Search & Destroy
Date: 2016-03-24T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: The Ca'cadasan are no longer knocking at the door of the Empire, which doesn't mean they have forgotten the humans who have handed them the first defeat in the history of their Empire. The Cacas are learning from their mistakes, and are retooling their war machine in the face of their greatest opponent ever. The Ca'cadasan Emperor is not satisfied with the state of his military, and changes will be made. New technologies are in the forefront of his plans, and a major covert strike is planned against the humans. He plans for this to be the death stroke to the human Empire, the pre;iminary to hi
Publisher: Catbrother Publishing

Exodus: Empires at War

Book 10

Search and Destroy
by

Doug Dandridge

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to the Pioneers of science fiction, the giants whose shoulders we stand upon, from Edgar Rice Burroughs, through Robert Heinlein and Poul Anderson, to modern stars such as David Weber. Thanks to all of you.

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

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Copyright © 2016 Doug Dandridge

All rights reserved.

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

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

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. Because of you I am living the dream.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Doug Dandridge’s Author Page at Amazon

Science Fiction

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

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

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

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger

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

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

Exodus: Empires at War Book 8: Soldiers

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

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command:

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

Exodus: Machine Wars: Book 1: Supernova.

Exodus: Machine Wars: Book 2: Bolthole.

The Deep Dark Well Series

The Deep Dark Well

To Well and Back

Deeper and Darker

Theocracy

Others

The Shadows of the Multiverse

Diamonds in the Sand

The Scorpion

Afterlife

We Are Death, Come for You

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest:

Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

Others

The Hunger

Daemon

Aura

Marathon

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Cast of Characters

The Capital

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

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

Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom: Chief of Naval Operations.

Field Marshal Betty Parker: Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps

Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri: Army Chief of Staff.

Prime Minister Countess Haruko Kawasaki.

Admiral Ekaterina Sergiov: Chief of Imperial Combined Intelligence Service.

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

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

Capital Police Lieutenant and Imperial Naval Captain Ishuhi Rykio: Former Naval Commando.

Samantha Ogden Lee: Sean’s cousin and regent.

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

The Fleet

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

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

Rear Admiral Mary Innocent: Sean’s Intelligence Officer.

Rear Admiral Natasha Sung: Commanding Officer, Alien Contact Mission.

Lt. Commander Timothy Bonaventure: Sung’s com officer.

Lt. Mosh: Sung’s Navigation Officer.

Mr. Tucker: Sung’s tactical officer.

Senior Chief Kongbo: Chief of Ship, DD Angela Collins.

Lt. Commander Terrance Zhukov: Commander of the Angela Collins.

Lt. Commander Sophie Drake: XO, Angela Collins.

PO 1st Winston Nagawa: Engineering Tech, Angela Collins.

Captain Francois Pasce: Captain, LC Scranton.

Marine Lt. Sangaston Janvier: Commander, Scranton’s Marine contigent.

Captain Xerxes Papillon: Captain, heavy cruiser Vincenzo.

Commander Xavier Jackson: Captive of the Ancients.

Rear Admiral Marta Guderian: Squadron Commander, Second Front.

Lt. Commander Winchell Jerry Chang: Guderian’s Adjutant.

Fleet Admiral Jonathan Vickers: Chief of Fleet Procurement and Supply.

Admiral Mikas Silveski: Imperial Commander Second Front.

Vice Admiral Mashara Ignoa: Gryphon Commander on Second Front.

Commodore Sirene Papadopoulos: BC Squadron Commander, Second Front.

Lt. Commander Sarkeesian: Papadopoulos’ Tactical Officer.

Imperial Army

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

Field Marshal Lucius Arbuckle: Commander, Third Army Group.

Colonel General Samuel Baggett: Commander, Fifteenth Army.

Major General Sandronen Mishkrata: Emperor’s Army Intelligence Liaison

Klavarta

President Manstara: President, Nation of New Earth.

Thallia Thrann: Klavarta Underdirector of Interspecies Relations.

Admiral Regis Larista: Commander, Klavarta Fleet.

Ngerita Olsaf: Larista’s Chief of Staff.

Ca’cadasans

Jresstratta IV: Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire

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

Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana: Commander: Second Front

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

Others

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

Rebecca Walborski: Sean and Devera’s adopted daughter.

Dr. Kenji Guatarrez: Time Travel Researcher.

Klorasof: Ancient.

Lord of a Million Granis Feneris: Fenri Commander, BC Grottes Fang.

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 the revolt is 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, 1000, Ca’cadasan invasion of Empire begins in earnest with the attack on Sestius and Massadara.

March 29-April 5th 1000, Sean leads rescue mission to Sestius.

April 27th, 1000. Sean crowned in Capitulum.

May 26th, 1000. Conundrum system taken by the Cacas.

June 7th, 1000. Klassekians discovered by Exploration Command.

December 27th, 1000. Exploration missions launched to other side of Ca’cadasan Empire, Galactic Core and Greater Magellanic Cloud.

December 30th 1000 through January 2nd, 1001. Cacas wiped out the planets Cimmeria and Aquilonia, killing over seven billion humans.

January 10th,1001. Human counter strike takes out Caca station in Massadara space.

May 28th, 1001. Crakistan Empire joins the Alliance against the Cacas.

July 6th, 1001. Imperial Human forces attacks the Lasharan Homeworld.

August 30th, 1001. New Terran Empire attacks into Fenri Space.

September 18th, 1001. Combined New Terran Republic/Crakistan Empire force defeats Ca’cadasan force in the Xenia system.

November 18th-19th, 1001. Battle of Congreeve. New Terran Empire Fleet traps Ca’cadasan Fleet in an ambush and savages them.

November 27-28th, 1001. Ca’cadasan commando force strikes at Elysium Home World and the Donut.

December 12th, 1001. Sean and Jennifer wed, and Shape Shifters attempt assassination of the couple.

January 8-9th, 1002. Imperial Fleet defeats Ca’cadasan forces in Imperial Space.

February 10th, 1002. Renegade Machines are discovered in extra-Imperial space.

April 8th, 1002. Contact made with Klavarta.

April 9th, 1002: New Terran Empire invades New Moscow to rescue the last of their citizens.

June 2nd-4th, 1002. Battle of New Earth. Klavarta home world taken, then half of Ca’cadasan fleet destroyed in counter strike.

The Story So Far

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sean, in need of a victory, plans an ambush for the Ca’cadasan fleet in the Congreeve system, a frontier world made up to look like an industrial developing planet. The Cacas, using the Knockermen, send in a strike force to take out the Donut. And the Empire sends in a strike against the Fenri Empire, the new ally of the Ca’cadasans. Cornelius attends Officer Candidate School and is well on his way to becoming an officer, while the Opposition Party of the Lords continues to cause trouble for the Emperor, threatening a No Confidence Vote in Parliament.

The strike into Fenri space is a success, taking the heart out of their fleet and capturing several of their industrial planets, sending the small mammalians into a frenzy. The Fenri still have some power in their fleet, and organize an offensive that kicks the NTE naval force out of their space, stranding Baggett and his soldiers on the surface of one of the planets.

The Ca’cadasan strike force makes it to Elysium space, commandeers a Brakakak light cruiser, and takes the station in orbit around that Empire’s capital world. The Cacas jump through the wormhole to the Donut, bringing thousands of troops and four Quarkium devices, intending to destroy the station. The Knockermen destroy the Brakakak station with the device that they were given by the huge aliens. And Walborski, heading through the Donut on a short leave to see his wife and children, finds himself involved in another battle.

Sean lures the Ca’cadasan main fleet into battle, springing his ambush, and ravaging the enemy fleet. They turn into a tougher opponent that he planned on, and some of the enemy fleet escapes to head back to their base, leaving the Imperial fleet with a lesser victory than wanted, and higher casualties than expected.

Cornelius organizes a team to keep the Cacas from exploding one of their devices on the Donut, and only one of the bombs is detonated. The station, though damaged, survives. Meanwhile, Baggett’s force in Fenri space resist the ground assault with heavy casualties, until relieved by the Fleet, and the Fenri are all but knocked out of the war. Natasha Sung is meanwhile closing in on her goal, the aliens who are also fighting the enemy at the other side of their empire.

The alliance fleet reorganizes and prepares to attack the Cacas, while they are still reeling from their defeat. Using the cover of a supernova explosion, which covers the resonances of ships transiting hyperspace, Sean launched a multi-winged assault on the remaining Ca’cadasan forces in the Empire. The fleets strike without warning, bringing the Cacas to battle and all but annihilating their forces. The Caca commander orders his remaining ships to get away as they can, then is incapacitated during the escape. The Great Admiral’s second in command does the unthinkable and surrenders the remaining fleet.

The Emperor discovers that about a billion New Moscow citizens are being held in the former Kingdom of New Moscow, including over seven hundred million on the homeworld. The Cacas are processing the humans for their protein, and Sean orders their rescue at all costs. A combined New Terran Empire, New Terran Republic and Crakista fleet invades the space of New Moscow, intent on rescuing the prisoners. The main concern is that the Cacas will kill their captives before the ground forces can rescue them. Using their wormhole technology, the Empire is able to insert a heavy corps and numerous special ops teams, including a company led by Cornelius Walborski, to storm the camps and rescue the hundreds of millions of prisoners.

The prisoners are freed, and the Empire starts to evacuate them through wormholes, while a massive Caca fleet is tracked on the way to the system, due to arrive well before the main Imperial force. The Fenri, with Ca’cadasan help, strike at the Imperial force invading their space, and inflict a significant defeat on them, sidetracking the invasion force and compelling the Imperials to go back on the defensive so they can regroup.

Commodore Natasha Sung reaches the space of the rumored power fighting the Ca’cadasans on the other side of their Empire. She finds that the Klavarta, as they call themselves, are actually genetically engineered human warriors created by the survivors of the Exodus IV, thought to have been destroyed. It is discovered that the original leaders of that mission still controlled the New Earth, as their nation was called. They were clones, a process that allowed humans to live past their normal life span with artificially grown bodies with one fatal flaw. They were all psychopaths, and these leaders had led their people in a campaign of genocide against many of their neighbors, making them hated in their own region. Still, the Empire works to forge an alliance, though the Emperor has doubts that Parliament and the citizenry will approve that treaty.

The Fenri are pushed back by a new Imperial offensive, losing much of their space and their fleet. What seems like a complete victory for the humans turns into a stalemate as the Fenri turn to a war of raids and ambushes. The Cacas appear quiescent, as they gear up for another offensive against human kingdoms.

An assassin attempts to take out the Emperor and Empress, but hesitates in taking the shot, then is chased away by security. Angel, an ex-Naval Commando, wonders why he is working for the kind of people that would kill the leader of their kingdom during wartime. He decides he is fighting for the wrong people, and determines to take out the traitors who threaten the Empire

A Ca’cadasan fleet, working with intelligence giving them the location of the Klavarta homeworld, moves to strike, while the Empire plans their own strike to take out the cloned leadership of New Earth. The Cacas strike, and the Empire is forced to advance their own operation, killing the clones while at the same time reinforcing the Klavarta with some of their own forces through wormhole gates. The Cacas win the battle, but the Empire is able to evacuate most of the Klavarta and their pure human masters through the wormhole. Sean then orders a wormhole equipped ship throughthe wormhole gate, causing an enormous explosion that destroys almost half the Ca’cadasan fleet. The Klavarta are reorganized as the leaders of their nation, and the Nation of New Earth is created to occupy the area formerly ruled by the clones, from there to continue the war of the second front.

Prologue

CA’CADASAN HOME SYSTEM, JULY 25TH, 1002

Dr. Ivan Smirnov looked nervously over his shoulder at the huge aliens who stood against the wall of the large chamber. They had promised him his life, and the lives of his family, if he achieved what they wanted of him. Still, he didn’t trust the creatures who were trying to wipe out all of the human kingdoms in the Perseus arm. Along with all the humans who lived in those kingdoms. People who had been friends, neighbors and colleagues before New Moscow had been overrun by the Ca’cadasans.

He didn’t like the way they looked at him, promises or not. Like he was a food animal, waiting the slaughter. They looked at his family the same way, which made him want to hurl himself at the nearest Caca and strangle the creature with his bare hands. That thought almost brought a smile to his face, the very idea of a slender scientist like himself trying to physically assault one of the three meter tall, three hundred kilo predators was laughable. But if they tried to do something to his family, what choice would he have? They were everything to him, and what had decided him on turning traitor to his people.

One of the Cacas said something in their deep, growling language, looking over at the alien scientist who was his keeper on this project. He, or was that it? He was the member of a radially symmetrical species, the Rustra, that had been slaves to the Ca’cadasan Empire for thousands of years. The being worked for the Cacas because he knew no other way, and would never think of revolting.

The Rustra scientist replied to the Caca, the project overseer, in the same language. Since the Cacas controlled when he could use a translator, he could not interpret what they were saying, beyond a few words. And one of those words was Emperor.

So they want the big guy to see this for himself, he thought, looking at the culmination of his work, standing up against the wall. A silvered mirrored surface, set in a frame of machinery. The first wormhole produced by the Cacas. Or was that produced by the slaves of the Cacas?

And now that they have it, what do they need me for? thought the human scientist. His anxiety rose at that thought. Would they get rid of him now, and his family with him? Had what he had done for the Cacas accomplished nothing more than adding some months to their lives? Or would they honor their agreement and let he and his survive, so he could continue to supervise the industrial process of wormhole production? He had no control over the situation, and that was what was driving his anxiety.

“The Supervisor has informed me that the Emperor will be here within the hour to look at the wormhole,” said the Rustra scientist through his translator. “You are expected to be on your best behavior, and to be subservient at all times.”

And I could do my own people a lot of good if I could kill the son of a bitch thought Smirnov, giving the Rustra a head nod.

“He is very interested to know what advantages these will give to his forces,” continued the Rustra.

Smirnov nodded again, almost afraid to speak that he might show his true emotions. He looked once more at the Caca supervisor, standing against the wall with both pairs of arms crossed over his chest and upper abdomen. Smirnov wasn’t sure what he was thinking about. How could he kill one of these creatures without a weapon? And their Emperor? He would have to go through several of them to get to the august personage.

“On your knees,” shouted the Supervisor, his lower arms dropping to his sides to the position of attention, his upper arms then crossing to pound on his chest in salute.

Two very large Cacas walked through the door to the lab. These were dressed in some kind of ceremonial armor, shining black and red lacquered plate, silver helms on their heads, horns thrusting through the holes in the upper sides. They carried two meter long bared blades with hilts large enough for all four hands to grasp. At their sides were holstered some large, modern looking pistols. The males moved to the side and turned, looking at each other and bowing their heads.

Another pair walked in and stood beside the first pair, followed by another. With the six warriors in place everyone in the room looked down at the floor. There was an air of anticipation in the room, and Smirnov couldn’t keep himself from glancing up to see the august presence of the ruler of the Ca’cadasan Empire come striding into the chamber.

The Emperor was not the largest Caca in the room. In fact, every one of the six guards towered over him by half a head. He wasn’t wearing plate like his guards, but Smirnov wouldn’t have been surprised if the flowing robes covering the Imperial form also hid body armor. The material of those robes, while of good quality, did not look all that special to the human’s eyes. The only special ornamentation on him were the horns, which were chased in platinum and gold, with precious gems set into a pattern that must have meant something in the Ca’cadasan culture. His eyes met those of the Caca, and he found himself looking at what had to be the most intelligent of the aliens he had yet to meet.

“Eyes down, slave,” growled the Supervisor, raising a hand to strike Smirnov.

“Hold,” rumbled the deep voice of the Emperor, pointing a large finger at the Supervisor. He walked forward, followed by several other robed figures who must have been counselors of some type. Two more armored guards followed, these keeping close to the Imperial presence.

“Is this the human who has brought us this wondrous tech?” asked the Emperor, his words coming across the implant translator.

“It is, oh Master of the Galaxy,” said the Supervisor, performing a deep bow.

“Then he is no slave,” said the Emperor, placing a large, lower hand on Smirnov’s head. It felt like a heavy weight pressing down on him, the hand as massive as his head. “He is an honored servant, who has brought us what we most desired in our hour of need.”

The huge alien removed the hand, then looked over to the mirrored surface. “Walk with me.”

Smirnov wasn’t sure he had heard right at first, but when he looked up at the face of the creature he saw the carnivore’s smile stretching it. The Emperor gestured with a lower hand for him to rise, then strode toward the mirrored surface with the human by his side.

“We are ready with the demonstration, Master of the Galaxy,” said the Supervisor.

Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we, thought Smirnov. You aren’t masters of the Galaxy yet. He felt some guilt at that thought, as he recognized that his help might have moved them a little closer to that goal.

“Proceed,” said the Emperor.

Moments later the three and a half meter high surface rippled a bit, then a Ca’cadasan warrior in full battle armor stepped through. The creature stood there for a moment, its faceplate up, a confused expression on its face. It took about fifteen seconds to orient itself, after which time it looked at the Emperor and dropped quickly to a knee.

They take longer to overcome their transit confusion than humans, thought Smirnov, trying to keep all expression off his face. Can we use that against them?

“And he came from how far?” asked the Emperor, gesturing at the wormhole.

“From your moon, Represal.”

“That far.”

Smirnov nodded. The moon was over three billion kilometers from where they stood.

“Show respect,” growled one of the Counselors, his predator’s eyes glaring at the human.

Surprisingly the Emperor gave his Counselor a disapproving look. At least Smirnov thought it was that kind of expression, since it was one he wouldn’t want aimed at him.

“And you can make one of these each week at the production facility?” asked the Emperor, looking away from his counselor.

“That appears to be the limit, Master,” said Smirnov, nodding. “It is an energy intensive process, and we can only do so much without the massive station the human empire has.”

The moon they had turned into a wormhole production plant had been earmarked to become a new supermetals facility. It was packed with fusion and antimatter energy production plants, covering about a quarter of the surface of the moon. Another quarter was the crystal matrix storage batteries that accumulated the energy produced by those plants. Most of the remaining area was covered with heat exchangers, offloading all of the waste calories from the power generation process. Above the moon were the pair of wormhole generating stations, each containing a dozen miniature black holes to open each end of the hole.

“Then we will build more,” said the Emperor. “How many do we need to equal the output of the humans?”

“As far as I know, they are producing up to thirty a day, Master.”

“So we need over two hundred production moons to equal them?” asked the Emperor with a frown on his face. He looked over at one of his counselors. “Make it so.”

“We will have to put several entire slave species on it, Master of the Galaxy.”

“Then put those species on it. I want us to be at least the equal of the humans.”

“It will take many years to achieve that mark, Master of the Galaxy.”

“Then that is what it will take. In the meantime, we will continue to fight them as best we can. We still outnumber them, and our ships are more powerful than theirs.”

Neither counselor spoke, and Smirnov wondered if they were telling this Emperor everything they knew about the human war machine. Not my business, he thought. In fact, as long as he could keep his family safe, he was not really on the side of the Cacas.

“Keep up the good work,” said the Emperor, patting the human on the shoulder, then turning to leave. He walked from the room, preceded by his two close bodyguards. The guards followed in a reverse of the process that had them entering the room.

“The Emperor looks with favor on you,” said the Rustra. “You will go far in the Empire.”

As long as my family is safe, the damned Caca Empire can rot for all I care, thought Smirnov, wondering how he could sabotage the Caca war effort without placing his loved ones in danger. Some means came to him almost immediately, and he thought the Cacas would never catch on.

Chapter One

Barbarians always think of themselves as the bringers of civilization.

Pierre Schaeffer

KLAVARTA SPACE, JULY 28TH, 1002

“On your life, do not allow them to escape,” said the High Captain, pointing a pair of right index fingers at his Helm Officer, then looking into the repeater screen that showed the faces of the other ship commanders in his squadron.

The squadron, a trio of supercruisers and a quartet of scouts, had been sweeping this region of Klavarta space for the last ten standard days with no luck, until this pack of their small attack ships had seemed to come out of nowhere as soon as the Ca’cadasans had translated into normal space. The High Captain wasn’t sure what they were after, since their fragile attack ships had been totally outclassed by his command. Still, they had crippled a scout ship and damaged one of his supercruisers before being driven off. His had taken out a third of the three score attack ships, and he was determined to take out more of them.

As he watched one of his missiles caught up to an unlucky craft, exploding meters away and vaporizing the fifty thousand ton ship. Two others avoided the missiles with their superior maneuverability and close in weapons. A laser speared out and killed another of the attack craft, while the remainder went into furious evasives.

All of them are not worth the loss of one of my scouts, thought the Ca’cadasan. They had lost over a third of the total fleet assigned this front in the surprise attack launched by the other humans, the ones who were fighting on the other side of the Empire. That still left them with over twenty-five thousand warships, and the enemy was in disarray. Or at least that was what the new commander had told them before unleashing the fleet on the rest of the enemy kingdom. The problem was that this enemy was so hard to find. They had found world after world, beautiful, full of life, and all uninhabited by the Klavarta.

Might as well call them what they are, he thought as he watched more missiles heading out for the enemy, who were firing back as well, their missiles leaving the attack craft and killing velocity to head towards his ships. They’re just another type of human, led by the regular kind we are tasked to wipe out. And wipe them out we will.

“They’re changing their vectors, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing toward the central holo. “I think they’re heading toward that gas giant and its moon system.”

“Follow them,” he ordered.

“They might be leading us into a trap, my Lord.”

“With what? Those fleas they call warships. I want them caught and destroyed. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” echoed the bridge crew.

“Are you picking up anything ahead?” the High Captain asked the Sensor Officer.

“Nothing, my Lord.”

“Keep a close watch. Just in case.

“Yes, my Lord.”

The chase went on for over a half an hour more, the Ca’cadasan ships losing ground to the much faster attack ships. They picked off a couple during that period, but the chasing missiles were coming in at too slow a closing velocity to be very effective. The gas giant and its moons grew in the forward viewer, while the central holo gave a three dimensional representation of that system. Of course the representation was not completely accurate, as they had never been in this system, and had only seen the layout from this angle.

“They are decelerating at eight hundred gravities, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer. “It looks like they’re going to try and lose us in that moon system.”

“How many bodies are there?” asked the High Captain, looking over at Sensor Officer.

“Based on gravity readings and visual sightings, there are eighty-three moons in the system,” replied the officer. “Also numerous smaller bodies, maybe in the tens of thousands.”

“Almost like an ocean reef,” said the Helm Officer.

“Can they get away from us?”

“They have built up too much velocity to hide behind a slow moving object like a moon,” said the Tactical Officer. “They might be able to temporarily escape our notice, but as we change our own orientation, we will be able to detect them.”

Then they are moving out of desperation, thought the High Captain. “Stay on them as much as possible. The more velocity they lose, the better position we will be in to kill them.”

“Do you want us to decelerate, my Lord?” asked the Helm Officer.

“Only as much as you need to keep us on their track. I want to keep any advantage we have.”

The enemy ships continued to forge ahead, reducing velocity and heading for one of the moons, the one they were obviously going to use to hide behind. The Ca’cadasans were going to pass by another moon, this one quite a bit smaller than the one the enemy was going for.

“We’re picking up graviton emissions from behind this moon,” yelled out the Tactical Officer.

“What are they?” shouted the High Captain, watching as red vector arrows appeared on the central holo.

“Three vessels in the eight million ton range,” called out the Sensor Officer before the Tactical Officer could run his own scan. “Accelerating at one hundred gravities. Twenty-four objects in the two hundred ton range, accelerating at ten thousand gravities. Thirty more.”

The High Captain sucked in a breath. Those were missiles, curving around the moon on a vector that would bring them in from almost directly in front of the Ca’cadasan ships. And there was nothing they could do about it.

* * *

Commodore Sirene Papadopoulos watched the plot as the flies entered her trap. Her command comprised three eight million ton hyper VI battlecruisers. Not able to keep up with the hyper VII Caca ships in hyperspace, they were still faster and more maneuverable in normal space. And perfect for ambushes like this.

“Enemy ships entering attack envelop,” said Lt. Commander Sarkeesian, the force tactical officer. “All tubes loaded, missiles powered up.”

“Fire when they reach optimal profile,” ordered the Commodore, leaning forward in her seat. “All ships are to move onto intercept vectors at the same time. All beam weapons are cleared to fire at any targets of opportunity.”

“All commanders acknowledge,” replied the Squadron Com Officer.

“Firing in five seconds,” called out the Squadron Tactical Officer. “Four, three, two, firing.”

Rommel shook slightly as she released the eight missiles from her forward tubes, accelerated along the magnetic rings of the tubes. Her consorts released their forward missiles at the same instant, then the three ships moved forward at one hundred gravities while pivoting around to bring their starboard tubes to bear. These fired and the ships continued around, bringing stern tubes to bear and firing. They completed their evolution with the port tubes, and moved forward presenting that broadside aspect to their targets, while one hundred and two missiles flew ahead.

The missiles hadn’t enough space to build up much closing velocity, though the Caca ships, coming forward at almost point four light, added their motion to the solution. The weapons were too close for the Caca ships to engage with counter missiles. They did get off a couple of shots, but only one connected. Laser domes and close in weapons took out about half of the incoming, which left the other half to track in and engage targets.

Two supercruisers and three of the scouts took multiple direct hits. One supercruiser and the scouts went up in balls of plasma, while the second cruiser was hammered with near misses that sent it spinning off as a hulk into the gas giant system. The remaining cruiser and scout took enough damage to turn them from capable warships into cripples that could barely fight back.

The three battle cruisers moved into line of sight, opening up with their twelve laser rings and multiple particle beams. With almost no remaining electromag shields, the beams quickly burned holes through hull armor and into the vitals of the ships. Crew caught in corridors and chambers, surrounded by the vaporized alloy of the ships’ hull and bulkheads, flashed from flame to vapor in seconds, almost before the Cacas realized what was happening.

The High Captain on the bridge probably wished that had happened to him. Instead, he was a spectator to the computer warning of an antimatter breach, long moments of knowing he was dead and that there was nothing he could do about it. The supercruiser exploded from that breach seconds after the smaller scout detonated.

“We are so glad to have you on our side, Commodore,” said the Klavarta Pilot who commanded the attack ships.

“My pleasure, Force Commander,” replied Papadopoulos. “Sorry that you had to lose ships to lure them in.”

“You hurt them much more than they hurt us, and that was worth it.”

“Should we head back to base?” asked the Commodore, who, though she outranked the Klavarta, was willing to defer to the local commander for an operation like this.

“I would prefer to send some more of the devils to their hell,” said the Klavarta.

Papadopoulos looked at the being on the holo. She was a biped, with a face that looked sort of human, which some major differences. Her subspecies had been genetically engineered from basic human stock to be the best possible spaceship crew, able to breath in the liquid that allowed them to handle over thirty gravities above the compensator limits of their vessels. But they had the same number of chromosomes as humans, and essentially the same genetic structure in those chromosomes. Ninety-five percent of the proteins in their bodies were the same as the generalized humans of the Empire. Essentially, they were human. But now that they were free of the rule of the normal humans that had controlled them for generations, they had decided to embrace the name Klavarta to differentiate themselves from the non-genetically engineered humans, even as they adopted the name Nation of New Earth for their kingdom.

“Then we will do that,” she told the Klavarta commander with a smile. “I’m not sure if this same trap will work again, but I’m sure we can come up with something.”

* * *

CORE WORLD NEW DETROIT.

The New Detroit restaurant was much classier than anything the young man had frequented before he had started his new life. He sat at the bar, the old eyes in his young face scanning the room of the posh dining establishment, seeking the person he had come to see. It had cost a bundle to get the information, but money was of no problem anymore.

The man waved off another great beauty who sought his attention. He was a handsome man, though not spectacularly so. The uniform he was wearing was probably the biggest attraction. Blue in color, with the silver oak leaves of a lt. colonel on his shoulder boards, the crossed rifles of the infantry on his collar, Ranger tab on his left upper sleeve. Around his throat was the silver guard of the Imperial Knights, indicating that he belonged to the nobility, while hanging on a ribbon was a medal that had only been awarded once before in the history of the Empire, a stylized cross with oak leaves and diamonds worked into the design. The Imperial Medal of Heroism, the highest award for valor in the Empire for military or civilian, given to this man for three separate acts. And on his pocket, the newly made Special Operations Badge, something he could acknowledge but not talk about. He was thinking that he should have come in different clothes, something more, civilian. But the Imperial Army dress blues fit the image he was trying to project.

A new party entered, two men and two women, escorted by the Maitre d’ across the floor of the restaurant to one of the private rooms. The man waited until they had entered the room and the Maitre d’ had exited before he got to his feet and walked with a dancer’s grace toward the room. He opened the door and walked into the room uninvited to the stares of four people who were not used to having their party crashed.

“Baronet Humphrey Kroger?”

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” said the fat noble. “And this is a private party.”

The young light colonel looked at the Marine officer in his dress reds, another man he recognized, and one he had nothing against. “Congratulations on your promotion, Major?”

“Do I know you, sir?” replied the Marine. “I am Walter Kroger, and as my cousin told you, this is a private party.” The Marine’s eyes widened as he took in the medal. “Though I would be more than happy to buy a drink for someone who has served the Empire so well. I didn’t know the Imperial Medal of Heroism had been awarded three times to anyone living.”

“Such a dashing young officer, Humphrey,” said the ordinary but well-dressed woman sitting beside the Baronet. “Perhaps you should ask him to stay.”

“Why not,” said the Baronet with a smile. “He’s obviously a noble born.”

The Major’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the Ranger. “Do I know you, sir?”

“I think so. I used to lead hunts for the Duke.” The young man turned his fierce gaze on the fat noble. “You might remember me, Baronet. Walborski. Cornelius Walborski. And I remember you, Baronet.”

The fat man looked confused, but the Major had a look of recognition on his face. “I remember you. You led the hunt on the Duke’s estate. And you have certainly come up in the world.”

“You were the low born lout who led those hunts?” exclaimed Humphrey. “I thought you had fled the planet.”

“Low born lout,” repeated Cornelius with a sneer. “That is the Count Cornelius Walborski, knight of the realm to you, you fat fool. And I have not forgotten that you were responsible for the death of my father. Or that your actions cost my wife her life.”

“Walter. Call security. We have a madman on our hands. Impersonating a noble is a serious offense.”

“I don’t think he’s an imposter, Humphrey,” said the Marine, his eyes locking on Cornelius’. “I’ve heard of you. The crazy fucking Ranger who rose up from the ranks.”

“What do you want?” asked Humphrey, his voice quivering a bit.

“What I want is your hide,” said Walborski, looking away from the Marine to skewer the Baronet with his gaze. “If New Detroit recognized the duello, I would call you out, not that I think a coward like you would answer.”

“How dare you,” said Humphrey, trying to sound fierce and failing. “I am related to the Duke.”

“Oh, I won’t do anything to you here. You’re safe enough, here. I just want you to know that I’m out there. I want you to be constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing when I will come for your cowardly ass. Understand?”

“I will have you thrown under the Duke’s jail, Count,” said Humphrey, trying to sit up straight and stare at the Ranger. His gaze dropped after a moment under the intense stare of Walborski.

“I think Sean owes me enough to give me a get out of jail free card. And I know an Emperor trumps a Duke any day. Now have a good night, ladies, gentleman,” he said, giving a short bow to the women and the Marine. “And pleasant dreams, Baronet.”

Walborski opened the door and walked out of the room, avoiding the waitress who was on her way in with the drink order. He walked at a normal pace to the entrance of the restaurant, just in time to be met by a pair of uniformed police, big men in light armor.

“Stop,” said the senior of the cops, raising a hand, the other on the butt of his stunner. “We’ve gotten a complaint about someone meeting your description, sir.”

Cornelius was sure that he could take both of the men down, despite their armor. But he wasn’t here to get in an altercation with the police.

“My business is finished here,” he told the cops. “I am the Count Lt. Colonel Cornelius Walborski, Knight of the Empire, and I swear to you that no harm was done here this night.”

“That’s not what the Baronet Humphrey Kroger said in the text he sent to the station,” said the leader of the pair. “He..”

“My cousin exaggerated,” said the Marine Major, coming up behind Walborski and putting a hand on the Ranger’s shoulder.

“And you are?”

“The Lord Major Walter Kroger. The Baronet is my cousin, and is prone to panic.” The Major held up an ID, which the police scanned.

“You’re free to go, my Lord,” said the lead cop to Walborski.

After they had left the Ranger turned to the Marine, a question in his expression.

“I couldn’t let a hero like yourself get pulled in on an assault charge, now could I,” said the Major.

“Thank you.”

“Were you serious with your threat to my cousin? He’s not really a bad man, if a bit of an arrogant lout.”

“As long as he stays on New Detroit, he has nothing to fear,” said Walborski, his cold stare making the Marine drop his eyes. “And since the Emperor has work for me that is higher priority than my revenge, I won’t spend my time stalking him.”

“And what’s to keep you from hiring someone to take him out?”

“Do I look like the kind of person who would contract out my revenge?” asked Cornelius, a hard smile on his face.

“No. You do not.”

“Let me tell you, Major,” said Cornelius turning back after he had taken a few steps away. “I found you to be a good man, even when I was a low born lout.”

“Thank you, sir. And good luck in your future adventures.”

“Same to you, Marine.” Cornelius walked off, onto the street, sending for his car and driver on his implant. There were other people who had wronged him on this world, but none as badly as the Baronet. And none as badly as the Cacas, for whom he reserved the greatest measure of his hate.

* * *

HEXAGON: JULY 30TH, 1002.

“I wish you would quit taking my ships, your Majesty,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda. “I’m sure I’m going to have need of them before this thing is over.”

“We’re not really taking ships from your command, Taelis,” said Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom, like her Emperor looking at the holographic image of the Duke projected through wormhole link. “We’re just not sending you the reinforcements you want at this time. Don’t worry. We will get you what you need when you need it.”

“I’m sorry, Duke Mgonda,” said Sean, feeling the weight of the Galaxy on his shoulders. “We have too much going on right now, and not enough to do it with.” He almost laughed at the thought running through his mind as he said that. The Imperial Fleet was made up of over two hundred thousand ships of all classes. It was a little smaller than it had been, thanks to battle losses, and the inability of the Empire’s industry to make good on those massive losses. And now we have more fronts to fight on, all demanding their resources.

“I understand, your Majesty,” replied the Duke. “But no commander wants his force reduced. Or not increased as much as he thinks it should be.”

“Yours is the quiet front at this moment,” said Sean, looking at the holo map of the Empire and its environs that was above the other end of the table. “I know it won’t remain that way for long, but hopefully we can get some of these other fires under control in the meantime.”

And how much of a lie is that? thought Sean, focusing on the map of the Empire one sector at a time, linking in with the Hexagon computer to speed his thoughts and boost his memory.

The Lasharan Autocracy was still a trouble spot, as was the border region still inhabited by majority Lasharan populations, though in some ways the region was less of one than in the past, in others even more so. There was no Lasharan fleet, it had been totally destroyed during the last operation. Several large task forces of Imperial allies, the Klashak Concordium and the Margravi Hegonomy, patrolled Lasharan space, looking for any ships that might have escaped to hide for another day, and any sign of renewed ship building. An Imperial light infantry corps, reinforced with some heavy brigades, still occupied the capital planet, and a small army group occupied the Lasharan majority planets in the Empire. The problem was that Lasharans, being the religious fanatics that they were, refused to believe that their god might not be on their side, and continued to carry out terror attacks against both their own people and the Imperials.

The Fenri Empire had all but been driven to its knees. Their Emperor was in hiding, they had almost no fleet, and all of the slave races had welcomed the Empire and its allies as liberators. But the remaining Fenri were sly, and what ships they had, along with the ground forces, continued to wage a guerilla war against the occupiers. The problem there was that the Empire had to walk softly lest the former slave species suffer inordinately from the continued warfare. The region was almost pacified, but continued to occupy forces that could be of use elsewhere.

The Klang Empire was also occupied, and while the fierce herbivores were not actively fighting the Empire, they still required the presence of a military force to make sure they behaved. The biggest problem with that region was its close proximity to Caca space. Whatever force was there would have to be made much stronger to withstand any kind of enemy push, but there simply were not enough ships to give them more. Fenri space was not as bad, though Sean worried that a Caca strike there could also destroy one of his smaller forces.

That brought him to the other side of the Empire, where Exploration Command was supposed to be mapping out what would eventually become Imperial territory. And where Bolthole was supposed to be gearing up to make a major contribution to the Imperial war effort. Instead, the Empire found itself engaged in a war of extermination against the machine intelligences that had fled Imperial space centuries before. That situation was anything but stabilized, and threatened to become a black hole that sucked vital resources out of the Empire, instead of sending them back as had been envisioned.

And all the way across the Ca’cadasan Empire was the second front, where the Nation of New Earth was fighting its own war against the Cacas. The second refuge of an Exodus ship, this one number IV, they had also established a human empire, though different than his realm in many ways. They had been fighting a successful campaign against the Cacas for decades, using stealth and deception to keep the fight going. But they had been ruled by clones of the original crew, genocidal psychopaths that had wiped out every intelligent species in their territory. It was not a government that the Empire could ally itself with, so it had to fall. Unfortunately, the strike to behead the snake had occurred at the same time a huge Caca fleet had discovered their home system, and not only had the government fallen, but so had the home world.

The government had been reorganized, this time the majority subspecies of Klavarta in charge, and they were still fighting on, thanks in part to the destruction of a good third of the Caca fleet. But they were nowhere near to being back on their feet, and Sean was sending them all the help he could muster. He needed that second front to continue the fight, lest his Empire face the full might of the Cacas. And he needed the alien races of that region to become his allies as well, which was a much more difficult task.

“What are your sources telling you, Ekaterina?” he asked another of the few people physically attending the meeting.

Ekaterina Sergiov was the head of the Imperial Intelligence Agency, the premier intelligence gathering organ of the Empire. A middle aged attractive woman, she was dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Navy, the five stars of a fleet admiral on her shoulder boards. It had been decided to combine the intelligence efforts of the Empire, putting all the major players; IIA, IIB, the Imperial Investigation Bureau, Naval Intelligence and Army Intelligence, under one central information gathering and disseminating source. Since the heads of military intelligence for both services were four star flag officers, Ekaterina was given five so she would rank above them.

Ekaterina looked around the room for a moment, making sure every face, live and holo, was one that was cleared to hear what she was about to say. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Rear Admiral Mary Innocent, then moved to Major General Sandronen Mishkrata, the Emperor’s liaison for Naval and Army Intelligence, newly cleared for the information.

“From what we have gotten from Shadow,” she said, using the code name for their Maurid source into the Ca’cadasan intelligence apparatus, “the Cacas are hard at work on some new technologies they hope will be ready within the next six months. They have no idea what these techs are, only that they are said to involve captured human scientists.”

“From New Moscow?” asked Sondra, her eyes narrowing.

“That’s our best guess,” agreed Sergiov. “And we do know for a fact that New Moscow had their own wormhole project going.”

“But they didn’t have a Donut,” said Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri,theArmy Chief of Staff. “How would they power the process.”

“According to Dr. Yu, any process that could generate and store sufficient power could be used to generate a wormhole, as long as the proper techniques were used,” said Sean, who had talked about the tech of wormhole generation with Lucille Yu. “It isn’t like the techniques were top secret either, since there were hundreds of papers written about the possible processes of wormhole generation before the Donut project was approved.”

“So how would they power it?” Asked the Grand Marshal.

“Yu thinks you could use a planetary facility, like a supermetal moon, to generate and store enough power in a week or two to open a wormhole,” said Sean.

“And we’re opening thirty a day,” said Mgonda. “They’re going to have a hell of a time catching up.”

“Remember,” cautioned Sergiov. “The Cacas control an enormous Empire, with almost unlimited resources and labor. They could build a hundred generating facilities, maybe two or three hundred, and start cranking them out as fast as we are.”

“So are you suggesting that we start building additional facilities to produce wormholes?” asked McCullom, rubbing her temples as if a headache was coming. Which, considering the subject, it probably was.

“Not at the moment,” said Sergiov. “We have need of more supermetal production facilities above all else, if we’re going to transition to a total hyper VII fleet.”

“And the good news there is that our supermetal production capabilities will increase three fold within the next year,” said the Emperor. “The total production capacity of six core systems is being channeled into setting up new supermetal manufacturing moons or planets.”

That was the one bit of good news that the war had brought. The Empire normally had a less than fifty percent employment rate, with hundreds of billions of adults sitting on the dole. They were approaching full employment, and the industrial might of the Empire was approaching full stride. The bad news was that with the war effort resulting in so many citizens going into the military, and employment reaching above ninety percent, they were heading toward the production limit, unless new and more efficient techniques were developed. Work was progressing on that front as well, but like most research projects, there was never a guarantee as to the amount or rapidity of the progress.

“Which brings us to ship production,” said Sean, looking over at Sergiov. “Unless you have something to add, Ekaterina?”

“Only that we expect the Cacas to resume operations against us in the next four to six months,” said Sergiov, eyes narrowing. “At that point, the tactic of robbing Peter to pay Paul for military operations may become counterproductive.”

“So we need to do what we can as fast as possible,” said Sean, nodding. He looked over at Yamakuri. “Sorry that this topic isn’t of interest to you, Mishori.”

“Oh, it’s of interest to me, your Majesty,” said the Grand Marshal with a smile. “After all, without the Fleet, we can’t get my boys and girls to the places they need to be for the Army to win the war for you.”

There was laughter at that from the naval personnel in the conference. The rivalry between the two services was long standing. The Fleet was considered the senior service, which made sense in a space faring society. Without the Fleet to transport it and keep the space lanes open, the Army was only useful for defending planets from invasion. And without a Fleet presence even that defense became problematical.

Sean nodded and turned to look at the holo image of Fleet Admiral Jonathan Vickers, the Chief of Fleet Procurement and Supply. “Is what I heard about the mothball fleet true, Jonathan?”

“I’m afraid so, your Majesty,” said the slender Admiral who looked more like a college professor than a naval warrior. “As of two days ago, every ship in the reserve fleet has been deployed. Approximately forty-two percent have been lent out to allies, while twenty-seven percent have been refurbished for use in border and anti-pirate patrols, freeing up first line ships for other duties.”

“And the other thirty-one percent?” asked Mgonda.

“Turned over to training command. We need more platforms for training all the new spacers coming out of planetside basic. And this gives them to us.”

“And what about the new ships?” asked the Duke, his holo image leaning forward.

“We’re building them as fast as we can, sir,” answered Vickers, pulling up another holo that showed the classes of ships under construction, with numbers and building times under each icon. “We can build a capital ship, in year or so, including factory time to turn out the major assemblies. Super heavy battleships take about fifteen months, supers thirteen, while the standard sixteen million ton hyper VIIs take eleven to twelve months. We’re trying to get more of the super heavies out, but we still have more production slips capable of turning out the standard battleships. And the definite bottleneck for building all hyper VII ships are the supermetals. So we’re still turning out VIs, with the modifications needed to upgrade them to VIIs when we have the resources.”

“The planning board recommended that we build a larger percentage of capital ships to cruisers and escorts than we normally would,” said Sean, pointing at the icon of a heavy cruiser. “I approved their recommendation. While we still need scouts and escorts, we have greater need for line of battle units. And many more of these.”

The holo changed again, this time showing another large capital ship, this one not meant to stand in the line of battle. The oversized grabber and hyperdrive units indicated that this was a hyper VII vessel, while the numerous hangar hatches revealed its purpose.

“Of course we need the attack wings to go with them,” said Vickers. “As well as trained crew, and Klashek com techs.”

“I know they’re effective,” said Duke Mgonda, frowning. “But I already miss the days when a formation of battleships was the ultimate symbol of power.”

“New age, Duke,” said Sean with the wave of a hand. “I’m sure a lot of the old school officers would rather have battleships than attack carriers. But unless the Cacas can come up with their own Klassekians, I don’t think they’re going to field anything as effective as inertialess attack fighters. I think these are destined to become the backbone of the fleet for now and into the future. Especially if Admiral Chan can work more of her magic on improvements. Which brings us to the last order of business for this meeting. Manpower. Why don’t you start off, Mishori.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” replied the Grand Marshal with a short head bow. “All Imperial Army training facilities are working at full bore. And we have established a number of new camps throughout the core worlds, quadrupling the number of new recruits we can process and train. The two places we are still facing shortages are in armor and heavy weapons systems.”

“Do you have enough training armor?” asked the Emperor.

“We have enough for initial familiarization, and some of that armor is obsolete, if still serviceable.”

“Then we just keep training people and assigning them to light units for planetary defense, until we stockpile enough armor to start building up heavy units,” said Sean.

“And when will we get those heavy armor suits, your Majesty? It seems that the entire pipeline is feeding suits into the Imperial Marines.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Sean, making a note in his log through his implant. “Any other problems?”

“Well, we’re doing well getting officers trained and deployed. We’ve reopened OCS for recruits with degrees, as well as qualified NCOs. But that second source for new officers is having a negative effect on our staffing of non-commissioned officers. As I’m sure your Majesty knows, without good NCOs, the Army grinds to a halt. And every one we promote to lieutenant deprives a unit of a junior leader. We’re working overtime to push people through the NCO academies, and promoting junior NCOs to senior ranks as fast as possible.”

“Again, do the best you can, Mishori,” said the Emperor, nodding. “No one expected that we would have to expand so fast.” And we’re going to have to expand even faster if we’re going to win this thing. Because we’re going to have take them out completely to come out as victors. “Sondra?”

“I guess we’re having similar problems,” said McCullom, looking at Mishori for a moment before returning her attention to her Monarch. “We’re training up spacers as fast as we can, and the addition of more training platforms has helped with more advanced specialty training. Of course, and with no disrespect intended for our planet bound comrades, it just takes much longer to train a technical specialist able to use and repair shipboard systems. The only way we can actually keep our ships running is by taking a percentage of already competent ship’s complements and moving them to new ships, while replacing them with new spacers. It dilutes the competence of the all of our ships, which can affect their combat capabilities.”

Sean nodded. “We need more ships, and we need to crew those ships, so we have to take what measures we must take. And I assume that you are taking pretty much the same measures with trying to get officers and NCOs in place.”

“We are, with much the same consequences. We’re promoting NCOs to the ranks of officers, but since we are already being flooded with brand new ensigns, we’re starting most of them off at lieutenant rank, some at senior grade.”

“What about the merchant marine?” asked Mgonda. “That should be a ready source of trained spacers and officers.”

“Oh, it is,” said McCullom, nodding. “And we have been calling up some of them, as many as we can get away with. But we still have need of the merchant marine to keep the commerce and industry of the Empire running.”

“But the wormhole gates?”

“Duke Taelis,” said McCullom in the tone of one lecturing a student. “We don’t have enough wormhole gates open to cover the entire Empire. While some are in place, and have relieved some of the burden on our shipping resources, there are still not enough to handle the load. We still have core worlds without gates, as well as almost all of the developing worlds.”

Sean nodded, a worried expression on his face. It made him nervous that a third of the core worlds still didn’t have their own ship gates, meaning they couldn’t be reinforced quickly if they were attacked. But there were other places that had great need of gates. Sector headquarters, front strongholds, and now the need for gates to Bolthole and the Nation of New Earth. Again, they could only do what they could do. Wormholes were still a precious resource, ship gates even more so, since they required large quantities of negative matter, which was also a strategic resource with many uses.

“If we’re given enough time, we’ll solve the staffing problems, until the next series of battles,” said McCullom, shrugging her shoulders.

And that was the biggest problem. They lost ships, and in most cases at entailed the loss of most of the crew. So they had to replace both. Sean studied history, and he couldn’t find a point in the prespace history of the human species where there were such horrendous crew losses in proportion to ship losses. There had been battles where ships had gone down with the loss of all but a few survivors. But space battles tended to have high percentages of total losses, fifty percent or more.

“Well,” he finally said in closing the meeting, “we can always hope that we’re given that time. But we can’t count on it.”

Chapter Two

Those whom God wishes to destroy, he first makes mad.

Euripides

HYPER VII DESTROYER ANGELA COLLINS: AUGUST 12TH, 1002

“Battle stations. Repeat, all crew to battle stations.”

Petty Officer First Winston Nagawa jumped up from his supine position in his personal rack and hit his head on the ceiling. Luckily the people who had designed such things had thought of the potential for head damage from sitting up quickly in the low racks. It was well padded, but the Spacer still cursed as his head made contact.

I never had to worry about this crap on the Morning Star, thought the former merchant marine engineering mate. On the luxury liner he had served on before being called up, he had been berthed in his own cabin. While it wasn’t the lap of luxury itself, it had given him the room to move around, unlike the one man racks the navy provided.

The cylindrical chamber slid out of the wall, and the noise of the other petty officers getting out of their beds was now audible. The men were jumping out of their beds and heading for their lockers, and Nagawa cursed again as he noted the time on his implant. He had only been in his bed for a little over an hour, after a full shift in engineering. And it’s only a fucking drill, he thought, tapping into the ship’s tactical system to make sure.

“Battle stations,” blared the intercom again.

“Alright, already,” growled the Petty Officer.

“You’re in the Fleet now, pretty boy,” said Petty Officer First Janasa Karpasian, laughing at the former merchant spacer and using the derogatory term of military spacers toward those who served in the civilian sector.

”And on a fucking destroyer,” continued Winston, shaking his head, sealing up his shipboard jumpsuit, then pulling on his boots. He had hoped for a carrier, a nice big ship that stayed away from battle. Or at least a battleship, something that could take a pounding and come out the other side. But tin cans? Tin cans went up with one hit, most times while trying to protect the bigger ships that could handle more.

“Quit complaining, pretty boy,” said Karpasian. “At least you’re not on an antimatter tanker. Now you had best get to your station, or the XO will ream you a new one.”

Winston shook his head and headed out of the common room and into the corridor. He was on the third engineering shift, which placed him on damage control, in his case on the forward party. But his armor was stored in engineering, where he worked. Which meant he had to hurry.

“Nagawa,” yelled a harsh voice when he finally arrived at his station, running in under the eye of the Chief of the Ship, Senior Chief Kongbo. “You’re the last one in. Care to enlighten me on why you are so damned slow.”

“I’m sorry, Senior Chief Kongbo. I had to go to engineering to get my armor.”

“Just like all the other engineering personnel on this team,” growled the bear of a man, looming large in his combat armor. “And they all made it within the drill standard. You are the only one who didn’t.” yelled the Senior Chief, pushing a large armored finger into the Petty Officer’s chest plate. “You better hope this doesn’t come to the attention of the XO, or the Old Man.”

Nagawa found calling an officer who could have been his son the Old Man just a little strange. Lt. Commander Zhukov looked like he had just come out of the academy last year. Captain McIntosh, of the Morning Star, had looked the part of the Old Man. He had been well into his second century, and had spent almost a hundred years in space. Only the intimidating presence of the long term NCO kept him from laughing.

“I don’t have any more time for you, so get to your station.” The Senior Chief turned, saw something else that needed his attention, and was off like a flash, voice bellowing.

“PO Nagawa,” called out another voice from across the room.

Winston looked over the heads of some other armored men who had yet to settle into their seats, to see his own team waiting in their couches by their lockers. He hurried that way, still not used to the medium combat armor that all crewmen wore aboard warships. Merchant spacers also wore armor when necessary, in case of emergencies, but theirs was a much lighter model. While the military model was much stronger, and protected the wearer to a much greater degree, it was also much larger and more massive, and therefore harder to maneuver.

“You ready, PO?” asked the Marine Sergeant that was the team second in command. The other three members of the team were already in their seats, strapped in, eyes closed as they jacked into the system.

“I guess,” said Winston, seating his armored body in his own couch, made to help him withstand any gravity overload that might make it through the inertial compensators while the destroyer maneuvered in combat. He closed his eyes and let his own implant, already linked with the armor’s comp system, link in with the ship’s tactical net.

The net was showing the Angela Collins in three dimensional space, maneuvering along with two other tin cans and a light cruiser, the Scranton. About eleven light minutes away was what the sensors were saying was a heavy cruiser of unknown origin. A generic opponent for this training exercise.

And I could take a long nap in the time it will take for that thing to actually pose a threat, he thought, knowing that the ship’s system would be monitoring him through the exercise, and it wouldn’t look good for him to not be paying attention.

Still, he let his mind wander through the system, to every area that he had access to, which was everything that wasn’t involved with higher level tactical decisions. Everyone aboard was at their stations; the first two engineering shifts watching the power generation and motive functions of the ship, ready to repair or reroute systems as needed. The weapons division manning missile launch, laser and particle beam systems. Environmental systems were monitoring both life support and electromagnetic shields. There were some gaps in the coverage. The ship had a paper strength of thirteen officers and two hundred and sixty enlisted, but it was short one officer and eleven spacers. Ships were expected to function, to fight, with only a quarter of their authorized strength, so missing four percent was not considered a big deal. Still, when things got tight, the extra hands were missed.

“We have missile launch,” came the call over the tactical net. “Ten missiles, accelerating at five thousand gravities. General heading, toward the force. Second launch detected.”

The seat shivered slightly, simulating the shake of the destroyer while launching its own missiles. He hadn’t heard that order, which was probably in response to a command from the Scranton, the light cruiser leading the squadron. That part of the net was above his access level, though the tactical plot wasn’t, and he could see the incoming and outgoing on his occipital lobe.

“Missile impact in twenty-four minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer, the Lieutenant who actually ran the battle for the ship under the commands of the captain.

The ships continued to launch, the enemy cruiser putting over a hundred missiles into space, the squadron returning an equal number. Moments after the last simulated missile left the simulated tubes the voice of the Captain came over the net.

“By order the squadron commander, the simulation will be advanced by twenty minutes.”

Which meant that the enemy missiles would now impact in two minutes. And now they could see where they were targeted. Eighty were heading for the light cruiser, eight for each destroyer. At least that was the enemy plan, but the destroyers had also moved up in their courses as the simulation advanced, and were all now heading at maximum acceleration to put themselves between the missiles and the cruiser.

It’s only a simulation, thought Winston, trying to calm himself down. The simulation was so damned real, it was easy to fall for it. But there weren’t real missiles heading for them, intent on killing anything that got in their way.

The chair shook again, and the tactical plot was showing more icons leaving the ships of the squadron, counter missiles, on headings to attempt intercepts with the incoming weapons. A minute later they started making those intercepts, at least some of them, taking out about a third of the incoming. Moments after that the beam weapons, lasers and particle beams, opened fire, sending out torrents of firepower in an attempt to sweep the remaining missiles away. Twenty-six made it through that wave to come under the attention of auto-weapons. These took out most of the remaining missiles, but oft times at ranges that still flooded ships with waves of heat and radiation.

“We have damage to forward missile room three,” came the call over the damage control net, while a schematic of the ship came up on Winston’s implant, highlighting the route his team was to take to that area. It was not a straightforward path, as other damage had sealed off the direct route. “Missile room three is open to space.”

Winston pulled himself out of his seat and started for the hatchway. Red blinking icons on the schematic showed the casualties in and around that chamber. “Let’s move,” he told his team, trying to figure out the best way to attack the problem.

When he was serving on a liner the main focus had been on getting the passengers off the ship. The Fleet didn’t operate that way. If there was a way to save a ship, they would take just about any risk to do so.

The corridor leading forward was filled with simulated hazards. Smoke in the air, flickering lights, even variations in gravity. Now his experience as a spacer came to the fore, as he maneuvered easily through the obstructions.

The simulated battle was still going on, and they went through the motions of getting the damage to the missile room under control. The hull was self-sealing, the liquid nanometal between the armor layers filling the hole and hardening. Of course that was simulated as well. Winston thought the training was very realistic, and probably something they needed, though he wasn’t sure if they would perform as well in the real thing. And he would prefer that it didn’t occur during his sleep period.

“All crew are released from battle stations,” came the voice of the Captain over the net. “Report to stations for debriefing.”

Winston sighed as he looked at his men, wondering how long they would have to sit around and be told their shortcomings in this exercise. It didn’t take as long as he had feared, but he was still too wound up to go back to bed, even though his next shift wasn’t for another three hours.

The mess was almost full, as it seemed almost everyone else off duty had the same thought. Winston grabbed a cup of coffee and a Danish and headed for the gym, eating on the way. The ship had a well-equipped gym, with both exercise and recreation equipment. The Fleet took the fitness of its personnel seriously. They had daily organized exercise based on their shift and division, but most also did some workouts on their own. The small Marine detachment had their own gym, and from what he had heard they were all exercise fanatics. Having seen them running the corridors in their t-shirts, he could believe it.

His shift was very uneventful, as to be expected. The ship was brand new, and in top condition. Even if it had been an older vessel, the self-repair systems and nanites kept everything in as good a condition as if it were new. The crew was there to handle the unexpected that still occurred, and of course battle damage.

The PO was looking forward to a quiet sleep period after shift. He took his meal in the mess, showered, then lay in his bed and retracted his cylinder into the wall, cutting him off from all of the noise generated by his roommates. It seemed like he had barely closed his eyes when the voice sounded over the net.

“Battle stations. Battle stations. This is not a drill.”

Winston cursed under his breath at the bastards who were going to interrupt another of his sleep periods. Why can’t they pick on another shift? he thought, pushing down on the panel that moved the cylinder out of the wall. And then the words hit him like a bat to the head. This is not a drill.

* * *

The Fenri ship had accomplished its task, catching the attention of the small warships it had been baited to attract. Now was the time to get away, to lead the ships back to the vessel that could hurt them.

The pair had been prowling this space for several days, taking a couple of merchant ships that had wandered into their hunting grounds. They had not attracted any attention, which gave them even more of an advantage. They had not really been satisfying kills for the Fenri warriors. They had only been part of the mission, the burning of holes through the thin hulls not made for war, the ending of lives lacking the courage of warriors. These ships gave promise of something much more.

* * *

“Captain Pasce thinks they are about to jump back into hyper,” said the Klassekian com tech, looking back at Lt. Commander Terrance Zhukov, the captain of the Angela Collins.

“Makes sense to me,” said Lt. Commander Sophie Drake, the XO, from her station back in CIC. “It’s only a light cruiser, and it has to see it’s outclassed by our force.”

Zhukov nodded as he looked at the tactical plot that showed the intruder a light hour away. Tactical was identifying it a warship in the light cruiser range, preliminary ID, Fenri. And what the hell are they doing here, over three hundred light years from their own space?

Naval intelligence was reporting that almost ninety percent of the Fenri fleet had been destroyed. What was left was laying low, fighting what amounted to a privateer war, striking where the Empire was weak, going after small convoys and lone transports.. And they were still losing, since Fenri space swarmed with Imperial patrols. Somehow this one had penetrated deep into Imperial space, probably trying to find lone merchant ships to prey on. Despite the war, there were still some of those, though the smart ones always waited for convoys and the protection of warships.

“They’re starting to jump,” called out the Sensor Chief over the com. She was located in a quiet room near the hyper-resonance chamber that allowed the tech to read the resonances of ships moving in, out and through hyperspace, without the distractions of other shipboard systems. “ID confirmed. Resonances match Fenri hyperdrive. She’s opening a hole into VI.”

“Which is most likely its limit,” said Drake.

“Captain Pasce orders the squadron to jump to VII and follow the intruder,” reported the com tech. “Squadron will jump into VI when we have caught up to them, pattern Sierra Four.”

Zhukov nodded. The command made sense. They would be able to pass the Fenri ship at a low enough velocity to jump down to hyper VI when needed, and their pattern would put them in a trapping formation. Their ships outmassed the Fenri by a factor of two, and Imperial tech was better. So taking the Fenri cruiser should be easy.

“Jumping to VII,” called out the Chief who ran the helm of the destroyer.

Lights dimmed for a moment, nausea struck for a few seconds, and then the ship was in the red tinged space of hyper VII. The other ships jumped within a second of each other, and all moved into position as they chased after the enemy ship.

It wasn’t a long chase, and the squadron passed through the region the Fenri cruiser occupied in the lower dimension. The Fenri were decelerating at their maximum rate, and Zhukov had to wonder what they were up to. It must have been obvious even to them that they couldn’t outrun the Imperial squadron, and maybe they thought their only chance was to drop back to normal space and try to hide. Moments before the ships reached the optimal translation point to drop on top of the enemy ship the Fenri beat them to it, opening a hole and translating down into normal space. Seconds later the Imperial force was translating down to normal space as well, putting on all the decel they could handle.

When they reached the space of black backdrops and brilliant points they were only a little over a light minute from the enemy, who was still moving in their general direction. The Imperial ships were about to fire spreads of missiles at the enemy cruiser, when something else caught their attention, and they realized how good the navigator was on that Fenri ship.

“Object powering up at range of five light seconds,” called out the Sensor Officer. “Crap,” shouted that officer, his eyes widening. “It’s a battle cruiser.”

That fast the equation had changed. They had outmassed the enemy two to one, but now they were facing an opponent that outmassed them by a factor of four. And before they could think what to do the battle cruiser opened fire with lasers and particle beams.

Shei Ju was the closest vessel to the enemy capital ship, and the first to be hit by the ravening light amp weapons of the seven and a half million ton warship. Lasers blasted through the destroyer’s electromagnetic cold plasma field and tore into the hull, knocking out both forward laser rings and three of the bow grabbers. A microsecond later the particle beams struck, burning deep into the hull and knifing into the main engineering section. Antimatter breached, and the two hundred and fifty ton destroyer converted to a miniature star spewing superhot plasma.

“Jump,” yelled Zhukov to his Helmsman as every other crew person on the bridge stared in shock at the remains of their dead sister. The ship shook for a moment as a laser hit the hull, luckily nowhere near the power of those that had killed the Ju. Then they were through the red tinged hole in space and back in the safety of hyper VII.

Zhukov stared at the holo plot for a moment, relieved to see that Scranton was with them in VII, then hissed as he saw the icon of the Zulu disappear from the plot. So now they only had two ships left, and his had sustained some damage, the red areas of the schematic in his head showing him where the hits had occurred. Nothing too bad, but no commander wanted any damage to his command.

“Message coming through from Scranton, sir,” called out the Com Tech. “Captain Pasce wishes to know our status.”

Zhukov checked the status of his ship on his implant. The angry red of damage showed on the schematic. Damage to one laser ring, two emitters out. Hull breach in several places near that point. One forward grabber nonfunctional.

“Tell him we are still combat capable, and able to keep up with them,” said Zhukov, sending the file take of his damage to the com board for transmission.

After a few moments the Com Tech looked up again. “Captain Pasce wants us to follow his lead. We will trail the enemy ships and find out where they are going. He will be sending his appraisal of the situation to us to send on to command. He wants us to see if they will vector some more ships to us so we can take this battle cruiser out.”

“Send my acknowledgement,” replied Zhukov, watching as the icons of the enemy ships shifted from normal space to hyper VI. Acceleration figures appeared beneath both icons, showing that the ships were on a vector that would bring them further into the Empire.

Where the hell are you going? thought the Lt. Commander, pulling up a side holo of the region. Two hundred light years ahead was a path between the core worlds and some very important developing systems. That region of the Empire, hundreds of light years from any border, along the Sector III/Sector IV line, had seen no combat activity in this war, and so was the perfect target for a commerce raider.

They could really hurt us if they get into that region. If they go after merchant ships and liners, they could take out several hundred million tons before they’re stopped. And there was no way their two ships could take the battle cruiser out in open battle.

* * *

Winston Nagawa led his team into what must have been hell for the laser ring crew that had occupied this section of the hull. It couldn’t have been many, since each of the three rings only had a battle station crew of twelve people. There had been four in the control room located in the center of the hull, protected enough to survive the hit. Two had been out here on the perimeter, in a staging room for the photon emitters on the port side of the hull. The beam from the Fenri battle cruiser had come burning through the thin armor and the underlying hull to rip straight through this room. One crewman was completely gone, nothing left except some vapor, most of which was the alloy of his armor. The half body of the other spacer, a young woman, lay on the floor, her lower section gone, dead eyes staring out of her faceplate.

A three meter wide hole entered and exited the room. One interior side looked on one of the six photon emitters of the laser ring. The three meter hole continued deep into the emitter, which was sparking from shorted power contacts. The unit was obviously trashed, and there was nothing his crew could do to get it back into working condition. Given a few days, engineering could probably fabricate the needed replacement parts, and the ubiquitous nanites could put everything back together nice and tight. But not today.

The hole through the other side of the room looked out on the melted alloy look of the liquid nanometal which had flowed into the opening, then hardened in place. It was nowhere near as strong the original hull and armor, but it would do for now. Senior Chief Kongbo would be supervising the robots working out there to make some temporary hull repairs. Nagawa couldn’t imagine going out there in the flesh, working on the hull with the deadly substance of hyper less than a score of meters off the ship. A slip and a spacer could find themselves outside the hyperfield, falling back into normal space in a catastrophic translation they were unlikely to survive.

“We’re going to cut the power leads to the emitter, Chief,” reported Nagawa to the NCO in charge of this ring. “All it’s doing now is draining power.”

“Go ahead,” said the rough female voice over the com.

She sounds like she wants to cry, thought Winston, shaking his head. He was sure he would feel the same way if people he worked with on a daily basis were now gone.

“Let’s get to it,” he told his crew, watching as a couple of spacers deployed the laser cutter. The sooner we get this done, the better I’ll feel.

Chapter Three

As soon as men decide that all means are permitted to fight an evil, then their good becomes indistinguishable from the evil that they set out to destroy.

Christopher Dawson

CA’CADASAN EMPIRE CAPITAL: AUGUST 13TH, 1002

Emperor Jresstratta IV sat in his box, looking through the security field that protected him from any assassination attempts while also giving him a zoomed view of the arena floor. Not that the Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire had any worries from his own people, who almost worshipped him. But slaves were everywhere in the Empire, and some of those would gladly give their own lives to take down the leader of the government that held them in thrall.

On the sand below two of those slaves battled for their lives. Two large arthropods, Scilla, who needed no weapons besides their two razor sharp snipping claws. The left middle leg of one lay discarded on the sand, the victim of the other’s claws. Greenish blood leaked from the stump of the leg, but otherwise the warrior did not seem inconvenienced by the wound.

I tire of this, thought the Monarch, his fierce eyes narrowing as he watched the spectacle. The Empire ground on, year after year, century after century, enslaving more species at every turn. Stopping them in their own development as they became mere pawns to the Ca’cadasans. Sometimes the Emperor wondered if the Universe had a special hell reserved for his people.

“The wounded one looks like he’s about finished,” said one of the nobles who shared the box.

The Emperor looked back at the fighting floor, where the whole Scilla had pushed the other over and was now on top, its left claw menacing the throat of the wounded one. That Scilla turned a compound eye toward the Emperor’s box, awaiting the signal. Jresstratta was about to give the standard signal for such a battle, but his heart just wasn’t in it this day. Instead, he signaled mercy, and the several hundred thousand Cacada in the arena murmured at the breach of protocol.

The hell with them, thought the Emperor, his eyes roaming the crowd. He was the ruler, and what he said would go.

The two slaves were led from the arena. Both would fight again another day, probably not each other, but some other species, just to make things interesting. Moments later two new slaves were brought into the arena, of a species that no one in the venue had ever seen.

Both were very large, almost four meters in height, bipedal, with thick muscular bodies and a hard looking pebbly skin. Both looked big and clumsy, with dull looking eyes that showed a distinct lack intelligence. His curiosity piqued, the Emperor linked into the Imperial database to get information on this species, one newly conquered. His eyes widened as he looked over the data, sitting up in his seat to see what would develop.

The two beings, Rashanis, were pushed toward each other. Both stepped forward slowly, looking up into the crowd, blinking. They looked as peaceful as the data stated, at least for the moment. The crowd started to yell insults at the creatures, calling for the guards to make them fight.

Both creatures had submission collars on their necks, and now one of the arena controllers used them to punish the two creatures. Both jumped, screams rising from their wide open mouths, bodies trembling. They still didn’t do what the controller wanted, which was to attack each other, so the punishment was increased. That was when the change occurred.

According to the data on the species, they were now going through a rapid metabolic change, a supercharging hormone that triggered changes in all body systems. It was a survival mechanism evolved in a normally placid species on the low end of the intelligence scale. What took place looked more like a magical transformation.

The muscles of the creatures expanded, their skin thickened, retractable claws that had been hidden to this moment appeared, and the now super-strong, super-fast, and super-agile aliens attacked. But not each other. The first made a graceful turn, eyes locked onto the nearest of the Ca’cadasan guards, and took off in a blur. Before the guard could react the Rashanis had covered the thirty meters, its left hand reaching out and grabbing the Cacada by the throat. With a jerk the creature pulled the guard into the air and snapped his neck. He continued the motion and threw the guard high enough into the air that its arc carried the body into the crowd.

The second ran to the wall, a twenty meter high barrier with a sonic barrier at the top, intended to keep the gladiators within the confines of the fighting pit. With a tense of leg muscles that rippled with strength the huge body flew into the air, penetrating the sonic screen that should have rendered it unconscious. It was very much active when it landed in the seats, to the detriment of several Ca’cadasans who were within reach of its hands. In an instant those beings were dead, and the berserk creature was reaching for more.

The one still on the sand meanwhile, had killed another guard, while being shot repeatedly by magrail pistols that didn’t slow it a bit. It was in the process of attacking a third guard when a particle beam reached out from the stands and speared the creature through the back. Its skin, no matter how tough, could not stand up to the fast moving protons that vaporized their way through. Still, it turned enough to get an arm in the way and forged on toward its next victim. The beam speared out again, this time striking a leg and blasting out the connective tissue between thigh and calf. The creature went down, growling in anger, if not pain, and continued in a crawl. A third beam hit, this one aimed at the head, vaporizing the crown and into the brain. The Rashanis went down, body twitching, an activity that continued for minutes.

The second creature continued to kill. Ca’cadasans were a brave people, used to being the ones that brought fear into the hearts of lesser creatures. The Cacada in the stands closest to the Rashanis were now terrified, scrambling over each other to get away from the creature that was leaving bodies in its wake. A dozen of the big Cacada males were dead, as many lying in the stands groaning in pain, blood flowing from wounds. A few of the braver Cacada, warriors of note, stood their ground, long ceremonial knives out. One buried his knife in the shoulder of the Rashanis, the monomolecular blade sliding easily through the tough hide and into the muscle below. The Rashanis backhanded the Cacada with its other arm, knocking the warrior through the air to land on his back. The Rashanis appeared to lose most of the use of its left arm, but that didn’t stop it from stalking toward the Cacada that had injured it.

Hyper-velocity rounds now impacted on the creature, while a half score of warriors stood and fired their magrail pistols into the Rashanis. The high velocity rounds penetrated skin and muscle, but it seemed to shrug them off like they were pin pricks. The warriors continued to fire, hoping to bring it down by volume. Some rifles opened up, sending in heavier projectiles at quadruple the speed of those fired by the pistols. The rounds thwacked into the creature with a sound like hammers smacking side of meat. The creature went down on one knee, then jerked back to a standing position and took the last couple of steps to stand over his victim.

A pair of rifle rounds struck the Rashanis in the head, blowing through hide and skull, blasting the brain into goblets that flew from the other side. The eyes of the Rashanis rolled up in its head, it made the motion to bring a heavy foot down on the injured Cacada, then leaned to the right and fell down the steps in a roll.

“I wonder how they taste?” asked one of the courtiers in the box, which was being surrounded by scores of armored soldiers.

“I have heard that they taste awful,” said another with a predatory smile. “And I think that hormone they flood themselves with makes the meat taste even worse.”

The Emperor was not thinking about what the meat tasted like, but what they were going to do with a planet full of creatures like these. If they ever revolted against the Empire, there might be no choice but to exterminate them from orbit. He couldn’t see how they would control them on the ground if they all went berserk like that. Wiping out an entire species was serious business, and against the will of the Gods that the Emperor no longer believed in, but that many of his people still did.

“I think the games are over for this day,” he ordered, looking at his ministers. He turned away without waiting for a reply. He was the Emperor, and could turn his back on whomever he wished, whenever he wished. Except he couldn’t turn his back on the Empire, as much as he would have liked to.

* * *

THE SECOND FRONT.

“They have hit another of our resupply convoys, my Lord,” reported the frightened looking subordinate.

Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana stared at the Ca’cadasan messenger that he could put to death at the merest whim. He relished the male’s terror for a moment, then let him off the hook. “Tell me,” he said to the young officer, waving the male forward into his office.

“From the reports, a swarm of the Klavarta ships attacked in hyperspace, pulling the escorts away, while another swarm came in from the other side and took out almost half of the supply ships, including five out of the six tankers.”

The Great Admiral swore as he pounded a fist on his desk, eliciting a look of terror from the messenger. His fleet was using up antimatter at an alarming rate as it moved through Klavarta space looking for their homeworlds. The problem being that the human constructs didn’t plant their colonies around the most hospitable stars, as would be expected of most intelligent species. Instead, they seemed to colonize only red dwarves, with a few exceptions. Since eighty percent of the stars in any region of the Galaxy were red dwarves, it was a daunting proposition to track them down. True, he had over twenty-five thousand ships at his disposal, what remained of the fleet after the human attack at the Klavarta homeworld. But they could only move in large groups, lest they invite attack in overwhelming numbers. Which reduced their ability to search this space efficiently.

Mgananawan looked at the holo of this region of space, almost seventy million stars along the what the humans called the Sagittarius Arm, and the Ca’cadasans the Inner Claw. Several of the stars were blinking white, the systems where the Empire had established strongholds, including the former capital system of the Klavarta. Thirty other stars blinked red, systems where they had found industrial colonies of their enemies. They had wiped the Klavarta presence from those systems. But none had been the huge industrial concerns that were expected from any technologically advanced power.

And the damned things are spread out all through their space, looking for any opportunity to hurt us. It’s turned into a damned war of attrition, and they might just be able to replace their losses faster than we can.

“My Lord,” called out a voice, as another holo sprang into existence. The face of one of his Tactical Assistants looked out of the three dimensional projection. “We believe, having analyzed shipping patterns, that we have found one of their primary systems.”

The Great Admiral stood up from his chair, nostrils distending as he drew in a deep breath. “Show me,” he ordered.

The holo changed, showing a mirror image of the star chart on the main holo. It zoomed in, while one of the stars blinked. The Great Admiral looked at the holo, gauging the distance to the nearest of his strong points.

“Send my orders to this strong point by courier. I want a battle fleet on the move as soon as possible. And mobilize everything we can spare to move by tomorrow.”

“At once, my Lord. May I ask what your intention is for the second force?”

“Of course,” said the Great Admiral, prepared to parade his own military genius in front of a subordinate. “We know they have much better communications than we do. Whether it is these miraculous wormholes they seem to possess, or some other invention, the fact is that they can marshal their forces much quicker than should be possible. Yes?”

“The humans from the other Empire seem to have these resources, my Lord,” admitted the Subordinate, confusion on his face. “But why…”

“Because when we appear near this system, another force will be sent to relieve them. To hopefully, from their perspective, trap and destroy our force. But we will have another, larger force nearby, waiting for this move.”

“I see,” said the Tactician, understanding lighting his face. “And who will lead this force?”

“Why, my most trusted officer,” said the Great Admiral with a smile. “Myself.”

* * *

“You must not beat the other males, my son,” said the Emperor to his youngest, Janstarais, the fourth in line for the succession. The child was only twenty-four standard years old, just entering adolescence for the long lived species. And still learning what it meant to be a Cacada warrior. Unless all three of his older brothers died, an unlikely occurrence since the trio were all on different worlds most of the time, the youngster would become a noble officer in the Ca’cadasan military.

“But my Lord,” said the young male, a defiant expression on his face. “The vermin insulted my line.”

“And how did he do that?”

“By saying that I must have descended from the human apes because of my lack of mathematical ability.”

“And you are not doing well in math?”

“I find it boring, my Lord,” said the young male with a sneer. “And I will not be a scientist,” the boy said that with another sneer.

The Emperor found himself closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his forehead. His eldest had been much like this one, until he had his arrogance beaten out of him. The Emperor did not want to see that happen to this one, but it might be necessary. And his contempt for science and scientists. Most Ca’cadasan scientists were males in late adulthood, their military service well behind them. And lacking the mental flexibility of younger Cacada. They were mainly the supervisors of the scientists of the slave species. And the Emperor had to wonder if they had made a mistake there as well, putting the technological advancement of the Empire in the hands of people who had no love for their masters.

“So you will be a warrior? That is what you think? And what kind of warrior? A commander of ground troops?”

“A fleet commander,” answered the young male proudly, crossing both sets of arms over an expanded chest.

“Not without a command of mathematics,” said the Emperor, poking a large finger into the upper chest of his son, above the crossed arms. “And physics, engineering and other sciences.”

The young male stared at him for a moment, brow furrowing, as if he had not thought of that.

“And what if you one day must sit on the throne? You will need an understanding of math to understand the finance and commerce of the Empire. And science, so that you might decide the direction of our efforts in that sphere.”

“I will never sit the throne,” said his son, shrugging both sets of shoulders.

“And that is what I thought,” said the Emperor. “Until my older brother died, and suddenly I was the heir.” He looked into the face of his son, trying to see if his message had gotten through. He wasn’t sure, and could only hope. “And about this beating of other males. Such is right and proper when you are engaging in contests of strength and fighting ability. But not in a class in mathematics. Understood?”

“Yes,” said Janstarais, his head hanging.

“Enjoy your youth while you can, my son,” said the Emperor, placing a hand on the young male’s upper shoulder. “It will pass soon enough, and the long years of service to the Empire stretch ahead.”

The Emperor watched as the young male left the chamber, his two warrior bodyguards falling in behind him. Those guards would protect the young male from any overt threat, which did not include fist fights with males his own age. He thought of his own long years on the throne, with probably a millennium more to go. Most other species envied the Ca’cadasans their long lives, but sometimes it seemed like too much.

“The designs for the new ships are ready for your approval, my Lord,” said the Chief Administrator of Conquest, walking into the private audience chamber.

“Let us see them,” said the Emperor, motioning for the male to precede him from the room.

They walked the long corridors, took a lift down to several kilometers beneath the building, then entered the secure room where the Emperor was shown the top secret efforts of his Empire to advance. He took a seat at the head of the table, his guards, not cleared for this level of information, remaining outside. The holo came to life over the table, showing two large warships side by side. One was slightly larger than the other, though that was not what stood out to the Emperor’s discerning eye.

“Are those light amp rings on the second ship?”

“Yes, my Lord. We have decided that the humans had the superior weapons deployment plan on their ships. They can apply all of their laser power on a single target, while our old design could at most put sixty percent of their energy on target. The major weakness of the human design is the possibility of knocking out a significant portion of their light amp power with a single hit, while the laser dome design only allows the reduction of one fortieth of the ship’s fire power with a single strike.”

“But the design board has decided the risk is worth it?” asked the Emperor, leaning forward in his chair to look over the new design.

“Statistical analysis, as performed by our Xoinin slave mathematicians, indicated that the laser ring system was superior, despite the added risk.”

“And the new ship is larger?”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the Chief Administrator of Conquest. “We have added another layer of armor, though much thinner than the main belt, as well as more electromag field generators. A major addition is more missile and counter missile tubes, as well as a seventy percent increase in close in autoweapons. As the war has progressed, it has come to our attention that most engagements are being fought at long distance, well out of the effective range of beam weapons, and over ninety-five percent of the kills have been to missiles. So it was thought that missile defenses needed to be augmented. The same thing is being done with the smaller ships.”

“Very well,” said the Emperor, giving a head motion of agreement. “When can we have these new ships deployed?”

“We can have the scout versions coming off the shipyards in five to seven months, cruisers in a year. I’m afraid, my Lord, that the capital ship design will take the same amount of time the old one does, more or less. Eighteen months or so.”

“Then we will just have to fight on with what we have,” replied the Emperor.

“We still have the larger fleet, and the more courageous warriors,” said the Administrator. “We shouldn’t have any trouble defeating these humans.”

No, we shouldn’t, thought the Emperor, staring at the three dimensional image of the new battleship. We shouldn’t, but I have a feeling that we will.

Chapter Four

To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To destroy can be the thoughtless act of a single day.

Winston Churchill

UNKNOWN LOCATION, IMPERIAL SPACE: AUGUST 14TH, 1002

“And that is the only way you know to move backward in time?” asked the Interrogator, his cold eyes looking down on the man on the other side of the small table. “You seemed to think you could send a wormhole as far back in time as you wanted when you spoke on the Donut.”

“I may have gotten a little carried away at the time,” said Dr. Kenji Guatarrez, avoiding the gaze of the man whom he thought of as his head jailer. Ever since he had opened his mouth at the lecture on the Donut he had effectively been a prisoner of whoever these people were. At first he had thought that they were Naval Intelligence, since they had worn the uniforms. Now he wasn’t so sure, and the uniforms had definitely disappeared as soon as they had placed him in this detention facility.

“Our own experts are telling us that there must be another way,” said the woman that Guatarrez thought of as the Disapprover. “After all, if the legends are to be believed, the Ancients attempted to change past events, some of which had happened millennia in the past. Would you really think they would wait for time to pass second per second to reach the time they were interested in?”

“I have no idea as to whether they would wait or not,” exclaimed the scientist in exasperation, since they had asked him this question multiple times over the months he had been here. “I’m not one of the Ancients, and I have no way of knowing what they would do.”

Two pairs of cold eyes, one set blue, the other brown, stared at him. Guatarrez knew they were monitoring him through the probes they had placed within his body, as well as through his implant, which they were remotely monitoring. There was no way he could tell a lie without their knowing. He knew better than to try.

“This is not helpful,” said the Interrogator, shaking his head.

“It might be useful to be able to go back a couple of months,” said the Disapprover, one of the few positive things the scientist had ever heard come from her.

“Going back a couple of months will not destroy them before they can strike at the Earth,” said the Interrogator. “It would be even better if we could destroy them before they ever got off their planet. It would sure save a lot of other intelligent species the problems the Cacas caused.”

“You realize that trying to change the time stream that far back could have disastrous consequences,” said the Scientist, trying to reason with these people he thought of as mad. “You could end everything that we know. And be responsible for trillions of beings having never existed.”

He didn’t think they would get that with the method he had proposed. His method of time travel involved using an alternate dimension that had been discovered by one of the Alternate Universe Project probes, while he had been with the project. Universe number two thousand nine hundred and fifty-four had seemed like a normal universe at first glance. It had even had the kind of physical laws that would allow life from their universe to survive, with stellar bodies and planets. Some of the numbers coming back looked kind of strange, radiation from some nearby objects seemed a little off. A probe was sent into the universe, which disappeared almost immediately with no explanation. They sent another, with the same result, then another, until some tech noticed that looking at the sensor recordings from further back they were seeing the probes before they had actually gone through the portal. They were also picking up some graviton ripples, as if spacetime itself was reacting to some event.

Every probe they sent through disappeared from their scans, but were recorded further and further back. When the probe they sent through twenty minutes after the opening appeared on twenty minutes of recordings, they finally figured it out. Time was running backwards in this new universe. Or was it? A probe sent through with a small rodent, set to send video and physiological readings back, disappeared as well, though the recording showed that the animal was acting and metabolizing normally, just in the opposite direction of time flow from our universe. Studies of the record determined that time flowed in the opposite direction from our universe in a one second to one second ratio. They studied the new space for several weeks, verifying the hypothesis, then closed it off. After all, though it might offer a haven in the future, it seemed as if the time reversal really didn’t offer much of an advantage.

Until Guatarrez thought of the possibilities of wormholes. If one end was anchored in our universe, the other in the reverse time universe, they essentially would have a time machine if they could open a portal back into our universe at an earlier time. One could go through the wormhole and end up days, weeks, even months in the past. The only problem he faced was that the Other Universe Project had the only means of opening the door to the other universe he needed, and they weren’t about to meddle in something with such serious negative connotations as time travel.

Guatarrez had experimented using probes, first with modified hyperdrives, then a subspace drive with variable resonances. It had taken several years of experimentation, but he had finally found the proper resonance to open up the way into the other space, which was really more of a type of subspace than anything else.

“We’ll want you to supervise the first attempt, Dr. Guatarrez,” said the woman.

“I thought you didn’t consider this workable as is,” said Guatarrez, confused.

“I don’t think it is,” agreed the man. “But it’s the only thing we have at the moment. And the sooner we start on it, the further into the past we can reach when we need to.”

Guatarrez almost thought of refusing, though he was sure there would be consequences to such a refusal that he would not like. But a chance like this might never come along again.

“Let’s get started,” he said, smiling at his captors.

* * *

“We have been picking up ripples in space time from within your Empire,” said the Ancient known as Klorasof, his multiple eyes all focused on the human it was talking to, its six tentacle arms waving in the air, showing its excitement.

“And what does that mean?” asked Xavier Jackson, whom the aliens had rescued from deep space, and who had been their permanent guest ever since. As in they were not about to let him go back to his people with knowledge of them. He had a good idea what the alien was talking about, which did not make him feel confident about the actions the creatures were about to take.

“Someone in your Empire is experimenting with time travel,” said the Ancient, his tentacles still waving in the air, showing his discomfort. “Early stages, obviously, but the sign of things to come. And something we cannot permit.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“We are assuming humans, your kind,” said Klorasof in a disapproving tone. “We do not know where these experiments are taking place at this time, so we do not have a target. But this, combined with your species’ ability to generate wormholes, makes this a dangerous combination.”

“You said that before. But I’m not really sure what the danger of time travel is.” Jackson could tell the creature wasn’t sure if it could believe what it was hearing. “Oh, I understand about the paradox, like going back in time and telling yourself what to do on a certain day, or even killing someone. I thought the time stream would even little events like that out. Or at least that is what I seem to understand from the reading I’ve been doing.”

He wasn’t sure of the depth of the material they granted him access to, since he was still considered a primitive by the super-intelligent beings. But it was enough to give a trained Fleet office like himself, with specialties in engineering and stellar navigation, a general idea of what the Ancients understood about the Universe.

“That would be true if the temporal disturbance only involved one life, or one track through the timescape. But when thousands of lives are at stake, or millions, billions or more, the paradoxical stresses can grow to mammoth proportions. Like what happened to us.”

“You went back in time and tried to change things for the better?” asked Jackson, who had heard the rumors from the other species of the region concerning the Ancients.

“And they would have been better, if not for the paradoxical stresses that rippled through space time,” said the Ancient. “Enough energy was released to basically destroy our Empire.”

“The people of Elysium say that the Universe struck back at you, since it doesn’t like a paradox.”

“And so you primitives are wont to believe,” said the Ancient, wheeling around on his locomotive cilia. “And why would the central stars of our Empire still survive in orbit around that black hole? There is nothing mystical about what happened, since the Universe is not a conscious entity. It was all a matter of physics, though at a level that your primitive minds cannot comprehend.”

“So, explain to me what did happen. In a way my primitive mind can comprehend.”

The Ancient stared at him for a few moments, and the human could almost hear the gears turning in that massive brain as the creature tried to decide how much it could tell the man. It must have decided it could trust him not to tell more of his kind, which sent a chill down Jackson’s spine as it confirmed his suspicions. He would probably never regain his freedom.

“We first started observing the past, as an exercise in curiosity.” The creatures eyes all looked at different areas of the room in an unfocused manner, as if it were looking back over its memories. “Nothing extreme. A couple of your years. Still, we noted the ripples in space time even when we avoided making any kind of changes. The process itself had repercussions, minor, not enough to stop us. So we continued.”

“But you went further?”

“Of course, for we thought we were wise and benevolent enough that we knew what we were about, and only good would come of it. Some cautionary voices were raised, and all experiments were thereafter conducted on the worlds that did not comprise the center of our Empire, those in orbit around the black hole that your kind calls the Supersystem. We started making larger changes in the past, trying to alleviate the suffering of others. We destroyed entire timelines and created others. Millions of intelligences that had died in the past lived to reproduce, millions of new lives were created, but, unfortunately, millions more who lived faded from existence as if they never were.”

And that’s what whoever is trying to make time travel a reality is planning for our timeline, thought Jackson. It was all conjecture, but he was sure he was correct, and from what Klorasof was telling him, it was going to lead to disaster. Not millions, but possibly trillions of beings would cease to exist, and he had to wonder as to the ethics of choosing who would live and who would die in those numbers.

“The ripples in space time increased to the point where seismic events on inhabited worlds caused great damage and death. A star that should have been a million years from supernova exploded before its time, the compression waves of paradoxical energy pushing the matter past the point of collapse. The administrators of our Empire started to panic, and the scientists thought it best to try and undo some of the changes they had made to the timelines of others. This exacerbated the problem, and dozens of stars, these main sequence that would never have exploded on their own, went into supernovae, wiping out whole species and many of our own worlds.”

“But you survived, obviously. So why did your civilization fall?”

“We felt responsible for all the damage we had done. Our birth rate plummeted, and beings who should have lived for further millennia withered away and died. In two millennia most of our race was gone, only the few who were the strongest on the bell curve of our species surviving. One of the last things we did was to raise up the other species of this region to the point where they could become spacefaring races. To protect themselves from other species that might not be so benevolent. Then we became as we are now.”

The creature focused all of its eyes on the human, all of them with a pleading look. “We cannot allow this to happen again. If we cannot locate the source of your experiments, we will have no choice but to destroy the source of your wormhole generating ability, lest they be used for time travel.”

“If you destroy the Donut, we will lose our war against the Ca’cadasans,” said Jackson in a pleading tone. “And then we will be destroyed as a species.”

“And normally that is something we could not allow, since your species is one that shows great promise. But we also cannot allow a tampering with the time stream. We will not allow it to happen. As I have told you before, we only have the ships and energy for one battle, and if that battle is to fight our way to your wormhole generating station so that we can destroy it, then that will be our last fight.”

“Is there anything I can say to change the minds of your leaders?” asked Jackson, almost on the edge of panic now. He really didn’t know how his Empire was doing against the Cacas, but he did know that they weren’t doing well at the time he had been rescued. The wormholes were the only ace in the hole that the Empire had, and if the generating station, that had taken over a century to construct, was destroyed, he didn’t know how the human race would survive.

“If you could give them a better target than the wormhole generating station,” said the Ancient before turning away. “Other than that,” Klorasof continued as he rolled away, “I can think of nothing.”

* * *

“They will find me,” said the Countess Esmeralda Zhee, struggling against the bonds that held her to a chair. “And when they find me, they’ll find you.”

Angel Sergio Martinez laughed to himself as he smelled the fear on the woman he had kidnapped from her own estate, right under the noses of her own security. You’re used to be in control, aren’t you, Countess? Well, this is a situation you can’t control. How does it feel to be the one caught up in things beyond you?

“Do you understand me?” yelled the Countess in a panic. “My people will find you, and they will kill you.”

“Or you’ll just hire someone to take me out,” said Angel, who was an expert on being paid to do others in. “Don’t you know that’s against the law, Countess? You can go to jail for that.”

“Who in the hell are you?” asked the woman in a voice quieted by fear. “Why in the hell are you doing this?”

“I wonder if the people you put out contracts on asked the same questions. And were they given answers before they were killed? Or were they met with silence?”

“Who are you?”

“If I told you, I would have to kill you,” said Angel with a laugh. “But what the hell, I’m going to do that anyway. Let’s just say that when the Angel of Death comes calling, wealth or social rank does not matter. Even Emperors bow down before that dark Angel.”

“Oh my God,” exclaimed the Countess. “You’re the Angel.”

Martinez could almost see the gears turning in the woman’s mind as she digested that information. “I don’t know who’s paying you for this, but I’ll double it. Triple it.”

“Triple nothing is nothing, Countess. I’m doing this one for free. This is personal.”

“Why?”

“I take it personally when someone orders a hit on me. It’s inconvenient having to kill a bunch of second raters. It interrupts my plans for the day.”

“If you had honored your contract, it wouldn’t have been necessary to put out a hit on you,” yelled Zhee, anger getting the better of her fear.

“I made a choice after I had gathered new information. I had to decide who the human species would have the best chance under. Your masters, or him. I chose him.”

“I have no masters,” said Zhee, anger again getting the better of her.

“Tell me another one. Don’t worry, I will get the truth out of you.”

The woman’s eyes widened, this time fear getting the better of anger, the normal response of a threatened animal. “If I give you what you want, will you let me live?”

“No. You are too much of a threat to live.”

“Then you will get nothing out of me.”

Angel laughed for a moment, looking into the disbelieving face of the Countess. “Believe me, Countess. Before we are done, you will sell your soul to make it stop.

* * *

SPACE OUTSIDE OF NATION OF NEW EARTH, AUGUST 16TH, 1002.

“We are picking up ships of unknown resonances entering scanner range,” reported the Sensor Officer, looking back at the commander of the mission.

At least we have real warships, thought Rear Admiral Natasha Sung, the woman who had led the initial exploratory mission to this region. Her three massive ships in that mission had been built for long range exploration, and were not as heavily armed or armored as a purpose built warship, lacking the acceleration of most military vessels as well. Now she was sitting on the flag bridge of the brand new sixteen million ton battleship Count Gregor Samnovich, with a pair of battle cruisers and ten lesser vessels as escorts. It might not be enough to fight off any opponent, but it could fight and run better than what she had commanded prior.

“Those are Slarna ships,” said the Klavarta pilot who sat at the second sensor station.

Who we came to see, thought Sung, wondering how much they knew about humans. According to Klavarta intelligence, the only contact most species had with humans in this sector were with the genetically engineered subspecies they had created to be their warrior faces. As Sung knew, that guaranteed nothing, as an alien species with a good intelligence gathering apparatus could learn much that you didn’t want them to.

“We have six contacts now,” reported the Sensor Officer. “All in the three to four million ton range.”

“We outmass them by a factor of over one point seven,” called out the Squadron Tactical Officer, a smile of relief on his face.

“We’re not here to fight, Mr. Tucker,” cautioned the Admiral, who had been chosen for this mission because of her skill as a diplomat.

“I know we aren’t, ma’am. But that doesn’t mean the other guys don’t want to start one.

“I want a tight leash on all weapons in the squadron,” she ordered the officer who would command the integration of those systems in a fight. “Beam weapons powered down, missile tubes unloaded.”

“What about defensive measures?” asked the Squadron Tactical Officer, a look of dismay on his face.

“Electromag fields at full strength, but no cold plasma in the fields,” ordered the Admiral, holding up a finger. “I want them to be able to see our hull, and not assume we’re making ready an attack.”

She turned to her Navigation Officer. “Lt. Mosh. Plot a course toward those ships.” The young officer gave an acknowledgement and took a few seconds to plot the desired course, sending it to the ship’s Helm Officer.

“Orders, ma’am?”

“Max safe decel down to hyper translation speed, then down to normal space and a complete stop.” She turned to the Sensor Officer. “I want us grav pulsing the sensors once we are no longer boosting. I want those people to know where we are and that we’re not taking any untoward movement into their space.

“Make sure base knows what’s going on,” she said to the Klassekian Com Tech.

While she was glad to have the strange looking alien on the flag bridge, since it did give her contact with base, she missed having a wormhole onboard. The wormhole gave so many other advantages beside simple instantaneous com. The problem was, they had so few of them on this front. All of the remaining wormholes were needed for strategic considerations, like moving ships and personnel from the Empire to the Nation and back. Since they couldn’t transport wormholes through wormholes, they had to wait for the first convoy coming from the Empire to bring them more. Ninety wormholes were coming, forty with connections back to the Empire, and fifty in containers that held both ends, so they could be deployed on this front where needed most. That still wasn’t that many, but better than nothing, and future convoys would bring more. But she never saw the day when ships carried wormholes in the same numbers as they did on the Imperial Front. Which was why having the Klassekians, with their quantum brain connections to their siblings, was a very welcome addition to this front as well. Only there also weren’t enough of them to go around at the moment, which was why only a few of her ships had one.

“We can come to a complete stop in normal space in nine hours, fourteen minutes,” called out the Helm Officer over the com from the command bridge.

“Make sure that everyone gets rest and meal breaks before that happens,” ordered Sung, getting up from her seat. “I will be in my cabin, getting some sleep before I need to communicate with these Slarna. If you really need me, get me up. Otherwise, I’m not to be disturbed.”

Sung lay in the bed of the flag officer quarters she occupied aboard the battleship. The quarters were very comfortable, including a sitting room, office and steward’s chamber. Slightly more luxurious than those she had occupied on her long range explorer, which, though a larger ship, had needed to cram much more within its hull. She didn’t feel any guilt in getting eight hours sleep, since hers was the mind that would have to make the decisions during her meeting with the aliens, and that brain needed to be fresh.

Time passed quickly in the timelessness of sleep, and she awoke fresh and ready. A quick meal served by her steward, a couple of cups of good coffee, and she was dressed and ready for whatever would greet her.

“The alien ships just came out of hyper,” said the Sensor Officer when Sung walked onto the bridge. “They should reach our position on a zero motion intercept in three hours.”

“What was their translation velocity?” she asked the officer.

“Just a bit under point two light. It would seem that they are less advanced that we are.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” she cautioned the officer. “They may be holding something back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The tension level on the bridge ratcheted up as the Slarna ships got closer. This was basically a first contact situation for the Imperials, if not the Klavarta. The alien ships drew closer, still decelerating, five of them at a higher rate than the leader. They pulled to a relative stop over a light minute away, just about the maximum effective range of the Imperial beam weapons, which made the Commodore surmised that the alien’s beam range was much shorter. The leader continued in, and the bridge crew studied the ship on video as it approached. The tight beam coms were filled with chatter as officers aboard all the ships reported their findings and offered their opinions.

The most important one coming across was that, based on the size of what had to be the hyperdrive projectors, the Slarna ships were at most capable of reaching hyper VI. Sung breathed a sigh of relief. All of her vessels were hyper VII capable, meaning she could jump away from any confrontation if necessary.

The Slarna ship was of a standard design, longer than wide, the most practical arrangement for going through an opening between the dimension. It possessed neither domes or rings, but instead had turrets for its beam weapon, not the most practical design, as turrets were weaknesses by dint of being outside of the hull.

“We’re receiving a com hail,” called out the human com officer on the bridge, Lt. Commander Timothy Bonaventure.

“Modality?”

“Two dimensional.”

“Then put it on the main forward viewer. And make sure our return doesn’t show our Klavarta guests,” she finished, looking over at the pair of pilots on the bridge off to the side.

The creature that appeared on the main viewer was not the strangest she had ever seen, but it was up there. Instead of a seat it lay on its belly on a bench. The view was at a slight angle, so Sung could see the three legs on one side, all appearing much alike, triple joints, three equidistant claws on each hand. The face was triangular as well, with three eyes, two across from each other, one centered above. The mouth was covered by a set of mandibles. The creature was wearing an outfit of shimmering cloth, unknown symbols on the shoulders.

The creature started to speak, and normally it would have taken several thousand words before the translation program had enough to work on. Fortunately, they had the entire linguistic database of the Klavarta, who had contacted these and many other creatures before. Most of that contact had been combat, but there had been enough conversation between them to have built up a working vocabulary.

“What do you at the borders of our space, strangers?” came the translation over the bridge speakers, accompanied by a high pitch screeching from the vocal apparatus of the creature.

“We are here to make peaceful contact with your people,” said Sung. “We would be your friends.”

“We have never seen aliens of your like. Quadrupeds, or bipeds?”

“Bipeds, though most of the life on our world is quadrupedal.”

And the aliens were obviously sextopedal, one of the most common forms in the Galaxy as far as humanity could determine. It seemed that almost sixty percent of worlds that had advanced life on them had four limbed creatures occupying the niche of dominant life form. About thirty-five percent had six limbs, with the remaining having various other body forms.

“And where are your people? And why do you come from the direction of the Monsters?”

Monsters meaning Klavarta, thought Sung with a grimace. This was the most difficult part of the mission. If she lied, the creatures might never again believe her then the truth came out. But to tell the truth was to open up the possibility of offensive action by the Slarna.

“That’s a long story,” she told the being on the viewer. “But I guess I should start out by saying that your old enemies are now under new management.”

Chapter Five

If somebody I don’t like gets in the crosshairs, I pull the trigger. But I don’t hunt for them.

T. Boone Pickens

CAPITULUM, AUGUST 20TH, 1002

“So, what’s the word on these raiders?” asked Sean, sitting at the conference table that now seemed like his second home.

“We have located four sets of them, your Majesty,” reported Sondra McCullom, bringing up a holo of Sector III space, the last known locations of the raider teams on them, with projected tracks from Fenri space. Also on the plot were known paths of ships that were overdue to report in to their destinations.

“It doesn’t look like all of the paths of possible missing ships intersect the courses of those raiders.”

“That they do not, your Majesty. So we have to assume that there are even more of them. Our analysts are predicting three more teams.”

“And these teams are, what?”

“A capital ship and a cruiser, at least in the four teams we have identified so far. Two of the teams are made up of a battleship and the companion cruiser, while the other pairs are battle cruisers and their consorts.”

“It really amounts to a suicide mission by these ships and crews,” said Rear Admiral Innocent, also sitting in on the meeting. “They have no intention of going home, which gives them quite an advantage, since they can continue to drive in on our territory without consideration of an escape route.”

“The Crakista used such a strategy against us in their last war,” said McCullom, closing her eyes for a moment as she linked into the Fleet database. “Similar makeup of the raiding forces, though in their case a cruiser and a destroyer. They did quite a bit of damage to our commerce in the area, and of course in those days we didn’t have the com network we have now, so it was much more difficult to vector forces in to stop them.”

“And how did we find them?” asked Sean, looking over at the steward who was refilling his coffee cup and giving the man a smile. He turned back to his CNO. “And could we use the same method to find and destroy the ships we haven’t located?”

“Unfortunately,” said Mcullom, shaking her head, “the Crakista had a little bit more regard for life than the Fenri, and they attempted to save the crews of every ship they destroyed. They either allowed them to get to the lifeboats if it was in a system, or they would carry the lifeboats themselves to a place where other traffic would be sure to find them.”

“Not something those murderous slavers would worry about,” said Sean with a grimace.

“No, your majesty. In fact, they seem to be going out of their way to make sure all of the crews and passengers aboard all the ships they have attacked are killed. We have evidence of them destroying lifeboats full of people that were able to get away from the main vessels.”

“Bastards. And what are we going to do about it?”

“We are mobilizing every asset in the area, your Majesty,” said McCullom, pulling up an organizational chart of what was already involved in the search. “Unfortunately, most of our military shipping is out at the fronts.”

Sean studied the chart for a moment. There were a couple of battleships, more battle cruisers, and several hundred smaller ships, cruisers and destroyers. It looked like a formidable force, if they had been hunting pirates. But capital ships? He had no doubt a battleship and a force of escorts could take out a raider team. Or even enough of a force of cruisers and destroyers. But any smaller force that came upon a raider team would just add to the losses.

“How much civilian traffic in that area?”

“Quite a bit,” replied McCullom, bringing up a display of known shipping on the holo. Many of those tracks intersected the predicted courses of the raiders. And there were tracks that moved across the known past positions of the raiders. Since the civilian craft didn’t have any kind of instantaneous or long range coms, it was unknown if any of them might have encountered a raider. Some of those ships could be dead, and it would never be known what had happened to them, not really. They could drop out of hyper into normal space, their remains to float among the emptiness forever. Space was big, really big, and for all their ships and all their traffic, sentient beings only really moved through a tiny percentage of it.

“I know you’re doing all you can, Sondra, but I want these Fenri. I really don’t care if you take any of them alive, it’s more important that they are stopped. But also make sure the group commanders know they are not to engage unless they believe they can do enough damage to the enemy to slow them down. I don’t want any heroic plays that gain nothing, understand?”

“Yes, sir. I do. And we’re trying to get more ships into the area. As we speak, some powerful task forces are on the move. But it will take time to get them there.”

Sean looked back at the plot, shaking his head. Everything took time, unless they had a wormhole gate in place. And this region was not one that had demanded such gates, so they still had to move things around the old fashioned way. The major advantage they had was in communications with their ships. If an Imperial force made contact with a raider, command would know it. Many of the ships that didn’t have a wormhole aboard had a Klassekian, but not all. Nowhere near all, since the aliens were also a finite resource at the moment, and ships at the fronts had priority.

“We can only hope that the patrols that don’t know about the Fenri, and that we don’t have the means to contact, will know what action to take if they run into them,” said Rear Admiral Innocent, mirroring Sean’s thoughts.

Yes, thought Sean, visualizing escorts running into capital ships. We can only hope.

* * *

“Hey, Junior,” said the proud dad as the toddler waddled toward him. “So my little man is getting around.” Cornelius squatted down and lifted his son into his arms. “And getting so big.”

“And getting into everything,” said Devera Walborski, smiling at her adopted son, then looking up at the face of her husband. “Thank God for the nanny.”

“I guess it’s been rough,” said Cornelius, placing his son back on the floor and walking to his wife, taking her in his arms and pressing his lips to hers.

“School has been hard,” said the beautiful redhead after returning her husband’s kiss. “But I’m making it. Another couple of years and I’ll be an officer and a doctor.”

Cornelius looked at his wife, taking in her face and wondering once more how he had been lucky enough to hook up with someone like her. Not just intelligent and gorgeous, but accepting of his baby son and the girl child he had rescued from the planet Azure.

“And how did your trip to New Detroit go?” she asked in a nonchalant manner that let him know she had guessed the reason for his visit to his old home world.

“It went well,” he said, touching her face with his hand.

“And I don’t have to worry about Imperial Marshals showing up at the door?”

“There was no loss of life, if that’s what you’re worried about. I made my point, and now it’s over.”

“Sometimes you worry me,” she said, rubbing her hands on his shoulders. “So much anger. I know you have reason,” she said quickly before he could reply. “More reason than most. But you still worry me.”

“No worries,” said Cornelius with a smile. “That fat fuck is out of my mind, forever.”

“Who’s a fat fuck,” said Rebecca Walborski, walking in the French doors and tossing her school comp on the nearby table.

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” said Devera in a stern tone.

“Well, Cornelius said it first,” said Rebecca with a smile. She ran up to Cornelius and wrapped him in a hug.

“You’re getting so big,” said the Ranger, putting his hand on her head. That head was almost up to his collar bone, tall for a fifteen year old, just entering puberty.

“Six more years and I can enter the academy,” said the child, looking over and seeing the face that her adoptive mother was making. “What, my grades will be good enough. And I’m the best athlete in my school.”

“I’d hoped the war would be over before you had to serve,” said Devera, her eyes tearing up.

Fat chance, thought Cornelius, who was privy to more of the intelligence concerning the war than someone of his rank and station would normally have access to, thanks to his friendship with the Emperor. The Cacas would be back, almost every analyst agreed with that, and the Empire would again be in the fight of its life trying to repel their invasion. That could take years, and then more years of beating them back into their own space. The fighting could go on for a century or longer, until they had raised a generation that knew nothing but war.

“I don’t want it to be over,” cried out the child, pushing away from her dad and standing with her fists clenched at her sides. “I want to get some of mine back with the bastards. They need to pay, for my mom and dad, and for Benjamin. And I want to be the one who collects.”

With that the child ran out of the room, stomping with each step.

“Another with more reason than most,” said Cornelius, shaking his head.

“It tears me apart,” said Devera, picking up Junior and holding the toddler close. “She’s so angry much of the time, and I don’t know what to do.”

“You just have to love her,” said Cornelius, “and accept that she is damaged. And hope she makes good decisions when she reaches her majority.” That would be twenty-one, when she still wasn’t physically an adult, but mentally would be. And legally. And then her life choices would be hers, and hers alone. If she wanted to serve in the Fleet, something she had made plain to them all, he couldn’t fault her. At least she wouldn’t be trapped in a combat suit for weeks at a time.

“How long are you home?” asked Devera, moving back into his arms.

“Eight days,” he said, holding her tight. “Then I’m off to a training command for a couple of months.” He looked down into her eyes. “I’ll be able to come home at regular intervals.”

“Are you sure the boss will let you?”

“I’m pretty sure the stupid bastard will, since I am he.”

Devera laughed, something that made Cornelius happy. There was too little laughter in the Empire these days. He would take what peace and quiet he could while they were available, because he knew that when the opportunity arose he would demand a combat command. He still had a lot of payback to demand himself, and he planned on getting all of it.

* * *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW, AUGUST 23RD, 1002.

Colonel General Samuel Baggett looked up at the night sky for a moment before continuing up the steps. The night sky over the planet New Moscow was alive with lights, as every night. The reflections of sunlight on the forts and docks in far orbit, the running lights of platforms and ships closer in. Even the navigation and hazard strobes of shuttles coming down and aerial craft flying over.

He followed one of the closer lights as it continued to drop, heading for the landing field just outside of New Moscow City. Though only back in service for a relatively short time, it was already one of the ten busiest landing fields in human space, bringing in the goods and services needed to rebuild a shattered world, while lifting a good bit of the industrial product of the planet into orbit.

The city itself was coming to life, with over four million residents and an army of workers and robots restoring the buildings that were not total wrecks. Much of the city still looked like a moonscape, the stumps of tall buildings that had been shattered in the invasion showing what the planet had been through. Now it was coming back to life, just over four months since the Cacas had been thrown off the planet, a process that brought both hope and great concern to the Imperial Army officer. Hope that the Kingdom of New Moscow, the ally of his Empire, was once again a going enterprise. Concern that all of this was being built back up right in the path of the soon to be oncoming Ca’cadasan Juggernaut.

Of the over seven hundred million people his Empire had saved with their operation, about a hundred and fifty million were still on the planet, as well as almost five million Imperial and Republic personnel and workers. About half of those rescued were now on Imperial planets, safe for the moment, while the rest were scattered around almost fifty of the Czar’s worlds.

They were turning this system into the most heavily fortified in human space, in the hope that the Cacas would break their teeth on it if they ever invaded again. Baggett, who had both invaded fortified planets, and been on the surface during invasions, held no such illusions that a defense would succeed. They might hurt the Cacas, but an attack in force would take the planet. The only hope the system had was the two ship gates, one in orbit, one near to the hyper barrier. If the Empire could bring in enough ships to win a naval battle, the system would be saved. If not?

The General shrugged his shoulders and continued up the steps to the partially repaired palace. Only the central section had been restored, the rest was in ruins. That had been at the orders of the new Czar, just enough restored to make a working executive building for the kingdom. Baggett approved of that decision, and of a man who thought of the people first.

The guards waved him through after checking his identifiers. The hallway leading to the throne room had an unfinished look to it, no paintings, a basic coating of paint. The doors to the throne room were plain armorplast, two armored guards on either side. They too waved the General in, and he entered a large room with a throne at the end, empty. The floor was uncarpeted, and his boots rang out on the hard surface as he walked toward the other end of the chamber.

“Over here, General Baggett,” called out a voice from one of the alcoves.

Baggett walked over there, his eyes picking out the large alcove, which had been fitted out as an office. Pietrov Gorbunov, former Colonel in the Czar’s Army and a distant cousin of the ruler, had been crowned by Sean himself. The dapper looking man, still a young and vigorous hundred and ten years old, sat at his desk with a number of holo screens open to his front and side, a couple of ministers sitting with him.

“Your Majesty,” said Baggett, bowing to the new Monarch.

“I’m still having problems with that title,” said Gorbunov with a smile. “I still feel like I should be coming to my feet and saluting you.”

“I’m afraid those days are past, Czar Pietrov. Now you must think of higher command decisions.”

“And how goes the training of my new army?”

“Thanks to the number of veterans who came forward, we already have the cadres for an entire twelve division army. That includes four armored divisions and eight divisions of heavy infantry.”

“And my shore defense artillery?”

“From what I hear, they have enough equipment for six static brigades and twelve battalions of mobile guns. But that really isn’t my area.”

No, his responsibility was to reorganize and rebuild his own army in place, while simultaneously training one of the two armies being formed for the Czar. The other was a light infantry force, mostly more of a police force than anything else, and not his problem either.

“And do you think we’ll be able to withstand an invasion if one is coming in the near future?”

“If you want the truth, your Majesty?” Baggett waited until the Monarch nodded. “Then you don’t have a chance in hell. You know what the Cacas brought to the table last time, and they failed. This time I suspect they will bring even more, probably much more. Double? At least.”

“So you think this is all a waste,” said Gorbunov with a frown.

“No. As long as we can evacuate most of the civilians, and make the Cacas pay a price for taking the planet, it’s not a waste. Damned tough on the soldiers that have to contest a landing, but it fought well, the army will do what it’s supposed to.”

“Damned tough on the soldiers,” said the Czar, shaking his head. “And I used to be one of them.”

“And you wish you could stand with them if the planet is invaded again?”

“I will stand with them, General. I will refuse to evacuate this planet. If my soldiers die trying to hold our homeworld, then I will die with them.”

Baggett could see the determination in the face of the Monarch. He didn’t agree with that decision, since the eight hundred million remaining New Muscovites still needed his leadership, but he couldn’t fault the man’s courage.

“We have a demonstration planned tomorrow, your Majesty,” said Baggett. “I would like you to attend, as my guest.”

“Certainly, General. I would be happy to see what you have to show me.”

The next morning dawned bright, with the early heat that promised a very hot day. General Baggett was dressed out in his heavy combat armor, the same set he would wear to command his army in the field. The Czar was out early as well, a smile on his face, one that showed how happy he was to be away from all the paperwork he was getting bogged down in as ruler of his people. His security detail, an entire platoon of the Czar’s Marines in ground combat gear, were fanned out around him, with a half squad in close. Baggett didn’t see the need for the detail, but like most monarchs, these were an omnipresent fact of life. The Monarch himself wore a special suit of medium armor that cost ten times more than any of the heavy suits around him, protection that might be needed this day if something went wrong.

Across the field sat ten impressive vehicles, tanks built in the Empire, though with the cammo scheme of the Czar’s army programmed into the chameleon skin of the massive armored vehicles. The seven member crews were all aboard, seen through the open hatches that allowed each access to the outside world.

“And these are mine?” asked the Czar, looking out at the tanks.

“An entire company of Mark IV Tyranosaurs,” agreed Baggett. “The new C model, over ninety-five tons heavier than the B model that equips most of my army.”

“And the extra weight went into?”

“Mostly heavier armor, though some went into weapons systems and the power to move it all at over two hundred kilometers an hour.”

The Czar, who had served in the armed forces in the old Czar’s army, coming up as a lieutenant and ending as a regimental commander, turned an appraising eye toward the vehicles.

“The gun?” he asked, pointing.

“That has been upgraded, and it’s part of the demonstration. We’ve cleared out everything overhead, from low atmosphere to mid-orbit.” Baggett got on the com to the tank commanders. “Firepower demonstration, when ready.”

All of the crews retreated back into their vehicles, The first tank in the group elevated its gun until it was pointing almost straight up. A moment later it fired, the magrail weapon moving the shell at four hundred kilometers a second, a hundred Ks faster than the guns on the B model. An explosion of ionized air blossomed at the muzzle, spreading out to a globe almost two hundred meters in size. Five seconds later, two thousand kilometers above, well out of the atmosphere, a bright point appeared.

“These are just training rounds,” said Baggett over suit to suit com with the Czar. “One megaton antimatter warheads. In combat the tanks can carry up to fifty megaton antimatter warheads. Even bigger are possible, but it reaches a level where the vehicle can be more of a threat to our own side that the enemy.”

“For anti-ship warfare,” said the Czar, another smile on his face.

“Yes, sir. It gives your tanks a shore battery capability. Not as effective as a true mobile shore gun, but much better than nothing.”

The next tank fired, then the next, until it had gone down the line and every vehicle in the company had fired. After the last fired the vehicles lowered their guns and started to move quickly over the ground. All maneuvered for some ten minutes, put through their paces, then retired over the hill.

“These are all manned by veterans from your army,” said Baggett. “In future months we’ll be assembling crews that are a mix of veterans and new tankers. Now, we have another demonstration online over the hill, at the firing range.”

Everyone moved on suit grabbers over the hill, where a large, flat field stretched away for ten kilometers. In the middle of that field were stationed a number of old Caca wrecks, tanks and personnel carriers, smaller than the human vehicles, though still impressive. Five kilometers away sat the ten human tanks, the Tyrannosaurs. All had their guns leveled at the former enemy vehicles, which were ridiculously within their range. That was something about land combat. Almost everything had maximum effective ranges in the hundreds of kilometers, and practical ranges, due to the constraints of planetary terrain, of a dozen or less.

First the tanks fired with their particle beams, the angry red lines reaching out and seemingly connecting with the targets instantaneously. Vapor rose into the air as fast moving protons hit hard alloys. This went on for some minutes, a couple of the APCs blowing apart under the attention of the secondary armaments.

Next they fired with their main guns, sending their hypervelocity shells into the enemy vehicles. Enemy tanks rang from the hits that opened large holes in the armor. APCs came apart at the seams, small turrets flying through the air. After each had fired a couple of rounds, one tank rolled forward about thirty meters, then started firing its main gun rapid fire, a round every three seconds, putting ten rounds on targets within half a minute. It struck five different targets, accurately. When she finished the targets were obscured by smoke and dust.

“Very impressive,” said the Czar. “Thank you for gifting me with this spectacle.”

“We’ll give you a force that will give the Cacas a good punch in the snouts,” said Baggett, standing tall in his armor.

“And we have your army as well, and the rest of Field Marshal Arbuckle’s group?”

“That is up to my Emperor,” said Baggett, who really hoped they would be released for offensive operations. He had had enough of defensive operations, and preferred to give rather than to receive.

* * *

SECTOR III SPACE, AUGUST 25TH, 1002.

“It’s definite, Terrance,” said the face of Captain Francois Pasce over the com holo. There was some static over the holo, the result of transmission through hyperspace. The Scranton and the Angela Collins were less than a hundred hyperspace kilometers apart, moving on the trail of the Fenri team they were tracking.

Shit, thought Terrance Zhukov, following the projected course of the enemy ship as it closed on the system ahead. The battle cruiser and light cruiser were both decelerating at their maximum rate, obviously aiming at the K class star ahead, which was the home of a frontier planet. Mostly defenseless, with a pair of non-hyper capable frigates to defend the three hundred thousand colonists. They wouldn’t have a chance against the Fenri light cruiser, much less a capital ship.

“At least we might be able to trap them in the system long enough for our reinforcements to come along,” said Zhukov. Reinforcements were on the way, vectoring in on their position. That included a force of two light cruisers and five destroyers, due to link up in four days. The only other force they knew of was a pair of heavy cruisers that were supposed to link up in seven days, though that depended on what course the enemy took.

“Yes,” said the other ship commander. “If they enter the system.”

Zhukov felt a chill run up his spine as he as the implications of that statement sank in. If they didn’t enter the system, there could only be one purpose for them to head there.

“But, we have a compact against the purposeful bombardment of planets with relativistic weapons.” His brain imagined the damage that an over hundred ton missile coming in at point nine five light could do to a planetary ecosystem. He did not like that image.

“But both the Fenri and the Lasharans never signed that agreement,” said Francois. “Plus, both of those species are pretty much bloody minded.”

And they want revenge, thought Zhukov, shaking his head. The Empire had all but overrun the Fenri Empire. As a military power they no longer existed. The Emperor was still at large, but two thirds of his Empire had been occupied. Most species would have given up by this time, especially when they knew that their opponents were not genocidal maniacs, or slavers. The Fenri were a proud species, and were willing to do whatever it took to salvage that pride.

“So, what are we going to do, sir?” he asked his superior, hoping for some kind of answer that would save the system.

“I’m thinking about coming in on them from VII and launching our hyper missiles at them,” said Francois in a tone that argued that he didn’t think that was going to work.

Zhukov had to agree. His ship only had ten hyper capable missiles aboard, the light cruiser sixteen. So they could fire twenty six missiles, that had to jump at a maximum of point three light, and used a good percentage of their crystal matrix battery power in jumping through dimensions. A quick link with the computer showed that at maximum range they would get at most a velocity of point six light out of the missiles. Twenty-five missiles coming in at point six light might work against the light cruiser by itself. Against a battle cruiser? Not a chance, unless they had an unusual run of luck.

“And if we do that, we have nothing to contribute to long range fire when we finally attack with our reinforcements,” said Zhukov.

“That’s why I’m leaning toward not bothering,” said the other officer. “Our missiles will be much more effective coming in as part of the mass fire of eleven ships, launched from hyper VI, than just our ships on their own. Still, it’s hard to sit back and do nothing.”

Zhukov agreed. It would be hard to watch a system destroyed, but there really was nothing they could do, except continue to dog the enemy force, and lead the other hunters to them.

* * *

“We are a two minutes away from jump to normal space, sir,” said the Bridge Manager to the Commander of the Imperial Fenri battle cruiser Grottes Fang.

The Commander, one Lord of a Million Granis Feneris, looked up from his meal and motioned for this Lassra slave to clear the dishes. The diminutive furred sentient bowed low, then started to efficiently remove the multiple plates that had delivered the Lord’s lunch.

“I will be up in a moment, Manager,” he told his second in command. “I will have a look at the system before we fire. Understood”

“Yes, sir,” said the Manager, who, as a low ranked noble himself, did not have to use the honorific Lord.

Grottes Fang was approaching the point two-seven light translation speed that was her maximum. She had already jumped down through the levels, accelerating after translation, then decelerating again to jump, transiting the levels of hyper at the fastest possible rate. Her consort, the light cruiser Falatta, was alongside. With the two human ships following, he did not want his second ship to risk separation from his flag, as the enemy might be able to isolate her and take her out. He could see a time coming when he might need her as a scout and decoy again, if he could get rid of his shadows. As long as they stayed in hyper VII he did not see how he could do that. Still, things could happen to surprise, and he was waiting for such a thing to occur.

The Lord walked onto the bridge, all of the commoners jumping to their feet on his arrival, the few noble born bowing their heads in a lesser show of respect. Toward the front of the spacious bridge was the holo tank, now showing a tactical view of the space around him.

The ship was spacious to his kind, as they were barely over a meter tall, and a mere two thousand Fenri manned the vessel. There were a thousand slaves, most larger than the masters, but they took up little room, crammed as they were into the minimal space needed to keep them healthy.

“Jumping now,” called out the Driver, manipulating the controls that brought the ship back into normal space. The lights dimmed for a moment as the short lived wave of nausea swept through the crew. Fenri were easy translators, and the only sign most showed was a quick grimace. And then they were in normal space, skirting the hyper barrier of the system, on a course that would carry them around that barrier, allowing them to jump back to hyper as soon as they had taken care of their business here.

The K class star was centered on the viewer, the inhabited planet blinking on the holo. There were actually two images of the planet. The green image showed where the planet was located by visual scan from two light hours away. The red image was based on the graviton signature of the planet, slightly ahead of the visual. Also coming up almost instantly were the graviton signatures of two small system defense frigates. He wondered why those ships hadn’t stopped boosting, cutting their graviton emissions. They must have known the Fenri were coming. He also wondered if there were more ships in the system, but dismissed that notion.

In the databanks of the battle cruiser was information on almost all of the systems of the New Terran Empire. Taken from a captured human ship during the campaign that took out the Empire, it was the most important intelligence bonanza of the battle, giving the raiders the targeting information they needed to choose the best targets.

The Fenri had no illusions about what they would accomplish with their raiders. Important systems were off limits, since the teams would find themselves facing defenses, including system defense squadrons, that would have no trouble taking them out. But minor systems? The whole rationale of this mission was revenge, and nothing else. They would destroy human frontier systems while taking out shipping, military and civilian, of opportunity.

“All targets locked in, Lord,” announced the Master of Battle, she who ran the offensive and defensive systems of the warship.

“Fire when ready.”

The ship bucked slightly as it launched a spread of twenty missiles. Three heading toward each of the frigates, which would be up to over point nine light by the time they reached their targets. Those would probably be enough to kill the small ships, but if one or both survived, it was no big deal. Fourteen missiles were targeted on the planet and anything in orbit around it. They would be up to point nine-five light by the time they reached the planet. Five of those missiles would more or less wreck the planet, ten would kill all life down to the level of microbes.

Revenge, thought the Lord of Millions with a satisfied smile. “Prepare to jump back into hyper,” he ordered. “Set course for the next target.”

“And our shadows?” asked the Manager.

“They can do nothing. And if we happen upon more enemy warships? Well, we will worry about that if it happens.”

Chapter Six

Humans have both the urge to create and destroy.

Hayao Miyazaki

NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE, AUGUST 27TH, 1002

“We’re picking up hyper tracks, ma’am,” called out the Sensor Tech on the small bridge of the Klavarta frigate.

“How many?” asked the commander of the small warship, which was actually one of the larger classes of ships used by the Klavarta. All members of the bridge crew were of the Pilot subspecies, genetically optimized to live and operate spaceships. They weren’t the only subspecies aboard. There also were many of the two engineering subspecies, and a contingent of the warrior subspecies that were used for shipboard actions.

“I’m having a lot of trouble picking up individual signs,” said the Tech. “There are just too many of them.”

The Commander’s eyes widened at that. She was up and out of her chair in a moment, taking three quick steps to reach the sensor station. The Tech had a holo overhead, but was staring at the sine wave of the approaching ships, something a skilled tech could read as well as a video image. The Commander was not quite as proficient at that skill, so concentrated instead on the holo, which showed a representation of what was moving through space.

“Not coming at us,” she said in a soft tone, looking at the now hundreds of icons moving across the representation. “Send it to the main viewer.”

The Tech nodded and did as commanded, and a moment later the three dimensional viewer showed a larger representation of what the Commander had been looking at. More icons were entering the plot by the second. It looked like a major force was on the move. So now they needed to figure out what the objective was.

“Zoom out the plot, and show me their most likely track.”

The view zoomed out, and the line of their course showed that they were on a direct heading toward one of the central systems of the Klavarta industrial complex. There really weren’t that many of them, since the Klavarta strategy had always been to not put their assets out in the open where they could be taken out. The greater part of that industry was spread out over thousands of minor stars, but there was still a need for some major nodes to accept the production of those other systems. The one the enemy was heading toward, Camelot, was one of the largest shipbuilding concerns in the Nation. Its loss would have serious repercussions for the fighting ability of the Klavarta.

“Send a grav pulse to the other ships up the line,” she ordered her Com Tech. “We need to let Camelot know what’s coming their way, so they can act accordingly.”

“They’ll know we’re here,” cautioned the Com Tech.

“We can’t help that,” replied the Commander, looking at the face of the Com Tech, which was a mask of fear. “That’s what we’re here for.”

The Tech nodded and started to send the message. Grav pulse com was an old technology, but was still effective at transmitting messages through medium range. The small ship carried a wave generator that sent out the pulses of a Morse type code that was detectable for up to a tenth of a light year. Being a slow transmit digital code, the messages were by necessity sparse, with about a sentence transmitted each minute. The Klavarta tended to use small ships, forty thousand ton attack ships, eighty thousand ton raiders, one hundred thousand ton destroyers, one hundred and eighty thousand ton light cruisers, and a small number of larger cruisers. This allowed them to flood space with a large net of ships as a kind of sensor network, and grav pulse tech let them send information at high speed between locations tens of light years apart.

A little under a tenth of a light year away another ship repeated the pulse, which was repeated by all the ships that could pick up its signal. In less than an hour Camelot would know what was headed its way. What they could do about it was another question.

“We have enemy ships changing vectors,” called out the Sensor Tech. “I think they’re trying to come after us.”

“Stop transmitting our pulse,” ordered the Commander. “Let’s become a hole in space.”

She didn’t think the enemy would find them. The Cacas would have to try and locate them within a large sphere of normal space, and since they weren’t in hyper, giving off the signal that every vessel produced in the higher dimensions, a ship coming for them was likely to drop into an area light minutes to hours from them. Camelot was not as fortunate.

* * *

“The first source has stopped transmitting, my Lord,” reported the Staff Intelligence Officer.

“Excellent,” said Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana, smiling as he looked at the tactical plot. His own force, eight thousand warships and supporting vessels, was still six days from their target. Time enough for the enemy to gather a powerful force, enough to give him a battle, though he didn’t intend to give them more than enough fight to make them overconfident.

“Make sure the couriers are dispatched back to the other force,” he ordered. This was the most critical part of the plan, locating the enemy picket and making sure that his follow up force of seven thousand ships was not spotted. Those ships were a day behind, moving through hyper VI where their hyper signal would only be detectable a quarter of the distance of his main force in VII.

Now that force would be apprised of the point where they would have to stop and drop back into normal space without detection. And he would know that point as well, and know where to lead his pursuit. It was still a risky plan, but if it worked he would destroy a significant portion of the enemy fleet. And that would make the rest of the campaign so much easier.

* * *

“That is all we know for now, Mr. President,” reported Admiral Mikas Silveski from his flagship in orbit around the capital planet of the Nation of New Earth.

The Admiral was the commander of all Imperial forces on the front, to be used in conjunction with the Klavarta forces. He had less of a force than he wanted, fewer than three hundred ships total, with only seven wormholes at the moment, and a couple of score Klassekian com techs. Fortunately, one of his ships with one of the singular com specialists had been at Camelot, so he had received the information about the coming Cacas as soon as it had reached that system.

“We cannot allow that system to be taken,” said President Manstara, the former Klavarta fleet commander who was now the leader of the Nation of New Earth. “It will cripple our war effort if they destroy the shipyards there.”

“We’ll do what we can, Mr. President. I have given orders for one of our wormholes to be sent to the system aboard the Duke Montrose, the closest ship such equipped. They should get there a day before the Cacas.”

And then they would open a gate, and the forces of the capital system, Xanadu, would be able to move to the battle before it started. Of course, all of the wormholes they had led back to Imperial space, which meant that ships would have to enter in this system, then transfer over to another gate around the Donut, to arrive at Camelot. And I’ll be so happy when we have our own wormholes out here, thought the Admiral. But that wouldn’t happen for almost two months.

The Admiral looked over the order of battle that he would be fighting alongside, shaking his head at the disproportionate masses of the opposing forces. The number of ships was in favor of New Earth by a factor of ten. The tonnages of both forces told a different story. The Cacas outmassed the Klavarta by a factor of four to one. His ships pushed the graph slightly more in the direction of the alliance, but not enough.

“No offense meant, Mr. President, but how in the hell did you fight the Cacas to a standstill for so long?”

“We played the part of the Indians,” said Manstara with a smile. “The North American Aboriginals during the pre and early industrial ages, especially the Apache and Comanche tribes, who fought the American army for decades, even though outnumbered and outgunned.”

The Admiral spent a moment looking up the reference in his ship’s databanks, nodding in understanding.

“We swarmed them where they were weak, and avoided them when they were strong. Any small force that left the cover of their fleet was destroyed. And when they came after us, we scattered to the stars. They might still catch some of us, but never enough to revenge themselves on us. We fled to our lairs and waited, with enough ships spread through space to let us know what the enemy was doing.”

“Well, now they have found one of your lairs, and you have the choice of running away or standing and fighting. Running means you lose your new construction, while fighting could mean the same thing, while also losing a good portion of your existing fleet.”

“And what do you recommend?”

“I recommend fighting. I believe we can get enough firepower on the spot to win a complete victory, if we move quickly.”

“Then that is what we will do. And I can expect you to support us?”

“Of course, Mr. President. That is the command of my Emperor.” What he didn’t say was that Sean had also ordered him to not commit his force to a losing fight. The Empire was willing to help their distant cousins in their fight, but they were not willing to sacrifice their citizen warriors to harebrained schemes to win quickly at great risk.

“Then let us destroy this invasion force, and send the survivors running back to their home stars with their tails between their legs.”

* * *

CA’CADASAN EMPIRE CAPITAL: AUGUST 28TH, 1002.

The Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire, Jresstratta IV, sat on his throne and contemplated what the rest of the day held for him. Today was audience day, when he heard the petitions of his subjects, mostly the nobles who could afford to pay the Master of Lists to move their names up the schedules.

He sat there thinking about what his life would have been like if his older brother had survived. The petitioner knelt before him, looking up with anxious eyes as he waited for the decision. The Emperor had already made that decision, but had decided to let the petitioner, a minor Lord, wait, while he used the time for his own thoughts.

His older brother had been the heir, he who would sit on this throne when their father died. Father still had almost a thousand years of life left in his body, and the heir would assume the throne with a two thousand year rule ahead of him. So the heir, who had some time to wait, was fulfilling the role of a naval officer with the conquest fleet. His career was carefully monitored, making sure that he was not in danger while he collected the medals and awards of an active officer.

Then they had found the humans, one of the few species they had discovered that had achieved not only space flight, but interstellar travel. They were still primitive as compared to the Ca’cadasan species, not seen as a threat. After the first colony was found and cowed it was decided that the heir would land on the planet and accept their surrender, so that he could one day add the appellation Conqueror to his name.

He had seen the vids of his brother’s death. The humans had been waiting on the landing field, their leaders and soldiers, as ordered. The soldiers had placed their weapons at their feet, as ordered. The heir had been the first off the lander, there to accept the formal surrender. And that had been when everything had gone wrong. As the Ca’cadasan Marines were coming out of the lander at the back of the heir, someone out of sight fired some kind of high powered hunting weapon. The shot hit the heir in the face, while his armor’s face plate was up. It blew through the skull of the male and totally destroyed his brain, ending the life of the next Emperor before he could ever sit the throne. His suit held him up even though he was dead.

The Marines opened fire on the crowd of bipeds, their particle beams burning wide swaths through the people, sending red tinged steam into the air. Humans screamed and ran every which way. The ones he could never fault were the soldiers, who grabbed their weapons off the ground and fired back. Without armor there was no way they could win, but they died bravely in place.

This Emperor had been in the throne room, a young male, not quite adult, when the news had arrived several months later by hyper VI courier, the fastest available at that time. He remembered the expression on his father’s face, going from shock to disbelief to rage. The Emperor had raged for over an hour, finally ordering his fleet commander to destroy the humans, to wipe the genetic heritage of that species and their world from the Universe.

Of course that hadn’t happened. Some of the humans had gotten away, and the Emperor had lifted the death sentence from thousands of prisoners. Not that he had given up on killing all humans, but he wanted a conditioned population to use against them when they were again found.

Jresstratta was then taken out of his military training and treated like a fragile resource that had to be protected at all costs. He really didn’t understand. He had scores of siblings and half-siblings, any of which could ascend to the throne. But his father was determined to not lose another son.

“Your Majesty,” called out a High Admiral, approaching the throne, then going to a knee and crossing both sets of arms over his chest. “We have finalized the plans. Would you like to see them?”

“Yes,” said the Emperor with excitement in his tone. He glanced at the supplicant, happy that he didn’t have to deal with yet another male begging for special privilege. And the line of them that followed. He would eventually have to deal with them, but not at this moment.

The Emperor and his security retinue followed the Admiral to the lift, no one talking, since the project was as secret as it came and there were always ears willing to listen in the palace. He couldn’t imagine anything overheard in the palace getting to the human powers, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

Down in one of the secure rooms the Emperor took a seat, while the High Admiral and his staff prepared their presentation. The Admiral placed a data crystal in the chamber unit, which was completely sealed off from the palace computer and com systems. A moment after the crystal was in place the central holo came to life over the table. Rotating in three dimensions on the holo were a pair of ships, strange in their configuration to the Emperor, but something he could still recognize.

“These are human commercial ships?”

“Yes, your Majesty. What they would call tramps, not their first line freighters. There are tens of thousands of them plying the trade routes of their Empire. The most innocuous vessels there are.”

“Speed?”

“Hyper VI capable, with a maximum velocity of point eight-five light. Of course, as we have configured them, they are capable of much more, but that is not something we will flaunt on the way in.”

“And what mass are these ships?”

“Both are in the six million ton range, your Majesty. Both have conditioned human crews, as well as Cacada shipmasters and Marines. If they are boarded, there are cleverly hidden chambers for our people to hide from the humans.”

The Emperor studied the ships, moving his hands to zoom in and out, to open and close the schematics of the vessels. He grunted a few times as he saw the difference between how the ships would be configured for their voyages, and how many changes would be made when they were prepared for combat.

“They are at the staging area?”

“They are.

“And when will the wormholes arrive at the staging area?”

“All are being transported by courier as we speak. They will be at the staging area in three months.”

Jresstratta gave a head shake of acknowledgement. That was all the wormholes they had, and until they ramped up production, they would only be able to produce one a week. Two of the wormholes were being delegated to the fleet, so they could have instantaneous com with the capital as well as the ability to move reinforcements forward. The next two produced would be going to the other front for the same purpose. The second pair from the four on the way to the New Terran Empire Front would be assigned to the ships on the holo. And then the humans would discover that they weren’t the only ones who could play their particular games.

“The one point the operation could unravel is during insertion into human space. It may take a covering battle that is sure to cost us some ships to sneak them through, and if they are discovered in the area they are certain to be boarded, if not destroyed.”

“It is a risk, but it is one I am willing to take,” said the Emperor. “If we lose the ships, we lose two wormholes, a setback, though not a disaster. If they make it through, we will hurt the humans, badly.”

The Emperor could see the approval in the faces of the officers present. Most of his high ranking officers were not the most imaginative of males. These males were, and he was thinking of making them his war council, after the successful conclusion of this mission.

“It will take them about two months to reach their objectives,” said the High Admiral, pulling up a holo of the human Empire. “And then they will learn what it means to oppose our Empire.” The holo zoomed in, showing the eight stars in orbit around the black hole that was the center of the human Empire.

* * *

IMPERIAL SPACE.

The planet Dugon was a pleasant place. Mild climate over most of the surface, small ice caps at the pole, early reptilian life forms that might someday become a hazard to the dwellers, but not at this time. The orange sun was in the sky for about fourteen standard hours, darkness illuminated by a smallish moon for about the same amount of time.

Three hundred and fifteen thousand citizens of the Empire lived on Dugon, the great majority human, with small populations of Manticons and Phlistarans, interspersed with other small groups. There was a Marine battalion on the surface, there to establish a Fleet presence on the planet and enforce whatever edicts the local Governor signed into law. A militia brigade and a planetary police department made up the only other defensive forces on the world. And none of them would do a bit of good to stop the disaster heading their way at point nine five light.

The two frigates were already dead, each blown out of space by the one of the missiles that had targeted them. One had stopped two of the attacking weapons, not good enough, while the other had only taken out one incoming.

Warnings had been blaring across the planetary net for the last six hours. Warnings telling citizens to seek shelter, when there was no possible shelter on the surface or below from the planet killers on the way. Those that could were leaving the planet on the available landing shuttles. But even crowded beyond capacity there was only room for a couple of thousand refugees. The rest sought what shelter they could, or prayed for deliverance to whatever deity they preferred.

The first missile came in, moving so fast that it couldn’t be seen. It would have converted to vapor as it hit the atmosphere from the heat, but it didn’t have time in the four ten thousandths of a second that it penetrated gas before striking the crust. The one hundred and fifty ton missile hit into an ocean, punching through the crust and releasing one point four teratonnes of explosive power, the gigaton ship killer warhead adding a negligible increase in force. This was about a tenth the explosive power of the asteroid that had wiped out the dinosaurs on Earth, and it sent massive tsunamis in all directions, multiple kilometer high walls of water that would crush all the lowlands of every continent bounding that ocean. Massive earthquakes shook the planet, and every fault line released at once. Even buildings built of the most advanced materials on the near coasts, capable of withstanding almost any conceivable force, toppled to the shaking ground.

Gigatons of ejecta flew hundreds of kilometers up, to rain back down on the surface as fireballs, starting continent wide forest fires. Superheated steam rose from the hole in the crust where seawater contacted magma, raising a cloud layer that sped out in concentric circles from the impact, and every volcano on the nearest fault line went off in gigaton range explosions.

That one missile would have been enough to cause an ecological disaster. The planet would have eventually recovered after a several year long winter. But it was only the first of many weapons, and the others struck within microseconds of the first. Thirteen additional weapons, each as destructive as the first. The surface temperature of the planet rose quickly to thousands of degrees, and all life was extinguished.

Fortunately for the humans who had been lucky enough to escape the planet, the orbital station that was established around all Imperial colony planets was on the far side of the world when the missiles came in. The smallish moon and its mining operations also survived, and the ten thousand Imperial citizens who had evacuated the surface had someplace to survive. The same could not be said for those left behind.

Not only the colonists, but a planet that would probably have developed advanced life of its own was dead, the victims of a cruel fate that they had done nothing to cause. And the Fenri raider group moved on, looking for more targets of opportunity, to cause more death and destruction.

Chapter Seven

Every creature is better alive than dead, men and moose and pine trees, and he who understands it aright will rather preserve its life than destroy it.

Henry David Thoreau

CAPITULUM, AUGUST 29TH, 1002

“We thought you might want to be here for this, your Majesty,” said Sondra McCullom, gesturing to the tactical holo in the center of the war room.

The War Room was a large chamber, over a hundred meters on a side and sixty meters high. The main holo took up a good portion of the center of the room, while hundreds of stations stood in positions where their operators could watch their own displays while also having access to the central display. Tiers of walkways ran up the walls surrounding the chamber, with many offices and meeting stations opening on them.

Sean took his chair in the north side meeting station on the fourth level, giving him a great view of the central holo and the floor. It always seemed to be busy in the chamber, at any time of night and day. Of course that made sense, since the Empire didn’t run on any single day and night cycle, and really none aboard ships in space. About half the stations were manned, not unusual since no major battles were ongoing.

“And that’s the bastard there?” asked Sean, pointing to the center of the holo, where a blinking icon was located.

“Fenri battleship, name and designation unknown,” said McCullom in agreement. “We got her consort in the lucky turn of events that brought this one to our attention. They exited hyper outside a colony system and launched on the planet, the murderous bastards. What they didn’t know was we had a pair of our own battleships waiting beyond the hyper barrier. We were able to take out all of their missiles, and put a couple into the cruiser before they could get away.”

“How are we getting this?” asked the Emperor, as two viewers popped into existence over the table. Both were scenes of ship bridges, labeled BBs Kiroshima and Ramses the Great.

“Kiroshima had a newly assigned Klassekian com tech, who is transmitting this to us through one of her siblings, while she is also taking in the feed from Ramses.”

“I didn’t know they could send through two feeds at once.”

“We’re learning a lot more about them every day,” said McCullom with a smile. The smile left her face as she turned her attention back to one of the viewers. “The Fenri is launching.”

The holo zoomed in on the actions, as the two view screens transmitted the crews reacting to enemy launch, then launching their own weapons.

“Impact in twelve minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer of the Kiroshima.

There were twenty-four icons heading from the Fenri ship toward the two Imperial vessels. Thirty seconds later there were twenty-four more. Thirty seconds later another twenty-four, then twenty-four more, followed by a final six, until there were one hundred and two hyper capable missiles heading toward the battleship pair. At the same time the Imperial ships had been launching, both putting thirty-six missiles into space, seventy-two heading at five thousand gravities acceleration at the raider.

“It looks like they shot their wad,” said the young Commander who was McCullom’s assistant.

Sean smiled at the term, looking over to see McCullom grimace. Such language was more expected among the shipboard enlisted personnel, and the Emperor wondered if the young man had started out in the ranks. He knew what the commander was talking about, though. Most ships carried a limited number of the hyper capable missiles. Changing doctrine was moving the Empire toward putting only dual purpose missiles aboard their ships, missiles that could be configured to carry a hyperdrive or not depending on the situation. Most of the ships at the fronts had gone through the reloading procedure, which resulted in a five percent smaller missile load, but much greater firepower in hyper, where more and more actions were occurring.

These ships wouldn’t be carrying the dual purpose missiles, not where they had been stationed. Each had eighty hyper capable missiles aboard, and they had just launched almost half of their load. Which gave them both one more good wave if needed.

“Wasn’t that a lot of missiles from the Fenri?” asked Sean, looking at the incoming icons as seen from the bridge of one of the battleships.

“We believe the ones they sent out on this mission are carrying a double load of hyper, your Majesty,” said the Commander. “Meaning they are probably carrying about twenty fewer missiles overall.”

“And why didn’t they just load up on hyper capable missiles altogether?” asked Sean. “It would have given them an advantage in a hyper battle.”

“Since it seems that their primary missions are to cause as much harm as possible to both our merchant shipping and our frontier worlds,” said McCullom, spitting out the words in distaste, “and they can kill merchant ships with beam weapons, it appears that they wanted the maximum missile load they could accommodate for planet killing. Only they compromised and increased their hyper loadout so they could fight battle like this one.”

“And they might kill one of our battleships in this fight,” said the frowning Emperor.

“Hell, they might kill both of them, your Majesty,” said McCullom, shrugging her shoulders. “I doubt it, but it is possible. But this bastard needs killing, and that’s what we build and man ships like these for, to find and kill bastards that need killing.”

Sean nodded, not saying a word and knowing that she was right. That was the reason for the existence of the Fleet. They might couch it in terms of self-defense and keeping the space lanes open, peaceful terms, ones almost anyone could accept. When it came down to it, the Fleet was there to enforce the will of the Empire, against its neighbors and against those within the Empire who might not want to follow all of the rules that protected the life and liberty of the citizens. Against bastards, some of whom needed killing. These ships were made for the job, and manned by people willing to take the risk to carry out that task.

The room was silent for minutes, as the vector arrows of the missiles closed on both forces. New arrows appeared on both sides, these with much more massive acceleration figures beneath them, tens of thousands of gravities. Counter missiles, small weapons made to track and destroy incoming threats. Each ship carried thousands of the weapons, though only a couple of hundred of them were hyper capable. That too was changing, but not every ship in the Fleet was there yet.

The Imperial battleships were cycling counters as fast as they could, forty per launch from all tubes as the ships rotated in space to bring all launchers to bear. In a minute four hundred counters were in space, all trying to acquire the incoming missiles. The Fenri missiles, aware of the tracking sensors of the counters, now went into their best routines for throwing them off the trail. Jamming, sending out false radar and lidar images, shifting their positions at maximum acceleration, they made it as difficult as possible for the smaller weapons to track. The interceptors countered with their own electronics.

Counter missiles were in the twenty ton range and carried much smaller warheads than offensive weapons, about ten megatons. They left more room for sensor heads, important since their targets were much smaller and faster moving that manned ships. It still wasn’t enough, and the percentage of kills was normally one for ten to twenty counters. Better than nothing, but the Emperor had to think there must be a more efficient way to kill incoming ship killers.

Imperial tech was better than that of the Fenri, and the counters made more than the statistically expected ratio, taking out sixty-one of the enemy missiles, and leaving forty-one to forge in. Lasers, becoming more accurate the closer the missiles got, took out half before they got into final approach. They continued to shoot, their fire adding to the explosive rounds of the close in weapons systems, essentially autocannon with smart warheads that exploded on closest approach to their targets. Five missiles got through the barrage to move in very close, detonating from a thousand to less than a hundred kilometers from their targets.

Kiroshima showed minor damage from its two near misses. Ramses was not quite as lucky, and took a plasma hit to the bow that caused major damage to all ships systems in the forward three hundred meters of the vessel. Neither took a direct hit, so both survived, though there were sure to be casualties on both ships, probably over a hundred dead on Ramses alone.

The Fenri ship didn’t stand a chance against the better human weapons forging in against her overwhelmed defenses. She launched two hundred counters, about what the humans expected, and took out twenty-one incoming. Her lasers and close in defense weapons took out sixteen more, leaving thirty-five to make it to final approach. It was almost a statistical certainty at this point that at least one missile would get a direct hit. What it got was three, and the ship exploded outward in a cloud of superheated plasma as all of its stored antimatter breached. The cloud expanded as a bright flash for two seconds, fading from the start until it was all gone, translated back into normal space.

“Well, that takes care of that one,” said McCullom with a head shake.

“Good job, Admiral,” said Sean. “Send my compliments to the crews. They did their duty to the Empire this day. I only wish it hadn’t come at so high a cost.”

“Part of the job, your Majesty,” said McCullom, rubbing her temples. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to send them out into harm’s way. But if I didn’t do it, someone else would be forced to.”

“Would you rather have a combat command?” asked Sean, looking into the eyes of his CNO.

“I would, your Majesty,” said the woman, nodding. “I didn’t think I would ever say that after getting this job, but I would prefer to take the risks of the people I order into danger.”

“Well, you can’t have one yet, any more than can I. But I promise you, when the time comes, you will have one.”

“Thank you,” said McCullom, the smile returning.

“Now, what else is going on that I need to see?”

“Nothing I can think of now, your Majesty. Unless you want me to bore you with the minutia of the Fleet.”

“Not today, Admiral,” said Sean after a short laugh. “I promised the Empress a quiet evening at home, and she gets cranky when I don’t keep my promises.”

“Then you better get back home, your Majesty,” said McCullom after a laugh of her own. “You definitely don’t want a pregnant wife mad at you, especially not one with…”

“Not one with what, Admiral?” asked Sean, wondering why she had cut off like that, with an expression on her face telling of saying too much.

“Oh, nothing, sir. Just another thought interrupting. I hear that happens more when you get older.”

Sean looked at her for a moment, wondering if he should order her to tell him what she was about to say, then deciding against it. If something was wrong with Jennifer, his wife would tell him. Her, or the doctors. Otherwise, he had no right to force the Admiral to tell him something she was thinking that was not operational in nature.

With a nod he was out of his chair and heading out of the chamber, his security detail falling in around him. He tried to forget about the end of McCullom’s statement, Especially since. It stayed with him all the way home, but the sight of his beautiful wife smiling set everything at ease, and he soon forgot about it.

* * *

“You lied to me, Captain,” said the Mother in a loud voice through the inordinately large speaking orifice.

Imperial Naval Captain Ishuhi Rykio, Intelligence Officer and former Nava Commando, looked up at the huge creature. It was an intimidating mass of flesh to look at. Massing at least three tons, with a mouth that could swallow him whole, the Yugalyth was, well, frightening was the only word that fit. That it was totally stationary was about the only thing that made anyone comfortable enough to approach it. There were some areas of the body that were nothing but scar tissue, the remains of limbs that had been surgically removed from the creature. It could always grow new ones, but it had been told in no uncertain terms that any limbs detected would be removed as well, and not in a painless manner.

“How did I lie?” asked the small man, looking up into the multiple eyes of a creature that, given time, could look like anything it wanted. It couldn’t change its mass, but it could split into many smaller creatures. It normally did that by the process of budding, a process it was not undergoing at the moment. And that was the problem.

“You told me that my children would be coming back from the mission you sent them on. And so far, I have not seen a one of them. Not communicated in any manner with them. So I have to assume that they all died.”

“Or we have them in isolation, preparing for another mission.”

“I do not believe that. If they were still alive, you would not be asking me to create more of them.”

“I thought that was your purpose,” said Rykio. “Your kind are constantly reproducing, aren’t they?”

“We are not animals with no control over our functions. And do not change the subject. What happened to those of my kind that went off on this mission you had for them. The one where you needed them to look and act like Ca’cadasans.”

“The mission didn’t go as expected,” said Rykio, looking away from the staring eyes. “The Cacas attacked before we could complete the operation, and yes, your children were killed. Along with many thousands of our own, and millions of our new allies.”

The eyes all extended, going from flush with the flesh of the upper body to push out on stalks. The Captain knew it couldn’t have configured them on the fly, and they must have been that way for some reason. Now they looked down in him like the heads of a hydra on their prehensile necks. He wondered for a moment if they might change still, becoming snake heads striking at him.

“I do not care about you, or your allies,” roared the creature as it eyes stalks shook with fury. “I care about my own.”

“And I care about my people, and my Empire,” said the Captain, raising his voice. “You are a prisoner, having been apprehended while in the process of infiltrating my Empire with the intent to cause sabotage and espionage. Add to that an unknown number of kidnappings and murders, and I could have you destroyed in an instant.”

“I have cooperated with you completely, Captain,” said the creature, its eyes retracting back into its upper body. “I have given you everything you wanted.”

“There are others of your kind still loose in Capitulum, and who knows where else in the Empire,” said Rykio, pointing a finger at the Yugalyth. “You have not helped us to find them and bring them in.”

“And while I am stuck here in this facility, there is nothing I can do to help you find them.”

That might be true, thought Rykio, but it’s not something that’s going to endear you to us. Rykio looked up at the creature, a thing that he had to pretend to connect to. He didn’t think there was any way that a normal human could connect to one of the disgusting creatures, which only lived to take the biomass of other intelligent creatures and convert it to themselves. He knew the strictures against the destruction of intelligent species, but if he had the means, he would be tempted to wipe the Yugalyth out to the last one. Unfortunately, they were a resource, and one that the Empire was not willing to renounce at the moment.

“Let me put it to you in a manner that you can’t possibly misunderstand,” said Rykio. “You are here in our custody, and here you will stay. As long as you cooperate, we will make things as pleasant as possible for you, short of giving you your freedom. If you don’t cooperate, well…”

Electricity crackled, and the huge body of the Yugalyth spasmed, its mouth wide open as a high pitched cry shook the room. The pain stopped in an instant. Rykio might have been OK with killing the whole species, but he was not a fan of torture. However, if a little bit of pain made the creature cooperate, there would be no need for more of it in the future.

“We need more operatives,” he told the creature as its now wide eyes stared at him. “We will need at least forty of the Ca’cadasan constructs. Forty. You will be fed more than enough of the biomass needed to construct them, as well as the genetic samples you need to make the duplicates.”

“And what will they be used for”

“For whatever we wish. All you have to know is what is required of you. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Captain. It will be as you say, and you will have your duplicates.”

“Very well. What you need will be delivered to you today and tomorrow. The next time I see you I want there to be buds coming out of your body. In two weeks I want there to be ready to be birthed Ca’cadasans attached to that bloated body of yours. As long as you cooperate, you will be treated well, as will be your children. Any disobedience.”

The creature cringed, and Rykio did not send the signal for another shock. The fear showed that he didn’t need to, and he really didn’t like administering the punishment. He nodded his head, turned, and left the room.

* * *

The Yugalyth stared at the human, the images of its fourteen eyes combining into one image of a hated enemy. If it still had its tentacles it would have snatched up the human and plopped him into its huge sharp toothed eating orifice, crunching down to reduce flesh and bone to the biomass it needed. The humans had removed those tentacles though, and rendered it helpless.

Almost helpless, it thought. The form it was in now was the closest its species had to a natural form. It might have had one before the Ancients had genetically manipulated them, but it couldn’t remember what it was. Now it was trapped in this form. It couldn’t even make the hidden changes that would allow it to send out tentacles and moving appendages. The humans were constantly monitoring its body, sending sensor waves through it to see if it was making any internal changes. They had let it get away with the eye stalks, probably because they were short, and there were no structures attached to them that shouted danger.

But two score Ca’cadasans, it thought. It would grow them for the humans. They would get what they wanted, or at least the appearance of what they wanted. The minds of the children would be his to shape, and in those structures the humans might get more than they bargained for.

* * *

The Empress Jennifer Conway Romanov lay in bed, awake, wondering how she was going to fill the next day. This one had been like many others before, boring beyond belief. She knew she was pregnant, and her husband was feeling very protective. Hell, the Secret Service was feeling just as protective. But it was a normal pregnancy, and she was a strong woman. She could work if need be, and she missed seeing patients and doing rounds at the hospital, even if it was only the local unit here at the palace.

If I have to listen to the inane speech of one more noble wife of my so called court, I’m going to go flippen mad, she thought. Maybe if I can get Cornelius’ wife and daughter to spend more time with me? They were at least normal down to earth people, even if Rebecca had a little too much anger in her. The only problem with that was that Devera had classes to attend in her quest to become a physician, doing the things that Jennifer wished she could do. And Rebecca needed to be around the other children in the palace school. That was the best thing they could do for her, and Jennifer would not take that away.

And Sean was always doing Emperor tasks, things that took him from the palace. She wished he could stay with her more often, but she knew that was not possible. There was a war going on, with the fate of humanity in the balance, and he was at the top of the decision tree. Samantha came by once a day to discuss etiquette and protocol and all of the other things an Empress was expected to know. She liked Samantha, and hated all of the subjects an Empress was expected to know with a passion. She was sure Constance would not have been bothered with all of the fluffery. Then again, she was not Constance, not an Empress born of the Imperial family, with all of that imbibed with her mother’s milk.

“Are you awake?” asked a voice that started her at first until she recognized it. The room was well carpeted, and Sean moved with silent grace, part of his genetic heritage as a member of the Imperial lineage.

“Meetings over for the day?” she asked, rolling over and taking him in her arms as he slid into bed.

“Yes, thank God. Any more and I would have been ordering people lined up against the wall and shot.”

Jennifer laughed. Sean had a lot of power. The power to order groups of people killed without judicial oversight was not his. And she didn’t believe he had it in him to order such even if he could. If that were the man he was, she wouldn’t be in love with him.

“And how did your day go?” asked Sean, holding her close.

“The same as always. Bored out of my mind.”

Sean lay there for a moment, not saying anything, and she wondered if he was about to ask her about Sondra McCullom’s slip of the tongue. That was unfortunate, but she remembered the saying about two people being able to keep a secret if one were dead. She really should have kept it between her and her doctor, but sometimes she felt like she was going to burst if she couldn’t talk about it. Not that it was earth shattering, but she truly wanted to surprise Sean when the time came.

“I understand that you really aren’t bonding to any of your ladies,” Sean said finally. “Not that I blame you. I found them a stuffy lot when I was growing up in the palace, and I doubt someone who has lived in the real world would find them any better. So how about you come spend some time with me.”

“At your meetings? I‘m not sure I could handle a whole day of those things either.”

“Not the whole day. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But we could spend some time together, and you can get an even better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“It’s a date,” said Jennifer, rubbing her hands over his shoulders. “And how are you feeling right now.”

“I could be talked into it,” he said with a smile. “As long as it’s OK with the doctor.”

“It’s OK with this doctor,” she said after a deep kiss. “Just be gentle. I wouldn’t want them to think something is going on.”

“Them who”

“Oh, the Secret Service,” she said, flushing that she had almost said the wrong thing.

“They know better,” said Sean with a laugh. “After all, that’s a long wall I have to line them up on.” And with that the time for talking was past.

Chapter Eight

As soon as the fear approaches near, attack and destroy it.

Chanakya

NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE. AUGUST 30TH, 1002

“We’re picking up multiple graviton sources ahead,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking back at the chair where sat the Great Admiral.

“How many?” asked Mgananawan, leaning forward in his chair. He knew this was the system they wanted. They had been tracking ships in hyper for the last couple of days, all on headings to and from this system. Now he would find out if his plan would work. He had a mighty force with him, hopefully enough to bring a major part of the Klavarta fleet to action, but not so strong as to scare them away. No, he wanted them to drive him out and chase him across their nation, until they fell into his trap.

“Thousands, my Lord. Most are what have to be their small attack craft, but I am picking up hundreds of larger vessels.”

And we can hope that for every one we are sensing, there are ten or twenty more hiding, he thought. Hoping to spring a trap on us.

“Translation to normal space in eighteen minutes,” called out the Helm Officer.

“And then we’ll see what we really have waiting for us,” said the Tactical Officer.

The Great Admiral looked at the central holo tank, which showed his own force on the way to the target system, yet another unprepossessing red dwarf star that would otherwise be unremarkable and ignored. His own force was shown in its entirety. Three thousand battleships, the same number of cruisers, and six thousand scouts. Twelve thousand warships. He hadn’t brought along any support vessels. He was not planning on taking any planets, and support ships unable to defend themselves would just have gotten in the way.

“Ships are dropping off the plot, my Lord. I think they have attained their desired vectors and are going into stealth mode.”

Stealth was not really possible in space, unless something was done to either dump the heat in some way that was not detectable, or ships found some background they could hide in. The Admiral had heard that the humans of the power they were fighting on the other side of the Empire had methods involving the wormholes they used. But a ship could still power down, stop boosting through space, turn off all active sensors, and basically fade away for the short term.

“Translation in fourteen minutes,” called out the Helm Officer.

“Scouts are translating now, my Lord,” said the Com Officer. “We’re receiving their grav pulse transmissions.” The Com Officer watched his board for a moment, reading the translation of the pulse code. “They’re reporting that the system is as suspected. And no ambushes that they can detect.”

“I still want all vessels ready for immediate action,” said the Great Admiral. “All weapons powered up and tubes loaded.”

The Great Admiral thought that he really didn’t need to give that order, but was still feeling some anxiety at what he might find when all was revealed.

* * *

“Thirteen minutes until the main body reaches the hyper barrier, ma’am,” reported the Chief of Staff, another of the pilot class of Klavarta.

“But they’ve already dropped a couple of hundred of their scouts further out so they could look in,” said the Klavarta Admiral, Regis Larista. “They’re learning. So it’s up to us to make sure this commander doesn’t get back to share his knowledge with the rest of them.”

The Chief of Staff, Ngerita Olsaf, smiled back at her. “It will be the lesson of a lifetime for most of them,” he agreed.

Larista looked over the system wide tactical plot, where the dispositions of all her forces were plotted. There were over six thousand of the larger cruiser class vessels that were their largest combat configuration. These were about the size of a large Imperial destroyer, in the four to five hundred thousand ton range. She only had eight of the command ships, over two million tons, but not really made for slugging it out with other large vessels. Most of her fleet consisted of one hundred thousand ton raiders, the Klavarta equivalent of Imperial destroyers, and tens of thousands of smaller forty to fifty thousand ton attack ships, swift and deadly. It was a great raiding force, but she wasn’t sure how well it would hold up in battle against the larger, more powerful Ca’cadasan vessels, especially in such numbers.

There were also the Imperial human forces, not a large percentage of her force, but a welcome reinforcement. Ten battleships, twelve battle cruisers and forty-three smaller vessels. And at the moment they were guarding her one ace in the hole.

“It looks like they’re going to translate right where we want them to,” said the Chief of Staff.

“From what the Imperials have said, they have run the same trap on the Monsters in their war,” said the Admiral, nodding her head. “One the advantages of the wormholes that I think the Monsters must underestimate. We learn the lessons of the war on the other front almost immediately, while it takes them almost a half year to get the information from one side of their Empire to the other.”

Yes, the Ca’cadasan Empire was a massive enterprise, controlling a hundred thousand inhabited worlds, twenty trillion intelligent beings, and what had to be the most powerful fleet in the Galaxy. But they had also over extended in some respects, especially when it took so long to transmit information across their Empire.

Right now all she could do was wait, not sure how this game was going to play out. Hopeful that she would win, and the Monsters would have placed their heads into the chopper. But nothing was guaranteed, and only the battle would actually determine the outcome. What was that saying the Imperials have? she thought. That’s why they play the game, and not just figure out how the teams match up on paper.

* * *

“Are you all right, Admiral?” asked Lt. Commander Winchell Jerry Chang, the human squadron’s adjutant.

“Is it that obvious, Jerry?” asked Rear Admiral Marta Guderian, the commander of the small Imperial squadron that had been attached as support and liaison to the Klavart fleet.

“Only to someone who knows you well, ma’am,” replied the Commander. “And as someone who knows you well, I think you will do just fine.”

Marta nodded as she turned her attention back to the tactical plot. This wasn’t, of course, her first multiship command. She had last commanded a battleship squadron at the rank of commodore on the main front. But now she was in command of three squadrons each of battleships and battle cruisers, with their supporting force of cruisers and escorts. More ships and people than she had ever been responsible for.

And the force rolling toward them out of hyper looked large enough to crush what the Klavarta had in this system. Or at least what was currently here.

“Is everyone ready, Jerry?” she asked while still staring at the plot.

“Everyone is ready,” said Chang with a smile. “Don’t worry. The boys and girls won’t let you down.”

Then as long as I don’t let them down, everything will be great, she thought, still feeling the unease of coming battle.

* * *

“Jumping, now,” called out the Helm Officer.

The opening appeared in front of the ship, a black hole sprinkled with the bright points of stars. The superbattleship slid through, and the wave of nausea hit. The Great Admiral was considered an easy translator among his people, and he was only incapacitated for fifteen seconds, fighting through the sickness for another ten seconds or so. His ship came through in the middle of the pack, half the fleet preceding him into the system. If there had been a trap laid, something that would be very effective against the Ca’cadasans in the state they arrived in, this would be the place.

“Data coming in from other ships,” called out the Sensor Officer.

The tactical plot began to fill in as the visual information came in from thousands of sensors on thousands of ships. It was old information from minutes to hours in the past, but most of the objects that appeared on the plot were the kind that weren’t going anywhere. Hundreds of objects, in orbit around the prime planet and the gas giant it was orbiting. Around another gas giant. In a string around the star itself, very close in. In the asteroid belt. Mining stations, antimatter production sats, factories, shipyards. It was obviously a major production facility of the Klavarta, and what they had hoped to find.

The Great Admiral pointed at the prime planet, really a moon, while sending a command through his implant. The moon zoomed to his vision, but only to his. Everyone on the bridge could look at the whole plot, or zoom in on something as wanted. His view was of a living world, one of the small percentage that existed in the Galaxy around red dwarves. It was an arid world, with a couple of small oceans or large lakes, and what appeared to be scrub forests and grasslands around them for several hundred kilometers. The rest appeared to be desert, from scrublands to vast seas of dunes. There were some lights showing on the shores of the lakes, surface cities.

In orbit around the world were numerous large structures that appeared to be factories, and more open facilities that were shipyards. The Great Admiral zoomed in on one of the open structures, to see a number of what appeared to be warships under construction. A Klavarta cruiser was undergoing a refit in one of the bays, which lent scale to the other ships. All appeared to be much larger than the cruiser, which was the largest vessel the Ca’cadasans had run into on this front before the coming of the other humans.

Did this mean that the Klavarta, who, after all, were only genetically engineered humans, were changing their strategy to go toe to toe against their foes, instead of the raids that typified their normal strategy? Or would this be the beginning of a two prong strategy? That possibility was the most frightening, since they could then attack the Ca’cadasans both as raiders and through major offensives.

“We’re picking up more enemy ships,” said the Tactical Officer. “Most seem to be in the raider class.”

“Order the fleet to a vector on the prime moon,” ordered the Great Admiral. “But follow the planned course. I want us to be able to get out of here when we need to.”

Counting the number of ships they were opposing, that need might never arise. He had to hope that there were more ships hidden in the system. The point of this operation was not to defeat the enemy fleet in this system, though from looking at the industry here that would not be a bust in and of itself. Destroying this system would be a major blow to the Klavarta, but not as severe as destroying half their extant fleet.

The Great Admiral did not leave his seat for the next four hours as the fleet forged into the system. More ships appeared on the plot, until there were over thirty thousand of the Klavarta vessels, most in the small raider class. The Admiral was still waiting for more ships to come into the mix, giving him the opening he needed to lure them from the system.

“I’m concerned, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer. “I would have thought they would have launched on us by now.”

“Let’s see if we can get them to move a little more quickly,” ordered the Great Admiral. “Order all ships to target the structures in this system. Set up a fire plan to hit all targets, then have each ship give them a volley.”

The Tactical Officer gave a nod of agreement, then went to work at his board, setting targeting priorities and sending the information over to the Com Officer. The firing plans went out to groups with generalized targeting, which was then parsed by the group tactical officer, who assigned targets to the individual squadrons, where the process was continued until each ship had its priority targets.

It took several minutes, and a launch time was set at the same time as the targeting. When the time came all of the ships launched, twelve thousand of them, firing a hundred and eighty thousand missiles. The icons appeared on the plot as a flood, separating out as they moved away from their launching vessels and spread through space. They forged ahead at eight thousand gravities acceleration. And as he had hoped, it stirred the hornets’ nest.

* * *

“The Monster ships are firing,” yelled the Chief of Staff, staring at the plot for a moment, then turning his wide eyed look back to the Admiral.

“Targeting?” asked Larista, turning to look at the plot.

“Unknown at this time. But from the general vectors, I would say they are aiming at industrial targets.”

“Move our ships out into the open,” said the Admiral. She noticed the disapproving look on her subordinate’s face. “You don’t approve?”

“I think they fired to get a response out of us, ma’am. It might be a good idea to not let them see our hand. After all, those missiles are all at least several hours from their targets.”

“Good point.” The Admiral continued to stare at the plot, thinking through the possibilities. Finally she made her decision. “Since they are now unable to avoid action, I think we can go ahead and close the trap.”

“As you command,” said the Chief of Staff, his tone still showing his disapproval.

Too bad, thought the Admiral. This is my command, and my choice, so we will do things my way. “Send out the order.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The Chief of Staff nodded to the Com Officer, who started sending out the grav pulse code that told the waiting force which plan to follow. As soon as those commands were received the ships in the system started firing.

The vessels of the Klavarta were too far apart, separated into groups of from a hundred to a thousand ships, for them to be able to shoot to some integrated fire plan. Each group of ships just locked onto the nearest enemy group and let off a volley. Soon space was filled with hundreds of thousands of incoming and outgoing missiles. The Ca’cacadasan weapons were all larger, from one to two hundred tons, depending on their launch vessel, and all accelerating at eight thousand gravities. Klavarta weapons were all smaller, from twenty ton missiles launched by raiders up to seventy ton missiles launched by cruisers. The human ships held their fire, as they held their boost. They were to be an ace in the hole if needed.

And so the battle is joined, thought the Klavarta Admiral, staring at the plot. In the next couple of hours it would begin to develop, and she would know what moves she needed to make.

* * *

“That got a reaction, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing to the plot, which was now blossoming missile icons by the hundreds of thousands. And ships, coming from behind planets and moons, or moving from a standing position, firing up their grabber units and boosting at maximum acceleration.

“There’s another one, my Lord,” called out a Tactical Subofficer, one of many that were manning this, the flag bridge of the entire fleet.

A large blinking dot appeared on the plot, almost a light hour behind and to spinward of the Ca’cadasan force. A zoom showed a force of thousands of raiders, surrounding a couple of hundred cruisers. Moments later vector arrows appeared with acceleration figures under each icon. Zooming back coalesced the force into a single icon, now with a predicted course line that showed the unit was on a heading to cut off the Ca’cadasan retreat.

“A very large force has just appeared by the prime moon,” called out another Subofficer.

“Show me,” ordered the Great Admiral, walking over to the other side of the holo.

The view zoomed in, showing a great mirrored surface ten kilometers on a side. Several thousand raiders were already through and boosting, while behind them, three or four at a time, cruisers were appearing.

“One of the wormholes of the other human Empire,” said the Tactical Officer. “They could bring unlimited forces through that structure.”

The Great Admiral grunted as he watched scores of cruisers come through, then grunted again as the first of the large vessels came through. These were all in the seven to eight million ton range, much like the scout capital ships of the Imperials, but of a different design. That they were a heavy class of warship was a given, but the capabilities were a definite unknown.

“Put more fire on that gate,” ordered the Great Admiral, pointing at the wormhole. “Then go to full offensive fire.” He looked over at his Navigation Officer. “Work out our best vector for getting the fleet out of here with minimal losses.”

“We’re still going to suffer heavy losses,” warned the Tactical Officer. “There is no way around it, my Lord.”

“We knew that going in,” said the Great Admiral with a predator’s smile. But if we play it right, I can still gut their fleet.

* * *

Admiral Regis Larista sat in her command chair and tried to follow the battle to the best of her ability. Unfortunately, one sentient mind could not deal with the numbers and the carnage of a battle like this. Over a hundred thousand vessels were involved, and missiles numbering in the millions. Over a million gigatons of explosive power was released over a period of hours. Only the scale of the space containing the battle made that release of heat, radiation and blast power less than totally destructive. Tens of thousands of ships died, blasted into plasma or small pieces. Others were gutted, spinning through space as derelicts. Millions died, hundreds of thousands were injured, thousands were stranded on dead ships, or fell through space in their protective suits, hoping and praying for a rescue that was unlikely, as the would be rescuers were too busy trying to survive.

Trillions of Imperials worth of industrial facilities and equipment spun in fragments through orbits, now hazards to navigation. Several moons and planets had been hit, most by accident, though a significant portion of the inhabited prime world was now unihabitable.

It was almost too much for a single mind to handle, and the Admiral found herself rejecting the scope of the carnage. Almost half of the enemy fleet was now on the edge of the hyper barrier, soon to translate out. The half of the fleet that was gone was more than an equal for what she had lost, and at this point her force was at least three times more powerful than that of the Monsters. They had lost millions as well, and just over six thousand ships.

Those were not my people, she thought of the Monsters. She had no sympathy for them, and couldn’t have cared less if the entire species died this day. But the people she commanded were hers. She cared about them, and it tore at her heart to have led them to their deaths. Now she could not let the enemy force go. It had to be destroyed, at all costs, so that the sacrifice of her people would have meant something.

“Orders, Admiral?” asked her Chief of Staff.

“The fleet will follow the Monsters into hyper. And we will destroy them.”

She looked once again at the plot that showed the enemy fleet fighting its way through the last blocking force. An enemy ship fell off the plot here and there, destroyed, no longer emitting gravitons. And for each enemy ship, scores of her own.

A good number of her ships were capable of travel through hyper VII as well, and all of her vessels could out accelerate the Monsters. The Ca’cadasans, those that made it back to their base, would find the howling hordes of the Klavarta plaguing them the whole way. They would have nightmares about running that gauntlet, those who lived.

“Order all ships capable to head out to the hyper barrier and form up. We will chase them as long as possible and destroy as many as we can.”

* * *

“It looks like they are going to follow, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Good,” replied the Great Admiral, looking at the plot that showed the overall battle going on outside the hull, then at a viewer showing a real time view of the space to one side of the great vessel.

Flares flashed in the darkness, their diminutive size in the distance belaying the power of their warheads. Ships disappeared from the plot, each containing from hundreds to thousands of intelligent beings. Those beings who were not Cacada he really didn’t care about. He cared somewhat for his own kind, though, since they were warriors, the fate of most was to give their lives to the Empire.

“Jumping, now,” called out the Helm Officer, and the nausea came on once again.

“They’re jumping after us,” called out the Tactical Officer moments later.

Two days, thought the Great Admiral, watching a cascade of icons jumping into hyper I, staying on his trail. There was a string of ships stretching back almost a light hour to the other side of the barrier, all streaming after him. And if he wasn’t mistaken, some of those icons denoted Imperial human ships, capital ships, more prizes. Two days. If we can keep them on the hook for two more days, they will see who is trapping who.

Chapter Nine

Destroy the seed of evil, or it will grow up to your ruin.

Aesop

IMPERIAL SPACE. AUGUST 30TH, 1002

“We’re receiving a grav wave Mayday from the liner Star of Zambez,” said the Com Officer, looking back at her Captain.

“Why didn’t they just blow her out of space” asked the Tactical Officer. “Why are they changing the way they’re operating?”

“That is a very good question, Lieutenant,” said Captain Francois Pasce, staring at the plot. “What in the hell are they doing?”

There was a lot of discussion going on among the bridge crew of the Scranton. And it was the lowest ranking, a Sensor Tech First, who came up with the most likely answer.

“They’re giving us a choice, sir,” said the Tech, looking at the plot. Ahead, at extreme sensor range, were three objects. Two were the ships they had been following, the Fenri battle cruiser and her consort, a light cruiser. And with them, trapped under their guns, was the seven million ton vessel that was transmitting the grav pulse call for help. A large hyper VI passenger liner, whose specifications included space for nine thousand passengers. Meaning, in wartime, she probably had several thousand more people aboard.

“A choice?”

“Yes, sir. We can continue to follow them, or we can try and stage a rescue of the liner.”

“And why don’t they just keep the liner with them?” asked the Exec over the com.

“Because we would still follow them, no matter what threats they made,” said Pasce, looking at the tech and thinking that a promotion was in the future of someone with such a good mind. “But if they leave the liner behind, with some Fenri Marines aboard, we would have to stage a rescue mission of some type.”

“But they would have to know we would have one ship stage the rescue, and the other follow them,” replied the XO.

“Yes, they would. So they have something else up their sleeves.”

“And it would make it easier to take out a single shadower,” chimed in the Tactical Officer. “They might have already started killing the passengers and crew. We could end up taking back a ship filled with the dead.”

If only we had the life form sensor of legend, thought Pasce. Unfortunately, the Universe didn’t seem to work that way. Living creatures did not give off an energy field that was detectable against the background of the Universe, much less all of the emissions of a spaceship. The only way to find out if biological forms were still existing in that state known as life was to go to the place and observe.

“We can’t take that chance,” said the Captain, shaking his head. “We must make the attempt.”

“When?” asked the Exec.

“After the warships move off, of course. It really wouldn’t do to have them blow us out of space while we’re trying to board the liner. But we can go ahead and get the boarding party together.” The Captain looked something up over his implant for a moment. “Send Lieutenant Janvier to the conference room,” he ordered, naming his Officer of Marines. “Let get the Marines from Collins aboard. We’ll make the assault, while Collins continues to track the enemy ships.”

Pasce thought for a moment, trying to figure out what else they might be able to do. “Do we have anyone aboard who has experience on that class of liner?”

“Not aboard this ship, Captain,” said the Exec. “But Collins has a petty officer on board who served on a similar class of ship. A Winston Nagawa.”

“Then let’s get him on board as well,” ordered Pasce. “If you think the Collins could do without him?”

“I think they can deal with his absence for a little while,” replied the XO. “He’s only an engineering tech, after all.”

* * *

PO 1st Winston Nagawa stood in the hanger of the Scranton, armored up, wondering how in the hell he got into such a situation. It was bad enough to have to be aboard a warship during combat, but to take place in a boarding operation. It struck him as a bad idea, especially in hyperspace. He had images of pirates swinging across from the deck of one planetary ocean ship to the deck of another on ropes that hung from creaking masts. Instead, he would be exiting one ship that was moving through space at a significant percentage of light speed onto another doing the same.

“You ready, PO?” asked the naval officer who would be in charge of the assault. A Lieutenant JG engineer from the Scranton, in command of a Marine platoon and a couple score of spacers.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, sir,” answered Nagawa, looking around the hangar at the other armored figures. Thirty-three Marines in battle armor, some heavy, along with thirty spacers wearing their shipboard medium armor. This was team Alpha, which had two initial targets aboard the liner. The engineering section, which contained the only means of blowing up the ship. And the passenger sections along the way, where almost all of the ship’s crew and many of the civilians should be located. Team Bravo, thirty-three Marines and twenty spacers, under command of the Marine commander of Scranton, would be going in on the one hyper capable shuttle available. They would target the bridge, where all the command and control systems converged, and the auxiliary control station.

“You make sure that nothing happens to you on the way to engineering,” ordered Lt. Mishara with a smile. “You’re the only one who knows his way around this engineering section.”

“It’s not exactly the same as the ship I served on, sir,” commented Nagawa.

“Still closer than anything the rest of us have seen, PO.”

A signal buzzed over the com, and every person in the hangar tensed. “Team Alpha. Check your environmentals. Mission is a go. Mission start time, two minutes.”

Nagawa ordered his suit to lower his faceplate and looked over the diagnostics of all his systems. Everything was a go. He checked the particle beam rifle hanging around his neck and made sure the proton pack was seated properly and that it was powered up. The same with the backup pistol holstered by his side. His HUD was showing a timer, and when it hit one minute and thirty seconds he went ahead and linked into the ship’s tactical system, in time to see the light cruiser’s laser rings fire brief beams of energy, striking singular points on the liner. The beams were invisible, the strikes were not, and hull alloy flared with each strike. The cruiser rotated around the liner, firing. One beam came back, hitting the cruiser and doing minimal damage, just before being taken out.

“Liner’s defenses offline. Launching shuttle.”

On the other side of the cruiser the starboard hangar opened and the hyper capable shuttle flew out into hyperspace, curving around the ships and taking up a station on the reverse side of the liner.

“Prepare for movement. Twenty seconds.”

The hatch of the hangar everyone had been standing in slid inward, then split and moved out of the way to both sides. The side of the liner was a couple of kilometers away and moving closer. In seconds they were in close proximity, and the space between was enclosed in the combined hyperfields of the two ships. Magnetic grapples held the two ships together, and Nagawa hoped that the tractor was a secure link. Otherwise, they might be falling out into hyperspace, to their doom.

“Opening up the Star’s hangar,” came across the tactical net. A bright flash appeared on the hull across from the boarding party, alloy flaring and vaporizing into space. The cruiser put the full power of one ring into the hatch, an eight meter wide spotlight beam that burned through the thin hull of the commercial craft in a couple of seconds.

“Boarding party, go,” came across the general com.

Winston wanted to go at that moment, to get the crossing over with. That wasn’t his spot. The initial crossing went to the first squad of the Marines. Twelve heavy battle suits, flying out through the cold plasma field over the hangar hatch, into the forty meters of empty space, and through the opening on the hatch of the liner’s hangar. The Marines went through two at a time, their eyes sweeping the hangar as they entered. Shouts rang out over the com, followed by a short scream. A part of the still intact hangar hatch glowed, as if some beam weapon had struck the other side.

Two more Marines entered, then another pair, and commands rang back and forth as they engaged in combat on the other ship. More Marines entered, until the entire squad was in the hangar. The second squad launched itself across the space, another twelve heavily armed and armored Marines. More hot spots appeared on the hangar hatch, and one point blew out as something powerful struck.

“Hangar is secure,” came the voice of the senior Marine Sergeant over the com. “You can start sending the spacers over.”

That meant Nagawa’s group, and he lifted from the deck and headed out, crossing the space between the ships as quickly as possible. He still had time for a glance upwards, through the combined fields, into the red emptiness of hyperspace. It sent a shiver down his spine, but he was back inside in moments.

The hangar looked like a battle had been fought. Two Marine suits lay on the floor, one unmoving, a large hole burned through the torso. The other was still moving, but was missing an arm, and one of the newly arrived spacers, a medic, was kneeling by the Marine. There were holes in several places along the walls of the hangar, a shuttle was a total wreck in the middle of the chamber, while another had a hole through the cockpit. Scorch marks were everywhere, the sign of particle beams fired with abandon. And there were a half dozen small armored suits laying in attitudes of death, as well as one that was about the size of a medium suited human, though of non-human design.

Nagawa knew that the smaller suits were the standard Fenri battle armor, worn by both their spacers and marines, while the large suit was a heavy battle rig worn by their version of special operations troops.

“Does this look familiar, Nagawa?” asked the LT.

“It looks just like the hangar on my old ship, sir,” said Winston, looking around for a moment. “That hatch there leads to the central corridor, which is the fastest way to engineering.”

Like most ships, the engineering section was just off the midline of the vessel, a hundred meters back from the exact middle. Unlike military vessels, the reactors and antimatter containment vessels had multiple failsafes that made it almost impossible to breach on purpose. A powerful enough shape charge could still do the job, and they had to figure that the Fenri would know as much.

The third squad of Marines came aboard and started to fan out. They would have the job of holding the hangar, so reinforcements could arrive if needed, or the attack force extracted if things really went south.

“Team Alpha One, move out,” ordered Mishara.

That’s me, thought Winston, heading over to where a squad of Marines and sixteen spacers were gathering.

“Let’s move,” said Mishara, coming up to that group, the one he would be leading to engineering. The second team, Alpha Two, had also formed up and was moving toward another hatch. They would start sweeping the ship, trying to find any groups of passengers that were still alive, especially those who might be holding out. All passenger ships, of course, carried some weapons for the security force they brought along to help repel pirates. And many of the passengers, heading out to the frontier, would have weapons stored in the armory for safe keeping. Would they be able to resist armored warriors? Maybe, in large enough numbers.

As they moved into the corridor and along in the proper direction it soon became apparent that the Fenri had not been interested in keeping everyone alive on the ship. There were bodies along the corridor, men, women, even a few children. Mostly shot down from behind. All had parts of their bodies vaporized, the sign of particle beam weapons. Nagawa could feel his gorge rising at the signs of death, even if he couldn’t smell it sealed as he was in his suit. A few people were lying on their backs, and he could see the terror that had been etched on their faces as they had faced their deaths.

These were the kind of people he had served as an engineer in the merchant marine. Some had been wealthy, traveling for the pleasure of seeing new places. Some had been workers going to see family they had not had contact with in generations. Some had been people leaving the core worlds, fleeing the overcrowding to seek new lives. And they had been killed in cold blood by beings that had no respect for their lives. At this moment he felt a deep hate for the Fenri, a level of rage he had never experienced before. If he had a thousand Fenri in front of him at this moment he would have burned them all down. He looked down at his particle beam rifle for a moment, hoping he would get to use it this day.

A vibration ran through the ship, and the party knew that team Bravo had now entered the picture.

* * *

Marine Lt. Sangaston Janvier sat in the copilot seat of the shuttle, looking at the screen that was showing the take of drone that was hovering over the garden dome on the middle forward section of the liner. What he saw on that take was not something that gave him a lot of confidence in their ability to save the passengers and crew of the ship.

“How many do you count, Ms. Gonzalez?” he asked of the warrant officer who piloted the shuttle.

“At least a couple of thousand,” said the Pilot. “Full count, two thousand, four hundred and fifty-one. But that doesn’t take into account nooks and crannies where some of them might be tucked away.”

“So a quarter of the people aboard? Does that mean three quarters of them are elsewhere?”

“Or already dead,” said the Warrant, her eyes narrowing.

The Lieutenant studied the screen, zooming out to take in the entire one hundred meter by fifty meter dome that covered the ship’s garden. The dome was crisscrossed with supports, between them the large panels of transparent metal that allowed those in the garden to look out into space. The floor of the garden was a series of pools and flower beds, trees and shrubs.

Liners like this had average travel times of just under a month from point to point. Most of the passengers had lived on planets, many of them heading for other planets to live on. The garden dome was one solution to keeping these people from going stir crazy. And now it was being used as a gathering place for the humans aboard the ship, and also as a location where they could be executed if need be.

“I think we need to go through the dome,” said the Warrant, pointing to the viewer. “Right here.”

The LT nodded as he looked at the spot, by one edge of the dome, directly over one of the larger ponds in the garden. Anything blasting through was likely to drop its debris into the pond, and the major suction would occur over that water as well, where none of the hostages were sitting.

“It’s going to be tight.”

“That it is, sir. But if you try to enter outside the garden area and force an entrance, you’re sure to have a blood bath down there.”

“So you think you can plug the hole in time?”

“You still might get some decompression casualties. But I would think less than a perimeter assault.”

“Then let’s do it. Let me talk to my Marines and spacers, and then we’ll go ahead and take this place.”

Janvier gave his orders while he got up from the copilot seat, letting the rating who filled that slot back to his station, and climbed into his suit. He took his place at the bay doors of the shuttle’s cargo compartment along with the rest of his party, and waited as the timer clicked down.

At zero the Warrant took her shot, sending a small, slow missile into the panel they had chosen. The missile struck and blasted a ten meter wide hole through the panel, sending fragments of transparent metal into the garden area. Most of those fragments fell into the pond, as planned, but not all. Some fragments flew into other regions of the garden, and several hundred people were hit. The vacuum of hyperspace immediately started removing the atmosphere from the dome area, pulling water from the pond with it, lifting any small objects off the ground and even pulling people along the deck toward the source of the air flow.

As soon as the missile was launched the cargo bay doors fell open and the Marines dropped, using their grabbers to fly to the hole and fight their way in against the hurricane of wind flowing out. They dropped in squads, eleven to a group. As soon as they were through the spacers followed in similar sized groups, until the entire force of Team Bravo was in.

Janvier took in the scene as soon as he was in, following first squad. He would have preferred to lead in the finest tradition of the Corps, but he was the leader of this team, and the team couldn’t afford to lose him so early in the mission. So he jumped with second squad, in the direct center of the Marine formation. Below was a scene of complete confusion, the mist of water and dirt from the garden rising into the air, sucked toward the opening. Small plants joined the swirl, and the closest people were being pulled from the ground. Many of the humans in the space below were already gasping for breath, partners were clasping each other to keep from flying off the ground, mothers were grabbing for children. Then he had no more time to pay attention to the people below. There was a battle to fight, and all of the team needed to concentrate on that to win and survive.

The Marines came under fire as soon as they entered the airspace of the dome, the Fenri watching over the passengers now having something more important to worry about. There were ten Fenri in the chamber, and they were able to get three hits on the fast moving Marines before the thirty who had not been struck started firing back at the newly revealed targets. By the time they hit the ground the Fenri had been mostly neutralized, though a couple were using their hostages as cover to continue the fight.

The shuttle launched a sticky net over the opening as soon as the last suit fell through. The small cell net immediately adhered to the sides of the dome while nanites welded it in place. The shuttle them sprayed a quick setting plastic over the net, sealing the holes and forming an airtight barrier. As soon as the vacuum was cut off people in the air fell to the ground, some from high enough to sustain significant injuries. Air began to stream into the dome from the overworked environmental systems, enough to keep all of the civilians alive who still could breath.

Particle beams flew, cutting down the last Fenri, several civilians joining them in death when blasted by the hostage holders. One of the Fenri had been trying to trigger something, until his suit arm had been blown from his body. Janvier walked over to that Fenri, ignoring for a moment the cries of pain and cheers of deliverance around him. He picked up the object, which had several buttons and a light glowing orange on the face. Would have been smarter to have used a dead man’s switch, thought the Marine Officer, looking up and spotting one of the explosive devices the Fenri had placed on the surface of the dome. Lucky for us they didn’t, or all of these people would be dead.

“We’ve taken the garden,” reported Janvier over the com moments later. He was looking at the list of casualties coming in over his implant from the people in his team. He had lost four of his team, three Marines and a spacer, along with one more spacer injured. Eleven Fenri had been killed, along with one hundred and twelve human and alien passengers and crewmen. But they had rescued over two thousand, three hundred civilians. And several of the medics who had come with them were already placing portable cryo bags on the ground so they could freeze and store those who might be recoverable. Those who had died in falls were among those, while many of the victims of particle beams were not. A missing head and brain were sign enough that they were beyond recovery.

“I’m the First Officer of the ship,” said a woman in a shipboard uniform, limping up to him. “Thank God you came for us.”

“Excuse me, ma’am. But we need to get moving.”

“You will leave some people behind to protect us, won’t you.”

“I’ll leave a few people behind to help keep you safe, but I don’t have the people to provide complete security.”

“Unacceptable, Lieutenant. I demand that you provide us with security. Those little furry bastards could come back here.”

“How many came aboard?”

“I don’t know,” answered the First Officer. “Forty? Fifty?”

“And we’ve already killed twenty or so, between our two assault forces. I don’t think they’re going to be worrying about retaking this chamber. Now, we need to go.” So they don’t blow this damned ship up around us while we’re chatting.

“Team Bravo One, move out,” called the LT over the com as soon as he got the status report on Alpha. Those people started through the hatch that led to a corridor leading toward engineering. “Bravo Two, come with me.” Their target was the bridge, and hopefully control of the ship. Left behind were four spacers, one of them wounded, another a medic who would continue to help the passengers.

* * *

“Their cruiser has moved away, my Lord,” said the Fenri Marine, saluting the naval officer who had been left behind to command the party.

The Officer looked at the Marine, ambivalent feelings running through him. His mission had been to destroy whichever human ship had been tasked with the rescue. The liner would be blown up through a reactor breach, gigatons of explosive force that would take out any ship that happened to be laid close to her. He had hesitated, and now the ship was out of range.

“We still have all the humans and their alien dogs aboard,” said the Marine, who seemed to be disappointed that his death wouldn’t take out a warship, but still enthusiastic enough to be able to kill a lot of humans.

“Get the Marines in the engineering section on the com,” he ordered the naval tech who was manning the bridge controls. He only had one choice now. To blow up the ship before the humans could take it away from him.

“I am not able to get through, my Lord,” reported the tech. He kept working controls on the com board, with no success.

“Engineering,” called out the Fenri Commander on his suit com. “Engineering. Come in.” All that came back was static, and his suit systems showed no carrier wave for any of the Fenri not on the bridge.

“They are jamming us,” he called out. Looking at the other Fenri standing on the bridge. He pointed out four of them. “You, you, you and you. Come with me. We will go to engineering and set off the reactors. The rest of you,” he said to the remaining seven Fenri, “will hold this control center at all costs. Is this understood?”

All acknowledged the command with head motions.

“We will not allow the humans to win,” he said, before leading his team off the bridge.

* * *

“That should cut off all their shipboard com, sir,” said Nagawa, picking up his gauntlets from the floor. The input station was lit up in the cubby to his front, the keyboard he had used to hack into the ship’s system unfolded from the unit.

“You’re sure they won’t be able to reestablish com?” asked Lieutenant Mishara, doubt in his expression.

“This isn’t a warship, sir. It doesn’t have the redundant systems needed to survive combat. If they could hack the system like I just did, they might be able to get it back up and going. But I doubt a bunch of aliens with no experience in our civilian ship systems will be able to get it back up.”

“Good enough, PO,” said the Officer, patting Winston on his armored back. “I knew there was a reason we brought enough life support along to keep you going.”

Nagawa couldn’t help but smile. Such good natured joking was common among the enlisted, but rare to hear out of an officer. That Mishara was speaking to him in such a manner showed that the officer thought him a valuable member of the team.

“You sure that the lower path is the one we need to take?” asked Mishara, consulting the schematic on his HUD, the same which appeared on Nagawa’s faceplate. “This one here looks like the better choice.”

“It’s your decision to make, sir. But I used to roam the engineering spaces of a ship just like this, and believe me, this way will bring us into engineering with the least chance of discovery. The Fenri will most likely be congregated in this room here, the central control. And if they have sentries placed, which I assume they will have, they’re most likely going to be at these main entrance points.”

“Why in the hell do you have so many surreptitious entrances into such an important area of the ship?”

“Because we build these vessels for convenience of operation, sir. Not for security.”

Mishara stood silent for a few moments, obviously thinking. “OK. You’ve led us correctly so far, so we’ll go in the way you think best.”

The Officer sent the information to the rest of the team, letting them know which way they would be going, and the assignments of each member when they entered engineering.

“Ok. Let’s move,” said Mishara. “The sooner we get engineering under control, the sooner we don’t have to worry about these bastards blowing us to hell and gone.”

* * *

The Fenri officer didn’t like this human ship. It’s spaces were too big, from the oversized first class staterooms to the enormous dining halls. He understood that the humans, being larger creatures than Fenri, required more room for their health and wellbeing. What he didn’t understand was why they needed so much more room.

The humans were only a third again taller than the average Fenri, so why did they need ceilings twice their height. Four times their height or more in some of the common areas.

“Humans approach,” said one of his Marines in a whisper, reading the sign language from another further up the passage. “Warriors. A score of them.”

The Officer did not want to get into a fire fight with four times the number he commanded. Not now. The priority was to get to engineering so he could give the command to blow the ship. The Fenri there had been instructed to detonate the reactors if the humans looked to have a chance of taking engineering, but he didn’t want to take the chance that the damned unpredictable humans might be able to pull something.

He looked at the schematic he had downloaded from the ship’s computer while he still had the human captain under his control, before he executed that being when he stopped cooperating. That might work, he thought, finding an environmental system duct that ran all the way to engineering. It was too small for suited humans, or for one of the larger Fenri battle suits. Fortunately, he had not taken the one so equipped from the bridge, concerned that they might have to use stealth to get where they were going.

“Through here,” he told his warriors, motioning to a hatch. They disappeared through, just before the human party heading for the bridge passed by on the corridor where they had just been.

Chapter Ten

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? William Shakespeare

“Collins has passed out of sensor range, sir,” said the Sensor Chief, sitting in her compartment deep in the bowels of the ship, next to the isolated vacuum chamber of the graviton resonator. The Chief was a highly trained specialist, with the ear and instincts to listen to the song of the gravitons flowing through space that were picked up by the sensitive chamber. While assisted by computers, her ear and brain were the best judge of what was coming in. “She dropped her first buoy about five minutes prior.”

“Very well,” replied Pasce, looking at the plot that no longer showed the destroyer, or the Fenri team she was following. It did show the buoy, however, a small object that could sit in hyper VII for a week before running out of power and falling out. It would send out a pulse of gravitons once every minute, telling everything within range where it was. The destroyer would drop another right at the extreme detection range of that one, and on and on, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for the cruiser to follow. Once the rescue was done, Scranton would jump back into VII and catch up.

And the Fenri have to have figured out that we would leave a trail like this, he thought. Which means they have to have something else going on, some way to get the remaining bloodhound off their trail.

“Any further word from the boarding teams?” he asked his Com Tech, knowing that the rating would have told him already if so, but anxiety making him ask nonetheless.

“No, sir. They should be reporting in about a minute and a half.”

And it’s really not going to do anyone any good my breathing down their necks for progress reports, he thought. They’ll report when they are supposed to, or if something comes up worthy of reporting.

He sat in his chair, his ship safe from anything that might happen to the liner. But people under his command were not safe, and that was enough to make him fret.

* * *

“I’m not sure the officer in charge on the spot made the right decision, your Majesty,” said McCullom, leaning on the table and looking her Monarch in the eye. “But he is the officer in charge on the spot, and precedent gives him the right to make this decision.”

Sean nodded as he thought that over. Precedent was that the senior officer on the pointy end of an operation had final authority. The precedent came from the days when ships boosted off on patrols that might put them out of communications link with command for weeks at a time. Now, with ways around the communication gap, in some cases, there was a temptation to micromanage, something the Emperor had been prone to in the past, and something he was determined to not let his high command engage in to excess. The officer on the spot normally had the best information about the situation, as well as the most personal stake in the matter. If they made a bad decision, then it was up to command to make a judgment regarding that decision. If they made a bad decision based on bad intelligence, but the only information they had, they were most likely to be forgiven.

“So we back up his call at this moment,” said the Emperor, looking around the table. “Based on what he knew. We still have the battle cruiser in sight, and the Captain’s actions may save thousands of civilians who would otherwise be dead.”

Sean studied the tactical plot for a moment, the information coming across based on what the Klassekian aboard the destroyer was transmitting. “We need more communications assets out there.”

“That would be nice, your Majesty,” agreed McCullom. “Now, we just need more of them to distribute. With gates going to the Nation of New Earth front, and Klassekians going to other projects, we are even more strapped than we would have been.”

“We have to keep that front going, Admiral,” said Sean in an angry tone. “And the Klassekians are a vital component of our inertialess fighter program.” Though maybe we should call them something else, since they do indeed still possess inertia, thought the Emperor. Just in a different manner than we’re used to. FTL fighters, maybe, since they do go past the speed of light in some weird manner.

“Just telling you the facts, your Majesty. We don’t have enough to go around, and more projects soaking up the resources just makes the problem worse from the perspective of the Fleet.”

“Understood, Sondra,” said Sean, his tone softening. The Fleet was her consideration, really her only one. And she was a battleship spacer. No matter how effective the new fighters proved to be, she would still be a firm ally to the people who supported the primacy of those vessels.

“Something else. I noticed that the assault team was sent across through the linked hyperfields of the cruiser and liner. That seems like a good way to lose a lot of spacers and Marines, if you ask me.” And if you don’t ask me, I will tell you anyway, thought Sean with a smile on his face. And you will listen.

“We have hyperfield units for assault armor, your Majesty,” said Admiral Innocent. “They are very expensive, and only issued to select naval commando units. Again, it’s a matter of resources, since a hyperfield generator needs supermetals. The same supermetals that go into grabber units, hyperdrives, and the accelerators of particle beams, both shipborne and personal weapons.”

“It still might be a good idea to have a couple of units aboard each of our ships,” said Sean, seeing from the looks on the faces of the Fleet personnel in the room that they were wondering what next impossible demand might be made of them.

“I know. I know, resources.” Sean shook his head. The military was his to command, but they could only do what they could do with what he could give them. He needed to meet with those people as well, to make sure that they got what they needed.

* * *

Winston Nagawa wished he had more than two eyes so he could look everywhere. There were hatches everywhere along the corridor, opening onto staterooms for the mid-level passengers. Some of those hatches were open, revealing the small, nine square meters rooms, with a double bed, small bath and closet. All of those rooms had to be checked out, lest Fenri infiltrators hide and come out behind the party. Nagawa was exempt from clearing rooms, since his services were needed in the reactor chambers. But he still got a look at the rooms as he passed. And some of those rooms contained bodies, people who had been trapped and killed like vermin by the Fenri. Including, in a few cases, children.

Nagawa tried to drive those images from his mind as he moved down the corridor. He distracted himself by looking at the walls of the corridor and noting the differences between a luxury passenger liner and a warship. There were none of the multiple access panels on the walls of this liner that were everywhere aboard the Angela Collins. The destroyer had redundant systems all over the place, wiring and circuits and pipes behind panels. In some places even exposed piping with automatic cutoff valves from which emergency manual controls protruded. Things set up to make it easy for the crew to get at systems that could be vital to the survival of the ship. Winston had served aboard freighters early in his career, the normal path for merchant spacers before moving up to the liner fleet. Freighters were laid out much like warships, with not quite as many redundant systems. Liners were laid out so that stupid civilians couldn’t get into mischief that might cause problems for themselves or other passengers.

“Nagawa,” said Mishara, looking back at the Petty Officer. “You paying attention?”

“Sorry, sir. I‘m just having memories.”

“Keep your mind on the mission, PO. I need you at the top of your game if we’re going to get us and these people out of here.”

“It’s just seeing all of these, people, the Fenri have killed, sir.”

“Keep your head in the mission. That’s the best revenge you could ever get against the little furry bastards. Now, we’re approaching the entrance to engineering you wanted us to take. Anything else we need to know?”

“The door will have a security code on it to keep out curious passengers, sir.”

“And you can open this lock, correct?”

“I should be able to. Most lines use one of several standard codes for entrances like this. They want the crew to be able to get through without problems. It’s just keeping the idiot passengers out.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” said the Lieutenant, stopping for a second. “The Marine scouts are at your door, so let’s get up there and get in before some Fenti takes the initiative and blows us out of space.”

Winston nodded and followed the officer. The corridor hit a T-junction, and Nagawa felt like he was back on his old ship as he saw the layout of this, the walking way around the bow side of engineering country, what had used to be his home. Twenty meters to the right was set the security door, an exact duplicate of one he had used to walk through to work on a daily basis. And on the side of the door was a keypad, which…

“This doesn’t look right,” said Nagawa, confused by the appearance of the pad. There was a thumb and DNA scanner on the surface of the device, just below the rows of numeric keys.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mishara, looking over his shoulder. “Tell me you can open this thing.”

“I don’t know, sir. This one has a biometric scanner. Ours didn’t. It still might open with the keypad alone, but I can’t guarantee it.”

“Shit. And don’t tell me they might have an alarm for unauthorized attempts at entry.”

“They might. But I’m betting it’s an alarm that goes off on the bridge, not engineering. They wouldn’t want to disturb the engineering crew every time a drunk passenger hit it by accident.” I hope, he thought, looking at the keypad.

“Then give it a try.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Winston, thinking of the basic code they had used on his ship, making sure he had it in his mind, then punching in the six digit combination. A light blinked green a couple of times, and the PO waited for the lock to click open. A few seconds later the light changed to red, then went out.

“I’m afraid it will only open when the proper biometric is applied, sir.”

“Well, shit. Does this mean we’ll have to go up to the level we were going to enter on in the first place?” The Lieutenant didn’t look very happy as he stared at Winston. In fact, he looked downright pissed off.

“Maybe with a body,” said Winston, thinking of all the corpses they had seen on the way here. “Look, sir. Engineering crew quarters are down this corridor. If we can find the body of a crewperson, maybe we can use their thumbprint and DNA to get through.”

“But you’re not sure if the code you have will work, even with the right thumb pressed to the lock.”

“I’m pretty sure, sir. It blinked green when I put in the code I knew, which is as it should be. And if you go up to the main entrance, you will still have to unlock the door up there, and they will be waiting.”

“We could always blow the door,” said one of the Marine sergeants. “We’ve got the equipment.”

Mishara stood for a moment, thinking, then looked at the Marine NCO. “Go to the engineering quarters and see if you can find an engineer, alive. If not, bring the body of a crewperson. Preferably with engineering patches on their uniform.”

The Marine nodded and turned, running down the corridor in the direction of the indicated quarters, motioning for couple of troopers to follow him.

“You people,” said Mishara to some more Marines. “Prep the door for explosive entry.” He looked back at Nagawa. “We’re running out of time. If you can’t get that door open in the next couple of minutes, we’re going to have to blow it in.”

“Yes, sir,” said Winston. “And I’m sorry it didn’t go as smoothly as I thought it would.”

“We can only act on the information we have at hand, PO,” said the Lieutenant. “Just be prepared to take control of that engine room.”

Nagawa nodded. “I won’t let you down, sir.” They can’t have different controls in their engineering section, can they?

* * *

“The bridge should be ahead, sir,” said the spacer who was leading them through the corridors of the ship. While the spacer had not served aboard a liner like PO First Nagawa, he had been a worker in a shipyard that constructed such craft. Not this particular class, but something similar.

Lieutenant Janvier nodded and motioned for the spacer to fall back, then for two of his armored Marines to move forward. The Marines were in heavy battle armor, suits that massed well over a ton and provided state of the art personal protection in a combat environment. They weren’t invulnerable by any means, but the armor and electromag fields of the suits could stop an infantry particle beam for several seconds, time enough for the wearer to seek cover and return fire.

Both Marines moved forward quietly, their armor set to move them at a hover a few centimeters over the floor. Both had their own particle beam rifles to their shoulders and were scanning ahead with passive sensors so as not to give the enemy the warning actives would. The door to the bridge was ahead, clearly marked as such, and Janvier was beginning to wonder if the Fenri had set up any kind of defense.

He got his answer a moment later when a plasma cannon blurred out of a side compartment and fired, its ball of burning gas flying swiftly down the corridor, filling it from side to side. Wall coverings burst into flame despite their resistance, metal flowed and dripped like liquid, and the brilliant ball struck the leading Marines.

“Take cover,” yelled the Officer as he automatically strengthened the electromag field on his own armor and rocketed back on his grabbers, knocking several Marines and a trio of spacers back with him.

The two heavy suits in front took the brunt of the plasma. Both Marines had time for one short shout before their suits were enveloped in the ball. Their suits were tough, but this was a vehicle mount weapon, and it burned through in several places, flowing into the suits and incinerating their bodies in an instant. The plasma washed on to catch one more suit before it had dissipated enough to splash off the fields of the suits behind.

The hum of a targeting radar came up a moment later, and a pair of missiles streaked from the plasma cannon mount and struck unerringly on two targets, a Marine and a spacer. And just like that five of his people were down, four of them generating the flatlines on his HUD that showed death.

Another targeting radar came through to his sensors, this one more familiar, and two Marines launched hyper-velocity missiles at the plasma cannon before it could bring up another ball of hellfire. The cannon blew apart, the kinetic fireball of the missile strikes immediately overshadowed by the superheated plasma in the ruptured ignition chamber. The cannon was consumed in the flare of plasma, since only the ignition chamber and barrel were proofed against the awful heat.

All of the suited figures backed away, getting some distance between themselves and the heat. The doors around the remains of the cannon blistered and flowed, and in many places welded to the frame. Since no Fenri had been seen during the entire operation, it seemed that they were not present.

“Hit that hatch,” yelled out Janvier, pointing at the bridge door. “Blow it down.”

“That might damage the bridge,” said one of the Petty Officers along with the spacers.

“I don’t give a damn. We can use auxiliary control until the crew can rewire the bridge. So, follow my orders, and blow it down.”

The targeting radars sounded again on the LT’s sensors. The two hyper velocity missiles sped from launcher to hatch so fast they looked like brief silver beams. They holed the door in two places, half meter wide openings, while the door buckled along the sides.

“Knock it down,” ordered the LT. “Grenadiers, I want full loads through that door before we push it down.”

Three Marines with auto-grenade launchers moved forward, targeting the holes in the door, then spraying flights of thirty millimeter grenades through the openings. Suits locked to prevent movement, and the launchers hit their targets with unerring accuracy. Each sent a full magazine of forty rounds through the holes, each round set to blow at various intervals within the bridge chamber.

As soon as the magazines were fired, two heavy suits ran forward and hit the hatch with lowered shoulders. The door moved, areas of the edges ripped away, but a few areas still held on. The two suits kicked the door, the strength enhancements of their heavy suits breaking through the last holdout and flinging the hatch into the bridge. The two heavy suits ran in, going to the side as soon as they were in and firing at the Fenri who were shooting at them.

“Take it,” yelled Janvier, running for the opening with his particle beam to his shoulder. The sight that greeted his eyes was almost total ruin. Bridge consoles were full of holes and smoking, chairs shredded, a haze hanging in the air. Three Fenri lay on the floor, one with a large hole through the front of his suit going out through the back, a victim of a hyper-velocity penetrator. One had smaller holes blown through his suit in torso and limbs, opened up by grenades that had struck him. The third was still in the process of falling with a hole through his faceplate.

Three others were covering behind the wrecked consoles, firing their particle beam weapons. One of the leading Marines had a burn hole through his arm, and the limb underneath had probably been destroyed. The woman was still firing with her other arm, sending beam after beam into the console one of the Fenri was covering behind, keeping him down. The other Marine was doing the same to one of the other Fenri, while the third alien was trying to get a good shot in on that trooper.

Janvier developed a sight picture as soon as he saw the Fenri, his finger squeezing the trigger and sending a beam into the left shoulder of the enemy. The beam struck the suit in a splash of molten alloy. The Fenri suit was as tough as the ones the Marines wore, and the alien ducked down behind the console before the beam could fully penetrate. By that time three more Marines were on the bridge, and their fire started dismantling the consoles the Fenri were hiding behind. It seemed only a matter of time, when a Fenri in one of their heavy support suits came out of the shadows, firing away.

The heavy particle beam struck one of the Marines, staying on target for the almost two seconds needed to burn through the torso armor and killing the Marine. Two of the Marines and their LT turned their beams on the heavy support suit, splashing alloy and doing a great deal of surface damage, but not breaking through. The heavy suit killed another Marine, then shifted his weapon to Janvier, and the LT, continuing to fire, was sure he was a dead man. But a Marine stood in the hatchway, the grenade launcher in his hands accelerating thirty millimeter armor piecing rounds onto the enemy suit, blasting holes through it and into the Fenri.

And then it was over. All of the Fenri were dead and the wrecked bridge was theirs. But he had lost five Marines dead and two wounded, so the enemy had made him pay a steep price for the prize.

“OK, PO,” said the Marine Officer to the senior of the spacers. “See if you can get this place working again. I’ll take my Marines down to auxiliary control.”

The spacers immediately began clearing the wreckage of control stations away, using laser cutters to sever wires and cut away the last attachment points. While some of the spacers removed the stations, using the strength of their suits to lift the massive constructs, others started hooking up holographic devices that would project the controls into space. With a little calibration they would have the bridge back to functional status in less than an hour. The ship could be run from auxiliary command or engineering until then. The only problem being, neither of those areas was under the control of the humans.

Janvier gathered his people, ten Marines and another six spacers, and headed for the lift shafts that led to the auxiliary bridge level. He wasn’t sure what the Fenri had waiting for them there, if anything, but he was damned well going to be prepared for it.

* * *

Lt. Commander Terrence Zhukov stared at the tactical plot, wondering what the enemy was up to. There were only four objects on the plot. His ship, the marker buoy he had left behind so that Scranton could follow, and the two Fenri vessels. The Fenri had been working on changing their vectors for the last hour, decelerating along their path of travel while accelerating along another angle, curving onto a new course. Nothing unusual about that, though it did seem a little unusual that their relative velocity was still so low.

Not that it would have been possible for the Fenri to outrun them, not while the destroyer was capable of hyper VII, and they of only VI. Still, there were other ships on the way to join the hunt, most of them also hyper VI. The Fenri must have known that, and it would have made more sense for them to get up to speed as fast as possible.

“Any conjecture on where they might be going, XO?” asked the Captain of his second in command, whose job it was to offer possibilities to her leader.

“There are a couple of frontier worlds that remain possibilities, Captain. Or they could just continue to cruise the shipping lanes looking for targets of opportunity.”

“And I think they must be doing something to shake us, sir,” said the Tactical Officer. “They have to know we’ll have more ships vectoring to our location. And they have to know about our ability to communicate over distances.”

“They can’t be sure this ship has that capability, Lieutenant,” cautioned the Exec.

“And they can’t be sure we don’t,” said Zhukov, looking over at his Klassekian Com Tech, one of the few who had been assigned to this region.

And since we’re in VII, there is no way they can get to us, can they? Their ship can’t get up this high, and if they had any hyper VII capable missiles, they would have already fired them.

“Tac. How difficult is it to make a hyper VII missile?”

“Not that difficult, sir,” answered the Lieutenant. “If they had sufficient supermetals, they could increase the capacity of the missile’s hyperdrive.”

“And if they cannibalized some of their other hyperdrive capable missiles?”

“They could do that, sir. Only.” The Tactical Officer fell silent for a moment, obviously thinking.

Captain let him have the moment of quiet to complete the thought, despite the unease he was now feeling. He kept looking at the plot, noticing that the Fenri seemed to be careful to not get above their maximum translation velocity. It seemed damned strange, and he knew they had to be up to something.

“Helm. Decelerate just a bit. I want to gain a couple of light seconds distance on them, just in case.”

“They wouldn’t even need to cannibalize their hyper capable missiles, sir. They could take the supermetals from the grabbers of their standard missiles to expand the capabilities of their hyperdrive units.”

“Could they do the same with their ships?”

“I don’t think so, sir. It would take more than four times the amount of materials they already have in the arrays to turn them into hyper VII units. All of the materials on all of their missiles and shuttles wouldn’t come to more than fifty percent of what is already in the arrays.”

“The Fenri ships just went into emergency deceleration, sir,” said the Sensor Chief from her station.

“What the hell?” asked the Exec.

“We have missile launch,” called out the Sensor Chief.

The Tactical Officer turned to his board, his eyes wide as he watched two icons separate from the Fenri battle cruiser and turn onto a heading for their ship. Seconds later they opened holes in hyperspace and jumped up to VII, less than two light seconds away and coming in at thirty thousand gravities.

“Launch counter missiles,” yelled Zhukov.

“Launching counters,” replied the Tactical Officer, hitting the lock on and commit panels on his board. “Powering up lasers.”

The counter missiles slashed out, aiming for the incoming missiles, which dodged away at thirty thousand gravities on their oversized grabber units. Of the thirty counters launched, all were clear misses. Lasers started to lock on as the counter missile launchers reloaded. The first volley of lasers missed.

“They’re moving too fast,” yelled out the Tactical Officer.

The missiles were like nothing the Imperial Fleet had ever seen. Fast, agile, with grabbers that looked like huge wings stopping just short of the hyperfield. They were impossible weapons that could not be made in mass, using three times the supermetals of an Imperial hyper VII capable missile. Imperial research and development would be very interested in them, if the destroyer survived long enough for their Com Tech to send the information back.

“Helm, prepare to jump to normal space.”

“Impact in seven seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“Powering up jump,” yelled the Helm, while the missiles drove in. One disappeared from the plot with a flare of brilliance, taken out by a laser. “Jumping.”

The hole in space opened, and the ship slid through microseconds before the missile would have intersected with them. The nausea passed, and all breathed a sigh of relief that they still existed.

“How fast can you get us back into hyper VII?” Zhukov asked the Chief Petty Officer who was the first line helmsman on the destroyer.

“I can have us powered up in nine minutes, sir.”

“Then get us back up there as fast as you can, Chief. And this time, I want us far enough back where they can’t catch us off guard again.”

Chapter Eleven

You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger. Buddha

Winston punched in the code on the keypad while a Marine held up the body of an engineering officer, another trooper holding the woman’s thumb to the biometric pad. Come on, thought Nagawa as he punched in the last number. The light blinked green twice, then stayed on, and the door started to slide open, revealing a room filled with machinery and instrument panels.

“The main control room is two levels up,’ said Nagawa, pointing to a flight of stairs across the chamber.

“Secure the room,” said Mishara to his Marines.

A pair in heavy suits sped into the room, their sensors taking in every nook and cranny. Another heavy suit followed, then a fire team of five Marines in medium shipboard armor.

“Clear,” called out the NCO in charge of the team over the com.

“You stay with me, PO,” said the Fleet Officer. “Let’s get this done.”

The party moved to the steps, the members spreading out and making sure nothing was left behind. Two of the Marine heavy suits led the way up the stairs, actually floating upward without making contact with the steps themselves. The Marine fire team followed, then Mishara and Nagata, then the rest of the group, leaving a couple of troopers behind.

The next level up was also unoccupied, and the second Marine fire team spread out through the area to make sure that they weren’t leaving something behind that might hit them in the rear. Nagata couldn’t believe that they were going to come up on the engineering control room without any kind of resistance.

“Look out,” yelled one of the Marines ahead, just before a couple of truncated screams came over the com. The Marine fire team ahead jumped off the stairs, rocketing away from the plasma ball that was flying down the stairway.

Nagawa froze in place, staring at the ravening ball of plasma that was going to burn him out of his suit. A gauntlet hit him in the back shoulder and pushed him off the stairs and out of the way.

“Shut down that reactor,” shouted the voice of Mishara over the com, just before his voice was cut off.

Nagawa turned in the air, seeing the officer who had saved his life turned into a melting torch of metal and flesh. The ball of plasma continued on down the stairs, melting the steps, then hitting the landing to the stairs below and burning through.

The PO couldn’t believe he was still alive, and also couldn’t understand why the officer hadn’t jumped himself out of the way, but had instead saved an Engineering Mate PO First. He hung in the air, the worst thing he could do, while everyone else was on the move.

“PO Nagawa,” yelled one of the Marine NCOs. “Get under cover. Now.”

The Marine fire team and the two remaining heavy suits were still floating in the air, firing everything they had at the now revealed plasma cannon. Heavy particle beams, strings of grenades, even a hyper-velocity missile. The plasma cannon got off one more shot, this time rotating the barrel to take a single one of the heavy suits under fire. The Marine in that suit was good, waiting for the last moment, then jetting away at his maximum acceleration just before the cannon fired.

That was the last shot the cannon got off before the concussion of heavy explosions rocked the landing above and pieces of machinery, along with the armored body of a Fenri, came falling down the stairs.

“Hit them,” yelled the Gunnery Sergeant who was in charge of the Marines. The heavy suits and the medium armored fire team rocketed up behind a spray of fire. Some shots came back, not many, and not for long, as the Marines overran the next landing and headed up to the central level of the engineering spaces.

“We’ve got them on the run,” called the fire team leader.

“Don’t let them get sealed into the control room,” yelled Nagawa over the com, finally overcoming his shock and realizing that he had been saved for the purpose of getting into that room and stopping the Fenri from blowing the ship out of existence.

“You heard the man, Marines,” yelled the Gunnery Sergeant, leading the rest of the Marines in a flight up the steps. “Run them down.”

The level above echoed with the angry buzzing of particle beams and the popping explosions of grenades, the cries of victory and pain over the com, the shaking of the floor as heavy armored suits fell. Nagawa started up after them, then was warned back.

“Hold on, Nagawa,” ordered the Gunny. “Let us make sure they’re cleared out first.”

The shooting and explosions had stopped by then, but that didn’t mean there weren’t Fenri up there.

“Clear,” called out the Gunny. “Nagawa. Come on up and make sure they didn’t set this thing to blow.”

Winston cleared the stairs and was looking at the door to the control room across thirty meters of engineering spaces. To either side of the thick hatch into the control room were the curving walls of the twin reactor chambers. There really didn’t seem to be much curve to those walls, until one realized just how large those outer chambers were. A liner like this had two chambers, each seventy meters across, with four meter thick walls. Inside were the fifty meter wide reactor vessels, with their five meter thick walls and the forty meter circular reaction chambers. Even to someone who was used to working with those reactors the sight of them was awe inspiring. Powering the multi-megaton vessel, capable of propelling it into hyperspace, each reactor generated more power than the entire pre-space-age Earth. And either one could be overloaded to the point of blasting through all the protective walls and converting the huge ship to plasma.

“Look out,” yelled one of the Marines, and the angry insect sound of particle beams flooded the room.

“Where the hell did they come from?” yelled the Gunny.

Winston picked up the four Fenri who came running out of the access tube, firing at the Marines and running for the control room. A fifth Fenri stopped at the entrance of the access tube and provided covering fire for his comrades. Most of the Marines concentrated on that one, since he represented the greatest threat to their survival. Nagawa’s concentration was totally on the four heading into the control room, since they were the ones that could destroy the ship.

A pair of Marines stood in the hatchway to the control room, firing their particle beams at the oncoming Fenri. They shot two down before they went down under the fire of the two remaining. Those Fenri jumped over the falling bodies of the Marines, one turning to take the other Marines under fire.

Nagawa was not a Marine, and had only had rudimentary shipboard combat training. He did know that he needed to stop the Fenri from overloading the reactor, and if he didn’t act fast, it would be too late.

He realized his mistake as soon as he took a couple of running steps into the open. He should have floated on his grabbers and made the trip in half the time. Instead, he was a slow moving object that attracted the attention of both Fenri that were still firing into the chamber. One, the Fenri covering the chamber, shot at him and missed, just before a string of launched grenades blasted apart the torso of the suit. The second fired and scored a glancing hit, the heat penetrating the armor of Winston’s arm and causing him to cry out in pain. His lucky shot caught the Fenri in the face plate, making the alien duck down and yell out. The Gunny took care of that Fenri before he could recover with a long range shot.

Nagawa was into the control room just in time to see the Fenri finish imputing the overload instructions. Merchant Marine and passengers ships didn’t have self-destruct mechanisms like warships, where there was a major fear of technology falling into enemy hands. They were made to be as safe and foolproof as possible, and to make the reactor overload took minutes of safety bypasses. The Fenri had already set up those bypasses, needing only the final code to make the reactor load more antimatter than it could handle. That would still take a few minutes, but the Fenri shot the control panel with his rifle to make it impossible to reverse the process.

“Too late,” yelled the Fenri in Anglo, bringing its rifle around.

“Not quite,” said Winston as he shot the creature through the head.

The Fenri fell to the floor as the ship’s computer started blaring out a warning that the reactors were going to overload, at the same time another voice counted down the time left.

“Shit,” said the Gunny from the hatchway. “We’re fucked.”

“Not yet,” said Winston, holding up a hand to motion the Gunny away. “Emergency engineering override Omega Epsilon Delta Three Three Three,” he said the air, hoping that this engineering crew had not decided to reset the shipyard default code loaded into the ship’s computers of this class of vessel.

“Override acknowledged” said the ship’s computer, and a holo screen sprung to life in the air in front of Nagawa.

The holo showed a reactor schematic, and Nagawa went to work on it as soon as it was firmed up. His hands flew over the schematic, closing valves, inserting commands, feeding energy into conduits to lead it away from the reactor. And all the time the countdown kept announcing how much time they had to live.

“Is this going to work?” asked the Gunny.

“Ask me when I’m done,” said the furious Engineer. And I don’t go asking you if you have a proper sight picture when you’re shooting at Fenri, he thought, making the final adjustments, then hitting the execute key.

“Overload aborted,” announced the computer voice. “Overload aborted.”

Winston let out the breath he had been holding. He had done it, not just saving his life, but the lives of his teammates and thousands of civilians.

“What do we need to do now, PO?” asked the Gunny.

“I need to stay here and make sure this system is running up to specs,” said Winston, switching the main controls over to another station. “You need to assign some people to keep this room secure. It wouldn’t do to have more of the little furry bastards come in here and start the whole thing going again.”

“You got it,” agreed the Gunny. “Sergeant Grant. You and your team keep the PO company. The rest of us are going to continue sweeping the ship.”

The Gunny clapped an armored gauntlet to Winston’s armored shoulder. “And good job, PO. I think you’ll be up for an award for this day’s work.”

“Hell, Gunny. I got all the reward I want. We’re still alive.”

* * *

“Good luck, Star of Zambez,” said Captain Pasce over the com to the liner they were leaving behind.

“I really wish I could talk you into escorting us, Captain,” said the former First Officer, now acting captain of the ship.

“We need to stay on that bastard that took you in the first place,” said Pasce, trying to keep the aggravation from his voice. He had already told this woman that his mission required them to stay on the tail of the battle cruiser. Yet she kept asking for the cruiser to escort them, when she wasn’t demanding it.

The expression on her face told him that she was finally accepting the inevitability of his position, not something she could ignore while the cruiser was generating vector away from her ship.

“Well, thank you for freeing us from those little bastards, Captain.”

“I think if you head directly to the nearest developing system you’ll be OK, Captain. As far as we know there are no more Fenri within range of you.” A developing world would have the defenses to fight, and most probably destroy, a two ship raiding party, while defending itself from their long range missile attack.

“I hope you’re right, Captain Pasce. Because if we run into another one, we’re all dead.”

“Preparing to jump into VII, sir,” said the Chief Petty Officer manning the helm.

“We’re jumping into VII, Captain Murray,” he told the woman on the other end of the com laser. Without waiting for her reply he gave the order, and Scranton opened the hole between the dimensions and slid through, leaving the liner moving in the other direction in the lower dimension.

“Follow the buoys, and catch us up to the Collins,” he ordered the Helm. And I hope they didn’t run into anything they couldn’t handle, he thought, still wondering what the Fenri plan was. It made no sense to leave some of their people behind on a civilian ship, when they could have just used their lasers to blow it out of space. The only thing that made sense was that they were using the liner as part of a multi-pronged trap. One prong had been apparent as soon as they sent the assault team over to the liner. The enemy had hoped they would remain alongside so they could detonate the liner’s reactors and take the cruiser with them. At the very least they would damage the warship to the point where they couldn’t continue their part of the pursuit. Pasce had seen through that plan and moved away as soon as he had released his assault group, and only after moving into hyperfield linkage at the last moment.

And if they had been destroyed, it still left the destroyer. So they had to have had a plan to take them out as well. That was his fear, and he sat on it the entire way, through multiple waypoints of buoys. And then the destroyer itself was on the sensors, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Match course and velocity with the Collins,” he ordered, noting that the destroyer was hanging back from the Fenri ships a little farther than before. “And don’t get any closer than the Collins until we know what happened here.”

Moments later the grav pulse signal came back to the cruiser, letting them know what happened, while he had his own Com Tech send their story to the destroyer. It wasn’t long until they were within laser com range, and the details could be filled in.

* * *

The Lord of Millions, Granis Feneris, glared at the plot and his followers once more, trying to come up with a plan that would rid him of these unwelcome tails. The liner and the hyper VII missiles his weapons’ crews had cobbled together had seemed like the best opportunity to rid himself of the inconvenience, while destroying a pair of human warships at the same time. But it had failed, and now they were bound to be more cautious.

That caution was already showing in the way they were now following. They were a couple of light minutes back in VI, which meant over thirty light seconds in VII. Even if he was able to get a missile going toward them at the maximum translation speed of his tech, point two eight light, it would take them more than two minutes to reach the target. And the humans had already proven they could translate quick enough to avoid the missiles.

“What do you want us to do, my Lord?” asked the Bridge Manager. His eyes were wide and alert, showing that he wanted to be able to do something. Near him hovered the Master of Battle, the same expression on her face.

But they have no more idea than I do on how to get rid of them, thought the commander of the team. We should have only sent out hyper VII ships. The only problem was that hyper VII was a new technology for the Fenri, and they had only been building ships capable of reaching that dimension for the last couple of years. Ninety-five percent of their ships at the beginning of hostilities were still VIs, and most of the VIIs had been destroyed in action.

“We will continue on and hit the targets we can,” he finally said to his second in command and chief combat officer. “Hopefully some more merchant or passenger ships will appear. If not, we will continue on to this star here, where we should find another of their frontier planets.”

“And when they vector more ships to our location?” asked the Master of Battle.

“Then we will fulfill our oath to the Emperor and die gloriously in his name, taking as many of the enemy with us as we can.”

It would do nothing to save their own Empire, which was sure to be overrun by the humans in the very near future. But it would add to the expense of their conquest, and would contribute to the pride of his species, that they had gone down fighting.

* * *

SPACE BETWEEN THE NEW MOSCOW AND THE FENRI EMPIRE: SEPTEMBER 1ST, 1002.

“We have Ca’cadasan ships on approach, Admiral,” called out Klassekian Com Tech, sitting her station on the flag bridge of the light cruiser.

“How many?” asked Rear Admiral Natasha Romanov, New Terran Republic Fleet, stepping over from the holo she had been studying that showed the dispositions of her command. She had the Republic side of the picket that stretched across this area of the space between New Moscow and the Fenri Empire. The ships, all now equipped with either a Klassekian tech, a wormhole, or in the case of her flagship, both, were keeping watch on the Ca’cadasans, serving as an early warning line for when the inevitable resumption of their offensive kicked off.

“The Galascos is reporting twenty-seven ships, Admiral. Eight of them superbattleships.”

This has to be another probe, thought Romanov, looking on the plot to see the location of the frigate that was sending the information over the quantum connection to the tech aboard. Orleans was the command ship for eight squadrons of frigates and three of destroyers, a total of one hundred and thirty-three ships including the cruiser. Each squadron had two sibling groups of Klassekians assigned, one to each ship, while one member of each group was aboard the cruiser on the newly created com wall of the flag bridge. There were twenty-two of the strange looking aliens aboard, though not all were at their posts at this moment. The cruiser itself had a wormhole, connecting to Fleet Command back in the Republic.

“Pellasco is picking up another group, ma’am,” reported one of the techs who was not on the bridge over the com. Even off duty, the Klassekians were always connected to their siblings, able to transmit the information up the line instantaneously.

Pellasco was another frigate in another squadron, about forty light years from the first frigate. Her command was spread over an area of sixty by fifty light years, a surface of over three thousand square light years. That meant her ships were on average covering twenty two square light years each, way beyond the coverage range of their sensors. The total area between New Moscow and the Fenri Empire was over four million square light years, an impossible to cover total. The republic had over twelve hundred vessels tasked to this picket, while the Empire had another three thousand, still not enough. They hung in space, invisible to the enemy, searching for any signals, moving periodically to new spots at random. There wasn’t a hope of covering the entire area, not and do all the other things a fleet in wartime needed to do. They would never be able to catch every incursion, but it was hoped that the pickets, and the roving patrols behind them, would at least catch wind of any large scale force moving through.

It was so much easier when we knew their regular path of entry into our space, thought the Admiral, watching as fifteen other icons appeared on the plot. Then they had only needed a couple of score ships to cover the entire zone, and could even launch hyper capable missiles down the throats of ships heading through, which they did at times.

“Make sure the information gets up the line to HQ,” ordered the Admiral, looking at the Lt. Commander who in charge of the newly reorganized com division. “It looks like our friends are starting to get frisky again.”

Traffic had been picking up over the last month, until now there were multiple incursions every day across this frontier. Still not enough to be alarmed about, and most of the groups that crossed the picket line came back several days later, or most of the ships did. Some disappeared past the frontier, some to be located by the roving patrols, often with a battle ensuing. Others to wander on with their scouts.

“I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing fleets in the near future, ma’am,” said the Task Group Tactical Officer.

“I’m sure of it,” said Romanov. “We may have kicked them out of our space, but we always knew they’d be back.”

It wasn’t her force’s job to stop incursions, especially the fleet variety. No, their job was to pick them up and let the people further up know what had passed through, and where it was most likely going.

“Third group coming through,” called out another Tech. The Republic still didn’t have many of the alien com wizards, and over half of what they had been given had been assigned to picket duty.

The third group appeared at the very edge of her patrol area, and this one made her sit up and take notice. Over two hundred ships, fifty of them superbattleships, it was the largest incursion to date to come through her zone. And three more or less simultaneous incursions were also something new.

This may not be the invasion, she thought, looking at the three blinking icons on the plot, and wondering how many others might be coming through in places they didn’t have sensor coverage. But it’s definitely the preliminary.

* * *

CAPITULUM. SEPTEMBER 2ND, 1002.

“We’ve got another one, your Majesty,” said McCullom over the holo.

Sean was in his office at the palace, going over a speech he was soon to make to the joint Houses of Parliament. He had to hit a hopeful tone that projected victory, while at the same time cautioning the members that not everything was going their way. At least with people like Zhee no longer in the wings, the job has become easier, he thought. Not that there still weren’t a few obstructionists in Parliament, but none with the dedication of the Countess.

And if someone had told me three years ago that I would be the dedicated politician, I would have laughed at them, thought the Emperor. Even though he held more political power in his hands than probably any Emperor Post Constitution, and more military might than any previous monarch in human history, at times it still seemed like he was herding cats.

“What did you get?” asked Sean after stifling a yawn and wondering if he was ever going to get enough sleep.

“One of their battleships was creeping around a developing world,” said the Chief of Naval Operations, who looked as if she could use a little more sleep herself. “He got a little too cute, and one of our stealth/attack ships caught him just beyond the hyper barrier. A couple of missiles and a spine laser hit along his upper hyperdrive array, and there was no way he was going to escape. One of our battleships took him out in a close range duel.”

A small creature jumped up into the Emperor’s lap, startling him for a second before he realized that it was the cat the Duchess Mei had given him. He ran his hand through the soft fur of the Himalayan and received a deep pure in return. “Did we lose anything?”

“The battleship suffered some damage, and, of course, some loss of crew. But she took out the enemy battleship and her cruiser without a problem.”

“And that leaves what? Three more of their raider teams?”

“A battleship and two battle cruisers that we know of, your Majesty. And really no reason to believe there are any others.”

And there was no reason to believe there were any at one time, thought the Emperor. Like most border regions, there was just too much area to cover, something that made it possible for smugglers to work across the borders of star nations with some success. There could be a score of Fenri raiders working their way into the Empire right now. That no more had been detected was about the only hopeful sign, as it was almost a certainty that some roving patrol or other would come across one or more of them.

“What word on the operations against the Fenri?” asked Sean, knowing that the only way to protect his people from more raiders was to take that Empire out.

“They’re, persistent,” said McCullom with a frown. “Every time Admiral Lenkowski thinks he has them, they slip some of their force away. But he’s whittling them down, bit by bit. Every encounter takes out some of their fleet, and they can’t have much in the way of industrial capacity left.”

“Let’s hope not,” agreed Sean, stroking his pet, then looking down as another of the palace cats stroked his leg, looking for attention. Sean patted it on the head for a moment, then looked back at his senior Admiral. “We need to capture the son of a bitch who leads their Empire, Admiral. If he orders them to stand down, they’ll do it. And until he does, they’ll keep fighting.”

“And we’ll keep looking for him, your Majesty. But I’m afraid we’re more likely to destroy their fleet first. Either way, they can’t have much more fight in them.”

“And make sure you get some rest, Sondra. You can only keep pushing it so hard for so long before the crash.”

“Is that an order, your Majesty?” the Admiral asked with a slight smile.

“It is indeed,” said Sean with a stern look.

“Then maybe you should follow your own advice, sir. I know for a fact that you’re almost always up and doing something.”

“Spying on me, Admiral?”

“I don’t have to, your Majesty. I only have to check the com logs to see when you are talking to me and my people, and there’s not been a lot of room for sleep in that schedule.”

Sean yawned, then laughed as the second cat joined the first in his lap. “Point taken, Admiral. I’m for bed now.” And Parliament will just have to deal with my best effort.

Lying in bed, despite his exhaustion, Sean was having trouble falling asleep. Jennifer breathed softly on the bed next to him, in a deep sleep he could only envy. Something was tugging at his thoughts, a premonition that sleep would bring something he really didn’t want. So he fought sleep, until he could fight it no more, and finally dropped into a black chasm.

The first dream was normal, one of him as a child, roaming the grounds of the palace, playing with several of the many dogs his father kept. One of the dogs had cornered a palace cat in a tree, and the frightened feline looked down from its perch until Sean shooed the dogs away to let it come down. He picked up the cat after it landed softly on the ground and carried it into the house, away from the dogs who could smell its fear. One of the dogs jumped up, yipping, and the frightened cat struggled to get out of his grasp, digging a hind claw into the lobe of his right ear and ripping out. Sean ran crying into the palace, running to his mother, holding onto the ear that was dripping blood.

The dream ended, and the next began moments later. Despite his deep sleep Sean could sense that this one was different. This was one that would tell him something he didn’t want to know. And as soon as it started he realized he had seen these images before, a very bad sign, one that signaled that whatever he was seeing was looming in the near future.

His vantage point was on the surface of Jewel, standing before the great Reformed Catholic cathedral in Capitulum. He was looking up, high into the sky, at the streaks of fire that were coming down from space.

The first of the kinetics, for such he recognized them to be, hit a megascraper a couple of kilometers away, ripping through the building made of the toughest construction materials known, tumbling parts of the structure into the street below where they crushed vehicles and pedestrians. Smoke rose and the ground shook, then shook again over and over as more projectiles crashed into the city. Some took out buildings, including one that struck the cathedral to his back and converted it into a falling pile of rubble. Others hit much harder, and flashes of fire preceded rising mushroom clouds as megatons of force were released. Waves of force and fire swept out engulfing everything in their path.

Sean looked up, trying to see where the projectiles were coming from, to catch sight of an Imperial battleship falling through the air, flaming from friction, to land on the Imperial Zoo twenty kilometers distant. Sirens were sounding, barely audible over the crashing and booming of explosions, emergency vehicles responding to a crisis they couldn’t hope to cope with.

Resources that could respond, were. Laser and kinetic batteries on the outskirts of the enormous city were engaging targets in orbit. Lasers, normally invisible in both atmosphere and vacuum, were very visible as they transited the smoke filled air. Particle beams were made visible as red beams caused by the friction of the hyper-velocity protons with the air. Outgoing kinetics were all but invisible, only seen by a quick flash of air converted to plasma. They were more noticeable by the deep sonic boom of an object penetrating the atmosphere at thousands of times the speed of sound. Secondary were the swirling clouds of smoke caused for up to tens of kilometers from the cannon.

The Emperor couldn’t see what was happening above the atmosphere, though he was sure whatever was out there was catching hell. That didn’t help his capital, which was being hammered to rubble. He felt some anxiety as that dream thought went through his mind, and in the manner of dreams he elevated into the air. The city to the east was a burning mess, half the skyscrapers and megascrapers turned to rubble, many of the rest leaning in aspects of obvious structural damage. Far to the west a large cloud of smoke hung over the massive Constance the Great landing field, and Sean could see several large craters near the center of the facility. And then his attention was caught by the palace. Or the place where the palace had stood, now occupied by a large crater. All of the outbuildings had been blown down, and the forests on the grounds were ablaze.

He stared in horror at the remains of his home. The crater was deep, the sign of a massive and fast moving kinetic. He didn’t doubt that the crater went deep enough to have excavated or collapsed most of the substructure, including the emergency shelter. All dead, he thought. There was no way there could have been survivors from such a strike. Only those not home, or those who had been able to evacuate in time, were still alive.

This version of the dream was much more detailed than the others. It meant the incident probability was firming up, reaching for surety. The only thing the dream didn’t give him was a time frame. Tomorrow? A year from now? Ten?

“Sean,” said a familiar voice and something shook him. “Sean. Wake up honey.”

The Emperor’s eyes popped open, to see the beautiful face of his wife looking down on him. He could feel the cold sweat beading on his skin, and his muscles were trembling.

“You were having one of your dreams,” she said, running a hand over his chest.

“I don’t think it was a prophetic vision,” said Sean, lying to protect his wife, while not realizing that he was setting the lie into his own half-awake memory. “Just a bad dream.” And nothing that I can do anything about, except for keeping the bastards away from my capital. He didn’t think it would be that difficult, since any Caca task force would have to fight its way through over two thousand light years of his Empire.

Chapter Twelve

People never lie so much as after a hunt, during a war or before an election.

Otto von Bismarck

NEW TERRAN REPUBLIC, SEPTEMBER 2ND, 1002

“The shipyards are working at full capacity, Madame President,” said the manager of the industrial shipbuilding facility here in the Mangus system. “We will be turning out the first batch of the new destroyers in two weeks.”

President Julia Graham nodded as she looked over the hundreds of building slips that orbited the industrial world below. Every slip was full, many with ships that were nearing completion, others with vessels in the early stages of construction.

“All the destroyers are the new Imperial designs?” she asked, knowing that was what had been ordered.

“Yes, ma’am. In the proportions ordered. Half are the missile defense ships, while twenty five percent each are scout or strike versions.”

So the one good thing about losing over half our fleet to the Cacas is that we get to build a more modern force, thought the President with a frown, not forgetting that the loss of half her fleet also meant the loss of millions of experienced crew. And not only because they had skills that would be hard to replace, but because they were citizens. In the Republic the individual was considered important just for being a unique being, even more so than in the Empire.

“And when can we expect the first battleships?” She didn’t ask this manager about inertialess fighters, since none of them, or their carriers, were under construction here. This manager didn’t need to know anything about those assets. Not that they would have many of them to start, since they had very little in the way of negative matter production at moment.

“You can expect the first of the hyper VII battleships in a little under a year,” said the Manager, closing his eyes to link into his own system. “Two months later we will be able to clear all the building slips, giving the fleet those ships.”

“And that’s what? Fifty ships?” While that was a great number for any shipyard, it was not what they needed. One problem was that they were building only hyper VII ships, which required four times the mass of supermetals of a VI ship of the same class. But since the Cacas used only hyper VII ships, she had to agree with Sean that they needed to produce that type of ship exclusively. They were building more supermetal production facilities to meet the need, which took more time and industrial resources.

“Actually, fifty-four,” said the Manager. “We should be able to shave off a couple of months for the next group, starting with the thirty-three ships we will start working on as soon as the new slips are ready.”

So we should have six hundred new hyper VII battleships by this time next year, thought the President, adding up all of their shipyards and the time needed to build those ships. She had always been good at math, to the point where she had achieved a PhD in advanced mathematical theory before turning to politics. If the Cacas give us that long.

She would have to work out the details with her cabinet on how to move all of this if it became necessary. They had lucked out the first time the Cacas had punched a path through the Republic.

The New Terran Republic was an irregularly shaped nation about eight hundred light years at its widest expanse. The Cacas had punched right through the center in a cylinder about sixty light years in diameter. They had penetrated the industrial core of the Republic, taking out all of the industry and most of the population. Fortunately, that had only accounted for about forty-five percent of the heavy industry in the Republic. They weren’t as strong as they had been, but history was full of examples of nations that had been pushed against the wall and continued to fight. Nations led by great statesmen who had assumed the mantel of war leaders.

And I can be the next one, she thought with a smile on her face.

* * *

CAPITAL WORLD, CA’CADASAN EMPIRE.

Supreme Emperor of the Ca’cadasan Empire, Jresstratta IV, looked at the faces of the Cacada sitting around the conference table, noting many expressions of concern, if not outright fear. The gift of my predecessors, he thought with a scowl that heightened the fear. For generations untold Emperors had held the power of life and death over any subject of the Empire, no matter how low, or high, their station. That had made males afraid to speak the truth, afraid to fail. That had been fine when the Empire was expanding against weaker species. Now that they were fighting a power that could give as good as it got, he couldn’t afford to have leaders who were afraid to make decisions and take risks.

Jresstratta had tried to change that culture, a little bit at a time. He had been forced to pronounce doom on the Great Admiral Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow, and punish his family since he couldn’t get his hands on the Admiral. But he had also let some transgressions pass that would have resulted in punishment in the past, under his father.

“We should be prepared to resume offensive operations against the human Empire and its allies on schedule,” said Supreme Admiral Hassartaj L’sinantrana. “The first wormhole gates will arrive at the forward base in forty-seven days.”

“And the infiltration ships?”

“They will arrive at about the same time, my Supreme Lord. They are being carried by a pair of battleships each, so they can travel through hyper VII. As soon as they arrive, we will work on getting them through the frontier.”

“So you believe the plan is working?” asked the Emperor, wondering if the proposed probes would really accomplish anything, other than letting the enemy know something was up.

“We believe so, Supreme Lord. While we have no means of tracking their picket ships, our analysts believe there is no way they can cover the entire area. We have been moving larger and larger groups through with no response. We believe there is a high probability we can drop off the infiltrators past the frontier, but before we get to their original borders, without the humans realizing what we are doing.”

“And if they do intercept the infiltrator ships before they make it into the human Empire?” asked the Emperor.

“The crews have been instructed to destroy themselves before the humans discover there are Cacada aboard, and before they have any suspicion that we have actual working wormholes.”

The Emperor gave a head nod of acceptance. While he wouldn’t trust any of the human slaves who were aboard to act as the faces of the crew to destroy themselves, Ca’cadasan warriors would do so without hesitation. The humans that might intercept any of the infiltrators could become very suspicious, thinking they had found smugglers, but would have no idea what was actually going on.

“And you still think these daggers will strike the target?” asked the Emperor, still nervous about committing two of his scarce and precious wormholes to this project.

“There are no guarantees, Supreme Lord. If they both hit home as expected, we believe the disruption to enemy command, control and industry will be well worth it. If only one strikes home, it could still be a crippling blow, depending on which target we get to.”

“And we know nothing about these targets,” growled the Supreme Leader of External Intelligence. “Their defenses. The distances between targets at each location. We could end up there and find them impossible to take out.”

“We have the information from our prisoners giving us the general layout,” argued the Supreme Admiral.

“And you trust intelligence gathered from creatures who will tell you anything in order to live,” shouted the chief spy.

“Enough,” yelled the Emperor, slamming all four hands hard on the table. “It is decided. We must take some risks, and it is my decision that we go forward with this mission.”

The Supreme Leader of Intelligence bowed his head in acknowledgement. There was nothing else he could do when the Emperor commanded. The Supreme Admiral smiled, since the Emperor’s declaration put the success of the mission on the ruler’s shoulders. The only one in the Empire who could make a decision without worrying about the personal consequences.

The expression on the Supreme Admiral’s face changed, and the Emperor had to wonder what bad news was coming.

“As you know, Supreme Lord, we also dispatched a wormhole to the other front, so that we might have communications with them as well. The ship is still two months away from the Front HQ, but it met a courier coming from the front back to the capital.”

“And I assume that the courier had news of import.” The Admiral continued to look at the table with a worried expression on his face.

“Spit it out, Hassartaj. I am sure that the news had nothing that you could be responsible for.”

“It is grave news indeed, Supreme Lord. The Front Commander had intelligence about the enemy’s home base, and acted on it.”

“So, he sent a fleet to take out their home system? Something we have wanted to do since the war started on that front. But from the way you’re acting, something went wrong.”

“Several things went wrong, Supreme Lord. For they found that not only were the Klavarta actually a genetically engineered type of human, the humans of this Empire we have been discussing had also made contact with them. They used some more of those impossible fighters to harry the fleet.”

“And how did the Imperials get their fighters there?” asked the Emperor. “Let me guess, wormholes. So both groups of humans are now in contact with each other. By the Gods, what else could go wrong.”

“Much more, Supreme Lord. Much more.”

“Well? As I said, Admiral, I will not hold you responsible what happened. But if you don’t give me the information, the truth, you will be punished.”

“Yes, Supreme Lord,” said the Admiral in a soft voice, bowing his head again. “They seem to have solved the problem of controlling and directing their impossible fighters. But we may have found a way to track them while they are in their FTL configuration.”

“That is good news, Admiral.” The Emperor looked over at his Science and Industry Ministers. “I want all of our resources directed to perfecting that method, no matter what it takes.” He looked back at his Supreme Admiral. “Am I to assume that the Front Commander’s fleet destroyed the enemy capital system.”

“They did, Supreme Lord. But the Imperials evacuated much of the population away with a wormhole. And then the humans did something with their wormhole and released a blast of unimaginable power. They destroyed half of the fleet that had deployed for offensive action. And with it the Front Commander.”

Just as well he died in combat, thought the Emperor of the male that had led half of his force to destruction. “How powerful was the blast?”

“The Admiral who took over the force estimated that it was in the three hundred petaton range. It scoured the moon clean and actually sent much of the crust into space, while destroying ships up to ten thousand kilometers distanct.”

“Then we need to find out how to generate such a force ourselves,” said the Emperor, looking back to his tech experts. “Put resources into this as well. We cannot afford to have the enemy possess such destructive power and not have it ourselves.”

“Yes, Supreme Lord.”

“Then we will adjourn for now,” said the Emperor, thinking they could get to work on what he commanded and they would get back to him when they had something to report. He knew it would do no good to try and pressure them to come up with results. Technological progress didn’t work that way.

“And Admiral,” he said as he stood up. “I want to know as soon as we have instantaneous contact with the Front commander. Understood?”

The Emperor really hadn’t expected to hear anything from the Supreme Admiral for days at least. So he was surprised when that male commed him a couple of hours later, when the Emperor was settling down to a meal. Since all of his leaders knew not to disturb him at such times, unless it was something important, he didn’t think the news was going to be good.

“We have a revolt on one of the slave planets, Supreme Lord,” said the Supreme Admiral, looking out from the holo.

“And the military can’t handle something like a revolt?”

“I believe the only way we can put down this revolt is by bombardment of the planet, Supreme Lord. And only you can order such, since it might mean the extinction of an intelligent species.”

“Which species?” asked the Emperor, knowing that if they were talking extinction, it must be a newly conquered species that had not spread off their homeworld. An image formed in his mind of who it might be, and he gave a head shake of negation.

“These, Supreme Lord,” replied the Admiral, and the holo switched to show the scene of a city of wood and stone, and some large placid looking creatures going about their business.

Rashanis, thought the Emperor, surprised despite having guessed their identity. They plodded along the street, taking ponderous steps, looking like the most tractable sentients there could be. Not anything that could be a threat. He really couldn’t tell males from females in this species, and wondered if maybe the nondominant sex was restricted from being in public, much as the females of his own species. They look like they would make good beasts of burden, but nothing more. But he had seen two of the creatures in the arena, and they had looked anything but placid at that time.

“And this is the view we have of their capital city after the incident that turned them.”

The holo now showed an entire square full of the creatures. They no longer plodded. Instead, they moved with speed, their red eyes darting everywhere, claws extended. Where before they had looked like lumps, now they appeared cut with strong muscles. Every once in a while one would attack another, like two angry predators accidentally intruding into each other’s territory. But mostly they concentrated on the aliens in their midst.

The view zoomed in on one of those intruders, a Cacada in full battle armor. Ca’cadasan males were large creatures, even more so in their armor. And the male was dwarfed by the massive creatures that backed it up into a corner and pounded on it. Even the stout claws couldn’t penetrate the best armor Ca’cadasan science could devise. But they were putting massive dents into the armor where they struck, bending the alloy into shapes that told of broken limbs underneath. When they had hit him enough, the male went down, and the Rashanis stomped on him until he was no longer moving.

Other Ca’cadasan warriors were firing weapons into the rampaging crowd. Hypervelocity pellets penetrated tough skin, but only incapacitated when they hit vital areas. Particle beams killed, if they hit head or torso. Anything else was only a wound, even if it took off an arm or a leg. Creatures with one arm continued to attack with the other, while those missing a leg crawled forward, continuing to advance on the Ca’cadasans.

They feel no pain, he thought as one of the creatures picked up a Ca’cadasan warrior and flung him hard to the stones of the street, then stomped on him. They’re only stopped by death. What would they be like with modern armor on their bodies.

“The entire planet has gone into revolt, Supreme Lord,” said the Admiral. “It is like something in the air, like a pheromone, that set them all off, spreading from creature to creature.”

“What was the incident you spoke of?”

The Supreme Admiral looked down for a moment, as if reluctant to tell his Emperor what stupidity had set off an entire planet full of peaceful sentients and turned them into murderous monsters.

“The incident?”

“One of the warriors on the ground killed a child that would not get out of his way fast enough. The creatures looked at the dead child for some minutes, then started up a keening, until some started to change. The change swept out, until they were all like this.”

So these creatures believe their children are important, the same as we do. And the military commander of that planet couldn’t drive that important lesson home to his troopers.

“We have no way of control the surface at this point, and the creatures show no signs of calming. That is why we are requesting an orbital bombardment.”

“No,” shouted the Emperor, slamming a fist on the arm of his chair. “You will continue to observe them. If you have to evacuate the surface, do so. And I want a population of specimens collected and sent to a research station. I want them to find out how to control these beings, so we can make use of them.”

The Emperor looked again at the vid showing hundreds of the creatures wading through the fire of the Ca’cadasans. Scores went down, while the remainder rushed their tormentors and ripped into them, perfect killing machines. And what will our enemies do when we land divisions of these creatures, fully armored, on their planets?

* * *

FENRI SPACE.

“We will be launching these ships within the next couple of weeks, your Majesty,” said the shipyard Engineer.

“And all have the modifications for raiding?” asked the Emperor of the Fenri, his eyes locked on the holo that showed the hyper VII battle cruisers sitting in space around a nondescript planet. There were a dozen of the ships, as well as twenty-four light cruisers that would be their consorts.

“All, your Majesty. These should come as a complete surprise to the humans.”

And we are reduced to hitting them where they are weakest, in battles that really mean nothing, thought the Emperor. It was hard for the Fenri to take, but it was reality. If only we had not taken the word of the Ca’cadasans, thought the Emperor. The huge aliens had promised the Universe, and delivered very little, leading the Fenri on a campaign that had turned disastrously against them almost from the start.

If we survive this, we need to make some changes to our culture, thought the Emperor, remembering all the horrible decisions that had been made during the campaigns. Some of them were his horrible decisions, and there was no one left to blame. Being Emperor, he could have scapegoated someone else, but he had to honest with himself if he wanted to lead.

The Fenri had evolved as pack hunters on a world where they were among the smallest predators on the planet. They had started out as the most ferocious of hunters, using their numbers and courage to overwhelm and drive their larger competition out of their territories. With time had come intelligence, and the extinction of their competition. Eventually they had conquered space, then benefited from the benevolence of the Ancients. But they had found themselves once again the smallest of the spaceborne species. And again their pride and ferocity had come to the fore, while they carved out an Empire among the stars.

That pride and ferocity had not served them well when they had encountered the humans, who, while no less prideful, fought with cunning. And now we need to learn to fight with cunning as well.

“Any word on the second wave of ships?” asked the Emperor after they dismissed the Engineer.

“So far the news is not good, my Liege,” replied the Liaison Officer. “The humans swarm through our space, and we know that six of the teams have been destroyed. Of the remaining four, we know not.”

And such is our Empire, that we must sneak through space to punish the humans, while they are in the better position to punish us even harder. But what else can we do? The Emperor didn’t even pause to wonder at his thought processes, the same that had doomed his people in this war.

* * *

“That’s another one,” said Grand Fleet Admiral the Gabriel Len Lenkowski, watching the take as a Fenri battleship converted to plasma from a direct missile hit. “And that’s what? Eight so far?”

“Correct, sir,” said his Chief of Staff, Rear Admiral Xiang Dou, nodding her head. “But, of course, we don’t know how many there are, how many we need to kill. So it’s hard to get too excited about one more kill.”

“True,” said Lenkowski after taking a sip of fine wine. “We really need to find the little furry bastard running the whole show and take him out.”

“Kind of racist, aren’t you, sir.”

“I refuse to hide my feelings for the little slavers. I hate their asses, and wouldn’t shed a single tear if all of them disappeared tomorrow.” He raised a hand before his Chief of Staff could protest. “I know. The Emperor would have a fit if I proposed genocide. I’m not sure I could live with myself either, but the little hairy bastards truly piss me off.” The Admiral took another sip of wine, wishing he could just go ahead and get falling down drunk. He had sent enough people to their deaths in this war, the largest in human history. He would be just as happy to not have to send any more. But he was realistic enough to realize that he was one of Sean’s best field commanders, and it would be selfish of him not to serve.

And I’m always on duty, he thought as he put the wine glass back on the table. Even with sober-up, it’s something I really can’t risk.

“The solution, sir, is not to kill the Fenri Emperor. If we could capture him, and get him to order his forces to stand down, we win. He is, after all, the ultimate alpha male of his species. What he says goes, and no one of their military would think to disobey.”

“If we can convince him to issue such an order,” said Lenkowski, shaking his head. “They’re stubborn little bastards, and he’s likely to be even more stubborn than the rest.”

“We could program him. Or possibly we could use a computer simulation to fool the Fenri.”

“Maybe,” said Lenkowski, motioning for his steward to refill his glass. The Petty Officer came quickly with the open bottle and poured more of the white, a vintage from Duke Mgonda’s own estates, into the glass. The Admiral gave the Steward a smile, knowing how hard it was to find a good one, and looked back at his Chief of Staff. “But I wouldn’t count on such a strategy working. No, we need to capture the real deal, and parade him in front of his people in a manner such that they can’t dispute the reality of his orders.”

“Well, first we have to find him, sir.”

“Yes. And I guess in the meantime, we can just keep killing their ships.” And losing more of our own people in every engagement. It didn’t really matter to him if they were losing people at the rate of one to every ten of the Fenri, thanks to their numerical and technological superiority. What mattered to him was that he was losing people, and that was a bleeding wound he wanted to eliminate.

* * *

IMPERIAL PALACE, CAPITULUM.

“I wish Cornelius could be here,” said Rebecca Walborski after blowing out the candles on her cake. She still wasn’t comfortable with celebrating her fifteenth birthday according to the Imperial Standard Calendar. On Azure they had celebrated events on the local calendar, but Jewel, being the center of the Empire, used the standard means of timekeeping to tie everything together.

“Your Daddy is busy with training, Honey,” said Devera Walborski, her adoptive mother. “You know he would be here if he could.”

Rebecca nodded, really wishing that she was doing something for the war effort. She was exactly six years away from being able to enroll in one of the Fleet Academies. Seeing as her adoptive father was friends with the Emperor, she didn’t doubt she would get into Peal Island, if she made the grades. Without the academic background, it wouldn’t matter who she knew. Fortunately, she was at the top of her class in the prestigious private academy she attended. Some of her classmates thought she was a teacher’s pet. She really didn’t care what they thought about her, as long as she became a Fleet officer, and was able to get some payback for her parents and brother, victims of the Cacas on Azure.

“Cake. Cake,” said Cornelius Junior, waving his fork in the air while staring at the birthday cake.

Junior was going on three himself, less than a half year away, and was becoming quite the pain in the neck for Rebecca. But as obnoxious as he could be, she still loved him. She loved all of her adoptive family, who had saved her from going into the system of foster homes that was the fate for most child survivors of the war. But it still wasn’t the same as biological family.

“What are you thinking, honey?” asked Devera, leaning forward to hand a knife to Rebecca.

“That I still have so long to go before I can start killing Cacas, like Cornelius.”

Devera gave her a concerned look, silent for a moment. “You need to enjoy being a child while you can, Rebecca. You’ll be an adult soon enough. And I doubt the war will be over before you graduate from the academy. So just let yourself be a child and enjoy life.”

How can I? thought Rebecca, smiling at Devera, faking it so that her adoptive mother wouldn’t become distressed at the thought that all the child could think of was visiting death on the enemy. Much like her adoptive father, who was probably the best killer she knew. And he only wanted to be a farmer, until the Cacas came and killed his wife, Junior’s mother.

“I’ll try,” she told Devera, knowing it was a lie. Meanwhile, she had some cake to eat, while remembering to make sure she stayed in shape. Because the Fleet didn’t just demand mental fitness in its officers, but athletic physical fitness as well.

Chapter Thirteen

Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please.

Mark Twain

IMPERIAL ARMY TRAINING BASE, PLANET RUBY SEPTEMBER 3RD, 1002

The rain was coming down hard, a true downpour hitting high in the trees and dripping in rivulets through the leaves to the ground. The kind of rain a soldier hated, even if encased in the dry comfort of battle armor. It was the kind of rain that obscured the senses and the sensors, making it hard to see or to hear what was moving.

The sentry was well placed, in a position where he was hard to see, but he could observe his surroundings, in normal conditions. In the rain he could only hear the rain, and even infrared systems were not working to full efficiency.

The Ranger moving into position was not much better off. Even a soldier in medium armor was difficult to see or hear in this kind of downpour, even with the augmented senses of a special ops warrior. What made the difference was experience. The Ranger knew the sounds of the wild, even in the rain. And the soldier could not hold still. He shifted his feet, moved his hands to try and wipe his faceplate, everything that the Ranger had been taught not to do when his life depended on it.

The Ranger made one last check of his passive stealth cloak, making sure to make only slow, deliberate movements that kept his hands close to his body. Even in the rain the stealth cloak was hot, holding in his body heat so that he wouldn’t give himself away on infrared. He couldn’t keep it sealed for too long, lest he cook in his own heat. He didn’t think he would need it for long, as this kill was almost in sight. With short, soft footsteps he moved a couple of meters, then stopped, checked the target, then moved again. He was almost to the target, coming up from the side and partially to the rear, knife out. He thought he was home free, until the armored soldier moved, swinging his rifle toward the Ranger.

The Ranger moved in a blur, faster than the eye of the soldier could follow. He grabbed the man by the helmet and spun him around. The soldier tried to resist. He was wearing light battle armor, augmenting his strength by a factor of three. Against an ordinary opponent he would have won the fight. But the Ranger was stronger still, and with the advantage of surprise he wrenched the soldier around and buried his knife in the man’s throat, the monomolecular blade sliding easily through the armor. The body of the man tensed, then relaxed, the sign of a sure kill.

“Good job, Colonel Walborskis,” called out a voice, just before a number of armored men and women appeared from out of the forest. “Now you men know why the Colonel is known as the Hunter.”

Cornelius shook the water off of his face and engaged the switch on the knife, turning off the holographic projection that had made it look real. The soldier he had killed rose up from the ground, his armor no longer locked down.

“I thought he almost had me there at the end,” said Walborski with a smile, slapping the young infantryman in training on the shoulder. “I must be getting old.”

“Turning and seeing you there, sir,” said the trainee with the shake of his head. “That about scared me to death.”

“I’ve never seen anyone move like you, Hunter,” said Brigadier General Wallace, the commander of the Infantry School at Fort Dismal, one of the training bases on the planet Ruby. “Seems like a waste to have promoted you to battalion command. You would serve the Empire better as a stalker.”

“That’s what I tried to tell them, General,” said Walborski with a laugh. “But they just wouldn’t listen to sense.”

Walborski looked at the people gathered out here in the rain, all field grade and higher, except for the trainee who had been the sacrificial lamb. He had been the only one who hadn’t been totally dialed in on what was going to happen. He had only been told that he was on guard duty, and that nothing was to pass. His suit sensors had been rigged so there would be no trace of the ten stealthed holo cameras that had recorded the scene.

“Hopefully your demonstration will teach these newbies to stay alert on sentry,” said a full Colonel from the infantry school.

“Either that, or it will give them nightmares,” said Wallace with a smile.

“I don’t seem to remember it being so wet on Ruby,” said Walborski, shivering slightly in the cold now that his cloak was no longer trapping his body heat. “All I remember is desert. Cold desert, but desert nonetheless.”

“It’s a planet, after all,” said Wallace after a chuckle. “With all that a planet has to give.”

“You trained here as a private, didn’t you, my Lord?” asked a Lt. Colonel.

“No need for the bowing and scraping among us,” said Cornelius. “And yes, I was a private here, getting my ass reamed out by DIs and wondering what in the hell I was doing here.”

“And now a Lt. Colonel, a Count, and only the second man in the history of the Empire to hold three awards of our highest military honor,” said Wallace. “I would say you made out very well.”

“And I miss being that newly made Ranger private, sir,” said Walborski, remembering those days when all he to worry about was his own hide, and his buddies and squad mates. “I miss going out on patrol and taking Cacas by the surprise, the way I took your young trainee.”

The General nodded. “I wish I could say the same, but frankly, serving as a platoon leader on the Lasharan Front was terrifying for this young man. I’m more than happy to be an educator at this point.”

And that’s probably the best place for you, thought Cornelius, not saying a word. He didn’t begrudge the General his training command. They needed such men, and he had proven himself under fire. For leadership they needed men like his friend Samuel Baggett. Last he had heard, that soldier was now an army commander, a huge rise from his role of brigade leader, which post the man held when Walborski met him. People of talent were rising quickly, if they didn’t die along the path.

The Ranger changed into a clean uniform when he got back to his quarters. One thing he didn’t miss from being a private was sharing his quarters with others. As a light colonel he rated field grade quarters. As a holder of the Imperial Medal of Heroism, and a noble, he rated more. The VIP quarters normally given to a brigadier or higher. He had tried to decline, saying all he needed were clean quarters with privacy, but the base commander had insisted.

Dressed in a fresh set of field fatigues, a static cloak over his shoulders against the rain, Walborski called for his driver. Another perk that came with rank. The Sergeant picked him up on the roof the quarters and they started out for the training range, passing over the heart of the base.

Fort Dismal was a brand new facility, one of scores that had sprung up on Ruby, one of thousands that had been constructed across the Empire. Old training bases got new barracks, new ranges, until they couldn’t hold any more. So new ones were built, as fast as the contractors could put them up. Soon they were passing by some of the ranges, where infantry trainees in light armor were practicing fire and maneuver. Holographic representations of particle beams lanced out. Troopers hit froze in place as their armor locked down.

Better to learn it here than in the field, thought Hunter. Even so, many of these young men and women would die in their first action. That was one of the immutable laws of warfare. The people with the least experience died in disproportionate numbers. Which didn’t mean veterans couldn’t get killed as well. Sometimes even the best combat soldier bought it.

On one of the ranges the forms of more infantry trainees were dwarfed by the armored vehicles they were training with. Tyrannosaurs, over a thousand tons of main battle tank, seemingly invulnerable to all but the heaviest of weapons. The infantry were training with them not only to learn how to use the armored vehicles to their own advantage, but how to destroy such vehicles when used against them.

He thought back to the battle he had watched on Sestius between an Imperial tank and some armored vehicles of the Cacas. The Cacas hadn’t had heavy tanks on Sestius, only some light tanks and the walking machines known as mecha, something the humans no longer used. The Imperial heavy tank had eaten those mecha alive, and he had heard that the Cacas still didn’t employ any kind of heavy armored vehicle. He wondered if that would change, if the Cacas would field heavies of their own in the future. The damned tankers would probably love that, thought the ground pounder. Like something out of the past, when armored armies fought it out for years over thousands of kilometers of territory. The hell with that, he thought. His type of warfare was sneaking up on an unsuspecting enemy, not duking it out in a fair fight in the open. Fair fights were for idiots.

The air car swept over the hill and they were in the training area that had been assigned to him and his men. A large forested area, nothing but wilderness, and a perfect training ground for Rangers. Some of his officers and senior NCOs ran out to the landing field as the air car set down. No one saluted. This was the field, after all, and Rangers did not do anything to give away the identity of their leaders in the field.

“Did you enjoy yourself, sir?” asked Major Tashika, his second in command for this experimental training.

“Like drowning kittens,” said Walborski with a frown. “Too damned easy. Now, I’m ready to get out into the woods and have some real fun, against some real competition.”

All of the men smiled as he said that. Everyone in the unit wanted to go against him, to prove themselves with the man they all thought was the best of them all. That was not the reason they were here, of course. Walborski looked over at the one alien in their midst, a strange looking creature of the Klassekian species. And the reason they were here.

So far the Army was not getting any of the quantumly entangled com techs. There wasn’t a great need for them, since the Army operated on a planetary scale, where the light speed barrier was not really a concern. And anything between commands, between systems, could be handled by the Fleet. If there had been enough Klassekians to go around the Army probably would have gotten their share on the general principle that anything the Fleet had, they needed in equal measure. Sean was not standing for that nonsense. The Army had the com assets they needed, for the most part. With the exception of Special Ops.

Rangers and Marine Force Recon operated in a mostly electronics absent environment. It was important in a Galaxy where almost any electronic signature could be picked up and in most cases interpreted, that units were able to move behind enemy lines undetected. And because of that they were totally out of touch with any headquarters. Which was where the aliens came in.

Only they aren’t Rangers, thought the Lt. Colonel. While it was true that they could move faster than any unaugmented human, they couldn’t move as fast as Rangers. They didn’t have the strength to carry the same load, nor were their senses as sharp. Though they could aid in communications, they were otherwise a liability in the field. He was afraid he was going to have to report the experiment a failure. Command wouldn’t like it, but that was the reason he had been put in charge of this project. They knew he wouldn’t be afraid to tell the truth, no matter how they might not want to hear it.

There might come a day when the Klassekians could keep up with augmented humans. That would require augmentation of their own, which would require significant research into their genome. And that would require volunteers, to donate their version of eggs and sperm, and eventually to go through the augmentation process itself. Informed volunteers who knew what was being done, the risks and benefits to themselves and their people. And of course there was no guarantee that Klassekians could be augmented to the same level as humans. Not all species had genomes as easily malleable as those of humans. It might take years, it might never happen.

Not my call, or my worry, thought Walborski as he followed his officers out into the brush. Someone higher up would make that call. And he still had a job to do evaluating the aliens as combat soldiers. Because he had a feeling that these beings would still make damned fine combat soldiers, even if they didn’t have what it took for special ops.

* * *

IMPERIAL SPACE.

“We’re picking up ships coming toward us in VII, sir,” said the Sensor Chief over the com.

Terrence Zhukov looked over at the central holo tank, configured as a tactical plot. Angela Collins and Scranton were at the center of that plot, the Fenri battle cruiser and its light cruiser consort slightly ahead. And now, on the edge of the plot to spinward, two icons had appeared, moving through hyper VII at point nine light, decelerating as they came.

“Looks like a light cruiser and a destroyer, sir. No, make that two light cruisers, with three destroyers following. No.”

“I see it, Chief,” said Zhukov with a short barked laugh. There were two light cruisers and five destroyers on the plot, now at maximum decel as they attempted to match courses with the two Imperial ships following the Fenri. “It looks like our first reinforcements have arrived. Make sure Scranton knows they’re there.”

“We’re getting a message from the Scranton, sir,” said the on duty Com Tech. “I believe they know.”

It took several hours for the other force to catch up to the pair, actually overshooting them at first before working their way back. Now they had enough of a force to worry the enemy, even if it really wasn’t sufficient to go toe to toe with them.

Zhukov waited for Pasce to interrogate the other ships, determining who was in charge. Five minutes after they reached laser com range, the captain of the Scranton was on the com with Zhukov.

“It looks like I’m the senior officer, Terrance,” said the full captain from his bridge. “I’ll be in charge, while Captain Hernandez of the Tandridge will be my second.”

“Any idea on when we’ll be engaging, sir”

“Not until we get some heavier units in contact,” said Pasce.

Preferably a battleship or two, thought Zhukov, shaking his head at the thought. We couldn’t be that lucky.

As if reading his mind, Pasce offered what he had heard from one of the other ships.

“Supposedly we have a couple of heavy cruisers heading this way. Along with some more light cruisers and destroyers. At least we’ll have a chance.”

* * *

“It looks like we’re no longer quite so alone, Winston,” said Petty Officer Second Jazmin Boros, walking up to the Engineer as he checked out the status boards for the reactors.

Ships really didn’t have a single or group of engines located in one part of the vessel. Warships had the dorsal and ventral hyperdrive arrays and from eight to fourteen grabber arrays. What was called engineering was really the central power generation facility for the ship, the matter-antimatter reactors which fed energy to all of those systems, as well as weapons and life support. Most ships carried two of the reactors, and only needed one up and running for most processes. Running along in hyper seven, even at maximum acceleration, only needed the one reactor. The second would be brought up online if they needed to jump into or out of hyper VII, a process that would consume over four times the amount of energy needed to just maintain station in that dimension.

At the moment the ship was running on the portside reactor, while the starboard unit was fed just enough antimatter to keep it warmed up. Computers could oversee all of the processes, but no human ship commander would allow that to happen. Living crew were always on watch, ready to step in and shut down a reactor, or start the other going, at a moment’s notice.

“What did you hear?” asked Winston, who had been too busy tracking down a fluctuation in the active reactor’s feed mechanism to pay attention to tactical systems.

“We’ve got some cruisers and destroyers alongside us now. I‘m thinking we might see some action.”

The woman was smiling as she spoke, and Winston was sure that some of those smiles were meant for him. While sex was forbidden between different ranking members of the same chain of command, such as he and the petty officer one rank below him, that didn’t always stop it from happening. But Nagawa was not attracted to women. He hadn’t made that clear to everyone aboard the ship, and didn’t feel that he needed to. After all, his sex life was his to share or not, and he was a private person in most respects.

He checked on the tactical net while he was thinking, and was not surprised to see that they were still outclassed by the Fenri capital ship. That didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be action. He just thought that any kind of action a small force of light cruisers and destroyers might pursue would not be exciting. Or maybe it would be exciting, until they were all blown out of space.

“I would rather we had gotten reinforced by a battleship,” said Nagawa, frowning. “Then we could let the battleship go toe to toe, while we sit back and watch.”

“Should have expected as much from a merchy,” said the woman with a huff. “All luxury and safety for you people. No sense of adventure.”

Boros turned her back and stormed away. Winston thought he might have disappointed her, not being a man of action and all. Not that it mattered, as she was the wrong gender for him. He was still tempted to call her back, to rake her over the coals for showing him such disrespect as to turn her back and storm off, when he was her superior. But after thinking about it a moment he decided to let it lie. As long as she did her job, and didn’t try to interfere with him doing his, she could be angry.

* * *

“Any change in the status of the enemy ships?” asked the Lord of Millions, looking at the tactical plot. He could see the enemy ships himself, a total of nine vessels, where only two had been following not too many hours ago.

“No, my Lord,” said the Sensor Operator. “They still scan as large and small escort vessels. Nothing that should worry us.”

And that is for me to decide, thought the force commander, glaring at the female who was interpreting his ship’s sensor feeds. While on a computer simulation it would seem that the force following his would not have a chance in a battle, battles were not fought in simulations. In real battles the unexpected tended to happen, and a lucky hit could cripple his ship, making him an easy hunt and kill for any capital ships that happened to come around.

The Sensor Operator looked down to the floor, the aspect of subservience that should have been her response to the glare of a superior. It really didn’t matter if she realized what had prompted that glare, only that she realize that she needed to watch what she said and did around those who controlled her fate.

Of course, since the enemy ships remained in the higher dimension, one he couldn’t reach, there was little he could do about them. He didn’t have the materials to build more hyper VII missiles, not unless he wanted to cut into his hyper VI missile inventory. He had a feeling he would be needing all of those weapons. And there were too many ships for him to take out with a couple of jury rigged weapons. If he didn’t get all of them, whatever was left would continue to trail him.

“Driver. Change heading for that star,” he ordered, pointing to an F class orb on the plot about seven light years to port. It appeared on their charts as another frontier world, one which would have less than a half million humans, but would also have a less than formidable defense. One he could probably destroy with a couple of spreads of normal space missiles. And he had plenty of those. “Time to normal space translation outside of that system.”

“Approximately eleven hours, my Lord.”

“Then let us get there as fast as we can. And then maybe, just maybe, we can do something to take some of the attention off of us.”

* * *

“The enemy battle cruiser has changed course, sir,” said the Lt. Junior Grade, the officer in charge of the communications division aboard the ship, and the specialist on duty on the bridge at that moment.

“Will their course change mean we come upon them sooner, or later” asked Captain Xerxes Pappilon, the commanding officer of the heavy cruiser Vincenzo, as well as the force commander of the two ship division made up of his vessel and the heavy cruiser Harbin.

His force was the most powerful for over forty light years in any direction, and the only one capable of reaching the enemy in less than four days. And, his ship happening to have a wormhole, by dint having been in the process of moving one out to Fenri front when the current situation developed, his was the only heavy force that command had been able to contact and vector onto the enemy.

Each of the heavy cruisers massed one point six million tons, almost double that of a light cruiser, with corresponding increases in weapons and armor. Still not a match for a battle cruiser, but capable of getting in some heavy licks, while taking considerable punishment. Papillon hoped that he had many more ships under his command than these two when it came to action. He knew he would have the force following the Fenri at the moment, three light cruisers and six destroyers. And more had been promised, though command was not forthcoming in what those other forces might be.

And it would be nice if we were hyper VII as well, thought the Captain. They were hyper VI, like most heavy cruisers in the fleet. If getting the wormhole to the Fenri front had been a priority, it would have gone by hyper VII ship, most likely a battle cruiser, which would have made this situation completely different. But they had what they had, and it was dependent on the hyper VII force currently in contact to herd the Fenri ship where they wanted it to go.

“On their current heading, it will add twenty-seven hours to intercept,” said the Navigation Officer, looking up from her station. “If they veer any more to spinward, we might find ourselves in a stern chase, and then we could be looking at a half week or longer to catch up with them.” Before the enemy changed course, it had looked like they would make intercept in less than forty-eight hours. Now they were looking at seventy-five hours or more. And a lot of damage could be inflicted in seventy-five hours.

“Unacceptable,” said the Captain, scowling. “Contact command. See if they can get the cruiser destroyer force to herd that battle cruiser back the way it was going. Or at least make sure they don’t go any further to spinward.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the Com Officer, going back to working her board.

And if that force can’t herd them, what else can they do? thought the Captain, going over the possibilities in his mind. They could attack and hope to cripple the battle cruiser, but probably get themselves killed. Could I ask that of them? I could, but would it be the right thing to do?

Papillon couldn’t come up with an answer, sitting there in his command chair, light years from the action. All he could do was hope that the commander on the spot could come up with an answer that was eluding him. Before more hundreds of thousands of Imperial citizens lost their lives.

* * *

“I’m not really sure what we’re going to accomplish here, Captain Pasce,” said the Captain of the Tandridge over the laser com. Her dark eyes looked out of her Mediterranean face as she frowned. “I mean, those missiles are going to be coming in slow, no matter how close we drop them.”

“And we really don’t need a hit, Captain Hernandez. All we need do is shake him up a little. Make him turn away from that system.”

They were still over three hours from the Santaria system, home of the frontier world that seemed to be the Fenri ships’ next target. There were about two hundred thousand people in the system, mostly human, most on the prime target, the inhabited planet. One spread of missiles into a system would kill those people and everything else on the planet.

Damned barbarians, thought Pasce, looking at a side holo that showed the blue globe of that planet, the fifth out from the F class star. It wasn’t a real time view, of course, since that system didn’t have any instantaneous communications assets. It was a memory trace from the cruiser’s databanks, filmed some years ago, when the system had boasted fifty thousand fewer citizens. Why the hell are they picking on such helpless targets?

The Fenri were the only power that would strike purposefully at living planets, wiping out the biological diversity of those worlds. The humans and their longtime allies, along with the Crakista and Elysium governments, had signed treaties centuries before banning the use of relativistic weapons against inhabitable worlds. The Lasharans would not do so for religious reasons, despite worshipping what many characterized as a God of Death. Even the Cacas seemed unwilling to destroy living worlds, it was said for religious reasons. They had, in fact, destroyed some worlds in the Empire, but the captured leaders of the force that had been defeated had sworn that they were aberrations. Rumors had gone around stating that the Cacas would destroy worlds that were predominantly of Terran genetic stock, especially those terraformed, but no one seemed to know for sure.

But the Fenri seemed intent on destroying as many human occupied worlds as possible, no matter how sparsely populated. It was an insane strategy, doing nothing to weaken the Empire, while stirring up what would become generations of animosity toward the Fenri. And we’re not going to let you have this one, thought Pasce, looking again at the beautiful blue world.

“Collins and Jonathan Carter are signaling that they are making for the system at flank speed, sir.”

“Wish them God speed. And let them know we’ll be launching our own attack in one hour.”

He watched as the icons of the two destroyers, now accelerating flat out, headed for the edge of the sensor envelope. They would reach normal space outside the system in two hours, an hour before the Fenri would be able to drop out of hyper and launch. They would be able to get a warning to the planet an hour earlier than they would have gotten by tracking the incoming battle cruiser. It would take the missiles of the Fenri over six hours to reach the planet, giving them seven hours total. Seemingly not much, but maybe enough to get a larger percentage of the population off the bull’s eye.

Chapter Fourteen

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.

Mahatma Gandhi

“Two of their cruisers are closing in hyper VII,” called out one of the Sensor Techs.

The Lord of Millions looked up from the holo he was studying in his cabin. Not anything of military significance, nothing of importance to the mission. Instead, it was a holo of a female of his species, dressed in the fine clothing of the noble class, sitting in a chamber that was obviously part of a manor house. With her were six smaller members of the species, three sets of twins, such as Fenri were genetically predisposed to birth. The children were in matched pairs of one male and one female, each pair two years apart from each other. Part of his family, who he missed dearly. They were in a safe place, he hoped, though if the humans found that they were the family of a Lord who had wiped out human worlds, he was not sure what would happen to them. That his actions were under the orders of his Emperor might not make enough of a difference.

“What are they doing?” he asked, turning off the holo.

“I don’t know, my Lord,” said the Bridge Manager, breaking into the com. “It’s possibly an attack.”

“What is their current velocity in hyper?”

“Point two six, my Lord,” said the Sensor Tech. “Well under their limit for hyper translation.”

And his ships were currently decelerating toward the target system, at point five seven light. If they translate down they will be able to attack, but we will pull away from them in no time, he thought. He got up from his seat, almost grateful to get away from the logs he needed to complete, that he had been ignoring while engaging in daydreams about his other life, outside of the fleet. His life as a lord of a great holding, with millions of Fenri loyal to him, and many times that of slaves. Sealing up his uniform, he exited his day cabin and headed for the bridge, ignoring the salutes of his two bodyguards, who fell into step behind him.

“We have a missile launch,” called out the Master of Battle as alarms went off over the bridge.

“Where from?” grunted the Lord of Millions, breaking into a run for the bridge. He had received no word of the enemy ships translating down, so what in the hell could they be launching at? Unless they were pulling something similar to what he had done.

The bridge hatch slid open as he approached, the pair of guards at that portal snapping off salutes and stepping aside. He rushed onto the bridge at the moment the enemy intent became apparent.

“Each cruiser launched a trio of missiles, my Lord,” said the Master of Battle, looking up from her station. “They just translated down to VI, two light seconds away, and are driving at us at ten thousand gravities. We are taking them under fire.”

“Time to impact?” he asked, plopping into his command chair and watching a three dimensional view of his ship going into evasive maneuvers.

“Seven seconds,” replied the Master of Battle, as the ship fired every beam weapon she possessed. The missiles had appeared inside the counter missile envelope, and there had been no time to launch them. But the beams took out two of the enemy missiles, relatively slow moving as they were, with the first volley. The second took out another, the third another still, while the close in weapons opened up as soon as the missiles passed the one light second mark.

Both missiles detonated close to the battle cruiser, sending heat and radiation into the hull. Damage klaxons sounded as the ship shook slightly.

“Report,” shouted the Lord, looking at a schematic that showed a relatively few red areas.

“Minor damage to the hull,” reported one of the bridge crew. “Two electromag projectors out.” The crewman looked over at his commander, a toothy smile on his face. “No other damage, my Lord.”

“And the cruisers?”

“Already falling back, my Lord,” said the Master of Battle. “It would seem that the attack is over.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” cautioned the commander. “They must have more hyper capable missiles, and I wouldn’t put it past them to try another attack if given the opportunity.”

The Master of Battle bowed her head. “We will be ready for them, Lord.”

“Now, if only we knew what happened to those destroyers they sent ahead,” said the Lord, looking at the tactical plot. “They may try another attack like that, using our own velocity against us.”

The Master of Battle bowed her head again, then turned back to her station. And the Lord of Millions continued to stare at the tactical plot, still worrying about the destroyers.

* * *

“I still don’t see what we accomplished with that maneuver,”said Captain Gloria Hernandez over the com.

“We’ve given them something else to think about,” said Pasce, watching as the battle cruiser continued to decelerate toward its objective. He didn’t see any change in its approach profile. And in VII they couldn’t see any of the minor damage they might have done the ships that were transiting VI.

“Did you consider launching from the front, Pasce?” asked the other Captain, her brow furrowing. “Then we could have used their own velocity against them.”

“Damn,” hissed Pasce, shaking his head. “I didn’t think of it. You’re right, of course, and I’m an idiot.” If he had launched ahead of the enemy, after dropping down to point two light, he could have translated his missiles in front of the enemy ships with a closing speed of over point five c. It still might not have accomplished anything, but it would have made the missiles harder targets to engage, and they might have generated several very near misses, if not a hit.

“You’re just tired, Francois,” replied the other Captain. “Lord knows, you’ve been on this bastard’s tail for almost a week now.”

And she’s right, of course, thought Pasce, rubbing his eyes. But there was no way he could take more than cat naps. Not with nine ships his responsibility, and the end of the chase nowhere in sight.

* * *

“Maintain our position outside of the hyper barrier, Helm,” order Zhukov. “Send the same order to Carter.”

The Commander looked at the plot that was showing the enemy battle cruiser dropping from hyper VI down to V, boosting its own graviton signal with each translation. As soon as it finished the drop it fell off the plot, no longer sending enough gravitons out to be picked up by the sensors of the destroyers.

“We’re receiving grav pulse signals from the commander of the system defense frigates,” said the Klassekian Com Tech in heavily accented terranglo. “They acknowledge your directives and will comply.”

“Very nice of them,” said Zhukov with a smile. The commander of the three frigates might have actually outranked him, but he had the backing of Captain Pasce behind him, so there was no argument. Those frigates and the class III fort around the planet were the only defenses in the system, enough to handle just about any conceivable pirate force, but not a capital ship as powerful as the one that was coming to call.

Zhukov took a second to study his Com Tech, still a strange looking creature if he had ever seen one. Most humans were used to aliens, and members of the Fleet were more used to non-humans than most. There were over thirty species of alien that were citizens of the Empire, and scores more in the region under the other governments. Zhukov had served with nonhumans throughout his career. His current command only had a couple aboard, two Malticons who worked engineering, where their small size might be an advantage. Otherwise, most destroyers were single species only ships, not having the space for special equipment or recreation facilities that other species might require. But the Klassekians were a special case. They had an ability in high demand, and he was glad to have her with him, as short as her deployment might be.

The Commander wondered how she felt about being aboard a ship full of what, to her, must be strange looking aliens as well. Her culture had never had contact with another species before humans found her planet. He wondered what she thought of humans. Did she find them hideous? What did she think of her circumstances, coming from a planet that had barely clawed a toehold in space, now serving aboard a starship, thousands of light years from her homeworld, involved in a war between the stars. He wasn’t sure how he would have handled it, put into her circumstance.

“Enemy ships now on plot,” said the Sensor Chief. “They’ve entered continuous scanning range.”

And now we’ll see you all the way in, thought Zhukov, wondering if he would still be alive in those minutes after the enemy entered normal space.

* * *

“Jumping to normal space, now,” called out the Driver, as the battle cruiser entered the hole leading from hyper I back to the Universe that the ship belonged to. A moment later the light cruiser that was her only ally in Imperial space followed after her, coming out several light seconds ahead of the capital ship.

“Scanning system now,” called out the Sensor Operator. The instruments on the ship drank in every photon, registered every graviton, until she had a picture of the system before her. The graviton readings were parsed first, coming as they did almost instantaneously from their sources. Every gravity source, every object moving under high tech drives was found and catalogued. The planets, moons and major asteroids appeared on the plot, which also updated with the information in the databanks of the system particulars. Everything was located and catalogued, including a score of commercial vessels and three frigates. Moments later the visual inputs were added, in most cases hours behind what the graviton sensors were showing.

“We have located all targets, Lord,” reported the Master of Battle. “It appears the frigates are moving to get between us and the prime planet. Two are in close proximity and further out, while the last is only a couple of light minutes out from the planet.”

“Have you located the destroyers?”

“No, my Lord. If they’re here, they’re not under power. And we’re not picking them up on passives. I am sending out active pulses, but it will take time to cover the entire system.”

“Very well. Let’s launch at the planet and frigates, then get out of here.”

The Master of Battle acknowledged, and the ship shuddered slightly as a full spread of missiles was released, twenty weapons heading toward their target at five thousand gravities acceleration. Some would take out the frigates on the way in, while the rest hit the planet with enough velocity to kill it. There was also a fort in orbit around the planet, unlike the last system they had hit, so the ship launched another spread. Forty missiles, all heading in. The system was dead. It would only take six hours of missile flight time for it to realize it.

“Get us out of here, Driver,” ordered the Lord of Millions, staring at the plot with bared fangs. “I wish we had the time to watch the missiles hit, but we must get moving, lest the enemy get more ships vectored on to us.”

The Driver acknowledged, and moments later the ship opened a hole back into hyper, while the ship drove toward and through it.

In a way the Lord wished he could stick around to see his handiwork. In another way he was glad he was leaving before he had to watch the death of a living world. He was a noble, and his family business for generations had been mostly agricultural. He had grown up learning how to grow products on his homeworld, to understand the rhythms of the living biosphere. His father and grandfather had taken him on numerous hunts, where he had learned to love the land and its wildlife. And here he was killing worlds that had their own unique life forms. He hated himself for doing it, but it had been ordered by the Emperor, so what else could he do?

“Course, my Lord?” asked the Driver.

He thought for a moment, bringing up the star chart of the local cluster. “I think to that star,” he finally said, pointing to a G class star that was not too far off of their initial course. “And I’m guessing our shadows are still with us.”

“Hanging in Hyper VII, where we can’t get to them,” said the Bridge Manager in a disgusted tone. “If only they would come down to our level, so we could get at them.”

They’re smarter than that, thought the Lord, spotting the enemy force moving on the plot, staying out beyond the VII barrier but staying as close to the Fenri pair as possible. They’re brave enough, these humans, but they don’t often make foolish mistakes.

Fifteen minutes later they were in hyper II, accelerating at maximum rate, approaching the point where they would start to decelerate again, working a least time profile to stair step their way out of the system and back to hyper VI.

“We have missile launch,” called out the Sensor Operator. “Twenty missiles in normal space. Acceleration, six thousand gravities. Heading into the system.”

“The destroyers,” exclaimed the Master of Battle. “They must be firing on our missiles.” She looked over at the commander with wide eyes. “Perhaps we should go back and destroy them, then target the planet again.”

“No,” said the Lord. “That could be what they want. And the longer we tarry, the more chance they will get more ships onto us. So no, we move on.”

* * *

“There they go,” said the Tactical Officer, watching as the icon of the Fenri battle cruiser moved into hyper I. It would be some twenty seconds before the visual they had of the ship matched the graviton image. “Too bad we couldn’t take a crack at them.”

“And we would have been blown out of space, Lieutenant,” said the Exec over the com in the tone one used to tell a child not to play in a predator filled swamp. “So just concentrate on doing what you’re told.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer in a hurt tone, looking to the holo screens over his station. “Enemy missiles running straight and true for their targets. Acceleration, five thousand gravities. Time to our launch, fourteen minutes.”

Zhukov nodded, smiling in satisfaction. It was good for a tactical officer to be aggressive, but sometimes he needed to have that aggressiveness tempered before it turned into foolishness.

“Enemy ships continuing to move off,” said the Sensor Chief.

“Carter reports they are ready to launch on your command,” said the Com Tech.

The timer clicked down, while many sets of eyes watched both the courses of the enemy missiles and those of the enemy ships. Both were of vital importance to the mission. If the enemy ships continued on until the destroyers launched, they would be too far away to come back and catch the destroyers. In fact, they were already too far away, since the fast accelerating destroyers could be out to the VII barrier and safe before the enemy could catch them in VI. But if they came back and launched again, then waited for their missiles to strike, the destroyers would be stuck on the horns of a dilemma. Could they come back in and launch counter fire again, and risk being taken by the battle cruiser? Zhukov doubted that they would come back. They had to know the longer they waited around in one place, the sooner more ships would be vectored in to destroy them.

And their own launch time and missile acceleration was of vital importance to the planet. The proper intercept would leave only a few enemy missiles to continue past the frigates and toward the planet. That would give the frigates and the orbital fort an almost perfect chance to take out what remained. Not that the destroyers would know the result, since as soon as they launched they were ordered to rejoin the force and continue to trail the enemy ships. They would have to be satisfied with the statistical probability that they had saved the planet, until something from the system made it to a communications node with word of what happened.

“Launching, now,” said the Tactical Officer, his voice once again confident now that he was doing his duty.

The ship shook slightly as she spun around on her axis, launching from front, port, stern and starboard tubes in that order. Eighteen missiles accelerated away, all of them the newer weapons capable of ten thousand gravities sustained acceleration. Eighteen missiles left the Carter at the same time, on the same heading. Fifteen seconds later both destroyers fired another spread, adding thirty-six more weapons to the attack. Seventy two in all, the icons appeared on the tactical plot, separating from the two destroyers on a stern chase of the enemy missiles.

All of the weapons were on an intercept course, piling on enough velocity each second to catch the enemy missiles just before they reached the frigates. They would detonate among the enemy weapons, close to the side or just ahead. If everything worked as planned they would destroy between ninety and a hundred percent of the enemy weapons.

“Signal Carter,” ordered Zhukov. “Follow us into hyper. We will rendezvous with the other ships as soon as possible.” And we will dog that bastard to the gates of hell, if that’s what it takes.

* * *

THE DONUT.

“That’s another two thousand of them,” said the Lt. Commander, checking off the new arrivals on his datapad. “Two thousand and fifty-seven to be exact.”

“And how many groups today?” asked Lucille Yu, watching as the strange looking aliens stood for a moment in awe at the gate room, hundreds of Tori portals, most filled with the shimmering mirrors of wormholes. They look strange to us now, thought Lucille, catching a huge Phlistaran Marine and a Gryphon spacer out of the corner of her eye. But soon they’ll just be another fixture of the Empire.

“This is the seventh group today, ma’am,” said the Commander, staring at the aliens. “And yesterday it was eight groups, all about this size.”

The Klassekians were coming in at the rate of about sixteen thousand day, over a hundred thousand a week. That was about the capacity of the shuttles on their home planet to bring them up to waiting liners, where they went through the wormhole gate to the Sector Base, where the other end of the ship portal was located. From there they would transfer to the headquarters in orbit around the planet, then through to the Donut, while the liner went back through to Klassek to pick up the next load.

The Phlistaran Marine, a major, stepped to the front of the new arrivals who were crowding the chamber. He started speaking, his words coming to Lucille in Terranglo, but other words also coming out of the air from the translation device his implant was linked to. The Klassekians all gave him their complete attention, one of the reasons he had been chosen for this task.

“All of you will see a cursor in the air to your front. Each of you will have your own cursor. Please follow the cursor, which will lead you to your temporary quarters. You will find a place to sleep and messing facilities. The food may not be the best you have ever had, but I can promise that it will be filling. In the next couple of days you will receive your training assignments.”

Lucille watched the reactions of the aliens, and really wasn’t sure what those reactions signified, since they were alien, and their culture totally unknown to her. Of course, these were all volunteers for the Imperial military. They were needed in ever increasing numbers in the Fleet due to their singular ability to instantaneously communicate with the siblings born to the same litter, no matter the distance. And due to the threat their planet was under, within the area of operations of the Machines that desired the death of everything living, it was also of great importance to get as many of their singular species away from their world as possible, just in case.

And what do we really know about them? thought the Director of the Donut, watching as the aliens, always moving in groups of from six to ten, their litters, walked out of the chamber. Normally she wouldn’t see them as a threat. But after attacks on her station by Yugalyth and Cacas, she had become somewhat paranoid of unknown aliens. If it had been her call, she would have moved them by liner through ship gates until they got to their training bases. Since it wasn’t her call, they would continue to come through her station.

She shrugged and walked from the chamber, heading for the tram stop that would take her back to her area of the station. She passed hundreds of beings, most in uniform, all either standing watch or hurrying about on some military task or another. There was the illusion that the station was full, which it was anything but. Only ten percent of the station’s living spaces were in use.

This wasn’t the plan, thought the woman who was in charge of the operation of the station’s primary function, the construction of wormholes. This was supposed to be a mostly civilian operation, with thousands of corporations headquartering here. The center of an Imperial hub of transport and commerce. Instead, it was another weapon in the war of extermination that was sweeping this part of the Galaxy.

She put those thoughts aside as the tram whisked her back to her part of the station. The fact of the matter was that it had been very fortunate that the station had come online when it had. A few years later and they wouldn’t have had the wormholes that were so vital in the successful prosecution of the war. The most probable outcome would have been the Cacas discovering the partially completed station when they took the Supersystem. Then, they would have finished it and used its ability to generate wormholes for their own expansion and conquest of the Galaxy.

After a twenty minute ride at high acceleration she arrived at the stop nearest the control center of the station. This area was even more crowded. And there were armed guards everywhere. The Empire wasn’t taking any more chances with the security of the station either. If it were lost, it would be a disaster of unprecedented magnitude. Of course, well used regions like this were not really the problem. There were too many people here to hide much. She amended that thought as she remembered the tens of thousands of storage rooms and out of the way nooks and crannies even in the well-used portions.

The problem was that the station was just too damned big to properly secure. There were too many empty spaces. Millions of floating sensor platforms, a hundred million stationary units, and ten divisions of Marines and Imperial Army infantry constantly patrolling still didn’t cover the whole thing. It was thought that patrols would happen upon ninety percent of possible incidents. Lucille wasn’t even sure she would agree with that statistic, but ten percent still sounded like just too much, when the Cacas had almost taken down the station with three quark devices.

“Morning, Director,” said her administrative assistant as she walked into the outer office.

“Morning.” Lucille had to check with the clock on her implant to see what time it actually was, though time was completely arbitrary on the station. They were synchronized to Capitulum standard time, the clock used by the largest city of the Empire. Which didn’t mean that everyone ran their lives on that clock. Lucille knew that she didn’t.

“Senior Agent Chung is waiting for you in your meeting room,” said the Secretary with a slight smile.

And it’s not like everyone and their cat doesn’t know we’re lovers, she thought, shrugging her shoulders.

Chung got up from his chair as she walked into the room. The short, dark haired agent made quite the contrast to his tall, blond haired lover. A wide smile stretched his face, and Lucille felt her own face return the compliment. She wasn’t sure why she had fallen for the man in charge of counterintelligence aboard the station, but she had.

“You look lovely today, my Dear,” said Chung, coming around the desk and wrapping her in his arms.

“Please,” said Lucille with a laugh, shaking her head. “I look like shit. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

“I guess I need to give you a better workout at night, then,” said the smiling Agent. The smile left his face in an instant, and he studied her face. “You do look tired. What’s disturbing your sleep? It can’t be the production of the station. You’ve got it working at peak efficiency.”

“I just have a feeling that something bad is going to happen to this place,” she said, moving away from him and plopping down in a chair. “I can’t explain it, but I had the same feeling the last three times this place almost got taken out.”

“So you think you have the Imperial gift now,” said Jimmy, putting his hands on her shoulders and kneading her muscles.

“That feels good,” said Lucille with a purr. “Almost good enough for me to not tell you to go stick it. I don’t have any Imperial gift. But my intuition does seem to be finely honed, and I have this feeling that something is going to happen.”

“Ok,” said Jimmy, taking his hands from her shoulders and taking a seat next to her. “You have a feeling that something bad is going to happen. When? And what more can we do about it?”

“I don’t know when, dammit,” Lucille cried. “As to what we can do about it? Maybe some more security might help.”

Jimmy nodded his head. “You know we have asked for more, but we’re not the only place at risk. In fact, I would have to say we’re less at risk than most vital facilities in the Empire. Hell, we’ve got a good percentage of the Home Fleet sitting in space around the black hole, and another good percentage on the other side of a series of gates, ready to come through at a moment’s notice.”

“And most of the close in fleet is deployed near the sets of ship gates,” said Lucille, thinking of those three sets of portals hanging in orbit around the black hole. They were the heart of the system that allowed the Empire to shift large forces rapidly between areas of operation. “That puts them over an hour away from the Donut.”

“And any enemy that attacks has to come across what? Sixteen light hours of space. Plenty of time and distance for a response.”

“Except your forgetting one thing, Jimmy.”

“And what might that be?” asked the Agent, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Wormholes. Someone with a wormhole could get it close to the station and bring ships through. Hell, they could just send through flights of missiles, just like we’re doing against the Cacas.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing that none of our enemies have wormholes, isn’t it.”

Lucille stared at her lover for a moment, thinking about what he had just said. The Donut couldn’t be the only way to make wormholes. True, it made it possible to make them en mass, but it wasn’t impossible to manufacture them by other means, and long as you had the energy. And did that mean that the Cacas didn’t have them? And wouldn’t have them in the near future? And if I suggest this to the military, they will just think I’m an alarmist, she thought, shaking her head. It really wasn’t worth it, since the odds of someone striking at the Donut in such a manner were astronomical, to say the least.

“You’re probably right, and I’m probably being alarmist. But I would still feel better if we had more security across the station. After all, we have had a strike through a wormhole before, and have been attacked by shapeshifting infiltrators, so you can’t tell me that it can’t happen.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” promised Jimmy, putting a hand back on her shoulder. “But I can’t promise anything. Squeaky wheels and all that, but they can also get ignored if they squeak too often.”

And I need to start thinking like a scientist, thought Lucille, who couldn’t get rid of the thought that something bad was going to happen. She wasn’t sure where the feeling came from, but her intuition gave her a clue. And it wasn’t a source in their Universe.

Chapter Fifteen

The quality of decision is like the well-timed swoop of a falcon which enables it to strike and destroy its victim.

Sun Tzu

IMPERIAL PALACE, CAPITULUM

“A number of the Lords are questioning our spreading our resources so thin,” said Baron Emile von Hausser Schmidt,Leader of the House of Lords. “Most can see the need to prop up the Republic, possibly even rebuilding New Moscow, though there have been some grumblings there as well. And of course we need to keep our traditional allies going. But most of the objections have to do with aid to the second front, as well as the new war you started out on the frontier.”

“Now wait a second, my Lord,” protested Samantha Ogden Lee, Sean’s cousin and Regent, the one who basically ran the Emperal branch of the government when Sean was absent. “Sean didn’t start that war. Those damned murderous machines attacked us. What are we supposed to do? Back off and let them slaughter every sentient species they find? We’re responsible for the damned things in the first place.”

Sean stared at his cousin for a moment. Samantha was normally the calmest person at any meeting she attended. But she had developed a passion for defending her cousin against any and all comers.

“Hold on, my Lady,” said Schmidt, raising his hands as if to ward off an attack. “I didn’t say I was objecting to fighting the Machines. But a significant number of Lords are questioning the wisdom of fighting them while we’re still engaged in hostilities against the Cacas.”

“And when do they think we should fight them, Baron?” asked Sean, leaning forward in his seat. “After they have wiped out an entire region of the Perseus Arm, and increased their military power to the point where they have become as big a threat as the Cacas?”

“I agree with you, Sean,” said the Baron with a familiarity that would have horrified the subjects of any of the other monarchs in the area. “But I don’t control the thoughts and opinions of the other members of the Lords, especially the opposition.”

“They don’t have to agree with me,” growled Sean, looking his Head of the House of Lords in the eye. “They just have to pass the resolutions needed to keep my war machine going.”

“They are independent agents, Sean. I can’t tell them how to vote. Now if you declared Martial Law, you could bypass Parliament entirely.”

As he spoke the other people in the room stiffened in their seats. Laura Goolsby, the Speaker of Commons, frowned, while Mohamed Ishner, the Chief of Scholars coughed in his hand. Even Countess Haruko Kawasaki,the Prime Minister, looked decidedly uncomfortable. Sean knew that they were all loyal subjects, but no one in politics wanted to give up what power they had.

“I will not become another Cassius,” hissed Sean. “There is no way in hell I will go down in history as a despot.”

“And I applaud you on that attitude, your Majesty,” said the Baron, nodding. “But we’re talking the survival of the human species here. If we don’t beat the Cacas, there may be no human history books to go down in.”

“Why the total about face, Baron?” asked Samantha, her eyes narrowing. “I thought you were a Parliamentarian first and foremost.”

“And I do believe in our form of government,” said Hausser Schmidt, shrugging his shoulders. “But I’m also a pragmatist, and I would rather see Parliament bypassed than for us to lose this war.”

“I expect all of you to make Parliament work with me,” said Sean, looking from face to face. “I hate to say it, but the Lords have been the biggest problem for me, seeing as they have seats for life.”

“We can unseat some of them, if given a reason,” said Countess Kawasaki. “And thank God we don’t have to deal with Zhee anymore. With her gone, the opposition has not been so, oppositional.”

“And we still have no idea what happened to her?” asked Sean, somewhat disappointed that she had vanished. Director Sergiov had sufficient evidence of her complicity in the assassination attempts on Sean and the Empress that he was certain they could have gotten a conviction, which would have totally discredited the opposition. There would have been a choice of punishments if she had been convicted; life imprisonment, mind wipe or death. He would have voted for death, and his vote would have carried the weight of law. While he might not be the one who determined innocence or guilt, he did have the option of passing judgment.

“I would prefer to not have to banish some of the Lords from their hereditary seats, at least without a good reason. Instead, I leave it up to you two,” he looked from Schmidt to Kawasaki, “to make sure that the Lords will work with me.”

“And our Houses, your Majesty?” asked Goolsby.

“Your Houses can be restructured without my having to take any kind of drastic action,” said Sean with a smile. “The commons are up for their every four year elections in seven months. I will have my people studying the voting records of all members of the commons, and any I deem obstructionist will face a campaign such as they have never seen. Media blitz, speeches by myself and the Empress, every stop pulled out. We will let the people know that the survival of our Empire is at risk with these people passing, or not passing, the measures we need. I’m positive we can make sure most of the Commons targeted will be retired from government service.”

“And you don’t want to be seen as a despot?” asked Ishner as Goolsby stared at the Emperor in disbelief.

“It’s not a despotic tactic at all,” said Goolsby in a quiet voice. “It would be a canny political maneuver, and completely within the law.”

“Thank you, Ms. Speaker,” said Sean with a smile. “I try.” He looked over at Ishner. “And now about the Scholars. You don’t come up for general election, since your members are elected by the intelligencia of our Universities and research centers. And most of these bastions of research depend on Imperial funding to operate. We will fund those people who are helpful, and defund those who aren’t.”

“And cripple your own research efforts?” exclaimed Ishner.

“Not at all, Professor,” said Sean. “With no insult intended, most of the sitting Scholars have long since seen their best research days gone by. The best researchers will follow the money to the centers we will decide to fund. And before you protest that these scientists won’t be able to take their projects with them because of copyright, remember, we are at war. All research with military applications can and will be confiscated as property of the Empire, in the event it is determined that the research center is not making progress on the project.”

“So you have it all figured out,” said Ishner with a scowl.

“As well as I can,” said Sean with a smile. “And remember, I have some very good people advising me. So, does everyone understand what I will do if necessary, and what to do to make it unnecessary?”

“I think we do, your Majesty,” said Goolsby.

“So the Lords is really the only House that can stand in your way?” asked Schmidt, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t want any of you or your colleagues to be my enemies,” said the Monarch. “We need to work together to win this thing. So I will make sure I have people I can work with.”

“And what about the second front?” asked Schmidt. “That seems to be the biggest sticking point. Most of the Lords who oppose our sending ships so far only have the interest of their own people at heart. They feel that sending our ships to defend someone else’s space is weakening our own defenses, and putting their own people at risk.”

“Then tell them that we are helping our own people, beings whose genetic heritage also sprung from Earth. It helps us to defend our own space by ensuring that the Cacas have two fronts to split their forces between. As long as they have two fronts to fight on, we don’t have to worry about them massing their total force to roll over us. Try to make your people understand that.”

“I’ll try, your Majesty. But some of the Lords are stubborn, and they will insist that you send no more ships to that front.”

“And I will insist that we do,” said Sean, raising his voice. “And we will see whose insistence has the most effect on policy. I gave my word to the Nation of New Earth that we would support them, and I’ll be damned if I let them down. Understood?”

All heads in the room nodded. Sean could tell that they were surprised at how strong a Monarch the youngest son of the murdered Emperor had become. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, not if he wanted his Empire and his people to survive.

* * *

OUTSIDE OF NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE.

“Well, I guess that went as well as could be expected,” said Rear Admiral Natasha Sung as she watched the icons on the tactical plot reach the edge of sensor range, disappearing one by one.

“We didn’t get in a fight,” said Commander Preston Tucker, the squadron tactical officer. “That’s what you wanted, yes, ma’am?”

“That was part of our mission,” agreed the Admiral. “We weren’t here to start another fight, or to entice people who already hated our allies into attacking us.” But dammit, she thought, we were here to get allies, to get a treaty. And in that we were not successful.

They had been able to have dialogue with the Slarna, who had reacted well even when they discovered that the hated Klavarta were allies of these new aliens. It had taken time to convince the Slarna that the Klavarta were under new management, though it was unclear if the aliens could now put their hatred aside to join a crusade against yet another alien power they had no experience with.

And I really can’t blame them, thought Sung. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if some outrageous creatures had come to her from the direction of one of her enemies, then asked her to help to fight against yet another power that had done nothing to her. Telling them to go to hell was near the top of possible responses.

“We’re receiving a transmission from command, ma’am,” said the com officer, Lt. Commander Bonaventure. “Eyes only.”

“I’ll take it in my cabin.”

A few minutes later she was seated at the desk in her day cabin, curious as to what the message would be. She was surprised when the Chief of Naval Operations appeared on the holo, and she jumped to her feet.

“At ease, Admiral,” said Sondra McCullom, looking out of the holo. She waited a moment for the squadron commander to retake her seat. “I understand you didn’t get an alliance with the Slarna. I just wanted you to know that the Emperor has been advised, and wanted you to know that he understands that you did the best you could. Hopefully the seed has been planted, and eventually they will see the threat posed by the Cacas.”

“Yes, ma’am. Though I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for them to jump in.”

“We aren’t. And maybe you will have better luck with the next one on your list. But that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh.” Sung’s ears perked up immediately. Normally the CNO didn’t take the time to present a personal message to a squadron commander, no matter how large or important the squadron.

“The President of the Nation of New Earth told the Emperor about a rumored power closer to the core from your position. The President didn’t have a lot of information, except that the technologies he had mentioned reminded a lot of people of the Ancients.”

“Do you think they are the same beings?” asked Sung as a shiver ran up her spine. The Ancients were only a legend in Imperial Space. There were plenty of ruins, and plenty of stories about how they had aided the intelligent species of the Perseus arm to rise up to become space faring races.

“We don’t know. For all we know these are just legends told by the species that had already inhabited the area. You know, we don’t really want you here, but if you go just over there you’ll see something spectacular. But we can’t take the chance that there aren’t advanced beings in the area that we might talk into aiding us.”

“And if they’ve been told stories about the genocide perpetrated by our Klavarta allies?”

“That’s why we want a diplomat such as yourself seeking them out. We need them to know that the current rulers of the Klavarta were not responsible for the crimes of their masters. And that we, who had nothing to do with it, are now on the scene to supervise this part of the war.”

“I didn’t know that was our mission here.”

“It isn’t, but if it helps us to gain an ally, it’s a useful fiction.”

Sung thought about it for a moment, while the CNO gave her that quiet time. She was trained as a diplomat, having served most of her career in Exploration Command. And sometimes diplomacy required the ability to effectively lie. But if these really were much more technologically advanced beings, lying ran the risk of being caught in the lie. And depending on how they responded to untruths, their reaction could be very hazardous to her command. But the benefit outweighed the risk.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” she finally said.

“I know you will. And I, and the Emperor of course, have faith that your best will be the best we can expect of anyone that might take on such a mission. I’m sending what we know about these creatures through an encrypted file. I leave it up to you to tell your crew what you think they need to know.”

Which would be all of it, thought Sung, nodding. She didn’t see any reason to hold back information from her people if it could help them in their decision making processes.

“Good luck, Admiral. And just to let you know. We are monitoring a massive battle between the Klavarta and the Cacas. So far it is going very well for our allies. McCullom out.”

The holo went blank, leaving Sung alone with her thoughts for a moment. She could only hope that her squadron was not embarking on a fools errand. Or sailing off into the unknown, to never return.

* * *

KLAVARTA SPACE.

“They’re coming in for another attack,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Yet again, thought the Great Admiral, almost giving the order for the officer to shut up. It was his duty to report, however, even if it was the three hundredth and some odd attack.

The Great Admiral looked over at the tactical plot, which was still swarming with vector arrows and velocity/acceleration figures. Too many to make out easily, unless one zoomed in on a section of the battle. There were still over five thousand arrows denoting Ca’cadasan vessels, the survivors of the chase, and several thousand missile icons. His force was almost out of missiles, though, and what they still had they were saving for the right moment, and he was reduced to picking off enemy weapons and ships with lasers. There were probably eighty or ninety thousand enemy ships on the plot. He knew the computer could give him an exact number, but didn’t think it really mattered. Including those that were off the plot, there were probably a hundred and eighty thousand enemy ships out there, and more joining all the time.

And all moving into my trap, he thought with a smile. It had cost him thousands of ships to bait the trap, and millions of males. Most of those ships had been scouts and cruisers, under orders to protect the more valuable battleships at all costs.

Still, he watched with growing anxiety as more of the friendly ship icons blinked red and disappeared, and the flagship that his precious carcass rode on shook first from a near miss, then from the hits of several small class lasers.

“We’re almost to the engagement point,” called out the Navigation Officer.

“Send out a grav pulse message to the waiting force,” said the Great Admiral. “Tell them to engage when ready.” The officer who led that force of course already knew what to do, but it didn’t hurt to make sure.

The Great Admiral looked once again at the plot, which covered about ten hyper VI light minutes. That translated to a little under twenty percent of a light year in normal space. All of his ships were hyper VII, though some had been reduced to VI. A good percentage of the enemy ships were VII, but not all, and Mgananawan had wanted to lure as many of their ships as possible into the trap. Which meant a good number of his battleships, including his own, were simulating hyperdrive damage so the rest of the fleet would stay with them. By now they had some ships that didn’t have to simulate, and some had dropped out of hyper from damage, most probably destroyed by catastrophic translation.

“Hyper translation ahead close,” called out the Sensor Officer. The Great Admiral smiled. The enemy didn’t know it yet, but the real battle was about to be joined.

* * *

“We have translations ahead,” called out the Sensor Officer, panic in his voice.

“How many?” asked Admiral Regis Larista, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Hundreds. Thousands. I have missile launch. Missiles incoming from ahead.”

Which meant they would use her own force’s velocity against them. And they were going too fast to translate away. They were trapped in a battle, and the odds had shifted against them.

“First Monster force is firing,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Full spreads of missiles.”

“I thought they were out of missiles,” shouted out the Com Officer.

We all did, thought the Admiral. They hadn’t been fired on for many hours. And the last volley had been a ragged one, less than full spreads by most of the enemy ships, none at all by many others. And it was all a trick to make us think they had no long range firepower remaining.

Now there were tens of thousands of new icons on the plot. Hundreds of thousands moments later, then millions, so many that the plot became unintelligible. Icons started to drop off quickly now, missiles targeted by counters and lasers, ships hit.

“Orders, ma’am?” asked the Com Officer, his voice shaking, but still doing his duty.

He doesn’t want to die any more than any of the rest of us, thought the Admiral. And the order she was about to give would sacrifice many of her own people. They wouldn’t like it. She was sure it would scare the hell out of them. But enough would obey. Or so she hoped.

* * *

Over twenty thousand Ca’cadasan ships translated into hyper VI within seconds of each other, every ship from the original conquest fleet, plus all the reinforcements the Great Admiral had been able to pull in from surrounding sectors. Seven thousand of them were the mighty twenty-five million battleships, the most powerful ships on this front. There were almost six thousand of the four million ton supercruisers, and almost eight thousand of the four hundred thousand ton scouts. Facing them were a total of over two hundred thousand Klavarta ships, the vast majority of them attack ships in the forty thousand ton or less range. There were about thirty thousand of the destroyer class ships, and eight thousand light cruiser class, along with the eight larger command ships. And less than a hundred human ships, with only three battleships among them.

The leading edge of the Klavarta force only had seconds to react before the Ca’cadasan ships were among them. By chance there were nine translations that ended up with one ship coming into hyper through another. The results were spectacular, and deadly to both of the ships involved. Three Ca’cadasan supercruisers and five scouts went up in fast spreading clouds of vapor that immediately fell out of hyper. In return the Klavarta lost seven raiders and a destroyer, not a bad exchange, but still only a pinprick to the Caca force.

Fortunately for the Ca’cadasans none of their battleships were in the lead, and so were not among the those vessels that translated within the leading edge of the enemy formation. As soon as all the Ca’cadasan ships finished translating they acquired targets and opened fire. The big aliens only used dual purpose missiles, every weapon in their magazines capable of moving through hyper. Now they launched full spreads, reloading and firing again as fast as possible.

As the Klavarta Admiral had thought, the closing speed of the two forces meant the Ca’cadasan missiles would strike at close to the speed of light, making them very difficult to engage. Even a near miss could damage a Klavarta scout terribly, if not killing it, forcing it out of hyper with a catastrophic translation that was almost always a death sentence as well. Within seconds thousands of Klavarta ships were gone. Thousands more died under the lasers of the larger Ca’cadasan ships. Their own puny batteries did little damage, and the major weakness of Klavarta strategy was now apparent to all. The small ships didn’t have the defensive batteries of their larger opponents. And they could not absorb terawatts of laser power pumped into their small hulls in a fraction of a second.

What one could do, so could the other, and the Klavarta ships launched, those that still had missiles. They also used the closing speed of the ships to their advantage, their missiles approaching at close to light speed. The Caca ships had much better defenses, and the great majority of the incoming missiles were taken out by the interlocking laser fire of the defending vessels. The much more massive ships could not be taken out by near misses, and though they sustained casualties, they continued in and through the Klavarta formations, executing ships to all sides. Some missiles hit, and the Caca force lost several hundred ships, while at the same time the Klavarta vessels died by the tens of thousands.

Then the Klavarta vessels executed their orders, the ones that the Admiral had not wanted to give. Now thousands of ships went into suicide attacks, trying to ram their vessels into much larger targets at velocities that would generate catastrophic impacts. A couple of hundred Ca’cadasan ships were struck and destroyed before the huge aliens reacted, turning all of their laser fire on the ships that were the biggest threats.

And then the force of Ca’cadasans that the Klavarta had been chasing began to decelerate at their maximum rate. They were still firing missiles, though without the advantages enjoyed by the second force, their own weapons having to decelerate toward the enemy. But they were able to take the enemy that was now closing with them with well-aimed and sustained laser fire. When the battle was less than ten minutes old it was already apparent who was winning. The Klavarta had been foxed into a masterful ambush, and it seemed like the larger portion of their fleet was going to die this day.

* * *

“Orders, ma’am,” called out the Com Officer.

“Suggestions, Jerry?” asked Rear Admiral Marta Guderian of her squadron adjutant, Lt. Commander Winchell Jerry Chang.

“We could move in and support the Klavarta, Admiral,” suggested the junior officer.

And then we could die along with them, thought the Admiral. Her force was at the rear of the Klavarta fleet, ordered there by the fleet commander to act more or less as an observer. She thought that maybe she might be able to maul a squadron of the Caca force, but no more. And she recalled the order of her Emperor, to not engage unless she could do equal or greater damage to the enemy. That looked like it wasn’t going to happen here. But she was also sure that the Emperor would not want her to stand by and watch as an ally was savaged by the enemy.

“Order all ships to bring the Ca’cadasans under fire,” she told her Com Officer. “Full spreads, as fast as we can get them off.”

“All of them, ma’am?” asked the surprised Com Officer.

“All of them,” replied the Admiral. Her ships were fully loaded with dual purpose missiles, over three hundred on her battle cruiser alone. And they were capital ship missiles, much more capable than anything the Klavarta carried, their capabilities greater in some ways than those of the enemy they faced.

The order went out, and the small human battle group started firing every tube they carried. Moments later they picked up the return fire of the enemy, who had now noticed them and were giving them the attention they deserved.

* * *

“Keep killing the bastards,” yelled the Great Admiral. “I don’t want any of them getting away.”

The Klavarta force was moving through and past his own force, losing thousands of ships every minute. Most were starting to decelerate after they penetrated, obviously trying to return to the battle. Just what the Great Admiral wanted. If they wanted to get into a slugging match, he would oblige them. He estimated that they had already destroyed almost their own mass of enemy ships, and the exchange rate had to be ten to one by mass.

“They seem to be determined to outfight us,” said his Chief of Staff with a grin “Not going to happen.”

“No, it isn’t. And I have to wonder what they’re thinking.”

“My lord,” called out the Tactical Officer. “We have located the ships from the other human Empire. They are at the rear edge of the Klavarta force and have opened fired on us.”

“Brave of them,” said the Chief of Staff.

The Great Admiral gave a head gesture of acknowledgement, not sure if his subordinate was commenting on their hiding out toward the flank of the enemy, or their bringing attention to themselves by shooting.

“I don’t want them getting away,” said the Great Admiral to his Com and Tactical Officers. “Make sure they are taken out.”

The acknowledgement came back, and the Great Admiral sat back in his chair and enjoyed the battle.

* * *

“We’re losing, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer, closing his eyes as he gave his commander the news he would have preferred to have kept to himself.

“That is obvious,” said the Admiral, guilt for all of the people she had led to their deaths crushing down on her. But now the question is what am I going to do about it? She thought for a couple of moments, moments where more of her ships died.

“Scatter,” she finally said.

The Tactical Officer nodded, understanding her instantly. It was the tactic of the raider, when faced with an enemy they couldn’t defeat. They still outnumbered the enemy in total ships, and even if that didn’t mean anything in a close in battle, it meant everything in a chase. The Monsters didn’t have enough ships to chase even a quarter of her ships down.

“Order the fleet to scatter,” said the Tactical Officer, looking over at the Com Officer. “Immediately.”

“Ships are to make their way to rally points, then back to base. We lost this day, but if we can save enough of the fleet, we have a chance to win the next engagement.”

“What about the Imperial Ships?”

“We will escort them with part of the fleet,” said the Admiral. “But send them a request to scatter as well. All of them together are too enticing a target.”

The Com Officer nodded, then went to work getting the orders out by grav wave code.

* * *

“The enemy ships seem to be changing vectors, my Lord,” shouted the Tactical Officer.

“Heading?” asked the Great Admiral, springing from his chair.

“They seem to be boosting on random vectors, my Lord. All away from us.”

“Order the fleet to continue to take them under fire,” ordered the Great Admiral, looking over at his Com Officer. “Pursue them.”

“All of them?” asked the Tactical Officer, his eyes wide.

“All of them. We must not let any escape.”

“My Lord. There are too many of them to chase them all. And if we send individual ships after them? Well, that might be what they want, my Lord. If they can isolate our ships, they can overwhelm them one by one. That’s what they do.”

The Great Admiral was about to dress down his officer when he realized that the male was correct, and he was about to make an emotional decision that would come back to bite him.

“Form battle groups,” he told his Com Officer. “Each is to pursue the nearest large concentration of the enemy, hitting them with everything they have. We may not get them all, but I want as many killed as possible before they get away.”

“What group do you want us to target, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“That one,” said the Great Admiral, pointing a finger toward the plot and zooming in the view. The Imperial ships came into focus, starting to vector away as well at nowhere near the acceleration of the Klavarta ships. Other Klavarta ships were starting to form up on them, a protective detail. And a nice juicy target. “We will teach the other humans that coming to the aid of their fellows is a bad idea.” A very bad idea.

* * *

Admiral Larista watched the plot as her fleet began to disperse, moving in erratic evasive patterns as they changed their vectors to move away from the Monsters. Some were still taking hits, and any direct laser or close missile detonation was death, if not always instantaneously, damaging enough to ensure that the affected ship would not get away. She was sure to lose thousands of vessels before the rest broke away, and the pursuit would be sure to kill thousands more. A good number, forty or fifty thousand, would get away, and hopefully the Monsters would make some mistakes and lose some ships as well. This was the way her people had fought the Monsters for over two decades, successfully. Bring together a quickly assembled strike force, hit them hard, then scatter, much as many primitive peoples had done in the days of planetary cavalry.

The damned bastards gave me a target I couldn’t refuse, and suckered me into a trap, she thought, blaming herself for the destruction of so many of her people’s vessels. She just might be able to salvage the situation, which didn’t mean this wasn’t her last battle. The leadership of her nation might decide that they couldn’t afford decision making such as hers, and she wouldn’t blame them one bit.

No time for self-pity, she thought, putting recriminations behind her for the moment. I still have to get our guests out of here in one piece, and hopefully as much of my own command as possible.

“Enemy ships are changing vectors,” called out the Tactical Officer. “It looks like they are forming up into pursuit groups.”

“Crap.” The Admiral was hoping they would go after her ships as singletons, planning to kill as many as possible. And giving her own commanders a chance to gang up on them some hours to days down the road. They still might be able to savage some of the pursuit groups in time, but she doubted she would get many.

“Receiving signal from the Imperial Admiral,” said the Com Officer. “She says she will follow our lead.”

“Make sure our ships know to stay below five hundred gravities,” commanded Larista. That was the maximum the slowest of the Imperial ships could boost at. All of her ships could make at least six hundred and fifty, most more like eight hundred. They could use that advantage to get away from the Monsters, but she refused to abandon these people who had come from twelve thousand light years away to help hers. It would not set a good precedent to run out on allies, even if they didn’t have so much to give in this fight.

“What heading, ma’am?” asked the Helmsman.

Larista thought for a moment as she pulled up a holo map of the region within twenty light years of their position. “This one, I think,” she said, reaching out and dragging the zoom of the map toward her. “This nebula. I think this might make a good spot to hide.”

And we came out here to destroy the enemy, she thought as the bridge crew acted to make her wishes reality. Now we slink away like vermin disturbed by the light, hoping we can find a crevice to hide in.

Chapter Sixteen

In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy’s country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good.

Sun Tzu

THE HEXAGON, CAPITULUM. SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1002

“This is the last one, your Majesty,” said McCullom, pointing to the icons on the holo map.

“What’s the butcher’s bill so far?” asked Sean, staring at the plot. Besides the vector arrows of the last chase, there were also a number of blinking icons denoting where battles had already taken place.

“Higher than I would have liked, your Majesty,” said McCullom. “Thirty-seven liners and freighters, five frontier worlds, a total of over seven hundred thousand citizens.”

Sean winced. Compared to what they had lost against the Cacas, seven hundred thousand was nothing. But when you thought about seven hundred thousand lives, hopes and dreams, it was heartbreaking. Billions were just a statistic, beyond the comprehension of an individual.

“And how many Fleet vessels?”

“Destroyed? A battle cruiser, four light cruisers and thirteen destroyers. Oh, and eleven system defense frigates. Plus heavy to moderate damage to some more ships, including one battleship.”

And we destroyed four enemy battleships, three battle cruisers and seven light cruisers, thought Sean. In terms of the exchange of military vessels, the Empire had won a complete victory. When one factored in the commercial vessels, and the fact that five inhabitable worlds had been rendered lifeless, it looked more like a Fenri victory. And we need to make sure no more of these predators get in among our sheep, thought the Emperor, not sure how they were supposed to achieve that goal.

“And what do we have vectoring in on this raider?”

“We have a trio of light cruisers and six destroyers following, with two more forces of cruisers and escorts which will be within range by tomorrow. And two heavy cruisers vectoring toward the front of the enemy ships which will get there about the same time, if the enemy doesn’t change course.”

“And then?”

“Right now we’re planning on shadowing them until we can bring up some capital units.”

The image of another inhabited world laid to waste, another liner blown out of space with all hands and passengers, ran through his mind. He had already seen the report on how this ship had attempted to take out yet another living world. Thanks to the swift action of the captains and crews of some of those ships they had failed. But there were several other worlds within a day’s cruising time of that battle cruiser, and the promised capital ships, a pair of battle cruisers, were more than a day away.

“I want all of the ships on the scene to attack that Fenri ship as soon as they’re all within range.”

“I’m not sure they can destroy that ship, your Majesty,” said McCullom, eyes narrowing.

“I understand that, Admiral. But I will not have this raider doing more damage to the innocent. So our ships will fight.”

McCullom stared at her Emperor for a moment, and Sean had no trouble knowing what she was thinking. It was easy to order ships to fight against unfavorable odds when the person issuing the orders was not on any of those ships. And she was wrong. If given the choice, Sean would have been on one of those ships. As the leader of the Empire, that choice was not really his. He still wasn’t sure he was the best of all possible leaders for the Empire, but he was what they had, and he had to admit that he wasn’t doing such a bad job.

“If that is your command, your Majesty, we will transmit those orders to them.”

“They don’t have to destroy that ship, Admiral. What they have to do is damage her, so that she won’t have the means of taking out anything else that can’t defend itself before the battle cruisers get there. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. And will you watch this battle as well?”

Sean could hear the disapproval in her voice, as if he would dare to watch the sacrifice of others while he sat in safety. He felt a flash of anger, and had a thought of firing her from her position on the spot. When he first ascended the throne he might have. A few years wisdom, of seeing people react under stress, held his hand.

“I owe it to them to watch their sacrifice,” he said in a quiet voice, turning red rimmed eyes toward his senior Admiral. “And I may have a guest as well. The Empress has expressed interest in observing the process.”

“Are you sure you want her to see this, your Majesty?” asked the CNO, her expression softening.

“She’s a surgeon, dammit,” said Sean in a harsh tone, then softened it as he realized McCullom was only expressing real concern. “She went through Sestius as well. And I want her to know what’s involved in the command and control of the Fleet. She may need to act in my stead when I’m not in the capital.”

“But that will not happen often, or for more than a few days at a time, will it?”

“Admiral,” said Sean with a smile. “Since my personal courage is once again being questioned, I plan to be with the Fleet when next we meet the Cacas.”

“Is that wise?” asked McCullom, obviously regretting what she had said before.

“Maybe not. But it is what I will do. It is what I need to do.”

Not all of his dreams had shown disaster. Some had shown him walking the deck of a flag bridge, leading his forces to victory. Like most of his dreams, there was no time scale to work from. Only the feeling that he had to be with the Fleet. Not on a permanent basis, but enough where the spacers and Marines could see that he was taking risks alongside them.

“I’ll let you know before action is joined, your Majesty,” said a defeated CNO.

“I look forward to it, Admiral,” said Sean, getting up from his seat and returning the salute of the CNO as she jumped to her feet.

And yet another meeting, thought the Emperor as he headed for the lift, his security detail falling in around him. It surprised him how accustomed he had gotten to the presence of the security, something he had thought he would never get used to when he had first become Monarch.

* * *

“So those are the orders,” said Captain Francois Pasce over the com holo. “Questions?”

Terrance Zhukov looked at the face in the holo, reading the tension, as well as some relief. He felt both emotions himself. Tension at the thought of attacking a battle cruiser that could kill his ship in a minute’s exchange. Relief that they would finally beard the beast and get in some licks.

“If not, then I leave it to you ship commanders to fill in your crews. We will have the update and final planning an hour before action.”

“Any idea on action time?” asked one of the other ship captains.

“Most probably before ten in the morning, standard time,” answered Pasce. Which meant the time as calculated by shipboard computers based on Capitulum standard. The computer took into account all acceleration, deceleration and time dilation. During a several month deployment there might be a gain or loss of from a couple of minutes to weeks depending on all of the above factors, and now with wormhole equipped ships the time could be recalibrated at any time. Shipboard time was a different animal, since ships were run by people who needed regularly scheduled rest and refreshment times. Shipboard time didn’t often have a passing acquaintance with standard time. In this case, by chance, Collins’ shipboard time would be only a little over a half hour off from standard time.

The force was travelling at point two one light in hyper VII, the velocity necessary to keep up with the enemy in hyper VI. Time dilation was one point zero two two, meaning there was very little difference in between ship time and real time. That would change in an hour, when they jumped down to VI and accelerated at their maximum rate to catch up. Then the enemy would know something was up.

“Then get your people ready, because I’m sure we’re in for interesting times tomorrow.”

The holo blinked off, leaving Zhukov alone with his thoughts for a moment. Fifteen hours, he thought, once again checking the time. Enough time to get everyone a rest period.

“You heard the orders, Sophie?” he asked over the com of his Exec, Lt. Commander Drake.

“I did. How do you want us to break up our rest time.”

“How about you get in six hours now, then I’ll get the same after you’re up. That will give us three hours to get some food and get the ship ready, in case we need to make any last minute changes.”

“Sounds good to me, sir,” said the XO, who was actually the same rank as the Captain, though with lesser time in grade. She would soon be ready for her own command, and Zhukov had no reservations about Sophie commanding his ship if something happened to him. “I’m already in my rack. I‘m setting my implant for six hours, now.”

“Sleep well, Sophie.” He disconnected the com link, sure that his Exec would be sound asleep in moments. The implant that all Imperial military, and most civilians, carried in their brains allowed deep sleep on demand. It didn’t always work, especially with new people who were more likely to be stressed the night before going into action. But for most crew it was a Godsend.

And I can run some more simulations while I have the watch, thought Zhukov. It might help the next day, though it was sure to give him more to worry about as well.

* * *

“We fight in the morning, standard time, Captain,” said the Com Officer.

Francois Papillon checked the schedule that had come across the wormhole com of the heavy cruiser Vincenzo. Actually by his ship’s time, it would be late afternoon. Maybe with can get this over with before dinner, he thought with bravado, wondering how many of his crew would still be around for that meal.

Vincenzo, and her sister ship Harbin, were both powerful units, but nowhere near the class of the battle cruiser they were to face. And they would be facing her head on, the best aspect to make their shots count, but also the prime area in which the enemy could hit them as well.

“Private message coming over the com, sir. It’s the CNO. She wants a word with you in private.”

“I’ll take it in my day cabin,” said Papillon, jumping to his feet and hurrying from the bridge. When a seven star flag officer wanted a word, a mere captain didn’t keep her waiting.

As soon as he was in his day cabin, the combination office sleeping quarters that gave him quick access to the bridge, he gave the signal to his Com Officer over his link. He stood at attention while the holo came up over his desk.

“Admiral,” said Papillon, rendering a hand salute.

“At ease, Captain,” said McCullom with a smile. “Have a seat if you wish. This won’t take long.”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered the Captain, pulling the chair out from his desk and taking a seat, curiosity in the forefront of his thoughts.

“I just wanted you to know that the Emperor and Empress will both be watching the battle tomorrow. The Emperor wants this Fenri ship stopped before it gets to another helpless planet, or into the proximity of a commercial ship.”

“They’ll be watching through my wormhole?”

“Your wormhole, and the minds of some of the Klassekian com techs aboard other ships. It will be a show like no other, especially for the Empress.”

“And you want me to put on a good show?” asked the Captain with a sinking feeling, wondering if he was going to be ordered to take risks just to provide good theater.

“I do not want you to put on a good show, Captain. And neither will this Emperor.”

“Will he assume command.”

“I don’t think so. I can’t guarantee it, but he was the one who advanced the directive of no micromanagement.”

Papillon nodded. It had been a tradition in the Fleet that the senior officer on the spot commanded. Many had worried that the deployment of instantaneous com would allow higher headquarters to command their fighting units like puppets. Micromanagement. The Emperor had made the decision that the on the spot commander, the man or woman with their own hide at risk, would command. Higher headquarters might advise and pass intelligence, but they would not manage the fight. Only in the case where an incompetent commander was obviously in over his or her head would headquarters act, to relieve the officer and promote an on the spot subordinate.

“So what do you want me to do, ma’am?” asked the confused Captain, who would be the senior officer on the spot when the battle joined.

“Fight your force to the best of your abilities. Your task it to cripple the Fenri battle cruiser. If you can do the same to her consort, great. The cruiser is a secondary target. But you are not to risk your command in trying to destroy that ship. That doesn’t mean if you get the chance to put a missile into her you don’t take it. But crippling it will be enough. We have a pair of battle cruisers on the way that can kill that ship, but only if they can catch it. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wanted you to know what was expected of you, and to make sure that the concern of the Monarch’s observing you did not put undue pressure on you to try to do more than your command is capable of.”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

“You’re still expected to fight, and many of your people may die tomorrow. If the situation calls for it, you are to not hesitate to put your ships in harm’s way. We expect you to fight in the best traditions of the Fleet. But fight smart. That’s all. McCullom out.”

The holo went blank, leaving a still confused Captain Francois Papillon to wonder what he had actually heard. He knew he would be watched by the man he swore his oaths to, him and his wife. He also knew he was not to take unnecessary risks, but to do whatever was necessary to cripple the enemy. He wasn’t sure if he had ever received such contradictory directives.

The only thing I can do is fight my force the way I see fit, he finally decided. I’ll either win a patent of nobility, or have my name added to a casualty list. Most spacers killed in combat didn’t leave enough behind for a burial. Their families had to be satisfied with memorial services lacking remains.

And it’s most likely that I’ll be on a casualty list, he thought as he looked over a holo simulation of the proposed battle. After all, his own battle team, the pair of cruisers, would be approaching right down the throat of the enemy. It was not an approach that made him feel good about his chances, but it was the approach he had.

His force was sixteen hours normal space time to intercept, the imaginary time in a Universe in which nothing moved. With his vessels moving at point seven three light, the velocity that would get them to the target at the same time as the other groups, they would arrive at around eleven point foour hours ship time. Just enough for everyone aboard to catch some sleep time.

* * *

The Lord of Millions stared at the tactical plot, trying to make it show him something other than his own ships and the force following him. But it stubbornly refused to obey his wishes. He had no way of knowing what else was out there. All he knew for sure was that the small force of escorts was still on his tail. He also didn’t know if they were in contact with their headquarters, which would only be possible if they had some of their instantaneous communications assets aboard. He had to think that they did.

But where are they going to come from? he pondered. His ships were cruising along at point eight-five light in hyper VI, heading for yet another world he might be able to take out. This one was also a frontier world, less than eighteen hours normal space time from his current position. Or nine point four eight hours ship time. This world had over eight million inhabitants, a system cruiser and five destroyers, none of them hyper capable, and two orbital forts. The Lord doubted he would have many more days of operation, so he planned to sweep in and use the majority of his normal space missiles, enough to overwhelm the defenses and kill the planet.

“My Lord,” said the Assistant Master of Battle, filling in for female that normally held the post. “Enemy has just jumped down to hyper VI. Range, fifteen light minutes. Accelerating at five hundred and twenty-five gravities.”

“Are they going to attack?”

“They are dropping back, my Lord. Estimating that they will fall back to maximum sensor range before they match our velocity, then begin to catch back up.”

They can’t be planning to attack on their own, thought the Lord, looking at the vector arrows. There must be more of them vectoring on to us. But from where?”

The most likely possibility looked like from straight ahead, out of the system they were heading for. But will it be enough to stop us, he thought. If not, then his best plan would be to bull through till he could hit the system. He could kill a number of enemy warships on the way. But if they were too strong to him? Then it would be a glorious fight, and his mission would be over. That in and of itself was not a horrible thought. The Lord was tiring of this trying to sneak while killing helpless targets. It was not an honorable occupation for the predatory noble. And if he changed course, he would still be exposed to the threat of whatever the enemy could bring to bear, with no way to get back to his chosen target.

“We stay on course,” he ordered, looking from face to face of the bridge crew, looking for signs of cowardice, and seeing none. It is no use jumping at shadows, he thought. We will take what the day gives us.

* * *

CAPITULUM.

“Why are you doing this?” cried Countess Esmeralda Zhee, looking at the shadow within a shadow that was her captor. The Countess hung from her wrists by a hook in the ceiling, naked as when she was born. Sweat poured down her body, her eyes rolled in their sockets, and her breaths came ragged to her lungs.

“You should know why I’m doing this, Countess,” said Angel Sergio Martinez, also known as the Angel of Death, or just plain Angel. The Assassin moved out of the shadows and into the bright lights that shone on the Countess’ face.

“I’m sorry,” hissed Zhee, recoiling at the sight of the man. “But, you left me no choice. I couldn’t afford to have anyone know what I was doing. But you survived.”

“No thanks to you, Countess. I’m alive, and I am not the forgiving kind.”

“I can order that you be left alone. That a hundred million Imperials be deposited to your account.”

“And I’m to trust that no one will come after me because? Because you ordered it? Because whatever you order comes to pass. Like your order to kill the Emperor and his wife.”

“It was what was best for the Empire,” said the panicking woman, her spirit broken. “That man will lead us to ruin.”

“No denial. Very smart.”

Zhee stared at him for a moment, and he could see some of the resolve flow back into her. This was a strong woman. An evil woman, no doubt, but with an indomitable will.

“What use denying it. I‘m at your mercy, and it’s not like you’re a court appointed interrogator. You will get the confession from me no matter how much I resist. So I might as well save myself the pain and admit to it.”

“And who do you work for?”

“Myself,” said the Countess, an arrogant expression coming across her face. “You don’t really think I would act as the running dog of another.”

Running dog? thought the Assassin. He had heard of that term before, but not linked to anything current. It was a historical term, used by certain totalitarian ideologies on Old Earth. And not one he would have expected an Imperial aristocrat to use.

“Is that your final answer?”

Zhee nodded her head, her eyes wide as she waited for what she must have known was coming. Angel sent a command over his implant to the interrogation system he had installed. Seconds later the Countess screamed out in agony, her muscles contracting, snot flying from her nose, her bowels and bladder releasing. Angel kept the pressure on for ten seconds, then ordered it to release.

“That is a pain induction system. It stimulates the pain nerves of your body at the source, causing the most intense agony possible. And without doing any physical damage to your systems. I can keep this up indefinitely.”

“Those things are illegal in the Empire,” protested Zhee, tears flowing down her face.

Angel laughed, a deep roaring bellow of mirth. “I’m a criminal, Countess. Probably the most wanted man in the Empire. You think I care about legality.” He glared at her for a moment more, then roared. “Tell me who the hell pulled your strings, Countess. Unless you want the worst day of your life to go on and on.”

“I can’t tell you,” cried the woman. “I can’t tell you.”

Angel hit her with another jolt of pure agony, staring at her hard eyed as her body arched and quivered. He was a cold blooded killer, but took no pleasure in what he was doing to the Countess. But she had the information he needed, and he would do what it took to get it.

“Ready to talk,” he said as her breathing began to slow toward normal. His sensor units were telling him that the Countess’ blood pressure was failing rapidly back to normal, and he hoped that she didn’t have a heart attack or a brain embolism due to the stress of the induction unit. It wouldn’t directly damage her internal systems, but it could put enough stress on her that her heart damaged itself or some other organs.

“You don’t know what they’ll do to me,” she said between ragged breaths.

“I do know what I’ll do to you, and I really doubt that they, whoever they are, can do anything worse. So tell me what I want to know, or the pain will continue.”

The Countess shook her head, refusing to speak, while Angel hit her with jolt after jolt. He was wondering if he would have to resort to real physical damage, cutting off bits and pieces, when she shook her head and cried out. “Stop. Oh please, stop. I‘ll tell you what you want.”

Angel smiled as he turned on the recording equipment. The confession he was about to record might not be admissible in an Imperial Court. That really didn’t matter. He was recording it for the Imperial Intelligence Agency, so they would have a record of every word she said. They could use her confession as they wished, hopefully to round up more of her co-conspirators until the entire conspiracy collapsed. They wouldn’t need to prosecute and punish Zhee. He would take care of that matter himself. She would die alone, then disappear into an unmarked grave. As far as he was concerned, a fitting end for the woman who had put her own petty ambitions ahead of the safety of the human species.

Chapter Seventeen

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

William Shakespeare

IMPERIAL SPACE: SEPTEMBER 6TH, 1002

Winston tried to get a good night’s sleep before what promised to be an ultimately stressful day. Despite the influence of his implant on his reticular activating system, the night was restless, and he awoke feeling exhausted. He didn’t feel that he was made for this. A merchant spacer might have one or two life or death situations during his career, if he was unlucky. He had been through a half dozen in the last week, with one more coming.

The Petty Officer finally gave up the idea of sleep when he tapped into the time function of his implant and saw that he only had an hour before he had to be up anyway. Instead, he got out of his rack and headed for the shower, soaking in hot water for twenty minutes, then getting into a fresh uniform and heading for the enlisted mess.

The Fleet was known for serving good food. Maybe not as good as first class on the liner he had served on, but easily as good as the chow served to that crew and the passengers, and plenty of it. Eggs, potatoes, bacon, sausage, and hot rolls, as much as one could eat. Washed down with good coffee. He still didn’t feel like eating, and had only finished part of his plate before he got up and started toward the discard window.

“Belay that, PO,” said the Senior Chief of the Ship, walking into the mess and eying Winston. “You’re going to need those calories today, and a suit may give you nourishment, but not a full belly. So sit back down and eat up.”

Winston, nodded, retaking his seat and swallowing another forkful of egg. Most of the other men and women in the compartment were shoveling the food down, a few conversations buzzing in the background, the majority silent with their own thoughts. The Day of Battle the old hands called it. Most ship to ship actions occurred with little warning, but sometimes crews had a great deal of time for preparation. The Day came, rolling toward them like a steamroller, and there was nothing they could do about it.

“At ease,” yelled a commanding voice as an officer strode into the mess. It was Zhukov, the lord and master of the vessel. He walked up to the line and pulled a tray, then proceeded to get a full breakfast.

Winston wondered why the man was slumming in the enlisted mess, when he could have had a specially prepared breakfast in his cabin, or at least the comparative luxury of the officer’s mess. Instead, here he was, asking a table of spacers if he could sit with them, then engaging them in conversation.

“Watch and learn, Winston,” said the Senior Chief, pointing with his chin at the Captain. “The Old Man knows everyone is stressed out, and that he has the final word on whether or not we live or die. And he wants them to know that he is human, and that he cares, and that because of that he will try to make the best decisions possible to bring us all through this.”

“And how much of our coming through will be due to him?” asked Winston, feeling as helpless to control his own fate as he ever had.

“As much as anyone on this ship,” answered the Chief. “There’s no way he can control everything. He can’t control the orders he receives, or what action the enemy takes. He can try to resolve the orders in the best way possible, and react to enemy action as best as he can.”

“How do you handle it, Chief?”

The Chief was silent for a few moments, obviously thinking about how to answer. “I’ve been in this Fleet for thirty-six years. Maybe two of those have involved wartime service, including this one. If they had been thirty-six years of wartime service I’m not sure if I would have made it this far, but stranger things have happened.”

“How are things going today, Senior Chief? Petty Officer?”

Winston was ready to jump to his feet as he looked up and saw the Captain standing by their table, looking him over. A hand motion from the Captain told him to be at ease.

“Just another day in the Fleet, sir,” said the Chief with a smile.

“And you, PO?”

Winston almost told the Captain exactly what he thought. That he didn’t like the idea of attacking a capital ship with a destroyer, no matter how much support they had. That he didn’t like the idea that someone else held his fate in their hands. But he couldn’t say that. The Captain had enough on his mind, and whining about his own fears were not going to help anything.

“Fine, sir. I’m sure we’re going to give the enemy hell today.”

“Of course we are, PO,” said the Captain with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Winston realized the man was also afraid, but would go ahead and do his duty no matter the cost. And that did more to motivate the former merchant spacer than any motivational speech he could have given.

“We go to action stations in an hour,” said the Captain. “I know you people will do your jobs, so I can do mine.”

With that the Captain turned away and walked off the mess deck.

“He has much more to worry about than the rest of us, doesn’t he?”

“You betcha,” said the Chief. “Who do you think has to record those messages if your ass gets vaporized?”

“That makes me feel so much better, Chief,” said Winston with a laugh. “I really would prefer to help him avoid that task in my case. Any hints?”

“Don’t get in the way of a particle beam,” said the Chief straight faced. “And hope that we don’t eat a missile.”

“And prayer?”

“I have no reason to believe there’s anyone listening,” said the Chief with a frown. “I’ve seen men and women pray, and I’ve seen them call out to their mamas. As far as I could tell, neither added a second to their lives. So my advice? Call to mama, because at least I know she’s real.”

An hour later the dread call came over the intercom while the implants of everyone aboard sent them the same message.

“Battle stations, this is no drill. Repeat. Battle stations, this is no drill.”

* * *

The Lord of Millions looked over the tactical plot, trying to find a way out of the trap he found himself in that would not leave his ship crippled. The enemy had him boxed, and good, with four forces closing in on him through hyper. Maybe if we were in normal space, he thought, dismissing that idea as soon as it came. His ships were over an hour from being able to decelerate down to hyper translation velocity. And the only benefit, besides ridding himself of the risk of a catastrophic combat translation, was it would allow him the use of his entire missile magazine. The problem with that? It would do the same for the enemy.

The force commander was sitting on the bridge, the most protected part of the ship, though he knew even that wouldn’t save him if the ship ate a couple of missiles. He didn’t fear death. Fear was an emotion that lived small in the hearts of Fenri, replaced by rage. There would be regret, mostly that he hadn’t served his people better. He had killed one human planet, and taken a half dozen ships, which didn’t seem like enough for the sacrifice of three thousand superior Fenri lives.

“Following enemy force will be within missile range in fifteen minutes, my Lord,” called out the Master of Battle.

The Lord looked back at the plot. The following force, three light cruisers and six destroyers, massing just over three million tons, was the second most dangerous of the four. Ahead, having just entered sensor range some minutes before, was the most dangerous of the enemy forces, a pair of heavy cruisers, three million two hundred thousand tons of heavily armed and armored warships. To one side and slightly up toward the top of the galactic disc was force three, a trio of light cruisers with a single destroyer, while to the other side was the weakest of the forces, a quartet of destroyers.

In most situations the logical move would have been to break toward the weakest force. But with damaged grabbers there was no way he could alter his vector enough to make that work. All of the other forces would vector in on his ship, hitting him with missiles before he had an opportunity to open up the range, something that would have been difficult even if his ship was fully operational.

“Orders, my Lord?” asked the Master of Battle, looking back at the force commander with a questioning face.

The Lord of Millions contemplated the question for a few moments more, looking into the eyes of the officer, a female, and seeing no fear there either, only the eagerness to join battle. And he wondered. Was the innate aggressiveness of his species really an advantage? The ability to face any opponent with no emotion but the rage at being challenged. The primates they were fighting went into combat with a large dose of fear, but in no way would he call them cowards. They fought just as fiercely as his people, and with a whole lot more forethought. He dismissed those thoughts in an instant, not having time for them.

“Target all missiles on the cruisers straight ahead,” he finally ordered. If we can take them out, we have a good chance of outfighting the rest of this gaggle of humans.

* * *

Once again Sean found himself in the War Room, as close to the actual action as he was bound to get these days. Once again he was watching ships of his Fleet going into combat, and wishing that he could be there with them. All he could offer was his long range support.

The ships appeared on the holo plot with the designations Fleet HQ had given them. Force Alpha was the largest and trailing force. Force Bravo, the two heavy cruisers, Vincenzo and Harbin, commanded by the senior officer, Captain Xerxes Papillon of the wormhole equipped Vincenzo, was directly ahead. Force Charlie was to one side, and consisted of three light cruisers and a destroyer, one of its cruisers equipped with a Klassekian com tech. Force Delta was the destroyer quartet, with no means of instantaneous com other than short range grav pulse.

“We are getting this, how?” he asked McCullom.

“The following force has a pair of Klassekian com techs, your Majesty. One of the heavy cruisers has a wormhole, one it was carrying for deployment to Fenri space, while one of the flanking units has a Klassekian as well.”

“So we can get a message to them.”

“Yes, we can. Do you wish to send one, your Majesty.”

“Yes,” said Sean, thinking of what he was about to say. Nothing flowery, or poetic. Just the heartfelt wishes of one naval officer to the officers and men about to go into battle.

“Go ahead, sir,” said one of the other officers at the table.

“Men and women of the Fleet about to engage the Fenri battle cruiser. This is your Emperor speaking. Not as your monarch, but as a naval officer, proud of your courage and devotion to duty. How I wish I could be there with you, but we all know that is not possible. Know that this is the last of the Fenri raiders. When you have destroyed these ships, the threat to our civilians that they pose will be ended. All I can say to you is, give them hell. Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, Sean I, out.”

“Well said, your Majesty,” said Admiral Mary Innocent, true admiration in her eyes. “Short, and to the point. And everyone there will know that their Emperor is with them.”

“Bullshit,” growled Sean. “They’ll know their Emperor is safe, over a thousand light years away. But maybe it will help to know that they are the focus of the Empire at this point. Not the main fronts, not Bolthole, but these small ships going up against what to all intents is a privateer waging war on our civilians.”

“Enemy will be within missile range in eighteen minutes,” called out the Captain of Vincenzo over the com. “All tubes loaded, laser rings charged, particle beams spinning up.” There was a moment of silence, then some chatter from other ships. “Force Bravo,” said Papillon. “You are to decelerate to bring your force within range at the same time as we are. Charlie and Delta, increase accel. I want to hit these bastards with everything incoming at once.”

Acknowledgements came back, verbal from two of the forces, grav code from the last, the same as they had received.

“All forces are on line for attack profile,” called out another officer aboard the heavy cruiser.

The timer clicked down, heading for the point where the ships could fire with a good chance of getting their missiles into the target. The missiles from Bravo would have the fastest closing speed, almost at the speed of light due to the motion of the intercepting forces. Alpha would have the least chance, even though their missiles would be coming in at just over point nine-four light absolute. Closing speed would only be a little over point zero five light, making them almost sitting ducks against the defensive fire of the Fenri battle cruiser. Hopefully they would still serve a purpose, since the Fenri would have to fire on them or risk being hit anyway. The two side forces would have to fire on the same angle they were approaching at, trying to vector their missiles in at where the target would be when they got there.

“Fenri ships firing,” shouted out one of the officers on the com, while icons blossomed on the plot, coming from both the battle cruiser and her light cruiser consort. Twenty-four from the battle cruiser, another ten from the light cruiser. And all on a heading for the heavy cruisers ahead. A moment later another thirty four missiles were off, soon catching up with the first wave to form one large mass of destruction. Now the heavy cruisers would have capital ship killers coming in at them near light speed closing. It was a smart strategy by the Fenri. Not only were the two heavy cruisers the most combat capable of the ships opposing them, they were also right in their path. If they could take them out, the Fenri improved their odds considerably against the rest of the force.

Sean looked on in approval as the cruiser captain held his fire. The Fenri were probably hopeful the human commander would fire as soon as he saw the incoming. Instead, he was waiting for the window to open where everyone could bring their missiles in at once.

“Force Alpha launching,” came another voice on the com, coming through one of the light cruisers. They were the first to launch, since their birds had the longest flight time to reach the target. Five minutes later the side forces fired, timing it so their birds would reach the Fenri at the same time as Force Alpha’s. At enemy launch two minutes out from Force Bravo they were forced to fire, a few minutes before they really wanted to. Their weapons would arrive well before those of the other forces, but now Captain Papillon was working on the principle of use them of lose them.

Sean could feel the tension around him as officers watched the battle that they could do nothing about. In some ways that tension was worse than if they were actually there doing something.

* * *

“We’ve launched,” said one of the Marines on Winston’s damage control party.

The Petty Officer nodded as he felt the vibrations running through the deck that told of the magnetic accelerator tubes throwing their missiles into space. That meant they were firing, but told him nothing about what the enemy was doing. He tried linking into the tactical feed and entered without a problem. Not every captain let his crew monitor the battle, but Commander Zhukov believed in being open with his people.

The plot showed missiles already on the way to the heavy cruisers, and none of the other humans ships firing. He wasn’t sure what was going on. The one thing he did know was the enemy wasn’t firing on his ship, and that brought a sense of relief. Followed quickly by guilt as he thought of the spacers on the ships that were targeted.

The ship shuddered again, firing the second wave of four missiles through the forward tubes. It continued to cycle until all sixteen of the hyper capable missiles in her magazines were gone. The plot showed that the entire group of missiles, one hundred seventy in all, were heading toward the enemy. It looked like an overwhelming attack to him, and he mentioned the same to one of the spacers on his team.

“It may look like overwhelming to someone who doesn’t know better,” said Spacer Ramirez with a laugh. “Our missiles will be coming in so slow from their perspective they will be able to pick them out of space like one of us swatting flies.”

Winston had to admit he hadn’t thought of that, but on retrospect it made sense. While light was the absolute speed limit, it was of course relative according to the perspective of the observer.

“Then why did we even bother firing?” the PO asked Ramirez.

“Because it all adds up,” said Ramirez in a tone that indicated that he really didn’t believe the question. “The more firepower arriving on the target within a short time period, the more chance there is that they’ll miss an intercept and we’ll get a hit.”

Winston felt his face flush as he realized the spacer was right. And he was just a clueless merchant spacer who understood nothing beyond the normal operation of a ship. No, not nothing, he thought after a moment’s reflection. I may not know anything about how to blow ships out of space, but I sure know how to fix them.

* * *

Zhukov watched the plot as Force Alpha released all of its hyper capable missiles. Now they were all but unarmed until they could get within beam range of the enemy. Normal laser range was one light minute maximum. In hyper it was much less, since photons fell out of hyper the same as material objects, just not quite as fast. At thirty light seconds only a quarter of the fired beam was left, at a light minute a sixteenth. Particle beams were worse, since they were made up of protons, in other words, matter, and the entire beam would fall out of space within five seconds. The same was true with the exploding projectiles fired by the close in weapons systems, the last line of defense. In normal space, fired at six thousand kilometers a second, they were effective to out to about sixty thousand kilometers, twelve seconds flight time. They would still take out a target at almost any range, since they would continue on more or less forever, but a hit was mostly a chance element that was unlikely to say the least. But in hyper the projectiles would only last about two seconds before falling out, a maximum range of twelve thousand kilometers.

The bridge was a swarm of activity, every station occupied, multiple holo screens over most of them. Every system on the ship was being monitored. Everything had to work during combat before hits were registered on the defending ships. Everything had to be fixed as well as possible as soon as possible after a hit.

CIC was manned as well with six more officers and enlisted techs, including the second in command. Their job was to monitor and analyze what was going on, without worrying about steering, boosting or firing ship weapons. If something happened to the bridge, if it was cut off from command functions due to damage or the destruction of the command team, CIC would take over as the new bridge.

“All stations still reporting one hundred percent,” said one of the techs manning the internal com station, which was handling all of the intraship communications going on. “Minor fluctuations in antimatter reactor two. Chief engineer tuning on the fly.”

I have a good crew, thought the Captain, looking from station to station. And we still could go up in a heartbeat if things take a turn against us.

“Missile impact with Force Bravo in two minutes, sir,” called out the Sensor Tech.

Already icons were appearing on the plot from Bravo, first the accelerating markers of offensive missiles, then the small, fast icons of counters. Outgoing wave passed incoming, and then all attention was on the battle the cruisers would have to fight to survive.

* * *

“Missile impact in two minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer of the Vincenzo, his sweat streaked face looking back at his Captain. The heavy cruiser was already bucking from the last of its launch wave. There were no more hyper capable missiles on board, and the cruiser was now unable to hit with any weapons until she was within the magic light minute range. And at the moment it looked problematical that they would ever reach that range.

“Engaging integrated defensive plan,” said the Tactical Officer a moment later.

Papillion nodded, his eyes locked on the plot. He could feel the sweat rolling down his own face, despite the cool atmospheric control of the bridge. It was being generated by fear and anxiety, the same emotions that were almost overwhelming everyone aboard. Discipline and dedication were the only things keeping everyone at their stations, not that it would do them any good to flee them.

The cruisers were now ten thousand kilometers apart, broadsides facing the incoming swarm. Their orientation made them better targets, but also allowed them to fire all their light amp and most of their other weapons into the enemy missiles. They immediately fired all of their lasers, four laser rings per ships, each ring firing on a target, then switching it to another, going around the firing plan. Any missiles that were destroyed fell off the queue as they continued to fire through all of the targets. Here and there a missile exploded, their gigaton range warheads breaching and detonating.

At the same time, avoiding the firing lanes of the lasers, each ship cycled thirty counter missiles at a time, one cycle every two seconds. The newer ships had firing cells that allowed them to fire more missiles during a given time period, but these were not new ships. Besides, they only carried one hundred and twenty hyper capable counters each, and after four cycles they were flushed dry. Of the two hundred and forty counters, thirty-seven hit a target or exploded close enough to put up a sparse, short lived debris field to the front. It didn’t take much of a gas field to detonate a missile coming in at a closing speed near light.

Thirteen missiles made it through the interlocking fire of the cruisers and acquired targets. Eight were targeted on Harbin, five on the more fortunate Vincenzo. The blazing close in weapons scored some hits among the eight coming in on the consort ship, but four came through to drive in. The first exploded six kilometers off the bow of Harbin, sending waves of heat, radiation and speeding plasma into the ship. Some of that plasma took out two close in weapons systems that might have destroyed the next weapon, which struck head on into the heavy cruiser at near light speed, shattering the ship through its spine from bow to stern. The remaining two missiles detonated as they hit the debris field that was even then quickly falling out of hyper.

Papillion looked on in horror as five missiles closed on his ship, not even having time to register the death of the second vessel in his force. His own close in weapons took out two, then another as it was six thousand kilometers away. That missile sent a blast of plasma into the bow of the cruiser, knocking out three grabber units and three forward missile tubes. A second weapon detonated within the plasma field of the first, exploding even closer to the cruiser, knocking out a laser ring and most of the electromag field projectors in the bow. Artificial gravity also died over a third of the ship. The surviving missile took a hit from the second bow laser ring, detonating over the top of the ship and sending waves of destruction into the upper hyperdrive array.

Klaxons were going off all over the ship, while damage control parties rushed to the most vital areas. Papillion sat in his command chair and breathed a sigh of relief, then noticed that the other ship was gone off the plot.

“They took out Harbin,” said the Sensor Officer, a stricken look on her face.

“We have a problem here, Captain,” called the Chief Engineer over the intership com.

Vincenzo shook, then shook again, more violently.

“What do you have?”

“Major damage to the upper hyperdrive array, Captain. It’s threatening to shut down. We also have some damage to the lower array, but not enough of concern on its own. But the upper array could shut down completely. And if that happens…”

“We catastrophically translate,” whispered Papillion. “Can we drop back to normal space?”

“Not a chance, sir. Not until we get the array at least partially repaired.”

“Then get on it, Commander. You’re our only hope.” He cut the connection and looked at the Helm Officer. “Change our vector. I want us to avoid the head on pass of that Fenri bastard.”

“Yes, sir,” said the relieved officer.

“Tactical,” said the Captain. “I want you to target all available weapons on them while they pass. If we’re going to be hit, I at least want to be able to hit back.”

* * *

Sean closed his eyes for a moment and said a prayer for the crew of Harbin, blown out of space from a direct hit. He followed with another quick prayer for Vincenzo, which was fighting for its life and still not out of danger.

“Missile impact with Fenri ships in three minutes,” came a call from the Com Officer of the surviving heavy cruiser, still doing his job,

“Fenri firing again,” said their Tactical Officer.

“Are they targeting us?” asked the Captain.

“No, sir. They’re firing on Alpha.”

“How many missiles is that thing carrying?” asked Sean, looking over at Admiral Innocent. “I mean hyper capable, of course.”

“Normally they would carry about the same percentage of their magazine as we do,” answered Mary, looking down at her flat comp. “Say, ten percent. But on a raiding mission like this.” She shrugged her shoulders. “They could be carrying three times that number.”

The light cruiser of the pair fired off six missiles. Only six, and they were pretty sure that the ship had fired all it had. The battle cruiser fired off twenty-four, which appeared to be all of her tubes. Twenty seconds later she fired off another twenty-four. Then another twenty-four, only this time she aimed twelve each at Charlie and Delta.

“Well, that answers that,” said Admiral Innocent. “More than the standard load, but how many more?”

The missiles fired at Alpha were actually decelerating, killing velocity as they fell toward the following force. Estimates were that they would be closing at point four-four light by the time they reached the human ships. Not the best of velocities. But with the numbers fired, fifty-four coming in, there were sure to be a number of damaging near misses, if not an outright hit or two.

“Estimated impact, twenty-six minutes,” called out the voice of the com tech on one of Alpha’s light cruisers.

“It looks like they’re going to be in range of Vincenzo in eight minutes, fifteen seconds,” said one of the Analysts. “They will be within range for a total of just over one minute.”

And then the heavy cruiser catches hell, thought Sean, looking at a holo view that showed the damage on that vessel. Just at the time they are least able to fight it out.

* * *

The one hundred and eight human missiles came screaming in at a closing speed of almost light, each one starting its weaving dodging course designed to make them extremely hard to hit. Holo projectors came to life as they closed, obscuring the visual signal from the missiles, while jammers did the same with the electronic signatures. The Fenri ships fought to firm up the track through the ECM, succeeding with some, losing with others. They launched their counters, homing in on the ones they had obtained lock on. Some lost lock, then reacquired, while others drifted off target completely. As the missiles drove in on the best attack profile the humans would have this day almost half of them were taken out by counters, many of which got proximity kills, spreading their plasma in front of the oncoming missiles. Fifty-nine continued in past the counter missile stage, targeted by the lasers of the battle cruiser, each ring, much more powerful than those carried by the heavy cruisers, firing four blasts per second, while the light cruiser sent out one per second with each of its four laser rings.

Capital ships were tough vessels, able to handle a lot of damage. But missiles coming in at near light speed could shatter a multi-million ton ship in a heartbeat. So they were also well equipped with every defensive system that could be deployed, both passive and active.

Twenty-three missiles died from laser strikes before they were close enough to detonate with any kind of effect. The beams continued to strike as the missiles entered the close in weapons range. Twenty-one more were destroyed at a range where the effects of heat and radiation were minimal, having to cross over a hundred thousand kilometers of hyperspace. Fifteen got close enough to where their detonations did have an effect, sending sleeting waves of heat and radiation into the hulls of the two ships, blasting enough power through electromag screens to boil hull alloy in places, destroying surface installations, electromag projectors and autocannon, sensor grids and a missile tube. Warning sirens went off on the battle cruiser, the most damaged of the two ships, and the hull was holed in places. Fifty-two Fenri and a handful of slaves died, more were injured, and damage control parties rushed to the critical areas that needed immediate attention.

“That attack is done,” said the Master of Battle, a smile on her face.

The Lord of Millions looked over the damage schematic and a smile crossed his face as well. They had weathered the storm better than he had expected. All of the major systems of his ship were still functional, and the light cruiser had sustained very little damage indeed. None of the other missile waves would be even half as bad, and with some luck they would be able to win this battle, break contact, and continue raiding.

* * *

Captain Xerxes Papillion cursed under his breath as the tactical analysis came onto the screen hanging in the air beside his chair, transmitted from CIC. That little, he thought. Their visual of the enemy was of course blurred at this range, but as far as they could tell enemy capabilities hadn’t been degraded at all. The only thing they could hope for now was that the enemy was out of hyper capable counter missiles. And based on how many hyper capable offensive missiles they had fired, it was not a given that they had used all of their counters.

“Enemy ships will be within laser range in six and a half minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“How are the repairs going on the hyperdrive array?” Papillion asked his Chief Engineer. The ship damage schematic could give him the basic information, including a time estimate for repairs. Still, it was better to ask the person in charge, who might have a better handle on it than even the ship’s brain.

“It’s going to be several hours before we have them up to the point where we can translate, Captain,” answered the Engineer, the stress of trying to get everything back online in her voice.

The Captain pulled up another holo screen and watched the take from a robot outside the ship, on the edge of the upper hyperdrive array. The array was crawling with repair bots, and enough crew to supervise them according to the regulations. Captains had been known to bypass the regs when they didn’t have enough people to spare, since life or death trumped rules when it came down to it. But they would only do it if there was no other recourse, and he actually had more people free to work on the hull than he had robots. The bots were ripping apart pieces of the array and plating it back on with reconnections of the power leads, while spacers went deeper in the structure to make sure that the mains to each region were intact. There was really nothing they could do about the supermetals that had been striped away into space. All they could fix were the regular alloys, and hope they had enough supermetals to regenerate the unit.

“Enemy ships in range in five minutes.”

Papillion cursed again. Should he leave the repair crew out on the hyperdrive, where they might become victims to laser fire? Or bring them in and prolong the repair time? More damage to the array and they might find themselves falling back into normal space, though theoretically one array could keep them here once they were in the dimension. Only that other array was also damaged and under repair.

“Bring them in,” he finally ordered his Chief Engineer. “Keep the robots working. We’ll just have to risk them.” He turned to the Tactical Officer. “Strengthen the field on the stern. Inject as much plasma as you can into it. Helm. Keep our stern pointed toward them, and don’t give them a steady target.”

And that was all he could do at the moment. He would just have to see what was left after the enemy ship passed.

* * *

The Fenri Lord of Millions looked with satisfaction on the holo plot. The battle was going as well as could be expected, better in some ways. The forward blocking force was all but obliterated, with only one crippled ship that was trying frantically to break off. Missiles were on the way to intercepts with all the other forces, and luck would have much to do with how those attacks went. The other forces had fired on him, and from what they knew of human ships, that was all they had. If he could weather that storm, also a matter of luck, his ships could only be stopped with close in beam weapons. And in that battle he held all the advantages.

“Four minutes till we’re within practical range of the heavy cruiser,” called out the Master of Battle from her station.

“Prepare all lasers to fire at them from the time we enter range until we are out,” said the Lord of Millions. “I would like them taken out on the way past, but will be satisfied with crippling them to the point they are out of this battle.”

The Master of Battle acknowledged, then turned her attention back to her station, while the Com Operator sent the same orders to the consort. The timer started to tick down while the cruiser drew closer. It was reorienting, turning its stern toward the battle cruiser, giving the Fenri the smallest aspect to fire at.

“One minute to range,” called out the Master of Battle.

“I want her raked from stem to stern, on any aspect they present,” ordered the Lord of Millions, all of his attention on the plot, switching back and forth from all of the pursuing forces, their incoming missiles, and his outgoing.

“They seem to be presenting only their stern aspect to us, my Lord.”

“Try your best. If you can get lasers up her tail to their bridge, that will serve as well.”

The Lord of Millions sat his seat, gripping his chair arms in anticipation. The timer ticked, ticked, ticked away, then.

“Firing,” called out the Lord of Battle as the battle cruiser swung herself around to present all of her rings to the heavy cruiser. The laser rings released stored up photons, sending pentawatts of power from each ring, all aiming at the stern of the cruiser. Because of her configuration, that included the flat end of the stern and all of the sides up to the midline. The cruiser was presenting more of one of her sides, trying to cover as much as possible of her hyperdrive arrays, which gave the Master of Battle the best indication of where to shoot.

At first only about a sixteenth of the energy reached the cold plasma field, which did yeoman’s work in deflecting and absorbing it. As the Fenri ship got closer more of its energy was able to reach the field, getting to the point where it was burning through with ease, more than half of its power hitting the plasma and superheating it.

And all the time the cruiser was firing back with its two stern laser rings, not near as powerful as those of the battle cruiser, but still capable of doing damage.

* * *

Vincenzo shook as powerful lasers vaporized sections of the stern hull, while the heat exchange shattered and blew more of the armor away. The cold plasma field only held up for seconds before it was flaring away from the electromagnetic shield that was supposed to hold it in place. It fired back with all it had, and for all the damage it was doing to the battle cruiser it might as well have been throwing balls of ice.

“They’re tearing apart the stern of the ship,” yelled out the Chief from damage control. The ship shook again, in a slightly different manner. “They just ripped a channel through the side of the hull. We’ve lost two of the emitters in D ring.”

“Fire plasma torpedoes,” yelled out the Captain, looking at his Tactical Officer. “Just do it, and fire them as fast as they’ll load. Then make sure all the stern tubes are loaded.”

The Tactical Officer nodded and got to work. And instant later a pair of plasma torpedoes erupted from the stern tubes, blasting past the outer sections that were melting under the attention of the enemy lasers. They hadn’t a hope of reaching the enemy ship before they fell out of hyper, but they did serve the purpose of intercepting some of the incoming laser energy. A moment later the missiles left the stern tubes, accelerated at thousands of gravities through the magnetic accelerators. They too were already starting to translate as they left the hyperfield, but still carried close enough to detonate within a thousand kilometers of the enemy ship, sending loads of heat and radiation into the enemy hull.

One of the battle cruiser’s laser rings and a particle beam ring went offline, along with two stern and a midline grabber unit. The ship also lost targeting lock for a few moments, enough to give the Vincenzo a short break. The heavy cruiser continued to fire, taking out some of the emitters of the second stern laser ring and another midline grabber unit, as well damaging the upper hyperdrive array.

Vincenzo continued to rock from the fire the battle cruiser was still able to put into her after the pause. It passed the cruiser, within a few seconds taking its forward weapons out of the action, leaving only the damaged stern units to continue to fire. Fifteen seconds later the battle cruiser was out of effective range and stopped firing. Papillion kept waiting for the larger ship to launch missiles at him. He was sure from the information they had received over the wormhole com that the Fenri ship still had some, but they seemed to think better of wasting them on a ship they were leaving behind.

“Damage report,” ordered the Captain. The schematic came up next to his chair, changing from second to second as the computer systems fed in information, often augmented by the crew on the spot. The schematic hiccupped once, a sign that the central computer or the data feeds, or both, had sustained damage.

What he saw of the red on the ship almost broke his heart. Only two emitters were functioning on the C ring, while the D ring was totally destroyed. The accelerator ring that fed the particle beam nozzles was also gone in several places, and the unit was a complete no go. Only one missile tube from the midline back was still operational, but all the missile feeds were out. The stern plasma torpedoes were gone, and the rear of the ship was almost gone from the far end to three hundred meters in. The rear central capsule, one of the three on the ship, was blasted out as if a warhead had gone off inside the heavily armored compartment. CIC had been in that section, and the Captain was unable to form a contact with any of the people who normally worked it, including his Exec. Both rear hangars had sustained damage, opening them from the rear to space and wrecking the outer hatches.

The only good news, outside of the ship still being around and not having dropped back to normal space, was that the stern missile magazines had not breached, and the damage hadn’t gotten to the main engineering section and the matter antimatter reactors that were housed there. The ship would live, as would the sixty-one percent of the crew still alive. But Vincenzo was basically out of the fight.

The enemy battle cruiser had also sustained damage, though not to the human ship’s extent. The most important of that damage was to the propulsion system. The ship was still able to coast along at it initial speed of over point nine light, but it would not be changing vector, including deceleration, at anywhere near the rate of the ships chasing it.

Still, thought the Captain, glaring at the pair of enemy ships on the plot. A hell of a way to kill two heavy cruisers, just to slow them down. He looked at the other chasing units on the plot. Go get them, and give them hell.

* * *

The Lord of Millions scowled as he looked at the visual of the heavy cruiser as it fell behind his ship. He had hoped they would destroy it in passing, while sustaining little or no damage to his ship. Unfortunately, neither had happened. The cruiser was still there, though he doubted it would take any further action in this battle. And his ship had lost a small but significant amount of laser power, and was reduced to four hundred and twenty-three gravities maximum acceleration, down from four hundred and seventy. Most of the ships still in on the chase could decel at over five hundred gravities, and it would be a losing proposition to try and outmaneuver them.

“We can still hit the enemy cruiser with missiles,” said the Master of Battle.

“Don’t bother,” ordered the leader. They were down to twenty-eight hyperdrive capable missiles, with no way to resupply. We’re not out of this yet, and we may need another strike at one of those forces.

Chapter Eighteen

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

William Shakespeare

“Missile impact in five minutes, twenty-three seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer, the warning going out through the ship. Everyone who didn’t have other duties at the moment, which included damage control, watched the plot that showed fifty-four missiles still decelerating on a course that would bring them through formation Alpha. Closing speed would be a mere point four-one light, fairly easy targets for modern defensive systems. Still, the possibility of hits was there, and no one knew which of the three light cruisers or six destroyers of the force would have a run of bad luck. And bad luck meant disaster.

“What about our missiles?” asked Winston of one of his crew.

“They’re going to come in even slower in comparison, since they can’t travel faster than light, and the enemy is going point nine two light. They’ll be sitting ducks.”

Wonderful, thought the Petty Officer, shaking his head. So we basically threw our long range offensive weapons away, and are about to be hammered by theirs.

“Impact in two minutes,” called out the voice over the com, and Nagawa wondered where the three minutes of his life had gone. Dear God, he prayed, just let me get through this and I promise I’ll be a better person.

Luckily, the forward damage control room was in the bow central capsule, the partition that contained crew quarters and amenities, and was protected by an extra meter of armor. They might not have been as protected as the bridge, but they were still better off than those eighty odd crew who had important jobs outside the capsules. People manning the missile rooms, laser control chambers and other vital combat areas.

Winston monitored the incoming through his implant as the fifty-four missiles came in. The counter missiles of the combined force took out twenty-three of them before they entered laser range. Laser rings picked up at one light minute and in, close in autoweapons at extremely close range. The destroyer Jonathan Carter was the first to eat a missile, mostly vaporized, with only a few large pieces thrown outward to quickly disappear from hyper. The light cruiser Tandridge took one moments later, with a very similar result. Thirteen missiles detonated in close proximity to ships, sending heat and radiation into hulls, destroying surface installations and machinery.

Scranton detonated an incoming missile a hundred kilometers from contact with the hull. The missile converted to plasma that started almost immediately to fall out of space. But at the speed the plasma was travelling it only took nanoseconds to hit the bow of the cruiser. Electromag fields shuttled three quarters of the plasma aside, but the quarter that made it through hit with the force of a shotgun blast, knocking out everything from the bow to the forward most laser ring.

Collins ate the radiation of two near misses that took out a forward grabber and destroyed most of the nanosystems that controlled the emergency eject hatch over one of the antimatter reactors. Until the area was reseeded with nanites, it would remain a solid piece of alloy, unable to open into a hatch. A microsecond later a piece of the lower hyperdrive array of the Carter struck the same spot, blasting through the meter thick hull and armor and striking hard into the upper area of the starboard side reactor.

“Damage control parties to the bow,” came the call over the com system. “Prepare for search and rescue operations.”

Nagawa released his straps and stood up from his couch, looking over to see some of his crew grabbing heavy equipment from lockers. Now they would go outside of the central capsule, but there would be no more missiles for the moment. Minutes later they were exiting the central capsule and on their way through an outer passage toward the bow.

* * *

“We’re going to lose the starboard reactor, Captain,” cried the Chief Engineer in a voice on the verge of panic.

“Can you shut her down?” asked Zhukov.

“Not a chance, sir. All of the control runs have been damaged. Some have been completely destroyed, and you’re talking at least two hours to reroute them. And Captain, the reactor is about to enter runaway. We’re estimating breach in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Then get ready to eject when it reaches the point of no return. Don’t even wait for my command.”

“We can’t eject, sir. Not at the moment. The nanosystems of the hull that make the hatch are fried. We have to cut it open.”

“Shit,” whispered Zhukov. “Get everyone you need on that. That’s our number one priority until we can get that reactor off the ship.”

“I can’t guarantee that the reactor will wait for us, sir.”

“Just do what you can, Engineer. Our lives are in your hands.”

With that, he let the officer go. There was enough in the Chief Engineer’s hands as it was without wasting time.

* * *

“Change of plans, Nagawa,” came the voice of Senior Chief Kongbo over the com. “I need you to gather up all the heavy cutting equipment you can lay your hands on and to egress the ship.”

“Egress the ship,” cried Winston, choking back the are you crazy that he wanted to add.

“We don’t have time for discussion, Nagawa,” growled the Senior Chief. “We’re moments away from a reactor breach, and we need to open up the hull. So get moving.”

I thought we had a system to eject a reactor, thought Winston as he directed his people to get into armor augmentation packs that would give them much more strength. The packs were not all that useful in much of the ship as they restricted movement. But outside they could make a difference.

No one goes outside, he thought. Not in hyper. He knew that was a lie as soon as he thought it. Other people had been out working on the hull. He just thought he would never have to be one of them. Since the lock was only large enough for two of them at a time in the bulked up suits, which were just a bit smaller than Marine heavy combat armor, Winston cycled out with one of the Marines.

After he was sure his boots were adhering to the hull with their magnetic grapple function, he looked up, his breath catching in his throat. Through the rippling electromagnetic field, and the further blurring of the hyperdrive field above that, was the frightening spectacle of hyperspace. A red background scattered with the black dots of gravity wells that interrupted its continuity. It was space that meant death to all life from his Universe. Anything not protected by a hyperdrive field was immediately ejected back to normal space. Most times that object came through in pieces, from small bits down to individual atoms. Sometimes the object survived with various degrees of damage.

“We need to get moving, PO,” called out one of the crew from the second cycle.

“Right,” said Nagawa, taking a short step forward.

“Not like that, PO. Like this.”

Winston looked on in horror while five of his people released their holds on the ship’s hull and flew along just above the curve of the vessel.

You’ve got to f’ing kidding me, thought Winston as his people boosted ahead, flying for several hundred meters and disappearing around the middle bulge of the ship. Winston found himself alone, still almost paralyzed as his eyes looked out on hyperspace.

“Nagawa,” shouted Kongbo on the com. “Get your ass moving.” There was a slight burst of static on the line, and Winston noticed that his personal line was on. “Look,” said Kongbo over the private line, which was encrypted so that only the two of them would know what was said. “I know it’s frightening out there. I’ve been there. I also know you’re no coward. Not after what you did on the liner. So I need you to get ahold of yourself and move to the work area. If we don’t get that opening free, we’re all dead. Understand?”

“I understand, Chief.” His feet were actually shaking in his boots as he released the grapples, then raised his suit on grabbers and started ahead. His eyes were locked on the hull, making sure that he did not drift upward. Around the bulge, then down the other end, his crew and another coming into sight, already working with cutting lasers to open up a way for the reactor to come out.

He landed near the work site, trying to get his breathing back under control. All of his people were already at work, and he felt a tinge of shame that he had let his fears stop him from pitching in. He deployed his own cutting head and went to work, sending a ten centimeter wide beam into the hull along the cutting line that the other team had already laid out.

“This isn’t going to last long,” he said over the open com as he watched the power meter for his laser begin to drop as sparks flew from the hull under his cutting beam.

“We got that,” said one of the people on the other crew.

Nagawa looked up to see two pairs of spacers dragging cables and heavy cutters out from a hatch, while other people carried the other ends of the cables to energy feeder ports. In moments the heavy cutters were going to work, while those with suit cutters hooked up to feeders coming off the cables and recharged.

“How’s it coming out there?” came the voice of the Chief Engineer over the com.

Winston looked over the area, surprised at how fast time had been going by. He estimated that they were a third of the way through. And they were only twenty minutes to getting within firing range of the enemy.

“We’re a third of the way through,” he told the Chief Engineer.

“Go faster, Spacer. Unless you want to be part of the expanding plasma cloud dropping back into normal space.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As soon as I think this reactor and its storage container are going to blow, I’m going to push the eject button, no matter how far you are along.”

The com went dead, leaving Nagawa speechless for a moment. “All right, you people. We need to hurry.”

Acknowledgements came back, but the spacers were already working as fast and hard as they could. They hit the fifty percent mark, and Nagawa began to despair that they would finish in time. He cursed the whole idea of nanotech class skin on warships. It seemed like a good thing overall, since it left no weak points in the armor to be exploited. Now they were running head on into the weakness of the concept. And the clock was ticking.

* * *

“The second enemy force will be within range in three minutes,” said the Master of Battle, looking back at her commanding officer.

“Take out the cruisers first,” said the Lord of Millions. “They have the most powerful lasers.”

“They are arrayed where we will have to go through the destroyers to get to the cruisers, my Lord.”

The Fenri force master sat and thought for a moment, then looked up. “Then target what you have the best chance of destroying, and work your way down the list. Do you think you will need to use any of our hyper capable missiles?”

“I don’t think so, my Lord. These are only light escort vessels after all.”

* * *

“We’re starting to pick up some coherent light hitting the hull, sir,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“Shift the hull around so that the crew outside are not exposed,” ordered Zhukov to the Helmsman. “But make sure that the reactor core is on a trajectory away from the force.” The last thing he wanted to do was to send a gigaton class blast into the center of the formation.

“We’re still a minute away from actual laser range,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Weapons status?”

“Three of the laser rings are at full power. One is at half strength. Both particle beam projectors are spun up and ready.”

“And the plasma torpedoes?”

“All fusion reactors are running full blast, sir. I can give you four spreads of plasma from each launcher whenever you want.”

“Very well.” Zhukov sat back in his chair, his eye straying over to the damage schematic, and the blinking red of the starboard reactor that could render all the other preparations moot at any second. Come on, he thought, get that damned opening cleared. The numbers on the schematic kept fluctuating, and he knew the Chief Engineer was playing the reactor like a musical instrument, controlling what feed valves he could to keep things damped down. The only problem was he didn’t control all the feeds, and the magnetic fields of both the reactor containment vessel and one of the storage tanks were fluctuating like hell. And when they dropped, that was it.

* * *

Sean watched from over a thousand light years away through the wonder of wormholes and quantum connected minds. It was looking like the Vincenzo was going to survive as they worked on the hyperdrive array. Five percent more capacity and they would be able to jump down to hyper V, which would require only a quarter of the energy to remain in as compared to VI, with a correspondingly lower energy needed to jump down to the next level, IV.

Force Alpha was just about to come into laser range, and, based on the slow closing and passing speed, would lead to a battle lasting a half hour or more. He really didn’t like the odds of that battle, with a battle cruiser firing on seven vessels that were less than half its mass combined. Forces Charlie and Delta would be within range in a little over an hour, well after the present fight was through.

“I wish I could order them to all break off,” whispered the Emperor. It was looking more and more like most of these people were going to die this day. But if they broke off the battle cruiser would continue to operate, and less than a day ahead were rich shipping lanes, and no way to warn the ships that plied them.

“If we can slow the Fenri down, it will be worth it, your Majesty,” said McCullom, who had obviously heard what he had whispered. “These people gave their oaths to do whatever they must do to protect the Empire. And this is what we need them to do.”

“Probably not what they envisioned when they joined,” said Jennifer, who had accompanied her husband for this viewing of the drama of a naval battle.

The Empress sat back in a chair next to her husband, her distended belly forming a rest for her hands. Sean looked over at his glowing wife, eight months along in her pregnancy with his heir. Only two and a half more months to go and his heir, a son, would have arrived in the world, and the succession would be assured.

“Are you sure you want to be here for this, your Majesty?” asked McCullom, concern on her face.

“I want her to learn how to rule when I am not in the capitol,” said the Emperor. “And this is part of ruling an Empire at war.”

The Emperor turned toward his wife, digesting his own thoughts for a moment before giving them to her. “No one joins the services with the intention of dying, my dear. All give the oath that they will give their lives if necessary. Then, for the most part, they put their names into a hat, hoping that their names are not drawn. For most of them, at least in normal times, that is true. But some are drawn, and they pay the price. In a war like this, more pay than is normal.”

“It still seems unfair,” said Jennifer, a frown on her face.

“In a fair universe we wouldn’t have the Cacas at our door,” said Sean, looking back at the holo plot.

“They’ve entered firing range,” announced McCullom, as icons started blinking on the plot.

* * *

NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE.

“The rear guard is attacking, ma’am,” announced the Chief of Staff.

“Thank you,” replied Admiral Regis Larista, staring at the tactical plot that showed the situation.

The Klavarta force was about to be overwhelmed by the combined fleet of the Ca’cadasans. She had lost over two thirds of her fleet to the ambush, and had lost a significant proportion of what was left in a running battle. They had resorted to their historic tactic of splitting the force, splitting it over and over until there were literally hundreds of separate groups for the Cacas to chase. The Cacas had split their forces as well, though they stopped at the point where they would have sent weak groups out in pursuit. And they had gone after the ships they identified as important, Klavarta command ships and vessels from the New Terran Empire.

And now here they were, on one of the largest of the Klavarta vessels, a two million ton command ship, accompanied by a couple of hundred smaller ships of her nation and a pair of Imperial battle cruisers. Ahead was a large nebula that had been well charted by her people, up to and including a number of large asteroid bodies moving within it. That information had been fed into the inertial guidance systems of every ship in the force, minus the thirty-six that comprised the rear guard.

And now that rear guard was in the process of giving their lives to give the rest of the force the time to hide.

They were tracking all of the rear guard and Caca ships moving toward them through their graviton emissions, near the edge of the tracking envelop against the background of the nebula, which was giving out its own low level but massive graviton masking. Suddenly some of the Klavarta icons disappeared, followed by some more, then the drop of a few of the Caca icons. The Klavarta ships had closed with the enemy and self-destructed, damaging a number of Caca ships, in a few cases destroying them or causing them to translate out of hyper.

“All units are decelerating at maximum rate,” announced the Chief of Staff, monitoring the force status.

For the Klavarta ships, that meant about five hundred and fifty gravities for the larger, up to eight hundred for the smaller. The Imperial battle cruisers were pulling five hundred and twenty-five gees, but they were able to translate at a higher velocity than the Klavarta. Every ship was going for its maximum translation speed so it could drop down to normal space and hide in the nebula.

“We’re experiencing turbulence from the gravity waves in the nebula, sir,” said one of the bridge techs to the Chief of Staff, While the ship shook around them.

“How bad will it get” asked Larista, visions of her ship coming apart around her running through her mind.

“Not much worse, ma’am,” answered the Tech. “It will be a harder ride for the larger ships. The humans, and of course, the Monsters.”

“We can always hope it’s too much for the Monsters,” said the Chief of Staff with a smile.

I doubt it will be, thought the Admiral, wondering how she was going to face her President after having led almost half the total fleet into an ambush. They had fought hard, and had destroyed a lot of the ships of the Monsters. But her own force had been all but destroyed, and only quick action and some suggestions from the Imperial force that had fought alongside hers had allowed any of it to survive.

“Some of the smaller ships are translating down,” said the Sensor Tech.

The Admiral looked on the plot to see that indeed about fifty of the small attack ships, forty thousand tons and capable of great bursts of acceleration, were now in normal space. And all were accelerating like bats out of hell, trying to put out the most massive graviton signatures they were capable of. They would hopefully attract the attention of some of the Monsters’ ships, and would power down and hide in the nebula if any translated down after them.

“Monster ships are drawing closer,” called out the Sensor Tech.

“Can they hit us with missiles?”

“Probably not at this range,” said the Chief of Staff, shaking his head. “The nebula gas will cause erosion of their seeker heads after a short flight, and then they will just fly off after nothing, until enough erosion occurs that they will simply detonate in the middle of nowhere.”

That still seemed strange to the Admiral, even raised in space as she had been. Outside this ship was a very good vacuum, but not the perfect vacuum of interstellar space, since it was the home of a gas and dust cloud.

Time went by, as it always did, and as the ship slowed so did the time dilation that always accompanied them in high relativistic motion. And the Caca ships kept getting closer, not so worried about trying to translate down now, only seeming to have the intention of catching and destroying their prey.

“They’re launching missiles,” called out the Sensor Tech.

“Can they reach us?” asked the Admiral.

“I believe so, ma’am. Impact in twelve minutes.”

“Time to translation?”

“Eleven minutes, forty-one seconds, ma’am.”

It was going to be close, especially since in the nebula the tracking wasn’t perfectly accurate. The Imperial battle cruisers, which, with their alien com tech, were her only contact back to the fleet, were still falling ahead, still trying to lose enough velocity to translate.

“Give them a spread of missiles,” ordered the Admiral, looking at the plot and trying to decide the best way to do this. “Set them to detonate in five minutes after launch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the Tactical Officer, setting the missile commands through his board. “We have four dual purpose left in the tubes. Will that be enough.”

“It will have to be,” said Larista, nodding. At least all of her missiles had been the Imperial dual purpose, such as their allies used. Her ship had used up most of hers in battle, but fortunately she had decided to hold a few in reserve, for just such a moment.

“Firing,” said the Tactical Officer, and the ship shook slightly from accelerating the missiles through the stern tubes. The icons appeared on the plot, decelerating at five thousand gravities and falling behind the ships, which were also decelerating.

Larista counted down the time on her implant, not taking her eyes off the plot. The enemy missiles were coming on, while hers fell back. She doubted the enemy was too worried about a mere quartet of missiles heading their way, and were probably wondering what she was up to. When the timer got to one minute, the missiles from both sides were nearing each other, and the Admiral thought they might have timed it right.

The enemy missiles were only seconds from crossing the path of hers when the Klavarta weapons detonated in space. They were closely spaced, about ten kilometers apart, and they sent up a fifty kilometer wide wall of radiation and heat that lived in hyperspace for a mere two seconds. It was still enough to catch a half dozen of the enemy missiles, sending enough heat and radiation into them to degrade their seeker heads and send them off course. Hopefully it would also interfere with the sensor reads of the ships far behind the missiles.

“Translation velocity in forty-five seconds,” called out the Helm.

“Missile impact in fifty-four seconds,” said the Tactical Officer.

And we’re going to make it, thought the Admiral, when the message came through that one of the ships was having problems with its hyperdrive.

Larista stared at the ship on the plot, a three hundred thousand ton vessel that served the Klavarta as a cruiser. There were over three hundred members of the various subspecies of Klavarta aboard that ship, and unless they could get their hyperdrive’s jump function online in less than thirty seconds they were doomed, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Translating, now,” called out the Helm, and the hole in space opened in front of the command ship. They slid through with the slight nausea that even the pilots, who were engineered to be the almost perfect space dwellers, felt.

Forty-three of the destroyer and cruiser class vessels translated at the same time as the command ship, sliding back into what normally would have been familiar black space with bright stars. Except this was well into a nebula, and most of space was made up of plasma and dust glowing from the light of the stars within or on the edge of the stellar formation. The cruiser with hyperdrive malfunction did not come through, and moments later its icon, along with that of three Caca missiles, disappeared from the plot, no longer producing gravitons.

The Admiral bowed her head and said a quick prayer to the Universe for the lives of her people that had just been extinguished. They had joined the hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, who had gone into the dark before them under her command. She didn’t have much time for observing the rituals of her people. Right now there was only time for the living.

All of her ships were in normal space now, only the two Imperial battle cruisers still decelerating in hyper, and they were moments away from their own maximum jump velocity. And the Ca’cadasan ships were almost on them.

“All ships,” said the Admiral, the catch words that told her Com Tech she wanted this command to go out to every vessel in the group. “Prepare for missile launch. I am imputing commands, now.”

The Admiral had a tactical holo opened to her front, pointing at the icons of each of her ships on another holo, then dragging to their assigned target onto the main plot. It took the experienced officer, who had come up through tactical before commanding her first ship, seconds to assign the targets.

“All ships, acknowledge when you have your targeting information locked.”

Visuals showed the ships plowing through the gas of the nebula, still decelerating at a current velocity of point two four light. Each were forming spectacular bow waves that spread for hundreds of thousands of kilometers as the electromagnetic field enclosed vessels compressed the gas. Lighting flared along the waves as static electricity built up from the movement.

The acknowledgements came through, quickly for some, a little slower for others, but all within the parameters set by the fleet. As soon as the last targeting solution came in the Admiral gave the order.

“Fire.”

Each ship fired off an entire spread of missiles, each on an individual track that brought them into a globular arrangement around the force. Fifteen seconds after launch the Imperial battle cruisers translated back into normal space, followed by a launch from those ships. Fort-eight seconds after that the first of the Ca’cadasan ships came down, immediately pulsing their active sensors to try to locate their targets within the nebula. Said targets had by now cut their grabbers back to nothing, coasting along with only vital systems powered up. They were still giving off considerable heat, and would do so for some time, until they had cooled down. Which meant they needed some other heat sources to take attention from them.

Those heat sources started to blossom all around the Klavarta ships, from two hundred thousand to a million kilometers from the force. From two hundred megatons to a gigaton of matter antimatter blasts ripped through the near nebula, forming balls of superhot plasma that moved out from the center of each explosion. Gas heated for tens of thousands of kilometers around each blast, and the stored up static electricity in the cloud was released. Lightning flared, arcing for millions of kilometers in each direction in displays that dwarfed any other discharges seen in nature. Ten seconds later another wave of explosions moved out, hundreds of thousands of kilometers further away, repeating the same pattern. Now the space for well over a million kilometers out from the ships was a roiling mass of gas, superheated pockets of plasma, and static discharge.

* * *

“Find them,” shouted Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana, glaring at the tactical plot as he slammed his lower fists into his chair arms, using the motion to push himself to his feet. The plot was full of many short lived shapes, growing for minutes, then shrinking. There were hundreds of heat sources, from tens of thousands to millions of degrees.

“Our sensors are not able to find them, my Lord,” said the cringing Sensor Officer. “There’s too much background interference. Not only the natural interference of the nebula, but all of the other energies they have imparted to the gas and dust.”

The Great Admiral growled, stalking toward the holo as if he would attack the projection. He had followed this group because it had the largest of the Klavarta ships, as well as two of the human empire scout capitals. These seemed to be the ships of the leader of the Klavarta fleet, and if he could take them out, the victory would be complete.

And now they’ve foxed me, he thought through the building rage. The Great Admiral turned back toward his Sensor Officer, pointing a pair of right index fingers at the male.

“Use every active sensor we have. Send out probes. Do everything you can, but find them.”

With that last order the Great Admiral stalked from the bridge, slamming a fist into the wall by the hatch before he left.

The bridge crew looked at each other, no one sure what to do. All they knew was that the male who had control of their lives, or deaths, had ordered something done, and they needed to do it. Even if it was impossible.

* * *

“They are actively searching, ma’am,” said the Chief of Staff, looking at the plot that showed the Monsters’ vessels, each radiating on multiple ranges of the spectrum. “All they are likely to do is to continue to give us their positions.”

“No chance of finding us?” asked Admiral Larista.

“Oh, there’s a chance,” said the smiling Chief of Staff. “They could run one of their big, ungainly ships into one of ours by accident, I guess. But on active sensors? Not a chance. The gas of this nebula absorbs all of the lidar they put out, and radar is having to deal with all of the static generated interference.”

Both of the high ranking officers stood side by side looking at the plot. There were a couple of Ca’cadasan ships that were close enough that the risk of that collision was a possibility, no matter how remote. Most were working paths that were leading the away from the Klavarta, and the Imperial battle cruisers as well. They could search on those paths until hell froze over and they wouldn’t find anything.

“How long do you think they will stay here looking for us?” asked the Admiral.

“No more than a couple of days,” replied the Chief of Staff. “Their commander, cut off from the rest of his fleet, will begin to get impatient.”

At that moment they picked up another warhead going off, this one about five million kilometers away, taking about seventeen seconds for the signal to reach them. There were still hundreds of those warheads, minus missile bodies, drifting through this space, all set on timers to go off at various intervals, keeping up the interference for the next forty-eight hours.

It didn’t take forty-eight hours for the enemy to leave. Seventeen hours later the Ca’cadasans started to jump back into hyper and move away.

Chapter Nineteen

If the battle for civilization comes down to the wimps versus the barbarians, the barbarians are going to win.

Thomas Sowell

Closing speed was a mere nine thousand kilometers a second, almost standing still by modern standards. Alpha was pushing ahead at point nine seven light, enough to turn so called empty space into a soup of radiation, enough to blast through the electromag fields and most of the armor. If not for modern methods of radiation scrubbing, the crew would have absorbed enough rads in an hour to make death inevitable. Still, the spacers outside of the additional armor of the central capsules were soon sick to their stomachs.

In hyperspace the particles were not matter as known in the normal Universe. They were something else, a type of material which didn’t interact well with normal atoms, and as such were much deadlier. Much as regular matter couldn’t exist in hyper, so these couldn’t exist in the realm of normal space for more than a couple of seconds. The realm of normal space was simulated within the hyperfield, and particles entering were soon quantum teleporting back into hyper. But since the particles were traveling at near light speed, most had passed through the length of the ship before that could happen.

Nagawa forced back the vomit that wanted to rise in his throat. He didn’t have time for being sick, none of them did. They were almost through, but there were still a few small areas that were resisting their efforts.

“Move that cutter over here,” he ordered the Spacers with the heavy cutting head. Neither were on his team, but they didn’t hesitate to follow his orders, since he was the ranking petty officer on the job. They manhandled the cutter into position with their augmented suits and engaged, sending an invisible beam of high energy photons down into the hull. Sparks rose, along with wisps of vaporized alloy, making the beam visible as long as it moved through that material.

The ship shook underneath, and the cutter head swung away from its tracks, the beam striking one of the two controlling Spacers in the leg. In an instant the armor and the biological limb encased within it were floating away, while the Spacer screamed in agony over the com.

“Get her out of the way,” yelled Winston, moving to grab one of the woman’s arms and pull her away from the job. She continued to scream for several seconds, then stopped with a final sob as her suit injected her with strong painkillers. Nagawa checked to make sure that the stump of the armor had sealed over her leg, then placed her on the hull, using his own implant to override her suit and latch it to the ship with its magnetic grapples.

“Should we get her below?” yelled her partner on the cutter, already back at work.

“We don’t have time right now,” said Nagawa, feeling guilty as he voiced it. “We have to get this done, then we’ll take her in with the rest of us.”

Her team partner didn’t seem too happy with that, but he continued to do his job. The ship shook again, and Nagawa tapped into the ship’s systems to see what was going on. What was going on was what he feared, as the ship was now being struck by the enemy’s lasers.

* * *

“Put all fire on that grabber unit,” ordered Zhukov, pointing at the unit on the starboard stern of the enemy battle cruiser. As he pointed, the unit glowed, indicating his selection.

They were at extreme range now, one light minute, and at that distance the enemy ship was still hard to hit, since it was changing its vector slightly every second, moving the target area. As the destroyer got closer, it would be able to target the grabber unit more efficiently, while at the moment it was just sending a spotlight of photons over the region.

They would keep moving up on the enemy ship, a light second of distance every thirty odd seconds. It would take them fifteen minutes to get to point blank range, and during that time the battle cruiser and her consort would continue to fire at them, increasing their targeting solution and the damage they dealt out every second.

The ship shook again as a spotlight of laser energy hit the hull. It was too diffuse to burn through, but it could vaporize enough of the surface alloy to make it act like a thruster. Their beam was probably doing even less to the other ship’s grabber, but it was loading some heat into the region, and every bit helped.

“Do you want us to dodge, sir?” asked the Helmsman in an anxious tone.

“Keep her steady, Helm,” he replied. “We have people out there.”

As long as the ship stayed steady, the people on the hull would have no problem. Start to move with any kind of energy, and he would start losing them through the hyperfield.

He looked over at the tactical holo that was showing all of the ships of Alpha formation coming in on the enemy. A cruiser was to either side, along with three destroyers on one side and two on the other, allowing them targeting of all of the enemy’s stern grabbers. All of the ships were turned to broadside, freeing up all of their lasers, with the exception of Collins, which, due to her problems with her reactor, was coming in bow first. All of the ships had lines going from them to the battle cruiser, indicating their targeting.

The ship shook once again. The battle cruiser was targeting each ship in turn while they were still not really in the most effective range. He was sure that later they would start working on ships in sequence, blasting one from space before moving on to the next.

“Missiles from Charlie and Delta incoming, sir.”

Sure enough, the icons of those two forces were reaching their intercept, thirty six from Charlie, three light cruisers and a destroyer, twenty-four from Delta, the four destroyers. They weren’t going to arrive simultaneously, basically over a minute apart, and the Fenri ship was still in the best aspect to handle them with all of its defensive weapons.

The enemy started firing counter missiles at the closest wave, the larger one from the light cruisers. They got off forty-one counters and stopped, and Zhukov was pretty sure that they were out of the hyper capable interceptors. They started firing lasers a couple of minutes later, taking out more of the missiles, leaving only eight to get into close in weapons range. All eight were detonated before they could get close enough to cause damage to the Fenri ships. It was a wasted launch as far as the battle was concerned, every missile in the wave expended for nothing.

A few minutes later the wave from Delta was engaged by lasers, which took out over half of them before they reached close in weapons range. Four made it close enough to be a threat, two of them taken out almost immediately. And then it happened. The last two broke through that final line of defense, against all odds. One detonated less than a thousand kilometers off the amidships of the light cruiser, sending waves of heat and radiation, as well as almost a quarter of the missile’s mass converted to plasma, into the side of the cruiser.

It was not a killing blow, though the damage was severe, and hundreds of Fenri spacers died in an instant. The cruiser survived, but its combat capability, especially the defensive fire it lent to the pair, was significantly reduced.

The second missile detonated at much the same distance from the battle cruiser. The armor of the big ship gave it more protection than the light cruiser had enjoyed. Still, it suffered significant damage, including the loss of one of her stern laser rings and the nearby particle beam accelerator.

The bridge erupted in cheers as the information on the missile near misses came through. The missiles didn’t win the battle, but they made the possible survival of the attacking forces something that was no longer a pipe dream.

“Ejecting reactor, now,” shouted the Chief Engineer over the com.

Zhukov was about to fire a question at the Engineer, was he sure he couldn’t wait a few moments to let the damage control parties clear out? He stopped himself, since he had already given the officer permission to do this, and he had to trust the man who was in charge of the reactors.

The ship shook as the explosive thrusters started the reactor on its way, taken over by the grabber units that would accelerate the unit far from the ship. A moment later the panicked cries of the damage control teams came over the com, several cutting off with frightening suddenness.

* * *

“Ejecting reactor, now,” came the voice of the Chief Engineer over the com.

“Wait,” yelled Nagawa over the com, realizing as the words left his mouth that they wouldn’t do any good.

The hull bulged outward, then the large plug they had been working on flew out in a blur, followed by the reactor, going by in a flash. Along with it went two of the damage control crew who were still working on the last holdout of the hull metal. Both were killed instantly as they were accelerated away at thousands of gravities, well above the ability of their built in compensators to handle.

One Spacer from the other team had been attached to one of those who had been sped away by the reactor. The cable snapped in an instant, but she was still pulled away from the hull, screaming as she moved quickly toward the hyperfield.

Nagawa didn’t even think as he jumped from the hull, reaching for the woman. He saw that he wasn’t going to make it, that she was already moving through the barrier. She was already starting to fade from hyper before he reached the barrier, and he could see that she was not translating easily. In fact, he could see that she was starting to come apart, disrupted by the translation.

Nagawa felt something pull on his left boot, and he looked down to see Corporal Schmidt, one of the Marines on his team, holding onto his suit and pulling him back down to the hull.

“Cover up,” yelled the other PO on the damage control party, a Second Class.

A bright flash appeared above, now over twenty thousand kilometers away, the explosion of the gigatons of force contained in the reactor. Nagawa was waiting for the illness of radiation poisoning to sleet through his body when the bright flash disappeared.

“Thank God,” said one of the party members over the com. “They turned the ship.”

“Get your party back inside, Nagawa,” said Senior Chief Kongbo over the com.

“I lost some people, Chief.”

“That happens, and I will buy you a drink later so we can toast them, if we’re still around. But now you need to get your people back into the hull. We’re still in a fight, and we’re going to need your services before long.”

* * *

“Damage control teams are back aboard, sir,” called out the Senior Chief over the com.

“Very good, Chief. Good job.” They had lost three killed and one severely injured, but their actions had saved the ship and almost three hundred Fleet personnel. He still felt responsible for their deaths, which was as it should have been. The buck stopped with him aboard this ship.

“They’re starting to turn, sir,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Zhukov looked at the vid that showed the battle cruiser changing its aspect, going into a broadside mode that would allow it to fire all of its lasers at the ships coming up on it from behind. Thanks to the missile strike from minutes before it only had three laser rings to turn on them, not the four it would have had.

“Helm, keep the top aspect of the ship away from them.” That was the part that now had a hole in the hull, leading down into engineering, and needed to be kept away from enemy fire.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“New orders coming in from the flag,” called out the Com Tech. “Due to their change in aspect, all ships are to target the front and stern grabbers facing us as designated.”

Their target came up on a holo over the Tactical Officer’s station, one of the stern grabbers.

The ship shook, again taking a laser hit that was still very diffuse. Soon ships would start taking the kind of hits that ripped through protective fields and armor and tore their guts out.

* * *

“The humans are going for our propulsion systems,” said the Master of Battle, looking back at her commander.

“They certainly are brave enough,” said the Lord of Millions. “They must know that most of them are not going to survive this battle.”

“If they cripple this ship, they will have all but won,” cautioned the Bridge Manager. “We will not receive any aid or comfort where we are, and they will soon have more powerful units vectored on to us.”

“Our deaths will have served the Emperor,” said the force commander, bowing his head. “And we will have gathered a hundred thousand human souls to serve us in the afterlife.” He looked up and met the eyes of the Master of Battle. “Try and keep our propulsion system as intact as possible.”

“I will try to save them, my Lord. But they were already somewhat degraded before this current action.”

The Lord of Millions turned away, not wanting his subordinate to see the expression on his face. Like all of his kind he was not afraid to die. Still, if given the choice he would have preferred to live. He would have preferred to be with his wives, and his children, on his estate, his slaves waiting on him. But he had given his oath to his Emperor, and his oath was his honor. And what was one of his people without honor? An animal.

* * *

“They will try to disable the battle cruiser’s grabbers on the way by, your Majesty,” said Rear Admiral Innocent to Jennifer.

“And how many of them will make it past that monster and get away?” asked the Empress, a troubled expression on her face.

“Not many, if any,” said Sean when Mary Innocent looked down and didn’t speak. “But they will have done their duty to the Empire.”

Jennifer looked as if she was ready to cry, holding back the tears by force of will.

This can’t be easy for her, thought Sean, remembering that she had lost her fiancé on Sestius, another honorable warrior, a Marine captain, who had done his duty and died.

“Maybe you should go home,” he suggested, putting his hand on her forearm.

“This is part of ruling the Empire,” she said, shaking her head. “Sending these people into harm’s way. Something I may have to do someday when you are absent. So I will stay and witness their sacrifice.”

Sean felt pride in his wife, who was not born to this, as were most Empresses. He didn’t correct her in her assumption that she would lead if he were permanently made absent. That wasn’t how it worked in the Empire, or how it worked in most historical monarchies. The spouse that was not born into the line did not assume command if something happened to the one raised for rule. If there was an heir, she became the Empress mother, responsible for the baby until it reached adulthood, but not as the regent. If no heir, she became the dowager Empress, while another in the line was elevated to the throne.

“Remember the lives they save through their actions, my love,” he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

* * *

Three full power lasers speared from the Fenri battle cruiser to strike the body of the light cruiser Dover. The range was now fifteen light seconds, and every ship on both sides were shifting like mad creatures, trying to avoid giving the other side an easy target solution. The Dover was not an easy target, and the lasers flew through the space where she had been, then traversed down, slashing through the field and into the hull of the ship, ending below. Again streaming out into empty space. The laser left behind three rips through the hull, each a meter wide, penetrating the armor. Damage klaxons went off throughout the ship as crew fell off the medical monitors, in the wrong place at the wrong time to intercept the laser energy.

Dover continued to fire, though she increased her evasives, throwing off her own targeting. The grabber she was firing at still took the brunt of her four full strength beams, vaporizing supermetals and the supporting structure of the unit.

The battle cruiser fired again, this time clear misses with all beams. A couple of seconds later she fired another volley, this time ripping the beams into the nose of the ship just forward of the bow laser ring. A following volley hit the hangar bay doors and blasted a wide hole through them, opening the compartment to space and blasting one of the shuttles to pieces that flew through the compartment, opening more compartments to the vacuum.

Dover continued to battle it out, sending her four cruiser class beams into the grabber unit of the battle cruiser, doing a little more damage with each strike, until the cumulative effect was a complete meltdown of that grabber. The battle cruiser kept hitting back, opening holes in the ship that spat armored spacers out into hyper, where they disappeared back to normal space. This was the horror of battle in hyper that struck fear into the hearts of most Fleet spacers, the sure death of entering hyper, where even survival of the translation, a rare event, meant drifting forever in normal space.

Meanwhile, the other ships of the force were firing into the battle cruiser, ignoring the crippled light cruiser consort. Each ship was doing a tiny amount of damage, but like the death of a thousand cuts, the cumulative effect would cripple the ship.

Dover staggered under one hit that ripped through the hull over engineering, spearing in to strike a containment vessel that breached moments later. The center section of the cruiser exploded outwards, then detonated in an even bigger blast as both reactors and all other antimatter containers breached, turning the ship into a cloud of fast moving plasma that disappeared back into normal space in seconds.

Now it was Scranton’s turn, as the battle cruiser turned all her weapons on the only other cruiser in the attacking force.

* * *

“There goes laser A,” called out the Tactical Officer as the Scranton shook from the hit.

Captain Francois Pasce looked at the damage schematic that was hanging in the air near his chair, trying to think of something he could do to change the flow of this battle, and coming up with a blank. The fact was, his ship was now the focus of the attention of a ship almost ten times its mass, and the lasers coming in were ten times more powerful than those going out.

The five destroyers were lending their fire, but even with the addition of their weapons it wasn’t a fair fight. The battle cruiser also sustained damage, very little of it going through the armor. He had known going in that the heavily armored ship would be almost immune to the lasers of his group, one of the reasons they were focusing on surface installations like the grabber units.

“Grabber unit is destroyed,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Switching targeting to next grabber.”

“Belay that,” ordered the Captain, studying the presumed damage schematic of the enemy ships. “Aim at one of the forward laser rings. Let’s see if we can take out some of their firepower.”

“Aye, aye,” replied the Tactical Officer, getting to work at targeting the large surface installation.

The next shot from the Fenri missed completely. The first shot at the enemy laser ring was also a miss, though it did hit the hull and caused a small amount of damage to the armor. The next volley from the Fenri was a direct hit to the forward section of the ship, just up from the inoperable Laser A. Two of the three beams ripped through the field and armor, blasting through sensor arrays and both plasma torpedo tubes. Armor exploded out, and the forward twenty meters of the ship were just hanging on by a few attachment points.

“Helm,” ordered the Captain, breathing a sigh of relief the that last hit had not gone through a manned section. “Change our aspect. I want our stern pointed toward that ship.” The ship started to spin around, changing aspect to make it the smallest target possible.

“Firm up the field on the stern, Tac. Migrate as much of the cold plasma as you can to that section.”

The next volley coming in was again a complete miss, slashing through where the ship would have been before changing aspect. The return shot from the light cruiser was a direct hit on the targeted laser ring on the battle cruiser. Two beams struck the actual nanomaterial of the ring, the skin that controlled the aim and frequency of the laser, generated from the collector circle of photons below. One hit cracked the spot impacted, weakening the integrity of the ring. The other hit at just the right angle and blew through the material. Bouncing photons leaked from the wound, a blast of light that soon drained the ring was if it had been filled with water.

Laser rings had many strengths, as seen already in this fight, since they allowed a ship to focus all of its light amp weapons on a single target. And one glaring weakness, in that the destruction of a ring deprived the vessel of a considerable percentage of its close in weapon power.

The return strike from the battle cruiser, this time two full strength beams and one at less than half strength, hit the upper stern hull of the light cruiser, ripping a slash through the armor and tearing the aft laser ring, D, in half.

The ships continued to trade strikes, the light cruiser getting in two more hits on the targeted laser ring, just before it lost its own remaining stern ring. The cruiser rotated again, pointing its bow toward the battle cruiser and bringing its only remaining laser ring into action.

Pasce gripped the arms of his chair as the ship once again shook from a hit. His faceplate was down and he was using his suit’s environmental system, since the bridge system was having a lot of trouble clearing out the smoke that was coming from burned out circuits. The damage schematic had so much red on it that it was difficult to pick out the individual points of interest. The Captain was surprised that they had not sustained critical damage to their power generation facilities or the missile warheads. A couple of the missile magazines had been destroyed, their stored normal space weapons shredded. The warheads themselves were stored in heavily armored compartments away from the missiles, and they were easily ejectable from the vessel if necessary.

“That’s the last laser ring,” called out the Tactical Officer as the ship shook again.

“What do you have left?”

“We have one particle beam ring left, the stern array. And, of course, the stern plasma torps.”

And I don’t think we’re going to have a chance to use them, thought the Captain as the ship shook once again. A couple of more hits would probably do it for the Scranton, and then it would be up to the destroyers to handle the enemy capital ship.

* * *

“The cruiser has been disarmed,” said the Master of Battle. “We should be able to finish them, as you ordered, in less than a minute.”

The battle cruiser shook slightly as lasers struck from the five destroyers. Each hit did minimal damage, though they were still taking out electromag projectors, close in weapons systems and here and there a missile tube. And, of course, the grabber units, which had already lost almost half their combined capacity.

“They are no longer a threat,” said the Lord of Millions. “Shift fire to the next target on the priority list.”

“As you wish, my Lord. Shifting target to one of the destroyers. This one.”

* * *

“The enemy is firing on Walter Chang,” shouted out the Tactical Officer of Angela Collins.

Chang was alongside Collins, attacking on the same vector. It was vectoring in sideways, all laser rings firing, which also made it a larger target than if it had been coming in bow or stern first.

Destroyers had been known as Tin Cans since the days of ocean navy metal warships. In those days they had lacked any armor, having only their thin hull metal, about two centimeters. All space warships carried armor over their sandwiched hull. The sandwich layer was comprised of supports and layering, with a nanometal sealant layer in between two layers of supports and hull. The nanometal sealant would automatically flow into, harden, and seal most breaches of the hull. And over this was the layer of armor, a composite of alloys, carbon nanofibers and ceramics.

Battleships carried up to seven meters of armor over their three meters of hull. Battle cruisers carried about five meters of combined armor and hull, like the Fenri ship they were battling. Heavy cruisers had about four meters of protection, light cruisers two, while destroyers, the new tin cans, had less than a meter, thirty centimeters of hull overlaid by less than seventy centimeters of composite armor. Unfortunately, when pentawatt lasers were flying through space, a hundred centimeters of hull was burned through in much less than a second.

The first volley scored two hits, one with the half strength ring that didn’t penetrate fully. The other blew through the hull in an instant, missing one of the laser emitter units but going straight through the ring monitoring room. The beam blasted through the chamber, killing the three spacers in their armor instantly. The next volley missed, while the third hit squarely on the stern, knocking out one of the laser rings. The fourth was the killing shot, two full strength beams ripping through the armor over the reactor capsule and through the extra armor over that structure. Containment breached immediately, and the ship exploded outward.

Next was the Foroud Mustafa, which absorbed seven out of twelve volleys before disappearing in a cloud of plasma. And then the Mu Feng, which only took three hits to go. At that point the force, what was left of it, was almost even with the battle cruiser, and every beam hitting was at the same strength as it had coming out of the ring.

* * *

“The light cruiser force will be within range in twelve seconds, my Lord,” reported the Master of Battle.

The plot showed that force, three light cruisers and a destroyer, coming in on an angled vector that would bring them even with the battle cruiser in ten minutes after entering maximum effective laser range. Two minutes after they were within range, the four destroyer force would also enter range, and the battle cruiser would find itself fighting two forces on opposite sides.

The battle cruiser was still a formidable fighting machine, despite the damage it had sustained. But she could at most make a hundred and sixty gravities acceleration, and one and half of her laser rings were non-operational. She had some small wounds through her armor and hull, and several areas were uncovered by electromagnetic fields as their arrays of field projectors had been destroyed.

And they were only taking laser fire from the two surviving destroyers of the force falling past her. Only one of those ships had all of its weapons, and the battle cruiser was in the process of targeting the one that was totally intact. The cruiser hadn’t taken any offensive action since it had last been hit, and was assumed to now be a non-factor.

The battle cruiser fired at the intact destroyer, a point blank target that should have been an easy hit. And missed. They didn’t get a chance for another shot.

* * *

“Everything ready?” asked Captain Pasce, sitting strapped into this chair.

“All ships have received their orders, sir,” said the Com Tech in an exhausted voice.

We’re all emotionally drained, thought the Captain. He knew he was. Part of it in his case was escaping death while expecting every moment for it to find him. And part had to do with having led so many other ships into action and losing most of them.

“Targets are locked, sir,” said the Tactical Officer. “Timers set.”

And soon they learn they should have taken us out earlier, thought the anxious commander, knowing that this might be the last action he and crew would ever take. But it was an action they had to take, their duty, even if it attracted the unwanted attention of the battle cruiser.

“Attack set,” called the Tactical Officer, hitting the commit switch and letting it take the biometric reading from his hand, acknowledging that a living sentient had given the command to attack other living sentients.

The battle cruiser fired, at the last remaining fully intact ship, and missed. An instant later the Scranton swung her stern toward the battle cruiser, approaching her closest pass of the enemy ship, less than a thousand kilometers. At the right moment to get the fire into the target at that closest approach the weapons released.

The remaining particle beam accelerator, which had been loaded with antimatter, fired first, sending a stream of anti-protons into the hull of the battle cruiser at point nine nine seven light. The shot lasted three seconds and put two kilograms of the ultimate explosive material into the hull of the battle cruiser. At the velocity it was travelling, the antimatter packed considerable kinetic energy, but nothing compared to the almost ninety megatons of explosive power that ripped through the cold plasma screen and rippled across the hull.

In the middle of that firing run the twin plasma torpedo tubes on the stern released their charges, several tons of superheated plasma each, flying across the nine thousand kilometers of distance in less than a second. Only three quarters of the load made it, the rest translating back into normal space, but even that was enough to rip a pair of holes through the armor of the battle cruiser and flood many compartments with killing heat. And finally, the four stern missile tubes fired a spread of normal space missiles that had been hot rigged to run at fifteen thousand gravities for five seconds, ten times more than needed. Each hit the hull of the massive ship, detonating with four hundred megatons of force each.

The two destroyers fired a few seconds later, during their closest approach, each putting a kilogram of antimatter, one plasma torpedo and three missiles into the capital ship. In three seconds the Fenri ship had gone from a still dangerous capital vessel to a wreck. Only one laser ring was still online, and it was only able to generate forty percent of maximum. All of the electromag projectors on the starboard side were gone, and over half on the port side.

The three Imperial ships continued to fall past, the two destroyers still firing their lasers. Less than a minute later the light amp energy weapons of Force Charlie were falling on the battle cruiser. The battle wasn’t over. It was a given that the Fenri would not surrender, and they still had weapons.

* * *

“What happened?” asked Jennifer as the icons of the Imperial ships fell past the Fenri battle cruiser.

“We’ve won the battle,” said Sean with a smile. “Whichever commander planned that last act has a promotion in his future.”

“It’s not over yet, your Majesty,” said McCullom, shaking her head. “That Fenri bastard still has teeth.”

“So it’s not over?” asked Jennifer, a troubled look manifesting itself on her face. “How many more are going to die?”

“As many as need to,” replied Sean before anyone else could speak. “This is a tiger on the loose, and we need to stop it in its tracks.”

Sean didn’t feel all that great about losing people who had sworn their oaths to him, to protect the Empire under his command. But as he had told his wife, this was a danger to the safety of his people, and it needed to be stopped. And he needed these people who were willing to put it all on the line for the Empire.

“Force Charlie is opening fire on the enemy,” called out one of the Analysts at the table. “Delta will be in range in one minute, eighteen seconds.”

And of course the battle cruiser, even if it only had a single claw, would be firing back. No, the battle wasn’t over, and there was still blood to be spilt. But at this point the end was a foregone conclusion.

Chapter Twenty

War is the business of barbarians.

Napoleon Bonaparte

“All enemy ships have broken contact,” reported the Master of Battle, the male who had been the assistant of the female who had held that post, before she became one of the many casualties on the battle cruiser.

“And nothing else on the sensors?” asked the Lord of Millions, cradling his broken arm set in its hard cast.. He couldn’t see anything on the plot other than the remaining enemy ships. The light cruiser and destroyer from the former trailing group falling ahead of them, while the severely damaged heavy cruiser fell behind. Both of the flanking groups, half their original strength, also fell away along diverging vectors. He had all but destroyed those forces, but had lost his consort cruiser, and his ship was no longer capable of fighting and winning a major action. He could see what was on the plot, but fatigue, along with the stress of constant running from the enemy and the battle, was affecting his thinking.

But we’re still capable of killing that planet that looms ahead, he thought. A last victory for his ship and people. Their families and friends might never know what had happened to them, but he would. They would.

“I want us on a least time stairstep profile for the planet,” he told his battered looking Driver. He turned to look at his new Master of Battle. “What weapons have we remaining?”

“We have partial power to two laser rings, my Lord,” announced that warrior. “Less than fifty percent energy feed to both. One particle beam accelerator left online, with two working projector nozzles. And twelve missile tubes operational.”

So we have less than a third of our original combat capability. I doubt if we can beat off another pair of their heavy cruisers, much less a capital ship. So we have to hope we can get into the system and fire on the planet before something comes along that can take us. Escape was out of the question. Dying well was all they could hope for.

* * *

“Orders from Captain Pasce, sir,” called out the Klassekian Com Tech. All four of her eyes widened as she looked back at Zhukov. “We are to alter vector and prepare to attack the enemy battle cruiser.”

Zhukov almost cursed, something one did not do when given orders by a superior, no matter how one felt. They had fallen past the enemy, and were now over five light minutes distant in hyper VI. They were well out laser range, and while still in missile range, they had no hyper capable weapons to fire. It was doubtful that the enemy had any left either. Zhukov had finally begun to feel some relief. They had made it through the gauntlet, they had survived. And now they were being ordered back into the hell of a close in attack on a capital ship.

The holo showed the remaining heavy cruiser, the Vincenzo, moving toward the edge of the plot. That ship was out of the battle, too badly damaged to even decel in time to have any effect. Force Charlie was down to two light cruisers and a destroyer, and were also falling away. If they altered their vectors it would still take them longer than the remainder of Alpha to close with the enemy. Same with Delta, down to a pair of destroyers, one heavily damaged. All the two ships of Alpha would have to do was decelerate, and allow the velocity of the enemy to close the distance.

“Orders, sir?” asked the Chief manning the helm. The look on his face showed he was hoping his captain would disobey the orders from the other captain.

“Prepare for deceleration. You are to follow the moves of the Scranton. If she accelerates, you do the same, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tactical Officer. Prepare all weapons.”

“That isn’t much,” complained the officer.

“It’s what we have. And what we will use.” And if we’re lucky, our ship will make it through another attack without being destroyed. Though I have my doubts about that as well.

“Scranton is starting to decelerate at three hundred and eight gravities, sir,” said the Sensor Chief over the com.

“That must be all they are capable of,” said the Tactical Officer, as the helm matched the light cruiser as to vector and decel.

“No doubt,” said Zhukov, wondering how the crew on that ship felt about what they were about to do. And knowing that they would do it, no matter how they felt.

“Time to laser range, twenty-one minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“Sir,” said the Sensor Chief. “Enemy ship is starting to decel at three hundred and fifty-three gravities.”

“They’re getting down to jump speed, sir,” said the Helm. “And they’re altering their vector to head to New Marston.”

And there are millions of people on that frontier world, thought the Captain, staring at the plot. That definitely changed the entire situation. Now it wasn’t just a matter of damaging a ship that was already too heavily damaged to get away. It was keeping that ship from killing another planet and millions of citizens.

“Scranton will not be able to intercept, sir,” said Sophie Drake, his XO, from her station in CIC, in the stern central capsule.

“Then I guess that leaves it up to us,” said Zhukov, shaking his head. “I want us on a least time intercept. Estimated time?”

“Fourteen minutes, sir,” said the Helmsman, his voice taunt with tension. “They will be able to make their first jump seven minutes after. And we will be able to jump right after them.”

If there’s anything left of us, thought Zhukov, finishing the unspoken part of the sentence.

“Set course and acceleration. Tactical Officer. I want all weapons targeted on their hyperdrive arrays when we get within range.”

“I’m not sure we have enough firepower to disable them, sir.”

I know, thought the Captain, considering how much energy could be generated by a two hundred and forty thousand ton destroyer hitting a battle cruiser at a closing velocity of point two light. Enough to take out that battle cruiser, he had no doubt, though it would end his ship and his crew as well.

* * *

“Why is that one ship leaving the other behind?” asked the Empress, pointing at the plot.

“I believe the cruiser is not capable of making intercept before the Fenri ship jumps. The destroyer is still able to make the intercept, so they are going to close and fight.”

“And what is their chance of surviving?” asked the Empress in a horrified tone.

None, thought Sean, looking over at the larger plot that showed the space that was invisible to the ships on the spot, well out of their sensor range. That plot showed the New Marston system, with all of its planets, and the shipping moving through it.

“What is that?” asked Sean, pointing at a large icon that zoomed in to reveal two vector arrows at the edge of the system.

“Those are two of our battle cruisers, your Majesty,” said Admiral Innocent, pulling up information on her datapad. “The Galileo and the Admiral Nimitz. Two hyper VI class capital ships.”

“And they’re already in normal space?”

“Yes, your Majesty. They jumped over forty-seven minutes ago, and are accelerating into the system at their maximum rate.”

“So the enemy won’t know they’re there until they jump into normal space?”

“That would be correct, your Majesty,” said McCullom, a quizzical expression on her face. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that those ships will be able to take the Fenri under fire before they can leave the system, as long as the Fenri don’t know they’re there for about forty minutes. And one has a wormhole com, correct?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Which can also be configured as a wormhole launch system?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” agreed McCullom, confusion written across her face.

“Then order the battle cruisers to power down their drives five minutes before the enemy ships are predicted to enter normal space. They are to wait until the enemy is far enough into the system that they can’t decel and get out before they are engaged.”

“And if the enemy launches at the planet?” asked McCullom.

“Do those ships have the latest mark of missile aboard?”

“Yes, sir,” said McCullom, her eyes lighting. “And the Fenri missiles are only capable of five thousand gravities. Our missiles can chase them down and take them out.”

“Just like the destroyers did in the last system this Fenri attacked,” said Innocent. “That should work.” She looked over at McCullom. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

Sean looked over at his officers, who had been following the situation continuously for weeks, not getting more than a couple of hours of sleep a day. Nanites scrubbing toxins from the bodies and brains of exhausted people was all well and good, and because of that tech people were able to function well beyond the point where they would have collapsed prior to that innovation. But scrubbing toxins only went so far, and after a while humans still needed real sleep.

Because you’re like the rest of my officers, thought Sean. You’re too damned tired to think clearly. That gave Sean some ideas on how to reorganize his high command. Not to take the control of the war out of their hands, but to spread the workload out a bit. Otherwise, there would be more errors caused by fatigue.

“Send the needed orders,” he told his people. He looked over and squeezed Jennifer’s hand. “We don’t have need for those people to die. Not this day.”

* * *

“Weapons range in six minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.

And we might get in a couple of volleys before they start blowing holes in our hull, thought the Captain. He was keeping close track on the course of his vessel, ordering slight adjustments so the ship would be on the track he needed it to be on for its final maneuver. He was sure that the Chief running the helm knew what he was doing, but probably not any of the others. And he preferred for them not to have guessed. It would be bad enough when the time came, without adding mental torture to the crew over the approach. It wasn’t like they could abandon ship, not without a hyper capable shuttle aboard. Any that bailed in life pods or suits would just catastrophically translate back into normal space. Over ninety percent of those would die, and the survivors would find themselves drifting in empty space, with rescue unlikely.

“New orders coming in from high command,” shouted out the Com Tech in her heavily accented Terranglo. Zhukov still had trouble reading her face, but he thought he read the relief on her visage. “We are ordered to break off. To change our vector and go into a following course. To keep track of the enemy, but not to engage. Command has something else waiting for them.”

“Helm,” shouted Zhukov, almost jumping out of his seat in excitement at the prospect of living past this day. “Move us away from the enemy and into a following vector. We will follow them down into the system and see what happens.” They would have a front row seat to whatever fate was waiting for the Fenri. He hoped it would be a good show.

* * *

“Preparing for jump into normal space, my Lord,” said the Driver, his shoulders tensed up, as were those of all the bridge crew. You never knew what might be waiting when jumping into normal space outside of a system. Graviton emissions could tell the approaching ship where the major bodies of the system were, and where larger vessels boosting, or even smaller ones accelerating at a high rate, might be. But that was about it.

“Enemy destroyer still following,” said the Master of Battle. “Do you wish for us to fire on them when they drop into normal space?”

“No,” said the Lord of Millions, who only had eyes for the system ahead at the moment. “I want everything in this system destroyed. We will save our weapons for targets of opportunity when they appear.”

The Master of Battle gave a head motion of acknowledgement and went back to his board, ready to lock on to targets.

“Jumping, now,” called out the Driver, and the ship slid through the hole in the dimensions, back to the familiar universe of black space and bright stars. The Fenri were hit by the nausea that seemed to affect all living creatures, theirs less than most.

“Locking in targets, now,” called out the Master of Battle, and objects started appearing on the plot, glowing red as they were locked into the targeting computer.

There was of course the inhabited planet, over two light hours distant. It had a moon with industrial bases on the surface, as well as orbital stations and a pair of forts. The asteroid belt had several targets, major mining stations. There were twenty-three commercial ships boosting in the system, a couple of hyper capable freighters, a liner, the rest were system only ships that would not be able to escape no matter what.

“No sign of their system defense ships,” said the Master of Battle. “I thought there were supposed to be a half dozen destroyers.”

“Yes,” said the Lord of Millions, looking at the plot, trying to spot the ships he knew were there. “They’re in hiding, trying to trap us.” He was sure the humans were not hiding out of fear. He had seen them in combat, as recently as this day, and knew they were just as courageous as his own people. But they weren’t the kind to throw their lives away for no reason. They were crafty as well as brave.

“Fire on the targets you have,” ordered the Lord. “We will see if we can get a reaction out of their hidden ships.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Seconds later the ship shook slightly as it started cycling missiles, each functional tube putting out a missile every fifteen seconds. In minutes it had fired over a hundred missiles into the system, aimed at the planet, moon and asteroids. It fired another couple of spreads, targeting their commercial vessels, which were just about helpless against any kind of missile attack. And still the enemy ships didn’t respond.

“Are they just going to let their inhabited planet be wiped clean of life?” asked the Master of Battle.

“Impossible,” said the Lord, giving a head motion of negation. “They must not be here. Perhaps that is why they fought so hard against us before we got here. They knew there were no defenses here worth the name.”

“We have launches from the forts,” said the Master of Battle. “Thirty missiles. Sixty.”

“That’s all?”

“So far, sir. Accelerating at five thousand gravities. Estimated time of impact, six hours.”

“And we will be through here well before that time,” said the Lord. “Perhaps we can even get in a shot at one more system.”

* * *

The battle cruiser Galileo was a little under fifty light minutes from the Fenri ship when that vessel entered normal space. The Fenri was not decelerating, nor was it accelerating, it was simply coasting inward at point two seven light. It could kill its motion in a little over an hour and start back out if it boosted at its maximum obtainable rate, about sixty percent of what it had been before it had accumulated damage to its drive systems.

Galileo launched, sending out a stream of thirty missiles from the wormhole she carried, each travelling at point nine five light, each weapon moving along a course that would intercept the Fenri ships in a little over fifty two minutes. The missiles were almost impossible to track, their grabbers powered down, only running their electromag fields to protect the seeker heads from radiation and particle erosion. Two minutes after that launch another thirty were on the way on the same track, powered down in the same manner. Missiles were not cheap, but they were a hell of a lot less expensive than capital ships, or planets for that matter. High Command had determined that this raider was going to die, right here and now, and it was willing to expend the ordnance to do so.

* * *

“Missiles running straight and true,” said the Master of Battle, a slight smile on his face, eyes gleaming.

The Lord of Millions nodded. He knew the feeling, and in fact was experiencing some of it himself. That feeling of power, of having sent over a hundred weapons at an enemy, each of them carrying warheads as large as any his species had ever deployed. And the enemy ships were still missing, the only one on the track the damaged destroyer that was still following. And maybe I can spare a couple of missiles to blot it out of space, thought the Lord. Then we could disappear again, and reappear in their space lanes, taking ships when we would.

“Begin to decelerate,” he ordered the Driver. “I want us back into hyper in three hours.”

“I can get us back into hyper in three hours and twenty-two minutes, my Lord,” said the Driver, looking over his shoulder.

“That will have to do,” said the Lord. “I almost wish we could stay and watch the planet die, but I guess it’s more important to get on with the business of the Empire.”

* * *

The Imperial battle cruisers picked up the activation of grabber units on the Fenri ships. It took only a few moments to recalculate their trajectory. The first wave of missiles was only ten minutes from impact, but unless they started to make course corrections, they would miss the target. A grav pulse com went out to both waves of missiles, telling them to turn on their tracking and to engage their grabber units to make course changes. At the same time every Imperial warship in the system fired up their own propulsion systems, all launching on the enemy missiles at the exact same moment.

* * *

“We have ships on the sensors, my Lord,” called out the Master of Battle in a panicked voice. “We have missile launch. Sixty missiles heading for us just appeared on the screen.”

“Just appeared? How?”

“I don’t know, my Lord. One instant there was nothing there, the next sixty missiles, coming in at point nine five light.”

“It was their wormholes,” hissed the Lord, knowing he had been foxed. They fired them as soon as we were in system, set to come in on ballistic. And there is no way we can avoid that many missiles coming in that fast.

“How many missiles do we have left in our magazines?”

“We have seventy-three we can access, my Lord,” said the Master of Battle. “Port forward magazine is cut off due to battle damage, so we can’t use those unless we transship them outside the hull.”

No use in bothering with those, thought the Lord, looking at the incoming missiles on the plot. “Fire sixty-three of them at the enemy battle cruisers. Maybe we could get lucky and kill one.” Though we won’t be around to see it.

“And the other ten?”

“Launch at the destroyer that is still dogging our trail. I think they deserve to go to one of the deepest hells as well.”

The Master of Battle gave a head motion of acknowledgment, then went to work. Moments later the battle cruiser started to shake slightly as she launched. After about a minute she stopped, flushed dry of long range weapons.

“We might be able to kill all of those incoming missiles, my Lord,” said the Master of Battle with a hopeful expression. “We still have over three hundred normal space counters on board.”

The Lord stared at the male, wondering at his naivety. If they were lucky, they might generate hits on three quarters of the incoming. If they were lucky, they might handle ten of the remaining fifteen with lasers and close in weapons. If they were lucky. And then the enemy would just send another swarm of high velocity missiles at them.

* * *

“We have missile launch. Ten missiles on a heading toward us at five thousand gravities. Estimated time of impact, thirty-three minutes.”

“Time to hyper barrier at best acceleration?”

“Thirty-five minutes, sir.”

So there is no way we’re going to get away from them. All we can do is depend on our counters and lasers, what there are of them, and hope we can ride it out. “Fire a spread of missiles at those incoming. Set to detonate in front of them. Then prepare for another spread to launch as soon as we have an assessment on those.”

“Aye, sir. Firing a spread of missiles.” The destroyer shook as it rotated on its axis, sending out missiles from each set of tubes as they were brought to bear. In moments eighteen missiles were in space, heading toward the enemy incoming. Eighteen against ten seemed good odds, except the enemy missiles would try every evasive maneuver they could generate, and the destroyer would be lucky to kill five or six of them at a high combined closing speed.

“Everyone into the tanks,” he ordered next, getting up from his chair and heading for his armor cubby. He backed into the cubby, which mated with his suit and opened it up along the seams which appeared as the nanoskin and armor unzipped. The suit was pulled back into the cubby, and Zhukov stretched for a moment as the hard armor was lifted from his body.

Everyone on the bridge followed suit, until they were all down to the light garments they wore under their armor, while the acceleration tanks rose from the floor of the chamber. The ship was capable of less than five hundred gravities acceleration, not because of the lack of grabber power, but due to the degradation of the inertial compensators that were built into those units. The liquid filled tanks would allow the crew to handle another thirty gravities acceleration, if not in comfort, at least not with the torture of so many gees forces crushing them to death.

Zhukov climbed into his tank, stepping into ankle deep liquid, the door sliding shut behind him and sealing. Further liquid came flowing in, rising quickly, while the Captain made sure his breathing apparatus was working. The liquid rose around him, and he floated in the center of the cylinder, protected by the cushioning effect of the fluid from the extra gravities the ship was about to generate.

“All crew are in the tanks,” came the voice of Drake over his link.

Zhukov acknowledged, then sent the command over his link, ordering the ship to pile on the extra gravities. The grabbers dug into the fabric of space, pulling the ship along with greater acceleration, killing its velocity into the system and starting it on its way back to the hyper barrier. They continued to convert inertia to heat, radiating it out from the white hot supermetals. Not enough heat, and not enough inertia, but enough for the crew to survive in the tanks, and maybe get them out beyond the barrier before the enemy missiles got to them.

* * *

The Imperial battle cruisers fired again, this time from their internal missile magazines, sending over two hundred weapons streaming after the Fenri weapons heading into the system. Each missile, one of the newest designs, was capable of ten thousand gravities sustained acceleration, and they leapt after the enemy weapons that were generating a mere five thousand gees. Into the system the six destroyers and eight frigates of the system defense force also fired, their missiles, of the older design, heading for intercepts with the enemy weapons that were heading toward them. The forts in orbit fired a couple of spreads themselves, their much larger missiles, carrying fusion warheads instead of the antimatter variety that ships used, accelerating outward at the same rate as those of the destroyers.

The missiles would hit the enemy weapons in three waves, their effectiveness assessed, and more missiles launched. The battle cruisers really wouldn’t be able to add to the second wave after the assessment, so they went ahead and launched again, adding another wave of missiles to their first. It was thought that would be enough, but there were no guarantees, and the destroyers and forts might have to flush all of their missiles to assure no hits on the planet.

* * *

If they had been lucky, the counters they fired would have taken out three quarters of the incoming Imperial weapons. They weren’t that lucky, and thirty-seven of the fast moving weapons came through the cycling waves of counters without damage. There wasn’t enough luck in the Universe for the damaged battle cruiser to handle that many weapons coming in with a closing speed of point nine six light.

They still took out eighteen of the weapons, more than expected. The nineteen that made it through were more than enough to take out the ship. Two missiles detonated close in to the battle cruiser, sending heat and radiation into the hull and scouring it clean of weapons and electromag projectors. A microsecond later the third missile in hit dead center, and the battle cruiser, along with the three thousand Fenri and a thousand slaves, died in that instant. Four more missiles detonated in the plasma field, while the rest avoided the hazard and tried to reacquire. But there were no targets to acquire, and the missiles went into a maximum deceleration phase. Since this was friendly territory, the expensive missiles could be recovered, their crystal matrix batteries recharged, and used again.

Of course, this meant nothing to the Fenri, most of whom hadn’t come through the blasts as more than superheated molecules. If their religion was correct, their spirits would go to their paradise, the reward of the warriors fighting for their people. If the religions of the humans were correct, these beings would burn in hell. No one living would know the answer. All that was known was that this last attack on an inhabited system had failed.

* * *

We’re almost there, thought Lt. Commander Terrance Zhukov. His missiles fired had only accounted for one of the Fenri weapons. His counters had taken out three of the incoming enemy missiles, and the remaining laser rings were cycling through shots at the six that were still closing. Almost might not be good enough. They were still several seconds further from the barrier than the missiles were from them.

A missile detonated, hit directly by a laser blast. The next missed, then another hit took out one more enemy weapon, leaving four still closing. A couple were sure to hit the Angela Collins, and there was nothing he could do about it. But..

“Jump into hyper I, now,” he ordered the ship’s computer over his link. They weren’t yet past the barrier, and there was no guarantee that they would survive the translation. But there was a guarantee that they wouldn’t if they remained in normal space any longer.

The nausea hit, and Zhukov knew they had opened a portal and were sliding through. The ship shook, the stresses of an early entry hammering on the hull. Zhukov waited for his ship to come apart around him, or for a missile to follow them through the hyperdrive portal and strike them before falling out of hyper itself.

The shaking reached a crescendo, and that he was still alive proved to Zhukov that nothing had followed them through. The ship was still boosting toward the barrier, and it only had to hold together for another couple of seconds. The Captain wasn’t sure that would happen, until the shaking started to abate, then died completely.

We made it, thought Zhukov, ordering the ship through the link to cease acceleration. Moments later his tank started to drain, the life saving fluid retreating through the drains in the bottom of the cylinder. When it had fallen to ankle depth the door slid open, and the Captain stepped out of the tank, at the same time that the other crew were coming out onto the bridge.

“We made it,” said Sophie Drake over the com.

“Yes, we did,” agreed Zhukov. He looked over at his Klassekian Com Tech. “What say we get in touch with headquarters, and see where they want us so we can get our medals.”

* * *

We made it, thought Petty Officer First Winston Nagawa, patting his body as if he still didn’t believe he was still there. The talk among the people of his damage control team seemed to prove that he wasn’t the only one to find it miraculous.

The Petty Officer took a seat as he watched his tank retreat back into the floor, disappearing as the hatch slid shut and melded with the material of that deck. In a moment it was if the tank had never existed.

“What the hell are you doing, PO?” yelled a familiar voice, followed by the armored body of Senior Chie Kongbo. “There’s work to do. Machinery to check out. This is no time to take a break.”

“Understood, Senior Chief,” shouted Nagawa, jumping to his feet, then heading for his armor cubby.

“Hold up, PO,” said Kongbo, motioning for Nagawa to come back.

Nagawa was not sure what the Chief was up to, but his tone was not one of anger. “Yes, Senior Chief.”

“I just wanted to tell you how proud I am to have had you serve under me, Nagawa. You’re alright, despite coming up through merchies.”

With that the Chief turned and walked away, yelling at a spacer here or there who he thought might be slacking. Winston watched him walked away with a smile on his face. He never thought it would happen, but he had been accepted by the senior enlisted spacer on the ship, which meant acceptance by everyone. He felt good as he backed into his cubby and let it armor him once again.

I may not be the best petty officer to ever have put on the uniform, he thought as he tested his suit after stepping from the cubby. But I’m good enough, and that’s all I need to be.

Chapter Twenty-one

If the Barbarians are destroyed, who will we then be able to blame for the bad things?

Angela Carter

NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE, SEPTEMBER 12TH, 1002.

Great Admiral Mgananawan K’lantariana sat on his flag bridge and scowled at the regional plot that showed his area of operations. After routing the Klavarta force, he had returned with a good portion of his fleet back to the system where he had stirred up the hornet’s nest. He thought he could at least destroy that industrial node, since he hadn’t taken out the enemy fleet as thoroughly as he had wanted. He had returned to that system, and found nothing. The Klavarta had moved everything, leaving behind only some abandoned husks of facilities that were of no use to anyone.

“At least we ravaged their fleet, my Lord,” said his Chief of Staff, standing next to the huge holo tank.

“Did we? I know we killed quite a few ships, but how many? And how large a percentage is that of their total force? By the Gods, but I wish these creatures would fight like males, instead of hiding in the shadows and only striking where we are weakest.”

“They are cowards,” suggested the Chief of Staff.

No, they are not, thought the Great Admiral, not wanting to get into an argument with the other male. The Klavarta showed reckless courage, to the point of launching suicide attacks on his ships.

We destroyed what, two hundred thousand or more of their ships. And I lost almost four thousand battleships alone, massing more than all of those two hundred thousand ships put together. We can’t afford this kind of war of attrition.

“We’re receiving a transmission from High Admiral Mrattameara, my Lord,” said one of the Com Officers on the bridge.

“Put it on my side holo,” he told the officer, then waited a moment for the head of the other male, one of several ranking officers just under the Great Admiral, appeared in the air by his side.

“Report,” he ordered, trying to keep from showing too much impatience. This male had been chasing down one of the larger formations to retreat from his ambush of the Klavarta. That could add many more enemy ships to the tally, or not.

“We administered the enemy a crushing defeat, my Lord Great Admiral,” said the male, a nervous smile across his face telling Mgananawan that this was not the only news.

“How many?”

“We killed at least twenty thousand more of their vessels, as well as destroying a moderate sized shipyard.”

“I meant, how many did you lose?”

“Very few in that battle, my Lord Admiral. The exchange rate, by mass, had to be two to one.”

“And after that battle? Tell me the truth, High Admiral, for I will discover it eventually. What happened after that battle?”

“We went into pursuit of the enemy force, my Lord. We had them on the run, after all.”

“And they scattered?”

“Yes, my Lord Admiral. They scattered like the savage cowards they are, and the units I sent after them split as well, trying to sweep the majority of the enemy into the bag as possible. But the enemy was not running. He was leading us on a trail to where their forces were waiting. The first my commanders knew that the enemy was there was when they jumped into hyper all around them. Some made it back, and we know what happened with them. Some groups disappeared, and we have no idea what was their fate.”

“Of course we do,” said the Great Admiral, glaring at his subordinate. “They stepped into the enemy trap and were overwhelmed.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And how much of your command did you lose?”

“Almost half, my Lord.”

“Almost half. So, almost a thousand ships.” The Great Admiral grabbed one of his horns and started to stroke the hard bone, a sign of anxiety among his people.

“I am sorry, my Lord.”

And it’s not really your fault, is it? thought the Great Admiral. It was a weakness of his race, an arrogance that would not let them contemplate that an enemy might be better than they were. And this enemy was at least as intelligent as the Ca’cadasans. If he wasn’t worried about the effect it would have had on his command, he would be the first to admit that the humans and the Klavarta were probably more intelligent on average than his people. And unlike most other conquests of his people, these were mighty military powers as well. Maybe not in the same class as the Ca’cadasans, but the combination of intelligence, technology and industrial might made them a daunting opponent.

“Make sure you force is ready to move within the hour,” the Great Admiral ordered his subordinate. “You will cover our spinward flank as we move.”

“Our destination, if I might ask, Great Admiral?”

“We will return to our forward base. I think we have left it uncovered long enough.” He didn’t say that the defense force left behind was strong, but probably not strong enough to withstand an attack in force by the Klavarta fleet. And despite the damage he had already done that fleet, there seemed to be so damned many of them still that he wouldn’t put it past them to strike at his forward base.

“We will make sure that the flank is secured.”

“And High Admiral. You are not to chase them. You will engage them as they come within range, and ignore them as they move out of range. Understood?”

“That, that is not what Ca’cadasan males do when confronted with an enemy,” said the High Admiral in a shrill tone.

“But it is what you will do, unless you want to be relieved of command. Understood?” This time the word was said with much more forcefulness, daring the lower ranking Admiral to disagree.

“Understood.”

“Good. Then my Com Officer will contact you when we are ready to move.”

The Great Admiral waved a hand, and the holo blanked as the Com Officer cut off the transmission. That is one of the problems, he thought, going over the conversation in his mind. Ca’cadasan males don’t refuse action when confronted with an enemy. Because we are so superior to any enemy that might confront us. Now he knew why his people were having so much trouble on both of their fronts. This opponent was not only technologically advanced and audacious in their actions, but they had no quit in them. Showing up on their doorstep with overwhelming force did not cow them. The Ca’cadasans needed to show them that they knew how to use that overwhelming force. And that was not what they were doing.

“My Lord,” called out the Chief of Staff, running from the com station to the commander’s chair. “Our pickets are picking up an enemy force coming in from coreward.”

“Size?”

“Not large enough to destroy us, but considerable,” said the Chief, closing his eyes for a moment to link. “Ten thousand ships at least.”

“Order the fleet to prepare to jump in fifteen minutes,” said the Great Admiral. “I’m tired of this constant sniping at us. As soon as we get back to base, we’ll reorganize and find a target that’s worthy of our attention.”

* * *

“They’re starting to jump, just as you predicted, Admiral,” said Admiral Regis Larista into the laser com.

“We figured they would have had enough of your maddening raider tactics, Admiral,” said Vice Admiral Mashara Ignoa, his small face looking out from the holo. This was only the second of the alien species frequenting the human Empire that the Klavarta pilot had met. The hard beak made the Admiral’s Terranglo difficult to understand. Fortunately the speech was coming through a translation program, and was being converted to her language with good accuracy, if not perfection. The light coating of small feathers on his face made it difficult to read facial expressions, if there actually were any. The crest on the top of the being’s head seemed to fulfill the social function of the nonexistent facial expressions for the Gryphon male. “So, what is your next move?”

Larista thought for a moment. She had really hoped that the Monsters would come out to challenge her, so that she might once again cause them to disperse in chasing her, so her other, hidden units could swarm them in penny packets. But even the Monsters could learn, and they were not taking the bait.

She looked up at the holo of the Imperial Admiral, waiting patiently for the orders she would give. The Admiral’s flagship, another Imperial battle cruiser, hung in space ten thousand kilometers away, resulting in no noticeable delay in the transmission. And, she knew, on the Imperial Admiral’s bridge, was one of the new strange looking aliens who were supposed to have the ability to communicate instantaneously over any distance with their own kind.

Larista had no way of verifying that ability, except that they Imperials seemed to be helping her to coordinate her forces in a way that seemed like magic. The Klassekians were newly arrived at the front, a mere three score of the beings, and had been divvied out to liaison vessels and major command and control bases. Larista would have liked to have had more of them, and aboard her own vessels, so that she needn’t depend so much on the Imperial ships. But the Imperials were very protective of these new aliens, and refused to give any over into the care of the Nation of New Earth.

“You think they are heading back to their forward base?” she asked the Imperial Admiral.

“That seems to be the general heading of their lead elements, ma’am. If I had to bet, that’s where I would head.”

“And we will be on their heels the entire way, picking off any stragglers, swarming their scouts and flanking elements,” she said, clenching a fist. “Send these orders out to the other elements if you please, Admiral. Lay in wait, and hit any enemy elements that you think you can take.”

And then we’ll see their reaction when they get back to their base, and see what is waiting for them.

* * *

“We’ve got another one, Admiral,” said the Commodore over the com.

“What was it this time?” asked Admiral Len Lenkowski over the com, this from one of the task groups he had patrolling the interface between Imperial and Fenri space. And that’s all we seem to be doing, he thought with a scowl on his face. Patrolling the damned border to catch more of their raiders. Patrolling deep inside their Empire to find the remainder of their fleet. And all the while they elude us, striking only where we are weak.

It was standard guerilla tactics, used through the ages by any forces that found themselves on the wrong side of the strength equation. And it was the kind of war that he hated. There had to be over fifty million stars in Fenri space, and most probably seven or eight thousand inhabited systems. They had occupied half of those systems, which left the other half, and millions of other potential hiding places where the enemy could be waiting. Even if he split his fleet to individual ships, it would take years to search all of those places, and that wasn’t even counting the almost infinite reaches of normal space, or regions outside of either Empire. And all the while the Fenri would simply wait for the Cacas to return, in which case they could count on the larger number of the human fleet to withdraw from their space to face the greater threat.

“It was another battleship, sir,” said the Commodore, smiling. “The bastard thought he had it made, but he sailed right into the middle of my task group’s central formations. We had him ringed with four battleships before they knew what was happening.”

“And your losses?”

“Minor damage to two ships, eleven spacers killed.”

Lenkowski nodded. In the equation of war, it was a bargain. Minor damage to two of the same class of ship, eleven dead, versus the complete loss of such a vessel and thousands of enemy killed. Still, he was hating these kind of equations. Which didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a lot more of them before this campaign was over, since this had turned into a war of attrition. He could almost wish that the Cacas would come back, so that he would be recalled from this front to fight against the huge aliens versus the small.

“Good job,” he finally said, all he could say. “I don’t expect we’ve seen the last of these raiders.”

“No, sir. I think they will keep sending them through as long as they have the chance of getting a few of them into our space.”

“Yes. So we must keep reducing those odds. So keep patrolling.” And we’ll keep looking for their bases of operation, hoping to get lucky. The holo died, and Lenkowski sat at his desk shaking his head, until the next chime came in from the com center.

“Rear Admiral Sosoboski is reporting that one of his patrols is one week overdue.” As the officer spoke a blinking dot appeared on the holo plot. It was a nondescript star, like so many millions of others in this space. So it was just what they were looking for.

“Order my staff to assemble within the next fifteen minutes,” he ordered. At least we can take out one more nest of their resistance.

* * *

PARLIAMENT, CAPITULUM. SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1002.

“And so, I have decided that continuing support to the best of our abilities for the Nation of New Earth is in our best interest,” said Sean, standing at the podium he had occupied so many times in the past. Memories of the time the shapeshifters, the Yugalyth, had attacked this chamber came to the forefront. Scores of the Members of Parliament had died that day. He looked out over the faces in the chamber, Lords, Commons and Scholars, at least sure that none of them were imposters. He still wasn’t sure about the loyalties of all concerned, but he was sure that they were the citizens of the Empire that they appeared to be.

Not all of the expressions were friendly. Some looked on him with anger that he would be taking resources away from the defense of their Empire, and most importantly, their home worlds, in order to make sure an ally they had never actually seen was kept in the war. Many nodded their heads, showing support for his policy, if not rapturous acceptance. He saw more acceptance than anger, telling him that he would not face stiff opposition to his stance.

Some hands tentatively moved, as if their owners were about to raise them and ask a question, or make a demand. But this was not the time for such. It was against protocol to interrupt a Monarch who was making his wishes known to a combined session of Parliament. Objections could be raised in the house meetings and committees that would follow, and in the legislation they would enact. The only power they had to check him during wartime was the Imperial checkbook. It was a powerful check, but not one that didn’t have ways around it.

“If the Nation of New Earth falls, then we will face the full might of the Ca’cadasan Empire on our front. I don’t think I need to tell you that we would be sorely pressed to hold up against that might. So we must, to use the old adage, divide and conquer.”

He called up his notes from his implant for a moment, making sure that he had covered all of his points. This speech was not just for Parliament. It was going out over all the planetary broadcast services, and instantaneously through wormhole link to those worlds on that net. It would go through the slower but still massive hyperlink network for the worlds that had that com source, and by couriers to all the other worlds. The citizens of the Empire would also hear this speech, and it was important that he leave them with a sense that he knew what he was doing, that his plans would be successful, and that in the end all would be well with the Empire. Their Empire.

“I won’t lie to you. This will be a long and drawn out war. We have barely seen the first volleys of this fight. The enemy we battle is implacable, with enormous resources. The only way we can win this war is through our supreme effort and will. Through the courage of our military and the sweat and determination of our workers, we can win. We have proven that in equal numbers we are more than the equals of our enemy. But they outnumber us you say. True, their slave Empire, built on the blood, sweat and tears of their conquered subjects, is huge. They have built their military on the backs of those who hate them. Peoples they cannot trust.”

But they’re still getting a lot of labor out of those people, a lot of effort. Fear and training from an early age works wonders in getting the cooperation of slaves.

“We, on the other hand, are a free people. A people of many species working together. And we have allies, those who have thrown in their lot with us willingly. Our traditional allies, the Margravi, the Klashak, and the peoples of Elysium. The other human nations, The New Terran Republic and the resurgent New Moscow.” He knew he was stretching the point a bit on that last one, but he had to build hope in the many refugees from that nation as well. “Our new allies, the Crakista, who have fought us with honor, courage and determination in the past. And, of course, our long lost brothers, the peoples of the Nation of New Earth, who had been fighting against the Ca’cadasans for decades before our contact with our enemies.

“So keep the faith, sacrifice, and never give up, and I promise victory. Victory over our enemies. Victory over our own fears. Victory over our old enemy, who would see us totally destroyed. Instead, it is they who will face destruction, and we who will take advantage of their system of a slave holding Empire in the recruitment of new allies.” He was careful not to mention that they already had such allies, the Maurids, working within the Ca’cadasan Empire already. That was of the ultimate top secret security classification. It would not do for the enemy to get even a hint that the courageous aliens were anything but loyal servants.

“We will be victorious. This I promise you, citizens of the Empire.”

Sean raised his hands, and the people in the chamber surged to their feet, clapping and cheering. He could read from some of the faces that many of them were just playing a role, showing their people and their constituents that they stood with their fellows, when in their hearts they were against their Emperor and his policies. That show would be enough for now. That the majority were with him was heartening. Their support would make the victory he promised possible.

Possible, but probable? he thought, looking over the people he would have to work with. I can’t do this all myself. I‘m depending on these people to come up with the ideas, the innovations, that will make that victory possible. That is the one area that I am sure we will surpass the Cacas in. They do not advance as fast as we do, and if we can hold them at bay for a decade, we will surely be their superiors in all areas, with the exception of numbers.

He thought of the old Earth saying attributed to a man who had led one of the most powerful nations of pre-space humanity. A man of great evil, of paranoia, but also of great resourcefulness under stress. He had said that quantity had a quality all its own. Which was true, but he had to believe that the quality of his forces would come to dominate.

“Great speech, your Majesty,” said Samantha Ogden Lee, his cousin and his constant ally in his quest to win over the Lords. “You almost had me believing it.”

“Then I still have work to do,” said Sean, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If I can’t convince the people closest to me that my vision will become reality, I have failed.”

“Just be happy that we’re willing to throw in our lot with you, cousin. You’re the only horse in this race with a chance, so of course we’re going to bet on you.”

Which I supposed is the best I’m going to get at this time, he thought with a smile.

“We’ve got a meeting over at the Hexagon to attend, Sean,” said Samantha, the smile leaving her face, a mask of fatigue falling into place.

And we’re all just too damned tired, he thought, wondering when the next wave of mistakes would come forth to hit them.

* * *

“We’re not picking up any of the pickets, my Lord,” announced the Com Officer.

Where the hell could they be? thought the Great Admiral, looking at the plot. Of course the scout ships guarding the system would be sitting in normal space, undetectable from hyper. There still should have been a flurry of grav pulse signals going back and forth, demanding identification of the incoming Ca’cadasan force while sending messages down the line to the system informing them of the fleet arrival. There should have been a globe of four hundred scouts surrounding the system out to two light years, ensuring that nothing snuck up on the fleet and logistics forces sitting in space around the F class star.

“Order all ships to prime alert status,” he responded to his Com Officer. Moments later the grav pulses went out. The ships were already at secondary alert status, since they had fought a sniping battle all the way here. But no ship could remain forever at prime status, with all warriors at their battle stations. Males needed food and rest, and secondary alert allowed half of them to be off duty at any time, though prepared to come back to their posts at a moment’s notice.

The fleet was still sixteen light hours from the first hyper barrier, which was a further eighteen light hours out from the last barrier, a total of thirty-four light hours from where they would be jumping back into normal space. So anything they saw from out here would be almost two days old, but it would still give some idea as to what had happened.

“Drop a scout force into normal space as soon as they can decel down to translation velocity,” he ordered. “Tell them I want a report as soon as they develop some intelligence.”

It took almost an hour for those ships, forty scouts, to decel to the point where they could jump. The Great Admiral fretted the entire while, fearful that the scouts might be jumped by some force lying in wait as soon as they were outside of the protective bulk of the fleet. There was no attack, and the scouts translated down without incident. Minutes later the first of their grav pulse transmissions came through.

“Scout leader is reporting that they see nothing in the system except for our mobile base. The base appears to be heavily damaged, but still there.”

That was disturbing news. The mobile base was the largest hyper capable object that the Ca’cadasans knew of. Almost two hundred million tons of hyper VI capable vessel, it had been developed to allow the Ca’cadasans to project forward bases quickly. They were tough and well-armed with defensive weaponry, and were not easy to take out.

“And nothing else?”

The Com Officer spent a few moments sending that signal through the Ca’cadasan digital code, where it would be converted to understandable language. Unfortunately, it took a lot of time to send a simple message through the pulse, about a fifteen word sentence every minute. It was all the Ca’cadasans possessed for communication beyond laser range in hyper, or between levels of hyper and/or normal space. Until they had met the humans of the other Empire, they hadn’t thought any other method was possible.

“Nothing else, my Lord,” said the Com Officer after he had received the complete message.

“Order the scouts to rejoin the fleet. The fleet is to move in to the hyper VII barrier and translate as soon as possible. Once into VI, all ships are to head for normal space translation at the hyper I barrier on a least time profile. All ships are to stick close to the fleet, and I want everyone coming through ready for battle. But, and I want you to repeat this, no one is to fire until they have verified their targets.”

The Com Officer went back to transmission, while the Great Admiral continued to stare at the plot, wondering how complete a disaster he was heading into. He had left almost eight hundred combat ships here, two hundred of them battleships. That should have been enough to secure the system, and guard the vital logistics ships that had also been left here. Those logistics ships included missile colliers and antimatter tankers, with enough of those vital resources to top off all of his remaining ships and prepare them for further action.

Without those resources he was leading a crippled force, with barely enough antimatter to get them back to Ca’cadasan space, and most of his ships down to their last spread of missiles. He had been hoping to rearm, refuel and resume operations against the Klavarta. Now, with the supply situation in doubt, he would have to retreat and come back to fight another day. When he told his chief of staff his musings, the male agreed.

“There is no way we can get more logistics ships through those swarms they’re sure to have out there, my Lord. It would take a major fleet force to protect them.”

“And we’re the only major fleet force available,” finished the Great Admiral. “That makes only one decision possible.”

Yes. Head back for home with our tails between our legs. Not my plan when I started us out on this campaign. But one more battle and we’re out of long range weapons. And then what do we do?

“We will see what we find here first,” he told his senior staff officer. “Then we will make our decision.”

Six hours later they had completed their stair step approach and the twenty thousand odd ships jumped into normal space. The Great Admiral gripped the arms of his chair. He was sure his force was too powerful for the Klavarta to challenge him to a heads up battle. The problem was, he had been sure of so many things during this campaign, only to be proven wrong again and again.

The translation of the fleet went without event. All of his ships started scanning the system as soon as they were able, and information came flowing back to the flagship, none of it good. Many debris fields were plotted throughout this portion of the system, the outer reaches just within the hyper barrier where most of the forces would have been deployed. That showed that most of the ships had not been destroyed by missiles moving at high relativistic speeds, which would have shattered them completely and caused antimatter breaches that would have reduced them to plasma. While he was sure that fate had happened to many of them, others had been taken out by lasers and slow moving missiles, resulting in fields of debris much larger than molecules of plasma. There were even a few ships seemingly intact further into the system. Seemingly, until scanned more closely. That was when the damage became apparent, and the ships were seen to have been battered, hulls holed in many places, the gashes of beam weapons in others.

The station was hardest hit of all. There were no intact sections. Thousands of holes large and small penetrated the hull. A few areas were gone, most probably from warheads. The structure was useless to everyone, though the Great Admiral was sure the Klavarta had boarded and gotten what they could out of it. Of Klavarta ships there wasn’t a trace. He was sure this didn’t mean they hadn’t taken casualties, but was a sign of complete policing of their part of the battlefield. Everything had been removed or destroyed, and there would be no intelligence to be gathered from their enemies at this place.

“Order the fleet to be prepared to move out within the hour,” he ordered his Com Officer.

“Our heading, my Lord? If I might ask.”

“Back to our own space,” said the Great Admiral with a grimace. He looked over the plot one last time. We will be back, you bastards, he thought. You had better believe we will be back, and next time you will not be able to stand against us.

* * *

“They’re leaving, Admiral,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at his flag officer. “Course consistent with a heading out of our space, back to their home base.”

And they will find another surprise when they get there, thought Admiral Regis Larista, returning her officer’s smile. She didn’t have enough here to challenge the Monster fleet, though she could and would snipe at any strays and stragglers that happened present themselves. She didn’t expect the enemy to make it easy for her, but she was sure she could take out another hundred or so of the ships.

The greater part of her force had forged ahead, heading for the enemy main base over the border into Ca’cadasan territory. That force was also not enough to challenge the Ca’cadasan main fleet, but she thought it might be sufficient to take out the prime base, even if it was twice as well guarded as this forward base had been. No matter how well guarded it was, she was sure the Monsters would find an unpleasant surprise.

“Any word from the lead force?” she asked her Com Officer, who would relay her message to the Imperial battle cruiser. That ship would contact one of her sisters with a Klassekian aboard, and the information would come back.

“Enemy base appears to be lightly held, says the commander of the lead force,” said the Com Officer, translating the grav pulse signals from the Imperial battle cruiser. “They are preparing to move in an execute the attack plan.”

“Keep me informed.” All looked to be going well, and though the Monsters had hurt her people and her fleet, their own bloody nose was about to be struck another blow. We won this battle of attrition, she thought, or at least garnered a draw. But there are so many more of them than us. We can’t continue to fight at this kind of exchange rate and expect to win.

But new tech was coming online, and the first batch of wormholes from the Empire were only a week away from the border of the Nation. When they had those portals, and the next hundred that were two months behind, the situation was bound to change for the better. Especially since they knew the Monsters didn’t have wormholes.

Epilogue

PALACE HOSPITAL, CAPITULUM: NOVEMBER 8TH, 1002.

“This is your son, your Majesty,” said the delivery room Doctor, handing the swaddled infant to Sean. The little wrinkled face was scrunched up in a cry, eyes still closed. The child had a mop of hair, the red of his mother.

“Is he healthy?” asked Sean, who really had no experience with newborns.

“Everything checks out, your Majesty,” replied the Doctor. “All appendages large and small in place, all vital signs within normal limits.”

Sean nodded, looking down at the small face, trying to determine which parent the baby most closely resembled and drawing a blank. To him it looked like a wrinkled old man. But it’s my son. My heir.

“Do you have a name yet, your Majesty?” asked one of the nurses.

Sean looked up at the smiling nurse, at the moment not sure what she was asking him. The delivery room was within the palace itself, part of the fully staffed and operational hospital that served the Imperial family, court and servants.

“For the child, your Majesty. For this one.”

“Augustine,” said Sean, feeling a wide smile stretching his face. “He will be named after my father. Augustine. And when he assumes the throne, he will be the second of that name.”

“And the other one?”

“What other one?” asked Sean, frowning.

“This one,” said a second Doctor, bringing another swaddled infant into the room. “That one’s twin brother.”

“Twin? But Jennifer was only to have one child. I saw the reports myself.”

“Mother’s prerogative,” said the first Doctor, taking Augustine from his dad so the second child could be given to the Monarch. “The Empress wanted the second child to come as a surprise, and we were restricted by law in not going against her wishes.”

“Why that….” Sean stopped before he could say anything uncomplimentary about his wife. He felt like his face was going to split from the smile he couldn’t control. The second child lay in his arms, quiet, unlike his still crying brother. “I guess we should ask my wife what name she favors,” he said, handing the baby to one of the nurses.

Jennifer lay in her bed, looking pale, face sweaty, smiling as the two babies were brought into the room. The nurses unwrapped the babies and lay them on her breasts, skin to skin. Both babies settled quickly in contact with their mother.

“You did good, honey,” said Sean, putting a hand on her forehead. “An heir and a spare, all in one day.”

“Surprised?”

“You could say that. But the most pleasant surprise I’ve had this year. And now we have to come up with a name.”

“Have you thought of one?”

“I have. But I thought, since we agreed on my father’s name for the first, that we might go with your wish on the second. Whatever you want.”

“Glen,” whispered Jennifer without hesitation.

Sean felt a bit jealous at the name, the one of the lover she was engaged to before Sean met her on Sestius. He fought down that jealous feeling as one unworthy of him. From what he knew, Glen had been a fine man, a captain of the Imperial Marines, who had died leading a counter attack that had saved thousands of citizens.

“Glen it is,” he said with a smile. “And here come their guardian agents, I mean angels.”

“Your Majesties,” said a bowing Secret Service Chief of Detail, Martin Schroeder. “May I introduce the Chief of Details for the security of the two young princes.”

“You too, Martin,” said Sean with a laugh. “Did everyone in the Empire know about the twins but me?”

“Not everyone,” said the Security Chief. “Only those with a need to know.” He bowed to the Empress, then gestured at one of the women, a blond haired fair skinned beauty. “This is Special Agent Connie Washington, who will be in charge of Prince Augustine’s detail. And this,” he gestured at an ebony skinned woman of equal beauty, “is Special Agent Camilla Sung, who will be in charge of Prince Glen’s detail. Of course they will work hand in hand to guard the princes, no matter what that takes.”

Sean nodded, understanding what that meant. These women and their teams would give everything, up to and including their lives, to protect his children. He had always thought the agents of the Secret Service a little on the mad side, since no one person was that important in his mind. But these were his children, and he was glad to have people with that kind of dedication around them. Still, when he looked at the two agents, he felt looming disaster. Not for his children, but for the agents. Something was going to happen. He couldn’t tell when, or how, only that it would happen.

* * *

SPACE BETWEEN NEW MOSCOW AND FENRI EMPIRE: NOVEMBER 10TH, 1002.

“We have another force of Cacas coming through the picket,” reported the Com Officer, looking back at Rear Admiral Natasha Romanov. Some of the Klassekian Techs were on duty, the rest on breaks, but the information still came through since even an off duty tech could receive and contact the bridge. The flag had a wormhole com as well, so was still tapped into the net back to headquarters. “Make that three other forces, coming through on a wide dispersal.”

“How many ships in all?”

“Seventy-seven, ma’am. Seems like the same pattern they’ve been running the past month.”

“So it’s probably nothing,” said the Admiral, shaking her head. “Send the report up to command. If they want to have roving patrols shadow them, they will.”

I wonder when they’re really going to move? she thought. So far, over the last couple of months, over two thousand enemy ships had penetrated the screen. And as far as they could tell, all of them had come back. As far as they could tell, since the Cacas were known to piggy back smaller ships on larger. But so far they had found none of those suspected ships. So it looks like business as usual for the Cacas. And the longer this goes on, the bigger the fight is going to be when it finally kicks off.

* * *

“The Emperor is counting on you,” said the large male on the com holo. “Do not disappoint him.”

“We will not,” said the human male known as four four eight three one, who was using the name Tom Jasper for this mission. The three large Cacada males standing on the bridge behind him, what he thought of as his caretakers, also gave head motions of acceptance. Jasper didn’t think he needed the superior males along on a mission he and his could handle on their own. But he had not been asked to bring them along. He had been ordered.

He looked from face to face of the other humans on the bridge of the three million ton freighter that had been designated Laughing Troll. None of these humans had ever been around what the Ca’cadasans called Wild Humans. They hadbeen raised around the huge aliens in what were termed reserve clutches, where they had learned complete and total loyalty to the Emperor. They thought the Wild Humans as unnatural enemies that stood in the way of the divine path of their masters.

And we will bring the Wild Humans to their knees, where they belong, thought the dedicated young man.

“Prepare for launch,” said the male on the holo. A moment later the nausea of translation hit, and then they were in normal space. A moment later they were released from their attachment to the Ca’cadasan battleship they had been riding. The military force moved off, leaving them drifting in space.

“They’re out of range,” said the Sensor Chief, looking over at Jasper.

Tom nodded. The sensor suite of the freighter was on a par with the warships of their masters. One of the few things on the tramp ships that were. If the warships, moving through VII, were no longer in detection range, then whatever Wild Human ships might be following them would also be out of range to detect the freighter, especially since it would start off at hyper IV and move for several days in that dimension before moving back up.

“Prepare to jump to IV,” he ordered, looking at the holo that showed their target. It was unmistakable, unlike any other known system. Eight stars, each with its own planetary systems, in orbit around a central black hole. And one of those stars was blinking, their target. Jasper knew of one other ship on this mission, though he didn’t know their exact target. But he was sure it was a target, like his, that would cause much disorder and disarray among the enemy.

The End

Appendix A: Glossary

Aether Paddles: Grabbers. Units that utilize the space warping powers of energized superplatinum to grip the actual fabric of space and pull their attached object along. Used in everything from battle armor to large ships.

Augmentation: Also known as Enhancement. Retroactive genetic and biological engineering of humans. Through the use of nanotech enhancements are made to the human genome, resulting in faster and stronger people with the sensory systems of the best found in nature. Upgraded glandular systems. Ninety-five percent of augmented also have reduced lifespans, though some exceptional genomes do not experience this, and pass their traits down to their descendants.

Bolthole: Imperial industrial system in the process of being established a thousand light years outside the boundaries of the Empire. Planned as a unassailable arsenal and last refuge of the Empire.

Capitulum: Capital City of the Empire, home of the House of Lords and the Imperial Palace. 3 billion citizens living in 375,000 kilometers of city.

Catastrophic Translation: The movement of an object from any of the hyper dimensions to normal space through hitting a hyper barrier or losing its protective hyperdrive field. The result is a translation in which matter is disrupted, resulting in the probably destruction of the ship and all aboard.

Class III Systems: Mostly agricultural worlds, 763 worlds in 748 systems, with a combined population of 88 billion.

Class V Systems: Economically important and military systems, 307 planets with 5.5 billion citizens.

Cloning: Reproduction of organic material by the artificial stimulation and growth of cells. Cloning of food and body replacement parts is widespread, but the reproduction of a complete sophont is illegal in any of the human polities, due to the fact that clones are somehow different. Human clones completely lack a conscience, no matter their upbringing or training. It is unknown why.

Com Net: Network established on all Imperial planets allowing all citizens access to communications and data services anywhere on the planet.

Core Worlds: Class I. The oldest and most developed of the planets of the Empire, with populations in the billions. Population is restricted, as are births, and by law fifty percent of the land area of the world must remain pristine wilderness. 98 inhabitable planets in 91 systems, within two hundred and fifty light years of the Central System. 380 billion citizens.

Cyborgs: Living beings with integrated mechanical and electronic systems, such as fiber optic nerves and communication implants. Technically, all humans in high tech society are cyborgs, incorporating as they do data and com implants, and nanite augmented immune systems. True cyborgs have much more intrusive implant architecture, including biomechanical nervous and muscular systems. All enhanced soldiers, such as Rangers, Naval Commandos and Marine Recon have passive implants such as bone reinforcement.

Developing Worlds: Class II systems. 294 inhabited planets in 277 systems, with a population of 185 billion (21 billion alien) citizens.

Dole, The: Living wage payments to the great majority of citizens of the Core Worlds. Supervised robotic factories produce the products needed to sustain society to the point where employment is not possible for most Core World citizens. The Dole allows them to survive with some luxuries such as in house entertainment, but not much else. Citizens who wish to improve their lot compete for the jobs that are available.

Donut, The: Massive century long engineering project, an enormous space station in orbit around the Supersystem central black hole, using the swirling gravitational energy of a sixty solar mass charged hole to generate wormholes.

Exploration Command: Subdivision of the Fleet tasked with exploring new worlds, making scientific discoveries, and expanding the Empire into unexplored space.

Fleet, The. Term of respect an endearment for the naval forces of the New Terran Empire, a force which has never lost a war, and is responsible for guarding the people of the Empire.

Frontier Worlds: Class IV. 8,462 planets in 8,147 systems, with a combined population of 6.9 billion citizens.

Gravitons: Messenger particles of gravity, detectable in all levels of space, including subspace and hyperspace. The manipulation of gravitons is responsible for artificial gravity and the use of hyperspace and subspace. Gravitons can be tracked through all dimensions of hyper.

IIA: Imperial Intelligence Service. Imperial Security Service responsible for intelligence gathering beyond the boundaries of the Empire. By Imperial decree they are allowed some investigative powers within the Empire, mostly those involving threats to the government.

IIB: Imperial Investigation Bureau. Imperial Security Service responsible for counterintelligence and criminal investigation within the boundaries of the Empire.

Imperial Alien Systems: 7 aboriginal systems with 3.2 billion beings. Ten alien protectorates of 89 systems, 262 billion aliens.

Implants: Electronic devices attached by nanotech to the brains of Imperial citizens, allowing them to contact com and data services, as well as emergency services. Range from basic to Governmental that allow access to classified databases and vital command and control services. By Imperial Privacy Laws the tracking feature of implants can be disabled by citizens concerned about being monitored. Convicted criminals have this feature removed.

House of Commons: Second House of Parliament, made up of elected members of the common people, based on the population of the planets of the Empire. 2,647 total members. All appropriations and infrastructure bills originate in this house.

House of Lords: First House of Parliament, made up of hereditarily appointed nobles, as well as high ranking members of the major churches of the Empire. 961 members. All military bills, intelligence bills, and treaties originate from this house. Prime Minister comes from the Lords.

House of Scholars: Third House of Parliament, made up by appointed and elected members of scientists and academics. Most members are from first tier Universities, with a small number appointed by the Lords and the Emperor. 400 members. All science, technology, medical and educational bills originate in this house.

Hyper Barrier: Effect of gravity wells on objects traveling through hyper. Vessels striking the barrier are translated out of hyperspace catastrophically. The radius of the barrier depends on the mass of the object generating it, black hole, star, planet or smaller object. For a black hole the barrier can be thirty light hours or more from the center mass. For a planetoid it might be light seconds. The higher the dimension of hyper the further out its barrier. Star systems typically have a hyper I barrier of from three to five light hours, depending on the mass.

Hyperdetection: Ability of spaceships, particularly warships, to detect other ships moving in hyper. The larger the ship and the higher the level of hyper, the longer the range another vessel can be detected at. Extreme range of a battleship sized vessel moving in VII is up to seven light years. Translations also send out a hyper signal well beyond that of traveling ships,

Hyperdrive: Graviton projection device capable of opening holes in the dimensions leading from normal to hyperspace. Also projects a graviton field around the ship while it is in hyperspace, protecting the crew and vessel from the effects of that space. Each succeeding dimension takes 4.2 times the power to open and remain in than the one below it.

Hyperspace: Upper dimensions of the Universe, corresponding to the same space time coordinates of the visible Universe, through a nesting of graduated smaller dimensions. Allows ships to travel at below the light speed limit and still traverse normal space at faster than light speeds. Hyperspace is a realm of energies and particles unknown in normal space, and is in fact inimical to normal matter. Hyperspace does not exist within the moderate gravity wells of heavy objects.

Hyper I: 9.11 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 8.2 light.

Hyper II: 40.9 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 36.8 light.

Hyper III: 163.44 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 147 light.

Hyper IV: 654.2 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 588.78 light.

Hyper V: 2,616.9 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 2355.2 light.

Hyper VI: 10,467.6 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 9,420.8 light.

Hyper VII: 41, 870.4 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 37,683.36 light. .95 c pseudo speed

39,776.9 light.

Hyper VIII: 167,481.6 to 1 ratio. Only electromagnetic signals can be transmitted through VIII, and only for a very limited range.

Inertial Compensators: Devices, normally paired with grabber units, utilizing superiron to convert inertia to heat, then using the properties of superlead to project the heat into space. Inertial compensators allow ships to pull high gee loads, while giving off enormous amounts of heat, making them as visible as small stars to the enemy.

Inertialess Fighter: 1,500 ton attack fighter that uses a negative matter warp bubble that reduces inertia essentially to nothing, allowing extreme acceleration and the ability to attain velocities faster than the speed of light. There are two weaknesses to the process. The fighters are totally cut off from the Universe and cannot see where they are going, and the craft must leave the bubble at the same velocity as when they entered or they will suffer an inertia rebound.

Jewel: Capital planet of the Empire, based in the Home system and in a mutual orbit with the terraformed planet New Terra and the moon Ariel. Home to twenty billion citizens.

Klassekian: Alien species inhabited a planet in extra-Imperial space. Klassekians are born in litters of from six to twelve siblings, all interconnected through quantum matter in their brains. His connection allows them to transfer information instantaneously across any distance and through all known dimensions.

Klavarta: Term used both for the identification of the Modified human servant race in the Klavarta Star Nation, and having to do with that nation overall. The Klavarta servant race is divided into several subspecies of specialized functions. Pilots, or Alphas, command and control space vehicles, while Warriors fight ground and ship-board actions. Engineers handle the overall maintenance and fabrication duties, while the diminutive Assistants are able to crawl into the engineering spaces the full sized Engineers cannot.

Mag Weapons: Weapons from civilian hand to vehicle mounted cannons which fire a solid or explosive projectiles through a magnetic tube that accelerates them to the desired velocity. For hand weapons this is in the one thousand to five thousand meter per second range. Tank cannon can fire rounds at up to a thousand kilometers a second.

Nanotech: Ubiquitous technology used in almost every industrial and operational aspect of the Empire. Nanites process raw materials, construct alloys and fibers at the atomic level, and weld and join larger constructs. All citizens have a multitude of nanites in their bodies, making them immune to almost any conceivable biological contagion, as well as healing minor injuries and allowing the digestion and utilization of native foods that would otherwise not provide any nutrition.

Negative Matter: The exact opposite of matter, and not found in our Galaxy. Made by an industrial process that is very energy intensive. Negative matter repels itself and matter, and is capable of generating antigravity. Negative matter cancels an equal amount of regular matter in a very unspectacular disappearance. Negative matter is necessary for the maintenance of wormhole gates.

Particle Beams: Streams of high energy protons or antiprotons. Infantry and hand weapons project up to a gram of matter at low relativistic speeds. Heavy infantry and ship borne weapons project matter at much higher speeds. Protons strike targets with high kinetic energy that translates into force and heat. Antiprotons explode on contact with matter.

Pure: Term used to denote those of unmodified human stock in the Klavarta Star Nation.

Secret Service: Imperial Security Service responsible for the protection of the Imperial Family and members of Parliament.

Special Ops: Army Rangers, Naval Commandos and Marines Recon operatives, biologically augmented and trained to fight without the use of armor or electronic equipment. Augmentation includes the removal of all human scent emitting glands. This allows them to escape the detection of most high tech sensors, and strike from the shadows.

Sonics: Stun weapons that act on the nervous system of the target, disrupting its actions and in most cases dropping it into unconsciousness. Civilian self-defense weapons come equipped with a transmitter to alert local police to the use of the weapon, though this has often been bypassed by criminals.

Subspace: A single dimension separate from hyperspace, with correspondence to normal space coordinates, and with a 12.47:1 normal space to subspace ratio. At .90 c within subspace pseudo speed is 11.22 light speed. Subspace is not inimical to matter, and though energy is needed to enter and exit, none is needed to remain.

Subspace Com: Unit capable of sending vid through subspace at 12.47 light speed. Only useful in normal space, though not within the close gravity wells of stars and planets.

Supermetals: Artificially produced high numbered elements that take advantage of an island of stability in the periodic table. Produced in enormous industrial plants that utilize the entire surface of frozen moons and small planets, using the temperature differential to cool the high temp nuclear furnaces. Superiron, superlead and superplatinum are the three metals produced, with super platinum both the most useful and most difficult to make.

Supersystem: Central Systems in orbit around the black hole. Home system and seven others. Sixteen habitable planets, four habitable moons, as well as assorted asteroid belts and habitats. 102 billion citizens, 6.6 billion of them aliens, with 26 percent of all Imperial space industry.

Translation: The act of moving in and out of the dimensions of hyper. Accompanied by a burst of gravitons that can be detected for from many light hours to several years.

Wormhole: Bridge through space and possibly time allowing objects to transit. Extremely rare in the natural universe, produced by the Donut for use as com links, portals, and weapons deployment.

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is the author of over twenty-five self-published books on Amazon, including the very successful, Exodus: Empires at War series, the Refuge techno-fantasy series, The Deep Dark Well Trilogy, as well as numerous standalone science fiction and fantasy novels. In a two and a half year period as a self-published author, Doug has sold over one hundred and twenty-five thousand ebooks, paperbacks and audio books. He has amassed over 1,800 reviews across his books on Amazon, with a 4.6 star average. He served in the US Army as an infantryman, as well as several years in the Florida National Guard in the same MOS. Doug, who holds degrees from Florida State University and the University of Alabama, lives with his five cats and one outnumbered dog in Tallahassee Florida. He is a sports enthusiast and a self-proclaimed amateur military historian.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Science Fiction

The Deep Dark Well Trilogy

The Deep Dark Well: An Adventure 40,000 years in the making. Pandora Latham was a Kuiper Belt Miner from Alabama. She’s used to landing on her feet, even when the next surface is through a wormhole, halfway across the Galaxy and 46,000 years in the Future. Pandora must discover the secret behind the end of civilization, and the enigma of the Immortal Watcher, the last survivor of the Empire that once ruled the stars. Her decisions will set the path for Galactic recovery, or a continuation down the roads of Barbarism.

To Well and Back: Pandora Latham is back, working Watcher’s plan to restore Galactic Civilization. But first she has to deal with the Xenophobes of the Nation of Humanity, back in the Supersystem with their sights set on making the Galaxy their own. Pandora is angry at the hyper religious Nation, and you don’t want to make a woman from Alabama angry.

Deeper and Darker: Pandora Latham is on the warpath. Watcher, her lover, and the only man who can once again unite the Galaxy, is a prisoner of the Totalitarian government of the New Galactic Empire. The Empire thinks they have the upper hand, but they have never faced someone like Pandi, and the peoples of the Galaxy that she has rallied to her cause.

Theocracy: A young gunpowder era monk becomes the only hope for his doomed world as he is caught up in the game of empire between two more advanced cultures.

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1: The introduction to the Exodus Universe. Two thousand years prior mankind fled from the Predatory Ca’cadasans, traveling a thousand years and ten thousand light years to a new home. Now the greatest power of their sector of space, things seem to be going well for the New Terran Empire. Until the enemy appears once again at the gates. And the years have not softened the aliens’ stance toward Humanity.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2: The saga continues. The Ca’cadasans attack at the moment when the government of the Empire is at its most chaotic. There are other enemies as well, waiting for their chance to fall on the overwhelmed humans. And a young man with no ambition for power finds himself in the position he most dreads.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: Sean is rescued, but he is not about to go back to the safety of the capital without striking back at the Ca’cadasans who have invaded his Empire. But will his decision put the lives of thousands at risk, as well as risking the safety of his own Empire, by depriving it of its leader.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4: Sean is crowned Emperor, and attempts to organize the Empire for war against the Ca’cadasans. But he finds that planning battles and winning battles are two different things. Defeat follows defeat. Can anyone snatch victory from the jaws of defeat? Or will the new Emperor fail before his reign even really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger: Cornelius Walbroski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire. But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the most deadly planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas. Can Cornelius survive his first mission? Or will promising career end before it really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle: Sean and the Empire need a victory before human morale goes completely into the black hole. He develops a plan to bring the Ca’cadasans into battle in space of his choosing. But the Cacas are not an easy opponent, and they have plans of their own, for the Donut.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike: The Empire has weathered the Ca’cadasan onslaught, and now it’s the time to strike back with an offensive of their own. A victory could win the war. But will it?

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers: The Cacas have been ejected from Imperial space, for the moment. But millions of citizens of New Moscow are still held captive in death camps in their former empire, processed for rations for the large aliens. Sean is determined to save as many as he can, and the Fleet and Army are prepared to carry out his directive; free the prisoners at all costs.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 9: Second Front: The exploration mission sent around the edge of the Ca’cadasan Empire has found the other Empire at war with the large aliens. They are not as expected, and Sean must order his military to perform actions that could vilify him in the eyes of his new allies.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command: Three novelettes concerning Exploration Command, the arm of the Fleet tasked with pushing back the boundaries of the Empire, and discovering the technology needed to win the war.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Beasts of the Frontier: Three novelettes and three short stories about the dangers of the frontiers of the Empire. The Cacas are not the only threat. Sometime the danger is the wild, at other times, other humans.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 1: Supernova: When a civilization is discovered that has a special ability that would be of tremendous benefit to the Empire, great excitement is generated. When it is found that a nearby blue giant star is due to supernova in less than a year, destroying that world, excitement turns to a frantic race to save as much of that species as possible. And enemies from the past, lurking in space, bring forth a new war to the embattled Empire.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 2: Bolthole: The Machine Intelligences are back, with a vengeance. While the Empire is busy fighting a war of survival against the Cacas, the murderous killing machines they had created hundreds of years prior are now ready to strike back. And the Imperial stronghold of Bolthole is in their sights.

Other Scifi

Diamonds in the Sand: When a perfectly healthy scientist falls dead of an apparent heart attack, it is up to Sarasota Police Detective Lieutenant Gary Lariviere to find out what really happened. The scientist was working on Nanotechnology, a secret desired by everyone from the Government to the Mob. There are too many suspects, including the woman that Gary comes to love. The Army had made Gary better than human, but had they prepared him for the terrors that had been unleashed by the new technology?

The Scorpion: The Scorpion had been the world’s deadliest living terrorist. Kestral McMann had been in on the kill. Now The Scorpion is back as a mind upload, using clones to penetrate the tight security of an isolationist United States. McMann is the only man who can stop him. But can McMann survive the threat of his own side, and the insane President who leads the Nation, in time to stop The Scorpion from plunging the Great Satan back into the Stone Age.

The Shadows of the Multiverse: Something has been periodically wiping intelligence from our Universe through the ages. It’s back, and it’s up to three unlikely heroes, the Captain of a Battle Cruiser, a Physicist turned Archeologist, and a Child, to save the intelligence of the Universe from Monsters from another Dimension. Can they learn to use the powers of their unusual Quantum Minds to defeat creatures that have been playing the game for billions of years?

Afterlife: What if you didn’t believe in the afterlife of the World’s Religions? And what if science offered you the alternative, survival within the Virtual World of a computer, where your mental abilities are magnified and you can do anything you want? And what if the World decided that your way was wrong, and declared war on you, meaning to destroy your reality? What would you do? Afterlife, a tale of survival at all costs.

We Are Death, Come For You: When aliens strike the Tau Ceti colony, humankind knows that something bad is on the way. They prepare as best they can, but will it be enough against superior technology? The aliens are death worshippers, and only the extinction of the human race will satisfy their evil intent. There are wonders of tech on the horizon, but can they be deployed in time? Or will humankind have to depend on the smallest of their techs to save them?

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1: A nuclear war in Central Europe opens the gates between dimensions, sending millions of Earth Humans into a land of myth, archetypes and fantasy. The Evil Emperor of the Ellala Elves sees the humans as energy to fuel his transformation to immortality. But the humans have brought their own weapons with them, as well as a race of Demigods who will battle the fantastic armies of Refuge. The war is on, and only one side will ultimately survive.

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2: The Ellala have a plan to destroy the human military and capture the civilians. And the humans find that their weapons will soon cease to function. So it’s use it or lose it for the Earth Humans, and they use it with a vengeance. Tanks against Mages, Attack Helicopters against Dragons, and Nuclear Weapons against Death Gods. And the other peoples of the planet come forth as allies to the humans that they see as the fulfillment an Ancient Prophecy. But will it be enough?

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions: The human invaders are now without their technologies, at least those using explosives and internal combustion engines. But they still have knowledge of many other techs, especially the arts of warfare as practiced by the greatest infantry of the ancient world. Will it be enough to stand up to the half lich Emperor and his magical forces.

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest: When the evil half lich Emperor sends his minions on a mission to find the Crown of the Lost Gods, an artifact which can control the minds of millions, it is up to Kurt von Mannerheim to stop them. Along with his fellow immortal, Jackie Smith, the human Physicist/Mage James Drake, the Ellala Ranger Fenris and the Grimakan Priest Garios, they must head to the frozen north to foil the plan, and ensure that the evil artifact never sees the light of day.

Refuge: Doppelganger: Set thousands of years after the arrival, Kurt von Mannerheim, the Immortal Emperor of the Imperium of Free Nations, must give up everything to save his Empress, the Elfin Princess Gwenara Elysius von Mannerheim. The world is at a crisis point as the Evil Tarakesh Empire, under its Immortal Emperor Heinrich Stuppleheim, prepares to overrun the world with its Nazi Ideology. And Kurt must face a creature of legend that may prove too much for even his physical and mental abilities.

Other Fantasy

The Hunger: Abused wife, drug addict, prostitute; Lucinda Taylor had been victimized by men all her adult life. Left for dead by her pimp, Lucinda was turned by a passing vampire. When he is destroyed she becomes a free agent, slaking her hunger for blood on the bottom dwellers of society, the type of men who once victimized her. The crime boss of Tampa is her next target, and the City by the Bay is about to become a bloodbath. But can Lucinda avoid those who are hunting for her; the Priest, the FBI man, and a pair of Vampires who would like nothing better than to send one Avenging Vampire forever into the dark?

Daemon: A Steampunk Fantasy. The world is dying, the victim of the magic used by society for the last three hundred years. Daemon Corporation thinks they have the answer, stealing the life from other worlds, bringing from other dimensions the intelligences that inhabit them for sacrifice on Earth. But something has come with them, a force that is killing the employees of Daemon Corp. It is up to Forensic Mage Detective Jude Parkinson to find a way to stop the unstoppable, while keeping the head of Daemon Corp from silencing him to keep the dark secrets of the company out of the public eye.

Aura: Triplets are born on a world where the magical Aura decides the fate of its owner. Ariel is a girl with more than double the normal Aura, destined to become a mighty Priest or Mage. Aiden has a less than normal Aura, and is destined to be a soldier or laborer. While Arlen has no Aura at all, and is seen as an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Baalra the Dragon God, which has no power over those with Negative Auras. Fate will rip the siblings apart, then bring them back together as they battle to defeat the Dragon God and leave the Evil Empire, before Ariel is taken as the Avatar of Baalra, his mortal vessel on Earth.

Books with other Authors:

Five By Five 3: Target Zone: Novellas by New York Times Bestsellers Kevin J. Anderson and Michael A. Stackpole, along with Prometheus Award Winner Dani and Eytan Kollin, Baen Author Sarah A. Hoyt, and Exodus Empires at War Author Doug Dandridge, make this a must have book for the military science fiction aficionado.

New Imagination Unlimited Newsletter

Sign up for my free Newsletter at Mailchimp, for insights into my writing, future projects, promotions and new releases. The Newsletter will come out at least twice a month, and will always contain something new.

Table of Contents

- Title
- Dedication
- Copyright
- Acknowledgements
- Books by Doug Dandridge
- Cast of Characters
- Timeline
- The Story So Far

- Prologue

- CA’CADASAN HOME SYSTEM, JULY 25TH, 1002

- Chapter One

- KLAVARTA SPACE, JULY 28TH, 1002

- Chapter Two

- HYPER VII DESTROYER ANGELA COLLINS: AUGUST 12TH, 1002

- Chapter Three

- CA’CADASAN EMPIRE CAPITAL: AUGUST 13TH, 1002

- Chapter Four

- UNKNOWN LOCATION, IMPERIAL SPACE: AUGUST 14TH, 1002

- Chapter Five

- CAPITULUM, AUGUST 20TH, 1002

- Chapter Six

- NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE, AUGUST 27TH, 1002

- Chapter Seven

- CAPITULUM, AUGUST 29TH, 1002

- Chapter Eight

- NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE. AUGUST 30TH, 1002

- Chapter Nine

- IMPERIAL SPACE. AUGUST 30TH, 1002

- Chapter Ten

- Chapter Eleven

- Chapter Twelve

- NEW TERRAN REPUBLIC, SEPTEMBER 2ND, 1002

- Chapter Thirteen

- IMPERIAL ARMY TRAINING BASE, PLANET RUBY SEPTEMBER 3RD, 1002

- Chapter Fourteen

- Chapter Fifteen

- IMPERIAL PALACE, CAPITULUM

- Chapter Sixteen

- THE HEXAGON, CAPITULUM. SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1002

- Chapter Seventeen

- IMPERIAL SPACE: SEPTEMBER 6TH, 1002

- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty

- Chapter Twenty-one

- NATION OF NEW EARTH SPACE, SEPTEMBER 12TH, 1002.

- Epilogue

- PALACE HOSPITAL, CAPITULUM: NOVEMBER 8TH, 1002.

- Appendix A: Glossary
- About the Author
- Books by Doug Dandridge