at the tactical plot which now showed the other task group on the edge of the system, completing her task force.  She looked over at Captain Greenefield.  “We’ll head out system as soon as we can reach the hyper limit,” she told the officer, leaving it to him to make the arrangements and issue the orders.

“What’s the status of McArthur?” said a now familiar voice.

Montgomery turned around to see the Emperor walking onto the bridge, the cat he fawned upon in his arms.  Should have left that animal back on the destroyer, thought the Admiral, who was not a cat person in any manner, preferring dogs.  “McArthur is starting to make way toward the hyper limit.  Two light seconds out.”

“Could I speak to the Captain?” asked Sean, walking over to the com station, a small disk in his fingers.  “Hello Cousin,” he said to Lt. Commander Samantha Ogden Lee, who was manning the panel.  “How have you been?”  He looked back at the Captain.

“Contact the McArthur, Commander,” ordered the Admiral.

“And transmit this file to the ship,” said Sean, handing over the disk.  The Commander looked back at the Admiral, who nodded her head.

He’s acting the role at least, thought the Admiral, looking at the straight back of the young man who now was the commander of them all.  By the Goddess, I’m still not sure he is what we need right now, but he sure is leaning in that direction.

*    *    *

A moment later the face of Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf appeared on the viewer, the battered bridge of his ship behind him.  “Your Majesty,” said the Captain.  “What can I do for you this fine day?”

“It’s more what I can do for you, Commander von Rittersdorf,” said Sean, a broad smile on his face.  “As a gesture of gratitude for saving my life.”

“All part of our duty, Majesty,” said the young officer.  “Your thanks are more than enough.”

“No,” said Sean, shaking his head.  “The words of thanks are necessary, but not sufficient.  I believe there is something more I can do for you, Duke von Rittersdorf.

The shocked look on the Captain’s face was priceless to Sean.  He had looked over the officer’s personnel file.  The younger son of a Count, he had few expectations to ever achieve the title.  Awarded a knighthood for bravery in action, unless something unexpected happened he would probably retire with a small holding on a frontier planet.

“I, I don’t know to say, your Majesty,” said the man, his face flushed.

“You don’t have to say anything, Captain,” said Sean, nodding his head.  “And you may want to change those oak leaves on your collar for eagles.  And prepare a list of the people you want for your staff.”

“Staff, your Majesty?  I don’t understand.”

“Part of your reward is the command of a squadron, your Grace,” said Sean, his smile threatening to split his face open.  “And there will be awards for all of your crew as well.  You will find my Imperial Writ in your data banks.  We are sending it to your ship now.”  He nodded at the Com Officer, then looked back at the screen.  “This will make an official record of my appointments.  Now Godspeed, your Grace, and may you have safe sailing to a friendly port.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” said the new Duke.  “Thank you for myself, and for all of my crew.”

“And again, thank you, your Grace.  Without the diligent service of yourself and that crew I would now be dead.”  And the survivors of your dead will also find something to help them in their grief, though there is never enough to completely compensate that sacrifice.

*     *    *

Sean let the cat drop out of his hands to land gently on the couch.  The door was closed behind him, leaving him alone for the first time since he had come aboard.  The Marine guards stood watch at the door under the watchful eye of Gunnery Sergeant Johanson, who still looked decidedly uncomfortable with her new rank.  She’ll grow into it, thought Sean as he sat on the couch and stroked the cat.  “We all have to get used to changes, don’t we, Satin,” said Sean, looking down at the cat.  He could tell that the animal was grieving as well, not really knowing what was going on, only that his familiar person was missing from his life.

Same for me, thought the Monarch, fighting back the tears that threatened to pour from his eyes.  What will it be like to see the palace again, and to know that the familiar people are gone forever?  Father, mother, my brothers.  The place will seem empty, despite all the staff and security.  He also thought about his old shipmates, lost forever.  The face of Jana Gorbachev swam in his mental vision.  The forbidden love, unrequited, only acknowledged from his side.  Never could have happened, he thought.  And now, as Emperor, I couldn’t even be the disgraced son who had an affair with a commoner.

Sean knew that he had to fulfill the role, much as he dreaded it.  He had to find a wife and sire an heir.  In the meantime he could list the succession to his child sister and the children of his brothers, while making sure that strong people stood behind them as regents that wouldn’t let unscrupulous politicians rule, with them as puppets.

Maybe I should see to that now, thought Sean, getting up from the couch and walking over to the bar that was part of this VIP suite.  He made himself a drink after looking through the selection and selecting some good rum from Nuevo Espania.  Do I have to change this too, he thought after taking a sip of rum and cola.  Turn into one of those Scotch drinking old men who frequent the cabinet and embassies.  He took another sip and shook his head.  Rum will be the official drink of this Emperor, and be damned to those who cite tradition.

Sean walked into the small office that was attached to the living room, there for the use of whatever officer or official that happened to be aboard.  He set himself down into the chair that conformed immediately to his anatomy.  Almost too comfortable, like it was intended for taking a nap and not for work.  But everything worked, the comp link was state of the art, as was the holo on the desktop.  Sean tapped into the circuit and sent through his access code.  I should have known, thought Sean as every secret in the Flagship was now open to his perusal.  He now had the ultimate security clearance.  Nothing could be hidden from him, an Emperor in time of war.  The absolute power and responsibility of the position now hit him like it hadn’t before.  What was the old saying from Earth, the one I learned in history.  The buck stops here.  When he was officially installed in his office there would be no higher authority.  He would still have to deal with Parliament, but a sitting Emperor during wartime had powers beyond those of a peacetime Emperor.

Fleet dispositions, personnel records, battle plans, all here.  Of course, he knew they were limited aboard this ship.  The commander of a task force might have the clearance to know everything in the sector, but not the need to know.  He had the ultimate need to know, and as soon as he made it back to Sector Headquarters he would have even more information, all that the sector commander had access to.

This looks interesting, thought the Monarch, looking at a file structure on the holo that showed recent communications.  There was the log of his talk with von Rittersdorf.  Task group communications during the battle with the Ca’cadasans.  Communications with the arriving task group.  Sean clicked on that one and looked over the subfiles that opened up.  One caught his eye, the one with the word Sestius on it.  He remembered that system vaguely.  The Sergiov had gone through there around the time of the investiture of its Archduke.  A frontier farming world, of little importance to anyone that had not settled there with hopes of making a new life.  And it had been invaded by the Cacas.  Not near as big a force as had taken Massadara, but then the force opposing them had been so weak it couldn’t have stood up to a single capital ship, much less four of them.

The other task group met up with a passing courier while on patrol, thought Sean, looking over the record of that communication.  The enemy was landing troops on the planet, and Sestius IV had a respectable garrison.  One that might still be fighting on the planet.

His mind made up, Sean got to his feet and stormed out of the office, across the living room, and to the outer door, which swished open on his approach.

“Your Majesty,” said Gunnery Sergeant Johanson, snapping to attention.  The two sentries brought their rifles to present arms.

“I wish to go to the flag bridge and talk with the Admiral,” said Sean, stepping off toward the nearest lift while the Marines followed.  One of the sentries ran in front of the Emperor, taking up the forward position, then checking out the lift.

“May I signal the Admiral that you are coming?” asked the Gunnery Sergeant.

“You may,” said Sean.

The doors to the lift closed and it started to move.  The Sergeant stood there with an expression of one listening to a com.  “Can I tell the Admiral what it is about?”

“I’ll tell her myself when I get there,” said the Emperor, a feral smile on his face.  And I don’t think she’s going to like it.  Well too damned bad.

*    *    *

“He’s not saying, ma’am,” said Gunnery Sergeant Johanson over the com link.  “But he has fire in his eye, like he means business.”

“Wonderful,” said the Admiral, wondering what hair had gotten up the Imperial ass.  “The Emperor is coming to the bridge, people,” she called out from her chair.  There really wasn’t much to do, the bridge was always in tip top shape.  She would have it no other way, and her officers knew it.

“Emperor on deck,” yelled the loud voice of the Gunnery Sergeant as soon as the doors opened.  Even the Admiral jumped to attention, feeling kind of silly doing so on her own bridge to a man who had been a lieutenant SG just a couple of days before.  And now outranked everyone in the Empire.  But still uncrowned, thought the woman as she waited for the Emperor to walk onto the bridge, wondering what that really meant.

“At ease,” said the young man in a calm but commanding voice.

The genes and the training coming through, thought the Admiral.  And of course, we are all conditioned to respond to it.

“How soon till we jump,” said Sean, looking at the viewer holo.

“About fifteen minutes, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, looking at the young man as he turned and feeling a chill run up her spine.  He looks so much like his father.  “Most of the destroyers have already jumped, and will be waiting for us in Hyper.”

“I need to talk with you before we jump,” said the young man, gesturing toward the door that opened on the conference room.

“Just myself,” said the Admiral, raising an eyebrow.

“You can invite your Flag Captain along if you feel you need a witness,” said Sean, glancing over at that officer.

“Then follow me, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, turning and walking toward the indicated door.

The room itself was spacious, as were most rooms on modern warships.  What need for cramping when multimillion ton capital ships could carry ten times the number of people needed to run the ship, and still only use a small fraction of their capacity.  The table had seating for twenty officers, and there were more seats along the wall for assistants.

“Would your Majesty care for a drink?” asked the Admiral, gesturing at the bar in the corner.  And how different we are from those old militaries in the past, when drinking on duty was considered dereliction of duty.  Not with nanotech, when we can sober up in an instant.

“No thank you, Admiral.  I would like to have my say, so we can carry on with business.  Please, have a seat.”

Montgomery sat down, Greenefield taking the seat to her right, while the uncrowned Emperor took the seat directly across the width of the table from them.  By the Goddess, what is going on here, she thought.

“I was looking over the dispatches from Commodore Basingee’s force, and came across something of interest,” said the Emperor, looking over steepled fingers.

“The dispatches?” said the Admiral and Flag Captain in unison, looking at each other.  “What could have driven you to look at the dispatches, your Majesty?”

“I hope I was not overstepping my bounds,” said the young man with a smile, looking into the Admiral’s eyes.  “Not that I thought there were any where I was concerned.”

“Of course not, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, feeling more confused by the moment.

“I was very interested to discover that Commodore Basingee’s task group received a transmission from a passing courier.  And that information was received about the enemy attack on the Sestius system.”

“And?” asked Greenefield.

“I would like to propose a rescue mission using this task force.”

“A rescue mission,” croaked the Flag Captain.  “Your Majesty, this is a scout force, not a battle fleet.”

“And from the information from the courier, this will not require a battle fleet.”

“Your Majesty,” said the Admiral, looking at the young man and wondering if he had lost his mind.  “I have orders to get you back to base.  With dispatch.  We need you back at the Capital so you can be installed as Emperor, officially and in front of witnesses.”

“Have you not already acknowledged me as Emperor, Admiral?” said the young man, another enigmatic smile on his face.

“Of course, your Majesty.  The Fleet acknowledges you as the heir to the throne, and upon the death of your father, Augustine, you are now ruler of the New Terran Empire.  But the civilian government still needs to see you officially installed.  Before Parliament tries to put some idiot cousin on the throne.  Er, pardon me, your Majesty.”

The young man barked a laugh.  “No, Admiral, there are a lot of idiots in the Imperial family.  And I don’t count my distant cousin out there on your bridge as one of them.”

“I would hope not,” said Captain Greenefield, nodding.  “That young lady is as good an officer as I have ever had serve under me.”

“The point is, your Majesty, that I have orders from the sector commander to get you back to Conundrum forthwith,” said Montgomery.  “And I am not in the habit of disobeying six star flag officers.”

“How long to get to Conundrum?” asked Sean, looking thoughtfully into the air.

“I little over three days at our best acceleration profile,” said Greenefield.

“And to Sestius from here?”

“That would be about a four day journey,” said Greenefield, frowning.

“Look, your Majesty,” said Montgomery, reaching over and putting her hand on his.  “I know you want to help out here.  To do some good.  The Goddess knows I wish I had the force to push these murdering bastards back to where they came from.  But there is too much going on right now.  Can’t you see that?  This would be a nice gesture, and that is all it would be.”

“Not to those people on Sestius IV,” said Sean.  “To them it will be salvation.”

The Emperor stood up, walking to the end of the room, his hands behind his back.  He turned and walked back the other way, while the two officers looked on.

“I can’t do anything for most of the people out here on the frontier,” said Sean, stopping and turning toward the two officers.  “I can’t do anything for my comrades who are left behind at Massadara, at least not yet.  I know the Ca’cadasans are too powerful there.  But I can do something for these people.”

“But my orders,” said the Admiral, knowing she had already lost this battle.

“Am I Emperor or not?” shouted Sean, hands on his hips.  “If not, then it doesn’t matter when I get back to the capital.  But if so, then I demand your obedience.”

Hard to believe he was just a junior officer less than a week ago, thought the Admiral, a feeling of admiration coming over her.  She had always loved the stories of the old masters of warfare.  Caesar, Khan, Napoleon, Stuart, Patton, of Bull Halsey, and Admiral Ishimora.  The one thing they all had in common was that fleeting attribute of great leaders, audacity.  And this was an audacious mission if she had ever heard one.

“You have our obedience, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, raising a hand to keep her Flag Captain from speaking.  “And our loyalty.  Though I can only imagine what Admiral Mgonda will have to say about this.”

“You let me worry about him, Duchess Montgomery,” said Sean with a smile  “I’m his boss too, after all.”

“Of course you are, your Majesty,” said Montgomery, the words the Emperor had just uttered finally penetrating her brain.  “Duchess?”

“Of course, Admiral,” said Sean, his smile widening.  “Something I learned from my father was to always reward loyal subjects.”

“But, your Majesty.  That is not necessary.  I serve because of my oath.”

“And that is why you should be rewarded,” said Sean.  “Because you serve loyally without asking for it.  Now let us plan this mission, so we can get under way.”

He really has turned into a manipulative little shit, thought Montgomery as they went over the logistics of the mission.  Exactly what we need in an Emperor in this time of troubles.  And Mara Montgomery knew she would go through Hell for this man.

*    *    *

MASSADARA SYSTEM, MARCH 25TH, 1000.

“We have something interesting here, sir,” called out the watch officer, Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic.

“I’ll be right up,” reply Commander Bryce Suttler, coming awake in an instant.

As he came on the bridge Ngovic, the Tactical Officer, gave up the Captain’s chair and headed for his station, while Suttler looked at the tactical plot and spotted the interesting things right away.  “Are those tankers?” he asked as he looked at the large ships that were heading toward the enemy space station.

“I do believe they are, sir,” said the smiling Tactical Officer.  “I was thinking we might finally get to have a little exercise, after playing watchers for so long.”

“Those look like antimatter containment spheres on the hull,” said the Duty Helm Officer.

Suttler nodded, thinking of a way to turn these carriers of antimatter into a big inconvenience for the enemy.

“We have to get approval from headquarters,” said Bryce, looking over to the com station, where a petty officer was filling in. “Contact HQ, PO, and let them know what we have here. And what they want us to do. Include my recommendation that we attack the tankers while they’re close in to the station.”

“Aye, sir,” said the rating, going to work on his com panel.

“How far are we out from the station, Helm?”

“About a half light hour,” said the officer.  “Just beyond their pickets.”

Bryce did the math in his head, coming up with a preliminary answer in a few minutes.  It would be risky, but doable.  And they weren’t being paid to play it safe.

It seemed to take forever to get a reply, but the clock said sixteen minutes.  Still enough time that Bryce knew it must have been kicked around a bit at headquarters, or waited until someone high enough up made the decision that wouldn’t jeopardize their career.  They were already doing important work, and if they were caught or destroyed the intelligence they provided would be gone.  But they could also strike a blow that would really hurt the enemy war effort in this sector.

“It’s a go, sir,” said the petty officer, looking back at his Captain with an expression that fell between a smile and total terror.

Don’t blame him, thought the Captain.  We all want to strike a blow, but we also want to get back home.  He pushed the intercom button on his chair arm.

“All crew to battle stations,” he called out.  “We have a target, and we are going in after it.”

Within minutes the primary bridge crew were all at their stations, some still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes after taking stimulants to become awake.

“Take this profile,” ordered Suttler, sending the data over to the Helmsman.  “Everyone stay alert, and we’ll get into firing position.”  Getting out might be a different proposition, but we’ll worry about that when the time comes.

The Sea Stag, stealth fields at maximum, moved ahead at ten gravities, making nary a ripple in the space surrounding the huge enemy station.  The grabbers did produce some grav waves, lost in the background of the larger enemy vessels moving to and from the station, or patrolling around her.  The Captain watched the plot carefully, counting on the Helmsman to keep a close watch and maneuver when needed, still ready to provide the guidance needed if the unexpected occurred.

Enemy scouts ships were sweeping the perimeter, moving back and forth, questing with active sensors to cover the sphere around the station.  Suttler held his breath a few times going through that perimeter.  The pings of incoming sensor sweeps rattled the nerves of everyone aboard the bridge.

The stealth ship had the best of human technology in light bending fields and sensor absorbing materials.  None of that would have been worth anything without the ability to get rid of ship generated heat before it could radiate out into space, giving the ship away.  Older ships used a portal into subspace that allowed them to get rid of the heat into that dimension, but had limitations as to how far it could operate in a gravity well.  The portal also gave out a signal which could be detected from light minutes away.  The wormhole, connected as it was to a heat sink, was much better at pulling infrared radiation away from the ship, while producing no tell tales.

Still, a direct and sustained hit by a sensor beam could generate a return, no matter how tenuous, enough to show that something was there.  Even a close visual examination of the space the ship occupied could reveal that something was there.  The invisibility field was not perfect, and there were momentary distortions that hinted at the presence of something.  So it was still a nerve wracking experience to be slipping through a cordon of enemy ships.  The odds were in Sea Stag’s favor, but they were just probabilities.

“Whew,” said Lieutenant SG Ngovic, looking up from his station.  “I’m glad that part’s over.”

Suttler nodded as he looked at the plot, showing the perimeter ships falling behind.  But there were still plenty of vessels sitting inside that perimeter, and they could still be spotted.  “Everyone stay sharp,” said the Captain, his eyes darting from screen to screen, taking in everything that might pose a threat.  And soon everything out there would be looking for them.

It took five hours to work their way toward the station, and every second was filled with sweat and worry.  Suttler noted that two meal times passed, but he didn’t feel hungry.  Adrenaline was taking care of his appetite for him.

There was one tense moment when a four million ton cruiser cut in front of the Sea Stag.  The Helmsman had seen it coming from a long way off, and a few minor maneuvers had made sure that it missed.  It was still anxiety producing to see any ship approach within a light second, and everyone breathed easier when it moved away.

“Range to targets, twenty million kilometers,” called out the Tactical Officer.  Both tankers were on the screen, the farthest less than a light second off the side of the space station.  The nearer tanker had a cruiser in tight, and was in the process of transferring antimatter cylinders to the warship.  The far tanker was servicing two of the scout ships, and other ships sat nearby, awaiting their turn.

“Bring her to a stop at half a light minute,” Suttler told the Helmsman.  “And get ready to take us out of here, fast.  But still stealthy.”

“Aye, sir,” said the Helmsman, setting the parameters into his board.

“All weapons are fully charged,” said Ngovic.  “No indication of electromag screens on either of the targets.”

“I want all lasers and particle beams into target one,” said the Captain, highlighting the further tanker on the plot.  “All targeting on their outer antimatter pods.  Time on target with the beam weapons.  At three seconds into the firing sequence I want you to switch to that second target, and fire a missile into the station.  Understood?”

“Aye, sir,” responded the Tactical Officer.

“Full stop, sir,” said the Helmsman.

“As soon as we open fire begin to back us out of here,” said Suttler, feeling the almost oppressive tension on the bridge. “One hundred gravities, straight out.  Prepare to cut accel at my command.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Tactical.  I want full electromag fields to the front, full cold plasma injection.  As soon as your timer says the beams have hit target.  Drop fields, eject the cold plasma, and raise stealth field after the radiation front has passed.”

“They’ll know where we are if we raise cold plasma fields,” said the Tactical Officer.

“They’ll know in a moment anyway,” said Suttler, his eyes locked to the viewer.  “And hopefully they will be too busy looking elsewhere to notice us for the few moments we’ll be visible.”

The Captain continued to stare at the viewer, and the two big beautiful targets it showed.  What the hell am I waiting for, thought Suttler.  Just go ahead and do it.  Now.

“Fire,” he shouted out.

“Firing,” replied the Tactical Officer, his finger stabbing the commit.  At the same moment the Helmsman put the ship in motion, a hundred gravities in reverse.

The particle beams fired first, sending antiprotons out at point nine five light.  They reached their target in thirty one point five eight seconds.  At one point five eight seconds after the particle beams opened fire the lasers opened up, all headed for the nearest antimatter storage pod.  The same moment a torpedo left the port forward tube of the stealth attack, accelerating at ten thousand gravities toward the huge station.

The far tanker had just a little bit over a second warning that she was targeted by a particle beam.  Not enough time to start raising her electromag field.  And not enough time to finish raising it even if she had started.  As it was the beam of antiprotons struck the storage pod with nothing to slow it down.  The antiprotons exploded as soon as they touched normal matter, the high speed of their strike pushing the blast inward, through the armored exterior of the cylinder and past the magnetic containment field within.  Matter touched antimatter, initiating an outward explosion that caused more matter and antimatter to strike.

The laser beams added gigajoules of heat that were really redundant in their effect, weakening the armored hull of the pod and making it easier for the antiprotons of the particle beam to blast through.

The pod went up in a brilliant flash, followed by the rest of the ship as the other pods detonated sympathetically with the first.  The ship was there one instant, a ball of expanding plasma the next.  The Ca’cadasan cruiser, no more than twenty kilometers from the tanker, caught the brunt of the blast.  Its port side vaporized while hard radiation sleeted through the ship that was unprotected by radiation screens, killing the crew instantly.  The blast effect hurled the ruined vessel away at scores of gravities, enough to kill anyone not done in by radiation, as the inertial compensators were not engaged.

The lasers and particle beams switched targets twenty-seven seconds before the attacking vessel could see the effects of its first strike.  The beams were on the way before the first shot had reached its target, and the second tanker only had four seconds warning that something was going on.  And during that time she was dealing with the radiation and plasma from the first tanker, which had only been a couple of hundred kilometers away.  The story was much the same for tanker number two.  It went up in a blast that vaporized the ship and the two close in scouts, and sent waves of heat and radiation into the station.

The station rocked from the blast, the sensor and defenses of that side put out of action.  Thus they didn’t see the missile that came flying through the expanding plasma that had been ships.

*     *     *

The violent shudder of the station awoke Jana Gorbachev from a deep sleep.  Ben was already awake and sitting up when she struggled from her reclining position.  Alarms started sounding, and she shook the sleep from her mind as she wondered what had happened.

“Something’s happening,” said Ben, hitting the light switch.

What was your first clue, genius, thought Jana, glaring at the man’s back.  And is that something an event I can use?

“So what do you think that was?” she asked, wishing she had a connection to the data net of the station.

“There were two antimatter tankers just outside the station,” said the man, turning himself in bed to look at her wide eyed.  “Maybe one of them blew.”

“An attack,” said Jana, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice and failing.

“Don’t get your hopes up, little slave,” said Ben, his eyes narrowing.  “No one would dare attack the masters here, at a position of strength.”

And I would kill you if I could, traitor, thought Jana, giving the man a cold stare.

“Come here,” yelled Ben, reaching out and grabbing her wrist.

Jana twisted her wrist out against Ben’s thumb and pulled her arm back.  He reached for her again, and she batted the hand away with her superior speed and reaction time.

“Why you little whore,” yelled the man, swinging a fist toward the side of her head.  She accepted it on her forearm, and brought her own right fist back, then forward, striking Ben on the nose.

Ben fell back, blood flowing from his nose as he sputtered.  “You will be punished for this,” he said, reaching to touch the band on his wrist that gave him control of her collar.

Before she could stop him his finger slid across the control, and excruciating pain racked her body.  She fell back with a gasp, trying to fight through the pain and get at the cause.  Her muscles quivered as she tried to pull herself from the bed, but she could not raise herself against the agony.

“Now you are going to pay for hitting your betters, bitch,” yelled Ben, putting his face next to hers.  “Let’s see how you like being fucked when every movement brings pain.”

Ben turned her over on her back and pulled her legs apart, then crawled up between them, placing his erect penis at her entrance.

Damned sadist, she thought through the pain.  Damned filthy animal.

What happened next neither of them expected.  The room resounded with a ringing bang, the wall suddenly became the floor, and both occupants of the bed were thrown, hard, against that surface.  A moment after hitting the wall both of the humans were flung with force against the other surface, where they stuck, the heavy forces of acceleration pushing them into the alloy.

The pain field switched off at the same time as whatever it was hit the station.  The new pain of slamming into hard surfaces took its place.  It was a trade Jana would make any day.  She felt dazed, the effects of the concussion she knew she had sustained.

Something hit the station, hard, she thought.  Not enough to destroy the massive construct, but enough to cause a lot of damage.  She smiled as she thought of all the Cacada who must have been tossed around like she had been.  She pictured many of them in larger rooms, falling great distances as the orientation of surfaces changed.  There had to be a large number of dead and injured aboard.

It couldn’t have been a power plant failure, or some kind of containment breach?  It was a torpedo, wasn’t it?  So why aren’t we being hit again?

“What happened?” asked Ben in a croak, lying next to her against the wall.  The orientation changed again, and they both fell to the floor, which again was down.

“This is what happened,” yelled Gorbachev, rolling over toward Ben and bringing her fist into his throat.  Ben coughed, his hands reaching for his throat.  Jana struck him again before his hands could get there to shield the vital area.  He choked and she struck again.  She looked him in the face, seeing the fear in his eyes as he realized he couldn’t breathe.  His face started turning blue.  With a satisfied smile on her face she hit him again, this time rolling back then over, hitting him with a knife hand.

Ben gagged, unable to cough, his hands finally reaching his throat and clutching at the injured member.

“So dies a traitor,” said Jana, rolling over on top of Ben, straddling him with her legs and staring down into his face.  His eyes implored her, and she spit in his face.  Within moments the hands started to go slack and his eyes closed.  Without medical attention he would be dead in a few minutes, and she intended that he not receive that care.

Those few minutes later she was still looking into his face as his muscles went slack, and his eyes opened to stare unseeing at the ceiling.  Jana’s head was still buzzing slightly from the concussion, but she could tell that the effects were going away, her internal nanites taking care of the problem.  As her head started to clear she saw that she had a problem.  She had just murdered one of the Admiral’s favorite pets, and now had to make it look like an accident.  Which, she thought, looking over at a sturdy nightstand that had been next to the bed, should be fairly easy with the situation as it is.

Staggering to her feet, the Chief grabbed the nightstand and lifted it over her head.  With careful aim she threw the nightstand into Ben, making sure that the edge struck him hard in the throat.  It also struck with force into the mouth, breaking his jaw and several teeth.  Satisfied, she sat down on the floor.

When the Cacada checked on them she was still sitting on the floor, crying and hugging herself.  It was the perfect act, and it was thought that she was distraught from the death of her mate.  For the next couple of days it was all she could do not to smile when she thought of the death of her tormentor.

*    *    *

The station ran day and night, but still maintained the semblance of a normal day.  Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M'tinisasitow sat in his chair and looked out into space, his mind a whirl of activity that didn’t allow him to sleep.

At least one of my problems is temporarily solved, he thought, looking out on the two large antimatter tankers, and the ships that were clustered around them to refuel.  Antimatter was a precious but volatile substance, and his fleet needed it to function.  Fusion could supply energy, and often did, but nothing could take the place of matter-antimatter reactors to supply the power needed to ply hyperspace.  He was at the end of a very long supply line, his nearest production facility six months travel time to the rear.  The fleet had brought tankers, but they had been drained as soon as the force began operations in this arm, after that long voyage from home space.  New tankers had finally started to arrive, and more were on the way, and he still wasn’t sure they would fulfill all his needs out here.

What we really need is to capture a production facility, thought the Great Admiral, watching the tankers as they began to rotate out of view, rotation done on the station for aesthetic reasons.  Of course, the enemy will have their production facilities close to a star, so we can’t just pop out of hyper and take it.  They would have plenty of time to self-destruct the facility.  And even if they had them further out, they would still pick us up in hyper well before we could get close.  It’s just impossible to sneak up on them.

The Great Admiral was looking at a viewer that showed the local area, and the conquests already made by his Empire.  It was satisfactory in one respect.  They had a strong foothold within the enemy stars.  But considering the size of this Empire, the largest conquest attempted to date, it was only a sliver.  And we’re still at the end of a yearlong supply line, he thought, zooming the plot out and looking at the galaxy, the stars of the Empire highlighted.

Well over a half year from any major bases in Hyper VII.  Even longer from the center of the Empire.  He looked at the other side of his people’s conquests and bared his teeth.  An angry red blot showed there, the power they were battling at the other end of the Empire.  And no small, less advanced species.  In fact, the enemy seemed to be as advanced as the Ca’cadasans, and was of large, if unknown size.  The first challenge to the Empire in living memory, and the reason he could not expect all the resources he wanted on this front.

The view on the holo switched automatically to a scene of a bright explosion in space, followed immediately by another.  A moment later the station rocked as the plasma from those two blasts hit the outer structure.  The Great Admiral grabbed the nearby table, using its secure surface to keep from falling.  He looked back at the screen and saw that the light was fading, and all of the ships that had been in the area were gone.

Warning sirens started to hoot while blue lights flashed.  The Admiral linked into the net and found total confusion, many nodes down, others overloaded.  He pulled out and hit an intercom button on a near wall.  “What in the Seven Hells is going on?” he growled into the unit, knowing that the answer would not be good.

“Both of the antimatter tankers exploded,” said the Station Commander, to the sounds of chaos in the background.  “We’re still trying to figure out what happened.”

“Have you located the enemy ship yet?”

“Ship?” said the confused sounding male.  “We don’t know that it’s a ship, my Lord.”

“Of course it’s a ship, you idiot,” growled the Grand Admiral, closing his eyes and trying to calm down.  “You think two antimatter tankers just went and blew up by coincidence.”  It can happen with one, thought the Admiral, remembering that the last occurrence was decades in the past.  And it doesn’t happen very often.  “Now look for that ship.”

“We have few sensors left on that side of the station, my Lord,” said the Station Commander apologetically.  “We are turning the station now, but most of the grabber systems are offline.”

“Then send orders for all nearby ships to start sweeping the area.  And to investigate any anomaly.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the Commander, and the holo went blank, the other male escaping the glare of his leader.

“Idiots,” said the Grand Admiral under his breath, starting to pace the deck, back and forth.  “Why have we bred such a race of idiots?”

“My Lord,” said the voice of another male over the intercom.  “We found something in the databanks recorded just before the explosion.”

“Let me see,: growled the Grand Admiral, hoping that this male was at least competent.

“Yes, my Lord,” replied the male, and an image formed in the holo.  There was a ripple in space, then another, then the flash of a beam weapon that illuminated the front of a diamond shaped spacecraft, and a moment later the flash of a laser and the appearance of a missile, seemingly out of nowhere.  Then the craft was moving backwards, another flash of beam weapons illuminating the bow.  This was followed by the obscuring formation of a cold plasma field, and then the vid went blank.

“What in the hell were they firing that missile at?” said the Admiral, scratching his head.  It couldn’t have gotten to either of the ships in that time frame.”

“Collision alert,” called a voice over the intercom, and the Admiral, with a cold feeling down his spines, knew where the missile had been aimed.

The impact threw the Admiral off of his feet and into a far wall.  He felt the forearms of both left arms snap, and fell to the floor in excruciating pain.  The alarms hooted again, and the lights dimmed and went out for several moments, leaving the Grand Admiral to lay in his own pain on the deck.  The lights came back on, and the Admiral tried to jack into the station net, only to find it completely down.

It was maybe a half hour before anyone came to look for him.  By that time he was unconscious, and unable to give the orders he would have wanted to.

*     *    *

Sea Stag backed away at one hundred gravities, the plasma shield forming at her front.  Twenty-five seconds after firing on the second target space ahead flared with a painfully brilliant explosion that would have blinded the watchers, had not the system toned it down.  Four seconds later the other tanker went up, and the ships and station were all blotted from sight by the plasma cloud.

“Forty seconds to radiation stream,” shouted out the Sensor Officer.

“And nothing we can do but wait,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Correct,” said Suttler, staring at the plot that showed the projected position of the wave of neutrons, protons and other particles that were heading their way.

When the radiation reached the ship the cloud had spread according to the inverse square law, losing three quarters of it mass per distance travelled.  The blast effect was therefore negligible, merely a rocking of the ship.  But the radiation was off the scale on the sensors that were stuck out of the plasma field.

“Radiation levels inside the ship are nominal,” reported the Sensory Officer.

Suttler nodded, wondering how long they would need the plasma field, which was surely giving them away through the thirty degrees of arc of the bow.  He could only hope that there was no interest given to them in that time period.

Charged particles were being routed around the ship by the electromag field, while neutrons were being captured or deflected by the cold plasma.  One bad effect was the cold plasma ionizing, giving off a glow that was not helpful to the concealment of the ship.

“Radiation is dropping,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Dropping.  Dropping.  Safe.”

At those words the Tactical Officer cut the electromag field and released the plasma barrier into space.  The next command reestablished the stealth function of the electromagnetic field, and the ship again faded into the background of space on all wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation.

The space was clearing ahead, and the bridge crew cheered at what they saw.  The tankers were of course gone, as were the warships.  And the huge station was dark, with significant damage on the surface facing them.

“Did it get all the warships?” asked Suttler, moving the view on his own side screen.

“There she is,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Moving away at two thousand KPS.  And she looks like something grabbed her and chomped down.”

The cruiser appeared on the main viewer, eliciting another round of cheering.  The ship was a fast moving wreck, and if salvageable would have to be many months in a yard before she was fit.

Suttler looked over at the Com Officer.  “Send out status to headquarters, along with all the data on the attack.”  He pointed at the Helmsman.  “Get us out of here, slow and easy.  Navigator. See if you can find us a nice ice ball out here that we can hide on.”  He looked back at the damaged station, the symbol of the strike they had just made.  “I think we might have stirred up a hornet’s nest here, and it might be time to be thinking of ourselves.”

Chapter Thirteen

Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be for without victory there is no survival.  Winston Churchill.

BATTLE CRUISER JEAN DE ARC, SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM SYSTEMS, MARCH 27TH  AND 28TH, 1000.

“We have trouble, Captain,” called out the voice the duty Sensor Chief over the com.

“Talk to me,” said Mei Lei as she pulled herself out of her bed, blinking as she looked at the clock on her ship link.  Dammit.  Only three hours.  But she was responsible for the ship and everyone aboard it, and that didn’t come with a guarantee of rest.

“I just picked up some resonances in VII that might mean problems, and soon.”

Mei grunted as she looked for her cat, remembering with more wakefulness that Satin was not aboard her ship, but was instead with the young man she had sacrificed her vessel to save.  So they’re both alive or both dead, and I have to wait till we get back to base to find out which.

“What do you have?”

“Hyper resonances at One O’clock, Three O’clock and Two O’clock at thirty-five degrees down.  None of them close enough to have picked us up, but we’re going to drift into range of their sensors in about two and a half hours.”

“Any plot to get us out of this,” said the Captain to her duty Navigator as she pulled on and sealed her coverall, then sat on the bed to get into her boots.

“Not a chance, ma’am,” said the Navigator.  “I’m running simulations now, but there is no way out that I can see.”

“Crap,” cursed the Captain, pulling on her boots and heading for the door to her ready day cabin.  “I’ll be up there in a minute.”  She switched her link over to another circuit.  “You heard, XO.”

“I heard,” said Jackson, his voice also sleepy.  “I’ll be up to the bridge in five.”

“Roger that,” said the Captain, walking through her day cabin and out into the corridor, then through the hatch across the way, returning the salutes of the Marine sentries.

“Captain on the bridge,” yelled out Lt. Commander Deitricht, the Weapon’s Officer and duty CO.

“As you were,” called Mei, striding over to her chair, which Deitricht had vacated.  “Have you ID’d them yet, Chief?”

“Yes, Ma’am.  Do you want the good or the bad first?”

“Why not save the good for last,” said Mei with a slight smile on her face.  “I probably could use some cheering up after the bad.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Chief.  “They’re Cacas alright.  And no matter what we do they will have acquired our signal within the next hour.”

“Great, Chief.  So what’s the good news?”

“I have four Caca ships on my scope, two singles, and a double at the thirty-five degree down position.  And they’re all scouts.”

Scouts, thought the Captain, a feeling of hope starting to grow through the depression of the last five minutes.  Scouts are only five hundred K tons, so we out match each by a factor of sixteen.  Unfortunately their weapons are a bit better kilo for kilo, and they are fully functional, unlike us.  “Helm, can you try to avoid the pair, make sure that we only have to deal with the singles?”

“I think so, ma’am,” agreed the officer.

“You know that the others can go and get help,” said Commander Jackson over the com.

“Of course, XO,” said the Captain, thinking of the implications.  “But I would rather fight them one at a time, and try to get away from whatever they might bring back.  And we can give them reason to suspect that we are not what we are.”

“I think I can arrange something like that, ma’am,” came the voice of Chief Engineer Hernandez.  “I am assuming of course that you would like for them to think we are a freighter, before it is too late.”

“That is my thought, Engineer,” agreed the Captain.  “Weapon’s Officer.  What can you give me on the lasers?”

“A ring in one hundred percent, while C is at sixty,” said Deitricht, sitting at the vacant tactical station and looking over the board.  “B and D of course are still nonoperational.  So I can give you a laser and a half for as long as they can handle the feed.”

The Tactical Officer, Lt. SG Yomatov, came onto the bridge and gave a salute, then hurried over to the tactical station to plop down next to the Weapon’s Officer.  It was his job to use the weapons on the Captain’s commands, while the senior officer was there to make sure Tactical had something to use.

“You heard the situation over the com, Mr. Yomatov?” asked the Captain.

“Yes, ma’am.  And I was thinking about some simulations to run to see what would give us the best chance.”

“You’ll have time for your simulations,” said the Captain with a nod.  “I don’t think we’ll see any combat action for at least eight to ten hours.  But when it comes, I want the ship as ready as can be.”

“Navigator,” said the Captain to that officer.  “Try to find us a good battleground or three, then present your findings to myself or the Exec.  I would prefer to meet one of them in hyper, then drop into normal to take on the second.  I doubt number two will believe we are a helpless freighter after we take care of number one.  So we may need some cover and concealment.”

Mei stood up from the captain’s chair and made to leave the bridge, signaling Jackson over the personal circuit to meet her in the briefing room.  “Everyone come together with the plan, and we will meet in two hours to see what we can do.  Get to work people.  We have a battle to win.”

The Captain exited the bridge, wondering if she sounded more confident than she felt.  That she could take on and destroy a Ca’cadasan scout in a close in battle she had no doubt.  That she would be in trouble if said scout engaged her with missiles at range was a different story.  So she had to make the enemy engage her close in, where her heavier weight of light amp and particle beams weapons would win the day.

*    *    *

“Target system straight ahead,” called out the Helmsman.  “Range to hyper barrier five hours at current decel profile.”

“And where’s our boy, chief?” asked the Captain, leaning forward in her chair, looking at the tactical display that showed the target twenty light minutes behind and closing.  But it was always good to hear confirmation from the expert.

“Right where the plot is showing, ma’am,” said the Chief.  “Coming in fat and sassy.”

Just as we want, thought Mei Lei, nodding her head.  We’re just a helpless freighter with only enough weaponry to defend ourselves against pirates.  Not worth wasting a missile on.  Not worth going back to base and resupplying with ordnance.  A feather in your cap for the price of a little energy.

“We should have visual in five minutes,” continued the Chief.

“Which means they will see us at the same time,” said Jackson from CIC.

“I want the stealth systems up and running in two,” said the Captain, staring at the plot as if she could exert her will on the enemy.  “No use taking a chance that they might see us as we really are.”

“Yes, ma’am,” chimed in the Sensor Officer, who was in charge of the nanoparticle organ of the ship’s skin.  Jean de Arc was flying backwards at this point, turning the still mostly intact skin of her bow to the enemy.  There were still some chinks in even that point of presentation, but the crew had to hope that the enemy would never get enough resolution on the image to see them.

The crew sweated for the remaining minutes, waiting for the enemy ship to come into visual, and therefore into laser range.  They could fire at longer range, though many of the photons would drop into normal space.  And firing at longer range meant there was more of a chance for a miss.

“We have a missile launch,” said the Sensor Officer, turning around with a panicked look on her face.  “Incoming missile, accelerating at eight thousand gravities.”

“Shit,” yelled out the Helm.  “What do you want me to do, Captain?”

“Nothing,” said Mei.  “We continue playing the freighter.  We really have no choice.”

The Helm nodded her head and turned back to her board.  The bridge was silent, the crewmen lost in their own thoughts as the enemy missile closed.  The enemy ship was decelerating and was down to point four C.  Her missile would be up to point four by the time it overtook the battle cruiser, with a closing speed of point one C.  Enough to really hit the battle cruiser hard, maybe enough to knock out her still functioning systems.  And no one had any illusions as to what would happen if they went through catastrophic translation again.

“How the stealth holding out, Sensor?” asked the Captain.

“As far as I can tell we’re still tight,” said that officer, trying to keep her voice calm.  “We should be retuning a sensor image of a ten million ton freighter.  And the engine resonances are perfect.  Not that I would expect the Cacas to know the difference.”

“Should I prepare to fire on the missile?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“To what effect?” asked the Captain, staring straight ahead.  “If we blow up the missile they’ll just hang back and hit us with a volley.  And I doubt we’ll be able to handle any kind of concerted attack.  So our only option is to keep playing freighter.”

“But the missile, ma’am,” cried out the Tac Officer.  “If it hits us it will blow us all to hell.”

Mei Lei looked at the Tac Officer with cold eyes.  “Can you do your job, Mr. Yomatov?  Or do I need a replacement for you?”

“No ma’am,” said the officer, stiffening his back.  “I will follow orders.”

“Then keep your finger off that commit button until I tell you to fire.  Understand?”

The officer nodded his head and turned back to look at his own board.

“Missile impact in twenty-two minutes,” said the Sensory Officer.

This is Hell, thought the Captain, pure and simple.  If I’m correct we are still drawing them in.  If I’m wrong they’ll simply vaporize whatever is left of us, if a catastrophic translation doesn’t do it for them.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” came the voice of Jackson over their private com circuit.

“Hell no.  Do you have any other suggestions?”

“Other than getting a working battle cruiser, not a one,” said the Exec with a chuckle that sounded very strained.

“Missile impact in twenty-one minutes.”

“I think we can do without the countdown, Sensors,” said the Captain, knowing that it was wearing on her nerves.  “We can all watch the clock.  Just let me know when it’s a minute away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer, a flush coming to her face.  The officer turned back to her board, then back at the Captain.  “We have a visual.”

The image of the Ca’cadasan ship appeared on the viewer, coming in clear for a moment, then disappearing in static, then firming up again.  It was the ominous shape of human nightmare, the shape that humanity had hoped to never see again.  But now they had to deal with them in all their numbers.

The ship sat there in the viewer, a rounded cylinder with a skirt around the middle, its equivalent of the human grabbers.  There were domes all over the ship, the laser projectors that looked strange to human vessels that used multidirectional rings for the same purpose.  The Ca’cadasan ship was not trying to disguise itself, it had no need.  Mei hoped that their own appearance was more pleasing to the enemy.

“Enemy ship is hitting us with light amp,” called out the Sensory Officer.  “So far the electromag and reflective skin is keeping it from harming us, much.  I’m projecting an image of hull gassing.”

“Don’t overdo it, Sensors,” said the Captain, looking over at the officer.  “Subdued should do the job.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed the officer.  “Enemy missile is starting to decelerate and veer off.”

“They were just trying to get a response,” said Jackson.  “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” said the Captain, then took a deep breath.  “It was just a hope, that they wouldn’t want to waste a missile on a freighter.  And I was right. They didn’t get a response, and now they’re going to move in and take us on the cheap.  At least that’s their plan.”

“We’re receiving a grav wave com,” said the Com Officer, holding her hand to her ear as she listened.  “Standard English.  They’re telling us to continue on our current heading and to accelerate at our best speed.”

“They want to match velocities with us,” said Jackson.  “Makes it easier on them if we speed up so they don’t have to decel as much.”

“Confirm their order,” said the Captain to the Com.  “And ask them to quit blasting us with their laser before they knock our drive systems offline.”

A few moments later the lasers quit impacting on the ship.  “Now everyone take a deep breath,” said the Captain.  “On my command we’ll open up with everything we have.”

There were head nods and ‘yes ma’ams from over the bridge, and everyone was again silent and back to their own thoughts.

“They want to take the ship for prisoners and intelligence,” said Jackson.

“Playing right into our hands,” said the Captain, leaning forward in her seat and watching the enemy come in.  “Keep on coming, you bastards.  Keep on coming.”

“I’m showing fluctuations in the electromag field, ma’am,” yelled out the Sensor Officer.  “Invisibility and holo projection fields are going offline.”

“Do something,” yelled the Captain, her eyes growing wide.

“I’m trying,” cried the officer, her hands flying over her board.

“They’re going to fire,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, looking back with a frantic expression.

“Range?”

“Still one light minute,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Too damn far,” said Jackson.

“Yeah,” agreed the Captain.  “How you doing on those fields, Sensors?”

“They’re firming up some, ma’am,” said the officer.  “But they could drop at any moment.”

“Engineer.  What can you give me on emergency decel?”

“A hundred and fifty gravities for ten seconds,” said the Engineer.  “But that will put us twelve over what the compensators will handle.”

“And no time to get in the tanks,” reminded Jackson.

“On my command give me emergency decel,” said the Captain.  “Tactical, I need you to stay awake, no matter what.  As soon as I order it I want the plan put into action.  Can you do that?”

“Yes ma’am,” said the officer.  “Can do.”

“How is the plasma torp?”

“Plasma torpedo ready to fire,” said Tactical.  “All weapons ready.”

“If we get close enough to use it fire,” said the Captain.  “Don’t wait for my order.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Range thirty light seconds,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“I wonder why they haven’t fired,” said Jackson, confusion in his tone.  “I sure as hell would have.”

“They’re not as suspicious as you, XO,” said the Captain.  “Everyone seal your helmets. Shipboard alert.  There won’t be time to do it later.”  She reached a hand up and pulled her own faceplate down, pushing it to seal to her helmet.  She was now as protected as could be if anything punctured the ship as far as the bridge.  Not that her armor was likely to do her much good if a laser or particle beam burned through that far.

“Range twenty light seconds.”

“They can’t be that stupid,” said Jackson.

“Don’t jinx us, XO.  Keep on coming in, fat and sassy.  We’re just a slow freighter, waiting for you fierce warriors to come in and take us.”

“Stealth field dropping,” yelled out the Sensory Officer.  “We’re taking fire.  Range fifteen light seconds.”

“Evasive maneuvers,” yelled out the Captain.  “Emergency Decel.”  The ship started to move in random directions, throwing off the aim of the enemy.  A half second later she went into emergency decel, and the heavy hand of gravity pushed everyone back with a force twelve times above what they were used to.  It was a painful force, and the Captain could feel the pressure on her chest, keeping her from breathing.  She fought to remain conscious, knowing that to black out would doom them all.  Come on, she thought, willing the time to pass before blackness closed over her.  Her nanosystems were helping to deliver oxygen to her brain, but the pressure was about to make her scream in agony, if she could actually do such a thing with this much pseudo gravity on her body.

And then it was over, and the Captain tried to pull oxygen back into her lungs.  She managed to croak out one word.  “Fire.”

The Tactical Officer was still conscious, enough to hit the commit button through blurred vision.  Jean de Arc opened fire with her full power A ring while the stern swung around swiftly to bring the sixty percent effective C ring to bear.  At the same time the particle beams opened fire.

The enemy was only five light seconds distance when the battle cruiser fired.  She had not started evasive maneuvers yet, and her beams were mostly missing the human ship, only hitting a tenth of the time they were tracking on the enemy.  The human lasers hit at the same nanosecond that the enemy knew they were under fire.  But organic systems, and even automatics, could not react quickly enough, and terawatts of laser power ravened across the skin of the ship, digging deep paths through the alloy, and causing massive outgassing and systems failures.

A second later the particle beams struck, hitting with protons and antiprotons, pummeling the skin of the vessel and exploding pieces of enemy ship as antimatter hit the matter of the spacecraft.  Lasers had already caused considerable damage to the electromag shield systems of the ship, which did not work as well in hyperspace as in normal anyway.  The charged particle beams had no problem penetrating the weakened shields, and the enemy ship took critical damage in seconds.

The enemy ship tried to go into evasive maneuvers.  The young Tactical Officer on the battle cruiser recovered quickly mentally and physically from the crushing gravity of a moment before.  He made a guess, and kept the beams concentrated on the enemy ship, swinging them the way the vessel vectored as soon as it started its movement.

“Keep pouring it on them,” yelled the Captain, watching as the alien vessel sprouted holes and gashes, and gas poured from the wounds.  She looked at a side screen that showed damage to her vessel, wincing a little bit at the red that showed on the ship schematic, calming herself down as she realized that the damage was actually very minor for a close in knife fight like this.

The ship on the viewer bucked a bit as a major outgassing acted like a rocket.  Then the two laser beams and a couple of antiproton particle beams intercepted on one of the enemy ship’s hyperdrive projectors.  Vapor and pieces of supermetal alloy flew from the enemy ship, which shimmered for a moment, then again.

“She going to fall out,” said the Tactical Officer, a grim smile on his face.

Go, thought the Captain, wanting this over and done with.  And then with a flash the enemy ship was gone, and the heavy grav waves of a catastrophic translation came over the sensors.

“She’s gone,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Captain with a smile.

“Good job, Mr. Yomatov,” said Mei, nodding her head at the officer.  “Good job everyone,” she said over the com.  “Engineer, any critical damage?”

“Light damage to forward grabber units,” said the Engineer.

“Light enough to keep using them?” asked the Captain, praying for the answer she wanted and the ship needed.

“Engineering specs would say to tell you we need to make repairs,” said the Engineer.  “Common sense and the situation tell me that we can keep going.”

“Good,” said the Captain after a sigh.  “Make whatever repairs you can before we make it to the target system.”  She switched channels through her link.  “How far behind us is number two, Chief?”

“They could catch us in six hours in hyper,” said the Chief.  “That’s assuming a maximum accel profile and a decel on top of us.”

“Based on those figures, Captain,” said the Navigator, working the numbers on the navigation station, “they will translate into the system an hour and a half behind us.”

“Will that be enough time, ma’am?” asked Yomatov, his expression again worried.

“It will have to be,” said Mei, looking at her repeater screen at the visual profile the navigator had put up on it.  “We’ll just have to hope there’s something good in the system Kuiper Belt waiting for us.”

“You know they’re not going to fall for the freighter ploy again, right?” said Jackson over the personal com.

“I wish they would be stupid enough to do so,” said the Captain.  “But even if they bought the freighter ploy, they would have to be a little leery of a cargo ship that destroyed one of their own.

*    *    *

Jean de Arc dropped out of hyper I a mere one light second from the barrier, a risky proposition, but everything the ship did now was a risky proposition.  As soon as she entered normal space every scope on the ship, every sensor, was looking for something they could use out here in the outer system.

“We have an hour and a half, people, so let’s find something,” said the Captain.

“Won’t they just turn and run when they see what we are?” asked the Helmsman.

“That would be nice,” said the Navigator.  “Except they would have to wonder why we are running, and why we’re so inferior in our maneuvers and acceleration.”

“They’ll come after us,” said the Captain, looking at the repeater screen, searching for a return along with everyone else.  “The bastards are too arrogant to do otherwise.”

“I think I’ve found something, ma’am,” said the Sensory Officer.  A small white object appeared on the holo, then blew up to a mostly smooth ice ball.  “It’s about six hundred kilometers in diameter.”

“A Plutino,” said the Navigator, checking her own board.  “She’s eighteen point two light minutes away.  We can get to her in ninety-one minutes at our best accel/decel profile”

“And the enemy ship will see us when they come out of hyper,” said the Helmsman with a frown.

“We want them to see us,” said Mei, looking at the ice ball and nodding her head.  “Is there a spin on it?”

“About one rotation every four point four hours,” said the Navigator.

“Perfect,” exclaimed the Captain, slapping her hand on the arm of her chair.  “Get us there with the best profile, Helm.  Maybe a little less than optimum, so we can be sure they’re here in time to see us.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to push it, ma’am,” said the Helm as the officer punched in the commands and started the vessel on the proper vector to curve her toward the Plutino.  “Maybe we could hide before they get here.”

“I don’t want to hide,” said the Captain, smiling.  “We don’t have time to get into a game of cat and mouse.  No, I want her to come right to me, right into my trap.”

“You sure about this, Captain?” asked Jackson over the private com.

“We need to take them out, XO.  I don’t want to be playing hide and seek with these guys all the way back to base.  And they might vector in some friends if we give them a chance.  Do you have any suggestions, Xavier?”

“No, ma’am,” said the XO with a curt laugh.  “I agree with your decision.  I was just testing your resolve.”

“I have a lot of resolve, XO,” said the Captain, putting a hand on the back of her neck and rubbing the tight muscles, thinking about the hard armor suits they would all need to get back into within the hour.  “I wish I had a ship under me to match my resolve.”

“She’s been a lucky ship so far, ma’am.  Luckier than anything I’ve ever heard of.  And we’ve got a good crew, and a good captain.”

“Why, thank you, XO,” said Mei, a smile stretching her face.  “But right now I would rather be lucky than good.”

The hour passed, then twenty-five more minutes.  And then the waited signal came, the grav waves of translation from Hyper I to normal space.

“Right at the limit,” said the Sensor Officer, grimacing.  “Arrogant bastards.”

“How long till they see us?” asked the Com Officer.

“Hell, they see us now,” said the Navigator, looking over at the other officer.  “Just as we were eighteen point two minutes ago.”

“And they will see us as we are now in eighteen point two minutes,” said the Tactical Officer.  “Even if they guess our course perfectly and take a shot, it will take eighteen minutes to hit us.

“And we will be behind the ice ball in three minutes,” said the Helm.

“They will see us,” agreed the Tactical Officer, “but they won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“How is our holographic projection holding up?” asked the Captain, looking over at the Sensory Officer.

“It should be perfect,” said that officer, nodding toward her board and the holographic display that showed what the ship was trying to appear as.  “Or as perfect as can be.”

Jean de Arc was showing herself to be much more severely damaged than she actually was.  A vision of a warship with all laser rings cold, missing grabbers, even large holes in the armored hull.  Hopefully, enough to entice the enemy into thinking she had easy prey.

The battle cruiser dropped thousands of microsats in her wake as she started to curve around the planet.  Each sat, less than a centimeter in diameter, was able to assume a standard orbit under its own power, and transmit visual signals back to their mother ship.  As Jean de Arc curved to the point where she couldn’t see the enemy directly, she still had a clear view of him.  The enemy could not say the same.

“All stop,” ordered the Captain.  “I want us exactly on the other side of the Plutino from the Cacas.  Then station keeping on the grabbers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Helm.

“Commander Jackson,” she called over the com.  “Are the teams ready?”

A visual came of the big XO on the hangar deck, wearing his battle armor configured as a spacesuit.  “We’re ready to go, Captain.”

“Just make sure you get your big ass back here,” said the Captain, smiling.  “I wouldn’t want to have to break in another Exec for the rest of this voyage.”

“I have no intention of getting lost out there, ma’am,” said Jackson, the vid showing him boarding the assault shuttle, the hatch closing behind him.

Nobody ever does, thought the Captain, worrying despite her show of confidence.  And they still get lost nonetheless.

“Shuttle launch,” said a voice from the hangar deck.  The holo viewer showed the four shuttles moving away from the ship, dropping low and moving to the predetermined point.  In less than a minute they were touching down on the surface.  Moments later the battle armored crews were swarming over the surface of the ice ball, robots hauling large objects out of the cargo compartments.

The view swept back for a moment, showing the expanse of the ice ball.  Not the largest Plutino, thought the Captain.  Most systems had a Kuiper belt that was replenished by the Ort Cloud.  And there were many ice balls of truly enormous size, in the same class as small planets and large moons.  But this was the only one that was within range when they came into normal space.  So it would have to do.

“You might want to see this, Captain,” said the Sensory Officer, and the screen switched to a view of the enemy ship, and a pair of missiles that were accelerating away from the vessel at high gee.

“ETA at present acceleration, thirty-one minutes,” said the Sensory Officer.

“They’ll have to slow to curve around the ice ball,” said the Tactical Officer, running the figures on his board.  “And I’m pretty sure we can handle two missiles.  The problem will come if they try to saturate our defenses.”

“We’ll just have to hope they don’t try to saturate us with missiles,” said the Sensory Officer.

“Or that they don’t curve around the planet at a distance,” said the Helm.  “Too many damned hopes and prayers.”

“That’s all we have, people,” said the Captain, glaring at the Helm.  “We don’t have the time to engage in negative thinking.  If the plan works, we have a chance of survival.  Our one chance of survival.  If it doesn’t work we are doomed.  So we have to believe it will work.  Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Helm, looking unhappy, but keeping her mouth shut for the moment.

Time ticked by while the Captain tried to think if there was anything she had forgotten, any way to tweak the plan that might shift the odds more in their favor.  She could think of nothing, and didn’t think there was anything else that could be done.  Which didn’t mean she could stop thinking about it.

“Missiles are decelerating,” called out the Sensor Officer.  Matching a profile for a slow orbit around this ice ball.”

“How are they communicating with their launch platform?” asked the Captain, leaning over and looking at the tactical display that showed all the players in the little drama that was to be performed in this K Class system.

“Probably a tight beam maser transmission back to the ship,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Everything they see the ship will see.  After the light speed delay of course.”

“Of course,” said the Captain, thinking of the main com problem in space operations.  Something the Donut promised to work around.  And something that could work in her favor this day.  “And after they curve around the Plutino they will have to transmit by normal radio broadcast, yes?”

“As far as I know, ma’am,” said the tactical officer.  “Our microsats are receiving some bleed off from the ship’s signals to the missiles.  I think I can jam them as soon as they lose line of sight to control.”

“Very well.  I’m depending on that, Lieutenant.”  She linked into the com.  “Commander Jackson.  How are you doing there?”

“Packages are in place and the robots are covering them up.  We should be back on our way in another five.”

“Set the robots to finish the job and then bury themselves into the ice.  I want you and your people heading back here in two.  OK.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Wilco.”

“Missiles are on final approach,” said the Sensor Officer, her face strained with anxiety.  “Slowing to one hundred KPS.”

“Still capable of hitting us and causing considerable damage,” said the Navigator, looking back at the Captain.

“Tactical.  Take them under fire as soon as you have a solution.  Maximum range.  Sensor.  Jam them as soon as they curve around the planet.”  She looked back at the Com Officer.

“The shuttles are leaving the surface now,” said that officer.  ‘Accelerating toward the ship.”

“Jamming now,” said the Sensor Officer, pushing a commit on her panel.

“Missiles coming around the curve in four seconds,” said the tactical officer, his finger poised over his commit button. “Three, two, one.”

As the last word left his mouth he hit the commit, and both working lasers stabbed out at the missiles, which were easy targets at their slow approach speed.  The missiles flared with white hot fire as their hundred megaton warheads detonated.  The microsats for a thousand kilometers in each direction fried from the fierce EMP, while hard radiation flooded the forward section of the warship, and the shuttles that were reaching up to her.

“We’ve lost a shuttle,” came the voice from the flight control center.  “We’ve lost another.”

Mei sat in her seat, wanting to scream out, to stuff her fingers in her mouth, refusing to do either.  The crew needed a calm master.

“The others are alright,” said the flight controller.

“Commander Jackson,” she called out over the com.

“Here, ma’am,” came back the voice of that officer.  “For a moment there I didn’t think I would be able to say that.  We’re going to all need to go to medical as soon as we get aboard.  Too much hard radiation.”

“Acknowledged,” said the Captain, her smile turning upside down.  “Medical.  Full team to hangar bay three.  Radiation protocol.”

“We have another problem, ma’am,” said the Weapon’s Officer over the com.  “Laser Ring A sustained damage.”

“What kind of damage?” said the Captain, looking up and wondering how much more they could take.

“Radiation erosion to the nanoparticle skin of the ring,” said the Weapon’s Officer.  The Captain could hear the weariness in the officer’s voice, and the determination.

“Make all repairs that you can,” said the Captain.  “Give me as much function as you can before the enemy gets here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer.  “On it.”

Please let me have some good news, thought the Captain, looking at the tactical viewer.  Some of that view was out along with the destroyed microsats, but as minutes passed more and more area filled in as the ship launched more to cover the gaps.  That’s good news.

“They might think we’re gone,” said the Com Officer, staring at the tactical display.

“They might,” said the Captain.  “I wouldn’t, but a blast like that might give that impression.  But they’ve still got to make sure.”

“Ten minutes till they reach the ice ball,” said the Navigation Officer.

I just wish the time would go ahead and pass, thought the Captain.  This waiting game is wearing on us all.

Mei closed her eyes and imagined herself back on New Hanau, her homeworld.  Life had been much simpler in those days, on the beautiful world of charming cities and temples in the traditional Chinese style.  Her parents had never really understood her drive to get away from that core world, her wish to get into space.  It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the world.  The lack was in her, in her spirit, which only the Universe could fill.  And she had found satisfaction in a life of service to her fellow human.  She had always expected someday to see New Hanau again.  Now, that seemed like a dream that would never occur.

The Captain said a mantra she had learned in her studies of Zen Buddhism.  She was nominally a Christian, Reformed Catholic, but had found little difficulty in incorporating the other faith in with her primary.  That was the elegance of Reformed Catholicism, which looked on the beauty of other faiths not as threats, but as co-pilgrims on the great journey of spiritual development.

And I wonder what our big horned brothers out there pray to? she thought.  We know they pray to something, even if it’s just that damned Emperor of theirs.  The one who commanded the death of all humans.

“Enemy will be within visual in twenty-five seconds,” said the Sensor Officer in a voice that almost sounded like a chant.  “Twenty seconds.”

“Helm, give me full power on planned course in ten seconds,” she called out to that officer.  “Tactical, detonation when ready.”

The Tactical Officer nodded his head, looked at his board and waited.  He looked back at the viewer and waited until the enemy ship nosed around the ice ball, a mere twenty kilometers above the surface.  At that moment the officer yelled the word as he pushed the commit panel.  “Fire”

On the ice ball four charges went off nanoseconds after receiving the signal.  Missile warheads, each in the five hundred megaton range, they blasted upwards in fury, sending ice and water droplets in the millions of tons up at the enemy scout ship.  The ship shuddered as the liquid storm struck, obscuring the outer sensors.  At the same time the blast waves lifted the ship away from the planet, and stunned the shocked crew.

The Jean de Arc had already begun her run, ten seconds before the enemy nosed into sight and the charges on the Plutino were detonated.  She swept in, acquiring the enemy on radar and lidar reflecting off the water coating the ship, obviating the stealth skin of the vessel.  The blast and the liquid also tore the plasma coating out of the electromag field, which sparked and died a microsecond later.  The target locked, the battle cruiser fired a full power blast of her two working laser rings, about one point four times the energy of a single fully functional ring.  A microsecond later the antimatter particle beams struck the hull, blasting pieces off of the ship and opening large gashes to space.

The enemy ship staggered again, and her laser domes glowed with power as she prepared to fire on her tormentor.

“Plasma torpedo, fire,” yelled the Captain, and a moment later the ten tons of plasma, radiating a million degrees of heat, flew from the nose of the battle cruiser, traveling the eight hundred kilometers separating the ships in an instant.  The plasma struck the already sundered hull and flowed into the gaps, running through the interior of the ship and incinerating everything it touched.

“Hit her with another.  Helm, get us out of here, maximum accel,” she ordered and the ship started away at a hundred and forty gravities, pulling the crew forward against their couch straps with a force of ten gravities.  A second plasma torpedo left the bow, striking into the hell hot maelstrom that already engulfed the forward section of the enemy vessel.

It was too much, and power systems went down all over the dying ship.  Containment breached and tons of antimatter blew the vessel apart in a furious explosion that blanked the viewer of the human ship with its brightness.  Liquid and gas bubbled from the surface of the ice ball that was shoved into a new orbit by the blast, while millions of pieces of ship blasted a shotgun pattern across the ice.

Pieces struck the human ship as well, and there were some penetrations that were soon sealed up by the nanoliquid between layers of armor.  When the screen cleared the enemy ship was gone, and the human ship was still around.

“Good job, Captain,” said Jackson over the com.

“How you doing, Exec?” asked Mei, a smile on her face.

“I should be out of here in no time,” said the Exec.  “And now I can look forward to a quiet trip back to base.”

“Ma’am,” said the Sensor Chief in a tone that let the Captain know right away that things were not OK.  “We’ve got trouble.”

“What are you picking up, Chief?” asked Mei, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“Ca’cadasan resonances,” said the Chief.  “Three of them in Hyper VII.  Estimating nine hours out at best decel and translation profile.”

“Are they more of the destroyers?”

“Two of them are the super destroyers the enemy uses as scouts, ma’am.  The other contact is bigger.  Much bigger.”

*    *    *

“Emergency,” called out the computer voice over the com system.  “Collision alert.”

“This is Yu,” called Lucille into the com link.  “What’s going on?”

“There’s been an explosion on number four wormholer,” said the voice of the duty engineer over the link, using the common term for the graviton projector spheres that formed one end of a wormhole.  “We were in the process of forming a wormhole for a passenger gate, and it just blew.”

“Crap.  What were the stresses?”  Lucille thought of what the loss of one of their eight wormhole builders would do to their schedule.  They were making ten wormholes of the gate variety every day, their present production run, rotating among the wormholers so they wouldn’t overtax any of them.  There were twelve more on order with the Navy, and a belief that they could build an extra four gates each day with twenty of the devices to rotate among.  But now?

“Stresses were normal, Director,” said the man on the other end of the link.  “I don’t know why the damned thing exploded like that.”

“Anyone aboard?”

“No, ma’am.  We follow the regs on every one of these.  But a tug got in the way and got whacked.  It’s heading for the hole right now.  I don’t think we’re going to be able to get her before she crosses.  And a big piece of the wormholer is heading for the station.”

“Crap again,” said Lucille as the implications of what the man said hit her. The wormholer itself was over thirty kilometers in diameter, and each of the more than a score of graviton projectors was the size and mass of a battleship.  And the tug was also oversized, about thirty million tons of ship, with a crew of hundreds.  It was a powerful ship, able to maneuver large masses around the hole, and had done such in building the station.  It could normally get out of anything.  But come to close to the black hole, and even its grabbers couldn’t pull it away.

“What’s the size of that piece of ejecta heading our way?”

“Wait a second,” said the tech, and Lucille knew the man was looking at his readouts, trying to get an idea.  “Two graviton projectors, and a good sized section of connectors and outer hull.  Say, about thirty-five million tons.”

“Crap,” yelled Lucille, pulling up a holo that showed the course of both the projectile and the tug.  That sized object was not really a threat to the integrity of the station as a whole, moving at the speed it was.  Unless you happened to be where it hit, and it looked like it was going to hit an active dock area.  She could see the red flare that indicated the danger area, and while small on the complete hundred kilometer wide, fifty kilometer deep station, a closeup showed quite a few cubic kilometers in danger.  Several hundred of them, with over ten thousand people in them.  Those people were hurrying to get out of that zone, and most would.  But Lucille could already tell that some wouldn’t.

She noticed something else on the edge of the view.  Another tug, headed toward the damaged one.

“Control.  Can you tell me if that tug can reach the debris before it hits us?”

“Hold on, ma’am.”  Lucille waited for what seemed like much too long before the controller came back on the link.  “They say they could reach it, but they have to go after their mate first.”

“Tell them I want them to go after the debris.  It’s much more important that we keep it from hitting the station.”

The control went off the link again for a couple of moments, then came back on.  “The captain of the tug refuses to go after the debris, ma’am.  He says it’s more important to rescue the tug and its crew.”

“Link me to him, control,” ordered Lucille, then waited for a moment for the man to come on the link.

“Director,” came the tense voice of the captain on the link.  “This is Captain Paulo Kleinfeld of the Icarus.  I know what you want, but I think it is more important to rescue the Hercules, and the people aboard her.”

“I realize your priority, Captain,” said Yu, keeping her voice calm when she wanted to shout at the man and order him to do what she wanted him to do.  She looked at the holo display, and noted that the ship was four light seconds com range from her position.  “And I know there are over three hundred people aboard that tug, though at this point we can’t tell how many survivors.  But if that big piece of alloy and machinery hits the station thousands are going to die.  Do you understand me, Captain?  Thousands.”

“I understand you, Director,” said the man in a deflated voice after the delay.  “I don’t want to, but I do.  Is this just a numbers game?”

Lucille looked at the plot and saw that the vector arrows and numbers of the tug had changed.  He’s doing it, she thought, wanting to shout in elation until she remembered that others were going to die.  If they aren’t dead already.  That tug took a hell of a whack before being pushed toward the hole.

Thirty-five millions tons of metal fell toward the station, gaining velocity from the gravitational pull of the black hole, while a thirty million ton tug chased after it.  The tug was mostly MAM reactors and grabber units, with huge magnetic grapples on one end.  It was coming in at an angle, gaining on the debris, but from the plot it didn’t look like a sure thing.

She knew the tug did not have compensators in proportion to her bulk, as such ships were never made to accelerate over a hundred gees.  No, what they were made to do was pull massive objects from place to place, moving them into position.  But the tug seemed to be moving way too slow from her vantage point, and it looked like the debris was going to hit the station, killing all of those people, while the other tug also fell into the hole and killed its crew.

Come on, she thought, as the objects drew together with agonizing slowness.  Then the tug slammed to a stop, and the debris, though still separated by twenty kilometers, also stopped moving.  Then both objects were swinging around the station, and Icarus released.  The debris fell away in an arc, toward the event horizon below.

“Thank you, Icarus,” said Yu over the link, feeling her heart beating in her chest.

“Listen to this, Director,” came the voice of the Icarus’ captain.  “Listen to this.”

The sound of screaming came in the background, of people yelling for god to help them.  The screaming raised in pitched until it was drowned out by the sound of metal rending and tearing.  “That was Hercules, Director.  Falling into the hole.  Some of the crew were alive and conscious.”

Lucille severed the connection.  It was too much for her, especially over memories of the Imperial family and so many of her colleagues falling into that monstrous appetite below the station.  She thought of resigning that day, but remembered what the Admiral had said, about them needing her.  That didn’t mean she could escape the screams through her nightmares that evening.

Chapter Fourteen

The human genome was found to be very plastic, able to accept great manipulation, to a point.  We were able to extend the human lifespan, increase strength and intelligence, to make the human being a better example of a sophont species.  We were able to get rid of genetic defects that had plagued humankind through the ages; schizophrenia, bipolar, diabetes, heart disease.  There were limits of course.  When we went too far with intelligence we found new forms of madness.  When we increased strength and speed we ended up decreasing lifespan, except in the case of exceptional genomes.  And lifespan?  Ah, lifespan.  There was a natural limit, despite our manipulation.  It seems that a human is only supposed to live so long, despite all our attempts at extension.  We were scientists and physicians, but we soon found that we were not God.

Memoirs of the Human Genome Project, Imperial Year 172.

SESTIUS SYSTEM, MARCH 25TH, 1000.

Cornelius cursed under his breath again as he pushed the foliage out of the way.  Katlyn stumbled along with him, still weak, while Becky carried the newborn baby for them.  The baby kept trying to cry, and Becky would put her finger down the infant’s throat, choking off the noise as the little boy gagged.  At first Cornelius had been horrified by this behavior on the part of the older woman, and had protested.

“Old North American Aborigine trick,” said the older woman.  “They used it so their children wouldn’t give them away to enemies.  Kind of like now.  And it won’t hurt the child, or at least not as much as he being found by the Cacas would.”

And those Cacas seemed to be everywhere.  The sounds of fighting broke out on both sides of the small party, the men folk of the Freehold ambushing the enemy, then fighting their way out of contact so they could do it again.

The bears were with them, scouting ahead and to both sides.  Becky really didn’t want them in a following position, feeling that they would be no match for modern weapons.  Just behind the point were a couple of sows and the cubs.  Cornelius’ dogs were out ahead of them, doing yeoman’s work of scouting by scent.

“I can’t go on,” said Katlyn, sitting down on an exposed root.  Cornelius knelt down beside his wife, fighting the fear for them both that was threatening to overwhelm him.

“I know you’re hurting,” he said, putting his hand to the side of her face.  “I know you’re tired.  But we need to keep on.  That little baby needs his mother, and for him I want you to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

“I can’t,” said Katlyn, hugging herself and rocking back and forth on the root.  “You’re going to have to take care of him.”

“I’m not going to let you die,” said Cornelius, the ears of his helmet picking up the sounds of movement, a hundred meters away and getting closer.  “Come on,” he said, reaching down, picking her up. then slinging her over his shoulder.  “If you can’t go on, I’ll just have to go on for both of us.”

Cornelius moved off under the additional weight of his wife.  The farmer was strong, and she was not particularly heavy.  But the farmer was also tired, on the edge of exhaustion, and he found that the extra weight prevented him from moving above a fast walk.  The need to negotiate over roots and around foliage also slowed him down.  The noise from behind grew louder in his helmet system, and he was glad that his wife wouldn’t be able to hear it with her normal ears.  Then some shouting came from behind, in a deep tone, and in an unintelligible language, and Cornelius knew that they were in real trouble.

Katlyn must have known they were in trouble too when high velocity rounds started to crack around them.  She squirmed and shouted, and Cornelius picked up his pace, risking a fall that would spill them to the ground and allow the threat to catch up.

Something hit the farmer in the back, a hard thack that was still strangely muffled.  He stumbled forward, his leg hitting a root, and fell, trying to cushion the fall for Katlyn, who was also strangely silent.  He lost control and she fell away as he hit the ground, and Cornelius was on his hands and knees in an instant, getting to her side.  He saw the blood on her clothes, but his mind refused to accept it.

“Come on, baby,” he said, turning her over, trying to believe that the limpness of her muscles was simply from being knocked cold.  “Wake up.  We’ve got to move.”

When he saw her staring eyes he knew that the woman he loved was no longer there.  The blood still welling from her chest completed the picture of death. Cornelius cried out, and pulled her to him.  She had been his childhood sweetheart on New Detroit, where they had spent the years talking about their dreams of settling a frontier world, raising children, building a future for a large family.  Now it was gone.

A noise from behind caught his attention, even through his grief, and he knew that those who killed her were moving toward him.  A cold fury seized him, and a desire to kill those who had ended his dream on this world.  But it was not a rage.  Cornelius would later be surprised by that aspect of his anger.  He gently laid Katlyn’s body on the ground and crawled away, keeping low to the ground.

Cornelius had grown up on New Detroit, which was not the same as this world.  The core world had almost five billion inhabitants.  But by law it also had extensive areas of wilderness.  Humankind had learned while still in the Solar System that it was not healthy to expand into all the wilds of a planet.  Of course, most of those wilds were not accessible to the common people, beyond the parklands set aside for public use.  His father had been a gamekeeper on an Archduke’s private preserve, and Cornelius had helped him lead hunts that would have killed the novice nobles, if not for their skills.

The farmer worked his way around a tree and propped his rifle on a root that also gave him cover.  He took aim with his rifle at a spot he thought an enemy likely to appear, the telescopic sight giving him a restricted view.  He kept his off eye open, giving him a wider view, and he waited.

Moments later the guttural sounds of Cacada speech came to his ears, and he saw the movement of the foliage around the spot where his wife lay.  Two of the large males stepped into the space, looking down at the body at their feet. Both retracted their faceplates, and one put a foot on the woman, nudging her, making sure she was dead.  One alien looked at the other and said something, and they both made barking sounds that must have been the laughter of the creatures.

Cornelius’ vision reddened with anger, and he forced himself to take a couple of calming breaths, then focused the rifle on the nearest of the Cacada, getting a good sight picture, squeezing the trigger.  The rifle bucked hard into his shoulder, almost a surprise to him, like good shots were supposed to be.  But not as much of a surprise as it was to the two aliens.

One’s surprise lasted only a fraction of a second, as the high velocity six millimeter round punched through his face at an upward angle, plowing through his brain, striking the helmet on the other side, and bouncing back into his skull.  The male dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut by the hand of God.  The other warrior started to turn to look at his companion, his visor starting to come down.  Cornelius shifted his aim and let off the next round, jerking a little in his speed to get off the shot.  The shot was still good enough, plunging into the lower face of the creature and destroying his jaw, then ripping into his spinal cord and killing him just as fast as his companion.

Walborski got to his feet, a feeling of savage satisfaction in his heart.  He stood over the two dead Cacada, glaring down at the ones he was sure had killed his wife.  The sounds of more of the creatures moving through the jungle came to his ears, very close, and he was sure that he would enjoy their deaths as well.  Sorry bastards came to my home to kill us all.  Killed my wife  Now you die.  And with that thought he faded back into the jungle, stalking the next alien that had no idea it had now become the hunted.

The next ten of the enemy were harder to kill, and Cornelius had to get inventive as to how he bagged them.  A few he got when they stopped and raised visors to drink from water bottles or popped food in their mouths.  Several were killed with a particle beam he picked up from one of the dead.  The weapon was too large and unwieldy for a human, but Cornelius was able to manage.  Three he stunned with one of the grenades he took from the dead, and were shot down at close range, the farmer looking down on them and coldly blasting them.

No, he thought, as he looked down at the armored bodies.  Not farmer.  Not anymore.  Guerilla. And I’m gonna murder as many of these bastards as I can before they get me.

The hunt became more dangerous at this point, as the aliens realized they were being stalked.  Cornelius followed them with his eyes and ears, satisfied that they were no longer on the trail of the Freeholders, and most importantly his son.  He still took a couple of the enemy soldiers down, despite their alertness, and came to the conclusion that humans were better hunting animals than these carnivores who were separated by tens of thousands of years from their primitive origins.  He was almost starting to have fun despite his fury when he walked into the trap.

The first he knew he had been fooled was when a net came flying out of the jungle to wrap him up.  He fell forward, trying to bring his rifle to bear, but it was also entrapped in the folds.  And then a dozen of the Cacas stepped into the open, and he revised his estimation of their hunting ability.

“Where are the others?” asked the leader in passable Terranglo, his faceplate open and his red eyes looking down on Cornelius.

“You can go to Hell, you bastard,” shouted the Guerilla, maintaining eye contact with the big male.

“I am sure you will get there first,” said the leader, nodding to one of his men, who raised a rifle and pointed it at Walborski.  “Now tell me how to find the others we have been chasing, and I will promise you a quick death.  Otherwise, it will be long and painful.”

“You killed my wife, you bastards,” growled Walborski, his eyes never leaving those of the leader.  “Do you really think I care what happens to me?”

“Then pain it is,” said the leader, making a gesture toward the man with the rifle.

Before the male could pull the trigger other weapons fired, from outside the circle, and five of the Ca’cadasans went down, including the one who had been about to shoot Cornelius.  The volume of fire increased, and more of the big males came backing out of the jungle, shooting and being shot.  The leader reached down and pulled Cornelius to his feet, dragging him away from the clearing and drawing a big blade from a sheath on his belt.

“You caused this,” he yelled, brandishing the knife.  “And so you die.”

Before the arm with the blade could come forward something big loomed out of the woods, bigger that the large Cacada male.  The warrior must have felt the presence, because he turned before it fully reached him, flinging Cornelius away and bringing the blade up to a guard position.  It was not enough, as a ton of engineered Kodiak Bear swung a massive claw in the hit the helmeted head of the Cacada male.  The male went down like a felled tree, and the bear came down on all fours, the front legs planted on the Cacada.

Shots rang out and Ca’cadasans screamed, and in moments it was over.  There were a couple of dead humans, and one bear that was so severely wounded it had to be put down.

“Hell of a job you did here, son,” said a familiar looking man in cammies, a particle beam rifle over his shoulder.  “Looked like you were going to take the whole platoon by yourself.”

“I might have,” agreed Walborski, looking around at the carnage.  “If I hadn’t gotten so overconfident.”  He looked closely at the man again, recognition coming to him.  “You’re the preacher at that church we went to.  The one who was an Army Ranger.”

“Guilty,” said the man with a smile.  “But now God wants me to come out of retirement.  Did you get your wife out?”

Cornelius looked down at the ground, feeling the sorrow burst through the anger.  “I got her out of the settled areas.  And she gave birth to my son, just before these bastards killed her.”

“And the baby?”

“The baby’s safe,” said the Guerilla, wiping his eyes.  “He doesn’t have a momma to look after him, but he’s safe.  Hell of a place and time to be born though.”

“He didn’t have a choice, son,” said the Ranger turned preacher, putting a hand on Walborski’s shoulder.

“We ready to move, Preacher?” called out another man, one with the look of a Freeholder, walking up to the pair.

“I need to see to my wife,” said Cornelius, his voice cracking again.  “I can’t just leave her out here.”

“I’ll go with you,” said the Preacher, looking over at the Freehold leader.  “We’ll catch up.”

“Don’t take too long,” said the other man.  “The Cacas are likely to have more soldiers here any minute.”

“Then I’ll have a chance to kill those soldiers,” said Cornelius, a cold smile creeping across his face.

“Tone it down a bit, son,” said the Preacher, following Walborski through the jungle.  “I’m not saying it’s wrong to kill the bastards.  In fact, I highly recommend it.  But don’t get yourself killed for nothing.”

“I don’t really care too much, Preacher.  I don’t have anything else to lose.”

“Then don’t take the rest of us with you, son,” said the Preacher, his own eyes constantly scanning the jungle.

They got to the small clearing where Katlyn’s body had been left and it wasn’t there.  There were articles of Ca’cadasan armor scattered around, and a rifle, so he knew he was in the right place.  But the bodies were gone.

“What the Hell happened to them?” he shouted, then turned as the Preacher put a hand on his shoulder.

“The jungle took her, son. She’s now part of this planet.”

“And so will I be, someday,” said Cornelius, turning sorrowful eyes on the other man.  “So will I.”

*    *    *

MARCH 28TH, 1000.

“So, Captain Marquette, what can I do for you?”

“It’s more what I can do for you, Colonel Baggett,” said the battle armored Marine, standing at attention in the small cavern the soldier was using as an office.

“And what can the Imperial Marines do for us poor dumb soldiers?” said the Colonel, looking down his nose at the Marine.

“I have a hundred and thirty-three battle armored Marines I can add to the Colonel’s order of battle,” said the officer, ignoring the sarcasm.  “And another ninety-three support personnel, who are, of course, also trained as combat soldiers.”

“And your Colonel wants me to welcome these people with open arms after she turned me and mine away?” shouted the Colonel, losing his temper.  And if you hadn’t have done that I would have another hundred live troops with me now, not to mention the over three hundred civilians that were killed before we stopped the Cacas.

“The Colonel is dead, sir,” said the grim faced officer.  “I am now the ranking officer in the battalion, though I think the term company is more fitting now.”

“Sorry to hear that she died,” said Baggett, bowing his head for a moment.  And I mean that. She may have been a bitch, but she was human.  “How did it happen?”

“When you were backing off the mountain I guess you saw the rockets coming in from the Caca airdcraft,” said the Captain, and Baggett nodded his head.  “She got killed in that attack, right at the beginning, before the Cacas overran the sanctuary.”

Baggett nodded his head, glad for the moment that he hadn’t gotten his people, especially the civilians, into what had turned out to be a death trap.  “How many of your own civilians did you lose?”

“Not that many,” said the Captain, a smile on his face.  “We were able to get most of them out through the cavern system.  The Marines fought their way out and around the mountain, or we wouldn’t have any suits left. They wouldn’t have fit through some of those places.  We had a lot of wounded, and some hurt civilians.  But the Doc pulled them through.”

“Doctor?” said Baggett, sitting up in his seat.  “As in a medic, or..”

“A real medical school trained doctor,” said the Captain.  “She was engaged to one of my fellow company commanders.  He died trying to stop the Cacas from attacking the sanctuary.”

“And who was this captain?”

“Glen McKinnon,” said the Marine officer.  Baggett flinched a bit.  “Did the Colonel know Captain McKinnon?”

“He was assigned to my command as my reaction company,” said the Colonel, closing his eyes and seeing the man’s face, just one of many that were no longer with them.  “He was a good officer.”

“That he was,” agreed the Marquette, his own face pinched with emotion.  “That he was.  And his fiancé’ took it hard, like they’re supposed to, I guess.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” said the Colonel, nodding.  “I feel sorry for the lady.  But we could do with the services of a doctor.”  The Colonel pulled a cigarette from a pack and offered one to the Captain, who accepted with thanks.  The men puffed the cigarettes to life, and the Colonel blew out a few puffs of smoke.

“OK,” said the Colonel, pointing his cigarette at the Captain.  “You can bring your people in.  I’m not about to sustain a pissing contest when we have a mutual enemy to fight.  But be aware that we might not really be that much better off than you are.”

“But you have more combat power,” said the Captain, a look of relief on his face.  “And we can add to it.”

“Then go ahead and start sending them into my perimeter,” said the Colonel, stubbing his half smoked cigarette into an ashtray, and wondering why he had started the habit he thought so disgusting, though not dangerous.  “I guess I don’t need to tell you to maintain light and noise discipline.  While I’m sure the Cacas know where we are, generally, it’s no use just giving them intelligence.  I’m still surprised they’re not hitting us with kinetic weapons.”

“They may have other things on their minds,” said the Captain.  Baggett raised an eyebrow and looked the Captain in the face, an unasked question.  “Haven’t you heard?  There are Imperial ships in the system.”

“What?” said Baggett, coming to his feet.  “Why didn’t you say so before?”

“I thought you knew,” said the Captain.  “We picked up their signals as soon as they translated in.  Or should I say, about three hours afterwards.”

“How many?” asked Baggett, a rush of excitement washing away the fatigue.  “What are they going to do?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Colonel,” said the Marine, shrugging his big alloyed shoulders.  “All we got is some signals, coded, that we identified as Imperial.  And a guess that the enemy ships are occupied with them.  Beyond that?”  The officer shrugged his shoulders again.

This could be our relief, thought the Colonel, trying to calm himself before he grabbed too much of the hope stick and went swinging over an abyss.  But if it is?

“Get your people in, Captain.  Then meet with me and my officers at twelve hundred, and we’ll come up with a plan of attack.”

“Plan of attack?” said the Marine officer, eyes wide, an expression of dealing with a madman on his face.

“Hell yes,” said the Colonel, slapping the top of his desk with a hard palm.  “This is our chance to hurt them, and maybe get ourselves into a better position.  Now get to it.”

The Marine Captain saluted and stamped out of the small office on heavy booted feet, leaving the Colonel alone to think of what he could do to hurt this enemy.  Because when all was said and done, that was still his job on this planet, and this did not seem the right time to play it safe.

*    *    *

Jennifer felt numb as she walked the path that had been cleared by the Marines.  The emotional numbness of Glen’s death was still clamping down on her system.  And the physical numbness of too much work was also taking its toll.  When is this going to end? she thought.  She had never imagined anything like this when she was attending medical school, or practicing on a core world.  Hell, on a core world a disaster that would make all the Imperial News Services would just be a blip on the health care establishment.  There were so many hospitals and doctors there that any victim would only have to wait an hour, at most, for complete healing services.

As far as she knew she was the only physician left on this planet.  There were still medics and nurses, who, though skilled and knowledgeable, did not have the same skills as a trained surgeon.  The buck stopped with her as far as medical decisions were concerned, and at a time when all she wanted to do was cower in a corner and cry over what she had lost.

Stop it, she told herself as she stepped through the perimeter that had been set up around the refugee camp.  They need you to be a doctor, not a little girl crying over a lost kitten.

“Doctor Conway?” said a large man in medium battle armor, standing just inside the perimeter.  There were fighting positions dug into the ground on either side, well camouflaged from all angles, with thermal coverings overhead.  Men with the same sort of battle armor occupied those positions, their attention to the front showing that this man had authority over them, and they were going to look good in front of him.

“Yes,” she finally said after a wait that had the man staring at her.

“We’re glad to have you here,” said the man, looking like he wanted to say something else and stopping himself.

“You have work for me I hear,” she said in a flat voice, not really caring it there was or not, but wanting to get to it if so.  It was the only thing keeping her going.

“Yes.  Yes we do.  And I’m Colonel Baggett, by the way.  I worked with Glen.”

“I guess you won’t be doing that anymore, will you, Colonel?” she said, feeling some of the anger rising past the numbness.

“Er, no ma’am.  I’m sorry to say that I won’t.  And I am sorry for your loss.”

Oh, go to Hell, thought Jennifer, staring at the man.  You only care about me because of the things my hands can do for your people.

“I have people who need your help Doctor,” said the man, averting his eyes, then looking down at the holstered pistol on her side.  “That’s a very big gun for a small woman.”

“Glen gave it to me,” she said, patting the butt of the pistol.  “It’s saved my life a time or two.”

“You really won’t need it here,” said the Colonel, holding out a hand as if he wanted her to hand it over.  “It’s kind of dangerous in the hands of someone who isn’t a soldier, and you’re well protected here.”

“The gun stays with me,” she said in an angry voice, almost a shout.  “Glen gave it to me, and told me to never let it leave my side while I’m out in the bush.  And I intend to follow that order.  If you want me to give up this gun I’ll walk right out of here.”

“Calm down, Doctor.  I’m not going to try and take your gun.”  The Colonel looked back into the camp, where every civilian in sight had some kind of weapon, and a thermal cloak over their heads and bodies so they wouldn’t give away their positions by showing a bunch of hot figures in one area.  He looked back.  “We actually want our civilians armed at this time, as they’re a good portion of my available firepower.  It’s just that a gun like that can cause a lot of damage if it’s not used properly.”

Meaning it can kill your armored soldiers, and you don’t like the idea of a civilian being able to do that.  “I know how to use it properly,” said Jennifer, allowing a smile to cross her face for the briefest of moments.

The Colonel gestured with his hand and another armored trooper, this one with the insignia of a staff sergeant on his helmet, came running over.  “The Sergeant here will show you to your quarters, then to the other facilities.”

“I would just as soon get to work,” said Jennifer, not really caring about the amenities of the camp.

“Very well.  Sergeant, show the Doctor to the field hospital and get her set up.” The Colonel bounded off, seeming in a hurry, and Jennifer didn’t blame him.  She had not been good company since Glen had died.  Competent yes.  But not pleasant.

She had to admit that the camp was well laid out. There were a number of caverns in the area, and they had been put to use.  Only the overflow of refugees and the soldiers were out in the open, and tents and prefabs had been erected for their use.  Thermal screens were in use everywhere, so that a large concentration of hot bodies would not be seen from the air or from space.  And everyone appeared to be getting fed, though she didn’t know where those supplies were coming from.

The hospital had been set up in a cavern, with an operating theater and recovery rooms laid out with professional precision by the medics and nurses.  She looked in on one of the wards to see men and women sleeping peacefully, many with horrendous wounds or burns.  She was sure all had been tended to by nanites, and anyone who was going to die probably already had.  There were still things that only a surgeon could do, and she was it as far as this encampment was concerned.

Minutes later she was at the table, within the sterile field, working on another wreck of a human being and cursing the Ca’cadasans back to the Hell from which they came.

*    *    *

MASSADARA SYSTEM, BEYOND THE HYPER LIMIT.

Jana forced herself to look down at the floor as she was led to the Admiral’s officer by a new officer she had not interacted with, making her wonder what had happened to the other one.  Hopefully he broke his damned neck, she thought, suppressing the smile on her face.

She also noted all the injured Cacada in the corridor, many with casts on multiple arms, and a few in powered chairs.  She didn’t know the state of Cacada medicine, but figured it was at least as good as the Empire’s, and most of these males would be hale and whole within the next couple of days.

The Admiral was waiting for her as usual, stretched out in his chair, a drink in his hand, a plate of unknown food on a side table.  He was looking out the portal, which showed marks where new transparent alloy had been patched to the old, indicating that this room had taken serious damage as well.

Too bad the old son of a bitch wasn’t here when this happened, thought the Chief, keeping her eyes to the floor.  It would have done the Universe good if he had been sucked out into space.

“Tell me what you know about your stealth ships, slave,” boomed the voice of the big male, continuing to look out the portal.

“Is that what happened here?” asked Jana, adding a “my Lord” when the Admiral turned toward her with a fierce expression on his face.

“I ask the questions, slave,” growled the Cacada.  “Remember that.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Jana, looking back at the floor.

“So what do you know about these stealth ships?”

“Only that they are very stealthy, my Lord,” said Jana, trying to think of a way to withhold this information that she was sure the New Terran Empire wouldn’t want them to know.

“I know that, slave,” said the Admiral, coming out of his seat and towering over her.  He turned away and walked to the portal, lower hands clenched behind his back while he gestured with his upper.  “How else could they have snuck through my pickets, and destroyed two of my antimatter tankers, as well as the ships that were refueling from them.  How else could they put a torpedo into this station, then sneak away.”  The Admiral turned and pointed a large digit at Jana’s face.  “And they are still hiding out there, somewhere in the system.  Despite our best efforts to find them.”

Jana was silent, afraid of the punishment that would come if she didn’t speak, also afraid that she might give away vital information.

She felt her muscles lock and knew what was coming next, so the pain was not a surprise.  It was still more than she could take, and after a minute of total agony she was ready to give up her mother, if that was what it took to make it stop.

“How are they so stealthy, slave?” growled the Admiral as soon as the pain went away.

“They offload their heat, my Lord,” choked Jana through her snot running nose.

“We have ships that do that, slave,” growled the Admiral, hitting the pain button again.  “We use a hole to subspace to dump the heat radiation.  But nothing we have is so efficient.  So how did you primates solve this problem?  Tell me, or I will let the pain go on for hours.”

Jana was sobbing when the pain field went off.  She didn’t think she could take anymore.  As she brought in shuddering breaths she saw the Admiral reach a hand for the pain control band again, and she quickly raised a hand.  “Wait, my Lord. Please.”

“So how do they do it?”

“Wormholes, my Lord,” cried the woman, the feeling of betrayal overwhelming her, but still not enough to overcome her fear of more agony.  “Wormholes.”

“Wormholes?” asked the Admiral, his mouth dropping open.  “How do you get these wormholes?  Do you find them?  And where?”

“We make them, my Lord,” said Jana, crying as she gave up the information she knew was important, not wanting to, and too afraid not to.

“You make them?” roared the Admiral, stepping up to stand over her.  “If you are lying to me.”

“I swear, my Lord.  It takes a lot of energy, and it took a long time to build the factory that makes them.”

“How could you primates do something we couldn’t?” asked the Admiral, his voice dropping.  “Where are these wormholes made?  Are there any other uses for them?”

“I don’t know, my Lord.  I’m not sure.  I wasn’t trained in this area, and only know what was common knowledge across the Empire.”

“They must be small hole,” said the Admiral, walking back to the portal and looking out. “They must be.  Nothing else would make sense.”

The Admiral turned back around, pointing a finger at Jana.  “You may go, slave.  And if I find out you were holding anything back you will wish for death, as you pass through the days of agony that will only end with your life.”

Jana backed away, her muscles still quivering from the pain she had gone through.  I didn’t give up the location of the factory, she thought as she followed the assigned officer back to her quarters.  I just hope he doesn’t ask me again, or I just might give it up.

*    *    *

“So you believe her about these stealth ships?’ asked the Great Admiral of his new intelligence officer.  He thought of the old Low Admiral who had filled the position, not the most brilliant of males, but competent.  He wasn’t able to save himself from being dumped into space by the missile hit on the station.

“I don’t see what else could have hit the tankers and the station, my Lord,” said the Captain who had assumed the position.  The Admiral liked this new man, who did not have any of the timidity of the old.  “Something snuck in close and unleashed beam weapons on the tankers, then put a torpedo into the station.  And we could not pick it up, not even on infrared.  Not until it fired. We have a fleeting image of the beams coming out of space, and what appears to be the attenuated bow of a vessel.  What they did takes power, and power equals waste heat.  But they were able to get rid of it.”

“But wormholes?” asked the Great Admiral in an incredulous tone. “We have never been able to make wormholes, have we?”

“It is theoretically possible,” said the Captain. “As you said, it takes so much power.  More than an antimatter facility can make in a month.  So, with all the other demands of the fleet, it was not thought to be something we could pursue.  So surely the humans cannot make them en mass.”

“I do not like the idea of this thing hiding in our system, spying on us,” said the Great Admiral, replaying the scene of the two tankers exploding in his mind.  “Who knows what intelligence it might be passing on to its headquarters?  If they can send heat through the wormhole, then surely they can send photons of information as well.”  The Great Admiral looked at the viewer that showed the ghost image of the bow of the enemy vessel. “I want this thing found.  Preferably captured, so we can look it over.  But destroyed if that is not possible.”

“We try, Great Admiral,” said the Low Admiral in charge of the system.  “I have as many ships as I can muster patrolling space out to a light hour.  The problem is, there are millions of objects in that space, and we must deep radar all of them.”

“Keep trying,” ordered the Great Admiral.  “This is a priority.  We cannot have a snoop hanging around it the system, giving our information to their leaders.”

“At least we have transmitted everything in code,” said the Intelligence Officer with a smile.  “And there is no way known to break that code.”

“Then make sure we continue to do so.  And we may need to find that wormhole production facility, so we can take it out.”

“Thank the God they can’t make wormholes that allow them to move ships or equipment,” said the Intelligence Officer.

“And how do you know that is so?” asked the Great Admiral.

“It would take negative matter to hold the hole open,” said the other officer in a tone that implied he was speaking fact.  “And negative matter cannot be made, it must be found.  I doubt there is that much just lying around waiting to be picked up.”

“That is good,” said the Great Admiral, imagining how gates could be used against his people.  “Now find that ship.”  He got up and stormed out of the room, a smile on his face as he heard the males behind him start brainstorming on how to implement his wishes.

Chapter Fifteen

Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.  Napoleon Bonaparte.

SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM, MARCH 27TH, 1000.  HYPER VII DESTROYER DOT MCARTHUR.

Captain The Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf (and he wondered when he would ever get used to that title) was glad to be back in hyper and heading for a major base.  Even if it was only Hyper V, and the base was thirty two days away at her best accel profile.  A distance we could have covered in two days in VII, he thought, taking a look around the bridge.  It looked clean and well repaired, and he wished he could say the same of the rest of his ship.  He looked at the viewer that looked out on the strangeness of the hyper dimension, watching the shimmering hyper field of one of his escorting ships, a VII class destroyer.  She was the sister of McArthur, and her abilities were wasted in this dimension.

“I might have some good news for you, skipper,” came the voice of the ship’s engineer over the com.

“I could sure use some, Betty,” said the Captain, looking at his personal viewer that showed the engineering spaces of the ship, one of the matter-antimatter reactors in the background. Lieutenant SG Betty Randolph, the Chief Engineer, was seated behind the main control board for the vessel’s engines.  “What’s up?”

“I think can get us up to VI in another couple of hours,” said the smiling engineer.

“And how are you going to manage that miracle?”

“By rerigging the power feeds to the top projector with some units I borrowed from laser ring C,” said the engineer.  “We can take the top projector offline for the hour I need, since we’re not going to jump in and out of hyper.”

The Captain thought about that for a moment.  It took a lot more of the ship’s capacity to move in and out of hyper.  They wouldn’t need a fourth of the output of the projectors to maintain V, and the bottom projector could handle that.  They might be in trouble if they had to jump down in hyper, or back into normal space, but that was a low probability situation.  And they could get to base in eight days instead of over a month.  C ring was a total loss anyway, until they got into a shipyard and got the emitters replaced.

“Go ahead and do what you need to do, Betty,” said the Captain, making a hand gesture at his Com Officer. “And good work.”  The screen went blank.  “Get me the Captain of the Athens on the com,” he told his Com Officer.

It took a couple of moments to establish the connect, but after those moments the face of Captain Jiyoung Kim appeared on the main viewer.  Maurice told her of his plans and she smiled back.

“I think that is a great idea, your Grace,” said the other Captain, who had military rank on Maurice by date of commission, but not the social status.  “I for one don’t wish to spend too much time in V if I can help it.”

“I know what you mean,” said von Rittersdorf.  “We had to play escort for a bunch of V freighters just before this whole thing blew up.  It was not an enjoyable trip.  I’ll let you know when we’re ready to jump.  And I think we should all decel down to point two c so we can jump when ready.”

“Point taken,” said the other Captain, nodding.  “I’ll be waiting for your word.”

Fortunately the ships were only at a little over point three c, and it would not take long to decel to the speed limit for a jump.  In two hours all was ready, and the lights on McArthur dimmed as she fed power into the projectors, which warped gravity a half a light second away and opened a hole in space.  The red firmament of Hyper V rippled, then pinched open, showing the slightly brighter red of Hyper VI, filled with a background of black dots that were the gravity shadows of stars in the normal Universe.  McArthur fell through the hole, while her escorts fell through their own openings into VI.  The holes closed behind them and the four ships started to accelerate, now closer by a factor of four to their destination.

One of the problems with hyper was that vessels traversing its dimensions created strong gravity waves that could be detected for great distances.  The higher the level of Hyper the greater the energy of those waves.  And opening and closing a hole into a Hyper dimension also sent out gravity waves, to a much greater range than mere traveling did.  It took the group a couple of hours to pick up the gravity resonances of ships moving in Hyper VII, toward them.

*    *    *

HYPER VII BATTLE CRUISER JEAN DE ARC.

“Well, there they are?” said Jackson, standing beside the Captain on the bridge.  The viewer showed the enemy ships as they translated into normal space, or at least how they had looked about forty minutes in the past.  “That was good thinking by the way, Captain.  I probably would have panicked and jumped into hyper.”

“I don’t think you would have, XO,” said the Captain, leaning forward and looking at the enemy vessels.  They had tagged them on their entry into normal space, then looked for them at the spot indicated.

“Think they’ll spot us?” asked Jackson, some concern in his voice.

“I sure hope not, or they’ll be on us in no time.”

Jean de Arc was actually thirty-seven light minutes beyond the hyper limit on a vector at a twenty degree angle from the entry of the enemy into the system.  Everything was powered down, and had been for the last forty minutes, and the ship was coasting out at forty-two thousand kilometers per second, adding another light minute to their distance every seven point one four minutes.

“We just have to hope that they don’t take too close a look our way,” said Jackson.

“They would have to look directly at us to even notice us, and there’s a lot of sky to cover.  I’m counting on them figuring we’re still in the system and haven’t translated out.  Let them waste their time while we creep out to beyond hyper I detection range.”

The Captain continued to watch the plot, breathing a sigh of relief as the ships separated onto different vectors and started to accelerate, into the system.  Two hours passed, and the battle cruiser gained another seventeen light minutes, while the enemy ships pulled away to add another ten light minutes.

“Start us on twenty gravities acceleration, Helm,” ordered the Captain.  “Go up to one hundred in an hour, then stop accel at just under point two light.”

“That will take approximately seven point six hours, ma’am,” said the Helm, punching in the commands.

“Very well,” said the Captain.  “Engage.”

“And then what, Captain?” asked Jackson.

“Then we coast again for another twenty hours, which should give us enough separation to jump into Hyper I without giving ourselves away.”

“You look really pooped, Captain,” said Jackson.  “Why don’t you catch some sack time?”

“And who’s to relieve me, XO?” said Mei, giving the officer a critical eye and not liking what she saw.  “You’re just out of sick bay.”

“Then turn it over to another officer, and we’ll both get the rest we need,” said Jackson, raising a palm when she started to protest.  “Look.  The Cacas are moving into the system.  It will take them hours to kill their velocity and come back out to the limit, and we’ll see them coming when they do.  And nothing can sneak up on us in hyper.  We’ll see them coming.  So why don’t you get some real rest?”

“I think you’re right, XO,” said Mei, standing up from her seat. She moved to her cubbie and let it take the battle armor off of her.  “All crew to stand down from battle alert.  Order of the day is normal uniform.

“Chief Engineer,” she called out over the com.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Put your crew on third shifts, and let everyone get some rest.  Yourself included.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Engineer, a hint of protest in his voice to match his fatigue.

“And don’t let me find out that you cheated yourself, Engineer, or there will be Hell to pay.”

Mei Lei made sure everything was set and retired to her day cabin.  She lay down, again missing the warm form of Satin crawling in next to her, saying a quick prayer that her beloved pet and the young man that was watching her were both safe.  She had a feeling that they both were, that she and her ship’s sacrifice had guaranteed that they would make it back to base.  And then fatigue took over, and she was in a dreamless sleep.

She awoke refreshed, feeling better than she had in weeks, and hungrier as well.  Then panic took hold as she noted the time, ten hours out while the ship was still in a hazard zone.  She checked on her link and saw that all was well, then hit the shower and got into a clean uniform.  By the time she had gotten dressed her steward, who always seemed to know what was going on, even more so than his charge, had delivered breakfast and coffee to her office.

“What’s the status on our friends?” she asked of the Assistant Sensor Officer as she walked on the bridge.

“They’re still in the system, ma’am,” said that officer, a smile on his face.  “I think we foxed them.”

“Helm?”

“We’re in coasting profile, ma’am,” said the Petty Officer that was filling in for the officer.  “Seventeen hours till planned translation.”

“Do you have anything, Chief?” she next asked over the com.

“This is Sensor Tech Madison,” said the voice from the hyper resonance listening chamber.  “We still have traces in VII all over the place.  But all are at extreme range.”

The hours passed, and nothing seemed to notice the ship as it continued to put distance between itself and known enemies.  The translation time came and the ship slipped into Hyper I, immediately changing its vector to head for base.  The Captain took it easy and cautious, and waited another day before jumping into II, then another day to III, and then it was IV and accelerating up to point nine light, on the path for home.

*    *    *

CAPITULUM.

Streeter looked at his other partners in crime, sitting around the conference table in his office.

“Great plan you had there, Prime Minister,” said Jakobe McGregor, head of the Imperial Investigation Bureau.  “Why didn’t you just fire a warning shot, so they would keep their heads down.  Now there is no chance any member of that triad will put their heads in our noose.”

“There is nothing to connect me to the attempt,” said Streeter, bristling.  “So don’t you go saying I had anything to do with it.”

“If you want to pretend, that’s fine,” said McGregor, glaring at the Prime Minister.  “And before you try to come up with some way to do away with me, because I know too much, be assured that I have safeguards in place for the time that I may become expendable.”

“Gentlemen,” said the Lord’s Sergeant at Arms, Countess Judy Decker.  “We have serious matters to discuss here.  Perhaps the both of you could put on the gloves and fight it out afterwards.”

“You are right of course, my dear,” said Streeter, stuffing his anger and putting on his best political smile.  “We need to get this young man installed in office.  But without the cooperation of the military we may have problems.  Especially if the people support them.”  Streeter looked down at his flat comp and read the figures there.  “According to the latest polls, sixty-four percent of the people in the capital agree with that damned admiral.  They think we should wait on Sean, then install him on the throne.”

“And what about the other thirty-six percent?” asked McGregor, leaning on the table to get a look at the PMs flat comp.

“Twelve percent agree with us, fourteen percent are undecided, and frankly ten percent don’t give a damn what we do as long as we leave them alone.”

“So we need to sway public opinion our way,” said the Countess.

“And how do we do that?” asked Streeter petulantly.  He had been trying to figure out the way to do that very thing, without success.

“We play their game,” said Decker, smiling.  “We trumpet that there is a war with the ancient enemy on our doorstep.  That we need leadership from the throne, but there is no one on the seat of power to act.  And then we demand that they produce this prince they keep talking about, or let us seat an Emperor for the safety of the Empire.”

“You don’t really believe that crap about the old enemy coming back, do you?” asked McGregor.

“No,” said Decker, shaking her head.  “I don’t.  Oh, I believe we have a new enemy in that sector, someone we haven’t seen before.  But until I see a live Ca’cadasan in front of me I refuse to believe that the old enemy has followed us across ten thousand light years to attack us.  That empire is long dead and gone.”

“And what do you think, McGregor?”

“There is a lot of evidence that these are the same creatures that chased us out of the home world,” said the IIB head.

“Evidence can be faked,” said Decker.

“Granted.  But this is the most elaborate hoax in history, if it is one.”

“That is not the subject of this meeting,” said Streeter, glaring from one co-conspirator to the other.  “Whether they exist or not, it is important that we have a seated Emperor.  And it is important to us that we have an Emperor who will do what we tell him.  The Parliamentary bodies, especially the Lords, should have the responsibility of running the government in time of war.  Not some jackass who gets the job just because of an accident of birth.”

Granted that I am just such a jackass, thought the Prime Minister with a smile.  But by God, I deserve the position, regardless of the cause.

“Countess.  I want you to work with the Office of Information to get ads out on all the major outlets, as persuasive as possible.  We will acknowledge the threat, and let the people know that the best plan is to get an Emperor on the throne, now.  And we will ask the military to produce the heir, if he still lives.  If they don’t, then we need the people to assume that he is dead, and let us go on with the business of getting a warm body on the throne.”

“I think we can do that,” said Decker with a smile.  “I have a good advertising firm in mind that has always gotten results.”

“I, in the meantime, will see about getting together a coalition across houses and parties to pass a Parliamentary Resolution to seat an Emperor.  And another resolution charging those military fools with obstruction of civilian oversight, if they continue to deny their support.”

“McGregor,” said Streeter, turning to the junior member of the team.  “I want you to establish a law enforcement task force for the express purpose of taking these people down if they try to object to the Parliamentary Resolutions.”

“You want us to go up against the military?” asked McGregor in a tone of disbelief.

“Not against the military,” said Streeter, pointing a finger at the man.  “Against some outlaw leaders.  And I’m sure that when they have become outlaws the people below them will back down. We are the authority here, not they.  And the sooner everyone realizes that the better.”

McGregor nodded, but didn’t say a word, and Streeter wondered if the man was really committed to the cause, or if he had just joined to advance his own career.

“Let’s get to work, people,” said Streeter, standing up.  “I want to see progress on all fronts by tomorrow.”

*    *    *

SUPERBATTLESHIP VALKYRIE, JEWEL ORBIT.

“Son of a bitch,” yelled Len, glaring at the holo, which showed one of the newest of the political ads that the Lords were casting on all the local networks.  “And we can’t even rebuke what they say about the war.”

“It was a very clever stratagem on their part,” said Commander Yin, sitting at the table with her flat comp open to her front.  “And they’ve placed the ad on holo-boards, and even subliminal messages on entertainment shows and theater productions.”

“This must be costing them a pretty Imperial,” said Captain Heidi Svenson, Lenkowski’s intelligence officer.

“Billions of Imperials,” said Yin, consulting her computer.  “All coming out of the Lords’ discretionary fund.”

“Is there some kind of campaign we can run to counter this?”

“I really don’t see what it would accomplish, Admiral,” said the Intelligence Officer.  “The only counter you really have that would do anything would be to produce the heir.  Otherwise, everyone will just believe you are stalling because you don’t support this particular aspirant.”

“But I don’t have an heir to produce,” cried Lenkowski.  “If I did we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Exactly,” said Svenson with a nod.  “That’s exactly why this plan was so brilliant.”

“So what should I do?”

“The smart play would be to bow before the inevitable and not oppose the succession,” said the Intelligence Officer, looking at him with an expression that indicated she wished it were not so.  “At least publicly, in your position on CNO.  After they retire you then you can speak up as a private citizen.”

“Retire me,” shouted Len, slamming his fist on the table.  “No fucking way they are going to retire me.”

“I’m afraid the new Emperor will be able to remove you from your position, sir,” said Svenson.  “By force, if you refuse to go.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” asked Commander Yin, glaring at the other officer.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that remark, Commander,” said the Captain, returning the glare.  “I am on the Admiral’s side, of course, or he wouldn’t have asked me here.  I am just stating fact.”

I swore an oath to defend this Empire from all enemies, foreign, and of course, domestic.  I can’t back down just because my career or personal safety are threatened.  I just can’t.

“Thank you for your advice, Captain Svenson,” said Len, standing up to indicate that the meeting was over.  “I’ll call you in again if I need another appraisal of the situation.”

“What are you going to do, sir?” asked the Captain, folding up her comp, then standing and placing it in its belt pouch.

“I’m not sure yet,” said Len, shrugging his shoulders.  “When I come up with a response I will let you know.”

The Captain saluted, then walked from the room, her back stiff, obviously put off by the answer she had gotten.

Can’t blame her much there, thought Len, watching her go through the door.  I all but told her I don’t trust her, when I really do.  But the fewer people in the know the better.

“Zhen,” he said, looking at the Commander.  “I think you had better prepare that contingency we discussed earlier.”

“So, you’ve decided to not to back down on this?”

“How can I,” said Len, a shiver of fear passing through him as he realized he might not win this fight, and losing could be disastrous.  “I’m obligated to defend the Empire, up to and including at the cost of my life.  How can I back down when it’s only my freedom at stake.”

“Well, we can buy you a little more freedom, Admiral,” said the young officer.  “I can’t think of a better hiding place.”

“You don’t have to get involved in this, Zhen,” said Lenkowski, hoping she would back out, afraid as well that she might.  “You are risking much here, as much as I.”  And I really need you to lean on, so I don’t make the coward’s choice and do what the politicians want me to.

“That’s my decision, sir,” said the Commander.  “I, too, grew up as an admirer of the Emperor Augustine.  And I believe that any son raised by that family will make the best choice of Emperor.  Saddling the Empire with this reprobate Streeter wishes upon us would not only be disastrous in this war, but, if we survive, for a century or more afterwards.”

“Thank you, Zhen,” said the CNO, checking the time on his implant.  “And now I think we should get ready for our meeting with Mishori and Betty.  Their shuttle should be leaving the planet any minute now.”

The Admiral was on the flag bridge when he heard the news.  The shuttle carrying Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri and Field Marshal Betty Parker had been shot at and hit by an unknown party.  The beam had come from the ground, and Marines dispatched to that location found nothing other than the landing prints of some kind of vehicle.

“But we’re both OK, Len,” said the Commandant of the Marine Corps.  “Even this old ground pounder next to me came through well.”

“I almost had a heart attack,” said Yamakuri, holding his hand over his chest theatrically.

“They’re trying to keep me isolated,” said Len over the com.  The best encryption programs known were being employed, and the com was by tight beam from the ship to the Hexagon.  And he had no doubt that the com was being tapped into and decrypted, and so would give no information he considered vital over it.  “I guess I’m going to have to do what I talked about last week.”

“If you must,” said Mishori, nodding his head and frowning.  “I wish there was something else we could do, but I can’t think of anything either.”

Hell of a thing when officers of the Imperial Military aren’t even safe in the home system, thought Len, nodding his head.  And there’s only one safe place I can think of now.  “I think I must.  I will be down to the Hexagon within a couple of days.  Then we can discuss it.”  And I’m not sure how much of that they’re going to buy.  But anything that keeps them off target is useful.  “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days. Lenkowski out.”

The com linked died, and with it any contact he had with his fellow conspirators.  He wondered what the bastards listening in would make of their roundabout speech.  With luck they’ll think we’re planning a coup, and go to a lot of effort for nothing.

*    *    *

THE DONUT.

“The Admiral wants us to catch this saboteur,” said the Fleet Intelligence Officer sitting in on the meeting.

“No shit,” said Agent Chung, sitting across the table.

“So what are you IIA types doing about it?” asked the Captain, leaning forward.  “As far as I can tell you are no closer to catching him, or her,” the officer shot a glance over at Yu as he said that, “than you were before.  And the loss of a wormhole construction apparatus at this time is intolerable.”

“Wormholer,” said one of the engineers attending the meeting.

“What?”

“We call it a wormholer,” said the engineer.  “Not a Wormhole Construction Apparatus.”

“I don’t care if you call it your momma’s pussy,” yelled the Captain, his face reddening.  “The important thing is it is essential government property, and we cannot afford to lose it.”

“To say nothing of the tug and the crewmen aboard,” said Lucille, looking into the Captain’s suspicious eyes.

“Those are not the priority,” said the Captain, waving off the statement by Yu.  “Tragic, yes, but easily replaceable.”

Lucille decided that she did not like this man, whose name tag said Callahan.  “People are never easily replaceable,” she said in an icy voice.

“The wormholes are needed by the Fleet,” said Callahan, ticking off points on his fingers.  “The negative mater is needed for making wormhole gates, especially ship gates, which might just give us an advantage over the enemy they can’t overcome.  And those, wormholers, are also needed to make gates.  We are already losing people out on the frontier, Doctor Yu.  I have seen the reports coming up the hyperwave relay.  Unless we have those wormholes, we will lose even more people.”

The Captain turned his eyes away from her and looked down at his flat comp.  “And where were you when all this was happening?” asked Callahan, looking back up and into the eyes of Lucille.

“I was in my office,” said Lucille, her heart fluttering as she realized that she might be under suspicion.  “I was directing the tug to keep the station from being hit.”

“And before that?”

“Director Yu is above suspicion,” said Agent Chung, glaring at the Naval Intelligence Officer.  “As part of her protection detail, I know for a fact that she was by no means responsible for this, or any other sabotage.”

Thank God for that protection detail, thought Yu, letting out a held breath.  I’ve had quite enough interrogations to last a lifetime.  She thought back for a moment on her stint on the prison planetoid Purgatory.  She did not want to go through that again.

“Besides, we have evidence that someone else was responsible for the sabotage,” said the Agent.  The holo screen on the table changed to a shot of someone moving through shadows to a control panel.  A split holo came up showing the same scene, with the same time stamp, two hours before the incident occurred.  But in this scene there was no man.

“As you can see, the saboteur was able to spoof the station surveillance cameras, but not the microbot cameras we had scattered,” said another agent, working his flat comp.

The agent did something and the image enhanced, showing the face of the man through the darkness.  Lucille gasped as she saw that face.

“But, that’s impossible,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.  “I saw him killed.  No, not killed.  Obliterated.”

“We checked the DNA on the prints he left behind,” said Agent Chung.  “From all the tests it is indeed Dr. Bob Landry.”

“So where was the fake put in,” said Callahan, his face grim.  “Was the vid of the death of Dr. Landry the fake?  Or this vid?”

“We don’t know,” said Chung.  “But one thing I do know.  We’re going to put out a station wide alert for Dr. Robert Landry.  A silent alert, that is.”

“What’s a silent alert?” asked Lucille, wondering how it could be an alert and be silent.

“We only tell security personnel about it,” said Chung.  “So the subject doesn’t get wind of it.”

“Unless some of the security personnel are in on it,” said Callahan.  “I think I need to bring in some more naval people and marines.”

“And I’m going to contact Director Sergiov to get some more of our people here,” said Chung.

Great, thought Lucille, looking at both of the men in charge of their respective contingents.  So we have a combination witch hunt and pissing match.  And I have to get those holes out no matter what.  Just perfect.

Chapter Sixteen

The one constant in modern space warfare is that you cannot sneak up on anyone in hyperspace.  It’s hard enough to do in normal space, with all of the heat that large ships generate.  In hyper, with the gravity waves generated by the hyperfield, it’s impossible to move on something without shouting out your presence.  They know you are there, and can guess what you are and where you are going.  One solution is to translate beyond detection range and move toward the target in normal space.  It is a solution with a horrible price, time.  Travel in normal space takes time.

Lecture at the Imperial Naval Academy, Peal Island.

SESTIUS SPACE, MARCH 27TH  THROUGH 29TH, 1000.

“The scouts should be going in now, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, looking over at Sean as he sat in the VIP seat.

Sean nodded his head, knowing exactly what was going on.  A quartet of destroyers had moved in stair step fashion toward the Sestius worlds, creeping in without sending their grav wave signals into the proximity of the inner system.  They accomplished this by making transition at a distance that was beyond the transmission range of those waves for each of the movements.  Before they reached the Hyper I detection range limit they would drop into normal space and give the system a look over.  At four light hours they would of course be looking into the past, but it was hoped that it would still be an accurate picture of what was waiting for them.

The battle cruisers waited in Hyper II, moving slowly toward the system at point two C.  They were coming in on two different approaches, as were the smaller ships of the force on another series of vectors.  It was planned to surround the system, so that nothing would slip out without a fight, hopefully one the aliens would not win.

But first they had to make sure that a superior force did not wait for them.  The Admiral had insisted on that, so as not to put the Imperial Ruler at undue risk.

“While we’re waiting, your Majesty, perhaps you would like to ready yourself for battle,” said the Admiral.

“You have a suit for my use?” asked the Emperor, a smile on his face.

“I guess you could say that,” said the Admiral, getting up from her chair and gesturing for the Monarch to precede here.

She led him to a nearby ready room down the corridor from the bridge, where many suits of battle armor were set in cubbies for the crew that used them.  One suit stood in a carrier that was used to wheel it into place, then locked down to the floor.  Sean looked over the suit, his face alternating expressions from frown to smile.

“This suit looks different.  Almost like a set of Marine shipboard battle armor,” said Sean, running a hand over the alloy.

“It is different, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, smiling.  “We took the schematics of the suit a Lt. General of Marines wears in a hostile environment, and adapted some of our Marine medium armor to meet those standards, as well as adding some extra armor protection.”

Sean frowned again as he looked at the suit, which had many more attachments to the outside than other suits or armor he had seen.  And he was sure the inner workings were just as advanced.

“And before you say anything about wanting to share the dangers, your Majesty, you are sharing them just by being on one of these ships.  I will do everything I can to protect you, orders or no orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Sean with a smile.

“Now, before we go into combat, you will be in this suit,” said the Admiral, pointing her finger at Sean’s chest.  “And you will be on the flag bridge, where you will be as protected as I am.  And I can keep an eye on you.  Understood?”

“Yes it is, Admiral,” said the Emperor, nodding his head.  “I promise not to back seat command.”

“Then let’s get back to the bridge and see what is developing.”

*    *    *

“We are picking up hyper resonances, my Lord,” said the sensor tech to the Low Admiral.  “Mostly in the I band, but some in II and III.”

“Do you know what kind of ships?” asked the Admiral, looking up from the data he was entering into the log.

“Mostly their small scout ships,” said the Tech.  “Though I have picked up something larger, maybe in the size of our own scouts.”

“How many?” asked the Admiral, wondering what this portended for his command.  I have enough trouble fighting an action on the ground, without having to worry about a space battle.

“At least a dozen, my Lord,” said the Tech.  “Maybe a score. Maybe more.”

“I want you to keep scanning with all your attention,” said the Low Admiral.  “I believe there is something out there that we haven’t seen.  And I want to know what it is as soon as you get a whiff of it.  Understood?”

“Should we send a courier to the Fleet?” asked the ship’s commanding officer.

“I doubt they would get through the ships that are already around us,” said the Low Admiral, give a head gesture of negation.  “And there could be some other ships of ours coming in soon.  Hopefully, they will notice the enemy presence and send for aid.”

“If they are like most of their ships they can only ride in VI,” said the Captain, giving another head gesture, sweeping his horns in a short circle of disagreement.  “All of our ships can go into VII.”

“But only when we get to the Hyper VII limit,” said the Admiral, making a head thrust of dominance.  “Until then they can be caught.”

The Admiral looked at the holo of the system, and ordered it to a tactical display with a thought.  He had one battleship, four supercruisers and eight scout ships.  And two of the scouts were damaged, one heavily.  We really hadn’t expected the enemy to probe back this soon.  And not to a minor system like this one.  They have courage, this species.  He laughed at the last thought.  Of course the humans have proven that here, by skillfully battling an overwhelming force, and bleeding the Ca’cadasans at every step of their conquest.

“Prepare the ship for battle,” he said to the Captain, then linked to the com to give orders to the rest of his force.

“Perhaps it is just a probe,” said the Captain, looking nervously at the tactical holo.

“It is more than that,” said the Low Admiral, giving a head gesture of assertion.  “I feel it in my bones.  It’s more than that.”

*    *    *

“Scouts are reporting in, Admiral,” said Flag Captain Greenefield.  He activated the central holo tank, and a representation of the system appeared.  The green icon of the inhabitable world blinked near to the sun.  And right on top of it blinked the red icons of enemy ships.

“It looks like they only have one of their superbattleships in system,” said the Captain, pointing at the planet.  “That’s the good news.”

As if twenty-five million tons of advanced warship is ever good news, thought the Admiral, looking at the system and trying to formulate a plan.

“The bad news is there are four of the supercruisers to support that capital ship, and an undetermined number of their scout ships, anywhere from six to twelve from what we saw.”

“So we go in and take them, right?” said the Emperor, his eyes taking on a feral gleam as he looked at the holo.  “We out mass them just with the battle cruisers, and much more with the destroyers and light cruisers added in.”

“And we are scouts, your Majesty,” said the Flag Captain, looking at his Admiral for support.  “We have fewer missiles than a VI battle cruiser.”

“We will attack,” said the Admiral, looking at the Emperor, then her flag Captain.  “Here is how I want our forces deployed.”

And the Admiral outlined her plan for the officers in the room.  Afterwards, the com sent instructions to the task force, and the ships gathered and maneuvered into position.  In eight hours they were ready.

*    *    *

“We have translations, my Lord,” called out the Sensor Tech over the com.

“How many?” asked the Low Admiral, straightening in his chair and pushing the plate of meat in front of him away.

“Fifty-eight, my Lord,” said the Tech, his voice trembling slightly.

“How many of their battleships?” asked the Low Admiral, feeling like his food was not settling well in his stomach.

“None, my lord,” said the Tech.  “There are eight of their scout capital ships, twenty-two of their large scouts and twenty-eight of the smaller scouts.”

Still a considerable force, thought the Low Admiral.  They can flood space with their missiles, which are almost as good as ours.  “And how are they deployed?”

“In two large groups and a half dozen smaller groups,” said the Tech.  “And all are on a course for this world.”

“Of course they are,” said the Admiral.  “There is nothing else of interest in this system.”

The Admiral walked out of his dining room and stalked the thirty meters of corridor to the bridge.  “Captain.  Prepare for battle.”

“Orders, my Lord?” asked the Captain.

“We will move the fleet at maximum acceleration toward this force,” said the Admiral, pointing at one of the larger groups.  “If we attack we can defeat this force while gaining distance from the others.  Then we can break from the system.”

“What about the troop transports, my Lord?  What about the soldiers?”

“The troop transports cannot keep up with us anyway,” said the Admiral, his nose wrinkling in anger at himself and his decision.  “The soldiers can dig in on the planet, and await a return of a relief force.  And the crews of the transports can join them.  Now start us accelerating toward that enemy force, Captain.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the officer, turning to give the commands to his bridge crew.

“Signal coming in, my Lord,” said the Com Tech, looking at the Admiral.  “It’s the General.”

“Put him on,” said the Low Admiral, feeling his stomach flip over again.

The snarling image of the General appeared on the viewer, his eyes glaring from the screen.  “I can’t believe you are going to leave me unsupported on this planet.  You are a coward.”

“Watch your words, General,” growled the Admiral, lowering his horns in a threat display.  “I am the senior officer in this system, and will not allow my orders to be questioned.  Is that clear?”

“As can be,” said the other male, raising his head, exposing his throat in a sign of submission.  He looked back down and at the Admiral, and imploring expression on his face.  “But what about my soldiers?”

“Have your men dig in on the surface,” said the Admiral, showing his fangs in a feral smile.  “Contest the landings of the enemy, if they get to the planet, and bring down the crews of the transports to the surface and make them soldiers, if it comes to that.”

“And what will you be doing, Admiral?” While we dig into the ground like burrowing vermin.”

“We will be meeting the enemy in space, and trying to defeat him in detail,” growled the Admiral, waving an upper hand at the holo plot.

“And if you are not able to defeat them?”

“Then we will try to get some ships into hyper and get a message back to the Fleet,” said the Admiral, again giving a feral smile.  “So hold out until the relief comes.  Now, I need to see to my force.  And you need to see to yours.”

At the last word the holo went blank, the com officer taking his cue from the officer he knew well.  The Low Admiral turned back to the main viewer and gestured with both right hands.  “Move us toward that first enemy force,” he ordered, then looked back at the com officer.  “All other ships to form a protective shell around the Flag.”  He knew the other ships were more vulnerable to attack, just as he knew that the battleship was the only hope of defeating this enemy.  Her firepower was what would swing the fight, and he needed all of his weapons functional.

The flagship began to accelerate away from the planet, heading outsystem and toward one of the two large enemy forces, while the other ships closed in around her.

*    *    *

“They’re coming out, Admiral,” called out the Tactical Officer, pointing to the updating display on the holo screen.

“Crap,” said Rear Admiral Montgomery, looking up at the screen.  “I had hoped they would be dumb enough to wait for us at the planet.”

Her task force was one of the larger concentrations she had entering the system, with four battle cruisers, seven light cruisers and eight destroyers.  Commodore Basingee’s force, coming in from one hundred and eighty degrees, was of the same composition.  And there were four smaller forces arranged to fill the globe and block any enemy attempts to flee the system. Each was composed of two light cruisers and three destroyers.  For a moment she wondered why the enemy wasn’t heading out on a vector that would take them into one of the smaller forces. Because they want to destroy us in a close battle, then turn and destroy Basingee’s force.  And then the small groups will be irrelevant.

“Show me a predicted plot of their current position,” she told the Tactical Officer.  A red dotted line projected to a dot showing where the enemy ships should be at the present time, something the Sir Galahad couldn’t see directly due to the light speed information barrier.

“And where will they be if our missiles are fired at them now, by the time the missiles get there at best accel?”

The dotted line moved out some more, even further than before as the enemy ships continued to accelerate.  And that’s a hell of an assumption.  They could be doing anything right now, and we wouldn’t know it for another three hours.

“Now, plot the trajectory of Basingee’s force’s missiles if they fire at the time they see the enemy move.”

“That should be about now,” said the Tactical Officer, working the calculations on his board. “They would have seen the enemy move at more or less the same time as we did, give or take nine minutes.”

The plot changed and showed the missiles reaching out from the other task force, and reaching for the enemy force.

“Calculate our required acceleration and firing time to get our missiles there at the same time.”

The plot changed to show the battle cruiser moving forward at a reduced acceleration, then launching her missiles, which reached the enemy at the same time as the missiles fired by the other task force.  She linked into the main bridge to give her orders.  “Captain Stanford. Have your Helm follow this course and speed as we have plotted, if you please.  And direct your Tactical Officer to fire on this profile.”

“Yes, ma’am” agreed the Captain, turning away from the viewer to relay the orders.

“Commander Ogden Lee,” she next said, turning toward the Flag Com Officer.  “Transmit my orders to the rest of the force.  Then transmit my intentions to the remainder of the Task Force.”

“It will take some time for them to receive those orders,” said the Commander, looking back at the Admiral.

“I realize that,” said the Admiral.  “I expect Commodore Basingee will fire as soon as he sees the enemy intentions.”

“How do you know that, Admiral?” asked Sean, leaning forward in his chair.

“Because I know the Commodore.  And he knows me,” said the Admiral with a smile.  “And we gamed this in simulations before entering the system.  So he knows what to do.”  I hope, she thought, looking again at the plot.  Otherwise, I might have rescued you to just bring you to your death, your Majesty.

*    *    *

“Start firing missiles,” said the Low Admiral.  The Tactical Officer gave a head gesture of acknowledgement and started punching in the firing commands, his claws fitting into the holes that controlled the system.  “How many should I fire, my Lord?” asked the officer.

That is a good question, by the Emperor, thought the Admiral.  Missiles were more effective when fired at a distance, where they could build up velocity while not under fire, and would come screaming in at point nine light or better, making them hard targets to hit.  But the problem with firing from such long range was the time it took to see any actual effects, and to add additional missiles to the pattern.  If he fired all his missiles he would have a better chance of destroying the force he was firing at, at the risk of wasting missiles that might be used on the other large group of enemy vessels.  And then he would be helpless against them in a long range engagement.  If he fired half and it wasn’t enough to saturate the enemy defenses then the other half might not be enough either.

The best solution is to blast this one enemy force, and then fly by them out into deep space, he thought.

“Fire all of them, less one tube load for each ship,” he finally ordered.  “Target the scout capital ships.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, turning to go back to work.  It took a little over twelve minutes to flush all the ordered missiles from all the ships.  At the end of that time over a twenty-four hundred missiles were on their way.  When all were in close proximity they kicked in the high acceleration, pulling eight thousand gravities as they headed for their targets.

*    *    *

“All missiles are away,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Commodore Conridus Basingee nodded as he watched the green vector arrows moving outward on the plot, the symbols of missiles moving at five thousand gravities acceleration.  He knew there were faster missiles in the pipeline, mostly for use by the new Stealth/Attack ships.  But they were not on any of the human ships in this battle.

“I want the entire force to tank their crews,” said the Commodore, looking at the projected enemy plot and not liking what he saw.  “We can use the extra thirty gees this time around.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Flag Com Officer, sending out the signal.

We actually have better accel than those bastards, thought the Commodore, watching as the acceleration tanks started to rise from the floor.  At least better than that big bastard, if that’s all he can do.  No telling how many gees those smaller ships can pull.  Probably more than the big one, if they’re anything like ours.

The cylinders of the tanks finished rising from the floor, locking into place, one for each crew member on the Flag Bridge.  As soon as the tanks were up and ready the crew started for them, shucking their outer uniforms and stripping down to the skin tight undergarment.  Basingee jumped up from his chair and headed toward his cylinder, opening the door and climbing in, his feet sinking into the liquid already in the bottom of the tank.  A Klaxon was sounding, high gee warning, telling everyone aboard the ship to get into protection, or face a pull of pseudogravity they would not survive.

The Commodore pulled his breathing mask down from the wall of the tank, while the liquid was rising swiftly from the floor.  He fit the mask, then relaxed as warm liquid climbed up past his chest, then to his chin and over his face.  He looked around and saw that the rest of the crew were floating in their cylinders of liquid.  Five more minutes passed, giving everyone time to get into their own cylinders.  At the end of that time the klaxon stopped, while the red lights continued to flash, and the ship started pulling first five, then ten, then up to thirty gravities above the capacity of the ship’s inertial compensators.  The Commodore linked into the ship’s command system, seeing everything the ship saw on all sensors.

The Hyper VII battle cruiser Duke of Yorkshire pulled ahead at the fastest acceleration of any human made capital ship, heading to join the battle on the side of her sister ships.

*     *    *

“Enemy has fired missiles,” called out the Flag Sensory Officer.

“What, two hours ago?” said the Emperor, wondering when they would be able to do things in normal space in real time.  When physics no longer applies, he thought, then amended that to when they got the wormhole technology perfected, if they were around long enough to actually do that.

“About that long, yes,” said the Tactical Officer.

“How long till they get here?” asked Sean, looking at the tactical plot.

“About another three hours and fifty-one minutes,” said the officer.  He turned back to the Admiral.  “Estimated firing time two hours, thirty-eight minutes, ma’am.”

“Very well,” said the Admiral. “Begin deceleration.”

And it will be two hours before the enemy sees what we are doing, thought Sean, playing a future plot over the holo nearest to his own chair. By the time the enemy missiles get here we will be accelerating in the opposite direction, sort of.  It wouldn’t be all that much of a difference at the velocity the enemy missiles would be traveling.  But every little bit would help.

“It’s always like this, isn’t it?” he asked no one in particular.

“Your Majesty?” said the Admiral, turning his way.  He could see the concern on her face, knowing that she worried about more than just her command, as important as that was.

“Space battles are always a combination of high tension and boredom, aren’t they?”  They can’t be anything else with the distances involved, and the light speed limit.”

“I guess that’s true, your Majesty,” answered the Admiral.  “Haven’t thought about it in quite a while, but I guess it’s true.  It’s really hard to sneak up on anyone, by the Goddess.  And you almost always see the enemy at about the same time as he sees you.”

And again we can change that equation, thought Sean, his agile mind sifting through the possibilities.  All of these ideas are probably on the drawing board already.  There are better minds than mine working on the problem.  But was that technically true?  Sean knew that the minds of his father and mother had been among the best in the Empire.  That was not pride speaking, but genetic surety.  So I need to look at what they have on the drawing board when I get back, and make sure they aren’t missing anything I’m thinking of.  He looked again at the plot.  If we make it back.  This might have been the stupidest decision I have ever made.  I wanted to rescue those people, but what will the Empire be if I get killed, and some idiot cousin takes over.

Sean looked over at his own cousin, the Flag Com Officer of the task force, and revised that thought.  Not all the cousins are stupid.  And not all are traitors.  If only we can get those in line for the throne.

“It will be some time before anything happens, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, breaking into his thoughts.  “Do you want to get something to eat, or a little sleep?”

“No thank you, Admiral,” said the young man, smiling.  “I wouldn’t miss this for the Galaxy.”

*    *    *

“The following force missiles have passed the star by now,” said the Tactical Officer, gesturing with his lower hands.

“And what about the missiles from the force we attack?” asked the Low Admiral, looking at the plot and seeing no indication of them.

“As far as I can tell they have not fired,” said the Tactical Officer.  “I am not really sure why.”

“Because they wish to hit us with the weapons of both forces at once,” said the Admiral, wondering about the coordination of two forces that could not communicate in real time.  That really could not communicate in under five hours.  So they had this situation planned out in advance, like they knew what we were going to do.  But how?  Telepathy?  He hissed at that idea, one of fantasy.  It had always been dreamed in the Empire to find a truly telepathic race, and preferably one that could communicate over interstellar distances instantaneously.  But such was not to be found.  There were some races that communicated by radio waves, but that did not solve the light speed barrier problem.

“How many missiles has the following force sent our way?” was the next question.

“About a thousand, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, eliciting another frown from the Admiral.

They have four of their large scout capital ships in that force, plus the other vessels.  So why do they hold back on their fire?  Unless that’s all they have.  “Speculation on why they have not thrown more missiles,” said the Admiral.

“Perhaps they are holding some in reserve,” said the Helm Officer.

“But why would they do that?” asked the Sensor Officer.  “They have to know that we are the only force they need to fight in this system.  It would make more sense to let us have every long range weapon they have aboard those ships.  To do less is to risk not accomplishing what they want.”

“I have an idea, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, looking at the other males on the bridge, then back at the Admiral.  “These ships are much faster than the standard warships of their fleet.  I believe they must carry more of their propulsion tech, both normal space and hyperdrive, than the other ships, and so have less room for missiles.”

“That is a good point, Tactical Officer,” said the Admiral, giving a head move of affirmation.

“Then maybe their lasers and other weapons are weaker as well,” said the Helm Officer.

“I would not think so,” said the Tactical Office, giving a head gesture of negation.  “They would need to generate more energy than one of their standard warships, so it would make sense to actually increase the power of those weapons as well.”  The officer looked down at his board, then back up at the Admiral.  “Our missiles will make contact in twenty-three minutes.”

“And they have slowed their velocity,” said the Sensory Officer.

“Why would they do that?” asked the Helm Officer, making a hand gesture of confusion.

“They wish to gain time,” growled the Low Admiral, glaring at the plot.  “The more time it takes to reach them, to better chance their compatriots will also be in the game.”

“And those compatriots have increased their acceleration thirty more gravities, my Lord,” said the Sensory Officer, crinkling his snout in annoyance.

“How can they go so fast?” asked the Helm Officer.  He looked around at the Admiral.  “Acceleration tanks.”

“But, that’s primitive technology,” said the Sensory Officer.

“And it still works,” said the Low Admiral.  “Primitive or not.”  And something we haven’t used in millennia, thanks to our superior tech.  And an inferior species continues to find utility in it.  “This is all speculation, something we will not be able to settle until we have the wreckage of their ships to examine.  So we concentrate on the force ahead, shatter them, and get out of the system.  And maybe they will still be here when we come back with company.”

*    *    *

“ETA enemy missiles, forty-six minutes,” said the Sensory Officer.

“Destroyers and cruisers deploying into umbrella,” said the Com Officer.

The tactical holo showed the destroyers reducing their decel and pulling ahead of the battle cruisers, forming a small fan about a couple of light seconds distant.  The light cruisers closed in around the battle cruisers in the two hundred thousand kilometer range.  Sir Galahad set the pattern for defensive fire, making sure that all ships were covered by other ships, and that every approach lane had the best possible coverage.  The overall plan gave the best protection to the battle cruisers, the most important of the ships due to their offensive firepower.  And Galahad because of her passenger.

“Order all ships to start launching missiles,” said the Admiral, looking at her com officer.  “Set them all for low accel until the programed time to boost full power.”  She looked over at the Emperor.  “I would have preferred to have waited and launched them with all the power of the launching tubes.  But I have to get them out there before I lose them.”

“I understand,” said the young man, looking nervously at the tactical plot.

So he’s a little scared, thought Montgomery, seeing the sweat on the man’s face.  Good.  Maybe after this he’ll have the sense to stay in the capital, and let the professionals run the war.

“How does the new armor feel, your Majesty?” she asked, more to get his mind off his mortality than anything else.

“Like I am a knight, about to charge into battle,” said Sean with a smile.

Everyone aboard the ship was armored, by the book before going into battle.  Not that it would save them from a devastating hit, but a puncture that let out atmosphere and sent killing particles flying through the ship would be survivable.

“That’s about to happen to us all, your Majesty,” said Montgomery, feeling a little maternal toward the young man.  “In our eight million ton steed.”

“And we attacking an elephant,” said the young Emperor with a smile

“There is that,” said the Admiral with a nod.  “There is that.”

*    *    *

“The force ahead is firing missiles,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“ETA?”

“It is difficult to calculate, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Low Admiral.  “Visual shows them ejecting the missiles into space without acceleration.  The missiles then slowly move into formation.  And, of course, this was forty-five minutes ago, so they could be doing anything by now.”

“Calculate the best profile for those missiles to arrive here at the same time as the following missiles,” said the Low Admiral, pointing both right index fingers at the officer for emphasis.

The Tactical officer acknowledged and went to work on his board, turning back a moment later.  “The missiles from the forward force will be coming at us at point zero five light, with a closing speed of point five one light.  Missiles from the following force will be overtaking us at point nine two light, for a closing speed of point four six light.”

So the relative velocity will all be around or less than point five light, thought the Low Admiral, playing with his personal holo and seeing the projected attack profile.   Still fast enough to be dangerous, but not as much as they could be.

“Our missiles should be arriving at the enemy force about now,” said the Tactical Officer, his snout wrinkled back in a feral snarl.

“And we will see what we will see in forty-five minutes,” said the Admiral in a low voice.  “If only there were a way to see the information in real time.  But of course there isn’t.”

*    *    *

“Enemy missiles at point nine two light closing speed,” yelled out the Sensory Officer.  “Range ninety nine point three six million kilometers.  ETA six minutes.”

“Execute optimal counter missile firing plan,” ordered the Admiral.

A second later the ship bucked slightly as the missile tubes started cycling long range counters. The small missiles, about a tenth the size of the offensive weapons, accelerated at ten thousand gravities toward the projectiles that were coming to kill their launch platforms.  The ships may have been deficient on offensive missiles, but carried the full complement of defensive weapons for the class, it being considered important for the scout vessels to be able to fight themselves clear of any situation and bring their information back.

Within a minute there were six thousand of the long range interceptors in space, flying toward their targets, with more being launched every second.  The launching vessels scanned toward the incoming missiles, radar and ladar on full power, attempting to break through the jamming being put out by the enemy weapons.  In some cases they were successful, in most not.  Three hundred missiles dropped off the plot as pinpoints of bright light appeared in space.  Then the enemy weapons were past the counter missiles, and starting to acquire their own targets through the jamming put out by the warships.  Said warships were starting to put short range counter missiles into space, fired in their thousands by cells on the skins of the warships.

The enemy missiles were two minutes ETA when the short range counters began to strike, twenty thousand of them trying to hit just over two thousand missiles.  Again there was some success, and a thousand missiles dropped off the plot, the rest coming in.

Sean could feel the cold sweat running down his spine under the armor.  He had been in battle in the recent past, in the Massadara system.  At the time he was subsumed by anger and grief, and really hadn’t had his full attention on the life or death situation.  Still, it had been more frightening than anything he had ever gone through.  This seemed an order of magnitude greater.  His guts were roiling, his fear that his life was going to end here and now, something his young mind couldn’t imagine, almost taking over his every thought.  He wanted to get up and run to the lifepods, now.  Hell of an Emperor I will be, he thought, ashamed at his own cowardice.  Like I will ever get the chance, his thoughts continued as he looked at the plot.

“Initiate close in firing plan,” ordered the Admiral, her own eyes wide, a grimace on her face.  She looked over at the Emperor.  “By the Goddess, this is scary as Hell, isn’t it?”

“You are frightened?” said Sean through a quivering voice.

“I am not insane, your Majesty,” said the Admiral.  “Like everyone aboard this ship, I don’t want to die.  And we all have something to keep our minds occupied, unlike you.”  She turned back to the tactical plot, which showed all the vessels in her task group turning side on to the missiles, allowing all the laser rings a clear shot at the incoming weapons.

At one minute ETA the lasers began to fire in their patterns, pulsing microsecond shots from the mains, each of which was able to obliterate an incoming missile, if they hit.  The secondaries, built for this purpose joined in, as did every particle beam that could be brought to bear.  Another four hundred missiles were taken out, and at thirty seconds ETA the short range projectile weapons filled space with millions of small but dense particles.  It always seemed as if the mass of fire would keep anything from coming through.  It never quite worked that way, and three hundred missiles made it through on final approach.

All of the ships whipped around to point their bows at the incoming missiles, while weapons continued to put out as much fire as possible.  At five seconds out the ships started to release their last ditch weapons.  Balls of superheated plasma exited the single bow tube of each ship.  Two seconds after release the magnetic field generated by the follower capsule cut off, and the plasma expanded within a second to a hundred times its original size.  A hundred missiles plowed into the plasma.  Forty-one were destroyed outright, twenty-seven were damaged, still driving on but totally blind, their sensors burned out.  Thirty two came on, along with the two hundred that were missed by the plasma.

Now it was each ship for itself in the final second of approach for over a hundred of the missiles, the others not far behind.  Every ship went into evasive maneuvers, jammers hot, active sensors throwing out signals that tried to spoof the enemy missiles’ seeker heads.  One destroyer was able to knock down two missiles targeted on it, but the third came through untouched and slammed into the small warship.  The kinetic energy that transferred into the destroyer shattered the ship, the afterthought of the warhead turning what hadn’t been converted into atoms into a hot plasma.  A light cruiser got eight of the missiles, then was flooded by the radiation and heat of the three closest explosions.  The ninth missile targeting smashed into the eight hundred thousand ton warship.  It was converted to plasma when a tenth missile came through, detonating in the intense heat.

Destroyers and light cruisers died like flies in a hot flame, performing their heartbreaking function of saving the bigger ships.  That had always been their function on the battle line.  Sean looked at the plot while ships dropped off, and wondered if it had to always be that way.

The King Yussef concentrated on keeping missiles away from the Flagship, to her own detriment, as five near misses saturated the ship and knocked out her electromag, holo and laser systems.  Seven missiles homed in on the now easiest target in their space, and turned the battle cruiser into vapor.

Sir Galahad shuddered a few times from very near misses that still were not close enough to cause much blast effect.  Her port side was irradiated enough to shut down many of her systems, including a pair of grabbers.

“That was too damn close,” said the Admiral, looking over the plot which was now free of missiles.  A smile touched her lips.

Sean knew from his time on the battleship Sergiov that the commander was not happy, and was probably feeling intense grief.  What she was showing was relief at still being among the living, something he had learned from Captain Ngano on his old battleship, when he had thought the man heartless and insensitive to the deaths of the crew of a destroyer that had saved the battleship.

Sean looked at the plot, showing three battle cruisers, three light cruisers and two destroyers remaining in the force.  One of the light cruisers and both destroyers blinked the orange of damage, as did the flagship.

“Now we just have to wait to see what damage our missiles did to their force,” said the Admiral, her brow furrowed in worry.

If they all come through, we’re doomed, thought the Emperor, looking at the plot that now showed the enemy force.  Or at least the enemy force as they were about forty-four minutes ago.  And we should be hitting them right about, now.

Chapter Seventeen

By three methods we may learn wisdom.  First, by reflection, which is noblest.  Second, by imitation, which is easiest, and third by experience, which is the bitterest.  Confucius.

SESTIUS SPACE, MARCH 29TH, 1000.

The Low Admiral cursed as he looked at the plot.  All of them, he thought, cringing internally. He had lost all three of his super cruisers, and only had one battered scout left of his force besides his battleship.

Curse the luck, he thought.  It had looked so good at first, with his counter missiles taking out three quarters of the enemy birds, then his close in defenses had destroyed all but fifty of the weapons.  Only one of his cruisers had been hit, by four missiles, enough to turn it into vapor.  There had been many near misses, enough to cause damage to all of his ships.

And then had come the following wave, and his counter missiles had to actually decelerate to get to those weapons.  The interception had not gone as planned, and the five hundred missiles that made it through had saturated his defenses.

He looked at the plot that showed the remainder of the forward enemy force.  They actually outmassed him now, but those were all much more lightly armed ships that were facing him.  If the following ships could join in the battle he would not have a hope, but they would still be twenty light minutes back when he contacted the forward force and blew past them.

“My Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Admiral.  “We are receiving light amp fire from behind.”

“Effect?”

“Minor, my Lord Admiral,” said the officer.  “They are widespread beams, spread further by the distance.  They are dispersing on the plasma field.”

“Then we will not worry about those who chase us,” said the Admiral.

“I have calculated their velocity and acceleration, my Lord,” said the Navigator.  “They will catch us just before we get to the hyper I barrier.  Even if we get into hyper before them, if they wish to continue the chase in Hyper they will catch us.”

“We will still outgun them, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, standing up from his seat and giving a two handed fist pump in the air.

“That may not be strictly true, my Lord,” said the Navigator, earning a glare from the other officer.  “We do not know the laser power of these ships, though we have speculated that they may carry a greater weight of fire for their mass than their slower vessels.  And we do not know how we will fare in the battle against the force ahead.  Though I think we will win, we are sure to suffer damage which will reduce our own firepower.”

“But we have no choice to but to join them in battle,” said the Low Admiral, growling.  “The laws of physics cannot be circumvented.  So we must do what we can, and pray the Gods for the best.”

“The Gods must be on our side,” said the Helm Officer, bowing his head.  “How can it be otherwise.  We must pray that they deliver us, and then they will.”

The Low Admiral bowed his head with the rest, for appearances sake.  He had lost his faith ages ago, with the death of his sons on campaign.  He hoped the Navigator was right, but his personal feeling was that whatever deity existed, or not, he didn’t care for the petty disputes of the tiny biological units that thought they ruled the Universe.

*    *    *

“Couldn’t we just get out of the way?” asked Lt. Commander Samantha Ogden Lee, standing up, looking at her Admiral and pointing at Sean.  “I mean, his butt is more important than this mission.  Shouldn’t we get him out of here?”

Sean stood up from his seat and glared at his cousin.  “I will not be protected.”

“You’re protected all the time, my Imperial cousin,” said the woman, looking at the Emperor, then at her Admiral.  “It is our job to protect him, whether he wants it or not.  That is what we are sworn to do.”

“As you were, Commander,” said the Admiral, standing and pointing a finger at the officer.

Samantha looked at the Admiral defiantly for a moment.  And why not, thought Sean, looking into the angry face of his cousin.  The most that can be done to her is to be relieved of duty, and then dismissed from the service.  Her family ties prevent any kind of the repercussions that might await another officer.  Sean still breathed a sigh of relief when she turned and went back to her seat.

“What do you wish, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral, sitting back in her seat.  “Have you had enough, or do you insist on seeing this through to the finish?”

“It’s your task group, Admiral,” said Sean, looking back at his cousin, who was sitting stiff backed in her chair.

“And it’s your fleet, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, rolling her eyes.  “You made a point of saying that you were the Emperor, uncrowned or not.  And I agreed to follow your orders.  Because of that I am trapped in a situation I don’t agree with.  I am pledged to protect you.  And I am pledged to obey you.”

“I want you to continue this mission to the best of your ability,” said Sean, staring at the Admiral until she dropped her eyes.  “We have not come this far, and sacrificed so much, just to let those people down now.”

“Those people are not important, you stupid lug,” yelled Samantha, turning in her seat.  “Don’t you see that?  We could lose this damn war based on whether you come back from this fiasco alive.”

“I told you to stand down, Commander,” growled the Admiral, again out of her seat and pointing a finger at the Com Officer.  “You are relieved of duty.  Leave the bridge and go to your quarters, where you are to remain.”  The Admiral turned away from the officer.  “Assistant Flag Com Officer to the bridge.”  She turned and looked at Sean.  “So that’s the word, your Majesty?  You want us to fight?”

“I want you to fight,” said Sean.  “I want these bastards wiped from this system, and the people of that planet liberated.”

“I should resign my commission in protest,” said the Admiral, putting a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes and rubbing.  “I should let my senior captain take the blame for this, if it goes south.”

“And will you Admiral?” said Sean, his voice low, hoping that this wouldn’t happen.

“No, your Majesty,” said Admiral Mara Montgomery with a grimace.  “I believe enough in my abilities to know that I have the best chance of getting us out of here.  So I will carry on.  And if you are killed under my watch I will be vilified by every armchair admiral for the rest of time.  But you will allow me to conduct this battle according to my plans and instincts.  Is that understood?”

“We will succeed, Admiral,” said the Emperor with a smile, nodding his head.  “I guarantee it.”

“And why doesn’t that give me the surge of confidence it was supposed to,” said the Admiral, shaking her head.

*    *    *

“Range, three light minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Plasma shields at full power to the front.”

The Low Admiral grunted in acknowledgement, looking at the plot that showed the enemy dispositions.  One of their scout capital ships was directly ahead, shifted just slightly to the port so it didn’t risk a collision with the larger Ca’cadasan ship.  It had one of the smaller cruisers and the two scout ships with it.  The other two scout capital ships, each accompanied by a cruiser, were off to the side, where they would be able to take his ship under fire from the flanks.  The humans plan well, thought the Low Admiral.  We will only be able to attack each of their ships at one side, which they can protect with their plasma fields, while they will hit us from multiple angles.

All of the human ships were turned with their sides facing the Ca’cadasan, and the Admiral could see the advantage that their laser ring designs gave them over the dome mounts of the Cacada.  The enemy could bring all their light amp to bear, while no matter which way he turned a full forty percent of his laser projectors were useless.

“How long till we pass through their formation?” asked the Admiral, looking at the Navigation Officer.

“Six minutes, thirty seconds,” said that officer.

And then we will have to shift the cold plasma to the stern, and our stern weapons will be able to fire.

“We’re being hit with light amp to the front,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Cold plasma is starting to heat up.  No burn through to the hull.”

That will change as we get closer, thought the Admiral.  No matter how strong we make our shields there will be burn through.  No matter how we configure our skin for reflection they will hit the right frequency to get some heat into the hull.

“Enemy ships are shifting position,” called out the Tactical Officer, and the plot showed the ships on the outside moving in. Each enemy was putting out four laser beams, the most powerful each ring could produce, and now they were all falling on the nose of the ship.

“Evasive maneuvers,” called out the Admiral, and the ship began to move in random motions that took her out of the beams.  The enemy shifted moments later to a spread pattern that made sure a couple of the beams were hitting at all times.  And they couldn’t have seen that we had gone to evasives with the delayed image they are seeing.  So they just assumed we would, and  fired a maximum probability pattern.  But why did they move their ships at the last moment.

*    *    *

“They’re coming right down our throats, Admiral,” said the Tactical Officer.  “Just like you wanted.”

All of the Terran ships were turned side on to the enemy, all of their laser rings able to take the oncoming ship under fire.  And all were doing so.  It did not make sense to hold fire, as the rings could fire heavy bursts or a lesser continuous for a half an hour, the energy from the ship’s matter-antimatter reactors feeding them all the power they needed.  Instead of rings the enemy ships used domes that still allowed beam arcs along a considerable range, but not as much as the battle cruisers’ weapon arcs.

The Ca’cadasan ships were firing for all they were worth, the sixty percent of their weapons that could aim at the humans doing so.  The battleship held a slight advantage over the three battle cruisers in laser power, but only if it were able to hit the humans with everything they had, which they could not.

The human ships ignored the damaged enemy scout vessel.  Until that vessel maneuvered itself in the way of their beams, absorbing what it could so the battleship didn’t have to.

“We need that damned enemy can out of the way,” yelled the Admiral, watching the scout ship on the plot moving back and forth, getting in the way of the outgoing fire from the human ships.

“Enemy ships at two light minutes,” called out the Sensory Officer.  “Thirty-six million kilometers.  Closing speed point five one light.”

“Four minutes,” whispered the Admiral.  The enemy ships would be even with them and then passing them in four minutes.

“Lieutenant,” she called out to the fill in Com Officer.  “Make sure all captains understand their instructions.  I want no confusion.”  Because confusion will kill us deader than shit.

“We have particle beams incoming,” said the Sensory Officer.  “Combinations of protons and antiprotons.”

“Do you want to return fire, Admiral?” asked Flag Captain Greenefield.

“Negative,” she called out, shaking her head.  The particle beams could overheat within a short time frame, rendering them next to useless.  And she wanted to hit them with all she had when it was the time to do so.

“Most of the beams are missing,” said the Tactical Officer.

“And as they get closer they’ll get more accurate,” said Sean, leaning forward nervously in his seat.

That’s right, thought the Admiral.  Regretting your decision, your Majesty?

*    *    *

“Range, one point five light minutes,” called out the Sensory Officer.

Keep on coming, you bastards, thought the Admiral.  Step into my trap.

“What are those holes in the bow of each ship?” asked the Low Admiral, looking at a blown up image of an enemy ship.  They could not see that portion of the enemy vessel at this time, turned as they were.

The Tactical Officer pulled the holo over to his station and looked at it for a moment.  “They look like plasma torpedo ejectors.”

“But, that is primitive technology,” said the Helm Officer, his snout wrinkled in disbelief.  “We haven’t used such in millennia.”

“If it works for them, I guess it is not too primitive,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Range, one light minute,” called out the Sensory Officer.

“Do you want to target those smaller enemy ships, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer. “Maybe whittle them down a bit.”

“Continue to concentrate on those scout capital ships,” said the Low Admiral, pointing two right index fingers at the officer.  “They are the danger, not the fleas that accompany them.”

*    *    *

“Range, thirty light seconds,” called out the Sensory Officer.

“Captain reports we are taking damage to the outer hull,” called out the Sensory Officer.  “North America and Countess Simone are reporting same.”

“Initiate fire plan,” called out the Admiral, watching the behemoth that was heading for her force, and now not able to dodge as they had when at longer range.

The ships all turned their lasers onto the oncoming bow of the enemy ship, bursts of pentawatt power hitting the cold plasma fields of the vessel and transmitting heat into them.  Some of the energy made it through, striking the hull and transferring heat.  But the main purpose was to weaken the electromagnetic fields, and degrade the cold plasma that was held within it.

Moments later the ships fired all of their particle beams, sending protons and antiprotons at point eight light through the weakened field and into the grabber skirt of the battleship.  Alloy flared and portions of the skirt went down, dropping the acceleration of the ship.

But if the humans couldn’t miss at the close range, neither could the Ca’cadasans.  Hulls flared from direct hits of lasers and particle beams, and gas poured from holes opened in the lighter armor of the human ships.

Sir Galahad shuddered from a direct hit, then shook again as the lights dimmed, then came back at full strength.  “Bridge reports that we have lost laser ring C.  D has lost two emmiters,” yelled out the Com Officer.

“Orders, Admiral?” said the voice of Captain Stafford.

“Continue firing profile,” yelled the Admiral.  “You should have no other considerations.”

The Captain acknowledged.  She knew he was thinking about their passenger, but that passenger had ordered this battle, and would live or die with the consequences of it.

The three light cruisers and four destroyers in the force weaved back and forth, trying to interpose their full strength shields in the way of the enemy fire.  One of the light cruisers took a devastating hit from a particle beam, followed by a strike from the beams of two lasers domes.  The light cruiser careened out of control, explosions ripping across her hull.  She moved into the path of another particle beam, which burned a hole deep into her hull.  Power dropped and the ship fell dead in space, until two more lasers and a particle beam shattered her bow.

A destroyer, this one already damaged from the missile duel, took a pair of hits from full strength lasers.  That was all it took, and the ship first lost power, then containment, and blew apart into plasma.  North America took the brunt of the blast, knocking out all her electromag field projectors and energy weapons on the port bow. Laser B went down completely, while laser A lost half her emmittors.  And now the enemy ships were at five light seconds, point blank range for energy weapons.

*    *    *

“We’ve lost another laser dome, my Lord,” called out damage control.  “Grabbers at seventy-five percent.  Port forward particle beam is out as well.”

“What about our shields?”

“Twenty-six percent of projector units are out on the bow section, my Lord.”

A bright flash appeared on the viewer, one of the enemy destroyers flaring in a catastrophic explosion.  A cruiser drifted in space, and one of the scout capital ships was venting atmosphere.

We’re going to make it, thought the Admiral, grinning.  There was the following force, but they would repair most of their damage before those ships caught them, and could probably win that fight as well.

And then the enemy ships started to turn on the screen, and those primitive and archaic weapons were pointed his way.

*    *    *

“All ships report plasma weapons fully charged and ready,” called out the Com Officer.  “Ships starting maneuvers.”

“You may never see anything like this again, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, talking to Sean without looking back.  “Hopefully not from this range.”

At the same moment the three battle cruisers, two light cruisers and three destroyers ejected the first of their plasma torpedoes from their bows. They were archaic weapons, really not suited for modern warfare due to their extremely limited range.  They were still mounted aboard imperial ships more for tradition's sake than anything else.  That, and they took up little room, while also furnishing auxiliary fusion reactors for the ships that carried them.  And they were a devastating weapon at close range.

The first torpedoes were fired at the approaching enemy at six light seconds range.  They hit the enemy’s weakened shields at four light seconds range.  Most of the plasma was shed by the shields, only allowing about thirty percent through, which was enough to splash over the skin of the battleship and destroy most of the working field generators.

The human ships all immediately fired a second torpedo, coming out two seconds after the first.  These hit at three light seconds range, and burned into the hull of the enemy battleship, putting holes in the armor and knocking out laser domes.  The third torpedoes came out two seconds later and hit the enemy ship at just under two light seconds range.  The damaged Ca’cadasan scout got in the way of two torpedoes, a battle cruiser’s and a destroyer’s, and went up in a flare of released antimatter as her containment failed.  Small pieces of the ship were ejected at speed in all directions, peppering all the combatants, but doing particular damage to her flagship.

The battle cruisers and their escorts continued to fire lasers and particle beams into the enemy, and also released long range interceptor missiles in rapid cycles that struck the hull of the enemy vessel like large, antimatter tipped darts.  The interceptors caused minor but cumulative damage to an already hurting ship.

The Ca’cadasan battleship moved through the enemy formation, galled but still functional.  She hit the most seriously damaged battle cruiser with a concentration of her rear mount weapons, putting the North America out of the fight.  The remaining ships continued to pour on the laser fire, while releasing torpedoes from their rear mounted launchers.  The battleship continued on, with severe damage to her stern as well as bow.

*    *    *

“We made it through them,” said the Tactical Officer, a look of relief on his face.

“Yes,” growled the Low Admiral, glaring at the screen which showed the damage the ship had sustained.  But we’re dead when that other force hits us.  And they surely will.  The damage screen showed that the ship was now operating only twenty-five percent of her grabbers, and only another twenty percent were even capable of being repaired.  Of her twenty laser domes, only eight still existed, and none of the particle beam weapons were operational.  Given a week they might be able to restore most of their functions, minus the lasers.  And the enemy force would catch them in three hours.

“I have failed,” said the Admiral in a soft voice.  Glory was not to be his, out here in the stars far from home.  Only death.  And the planet would not fare much better when the enemy force went into orbit, as the soldiers had nothing to protect them on the surface from orbital bombardment.

*    *    *

“When you’ve taken them out come back to the planet,” said Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery over the com to Commodore Conridus Basingee.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” said the smiling officer.  “What about the North America?

“I don’t think we’ll be able to repair or salvage her,” said Montgomery, frowning.  “We’re taking the crew off now, and we’ll scuttle her in space.”

“A bad end to a good ship,” said the Commodore, bowing his head.

“By the Goddess, we will see that they did not die in vain,” said the Admiral, looking back at the Emperor.  “Right, your majesty?”

“Admiral?”

“You will see that these people did not die in vain,” said the Admiral, staring into his eyes.  “After we complete this mission you will agree to go back to Conundrum, and from there to the Capital.  No more games.”

“I promise, Admiral,” said Sean, his eyes tearing.  “I promise that no more people will die in vain.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, your Majesty,” she said, not dropping her gaze.  “You will order people into battle, some to die.  And some will die for no reason.  You won’t be able to stop that.  But you will be able to minimize it.”

“I will do that, Admiral.  I promise.”

See that you do, thought the Admiral, nodding her head, then looking back at the viewer.  “Turn them to plasma, Conridus.  Then meet us back at the planet, so we can finish this and get the hell out of here.”

She looked back at her Com Officer after the viewer switched to a tactical of the system.  “Send a repeating message to the humans on the planet, on all possible frequencies that they may be using.  Tell them we are coming, and that we will appreciate any intelligence they can give us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer.

“Thirty-five hours to orbital insertion,” said the Navigator, anticipating her next question.

“Order the two light cruisers to finish picking up the survivors of North America,” she said to the Com Officer.  “And send insertion data to the rest of the ships.”  All six of them, she thought, out of the nineteen I had in this force at the beginning of this battle.  Hope I’m not subtracting more before this is over.

*    *    *

Sean felt the exhaustion overcoming him as he walked into the living room of the VIP suite they had reserved for his use.  His Marine Detachment had a couple of men outside, which he still thought ludicrous, since he was aboard an Imperial warship.  He had too many other things to think about, to process from this day of battle, to sweat the little things.

First he went into the bedroom and pulled Satin’s stasis box down from the cabinet, then put it on the bed and opened it.  The cat lay peacefully sleeping in a box of liquid, an oxygen mask over his face.  The liquid was in case the ship had to go high gee, so the cat would survive, same as the humans did in their tanks.  Sean removed the cat from the box and laid him on a towel, then took off its mask and rubbed the cat down with an absorbing cloth that pulled all the liquid away from his fur.  Satisfied, he rubbed an area on the cat’s lower spine, and the animal came awake, looking up at him and issuing a soft meow.

“Happy to be back among the living, boy?” said the Monarch, picking up the animal that thought of him as the servant.  The cat settled into his shoulder and started to purr, and Sean thought about the woman the small beast belonged to.  Is she still alive, or dead, her basic particles floating in space?  It was not a pleasant thought, but she was just one of many who had died to get him away from the Cacas, and he had come right back into their grasp, putting his life on the line.

Sean carried the cat out of the bedroom and set him on the floor of the living room, getting out food and water for the creature.  The cat attacked the food, and Sean thought of eating something himself.  He really didn’t want to be with people right now, but the kitchenette in the room could produce a decent meal.  He looked over the menu and set the program, then went into the living room and plopped on the couch, waiting for the signal that his meal was ready.

“What the Hell am I supposed to do?” he whispered, thinking of everything that had happened this day.  The Admiral had told him to remember this day, that he would have to send people to their deaths, but to make sure that he did not send them to die in vain.  Or at least that’s what he had heard.  “And how do I do that when I’m back in the Capital?”

That was the way of the Empire, or at least it had been for the last four hundred years.  Catherine the Great, the woman who fought against a mad Emperor, plunging the Empire into a civil war, a war that she won, was the last Imperial Ruler to walk the bridge of a warship while wearing the crown.  And she had been the hero the people needed to rally behind to depose an Emperor not fit to rule.  Could I do that? he thought.  The Admiralty would hate that, having the monarch put himself at risk like that.  And I wouldn’t be able to handle the affairs of the Empire that would pile up in my absence. Unless I found someone I could trust to sit in as a regent, while I ran the war.

The timer buzzed, and Sean almost wanted to ignore it and just go to bed.  But he hadn’t eaten in quite some time, and he knew he needed the nourishment if nothing else.  So he went to fetch the very non Imperial Monarch’s meal of a cheeseburger and French fries, something he had always loved as a child, even though his mother insisted that it was not proper fare for a member of the Imperial Family.

That thought almost caused him to drop the food to the floor.  They’re dead.  They’re all dead, and I am the only one left.  And he was facing a war where millions had already died, and possibly billions soon to come.  And possibly the whole human race, if I fail.  If we fail.  Sean thought about that for a moment.  There was always the Bolthole project.  But that would only delay the destruction of the race if the Cacas conquered human space.  A lot of people would run, and new colonies would be established all over the Galaxy, and maybe without, but again, would that only delay the inevitable.  The best solution is to win, he thought as he finished off his cheeseburger.  But not always the easiest thing.  He thought back on the fighting he had seen so far, the sacrifices that human spacers had made.  If any species can do it, we’re the one.  But he still wondered if he was the one that needed to be leading this species in a battle to the finish.  Because he had no doubt that this would be a fight to the finish.  There would be no negotiated peace, no settlements.  The Cacas would attack until either they destroyed the human race or were defeated.  And the human race would be forced to destroy the Ca’cadasan Empire.

Sean left his plate on the living room table, thinking that cleaning up was something he really didn’t need to concern himself with anymore.  Satin ran into the bedroom while the door was open, and Sean took a quick shower, then crawled into bed, the cat following him in and snuggling against him.  Sean lay there for a second, too many things on his mind to go to sleep, his hand stroking the purring cat.  If there is a God, we need your help.  I need your help.  If you aren’t just a figment of the mythology of the church I grew up in, if you are listening, help us.  Give me the strength I need to save my people.  Or send someone who can, if I am not worthy.  With that thought the ruler of the most powerful kingdom in human space faded into the blackness of sleep.

The dreams came during that night, the realistic dreams that denoted prophecy.  Sean saw another member of his family mounting the throne, while a shadowy figure stood behind him, pulling puppet strings.  He saw a burning core world, New Hanau, or maybe Espania, its cities afire, the flashes of nuclear flame sparking across the night sides.  And finally he saw the face of Jana Gorbachev, dirty and sweaty and pinched with pain, sitting in a Ca’cadasan cell, while other prisoners were taken screaming to interrogation, and he knew she was alive.

Sean woke in a cold sweat, knowing that he had seen a glimpse of the future, and maybe one of the present.  Possible future, he reminded himself.  There was too much randomness in the Universe to ever get a vision of certainty.  Too much variation in the quantum field of the space they all existed in.  The dreams, the prophecies, were based on probabilities, the most probable outcome seen by the brain of those blessed with more quantum connectedness than most, like his family. But they were not certainties.

The Emperor sat up in his bed, stroking the cat that had awoken with him.  The animal too had its connections with the quantum world, just like all thinking creatures.  Sean thought back on the explanation given to him by the Biologist from Imperial University who had been one of his instructors while he was growing up.  That sentient minds were not just biological and electro-chemical machines.  That they were connected to the random world of particle physics, and scales too small for the owner of the mind to be aware of.  That the more neurons, or whatever other neural structures the being had, the more connection, and connection led to creativity and spontaneity.  Humans seemed to possess more of that creativity than was normal, and the long gone ancients were said to have possessed even more.

So in the recent past, the present or the future, Gorbachev was alive.  That’s a hell of a lot of use, isn’t it?  And I don’t have a clue as to where.  The vision of the core world is a little more useful.  He had to think about that for a moment.  Knowing that those two worlds were threatened in the future gave him information, but how useful?  If he stationed ships there to defend them he would be uncovering other locations.  If he did something to change the probabilities then something worse could happen.

“I envy you, kitty cat,” he said to Satin, stroking the purring cat.  “The only worry you have is when is dinner served.”

Sean gave the cat one last pat, then lay back down and closed his eyes, drifting back into a sleep, this time one without dreams.

*    *    *

THE DONUT.

Several days went by without an incident before the minor accidents started happening all over the occupied portion of the station.  Nothing drastic.  Just small machinery breakdowns, or lifts, on one occasion an airlock opening on its own, with no one fortunately in the room exposed to space.  Tensions among the security personnel were high, and among station personnel as more and more Marines and Naval crew made their appearance.

There were also the people in normal duty clothing that no one knew.  That in itself was not a big deal, as there was a constant influx of people as the working part of the station expanded.  No, it was that some of the new people were always looking, always watching, and sent off the vibes that plainclothes police might.

“And no sign of Doctor Landry,” said Agent Chung at the next security meeting.  “It’s like he just disappeared.”

“Or was destroyed by something,” said Callahan, playing back the scene of the man’s destruction by negative matter.  “And how in the hell could it have been him?  There is too much evidence that he was annihilated in this accident.  So where does that leave us?  A clone?”

“Cloning is illegal,” said one of the IIA men, gaining scoffs from many of the other people in the room.

But it is illegal, thought Lucille.  Clones didn’t behave like normal people, they were missing something.  Some of the religious leaders said it was a soul, but whatever it was, the fact remained that clones acted as psychopaths, no matter how they were raised or trained.

“And you think that’s going to stop a spy ring, or a criminal syndicate,” said Callahan.  “In fact, what better operative than a heartless psychopath?”

“But it would take months to quick grow a clone,” objected one of the other naval intelligence officers.

“By any means we know of,” agreed Chung, nodding.  “But there may be other methods, developed by another power.  Plus, this station has been building for over a century.  That would seem to give anyone more than enough time to get an operative in place.  And the death of Dr. Landry may have been planned to get him out of the way.  It was just unfortunate that the incident was caught in memory.”

The arguing went on for an hour, and Lucille could see that no one really knew what was going on, yet.  There were plenty of opinions, and everyone had a different one.

“As long as we keep the wormholes moving,” said one of the engineers.

“And how is production going, Doctor Yu?” asked Callahan.  From his expression Lucille could tell that he already knew the answer, and was only asking for the benefit of everyone else.”

“We did another run of micros this week,” she answered. “Two hundred twenty of them, total.  That’s a little more than thirty-one a day.”

Callahan shook his head with a smile.  The micros could be used for heat sinks for stealth attack, but both knew these were destined to become com links on warships.  Flagships were being outfitted as fast as could be so they could have instant communications between them.  While not totally solving the light speed transmission problem, at least task forces in a fleet could get vital information to each other in a few seconds, instead of the hours to days it often took.

“We’ll be running off passenger gates in the next week,” said Lucille, “and maybe a ship gate or two.”

“Those are things we really need,” said Callahan, and Lucille nodded her head.

Admiral Lenkowski had told her the same.  A ship gate at Conundrum linked to another around the central docks would allow Home Fleet to reinforce the battle zone in minutes, instead of the weeks it normally took.  The enemy ships were on the whole faster than Imperial vessels, but instantaneous travel between points separated by hundreds of light years should take them off guard.  And they wouldn’t be able to duplicate that feat without building their own Donut.

Suddenly the station shook under them.  It was a slow deep rumble, which could mean either a large distant explosion or a smaller, closer one.  The alarms started to sound right away.

“Security,” yelled Callahan over his com.  “What the hell is going on?”

“There was an explosion by docking bay Forty-four F,” came the voice of the security controller.

“Not the wormholes,” cried Lucille, imagining the thirty containers that would have been in that bay.  Since the last attack they had not stored them all in one place prior to their being transported to the pickup destroyer.

“What is the condition of the wormholes?” asked Callahan over the link.

“They’re gone, sir,” said the controller after a moment’s hesitation.  “The storage containers were vaporized by what we estimate was a twenty megaton antimatter blast.”

“A whole day’s run,” cried Lucille, then covered her face as she thought of all the people who must have been in the area.

“Start looking over the security memory,” said Callahan, while Chung talked with his own people on another link.  “I want the identities of everyone that approached those holes in the last hour.”

“Yes, sir,” said the controller, and the link went dead.

“At least we dispersed them so they could not be destroyed by one strike,” said Chung.

“I want the guard doubled on the remaining holes,” yelled Callahan into another link.  “No one is to approach them without authorization.  Understood?”

“You may want to look at this, sir,” said the first controller, as a holo appeared over the table.

On the vid Captain Callahan approached the container of holes in the center of the loading dock, giving a salute to the Marines stationed there as guards.  A close up showed him pulling something from his jacket pocket, then bending down by the containers.  The Marine guards were facing out, having no reason to doubt their own commander inspecting the holes.  Moments later the Captain left the loading dock.  The holo fast forwarded, as seen by the movements of the guards.  There was a bright flash and the holo died.

Agent Chung’s sidearm was out of his jacket in the blur of the enhanced, aiming for the Captain.

“That wasn’t me,” said Callahan in protest, looking around the room.  His own men started to move, stopping when they realized they were covered by armed IIA agents.

“I know it wasn’t you,” said the IIA agent.  “But the question is, who are you?  And was that the real you, or this.  I think we need to subject you to a deep scan and physical, so we can establish just who or what you are.”

“He’s right,” said Callahan, bowing his head.  “No one is to interfere with the IIA men.  They’re doing their jobs.”

An hour later it had been established that Callahan was who he said he was, and the identity of the duplicate was still unknown.

“But we’re pretty sure it was not a clone,” said Agent Chung.  “Unless they made a bunch of them.  The system is now set to scan for duplicate incidences of people across the station.  And we’ll do DNA scans of anyone entering a sensitive area, no matter who they appear to be.  Now maybe we can catch whatever this thing is.”

And Lucille noted that they no longer talked about the saboteur as a person, but a thing.  And what kind of a thing, no one knew.

Chapter Eighteen

Unfortunately, when one is in space, traveling in the fragile environment we enclose ourselves in, one has little control over their own destiny.  The commander of the vessel has somewhat more control, but even that is often an illusion.  The real control is exerted by the space itself, by the immutable laws of physics that govern whether we live or die.  And that is the frightening thing about travel in space.

Philosopher Francine Thomas, Imperial Year 453.

SPACE BETWEEN MASSADARA AND CONUNDRUM, MARCH 30TH AND 31ST, 1000.  HYPER VII DESTROYER DOT MCARTHUR.

“They’re definitely Ca’cadasan ships,” said Captain Jiyoung Kim of the Hyper VII cruiser Athens.  “Three scouts.”

“So that makes a million five tons of warship,” said von Rittersdorf.  “And we have a million six hundred thousand on our side.”

“I’m not letting you take your wreck into battle,” said the senior captain.  “You wouldn’t stand a chance.  Besides, I have my orders.  You are to get back to Conundrum.”

“So what are you planning to do, Captain?”

“I am planning to take my three operational ships into hyper VII and fight the enemy,” said the Captain  “You are to continue toward base in hyper VI, at max acceleration.  We will begin decel, now.  And God speed to you, your Grace.”

“Captain,” protested von Rittersdorf as the other ships began to fall back, decelerating so they could get down to point two light and jump to VII.  “I have a better idea.  You can use your acceleration to get away.  We’re only one ship.  Use some sense.”

“The Admiral would ream me a new one if I let anything happen to your ship,” said Kim with a tight smile.  “Not to say what the Emperor would do.  Now good luck to you, and get your ass home.  We’ll be right on your tail, if we can.

“Good luck to you,” said von Rittersdorf, watching the plot as the other ships fell back so they could go into hyper VII.  He didn’t have anything else to say, and soon the distance had opened to where only grav wave codes could communicate.

“Steady as she goes,” he told the Helmsman, watching as the enemy ships also decelerated, trying to set themselves up to jump down to VI.  The Captain wondered who would get there first. It would be close, and if the enemy jumped down first, then McArthur would be overwhelmed before the other ships could return to her side.

Two hours went by with the bridge crew watching the plot and the vector arrows.  The question was would the enemy ships get down to point three light before the human ships reached point two.  And that’s technology we need, thought the Captain of the enemy’s ability to jump a tenth of light speed faster than the human ships.  Until we get that we will always have a disadvantage in hyper.

“We have missile launch,” called out Lt. Lasardo, the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Captain at the same time as the Sensor Officer.

“Whose?”

“They’re our missiles,” said the Sensor Officer, beating the Tactical Officer to the punch.

The Captain watched as green icons bloomed on the plot, their vector arrows and numbers showing they were on a deceleration profile to allow them to jump. Within minutes the missiles were at low enough velocity to jump, and jump they did, at the edge of their range to the enemy, even with those ships closing on the weapons.

“The enemy is starting to accelerate again,” said Lasardo with a smile.

And why shouldn’t he be smiling, thought the Captain as he continued to watch the plot with furrowed brow.  After all, this probably means we get to survive for another half day or so.

“Enemy is firing missiles,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “They’re decelerating, and curving their vectors this way.”

“Shit,” said von Rittersdorf, staring at the new contacts.  There were ten of them.  If McArthur were fully capable that number would be no problem.  In their present state they might make it, or they might not.

“They must think we’re a tramp freighter,” said Lasardo, looking at his board, then back at the Captain.  “From our acceleration profile and the resonances of our engines.”

“And that might save us,” said the Captain.  “What’s the status of our weapons, Lasardo?”

“A ring is fully charged and ready,” said the Tactical Officer.  “C ring is the only other functional laser, and the emitters are only at forty percent.”

“Particle beams?”

“One forward weapon.  Charging now.  And most of our short range projectile weapons are still nonoperational.”

“Work out a fire plan that brings the most weapons to bear on the incoming missiles, including our best orientation.”

“Yes, sir,” said the officer.

“Evasive plan, Captain?” asked the Helmsman.

“None, until they are already locked onto final approach,” said von Rittersdorf.  “I want their computers to think we’re a freighter until the last moment.  I’m hoping they don’t use their full capabilities, thinking we’re just a fat and lazy target that they can take out easily.”

“Translations up to VII,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Athens and the destroyers are jumping.  They’re accelerating.”

“And the enemy ships?”

“They’re still accelerating.  They’re firing missiles.”

“Target?”

“The Athens and her escorts,” said Lasardo.

Von Rittersdorf stared at the plot, seeing the battle as it would play out in the vector arrows of the ships.  The enemy was going straight for the human warships, while the Imperial warships were building up velocity while curving away, looking like they were launching an attack while drawing the Ca’cadasans away from McArthur.  The Imperial warships were not doing anything to help McArthur against the enemy missiles heading her way.  They had to trust that the crippled destroyer could handle herself.

“The missiles targeting us are jumping down to VI,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Accelerating at eight thousand gravities.”

“Continue steady as you go, Helm.  How long to missile impact?”  And we can’t really do anything else, not with a hundred gravity acceleration limit.

“Missiles will impact in twenty-five minutes, fifteen seconds,” called out Lasardo.  “Closing speed will be point four-three light.”

“Good.  The sooner they get here the slower will be their closing speed, and the better targets they will make.”

The bridge crew tried to pay attention to two fights in two different dimensions at once.  The three enemy scout ships were closing on the friendly vessels, while the missiles from both forces were speeding toward their targets.  “ETA of enemy missiles at our force, twenty-three minutes.”

“What about the friendly missiles?” shouted von Rittersdorf.

“ETA twenty-nine minutes.”

“So they get first hit at both of us,” said the Captain, frowning at the plot.  There was nothing they could do but watch . And wait.

“ETA two minutes,” called out Lasardo, waking the Captain from his trancelike state of watching the other fight develop.

“Everything ready, Tactical?”

“All go, sir.  Preparing to execute fire plan at thirty seconds ETA.  Birds coming in fat and sassy on a flat profile.”

“Very good,” said von Rittersdorf in a voice filled with the calm he didn’t feel.  “Prepare to fire when the counter hits thirty seconds.”

“Aye sir.”  The counter ticked down, first to a minute thirty, then a minute fifteen.  The ship started its turn, orienting itself so that both working laser rings, the one particle beam projector, and seventy percent of the working projectile weapons were capable of engaging the missiles.

“One minute ten.  One minute.  Fifty seconds.  Forty seconds.  Thirty-five seconds.  Now,” yelled Lasardo, and the ship went into action.

Two powerful beams lanced out of laser A, one from laser C. The three beams were all direct hits, and three enemy missiles exploded in fury.  A fourth missile near one of the detonations caught some of the blast and sustained damage to its sensors, but continued toward the target.

Two seconds later the laser rings fired again, this time scoring two hits, including the damaged missile.  The next salvo was all misses, as was the next, and the five remaining missiles were fifteen seconds away.  The Captain gripped the arms of his chair tightly and stared at the plot, trying to will the lasers to hit.  Whether it was will or not another missile went up from a laser hit, then another, and three came on.  At eight seconds out the final laser hit occurred, and laser A went off line, bringing a curse to the Tactical Officer’s lips.

“Come on, dammit,” yelled the Captain, hit a hand on his chair arm.  Laser B fired and missed, then fired again, missing again, then hit a missile on the tail as it juked.  The missile veered, then straightened back to target in time to take the particle beam right up the sensor head.  It detonated in fury, sending a particle stream into the weak electromagnetic field of the destroyer.  The last missile was hit by the converging streams of the solid particle weapons, exploding less than fifty thousand kilometers from the ship and blasting it with more particle radiation.

Klaxons were going off over the ship, and the schematic on the Captain’s personal screen blinked with red damage icons along the side facing the attack.  Casualty figures came through and he winced, thinking of the score of spacemen who would not make it home, while thirty-one more would sit in the stasis tubes for eventual repair and recovery.  But his ship still lived, as did one hundred and eighty-three of the crew.

“And now they know we are not a freighter,” said Lasardo with a grimace.  “Now they know we’re a damaged warship.”

“This is engineering, Captain,” came a voice over the com.  “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Give it to me,” said von Rittersdorf, wishing he could hide from this kind of news.

“We can only make sixty-two gees,” said the Engineer.  “I might be able to get you another ten in a couple of hours, but beyond that I just don’t know.”

“Do your best, Engineer,” said the Captain.  It probably won’t mean anything anyway.

“Missile ETA at our force, four minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Missiles were dropping off the plot as the three warships engaged them.  All could see that it wasn’t enough, as more than two hundred missiles bore in.

“We have translation,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Catastrophic translation of an Imperial destroyer.”  Then another translation blast hit, and there was only the icon of the light cruiser and the last thirty missiles trying to kill her on the plot.  The missiles fell off the plot, some with minor translation noise, others disappearing without a sound, until they were all gone, and the Athena was still there.

“I wonder what shape she is in?” asked Lasardo, his eyes tracking on the enemy force and the missiles bearing down on them.  There were only a hundred of the human weapons, the hyper VII warships only carrying a limited supply of hyper missiles, unlike the aliens, who only seemed to have large numbers of dual purpose weapons.

The missiles closed, until they hit the defensive envelop and started disappearing from the plot.  Forty made it to close in engagement range, and nineteen came at their targets.  There was the loud sound of translation and one of the enemy ships dropped of the plot.  The other two came on.

“We’re receiving a grav wave signal through VIII from the Athens,” said the Com Officer.  “One enemy ship damaged, one destroyed.  They are also heavily damaged, but still have most of their laser capacity.  They advise us to run like hell.”

“And that we’ll do,” said von Rittersdorf.  “Don’t return their signal.  Maybe the enemy will forget we’re here until we’re out of detection range.”

Then it was another waiting game as they watched the plot, until the Athens fell off as it went out of detection range.  Ten minutes later the enemy ships also disappeared.  And twenty minutes after came the twin translation signals of two ships falling out of hyper as wrecks.  One was an enemy scout, the other Athens.

“I think one of their ships survived,” said Lasardo.  “Surely we would have heard it if it fell out.”

Let’s just hope it was badly enough damaged to keep going on its way,” said the Helmsman, looking at his board.  “Engineering signaling I have six more gees accel, sir.”

“Then pour it on, Helm,” said the Captain.  “Every bit you get, pull it.”

They cruised on for another hour, and von Rittersdorf was beginning to think they might have gotten away when the sound of a normal translation from VII to VI came from astern.  Two hours later the enemy ship entered Hyper VI detection range, and the Dot McArthur knew it wasn’t home free.

*     *     *

“We have missile launch,” yelled out the Sensor Officer.

“How many?” asked the Captain, looking at the plot where the missiles had yet to appear.

“Three.  No, four,” called out Lasardo, just before the images appeared on the plot.  “That’s probably all they’ve got left.”

“Those things weigh a half million tons,” said the Sensor Officer, looking over at the tac station with a scowl.  “They’ve got to have more than that.”

“Unless they were in another engagement,” said von Rittersdorf.  “They used a lot of missiles in that engagement that took out the Athens.  If this was one of those ships?  ETA?”

“Twenty-eight minutes,” called out Lasardo, his face again grim.  “We can probably handle them, but he’ll be in beam weapons range in one hour and five minutes.”

I wish I was only facing three times my number of pirates on the Lasharan frontier, thought the Captain.  This is more action than I really wanted.

“What are we going to do, Captain?” asked the Helmsman.

Von Rittersdorf looked around the bridge, the scent of fear on everyone he could see.  “Lasardo.  Prepare to take those missiles under fire as soon as they come within laser range.  Is laser A back online?”

“We have one emitter back online,” said Lasardo, shaking his head.  “We might have another online in another hour.”

“Which we don’t have,” said the Captain.  So we might not have an easy job of the missiles after all.

“And what about the enemy ship?”

“We’ll cross that star system when we come to it.  Or it comes to us.”

There was complete silence on the bridge.  The crew was emotionally exhausted, at the edge of their endurance.  And it looked like it was all over, not in a manner they would have wished.  There was no place to hide, no ambushes to spring, no protectors that might come between them and destruction.

“Missile impact in five minutes,” called out Lasardo, initiating the laser defenses.

The ship shifted to a sideways orientation and both laser rings opened fire.  The first two shots were misses, followed by a single hit with the next cycle by laser A.  It was a momentary hit by a destroyer ring only operating at twenty percent power, causing some damage to the body of the missile, but not enough.

The lasers kept cycling, firing as fast as possible without overheating the system.  At four minutes out there was another hit, enough to damage the missile’s guidance systems, making it an easy target for the next three hits.  The missile blew apart in space, leaving the three remaining to continue moving in.

At just under two minutes out the next hit occurred, still not enough to destroy the missile, but enough to damage the sensor head.  The laser rings went to a maximum firing rate with no care for the cooling systems.  At just over one minute they scored a hit on one of the remaining two missiles, a damaged weapon, blasting it out of space.

“Laser A just went offline,” yelled Lasardo.  “Laser C still operational.”

And laser C kept cycling, a shot a second, but the strained targeting systems were not functioning at full capacity, and blast after blast missed the target.

“Hit it, dammit,” yelled von Rittersdorf.  “Come on, hit it.”

The missile bore in, thirty seconds away .  And laser C went offline with a final shot.

“Particle beam is the only other chance,” said Lasardo.

“What about the projectile weapons?” asked the Captain, his hands clenched on his chair arms.

“Only two still have ammunition,” said the Tactical Officer, concentrating on his board.  “If only I can….”

The particle beam fired, a shot, two, and both missed.  “There,” yelled Lasardo, and a laser beam fired out and hit the nose of the incoming missile directly.  The missile exploded, sending a mass of superheated plasma and radiation into the bow section of the ship.

“Good job getting in that last shot in,” said von Rittersdorf, cringing a bit as he looked into the local screen and saw the new damage that had been inflicted to his once beautiful ship.

“Laser A is gone,” said Lasardo, turning with wide eyes to look at his captain.  “Now we only have laser C left, and I doubt it’s going to be enough.”

“Hell, Tactical ,” said the Captain with a slight smile.  “We haven’t had a chance before, in all the other situations since taking the heir aboard.  What’s one more hopeless situation?”

“Enemy will be in laser range in twenty minutes,” said Lasardo, checking his board.  “Ten minutes later they will be able to hit us point blank, and we won’t be able to avoid.”

“I’m picking up hyper emissions from the front,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “One Imperial destroyer.  No two.”

“Still not enough to take on that thing behind us,” said the Helmsman.

“Maybe in a missile engagement,” said Lasardo.

“We have missile launch ahead,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Eight, no sixteen missiles.”

“And that’s probably all the hyper capable missiles those destroyers have,” said Lasardo, nodding.  “I don’t think that’s going to be enough to saturate their defenses.”

“But that might,” said the Sensor Officer, pointing to the plot.  Forty more missiles appeared on the plot, and the acceleration profile of the destroyer weapons with these would allow them all to strike the enemy vessel in one wave.

“I wonder what fired them?” asked the Helmsman.

“Probably from that,” called out the Sensor Officer, a smile on her face as the icon of an Imperial battleship appeared on the plot.

A took several more minutes before the enemy ship started to react to the missiles coming its way.  It started to change its acceleration vector, though three hundred gravities would not get them away from five thousand gravity missiles.  It fought valiantly, as all warships would under similar circumstances.  And like other ships in similar situations it died.

“We’re receiving grav wave signals from the battleship,” said the Com Officer.  “HIMS Lord Kelvin, out of Conundrum.”

“Send them our particulars and destination,” said von Rittersdorf, smiling.

“They’re dispatching the two destroyers to escort us,” said the Com Officer.  “Conundrum is less than a day ahead.”

“So we made it,” said the Helmsman, letting out a sigh.

We made it, thought the Captain, looking over the damage schematic of his proud ship.  Now we just need a month in a repair yard, and then we can get back into it.

*    *    *

HYPER VII BATTLE CRUISER JEAN DE ARC.

“They’re in front of us again,” called out the Sensor Chief.

“Any way around them?”

“I don’t think so, ma’am,” said the Chief in a tense voice.

Everyone is starting to lose hope, thought the Captain, rubbing her temples with thumb and fingers.  Myself included.  And I can’t afford to be like that.  Not at this time and place.  Not if I want to get my crew out alive.

“Can we slow down before we come within their detection range?” asked the Captain of the Helmsman.

“I think so ma’am,” said the officer, checking his board.  “It’s going to be close though, and we have no control over them coming up on us.”

And if I take that chance, and they do start heading our way, then a translation down will definitely give the game away.

“Dammit,” she exclaimed, slamming her hand down on her chair arm.  “Slow to a translation speed, then drop us to normal space.  Then back us the hell out of here.”

The Helmsman nodded his head, a pinched expression on his face.  The Captain looked around the bridge, seeing the hopeless expressions on every face.  They see we’re going the wrong direction, away from safety.  We don’t stand a chance out here on our own, not in this wreck of a ship.

The hours passed, with the enemy ships keeping their distance, even moving away a bit.  We’re going to make it, thought the Captain.  The ship was almost down to point two c, almost to the point where they could drop back into normal space if necessary.

“They’re starting to change vectors, ma’am,” called out the Sensor Chief, his voice on the edge of hysteria.  “Back toward us.”

“Crap.  Have they heard us?”

“Unknown,” said the Chief, taking some deep breaths before continuing.  “I won’t know for several hours about that, ma’am.  All I can tell is that they are changing vectors.”

“So we wait,” said Mei under her breath.  “Nothing else to it.”

Hours passed, and the plot started to show the change.  Not directly at the Jean de Arc, but definitely not away from her.

“I’m picking up another resonance, ma’am,” called out the Chief.  “About one hundred and ten degrees to port.”

“Another of the enemy?”

“No, ma’am,” said the Sensor Chief.  “Resonance matches a tramp freighter in Hyper V.”

“And they’re going after her,” said the Captain, glaring at the tactical plot which was now updating to show all the players.

“We’re in no shape to do anything about it, Captain,” said Commander Jackson over the personal com.  “I know it’s our job, protecting the helpless, but that pretty much describes us right about now.  We need to get home.  That’s more important at the moment.”

“I know, Exec,” she said over the com, feeling like she was betraying her oath in letting a freighter get taken without any effort on her part to intercede.  “It just burns me up inside.”  She sat there, fretting for a moment, thinking of anything she might be able to do to change the situation.

“Helm,” she said, coming up with something that might work, or might get them killed.  “Drop us to Hyper III, then back up to IV.  After that vector us away from the enemy ships, but keep us at point two light.  No higher.  Understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” said the Helmsman, inputting the commands with shaking hands.

The Captain looked around the bridge, seeing the stares from all the frightened faces, wondering what the hell she was doing with their lives.  But discipline held, and they all turned back to their jobs.

“You really think this will work, ma’am,” said Jackson over the com.

“I’m betting my life on it,” she said, staring at the plot.  I’m betting all of our lives on it, and the lives of the crew of that freighter.

“Two of the ships have increased their acceleration,” called out the Sensor Chief.  “Translation. Down to IV.”

“So those ships are coming after us,” said Mei, a smile on her face.  “What about the others?”

“The other three are continuing to change vectors toward the freighter.  Translation.  Down to V.  Now they’re accelerating, towards the merchie.”

“Well, at least half of it worked,” said Jackson.

“Quit being such a smartass, XO,” growled Mei.  “And figure out a way for us to get out of this.”

Two hours later the sound of catastrophic translation screeched over the com.  The sound of a freighter dying as it was ejected from hyperspace.

“Where are our two hounds, Chief?” asked the Captain, clenching her hand into a fist at the memory of that horrible sound.

“Still curving around in hyper IV,” said the Chief, his voice growing hoarse.  “About ten degrees off our bearing.”

“I estimate they will catch us in one hour, twenty-seven minutes, ma’am,” said the Navigator.

“Keep us below point two light, Helm.  No matter what.  I want to be able to drop into normal space at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Point two light.”

“Picking up three large objects heading toward the last location of the freighter, ma’am,” said the Sensor Chief.

“More of the enemy?”

“No, ma’am,” said the Chief, his tone showing his relief.  “Resonances match Imperial light cruisers.  And our two dogs are starting to change vectors again.”

“Can they get away from those light cruisers?” the Captain asked the Navigator.

“Probably not, ma’am,” said the officer, plugging numbers in on his board.  “From their acceleration those are Hyper VII ships.  Those cruisers are at least as fast as the enemy scouts, and the Cacas won’t be able to decelerate fast enough to jump hyper levels before the cruisers get to them.”

“The real question, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer, “is whether those cruisers can outfight three of the enemy scout ships, and the other two that are trying to get there as well.”

Mei thought about that for a moment.  The enemy scouts were five hundred thousand ton vessels, while the light cruisers massed just under a million tons.  But the Hyper VII cruisers were not as heavily armed as Hyper VI cruisers, and might not be able to handle this enemy.

“Captain,” said Jackson over their private com.  “There is no way we can get there in time to have an effect on that fight.”

“You are correct, XO,” said Mei, clenching and unclenching her hands.  “I wish it were different, but it is what it is.”

Mei closed her eyes for a moment, wondering why fate had put her in such a situation, where she could do nothing.  “Helm,” she said, opening her eyes.  “Set us on a direct heading for Conundrum base.  Maximum acceleration.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed the officer, setting the ship on the ordered course.

An hour later the resonances of catastrophic translations again sounded over the speakers.  Four of them within a space of fifteen minutes, at the far range of the battle cruiser’s damaged sensors.  And no way of telling who had been destroyed, and who was still around.

*    *     *

MASSADARA SPACE.

Even with the current technology space was still vast.  There were almost countless cubic light years in space, translating into so many cubic kilometers that no sentient mind could even comprehend the number.  Even the average solar system had multiple ten to the twenty-eight power cubic kilometers, in which the planets were like water drops in an ocean.  For all this, most spaceships were not hard to locate, as they radiated a lot of waste heat into the surrounding space.  Modern heat dispersal systems could pull enormous amounts of thermal radiation, more than would have been thought possible in earlier ages, out of ships that would have become deadly ovens otherwise.  And this heat gave the vessels away to even a cursory scan.

Stealth ships solved this problem by sending the heat to another place, either subspace, or to a heat sink through a wormhole.  They were very hard to find.  Not impossible, but very hard.  And one that was hidden under the surface ice of a Plutino was just about impossible to locate, unless the searcher decided to deep radar every ice ball they came to.

Sea Stag was hidden a half kilometer under the ice they had melted through on a large Plutino, one in the thousand kilometer diameter range.  She had scattered sensors over the surface that were sending low power signals to the ship, allowing her to see the solar system around her, and gather the data she was sending to headquarters.  And right now that data included the extensive search for the ship.

“There’s another one,” said the XO, Lt. Commander van Dyke, looking over the Captain’s shoulder as they studied the plot.  An antimatter tanker had just dropped out of hyper and was moving toward the space station.  A view of that station showed a thick picket around it, the Ca’cadasans not taking any chances on a reoccurrence of the attack that had crippled the station and deprived them of antimatter replenishment for the week.

“Looks like they got the station fully functional again,” said Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic, pointing to the five hundred million ton construct that was lit up like a city in space.

“Too bad we didn’t blow the damned thing away completely,” said the XO, glaring at the holo image of their mortal enemy’s base.

And if we had more missiles, we might have been able to, thought Suttler, nodding his head.  But that was our last one.  “We still put their war effort back,”: he said, gesturing to the second holo, over the first, showing the entire system and the cluster of red dots all over the Kuiper and Ort regions of this area.  “Those ships looking for us are not scouting out the other systems of our space.”

The holo zoomed in on one of the scout ships, orbiting closely around a medium sized Plutino.  The distance stamp at the bottom of the holo showed a billion kilometers, so they were a light hour distant, and they were seeing what the ship was up to almost an hour ago.

“Looks like a deep radar pattern to me,” said the Sensor Officer, and all in the conference room nodded.  That was one sure way to find their ship, as they would be easy to see against the lesser density of the ice.  But the sweep had not gotten out this far, yet, and there were hundreds of thousands of objects within that three light hour radius of the station.

“We have translations,” called out the Sensor Chief over the intercom.  “Dozens of them.  It looks like the sweeping force is pulling out.”

“Should have known it would be too good to last,” said Lt. Commander van Dyke.

“Any word on when we are going to be relieved, sir?” asked Lt. Ngovic, a hopeful expression on his face.

“I don’t think we can count on relief in the near future, Lieutenant,” said van Dyke.  “We are too important an asset in place.”

“And there really is no guarantee that we’ll be able to slip out of here,” said Suttler.  “Or anyone else slip in.  We have enough food for two years, and enough antimatter at current consumption rates for much longer.  So I think we can count on being here for a long long time.”

“I have hyperwave disturbances heading for the system in VII,”  called out the Sensor Chief, his voice tense.

“Ours or theirs?” asked the Captain, knowing the answer already.

“Theirs sir,” said the Chief, his voice strained.

“How many?”

“Unknown sir.  There’s too much interference in their signals.  But a whole bunch.  More than I can count, but probably in the high hundreds, if not thousands.”

And Bryce Suttler felt a chill run up his back.  This was the breaking storm, and it was heading into Imperial Space.

*     *     *

NEW TERRAN EMPIRE EMBASSY, ELYSIUM.

The sounds of fighting came out of the city through the day.  Clouds of smoke obscured the far view, and a large pillar of oily black rose from the direction of the High Council, the government seat of the Empire.

Horatio Alexanderopolis stood on the rooftop of the embassy, using power glasses to look through the smoke.  Around him stood a squad of armored Marines, and he wore light body armor and a helmet himself.  The electromagnetic field that had been erected around the building shimmered a bit as he looked through it.

“What do you see, sir?” asked one of the embassy clerical staff as Horatio panned the glasses.

He saw small figures in the distance, down a street that led into the circle that fronted the embassy building.  He zoomed in and grunted as he saw the lumbering forms that could only be Knockermen, wearing a body armor that enhanced their strength, but surely could do little with their poor reaction time.  Beams came out of the weapons they carried, visible as they traversed the smoke.  Other beams connected a couple of the Knockermen, lasers that came from their enemy.  A reptilian fell over and didn’t move, while another fell after a hit to his leg and continued to fire back.  Tough bastards to be sure, thought the Ambassador.

He traversed the glasses and spotted some other, more upright forms in the body armor of Capital Police.  The way they darted and dodged told him they were Brakakak.  And though they were more agile and faster than their opponents, they were also outnumbered.  And a laser hit on one that dropped the being into a flaming pile also told him they were more lightly armored.

“Hell is what I see,” said the Ambassador to the woman, offering her the glasses for a moment.  He turned around to see Brigadier General Connie Contovy standing close to the edge of the roof, IIA Station Chief Gertrude Bauman standing next to the Army officer.

“Well. It’s come to pass,” said the general, looking dangerous in her combat armor.  “You were right on it, spook.”

“Of course I was,” agreed Gertrude.  “I just wish I wasn’t.”

“What do you think is going to happen, General?” asked the ambassador, reaching his hands out for the glasses he wanted again.

“I think the Lizards are going to roll over the Birds.  And I don’t think it’s going to take more than a day to do it.”

“And then?”

“And then the Birds come back in with the fleet and stomp the Lizards into the ground.  I just hope we’re still here when that happens.”

“I agree,” said Gertrude when the Ambassador turned to her.  “And the relief should come in from three to five days, I hope.”

“What the hell,” yelled one of the Marines, and everyone turned to see a trio of air cars heading for the embassy at high speed.

“Hold your fire,” yelled out the Ambassador, recognizing one of the cars from its ornate surface.  “Do not fire on those vehicles.”

The cars were about two hundred meters from the embassy, and obviously intending to land on the roof, when a pair of bright beams struck out at the ornate aerial vehicle in the center.  It had an electromag field, but one that was not capable of fending off the powerful lasers that struck the bottom of the car.  Molten metal splashed and the car curved down, headed for the hard surface below.  At the last moment it slowed enough to bounce to a hard but survivable landing on the tarmac.

The doors to the car flew open as the other cars came down on either side of it.  The Brakakak in the outer cars were out first, in full combat armor and firing back at their enemies.  One was hit by the same beams that had knocked down the air car, and he fell to the ground with a half melted suit burning his body.

“Take those beams out,” yelled the Ambassador to his Marines.  The Marines shouted out their acknowledgements and started to work.

A hyper-v rocket flew out of a launcher and tracked on the first beam weapon.  In an instant there was a ball of fire rising over a building about a kilometer away, followed by the crack of the missile’s hit.  Another missile came in a second behind the first and the beam cut off.  Another Marine opened fire with a particle beam cannon attached to his heavy armor.  With the sound of a million angry insects the dark red beam streaked out at another emplacement.  Another fireball rose, and the Marine played the beam over the Knockermen emplacement for a couple of seconds.  The barrel of his weapon glowed red when he ceased fire, and for the moment there was no incoming.

The doors to the middle car came open, and the driver and a bodyguard came out, going to the perimeter formed by the rest of the guards.  One looked back and waved, and a male in partial armor came jumping from the car, turning to help a female out, then another.  Both were carrying small children, and another pair of youngsters crowded at their legs, obviously terrified.  Horatio recognized Grarakakak with the visor of his helmet up.  He had seen the females at embassy functions and knew them to be the wives of the High Lord, which made the little ones his children.

Some fire started to come back at the Brakakak, mostly light arms, though heavy enough to menace the avians.  The High Lord raised an arm in the air, waving at the Ambassador while trying to keep his wives and children under the cover of his body.  One Brakakak went down, wounded, while another fell with his helmet burst and blood flowing from it.

“Get your men down there and cover them,” called the Ambassador to the Marine Lieutenant.  “I want them in the embassy.”

The Marine officer nodded and started talking into his com.  A six man fire team of Marines jumped from the building and went skimming over the ground at high speed toward the downed air cars.  Another fire team laid down suppressive fire on the surrounding buildings.  When a Knockermen rebel opened fire, he died an instant later.

The Marine fire team deployed in front of the Brakakak refugees, shrugging off what fire was coming their way from their heavy armor.  A heavy laser lanced out from a skyscraper a couple of kilometers away, striking a Marine.  The trooper ducked down behind a car, which whooshed into flame as the beam struck it.  It was obvious from the way the man moved back that he was injured, but still capable of movement within his suit.

The side of the skyscraper exploded as missiles, shells and beams struck it with concentrated fury.  And with that the laser fire stopped.

The High Lord and his family moved quickly toward the entrance to the embassy, the male keeping himself interposed between his family and their enemies, the bodyguards trying to keep him covered.  If anyone in the human embassy had any doubts about the courage of the avians, it was dispelled this day.  The Marines fell back with them, keeping their armored bodies in the way, their wounded comrade behind them as he floated toward the embassy on his grabbers.

Horatio ran from the roof, through the armored door, and hit the stairs, running down the four flights as fast as his legs would carry him.  The Brakakak were coming through the entrance as he reached the lobby, followed by the injured Marine, and embassy medical personnel were there in an instant to check on him, and to make sure the new guests were OK.

Garakakak lowered his visor again, looked at the Ambassador, and trotted over in the graceful style of his species.  He held out his hand in human fashion and made the best attempt at a human smile his mouth would allow.  “Thank you, my friend.  Thank you for myself, and especially for my family.  Have the others made it.”

“Yours are the first of your people we have seen this day, High Lord,” said Horatio, shaking the High Lord’s gauntleted hand and his own head at the same time.

“Then I am afraid my colleagues are lost,” said the High Lord, bowing his head.  He looked back at the human, his fine face feathers quivering, his race’s equivalent of crying.  “That such should happen under my stewardship of the Empire, that which has never happened in our history.  And partially your fault.”

“How so?”

“Oh, not completely.  The Knockermen have been dissatisfied and disaffected for many centuries, but the way you humans have been expanding, and the government’s lack of response to it, was, as you humans say, the final straw.”

“I knew the Knockermen didn’t like us, but to resort to revolt?”

“They do not like many that are not Knockermen,” said the High Lord, giving a very human shoulder shrug.  “Us, they tolerate.  Or at least they did.”

“So what happened?  We haven’t heard anything from your government since the shooting started.”

The High Lord gave the human an intense stare, and Horatio could almost feel the anger in the being.

“My fellow council member tried to kill me this morning in the meeting chamber,” said the avian, his voice a high squawk of anger.  “If I hadn’t been warned by intelligence he might have done it too.  But when I saw his move I drew my weapon and shot him, in the face.”

The avian turned away and walked ten meters of lobby floor, then turned and came quickly back to stand in front of the more massive human.  “My people are not pacifists.  As far as our biologist can tell we evolved from flightless carnivores who developed the intelligence to use tools and fire.  Many mistake us for pacifists, because of our delicate builds and cultured ways.  But this morning, when I saw the reptilian draw a weapon that would have splattered my brains over the council chamber, I reacted as my people are wont to do in emergencies.  And it felt good to see an enemy’s head explode, while preventing the same from happening to mine.”

“It is an outcome I am also happy for,” said Horatio, putting an arm around the High Lord’s armored shoulders and walking him from the lobby.

“They will attack this building, you know,” said Grarakakak.  “I would prefer that my wives and offspring be in a safe place.  Like that warship capsule you call a subbasement.

“We will all go there, soon,” said the Ambassador.  “And there are some other places down there you might not know about.  Even with your vaunted intelligence apparatus.”

Horatio gestured the High Lord to an office chair, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and some glasses from a cabinet.  After pouring them both a drink Horatio took his own seat and sent a call through his link.  “I have asked my Intelligence Chief to join me,” he told the High Lord.  “I would like her input on this situation.”

Gertrude came into the office a little pale in the face from watching the carnage from the roof. She accepted a drink and a chair, and Horatio put up a holo of the planet over his desk.

“Your assessment?” he asked his Station Chief while she looked at the holo.

“The Knockermen are going to take control of the planet.,” said the spy.  “No doubt about it.”

“And their attitude toward us?”

“I think they will not do anything for about a day.  Then they will spend another day blustering and threatening, trying to get us to surrender the High Lord, and maybe ourselves.”

“And what do you think will happen if we do surrender the High Lord?” asked the Ambassador, looking at the Brakakak.  “I am not considering that, Lord Grarakakak.  I just want to know what I am facing.”

“I understand,” said the avian.  “I have complete trust in you.”

What you mean is that you have no choice, thought the Ambassador, nodding.

“If we surrender the High Lord he will be used as a pawn, a bargaining chip, for when the Elysium Navy arrives in force.  And if he doesn’t cooperate they will kill his family in front of him, one member at a time.”

The Ambassador looked at the wide eyed High Lord.  “And it’s not in you to cooperate, is it?”

“No,” croaked Grarakakak.  “And even if it were, the Navy will not cooperate with rebels.”

“How long till your Navy gets here?  And is there anything insystem that might help?”

“As to the second question, the Knockermen took over the ships they could, and fought the ships they couldn’t,” said the High Lord after breathing a sigh of fatigue.  “I believe after the firing stopped there was one working ship in the system, and it was damaged, and under the control of my enemies.”

“So the only thing working in the system might be dropping KE on us in the near future,” said the Ambassador.  “Wonderful.”

“And I wouldn’t expect units of the fleet for at least another three days,” said the avian.

“If this was a human capital there would be a major force in the system,” said Gretchen, shaking her head.

“That is because you are a paranoid species,” said the High Lord defensively.  He looked at the floor, then back at the spy.  “And I guess we could have used a little more paranoia.”

“So before nightfall we need to have everyone in the embassy shelter,” said Horatio, looking at his Station Chief.  “And anything that might be of use to the Knockermen must be transferred down there, or destroyed in place.”

“Yes, sir,” said Baumen, getting up from her chair.

“And now why don’t I show you to your quarters, High Lord,” said the Ambassador, getting to his feet and gesturing toward the door.  “They’re very nice, as far as quarters in an emergency shelter go.”

*    *    *

THE DONUT.

“Good news, Admiral,” said Dr. Lucille Yu over the com, looking at the image of Grand High Admiral Len Lenkowski on the desk holo.  “We’ve almost caught up with negative matter production.  I can’t guarantee anything, but I think I can get you a ship gate or two about a month down the road.”

“That’s great news, Doctor,” said the Admiral, nodding his head and smiling.  “And as soon as you can deliver one will not be a moment too soon.  We needed to ship one to Conundrum yesterday, so we can reinforce that sector as needed.”

“I understand,” said the Director of the Donut Project.  “As soon as we have the negative matter available I’ll arrange a shipment in hyper VII of a hole, the framework and the neg matter.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Doctor?” said the Admiral, tilting his head in a quizzical manner.  “Is there any faster way to transport a wormhole?”

“What do you mean, Admiral?”

“Well, I realize you can transport them through hyperspace.  Something to do with the geometry of the wormhole existing outside of any of the dimensions of normal or hyper.  But would it be possible to transport a wormhole through another one?”

“Don’t even think about it, Admiral,” said the woman, a shudder passing through her body at the thought.  “It would be, disastrous, I guess, is the only way to think about it.  The energy released at both ends of the hole would be in the terratons.  Something I don’t even want to contemplate.”

“So I guess the answer is no,” said Lenkowski, a tight smile on his face.  “Just a thought.”

“And not one you want spreading around where some fool might try it,” said Lucille, wagging a finger in the air.  “We’ve given you a miracle far beyond what any of the other races in this region can dream of.”

“Could the Cacas do it?  I mean, could they learn how to generate wormholes?”

Lucille thought about that for a moment, then shook her head.  “I don’t think so.  I mean, technically they could.  But at an enormous cost to energy production.  Maybe a month’s worth of antimatter production at a major facility.  No, Admiral.  The only practical way to make holes is with a station and a black hole, like we have.  And it takes a very long time to build something like that.  So we should continue to have this advantage over them for a long long time.”

Chapter Nineteen

As I write, highly civilized human beings are flying overhead trying to kill me. They do not feel any enmity against me as an individual, nor I against them. They are only doing their duty, as the saying goes. Most of them, I have no doubt, are kind-hearted law-abiding men who would never dream of committing murder in private life. On the other hand, if one of them succeeds in blowing me to pieces with a well-placed bomb, he will never sleep any worse for it. He is serving his country, which has the power to absolve him from evil.    George Orwell.

SESTIUS SYSTEM, MARCH 31ST THROUGH APRIL 2ND, 1000.

“The Hunter’s back,” said one of the men, part of the group sitting around the fire.  The cave was smoky, the fumes trying to find their way out and not succeeding.  But the fire was a comfort to all, with its hypnotizing flames and its ability to bond the group sitting around it.

Cornelius stopped a few meters from the fire and tossed two right horns at the feet of the speaker.  He gave the man a cold stare, forcing his eyes away.

“He meant nothing by it, son,” said Walther Jodel, the Preacher who had turned back into an Army Ranger with the hostilities.

Cornelius nodded his head and moved to sit down on the log beside the older man.  He looked around the fire, seeing one of the women nursing his son.  He returned her smile, thankful that the Freeholders had accepted them so readily, and that someone was caring for the infant.  He didn’t have time for that.  There was only one thing he had time for, death.

The Guerilla leaned the rifle he had appropriated across the log, making sure it was powered down.  A combination particle beam rifle and micro-grenade launcher, it was capable of taking down anything the Ca’cadasans were using in this jungle.  He still didn’t use it as much as the monomolecular blade he had taken from a dead Caca officer.  It was much more quiet for his line of work.

“You’re going to get killed if you keep on going out there alone like you do,” said the Preacher, leaning close and talking softly.

“Not a problem,” said Walborski, gazing into the fire.  “As long as I’m in the process of bringing death to the Cacas, I really don’t care what happens to me.”

“How many you got now, Hunter?” called out one of the other Freehold warriors, this one a woman.

“Seven,” said one of the men before Cornelius could answer.  “With those two today that makes seven.”

“Actually twenty, if you count the ones he got before I found him,” said the Preacher, giving Walborski a concerned look.

The men around the fire started murmuring to each other.  Martial prowess was what they respected at this time and place.  And only the Preacher seemed to have more of it than the farmer turned guerilla.

“Cornelius Junior wants to see his father,” said the woman who had been caring for the baby.  She held the infant out, and Cornelius took him gently in his hands, looking down at the closed eyed face of his son.

“He’s beautiful,” said the proud father, gently shaking the baby in his hands and eliciting a smile.

“We gave him his boosters today,” said the woman.

Cornelius nodded his head.  The baby of course would have gotten a full supply of nanites from his mom.  But a booster of the little guys would ensure he didn’t get any of the old childhood infections that used to kill so many babies.  In fact, short of physical damage, there was no way the little guy could be harmed.  That last thought brought a frown to the Guerilla’s face.  There are creatures out there who want to see every baby dead, not just mine.

“That is what you come home for,” said the Preacher, reaching out a finger and letting the baby grab it.  “Sure, you go out to kill.  But you try to get back.  It may not always happen, but you damned sure try.”

Walborski nodded his head as he cradled the baby against his shoulder.  The only thing he had left of Katlyn, his childhood sweetheart, besides memories.  He looked back at the Preacher.  “Thanks for the gift of this cammie outfit.  The damn Cacas seemed to be looking at me sometimes and didn’t react.”

“My pleasure,” said the augmented man.  “Just don’t get any holes in it.  That cost the government a pretty Imperial.”

Cornelius nodded his head as he reached up and touched the soft fabric that was as durable as steel.  It could be cool to wear, as it was now, and still the pores could close up to reflect heat inwards.  It would also take on the coloration of objects around it, without any betraying energy fields.

“We just got news,” said Becky, walking into the large cavern from a side one used as their com center, such as it was.  “Big news.”

“So what’s going on, Becky,” said Preacher, looking up and the woman.  “Quit being such a drama queen, and give us the info.”

Becky gave the Preacher a glare, hands on her hips, then looked around the fire.  “There are Imperial warships in the system.  And they just beat the local Caca force in battle.  Now they’re on their way to the planet.”

“How long till they get here?” asked Rafford, the ranking man in the group, shouting over the uproar.

“The first ships should be here in twelve hours or so,” said Becky.  “The capital ships about twenty hours after that.  They are talking about evacuating the planet.”

“There’s no damned way those creatures are going to make me leave my home,” shouted one of the men.  Other shouts joined in, and no one seemed happy about the prospect of leaving.

“I just know the damned Imperial Navy is going to have to fight me if they want me to leave,” said Rafford, and there were shouts of agreement..

Cornelius gave the baby back to the woman who was caring for him, then accepted a plate of food, mechanically eating as the debate went on around him.

“I guess you can get back to New Detroit,” said Preacher.  “Though I would bet you are Army bound, if I can see the future.  You’ve got those killer instincts.”

I didn’t before these damned demon aliens took away my life, thought Walborski, shaking his head.  “I don’t think I’m leaving either.  I’ve found my purpose in life.  My new purpose.  To kill these bastards.  And there are enough of these bastards here to kill.  Or there will be.  And what about you?”

“I think I’ll go ahead and get off this rock,” said the Preacher, taking a swig of the beer he had in his hand.  “Not that I have anything against Sestius,” he said hastily, after one of the locals glared at him.  “It’s just that I can do more for the war effort in command of a battalion, or even an infiltration team.”

“I just want to kill Cacas,” said Cornelius around a bite of tough meat that might have come from any kind of animal.  “I can do that here.” Cornelius took a last bite of his food, then threw the rest of the meat to some dogs that were prowling the circle looking for food, including one of his own.  He patted that dog on the head while it wolfed down the meat, took a last drink of his own beer, and got up.  “In fact, I think there are a couple of Caca horns out there with my name on them.  I think it’s time to do some night hunting.”

“Mind a bit of company?” asked the Preacher, standing and slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

The Guerilla thought about it for a moment, then nodded his head.  “Why not.  Maybe you can show me some things.”

The night was warm, and Cornelius had worked up a sweat by the time they had hiked ten kilometers through the jungle.  Preacher had stopped him from crossing areas a couple of times, pointing out this or that predator that lay in wait.  Cornelius had blasted his way through some of those traps the last couple of days, but saw that Preacher’s method was more efficient, and safer.

And the way Preacher moved through the brush was also amazing to the young man, who had thought his woodcraft as good as anyone’s.  Preacher stood completely still, or moved in a blur to cover open areas.  He didn’t make a sound while doing either.  And though they wore the same cammies, the older man just seemed to know how to blend in better with the jungle, taking advantage of all the chameleon aspects of the fabric covering.

The only bad part of the evening was there were no Ca’cadasans to be found.  “They probably fell back to whatever areas they could fortify to get ready for the Marines those ships are bringing.”

“But the Marines aren’t coming to stay,” said Cornelius, scanning his part of the jungle as they headed back to the cave.  “That’s what you said.”

“They need to secure landing zones,” said Preacher, stopping for a moment.  “You move well, son.  And I know you have the courage to close with and destroy an enemy.  You would make a Hell of a Ranger.”

“And they would give me abilities like yours?”

“They would, if you qualify,” said Preacher, nodding.  “I couldn’t guarantee you’d get in.  That would be up to you, how you perform.  But I can put in a good word for you.  Even guarantee you assignment to my unit if you pass training.  If that’s something you want.”

“Hell yeah,” said Cornelius, an adrenal rush coming over him at the thought of being an enhanced warrior.  “If I can move like you do, then Hell yeah.”

“There is a price, you know,” said Preacher, looking into the young man’s eyes with a serious expression.  “The enhancement takes a toll.  About forty years off your life expectancy, unless you have one of the lucky genomes.  I didn’t.  Would that cause you to rethink the proposition?”

“Not a problem,” said Cornelius, grinning.  “I don’t really expect to live through this damned war anyway.  If any of us get to.  So forty less years of life expectancy?  Not even a concern.”

In the morning, well before the sun was over the horizon, Cornelius and Preacher were ready to go.  Junior was in a carry pouch attached to the front of Walborski’s cammies, and there were bottles of liquid in his backpack.  The baby was out, his internal nanites instructed to keep him in a deep sleep until told otherwise, so the infant wouldn’t give them away in a bad spot.  His three remaining dogs were being left with the Freeholders, who had expressed a desire to keep the animals, always valuable out here.  The dogs seemed to know that something was up as he petted and talked to them.  But they stayed in place when told, and didn’t accompany their master to the cave entrance.

“I wish you would stay,” said Rafford, the leader of this band of Freeholders.  “I understand why you want to go.”  The leader raised his hand as soon as Cornelius started to speak.  “I know it has nothing to do with lack of courage.  Hell, you’ve killed more Cacas that the rest of us put together.”

Cornelius nodded his head, not knowing what to say.  Becky grabbed him in a gentle hug, one hand going to the head of the baby.  “You take care of this baby, hear.  No matter what, make sure the little one is safe.”

“I will, ma’am,” said Cornelius, feeling a tear come to his eye.  “He’s the only thing I have left of his mother.”

“You still have your memories,” said Becky, putting her hands on his arms and holding him back so she could look into his face.  “The Cacas killed my husband and my eldest boy, but I still have them in my heart.  Never forget that.”

“No, ma’am,” agreed Cornelius.  Preacher patted him on the back, he smiled at the woman, and walked out of the lives of the Freeholders who had saved him and his child.

“We’ve got about forty kilometers of jungle to walk to get to where we want to be,” Preacher told the Guerilla.  “I figure we can be there by tomorrow morning if we push through.  You up to it?”

Cornelius looked down to his sleeping son, then back to the surrounding foliage, feeling the adrenaline high that was still with him.  “Hell yes.  If it gets me what I need to kill Cacas, I’ll walk for three days straight if need be.”

“Good attitude, son,” said Preacher, slapping him on the back.  “Because when you get to training, three days will be a walk in the park.”

*    *    *

“The enemy ship has been destroyed,” said Commodore Basingee, smiling out of the viewer.  He was over two light hours distant, so Montgomery didn’t bother with a reply.  She would send her message when he was finished with his.  “Two of my light cruisers and a destroyer sustained light damage.  Nothing too bad.  You really messed him up in your fight with him.  And I have some very good news.”  The Commodore looked at the screen for a moment.

You always had a flair for the dramatic, Conridus, she thought with a smile.  Get on with it, will you.

“We have live prisoners,” said the Commodore, almost beside himself.  “Their force commander seemed to be determined to go out in a blaze of glory, but some of those serving under him didn’t agree, and took to the life pods.  We captured over fifty of the big bastards.  Including the ship’s captain.”

“My God,” said Montgomery, almost stunned by the news.  There had never been a live prisoner taken from among the Ca’cadasans.  In the first war, if it could be called that, the Cacas had destroyed everything.  The Earth ships had never won an engagement, had never had a chance to take a prisoner.  There were some bodies that had been dissected, but nothing that could answer questions.  And now this, fifty of them, and one a senior officer.

I wonder if we really need to engage the Cacas on the surface, if we can get the survivors off without doing so.  That was our main purpose for putting troops on the ground.  But now?

Montgomery walked over to the com station and started composing her reply to the Commodore’s message.  It was almost time for change of watch, and she thought some rest might do her good.

*    *    *

The remainder of Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery’s task group slid into orbit around the planet.  The smaller groups had already arrived and assumed orbit, giving her another eight light cruisers and twelve destroyers.

“So far no fire from the planet,” reported the Flag Tactical Officer.  “We have a preliminary plot of enemy troop locations, as well as concentrations of friendly military and civilians.  As good as we can do under the circumstances, considering how much they are jamming us.”

“I’ve been able to contact what seems to be the ranking military commander on the planet,” said the Com Officer.

“Put him on,” said the Admiral, getting up from her seat and walking toward the viewer.  The image of a man formed, fading in and out in the static that the enemy was filling the airwaves with.  Then it steadied as one of the orbiting ships locked onto the signal coming up from straight below.

“Admiral,” said the man, rendering an abbreviated salute.  “Colonel Samuel Baggett, Imperial Army.  And are we ever glad to see you. Have you come to reinforce us?”

“I’m afraid not, Colonel,” said Montgomery, taking in the fatigued face of a man who had seen too much, and done even more.  “We are here to get you and the civilians off the planet.”

“So, we are to abandon the planet?” said the Colonel, his eyes growing fierce.  “I’ve given a lot of lives to hold what we still have.”

“Sorry, Colonel, but I have my orders,” said the Admiral, feeling for the man who had fought a battle, and was now being told it was all for nothing.

“And who are the orders from?” asked the Colonel, from his tone obviously trying to find wiggle room.

“From his Imperial Majesty, Sean the First,” said the Admiral.  “And if you want to argue with his orders you will have the chance, since he is here with my force.”

“Sean,” said the Colonel, his eyes wide in surprise.  “The third son.  What happened to the Emperor Augustine, and the other sons?”

“It’s a long story, Colonel,” said the Admiral, frowning.  “It might not be a good idea to discuss it on this transmission.  We will be sending shuttles down for you and your people.  And all the civilians that we can find.”

“Some of them won’t want to go,” said the Colonel, shaking his head.  “The Freeholders have been on the planet for a long time, some for decades.  They’ll want to stay and fight.”

“And I don’t think we can make them go,” said the Admiral, nodding.  “We’ll just take those that want to go, and all the military personnel.  If you could give us some landing coordinates we’ll start sending down the shuttles.”

“The Cacas are damned close to our positions, Admiral,” said the Imperial Army officer.  “You may have to send some marines down, and whatever atmospheric attack craft you might have.  That might be the only way we can break contact.”

“Understood,” said the Admiral, looking over at the Colonel who was the Marine Commander of her task group.  “I’ll put Colonel Garcia on, and you both can work out the details.”

The Admiral moved back to her chair as the screen switched to a view of the planet below.

“Shuttles are launching to the surface,” called out the Com Officer.  The tactical plot showed four icons leaving each of the battle cruisers, followed by six smaller icons, the ground attack ships of the Marines.  Each of the light cruisers were also launching shuttles and attack craft.  The viewer showed one of the shuttles, an assault variety, heavily armed and armored.  The small flotilla of thirty assault shuttles and forty-two attack craft formed up and started for the planet and their first target, a field that could be used for landing and flight operations.  With them rode over nine hundred heavily armored Marines in the only type of transport that was available for them, plus two hundred naval personnel who would set up shop, and prepare to get the refugees up to the ships.

“Let me know when we can launch the other shuttles,” said the Admiral, watching as the viewer switched to a scene of the surface, and the bright pinpoints that indicated kinetic weapon strikes.  Another thirty attack craft entered the plot, shooting ahead of the landing force and heading for known concentrations of enemy, those too close to the humans to risk megaton range kinetic strikes.

“Colonel Baggett is going to direct an assault against the Ca’cadasans nearest to the landing field,” said Colonel Garcia.  “I am directing our initial landing to hit them from the other side.”

“As soon as you can, get those shuttles back up here,” ordered the Admiral.  “I want more Marines on the ground as soon as possible.  I don’t trust the Cacas to stay put and not cause us trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Marine Colonel and the Flight Operations Officer in unison.

“I’ll feel much better when we’re on the way out of here,” said the Admiral in a quiet voice, as she watched another screen, which showed robots and spacemen transferring missiles from the other ships to her initial group.  At least we won’t be totally helpless in a long range engagement, though I would like to avoid it if at all possible.  Especially with his Majesty aboard, and a bunch of civilians.

The Admiral sat there, watching the screen, listening to the conversations going on around her.  As the shuttles made ready for the fall.

“The shuttles are under fire,” called out the Flight Operations Officer.  “Returning fire.  Attack craft are rippling off missiles.”

“First company is down and moving into position,” said the Marine Liaison Officer, Colonel Garcia.

The Admiral tuned the commentary out, watching the icons on the tactical of the area of operations.  The dots of friendly forces moved across the screen, both Marines and Army, and the red dots opposed them, fiercely.  Dots blinked and faded, and she knew that each represented a human or an alien dying.  And the more she watched the happier she was that she had never commissioned as a Marine, having to see the enemy while killing him.  The red dots became scarce on the screen, then disappeared altogether.

“The landing field is ours,” said the Marine Colonel.

“Shuttles are on approach to launching vessels,” called out the Flight Operations Officer.

And soon there will be another battalion of Marines on the surface, followed by another.  And the enemy will have lost another battle.

*    *    *

“They have taken a bridgehead,” said the underofficer, his snout curled in disgust.

Of course they did, thought the General, fighting to stay on his feet as the ground shuddered underfoot from kinetic strikes.  There was never any doubt.

“Do you wish to say anything to the warriors?” continued the underofficer.

“What is there to say?” asked the General, thinking of the sons and grandsons he would never see.  His female offspring never entered his mind.  They were merely semisentient brood cows with a tenth of the lifespan of a male.  There was no thought of his current harem either.  They would go to another male when his failure on this planet had become known.

“Tell the warriors that they are expected to die like the sons of the Empire,” said the General, wondering how the Admiral had felt when he knew he was lost.  “There is to be no surrender.”  And most will die before they dishonor their clan or their uniform, he thought, knowing that there would always be some cowards who would do anything to live the full lifespan of a Cacada.  But not this warrior, thought the General, already planning how he would sell his own, hopefully to the great detriment of the enemy.

“I will speak to the warriors,” said the General, stopping the underofficer from leaving the prefab quarters.  “I have something that will be of interest to them, and a way to discomfit the enemy.”

*    *    *

Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, uncrowned Emperor of the New Terran Empire, stood in the small room and looked at the holo of the planet below.  It was green and beautiful for the most part, except for the scars that were left behind by the hits of kinetic weapons, and the new glowing wounds that were being put upon the world by his force.

He looked down on the small island continent in the Southern Hemisphere of the world, five million square kilometers that had once been as green as the rest of the planet.  Now it was the gray of death, with the exception of a large area of the west coast that was the red of rising magma, where a weapon of the enemy had struck the land mass.

“Damn them to Hell,” said Sean under his breath.  An entire ecosystem totally destroyed as if it had never evolved.  “We will restore it to the best of our ability,” he said, looking back at the other occupant of the room.

“To the best of our ability is the key phrase there, your Majesty,” said Samantha Ogden Lee, the second cousin to the young man.  “We are unlikely to have the genomes for any but the major animals and plants.  The terraformers will have their work cut out for them remaking that continent.  And that damned volcano.”

Sean turned away from the viewer and walked over to stand by the woman.  “You can dispense with the your Majesty crap when we are alone, cousin.  I know my father did not stand for it in informal family gatherings, and neither will I.”

“OK, Sean,” said Samantha, a smile on her face.  “I’ll act like you’re that snot nosed little boy I remember when we are alone.”

Sean laughed, then looked back at the planet. “We’re at war, cousin.  I don’t think any of us will be able to relax completely for years to come, if not centuries.”

“And what is to become of me,” asked the woman, ten years Sean’s senior but looking very scared and alone.  “Court Martial?”

“I won’t allow that,” said Sean, putting a hand on her shoulder.  “And even if I didn’t intervene there would be no way they would be able to punish you, other than letting you out of the service.”

Samantha looked up at him with wide eyes, and he knew she didn’t fear punishment.  What she feared was losing the career she had chosen, and risen high in due to her own merit.

“Couldn’t you intervene?” she asked, her face flushing with the embarrassment of even having to ask such a favor.  “You’re the damned Emperor, Sean.  In a wartime situation.  Your power is unlimited.”

“Not quite unlimited,” said Sean, smiling.  “I can’t order the damned Cacas to leave us alone.”

“But Sean,” cried the woman, coming out of her seat and dropping to her knees, grabbing Sean’s hands.  “Please. Help me.”

“But I plan to help you,” said Sean, pulling her up to her feet.  “And I don’t want you bowing and scraping before me.”

“Help me,” stammered Samantha.  “How are you going to help me, if you won’t save my career?”

“By giving you a position of responsibility that I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” said Sean, his tone matching his words.  “And may God have mercy on your soul.”

*    *    *

Colonel Samuel Baggett felt good about this coming action.  Mainly because it was the first fight on this planet where he was going on the offensive, and the plan was to crush the enemy.  He looked at his company commanders, all in full armor and ready to go.  That included one Marine Captain in heavy armor, who company would be his reaction force.

“You all understand the plan,” he said to his officers.  They nodded back, and he was sure they could pull up the plan if needed on their own HUDs.  “OK.  So the bombardment is our signal to go in.  Remember that we will also be pinpointing the enemy for the attack craft.  And don’t shoot at the Marines.  You know, the big guys in human made suits.”  He looked over at Captain Marquette.  “Anything to add to that, Captain?”

“Just that the Marines don’t like being shot at, and tend to shoot back.”

There was some laughter at that.  Both services knew there were some good fighters in the other service, some really good, despite their mutual chiding.

“We go in five minutes,” said the Colonel, looking at the timer on his internal clock.  “That just gives you time to get back to your units and get ready to roll.  Good luck to everyone, and may your God look over you.”

There was a chorus of accents, and then the five company commanders left the area, leaving only the Marine Captain, who the Colonel wanted close in case he needed to deploy his company quickly.

The Colonel pulled up the area of operations again on the HUD, looking for any flaws in his plan.  Of course, I could look and plan for a week, and still find some things lacking, he thought.  There’s just no way to think of everything, and in a fluid situation like battle the unexpected can happen at any moment.

Baggett had thought about using his men out of their suits, to give them the advantage of stealth.  He had decided against it because the suits would give the men more survivability in close combat, and the enemy was bound to know he was closing in anyway.  If his troops had still been equipped as light infantry he might have still gone without the armor, but the medium suits were so much more capable.  I just wish we had more power packs for the suits, he thought.  Most of the suits had one pack left, and not a full one at that.  If the battle lasted over three hours he would have men having to bail from their armor, because it would no longer be moving.

“I hope your Marine buddies can hit the enemy and not drop anything on us,” said the Colonel to the Captain, just trying to relieve the tension he always felt sending men into combat.  And all I have are some mortars for internal fire support, and I can’t use those because they might endanger the air strike.

“I don’t know them personally,” said Marquette, his own face a little pale, as expected from one who might be fighting for his life at any instant.  “But I would hope they were trained to the same high standard as the ones I do know.”

“Me too,” said the Colonel as the signal came through from Marine Flight Operations.  “Here we go.”  He keyed his com, sending the signal out to his companies, and watched as seven hundred medium infantry started forward.

Almost immediately he lost some men, three icons turning red and dropping off the screen.  Red icons appeared, denoting enemy troops as their positions fired on Imperial soldiers and had fire returned.

And then the first squadron of attack craft came screaming in, pulling Mach eight in atmosphere.  They released missiles at twenty kilometers, and the projectiles came in with an additional six Mach of speed.  Lasers, particle beams, rapid fire guns and even some missiles came out of the Ca’cadasan positions, mostly on the edge of the jungle or the few bunkers on the plains.  Of the sixty four missiles coming in, twenty-one were blasted from the sky.  The others hit their targets, where there were targets to hit, and balls of fire came roaring up into the air.  Two of the attack craft went down as well, to explode in the jungle with no survivors.

The fourteen survivors of the squadron roared over, unleashing particle beams which burned through the trees and incinerated the Cacada who were unfortunate enough to get in their way.  Lasers and particle beams came down from space, striking at targets revealed by the enemy firing at the attack craft.  The beams played across the Ca’cadasan positions for a minute, avoiding the areas the soldiers had already penetrated, and then the next squadron of attack craft came roaring over at high Mach.

Baggett switched his view to one of his companies, looking through the camera of the company commander.  There was movement everywhere, men running, beams showing through the raised dust, pieces of trees flying into the air from the impact of projectiles, a couple of explosions in the near distance.  The Colonel switched his view to one of the infantrymen, and almost flinched as the take came back.  There were several big bodies lying out of a fighting position, and the body of an Imperial soldier with a smoking hole in his armor.  Beams were everywhere, and a tree flew apart as its sap superheated from a particle beam.  The view moved as the soldier ducked down.  Suddenly the camera feed went dead, and a graphical display showed the soldier was down, but still alive, the armor doing its job of stabilizing him until the medics could get there.

“Shit,” cursed the Colonel, switching to another soldier, watching a line of explosions walk over a Ca’cadasan position.  He always hated the idea of sending the soldiers into danger while he was in the rear, in relative safety, forgetting for the moment that he had been in the front lines before, and that relative was the operative word here.  That was driven home as some large explosions rocked the Earth to his right.  If he was in weapons’ range of the enemy he was not safe.

Now the icons of the attacking Marine battalion appeared on the Colonel’s HUD, relayed from the ships above.  They came in fast, overrunning the surviving enemy bunkers, their heavy suits too much for the enemy.  The Colonel’s soldiers were also chewing their way through the enemy, though he was still losing some men.  He saw what he had been waiting for as he was looking at the overhead display.  There was a gap in the enemy line, and he knew what he needed to do to exploit it.

“Captain Marquette,” he called out, turning to the man.  “Lead your Marines through this gap.  We’ll split the enemy and link up with your fellows.”

“Yes, sir,” called out the Marine, lifting on his grabbers and flying just above the ground toward his men.  As soon as he reached them they started to move out, in an octet of v-formations, moving quickly through the jungle.

The first squadron of attack craft moved back in, this time going low and slow, picking their targets with care.  They were much more accurate in this profile, but also made much better targets.  Two of the craft were hit by beams before they could fire.  One went up in a terrific blast.  The other trailed smoke and moved away.  The twelve remaining ships started cycling rockets and beam weapons into the Ca’cadasan positions, in a knife fight with the ground troops that fired back at them.  Another craft was hit, the pilot ejecting his capsule just before the ship exploded under multiple hits.  The eleven remaining kept up their attack, and Baggett, watching the take, had to agree that the pilots had courage.

The Colonel switched his take to one of Marquette’s Marines as those troopers pushed through the gap in the enemy lines.  Of course, charging through a gap meant taking fire from both flanks, and the beams and projectiles were coming through fast and furious.  The one ton battle suits of the Marines were shrugging off most of this fire like the Cacas were throwing stones at them.  Some of the fighting devolved into hand to hand, and one Marine backhanded three hundred kilos of alien and armor into a tree twenty meters away, while another took down a Ca’cadasan with a point blank particle beam shot, the energy causing the enemy’s armor to glow for a few seconds.  That’s what I need to get into, thought the Colonel, again thinking how much easier it would be in every respect to lead men who were so armed and protected.

Right after that thought a Marine took hits from a half dozen beams, lasers and particle, and fell forward with a trio of smoking holes in the armor.  Baggett switched to a vitals readout and saw nothing but flatlines for every measure except for body heat, and that one was almost off the scale.  Several more Marine icons blinked and went off the HUD, and then his Marines met up with the other ones coming from the North, and the battle was all but over.

But not quite.  The Ca’cadasans did not seem inclined to surrender, no matter what.  It took another hour to dig them all out of their positions.  In the end a single soldier surrendered, and he was wounded.  Baggett thought that didn’t bode well for future operations, trying to take a fanatical enemy out of prepared fortifications.  Not that we will have to worry about that for quite some time, thought the officer.  The Imperial forces were likely to be on the defensive for years, if they ever gained the offensive initiative.

Well before the last enemy was taken care of the shuttles started to land on the field that the enemy positions had overlooked.  They came in cautiously, an overflight of attack craft keeping watch, and soon were unloading the naval personnel who would turn the grassy area into an embarkation point.

Colonel Baggett counted his casualties at the end of the fight, in one way relieved that they had been so light.  Forty-nine soldiers and fifteen Marines would never see the stars of home.  And among those was Captain Marquette, the last Marine combat officer of those who had been stationed on the planet.

*    *    *

THE DONUT.

The com buzzed on Lucille’s desk as she was going over the revised production figures.  A wormholer was under construction outside the station to replace the destroyed unit, and she hoped that the rotation would soon be reestablished.  If not, there could be undue wear and tear on the working units.  Freighters were due to bring the components of two more of the machines to the station within a week, which would alleviate the problem even more.  And then two more after that the next week, she thought.

“Admiral Lenkowski on the com for you, ma’am,” said the secretary over the link as soon as Lucille acknowledged it.

“Well, put him on,” said Lucille, hoping that she was not going to be admonished for letting production slip, even so slightly.  She still felt obligated to the man who had rescued her from Purgatory, which she knew had to have cost him something.  The holo formed over the desk and she was looking into the face of the Grand High Admiral.

“What can I do for you today, Admiral?” asked Lucille, giving the man a pleasant smile.

“I do have a favor to ask, Director Yu,” said the man, smiling back, though Lucille could see the marks of stress and fatigue on his face.  “But first let me thank you for the wonderful job you are doing.”

“It would be better if we didn’t have some kind of agent provocateur running around on the station mucking things up.”

“You let your security staff, IIA and Naval Intelligence worry about that, Director.  You just concentrate on getting as many gates to us as you can, with the resources you possess.”

“Easier said than done, Admiral.  I’m sure you know the feeling.  It’s stressful to fall short of the goal, even if someone else is working to make you fail.”

“Yes,” said the Admiral, his expression taking on a thoughtful look.  “I do indeed.  And I also want to thank you for getting those gates out to the frontier.  I’m afraid they’re going to be needed in the very near future.”

“And we’ll be shipping the local gates out in the next couple of days,” said Lucille with a smile.  “That ought to make the local authorities happy.”  Then the damned politicians will be able to clog the system with things they want right now, and the military will still have to wait in line.  Damn Bureaucrats

“And that’s exactly the favor I wanted to ask you,” said Lenkowski, his intense eyes gazing into hers.  “I want you to delay deploying those gates until I give you the word.”

“Delay?  But why?  We’ve already delayed those gates longer than I would have liked.”

“Let’s just say there are certain, people, I don’t want having instantaneous access to that station at this time,” said the Admiral, his look serious.  “Will you do that for me, Director?”

“Of course, Admiral,” said Lucille, not knowing what else she could say to the man.  “I will not ship out those gates until you tell me to.  Any idea how long that might be?”

“I wish I knew, Director.  But I will tell you something.  If anything happens to me, make sure those gates are installed as soon as possible.  I don’t want you implicated in anything.  Lenkowski out.”

The holo died before Yu could get out another word.  Leaving her to wonder what else she was getting into that might bite her in the end.

Chapter Twenty

One of the traditional reasons for having a head of state, be he or she an Emperor, a King or a President, is that there is a figurehead to rally around.  It’s all very well and good to fight for a flag, but no one has ever yelled the name of a Parliament or other legislative body during a battle.  It helps if the figurehead is a reputable figure, and even more so if he or she is heroic.  But even an idiot will do, as all blame will slide from them and land on the legislative body.  Because it is easier to curse those we really do not know.

Philosopher  Francine Thomas, Imperial Year 494.

SESTIUS SPACE, APRIL 2nd THROUGH 3RD, 1000.

“I wish to go down to the surface, Admiral,” said Sean, looking at the main viewer.

“There’s no way in the Seven Hells I’m going to let you go down to that planet,” yelled the Admiral, staring at the young man.  “Are you fucking crazy?”  The Admiral looked like she had swallowed her tongue, her face flushing, the red showing through her ebony skin.  “I mean, I.”

“Don’t apologize, Admiral,” said Sean, showing his teeth in a wide smile.  “I would probably act the same way.  And I am willing to take along whatever security or protection you wish to place on me.  But I will tour that planet.”

“Very well, your Majesty,” said the Admiral in a tone that admitted defeat.  “But first we will make sure that the landing area is secure.  You will grant me that, or accept my resignation on the spot.”  She started to turn to issue the orders, then turned back and glared at Samantha.  “I thought you were restricted to quarters, Lt. Commander.  What are you doing on the flag bridge?”

“On my orders, Samantha is immediately relieved of active duty and is now on my staff,” said the Emperor, waving a hand at his cousin.  “She will be responsible for running the civilian government in my absence, once I have been officially installed.”

“Running the civilian government?” said the Admiral, her eyes again wide.  “You’re going to make my Com Officer your Regent?”

“Why not,” said Sean, nodding.  “She’s intelligent enough, which can’t be said for some of those cousins Parliament might try to foist on the Emporal Branch.  And she’s loyal.”

“Wait a second,” said the Admiral, the words finally sinking in.  “In your absence?  What will you be doing?”

“Why, running the war effort from out here,” said Sean, his tone of one talking about going on an afternoon’s hunting excursion.

I wonder how Grand Fleet Admiral Mgonda will react to that.  Or all the brass in the Hexigon.  The Admiral held back the laugh that threatened to break from her as she contemplated that reaction, and she thought the Goddess was playing a great joke on them all.

*    *    *

The armor felt comfortable, well fitted.  Sean kept his visor raised despite the protests of his bodyguards.  The Marines were all around him, making sure they were ready to interpose their armored bodies between their Monarch and any danger.  Not that there was likely to be any danger in this place and time.

The planet was beautiful, with air that must have been clean and sweet smelling before the smoke and dust of war invaded the atmosphere.  There was jungle all around the large field that was being used for flight operations, and hundreds of flying creatures over those trees.  Some large animals were gathered at the far end of the open area, and when Sean zoomed in on those creatures he drew in a breath of shock.  They’re as big as dinosaurs, but I’m told they’re mammals, of a sort.  Unbelievable.

As he watched another six assault shuttles came in for a landing, slowing in the air and hovering on their grabber units, then lowering to the ground on their extended pads.  As soon as they touched down the hatches opened, and Marines in heavy combat armor came bounding out.  They took to the air on their suit grabbers as soon as they were out in the open, flying low over the ground toward the trees.

“That’s the last of the Marines coming down at this field, your Majesty,” said Lieutenant Tucker, the bodyguard commander.  “The standard shuttles will now start coming down to take people off the planet.”

“And they’ll use the assault shuttles as well?” said Sean, looking at the near jungle, where people in civilian clothing, as well as some soldiers, were coming out into the open.  “How many people were on this planet?”

“A bit over two hundred thousand,” said Samantha, standing next to Sean in her shipboard armor.  “Of course, there won’t be that many still here.”

“No,” said Sean, looking back at the oncoming people, while his Marine guards formed a wall between him and them.  “I guess there must have been a lot of people killed here.”

“You have done all you could do, your Majesty,” said Samantha, using the public protocol.

“It seems a shame to abandon this world,” said Sean, looking down at his shorter cousin.

“Are you the officer in charge?” yelled out a commanding voice, and Sean found himself looking at a tall man in Imperial Army medium armor.  Not in the same class as the armor of his Marines, but still quite capable.  “What is your rank?” called out the Army officer, the insignia of a full colonel on his helmet, his face plate raised.

“This is your Emperor,” said Lieutenant Tucker, as the Marines blocked the path of the soldiers.

“My Emperor?” said the confused officer.  “What would the Emperor be doing on the surface?  And you don’t look like Augustine.  Oh crap.  That’s right, I forgot.”

“I am Sean, Colonel,” said the Monarch, smiling at the man.  “And I am the Emperor of Humanity.”  And he was told that by the Admiral, but forgot.  How much stress and fatigue has this man been through?

“Your Majesty,” said the man, going down on one knee and bowing his head.  He looked up and around at his shocked men.  “You lugs.  Show proper obeisance to the man you swore your oaths to.”

“Oh, get up, Colonel,” said Sean, pushing past his guard and grabbing the man by the hands.  “I should bow to you after the Hell you’ve been through here.”  Sean pulled the man to his feet, then bowed at the waist toward him.

“But, what are you doing here, your Majesty?” asked the Colonel, confusion on his face.  “Have the Cacas conquered the Empire, that you must seek safety on an out of the way planet?”

“Nothing at all like that, Colonel,” said Sean, looking at the tired faces of all the infantrymen, wondering what it must have been like to have fought for over a week against hopeless odds, with no chance of relief.  “It is a long story.  And one I will be glad to tell you on board the Flagship as we head back to base.  And I would have you fill me in on what has happened here, so I might learn the strengths and weaknesses of our enemies.”

Now civilians were starting to draw near, and the soldiers started to form a cordon to prevent them from getting too close.  They were talking and pointing, and there were some shouts of disbelief as the soldiers told them what was going on.

“Are we going home?” yelled a woman from the crowd.

“We are home,” yelled a man.  “Are you going to protect us from the Cacas, so we can stay?”

“We will be evacuating the civilians as well,” said Sean to the Colonel, waving hand at the people, as he had seen his father do on parades, hoping he was doing it right.

“There are some who will refuse to come,” said the Colonel, glancing back at the people gathering.  “Oh, not these people.  While some might be sorry to leave here, I’m sure all will take the offer of safety.”

“Then who are these people who you think will want to stay?”

“The Freeholders,” said the Colonel, saying the word like they were both God and Devil.  “The people who live out in the wilderness of the planet.  There were about ten thousand of them, and I know damned well they won’t want to leave here.”

“What will they do then?” asked Sean, not liking the idea of leaving people behind to be slaughtered by the Ca’cadasans when they returned in force to this system.  “Hide in the wilderness, and hope the Cacas don’t look for them.”

“Hell no,” said the Colonel.  Sean motioned for his guards to let the officer come to him, and the suspicious Marines reluctantly made way.  “Hell no, your Majesty  They’ll fight.  A guerilla war, and I think the Ca’cadasans will come to hate this place.  If they have the equipment to fight.”

“Then we will see that they have that equipment,” said Sean, nodding toward Samantha.  “Weapons, explosives, secure communications, stealth gear, rations.  What else?”

“I’ll make up a list,” said the Colonel, looking to one of his NCOs.  “And I’ll want to talk with some of their leaders to see if there’s anything I missed.”

A quartet of standard shuttles came through the clouds on approach to the field, dropping low and heading for a clear place.

“Start getting those people aboard, now,” said Sean to his Marines.  They looked at him with confusion but didn’t take a step away from him.  “Damn, well I guess that’s one command I can’t get away with.  Colonel?”

“Baggett, your Majesty,” replied the Colonel.  “And what can I do?”

“Have your men start organizing those people, and get them onto the shuttles in an orderly manner. There will be a lot more coming.  Make sure that families are kept together, if possible.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said the officer, talking for a minute into his helmet com system.

The soldiers started to fan out, talking with the civilians, taking names, making lists to get people up to the ships in orbit.  Within minutes the first of the civilians were boarding shuttles, while a pair of the large assault craft came through the clouds and started to circle the field, moving to the spots where Marines landing personnel were waving them in.

More of the civilians were coming out of the jungle, and Sean wondered how many were approaching the other landing and evacuation areas.  "How long till the other battle cruisers assume orbit?" Sean asked the Admiral over the com.

“Approximately twelve hours,” said the Admiral.  “I think we should still get as many people aboard the ships we have in orbit.  We can transfer as needed to the other ships while we are under way to the hyper limit.”

“Agreed,” said Sean, looking out over the people that were gathering around his shuttle.  “I’m going to send you a list of things we need to transport down here.”

“For what purpose?” asked the Admiral.  He could hear the confusion in her voice, and knew that she was looking at the list that was appearing on her viewer.  “Why all these weapons and equipment?”

“The military commander down here has told me that a segment of the population will refuse to evacuate.  Since they won’t come with us to safety, and seem to want to fight the invaders, I believe we should give them the means to resist to the best of their abilities.”

“This time I agree, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, a laugh in her voice.  “I guess we really can’t force everyone on the surface to come along if they don’t want to.  Unless we station battalions of Marines on the planet and comb the jungles.  And I don’t think the Cacas are going to give us that kind of time.”

“That’s, very true, Admiral,” said Sean, still watching the people gathering, many pointing his way.  “But I was thinking more of the basic freedom of these Freeholders, guaranteed by our constitution.  We don’t have the right to tell them what to do with their lives.  If they want to stay and fight, then I say let them.  Maybe they’ll cause some trouble for our six limbed friends.  Lord knows we need all the distractions we can give them.”

“And when are you coming back up, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral, concern in her voice.

I really am causing them a lot of worry, thought Sean, shaking his head at the images of officers shitting their pants worrying about someone who was their responsibility, and one that they couldn’t control.  I really shouldn’t be putting them through this.  But after towing the line in the Navy, it’s kind of nice to be the captain of my own ship.  “I promise I’ll be a good boy, Admiral.  Give me another hour down here and I’ll head back up.”

“We have another crowd gathering, your Majesty,” said Lieutenant Tucker.

Sean looked up to see a new bunch of people heading his way.  There was the murmuring of speech, not angry shouting, just conversation.  He could hear the term Emperor through the conversations.  He waved a hand at them, then noted that there were shuttles sitting with no one boarding, and soldiers trying to get civilians to move toward the shuttles.  Many of them shook their heads and kept walking toward Sean.

A senior Army NCO, a Sergeant Major if Sean got the rank insignia right, came flying over in his medium armor.  The man landed about twenty meters away, outside the Marines’ perimeter, while the Emperor’s bodyguard looked him over suspiciously.  I wonder if they act like that with friends and family when they’re not on duty, thought Sean.

“Colonel Baggett says that your presence is causing a problem, your Majesty,” said the NCO, walking forward and stopping at the perimeter.

“Let the Sergeant Major through, Marines,” said Sean, waving the man toward him.  “What is he saying I am doing in particular.”

“Nothing on purpose, your Majesty,” said the noncom.  “It’s just that we’re trying to get people to board the shuttles, and they hear that you are here, and want to wander over to get a look.”

“I see.  Well, we can’t have that.  Tell the Colonel that I will be heading back up to the ship, as soon as I have a word with these people.”

The NCO nodded and floated away.  Sean engaged his own grabbers and rose up into the air, stopping about ten meters up.  The Marines looked up nervously at the man they were tasked to guard, and a couple started to rise up with him.  He waved a hand, motioning for them to return to the ground, while he engaged his speakers.

“Citizens of the Empire.  People of Sestius.  I am your new Emperor, Sean the First, son of Augustine and Anastasia.”

The murmuring increased, and several people pointed his way.  The Marines started to move nervously below him. “Don’t worry, Tucker,” he told the lieutenant of his detail over his link.  “They don’t have anything that can hurt this armor.”

“Your face is still exposed, your Majesty.”

“Have to face the people sometime, Lieutenant.”  He turned his attention back to the crowd.  “We are here to get you to safety, but we need your cooperation.  We need you to board those shuttles in an orderly manner, so we can get you away from here.”

“Why can’t you just stay here and protect the system?” yelled out a voice from the crowd.  Sean’s suit zeroed in on the voice, and he looked at the face of the man who must have been a farmer, before aliens came from the sky and took his world away.

“We don’t have enough here to hold this system,” said the Emperor.  “Not at this time.  But I promise you we will be back.  We will kick the four armed bastards back to their home stars.  That I promise, on my father’s grave.”  Which is a big fucking black hole, he thought with sorrow.  They must have had the funeral by now, with no body to view.

“What happened to Augustine?” yelled another voice, this one a woman.

“He was assassinated,” said Sean to the crowd, to the hush that followed.  “Murdered, at the time our greatest enemy has arrived.  I don’t think that coincidence, either.  Now please, follow the directions of the soldiers.  Your soldiers, the ones who have fought so hard to defend you.”

There were some murmurs at that.  As well as some cursing at those soldiers.

“I will not hear their names slandered,” said Sean, raising his voice.  “I will not hear those men put down for my error, and the errors of my parents.  Those men gave their lives to protect you.  They had courage, and commitment to duty, and a love of the Empire.  What they didn’t have were sufficient men or firepower to keep a superior force off the planet.  What they didn’t have were the assets in space and in orbit to keep the aliens from landing a force on this planet.  That is the fault of your leadership.  And I cannot undo the past mistakes.  But what I can do is promise that I will do my best to make sure our military has what it needs to defend our people.”

There was more murmuring, a little, but mostly the crowd was silent.

“Please, follow the directives of those soldiers I have tasked with organizing this evacuation.  Thank you.”

Sean lowered his suit back to the ground and started to walk to his waiting shuttle, the Marines falling in around him.

“You sure inherited that charisma from your father,” said Samantha, walking beside him.  “You played the crowd like an expert.  I would never be able to handle people like that.”

“You will have to learn, Sam,” said Sean, glancing down at her and flashing her a smile.  “If you are to be the regent, you will have to learn how to control Parliament.  But, of course, you don’t have to be so polite with those bastards, especially the Lords.”

*    *    *

“Be careful with those cylinders,” said Jennifer Conway, watching as the naval personnel loaded the stasis tubes containing wounded and revivable dead onto the shuttle.  “And I’d like to see an officer in charge.”

A moment later she was standing in front of an Imperial Naval Officer who was probably more harried than she looked, which was saying something.  The officer had the tabs of a Lt. Commander on the light field armor the Navy favored for planetary excursions in a hazardous environment, and looked like a smart and competent woman.

“And what can I do for you, Doctor?” asked the officer, whose name tag said Khrushchev.

“There are a bunch of people in cryo tubes in caverns on that mountain,” said Jennifer, pointing at the distant peak of the range that the Marine sanctuary had been located on.  “We need to get them up to the ships before we leave.”

“Where are these people?” asked the officer, her expression tightening as she looked down on a flat comp.  “Why wasn’t I told about them?”

“I don’t think any of the Marine officers came through,” said Jennifer, her throat catching a moment as she thought about Glen.  “The civilians and the enlisted personnel are probably too concerned about other things right now.”

“Well,” said Khrushchev, looking back at her comp.  “We’ll get some people up there and get them loaded.”

“There is a problem,” said Jennifer, dreading this part, and the reaction she might get.  “They’re under thousands of tons of rock.”

“Under thousands of tons of rock?” said the officer, her voice rising.  “How in the Hell are we supposed to get them out of that?”

“You have engineers, don’t you?” said Jennifer, her anger rising at what looked like an attempt to keep her from getting those helpless people to safety.  “You have heavy equipment.”

“Now look, Doctor,” stated the woman, looking Jennifer in the eyes in an attempt to intimidate the civilian.

I don’t intimidate that easily thought the Doctor, returning the stare, not saying a word.

“We don’t have the time, or the resources, to dig up a bunch of cryo tubes that may or may not be working.”

“They are working,” said Conway, looking back at the mountain peak.  “I can guarantee that.”

“How can you guarantee that when they are under that much rock?” asked the incredulous officer.

“Because they were placed in a side cavern, and the roof of the cavern it opened out into was collapsed,” said the Doctor, crossing her arms over her chest.  “So they are in a protected enclosure of rock.”

“Why did you do such a thing?” asked the Commander, her face showing even more confusion.

“Because we couldn’t take them with us through the cavern complex when we were fleeing the Cacas,” said Jennifer, starting to get impatient with the whole thing.  “Because the Cacas would have found them and killed them if we had left them in the open.  So you need to get your engineers over there and dig them out.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question, ma’am,” said the Commander, hands on her hips in an attitude of not budging a bit.  “It will take days to get through to them, and that’s time the Cacas are not likely to give us.”

“Are you an engineer, Commander?” asked Jennifer, feeling determined to win this argument that lives hinged on.  The lives of people she had worked on.

“No, ma’am,” said the officer, her posture stiffening.  “I am a computer and communications expert, with a subspecialty in logistics.  That is why I am down here.”

“Then why don’t you kick this up to an expert in engineering.  And I don’t mean a ship’s engineer, but someone who knows something about civil engineering or mining.  Maybe a Marine.”

“Ma’am,” said the officer, her face starting to flush.  “We don’t have time for an analysis of the situation. We…”

“Then damn well make time,” yelled Jennifer, losing her temper.

“I could have you escorted from the area, Doctor,” said the officer, her face reddening even more.  “Don’t make me do that.”

“Do what you need to do,” said Jennifer, crossing her arms over her chest, keeping those hands away from the butt of her pistol.  This idiot might have me shot, she thought, if it looks like I might draw this big gun.  “I’ll go over your head, Commander.  Believe me when I tell you that.”

“Is there anything I can do?” asked a strong voice from behind the Commander.  Jennifer looked around the officer and saw a man in powerful looking battle armor, with an entourage of Marines in heavy suits at his back.

“You can butt out and mind your own business,” said the officer in an angry voice, spinning on her heel.  She stopped her turn and jerked to attention as soon as she caught sight of the man she had talked to in such a rude manner.

Jennifer looked at the face of the young man who was standing there with a slight smile on his face.  Jennifer had to admit that whoever he was he was handsome, in a haughty sort of way.  The armored suit he wore was non-standard, and she had been around Marines enough to know that it looked very advanced.  And he had about a score of heavily armed Marines, whose eyes were constantly darting this way and that, the ones who did not have their faceplates down.

“I am sorry, your Majesty,” said the officer, her voice choking.  “I did not realize it was you.”

“Quite alright, Commander,” said the young man with a laugh.  “You didn’t know who was sneaking up behind you.  I’ll let you live, this time.”

Jennifer couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in the young man’s eyes.  The officer relaxed a bit.  His humor was infectious.  And then the words hit her.  Your Majesty?  That’s the title used by the Emperor, not any other noble, except maybe his wife.  If he were an imperial prince it would be your Highness, and your Grace for a Duke or Archduke.  But Augustine is Emperor, though this young man favors him.  Did something happen to Augustine?  It was then that she noticed people were talking to her.

“It’s not polite to ignore the Emperor, Doctor,” said Lt. Commander Khrushchev.

“That’s quite alright, Commander,” said the young man who had just been called the Emperor, the supreme ruler of human space.

“What happened to Augustine?” Conway blurted out, then wished she could take back the words as she saw the cloud pass over the young man’s face.

“My father was assassinated,” said the young man.  “Along with my brothers and my mother.  And Dimetre’s wife.  You would have seen the news, if not for the invasion.”

“I’m so sorry, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, her heart going out to the young man who had lost so much, even as she had, and had so much responsibility thrust upon him, more than she could comprehend.

“As I said, there was no way for you to know, Doctor?”

“Conway. Jennifer Conway, your Majesty, and I understand your loss.”

“Do you?” said Sean, his voice going flat again.

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, feeling the connection of loss between her and the man.  “I do.  You see, my fiancé’ was a Marine captain on this planet.”

“Oh, said Sean, his face dropping with recognition of what she was saying.  “And there were no surviving Marine officers on this planet.”  The young man gave a slight bow.  “I am sorry for your loss, and your fiancé’s sacrifice.”

He means it, thought the Doctor.  He really is human.  I hate to think of the Emperor and his family being killed, but I think we hit the jackpot here for a successor.

“And what was your argument with the Commander about?” asked the young man.  “It sounded quite passionate.”

Jennifer told the young Emperor her story, and she could tell that he was very interested.  That he was a caring young man.  She wondered if he would be strong enough to do some of the things an Emperor must do to prosecute a war.  But she was getting through to him, at least for now.  At the end he turned to a beautiful young woman with aristocratic features who didn’t act the same as the others in his entourage, like she knew him personally.

“Get in touch with the Admiral,” said the Emperor, pointing toward the mountain peak.  “Tell her to get Marine engineers, and whatever civil people they have, to work on getting those people out of there.”

“She won’t be happy at the delay,” said the young woman.

“Tell her that if she acts quickly there won’t be much of a delay,” said the Emperor, smiling.  “The faster we work the sooner it will get done.  And we have to wait for the other battle cruisers to get into orbit too.”

The young woman stared into space in the characteristic gaze of com link through an implant.  Sean looked at the Doctor with a frank and interested gaze, and she felt a bit embarrassed by the attention.  And a little flattered at the same time.  “The Admiral says we don’t have the time to waste on digging up a mountain,” she finally said.

“Just tell her what I want Samantha.  And that I want it, now.  We’ll get everyone who wants to go off this planet, conscious or not.” He looked back at the Doctor, a wide smile on his face.  “Mission accomplished, Doctor.  Would you like to get off planet now?”

“I’ll wait until we get those cryo tubes out, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, feeling a thrill run through her at the smile, the look of those warm blue eyes.  And feeling a bit of betrayal of her dead lover at the thoughts that underlay that thrill.  She felt herself flush, then gathered her thoughts.  It was not time to start acting like a schoolgirl.  “They were my patients.  I put them into those tubes, along with my staff.  And I would like to check them myself before they get stored away shipboard.”

“I like a woman with integrity,” said Sean, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.  “Perhaps we can dine together on the trip to Conundrum.”

“I would like that, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, feeling the flush on her cheeks again.

“Till then,” said the Emperor, turning and walking away, looking back a couple of times like a little boy who can’t stop looking at something that attracts him.

“It will probably take more than twelve hours to find a way into that chamber, Doctor,” said the Commander, breaking Jennifer from her thoughts.  “If you want to get some rest, we have some prefabs set up over there.”  The officer pointed at some small portables about a hundred meters distant.

Jennifer could feel the fatigue that she had been holding at bay begin to overwhelm her.  And there was nothing for her to do right now.  The Naval physicians were taking care of any wounded or injuries that had been recently incurred.  She was no longer the only doctor on this planet.  “I would love to get some sleep,” she told the Commander, yawning after the words left her mouth.

“Petty Officer Glazer,” called out the Commander, waving to one of the nearby ratings.  The man, wearing the same kind of armored suit as the Commander, came running up and saluted.  “Take the Doctor over to the prefabs and get her some quarters.”

“Thank you,” said Jennifer, turning to follow the rating, who slowed his progress so she could keep up.

Jennifer looked over at a group of people as she walked, lining up about two hundred meters away.  Naval personnel were loading them onto shuttles that were taking to the sky as soon as their safe limit was reached.  As one took off another came floating into the vacated space and touched down.”

“You’re really moving the people out,” said Jennifer, pointing to the crowd.

“We’ve got three more landing areas on the planet,” said the Petty Officer, holding up a flat comp that showed the blinking lights that indicated the zones.  “We also have atmospheric craft out searching for people that might not be able to make it to one of the zones.”

“I bet they’ll be glad you’ve found them.”

“Most of them,” said the Petty Officer, gesturing toward an aircar that was lifting and heading out.  “Some will want to stay.  I think they call them Freeholders.  And we’re going to give them the means to fight back.”

Montero, thought the Doctor, the images of the people of that Freehold coming to mind.  And the baby she had delivered to a young mother.  Of course they would not want to leave.  And the government wouldn’t try to force them.  Not with so many alien enemies to fight.

The quarters were Spartan but comfortable, with environmental controls that felt wonderful after the steaming heat of the planet.  It was also soundproof, and the minute the door closed all of the noise of the landing field became a distant memory.  And the bed was the most comfortable part of the whole package.  It was so comfortable that she drifted into a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.  When she woke up hours later she had embarrassing memories of a dream concerning a smiling young Monarch and a red haired Doctor.

*    *    *

“Admiral, ma’am,” called out the Com Officer from her station, looking over at Montgomery.  “We have a problem.”

What now, thought Mara, turning from the pacing path she had been walking around the flag bridge central holo.  She walked up to the com station, where two techs sat on each side of the officer, punching in signals or talking into headset mics.

“What do you have?” said the Admiral, putting a hand on the Com Officer’s shoulder.

“Commodore Basingee is reporting a lot of traffic in the outlying hyper dimensions,” said the officer.  “Lots of big ships, heading this way in hyper.”

And Bassingee is about fifteen minutes from orbit, only a couple of light seconds.  Montgomery looked at the central holo that was showing a plot of the system, willing it through her implant to focus in on the planet.  So he’s coming in from the other side of the planet, and we’re on the sun side, moving away.  So the gravity field is causing some dampening of the gravity waves from hyper.

“What does he have?”

“He’s reporting at least ten of the big battleships, a dozen of their supercruisers, and twenty of their scouts,” said the officer, her brow furrowed in concentration, or worry.

“Dammit,” said the Admiral, slamming her fist into a palm.  It was a lot more than she expected to come visiting what had to be an out of the way system.  And a lot sooner.  And it was definitely more than she could fight.

“We’re picking them up now,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Galahad’s chief agrees with the assessment of Basingee’s chief.”

“Order all the shuttles up from the planet, now,” she said, then went back to the holo to stare into it.  “Get the last of those people aboard the ships as soon as possible.  ETA on their entering the system.”

“If they stairstep down like their pattern, they’ll be here in about eight hours,” said the Sensory Officer.

And they can only maintain a point three light velocity all the way through the steps.  Unless they do an accel-decel profile the whole way.

“Chief,” said the Admiral, linking into the com system to the Sensor Chief, who was the best in the task force.  “What’s their profile so far?”

“They’re coming in on a standard decel, ma’am.  They should reach point three light just before they get to the VII-VI barrier.”

The Admiral looked back at her Com Officer.  “I want every ship ready to boost within the hour.”

“Course, ma’am?”

“Straight for the star.  I want us to do a close approach slingshot around it.  Maybe those bastards won’t be able to see us against the star, and they sure won’t be able to when we’re on the other side.”

“What about the grabber emissions, ma’am?” asked the force Navigator.  “They’ll pick them up if we’re pulling high accel, especially in our numbers.”

“We cut accel as soon as we think they’re coming out of hyper,” said the Admiral, looking back at the plot, which now showed the system as a small globe, and the icons of the enemy vessels light weeks out.  “Then we use a stealth profile to move around the sun, and coast out of the system on the other side.”

“They could come after us when we jump to hyper,” said the Navigator.

“They could, but I don’t think they will.  And if they do we should be able to move out of their detection range before they build enough velocity to catch us.  I plan to go in normal to the VII barrier, then high tail it at maximum accel back to Conundrum.  If they catch us they do, but I think we can throw some curves in there to keep them off long enough.”

The flag bridge crew all stared at her, and she could tell that they were thinking over the plan.  From expressions some were not liking it.  Others really didn’t think anything would get them out of this.  So she knew she had to get them going.

“Let’s move, people.  Now.  I want all passengers aboard and us ready to go in one hour.  So everyone move like you have a pair.”

The crew turned back to their stations, the com people to transmit orders to other ships and the ground.  The Navigator and Tactical Officer to run simulations to see if the plan would work, and what might need to be modified to improve their odds.

“The Emperor is on his way back up,” said one of the Com Techs.  “Do you want me to inform him of the situation?”

“No,” said the Admiral.  “Let’s get him back on board, before he makes some asinine decision to go back to the surface and help the civilians aboard.  He’s the reason we’re here, and I intend to get him back to base if I have to sit on him, by the Goddess.”

*    *    *

“Colonel,” said Sergeant Major Terry Zacharius, looking into the tent.  The Chief NCO of the small regiment was still in his battle armor, as were most of the soldiers, this still being a combat zone, even if well to the rear.  “There’s a man here who asked to talk to the Commanding Officer of the Army on the planet.”

Samuel Baggett looked up from the desk he sat behind, composing letters to family members on his flat comp.  Always a hard task, not made easier by the sheer number of letters he needed to write.  And I really don’t need an interruption by some damned civilian at a time like this.  He looked up at his NCO and raised an eyebrow.

“He’s an ex-Ranger, sir,” said the Sergeant Major.  “He looks kind of familiar, though I can’t place the name.  And he has a young man with a baby along with him.”

What the Hell, thought the Colonel, turning off the screen of his comp.  “Send him in, Sergeant Major.”

The Sergeant Major started to turn away, then looked back at the Colonel.  “Oh, and the man said his name was Preacher.”

Damn, thought the Colonel, his eyes following the Sergeant Major from the room.  Could it really be him?  The Empire was a large place, and the Imperial Army a very large organization.  But he could think of only one man who went by the nickname Preacher, at least someone who made that a nom de guerre.  Well, I’ll know in a minute, thought the officer, recalling his time in the Academy when that very officer was one of his instructors, in the not so gentle subject of asymmetrical warfare.

The man who came into the office through the flap looked much different than the man he remembered, though he could see the resemblance.  But augmentation causes a person to age more rapidly than normal.  That was one reason Baggett had not accepted a position in special ops, as he wanted a good long retirement when he made it out of the Army, if that was to ever happen.  And he loved the regular forces too much.

“When I heard your name I thought it might be you,” said the man in a gravelly voice.  “But it was hard to imagine that snot nosed kid being a regimental commander.  Been rising up the ranks a little fast, eh Baggett?”

The young man standing slightly behind the ex-Ranger looked lean and fit, with the eyes of someone who wanted to kill, and had done so in the recent past.  The baby in the carrier on his chest looked very young, a newborn, and the Colonel knew that there was a story there that would take up an entire evening.

“Fortunes of a transfer and reorganization,” said Baggett, rising and resisting the impulse to salute, then offering his hand.  “You’re looking good, Colonel.”

“Bullshit,” said Colonel Walther Jodel, the man known as Preacher, grasping Baggett’s hand in a firm grip.  “You know I look like Hell.  But I still feel fit enough to kill the enemies of the Empire.  And it looks like we’re up to our asses in enemies this time around.”

“How did you get out here?” asked Baggett, gesturing to some seats, then taking his own.  “Last I heard you had just retired, and I would have thought you would have become a consultant for the military.”

“You mean everyone was wondering why I didn’t accept promotion to general,” said the man with a laugh.  An NCO brought in a tray of beers, and all of the men took one.

“There was that,” said Baggett, after he had taken a swig of his beer.  “Someone said you had found religion.”

“That I had,” said Preacher with a laugh.  “I really found God, and decided it was my calling to help his children.”

“And now?”

“And now it’s time to help God’s children in another manner,” said Preacher, his face growing serious.  “By killing the motherfuckers who threaten our own existence.”

“I’m sure that brigadier’s star is still waiting,” said Baggett, nodding.  “Unless you plan to stay here and fight alongside the Freeholders.”

“Not me,” said Preacher, shaking his head.  “I’m not into suicide missions.”

Baggett laughed, remembering that the man had made his reputation on just that, taking on missions that no one else would and completing them.  His penetration of that Lasharan planet, and killing the leaders at long range, was a masterpiece taught at all the Army Academies, and to the Marines as well.  Got him his promotion to major.

“I think I am going to take that Brigadier’s star though, just so one of my ex-students doesn’t end up outranking me.”

“They’re not going to give me a star,” said the Colonel with a laugh.  “I’m only a brevet Colonel, as it is.  My permanent rank is Light Colonel.”

“Wake up, boy,” said Preacher, pointing his beer bottle at Baggett.  “You’re the surviving senior officer of this defense, and from what I heard you did a masterful job.  They’re going to be promoting people right and left, and the Emperor here is going to be pushing some of those promotions through.  I see you being a two or three star in a couple of years, whether you want the position of not.  They’re not going to let people turn promotion down in the middle of a war, not like this thing is looking to be.”

A Lt. General, thought Baggett, finishing off his beer.  If I survive, which is not a given.  But maybe command of a heavy corps, kicking these bastards off the planets they’ve taken.

“And I wanted to talk to you about this young man here,” said the Preacher, pointing at the boy with his beer bottle.  “Cornelius Walborski.  The bastards killed his wife a day after she gave birth to his son.  So he has a special hate for the Cacas.”

“I want to kill the bastards,” said the young man in a voice that had aspects of anger and flat affect in it.  “As many as I can, as efficiently as possible.”

“He’s a proven commodity in that jungle out there,” said Preacher with a cold smile.  “He’s killed over a score of them out there with only militia armor and weapons, then no armor at all.”

“It was twenty, Preacher,” said the young man in a flat voice.  “At least that’s what the Freeholders said.”

Baggett looked at the young man with new respect.  Took out twenty of their soldiers with the crappy stuff we gave the militia.  Amazing.  “And you want me to?”

“Put in a good word for him,” said Preacher.  “Cosign on a statement of recommendation for the Academy.  You know they’re going to need officers like never before, and I think this young man will be a fine small unit commander.”

“You know that excelling in combat doesn’t make one a leader,” said Baggett, looking at the young man, Walborski, who was gently shaking his baby while looking at the Colonel with those cold eyes.

“He’ll make a fine leader,” said Preacher, tossing the beer bottle at a trash receptacle across the chamber.  “I consider myself a good judge of character, and I judge him to be so.”

“OK,” said Baggett, getting up from his seat and reaching a hand to Walborski, which the young man took in a firm grip.  “Welcome to the Imperial Army.  Have you thought about what area you would like to train in?”

“I want to be a Ranger, sir,” said the young man, looking over at Preacher.  “Like him.”

Of course, thought the Colonel, looking at the lean hard form of Preacher.  How can you be around a legend without wanting to be like him.

“Colonel,” called out the Sergeant Major, pushing the flap up and sticking his head in the room.  “The Admiral’s on the com.  Priority transmission.”

“What’s going on now?” asked Baggett.

“It’s the Cacas, sir,” said the senior NCO.  “There are ships heading toward the system.  Capital ships, and a lot of them.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.  Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.

SESTIUS SYSTEM, APRIL 3RD THROUGH 4TH, 1000.

“Where in the Hell are you going?” yelled Jennifer at the engineers as they started packing up their equipment.

“We have to get out of here,” said the Marine Captain in medium armor, the insignia of the engineers on his shoulder.  “Admiral’s orders.”

“But you’re almost through,” cried the woman, pointing at the dark hole in the mountain that the laser drills had opened.

“The Cacas are coming,” said the officer, trying to use a reasoning tone.  Jennifer was having nothing to do with it.

“I want to speak to the Admiral.  Right now.”

“Very well,” said the officer.  “I’ll see what I can do.”  His eyes unfocused for a moment, the sign of a link.  He looked back at her with his eyes again focused.  “The Admiral is on your com.”

Jennifer nodded her head and linked through the implant most Imperial citizens carried that was com, database link, and emergency beacon and locator.  “Admiral,” she said as soon as she was aware of the other woman on the link.  “You’ve got to give me some more time.  We’ve almost got them out.  Just another hour.”

“Doctor, we have hyper signals from scores of Caca ships on approach to the system.  Every minute we delay lessens the chance that we will be able to get away unscathed.”

“Surely you can spare another hour?”

“I’m afraid not, Doctor,” said the Admiral, and Jennifer could hear the regret in her voice.  “I have a responsibility to the Emperor.  This force cannot afford to fight another battle, especially against the capital ships we have detected.  I must get that young man back to the sector base, so we can install him to the position of leader of human space.  How can a couple of score citizens compare to his safety, when chaos will overcome the Empire if he dies?”

She’s right, of course, thought Jennifer in the rational part of her mind.  But I can’t abandon these people.  Especially not when my actions have exposed them so.  The Ca’cadasans will be curious about that great hole in the mountain and investigate, and then they are gone for good, dead.

“Then I will stay with them,” said Jennifer, fighting the fear that told her to turn her backs on a few score patients and flee with everyone else.  The rational part of her mind told her that she could do so much more good by leaving this planet.  And her sense of duty told her she could not abandon them, no matter the cost to herself.

“His Majesty has inquired as to when you will be coming aboard,” said the Admiral, a hint of disapproval in her voice this time.  “I don’t think he’s going to like hearing about you staying behind.”

“I am a private citizen of the Empire,” said Jennifer, wondering if she should contact the Monarch directly.  “I break no laws by refusing to leave a planet of the Empire.  And I have sworn no oaths of obedience, beyond paying my taxes and obeying the laws of the Empire.  So if I wish to stay, that is my choice.”

“True,” said the Admiral.  “Not a choice I would make, but yours to make.  But just hold on a minute.”

The com went dead, for much less than the minute the Admiral asked for.  The next voice to come through on the com surprised her.

*    *    *

“What the hell is going on?” asked Sean, as he was hurried off the shuttle as soon as it came to a stop.  Lieutenant Tucker seemed to be listening to something, and his lips moved in a response.  Sean had always been good at reading lips, and he could make out that the man was saying yes ma’am.  Then he was through the hatch, which closed behind him with a thud.  Looking through the observation port he saw his shuttle again lifting from the deck, turning, and rocketing out of the hangar, through the cold plasma field.

“What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

“A Ca’cadasan force is heading toward the system, your Majesty,” said the Marine officer.  “A large force.  Much more than we can handle.  The Admiral is ordering everyone up from the surface of the planet so we can boost in one hour.”

“I should go back to the surface,” said Sean, glaring at the man he had trusted with his safety, who had somehow tricked him.

“The Admiral said you would think that, your Majesty,” said the officer.  “Truth is, much as you don’t want to hear it, you would be in the way.”

Sean stared at the Marine for a moment, shocked at being told what the man had said to him point blank.

“You can relieve me, your Majesty,” said the Marine, giving him an eye to eye look.  “I wouldn’t mind going back to being a sergeant again, truth be told.  And I would be failing in my duty if I let you go back down when everyone in this damned task force wants your ass up here, where we know you’ll be safe and can’t get in any trouble.”

He’s right, thought Sean, feeling the anger he was building up drop from him in an instant.  He’s fucking right.  Here I’ve been walking around playing Monarch, while refusing to let the people responsible for me make sure I was safe.  Instead, I played the spoiled brat and played to the crowd.

“The man is speaking sense, your Majesty,” said Samantha, her brow set as she prepared for a battle.

“Of course he is,” said Sean, nodding.  “Now let’s get up to the flag bridge, so I can see what’s going on.”

“She doesn’t need your interference, Sean,” whispered Samantha, leaning in close.

“And she won’t get any,” said Sean, heading for the nearest lift with his bodyguard in tow.

The bridge was controlled chaos that Sean entered with a few of his guards.  Most had gone directly to the armory to get out of the gorilla suits they had been wearing, not needed aboard the ship.  The Admiral turned as Sean came stalking into the large room in his accessorized medium armor suit, his helmet retracted.

“So, what’s the plan, Admiral?”

“We load the passengers up and get the hell out of here,” said Mara Montgomery, glaring at Sean.  “Lieutenant Gonzalez,” yelled the Admiral, and the Assistant Navigation Officer looked over, then came running as Montgomery waved her over.  “Lieutenant Gonzalez will fill you in on the plan.  If you will excuse me, your Majesty.  I’ve got things to do”

“Of course, Admiral,” said Sean, feeling that petulant anger starting to grow again, and telling himself to grow up.  My god, I was only a junior naval officer a couple of weeks ago, and now I’m the demigod who needs to tell these people how to run their Fleet.

Sean went to a corner of the bridge with the young officer, Samantha and his security detail following.  He looked over at the Admiral a few times while the lieutenant explained the plan, seeing the senior officer gesturing in the air like she was having an argument with someone.

“She wants to talk with you,” yelled the Admiral, pointing at Sean.

“Who?”

“Your little doctor friend.  I’m trying to talk sense into her, but she of course won’t listen.  What the hell is wrong with everyone today?”

Sean felt his heart soar as he recognized the voice of Jennifer Conway over the com.  And now I’m in heat over a woman who just lost the love of her life.  Good timing, Sean.  And then he had no more time to berate himself as he was talking to the woman once again.

*    *    *

“Dr. Conway,” said the voice of Sean Ogden Lee Romanov.  “What’s this I hear about you staying behind?  I can’t allow you to do that.”

“And you cannot stop me, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, thrilling at the sound of the young man’s voice, and the tone of worry that underlay it.

“I could order the Marines to bring you aboard.”

“That would be breaking your own laws, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, afraid he might just do that.  “That would be a bad way to start your rule.”

“We are in the middle of a war, Doctor,” said the Admiral over the link.  “The Emperor could declare martial law, actually should do so.  And suspend civil liberties for the duration.”

“I really don’t think that is necessary, Admiral,” said the Emperor.  “Even in the middle of a total war I don’t want to completely suspend civil liberties.  I wouldn’t want to go down in history as a tyrant.  But she is correct, Doctor.  I could order you brought up to the ships, and I would be in my legal rights.  And if the courts decide I am wrong at a later time, then I am willing to pay the fine.”

“Please,” cried Jennifer, wishing she could stand face to face with the man and beg, even fall to her knees, if that was necessary.  “I just want to save these people.  You came here to save the people of this planet.  Then save these people.”

There was a moment of silence, and Jennifer knew that decisions were being made that would affect her and the people she had resolved to save.  Decisions she was no longer a part of.  She looked around and saw that the engineers were waiting, no longer preparing to leave.  And she noticed that the Marines were looking at her, and knew that there was no way she would leave this plateau without being in their custody.  Then the engineers started back to work, rising up on their suit grabbers, lifting the big laser projectors with them and maneuvering toward the unfinished hole in the mountain.

“We will save these people,” said Sean over the link.  “A pair of destroyers will stay behind to load them, and then accelerate to catch the rest of the force.  Will that satisfy you?”

Jennifer thought on that a moment.  Of course the destroyers had more acceleration than the battle cruisers and light cruisers, and would be able to catch them before the hyper limit.  “That sounds good, your Majesty,” she said.  “It shouldn’t take more than an hour to have them aboard the shuttles and up to the ships.  I’ll just check them out when they come out of the mountain.”

“They will be checked out when they get to the ships,” said the Admiral over the com.  “There is really nothing you can do for them if they are not alive, and anything that can be done for them can be accomplished by the destroyers’ doctors.”

“You will get on the next available shuttle, Doctor,” said Sean, in a commanding voice that brooked no disobedience.  “I want you aboard the flagship within the next twenty minutes, when we break orbit.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, fighting against her first inclination to argue, glad that she had gotten what she wanted.  “Your wish is my command.”

“I doubt that, Doctor,” said the Emperor with a laugh.  “But as long as you don’t sacrifice yourself for nothing, I will be happy, for now.”

Minutes later Jennifer was onboard an assault shuttle, watching the screen set on the chair in front of her.  She had to admit that the shuttle passenger bay was comfortable, and there was almost no sense of motion as it lifted from the ground and accelerated up into orbit.

“They can configure these things in all kinds of ways,” said the naval rating who was in the seat next to her.  “They have a different layout for carrying heavy armored Marines, since those gorilla suits of theirs take up so much more space.”

Jenifer nodded as she watched the sky turn to velvet and the stars come out in their millions.  She switched the view back to the planet she was leaving, holding back the tears as she thought of the promise it had held when she first came to it.  The man she loved was waiting for her, and a new life.  Now both had been killed, and she was the survivor who must learn how to go on.  The screen switched to a forward view, and the double triangle shape of a battle cruiser filled it.  Narrow flat nosed bow and stern expanded to wide midsection, with the large structures of the hyperdrive projectors top and bottom, the quad grabber units projected out front and rear.  Coming in from the side the four laser rings were prominent, and the ship looked like a killer, as did her sister lying ten kilometers beyond.  But nothing compared to that battleship that was in orbit when I arrived, she thought, wondering where that ship was, if it was still safe.  And nothing still compared to the big capital ships the Ca’cadasans have.

Which brought up thoughts of those aliens who had taken this system at the cost of so many lives, only to lose it, and now on the verge of regaining it.  Why do they hate us so much?  Oh, she knew they were a conquering species, not one likely to form strong friendships with other species.  Not like the humans, who, though they had their own problems with some other races, still formed strong friendships and alliances.  She had heard the stories in school, about how the humans had killed the son of some important Ca’cadasan on one of the colony worlds, after offering their surrender to the aliens.  But was that all there was to it?

And then time for those thoughts was past as the shuttle slowly cruised into the bay that waited open for it.  And thoughts of the young man who was ruler of the New Terran Empire took precedence over all others.

*    *    *

The shuttle flew over the seemingly endless jungle, following the beacon being used by the Freeholders according to the instructions that had been sent them by the task force.  The shuttle moved over the clearing, hovered for a moment, then dropped the six cylinders it had carried to this point.  The job done, the shuttle rocketed into the sky, heading for its launching ship and the way out of the system.

As the shuttle moved away a human stepped into the clearing, followed by another, until a score of men moved toward the cylinders.

“Get them open,” said Montano Montero, the head of the clan.  “Let’s see what the Fleet left for us.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have gone with them, father?” said a younger man who resembled the first speaker greatly.

“Do not say that again, Ernesto,” growled the older man as he walked over to a cylinder that one of the other men was pulling open.  “Lest I forget you are my blood, and drive you into the wilderness.  This is our world, and our land on our world.  And no alien monsters will drive me from my land.”  Nor the other thousands of Freeholders on this world.

“Madre Dios,” said one of the other men, crossing himself at the display of lethality that was displayed.

Mother of God indeed, thought the Steadholder of the Montero Freehold.  Arranged in the cylinder, in fact packing it, was more deadly weapons than he had dreamed of.  His family possessed firepower, but not like this.

Franco Montero, a grandson, pulled a particle beam rifle from the cylinder and held it up in the air, while a third cousin reached in and grabbed a hyper-v launcher.  The other cylinders were being opened, and Montano looked around, and decided he did not have enough men to haul all of this back to the cavern which they had established as home base.

There were more particle beams, lasers, and the power and proton packs to fuel them through many fights.  Mortars and ammunition, high tech sniper rifles, enough high tech weaponry to equip the entire clan.  One cylinder contained cloaks and clothing designed to hide a heat signature, while another had electronics that allowed short range communications without the telltale leakage, within limits.

“Drag this equipment into the jungle,” ordered the elder Montero, pointing at the cylinders.  “We’ll carry what we can, and come back for the rest with more men.”

Within minutes the military equipment was in the brush, and the men were wending their way through the jungle, while their leader thought of the best ways to use those weapons to hurt the enemy, while at the same time keeping his people alive.

*    *    *

“The last shuttle is ready to go, Colonel,” said Sergeant Major Terry Zacharius.

“All the civilians already gone?” asked the Colonel, looking up from the camp table, where he was finishing some more of the letters it was his duty to write.  The hated letters that no one wanted to receive, but which must be delivered nonetheless.

“And all the soldiers,” said the noncom.  “Still some Marines on the ground up on the plateau, but they have their own shuttle.  So it’s time to get, sir.  Unless you want to stay here and greet the next batch of Cacas.”

“Not me, Sergeant Major,” said the Colonel, picking up his flat comp and closing it folding it and sticking it into his belt pouch.  He followed his senior non-com from the tent, taking a last look around the open area that was a familiar part of the planet.  The jungles crowded on all sides, and the herds of great herbivores clumped at the north end, small figures at this range, but the Colonel knew them to be the massive surface dwellers of this world.  And you can have your whole prairie back when we leave, thought the Colonel, stopping for a moment to zoom in on them with his suits optics, still marveling at the size of the eighty ton matriarchs of the herd.

“I wish we could have done a better job, Terry,” he told his Sergeant Major.

“That’s crap, sir.  And you know it.  If we’d had a couple of heavy divisions to work with we might have been able to hold the planet.  As it was you did a masterful job, Colonel.  And I wouldn’t be surprised if you received a star with your next assignment.”

Baggett shook his head.  He had led over three thousand men to this world, and had been assigned over ten thousand more, regulars and militia.  And how many were left?  A thousand?  Two?  So get a bunch of good people killed, and they gave you even more to play with.

“You’ve got to get rid of that survivor’s guilt, sir,” said Terry as they walked to the single shuttle sitting on the ground a hundred meters away.  “I’ve seen it ruin a good officer or two in my time.”

“So how do you get rid of it, Terry?” asked Baggett, saluting the naval officer who waited for them at the door of the shuttle.

“How the hell do I know, sir,” said the smiling noncom.  “That’s why I won’t let them pin officer’s rank on me.”

The men found their seats, near the front of the passenger compartment.  The compartment was filled with the last troops to get off the planet.  Samuel felt a little guilty that they were leaving humans behind on this planet, but that had been their decision, and the decision of the ranking man in the system.  One that there was no appeal to higher authority.  He just didn’t think the people had a chance.  It wasn’t like they were dealing with a power that wanted to put boots on the planet and control the population, like the Empire did with the captured Lasharan worlds.  No, these creatures wanted to wipe out humankind.

The shuttle launched smoothly into the air.  There was some turbulence, but the inertial compensators on the military craft smoothed everything out.  Baggett watched his viewer the entire trip, seeing the sky turn into star flecked space, and the ships of the rescue force ahead.  The shuttle was heading for one of the battle cruisers, and at the Colonel’s query he saw that it was the Flagship.

“Looks like we’re going to hang with the brass, Terry,” said Baggett, pointing out the ship on his viewer.

“I guess the new man at the top wants to pick your brain, sir,” said the Sergeant Major.  “That’s a lot of responsibility, sir.  You are going to teach the ruler of the Empire what he needs to know about the Army.”

“I don’t think I have all that much to tell him,” said Baggett, shaking his head.  “How to lose his people in combat.  I’m sure he can figure that one out on his own.”

“But you can give him the perspective of the Army, sir,” said the noncom.  “After all, he’s a Navy puke.  So doesn’t really know about real military operations.”

The Naval Lieutenant who had showed them aboard the shuttle looked back with a frown on his face.  And Baggett found himself laughing for the first time in a week.

*    *    *

“All personnel prepare for high gee.  Repeat, high gee in fifteen minutes,” said the voice over the intercom, while klaxons went off through the ship.

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Cornelius, looking up at the light flashing from the ceiling.

“It means we’re about to go through hell, son,” said Preacher, pushing his duffel bag under one of the beds they had made up for him and his charge.  They were in a handball court with another dozen people, some of the impromptu quarters that had been prepared for the thousands of passengers that the battle cruiser had never been made to accommodate.  “They want to get as much velocity as they can, as fast as possible.  Even beyond what the compensators are capable of handling.”

“So why are they waiting fifteen minutes?” asked the confused young man.  “Shouldn’t we already be on our way?”

“We’ve been boosting for the last ten minutes,” said Preacher, grabbing Walborki’s bag stowing it under the young man’s bed, making sure that both had been securely attached to the floor, and then securing the bag to the bed.

“I haven’t felt anything.”

“It’s something you get used to feeling when you’ve shipped on enough Imperial ships,” answered the older man.  “I’m sure you’ll get used to it as well.”

“What about the baby?” asked Cornelius, feeling a wave of panic overcome him.  “They can’t expect him to handle high gee.”  He’s just a little guy, and they really can’t expect him to survive those kind of forces, can they?

“There will be med personnel along shortly to get us ready,” said Preacher with a smile, but Cornelius didn’t feel any better.

“Everyone needs a nanite boost,” yelled out a petty officer, standing in the doorway of the court.  “And we need to get you into the beds, and set them up for rotation.”

“What rotation?” asked a middle aged woman.

“When we boost past the compensators the extra pull will be to that wall,” said the PO, pointing toward the stern.  He looked over at Cornelius.  “Excuse me, ma’am, but the rating will give you the shots.

“Mr. Walborski,” said the PO, a smile on her face.  “We need to get your little passenger ready.”  Another rating came into the room, rolling box, about a half meter by a three eighths meter, into the room.

“What are you going to do?” asked the new father suspiciously.

“This is an acceleration tank,” said the young woman.  “We actually use them with pets, but it’s just the right size for a newborn.”

“Why can’t we have acceleration tanks?” said the middle aged woman, looking up from her bed where she sat, the rating giving her an injection of nanites.  “You Navy people are used to high acceleration.”

“Explain it to her, Max,” said the PO to the rating, then went to securing the box to the deck and making sure everything was working.  “I’m going to give him an injection of nanites, and sedatives as well.  Slow down his metabolism and keep him under.  I’ll also attach a nutrient bag to him, in case we’re in high gee for a long time.”

“Ma’am,” said the rating in the background.  “We don’t have enough tanks for everyone. We’re giving tanks to the elderly and the very young.  You’ll handle it just fine.”

“But why do we need high gee at all?” asked the woman in a whiny voice.  “This ship can accel really high.  Why do we need a couple of more gees.”

The Petty Officer shook her head while she injected the baby, then fit the nutrient tubes and the breathing mask.

“What if he needs to, you know, use the bathroom?” asked the worried father, looking anxiously at his child.

“No problem,” said the Petty Officer, picking up the baby and moving him toward the warm liquid in the tank.  “He can urinate or defecate in the liquid without any effects.  We’ll just clean him up when it’s over.”

“Wait,” said Cornelius, putting a hand on the baby.  He leaned over and gave his son a kiss on the forehead, and the child lay still.  “OK.”

The PO put the child in the liquid, checking to make sure he was breathing through the mask, then let him go with both hands.  The tiny human floated in the fluid, arms and legs curled up, looking relaxed.  The PO then closed the lid and fastened everything.

“He’ll be OK through the trip,” said the Petty Officer, smiling at Cornelius.  “Once we’re in hyper I’ll be down to take him out.  He’ll do better than you will.”

Cornelius nodded his head, still worried, but feeling much better than he had before the navy people showed up.  They really have their shit together, he thought as he watched the PO walk out of the court.  Then it was his turn for injections, and the rating showed him how the bed would tilt when they hit high gee, then made sure he was strapped in.

“High gee in five minutes,” came the voice over the intercom.

“I’ll be right out here,” said the rating, pointing to the main rec deck, where so many other civilians were.  “As soon as I’m armored up.”

Cornelius looked over at the tank that contained all he had left of Katlyn, seeing the small form floating in the liquid, his small chest rising and falling.  He looked up to see Preacher also looking at the baby.  “He’ll be just fine,” said the older man.  “I guarantee it.  Now you I have my doubts about.”

“High gee in ten seconds,” called out the voice over the intercom, then counted down the numbers.  Right after one it felt like a big animal had landed on Walborski’s chest, and he grunted from the pain.

“Just lay still and take shallow breaths,” said Preacher in a normal voice.

“Why isn’t this affecting you?” grunted Cornelius.

“Augmentation.  I was restructured to deal with all kinds of gravity fields.”

And then Cornelius was out, the sedatives they didn’t tell him about taking hold and putting him under.

*    *     *

“Sure you don’t want to use a tank, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral, sitting in her chair turned acceleration couch, her armored form making her look like a Goddess of War in command of the hosts of heaven.  “I could have one cleared for you.”

Sean shook his head with a smile, leaning back in his own couch, looking at the raised acceleration tanks that were all occupied, some by injured, some by children, all by people who needed their protection more than he.  “What’s a little three gee acceleration among friends?” he replied.  “I was a naval officer, and not so very long ago, Admiral.”

The two destroyers that were to pick up the injured from the cavern were still in a placid orbit around the planet, and Sean wondered if he had done the right thing making those ships stay behind.

“They’ll catch us in a couple of hours,” said the Admiral, following the eyes of the Monarch.  “I still don’t think it was the smart thing to do.  But it was the compassionate thing to do.  And something you need to remember.  You are going to become our supreme ruler, in military as well as civil affairs.  And a ruler needs compassion, to go along with a strong will and the ability to make hard decisions.”

Sean nodded, then looked up at the meter above the holo tank which showed how many gees the ship was pulling.  They had been boosting at thirty gees for quite some time, while shuttles flew between the ships, transferring people.  The shuttles were finally locked down, and the ship was now pulling some serious gees.  A hundred so far, and moving up the scale quickly.  Two hundred, two fifty, two seventy, then into the safety margin, two eighty, two ninety. Three hundred, the limit of the compensators on the hyper VII battle cruisers, though the light cruisers and destroyers could pull about ten more.  And then over the limit, to three hundred and four gravities, negating the pull of the artificial gravity and pushing everyone back in their couches with the force of three Earth sized worlds.

The crew was still working their instruments, the extra weight nothing in their acceleration couches, their armor adding to their strength.  The ship would have gone even faster, if not for the civilians who were not tanked.

“We’ve got to be really careful here, your Majesty,” said the Admiral.  “If the compensators overheat and fail we’re jelly.”

“Then I guess we have to make sure they don’t overheat,” said Sean, looking at the Helmsman and Navigators paying close attention to their instruments.  The compensators turned the inertia that resisted the pull of pseudogravity into heat, which was offloaded by the advanced radiation systems of the vessel.  Everything in the ship was effected, machinery, structure, and people.  And if they failed, and the grabbers were still pulling at high acceleration, the structure would hold up, as would most of the machinery.  But the people would not.

“We’re going to keep in the planet’s shadow the whole way to the star,” said Montgomery, pointing at the tactical display.  “As long as they come out of hyper when and where predicted we will have no problems staying out of sight.  And we shut down the grabbers and coast to the star, then use it to cover us.”

It had sounded like a good plan to Sean.  Not really anything new.  Admiral Sung Lee, a distant relative, had used it against the Fenri during a centuries ago war.  Of course, he had used the cover of the sun to attack, slingshotting around it without using his grabbers, then using the glare of the star to close with the enemy before that enemy knew he was there.

“They should be dropping out of hyper in six hours and twenty-five minutes,” said the Admiral. “With luck they won’t know what’s happening here when they come out.  We smashed every Caca installation that might have a hyperwave detector, so they won’t know the ships are coming either, which means they won’t know they are here until the com signal from the naval force reaches them, say, three hours later.  Then a three hour return for the message from the planet to reach them.”

“And we’ll get away without them knowing we were here?”

“Oh, no, your Majesty.  They’ll know we were here.  Hopefully, they won’t know where we went until we jump to VII.”

“And this is going to work?”

“I give it better than an even chance,” said the Admiral with a smile.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then, your Majesty, we start expending ships to slow them down, while we get what we can away.  And that includes you, your Majesty.”

And I will be responsible for that, thought Sean, looking away.  Well, so be it.  I have to take responsibility for my choices, which are liable to get people killed.  No, will get people killed.  I have to realize that.  But hopefully my choices will not waste lives, and will save more than they lose.

“They’re dropping down into VI, just at the predicted time,”  called out the Sensor Chief.

“Nice of them to be so predictable,” said Sean.

“Don’t always depend on that either, your Majesty.  I take it we can say that we are smarter than they are, on the average.  That doesn’t mean they won’t have a genius or two, or that they won’t learn from their mistakes.”

Sean looked over the ship manifest in his link for a moment, trying to see if there was something aboard they might be able to use.  What the hell is this, he thought, looking at something of interest in the ship’s secure cargo compartment.

“You have a complete wormhole onboard?” he asked the Admiral.  She looked over at him with confusion on her face for a moment.  “Both ends of a wormhole, in its carrying case,”: he said.  “What the hell is that doing aboard?”

“We were supposed to deploy it to the frontier,” said the Admiral, her eyes unfocusing for a moment.  “Part of a test of the feasibility of wormhole communications.  One end was to go in at Conundrum, but we never had a chance to deploy it.  As soon as we entered the system we were given our marching orders.”

“Deploy one end here,” said Sean, nodding toward the viewer.  “In this system.”

“For what purpose, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral.

“We can use it to monitor them within this system,” said Sean, a smile on his face.  “And I have some other ideas that might work in the future.”

The Admiral gave her orders while Sean thought about that future, and how the wormhole could be used for infiltration purposes.

An hour later the two destroyers that had been left in orbit pulled around the planet and broke free of its pull, with their grabber power an easy task.  They had taken aboard the cryo cylinders containing the wounded from the Marine sanctuary, as well as the Marine and Naval engineers who had freed them from their tomb.  With everyone tanked they came on behind the fleeing scout force with thirty more gravities, on a profile that would get them into the force within a couple of hours.

Sean lay back on his couch, feeling a fatigue that was overwhelming.  He really didn’t know why he felt so tired, though anyone in an upper leadership position could have told him that it was the dog tiredness brought on by a reaction to too much responsibility.  Sean only intended to close his eyes for a moment, but the fatigue pulled him under, and he was asleep in an instant.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Each generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it.  George Orwell.

SESTIUS SYSTEM, APRIL 3RD  THROUGH 4TH, 1000.

“They’re dropping into III, ma’am,” called out a voice at the edge of Sean’s consciousness.   He opened his eyes, surprised by the reading of his internal clock that over four hours had passed.  He looked at the plot and saw that they were very close to the sun, the hot F5 star that was the life giver to this system.  The planet was two hundred seventy million kilometers from its primary, and it was now over two hundred and fifty million kilometers astern.  They were very close to the F class star, and the grabbers were powered down to fifty gravities to reduce the heat buildup which, added to that of the star, was already starting to add an overload to the ship.  Not much, yet, but as they approached within a few million kilometers of the white star the environmental systems of the ship would start to strain.

“Good to see you’re back with us, your Majesty,” said the Admiral.

Looking at her face Sean could see the strain the Admiral was under.  On her decisions they would all live or die.  But despite the stress she seemed to be thriving on the excitement, and Sean was sure a promotion was in her future as well, if they made it out of this.

“We’ll only get a hundred kilometers per second boost slingshoting around the star.  But every little bit helps.”

“And everyone is still with us?” Sean asked, looking at the tactical plot that showed the six battle cruisers and their numerous escorts.

“So far no one is reporting any problems,” said the Admiral.

“Pallas is starting to report overheating,” called out one of the com techs.

“How bad?”

“Not too bad, yet, ma’am,” said the tech.  “They’re trying to resolve the problem.”

Sean looked at the plot, noting the one icon that was blinking, the light cruiser in question.

“Galahad’s Sensor Officer reports hull temperature’s one thousand degrees centigrade,” yelled out another of the com techs.

“Range to star, seventeen million kilometers.”

“Captain Stafford reports we are starting maneuvers for slingshot,” reported one of the techs.  “Other ships in force are acknowledging that they are going into same profile.”

“Hull temperature is at twelve hundred degrees, ma’am.”

“You know, there’s a reason ships try to stay out of the proximity of a star,” said the Admiral, looking over at Sean.

“Because of the heat the sun is putting into us?” replied Sean.

“That’s part of it.  The other part is that we can’t radiate our own heat from almost half of the hull.  So it’s a double trap.”

“Range to star, fifteen million kilometers.”

“And if your systems have any damage, it compounds the problem.”

“Ma’am, hull temperature is thirteen hundred degrees.  And Pallas is reporting that they are overheating at a dangerous rate.”

“Shit,” screamed the Admiral.  “Why does everything have to happen on my watch.”

Montgomery stared at her plot, her brow furrowed in thought, and Sean didn’t envy her this situation.  She was trying to figure a way out of a problem that might not have a way out, and the clock was ticking.

“Range to star, twelve million kilometers.”

“Get in touch with the nearest ship to Pallas,” ordered the Admiral.  “Have them shade the Pallas.  Then have the others rotate into that spot, one at a time.  We’ll take the position for closest approach.”

“Communications are severely degraded, ma’am.  We’re getting a lot of interference from the star.” The com tech continued to work, talking into her headset.  “Stalino is moving into position.”

They all watched the plot as the other light cruiser moved into position and came between the damaged cruiser and the star.  It was a tricky maneuver at their range and velocity, but
Stalino performed it without a hitch.  It took its turn, several minutes, then pulled away as another light cruiser moved into position.

“Range to the star, ten million kilometers.  Hull temperature fourteen hundred degrees.  Captain Stafford reports that cooling systems are severely strained.  He reports that he is moving Galahad closer to the Pallas.’

“My compliments to the Captain.  He is to do everything possible to save that ship, short of getting this one destroyed.”

“The Captain acknowledges, ma’am.”

Sean wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but even this deep in the ship, with his armored battle suit on, it seemed hotter.  That can’t be, he thought, calling up his suit temperature, then the room ambient, and finding them only a tenth of a degree off normal.  Still, that was through hundreds of meters of hull, and all the cooling systems between him and the exterior.

He stared at the main viewer, which showed the massive disk of the star.  It was not the largest star in the Galaxy, or even in human space.  There were As and Os that took that honor.  But it was still an impressive thermonuclear heat engine, and nothing to play with.  Prominences and flares rose from the disk, some with more energy than the entire force could generate with all the warheads and antimatter they had originally carried.

“We’re moving into position, ma’am,” called out one of the techs.  “We’ll be the shading ship on closest approach according to the ship’s navigator.

“Very good.  Tell them to not fry the eggs we’re carrying,” said Montgomery, looking at Sean.

Meaning me, he thought.  No matter what, she’s going to get me back to base.  My being here is unfair to the others in the force.  He looked at the plot that showed the force still heading straight into the furnace, with a line from each ship indicating when they would slingshot around the star.  They would start curving in another two million kilometers, and their closest approach would be within a million kilometers of that plasma hell.

“Range to star six million kilometers,” called out a tech.  “Starting thrust to slingshot, now.”

“Captain Stafford reports we are moving into position to relieve the shadowing vessel.”

“Now we really heat up,” said the Admiral to Sean.

“Range to star, four million kilometers.”

“Pallas is in optimal profile, ma’am.  We are just inside of her and in position.”

And this is when we can’t radiate away from us in the direction of the cruiser, thought Sean.  To do that would have been to dump the same heat into the other ship that they were shading her from.  So Galahad would absorb the heat of the star and hold it.  On the plot the entire force was curving around the sun, and closest approach was…

“Range to star, two million kilometers.  Hull temperature two thousand degrees.”

On that hull the integrated nanoparticles would be vaporizing, leaving that portion of the ship without optimal sensors, or the ability to change the reflective properties of the skin.  None of the other hull elements would melt.  Not below eight thousand degrees, and much higher for other components.  The ships were built as tough as human technology could make them, and that was very tough indeed.

The plot was showing them curving around the star, and now.

“Range to star three million kilometers.  Hull temperature twenty-three hundred degrees.”

“Captain Stafford reports we are pulling away from Pallas, ma’am.  Ceres is pulling into position, and we are now radiating on all surfaces not facing the star.”

“Range, four million kilometers.”

Now the ships were starting to straighten out, the grabbers pulling them into a profile that would lead away from the star, while using the huge ball of plasma to block them from any enemy force heading for orbit around the Sestius world.  At least on the approach they hoped the enemy would take.

“Range, six million kilometers.”

“And that’s that,” said the Admiral, a smile on her face.  “Send my compliments to all the captains on a job well done,” she told the Com Officer.  “And then all ships are to go to tight beam burst transmissions only.  And only when necessary.”

“Enemy ships have dropped to Hyper I,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Won’t be long now until they know something bad happened to their side,” said Sean.  “And I bet they’re going to be pissed.”

*    *     *

“There is something wrong, my Lord,” called out the Sensor Officer, a moment before the Tactical Officer looked over with a surprised expression on his face as well.

“What do you have,” said Admiral Hresstilokahaz, turning away from the viewer and walking over to the sensory station.  His stomach was just beginning to settle from the translation nausea that afflicted his species more than most.

“We are receiving none of the expected emissions from the force that was in the system.”

“Was in the system?” growled the Admiral, leaning a lower hand on the back of the officer’s chair.

“They’re not here, my Lord,” said the officer, working his panel to try to get the information he needed.  “We have a visual of the planet, and they are not there.  Nothing on visual throughout the system.”

The Admiral looked over at the Tactical Officer. “The same, my Lord,” said that officer, looking at his panel.  “I am picking up a radiation source about two billion kilometers past the limit, moving outward of the system.”

“Lock onto it and tell me what you find.  Communications.  Anything to report?”

“We are not receiving the expected homing beacon from the planet, my Lord.  Wait.  I am picking something up, very weak, on a frequency used by ground forces of our Empire.”

The speakers on the bridge crackled for a moment, then started projecting a faint voice.  The Com Officer played with his board, claws going in and out of control holes, until the voice cleared up.

“Been attacked by human forces.  They destroyed the naval force in the system, then destroyed most of the ground forces on the planet.  Repeat.  The system has been attacked by human forces.”  The voice died and the Com Officer looked up.  “It just repeats from there, my Lord.  We may get more once they learn we are in the system.”

“Send a reply on that frequency.  Ask them for further information on the enemy, especially composition, and where they might have headed.”

“I have an identification on the radiation source, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, earning a glare from the Sensor Officer, who should have found it first.  “It is the remains of a Ca’cadasan battleship.  And there was only one in the system.”

And the commander here would not have known we were coming.  So he would have tried to break out of the system to get word to command.  And failed.

“Any sign of the human force?”

“No, my Lord,” echoed the three officers at once.

“Well, find them.  And Com Officer.  Order a quartet of scouts to move out from us to a range of a billion kilometers. One each to port, stern, dorsal and ventral.  I want them to get a look at the system from angles we can’t.  One scout also to remain out here in our relative position.  Two scouts to head back to base and let them know what has happened here.  Rest of force to boost for the planet as least time arrival profile.”

“What if they have a large force?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“I believe if they had a larger force than ours they would have scoured the planet of the presence of our troops,” said the Admiral, scowling at the officer.

We are not supposed to be here for more than three days, thought the Admiral, as he went over the possibilities in his mind.  Another target awaits.  But this is a mystery that must be solved, and an enemy destroyed before they get back to their base, lest they tell a story of success against the Empire.  Unfortunately for the humans of the force that had struck here the Admiral was at the far end of the bell curve of racial intelligence.  A genius, who was on track to become a fleet commander at a young age for his people, he was the worst nightmare for the people he hunted.

*    *    *

“We have Ca’cadasan ships jumping into hyper I,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Six scout class.  Gravity waves show that the rest of the force is on a least time insertion to planetary orbit.”

“Why are they sending six ships back into hyper?” asked Sean, and Mara Montgomery shook her head.

There really is a lot he needs to learn, by the Goddess, time in the academy or not.  “They send four ships in to curve around the system, your Majesty.  Maybe a billion kilometers, maybe two.  Then they get a look at the rest of the system from a different angle.”

“Will they see us?”

“They might.  Unless we do this.”  The Admiral looked at her Com Officer.  “Send orders to all ships to coast until further orders.  All grabbers powered down, electromag only to bow, minimal needed to deflect charged radiation particles.  MAM reactors are to be powered down, and ships are to use fusion backups for power.”

The Admiral turned back to Sean.  “That will make it a lot harder for them to find us.  And since we’re already going at point three light, we’ll be to the hyper I barrier in a little over eleven hours.”

“And they’re sending the other two ships back to tell their sector base what we did,” said the young man, a look of recognition on his face.

He picked that one up fast enough.  “I’m really more worried about those ships.  They might run into the rest of that force that passed the system by, or another force moving through, and have pursuit on us from another angle, and a head start on velocity.”

“And when we reach the barrier?”

“We decel at a low level, and hope they don’t pick us up.  Then, when we hit the VII barrier, we will jump up and accelerate for all we’re worth back to Conundrum.”

“And they will know where we are at that point,” said Sean.  “You know they can get to a higher velocity in hyper than we can.”

“I saw that from the data McArthur sent over,” said the Admiral, nodding her head.  “Something to do with the better hyperfield they can generate, and its more efficient radiation screening.  But even if they can get to point nine five light, and we to only point nine, I think we can lead them a merry chase with our initial advantage.  Besides, I’m going to try to fox him.  I have no intention of getting into a hyper slugging match with his force.”

“And if they do catch us?”

“Then we come up with another plan, one that still gets you home.”

“But, what…”

“About the others, your Majesty.  I will sacrifice every person under my command, and every civilian we are carrying, if it gets you home.  Do not argue with me on this one.  And if you relieve me I can guarantee that anyone else you place in command will do the same.”

“And if I place myself in command?”

“Then your individual commanders will find ways around your orders, all to make sure that you get home,” said the Admiral, her eyes tearing up.  “Please don’t do something so foolish.  I really think I am your best chance of getting home without losing everyone.”

“I agree,” said Sean, looking away from her a moment.  “Don’t worry.  I don’t intend to relieve you for any reason.  I got us into this mess, despite your warnings.”

“It’s most likely turn out alright, your Majesty.  We do have the head start, and as you have said before this does not seem to be the brightest race we have ever encountered.”  And he really is a likable kid, and eager to learn.  As long as he retains that last quality he will do just fine, and the Empire has a chance.  He’s also as headstrong as his father was, thought the Admiral, remembering her early days in the service, serving as an ensign under then Lieutenant SG Augustine Ogden Lee Romanov, while he completed his obligatory time in the Fleet.  A time he was later to start than most, his mother not wanting him to serve, his father not forcing him to, until the Empress died suddenly.

And we had the obligatory affair of star struck junior for her senior, she thought, the tears threatening to come back into her eyes.  Even though he already had married Anastasia and had a fine young son, Henry.

She looked into the blue eyes of Sean and could see a lot of his father there.  He was quite the ladies’ man, and I was not his only conquest.  Not from the rumors I heard.  Who could resist the attentions of the heir to the throne?  Not me, and not many other women.  And I see the same magnetism in his son, though he is much too young for me.  Augustine grew out of his womanizing, and stayed faithful to his queen.  Will the same be true for Sean.

“You know I knew your father, back fifty years ago when I was first entering the service, before he became Emperor.  And you remind me a lot of him.”

“I take that as a compliment,” said the man who hopefully would soon sit his father’s throne.

“You should.  And I predict that you will become just as great an Emperor as he was.”

“Prophecy,” said Sean, smiling.

“No,” said Montgomery, shaking her head.  “The Goddess hasn’t gifted me with such.  Just a hunch and intuition, which all humans possess.”

Sean looked at the floor for several minutes, lost in thought.

And he does have the gift of prophecy.  It says so in his records.  As much as his father, who saved some lives while he served due to that gift.

“How did the Ca’cadasan’s grow to be such a power, when they aren’t the brightest boys on the block,” said Sean, still looking at the floor.

“Luck of the draw,” said Montgomery.  “You’ve studied Earth history, I presume.”  When Sean nodded his head she continued.  “Most people think the Europeans dominated so much of the world for so long because they were smarter than everyone else.  Unless you grow up in a non-European culture, where they teach you the real reason.  All the races and ethnic groups on old Earth were more or less equal when it came to intelligence.  The Europeans just benefitted from some beneficial circumstances.”

“Like what?”

“They had horses, and a gentle enough climate to thrive, but one harsh enough to make them tough.  And they had access to the sea, and many nations became seafaring powers, which allowed them to go where they wanted, and more importantly take land power with them, and ship goods home that made their people demand more, no matter the cost to the folks in the lands they found.”

“And the Cacas?”

“Maybe they just lucked out to develop spaceflight before anyone else in their region, then expanded rapidly with their ability to go to other star systems.  If they had gotten big enough they might have been able to conquer smaller but more technologically advanced species, and put that species’ brains to work at helping them expand more.”

The Admiral looked at the plot, which showed the whole system, including the best guess position of the enemy ships.  “So we got wiped out because the Cacas lucked into space travel while our ancestors were still building the pyramids.”

“I wonder why they want to kill us so badly,” said Sean, pointing a finger at the alien position on the plot.  “I mean, I’ve read the histories and seen the vids, just like everyone else.  No, probably more than most.  And as far as we know they enslave other races.  Especially clever races like our own.  I understand that we fired on some of them after we had surrendered on the Tau Ceti Colony.  But shit like that happens all the time in war.”

“Well, we have some prisoners aboard,” said the Admiral.  “First ever captured, as far as we know.  Why don’t you go down and ask one.  The computer has a good sense of their language.”

“I think I’ll do that,” said Sean, getting up from his chair.

“Unfortunately, their battleship’s captain is still on Basingee’s ship,” said the Admiral, getting up and walking beside Sean to the bridge exit.  “But I think we captured one of their senior ground force commanders on the planet, and he might be a good source.”  The Admiral put a hand on Sean’s arm before he could get through the doorway.  “Make sure you have some of your Marine guards with you.”

“They’re in the brig,” said Sean with a smile.  “What could they do?”

“That’s the point, your Majesty.  I don’t want to find out.”

*    *    *

“Signal coming in from the planet, my Lord,” said the Com Officer.  “It is from the commanding officer.”

“Put the General on the viewer,” said the Admiral.

“It’s not a general, my Lord.”

The officer in question appeared on the viewer, and the Admiral grunted as he saw the rank on the male’s armor.  A commander, one who ran a regiment, and much too low a rank for one in charge of a planetary conquest.  The male was speaking.  “And so, as you see, Admiral.”

“Back that transmission up to the beginning,” ordered the Admiral, pointing both left hands at the viewer.  They’re still two light hours distant.  The com officer should have noted that and taken care of it.

“I am Commander Tlosonicanarat, of the Imperial Ground Forces.  The General is either dead or has been captured, and all of the brigade commanders are dead, leaving myself in charge.  The enemy destroyed the naval force in the system, then landed their ground troops.  Without control of the orbitals we were not able to hold them off the surface.  They destroyed most of our ground forces, and then evacuated most of the civilians off planet.  The civilians they have left behind are still fighting us.”

“Give me the information I need, commander,” growled the Admiral, balling all four hands into fists.  “Curse this light speed delay.”

The officer talked for some more minutes, and then said what the Admiral had been waiting for.  “The ships left orbit approximately eight hours ago.”

“Eight hours ago,” growled the Admiral.  “They could not have left the system in that time span.  And we would have heard them even if they could have reached the hyper barrier in such a short time.  So they are still here.”

The Admiral turned to his com officer, left fists clenched, right hands pointing.  “Get in touch with those scouts.  Tell them I want those ships found.  And they are to report at fifteen minute intervals.  I want to know what they are doing and what they have found, even if what they have found is nothing.”

“Yes, my Lord,” grunted the officer, getting to work on his board.

“So where the hell are they?”  He turned back to the Com Officer.  “Send another message to the planet when you are done with that first message.  I need to know where those ships were heading when they left orbit.  If those damned ground pounders had any idea to keep track of such things.”

*    *    *

Sean had rarely visited the brig of a warship.  There had been a crewmember under him once who had been confined for talking back to an officer.  Every warship had one, when not only crewmen might need to be confined, but also pirates or other lawbreakers.  As some of these might be aliens, some of the brig cells could be reconfigured to fit most sentient sizes and their preferred environment conditions.  The Ca’cadasans could thrive in the same gas composition and temperature as humans, but what would be a comfortable cell for a human could be hell for a Cacada.

The Emperor stood in front of the crystal clear barrier that separated him from the alien.  It looked as if nothing was there, though the barrier could stop a charging dinosaur.  He felt better with that strength between him and the alien, and even more comfortable with the two armored Marines that stood to either side of him.

The Cacada was like a creature of nightmare, and not just because he looked like something from the ancient mythology of Earth, with his predator snout, distended nostrils, and half meter long horns on his head.  The male was over three meters in height, with well-developed musculature under a reddish tinted fur.  Each of the four arms ended in a four fingered hand which was arranged to allow two of the digits to function as thumbs.  Long, strong claws tipped each digit, as they did the four toes on each foot.  The being had been left his undergarments for modesty, though the humans didn’t know if such concepts pertained to the aliens.  Other aliens, freshly killed on the planet, were being dissected in the medlab, so the humans could learn more about their strengths and weaknesses.

The creature glared down at the human with the look of a shark contemplating a meal, and Sean forced himself to not shake under that gaze.  He had heard tales of how field dressed humans had been found in this Cacada’s bunker, rations for the invading army.  The Emperor glanced over at one of the Marines, and saw a look on the woman’s face of pure anger.  He didn’t think this male would last long against the armored Marine in a hand to hand.

“I have some questions to ask you,” said Sean, steadying his nerves and maintaining eye contact with the alien.

“And why would I answer your questions, human?” said the alien, the words of his rumbling voice translated by Sean’s implant.

“I could see that you had better living conditions,” said Sean.  “Better food.”

“Perhaps a fine haunch of human female,” said the alien, showing his carnivore’s teeth while his gaze switched to the female Marine.  “I couldn’t believe it when I heard that you used females in combat, until I saw it myself.  Another sign of weakness.”

“We beat your force in the Sestius system,” said Sean, feeling defensive before this being.

“By outnumbering our one capital ship,” scoffed the male.  He continued to look at the Emperor, trying to intimidate him with his gaze.  The giant crossed both sets of arms across a massive chest that looked different than the human equivalent from having to move two pairs of upper limbs.  “And what is your position, human?  You look young to be a senior leader.  Perhaps one of your alien specialists?”

“I am a high ranking noble of my people,” said Sean, leaving it at that.  He knew the Ca’cadasans used some kind of hereditary system, but beyond having an emperor he wasn’t sure what it was.  He noted the Marines had shifted into an even higher state of alertness when he was talking.  Probably wondering how much I would tell this creature.  He smiled at the thought.  Don’t worry, kiddies.  I won’t give away the game.

“I will answer those of your questions I don’t think will hurt my people,” rumbled the big male.  “And refuse to answer those I think might.  Even if you torture me.”

“We don’t use torture,” said Sean.  At least not any pain techniques.  We might use drugs or psychology though.

“Another sign that you are a weak species,” said the male with a tone of contempt.  “So ask your questions.”

Sean looked at the creature for another moment, trying to use psychology against it.  “You were the general in charge of the defense of the planet?”

“I was not,” said the male, crossing his arms again.  “I was a Sub-general, the commander of a combat brigade.”

“And a combat brigade was, what?”

“Six to eight thousand warriors.”  The male would not say more after that about that subject.

Sean asked the being several more questions of military significance, and received no answer to any of them.  He was about to give up when he remembered the question he had come to ask.

“Why do you hate us so much?”

The alien gave him what had to be a quizzical look, then a scowl.  “You truly don’t know?  It did not come down in your histories?”

“What came down in our histories was that a human on Tau Ceti acted against orders and killed one of your officers and a couple of his soldiers.  After we had surrendered.  And that your people went crazy after that, destroying the colony to the last human.”

“You do not know that you killed the eldest son of the Emperor?  He who was to be our next ruler?”

“Oh my God,” said Sean, crossing himself in the manner of a Reformed Catholic, as he had been raised.  “We didn’t know.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” said the big officer.  “There was nothing you could have done, no act of contrition that would have soothed the Emperor’s mind.  He ordered the complete destruction of your species.  Which was done, except for…” The male stopped speaking, looking away as if he said too much.

So they hadn’t killed all the humans they got in their grasp.  Interesting.

“Thank you very much, Sub-general,” said Sean.  “I will be back to talk with you tomorrow.”

“I don’t know why,” said the male.  “I will give you no useful information.”

“Maybe I just want to learn more about your people.”

“Learn what you want,” said the male, turning his back and walking away from the barrier.  “It will not matter in the end.  Nothing will matter in the end, when we have ended your species.”

*    *    *

The Admiral stood on the bridge of his ship and looked at the holo viewer that gave him a view into the system.  The bright dot of the sun was centered in the viewer, and the night side of the habitable planet was in the foreground of the scene, dark as uninhabited or sparsely populated worlds were.

“Where did you go?” whispered the Admiral, his mind trying to wrap itself around the possibility of an enemy disappearing without a trace from a system.  A physical impossibility was what it was.  The only way a ship could get out of a system was through hyper, and there had been no sign of that, which was also a physical impossibility.  So they were still in the system.  Trying to get out to be sure, but still in normal space.  And they couldn’t have come past us.  Not within the time they had left the orbit of that world.  Unless they could accelerate at a rate far beyond ours.  Not physically impossible, but highly unlikely.  The humans had shown no indication of that before this.

The Admiral looked at the white disk of the F class star.  The viewer stepped down the brightness of that orb, making it possible to look directly into the blinding disk.  Blinding disk, thought the Admiral, staring at the star.  Blinding disk.  That’s it.

“They went for the sun,” said the Admiral, looking at his Tactical and Sensor officers as they talked.

“My Lord?” said the Tactical Officer.

“They boosted for the star and around it, using its fierce light to confuse our sensors.  Now they are on the other side, heading out of the system.”

The Admiral walked over to the two males, pointing a finger back at the viewer.  “I want a calculation of their position if they headed directly for the star from the planet and then around it.”

“That could result in many possible positions, my Lord Admiral,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Then find all of those possibilities, winnow them down to the most likely, and present them to me within the hour.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the officer, the only thing he could say.

“Com Officer,” yelled the Admiral, walking to that station.  “Contact Commander Pod One.  He is to dispatch three battleships from his force to decel, then head back to the hyper barrier. I want that force to circle around the system in hyper, and wait for the enemy to translate out of normal space.  The rest of his pod is to accelerate around the star and out of the system, looking for the enemy.  If they see them they are to follow a maximum acceleration chase pattern.  Otherwise, they are to follow an earliest translation profile.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the Com Officer, getting to work on his board, claws thrusting in and out of control holes.

“I will keep you from ever seeing your home stars,” said the Admiral, walking to the helm station to give that male his orders.  “Clever foes such as yourselves must not be allowed to live.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

If I could have gotten rid of one human trait through the genome improvement project, it would have been the tendency of people to be self-serving to the point of harm to themselves and others.  There is nothing more disgusting than that tendency that allows one to sell out one’s own people for a temporary advantage, even when it is clear that the end result is dire.

Memoirs of Emperor Augustine I.

SESTIUS SPACE, APRIL 4TH THROUGH 7TH, 1000.

“I was hoping to find you here,” said a familiar voice.

Jennifer Conway looked up from the report she was filing on her flat comp.  The work had kept her busy, taking care of the hurts major and minor of the refugees.  Kept her too focused on her work to allow her mind to travel the paths of despair that the death of Glen had presented as the only possibilities for the future.  She looked up to see the smiling face of the young man who was now the ruler of the New Terran Empire.

Not the ruler, she thought, looking at the smiling face.  He still has to be crowned.  But in all but the ceremonial coronation he is the Emperor.

“If I’m intruding I can leave,” said Sean, his smile fading.

“No, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, closing her flat comp.  How like a little boy he is, despite the sophistication he was raised to.  “May I ask you a personal question, your Majesty?”

“Of course.  But call me Sean.”

“How old are you, your Majesty?”  She saw the disapproving look on his face as she said the title.  “I mean Sean.  How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-six, doctor,” he said with a smile.  “Too young for an old lady of thirty-eight like yourself?”

“Not at all, your Majesty.  I mean Sean.”  He looks so much younger than that, like he is still in his early twenties, just out of adolescence.  But I guess part of that is in his genes.  And then what he had said hit home, and she felt her face flush with embarrassment.  He can’t see anything in me other than a pretty face, can he?  Not another conquest?

“I didn’t mean to cause you embarrassment,” said Sean, putting his hand on top of hers.

She felt her cheeks flush even more, and knew that her fair skin was giving her away.  Showing her feelings, at a time when she wanted to conceal them from the world.  But maybe not from this man.

“Soon after we jump into hyper I would like you to have dinner with me,” said Sean.

“The two of us, alone?”

“Unfortunately not,” said the Emperor with a frown.  “The Admiral is going to have a formal dinner, to celebrate the deliverance of the heir to the throne.  And I am inviting you to sit with me.”

“I’m not sure,” said the woman, her face distressed as she thought about the social disaster this might perpetrate.

“Just say yes,” said Sean.  “Don’t force me to make a proclamation.”

Jennifer laughed despite herself at the man who couldn’t seem to take himself seriously.  “Then I guess I will have to say yes.”

“Very good,” said the Emperor, taking her hand and moving it to his lips so he could kiss the back.  “I will see you at the dinner.”

As the young Emperor walked out Jennifer was fighting with several feelings at once.  Guilt, sorrow, and most of all, elation.

*    *    *

Sean felt almost overwhelmed by the emotions he felt after meeting with the doctor.  She was beautiful, and intelligent, and educated, and everything that he wanted in a woman.  And she was still grieving over the death of the man she was to marry.  He knew he should leave her alone, for a number of reasons.  But he couldn’t.

And then there was guilt over Gorbachev, another woman he had thought he loved, even though she was beneath him both in military rank and social status.  But she has to be dead, captured by those bastards of Cacas.  There is nothing to hold onto there.  He remembered the dream that showed her alive, then dismissed it as just another dream, even though deep down he knew better.

And then the elation won out, the old dream was forgotten, and he knew that he was falling in love.  Samantha will give me hell about this.  She will say I need to save myself for a political marriage.  To which my answer will be fuck that.  There will not be a lot of happiness in the coming years.  So I better get mine while I can.

*    *    *

“We have translations to hyper,” called out the voice of the Sensor Chief.  “Location on the other side of the system.”

“Which dimension?” asked the Admiral.

“Hyper I, ma’am.”

“So they’re sticking to their old pattern,” said Sean.

“They aren’t sure where we are,” said the Flag Captain.  “They may have an inkling, but not a sure fix.”

“Captain Stafford wants to know if he should go ahead and jump to hyper, ma’am,” said the Com Officer, looking back.

“No,” shouted the Admiral, standing up and walking over to the com station.  “If we jump now we’ll only be able to continue in hyper at point two light to the next barrier.  When we jump I want to get us the hell out of here without any messing around.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long till we reach the VI barrier?” she asked, turning toward the force Navigation Officer.

“Twelve minutes, ma’am.”

“And then another hour to the VII barrier,” said the Admiral, looking back at the person she needed to get out of here.  “And they’ll be around the star by that time, and possibly waiting for us.  Shit.”

“What we need is a diversion,” said Sean, standing from his chair and walking to the holo tank.

“I’m not really sure what we could use, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, looking at him with eyes that seemed devoid of hope.

“Some of your ships, Admiral,” said the young man.

“I thought you were against sacrificing my people so that you could escape,” said the Admiral, knowing that she would make that sacrifice, just surprised that he would.

“Not your people,” said the Emperor.  “Just the ships.”

*    *    *

“We have a translation, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Into the VII dimension.”

“How many ships?” asked the Admiral, stalking over to the sensor station.

“Five, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer, holding an upper left hand to his ear bud as he listened to the hyperspace noise.  “One of their small scout capital ships, two of their cruisers, and two of their destroyers.”

“That’s not enough,” said the Admiral, looking back at the plot.

“My Lord.”

“That is not enough ships,” said the Admiral, looking at the plot that now showed the enemy vessels that had just translated into Hyper VII.  “The ground force commander said there were at least a score of vessels involved in the attack of the planet.  It must be a diversion.”

“What do you want to do, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “The three battleships are almost in position.”

“Send a grav wave signal to that force.  They are to continue the chase of the enemy ships that have translated.  And send a grav wave signal to the other chasing force.  They are to continue on their original path, making sure to hold out of detection range of those ships.  Repeat those signals.” And hopefully they will get the signals, never a sure thing this close to a gravity well.

Grav waves traveled the speed of light in normal space, transmitted by graviton carrier particles, limited by the same barrier as any other particles.  But gravity was also felt in hyperspace, and the shadows of the particles could be detected there.  As the dimensions of hyper were smaller on their individual spans compared to normal space, the grav waves could be heard as if they were traveling faster than light.  The only real problem with using the modulated waves for communication was the limited range, as the gravitons produced by a spaceship were not of sufficient number to carry a signal for distance, due to the inverse square law.  And within a system they were interfered with by all the other gravity sources, making grav waves problematical for any kind of insystem communications.

The vessels in question did get the transmissions, intelligible enough to coax the information out of them.

*    *    *

“Sensor Chief reports three enemy battleships are jumping from hyper V to VII,” said the Sensor Officer.

“Heading?”

“They are accelerating on a curve that will take them after the diversionary ships.”

“It’s working,” said Sean with a smile.

“I still don’t feel good about sending ships off like that on computer control,” said Flag Captain Josia Greenefield.  “It smacks of violation of the man in the loop accords.”

“Would you rather have sent people on a suicide mission, Josia?” asked Mara Montgomery.

“And those ships will be run down and destroyed within forty-two hours,” said Sean, looking at the plot that showed the five dots of the unmanned ships moving at an angle to the force, and the three dots of enemy battleships that were not moving on the same course, but were pulling that way.  “Unless this enemy commander is completely incompetent, those ships will not pose the threat of runaway AI.”  And why would they develop into that kind of a menace in the first place, thought Sean.  It only happened once in six hundred years of using autonomous robots, and the AIs on those ships are purposively limited because of that.

“So I figure two days of coasting and it will be safe to jump to VII,” said the Admiral.  “We’ll be over nine light hours out of the system.”

“And if we timed it right, those diversionary ships will be dropping out of VII while being destroyed, and that should give us some more cover,” said Sean, smiling as he looked at the gathered officers.

“The ships are getting a little crowded,” said Captain Stafford over the com.  “Not enough to strain our life support, but we’re putting people in storage rooms to get them out of the way.”

“Better than letting them be tracked down by those savages and killed as livestock,” said Greenefield, shuddering.

“Agreed,” said Montgomery, nodding.  “Now all we have to do is wait and see.  And sometimes that’s the hardest job of all.”

*     *    *

“The following force is transmitting to us, my Lord Admiral.”

“Put it on the screen,” said the Admiral, taking a glass of wine from a slave, then gesturing the small insectoid out of the room.

The face of the pod leader appeared on the screen, a toothy grin on his face.  “We are tracking them at the very edge of our instruments,” said the Low Admiral in charge of the reduced pod. “They are coasting at point two light.  It is my opinion that they are moving to what they hope is the limit of our instruments before jumping into their highest level of hyper.”

“Which will be VII,’ said the Admiral to himself.  That was what the diversion ships jumped to, and I would expect the entire force to have the same capabilities.  Which made destroying these ships even more important, as the enemy was said to not have many of the hyper VII vessels.

“We will continue shadowing them until you match velocities with us, my Lord,” continued the officer.  The screen went blank.

“Do you want to reply, my Lord?” asked the Com Officer.

“Of course not, you fool,” said the Admiral, pointing a pair of fingers at the officer.  “Do you want them to pick up the bleed from the laser.”  Not really much chance of that at the range they are ahead.  But no use taking any chances.  If they are operating from a nearby base I want to know where that is, so I can erase it.

The Admiral took a sip of his drink and moved back to his chair, falling back into it and studying the plot that showed all three of his forces and the two enemy groups.  And a smile crossed his face, thinking of the victory that would be his, and the vengeance he would take for the Sestius system.

*    *    *

“We are picking up the sounds of catastrophic translations,” said the Sensor Officer, looking back at the Admiral.  “Detecting what seems to be a light cruiser and a destroyer falling out of hyper.”

“All ships translate into VII, now,” called out the Admiral.  “Get them moving.”

“Another destroyer falling out,” called out the Sensor Officer, who was getting her information from the rear guard battle cruiser of the force.

“Translating now,” called out the Com Officer.

The sense of nausea took hold, and the Admiral felt like she was going to vomit.  She did not have the severe form of the reaction, and the feeling passed moments after the deep red of hyperspace took over the view screen.

“Light cruiser falling out,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“All ships have translated,” said the Com Officer, her own face slightly pale from translation nausea.

“Battle cruiser falling out.”

“And so died five ships of the Empire, that we might survive,” said Sean, a smile on his face.

The Admiral looked at the young man with growing resentment.  He didn’t seem affected by the nausea at all.  Those damned genes of his, she thought, wondering why everyone in the Empire didn’t have them.

“It seems to have worked,” said the Flag Captain, coughing slightly from his own nausea.

“All ships accelerating at the maximum safe limit,” called out the Com Officer.

“And a clear path all the way home,” said Sean.

Prophecy? thought the Admiral, looking at the smiling young man.  Or just wishful thinking?

*    *    *

CONUNDRUM SYSTEM, APRIL 7TH, 1000.

“No, my Lord Admiral,” said Commodore Blake Griffith, the bridge of the Smaug behind him on the holo.  “We only heard the translation resonances from the battle cruiser falling out of hyper, along with the two enemy ships.  We lost the signal from the destroyer in all the noise, but nothing that indicated that they were destroyed.”

And I bet the heir was on that destroyer, making an escape while the battle cruiser closed with the enemy cover their getaway.  “And what was the location of this battle?” asked Mgonda of the Commodore.

“Sending our data over now,” said the lower ranking flag officer, while the tactical plot in the Grand Fleet Admiral’s office changed, the flashing icon of the battle site drawing his attention.

And still no sign of that destroyer, thought Mgonda, shaking his head.  Where the hell are they?

“Prepare your squadron for deployment, Commodore.  I’ll be leading a battle force out of this system, soon.  And I want you to be in my order of battle.”

“Won’t take long,” said the Commodore.  “All we need is a top off of antimatter.”

“That we still have plenty of,” said the Admiral, looking at his system resources on his link.  There were a dozen tankers in the system, all full.  And the limited production facilities of the system were still putting out a small but significant amount of the vital material.  And what are our guests doing about antimatter?  They must use it, in prodigious amounts, to feed those big bastard ships of theirs.  And their production bases must he a long long way from here.  What would they do if we interrupted that supply?  “I’ll contact you again if I have any further questions, and Fleet will be getting in touch with you about your task force assignments.”

The Commodore nodded and the transmission ended.  The Admiral pulled up the personnel file of the commanders of the hyper VII ships he was interested in,  This Captain Mei Lei looks like one competent commander, he thought.  A future task force commander.  Or she would have been, if she didn’t have to sacrifice her ship to save the heir.  And this other captain, von Rittersdorf.  A young man with a reputation for thinking on his feet.  Also with a bright future ahead of him, if he got out of this alive.

The Admiral stared at the plot for a moment longer, wondering what his best move would be.  Rear Admiral Montgomery was also out there, prowling space on a search for the heir.  She would find him too, as long as he didn’t stray too far from a straight path toward the fleet base.  If they were being chased, there was no guarantee they would stick to that straight line.  And if not, then he had no idea where to look.  He could send ships out in small scouting parties, and then ran the risk of having them snapped up by the enemy, whose dispositions he also was not sure of.

“I’ll have a meeting with my staff,” he said into the com to his adjutant.  “One hour.”

I don’t think any of us will be getting much sleep tonight, he thought.  Or much in the days ahead, until we either know that young man is alive, or dead.

An hour later the Admiral met with his staff in a large conference room, the view port looking over the planet it orbited.  Some other constructs were visible in that port, shown by the reflected sunlight.  An industrialized world, with facilities planetside and in space.  A well-defended world, and he was planning to take much of its defense away from it.

“Are you sure you want to do this, sir,” said Commodore Blanca Gomez, his fleet intelligence officer.  “I mean, uncovering the sector headquarters.”

“A fleet is not made to sit in a defensive position,” said Rear Admiral Joshua Peritelli, the commander of the scouting force.  “It’s made to go on offensive operations.”

“If we lose the headquarters this soon in the war, we are in serious trouble,” said the Commodore.  “Sir,” she said, looking over at Mgonda.  “I feel this action is a mistake.”

“Be that as it may,” said Mgonda, glancing at Peritelli, then back at his intelligence officer, “this is the decision I have made.  That young man, out there in the dark, is more important to the Empire than any single base.”

“You don’t even know that he is alive,” said the Commodore, her voice pleading.  “This could be all for nothing.”

“We will do this, Blanca,” said the Admiral.  “And I want you on the flag bridge of my ship with me.  Can you do that, despite your misgivings.”

“I will do my duty, sir,” said the woman.  “To the best of my abilities.  But I have a question for you, Admiral.  All of the other ships involved in this, mess, are hyper VII, theirs and ours.  What are you going to do with a bunch of hyper VI ships if they don’t come down and play?”

“I may have the answer to that, Blanca,” said Admiral Peritelli.  The holo over the center of the desk sprung to life, showing a pair of large missile colliers moving into the system.

“And what is that?” asked Blanca, leaning forward.

“A whole shit load of hyper VII missiles,” said the scout force commander.  “The resupply for all the hyper VII ships in the sector.”

“Can we use them?” asked Mgonda, wanting to hope that this might be the way they could strike at this enemy.

“I don’t see why not,” said the lower ranking Admiral, while his many superiors in the room started to talk among themselves in whispers.  “We can fire them in VI and translate them up to VII, where they can go after the enemy.”

“But can our ships launch them?” asked Vice Admiral Duchoveny, one of the battle line task force commanders.

“The battleships can launch the battle cruiser missiles,” said Peritelli, pulling up schematic diagrams of the weapons.  “They’ll fit in the battleship launch tubes.  The cruisers can use light cruiser missiles, dropping them out of their hangar bays and cargo holds.  And my destroyers can do the same with the destroyer missiles.”

“Not the most efficient way to use those weapons,” said Duchoveny, shaking his head.  “But definitely better than nothing.”

“That will deprive us of armaments for all our hyper VII ships,” said Montgomery, her concerned face looking at the Mgonda, who had the final authority.

“Again, they are weapons made to be used, not stored,” said Mgonda.  “And I mean to use them.  So,” he said, looking over at his Fleet Commander, Fleet Admiral McIntosh, “what do you have in your cupboard, Ruth?”

“I think I can provide the Admiral with a sufficient force to handle most anything we run into, with the exception of a major enemy battle fleet.”

“So we just have to hope we don’t run into one of those,” said Gomez.  “Otherwise, cake.”

“What about your destroyers and cruisers?” asked Mgonda, looking over at Peritelli.

“I can give you a hundred ships,” said that officer.  “Maybe a few more.  I assume you want us to leave as soon as possible, and to scout far ahead.”

“No,” said Mgonda, shaking his head.  “I have a very specific deployment in mind.  Sort of a net to catch our strays.  How long before we can start loading those missiles on board my ships?”

‘They’ll be in orbit in about six hours,” said Peritelli.  “Say another six to get the missiles onto all of our ships.  Maybe eight.”

“Could we head for the limit and load the ships on the way?”

“No, sir,” said Peritelli.  “They can’t reverse course before they get to orbit.  And we need the docking facilities here in orbit to offload and transfer those weapons.”

“Fifteen hours,” said Mgonda with a frown.  “I want the fleet boosting for the hyper barrier in sixteen hours.  Maximum accel/decel profile.  We’re going to war, ladies and gentlemen.  Now, let’s get to work.”

*     *     *

HYPERSPACE, OUTSIDE OF SESTIUS SYSTEM.

“All ships have finished translating,” said the Com Officer, his words slow in his illness.

Why do we, of all creatures, have to endure so much nausea when jumping in and out of hyperspace? thought the Admiral, forcing his gorge back down.  It seemed so unfair that the people who were destined to rule the stars were so afflicted by this illness that was part of travelling between the worlds.

“The last of the enemy ships in the diversionary force has been destroyed,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Catastrophic translation is reverberating through hyper.”

And they timed it perfectly, thought the Admiral.  Unfortunately for them, they didn’t count on it also obscuring our own translation.  We should be out of their range anyway, as they are just at the very edge of ours.

“So they don’t know we are here?” asked the Admiral.

“They shouldn’t,” said the Sensor Officer.  “No, my Lord.”

“All ships are to accelerate at the same rate as the enemy,” he ordered, looking at his bridge officers.  “I want to stay on the very edge of our detection range, until I say otherwise.”

The bridge crew all gave indications of acknowledgement and went to work.  And unknown to the humans seven battleships, eight cruisers and twelve scout ships of the Imperial Ca’cadasan Fleet followed on the trail of a human force they outmassed five to one.

*    *    *

CONUNDRUM SYSTEM, APRIL 8TH, 1000.

The hole in space opened up and the destroyer slid out of hyper.  Ahead was the bright sun of the system, at this range not much more than a fierce point of light.  The viewer immediately centered on the inhabited world, Conundrum III.  What was on the screen was impressive, a developing world with well-developed space industry, huge factories in high orbit around the planet.  Over five hundred million souls called the world, the sector capital, home, and it was a magnet attracting people who wanted to move from the core worlds, but still wanted the defenses that five orbital forts and significant ground artillery gave it. A sixth fort was under construction in orbit.

The Captain ordered the viewer to switch to a zoom out view of the system, to take in the other planets.  Several million more humans lived on the other worlds, harvesting their resources.  Millions more called the asteroid belt home, and utilized their riches to feed the space industries of the planet.

Further in from the planet, closer to the energy of the sun, were the antimatter production sats that turned photons into the field used to flip the charge on protons, and turn them into antiprotons.  While not of the magnitude of the core world plants, they still gave the system a large boost to the antimatter it could use to fuel military and commercial ships.

And there were many of those vessels in the system, as shown by the holo plot which took the place of the real space view at the order of the Captain.  Hundreds of military vessels, thirty of them dedicated normal space defense vessels, the rest regular fleet units.  There were also over a hundred commercial vessels in system, and a convoy of empties was on the other side of the local space, heading for the hyper barrier.

“It looks even busier than the last time we were here,” said Lasardo, looking at the information on his own targeting board.

“Funny how a war will do that,” said von Rittersdorf.

“We’re getting a signal from Kleinfeld,” said the Com Officer.  “They wish us luck, and are going to high speed run into the system.”

“Give them our thanks,” said the Captain.  “If we have to worry about an alien attack here, we’re in more trouble than I believe.”

The ship accelerated into the system at eighty gravities, her max at this time, for five hours before they were contacted by a source identifying itself as the superbattleship Frederick de Grosse.  The Com Officer listened for a few moments, then switched the com signal onto the viewer.

The Captain sat up in his chair as he saw the visage of Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda on the screen.  “Captain von Rittersdorf.  This is the Sector Commander.  I understand that you last saw the heir.  I am ordering you to send your logs to this ship over the com.  I have dispatched a courier to pick you up from your ship and bring you aboard mine.  Please order your second to take your ship to space dock, where I have ordered expedited repairs to McArthur.  Mgonda out.”

“Wonder what that was about?” asked Lasardo.  “And he said his ship, so he must be preparing to go on an operation.”

“That would be my guess,” said the Captain, looking at the tactical that showed hundreds of vessels heading toward the hyper barrier.  “You have the con, Lasardo.  I’m going to try and get a little sleep before that courier gets here.”

Maurice tried to sleep, but it did not come his way.  His mind was too active, trying to figure out what was going on.  That it had something to do with the Emperor, and that the Sector Commander was going to be in the thick of it, was obvious.

The courier was an interesting vessel.  Only ten thousand tons, with a crew of fifteen and room for twenty passengers, the ship was capable of hyper VII translation and could pull seven hundred gravities.  Only the attack fighters could accel at a greater rate.  Maurice finally fell asleep on the trip in, a least time acel-decel trip to get him to the Admiral’s ship as quickly as possible, before they left the system.  He woke up on final approach, looking at more battleships than he had ever seen on his room viewer.

Maurice watched the superbattleship on the screen as the courier matched velocities with the warship.  It was one of the most powerful warships in the Imperial inventory, but the Captain realized it was no longer the most powerful ship in human space.  The larger Ca’cadasan warships now held that honor, though he hoped their crews weren’t as good as those aboard human vessels.

A huge hatch opened amidships, leading into a large hangar, big enough to accept the ten thousand ton hyperdrive ship.  Marines were waiting for the Captain as he disembarked, rendering a rifle salute, then leading him from the hangar to the nearest lift.  Maurice rode the lift, thinking about what it would be like to command such a ship.  It could take on fifty Dot McArthur’s and destroy them without trouble.  But they aren’t as fast, thought the Captain, knowing that he would rather have one of the hyper VII light cruisers, or possibly a battle cruiser, something that could plow through hyper as fast as anything made.

The corridors were full of people hauling things all over the place.  The Captain and the Marines were required to step aside several times as robotics haulers towing pallets of boxes made their way down the corridor, sounding warning sirens whenever weaker organics got in the way. Looks like they’re getting ready for a deployment, thought von Rittersdorf, recalling the smaller fast cargo vessels he had seen cruising up along the side of the great vessel.  And he also recalled the numerous ships he had seen displayed on the screen, enough to make up a respectable battle force.

“Here is the young officer you called for, Admiral,” said one of the Marines when they walked onto the flag bridge.

Maurice stiffened to attention as soon as he saw the officer who turned and looked at him.  He rendered the proper salute to perfection, then stood stiffly, waiting for the officer to acknowledge him.  He had, of course, recognized Duke Taelis Mgonda, Grand Fleet Admiral and ranking officer in this sector.  There was an equal ranking army officer in charge of ground defense, but that man was not in von Rittersdorf’s chain of command.

“At ease, Duke von Rittersdorf,” said the Admiral with a smile, then held his hand up to stop the protest from leaving Maurice’s mouth.  “I understand from the log you transmitted that our runaway prince was handing out titles and promotions right and left.  I guess the titles will stand, once he get on the throne.  Probably the rank as well.”  The Admiral looked at the central plot that was alive with vessels, over two hundred warships and several hundred supply ships hustling to get things aboard the fighting vessels.   It was obvious that this was a hasty deployment, without long term planning.

“What I want from you is your impression of where they went.  I know it’s in your log, but I thought I should hear it from your mouth as well, and any information that might not have made it into the log.”

“They definitely were heading for Sestius, Admiral,” said the young officer, sure what the first question would be.  “The Emperor wanted to rescue the people there after he learned that they were under siege.”

“And she just let him lead her by the nose on a damned suicide mission,” said the Admiral with a snarl.  “Only, knowing Mara Montgomery, she would have found a way to get him back.”

“The Emperor felt it important to save those people, Admiral,” said von Rittersdorf, not sure why he was defending the younger man, when he knew the decision had been stupid.

“He’s not Emperor yet, Captain,” said the Admiral with a scowl.  “And if he doesn’t get back to the throne before they crown some other idiot, which is exactly what the Lords wants to do, he will never be Emperor.”

“But, I thought they would have to wait.”

“Normally they would,” agreed the Admiral, looking over at the plot and making a gesture toward a crewman sitting at a control board.  “But we are in the early stages of a war against an enemy from our worst nightmares, and people will demand a leader.  If the Lords can ram a vote through all the houses of Parliament they will be able to put whatever little shit they want on the throne.  The Fleet won’t support it, and that might lead to more trouble.”

Like civil war, thought Maurice, wondering if such a thing were possible.  And what it might do to the military while they were trying to rally to fight the Ca’cadasans.

“It was a nice gesture to try to save the people from one frontier planet,” said the Admiral, interrupting the Captain’s thoughts.  “But as you can see on the plot, Sestius is the least of our worries.”

Maurice looked up to see that the plot of the system had been replaced by a star map of the Sector.  Over five hundred stars were lit bright, signifying colonies or important industrial concerns.  And fifty of those were blinking red, showing that enemy incursion had occurred in those systems.  Thirty-two of the blinking dots became solid red, the systems the enemy has taken.

“We’ve lost twenty-eight frontier systems to date that we know of, and it could have risen since this information was gathered.”  The Admiral looked at the Captain with a glare, as if accusing him of causing this to happen.  “And four developing systems, each of which was a hell of a lot more important than all the frontier systems taken, combined.  And the Lost Prince decided to go rescue one.”  The Admiral smacked a fist into a palm and glared at the plot.

“What I’d like to know from you, Captain, is how we fight these things and win,” said the Admiral, turning back to von Rittersdorf.  “I’ve fought them in normal space, but this time we’re likely to meet them in hyper.  So, how do we fight them?”

“You're using hyper VI ships, Admiral,” said von Rittersdorf, shaking his head.  “As long as they stay in VII I’m not sure how you fight them, unless you lure them somehow into VI.  Unless you have enough VII ships to engage them up there.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any available,” said an officer wearing a Commodore’s rank. “With the exception of a couple of destroyers, everything else is out scouting.  And Mara took the majority of what we had with her.  So, we don’t have ships that can bring them to contact in hyper.  So we have to lure them down to our level.”

“Unless we use those missiles on them that can reach to VII,” said the Admiral, excitement in his voice, pointing to another screen that showed the image of a destroyer class hyper VII missile.  Something that von Rittersdorf was very familiar with.  “Reloads for our hyper VII ships.  And the perfect weapon for engaging a foe that won’t come down to us.”

The Admiral turned back to the Captain and patted him on the shoulder.  “Fine job in bringing your ship back, young man.  Now I think you need to get to the space dock so you can oversee having her repaired and refitted.  We’ll take it from here.”

*     *     *

HIMS SIR GALAHAD, HYPERSPACE, APRIL 9TH, 1000.

One of the larger recreation rooms on board the Sir Galahad had been redressed to become a large dining hall, such as found on one of the luxurious cruise liners.  Ten tables, each capable of seating twenty people, populated the room.  Sideboards full of food and drink were set up around the walls, while mess crew in dress uniforms served the courses of the sumptuous meal that was set up on the tables.

Jennifer wore the best dress she possessed, one that had been furnished by the ship’s shop for this feast.  In fact, it was of better quality than anything she had ever owned.  She looked around the table and saw that everyone was dressed to the hilt, even those who looked decidedly uncomfortable at this table.

Sean sat to her right, at what would be considered the head of the table.  Opposite her was the pretty young woman who had been identified to her as Samantha Lee, the cousin of the Emperor.  Also seated around the table were the Admiral and her Flag Captain, as well as the Captain of the ship.  She thought she recognized the Army officer wearing the dress uniform with the eagles of a colonel on his collar, and even the older man, also in army uniform, eagles on his collar and a ranger flash on his sleeve.  She smiled a moment when she saw Cornelius Walborski, the man she had treated for a broken arm on Sestius, who looked decidedly uncomfortable in his suit, and frowned when she didn’t see anyone that looked like the wife he had talked about.

The meal proceeded smoothly, with no one knocking over glasses or dropping large quantities of food to the floor.  There was the usual small talk of all dinner parties, and Sean paid close attention to her throughout the meal, to the frowns of his cousin and the looks of the Admiral.

“A toast,” called out the Admiral as soon as the last plate was cleared.  “To our Emperor.  May he reign long and wisely.”

Glasses were raised and clinked over the table in the long standing salute at all naval meals, and the people at the other tables followed suit.  Sean, of course, did not raise his glass, as he was the one being honored by the toast, which had to be a first aboard this vessel.  As soon as the glasses were finished they were filled by the attentive serving staff.

“This dinner was not only given as a social affair,” said the Emperor, looking around the table.  “I want to ask questions of some of our guests who were on that planet.  I know it is not really something most of you want to talk about, and I know I will see the official reports later.  But I want to hear it from the people who were there, while it is still fresh in your minds.”

The guests looked at each other, some with frowns.  But there were also many nodding heads.

He really knows his stuff, thought Jennifer, looking at the Monarch.  He’s diplomatic, and wishes to grow in wisdom as soon as possible.

“I would like to know what you think of our guests?” he asked the table.

“What we think of the bastards,” said Walborski, his eyes blazing.  “How do you mean that?”

“I must apologize for my young friend, your Majesty,” said the grizzled looking Ranger Colonel.  “He lost his wife to the Cacas, and there is no love lost there.”

Oh no, thought Jennifer, putting a hand over her mouth.  What about the baby?

“I understand,” said Sean, bowing his head.  “I lost many friends and shipmates in Massadora system.  And we have no need of formality here.  So, my young warrior.  What do you think of the Caca warriors?”

“I don’t think much of them,” said the young man, the fierce look never leaving his face.  “They are good fighters out in the open.  But get them in a jungle and they are just big clumsy targets.”

“And you know this how, farmer?” asked a Marine Lt. Colonel who sat at the table.

The older colonel put his hand on the young man’s shoulder before he jumped across the table at the Marine.  The officer glared at the man who was his subordinate in rank.  “He knows this because he killed over twenty of them in the jungle.  Several hand to hand.”

“And he told you this.”

“I saw several of the kills myself,” said the Colonel with a cold smile.  “Including one of the hand to hand kills.”

“And what do you wish to do now, my young firebrand?” asked Sean, sending a cold glare the Marine Light Colonel’s way, then looking back at the young farmer with a smile.

“I want to kill more of the bastards,” said the young man in a tone that chilled the spines of everyone at the table.  “I want your Army to teach me how to kill them in the most efficient way possible.”

“Then you shall have your wish, Cornelius Walborski,” said the Monarch, looking over at Samantha and nodding his head.  “And what do you think the greatest weakness of these big louts?”

“They are clumsy,” said Walborski, his eyes lighting with passion as he spoke.  “They’re big and strong, but they lack agility.  And in close quarters they have a hard time maneuvering.”

“What about their intelligence?  And I don’t mean their ability to gather information,” Sean said quickly, looking around at his military people.  “I mean their brains.”

“I don’t think they are mentally agile, your Majesty,” said the grizzled looking Colonel.  “I don’t mean to say they are dumb.  Just, from what I have seen, they are not that quick to adjust to changing situations in combat.”

“Seen much combat, Colonel?” said the Marine Light Colonel with a sneer.

“Preacher has probably seen as much as your entire battalion, Marine,” said the other Colonel, whose faraway look marked him as a combat veteran.  “I don’t hold a candle to him, and I have probably seen more combat this year than you have in your career.”

“That’s the Preacher?” asked the Light Colonel, his eyes widening.  “I had no idea, Colonel.  And I am sorry for doubting you.”

“Who is the Preacher?” asked Sean, his eyes darting from man to man.

“The most deadly special ops soldier of our generation,” said the Marine, his face flushing in embarrassment.  “And if he says something, your Majesty, I would take it as gospel.”

Glad that pissing match is over, thought Jennifer, almost choking on the testosterone that was permeating the room.

“And what do you wish, Colonel?” asked Sean, looking at the officer.  “I understand that you had gone into retirement.  Maybe a world in another sector.”

“If it’s up to me, your Majesty, I would just as soon go back into military service.  I can still serve the Empire, and I don’t see peace for any of us as long as we have this enemy to fight.”

“I can speak for the Preacher, your Majesty,” said Walborski, a little bit of the anger gone from his eyes.  “I’ve never seen a man move through the brush so quietly in my life.  He’s like a ghost, until he comes out of the shadows to kill the enemy.”

“No disrespect, Cornelius,” said Sean, holding up a hand to prevent the Marine Light Colonel from speaking.  “But do you have much experience in the, brush, as you called it?”

“I helped my father to run hunting expeditions on New Detroit,” said Walborski with pride.  “A lot of overly prideful but dull nobles would have died, if not for me and my father.”

“Watch your tongue,” said Captain Greenefield, pointing a finger at the man.

Sean barked a laugh and looked at the Captain.  “No, Captain Greenefield.  He is correct.  Most nobles like to pretend they’re the great hunter, masters of all they see.  And if not for people like young Cornelius and his father, many of them would be shit on the ground after the native life ate them.”

Jennifer let out a chuckle, which she stifled.  She was liking this former prince more and more.  He was not what she expected from a member of the Imperial family.  He knew his position, and his power, but didn’t misuse it.  He connected with his people, no matter their rank, as equal citizens of the Empire, even though both parties knew that was not entirely true.

“And what did you think of our enemies, Colonel Baggett?” asked Sean, looking at the other Army Colonel.

“They fought hard, your Majesty,” said the younger Colonel.  “And bravely.  But they were uncoordinated in their execution.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were several times during the campaign when they killed more of their own through friendly fire than from ours,” said Baggett, picking up his glass and taking a sip.

“And what about their greater size?”

“It was as young Walborski said.  They could carry a greater weight of weapons than could we, but they didn’t move as well.  And they made very large targets.”

“Anything else?”

“Their armor and equipment were on a par with ours, the medium armor my regiment was equipped with.  But they did not compare with the heavy armor of the Marines I had attached to my unit.”

Glen, thought Jennifer, holding back the tears as those words brought up the memory of her fiancé’ in his great armor.

“I also saw their tanks in action, or what was their equivalent.  And they were no match for our heavy vehicles.”

“Very interesting,” said the Marine Light Colonel.  “So we are their superior in ground combat.”

“At least for now,” said Baggett, nodding.  “But Darwinian evolution will work in a military sense, and I am sure they will get better.”

“I have a theory that the Cacas have found most of their conquests too easy,” said the Emperor.  “You may be right, Colonel.  They may learn their lessons about warfare from us.  But I also have another theory, and the facts seem to bear me out.  I really wonder if these creatures are as mentally agile as we are, in any respect.  We have advanced so much faster than they have.  Maybe part of that is they didn’t see the need for such advancement.  But part of it may be that their scientists aren’t as good as ours.  And the slave scientists they use don’t have the incentive to do their best work.”

“Then all we need to do is show them they have a real fight on their hands and they’ll quit,” said the Light Colonel.

“No, Colonel,” said the Emperor, shaking his head.  “They will not quit.  Not until we are all dead, or they defeated utterly.”

The table went silent at hearing that, and hope went out of many of the faces of people listening at the other tables.  Jennifer felt the shiver of fear run through her, and knew that she looked just as hopeless as those others.

“So we must defeat them utterly,” said Sean, a grim smile on his face.  “We have not lost a war since we came to this space.  And I don’t intend the first war of my reign to break that tradition.  We may be outnumbered, but we have closed the tech gap with the enemy over the two millennia since we last faced them.  And I am sure we will soon catch and then surpass them.  We have the advantage of interior lines of supply, while they must bring everything across thousands of light years.  So we will defeat them, utterly.”

After the dinner was over Sean took Jennifer’s hand, and led her to a sitting room with a screen that showed a view of the hyperspace around them.  Jennifer felt like she was rushing into something that she was not sure of.  Her fiancé’ had died less than a week ago.  And common courtesy demanded a mourning period.  She felt a hand on her face and looked up into the blue eyes of Sean gazing into hers.

“Your Majesty,” she said, shivering as his hand again stroked her cheek.

“Call me Sean, Jennifer.  Always, in all company, call me Sean.”

“This isn’t right.  Or proper.  I have just lost a lover and friend.  The man I had planned to marry.”

“I understand it is too soon, Jennifer Conway.  And I am willing to wait.  But know this, that I have been in love with you from the moment I first saw you.”

“Infatuation is all it is,” said Jennifer, trying to retreat to the professional part of her personality to take control of her emotions.  “You don’t even know me, so there is no way you can love me.”

“I do,” said Sean, his mouth moving toward hers.  “I…”

“Your Majesty,” came a call over the intercom.  “Would you please report to the bridge, immediately.”

“Shit,” said the Emperor, looking away for a moment.  Jennifer took that opportunity to jump up from the seat and flee from the situation that was about to make her lose control, at a time when she couldn’t afford to.

*    *    *

“Shit,” said Sean again as he ran down the hallway to the nearest lift.  He had wanted to go after Jennifer, to explain to her that he was not thinking, that he would back off.  But the call from the bridge had an urgent tone to it, and he could not let these people think that he was so shallow as to only think with his gonads.

His guards looked at him in surprise, expressions on their faces that told him they weren’t sure what was going on.  Then they took off after him at a run.

“You need to leave that poor girl alone,” said Samantha, coming around the corner of another corridor.  “She’s not ready to be seduced.”

“I really did not mean a seduction,” said Sean, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed.  “I truly meant to court her honorably.”

“There’s a unique concept,” said his cousin with a sneer.  “An honorable man, when he finds someone he wants to bed, is an oxymoron.  You found a sweet woman who appeals to you, and you go off thinking with your dick.”

The lift opened in front of them and Sean ran in, Samantha following.  The two Marines piled in after them and took their places, staring at the walls and pretending they were not actually there.  Sean glanced at them for a moment, wondering if he would ever get used to that concept, of people who were invisible in the performance of their duties, even in plain sight.  Samantha started to open her mouth and Sean turned on her.

“Look,” he said, pointing a finger at his cousin’s face.  “I did not ask for this.  And I did not ask for your interference.”

“I’m here to be your counselor,” said Samantha, crossing her arms and glaring at the Imperial cousin.  “If you don’t want to listen, that is your choice.  But it is my duty to say them.”

The lift opened and both cousins shut their mouths, embarrassed that they might be overheard by someone outside of the Emperor’s Guard, who were sworn to tell no tales.  “Let’s go,” said Sean in a low voice.  “We’ll discuss this later.”

He hurried down the corridor to the door to the Flag Bridge.  The door opened, and the Marines on guard gave him a rifle salute that he returned with his hand.  The bridge had a full duty crew, and the Admiral sat in her chair, still wearing her dress uniform from dinner.

“We might have a problem, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, turning to look at the newcomers.

“What is it, Admiral,” said Sean, looking at the holo plot and seeing nothing.

The Admiral pointed at the Sensor Officer, and a sound came over the speakers.  A sound all on the bridge recognized, the faint pulsing resonance of ships moving through hyper.

“The Sensor Chief on Basingee’s flagship picked this up about ten minutes ago,” said the Admiral, getting up from her chair and walking to the holo tank.  Faint red images appeared there, at the edge of detection range, really beyond, but sometimes hyperspace acted like the oceans, and strange energy layers could transmit grav waves further than expected.

“It might be a ghost,” said the Sensor Officer.  “An echo.”

Sean gave the officer a quizzical look.  “Do you believe that?”

“No, your Majesty,” said the officer.  “I do not.  They are following us, laying back beyond our detection range, but not beyond their own.”

“So why don’t they come after us?” asked Samantha, looking at the red dots on the plot that gave the projected position of an enemy force of unknown composition.

The Admiral shot her former officer a look of disdain, and Sean knew that were it not for him Samantha would be ordered from the bridge.

“Maybe they think we have a base we are operating from out here on the frontier, and hope to follow us to it,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Seems reasonable to me,” said Sean.  “And hopefully we can take them with us all the way to Conundrum, and let them get a surprise of their own.”

“I hope so, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, shaking her head.  “But I think they will get impatient before that happens.  Remember, we are moving back into our own territory, and that is not a major enemy force following us.  I think they will settle for us after a little while.  And they have point oh five light advantage on us in hyper.”

The Admiral turned away from her plot and moved to the tactical station.  “How far are they back?”

“At least a couple of light hours,” said the officer, looking up from his plot.  “That would be light hours in hyper VII.  About four light years in normal space.”

“So with their maximum closure they could catch us in twenty hours,” said the Admiral, grimacing.  “And how far are we from Conundrum? she asked, looking at the Navigation Officer.

“Two hundred forty-six light years, ma’am,” said that officer.  “Two point seven days travel time.”

“There have to be patrols out here,” said the Tactical Officer.  “We have to chance upon aid.”

“And if they’re in VI and we’re in VII, we might as well be halfway across the Universe from them,” said the Navigator.

“Just keep the force moving in the right direction, at the proper speed, and we’ll just see what happens,” said the Admiral, looking back at the plot, then mumbling what could only be a prayer under her breath.

Sean said a silent prayer as well, wishing that he had never made the scout force go on the ill-fated mission that would probably cost every one of the crew their lives.  And the damned civilians would have been better off back on the planet.  At least there they could have hidden in the jungle.  While out here they have no place to hide.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it.  George Orwell.

HYPER VII BATTLE CRUISER JEAN DE ARC, HYPERSPACE HEADING FOR CONUNDRUM.  APRIL 11TH, 1000.

“We’ll be there in another two weeks,” said Jackson over the public com, his tone upbeat.  “And we haven’t seen anything of the enemy for days.”

“Don’t jinx us, XO,” said Mei, taking a meal in her cabin, trying to get some rest while she could.

The ship was cruising through Hyper IV at point eight light, about as high as anyone wished to risk her with damaged electromag fields.  But soon they would be back at a defended base, if it still existed.  It has to still exist, thought the Captain, shaking her head.  They couldn’t have conquered so far, so fast.  She thought about that for a moment, wondering if that were true.  The Ca’cadasans had been in the conquering business for ten thousand years.  They had to be pretty good at it, having conquered half the Galaxy.  But is that true?  She remembered the maps of the Ca’cadasan Empire from the time of the Chase of a Thousand Years.  And they had conquered the ten thousand light years since then.  At most they controlled less than an eighth of the Galaxy, compared to the one hundredth of the Galactic Disk controlled by humanity.

“We’re picking up hyper resonances, ma’am,” came the voice of the Assistant Sensor Tech.

Mei noted that the voice was calm, so she suspected that they were not enemy that the resonance chamber was picking up.

“Sounds like six hyper VI freighters and a pair of destroyers, ma’am” said the Tech.  “On a heading out from Conundrum.”

So they haven’t conquered so far into the Empire, yet, thought the Captain.  Those freighters have to be on the way out to some forward system.

The Captain pushed her half-finished meal away, put on her boots, and headed back to the bridge.  She waved everyone back to their seats and headed for her chair, an idea in mind.  “Com.  Can we signal that convoy?”

“We can grav pulse a signal that they will pick up, ma’am,” said the officer.  “But we will only be able to flash simple code over it at this distance.”

“Doesn’t do us much good,” thought the Captain, dismissing the idea of trying to get one of the destroyers to head back to base and let them know what had happened to Jean de Arc.  And those freighters need their protectors.

“We have a translation ahead, ma’am,” yelled out the Assistant Sensory Officer who was standing watch.  “Nine degrees off the starboard bow at minus twelve degrees inclination.  Range, twelve light minutes.”

“One of ours?” asked the Captain, her heart pounding in her chest.

“One of theirs, ma’am,” called out the officer.

“We have missile launch,” called the Assistant Tactical Officer from his post in CIC.  “Missile launched, heading our way at eight thousand gravities.”

“I told you not to jinx us, XO,” whispered the Captain as alert klaxons sounded across the vessel.

“It’s launched another missile,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“Have you identified the ship?” she asked the Sensor Tech.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Tech.  “It’s a Ca’cadasan scout ship.  The Chief’s here now, ma’am.  I’ll let him take over.”

“Good job, Petty Officer,” said the Captain, still glad that the most competent person aboard the ship was now on the job.  Even as that thought went through her mind the Tactical Officer appeared on the bridge, running to his station and linking into his board.

“Closing speed point eight one light,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Charging all lasers to full.  Eta of first missile, fourteen minutes.”

“What about the second missile?”

“ETA fourteen point five minutes,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at her.  “Right behind the other.  Two more launched.”

If we were fully functional four missiles would be no problem, thought the Captain, trying to think of a way out, and finding none.  Just have to hope we can stop them.

“Enemy ship is trying to vector onto us,” said the Sensor Officer.

“Will they be able to?”

“Probably not, ma’am,” said the officer.  “They entered hyper from an almost standing start.  Their current vector is on a ninety-five degree angle to our path, and point zero five light.”

“So if we get past them we’re free?”

“They can still fire missiles at us, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer.  “They’ll be chasing us, and when they overtake they won’t have much in the way of relative velocity.  And after an hour we will be out of range.”

“So we only have to survive this volley,” said the Captain, nodding her head.

“Which just grew bigger by two missiles,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Six incoming.”

Mei studied the plot, trying to think of some way to reduce the damage the missiles were sure to cause.  “Power up the plasma torpedo.”

“Aye, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer.  “You have a plan?”

“Not much of one.  But hopefully enough to help.”

“Missile is entering beam range,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Tracking,” said the Tactical Officer.  “Firing.”

The fully functional laser A let out with a one second burst of light, tracking it across the path of the missile, which was now approaching on an evasive path.  The first shot missed, as did the second, and the ship started pulsing the weapon in microsecond bursts, covering the possible approaches on a random pattern.  A shot hit, and the missile flew a bit off course as hull metal vaporized.  It tried pull itself back on course, and flew directly into another shot, losing more of its outer skin and falling further off course.

“Take that,” yelled the Tactical Officer, getting lock on the now straight path missile.  A laser shot out, full power, full one second duration, striking the missile dead on and exploding it in space.  Antimatter broke containment, flooding space with radiation.

“Electromag field is handling the radiation,” called out a tech on one of the ship defense boards.  “Can’t say how long that will last, ma’am.  The strain of handling the normal radiation of this place was bad enough.”

“And that radiation will only last for about thirty seconds before it all falls back into normal space,” said the Sensor Officer.

“Which really won’t do us any good,” said Mei in a whisper.  “We’ll be through the cloud in a few seconds, but the damage will be done.”

“Targeting second missile,” called out the Tactical Officer.  Laser A started cycling through its firing sequence, trying to hit the moving target.  The fully functional ship would have taken a single missile out in a moment, and only a saturation attack would have made it through.  Now it had trouble with just the one.

The second missile actually got closer to the ship before being taken out, and the radiation storm was much worse.  The electromag screens took up most of the charged particles, but allowed the neutrons through, causing more damage to the ship’s systems and to the organics within.

“Sensory skin degraded thirty-four percent,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Electromag field is at critical,” yelled the tech who was monitoring that system.  “Working at twenty-three percent of optimal.”

The next missiles came in as a pair, making it even harder to target them, especially with degraded sensor systems.  The A ring brought one missile under fire, while the much reduced B ring fired at the other.

“Fire plasma torpedo,” yelled the Captain, standing up from her seat.  “Now.”

The ship bucked slightly as it released ten tons of superheated plasma.  It moved out at point nine light, a tenth of light speed faster than the launching ship.  Its following capsule converted to energy as soon as it left Jean de Arc’s hyper field, it started to expand as soon as it left the launch tube, and a ton of it dropped out of hyperspace each second, turning it into a growing but evaporating ball.  Still, it lasted long enough to hit one of the incoming missiles, which could not figure out how to avoid an object already twenty kilometers wide at that point.  The closing speed of over point nine light shattered the missile as soon as it contacted the cloud. Antimatter hit matter plasma and released more energy, sending a flood of elementary particle into the near space.

The Captain felt the sickness come on and knew that the ship was being filled with killing radiation.  A quick check of her implant showed that she had already taken a lethal dose, but that could be corrected, if they made it out of this mess.

The second of the pair took a direct hit from ring A and exploded far enough away to do no additional damage.  Which left the last two that were coming in.  A ring tracked on one missile, missing multiple times before getting a hit.  Not enough of one to destroy, just enough to cause the missile to lose lock for a moment.  The missile reacquired, then was hit full on by another shot, blasting it out of space.

The second missile avoided the weakened B ring.  The pair of hits were too cursory and weak to do much to the missile, and it bore in to strike the ship on the upper hyperdrive projector.  The weapon was not a capital ship killer, detonating with a mere two hundred megatons of force.  The missile and three quarters of the projector went up in vapor, and the explosion ripped two hundred meters into the hull of the ship, stopped only by the underlying central capsule.

The Captain was flung to the limits of the straps holding her in her chair, her armor absorbing much of the force.  The telltale feel of a concussion rattled her mind, and she was confused for a moment, wondering what the loud warbling noise in the background meant.  She cleared her head, still nauseated from the radiation sickness, and looked around the bridge at the confused crew.

“Report,” she croaked, hoping she would get a reply.

“We’ve been hit, hard,” said the Tactical Officer.  “That last missile really knocked the shit out of us.”

“I could tell that,” said the Captain, grimacing.  “Medical.  Emergency distribution of nanites.  Now.”  She could tell that some of her nanites, probably most of them, had been knocked out by the radiation storm.  Medical would have shielded supplies, enough for the entire crew.  And they needed them now.

“Damage control,” she called out next, noting that her implant was not bringing schematic information into her mind.  “What’s the condition?”

“We have damage to all systems, across the board,” came the hazy voice of the officer in Damage Control.  “Electromag still working, but the system is straining to handle the normal radiation load.  Three quarters of our functional grabbers are down, and I’m not sure how many we can make operational.  Hangars 1 and 3 have been obliterated, as have outer decks one through fifteen in the central dorsal region.  Central Capsule B has a ruptured skin.  And Laser B is totally inoperative.”

My God, thought the Captain, putting her face in her hands.  What will the butcher’s bill be?  She looked back at the tactical plot, seeing another pair of missiles following them, and a minute back another pair.  “Get on those repairs.”

One of the missiles disappeared from the plot, and the Tactical Officer smiled. “Those following weapons are much easier to deal with,” he said.

“Captain,” called out a strained voice over the com.

“What is it, Engineer?”

Lt. Commander Jose Hernandez hesitated for a moment.  “The upper hyperprojector is completely destroyed.”

“Can it be rebuilt?” asked the Captain, afraid of the answer.

“There’s almost nothing left of the unit, Captain,” said Hernnadez.  “Rebuild is impossible.”

“It seems the other unit is keeping us in hyper,” said Mei, looking at her side viewer that showed they were still in the presence of hyperspace.

“The one unit can keep us in hyper, Captain.  That isn’t the problem.”

“So what is the problem, Engineer?” said Mei, knowing that she was missing something, and with a foggy brain not able to figure out what it was.

“It takes much more power to go in and out of hyper, ma’am,” said the Engineer, taking a deep breath before continuing.  “We have enough projector power to maintain ourselves in hyper.  But we cannot leave, except by catastrophic translation.”

“Oh,” said the Captain, the predicament finally getting through to her.  “And how long can we maintain our presence in hyper IV.  I’m assuming it isn’t indefinite.”

“No, ma’am,” said the Engineer.  “We have enough antimatter to maintain ourselves in hyper for two weeks and two days.  After that there’s nothing we can do to prevent our dropping back into normal space.”

And we won’t survive another trip like that, thought the Captain.  That first was a once in a lifetime chance, and we don’t get a second.

*    *    *

HYPER VII BATTLE CRUISER SIR GALAHAD, ON HEADING FOR CONUNDRUM.  APRIL 11TH THROUGH 12TH, 1000.

“You sure this is a good idea, Admiral?” asked Captain Stafford over the com, his worried face looking out of the holo.

“You have a better idea, Captain?” asked Mara, locking eyes with the ship’s commander.  “I don’t want to engage these people in hyper, where they have all the advantages.  I would rather fight them in normal space, and a solar system gives us a chance to hide, or maybe to use some of the elements of the system to our tactical advantage.”

“Not much of an advantage,” said Stafford, his expression showing his doubt.

“As I said before, Captain, do you have a better idea?”

“No ma’am.”

I wish you had, Captain, thought the Admiral.  Because I’m not really thrilled with this idea either.

“How long till we can jump from hyper?” the Admiral asked her navigator.

“A little over twenty-one hours, ma’am,” said the Navigation Officer.

“Hopefully, they will think one of those two close stars ahead is our base,” said the Helm Officer, pointing to the tactical plot showing two gravity wells within a light year of each other.

“And good thing they can’t detect normal space radiation in hyper,” said the Com Officer.  “Or at least I hope they can’t.”

And if they can we’re really screwed, thought Montgomery, staring at the black dots that represented the stars.  Then they’ll know for sure there is nothing there.  Nothing putting out energy other than the stars themselves.  No com signals, or EM bleedoff from power plants and such.

“Here’s something interesting, ma’am,” said the Navigator, switching the plot to a closer view.  “There’s a small nebula ahead.  About twenty-four light years.  With a minor course correction we could move through it.”

“Six and a half hours,” said the Admiral quietly.  She looked back at the Navigation Officer.  “How small?”

“About seventy light days across, ma’am.  It’s the remnants of an O star supernova.”

Mara whistled at the thought.  Sometime in the recent past, in the scale of Universal time, a star a thousand times more massive than the weaklings humanity was used to huddling around exploded in fury.  Sending its gas out in a still spreading cloud, where new stars would someday birth.

“And what good does that do us?” asked Sean, his voice strained.  “We’ll be through that in no time.”

He’s feeling all of that guilt at getting us into this situation, thought the Admiral.  Well, good.  He needs to remember that if he gets out of this, when he is making life and death decisions for others.

“Remember your basic hyper theory, your Majesty,” said Mara, looking back at Sean.  “Gravity?”

Sean sat there for a moment thinking, then looked up at her with a smile on his face.  “The gravity of the particles will interfere with our own waves.  And they will have trouble tracking us through it.”

“More important than that, your Majesty,” said the Navigation Officer, “is that we have that cloud plotted.  And there are at least fifty wandering bodies in there that have been surveyed.  Everything from large asteroids to a gas giant.  We know where they are, and the Cacas don’t.”

“Still take a lot of luck,” said Sean, his face clouded in doubt.

“Have a better idea, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral.  She waited a moment and no answer came.  “I thought not.  So that’s the intermediate plan.  Until something better comes along.”

*    *    *

Sean looked at the real time visual of the nebula as they approached.  He knew that in normal space it would look like an incandescent cloud of gas, glowing from the light of nearby stars.  The same stars whose planets the supernova had probably sterilized, making this a lifeless area of space.

In hyper the cloud looked like a mass of darkened space in comparison to the red of hyper.  There were some tendrils that were darker still.  The combined effect of a supergiant stars worth of scattered matter, with not enough gravity in any one section to drop a ship out of hyper.  But enough to cause interference with the gravity waves generated by a ship.  The waves used by another ship to track them through hyper.

The ship started to shake a bit, waves of gravity that were too random for the ship’s computer to completely smooth out.  Not really a danger, but Sean was sure that it would be causing some panic among the civilians, who had never experienced anything like this.

And with that thought he was heading for the lift, and for someone he hoped would be as glad to see him as he was to see her.

*    *    *

“Their signal is fading, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer, a look of confusion on his face.

“How is that possible,” growled the Admiral, jumping from his seat to walk to that officer’s station.

“I am not sure, my Lord,” said the panicked officer.  “Their signal was steady up until a moment ago, and they had not changed their rate of deceleration.”

“Com Officer,” yelled the Admiral, heading for that station.  “Order all ships to accelerate until we catch their track.”

“Is that a good idea, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“I will make the decisions as to what is a good idea or not,” growled the Admiral, pointing a pair of clawed digits at the officer.  “I will not lose them.  If we can’t find their base, then at least I will make sure they are destroyed.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, and all others on the bridge stayed silent, lest they offend their leader, and possibly lose their lives.

The minutes passed with still no sign of the enemy, the ships steadily piling up acceleration, trying to find them.

“Look at this, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer, putting a view up on the screen.  The space ahead looked darker than the surrounding hyper, with some darker tendrils scattered through it.

“A nebula?” asked the Admiral, leaning forward in his chair.  “That shouldn’t affect us enough to bother.”

“No, my Lord.  But it could explain why we are having trouble acquiring their grav waves.  Especially if they went through it.”

“Then we should be able to pick them up when we are through,” said the Admiral.  “You think they did this on purpose?  Did they know we were following them?”

“No telling, my Lord,” said the officer.  “But it would be the smart bet.”

The Admiral made a head gesture of acknowledgement as he continued to stare at the plot.  Until the horrible sound of a vessel dropping out of hyper through catastrophic translation flooded the bridge speakers.

“What happened?” yelled the Admiral.

“One of the cruisers fell out of hyper,” called out the shaken com officer.  “They must have hit a gravity well.”

“In here?” croaked the Admiral, gesturing toward the plot that showed nothing but the weak gravity field of the gas cloud.  And then something else, as a dark blot appeared far to the port, and moved by quickly.

“There are wanderers in the cloud,” shouted the Sensor Officer.

“All ships are to be extremely watchful,” said the Admiral to the Com Officer.  And I wonder if this was also planned, a trap for us to fall into.

*    *    *

“We got one of them, Admiral,” called out the Sensor Officer, a smile on his face.  “Sounded like one of their supercruisers.”

“So, four million tons of enemy warship gone,” said the Tactical Officer, “and only a couple hundred million to go.”

Montgomery shot the officer a look that shut the man’s mouth, even as she admitted to herself that he was correct.  That one ship would not make a bit of difference when they came to battle.

“Enemy is accelerating,” said the Sensor Officer.

“What should I do, ma’am,” said Captain Stafford over the com.

“Steady as she goes, Captain,” ordered Montgomery.  “There’s really nothing else we can do.”

*    *    *

IMPERIAL BATTLE FLEET SECTOR FOUR, HYPERSPACE, APRIL 12TH, 1000.

“One of the forward scouts has picked up something,” called out the Com Officer.  “A large vessel falling out of hyper in a catastrophic.”

“Whose?” asked Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, sitting up in the chair he had been slouching in.  Around him the flag bridge of the superbattleship HIMS Frederick de Grosse bustled with the activity of a major command preparing for battle.

“From the resonances, the destroyer reports it to be an enemy,” said the Com Officer.

And we won’t get much more than that for some minutes, thought the Admiral, looking at the central holo tank which showed his fleet scattered over the light years.  Twenty light years ahead was the net of destroyers, sixty in all, spaced a half light hour apart in hyper VI, or about a light year in normal space.  The ships were able to communicate with their closest neighbors by com laser, though they could get a message through much faster by grav wave transmissions that traveled through Hyper VIII.

A chain of cruisers connected the destroyer screen with the three task forces that made up the fleet.  A message sent by the grav wave chain would travel from the screen to the command ship in a little bit more than an hour, but could only transmit the meager information of binary code.  Laser would cover the chain in a little less than five hours, with full vid, degraded a bit by static, but still better than code.

“You think that could be them, Admiral?” asked Commodore Blanca Gomez, the Fleet Intelligence Officer.

“It could just be an enemy scout force that ran into something they didn’t expect,” said the Admiral, looking at the blinking dot on the plot that indicated where the event had happened.  “Anything of interest in that area?” he asked, looking at the cartography officer.

“A small nebula,” said the Lt. Commander.  The plot zoomed to show the gas cloud in that part of space as recorded by the last survey.  “It has wanderers,” said the young man, looking up from his station.

“Just what someone like Mara would try to lead an enemy through,” said Mgonda, looking closely at the patch of gas and noting its proximity to his screen.  “And if she is there, that destroyer should pick them up any second now.”

“They’ve already picked them up, Admiral, if they are there,” said Gomez.  “But it will still take us some time to receive a signal.”

The communications problem, thought the Admiral, shaking his head.  There was a solution coming down the pipe.  He knew it was the answer to their prayers, and would give them a tactical advantage over all their enemies, including this one.  And it was a tech no one could copy, until they built a huge generating station around a black hole, like humanity had.

“Another signal coming in, Admiral.  The Frances Beacon reports they are picking up the resonances of a good size Imperial force, moving through Hyper VII on a least time decal.”

“That’s them,” said Mgonda, holding up a clenched fist.  “I know it is.  There’s no other large VII force out this way.  And whatever’s chasing them has just lost a large ship to a wanderer.”

“It doesn’t do us much good while they’re in VII,” said Gomez, pointing at the blinking green icon that now showed where the Hyper VII scout force was located.  “They might as well be in another Universe.  And if they drop into normal space it will take us even longer to reach them.”

The Admiral nodded his head, thinking over the problem.  If Mara’s force dropped down into normal space then his force would also have to drop down to normal, which would take more time than they had, since his force was moving at point eight c.  And if they dropped too far away, or had to traverse much space in VI at point two c, it would also take too much time.  There was only one solution he could think of.  The reason he had loaded those hyper VII missiles aboard.

“Order the Beacon, or any other ship within range, to send them a signal giving our location and course.  They are to modify their course to head our way, and drop down into VI at their earliest opportunity.”

“Yes sir, Admiral,” said the Com Officer, getting to work on her board.

“Now if only everything will work out the way I want it to,” said the Admiral, looking over at his Intelligence Officer.  “But of course that never happens.”

*    *    *

HYPER VII BATTLE CRUISER SIR GALAHAD, APRIL 12TH, 1000.

“I knew I would find you here,” said Samantha in a voice that dripped ice.

Jennifer looked up from the bed she was sitting on, the Emperor’s arm about her.  She had been frightened when the ship had first hit the gravity ripples, like the other civilians on board, not sure of what was going on.  And when Sean had come to the door of her small room, she had jumped at the chance for the companionship of a strong man.

His eyes were the same color that Glen’s had been, and he had the same little boy smile.  And in her fright she could not send him away.

“So, you have found me here, cousin,” said Sean in the same tone.  “Now quit butting into my personal business.”

“You commissioned me to look out for your business,” said Samantha, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

“Samantha,” said Sean, standing and glaring at his cousin.  “I will trust you with the affairs of the Empire.  But not with the affairs of my heart.  Is that understood?”

“You need to start thinking like a Monarch,” said Samantha, pointing a finger at Sean.  “And that means thinking with your brain, and not your cock.  Maybe you should be thinking of the coming battle, instead of how you’re going to dip your wick.”

Samantha turned and walked out of the room, the door swishing shut behind her.  Sean looked at Jennifer with an open mouth, words failing him.

“She’s right, you know,” said Jennifer, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder.  “You have enough on your mind right now, without trying to win over a woman you hardly know.”

“I love you, Jennifer Conway,” said Sean, putting his hand on top of hers.

“I like you, Sean,” said Jennifer, looking into his blue eyes and feeling weak in the knees.  “Someday I might come to love you.  But not yet.  I have too much to think about myself.”

“Then I am a pig,” said Sean, taking his hand from hers and turning away.

“Wait,” said Jennifer, but Sean had already gone through the door. She stood there for a second, wondering what she should do.  She was attracted to him, and not just because of his social rank.  Making up her mind she went through the door, only to find a corridor with lots of people in it, but no Emperor.  And his guards nowhere in sight told her that he had fled the area.

*    *    *

THE DONUT, APRIL 12TH, 1000.

The station shook underneath her, and her bed shook with it.

“What the hell,” said Chung, waking in an instant.

Lucille pulled herself groggily out of her sleep, her hand seeking her bed partner, who was also her chief of security, to assure herself that he was still there.  “What’s going on?” she asked, barely audible over the sounds of alarms.

“Something with the station,” said the agent, jumping out of bed and grabbing for his clothes.  “Something serious.”

Lucille sat up and linked into the station system to see what was going on.  What she saw sent a tremor of terror through her body.  Someone had activated a quarter of the station’s millions of grabber units, and pulled the huge construct just a bit off balance.  Just a bit didn’t mean much, until the black hole it orbited around was factored in.  And the other grabber units were doing nothing to restore equilibrium.

Chung looked over at Lucille, recognition on his face indicated he knew what she was doing.  “How long?”

“Twenty minutes to the point of no return,” said Lucille, getting out of bed and grabbing a robe.  “We have to get to the control center, now.”

“Right,” said the agent, his eyes unfocusing a bit as he pulled his weapon.  “There’s no answer from the control center.  I’m sending men there now, and getting the lift into position so we can sprint there.”

Lucille nodded as she followed the agent out of her quarters and into the hall.  She was only dressed in her robe, he in his pants, gun in his hand.

The lift was waiting for them when they arrived at the entrance.  The pair piled in with a trio of IIA agents and a couple of Marines.  The lift doors closed and it took off, programmed for a nonstop to the corridor outside the control center.

“Link into this signal,” said Chung, looking over at Lucille.

She found the security carrier and linked, her breath catching in her throat as she watched something that looked exactly like her walking into the control center, then shooting down the four people on duty.  Her doppelganger then sealed the hatch, closing the emergency doors that were meant to keep any intruders out of the center, using her fingerprints and what must have been Lucille’s DNA to operate the system.

The imposter ran to the control panel, overrode the safety links, and sent the signal to the grabbers to pull the station off its even orbit.  The grabbers pulled with a two gee jerk for a few moments, then shut down as the safety systems overrode the override.  The intruder then inserted a little known code in the system and cut the power to all the grabber units, then ran back to the doors and started doing something to them.

“Shit,” said Lucille, looking over at the agent.  “How are we going to get into that room?”

“Leave that to Callahan and the Marines,” said Chung.  “You just worry about getting the station back in line.”

Lucille nodded, looking at the monitor which showed their progress across the lift line.  The lift slid to a stop at the limit of her built in compensators and the doors slid open.  She ran out at the heels of the IIA agent.  He held out a hand to stop her from turning the corner to within sight of the doors.

Callahan ran up with a squad of armored marines following.

“We’re less than twelve minutes to the point of no return,” said Lucille to the officer

“And what happens when we reach that point?” asked Callahan, a confused expression on his face.

“Then nothing we can do will save the station,” said Lucille.  “Imagine half the station falling into the black hole, while the other half flies away in pieces.  That will happen within five minutes after we pass that point.”

“Can you do anything about it?”

“If I can get to the controls, maybe.”

“Is there an auxiliary control anywhere?” asked Callahan, clearly not liking the situation.

“We have control rooms at four locations,” said Lucille.  “Each is ninety degrees of arc around the station.  And until we get the internal wormhole network set up, there is no way we’re going to get to one in less than a couple of hours.”

“Shit,” cursed Callahan, looking at the floor. “But you can communicate with these other control rooms in real time, yes?”

“Of course.  There are wormhole com portals linking them together.” Callahan looked up with the beginnings of a smile on his face.  “But the coms are in the control rooms,” finished Lucille, “so we would have to secure that room to be able to send commands to the other stations, which by the way, are currently unmanned and locked down.”

“So I guess the only thing to do is to take this control room back,” said the Captain, “in less than ten minutes.”

Agent Chung pulled a tiny disk from his pocket and activated it, and a small holo sprung up above the object.  Lucille gasped as the first of the bodies came into sight, horribly burned to the point of mutilation.  The view shifted to show Lucille’s double standing at one of the control panels, staring at the door.

“She’s using a particle beam,” said Callahan.  “She can get through my men’s armor with a weapon like that, so we’re going to have to just go in and kill her quickly.”

“I wouldn’t kill her,” said Chung, pointing to the object he zoomed the holo in on.  “That looks like an explosive device, set onto the main login panel.  And I’m betting its hooked up to her life signs.”

“Then what the hell do we do?” asked Callahan.  “We have less than nine minutes before this station loses equilibrium and falls into the hole.  I can’t just teleport men in on top of her.”

Teleport, thought Yu, her mind going into overdrive.  It might just work.  “I need to get to Doctor Ramirez’ lab, now,” she said to the IIA Agent, grabbing his arm.  “I can’t explain now, Captain, but get your men ready to force that door on my signal.”

Lucille and Chung ran down the corridor to Ramirez’ lab, just a thirty second run from the control room.  She explained what she was going to do breathlessly, or as much as she could in so short a time, and Chung seemed to understand.

The lab had been closed off since Ramirez’ death in the assassination.  Lucille knew what the man normally kept in the secure lab, and hoped that what she wanted was still there.  She checked the storage vault as soon as she entered and pulled the small globe that was marked with danger symbols from rack it was on, then ran over to the quantum teleportation machine.

“That’s the negative matter?” asked Chung.

“Yep,” agreed Lucille, placing the globe in a holder and making the adjustments to keep it in place.  “Negative protons in a magnetic bottle.  Hope it’s enough.”  And I hope enough of it gets to the target to make a difference.

Next, she powered up a magnetic field within the machine and connected it to the sphere.  Satisfied that all was as it should be, she opened the sphere and injected the negative matter into the machine, hoping that the field would trap it all.  A leak now, and the whole task could turn into a disaster, one that led to a greater one when the station crashed into the black hole.

The clock was ticking in her head, and she worked in a world of extreme tension as she tried to balance speed with precision.  Too fast, and she might make a mistake that would doom them.  It was more pressure than she wanted, but today it was hers.

Chung stood by silently, knowing better than to ask a bunch of questions while she was working.  A glance at his face told her that he wanted to know what was going on, but was holding it in.  I’ll just have to tell him afterwards, she thought.  If there is an afterwards.

Lucille pulled up a holo that showed a schematic of the station.  She reached into the holo and pulled her hands apart, zooming in and focusing on the control room.  A couple of more pulls and she was looking at a real time holo, fed through the cameras the security people had linked in, and could see the device she needed to neutralize.  She put her finger over it and pushed, and the holo was now locked onto that object.

The clock was reading four minutes when she fed all the information into the station computer.  A few seconds later the solution came back, feeding into the teleportation machine.  The machine had to know the coordinates for itself and the target, as well as the motion of the station, which had changed since the saboteur had shifted its equilibrium.  Lucille made sure everything was powered up like it was supposed to be, then hit the commit button at the three minute fifteen second mark.

The material being held in the magnetic field shimmered for a moment, and then was gone, for the most part.  Lucille knew there would be some negative matter protons left in the magnetic field.  And some of it would be teleported through the quantum tunneling process to other places. The other side of this room or the other side of the Universe, individual protons or small groups would appear in millions of locations, never enough to cause harm.  Or hopefully not, she thought, as the laws of probability stated that the whole missing mass could not come to rest in one place.  A one in ten to the hundredth power possibility, but real nonetheless.

On the holo she could see the shimmering effect around the explosive device, and pumped her hand in the air, knowing she was on target.  But it only counts if enough negative matter goes where I want it to.  An instant later over half of the device disappeared, and it was obvious from what was left that it was not a functional unit.

The duplicate Lucille let out a cry and ran over to the box, and at the same time Lucille sent a signal through the com to Callahan.  The duplicate cried out again as she reached for the box, and pulled an arm back that was missing some skin that had contacted negative protons.  A confused look was on the woman’s face, and she looked around for a moment.

A loud explosion sent the heavy blast door into the room, blowing it off its hinges.  The woman turned around, her face contorting in pain while the door flew through the center of the room and struck the opposite wall.  With a snarl she turned, raising the particle beam pistol to aim at the control panel, and Lucille felt her throat constrict as she thought that they still might fail.

The double staggered, and Lucille was sure that sonics were being played over her body.  She fired her pistol, just missing the top of the control panel, and started to pull the weapon back down, fighting the stunners.  A trio of shots erupted from the chest of the double, and Lucille cried out as she saw what seemed herself being killed, the body landing on the control panel, then sliding down to the floor.

“Let’s go,” yelled Chung, grabbing her arm and pulling her from the lab.  As soon as she regained her wits she started running, the agent pulling her along.  She looked at the clock in her head and cried out again.  They were down to two minutes.

The Marines made way while she approached, and she ran to the panel that would allow her to log into the system, trying to avoid looking at the body on the floor and failing.  She cried out again as she saw the wound on the creature's arm, a deep gash where negative matter had negated the flesh.  At the bottom of that wound was material of a graying cast which did not look anything like human tissue.

“Lucille,” said Chung, pulling her toward the panel.  “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Yu nodded and went to work on the board, allowing to panel to read her DNA and her fingerprints, then giving it a voice sample.  It seemed to take forever, and for a moment she was ready to panic as she realized that the imposter had locked the system down.  Then the computer accepted her override codes and the system came up.

In the center of the control room a holo faded in, showing the station in relation to the hole.  A cursory glance showed the structure tilted, and the surface was very near to a red line that indicated the point where the grabbers would not be able to recover.

“Come on, you bitches,” cried Lucille as she committed the grabber units to pushing and pulling at the station.  The units were massive, and there were many of them, but the station was also massive.  The grabbers started activating, those closest to the hundred wormhole links starting first and the others in sequence as the commands moved out.  There had been some people who thought the station wormholes should have waited until others had been made for travel.  Lucille had not been among those, and now she was glad that her side prevailed.

The station shook underneath her feet, slightly at first and building to a deep rumbling as ether paddles fought the gravitational pull of the hole.  Yu could feel the pull increase beneath her, and looking at the schematic realized that this section of the station was closest to the point source that was the black hole.  They might rotate out enough to avoid being sucked in when that time came, or they might be compressed to nothing.

The shaking continued to increase, and the schematic on the holo slowed in its movement toward the dead line.  It was still moving forward, and she ordered more power into the grabbers, realizing that too much might pull the station apart as well.  But I’d rather go doing something that might save us than not doing enough, and still falling in, she thought.

She looked around the control room, to see faces filled with fear looking at her as if she were their last hope.  Which she was.  She applied just a little bit more power, knowing that any more would rip the station apart, and checked the timer.  Crap.  Thirty seconds and we’re all dead.  But the motion continued to slow, then stopped.  And slowly, ever so slowly, the station began to move out from the hole, its orbit shifting from ellipsoid to circular.

Lucille let out a breath, looking at the faces that were watching the schematic and now smiling.  They know they’re going to live, she thought, setting the computer for station keeping, letting it smooth out the transition back to a stable orbit.

The Director wiped the sweat from her face and smiled at Chung.  “Good job,” said the Agent.  “But next time, I wish you would not wait until the last minute.”

Callahan walked up, also smiling.  “So what the hell did you do to take out that device?”

Lucille explained to the officer about quantum teleportation, and the man stood there for a minute digesting the implications.  “That could make a hell of a weapon in space,” said the officer.

“Not if you were trying to beam a functioning weapon,” said Lucille, shaking her head.  “Ramirez thought of that, and not enough is guaranteed to reach the target area.”

“There are weapons, and there are weapons,” said the Captain, his expression contemplative.

Like antimatter, she was thinking.  The navy could teleport antimatter into the hull of an enemy, and even if only thirty percent made it, it would still make a terrible weapon.  Lucille thought about that for a moment, then about the enemies they faced, and realized that a terrible weapon was just what they needed.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hyperspace does not like us.  By us, I mean normal matter.  Normal matter does not exist in hyperspace, in none of the dimensions.  The physical laws of the space do not allow for the existence of protons, neutrons, electrons, and the constructs they form, atoms.  The same holds true for the antiparticles, antimatter and negative matter.  Hyperspace cannot tolerate them, and will throw them from its substance as violently as possible.

The Science of Hyperspace.

HYPER VII BATTLE CRUISER JEAN DE ARC, HYPERSPACE NEAR CONUNDRUM SYSTEM, APRIL 13THAND 14TH, 1000.

“I’m picking up hyper resonances, ma’am,” called out the Sensor Chief.

Jean de Arc was almost a wreck in space. She was still travelling at point eight light through hyper IV.  The Captain had debated decelerating, but that would have used up energy, and that meant antimatter.  And any use of antimatter meant less time in hyper.

“What do you make of it, Chief?”

“It’s traveling in VI,” said the Chief.  “Standard Imperial hyperdrive, and I’m guessing in the ten million ton range.  Probably a heavy freighter, or a liner.”

“Any way we can contact them, Lieutenant?” she asked the Com Officer.

“We could try a gravity pulse, ma’am,” said the officer.  “They are close enough to pick them up, but I’m not sure how they will respond.”

“What about it, Hernandez?” she asked over the com, knowing that the engineer would respond.  Since the last battle in hyper the officer had spent almost every minute in engineering control, keeping a close watch on all aspects of the ships power and propulsion systems.

“It’s a risk, ma’am,” said the Engineer.  “I hate to shake the systems up too much, but I don’t see any choice in the matter.”

“Do it, Lieutenant,” said Mei to the Com Officer.

The lieutenant nodded her head and started to work at her console.  The lights dimmed for a moment, then pulsated as the officer transmitted a simple code by gravity wave.  She went through a complete message cycle, telling the other ship who they were, and what problems they were having.  After sending that info she went through the cycle three more times.

“I think that’s enough, Rebecca,” said the Captain.  “Any change in their status, chief?” she asked the Sensor Chief.

“No ma’am.  They’re maintaining same course and speed.”

“I guess I can’t really blame them,” said the Captain, shaking her head.

And hour later, while Mei was in her ready room with her XO going over another possibility of attracting attention, the com link buzzed.

“We have another problem here, Ma’am,” came the voice of the Chief Engineer over the com.

My God, what the Hell now?  “What is it, Hernandez?”

“We’re losing containment in reactor two, ma’am,” said the Engineer in a hushed voice.

“How long?” asked the Captain, remembering that two was the only reactor they had left, the other having gone right after their catastrophic translation.

“Could be any time,” said the Engineer, keeping his voice down.  “Four hours at most.”

“What about the backup fusion reactors?”

“We can get some power out of them, ma’am.  But nowhere near as much as from the MAM reactor.  Adding in the batteries will give us about five hours before we drop below the power threshold and drop back to normal space.”

“You jettison that reactor whenever you think we need to, Engineer,” said the Captain, hoping for the maximum and pretty sure she wasn’t going to get it.  “I’m putting that part of the operation in your hands.  I trust you to do it right.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Hernandez out.”

“You heard,” said the Captain, turning to her exec, who was sitting beside her.

“How could I not,” said Jackson, his normally cheerful face full of worry.  “We don’t have a hope, do we?”

“We always have a hope,” said Mei, forcing herself to smile.  “Even if it’s the hope to survive another catastrophic translation.”

“Not very realistic,” said Jackson, trying to smile, and failing.

“Neither was the first one, XO.  As the prisoner was supposed to have said, maybe we’ll teach the horse to sing.”

“Not sure I’ve heard that one,” said the Exec.

“Maybe later I’ll tell it to you.  But remember, we can get out of this.  After all we have been through, I don’t think God is going to wipe us off the playing board.”

“I’m an agnostic, Captain,” said the Exec, a smile finally forming on his face.

“I’ll just believe enough for both of us, XO,” said the Captain.  “You just have faith in me.”

“Always have, Captain,” said Jackson.  “Always have.”

“I’m ejecting the reactor, ma’am,” said the voice of Hernandez over the com.  “Everyone is out of the reactor vessel.”

Thank God for that, thought the Captain, remembering that she had lost her chief engineer when she had to eject the other reactor.

“Ejecting now,” said the Engineer, and the ship shook for a moment as hull panels were retracted and a hundred thousand tons of reactor was ejected outward.  The desk holo faded in and showed the process from the hull skin, as the great vesicle flew out of the ship, hitting the edge of the hyper field. The matter of the reactor glowed for a moment as it entered the hyperspace that detested its presence.  And then it started to fade away and come apart at the same time.  There was the briefest flash of an explosion that might have destroyed the ship if it had lasted, and then it was gone.

“That worked out well,” said Jackson, looking from the holo to his Captain.  “I was afraid it might blow while it was still close to the ship.”

“It was a risk, but less so than letting it blow while it was still in the ship.”

“So we have five hours,” said Jackson, looking down at the floor.  “What should we do with them?”

“Figure out how to add another five hours on top of that, then some more.”

But no matter how they put their heads together the pair could not come up with a plan to give them more time, and it seemed like the Universe was finally putting paid to their account.

An hour later the Sensor Chief was on the com.  “I’m picking up a ship coming from astern, Captain.  It’s closing at point eight five light and accelerating.”

“Whose ship, Chief?”

“It’s definitely one of ours, ma’am,” said the NCO.  “Hyper VI battle cruiser, from the resonances.”

“Navigator.  How long will it take them to catch us and match velocities?”

“About seven hours ma’am,” said the Navigation Officer.  “Give or take a half hour.”

“That’s damned close,” said Jackson, now back at CIC, over the com.  “Too damn close.  Most probably too much time.”

“Captain,” said the Chief Engineer, breaking in on the conversation.  “I have an idea.”

“Can it save my ship?”

“I don’t think it will save the ship, Captain,” said the Engineer.  “But it might save us.”

“Then let’s get to work,” said Mei.  “Give me what you have.”

*    *    *

“It’s definitely an Imperial ship,” said the Sensor Officer, looking back at her Captain.  “Resonances match the baseline of an Imperial warship, but it’s off somehow.”

“It’s a damaged hyperwave projector,” chimed in the Chief Engineer from his control deck.  “It’s amazing they’re even able to stay in hyper at all.”

“Do they know we’re here?” asked Captain Jon Sue of the HIMS Baron Pepperdine, studying the plot that showed them gaining on the other ship.  “And if so, why aren’t they trying to match velocities with us?  Com.  Send a grav wave code to that ship.  Find out who they are, and what is wrong with their ship.”

The Com Officer worked his board for several minutes before shaking his head.  “They don’t answer, Captain.  Could be their com systems are down.”

“Helmsman.  I want our best speed to that ship, and matching velocities at the earliest.”

“What if it’s a trap, sir?” said Commander Magda Mustafa from CIC.  “They could be luring us in to get a good shot at us.”

“I don’t think so, XO,” said the Captain, shaking his head.  “They were plowing through IV way before we got into detection range of them.  The freighter reported that they sent a distress signal.”

“Maybe the better to sucker us in, Captain,” said Mustafa.  “I know.  It’s unlikely.  But it’s my job to give you my thoughts.”

“We’ll be careful, XO,” said the Captain with a smile.  “In fact, I want every weapon fully charged and ready before we sight that ship.  If it is a trap, they’ll find they trapped a tiger by its tail.”

*    *    *

It took two and a half hours, more than she had wanted to spend, but what it took.  A thousand crew used laser cutters to slice through armor and supports, while several hundred more placed explosive charges in the areas most critical to their plan.  At the same time the engineering crew was working on making the hyper field do something it really wasn’t designed to do.  And then all was in readiness.

“You sure this is going to work, ma’am?” asked Jackson, standing beside his captain as she sat her chair, waiting for the process to begin.

“No guarantees, XO.  Hernandez thinks it will work, and he knows a hell of a lot more about hyperdrive projectors than the two of us combined.”

The Captain looked at the holo, showing the Chief Engineer in the engineering control center, working on the control board ahead of him.  “Just another minute, Captain,” said Hernandez, his brow furrowed in thought.  “If I don’t get this right we might implode in the field, or drop out of hyper in a manner we don’t want.”

“Take your time, Mr. Hernandez,” said Mei, though she really wanted to tell the man to hurry the hell up.  The clock was ticking, but it would do no good to rush the man into a mistake.

“We’re ready,” said the Chief Engineer, looking up from the control board.

“Then go, Mr. Hernandez.”  Mei closed her eyes and said a quick prayer, then opened them to look at the holo representation of her heavily damaged ship.

“Proceeding with the program, now.”  The Engineer hit the commit button and things started happening faster than a human could process.

The charges went off all over the bow and stern areas of the ship, weakening the hull and supports that had already been partially cut by lasers.  Other charges went off along the sides of the hull, loosening great sheets of armor plate, grabber units, laser rings, anything not needed to keep life support going in the habitable sections, the functioning of the fusion reactors, the crystal matrix batteries, and of course, the one working hyperdrive projector.

Mei could feel the rumbling through the hull, and wanted to cry at the destruction of her beautiful ship.  But the ship is going to be destroyed anyway, when we finally drop out of hyper, and this at least gives us a chance for survival.

Part two of the plan went off like the tick of a clock, one second after all of the charges detonated.  The hyper projector started to change its resonance, collapsing the field to a point closer to the center than it had been programed to attain.  Suddenly, almost half the mass of the ship was outside the hyper field.  Immediately it experienced the ejection of the mass from hyper back to normal space.  Under normal circumstances it would have pulled the rest of the ship with it.  With weakened supports the mass was ripped away and ripped apart, to come to rest in normal space as wreckage and fast moving particles.

The Captain clenched her fists as her vessel shuddered beneath her like a dying animal.  For a moment she feared they had not weakened the attachments enough.  It was, after all, an unknown process they were attempting.  All the crew were in their battle armor, batteries and consumables fully charged, with the exception of those too seriously injured to perform their duties.  Those were in cryo stasis tubes.  And if the other ship didn’t get to them in time that would not matter a bit, as they would all be ripped apart, along with their dying ship.

“She’s steadying, ma’am,” called out the Chief Engineer, his face showing his relief.  “I think she’s going to make it.”

The ship shuddered again, then shook like it was caught in a planetary quake.  The Engineer’s face showed panic, and the Captain wondered if they were all going to die after all.  After a few moments the shaking stopped, and the ship smoothed out.

“As I said, ma’am, the ship is smoothing.  And we should be able to stay in hyper for an additional two hours.”

And I hope that’s enough, thought the Captain, hiding her thoughts as she smiled at the Engineer.

*    *    *

“Catastrophic translation ahead,” said the Sensor Officer, her brow narrowed.

“They fell out of hyper?” asked Sue, his eyes widening.

“Another translation,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Not large enough to be the vessel we are chasing.  Only a half million tons.  Another one.”

“Are they falling out of hyper a bit at a time?” asked the Captain, looking at his Engineer in the repeater screen.

“I’ve never heard of that, Captain,” said the Chief Engineer.  “It’s always been an all or nothing proposition.”

“Still picking up hyper resonances ahead, sir,” called out the Sensor Tech.  “Somewhat reduced from before, but still there.”

“So whatever happened, most of their vessel is still there,” said Sue, shaking his head.  “But I’m betting they won’t be there long. Helm.  How long till we catch and match velocities?”

“One hour, forty-one minutes, sir.”

“Do you want to tank, sir,” asked Mustafa.  “We could cut ten minutes off that time.”

Sue thought it over for a minute.  It would be risky approaching an unknown while the crew was in the tanks.  “No.  We’ll just have to chance it without the tanks.”

“Keep a close ear on them, Chief,” ordered the Captain over the com.  “Let me know if anything changes. Anything at all.”

*    *    *

“What the hell now?” cried the Captain as the bridge lights dimmed, then died, then came back on with the emergency power.  The ship shook and shuddered for a moment, then smoothed out.  “Talk to me Chief Engineer.  What’s happening?”

“The power feeds have taken too much damage, ma’am,” called out Hernandez over the com ,among a burst of static.  “And there’s nothing we can do about it at this time, except what I have already done, switching the power feed to the backup relays.  The primaries need a complete rebuild.  Something the nanites can’t accomplish in less than four hours.”

The ship shuddered again, and the artificial gravity went off for a second, came back on at triple the norm, then off again.  “Can she hold up for another couple of hours?”

“Unknown, ma’am,” replied Hernandez.  “I have my people working on rerouting everything we can.  But we also have another problem, ma’am.”

“Christ, not another one?”

“Afraid so, Captain.  The stern fusion reactor is overheating.  The cooling system was damaged when we jettisoned the rest of the ship.  I’m afraid she could melt down any minute now.”

“And then we’re fucked,” said Jackson, looking up from the station he was manning.

“And then we’re surely fucked, sir,” said the Engineer.  “One reactor will only charge the batteries at half the rate of two.  We’ll soon not have enough power to keep the hyperdrive projector going, and it’s back into normal space for us.”

“In pieces,” whispered Mei, closing her eyes tight, visualizing the half a ship coming apart through the transition.  She opened her eyes and looked at the Engineer in the holo.  “I didn’t bring us this far to lose us now.  Find a way to give us some more time, Hernandez.  Or this will go on your report.”

“I’ll try, Captain,” said the Engineer with a grim smile.  “I’ll try.”

“This is the Captain speaking,” said Mei over the ship wide intercom.  “All instruments not needed for the absolute minimum operation of this vessel are to be turned off.  That includes life support and gravity, as well as lighting in areas where it is not essential.  All portable devices and weaponry are to be brought to recharging stations for draining back into the grid.  Let’s move, people, if you want to be alive for that rescue vessel to catch us.”

“If they are a rescue vessel,” said Jackson.

“They have to be,” said the Captain.  She shrugged her shoulders and looked at her Exec.  “If they’re someone else, here to destroy us, they just might have to wait in line.”

*    *    *

“We have a visual, sir.”

Captain Sue glanced up from his side screen to look at the main viewer, which was now showing an extreme view of the ship they were following. Extreme being a relative term, as hyperspace did not allow the electromagnetic radiation they were used to using in normal space to exist for more than ten light minutes or so.  Lasers and other focused sources did much better, but there was still a drop off.

“She doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen,” said the Tactical Officer.

Sue had to admit that what the man said was true.  The vessel looked like a total wreck.  But the familiar shape of the hyperdrive projector on the top of the vessel showed that it was an Imperial ship, if not otherwise recognizable.

“Engineer.  Any idea on what kind of ship that was?”

“Working now, Captain.  Computer shows a possible match.”

The Captain’s side screen produced a representation of the object, then a superimposition of an Imperial ship.  “That’s a battle cruiser,” said Commander Mustafa, watching the presentation on a display in CIC.

“It was one,” said the Captain, looking back at the main viewer that showed the moving wreck.  “They must have gone through hell to get to this point.”

“We’re picking up major fluctuations in their hyper field,” said the Sensor Office.

“I don’t think they have much time,” said the Chief Engineer.  “We need to get the survivors off of that ship.”

“Agreed,” said Sue. “Helm?”

“They are traveling at point eight light.  We are overtaking, and should be able to match velocities in another one hour four minutes.”

“Com.  See if you can get a com laser to them.”

“Yes sir,” said the Com Officer, turning to her board, then back to her captain.  “We’re receiving a message from them, sir.  Standard emergency code.”  The officer went back to listening.  “They are the Hyper VII battle cruiser Jean de Arc, Captain Mei Lei commanding.”

“Send them our identification and our intentions,” said the Captain.

“Their reply is, hurry,” said the Com Officer.

*    *    *

“This is the Captain speaking,” said Mei over the shipboard com.  “All crew are to evacuate to the port side of the ship.  I want all crew members to gather at the surviving locks and designated openings.  We are leaving this ship, people.  As soon as our ride comes alongside.”

“Your people got the data ready, Lieutenant?” she asked the Com Officer.

“We’ll have them loaded in a moment, ma’am,” said the officer, pulling memory crystals out of her console and loading them in a carrying case.  “Wish we could get it all.”

“The truncated version will have to do,” said Mei, pulling some crystals from her own console and putting them in one of her belt pouches.  The same was being done all over the ship, as every portable data storage device, including those of the suit computers, had been loaded with all the information from the ship’s computers that they could hold.  Ship’s logs, information from combat actions, anything that might be of use to intelligence, was readied for carrying off the ship.

The Captain looked over at her side screen, which showed the combat information center as a hive of activity.  “You ready, Exec?”

“Ready, Captain,” said Xavier Jackson, his helmeted head looking into the screen.  “We’re heading for the egress point right now.  Not all the lifts are working, though.”

“Just get there as fast as you can, Commander.  I doubt this wreck is going to wait for our convenience.”

The screen went blank, and the Captain sat there for just a moment longer, looking around the bridge that had been her home for these many months.  You went before your time, girl.  But you did what needed to be done, and you did it well.  The ship shuddered around her, and she knew the time was near.

“We need to get moving, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer, standing by the hatch.

Mei looked up and noticed that the bridge was empty, everyone following her orders.  She tapped the arm of her chair one more time and got up.  “Right you are, Lt. Commander.  Let’s head on out.”

The corridors were dark, the lights down, but the night vision systems of the battle armor allowed them to move quickly through the halls.  Mei decided to not wait for a lift, they were busy carrying other crew out of the central capsule that was the human quarters of the vessel.  She followed her Tactical Officer as he made his way down the corridor to the outer skin of the capsule, and the wide open bulkhead that led to the exterior portion of the vessel, home to the working machinery of the ship, including her weapons and defenses.  Now all was quiet, all systems, what were left of them, powered down so the ship would live a little longer.

“Mr. Hernandez,” said the Captain over the com.  “Is your crew out of engineering?”

“They’re all heading toward the skin, Captain,” said the Engineer.

“And where are you?”

“I’m still watching over the systems, ma’am,” said the man in a calm voice.  “Someone needs to baby them.”

“Negative.  You are to immediately leave engineering and head for an egress point.  Is that clear?”

“But, ma’am.”

“That is a direct order, Commander.  Now move.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the voice of the officer, dejected and relieved at the same time.

The opening to space was just ahead, a corridor off a larger room that used to lead to an outer section that had been jettisoned during the truncation of the ship.  People were crowded into the room, all in battle armor, and there were about twenty of the cylinders containing those too wounded to make it on their own.  The Captain moved through the people, who made room for her to pass.  The opening had a jagged unfinished look to it, as left by the explosion that had left it exposed to space.

Just beyond the opening was the shimmering of the hyper field that kept the alien environment of hyperspace at bay.  Mei felt a shiver down her spine as she looked at the blurred space through that field, the reddish cast, the black dots that were the shadows of gravity wells in the real Universe, where hyperspace didn’t exist.  That’s space we were not made to endure, she thought, looking out over the reddish expanse of infinity.

And then something blocked that expanse, a solid object behind the blur of another hyper field, moving in slowly as it sidled up to the Jean de Arc.  The blurring of the field intensified, then disappeared as the field from the other battle cruiser overlapped the stricken vessel’s.  Hatches on the side of the other ship opened, including the large portal to a hangar deck directly across from the Captain.  There were figures over there, men and women in battle armor, ready to help the survivors aboard.

“Start moving them across,” called out the Captain of the Baron Pepperdine.  “And hurry.”

“You heard the man,” yelled Mei into her own com, backing out of the opening to let the others by.  “Start moving them across.”

The first of the crew jumped into space, moving on suit grabbers toward the other ship, then into the hangar.  From there the crew of the Pepperdine moved them off the hangar to make room for more.  Soon scores of people were in space, moving between the ships, some in pairs hauling a cryo cylinder.  Scores turned into hundreds.

“Isn’t it time for you to move, ma’am?” called Jackson over the com.

“Last one off, Xavier.  You know the tradition as well as I do.”

“Yes, ma’am.  I won’t fight you for that honor.”

“All the wounded are off,” said the Medical Officer.

“Get everyone else moving,” said the Captain, looking at her HUD and seeing the dots of suit transponders.  There were still about twenty aboard, most of them moving toward the edge of the ship.  A couple moved into space.  And three.  “Dammit.  What are those people still doing back there?”  She zoomed in on the HUD and saw the IDs.  A petty officer and two ratings.

“I’m on the way,” said Jackson.

“Belay that, XO,” yelled Mei, starting to move back into the ship.

“Captain,” said Jackson, his ID moving back into the ship.  “I’m closer.  They’re just back a hundred meters from me, and I’m already on the com with them.”

“Jackson.”

“You’re four hundred and fifty meters away, Captain.  They’re trapped in a lift, and you’ll never get to them in time.”  As the officer was talking his ID was moving further into the ship.”

“OK, XO,” said Mei, turning back toward the exit.  “But if you die on me I’ll bust your ass down to lieutenant.  You hear me?”

“Loud and clear, ma’am.  I’ll just get them out of the lift, and we’ll be off this wreck before you know it.”

Mei grunted, worried about her Exec and the three crew.  She jumped into space, engaging her grabbers and shooting over to the hangar.  As soon as she landed she turned and looked back at her ship, heart sick from the look of the once beautiful battle cruiser, one of the best in the Fleet.

While she was watching the ship rippled, shook, and rippled again.  In an instant she was gone, taking the four people who had still been aboard with her.  Mei Lei stared in shock for a moment, then closed her eyes as the tears started flowing.

“We need you to move, ma’am,” said one of the Pepperdine crew.  “We need to close these doors.”

The Captain nodded her head and shuffled back.  A moment later the huge hatch slid closed, cutting off her view of the emptiness of hyperspace.

*    *    *

“Welcome aboard my ship, Captain,” said Captain Jon Sue, watching the captain of the other ship walk onto the bridge.  She’s so tiny, he thought.  And lovely, despite that forlorn look.

“Thank you for getting us off of that death trap, Captain Sue,” said Mei, giving him a short bow, then offering her hand.

“My pleasure and my duty, Captain,” said Sue, smiling.  “I’m sorry about your executive officer.  And the others.”

“Can we go back and see if they survived?” asked Mei, a twinge of hope in her voice.

“You know the chances of anyone surviving a catastrophic translation are astronomical.”  The Captain held up his hand as she started to open her mouth to protest.  “I know.  I know your ship survived one, but that was an entire ship.  Still a hundred to one proposition.  And this was a ship that was barely holding together before it was ejected from hyper . A one in a million chance that any of them survived.”

“So you’re not going to drop out of hyper and check for them?”

“You know the answer as well as I do, Captain Lei.  It will take us more than a day to decel down enough to drop into normal space.  And deceling and coming back to her to drop out would take three days, at the very least.”

“I know,” said Mei, looking down at the floor.  “But I hate to give up on my people, after all we have been through.”

“It’s a miracle that you came through everything you did,” said Sue, knowing how the other captain must feel.  “You deserve a decoration, and a promotion, for getting your ship and your people through what looks like a gauntlet of the enemy.”

“I didn’t do it for a promotion,” said Mei, shaking her head.

“I know you didn’t, Captain.  None of us do it for the glory.  At least not the ones worth a crap.”

Mei nodded her head, then looked the other captain in the eye.  “Thank you.”

Sue nodded his head, happy that his words had some effect.

“Did the heir make it back?” said Mei in a quiet voice.

Sue looked at her for a moment, wondering how to tell her, then deciding to just say it straight.  “There was no word of him when we left Conundrum base.  But that was over a week ago, and there’s no telling what may have happened in the meantime.”

“So it might have been for nothing after all,” said the other officer.  She turned to walk away.  Sue wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of what that should be.

*    *    *

Commander Xavier Jackson opened his eyes and looked out on a scene of both emptiness and glory.  The stars of normal space filled the firmament, and after looking around he decided they were his only, distant, company.  My God, but I hurt, he thought, remembering back to those last terror stricken moments on Jean de Arc, before the ship took him back into normal space.  That part he didn’t remember, as his consciousness had fled by that time.

It’s a fucking miracle, was his next thought.  To survive two catastrophic translations in less than a month, much less a lifetime.  The second worse than the first.  And a damned lot of good it did him, lost out here in space with no hope of rescue.

The suit will keep me alive for a couple of weeks, was the thought after that.  But do I really want to hang around out here by myself for that long.  There were ways to die before the suit ran out of power and life support failed.  Jackson knew all of them.  But I’ll hang out for a little while longer, he thought.

His internal clock told him it had been sixty-three hours when the ship appeared, streaking out of space and slowing to a stop with what seemed like impossible deceleration.  It was like nothing he had ever seen, nothing he had ever imagined.  And yet it was somehow familiar.

When the occupants came for him he got the same feeling.  They were radial symmetry creatures, with six arms around a central core, and bulbous helmets over the center of that core region.

When they got him back to their ship he was even more amazed when his suit told him that the atmosphere and gravity was of the types almost perfect for his species.  And then the aliens took off their helmets, and Jackson was more amazed and delighted.  “I thought you were all gone,” he said to the one that looked like the leader.

*    *    *

THE DONUT, APRIL 14TH, 1000.

“The autopsy report is ready, Director,” said Agent Chung, Captain Matthew Callahan standing next to him.

Lucille looked up from her flat comp, not needing to be told what autopsy they were talking about.  She still shuddered when she thought about the alien tissue she had seen through the wound in the arm.  “And what were the findings?”

“Definitely not human,” said the IIA Agent, looking down at his own flat comp sheet.  “In fact, like nothing our biologists have ever seen before.  Capable of imitating other life forms.”

“And we’re not really sure how it does that,” said the Captain, scanning his own comp.  “It’s not an instantaneous process, thank God, or we’d never be able to secure any installation ever again without a complete body scan of everyone asking for access.  Seems to take some days to complete a transformation, especially if there are changes to be made in the long bones.  And the creature of course must maintain more or less the same mass.”

“Are there any more of them running around my station?”

“We really don’t know,” said Chung, frowning.  “I don’t think so, or there would have been more of them involved in that suicide play.  But for all we know there could be a battalion of them aboard.”

“We’re running checks on all personnel,” said the Captain.  “Deep tissue samples seem to work, since the creature only changes the surface layer of epidermis.  But it will take time to check everyone, and nothing to stop it from changing into someone already checked.”

“What a fucking nightmare,” said Lucille, shaking her head.  “And where do they come from?”

“Sorry, Director,” said Callahan.  “You are not cleared for that information.”

“Not cleared,” said Lucille, standing up and leaning over her desk.  “Not cleared to know about a threat to my station.”

“You know about the threat,” said Callahan, “and what we are doing about it.  That’s enough, for now.”

“I’m trying to get you clearance, Director,” said Chung.  “But there are also political concerns here that are way above my pay grade.  Director Sergiov has to approve the release of information at that level.”

The next day the two men were again in her office, though Chung had also been in her bed that night . Looking at him she had to admit that, though he was a good lover, who seemed to derive great pleasure from their coupling, he was also a closed mouth spy who would never blurt out what he couldn’t reveal in the heights of passion.

And then they told her where they thought the creature had come from, and she almost wished that they hadn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A man who has committed a mistake and doesn't correct it is committing another mistake.  Confucius.

HYPERSPACE, ABOUT THIRTY LIGHT YEARS FROM CONUNDRUM, APRIL 14TH AND 15TH, 1000.

“Several of the ships have picked up Imperial Hyper VI destroyers, slightly ahead to the port and starboard,” said the Com Officer.

Not that they can do us a lot of good, thought the Admiral, looking at the icons appear on the plot.  They might as well be in another Universe for all the good they do us now.

“Other ships are signaling destroyers to either side of the first two, as well as more cans dorsal and ventral to us.

“It’s a scout screen,” said the Tactical Officer, inputting information on his board.  A hypothetical spread appeared on the plot, estimating two squadrons of destroyers in a grid pattern.

“What do you think they’re looking for?” asked the Com Officer.

“Us,” said the Admiral.  “And here we are, coming right to them.  I’m betting there’s a fighting force behind them.  How long before we can get to jump speed?”

“Another ten hours, ma’am,” said the Navigator.

“And they’ll notice the hyper VI ships well before that, and come after us with a vengeance,” said Montgomery, shaking her head.

Montgomery sat there for a moment, thinking about her options.  She turned to the Com Officer, feeling the pain of her decision and knowing there was no other way.  “Get Commodore Basingee on the com.  I have orders for him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Com Officer, her own expression showing that she guessed what the orders were.

The Emperor came onto the bridge ten minutes later, after what hyper capable shuttles there were had brought over most of the refugees they could carry to the ships that were slated to survive.

“Good news, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, looking up at the Emperor from where she had been sitting with her thoughts.  “And some bad news as well.”

“What’s the good news?” asked the young man, who looked like he had already heard his share of bad for the day.

Well tough shit, thought the Admiral, staring into his eyes.  The days don’t ask us what they can bring.  “We have been spotted by Imperial warships in Hyper VI.  I believe there is a larger force ahead.”

“That’s wonderful news, Admiral,” said Sean, his expression brightening.  “So what’s the bad news?”

“We aren’t going to make it to that larger force without some severe action,” said Montgomery.

“Commodore Basingee is on the com, ma’am,” said the Com Officer.

The form of the other officer appeared on the holo screen by the Admiral’s chair, the Commodore looking as grim as she had ever seen him.  “Admiral.  Ten more minutes and we should have all the passengers off of our ships.”

“I understand, Commodore.  I wish there was another way.”

“But there isn’t , and we both know it,” said the man on the other end with a grim smile.

“What are you going to do?” asked Sean, looking from the man in the holo back to Montgomery.

“I am going to send a third of my force back to slow down the enemy,” said the Admiral, her red eyes looking into those of the Emperor.  “And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to send another third, hoping that will slow them down some more, giving us the time we need to get away.”

Sean stared at her, then looked at the man in the holo who was being tasked to go and die.  The Admiral could see the pain in the young man’s eyes, and hoped this would reinforce the lessons he had already learned.  That he had learned them was shown by his lack of protest.  He knew what had to be done.  He obviously didn’t like it, but he knew it was necessary.  Not just to save his life, but the lives of all the refugees they had taken from Sestius.

There was silence on the bridge for the next ten minutes, or at least as much silence as a task force control room could have with the activity in the background.

“The last of the of the refugees are off my ships, ma’am,” said the Commodore, his flat expression coming through the feed.  “We’re ready whenever they make their move.”

“May the Goddess go with you, Conridus,” said the Admiral in a quiet voice.  “I wish it was me who was going into the lion’s den.”

“And you know why that can’t be, Mara,” answered the Commodore, looking out of the holo toward Sean.  “Allah decides, and it is up to us to do our parts.”

“You always were a fatalistic fucker, weren’t you Commodore,” said Montgomery.

“Leaving it to God does not make one a fatalist, Admiral.  Only a realist.”

“Where is the enemy?” asked Sean, looking at the plot that displayed the faint red icons that denoted probable enemy positions.  And probable meant not sure.

“Right now they are out of our sensor range,” said the Admiral.  “The little maneuver through the nebulae helped.  But I am sure they are coming up behind us.  As soon as they pick up those destroyers, they are…”

“Admiral.  We have tracks on the enemy force.  They are accelerating on an intercept course.”

“How long till they’re in laser range?” asked Sean, looking over at the Sensor Officer.

“Approximately two hours, my Lord,” said the officer.

“And missile range?” asked Montgomery.

“They’re already in missile range, ma’am,” replied the officer.

“We have missile launch,” called out the Sensor Officer, looking at her board

“From the enemy?”

“No, ma’am,” said the officer, confusion on her face.  “They’re being fired in VI, and decelerating.”

“Smart,” said the Admiral, clenching her fist in the air.  “Fucking brilliant.”

“What is?” asked Sean, and the figure of Basingee looked just as confused in the holo.

“Mgonda loaded up on Hyper VII missiles, or at least his destroyers did.  They can drop them in VI and let them decel until they can jump to VII, then acel on the way to their targets.  Maybe not the most efficient way to fight hyper VII warships, but at least it gives them a shot at them.”

“How effective will they be?” asked Sean, his eyes darting back and forth between the flag officers.

“No way of telling until they get to their targets,” said Basingee.  “If they get to them.  The power drain of jumping to VII will take some of their range.”

May the Goddess grant that they are very effective, thought Mara, looking as hundreds of green vector arrows sprouted on the plot, filling in as the gravity waves reached the task force.  At least slow them down for us.

*    *    *

On all of the destroyers of the screen missiles were being ejected into space.  Hyper VII destroyer missiles, they were a little too large to fit into the missile tubes of the small warships.  But they could be carried in cargo compartments that all warships had built into their outer hulls.  The doors were opened and the missiles moved out under their own power, orienting, then moving onto a track that would both take them to the enemy force and slow them down enough to jump into VII.  Once in VII they would accelerate toward the target.  Some would reach, most.  Some others, many, would not, running out of power before they closed the distance and dropping back into normal space.  The enemy would have to guess which would reach, and which would not.

*    *    *

“We have missile launches, my Lord,” yelled the Sensor Officer, looking over at the Tactical Officer, then toward the Admiral.

“Where from?” asked the Admiral, looking at the plot where blinking red arrows were appearing, indicating probable locations.

“From all around us, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing at the red icons that indicated enemy scout ships, the symbols underneath showing that they were in VI.  More symbols were appearing, until the entire screen could be made out.

Or at least as much as we can make out based on probability predictions, thought the Admiral.  There could be twice as many of them.  And what about that line of them leading off from the screen?

“There is a battle force somewhere back there,” said the Admiral, pointing down the line.  “And we are heading right for it.”

“It is most likely in Hyper VI, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “Not able to hurt us.”

“And what about these missiles that are heading our way, youngling,” yelled the Admiral, pointing at the red arrows.  “Do you think they just loosed them for the Hells of it.”

“We have translations, my Lord,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Missiles translating up into VII.”

“So our enemy is already learning,” said the Admiral, pointing a pair of right digits at the Tactical Officer.  “They know that all of our ships can travel in VII, while theirs can’t, so they load up on VII missiles.”

More of the red arrows were flaring, showing that they were translating into VII, then accelerating toward the force.

“We have missiles coming in from the bow,” said the Sensory Officer.

“And those would be from the VII force we chase,” said the Admiral.  “Are we within range of them?”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Then fire four volleys at them.  Let’s see how they handle our missiles.”

The great ship shuddered slightly underfoot as she released missiles from all her tubes.  This happened four times, until four waves of missiles were on their way toward the enemy they were chasing.  Each wave consisted of nine hundred missiles, a total of over three thousand weapons accelerating toward the enemy force they were determined to wipe out.

*    *    *

“We have missile launch,” called out the Task Force Sensor Officer.

“How many?” asked the Admiral, not needing to ask from whence they had come.

“At least eight hundred,” said the Officer.  “Second launch.”

“Shit,” said Montgomery, wondering how her force would make it through a saturation barrage.

“Third launch,” called out the Sensor Officer.  A few moments later she called out “four.  At least three thousand missiles, ma’am.”

“Com Officer,” called out Montgomery, walking to that station, her eyes locked on the plot. “Defensive plan Beta Six, to all units.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the ashen faced officer, looking at the plot for a moment, then concentrating on her board.

Should have kept Lee on this post, thought Montgomery, looking at Samantha sitting a chair next to Sean.  Instead I fired her, and now she outranks me.

On the plot all of the destroyers started to drop back, reducing their deceleration until they had moved several light seconds behind the rest of the force, dropping back a bit more each second.  A moment later the light cruisers began to drop back. Ten minutes into the maneuver the force had formed into a defensive shield around the Sir Galahad, the destroyers a light minute back, the light cruisers forming a second layer twenty light seconds further up, and the other four battle cruisers in tight with the one ship they were tasked to protect.

“Order the force to flush all hyper missiles they have left,” said the Admiral, looking over at the Tactical Officer.  “Might as well use them as have them blow up on board the ships.”

I’ve done all I can do, thought the Admiral, studying the plot.  They have the acceleration advantage in their missiles, but have to catch us, while our weapons are coming at them with a combined closing speed.  So ours should arrive about the same time as theirs.

“The VI destroyer screen missiles are still translating into hyper,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Total count, fourteen hundred missiles.”

“Unfortunately they won’t come at the enemy as a group,” said Montgomery, pacing around the central holo tank.  “They’ll still do service, but not like they would if they came as a saturation wave.”

“Anything else we can do, Admiral?” asked Sean, getting out of his seat and moving to stand just far enough away from the holo to allow her to pass.

“Not a thing, your Majesty,” said the Admiral.  “Now it’s all in the Goddess’s hands.”

*    *    *

“The plot is firming up, Admiral,” said Commodore Gomez.

Mgonda nodded his head as he looked at what they knew, based on the information coming down the line of connecting vessels by grav wave.  They knew the composition of Mara’s force, and he grimaced as he noted the missing vessels.  The enemy force was not quite as firm, but consisted of at least ten of their superbattleships, an estimated fifteen of the supercruisers, and a score of their scouts.

We could take them if we could bring them to battle, thought the Admiral, looking at his own force on the plot.  He only had the one superbattleship, but he had twenty-two squadrons of regular battleships, a full sixty-six ships, as well as over two hundred smaller vessels, cruisers and destroyers.  And as soon as they see us coming they’ll turn tail in VII and get the fuck out of here.  Unless I offer them bait.  He looked at the plot and made his plans, then walked over to the com station.  Looking down at the Com Officer he gave his orders, knowing that he risked much, but could win a great victory and save the heir at the same time if everything worked.

“Order squadrons three through six,” he said, “and all their escorts to forge ahead.  All other ships are to decelerate at maximum rate.”

“Yes, sir,” said the officer, getting to work to get the commands out.

*    *    *

“For what we’re about to receive, we thank you,” said Mara Montgomery, watching the red arrows on the plot draw closer.  They were almost up to the destroyer screen now.  By the time she found out what happened there the surviving missiles would be heading their way with a closing speed of point three light.  A little over three minutes after that they would be hitting the battle cruisers, if they made it through the cruisers.

The first nine hundred missiles acquired on the destroyers, twenty-three of the small vessels, almost forty weapons per ship.  The destroyers were close enough to coordinate their fire, reaching out with main laser beams at the closest missiles first, then working their way through the next most dangerous.  Hundreds of missiles disappeared in blasts of heat and radiation, masking the approach of the following missiles.  The small warships opened up with particle beams which had useful lifetimes of less than two seconds, travelling four hundred thousand kilometers before disappearing from hyper.  Still useful enough to destroy another hundred missiles.  The following missiles plowed through the radiation.  Hundreds more of these died, along with a trio of destroyers.  Eight more small warships went up in blasts that quickly disappeared as their plasma translated out of hyper VII.

Two hundred and fifty missiles made it through the first screen, losing lock on the destroyers among the radiation waves, and acquiring lock on the nineteen light cruisers of the next screen.  The fight here went much as it had with the destroyers, with most of the missiles destroyed at the cost of four cruisers.  Twenty-seven missiles made it past the cruisers, not enough to saturate the defenses of the four battle cruisers screening Galahad, and all died before they could reach a target.

The second wave of missiles fared better, taking out nine of the eleven survivors, then eight of the cruisers, until two hundred came at the battle cruisers.  One capital ship was heavily damaged, two took light wounds, and the second missile wave was gone.

“At this rate we’re not going to make it,” said the Admiral, figuring the odds in her head.

“Get out of here, Mara,” said Basingee over the com.  “Full emergency power.”

“Goddess be with you, Commodore,” said the Admiral, then switched the circuit. “Captain Stafford, full military power. Get us out of here.”

“Sound the warning?” asked the Captain, a grimace on his face.

“No time.  If we don’t move now we don’t make it.”

The Admiral ran to her couch and flung herself into it, just before the ship leapt forward at three hundred gees, then added five more.  Across the ship people fell from their feet with the breaking of bones.  Three other battle cruisers and two light cruisers came after her.  Behind them the last two waves of missiles came in and obliterated the rest of the task force.  Basingee’s battle cruiser survived the third wave, though heavily damaged.  It self-destructed as the fourth wave reached it, killing many of the missiles that might have forged past them to chase after the Galahad.

The damaged Athena fell behind, and was locked on by all of the ninety-six missiles that made it past the huge cloud of plasma.  They hit with a fury of overkill, and the Athena and the four thousand refugees aboard died before they could even register it.

And Mara Montgomery looked at the viewer that showed the expanding cloud of plasma start to fade from the dimension they were in, the tears rolling down her face.  She glanced back at the Emperor, and saw him recoil from her expression.  And that gave her at least some satisfaction in the midst of a complete fuck up.

*    *    *

“That’s the last of them, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer as the final missile of the wave disappeared in a flare of fury.

The Admiral gave a head shake of acknowledgement as he looked at the plot.  One of his battleships and two cruisers were gone, taking enough damage to drop out of hyper in a catastrophic translation.  Four scout ships also blew into plasma.  He still had a powerful force, enough to take on just about anything the enemy might have in the area.  Unless he faced a battle fleet.

“How many of the singles as still coming in?” he asked, looking on the plot where single red arrows continued to approach.

“About four hundred, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer.  “But none will approach in groups greater than ten.”

And so we will knock them out of space before they can even get close enough to harm us, thought the Admiral, smiling.  And they wasted almost three thousand of their missiles in a vain attempt to stop us.

“What about the survivors, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“Continue the chase, until we get a good firing solution on them.  Then fire a wave they can’t survive.”

“We have missiles, my Lord,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Where?  How many?”

“They just entered hyper VI detection range for objects their size,” said the Sensor Officer.  “A hundred of them. No two hundred.  Five hundred.”

“Any detection of their launching vessels?  What kind and where?”

“No, my Lord Admiral.  Not yet.  More missiles coming in.”

“But they’re in hyper VI,” said the Helm Officer.

“So were the last wave they fired at us,” said the Tactical Officer, giving the Helm Officer a look of contempt.  “And then they jumped into VII.”

“We have translations, Admiral,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Twelve hundred missiles into VII.  On a course for our force, and accelerating.”

“Prepare the force for missile defense,” ordered the Admiral, looking at the Com Officer.  “Continue on course after those remaining VII ships.”

*    *    *

“My God,” groaned Samantha Lee, looking at the plot.  “All those people, gone.”

And all my fault, thought Sean, looking up from the floor to see the enemy ships still on the plot, still coming after them.

“There is no way we can make it to jump speed before they catch us,” said the Admiral.  “So we continue to accelerate, and hope that Mgonda comes up with something.”

“We have missiles jumping from hyper VI to VII just ahead,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “On a course for the enemy.”

“Hope we don’t hit any in passing,” said the Com Officer.

“That’s the least of our worries,” said the Admiral as red arrows left the enemy icons and moved ahead of the ships, vector numbers showing their acceleration.

“We have eight hundred missiles heading toward us at point four light and accelerating.”

“Any way we can handle those missiles?” asked Sean, getting up from his seat, his armor helping to move him in the heavy gravity of over the limit acceleration.

“Not that I can see,” said the Admiral, grimacing.  “In normal space we would be able to use our close in projectile defenses out further than four hundred thousand kilometers.  As it is, they will be trying to hit the incoming missiles inside a too tight envelope.  And our counter missiles are completely useless, except for the couple of hundred hyper capable weapons we have across all the ships.  I would think three or four hundred of their missiles will get through our defenses, and then we are expanding plasma falling out of hyper.”

“What about plasma?” asked Sean, his eyes pleading for her to come up with a solution, and clinging to any hope.

“Like the torpedoes?” asked the Admiral.  “I don’t see how. The torpedoes would start to fall out of hyper within seconds of leaving our field.  Maybe as a last resort close in weapon.  But that’s all.”

“ETA of enemy missiles, twenty-three minutes,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Do we still have any hyper capable missiles aboard?” asked Sean, putting his hand on the Admiral’s arm to get her attention.

“About a dozen,” said the Tactical Officer after the Admiral shot him a look.  “We could fire them at the enemy, but I doubt we would hit more than a dozen of the incoming with all of our ships releasing.”

“And how many hyper units does each missile carry?”

“Why all these questions, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral.

“Admiral, I was the officer in charge of a laser ring.  I am not up on my missile and plasma weaponry.  Now answer the fucking question if you would please, Admiral.”

Montgomery stared at Sean for a moment, outrage on her face.  Sean kept his gaze steady, remembering that he was the ranking member of the Empire here.  She took a breath and let it out, calming herself.

“Each missile carries three hyper units, set in a triangular pattern around the midpoint of the weapon.”

“Then get your missile people to work pulling those units off of the missiles,” said Sean, using the voice of an Emperor.  “Then have your plasma weapon people get on putting those hyperwave projectors on the carrier packets of torpedoes.  And have them do it quickly.  The clock is ticking.  Send the same instructions to the other ships.”

The Admiral got on her link and sent the orders out, her expression still confused, but her conditioning to obey the orders of her superior setting her in motion to carry out those of her Monarch.

Sean spent another minute outlining his plan, and at the end the Admiral was smiling and nodding her head.  “It’s an insane idea, your Majesty,” said the Admiral.  “It may work, or it may flop.  But I can’t come up with any other solution.  Maybe you have the genius of your ancestors, or the madness of Cassius, but by the Goddess, you can think on your feet.”

“We’re picking up the signals of an Imperial force coming from the port bow,” called the Sensor Officer.  “Twelve battleships and about forty escorts.”

“Is that all that Mgonda brought?” asked Montgomery, looking at the plot.

“They’re in VI anyway?” said Sean, following her gaze.  “If the enemy dropped missiles on them they should be able to weather them.  Especially since they have had to have fired off most of their own magazines at us.”

“But if the enemy force slows down and jumps into VI they will destroy that Imperial force,” said the Tactical Officer.  “More ships and people gone, for no return.”

“If that’s all of them,” said Montgomery, walking to the plot while ordering it to zoom out.  She pointed her finger to a spot on the plot that was out of their detection range of hyper VI.  “If I were him, the rest of my force would be about here.  Getting ready to pounce, as soon as the enemy takes the bait.”

“ETA of enemy missiles sixteen minutes,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Friendly missiles should be passing through our position, now.”

Sean looked at the plot, seeing the vector arrows of the missiles fired by Mgonda’s force come close to their own, parting so that they wouldn’t endanger the battle cruiser and her escorts, then coming back together into the optimum pattern.

“Do you think they will get through?” asked Sean.

“I’m not sure they’re intended to,” said the Admiral, studying the pattern of the missiles.  “I’m not sure, but the Admiral may have sent us some more help.”

*    *    *

JEWEL SYSTEM, APRIL 15TH 1000.

“The Lords vote seven ninety-eight for and four twenty-six against,” said the Lords Speaker Julio Rodriguez, Count of New Barcelona, his voice amplified across the large chamber.

Prime Minister Streeter looked at the vote count on his box’s board and smiled.  Despite the opposition from the Emperor’s clique, over sixty-five percent of the Lords had voted to pass the proposal.

“The Commons vote twelve seventy for and eight thirty-one against, with forty-eight abstains,” said Laura Goolsby, the Speaker of the Commons.

That was a little more than fifty-nine percent, still a solid majority.  But now came the most important of the votes, for the Scholars could still overturn the vote with a two thirds majority in their house.  And the Scholars were overwhelmingly in the corner of the Imperial Family, which meant the missing heir.  Unless the money Streeter had spread around had been enough to sway some votes.  The elderly looking man who had at one time been the greatest physicist of the Empire stood in his box, looking down at a screen with a frown.

“The Scholars vote two eighty-three for and four fourty-six against this proposal.” said Mohamed Ishner, looking as if he had bit into a lemon.

Streeter raised his arms triumphantly over his head and silently cheered the vote.  It was only a sixty percent vote against in the Scholars, which meant the proposal passed.  Which meant they could go ahead and schedule the coronation of the young man he had picked to lead the Empire.  And he could demand the arrest of the Chief of Naval Operations and his cronies, if they didn’t submit to the authority of the Parliament.  Either way, the military triumvirate were out of a job.

Would have been nice if it had been overwhelming, or all of the houses had been in favor. But it’s still enough to do what needs doing. Now the Countess can talk with that asshole of an Admiral, and anyone who tries to intervene will be guilty of treason.

*    *    *

“You are to consider yourself under arrest, Admiral,” said Countess Judy Decker over the com, her figure standing in the holo.  “And let it be known that all who offer you aid and comfort in this matter will be considered guilty of treason.  My people will be up shortly to take you to the tribunal.”

Lenkowski wanted to curse at the woman, to threaten her, but realized that such action would actually hurt his plans.  The holo went dead, then sprang back to life with the image of Captain Connie Mathers, the commanding officer of the Valkyrie.

“You heard,” said Len, seeing the grim expression on the woman’s face.

“I heard,” she said in a strained voice.  “What are you going to do about it?”

“I guess plan B is the only recourse,” said Len, looking over at his adjutant and nodding.  She nodded back, and starting putting data chips and other instruments into a briefcase.  “I don’t want you doing anything to endanger yourself, or your crew,” said Len, looking back at the holo.

“Don’t worry about that, Admiral,” said the Captain, shaking her head.  “Not me.  But as soon as I monitored the vote I started us heading for the central docks.”

“You did what?” shouted Len, his gut tightening.  “I didn’t want any of you involved in this.  This is between me and Parliament.”

“I have received no orders from the Lords,” said the Captain, crossing her arms and giving the Admiral her best stubborn look.  “The engineer noticed some strange vibrations in the forward grabber units, and we are heading for central docks to have them checked out.  It’s all documented and signed off on.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Len with, still fearful that the crew of this ship might face the tribunal in his stead.  “I am heading for the nearest shuttle bay and taking a shuttle for my personal use, Captain.  Don’t try and stop me.  That’s an order.”  He also said that last for the recorders, in case she needed it.

“Yes, sir,” said Connie, snapping to attention.  “Far be it from me to disobey the lawful commands of a superior.”

Len smiled despite his feelings.  “We ready?” he asked Lt. Commander Yin, who nodded, her face slightly pale as she hefted the briefcase.

“Your personal effects are on the shuttle, Admiral, as are mine,” she answered in a voice that showed her control over her fear.

“You don’t have to do this, Zhen.  I can make this trip on my own.”

“I would not let you do that, sir,” said the ex-Commando, squaring her chin.  “I can’t see letting these bastards get away with this.”

“They still could, despite all of our plans to the contrary.  And then you will be branded a criminal, with nothing positive to show for your actions.”

“Nothing except the knowledge that I did what was right,” said the officer.  “Now let’s get moving, Admiral.  All this talking just leads to us wasting time.”

Len smiled and followed the smaller officer into the corridor.  They walked fast, soon hitting a lift station, where a car had been conveniently stationed for them.  The car whisked them to the nearest hangar bay, and Len wondered as they zipped along if he would ever walk the deck of an Imperial warship again.  It might have been a mistake to ever take that promotion that took me off a flag bridge, he thought, as the car came to a stop and the doors opened.  But I never could have accomplished what I did for the Emperor and Empire without this exalted position.  If I accomplished anything at all.

The shuttle waited on the pad, a small light craft capable of fighter like accelerations.  The pair hurried into the craft, then to the cockpit, where Yin strapped herself into the pilot’s seat while the Admiral became the subordinate for this short voyage.  Yin lifted the ship off the deck as the hangar doors opened in front of them.  The star field beyond was distorted by the cold plasma barrier that kept the atmosphere in the compartment.  As soon as the ship was through that barrier the stars firmed into bright pinpoints.

“We’re receiving an order from a pair of cutters,” came the voice of Connie Mathers over the com.  “They are ordering us to stand down.  We’re telling them we’re having problems with our grabbers.  Use our shadow as much as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Yin, punching in the commands that sent the shuttle toward her destination at a maximum acceleration profile.

“We can outrun them for a moment,” said the Commander, looking at the holo that showed the two ten thousand ton cutters.  “We have just a bit more acceleration.  But they can blow past us and burn us out of the sky when we decelerate to come into the dock module we need to be at.”

“I have faith in you, Commander,” said Len, wondering what else he could have said.

“Distance to Central Docks, five thousand kilometers,” stated the flight computer.

Central Docks got its name from being in the center of gravity of the twin planetary system of Jewel and New Terra.  The primary naval dockyard of the home system, and the Fleet in general, over fifteen million people made the massive conglomerate of stations, assembly bays and atmosphere docks their home.  The sensor read showed thousands of vessels in various areas of the docks, from those undergoing basic hull assembly, to completed squadrons making ready for their shakedown cruises.  The dock was a precious resource to the Empire, and was well defended due to that status, a fact the Admiral was counting on to restrain their pursuers.

“This is Parliamentary Cutter Z-1558 to the shuttle craft that has just left the Imperial battleship Valkyrie,” came the voice over the com.  “You are ordered to maintain a straight and level flight while we match velocities and board.”

“Keep on course to our target,” said the Admiral, looking at the, to them, enemy ships that were coming on behind.  The shuttle massed less than two hundred tons, and while armed, did not stand a chance against the cutters.

Yin nodded and started the shuttle on its decel profile.  The Admiral stared at the holo of one of the ships following, praying that they would not be foolish enough to fire on a small craft so close to the docks.

The tactical holo showed an invisible beam shooting past their craft, a laser released by the closest of the cutters.  “This is your last warning,” came the voice of the cutter’s captain over the com.  “In five seconds we will shoot to disable.  After that, we will shoot to destroy.”

“Hold on, Admiral,” yelled Yin, her hand dancing over the control board in a blur of motion.  The shuttle bucked down and to the port, shaking on the way as something hit them on a starboard stern fin, vaporizing the structure and the grabber contained within it.

An instant later the cutter flared with bright light, then exploded, its plasma cloud blotting out the image of Jewel to the stern for a moment.

“What happened?” asked the Admiral, staring as the other cutter accelerated on a new vector that pulled her away from the Central Dock complex.

Yin pointed to the viewer, which showed a destroyer of almost completed construction, a glowing spot on her hull from a laser hit.  “Seems they hit something other than us with their shot,” said the woman with a grim smile.  “And the defenses were forced to fire back.”

“You did that on purpose,” said Len in an accusing tone.

“I’ll deny it under oath,” said the ex-commando, holding up her right hand.  “And you know they can’t force it out of me.”

Of course not, thought the Admiral.  Someone enhanced like she was would be immune to any form of interrogation.  Then he thought about the crew of the cutter, twenty men and women who were just performing their duty.  Tough.  It was them or us, and the Empire depends more on us than them.

The shuttle had slowed to almost a stop by this time, heading for the open portal of a hangar built into a large, fortified station.  Yin set the bird on auto, and it smoothly flew into the entrance through the cold plasma field, then headed for the far back of the cavernous chamber.  There it hovered for a moment before setting down.

“Thank you for flying fugitive air,” said Yin as she pushed the panel and shut down the shuttle’s power.

She doesn’t feel a thing about getting those people killed, thought Len, unbuckling his harness, his eyes locked on the naval commando as she disconnected from her seat.  Good, because she’s the kind of person I need with me.

A couple of Marines in shipboard medium armor greeted them with rifle salutes outside, while a Fleet captain saluted.  “This way, sir,” said the Captain, turning on his heel and leading them into the station.

The station was huge, and the Admiral was sure he would soon lose his way if left to his own devices.  But a quick walk and a lift ride got them to the moderately sized room that was the waypoint.  The mirrored surface shimmered ahead of the Admiral as he stepped into the room.  He noted that heavy radiation shielding had been placed in direct line of sight of the wormhole, the type used to absorb neutrons from the MAM reactors of a spaceship.

“The Station Commander extends his compliments, sir,” was the last thing the Captain said to him before he stepped in front of the wormhole that Yin had already entered.  “We all wish you the best of luck, sir.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said the Admiral, shaking the man’s hand.  Yin had gone through with their bags, so the only thing Len had to take through the hole was himself.  He looked nervously at the mirrored surface, what he had been told was the future of space travel, and remembered that his friend and Emperor had traversed this same portal, and not returned.  Then, without waiting for more fear to paralyze, him he stepped through the hole.  His leg and arm went through first, and after that it was more like the wormhole pulled him in with a gentle but irresistible force.  Until he was gone from the station.

And then it was if Grand High Admiral Gabriel Lenkowski ceased to exist in the Universe.  He was part of the void, nothing and one with everything.  After a period that could have been an instant or eternity light again struck his reconstituted eyes, and he staggered into another chamber.  Another Captain waited for him here with a salute.  It took the Admiral a moment to get his bearings, his mind still disoriented.

“Takes a little getting used to, sir,” said Commander Yin, standing next to the bags she had brought through.

“Welcome aboard the Donut, sir,” said the Captain.  “Doctor Yu would like to talk with you about a matter of some importance.”

Len nodded while snapping off a short salute, wondering what could have been going on here that needed his attention.  He noted the neutron projector that was set to aim straight into the hole, with several others standing by as backups.  He knew the theory behind that.  A stream of neutrons entering the wormhole would seal it from the other side, as neutrons were not just radiation, they were also particles of matter, and the hole could not transmit out while something was coming in.  Effectively, this hole would no longer be of use to the people who were after him.  Only electromagnetic radiation could come through, mass-less photons.

“You should be safe enough here, sir,” said the Captain, noting the Admiral’s gaze toward the neutron beams.  “We’re sixty light hours from the capital by com, and there are purposely no receivers in this area to pick up anything they might try to send in.

So we have two and a half days before any signal they sent is received here, by anyone willing to enforce their edicts.  Most of the massive station was empty, and it would take centuries to fill up the billions of cubic kilometers that made up its space.  Everything of note was within several thousand kilometers of the portal, there being no need to spread out the control rooms, labs and quarters at this time.  That would come later, when this became the transportation hub of the Empire.  If the Empire survives to see that day.

Doctor Lucille Yu was waiting for them in the outer office of a med lab that was near to the entry point. Len always got a chuckle out of seeing the woman who, except for the epicanthic folds of her eyes, looked nothing like her last name. Yu was tall and blond, with the breasts of a Norse Goddess.

“Good to see you, Admiral,” said Yu, grasping Len’s hand. “Even if the circumstances aren’t the greatest.”

“You have some news for me, Doctor Yu?”

“Actually, some good, and some bad,” said Yu, the smile leaving her face.  “We’re ready to put the wormhole gate system into operation in the home system.  In fact, gates are on their way to every inhabitable planet in the Supersystem, and will be at their destinations within the next three days.  With the exception of the Home System.  Those ships are being purposefully delayed until you work out what you’re going to do.  As you requested.”

Len let out a huff of air as he thought about that.  Those gates would be a great help to the war effort, allowing people to move around the worlds of the eight central star systems orbiting the black hole without an appreciable amount of travel time. But first he needed to figure out what he was going to do.  “I guess I could find a place to hide on the station, Doctor Yu, if worse comes to worse.  I doubt they could bring enough people aboard to do a thorough job of it.”

“Or, there’s the other alternative,” said Yu, gesturing to a star map that was on a prominent viewer on the wall.  The Sectors of the Empire, all twelve of them, were highlighted on the map, and there were lines drawn from the supersystem to all of them.  The lines were all dashed, indicating that the wormhole gates were yet to be installed.  But the one to Sector Four was solid almost the whole way through.  Meaning.

“You have the gateway through to sector four,” said Len, feeling the excitement run through him.  Four was where the missing heir was last seen, and where it was most likely he could be found.  If the way was open.

“Not quite yet, Admiral,” said the Director of the Donut Project.  “I think maybe within the next day or two.  But not yet.”

“Still, good enough to get you to that sector, sir,” said Yin, smiling.  “You can rally support around you.”

“I’m not trying to start a civil war, Commander,” said the Admiral, grimacing.  “But it would be good to have some friends around me.”  He turned to the Director.  “What was the other news, since I assume this was the good?”

“This was good and bad, Admiral,” said Yu.  “As is the next bit of news.  We caught the saboteur.  Or should I say, we killed him, or it.”

“That is good news,” said Len, thinking about the words she used.  “So the sabotage should stop, at least for the near future.”

“We could hope, Admiral,” said a small man who Len recognized as one of the IIA agents assigned to Yu’s security.  “Though from what we found, we could have another one with us, and never know.

“You said you tried to capture him, Agent?” asked Len.

“Senior Agent Jimmy Chung,” said the Asian.  “Director Sergiov put me in charge of Dr. Yu’s security, and the overall security of the project.”

“You say you did try to capture the saboteur.  Why couldn’t you?”

“Because it shrugged off all of our attempts to bring it down with sonics,” said the Naval Captain, Callahan, that Len had assigned to the station.  “It was threatening to take out the control panel Dr. Yu needed to access the station grabbers, to keep this whole damned thing from falling into the hole.  So I decided it was time to stop it in its tracks.  So I did, sir.”

“I think that was a good call, Captain,” said the Admiral.  “This project is more important than capturing a live saboteur.  But you said it, Dr. Yu.  Just what are we dealing with here?”

“Maybe it will all become clearer if you officers take a look at what we found after it was brought down,” said Yu, gesturing toward the door to the lab.

The lab looked like many med labs that Len had seen in his career, better appointed than some, less so than others.  Yu introduced everyone to the station surgeon, one of what would eventually be a small army of medical personnel to serve the enormous structure.  Dr. Patton led the group to a table that was encompassed in a sterile field that would prevent decay, keeping the body as fresh as the moment it was killed.

Len didn’t know what to expect when the covering was pulled back.  A normal looking human female was not it.  The woman looked like someone he had seen before, and he looked in shock at Dr. Lucille Yu, the image of the body on the table.

“This is Doctor Lucille Yu,” said Yu, pointing to a screen that showed a picture of the woman on the table while she was in the control room.  “Obviously it is not my twin, as I have none.  And Agent Chung has verified that I am the real me.”

“Doctor Patton,” said Yu, and the small man walked up to the table and pulled more of the covering back.  There were the burn marks of lasers on the flesh, and holes that reached into the body cavity, the obvious cause of death.

“I have never seen anything like this,” said the doctor, pulling the covering all the way back and revealing what looked like an incomplete set of genitals in the groin area.  A closer look revealed an incomplete set of male genitalia.  The doctor grabbed a medical instrument and pulled at the opening of one of the laser shots, revealing something that did not look like human skin or muscle.  “This thing is not human, despite all appearances.  And when the agents caught up with it the thing was in the process of changing.”

“Changing?” asked Len.  “Into what?”

“Into someone else,” said the doctor.  “This is a shape shifter.  Able to take the shape of another being, imitating it perfectly, at least on the surface.  Skin samples even match exactly the DNA structure of Dr. Yu.  Beneath the surface is another story.”

“Like something from a damned vid,” said Yin, looking with a horror struck face at the creature.

“Not exactly like a vid,” said the Doctor.  “It can’t change instantaneously.  In fact, from the amount of restructuring it must do to become another person, I would estimate it takes from one to three days to change into someone else.”

“Still damned useful to penetrate security,” said Agent Chung.  “This thing has caused me nightmares since we killed it.  No telling who else might be running around this station who isn’t what we think they are.”

“Any way to tell one of these from a real person?” asked Yin, reaching out to touch the creature, then thinking better of it and drawing her hand back.

“Not from any kind of surface scan,” said the Doctor, shaking his head.  “And not from a surface sample of tissue.  A deeper sample should tell us what they are.  And that’s the other thing, Admiral.  This species is unknown in our space.”

“Then where does it come from?” asked Len, not able to take his eyes off of the saboteur.

“Best guess would be Elysium,” said the Doctor.  “We have some data suggesting a species that matches this one.”

“Son of a bitch,” growled the IIA Agent.  “No wonder their intelligence apparatus is so good.  With perfect infiltrators like this.”

“I have an even greater concern, Agent Chung,” said the Admiral, looking around at the people in the room.  “If they are sabotaging our military resources now, is this a prelude to a war.?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Looking outward to the blackness of space, sprinkled with the glory of a universe of lights, I saw majesty but no welcome. Below was a welcoming planet. There, contained in the thin, moving, incredibly fragile shell of the biosphere is everything that is dear to you, all the human drama and comedy. That's where life is.  That's where all the good stuff is.  Loren Acton.

HYPERSPACE NEAR CONUNDRUM, APRIL 15TH, 1000.

“Enemy missiles have passed the enemy VII ships,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Our missiles will strike the enemy ships in twelve minutes.”

“And the enemy missiles will get here when?  Twenty minutes?”

“Close enough, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “It’s a formidable strike, but we should be able to handle it with minimal damage.”

“And use up most of our remaining hyper counter missiles,” said the Admiral, giving a head gesture of acknowledgement.  “I pray to Gods and the Emperor, their vessel on this plane, that we don’t have to fight another major engagement before getting back to base.”

“I don’t think we will, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “We can destroy this other force and then head back, and nothing the enemy has will be able to catch us.”

“Nothing?  What about these hyper VII ships of theirs?”

“We have already determined that they have a limited number of them, my Lord.  And this force we have destroyed must be the majority of those vessels in this region.  The rest are these hyper VI ships, including all their most formidable capital ships.”

“May you be correct,” said the Admiral.  “Begin deceleration to hyper jump speed,” he said to his Helm Officer, looking over at the Com Officer and giving a nod as well.  “Our missiles will destroy the few VII ships that remain.  And then we will jump into VI and destroy the other enemy force.  This will be a black day for the humans.”

*    *    *

The two waves of missiles, human and Ca’cadasans, approached each other through hyper VII.  At ten seconds from closing fifty of the human missiles detonated, flooding the space with plasma and radiation.  The plasma soon faded back into normal space, while the low mass radiation continued on for some minutes.  A score of enemy missiles detonated within the plasma fields, while forty more had their sensor heads destroyed by radiation.

A second later fifty more human missiles went off, then fifty more, until half the missiles had blown up in space, taking out four hundred and seventy-four of the enemy weapons.  Three hundred and twenty-six enemy missiles continued on toward the human VII force, while eighty-one wandered off into space with no lock on any target.  Five hundred and twelve human missiles forged on toward the Ca’cadasan force, while the eighty-eight damaged birds became short term wanderers of hyperspace.

*    *    *

“Signals coming down the line, sir,” said the Flag Com Officer.  The officer looked back with a stricken expression on her face.  “Admiral Montgomery’s force took a major hit by the enemy.  Only five ships survived.”

“Goddammit,” yelled the Admiral, looking at the plot and wishing he could change the laws of physics to get his ships where he wanted them to be, and knowing that wouldn’t happen.  He looked over at the Com Officer and let out a breath.  “I’ve got to believe that Mara’s ship was one of the survivors, and that the heir is on her ship.  Order the fleet to maximum acceleration.  All crews to the tanks.  As soon as we get within our missile envelope I want all ships to fire their hyper VII missiles.  We’re going to try and blow those bastards out of space.”

“Aye, sir,” said the Com Officer, her face still distraught, but her hands working efficiently at her board to send out the signals.

“Should have done this in the first place,” said the Admiral, slamming a fist into an open palm.  “Instead, I had to play it cute and try to set a trap.”

“You couldn’t know,” said Commodore Gomez, putting a hand on the Grand Fleet Admiral’s shoulder.

“Remember your history lessons, Commodore,” said the Admiral, turning on her with a scowl on his face.  “I played Yamamoto at Midway, splitting everything up in an overly complicated plan.  When I should have played Halsey, and just sent everything I had at them.  Well, now I’m going for the throat, and let them see what we can do when we’re pissed.’  He walked back to the plot, studying the dispositions before him.

“Is it worth using all of the hyper VII missiles in the sector, Admiral?” said Gomez, holding up her hands when he turned back to her with fire in his eyes.  “Just saying, Admiral.  Without those missiles we really don’t have a way to strike them while they are in VII.  And we don’t know that the heir has survived.  The odds are against him still being alive.”

“And I intend to play it like he is, no matter what the odds say,” said the Admiral, pointing a finger at his Intelligence Officer.  He lowered his hand and shook his head, turning back to the holo and putting both hands on the railing running around it.  “And I think we are seeing the end of hyper VI warships.  The future will belong to the VIIs, at first more lightly armed, but later bigger and better.  Oh, not right away.  We have too many VIs in the pipeline, and it will take time to change the factories over to making new equipment.”

The tanks had finished rising from the floor, and the Admiral trotted over to his cubby and had it remove his armor.  It would still be several minutes before they would go into emergency acceleration, giving all the crew time to get to their tank stations.  The Admiral stepped into his tube, fitted his breathing mask, and made sure his link into the fleet control system was strong.  Fluid flowed up around him until he floated in the body temperature mixture, and he looked over to see Gomez floating in her own tank.

A minute later the ship increased its acceleration to thirty gravities over the capacity of the inertial compensators.  And around her forged the other four hundred vessels of the strike fleet; battleships, battle cruisers, heavy cruisers and even some lighter vessels.  All heading for a launch point where they could take the enemy ships under fire.

*    *    *

“Missile impact in three minutes,” called out the tactical officer.

The lasers rings of the surviving ships were now cycling through as fast as they could acquire targets.  The ships were all oriented with their flanks facing the incoming weapons, allowing all of the laser rings to engage.  At the same time the ships were releasing plasma torpedoes from both bow and stern.  Unlike the normal torpedoes, these were only about half the mass, and left the tubes at a low speed, hanging in space close to the launching ships, hanging within the hyper fields while the hyper projectors attached to the following capsules of the torpedoes extended the envelop out.  The mass of plasma and the capsules used to enclose it in a magnetic field was normally more than the projectors had to handle, grouped as they were three to a hundred and fifty ton missile.  They were set to an overload status that would cause failure within ten minutes, which was more than enough time.

The lasers took out over a hundred of the incoming missiles.  Decoys spoofed another fifty-six weapons that wandered off track.  The limited counter missiles knocked down another thirty-three, leaving one hundred thirty-five headed into the ships.  It was mathematically impossible for the lasers to take out more than forty of the remaining missiles, and the fraction of a second of particle beam fire could only take out thirty more.  There would be sixty five hits, more than enough to wipe out the five ships that were there targets.

“Releasing plasma torpedoes,” yelled out the Flag Tactical Officer, who had all of those weapons under his control.

“I hope this crazy idea works,” said the Admiral, looking at the plot of missiles traveling too fast to be more than a blur on visual.

If it does it give us another weapon in hyper warfare, thought Sean, looking at the plot with total concentration.  If not, then we just become another footnote in the history of crazy ideas that didn’t work.  Despite the levity of the thought Sean could feel his heart beating fast, and could feel the wetness on his palms under his gauntlets.  If the idea didn’t work, then he would have even more blood on his hands.  If the Universe was as he thought that would be the end of it, as he would have no time to think about his failure.  And if it was as the religious folk thought, he would have an eternal afterlife to regret it.  And I wonder how Jennifer is handling this?  Not that the woman would know.  It had been decided not to tell the civilians aboard what was going on.  It would do no good in any respect.

Outside the ships over a hundred half mass torpedoes moved away from the hyperfields of their launching vessels.  The following capsules that made such weapons practical propelled them at five thousand gravities while the strong magnetic field held the plasma in place, and the hyperdrive projectors were running in overdrive to keep the entire package in the hyper dimension.

At two light seconds from the ships, with the incoming missiles four seconds from striking, the following capsules injected small antimatter warheads into each plasma mass. They exploded in an instant, spewing superheated plasma out in a cloud.  More than a hundred plasma clouds came together to form a barrier of million degree particles that began to lose heat immediately at a prodigious rate.  Not fast enough to make a difference to the missiles that impacted the cloud at point five light.  The combination of heat and kinetic impact blasted the missiles from space.  Nine made it through or around the plasma field, to be taken easily by the lasers and particle beams of the spaceships.

Pieces of missile and propelled plasma continue on toward the ships at the point five light velocity of the striking missiles.  The dangerous mass was four seconds travel time from the vessels, and that matter fell out of hyper in two seconds, leaving a spray of photons and very low mass particles to hit the ships, shrugged off by their electromagnetic fields.

A collective sigh of relief went through the flag bridge, and on compartments all across the force, as crews realized they were going to live.

“Great work, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, giving him a smile.

“And what happens if they fire another salvo at us?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“I don’t know,” said Sean, shrugging his shoulders.  “I really don’t know.”

“We’ll just accept that we survived this one,” said the Admiral.  “And they will not know for forty minutes that their missiles didn’t do their work.”

“We have more ships ahead in hyper VI,” called out the Sensor Officer.

The Admiral gave her a horrified look, and Sean knew how she felt.  The Sensor Officer smiled and a mass of green icons appeared on the plot.

“They’re our ships, ma’am.  Hundreds of them, heading for the enemy force.”

*    *    *

“Are they trying to kill us?” croaked Cornelius Walborski, laying on his bed and trying to draw breath against the four gees that pressed down on his chest.  He moved his head to try to get a look at his son’s tank, but is was beyond his vision at the moment, and he couldn’t shift enough to see.

“They’re trying to save us, son,” said Preacher, who seemed to be handling the gravity much better than Walborski.

That damned augmentation, thought Walborski, looking at Preacher in the next bed.  He could probably get up and run around the court area.  Bastard.

“All I can tell you son is we are in a world of shit, and the navy is doing their damndest to get us out of it,” said Preacher.

“I know,” said Walborski, looking back at the ceiling and trying to get his breath back.  He had seen how there were so many more people aboard, brought from other ships that would become the sacrificial goats of the task force.  There had not been enough beds for all of them, and he thought of the ones that must be suffering on the floor somewhere.  Or they put them in the beds of the crew, who probably won’t be getting any rest through this thing.

His opinion of the navy had gone up since he came aboard the battle cruiser.  He had always known they were important to the safety of the Empire, but also imagined that most of the Fleet officers had basically lived off the public teat, never realizing that they could be called on at any time to make the ultimate sacrifice.

I’ll take the Army, thought the ex-farmer.  At least there I have a little more control of my own fate.

The ship shook, from what he couldn’t tell, but he thought that it couldn’t be good.  If I ever make it to an army base for training.  And he worried more about his son, who didn’t have any idea what was going on around him, and might never have that chance of having a life.

*    *    *

“They survived the missile attack,” called out a disbelieving Tactical Officer.

“How?” asked the Admiral, standing up in his seat.  “How many did the attack take out?”

“None, sir,” said the incredulous Tactical Officer.

“Impossible,” yelled the Admiral, walking to the plot and looking at the five icons that represented what was left of the force they had been chasing from Sestius.  “They didn’t have enough ships to withstand that kind of an attack.”

The Admiral walked away from the holo tank and glared at the viewer that showed the red nothingness of hyperspace ahead.  “They vex me, these damned inferior creatures.”  He turned back to his tactical officer.  “I want them blotted from the Universe.  Fire two salvos at them.”

“That’s all we have left,” said the Tactical Officer, shock on his face.

“Then fire all we have at them,” said the Admiral.  “I want them destroyed.”  The Admiral was in a rage, as only a high ranking male of his people could be when foiled by a race that was thought to be their inferior.  All races were thought to be inferior to the Cacada.  And rage destroyed reason.

“Aye, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, tuning back to his board to fire, and command the other ships to fire.

“My Lord,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “We have enemy ships in Hyper VI.”

“How many?”

“Hundreds, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer, his eyes wide.  “Two hundred, no three hundred.  More.”

The Tactical Officer stopped sending commands and pulled his hands off the board.

“They have launched missiles, my lord,” said the Tactical Officer, his voice dropping low.  “Thousands of them.”

*    *    *

“Preparing to fire, sir,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer, landing in his seat.

“Fire according to plan Golf,” said the Admiral, taking his own seat and looking at the plot. The acceleration tanks were moving back into the floor, clearing the room of their bulk.

“Aye, sir,” called the officer, his hands working his board and sending commands to all the ships of the fleet.

The battleships were all loaded with battle cruiser missiles that fit their tubes, while the battle cruisers and heavy cruisers were using light cruiser missiles that their launch accelerators could accommodate.  Now they launched missiles from the stern tubes, accelerating them away from the ships and killing some of their velocity.  Six hundred missiles were fired in the first volley, then six hundred more, volley after volley until seventy-two hundred missiles were in space.  As soon as each missile left its tube it started to decelerate at five thousand gravities, taking twenty minutes to get down to the velocity where they could translate into hyper VII.

They were still traveling toward the enemy at point two light as they moved into VII, reversing their acceleration at five thousand gravities toward the enemy force.  They came on in twelve groups of six hundred, far enough apart to prevent them from all being targeted by a swarm of defensive missiles, if the enemy had such, but all timed to arrive at the targets within less than a half minute.

*    *    *

“We have fifteen hundred and sixty-nine missiles coming at us, Admiral,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“And I guess the same trick won’t work again,” said Sean, his voice low so that only the Admiral could hear him.

“I think not,” said Montgomery, staring at the plot.  “At least they won’t be returning to their base either.  For the little bit of consolation that gives us.  When will the Imperial missiles pass us?”

“In about seventeen minutes, Admiral,” said the Tactical Officer.

“And the enemy missiles will reach us, when?” asked Sean.

“Fourteen minutes, twenty-six seconds, your Majesty.”

“So we will get no aid from these missiles,” said Sean, looking down at the floor.  After all we’ve gone through, with salvation so close.

“Never give up, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, patting him on the shoulder.  “With your last breath shout your defiance at the enemy.  That is what the Goddess put you and me here for.  Always remember that, if you end in fourteen minutes, or a hundred years from now.”

The Admiral walked over to the tactical station and put her hand on the officer’s shoulder.  “All weapons to cycle as fast as possible.” She looked thoughtfully at the weapons screens for a moment.  “You know the drill.  Just plot us the most efficient fire plan with what we have.”

“Aye, ma’am,” said the officer, fighting back his fear.  “Lasers will commence firing in two minutes.”

“We probably won’t hit much at that distance,” said Montgomery, returning to her chair.  “But any hit will help.”

“Any hit will help,” repeated Sean, nodding.  But a good portion of almost sixteen thousand missiles would be striking them in thirteen minutes, no matter how many they picked off with lasers at range, and particle beams at the last moment.

The minutes ticked off the clock, and the crew on the bridge talked through the situation as they had been trained to do.  The smell of fear was strong, almost overwhelming, but the people still went about their duties, even if those tasks really amounted to little more than gathering the information from the ship bridges that were really doing the work.

Sean watched all of this, taking it in and learning, even if the lesson would not do him a bit of good in his brief time left.

The plot showed a missile disappearing here, another there, more blowing out of space as they got closer.  At three minutes ETA the lasers were taking out a missile every three seconds, a good percentage of hits against targets that were moving through space on evasive maneuvers.  When they were a minute out the lasers were taking out one a second, the targets having to reduce their evasive jukes as they bore in on the targets.

“Something is wrong, Admiral,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “The missiles are not acting as predicted.”

“What do you mean?” asked Montgomery, standing up.

“They should all be pinging us with tight beams,” said the officer.  “And moving into their final approach patterns, with us at the center.  And they are not.”

“Continue to take them under fire, Tac,” said the Admiral, looking back at Sean with a look of hope on her face.

“What is going on?” asked Sean, standing up and walking to the tactical station.

“The missiles aren’t targeting us,” said the Admiral, looking at the plot.  It was apparent now that the missiles on the edge of the formation were not vectoring in, but were going to pass the Imperial force.  With luck that meant there would be no hits on the force.

“Fifteen seconds,” called out the Sensor Officer, her sweat beaded face looking over at the tactical station.  “Ten.  Five.”

There were a couple of flares of antimatter warheads as the ships fired at the few dozen missiles that still had a shot at striking them.  Sir Galahad shook from the shock waves of some missiles exploding close to the ship.  And then they were past.

“Continue firing at those missiles,” said Montgomery to her Tactical Officer.  The man shook his head and sent the commands to the ships.  “We can at least help out the missiles that are their targets,” she said, looking over at the Emperor.

The plot showed missiles disappearing as they were hit by the ships that were now essentially pursuing them.  This went on for a little over a minute, and then the enemy missiles were detonating among the incoming Imperial weapons.  Space ahead was a scattering of bright pinpoints, and when it was over all the enemy missiles were gone, as well as over two thousand of the Imperial weapons.  Which left over five thousand weapons still driving for the enemy force.

*    *    *

“We have five thousand missiles still on their way,” said the Tactical Officer, his expression a snarl as he looked up at the Admiral.

And I should have known the enemy would not send missiles at us grouped conveniently for us to take them out.  “Place the ships in defensive formation,” he ordered the Tactical Officer, then turned to his Com Officer.  “Launch a pair of messenger drones on a heading back to the base at Massadara.  Place all data to this point aboard them, and get them off as soon as you can.  Then prepare another pair to be launched just before the missiles arrive.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the officer, turning back to his board and setting to work.

The last work they will ever do, thought the Admiral, looking around the bridge that had been his home for many years now.  I should never have followed the enemy force here.  I should have gone after the target that had been assigned me, and waited until the main push to forge this far into the enemy’s territory.

The Admiral walked the path around the holo plot, glancing at the almost numberless icons of the enemy missiles heading their way.  He thought about his sons, all officers in the Imperial forces.  He had not a thought for the many daughters he had by his numerous wives. They were nothing more than brood cows to increase the race, barely able to think beyond cooking and suckling the young, the jobs they were best suited for.  Only males served in the military of the realm.  All the males, from the time they were considered adults until they were no longer fit to be warriors, if they survived.  Then they became the administrators of the Empire, the clerks and engineers and researchers.  Before that time the many slave races needed to be kept under control, so many warriors were needed.

And I will never get to that age, he thought as the missiles moved on the plot, coming closer.

At least they will know, thought Admiral, while he watched enemy missiles disappear on the plot as his lasers struck at them.  At eight seconds out the particle beams joined in, blotting more missiles from the plot.

“Firing the second pair of drones now,” called out the Com Officer, as the plot showed six seconds to missile contact.  It also showed four thousand missiles still coming on.

Almost five hundred missiles continued on in hyper VII with no target to acquire, an expanding cloud of plasma fading from space behind them.  They would eventually run out of power, and fall from hyperspace.  The Ca’cadasans did not care.

*    *    *

NEW TERRAN EMPIRE EMBASSY, ELYSIUM.

The rumble of a bombardment sounded through the walls of the shelter.  The Knockerman may have had only one functional warship in the system, but they were using it efficiently in the bombardment of the city, or at least any structures that might house their Brakakak enemies.  And that included the embassy.

“That one was close,” said IIA Chief of Mission Gertrude Bauman as the floor shook underneath.

“Direct hit on the central capsule,” agreed General Contovy, looking over at the Ambassador.  “If we were still there we would probably be picking ourselves off the floor.”

“Any penetration yet?” asked the Ambassador, noting that the High Lord Grarakakak had his head down in shame.  Probably because an ally is being assaulted in his own capital.

“Probably not,” said the General, looking down at her flat comp.  “In fact, there doesn’t seem to be.  The navy makes those things tough, so it’s probably going to take a really heavy round to get through its armor.  If it had the inertial safeguards on a warship it probably wouldn’t even be damaged.”

The High Lord looked up at the General, then over at the Intelligence Agent.  “It was very ingenious of your people to build this second shelter so far under the first.”

“You mean it was very paranoid of us, don’t you, High Lord?” said Horatio with a smile.

“It is only paranoid if they aren’t, in fact, after you,” said the High Lord.

“We have a variation of that term ourselves,” said Horatio, giving the High Lord a smile.  And if we hadn’t been paranoid, where would we be now?

At the moment they were in the secondary shelter ten kilometers below the primary.  It had been constructed at the same time, using the organized chaos of that project to hide this one.  The lift shaft had continued down past that of the first shelter, then chambers had been excavated, with enough room for the entire embassy staff and some overflow.  A meter of armor had been sprayed on the walls or ceilings of the outer chambers and hardened with nanites, while supports had reinforced the box to the point where it was almost as secure as the central capsule ten kilometers up.  And, of course, a number of emergency exits had been constructed.

“And all without our knowledge,” said the High Lord, echoing the Ambassador’s thoughts.

“Our intelligence apparatus is good, High Lord,” said Gertrude, resting her face in her hands and looking over at the Brakakakian.  “And that includes our counterintelligence and deception programs.  Maybe not as good as yours, but still good.”

“Your intelligence apparatus is very good, young lady,” agreed the High Lord.  “In some respects better than ours, despite all of our contacts with the other races of this Galactic arm.  And we also have some advantages that you don’t know about.”  The High Lord looked down for a moment, obviously thinking something over, and the room went silent, everyone wanting to hear what the being had to say.  After a moment he looked up, clearly uncomfortable, but with an aura of resolve about him.

“Have any of you ever heard of the Yugalyth?”

There was much head shaking around the table and some statements of negation.  But the Ambassador noticed that his IIA Station Chief was looking with interest at the avian.

“Only vague rumors,” said Gertrude, nodding, then looking around the table.  “Shape shifters.  Said to have become extinct in a long ago war.”

“I thought shape shifters were impossible,” said the General.

“They are,” agreed Samuel Starks, the Chief of the Science and Technology Division of the Embassy.  “Nothing but fodder for the imagination of the masses.  There is no way a living being could shift its mass around in such a manner as to alter its appearance within seconds, much less hours.”

“Yet they do exist,” said the High Lord.  Horatio held up a hand to prevent the scientist from making a rebuttal, then nodded for the avian to continue.  “Doctor Starks is correct in that they cannot change in an instant.  In fact, it takes them days to mimic the subject.  But when they do they are a perfect imitation, down to the DNA in their integument.  Every hair, mole, wrinkle, is duplicated.  They have to touch their subject in order to obtain the DNA, and they have to study their subject to so imitate the exterior.  But when they do there is no way to tell the difference without taking a deep tissue sample, or scanning their bodies with advanced imaging equipment.”

“And how do they accomplish this?” asked Starks.  “I really see no way in which this could have been an evolutionary advantage to them.”

“Oh, it wasn’t evolution,” said the High Lord, locking eyes with the scientist.  “At least not completely.  The Yugalyth were the most plastic of species, able to heal wounds and regrow almost any damage that wasn’t quickly fatal.  And the Ancients recognized how special their biology was, and made it even more special through genetic engineering and nanotech.  They became the spies of that Empire.  And since, have become the spies of ours.”

“So if they were subjected to EMP they would lose their shape changing abilities?” asked Gertrude, and the Ambassador could see where she was going.

“No,” said the High Lord, shaking his head in a gesture he had learned from the humans.  “They use a peculiar version of biological nanite, not really a machine as much as a virus, developed by the Ancients.  I am afraid that electromagnetic pulse would have no effect on them.”

“And you are telling us about them because?”

“Because, young lady, not only have we used them to gather information in your Empire, but I am afraid the Knockermen have deployed them for espionage and sabotage of you military establishment.”

“But, why?” asked Gertrude, her eyes narrowing.  “We are not your enemies.  In fact, we are your closest friends in this arm.”

“It is because of the station we built around the black hole, isn’t it?” asked the Ambassador. “You told me once before how much the building of such a thing distressed you, because the Ancients had built one like it, and then had come to a bad end.”

“That cursed big station is the reason,” said the High Lord, his eyes changing to the fierce look of his ancestral predators.  “Oh, not enough where my people were going to do anything about it.  If you used it wrong it was on your species, and we would have another set of beautiful nebulae in our night skies.”

“And you think those supernovas had something to do with the Ancients, and the black hole?” asked the General, while Starks looked horrified.

“There’s no other explanation,” said the scientist, looking around the table.  “Don’t you see? Ninety percent of the stars that were at the heart of the regions that became nebulae were not of sufficient size to supernova.  Yet they did.  So something the Ancients did caused them to blow.”

“That is one way to see it,” admitted the High Lord, his eyes growing even more intense.  “Or was it the Universe correcting the problem that the Ancients had become.”

“Oh, come now,” said Starks, shaking his head.  “Don’t give us that mysticism about the Universe being sentient.  It’s just a collection of matter and energy.”

“And that is why you humans feel free to do anything with your science that you want,” said Grarakakak, pointing a digit at the scientist.

“But if you say that you didn’t have anything to do with the sabotage,” said Horatio, locking eyes with the High Lord, “why were the Knockermen so gung ho on shooting down the project.  Not for fear of what might have happened to my species, certainly.”

“No, for fear of what might happen to theirs.  You see, one of those beautiful nebulae that grace the night skies of your empire used to be the home star of the Knockermen species.  They were closely associated with the Ancients, until their home world was swept from underneath their feet.  And now they feel that you are going to cause the same havoc in this arm, and that the Universe might not be satisfied with just taking out your race, but may strike at all the intelligences in the arm.  So that is why they strike at you, and at my people, because we will not do anything about it.  They will not be satisfied until your cursed big station is beneath the event horizon, and of no threat to anyone.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Man is the only animal that deals in that atrocity of atrocities, War. He is the only one that gathers his brethren about him and goes forth in cold blood and calm pulse to exterminate his kind. He is the only animal that for sordid wages will march out... and help to slaughter strangers of his own species who have done him no harm and with whom he has no quarrel... And in the intervals between campaigns he washes the blood off his hands and works for 'the universal brotherhood of man' - with his mouth.  Mark Twain.

HYPERSPACE NEAR CONUNDRUM APRIL 16TH, 1000.

“Prepare one of the couriers,” said Admiral Mgonda, standing up from his chair and heading toward the hatch.  “My compliments to Fleet Admiral McIntosh, and she is to bring the fleet back to Conundrum.”

“May I tell her where you are going, Admiral?” asked Gonzalez.

“To catch up with Mara’s ship,” said the Admiral, smiling.  “To see that damned heir for myself, and make sure that he gets back to Conundrum without any further adventures.”

“Good luck,” said the Intelligence Officer, shaking her head.

Mgonda smiled and walked off the bridge, heading for the nearest lift.  The superbattleship had six hangars instead of the four on a regular battleship or battle cruiser.  Three of them each had a courier berthed, which took up most of the space in the hangar.  Mgonda was happy to see that the crew chief was waiting outside the ten thousand ton craft as he entered the cavernous hangar.  The rest of the twenty man crew would be aboard prepping the ship, which shouldn’t take long, as couriers on a flagship were always kept at a high readiness status.

“Welcome aboard, Admiral,” said the Senior Chief at the entry hatch.  The chief did not say the name of the small vessel.  It had none, only a designation number.  The Chief escorted him through the ship to a cabin that was set aside for passengers.

The Admiral almost asked to sit on the bridge of the vessel, but realized that the commander and crew didn’t need one of the second highest possible naval rank sitting on their deck watching them.  He activated the cabin holo as he sat on the bed, and watched as the vessel left the hangar and maneuvered away from the Frederick de Grosse.  As soon as they were away from the superbattleship’s hyper field the courier started to decelerate at almost seven hundred gravities, shedding velocity at the rate of six point seven kilometers per second.  It took the ship a little under two hours to get down to the point two light translation speed.

Mgonda had always been an easy translator, and only felt a small twinge of nausea as they moved up to hyper VII.  Then it was another hour of what really amounted to deceleration before she started forging after what was left of Mara Montgomery’s task force.

Mgonda ate twice and slept once before he was alerted that the courier was matching velocities with Sir Galahad, still an hour ahead and decelerating toward Conundrum.  It would probably have been more intelligent to just come back with the fleet.  But I want to get the ear of the heir, before he’s swarmed under by sycophants and hanger ons.

An hour later the courier was docking with the battle cruiser, linking up to an outer hatch, and Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, Fleet Commander of Sector Four, walked into the ship that had commanded the force he had sent on a rescue mission to save the heir.  He felt mixed feelings at being aboard.  Elated that it had returned with the one it sought.  Angry that the commander had gone off on an unauthorized mission.  He wasn’t sure which emotion would come out when he saw Mara.  The Marine honor guard piped him aboard, and the commander of the ship, Captain Stafford, was there with some of the ship’s officers to greet him.  Admiral Montgomery was not there, but then it was not her place to greet VIPs coming aboard the ship that she was also, after all, a guest on.

Happiness won the battle as the Grand Fleet Admiral walked onto the flag bridge.  Mara was already standing at attention, as was the rest of her crew.  A young man and woman still occupied their seats.  The woman looked like she wanted to jump to her feet as well, but the man put a hand on her arm and shook his head, then turned to look at the Admiral with a slight smile on his face, stroking the cat in his lap.

So that’s the little shit all this was about, thought Mgonda, seeing a young man who looked unimposing to his practiced eye.

Mara rendered the proper salute, and Mgonda returned it.  “At ease,” he ordered, then walked briskly toward Mara, opening his arms and wrapping her in a hug.  “I am so glad you made it back, you insubordinate bitch.  But what convinced you to go gallivanting off on your own into enemy territory, when you had already achieved your objective?”

“How did you know to come looking for me?” asked Mara, tears in her eyes.

“A broken down destroyer came into the system and gave us the tale,” said Mgonda.  He held the woman away with his hands on her arms.  “Now, please answer my question.”

“I ordered her to mount a rescue mission, Duke Taelis,” said the young man, standing, putting the cat on the chair, then walking up to the ranking officer.

“A Lieutenant ordered a Rear Admiral to take her force on a suicide mission, against the orders of the Sector Commander?”

“No, Duke Taelis,” said the young man.  “Her Emperor ordered her on a mission of mercy, and she saw it as her duty to obey.”

“You are not Emperor yet, Prince Sean,” said Mgonda, pointing a finger at the young man.  “You are the heir to the throne, and you will sit on it.  But only if we can get you invested and crowned.  And to do that, we must get you back to the capital.”

“I’m not going back,” said Sean, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a defiant stance.  “There is a war to fight, out here in Sector Four.  And I plan to be here to fight it.”

“You are a fool, Prince Sean,” said Mgonda in a growl, turning away and walking toward the central holo tank.  “If you don’t get back to the capital, and soon, you will not have a throne to sit.”

Sean’s face flushed with anger, and he started to say something.  The expression changed to one of confusion, then unbelief.  “What do you mean?  What do you mean, I won’t have a throne to sit.”

“Because, young prince of fools,” said Mgonda, rounding on Sean and pointing a finger in his face.  “The people will demand a ruler, especially as the fear of the ancient enemy grows.  And someone will be seated on the throne if you are not there to sit it yourself.  An idiot cousin perhaps.  Or someone without the sense of honor you were raised with, who will allow themselves to be manipulated by unscrupulous men.”

“I didn’t realize,” said Sean, looking around the room.  The young woman, who looked like a family member to the Duke, put an arm around the young Prince’s shoulders.  “I really thought the throne was mine, no matter what.”

“That would normally be true,” said Mgonda.  “But they think you dead back at the capital, and will see no need to wait for a dead man.  And once the idiot cousin is seated, he will have the crown, but not the loyalty of the Fleet.  And we will have a civil war, at a time when such could be disastrous to our cause.”

“Maybe you should just throw in with whomever Parliament decides should rule,” said Sean, looking down at the floor.  “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“Then you damned well better make yourself ready, Prince Sean,” said Mgonda.  “Because there is no way in Hell the Fleet will support the reprobate that the Lords want to put on the throne.”

“You have the strength to be a great Emperor,” said the woman who had sat by Sean, rubbing her hand across the young man’s armored shoulders.  “You’ve proven that.  And I will keep the seat warm while you walk the flag bridge of a fleet, if that is what you want.  But listen to others for a change.  These people have your best interests at heart, and the best interests of the Empire.  But they can only help you if you listen.”

“But, how do I get back to the capital in time?” asked Sean, his major mistake now staring him in the face.  “It will take weeks to get back on the fastest ship we have.”

“We may be able to do something about that, my Prince,” said Mgonda with a smile.  “If things are as I hope when we get back to Conundrum.  I have just one favor to ask, when you do ascend the throne.”

“And what is that, Admiral?”

“Please forgive the way I talked to you today, and don’t have me sacked.  I have been waiting for a war like this all my life, and wouldn’t want to miss it for anything.”

Sean put his hand on the Duke’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.  “I wouldn’t want anyone else in charge out here when it hits the fan, Duke Taelis,” he said.  “And I’ll expect you to tell me when I am wrong.”

We’ve got the man we need, thought the Duke, returning the smile.  And thank God Mara brought him home.

*    *    *

“I have an order for you, Doctor Jennifer Conway,” said Sean, walking into medlab and nodding for the other medical staff to leave.

Jennifer looked up from the scanner, where she was checking the components of an injured man’s blood, to see the smiling prince come in and the others filing out.  What now, she thought, turning off the scanner.  It was a task that was really for backup of the automated systems more than anything else.  But she took her work seriously, and this was work.  At least we’re not riding around in high gee anymore.

“Don’t you want to hear the order, Doctor?” said the grinning man, looking like a little boy who had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell.

“Sure, your Majesty,” she replied.  “Since you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm if you don’t let it out.”

Sean laughed, loudly, till tears ran down his cheeks.  “You have a great sense of humor, Doctor.  And I hope if I really look like I’m about to have an aneurysm, you will do something to stop it from happening.”

“That I can guarantee, your Majesty,” said Jennifer, impatient to hear his proposal, which he had called an order, but unwilling to show that impatience.  Finally she could take it no more as he seemed unwilling to say what he had come to say.  “So what is it, your Majesty?”

“I wish you to become my personal physician,” said Sean, his smile growing wider.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I will be disappointed.  Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You will not order me to be imprisoned until I change my mind?”

“You are a free citizen of the Empire,” said Sean, his smile turning into a frown. “I would not violate my own law.  Of course, we are involved in a war.  And I could have you drafted into the Fleet.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t make me have to,” said Sean, looking into her eyes with his sky blue orbs.  “Just say yes, and you will be the first among the physicians of the Empire.”

Jennifer stared at him for a moment, letting her anger ebb.  “I will accept on one condition.”

“That being?”

“That we keep this a strictly professional relationship,” said Jennifer, holding up a finger.  She extended the next digit.  “That you don’t try and trick me into any kind of a romance.”  And she extended the third finger.  “And I be allowed to walk if I think you are reneging on either of the first two.  Well, what do you say?”

“I accept,” said Sean, frowning, then smiling.  “I will make no advances toward you.  And if you change your mind about the romance, just let me know.”

“That’s not going to happen, your Majesty.”

And Sean gave her a smile that would melt a heart of stone.  Be strong, Jennifer, she thought as he walked lightly from the Medlab, more graceful than would seem possible in the armor he was wearing.  And she could already tell that all of her conditions had been lies, and wondered if that would be so bad.

Epilogue

CONUNDRUM SYSTEM, APRIL 18TH THROUGH 19TH, 1000.

So, we finally made it to Conundrum, thought Captain Mei Lei, looking out of the observation port at the central star, off three light hours in the distance.  At least most of us did.

The crew of the Baron Pepperdine knew enough to leave her alone, as did her people.  The viewer was set to her control, and she panned it across the system, then set it to a tactical display so she could look at all the traffic in the system, just to make sure this place was strong enough to withstand any kind of attack.

There was a lot of it in the system, military and commercial traffic both.  Most of it seemed to be coming in on the elliptical plane facing the core region of the Empire.  Reinforcements and military materials flowing out to this, the bastion of Imperial power in Sector IV.

She shifted the view to the orientation that looked out over the outer regions of the sector.  There was another group of vessels heading in toward the inhabited planet, on a shortest time to orbit profile.  She switched to view and zoomed in, her breath catching as she saw the shapes of three battle cruisers, all hyper VIIs like Jean de Arc.  And with them were two light cruisers.

That’s a powerful force, she thought, looking at what had to be a scout task force.  Wonder what they’ve been up to?  And I wonder what happened to Prince Sean.  And my poor dumb cat.

It took Baron Pepperdine most of two days to come into orbit around the planet, and the scout force she had seen before had arrived six hours earlier, the ships in a compact group around the planet.

“We have orders for you, Captain Lei,” came the voice of Captain Sue over the intercom.  “You are to report to the Sector Headquarters battle station as soon as possible.”

“Any reason given,” she asked, getting out of her seat and going to the closet of her stateroom, where some uniforms that the ship’s fabricators had made for her were hanging.  She picked the dress uniform, complete with all her ribbons and decorations.

“None, Captain.  But I suspect they want to hear about what happened to the heir first hand.”

Before they bust me for losing him, she thought, pulling on the boots that went with the uniform, then buckling on the dress belt and ceremonial mag pistol.

The shuttle was up on the hangar deck when she arrived, and lifted as soon as she was buckled in her seat.  It was a short trip to the station that seemed to take forever, and gave her plenty of time to think about what she was heading into.  The huge station, really a class one fort and a space dock in one, loomed in her viewer.  The shuttle entered through a hatch large enough for a battleship, then across the huge bay to another hatch which led into a shuttle deck.  There were ships all over the deck, shuttles, assault ships, even some fighters, but a space had been cleared for her shuttle right next to the station access hatch.  A naval officer and a pair of Marines waited there, and the feeling that someone bad was going to happen grew.

“Captain Lei,” said the Naval officer, a full commander, giving her a salute.  “If you would come with me.”

Like I have a choice, she thought, following the officer and one Marine through the hatch while the other armed trooper fell in behind.  “Any word on the Heir?” she asked as they walked through the corridor to a lift.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, ma’am,” said the Commander, a strange half smile on his face.

They turned a corner and there were more Marines, these in medium battle armor.  A Lieutenant approached, a Sergeant close behind, and Mei thought she recognized them, but couldn’t place them.

“We need your side arm, ma’am,” said the Marine officer, holding out his hand.

The Captain pulled her weapon out of the holster, careful to move slow and making sure that she did not hold it like she was going to use it.  She wondered what was going to happen once again.  Disarming her was a sign that they didn’t want her to resist.  The Marine was just about to take the weapon when he stopped, listening to something on his com, then dropped his hand.  “You can keep the pistol, ma’am.”

Mei shrugged her shoulders and put the pistol back in its holster, snapping it shut.  The door opened and the Marine Lieutenant waved her in.  She looked back at the Naval Commander.  The man shook his head and also gestured at the door, the half-smile still on his face.

The room was large and luxuriously appointed, with fine furniture and what looked like an original painting on the wall.  An attractive young woman sat in a chair looking at her, wearing a civilian business suit of exquisite fabric, her straight posture indicating that she had once been military.  She also had a half-smile on her face, and Mei wondered what it was about all of these people she had met since coming aboard.

Another chair in the room was facing the other way, its small rocking motion showing that it had an occupant.  The far wall was a large viewer, looking down on the blue green planet below.

“You wished to see me, ma’am,” said Mei, finally tiring of the silence.

There was a familiar meow, then something small and fury came jumping over the top of the other seat and headed toward her.  It rubbed against her ankle, then looked up and gave another meow.

“Satin,” cried Mei, bending down and picking up the big Himalayan cat.  She pressed him to her chest, relishing the deep purr that vibrated from the cat, rubbing her nose in his soft fur and taking in his familiar scent.  She looked at the woman, feeling confused, for this cat had been left with the heir.  Which meant.

“Welcome back, Duchess,” said the familiar voice, as the chair spun around.  The man she had been wondering about sat there in a dress naval uniform, jet black, the eight stars of an Emperor on his shoulder boards.  “I hear you have an interesting story to tell as well.  I am happy to see that you made it back.  And Satin missed you.”

“I don’t know what to say, your majesty,” said the Captain, tears misting her eyes.  She put the cat down and stood there.

“Samantha,” said Sean, talking to the seated woman.  “Where are your manners?  Show our guest to a chair.”

“Yes, cousin,” said the young woman, getting up from her chair as another rose up from the floor.

Mei sat back in the chair, and Satin was instantly in her lap.  She stroked the cat while she stared at the young man she had given so much to get to safety, safe at last.

“Did MacArthur get you here, your majesty?” asked Mei, still staring at the young man.  The young woman walked back from the bar and handed the Captain a drink, then resumed her own seat.

“No,” said Sean, his expression brightening.  “Captain von Rittersdorf’s made it to Connundrum without me, I’m afraid.  Another force came to our rescue, and she came back, with an escort.  The escort didn’t make it back,” he said with a frown, “but McArthur did.”

“Thank God,” said Mei, bowing her head and closing her eyes for a moment, saying a quick prayer.

“Have you thought about what Duchy you would like to assume title too?” said Sean, the smile back on his face.  “I know there hasn’t been a lot of time, and Samantha will provide you with the list of new or vacant Duchies.  Yours to choose.”

“About that, your Majesty.  I really don’t think that is necessary.”

“You need to learn to not argue with your Monarch,” said Sean, his smile broadening.  “I have proclaimed you a Duchess on the official record, so a Duchess you will be.  Next thing you know you’ll turn down the permanent Commodore rank you so deservedly earned.”

“Commodore,” said Mei, her mouth falling open at the end of the pronouncement.

“You are to lead a squadron of battle cruisers, a scout force for the Fleet,” said the Emperor, tossing a small box over the Mei.  “I wanted to make you an admiral, but Grand Admiral Mganda thought that was advancing you too far, too fast.  So commodore it is.”

Mei opened the box and found the two single stars of a commodore looking back at her.  “I don’t know what to say, your Majesty.”

“Then say nothing and accept the rank.”  The young man’s eyes assumed the faraway look of a link, then cleared.  “Now, I have to go. I have an appointment at the capital.  And you have to get ready for a pinning ceremony with the Sector Commander.”

Mei continued to nod, not having a clue as what she should say.  The Emperor put a hand on her shoulder as he started to walk by.  “Thank you so very much for all you did for me. And don’t worry.  Your crew will be rewarded as well.  Including your officers, some of whom would probably make a good flag team if you wanted them.”

Sean took away his hand and walked to the door, leaving the woman to become reacquainted with her pet, while he got ready to acquaint the rest of the Empire with its new ruler.

*     *     *

MASSADARA SYSTEM, APRIL 20TH, 1000.

Jana looked curiously at her surroundings as she was led aboard the shuttle.  She knew something was up when they gave her shipboard clothing of human size, cut to an archaic pattern.  She was carrying a backpack that contained a light space suit and helmet, and was pretty sure that all had belonged to the unlamented Ben.

They walked through a hatch made for a Cacada, making it monstrously large to her perspective.  She had wanted to ask what was going on, but had learned in the past weeks that it was better to not say a word and draw no attention to herself.  She felt like a child in the chair as the shuttle took her over to the ship.  Then it was through an oversized hangar and down more corridors to a lift.  Everything on the ship was of a proportion to the Cacada, and she thought that in proportion to their crew the ships were no larger than the human equivalents.

She was very surprised when she was led onto what could only be the bridge of the ship.  Every Cacada on deck turned to watch her with predatory eyes as she walked in, and she was reminded of a pride of lions watching a sick antelope, something she had seen on the veldt of her terraformed home world.

“You are to sit there, slave,” said the escort, pointing to a human sized seat in one of the eight corners of the bridge.

Jana nodded and made her way over, her eyes glancing this way and that, trying to take in everything.  After she had placed herself in the couch she continued her perusal of the control room, noting that there were at least twenty of the aliens manning stations.

“For the Emperor,” yelled one of the males and everyone jumped to their feet as the Admiral came striding into the chamber.  When Jana didn’t move a Cacada pointed a clawed finger at her.  She came to her feet, fearful that she might be punished.

“The Fleet is ready to move,” said one of the males, standing before a station.

“Very well,” said the Admiral.  “Tell the other ships to start jumping to hyper.  We will stay in the predetermined formation to the target system.”

And what system is that, thought the woman, listening carefully.

“Slave,” said the Admiral, pointing at her, then falling into his seat.  “Come here.”

Jane jumped to her feet and half ran to the Admiral’s seat, her eyes glancing at the plot that showed hundreds of green dots, maybe over a thousand.  This is a major gathering of force, she thought, visualizing the destruction this kind of fleet could cause.

“You are now my liaison slave,” said the Admiral, giving her a cold look.  “Since Ben was the only tame human I had with my force, you are his replacement.”

“I will not spy for you, my Lord,” said Jana, forcing herself to return the look.

“And I would not ask you to, slave.  I do not trust you enough.  More tame humans will come up with the reinforcements.  But your knowledge may prove useful.”

The Admiral looked at the plot, where scores of dots were disappearing every few seconds.  The familiar nausea struck Jane as the vessel she was on jumped into hyper, and the plot changed to show the ships already here.

Now that’s interesting, thought Gorbachev, as she watched the Cacada become nauseated and fight their way back to equilibrium.  It took much longer than a normal human, and she wondered if there might be another advantage for the humans in that fact.

“I am glad that is over,” said the Admiral, his facial color starting to return.  He looked at the plot, then at his human slave.  “What can you tell me of the system called Conundrum?”

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

“Are you ready, Admiral?” asked Commander Zhen Yin, a fierce smile on her face as she looked at the mirrored surface of the wormhole.

“I guess,” replied Len, looking suspiciously at the gateway to another world.

“You came through the last one just fine,” said the Commander, looking at the people who had just come out of the wormhole from Conundrum.  “They came through OK.”

“The last one was only sixty light hours,” said Len, knowing he wasn’t being logical, and not really caring.  “This one is over six hundred light years.”  And I think I’ve been through enough new things in the last seventy-two hours to last a lifetime.

The End

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is an ex-professional student with degrees from Florida State University and The University of Alabama, and coursework in Psychology, Biology, Geology, Physics, Chemistry, Anthropology and Nursing.  Doug has an interest in all of the fantastic, including science fiction, fantasy and horror, as well as all eras of military history.  Doug is a prolific writer, having completed 24 novel length manuscripts.  He is still seeking a major publishing contract, but has decided that self- publishing is the way to go at this time.  His work can be found on Amazon.  Doug lives with his five cats in Tallahassee, Florida, and currently has no social life, as he is too busy writing around his work schedule.

Follow my many characters and settings at http://dougdandridge.net

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

Follow my Blog, Doug BrotherofCats Dandridge at http://dougdandridge.com

Follow me at @BrotherofCats

The Favor of a review.

Reviews, rating and comments on Amazon about this novel are much appreciated.  If you liked the story please leave a review that will help others to discover this novel.  If you have comments about mistakes I might have made, posting them in a review will tell me what I need to do to grow as a writer and put a quality product out on the net.  If you want to see these characters again (at least the ones that survived) a review will let me know I should consider writing in this particular Universe again.

I read all the reviews of my books and love to hear what my readers have to say.  If you have a moment I would be grateful for your time.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Science Fiction

The Deep Dark Well Trilogy

The Deep Dark Well:  An Adventure 40,000 years in the making.  Pandora Latham was a Kuiper Belt Miner from Alabama.  She’s used to landing on her feet, even when the next surface is through a wormhole, halfway across the Galaxy and 46,000 years in the Future.  Pandora must discover the secret behind the end of civilization, and the enigma of the Immortal Watcher, the last survivor of the Empire that once ruled the stars.  Her decisions will set the path for Galactic recovery, or a continuation down the roads of Barbarism.

To Well and Back:  Pandora Latham is back, working Watcher’s plan to restore Galactic Civilization.  But first she has to deal with the Xenophobes of the Nation of Humanity, back in the Supersystem with their sights set on making the Galaxy their own.  Pandora is angry at the hyper religious Nation, and you don’t want to make a woman from Alabama angry.

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1:  The introduction to the Exodus Universe.  Two thousand years prior mankind fled from the Predatory Ca’cadasans, traveling a thousand years and ten thousand light years to a new home.  Now the greatest power of their sector of space, things seem to be going well for the New Terran Empire.  Until the enemy appears once again at the gates.  And the years have not softened the aliens’ stance toward Humanity.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2:  The saga continues.  The Ca’cadasans attack at the moment when the government of the Empire is at its most chaotic.  There are other enemies as well, waiting for their chance to fall on the overwhelmed humans.  And a young man with no ambition for power finds himself in the position he most dreads.

Other Scifi

Diamonds in the Sand:  When a perfectly healthy scientist falls dead of an apparent heart attack, it is up to Sarasota Police Detective Lieutenant Gary Lariviere to find out what really happened.  The scientist was working on Nanotechnology, a secret desired by everyone from the Government to the Mob.  There are too many suspects, including the woman that Gary comes to love.  The Army had made Gary better than human, but had they prepared him for the terrors that had been unleashed by the new technology?

The Scorpion:  The Scorpion had been the world’s deadliest living terrorist.  Kestral McMann had been in on the kill.  Now The Scorpion is back as a mind upload, using clones to penetrate the tight security of an isolationist United States.  McMann is the only man who can stop him.  But can McMann survive the threat of his own side, and the insane President who leads the Nation, in time to stop The Scorpion from plunging the Great Satan back into the Stone Age.

The Shadows of the Multiverse:  Something has been periodically wiping intelligence from our Universe through the ages.  It’s back, and it’s up to three unlikely heroes, the Captain of a Battle Cruiser, a Physicist turned Archeologist, and a Child, to save the intelligence of the Universe from Monsters from another Dimension.  Can they learn to use the powers of their unusual Quantum Minds to defeat creatures that have been playing the game for billions of years?

Afterlife:  What if you didn’t believe in the afterlife of the World’s Religions?  And what if science offered you the alternative, survival within the Virtual World of a computer, where your mental abilities are magnified and you can do anything you want?  And what if the World decided that your way was wrong, and declared war on you, meaning to destroy your reality?  What would you do?  Afterlife, a tale of survival at all costs.

We Are Death, Come For You:  When aliens strike the Tau Ceti colony, humankind knows that something bad is on the way.  They prepare as best they can, but will it be enough against superior technology?  The aliens are death worshippers, and only the extinction of the human race will satisfy their evil intent.  There are wonders of tech on the horizon, but can they be deployed in time?  Or will humankind have to depend on the smallest of their techs to save them?

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1:  A nuclear war in Central Europe opens the gates between dimensions, sending millions of Earth Humans into a land of myth, archetypes and fantasy.  The Evil Emperor of the Ellala Elves sees the humans as energy to fuel his transformation to immortality.  But the humans have brought their own weapons with them, as well as a race of Demigods who will battle the fantastic armies of Refuge.  The war is on, and only one side will ultimately survive.

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2:  The Ellala have a plan to destroy the human military and capture the civilians.  And the humans find that their weapons will soon cease to function.  So it’s use it or lose it for the Earth Humans, and they use it with a vengeance.  Tanks against Mages, Attack Helicopters against Dragons, and Nuclear Weapons against Death Gods.  And the other peoples of the planet come forth as allies to the humans that they see as the fulfillment an Ancient Prophecy.  But will it be enough?

Refuge: Doppelganger: Set thousands of years after the arrival, Kurt von Mannerheim, the Immortal Emperor of the Imperium of Free Nations, must give up everything to save his Empress, the Elfin Princess Gwenara Elysius von Mannerheim.  The world is at a crisis point as the Evil Tarakesh Empire, under its Immortal Emperor Heinrich Stuppleheim, prepares to overrun the world with its Nazi Ideology.  And Kurt must face a creature of legend that may prove too much for even his physical and mental abilities.

Other Fantasy

The Hunger:  Abused wife, drug addict, prostitute; Lucinda Taylor had been victimized by men all her adult life.  Left for dead by her pimp, Lucinda was turned by a passing vampire.  When he is destroyed she becomes a free agent, slaking her hunger for blood on the bottom dwellers of society, the type of men who once victimized her.  The crime boss of Tampa is her next target, and the City by the Bay is about to become a bloodbath.  But can Lucinda avoid those who are hunting for her; the Priest, the FBI man, and a pair of Vampires who would like nothing better than to send one Avenging Vampire forever into the dark?

Daemon:  A Steampunk Fantasy.  The world is dying, the victim of the magic used by society for the last three hundred years.  Daemon Corporation thinks they have the answer, stealing the life from other worlds, bringing from other dimensions the intelligences that inhabit them for sacrifice on Earth.  But something has come with them, a force that is killing the employees of Daemon Corp.  It is up to Forensic Mage Detective Jude Parkinson to find a way to stop the unstoppable, while keeping the head of Daemon Corp from silencing him to keep the dark secrets of the company out of the public eye.

Aura:  Triplets are born on a world where the magical Aura decides the fate of its owner.  Ariel is a girl with more than double the normal Aura, destined to become a mighty Priest or Mage.  Aiden has a less than normal Aura, and is destined to be a soldier or laborer.  While Arlen has no Aura at all, and is seen as an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Baalra the Dragon God, which has no power over those with Negative Auras.  Fate will rip the siblings apart, then bring them back together as they battle to defeat the Dragon God and leave the Evil Empire, before Ariel is taken as the Avatar of Baalra, his mortal vessel on Earth.

New Imagination Unlimited Newsletter

Sign up for my free Newsletter at Mailchimp, for insights into my writing, future projects, promotions and new releases.  The Newsletter will come out at least twice a month, and will always contain something new.

Excerpt from We Are Death, Come For You.

“It is time,” said the rough voice of the Arena Master.

Darcy Suarez looked up at the reptilian face that glared at her from the open door.  The Arena Master was old for his kind, among a people for whom old age was something undreamed of.  At full height he might have come to the fifteen year old’s chest.  Stooped as he was he came to just above her waist.  If he had any fear of her greater size it did not show.  The sharp claws on feet and hands, the ripping fangs of his mouth, indicated that his kind was superior to hers in other ways.  Darcy shuddered as she thought of how she had seen a male in his prime rip one of the bigger humans in her party to shreds, to the satisfied roars of the crowd.

“Am I to fight?” asked Darcy in the language of the Hsszat, her throat rasping as she tried to get out the proper words.

“You are to watch, as always,” said the Arena Master, his head bobbing on his neck in a symbol of assent as his four green eyes looked into hers.  “You are too valuable to us, Darcy, in other ways.”

So I can interpret for you when you try to talk my people into surrender, thought the teenager, bobbing her head in mimicry of the reptilian.  Even though I know what surrender will bring them.

Darcy followed the Hsszat male through the winding corridors of the ship.  Not laid out in any kind of order that the human could define, the ship was crowded with the aliens.  The ship had a reptilian stench that she had grown used to, but could still distinguish on the edge of awareness.  There were males and females of the various casts moving around, most heading for compartments where they could watch the scheduled spectacle.  No elders.  Elders didn’t live long in this society, where there was no medical care.  Only the strong were to survive, to hold off death for the time they needed to serve him.  No children or adolescents.  They were kept separate from the general population, fighting among themselves, only the strong surviving to ascend to adulthood.

The Arena Master continued on, waving his hand in the three fingered symbol of their God.  He was considered one of the priests of the race’s awful religion, respected and honored for death’s love of his existence, living far beyond the pale of most.

The arena opened at the far end of the corridor.  Darcy always thought of it as the cleanest part of the ship.  Refuse did not pile up here as it did in most of the rest of the huge vessel.  The sand floor was kept sifted and cleansed, in honor of the God.  As Darcy entered with the Arena Master the hundred thousand Hsszat in attendance jumped to their feet and let out a loud hiss, their equivalent of a cheer.

She looked down on the floor and felt herself pale as she recognized the combatants for this day.  Jeremy was her age, but big for any age.  He faced Jayden, a big black man built like a gladiator.  She had hoped it would be a match of Hsszat against man.  At least then she would be able to silently cheer one of the combatants.  In this battle one of her people was sure to die, and the thought sickened her.

Darcy wished that she was someplace else.  Anyplace but here, on this ship of nightmares.  She thought back to the world she had once known, on the planet that was opening up to mankind.  She had her parents, her brothers and sisters, in a large family such as sprung up on new colonies.  There had been horses to ride, dogs to romp with, cats to play with while she lay in bed.  Native animals to watch with wonder.  All gone.  She had seen the surface of the world after the Hsszat had finished with it.  A lifeless cinder, without even the atmosphere to support new life.  The humans had done nothing to provoke them.  Nothing except to exist, to live and love and laugh.  And for that, like all other forms of life in the Universe, they must die.

“My brothers and sisters,” hissed the Arena Master in the sibilant language of the Hsszat.  “Today, as on all days, we celebrate the beneficence of Grodassz, God of Death, who is joined in eternal battle with Frislatt, his demented brother God, who raised the infestation of life, and spoiled the awful bareness of the Universe.”

The crowd rose to its feet, hissing roars coming from a hundred thousand throats.  Darcy could visualize a thousand viewing compartments on this ship, each filled with tens of thousands more of the dinosauroid creatures.  And in the other four ships of the fleet, millions more.  All here to watch the blood sport that was the sacrifice to their God, and the center of their religious observances.

“These beings stand before us,” said the Master, looking down into the arena where the two humans stood, panting in the heat.  “They are examples of the evil of Frislatt, who seeks to place the infestation of life, the impure filth of biology, across the clean tapestry of the Universe.  To these we say no.”

The word rang out loudly in the arena as the hundred thousand throats took it up.

“No,” yelled the Master again, pointing his finger at the humans.  “We follow the will of Grodassz.  To eliminate life, until there is none left in the Universe, at which time we will join the dead, and the cosmos will once again be devoid of life.”

The crowd went wild, roars of Grodassz reverberating around the indoor stadium.  Darcy wanted to put her hands over her ears, but refused to show her distress.  She looked out over the thousands of snouts pointed toward the dark representation of the God at the head of the arena.  That God was very much in the form of the Hsszat, though of a solid black color that seemed to suck in light.  Unlike the green, tan and orange coloration of the race.

“Combatants,” yelled the Master to the two men below, who looked up at him with sweat beading down their bare skins.  “On the signal you will fight.  The winner will live for another day.  The loser will not.  Your best is expected.  Anything less will result in the death of both.”

The men nodded and raised their arms.  Long triple claws of steel were strapped to those forearms.  Steel claws were also strapped to their feet.  They would fight with the representative weapons on the race.

Darcy was again taken by the crude construction of those weapons.  It matched the crude construction of the compartments of the ships.  She wondered if they even had nanotech, the marvelous technology that made human construction so smooth and finished.  She had asked that question once of the Arena Master.  She bore the scar on her cheek of his reply, a clawed strike and a hiss of blasphemy.  She never broached the subject again.

“Attack,” yelled out the Arena Master, and both humans moved.

Jeremy and Jayden both came forward, shuffling due to the foot claws.  Both had fought in the arena before.  Both had obviously been victors, or they wouldn’t have been here.  Only one would leave today.  The other would become food for the Hsszat, fed into their protein banks.  The men circled while Darcy held her breath.  Jeremy was of her age, about a year older.  She hadn’t known him on the planet, but had talked with him on the ship.  Jayden had been a friend of one of her uncle’s, well known to the family.  He had been kind to her before the invasion, and doubly so after.  She held her hand over her mouth, afraid to say anything.  She wanted them both to live, and knew that would not be the outcome.

Jeremy moved first, swinging a hand at Jayden.  Jayden blocked the claws with his own and kicked clumsily at the boy.  Jeremy arched back, but was caught on the thigh by one of the claws.  Blood ran down his pant leg as he shuffled back, pain in his eyes.  Jayden pursued, a grim look on his face.  Darcy knew the man didn’t want to kill the youth, knew that it hurt his heart to do so.  If he didn’t they would both die.

Jeremy blocked strike after strike from Jayden.  Mostly with his claws.  A few times with his arms.  Blood ran down his arms into the sands of the arena.  Jayden pursued, a determined look showing that he wanted to end the torture to Jeremy.  But Jeremy didn’t want to give up and fought back, hard.

Jayden said something as he raked a foot claw down Jeremy’s leg, then grabbed the boy’s shoulder.  Darcy could read the man’s lips.  I’m sorry, he said, as he pushed his left hand claws into Jeremy’s stomach.  Jeremy screamed and doubled over.  Jayden brought the claws on his right hand up to Jeremy’s throat, slashing hard and deep.  Blood spurted out, Jeremy’s eyes rolled up into his head, and the boy slid limply to the sand.  Jayden stood over Jeremy, a look of anguish on his face.

The guards entered the arena, long poles held at the ready.  They attempted to herd Jayden away from the body on the sand and out of the arena.  Jayden would have nothing of it.  He slashed at the poles with his arm claws, howling like an animal.  The man sliced himself on his own chest with the claws and smeared the blood on his face.  The guards looked up at the Arena Master, who gave them a signal that sent them from the sands and back to their compartments under the stands.

The Arena Master raised his hand in the air and traced out another signal.  The crowd roared, and a large, muscular Hsszat, almost a meter and a half tall, stepped from a doorway under the stands.  This being was unarmed, with the exception of his natural weapons, giving him at first glance the same armament as the human he faced.  Of course, his armament was something he was used to carrying his entire life.  Armament that didn’t hinder his movements in the least.

Jayden looked up as the Hsszat entered the arena.  His eyes changed as soon as he saw the other being, going from sad to angry in the space of a second.  Anger turned to rage, and the big man walked toward the Hsszat warrior.

The Hsszat took a trio of long steps toward the man, building speed and momentum, then jumped into the air, feet leading, long claws extended and pointed toward the man.

Jayden swung at the left foot of the creature, putting all of his strength and fury into the strike.  The Hsszat, seeing the strike coming, moved its leg up at the last second.  Jayden’s blades cut superficially into the calf muscle of the big carnivore.  The Hsszat hissed slightly, then drove both legs into the abdomen of the man.  The dinosauroid straightened its body and ripped down, slicing through the stomach muscles of the man.  Blood spurted and ran, and a thick coil of intestines spilled out of the wound.  The intestines themselves ruptured open along cut lines, spilling their foul smelling contents onto the sand.

Jayden’s eyes lost their fury as the man realized he was dead on his feet.  He swayed for a moment, the Hsszat swaying its neck back and forth with him.  The head then shot forward and rotated to the left, jaws opening wide.  It took the larger man in the throat, teeth clamping down to sever the windpipe and open up the veins.  Jayden jerked in the jaws for a moment, his hand slapping at the leathery snout, trying to loosen the grip.  The man was dead an instant later, eyes rolling up to show whites as his knees buckled.  The Hsszat warrior followed the man down to the ground, jaws locked, then released to let the body flop limply to the surface.  The warrior stood, his mouth open, blood dripping from teeth.  The warrior roared, a roar repeated by the crowd.

“Death,” hissed the Arena Master, thumping his staff on the floor that sounded like a gong.  “Death has visited the arena.  Death has snuffed the life from two infested with it.  Death is always the winner.  To death we pledge our service, that he may more easily visit and release the infestation of life.”

The crowded arena sounded with the repetition of the priest’s chant.  Darcy wanted to cover her ears and hide her eyes.  She had done so in the past, and had been forced by hard hands to watch and listen to it all.  She shuddered as she looked down at the two bodies in the sand, surrounded by the wet patches that were their blood.  She fought the shudder and stilled herself.  It was no use showing any kind of emotion around these creatures.  To do so only left one open to more hardship.

“Your lessons await you,” said the Arena Master as the warriors and technicians flowed out of the arena.  Another Hsszat was waiting when Darcy turned.  Darcy looked down as soon as she glimpsed the old female, lest her hatred be seen as a challenge.  Grozzit, thought Darcy, seeing the missing toes on the right foot.

She followed the female out of the viewing platform and into the crowded and filthy corridors of the ship.  She avoided looking at any of the passing Hsszat in the face.  All were charged by the violence they had just witnessed.  Any might respond to a straight look, especially from a creature they considered inferior, as a challenge to be met by immediate response.  That such response would lead to their own death wouldn’t stop them.  Sometimes the race reminded Darcy of a collection of preschoolers, reacting instead of acting.

“Get on the machine, little one,” said Grozzit, bowing toward the computers sitting on the desks.  This was a training area for the young, who would all be engaged in learning combat activities at this time.

Darcy selected a machine that was familiar to her and logged in, using the circular boards that accepted the hand claws of the Hsszat.  Her small fingers fit easily in the holes, and in a couple of seconds she had the computer up and running.  The first half hour of the lesson was the language and customs of the Hsszat, her normal fare.  The rest of the two hours consisted of Darcy answering questions as the screen showed her images of her old planet, information gleaned from the data banks of the world.  Darcy answered the questions, knowing as she did that she was helping this enemy learn about her people.  Tears rolled from her eyes as images of horses, herds of cattle, or fields of wheat shone across the screen.  I will destroy you, she promised herself once more as she watched the world that no longer existed scroll before her.  No matter what it takes.

After was another hour of learning of the Hsszat.  She knew they planned to use her against her own people.  She in turn learned all she could about the Hsszat, that she might be able to use it against them.

Table of Contents

“Take that,” yelled the Tactical Officer, getting lock on the now straight path missile. A laser sho...

Dedication

Books by Doug Dandridge

Cast of CharactersThe CapitalGrand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski:

Timeline

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

EpilogueCONUNDRUM SYSTEM, APRIL 18TH THROUGH 19TH

About the Author

Books by Doug DandridgeScience FictionThe Deep Dark Well TrilogyThe Deep Dark Well

Excerpt from We Are Death, Come For You.