Date: 2014-04-23T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: Sean needs a victory, before Parliament returns a no confidence vote and leaves him a figurehead ruler. The Ca'cadasans are almost through with their conquest of Sector IV, and from the there, the heart of the Empire is exposed. The Ca'cadasans continue to roll over the New Terran Empire and the New Terran Republic. Hit and run tactics are taking a toll on the enemy, bleeding them, but not enough. Frontier worlds, developing planets, and worse, the industrial powerhouses known as Core Worlds, are falling at an alarming rate, and even the new weapons based on wormhole tech can't stop them. Risk

Exodus: Empires at War

Book 6

The Day of Battle

by

Doug Dandridge

“We’re picking up the Cacas,” said the Sensory Officer, looking back at the Commodore.

“Right into the bag,” said the Tactical Officer, smiling.

We can only hope, thought Commodore Mei Lei, looking at the holo that showed the icons of a number of enemy ships, in hyper VII and decelerating down to translation speed.  The only other icons in hyper were those of the convoy that was the bait, traveling in hyper V and right on target.

I wish we could stop with this sniping shit and just take them on, thought the former scout ship commander, who had only recently earned a squadron command.  But that way led to defeat.  And even sniping wasn’t always the safest thing to do against this enemy.  Several groups had been badly mauled trying to take on what should have been surprised and outgunned Ca’cadasan task forces.  And one had completely disappeared.

“Shit,” she said quietly, watching as more icons appeared on the holo, until the force that appeared was over the threshold of what she was supposed to commit to.  “Get me Captain von Rittersdorf,” she said, looking over at her Com Officer.

Almost instantly the face of Maurice von Rittersdorf appeared on the holo, the bridge of the  hyper VII destroyer James Komorov behind him.  “What do you want me to do?” asked the young Duke over the wormhole com.

“What do you want to do?” asked Mei, not really sure what she wanted to do in this situation.  Doctrine called for her to refrain from engagement.  Doctrine called for any ships that could get away to do so.  All of the escort ships, besides von Rittersdorf’s, were hyper VI vessels with terrific acceleration curves.  They could easily leave the slower merchant ships behind and get away, building up enough velocity that they would be out of the sensor range of the enemy before they got through with the merchies.   James Komorov was the only hyper VII ship in the escort, and the only reason she was there was her ability to communicate with the Commodore’s flagship through her own wormhole com.

“I hate leaving the commercial vessels behind,” said the young man, who had earned his Duchy through his heroic actions in helping to rescue the Emperor, just like the Commodore.

I know how you feel, she thought, shaking her head.  The commercial vessels were actually auxiliary warships, fitted out with the best armaments and protective fields that could be provided, and crewed by Fleet personnel.  The only things they didn’t have was military class armor, or the acceleration of a warship.

Mei looked over the holo again, seeing what appeared to be the end of the enemy concentration, based on the time that had passed since the last had appeared.  Her force was still outnumbered, and outgunned, if it came to a fair stand up fight.  Which I have no intention of getting into.

“OK,” she said, looking into the eyes of the young lion on the holo.  “Keep them heading our way.  Here’s what we’ll do.”   And she outlined the strategy that she hoped would give her a victory.

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to Astronaut Michael Fincke, who truly travels beyond.  You are an inspiration to all of us, sir.  May you continue to voyage in the physical, as I voyage in the imagination.

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

Follow my Blog at http://dougdandridge.com

Follow me at @BrotherofCats

Copyright © 2014 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 four 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 Ruth de Jauregui, who helped with the covers on all of the Exodus series.  Her changes improved all of the covers.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Doug Dandridge’s Author Page at Amazon

Science Fiction

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

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

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

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger

The Deep Dark Well Series

The Deep Dark Well

To Well and Back

Deeper and Darker (coming Summer 2014)

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

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions

Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

Others

The Hunger

Daemon

Aura

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Cast of Characters

The Capital

Emperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov:  Born Year 971 (29 years old).  Fifth child and the third son of the late Emperor Augustine Romanov.

Doctor Jennifer Conway:  Physician and Consort of Emperor Sean.

Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom:  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

Prime Minister Countess Haruko Kawasaki.

Lord Garis:  Minister of State.

Lord T’lisha:  Phlistaran Minister of Security.

Lord Halbrook:  Minister of the Exchequer.

Laura Goolsby:  Speaker of Commons.

Mohamed Ishner:  Chief of Scholars.

Ekaterina Sergiov:  Chief of Imperial Intelligence Agency.

Samantha Ogden Lee. Sean’s cousin and Regent.

Countess Zhee: Member of the Lords’ Opposition Party.

Count Cornwell:  Member of Lord’s Opposition Party.

H’rressitor:  Gryphon Minister of Commerce and Industry.

Baron Emile von Hausser Schmidt: Leader of the House of Lords.

Archduke Percival Marconi:  Leader of the Lords’ Opposition Party.

The Fleet

Commodore Duchess Mei Lei:  Hyper VII battle cruiser squadron commander.

Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf:  Squadron Commander hyper VII destroyer squadron.

Ensign Lasardo:  Rittersdorf’s tactical officer.

Commodore Bryce Suttler:  Commander HIMS Seastag (Stealth Attack 421).

Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic.  Tactical, HIMS Seastag.

Commander Chris Browne:  Captain, Stealth Attack HMIS Dolphin.

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

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

Vice Admiral Mara Montgomery.  Commander, Hyper VII Scout Force, Battle Fleet.

Admiral Chuntao Chan:  Director of Fleet R & D.

Commodore Natasha Romanov: Commander of NTR Light Cruiser Orleans.

Captain Stella English:  Commander  light cruiser HIMS Lancanshire.

Chief Petty Officer First Jana Gorbachev:  Former Prisoner of the Ca’cadasans.

Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav:  Commander, Congreeve System.

Captain Mary Innocent:  Sean’s Intelligence Officer.

Captain Javier Montoya:  Captain, Augustine I.

John Jacobs:  Sean’s Steward.

Admiral Peter Chrone:  Head of a weapon’s development program, assigned to the Donut.

Fleet Admiral Benjamin O’Hara:  Naval Commander of the Donut.

Commodore Natasha Sung:  Commanding Officer, exploration mission to the far side of Ca’cadasan Space.

Commander Marc Dawson:  Engineering Officer, Congreeve System.

Rear Admiral Kelso:  Sean’s Flag Captain and Chief of Staff.

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.

Imperial Army

Cornelius Walborski:  Cadet Lieutenant and two time holder of the Imperial Medal of Heroism.

Brigadier General Samuel Baggett:  Brigade Commander,

Brigadier General Walther Jodel, The Preacher:  Army Ranger Brigade Commander.

Colonel Dagni Thorwaldsdottir:  Brigade Assistant Commander.

Lieutenant Jay Cummings:  Platoon Commander: Main Battle Tanks.

Ca’cadasans

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

High Admiral Kellissaran Jarkastarin:  Third Cousin to the Emperor and rival of the Great Admiral.

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.

Others

Sonia Rupert:  IIA Agent, former member of Imperial Protection Detail.

Father Matias Josue:  Reformed Catholic Priest on Congreeve.

Citizen Prestor Johnson:  Trillionaire and developer of Congreeve System.

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

Rebecca Walborski:  Sean and Devera’s adopted daughter.

President Julia Graham:  Elected Leader of the New Terran Republic.

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, 4261, Ca’cadasan invasion of Empire begins in earnest with the attack on Sestius and Massadara.

March 29- April 5th 4261 AD, Sean leads rescue mission to Sestius.

Maps

The Story So Far

In 2254 the human species had spread to eight star systems after the discovery of the Subspace drive, allowing humankind to achieve pseudospeeds of over eleven times the speed of light.  That was the year the human species first encountered the long lived Ca’cadasans, three meter tall horned carnivores whose empire had been expanding for thousands of years.  That was the year the aliens attacked the Epsilon Iridani V colony.  When the heir to their imperial throne was killed after the colony had surrendered, the Emperor orders the complete extermination of the human species.  After a short, sharp war, humanity had no other option than to try and flee the killer aliens.  The six Exodus ships are built, each capable of moving fifty thousand humans in cryostasis, along with all the knowledge of the human species.  One ship is known to get away through subspace, a dimension through which the more advanced hyperspace faring Ca’cadasans are not prepared to follow.  Four generations of crew navigate the Exodus III over ten thousand light years in a thousand years, reestablishing humanity in a system of eight stars in orbit around a black hole the Supersystem.  Once the home of an extinct species that had helped raise most of the intelligent races of the area to technical civilizations, it was also the perfect region for the newcomers.  Over the next thousand years the New Terran Empire fights, wins and expands in a number of wars, improving their technology at breakneck speed, becoming the dominant military power of the region.  Humanity also improves its genome, becoming stronger, faster and smarter, and seemed destined to rule the Perseus Arm, given time.

On the thousand year anniversary of the empire, Emperor Augustine I is having prophetic dreams, the gift and curse of his line.  He has seen the ancient enemy returning, finding the human species disunited in its three governments, and utterly destroying them.  Augustine has fought to expand the military, running into obstructionism from the Lords House of Parliament.  It is an uphill battle in the Constitutional Monarchy the Empire has become.  Meanwhile, the Donut, a century long engineering project, is nearing completion.  The enormous station, built as a ring around a black hole, and using the swirling gravitational energy to generate wormholes, has begun to make the many portals that will be used to eventually link the Empire.  And spies have infested the Empire, a race of shape shifters who make most security measures moot, adding sabotage and espionage to the problems facing the Emperor.

Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, the third son of the Emperor, is a serving naval officer on a battleship in a relatively quiet sector, with no thoughts of ever assuming the throne.  He is a mediocre officer, despite his superior intelligence.  With two brothers ahead of him in the succession, and a still young father, the throne seems like the least his worries.  By this time the Ca’cadasans have made contact with some of the enemies of the Empire, and sent the information back to their leaders.  The ancient enemy has been found, and can now be eliminated.  Ships begin to disappear in Sector IV, and sightings are made of vessels that fit no known description.  Many people refuse to believe these are the Ca’cadasans, and some think that Empire must have fallen in the near past.  The Emperor continues to try to rally support for increasing the size of the human military, while Parliament fights him on the economic effects of such a move, and alien powers protest that the humans are planning territorial expansion.

There is an attempted assassination attempt on Sean, and a successful attempt on the Emperor and his two older sons during a tour of the Donut.  The assassin is an officer of the Imperial Protection Detail, causing distrust to grow among the agencies charged with the security of the Empire.  The same day as the assassination, the Leader of the House of Lords is killed in his home.  Sean is now the heir to the Empire, and the man who must be seated as soon as possible on the throne, but he is almost a week’s one way com range from the capital.

The Ca’cadasans now attack, sending large fleets into several industrial or base systems, and smaller forces to many other stars.  The Massadara system, a major Imperial base, is one of the systems attacked.  Sean is serving on one of the battleships that happens to be in that system, and is aboard the vessel as it heads into combat with the enemy.  Word comes to the system that Sean is the uncrowned Emperor, and his ship, against his protests, is ordered out of combat.  His ship, the Sergiov, heads out of the system before the main battle is joined, a small Ca’cadasan force on its heels.  The main battle is joined, and, though it inflicts casualties on the Ca’cadasan fleet that is only about a decade ahead in technology, it is defeated, and the system falls.

The Sergiov is battered by the enemy, and Sean is rescued from the ship by Captain Mei Lei and her hyper VII battle cruiser.  The battle cruiser fights its way out of the system with the help of Commander Bryce Suttler’s stealth/attack ship, and, along with Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf and his destroyer, starts on the voyage to get Sean back to the capital and the throne.  The Ca’cadasans track the two vessels, and Sean escapes on the destroyer while Mei sacrifices her ship in a battle with the Ca’cadasan supercruisers.  The battle cruiser Jean de Arc falls out of hyperspace in a catastrophic translation, a low survivability event, but nonetheless manages to survive and starts the long journey home.

Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery is dispatched with her scout force to locate Sean and get him back to the capital, while von Rittersdorf plays hide and seek against the Ca’cadasans, trying to get the unseated Emperor to safety.  Von Rittersdorf catches one of the much larger Ca’cadasan ships in a brilliant ambush which destroys the enemy ship, while causing severe damage to his own.  Montgomery’s task force enters the system, and she dispatches the other two supercruisers, then takes the Emperor aboard her flagship.  Von Rittersdorf begins the long journey home in his crippled ship with escorts.  Sean learns that one of the nearby systems is under siege and, against the protests of the Admiral, orders her to take her ships to break that siege and evacuate the colonists on the frontier world.  Meanwhile, the Leader of the House of Lords advances plans to put an Imperial Cousin on the throne while the true heir’s whereabouts are unknown.  The Ca’cadasans invade and take the kingdom of New Moscow, and make serious inroads into the New Terran Republic, the sister governments to the Empire.

On Sestius IV Brevet Brigadier General Samuel Baggett fights the landing of the Ca’cadasans with his mixed command.  Farmer and ex-hunter Cornelius Walborski deserts the militia to get his pregnant wife to safety.  Though bleeding the enemy, Baggett is forced to fall back into the wilderness before the enemy ground warriors.  Walborski’s son is born, but his wife is killed while they are running from the aliens.  The farmer goes mad, and stalks the jungle with the skills he had learned as an assistant hunt master, killing many aliens in the jungle.  He meets the legendary Preacher of special ops fame, now a retired Ranger and current minister on the planet.

Montgomery’s task force takes the system and the planet, and evacuates all those that want to leave, just before a larger enemy force enters the system and forces it to flee.  Sean meets Dr. Jennifer Conway, who has lost her own fiancé’ in the invasion, and falls in love with her.  The scout force fights a running battle back to Conundrum base, rescued at the last moment by the fleet of Duke Taelis Mgonda.  Von Rittersdorf makes it to safety, while Mei Lei and her crew are rescued from hyper by another battle cruiser.  The XO of the Jean de Arc, Xavier Jackson, falls out of hyper while trying to rescue some crew who could not get off the ship.  Surviving the translation, he is rescued by beings from legend, the Ancients that everyone assumes are extinct.

On the Donut it is discovered that an ancient race known as the Yugalyth, another creature from legend, capable of changing its very body form over a period of days and duplicating any creature, is at large.  A Yugalyth agent imitates Dr. Lucille Yu, the station Director, and attempts to destroy the huge construct.  Dr. Yu uses quantum teleportation, an experimental technique that only succeeds in moving about half the material being teleported to its target, to teleport negative matter to destroy the bomb the creature put on the station attitude control board.  The new enemy is discovered, one which originates in the realm of the Empire’s close ally, Elysium.

The Knockermen, a reptilian race in the Elysium Empire, revolt against the dominant Brakakak.  The Brakakak eventually curb the revolt, but are forced to commit their entire fleet to searching out the rebels and breaking the rebellion.  The leader of Elysium and his family are forced to take refuge with the Terrans during the battle of the capital.

Sean comes back to the Supersystem by the wormhole gates that are now being deployed though Imperial space.  Chief of Naval Operations Gabriel Lenkowski gathers a fleet that transports Sean to the capital planet, where, with a large force of Marines, he lands during the coronation ceremony and stops the Lords from crowning his cousin.  Sean is now Emperor, Commander and Chief of the Imperial Military, and, given his wartime powers, the most powerful Monarch in a century.  His companions go off to other commands; Mei Lei to a battle cruiser squadron, one equipped with new wormhole launch weapons; von Rittersdorf to lead a new destroyer squadron; and Baggett to command of a heavy infantry brigade.  Cornelius Walborski, on the recommendation of Preacher, joins the Imperial Army with hopes of being augmented and becoming a Ranger.

The Ca’cadasans hit Conundrum, the HQ of Sector IV, hours after Sean jumps through the wormhole from there.  They take the system, and land troops to complete the conquest of the planet.  Sean is forced to engage in a hit and run war against an enemy that is still more advanced, and more powerful, than his own fleet.  He orders his units to refuse combat when possible, and only to fight when they can inflict maximum damage on the enemy.  Q-ships, militarized merchant vessels with quantum teleporters capable of sending antimatter into the interior of an enemy ship, bait and destroy Ca’cadasan raiders.  The Lords go on the warpath against Sean, demanding that he commit his fleet to a major battle.  His prophetic dreams indicate that one of the core worlds, the heavily populated industrial planets at the heart of the Empire, is a target.  But the dream does not tell him when.

Wormhole gates are dropped in occupied systems, then maneuvered to planetfall, allowing ground forces to insert.  This is done on most of the occupied worlds, allowing the units to engage the aliens in Guerilla warfare.  Preacher leads a Ranger brigade against the Ca’cadasans on the surface of Conundrum, and the campaign forces the enemy off the planet.  The Lasharans, religious fanatics, are again attacking the frontiers of the Empire, and Baggett’s unit, as part of a heavy infantry corps, is sent to take their home planet and occupy their primary temple, breaking their will.

The Ca’cadasans strike at the Cimmeria system, utterly obliterating the two inhabited industrial worlds located there.  Sean retaliates by sending forces through wormholes to strike behind the main enemy fleet and destroy their bases.  The Fenri Empire, old enemies of the humans, sign an alliance with the Ca’cadasans, and the New Terran Empire launches a spoiling attack on those aliens.  The logical beings of the Crakista Empire, seeing the Ca’cadasans as the greater threat, join the human cause, ordering their military to offer all possible aid to the humans.  Things are beginning to look up until the Ca’cadasans launch yet another assault, almost overrunning all of Sector IV.

Sean and Jennifer become lovers, a fact taken advantage of by the Yugalyth agents, who kidnap her and threaten to kill her if Sean does not place himself in their hands.  Sean agrees, and has himself equipped with a pair of small wormholes that allow him to kill the kidnappers when they think they have him in their power.

Cornelius completes Ranger school, finds a new love himself, and is assigned to the planet Azure, one of the deadliest in the Empire.  He and his men stalk the enemy through a jungle that is enemy to both, and encounter a new client race of the Ca’cadasans, the supremely competent hunters called Maurids.  Cornelius saves and is saved by a young girl, Rebecca, and completes the mission his company couldn’t, destroying a Ca’cadasan headquarters.  He returns to the capital system again a hero, one of the few to win the Imperial Medal of Heroism twice.  He marries, and gains a new mom for his baby son, and his adopted daughter, Rebecca.

Prologue

The High Admiral watched the main viewer in anticipation, literally sitting on the edge of his command chair.  Around him the bridge of his flagship bustled with activity, males manning the boards that ran the twenty-five million ton warship, and connected him to the rest of his command.  The other eleven battleships of his command were nestled in close, within light minutes by com.  A half dozen of his supercruisers were ranging deeper into the system, while the other ten and his escorts surrounded the star system in a bubble, ready to snap up any human ships that might try and escape.

“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” asked another male, the captain of the ship.  “The Great Admiral left explicit orders that non-human aliens were to be allowed to live.”

The High Admiral looked at his subordinate and growled.  I should be in command of this conquest, thought Kellissaran Jarkastarin, who was a third cousin of the Emperor.  Not that lower born lout.  All knew that Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow was the son of a common officer, raised to nobility.  To the High Admiral’s way of thinking, birth should always take precedence.

“What would you have me do, Captain?” asked the haughty male, gesturing to the main viewer.  “Even if I sent an abort signal, it wouldn’t get there in time.”

The other male gave a head nod of grudging acceptance, then turned to look at the Tactical Officer.  “How long till impact?”

“Another five minutes, my Lord,” said the lower ranking officer.

And we’re forty-eight light minutes away, you dolt, thought the High Admiral, glaring at his Flag Captain.  And you knew it  Or are you trying to cover your ass with the priests, knowing this interaction is recorded.

The High Admiral continued to sit in his chair as the timer clicked down.  When it hit zero he knew the job had been done.  There would be no life offered to the aliens who had thrown in with the humans, if there had been any on that planet.

“Orders, my Lord?” asked the Captain, walking back to the High Admiral’s chair.

“We sit here and enjoy the show,” said the High Admiral, again glaring at his subordinate until that male dropped his eyes.  The High Admiral pointed at the screen with both right index fingers.  “I have waited all my life to pay these humans back for their treachery.”

“There is nothing else of interest in the system, my Lord,” said the Captain, raising all four hands palms up.  “Wouldn’t it make sense to order the force to start decelerating so we can leave this system.”

“I want to see it up close,” said the High Admiral, a feral grin on his face.  “I want to revel in their destruction.”

The Captain gave another head shake and moved away.  The High Admiral stared at the screen which showed the blue and white globe of a living world.  But not a natural world, thought the High Admiral, a low growl in his throat.  They had learned from the human prisoners, just before they killed them, that the world ahead had been terraformed from a dead body.  Nothing was more revered in the religion of the Ca’cadasan Empire than a life bearing world.  And nothing was more reviled than a world that had been artificially imbued with life.  That is only for the Gods, thought the High Admiral.

At forty minutes the viewer showed the first flash of what the High Admiral had been waiting for.  It was a bright flash, an eye hurting impact on one of the blue sections of the world, an ocean strike.  He didn’t see the object that had come in, which wasn’t surprising, considering that the missiles were moving at over point nine c on impact.  The first flash was followed by others, until over twenty had appeared on the screen.

The High Admiral watched as each pinpoint turned into a tiny red circle, the magma coming through the penetrations of the crust and rising high into the air.  The cloud patterns changed radically as the blast waves radiated out from each hit.  In the oceans the clouds were pushed back from the circle at supersonic speeds, while the ocean floor became visible as massive tsunamis moved at almost a thousand kilometers an hour away from the strike.  Any islands and coastlines those waves hit would be inundated, probably to the high mountains.  On land the ring was not made up of water, but of fire, as forests and grasslands were consumed to ash by the fast moving flame.

The High Admiral sat there for hours, watching the death of a planet.  He sat there for half a day, until the other hemisphere was visible, and further missile strikes killed the few small areas that had not been destroyed by the death of the opposite side of the world.

*     *     *

“So,” said the Emperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, taking his seat at the head of the table so the others could take their own seats, as dictated by protocol.  “Give me some good news.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t any, your Majesty,” said the small woman sitting across from him.  “At least not militarily.”

“And that is not the news I wanted to hear,” said the Emperor with a grim smile, looking at the Chief of Naval Operations, Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom.

“I know it isn’t, your Majesty,” said the woman who had replaced Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski, who had been demoted to command of the battle fleet, which had taken a beating under his command.

Not that it’s his fault, thought the Emperor, picturing the face of the man who had been CNO under his father.  I gave him a no win situation, and he has made the best of it.

“Battle Fleet, which includes the remnants of the Sector Four Fleet, has been reduced to fifty percent of its original strength,” continued the woman who was only one rank below the Emperor himself in the military chain of command.

“Any way we can bring it up to strength?” asked Sean, pretty sure of the answer.

“Not really, your Majesty,” said the CNO.  “Oh, we can keep stripping other fleets for units, and the new production is starting to come off the yards, though not yet at the level they will by this time next year.  The Crakista fleet will help, but they won’t be fully deployed in our space for some months, and we have yet to see any units from Elysium.  The bottom line is that battle fleet is being bled to death from a thousand cuts.”

“And it’s that, or let it be annihilated in a decisive battle,” said the Emperor, looking down at the table top, not really wanting the others in the room to see the doubt in his eyes.  And that decision is mine alone.  We can’t beat them in a stand up battle.  We can only snipe at the edges, and pick our battles carefully, which brings up the other problem.

“We have lost over six hundred worlds in Sector Four,” continued the CNO, as if reading his mind.  “Add to that three core worlds.  Estimated civilian losses are now on the order of over forty billion.”

“And that brings up another problem, your Majesty,” said Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri, the Army Chief of Staff, through the silence left by McCullom’s last statement.  “I have reports of desertions on many of the worlds the Cacas have taken.  The people are losing heart, especially now that the Cacas are not landing forces for them to take on.  The soldiers would rather run into the wilderness, and survive, than hold their positions.”

“That shouldn’t be too much of a problem then,” said Sean.  “If they aren’t landing, then we really don’t have much need of ground troops.”

“Except that it will become a problem when the Cacas get enough infantry into the Empire to start ground operations again,” said the Army Chief of Staff.  “And many of the desertions have been among the troops who man our planetary defense artillery.  They see their units taking a pounding for seemingly no return, and they take off.”

“Any more bad news?” asked the Emperor, looking at his Prime Minister, Countess Haruko Kawasaki.

“There is brewing trouble in the Lords, your Majesty,” said the tiny woman, bowing her head.  “I am ashamed to say that some of my political rivals are discussing a vote of no confidence in your running of the war.”

“What kind of numbers do they have?”

“The entirety of their own block,” said the Prime Minister.  “That, in and of itself, is not enough, but they are starting to gain traction with some others.  And there is also talk in the Commons.  The Scholars are firmly in your corner, but if two houses vote no confidence.”

“Then I become a figurehead, and nothing more,” said Sean, slamming a hand down on the table.  “And some idiot takes my place to run the war.  Some idiot who will bang our heads against the military wall of the enemy.”

“People are starting to panic,” said the Prime Minister.  “They do not see the small victories that bleed the enemy.  They only see the big losses, and wonder when it will be their turn.”

“So we need a signature victory,” said McCullom.  “Something to show the people, so they will not continue to lose heart.”

“If we could defeat a major force of theirs in a battle,” said Sean, closing his eyes and feeling the stress he was carrying.

“The problem, your Majesty,” said the CNO, “is that if we get a large enough force together, we leave the rest of the Sector uncovered.  And if the enemy knows we have gathered a large enough force to win a battle, they will avoid that fight.”

“So we have to give them a reason to go where we want them to, when we want them to,” said Sean, rubbing his temples.

“But what reason could we offer them?” asked the Prime Minister, looking from face to face around the table.  “We would have to place something at risk that they couldn’t refuse to go after.  What would that be?”

Sean looked up and locked eyes with everyone one at a time, then spoke one word.  “Me.”

Chapter One

MASSADARA SPACE.  AUGUST 2nd-7th, 1001.

“I want her found,” yelled Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow, commander of all Ca’cadasan forces in human space.  “How in all the hells could she hide from us on our own ship?”

“I do not think she is on the station anymore, my Lord,” said one of the security officers, cringing before the most powerful male in thousands of light years.  “We have searched every possible location on the ship.  She is simply not here.”

“Then find out where she went, and get her back,” growled the Great Admiral, stalking back and forth on his command deck.  He had been in a good mood coming back from his conference with the Knockermen, and had wanted to quiz his human expert on the species.  “And let it be known that I want her back alive.  I will skin the Cacada who kills her.”  It would take too damned long to train another human in our language.  I need her expertise, now, more than ever.

“Do you want me to send that message out to the entire system?” asked the Com Officer.

“Of course I do, you dolt.  Did your mother have any intelligent children, or were they all idiots, like you?”

The officer blanched, then turned back to his board and got to work on sending a message.

You will be severely punished, my slave, thought the Great Admiral, walking to the system holo and staring at the representation of all the bodies in orbit around their star.  I won’t kill you, but you will wish you were dead.

*     *     *

The shuttle hit the outer atmosphere and started to shake from the turbulence.  The pilot struggled to control the ship, barely able to reach the controls in a seat that was built for a much larger being.  Ca’cadasans were three meters tall, and bulky to boot, while the human occupying the seat was less than one point six meters, and of petite build.

That’s never been a problem before, thought Chief Petty Officer Jana Gorbachev, her eyes locked to the viewer that showed the curve of the planet below.  When she had served aboard a ship, the battle armor that naval ratings wore on duty nullified her physical weakness as compared to much larger males.  It had made her just as strong as anyone else, quadruple the lifting/pulling power of the average human. Unfortunately, she was not wearing the armor now, but only the vacuum survival suit her Ca’cadasan masters had provided.

The main speaker sounded with the voice of an angry Cacada male, asking her what the hell she was doing.  She was fluent in the language, but hadn’t the time to program the ship’s computer to make her voice sound like one of the big aliens.  She could only sound like what she was, a small alien with imperfect pronunciation of the language, nowhere near the skills of a native speaker.

They were ordering her to return, and threatening destruction if she didn’t.  The memory of a pair of Ca’cadasan technicians, or at least what was left of them after she had hit them with a particle beam, laying on the shuttle deck of the station, chased that temptation from her mind.  She was sure they would kill her if she came back, while it was still only a chance, albeit a great one, that she would be blown out of space if she continued.

Jana’s hands shook as she punched the control board, her mind translating the Ca’cadasan symbols into English.  I haven’t been this scared since I fought off Uncle Serge, that time he got drunk and tried to get in my pants.   The image of her as a fourteen year old girl came to mind.  I’m a grown woman now, four decades older, with twenty-two years’ service in the Fleet.  But the things after her wanted to do more than have sex with her.  They wanted to end her.  She came from a long lived family, and expected to reach two hundred and fifty or more standard years.  But she wouldn’t get there if her body was converted to plasma above this planet.

Her long blond hair, grown out from her normal bob while in captivity, fell over her eyes, and she furiously pushed it aside, wishing she had remembered to put a headband around it.  She really didn’t have the time to deal with it now, and it was just one more stress in a supremely stressful situation.

“We are being fired at,” said the ship’s computer in Ca’cadasan.

“How close are they coming?” she asked as she set the ship into evasive maneuvers.

“From the pattern, I estimate that they are shooting to miss,” said the ship.

A voice erupted over the speaker, again demanding that she turn back or face destruction.  She shook her head and continued on.  I’m either going to make it down to that planet, or they can kill me, she thought, wishing again that she had some hand controls like a joystick, so she could do something other than sit and push buttons.

“They have stopped firing,” said the ship’s computer.  “The station is launching pursuit craft.”

Why in the hell would they do that? she thought, looking at the viewer that showed two small dots curving away from the station.  She zoomed in on one, and saw that it was a small ground support ship, used for orbit to surface missions.  “Fire on those ships,” she ordered the computer, knowing that the chances of her vessel hitting one of the truly maneuverable craft with its one stern laser was negligible.  Or at least scoring a hit that meant anything.

The intensity of the ship’s shaking increased, and the readouts were showing the surface temps going into the thousands of degrees.  Not bad for a modern shuttle.  Deadly if something ripped a hole in her skin.

“Set the com for the human tactical frequency,” she ordered the computer.  “I don’t care which one,” she finished, before the machine could ask her a stupid question.  She just had to figure that they would be monitoring all of them.

“This is CPO Jana Gorbachev, ex of the HIMS Sergiov.  I have been a prisoner of the Cacas since they took the system.  I have vital information for the Empire.”

She stopped talking and listened, hoping there would be a reply.  After minutes of nothing she sent them the same message.

“Please.  I need help,” she said after no reply to her repeat.  “I have information that is important to the Empire.”

Again, there was no reply, and she started to level the shuttle out, looking for a place to set down.  The ground attack craft were on her rear, and one fired a particle beam that struck the tail of her ship.  The shuttle shook with the hit, and she again wondered why they didn’t just shoot her down.

Something streaked by her ship, and it rocked again a moment later.  Jana looked into the rear viewer and shouted for joy as she saw the cloud of debris that had been an enemy chase ship.  The other ship started to go into evasive maneuvers, no longer on the hunt, now just trying to survive.  A trio of particle beams reached up and struck the remaining craft, and it flipped over in the air as its nose converted to plasma.

“Shuttle,” came a voice over the com.  “There will be a flare to the front of your ship within the next three minutes.  You are to bail out of your craft at that point, and allow it to continue on.”

Shit, thought the woman, thinking quickly.  There was nothing aboard the shuttle she could use for an emergency egress.  Or was there?  She unbuckled her strap and got out of her seat, running to the rear and looking at the cubby that held one set of Ca’cadasan naval combat armor.  It was way too big for her, but it had grabbers, and they could lower her to the ground.  But it’s too damned big for me to control, she thought.  Then she came up with a hopeful solution.

She hit the commit button on the cubby and it opened.  Next she pushed the switch that moved the suit out of the cubby.  She bent down and looked at where the leg grabbers attached and saw what she needed, then ran to the repair station and grabbed the tool that fit the need.

The thing felt huge in her hands, but she knew that complaining about it wouldn’t change anything.  She inserted the tip of the tool into the top holder for the grabber, then turned on the switch.  With a whirling sound the bolt came up and out.  She put it in a pocket in her survival suit and got the next one out.  The grabber unit fell to the floor, and she had to hope nothing in it got damaged.  Not likely, she thought.  It was part of combat armor, and probably very hard to damage.  She repeated the procedure and pulled the second unit off.

She brought the units over to the repair cubby to look for what else she needed.  She found some strapping and quickly pulled the buckles to size it, then taped the grabbers to the strap with some maintenance tape, praying that the Caca version of the ubiquitous repair strapping was as good as the human kind.  She found a panel switch that looked like it would work, then ran the wires to the grabbers, wrapping them around the upper bolts and using the tool to set the bolts and hold the units in place.

She looked up, realizing that she didn’t have much time at all.  Running back to the cockpit, she threw herself in the seat and set the control board so the ship would do what she wanted it to.  As soon as she hit the commit button she caught sight of the flare rising up over the forest ten kilometers ahead.

The shuttle slowed down as she hit the throttle switch, and she ran back to the repair station and shrugged herself into the straps.  This is really stupid, she thought.  And it’s going to get me killed.  Since she couldn’t think of a better idea, she had to go with this one.  The timer ticking on her implant, she ran to the hatch and pushed the control.

The hatch swung open, and she grabbed a handhold as the swirling wind tried to pull her out of the shuttle.  Not yet, she thought, holding on tight, letting the timer tick down.  When it hit zero she released the handhold and let the air current pull her out.

The tail almost caught her as she flew past it.  Then she was free in the air, and the shuttle continued on for a couple of seconds, then put on a burst of speed and started to climb.  She hit the grabber control, and panicked as nothing happened.  “Shit,” she yelled as she fell toward the ground a couple of hundred meters below.  She said a prayer, hoping that God would at least send her to a better place.  The grabbers caught, and she slowed to a reasonable speed.

The CPO fell like that for a hundred meters, until one of the units went out and she found herself looking down at the ground, and falling faster than she wanted.  She pushed the switch up to max and her fall slowed, though she was still looking down.  Then she was in the trees, just before the unit failed completely.

The first branch hit her in the midsection, and she tried to grab on and failed.  She caught the second branch, losing her wind at the same time.  Jana held on as tight as she could, despite the anxiety induced weakness that was sapping her strength.  She was finally able to get a breath in her lungs, then took some breaths and started to work her way down the tree.

“Stop right there,” said a close voice.  “Don’t move.  We have you covered.”

Jana swallowed and said nothing, following the directions to the letter.  They’re humans, at least.  And they didn’t shoot me coming down.

There was a crack of an explosion from above, and Jana was sure that was the end of her escape shuttle.  A hand touched her on the shoulder, then swept down her survival suit, checking her for weapons.  The hand left her body for a moment, then came back, holding a knife which sliced easily through the straps holding the grabber units to her body.  They dropped to the forest floor, and another hand grabbed her shoulder and turned her around.

“Get out of the survival suit,” said the young man who was standing in front of her.  He was wearing another kind of survival suit, the type issued to special ops in the Army and Marines.  Two other men stood to either side of him, about ten meters away, holding their bull pup rifles aimed at her head.

“I just escaped,” she said, wondering if there was some confusion here.

“Or you were sent to infiltrate us,” said the closest of the men.  “Now strip down, to your skin.  I want to be sure you have nothing on you that might compromise our base.”

Jana nodded, starting to strip out of the suit, dropping it to the ground.  Then she shrugged out of her underclothes, standing naked in front of the men.  She could see the appreciation in their eyes, and felt a flush of embarrassment come over her.  Not that she was ashamed of her body, but standing like this in front of men she didn’t know was almost too much.

“I’m going to scan you,” said the leader, pulling out a small unit and running it over her body, paying particular attention to all of her orifices.  Another of the men pulled his pack off his back and reached in, pulling out a coverall which he tossed to the leader.  “Put this on, over all of you, including your head.  Do not try to remove it until we tell you to.  If you do, we will shoot you.”

Jana nodded and pulled the outfit on, which she knew would isolate her from any possibility of transmitting to anyone, if she happened to have any such devices in her.  After she was completely covered the leader checked her out, then led the way as his two men fell in behind her.

The base was in a cavern, and was swarming with people in military garb.  She was led to a shielded room and made to disrobe again, then scanned by more sensitive instruments.

“You look OK,” said an officer after the exam.

Jana pulled on a naval coverall that was provided for her and finally felt a sense of relief.  I’m safe, she thought.  Four hours later, after a long underground walk, she was being questioned by some officers who decided that she needed to be sent up the line.

It was four days to the cavern that contained the wormhole.  By this time she was trusted, and treated well by all those who escorted her.  And then she was in the wormhole chamber, taking a step forward a half meter, and across over a thousand light years of space.

Chapter Two

SUPERSYSTEM SPACE.  AUGUST 5TH, 1001.

“Arise, Duchess of Coventry,” said the voice of the Emperor as the Sword of State was pulled up and away from her shoulders.

Doctor Jennifer Conway, brand new Duchess of Coventry, looked up at the smiling man holding the sword.

“Are you sure this is legal?” asked Jennifer, getting to her feet and giving the young man her hand.  “What if Streeter has some relatives out there you don’t know about?”

“Ekaterina?” said Sean, looking over at his Chief Spy, the head of the Imperial Intelligence Agency, Ekaterina Sergiov.

“Not a chance, Duchess,” said the smiling Spymaster.  “He never married, and has no illegitimate children.  There may be some distant cousins, who really have no claim to the Duchy.  So no.  You are it, like it or not.”

Jennifer frowned as she thought about that.  She really hadn’t liked the idea, even when the reason behind it was explained to her.  She looked at the young Emperor and decided she could live with the temporary elevation.  Temporary, because according to Sean there was an even higher rank in her future.

“Now that that’s over,” said the Monarch, handing the Sword of State to one of his knights, among several here as witnesses, “we can get on to the next piece of business.”

This time Sean knelt, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling a small box from it.  He opened the box, revealing a ring set with perfect diamonds and emeralds.  “Duchess Coventry,” he said, taking her right hand in his left.  “Will you marry me?”

“I’m not sure,” she said with a mischievous smile.  “This Duchess thing may suit me better.”  She laughed a bit at the expression on Sean’s face.  “Of course I’ll marry you, you dolt.”

“She is already learning how to act like a wife,” said the Prime Minister, Countess Haruko Kawasaki, and the entire room erupted in laughter.

Sean slid the ring on her finger, then stood up and led the way to the doors to the chamber, and the waiting press.  This was the part Jennifer was not looking forward to.  At least they had not been permitted into the chamber during the ceremony.  Only high government officials and personal friends of the Emperor had been allowed to attend.  She took a last look at the people in the room, a smile coming to her lips as she saw Cornelius’ wife, Devera, and his adopted daughter, Rebecca.  Cornelius, newly knighted, was too busy with Officer Candidate School for something this minor to interrupt.

And then they were through the doors, among the scores of floating cameras that followed their every move.  Newsies were in their faces, asking questions, some more personal than Jennifer wanted to answer.  Five minutes, she thought.  That’s what Sean had promised would be the limit.  The killer question came before the end of minute three.

“Do you really think, with your common genetics, that you can give the Emperor an appropriate heir?” asked the woman with the disapproving expression.  The tag on her blouse said she was a reporter for a local Capitulum news syndicate, which sent their reports to hundreds of out of system outlets.

Jennifer felt the tears coming, and Sean stepped in front of her and glared at the reporter.  “The interviews are over,” he said with a forceful manner.  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.  My press secretary will answer any further questions.”

Sean put a hand on her arm and led her through the crowd of reporters, who had parted like a sea before the Imperial Secret Service agents who moved them.

Jennifer found herself on a comfortable old couch in a sitting room, sobbing, not really sure how she had gotten there.  Sean sat next to her, holding her in his arms.  She drew in a breath and looked into the face of the man she loved.

“There’s the rub, your Majesty,” she said, sorry immediately for using that term as she saw her lover wince.  “I will never be acceptable to the people.  Nor will any heir I produce.”

“You let me worry about that,” said the Emperor, holding her tight.  “There are ways around the genetics.  We can have the child engineered to have all the Imperial genes.”

“But will it be mine?” asked the young women, hanging her head.  She knew there was no answer to that question, and she was grateful that Sean didn’t try to provide one they both would know for a lie.

*     *     *

Sean looked at the ship in the viewer with growing excitement as the shuttle made its approach.  He could have walked aboard through one of the ship’s wormhole gates, the one that was configured as a passenger portal while the vessel was not prepared for combat.  But it’s such a good view coming in from the outside, he thought, marveling at the vessel that would be his flagship for the coming campaigns.

“She looks different,” said the Emperor, zooming the viewer in on the ship.

“The Bureau of Ships decided to make a few changes on the craft,” said Captain Javier Montoya, the commander of the Dreadnought.  “It added some mass to her, and now she tops out at twenty-seven million tons.”

“Making her the largest warship in human space, including those of our enemy,” said Sean after a moment’s thought.  Dreadnought seems like such an awkward term, though.  If I remember my history correctly, Dreadnoughts came before the big battleships of the twentieth century Earth fleets.  But then again, super duper battleship sounds kind of awkward as well.  So what in the hell do we call the next bigger class of ships.  That would not be a problem for quite some time, but there were sure to be bigger, more powerful ships coming out of the yards of all the major powers before this war was over.  If we make it to that point.

Barely visible on the viewer behind the massive ship were four more just like her, all that would be available for this operation.  There would be more coming out of the yards, but the completion date for the next five was six months in the future.  He put that thought out of his mind and concentrated on the toys he had to play with now.

“When will the skins be deployed?” he asked the Captain as he looked at the ship to his front.  The shuttle started to loop up over the Augustine I, the first of her name.  Sean made note of the six laser rings, two more than carried by a regular battleship, each with thirty percent more power, giving her almost twice the light amp firepower of a fifteen million ton warship.  He knew that there were six matter antimatter reactors onboard, each only seventy percent of the capacity of a battleship’s or superbattleship’s.  Still, those six gave her two point one times the energy generation of a battleship, or one point one times the power profile per weight.  And losing one reactor was not as big a deal as it was in the smaller ships, with their two units.

“We hope to begin deployment by the end of the week,” said the Captain, a frown on his face.

“I know, Captain,” said the Monarch, putting an arm around the man’s shoulder.  “But think of the expression on the faces of the Cacas when they see what we have planned.”

The Captain smiled at that, shaking his head.  Sean knew it sounded like a mad scheme.  But if it worked, it would go down as a stroke of genius.  If not?  Then Sean might find himself a figurehead or the rest of a very short war, if he survived.

The hangar deck was also oversized.  Maybe not in the same category as those on carriers.  Still, the deck stretched ahead over two hundred and fifty meters, with a width of one hundred.  And it was only one of eight aboard the ship, which also doubled as a strike carrier with forty-eight attack fighters aboard.  The shuttle came through the cold plasma field and into the hangar that was completely empty, all of its vessels moved to others to make space for the receiving ceremony.

As soon as the shuttle made it through the entrance the thick armored doors of the hangar started to close.  Most times the doors would stay open while the ship was in port.  The cold plasma shield was normally enough for safety.  But not to the babysitters of my Imperial ass, thought Sean, watching the huge doors close behind the shuttle.  The shuttle touched down with a light thump, just as the hangar doors closed with a vibration through the deck plates.

Sean walked down the short ramp from the shuttle to deck, following the head of his Marine security detail, who was checking out everything on the deck of the hangar.  My God, thought Sean, looking at the man.  He can’t seriously think I’m in any danger here, on my own flagship.  The Captain of the ship was the only other man ahead of him, and that worthy raised a hand into the air and started the show on the road.

The ship’s band, which had just formed up on the deck, started into the Imperial March, the tune that had been played to welcome Emperors for over eight hundred years.  The Marine honor guard, an entire company in dress reds, snapped to attention and rendered their rifle salute, while the several hundred officers and senior CPOs in formation delivered a hand salute.  Sean stepped off of the ramp and returned the salute.

Captain Montoya introduced his XO and senior officers, then moved on to the contingent that was Sean’s personal staff.

“Admiral Kelso,” said Sean, reaching out a hand to grasp that of the Rear Admiral that was his Flag Captain.  “Good to see you again.”

“Your Majesty,” said the smiling man, his freckled face showing a wealth of laugh lines that indicated his character.  “Allow me to introduce Captain Mary Innocent, your Intelligence Officer.”

The woman smiled and offered her own hand, while Sean attempted to keep from laughing at the name of his chief military spy.  “How did someone named Innocent end up in intelligence?” he finally asked.

“That is a long story, your Majesty,” said the woman.

“Perhaps you can regale his Majesty with it at the staff gathering tonight,” said Admiral Kelso.

There were some more introductions, then Sean was escorted to the Flag Bridge, preceded and followed by Marine and Secret Service security.  It was much as Sean remembered, a huge room fifty meters in length by forty wide.  There were over a hundred workstations in the chamber, from the pit around the central holo to the two tiers that rose above the floor around the perimeter of the room.  Only this time those stations were mostly occupied, while ratings and junior officers walked from place to place carrying messages, or supervising those under their charge.

“This is your station, your Majesty,” said Kelso, gesturing to the raised dais that looked over the lower floor and the enormous central holo.  “But when we are in combat we have something else rigged up for you.”

Sean bounded up the steps to the station and threw himself into the comfortable chair that could reconfigure into an acceleration couch on command.  Holo projectors were recessed into the floor around the chair.  A couple of steps down from the chair on either side were two other stations, manned by a commander and lt. commander respectively, the Fleet Tactical Officer and Chief Com Officer.

Sean allowed himself to sit in the chair for ten minutes, looking around his new command post.  He called up the holos around the chair, moving them through the circuit of what they could show him.  The holos cycled from a view of the command bridge, to the bridges of other ships, to views outside the Augustine I.  He stopped cycling through the smaller views and looked at the large central holo tank, twenty meters by ten, in the exact center of the bridge.  It showed the entire solar system in a tactical view, and from his perspective seemed to cover an area twice as large as it was.  With a thought through his link he expanded the view to the entire Supersystem, the bright dots of the eight stars in three dimensional array around the central black hole.  The names of the objects appeared beneath them.  Tens of thousands of smaller dots sat in the holo, planets, moons, stations, even the ships of the Fleet.  As soon as Sean concentrated on any one dot it expanded in his view, until he was looking at a world, or a battleship.

“Beautiful,” he said to the Rear Admiral.  He yawned in mid-sentence, and smiled with embarrassment at the officer.  “I think I will retire to my quarters for a bit of rest.”

His quarters were slightly different from the way he remembered them.  The main entrance, through the guard room, was now occupied by Marines behind a desk with a transparent barrier overhead.  On the other side of the entryway was a door that led to the sleeping quarters of the duty squad.  He noted that the walls were much thicker here than the rest of the central capsule rooms, something he hadn’t noticed before.  They’re trying to protect me from threats internal and external, was his thought.  He shrugged his shoulders and continued on into his living quarters, a large room with conversation area, dining area, even a pool table that could convert to other gaming surfaces.

Killer, the Himalayan kitten that Duchess Lei had gifted him with, looked up from the couch where he was laying and came running.  The cat was all long legs, in the way of growing kitten, and it was excited to see the man that had been imprinted onto its little mind.  Sean bent and picked the kitten up, cradling it in his arms while it purred away.  Almost feels like a cheat, he thought, looking into the blue eyes of the feline.  I didn’t actually earn the thing’s loyalty by raising him.  He dismissed that thought.  He was here now, and the cat would be welcome company to help relieve his stress.

“Is there anything I can do for your Majesty?” asked the onboard steward, John Jacobs, coming out of his quarters across from the small but well-appointed kitchen.

“Maybe something to eat in a bit,” said Sean, stifling another yawn.  “But first I would like a nap.”

“Your bed is ready,” said the man, who Sean noticed moved with exceptional grace for someone middle aged.

Of course.  He’s enhanced.  Leave it to my babysitters to think of everything.  “I’ll just take this little bundle of destruction with me and go catch some zz’s,” he told the man, heading to the door that opened onto his sleeping quarters.  Again the room he entered was well appointed, with another door leading into a bathroom, and one into a large walk in closet.  Sean thought he might check them out later, but for now the large bed beckoned.

After taking off boots and jacket the young man threw himself into the bed, the kitten bounding up to cuddle next to him.  He fell asleep in moments to the deep purring of the feline laying against his side.

*     *     *

Samantha Ogden Lee stared at the man sitting in the chair before her like he was excrement left on the street.  Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to see you disappear, like your predecessors, thought the young woman.  She was really too young to be Regent, which was a position normally filled by an elder counselor, sitting in for an Emperor who was not yet of age to make legal decisions.  But she was only forty-two, much too young, though only twelve years older than the Monarch she was sitting in for.

“I must warn you again, young lady,” said Archduke Percival Marconi, the newly appointed head of the Loyal Opposition, “that should the Emperor continue to make the kind of decisions he has made, we will press for a vote of no confidence.”

“And what kind of decisions would you have liked him to make, your Grace?” asked the young woman, feeling the anger rising within her.

“Well,” said the man, looking down his nose at someone he obviously felt was his inferior, despite her inclusion in the Imperial family.  “He could try to actually win some victories with the Fleet we give him.  It is a disgrace that we are losing territory to these, invaders, and that so many people have had to die.”

You pompous asshole, thought Samantha, recalling that this man had no military experience, yet felt himself qualified to judge military decisions.  “And how would you do things differently, your Grace.”

“I would meet them in battle and defeat them,” said the man, the expression on his face showing that he thought such a question could only come from an idiot.

“Yes, but how?” asked Samantha, biting off each word in anger.  “How would you, a noted tactician and strategist, fight and win against an opponent that outnumbers and outclasses us, all the while trying to preserve the Fleet so that said enemy doesn’t drive a spear into the industrial heart of the Empire?”

“I am not an idiot, young lady.  And will not be treated as such.”

No, your Grace.  You are an idiot, but are so caught up in yourself and your birthright that you cannot see it.  If I didn’t know better, I might think you are one of the shape shifters, in the guise of the Archduke.  “So, what is your solution, your Grace?”

“My solution is to put the best interests of the Empire and the Human Species ahead of the privilege of one man, and let those of us with more wisdom do what is right for our people.”

And you amateurs would see us fight the decisive battle, then lose it all in a day.  “I am afraid that his Majesty has no intention of stepping down as supreme commander.  Nor will the military accept being run by a council of competing Lords.”

“They will have no choice, if we vote no confidence in the Emperor.”

“Why you pompous ass,” said Samantha, tiring of the man and his threats.  “The military will not accept that vote.  Neither the Imperial Army nor the Fleet have any confidence in you people, and will not stand for your meddling in military affairs.  And I am sure the many employees of the Emporal branch of government will also let you know what they think of your idea.”

“That would be treason,” said the Archduke, his eyes narrowing.  “And traitors are subject to arrest and execution.”

“Treason is decided upon by the winners,” said Samantha with a cold smile.  “And do you really think the Lord’s Security Force can handle the military.”

“This is a Parliamentary Monarchy, young lady,” said the man, jumping to his feet and glaring down at Samantha.  “With emphasis on the Parliamentary.  We make the laws.”

“And we are at war, your Grace.  And don’t have time for political tomfoolery like you and your cronies want to pursue.  The only thing that matters at this time is winning this war, and preserving the race.”

“This isn’t the last of this,” growled the Lord, turning and storming from the room.

You could have handled that better, Samantha, thought the Regent, standing up and walking to the credenza to make herself a drink.  But that’s probably the way Sean would have handled it as well, she thought, taking a sip of bourbon, then a larger gulp.  And if he gets enough of the people behind him, it won’t matter if we have the military behind us.  They can’t fight without the support of the civilian industry, and that’s controlled by the workers, when it comes down to it.

Chapter Three

SECTOR IV SPACE.  AUGUST 10TH, 1001.

“We’re picking up the Cacas,” said the Sensory Officer, looking back at the Commodore.

“Right into the bag,” said the Tactical Officer, smiling.

We can only hope, thought Commodore Mei Lei, looking at the holo that showed the icons of a number of enemy ships, in hyper VII and decelerating down to translation speed.  The only other icons in hyper were those of the convoy that was the bait, traveling in hyper V and right on target.

I wish we could stop with this sniping shit and just take them on, thought the former scout ship commander, who had only recently earned a squadron command.  But that way led to defeat.  And even sniping wasn’t always the safest thing to do against this enemy.  Several groups had been badly mauled trying to take on what should have been surprised and outgunned Ca’cadasan task forces.  And one had completely disappeared.

“Shit,” she said quietly, watching as more icons appeared on the holo, until the force that appeared was over the threshold of what she was supposed to commit to.  “Get me Captain von Rittersdorf,” she said, looking over at her Com Officer.

Almost instantly the face of Maurice von Rittersdorf appeared on the holo, the bridge of the  hyper VII destroyer James Komorov behind him.  “What do you want me to do?” asked the young Duke over the wormhole com.

“What do you want to do?” asked Mei, not really sure what she wanted to do in this situation.  Doctrine called for her to refrain from engagement.  Doctrine called for any ships that could get away to do so.  All of the escort ships, besides von Rittersdorf’s, were hyper VI vessels with terrific acceleration curves.  They could easily leave the slower merchant ships behind and get away, building up enough velocity that they would be out of the sensor range of the enemy before they got through with the merchies.   James Komorov was the only hyper VII ship in the escort, and the only reason she was there was her ability to communicate with the Commodore’s flagship through her own wormhole com.

“I hate leaving the commercial vessels behind,” said the young man, who had earned his Duchy through his heroic actions in helping to rescue the Emperor, just like the Commodore.

I know how you feel, she thought, shaking her head.  The commercial vessels were actually auxiliary warships, fitted out with the best armaments and protective fields that could be provided, and crewed by Fleet personnel.  The only things they didn’t have was military class armor, or the acceleration of a warship.

Mei looked over the holo again, seeing what appeared to be the end of the enemy concentration, based on the time that had passed since the last had appeared.  Her force was still outnumbered, and outgunned, if it came to a fair stand up fight.  Which I have no intention of getting into.

“OK,” she said, looking into the eyes of the young lion on the holo.  “Keep them heading our way.  Here’s what we’ll do.”   And she outlined the strategy that she hoped would give her a victory.

*     *     *

The Task Force Leader stared at the holo on the bridge of his battleship, a predatory smile on his face.  The holo showed the icons of a score of ships in hyper V, identification data filling in below each marker based on the hyperdrive emissions of each vessel.  As far as he could tell there was one of the light scout ships that humans called cruisers, four of the escort vessels, and fifteen other ships that looked to be the commercial vessels of the human Empire.

“I wonder why the stupid creatures continue to try and run commercial ships through this space,” said the Tactical Officer.  “It makes no sense.”

“No,” agreed the Task Force Leader, looking at the representation of his own force on the holo.  “It does not.”  He had six battleships, six supercruisers and eight escorts in his force.  One of his battleships could take out that convoy by itself.  The humans can be tricky, he thought, considering sending in a part of his force and letting the rest continue on to its final destination.   No, he thought, giving a head shake of negation.  I won’t even waste missiles on these weaklings.  He had been warned to not try and get into a close range fight with single enemy commercial vessels, as they seemed to carry some kind of weapon that could kill ships, at least the smaller ones.  At the moment he didn’t feel any threat from these targets.

“We are almost ready to translate down, my Lord,” called out the Helm Officer.  “We should be within three light minutes at that time.”

“How long to close with them and match velocities?” asked the Task Force Leader.

“Twenty minutes from time of translation,” answered the Navigator, looking over his board.

“I want some of those ships captured as intact as we can get them,” said the Leader, looking to his Tactical Officer, then the Com Officer.  “Make sure every ship’s captain knows my wishes.  I want prisoners, and I want tech.  If we are lucky, we may find out more about some of these new weapons they deploy.”

“If they deploy them on these ships, shouldn’t we engage them at range with missiles?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“I doubt they deploy anything new on a commercial convoy,” answered the Commander.  “That is not to say that they will not have people who know about these weapons.  How they are produced, and how they are deployed.  But we will only get that information from live aliens.  Or from intact databanks.”

The Tactical Officer gave a head shake of acceptance and turned back to his board.  The lights on the bridge dimmed for a moment and the Task Force Leader clamped his jaws shut against the nausea that came with translation.  It took almost ten seconds before he really had enough control over his stomach to be aware of anything else.  Some of his bridge crew were still trying to settle their stomachs as he regained awareness, a point of pride for the senior officer.

“We are starting to vector toward the convoy,” reported the Helm Officer, one of the fastest on the bridge to recover from the nausea, one of the reasons he occupied that position.

“And what are the aliens doing?” asked the Leader, looking at the holo tactical plot.

“They look like they are trying to get away,” answered the Sensory Officer.  “The commercial ships are moving in what look like random directions.”

“And the escorts?”

“They are continuing forward, trying to form a screen between us and their charges.”

“Perfect.  We will cripple the escorts, and then move on to take the commercial vessels as prizes.”  He smiled as he thought of the honors that would be his if he came back with a windfall of intelligence.

*    *     *

“They’re heading this way, sir,” said Lieutenant SG Lasardo, the Tactical Officer of the destroyer, and a man who von Rittersdorf had handpicked for the position.   “No surprise there.”

“Nope,” replied the Captain, looking at the tactical display that showed the overwhelming force coming toward him.  “No surprise.”

And why the hell did I have to tell the Commodore that this was a good idea.  His was the only hyper VII capable ship in the escort, and the only ship likely to get away if they ran.  The three hyper VI destroyers might make it, while the VI light cruiser wouldn’t have much of a chance.  He was in charge by dint of being a squadron commander, though the rest of his squadron was with the Commodore.  That, and the fact that his ship was equipped with a wormhole com.  I wish I had some of the other stuff he Commodore’s ship has, he thought, knowing that such would not be wasted on a mere destroyer.

“Get me the Commodore on the com,” he told his Com Officer.  It’s about time to make sure everyone is on the same page.

*     *     *

The Commodore stared at the holo, watching the movement of every ship in hyper V.  Her own command was superimposed on that holo, sitting in normal space, coasting at point two c to the point of entry, while the timer ticked down.  Everything was set into motion.  Her force was tracking the enemy both through their hyperdrive emissions as received in normal space, and the tracking information of von Rittersdorf’s vessel coming through the wormhole.  She had unprecedented tracking capabilities, and hopefully weapons that were beyond the wildest dreams of the Cacas, especially in a knife fight like she was developing.

“All stations report readiness status green,” said the Com Officer, looking back at the Commodore.

Mei looked over at the com station, noting the holo of an officer above the board, the Com Officer on one of the battle stations sitting over a thousand light years away, orbiting the Supersystem black hole.

“The stations are reporting that they have fifty missiles in each tube,” said the Com Officer.  “They’ll be up to max velocity in one point three minutes.”

“What about the PBs?” asked Mei.

The Com Officer went to her board for a moment, then looked back.  “All particle beams are fully up and ready.”

“Let the force know we will go on the mark.  Philippi and Dauphin will follow our lead.  Targets are designated as…”  The Commodore pointed to the target icons on the holo and assigned them to her vessels.  “We jump in forty-three seconds.”

The Commodore stared at the holo, watching as the icons of her force, eleven battle cruisers, four heavy cruisers and fourteen destroyers, closed to superimposition with the enemy force.

“Jumping, now,” called out the Navigation Officer, looking over at the Helmsman.

The lights on the bridge dimmed for a moment as all available power was transferred to the hyperdrive projectors without tapping into the battery backups.  With the transfer came the nausea, for most only a second or so.  And then the stars of space were replaced by the red backdrop of hyperspace splattered with the tiny black dots of the distant gravity wells that were stars.

The tactical holo updated with real time information in less than a second.  Before the next second ticked off every ship had opened fire, well before the enemy could react.

*     *     *

“The enemy ships are opening fire,” called out the Tactical Officer, as hundreds of red icons appeared on the tactical holo.

“How are they getting so many missiles into space?” asked the Task Force Commander.

“Their commercial vessels are also sending missiles our way,” said the Tactical Officer.  “From their velocity I would guess they don’t have acceleration tubes.  I don’t think they will be much of a threat.”

The Task Force Leader sat back in his chair and grinned.  The enemy was getting desperate.  But desperation would not save them.

“We have translations,” yelled out the Sensor Officer.

“Where,” yelled the Task Force Leader, coming out of his seat.

“Right on top of us,” yelled the officer, as the icons of enemy vessels appeared on the tactical plot.

Something flared impossibly bright on one of the viewers, which stepped down the intensity in an instant.  Two of the icons on the tactical were blinking, one of his battleships, and a scout ship of the enemy.  The biggest problem with the icons was they were right on top of each other.  Which meant an enemy scout ship had translated right into the path of a battleship, if not directly inside of it.

A side viewer showed the debris of a twenty-five million ton battleship fading from hyper in a series of catastrophic translations.  Not that it mattered to any of the crew of that ship, who were most decidedly dead.  And then the flagship shook from the hits of an impossibly powerful particle beam, while damage klaxons went off and the lights dimmed again.

*     *     *

Mei Lei grimaced as the enemy force appeared on the viewer.  Not just because they outmassed her force.  She was very close to the enemy task force, a lot closer than most captains would be comfortable with.  Something flared on the screen, and she grimaced again as she watched one of her destroyers come out of hyper halfway inside an enemy battleship.  Both ships fell apart from the combined forces of objects trying to occupy the same space at the same time, and the difference in velocities and vectors that tore at them.

In the cold calculations of war of attrition, she should have been happy with that result, trading two hundred tons of warship and two hundred and fifty lives for twenty-five million tons and many thousands of the enemy.  But all she could think about were the brave men and women of that ship who hadn’t even had time to realize they were doomed.

“Firing,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, and the ship bucked as she fired all weapons at the nearest enemy vessel, a battleship.

All of the vessels in her force opened up with lasers and particle beams, tossing missiles at the same time, giving the enemy some extra targets to deal with.  All but three of the ships were equipped with standard weapons loadouts for their classes.  Jean de Arc and her two sisters had the normal loadout, with the exception of the two wormhole weapons’ ports each carried.

The three battle cruisers each let loose with a pair of massive particle weapons, the pairs of beams all striking a different battleship.  The enemy ships were moving at point three five c, while the human vessels were moving at an almost parallel vector to the Cacas at point two c.  The beams were from accelerators much larger than the battle cruisers would have been capable of carrying without dispensing with most of their other weapons.  Those accelerators were actually over a thousand light years away, on purpose built battle stations in orbit around the Supersystem central black hole.  Each accelerator massed over four million tons, half the mass of the ships they were feeding.  Protons, or in this case, antiprotons, were accelerated up to point nine nine nine nine c, and fed through the wormhole to the projectors of the battle cruisers.

A ton a second of ultrafast particles fired from the two projectors on each ship, while the battle cruisers engaged their grabbers at full power to compensate for the recoil.  All three eight point five million ton ships actually lost forward velocity in the classic action-reaction formula.

Jean de Arc’s twin particle beams ripped into the side of one of the battleships, antimatter exploding as it powered into the material of the hull.  The enemy ships hadn’t deployed cold plasma fields, and their electromag fields were not at full strength.  Huge pieces of hull blew off into space and translated away, while the beam dug deeper into the vessel.  There were seven seconds of firing time for each beam, which was about what the opening distance and the time the material of the beam could exist in hyperspace would allow anyway.

Smaller explosions sparked on the surface of many more enemy ships, and Mei knew that more deadly interior explosions were also rocking those vessels.  All of the warships carried quantum teleportation devices, and were taking their best shot at sending more of the deadly substance into the enemy vessels.  The loss of weapons fire and targeting of many of those vessels showed that the strategy was working.

Two battle cruisers and a heavy cruiser were gushing atmosphere, and one of the battle cruisers blew up in a flash and disappeared.  Several destroyers were also taking a pounding while they continued to take the nearest enemy ships under fire.  Enemy missiles were closing at relatively slow velocity, most to be taken out by defensive fire, though several got through to blast gigatons of explosive power into the hulls of light vessels.  The defensive fire of the Ca’cadasan ships was proving too much for the human missiles, which, with a few exceptions, were being blown out of space.

At seven seconds the particle beam fired died, and the Commodore sweated for the thirty seconds it took to move the wormhole at the other end to access the next weapons system.  Two savaged enemy battleships continued on, one so badly damaged that it was not able to alter its vector of velocity.  And one ship flashed into catastrophic translation, gone.

“First missile due in twelve seconds,” stated the Com Officer, as the Tactical Officer gave a thumbs up to the Commodore, indicated that the hole had been mated at the other end.

“Light them up, Tac,” ordered the Commodore.  The officer smiled back, looked back to his board, and started sending firing solutions to the first missiles to come through.

*     *     *

“We have significant damage across the ship,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at his commander.  “But we are out of any possible material beam weapon range.”

We can only hope, thought the Task Force Leader, wondering what other tricks the enemy might have hidden under their cloak.  “I want the rest of the force to open the distance.  We will pound them with missiles at range, and see what good that beam weapon does them.”

“We have missile tracks,” yelled out the Sensory Officer.

The Tactical Officer turned his attention back to his board. “Multiple missile tracks coming from the ships that just jumped into hyper,” called out the officer.  He gave a head shake of negation, then looked back at the Task Force Leader with disbelieving eyes.

“Well.  What’s their closing speed?”

“Point eight eight light, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, again giving a head shake of negation.

“That’s impossible,” growled the Leader, mimicking the same head shake.  “There’s no way they could have accelerated them to that velocity.  Not having just launched them.”

“Yet, they are there, my Lord,” said the Sensory Officer, looking at him with the same disbelieving gaze.

“Order the force to defend this vessel at all costs,” said the Commander, a shiver of fear running through his body.  He could see the accusing looks in the expressions of the bridge crew at his order.  They think me a coward, he thought, also seeing the little bit of relief in all of those gazes.  I don’t care.  As long as I get home to report on these new weapons.  And then he only had time to watch the tactical holo, which showed scores of missiles heading for his command, and many more appearing every second.

*     *     *

The Commodore felt the ship bucking slightly underneath as she jettisoned missiles at the enemy.  That enemy was well out of particle beam range, though the human force was still hitting them with all the laser weapons they could muster.  Hundreds of missiles were heading into the enemy task force, most with too slow closing speeds that made them easy targets for the defensive weapons.  Then the holo blossomed with scores of green arrows, with almost impossible vector numbers underneath.

Back in Supersystem space a dozen specially built battle stations were doing their work.  Each station had a particle beam accelerator which was a circle ten kilometers in diameter, over thirty in circumference, larger than any known ship could carry.  Those stations that were linked to the Commodore’s three specially equipped battle cruisers had emptied their accelerators, and were now injecting more antiprotons into the acceleration fields, making them ready for their next use.

Each station also had two thousand kilometers of straight accelerator shoots, made up of sections of hyperdrive missile tubes.  Unlike most missile accelerator tubes, these overly long ones had a wormhole on each end, two sides of the same portal.  Fifty missiles had spent over an hour in each of those tubes, being pulled and pushed along by the magnetic fields of the accelerators, building up velocity, disappearing into the hole at the end of the tube and reappearing at the beginning to start the process again, building up velocities to relativistic levels.  The missiles were up to point nine nine light, massing over seven times what they massed at rest.  At firing time the terminal wormhole was collapsed to a point in an instant, then pulled out of the way by magnetic suction in three one millionths of a second, allowing the missiles to move past it without going back to the beginning.  That had been the largest barrier to making the system work, but with great minds working on a weapon that needed to become workable, it had been done.

The system had some drawbacks.  For one, it was very expensive to build, and took a valuable wormhole that could be used for something else.  For another, the system could not be put into use without notice.  It took time to build up velocity, at least an hour.  And lastly, the weapon was not really that much more effective against long range targets as compared to normal ship launched missiles.  But at close range it was deadly.

The missiles erupted from the firing ships, fifty per tube, three hundred overall, moving at unheard of velocities for a close in engagement.  All engaged their hyperfield generators on exit from the ship tubes, accepted their targeting information, and were headed toward the enemy vessels.

The enemy force was now almost fully occupied with swatting the slower moving missiles launched by the rest of the human group.  Their own missiles were beginning to strike at the human ships.  Here a pair of converted merchant ships exploded as gigaton range warheads were detonated against their hulls.  There a light cruiser was spun away by a hit, then translated catastrophically back to normal space.  A destroyer in the convoy escort died, and the Commodore was happy to see that it wasn’t von Rittersdorf’s ship.  Then the worst happened, as two battle cruisers, one of them one of her three specials, were blasted from space.

And then the high velocity missiles were there.  Two hundred were still blasted from space before they could reach a target, a testimony to the defensive firepower and targeting of the Ca’cadasan warships.  Then the hits came, as the missiles, with relatively light warheads in the hundred megaton range, transferred twenty times that force in kinetic energy into the enemy ships.

When the bright pinpoints of hits faded there was only one enemy ship still in existence, and the Commodore was not sure why it was still there.  The armored hull was battered, half of its grabber ring was gone, there were no recognizable laser domes.

“Particle beams are back online,” reported the Tactical Officer.

“Com,” ordered Mei, looking at the ship on the viewer and making a quick decision.  “Contact that ship.  I want to talk to its commander.”

Moments later the nightmare face of a Cacada appeared on the screen.

“What do you want, human?” asked the snarling visage through the translation program.

“I am asking you if you wish to surrender,” said Mei, pushing down the fear and disgust she felt for the creature.  “Your ship is a wreck, and you have seen the power of our beam weapons.”

The Ca’cadasan Officer glared at her for a moment, then spit.  “I accept your offer,” said the big male.

The Commodore was really surprised that they had surrendered.  “Tell the Marine commander to be very careful when they board that thing,” she told the Com Officer.

Mei sat in her chair with a smile on her face.  She had lost people, which was never easy, but had hurt the enemy much more, which was her job.  But bringing a partially intact enemy capital ship back to base.  That was a triumph above and beyond killing this enemy force.  To her credit, she had no thought about how this might benefit her own career.

Chapter Four

SPACE OUTSIDE OF IMPERIAL BORDERS, AUGUST 18TH, 1001.

The Low Admiral in charge of the force watched as the alien freighter detached itself from his flagship in hyper VI, the merchant ship’s maximum dimension.  It was a five hundred thousand ton vessel, dwarfed by the mass of the Ca’cadasan battleship and her three companions.  Two of the other battleships also dropped a similar merchant ship.  The hyperspace below the ships was dominated by a dense field of black dots, the gravity shadows of the mass of stars in the Perseus arm.  There were lesser concentrations to the sides of the ships, and a very sparse field above.  They were well above the galactic disk, and well outside the boundaries of any of the Empires of the region.

“Success to you, General,” said the Low Admiral, looking into the face of a large male on the holo.  Behind the senior ground officer were several of the strange bulky beings known as Knockermen, who had brought the news to the Grand Admiral of how the Ca’cadasans might be able to take out the wormhole generating station of the humans.

“We’ll take out the damned thing,” said the officer.  “I have six thousand good males behind me.”

And none of them will be coming back, thought the naval officer, giving a head nod of assent.  It was a suicide mission, no matter from what angle it was viewed.   There was no way a brigade of ground troops was going to fight their way off that thing.  With luck they would find a way to destroy it, a placement for their quarkium devices that would cause enough damage to make it fall apart.  Because from what the Knockermen were telling them, the thing was just too damned big for even a hundred multigigaton warheads to destroy.

If they can even make it onboard.  A lot depended on the other Knockermen ships, the ones they would meet in Elysium space, to actually take the far point of the wormhole they needed to infiltrate the ground troops onto the station.

“I wish we could send more with you,” said the Admiral, knowing that the big males, with their supplies and equipment, were already packing the merchant ships to almost overflowing.

“If the thing’s as big as they say, we couldn’t take it with a hundred times what we’re bringing,” said the other male with a head nod of negation.

He’s correct, thought the Low Admiral as the merchant ships accelerated away.  It was over a two month voyage to where they needed to get in order to launch the assault.  And there would be no communication with the assault force.  If they were caught by the enemy, they would just disappear, as far as Ca’cadasan Conquest Command was concerned.  We’ll only know if the humans stop pulling tricks with those damned wormholes.

*     *     *

The General stood on the bridge of the alien ship as the icons of the Ca’cadasan task force faded from the tactical plot.  His aide stood next to him.  Otherwise, the small bridge of the freighter was occupied by nothing but reptilian Knockermen.  He looked with disdain on the scaly skinned aliens, with their thick limbs and humped backs.  He considered them an inferior species, as did all of his kind of all other races.  But even more so the Knockermen, who, for all their physical strength, were slow and clumsy.

And they smell bad, thought the big male, looking at the back of the Captain’s head.  It was a smell he would have to endure for several months, the time it took the hyper VI vessels to traverse the space above the Fenri, Lasharan and Margravi kingdoms, then into the space of the Elysium Empire and to the target.  All the time worrying that some patrol ship of the humans or the people the Knockermen were fighting would board them.  If faced with real warships, his males would not have a chance, trapped on these under powered, under armed vessels.  Their size and strength would not help them.

“I will be in my quarters,” the General growled to the ship’s Captain, turning and walking from the bridge.  He ducked his head as he went through the hatch, still catching his horns on the upper edge of the opening.  He cursed again, straightening up to a half hunched position made necessary by the less than three meter tall ceilings in the corridor.  Most of his males  bunking in holds that had very high ceilings, did not have that problem.  And the human station will probably be worse, thought the male, who had toured ships of the enemy captured by men under his command.

*     *     *

PLANET CONGREEVE IV, AUGUST 20TH, 1001.

“Just what in the name of the almighty are you doing?” yelled Father Matias Josue, running up to the man who looked like he was in charge of the engineers installing some complicated looking equipment on the hillside.  The Missionary’s Flock clustered behind him, the scores of eyes on each of their bulbous heads seeming to look everywhere at once.

Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav looked over from where she was talking with a Senior Chief with a curse on her lips.  By the Goddess, what now? she thought.  She had been raised a Neopagan, and though she no longer believed in any kind of deities, the words still came easy.  She saw what looked like a middle aged man with graying temples, wearing a tan survival jacket over a black shirt with a clerical collar.  Behind him clustered about a dozen of the natives.  She felt her stomach turn as she looked at them.  All had deformed looking faces, no two the same, with a multitude of randomly placed eyes.  Some had subsidiary heads, most a smaller version of the primary, though one had two equally sized crowns.  From what she had been told, the sentients only had one brain, and it wasn’t in any of their heads.

“We’re putting up an electromag projector, sir,” said the Lt. Commander in charge of the engineers.

“For what purpose?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say, sir,” answered the officer, and Miroslav started that way.

The air was brisk, blowing off the glaciers not more than thirty kilometers to the north.  Congreeve IV was going through an ice age, and the walls of glaciers, north and south, had not reached their full extension.  This huge valley was protected by high peaks, and the glaciers most likely would have gone around it.  Now they surely would, with the Empire placing fusion heat projectors in the way of the glaciers.

The deformed looking natives were the reason for the effort.  There were other worlds where fungoid life forms had taken over the land, branching out to take the niches of both plants and animals.  But none had developed sentient life, even if that sentience was more on the level of a bit above Australopithecus, than most modern sophonts.  Still, they had developed hunting and tool use, even before the coming of humans, and definitely fit the definition.  And that sentient life was at extreme risk of not surviving the climatic conditions that were prevailing at this time.

“Can I help you, sir,” said the Admiral, walking up on the argument.

“Ma’am,” said the Lt. Commander, coming to attention and rendering a salute.  As soon as it was returned the officer started talking, beating the civilian to the punch.  “Father Josue here is concerned that we might be interfering with the development of these, fungoids.”

“I wish you would not call them that, my son,” said the Priest, glancing back at the people he was ministering to.  “Some of them understand English, after all.”

“And what can I do for you, Father?” she asked the man, motioning for the Commander to get back to supervising the installation of the equipment, which consisted of heat and electromagnetic wave producers, as well as those for holographic images.

“These hills are within the hunting range of these people,” said the Priest, waving back to his flock.  “I am wondering why you are setting up equipment here in this area, when the Klinestu are due through here any day.”

And that’s one really bizarre looking animal, thought the Admiral, imaging the multiton herbivores on her link.  Like most life forms on the planet they had a general form that was only a template for the animal, much like the structure of a terrestrial tree.  Everything on this planet turns my stomach, thought the Admiral, like most humans much more comfortable with some kind of symmetry.

“We’ll try to have our equipment set up and fenced in before they get here,” she said to the priest, staring at one particular specimen of the Garsha who had more eyes than the others.  And they’re all genetically identical, even though they don’t use DNA.  That was one thing that had really excited the scientists when this world was discovered.  There was no sexual reproduction.   Everything propagated by spores.  But there had definitely been evolution of higher animals (Fungimals?)

“But, why does it have to be here in the first place?” asked the Priest, pointing to the array of antennas and projectors being set up on the plains.  “What the hell is all this for?”

And that’s something I can’t tell you, thought the Admiral, trying to come up with an answer that would send the man away so he wouldn’t bother her people.  Most of the apparatuses were being set up in the still temperate equatorial regions, where the sentients had not yet spread.  No, that was where the four million human colonists were located, many refusing to move no matter what was coming at them.

“You know we’re involved in a war?” she asked, still trying to find the correct phrasing.

“Of course I know we’re in a war,” said the Priest, his angry eyes flashing.  He looked at the equipment again, then back at the Admiral, understanding dawning in his eyes.  “You wouldn’t.  What about these innocent people?”

“What do you think the Cacas will do with these innocent people if they take this planet from us?” asked the Admiral, her hands on her hips as she stared into the eyes of the man.  “They will become slaves in their Empire.  Or curiosities.  They will never be allowed to develop along any kind of path that allows them self-determination.”

“I will talk with the Governor about this,” said the man, turning around and storming off, the strange fungoid people falling in behind them.

Several of them oriented on the projection equipment, and the Admiral had a bad feeling about that.  She walked over to the Lt. Commander and caught his attention.  “I want you to put a Marine guard on each and every one of these installations.”

“You think the Priest might try to sabotage these things,” said the young man, a horrified expression on his face.

“I hope not.  But I don’t want to take any chances.”  With that, she walked to her aircar and let the driver take her back to the landing field set up a hundred kilometers away, on top of the slowly advancing glaciers, where it wouldn’t be in the way of anything.

She looked down on the world as the shuttle climbed smoothly into orbit on its grabber units.  It was a beautiful world, the greens of fungoid vegetation covering the tropical regions, a more subdued green covering the grasslands up to the dazzling white of the glaciers.  Almost half of the land masses were covered in that thick sheet of ice.  Or at least the original land masses, as many areas that had once been under water were now exposed to the air by the receding seas.

Above the atmosphere the shuttle locked onto a large ship that was the Admiral’s flag, the hyper VI battleship King William II.  There were many other vessels around her, mostly freighters and logistics ships.  Sunlight reflected from an object up in geosync, a massive fort being constructed, one of several.  Closer in were the forms of orbital factories.  That was all they were, the forms.

“Admiral on the bridge,” called out the first officer to see her enter her flag station.

“At ease,” she ordered, throwing herself in the comfortable chair that was her throne on deployment.  “Get the Admiralty on the com,” she told her Communications Officer, then waited for the signal to go out through the wormhole.  I’ll be damned if we’re not ready for the Emperor, or our other visitors.

*     *     *

CORE SPACE, AUGUST 24TH, 1001.

Emperor Augustine I was two days out in hyper VI, almost to her present terminal velocity of point nine three c, which would give her a pseudo speed of eight thousand five hundred and seventy times the speed of light.  Her two sister ships were just behind her, and they were surrounded by an augmented Emperor’s Protection Squadron.  The three huge ships were weighted down by an extra six million tons of mass, the special equipment they needed for this operation, and were only able to generate a hyper VI field around the extra hardware, slowing their passage.  The other two dreadnoughts had been left behind.  They would not be ready for deployment for another two weeks.  If they could get to the Congreeve system before the Cacas, so much the better.  If not, he would have to fight without them.

I almost wish we didn’t have the Protection Squadron along with us, thought Sean, looking at the tactical holo that showed the force in formation.  It would be a treat to see a couple of their raiders strike what they were sure were helpless unguarded targets, only to be shocked by what they had tangled with.

“I just wish we could come up with a better name than Dreadnoughts,” he told the holo image of his Chief of Naval Operations, Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom.  “It just seems so, retro.”

“The term superbattleship is already taken, your Majesty,” said the image of the woman after a moment’s delay.  Transmission through the wormhole was of course instantaneous, but there was some delay due to the thousands of kilometers of light speed relays through the com systems.  Not much of a delay, but noticeable.  “It’s up to you, of course, what they are named.”

“Maybe we could hold a contest,” said the image of Countess Haruko Kawasaki, the Prime Minister.  “Perhaps have a designated prize for the winner.  With you as the judge, of course, your Majesty.”

“Don’t you think there are more important things to discuss?” asked Jennifer Conway, sitting in the seat next to Sean.

“Of course,” said Sean, looking at the Prime Minister.  “Go ahead and get something going on that contest idea.”  And what do we name the next monstrosity we build.  And how much larger will it be.  Sean’s father had loved to watch old movies made prior to humankind fleeing its homeworld.   Sean remembered one which featured a spaceship the size of a small moon, which had to suck up an inordinate amount of resources.  He had laughed at the concept.  But now, with the completion of a space station that outmassed that fantasy ship by orders of magnitude, even if it did take a century to construct, he was not so sure.  “So, what’s next on the agenda.”

“Bureau Ships have come up with some modifications for our new designs for vessel construction,” said McCullom, as images of the ships in question flashed onto the holo.  “Analysis of the engagements in this war had led to the conclusion that we need a better class of screening vessel, in order to protect our best missile platforms.  While at the same time maximizing their own long range engagement potential.”

Three ships were displayed on the holo, each in the destroyer range, though the figures below them indicated that they were much bigger than the standard tin can.  “All of these ships are of course hyper VII, which has to be the new standard in this war.  Each is specialized for one task, though capable of fulfilling multiple roles.

“The first vessel is a dedicated fleet defense ship,” said McCullom, as one of the vessels expanded on the holo.   “Two hundred and fifty-six thousand tons, with an extra laser ring, double the number of close in projectile weapons, and expanded long and short range counter missile magazines.  Her task is to screen the battle force, though she still packs a sting with sixty destroyer class missiles, about sixty percent of what a general purpose DD carries today.  Four hundred and ninety gee accel, which gives them enough to maneuver past the profile of the capital ships they serve with.

“This second ship is the strike version,” said the CNO, as the first ship shrunk into the background and the vessel in question expanded.  “Two hundred and fifty-eight thousand tons, she carries eighty DD missiles for smaller targets, but deploys increased long range engagement capabilities with fifty battleship class missiles.  It’s thought that these ships could be the prefect system raiders, popping into normal space at the edge of the hyper limit, launching their ship killers, and jumping back.  Five hundred and forty gee accel, which puts them in the same range as the enemy scout ships.

“And then we have the scout version, which could also double as an anti-pirate vessel.  Two hundred and fifty-two thousand tons, with a hundred and twenty DD missiles, twenty more than currently carried.  Same accel profile as the strike version.  Bureau ships think that most of the new construction should go into the Fleet Defense version, based on the needs of the war against the Ca’cadasans.”

“And the light cruisers?” asked Sean, just before the destroyers disappeared from the holo, to be replaced be two larger ships.

“Only two versions of light cruisers, since we combined the scout and strike functions in one.  That version is nine hundred and eighty thousand tons, and carries one hundred and twenty cruiser missiles, plus fifty of the battleship variety.  Five hundred and ten gee accel.  And finally the Fleet Defense version.  Nine hundred and sixty-five thousand tons, with one hundred and forty cruiser missiles, and greatly expanded defensive capabilities, much like the Fleet Defense Destroyers.  They are configured to be screen command ships as well.”

“Why not just build ships in the same mass ranges as the enemy?” asked Jennifer, a confused expression on her face.

“The Fleet believes that staying with the current designations gives us greater flexibility, your Grace,” said McCullom, her holo image looking toward the newly elevated Duchess.  “While a six hundred thousand ton destroyer of course has more capabilities, much like that of a small cruiser, we feel that being able to deploy almost two and a half smaller vessels gives us the flexibility to deploy them in mass, or cover a larger area for scouting or strike missions.”

“Plus,” said Sean, turning toward his fiancé’, “a six hundred thousand ton ship shatters just as easily from a direct missile hit a two hundred and fifty thousand ton ship.  But it takes two and a half direct hits to take the same mass of small warship out of action.”

“I know it’s a silly question,” said Jennifer, blushing.

“No.  It isn’t,” said Sean, patting her forearm.  “And it’s one reason I like having you sit in on these sessions.  You are intelligent, while still coming from a non-military background.  You might see things that we are unaware of, thanks to our background blinders.”

He looked back at McCullom.  “Go ahead and get as many of those ships as you can in the pipeline, prioritizing the missile defense versions.  I would really like some of those at Congreeve, but I guess that’s too much to ask.”

“Not at all, your Majesty,” said the beaming woman.  “We already have a dozen test prototypes, and can fit some of our new construction to these specs in the allotted time.  Maybe not exactly the same as these, but close.”

“You’re a miracle worker, Sondra.  Go ahead and get me any you can.”  Sean checked the time on his implant.  “Is there any other business we need to deal with?”

“There’s been a complaint registered with the Fleet from the council of Reformed Catholic Bishops,” said the Prime Minister, a frown on her face.

“What the Hell could we have done to piss them off?” said the holo image of Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri, the frown on his almost never smiling face growing deeper.

Not that I can blame him for feeling morose, thought the Emperor, nodding at the Chief of Staff of the Imperial Army.  His forces had been taking a beating on the planets the Empire had been contesting with the Cacas.  That they had also been causing a lot of enemy casualties was besides the point to the head soldier.  His people were dying, many on his orders.

“They are protesting the work we are doing on Congreeve IV,” said the Prime Minister.  “They are not positive what we are up to, but they know it’s something, and they believe it’s something that will harm the native sophonts.”

Sean went into link and looked up what he knew about that planet.  He cursed under his breath as he saw the mention of fungoid intelligences, the only one discovered so far by humankind.  “How in the Hell did that world get chosen?” he asked, knowing that it was much too late to change plans.

“It was approved by the Strategic Planning Staff,” said McCullom, dropping her eyes.  “I approved it without realizing there was a population of singular sophonts on the planet.”

Sean cursed again, shaking his head.  It was Imperial Policy to protect primitive sophonts that were restricted to a single world, while at the same time bootstrapping them up to modern tech, so they wouldn’t suffer from all the ills and diseases of non-tech people.  Putting them on a bull’s-eye sure isn’t protecting them.  He sat there for a moment, thinking, then came to his decision.

“We invoke the Official Secrets Acts on this one.  No explanations to the bishops.  Just let them know that there is an Imperial Gag Order on this one.  And get a judge to write out that order.”

“We can do that,” said the Prime Minister.

“And get a breeding population of those sophonts off that planet, in case it comes to a worst case there.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“So, some other pleasant surprises before we adjourn?”

“Oh,” said McCullom, looking up with a smile on her face.  “Someone you worked with on the Sergiov was found, alive and well, on Massadara.”

“Gorbachev?” said Sean, knowing immediately that was who they were talking about.  “How?”  He glanced over at Jennifer and saw a flash of jealousy on her face, gone in an instant and replaced with a slight smile.  He had told her about his crush on the pretty CPO, thinking that she was gone for good.  So much for honesty.

“She has been a prisoner of the Cacas since the battle,” said McCullom, consulting her link.  “And she escaped.  Right now Intelligence is questioning her, getting everything she knows about the enemy.”

“I want her here, on this ship,” said Sean, glancing over at Jennifer and seeing the disapproval on her face.  “I want to talk with her myself.”

“Intelligence is still questioning her, your Majesty.  So far she has been a wealth of information.”

“Let them have her for another couple of weeks,” said Sean, torn between letting Naval Intelligence mine her for what must be a depth of information.  “Then I want her here.  After that, the intelligence people can talk with her some more.”

“Yours to command, your Majesty,” said McCullom with a grimace.

Jennifer was silent all the way back to their quarters.  She threw herself on the couch as soon as she entered the living area, ignoring Killer as the cat jumped up on the furniture and tried to snuggle with her.

“It was nothing but a crush,” said Sean, sitting down beside her and putting his arm around her shoulder.  She tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight.  She didn’t have a chance against his enhanced strength, though he was careful to not hurt her.  “She worked with me.  I was in charge of the B ring of the battleship, and she was my chief NCO.  And that’s all there is to it.”

“And you’re happy she’s back?” said Jennifer, looking at him with tear misted eyes.

“Of course I am.  I’m happy she’s alive.  I’m very happy that she’s no longer a prisoner of those cruel bastards we are fighting.  And she might have some insights that will help me make better decisions where fighting this enemy is concerned.”  He put a hand on her cheek and moved her head up till her eyes were looking into his.  “Look.  She would have boxed my ears if I had ever told her I lusted after her.  Hell, she would probably still box my ears if I told her today.  So you have nothing to worry about.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” said Sean, meeting her lips with his and melting into a long kiss.  Killer meowed at the door to their bedroom for quite a while, but neither one paid attention.

Chapter Five

FENRI SPACE, AUGUST 30TH, 1001.

The assault shuttle shook once again from the blast generated turbulence that raged through the atmosphere.  Brigadier General Samuel Baggett sat in his heavy combat armor and cursed again.  I really hate this shit, he thought, watching the ongoing battle on the surface of the world they had come to take away from the Fenri.

At least on the command ship I can watch the fight in comfort, he thought, knowing that such was really a bad idea as far as morale was concerned.  The boys and girls deserved to know that their brigade and division commanders were in the mess with them.  And at least on the surface I don’t have to worry about buying it because some lucky missile tracked and hit my conveyance.

He looked over the feed from the command ship once again, at the take of the planetary surface as seen from orbit.  What had once been cities were still burning in places.  Mostly they were scarcely seen piles of rubble through obscuring dust.  To the north a trio of mushroom clouds were climbing into the sky, the signatures of kinetic strikes.  And, almost beyond belief, were the beams of lasers and particle beams connecting ground projectors with aerial and orbital targets.

So, Fleet didn’t know what they were talking about, again, thought the General, cringing a bit in his armor as a particle beam barely missed the shuttle, striking one slightly further up in a flash of molten metal.  Fleet had promised them that there would be almost no resistance to the landing, based on the amount of bombardment they had placed on the obvious targets.  Of course, no planetary defense worth anything was built around obvious emplacements.  There were enough hidden emplacements to still make a fight of it.  Which should have been obvious, given that this was a Fenri Fleet base.

The shuttle dropped beneath the high atmospheric dust and below the horizon, shielding them from most of the enemy anti-air emplacements.  The shuttle banked to the right, heading toward the positions of the General’s brigade, highlighted on his HUD.  They were not occupying as much area as had been planned, and a visual scan showed intense firefights to the east and south.

“Prepare for drop, sir,” said the voice of the shuttle’s pilot over the com.  “Drop in ten seconds.”

Baggett sent back his acknowledgement and did the only thing he could do, wait.  The shuttle straightened out, banked once again in a dodge, then flew level over the drop zone.  The drop light on the HUD went green, the hatch underneath opened, and Baggett found himself in the air encased in his one ton heavy suit of battle armor, his grabbers slowing his motion and lowering him toward the ground in a least time trajectory.  Around him dropped another twenty soldiers from his brigade, along with ten cylinders containing supplies.

The shuttle climbed immediately, disappearing back into the overhead dust cloud.  And back into the firing envelop of the Fenri who were trying to shoot down all air traffic, inbound or outbound.

“Glad to see you made it, sir,” called a familiar voice over the com, and Baggett turned to see the blurred image of a command suit flying low over the ground in his direction.

“Glad to have made it, Captain,” said the Brigadier, recognizing the voice of an officer with brigade HQ.  “Come to take me to the command post.”

“Yes, sir,” said the officer, her suit coming to a soft landing in front of the General’s.

The suit was set to stealth, bending the light around it to make it all but invisible, at least in the visible spectrum.  It was still very noticeable by its heat signature, though the light bending field did its best to smudge that image, hopefully making identification more difficult.  There were many suits in view that were not in stealth, the soldiers conserving energy while they took advantage of the terrain around them to hide.

“Well, let’s not keep the Colonel waiting,” said Baggett, motioning for the Captain to lead the way.  He had no doubt that Colonel Dagni Thorwaldsdottir had everything under control.  She had been his senior battalion commander on the Lasharan Operation, and had replaced Colonel Johansson when he was blown to shit when the Lasharan Temple blew up in their faces.  Two operations in this war, and neither have been against the Cacas, thought the General with a scowl.  They had been handy for the operation against the Lasharans, smashing their home system and most of their deployable military power.  Then, they had been handy when operations against the Fenri intensified.  And so we don’t get to strike a blow at the foe we want to hit, but instead deal with the smaller threats.

“Incoming,” yelled a strident voice over the com, and the General’s HUD lit with arrows pointing in the direction of the threat.  As Baggett turned the arrows morphed into blinking cursors that expanded to show a trio of ground attack craft coming in for an attack.

Baggett went to a knee and raised his particle beam rifle to his shoulder, sighting in on one of the attack craft and letting the advanced sight lead it.  Several heavy weapons suits, twice the size of a normal combat rig, turned toward the craft as launchers on their backs rose up and swiveled onto the targets.  A quartet of hyper velocity missiles took off for the incoming at thousands of gravities accel, while scores of particle beams reached out for the craft.

One attack craft blew up before it could fire.  The other two released a quartet of missiles each, then fired their own particle beams on passing.  One suit took a direct hit, the beam burning through the armor and vaporizing the torso of the soldier inside.  Most of the other shots were either near misses or strikes of limited duration, unable to penetrate the tough suit armor.  Particle beams buzzed through the air in return, and one craft lost all of its forward grabber units and dropped toward the ground, to finally hit in a ball of fire beyond the brigade perimeter.

Five of the eight missiles were destroyed before they could deploy their loads, from hyper-v missiles or particle beams.  The other three released their submunitions, a hundred each, to fall through the air as they oriented to their targets, then boosted ahead.

“Countermeasures,” yelled Baggett into the com, knowing as he did that his well-trained men were already deploying what was needed.  On a hundred suits, including his own, drones launched into the air, while the soldiers fired spreads of particle beams toward the incoming submunitions.  Over a hundred were blasted out of the air by the beams, while a hundred more fell prey to the drones.  The remaining hundred odd tried to acquire targets that were using advanced countermeasures to prevent them from locking on.  Most ran into the ground, to explode with popping explosions.  A dozen hit targets, ten suits and two supply containers.  Five men died, their signatures coming up on the General’s HUD for a second before dropping off.

“She’s coming back,” called out a soldier on the circuit.  Baggett followed the arrows on his HUD and zeroed in on the last attack craft, low to the ground and lining up for another run.  The image flashed for a moment, then exploded as a particle beam came from the heavens to strike dead center on the craft.

“That had to be a shot from orbit,” said the Captain, standing up beside the General.

“And we can thank God that our tech is still better than theirs,” said Baggett, grateful for the light casualties they had sustained from that attack.  Not as far ahead as it is from the Lasharans, he thought.  But still good enough.  The Lasharans were, on average, twenty years behind the humans in tech, while the Fenri were only five at most.  But even a couple of years difference could be enough.

“Good to see you made it, sir,” said Dagni as he entered the prefab command bunker.  She looked over the holo table, her helmet visor up, a strand of her blond hair stuck to her sweat streaked forehead.

Baggett nodded, then returned the salutes of the other gathered personnel.  In a culture where genetics had made most people beautiful, Dagni was an exceptionally lovely woman.  If she hadn’t become a soldier, she could have made a living as a model or vid star.  But it was the Imperial Army’s win that she had decided to become that soldier.  And she’s as strong as a steel blade, thought Baggett, recalling some of his many sparring sessions with the woman.  While not as strong as the muscular General, she was fast and limber, and the heavy armor suit made her the equal to any male in pure physical strength.

“How are we set?” he asked, walking up to the holo table and looking at the terrain his brigade was holding.  Two of the battalions were dug in around four fifths of the perimeter, using the hills to the best advantage.  The first battalion, reinforced with a company each of the other two, occupied the last sliver of the pie, along with four of the five companies of his armored battalion.  That was the fist, to be used in the attack planned for the next morning.

“The Fenri didn’t want to cooperate, but we taught them to sit up and beg,” said the Colonel with a smile.

“Casualties?”  Baggett already knew the figures, but was asking to see what his XO’s take was on the battle.

“More than I like.  But relatively light, considering.”

“You run the battle,” said Baggett after a moment’s thought.  “Your set up is tight.  Good job.  I’ll just kick back and observe.”

The woman smiled back, and Baggett knew that she wasn’t very comfortable with the praise. But that’s why she’s an assistant brigade commander, so she can learn how to command a brigade in combat.  And what better way to learn.

Baggett patrolled the inside of the perimeter for a couple of hours after the sun went down.  The sky was totally obscured by dust and clouds, though flashes through that cover showed that the battle was still raging in the upper atmosphere.  There was constant fighting going on along the perimeter as well, as both sides took shots at any target that presented itself, or just fired for the hell of it.  Shuttles came down at regular intervals and dropped supply cylinders, containing the energy and munitions the unit would need through the next day of heavy fighting.

At midnight the General decided to turn in, to get some needed rest before the start of the attack.  Finding a quiet spot in a bunker, Baggett lay down in his suit, then commanded his reticular activating system to place him in a state of deep slumber.  The dreamless sleep passed as it always did, without the sensation of passing time.  The night was still upon them, dawn still some hours away, as he walked from the quarters and headed toward the command post.

There was what looked like chaotic commotion in the command bunker as he walked in, an appearance that was deceiving to those not familiar with military operations.  Everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing, like a well oiled machine.  The extra motion was the result of the normal desire to burn off steam before the start of a battle.

“We go in forty minutes,” said Dagni, walking up in her battle armor, faceplate retracted to show her smiling face.  “With the General’s permission, of course.”

“Yours to run, Colonel,” said Baggett with a grin.  “I’m just an observer.”

Dagni’s return smile let him know that she didn’t believe that shit.  She would be in charge as long as everything was going well.  And he would take over if it went to shit.

“Shall we?” asked the Colonel, gesturing toward the entrance to the bunker.

Baggett nodded, then followed the Colonel to the entrance, tapping his gauntleted hand against the carbon fiber and alloy wall.  It would take a good sized nuke, or a very fast moving kinetic, to breach the wall of this bunker that had been assembled from prefab parts.  It had taken the engineers an hour to put it together, another hour for the nanites to bind the sections into a unified whole of three meter thick armor.  It had taken a little time to put a covering of earth over the bunker, all the while using the most advanced tech to hide the construction from enemy observation.

It would have been safer to observe the battle from within the bunker, looking through the eyes and sensors of the combat troops.  The governing tradition of the Imperial military was that the officers shared, as much as possible, the same dangers.  It was not expected that a field grade officer or above would move forward with the battle line.  It was expected that any officer in the battle area would only take advantage of the safety of their own armor and the terrain they could shelter behind.  Of course, the damned Division commander is safe and sound on one of the assault ships, out of range of anything the enemy ground forces might have.  He amended that thought as he recalled that there were still shore batteries on the surface, waiting for their moment to get a hit in on an Imperial ship.  But still, the ground units were at much more risk at this moment, here and now.

The pair passed a heavy tank, one of the battalion assigned to the brigade.  A thousand tons of armor, weapons and energy generating reactors, it looked invincible.  Baggett knew it was anything but.  Anything that could be built could be destroyed.  And the tougher it was, the more resources an enemy would put into discovering how to defeat it.  This one was sitting hull down, only its turret sticking up above the hill it sheltered behind.  A hundred meters to its right was yet another of the massive vehicles.

Baggett tapped into his sensor suite, and met a wall of static.  The interlinked systems of his own soldiers and machines let him know where they were.  But the static across all wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum blocked the sight of the enemy sensors.  The problem was, so did the jamming equipment of the enemy block his own sensors.  There were some gaps in their coverage, giving him glimpses of their dispositions.  Partly because of the better tech of the humans.  Partly because of the glimpse the sensors of the ships in orbit gave the ground forces.  Not much more than a glimpse, but still enough to get a general idea of the enemy’s dispositions.

The sun was starting to come up, only discernable by the lightening of the terrain around them through the dust.  Dawn was a good time to attack for both sides.  For the Fenri because the day loving humans were at physiological ebb at that time.  For the humans because the nocturnal Fenri were getting sleepy as the light of day returned.  It was hoped by the humans that they would catch the enemy in an attack that they could smash quickly, killing most of them in the open.  Good theory, thought Baggett.  Only time would tell if theory was any damned good.  The fire started to come in at that moment, partially confirming the validity of that theory.

“Now,” called Dagni over the com, at the same instant the timer ticked down to zero.

The main gun of the nearby tank cracked as its mag rail sent a hundred kilo shell downrange at twenty thousand meters a second.  The mass of the tank rocked slightly as its grabber units absorbed the recoil, and the round struck its target, an enemy armored vehicle, before the sonic crack even sounded to the observing officers.  The turret of the enemy vehicle twisted into the air in a ball of fire as it absorbed the energy of the strike.

From multiple firebases within a couple of hundred kilometers rounds came roaring over to arc down over the enemy positions.  Beam weapons reached out from the ground, blasting over half the rounds out of the air.  The combination of jamming and dust allowed the rest to get through, to throw gouts of dirt into the air as they struck.  Most were in the half kiloton range, and the bright flashes of the mininukes flared through the dust.

Moments later another volley of time on target came through, then another.  Most didn’t make it to targets, though enough did to make the shoots worthwhile.  And seeing the counter fire made the General more than happy.  Any weapon aimed at the artillery was one not aimed at his people.

“Incoming,” shouted a voice over the com, as hundreds of red dots appeared on Baggett’s HUD, arcing down onto his brigade positions.  The tanks took them under fire first, their turret laser crosses and hull mounted autocannon blasted one shell after another.  Specialized anti-air batteries opened a moment later, along with the firepower of the heavy weapons’ suits.

The ground rumbled underfoot as the Fleet took advantage of the new targets that had been unmasked when the enemy artillery fired.  Mushroom clouds reached into the atmosphere from twenty to a hundred kilometers away, and the incoming fire slacked off considerably.  Next the kinetic rounds came down on the enemy infantry positions, almost knocking the General off of his feet.

“Forward,” yelled Dagni into the com, then she moved toward the front with the long strides of her suit, her command team falling in around her.  Baggett waited for a moment, until some more troopers fell in on him, then followed, keeping a good fifty meters between himself and his subordinate.  The tanks rose up on their grabbers and started forward, while the infantry troopers bounded from their positions and formed up a platoon around each behemoth.

Artillery rounds continued to fall ahead, a rolling barrage that led the forward edge of the advance by a good fifty meters.  Sporadic fire continued to fall on the humans, here and there making a kill, but the orbital bombardment had taken the heart out of the enemy artillery.

Ground fire began to strike the leading troops.  Particle beams and mag rifle pellets, they mostly either bounced from the tough armor or did minimal damage.  It took several hits for a pellet weapon, or a sustained strike of a particle beam, to penetrate heavy battle armor.  The troopers under fire were moving too quick, using the available cover, to allow that to happen, with the exception of isolated cases.  They fired back at any target that presented itself, mostly with the same result, as the Fenri were also encased in tough heavy armor suits.

Identification was simplified on this battlefield by the disparity in the size of the suits of the combatants.  Human suits were big hulking affairs.  The Fenri suits, made for beings that stood a little under a meter and a half tall, were little bigger than a large human.  There were some very large suits out there as well on the enemy side, mecha, such as the humans gave up a generation before.  They were hard hitting, and easy to target, and most were taken out as soon as they revealed themselves.

The human soldiers moved forward in rushes, flying with boot bottoms centimeters above the ground, running, or bouncing, whichever suited their own individual styles.  The air was alive with the angry red of particle beams, and the sound was a constant hum like a trillion incensed bees out for revenge.  Where beam hit earth splashes of dirt and glass flew into the air.  Where they hit what remained of the vegetation on the surface trunks blew apart in clouds of steaming sap and wood splinters, or brush caught on fire.

Suits took multiple hits, almost all of them.  They were made to take multiple hits, that was the rationale for their use.  Some troopers still dropped off the net, killed by sustained or multiple blasts of neutrons, or heavy weapon rounds.  Those good enough, or lucky enough, made it through the fire, while striking down the Fenri soldiers that opposed them.  At this point the Fenri had the advantage of terrain, fighting on the defensive.  They normally got the first shot.  The humans had the advantage of firepower.  As soon as a Fenri shot, they had overwhelming incoming fire pinning them down, the lucky ones.  Or they were killed before they could draw back behind cover.

Baggett cringed as one of the men to his front went down, a heavy round, thirty millimeter, popping out of the suit back with a splash of gore.  He ducked down for a moment, looking for the shooter.  He spotted him before anyone else, a lone suit that had been bypassed, and was now in the position of a sniper.  Baggett sent off a half dozen twenty millimeter grenades at the target while painting it with his sensor suite.  The grenades popped off with little damage to the Fenri, who avoided them by sliding back into a hole.  He didn’t avoid the three troopers who converged on the hole and tossed grenades in after him.  The troopers jumped back as the grenades lifted the enemy suit and the top of the small hill into the air.  The Fenri may have survived the launch, their suits were tough as well.  He didn’t survive the prolonged exposure to a trio of particle beams that converged on his helmet, reducing it and the alien’s head to vapor.

A tank to the left rang like a bell as a heavy hyper velocity missile struck its turret.  That turret started to move with a swift motion toward the enemy gunner, when two more hyper v’s slammed into it near where the first hit.  The top hatches of the vehicle flew off as jets of flame blew into the air.  Whatever crew were in the turret were dead, of that there was no doubt.  Moments later the two people who manned stations in the hull clambered out of the escape hatch.  One was hit immediately by a high velocity rifle round that tore through the back of the suit.  It did not come out the front, meaning it was bouncing around inside.  The tanker fell off the hull and into the dirt, while the other survivor clambered over the hull and dropped to the other side.

“Stay under cover,” ordered Baggett over the com.  “Wait until we root out the enemy.”

“Yes, sir,” came back the woman’s voice, as she crouched in her light combat armor by the side of the tank.

The fight went on through the morning.  Baggett shook his head in disgust as they ran into enemy strong point after strong point.  He had wanted to attack as soon as they had consolidated the landing zone.  The Corps Commander had wanted to wait until all three divisions were ready to strike at once.  And because of that we have to fight our way through prepared positions that weren’t there yesterday.

At points individual soldiers dropped back and waited for resupply.  The suits could run on their internal crystal matrix batteries for a week of normal service, or a day or two of combat.  But proton stores and missiles needed to be resupplied.  And every soldier was sending scores of explosive weapons an hour into the enemy, fired from their backpack launchers.

Four hours into the attack came a sign that the enemy was stretched to the breaking point.  Armed slaves attacked from the flank.  Creatures that looked like mammalian spiders, reptiles, even some avians, they were armed but not armored.  They came in by the thousands, to be swept away by the heavy firepower of the suits.  They broke and ran moments into the attack, just before the Fenri heavy armor struck from the front.

Thousands of the enemy in battle armor came rushing out of the dust, firing all weapons as fast as possible.  The humans dropped for cover and returned fire.  It was a near thing, and the Fenri penetrated the human lines for five hundred meters before the advance was stopped.  Ground attack craft flew overhead at that moment, launched from one of the firebases to the rear.  A full squadron of twelve, they dropped forty-eight canisters of submunitions that ripped apart the heart of the enemy attack.

“What’s the holdup?” asked Baggett an hour later, as the attack stopped kilometers from the edge of the city they had come to take.

“Engineers have detected some large objects under the ground ahead, sir, ” said a captain in charge of one of the line companies.

“Better safe than sorry,” agreed the General, remembering how the nuke had really hurt his command on the Lasharan homeworld.

Moments later the engineers came running back, their heavy armor taking them across the ground at a hundred kilometers an hour.  “Fire in the hole,” yelled one of the engineers as they moved past the kilometer mark from the objects.  There was a flash of fire, followed by an even brighter flash as the buried munition went off.

The ground shook underfoot as a huge wave of earth rose into the sky.  In the center was a rising ball of fire that climbed into the sky to become  a mushroom cloud.

“Probably a hundred kiloton yield,” said the Captain, looking at the fireball through his shielded visor.  “Would have taken out a platoon at least, if not a whole company.”

Another mine went off in sympathetic explosion two hundred meters to the right, followed moments later by two more to the left.  That would have taken out the better part of two companies.  Might not have stopped the attack, but sure would have taken the momentum out of it.

Instead, the energy went out of the enemy defense.  In less than fifteen minutes the heavy infantry was at the edge of the city.  Or the city ruins, as most of it had been flattened the day before.  Now they were in for a different type of fighting, a dirty building to building slugfest.  The units stopped for a few minutes to regroup and rearm, while the General met with his assistant brigade commander.

“Good job, Dagni,” he said as he looked over the troops entering the city.  “How’d it feel?”

“A little overwhelming at first,” admitted the Colonel.  “There was so much more on the HUD.  So much more coming over the com.  And very little time to think.”

“That’s why you let the subordinate commanders do the thinking.  You only interfere when you have to mesh the commands to accomplish something.  Or when the subordinate makes a shithead decision.  But you did good.   I see brigade command in your future.”

“Will you look at that,” said the Colonel, pointing to a line of aliens walking from the city.

There were more of the mammalian spider creatures, ten legs, six with manipulation appendages, two meters tall at the shoulders and covered in a reddish fur.  Baggett had met members of the resistance that belonged to that species, and knew they were just superficial morphologically similar to spiders.  Their limbs and bodies were actually supported by endoskeletons, and they had well developed four chambered hearts and a trio of lungs.  Around them were more of the lizard like creatures, and some large hulking humanoids with heavy scales that didn’t seem to fit any classification scheme the General had ever heard of.

“The slaves, showing no loyalty to their masters,” said Baggett, moving around the Colonel to get a better view.  “They’re free now.”

“And if the Fenri take back this planet?”

“Then they’ll find a population of former slaves armed to the teeth.”

The freed slaves moved toward a rallying area five kilometers from the city, where they were provided with species specific food, while representatives of their races spoke with them.  Baggett felt good watching that liberation, even as he told himself that many more of the downtrodden would be killed in this battle.  The Fenri would use them whenever they could, and wouldn’t really care if they became collateral damage.  While his side couldn’t afford to let their presence stop them from hitting the Fenri.

“Hopefully we can keep them….”

Those were the last words out of Dagni’s mouth.  The hyper velocity round, not large enough to take out a tank, but plenty big to destroy a suit, hit the Colonel in the right hip, blasting through and severing her leg.  With a short scream she fell to the ground, blood gushing from the wound.  It was only a short flow, as her body and the suit sealed off the wound.

A pair of particle beams struck Baggett a split second after Dagni was hit.  The beams splashed metal from his suit as he dove for cover, one losing lock, the other following him on his path.  Fortunately for the soldier the more powerful beam was the one that couldn’t follow him.  The lesser beam continued to hit him in the back as he pulled himself behind cover.

“Shit,” he yelled, launching a small drone so he could get a look at the Colonel.  His HUD was flashing a schematic of his suit, the damage inflicted by the beams showing up as blinking red.  He cursed under his breath as he noted the damage to his com systems.  The redundant circuitry would still let him talk to those nearby, but his command functions to the brigade and above were gone.

“You OK, General?” called out a voice on the com.  His HUD wouldn’t give him a location, and he knew that the com location feature was also down.

“Protect the Colonel,” he yelled, looking at her crippled form on his HUD from the drone feed.  “And get those sons of bitches.”  The small particle beam, which had to be a rifle, splashed alloy off of Dagni’s suit on her right shoulder, burning in.  The gunner tried to depress it further and ran into shielding earth.  The bigger beam, a heavy weapon, blasted a layer of earth off the small rise the General was sheltering behind.

He cursed again as the feed from the drone stopped, an indication that it had been destroyed.  He tried to link in with the nearby troopers, who he hoped were going after the enemy, with no success.  “Get those sons of bitches,” he yelled again over the voice com.  “Get them.”

The ground shook with some explosions, and the particle beam that was trying to get to him cut off.  “We got em, sir,” came back a voice over the com.  His suit wouldn’t tell him who they were, and he wondered if the cast was a trick to get him to raise his head.  Dagni? he thought, realizing that he had to see to her.  He rose up, waiting for a beam to come in and strike his helmet.  Nothing happened, and he jumped over the berm and into the slight depression that sheltered the Colonel.

Unable to link with her suit, he checked her vitals through a hard line he plugged into her armor.  He cursed as he saw that her vitals were flat, then breathed a sigh of relief as he noted that her cryostasis systems had engaged.  She’ll be alright, he thought, looking over the physical damage to her suit.  She’s going to need a regrowth procedure for her right leg, and possibly the right arm.  But she’ll be good as new in no time.

Soldiers were crowding around the senior officers in moments.  “We’ll get the Colonel medevac’d, sir,” said a company commander.  “You need to get that suit taken care of.”

In five minutes the Colonel was loaded aboard an assault shuttle, along with many other wounded, and lifted into the sky.  Baggett headed back to the command bunker with an escort, and turned himself over to the careful ministrations of the support staff.  It took several hours to make the needed repairs, while he was jacked into the command circuit through an exterior unit.

The city fighting went about as expected, and he watched every bit of it through the link.  The com system, visual and audio, worked well through all the static as it was transmitted from suit to suit down the line, not allowing the signal to degrade.    He watched closely as the soldiers fought from building to building, rooting out the Fenri resistance.  Most of the enemy were in their version of heavy suits, though, as the fight went on, they encountered more and more in both light armor and no armor at all.

Fenri buildings were tough, just like all the modern construction of most of the space faring species of the region.  Windows were made out of transparent alloys that particle beams ate through with little effort, but which were capable of stopping slow moving projectiles.  Walls were a different story.  Most could sustain the strikes of rifle class particle beams, and it took sustained hits by heavy weapons to blast through.  At some points the buildings were particularly robust, and could only be taken and cleared after kinetic strikes from space.

The ruined city became more and more ruined through the fight, as structures were collapsed on themselves.  Collateral damage was terrible, many innocent slaves killed only because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  At one point a particularly strong building held up the advance.  There was nothing in position above at the moment to deliver a kinetic strike, so a pair of main battle tanks were brought up to deal with the strong point.

The thousand ton beasts were not the best choice for urban warfare.  While tough enough to handle most weapons not specifically made to take them out, they were still more vulnerable in a built up area than in the open.  Still, they made a powerful urban warfare weapon, perfect for when firepower needed to be brought to bear quickly.

The building was short, only about twenty Fenri stories high, about thirty-five meters, and squat, covering a four hundred meter square.  Particle beams, suit launched hyper velocity missiles, even artillery, did nothing but knock small pieces from the thick plasticrete.  A couple of orbital kinetics could probably do the job, but targeting was the problem, and anything powerful enough to wreck this structure would take out a lot of city, even if they hit the target.  Beams reached out from firing ports, keeping the heads of the soldiers down, and preventing engineers from getting close enough to plant charges.  Artillery rounds of enemy origin were also coming in, keeping the area around the building clear.  Several suits were lying in the streets, killed by enemy fire.

The monstrous armored vehicles pulled up, floating on their grabbers a couple of centimeters above the hard surface of the street.  They approached from the east, headed for a long park that looked into the building, which appeared to be some kind of government structure, probably built the way it was to handle any possible slave insurrection.  A pair of troop carriers traveled behind them, and heavy infantry cleared each building to the side before the tanks advanced.  When all were clear, they pulled into the park and moved into place next to each other.  Turrets swung onto the target, the barrels of the mag rail guns extended to double their travel length, and the tanks waited for orders.

The enemy struck first, or tried to.  A quartet of suit launched hyper velocity missiles came out of the building and hit the turrets of the tanks like streaks of light.  The reactive armor fired at the moment the missiles were detected, sending an alloy panel out that struck the hyper-v’s, breaking them up and stealing much of their kinetic energy.  What remained hit the turrets with thunderous reports.  Artillery rounds came in, to be blasted out of the air by the laser crosses of the vehicles.  A few heavy particle beams struck the tanks, partially deflected by their electromag fields.

The first tank fired at the building, rocking back on its grabbers from the recoil of sending a hundred kilo penetrator of supermetal through the extended barrel thirty thousand meters a second.  As soon as it fired the twin heavy particle beams on the side of the mag rail barrel opened up, sending kilograms of ultrafast moving protons to strike near the shell.  The round struck the building and tore through, coming out the other side in a spray of dust and plasticrete particles.  The heavy particle beams ripped through as well, and several of the nearby windows exploded outward from the imparted energy.  The second tank fired a moment later, its round tearing through the building like the first.  Moments later the first tank fired again, putting a hole through at the same level, a couple of meters to the right.  And so it went for a half a minute, each tank firing a penetrator every two seconds, along with particle beams, until a large hole was opened in the wall of the building, a corresponding hole on the other side.

“Fire in the hole,” called out the lead tank commander on the com, and all of the infantry moved to cover.  The tank fired again, this time a different kind of round, that unerringly went through the large hole and into the building.  A bright flash shone through the hole, then the wall exploded outwards as the antimatter round released its fury into the building.  All of the remaining windows blew out, then, almost in slow motion, the building collapsed on itself.

“You should be good to go, General,” said the tech, stepping back from the suit.  “Try your links if you would, sir,” continued the man as he unplugged the hardline.

“Everything seems to be working fine,” said Baggett as he pulled up the HUD and connected with the brigade command net.  He checked in with Fleet up above, then sent a query about his assistant commander.  “Everything is fine,” he said under his breath as the med report came back.  She’s going to make it.  He had thought as much, but it was always better to hear it from the medical people.

The fight for the city was over by morning, and a lot of tired soldiers took the time to eat a real meal, sometimes get out of the suits and clean up.  There was too much risk of getting out of them long term in a combat situation.  Baggett walked among his troops, from company to company.  They had paid a price for the ruined city.  Out of the three thousand two hundred and forty-four soldiers he had led into battle the day before, three hundred and seventy-nine had been killed, with only forty-two of those recoverable.  He had also lost almost four hundred wounded, who would return to service when they could.

“When are we going to fight the real enemy, sir?” had asked one of his privates when Baggett had talked to the man.  “I lost friends yesterday.  It would have been worth it if we were fighting the Cacas.  But not these bastards.”

Baggett didn’t have an answer for the young man to the question he had been asking himself.  This was just a sideshow.  The real battle was in Sector IV, where they all wanted to be.

*     *     *

CORE WORLD SPACE, SEPTEMBER 1ST, 1001.

“Incoming com, General,” said the secretary over the link.

“Who the hell is it now?” growled Major General Walther Jodel, the famed Preacher of the Imperial Army Rangers.  He looked with disgust at the screen of his flat comp, where he had been doing the busy work that came with promotion.  I should have turned down the damned promotion that took me out of field work.  But they didn’t give me that option.

“It’s the Emperor, sir,” said the secretary.  “Should I put him through?”

Jodel detected just the least bit of sarcasm in the young lady’s voice.  “Of course put him through.”  What else did you expect me to say?

The holo came alive over the desk, showing the image of the young man who was now the supreme leader of the Empire.  He looks like he’s grown up.  And the fatigue.  The slump of the shoulders.  Command sits heavy on him, as it should.

“How’s the new position, General?” asked the young man, a smile stretching his face.

It’s amazing how he keeps up with the people he knows, thought the General, weighing his answer, then deciding to just go with the truth.  “Though I appreciate the rank, your Majesty, I really wish I were still out in the field.”

“You’re too valuable to us to be risked out there in some forest hunting Cacas, Preacher,” replied the Emperor.  The young man looked down for a moment, and Preacher knew he was also thinking about his next words.  “I need you to take charge of special ops in Sector IV.  How soon can you get to the new command base for the sector?”

“And you want me to take charge of the Rangers in that sector?” asked Preacher, nodding his head.  “How many regiments?”  Preacher knew his rank was fitted for command of between three and five brigades, ten or so regiments.  He had recently been assigned to the old command planet, Conundrum, and had made things tough for the Cacas on the planet.  Tough enough that they had withdrawn from the surface of the world, only remaining in their orbital positions.  Which didn’t mean that the planet was secure.  The Cacas were still observing the surface, and striking at everything that moved.

“There are fifteen brigades deployed to Sector IV.  But you misunderstand, General.  I want you to be in charge of all special ops ground operations.  That includes Force Marines and Naval Commandos.”

“That, is unheard of, your Majesty,” said Preacher, wondering what was on the Emperor’s mind with such a decision.  There was a lot of rivalry between the three special ops services.  All thought they were the best, and in many ways all were right.  All used retroactive genetic engineering to create their warriors, making them veritable supermen.  They all paid the same price, lost decades of life, for that small percent who actually lived to retirement age.  And the rivalry was not always a friendly one.

“I think it is time to get over Interservice rivalries, General,” said the Emperor, looking the Ranger straight in the eyes.  “We need to work together as one team on this one.  And the only way I can be assured that our limited ground resources are used to their best advantage is to have a centralized Specops command.”

“That’s a little bit above my pay grade, your Majesty,” said Preacher, thinking of how Marine generals and Fleet admirals would take the news that some junior Army general was taking their toys.”

“You are officially a Lt. General, as of this moment,” said the Emperor, sending the promotion orders over com link.

Preacher whistled as he saw the orders in his link.  Not a brevet rank, but a permanent one, which would allow his brevetting to colonel general if necessary.  And I retired a colonel, with no aspirations of flag rank.  Goes to show that even a war benefits some.  Though I’m not sure I would call this a benefit.

“So, when can you be ready?”

“I can take the wormhole network in an hour.”  He checked the transit times through the Donut and came up with an estimate.  “Say three hours to get to the command base.”  And a trip that would have taken three weeks using a hyper VII ship.

“Very good.  I’ll let them know you’re on the way.”  The Emperor looked like he was about to terminate the transmission, then smiled.  “Your boy did good.  On Azure.”

Preacher knew immediately who the Emperor was talking about.  Even I didn’t see that much potential of that young farmer.  “And now he’s married, and in officer candidate school.  And a Knight.”

“His wife and daughter live at the palace.  His adopted daughter, I should say.  And I see big things ahead of her as well.”

“Did you have to give him another Imperial Medal of Heroism, your Majesty?” asked Preacher after a short laugh.  “Cornelius already has the big head, without winning two of the highest award possible.  Now he’ll be insufferable.”

“He might have a patent of nobility in his future as well,” said Sean, his smile widening.

“If you keep giving those things out like you have, your Majesty, the entire Empire will be composed of nobles.”

“We did a genetic tree of that young man,” said Sean.  “Seems that he is related to the Imperial line from about five generations back.  We knew he had an unusual genome, since the augmentation process has had no effect on his potential lifespan.”

“An Imperial bastard?  That is some news.”

“We haven’t told him yet.  After all, winning two Imperial Medals of Heroism might be a little much to deal with right now.  But the young man performed a deed that deserved such a recognition, so what was I to do?”

“Could I ask a favor, your Majesty?”

“You want him in your command, once he becomes an officer?”

“If he becomes an officer,” said Preacher.

“Oh, I have no doubt he’ll make it.  That farmer doesn’t know how to quit.”

“Thank you,” said Preacher, thinking of how good it would be to have the young man in his unit.  Because Cornelius Walborski was not just a hard charging Ranger with no quit in him.  He had the luck of a legendary warrior, and that was what Preacher was sure he would someday be.  Maybe more famous than I was, thought the General, looking down at the ribbon on his uniform that indicated the award they had been talking about.  And he had only one.  How many have won it twice?  Twenty?  In the history of the Empire.  And two have won it three times.  He could end up being the third.

“I’ll check in on you after you’ve settled in, General,” said the Emperor, looking at something off the holo.  “And be sure to contact me if you run into any problems.”

“The chain of command wouldn’t like that, your Majesty.”

“And I really don’t care if they like it or not.  I only care about results.  Sean out.”

The holo faded, leaving the Preacher to think about the conversation.  Lt. General, he thought, shaking his head.  Who would have ever thought Mama Jodel’s little boy would have risen so high.  Or that a dirt farmer from a small frontier world would become an Imperial hero.  And then he was on his flat comp, cutting orders for the people he would bring with him, including his sometimes sarcastic secretary, who was good at keeping him on his toes.

Chapter Six

CONUNDRUM SPACE, SEPTEMBER 5TH – 14TH, 1001.

The battle cruisers came out of hyperspace a light week from the target.  That was beyond the detection range of the system defense force for a hyper I translation.  The ships drifted toward the system at point two light, well below their maximum translation speed of point two five, at the velocity called for by the mission profile.  The bright point of the system primary appeared on the viewers of the ships, while tactical screens filled in the locations of the orbiting elements of Conundrum.

“The system is filled with shipping,” said the Tactical Officer of the HIMS Bayerlein.

“Just what we expected,” said the Captain, looking intently at the central holo that displayed a 3D representation of the system the enemy had made their own.  “What’s the status on our pursuit?”

“Nothing yet, ma’am,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Maybe they gave up.”

I doubt that, thought the Captain.  It isn’t like the Cacas to give up.  The two battle cruisers in her small squadron had come within tracking range of a trio of Ca’cadasan battleships en-route.  Not the worst of circumstances, as the ships were traveling at high velocity on a different vector, and would have to take time to decelerate and come around on a pursuit path.  That they would eventually was a given, and the Imperial ships had been lucky enough to avoid any patrols that might make them change their own mission necessary approach profile.  We could have done it differently, but it would have made it riskier for our passengers.

“Missile launch in ten seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking over at the Captain, then the holo.

Looking good so far, thought the Captain.  And if it isn’t, there’s nothing we can do about it now.

A thousand light years away, on acceleration stations around the black hole that was the center of the Empire, missiles accelerated through thousands of kilometers of magnetic tubes, moving back to their starting point as they reached the end of the conduit.  The missiles ran the course over and over, until they had built up to point nine five light, the maximum safe velocity for the weapons based on their ability to survive the particle bombardment of space.  On a signal from the battle cruiser, both of which carried wormholes which had now configured to launcher openings, the last wormhole of the circuit withdrew, leaving a clear path to the last hole, and on to the launching ships.

A stream of missiles came through the launching wormhole of each battle cruiser, heading insystem at constant velocity, powered down and undetectable at any kind of range.  Both launched fifty missiles, each of which would coast into the system, looking for targets.  With luck something would get within the striking range of the missile, and it would only have to boost for a minimal period to make a hit.  In some other instances they might have to boost for a longer period, giving away their location, but retaining all the advantages of a fast moving missile.  If five of the weapons took out targets it was a good payoff on the investment.  If ten targets were destroyed, or heavily damaged, it would be worth the loss of both battle cruisers, in the cold hard calculations of warfare.

But we’re going to get out of here, thought the Captain, looking over at her Com Officer.  “Tell our passengers it’s time for them to fly the coop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed the officer, turning back to his board.

The holo of another officer sprung into existence near the Captain’s chair, the dashing looking man smiling back at her.

“Good hunting, Commodore,” said the Captain.  “And good luck.”

“Thanks for the ride, Captain.  But I’ll sure be happy to be in charge of my own fate again.”

“Don’t blame you.”

“I’ll buy you a drink when we get back to base, Kelley,” said the man in charge of the second part of the mission.

“I’ll gladly accept that drink, Bryce,” said the other officer to her old academy classmate.

The holo went blank, and the quartet of two hundred thousand ton stealth attack ships detached from the battle cruiser and started their slow deceleration into the system.  Four more detached from the other battle cruiser, and the squadron of eight of the stealthiest craft in the Empire moved into the system.

The battle cruisers opened holes back into hyperspace, still too far from the system to be detected on a hyper I jump, as long as there were no pickets near.  They disappeared into the holes between the dimensions, which closed as soon as the ships had passed.

*     *     *

Commodore Bryce Suttler (brevet rank) sat in his command chair and looked at the system ahead on the tactical holo.  His ships were all closely arrayed in a diamond pattern, decelerating inward at ten gravities, not detectable by any known technology at greater than fifteen light minutes.  It would be a long slow voyage into the system, one light week over a one and a half month period.  If all went well they would be in a perfect position to perform their primary mission, gathering intelligence while preparing for the disrupting strike that was their secondary task.

“Message from Dolphin,” said the Com Tech manning that station.

“Put it on the holo,” ordered Suttler with a nod.

The image of Commander Chris Browne appeared on the holo, a worried expression on his face as he looked at his squadron commander.  Browne, though an experienced officer, was a first time ship’s captain, and as such always seemed to sweat every detail.  Not sure if this is the first mission he needed to grow comfortable with command, thought Suttler.  But the man had earned command, and his ship had been available for this mission, so here he was.

“We’re picking up a track at twenty-five degrees east of Imperial center, fifteen degrees north, at approximately three hundred million kilometers.”

“So, they picked up the arrival and departure of the battle cruisers,” said Suttler, looking at the tactical plot which now showed the enemy scout ship.  “No reason to think they picked us up.”

“We’re picking up graviton emissions from that scout ship,” called out the Sensor Officer from her station.  “They’re signaling their base.”

“Should we fire on them?” asked Browne, his eyes narrowing.

“Hell no,” said Suttler, staring into the eyes of his subordinate.  “Then they’ll sure as hell know we are here.  We keep as quiet as we can and cruise on in.  They’re still too far off to pick up our little bit of graviton emission.  The few they might pick up will be indistinguishable from the emissions from the star.”

At least I hope they haven’t picked us up, thought Suttler, looking at the tactical holo.  He had faith in the tech of his ships.  With their light bending fields they were basically invisible to most electromagnetic detection.  And their wormhole heat sinks sucked up all of the ergs a ship their size produced.  Even the neutron emissions of the antimatter reactors, the little bit that got past the shielding, were mostly sent through the wormhole that was also their com link.

If we fired a missile, they would pick up the launch from the graviton emissions of a hundred ton missile accelerating at ten thousand gravities.  Then they would pick up the heat coming off those grabbers, estimate where they were launched from, and, not seeing anything here, know what they were facing.  “We might take them out, Browne.  But not before they told the system what was out here.  And I don’t want them knowing that until we’re ready to strike.”

The other commander nodded his head, looking chastised.  “I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s why you have me here,” said Suttler, smiling.  “For you to bounce your decisions off of someone more experienced, until you gain your own experience.”

“We’re picking up movement from the edge of the system, sir,” called out the Tactical Officer, Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic.  “From emissions, they appear to be a pair of battleships, and two of the supercruisers.”

“So they had ships out at the hyper barrier as well, just like we figured.”

“They’re jumping to hyperspace.”

“Least time ETA?”

“At least ten hours, considering they have to stair step up hyper to get here, as well as accel and decel.”

“Wonder why they’re even bothering?” said Browne from his bridge.  “They have to know that the battle cruisers have already left the area.”

“Just being thorough, I guess,” said Ngovic, following the ships through hyperspace by their hyper resonances.  “In case we left something behind.”

“Like we did,” agreed Suttler, nodding.  “I want tight emission control across the squadron.  Everything on lockdown.”

“Yes, sir,” came the acknowledgements from his own crew.  Within moments every control on the ship that might trigger something that would give them away, emergency transmitters, life pods, weapons, acceleration controls, were locked down.  Only the ship’s captain could override the lockdown.  There was no chance of anyone hitting something by accident that could possibly give them away.  Moments later the other captains were acknowledging that their ships were also secure.  Suttler felt a flush of pride as he recognized that his crew had accomplished the command faster than the others.  And a feeling that the others would have to get better at their tasks if the mission was to be successful.  That’s what we get using new ships and crews that haven’t worked together past shakedown.  But it was all that had been available at the time.

Ten hours and thirteen minutes after they had entered hyper the enemy ships moved back into normal space, on an outward heading at point three light.  The missiles were almost ten light hours closer to the system, well beyond any conceivable detection range of the ships.  The stealth attack squadron was eight light hours further out from the missiles, within detection range of most ships, if they hadn’t been stealth attack.  The enemy ships were still decelerating as they came through, their active sensors sweeping the heavens on full power.

Hours later the passive sensors of the Seastag rang with the energy of sensor sweeps as they briefly passed over.  Anything that struck the ship was absorbed by the composite matrix of the hull.  All the enemy ships could do was continue to decelerate until they could vector back, and there was absolutely nothing for them to find.

I would love to take your fat asses out, thought Suttler, looking at the enemy ships on the viewer, or at least the vessels as they had appeared several hours before.  But even if that had been within mission parameters, which it wasn’t, it would take almost a day to change vectors to come back at the enemy, giving away their position from graviton emissions the entire time.

“Too bad we can’t hit them,” said Ngovic, echoing his Captain’s thoughts.  “Nothing to do but a long, slow trip into the system.”

“And then we become a thorn in the Cacas’ sides,” said Browne over the com, a smile on his face.

Yep, thought the Commodore.  And then we become their worst nightmare.

About a week later there were more ships short jumping out to their area, within light hours or less in some cases, scanning space with active sensors.  The volume of normal space in the outer reaches of the system were enormous, as were the number of widely spaced objects.  Suttler had little fear of detection, though he still spent a lot of time in his chair, monitoring the locations of the enemy vessels.

“What do you think happened?” asked the Navigation Officer as her eyes followed the enemy vessels on the tactical holo.

“My guess would be that the missiles made their presence known in the inner system,” said Ngovic with a smile.

“And I believe you are correct, Mr. Ngovic,” said Suttler, hoping that the missiles caused the maximum damage possible, and knowing that to be unlikely.

For several days ships continued to move around in the Kuiper Belt region, popping in an out of hyper.  At one point a supercruiser translated several light minutes ahead, not in their direct path, but close enough.  Fortunately the ship was moving on a vector that took it quickly away from the squadron, and the stealth ships were basically holes in space that could only be detected by a concentrated sensor sweep.  Which was not likely from a ship that was trying to cover the entire sphere of space around itself.

Finally, after many hours of searching, the ships left.  Suttler was almost sorry to see them go.  It would have been a tremendous waste of resources if those ships had continued searching the outer reaches.  They would have been unlikely to be in the right place and time if more Imperial ships visited.

A little less than twelve days later bright flashes in the system ahead told of missiles finding targets.  At first there were some small flashes, bright pinpoints of gigaton warheads going off, most likely missiles that had been intercepted and destroyed.  Minutes later some larger flashes which had to be missiles hitting targets.  Over the next hour there were more of both kinds of flashes, missiles taken out before impact, or hitting a target, all of which had happened almost a week before.

Two of the flashes were monsters, the types caused by stores of antimatter breaching containment.  Which meant some big vessels or stations had gone up.  Something for them to think about, thought Suttler.  And we’re going to cause them more reason for panic.

*     *     *

“Nothing, sir,” said the subordinate officer over the com.

“They must have launched from somewhere,” said another officer, wrinkling his snout in confusion.

“And how did they accelerate them to attack velocities like they did?” asked yet another.

Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow looked with disgust on his intelligence braintrust.  And it was a shameful day for their mothers when such idiots were birthed.

The Great Admiral had known for many centuries that he was among the smartest of his species.  He knew there was a research position waiting for him when he reached that age when he was no longer effective as a warrior, or even the leader of warriors.  And now he wondered if the human way of doing things were better, to put the best and brightest to work as research scientists while their brains were still pliant.

But then we would have only idiots in charge of our warriors, thought the Great Admiral.  And then where would we be?

“They launched them from wormholes, you idiots,” said the Great Admiral in disgust.  “From those battle cruisers that appeared outside the system over a week ago.”

“How did they build them to such a velocity without us detecting them?” said the officer who had reported the negative sweep of the inner and outer systems.  “They would have given off too many gravitons to miss.  Much less the heat.”

“They accelerated them through something on the other side of the wormhole,” said the Great Admiral, wishing he could just execute these intelligence officers and start over with some lower ranking ratings.

“How did they do that, my Lord?”  The other officers stared at him as if he had grown another pair of horns on his head.

“I really don’t know how they do it.  But they do.”  The Great Admiral looked down at his desk for a moment, lamenting the damage that the enemy missiles had done, no matter how they did it.

A battleship, a supercruiser, two scouts and three logistics vessels, including an antimatter tanker.  All with no loss to themselves, except the missiles we intercepted, and the ones that flew out of the system.  He could still see the battleship as it was hit by the missile traveling at point nine five light, captured on vid from a nearby ship.  A hundred ton missile traveling with that much velocity equaled a lot of kinetic energy.  Enough to shatter a ship that had almost no time to defend itself.  Just our luck the missile was on a close enough approach that it only had to boost for less than a minute to hit the target.  The ship had shattered under the strike.  There were likely no survivors even before the antimatter breached.  The other hits were not so clean.  The supecruiser had actually knocked out two other missiles before the third hit.  The logistics vessels really had no chance.  And they could do it again, even if we place pickets out in the ice ball belt.  It’s just something to keep us on edge, and it’s working.

“Keep searching the system, in case they left something else behind,” said the Great Admiral as he headed for the exit of the conference room.

“Like what, my Lord?” asked one of the officers.

“I don’t know,” said the Great Admiral, turning and pointing both right index fingers at the officer.  “When you find it we’ll both know.”

We need to take out that wormhole generating station, thought the senior officer of the Ca’cadasan conquest force, walking down the corridor, ignoring all of the other males who offered their salutes as he passed.  They’ll still have the wormholes they already have, but they won’t able to make any others.  But of course he had no idea how the mission to strike at the generating station was going.  Without a wormhole of their own, there was no way to communicate with the strike force.  Of course, we could always build our own station.  We have plenty of black holes in the Empire.   It would only take us, what, fifty or more years to build such a station.

The Great Admiral stalked into his private office and ordered that no one disturb him.  He had other matters to deal with, matters of some importance if he was to win this war.  He sat behind his desk and activated the holo, sending the link address over his implant.

“How goes the Mankind Project?” he asked the ancient looking Cacada on the holo.

“We have had a difficult time convincing any of the human scientists from New Moscow to throw in with us.”

“I would think that guaranteeing the safety of their families would mean something,” said the Great Admiral, feeling his anger rising.  “Maybe some executions are in order.”

“The problem is, Great Admiral,” said the Cacada scientist with a disapproving scowl, “that most of these humans have no families.  Or at least none that we have access to.  We found most of these humans in remote research labs, or on ships that were fleeing our advance.  We don’t know who their family members are, or where to find them.”

“And they don’t have enough of a self preservation instinct to cooperate?”

“Even if they do, many of them would rather die than cooperate with us.  And those who do cooperate are not trustworthy.”

And our own human slaves are not trained in their sciences, and so are of little use to us.  “Keep at it.  Get all the cooperation you can out of them.  Even if it is just to get the basics of their science to teach our own human scientists.”

“What do you hope to get out of them, my Lord Admiral?  They are less advanced than us in most ways anyway.”

“But they will not always be so, Scientist.  Even you know as much.  And we cannot afford to fall that far behind them when they pass us.  Now do as I say.”  The Great Admiral terminated the transmission, then made his next connection.

“Yes, my Lord,” said the being on the other end of transmission.  The screen was blank for just a moment while the system determined the security credentials for both parties.  The image that finally appeared on the holo would have surprised most Cacada.  The red piercing eyes looked over the dog-like snout which wrinkled into a smile, revealing an alarming array of teeth.  Its ears were perked up in an aspect of interest, and its solid black fur almost hid it within the shadows.

My intelligence staff would feel slighted that I had assigned a Maurid to be my spymaster.   Maurids were on average smarter than Cacada, and the Great Admiral would not have bet against one in a hand to hand battle with one of his own people.  Kilogram for kilogram, Maurids were stronger than his people, and their natural weapons were frighteningly deadly.  It’s fortunate that they were savages when we found them, or they might be rulers of the Empire by now.

“How goes the establishment of your network?”

“It is normally a long, slow process to establish a living being intelligence network,” said the Maurid with a grimace.  “Even with the inclusion of trained humans, we still need a core of betrayers within the enemy Empire.  Humans with long standing associations, aliens in trusted positions.  We are starting to make some contacts, but as I said, this will take time.”

“What about the beings our Knockermen friends were talking about?”

“The mythical shape shifters?  Even if such beings exist, they will by nature be very difficult to find.  My operatives have orders to seek them out.  What the result of their seeking will be, who can say.”

“And you have no way of knowing how your operatives are doing?”

“Of course not.  We do not have instantaneous communications like the humans.  It gives them a great advantage over us.”

The Great Admiral stopped himself at the last moment from saying anything about that.  His plans were not for everyone to know.  There were many operations going through on a need to know basis, and the Maurid did not need to know.  “Advance your operation as quickly as is feasible,” he told his spymaster.  “I need a better take on what my opponent is thinking.”

“I will move forward as quickly as I can, without compromising the operation.  Unless you wish some other to run this intelligence network.”

The holo went blank, terminated from the other end, and the Great Admiral glared at the space where the vid had been with mounting anger.  The Maurids are arrogant creatures, he thought, remembering that many times in the past the extermination of the species had been contemplated.  But then we always find a use for them.  Like now.  He wished it wasn’t true, but it was fact that his people weren’t very good at the intelligence business, and the Maurids were.

*     *     *

The Maurid known as the Spymaster grinned at the dead holo.  He knew the position of his people within the Empire.  He knew that the Ca’cadasans didn’t like his people.  Most sentient beings didn’t like the Maurid people.  He accepted that.  He also knew that his people were better than most sentients at most things, which made them too valuable to be discarded.

He looked up at the other Maurid who occupied the room, a lean female with an orange striped coat.  Do you think he suspects? signed the female with quick motions of the fingers on both fore and hind paws.

I doubt he has a clue, signed the Spymaster, using an ancient hunting language of their people that had been modified for modern use.

This is our best chance of freeing ourselves from the horn heads, signed the female, her mouth grinning.  And also a great risk.  They may destroy us if they think we are trying to betray them to their old enemy.

The humans are the first culture we have come across who might actually beat the Masters, he signed, bringing up a holo of the Ca’cadasan Empire.  The way the Master’s Empire has spread, there may never be another chance like this.  If we waste this opportunity, we may forever be slaves.

And who is to say that the humans will be any better, signed the female.

The Spymaster thought back to the resident aliens of the human Empire that he had seen interrogated.  All seemed very loyal to the Empire they served.  None were slaves.  They even had representation in the government of the Empire.  The humans represented freedom, and the free intercourse of sentient beings, while the Ca’cadasans were a dead end for any species but their own.

What about those the Masters fight on the other front? signed the female, looking at the holo that showed the Ca’cadasans at war on both ends of their Empire.

We are not there, he signed back.  We are here, so here is where we work.  If some other species makes progress with the enemy on that front, good.  But we will see what we can accomplish with these humans.

And if they still lose to the Masters?

Then it is a good thing that we play both sides.  We cannot lose, as long as we play this right.

Chapter Seven

JEWEL, SEPTEMBER 12TH, 1001.

Samantha Ogden Lee, Regent of the Empire, looked around the table at the gathered executives of the news services.  They were all there, responding to the Imperial Summons.  The directors of Galactic News Network, Imperial News Group, Jewel Central News, and the relative newcomer of the bunch, Matsuka News Corp.  All had asked that they be allowed to bring staff to the meeting, to record what was said.  Of course that request had been denied.  The whole purpose of this meeting was frankly outside the law.  But the Regent had seen no other option.

“Well, your highness,” said Oliver Maxwell of GNN.  “We’re here.  Now, would you be good enough to tell us why you called us.”

“Maxwell has a recording device on his person,” came the voice of a young woman, one of the Secret Service detail that was monitoring the meeting.   “We’re deactivating it, now.”

“Mr. Maxwell,” said Samantha, giving the man her best cold blue eyed glare.  “You were told not to bring any recording devices to this meeting.”

“It’s only my personal communications device,” said the man with a smile, reaching into his jacket, then frowning as he found himself looking at a dead screen.

“You could have just relied on your implant while you were here,” said Samantha, shaking her head.  “But, of course, I should have expected noncompliance from a man like yourself.”

“Our implants don’t seem to be working in this place,” said Maxwell with a scowl.

“Still, you were told to bring no external devices, and yet you did.”

“We are free citizens,” said Mitsu Matsuka with a petulant stare.  “We do not have to comply with your directives.”

“Need I remind you, Madame,” said Samantha, shifting her glare to the woman.  “You are currently on Imperial Property, and therefore subject to all rules and regulations governing said property.  And I am hereby notifying you that I am invoking the Official Secrets Act for this meeting.”

“This is outrageous,” growled Nathan M’tumbo of Jewel Central News, the only local organization in the crowd, which, by dint of being housed on the Capital planet, reached many more off planet outlets than any other small organization.  “We all agreed to come and hear what you had to say, and you preface it with threats.”

“Not threats. Just making sure everyone here understands their obligations.  We will be discussing matters of national security, and any unauthorized dissemination of the information we discuss will lead to severe consequences.  Is that understood?”

There was head nodding around the room, and Samantha shook her head in return.  “I need for all of you to verbally acknowledge what I have told you.”

“Then yes, dammit,” said Maxwell.  “I agree.”

The others acknowledged in turn, and Samantha smiled.

“So, if it isn’t too much to ask, why did you call us here?” asked Jessica Stuart of Imperial News Network, the second largest of the services.

For answer Samantha activated the holo, which showed the latest of the reports from the front that was circulating among all the news services.  Shots of a devastated planet, what had once been a living world with a thriving colony.  Now lava flowed where once had meandered broad rivers.  Volcanoes erupted in the distance, adding their clouds to the dust that already filled the atmosphere.  There was no life on the planet, not even a microbe.  Or at least there hadn’t been, until the news crew had arrived, floating above the surface in their shuttle.

“As you can see, the devastation was complete,” said the voice of the onsite reporter, her blond good looks visible on a side screen.  “The ancient enemy struck without mercy, killing everything on the planet.  Every man, woman and child.  Every pet and farm animal.  Every bird and insect, down to bacteria.”

The image shifted to a large field of smoldering earth, the foundations of large buildings the only sign that something had once existed here.

“The Ca’cadasans hit this world with missiles, coming in at relativistic speeds, punching through the crust.  Releasing seismic shocks that toppled modern buildings, before the blast waves scoured the rubble from the face of the planet.  Is any system safe from an enemy that is willing to kill entire ecosystems?  Where will they strike next?  And how long do any of us have?”

“That was the lead news story last night on all of your networks,” said Samantha.  “Retransmitted through the wormhole links to those planets on the system, and through hyperlink to the other systems.”

“That was one hell of a piece of reporting,” said Maxwell with a smile.  “Heidi is one of my best.”

“So the news went out to every planet on the wormhole system,” said Stuart.  “That’s old news then.”

“Well, it went out to all the cast systems in the Supersystem, and maybe a dozen of the core systems.  Otherwise, we stopped it from going any further.”

“That’s outrageous,” cried Maxwell, slamming his hand on the table, then looking around nervously as he remembered where he was.  He looked cowed or a moment, then glared back at the Regent.  “That is interfering with freedom of the press. You are violating the constitution of the Empire.”

“Let me make this perfectly clear, ladies and gentlemen,” said Samantha, looking around the table.  “We are in the middle of a war for survival.  If we lose this war, we lose the Empire, and all of your freedoms with it.  And, as your report shows so well, these creatures want to end us.”

“Then the people need to know that,” said M’tumbo.  “How can you sit there and tell us that the truth cannot be told.”

“We are treading a fine line here,” said Samantha, looking down at the table.  “I will let you know right off that I am a Constitutionalist.  I believe in the freedom of the individual.  And your Emperor feels the same way.”

“Then enforce the principles you believe in,” said Matsuka with a pleading look.  “Don’t censor the news.”

“As I said, we are treading a fine line,” said Samantha.  “I agree, the people need to be kept informed.  However, we also need to make sure that we do not crush the hopes of  people.”

“So, what do you suggest?” asked Maxwell, who had seemed to take the leadership position for the group.

“That you temper your stories.  Oh, I don’t mean totally cover the truth.  But try to put a more positive spin on it.  And report some positive stories.  Let the people know that we are winning some victories.  Give them some hope.”

“And if we refuse to cooperate?” asked Maxwell.

“The Emperor is hesitant to enact any level of martial law,” said Samantha, pointing a finger at the news mogul.  “He would rather depend on the cooperation of loyal citizens such as yourselves.  But make no mistake.  If you decide to ignore the guidelines we are going to suggest, we will shut you down, and nationalize your networks.”

“That is outrageous, your Highness,” said Stuart.

“Let me make this clear, one more time,” said Samantha, leaning forward.  “We are in a war of survival.  If we don’t win this war, it’s over.  We might get some people away to start over, but this Empire we have built will be history.  And the Emperor is not about to let that happen.”

“Is there anything you are willing to give us in return?” asked Maxwell, steepling his fingers and looking over them.

“Increased access to information.  Embedding with units, as long as we get first look at any reports your reporters send out.  Access to our interrogations of Caca prisoners.”  All of the newsies leaned forward at that last one, and Samantha smiled.  “Yes, we have them, in maximum security, on Purgatory, and on the Donut.”

“That sounds, more than fair,” said Maxwell, looking at the other directors and getting nods.

“I have just one question to ask, your Highness,” said Stuart, eyes narrowing.  “Off the record.”

“If I have an answer,” said Samantha, nodding.

“Are we going to win this war?  No bullshit pep talk.  Do we have a chance?”

“I think so,” said Samantha, looking the woman in the eyes.  “The Emperor thinks so.  It will be a fight.  But let me make one thing clear.  The Ca’cadasans are very strong.  They are our superiors in technology, but that is changing.  They are at the end of a very long logistics line, while we are fighting in our home space.  They are not superhuman.  In fact,” she thought for a moment before looking back up, “there’s a young man at the Officer’s Candidate Academy on New Terra that I think you need to talk to.  He could fill you in on some of the vulnerabilities of the Cacas, and how determined men and women can successfully fight them.  Now, I’m due to be in another meeting.  So remember.  Work with us on this one, and we’ll make sure you’ll get the news that’s important for the people to get.”

“And we’ll cover up all the bad stuff,” said M’tumbo, looking like he was spitting the words out.

“Not at all,” said Samantha, wondering if that man was going to be a problem.  “We still want the people to know what’s going on.  But without such a doomsday spin on it.”

“And what about major victories?” asked M’tumbo.  “Do you have any of those online?”

“We’re working on that,” said Samantha.  “I could give you the details, but then I would have to throw you in a cell on Purgatory until the campaign was over.”

“I can wait,” said M’tumbo with a frown.

“I thought you would say that, Mr. M’tumbo.  Now, my aides will meet with you all to go over the details of the embedding.”

Samantha jumped from her chair before another question could be asked and walked from the room, heading for her office, and the guest she was expecting there.

“That went well,” said the Countess Haruko Kawasaki, the Prime Minister, leaning back in the comfortable guest chair that sat in one corner of the office.  “I wish I could control the leaders of the three houses that easily.”

Samantha nodded her head as she went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a drink.  Three Houses of Parliament, all with separate responsibilities, sounds like a good idea in peacetime.  But in a war, it sure complicates matters.  “I’m glad I only have to deal with them in small measures,” said Samantha, handing a mixed drink to the Countess, which was accepted with gratitude.  “I really appreciate your running interference between those people and myself.  Most of them give me a headache.”

“Oh, Mohamed is reasonable enough, most of the time,” said the small woman after taking a sip of her drink and smacking her lips.  “But then again, he is supposed to be reasonable.  The other two, on the other hand.”

Samantha nodded her head.  Mohamed Ishner was the head of the Scholars, the house made up of scientists and educators, and responsible for technological development and implementation in the Empire.  Most of the Scholars were rationalists by trade and inclination, and would listen to a well-reasoned argument, even if they didn’t agree.  The Lords and Commons, on the other hand.  Especially the Lords, who had been acting for the most part like spoiled children since before the start of the war.

“I had hopes that Baron Schmidt might be what we were looking for as the leader of the Lords,” said Samantha, thinking about the dashing noble from New Berlin.

“He’s trying,” said Haruko.  “He really wants to give us what we need.  But there are too many of Stoyanovich and Streeter’s cronies in the house to make it easy.”

“As long as he can keep them from obstructing the Emperor’s plans, I’m happy.”

“Marconi could be a real problem,” said the Countess after taking a sip from her drink.  “He got his position due to his family’s wealth, not because of any political acumen.  He’s like a spoiled child when he doesn’t get his way.”

“I’ve met the man,” said Samantha, nodding her head.  “You didn’t hear this, but sometimes I think assassination might be a viable political strategy.  But Sean would never agree to it, especially after what happened to his family.”

“So,” said the Countess, putting her half empty glass on the table beside her chair.  “Who are you giving the newsies as sacrificial lamb for their hero cast?”

“Cornelius, of course.”

“Oh no.  Is that really a good idea.  You know how much he hates the limelight.”

“It’s something he’s going to have to get used to,” said Samantha.  “Sean says he’s seen that young man in his dreams.  And that he has seen great things in his future.  So a little protocol polishing cannot be a bad thing.”

The Countess laughed, picking up her glass and spilling some on herself.  “I’ll let you make one of the most dangerous men in the Empire angry.  Just don’t implicate me in the conspiracy.”

“Oh, Cornelius is a pussy cat,” said Samantha, laughing.  She could think of no one, besides the Emperor, she would trust more with her life, or the survival of the Empire.  But, he was a bad man to have as an enemy.  “We’ll just censor the newscast if he goes wild and kills the crew.”

*    *     *

“Devera.  I mean, mom.  Come have a look at this.  Cornelius is on the trivee.”

“You know he likes you to call him dad,” said Devera Walborski, walking quickly in from the kitchen with a carving knife in her right hand, brushing her red hair back from her freckled face with the other..

Rebecca smiled at the sight of her adoptive mom, who insisted on cooking the old fashioned way.  She was still having problems with the mom and dad labels, but had to admit that they had welcomed her as if she had been their natural child.  Junior, Cornelius’ child by his first, late, wife, was asleep in his room.  Devera had been tasked to become a mom to two children, neither of which was her own, and she definitely treated them no differently than if they had come from her own body.

The most important man in the world to both of them, Cornelius Walborski, was centered in the holo.  Above his image was the headline, Two Time Hero, while below was the GNN logo.  A smaller image of a stunning blond woman was to the side, the interviewer.

“I just did what anyone would do in like circumstances,” said Cornelius, looking dashing in his dress uniform with the cadet insignia on his collar.

“Less than thirty people have been double award winners of the Imperial Medal of Heroism,” said the reporter, while a small sidebar displayed the scrolling images and names of the twenty-eight people who had won two of the awards.  Two were marked with a blinking cursor that indicated they were three time award winners.  “And you were the only one to win an award both as a civilian and a member of the Imperial military.  Don’t you think that says something about you as a special human?”

“I was just in the right place at the right time,” said Cornelius, an embarrassed look on his face.

“Twice?  That seems like quite the coincidence.”

The interview faded for the moment as a narrator told the story of Walborski’s heroism on Sestius, along with pictures and some vid clips of the planet.  After a couple minutes of that his exploits on Azure were recounted, including his taking out a Ca’cadasan base with a fusion bomb tipped rocket.

“Besides the missile strike, you have been credited with killing almost forty of the enemy in close combat.  Why were you so successful?  What gave you the edge?”

“I really couldn’t tell you,” said Cornelius, looking down.  When he looked back up there was a fierce expression on his face.  “What I will tell you is that someone needed to stop them.  And I was in the place to do it.  So I did.  Look.  The Cacas are not easy targets.  But a well-trained and motivated human is the match for any of them.  That’s what people need to remember.  I have bested them.  So have so many other humans, it is impossible to name them all.  We can beat them, if we don’t surrender to our fears.”

“And there you have it,” said one of the desk anchors in the studio.  “This young man proves that the Cacas, as they are called, are not invincible.  Men and women like Cornelius Walborski, Imperial Ranger and Officer Candidate, are out there defending the Empire.  Humans who refuse to be beaten.  We can take comfort in their service.”

The news segment ended, followed by an advertisement for the Imperial Army, asking young people to sign up to defend the Empire.

“I thought they had a draft,” said Rebecca, looking over at Devera.

“They do.  But it’s still better to have as many volunteers as possible.  And from what I understand, there has been no shortage of them.”

“I can’t wait to join,” said Rebecca, staring at the next segment up on the holo, this one about a debate in Parliament over the way the war was being conducted.  “I can’t wait to get out there and kill those bastards.”

Devera was at her side in an instant, wrapping her in a hug.  “I know you do, dear.  I know you do.  But try to be a child while you can.”

“The Cacas took that away from me,” said Rebecca, wiping a tear from her eye.  “Now all I want is to be an adult.”  With a signal from her link she pulled a still from the interview back up on the holo.  “I want to be just like him.”

“You could pick worse role models,” said Devera, smiling as she looked at the face of her husband, the bravest man she knew.  And the most humble.  “But even he wants you to be a child while you can.  That’s why he brought you to safety.”

But without people like him there will be no safety for any of us, thought Rebecca, opening her flat comp and digging into her mathematics homework.  And without a lot of work I won’t become a person like him.

*     *     *

Baron Emile von Hausser Schmidt took in the view of Capitulum as he was led to his table.  Der Jagermeister was the best German restaurant in the capital city, perfectly duplicating the food of the best establishments on New Berlin.  It should be, thought the Baron of Brandenburg, one of the largest baronies on the planet of his birth.  It was run by one of the former chefs of his father, a man famous for his wild game dishes on the mostly German world.

“Good evening, Baron,” said Herr Goebbels, the chef in question, greeting his former liege lord himself.  “Your tables are ready.  The best view in the building.”  The portly chef/restaurateur glanced at the six men and women who accompanied the Baron and raised an eyebrow.

“Part of the price of power,” said the Baron with a smile, slapping Goebbels on the back.  “Someone thinks my ass has now grown in value, just because I got the big office.”

“Of course,” said Goebbels, looking at the people who moved with slightly more grace than most, constantly looking, watching everything.

I don’t like having so much security either, old friend, thought the Baron as they made their way to the tables.  One was straight ahead, closest to the low wall that separated the dining area from the hillside the restaurant was built upon.  Villas populated the rest of that famous ridge of hills, the neighborhood of the rich, and the eating and entertainment establishments of that exclusive area.  The heart of the city lay beyond, looking like pillars and strings of jewels in the early night.

The Secret Service agents split up and headed for two nearby tables, taking their seats while their eyes continued to roam the room.  The Baron was seated by the waiter who had been stationed by the table and ordered his drink.  The restaurant was filled with a lively crowd this night.  It was a popular place, but the Baron never had a concern about getting tables.

I miss the officer’s mess, thought the Baron, while waiting for the people he was having dinner with.  Although still a young man at fifty-four, he had spent twenty years as a heavy infantry officer in the Imperial Army.  He had risen quickly through the ranks without resorting to favoritism, reaching the rank of Lt. Colonel and a battalion command.  Then had come the death of his father in a space accident, and his discharge from the army to take his place.  And now the Leader of the Lords, thought the young man who had only been a member of the Lords since the death of his father.

“Your guests are here, Baron,” came the voice of his security detail chief over his link.  “We have scanned them on the way in, and they’re clean.”

And that was something else he hadn’t worried about in the Army.  Oh, you could get killed very easily in the Army, just not by your own people while taking down time.  But since the last three Leaders of the Lords had met bad ends, two killed and one imprisoned, the Prime Minister was not willing to take chances with his life.

“Countess Zhee,” said the Baron, getting to his feet.  “So good to see you again.  Archduke Marconi, Count Cornwell.”

“I have heard so much about this place,” said Zhee, a smile across her perfect porcelain face.  “I have always wanted to try it.”

“German food is too heavy for my digestion,” said Cornwell, scowling.

“They have other food if you wish,” said Schmidt, motioning for the waiter to come get their drink orders.  “Something that might not have a deleterious effect on your delicate digestion.”

The drink orders taken, the Baron engaged his guests in small talk until they arrived.  Afterwards the privacy field was engaged, and Schmidt prepared to get down to the business of the evening, an adversarial discussion with three of his staunchest enemies in the Lords.

“The Prime Minister asked me to meet with all of you, as the leaders of the loyal opposition,” said the Baron, looking around the table.

The glares that were returned let him know how these people felt.  Until recently they had been the majority party in the Lords.  Now they held onto a large minority that was having trouble advancing their agenda against the coalition that had elected the Baron to the leadership position.  And one of you is not what you appear to be.  But who?  The Lords had voted down the proposition that all members be deep scanned.  Even the ones who disagreed with the platform of the Opposition party were not keen on giving up their freedom of person.

“We wish to see what we can do to get you on board with the Emperor’s plan?”

“Have that young genius actually formulate a plan that would work,” said Cornwell, to the nods of his fellow clique members.  “So far, all we have seen is defeat after defeat, while the Cacas overrun and destroy our worlds.”

“The Emperor is fighting the battle that he can, Count,” said Schmidt, knowing that this was an old argument.  “We cannot afford to commit the fleet to a battle they cannot win, and allow the enemy free reign in our space.”

The food came, venison for the Baron, Schnitzel for the others.  Schmidt carved off a piece of deer meat and took a bite.  Delicious, even if the company is not grand.  Zhee and Marconi also dug into their food, while Cornwell continued to look at his meal with a disgusted expression.

“Oh, come now, Count.  Schnitzel is a specialty of this establishment.  Don’t insult the cook by not even trying his masterwork.”

“Come on, Cornwell,” said Zhee, swallowing a bite of meat with an appreciative expression.  “At least try it.”

The Count carved a small piece off of his Schnitzel and took a bite, chewing carefully, then spitting it out onto the plate.  “I am sorry, but I do not like this food.”

Did you get enough into his system to get a reading? asked the Baron over his implant.

“It would have been better if we had gotten a larger sample into him,” came back the voice of the head of detail.  “But it will have to do.  Uh oh.”

Uh oh, what?

“His internal nanites are striking at the nanoprobes.  We’ve got a battle on our hands.”

“Are you alright, Baron?” asked Zhee, giving Schmidt a curious look.

“The other two are clean.  Pure human,” said the agent.

“I am insulted by the behavior of the count.  I have never seen such a lack of manners.  I….”

“Bingo.  The Count is a shape shifter.”

Cornwell, or the creature imitating the Count, must have received a signal from his internal nanites that something was up.  His nanosystems were very good, blocking the action of most things trying to penetrate his system.  And since the Lords were refusing deep scans, which could only be demanded in the case of entering the presence of the Emperor, or a secure military installation, which all three of these nobles had been careful not to attempt, this was thought to be the only method of possibly getting a tissue sample.

The Count moved, almost a blur of motion, coming over the table at the Baron.  Schmidt was ready, raising his left arm and firing a dart from the bracelet on his wrist.  The dart struck the creature in the neck, and injected enough tranquilizer to knock a sauropod off its feet.  It staggered the shifter, but didn’t put it down.  The creature hit the table, then rolled over and started on a staggered run toward the exit.

The low hum of sonic stunners filled the air.  People caught in the crossfire went down, but the shifter continued on its way, taking heavy steps, until it saw the trio of agents in its path.  Without hesitation it turned and ran for the safety wall, jumping up and falling over.

“What the hell is going on?” screamed Zhee, standing up and moving away from the table.

“Cornwell is a shape shifter,” yelled Schmidt, pulling a sonic from under his coat.

“I don’t believe it,” said Marconi, looking in horror as Cornwell went over the wall, probably to his death.

“We’re sending a car to pick up the body,” said the head of detail, running up to the Baron.  “We would have preferred to get it alive, but if dead, it’s still out of operation.”

“Cornwell wasn’t human?” asked Zhee, her eyes wide with shock.

“Nope,” said Schmidt.  “And their kind have been playing your clique, using you to their own advantage.”

“That’s, unbelievable,” said Zhee, looking at her fellow Lords.

“You two are clear.  Or at least you’re clear of being aliens.  I’m willing to believe you were not at fault in aiding our enemies.”

Zhee sat down, her face going pale.  “What have we done?  What can we do?”

“We can talk about that,” said Schmidt, sitting back down.  “I’m sure we can broker a deal that will be beneficial to all of us.”

“We can’t find it, my Lord,” came the transmission of the head of detail.

What happened to it?  A fall like that should have killed it?

“We found blood, and an impression of a body.  But that is all.”

Keep looking.  If that thing gets away, no member of the Lords will be safe.

Nothing I can do about it now, thought the Baron, getting down to the business of brokering a deal while most of the rest of the patrons left.  I’ll make sure Herr Goebbels gets paid for tonight’s disaster, he thought, cutting off a piece of venison while Zhee talked.  I sure hope he lets me come back.

Chapter Eight

CORE WORLD SPACE.  SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1001.

“How long till we drop below light speed?” asked Commander Svetlana Komorov, looking at the tactical holo that showed a representation of the system.  Of course it was all guesswork, based on the data they had loaded into the system before cutting themselves off from the normal Universe.

“Twelve minutes, fourteen seconds,” answered the ship’s navigator.

“And then another twelve minutes until we can unmask,” said the Pilot.

I damn sure hope this works, thought Svetlana, staring at the holo that showed the predicted location of their target.  It’s fine that it works in practice, but now we get to see if the concept works against an unwilling opponent.

Still, it was amazing how the technology worked, limited as it was.  The launching ship had been heading into this system at point eight light, and had released thirty-four of the specially configured attack ships at that velocity.  Each of the fifteen hundred ton vessels had immediately erected their shield of negative matter, after receiving the most current sensor snapshot of the system.  The ships all deployed an electromagnetic field that held the negative protons in place, forming the bubble that allowed the ships to accelerate without inertia.

In normal space all the ships could have reached eight hundred gravities acceleration.  Within the null inertia fields they were able to increase that acceleration by more than twenty times, over sixteen thousand gravities as measured in normal space, or one hundred fifty-six kilometers per second.  It took an unbelievable three hundred and eighty five seconds to pass light speed.  At that time they were outrunning the initial image of their own launch.  At thirty-two minutes they were at twice the speed of light, and what was considered the maximum safe operating speed for the vessels.

Twenty minutes of coasting and they were over a light hour into the system, on a heading that should take them on a close approach to their targets based on their projected course.  Then it was thirty-eight and a half minutes of deceleration to reach a speed where they could drop their negative matter screen without being destroyed by an inertial backlash.

Now was the time when detection was theoretically possible, once they had dropped below light speed.  Of course, the enemy didn’t know what they were looking for, so it was hoped that the possible detection would not happen.  Please don’t let it happen, thought the Commander, looking at the timer that was adjusted to relativity as if it affected them.  Without inertia, relativity stopped working, and time passed as if in a null gravity field with no acceleration.  Though that would change when they entered the real Universe again.

“Fifteen seconds,” called out the Navigator.

“All weapons ready?” asked Komorov, looking over the status herself on her commander’s board.

“All charged and ready to go,” called out the Navigator, who was also the tactical officer.

“Three, two, one,” called out the Pilot.  The lights on the bridge faded as the negative matter bubble opened, and they entered the world of inertia and relativity once again.  It took about a second to suck the negative matter back into its tank, always a delicate procedure when the reverse of normal matter could cancel both itself and parts of the ship out existence.

Komorov felt her body react to the increased inertia.  The ship had come back to normal space as close to the optimal profile as possible.  Which didn’t mean perfection.  The body of the ship stressed and strained, while the inertial compensators went into overdrive to protect the most fragile systems aboard, the crew.  There was still a short moment of near blackout before the crew was able to function.

But then the instruments cleared to the vision of the crew, and they saw that their target was within the attack parameters.  “Fire,” yelled the Commander over the subspace com that now connected her command, and the attack began.

*     *     *

“Any sign of an attack force?” asked the Captain, looking out over the tactical plot.  They had picked up the human carrier well before it dropped out of hyper, and had fixed its position as it came flying out of the higher dimension and into normal space, well beyond the barrier.  It had started accelerating toward them as soon as it was able, pulling four hundred gravities and building up its velocity.  That in and of itself was very unusual behavior for that kind of vessel, which typically tried to keep its distance from enemy warships.  Normally they launched their fighters, and let the small craft do the accelerating.

All of this was picked up on graviton detectors.  The carrier was not detectable on visual, and wouldn’t be for some time, when the light of her image reached the warship.  Until that moment there was no way to tell what she was up to, or even if it actually was a carrier, or some kind of cruiser masquerading as a carrier.

“Still no sign of a fighter launch?  Missile launch?”

“No, Sir,” said the Tactical Officer.  “Nothing.  I can’t figure out what they’re up to.”

Over the hours the enemy ship continued to accelerate, as noted by her graviton emissions.  I can’t wait to get an actual look at that ship, thought the Captain, wondering what new thing was in operation here.

“They’ve stopped accelerating,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Estimated velocity, point eight light.”

A few minutes later the situation changed and the carrier started accelerating again.  “They’re starting to change their vector.  It looks like they’re going to veer off and try to leave the system.  Estimated range, a little over two light hours.”

“Are we going to engage them, sir?” asked the Helm Officer.

“That isn’t within our mission parameters,” said the Captain.  Though we could throw some missiles at her, and probably get some hits.

Almost two hours passed with nothing visible except the graviton track of the carrier curving away.  The enemy vessel hit closest approach and started to open up the distance.

“Still nothing, sir.  Wait, we’re picking up graviton emissions.  From thirty-four point sources.  Close, and accelerating at eight hundred gravities.”

“Where the hell did they come from?” yelled the Captain, seeing the objects appear on the tactical plot.

“We’re being hit by lasers,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, at the same moment as the first visual came through of the enemy craft.  “Damage to hull.  Twenty-one electromag projectors down.”

“Eject cold plasma into the field,” yelled the Captain in panic.  He stared at the holo, which showed the enemy as dark objects without detail, an indication that they had powerful electromag fields with cold plasma in place.

“Particle beams hitting us,” yelled out the Tactical.  “We have missile launch.  Missile launch, one hundred and twenty-eight incoming objects.  Acceleration,” the Tactical Officer looked back with an alarmed expression, “sixteen thousand gravities.”

“Take out those missiles, now,” yelled the Captain.

The Tactical Officer knew his job, and was already working on it.  His board showed the ship cycling counter-missiles, while its lasers took everything they could reach under fire.  “They’re, calving,” yelled the Tactical Officer, as each of the missile vector arrows sprouted scores of smaller objects.

“Impact in one minute,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, looking back at his captain.

“Any way you can stop them?” asked the Captain in a choking voice, already sure of the answer.

“Not a chance, sir,” said the Tactical Officer as he stared at the holo.

*     *     *

As soon as Komorov shouted the command over the com all thirty-four of her group struck out at the warship.  She felt a moment of relief as she saw that all of her ships had made it.  As with any new technology, things didn’t always work as planned, and a malfunction of the inertialess system could become a disaster.

All of the ships fired the lasers from the ring structure on their noses.  Each ship carried a larger than normal amount of the highest capacity crystal matrix batteries, and the lasers released their energy in the gamma ray band of the spectrum.  They were not made to destroy much larger ships, just to cause damage that might facilitate the penetration of the missiles.  At the same time the two particle beam projectors in the nose of each vessel sent a blast of antiprotons toward the enemy ship.  And the four one hundred ton missiles mounted on the bottom of the craft dropped and boosted ahead at sixteen thousand gravities for thirty seconds, gaining almost five thousand kilometers per second to their velocities.

At thirty seconds, before any of the counter-missiles could reach them, before any beam weapons could make contact, the missiles calved.  Each released forty smaller missiles, each massing less than one ton, each with a one megaton warhead.  The body of the main missile continued on at ten thousand gravities, the same acceleration as the calves, carrying its one hundred megaton warhead toward the target.

A couple of the small missiles and five of the larger disappeared from the plot, destroyed in flight.  The others continued in, until…

“We have impact,” called out the Pilot.

Komorov smiled, thinking of the overkill they had unleashed, enough firepower to take out several battleships.  She frowned as she looked over her own command and saw that one of her ships had been destroyed.  A small price to pay for the destruction of a warship, unless they were people you knew.

Then the icon of the warship dropped off the plot, and the crew started to cheer.

*     *     *

“Impact in five seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Three, two one…”

“Exercise over,” said Admiral Chuntao Chan, the Director of Fleet Research and Development.  The Admiral smiled as she thought about what she had just witnessed.  Augusta was one of the newest ships in the Fleet, a prototype of one of the new class of missile defense light cruisers, optimized for tracking and destroying incoming weapons.  And they didn’t have a chance against those attack ships, she thought.  The attack ships had outrun the light of their initial deployment, and had struck without warning.

“Admiral,” said the captain of the Augusta, Captain Clovis McGurk.  “What the hell were those things?”

“Our latest weapon against the Cacas,” said the slight woman, who was one of the best minds in the Empire.  “Of course, you and your crew are sworn to secrecy.  Not a word of this is to get out to anyone, military or civilian.”

“And this is why you had us deploy to this nowhere system,” said the Captain, looking at the holo plot as all the simulators disappeared, leaving only the fast accelerating attack craft, the light cruiser, and the light carrier that was still executing its curving vector change.

“Of course.  We didn’t want too many eyes watching this test.  And it went perfectly.”

The Captain looked down for a moment, an embarrassed flush on his face.

“Your crew did well, Captain,” said the Admiral, still smiling.  “Very well.  You have a great ship and a well-trained crew.  But the game was rigged from the start.”

Now let’s hope it comes as just as much a shock to the Cacas.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV SPACE.

“Impact in five minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer, Lt. Commander Juan Gomez.

And our missiles will reach the target in eight minutes, thought Commodore Mei Lei, looking at the vector arrows on the holo.  At least that’s what it looks like from here, and probably there as well.

“Order the escorts to unmask,” she told her Com Officer.

Moments later the two light cruisers and four destroyers that had been attached to the hull of the Jean de Arc separated and boosted away into a protective pattern.  All were new anti-missile ships, here for their practical real world test.

Bad enough that I have to be saddled with one untested system.  But two is way too much.

The ships, which had been specially designed to screen capital ships from saturation missile attacks, started cycling their weapons, filling the tactical holo with the vector arrows of the counters.  All were cycling their lasers as well, and the mass of incoming red arrows quickly started falling off the plot.  They seem to be working quite well, she thought as her own ship shook slightly underfoot with the launch of her own counters.

One hundred missiles were coming in, what the enemy battleship must have thought was sufficient to take out one human battle cruiser.  They hadn’t counted on the other ships, but they could always rectify that mistake and send a truly overwhelming spread toward the battle cruiser.  While the spread that Jean had sent the enemy’s way must have looked really pathetic.  They might get some proximity hits, but a direct strike was unlikely in the extreme.  Or so it seemed.

“Our missiles are reaching final stage acceleration,” called out Gomez, as the figures below the forty missiles in her spread increased to sixteen thousand gravities acceleration.  That was the first of her surprises.  The missiles only boosted for thirty seconds at that acceleration, enough to bring them up to about their maximum safe velocity.  And then the tactical holo blossomed with many new arrows.

“The missiles are calving,” called out Gomez, looking back at the Commodore with a smile.

Each of the one hundred and fifty ton missiles ejected twenty smaller weapons, each in the two ton range, that then oriented to the target.  They accelerated at five thousand gravities toward the battleship, the same as their launching platforms, and spread out to gain some separation from their fellows.  Warheads started to drop off the plot, and a few of the larger missiles, as the enemy battleship fired all of its counter weapons.  Still, almost six hundred weapons made it through the enemy defensive fire and closed in on the ship.  One second there were hundreds of icons on the plot, dominated by the larger symbol of the ship.  Then, a hundred icons fell off, then a hundred more, then, all but a handful, including the battleship’s, until the handful were all that were left, coasting forward in empty space.

“Yes,” yelled Gomez, pumping a fist in the air.  “We got the bastard.”

The Commodore smiled, then frowned as she looked over the damage report from her force.  Nothing had been destroyed, but there had been damage to several ships, and casualties.  Could have been worse, she thought, knowing that she would never get used to seeing people under her command die.  And we proved a concept that could save many lives in the future.

It took several hours before the visual of the action reached them.  Mei sat in her conference room along with many of her officers, watching as the images came in through the ships’ sensory systems.  The view was split into two parts.  One showed the magnified image from the battle cruiser as the missiles closed.  The images were a blur.  The other was the take from several of the mother missiles, looking at the target they had come to destroy.

“Super slow motion,” ordered the Commodore, and the image both slowed and cleared.  Several of the missiles exploded in space, one from a counter strike, one from a laser.  A dozen of the smaller warheads also blew up.  A moment later the first of the small warheads, a two megaton warhead encased in a two ton body traveling at point nine five light, struck the armored hull of the ship.  There was a bright flash on the hull that moved inward as if a hot jet had pushed through the tough armor.  A second point flashed on the hull, then a third, followed by a flurry that tore through the hull and into the interior.  A moment later the hull flared from a hundred strikes, just before the trio of missiles that had made it through the counter-fire slammed in with a force that shattered the twenty-five million ton superbattleship.

“Reverse,” ordered the Commodore, and the video went backwards in slow motion.  “Stop.”

“It looks like the smaller calves had already killed the ship,” said Gomez, pointing at the holo.  “The hull is shredded, and there’s plasma erupting from the interior.”

“If not destroyed, it was surely severely damaged,” said the Commodore, looking at a ship that was already a wreck.  “Order the force back to hyperspace,” she told the Com Officer.  “Let’s get back to base and tell them what happened.  This proves the concept.  Now, we just have to hope they can get us enough of these weapons to make a difference.

Chapter Nine

XENIA SPACE, NEW TERRAN REPUBLIC, SEPTEMBER 18TH, 1001.

President Julia Graham sat at the table and looked up at the large red orb of Xenia’s star.  I miss the light of a real sun, thought the President of the New Terran Republic.  The light of a red star just seems, cold.  She looked at the potted plants on the balcony.  Most were genetically engineered Terran stock that thrived in this kind of light.  Unfortunately, I’m not like them.

The sound of waves hitting the rocks of the shore was a constant in the background.  As were the cries of the gulls as they hunted those turbulent waters from the air.  Graham lay back in her chair and closed her eyes, letting those sounds move her into a relaxed state.

“Ma’am,” called out Kelsie Klein, one of her security staff.  “Ma’am.  We have a situation.”

Why does that phrase fill me with such trepidation, thought Julia.  Because it never means anything good.  She opened her eyes to see the Secret Service agent standing over her, a concerned look on her face.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am.  But we’ve detected an enemy force moving toward us through hyper.”

“Crap,” said Graham, sitting up in her chair, her mind awhirl with possibilities, most of them bad.  “How many?”

“At least thirty large vessels, and about sixty smaller ships.”

“Damn,” growled the President, linking into the command and control net and getting a look for herself.  The enemy ships were plotted in hyper VII, moving at almost point three light within that dimension and heading for the first hyperspace barrier to the small star’s system.  And if they follow standard procedure, they will stair step their way in, jumping just before they hit each barrier.

“We need to get you evacuated through the wormhole,” said Klein, looking over the low wall at the ocean, then up at the sky.  “We don’t have enough here to stop them.”

Graham looked out over the rolling waves of the turbulent ocean.  The day was young, and it would be almost thirty hours before nightfall.  Something in the water caught her eye, and she zoomed her focus in on a pod of dolphins cavorting in the waves.  “I’m not leaving,” she said through clenched teeth.

“We don’t have enough of a force to take on this enemy,” said the agent, putting a hand on the President’s shoulder.   “If we stay here, they will kill us.”

“And if we leave, they’ll kill this world,” said Graham, looking out over the ocean once again.  “It’s terraformed with old Earth life.”

“Genetically engineered for this environment,” said the agent.

“But essentially Earth forms.  And doomed, if we don’t defend them.”

“There aren’t enough ships in the system to stop them, Madame President,” argued Klein.  “If you try to make a stand, all you will accomplish is the deaths of more of our people.”

Graham stared at her staffer for a moment.  She had liked having a woman like Klein on the staff, someone who, though it really wasn’t her job, would call her on her bullshit.  But there has to be a way.  The wormhole possibly.

As the capital system of the New Terran Republic, a wormhole link had been established months earlier.  Recently it had been expanded into a ship gate, allowing the transport of military units between the two governments.

“Get me the Emperor on the link,” she ordered over her com, as she took her seat and continued to watch the dolphins.  I’ll be damned if I let those beautiful creatures die from a kinetic bombardment.  We’ve already lost so much.  But we won’t lose this world.

“The Emperor is not available, Madame President,” came the voice from the com center.  “But his Regent is.”

A holo appeared over the table, the face of Samantha Ogden Lee looking out at the President.  Some of their nobles are certainly incompetent.  A good reason to not adopt their system of entitlement.  But fortunately that doesn’t hold true for their Emperor and his cousin.

“Greetings, Madame President,” said the Regent across the thousands of light years.  “I understand you have a problem, and a request.”

Graham quickly filled the Regent in on the problem she was facing.  Samantha listened, nodding, then holding up a hand to stop the President in mid-sentence.  “I’m not sure Parliament will let me send any more units from Home Fleet out of the Supersystem.  And we have already sent so many ships to reinforce sector IV.”

“But…”

“Give me a few minutes, Madame President, and I’ll see what I can do.  In the meantime, if I might suggest positioning the gate behind your planet, out of the line of sight of the enemy.”

The holo went blank, leaving the President with her thoughts and prayers.  She took a moment to send instructions to the people controlling the gate, then ordered a link with the Admiral commanding the system force.

“We’re ready to boost for the wormhole and leave,” said the dark haired woman who was the force commander.  “We’re waiting on your shuttles to take you and your staff aboard, Madame President.”

“I’m not leaving.  And neither are you.”

“I, don’t understand, Ma’am.”

“We are not giving up this system,” she said, monitoring the tactical plot on her implant.  The enemy ships were down to hyper IV, driving for III barrier.

“Ma’am,” said the Admiral in a hushed voice.  “We don’t have enough to hold this system.  The only thing we’ll accomplish is losing our entire force here, and they’ll still take the planet.”

“We are not leaving, Admiral.  And that is an order from your Commander in Chief.”

“Yes, ma’am.  What do you want me to do when they come out of hyper?”  Implicit in that question was what was the Admiral was to tell the crews she was most probably leading into a hopeless battle.

“I’m trying to get you some help.  Just bring everything in close to the planet, and be prepared to defend us from missile attack.  Graham out.”

The President sat at the table for a few minutes, sipping a drink that one of her servants had brought her.  Klein had been joined by several other agents, and she wondered if maybe they might try and restrain her as a crazy person, before forcing her onto a shuttle and evacuating her from the system.

She didn’t know if that was a realistic concern or not, but she was saved from the possibility by the holo coming back to life, the face of the Imperial Regent looking at her with a smile on her face.

“I’ve some help heading your way.”

“Home Fleet?”

“No.  But something that will serve just as well.  The first ship should be coming through any second.”

“Ma’am,” came the voice of the Admiral over the com.  “We have a battleship coming through the gate.

“Whose is it?” asked Graham, looking back at the face of the smiling Regent.

“I, really don’t believe it,” was all the Admiral could say, as the image of the ship coming through the gate came over the link, followed by another one.

The ships were shaped a bit differently than the warships of the three human governments, which were all based on a similar plan.  These were pointed at nose and stern, unlike the flattened snouts of human warships.  Where human ships used mostly rounded surfaces, these had flat, angled hull sections.

“Those are Crakista ships,” called out one of the NTR captains.

“I really don’t care if they’re ships from hell,” said the Admiral.  “That they’re here is all that counts.”

“There are forty-two of the Crakista battleships coming through,” said the Regent over the holo.  “They will be followed by ninety-four support ships, cruisers and destroyers.  And I am talking with the Admiral in charge of a New Moscow task force we were refurbishing.”

“Refurbishing.  Does that mean they’re not combat ready?”

“Oh, they’re mostly combat ready,” said the President with a smile.  “We’re only sending those that are capable of combat.  Some still aren’t able to enter hyperspace, and most still need some repairs to their internal amenities.  But all are capable of fighting.”

“We’ll take em,” said the Admiral in charge of the system defense force.

Graham did some quick calculations in her head, then called up the Admiral on a side holo.  “You realize that the Crakista admiral will outrank you, probably by two grades.  Are you willing to serve under a lizard.”

“Hell, I’d serve under a housecat, if they brought that much firepower to the party.”

The President had to smile again as she watched yet another Crakista battleship come sliding out of the wormhole.  The Crakista were a very logical race, not ruled by emotions.  They were intelligent, in fact, one of the smarter races in the Perseus Arm.  What they lacked was imagination.  They copied human innovation, which meant they were normally some years behind in tech.  So, logically, they built their ships to a larger standard than human ships, just to equal the same effectiveness.

A signal came through the com, and with a thought she switched the holo from her own naval commander to the incoming transmission.  She was not surprised to see the reptilian face looking out at her from the three dimensional holo.  The face did look much like a Terran reptile, with noticeable differences.  A single large nostril dominated the end of the snout, while human like brown eyes looked out at the world.  The face was a brilliant, almost neon green, and covered in tiny scales, while the upper body was covered in the Crakista version of battle armor.

“Greetings, Madame President,” said the creature, Graham couldn’t tell if it was male or female, in a pleasant if flat voice.  “We are here for you to command.”

“I assume, Admiral, that you will want to take charge, given your rank.”

“That would be preferable, but not necessary.  We are here to serve.  The only stipulation is that our force must be commanded by one of our kind, but we will fight within the force structure of another.”

“You will have command, Admiral, what should we call you?”

“I am Admiral,” the word that followed sounded like the hissing of a snake.  “It would probably be better to just call me Admiral Commanding Crakista Force One.”

“Yes,” said Graham, almost saying sir, before realizing that she didn’t know what sex the being was.  “Excuse me for asking, but are you male or female?”

“In this context it makes no difference,” said the being.  “Use whichever honorific you prefer.”

“I have already told my system commander to place himself under your command.  He is awaiting your instructions.”

“That is satisfactory.  Now, Madam President, I must see to my dispositions.”  The holo went blank, leaving the President to stare at an empty tabletop.

Minutes later the last of the Crakista battleships was through the hole, and all the vessels were behind the planet in reference to the incoming Ca’cadasans.  The smaller ships started coming through, cruisers first, then the destroyers.  After fifteen minutes of transiting the first of the Moscovite battleships came through.

“What are your orders, Madame President?” asked the Crakista Admiral over the newly reactivated holo.

“Defend this system.  I really don’t care how you do it, as long as this planet is not damaged.”

“It will be my pleasure, Madame President,” said the reptilian, its snout curving into the only emotion she had yet to see on its face.

They evolved from hunters, and I have given them a hunt.  One of the few things that still gives them pleasure.  One of the few things that gets through that wall of logic that allowed them to rise to civilization, despite their genetic heritage.

“Enemy will be at the hyper I barrier in seven minutes,” came the voice over the com of a controller in the New Terran Fleet Command Center, which was on the planet.  The center, with its many wormhole connections, including those to the ships occupying the picket line into Imperial Space, was one reason it was considered efficacious to hold the planet.

“We will have a surprise for them,” said the Crakista Admiral, linking into the com.  “All units will stay in the shadow of the planet, using only enough aether paddle energy to maintain station.  New Terran Republic units will move toward the planet, and make all preparations as if they are the only ships in the system, preparing to defend the world.”

“I hope your trap works, Admiral,” said the President, pulling up a tactical that showed the enemy vessels on approach, very near to the hyper barrier, when they would have to jump back into normal space or risk destruction.

“We have translations,” came the voice of the controller at the command center.  “Multiple translations to normal space.”

Well, I could always have hoped that their commander was a total idiot.  But that just wouldn’t be our luck.

*     *     *

“Visual shows enemy force in orbit around the habitable planet,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Admiral in charge of the Ca’cadasan force.  “Looks like eleven of their capital ships, and several dozen of their smaller vessels.”

“How far from the hyper limit to that planet?” asked the Admiral, looking at the small red star in the holo, and the smaller blue planet in close orbit.

“One and a half light hours, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “This star has a very small hyper limit as compared to most.”

“You do not have to lecture me on hyperspace and stellar physics, cub,” growled the Admiral.  “I asked a simple question.”  The Task Force Leader stood up from his chair and stepped toward the holo, pointing a pair of right index fingers at the view.  “So, that is where they were an hour and a half ago, but where are they now?”

“We are picking up graviton emissions from a pair of what appear to be commercial vessels, my Lord,” answered the Sensor Officer.  “No other signals in the system.”

“So those ships are either sitting in orbit, as they appear on the holo.  Or they boosted while we were out of the system, and cut off their drives before we dropped out of hyper.”

“Where would they have gone that we wouldn’t see them?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“Nowhere.  Unless they went behind the planet,” suggested the Helm Officer.

“No matter.  They are not coming out to meet us, so we will go in and meet them,” said the Admiral.  “Then we will bombard the planet, and destroy their headquarters.”

“Why not just bombard them with long range missile fire?” asked the Tactical Officer, an expectant look on his face.

“Because we don’t know what other life is on that planet, cub,” said the Admiral, glaring at the younger male.  “If the world has non-Terran life forms, then we are not allowed to destroy it.”

“But, a world like that,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing at the holo.  “It has to be artificially seeded with life, to be such a perfect habitat that close to a red star.”

“Untrue,” said the Sensor Officer.  “We have found such worlds before.  They are rare, but not unheard of.”

The Admiral looked at the world once again, weighing his options.  Unlike most of the officers of the Ca’cadasan military, who were tending toward Atheism, he was a devout follower of his people’s religion.  He adhered to the tenants that living worlds were sacred, and was not even sure that the command that the worlds terraformed with Earth forms were to be destroyed was really fitting to the dictates of his religion.  Even though the command came from the Emperor.  He would kill humans.  He would do everything he could do to wipe them from the Universe.  But he would not kill a living world.

“We will close with the planet and destroy the enemy naval force,” he said with finality.  “Then we will decide to do about the planet, and the humans on it.”

*     *     *

“I have a question for you, Admiral,” said the President, looking at the reptilian face.

“You are wondering why I have everything hiding in Geosynch behind the planet,” said the Crakista.

A holo showed that disposition, all of the allied ships, as well as a couple of class I forts that had been built since the Xenia system became the defacto capital of the Republic.

“I wish to lure the enemy closer before giving battle.  It is not enough to drive them off.  They must be totally destroyed, with none escaping.”

“Not that I disagree, Admiral, with the killing of Cacas.  But I am more concerned with keeping them away from the planet, and the command center.”

“If any escape, Madame President, they will tell others of their kind what is here, and more will come.  If they don’t return, we will leave the enemy wondering what they ran into.”

“More will still come.”

“Yes,” said the Crakista with flat affect.  “But they will take longer to come.  First, the Ca’cadasans will wait and wonder what has happened, believing there was an unforeseen delay.  Then, they will send a scout force to see what has happened, and we will destroy them as well.  That will give us the time to make a decision on whether to move your command center, or to strengthen the defenses.”

“I see,” said Graham, ruminating over what the reptilian had said.  “Very logical, as always.  Proceed.”

“Thank you, Madame President.  We will open fire when they are within fifteen light minutes.  And the gate will give them a surprise they will not recover from.”

*     *     *

“The enemy ships are moving,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “On a heading that will put them behind the planet.”

“Why would they do that?” asked the Helm Officer, looking confused.

“They want to take us on in close combat, since they know they don’t have a chance in a missile fight,” said the Tactical Officer.

“They really don’t have much of a chance in a close in fight either,” said the Admiral.  “But it’s a better chance than throwing missiles against us.  Just be prepared for anything.”

This will be too easy, thought the Ca’cadasan commander, studying the planet on the holo.  Not that I am complaining.  Easy is good.

*     *     *

“Prepare to execute plan, now,” said the Admiral Commanding Crakista Force One.  As soon as the last word left her mouth the ships all began to move, as did the two forts and the wormhole gate.  The forts and the gate could only move at a couple of gravities acceleration.  Then again, they didn’t have to move far, as they were in close in orbits that already had them moving where they needed to go.

The warships sped ahead at half acceleration, over two hundred gravities, firing spreads of missiles as soon as they cleared the cover of the planet.  As all the ships cleared within a twenty second period, all three hundred odd of them were firing on the enemy in a tight volley.  That included seventy-three battleships, giving them a firepower advantage over the thirty enemy capital ships.

And then the missiles came out of the wormhole, accelerated up to point nine light on the other side.  Two thousand of them, not quite enough to saturate the defenses of the entire Caca force.  But enough to keep them busy while they tried to deal with the missiles from the allied force as well.

The missile duel left twenty-three Caca ships, twelve of them superbattleships, all with varying amounts of damage.  All headed toward the planet, with no way to avoid close proximity with the enemy.  Sixty-one capital ships still manned the allied line.  When they reached effective beam range, about a light minute, both sides opened up with every energy and light amp weapon in their arsenal.

The Caca ships carried more lasers on their larger vessels, in forty domes arrayed around the hull.  They were only able to bring a little more than half of these weapons to bear, while the allied ships could all orient to bring every one of their light amp weapons to target, and most of their particle beams.  Beams from laser rings and the noses of the Crakista vessels spanned the distance between the ships, mostly missing or making brief contact.  As the distance decreased the accuracy increased, and both sides started taking major damage.

As the two forces passed each other, the allied ships barely moving, the Cacas sliding slowly into the system, ships began to explode in space, or outgas huge spouts of atmosphere.  When they finished their closest approach, there were still fifty-five capital ships in the allied order of battle.  Two superbattleships and a cruiser were all that were left of the enemy force, all heavily damaged.

“We will be boarding those ships and taking prisoners,” said the Crakista Admiral, looking at the President of the New Terran Republic on the com holo.  “I am sure they will have information that will prove interesting, if not vital.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” said the President, an emotional response of some kind showing on her face.  Control yourself human, thought the Admiral.

“I am sorry that your force took losses,” continued the woman.

The Admiral thought about that statement.  She had lost nine ships, including five of her battleships.  The New Moscow force had lost six capital ships, while the NTR squadron had lost eight of their eleven battleships through the vagaries of battle.  On one of those ships had been the system commander.

“In battle one expects to take losses,” said the Admiral, pushing down the small surge of emotion that those losses had caused.  “To think otherwise is not logical.  We inflicted greater damage on the enemy force than they inflicted on us.  And our force is still battle worthy, while theirs is not.  We were the victor.  That is all that is important.”

The Admiral could tell from the woman’s expression that she did not approve of her response.  But what other response could there be, thought the Crakista, confused by the emotions of her allies, and wondering how far their alliance would go.  Far enough to defeat these disgusting creatures, she thought, visualizing the Ca’cadasans.  Beyond that, there is no need for further cooperation.

Chapter Ten

IMPERIAL SPACE, SEPTEMBER 28TH, 1001.

Even though she was now a duchess, and the fiancé’ of the Emperor, Jennifer Conway was still a physician first and foremost in her own mind.  She had insisted on continuing to work her profession, even with those new titles.  Even though she had been kidnapped and her life threatened while working in one of the largest hospitals in the capital city.  That had led to her getting an assignment to the Naval Hospital in Capitulum, working with wounded veterans returned from the front.  It was rewarding work, supervising the rebuild of young men and women who had given all but their lives to the defense of the Empire.  Many would return to duty, those whose injuries were mostly physical.  Some, those suffering severe mental trauma for which there was no quick cure, would not, but they would still find ways to serve.

When Sean had decided he would be with the bait force for the planned Decisive Battle, Jennifer had insisted on going along.  Many fights had led to her getting her way, and here she was on the dreadnought Augustine I.  They were still trying to come up with a different term for the new class of ships, since superbattleship was already taken by the twenty million ton class.  At twenty-seven million tons, they were a much more capable battle class.  But dreadnought was the name they were stuck with, for now.

She still performed as a doctor, and had a duty assignment on the ship as a staff physician.  As a civilian, she really wasn’t under the Chief Physician of the ship, though she voluntarily served as an assistant staff doctor.

But this is boring as hell, she thought, supervising a finger regrowth of a naval rating, one of the few injuries she had seen since coming aboard the ship.  It was hard to find work for a doctor aboard a vessel that was crewed by perfectly healthy specimens of humanity, all protected against any form of contagion by their internal nanites.  The Spacer had cut off a finger in a fabrication accident in engineering.  The finger had been destroyed in the accident.  Limb regrowth had been a common practice for the last thousand years, really something that any nurse or medic could accomplish.  It was a waste of a doctor’s time, though fleet regulations called for a physician to sign off on every stage of the process.

And there’s not even one pregnant woman to look after, she thought as she walked to the locker room to remove her portable sterile field generator.  Of course, fleet regulations prohibited pregnancies among serving females.  So their internal nanites were set to prevent the production of viable eggs, and further to prevent the viability of sperm entering their systems, making it doubly impossible for a pregnancy to occur.  She was the only female aboard capable of becoming pregnant, and she had her own nanites programed to prevent any fertilized egg from taking hold in her placental wall.  Producing and heir could come later, after the wedding.

The private quarters were the same as always, empty, with the exception of Sean’s cat.  The little half grown Himalayan greeted her as she walked through the door.  Even the steward was gone, as he was most days, supervising the evening meal, which Sean used as a bonding exercise with his staff.

“I guess it’s just you and me, Killer,” she told the cat as he jumped up beside her on the couch.  There were still hours till dinner, which she would be expected to attend in the large state dining room three decks down.  She stroked the purring ball of fur as she thought with dread about yet another meal where everyone talked shop, and she was politely excluded from the conversation.

She lay back on the couch and closed her eyes, as the juvenile nestled in close to her and purred her to sleep.  An hour later her implant woke her, letting her know it was time to get prepared for the meal.  The cat was still lying next to her, still purring, though obviously asleep.  She gently moved it out of the way and got up, heading for the shower.

“So glad you could join us, Duchess,” said the Steward, John Jacobs, acting as door greeter as he supervised the serving of the wine and appetizers.  “You are most lovely tonight, as always.”

Jennifer nodded and headed for her seat, down the table from Sean, a place that didn’t even allow conversation with her lover.  The same greeting every night, she thought, as she listened to the officers greet her and she returned a similarly inane reply.

Dinner was spectacular, as it always was.  Jacobs was a first class chef, and he always did a fantastic job of supervising what had to be the best mess staff in the Fleet.  Dinner was range fed beef and Capitulum lobster, along with some side dishes she did not recognize, but which tasted delightful.  Or would have, if she had any interest in them.  She watched as her fiancé’ talked with his senior officers at the other end of the table, while she tried to provide interesting conversation to this night’s batch of junior officers, those whose time had come on the dinner rotation.

The night seemed to go on forever, with Jennifer becoming more and more angry as it progressed.  She knew it would end as it always did, with Sean going off to another staff meeting, while she went back to their quarters to watch entertainment vids, or work on one hobby or another, with only the cat for company.  Even the Steward would be absent, as always, supervising the prep for breakfast, or making sure that Sean’s staff meeting was served to his satisfaction.

As the Emperor declared dinner over Jennifer was on her feet, making her way through the officers to the head of the table before Sean could get away.  She put a hand on his arm, looking at the Admiral he was talking to.  “If you would excuse the Emperor for a moment, Countess,” she told the Admiral in a quiet voice.

The Admiral bowed and took a step back, and Sean turned toward Jennifer with a look of surprise on his face.

“We need to talk,” she said, looking into his eyes.

“How about we talk tomorrow,” he said, glancing at his waiting officers.  “Now is not a good time.  We have to go over the fleet dispositions for the New Terran Republic.”

“It is never a good time,” she said, feeling the warmth of tears flowing down her cheeks.  “Maybe it never will be a good time.”  She released her hold on his arm and spun around, walking quickly toward the entrance, dodging around people who didn’t know how to react to the angry Imperial Fiancé’s storming for the exit.

Jennifer made it halfway to the lift bank before Sean caught her, coming up behind her and putting his arms round her waist.  In anger she pushed an elbow into his ribs, and he grunted in surprise, before shifting his hands to her arms and turning her around in place.

“Jennifer,” he said, a troubled look on his face.  “What is wrong with you tonight?”

“I’m surprised that you got my name right,” she said, her face flushing with rage.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Us is what I am talking about.  You and me.  Only there doesn’t seem to be an us.  There seems to be a you, always busy, and a me, sitting on this ship with nothing to do.”  She looked down at the floor, trying to stop the tears from coming.

“I warned you about coming,” said Sean, putting a hand under her chin and lifting her face to look at his.

“You warned me about the danger.  Not about the, nothing.”

“And what can I do to make it better?”

“Spend some time with me, dammit,” she shouted, trying to pull away from him, and failing against his enhanced strength.

Sean, keeping a grip on her arms, turned to look at his Secret Service Agent in Charge, waiting up the hallway.  “Tell my officers that I will not be attending tonight’s meeting.  They can inform me of what recommendations they have on the morrow.  I am not to be disturbed tonight, unless something comes up that only I can decide.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said the smiling woman, closing her eyes to make a link.

“Now,” he said, looking back at Jennifer.  “I need to spend the night with the love of my life.”

Jennifer felt the love swell within her, looking into the face of the man she was to marry.

“I am so sorry I have ignored you,” he said, leading her by the hand to the lift.  “I am so sorry.  I will make it up to you tonight, and in the future.”

*     *     *

UNICORPORATED SPACE, OCTOBER 10TH, 1001.

“Pinafore is signaling that they are picking up hyper VII emissions,” called out the com tech on duty on the bridge of the NTRS Orleans.  Commodore Natasha Romanov, commander of the picket force of one light cruiser and five destroyers, awoke in her cabin, wondering what was coming their way.  Something they could take out, or something they would be forced to watch as it went by?

“What do they have?” she asked, getting up from her bunk and pulling on the uniform coverall she had thrown over a chair before laying on her comfortable bed.  She checked her implant, happy to see that she had gotten a good six hours of rest.  But then, it’s always either the tension of tracking a Caca force, or the many days of nothing between.

“They can’t tell for sure, ma’am.  It’s just entering their detection range.  But from the information we’re getting over the wormhole com, it seems to be a considerable force.  They’ve tracked over a score of ships, with more entering range every couple of seconds.”

“I’ll be right up,” said the Commodore, pulling on her boots, then making sure that her short hair was not in disarray.  As the flag officer in charge of this picket, she felt it behooved her to make sure she looked alert at all times, even when she didn’t feel it.

It took a little under a minute to get to the bridge, monitoring the situation on her implant the entire way.  The number had grown to over forty in that time.  She thought that in the future it might be a better idea to sleep in her day cabin, but her main quarters were much more comfortable, and it was rare that anything came along that required fast action.

The tactical holo was alive with arrows when she walked on the bridge.  It didn’t take long to see that this group was not on a path that would take them into the Empire.  Instead…“They’re heading into Republic Space.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the com tech, who was filling in for the off duty officer who was the primary for that station.

As an alert had not been called, the primary was still off duty, resting, and Romanov saw no reason to disturb her at this time.  The situation was unlikely to lead to combat, and the current tech could deliver the bad news to the Central Command of the New Terran Republic just as well.

It was now more than obvious that the enemy ships were heading into the Republic, which was already having a rough time battling against the Cacas they already had in place, and, of course, their Klang allies.

“Over a hundred ships so far, ma’am,” announced the Tactical Officer, who had been the acting commander while the Commodore was asleep.

“Command is acknowledging our transmission, ma’am,” said the Com Tech, looking back at Romanov.  “They are asking us to continue monitoring the situation, and to report any further developments.”

Like we would do anything else, thought the Commodore.  Of course, what else could they say.  They must be shitting kittens about now.

They continued monitoring the passage of the enemy force for the next hour, with the count growing to over four hundred ships, a quarter of them capitals.  There was a break of about an hour, then more ships entered the scanner range of the destroyer Pinafore.  This group took about a half an hour to transit into the range of the forward destroyer.  Another three hundred ships, forty of them capitals, and over a hundred what seemed to be logistical ships, freighters, tankers and troop transports.  And then, nothing.  But the enemy force assaulting the Republic had just grown by twenty percent.  And the Republic didn’t have the additional naval force to match them.

*     *     *

XENIA, NEW TERRAN REPUBLIC, OCTOBER 15TH, 1001.

“We have communicated with our government,” said the officer who had been designated as Admiral Commanding Crakista Force One.  Now there was a new logo below the reptilian on the holo, Admiral Commanding Crakista Expeditionary Force One.

So, she was promoted for winning this action, thought President Graham, nodding her head.  A logical choice, since she had proven herself as a battle commander.  “And of what have they informed you, Admiral?”

“My command is to be reinforced with two hundred capital ships and seven hundred supporting vessels,” said the Admiral, her face betraying no emotion.  No triumph, no elation, no fear.

The president felt triumph, and she let it fill her.  The Empire had just informed her that she would be receiving reinforcements from them as well.  Six hundred old ships, two hundred of them battleships, that had been refurbished with modern technology and prepared for service.  They would come with skeleton crews to move them through the wormhole gate.  The requirement then would be for Republic crews to man them.  And that she had no shortage of, with all the reservists called up.

“Thank you for letting me know, Admiral,” said the President, bowing toward the holo.  “We much appreciate the help of your people.”

“We cannot afford to allow those you fight to gain dominance in this region.  It was the only logical decision.”

“Still, we are grateful.  I am grateful.  Without your help this would be an unwinnable fight for my government.”

“I take your offer of gratitude in the spirit in which it is offered.  While my own people eschew emotions, we have many within our political region who are emotional beings.  We have had to learn to deal with them on their own mental grounds.”

Graham nodded.  She had studied everything her people knew about the Crakista when she had heard they were joining the fight.  They were not totally devoid of emotion, despite their protestations to the contrary.  There were two score other species in their empire, and according to all she could discover they were all treated fairly, by a compassionate race who believed in freedom for all sentient beings, no matter their physical or emotional makeup.

For the first time in days the President felt good about her Republic’s chances.  Maybe they still weren’t great chances, but they included a possibility of a win.

*     *     *

ELYSIUM SPACE.  OCTOBER 17TH, 1001.

Archduke Horatio Alexanderopolis, His Imperial Majesty’s Ambassador to the Court of the Elysium Empire, relaxed in the seat of the Brakakak shuttle as it climbed above the atmosphere and headed for the ship that was its target.  His Naval Attaché’, Commodore Danielle Corso, sat in the seat next to his, arrayed in her best dress uniform.  Before them was a big holo screen centered on the ship they were heading for, a large battleship, a flagship of the Elysium Fleet.  Behind it, shrunk by the distance, were a large number of other vessels of various classes.

“That is one beautiful sight,” said the Commodore, gesturing toward the screen.

The Ambassador nodded his head.  To his eye the Elysium ship looked somewhat, wrong.  It was narrower than a human battleship, and longer, and somehow more graceful in appearance.  It lacked external extrusions that could be easily damaged, just like all capital ships.  Form followed function, and capital ships were by necessity massive vessels, heavily armored to protect all of their vital areas.  Not invulnerable by any means, but the best thing to it, the best that intelligent beings could design.

“It will still take them almost two months to make it to the Supersystem,” said the Ambassador with a frown.  The Elysium did have hyper VII warships, a few, but most were detailed to outer border patrol, where their abilities would allow them to cover the greatest distance.  The main force, the battle fleet of the Empire, was composed entirely of hyper VI vessels.

“Better late than never,” said the Commodore with a sour expression.  “Maybe.”

But is it? thought the older human, watching the battleship continue to grow in the holo, until it took up almost the entire screen.

The hangar door was open, and the shuttle flew into the opening, and set down on the landing surface with a gentle clang of carbon alloy.  The doors opened on the shuttle and the humans left the craft, to be greeted by a number of officers in a line, rendering the Brakakak version of a salute, two hands crossed over the breast, right over left.  The first thing the Ambassador noticed was the odor.  Brakakak had a sweet body odor, very pleasant to the human nose, like a bouquet of flowers.  The hangar was permeated with the odor of so many of the beings gathered together.  The second thing noted was both the presence of other aliens of the Elysium Empire aboard, and the absence of others.  The presence of aliens other than the dominant species on the ship was strange to humans.  In all of the human fleets, humans manned most of the ships almost exclusively.  It made sense, when the ship was configured to be the home of the crew for long periods.  Humans ships made allowances for some aliens, Malticorans for one, and other humanoid species.  Otherwise, aliens served the Fleet in ships that had been designed for their use.

The Ambassador counted a half dozen other species on the hangar deck, not all of them humanoid.  And not one Knockerman.  He remarked on this observation to High Lord Grarakakak on the way to the flag bridge of the ship.

“We are having a little bit of a trust issue with them at this time,” admitted the leader of the Elysium  Empire.  “Normally, over half of the marine contingent of this ship would be Knockermen.  They have been disarmed since the defeat of their rebellion, and replaced with my own people.”

And weakened your marine presence at the same time, thought Horatio, matching his stride with that of the Brakakak leader.  The avians were more agile, but the Knockermen were able to wear a heavier, more capable suit of armor.

The bridge of the Kala-gran was impressive.  It was much larger than a comparable human bridge, with half again as many stations.  Its central holo tank was equally large, and at the moment showed the tactical disposition of Elysium fleet.  Each icon had the name of the ship under it in the Brakakak language, the official tongue of the Empire.  The Ambassador was fluent in that tongue, reading and speaking, and saw the names of many famous ships on that roster.  Famous because those names had fought against the humans in several past wars.

“We have eight hundred battleships,” said the High Lord proudly.  “Two thousand cruisers, five thousand destroyers.  The pride of our fleet.”

While it looked impressive, the Ambassador knew that the force was not all that Elysium could muster.  But it’s all they’re willing to part with at this time.  Maybe, after they lose some ships to the enemy, they will be more willing to jump in with both feet.

“It is very impressive, High Lord,” said the Ambassador, using his most diplomatic phrasing and tone.  “And a contribution that will be much appreciated by my people.”

“And you think it is not enough,” said the avian, forming a very human smile with his beaklike mouth.  “And you would be correct.  But it is the best I could get from the Military Council.  They still have fears that the Knockermen revolt is not quite over.  And I believe they are correct.  We still have need of most of our fleet within our Empire.”

“You realize that if the Cacadasans beat us, they will probably overrun your Empire, eventually,” said Horatio.

“There is that word,” said the High Lord, his mouth curving into an approximation of a human frown.  “Eventually.  And if we don’t get our own house under control, we will be out of this war altogether.  And the new masters of our Empire will not care what happens to the Human governments and peoples.  In fact, they will cheer from the rooftops to see your people go down in defeat.”

“I am sorry, High Lord,” said the Ambassador, bowing.  “I did not mean to act like we were not grateful for your contribution.”

“You are the consummate diplomat, Horatio,” said the High Lord, again smiling.  “It will be a sorry day when you retire, and we no longer have the advantage of your wisdom.”

“I’m not planning on retiring, High Lord,” said the Ambassador, who at one hundred and eighty standard years was still twenty years away from suggested retirement age.  “They will have to ship me home in a box.”

“A box?  Oh, your singular burial ritual.  I really don’t understand why you don’t cremate the body in place.”

“Some of my people believe in that, but most still prefer being interred in a place their family can visit them.”

“But, they are dead,” said the High Lord.  “How can their families visit them?”

“Some of my people still believe in an afterlife,” said the Ambassador, himself an atheist.  “They believe there is something of the loved one left behind, something they can commune with.  Or else, the loved one is living in a paradise, in some unseen dimension or other.”

“I am amazed that your people have advanced so far in the sciences, and still hold on to such primitive beliefs.  All one needs to see is the Universe around them to know that this is enough.  There is no need for any religious beliefs.”

And many of our people would pity you and yours, High Lord, thought the Ambassador, nodding his head in diplomatic agreement.

“But enough about our divergent philosophies,” said the High Lord, gesturing toward the exit of the bridge.  “Let me show you the rest of the ship.  This vessel boosts in three hours, along with the rest of the force.  That is plenty of time to let you see the defensive and offensive capabilities of the vessel, at least in theory.”

Horatio and his Naval Attaché’ followed the avian around the battleship for the next two hours, taking in the various details of the vessel.  Later, he would make his report to the capital, letting them know what was coming to their aid, and the embassy staff’s assessment of it.  It still would not be enough, but at least it was high quality not enough.

Chapter Eleven

ELYSIUM BORDERLANDS.  OCTOBER 21ST, 1001.

“Prepare to be boarded,” came the message everyone on the bridge had been dreading.

The three freighters had entered Elysium space just two days before being intercepted by a patrol vessel of that Empire’s navy.   There had been no sign of the other Knockermen ships they were to have met, even though the Navigator swore they were in the correct area.  So they had waited for those two days until a ship came along, the wrong ship.  Now a light cruiser hung off the port bow of the lead freighter, having matched velocities in hyper VI with the trio.

The Knockermen who ran the ship were almost in a panic, looking at the viewer and gesturing in their slow, ponderous style.  The General watched them in disgust, wondering how he had been fated to have such allies pushed upon him.

He looked back at the light cruiser on the viewer, a long lean vessel made for scouting.  Yes.  That will do nicely.  Where my allies see a threat, I see opportunity.

“Invite them aboard,” he said to the senior captain, the Knockerman in charge of the three freighters.  “Play the part of the willing merchantman with nothing to hide.  Allow them on board.  Open one of the cargo hatches to let them enter.”

“But, they will find you,” said the Knockerman, gesturing in his ponderous manner.

“And then they will die.  But they will not have time to find anything.  And if all works as planned, we will have that cruiser to add to our force.”

The Knockerman did not look as though he approved of the plan, but the General had overall control here, by dint of having six thousand Ca’cadasan warriors under his command.  As long as he obeys, I don’t care how he feels.  If he disobeys, he will have to be replaced as naval commander of this mission.

As he had hoped, the cruiser had only one hyper capable shuttle.  They sent that one over to the freighter furthest from their vessel, while moving the cruiser in close, where hyper fields overlapped, and they could send marines in battle armor from ship to ship.  The General displayed a predatory smile as he watched the enemy troops come across, twenty marines, in the lighter armor used for shipboard actions, along with five naval personnel who would perform the inspection.  His men were in heavy assault armor, tougher, stronger and more heavily armed in every respect.

As soon as the Brakakak entered the cargo hold that had been opened for them they were taken under fire.  They hadn’t a chance, under the guns of almost a hundred Cacada troops.  They died without able to return fire, confused and unable to react in the seconds they had.  At the same time another hundred warriors leapt across the gap on suit grabbers and gained control of the hangar that the enemy had used to launch their own force across.  There were only a couple of marines and some spacers in the hangar, and the Cacada came in firing.  The hangar was theirs before they set the first armored boot on the deck.  They had the airlock to the hangar open before the crew could react, and spread through that area of the ship, making room for the next hundred males.

The General followed his men over the com link, looking through their eyes as they took the enemy ship.  The Brakakak fought hard to hold their ship, but surprise and ruthlessness were on the side of the larger aliens.  That, and greater strength and firepower.  The Ca’cadasans crouched and crawled through the corridors of the alien ship, or flew in a horizontal position on their grabbers, blasting the few remaining marines out of the way, then taking down the less well prepared spacers.

It took all of fifteen minutes to take the ship.  There were bodies scattered around every corridor, laser scars and holes in the walls.  The ship was damaged, but still capable of operation, and the General took the report of the Company Commander who had led the assault from the bridge of the freighter.

“We captured the First Officer and over three hundred crewmen,” said the male, a grin on his face.

“Were they cooperative?”

“Not at first, my Lord,” said the officer, his grin growing.  “The First Officer threatened to go to his death before he cooperated.”  The Company Commander stepped back, to show the view of a dozen dead avians on the floor, their heads separated from their bodies.   “He lost his resolve after our demonstration.”

“Very good,” said the General, giving a head motion of agreement.  “We will transfer another hundred males over to that ship, so that you may keep a close watch on those aliens.  And be sure that they know that any attempt at noncompliance will result in the death of the offending crewman.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The General turned to the Knockerman naval commander as the transmission to his own officer terminated.  “Now we have another ship for our use.  And a way to keep the enemy from further interfering with our mission.”  And a better way to take that station, thought the General, looking forward to delivering a death blow to the hated humans.

“We will move the explosive devices over to the cruiser when we have made sure the entire ship is secured,” he told the Captain.

“Yes, General,” said the Knockerman, relief on his reptilian face.

Can’t blame him, thought the General.  Quark devices were as rare as they were powerful.  They were twice as expensive per gigaton of blast as an antimatter warhead.  They were also a hundred times as powerful per mass, which had made them the weapon of choice for this operation.  And unless his tub of a freighter is more than a couple of light seconds from the blast, it could destroy it as well.

*      *      *

“Sorry, ma’am,” said the armored Marine.  “You are not authorized for this area.”

“What,” stammered Doctor Lucille Yu, Director of the Donut Project.  “How can that be?  This is my station.”

“I am sorry, Doctor Yu,” said the man, the ranking member of the quartet that was guarding the entrance to the corridor.  “Your name is not on the list of people allowed to pass.”

Yu stood to her full height of over one point eight meters and glared at the man.  “Call your officer.  I want to speak with someone with more authority.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Sergeant, closing his eyes and linking with his command net.

“Maybe we should just go back to your office, Dr. Yu,” cautioned Jimmy Chung, the Chief of the Imperial Intelligence Agency on the station.  “I don’t even have clearance for this area.”

“I am in charge of the single most important technological resource in the Empire,” growled Yu, glaring at the man who was the head of her security as well, and was also her lover.  “I am one of those responsible for this thing working.  And there is something here on my station that I don’t know about.”  Except for rumors, she thought, looking back at the Sergeant.  That something really dangerous is here on the station.  More dangerous than antimatter.  Either in development, or here for transhipment to some other place.

“What’s the problem here,” said a smart looking naval officer in a dress uniform.  “Dr. Yu,” she said, looking up at the scientist.  “I was informed that there was a problem.”

“Damn right there is,” said Yu, turning on the Commander.  “These goons will not allow me to see what lies beyond this checkpoint.  On my station.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Yu,” said the Commander in a tone that said she was anything but.  “This area is off limits to all personnel without a need to know.  And you do not have a need to know.”

“And do you know what lies beyond this, checkpoint?” asked Yu, pointing a finger at the officer.

“Of course not,” said the Commander.  “I am only in charge of this security shift.  I don’t have a need to know.”

“So you’re just another damned drone,” hissed Yu.  “I want to talk to someone really in charge here.”

“I am the only one available at this time,” said the Commander, her voice and expression frosty.  “I can send a message to Admiral Chrone, the officer in charge of this project, and have him contact you at his convenience.”

“Jimmy,” pleaded Yu, looking at the man at her side.  “Can’t IIA do anything about this?”

“I’m afraid not, Doctor,” said the Senior Agent, shrugging his shoulders.  “This is a matter of Naval Intelligence.  We have no jurisdiction in this matter.”

“Fine,” said Yu, turning and walking away, yelling back at the military personnel.  “I will talk to someone above your Admiral Chrone.  I will get to the bottom of this.”

In her office Yu got on her com, sending a request to someone she was sure could tell her what was going on.  And then she waited.

Two hours later the com signaled that a connection had been made.  Yu was on another com, talking with one of her staff members about negative matter production, when a priority signal came through.  Yu terminated the conversation she was on without hesitation, then opened up the new com.

“Dr. Yu,” said the voice of Samantha Ogden Lee, as her image formed in the holo.  “I hear that you have a problem with some naval personnel on the Donut.”

“Thank you for returning my call, Regent.  But I was expecting the Emperor.”

“The Emperor is incommunicado at the moment.”

“What’s going on with him?”

“I’m sorry, Doctor.  But that is top secret.  As is the project you contacted me about.  I barely know any facts about it myself.  Just enough to know it exists, and that it is vital to the defense of the Empire.”

“I heard the term Quark Fission used,” said Lucille in a hushed voice.  “If that’s what I think it means, you’re talking about something that could destroy this station.”

“Where did you hear that term?” asked the Regent, her eyes narrowing.

“I have my own sources,” said Yu.  “But mostly it’s just gossip that is circulating around the station.  I have no idea where it originated.  But my question is, is it true?  A weapon a hundred times more powerful than an antimatter warhead of equal mass?  Maybe more?”

The Regent didn’t say a word for several moments, and Yu had to wonder if she had said too much to the woman.  Thoughts of her confinement in Purgatory came back to her.  A most unpleasant experience, with constant questioning about her involvement in the death of the Emperor Augustine and his family.  Something the Fleet had rescued her from, because of her necessity in running the wormhole project.  Now that the project was running on all reactors, she might not be as necessary as she once was.  But the damned thing could destroy this station.  I need to know more about it before I can rest easy.  This place now has over a hundred million people on it.  And it’s vital to the war effort.  Even more so than Central Docks and the shipyards.

“I, really don’t have the authority to speak about this, Doctor,” said the Regent, her face showing how uncomfortable she was with the whole topic.

“Then who does?  Admiral Chrone?”

“Admiral Chrone is in charge of the project, though he is not one of the researchers.  But even he has to get permission to disseminate information to people outside the project.”

“Then who can give him permission?”

“I will find out, and get back to you,” said the Regent, terminating the com link.

Yu went to bed that night with feelings of trepidation about the whole thing.  She wondered if she had said too much, and if Naval Intelligence would come to visit her and take her off to a detention facility.  The Empire was a free society, but this was wartime, after all.  And threats to security had to be controlled.

“You’re still vital to this installation,” said Jimmy, holding her after making love to her, trying to calm her.  “They wouldn’t dare do anything to you.  And you already have the highest level clearance possible.”

“Need to know,” she whispered, closing her eyes and attempting to sleep.  That was a lost cause for many hours, but finally it came, and with it dreams.  She was again in Purgatory, again a prisoner, again undergoing interrogation.  The dream seemed to go on for hours, all through the night, and she woke the next morning feeling as fatigued as when she had gone to sleep.

The morning went normally.  Small problems with production, already solved, but awaiting her approval.  There was a staff meeting mid-morning, then lunch.  At least I don’t have to worry about the Imperial Investigation Bureau trying to get me.  McGregor had been relieved of his position, and the IIB was no longer on a witch hunt involving one Dr. Lucille Yu.

They came for her after lunch, the Commander she had talked with the day before, along with a quartet of armed Spacers.  “You will come with me, Dr. Yu,” said the Commander, gesturing toward the office door.

“What is this about?”

“I have been instructed to take you to Admiral Chrone, ma’am,” said the Commander.  “That is all that I know.”

“I would like to bring Senior Agent Chung along,” she told the Commander.  She started to com the agent, but the Commander held up a hand.

“Senior Agent Chung is not cleared to accompany you.  My orders are to bring you to Admiral Chrone, and no other.”

“And if I decline the invitation,” she said, her stomach turning at the implications of orders to be brought to the Admiral.

“I was told to bring you to the Admiral, Doctor.  I was not given instructions that allowed for your refusal.  So, if you will please come with us.”

Lucille nodded and stood up, walking after the Commander and the first two Spacers, the other pair falling in behind her.  She sent a signal over her link to Jimmy anyway, to let him know what was going on, so he would be able to do something, she wasn’t sure what, if she disappeared.  She was surprised when her signal was blocked.  What the hell is going on here?  Will anyone ever see me again?  The one positive was that they were escorting her through the station in front of witnesses.  Hundreds of people would see the members of the Fleet taking her somewhere.  Armed members of the Fleet.  If she didn’t come back there would be questions.

The Marine guards were still in place as they walked toward the checkpoint.  All being in battle armor, she couldn’t tell if they were the same troopers as were there the other day.  They passed her and the naval personnel through without delay, and then she was in the corridor that she had till this point been excluded from.

“The Admiral will meet with you in the small conference room,” said the Commander, leading the way down the corridor.  There were several branches, and Lucille knew that this area covered a number of levels, enough for the several hundred people who worked here.  They passed another guarded door, this one with what looked like heavy ship’s armor as its main constituent.  And then to the conference room, where a distinguished looking man in uniform, the three stars of a vice admiral on his collars, sat at the head of the table.

“Dr. Yu,” said the man, getting to his feet and offering her a hand.  “I am Admiral Peter Chrone.  The Regent has instructed me to talk to you about my project, with the permission of the Naval R & D board, of course.”

“Of course,” said Lucille, looking into the gray eyes of the tall man, whose only sign of age was the silver hair interspersed with his short blond covering.

“You made quite a nuisance of yourself, Dr. Yu,” said the man, gesturing her to a seat.  “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” she replied, and the Admiral poured her a cup from the carafe that was sitting on the table.  “I didn’t mean to be a nuisance, but there were rumors of something you were working on here that might be a threat to my station.”

“Not working on here,” said the Admiral as he poured himself a cup.  “Actual research and development is going on in one of the Supersystem asteroid belts.  And actual live testing must take place elsewhere.”

“So, you don’t even know if this thing works?”

“Oh, it works.  We have tested small devices in the belt, in the ten megaton range.  But nothing like the real thing.  That will be tested at an undisclosed but isolated system in the next week.”

“And it’s a Quark Fission device?  Something that actually splits quarks into smaller subquarks?”

“The rumors are true, though we would prefer that all senior personnel deny those, and turn the speculation toward other avenues.  The more outlandish the better.”

“And they are to be stored on this station?”

“We were looking for a place where they could be deployed at a moment’s notice to any part of the Empire.  And, since all gates lead to the Donut, so to speak, this was the only place that made sense.”

A holo sprang to life over the table, and a short vid played that explained the basics of the research that had been done on the quark weapon.  Antimatter was the most concentrated source of energy being used by both sides in the war.  But this weapon, this superbomb, was a hundred times more powerful per mass of the weapon than antimatter.

“And we expect the weapon will shrink in size over time, like most tech.”

“And we will be putting these on missiles, and firing them at the enemy?”

“Oh, no.  They are much too expensive for ship to ship duels.  Since only one in twenty missiles actually gets close enough to an enemy ship to do any damage.”

“That few,” said Lucille, surprised.

“We only achieve hits with missiles by saturating defenses,” said the Admiral.  “Not a very cost effective proposition, but the best we can do, for now.”

“Then of what use are these weapons?” asked Lucille, looking back to the holo, which was now displaying a schematic of the weapon that was to be tested, alongside a picture of an antimatter warhead.

“Special ops, Doctor,” said the Admiral, putting his cup on the table after taking a sip.  “Antimatter warheads are still large weapons.  Special ops teams need the most effective weapon they can carry into a hot situation.”

“I kept hearing the term, planet destroyers, used with these things.”

“My dear Doctor Yu,” said the man with his best politician’s smile.  “Fleet is not in the business of destroying worlds.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Lucille, returning the smile, while sure that the man was lying about that last.

“The weapons are much safer than antimatter warheads as well.  Antimatter can detonate if, for any reason, it breaches containment.  A quark warhead can only go off if the triggering device is activated in the proper manner.  And that can only happen if the authorized code is put into the weapon.”

“That’s good to know,” said Lucille, believing that part of the presentation.  She knew from her study of physics that breaking protons apart into their constituent quarks was no small matter.  And breaking the quarks down to their constituent components even more so.  The weapon needed a small matter-antimatter reactor to power the fission process.  And if that reactor breached containment, the only result would be a several megaton detonation of antimatter.  Bad enough, but not sufficient to destroy the enormous station.

“I need not remind you that this is classified Top Secret Galactic, Doctor Yu,” said the Admiral, pulling up an official secrets disclosure on the holo.  “If you would please acknowledge the receipt of this information, and the penalties that you could incur for unauthorized disclosure.”

Lucille linked with the document and made her official acknowledgement.  She knew the penalties were harsh, harsher yet with the Empire at war.  But they still fed me a bone in order to get my nose out of their business.  And I can’t even protest the storing of weapons on the station without violating the agreement.  But, if I didn’t sign, I could be imprisoned.  Well played, Fleet.

Lucille felt somewhat better as she left the meeting, if only because she was leaving the meeting.  At least she knew the threat, and had a better understanding of the bombs.  She didn’t have to like the idea of having them on her station, but now knew it was no worse than the hundreds of antimatter warheads that passed through the Donut every day.

“I tried to get in touch with you after I heard that Naval Security had come to get you,” said Jimmy Chung when he saw her after she left the secure area.  “Is everything OK?”

“I guess so, Jimmy,” she said, walking with the shorter man to the tram that would take her back to her part of the station.

“Anything you can tell me?”

“Need to know, Jimmy,” she said, shaking her head.  She was sure that Naval Intelligence would be monitoring her, and anything she said about the weapons could lead to her confinement, as well as that of the person she told it to.  “I’m sure you understand.”

“As long as you’re satisfied, Lucille, so am I.  My only concern is the overall security of the station, and of you.”

And in that you are lucky, Jimmy Chung.  You don’t have to worry about if the thing actually does its job, and what might get in the way of its functioning.  Like a damned ten gigaton warhead going off in the middle of the thing.

Chapter Twelve

CONGREEVE SPACE.  OCTOBER 24TH, 1001.

“You can’t do this,” yelled Citizen Prester Johnson, pointing a finger into the face of Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav.  “This is my property, and I am a citizen of the Empire.  And I do not give you permission to use my property.”

Why the hell can’t these damned fools get it through their heads that we’re at war? thought the Admiral, resisting the urge to slap the finger out of the way.  “Look, Mr. Johnson.  I have an Imperial order to take what I need for the project I am working on.  I am therefore seizing your property for the good of the Empire.”

“And for what purpose?”

“That is classified.  Only the military has a need to know at this time.”

“Bullshit,” yelled the man, glaring at the officer.  “I will not surrender this station to you assholes without a good reason.”

“Then I will have you removed from the station, and we will do what we must,” said the Admiral in a loud voice, not quite matching that of the trillionaire.”

“Do you know who I am?” said the man, playing his last straw.  “I have powerful friends.  Friends in the Lords.  Friends in the Commons.  People who can break you, drum you out of the service.”

Oh, please, thought the Admiral, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.  The Emperor himself ordered this.

“You think this is funny, you petty functionary,” yelled the man at seeing the hint of the grin on her face.

“No, sir.  I think this is pathetic,” she said, her anger taking control.  “Your people are at war, and all you can think about is your personal cost.”

“I…”

“No.  You listen.  We are trying to accomplish something here of benefit to the Empire.  I can’t tell you what, because it is a military secret.  As a citizen of the Empire, I expect you to cooperate.  You will be reimbursed for your expense, if we win this war.”

“And if we lose?”

“Then you, like all of the rest of us, will be dead, and the expense of this station will not matter.”

“We’re ready to start the installation, ma’am,” called out one of the Naval Engineering officers from the doorway.

“I will protest this to Parliament,” said Johnson, refusing to see reason.

“Do you have a home on the planet?”

“Why, yes.  I do.  Why?”

The Admiral activated her com link and connected with her security personnel, then spoke aloud for the benefit of the Citizen.  “Mr. Johnson is to be immediately brought down to the planet and placed under house arrest in his residence.  He is to speak with no one.”

“This is an outrage,” yelled the man as armed Spacers entered the room and surrounded him.  “I will have your head for this.”

“I would leave with the Spacers if I were you,” said Miroslav, pointing toward the doorway.  “Before I charge you with threatening an Imperial official.”

“Come with us, sir,” said the Petty Officer in charge of the detail.

Johnson gave her one more killing look, then followed the leading Spaceman out of the room.  As soon as he was gone the Admiral gestured for the engineering officer, Commander Marc Dawson, to enter, then walked over to the holo table that displayed the station.

“We’ve got everything we need in place to remake this station, ma’am,” he said in his New Scotland accent, pointing to the cargo ship that was docked to the structure.  The holo changed, showing the station as it would look once they made all the attachments.

“Looks good,” said the Admiral, nodding.

“Looks good to us,” said Dawson.  “It remains to be seen how it works with the aliens.”  The younger man looked at her, a frown on his face.  “You really think this is going to work, ma’am?”

“The Emperor and the Chiefs of Staff do,” said Miroslav.  “And that’s a decision above my pay grade.”  She looked at the viewer that showed the night side of the sparsely populated world they orbited.  You couldn’t tell there were now less than a hundred thousand humans down there, she thought, looking at what looked like major cities on that surface, after our evacuations.  The great ice sheets to the north and south reflected the light.  From a distance it made the world appear even more densely populated, one of the facts that had led to this world being chosen.  And what?  A hundred thousand native sentients.  There were fewer now, since the Fleet had evacuated ten thousand natives and representative life forms from the system, just in case the unthinkable happened.  And that had been holy hell as well.  I almost thought those scientists were going to have me drawn and quartered.

“And when does the big man get here?” asked the Commander, using the unofficial code name they had hung on the bait for this operation.

“Two more weeks,” said the Admiral, knowing she could trust this man she had worked so closely with through the last year.  “But don’t spread that around.  Need to know.”

“Then I’m surprised you told me, ma’am,” said the other officer with a short laugh.

“You do need to know.  So you can keep kicking the asses of those people under you.  I want everything in tip top shape to impress the big guy.”

“Looking for another star, ma’am?”

“I wouldn’t mind another,” said the Admiral, laughing.  But I’m more interested in protecting my butt from angry trillionaires.  Johnson had been very angry, and he was one of the hundred richest men in the Empire.  All of them had more wealth than could be imagined, and only a score of them were nobles, with a gentleperson’s inbred regard for serving the Empire, well, most of them.  Of course, the Emperor was the richest person in the Empire, as well as the politically best connected.

The Admiral spent the next couple of hours watching the reconstruction job on the one commercial station in orbit about Congreeve IV.  Engineering Spacers in work suits and robots moved pieces of alloy into place, so others could use nanosprayers to place nanites on the alloys to bond the new members to the structure.  At the end of the several hours the station did not look like itself, but like the commercial docks of a much more populated world, in keeping with the general theme.

Dawson and his men did a fine job, she thought, looking at the holo of the station in orbit.  She pulled up the list of tasks they still had to accomplish, what looked like an impossible workload in the time remaining.  Not impossible, she thought, linking to the station computer and prioritizing tasks.  The difficult we do today, she thought, using the Imperial Naval Engineering motto.  The impossible takes a little longer.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV SPACE.  OCTOBER 24TH, 1001.

“Board the enemy ship,” called out the Ca’cadasan Captain over the com.  The Marine Force Commander acknowledged over the com as he led his troops across the narrow gap between the supercruiser and the human destroyer.  The destroyer had taken heavy damage in the running fight through hyper VI.  The Captain, looking at that damage, was amazed that the destroyer hadn’t catastrophically translated out of hyper and back to normal space, a process that normal annihilated the vessel.

There was no guarantee that the ship still wouldn’t drop out of hyper, or that the captain or surviving superior might not turn off the hyperdrive and force them out.  That had been known to happen, too often.  The Marine commander knew it as well, but obedience was ingrained in Cacada from birth, and the penalty for disobedience was swift, harsh and sure.

“What do you expect to get from this ship?” asked the Executive Officer, confusion and concern warring on his face.

“Intelligence,” growled the Captain, staring at the enemy ship.  “Any information we can gain that might benefit us in our destruction of these creatures.”

“They are bound to have wiped the memories from their computers, and their minds.”

The Captain gave a head gesture of agreement.  “But there is always the chance.  And unless we risk, there is none.”

The marines had to fight once they got aboard.  It was not much of a fight, as the ship had taken heavy casualties.  Some humans were taken prisoner, wounded ones who could no longer fight, and were hustled off the vessel and onto the supercruiser, while the rest of the party continued the assault.

The destroyer started to shudder, then disappeared, no longer in hyper.  It was most likely now rubble, floating in normal space, along with all aboard, including the Ca’cadasan marines.

“We took eleven prisoners, Captain,” reported the ship’s Medical Officer.  “Seven were completely self mind wiped.  We were able to prevent four of them from completing the process by taking out their nanites with EMP.”

“But will they have any information of use?” asked the Captain, still staring at the holo, at where the destroyer had been, along with his marines.

“It is too soon to tell, Captain,” said the physician.  “Possibly.”

“Then get to work, and let me know when you have something.”

The voyage back to the base system of Conundrum was uneventful, just a normal trip through hyper.  Except that the physician was able to get information from one of the prisoners, an officer.  Information that could give the Ca’cadasan Empire a great advantage in the war.

*     *     *

DREADNOUGHT AUGUSTINE I, SECTOR IV SPACE.  OCTOBER 26TH, 1001.

“Welcome aboard, Jana?” said Sean as the woman entered the room.  She was dressed in a Senior Master Chief’s uniform, promoted for her service to the Empire.  She still looks like she’s been through hell, he thought, looking at her eyes.

He looked over at Jennifer, seeing the concern in her own eyes as she glanced at the Master Chief.  Sean nodded his head, happy to see that look.  He had told Jennifer that Jana was just a petty officer he worked with.  She had seen through that lie, and he had admitted that he had a crush on the woman, something that had ended long ago, when he had met the Doctor.  That had seemed to satisfy his fiancé’, though he had still sensed undertones of jealousy.  Now he was glad to see that her compassion had been awoken.

“You are looking good, your Majesty,” said Jana in a flat voice, her haunted eyes looking into his.

My God, what the hell did those bastards do to her?  He had, of course, seen the reports, the condensed interviews that got to the heart of her captivity.  The terror, the degradation, the helplessness.  He had seen the vids of her crying out in her sleep through the restless nights.

“I am so sorry, Jana,” he said, opening his arms and inviting the woman to come into his embrace.  Her shoulders slumped, and she didn’t budge, until he made the first move.  She put up her hands and waved him away, her eyes widening in fear.

“The last person I shared intimacy with, I killed,” she said, her voice again going flat.  “With my bare hands.  He was a traitor to his own people, a servant to the Cacas, by choice.  And he did not deserve to live.”

“You have been through so much,” said Jennifer, shaking her head.   “Are you sure you’re ready for duty?”

“I must be allowed to serve the Fleet,” said Jana, shaking her head in return.  “Please.  It’s, all I have.”

The woman looked down for a moment, then up into the eyes of the Monarch.  “You have no need to be sorry, your Majesty.  If you had stayed behind it would have made no difference to the survival of Sergiov.  And the Empire would have suffered for your loss.”

“What can I do for you, Master Chief Gorbachev?” asked Sean, willing to give the woman anything she asked, within reason.  The courage it took to escape from the Cacas, and bring back all the intelligence she did.  Gorbachev had put a face, a personality, on the leader of the enemy, the Great Admiral who was her direct master while she had been a captive.

“I want to serve aboard this ship,” said the woman.  “I want to fight the Cacas.”

“You know this ship will soon be engaged with a major enemy force, if everything goes right.  Are you sure you don’t want a safer berth, somewhere the Cacas can’t get at you again?”

“I want to kill the bastards,” she hissed, clenching her fists.  “I want to see them die, while I serve the weapons that kill them.  That’s what I want, your Majesty.  Now, can you keep your promise, and give me what I want?”

Sean almost stepped back from the raw anger of the woman.  At that moment he was glad he hadn’t allowed her into his presence armed.  “Very well,” he said.  “I will order your assignment to the central weapons command of this vessel.”

Jana nodded, and for the first time a smile crossed her face.  She bowed.  “Thank you, your Majesty.”  Without waiting for a dismissal the Master Chief turned and walked away.

“I have never seen such a tortured soul,” said Jennifer, putting her arm around Sean’s shoulders and kneading the muscles.  “What she must have been through.”

“It really puts a face on what we’re facing,” said Sean, taking Jennifer’s hand leading her to the couch.  She sat and he took a seat next to her, still shaking his head.  “The death and destruction, the billions killed, planets left lifeless.  And none of it hit home like the look on her face.  The blank affect of someone I used to be around on a daily basis.  It lets me know that I need to win this battle.  Not for myself and my rule, but for people like her.”

At the staff meeting later that day Sean had trouble concentrating on the agenda, his mind continually returning to his meeting with Jana.  Jennifer covered for him as much as possible, until one word brought the Emperor out of his funk.

“We are getting reports of greater activity by pirates in the uninvolved sectors,” said one of the Intelligence officers.

“Damned parasites,” growled Sean, glaring at the holo that showed the Empire and its sectors.  There were two sectors of the twelve that were red with the dots indicating battle, IV, the main axis of war with the Ca’cadasans, and III, the Fenri front.  The upper sectors of VII and IX, XI and XII, were peripherally involved.  Sectors V and VI, fronting Crakista space, were almost totally stripped of capital units.  Many of his staff had objected to that move, but Sean had felt that if they were going to have the Crakista as allies, they needed to trust them totally.  The same could be said of Sector II, fronting Ellysium, and the staunch Imperial allies of Klashak and Margrav.  The uninvolved sectors were mostly being patrolled by destroyers and light cruisers, with a small contingent of heavy cruisers to back them up.  And the pirates were taking advantage of the scarcity of Fleet resources in those sectors.

“They have been hitting our commercial traffic, which is mostly unescorted, and taking a toll,” continued the officer.  “And we can be sure they are taking a lot of captives.”

“Who will become slaves,” spat another officer.

“I want them stopped,” said Sean, slamming his hand on the table, sick at the thought of his people being taken as slaves.  Slavery was not really an economically viable institution.  Machinery was much more effective.  But some aliens liked to keep human slaves, valuing them for the implied revenge they gave them over the so called superior species.

“We are trying, your Majesty,” said the Intelligence Officer.  “We have some reports of ships closing with and destroying pirates.  But they are multiplying, as lawless humans and aliens are attracted to the improved hunting.”

“I want the commissioning of Q-ships,” said Sean, clenching his fists.  “I want them caught off guard and destroyed.  And I want their bases found, and taken out.”

“There are over a hundred million stars in the Empire, your Majesty,” said his Flag Captain, Rear Admiral Kelso.  “Even taking into account the number of double stars, that still leaves about sixty million or so star systems.  And they could have a base on any of them, without the need of a habitable planet.”

“Then we may have to take some more risks with our patrols,” said Sean, shaking his head.  “I don’t care what it takes.  Shut them down.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” agreed the staff officer in charge of the meeting.  “We will send out an order to the affected sectors.”

“You can’t order men to do what isn’t possible, my love,” whispered Jennifer into this ear.

Sean smiled and nodded, feeling some of the tension and anger leaving him.  I am so happy I decided to let you sit in on the staff meetings, he thought.  He knew he had a temper, and could get a little bit out of control.  It was only because he cared so much for his Empire, and the people who inhabited it, who made their lives and their futures within it.  And there seemed to be no end to the threats that kept multiplying.

“OK.  So what’s next up?” he asked, turning back to the table.

“Crakista Battle Force One is up and running in New Terran Republic space,” said Kelso with a smile.  “Or at least a third of it is.  The other two thirds are on the way to meet up with the task force already in the Xenia star system.”

“I’ll be glad when we have the wormhole gates up and running in Crakista and Elysium,” said Sean to the nodding heads of those around the table.  With the gates to those two Empires, ships could go from their home systems to the central black hole in the Supersystem, and from there to other wormhole gates, such as the one in Xenia.  And then they would gain an even greater advantage over the Ca’cadasans.

“Any word on the leaks yet?” asked Sean, his stomach flip flopping at the thought of what those brave crews had been asked to do.

“So far as we know, five of the ships have not returned,” said Kelso, his own face showing that he did not like the idea.

Even though he suggested it, thought Sean.  He knew it had been a hard thing for a naval officer to suggest, using brave people as bait.  But we had to get the information to the enemy.  If they didn’t have a clue that bait was being offered, how could we expect them to strike?

“What are, leaks?” asked Jennifer, her eyes wide as she picked up on the repressed feelings in the room.

“We had to make sure that the Cacas knew I was going to be present in the Congreeve system at the proper time,” said Sean, his discomfort level increasing.  “Otherwise, all of our preparations would have been for naught.”

Jennifer sat there for a moment, digesting what she had just heard.  Then she turned to Sean with a look of horror on her face.  “You sent ships and crews out to be captured by the Cacas.  No.  How could you?”

“We had no choice, Duchess,” said Kelso, speaking for Sean, who was too embarrassed to open his mouth.  “We asked for volunteers, people who knew we wouldn’t ask them to do this unless it was of vital importance.  And we sent out enough ships to patrol Caca space that we lessened the chance that any single ship would get picked on.”

“And five haven’t come back?” asked Jennifer.  “Out of how many?”

“Fifty total,” said Kelso, looking at his flat comp to escape making eye contact.  “Frigates and destroyers.”

“And ten percent are missing?”

“So far,” said Kelso.  “Another ten have not reported in yet.”

“Dammit,” cried Jennifer.  “You heartless bastards.”

“We had to do it,” said Sean, putting his hand on hers.  “I had to sacrifice those men and women so we could get a needed win.  Achieve a victory to lift our flagging morale.  Just like I had to allow whole worlds to die to preserve the fleet.”

Sean looked into the eyes of his lover, imploring her to understand.  It took a second, as she fought through her feelings, but finally her eyes changed and he could see the compassion for him, the same she had shown for the broken Jana Gorbachev earlier that day.

“Thank you,” he said, caressing her cheek with his hand.

“For what?”

“For improving my morale.”  Because if I didn’t have you, this shitty situation would drive me crazy.

Chapter Thirteen

CONUNDRUM SYSTEM SPACE.  OCTOBER 30TH  - NOVEMBER 7TH,1001.

‘That’s the fifth one this week,” said Commander Chris Browne over the wormhole com.

Commodore Bryce Suttler nodded as he watched the icons of the incoming Ca’cadasan force.  This was not the largest that had come in during the week, nor the smallest.  It was balanced between warships and logistics vessels, and proof that the enemy was preparing for a big push.

But where? he thought, recalling the intelligence they had already gathered.  Not that there was an overabundance of it.  They had been listening to everything they could pick up, any bleed on the supposed secure tight beam communications of the enemy.  Translating everything they gathered, and passing it on to headquarters for further analysis.  The Admiralty had been lavish in their praise, and Suttler wondered how much of that was just a bone thrown their way because of the risk they were taking, and not for the wealth of data there were sending back.

The enemy ships jumped from hyper into normal space, within ten light seconds of the huge space station that was the hyperlimit base of the enemy.  Seastag and Dolphin sat a half light hour out, as close as he dared place his ships with all the traffic around the station.  Another pair of his ships, Grampus and Tiger Shark, were sitting the same distance on the other side of the station, while his four other vessels were sitting near the two biggest exit points from the Conundrum system that led toward the inner Empire and the Core Worlds.

“I think we’re going to see a big movement toward the core worlds any day now,” said Suttler, turning back to the central holo tank that displayed the entire system.  On that holo were the icons of all the enemy assets in the system.  There were thousands of ships, from superbattleships to the smallest class of Ca’cadasan ships seen to date, two hundred thousand ton system patrol vessels.  The major warships, with the exception of those around the nearby station, were clustered into three groups over by the other edge of the system, near one of the exit points where another huge station was positioned.

“I would say they are going out in three strike groups,” said Suttler, zooming in on the area around that station.  Each group was made up of warships and troop transports, as well as freighters, and gave the impression of forces that were not just going out for quick strikes, but to conquer and occupy.  “And soon.”

“That’s, not good,” said Browne in understatement.  “Don’t we need them to go out as one force, in one direction?”

“Yep.  And if they don’t cooperate, command is going to be pissed.”  But what the hell can we do about it?  Suttler didn’t know why command wanted the enemy to go in that direction, but had the general idea that they had some kind of trap set for them.  Other than that?  I don’t have the need to know, even though the safety of my command depends on my making good decisions.  Informed decisions.

So at the moment the options for the enemy were to attack something that seemed like an easy but valuable target, one unknown to the Commodore.  Or to make a major thrust into human space, taking three or more, and he would have guessed many more, systems, denying them to the humans.

But what in the hell could be so enticing to divert them from a major offensive.  Suttler couldn’t think of a thing that would make the enemy go for that last scenario.  Maybe the entire Imperial Family, the Joint Chiefs, and the major players of Parliament.  But no one would be crazy enough to offer that up as a prize.  Would they?

Whatever it was, so far it didn’t look like the enemy was going for it.  Or else they don’t know that the bait is out there, dangling right in front of their faces.

“That, uh, is bad news, Commodore,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Lenkoswki on the holo when Suttler reported back to headquarters.

Suttler was shocked that the commander of the battle fleet would be involved in listening to the report of a relatively junior officer.  “Sir, since I don’t really know what this is about, I can’t say whether it’s good or bad.  Except that it can’t be good if they launch a major strike on the Core Worlds.”

The Admiral was quiet for a moment, thinking.  “I may have to order a drastic action here, Suttler,” said Lenkowski, looking at the Commodore through troubled eyes.  “Something I really don’t want to do.  But I may not have a choice.”

Suttler didn’t like the sound of that at all.  “Can I ask what’s going on, sir?”

“You don’t have a need to know,” said the Admiral, shaking his head.  “I may have to order one of your ships to sacrifice itself.  To be captured, so we can feed information to the enemy.  What we need them to know.”

“That’s.  How can you expect me to give a crew an order like that, sir?”

“I know it’s something you didn’t expect.  I hadn’t expected to have to do this either.  But we had other plans to get the information to the enemy.  And it would seem that they didn’t get it, or didn’t believe it.”

“What information?”

“Again, this information is classified Top Secret Galactic.”

“So you aren’t authorized to disseminate the information?”

“I am, Commodore.  I am.  But I must be careful to whom I give the information.”

Suttler was quiet for a moment, thinking of his response.  “If I must choose a ship to perform a task that will result in the death or capture of their crew, then I choose the Seastag.”

“You are in command of the stealth/attack squadron in that system, Suttler.  I will not allow you to use yourself and your crew.  You will ask for volunteers.”

“And if someone doesn’t want to volunteer on that crew?”

“We’ll deal with that if it happens.  Now, will you follow my order and find me a ship to carry out this mission?”

“I would like to know what’s so important that I must sacrifice a ship and crew under my command, Admiral.  Look, sir.  If the whole idea is that the enemy is to be leaked certain information, then why can’t we know up front what that information is.”

“Well reasoned, Commodore,” said the Admiral with a laugh.  “Impressive enough that I might let you get away with that bit of insubordination.  So, OK.  Let me fill you in on what we have planned.”

Suttler listened in silence as the highest ranking officer in the sector laid out their plan to defeat the Cacas.  He marveled at the audacity of the plan, while at the same time wondering what madman had come up with it.  Sean, he thought, picturing the face of the young man, now Emperor, who he had helped to rescue from the defeat at Massadara.  Only he could come up with a plan like this.  None of his officers would take such a risk.  But if he loses, the Empire is decapitated.

“Now that you know the importance of our getting this information to the enemy, I want you to get your volunteers, and put a plan in motion that will accomplish the task.  Understood?”

“Yes, sir.  And how long do I have?”

“Give it one more day, Suttler,” said the Admiral.  “I don’t like this any more than you do, Commodore.  I hate the idea of sending men and women into a situation that almost guarantees their deaths.  But it’s something I have to face every day.  If I don’t make the decision, then someone else has to, and I don’t wish that on anyone.  I don’t wish it on you, Commodore.  But you are the commander on the spot.  You know your captains and your ships, which is knowledge I don’t possess.”

“And something I really didn’t think about when I accepted promotion, sir.”

“And something you will face more and more as you move up the ranks, Commodore.  A learning experience I don’t envy anyone.  Contact me tomorrow, direct channel, when you have executed your part of the mission.  Lenkowski out.”

Suttler got on the com and talked with all of his captains, telling them the nature of the mission, and asking them to talk with their crews.  He was not surprised when the crews of six of the seven ships were unanimous in their acceptance of the risk, with only one ship having two dissenting Spacers.  Captain Browne was the most vocal in his request to be selected, making the decision an easy one, in one respect.  In another it was very difficult, as the young man was the captain he had made the closest connection with.

“You understand that you might not survive,” he told the younger man on a private com.  “Even if they capture you, and interrogate you, there is no guarantee that you will survive.”

“I understand, sir,” said Browne, nodding his head, eyes wide with understandable fear.  “I didn’t sign up for stealth/attack to play it safe.  And it will make a big difference in how this war proceeds.”

“We’ll send you out tomorrow to make an attack on the station,” said Suttler, a sick feeling in his stomach.  “You will botch the attack, and let them track you, just in case they don’t do any damage to your ship while you’re trying to get away in stealth mode.”

“Tomorrow then,” said the young man.

An hour later everything changed.  They picked up a cruiser coming into the system, and were in the right configuration to pick up their transmission to the station, from whence the message was relayed into the system.

“We have a translation from their code, Commodore,” his intelligence officer told him.

“Good news?” he asked, mentally crossing his fingers, knowing that the officer knew what they were looking for.

“I’ll say.  The message gives a time frame, and the Caca coordinates for the Congreeve system.  And a mention of our supreme commander.”

“Get on the com to headquarters,” shouted the Commodore across the bridge.  “Let them know that the enemy has the bait in hand.”

His next com was to Dolphin, and her captain.

“We’re ready to go, Commodore.  Just give us the word.”

“The word is stop.  Good news, Chris.  The enemy has the information.  You and your ship can stand down.”

“Thank God,” said Browne, relief on his face.

“We’ll keep monitoring the enemy, and when their fleet begins to move, we’ll let HQ know.”  And I can only hope they will act on the information in a manner that works in our favor.

“And after they move?”

“Then we go hunting, Captain Browne.  Then we go hunting.”

*     *     *

“You need to see this, Great Admiral,” said the excited Intelligence Officer, holding a message flimsy in his hand.  “We just received this from a newly arrived supercruiser, just back from patrol.”

The Great Admiral reached out his lower right hand for the flimsy, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong.  He looked at the flimsy, his eyes growing wide, then back at the Intelligence Officer.  “This has been verified?”

“As much as possible, my Lord,” said the officer.  “Two of the humans had similar information, and we found references to the same in an intact portion of the ship’s computer.

And it’s similar to that report I saw last week, thought the Great Admiral, scratching the side of his face with a lower left hand.  “We will have a meeting about this, and decide what to do.”

The feelings of the staff were mixed, to say the least.

“It’s an obvious trap,” stated one of the battle group commanders, at the station on an errand.  “There’s no other reason this information would have been on those ships.”

“But very incomplete intelligence?” said the Senior Intelligence Officer.  “If it was a trap, why would they risk such a means of dispersal?”

“So it wouldn’t look like a trap, you idiot,” yelled the battle force commander.

The Senior Intelligence Officer growled at the other male and rose out of his seat, four fists clenched and murder in his eyes.  The other senior officer stood up as well, one hand reaching for his ceremonial dagger.

“Sit down,” yelled the Great Admiral, jumping to his feet and pointing a pair of index fingers at both males.  “I will not have fighting in my staff meeting.  Now sit down, or I will have you both executed for insubordination.”

The males sat, both with sullen, angry looks toward the other.

“Now, we will discuss this like intelligent beings,” said the Great Admiral, giving each and every male in the room a measured look.  “I want reasoned speculation and assessments, not the angry recriminations of children.  Now, someone give me that reasoned speculation.”

“I agree that it might be a trap,” said another of the intelligence staff.  “But if it is a trap, it would mean they would have to have the assets in place to close it.  This might be the opportunity we are looking for to bring their fleet to a decisive battle.”

“Not if they have an overwhelming force within the system,” said the battle force commander.

“Then we make sure that they trap a bigger carnivore than they thought they would,” said the Senior Intelligence Officer.  “We spring their trap, if it is one, and destroy their fleet.  And if it isn’t a trap, we capture or kill their Emperor, decapitating their government.”

“Is there any way we can verify that their Emperor will actually be in that system?”

“We have operatives reporting in on almost a daily basis,” said the Senior Intelligence Officer.  “But we have yet to hear from our new network.”

“What network is this?” asked the battle force commander, glaring at the other officer.  “Why weren’t we told of a new network?”

“Because it was not necessary for you to know,” said the Great Admiral.  He sat for a moment, thinking.   “We will wait for a week, and see what other information we can develop.”

“And what then?” asked the battle force commander.

“And then I will decide on what action we will take.”

“Then we will suspend our operations into their Core Worlds?”

“Be ready to execute those plans.  But have your staff prepare plans for a strike on the Congreeve system.  I will order the other commanders to do the same.”

“Then we will do nothing until you make the decision?” asked the battle force commander.

“We will continue to send out smaller strikes on the planets in this sector, until we make it ours.  But I wish to retain the bulk of our force here for a hammer strike against the enemy, whether it’s Congreeve, or their Core Worlds.”

It was five days before the Great Admiral received the intel he was waiting for.

“Our operatives have confirmed that the Imperial Escort Squadron in on the way to Congreeve,” said the Senior Intelligence Officer.

“And that is the unit of their fleet that accompanies their Emperor?”

“Yes, my Lord.  He goes nowhere without it.”

“And why is he going to this system?”

“From what we can gather, the Congreeve system is what they term a developing world, with enough industrial capacity to make it worth defending.  And their Empire is converting the system into a major base.  Their Emperor is going there for an inspection and dedication ceremony.”

“A dedication ceremony?  In the middle of a war?  Are they crazy?”

“I think the humans have a great love of ceremony.”

“Obviously,” said the Great Admiral, giving a head motion of disbelief.  “I wonder why he isn’t just going by one of their wormholes.”

“From what I understand, my Lord, they have limits on their production.  A single gate is on its way to the Congreeve system.  But it is behind their Emperor’s squadron.”

“A single gate?  And not one of those ship gates, like they used against us in the Massadara system.”

“Not from what we know, my Lord.  They have a shortage of negative matter.  They will eventually open a ship gate there.  But not at this time.”

“What else will be there?  What will we face?”

“Most probably a good percentage of their battle fleet, my Lord.  Especially if this becomes a major military base.”

“Then we will strike, now,” said the Great Admiral, clenching his left fists and raising them into the air.  “When does he arrive, again?”

“One week, my Lord.”

“We will strike in nine days.  Give him time to move into the system and get comfortable.  Then we will hit them with overwhelming force.  We will destroy their battle fleet.  And if we get their Emperor, so much the better.”

“Who will command, My Lord?” asked the Senior Intelligence Officer.

“Why, I will,” said the Great Admiral.  “This is a glory that will be much sought after by my group commanders.  And one that I am not willing to share.  Let the Emperor only hear one name attached to this triumph.  My own.”

*     *     *

“We’re picking up a lot of movement, sir,” came the call over the com.

And it always happens right in the middle of a sleep, thought Suttler, sitting up on his bed and rubbing his eyes.  “What’s going on?  Talk to me.”

“All three of the battle groups are on the move,” said Ngovic, his voice cracking with excitement.  “All of them.”

“Calm down, Tactical,” said Suttler, getting out of his bed and linking into the ship’s tactical display.  He zoomed in on the other side of the system, where the three groupings that were the battle fleets of the enemy had changed to vector arrows, all pointing to one target.  Extrapolate destination he ordered the system, and lines extended from the groups to a single point.  That’s it, he thought, hurrying up the corridor to the bridge.  That was the point, just within the hyper barrier, that was the most likely gathering area for a straight shot to Congreeve.

The bridge was crackling with excitement, the duty crew monitoring all of the incoming data, double checking what the computers had already analyzed and extrapolated.  The central holo was zoomed in at a level that showed all three battle groups on the other side of the system, thousands of vector arrows with acceleration numbers underneath.

“They don’t appear to be in much of a hurry, sir,” said Ngovic, looking at his commander for a moment before his eyes slid back to the much more interesting holo.

Suttler looked close at the holo and nodded.  The highest vector accel was less than a hundred gravities, for ships that could make over five hundred.  “So they aren’t planning to jump anytime soon.”

“We have movement from the ships at both stations as well,” called out the Sensor Officer.

The holo shifted out, and they could see the vector arrows under more than a score of ships at each of the two stations.  They were both moving out from their stations, into the outer reaches.  With a burst of gravitons they disappeared from the normal Universe and into hyper I.  The burst of gravitons from near the far station came moments later.

“Make sure command is getting all of this,” Suttler ordered his Com Officer.

A short time later twenty of the ships that had disappeared from the second station reappeared with another burst of gravitons just out from the fleet gathering point.  Twenty minutes later the other force appeared nearby, and it was obvious that the ships were about to join the fleet.

“What do you think that is about?” asked the Helmsman.

“I think their big brass are getting involved,” said Ngovic.  “They were at the station, and decided they wanted to lead the mission that gets them what they want.”

“I think that’s a good guess, Tactical,” said the Commodore.  He looked over at the Com Officer.  “Send that assessment up to HQ, and credit it to Mr. Ngovic.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Ngovic, smiling.

“We’ll just watch what happens,” said Suttler.  “But I don’t think we see much more movement except for this realignment for the next couple of days.”

And we get to go to work when it does.

Chapter Fourteen

SECTOR IX SPACE.  NOVEMBER 5TH, 1001.

“I have someone who wants to talk with you,” said the man known as Shadow.

What the hell is it now, thought Sonia Rupert, the local agent of the IIA on the frontier world of Steinway.  Shadow was well known to the agent, and to most of local law enforcement on the sparsely populated planet.  They called him another name, Snitch.  He was a well-known informant on a world where being such was hazardous to health.  Everyone on this world was armed, and even if most were law abiding, there were enough exceptions to keep the small constabulary busy.  And, since the world was in a relatively quiet region, part of Sector IX, on the north of the galactic plane just above the Core Worlds, the Cacas weren’t active in this area, yet.

I should have stayed on the Imperial Protection Detail, she thought, remembering the excitement of Jewel.  But she had gotten burned out on the continuous stress of the detail, and then Augustine and his family had been killed, and she had requested the quietest assignment possible.  Planet chief on an out of the way world.  And on a world like Steinway, that meant being the only IIA agent.

“What is it this time, Snitch?” asked the agent.  “Another shipment of illegal links.  Not really something I would be interested in.  Maybe you should go talk to the Chief Constable.”

The man frowned and shook his head.  “She told me to get in touch with you, and no one else.”

“And who is she?”

“She didn’t give me a name, but she said to tell you that it concerns the Cacas.”

“Human?”

“Nope,” said the man with a smile, shaking his head.  “She’s a… well, she’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.  You’ll have to see her to believe her.”

An unknown alien?  Here?  Involved in something having to do with the Cacas?  “Maybe I should contact someone at the militia barracks,” she said, grabbing a hold of Shadow’s shirt so he couldn’t flee.

“She said she would be watching, to make sure you came alone,” stammered the Snitch, trying to pull away.

Rupert was augmented, stronger and faster than any unaugmented human.  Shadow found himself held in a grip he could not break.

“I swear.  You’ve never seen anything like this alien.  She moves through the dark like a, like a, shadow.  You won’t find her if she doesn’t want to be found.  And she swore it would be worth your while to talk with her.  That it would benefit the entire Empire.”

“Ok, Snitch.  We’ll play it your way.  How do I find this alien?”

“I’m to lead you to her.  That’s what she said.”

“OK.”  Sonia released the man’s shirt, then reached under her jacket to check her pistol.  It was a standard mag pistol, capable of sending an eight millimeter pellet at up to five thousand meters per second.  Not really a military class weapon, but good enough to handle most situations she would find on a frontier world.  If she needed military firepower, she had access to it too.  “You lead the way.  But if you’re playing some kind of game with me, I will ring your neck.”

“No game,” said Shadow, leading the way out of the bar.  “You’ll see.”

The town was alive at this time of the evening, despite its small size.  Ten thousand people called this, the capital city of Humphrey, home.  There was a landing field to the north, and scrublands surrounding the town on all sides.  People worked the farms, or the mining concerns in the mountains to the south.  The majority of the planet’s ninety thousand residents lived on the coasts of the one supercontinent, where the climate was much more pleasant, and the seas abounded with life.  The people who lived in Humphrey were mostly homebodies, but the miners and ranchers who worked the lands had a hard life, and Humphrey was a place to blow off steam.

Several men with the look of miners gave her looks of appreciation, but didn’t try the come on.  There were whores walking the street, and Sonia was not dressed like them, but in casual business wear.  In a small town, where most people were known, she had a reputation as someone not to be messed with.  A couple of men she didn’t recognize started to follow her down the street, but a hard stare turned them around.  Damn scum, drifting onto the planet to get away from the draft, she thought.  Not everyone was patriotic, including small time criminals who thought they had better things to do than fight for the Empire.  And they tended to run for places where they could continue to prey on society, and not get caught up in the military.

“We need to take a car,” said Shadow, pointing at the parking garage down the street where Sonia stored her government vehicle.

“How far away is she?”

“Out in the desert,” said the small man, nodding.  “She said she didn’t want to be around so many humans.”

“Very well,” said Sonia, leading the way through the garage and her vehicle, a brand new Mercedes aircar that looked just like an unarmed civilian model, and was anything but.  She started the car and taxied to the central elevator, which lifted her to the roof.  With a whir of fans she took the car into the air.

“Which way, Snitch?”

“To the southwest.  Aim for the twin hill with the saddle.  You want to go over the saddle, and land in a small canyon just beyond.”

Sonia grunted acknowledgement and turned the car that way, speeding over the scrublands that dominated the center of the supercontinent.  Below, the sparse trees and brown grass like plants rocked in the wind of her passage, and one of the mollusk like giants of the world trumpeted as it took off on its single foot, its shell gleaming in the light of the rising moon, its twin antenna twisted back her way on the head that towered twenty meters above the ground, following every move of her car.

Strange how they look like giant snails, she thought of the creatures.  But they were not snails. They had an endoskeleton, and a scaly outer covering, and were very moisture tight.  They superficially looked like mollusks, and that was all.  And had been the dominant form of life on this world, before the coming of humans.

The saddle came quickly, and soon she spotted the canyon in question, about forty meters wide with a stream running through it, and much more vegetation than the surrounding lands.  She found a flat area large enough for her car and set it down in a cloud of dust.

“Where to from here?” she asked Shadow, opening the cockpit of the car.

“Walk up the canyon,” said Shadow, pointing toward the saddle.  “She will meet you there.”

“And you?”

“I’ll stay right here,” said the man, shivering.  “Meeting her once was enough.”

“Very well,” said Sonia, closing the cockpit and locking it with Shadow within.  “You can stay here till I get back.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” yelled Shadow, pounding on the plastisteel of the cockpit cover.  “Let me out of here.”

“I’ll let you out when I come back,” she said, turning the way he had indicated.

“What happens if you don’t come back?”

“Then you get to wait a bit longer,” she said with a laugh, striding toward the base of the canyon.

After walking a hundred meters from the car, and now in a denser stand of vegetation, she slowed down, sniffing the air and using her heightened senses to scan the darkness.  There was a slight odor to the air, different than anything she had ever smelled, but too faint to get a fix on.  Sonia drew her gun, keeping it down by her side, ready for use but not in clear sight.

“Do you really need that?” asked a strange voice in heavily accented Standard English, the language of the Empire.

Sonia sucked in a breath with a start.  She hadn’t seen anything.  She searched the shadows with her eyes, still not discerning any movement.

“I asked you here to talk, human.  Not to provide a target.”

“Who are you?  Come out where I can see you.”

“You have almost no scent,” said the voice, this time from another direction.  “You are one of the augmented humans.  I did not realize there were so many of you.”

Damn, but she moved silently.  I didn’t hear a rustle of a leaf.

“Since you are one of the augmented, you are a physical match for me.  Or at least the ones you call Rangers were when they fought my people.  So you have nothing to fear.”

Damn.  She’s one of those new aliens.  The ones our men fought on Azure.  Hunters?  “If you have a weapon that would not be true.”

“I do have a weapon, but it is not drawn,” said the voice, moving through the brush around her and to her front.  “If I wanted to kill you, it would be done.  Now holster that weapon, and I will present myself.”

Or else you’ll just fade away, and I’ll never find out what this is about.  “Very well,” she said, pushing the gun into her shoulder holster.  “It’s away.”

The leaves rustled slightly, and a dark form moved out into the open.  It was about a meter high at the shoulder, and moved like a very stealthy dog, or some kind of running cat.  The fur was striped orange, what parts of her weren’t covered by a shifting stealth suit.  She moved to within five meters of the agent and stood up on her hind feet.  Now she stood over two meters in height, and her forward paws extended into hands.

“You are one of the Hunters?”

“We are called Maurid.  We are a servant race of the Ca’cadasans.”

“And what are you here for?”

“To establish a spy network in your Empire, so we can gather information for our masters.”

Oh shit, thought Sonia, tensing, trying to figure out the best way to take the creature down.

“Do not reach for your weapon,” said the creature, what looked like razor sharp claws extending from the second knuckle of each finger.

Sonia stared at those hands with her advanced vision, noting that the claws would be deadly weapons in both configurations of the members.  What kind of things are these.  Genetically engineered.  But she remembered the reports she had seen on the creatures, the genetic scans of bodies that had been recovered on Azure.  The creatures used a DNA structure similar to that of humans.  And there were none of the characteristic markers of genetic manipulation.

“So, what are you here for?  And why did you want me?  I’m just a local planet agency chief.  I don’t have anything you want.”

“The human called Shadow told me that you were once on the security detail for your Emperor.  And have some contacts high in your agency.”

Sonia stared at the creature in shock.  What in the hell did Snitch get me into?

“I am not here to try to force information from you.  I am here to make an arrangement.”

“I will not be a traitor to my people.”

“And I am not asking you to.  The offer is to give your people information.”

“Why?”

“Why?” said the creature, showing its teeth in a grin that looked anything but humorous.  “To get rid of the yoke we have worn so long.  To throw off our servitude to our masters, the Ca’cadasans.”

“So you will turn traitor against your own?”

“They are not my own, human,” growled the creature.  “And we see you as the best chance we have ever had to rid us of them.”

“Ok,” said Sonia, thinking fast.  “I think we can work something out.  And you will, of course, expose your own network.”

“No,” said the Maurid.  “I will not expose my network.  That is not negotiable.  They will continue to gather information on your Empire, and feed it back to our masters.  But it will be a selective feed.  While we feed you information as well.”

And play both sides against the middle, thought Sonia.  Smart.  And still to our advantage, since they would have been spying on us anyway, and now we get some extra intelligence into the Caca command.

“I will have to talk with my superiors,” she told the creature.  “But I think we can work something out.  And what should I call you?”

The creature made an undulating growling noise.  “But since you cannot call me that, as your vocal apparatus is incapable of producing such, you can call me Mephisto,”

“Catchy name.”

“I learned it from one of your people.   I liked the name, and it is good as any.”

“When can I meet with you again?  Once I get permission to deal with you.”

“I will contact you,” said the creature, handing over a small unit that looked like some kind of communication device.  The creature studied her face for a moment.  “Do not try to capture me to get the information from me.  It will not work.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.  I…”

“Do not lie to me, human.  Of course it is something you are capable of, so it is something you have thought of.  But any attempt at trying to force information from me will result in my immediate death.  Believe me.  I am capable of destroying my own brain with a thought.  I will not explain.  Just believe I am telling the truth.  Otherwise, we will both regret it.”

With that, the creature turned, went to all fours, and disappeared in a leap into the brush.

Well, that was interesting, to say the least, thought the agent as she walked back to her car.  I’ll wonder tomorrow if I dreamed this.  If not, this is a dream for our intelligence gathering.  I can’t wait to get a response back from Director Sergiov.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV SPACE.  NOVEMBER 7TH, 1001.

High Admiral Kellissaran Jarkastarin grinned with joy as he watched another world die on his holo.  This one had been a legal kill, a terraformed world.  The orders of his third cousin, the Emperor, was that all worlds that had predominantly Terran life were to be destroyed, entirely, not a microbe left.  That this had been a developing world, with over a hundred million of the vermin infesting the surface, was a bonus.  He had robbed the humans of an industrial node that was aiding their war effort.

The blast waves were still working their way across the surface of the world.  The largest ocean had several glowing red spots in the center where missiles, moving at relativistic speeds, had punched through the crust at the same moment their gigaton class warheads had detonated.  The glows were muted, shining through the columns of superheated steam that were rising from the interaction of seawater with magma.  And a ring of multi-kilometer high tsunamis were radiating outward in all directions from those hits, several having run into each other and rebounded, sending the walls of water back toward the penetration points.

The waves had already flowed over several large islands, scouring them clean.  Some of the modern buildings might have survived the impact of the water, but they were still washed away into the ocean, most to fall to the bottom.  Humans might even survive that, but most buildings didn’t have the emergency gear to allow their occupants to make it back to the surface through thousands of meters of water.  Waves had hit the coast of one continent, rushing up to the base of the coastal mountains and flowing through low passes.

More satisfying to the High Admiral were the holes through the crust of the continents, spouts of high pressure magma rising high into the atmosphere, blasts waves moving out at supersonic speed to incinerate everything in their way.   As the world was turning more missiles, timed to hit as the surface came into sight, slammed into the planet.

“What is that?” asked the High Admiral, zooming the holo in on a small portion of the surface where the firewall of the blast wave had already passed.  The bare surface became clear, showing a large structure still standing.

“That appears to be some kind of bunker,” said the Tactical Officer.  “It must have been covered by a hill that was scoured clear by the blast wave.

“Then I guess we will still have to orbit the planet,” said the High Admiral in a hiss.  “I want all signs of life obliterated by kinetics.”

“They’re likely to die anyway, my Lord,” said another of the officers.

“Not true,” said the Tactical Officer, earning a glare from the other officer.  “That bunker likely has its own power and life support, and plenty of supplies.”

“Then I want it, and every surviving structure, destroyed.”

“That will delay us from the rendezvous,” said the Helm Officer, looking back at the Admiral with a worried expression.  “The Great Admiral will not like that.”

“The Great Admiral can go bugger himself,” growled the High Admiral.  The Helm Officer cringed under his glare.  Low born oafs, all of them.  He knew what the Great Admiral wanted.  All of his ships under his thumb, and all glory his.  Jarkastarin, of a long and noble line closely related to the Imperial Family, disapproved of the cautious approach that the Conquest Commander pursued.  If he had been in charge, he would have spread the fleet and hit as many human systems as possible, sending them reeling into an early defeat.

How I hate these vermin, thought the Ca’cadasan noble, clenching four fists as he tried to will his force to move faster into orbit around this world, so he could complete the destruction of this local population.  He grimaced at every sign that humans still survived on that world.

Ca’cadasans didn’t remember like humans did.  With natural life spans in the thousands of years, their metabolism was much slower than that of most carbon based forms.  That included the metabolism, and thus the energy requirements, of their brains.  Those brains were over twice the weight of a human organ, with three times the number of neurons.  But the neurons each had only a tenth of the connections of a human mind.  Thus, the average Ca’cadasan, though not stupid, was less than mentally nimble.  They thought long and deep about most problems, when their attention spans allowed such.

They didn’t remember day to day occurrences like humans did.   Anything not of vital importance was ejected from their memories within a standard year.  Only salient events remained.  As a noble, most of the High Admiral’s salient events revolved around battles won, great honors and ceremonies, early friendships.  He had been a close friend with the Imperial Heir of two thousand years ago, growing up with him in the palace, constant companions from the day they had both left and forgotten their mothers, and moved into the society of males who would train them in their skills as Ca’cadasan warriors.  They had moved up the early ranks together, had their first sexual encounters with the sterile females who served as the pleasure slaves to warriors.  Jarkastarin had been a favorite of the Emperor, due to his friendship with the son, and was looking forward to an eventual high command, a Great Admiral in charge of one of the conquest fleets.

And then the son, his cousin, had died, killed by a human on one of their pitiful colony worlds, after the leaders of that world had offered surrender.  That was one of the greatest crimes a species could offer to a Ca’cadasan conquest force.  It normally led to the Empire crushing said species, and making them the lowest form of slave.  This had involved the death of the Cacada next in line for the throne, and the Emperor had decreed that everything human was to be destroyed.  Every man, woman and child, every animal and plant, even the microbes that inhabited their planet.  The pattern of their world’s life was to be wiped from the Universe.

And then the humans had pulled one more infuriating act, sending enough of their people fleeing in great colony ships, out of the grasp of the Empire.  Most of the ships had been destroyed.  Two hadn’t been, though it was truly unknown if either of them had made it to safety.  After that the Emperor had changed his mind, as they often did, and had ordered that some of the captive humans be spared, so that a breeding colony could be established, and they be used against their own kind, when they were found.

The Emperor died of old age, as all Cacada did, eventually.  The second son, one who grew up after Jarkastarin and his friend, the first son, attained the throne, and the cousin found himself exiled from the palace, no longer welcome among the court of an Emperor who did not know him.  It had taken centuries getting back into the Emperor’s favor, veritable belly crawling, swallowing his pride and performing any task asked of him.  He was now tolerated by his Emperor, if not a favorite.

I wish I were one of the Gods, that I could punch holes in that planet with my fists, thought the Ca’cadasan as he watched more missile strikes.

“The ships that had been fleeing the planet have been destroyed,” said the Tactical Officer, his lips curled back in a predatory grin.

“Good,” said the High Admiral, ordering his side holo to play back the scenes of the destruction of the enemy force that had been guarding this system.  “Nothing must escape here.  All must be destroyed.”

It took the better part of another day to make sure that all Terran life had been eliminated from the system.  Two days later the task force was jumping into hyper, on a course for Conundrum.  Jarkastarin knew that the Great Admiral would be angry with him, but he really didn’t care.  After all, the male would have to be crazy to take out his anger on an Imperial Cousin.

*     *     *

CONUNDRUM SYSTEM.  NOVEMBER 9TH, 1001.

“We have ships jumping into hyper,” called out Ngovic over the com.

At least this time I’m awake, thought Suttler, looking up from his flat comp, where he had been completing a report to the Admiralty.

“What kind of ships?”

“Looks to be a hundred and fifteen of their courier vessels.”

Suttler thought about that for a moment and decided that it made sense.  The Twenty thousand ton couriers were the Caca equivalent of the ten thousand ton Imperial version, small, fast ships used to carry messages between the fleet.  There were still of use to the Imperial Fleet, even though the wormhole tech had revolutionized communications between forces.  There were not enough wormholes to equip the more than one hundred thousand warships of the Empire, and small groups or single ships were always operating on the fringes.  So couriers were still needed.  But in the Ca’cadasan fleet they were still the most important piece of their communications pie.

“I think they are giving orders to all of their other ships,” said Suttler over the com.

“I sure hope they’re not calling in all the rest of their ships,” said Ngovic.

“I don’t think so.  But if they are, we’re really in trouble.  Make sure that HQ gets this information.”  And of course they’re going to get this information, and any other we receive, whether I think to order it or not.  But it was ingrained into his nature to give those orders, it was habit, and it didn’t hurt, in any case.

“Any movements of the main force?” he asked, again knowing that he would have already been told if that had happened.  But the waiting was starting to get on his nerves.  He knew the optimum time frame for the enemy fleet jumping, so they could get to Congreeve soon after the arrival of the Emperor.  He figured that the enemy would want to get there after the Emperor had gotten well into the system, to make his escape more unlikely.  And they have to know that the Emperor could possible get away by wormhole.  And still take the chance.  If they get him, they decapitate our Empire.  If they don’t, they take out a good portion of our fleet in one battle, and destroy an industrial system at the same time.  Or so they think.

Three hours later the expected event occurred.  This time Suttler was sitting on the bridge, anxiously watching the holo and willing the enemy force to go ahead and jump.  And then, to his surprise, a flood of graviton emissions hit the sensors of the Seastag.  It took the computers a moment to sort through all of the signals, but soon the icons of enemy ships started dropping off the plot.  Scores, hundreds, thousands, until the entire enemy force was gone.  Their vector arrows continued on through hyper I, until they reached that barrier and jumped up to II.

“Let HQ know that the party has started,” said Suttler to his Com Officer.  He looked over at Ngovic.  “How many enemy ships left in the system?”

“We have a small force by each station, sir.  Mostly their destroyer class, and some supercruisers.  And there are some capital ships insystem.”

“Where they really can’t interfere with our party,” said Suttler with a smile.  “Com.  As soon as you finish the transmission to HQ, get the other ships linked in.  Now we get to have some fun ourselves.”

Chapter Fifteen

FENRI SPACE.  NOVEMBER 9TH, 1001.

“A large enemy force is approaching the system, Baggett,” said the Division Commander over the com.

Not unexpected, thought the Brigadier, tapping into the Fleet tactical net.  There were several hundred Imperial ships in various orbits of the planet, over fifty in close in bombardment orbitals.  There were several hundred more throughout the system, and another hundred sitting out at the hyper barrier.  And over a thousand Fenri vessels in hyper VI, heading for the system.  The Imperial Fleet for this operation did not have the number of wormholes that the average task force fighting the Cacas had.  There just were not enough to go around.  But there were a couple of wormholes with the Fleet in the system, and some more with the scouting forces that were currently tracking the enemy.  The estimate was that they would arrive in a day and a half.   We knew it was coming, and we hoped it would be big.  And here it is.

It was all part of the plan to cripple the Fenri war effort.  The system was not that important, despite being a major military base.  What was important was destroying most of the Fenri mobile assets.  It was well known that the little mammalians were extremely territorial.  It was built into the substance they used in the place of DNA.  They were driven to territoriality, both with their planets and their slaves.  Taking a major world with over a billion slaves would send them into a frenzy.  And obviously it had.

The vector arrows around the planet reoriented to a path that would lead outsystem.  The same with the other ships in the system.  A major battle was coming their way, and the force at the hyper limit was seriously outnumbered.  In fact, the entire human fleet was.  Or so it seems, thought Baggett, dropping out of the naval link and into the Army’s version.

“They’ll probably wait until the Fleet has moved most of their units a day or so away before they strike,” said the Corps Commander, also in the link.

“Waiting until our top cover has deserted us,” said another Division Commander, this one a Phlistaran.

But how much will they have to throw at us?  That’s the million Imperial question.

“You brigade commanders know what to do,” said the Corps Commander.  “Get your reaction forces ready, and be prepared to move.”

“Yes, sir,” acknowledged Baggett over the link, then dropped out to link with his own command.  “All armored units report to grid four twenty one.  Be prepared to move out on the order of the Corps Commander.”  The acknowledgements came back over the net, the battalion and four company commanders.  “Heavy infantry units, keep your heads down and get ready for the shit to hit it.”

Baggett again consulted his map, a real time view of his area of operations from space.  His men were in good defensive positions, heavy weapons emplaced.  Resistance had been light and sporadic for the last week.  The only action had come from patrols that moved through the contested areas, taking on what enemies they could find.  The Fenri fought hard when we landed, at least for a week.  But our assessment of their military capabilities of this planet doesn’t jive with what we have destroyed.  They have a lot more hidden away, unless we were mistaken in our assessment.  And that isn’t the smart way to think.

A day and a half later the Fenri force arrived with blood in their eyes.  Baggett watched over the naval link, the action transmitted insystem by wormhole com link from the flagship to the ship still in charge of the orbital element.  The Fenri force jumped enmass, into a hornet’s nest of Imperial ships arrayed around them.  Missiles, launched hours before from more distant ships, bore into the enemy formation, having built up to high velocity to maximize their striking power, and timed to arrive at the same time as the enemy jump.  The ships closer in struck with lasers and particle beams, while thousands of the small attack craft known as fighters accelerated into the assault at just under a thousand gravities, to launch their missiles close in.

Actinic points of light blossomed in space as gigaton class warheads detonated, or the antimatter of ships lost containment after an especially fierce hit.  At one point the feed died, an indication that the transmitting ship had taken a major hit.  It came back on seconds later as redundant systems took over.

Those poor bastards, thought Baggett of his people out there in that slugging match.  For the Fenri he spared not a thought.  They were a race of slavers, and so beneath pity.

The Fenri were caught by total surprise, but still heavily outnumbered the human fleet.  They didn’t panic, and counter attacked as soon as they acquired targets.  Soon human ships were absorbing damage, ships dropping off the tactical plot as their grabbers went offline, or the vessels were destroyed.  More Fenri ships came jumping in, raising the enemy advantage.  The Fenri must have expected the human force to break off and run.  That wasn’t in the tradition of the only fleet in the region to never lose a war.  The human ships continued to close with the enemy, getting into a knife fight that seemed to have only one possible conclusion.

And then the Fenri ground forces rolled out their offensive.

*     *     *

The first indication of the attack was the blaze of static as jammers that had been well hidden came online.  Scores of hidden shore batteries opened up on the ships in orbit a moment later.  A pair of destroyers went up in bright flashes as cruiser strength particle beams ate through their hulls, before they had a chance to strengthen cold plasma shields, or to evade.  A heavy cruiser got into a duel with four of the shore batteries, a battle that raged for over an hour, leaving three of the four sites as holes in the ground, and the crippled cruiser orbiting the planet, of no use to the ground forces.

Minutes after the start of the attack the ground forces came out of hiding.   Tracking systems couldn’t get an accurate count during the initiation of hostilities.  Initial estimates were two divisions.  Within fifteen minutes that was raised to from three to four, a larger force than the three human divisions opposing them.

Smart, thought Baggett, as he tried to get a handle on what his brigade was facing.  They knew we had the advantage controlling the orbitals, so they hid away after taking their lumps for a week to make it seem real.

The enemy jamming made it almost impossible to get good intel on their disposition.  Of course, the enemy could look through their own jamming, since they knew the random looking patterns.  So the Imperial forces reciprocated, filling the airwaves with their own jamming, while the heavy infantry units swiftly redeployed to secondary positions.

Fenri artillery pounded the positions where the heavy infantry had been, hitting nothing, while the troopers occupied their new positions and prepared for ground assault.  That assault came sooner than expected, though the enemy walked into positions that they did not expect.

“Here they come.” yelled one the company commanders over the brigade net.

Baggett had moved to a command bunker, overlooking the plain on which the Fenri were moving.  There were thousands of them, Fenri in heavy suits, armored personnel carriers and vehicles, mecha.  Some of the mecha were truly large specimens of the machines, almost a thousand tons of twenty meter tall walking manned robot.

They were truly mighty war machines, heavily armed and armored.  They carried a variety of weapons, lasers, particle beams and projectiles, including heavy grenades.   A hit by one of the beam weapons would half vaporize a heavy armor infantry suit.  One of the projectile weapons would tear through that armor like paper.  And there was a reason the Empire had abandoned the machines over a century ago.

“Fire,” came the order over the net, and every weapon along the front opened up.  Beam weapons, projectiles, artillery, missiles, all struck into the heart of the enemy formation.  Visibility was poor, jamming was heavy, and targets were not easily seen on the planetary tactical net.  Local sensors were something different.  With enough power they could see through the jamming for tens of kilometers, which was enough.

The closest mecha were all hit by missiles that came in at ten thousand meters per second, exposing their greatest weakness.  They couldn’t carry the weight of armor that a tank could, and as a result the armor they carried was much thinner.  And they were big targets, towering into the air.  Missiles that struck ripped through that thin armor, tearing off legs, arms, or punching through the pilot compartment to spray the gore of a Fenri out the other side.

The first volley of hyper velocity missiles killed almost a hundred mecha.  The second killed another fifty, and then the remaining fifty turned and fired.

Hyper velocity missiles tore through the positions of the brigade, ripping through earth mounds, blasting dirt into the air, throwing heavy suits toward the sky as shredded manikins with dripping organic matter inside.  Particle beams followed, sweeping across the trench lines and killing more troopers.  Artillery appeared on scanner fields, coming down on the human positions.  And the Fenri moved toward the brigade, Mecha running flat out, suits bounding over the ground or flying close to the earth.

And they entered the minefield.  Small devices popped into the air to explode near suits, or to send strong beams of coherent energy at the nearest moving object.  Heavy weapons emplacements sent powerful particle beams sweeping along a meter above the ground, splashing alloy off of suits in passing.  Where they didn’t kill, they destroyed sensors, joints and weapons, degrading the effectiveness of suits.

Artillery rounds started their drop, more than the defensive systems of the brigade could handle. At four hundred meters above the ground they penetrated the swarm of micro drones that had been deployed as a screen.  The rounds exploded in their thousands as drones acquired, sped to them, exploded, and took them out.

More drones sped over the battlefield in their thousands, targeting the enemy suits and mecha.  Defensive systems took out over half of them out.  The others struck, with enough explosive force to damage, if not destroy, further degrading the effectiveness of more of the enemy weapons and armor.

It was a hard fight, and not one sided.  But in the end the humans won, trading over five hundred lives for two full brigades of the enemy.

Baggett linked back into the Corps net as the fire fight died down.  He gave a grunt of satisfaction as he noted the traffic.  All of the fights had gone their way.  There had been heavier losses in some of the fights, and some larger enemy units had been destroyed in some close contests.  Units that had encountered the Phlistaran division had been shredded even faster than the others against the heavily armed centauroids.  But the Phlistarans had also taken crippling losses, thanks to their armored forms making bigger targets than suited humans.

“Alert,” yelled out a voice over the net.  “We have armor on the move.”

Baggett cursed at that pronouncement.  It was known that the enemy had real tanks, though not how many.  If it was a large force it could destroy a heavy infantry brigade, even if it took heavy losses itself.

“All armored units, move to sector three five six,” came the order from the corps commander.  “Engage enemy armor.”

Baggett breathed a sigh of relief.  That sector was over a hundred kilometers from his brigade, meaning they were in no immediate danger.  He checked his tactical feed and started issuing orders, moving his men to another position so they could wait for a follow up attack, if one developed.

Overhead aircraft streaked at high Mach, engaging in combat.  At the same time lower level ground attack aircraft took each other on, each trying to stop the other side from attacking its infantry and armor.  Baggett watched the action for a moment as he moved with his men, amazed that so many enemy aircraft had survived to be deployed in this action.

They’re like fucking roaches, he thought, watching as one of those spiraled out of the sky to strike the ground a couple of kilometers away, sending a fireball into the sky.  Now I hope the Fleet handles its part of the plan, or all this is for nothing.

*     *     *

Lieutenant Jay Cummings sat in the turret of his Mark IV King Tyrannosaur and watched the multiple view screens.  The thousand ton heavy monster moved swiftly over the ground on its grabber units, speeding along at two hundred kilometers an hour.  He lay back in his reclining seat, one of the features that made the huge tank’s profile less than three meters above the ground when configured for movement.  When the secondary turrets deployed the profile was raised by another half meter, but a hit on those extensions wouldn’t do much to hurt the tank, outside of destroying those defensive weapons.

The screens to his front and side showed the terrain around the vehicle, and the forms of the two other tanks in his platoon, one to either flank.  A small holo directly to front showed the overall battlefield.  He glanced at the lower level of the turret, where his gunner and assistant sat at their stations, the visors up on the helmets of their light battle armor.  The man and woman chatted with each other in quiet voices, but since they were paying attention to their instruments, he didn’t see a need to tell them to quiet down.  He couldn’t hear anything on the intercom, and thought that his driver and engineer were probably lost in their own thoughts.

Dear God, get us through this, he thought, tapping into the company net to get the take from the other tanks in the unit.  Each platoon had three tanks, and there was a command tank, for a company of ten.  His company was at full strength, something the other companies couldn’t say.  The battalion at full strength had a total of forty-two heavies, with the addition of two command vehilces, and fifteen lighter scouting tanks.  Currently that number was thirty-six and eleven respectively, still a strong unit.  And three other battalions were moving into action.

“First tank to tank action, sir?” asked the Staff Sergeant who was his second in command, sitting in a smaller compartment in the rear of the hull.

“Yep,” agreed Cummings, looking at the face of the woman in a view screen.  “You been through any, Moesta?”

“No, sir.  Been in armor for ten years, but Lasharan space was the first action I ever saw.  And, from what I hear, tank on tank is very rare these days.  So cheer up, sir.  We’re making history.”

I’ll cheer up when we make it through this, and can read our history.

“Prepare for action,” said the company commander over the com.  “Cummings and Rodriguez.  Your platoons to my left, Cummings left most.  Kim, to my right.  We’re on the far left of the battalion, which is to the far left of the task force, so there will be friendlies to our right, but nothing to the left.  Anything you see there is a target.”

That’s not really the news I wanted to hear.  That meant his platoon, unlike most of the others, had to worry about more than just the front.  There was a possibility of an enemy getting a flanking shot against their thinner side armor.

“Deploy weapons, sir?” asked the gunner, waiting for the order.

“Yes, go ahead.  Tanks Bravo and Charlie two,” he said, using the company code for those vehicles.  “Deploy main weapons,  configure hulls for combat.”

On the turret of the tank, itself a four hundred ton structure, the barrel of the main rail gun extended to twice its travel length of ten meters, becoming a twenty meter long magnetic accelerator tube.  The tank lowered it treads, which, while slowing the maximum ground speed to a hundred and sixty kilometers per hour, would also guarantee that it would not bounce higher into the air during movement, giving the enemy a larger silhouette to fire at.

On both sides of the hull were light amplifier crosses that were both offensive and defensive weapons, while the twin particle beams on either side of the main gun extended.  The top turrets stayed under cover so they wouldn’t give away the tank prematurely.

“Cold plasma field to max,” called out the assistant gunner as the electromag screen around the vehicle strengthened, and the matter that helped absorb beam weapons was injected into it.

“All checks out,” said the assistant tank commander, watching her instruments to double check what the rest of the crew was calling out.

Cummings was busy looking over the tactical situation, monitoring his other tanks, and listening for commands from higher up the chain.

“Launch drones,” came the command from brigade.  Cummings hit the switch on his board that launched ten of the hundred small drones the vehicle carried, then hit it again to launch another ten.  All of the tanks launched, and soon there were thousands of the small vehicles moving over the battlefield, feeding information into the tactical net.

“Enemy tanks spotted,” came one call over the net.  “Moving across our front at fifteen kilometers.”

Moments later the first action of the battle took place, as the human drones met the enemy drone screen in aerial combat, each trying to look past the other’s while keeping the other side’s from developing their deployment.

The first engagement between the tanks took place at ten kilometers.  Main guns fired hyper fast projectiles and missiles, while angry red particle beams screeched through the air.  Both sides launched missiles, then took the other side’s under fire with lasers.  An Imperial tank took a hit where turret met hull, and the upper structure went spinning away through the air.  Three enemy tanks went up in balls of fire, and both battle lines engaged.

“Watch your flank, Cummings,” called out the battalion commander.  “We’re picking up enemy vehicles coming in on that angle.”

“Platoon,” yelled Cummings over the platoon net.  “Turn left twenty degrees.  Gunners, turret left another twenty degrees, and prepare to engage.”  He pushed a button on his board and the three defensive turrets on the main structure rose into the open, barrels for the laser and two miniguns on each extending for action.

The tank bucked slightly as the main gun fired, sending a superplatinum penetrator at the target at three hundred kilometers per second, the maximom velocity of the rail gun.  The only sign of its passing was the swirl of dust that was sucked in after it had gone by.  That, and the tremendous hypersonic crack as the superplantinum, an element that didn’t exist in nature, many times denser than Uranium, split the air.  It hit the enemy tank like a beam of light, in the turret with an ear shattering crack, splashing alloy into the air and incinerating the Fenri crew as its vapor spread through the vehicle.

The gun reloaded in an instant, and the turret turned twenty degrees in less than a second, smoothly tracking onto the next tank.  The tank bucked again, while the twin particle beams reached out and struck the enemy vehicle a micro-second prior.  The beams were bounced away by the enemy electromagnetic field, which did little to slow down the penetrator.  That tank suffered the same fate as the first.

A pair of enemy shells came in.  The defensive turrets and laser crosses fired in the nanoseconds they had to fire.  One shell was knocked off course to hit the dirt in a spray of glass and dirt.  The other slammed into the turret, taking out one of the particle beam projectors, and making the alloy ring like all the bells of hell.

Crap, thought Cummings, lowering his armored visor and bringing both hands up to his agonized head to feel the blood leaking out of his ears.  He knew he was deaf, and he wouldn’t get his hearing back until his nanites repaired the damage.  I don’t have time for this, he thought, bypassing his hearing and linking his auditory centers to the tank’s audio sensors, hearing through the vehicle.

One of his tanks was off link, and he cringed internally as he looked at the feed of the destroyed vehicle, turret gone, the hole it had sat in smoking.  Sergeant Tsombar, the others, he thought, seeing the faces those crew members he had commanded.  No, more than commanded.  Ate with, shared dangers with, lived with.

He looked back at the main viewer and saw another enemy tank, its turret starting to swing his way.  “Gunner,” he yelled out.  “Enemy tank, ten degrees left.  Fire.”

For just a split second Cummings thought the gunner wasn’t responding, and he started to link the controls to his board.  Then the gun swung into action, the turret moving smoothly and stopping right on target.  The gun spoke, just a fraction of a second before the enemy’s.  The shell hit, and the turret of the other tank started to fly off the vehicle, just as its own gun fired, sending its projectile on a trajectory that took off one of Cummings’ tank’s defensive turrets.

“Cease fire,” came a command over the brigade net.  “Cease fire.  All enemies destroyed.”

Cummings linked into the tactical net to look over the losses to both sides and was amazed.  The brigade of four battalions had lost fifteen tanks.  In this kind of battle, the loss of a vehicle normally meant the loss of the crew, but miraculously two crews had survived, mostly.  And the enemy had lost almost four hundred tanks, heavy, medium and light.  It was a decisive victory, one that would go down in the history books.  And more importantly, one he would be able to read about.

*     *     *

“All units, stand down,” came the command over the Corps net.  “Report your assets over the Corps net.  Then stand by for orders referencing mop up and search and destroy missions.”

It never ends, thought Baggett.  One operation ends, and we’re immediately in another.

He wondered how the Fleet was doing.  But when he tried to link into the Fleet net, he met with nothing but dead air, which was not a very comforting discovery.  If the Fleet failed, then they were stranded on this planet, to wait the coming of an enemy force that would eventually kill them.

The Fleet units in orbit, meanwhile, continued to strike at ground targets, until all the shore batteries were silenced, and jamming dropped to almost nothing.

*     *     *

On the edge of the system the battle raged.  The Fenri fleet had the upper hand, for a moment.  The human ships were better armored, better armed, and had more advanced tech.  But they were outnumbered three to one, out massed two to one.  And then the hidden force, arrayed outside the system in four formations a half light hour from the battle, powered up their ships and let loose with a deadly barrage of missiles.

The Imperial ships in close in combat started to move away from the fight, still firing.  Now the enemy was out massed, and the humans had the advantage in a long range missile duel.  The Fenri ships had been on a vector into the system during the close fight, and had passed the hyper barrier.  It would take hours to slow their momentum to zero, hours more to come back out beyond the barrier to jump into hyper, where they would have to avoid human ships that were waiting for them, and could also follow them into hyper.  Until then they were targets for the missiles accelerating toward them from the outer system.

The Fenri Fleet fired back, sending missiles at the enemy ships.  And then they took their punishment as the Imperial missiles struck.  Afterwards there were only a dozen fully functional ships, and several hundred with varying degrees of damage, from half functional to drifting hulks.  And then the surrender transmissions started coming in, as the surviving Fenri realized the hopelessness of their position, and were certain that the humans would take them prisoner.

Soon after the Fenri surrendered their missiles started to reach the human battle groups beyond the hyper barrier.  As the missiles came screaming in at point six light the Imperial ships simply jumped into hyper I, waiting for the missiles to pass before returning to normal space.

The battle was over, in space and on the planet.  And while the Fenri still had a fleet, they had lost almost half their capital ship strength, something from which it would take years to recover.

Chapter Sixteen

CONUNDRUM SPACE.  NOVEMBER 11TH, 1001.

The stations were huge, over two hundred million tons of hull, power generating facilities, life support and storage areas, not to mention the living quarters of over ten thousand beings.  They were larger than any human built station, other than some in Central Docks, and, of course, the Donut.  And unlike most human built stations, they could move through hyper.

Oh, the New Terran Empire had some large stations that could move through hyper.  Stations in the fifty million ton range that could be used as repair docks and logistics supply bases, much like this Ca’cadasan version.  They could plod along in hyper IV, eventually getting to where they were needed, sometimes in time.  But this monster could cruise through VII, the same dimension as all of their warships.  It represented a huge investment in time and resources to build, and an even larger investment in trained Cacada.

The Ca’cadasans had originally moved one station into the former Imperial space they had occupied.  Two more had been on the way, while that one was being destroyed by an Imperial raid that caught them unaware of the possibilities of wormhole ship gates.  They had made it to the front, and had been moved up to the Conundrum system, the former main base of sector IV before falling to the enemy.  Imperial command was sure one would be moving, as soon as the Cacas found the perfect system to put a logistics base in.  But for now, there were two big fat targets in the Conundrum system, and very little left to defend them.

“All ahead, ten gravities,” ordered Commodore Bryce Suttler, sitting in the captain’s chair of the Seastag.  The ship had all electromag screens set to light bending, hiding the ship from visual scans.  Almost all of the heat she was producing was going through their wormhole to a just above absolute zero heat sink, over a thousand light years away.  The hull of the vessel absorbed any active scans sent her way, what wasn’t bent around the ship by the electromag fields.

“All ahead ten gravities, aye,” echoed the Helmsman.  The ship could actually have put on twenty gravities with no problem, her two hundred ton structure radiating fewer gravitons under that acceleration than the thousands of Plutinos within a half light hour of the station.  Suttler thought it was better to fly well under those parameters though.  Time was not much of a factor in this attack.  Getting through the enemy cordon intact, and hitting the target with all ships, was the only important consideration.

“Ten gravities, aye Commodore,” reported Commander Chris Browne of the Dolphin over the wormhole com.  His ship was about a hundred thousand kilometers to the port of Seastag, while the other two were to starboard.

Everyone was creeping in, and a quick check of the data feed from the other four ships in the squadron showed that they were moving in on their target in the same attack profile, concentrating on one side of their station so they only had to get their missiles through less than half of its potential defensive fire.

There were three four million ton supercruisers, and eighteen of the six hundred thousand ton scout/escort ships the Ca’cadasans used, in proximity to the station.  Four of the scout/escorts were actively patrolling, moving around the station on sensor sweeps.  A few times during the approach sensor beams pinged on the hull.  There was always the possibility that one of those beams would detect them, despite their stealth, if it touched long enough in a close enough proximity.

Even though the bridge was perfectly climate controlled, everyone was sitting and sweating at their stations.  Nervous tension.  And there was plenty to be nervous about.  They were at risk moving in, and even more so after they accomplished their task.

“I want that tanker near the station taken out with our first missile,” ordered Suttler, looking over at Ngovic.  The Tactical Officer nodded, a smile lighting his face.  The officer had been with Suttler when they struck at the first station, when a pair of tankers had been their target.  Both knew what a spectacular explosion it would make if it had a full load of antimatter.  And, since it had just arrived in the system the day before, they were pretty sure it did.

“All missiles still green,” said the Tactical Officer, checking his board to make sure that what he was reading from the instruments was accurate.  “Maximum load out on all weapons.”

Suttler nodded his head, checking the readouts and firing solutions through his link.  Each of the stealth/attack ships had eight forward oriented tubes, and carried cruiser sized weapons.  Each was loaded with a hundred one megaton mini-antimatter warheads.  It was the newest thing in warheads, designed to penetrate the defenses of ships by weight of numbers.

The missiles themselves were also among the most advanced in the Imperial inventory.  Capable of ten thousand gravities acceleration, versus the five k of the standard weapons.  Their grabber units used three times the artificially produced elements known as supermetals, S-platinum, S-iron and S-gold.  It took enormous industrial resources to make the materials, which were used in grabber units of all kinds, as well as many other high tech applications.  There were never enough of the metals around, and at three times the cost for twice the acceleration, the missiles, which had been developed prior to the coming of the Ca’cadasans, were only used for special applications, like stealth/attack which killed from close range.

Maybe one day we’ll reverse engineer the Caca missiles we’ve captured, thought Suttler as he stared as the decreasing range figures.  They figured out how to make eight thousand gravity acceleration weapons with the same amount of supermetals as we use to make our five k class.

“Entering optimal firing range in one minute,” announced Ngovic.

“I want you to take out those two supercruisers, Browne,” said the Suttler over the wormhole com.  “All eight missiles up their guts, four each.”

“And after that, sir?” asked the commander of the Dolphin.

“The next spread right into the station.  That’s the priority target.  I just want to disrupt their protection force enough to let us get away.”

“Good idea, sir.  Will do.”

“Twenty seconds to optimal firing range,” called out Ngovic.

Not really optimal, thought Suttler.  Optimal would be right up next to that station.  But then this would be a suicide mission.

“Ten seconds.  Five, four, three, two, one.”

“Fire,” yelled Suttler.  It still took a human command to launch, and as commander of the squadron it was up to him to give it to all the ships.

All of the ships fired within so small a time span it might as well have been simultaneous.  Missiles were hurled from their launch tubes at twenty thousand gravities, then kicked in their internal systems for a sustained ten thousand gravities.  At the same time each ship fired its nose mounted particle beams, sending streams of antiprotons at the station at point nine eight light.

To the enemy it was as if the missiles appeared from nothing, jumping into normal space.  For a microsecond the stealth/attack ships were detectable, and they switched acceleration to reverse with a side vector component, changing their location to one the enemy still had to guess at.

It took less than two seconds for the tubes to reload and the second spread of missiles to head for their targets.  Thirty-two missiles sped toward the enemy, then another thirty-two, moving at the point zero one light of the launching ship, then adding ninety-eight kilometers per second per second to their velocity, point zero two light added to the total.

The missiles glowed like stars with the heat their grabbers were radiating.  Only supermetals could have handled those temperatures, hundreds of thousands of degrees.  They were easy to track, or would have been if not for the sensor jamming both the missiles and the attacking ships were putting out.  Along the way smaller decoys dropped off the missiles, which were also juking and dodging on the way in.

It took the enemy a couple of seconds to realize the missiles were coming in, even though the particle beams had already ripped through the weak screens of the station and were exploding holes through the hull.  It took one second of exposure to the antiprotons before the field strengthened enough to repel half of their strength, and another four before enough cold plasma entered the field to intercept the rest.  The antiprotons were still exploding as they struck the plasma, and radiation was still impacting the hull, but it was nothing like the force of the antimatter striking the skin of the station.

Weapons powered up on the station and the ships around it, and soon they were throwing lasers at the weapons.  It took more than a microsecond of contact to destroy a missile, and in most cases that was all they got.  Still, two missiles were exploded in less than a second, and the first wave of missiles went into their special attack routine.

Each missile fired one hundred of the one megaton warheads, each massing about a half ton, each continuing to accelerate toward their targets at ten thousand gravities.  They didn’t have a long acceleration life.  They didn’t need it.  It didn’t take as much of a hit to destroy the smaller projectiles, but there were over three thousand of them, and even though several hundred were hit, it was not enough.

One of the supercruisers was the first target to be hit, with both two missile bodies and over a hundred warheads hitting the ship, while another hundred and fifty detonated close in proximity kills.  There was not enough kinetic energy in the missile, or explosive power in the warheads, to completely destroy the vessel.  There were enough to leave a lifeless hulk drifting away in space, propelled by the force of the explosions.

The tanker was hit next, the one missile targeting the ship slamming in with all of its ejected warheads.  The tanker disappeared with an immediate flash as the antimatter broke containment across the vessel.  This added to the confusion of the ship and station sensors trying to track the weapons.

The second supercruiser suffered the same fate as the first, tumbling off into space as a wrecked hulk.  And then the weapons hit the station.

The station was enormous.  But it was not a warship.  Not structurally as strong, not as heavily armored.  Twelve of the twenty-three missiles targeting it, and over a thousand of the twenty-three hundred warheads, struck the station.  It came apart at the seams, huge pieces flying off to continue to break up as they tumbled away.  Actinic points of light erupted from within the crumbling structure as internal stores of antimatter and missile warheads went off.  In seconds it was over, a cloud of expanding plasma and thousands of tumbling pieces all that was left of the two hundred million ton station.  And all that was left of the more than ten thousand Ca’cadasans, and their slaves, that had inhabited the station.

The second wave of missiles, now an unnecessary redundancy, tried to acquire other targets.  Most failed, though some succeeded in damaging the remaining ships, some heavily.

“Target those other ships and fire,” ordered Suttler over the com.  A second later the third and final spread was launched, aiming for the remaining supercruiser and the scout/escort vessels, while the Imperial ships continued to back out.

Suttler checked in with his other ships and was horrified to find that one of his stealth/attack ships had been destroyed in the other attack, though the second station and its defending ships were also gone, except for a few surviving scout/escorts.  The three remaining in their area were now on a search and destroy pattern, but there were not enough of them to do an effective job.

“Configure the wormhole to accept reloads,” he ordered the engineering section over the com, sure that the other captains would be doing the same thing.  Until they took aboard more missiles, and stores for the particle beams, they were helpless, except for their ability to fade into the background.  Which was what they were doing now.

Someone is going to be surprised when they come back here, thought Suttler, thinking of all the logistics ships and small groups of warships he could prey on in the future.

*     *     *

CAPITULUM,  JEWEL.  NOVEMBER 11TH, 1001.

“So, are you ready to deal with the Emperor like adults,” said the Regent Samantha Ogden Lee, looking at the two Lords sitting in her office.  The Archduke and the Countess are at least human, if not the most loyal of subjects, she thought.

“I do not like the insinuation that we are children,” said Countess Zhee in a frosty voice, while Archduke Marconi simply sat there and glared at her.

“Then quit acting like children.  The Prime Minister proved to you that you were being manipulated by those damned shape shifters.”

“While it is true that the aliens had infiltrated the Lords, and that there was some manipulation involved, that doesn’t mean the concerns we have about this Emperor aren’t real,” said Zhee, supposedly the subordinate, but acting like the leader, more than the actual Leader of the Opposition sitting there.  “He is running the Empire into the ground, ruining business, raising taxes, just to lose battles and planets.”

“Were either of you ever in the military?” asked Samantha.  “Do any of you know what is involved in military operations?   The fear, the uncertainty, the knowledge that you might not make it back, and your death may be without meaning?”

“What does that have to do with how the Emperor is conducting the war?” asked Zhee, crossing her arms over her chest and looking bored.

“Do you know what it would do to morale if we started sending our Fleet into a meat grinder with no hope of victory?”

“They are paid to fight,” said Zhee, brushing off the concern with the wave of a hand.  “And they take oaths to do whatever is needed.”

“Like you take oaths, Countess,” said Samantha in her most condescending voice.

“Why you low…”

“About to say I was lowborn, Countess,” said Lee, leaning across the desk and glaring into the woman’s eyes.  “Because I don’t have a title like Countess.  I’ll have you know that I don’t need a title like that, since I was born into the Imperial family.  And I am the Regent, which makes me your social superior yet again.”

Samantha leaned back in her chair, wondering what she was going to do with these two obstructionists.  I can’t have them executed, as tempting as that is.  I can’t have them arrested.  I can’t even have them thrown out of the Lords.  Both are hereditary seat holders.  It would be tempting to ask Ekaterina if she could have them assassinated.  She mentally shook off that last thought.  The Empire was based on the rule of law.  If she started breaking the law in her position as Regent, there might not be an end in sight.  Besides, Director Sergiov, loyal as she was, might just order such a hit, and where would that lead.

“Did you ever serve in the military, Countess?” asked the Regent, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from the woman’s own lips.

“Of course not,” said the woman with a sneer.  “I was the daughter and heir to a count.”

“Lady Hannah was the daughter of a Duke, and served in the Marines to the rank of Major General, prior to becoming the Minister of War.  And Grand Fleet Admiral Taelis Mgonda is a Duke.  So don’t give me that old story of being too important to the Imperial government to risk your hide.  You were looking for an excuse.”

“And what does this have to do with the Emperor’s conduct of the war?”

“My dear Countess, this has everything to do with his conduct of the war.  He wants to preserve the Fleet, so he can strike back when he has the advantage.”

“Losing whole systems, and billions of people, in the process?” growled the Countess, clenching her fists.

“If he acted otherwise he would have still lost those systems, and most of the Fleet,” said Samantha.  “And right now the Ca’cadasans would be rolling into half the Core World systems.”

“And that’s another thing,” said Zhee, raising her voice to shout over the Regent.  “He keeps pulling ships out of the Core systems, leaving them undefended.”

“And what would those system fleets accomplish that a battle fleet couldn’t,” said Samantha, raising her voice, using what the Navy had taught her to project.  “Those system forces would be snuffed out, one by one, while they serve a greater purpose as units in a maneuver Fleet in Being.”

“Which are not being used.”

“Of course they’re being used.  We are sniping at the enemy on all fronts.  We have driven Lashara out of the war, and are in the process of doing the same to the Fenri.  And the Emperor has ongoing operations that will set the enemy back severely.”

“And what are these operations, Regent?” asked Marconi, finally making his voice heard.  “Why have we not had been informed of what is involved in these, operations?”

“I can’t tell you at this time,” said Samantha.

“We have clearance,” said Zhee, the anger still radiating from her like a palpable wave.

“But not a need to know,” said Lee, shaking her head.  “The conduct of the war is the concern of the Emperor.  The financing of that war is your concern.”

“But, we have concerns about the way he is conducting that war,” said Zhee.  “And hiding that conduct from the eyes of the Lords is not the way to address those concerns.”

“We can’t risk letting the information about the operations to get out,” said Samantha, shaking her head.

“We are loyal citizens of the Empire, as well as Lords,” said Zhee, her voice screeching.

“And we were consorting with spies,” said Marconi, speaking up again, his eyes looking at the floor.  “Not intentionally.  But intentions would not matter if, because we allowed someone not to be trusted into our confidence, a major operation failed.”

Well, at least one of them can see reason.

“I was not in the military myself, much to my shame,” said Marconi, rubbing his eyes.  “I would be willing to go to the front, and see what military operations are about.”

“And you, Countess?  You are one of the leaders of the opposition in the Lords, after all.”

“And as such, I need to stay in the Capital, where I can monitor the work of my party.  Where you should stay, Percival.”

“I will go, as I said,” repeated the Archduke.

“You are needed here, Percival,” said Zhee.  “I forbid you to go.”

“And I am not yours to forbid,” said Marconi.

“Damn you,” growled Zhee, getting out of her chair and stalking from the office.  She turned just before she walked out the door.  “I will hold a vote of the Opposition.  I wouldn’t count on being leader too much longer.”  And then she was gone.

“Well, at least I was able to deal with one adult today,” said Lee with a smile.

“I have more friends in the party than Zhee does, Regent,” said Marconi.  “When I come back, the Opposition may find it still has the same leader.”

And maybe one I can work with, thought Samantha as the man left the office.

*     *     *

DREADNOUGHT AUGUSTINE I.  NOVEMBER 12TH, 1001.

Senior Master Chief Jana Gorbachev sat at her console in the weapons control center of the Augustine I.  This baby sure has some firepower, she thought, looking over the weapons board to her front.  She had been the third in command of the B ring lasers of the battleship Sergiov, then one the mightiest ships in the human fleet.  The only class more powerful at that time were the new twenty million ton superbattleships, with twenty-five percent more laser power packed into their third again greater mass.  Mostly the lower beam power to mass ratio of the bigger ships was so they could pack more missiles into their hulls.

But Augustine I,  the first of its class, used new technologies and multiple wormholes to give it a firepower all of proportion to its mass.  And it’s all under my control, she thought.  And soon I will be able to use it to light up those bastards.  Soon now.  Very soon.

“How is everything going, Master Chief?” asked her section chief, Commander Sheila McGregor, walking up behind her.

Jana was startled for a moment, finding herself in her mind back in the slavery of the Cacas.  She said a calming mantra, then looked up at the officer.  “It’s going just fine, Ma’am.”

“That bad, huh,” said the Commander, laying a hand on Jana’s shoulder.

Gorbachev cringed inside, hating to be touched, but her face betrayed no emotion.  She’s just trying to be nice, thought the Master Chief.  McGregor was an avowed lesbian, but Gorbachev, who had been strictly heterosexual, knew the woman would not try to take advantage of a subordinate.  Now Gorbachev did not consider herself to have any kind of sexual orientation.  Not after what she had been through, being the forced slave lover of another human, a man she had killed.  That had soured her to any kind of relationship.

“I wish you would take some time for yourself, Master Chief.”

“I’ve had enough time for myself, Ma’am.  I need to make sure I know these systems, backwards and forwards.  So I can serve the Empire, and the Fleet.”

“That’s your decision, Master Chief.  From what I have seen so far, I trust your abilities.”

Even if you’re not sure about my mental stability.  And neither is the Fleet.  But a command from the Emperor trumps all, and the boy feels obligated to me.  “What’s the word on the Cacas?”

“They should be at Congreeve in six days.  And we’ll be there in three, in plenty of time to give them a warm welcome.”

As long as I get to welcome them to hell, thought Gorbachev, a smile crossing her lips.  “We won’t let you or the Emperor down, Ma’am.  We’ll give them that warm welcome.”

“I know you will, Master Chief.  I know you will.”  The Commander turned and walked away, to go chat with one of the junior officers who also manned a console in the weapon’s center.

Jana turned back to the board, running weapon’s simulations, firing particle beams and lasers, launching massive spreads of missiles.  Fighting simulated battles with the enemy.  When it came to combat, she would, of course, not be manning the firing switches.  She would be monitoring everything, making sure that others were doing their jobs within the center, double checking, being part of the team.  But I can always dream of sending a particle beam up the ass of the damned Great Admiral, she thought with another smile.  And you never know.  People die in combat, and I might just find myself with the triggers under my fingers.

Chapter Seventeen

DREADNOUGHT AUGUSTINE I.  NOVEMBER 14TH, 1001.

“So, what do you think, your Majesty?” asked the woman over the holo, her eyes looking into his.

And she has the same last name as my old battleship.  From what I understand, her great grandfather was the actual duke the ship was named after.  “What is your recommendation, Director Sergiov?

“I think we need to take the, Maurid, up on her offer,” said Ekaterina Sergiov.

“Who was the agent that made contact?”

“Agent Sonia Rupert.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“She was on your father’s security detail,” said Sergiov.  “After he was killed, along with your mother and brothers, she asked for transfer from the detail.”

“Why,” said Sean, a cloud passing over his face.  “Did she do something wrong?  Did she screw up?”

“Not at all, your Majesty.  I don’t think you know how much stress your security detail is under, trying to keep you and those closest to you safe, despite all the, uh, let us say, less than brilliant, things you insist on doing.  You are their lives, and when something happens to one of you, it takes everything out of them.  Rupert couldn’t take it anymore, so she asked to be reassigned.  Normally, she would have been given an assignment commiserate with her rank and experience, Embassy station chief maybe.  But she insisted on an assignment to an out of the way place.”

“Which was a frontier world?”

“Can’t be much quieter from an Agency standpoint.”

“So we take the offer of this, at best, double agent.  At worst, a plant.”

“She’s not asking us for any information.  From what she implies, her network will be gathering that on its own.”

“And the, Maurid, understands that we will be searching for her agents?   Trying our best to uncover her network.”

“She understands, and accepts, that as part of the risk of doing business.  And from what she said, she will limit the information she reports to the Cacas to intelligence that won’t do too much damage.”

“While feeding us information that is of vital importance.”  Sean shook his head.  “It seems almost too good to be true.  So, what in the hell is she getting out of it?”

“It seems that her people have been slaves to the Cacas for thousands of years, even before we first ran into them.  She wants freedom for her people.”

“Then why don’t they just revolt?”

“Because she does not want her people to be destroyed.  She feels that will be their fate if they are found in betrayal of their masters.  So she is forced to play both sides, hoping that we can pull off a victory.”

“And if we don’t, they are no worse off,” said Sean, digesting everything he had heard up to this point.

“It’s up to you, your Majesty,” said Sergiov.  “I personally think it’s an offer we can’t refuse.”

“Then go ahead and accept, Director.  But I hope we can come up with a better way of communicating with her than swapping messages on a frontier planet.  I don’t like the five days or more one way transmission time.”

“The Maurid said she is moving to a more advanced planet, where she can run her network, so that will not be a problem.  Oh, and there was one other thing, your Majesty.  She said we should look out for an attempt by the Cacas on our wormhole generator.  That had to mean the Donut.”

“And does she know how?” asked Sean, trying to figure out how they could accomplish such a thing.  The Donut was over a week’s travel time inside the hyperbarrier of the black hole.  At least a couple of days missile flight at near c.  And it had ship gates nearby that could call up a formidable defense force if necessary.  Wormholes?  But all of the gates were well guarded.  They would have to take a capital ship, or a planet, before the gate could be switched off, which was unlikely.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Sergiov.  “I get the feeling that the Cacas operate much like we do, your Majesty.  Compartmentalized, with need to know.”

“Get back to me as soon as you know anything more, Director,” said the Emperor.

The holo went dead, and Sean went back to work on his flat comp, affixing his electronic seal to the plethora of orders that needed his OK.  The com chimed again in his link, and he checked to see who was trying to reach him, knowing that his secretary wouldn’t pass on anyone who wasn’t important, but still not sure that was somewhat he wanted to talk to right now.

“Len,” he said with pleasure as the man appeared on the holo.

Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski appeared on the holo, the flag bridge of his ship behind him.

“Greetings, your Majesty,” said the former Chief of Naval Operations under his father, who was now the commander of the Imperial Battle Fleet.  His force had fought at a disadvantage since he had taken charge, but the Admiral had still fought it brilliantly, saving it from total destruction on several occasions, while inflicting heavy losses to the enemy with hit and run tactics.  “I have good news.  I could have let it come through the channels, but wanted the pleasure of telling you myself.”

“Conundrum?”

“Yes, your Majesty.  The strike went off almost perfectly.”

“Almost?”

“Suttler did lose one of his ships.  Not his fault, and frankly, lower losses than I expected.”

“Suttler?  Bryce Suttler?”

“You know him, your Majesty?”

“He and his ship saved the battle cruiser I was on at Massadara.  A Ca’cadasan battleship got in the way, and Suttler helped to take them out.”

“Well, he stayed in the system and spied on them.  Then went on to hit their first space station.  He didn’t destroy it, but he sure damaged it badly.  Then he opened his heat sink wormhole into a ship gate to allow our raid of that system.”

“And now he’s in Conundrum?” asked the Emperor, shaking his head.  “The boy gets around.”  Sean linked into his personal computer system aboard Augustine and started a replay of the attack on the Conundrum stations, which had been loaded into the memory as soon as the Admiral contacted the ship.

“He made full Captain after we pulled him out of Massadara.  We brevetted him to Commodore for this mission.”

“Make the rank permanent,” said the Emperor.

“He’s a stealth man through and through,” said Len, shaking his head.  “He’ll want to remain in a ship, and not at a desk.”

“Then leave him in a ship.  And send him a knighthood as well.  He deserves at least that much for all he has done for the Empire.”

“That will be a pleasant surprise,” said the Admiral.

“And the Cacas will be less than pleasantly surprised,” said Sean, watching as one of the Ca’cadasan stations exploded into plasma and small pieces on the holo.  “I would love to see the look on their faces when one of their ships comes back into that system.”

“If it’s only a single warship, or, even better, a logistics ship, then Suttler’s squadron will also take them out.  It’s a gift that keeps on giving.”

“I like it.”  Sean started the replay over again, then noted the time.  “We need to talk about something else.  We are one day out from Congreeve.  From what I have been told, by your intelligence officer, Admiral, the Cacas will be there in five.  Is Battle Fleet ready?”

“As ready as possible, your Majesty.”

“Would more time have been better?”

“No, your Majesty.  It would be better if it were today.  My people are just itching to get at those bastards.”

“And Carrier Task Forces BF-4 and BF-5?”

“Locked, loaded and ready to go,” said the Admiral.  “They will be in position later on in this twenty-four.”

“Confidence in them?”

“Complete, your Majesty.  Complete.”

“Damn, where does the time go,” said Sean, his link buzzing with another incoming com.  He checked it, and decided it was one he needed to take.

“I’ll get back with you, Admiral, when we get to Congreeve.  I need to take this incoming com.”

The beings on the com switched out, a human figure exchanged for one of the Gryphon species, so named by the humans because of their eaglish face and light body covering of feathers.  They were built like small dinosaurs, with large legs, a balancing tail, and three digit hands on muscular arms.

“Lord H’rrressitor,” said the Emperor, recognizing the being by the feather pattern on his face.  “What word?”

“The word is success, your Majesty,” answered the Imperial Minister of Commerce and Industry.  “The new supermetal plant is up and running.  We opened the first accelerator this morning, local time.  We’ll be opening two more at the end of this week, and the other three by the end of the month.”

“That is great news, Minister,” said Sean, all smiles.  He called up another holo that showed the planet in question, a frozen world in orbit around an outer gas giant of a developing system in Sector I, as far from the Caca invasion as possible.

The holo zoomed in on the world, and the surface installations became visible.  Because of their size it did not take much zooming to see them.  To the uninitiated they looked like random structures, but Sean had studied how the supermetal manufacturing process worked, and had no trouble identifying them.

One wide valley, surrounded by ranges of water and methane ice, was lined by scores of large fusion plants, each able to generate hundreds of gigawatts of energy.  Fifty kilometers over was another such valley, also filled with reactors.  On a plain to the north, covering an area of ten thousand square kilometers, were arrays of crystal matrix batteries, enough to power a sector fleet, using the sub-zero temperatures to increase their efficiency.  The particle accelerator in operation ran in a ring around that plain, three thousand kilometers of magnetic tube, capable of slamming particles together at one hundred millionth of a percent below light speed.  Such a tube was capable of producing tons of the metals each day, artificial elements that sat in a small region of stability high on the periodic table.

Other accelerators could be seen in some of the other flat areas of the hemisphere.  It was a major industrial project, taking the same resources as the construction of a thousand battleships.  And necessary for the functioning of the fleet.

And all of this is increased production over what we had prior to the start of the war, thought the Emperor.  There had been five of the planets before the invasion, barely able to keep up with the needs of the Fleet and the Empire.  One had been nearing the end of its fifty year life span, the waste heat having built almost to the point where efficient production was no longer possible.  A new plant was under construction, the hundreds of billions of tons of machinery being built for eventual assembly on a likely planet.

One of the plants had been destroyed by the Cacas when they took a Core World system.  That plant had soon been replaced by the one that was under construction, making up the shortfall.  This plant would allow for military expansion by twenty percent, while five more had been ordered from Imperial industry.  When those were online prewar imperial production would have increased by two hundred and twenty percent.  Unless we lose some more production planets in the meantime.

“Great job, Minister.  With efforts like this, we cannot lose.”

“You can’t lie to a professional bureaucrat, your Majesty,” said the Gryphon.  “I know it will take more than this to win.”

“And I am depending on you to give me that more, Minister.  You, and the Ministry of Science.  Keep it up.”

Sean went back to his paperwork after he cut the connection with the Minister.  There were so many problems, and never enough time to deal with all of them.  Shortages of this and that, too many resources wasted on civilian production that really wasn’t needed, that someone had forgotten to turn off at the source.

Negative matter is still the bottleneck to deploying more inertialess fighters, and maybe the new missiles.  And we can always use more antimatter.  He looked over the production figures, then linked in to look at the progress on the two new antimatter production facilities being built around F class stars.  Both were comprised of thousands of production satellites in close orbit around the stars of developing systems.  Each would produce antimatter using the power of those stars at a rate of one point two to one, turning the ergs of sunlight into the stored assets of the volatile material.

The Lords had wanted the new facilities to be built in the Core Worlds, of course, where most of the really powerful of them had major holdings.  But it made more strategic sense to build the production satellites around developing worlds in quiet sectors, isolated from the threat of the Cacas.

He switched to the view of one of the new shipyards, also in place around a developing world.   He hoped to double shipbuilding capacity from prewar levels in another year, then work on doubling it again in another two. The only way we’re going to win this war is to become even more of an industrial juggernaut than we already are.  If we have enough time.  If we don’t win this coming battle it might not matter.

It was a risk, but a risk he thought needed to be taken.  And if we lose, I will go down in the history records as the one that lost the final war.  If we are even mentioned in the history records.

I wonder how Bolthole is coming? he thought, moving onto another database.  Bolthole had been the brainchild of his father, a very active Emperor who had laid much of the groundwork for many of the innovations that were being developed.  Bolthole was a system a thousand light years beyond the antispinward border of the Empire, along the Perseus Arm.  The plan was to build an industrial system that could not be found by any conceivable enemy, using a very large metallic planetoid as the industrial base, and an almost terrestrial planet, which could be transformed into a habitable world with minimal effort.  Everything would be built in place with the industry of the system, shipyards, antimatter production, even a supermetal plant.  It would be the final arsenal of the Empire, if everything else went to shit.  A place to keep the fight going, while supplying the Fleet with more units.

There was a wormhole on the way to that system, which would allow them to communicate with it instantaneously.  Until then, all he had were reports that were more than two months old.  Sean laughed at that thought.  Prior to the Donut coming online, all communications from the outer rim of the Empire to the Core Worlds took from weeks to months.  The new tech was already spoiling the command staff.  But without the universal use of wormholes throughout the Empire, something that might take over a century to achieve, some communications would still take time.

He had one last piece of business to look into before the dinner staff meeting.  The seven massive ships had all launched four months before, two to the Greater Magellanic Cloud, two to the Galactic Core, and, most importantly, three on a roundabout journey to the other side of the Ca’cadasan Empire.  It would take almost three years to get to that region, curving into the interior of the Galaxy to avoid the Cacas.  Another war was going on there, and the Empire might find an ally to help in the battle against the Ca’cadasans.  All of the ships carried a pair of wormholes, and once they found the other enemy of the Cacas, communications between them and the Empire would be instantaneous as well.

At the staff meeting, set up as usual in the large conference room, all the usual suspects were present.  All looked anxious, and the Emperor couldn’t blame them.  Many of them could be dead in five days.  Or they could survive, and see the end in sight for their species.  But all were here to do their duty.

“We have important news, your Majesty,” said Captain Mary Innocent, his Chief Intelligence Officer.

“Good or bad?” asked Sean with a smile.

“What would you prefer?” asked Jennifer, who was sitting next to him at the table.  She put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed his muscles.

“Always good, of course.  But I don’t always get what I want.”

“I’m, not sure what this is, your Majesty.  Hopefully good.”

“And what, pray tell, is this news?”

“Fleet intelligence got this report from Survey Command,” said Innocent.  The holo sprang to life, showing a pair of blue giant stars in orbit around each other.  “This is system BG2-785, so named because of the two giant stars.  It was a system we have been watching for several centuries, due to the instability of the stars’ mutual orbit.  They have been spiraling in toward each other for the last couple of decades.”

“When are they scheduled to supernova?” asked Sean in a tired voice, seeing more trouble here.  “And what inhabited systems are nearby?”

“They probably wouldn’t have gone off for another ten thousand years,” said the Intelligence Chief.  “And when they do, the closest inhabited system is thirteen light years away.”

“So, what’s the problem?” asked Sean.  “We should be able to handle shielding the nearby planets by that time.  If we’re still around.”

“This is the problem, your Majesty,” said the woman as the holo changed, showing the two giant stars finishing their spiral and joining in a titanic spray of energy.  “The graviton emissions were picked up for over a hundred light years.  They really messed with our hyperspace tracking capabilities, at least in a minor way.”

“A supergiant?” said Sean, looking into the holo, his eyes narrowing.  “And what’s the time frame for its supernova?”

“Two to three months,” said the Captain.  “As we get closer to the event we’ll get a better handle on it.  The energy output has increased by orders of magnitude.  The two stars were already burning helium.  Very soon they will go up the periodic table.  When it hits iron burning the end will come within weeks.”

“And what’s the result of all this, from a strategic point of view.”

“When the star explodes, it will flood hyperspace with graviton emissions, like a resonating boom of a blast in a canyon.  We won’t be able to track ships through hyperspace for hundreds of light years from the supernova.”

“And how long will that last?”

“A week?  Two?  Of course the effect will diminish over time, but we will not be able to track Ca’cadasan ships in hyper during much of that time.”

“And the same will hold true for them,” said Sean, thinking of the possibilities.  “Tell me.  Do you think the Cacas know about this upcoming event?”

“I wouldn’t think so, your Majesty.  This isn’t their space.  They probably haven’t visited this star.  I doubt they even know it exists.  And even if they have by chance visited it, they don’t know the history.  So I think this will catch them completely off guard.”

“And it won’t catch us off guard.  Thank you, Captain.  I think this will give us an opportunity we have been looking for.”  Sean looked at the other faces at the table, his strategic brain trust.  “I want a preliminary plan worked out for a strike to coincide with this supernova.”

“What about the coming operation?” asked one of the Admiral’s present.  “We really won’t know what we will have available, or what we’ll be facing, until this fight is over.”

“Or even if we’ll win,” said another.

“We have to assume we’ll win,” said Sean, slamming his fist on the table and turning his gaze on each in turn.  “Any other outcome is unacceptable.  Am I understood.”

Heads nodded around the table, and Sean jumped to his feet and strode out of the room, Jennifer on his heels.

“That ending could have gone better,” she said, catching up with him.

He turned on her, his anger rising.  “They are my people, the ones I depend on to fight the enemies of my Empire.  If they lose heart, I have already lost.”

“I understand,” said Jennifer, putting her arms around him.  “But remember.  You have good people working for you.  If they can’t do it, it can’t be done.  That was a great job Captain Innocent and her team did bringing together the information on that supernova.”

“Yeah, that was great.  Now, we only have to win the battle in Congreeve, then we can give those bastards another surprise that will drive the asses out of my Empire.”

*     *     *

ELYSIUM CAPITAL SPACE.  NOVEMBER 14TH, 1001.

“Here is where we find out if we can pass their security pickets,” said the General, looking at the holo on the bridge of the Elysium light cruiser he had captured.  Ahead was the hyper barrier of the home system of the Elysium Empire.  They were in hyper II, getting ready to jump to I, and then into normal space.  They were picking up Elysium ships in hyper around them, some moving into the system, some moving out, still others hanging in hyper, monitoring all the traffic.  He was sure there would be other ships waiting at the barrier in normal space, ready to give them a look over.

The other ships of their group, the three Knockerman freighters, were an hour behind them, just about to come into sensor range of the enemy pickets.  Hopefully they would attract enough attention to take the focus off the cruiser.  They would warrant a boarding and search, though there was nothing on board to give the game away.

“Are you ready?” asked the General, turning and looking at the Knockerman Captain who was commanding the ship.

“We are ready,” said the Knockerman, sitting in a captain’s chair that was not built for his species.  Three other stations were also manned by the stout reptilians, while another twenty-three, and about forty sympathizers from other species, made sure the ship ran efficiently.

The rest of the passengers comprised the six thousand Cacada of the General’s force.  They crowded the ship to the limit of her life support, with the mass of eighteen thousand smaller beings.  But their metabolisms were slower as well, and they used less life support than their total mass would suggest.  Still, the ship was severely overcrowded, and had been for many days.  Tempers were flaring, and there had been several fights to the death, though spacing the victors had reduced that nonsense.

And this Avian décor grates on my nerves, thought the General, looking around the bridge.  They had ripped out most of the colorful hangings and carpets that offended the Ca’cadasan sense of taste.  But they couldn’t do much about the bridge, which might still have to serve as a backdrop for communications.

There were only a few of the Brakakak still aboard.  Most refused to cooperate.  And had died or it.  Others had been tortured to the point of giving up the secrets of the ship.  The Avians were a delicate species, and had not held up well under the painful techniques the Ca’cadasans had employed, along with the anatomical and psychological knowledge of the Knockermen.

Too bad the bird people tasted like shit, thought the General with a frown.  With the pleasant odor they produced, and the compatible proteins they possessed, the Cacada had thought that the avians would taste delicious, and they had hundreds of them to use as rations.  That had not been the case.  The damn things are useless, alive or dead.

“Jumping into hyper I,” said the Knockerman helmsman.  The lights dimmed for a moment, while the hole between the dimensions opened in front of the ship and she slid into the lower dimension.  The General always hated translations, which affected his people more than most species.  And affected him more than most Cacada.  He barely kept his stomach under control, and was sure some of his males were vomiting their guts out elsewhere in the ship.  It took the General a half minute to get control of his nausea.

“Twelve minutes till jump to normal space,” called out the Helmsman.

And then I get to experience that once again.  How wonderful.

The General thought about the nausea the entire time it took for translation to normal space.  He didn’t know if that made it better or worse.  He couldn’t imagine it being worse, and it didn’t seem any better.  At least I won’t have to worry about it on the return trip, since there won’t be one.

He knew that this was a suicide mission, as had all the men under his command.  All of his brigade had children back in the Empire, and this action would give them benefits they would otherwise not receive with their low birth.  Education, better food, opportunities for advancement.  And they would die serving the Emperor.  What more could any of their race aspire to?

“Jumping into normal space, now,” called out the Helmsman.

The nausea struck again, and this time the General could not control his stomach.  He vomited the contents of his digestive system on the floor, which actually shortened the duration of the nausea.

I can’t afford this, thought the General, wiping his mouth with back of his lower left hand, then looking up into the holo that showed the system they had entered.

It looked just like many other systems he had seen.  The one inhabited planet close to the star.  Mining operations in the asteroid belt, antimatter production close to the star.   And hundreds of ships on the move, the sign of extensive commerce.

“Something is wrong,” said the Knockerman Captain.  “There aren’t enough warships in the system.”

“How many are there?” asked the General.

“Maybe a hundred.  Probably less.”

“That sounds like enough to me.”

“They have moved them,” said the Knockerman, his teeth displayed in challenge.  “They have moved them to the human Empire, the stupid flesshkoff.  To aid the humans.”

Now I wish we were here to destroy this system, thought the General.  But their turn will come.

“We are getting a signal from a system destroyer,” called out one of the Knockermen manning a bridge station.

The main viewer came on, showing a bridge similar to the one they were on, though somewhat smaller.  A Brakakak officer looked out of the viewer, while several more were visible in the background.

“Light Cruiser Rrarrakak, please respond to identification code,” came the translated voice over the com.

“We have engaged the simulation of a Brakakak officer,” said the Knockermen Captain.

“Will it fool them?” asked the General, regretting this ploy, which might get him and his whole command destroyed.

“If it doesn’t, we will have to fight,” said the Captain, motioning to his Weapons’ Officer.  “We will destroy that escort ship.”

“And then what?” demanded the General, thinking this plan was looking ever more ill advised.

“Then we die under a barrage from the other ships in the system.  But at least we get this destroyer, and maybe another.”

And we fail in our mission, thought the General, wanting to walk over and slap the Knockerman in the face.

“Rrarrakak.  You are cleared for the inner system,” said the Captain of the other ship.  “We are sorry to hear about your damages.”

“Damages?” asked the General, confused.

“I had to tell them something to get us permission to dock with the station, which is also a repair yard.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I am in charge of the naval part of this operation, alien,” growled the Knockerman.  “You are in charge once we dock.”

And maybe I will kill you after we get on the station, thought the General.

“And there is our target,” said the Knockerman, pointing at the visual of the large station in orbit around the planet, one of several.

“Are you sure that is where we will find it?”

“That is what our intelligence sources are telling me.  And it’s the largest military station in orbit.”  The Knockermen turned to his Com Officer.  “Send a signal to the system command.  Inform them of our damages and ask for their permission to dock at the main station.”

“And what are you going to tell them caused the damages?” asked the General.

“Pirates, of course,” said the Knockerman, as the ship started to accelerate into the system.

Twenty minutes later the three Knockermen freighters jumped into normal space, attracting all the attention of an outer system picket that was still feeling nervous about the presence of that race.  And the light cruiser stayed on a least time course into the system that would put them at the station in two days.

Chapter Eighteen

CONGREEVE SYSTEM.  NOVEMBER 14TH, 1001.

Prester Johnson screamed at the top of his lungs as he looked up at the sky, at his station.  From this distance he couldn’t see the changes, but he knew they were there.  “Bastards,” he screamed.  “That’s mine.”

House arrest, he thought once again as he stormed into the dwelling.  How dare they put me on house arrest.  “Don’t you know who the fuck I am?”

It was obvious to Prester that they didn’t care who he was, which increased his rage.  He picked up the first object to come to hand and threw it across the room into a large mirror.  The mirror was almost unbreakable, like most objects in the house.  The almost priceless native made statue, a masterwork piece from a Fungoid craftsman, shattered as it hit the steelglass of the mirror.  “Goddam,” yelled the trillionaire, now even angrier, stomping toward the couch and throwing himself onto it.

He sat there, calling up a holo that showed Congreeve from orbit, tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks.  He looked at all the new infrastructure that Imperial Navy and Army engineers had constructed on the planet.  His planet.  Not that he owned the entire world, but he did own the development rights to it.  Rights that had been usurped by the Imperial military.

And it doesn’t take a genius to see what they’re doing, he thought, looking at all the facades of cities that had been built on the surface of the world.  Facades they were, obvious for what they were from close up.  But from a light hour or more away, they were perfect.  They’re making this world a target.

Johnson was one of the richest men in the Empire, number fifty-eight by the last accounting.  He was not nobility, though he owned some nobles.  He had groveled before nobles the first fifty years of his life, when he came to civilization from his trips as an asteroid miner.  Until he had hit it big, and become an overnight billionaire, with a rock that was high in radioactive metals.  He had translated that billion into more billions, until, at the age of one hundred and fifty-four, he was valued at a trillion Imperials, which had since grown to over a hundred trillion.  Now many nobles groveled at his feet, inviting him to functions normally reserved for only their class, hoping he would invest in their projects, and save their families from bankruptcy.

And now the military was messing with his newest investment, in a world that had some impressive natural resources, and only a few hundred thousand primitive natives in the way.

Congreeve should have been a proscribed world, one in which industrial development and mining was forbidden, at least until the natives could be bootstrapped up to modern technology.  Greasing the palms of some Lords, and then doing the same with the many petty officials who ran the development of this sector, had run over those restrictions.  The Church, which ran missions on the planet, was a more difficult opponent, but even they needed money.  He had funded cathedrals on frontier worlds, and missions on Congreeve, and the concerns of the Church had faded away.

And the damned natives were going to benefit as well, he thought.  But not if this planet becomes the target of some relativistic missiles.  It could kill the natives, and ruin my investment.

At first the natives had seemed monstrous to him, creatures of which no two were alike.  The first sentient fungoids ever found, they had captured the imaginations of the people of the Empire.  Johnson knew he would need the good will of those natives, so he had forced himself to spend time with them.  And had learned that they were a singularly admirable people.  Though primitive, they were skilled craftsmen and hunters, and though not sexual beings like most sentients, they were very good communal parents to the children that sprouted from their bodies.

For the hundredth time since his house arrest, Prester tried to link into the planetary com network.  And for the hundredth time, he was denied access.  Not that he had any place to go once he got into the network.  Except…his company had installed the planetary net, which meant he had some resources the Imperial military didn’t know about.

It’s time to take a risk, he thought, going back into link finding the backdoor that had been left there for his personal use.   He looked over the com menu that was now revealed.  They’re still in orbit, he thought as she saw a familiar name on his list of contacts.  With a thought he connected to the planetary com system and beamed a signal to the vessel in question.  He waited a moment for a reply through the same encrypted back door.  Of course they agree, he thought.  They know where the sugar comes from.  Now, to see about getting off the surface of this rock.

*     *     *

“Matsuamki Maru,” came the call over the com.  “Permission granted to leave orbit.”

“Thank the Gods,” said the Gryphon captain of the ore freighter.  He looked back at his passenger.  “I was worried there for a moment, Mr. Johnson.”

“I don’t see why, Captain,” Prester told his employee.  “This is, after all, just a system ore transport.  It’s not like you can go anywhere, or tell anyone what’s going on here.  Not unless you grow a hyperdrive.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, Mr. Johnson,” said the Captain, looking back at the navigation holo.  “And I really don’t want to.  Time to destination, twelve hours.”

The destination was a large planetoid, about four hundred kilometers in diameter, that his company had been mining for materials to build space based infrastructure in the system.  P-385 did not even carry a name, though the natives had one for it as it wandered the sky on a slightly larger orbit than their planet.  Eventually, it would become a threat to the planet, if allowed to continue on its path.  Astronomers estimated in fifty thousand years it would move close enough to the planet Congreeve to be captured in orbit.  It could be a stable orbit, or it could come crashing down on the planet, killing everything.  Well before that the Empire had planned to do something about it.  But for the moment it was just raw materials.  And a surface base that his company owned for the processing of the ores they gathered.  A base that held some surprises.

Call me paranoid, will you? thought the industrialist on the journey out to the planetoid.

*     *     *

Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav accepted the drink from the petty officer who was acting as steward on the shuttle.  The man she was showing the battle force to sat in a chair across from her, also sipping on an alcoholic beverage.

“You did a hell of a job here, Adrijana,” said Grand Fleet Admiral the Duke Taelis Mgonda, looking at the holo that showed the battle force they were cruising near.  “I can see another star in your future.”

“I didn’t do it for the star, Admiral.  Though I sure as hell won’t turn it down.”

“I didn’t think you would, Admiral.  What you did on the planet was an amazing piece of work.  I’m sure the Emperor will agree when he gets here.”

I still don’t like the idea of the man we swear our oaths to putting his ass in the frying pan, thought Miroslav, picturing the young man in her mind with a mix of emotions.  While she still had reservations about his rule, and his conduct of the war, she knew that another transition of power would be the worst thing that could happen at this time.  But no one asked my opinion.

“How many ships did Admiral Suarez bring, sir?” she asked her superior, looking at the collection of icons on the holo.  They were perfectly situated for the mission, having been moved into place the day before.

“Oh, a hundred and seventy-four battleships, one hundred and fifty-two battle cruisers, and about twice that many smaller vessels.  Not nearly enough for anything but bait.”

“Bigger than anything I ever commanded,” said Miroslav in awe.  If a little, old.

“System command is reporting that we have hyper emissions approaching the barrier, sir,” came a voice over the com.

Both Admirals linked into the ship’s comp to read the information from system command.  The tactical net actually showed two different forces moving toward the system on separate vectors.  Both were huge, over a thousand ships.

“That would be Admiral Lenkowski’s fleet,” said Mgonda with a smile.  “Right on time.”

“Do you think you might have timed it a little too closely, sir?” said Miroslav, watching the information on the incoming force resolve on the tactical.

“We didn’t want to uncover the rest of the sector too soon,” said the older man, a troubled look on his face.  “We’re taking some serious risks with this play, Adrijana.  If the Cacas didn’t take the bait, we were looking to lose even more systems, without much of a fight.  Of course, we still would have lost them, and the ships guarding them, but could have made the bastards pay a higher price.”

The Admiral looked out the side window of the shuttle, shaking his head.  He looked back at the lower ranking Admiral.  “And they are on their way here.  Our scouts are shadowing them the entire way.  Four days.”

“So we still have a chance to crush them, once or for all,” said Miroslav, clenching a fist.  “And pay them back for Cimmeria.”

“You were from Cimmeria, weren’t you, Adrijana?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to calm down from a murderous rage.  “Family, lifelong friends, all gone.”

“You know the Emperor had to do it, don’t you?”

She sat there, shaking her head, fists clenching and unclenching.  He let my world die.  How in the hell am I supposed to come to terms with that.  “I know he couldn’t commit the Fleet to defending my home, sir.  I know that in my head.  Don’t ask me how I feel about it.  My feelings are my own.”

“Fair enough,” said the Duke, his eyes narrowing, then his expression softening.  “Again, you did a very good job here.  Without your efforts this thing would not work.  But don’t be fooled.  Even if we win a crushing victory here, it will not be once and for all.  We still have their entire Empire to defeat, and I doubt it will be an easy job.”

“And we will take losses here,” she said in a soft voice.

“We will take losses.”

The Duke looked out the window again, and Miroslav didn’t know what to say to him at the moment.  She knew what the man must be thinking.  He had lost many friends as well, especially when the Conundrum system had been taken by the Cacas.  We’ve all lost too many people we cared about, she thought.  And we’re about to lose more.  The only way we’re going to leave this nightmare is with victory, or death.

She held up her glass in the sign of a toast.  “To victory, or death,” she said, clinking her glass with the Duke’s.

“With it or on it,” replied the Duke, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a sip.

*     *     *

OUTSIDE IMPERIAL SPACE.  NOVEMBER 14TH, 1001.

Commodore Natansha Sung looked at the holo viewer, at the glory of a globular cluster that was unseen from Imperial space.  Too many damned gas clouds in the way, she thought.  Just because of some weird alignment.

Nina was over six thousand light years from the borders of the Empire, an estimated twenty eight thousand light years from her destination.  Pinta and Santa Maria were moving along with her in normal space.  Pinta had experienced some difficulties with one of her hyper generators.  It was a delay in the mission, but one she was willing to put up with to ensure that all of her ships made it to their destination.  Command had concurred, since the delay would only add a week onto their travel time.  The other two ships both lay to either side of the flagship, a hundred thousand kilometers from the Nina.  Pinta had humans and robots swarming over her troubled hyper drive generator, which was much more massive than such a device on a normal hyper VII ship.  The thirty-one million ton ships were meant to travel for years in hyper VII, and the larger than normal generators were built to give them the redundancy to take one offline, and rest the other periodically.

This was supposed to have been an exploration trip, she thought, remembering the optimism that the crew had exhibited when they were commissioning these vessels.  Journeys of exploration, where the goal was to seek knowledge, to see what had never before been seen, to find new civilizations, and remains of old ones.  Now the mission was to contact an unknown power that was also fighting humankind’s greatest enemy.  With no idea of who that power was, of how they would greet the ships from earth.

They had gathered much information on the way to this point.

I guess it’s just my luck that the space we have traversed so far was full of interesting signals.   They had picked up many hyper emissions to this point.   Fourteen in hyper III, seven hyper IV, even a couple of Vs and a VI.  From the different resonances it was believed they had detected five different interstellar civilizations, though one of the scientists thought it was six.  It was a given that the civilizations had detected the passage of the three hyper VII ships, maybe through the center of their realms.  It must have caused a panic, but the ship didn’t have the time to waste to drop out of hyper and calm alien nerves.

“We’re picking up hyper resonances moving our way, Ma’am,” came a voice over the com.

“In what dimension?”

“Hyper VII, ma’am.”

“All crew to battle stations,” yelled Sung over the com.  “All weapons ready.”

We’re not warships.  If those are battleships coming our way, and they’re hostile, this voyage is over.

“ETA?”

“Hard to determine ma’am,” said the Sensory Officer, sitting in her insulated compartment.  “It’s a new resonance, and I have nothing to compare it to.”

*     *     *

NEW TERRAN REPUBLIC SPACE.  NOVEMBER 14TH, 1001.

“It would have been nice if they had waited a bit,” said President Julia Graham, looking at the reptilian face in the holo.

“They move according to their own strategy,” said the Crakista Admiral who had been given overall command of Third Republic Battle Fleet, the newly organized force of Crakista, New Moscow reinforcements, and what had been the Xenia system defense force, augmented by some of the older Imperial ships.  “It is not logical to expect them to act according to your wishes.  Especially if they have no way of knowing them.”

Julia shook her head.  It had only seemed proper to give the Crakista Admiral, whose name was not pronounceable by a human, the command of the Third Battle Fleet, based on the fact that she had the largest contingent of the force.  Or would have, when the rest of the ships Crakista was sending to the Republic as an expeditionary force arrived.

She looked at the holo that showed her Republic, wondering what she could do that she hadn’t thought of.  The gap picket had let them know the enemy reinforcements were coming their way, but she had expected them to take some time to organize before going on the offensive.  Instead, they had arrived at their forward bases and immediately went onto the offensive, catching the Republic Navy off guard.

The holo showed the state of her people, and it was not a state to be envied.  There was a large arrow stuck through the middle of the four hundred light year diameter globe, totally penetrating the Republic.  And now the enemy was widening that shaft through the heart of her government’s territory.  And in the center of the Republic, penetrated cleanly by that shaft, were the most populated and industrially active of her worlds.

I almost wish the next election would take place tomorrow, so I wouldn’t have this responsibility on my shoulders.  But the way the war was looking, there would not be an election next year, or maybe ever.  She might be stuck with the job until the Republic fell.

“I think we should advance the timetable of our own counter offensive,” stated the Crakista, her emotionless face and tone showing not a bit of impatience.

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait for your other ships, like you originally requested.”

“The situation has changed,” said the Admiral.  “The enemy has expanded the amount of space their fleet occupies.”

“And that helps us, how?”

“It gives us opportunity to strike at smaller concentrations of the enemy with our three battle fleets, destroying those concentrations three at a time.  The logical reaction of the enemy will be to pull back, losing territory, and buying us the time we need to rebuild your forces, and possibly bring in more units from my government and the Empire.”

“And you can guarantee that this will work?”

“There are no guarantees in war,” said the Crakista, folding her arms over her chest.  “There are only probabilities.  But based on what we have gleaned about the psychology of the Ca’cadasans, I would state there is a seventy-seven percent chance that they will react as predicted.”

The President thought about that for a moment as the Crakista sat patiently on her ship.  They’re never impatient, never in an unnecessary hurry, but quick to move when they feel the time is right.  She thought back on the history she had learned, of the past wars between Crakista and humans.  Most of those wars had only involved the Empire, and not the Republic, but there had been two where the human governments had joined forces.  And the Crakista had proven to be fierce and intelligent opponents, the best at playing the statistical game of strategy.  The humans had prevailed by using unpredictability, throwing the Crakista off balance.  That took a very special battle commander.  Her fleet had counted two such among its admirals before the Ca’cadasan invasion.  Both had died early on.  So this Crakista Admiral was the best she had.

“Plan your attack, Admiral.  I will inform my other battle fleet commanders of the plan, and will let them know that you will be in overall command.”

“That last is not necessary, Madame President,” said the Crakista with no change in expression.

“I believe it is, Admiral.  You came up with the plan, so I expect you to carry it out.”

“Then I will do so,” said the Admiral.  “I would like to begin operations in six days.  That will allow my force to move into position, along with the others, so we can strike with as much simultaneity as possible.”

“I will make sure that you get all the intelligence we have on their dispositions,” said the President.  She waited for a moment for a thank you.  Some kind of pleasantries.  She should have known better.  Moments later she cut the transmission and returned to the paperwork of a chief executive of a government at war.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV SPACE.  NOVEMBER 15TH, 1001.

“We are three days from the human system,” said the Great Admiral, looking around the table at his strategic staff.  “And we still have little in the way of intelligence on what we may be facing.”

“We still have the major problem of communication lag,” said the Senior Intelligence Officer, with a shrug of all of his shoulders.  “Even if our network gets information that we need, it still may not reach us in time.  And if they develop information in an enemy military system, it is also difficult to get it out of the system.”

“Those are excuses,” roared the Great Admiral, slamming both lower hands on the table.  “Not solutions.”  He looked back at his Senior Intelligence Officer.  “Any word on our strike against their wormhole generating station.”

“No, my Lord.  Again, we have no way of transmitting that information across interstellar space.  We will know it has happened when it has happened.”

“And how will we know that?”

“From what we understand, the majority of these wormhole gates, or at least one end of them, are housed on this generating station of theirs,” said the officer.  “At least, that is what we have gotten from interrogations of the few human crew we have captured with intact memories.”

“Then, when the station is destroyed, they will lose much of their wormhole capability, as well as not being able to make more?”

“That is what we understand, my Lord.”

“And how do we get information about this system we are traveling to?”

“I can think of no way other than jumping a scout force into the system before our main force arrives, my Lord,” said another of the officers.  “They can do a quick sensor scan of the system, and tell us by graviton transmission what they have found.”

“And how does that help us when we are committed to the system?” asked the Great Admiral.

“It will give us some flexibility over when and where we jump in,” said the officer.  “We need the scout force commanders to know what they should be looking for, and get a quick take on it.”

“We might lose that scout force,” said yet another officer.

“That is their job,” stated the Great Admiral, staring at the officer who had just spoken, and wondering what kind of coward he might be.  “Do what is necessary,” he told the officer who had made the scout force suggestion.

Later, on the bridge of his ship, he sat in the commander’s chair, staring at the holo and thinking.  His entire command, at least what was on this mission, was on that large projection.  He had other ships operating in the area, the focus of his conquest fleet.  He had a large force operating in the Terran Republic, as it was called, and some vessels in Fenri space, though not enough to make much of a difference.  But most of his force was here, in the Empire.  And over one half of his operational forces within the Empire were involved in this attack.  If it was a legitimate target, they would totally smash the Emperor’s protection squadron and the battle force that was in the system.  Even if the Emperor got away, they would still strike a blow to the morale of the enemy, once the populace learned their leader again run for his life.  And if it was a trap laid by the enemy, one meant to catch a Ca’cadasan force in the jaws of a vice, his force would be large enough to crush it as well.  Sure, there would be serious loses, but the enemy would have to suffer corresponding casualties that would cripple their fleet.

I wish I still had that little slave, thought the Great Admiral, looking directly at one of his pet humans.  The man saw the Ca’cadasan leader was looking at him and bowed.  These raised humans are of no use whatsoever.  They may be of the same biology as the wild humans, if not as enhanced, but they have a totally different psychology.  The slave, Gorbachev, may have been a pain in the posterior, but at least she gave me some insight into the mind of the enemy.  He wondered where the human was now, and thought that she must be dead.  Plunging into the atmosphere of a planet with ships in orbit shooting at her, and pursuit ships on her tail.  The ship had been seen to blow up from space as well.  No, that one is dead.

Maybe we can catch this Emperor of theirs, he thought in a moment of good spirits.  What a source of information that would be.  But no, I can’t be that lucky.   It will be enough to scatter his atoms in space.

*     *     *

CONUNDRUM SPACE.  NOVEMBER 15TH, 1001.

“Where are the stations?” growled High Admiral Kellissaran Jarkastarin, staring at the holo.  His force had just jumped into the Conundrum system.  He expected most of the ships of the fleet that had been based here to be gone, on some fool massed strike, when they could have been employed running over a hundred systems at once.

“They are gone, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer, staring back at him.  “They’re both gone.”

“Were they moved out of the system?” asked the Helm Officer.  “Or were they…”

“Destroyed,” stated the Sensor Officer.  “My Lord, I’m picking up particulate matter and plasma in a wide area, exactly where the station was.”

“What could have gotten to them through the defenses?” asked the Helm Officer.

“All ships to full alert,” yelled the High Admiral.  “Plasma fields to full, all weapons powered up.”

“There’s nothing here, my Lord,” said the Sensor Officer.

“I concur, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.

“You idiots.  It had to be one of their stealth ships.  If not more than one.”

Alarm klaxons sounded and crewmen jumped from their seats, running to their armor cubbies.  Com holos came alive as the other ships in the force announced their preparations for combat, and asked for instructions.  Within minutes all crew were armored, all weapons manned, and heavy active sensor beams scanning space.

“We’re getting a transmission from insystem,” called out the Com Officer.

The holo came to life, with the image of another male sitting on the bridge of a small ship.

“This is Low Captain Sresrestifal of the scout ship Zzrrassafa,” came the voice over the holo.  “I am currently the ranking officer in the system.  Please identify yourselves.  And be warned, there are human stealth ships in the system.  Multiple vessels.  They destroyed the stations.”

“Send them our identification, and inform that officer that he, and all other ships in the system, are now under my command.”

“It will take five minutes for the return transmission to reach him, my Lord.”

“If he was that close, why did you not pick him up on sensors before we received his transmission?” roared the High Admiral.

“I do not know, sir,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Wait.  I see him now, coming around that ice ball.”

The ship appeared, obviously a Ca’cadasan scout ship, headed their way at high acceleration.

“We have missile launch,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“From that ship?”

“No, my Lord.  We cannot detect the firing vessel.  More launches,” yelled the officer in a panicked voice.  “All around us.”

“Fire on those launching vessels.”

“We cannot detect them, my Lord,” yelled out the Tactical Officer.

“Aim at the points the missiles were originally detected at and sweep the area, random pattern.  Order all other ships to follow suit.”

All of the ships in the force followed the order, firing at the origination points of the missiles, then sweeping around those points.  Other weapons fired at the incoming missiles.  Pinpoint flashes flared through space as missiles detonated.  Most were shot down, but a couple came on until they separated into their multiple warheads.

The High Admiral watched with growing anger as one of his supercruisers was shattered, while two scouts sustained severe damage.  Something had flared with the hit of a couple of lasers, and a ship appeared in space while gas gushed from several breaches in the hull.

“Destroy that ship,” ordered the High Admiral, pointing at the ship.

*     *     *

I guess Momma Browne’s boy isn’t going to get out of this one, thought Commander Chris Browne, as the Orca rocked to the hit of lasers.  Klaxons went off, and a schematic of the ship showed where the hull had been penetrated, and atmosphere was gushing out.  It wasn’t bad damage, as far as battle wounds went.  And it was enough to kill his ship, by taking away its ability to stealth.

“All ahead full,” he ordered.  “All beam weapons on that nearest scout ship.  Load all tubes and fire.”

The crew went about their tasks with quiet efficiency, as if they weren’t sitting on a bulls eye.

“All that think they can make it off in time can go to the life pods,” he announced over the com.  Nobody on the bridge moved.

Dolphin shuddered again from another laser hit, then two more.

“We have missile launches,” shouted out the Tactical Officer.  “Ten, no, eighteen missiles, all on vectors heading our way.  All tubes fired and on the way.”

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, we gave it our all,” he said into the com, as the ship bucked yet again.  He watched the viewer as his particle beam and lasers ate into the hull of the enemy scout ship, until with a great shake of a hit the proton weapon went offline.

“Missile impact in one minute,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Browne thought to ask him whose, then decided it didn’t matter.  His missiles, with ten thousand gravities of acceleration, would hit first, those that made it through the counter fire.  Two were knocked out seconds later in brilliant flashes.  Three more died moments later under laser fire.  Two died on final approach, and Browne was beginning to wonder if he would get a hit after all.  He cursed as something blew the port rear grabber off the last missile, causing it to start into a veer that might have caused a miss.  Instead, it caused the missile to slam into the scout at an angle.  That made little difference to the scout when the warhead detonated, blowing a massive hole in the side of the vessel and sending it on a death spin into space.

Browne had about four seconds to celebrate the kill before the first enemy missile made it through his defensive fire.  Stealth/attacks were built to kill, not to defend themselves in head on combat.  Still, Dolphin took out six missiles before the seventh hit.  Browne and his crew were not even aware of that strike.  Nanoseconds after contact they were dead, the ship shattered into a million pieces and plasma.  Some pieces of combat armor survived, a few with intact body parts in them.  Those were the only remains, and they would never be collected for a funeral service.

*     *     *

The nearest ships launched at the visible enemy.  It took a couple of minutes for the missiles to reach the target.  Before they did, the enemy’s missiles were flaring in space as they approached one of the Ca’cadasan scout ships which was its final target.  The High Admiral thought for a moment that it would get them all, even watching as the last missile took a glancing blow and veered.  But hit it did, and the scout ship went tumbling off into space, all communications lost with it.   Seconds later the seventh missile of the first flight to reach the enemy vessel hit, turning the stealth ship into a ball of plasma.  A moment later the scout ship that had contacted the Admiral’s force flared from a missile hit, the light transmitted over the five light minutes of distance.

“May the Gods curse them for the vermin they are,” shouted the High Admiral, slamming his lower hands on the arms of his chair.  He knew the human ship had been manned by brave beings, but in the moment only cared about the harm they had done his force.

“Shall we hunt down the others, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“No,” he yelled, then sat for a moment calming himself down.  “Contact every other ship in this system.  They are to join us in hyper I space.”

“Hyper I space, my Lord?”

“Yes, you fool.  The stealth ships cannot sneak up on us in hyper.  I don’t wish to deal with these cowards.  So send the signal, then we will jump into hyper.  I want to be on the way to Congreeve as soon as possible.”

“To warn the Great Admiral?” asked the Tactical Officer.

The High Admiral sat in his chair and refused to give his officer an answer.  No, to see how he got his mating organ stuck in a grinder.

*     *     *

Bryce Suttler cursed as he slammed a hand into his chair arm.  He hadn’t expected the enemy to react so swiftly, and as a result, he had lost another ship.  And a ship captained by a man he had come to like and respect.  He wasn’t supposed to play favorites, but Commander Browne and the Dolphin had been his favorites of this command.  And now they were gone, all because of a lucky laser strike.

“What the hell are they doing?” asked Ngovic, looking at the enemy ships on the tactical holo.  All had jumped back into hyper minutes after sending out a broadcast message to the system.  Since they had jumped at almost a stop where they thought the station was going to be, well outside the hyper barrier, such a tactic was available to them.

Most Caca commanders would have tried to find Suttler’s ships, with a vengeance.  They would have spread out and swept the local space.  That would have made the area very hot for the human ships.  It also would have given the stealth ships an opportunity to take shots at the much bigger ships, and possibly get a kill.  But now?

“They’re sitting where we can’t sneak up on them,” said Suttler, staring at the icons of ships he would so like to strike.  His ships would make too much noise jumping into hyper.  And they would continue to make that noise while moving through it, even sitting in it, really.  That’s one smart bastard of a Caca.  Wish we had got him with a missile or two.  Hope I can still kill your ass someday.  He knew it was insane to think of revenge on one man, or one crew, in a war like this.  But personalizing the insanity was one of the only things that would keep him sane.

Chapter Nineteen

DREADNOUGHT AUGUSTINE I.  NOVEMBER 15-16TH, 1001.

The thin ribbon seemed to go on forever, backed by the star filled black of space.  The ribbon itself was lit, though from this distance it was difficult to make out the individual sources of light.  In the background, centered around the circle of the slender ribbon that was only really thin in perspective against the huge circumference of the ring, a small circle of distortion warped the light behind it into another ring.

The Donut, thought Sean in his dream.  It has to be the Donut.  And this is a prophetic dream?

The point of view swept in, like that of some impossibly maneuverable spacecraft.  It passed stations that were enormous in their own right.  Stations with long thin tubes running through them, the accelerators that flung missiles at high relativistic velocities through wormholes.  Stations that housed heat sinks of almost zero Kelvin to absorb the waste radiation of stealth ships.  Stations that were ship yards, and antimatter warhead storage magazines.  The space around the ribbon was filled with an ever expanding Dyson cloud of structures.  Thin now, but in the future it would be a truly impressive orbital industrial complex, with more capacity than any three core systems.

He could now pick out the ships of a task force, sitting near to the shimmering surface of ship gate.  He zoomed in on other forces, all arrayed around this one ship gate.

It’s either now, or in the near future, thought the Emperor with a quick scan of the objects in his view.  And what is this trying to tell me?

The view zoomed out again, taking in the entire ribbon, millions of kilometers.  Something flashed along that ribbon, an impossibly bright flare.  The view zoomed in again, to a slow motion capture of the hull of the Donut blowing out.  A large section, the entire width, and three hundred kilometers in each direction from the blast, exploded outward.  The event horizon of the black hole flashed with a thousand sparks as material from the explosion was crushed out of existence in bursts of gamma radiation.

That’s impossible, thought Sean.  That would have taken a bomb with thousands of tons of antimatter.  How could anyone get a bomb that big onto the station.

The ribbon broke at that point, and the station was thrown off its equilibrium.  It took minutes for the entire station to react to its new, unbalanced condition.  One side swept closer to the hole, while the other continued to rip apart down both sides away from the explosion.  Gravity grabbed hold of the section that was closest, accelerating the inward fall.   Ships started to launch from the ribbon, people evacuating the structure.  But for most of them it would be too late to seek a ship or a life pod, and those closest to the hole were pulled in to a death by crushing.

The ribbon touched the event horizon, to disappear in a flash of gamma radiation.  The ribbon on both sides of that point accelerated as it was sucked inward, until acceleration exceeded the strength of the structure, and the whole thing started to come apart.  Many of the pieces, from several to a thousand kilometers in length, fell into the hole.  As many pieces were ejected outward, to speed away from the hole, at accelerations that overwhelmed the inertial compensators and killed those still aboard.

And then is was over, trillions of tons of vital station, millions of people, the technological edge of the Empire, the ability to create wormholes, gone.  And thousands of those wormholes gone as well.

Sean knew that was not the end of the destruction.  On hundreds of ships and stations across the Empire the heavy gravity of the black hole sucked matter through the wormholes, destroying many of those ships and stations.  And as suddenly as that, the war was over, humanity defeated.

Sean woke up with a scream, sweat pouring off his bare skin.  Arms encircled him, and in his panicked state he almost rolled over in the embrace and attacked, until he remembered where he was.

“What happened,” said Jennifer, her mouth close to his ear as she tightened her embrace.

“It was just a dream,” he said, shaking his head.

“Don’t give me that,” said Jennifer, her soft hair rubbing on his cheek and neck.  “It was one of your prophetic dreams, wasn’t it?  What happened this time?”

“The end of the war.  And no, we didn’t win.”

Sean rolled over till he faced his woman, then told her about his nightmare.

“And, when did this happen?” asked Jennifer, her eyes open in shock.

“It would have to be soon.  How soon?  I really don’t know.  But the people in charge of the station need to know something is happening.”

Sean linked into the com net as he got out of bed and got his clothing for the day, laid out in the dressing chamber by his steward.

“That’s, hard to believe, your Majesty,” said Fleet Admiral O’Hara, the naval commander of the Donut.

“You know about my gift, Admiral?  How it runs in my family.”

“I have heard of it, your Majesty.  I just have trouble believing in magic.”

“It isn’t magic, Admiral, though I can understand how it might look like it.  It has something to do with Quantum fluctuations, and my brain’s ability to tap into them, and see probabilistic futures.”

“Sounds like magic to me, your Majesty.”

“I am giving you a direct order, Admiral, to put the station on lockdown.  Everything that enters and leaves that station is to be checked out, checked over, and checked again.  Is that clear Admiral?”

“Crystal clear, your Majesty.”

“And I want the station on full alert.”

“I can’t keep this thing on full alert for an indefinite time period,” complained the Admiral.  “Eventually people will get tired.”

“Then put them on alert until further notice, Admiral.”

“Understood, your Majesty.”

“Sean out,” commanded the Emperor, and the connection faded.

“That didn’t sound like it went too well,” said Jennifer, sitting on the couch and watching as the holo faded.

“Not everyone has faith in the Imperial curse,” said Sean, sitting down and rubbing his eyes.

“I thought it was a gift?” said his woman, standing up and walking to him, to sit down in his lap and put her arms around him.

“To the outside world, it’s a gift.  Prophecy.  A warning of what might happen in the future.  To the person who possesses it?  Oh yeah.  It’s a curse.”

“What are you going to do about that Admiral?”

“What do you mean, my dear?” asked Sean.

“It was obvious you weren’t happy with him.  Will you put someone else in charge?”

“I’ll have to think about that.  Probably.  But not right now.  I’ve got other things to worry about.  After this battle is over, I’ll look into possible replacements.”

Sean looked into the blue eyes of his love, glad that she was here, and again wishing that she wasn’t.  “I wish you were in a safe place.  I could still get you to safety through a wormhole.  Then I wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

“And then I would continue to worry about you,” said Jennifer, shaking her head.  “Someone has to watch after your crazy ass, and keep you out of trouble.”

“I am a Spacer,” said Sean.  “I belong here.”

“No, you don’t.  You are now the Emperor, and you should be giving orders from the palace, not trying to emulate some ancestor who felt a need to lead from the front.  You have good people in command.  And an advantage that your ancestor did not possess.”

“I know.  I can give orders across the light years, follow the action in real time.  But it’s not the same.”

“No.  It’s not.  It puts the head of the Empire at risk, and makes the people under you have yet another burden they shouldn’t have to bear.”

“I am not a burden,” said Sean, putting his hands under her arms and lifting her from his lap.

“And you’re not Buck Barton, Star Ranger,” said Jennifer in a rising voice, naming the hero of a popular trivee from a decade ago.  “You’re not going to save the Galaxy from the bridge of a ship.  You do a better job sitting the throne, and working from within the government.”

“Nevertheless, I am needed out here.”

“Oh, grow up, you fool.  Before you cause more harm than good.”

Jennifer turned and stormed away, through the door to the bedroom.  That door slid closed behind her, and Sean felt like it was a slam, though that of course was impossible with a mechanical closure.

Dammit, thought Sean, looking over at his cat and reaching for it.  “At least you aren’t angry at me.”  The cat looked in alarm at the hands of its master and jumped off the couch, heading for the bedroom door, which opened at its approach and allowed it through.  “Traitor,” he yelled after the kitten.

For a moment he was tempted to go into the bedroom and try to smooth things over with his fiancé’.  What’s the use, he thought.

“Would you like some breakfast, your Majesty?” asked his steward, appearing at the door to his quarters as if by magic.

“How long have you been there, John?”

“I just came out of my quarters, your Majesty.”

“And how much of that did you hear?”

“Enough to know that there was a fight.  And that the lady had left the room, which meant it was safe for me to approach.”

“And do you agree with her?”

“That is not for me to say, your Majesty,” said Jacobs.  “You are in command here, and everywhere else in the Empire.”

“But do you have an opinion?”

“Of course, your Majesty.  Everyone has an opinion.”

“And you’re not going to give me yours?”

“Would you like me to prepare some breakfast, your Majesty?” asked the steward in a show of refusal to answer.

“No thanks,” said Sean, getting up from his couch and grabbing his jacket.  “I’ll eat in the officer’s mess this morning.  You can wait on the lady, when she decides to stop tantruming.”

With that, he headed for the door, driving the argument from his mind, and the possible future danger to the Donut, so he could concentrate on what decisions needed to be made this day.

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

The being known as Fleet Admiral Benjamin O’Hara sat at his desk for several minutes after the com holo died.  That damned Imperial gift of his might endanger the mission, thought the Yugalyth that had assumed the form of the human.  It didn’t know exactly when the mission was scheduled to go off, since it had received its instructions prior to the Knockermen delegation going off to make contact with the Ca’cadasans.  Now that the Emperor had seen something about the destruction of the station, he was sure that it was a go.  And, based on the passage of time since the Knockermen went off on their mission, it might be going down, soon.

The creature had been alive for ten thousand years, as far as it could tell with its unique memory.  As far as it knew its kind was immortal, in the same way that a microorganism was, reproducing as it did by fission.  It had started life as a subsentient juvenile, budded off the form of an adult, and then achieving sentience.  Since that time it had been the budding organism, creating other copies as needed.

Still, they could not keep the memories of forever in their limited brain matter, especially as they survived by taking the forms of other creatures, and all intelligent beings had limited brain capacity.  It was rumored that there were members of its kind that were nothing but enormous brains, with only enough body to keep that intellectual capacity alive.

The creature had picked its target well for this mission.  The Admiral was not only in command of the military element of this station, he was also a solitary soul who avoided the company of others whenever possible.  With his rank, that was an easy task.  It had allowed him to isolate the Admiral, to capture him and obtain a DNA sample.  It had allowed him the couple of days necessary to change his outer appearance to that of the Admiral.  Same height, same weight, same moles, freckles and wrinkles.  Even enough of the man’s memories to perfectly play the role.  And still it had been an anxiety provoking five months, avoiding the deep scans called for by the security measures of the station.  It knew time was running out, but now it looked like it didn’t need much more in the way of that commodity.

O’Hara logged onto his secure terminal, the one that required his fingerprint and DNA scan, as well as a password, and erased all records of the com from the Emperor.  There would, of course, still be a record in the com databanks of the station, and still a chance that the conversation would eventually be noted by the security apparatus in place, which had the com records of tens of millions of beings to monitor.  The IIA was in charge of that monitoring, and he had no power to interfere with their work, as they did not fall under his command.  They might find it using keywords, but it would still probably have some time before that happened.  And in the meantime, it could do all it could to make sure the station was as ill prepared as possible for an attack.

*     *     *

CONGREVE SPACE.

Prester Johnson cursed the unloyal crew who had refused to man his personal yacht for a run out of the system.  He had left the thirty thousand ton vessel parked at the planetoid his company had been exploiting, where it would hopefully be out of touch, or at least out of mind, of the authorities.

The ship, appropriately named Enigma, was one he had specially ordered from his own shipyards, and had some less than legal modifications for a civilian vessel.  Ostensibly, those modifications had been done for very obvious reasons to someone who had made his living in space before becoming a billionaire and beyond.  There were pirates at large, and wars that unleashed fleets of aliens into human space, and the Imperial Military was not always around when needed.

Now the ship was boosting for the hyperspace barrier, not that he had any intention of jumping at that point.  He would continue out into space, until he was beyond the detection range of a hyper I jump.  Then he would get away.

You assholes, he thought as he looked over the military class system holo.  He could see every ship in the system that was detectable by either graviton emissions or transponder.  He could also pick up some by infrared emissions.  His own ship was as stealthy as he could make it, absorbing sensor beams, then returning them as what he wanted other ships to see, an Imperial frigate.

Infrared was one of the few things he couldn’t control, and since he couldn’t get his hands on an Imperial wormhole, no matter his wealth, he just had to live with that.  He had units on board that tried to mimic the infrared signature of said frigate, but he wasn’t sure how accurate the image was, unlike the visual image given off by his holographic projectors.

Now, if only the idiots ignore me for another seven of hours, I’m set, he thought, looking again at the holo that showed almost all the Fleet vessels on the other side of the system, the side they expected the Ca’cadasans to come from.

And when I get to the ear of my friends, he thought, in his mind already at the Core World that was closest to his current location.  I’ll get on the hyperwave com, and heads will roll.  It would still take a day or two to send the message over the chain of relays that had been the latest thing in communications prior to the development of wormhole tech.  But he didn’t think he would take the chance of sending it by wormhole, which the Core world was sure to have, when he could signal the hyperwave station just outside the barrier, and not attract as much attention as would come from boosting into the system.

“Unknown ship.  Unknown ship.  Please identify yourself,” came a voice over the com.

He smiled as he looked at the direction of the transmission, which would put it on an Imperial ship almost a light hour away.  Which gave him time to stall.  If only I could have learned one of their pass codes, he thought, realizing that such would probably not have done much good if he had.  He would also have had to send a ship identity code, and they would have known he was a fake from the start.

He waited for a few minutes, then sent his reply, hoping it would buy him just a little more time.  Of course, the com kept up a running monologue of demands for him to identify himself.  He was happy to listen to them, as it meant they were not firing at him.

Just a little under two hours later he got the reply to his.  “Negative, unknown ship.  You are not Imperial Frigate FG-48351.  That ship is not in this system.  You will immediately change your vector back into the system, or we will open fire.”

“Shit,” yelled Prester.  He had expected something like this if they discovered him.  But much later into the conversation.  He knew they would have a good idea of when he received the message, and would only give him so much time to respond.

“We have missile launch,” said the infuriatingly calm voice of the ship’s computer, as if it didn’t care that it was the target.  “Ten missiles on track for this vessel at five thousand gravities.  ETA, four hours, fifteen minutes.”

And I’ll be at the hyper barrier in five hours.  He checked the tactical display and was satisfied that the ship firing at him was the closest, though he was picking up movement in the outer system, beyond the hyper barrier.  And now I guess there’s no way I’m going to just waltz out of here.

Now he utilized the next trick in his repertoire.  The ship, which had been accelerating at four hundred gravities, leapt ahead at nine hundred, the same rate as a large attack craft.  Jammers of similar capabilities to a real frigate started to work, making the ship a harder target to track, while at the same time calling more attention to itself by its unusual behavior.

Time to add some more acceleration to this baby, thought the trillionaire, raising a tank from the deck and opening the hatch.  He stripped down to his skintight survival suit and stepped into the tube, which, after he had fitted his breathing mask, began to fill with liquid.  Prester had linked into the computer at a deeper level as he was doing all this, essentially becoming one with the ship.

As he floated easily in the liquid the ship added another thirty gravities, above what her compensators could handle.  He looked out on the system through his ship’s sensors, linked directly to his brain.  It was much like being a god, looking out on all creation.  But unlike a god, he could be killed.

The com kept yelling for him to stop with the voice of the naval officer on the other end.  He would have blocked the transmission, but there was always the hope that some information could come through that would be of aid to him.  He didn’t even bother replying.  All he could do was lie, and over the time he would have trouble keeping the lie straight.  So he decided to try another tact.

“This is Prester Johnson, a citizen of the Empire,” he broadcast over a broadband to every ship in the system.  “I was being held against my will by the Imperial military on Congreeve, in violation of my rights.  I am in the process of escaping from unlawful imprisonment.  Everything that has happened since I boarded this ship is being recorded, including the illegal firing of Imperial Fleet missiles at a civilian ship belonging to me.  This puts myself and my crew at extreme risk.”  And they have no idea if I’m telling the truth about the crew, he thought with a mental smile.  That should mess with their minds.

The line about recording everything was true.  The ship was storing all sensor returns, com records, even his vital signs, in the memories of a pair of drones onboard.  They were also nonstandard tech for civilians.  Things that would also come as a surprise to the Fleet, if he had to use them.

He waited over the hours, the ship continuing to broadcast his combination plea and threat over and over throughout the system.  He also pulsed his hyperdrive, sending out a digital code of the same message.  Every ship in the system would get it, and maybe someone on one of those ships would deviate from procedure.  Which could be to his benefit.

The missiles kept coming, closing the distance as they piled on the acceleration.  They were only closing at point three light when they went into the final acquisition phase.  Prester prayed to the God he had grown up with, but hadn’t spent much time with in adulthood, that the missiles were standard singular warheads, and not the multiple weapons he had been hearing about.

It was not illegal for civilian ships to carry weapons, at least some kinds.  Every merchant ship and tanker had lasers, for use against pirates, and to clear the space lanes of hazards.  His ship was equipped with lasers, of a very advanced and powerful type, usually only found on fighters.  When the missiles were within the range where he had an outside chance of hitting them, he had the lasers cycle on a pattern most likely to generate a hit.  Of course, as soon as the missiles were fired on they started into a random evasive pattern.  He hit one with the first volley, then two more with the next.  Warheads detonated in space, from the blast he estimated in the fifty megaton range.  That was a relief, as they weren’t trying to hit him with multiple warheads, or with capital ship killers.  That made sense, but he didn’t always expect the Fleet to make sense.

He got three more, and was starting to sweat that one or more would get through, when the remaining missiles exploded in space.  They sent a self-destruct signal, he thought with relief.  Those traveled at light speed, so had to have been sent hours ago, in time to reach them before they hit him.  Just in time.  He was just about to order the final trick up his sleeve.  Well, not the final one, but the next to last.  His ship was actually two vessels, and he was willing to sacrifice the one to save the part he was in.  Now he didn’t have to.

“Mr. Johnson,” came a call over the com, another voice, one he recognized as belonging to Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav.  “You are in violation of so many laws that I could have you thrown in prison for fifty years.  However, if you start deceleration as soon as you get this message I will have all charges dropped.  You don’t know what danger you are in.”

“I’ll follow your instructions,” he replied, ordering the ship to start deceleration at the maximum rate he could take in the tank.  And they’ll see that, and think I am following directions.

Two hours later the next transmission came over the com, while he watched a trio of destroyers moving in ahead, accelerating to match velocities with him further out of the system.  And he was picking up the signals of ships in hyper, waiting for him to jump.  “Prepare to be boarded, when the destroyers have matched velocities and vectors,” said the Admiral.

Like hell, thought Prester, watching as his velocity dropped, to soon reach the point where he needed it to be for his last trick.  At point four light he pulled the final mind screwing of the day.

Not many ships still used sublight drives.  Some in the Supersystem, where it made sense to have a cheap drive on ships that only had to move a score of light hours between systems.  He was sure that none of the ships in this system had one, except for him.

The hole in space opened ahead, a circle of glowing red, a slightly different shade than hyperspace.  The Enigma slid into the hole, which closed behind it, sealing him off from the normal Universe.  Made it, thought Prester with a mental laugh.  He changed the vector on the drive, again accelerating, but this time at a more reasonable rate of five hundred gravities.  The tube evacuated its liquid, allowing him to leave, and he came out of total link with a feeling of profound regret.  They’re right about that stuff being addictive, he thought about link.  There was a reason the Fleet didn’t allow their people to spend too much time in it.  It was seductively powerful feeling Godlike.

He moved to the pilot’s station and planned his course.  He would remain in subspace for the next week.  Subspace was a very slow dimension in which to travel interstellar space, with a correspondence of twelve to one with the normal Universe.  At his maximum safe velocity of point nine six light, he would only be able to achieve a pseudo speed of eleven point five c.  But in a week he could get far enough away where he could drop out of subspace, and jump to hyper without being detected from the system.  Something out there might detect him, especially if it was sitting in normal space, but he was willing to take that chance.

And then I’ll hand the bastards their asses.

*     *     *

“What in the hell possessed you to fire on a civilian vessel?” asked Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav to the captain of the ship that had fired the missiles.

“Traffic control informed us that they had a ship trying to escape the system, masquerading as a military vessel.  What the hell was I supposed to do, Admiral?  Let him go, on an unknown task that was probably not of benefit to our operation.”

The Admiral looked at the man on the com holo, not sure what to say.  It was the correct response, given the information he had.  But the political rebound could have been disastrous for the Fleet, at least in the short run.

“Am I going on report?” asked the Captain, anxiety in his voice.

And that would screw your chances of making commodore, thought Miroslav, shaking her head.  “No, Captain.  You will not go on report.  In fact, this incident will be expunged from your record.  But I have to warn you.  In the future, think, before you push that firing button.  OK?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And for your information, Captain.  That does not go for the Cacas that will be coming into this system.  You can light their asses up as soon as you get the word.  But only then.”

She cut the com and sat there for a moment, thinking.  What in the hell was that selfish bastard trying to accomplish with that stunt he pulled?  Whatever it was, it can’t be good for us.  Maybe I should have let those missiles hit him, and let Captain Stanislav take the fall.  She shook her head again.  That wouldn’t be right, no matter how convenient it would have been.

And then she had another thought, recalling how the citizen’s ship had made them all look like fools.  We might need for our R and D boys to look into how he did that.  Such tricks might come in handy for our special ops boys, or our scouts.

Chapter Twenty

CONGREEVE SPACE.  NOVEMBER 16TH, 1001.

“We’re getting ready for the final jump, your Majesty,” called out the ship’s Captain, Montoya, on the com.

“Thank you, Captain,” said Sean, activating the holo in his office to look out over the space ahead of the ship.   Of course, all he saw now was the red of hyper I, and the dark sphere ahead that was the gravity well they were approaching.  If they entered that dark sphere they would be thrown out of hyper in a catastrophic translation, their survival a low probability.

And this is what the Cacas will see as they approach the system.  He switched to tactical for a moment, picking up the graviton emissions of a few ships moving within the system at high acceleration.  And some ships in hyper outside the barrier.  That part will be much different, he thought, imagining the vessels the Cacas would pick up.  There had to be enough movement for the enemy to take the bait.  What looked like a heavy task force coming out to meet them.  Otherwise, they might have enough time to do an emergency decel, and move back out of the system and into hyper jump space before they could be engaged.  Some of their ships might continue inward to take out what they thought was there, but some would not be enough.

“All crew, prepare for jump to normal space in ten seconds.”

Sean prepared his body for the jump, something which did not have much of an effect on his stomach.  There really wouldn’t be much of an effect for most of the crew, as the ship would slide through the hole between the dimensions with no appreciable physical sensations, except the nausea that all humans, and most aliens, experienced to varying degrees.  Sean was in the upper one percent of people who weren’t affected.  He would feel a very slight nausea for about one second.

And poor Jennifer will be puking her guts out, he thought of his fiancé.  She was at the opposite end of the spectrum, in the fraction of one percent who was violently ill no matter what.  She could ingest medications to take some of the edge off, but not much else could be done.  He would have been with her now, to comfort her, but she preferred to be sick in private, and so he respected her wishes.

The lights dimmed for a fraction of a second as the ship channeled all power into the transition, and a circle opened up in the black backdrop of the gravity well to the front.  That hole revealed the bright point of a nearby star, surrounded by the glory of the heavens around it.  The ship slipped through, the moment of nausea came and passed, and the Augustine I was in normal space.

The data came flooding in, and Sean sampled them through his link with the ship.  Electromagnetic waves from the millions of stars in the globe surrounding, graviton emissions from hundreds of ships, the impact of physical particles on the hull.  It was almost overwhelming, and it took the ship a couple of seconds to sort through that data and present it in a form a human brain could interpret.

He took a second or so to take all of that in, then concentrated his attention on the nearer surroundings.  There was nothing on the sensors from out system, at least at first.  With a closer look he could make out some of the ships that were not yet in hiding, sitting a light hour away.  Each was stationed near an iceball, some larger groups near the truly enormous planetoids.  They would move into hiding when they were sure when and where the Cacas were coming into normal space, so they could be positive that their placement would cover them, somewhat.  He knew that other ships were actually burrowed into some of those iceballs, where they wouldn’t be detected no matter what angle the enemy ships came into normal space.

Next he switched the focus into the system.  There were ships there, in a formation near the planet.  A small battle fleet that looked like the perfect target for a superior force.  There were a couple of score ships moving through other areas of the system on what looked like standard patrols.  And then there were the ships that were in hiding, at the moment sending out transponder signals that let the rest of the Imperial force know where they were.

Lastly, he switched the input to the planet and its orbit, and was very impressed by what he saw.  A planet that shone with the electromagnetic signature of a developing world.  The light of cities lit up the dark side that was facing the Emperor’s ship, while the heat signatures of industrial processes radiated from just outside those habitations.

The orbits were even more impressive.  Several large space docks, a trio of class I forts, and hundreds of smaller structures.  There were civilian vessels in orbit as well, ore freighters, liners and some interstellar cargo ships.  And a half dozen ships going to and from the asteroid belt, obviously running ores from the orbiting rocks to the industrial complexes in orbit about the planet.

“It’s perfect,” whispered Sean, as he tried to find a flaw and couldn’t.  And if he couldn’t, he didn’t think an alien with less than perfect knowledge of human planets could.

“Does it meet with your approval, your Majesty?” came the voice of Captain Mary Innocent over his personal com link.

“Very much so.  How about the information planted in the press.”

“All of the major news outlets have been covering the development of this world,” said the Intelligence Officer.  “Everything we have planted, they used, just as they agreed to in their deal with the Regent.  As far as the Empire knows, we have a new developing world out here.  And the electronic trail to prove it.”

That had been one of the Emperor’s major worries.  He knew there were enemy intelligence nets in operations in his Empire.  If not the Cacas, then one of his other less than friendly neighbors, who might be giving secrets to the huge aliens.  Like the Knockermen, or the Fenri, or even some of the friendly governments who might have some less than friendly hidden agendas.

So we had thousands of people behind the scenes generating the messages that people would send to loved ones on Core worlds, even if such loved ones didn’t exist.  Invoices and orders, even some shipments of materials that the Fleet was able to move to other places where they could be put to use.  A terrible waste of effort if they didn’t come.

But they were coming, with what appeared to be an overwhelming force that would be able to defeat any Imperial force that might be waiting.  Just the response that would be expected of the arrogant aliens.  And we’re going to ram your arrogance up your asses, he thought, a smile on his face.  Of course, then came the doubts that the young man always lived with.  The thoughts of how much he might lose in this operation.  Replaceable ships and irreplaceable people.  No matter how positive the outcome, people were going to lose loved ones here, dads and moms, sons and daughters, husbands and wives.  And he would feel guilty for every damned one of them, no matter how necessary.

I almost wish we could fight the entire battle with robots, he thought.  But no one was willing to make autonomous ships anymore, something with the firepower to destroy the surface of a world, run by the heartless brain of a computer.  As much as he wanted to use more robots, despite the threat, he was not willing to go that far.  Such was the terror that was still ingrained into the human psyche after the machine revolt that had killed billions, more than two centuries before.

So we fight it with fragile humans, who have better things to live for, because they are reliable.

The Emperor decided he had spent enough time ruminating on what might go wrong.  Time to be positive, especially in front of the spacers.  He walked through the personal door that led from his office to his living quarters, coming into the dining room.  The fish tank was in perfect condition, as usual, with the exotic fish looking active and healthy.  Killer sat on the shelf that continued away on from the area that held the aquarium, looking wistfully at the fish he would like to be eating.

“Get away from that, you monster,” said Sean, swooping in and picking up the kitten and pulling it into a cradling embrace.  The cat struggled for just a moment, then settled into a relaxed curled position, purring loudly.  “Well, at least someone isn’t concerned about what tomorrow is going to bring.”

“And who is that?” asked Jennifer from the living room, her voice coming through the Asian style partition that separated the rooms.

“The one nonsentient in this apartment,” said Sean, carrying the cat into the other room.  “The only one too stupid to know what’s going to happen.”

“He is not stupid,” protested Jennifer, a smile on her face as she saw the cat.

“How was the translation?”

“Hell, as usual,” said the woman, and he could tell that the color still hadn’t returned to her face.  “I wish the damned Fleet would handle translations like civilian liners.”

“They reject from service those who can’t handle translations,” he said, sitting on the couch next to her and putting the cat on his lap, stroking the soft fur.  He looked into her eyes, seeing the fear that lived there when she had to experience something that made her feel so weak and helpless.  But she faced it, because she had to.  “I could order the ship to do a single translation at the hyper VII barrier from now on.”

“That would add too much time to our trip,” she said, shaking her head.

“Not all that much,” he said, thinking about the problem.  “It’s not like I’m out of touch by being out of a system, like pre-wormhole days.”

“They really have changed everything, haven’t they?”

“Oh, not completely,” he said, his mind now jumping to that subject.  “We’re still moving around in spaceships, for the most part.  The Fleet is still operating thousands of ships out of com for weeks at a time.  Most planets are still getting their com and news the old fashioned way, by hyperwave net, or courier.  But yeah, the changes are here, and they’re going to get bigger and bigger.  Our children might never be out of touch with any of the planets under their rule.  They might never have to step on another interstellar transport.”  He reached over and touched her on the side of her face.  “They might never have to suffer from translation nausea.”

She smiled for a moment, then her face scrunched up and she started to cry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting the cat aside and reaching for her, pulling her close.

“Are we going to be able to have children,” she said, looking into his eyes with her tear filled ones.  “I mean, is there going to be an Empire left for them to live in?”

“I think so.  No, I hope so.  But if you want me to tell you I know so, I would be lying.  I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure we do, but I can’t guarantee it.”

“And if we beat them here, will it be over?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  In his mind, he visualized the future.  One campaign after another.  This campaign, then the one to take back Conundrum.  Then to eject them from the Empire, and probably beat off some more attacks.  Then on to the next one, and the one after, until they marched into the capital of that far off Empire.  “No.  It won’t be over.  It will last for a hundred years or more.  Generations.  I’m afraid, Jennifer.  I am really afraid.”

“That we’ll lose?  That we’ll be wiped from the Galaxy, and from memory.”

At least she’s not crying, he thought, looking into her eyes.  Nothing takes a woman’s mind off her problems like getting handed someone else’s to deal with.  “I am afraid of that, honey.  That’s a very real possibility.  But even if we win, we’re going to have to change.  This war may be the end of our free society.”

“But, you’ve avoided martial law.  We still have freedom of the press, freedom of speech.”

“All the things we take for granted,” he said, shaking his head.  “But those freedoms are causing insurmountable problems with the war effort.  We may have to reform our society to be dedicated totally to war.  Like ancient Sparta in the history books.”

He stood up and walked toward the bookshelf, his eyes scanning the titles, not knowing why, when he could call up all the information he wanted from the ship’s databanks, and any it didn’t have through the wormhole link to a planetary net.  Maybe it’s part of being human, he thought.  Wanting to actually hold a tangible piece of history in the hands.  But the book he was looking for was not there.  He turned around, looking at Jennifer, who at the moment was the symbol of all he was fighting for.  If he could make her understand, it would all be better.

“I wanted to go down in the history of the Empire on the level of Constance the Great.  The savior of the Empire, revered for all time, statues erected to my memory.  Oh yes, I have an Ego.  It’s not all selflessness and butterflies.  I want to do good by my people, and to be remembered as one who did good.  Now, I’m afraid I’m going to be compared to Claudius the Mad.  Or even worse, Cassius the Terrible.”

Jennifer ran to him and put her arms around the man she loved.  “Now listen here, you obnoxious bastard.  I read my history too, and you are not the monster Cassius was.  You never could be.  And Constance had to take some truly drastic actions to win that civil war.  You might have to also, but that will not make you a monster.”

Sean thought about that.  She’ll keep me from becoming a monster.  By all that is good in the Universe, she will keep me balanced.

“I think we have both been through the emotional ringer,” she said, looking into his eyes.  “We both need a refreshing of our spirits.”

“And how do you do that?”

“Come into the bedroom and I’ll show you,” she said with a mischievous smile on her face.

Later, the Emperor fell into a dreamless slumber, just what he needed.  It was still not long enough.  He realized that as the priority com came through on his link.

“Sorry to interrupt you, your Majesty,” came the voice of Rear Admiral Kelso, his Flag Captain.  “But I knew you’d want to hear this news.  The final piece has arrived.  They just translated out of hyper a minute ago, ready for action.”

“I’ll be right up,” he said, almost laughing as he realized what a play on words he had just made, though Kelso wouldn’t know it.  I’m young enough where I could get it up again, he thought, looking at the sleeping face of his fiancé, a smile on her lips.  But duty calls, with a harsh, strident voice.

He was on the flag bridge in minutes, his ever present Marine guards at his back.  Not ever present, he thought with a smile.  At least they don’t climb into bed with me.

“Emperor on the Deck,” yelled the first officer to see him step onto the bridge.

“At ease,” he said, walking to his chair and sitting, looking out over the large central holo that showed the entire system, and beyond.  He saw that Augustine I and her consorts were moving into the system on a least time trajectory to the planet, just where he wanted them.

“Put the commander of Task Force Four on the com,” he ordered.  A holo sprang to life on the deck to his right, revealing the smiling image of one of the smartest women in the Fleet, Admiral Chuntao Chan, head of Naval Research and Development.  Her four stars gave her the rank to command a large task force, though she had never commanded anything larger than a cruiser squadron in the distant past.  It was another risk having her out here, though her force would be at extreme range when they launched, and there would not be much of a problem escaping if the battle went badly.  And she deserves the bone of seeing her project come to fruition.

“Your Majesty,” said the woman with a small bow.  “I’m so glad to have gotten here before the show.”

“I am also, Admiral.  Without the chorus, it might have been a flop.  And how is your command?”

“Ready and raring to go, your Majesty,” said the Admiral.  “All ships are in top condition.”

“And your squadrons?”

“Trained and ready.  The only thing they lack is combat experience.”

And that’s a big deal, thought the Emperor, knowing that no unit’s quality could be judged until it had actually been under fire.  “Is this going to work, Chuntao?”

“I think so, your Majesty.  I, of course, can’t say for sure.  And I can’t say our part of the battle will result in victory by itself.  But we will kick some Caca tail.  All of my people have a lot of experience flying fighters, and some even have extensive combat experience against other opponents.  They will not let you down, short of dying.”

Sean stifled a laugh for a moment.  It was really humorous hearing the diminutive woman, who was now more scientist than line officer, talk about kicking tail.  He knew she had been a line officer earlier in her career, rising to the command of a warship, then a squadron, before her obvious talent in science and technology called for her reassignment to R and D, something she had fought tooth and nail.

“I know you and your people won’t let me down.  And I leave it to your discretion to know when to launch your people.  They may only get the one pass, so make it good.”

The Admiral went off the holo, leaving Sean alone with his thoughts for a moment.  They had two days to make it to orbit around the planet, and the enemy fleet was scheduled to arrive one day later.  So three days till we’re in it, he thought, feeling doubts.  We can still evacuate the system, leave it unpopulated, except for the natives.  Let them come and go.  But we might not ever have another opportunity like this.  Think of the opportunity, not the risk.  Opportunity.

“Get me Mgonda on the com,” he told his Com Officer.

A moment later he was looking into the brown eyes of the dark skinned Duke.  Behind him stretched the flag bridge of his ship, one that had stations stretching off into the distance.  Each of those stations was manned, something the Emperor had demanded after listening to the preposterous idea when it had been presented to him.  That was the backup station for command and control, in case something happened to Augustine that robbed her of that function.

At first the Emperor had wondered about the wisdom of placing that control center so far from the action.  Until his subordinates had educated him about the necessity of keeping at least one backup command center out of the line of fire.  Mgonda would not be in that line on the first day of the battle, so his flag was the perfect platform.

“Is everything ready, Duke Taelis?”

“It is, your Majesty.  All ships up and running.  We’ll be ready when they come.”

“And your main force?”

“Also ready to go.  Everyone knows their place in the plan.  Every captain, commodore and admiral.”

“You know this isn’t going to be a cakewalk, Admiral.  We’re going to get reamed here in the system, so the other force can get their shot.”

“I sort of figured that, your Majesty.  It’s what we get paid for, and why we swear our oaths.”

“We’ll have a virtual conference later on today,” said Sean, wanting to get everyone together once more.  Or at least three or four more times, until he was sure everyone was thinking on the same wavelength.  “Sean out.”

“Now get me Vice Admiral Montgomery,” he ordered the Com Officer.

As usual with wormhole coms, it took only a very short time to get in touch with the vessel in question, not more than a few seconds in most cases.  And normally, when the recipient found out it was the Commander and Chief on the other end of the com, they presented themselves as soon as possible.

“Your Majesty,” said the red haired woman.  “By the Goddess, it is so good to see you again.”

Sean nodded, remembering that the Admiral was a staunch Neopagan.  He didn’t believe that her pantheon of gods existed, but in the Empire freedom of religion was a given, as long as it didn’t harm anyone.  And Neopagans had a reputation as good citizens, good parents.  He had a special affection for this woman, who had saved him several times, destroying a Caca task force while picking him up, then saving him during his ill-advised mission to Sestius.  He also felt he owed her a debt after getting most of her command destroyed.

“How is the shadowing going, Admiral?”

“We have them held close and tight, your Majesty.  We have ships strung out along the path in normal space, where they can’t detect them, making sure they walk the straight and narrow.  And forces on both sides following them along.”

“Who’s in charge of those forces?”

“Commodore Lei,” said the Admiral with a smile.  “Another of your close associates.  You elevated her to Duchess, did you not.”

“I did.  You knew that, Duchess.”

“Are you running out of patents of nobility, what with making all of these Dukes and Duchesses at the drop of a hat.”

“I am, uh, reining in my zeal just a bit.  Only one duke or duchess a month.  Though I still have the option of making more counts.”

Mara laughed at that, and Sean found himself laughing along with her.  It’s no wonder I like this maverick scout commander.  She’s outrageous in all respects.

“And Mei is keeping her distance?”

“That was the order.  And, as far as I can tell through the wormhole, she is following that order.  And the enemy is keeping the schedule we set.  We’re jumping our other ships into hyper after they are well past, so we can have the plug in place.”

Not much of a plug, thought Sean.  Twelve squadrons of battle cruisers, the same number of lights, and fourteen of destroyers.  Three hundred and twelve ships, only forty eight of them light capitals.  Even with some of those ships equipped with wormhole launchers, if the enemy force turned on them they were gone.  Except….

“And the decoys?”

“In place, your Majesty.  Though the enemy has yet to strike at them.  I’m really curious to see how they work.”

“If they don’t go for them, they don’t.  Don’t make them act stupid just to get a reaction.”

“I won’t, your Majesty.  And may the Goddess grant you good fortune, and good hunting.”

That night the Emperor had another dream.  In this one he was much older, with lines of worry etched in his face.  He was striding the flag deck of a ship that made the new dreadnoughts look small.  Ahead were balls of spreading debris and plasma, the remains of the enemy fleet, mingled among what was left of many of his own ships.  A world he had never before seen was ahead, a heavily industrialized planet with an orbital ring around its equator.  It was the capital of the Ca’cadasan Empire, and the war was about to be concluded.

His ship fired a spread of missiles at the world that was only light minutes away.  Only a couple of them, lancing through the Caca defensive fire as if it didn’t exist.  The missiles struck, not really going that fast.  With bright flashes they detonated, and rings of fire sped around the planet, destroying everything in their path.  In five minutes it was over, and the surface of the world that had ruled a ten thousand year Empire was lifeless.

People on the bridge were cheering, and Sean turned to look for the one he wanted to celebrate with.  The smile left his face as he realized that she no longer was, and suddenly the victory felt hollow.  He woke again in a sweat, with Jennifer, the woman he loved, who no longer existed in his future, holding him and asking him what the dream was about.  And this time he didn’t answer.

Chapter Twenty-One

ELYSIUM CAPITAL SPACE.  NOVEMBER 17TH, 1001.

“What in the hell is the hold up?” yelled the General, staring at the Knockerman who was the acting captain of the Brakakak light cruiser.  “Has something gone wrong?  Do they know we are here?”

“Believe me, alien,” said the heavy reptilian in his deep ponderous voice.  “If they knew that you were here, this ship would have already been reduced to plasma.  We are merely waiting for a slip to open on the station.”

“And why are they so full?” growled the General.  “Is this normal?”

“These are not normal times,” said the Captain.  “The revolt by my people was just put down, and there were many of the Birds’ ships destroyed, and many more damaged.”

And now a major portion of that fleet is heading into the human Empire, to fight my people, thought the General, pacing the deck with his head ducked to avoid the ceiling that was just a little bit too low for his horns.  We need to get onto that damned station and destroy it, and here we sit, helpless.

The system was crowded with ships, mostly civilian traffic, but there was a considerable military presence as well.  And other docks, which worried the General.  It would be a disaster if they were ordered to one of those other docks, where his troops would be discovered when the engineers came aboard.

“Maybe we should just storm the station in shuttles,” said the General in a low tone, voicing his thoughts.  “And use our battle armor to bridge the gap.”

“They will see you coming, alien, and the resistance will grow tenfold.  No, the best plan is to wait until we are in a slip, where your people can infiltrate the station, before launching your assault.”

He is correct, of course, which does not make it any easier to wait.  The males are getting impatient, and they must be released, and soon.  Every day we waste there are more chances of being discovered.  We are the only chance of getting that station, and we must be successful.  Or these vermin might just win this fight.

*     *     *

OUTSIDE OF CONGREEVE SPACE.

“We have ships entering sensor range,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“We already have lots of ships in our sensor range,” said Lasardo, looking back at his captain, the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf.

The Captain of the James Komorov stared at the holo, which was indeed filled with over a thousand vector arrows, ships moving in hyper VII on a course that would take them to the Congreeve system.  There were even more vessels off the holo, ships that had already passed beyond sensor range.

“These are on a different heading,” said the Sensory Officer, as the ships in question turned a different color and started blinking on the holo.  “Toward the Duchess’ task group.”

“Let her know they are coming,” ordered the Captain.  He looked at his helmsman.  “How long before we can jump into following mode, without them knowing we’re behind them?”

“Their last ship will be out of detection range of our jump to hyper VII in twenty-eight minutes.”

The Captain looked at the tactical holo again, making up his mind.  “Jump ten minutes after that last ship is out of detection range of us.  Then we’ll follow them all the way to Congreeve.”

Von Rittersdorf grabbed the arms of his chair as he continued to stare at the holo.  I wish we were there at the kill, but I guess picking off the stragglers will have to do.

*     *     *

“Captain von Rittersdorf is reporting enemy ships heading our way, Ma’am,” said the Squadron Com Officer from his station.

“Part and parcel of our job,” said Commodore the Duchess Mei Lei, looking at the holo that showed the beginning of the formation of Caca ships to their port.  They had only picked up the fleet a day out of Congreeve.  It had been a balancing act between not spooking the enemy force, and doing what was expected.  The enemy would know that there were picketing forces around any system the Emperor would be visiting.  To not show them those pickets would be to arouse too much suspicion.  So instead, the pickets had met the enemy a day out, while a line of ships, sitting in normal space had tracked them and kept command informed as to their movements, which had been predictable.  And now, the enemy was sending out a force to drive off the pickets, also predictable.

“We’ve picked up the ships he was telling us about,” said the Squadron Tactical Officer, as the vector arrows appeared on the huge holo in the center of the flag bridge.  “We’re tracking thirty ships, twelve of them capitals, along with ten supercruisers.”

“Looks like they mean to take us out, Ma’am,” said her Flag Captain, standing beside her.

“Then I intend to disappoint them,” said Mei, grinning as she watched the superior force come her way.  “Range to missile engagement envelop?”

“Based on all data, about fifteen minutes,” said the Tactical Officer.

Based on the assumption that they will send their missiles on a maximum acceleration profile through hyper VII, thought Mei.  An assumption that could be wrong, but most likely isn’t.  “All vectors at one hundred eighty degrees from the oncoming ships, maximum acceleration.  All ships are to launch two volleys of missiles when they are within our range.”

The Tactical Officer nodded and Mei smiled.  Her people knew the plan, she didn’t need to tell them what they were going to do.  She only needed to give the commands at the proper time.

The time ticked off the clock, bringing the enemy ships ever closer.  The force was moving at point nine five light through the hyper dimension, just a little slower than the enemy.  Reverse engineering the Caca electromag shields had allowed the Imperial Fleet to almost reach the same maximum safe velocity in hyper.  Almost.  They had been ahead of them initially, and let the Ca’cadasans catch up.  Because of relativity the fifteen minutes they waited was more like forty-nine minutes in the standard Universe, where very few large material objects traveled at that speed.  The computers aboard the ships adjusted for the time diffraction, but it was easier for the minds of the organic beings aboard to simply convert it to the time frame their senses were used to.

“Missile launch,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Commodore with a smile.

“You know what to do,” she said, nodding at the holo.

The Tactical Officer’s smile widened, and he turned back to his board.  “All units.  Fire two volleys at the enemy.”

Acknowledgements started coming back immediately, and moments later the vector arrows of enemy missiles appeared on the holo, separating from the icons of the ships.  Those arrows were piling on the velocity, accelerating at eight thousand gravities.  They would reach the Imperial force well before the human missiles, accelerating at a mere five thousand gravities.  The human missiles would not reach the enemy before their own weapons pounded the Terran ships.

“It’s looking bad for the good guys,” said the squadron Flag Captain, standing next to the Commodore’s chair.  He couldn’t keep the wide smile off his face, though it was apparent that he was trying.

This seems so surreal, thought the Commodore, looking over her flag bridge crew who were so relaxed, despite the appearance of certain death heading their way.  In other circumstances, I would want everyone on this bridge to have a psych eval.  But, then, she thought, smiling as she watched the incoming missiles, I would need one as well.

Some of the vector arrows dropped off the plot, then more, victims to the long range counters that the ships were throwing out.  The long range counter missiles had their own hyperdrives, and there were only a limited number aboard each ship.  It was a losing battle trying to take out the incoming missiles.  Still, the ships tried their hardest under the direction of their Tactical Officers, but most made it through.

Next was the turn of the lasers.  Lasers, being more energetic than matter, lasted in hyper for about a minute or so before all of the photons were kicked out.  After a couple of seconds almost half the photons were gone, and they kept dropping out second by second, almost like the radioactive half-life of short lived hot elements.  By a minute, only twenty percent was left.  Most of the hits on missiles were too weak to do much more than minor damage.  Of course, in hyper, even minor damage might drop a missile out of the dimension, and several did.  The closer the missiles got, the more effective the lasers became.  They dropped more missiles, and a few blew up as their warheads breached.  But overall, it was a losing tactic, a smaller force trying to stop a heavy swarm attack from the much larger attacker.

Then missiles came through the defensive fire, at first scoring proximity hits that put heat and radiation into the hulls of the ships.  Systems went off line, especially telling those of the defensive firing computers and weapons.  And then the first hit came, shattering a battle cruiser and sending it out of hyper in a catastrophic translation.  After that it was only a couple more ticks of the timer before the whole force was gone.  Four battle cruisers, eight light cruisers and twelve destroyers, gone as if they never existed.

“We’re dead,” said the Tactical Officer, and laughter broke out across the bridge.

“Whoever thought of this was a genius,” said another officer.

And we may never know who that was, thought the Commodore.

The Fleet went through regular refit cycles with their ships.  At least once a year their electronics were upgraded by nanites.  Every five years they underwent a physical refit, usually lasting a month, with the ship in dry-dock.  After twenty years the vessels were retired, unless there was an extreme shortage of their type.  And if there wasn’t, they went into the mothball fleet, the mass of ships kept at carefully guarded ship yards for emergency use.  That storage could last for ten years, or thirty.

Almost all of the ships in the mothball fleet were smaller than those in active service.  That was just the evolution of warship design.  Seven million ton battle cruisers had evolved into eight million ton vessels, just as battleships had grown from twelve million tons to fifteen megatons, and now beyond.

The ships of the squadrons that had just been destroyed came from that mothball fleet, retrofitted with a modern hyper VII drive.  The only other major expense had been the one wormhole that the flagship of the squadron had carried, linking it to Mei’s force.  All of the ships had stayed close enough that the flag had been linked to the other vessels by laser, so that the officers on Mei’s ship could control them remotely.

And they fell for it, completely.  A small victory for them, something to feed their arrogance before they go into combat.  “Let the Admiral know that the ploy worked,” she told her Com Officer.  She turned toward her Flag Tactical Officer.  “And go ahead and bring the next force up into their sensor range.  Maybe we can get another reaction from them.”

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

Dr. Lucille Yu periodically walked the station on an inspection tour.  The whole idea was kind of ludicrous, since even the occupied section of the station took up over ten thousand cubic kilometers.  That didn’t include the half million cubic kilometers of almost empty storage that was in use, the hangars, billions of cubic kilometers of machinery that generated and stored the power that opened the wormhole gates that were the reason for the station’s existence.

The was no way she could even walk a millionth of the occupied station.  But, as the Director, it just felt right.  But the station doesn’t feel right, she thought, passing more and more military personnel.  It was supposed to be a civilian station, with the offices of companies major and minor, the new transportation hub of the Empire.  She knew that there still would have been a military presence in that station of her dreams.  The military needed a lot of those wormholes, a lot of that transportation capacity, but not like now.  Now they needed almost the whole damned thing.

“Everything up to your standards, Dr. Yu?” asked Jimmy Chung, walking beside her.

“Not really, Jimmy.  To many uniforms.”

“Sign of the times, Lucille.  And the military will be expanding three fold in the next couple of years.  I’m sure we’ll see more of them before we see less.”

“What do you think of Admiral O’Hara?”  she asked, something that had been on her mind since the morning, when she had learned that he had lessened the security around many of the wormhole gate rooms.  The Admiral had said that the men were needed for other assignments, but that didn’t ring true, not with all the military personnel on the station.

“He seems kind of distant,” said Jimmy, looking up at her.  “Even his men seem to feel he is an asshole.  They call him ‘Old Tight Ass’.  All Navy.  And scary as hell to his subordinates.”

“Something doesn’t seem right about him to me.  It’s?  I don’t know.  I get a strange feeling about the man.”

“You want me to check into him for you?”

“Is that legal?” she asked in surprise.

“The IIA is in charge of the overall security of this station,” said Chung.  “We do background checks on all civilian personnel, and vet the checks done by the military.”

“And you monitor some of the communications on the station?  At least enough to get a general idea of what’s going on?”

“We monitor all communications, or at least as much as it’s possible to monitor.  Anything that tips off one of our algorithms gets looked into.”

“And you have been monitoring the Admiral?”

“I didn’t think there was any need to specifically monitor the military chief of the station,” said the Agent with a frown.  “And if he didn’t trip any of the algorithms, we wouldn’t have a live agent actually listen to it.”

“Could you flag all of his recent conversations, and listen to them?”

“I’m not sure about all of them.  He’s a fucking admiral, Lucille.  A five star.  He generates coms like a dog does shit.”

“I would feel much better if you checked him out, Jimmy,” she said, looking up and down the mostly deserted corridor before putting her arms on his shoulders.  What the hell am I trying to hide, anyway.  Half the station has to know we’re lovers.

“I could assign a couple of agents to look through the records, see if there’s anything suspicious there.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“With a Fleet Admiral in charge of a project like this.  A week.  Maybe a little less.  Depending on far back we want to go.”

“Thank you, Jimmy,” she said, putting her arm around him and leading the way back to the tram station.  “I really appreciate it.”

“Why don’t you show me how much you appreciate it?” asked Jimmy with a smile.

“I could do that,” she said, already making plans on how she was going to use the agent in bed.  “As long as you get on it fairly soon.”

“Tomorrow?  I guess that will be soon enough.”

“And we’ll probably find nothing, except that he’s an asshole.”

“If it makes you feel better, I have no problem with verifying his status as an asshole.”

*     *     *

THE PALACE.  JEWEL.

“I’ll see you at three, day after tomorrow,” said the man on the holo.  “And I don’t have to be back until Sunday night.”

Rebecca saw the holo as soon as she entered the room.  And the smile that broke out on her face was genuine as she saw who it was.  “Hey, Cornelius.  I mean Dad.”

“This isn’t a live transmission,” said Devera, looking up at her adopted daughter, smiling herself as she saw the beaming face of the thirteen year old.  “The good news is he will be here this weekend, so you can talk with him face to face all you want.”

“Unless you two are in the bedroom,” said the child with a laugh.

“Rebecca,” Devera said in a scandalized voice.

“Well, you are newly married.  And I know you don’t just go to sleep when you lock yourselves in there.”

Seeing the smile on her adopted mother’s face made her feel good.  Then a thought entered her mind and stole that happiness.  She saw her mom and dad, her real parents, and remembered how happy they had been with each other, before the Cacas came and ended that forever.

“I am so sorry, honey,” said Devera, on her feet in an instant and moving toward her adopted daughter with open arms.  “I didn’t mean to bring those memories back.”

“Those memories will be with me forever,” said Rebecca, burying her face in Devera’s hair as her adoptive mom knelt down on the floor and held her.  “It’s not your fault.  It’s not Cornelius’ fault.  I want you to be happy, but sometimes, it’s so hard.”

Devera just held her, no words passing between them for several minutes.  Rebecca tried to deal with the conflicting feelings running through her.  Sorrow, happiness, uncertainty.  But mostly, and she had to smile as she identified this feeling, safety.  Her knight in shining armor would be home this weekend.  And how could she feel anything but safe with a superhero in her home.

*     *     *

AUGUSTINE I.

Sean stood in the room that would be his station.  He had been here before, and sampled the awesome features of it.  But now he was in the system that would be the battlefield, and wanted to try it out again before the action.  He was alone in the chamber.  Tomorrow there would be someone else here as well, though not someone on active duty.  This room would be his alone, except for the support he might need.

He activated the system, and the medium sized chamber seemed to become a room the size of the Universe.  Space stretched out in all directions, infinite.  In all directions were limitless stars, fields of them, the smudges of globular clusters, the glowing gas of nebulae.  He focused on one of the clusters through his link, and the image grew until he could count the individual stars.  He found another object, and zoomed in on a Galaxy.  It was a godlike feeling, one that could affect his judgment and cause him to make decisions based on arrogance if he weren’t careful.

He collapsed the view back into the system, sweeping the view around the globe of the Galaxy that surrounded him.  He looked at the nearby nebula, the glow of stars showing the filaments of color, reds, blues and golds.  There were darker regions in that cloud of gas, which was almost as perfect a vacuum as could be produced by nature, despite the appearance of thick vapor.  The darker regions, areas of thicker gas, would eventually collapse into new stars, which would be surrounded by an accretion disk that would form a planetary system.  The giant star that had formed that cloud had blown up over forty thousand years before, sterilizing planets for fifty light years in all directions.  The former life bearing planets had been turned into dead worlds, still possessing oceans, and atmospheres.  Most of the oxygen had fallen out of that blanket of gas, no longer replenished by the plants that had once covered the surfaces.  Now those worlds were to be terraformed, easily converted back to living worlds.  The Congreeve system had been lucky enough to be outside the sterilization zone, though its ecosystem had taken a hammering.  And that hammering had led to an evolutionary leap that had resulted in the final step in the climb to intelligence.  And so advanced the Universe, the death of some worlds allowing the advancement of others.

He swept the focus back, to see the nebula filling a significant portion of the spinward sky.  Hell of a backdrop for a battle, he thought.  A beautiful canvas that would one day bring life, overlooking the space that would bring death to so many the next day.

With a thought every asset in the system appeared on the globe.  Beneath every ship and station was its name or designation.  The assets with wormhole coms appeared in green, everything else was in blue.  All of the green icons would have video feeds into this system, as real time as it got.  He decided to check everything out in that real time vid, starting at the planet.

Congreeve looked amazing on the vid.  The night side, the hemisphere the enemy would see on coming into the system, was lit up with the lights of huge cities and industrial complexes.  He switched to infrared, and it looked even more real on the heat signature.  I hope you escape damage, he thought, looking at the world, which had a very unusual ecosystem.  He had been pissed when he found out this planet housed an intelligent species like no other.  By then it had been too late, the plan already set in motion.  And as he was responsible for the actions of his Fleet, if the planetary ecosystem was destroyed, the fault would be his.  They had evacuated enough of the life on the planet to start over, if need be.  But it would still be a tragedy if something happened, a missile strike, a large ship falling to the ground.

He looked at the icons on the surface of objects that were not visible on the visual.  Twenty brigades of portable shore defense artillery, to augment the more permanent type of emplacements.  All to shoot down objects that might threaten the planet.

Next he moved out to the units close to the planet.  The forts and docks, just like what would be around any industrialized world.  They too were perfect.  Augustine I  was sitting at her station, a hundred thousand kilometers out from the planet.  Her consorts sat there with her, and the ships of the Imperial Protection Squadron sat nearby.  The squadron consisted of a battleship, two battle cruisers, seven cruisers, three heavy and four light, and eight destroyers.  They always went where the Emperor did.  Or at least they had before the development of wormhole travel.  Now they were superfluous, and Sean was thinking of disbanding the formation so the ships could be used elsewhere.  But the knowledge of their existence was a great help to the deception plan, and so at this place and time they were still useful.

He scanned the entire system, looking at each group of assets, using their flagships to actually look at the ships in the units.  It was an impressive display of power, and most of it a lie, what could be seen from space.  He looked at the units out beyond the hyper barrier.  Most of these were hidden from sight, he could only see them by the icons generated by their transponders.  The view from each wormhole com equipped ship was still fantastic.

God, but I hope this goes off as planned, he thought as he dismissed the display, and was no longer standing overlooking the entire Universe.  The room was again a thirty meter square by twenty meter high chamber.  The trio of chairs in the center of the room was now visible, no longer hidden by the holographic projection.

Sean wondered if the other great commanders of history had felt this way before a battle.  Caesar, Charlemagne, Nelson, von Manstein, Constance.  Who the hell am I fooling.  I’m not even in the same league with any of those luminaries.  I would have to be an arrogant fool to believe that.

He dropped his doubts at the hatch and assumed his best look of total confidence, reminding himself that it was a skill that all great military commanders possessed.  If it was the only talent he possessed, it would have to be enough.  At least I don’t have to worry about snipers taking potshots at me from the rigging of the enemy ships, he thought.  He exited the chamber and walked as if he hadn’t a care in the world, his Marines guards falling in around him.

*     *     *

PLANET CONGREEVE IV.

Father Matias Josue sat with his flock around their night fire, looking at the sky.  The lights of several stations were visible in that sky, though the priest knew there were also objects out there that he couldn’t see.  And they’re putting at risk all my work here, and the lives of these people.

He had become close to these people, and those of many other of the neighboring tribes.  They were still hunter gatherers, though with work they could become first farmers, and then city dwellers.  Eventually, they would rise to the level of technological civilization, and join the community of the Empire, if one still existed.  And if it fell, they would still survive, though as slaves  to the Ca’cadasans.  He was enough of a realist to know that was not a desirable conclusion, but still better than having the surface of their world left lifeless by relativistic missile strikes.

He looked out over the plains, to lights in the distance, what was made to look like a city, even though there were no buildings, no roads, just lights.  He looked back at the tribesmen, all individuals, no two having the exact same body plan.  Yet still one people.

“What bothers the Father tonight?” he was asked by the one who was the titular chief of the tribe.  Not that it gave him any power over the others.  The other hunters followed him because he was the best in the hunt.  As soon as he aged to the point where that was no longer true, he would no longer be the chief.

A much more practical system than we have, thought the Priest, putting down his plate of rations.  At first, the natives had been distrustful when he wouldn’t eat their food.  Even with his nanites, the fungus based meat was deadly.  He had taken the time to earn their trust in other ways, sharing hardships with them, engaging in the hunt.  “I am worried,” he responded in their language, the learning of which was a task that had taken considerable work.  “You know that tomorrow my people will engage in a battle.”

The chief gave a hand raise of agreement, though the Priest was still not sure he understood the concept of war.  The Fungoids did not war on each other.  They compromised, unless that was impossible.  Then they had champions fight in a bloodless test of strength and will, to the victor going the disputed territory.

“It troubles me chief, because one of their weapons might destroy this world,” continued the Priest.

“They are that powerful?” said the Chief in a tone of frightened awe.

“They are that powerful,” agreed the Priest.  “They would not mean to do that.”  Neither side, as far as he knew.  “But it can still happen.”

The chief stood up on his three mismatched legs and moved with surprising agility to the center of the circle, waving his spear/staff in the air.  “My brothers,” he said, shouting out to the other thirty odd members of the tribe.  “We must pray that we survive the coming day.  We must pray to the Gods, and to the God of the aliens.  We must call upon their mercy.  And we must ask for a victory for our friends.”

The Chief looked out over the plain, toward the lights of the faux city.  “And we must turn off the lights that show in the night, so they may hide our planet from those who fight in the space the Father has told us about.”

“No,” said Josue, standing up and running into the center of the circle.  “You must not go and turn off the lights,” he yelled.  “My people will not let you do that.”

“Then we will make them,” yelled the Chief, waving his spear.  “We are the People, and we will make the intruders on our world leave, if we must.”

“Stop.  You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“They took away the Big Rock Tribe,” said one of the hunters.  “One day they were there, the next, nowhere to be found.  What happened to them?”

This is getting bad, thought the Priest, wondering if there was anything he could do to stop them.  Short of pulling a weapon on them and threatening them, he couldn’t think of anything.

“Wait.  My people have mighty weapons.  You will put yourself in danger if you pursue this in this way.  You need to meet with them.  Talk with them.”

“And what good has that done us in the past?” yelled another hunter.  “They have come and taken our land from us, without asking.  We must drive them from our land, before it is too late.”

“Please,” yelled the Priest.

“And he is one of them.  He tells them what we do.”  The hunter started toward the Priest, holding his spear at waist level, the tip pointing at the human.

The Priest looked at the native, one he knew to be one of the more volatile of the tribe.  If any could commit murder, this was the one.  And the human was totally unarmed, not even a mag pistol on him.  He was a man of peace, and there hadn’t seemed to be a threat before this.

“Stop,” yelled the chief, and the native halted in his tracks.  “The Father is not our enemy.  He has done what he could to stop his people from taking from us what is ours.  He is not to be harmed.”

Josue breathed a sigh of relief.  He wasn’t sure how he would have fared against the powerful aborigine.  He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have fared well.

“Tie him up,” said the chief, pointing at the Priest.  “He must be kept out of this.”

Josue started to protest, but the natives were on him before he could move, pulling him to the ground.  They produced ropes and tied him securely, as only hunter gatherers could do.

“We must go and rouse the other tribes,” yelled the Chief, pointing to a small group of hunters.  “Run, and tell the River Tribes, and the Green Mountain Tribe, what we are doing.  Tell them to meet us at the lights.  We will turn them off.”

The natives ran off into the night, while the Chief continued to rouse his tribe to a fever pitch.  They’re like children, thought the Priest, trying to think of something to say.  They don’t know what they’re doing, or the risk they’re taking.

After some hours the Chief led the rest of his tribe into the night, the Priest yelling after them, still trying to stop them with reason.  He continued yelling long after they had disappeared into the darkness.

*     *     *

“We have a situation down here, Admiral,” came a call over the com.

What the hell now, thought Rear Admiral Adrijana Miroslav.  She had been having trouble sleeping anyway, what with the worry of the coming operation.  Even with the conscious control of her reticular activating system that all humans possessed, sleep was not coming easily this night.  And then, when it had finally come, this.  “What the hell is going on down there?”

“Something stirred up the natives, ma’am.  They’re tearing up our lighting systems at site A Four.”

“What stirred them up?”

“I have no idea, ma’am.  What do you want us to do?”

I’m really glad I left orders for them to call me before doing anything about the natives, she thought as she went over her options in her head.  Otherwise, we could have a real bloodbath down there.  And I’m sure the Emperor would not be pleased if we started killing the most unusual sentients in the Empire.

“Look, Major Smirnov,” she said, calling up the image of the Marine on the holo on her nightstand.  “Do not do anything to hurt those natives.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?  Let then turn off one of our decoy cities.”

Miroslav shook her head.  She doubted that they would be able to do that much in the day or so they would have before the attack came.  “Put some men in battle armor and herd them away,” she finally said.

“And if they attack my men?”

“Look, Major.  If they can hurt your men in battle armor with spears, I guess we need a new contractor to build our suits.  Just get a couple of hundred men out there, surround them, show them they can’t hurt you, no matter what, and move them away from the area.  What’s so difficult about that?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I’ll get right on it.”

We never tested sonics on the Fungoids, or any kind of chemical agents.  So we really don’t know what will happen.  My luck, a low level sonic stunner would kill them.

“One last thing, Major.  Make sure that none of them get hurt, much less killed.  If any harm comes to them, I’ll have your ass.  Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer with a tremor in his voice.  The holo went dead.

What a fucking nightmare, thought the Admiral, thinking about trying to sleep, then deciding against it.  I need to get down there and supervise.  Hell, it’s only a half hour drop to get to that area.  We should have picked a different system, but the ice age looked so good, on paper.  The way it would highlight the heat and light signature.  But we never figured on recalcitrant natives, selfish trillionaires, or the Goddam Church.

“I need a shuttle for my personal use,” she said over her com.  “Immediately.”  She got out of bed and pulled on her clothing, at the last moment belting on her sidearm.  She didn’t expect to use it, but it never hurt to have it.

*     *      *

“Welcome aboard, Archduke Marconi,” said Sean, grasping the hand of one of the leaders of the Lords’ opposition.  “And how was your trip?”

“Truth be told, I’m still having some trouble getting used to wormhole travel, your Majesty,” said the Archduke.  “That feeling when I step through, disorienting, to say the least.”

Sean nodded.  That had been the major complaint to wormhole travel.  The feeling that one was stretched across infinite time and space, even though by all measures it was as near to instantaneous as possible.

“I am so happy that you decided to come out here and observe our little operation,” said Sean, meaning every word, while hoping that the operation did go off as smoothly as he hoped.  This man can do a great deal toward getting the opposition on my side, he thought.  “Let me show you to the war room, and then I’ll assign a senior officer to give you a tour of this ship.”

“I know you have more important things to do, your Majesty, with a battle coming up tomorrow.  A junior officer would be fine, to both show me the ship and explain the operation.”

And getting you on my side is the next most important, well, maybe third most, of this whole exercise, thought Sean, leading the Lord toward the larger than normal flag bridge called the War Room.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Marconi, marveling at the hundreds of stations in multiple rows along both sides of the huge chamber.  “What are all of these stations for, if I might ask?”

“For command and control,” said Kelso, walking up and standing beside the Lord.  “We have to have tight control over some of our units if we want to pull this off.”

Sean activated the holo, which started showing a graphical representation of the plan.  It was sped up ten-fold, and still took over an hour to roll through the entire thing.

“My god,” exclaimed the Lord after the presentation.  “I have never seen anything like it.”  He turned toward the Emperor, the question on his face.  “But, I thought you military types liked to keep it simple, to reduce confusion.”

“Normally, that would be true,” said Sean, looking back at the holo that showed his force victorious, which seemed like wishful thinking at the moment.  “We prefer to just go after the enemy and slug it out.  Keeping it simple, as you say.  But we really can’t afford to slug it out with this enemy.  We’ll still get into a furball, but hopefully with all the advantages on our side.”

“Well, if it works, you and your staff will go down in history as military geniuses.  But if it fails?”

Then we’re the goats of all time, thought Sean.  If there’s anyone around to even remember us.  Maybe it will go down in the Caca history books.  Not really what I’m looking for, but a distinct possibility.

“You are welcome to watch the action from this chamber, my Lord,” said Kelso, gesturing to the VIP seats arranged around the one end of the holo.  “This is the best protected part of the ship.  You should be safe here, my Lord.”

“Unless your plan goes to shit,” said the Archduke with a wan smile.  “Then there is no place safe enough.”

And that’s God’s own truth, thought the Emperor, trying to keep up the facade of the confident Monarch.  And then there will be no place safe in the Empire.

Chapter Twenty-Two

CONGREEVE SYSTEM.  NOVEMBER 18TH, 1001.

Sean was once again in the observation and control chamber, the view of the system again giving him a Godlike feeling.  Only this time it was real, every system was live, and his anchor was sitting with him.

“You’re sure I won’t be too much of a distraction?” asked Jennifer, her eyes wide as she looked over the holo presentation that seemed to put her in the middle of space.

“You are my balance, honey,” he said, reaching out a hand and taking hers.  “Now watch, and try not to worry.  We’ve got this.”  The day of battle has arrived, and this day will determine if I have an Empire to leave to our children, or not.

With a thought he changed the holo to a tactical representation that showed all of the visible forces, as well as every major asteroid in the belt, every planet and moon, every large iceball in the Kuiper Belt and Ort Cloud.  Also on that tactical were the icons of the enemy fleet, head on, looking like a tsunami on its way to drown those it didn’t crush beneath it.

He felt Jennifer tense up, her hand tightening on his.  “My God,” she said, staring at the icons.  “Are we going to be able to beat that?  It’s just too massive.  We can’t stop that, can we?”

“Listen to me,” he said, reaching over and putting his hand on her face, turning her head his way.  “We will beat them.  You and me, and all of these people around us.  We will beat them.  Do you believe me?”

She nodded her head, unable to speak.  But still able to let him know her feelings.

I shouldn’t have brought her along, no matter how much she argued.  I would have rather have had her break up with me, as long as she had remained safe at home.  But it was too late for that.  He could still send her through a wormhole back to the Donut.  There were plenty of passenger gates in the system, brought in for this operation.  But I need her now.  Someone who believes in me.

He changed the perspective on the holo, a top down view of the system, and several light months out to the deeps of space.  His scouts were doing a good job, sitting out there and sending their information through their wormholes.  He could see the entire enemy fleet laid out, or at least what they thought, based on tracking the confusion of several thousand hyperdrive tracks.  They’re going to send in a scout force first, just like we thought.   And hopefully they’ll see what we want them to see.

“Your Majesty,” came a voice out of the air, the com that he had ordered piped into the chamber so Jennifer could hear what was going on.  “We estimate they will be at the hyper I barrier in a little under four hours.  Carrier Task Forces Four and Five are requesting permission to launch.”

“The mission is a go,” said Sean, looking at those enemy ships coming in.  “All units.  This is the Emperor.  Mission is a go.  All units with early fire missions are released to fire, as soon as the mission profile calls for it.  Repeat, mission is a go.”

He changed the holo again, zooming in on the carrier task forces that were stationed well outside the system.  Icons were appearing near them, hundreds of them.  He reached out and tapped the icon of one of the carriers, and the view switched to a new vid, showing a fleet carrier of an unusual design, the large hyperdrive projectors top and bottom indicating a VII ship.

“What are those?” asked Jennifer, pointing to one of the smaller craft that were being ejected from the carrier.

“One of our secret weapons,” said Sean, bringing up a closer view of one of the ships.  “And, hopefully, the Cacas worst nightmare.”

*     *     *

“Launch all fighters,” ordered Admiral Chuntao Chan over the com.  The immediate acknowledgements came back from the six fleet carriers in her task force, which was coasting toward the system at point eight four c from twenty-five light hours out in the outer reaches.

The icons started to appear on the tactical holo, as each carrier launched one hundred and twelve of the specially modified fighters that were their weapon in the fight.  She zoomed the vid on one of the fighters, a larger version of the standard six hundred ton attack ship  These were more than double the size at fifteen hundred tons, allowing them to carry the special equipment they needed to sidestep the laws of physics.  That, and the increased weapons load.

The Admiral looked proudly at those ships as they started accelerating at one thousand gravities in the direction of their vector.  She hadn’t invented the technique.  But she did have a major hand in their development.  And in scrounging up enough negative matter to allow them to operate.  That negative matter had been expensive, and the Empire had to forgo the deployment of half a dozen ship gates to get it.

She glanced at the holo coming through on the wormhole com from Task Force Five, not under her command and of similar composition.  It too was launching its fighters, from a position ten light hours to the rimward side from hers.

After they had accelerated up to point nine four light, she saw her own birds starting to deploy their negative matter, at first a thin film that was reflecting silver in places, then a solid wall of material that reflected all light, in all spectrums, and absorbed any kind of particle radiation.  Now they’re cut off from the rest of us, she thought, wishing her fledglings good hunting.  Moments later they increased their acceleration to sixteen thousand gravities.  Soon they would pass the speed of light, outrunning any indication of their coming as they headed for a target that had yet to appear.

At the same time the two carrier task forces started decelerating at their maxim rate.  They would have two hours to lose velocity before the Ca’cadasans were in range to pick up their grabber emissions.  They would drop thirty-five thousand kilometers per second from their velocity at this time, as well as curve enough to avoid entering the system.  They were of no use in the fight that would develop, in the system and the near space outside it, and would be as safe as any ships could be during the action.

*     *     *

Captain Svetlana Komorov watched as the negative matter screen was raised around her attack fighter.  It was still a thrill to know that in very little time she would be going faster than light.  Or not, she thought with a laugh.

There were many theories about how the process worked.  Some thought it was a variation of the Alcubierre drive, that actually warped space before and behind.  That would mean that they might one day get the ships up to nine or ten times light speed, the theoretical limit for such a drive.  Another theory was that they formed a baby universe enclosed in the sphere of negative matter.  That would imply an unlimited top end, though they had found that two times light speed was the practical limit for the moment.  It would probably never replace hyperdrive, or the new wormhole gates, as it was a slower form of getting from points A to B than either of those methods.

Komorov had studied the math.  She had been chosen to lead the test group due to her mathematical and conceptual abilities, which were top of the line.  And she still didn’t understand how it worked.  She doubted that anyone did.  The important thing was that it worked, and that the Cacas would never see it coming.

“Increase acceleration to sixteen thousand gravities,” she ordered her Pilot.  That was also a practical limit while in the bubble.  Theoretically, they could accelerate at an even greater rate, but in testing it had been found that ships tended to fall apart over that limit.  Again, they didn’t know why, and she thought sixteen thousand gravities was plenty.

She had been promoted to Captain and Wing Commander prior to this mission, in reward for her work on the development of the tech.  Now she was in charge of an entire one hundred and twelve ship wing.  And with the raising of the bubble she was totally cut off from her other ships.  Someone had suggested putting wormhole coms in the attack fighters, but there weren’t enough of the things to go around, and they each cost more than her entire wing.

“We will reach light speed in one point nine one minutes,” called out the Navigator.  “All inertial systems are a go.”

That was the part that concerned every ship commander the most.  Once in the bubble all navigation was estimated by the clock.  They were completely blind.  Anything small that got in their way would be cancelled by the negative matter, up to a point.  Anything large enough to cancel a large portion of the shield would expose the ship to normal space, inertia would return, and they would turn into an enormous bomb.  Not the ending that any commander or crew desired.

“Time to target, thirteen hours, fifty-three minutes.  Maximum velocity, two point zero light.”

And now we just have to hope there’s a target there for us to hit.

*     *     *

“Battle Fleet Two is starting their boost,” called out Admiral Kelso, the Emperor’s Flag Captain.  The timer showed the enemy fleet just over an hour away.  They were already evident on the hyper detectors of ships at the edge of the system.  The enemy would know that they were being detected, and the response had to look like a defense fleet moving out to meet them.

If they’re smart, they’ll realize that we should have a fleet waiting for them at the edge of the system.  He had such a force, of similar composition to Battle Fleet Two, though much smaller.

He switched the holo zoom to Battle Fleet Two, closely looking over the ships from the vid feed of the flag, the vessel equipped with a wormhole com.

“Those ships are going to get pounded, aren’t they?” asked Jennifer.

Sean looked over at his lady, remembering that she hadn’t been briefed on the entire plan, as there had not seemed a need.  “Yeah.  They’re going to get blasted out of space.”

“Those poor crewmembers.”

“The only crew those ships have are on Augustine,” said Sean with a smile.  “The only result of those ships being destroyed will be their controllers being out of a job and becoming bystanders, for a short moment.”

“What does that mean?”

“There are no crew aboard those ships.  Until a couple of months ago, every one of them was sitting in orbit around a fleet base planet, only robots and caregiver crew on board.”

Sean zoomed in on one of the ships, pointing out to Jennifer the differences on the thirty to forty year old vessels that had been obsolete for decades.  “And this part is really good,” he said, pointing to a one hundred and fifty thousand ton destroyer.  “Control.  Turn on the cammo for destroyer, uh, BF2 Four Twenty One.”

A couple of seconds later the ship shimmered for a moment, then assumed the appearance of another battleship.  “Holographic projectors.  And the grabbers are set to go on overload on command, to put out emissions that look like those of a much larger ship.”

“And they’re under robot control?  Doesn’t that break the Man in the Look laws?”

“Those ships are under remote control.  There is a human in the loop for each and every vessel.   There are task groups in that fleet, each with a flag equipped with a wormhole.  And they have subspace radio connections to the other ships in their task groups.  So all the laws have been followed to the letter.”

“Who came up with this idea?” she asked, and Sean smiled.  “You did?”

“You remember the stunt I pulled on the Cacas outside of Sestius?  When we sent some of Mara’s squadron on autopilot as decoys?”

“Yeah.  So you trick them again, and singe their asses without losing a spacer.”

“It won’t be that easy.  We will lose people.  More than I want to lose.”  He changed the zoom, one of the flagships looking at one of the other task groups.  One hundred obsolete battleships, from ten to twelve million tons, and six hundred destroyers, three hundred of which would transform into larger ships on command.  “It will still be my fault that they died, since I gave the command that sent them into battle.”

“And it will be your triumph when you win,” said Jennifer, putting her arms around him.

“That’s not how it works,” said Sean in a quiet voice.  “Oh, I’ll get most of the glory, but the real triumph will be that of those men and women that don’t make it out of here.”

*     *     *

“We’ll reach the first translation point in one hour, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, a look of anticipation on his face.

And all is as ready as I could make it, thought the Great Admiral, looking at the tactical holo that showed his force.  A large scout force was arrayed ahead of the main force, a hundred supercruisers and three hundred scout ships, with a few superbattleships, four to each drop.  They were also spaced out, so that some would make their final jump at the hyper VII barrier, a half dozen light hours out from the system, while others, also translating down, but not as far, would jump at each successive barrier.  They would look over the system, make sure everything was as it was supposed to be, and send their findings to the fleet through hyperdrive pulses, a code that would at least give them a warning if it was a trap.

If it was a trap, the fleet was still committed to a translation at the edge of the system in their stair-step fashion.  Only they would come out at point zero one light, giving them the option of slowing down to a reverse vector in minutes, then a jump back into hyper and out of the system.  The enemy might get some shots, but not many.

But even if it is a trap, it will have to be a very robust one to take on this force, he thought.  As long as the enemy didn’t have an overwhelming force, he would do battle with them.  And crush enough of their fleet to effectively end this war.  The rest of the conquest would be easy after that.  He would be able to send out smaller task forces, take hundreds of major systems in a single stroke, and gut the human Empire.

“Send out the final signal,” said the Great Admiral, looking over at his Com Officer.  “The Day of Battle is upon us.  We will win a great victory for the Emperor.”

It was the same signal sent out by the Admiral in charge of the invasion of the human home system.  A signal that had lived in the history of the race.  They had won a fight that was uneven, if still one of the greatest in the history of an Empire that had rolled over everyone they had ever come in contact with.  And had let the enemy get away.  Still, that Great Admiral had won renown with that victory, just as this Admiral hoped to win even greater accolades with a real military triumph.

*     *     *

They’re almost here, thought Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski, looking at his tactical plot.  His command was the largest single battle fleet in recent history, consisting of over nine hundred battleships and four thousand scouting and escort vessels.  His flagship, the superbattleship Anastasia Romanov, named after the last late Empress, was one of the most modern ships in the fleet.  And she’ll be going into combat for the first time today, he thought, hoping she would live up to her name.  He had known Anastasia personally.  She had welcomed him as family whenever he had visited the palace.  And Augustine had never guessed that we had once been lovers, before she married into the Imperial family.

Anastasia had been out of his league.  Len had been born into a wealthy but common family.  He had earned a knighthood, and would accept nothing more.  Lenkowski had been born to lead men into combat.  Anastasia had been born to be married into greatness, the first daughter of an Archduke that had passed the Imperial genes down to his offspring.  And she had been attracted to the brash battleship captain who had been assigned to her father’s system defense fleet.  The affair had not been long term, but it had still meant something to Len, who continued to pine after her for decades, never marrying.

Then had come the years of rising up the ranks, but never getting to lead men in battle, except for many minor actions on the frontier.  Until he had reached the pinnacle, Chief of Naval Operations.  He always wondered how much the Empress had to do with that, but had been afraid to ask her.  She had moved on, and committed herself wholly to her husband.  It’s so damned easy for women, thought the Grand Fleet Admiral.  They can be in bed with you one day, friends the next.  And we men just can’t do that.

He drove that thought from his mind, concentrating on the task at hand.  This was his big chance coming up.  The big battle, and if he wasn’t in command of the whole shooting match, at least he was in charge of a big piece.

“Command reports estimated first translation in forty minutes,” called out his Flag Com Officer.

“I concur, sir,” said the Flag Tactical Officer.

“Send signal to all ships.  Make sure that all systems are powered down.  We don’t want to give the ball game away before the first pitch.”  He looked at his command on the holo, spread out over cubic light hours of the outer reaches of the system.  Hidden.  And the ships hiding in the system, almost the same size as the one waiting outside.  Not everyone was within forty minute light speed transmission.  But all the flags had wormhole coms, and they could send tight beam transmissions to all the ships in their task groups, and other forces well within that forty minute time frame.

Thirty-nine minutes, he thought, looking at the timer.  Of course that was only an estimate, but probably as close to reality as possible.  I wonder how Mgonda is doing? was the next thought.

*     *     *

Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda was looking at the very same holo as Lenkowski, made up of the information that was coming in over the wormhole com.  His force, the Hyper VII battle force, made up only of ships that could translate into the highest accessible dimension, waited in normal space, three light months out of the system.  His job was to come in and take out the enemy ships that jumped back into hyper when the trap was sprung.  Mara Montgomery’s force was the final plug, designated to catch any ships that got around him.  He liked Mara, who had been his scout force commander when he had been in charge of Sector IV, and so was determined that very little got around him to challenge her smaller force.

His force consisted of one hundred and eighty of the new hyper VII battleships, almost all that there were, plus six hundred lesser vessels.  All of his battleships possessed a pair of wormholes, with multiple configurations that allowed them to communicate or fire masses of pre-accelerated missiles at the enemy.  It was a much smaller force than he had led in his position as Sector Commander, but more advanced than anything else in the Empire.

His were not the only ships that had those wormhole missile tubes.  Unfortunately, there were not all that many of the wormhole accelerators around the Donut.  There had been enough so far, but nothing of this caliber had ever been attempted, and there were not enough of them to go around.

We probably won’t need them, he thought, hoping, praying, that it was so.  The only advantage his ships had over what would probably be a superior enemy with massive firepower were those wormholes.  If they were tasked elsewhere, which, with the Emperor in the system, could very well happen, he could be facing more than he could handle.

Part of that is because the Emperor is in the system, he thought.  Of course the Fleet would do everything they could to protect him, and he couldn’t fault that decision.  But it meant that ships insystem would get the mission tasking over his, no matter the priority, because the Emperor might be put at risk otherwise.

No use worrying about what I can’t control, he thought, then worried about it anyway.  That was part of his job description.

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

“I think we found something,” said one of the Agents over the com.

“Something?  Like what?” asked Jimmy Chung.  Lucille raised her eyebrows and shot him a nonverbal question, and he motioned her to be quiet.

“We just listened to a conversation between him and the Emperor,” said the other Agent.  “The Emperor ordered him to increase security on the wormholes, after having a dream about the Station coming under attack.”

“And that’s all you have?  Hell, a lot of people don’t believe that prophetic dream bullshit.”

“But, sir.  It’s a direct order from the Emperor.  And he chose to disobey it.”

“And that makes it a Fleet matter.  I will contact the CNO immediately and let her know, but McCullom is going to have to handle this.”

“What will McCullum have to handle?” asked Lucille as he cut the connection.

Chung gave her the gist of the conversation, and she slammed her hand on the desk.  “That’s what we needed.  Now, why can’t you just march some agents down there and arrest him?”

“What?  March all of my thousand people down to his office and arrest him on a Navy matter?”

“Why would you need all of your people?”

“Because I would want all of them behind me when he orders his thousands of Marines to escort all of my people out of his territory.  The Fleet is very territorial, and it will piss them off to no end if we try to step in and arrest one of theirs.”

“Did the Emperor say when he thought the attack would come?”

“I don’t think so.  Wait a moment.”  Jimmy linked back with his agent, then had the message played over the office com.  “Doesn’t give a time frame.  Except to say it will be soon.”

“Then we need to do something.”

“And again, Lucille, what do you want me to do?  I will swear out a formal complaint with the CNO through my Director.  But that is all I can do,” he said, enunciating each word slowly.

“Can you at least position some of your agents around the station?  To make up for his failure to obey imperial orders?”

“I can alert my people that something may be going down,” said Jimmy, wondering why the smartest woman he had ever met just didn’t seem to get his limitations in this matter.  He looked at the wall for a moment, at the picture of Lucille with the Emperor.  “I can increase my patrols, but that is about it.  There are too many wormholes on this station, too many places to cover.  I don’t have the manpower to take over for the Fleet in guarding everything that needs to be guarded.”

“Then get on the com and call Ekaterina.  Tell her you need more people.”

“I can do that.  But don’t expect miracles.  Look,” he said, turning back to her.  “Our agency is also stretched to the limits.  Director Sergiov is recruiting as fast as she can, but the Agency just can’t take anyone.”

“Well, I know someone I can call,” said Lucille.  “Maybe the Regent will listen.”

“I suggest you don’t bother her about this matter,” said Jimmy, knowing that making too much noise could cause her more trouble than it was worth.

“I need help, and you don’t seem to be doing anything about it.  This station is my responsibility, and if the rest of you won’t do anything to protect it, I will.”

*     *     *

Damn, thought Samantha Ogden Lee, the Regent, who was handling the Emperor’s duties while the man was out gallivanting around the Galaxy like a trivee hero.  That’s not fair, she thought, recalling the signal she had received from him just this morning.  The Fleet was about to give battle.  And Sean didn’t need to think about anything else at this time.

And now Yu is all hysterical about some Admiral disobeying Sean, and putting the station at risk.  Probably nothing, but, can I afford to take chances.

Samantha didn’t have the gift of prophetic dreaming herself, but, having been raised in the Imperial Family, she believed in it.  It was not always accurate as to time and place, but it was real.

“Grand High Admiral McCullom is on the com, ma’am,” said her secretary over the link.

Samantha activated the holo with a thought, looking into the troubled face of the Chief of Naval Operations.  “How goes it, Sondra?”

“Oh, it would be going really well if there wasn’t this little bit of distraction going on.  You know, Regent.  The war.”

“I know it’s a position you can handle, Sondra.  That’s why Sean tapped you for the position.”

“And it’s made all the more difficult when other agencies step into our business,” said the Admiral.

Oh, shit.  Here it comes.

“Special Agent Chung was concerned about how Admiral O’Hara is handling the security of the station.  He told his Director, and she told me,” said Samantha, leaving out the part where Lucille Yu had contacted her directly.  It would hurt her working relationship with the Fleet.  While I can handle anything they can throw at me.  Yeah, right.

“Admiral O’Hara is my problem,” said McCullom, her voice shaking as she tried to control herself.  “And I will handle him in my own way.”

“Sondra.  Calm down.  The Station is all of our problem.  We work on this together.”

“If you pursue this matter, you can have my resignation,” said the woman, losing control of the volume of her voice.  “I will not have people looking over my Fleet, and second guessing how we do things.”

“First of all, Grand High Admiral, it is not your Fleet,” said Samantha, feeling herself lose control as well.  “It is Sean’s, and the people of the Empire.  You are just the caretaker of that Fleet.  If you want to resign your position as caretaker, that is fine.  We’ll promote someone else to that role.”

She almost laughed as the other woman stared out of the holo at her, speechless.  She thought the resignation ploy would get me to back down.  But I don’t play that game.  No one is irreplaceable.

“I am sorry, Regent,” said McCullom is a hushed voice.  “I did not mean to lose my temper.  I will look into the situation with Admiral O’Hara.”

“I want you to launch a full investigation with Fleet Intelligence,” said Samantha, looking straight into the CNOs eyes, letting her know that she meant business.  And I will have Ekaterina look at him from her angle.  I’m not sure if Dr. Yu has something here, but if she does, I damned sure want to find out.

Chapter Twenty-Three

CONGREEVE SPACE.

“First group is jumping into hyper, my Lord” called out the Tactical Officer.

The Great Admiral looked at the plot, where some thirty-five icons, four superbattleships, nine supercruisers and the rest scout ships, were blinking, the group in question.  They were fifteen light hours out from the hyper I barrier, almost to the VII.  He watched as the icons changed color, indicating that were now in normal space, and getting a look at the system as it was fifteen hours before.  He waited, knowing that they would be transmitting information as soon as they had it.

“Scout force one is reporting that the planet is radiating an enormous amount of electromag, consistent with an industrialized world.  One large force near the planet, hundreds of ships.”

Only hundreds, thought the Great Admiral with a tinge of disappointment.  We’ll still roll right over them, but I expected a little better return.  Still, it’s only a preliminary return.

His force forged on, and the warning klaxons sounded to let them know it was their turn, though they would only be dropping into VI.  The lights dimmed and the nausea came again.  It took up to a minute for the last crew member to recover, and it would get worse with multiple jumps.  But stair-step was the fastest way to insert into a system through hyper.  Why can’t we be like the humans, he thought, and so many other species.  It seemed like a curse from the Gods, that a species destined to rule all of the Galaxy was so crippled by the very act of moving from hyper to normal space and back.

“Scout force one now estimating two hundred and fifty capital ships and four hundred and fifty smaller vessels,” said the Com Officer.  “Second force identified near the hyper I limit.  Estimated seventy capital ships and three hundred smaller class vessels.”

The holo filled in the information, at least as much as could be plotted based on the binary code of the scout ships.  One large force near the planet, another at the hyper I limit, within light minutes of where the Ca’cadasan Fleet was aimed to come into normal space.

“Approaching the hyper VI limit,” came the voice of the Tactical Officer.  The Admiral could still pick up the nausea in the male’s voice, and felt somewhat better that he had held up better than the younger male.  “Scout force two preparing to drop into normal space.”

And they’ll be ten light hours out, giving us just a little better view.

The lights dimmed again, the flagship and most of the fleet dropping down to hyper V, while the second scout force went all the way down to normal space.  Again it took a minute to start receiving the information through hyperdrive code, and a little over a minute for the crew to recover for translation sickness.  When the report came through, from the distance of ten light hours, it was almost identical to the first one, with the estimate of enemy strength adjusted upward just a bit.

Next was the jump to IV, the scout force this time coming into normal space at seven light hours.  It took well over a minute for the crew to recover from this jump, and the Admiral was thinking that in the future it might be better to just jump down to I at the VII barrier, then cruise in at that level to the last jump.  It would take longer, and give the enemy more warning, but the crew would be in better shape when they came through.

“We have the human battle fleet in system boosting toward the hyper barrier at four hundred and sixty gravities,” called out the Com Officer.  “By velocity of four-eight thousand KPS,  estimated that enemy had started boost at three hours prior.”

And that was over seven hours ago, which means they are up over one hundred thousand KPS by now, thought the Admiral.

“Battle fleet estimated at three hundred capital ships and five hundred smaller vessels.  Scout force also reporting small force built around three capital ships are on a course toward the other side of the system.  Estimated boost at four hundred and seventy-five gravities, starting two hours ago.”

Still based on seven hours ago, he thought, looking at the plot and smiling as he saw eight smaller task forces of his fleet moving on paths that would take them around the system, to translate in to cover the escape routes of the star.  There will be no escape for you, my friend, he thought, recognizing that configuration as the Imperial Security Squadron.

“Force of forty freighters moving on the same path as the smaller force at one hundred and thirty gravities, with cover of four capital ships and twelve escorts.”

And we’ll bag those too, thought the Admiral.  “Send a gravity pulse out to all ships.  I want the small squadron and the merchant vessels captured if possible.  Both may contain persons and materials of value.  If not the whole squadron, then at least the battleship.”

At hyper III the track was even more firm, with the scout force three light hours out.  This was followed by the jump to II at a light hour out, then to I at thirty light minutes.  At that time the leading edge of the fleet, the final scout force, jumped into normal space and into an immediate fight with the smaller fleet the enemy had stationed at the barrier.  The enemy was only light minutes away, and immediately opened fire with beam weapons and missiles.  The beam weapons were getting there about the time the Ca’cadasan crews were recovering from the sixth and final translation.  Some beam weapons hit, but not many, as the Ca’cadasan ships weaved and dodged at random.  Even at the distance of three light minutes, the beams were attenuated somewhat, and the Ca’cadasan ships had their electromag fields to full power and pumped full of cold plasma.

The Bulk of the Great Admiral’s force came in well before the enemy missiles had reached the scout force.  They added their firepower to the mix, while other task groups jumped in further out to take care any ships that might have been left to attack the Ca’cadasans from the rear.  No such forces had been picked up by the dropped scout forces, but the Great Admiral didn’t see why he should take chances.

The enemy fleet had launched over seventy thousand missiles at the Ca’cadasan force, totally depleting their magazines.  The Ca’cadasan scout force had returned the favor with a series of volleys that only left their magazines two thirds full.  With the addition of the rest of the fleet the defensive fire was enough to knock down almost all of the human missiles, except for a couple of score proximity hits that damaged fourteen vessels and two really bad impacts that took out a pair of scout ships.

“We have incoming missiles from the main battle fleet,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Estimated two hundred thousand, coming in at five thousand gravities.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” said the Great Admiral, stalking toward the holo and getting his first really good look at the system.  He had almost three thousand ships here in his main group.  That was one ship for every hundred missiles.  And with their massed firepower, the enemy would be lucky to get a thousand of them through.  Then those would face the massed close in defenses.  “Fire a matching volley at them.”  That was a number that was sure to overwhelm the humans.  He would assess after that and see if he had to send any more missiles in.

The human force at the barrier had fired almost a minute before the Ca’cadasans, and their missiles had arrived a few seconds earlier.  When the Ca’cadasan missiles arrived they blasted through the human force, destroying two thirds of the ships, while damaging most of the rest.  A second launch took out the survivors.

“We have life pods in space, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.  “Do you want us to take prisoners?”

“No,” said the Great Admiral after a moment’s thought.  “Burn them out of space.  No missiles.  We might need them later.”

The icons of thousands of life pods and a couple of shuttles appeared on the holo, then started disappearing as ships hit them with laser fire.  It took minutes to get them all, but the Ca’cadasans had the time to do a thorough job, and soon the space where the enemy force had existed was now the realm of shattered ships and debris.

The Great Admiral looked with satisfaction at the holo.  Everything was going as planned.  The smile left his face for a moment.  The humans usually have some tricks up their clothing, he thought.

“Rear task forces report that they were taken under fire by human forces, my Lord.  We lost some ships, and many more damaged.  But they have mauled the human forces.”

The Great Admiral actually felt better at that news.  The humans are doing what they always do.  Maybe they have run out of ideas, at least for the moment.  That would be refreshing.

“Start boosting the main part of the fleet into the system,” he said, looking at the planet that was obviously an industrial center.  He would blast through the human force in the way, then bombard that planet from space, taking out the cities.  His ground forces would seal the deal, landing and hunting down the humans.  This would turn out to be a very good few days for the Ca’cadasan Navy.

*     *     *

“Their fleet is boosting into the system,” said Kelso over the com.

“How many,” said the voice of Sean over the speakers.

“About two thirds of them, your Majesty.  They’re splitting their fleet.  Just like you predicted.”

“Outstanding,” said the Emperor.  “Divide and conquer.  When do you think we should start bringing the ships over from the Donut?”

“I would wait just a little bit longer, your Majesty.  Sure, the ships won’t be putting out many gravitons, and they’ll be hiding behind the planet, but I think we should wait until they’re deeper into the system, just in case.”

“Good point.  Then we’ll wait for at least nine hours.  The inertialess ships will have struck by then, and the enemy will know something is up.”

“How are we getting this feed?” asked Marconi after the speaker went silent for a minute, indicating the Emperor was engaged with something else.

“We ejected the wormholes on the flagships a few moments before the enemy missiles got to our force,” said  Kelso, changing the feed on the holo to another wormhole.  An escape pod was centered in the view.  The skin of the pod glowed for a moment, then started to spew molten material and gush gas, just before it exploded in a short lived fireball.

“We eject compressed gas through the wormhole to maneuver it, like a jet,” said Kelso.  “If we really have to get them moving, we eject fast moving particles from an accelerator out of them.”

“And they will watch the battle from that vantage?”

“Oh, they’ll do more than that, your Grace.  When the time comes.”

“That was brilliant, by the way,” said the Archduke, looking at the feed which was showing yet another pod being melted.  “Who came up with that idea?”

“That young man in the control chamber.  He thought it would add realism if it was made to look like some of the crew got off.  I thought it was too risky.  If they decided to bring some of those pods aboard, they would find nothing.  A couple of them and they might start getting suspicious.  But it worked out, and the bloodthirsty bastards decided dead humans were better than prisoners, at least those prisoners.”

“And the inertialess ships?”

“They were the work of Admiral Chuntao Chan, one of our smartest officers,” said Kelso.  “She’s in charge of one of the carrier task groups this day.”

“A scientist is in charge of a combat force?”

“She started out as a combat officer, your Grace.  And the Emperor thought she deserved a chance to contribute.”

“Was that a wise choice?” asked the Archduke, his eyes narrowing.

“We think so.  His Majesty is a little liberal in tossing out the rewards, but his instincts seem to be good in that respect.  He’s a good judge of people, and of talent.”

Kelso looked at the main holo for a moment, as the icons of the main Ca’cadasan force began to separate from the stay behinds.  He looked back at the Archduke, knowing he had to say something, but not sure how to state it.  “He really is an exceptional young man, you know.  The Emperor, I mean.  Smart, a strong leader, able to listen to his subordinates and truly look at their point of view, but able to make the hard choices, and to take responsibility for them.”

“His record as a junior officer was not exemplary,” said the Archduke with a frown.

“And neither was Grand Fleet Admiral Lenkowski, or Duke Mgonda.  My own initial tour of duty was a disaster.  Not that I put myself in their category, but many of our best people start off somewhat rocky at the bottom of the command hierarchy, and only come of their own when they get to the point where they’re in charge of something.”

“And this risky maneuver?  What if he loses the war here and now?”

“I’ll tell you something, Archduke Marconi.  That young man inspires loyalty in the Fleet, both in the officers and the enlisted men.  We would all die for him, because he would do the same for us.  His presence on this operation proves that.  If you could find another man who could do the same, I might follow him the same way I do Sean Ogden Lee Romanov.  But until that leader is found, and I doubt he will be, we’ll continue to follow this one, the one we swore our oaths to.”

Marconi didn’t say anything, looking intently at the holo.  But Kelso knew he had planted a seed.   And that if Sean won this battle, the Archduke would also be his man.

*      *     *

FENRI SPACE.

“We are tracking a major enemy force heading for the system,” came the call over the Fleet net.

Brigadier General Samuel Baggett looked up from his paperwork, a feeling of unease running through his brain.  The planet had been fairly quiet for the last week.  The simultaneous defeat of the Fenri fleet and ground force had taken the steam out of their engine.  There were still some Fenri ground forces on the planet, fighting a guerilla war that seemed hopeless to the Imperial forces.  Baggett’s brigade had been reduced to manning strong points and running patrols.  There had been ambushes, but his units had been strong enough, with superior firepower, to destroy the ambushing units in most cases.

But we should have known the Fenri would come at us again.  And again.  Their territorial imperative is triggered by us holding what they considered theirs by right of conquest.

“We are estimating five hundred capital ships and over a thousand cruisers and escorts,” continued the voice on the net.  “All ships prepare for action.  Repeat, all ships prepare for action.”

Baggett had a pretty good idea of the Imperial order of battle, and they had nowhere near that many ships in the fleet still involved in this operation.  Of course, they had some tech advantages over the Fenri.

“This is the Admiral speaking,” came the voice of the Fleet Commander over the net.   “Fleet Headquarters has denied our request for wormhole missile support.  All assets are tasked for other operations.  Repeat, wormhole missile support is not available.”

And there goes one of our biggest advantages.  There were only a dozen ships in the force equipped with wormholes.  But those ships could put out thousands of missiles over time at up to point nine five light, a big advantage in a stand up fight.

“What are we supposed to do against that force, Admiral?” came the voice of one of the task force commanders.

“Fight them, Commodore.  What else do you think?  Hit them with long range missile fire, then close with them and destroy them with beam weapons.

Sounds really easy, doesn’t it, thought the Brigadier with a grimace.  He knew that the Fleet actual believed that bullshit of closing with the enemy, no matter the cost.  He really wanted them to be successful, because if they failed, the heavy infantry corps left on the planet was truly screwed.  They could put up a good fight, and probably bleed whatever force the enemy tried to land, but the result was already foregone.  The Fenri would land as many troops as they needed to take the planet back.

“I have ordered the scout force to follow them the entire way,” said the Admiral.  “They will come in behind the enemy, and add their fire to ours.”

Which gives us another what, twelve battle cruisers and some smaller ships?  That won’t be much of a help.  Why couldn’t my unit have gotten an assignment to the major front, and not this sideshow?  Baggett slammed his fist onto the table with a crack, then shook his head, realizing that there was nothing he could do about the naval situation.  So he would do what he could with what he had.  The Brigadier pulled a map of his area up, looking for the best place to have his men dig in to fight a landing.  The ships raining kinetics down would complicate things.  He thought back to Sestius, where he had faced a similar situation against the Cacas.  And maybe I can hurt the Fenri just as much.

*     *     *

ELYSIUM SPACE.

“A slip has come available on the station,” said the Knockerman who was the Captain of the vessel.  “We will be docking within the hour.”

“That’s great news,” shouted the General.  He had been worried now for over a day that something would go wrong.  All it would take was for a Brakakak patrol ship to ask to board.  The Captain would be unable to refuse, since such action would bring serious repercussions.  Like more ships surrounding them, then a search party coming aboard anyway.  Then there would be no way that they could hide the identity of their real captain, a Knockerman, when no members of that race were in charge of any Elysium warships.  And it would be impossible to hide the six thousand males he had crammed aboard this ship.  They were actually overtaxing the life support system to the point where the scent of their own kind was driving the Cacada aboard mad.  And any alien that came aboard would notice that scent in the air in an instant.

“I will prepare my men for battle,” said the General, getting up and leaving his small quarters, sending out the call to his troops.

As soon as he walked out of the area where he and his officers had been quartered, he had become aware of the focus of his men.  Males were moving with a purpose, putting on their battle armor, checking weapons, then going to their assembly points.  There were not many of those that could accommodate large units.  The two hangars, the gymnasium, the main marine training deck.  That took care of four of his nine battalions.  Most of the units could not be assembled in their entirety.

The most difficult thing will be getting them off this ship quickly, thought the General, continuing to walk down the corridor until he came to the guarded door where his special weapons were stored.  The guards saluted and let him to the door, where he imputed the codes that unlocked it.  The thick door that had guarded a Brakakak arsenal opened, and the General walked in, hunched over as usual so his horns wouldn’t scrape on the ceiling.  I wish I could walk a normal deck once more before I die, he thought, looking at the five devices sitting on their antigrav pallets.  I’m afraid I’m going to have to live in the surroundings of midgets for the rest of my life, as short as that will be.

A half hour later he was on the bridge of the ship, for the last time, watching as the huge doors that led into the station vessel hangar opened.  He could see the many other ships inside, crowding their slips, suited beings on the outside of many running torches and other devices over the hull.  And all wasted effort, he thought.  The price of getting the Knockermen to get them here was one of the devices.  Four would have to do.  By the Gods, he thought, two will probably do the job.

When they were through the opening the light cruiser veered to the right and made its way around the hangar.  The General thought this was an impressive structure, maybe not of a class with his own people’s mobile stations, or the really big industrial ones at home.  Still, it represented a lot of time, effort and materials, as did the ships that were docked here.

The ship stopped and made one last turn, then moved forward slowly into the one slip that was open before them.  It came to the end and tapped the wall in a light thump that could be heard throughout the ship.  A second later a thump came through the bottom as it touched down on the floor of the slip.  Then came the multiple clangs as the docking clamps locked into place.

“Get ready,” ordered the General over the local com.  “As soon as the docking tubes link we’ll have company aboard.  They must be eliminated, quickly.”

He watched the two docking tubes extend to touch the hull.  Both were large, enough to move heavy equipment through the tubes and into the ship.  But not large enough to push his entire brigade through.  He switched the view for a second to the two hangars, both crowded with battle suited males, ready to move.

The Knockermen had assured him that they had allies aboard the station.  Not Knockermen.  They wouldn’t be trusted.  But there were many other species in the Empire, and some of those members were not happy with the Brakakak, or their alliance with the humans.  And they don’t have to know that their compliance with our attack will lead to their adding their atoms to an expanding plasma cloud.

The docking tubes connected with the hatches of the cruiser and locked with a clunk.  The doors to the ship slid open at the same time as those of the tubes, and ten Brakakak engineers marched on board through each of them, scanning instruments in the hands of the enlisted personnel, the supervising officer carrying a small flat comp.

On both tube entries the officers looked around in confusion, as there was no greeting party to meet them.  A moment later they were greeted by weapons fire, the red beams of particle rifles cutting them down, filling the air with steam made up of flesh and blood, while no longer whole bodies fell to the floor.

One Brakakak was still alive, and he looked up in shock as one of the three meter tall warriors walked hunched over into the entry, weapon aimed down.  A quick beam and the avian no longer had a head.

“All warriors.  The assault is on.  Move out.”

The doors to the docking tubes flew open once again, and Cacada crowded forward in a rush.  A rush that slowed considerably as the Cacada were unable to maneuver in the crowded area.

“As soon as the warriors already in the tube take out the door at the other end, destroy the tube,” he ordered his two battalion commanders on that operation over the com.  “Send the rest of the males out through the hatches and the emergency hatches, so they can get into that station faster.”

The vids of the hangars showed the large doors sliding open, then warriors flying out in a rush on grabbers.  They spread out, heading for the docking tubes of adjacent ships and cutting them off at the wall to the station, then cutting open the doors leading inward.  Other males cut open other hatches, and the spurt of gas at each showed that the interior was being breached.

“Prepare to move the weapons to the station,” he ordered over the com, then turned to see the Knockerman Captain come up behind him in his species’ version of combat armor.

“We are ready to move out through the hangar,” said the Captain.

“You should have already been moving,” said the General, pointing a pair of right index fingers at the being.  “Now get moving, or I will have you and your people shot.”

The Knockerman looked angry, but was not angry enough to continue a confrontation with an angry armored Cacada male.  He turned and moved away as fast as his form could carry him, which was not very fast at all.

Idiots, thought the General, looking at the back of the retreating creature, then turning his attention back to the matter at hand.  His first males were on the station.  From here they were to fan out and destroy everything in their path, anything that looked like a power or com conduit, any aliens they ran into.  He looked at the schematic and saw what they had to get through.  He would have preferred infiltration, but didn’t see how he could have gotten thousands of males through the kilometer of station they needed to penetrate to get to the gate.  It wasn’t like his troops were inconspicuous, and even with stealth systems they would have looked like very large ripples in the air.

There’s no way the damned delicate bird things can stop us, he thought, looking at the map of corridors and lifts.  They can’t stop us.  And with that he headed for the hangar that would be his exit, and the weapons he had brought to kill the biggest human advantage in this war.

*     *     *

“Welcome to Elysium,” said Ambassador the Archduke Horatio Alexanderopolis, shaking the hand of the new IIA Chief of Mission.  “Good trip?”

“That first step is something, your Grace” said the young man who was taking the place of his old Chief, who had been transferred back to Jewel.  “But it went really quickly, I guess.”

Horatio nodded his head.  Wormhole travel was always disorienting.  Or at least that was what he had heard.  He had tried the gate when it first opened, on a quick visit to friends in the capital he hadn’t seen in decades.  He had been offered a trip to his planet, the one his title made him hereditary leader of.  Since he hadn’t been there in thirty years, and had basically put his oldest son in charge, he had turned it down.  But those two trips through the wormhole were something he thought he would never get used to.  It was like living an eternity in an instant.  I’m surprised more people don’t go mad.

There had been cases of that very thing.  There were still some congenitally defective people, despite the human improvement project of centuries before, and the wormhole gate sent them over the edge.  I wonder when we’ll find an alien species that can’t take gate travel at all?

“And how is your Brakakak?” asked the Ambassador.  He had asked for an agent with that ability.  But even with modern psycholearning techniques, it was a difficult language to learn.

“Fluent in my understanding,” said Senior Agent Paxton.  “Not so much on my pronunciation.”

“It is a difficult language to enunciate,” said Horatio in flawless Brakakak.  “It is more important in your line that you can understand it”

“That, was amazing,” said the Agent.  “I’ve always heard that it is impossible for a human to speak the language fluently.”

“No,” said Horatio with a smile.  “Just forty years of practice.  And a lot of determination.  Now, let me lead you to our shuttle.”

“I really appreciate you meeting me, Ambassador,” said the Agent as they walked down the corridor toward the tram to the shuttle hangar.  “You could have sent someone up here instead.”

“I always meet my new people,” said the Ambassador.  “That used to mean going up to the liner and meeting them after a two month voyage.  Now I get to meet them after they had breakfast in the capital.  Changing Galaxy, but still worthy of our personal attention.”

The lights dimmed in the corridor for a moment, followed by flashing purple light, the kind that caught the attention of the avians, and a screech like that made by a predatory raptor.

“What?” asked the Agent, turning and looking up and down the corridor, his hand under his jacket and grasping for his handgun.

“That’s an alert,” said the Ambassador, watching Brakakak and other beings running up and down the corridor.  Many of the avians were armed, most with pistols, very few in armor.

“What’s going on?” the Ambassador yelled at a Brakakak, one with the tabs of a Naval officer on his jacket.  “What’s the emergency?”

“The station has been invaded,” yelled out the avian, turning his head as he continued down the corridor.  “We think it is Ca’cadasans.”

“What the bloody hell,” said the Ambassador.  “How in the hell could they be here?”

“All nonessential personnel are to report to shuttles for transport off the station,” came a voice in Brakakak over the intercom.  “All military personnel are to report to their duty stations, armed.”

“What are we to do, your Grace?” ased the Agent, holding his mag pistol by his side.

“First off, put that away,” said Horatio, pointing toward the gun.

“I have a permit to carry this, even in Elysium, due to diplomatic allowances,” said the man.

“And you’re an alien on a station under attack by unknown aliens.  Not all Elysiums are familiar with humans.  So put it away.”

The Agent nodded, thumbed his gun to off, and slid it back in its holster.

“And now we get to the shuttle hangar and get the hell off this station,” said the Ambassador.  “The Brakakak are well armed, and it is their job to defend this station.”

“What if the Cacas get to the wormhole gate?”

“Then our people on the Donut can fight them.  I really doubt they’ll be able to do much.  Even a large antimatter weapon won’t take it out, or destroy the wormhole generating apparatus.  So the best thing we can do is get out of the way.”

Paxton nodded, and the Ambassador led him in the opposite direction from the running avians, toward the shuttle hangar where the diplomatic bird was parked.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CONGREEVE SPACE.  NOVEMBER 19TH, 1001.

The Great Admiral thought everything was going his way.  The enemy battle fleet had been hammered from a distance.  There were still some operational ships in that force, maybe a hundred of them, but none had escaped damage.  The Ca’cadasan force had taken some hits.  He had lost two battleships and a dozen smaller ships, as well as damage, mostly minor, to over a hundred.  But the exchange had been totally in his favor.

“The merchant ships are starting to decelerate,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “They should be on a heading for the planet in two hours.”

They’ve seen what waits for them.  “What about the Emperor’s squadron?”

“They too are starting to decelerate.  We are not sure of their heading at this time.”

“I want their Emperor captured, if possible,” growled the Great Admiral.  “Order the closest units on blockade to head in.  I want those ships boxed in.”

The Com Officer turned around and started to send the signals by hyperdrive pulse.  It would not make it through the inner system, the gravity well of the star would become too disruptive, blocking the graviton emissions.  They would travel to the ships at points around the outer system that could intercept them, then relayed.

“Those three big commercial ships have not moved,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing to the enormous spherical vessels on the holo.

“They must have figured it was a lost cause trying to escape with them,” said the Helm Officer.

“I cannot believe that it was so easy,” said the Tactical Officer.  “This isn’t like the humans.”

No, thought the Great Admiral.  It is not.  Did we just catch them on a bad day?  When their minds were turned off?

They were now twelve hours into the system, boosting at five hundred gravities, velocity point nine c.  In another couple of minutes they would go into coast mode for about an hour, then start decelerating toward the planet.  They were committed to the planet, or to a flyby at whatever velocity they were at when they changed their minds, plus the acceleration they added on at that point.  Either way, they were going into the system, with no quick way out.

But we have them.  So why do I feel such a sense of unease?  What am I missing?

“What the hell are those,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, and the Great Admiral knew that whatever the humans were up to, it was making its appearance now.

*     *     *

“Bubble drop in one minute,” called out the pilot.

And we have no choice in the matter, thought Captain Svetlana Komorov, looking at the tactical plot, which represented what they thought the system would look like at this moment.  Actually, I do have a choice.  I can still accelerate, or decelerate, or just coast.  As long as I don’t drop that bubble unless I’m at the same velocity as when we went into it.  But then, I don’t accomplish anything.

“All weapons powered up and ready,” said the Weapon’s Tech, looking over at the Captain.  His face was pinched with nervous tension.  The same tension that all of them felt.

We’ve been through this before, thought the Captain.  We’ve done this transition, and launched into an attack as soon we were back in the real world.  But she knew it wasn’t the same.  Those had all been simulated attacks, against ships that weren’t out to burn them from space.  This time it was kill or be killed.

“Bubble drop in fifteen seconds.”

Komorov grabbed her chair arms, trying to stay calm and failing.  It’s going to be OK, she thought.  Just like the drill.  Just like the drill.   Just like the drill.

“Bubble drop, now,” yelled out the Pilot as the timer hit zero.

Bubble drop was handled by the computer, trying to get the ship as close to the same velocity as it was when it went in as possible.  The grabbers powered down as soon as that velocity was attained, and the actual transition occurred while the fighter was coasting.  The electromag field went to its weakest setting, and magnetic fields from the craft scooped up the negative matter in another microsecond, returning it to the containment bottles where it was stored between uses.

There was a gut wrenching shudder as soon as they returned to normal space, the tiny bit of inertial difference between entry and exit rolling through the ship.  The inertial compensators went into overload for that fraction of a second, absorbing all that they could.  Still, there was enough to make the hull creak, and throw the crew backwards and forwards in their chairs.  It was worse than the transition through hyper dimensions.  Everyone who went through it agreed with that assessment.  And it felt wonderful to Komorov, who knew the only other possibility was instant death as the ship imploded, then exploded, with the inertial overload.

The grabbers powered up immediately, the electromag field strengthened, and cold plasma was pumped from its tanks into the shield.  All passive sensors went to maximum gain, and the ship’s computer presented a snapshot of the Universe around them, collating, assessing, and marking the salient features.

“Shit,” hissed Komorov as she saw that two of her ships hadn’t come back intact, their nearby plasma clouds moving in their direction of travel at point nine five light.  She didn’t have time for those regrets.  She had a job to do, and no time for anything else.

“There they are,” shouted the Weapon’s Tech with an excited voice.

Komorov saw them at the same time.  Her force was not exactly on target, the Caca Fleet was about a light minute further in than they had estimated.  Fortunately, the formation was large enough, spread out enough, that there were still ships directly to their front, by less than thirty light seconds.

“Target acquisition,” called out the Weapon’s Tech.

Komorov nodded as the tactical holo showed the distribution of fire from her wing, coming in over the subspace com as the unit once more became a coherent whole.  They wanted to make sure they hit as many ships as possible, without committing the kind of overkill that would waste their firepower.  She only had a couple of seconds to look over that information, linking her mind with the ship’s computer so she could use its processing speed.

“Target acquisition approved,” she said, sending the code to the other ships over the com.  “Fire, fire, fire.  All ships, evasive.”

From each ship two missiles dropped, going the same velocity as launching craft, then boosting at ten thousand gravities toward their targets.  Each missile massed a hundred tons, with one gigaton warheads, the same as the weapons carried by battleships.  The grabbers and crystal matrix batteries were of a different class though, made to accelerate on overdrive for no more than five minutes.  Some of the other wings had been equipped with missiles with multiple warheads, but hers hadn’t been.  It was thought that the unitary warheads would perform just as well at this velocity and distance, and Komorov hoped they were right.

These missiles only had a twenty-five second flight time on average.  They were only able to build up a little less than another percent of light speed before they hit their targets.  They were still difficult to acquire, difficult to hit, as they jammed and evaded their way into the targets.  Of the two hundred and twenty missiles fired, only twenty four were taken out by defensive fire.  The rest made it to their targets, one hundred fifteen making proximity detonations that caused light damage to superbattleships, serious damage to scouts.  Eighty-one made direct hits on seventy-three vessels.  Seventy-three kills, shattering the smaller ships to particulate matter, sending the larger as spinning hulks into the void.  Three battleships received multiple hits and went up in spectacular balls of plasma.

The attack fighters sped through the enemy formation, having a mere twelve seconds to fire their beam weapons.  Those weapons were not powerful enough to do much damage, mostly scarring hulls or destroying small weapons’ installations.  Still, every bit of damage counted.

Komorov lost eleven ships on the fly through.  The ninety-nine ships that made it through immediately sucked in their cold plasma and replaced it with negative matter, again cutting them off from the normal Universe.  Each ship started their acceleration up to sixteen thousand gravities.  In a bit over a minute they were past the speed of light, heading for the reorganization point, where they would have decelerated to rest and plan their next move.

Komorov played a holo on the way to that point, showing the attack from the perspective of her ship, hoping to glean information to use in the next strike.  She felt a moment of regret at the loss of her crews.  Not as much for the ships, they could always be replaced.  But the regret was overpowered by the elation.  They had destroyed hundreds of millions of tons of enemy shipping.  Not much of a loss to that massive fleet, but definitely a galling strike.  Multiplied by twelve wings, if they all were as successful as hers, and they had really hurt that force.

*     *     *

Not all of the wings were, of course, that successful.  One wing came out of their bubbles a full three light minutes behind the last formation in the Ca’cadasan force.  It still launched, and got a couple of hits, but nowhere near the sting that Komorov’s group did.  Another came into normal space fifteen light minutes away.  It also launched.  It also flew through.  And it lost almost a third of its strength for little return.  Two did as well as Komorov’s, one not quite as well, but with fewer casualties than the one disaster.

The wings from Carrier Group Five came into normal space eight minutes after the craft from Four.  Two groups were in perfect orientation for an attack, and, despite the warning given the enemy by the attack from Four.  They did almost as much damage as the best attacks from Four, with only slightly more casualties to their own wings.  Four wings came out in frankly horrible orientations, unable to do more than launch missiles that had a less than even chance of reaching target, due to their less than optimum long range acceleration profile.  Most of the missiles died in space before they could complete their vector change, while some were able to make the course shift, only to have their grabbers die on approach.  A missile that couldn’t maneuver on final approach had only one designation.  Easy target.  Despite their velocity they could be tracked, and accurate beam fire could destroy them.

But still, several hundred enemy ships were destroyed by the attacks, while an almost equal number were damaged, something that seriously weakened the enemy force.

*     *     *

“And here the enemy ships surrounded themselves with, something, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing to the craft on the holo.  “I’m not sure what it is, but it absorbs almost all of our sensor scans.  Almost.  We were still able to track it as long as we kept our scan focused on it in a tight beam.”

Which means we can’t see them coming until they drop that field,” thought the Great Admiral, staring at the faint icon that they had tracked.  So we’re going to have trouble seeing them until they start their attack, and after.

“The ship is going point nine five when it erects that field.  And here comes the frightening part, my Lord.  Point nine six.  A few moments later point nine seven.  Point nine eight.  Point nine nine.  And then, they completely disappear from our scan.”

“Well, what in all the hells happened to them?”

“We think they exceeded light speed, my Lord.  They were then outrunning our scanning beams.”

“Exceed light speed?  But, that’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Not if they figured out how to do it,” said the Admiral’s Senior Advisor.  “And these humans seem to be very good at doing the impossible.”

The Great Admiral thought about that for a moment, realizing what was happening.  “It is a trap, and they think they can destroy us.”  He looked around at the faces in the conference chamber.  “I want all ships to decelerate.  I want us out of this system.”

“We won’t come to a stop until we reach the planet,” said the Tactical Officer.

“It might be a better idea to just boost through the system and come out the other side,” said the Advisor.

“We will still have to decelerate before we can jump on the other side,” said the Tactical Officer.  “And we will have to vector around the star, as well as slow our velocity in its intense particle field.”

“The Tactical Officer is correct,” said the Great Admiral.  “This is an energetic star, mid F-class.  At greater than point three light, our fields will not be able to handle the particle radiation.  No, we’ll decelerate to the planet, then head back out.  And we can drop some kinetics on those cities before we leave.”

“And if there’s an enemy force waiting for us outside the system?” asked the Advisor.

“Then we fight them.  We still have a mighty force here, and a major battle force waiting at the edge of the system.  We…”

Klaxons sounded, and the Admiral stopped himself from mouthing the rest of what he was going to say.  Something else was happening, and he knew it couldn’t be good.

*     *     *

Admiral Lenkowski had been waiting for this moment.  His battle fleet had been hiding behind the many snowballs of the Kuiper Belt of the system.  Some had even burrowed their way into the ice, those closest in, those that might be picked up by Caca ships coming into normal space from further out.

“All ships, begin Plan Four Alpha.  Repeat, Four Alpha.”

The acknowledgements started coming back immediately through the wormhole coms, just a bit longer for those that had to be transmitted by subspace com to the wormhole equipped vessels.  He saw their icons change color on the holo, indicating that they had received the command and were starting to carry out their part of the operation.

Anastasia Romanov was herself buried under a kilometer of ice on one of the bigger iceballs, a Plutino several thousand kilometers in diameter.  Now her laser rings glowed with power as they sent out wide beams that melted the ice overhead.  It took a minute to pump enough heat into almost three cubic kilometers of frozen water, sufficient to turn much of it to liquid water, the rest into a slush.  Before that time was up the superbattleship was pushing through the ice under her grabbers.  As she rose above the Plutino the forms of a dozen other battleships, thirty cruisers and fifty-three destroyers that had also been buried in the ice came up with her, the local squadrons of her task group.

The ships moved around the Plutino and formed up, starting their boost for the outer system.  Len didn’t worry so much about what this task group was doing, except inasmuch as it was part of his battle fleet; and the ships that were protecting his personal hide.  The rest of the vessels were forming up in their task groups across several square light hours of space.  They formed a hemisphere around the enemy, all of the ships a couple of light hours out from that force.  Vector arrows started to appear in the place of the stationary icon of each ship, and soon acceleration and velocity figures filled in below the arrows.  The lowest acceleration was four hundred and eighty gravities, the rate of the standard fifteen million ton battleships, the most common capital ship in the force.  The faster ships accelerated at the same rate, keeping the force together.

“Open fire,” he ordered, and moments later the vector arrows of missiles appeared in front of each ship, everyone sending off a volley, even the destroyers.  Soon there were tens of thousands of arrows, then tens of thousands more, all heading for the enemy force.  Now it’s your move, thought Lenkowski, waiting to see if the enemy would stand and fight, or jump into hyper.  He thought it would be the former, since they were tasked with guarding that space for the return of their main force.  But it could always be the latter, and then he would have to jump his force to hyper, and call up Mgonda’s fleet in support.

“Enemy is launching missiles,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer, just a moment before tens of thousands of red arrows started heading their way.  “Should we launch more, sir?”

“Follow the plan, Tactical,” said the Admiral, holding up a finger.  “The fire plan has already been plotted, and deviating from it now will just cause confusion.”

*     *     *

“The enemy fleet is continuing in, decelerating for a least time insertion to the planet,” came the voice of Kelso over the com.

“Just  like we were hoping,” said the Emperor, nodding.

“And what if they did something else?” asked Jennifer, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the oncoming enemy fleet, now on vid mode and looking even more intimidating.

“We were pretty sure they wouldn’t try for a straight shot through the system,” said Sean, looking around and reaching for the bright point of the star, which expanded into the awesome splendor of a globe of fusion fire.  Flares rose from the surface, large enough to engulf entire planets.  “This is a very energetic star, an F8 in the process of going into a heat up cycle.  It would take a lot of daring to try and go around that star at relativistic speed.  A ship traveling at such velocity would turn the particles into relativistic missiles, a trillion trillion of them per second per ship.  The electromag fields would not hold up, and the ships would be flooded with deadly particle radiation.  And if they tried to go around the star at a safe velocity, they would take longer to leave the system than if they kept on their original heading and stopped at the planet’s orbit, prior to accelerating back out to the hyper barrier.”

“I thought the planet was undergoing an ice age.  How could it freeze with a F class star that’s starting to heat up?”

Sean looked at her for a moment, remembering where he had met her, Sestius.  That planet orbited an F class star, and was hot as hell.  And that was her total experience with that type of stellar body.  “The ice age is on the way out, or soon will be.  A couple of hundred more years, and it will be a normal temperate world again.”

Jennifer nodded, and he could see that she understood the concept.  Then her forehead wrinkled in thought.  “And what if they had tried to curve out onto another path?”

“That was our biggest worry.  And they could still do that.  But we hoped they would see the situation as one or the other.  And if they curved their vector it would still not take much time off their trip, and would force them to try an area of the hyper barrier perimeter that was not being guarded by the ones they left out there.  And now that they see we have a fleet out there, their best choice, from the data they have, is to continue in their present path.”

“You thought of everything,” said Jennifer with a smile.

Not everything.   Just everything we could come up with.

“Enemy fleet is firing on us, your Majesty,” said Kelso.

Sean changed the view to a top down look at the system and zoomed in on the leading edge of the enemy force.  Red arrows were blossoming there, more each second, on a heading toward the planet.

And now comes the part I was really worried about, thought Sean.  This planet is precious.  He looked at Jennifer.  You, even more so.

“Simulate fortress launch.  And bring the ships through the gate at the same time.”

Augustine I started to shake slightly as it cycled missiles from its magazines through its tubes.  The stations nearby had some cell launched fusion weapons, but they were not really forts, only the illusion of them.  The three Dreadnought class ships, still in disguise, did the launching for them.  The enemy, still a light hour away, would see the graviton tracks of the missiles, not the actual visuals of them, and would not be able to tell from what structure they were originating.  They would see missiles, and what looked like forts, and make the logical conclusion.  And the three superfreighters in orbit would look like what they were assumed to be.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, the ship gate that was hidden from enemy sight was disgorging the ships that would make up the Emperor’s force.  One hundred battleships, coming through one every twenty-five seconds, it would take them forty-one minutes to completely deploy to the system, in hiding behind the planet on minimum grabber activity.  After them would come as many anti-missile cruisers and destroyers as they could get through.

“Missile impact in one hour, twenty-one minutes,” said Kelso over the com.  The enemy weapons were launched from ships that were still pulling point seven light while decelerating, and the missiles were now accelerating at eight thousand gravities.  They would be coming in at point nine three light, deadly weapons capable of penetrating most defenses in the swarm of which they were composed.  But they had been fired against a perceived three forts, three lightly armed commercial vessels, and whatever defenses the planet possessed.  By a force that would be facing a major battle when they made their way back out of the system.  So only a thousand missiles were inbound, not truly enough for the real job.

*     *     *

ELYSIUM SPACE.

“Push forward,” yelled the General into the com.  “We don’t have time for this.”

The avians were putting up a harder fight than he had thought possible.  His troops were larger, had stronger armor and more powerful weapons, and the fighting spirit of the Cacada.  And, as he was finding out, the enemy was faster, more agile, and fighting on a station that was more suited to their smaller forms.

And now the damned Birds had his lead element pinned down, a mere fifty meters from the entrance to the chamber that contained the wormhole.  Heavy particle beams buzzed overhead and melted holes through the walls.  Grenades popped with explosive power.  Bodies, both large and small, lay in the grotesque angles of death, holes burned through their armor, smoke rising from the holes.

And that damned wormhole could be cut off at any moment, thought the General.  Destroying this station would be a minor accomplishment, not what he was hoping for.  The real prize lay beyond that barrier of Birds, as his men had come to call them.

At least we’ve cut everything coming and going into this area, he thought.  And the Birds aren’t making any headway against my perimeter.  With everything cut going in and out, there was little fear of official communications going to the human station.  But how long before someone comes through, sees what is going on, and goes back?  Or a damned Bird goes through and warns the humans?

“Cacada warriors,” yelled a junior officer, standing up from behind the barrier they had erected.  “Follow me.”

The male shot forward on his suit grabbers, a dozen other warriors following, all firing their weapons at maximum power.  The officer was the first to go down, followed by several of the warriors.  Two suits continued on their internal power, carrying dead Cacada who absorbed more fire before their wrecked forms went over the Birds’ barrier.

Grenades and missiles hit the Birds’ positions, blasting through suits, sending Bird warriors into the air to strike ceilings and walls.  And suddenly there were a dozen Cacada warriors over their barrier, sending red beams of protons into anything that moved.

“Take that room,” yelled the General, waving more of his troops forward.  They flooded down the hallway, taking the other Bird position that was guarding another corridor from behind.

“Get the power hook ups on that gate,” he yelled, running into the medium sized chamber that contained what he had come for.  The silvery surface he had heard of, the entrance to the central part of the enemy’s realm.  Engineers went to the side of the gate and started attaching power leads to battery packs, preventing the enemy from cutting the energy that kept the gate open.  Supposed to be a magnetic field holding negative matter in place.  Can’t use that much energy to power that field, and we only have to keep it open for a couple of  hours.

“First platoon,” he yelled, looking away from the gate and toward another junior officer.  “Get through that portal.  Kill everything on the other side, and get me a perimeter around that gate.”

The first male went through the gate as the engineers continued to rig their connections.  It might take some time getting all of my males through that that gate, he thought, looking at a portal that, while wide enough for more than two Birds or humans to go through at a time, was definitely not made for his people, who had to duck on the way through.

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

That first male to come through the gate was completely confused by the experience.  It had seemed like he had died, and gone to the heaven of his people.  He saw the past Emperors, sitting on their thrones around a semicircle, throngs of worshipping males arrayed before them.  A sense of well-being came over him, followed by a feeling of ecstasy.  It was everything he was hoping for, what he had been told would be one of his rewards for going on this mission.  He dropped his weapon and knelt with the others, taking in the glorious aspects of the past Emperors.  Days went by, then a week.  And then…

He was standing on some hard surface, strange looking beings all around him, some pointing fingers in his direction, some screaming unintelligible words.  Something in a strange uniform was pointing a thing at him that looked like a weapon.  He knew he needed to do something, but couldn’t figure out what.

Something slammed into his back, sending him sprawling forward, just as a stream of pellets cracked over his head.  There was a grunt behind him, and the warrior went sprawling to the ground.  His head was still fuzzy, but he knew he had to defend himself.  He was surrounded by enemies, so he took his weapon and held down the trigger, sending a buzzing beam of angry red into the largest clump of creatures.  Clothing was set afire, flesh vaporized, and scorched bodies and pieces of bodies fell to the floor.  A moment later another particle beam joined his in striking the, humans, he knew them now to be humans, and hated enemies.  He got up from his sprawled position and ran toward a hard stone structure filled with soil, strange plants growing within, and dropped behind it, looking for targets.

Now the warriors were coming through the portal, pulled to the ground by those who had already regained their wits until they could function normally.  Within a minute there was a platoon in the large chamber.  Humans with weapons were starting to flood in from both ends.  A pair of missiles, both tipped with one ton mini-nuke warheads, covered the hundred meters to both ends of the room and stopped that influx, while the armored Cacada sought what cover was available.

*     *     *

After the first company had come through, the General followed.

“What in the name of the Gods was that,” said the senior mission officer, sweat running off his face.

“It passes, well, not quickly, my Lord,” said the Company Commander, helping the General away from the gate so more could pass without knocking him down.  “But it does pass.”

The General stared about the room, not the first human inhabited structure he had ever seen, but still strange to his eyes.  He took in the destroyed ends of the room, and all the smaller bodies lying about.  “Start moving your men in that direction.  Start taking territory as fast as you can.  I’ll send the next company through the other way.”  I don’t know much about this station, except that it is enormous.  And that I want my bombs set as far apart as possible, to do the maximum damage.

He became aware of the siren like sounds filling the air, and the flashing lights.  He looked back at his engineers, who were hooking up power packs to the gate, and severing all other connections.  “And Engineering Officer.  Send some males to shut off that disturbing racket.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

FENRI SPACE.  NOVEMBER 19TH, 1001.

“The Fleet is pulling out?” shouted one of his battalion commanders in the meeting chamber of the bunker.  “And leaving us behind?  Who the hell came up with that plan?”

“Not me, Colonel,” said Baggett, rubbing his eyes.  All were in their soft skins, the uniforms they wore under their armor.  Baggett had ordered it for all personnel not on the perimeter of a compound, or out on patrol.  And now it might be a while before we get out of the damned things again, he thought, shaking his head.  “It was decided to evacuate all the warships, and that includes our transports, until they can bring up the other task groups and retake the system.  The transports had to run for the barrier as soon as the news came in, so they would have a chance of getting out.”

“Just like the Goddam Fleet,” spat out another battalion commander.  “Look after their own, and leave the damned grunts to die in the mud.”

“I can’t blame any of you for your feelings,” said Baggett, raising a hand to stop further recriminations against their sister service.  “It does us no good to sit here and complain.  Now, how are your units, as far as fortifying their locations go?”

“We’ve got as many bunkers prepared as we can,” said the new Assistant Brigade Commander (ABC).  “Primary, secondary and tertiary.  As soon as the word is given, we can post to them.”

And the word will be given as soon as the enemy is on final approach.  As long as they don’t know where the bunkers are, they can’t hit us with kinetics.  But if they do locate one, the kinetics come down and that position dies, and anyone in a suit who can’t get out is dead with it.

“Any idea when the Fleet will return?” asked the first Battalion Commander to speak.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Colonel.  But if I had to guess, a week.  Maybe more.  They’re concerned about gathering enough of a force to beat the Fenri Fleet completely, while not sustaining many losses themselves.”

“Sound military planning,” said the ABC.  “But meanwhile, we face what is sure to be a superior landing force.”

“And the bunkers overlooking the likely landing zones?”

“Prepared, but in my opinion they leak a little too much heat.  I really don’t like the idea of having our troops sitting in them.  They’ll be sitting ducks.”

“I don’t intend to have any of our people sitting in those bunkers.  I want the Fenri to target them all, then come in fat and happy, congratulating themselves on how they shattered our defense.”

“And when they’ve landed?”

“That’s when we close with their landing forces, and make it extremely difficult for the Fenri to target us without endangering their own.”

He saw the looks of doubt on his officers’ faces at that.  “Look, you all have been in heavy infantry your entire careers.  I started in light infantry, then later went into medium, when my unit got sent to Sestius.  We had to fight a Caca landing force that was supported from orbit.  With jamming, we were able to stay close to the Cacas for two days, while their ships more often than not hit them instead of us.  So don’t give up hope.  We can do it.”

Now he saw some hope in their eyes.  Maybe not  a whole lot, but enough for him to work with.  “I won’t lie to you and tell you it will be easy.  We’re going to take a reaming.  But I will tell you this.  We will ream them right back.  And when the Fleet returns, we will be here to greet them.”  Not sure if we will be among the greeters, but some of ours will.

*     *     *

Lieutenant Jay Cummings stood outside in his light combat armor, watching as the crew of his number two tank, the only one remaining besides his own in the platoon, backed it into the pit they had prepared for it.

“Make sure everything is powered down,” he told the Staff Sergeant in charge as the tank came to a stop.

“Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant.  “Not an erg of power will be detectable.”

Moments later the crew bailed out of the vessel, while the engineers snaked a crawl tube made of carbon fibers underneath the tank.  They attached the tube to the bottom escape hatch of the tank and made sure it was secure.

The robodozer the engineers had used to dig the pit now went to work, shoveling dirt and debris around the tank, then picking up big slabs and placing them on top of the armored vehicle with its scoop equipped arms.  There was a full engineering brigade on the planet, as well as each division’s pioneer battalion.  Right now they were the busiest units on the world, preparing the defenses.

When the tank was fully covered Cummings checked out the tube, crawling through and into the tank.  He went through the vehicle, making sure that everything was powered down.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Sergeant, but everyone was tired, including himself, and mistakes could be made.  The Sergeant had crawled into Cummings’ tank after it had been buried, and had performed the same inspection.

After he was satisfied, he crawled out, meeting up with the rest of his platoon members outside, then leading the other eleven tankers to their hiding place, a couple of kilometers from the vehicles, which were separated from each other by a half kilometer of city rubble.

“What do we do if the tanks don’t survive their landing, sir?” asked the driver of the number two tank.

Cummings pointed at the mag rifle the soldier carried, a weapon they all thought they would never have a use for.  “Then, Specialist, we become infantry.”  Damn piss poor equipped and ill trained infantry.  I think there’s an old term for that.  Cannon fodder.

*     *      *

CONGREEVE SPACE.

“Order the hyper barrier force to hold their ground,” ordered the Great Armiral, looking at the holo that revealed the enemy force in the Kuiper Belt.  “When we have turned around we will work our way out to them, then smash that enemy force.”

“What about the other blockading forces?” asked the Advisor, pointing to the dozen smaller task forces that were arrayed around the system, some of them moving in to try and catch the Imperial Security Squadron, which was still on a course to run to the hyper barrier.

“They are to carry out their missions as ordered.  I want the blockade continued, and that squadron captured.”  He pointed at the icons of the small squadron that intelligence said might carry the leader of the humans as he spoke that last.

“But, if they are jumped by superior enemy forces?  Out of range of our support?”

“Then they will have died performing their duty,” growled the Great Admiral, clenching all four of his fists.  “We are not here to run.  We are here to crush these vermin.”

All on the bridge looked at their leader with dawning understanding.  The pheromones on the bridge were overwhelming, all were feeling the rise in aggressiveness.  And it had affected their normally calm and reasoning commander most of all, as he reverted to a Ca’cadasan male defending his territory at all costs.

*     *      *

“One  hour till we reach attack position,” said the Pilot, staring ahead at the simulation that was their tactical plot.

And hopefully we’ll have just as much luck this time, thought Komorov.  Her wing was moving as a coherent force, theoretically.  As soon as they had reached rest she had turned them around, plotted the probable location of the enemy Fleet at the time they would reach them, then started them on their way.  This time they would not reach their maximum velocity.  It was not necessary, as long as they outran their own light the enemy would not know they were coming, would not see them raise their bubbles of negative matter and start heading their way.  When they went under light speed, decelerating down to point nine five light, they might be detectable by a direct scan for that brief time before they dropped their bubbles.  That was unlikely.  They would not be at risk to anything except a random collision until that time came.

But whether they see us or not, they know we’re coming, thought the Captain.  “Everyone relax, as much as possible.  We’re just along for the ride for the next fifty odd minutes.”  Komorov lay back in her chair, activating a music program that was pumped directly into audial centers of her brain.  Now, as much as possible, she lost herself in the Sixth Symphony of Mastrich, New Berlin’s greatest composer.

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

Cadet Lieutenant Cornelius Walborski stepped into the wormhole gate on the world he was stationed on, thoughts of his weekend with his wife and children the only thing on his mind, and stepped into a battle.  Warning klaxons were going off, lights were flashing, and people seemed to be running this way and that in a panic.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked the Spacer who ran by, a pistol in hand.

“The station has been invaded, uh, sir,” said the woman, pulling up and noticing Walborski’s uniform.

“Invaded,” cried the Ranger, confused.  We’re at the heart of Empire.  What the hell could invade us here?  “By what?”

“Cacas,” said the wide eyed Spacer.  “We got Cacas on the station.”

“And they’re that way?” asked Cornelius, pointing the direction the woman had been running.

“Hell no, sir,” said the woman shaking her head.  “That’s for the Marines to handle.  We’re getting our asses to safety.”

Cornelius observed other Spacers running by through the civilians.  All had side arms, out and ready.  Probably in case they run into some of the Cacas that might get around them.

“Stop,” he yelled in his best command voice, just as he had been taught at the NCO Academy.  “All military personnel, come to me.”

Most of those military personnel were Spacers, with a smattering of Imperial Army soldiers.  Almost all of these were clerical specialists, or supply, mechanics, engineers.  Not combat personnel.  Most of the military people in the chamber came to him, though some shook their heads, or just looked at him in disbelief, and ran on.  Cornelius really couldn’t blame them.  It took a special sort of fool to volunteer to run toward the sound of the guns.  He had to hope he could convince some of these people to do so.

He tossed his bag to the floor, and motioned to one of the Spacers who had a rifle and pistol.  “I need a weapon, Spacer.  Give me one of yours.”

The man looked at his rifle for a second, then unsnapped his pistol belt and tossed it to the Ranger.  Wish you had given me the rifle, he thought.  I definitely could put it to better use than you.  But he wasn’t about to demand the man give him his primary weapon, so he buckled on the belt, happy to have the extra magazines of pellets.

“Look, people.  I know none of you thought you were going to be in close combat when you were assigned here.  The enemy has decided otherwise.”

“Shouldn’t we be letting the Marines deal with this?” asked one young man with the tabs of Army Supply on his collar.  “That’s what they’re trained to do.”

“So, you think this is just a reconnaissance in force by the enemy,” said Cornelius, pulling out his new pistol and reassuring himself that it was something he had used before.  He moved the selector to maximum velocity, not sure it that would be enough to penetrate Caca battle armor, but all he had.  “I don’t think they would stage an invasion of this station just to gather information.  They are here to do damage.”  He looked up and down the chamber.  There were a hundred gate cubbies on each side, two hundred total, and half of them were active.  “Let’s say they destroy all of the gates in a room like this.  Or ten of them.  That sets our war effort back by months, at a time when we cannot afford such a loss.  And waiting for the Marines could cause that much of a loss, or more.”  He held the pistol in the air.  “I want all of you to follow me into battle.  Even if we only accomplish the saving of one of these rooms, we’ll have accomplished a lot.  So, who’s with me?”

There were a few cheers, some head nods, some more shakes.  But when Cornelius went out the exit of the chamber, in the direction of the Cacas, he had thirty-two men and women behind him.

*    *     *

“Does anyone have an idea of the layout of this thing,” yelled the General, looking at a computer terminal that had been set there for public use.  He could pull up a schematic that told him where he was located, and the routes to get to other areas, but it was of no help with getting an idea of the actual scope of the station, or where to plant his devices.  Which are still on the damned Bird station, thought the General, looking back at the gate that was sending his troops into the human structure.

They were exiting at the rate of one every three seconds, as fast as they could be pushed through.  So far four hundred males had made it onto the station, of the six thousand he had brought with him.  He had lost about an equal number on the Bird station, and was sure he would lose more before he got his entire force here.  For a moment he had the idea of just bringing the weapons across and detonating them in this room, together.  But he had no idea about the structural layout of this station, or if setting off four one hundred gigaton devices in one area would sever the ring and send it off balance into the black hole.

“I will keep trying, my Lord,” said one of the engineers.  “But I know nothing of their security systems.”

“Then keep at it, fool,” growled the General, his frustration rising.  He looked back at the commander of the battalion that was already partially over.  “When the rest of your regiment is over,” he ordered, pointing at the officer, “tell the regimental commander of two to start sending over the weapons.”

“Then we will detonate them,” said the officer, his face a mixture of fear and religious ecstasy.

“Maybe,” said the General, giving a head shake of assent.  “But I would prefer to have more area under our feet, where we can spread out the blast effects of the weapons.”  But that might take hours, just to get all the males over here.

The sounds of fighting had retreated into the distance, and the General was curious as to what was going on.  “I will tour the front, and see how much of this thing we have taken.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement he walked to the end of the chamber, with its single working wormhole.  There were other gates in the room, all deactivated.  It had taken but minutes to find out how to shut them down quickly.  That had been a major worry, as there was always the threat that the enemy could bring in a force from another world and strike them from the rear.

The end of the chamber was a mass of melted metal and the rubble of decorative stonework, the effects of the one ton yield mininuke that had slammed into it.  There were human bodies lying in that rubble, most of them in soft uniforms, burned from the explosion.  He glanced back for a moment, his eyes roaming over the hundred odd other bodies in the chamber, the humans his troops had cut down in taking the chamber.

A satisfying start, he thought, but nowhere near enough.  Even this whole station, with all of its obviously huge population, is only a small start, though it might be the start that rolls the vermin into oblivion.

The corridor beyond was several hundred meters in length.  It led into another two hundred meter long wormhole gate room.  There were also bodies here, including those of some of the human Marines in their medium ship armor.  He frowned as he saw that some of his men had died taking this room.  Against mostly unarmed humans, and a few of their warriors.

But more of the gates were shut down, he thought, looking at the blank cubbies along both walls.

This thing is much bigger than we thought.  Who would have believed that any inferior species, with such a short life span, would make a commitment to a project like this.  And it would take us just as long to build one of our own.

He entered yet another chamber, and a male ran up to him and motioned him down.  “It’s still dangerous in here, my Lord General,” said the male.  “We just pushed the humans out of the room.”

The General gave a head shake of agreement as he hunched over and ran to the Ca’cadasan forward command post, some officers squatting down behind one of the human’s decorative planters, in aspects of listening to their coms.

“What’s the situation?” he asked the officer in charge, a Company Commander.

“We pushed them from this room a few minutes before you arrived, my Lord,” said the Senior Officer, not bothering to give a salute, since it was a combat situation.  “They offered serious resistance this time, with several squads of their Marines, and some armed Spacers.”

“And your men are pushing through the next corridor?”

“Yes, my Lord.”  The officer looked frustrated for a moment.  “Is there no end to these rooms?”

“Not as far as we are concerned,” said the General.  “But we don’t have to take all of them.  “I want you to take the next chamber, then set up a defensive position there.  That, with the other direction, will give us over a kilometer of depth.  The follow up units will move to the sides and give us a larger footprint on the breadth of this station.”

The General activated a holo projector on his gauntlet and looked at the large scale schematic of the station.  Measurement figures appeared underneath, both Ca’cadasan and human scales.  It was enough to cause him to think twice about trying to destroy this thing, despite all of the firepower he had brought along.  Fifty kilometers thick, the same as almost fifteen superbattleships end to end.  One hundred kilometers wide.  And over twenty-five million kilometers in circumference.  Twelve trillion cubic kilometers of volume.  Looking at it again, he wasn’t sure that he species would have had the willpower, or patience, to construct such a thing.  Most of it was filled with machinery, generators, crystal matrix batteries, the accelerators used to make negative matter.

And it would take them another century to make a replacement, all the while losing their greatest advantage over us.  My name will go down in the history of the race, and my children will be elevated to the level of high nobility.

He expanded the schematic, looking for areas that would need to be destroyed to cut the ribbon.  He found six one kilometer thick cables that ran the circumference of the station, three along the bottom of the ribbon, three along the top.  Of each trio, one was at each edge, while the third was directly in the center.

And there is no way we can reach all six of them, he thought, slamming his hand to the wall, his armor and the enhanced strength from the suit making a large dent in the alloy.  We’ll just have to go for the three bottom ones and hope that’s enough.  I know they built some redundancy in the supports, but how much? Surely not double what was needed.  Now, what about my fourth weapon?  He studied the schematic, then made his decision, just before making his next one.  The sheer size of the station could still be his undoing.  There is no way I am going to take that much territory with less than six thousand males.  So, if I can’t cover all that territory, I will have to do it the old fashioned way.  With infiltration.  Now, we just need to find a path.

*     *     *

“What the hell is it this time?” cried Dr. Lucille Yu, sitting in her office.

Klaxons were sounding, the lights were flashing, but in patterns unfamiliar to the Director.

“That’s the invasion signal,” said Jimmy Chung, stopping for a moment, his eyes unfocusing in the manner of someone going into link.

Who the hell could be invading anything like the station? she thought.  It was an inconceivable notion that anyone could think they could take the station.  Destroy it?  Impossible.  Then she remembered the shape shifter that had almost done that very thing, and suddenly the idea didn’t seem so impossible after all.

“It’s the Ca’cadasans,” said Jimmy, his eyes wide.  “They’re on the station.”

“How many?” asked Yu, shaking her head in denial.

“A thousand?  More?  We just don’t know at this point.”

A holo appeared above her desk, the face of a Marine Colonel in battle armor appearing, his visor retracted.  “Senior Agent Chung.  We’re having a problem here.”

“What now?” asked Lucille.

Chung raised his hand to silence her, then looked at the holo.  “What’s the problem, Colonel?  Get your men to those compromised areas and stop the Cacas.”

“The problem, Senior Agent, is that the Commander of Marine Security is ordering us to form a perimeter well out from the Cacas, and to not push forward until we can get the other regiments up.”

“And how long will that take?”

“The way the division is spread out, six hours.  Maybe longer.”

“And this command came from the General in Charge?”

“I wondered about that myself, Senior Agent.  I asked the General, and he said the orders came straight from Admiral O’Hara.”

“Dammit,” yelled Yu, glaring at Jimmy.  “I told you.”

“Colonel,” said Yu.  “You are now an independent command.  You have orders to take what you think will be the most effective action to repel the enemy intrusion.”

“I hate to tell you, Senior Agent, but you are not in my chain of command,” said the man.

Oh hell.  Do we have an automaton on our hands, not able to think for himself?

“Listen, Colonel.  Are you a loyal citizen of the Empire?  Above and beyond your oath as a Marine?”

“Of course I am, Senior Agent,” said the man in an angry tone.

“Then think, man.  Do you care more about your career, or the Empire?”

The expression from the hard faced Marine answered that question without a word.

“Then do what needs to be done, and depend on me to get the orders passed down through the chain of command.  I will get in touch with the CNO and have her get orders to you, and to your commanding officer.  So start moving your men in and push back their invasion force.  And look out for any heavy weapons they might have brought.”

“Yes, sir.  Will do.  But, what kind of weapons?  It would take a really huge antimatter bomb to disable the station.  And what about Admiral O’Hara?”

Jimmy’s eyes unfocused for a moment, then he looked back at the officer.  “Admiral O’Hara will be in custody within the next few minutes.  Now get to it, Colonel.”

The holo faded, and Lucille looked at Chung in admiration at the way he had taken charge.  His eyes unfocused again.  He looked back at her after a moment.  “Admiral McCullom has been informed.  The orders should come down in a moment.”

Lucille nodded, then her eyes went wide as she thought about part of the conversation that had escaped her at the moment.  “The weapons.  That has to be it.”

“What weapons?”

“Remember that thing I couldn’t tell you about?”

“Yeah.  Some kind of weapon’s project, from what I understood.”

“Quark warheads.  The military’s answer to bigger blasts from smaller devices.  Something they could use on covert ops.”

“Just like what the Cacas are pulling here,” said Jimmy, understanding dawning in his eyes.  “How powerful are these things?”

“Several hundred times more blast effect per mass than antimatter.”

“And how in the hell do they achieve that effect?”

“They split protons and neutrons to their constituent quarks, then the quarks to the subquarks.”

“I thought quarks were the bottom of the hierarchy,” said Jimmy, alarm on his face.

“Nope.  We discovered subquarks centuries ago, but never found a method of splitting enough quarks to actually get practical energy from them.  Well, now we have.  And if we have, chances are the Cacas already possess weapons like that.”

“Any way to track them?” asked Jimmy.

“I wouldn’t know.  But if there is, Admiral Chrone and his team will know about it.”

“Then you get in touch with the Admiral and see what he can do about tracking those, Quarkium, warheads.  I’ve got to organize my people.”  Jimmy started to head for the door.

“And what’s your plan?”

“I’m going to lend myself and my people to the Colonel.  I’m sure he can use every hand available.”

“Against the Cacas?  Are you crazy?  You’re not a soldier.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said, moving out the door with the speed of the enhanced.

Said the man who is going to be facing particle beams in a suit, thought Yu, already worried for his safety.  No matter his abilities, his flesh isn’t proton resistant.

*      *      *

Admiral Benjamin O’Hara sent out his last order on the com, then started to see to his escape.   He had started the change hours before.  He was still the same height and general mass, and still had the surface genetic structure of the human he had used as the template for this form.  But now his face looked different.  He had made some minor changes to his facial bone structure, some tweeks to muscles in his face and neck, color corrections to skin, hair and eyes.  He was dressed as a junior officer, and his apparent age fit the rank.

The Yugalyth shape shifter checked the feed from the camera he had put in the hallway and cursed under his breath.  All of the people he saw were in civilian clothing, the kind worn by the IIA agents.  And they moved with the grace of the augmented humans, something they tried to hide, successfully from most observers, but not against a trained infiltration agent.

I need to get out of here, thought the being, reaching under his desk and hitting a secret switch.  He had hoped to just walk out of this, but if they saw him coming out of this office, he was sure to be detained and questioned.  And if detained, they were sure to check his ID, then do a deep scan on his tissue when he didn’t meet the physical parameters of Lieutenant SG Hung.

The desk slid aside, revealing a hatch in the floor that the Admiral had ordered installed by civilian contractors.  Of course they will eventually find it, thought the Yugalyth.  But once I am free of this area, I really don’t care.

The Yugalyth slid down the hatch, then hit another switch in the egress tunnel that caused the desk to slide back into place.  The creature smiled to itself as it walked through the tunnel, headed for the egress point.  Behind it the IIA agents rushed into the office with drawn weapons, only to find that their target was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Six

CONGREEVE SPACE.

“They’re back,” yelled out the Tactical Officer.

The Great Admiral turned to the holo, not even needing to ask who they were.  He saw the vector arrows of the superfast attack fighters, coming at his force at point nine five light from less than a light minute away.  He was about to order his ships to fire on them, something he hoped the captains would do without his needing to give that command.  Before he opened his mouth the enemy ships launched, and almost two hundred new vector arrows appeared on the tactical plot.  And all of them were heading toward the center of the force, where the flagship was located.

“Launching counters,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Beam weapons tracking and firing.”

We’re taking them under fire faster than the first time, he thought, watching as two of the missiles dropped off the plot.  So we should have more success.  But how much?

As soon as the last thought crossed his mind another ninety-five objects appeared, thirty-five light seconds from the forward group of the Fleet.  Nine seconds later another group appeared, then another, until all six of the enemy attack groups had launched, then flown through the fleet, hitting everything they could with beam weapons.

When the attack fighters had passed, there were over one hundred Ca’cadasan ships expanding in their own plasma, while another hundred and sixty sustained damage, almost a hundred of them heavy.

The Great Admiral looked at the count of attack fighters destroyed.  Forty-one, he thought, clenching his fists.   He had lost hundreds of millions of tons of warships, hundreds of thousands of warriors, for the return of less than fifty thousand tons of enemy shipping, and what couldn’t be more than three hundred crewmen.

This is total trouble for us, unless we can find out a way to fight back.  But right now, I don’t see how.

“We have more of them, coming in from one hundred and eighty degrees, my Lord,” yelled out the Tactical Officer.

Of course.  The other attack group, coming back.  I wonder if they’ll come back again after this attack.  I guess it depends on how many missiles they carry.  But it couldn’t be that many, could it?

*     *     *

“We’re receiving an alert from the Donut, your Majesty,” came Kelso’s voice over the com.

Sean was watching a replay of the first attack by the inertialess attack fighters.  The vid had been taken by several vessels that had been hiding on the moon of one of the gas giants.  It had been over a light hour away, and it had taken that long for the light from the attack to reach the ship, which had then transmitted it by subspace com to a wormhole equipped vessel.  The images were low resolution, a combination of the distance and the speed of the attacking vessels.  In fact, the only way to see the attack ships was to slow down the time considerably.  It was still a most impressive display, and one for which Chan would be receiving a patent of nobility.

“What kind of alert?” asked the Emperor, sure that if it involved the Donut, it couldn’t be good.

“Invasion, your Majesty,” said the Admiral that held the position of the Emperor’s Flag Captain, appearing on the holo.  “They are reporting that the Cacas have invaded the structure.  Intentions unknown.”

“But assumed to be against our best interests,” said Sean, feeling the tension in his neck and shoulders.  He was alone in the chamber.  After almost twenty-four hours awake, Jennifer had been exhausted, and he had sent her to bed, promising to have her sent for if he needed her support.  But now he had to make a quick decision.

“How did they get on the station?” he asked, his tired brain trying to work despite the fatigue.  He ordered his nanosystems to balance his chemicals, something that would make him feel better for a short time, but would have to be paid for later.

“From all indications they came through the wormhole from the Elysium capital,” said Kelso, his voice hushed, as if he really didn’t want to believe what he was saying.

“And, have we received any word from Elysium?  Do we know what’s going on there?”

“Not since the Cacas got onto the station, your Majesty,” said Kelso, shaking his head.  “I fear for our allies.”

“Me too,” said Sean.  Could they have been conquered?  Is that even possible, with us facing so much of the Caca’s military might here?  It can’t be.  But it could, couldn’t it?

“How many Marines can we send through the wormholes to them?”

“Through ships with wormhole gates?  Thousands, ten thousand.  But, why?  They have their own security force, and we may need them here.”

“Doubtful,” said Sean, pulling up a schematic of the enormous station on the holo that surrounded him.  As always, the scale of the thing amazed him.  He couldn’t see how it would not amaze anyone who saw it.  And it was their one irreplaceable resource in this war.  “We will probably not need all of our Marines in an action that will mostly be long range and deadly.  And any reinforcements the Donut gets will be of use there.  Especially since we don’t know the scope of this assault.”

“There is a high probability that they are striking the Donut with the intention of destroying it, your Majesty.”

“I realize that, Admiral.  All the more reason to get as many Marines on that station as we can, before they set off whatever it is they have brought along.  All the better to overrun their positions.  So get on the com and get those Marines moving, in full heavy armor, if they have it.  And no one else in the Fleet is to know of this, unless they are already in the chain of communication.”

“Won’t the ship commanders wonder why we’re taking their Marines, your Majesty?”

“Then make something up that sounds plausible.  These officers have other things to worry about at this time.  Like this battle.”

The com holo faded, immediately replaced by that of Admiral Lenkowski, coming through the wormhole net.  And how long will it be up? thought the Emperor.

Much of the system went through the Donut, transmitted from the many satellites that orbited the black hole along with the ring.  Most wormhole com equipped ships had only one of the portals, used for multiple purposes.  Most were attached to one or another of the satellites, though many of the early connections were still on the Donut.  And there were a hundred wormholes on the station itself dedicated to the com net, routing signals from one satellite to another, and through the gates to planets.  If the station was destroyed, then half the ships with wormhole coms would suddenly be cut off from the net as their own wormholes died.  Many more hundreds would still be on the net, but that net would be disrupted, and ships might still be able to communicate with others a thousand light years away, while cut off from vessels light minutes distant.

And if they took some of the wormhole gate rooms, or more than some, they could disrupt the Imperial forces without having to destroy the station, simply by knocking out those gates.

And right in the middle of a battle would be the worst time for the net to fail.

“We’re about to be hit by the enemy missiles,” said Len, a smile on his face.

“Any problems, Len?”

“We’re picking up the scout forces they left behind jumping into hyper,” said the Admiral.

Sean’s mind was still focused on the Donut, and it took him a moment to realize just what the Admiral was saying.  The enemy had dropped off scout forces of several hundred vessels on the way in, and those forces had sat out there, several of them beyond the deployments of the human vessels.  The human forces out in the deeps were arrayed in many small groups, making them poor targets for a long range engagement, as the enemy would either have to fire many missiles at fewer ships, or spread them out in an inefficient pattern.  Especially since the human ships were able to do what they were about to.

“Are they coming toward you, or going away?” asked Sean.  If they were going toward the human force, and congregating, they could destroy some task groups before the Imperial force could gather enough to battle them.   If they were leaving, they would be the purview of Mgonda’s Hyper VII Battle Fleet.

“Both,” said the Admiral.  “And I’m afraid we’re going to have to concentrate some of our force to deal with the ones coming at us.”

“Do what you have to do, Admiral, to protect your force.  Even if that means advancing your timetable.”

“Yes, your Majesty.  We’re executing our first maneuver now.”

*     *     *

Grand Fleet Admiral Len Lenkowski turned away from the holo of the Emperor as the missiles on the tactical plot approached.  He knew that the Caca missiles were all dual purpose, capable of translating and traversing hyper.  But at the velocity they were traveling they would not be translating anywhere.

Anastasia Romanov and her consorts shunted power to their hyperdrive projectors and opened the holes in space to the hyper I dimension, then boosted forward at two hundred gravities into the portals.  The holes closed behind them, and they were surrounded in the red tinted space of the lower hyper dimension.  In the following seconds the missiles that had been targeting the human ships flew by in normal space, unable due to their velocity to translate after the enemy.  They immediately went into deceleration mode.  It would take them hours to drop to a velocity where they could translate, another hour to come to rest where they could start a return trip back to the human fleet.  They would run out of power well before they were in a position to make another attack, dropping out of hyper in catastrophic translations.

“It worked to perfection, your Majesty,” said Len, turning back toward the holo of his Emperor.  “It…”

The holo died without warning, and Len looked at his Flag Com Officer with a question on his face.  That officer was talking quickly to a holo of another officer.

“What the hell just happened?” he asked the Com Officer as he walked over to her station.

“Something interrupted the link,” said the flustered looking officer.  “They’re trying to reroute it now at the Donut.”

“Well, get it back up as soon as possible,” he said, turning back to the holo.

“We have another problem, Admiral,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing at the holo, which was now showing the red vector arrows of enemy ships heading their way.  “Over a hundred enemy ships are on their way to hit our force.”

“And how many are coming here?” he asked, looking at the plot.  “At us?”

“I think all of them, Admiral.”

*     *     *

“Get him back,” yelled Sean over the com link.

“The problem isn’t on our end, your Majesty,” said Kelso.  “We still have contact with most of the Fleet, and the com is being sorted out on the Donut.

“Beginning phase II,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Sean nodded, then realized the officer couldn’t see his head nod.  “Authorizing phase II, now.”

He looked at the tactical plot, focusing on the enemy missiles that were coming his way, now ten minutes from impact.  And the vector arrows of the ships that were hiding behind the planet, hundreds of them, many the most advanced type of antimissile ships in his inventory.  He knew the ships were moving at their maximum acceleration, but it still looked like it was going to be a close race, and he didn’t want to play his last card just yet.

Come on, he thought, staring at the plot.  Come on.

The ships started poking their noses around the edge of the planet.  Sean knew the enemy was tracking them by their graviton emissions, that they already knew they were there.  He expected the launch of a greater volley of missiles any second now, and he was not disappointed when thousands of red icons appeared on the plot.  Every couple of seconds another thousand blossomed, until there were over twenty thousand missiles heading their way.

And none of these will get above point three light, he thought, watching as the missiles birthed acceleration figures beneath their icons.  The enemy was only traveling at point zero five eight light, on a deceleration profile that would bring them to a stop at the planet in a little over an hour.  They were currently at sixty-three million kilometers from the planet, still out of practical beam range.  And the missiles they had just fired would be coming in at point two five light, almost a crawl where missile warfare was concerned.

But first we have to take out that initial wave, he thought, as the ships started to move into their defensive formations.  The first wave was coming in at a respectable point eight-four light, and any that hit the planet would be a disaster.

“Task groups are cycling counters,” called out the Tactical Officer, and the bloom of interceptors appeared on the plot.  None of the ships were equipped with wormholes, one not being able to travel through another.  Their interceptors were only able to able to accelerate at their normal rate, though that would be sufficient against such a small swarm.  I can only hope, thought Sean, sending a wakeup call to Jennifer, knowing she would want to be here for this.  “She’ll never forgive me if she dies and isn’t here for it,” he whispered to himself, trying to find some levity in a situation that had very little.

The first missile arrows began to fall off the plot, followed thirty-two seconds later by bright flashes of antimatter warheads detonating in silence.  The plot was also tracking the beam fire of the Imperial  vessels, a crisscross of lines weaving through the vacuum, trying to make long enough contact to blow incoming weapons out of space.  Some made contact.  Some even made contact long enough to cause damage to a missile.  And some of those were damaged enough to explode in space.

Counters were still going forth, taking out some missiles here and there, and as the missiles got closer the beam weapons started getting more hits.  And at five seconds out, the remaining missiles met a hail of pellets from thousands of automatic weapons.  More missiles exploded, but some got through, even those really too damaged to do anything more than fly straight ahead at the current velocity.

One hit a destroyer, turning it into expanding plasma.  Then another, then a cruiser.  One battleship took a glancing blow that killed most aboard while spinning the fifteen million ton ship off into space.  Several missiles made it through the naval force that was not their primary target, aiming for the fortresses that were what was available at the time they were launched.  The faux fortresses opened fire with their defensive weapons, as did the superfreighters that were in orbit with them.  Still, two fortresses went up from multiple hits, and the third was damaged from a near miss proximity hit.  And one missile went into the planet, while the Emperor held his breath.

*     *     *

Father Matias Josue sat on the plains with his flock, twelve tribes from the region.  The natives sat around the fires, their grotesque faces tilted to the sky.  The beautiful nebula took up a good portion of those heavens, now as brilliant as always.  Lights from the false cities no longer intruded on the splendor of the sky, having been switched off moments before, their purpose served.  The sky was full of stars, and unusual companions that flared brightly, then faded to nothing.

They don’t really understand what they are looking at, thought the Priest, watching as the shamans from all the tribes danced around the fire and called out to their Gods.  He said a quick prayer to his own deity, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to ask for all the divine help possible.  Not that God has seen fit to intervene in this war, as of yet.  Or any other wars I have ever heard of.

He looked around the fire at the many faces, some very familiar to him, others not so much.  And a couple of familiar ones missing.  I told them not to attack the cities, he thought, wincing at the injuries on some of the faces.  He had to admit that the Marines had not gone out of their way to be cruel.  In fact, they had not used any weapons, only the hard metal strength of their battle armor.  But men with the strength of twenty, against sentients with bodies softer than most, was a recipe for disaster.

Some more explosions flared, and from the brilliance he could tell they were getting closer.  Then came a few very large flashes, followed by a trio of flares that seemed to fill the sky with their brilliance.  And then, what the Priest had been dreading, a streak of light instantaneously linked the sky with the ground to the far north.  The flare this time was truly colossal, growing, then fading over minutes of time.  A mushroom cloud rose to the heavens, also of titanic proportions.

The Priest, once a geologist, estimated the distance from the size of the fireball, small in the distance, and his knowledge of relativistic weapons.  If I’m right, that thing struck the north polar continent, over four thousand kilometers away.  So we should be safe from the blast wave.  But.

They waited for the first tremor, which hit some time later, a mild shock that caused the natives, all on their feet and staring at the far distant mushroom cloud, to yell out in fright.  The fireball they couldn’t understand, the moving of the earth they could.  The second tremor came along moments later, then a series that continued one after the other, each growing stronger.  They were on the plains, there was nothing to fall on them.  But the earth opened up in several places, crevices that grew across the landscape.  Animals trumpeted in distress and ran.  Most made it away from the opening earth, some fell in, and many fell injured to the ground.

“Everyone stay still,” yelled the Priest, lying on the ground where he fell.  “You will just damage yourselves.”

They were still lying there much later, when the earsplitting roar of the distant explosion reached them.

*     *     *

Sean stared in horror as the intact missile missed the target fortress and zipped into the atmosphere of the planet.  It came in at a shallow angle to the pole, streaking through one of the thickest slices of the atmosphere.  There was no fireball, no burning reentry, just a streak of light as the missile flew through the gas in microseconds, too fast for the eye to follow.

And then it struck, right into a polar cap that was even thicker than normal due to the planetary ice age.  With a blast billions of tons of ice were thrown into the atmosphere, most to melt almost immediately, some, the larger chunks, to rise out of the atmosphere before plunging back down to strike ground or water.  The blast wave moved out as the fireball rose into the atmosphere.  The wall of fire scoured the surface of the ice a kilometer deep, throwing more water and vapor into the atmosphere.

“It’s a catastrophe,” he told Jennifer as she walked into the room.

“What happened?”

“And enemy missile struck the planet, and it’s my fault,” cried Sean.  “If I hadn’t have specified this system for the bait, I wouldn’t have put that ecosystem at risk.”

The view on the holo was horrifying.  A glowing red spot where the crust had been breached, magma rising into the sky while walls of ice cascaded into the widening melt zone.  Steam and water vapor rising into the sky, forming a swirling cloud pattern that had the look of a super storm.

The com holos sprung to life, several senior officers trying to contact the Emperor and not getting an answer.

“Worry about this later,” shouted Jennifer, grabbing Sean by the shoulders.  “There’s nothing you can do about it right now.  There’s a battle to fight, so fight it.”

“You’re right,” said Sean, shaking off the shock.  He took one more look at the planet, then to the holos.  “I will make this right.  I swear I will.”  He linked back into the com.  “All ships, fire all missiles in magazines at the enemy fleet.  Repeat, all missiles.  And start moving the wormhole gate into position.”  He checked the timer and winced, wondering if he had waited too long.   “Move it, now.  As fast as possible, and align it on the enemy fleet.”  Now you pay for this, you bastards.  At least one payment of many.

*     *     *

“Two of their forts were taken out,” said the Tactical Officer, as the icons blinked off of the plot.  “One missile has hit the planet.”

“Not my fault,” said the Great Admiral in a low voice.  His rules of engagement were such that he couldn’t indiscriminately fire at life bearing planets.  Such was against the tenants of his race’s biologically based religion.  But a hit in combat, caused by the miss of a legitimate target, especially if that miss was caused by enemy action, was not against those tenants.  That this was a complete case of rationalization was missed on the creatures that so rationalized.

“What do you want to do, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer.  “The enemy force ahead?”

“Fire multiple volleys of missiles.  I want their defenses overwhelmed.”

“And as we get closer, my Lord?  There is no way we can avoid closing with them.”

“And why should we.  We will destroy that fleet, then make our way back out.”  He looked at the tactical plot once again.  He paid particular attention to the Imperial Escort Squadron, still heading out of the system, and now trading missile volleys with a larger force of Ca’cadasans working their way in on a vector that would allow them to match with the enemy.  I hope those fools don’t destroy that flagship.  I want that Emperor, so I can torture the information I want out of him.

*     *     *

Jana Gorbachev stared into the tactical holo in the weapons’ center, willing the enemy to come closer.  Her position as Weapons’ Master Chief was not one that allowed her actual control of the weapons systems.  Not unless something happened to someone further up the chain of command.   She was merely a monitor, another pair of eyes and a mind making sure everything was functioning as it should.

But she had been driven by a fury since she had escaped from the Cacas.  The only thing going through her mind had been how to hurt them.  How to destroy them.  With her expertise with weapons control she had been able to work the system to give her command any time she wanted it.  And now she wanted it.

Without waiting for command, her rage the only thing that mattered to her in this moment, she keyed in the sequence that turned control of the weapons to her.  As soon as the panel lit up, indicating that she had control, she locked in the firing coordinates.

“Ma’am,” yelled out one of the techs, staring at his board.  “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” asked Commander Sheila McGregor, walking up behind the tech, putting a gauntlet on the back of the chair and staring at the display.  “What the hell,” she said, then looked more closely at the board, then over at Gorbachev.  “Master Chief?  What are you doing?”

Jana glanced at the officer, then back at her board, a smile stretching her face.  And she hit the commit button.

*     *     *

“What the hell is going on?” shouted Sean as the great bulk of Augustine I shook underfoot.

“The ship has opened fire on the enemy,” shouted the Captain of the vessel, Montoya.  “Particle beams, lasers, all the missile tubes.”

“I didn’t order any such fire,” yelled Sean.  “Who is responsible?”

“One of the crew went crazy and took control of the system,” said a voice that Sean recognized as Commander Sheila McGregor, the Weapons’ Officer of the ship.

“Do you have control of the systems back?” asked the Emperor, knowing as soon as he asked that they hadn’t, since the ship was still was vibrating underfoot.

“We have taken the crewwoman under custody, but it may take a moment to unlock the system,” said the Commander, her worried looking face appearing on the holo.  He could see someone in battle armor behind the officer, struggling in the grasp of two other Spacers.

“Your Majesty,” yelled the struggling crewwoman.  “I struck the first blow from this ship.  Aren’t you proud of me?  I did it, Sean.  I paid the bastards back.”

Dammit, thought Sean, looking into the face of his old B ring chief.  Why didn’t I listen to the doctor?  I should never have put her in a position of responsibility this soon.

“Be gentle with her, Commander.  Take her to medical and have her held there until I tell you what to do with her.”

The holo went blank for a moment.  “I’m so sorry, Sean,” said Jennifer, rubbing her hand over the armor on his left arm.  “I know you wanted her to be well.”

“I’ll think about that later,” said Sean, looking back at the tactical plot that surrounded them.

“We have missile launches, your Majesty.”

“Target?”

“We can’t be sure, but most probably us.”

*     *     *

“What in all the hells was that,” yelled the Great Admiral as a powerful particle beam struck one of his vessels.  The velocity reading below the beam was point nine nine nine nine light, and the ship in question had only had a less than one second warning of it coming, not enough time to avoid it.  A large gouge appeared in the forward hull of the superbattleship, gas flaring into short lived flames before dying in the vacuum.

“That was a particle beam, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer in a disbelieving voice.  “From that large merchant ship.”  The officer pointed to the middle of the three ships.  “I believe it is not what it seems.  Maybe all of them are not what they seem.”

“Then target those vessels and fire spreads of missiles at them.”  The Great Admiral stood there thinking for a moment.  He zoomed the vid up on the damaged ship, one that had been hit by a one second exposure to one powerful particle beam.  The gouge in the side was open through the armor and several levels below.   He had never seen anything like it from that kind of weapon, and thought in horror what would have happened if it had been made up of antiprotons.  He made up his mind in an instant.  “All crew to acceleration couches.  Prepare for heavy gee forces.  Send that command to all ships.”

Klaxons started to sound while lights flashed, and the crew ran to their bridge couches.  “Prepare to add twenty-five gravities to our deceleration.  Continue until we come to a halt.”  Twenty-five more gravities was twelve above their safety limit.  The males would suffer through that many gravities, up to and through unconsciousness for many of them.  Some might die.  And the effect on the slaves aboard each ship would be deadly to most, especially since the majority of those beings didn’t have couches.

“Set the weapons on automatic track and fire, level two.”

“Not level one, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“We may need to fight our way out of this system,” said the Great Admiral, giving a head motion of negation.  “Just set the weapons to my parameters.”

The Tactical Officer gave a head motion of acknowledgement and turned back to his board.  “Weapons engaged to level two automatic.”

“Command transmitted to all ships, my Lord,” called out the Com Officer.

“Engage acceleration on my command,” said the Great Admiral.

“What about the males who don’t make it to their couches?” asked the Helm Officer.

“Acceptable casualties.  Now, engage.”

The heavy push of pseudo-gravity settled on the bodies of the Cacada as the ship jumped into a greater deceleration profile.  The Great Admiral tried to pull in a breath, and was barely able to, thanks to the genetics of his kind, who had originally developed on a heavy gravity world.  Still, it was a struggle, and one which his breathing muscles could not win over the long run.  Soon he stopped pulling air into his lungs, depending on his internal nanoglobule system to provide his brain with the oxygen he needed to survive.  Now they would stop four minutes earlier than before.  And even better, they would start on the way back out at a much faster acceleration rate than the enemy could follow.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CONGREEVE SYSTEM.  NOVEMBER 20TH, 1001.

“Send a signal to the nearest three task groups,” ordered Lenkowski, watching the approaching enemy forces on the tactical holo.  There were three of them as well, made up of over a hundred vessels, but only twelve of them superbattleships.  Still, they outmassed his task group, and he wasn’t sure he could defeat them in close combat.

His task group, comprising his superbattleship, twelve regular battleships, and forty-eight smaller vessels, waited.   They had dropped back into normal space and were trying to put distance between themselves and the oncoming Ca’cadasans, while staying outside the hyper barrier and at a low enough velocity to jump back into hyper, to avoid any missiles sent their way by the much larger enemy force that had just gone beyond the barrier and into the system.

“All of those groups are to fire time on target to our projected position,” he looked over at his Flag Navigation Officer.  “Calculate the longest range of the farthest task group’s missiles, and our projected position, then send to task groups.”

The Com Officer gave acknowledgement and started sending out the signal, while the Admiral studied the holo.  Some green arrows, blinking as their positions were approximated on the holo, were on a course toward the enemy task force, travelling at point nine-five light, giving out no gravitons, and therefore invisible to long range tracking.

“All other task groups are to fire time on target on the enemy force now boosting into the system.  Impact time to coincide with that of the projected deep strike from out system.  Send our best projected location for the deep strike and their ETA.”

He knew that the enemy force was forging in to meet up with the larger force that was about to grapple with the Emperor’s local command.  Once united, they would try to defeat the human force, or, failing that, fight their way out of the system.  I will ream the hell out of those bastards before they get to that point, he thought.

“Time to enemy force arriving at our locations?” he asked his Tactical Officer.

“Estimated, fifteen minutes, twelve seconds,” called out the officer.

And time on target will reach us in twenty-three.  Can we hold out that long?

*     *     *

“Enemy force is increasing deceleration rate,” called out Kelso over the com.  “Profile puts them at a stop three minutes from predicted.”

“I didn’t think they had that kind of capability,” said Jennifer, who, at Sean’s prompting, had been studying everything they knew about the Cacas.

“I think it’s beyond the limit for their bigger ships,” said Sean, staring at the vid of one of the enemy superbattleships.  “Which means those crews are suffering from a heavy gravity load.   Unless they have acceleration tubes?”

“From our intelligence, and the ships we have inspected, they don’t use them,” said Captain Mary Innocent over the com.  “They seem to feel it is outmoded tech, superseded by their own increase in technology.”

Sean thought about that for a second.  The Empire’s own naval experts had suggested the obviation of the tubes, liquid filled containers that allowed people to travel at over thirty gravities.  As new tech increased the maximum inertia that grabbers could convert to heat, the experts kept saying that the tubes were useless tech, but the Fleet kept finding a use for them.

And they thought the same of plasma torpedoes, only retaining them because some staunch traditionalists demanded their inclusion on new ships.  And then Jean de Arc used them to help destroy an Ca’cadasan superbattleship.  And I used them later to knock out an enemy missile swarm in hyper, using old tech to solve a current problem.

“We want a close in fight with the bastards,” said Sean, watching the red arrows of the aliens’ latest strike coming at them.  They’ll be here in one minute.  Then, five minutes later, we get hit with the strike aimed at us and the other superfreighters.  And the wormhole ship gate won’t be in firing position for another six minutes, as slow as it’s moving.  He checked on the progress of the missiles that were scheduled to come through that gate and winced.  The first missiles would be coming through in four minutes, and there was nothing he could do about it.  He looked back at the enemy fleet, the lowest acceleration figure showing beneath them five hundred and forty gravities.  And his battleships could only make five hundred and ten, even with the tubes.  The enemy would start pulling away within minutes of their stop.  Unless.

“All ships are to accelerate toward the enemy fleet.”

“Augustine and her consorts won’t be able to keep up in their current configuration,” said Kelso, an expectant tone in his voice.

“Then jettison the camouflage and get us into this fight,” said Sean.

“Yes,” said Kelso and Montoya in unison over the com, and Sean couldn’t keep himself from smiling.  They were like little boys, anxious to play with a new toy.   Just as he was.  Just then another thought crossed his mind and he looked at Jennifer.

“I would send you out on a shuttle if I didn’t think it would put you at more risk, with all the missiles that are getting ready to fly around here.  Or I could reconfigure a wormhole and send you through it.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Jennifer, her eyes flashing with anger and determination.  “You need that wormhole for your weapons.  I’m here, and here I stay.”

There were sounds transmitted through the superstructure of the ship, even this deep within, an indication that something massive was happening to the hull of the ship.  He looked at the tactical holo once again, making sure for another of the almost countless times that everything was as he wanted it.  Or as close as it’s going to get.

*     *     *

“My Lord,” came the voice of the Tactical Officer over the com link, projected from his verbal center to the audial center of the Great Admiral’s brain.  “Something is happening with the enemy freighters.”

The Great Admiral opened the visual centers of his brain to a projection from the tactical holo.  The image zoomed in, and he found himself looking at the huge panels that looked like the hull of the freighter.  They were now detached, and the ships within had peeled themselves like fruit.  And within them ships that looked like larger versions of the enemy’s battleships, with some noticeable differences.

“The ships are larger than our largest ships by a small percentage,” said the voice of the Tactical Officer.  “I estimate twenty-seven million tons.”

Another advance for the humans, thought the Admiral.  But they can’t have many of them.  Three here, against over four hundred of our most powerful units.   We can still crush them.

*     *     *

“Order fire plan Alpha Three,” said Sean over the com, sending the signals out to all of the ships with wormhole coms.  The hyperdrive projectors of Augustine sent out the binary code telling all the other vessels the same thing.  Every ship in the actual system had now received orders for a time on target attack of the main enemy force.

On asteroids, the moons of gas giants, even a comet that was on a course to take a curving pass around the star, ships came alive.  They moved from their hiding positions on grabbers, revealing themselves to the enemy, and initiated their fire plan.  The ships from furthest away launched first, their missiles aimed at where it was thought the enemy ship would be when they arrived.  Closer ships fired their missiles a little later, their weapons set on an acceleration profile that would get them to the enemy at the same time as the further weapons.

*     *     *

All of the ships in the system appeared on the plot at the same moment, thanks to the almost instantaneous transmission of gravitons through hyper VIII.  By all the Gods, thought the Great Admiral when he saw those ships, and realized that he had underestimated the human plan.  We can still fight our way out of this trap, he thought, looking at his second force working their way in to meet with him.  It will be close, and we’re going to get hurt, but we can still hurt the humans more.

With a thought he tasked the launch tubes of the fleet and sent volleys at the larger concentrations of human ships out in the system, then switched all tubes to fire on the vessels that were now leaving the orbit of the planet and heading his way.  At least I can take out those bastards first, he thought, unleashing a missile swarm they could not possibly survive.

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

If I can make it to that ledge, maybe I can get a good line of sight on them, thought Cornelius, hefting the rifle in his hands and squatting down, tensing his legs.  He looked with a moment of regret at two of the Spacers who had accompanied him, the last two in his command.  Both had been torched by Caca particle beams.  That seems to be all they’re carrying, he thought.  Other Cacas he had fought carried a variety of weapons, including high velocity projectile weapons.  These just seemed to be equipped with proton weapons, which made them on average much more deadly.  He thought they must be the Caca version of a special unit, though there sure seemed to be a lot of them.

Walborski leapt into the air, in the one Earth gravity easily clearing the way to the upper tier of the room.  The wide balcony ran around the length of the room on both sides, over the wormhole gates that covered the lower walls.  He had cringed for just a moment as he was airborne, expecting something to shoot at him.  But the Caca warriors were too busy fighting the battle suited Marines, who had finally gotten their shit together enough to launch a spoiling attack.  The Marines and the Cacas had met in this room, head to head.  A meeting engagement, one in which neither side had a prepared defense, only a hasty assault.

Cornelius laid down behind a planter and aimed the barrel of the rifle through a gap between it and another one, being careful to not allow it to project all the way through.  He centered the scope on the faceplate of a Caca warrior, let out a partial breath, and squeezed the trigger.  The M-40 Marine Sniper Rifle sent the twenty millimeter shell out at twenty thousand meters a second.  That would have been enough to turn even his reinforced shoulder into splinters if not for the grabber units built into the rifle.  They glowed white with heat as they pulled the weapon against the recoil, reducing the shock to his shoulder to merely painful.

The round struck the Caca just where he had aimed, striking with a kinetic hammering as the shape charge detonated, sending slivers of supermetal through the alloy of the faceplate and into the brain of the creature.

Cornelius was aiming at the next target before he even assessed the first, so confident was he in he and his weapon’s capabilities.  As soon as he acquired the next target he squeezed the trigger again, sending another Caca into the dark.  And then a third, before the rest of them realized that death was in place above them.

That drew particle beam fire that blasted the planter apart in a shower of stone and earth.  But Cornelius was already on the move, crawling to another position and setting up shop.  I wonder if sniper school might have improved my technique? he thought, taking aim at a Caca who looked like a leader of some sort.  That had seemed to be in the stars for him, until it was decided he would make a better leader than shooter.  But a decade of helping his father, a late hunt master on New Detroit, had taught him how to stalk and shoot.

He watched the shot this time the entire way, grunting in satisfaction as the round dropped the Caca to the ground.  This time he moved as soon as he made the kill, just before more beams reached up and destroyed the position he had just occupied.

He was preparing to make his fifth kill when the center of the long room exploded with multiple detonations.  He recognized the reports of hyper velocity rockets, followed by the blasts of fired grenades working their way across the Caca positions.

The Imperial Marines moved forward in concert with those blasts.  The room was filled with particle beams, and the cries of men and Cacas as those beams met armor, then flesh.  Cornelius looked through the hall, looking for a target, and caught sight of a large Caca holding a hyper velocity rocket launcher.  The Caca put it to his shoulder and started to aim, just before Cornelius’ round took him in the head.

The human Marines swept the room, among them some alien citizens who had enlisted in the Corps.  They checked the Caca prisoners by firing another blast of protons into each one.

“Come down, soldier,” called out a Marine who seemed to be in charge.

Cornelius looked over the low wall of planters and made sure there was a clear area below, then jumped over his improvised barrier to land lightly on his feet.

“Cadet Lieutenant Cornelius Walborski,” he told the officer, knowing better than to salute in a combat environment.

“I’ve heard of you,” said the Marine officer.  “I’m Captain Juan Gonzalez.  And I am very happy to make your acquaintance.  Especially in a situation like this.  How many did you get.  Four?”

“Five,” said Cornelius with a smile.

The officer looked over the Ranger, still wearing the dress uniform he had been traveling in.  He whistled as he saw the Imperial Medal of Heroism around the Ranger’s neck on its distinctive ribbon, two diamond stars on the body of the medal itself.  “Looking for a third award,” asked the Captain with a smile.

“We’re ready to move, sir,” said another Marine in their distinctive medium armor, more effective in the closed quarters of stations and vessels than the heavy suits they wore for planetary assaults.

Still, there would be some advantage to the firepower they would carry with the heavy suits.

“Your platoon can take the point this time, Lieutenant Haak,” he told the officer.  He turned back to Cornelius.  “I would suggest that you move a half klick back, Lieutenant.  There are some people gathering there that could use your expertise.”

A nice way of telling me they don’t require my services, thought the Ranger.  He started to argue, then thought better of it.  If nothing else he could again become the lone hunter.

Cornelius ran the half klick, through several more rooms that had been fought over, then two more that hadn’t been.  In the second room he ran into the people the Marine had been talking about.  Most were wearing the light body armor of Police Ops, with the IIA and IIB logos on their backs.  Of the hundred men and women, twelve were not wearing any kind of armor but armored vests.  And these moved with the grace that Walborski had come to associate with the augmented.

“The Captain up the way said that you might need my help,” he told the short Asian man who appeared to be the leader.

The man looked him over, his eyes paying attention to the uniform, stopping on the medal, then the Marine sniper rifle.  “We definitely can use you, Ranger,” said the man.  “I’m Senior Agent Jimmy Chung.  And I would have to guess you are the famous friend of the Emperor.”

“Fame is not always a good thing,” said Walborski.  “Especially in the special ops community.”

“Even worse in ours,” said Chung.

His eyes unfocused for a moment, and the Ranger knew he was in link.  “The other people will meet us at the rendezvous,” he told everyone.  “Some more of my people, the augmented ones,” he told Cornelius.  “And about a dozen of your people.”

“Rangers?”

“Mostly, though I understand there’s a pair of Naval Commandos as well.”

“And they would be better at this kind of warfare than I am,” said Cornelius, eliciting a head shake from Chung.

“With two decorations like that on your chest?  I doubt it.   Now, will you join us?”

“Lead the way, Agent Chung.  But can I ask you what all this is about.  They can’t hope to take this big son of a bitch.”

“We think they’re here to destroy this big son of a bitch,” said the serious faced Agent.  “And I, for one, don’t plan on letting them.”

*     *     *

“There is absolutely no way to track the weapons, Director Yu.  Not until they are set off.”

“Shit,” said Yu, not liking the sound of that.  “How about disarming them if we find them?”

“I really couldn’t tell you anything there either, Director,” said Admiral Chrone.  “It depends on how the Cacas fuse them.  But if I were them, I would make sure they went off if tampered with in any way.  It would be shielded, and have sensors that detected any kind of attempt at breaching the weapon.”

“And why would they do that, Admiral?” asked Yu, not used to thinking in this way.

“Because that’s the way I would fuse my weapons,” said the Admiral.  “Which is why we do it that way.”

But maybe I have something neither you nor they thought of.  “OK, next question.  If you were trying to destroy this station, how many weapons would you use, and where would you place them?”

“One weapon could do it, if it was large enough.  Say about ten terratons, about a hundred times larger than any weapon we can conceive of, and probably outside of the capabilities of the Cacas.  So let’s say three minimum.”  A holo of the station appeared above Yu’s desk, with the kilometer thick support cables highlighted.  “I would try and take out three of the six support cables.  That would weaken the ring enough at that point that collapse would be likely.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” said Yu.  “Now, I need to get this information to someone up the line that can actually use it.”

“The Marines have already been given this intelligence,” said Chrone.  “They’ll do everything they can to prevent the Cacas from placing those weapons.”

But they may not be the best people to take out those peripheral positions, thought Yu, signing off the com with the Admiral.  She linked in with Chung over the com link, letting him know what the Admiral had said, and what she thought could be done.

*     *     *

“We’ve taken the tram station, General,” came the voice of one of his battalion commanders over the com relay they had set up.

The damn humans always seem to be so damned fast on the uptake, he thought.  The station was now filled with jamming static, cutting off all Ca’cadasan long range communications, and only allowing them to talk by either hard line, which was almost impossible to install on an enemy station, or by relaying short range from suit to suit.

“Is the way open?” asked the General, watching as the first weapon came through the wormhole.  This place is just too damned big for us to take the old fashioned way.  Both of the supports they needed to sever were forty nine kilometers, more or less, from this gate room.  The upper and lower supports were only about twenty-five kilometers by lift, but he wasn’t sure that taking them out by themselves would snap the ring.  I need to get two of those outer supports.  But going fifty kilometers was not the same on the surface of a planet as within a structure.  So we need those trams.  And they had captured one.  Now, if he could get a weapon on that one and on its way before the humans thought to put something in the way.

The second weapon came through, and the engineers descended on it to set the timer.  If the humans get their hands on these devices it will do them no good.  They will detonate at any attempt to change their fusing.  That would not do the mission any good if they were detonated outside the eight kilometers needed to ensure a separation of the cables.  But the humans for a dozen kilometers in either direction would never know that it had been a failure.

The third weapon came through, then the fourth, followed by more warriors.  He only had eighteen hundred males on the Bird station now, and in another forty minutes they would all be here, giving him more mass to his assault.

*     *      *

CONGREEVE SPACE.

Lenkowski grimaced again as the Anastasia Romanov shuddered from more beam hits.  The particle beams imparted kinetic energy into the hull, shaking it, while the protons converted to heat and boiled away armor.  The lasers simply vaporized metal to the point where the outgassing acted like a physical strike.  And his flagship had been absorbing many of both kinds of strikes in the last few minutes.

At first they had their way with the Ca’cadasan ships, which translated into normal space within fifteen light seconds of his force.  The Ca’cadasans, as they had come to expect, were a little slow on the uptake after translating through the dimensions.  Usually they were far enough away that the incapacitation didn’t mean much.  This time, the humans had been able to make them pay for a good ten seconds of beam fire.

Now the enemy ships were gaining the upper hand.  The twelve Caca superbattleships were all more massive than his twenty thousand ton ship, and much more so than the fifteen million ton battleships he deployed.  And four of their four million ton supercruisers outmassed one of his battleships as well, and each was more than twice the size of one of his heavy cruisers.

“We’re taking a beating, sir,” yelled the Captain through the com.

And what the hell do you expect me to do about it, thought the Admiral.  There really wasn’t much, except.  “All ships, jump into hyper I,” he yelled to the Com Officer.  “On my mark.”

The Com Officer nodded and worked her board, while the ship shook once again.  He looked over at the Tactical Officer.  “Coordinate fire after we jump.  I want to close with them and hit them with everything we’ve got.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Tactical Officer, turning his sweating face, visible with his visor up, back to his board.

“And have all ships launch a spread of missiles right after we jump,” said the Admiral to the back of his officer.

“On my command, jump,” yelled the Admiral, and they fell in the hole in space opened up before their ship.  Not all the ships made it.  One battleship remained behind, to absorb the fire of all the enemy ships until it exploded in space.  A moment later the Ca’cadasan ships jumped after them, now nine light seconds away.  The human ships had their way for an entire twenty seconds, hitting them with every beam weapon they had, losing half their proton beams before they reached the targets.  They still did some damage, and the missiles claimed two of the Caca ships before the aliens regained their wits.

As soon as the first beams struck the human ships he ordered another jump.  As the Caca ships followed it was a repeat performance.

“We’re running low on power, sir,” said the Captain over the com.

“How many more does she have in her?”

“Three.  Maybe four.”

“Then we will jump three, maybe four, times, Captain,” he said as the Caca ships followed them back into normal space, right into a volley of missiles and a full strength blast of beam weapons.

“Are the wormhole missiles ready yet?” yelled the Admiral to the Tactical Officer.  Two of the ships had wormholes configured to weapons’ ports.  But it took some coordination, with a weapon’s station more than a thousand light years away, to actually use them.

“The station is reporting affirmative to that, Admiral.  They are asking whether this volley will be in hyper or normal space?”

“I think normal,” said Lenkowski.  “Jump.”

The Caca ships followed them again, and the Admiral had to admit that they were stubborn.  The time on target strike was less than five minutes away, and they must know they had to finish these human ships quickly if they hoped to get away in hyper.

“Jump back to normal space,” he told the ship’s Captain and the Com Officer.  He turned to the Tactical Officer.  “Fire on the enemy ships as soon as they appear.  Battleships first, of course.”

The Anastasia Romanov jumped back into normal space, and the Admiral leaned forward in his chair, waiting for the enemy to follow.  Predictably, the circles opened in the space ahead, showing the red of hyperspace and the centered forms of Caca ships.

“Fire,” yelled the Tactical Officer to two firing rooms on two ships.   The wormholes started spitting out missiles on both ships, this time in a pattern that allowed them to target individual vessels close in, one per second for thirty seconds, each with an initial velocity of point nine light.

The enemy ships came out of hyper five light seconds away.   The first missile hit in six, blasting a Ca’cadasan superbattleship apart.   The other eleven went up in the next seven seconds as they all sustained hits, some more than once.

After the missile volley had been spent there were only a trio of supercruisers and a dozen scouts left in the enemy force.  None survived the beam strikes that followed.

“Send signals to all missiles in the strike,” he ordered the Flag Tactical Officer.  “Course corrections to join the strike against the enemy outer system force.  No use wasting them.”

“Admiral,” yelled the Com Officer, looking over her shoulder.  ‘We’ve reestablished connection with the Emperor’s ship.”

“Then connect me to his Majesty,” ordered the Admiral.  It didn’t take long to make the connection, and when he did, he had something else to worry about.

*     *     *

“Range, twenty light seconds,” shouted out Kelso over the com.

I already know that, thought Sean, staring at the holo that showed the massive enemy fleet, now at a stop and starting their acceleration in the opposite direction.  We’ll still close with them, for the next several minutes.  Then they will start pulling away from us.

“Launch time from ship gate, nine seconds,” called out the Flag Tactical Officer.  The gate in question was now visible from around the planet, and was starting on the final curve that would aim it toward the enemy ships.  And the enemy ships saw it too, and had launched a large spread of missiles at it.

If they damage the frame, the gate might collapse, thought Sean, sending an order through the gate that he hoped might be implemented in time.  If not, it could affect his plans most drastically.

His own antimissile destroyers and cruisers were letting loose with every counter missile in their cell launchers.  They were taking out missiles by the hundreds, but thousands were still coming their way.  Right now.

“All ships,” shouted out Sean, watching the missiles close.  “Plasma torps.  Fire.”

Augustine I bucked underfoot as she released a quartet of battleship sized plasma torpedoes.  Her sister ships launched at the same time, as did every ship in the group, sending hundreds of globs of superheated plasma into space.  These torpedoes were not traveling at the speeds most such weapons flew.  At a mere thirty thousand kilometers an hour, eight point three three kilometers a second, they moved in almost a leisurely manner to a position a hundred thousand kilometers in front of the human fleet, then detonated, filling the space ahead with a thin layer of superheated plasma.

The plasma had several effects on the missiles.  Some few hit especially dense pockets and detonated from the contact.  Others lost grabber units and veered off of their targets.  The most common effect was the erosion of sensor heads, causing many of the weapons to lose their locks.  And hundreds came through intact, not the most advantageous of outcomes for the human ships.

All ships fired beam weapons and close range counters, as well as their many automatic projectile weapons, at the closing enemy missiles.  It was a fearsome defense, and not many missiles made it through.  Of those that did, only a few made direct hits, most of the others going for proximity detonations.

Sean breathed a sigh as he saw the missiles that had been damaged, and were speeding by the fleet, were not going to hit the planet, which had moved enough in its orbit to put it in a position no longer in the line of fire.  And at the same moment the arrows of missiles started appearing out of the gate, which still had not completed its slow turn.

Those missiles, set to look for Caca ships as soon as they exited the portal, had no targets in their flight paths.  Their sensors did pick up the retreating Ca’cadasan fleet, a target hard to miss due to its size, and they started to curve their vectors around to hit that target.  A long drawn out process that would result in them actually hitting the enemy force from the rear, almost thirty minutes in the future.  These missiles had been fired over an hour before in the Supersystem, and there was really nothing the force in the Congreeve system could do about their time of arrival, or orientation.

Missiles continued to spew from the gate, each successive wave a little more on target, requiring a lesser vector change to reach the enemy.  And then the gate locked into the proper orientation, facing the enemy fleet, and shooting out groups of missiles at over point nine light, aimed directly at the enemy force.

“All wormhole ships,” called out Sean.  “Missile barrage, now.  All ships, give those bastards all the energy weapons you can feed them.”

The acknowledgements came back immediately, and Augustine I and her sisters started launching missiles from their wormhole tubes.  Each ship had four of the tubes, each connected to a wormhole that reached across space to one of the launch systems deployed in Supersystem space.  Each system deployed fifty missiles in a two thousand kilometer accelerator tube that cycled the weapons from the wormhole on one end to the other at the beginning, building the weapons up to astounding velocities.  The four launchers among each of the ships fired their missiles through the tubes, fifty missiles in less than one second from each tube.  Two hundred missiles per ship, six hundred overall, all traveling at point nine three light toward the enemy fleet.

The five wormhole equipped battleships in the force released another two hundred and fifty weapons, joining the swarm on the way to the enemy fleet, a mere thirty seconds flight time away.  It was not an overwhelming swarm, not against a fleet that size.  Still, these missiles were harder to engage at their velocity, and the enemy was not given the time to use their first layer of defense, the long term counters.   One hundred and thirty-one missiles made it through the close in defense, and over half of them were direct hits, converting ships to plasma, the others doing damage to their targets.  Some of that damage was serious enough to cause fifteen ships to lose acceleration capability, and they soon started to drop behind the rest of the fleet.

Particle beams and lasers were constantly exchanged between the forces, the humans getting the worst of the fight, being outnumbered and outgunned.  And then Augustine I and her sisters opened up with their twin wormhole particle beams.  Each fired tons per second of antimatter out of their twin nozzles, at the relativistic speed of point nine nine nine nine light, well beyond the capabilities of any ship based weapon.  The beams struck enemy ships that were relatively closely bunched, ripping through electromagnetic fields of cold plasma with their high speeds, the first contact with the beam actually blasting the plasma out of the field, making it easy for the following material to come through and strike the hull.  And strike they did, tearing explosive gouges through the armored hulls, with the combination of massive kinetic energy and antiprotons exploding on contact with the ordinary matter of the ship.

Several ships were pushed into other paths by the explosive beams.  A couple exploded as beams ate deep into their hulls to expose warheads and antimatter containers.  It was a pinprick to the enemy fleet, but one that got their attention.  Hundreds of ships, the tail of the Ca’cadasan formation, launched missiles at the large human ships, just before they were treated to a truly large swarm of missiles coming out of the ship gate at point nine light.  And right after them a hundred antimissile destroyers and cruisers, deploying around the gate and taking the enemy missiles targeting that structure under fire.

Ten thousand missiles had been planned for the strike through the ship gate.  Due to it not being in place in time, only seven thousand missiles came flying in a coherent formation.  It still ravaged the rear of the enemy fleet, destroying hundreds more vessels, and causing a hundred more to fall behind damaged.

By that time the wormhole launchers on the three dreadnoughts had mated with new accelerator tubes back in Supersystem space, and they sent another six hundred relativistic velocity missiles at the enemy.  By then the next enemy missile swarm had reached the dreadnoughts.

Jennifer stifled a scream as she looked at the swarm of missiles coming in.  Twenty seconds after that launch the wormhole launch tubes were speeding a new swarm of missiles, this time targeting the enemy weapons.  Each hundred ton missile separated into a blast of smart pellets, each moving at the point nine light velocity of the missile that had been carrying it.  Each pellet, massing a couple kilograms, targeted the nearest grabber source and bore in on its own units.  Many hit the incoming missiles, their kinetic energy enough to destroy the weapon, at the same time as their one gram antimatter warheads exploded with a force of forty two kilotons.  Those which didn’t hit exploded with a force that had to be very close to take out a missile.  Nonetheless, a good number of the incoming missiles were destroyed, leaving about two thirds of their numbers still boring in.

Once again the ships released a full spread of plasma torpedoes, again raising a shield of superhot gas ahead of the missiles, with similar results to the first deployment.  A thousand missiles still made it through, heading for the nearest target, into the mass of beam weapons and a wall of material fire.

Augustine I shook with the blasts of a couple of near misses, then shook with the fury of a glancing hit.  Fortunately for the ship, the missiles were not travelling more than point zero two light, not enough kinetic energy to break through the twelve meters of carbon alloy armor.  The gigaton range warheads did much more harm, serious damage to armor and surface installations, even to weapons and systems underneath the hull.  Augustine slowed in her acceleration by forty gravities, and klaxons sounded throughout the ship.

“We’ve lost one of the wormholes, you Majesty,” called out Kelso over the com.  “We have one quarter of our relativistic velocity missile capacity.”

Sean nodded as he stared at a vid of another his ships, this one of the dreadnought Imperium.  The ship sustained two hits similar to what Augustine endured.  The next two hit directly head on, detonating and sending its blast waves through the hull and into the ship.  At first it looked like the ship was still going to survive.  Until the warheads stored internally went off and the entire front third of the vessel disappeared in a flash, while the rest of the ship flew backwards in a slow tumble, dead.

Augustine and Archduke Leslie both continued to fire, the latter ship still intact.  Again they released a swarm of missiles at relativistic velocities, a little more than a half what the three ships had released before.

“I think we need to consider taking this ship out of action, your Majesty,” said Kelso.

“This ship will remain in action, Admiral,” said Sean in a tone that brooked no argument.  “We need her firepower, right here and now.”

“Maybe we can get you through one of the wormholes back to the Donut,” said the Admiral, obviously looking for a way to get his Monarch to safety.

“I don’t know if that is really getting me to safety,” said Sean, looking over at Jennifer.  “I can’t retire this vessel.  And we need the wormhole.  I’m sorry.”

“Do what you have to do, Sean,” she said, trying to smile through her nervous expression.  The ship shook again.

“We’re starting to fall behind, your Majesty.  At least let me order the rest of the force to stay with us, so we can still coordinate our firepower.”

Sean took a moment to think about that, and decided it was reasonable.  “Give that order, Admiral, in my name.  But I want us to continue firing on the enemy at our fastest rate.”

He looked back at the holo, noting that the enemy force was also reducing their acceleration.  So you bastards can’t handle that kind of acceleration forever either, he thought.  We still won’t be able to catch you, not with this vessel damaged.  But we don’t have to.  He saw that enemy ships were continuing to drop back from the fleet, those too badly damaged to keep up, and his force was continuing to snap them up, weakening the enemy fleet in a death of a thousand cuts.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CONGREEVE SYSTEM.

The Great Admiral stared at the tactical holo that was showing his situation within the system.  That situation did not give him much hope for his survival.  His main fleet was retreating, and was putting distance between himself and the smaller pursuing enemy force.  That was the good news, though that pursuing force was still launching missiles at high relativistic velocities at his ships, which were orders of magnitude more effective than the missiles he was throwing at them.  He was getting some proximity hits, and almost wanted to shout as he saw one of the enemy ships explode on the vid, a minute after the fact.  That joy was tempered by the realization that he had killed a mere destroyer, and another of his supercruisers was beginning to drift back, where it would be picked off by those impossible beam weapons of the two remaining giant ships.

I could reverse my acceleration, and bring them to close combat, he thought, dismissing that idea immediately.  It was more important to meet up with his smaller force, coming steadily into the system, and blasting his way out, than taking simple revenge on a galling force.

The rest of the information on the holo was much more depressing.  Thousands of objects that had not been there an hour ago.  Warships, missiles, everything on the move.  Everything heading his way.  In the outer system it was no better.  The other force, half the size of his, was being chased by missiles fired from outside the system.  It did not look to be an overwhelming swarm, but still enough to cause serious loses.  Loses he couldn’t afford if he wanted to beat it out of the system.

“They’re back, my Lord,” yelled out the Tactical Officer.

The Great Admiral didn’t have to ask the male what he was talking about.  The faster than light attack fighters, another of the humans’ impossible but existing weapons, were again in normal space and coming in on the attack.  He watched the display, waiting for the icons of missiles to appear.  The enemy ships came closer, unleashing blasts of lasers and particle beams.  The particle beams winked out after a few seconds, leaving the ships with only the light amp weapons.

“They are just a distraction,” said the Great Admiral with a smile.  “They have no sting left.”

The beam weapons struck, those coming from ships that were on an approach that allowed them to attack, which was not all of them by any means.  They did little against the cold plasma fields of warships.  His weapons reached out and killed two score of the enemy ships, some little revenge for what they had done to him.

And then the attack ships released their final weapon, each dropping hundreds of one kilogram penetrators, boosting toward the nearest target ships with their miniature drives.  They were too small and fast for efficient tracking.  Sweeping beams still struck some hundreds of the weapons, but thousands hit, their antimatter charges blasting fifty kiloton explosions into the hulls of the ships.

Most of the damage was superficial.  Some wasn’t.   Thirty-three vessels, including five superbattleships, lost acceleration, and started to drop through the formation, where they would eventually fall behind to be killed by the human following force.

“They’re gone,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back with an expression of relief.

And why are you relieved, fool, thought the Great Admiral, grimacing.  A nuisance is no longer within range, and that is all.

He looked back at the tactical plot, focusing in on his own outer system force, watching as the missile swarm that was heading their way came into engagement range of the force’s beam weapons.  Counters had been taking them out by the hundreds before then.  A dent in the swarm, and nothing more.  Now more missiles began dropping off the plot as lasers and particle beams started to reach out and blast them.  Enough of them were dropping off the plot that he was beginning to think they might get through it with minimal casualties.  Until thousands of more arrows appeared on the plot, as objects that hadn’t been tracked engaged their engines.

*     *     *

The smaller Ca’cadasan force, after losses of some one hundred battleships and three hundred smaller vessels, was making progress fighting off the enemy missile swarm.  The flagship’s AI was tallying the probabilities, and was in the process of presenting the High Admiral in charge that they were likely to weather the storm, with the loss of no more than two score vessels.  As there was not a following swarm, the Admiral was beginning to think that most of his force would link up with the Great Admiral’s, giving them enough mass to destroy the bulk of the enemy force on the way out of the system.

Then the new arrows appeared, tens of thousands of them, velocity and acceleration figures appearing underneath.  Most of the arrows were missiles, traveling at point nine light and starting to track onto targets.  There were thousands of what had to be attack fighters, not massive enough to be the new impossible ships.  But enough of them that they were still a significant threat.  Each carried four short range missiles, which they launched moments after appearing on the scan.

The Ca’cadasan force was not prepared for the new attack.  They fought their ships to the best of their capabilities, and the attacking force was severely mauled in the attack, losing thousands of missiles on approach, and hundreds of attack fighters in passing.  But when those fighters had passed, over half the Ca’cadasan force had been reduced to debris and plasma, while most of the surviving ships were damaged to some extent.  Most of that force might still be able to meet up with the main fleet, but would not be able to keep in formation on the way out.

*     *     *

“What’s the word on the Donut?” asked Sean, looking away from the tactical holo for a moment.

“It’s still there,” said Kelso, trying to monitor ten things at once, including their guest from the Lords.

Sean looked at the Archduke on the holo, and had to admit that the man was holding up well in his first action.  It scared the piss out of me, he thought of his first action.  He glanced over at Jennifer, who was also holding up well.  But then, this isn’t her first action.  Not by a long shot.

“Unfortunately, so are the Cacas,” said Kelso, frowning.

We’ve done all we can do there, thought the Emperor, trying to diffuse that worry for the moment, as there was nothing he could do about it.

“Main strike will hit the Caca fleet in four minutes,” called out the Flag Tactical Officer, grabbing the attention of all and focusing it on the matter at hand.

This was no diversionary strike, there were no ships and missiles coasting in without active engines.  What they saw on the plot was what was there.  Over a hundred thousand missiles, moving in at well above point nine light all, the total magazine loads of all the ships in the system.  There would be no second strike of this density.  The only ships that still had missile capability were those equipped with wormhole launchers, a mere thirty-three vessels and just over forty tubes.

“This is it,” said Sean, holding Jennifer’s hand and trying to will the missiles to their targets.  The timer counted down, second by second, as missile arrows fell off the plot as they and their graviton emitting engines were destroyed.  Over a hundred thousand went down to under that hundred thousand, then decreased by more than ten thousand a minute, until only eight thousand missiles made it to engagement range.  Of these, over eight hundred made hits, while a little over six thousand went for proximity detonations.

In the blink of an eye half the Ca’cadasan fleet was gone, dropped off the plot.  Not as much as the Emperor was hoping for, but about what he expected.  More damaged ships started to drop behind the formation, and the pursuing force sent another spread of wormhole launched missiles into those damaged vessels, adding more kills to the total.

Over the next half hour it was the turn of the Cacas, the missiles they had launched well after those of the humans were boring in on their targets.  Missiles that were not that effective against the human pursuing force were much more so at longer ranges, striking at point nine five light.

Sean forced himself to watch as his own ships started to drop off the plot.  Over time, based on their distance from the enemy.  Some task groups escaped engagement altogether, while others were treated to truly killing swarms.   Entire task groups disappeared, while others were untouched.  A half an hour after the first kill it was over, and Sean found himself crying as he thought of all the humans lives aboard the hundreds of ships blotted from the Universe.  Eight hundred of them, he thought as the figures started coming back through the AI.  Over a hundred and fifty thousand people.  Dead, following my orders.  It was the largest loss the fleet had endured since the beginning of the war.  And, even though they had inflicted the heaviest losses the enemy had yet sustained, it didn’t seem worth it.

“You had to do it,” said Jennifer, squeezing his hand.  “You didn’t kill those people.  The enemy did.  And they would kill all of us if you didn’t stop them.”

Sean nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his free hand.  My anchor, he thought, looking into her eyes.  My balance.

“Kelso,” he said, looking up at the com holo.  “Get me Len on the com.”

Lenkowski appeared on the holo, and from the haunted look in his eyes, Sean could tell the casualties were also affecting him to the core.

“It’s up to you now, Admiral,” said Sean.  “A thousand of their ships are going to make it to hyper.  I don’t want them to get away.”

“We’ll try our best, your Majesty,” said Len, determination on his face.  “We’ve about shot our wad as well.  The wormhole ships will still be able to hit them, but I don’t think that will be enough.”

“Do your best, Admiral.  That’s all I can ask.  Hurt them as much as possible, but don’t risk too much of your force in close actions.  Long range strikes only.”

“I am already gathering my groups into defensive formations,” said the Admiral.  “That will give us a better chance of weathering whatever fire they still have.”

“Our AI is telling us they can’t have much left,” said Kelso, conferencing onto the com.

Sean looked at the plot, watching as Lenkowski moved his forces from their pre-battle deployment of concealment to a state of concentration, where the massed defensive fire of his groups could defeat all but the largest of missile attacks.  Should have known that Len would do what needed to be done, without me looking over his shoulder.

“Keep us appraised of your status, Len,” said Sean.  He cut the transmission.  “Now get me Mgonda on the com.”  Mgonda was in command of the small fleet known as the hyper VII Battle Force, all ships capable of keeping up with the Cacas in hyperspace.

The Duke was on his bridge as he appeared on the holo.  His face was also troubled, and Sean knew the man had been following the battle on the wormhole com.  He lost friends this day, just like the rest of us.  Sean thought about that for a moment, revising those thoughts.  The long term admirals, having served many decades longer than he had been alive, had lost many more friends than he had.

“Are you OK, your Majesty?” asked the Duke, pulling the Monarch from his thoughts.

“Just thinking, your Grace.  How many ships from the scouting forces have you gathered?”

“Almost all of them, your Majesty,” said the man who had commanded the sector at the beginning of the war, before being given a real combat command.  “Do you want me to put the plug in?”

I wish you could, thought Sean.  He would have liked nothing better than to prevent the entire enemy force from leaving, destroying them utterly.  That did not seem possible at this time, due to his miscalculations, or to some other factor?  “You are not to put the plug in, your Grace.  Instead, I want you to follow whatever enemy gets out of here back to Conundrum, and hit them the entire way, at the least risk to your own force.  We’ll hit them again in the near future, and finish them.”  When that star supernovas, and we can sneak up on them.

“That’s one order I will be glad to obey, your Majesty,” said the Duke.

I knew you would.  Every commander’s dream, hurt the enemy without risking your own ships.  “We have reason to believe that the enemy is low of missiles, so don’t give them an easy target.  Sean out.”

“You did what you could,” said Jennifer, again trying to comfort him.

“I did enough.  This will rip the heart out of their fleet, and I have another surprise coming their way.  Soon.”

*     *     *

THE DONUT.

“We have a track on an enemy force moving by tram to the lower port section of the station,” said the Marine Commander of station security.

“What are you going to do about it, Colonel?” asked Jimmy Chung.  He had a holo globe open so his entire command staff could listen in on the military com.

“We’re going to send a Company of Marines in heavy armor to the end point of the tram, going outside the station.”

Cornelius was listening in, and was happy that he wasn’t one of those Marines.  They couldn’t pay me enough to go out there with that bottomless pit in the sky, he thought, imagining the black hole that was, to his mind, waiting for the opportunity to eat anything it could pull in.  The two Naval Commandos seemed to understand the problem better than Cornelius and the other seven Rangers in his group.

Cornelius pulled up the schematic of the station on another holo globe, so that everyone could follow along.  The trams they were talking about, really a high speed train, ran both around the circumference of the station, and every twenty kilometers to both sides, giving the people living aboard the Donut a fast and efficient means of travel from point to point.

“I suggest that we take this tram here,” said the Ranger, looking at the IIA agent and the Marine General on the holo.   “We can reach the edge of the station soon after the enemy, then work our way the twenty kilometers up the station to where they are sure to plant the bomb.”

“But, can we get there in time?” asked Chung, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the schematic.

“It beats sitting around doing nothing,” said the General, looking over at Cornelius.  “I think the Lieutenant is correct.  My men will hit them from one side, giving your force a chance to take them from the other.”

Chung still looked unsure, and Cornelius really couldn’t blame him.  It’s out of his experience, and he’s being asked to trust his people to other people he doesn’t know.

“I know I can’t order you to do it, Chung,” said the General.  “But I intend to give just that order to the Rangers and Commandos.  We think we have a way to deal with the weapons, thanks to Dr. Yu, but it won’t do much good if we can’t actually get to them.  And it would really help if you brought your guns along with them.”

“Ok,” said Chung, nodding.  “We’re in.”  He looked at the schematic.  “We can get a car at this central station, and take it to this branch, then out to the side.”

“I’ll have a car waiting for you, Senior Agent Chung,” said the General.  “And thanks for backing us up.”

My second on that, thought Cornelius.  The agents might not have been trained military personnel, though some had prior service.  But it was good to have backup firepower, no matter how amateur, versus the alternative.

*     *     *

The Ca’cadasan General watched on the holo as more of his men exited the wormhole.  Only four hundred to go, he thought.  And then the damned Lizards can blow that Bird station out of space.

He glanced at the tram tube on another holo that his men had just gone up, taking almost an entire battalion and one of the weapons on a trio of trains.  The bombs were set to go off in four hours, and would detonate earlier if they were tampered with.  He wanted all the explosions more or less simultaneously, to have the maximum effect.

The station shook underfoot, and the General swung his head back to see the holo of the gate room.  Bright light and fire was coming out of the gate, incinerating the males closest to it.  A moment later the gate disappeared, leaving only the melted machinery in the otherwise empty space the wormhole had occupied.

“Damn them,” yelled the General, bringing a gauntleted hand down on the holo globe that had been showing that scene, crushing it.  “Damn those Lizards to hell.”  They had set off their bomb, before the time frame they had agreed to.  Taking out the Bird station, and four hundred of the General’s males.  Four hundred males that could be the deciding factor in holding the territory he needed.

The General calmed himself down, realizing that was really nothing the humans could do to stop him now.  This station would be destroyed, just like the Bird station thousands of light years away.

*     *     *

ELYSIUM CAPITAL.

“Ambassador,” yelled his Marine security officer, pointing to the sky.  “Look.”

Horatio looked to the sky, and into an almost unbearably bright dot that was expanding before his eyes.  He looked down for a moment as his eyes started to hurt, putting on his polarized glasses, then looking back.

“That was the station,” he said, shaking his head.  Almost a hundred warships at dock, tens of thousands of Brakakak.  What in the hell could have caused that kind of blast?  And have they taken any of them to our station?

“Ambassador,” said the Marine officer, grasping his arm.  “We need to get under cover.”

“That station is thirty thousand kilometers away,” said the Ambassador.  “I doubt it’s a threat to us here.”

“We don’t know how much power was released up there, your Grace, ” said the officer, pulling along the Ambassador.  “Do you really want to take that chance?”

Horatio shook his head and allowed the Marine to lead him inside and to the shelter.  While walking, he couldn’t get rid of the elated feeling.  Despite the damage to our friends, and the threat to our station, they have now suffered a major loss from our enemies.  They’re in this the whole way now.

*     *     *

CONGREEVE SPACE.

The Great Admiral looked at the tactical plot at the system that had been his undoing, fighting off the nausea of the last jump into hyper.  The rest of his once mighty fleet was arrayed around his flag, a mere four hundred vessels, only two hundred of them capital ships.

“We hurt the enemy,” said his Staff Advisor.

And they hurt us much more, thought the Great Admiral, tallying up his remaining fleet, including units that had not been involved in this operation, and realizing he had less than half of what he had when he entered this system.

“I want a messenger sent to our force in the New Terran Republic,” he told his com officer.  “As soon as they are able, and enough of them to get through no matter what.”

“The message, my Lord?”

“I want them to pull out of the Republic.  All ships are to relocate to our base here, for continued operations against the humans.”

“But, our progress against those humans,” protested the Advisor.

“Our progress there means nothing if we lose the fight here.  I need those ships here, as soon as possible, so I can continue our conquest of the space of this Empire.”

“You don’t mean to go on the defensive.”

“No.  That is what the humans would like.  I intend to reorganize, and strike as many of their systems as I can.”

“It will take over a month for messengers to reach the force in Republic space,” cautioned the Advisor, “and get them back here.”

“Then we will strike in two months,” said the Admiral.  “We hurt them too, and I don’t want them to recover any more than we can.”

“We are picking up enemy ships,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “On both sides.  Launching missiles.”

“We’re not out of it yet, my Lord,” said the Advisor.

“No, they’ll hit us all the way back to Conumdrum.  But they don’t have enough of those ships to stop us.”  And they have no idea what’s coming from our Empire.

Epilogue

Sean looked over his fleet, wincing as the casualty figures appeared on the holo.  Someone has to take responsibility for our losses, as well as our successes.  And the buck stops here.

“It looks bad,” said Jennifer, sitting next to him at the conference room table that was otherwise unoccupied.

“It could get worse,” he said, shaking his head.  “We still don’t know what the outcome of the fight on the Donut will be.  If we lose that wormhole generator, we’ve lost the war.”  As well as the millions of people serving on that station.

“So, what’s the next move?   I guess it depends on what happens on the Donut?

“No,” said Sean, shaking his head.  “Whether the station survives or not, our next move is an offensive against the Cacas.  Another supernova will not come along for decades in this region, if not centuries, and we have to take advantage of it.”

“Preparing to jump, your Majesty,” said Kelso over the com.  “Five minutes.”

“And I think you need to lie down,” the Emperor told his love.  She nodded, stood up, and gave him a quick kiss, then left the room, heading for their quarters.  It must be awful to be so affected by a translation, thought Sean.  I wouldn’t be able to survive such sickness every time the ship I was in changed dimensions.  Some people thought such sickness was a weakness, but as he saw it in Jennifer, she was strong enough to travel along with him, despite the hardship.

Minutes later the lights dimmed for a moment, and the slight nausea of passage made him think again what his fiancé’ was going through.  He knew her level of response to translation would have disqualified her from Fleet service.

“We’re on course to Ankara,” said Kelso, referring to the nearest Core world, one with major shipyards, antimatter factories, and missile manufactories.

There were a lot of ships in the fleet that needed refit and repairs, including Augustine I.  They had six weeks on the outside to prepare, possibly less, since the prediction of supernovas could often be off by weeks.

“Thank you, Admiral.  I would like to convene a staff meeting in one hour.  We have a lot of planning on the slate.”

Sean spent that hour looking at the tactical plot of the Empire, feeling more despair as the time passed.  Everything looked bad in his present state of mind.  Fighting for no positive result, just more death.  Hopeless.

“Did I miss anything?” asked Jennifer, walking into the room, her face still white from nausea.

My anchor, thought Sean, smiling at her.  If she can take this, I can hold up to anything.  He looked back at the tactical holo, knowing that he was going to throw this Caca incursion out of his Empire.  After that he would just have to take it as it came, and hope for the best.

*     *     *

OUTSIDE OF IMPERIAL SPACE.  NOVEMBER 21ST, 1001.

Commodore Natansha Sung stood on her bridge, watching the alien ships translate into hyper VII.  Do we have a new ally? she thought, focusing the holo on one of the ten million ton armed merchantmen.  It was of a design that was never contemplated in the Empire, a vessel whose primary purpose was to carry cargo, but armed like a warship.  In fact, the Megeda were a singular species, their entire government and cultural focus on trade and commerce, making their version of money.  They did go to war, but only for the advantages it would give them in trade.

They never mentioned slavery, but they sure had a lot of other species on board their ships who seemed only trained for menial labor, thought the Commodore.  While the aliens had seemed friendly to the extreme, with their cuddly Teddy Bear looks, even on their two and a half meter tall bodies, to her the aliens seemed to have the underlying personality of a used aircar salesman.  Shaking your hand one moment, putting a dagger in your back the next.

And they seemed very interested in our wormholes, she thought as the ships disappeared.  I thought they were going to try and take one, until they realized owning one end of a wormhole really wasn’t to their advantage.

The lights dimmed on Nina for a moment, and the hole opened into hyper VII ahead of them.  The vessel slid in, joining her two sister ships in the other dimension.  All went to maximum acceleration, in their cases about a hundred gravities, much less than the four hundred gravities they were estimating from the Megeda ships.

They don’t seem to be following us, she thought, watching the alien ships on the tactical holo until they disappeared off the plot.  She was assuming that their sensors were no better than the ones on the Imperial ships, and that the Megeda ships, pulling higher acceleration, were easier to track.  She knew she could be wrong on both those assumptions, but it was the smart way to bet.

The last troubling part was that the Megeda admitted to knowing of the Ca’cadasans, and had traded with them in the past.  They said they had no love for our enemies.  But was that another diplomatic ploy on their part?

After a short while the Megeda ships dropped off the plot, and she figured they were no longer her problem.  The Empire had been informed, and were sending a trade and diplomatic delegation aboard warships to meet with the aliens.  The Megeda had some impressive tech, and seemed impressed by some of the technology on the human ships as well.  They looked like an entity that would be advantageous to trade with.

But I’ve got other things to think about, she thought, looking at the course they had decided on to take them to the other end of Caca space.  From the information the Megeda gave me, it should be clear sailing until we reach our destination.

*     *     *

One of the creatures in question looked at his own tactical holo, and the icons of the alien ships shown thereon.  This will lead to great opportunity, thought the Trade Captain, his teeth showing in a predatory grin.

He had told the almost hairless creatures the truth about the Ca’cadasans.  His people did not have any love for the territorial creatures, who had once tried to subjugate his own people.  But since his people did not have any territory, they had been able to avoid that fate.  Still, the large predators paid well for information.  And he now had information that they would definitely pay well for.

And we can also trade with the humans, when they send their trade delegation here.  It is a win win situation for us, if not for everyone else.

He continued to watch as the icons of the alien ships dropped off his plot.  Too bad about those particular humans, he thought, watching as the computer generated tracks of the ships showed their proposed voyage.  I liked them.  But this is business.  And nothing is more important than business.

*     *     *

NEW TERRAN REPUBLIC SPACE.  DECEMBER 21ST, 1001.

“Madame President,” said the Crakista Admiral in Charge of Republic Third Battle Fleet, looking out of the wormhole com holo.  “We have entered the Jranka system.”

“What is your assessment, Admiral?” said the President, hoping that whatever was in that system was not too much for the battle fleet to bite off, much less chew.

“Our assessment is that there are no enemy ships in the system.  And, as we did not pick up any ships leaving the system, it is apparent that they were gone before we arrived.”

That’s, unlikely, thought Julia Graham, looking at a second holo that showed the Republic, and the Ca’cadasan incursions into Republic space.  “And this is the fifth system we’ve found abandoned.  What the hell is going on?”

“Given what we have learned about the New Terran Empire’s latest battle against the Ca’cadasans,” said the reptilian with flat affect, “I would say the Ca’cadasans are being recalled from our space and into the Empire.”

The President thought about that for a moment.  On the surface, it represented good news for her government.  The Cacas wouldn’t be attacking her worlds, her people.  In the long run it was anything but good news.  Her reinforced fleet was now chasing nothing, and the Empire would be facing the strength of the enemy alone.

“Orders, Madam President,” said the Crakista.

“Stand by,” she said.  “I’ll get back with you within the hour.”  Sean better get ready for this.  I know he’s got something planned for those currently in his Empire, but this may change things.

“Madame President,” said a voice, getting her attention in an instant.  She looked up into the face of her Chief of Naval Operations on the holo.  “The pickets are reporting a major Caca force moving toward the Empire.”

“What size?”

“Over a thousand ships, Madame President.”

That many, she thought, drawing in a breath.  She thought for a moment.  It will be a risk, but one we need to take.  “Get me the commanders of all the battle fleets,” she said, making a decision.  “I’ve got a target for them that I think they will love.”

The End

Appendix

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.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3:  Sean is rescued, but he is not about to go back to the safety of the capital without striking back at the Ca’cadasans who have invaded his Empire.  But will his decision put the lives of thousands at risk, as well as risking the safety of his own Empire, by depriving it of its leader.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4:  Sean is crowned Emperor, and attempts to organize the Empire for war against the Ca’cadasans.  But he finds that planning battles and winning battles are two different things. Defeat follows defeat.  Can anyone snatch victory from the jaws of defeat?  Or will the new Emperor fail before his reign even really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger:  Cornelius Walbroski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire.  But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the most deadly planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas.  Can Cornelius survive his first mission?  Or will  promising career end before it really begins.

Other Scifi

Diamonds in the Sand:  When a perfectly healthy scientist falls dead of an apparent heart attack, it is up to Sarasota Police Detective Lieutenant Gary Lariviere to find out what really happened.  The scientist was working on Nanotechnology, a secret desired by everyone from the Government to the Mob.  There are too many suspects, including the woman that Gary comes to love.  The Army had made Gary better than human, but had they prepared him for the terrors that had been unleashed by the new technology?

The Scorpion:  The Scorpion had been the world’s deadliest living terrorist.  Kestral McMann had been in on the kill.  Now The Scorpion is back as a mind upload, using clones to penetrate the tight security of an isolationist United States.  McMann is the only man who can stop him.  But can McMann survive the threat of his own side, and the insane President who leads the Nation, in time to stop The Scorpion from plunging the Great Satan back into the Stone Age.

The Shadows of the Multiverse:  Something has been periodically wiping intelligence from our Universe through the ages.  It’s back, and it’s up to three unlikely heroes, the Captain of a Battle Cruiser, a Physicist turned Archeologist, and a Child, to save the intelligence of the Universe from Monsters from another Dimension.  Can they learn to use the powers of their unusual Quantum Minds to defeat creatures that have been playing the game for billions of years?

Afterlife:  What if you didn’t believe in the afterlife of the World’s Religions?  And what if science offered you the alternative, survival within the Virtual World of a computer, where your mental abilities are magnified and you can do anything you want?  And what if the World decided that your way was wrong, and declared war on you, meaning to destroy your reality?  What would you do?  Afterlife, a tale of survival at all costs.

We Are Death, Come For You:  When aliens strike the Tau Ceti colony, humankind knows that something bad is on the way.  They prepare as best they can, but will it be enough against superior technology?  The aliens are death worshippers, and only the extinction of the human race will satisfy their evil intent.  There are wonders of tech on the horizon, but can they be deployed in time?  Or will humankind have to depend on the smallest of their techs to save them?

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1:  A nuclear war in Central Europe opens the gates between dimensions, sending millions of Earth Humans into a land of myth, archetypes and fantasy.  The Evil Emperor of the Ellala Elves sees the humans as energy to fuel his transformation to immortality.  But the humans have brought their own weapons with them, as well as a race of Demigods who will battle the fantastic armies of Refuge.  The war is on, and only one side will ultimately survive.

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2:  The Ellala have a plan to destroy the human military and capture the civilians.  And the humans find that their weapons will soon cease to function.  So it’s use it or lose it for the Earth Humans, and they use it with a vengeance.  Tanks against Mages, Attack Helicopters against Dragons, and Nuclear Weapons against Death Gods.  And the other peoples of the planet come forth as allies to the humans that they see as the fulfillment an Ancient Prophecy.  But will it be enough?

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions:  The human invaders are now without their technologies, at least those using explosives and internal combustion engines.  But they still have knowledge of many other techs, especially the arts of warfare as practiced by the greatest infantry of the ancient world.  Will it be enough to stand up to the half lich Emperor and his magical forces.

Refuge: Doppelganger: Set thousands of years after the arrival, Kurt von Mannerheim, the Immortal Emperor of the Imperium of Free Nations, must give up everything to save his Empress, the Elfin Princess Gwenara Elysius von Mannerheim.  The world is at a crisis point as the Evil Tarakesh Empire, under its Immortal Emperor Heinrich Stuppleheim, prepares to overrun the world with its Nazi Ideology.  And Kurt must face a creature of legend that may prove too much for even his physical and mental abilities.

Other Fantasy

The Hunger:  Abused wife, drug addict, prostitute; Lucinda Taylor had been victimized by men all her adult life.  Left for dead by her pimp, Lucinda was turned by a passing vampire.  When he is destroyed she becomes a free agent, slaking her hunger for blood on the bottom dwellers of society, the type of men who once victimized her.  The crime boss of Tampa is her next target, and the City by the Bay is about to become a bloodbath.  But can Lucinda avoid those who are hunting for her; the Priest, the FBI man, and a pair of Vampires who would like nothing better than to send one Avenging Vampire forever into the dark?

Daemon:  A Steampunk Fantasy.  The world is dying, the victim of the magic used by society for the last three hundred years.  Daemon Corporation thinks they have the answer, stealing the life from other worlds, bringing from other dimensions the intelligences that inhabit them for sacrifice on Earth.  But something has come with them, a force that is killing the employees of Daemon Corp.  It is up to Forensic Mage Detective Jude Parkinson to find a way to stop the unstoppable, while keeping the head of Daemon Corp from silencing him to keep the dark secrets of the company out of the public eye.

Aura:  Triplets are born on a world where the magical Aura decides the fate of its owner.  Ariel is a girl with more than double the normal Aura, destined to become a mighty Priest or Mage.  Aiden has a less than normal Aura, and is destined to be a soldier or laborer.  While Arlen has no Aura at all, and is seen as an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Baalra the Dragon God, which has no power over those with Negative Auras.  Fate will rip the siblings apart, then bring them back together as they battle to defeat the Dragon God and leave the Evil Empire, before Ariel is taken as the Avatar of Baalra, his mortal vessel on Earth.

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Table of Contents

- Dedication
- Books by Doug Dandridge
- Cast of Characters
- Timeline
- Maps
- The Story So Far
- 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
- Epilogue
- Appendix