Prologue
Deep space
Skiohra generation ship Benevolence
Everything is different. Everything.
Jarum Krull, ninth matriarch of the great house of Krull of the Skiohra, sensed it. Weeks ago, when the first assault on the ligature came from the world of Sangre de Cristo, she had sensed it.
Now it was overpowering.
Nothing was as it should be. Nothing was as it seemed. As if she’d lived her whole life in shadow, watching her life through a frosted glass. All of her eight thousand five hundred and fourteen years were lived in ignorance.
Until now.
She breathed heavily, panting, running down the hallway. The great engines of the magnificent ship Benevolence, her clan’s home for the past twenty-thousand years, pulsed through the walls around her, and it seemed as if her footfalls kept time with them. As if the very lifeblood of the ship agreed with her, and urged her on.
The days of the Unthinkable Thought are over.
Open the door.
It was forbidden to open the door. It was forbidden to even think about it. Many things were forbidden to think about: the existence of the Quiassi. The Findiri. Even the very location of their own ancient homeworld. But chief among them:
Do not open the door.
Do not even consider it.
Do not even think of it.
Because the consequences were death, and worse. She didn’t know what that worse was, but her own mother, Matriarch Jazma Krull, had instilled this hereditary knowledge in her as a child. Even when Jarum herself was still living the Inner Life within Matriarch Jazma, she’d learned it well.
She caught her breath, hearing a noise and a shuffle ahead of her. Her sisters. Just around the corner of the intersecting hallways ahead. Their voices drifted down the dim path. Few ever came this way, deep within the anterior end of their space-faring home, very near where the ISS Constitution had blown clear through the hull during the great war thirty years ago.
She remembered the aftermath of that horror. And … the cognitive dissonance. Perhaps her anguish about the Unthinkable Thought—a taboo for her people—started then, when she, along with thousands of others of her sisters, repaired the damage caused by that horrific battle. Thousands of her sisters died. Millions of their children died, both interior children and exterior. And yet the damage to the ship had to be repaired, and quickly, all while meticulously avoiding the hallway that led to the door. Hundreds of her interior children protested the detours she had to take to avoid that hallway. Thousands of others of her interior children silenced the dissenters in a rage of self-righteous fury. Because avoiding the Unthinkable Thought wasn’t just custom.
It was sacred. It was irrevocable law.
It was woven into their very DNA. Their psyches. Their souls. Matriarch Jazma hadn’t so much taught her the Unthinkable Thought as she reminded her of it, for every Skiohra felt it in her bones.
The voices faded away—her sisters had taken another hallway. She breathed easier again, and resumed her jog. She had to hurry. The Ligature was disabled, at least until the actions of the Motherkiller could be predicted or contained, and so her thousands of rebellious interior children could not reach out and warn the others.
All they could do was scream at her. In fury and terror. They knew her intentions, and they hated her for it. Her own children hated her. No mother could imagine such anguish.
She shut her eyes against the pain. Against the waves of righteous anger. And she ran on, deeper into the Benevolence, nearly to the hallway where few ever went and where none went beyond.
To the door.
The Unpassable Door.
She stopped at the end of the hallway. Thousands of years of habit nearly repelled her, kept her from taking that first step down the long, narrow path. Thousands inside cursed her for even wanting to take that step.
But the first step into the hallway was the hardest. The rest came easier, and by the time she came face-to-face with the door itself, she could barely hear the steady thrum of the engines. It seemed the very life-light of the hallway had dimmed all around her, like she was in a black tunnel, with the only exit ahead of her:
The Unpassable Door.
She paused, her feet paralyzed momentarily by the great debate taking place inside her. She could hear them all, each and every one of her children, all at once. It was a mother’s gift—to hear and understand tens of thousands at once, seemingly outside the bounds of temporal reality.
And it was a debate she followed with great interest.
Why would we even have this taboo if not to protect us? It was natural selection’s way of ensuring our people’s preservation, said one.
Lunacy. Utter lunacy. Natural selection can’t build ships. Natural selection can’t be so specific as to forbid entry to a specific door on a specific ship, at a specific point in space-time. Besides, you were always terrible in our biology classes, retorted another.
Peace, brothers. The fact remains, regardless of the taboo’s origin, that we are bound by it. It is there for a reason. And, reason suggests that it is there for our protection. What other reason for its existence could there be? said a third.
The second waved its micro-cilia back and forth, deep within her—she could feel it—an interior Skiohra’s physical movement indicating doubt or rejection. For some reason, the action, at that moment, brought memories of the Motherkiller, when she spoke with Polrum Krull, just weeks ago. Her analogue of the micro-cilia waving, the shake of her head back and forth, seemed like such a crude waste of mortal energy, to communicate such a simple concept as no.
Your logic is faulty, the second said. Beyond faulty. It is absurd.
A fourth voiced its agreement. Brothers. Sisters. Think. Until the great cataclysm of the Ligature at Sangre de Cristo, we all accepted the taboo as irrefutable and unquestionable law. But that event changed something within some of us. And subsequent cataclysms changed more of us. And now there are hundreds of us. Perhaps thousands, since many of you have not yet even voiced an opinion. But those events changed us, fundamentally. Everything is different. This is … something new. A new age of our people. I can sense it—
Heresy! You speak heresy, you foul—
The cacophony of voices descended into an almost indecipherable mishmash of insults and arguments and fights. “Children. Please,” she said out loud. “The time has come. All of you know of my love for you. A matriarch’s love is eternal and knows profundities most of you will never experience for yourself. I respect all of your opinions, all of your wants and desires. But the decision is made. I have made it. And you will all bear the consequences along with me.”
And so will all of our people, mother, said the first. Is it your place to decide their fate?
She closed her eyes. He spoke the truth, and it cut her to the core. Was her choice irresponsible? Would she bring calamity upon her whole people with this simple, rebellious act? Did she have that right?
But she had to know. Something deep, deep within her urged her on. Drove her on. It compelled her. It was irresistible, like the urge to not think the Unthinkable Thought itself had been. And now a similar force drove her to break it.
Her hand reached for the ancient mechanical handle. An inscription above the door itself was barely visible, corroded with moisture and the passage of tens of thousands of years. But she could still read them, and she read them in wonder.
Open at the end.
Below that were symbols. Etchings, of four beings.
And below those, on the door itself:
And the end is the beginning.
“We need to begin again,” she said, just above a whisper. A breath, no more.
The mechanical lock turned with the press of her thumb. She squeezed the release, and felt the handle become loose.
And she turned it.
The door opened. She averted her eyes—something visceral and deep within her prevented her from looking any deeper into the room than just past the threshold. A step into the room, two steps, then she turned and shut the door with a foreboding clang.
She turned back towards the center of the room, still looking straight down at her feet, not daring to see any further. Habit? Or was it deeper than that?
But for Jarum Krull, ninth matriarch of the house of Krull of the Skiohra, it no longer mattered. Her time, and the time of all her children, had expired. No more debate. No more discussion.
And in the fraction of a second where her head was still conscious as it tumbled through the air, she could hear the terror erupt within her. The chorus of condemnation from the followers of the taboo, met with incredulous silence from the doubters.
The blood drained from her head, and flew outward in a spiral as it seemed the room spun around her. Her body fell with a thud, and her head hit the wall across the room and fell as well.
You ignorant, rebellious fools! the followers of the taboo screamed at the rest, and at her. Cursing their very mother and matriarch, now seconds from death.
And in the fraction of a second it took her head to fall to the floor where her body lay, she looked at the center of the room.
And gasped, breathless, since there was no air left to exhale.
She had to tell someone.
She had to warn them.
She frantically reached out with the Ligature to someone, anyone nearby, only to remember that it, too, was dead. Just like her.
Her head hit the floor, and the world went white, and her last-ditch vain effort to reach out to her sisters through the inactive Ligature failed.
Because for Jarum Krull, time had run out.
Chapter One
Conference room
ISS Independence
Near Britannia
Captain Tyler “Ballsy” Volz of the ISS Independence had fought many battles through two wars, had seen death, destruction, intense fighter battles and major campaigns between fleets of capital ships, and had even witnessed the final defeat of the Swarm at the hands of the legendary Captain Timothy Granger as he lured their remaining ships into a black hole and obliterated them with anti-matter bombs.
But nothing could have prepared him for this.
“You … want to….” He trailed off in disbelief. “Ok now, back up, and just repeat it. Because what I thought you said sounded a little too crazy, even for a dimwit such as yourself.”
His son, Lieutenant Ethan “Batship” Zivic, made a face. “Dimwit? Crazy, sure. But dimwit? Come on, dad, you can do better than that.”
“I was being generous.”
Zivic almost had to bite his tongue. They bantered, and they had managed to set aside their differences. But the tension ran deep. In his father’s eyes, he’d killed his own mother by being a show off. In the son’s eyes, his father was a deadbeat dad who’d abandoned him and yet still had the gall to criticize.
But civilizational threats tended to supersede family squabbles. Most of the time.
“Ok. From the top. Dad.” He tried not to make the eye-roll too apparent as he flipped back through his presentation on the conference room wall. He knew his father hated being called dad in front of other crew members, though the only people present were Rayna Scott, an old, dear friend and the ship’s chief engineer, and Lieutenant Jerusha Whitehorse, who, as Zivic’s former fiancee, was practically family.
“From the top. And preferably this time with fewer ‘pew pew’ noises.”
“I did it once, dad.”
“You did it twice, but no one’s counting.”
Lieutenant Whitehorse cleared her throat. “Gentlemen,” she said, followed by a smile.
Captain Volz shrugged and waved at Zivic to continue.
“As I was saying. The new Swarm ships. They’re big. Beyond big. They’re huge, with power levels off the charts. Just one could raze the entire surface of Earth or Britannia in a matter of ten minutes or so. Their power systems are distributed, as are their weapons, and as far as we can tell, their computing power too, not unlike the Independence herself.”
“Us scatterbrains gotta stick together, don’t we baby?” Rayna Scott was whispering up at the ceiling, addressing the ship as if it was her own child. Which was literally how she thought of any ship she tended.
“Suffice it to say, destroying one would be impossible without one of the Granger moons. But seeing how we can’t exactly control the Granger moons and have to rely on….” he paused a moment to register his disbelief of what he was saying, “a thirteen billion year old dead former IDF captain to move them around for us, I think it’s imperative that we find a way to defend ourselves against these without his—its—his help.”
“Thank you for the introductory material that we all already knew. Now get back to your point. And make it sound less stupid this time.” Volz was tapping his foot impatiently.
Another eye-roll. “We know that the Swarm can be essentially lured to any location with a powerful enough meta-space pulse. Either with a meta-space shunt harnessing the power of a large nuclear or anti-matter explosion, or with our own meta-space transmitter with the power ramped up to … higher than it should ever go. But, since we’ve only ever done it once ourselves, and that time by accident, I don’t know if we can bank on it—”
“It’s all we’ve got right now. Go on.”
“Right.” Zivic turned back to his presentation. He was itching to get back in his cockpit and shoot some Swarm shit alien fighters, and he was especially itching to finally beat his dad’s record of one hundred kills during a battle from the Second Swarm War over thirty years ago. But he’d been tasked with strategizing ways to defeat the immense Swarm capital ships. “It seems like the higher intensity the meta-space pulse, the greater the effect of the summons. At least, with the two data-points we have to go on. So it stands to reason that if we detonate an anti-matter bomb or ten, shunt nearly all the energy into meta-space within a narrow slice of time, say, ten nanoseconds, that should catch their attention and possibly get all of them here at once.”
Volz chuckled. “Big ifs, but ok.”
“So here’s what we do. We go to Penumbra. The black hole Granger lured them to thirty years ago. We essentially mimic what he did, only this time we detonate the bombs and the meta-space shunts just outside the event horizon—as close as we can get—and hope that all the Swarm ships show up right at that location.”
“And what’s stopping them from q-jumping away once they realize they’re about to get gobbled up by a black hole?”
“We embed their hulls with q-field interdictors. We should only need two or three per ship. Just gotta get up close and personal enough, launch one with sufficient force to embed into their hull, and bam, they ain’t going nowhere, and we let the black hole do the dirty work for us.”
Volz stroked his chin. “I’m going to be honest with you, Lieutenant. It sounded less stupid the first time.”
Zivic didn’t even try to hide his eye-roll this time. “You know what? Why don’t you just go and suck a—”
“Gentlemen,” Lieutenant Whitehorse repeated, this time staring directly at Zivic.
Zivic shut his mouth and closed his eyes, taking moment to steady himself. “It can work.”
“How the hell do you know how many Swarm ships will even show up? What if we plan a party for ten, and a thousand show all dressed up for dinner and a movie? There’s no way in hell we can attach that many q-field interdictors at once, and if we let a few dozen get away, then all we’ve done is summon a few dozen almost comically oversized Swarm ships that much closer to Earth, and made them very, very angry. Idiotic. More than idiotic, it’s insane.”
“We do the best with what information we’ve got, sir.” He only ever called his dad sir when he was pissed. And he was pissed.
“Bullshit. With the information we’ve got we may as well go eat pistols and pull the triggers than do what you’re proposing.”
“Ok, fine. Fine. It needs work. But it’s a start, ok?”
Now it was Volz’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s a joke, is what it is.”
“Ok, you know what?” Zivic waved the screen off. “I’m done. Go find yourself a new goddamn strategist. I’d have better luck dating the Swarm’s leader, make questionable decisions in a hotel room with it, get it pregnant, sue the piece of shit for custody rights, and take the goddamn hybrid Batshit Swarm shit kid out to an amusement park where I convince it with candy and ferris wheel rides to go back to its people and get them to please oh please stop attacking us, than to convince you of anything, goddammit!”
He left so fast the doors almost didn’t have time to open. When they closed, all that was left in the conference room was a stunned silence and three IDF officers trying to piece together what he’d even said.
“Now, that’s not fair. I’m convincible. He convinced me just last week that the Britannia Falcons had a better offensive line than the Callisto Raptors.”
Whitehorse shook her head. Rayna snickered. “Now that was a dramatic hissy-fit storm-off if I ever saw one.”
“You’re being too hard on him,” said Whitehorse, glancing at Volz with a look of annoyance mixed with desperation.
Desperation was in heavy supply these days, and Volz knew it. “Look. If we don’t figure something out and soon, we’re all dead. Not just us, but all of humanity. And you both know it. That cool million last week on New Dublin? Fried in the blink of an eye? That’s just the beginning. A million people. Just gone. So if you’re going to coddle him just to keep his precious feelings unhurt and his manhood intact, then … yes, we need a new strategist because fiery, painful death awaits us all if we can’t do something, for god’s sake.” He hit the table harder than he meant to and swore from the pain.
More silence.
“Any word from Shelby?” said Rayna.
He went glum. “She still hasn’t surfaced. Having the authorities think you killed the president of United Earth does horrible things to one’s welcome and reputation.”
“Ballsy, if I know her, she’s deep into something. Planning. Figuring shit out. It’s what she does. She’ll turn up. And when she does, pow!” Rayna slapped her hands together.
Volz nodded. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right, Rayna. Cause things ain’t looking so good right now. If we didn’t have that fleet of … moons patrolling our space, with mysterious Jesus-Granger at the helm, we’d be dead weeks ago.”
One last uneasy silence as they considered the almost laughable improbability of a dead Captain Granger coming out of a black hole and turning a dozen moons into giant space stations to protect them from the Swarm. And then the urgent voice over the comm snapped them out of it.
“Sir! Just receiving a meta-space distress call from Britannia.”
Color drained from Whitehorse’s face. “My god,” said Volz. “Swarm?”
“Yes, sir. Three Swarm ships just jumped into the vicinity and are headed directly for the planet.”
Volz leaped to his feet and ran for the door. “Britannia’s our biggest planet. This is it, folks. It’s show time.”
Chapter Two
Admiral’s quarters
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-G
“Ma’am, we found it.”
Admiral Shelby Proctor had been asleep in her quarters, but at the words—the words she’d been waiting to hear for two weeks, she practically jumped out of her bed. “You’re sure?”
“Sure, ma’am. It’s Titan. Complete with a smashed Swarm ship on one side of it. The whole thing is still glowing molten red from the impact.”
“I’m on my way,” she said, giving herself a once-over glance in the mirror. Good enough, she thought. She’d slept in her uniform, but that was standard these days. She remembered back to the Swarm War aboard the Constitution and then the Warrior with Captain Granger—she’d once gone three weeks in the same uniform. Only the anti-septic and deodorizing sonic spray kept her from smelling too badly. But war was war. And personal hygiene took a back seat to keeping people alive.
The Defiance was so small that she was on the bridge in less than a minute after leaving her quarters. The marine she’d deputized into being her first officer stood up from her command chair and she settled into it. “Report, Commander Carson.”
He seemed to wince at the rank. He’d been a staff sergeant. Enlisted. But being the former fleet admiral of IDF came with certain privileges, and in wartime, protocol and customs be damned—she needed a first officer, and first officers were commanders, not staff sergeants. “It’s in orbit around a red dwarf star in sector 21-K. We tracked it using the q-field variance interferometry method you showed us, ma’am. It q-jumped in less than an hour ago, and I’ve tapped into the meta-space solar system readout from the IDF listening post there. It’s definitely Titan.”
“Is the probe picking up any transmissions or … anything from it? Meta-space or otherwise?”
“Inconclusive, ma’am.”
“Very well, commander. Take us in. How many q-jumps away are we?”
“Just five, ma’am,” Carson said.
“Good. Let’s get moving.”
Commander Carson gave a nod to the marine sitting at the navigation station who entered in the coordinates and engaged the q-jump engines. Within ten minutes they were there: a tiny red dwarf star just fifty light years from Earth, its weak light displayed on one of the bridge’s tactical displays.
“Where is it?”
Commander Carson made a curt motion to the marine at the tactical station, and she zoomed the camera in to a tiny dot near the star. It expanded to reveal a dull red glowing moon. Titan.
Tim.
“Shall I take us in, Ma’am?” said Carson.
“Not yet. Full meta-space scan. Full EM scan. Full … everything scan. Neutrinos. Tau. Neutron. Gravity wave spectrum. Q-field interferometry. Everything.”
The marine at tactical shook his head. Davenport. Specialist—now Lieutenant Davenport. “Ma’am? I … don’t know how to do most of those.”
She sighed, and approached his station. “Here. Watch, and learn. I’m only showing you once more, so pay attention this time.” She ran him through the various menus and submenus of the types of scans the Defiance’s sensor suite was capable of. “You know the difference between active and passive scanning, right, Lieutenant?”
He looked affronted. “Of course, ma’am. Active scanning sends out a signal and detects how it interacts with the target and—”
“You don’t need to explain it to me, Lieutenant. I’m just seeing what I’ve got to work with here.” She tapped through a few more menus and initiated the gamma and x-ray scan of the glowing moon ahead of them. “Look. Nothing showing up on the high energy end of the EM spectrum except for standard background. That tells us a few things. It means whatever power source Tim built in that thing is either inactive, or so heavily shielded that we can’t detect it, because all—and I mean all—high energy sources are going to give off some type of high energy EM radiation.”
“Do you think it was damaged when it rammed the Swarm ship over Earth?” said Carson.
“Possibly.” Admiral Proctor sat back down in the command chair and stroked her chin. “But after the collision, he jumped away, so whatever reactor he’s got down there was working until at least then.”
It was not lost on her that she kept on referring to whatever was down on Titan as him and he, rather than it, like the marines were doing. They didn’t believe. So be it. She’d had enough evidence already. She knew exactly who was down there.
But where had he been for thirty years? Or was it really thirteen billion?
“Ok. Run through the other scans. Should take you about twenty minutes if you do it right, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Lieutenant Davenport hunkered down, going through the various frequency bands, occasionally looking up to report on his findings. Always negative.
Please be alive, Tim. Please. We need you.
A million people died last week on New Dublin from the Swarm attack, before Ido, Hestia 9, and Ampera Raya showed up and blasted the thing to hell and back. It took three Granger moons to destroy just one Swarm ship.
Granger moons. Everyone called them that, but did they believe? Did she? Did she really? It was absurd, but there they were. Twelve moons, all somehow converted through the use of some kind of incomprehensible technology into massive cannons capable of q-jumping anywhere in United Earth space to counter any Swarm incursion.
But the Granger moons didn’t always show up on time. And as a result, they’d already suffered horrific losses. A million gone meant tens of millions of grieving living, and tens of billions of terrified people wondering if their family was next.
“Ma’am, nothing.”
“Meta-space?”
Lieutenant Davenport blanched. “Sorry ma’am, forgot that one.” He hunkered down again, and within a minute was scratching his head. “Ma’am? This is … strange. I think. I’m no meta-space expert.”
She stood up again and glanced at his console readout. Then she bent lower to get a better look. How very odd. “You’re right. That isn’t normal. It’s like the entire moon is acting as a … spherical conduit for a larger, extremely low frequency meta-space wave.”
Commander Carson came up behind them. “What does it mean?”
Proctor turned to face him. “I don’t know.” She sat down. “I’ve never seen it before. I didn’t even know something like that was possible. What does it mean? God, what does any of this mean?”
The marines had no answer for her. And, she suspected, no one in the universe did.
Except for one man.
She glanced at the young marine manning the helm. “Lieutenant Case, take us in.”
Chapter Three
Terrace Heights playground
Whitehaven
Britannia
Sarah Watkins was eight, and her favorite part of the playground was the swing set. She could swing so high she felt she could touch the sky. Her feet would soar up above her, toes outstretched in the warm Britannian sun, reaching up high to the clouds.
She’d play games on the swings. Always with herself. She had friends, but they didn’t like playing with her sometimes. They called her weird, but they were the weird ones. She talked to herself. And who wouldn’t? She was interesting!
“Now I’ll start twisting. When I twist and swing, my legs go back and forth. Sideways. Like this.” She demonstrated. She talked to her best friend, of course. No one could see her, but she was there. Samantha. She called her Sam. She stood right next to the swing set, watching. Sure, she was imaginary. But Sam was also fun, and that made up for the imaginary bit.
“Sarah, be careful!” her mother called from the edge of the playground.
“Okay!”
Her legs swung sideways back and forth as her body went up and down in a wide arc, swinging higher and higher. It was hard to get that just right, to make the up and down swing go higher and higher while thrashing back and forth. Her dad was a physics-ist. Or a physicalist? Physicist? Physica…cist? Whatever. But he used strange words like momentum and angular and … something else, to describe what she was doing.
Dads were weird. What she was doing was having fun.
“Sarah, I said be careful! That’s too high! You’re going to fall off.” Her mother called again, but her voice made it sound like she wasn’t paying that much attention. She was too busy talking to her friend on the phone. Perfect. That meant she could go just a little higher before her mom would actually get mad.
Higher.
Higher.
Her toes splayed out, and at the top of the arc, she peered up through them towards the sun, squinting at the light filtering through.
Higher.
Higher.
Her mother screamed.
“Mom, it’s not that high! I’m fine! Watch!”
She pumped the swing even higher. The sideways motion had disappeared, and now she focused on getting as high as she could. To impress Sam, and her mom too.
The screaming didn’t stop. What was it with moms?
That’s when she noticed it was a lot darker than it had been before. She reached the top of the arc of the swing, and peered up through her splayed toes again, towards the sun.
It wasn’t there.
The sun was gone.
“Sam, did you take away the sun?” she joked to her friend. But in her gut, she knew it wasn’t funny.
Her mother kept screaming. It was making her nervous. She put her legs down and looked up at the sky, towards where the sun had been. In its place, with sunlight trying to stream all around it like a golden white crown, was a … thing. A ship?
Then she understood the screaming. Her parents had talked about it in hushed tones at night, when they thought she was asleep. Something had come back. The Swam? The Worm? The Swarm? It was the Swarm. She remembered hearing about them in school. They sounded worried during those conversations, but she didn’t understand why.
Until now. The darkness deepened. Frightened, she looked across the sky, searching for what her parents had called the Granger moons. Something that might help. They told her the Granger moons had saved her aunt and uncle on New Dublin last week. They nearly died, but the moons showed up at the last second. But not before lots of people died. She scanned the sky, whipping her head back and forth.
There was nothing else there. Except for two more big ships, glowing white from the sun, brighter and larger than the moon.
Her mother didn’t stop screaming. Now she heard other screams joining hers.
She didn’t understand why they were screaming. But since they all were, Sarah started to scream too.
Chapter Four
Bridge
ISS Independence
Near Britannia
“Status report.” Captain Volz strode onto the bridge, which was already at the highest alert level with every station settling into battle mode.
“Three Swarm ships, same general design as all the ones we’ve seen so far,” said Whitehorse’s deputy at tactical.
“Except now there’s three of them. Good god, we’re going to need all twelve of the Granger moons on this one.” He glanced over to the long range scan station. “Any word?”
“Nothing, sir. No moons yet.”
Volz sat down in the command chair. “Well if the pattern holds, they should start showing up in about five minutes. That gives us five minutes to buzz around them like gnats until they squish us and move on to the juicy target below.”
Eight and a half billion people down there on Britannia. Apart from Earth, the planet below held what was essentially the center of human galactic civilization. Volz momentarily held his hand to his forehead, steeling himself against what was certain to be a horrific, apocalyptic catastrophe. “Ok. Who’s in command of the Britannia defense fleet now?”
“They called in Admiral Tillis from San Martin, sir,” said Lieutenant Whitehorse, having taken over from her deputy. “He’s assembling the fleet near defense platform Cerberus Nine.
“Are all defense platforms online?”
“Cerberus One through Fifteen, yes. But half the Hydra system is still in maintenance.”
“Shit.” Volz swiveled his chair to the command console. “Ok. Inform Admiral Tillis or his deputy that we’re going in for the special ops.”
On the viewscreen, the closest massive Swarm ship loomed large, completely eclipsing Britannia’s moon and slowly turning to aim one of its weapons, spires down towards the planet below. Thousands of fighters were disgorging from bays that were too far away to make out, but the tiny ships clustered and billowed outward, reminiscent of the videos he’d seen of the First Swarm War over a hundred years ago.
“Sir, Admiral Tillis is ordering us into formation with them and to engage in interdiction maneuvers.”
“Interdiction?” Volz wanted to punch the console like he’d punched the conference room table. “Tillis knows we can’t just blow up their engines, right? We’re not even sure we know where they are.”
“The Endeavor is relaying coordinates for what they think are the engines, sir. They claim they’ve analyzed the sensor data from previous engagements sufficiently to pinpoint their exact location.” Whitehorse was shaking her head. “But … I’m not so sure about these. It’s one spot near the rear of the ship, relative to our location. But everything we’ve seen about these ships …”
“Spit it out, Lieutenant.”
“Their energy systems, their computing systems, everything is distributed. I’d think they would have found a way to do that to the engines too, somehow. Maybe.”
“Maybe.”
Ensign Riisa glanced back at him nervously. “Sir? Should I plot a course for the fleet?”
Volz chuckled. “Of course not. Begin maneuver Ballsy Bitch Slap One.”
Whitehorse shook her head again, this time in exasperation. “Acknowledged. Commencing maneuver BBS One.” She refused to say the full name.
“And for good measure, target the coordinates that Tillis sent through,” said Volz. “May as well. It’ll either prove them right, or confirm your suspicions, Jerusha.”
She nodded, and relayed the orders to the appropriate crews. “Cargo bay reports ready, sir.”
“Avery’s package is stable?”
“As stable as ten kilos of antimatter can get, sir.”
Just last week he’d paid former president Avery a visit, and threatened to convince Fleet Admiral Oppenheimer to take away her access to the retired Interstellar One she’d used during her second term. He suspected Oppenheimer didn’t actually have that power, and that she knew it, but after some healthy vulgar banter—which was what he suspected was all she wanted in the first place—she relented and gave him the location of a hidden cache of raw antimatter produced by the Mars Project during the war. Nearly a ton. Enough for millions of anti-matter bombs.
Bombs took time to make, of course. But anti-matter itself was sufficient for what Ballsy wanted.
Raw, uncontrolled violence.
“Launch.”
Whitehorse relayed the order, and after a few seconds nodded at her console. Package launched, sir.”
“Ms. Riisa?”
“Moving us off, sir,” said the helmswoman.
The Independence edged away from the slowly rotating package—a hodgepodge of wires, relays, electrical components, the container of anti-matter, and the magic sauce: a fully functional q-jump engine.
“This better be worth what we paid for that thing.”
“We confiscated it from pirates, sir.”
Volz shrugged. “But it cost us half a day to track them down, appropriate the stolen goods, and repurpose the engine to mount it to our package, and remove the auto-safety algorithms that would have made Ballsy Bitch Slap One impossible.”
Every q-jump engine was hardwired with auto-safety algorithms that prevented the user from accidentally entering coordinates that would prove catastrophic. Such as a helmsman transposing a set of coordinates and unwittingly plotting their arrival right in the center of a star.
Or, in this case, a Swarm ship.
“Now,” said Volz.
In a flash, the package disappeared.
“Report.”
Whitehorse scanned her console readouts. “It worked. Tapping into the Endeavor’s video feed—they have a better perspective than us.”
The viewscreen ahead of them changed from the front of the ship to the rear, where a massive gout of glowing debris was spewing from the hull in an expanding sphere. Massive, except for….
“Zoom out. Pan the camera,” said Volz.
The view changed again, and the explosion shrunk down to a tiny dot on the incomprehensibly large ship. Just a small pinprick on a giant.
“Any change in their engine status?”
Whitehorse shook her head. “None, sir. Their course is still straight at Britannia. And their primary weapon spire is charging.”
“Fine. Operation Ballsy Bitch Slap Two.”
“Aye, aye sir. BBS Two.” Whitehorse relayed commands to the cargo bay, and soon there was another package floating off the port side of the ship. Ensign Riisa moved the Independence slightly to avoid the q-jump wake of the package’s engines, and it, too, disappeared in a flash.
This time, Whitehorse smiled. “Success, sir. The weapons spire looks like it’s disabled.” Her eyes widened. “And, it looks like the built-up energy in their banks discharged, and the whole thing is lighting up like the fourth of July. Bonus.”
“Onscreen.”
The screen changed to show the devastated spire crackling with explosive energy, metal and struts and wreckage expanding outward in a glowing cloud of molten slag.
“One down. How many of those things?”
Commander Mumford at the science station glanced up at him. “Over three ships? At least ninety more spires just like that.”
“And the ship is turning to point another one at the planet, sir.”
Volz gripped his armrests. “And around and around we go. Where it stops nobody knows. Prepare another package, lieutenant. We’ll keep this up as long as they let us.”
As if on cue, the ship shook violently. Volz nearly flew from his seat before he managed to fasten his restraint. “Riisa! Now! Operation Ballsy Bitch Slap Three!”
The helmswoman engaged the T-jump engines, and they arrived at the coordinates she’d entered just moments before.
Right in the center of the glowing wreckage left by Ballsy Bitch Slap One, deep inside the Swarm ship.
Volz flashed a dark grin. “It’s show time, folks.”
Chapter Five
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
There it was. Titan. One side still glowing a dull red from the catastrophic impact with the Swarm ship over Earth just two weeks ago. She thought she could make out great billowing storms raging across the surface, probably from the vast amounts of dust thrown up into the thin atmosphere from the collision. Flashes here and there indicated intense lightning.
If there had been anything down there on that hellish surface, it would have been long dead.
“Report. Anything on passive scans?” she said, after studying the image for a few minutes, giving the inexperienced Lieutenant Davenport some extra time to perform his duties. She hoped he knew to immediately start the passive scanning—it’s something even a first year cadet would have known how to do. Though she supposed marines did not typically receive space naval officer training.
“Nothing of interest, ma’am. All bands silent, except for what looks like spikes and reverberations from the lightning storms on the surface.”
Nothing of interest to you, she thought. “Give me a magnetic scan. What’s going on down there in the mantle and core, I wonder?”
Another minute or so, and Davenport looked up at her. “Ma’am? I … I don’t know what I’m looking for here.”
She forced herself not to sigh. It was her choice that these marines were here instead of Lieutenant Whitehorse, Lieutenant Qwerty, Zivic, and the other officers she’d originally brought with her aboard the Defiance. But, given her fugitive status, she did not want to jeopardize their careers, and ordered them back to the Independence. She supposed the marines would not be held to the same disciplinary standards as her officers, but she couldn’t be sure how Oppenheimer would treat them. Besides, they volunteered anyway, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. But now she was left with a bridge crew that had only the faintest idea of how to be a bridge crew. She was the only one on board that could do … well, anything. Starship related, at least.
Well, not the only person.
That woman was still below, down in the brig. President Quimby’s true murderer. And the rogue Admiral Mullins, who was Fiona Liu’s real target.
“Here, let me.” She waved Davenport out of his seat and took his place. Good Lord, he’s tall. She reached down to adjust the seat so she could rest her feet on the floor.
Commander Carson looked over her shoulder. “Anything, ma’am?”
“Lots of things, actually. But it’ll take time to analyze the data, and I have neither the time nor the crew to do that. But the fluctuations in the magnetic field indicate that … something not normal is going on inside that moon. Planetary magnetic fields are created by the movement of magma which also happens to carry electric current. Especially deep down in the metallic core. But these? Good Lord. I have no idea what these readings mean. All I know is Titan is not behaving normally, which we already knew.”
“So we’ve learned nothing, ma’am?”
“On the contrary. We’ve learned that there’s a good chance he’s still there. That he’s still alive and controlling things.”
She could see the look in Carson’s eyes. The doubt. The hesitation as he searched for the words to say.
“It’s ok, commander, you can just say it. I’m crazy. I know. But I’m also an admiral, so I get special crazy privileges.”
She could make out the barest smirk as he replied, “You’re also a wanted criminal, ma’am, so don’t fuck with me.” He paused, and the smirk deepened. “With all due respect.”
She guffawed. He had balls, she’d give him that. And in the current dire circumstances, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about protocol.
And he was funny. Just like Ensign Babu. No. Captain Babu. Her assistant that she’d ordered to pilot a ship full of anti-matter bombs straight down into a Swarm ship.
Saving Earth in the process. But making an order like that … had a cost, she surmised. It either killed her a little inside, or enlivened her, making her appreciate life and the preciousness of it all the more. She couldn’t decide which.
“Watch your language,” she retorted with a smile. In truth, she’d let the profanities fly ever since Titan disappeared. Her mother’s tut-tutting in her mind had gone silent in recent days. “Listen. All of you. I’ll be blunt. You deserve that. I’m no Grangerite. I promise. But … he’s down there. I know it. I heard his voice, and it spoke things to me that no one would ever, ever know. He told me things that I’ve never told another living soul.”
Commander Carson nodded politely. “Ma’am, that’s incredible. Really. But … if he told you things that you’ve never told another living soul, is there a chance, just a chance, that maybe—”
He faltered, apparently unsure of how to word it. “A chance that I’m crazy? Yes. We’ve established that already, commander. Yes, it could be in my head. I realize that. But since we have a record of the whole incident two weeks ago, I’m inclined to trust my gut on this one.”
“And your gut says that the Hero of Earth, Captain Timothy Granger, entered a black hole thirty years ago, spent thirteen billions years there, only to come out a few weeks ago and start turning moons into giant space stations to protect us against a new Swarm invasion?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Yes. Yes, that’s it exactly.”
Commander Carson stood up straight, his back stiff, and brought his hand up to his forehead in a smart salute. “Ma’am, I think I speak for all of us when I say, and I mean this with the deepest respect … that’s a load of horse shit. It’s impossible. But … we believe you. We believe in you. You’ve saved Earth enough times now to earn a little benefit of the doubt.”
She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
“And ma’am?” he continued, “we’ll follow you to the end. To the end of the world.”
A feeling of awe swelled inside her at their devotion, and she turned back to Lieutenant Davenport’s terminal. “It think it’s time we made contact. Every time he’s reached out to me, it’s been through something encoded into a beam of weapons fire. I’ll assume from that that he can’t send or receive radio signals. So I’m firing one of the lasers at low power down towards the surface and encoding my voice into it.” She worked the controls for a few minutes, marveling now at how fast Lieutenant Qwerty had done the same thing.
“Are you sure … he can pick up the signal?”
“No. But it’s all we’ve got.” A final few commands…. “Ok, here we go.” She cleared her throat and initiated the recording process. “Tim. It’s Shelby. I’m here. Are you hurt? Do you need help? Talk to me, Tim.”
They all turned to the viewscreen, as if instinctually they all knew that any response would manifest itself as a visual cue from Titan itself. One minute, then two passed. She turned back to the console. “Tim, please talk to me. Tell me what I can do to help. Help me defeat the Swarm. Again. It’s why you came back, right? You came back to … to protect us. To save us again. My god, Tim … it’s … breathtaking what you’ve done. It’s unbelievable. But … I believe, Tim. I believe it’s you. And I need your help.”
“Ma’am! Something’s happening!”
She whipped her head back toward the screen. “What? I don’t see anything.”
The third marine, Lieutenant Case, pressed a few controls on his console. The screen zoomed in to a specific location on the surface, far away from the glowing impact zone of the Swarm ship.
A … hatch was opening. A giant hole in the ground ripped open, the surface rocks tumbling into the gaping chasm. “How … how big is that?”
Lieutenant Case hunched over his controls, hunting and pecking at indicators and commands on a console he was just becoming familiar with. “Uh … lemme check … aw shit.” A few more mumbled profanities later, and he looked up. “Five point eight kilometers, ma’am.”
Proctor nodded. “Ok. He wants us to go in.”
All three marines turned to her in shock. “Ma’am?” said Commander Carson.
“You heard me, commander. The weapons port—the giant hole in the ground where Titan’s beam came from—it was only a kilometer across. This one is almost six. More than enough to allow a ship to pass through. It’s like he’s waving us right in.”
She could see the misgiving on all their faces, but to their credit they sprang into action. Soon, the hole loomed ahead of them as the Defiance descended into the moon’s gravity well. Lieutenant Case pointed up to the screen. “Ma’am, what should I do if this turns out to be another weapons port?”
She crossed her legs and shrugged. “Dodge.”
Commander Carson suppressed a laugh. They all watched the hole get bigger and bigger, until it filled the entire screen. She could just barely make out a faint light coming from the deep, twenty or thirty kilometers into the hole, but couldn’t see any detail.
“Ma’am! I’m picking up a code red priority meta-space distress signal!” said Lieutenant Davenport.
“From?”
“Britannia, ma’am. They’re under attack. Three Swarm ships.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “No,” she whispered. So many people. A million had died on New Dublin last week. Now would it be eight billion on Britannia? The center of humanity’s culture and commerce and art, second only to Earth itself?
She had to do something. She had to help. Humanity depended on her.
But what could she do? What difference would one more tiny ship do against those monstrosities?
“Ma’am … strange readings coming off the moon….”
They were almost inside the giant hatch. It was just kilometers away. But it seemed Tim was going to make her decision for her: in a flash, Titan disappeared.
The q-field wake rocked the ship. They had been far too close to the planet when it q-jumped, and as a result the passing q-wave interacted catastrophically with the q-field generators all over the hull. On her command console she saw red. Lots of red. Systems were down all over the ship. She’d been close to other ships when they’d q-jumped too close to hers and the results were never pleasant.
But this was an entire moon entering q-space. The scale of systems interference would be devastating, depending on how aligned their own q-field generators were to the phase of the moon’s.
“Follow it,” she said, hoping against hope that it wasn’t that bad.
“Ma’am, we’re not only not following it, we’re also not … going to be alive in a few minutes.”
She snapped her head towards Commander Carson. “What? Why?”
“The shock not only overloaded the q-field generators, some of the generators themselves charged up, exploded, and sent massive feedback down into the power plant, which led to a cascading failure of the safety interlocks. The coolant system is also dead, and, well, I’m no anti-matter engineer, but this sure as hell looks like a meltdown in progress.”
She bolted out of her seat and ran towards the exit. Carson stood up to block her path. “Get the hell out of my way!”
“Ma’am, if you go down there, you could very well die. There’s no telling how much radiation is loose down there.”
“If I don’t get down there, we’re all going to die anyway. Move!”
“Ma’am, I insist that we get to the escape pods.” He practically shoved her towards the rear of the bridge where four hatches led to their only hope of survival.
At that exact moment, the exit door opened. A figure stood there.
A figure with a gun. Pointed straight at Admiral Proctor’s chest.
Fiona Liu smiled. “You weren’t going to jump ship without me, were you? What would our Danny have to say about that, Shelby?”
Chapter Six
Bridge
ISS Independence
Inside Swarm Vessel
Near Britannia
The Independence shook so hard that several of the bridge’s ceiling panels clattered to the floor. Volz glanced nervously at his console readout. “Ensign, you gotta match their acceleration profile closer!”
Riisa swore under her breath, too quietly for him to hear. “Trying, sir.”
“Try harder, dammit. That last collision took out half our starboard mag-rail batteries.”
The problem with one ship floating inside another ship was that if the outer ship decided to change direction, the ship on the inside would smash up against the side of the space it was hiding in. And the Independence had just collided with part of the giant cavity they had blown inside the Swarm vessel. The cavity was still glowing red from the catastrophic detonation of the anti-matter package.
Lieutenant Qwerty yelled across the bridge. “Ensign, couple the positioning sensors into the auto-translator, then pass control to me—”
“What the fu—” Riisa started to say.
Volz leaned back to the eccentric comm officer. “Lieutenant? There’s no time. Is this going to work or not? Yes or no. Right now.”
Qwerty’s eyes widened, then settled and steeled themselves. “Yes.”
He motioned to Riisa. “Do it, ensign.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Acknowledged.”
Qwerty’s fingers were almost a blur. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. “Lieutenant? Now! If you can’t do something, then pass back control and let’s get the hell on with—”
“Got it! Rerouting the reconditioned signal back to you, ensign. Plug it right into the thrusters.”
More under-the-breath swearing from Riisa, but she did it, then blinked. “Holy shit. What did you do?”
“The auto-translator has a nice little algorithm in it that takes a signal—a pattern—and uses another predictive algorithm to judge what’s going to happen next, perturb the incoming signal, then reprocess to—”
“That’s all, lieutenant. Riisa, does it work?” Volz glanced back to his navigation officer, whose face still wore an expression of incredulity.
“Uh … yeah. No matter what the Swarm ship does, our ship’s thrusters match it within, well hell, within a few microseconds. Sometimes it even matches it beforehand. I think we’re good.”
Qwerty nodded, a little too smugly. “Translation software is rather good at predicting intent and meaning, even if the signal is not language but navigational data. In fact, if we—”
“Thank you, lieutenant, that’s all.” Volz swiveled back to Whitehorse at tactical. “Have you located the silk road yet?”
They had discovered that every one of the massive Swarm ships had an empty space inside. A long void that spanned the length of the ship as it branched out to giant weapons spires as well as other random arms coming off the vessel, the purpose of which none of them could guess. But the exterior hull was so well-shielded that it was undetectable from the outside of the ship.
And that void was just big enough for a ship the size of the Independence.
She finally gave a thumbs up. “Got it. It’s about twenty-two kilometers through the ship off our port bow.”
“Twenty-two, huh? We’ll never blast our way through that much ship. Jerusha, patch the coordinates through to navigation. Riisa? Begin the q-jump calculations.”
“Sir! The fleet is taking a beating. Admiral Tillis’s ship is heavily damaged, and he’s ordering us to assist them.”
“Any sign of the Granger moons yet?” said Volz.
“None, sir. It’s already been five minutes since the Swarm ships appeared in system. And….” She scanned her sensor readouts. “Two of the ships now have weapons spires pointing directly down at the surface, and they’re charging.” He could almost see tears in her eyes when she looked up. “Britannia has less than a minute.”
He steeled himself and faced the viewscreen. “Well let’s make that minute count. Ensign Riisa?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Jerusha? Is maneuver Ballsy Bitch Slap Four ready?”
“Ready, sir. And I’m getting the go ahead from Batshit.”
He nodded. As much as he loathed the idea, as much as he cringed at the thought of losing his son, he was the lynchpin.
“Then let’s get slapping.”
Chapter Seven
Fighter cockpit
Near Britannia
“Ethan, you’re a go. Maneuver Ballsy Bitch Slap Four,” said Lieutenant Whitehorse over the comm in the fighter pilot’s ready room.
“Son of a bitch. Jerusha, tell the old man it’s Batshit Bitch Slap One, not Ballsy Bitch Slap Four. I came up with this fair and square.” But even as he feigned offense, he clicked the seal shut on his helmet and gloves and ran for his bird. It had been specially outfitted just for this mission. A mission he knew there was a high likelihood he wouldn’t walk away from—which he chalked up to his dad just wanting to protect his own bogey kill record—but risk was part of the job.
And there were eight billion people who were about to eat it. If there was a chance his life would save theirs….
He nearly tripped over the extra equipment strewn all about the fighter bay deck and jumped into his bird just as the hatch was closing. He gunned the engine—no time for pre-flight checks. Safety was the last thing on his mind at the moment.
“Bridge. Batshit ready.”
He waited for Whitehorse’s signal, but to his surprise it was Volz’s voice that came over the comm. “Son, if you don’t make it out of this alive, I swear I’m going to kick your ass. Got it?”
“Never kick a man when he’s down, pops.” He eased the bird off the deck—not so much for his own safety, but for all the deck hands still swarming the deck, prepping for the next victim of Batshit Bitch Slap One should he fail. “If you do, I’ll haunt you. I’ll come back and give you chronic erectile dysfunction. Or will that be redundant?”
“If only I’d had chronic ED back when I dated your mom.”
Zivic grinned and suppressed a chuckle—when he was a teenager, before his father left, they’d have insult wars where they’d constantly try to one-up each other with outrageously offensive one-liners.
But there was no time for laughing. It was time for shooting and killing and possibly dying, but not laughing.
Still, it was a signal to him that, in spite of all that had happened over the years, he and his dad were finally … reconciling? Naw, that was too much. But … whatever it was, it was something.
“Be safe, son.”
He nodded as he shot out of the bay. “I will.”
The comm cut out and crackled to life again with Whitehorse’s voice. “Ethan, we just completed the q-jump. We’re in the silk road. You’re good to go—we’ll follow your lead.”
He punched the thrusters and the sudden g-force smashed him back in the seat before the inertial compensator could kick in. Soon he flew past the Independence and soared down the silk road. The Independence matched his speed before long, and Bitch Slap Four was on.
“Ethan, detecting a section full of guns ahead. Look sharp,” said Whitehorse.
“I see them.” He peered ahead, seeing the rows of guns mounted on the side of the massively wide and long tunnel that was the silk road. The fact that the massive internal space had any anti-ship guns in the first place told him that the Swarm at least entertained the possibility of enemies making in there somehow, though where the actual entrance was still eluded them. They’d follow the silk road all the way to the end, which, they’d recently learned, terminated in one of the main power generators for at least a quarter of the ship. His indicators yelled at him, telling him that the guns were rotating his way.
“Here we go!” He dove, then righted himself, then flipped, and swerved, all while the dozen or so guns trained their sights on him and unleashed hell.
A round caught his wing and jolted him good, but the damage wasn’t critical. Damn. He was only ten seconds into this. Why the hell did he sign up again?
Several bright explosions ahead of him told him the Independence was completing its end of the bargain by blasting the Swarm guns to oblivion. Still, all the remaining guns fired at him, not the larger ship behind him.
They’d learned that the Swarm tended to attack threats in series, with little regard for their severity. Which meant that they’d focus all their fire on the tiny little fighter in front and ignore the bigger ship behind it until the gnat was neutralized. Then they’d shoot at the wasp.
“Shark bait, look alive, there’s another row of guns coming up ahead,” said Whitehorse in his ear.
“Any word on how close we are to the honeypot?”
“A hundred kilometers at least.”
“More fun for me, then.” He yanked the controls to the side just as the first volley came through. Every so often he’d pop off a few rounds at one of the many gun towers peppering the tunnel walls, but mostly he focused on the first part of his mission: staying alive. The Independence showered mag-rail rounds on the turrets from a safe distance a few kilometers back.
Seventy more kilometers.
Then sixty.
They were making excellent time. During a lull in the evasive maneuvers, he took a moment to appreciate the sheer scale of the tunnel around him. It was dimly lit, only guide lights showing up here and there, with untold numbers of tubes, piping, power and cooling conduits, and all sorts of buildings and structures that he could only guess at the purpose of.
Until he saw it. A structure on the wall, with windows. He only caught a glimpse since he was going so fast, but it was enough.
“Ho … ly … shit.”
“Zivic? You ok? Another cluster of guns ahead. What’s up?”
“Uh … remind me, Jerusha. The Swarm was a liquid race back in the day, right?”
A pause. “Well, not exactly. The Valarisi were liquid, and the Swarm took control of them through the Penumbra black hole. We have no idea what the Swarm actually look like, since they never actually came to our universe themselves.”
“Well, guess what, honey, they’re here.”
He flew past another one of the odd structures, this one with a few transparent wall panels that let him peer in. He pushed the controls hard to come to a near complete stop, snapped a few pictures with the flight cam, then shot away before the gun clusters could get a good lock.
“Sending you guys a dick pic. Except way, way uglier.”
Chapter Eight
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
Admiral Proctor didn’t take her eyes off Fiona Liu—former IDF intel operative turned presidential murderer.
And her dead nephew’s girlfriend.
And where the hell did she get that gun? It looked rather odd, and she guessed that perhaps it was assembled recently, the parts well hidden in pockets and … places she didn’t want to think about.
“Commander Carson, please get your men to the escape pods. It’s me she wants. Get yourselves out before the ship—”
Carson eyed the woman—her face still red and puffy and semi-melted from the assassination attempt on Bolivar—and waved his men to the pods. She swung the gun towards them. “Oh please. Admiral, they’re not going anywhere. And neither are you. Or me.”
“Don’t tell me you have a death wish too?” Proctor blew some breath in contempt. “First you kill Admiral Mullins and President Quimby in one stroke, and now your work is done and you just want to turn in and—”
“Shut up. We’re running out of time.” To Proctor’s surprise, Liu flipped the gun up in the air and caught it by the barrel. She offered it to Lieutenant Case, the marine closest to her. Proctor nodded at him and he grabbed it away. Liu put her hands up. “The core is about to melt down and fry us all with about a million degrees of raw ionizing radiation. I can fix it.”
“You? You’re a former intel field officer. What the hell do you—”
“I was in special ops. They train us in … well, everything. At least the basics of everything. I can get the core stable, at least.”
Carson shook his head. “There’s already enough radiation down there to fry every brain cell in that empty can of yours.”
Liu only smiled and tapped her head. “IDF intel gave me a few more surprises. I’ll be fine.”
“What, like lead shielding in your skull?”
She shrugged. “Something like that.”
Lieutenant Case glanced at the nearest ship readout and pointed. “Ma’am, we got about four minutes before the power plant goes. It’ll take the pods at least two minutes to get us to a safe distance.”
Commander Carson pointed at Liu. “You’re with me. Get in the pod.” He shifted his finger to the nearest escape pod.
“No! We can save the goddamn ship!” She took a step towards Carson, but a shift in the angle of Case’s gun stopped her.
If they could save the ship … that would be far preferable. Otherwise, they’d lose precious days in those escape pods. There was a good chance that they’d be picked up by IDF, and then it was off to the court martial for her.
“Why the hell assemble your smuggled gun here and now, using up your one surprise, and then just hand it over and turn yourself in? What’s your angle?”
Liu looked her in the eye. “To show you I’m sincere.”
Proctor paused only a few seconds. She’d have to sort this out later. For now, they had to live. “Do it.”
The three marines turned towards her, their faces shocked.
“I won’t fail.” Liu turned and ran back down the narrow corridor, turned the corner, and was gone.
“You sure as hell better not fail, bitch.” She pointed to Lieutenant Case. “Patch me in to engineering.”
Moments later the comm turned on, and a few seconds later they heard the doors to engineering open. “Liu, what do you see?”
“Stand by,” she replied.
Nearly thirty seconds passed. Proctor glanced up at Case. “Three minutes,” he said, reading her mind.
Liu’s voice came over the comm. “Every automatic system is fried. But the manual overrides are functioning. I think I can reestablish coolant flow. Heading there now. Stand by.” She coughed. Then coughed again, violently.
Commander Carson shook his head. “If she’s lying about her mods, she’s already received ten times a lethal dose.”
“She’s made up her mind, regardless.” Proctor drummed her fingers nervously. She hated this. Being out of control of her destiny. Having nothing she could do to help. Her life riding on the skill and luck of someone who’d already betrayed her once.
And yet, she did it all the time. Every time she ordered her bridge officers to fire a weapon or engage the q-drive. Her life was always in their hands.
But it didn’t mean she had to like it.
More coughing came scratching through the comm.
“Liu? Are you ok? Status update. Now.”
When she answered, her voice was ragged. “Manual override engaged. Coolant flowing.” More coughing. “I’m going to vent Engineering to get rid of all the rad shit in the air.”
Commander Carson glanced at one of the console readouts and sucked in his breath with a sharp hiss. “She just literally vented engineering. There’s no atmo down there.”
Proctor jumped to her feet. “Liu! Bloody hell.” She turned to Carson. “Are the rad levels back to normal down there?”
“Nearly.”
“Go. Get the air back on. See if you can….” She didn’t want to say save, but she didn’t want to say recover either. Carson nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. He ran out the exit.
It was odd how it was possible to loathe someone, then be thankful to them, then admire them, and finally, fear for their life. All within the space of three minutes. She tapped nervously on the armrest again—more waiting for others to perform their duty.
So that she could live. So that she could live to save Earth again. That was her mission. She knew it, deep down in her gut. That Granger had returned, now, and in that specific manner, at the exact same time as the Swarm, could only mean one thing.
He was here to save them. Which meant her duty was clear.
Help him do it.
Case nodded. “Reactor temperature falling. I think we’re in the clear.”
Proctor lifted her head towards the comm. “Commander Carson?” She expected him to reply with, she’s dead.
“Uh, ma’am, this is rather incredible. I restored atmo to engineering. I’m in here now, and … Liu’s awake. Her face looks like shit from the decompression, but, let’s face it, it already looked like shit before she got here.”
“Liu?” Proctor couldn’t believe it. But, then again, the woman had already lived through the assassination attempt on Bolivar. Ah. She’d taken a goodnight moon—a pill that she claimed would reduce her heart rate and vitals to almost nothing, yet allow her to remain conscious enough to snap out of it. “Let me guess. Did that handy pill let you live through vacuum?”
“Yes,” Liu croaked. Her throat was raw and sounded full of phlegm. “And I had another magic pill for the radiation. But … it can’t handle the gamma rays as well as it does the neutrons. I’m going to need the meds to grow me some new stomach lining.” She followed up that announcement with the sound of retching and the liquid sound of something sloshing onto the floor.
“Well, that must be her old stomach lining there on the floor. Or nachos. I can’t tell.” Carson sounded vaguely disgusted.
“Commander, get her to sickbay. Set her up with auto-diagnostics. That should be able to get you what she needs.” She turned back towards Lieutenant Case. “Power plant’s stable? How are the q-jump engines?”
He examined the readout on his console. “Well, the q-field feedback from Titan damaged every single one of the q-field generators on the hull….”
“But they’re all still there? None exploded or detached or anything?”
“No, ma’am. They’re all still there. Just inoperative.”
She stood back up and strode towards the exit. “Good. Finally, something only I know how to fix.”
Just as she passed the threshold, Case added, “Uh, ma’am, we’ve got another problem.”
When it rains, it pours.
She restrained herself from letting loose a string of profanities. “What now?”
Marines were trained to be absolutely unflappable. Steady and cool in the face of any threat. But the blood in Case’s face had drained away. “Pirates.”
Chapter Nine
Bridge
ISS Independence
Inside Swarm vessel
Near Britannia
Lieutenant Qwerty whistled slowly as the images came onto the screen. “Well. Them’s some ugly sons of bitches, aren’t they?”
Captain Volz nodded his agreement. They were the things of nightmares. Monsters. Almost cartoonishly evil-looking, like in the campy space movies of old. Only these looked far more sinister, more deadly, and more … well, just obviously evil than anything he’d ever seen. Mottled green and black skin, dripping with mucus in some places and hairy in others.
And ugly. Faces that bore a striking resemblance to what he imagined the offspring of a crocodile with a human baby-like face who’d had sex with a tortoise would look like, except the offspring had contracted leprosy, been badly burned, and beaten with a spiked club, and whose now open wounds had developed gangrene and only semi-dried.
That kind of ugly.
“Well. That seals the deal for me,” Volz began. He turned back to Lieutenant Whitehorse and her tactical crew. “They’ve all got to die. Just on looks alone. Kill it with fire, lieutenant.”
They were coming up on another battery of guns, all of which started to fire on Zivic in his fighter up ahead. Whitehorse nodded. “With pleasure, sir.” She motioned for her tactical crew to begin targeting the guns, and take them out.
The Independence’s array of sixteen mag-rail guns lashed out and made quick work of the Swarm turrets. And before long they were on to the next one.
“Cap’n, Admiral Oppenheimer showed up with the Earth Defense Fleet. And Ido is here. The other two ships are no longer pointing their weapon spires down toward Britannia.”
“Where are they all pointed?”
“Straight at Ido. It’s taking quite the beating. But he’s dishing it out as well as he takes it.”
He, presumably referring to Granger. As if he could be in two, or twelve, places at once. Lieutenant Qwerty had been one of the officers who’d accepted the whole “Granger returning as thirteen-billion year old conquering hero” storyline without much questioning. How the hell any human could live thirteen billion years, much less survive the fall past the event horizon of a black hole, was beyond him.
But Shelby accepted it. As did Qwerty, Ensign Riisa, and half the bridge crew. Lieutenant Whitehorse, their chief scientist Commander Mumford, and Ethan were the ones who thought as he did, that the whole thing was nonsense.
And yet Bolivar’s moon, Ido, was out there right now, having been converted into a giant cannon by … something. And that something was now pummeling three Swarm ships, each of which was individually more powerful than the entire Swarm fleet thirty years ago.
“How’s Ido doing?”
Qwerty shook his head. “Detecting fluctuations in the radiation levels coming from its core. The Swarm beams are penetrating pretty deeply. Almost halfway through the mantle. Whatever power network has been … installed there is getting ripped to shreds.”
“No other moons are here?”
“Not yet,” said Qwerty.
Whitehorse added, “And now this Swarm ship is rotating again to point its primary weapons spire down at Britannia. We’ve got less than two minutes.”
Volz pointed up at the screen. “Just in time. We’re at the end of the road. Call Batshit back in and let’s blow this joint. Riisa, have q-jump coordinates ready. Jerusha? Is our package ready?”
Another one of their cobbled-together anti-matter packages, this one strapped to the top of a standard fighter thruster with a rudimentary guidance system.
“Cargo bay reports ready.”
“Zivic in yet?”
Whitehorse shook her head. “Um … no. He’s … shit.”
“What?”
“He’s not responding.” She tapped a few buttons on the console. “Life signs are there, he’s just not responding.”
Volz stood up and searched the screen for his son’s fighter. “Did he take damage?”
“Some. But his systems are operating just fine. He’s flying straight towards the main power generator just ahead.” Whitehorse threw the image up on the screen and they all watched as Zivic’s fighter, dwarfed by the massive generator in the distance, blazed straight ahead, disregarding their hails.
“What in god’s name does he think he’s doing?”
Chapter Ten
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
“Do they see us yet?” Proctor rushed over to Lieutenant Case’s console and glanced over the readout.
“Not sure yet, ma’am.”
She scrolled through the ship diagnostics, shoving him out of the way—no time for social niceties. “Thank god. The stealth system is intact. But what the hell are those bastards doing all the way in here? They usually don’t dare enter a system with an IDF listening post.”
Lieutenant Davenport shrugged. “They probably figure IDF is preoccupied at the moment.”
“And they’d be correct. But why here?”
“Well, ma’am,” began Lieutenant Case. “Apologies, but … there is a bounty on your head. Word is Admiral Oppenheimer and President Sepulveda are pulling out all the stops to bring you in. A buddy told me that he heard from his brother who’s married to a girl with a smuggler cousin that the bounty is over fifty million alive.”
“Fifty? I’m flattered.” She paused. “And dead?”
“Twenty million.”
Her mind was racing. Britannia was under attack by three Swarm ships. Her own ship was almost completely useless—all ten q-field generators were blown out and the power plant was one wrong move away from another meltdown. And she was about to be kidnapped by pirates.
“Ok. We can do this. Case? Engage the stealth. Please tell me at least that is still working.”
“Yes, ma’am. And … yes, ma’am.” His fingers deftly entered the commands perfectly, as if he’d been rehearsing that one.
“Davenport? What’s our weapons status? Under normal circumstances we’d make quick work of them. What about now?”
He shook his head. “Just one out of eight mag-rails are functional. And even that one is only at one tenth power. It’ll dent them good, but won’t penetrate.”
“It’ll have to do. I’ll be on the hull. Follow my lead.” She started to run back out the bridge’s exit before her still-tender ankle reminded her that was a questionable activity. So she speed-limped.
“Ma’am? You’re not seriously going out there,” said Case.
She didn’t even look back. “Questioning your commanding officer, lieutenant? Is that how they do things in the marines?”
His face went from white to beet red. “No, ma’am.”
“Follow my lead,” she repeated as the door closed behind her. Her plan was … risky, to say the least. But it had the virtue of being the only plan that she had the time to come up with on the fly.
She made a quick stop on deck four at the general maintenance bay. Luckily, Admiral Tigre’s people had organized the place quite efficiently and she located the replacement q-field generators in a storage bin near the back wall. With some trepidation, she peered inside. What were the chances that they’d prepared themselves for all ten blowing out at once? Usually a ship would only need to replace one or two per year.
There were at least twenty. “Miguelito, you’re a life-saver. Rest in peace.” She shoved ten of them into a bag she found hanging on the wall, snatched a standard toolkit from another locker, then limped as fast as she could out the door and down to the airlock, struggling under the weight of the heavy bag.
It was a task that one of the marines could be doing—it wasn’t terribly complicated. But it would have taken a good hour to instruct one of them in the finer points of q-field generator replacement. There were right ways and wrong ways, and the finicky little bastards had any number of issues that a first year cadet would know about, but a marine? They were trained for killing the enemy as efficiently as possible, not for starship maintenance.
She pulled on the space suit as quickly as her ankle would allow, and when she was ready she stood at the airlock controls, her hand hovering over the release. “Bridge, everything ready?”
“As ready as we can be without knowing what you’re up to, admiral.”
“Just listen in and you’ll know what to do. We need to assume this channel is not secure—low-life like this tend to have access to decryption methods they shouldn’t. Any change of status with the pirates?”
“None. They’re scanning the area that Titan was in. Which means they knew where it was, and where we would be if we weren’t stealthed.”
She nodded. “So they probably caught a glimpse of us before we went dark. They know we’re here.” She pressed the release mechanism of the airlock and the atmosphere in the compartment evacuated as the outer hatch opened. As she walked out onto the ship she felt the artificial gravity disappear and the magnetic field of the boots on the space suit engage. Her feet comfortably clamped to the hull, she took a tentative step, then another, trying to remember her zero-g magnetic boot training. It had been over forty years….
“No change, ma’am,” came Case’s voice through her headset. “They didn’t detect the airlock opening or closing, and apparently can’t see you.”
“Well, I am on the opposite side of the ship from them. They’ll see me when I go replace the generators over there. Stay tuned.”
She wandered over the hull, thankful that the zero-g had rendered the heavy bag full of replacements a cinch to carry, but kicking herself that she hadn’t memorized the exact locations of the burned-out generators, since now that the hull was essentially a pitch black surface dotted with stars she struggled to locate them. Luckily her space-suit’s heads-up display marked them for her and she managed to switch out four of them before the trouble started.
“Admiral, incoming transmission from the pirates.”
“Patch them through to me.” She quickened her pace as she saw the other ship loom up over the invisible limb of the Defiance. It bristled with weapons. It even had a mag-rail turret. Under normal circumstances the Defiance could have made quick work of it, but now? It was deadly enough.
“Admiral Shelby Proctor,” came the voice, thick with an accent she couldn’t place. French? Mixed with back-country Bolivaran? “You look a tad vulnerable there. Out for a space walk?”
“Oh, you know,” she replied casually, and on her heads-up display she saw her next target just ten meters ahead. “Sometimes a gal’s just gotta get away from it all. Let her hair down. Go for walk. See the sights.”
“There are no sights here, admiral,” said the pirate, the dry humor lost on him. “And that I find interesting. We can sight absolutely nothing underneath you. It is as if you’re walking alone in deep space, against a surface that is either entirely in your head, or … entirely stealthed.”
So. They knew about IDF’s supposedly top-secret stealth technology. Though, in fairness, any casual observer of the events over Earth two weeks ago could have put it together. IDF most likely had done some behind-the-scenes damage control and convinced the news pundits to not speculate about it, but plenty of unregulated feeds no doubt had noticed, and were hatching wild conspiracy theories. Some of which were probably correct, given recent events. “Can’t hide anything from you, I suppose.”
“No, admiral, you can not. And if you value your life, you will not resist us when we bring you aboard our ship. We have something we’d … like to show you.”
It was either a prison cell or the business end of a gun. The bounty was a fortune, even if she was dead. “No, I don’t think I’ll be coming with you right now.” She bent over and released the manual locks on the next q-field generator. “In fact, I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh?”
She yanked the dead generator out and flung it into the black of space, then fished in her bag for the replacement, trying hard not to breath too loudly and give away that she was actually hard at work. They couldn’t know what she was doing or she was a goner.
“Leave now and I won’t kill you.”
The other end of the comm line erupted in several people laughing. It took them several moments to catch their breath, and then the first pirate resumed. “Oh, admiral. You’re in no position to make such demands. Prepare to be boarded. We may not be able to see your ship, but we can sure as hell see you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t advise that. Because … oh, never mind.”
Could they be that stupid? All she needed was time—enough to replace five more generators, get inside the ship, and then they’d be on their way. And if she could just draw out the conversation for as long as humanly possible….
“Wait. What? Because what? What were you about to say?”
They were that stupid.
“Because… well, I’m not sure it will even matter. You’ve obviously made up your minds to earn that bounty. No sense in telling you about a much, much bigger—dammit, you know what? Forget it. Come on. Come get me.”
She could hear muffled arguing on the other end of the line. She was almost to the sixth generator. Four more after that and they were home free. Well, free to chase Titan to Britannia and help defend one of the centers of civilization from their greatest enemy, and probably die in the attempt. But freedom carried certain risks.
“Tell us. Now. Or we’ll just open fire. Would be interesting to see what a mag-rail slug would do to you.”
She chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that either. A mag-rail slug, even at lowest power, would turn me into a little red cloud. You see, the tungsten round, as it enters my skin, traveling as it is at a measurable fraction of the speed of light, will create a pressure wave of such high magnitude that as the wave passes through my body, the flesh will cavitate. You know what cavitation is, don’t you? It’s where the pressure drop is of such a degree as to vaporize the medium it is passing through. Vaporize, as in a phase change. Liquid to gas. Or in this case, solid flesh and liquid blood all to little cloud of gaseous Admiral Proctor. And you can’t redeem a bounty with a little red cloud, last time I checked.”
The pirate swore. “You’re stalling. That’s it. We’re coming to get you, and we’re not going to be gentle—”
“Ok, fine. I’ll tell you. You’ve heard about the bounty, yes. But what you should know is that I have some rather rich friends in high places. And I can assure you that … wait, hold on … there’s something in my boot. Dammit. I need to shake it into a better spot so I can stand up.”
It wasn’t a lie. Something had been caught near her ankle and now had slid down under her arch. But any way she could stall, she’d take. Luckily she’d stopped right next to the sixth generator, and used it for leverage to shake her boot.
“Admiral, are you trying to suggest to us that you can arrange a payment of a sum greater than fifty million?”
“Pft. Fifty? Try five hundred. That’s pocket change to these people, and they’d pay dearly not to have the companion to the hero of Earth taken into custody and tried for a murder she didn’t commit.” The object in her boot shifted, and she reengaged the magnetic lock to the hull. Twenty seconds later and she’d replaced that generator too.
Four left.
But she didn’t know how much longer she could stall.
And it looked like the stalling was in vain anyway. As she rounded one of the edges of the Defiance she caught sight of two space-suit-clad figures walking along the hull carrying assault rifles, which in short order were pointed straight at her.
Chapter Eleven
Fighter cockpit
Inside Swarm Vessel
Near Britannia
Drones. Automated ones, it looked like, since they were far too small to fit the grotesque beings he saw earlier. Zivic swore as one got close enough to strafe him with a stream of small caliber rounds. Not particularly damaging all on their own, but….
He peered ahead. There were thousands of them. Possibly tens of thousands. He wondered if the Independence could even visually see them, they were so small and the ship was so far behind him. And they were about to launch the package. Right into this cloud of drones, which would take the thing out prematurely. And they only had so many of those packages.
Time to do something stupid. His specialty.
“Zivic to bridge. Hold off on Bitch Slap Four. I’m going in solo. They’re smart enough to shoot down our package, but not smart enough to shoot down me.”
A sudden clang followed by an alarm told him he’d spoken prematurely.
“I stand by my assessment,” he added, seeing that the damage was only to his reserve oxygen tank. Didn’t need that anyway. “Bridge? Are you reading me? Come in.”
That’s when he finally glanced at his sensor monitor to his right and saw the short-range jamming field. And that’s when he understood.
“Bridge, this cloud of drones here must be some kind of automated defense system for their power core. They shoot down threats, and send out a jamming signal to interfere with any remote guidance of torpedoes. And … you can’t even hear me, can you?”
Half a dozen drones were closing in on his position, and he dove downward, swung wide, then gunned the engine straight towards what looked like could be the main power generator. At least, the gamma radiation coming off the immense structure was the higher than he’d ever seen from something that wasn’t a star.
“Ok, rad shielding, you do your job, and I’ll do mine. Please. See, I’m asking nicely.” He accelerated, checking the status of every torpedo, missile, and gun that his bird had. He prepped everything that could explode, and prepared to launch it all in quick succession, then get the hell out.
“Almost there….” He swung around a formation of about a hundred drones, and dove past a second. The two groups fired at him as he flew past, and ended up decimating each other. “Take that, you bastards.” Just a kilometer away. “Bridge, if you’re reading this, I sure hope you have those q-jump coordinates already worked out, because this thing is about to light up like Christmas.”
Something heavy collided with him, and he started to spin wildly. “Shit!” He grabbed the controls and tried desperately to right the bird, but the force of the spinning was beginning to make his vision sparkle with stars and fade at the periphery. “Mayday! I’m hit, and I can’t right her!”
He was spinning dizzyingly fast, but not fast enough so he couldn’t see the wall of the silk road looming up ahead of him, getting larger and larger with every turn.
He sighed. “End of the road, Batshit.”
Chapter Twelve
Outer hull
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
On instinct, she brought the bag full of generators up in front of her and started shuffling backwards as fast as her magnetic boots would let her. She spun around to search for any cover, but, of course, all she saw a starfield due to the active stealth on the Defiance.
Had they fired yet? She wouldn’t hear it—not that she would. So she picked up the pace, trying to round another corner before they could catch up.
“Call them off, or your little ship gets it,” she yelled into her comm. All she heard on the other end was laughing. “All right. Have it your way. You should know that Defiance has eight mag-rails, several megawatt-class lasers, and one gigawatt laser.” She glanced over her shoulder. The two figures were nearly on top of her.
The pirate snorted. “My tactical officer assures me that your weapons are not powered on. I suspect they’ve been damaged, admiral, and that you’re bluffing.”
She tried to keep her voice steady, even as she rounded another corner on the Defiance, almost coming around to the point where she’d started. But she veered left, to the dorsal portion of the hull. Four more generators to replace down there. “Very well. Here’s a small demonstration. Just a tiny one—I don’t want to kill you. Yet.”
Lieutenant Case and Lieutenant Davenport were good. As soon as she finished saying the word yet, she felt something pulse beneath her feet. Then twice more.
With her heads-up display she tapped into the tactical readout from the bridge and zoomed in on the pirate ship. Perfect. With the only operating mag-rail at one tenth power, they couldn’t penetrate the hull.
But they could definitely take out one of the pirate’s laser turrets. Or at least damage it enough to get their attention.
“Wait! Stop! Ok, I’ll call them off.” The pirate was arguing with someone in the background. Apparently, opinion was still divided on their ship.
She supposed that meant another demonstration was in order. “Not fast enough. Maybe this can make you see reason. That’s an awfully nice meta-space transmitter you’ve got there. Be a shame if something happened to it.”
Moments later, she watched on her heads-up display as the antennae array of the meta-space transmitter got pulverized by a few more low power mag-rail slugs.
“Really, guys. We can stop this. Just pull back to a safe distance, and—” her sentence was cut off by an explosion just ten meters to her left. There was no pressure wave in space, but the hull jolted strong enough to knock loose the magnetic lock of her boots. “Dammit,” she swore as she flailed around, trying to aim her feet back at the surface to reengage the lock.
“Ma’am, Lieutenant Davenport. That was a mag-rail slug they fired at us. Full power. Blew clean through three decks. Nearly killed Commander Carson and Liu down in the med bay.”
The magnetic boots finally latched back on, first one, then another, as the power momentarily spiked up to generate a magnetic field strong enough to reach down to the deck and pull her in. “They’ve seen through the bluff. I’ve only got four more generators, lieutenant. But I’ve got two goons out here with big guns—”
She rounded the next corner, and there they were, just meters away, their assault rifles pointed straight at her chest. She released her grip on the bag and raised her hands up slowly. The bag stayed put, luckily. But, unluckily, one of the pirates pointed his rifle at it and peppered it with rounds. It flew off into the black of space. There went their only hope of escape.
The other one motioned to her with his rifle, pointing first at her feet, then up at the pirate ship, which had gotten almost close enough to spit at. His meaning was clear: release her boots’ magnetic lock, and then jump up towards the other ship. She presumed one of his comrades would be there to catch her and reel her in. And from there, collect the fifty million bounty.
She nodded slowly, trying hard not to make any sudden moves that would earn her a bullet through the face, and crouched down to fiddle with the magnetic controls on her boots, moving as slowly as she thought she could get away with. One boot disengaged, more fiddling, then another, and finally she looked back up at the pirate who’d motioned to her. He repeatedly jabbed up towards his ship with a finger, and she could just make out his face behind the faceplate, yelling at her to jump, apparently.
And, to her great relief, and vague disgust, his helmet puffed out a fine mist of red and gray. With the mag boots still locked to the hull, his body swiveled forward and down from the force of the bullet that had punctured his skull, bounced off the hull, and came to rest at a forty-five degree angle. Behind stood another figure, and through the faceplate she recognized a grinning Lieutenant Case, who was already aiming at the other pirate, who, upon seeing his dead comrade, immediately released his own magnetic boot lock on the hull and launched himself towards his own ship. He started to swing his own assault rifle back down towards them, but Case had already peppered him with several rounds. He turned limp, and spun slowly in space, his body flinging boiling droplets of blood outward in a spiral which soon crystallized into a frozen cloud of red mist.
Admiral Proctor didn’t even have time to breathe a sigh of relief before her comm exploded with Lieutenant Davenport’s voice. “Admiral! They’re charging up their mag-rail again!”
Lieutenant Case sprang forward and grabbed her by the arm. “Come with me, ma’am.” With surprising force he pulled her clean from the hull in spite of her mag boots and ran towards the area where her heads-up display indicated the Defiance’s hull curved around, away from the pirate ship.
The pirate captain’s voice crackled over her headset. “You can’t hide, Proctor. And at this point I’m happy to settle for the twenty million for bringing you in dead.”
She finally let herself breathe when they rounded the invisible corner—she could only tell they’d done so because the pirate ship disappeared behind the stealthed hull of the Defiance, replaced by the virtual black starfield of the stealth projectors.
Except the other side of the hull wasn’t any safer.
Another ship appeared with the flash of a q-jump field.
Another pirate ship. This one far, far larger than the first. A stolen or repurposed IDF gunship, from the looks of it.
Lieutenant Case stopped abruptly, and his voice came over her headset. “Oh … shit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bridge
ISS Independence
Inside Swarm vessel
Near Britannia
“Captain, Zivic has been trying to contact us, but there’s a short range jamming signal at the source,” said Whitehorse.
“What do you mean, at the source?”
She scrunched her brow up. “Huh. That’s odd.” With a few flicks and taps she navigated through more sensor data, and then her eyes widened. “He’s not alone out there. I wasn’t picking it up earlier, but there’s an automated defense system—looks like a few thousand drones protecting the core. It’s jamming his comm signal and firing at him.”
Volz jumped out of his seat, straining his knee in the process, and ran back to the tactical station. “A few thousand? Can we use our point-defense cannons? Tell the targeting computer to treat them like incoming torpedoes?”
“I’ll try,” said Whitehorse. “But the PDCs are meant for a few dozen incoming torpedoes, not a few thousand drone fighters.” An indicator flashed on her console and she glanced at her readout. “He’s been hit. Spinning out.” She looked up at him. “He’s not going to make it. He’s lost engine control, a few hundred drones are still shooting at him, and he’s spinning straight towards the wall of the silk road.”
“And captain,” said another tactical officer, “A thousand of those drones are headed this way.”
Volz did some quick math, and the realization dawned on him. “We have to get out of here.”
“Sir?” Whitehorse looked horrified at the thought of leaving Zivic, and of aborting the mission when they were so close.
“We, meaning you. You’re in command, Lieutenant Whitehorse. Get the ship back outside and assist Admiral Tillis.”
“But sir!”
“No arguments. We don’t stand a chance against a thousand drones swarming our hull and pricking us to death. By the time we can knock all of them out they’ll have shot us up good and dead.”
She wasn’t backing down. “No. Sir. Send a pilot. You can’t risk—”
He held up a finger to silence her. “No. I can risk it. He’s our best pilot, and we still have a chance to blow the core.”
“Like hell,” she retorted. “What, you’re going to shoot it with a SAR shuttle’s mini-gun? That’s meant for anti-personnel—”
“We don’t have time, Jerusha.” He recognized that look of defiance on her face, and pulled her in close. “I can’t leave him. Not again. The first time I did twenty years ago nearly killed him. This time it literally will. And me too.”
She bit her lip. But, slowly, reluctantly, nodded her agreement. “Godspeed, captain.”
Technically, as the commanding officer, he didn’t need her assent. But it was Jerusha. His would-have-been daughter. As soon as she nodded, he squeezed her shoulder, then raced off the bridge and took the stairs to the next deck two at a time. Within thirty seconds he was in the shuttle bay.
He passed the search and rescue shuttle—that wasn’t going to be enough in this situation—and climbed aboard one of the smaller shuttles they’d equipped for what would have been “Ballsy Bitch Slap Five.” He flagged down one of the deck hands. “Son, is this thing ready? Everything secure?”
“Yes sir, but the fuel—”
“Don’t care. Emergency reserve fuel full?”
“Yes, but you should know the tow—”
“Good.” He jumped through the hatch and mashed the controls with his fist to close it, and practically dove through the small door into the cockpit. No time for preflights. He spun up the engine in less than three seconds and lifted off, darting through the slowly rising bay doors with inches to spare.
Whitehorse’s voice came through his comm. “Sir, he’s about three hundred meters from the wall, and closing fast. About twenty seconds from crashing.”
“Get the hell out, Jerusha. See you on the other side.”
He gunned the engines to maximum and raced towards the spinning fighter.
Fifteen seconds.
He was going to make it. A glance at his ETA told him he’s have three seconds to spare.
Now, what to do with those three seconds? He checked the tow cable status.
Shit. The launch mechanism was damaged. That was what the deck hand was trying to tell him.
Ten seconds.
He reached down and checked the status of the emergency tail hook. It wasn’t so much of a hook as a heavily reinforced net that would snag onto special protrusions on the shuttle bay’s deck during emergency landings, but the name was a holdover from the early days.
It was intact and ready.
It was also only about fiver meters long.
“It’ll have to do.” He pulled the manual release mechanism and heard the net deploy from the bottom rear of the shuttle.
Five seconds. Ethan’s spinning fighter grew larger in his viewport, Swarm drones crisscrossing his intercept vector, peppering them both with the small-caliber but deadly rounds. He prayed that he wasn’t crazy.
“Four, three, two, one, and … now,” he said to himself out loud, swinging around the spinning fighter with just a meter to spare. He had to be close to catch the blasted thing in the net.
The shuttle lurched to one side, then another, as the momentum of the spinning fighter was arrested by his own shuttle’s engines. “Dammit!” he yelled, when he flew out of his seat and hit the wall hard. He’d forgotten to fasten his seat restraint.
He vaguely felt sharp pain in the side of his chest—a cracked rib?—but jumped back into the pilot’s seat. The thrusters were slightly less responsive with the new mass to account for, but he flew them away from the wall of the silk road.
And towards the power core looming at the end of the tunnel.
Out of his side viewport window he caught sight of the Independence q-jumping away.
They were alone.
And with a near-impossible task still to perform.
“Dad? What are you—” Ethan’s voice crackled over his comm—the short range jamming was still active, but they were close enough that the signal could punch through.
“What the hell have I told you about stupid-ass stunts like that, boy?”
“… to not do them?”
“And don’t forget it. And also, please pay no attention to the stupid-ass stunt I’m doing to save your stupid ass.”
Ethan chuckled. “I won’t tell a living soul. Seeing how I probably won’t have the chance to.” Volz could hear him pounding on something in his cabin. “Dammit, all the port thrusters are still jammed. Ok, what’s the plan, pops?”
“See that big tower ahead that’s crackling with energy?”
“Yeah….”
“We’re going to blow it up.”
Ethan paused. “You … saved me to help you kill ourselves?”
“Don’t argue with your father,” he said, gunning the engines to maximum.
Chapter Fourteen
Outer hull
ISS Defiance
Sector 21-K
Proctor’s mind spun, frantically trying to think her way out of it. The newly arrived pirate ship would have been an even match with the Defiance even under normal circumstances. Now? The battle wouldn’t even last ten seconds.
There was only one thing to do. “Lieutenant Davenport, do you have access to the power plant controls?”
After a few moments he responded tentatively. “Yes, ma’am, some of them are still responding.”
“Set it to overload. Now.”
“Ma’am?”
She eyes the other pirate ship as it edged closer to them with its maneuvering thrusters. “Now, lieutenant. Give us about three minutes. You know how to do that?”
“I … I think so, ma’am.” After another ten seconds he continued, “Yes, ma’am. Power plant is set to overload. A runaway matter/anti-matter reaction will happen in about … one hundred and seventy seconds.”
“Good. Now patch me through to the newcomers.” She turned to Case. “And get us the hell back inside.”
He grabbed her again and this time guided, rather than pulled, her towards the airlock hatch, while she thought through what to say to the newly arrived pirates.
She didn’t have to. “Admiral Proctor,” came a new voice over her headset. “My name is Falun Mung on board the Hero’s Path. We’re detecting an escalating buildup in your power plant. Do you require assistance?”
“I require that you get the hell away, and take your buddies with you. Last I checked, you get squat if you can’t produce a body. And anti-matter explosions tend to leave only clouds of atoms and sub-atomic particles behind.”
“Admiral, please, we mean you no harm. Please. I have something over here you’ll want to see.”
“Yeah, your buddies sang a similar tune. No thanks, I’m fine right here. And I’m fine dying here if it means I can take you bastards out too. You’ve got two minutes.”
They were at the airlock hatch and Case started to enter in the commands to initiate the venting cycle.
“Admiral, please. I am not here for the bounty. In fact … hold on….”
A few seconds later, she could hardly believe her eyes. The new ship opened fire. Not at her, not at the Defiance, but at the other pirate ship, which had just come into view. Mag-rail slug after mag-rail slug punctured its hull, which spouted gouts of debris and quickly-extinguished flame through the holes which erupted all down the length.
“Lieutenant Davenport,” she began, still in shock, “life signs aboard the first vessel?”
She already knew what he’d say. The pirate ship was a complete wreck, and looked like it might soon break apart completely. “None, ma’am. Everyone’s dead, that I can see.”
“Admiral Proctor. I assure you, I’m here to help. I have information. About your nephew.”
She breathed a sudden intake. “Danny?”
“Yes.”
She grit her teeth, the anger rising in her. “Danny’s dead. What the hell do you want?”
“Admiral Proctor, he is not dead. He is, in fact, very much alive. But he’s in danger.” He paused, waiting for her reaction. But she didn’t even know what to say. “I see your power plant is twenty seconds from a cascade reaction, admiral. I will back us off. And I will transmit the information I have. No need to come aboard my ship. Happy?”
“Lieutenant. Abort,” she said. “Davenport? Did you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, ma’am,” he replied. She could almost hear his smile and relief through the comm. Lieutenant Case finished opening the hatch and soon they were peeling their suits off in the ante-chamber. “Lieutenant, get to the equipment bay and bring me another spare q-field generator.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He left in a hurry.
“Admiral, did the transmission come through?” said Mung over the comm in the ante-chamber.
“Davenport?” she asked. “Did something come through?”
“Yes, ma’am. A few pics, a small data file, and some coordinates.”
“Patch it through to the screen here.” The nearby wall illuminated and she found herself staring at a figure in a hospital bed.
Danny.
Her Danny. With terrible, horrific burns and scars and wounds covering his face and body, but he was alive. And awake. Apparently his fall through the atmosphere of Sangre de Cristo wasn’t as lethal as Admiral Tigre’s people had led him to believe. But, Tigre being dead, there was no sense in pressing that case. What mattered now was getting Danny back from whoever was holding him. “Lieutenant? Where are these coordinates?” She eyed the numbers accompanying the data file.
“El Amin, ma’am. What’s left of it, anyway.”
“El Amin? In the San Martin system?” Granger—or whatever was claiming to be Granger, had destroyed that moon, either purposefully or inadvertently, in the process of attempting to convert it into a Granger moon. The debris was now threatening the colonies on Sangre de Cristo and would wreak havoc on San Martin itself within a few years. How the hell could he be convalescing in the leftover remains of a destroyed moon?
“Yes, ma’am.”
How very strange. These pirates were not behaving like pirates. Unless they had some kind of ulterior motive….
“Mung, what the hell is going on? Why are you bringing me this information? Who gave it to you? Who sent you?”
“I was sworn to secrecy, admiral. But I assure you, I, and the source of this information, want nothing more than for the Companion to the Hero of Earth to succeed in her destiny.”
The Companion. That was Grangerite language. And that explained it. Mung was a Grangerite. One for whom faith was far more important than a bounty of fifty million. And apparently the lives of his fellow pirates.
“Well then, Falun Mung, I thank you.”
“Glad to be of assistance, admiral. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we must be on our way. Do you need any technical assistance before we leave?”
“No. We can manage it from here. Thank you again.”
She watched while, on the viewscreen, the Hero’s Path engaged its q-field generators and in a flash it was gone.
They were alone again. They were close to being able to join the battle that was surely raging over Britannia. And, if she lived through that battle, she had a choice: find Captain Tim Granger, or finally find her nephew Danny, the whole reason she’d rejoined IDF in the first place.
The choice was not hard.
“Davenport, I’m heading back out to replace those last four generators. As soon as I’m back inside begin the q-jumps to get us to Britannia.”
“Yes ma’am. But, ma’am, most of our weapons are still inoperative. Are we going to be much help there?”
“No. Even with our weapons we weren’t going to be much help. But maybe we can at least distract the Swarm until the Granger moons show up.”
Lieutenant Case came back through the door holding another bag identical to the one the pirate had knocked out into space. She began pulling her suit back on.
“And if they don’t, ma’am?” said Davenport.
She engaged her vacuum seal and answered him through her helmet’s headset. “Then you’ll get a front row seat in Saving Humanity by the Seat of One’s Pants 101. Taught by the resident expert. Class is in session.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bridge
Pirate ship Hero’s Path
Sector 21-K
Falun Mung rubbed his hands together with glee. He turned back to his brother at comms. Not his brother by relation, but his brother in God. “Send a meta-space transmission to the Patriarch. As follows.” He lowered his voice into a tone of deep respect. “Patriarch. We’ve found her. And she’s heading to Britannia.”
Chapter Sixteen
Fighter cockpit
Inside Swarm Vessel
Near Britannia
Zivic’s eyes kept darting from the control panel for the fighter’s thrusters to the giant power core looming ahead of them and back, wondering if he had time to figure out how to fix the blasted things. His readout told him he had less than thirty seconds.
“So … your plan is to kill us? Really? After all that? Why?”
His dad’s voice cut in and out from the drones’ jamming signal, but he could still make out the mocking reply. “Uh … to save Britannia, dumbass.”
“But—”
“And we’re not dying. Not today.”
“But—”
“Watch and learn, son.”
Zivic grabbed on to his armrests to steady himself as his father lurched them from side to side to avoid the hundreds of drones still surrounding them. For presumably computer-controlled things, they were a remarkably poor shot, but occasionally a few rounds made it through and dented the skin of his bird and the shuttle towing him.
“Learn how to get myself killed? I was already pretty damn good at that, Ballsy.”
It was the first time he’d used his dad’s old callsign.
But it seemed appropriate, given their circumstances.
“Not good enough, Batshit, you’re still alive.” His dad swore as a drone strafed him with rounds, a few of which must have actually punctured the cabin and evacuated his air supply. “Well, isn’t that just a bitch—”
“Dad!” He watched in horror as the shuttle vented streams of expanding gas. “Please tell me your vacuum suit it is on….”
“Working on it,” came the strained reply.
“Aw … shitwidget.” The readout screamed at him. Fifteen seconds until impact with the core. “I gotta say, Ballsy, your plans suck balls.”
“Ok, I got the bloat helmet on—”
“That’s it?” Every shuttle and fighter came with an emergency helmet, affectionately called the bloat helmet, since all it did was form a rudimentary seal around one’s neck and keep one alive in vacuum for about twenty minutes until a more permanent solution could be found. But bloat helmets tended to let the vacuum turn one’s fingers and toes into large sausages.
“Ok, listen closely. Your ventral thrusters are still operational, yes?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And the jamming in your port thrusters is just a fuel line issue, if I’m interpreting these readings right.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Ok, I’m slowing us down slightly to buy a few more seconds. But when I say now, gun your ventrals and push us up and over that asswrench of a core tower. That will buy us about thirty seconds until we hit the wall beyond it.”
“Ok. And then?”
“I’ll surprise you.” He heard his dad grunt and hit a few things. “Ok, see you on the other side.”
“But—”
His gut churned as he saw the shuttle’s hatch open and his dad appeared, clutching onto the side with one hand and in the other holding a large utility knife.
“You’ve got to be shitting me, dad.”
He jumped.
Ballsy indeed.
It looked like he was about to fly off into the huge void of the silk road tunnel, but at the last second his dad’s hand reached out and snagged onto the net ensnaring his fighter’s starboard wing, and he whiplashed back as his momentum carried him too far.
But he held on.
The tower loomed closer. They were seconds away.
Ballsy hacked away at the netting. Zivic watched, wide-eyed, through his starboard viewport as one strap, then another, then another frayed away.
And they were free. “NOW!” came his dad’s voice through the comm.
Zivic gunned the ventral thrusters and they soared up, higher and higher. Ballsy hung on with both hand and Zivic could hear the man’s string of profanities. The tip of the tower was dead ahead, meters away….
He pushed the ventrals into overdrive. His dad would never be able to hang on, but he had to increase the intensity. Otherwise they’d crash.
He glanced out again. His dad had wrapped his free wrist in the remains of the straps. It was probably cutting off circulation, but he’d live.
They cleared the tower. Barely, with just a few meters to spare. “Ok! Cut the thrusters! Now!”
Zivic eased off the controls and they drifted at a frighteningly high velocity towards the wall beyond the tower. “So, what’s in that shuttle anyway?”
“An anti-matter package. Hold on….”
“An anti-matter package? That shuttle’s going to hit it in a few seconds!”
His dad was climbing down the underside of the starboard wing. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Now, when I give the signal, get us the hell out of here. I see the fuel-line problem—”
Zivic watched in gut-churning anticipation, glancing between him and the power core tower which was about to blow at any second. Ballsy sawed through the exposed fuel line—which looked like it had mostly melted and fused with the titanium skin of the wing itself. One cut complete, he started sawing on the other side of the melted spot on the line. Once free, the far end of the fuel line started pulling away from the wing, but Ballsy grabbed it, tossed his knife out over his shoulder, and reached down to his belt to grab a smallish cylinder of some sorts….
“Oh my god, please tell me you brought more than cocknibbling DUCT TAPE to fix the fuel line!”
“Time was short,” came the curt reply. “And you’re still alive, last time I checked, so shut the hell up.” He pressed the two ends together, held onto the wing with his legs for leverage, and then pressed the two ends up to the wing to keep them from coming loose while he brought the duct tape up to his teeth. Ballsy somehow managed to unravel a long strip, which, miraculously, made it around the two ends of the line. He wrapped a few more times, tossed the tape, and then squeezed the union with both hands.
“GO!”
Zivic initiated the engines, tentatively at first so as not to blow the duct-taped fuel line, then gunned it as he saw the pressure hold.
His dad held onto the wing with both legs, still pressing the ends of the line together. He was going to have one hell of a charlie horse in those hamstrings….
The fighter blasted away from the power core tower, back down the silk road.
The shuttle finally collided with the tower. An explosion from the released anti-matter ripped through it, unleashing a glittering, crackling, electrified plasma sphere of fiery hell.
“Faster, please,” came his dad’s strained voice, as the expanding sphere began to overtake them.
Please?! Zivic thought, shocked by the utter sincerity in Volz’s request. Damn. We really are screwed this time. Again.
Chapter Seventeen
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Near Britannia
“Five more q-jumps,” said Lieutenant Case. “Just a few more minutes, ma’am.”
Proctor nodded and tapped her comm. “Commander Carson. How’s our patient?”
“She’ll live. Barely. But she’s going to feel like shit for a week or ten. And she may never be able to eat anything spicy….”
“The price we pay for freedom is steep sometimes, commander. She’ll probably have to take the long-term chronic rad pills, given how much radiation she took in, even with whatever anti-rad material IDF intel injected her with in the first place.” She glanced at the countdown timer. Still three minutes until Britannia. “Can she talk?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Proctor shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Fiona? How do you feel?”
Liu’s voice was ragged. “Peachy.”
“Thank you. For saving us. It … doesn’t erase what you’ve done, but … I thank you.”
“Admiral, I don’t care what happens to me now. I had my revenge. And it was sweet. I fully accept responsibility for—”
Proctor frowned. “I don’t think you realize what you’re saying, Ms. Liu. You accept responsibility for murdering the president of United Earth? I’m no lawyer, but that’s one of the few capital punishment situations we’ve got. Your life is effectively over if you, quote, take responsibility for your actions.”
“Ma’am? Are you suggesting I … lie?”
“Why not? It’s what you’re very, very good at, is it not? You fooled me. You fooled Admiral Tigre. You fooled Danny, you—”
“NO! I … I did not fool Danny. It started off that way but….” Her ragged voice trailed off.
“It started off that way. So, yes. You did fool him. Even if only for a time. You’re a very, very good liar, Ms. Liu, so I ask you, why not this time? Half of humanity thinks I killed President Quimby and Admiral Mullins. I was in command of the Defiance when it took out their ship. No one’s going to believe me when I claim that a rogue IDF intel agent managed to convince me she was trustworthy enough to pilot my ship while I was already on the run and that said agent then shot the president all on her own accord. You’ve got the perfect alibi here. Why not use it?”
Silence. And she could almost, almost make out a hint of a sob. She glanced at the countdown timer. Just a few seconds.
“I’ll talk to you later. Carson, I need you back up here. Proctor out.” She turned to Lieutenant Davenport. “Any progress on the mag-rails? Or lasers?”
“I’ve got cannon five up to around seventy-five percent from ten percent. I don’t think it’ll go any higher without an actual engineer looking at it.”
She turned back to the screen. “It will have to do.” She grit her teeth. This was it. She’d been in many, many battles in her life. Many of them desperate, survive-by-the-skin-of-your-teeth affairs. But, given the scant reports she’d plucked out of the meta-space distress calls, this was shaping up to be the most desperate, high-stakes battle of them all.
Commander Carson re-entered the bridge, giving her a curt nod, and slid back into his seat at the command station. “Prepare yourselves, people,” she said. “Three Swarm ships. Only one Granger moon so far. We most likely will not survive this. But we have to try. Eight billion people are depending on us.” She turned to Lieutenant Case and gave him a slight nod.
“Initiating final q-jump,” he said. To his credit, his voice didn’t even tremble. Proctor had seen even the most hardened veterans of space battles occasionally lose it. This would be Case’s first. And his jaw was firm, his eyes locked on the viewscreen, and didn’t appear to waver in the slightest.
That will soon change, she thought.
The screen flashed, and the starfield was replaced by hell.
Ido, Bolivar’s former moon, hung at the center between three massive, hundreds-of-kilometers-long monstrosities, which were raking it with devastatingly powerful green beams: charged anti-boron and anti-oxygen particles carried on a powerful laser-like photonic beam.
And the anti-matter beams were tearing Ido apart. “My god,” she whispered. “He’s not going to make it.”
She said he, but she had no idea who, or what, was down there. Was it Tim? No, he was at Titan. Could it be … an AI computer, somehow? Or was he just controlling it remotely? Or was there someone else down there? Or was Ido itself … conscious, somehow? However unlikely that would be? She’d recently seen displays of technology so advanced that some would call them magic, so she couldn’t discount any possibility at the moment.
“What’s the status of the fleet?”
Lieutenant Davenport scrolled through all the converted-to-text comm feeds scanning for news while simultaneously bringing up the tactical information broadcasted on the encrypted IDF tactical frequency. He was getting good in the two short weeks he’d been deputized.
“Not good.” Davenport looked pained. “We’ve lost a lot of ships. Admiral Tillis is in from San Martin and now commanding what remains of the Britannia Defense Fleet. Admiral Oppenheimer is here with the Earth Defense Fleet, but he’s taken heavy losses as well. The Swarm ships have taken damage, mostly from Ido, but looks like we’ve taken out a few of their weapons spires—the planet killers.”
“Christian’s here himself, huh? Ok. Engage the stealth. Let’s disappear, and maybe we can prick them in just the right places.” For all the good it would do. “Oh, and get me on meta-space. General broadcast, highest intensity we can manage without giving away our position.”
Commander Carson gave her the thumbs up. “You’re on, admiral.”
“Tim, it’s me. We need you. Now. Britannia is on the brink. It’s now or never, Tim. As many moons as you can spare.”
She’d broadcasted similar messages during each of their previous engagements with the Swarm—in between her search for Titan—but it never seemed to have an effect. The Granger moons had always shown up, yes. But at New Dublin they’d arrived far too late.
And she’d never received a reply.
“Ok. Showtime. Commander, scan the nearest Swarm vessel. See if you can identify any power conduits or….” She remembered their recent history, “or coolant lines, or … anything that might go boom with a well-placed mag-rail slug.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“In the meantime, Lieutenant Case, take us closer to that one there.” She pointed at the nearest behemoth, which hovered directly over the main continent of Cascadia. Where her own home was. Where her brother and his family lived. Where she’d taught classes just weeks ago.
“Ma’am, we’re receiving a coded transmission, tight beam, aimed right at us.” Davenport’s brow furrowed. “Trying to triangulate the source—” He smiled. “It’s the Independence, ma’am.”
“Ballsy.” Finally, some good news. The Independence was still alive, at least. “Patch him through.”
It was Lieutenant Whitehorse’s voice that boomed over the comm, however. “Admiral, we’ve got a problem.”
“A bigger problem than three Swarm ships in orbit over Britannia? That are nearly as big as Britannia itself?”
“It’s Volz. And Zivic. They’re stuck in there.”
“What? What are you talking about … you mean, in there?” She pointed at the Swarm ship, knowing full well Whitehorse couldn’t see her, but she seemed to pick up on the context.
“Yes, ma’am. We were just in there ourselves, trying to blow up one of their four main power cores, but Captain Volz ordered the Independence out once it became clear we’d be unable to achieve our objective without losing the Independence herself.”
“Let me guess, Ballsy is doing something rash, dangerous, and unlikely to succeed?”
To Proctor’s surprise, Whitehorse chuckled. “Well, actually, ma’am, they’ve done the important part. They blew the core. The ship’s so big that the explosion hasn’t reached the outer hull yet, but this section of the ship is about to light up. They might even be taking out the whole thing, god bless ‘em.”
“And they’re alive? And still inside? I feel like there’s something critical I am missing here.”
“Something we call the silk road, ma’am—a long tunnel that spans the entire ship. They’re currently racing away from the blast front, but it’s overtaking them. Zivic’s fighter was damaged, and … well, as of right now there’s no way out of that thing. We q-jumped in. There are no exhaust ports.”
“Not like in the movies,” Proctor breathed to herself. “Ok. Send me the general location, and what you know about the layout of the ship.”
They were only two people. Two lives, weighed against billions. There were other things they could be doing than saving two lives.
But the cold, pragmatic side of her argued that those were two lives that had already figured how to knock out one Swarm ship, and perhaps they could do it again.
And besides. It was Ballsy. And Zivic. She couldn’t leave them in there.
Explosions and fires and streams of debris began to erupted from one portion of the ship, dozens of kilometers away.
Proctor covered her mouth. No! They’re out of time.
Chapter Eighteen
Outside fighter canopy
Inside Swarm Vessel
Near Britannia
His hamstrings were on fire from gripping the wing with his legs. His left wrist was possibly broken from the remains of the emergency straps digging in and pulling him during the fighter’s maximum acceleration just a minute ago. And his fingers were all sausages from the vacuum.
But he was still alive. And so was his son. “Ok kid, I’m getting a little tired of this sausage-fest out here. Seal your suit and let me in. Plus, getting a little hot out here what with the giant explosion overtaking us.”
Without a single argument, Ethan popped the hatch and eased up on the acceleration to allow him to release the strap tied around his wrist and climb through, settling into the cramped space behind the pilot’s seat on his knees.
“Son of a … Now it’s the quads. Cocksuckinggoatmotherofzeusitburns….” The awkward position made the front of his legs tighten up painfully, so he just stood up and hunched directly over Zivic in the cramped space.
The hatch closed and sealed, which pressed him down so his chest was squished up against Zivic’s head. “Hey! Flying here!” Zivic protested. “Go cuddle something else.” Ethan nudged him a little too forcefully with his shoulder.
“Can it. Look, I can reach the gun controls.” He stretched forward and engaged the rear gun. Lower caliber than the main guns, but still deadly.
“How the hell is that going to help us, dad?”
“Because those drones are still tailing us, dumbass, and gaining on us. Faster than the frickin’ explosion is. Guess whatever automated system is driving them has a survival instinct too.”
A stream of rounds peppered the rear of the fighter, and Ethan swerved sharply as he wove to throw off their tail, while Ballsy swiveled the rear turret to get a clear shot. “No targeting assist on this one, I see.”
“Because we never use it, dad. Everyone knows it’s for blasting hired goons in seedy spaceports, not actual space battles.”
“Cute.” He eyed the tiny drone, lined it up in his sights, and …
“Got it. Plastered the bastard.”
The wreckage from his handiwork flew past them as Ethan changed course slightly. Out the side viewport Ballsy caught sight of something disturbing. “Oh, crap. Those aren’t drones.”
“What?”
He peered at the wreckage, at the writhing figure inside. It was similar to one of the larger beings they’d captured pictures of earlier, but … smaller. Less developed. Still gruesome though.
“It’s their kids. Or their brood. Or whatever the hell you want to call them. Tiny pieces of monkeytits piloting those things.” He swiveled the gun to take out another one. And another. Whatever they were, they weren’t the best pilots, or the best shots.
But they were deadly enough. A round tore through the cockpit, missing his nose by inches. The blessed two minutes of pressurized atmosphere left in a hurry, and once again his fingers started to swell up. Luckily his helmet was still running just fine.
“Ok, dad, what’s the plan? We’re on the leading edge of a catastrophic explosion, trapped inside a big ass ship, and being chased by satan’s brood in tiny fighters.”
“Plan?”
Ethan sighed. “Oh god.”
Volz pointed ahead. “Just keep flying. Something will come to us.” Another round flew through the cockpit, taking out the sensor dashboard. “I hope.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bridge
ISS Independence
Near Britannia
Lieutenant Jerusha Whitehorse had only sat in the captain’s chair three times. And all those times had been routine, mundane affairs where both the captain and the first officer had been indisposed and it fell to her to command the bridge crew.
This time was no different, she told herself. Keep your head. Don’t look stupid. Keep everyone alive. No pressure.
She eyed the expanding explosions ripping down the Swarm’s hull with alarm.
Good Lord they were all going to die.
Technically, Commander Mumford outranked her, but his rank was more like an honorary degree, since he was a distinguished scientist and she was the one with command experience—they both had an unspoken agreement, sealed with a furtive nod, that she’d be the one in the hot seat during battle. He called out from the rear of the bridge. “Lieutenant, the explosion from the core is causing a chain reaction throughout the ship’s entire electrical and plasma grid. I think the whole ship is going to blow.”
“Good. Steady, Ensign Riisa, keep us on Defiance’s tail.” She turned back to Lieutenant Qwerty, “We’re still reading them, right? Through the stealth?”
“Aye, ma’am.”
The hull of the Swarm ship was flying past them, two kilometers away, as they raced to align themselves with the end of the silk road. The spot where they supposed Volz and Zivic would appear. Assuming they were still alive.
Qwerty fist pumped the air. “Whoop-de-do, ma’am! The hull is breaking up, so I’m able to penetrate with sensors. And wouldn’t you know it, I’m reading two human life signs, strong and clear, moving quick-like down the silk road. They’re nearly at the end.”
“Ok.” She looked up at the comm. “Admiral? You have a plan? Did you hear that from Mr. Qwerty?”
“I did, lieutenant. Standby.”
Qwerty’s fist was still in the air, but it started to lower, slowly. She saw his smile fall. “And, ma’am, I’m reading that they’re being … chased, by hundreds of other … lifeforms. At least, I think they’re lifeforms. Never seen anything like it.”
She glanced back at Mumford. “Commander?”
He hunched over Qwerty’s console and peered at the data streaming in. “Beats the hell out of me. Life signs all right, but not human. Probably belong to those monstrosities we imaged earlier.”
Ensign Riisa looked back. “Lieutenant, we’re coming up to the coordinates where the road ends.”
Proctor’s voice broke over the comm. “Ok, listen up. We’ve got about two kilometers of hull separating us and our boys. Only one thing to do."
Chapter Twenty
Fighter cockpit
Inside Swarm Vessel
Near Britannia
Unbelievable. The old man had brought them this far, all without a plan of how to actually get the hell out, and now the ship was falling apart and exploding all around them.
He didn’t know whether to punch him or hug him.
Another dozen satan’s-brood-piloted bogeys were creeping up on them, peppering their bird with rounds. He looped up, pushing their inertial cancelers to the limit and managed to pick off five before they scattered. “Ok, what if we just shoot our way out?”
“Through the hull?” Ballsy was busy, stretched over his shoulder and hands holding on tight to the rear gun controls.
“Yeah.”
“It’s two kilometers thick right here.”
“Yeah. Ok.” He looped again and picked off three more. “Oh, and by the way, I’m up to ninety-two.”
Ballsy snapped to look at him, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been counting this whole time?”
He saw the gears working in his dad’s head. Why the hell are you counting when you should be thinking our way out of this? he’d say. “My brain just does it. Automatically. In the background.”
His father turned back to the gun controls. “Apples to oranges, anyway. Doesn’t count.”
Unbelievable. “What? They’re not drones, dad! They’re Swarm. Actual Swarm, and not the liquid crap you fought.”
“Exactly. They’re different.”
Another swerve, another few rounds, another two down. “That’s ninety-four. I’m seven away from beating IDF’s all-time fighter record in a single engagement. So suck it.”
“They’re never going to take my name off there, kid, because these aren’t what I fought.” But now that they were arguing about it, Zivic noticed that his father was darting the gun back and forth twice as fast as before. Not that he was slacking earlier. But something deep inside him was not going to let his son win. “Besides.” He actually chuckled. “I’m up to sixty-five already, and my kill rate is twice yours.”
“Screw you. It’s on.”
For a minute or so there was silence as the fighter looped and swerved its way down the silk road and through clouds of miniature Swarm fighters.
Zivic whooped. “Got it. One hundred and one. Your reign of terror is over, old man.”
“Now hold on; I’m at eighty-two.”
Zivic pointed up ahead. “Time’s up. We’re at the end. What’s the plan, genius?”
Ballsy exhaled slowly, apparently trying to contain his frustration. “Ok. We analyzed the layout of part of their ship when that monster broke apart over New Dublin. There should be an access port somewhere on the terminal wall. Just big enough for a shuttle, so we should have no problem.
“You planned this and didn’t tell me?”
Ballsy shrugged. “Wanted to keep you in suspense,” he said, and waved an arm up ahead at the wall. “Are you not entertained?”
Asshat, Zivic silently replied. “Is that it?” He pointed to a tiny dot on the several-square-kilometer sized wall ahead of them.
“Maybe. Let’s go take a closer—”
The entire ship rocked around them. Zivic wished he could hear what was happening. But, after a few moments, he definitely saw it. “Holy shit. Something big hit the ship. Or one of the Granger moons finally showed up and decided this spot was the best target.” He pointed ahead of them.
The wall buckled. Then the upper half shifted forward by several dozen meters, and buckled down further, sliding several hundred meters towards them.
“Dammit.” Ballsy hunched forward, leaning on Zivic’s shoulder. “There goes our escape route.”
Indeed, the tiny dot he’d seen earlier had completely disappeared, most likely crushed under kilometers of ship.
“Well. That settles that.” Zivic looped the fighter back around and picked off a few more Swarm bogeys that had gotten too close. It seemed they’d been hightailing it for the tiny exit as well, and not necessarily been chasing them. At least, the whole cloud of them now hung dormant near the spot where the exit tunnel had been. Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. “One hundred and four, by the way.”
“What are you doing?” said Ballsy, returning to his sights and picking off a few more of his own.
“Plan B. Or, at this point, Plan F. We’re blasting our way out.”
Ballsy pointed back down the silk road, which was illuminated red with the approaching explosions that were working their way down the walls. They had a minute. Probably less. “Plan F is dead on arrival. Try again.”
“It’s all we got, old man.” Another loop to pick off a few bogeys that were tailing them, and then he aimed straight at the wall and started firing everything he had. Four torpedoes zoomed away in rapid succession, followed by their whole battery of guided missiles, all the while accompanied by the guns. Explosion after explosion ripped metal from the wall. “See? We’ve dug two hundred meters already!”
“Great. We’ll be two hundred meters further away before the blast overtakes us.” Ballsy tapped on the dashboard. “And you’re out of torpedoes and missiles, genius. Guns won’t get you much farther.”
He was right, unfortunately. Zivic glanced back and saw the approaching explosions. Just twenty more seconds and they were toast. He swore and turned back to the giant hole they’d carved into the wall. Wait. What was that? Something odd near the bottom….
The fighter leaped forward as he pushed the engines to maximum. “What the hell are you doing?” said Ballsy.
“Making your original plan work for us.” He pointed ahead. “Look. That wall crumpling sheared off and collapsed the tunnel all right, but not all of it. We just blasted into an intact section.”
Ballsy whacked him on the shoulder. “Fly faster, dammit. When I was your age I’d fly twice as fast, uphill, both ways, in the snow—”
“Shut up, dad.”
They plunged into the tunnel, scraping their canopy on some twisted metal jutting out from the edge. A handful of bogeys followed them in. “Don’t worry about them. You fly. I shoot.”
“Got it,” said Zivic. With the tight quarters he was flying in, there was no way he’d be able to target and shoot, much less do it with the main rear gun.
He slowed down as the tunnel narrowed somewhat. “Don’t slow down! Faster!” Ballsy barked. He was picking them off one by one, but more had entered after the first few, and they’d caught up to them. Apparently they were also scared of the explosion overtaking them.
“This does not end well….” But he gunned the engine anyway, and they picked up speed. It took all his concentration to not hit the walls as the path curved and the tunnel narrowed randomly.
The fighter lurched as something hit their tail. “Dammit!” yelled Ballsy. He swore again, and added, in a somber voice. “I’m sorry, son. They got us.” Zivic twisted around to look, and, sure enough, the rear end of the fighter had been torn to shreds. Except….
He examined the systems status screen, and the rear auxiliary gun’s warning lights were flashing red. The kind of flashing that meant, danger, you are shooting your own ship, you idiot.
“Dad, this isn’t a movie. I can see exactly what happened. You’re a terrible shot.”
Ballsy shrugged. “Hey, can’t blame an old man for trying.” He picked off two more bogeys, then released his grip on the gun controls. “There. That was the last of them. The rest are too far back.” He examined what was left of the sensor dashboard, and then yelled. “Woah! Stop! Stop! Stop! STOP!”
Zivic yanked up on the controls and arrested their forward momentum. And just in time.
The tunnel had collapsed ahead of them.
Ballsy shook his head. Zivic grit his teeth and looked back. The orange glow of the explosive catastrophe was most definitely headed their way down the tunnel. “Any more bright ideas, dad?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Near Britannia
“Ma’am, the mag-rail slugs are working, but it’s slow going,” said Lieutenant Davenport.
The Swarm ship was convulsing with increasingly intensified explosions. They were getting nearer now, and soon the section of ship directly in front of them would disintegrate in a fiery blast.
“Independence. Switch to gigawatt lasers. Hell, all the lasers. Position yourself so the beam doesn’t hit them on the other side once we punch through. Ten billion watts isn’t going to make Ballsy look any younger.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” said Lieutenant Whitehorse through the comm. A few seconds later, the mag-rail volley ceased, and a few seconds after that, the hole they’d been digging started caving inward, the metal boiling away at an impressive pace.
Commander Carson nodded approvingly. “That’s better. We’re digging now at about ten meters per second.”
Proctor shook her head. “It’s not enough. It’s two kilometers thick. It’ll take over three minutes to dig all the way down, and this ship’s a goner long before then.”
Lieutenant Case, who had been monitoring the whole affair from his console while he waited for the inevitable order to get them out of there, pointed up and whooped. “Ma’am! Sensors showing we just cut through a tunnel of some sorts. And we’re picking up an active IDF transponder signal!”
Proctor whipped around and saw it on her command console. “Independence! Cease fire!”
A moment later the beams stopped, and the glowing tunnel stopped getting deeper.
There! Near the very bottom, from around a corner they couldn’t see, swerved an IDF fighter, burning at maximum thrust.
And behind it, fire. Molten metal flying out as the explosions ripped through the remaining portion of the ship nearest them.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on,” murmured Proctor, staring at the screen. “Case, start getting us the hell out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It was a race between the fighter and the blast front. But Swarm-scale explosions were apparently no match for Ethan Batshit Zivic: the fighter soared out of the tunnel and blazed its way toward the Independence’s waiting fighter bay. She finally let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in.
They were alive. They had been given up for dead. Just like Danny. But they were alive. Just like Danny.
There was hope for them all yet.
“Case! Go! Maximum thrust. Out of the orbital vector of the ship.”
This was a race that wasn’t even close, and within a minute they were well clear of the disintegrating Swarm ship and getting a clearer view of the broader battle happening around them.
Zivic’s voice blared over the open comm. “Woohoo! And that’s how it’s done, people!” He kept whooping. And Proctor could swear she heard Ballsy whoop and holler over the same channel. But her view was drawn outward, to the rest of the battle.
One ship down, yes. But things were grim, indeed.
Ido, an entire moon, was breaking apart in very high orbit over Britannia. If the Swarm didn’t destroy the planet, the ensuing firestorm of meteors would. Everything on the surface would be vaporized, the planet rendered uninhabitable for thousands of years.
“Tim. Now,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Terrace Heights playground
Whitehaven
Britannia
Sarah Watkins eventually got tired of screaming. Her father showed up to the playground, and the three of them huddled low on the grass in an extended family hug. She wasn’t sure why. Were they all going to die? But she found she couldn’t actually say the word die.
“Daddy? Are we going to be ok?”
She saw a lot of emotions play out on his face, and couldn’t recognize most of them. One stood out, though.
Fear.
But what made her scared was the forced smile on his face. She knew when he was faking.
“I … I don’t know, Sarah. This has happened on some other worlds in the past few weeks, and most people lived through those. Except….”
He refused to continue on with his except, even after persistent pestering, but she knew he meant New Dublin, where Aunt Jeri and Uncle Steve lived.
Finally, there were only so many more hugs she could take, so she wandered back to the swing set. Her mother had wanted to go home, but her father had looked at her in the way adults do sometimes, saying things without saying them, and then said, “What’s the point?”
So she climbed on the swing and started up again. There was another moon in the sky now, near the three big ships. And the three bigs ships were shooting at it. It was a fun fireworks show, but even that got boring after awhile, so she swung higher and higher.
Her mother screamed again. But this time was different.
It was an excited scream.
“Look! One of them is breaking up! Look!”
Everyone still at the playground was staring up at the sky, and, indeed, one of the giant ships was glowing a dull orange and pieces of it were floating away from each other.
And a few moments later, it seemed like those pieces were bigger than before.
And bigger.
“Sarah! Come here! Now!” Her mother’s scream sharpened. The unmistakable and contagious sound of fear had returned. Sarah started breathing heavily again, but made herself not scream. She was done with that. Only little kids screamed, and she was big.
She jumped off and her dad whisked her up and then the two of them ran, and ran, and ran. Where to she had no idea. She looked back behind them and up as her father ran.
The glowing pieces of the ship were even bigger.
But now there was something new. Something bigger than the ships. And there were lots of them. More than the ships.
She pointed up with her finger and counted. “One, two, three, four, five, six. Six moons, mama!”
Her parents stopped running and looked upwards again.
But they didn’t have time to celebrate. Because at that point the earthquakes began.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Near Britannia
Commander Carson pointed up at the screen. “There’s Ampera Raya and Tal Rishi, from the Jakarta sector. And Hestia 9, just a few lightyears from its home. And the two moons from the Scandia system. And—”
She recognized the still dull orange glow. “Titan.”
Tim was here. Had he heard her prayer? Was it a prayer? Was she a frickin Grangerite now?
It was a plea. A cry for help. And whether he heard it or not, he was here. With half his army.
Well, a little over half now—she watched helplessly as Ido, Bolivar’s former massive moon, started to crack and crumble, disintegrating. And the remains of the destroyed Swarm ship were descending lower and lower towards Britannia, no longer held aloft by its propulsion system and now completely under the planet’s gravity’s sway.
Just the crashing ship alone would kill everyone on the surface. And if anyone survived, they definitely wouldn’t live through the remains of Ido colliding with the planet.
Britannia was doomed.
Billions would die that day. “My god,” she breathed, and staggered backwards to her chair, collapsing into it. She couldn’t even remember having stood up. Her brother would die. His wife would die. Everyone she knew and loved would die in the next few hours.
Unless….
“Davenport. I want a laser, tight beam, aimed straight at Titan, and just like before, encode my—”
He was shaking his head. “Ma’am, remember the lasers are down.”
Dammit, she forgot. “Whitehorse, come in.”
“Whitehorse here, admiral,” came the reply across the comm.
“Aim a megawatt laser at Titan, lowest power, and encode the following message in the phase envelope.”
She could almost hear her signaling to Lieutenant Qwerty to get moving on the orders. “Ready, admiral. Mr. Qwerty says go ahead. You’ll be broadcasting live.”
“Tim, Ido and the dead Swarm ship are falling. I know you’re busy with the other two ships, but unless something is done right now, Britannia is lost. And all eight billion people there. I … I think you can do something. Gravity assist. Remember the early days of rocketry? Before fusion drives and q-field manipulation? They’d use chemical rockets, and in order to pick up speed they’d get close to another planet, let themselves be pulled into the gravity well, and then slingshot—”
Lieutenant Case pointed up at the screen. “Ma’am, something’s happening already!”
She hadn’t even finished her idea, but whoever was listening down underneath Titan’s surface knew exactly what she had been going to say. Three of the Granger moons started accelerating, quickly, down toward Britannia. Their speed was breathtaking, and she could only guess at the unthinkable quantity of energy it would take to accelerate them so.
And she simply could not guess what the people down on Britannia were thinking. Nor think of the huge tidal stresses being placed on the planet’s crust. She hoped her new beach condo had earthquake insurance. And flood insurance. And fire insurance. And falling moon debris insurance.
“Ma’am, the debris from the dead Swarm ship and Ido is … it’s changing course! It’s being pulled in the direction of the three incoming moons! Stronger now. And stronger—”
Britannia was nearly as big as Earth, with point nine five g’s at the surface. But luckily, it was still relatively far away. Farther than the three moons that were almost upon them. It was a wonder how the propulsion system worked. It seemed to allow the moons to ignore gravity, and yet exert their own gravitational pull on things around them.
The moons accelerated past the giant clouds of debris. And the debris accelerated with them. But away from the planet—just barely. All he needed to do was get all of it past escape velocity, something like ten kilometers per second, and Britannia was safe. It would have spectacular meteor storms every night for hundreds of years, but it would be safe.
“Seven kilometers per second,” said Lieutenant Davenport. “Seven point five. It’s working, ma’am. The three moons are giving everything of any consequential size a good boost past the planet. It should be safe now.”
Tim had saved them. Again.
Which left the two remaining Swarm ships. And the disintegrating Ido. She looked at the other screen, which had been displaying the raging battle between the other three moons and the two remaining Swarm ships.
Except the Swarm ships were gone. No debris, so they’d turned tail and run away.
They had won.
Commander Carson glanced over at her. “Ma’am. I have a transmission coming in from Admiral Oppenheimer. He claims he can see us, and is ordering us to turn you in, or the remaining ships of the fleet will open fire on our location.”
“Well the bastard didn’t waste any time now, did he?” She steepled her fingers in front of her face and considered. “He could be bluffing. Maintain radio silence. Titan is here, and I want to get down there and solve a thirteen billion year old mystery.”
Lieutenant Davenport cleared his throat. “Uh, ma’am? The Resolute, the Poland, and the Angola have all changed course and are headed in this direction.”
“Hold. Case, get q-drive coordinates entered in, but do not engage until I say so.”
He nodded. Davenport looked up at her. “Ma’am, they’re getting closer.”
“Are they aimed precisely at us?”
He examined the flight vectors. “Well … not perfectly. But their course brings them within two kilometers. Well within firing range.”
She watched the ships get larger on the viewscreen. “Hold,” she said again. They were just kilometers away now. “Hold….”
Lieutenant Case’s finger hovered over the q-field initiator. She could see it tremble. After all they’d been through that day, they were on the edge of their seats waiting to see if their own would fire on them.
“Hold,” she murmured again.
The three ships flew past them. Not so much as a course change. She let out a breath.
“You called his bluff, ma’am,” said Case, impressed.
“Asshole,” she replied, shaking her head. “He almost witnessed the greatest catastrophe our civilization has ever seen, and before a minute passes he’s back to old petty grudges.”
“Sounds pretty damn human to me,” Case said. “We’re very good at petty.”
“Well Oppenheimer is an expert. Ph.D. in asshattery. And I worry it’s going to get us all killed some day. I hope that new moronic president fires the bastard.” She stood up. And stretched. Finally. “Lieutenant Case, belay the q-jump and enter in coordinates for Titan. We’re going in before he gets away this time.”
There was one thing to attend to first. She headed to the bridge’s exit. “I’ll be in sickbay. I’ve got a not-dead nephew to worry about now.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Executive Complex
Manhattan, New York
Earth
“Sir, the UE Security Council is waiting in the Blue Room,” said Peel, his new chief of staff, running behind President Sepulveda, who, in between crossing out lines in his Presidential address to the union he’d deliver in an hour, was also talking to Oppenheimer on the phone, drinking a quad mocha, and occasionally berating his staff for not keeping up with his walking pace.
It wasn’t fast, he always told them, is was purposeful. Fast implied frantic energy, like a headless chicken running around, terrified of its impending death. No, the new president of United Earth walked with purpose. That’s what he had his press secretary constantly say to the presidential press corps when they repeatedly asked about his unusually hurried walking speed.
I mean, good Lord, he thought, in between editing speech lines, don’t they have something better to do than nitpick my walking style? Like … maybe … report on the war?
“Tell them I’ll be a few minutes. I want this speech done and back to Andy before this damn meeting. No, Christian, I’m talking to Peel here, not you. I understand. Be here as soon as you can. Tombstone out.”
Tombstone. Every time there was a new president, the Secret Service gave code names to him or her and their immediate family members. Due to his last name, one of his detail had said it sounded a lot like the Spanish word for burying a body. But since he didn’t speak Spanish, they just called him Tombstone. He suspected it was also because, given the current hopeless war with the newly appeared Swarm, they didn’t expect him to last a month.
And so, to seize the narrative and the symbolism, he’d started using it himself, sometimes in public.
“Sir, the point of a code name is so that would-be presidential assassins don’t know who we’re talking about,” one of his Secret Service officers said one day.
He had looked at him askance. “Tom. Do you really think a serious presidential assassin isn’t going to do some research before he tries taking me out? The code names aren’t exactly classified top-secret.”
“No, but using them in public so much will … point certain people’s minds in the wrong direction, and get them wondering what your real code name is.”
He’d nearly dropped his national security briefing folder at that point, and pointed at the man. “You’re telling me I don’t even know my real code name?”
“No, sir. It’s classified top-secret.”
“I’m the fucking President, Tom. I can declassify anything I want.”
“Yes, sir, you can. And there is a bureaucratic process for that, which, to tell the truth, can take up to three months. And in the meantime, sir, we’d choose a new one.”
He had shook his head and continued with his daily presidential brief. “Sometimes you all are more annoying than a monkeyslut in heat. Fine. I’m Tombstone. But I’m using it whenever the hell I want.”
“Fair enough, Mr. President,” the agent had replied.
The same Tom was ahead of him now, the only person in his ever-present entourage who not only could keep pace with him, but actually stay ahead. Sepulveda called ahead. “Tom, Oppenheimer is showing up within the hour. I need a secure space to talk.”
Tom tapped his ear and started whispering to the central secret service office.
He made the last few edits on the holographic display hovering less than a meter from his face, then swiped the whole document over to his chief of staff. “Ok, Peel, get that off to Jody for polishing.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
They were walking through the garden atrium of the Executive Complex, the presidential mansion on the two hundred and twelfth floor of the largest building in downtown Manhattan. The odor of lemon cleaner hung in the air: the cleaning crew had just come through, and now the gardeners were out in force tending to the hundreds of trees, flower beds, ands shrubs lining the pathways of the atrium. Off three of the sides of the vast glass space were the entrances to the three main parts of the United Earth Government: Interior Affairs, the military, and the State Department. The fourth led to the actual presidential living quarters and the offices of his staff, where he’d just come from, but he was headed for the south wing, which housed the military.
It wasn’t the pentagon, or even the vast IDF Fleet headquarters in Omaha. But it was the main interface for the military with the other two sections of the executive branch.
A man he vaguely recognized approached him—so many faces to learn in the past two weeks—surrounded with several aides of his own. He’d come from the direction of State, and Sepulveda finally recognized the man just before he started speaking.
“Ambassador Shin, what can I do for you?”
The Chinese Intersolar Democratic Republic’s ambassador to the UE bowed slightly before speaking. As was his custom, Sepulveda now remembered. “Mr. President. I know you’re a busy man, so I will be quick.”
“Yes, I am, thank you. What is it?”
“First, my government wants to officially thank you for your military’s assistance at Mao Prime two weeks ago. I believe you already spoke with Premier Wen over meta-space text, but he wanted me to thank you in person.” The ambassador bowed again, this time far lower.
“Ok. Fine. Anything else? Kinda fighting a war here.” He was shuffling his feet, eager to be purposefully walking again. The security council hated to be kept waiting. But he was the president, so wait they would.
“Yes. Yes, there is,” said Ambassador Shin, hesitantly, rising up from his bow. He produced a data pad and flicked through to a video. “Watch this.”
Two ships, in orbit around a green-blue planet speckled with white clouds. He didn’t recognize the planet. But the ships … Sepulveda cocked his head, looking closer.
“Those are Skiohra generation ships.”
“Correct, Mr. President.”
He watched more. “Holy … shit.” He couldn’t believe the scene unfolding.
The ships were firing at each other. Large sections of one of the ships exploded, and soon the entire thing q-jumped away, leaving the other one in orbit, but heavily damaged.
“What the ever-loving hell was that?”
“That, Mr. President, was the Skiohra generation ship Benevolence, exchanging fire with the generation ship Magnanimity. There are only six total, as you most likely know, ever since the Harmony was lost during the war. And now….”
“Did the Magnanimity survive? Where was this taken?”
Ambassador Shin nodded. “We believe it did. We tracked it to an unpopulated system near our borders out towards Dolmasi space. But this was taken at an M-class world within our borders. Well, within the CIDR’s borders, at least. Designation of Shao-587.”
“Descriptive name. Is it populated?”
“It is not. Our National Council of Preservation decided decades ago that this world would be a … reserve world, I believe the translation would be. A place we could eventually settle, if the population pressures on our existing worlds ever grew too great.”
“Walk with me.” He resumed his purposeful stride towards the military wing of the executive headquarters. “So. Does your government believe that they were … what, scouting it out for their own settlements or something? And then two separate clans of the Skiohra got there at the same time, each hoping to settle, and then started fighting? That doesn’t sound like the Skiohra. At all.”
“No, it does not. While we know very little about them, what we do know suggests they are eminently peaceful. War is abhorrent to them. They fight alongside us at times, as they did in the Second Swarm War, and as they did two weeks ago for The Companion Admiral Proctor. But in general, this is a very, very odd event.”
They were nearing the entrance to the military wing, where Ambassador Shin could go no further. Two MPs stood at the massive doors with arms folded sternly across their chests. “But do you think they were scouting it out for settlement or something? As far as I know there isn’t any Skiohra settlements on land. Their whole civilization lives on six ships.”
“Ah, but they used to, Mr. President. Something Polrum Krull mentioned to your Hero of Earth Captain Granger at one point. She said they had a homeworld once, but that the Swarm exiled them from it, to serve them forever, in space.”
Sepulveda stopped in his tracks, just outside the entrance to the military wing. “Are you suggesting…?”
“I suggest nothing, Mr. President. But our scout teams, decades ago, did find ruins. Shao-587 used to be the home of a large civilization. Tens of thousands of years ago.”
“My god. Could this be it? The lost Skiohra homeworld?”
“No way to know. We have minimal contact with them. But the question remains: why would they fight over Shao-587, Mr. President?” Ambassador Shin shut down the data pad and handed it off to one of his aides. “President Sepulveda, this is highly classified information that only our Premier and his top generals have seen. And now you. I trust you use it wisely. Consider it partial payment for your assistance two weeks ago.”
“Very partial assistance. We lost several ships and thousands of people at Mao Prime.”
For a very brief moment, the professional face of the ambassador fell. “And we lost millions, Mr. President.”
A moment of silence passed as the awful reality of war rested heavily on them both. He saw the pain in the ambassador’s eyes, and could tell the other man saw the pain in his own. And the fatigue, the restlessness, the powerlessness. And also the drive. “Why give us this? What in the blazes are we going to do with it?”
“Honestly, Mr. President? I have no idea. But Premier Wen thought that if this information would be of value to anyone, it would be the Companion to the Hero. Admiral Proctor.”
He shook his head. “No. She’s a criminal of the state. She murdered my predecessor.”
“Dire times call for dire measures at times, Mr. President. What’s worth more? A man’s life? The honor of a single dead president? Or the continued existence of an entire civilization?”
With that, Ambassador Shin turned and walked back towards the State Department side of the atrium.
He glanced back at Peel. “You hear all that?”
“Yes, sir.”
He considered for nearly a minute, as his aides huddled nearby. Finally, he spoke. “Cancel the National Security Council meeting. As soon as Oppenheimer gets in, send him directly to me.” He turned towards his intel liaison. “Is she still in the Britannia system? At Titan? Is that what our sources are still telling us?”
“We believe so, yes sir.”
“Good. Let me know if that changes.” He went through the door that Tom Wen was holding open for him, but then stopped and looked back at the intel liaison. “But don’t tell Oppenheimer that she is. Not a word. Got it? He’ll jump the gun. Huntsman will be livid.”
The liaison’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. “Not one word, Mr. President.
Sepulveda started to turn back into the military wing, but caught sight of a group of people standing off several dozen meters. Many had cameras hovering over their shoulders.
“The press corps. Who the hell let them in here?” He pivoted to Peel. Did they get shots of me crossing the atrium?”
“Probably, sir.”
Sepulveda nodded. “Good thing I was walking purposefully. The people need to see that, Mr. Peel. Especially after New Dublin, and Britannia. If they see me hesitating, even in the slightest, whether it’s how I talk or what I decide, or even how the hell I walk, then it’s over. Manage them,” he emphasized, pointing at the gathering crowd of press.
“Understood, sir.”
For a third time he turned back to the military wing, nodded at the two MPs who saluted back, and entered.
He was about to have a very tense conversation with one Fleet Admiral Oppenheimer.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sickbay
ISS Independence
High orbit, Britannia
“Stop whining and hold still for god’s sake!” In the wake of the murder of Dr. Patel, the only person on board the Independence with any kind of medical training besides the two nurses was Ensign Riisa, who had been a first responder in Chicago before she applied to IDF academy. And the nurses were swamped with casualties far more serious than the bumps and breaks and bruises that Lieutenant Zivic and Captain Volz had sustained.
Zivic winced as the needle went in. The autodoc was damaged, the casualty of an unfortunate power surge caused by a glancing blow from the Swarm’s devastating anti-matter beam. And the other nurses must have been using all the meta-syringes, because Riisa had to rely on good old fashioned barbaric hypodermic needles.
Many were dead because of the Swarm. He wondered briefly how many more would die due to medical staffing issues. “Sorry, Annie, it’s just that your bedside manner is somewhere in between a vertically-challenged marine drill sergeant with a chip on his shoulder and a BDSM sadist.”
“See? More whining. God you’re more fragile than a frickin q-field generator.” She yanked the needle out, eliciting another yelp.
“Dammit! Was that necessary?” He rubbed the spot where she’d jabbed him. All around him in sickbay, severely wounded crew members were either moaning softly or in medically induced comas, and part of him felt ashamed at vocalizing his hatred of needles. But goddamn that hurt. “It’s a flesh wound! That Swarm round barely even nicked the skin. It bled for, what, a minute? Why the hell do I need a full-spectrum antibiotic?”
Captain Volz used his good arm to roll up the sleeve of the uniform on the arm with the dislocated shoulder. He, too, was bleeding from a few spots, but nothing mortal. “Suck it up, Buttercup. I always knew you were a drama-queen.”
“But—”
His father cut him off. “Sure, it’s only shrapnel. Maybe a round. But if it’s Swarm we can’t risk it. Thirty years ago we had no idea who was Swarm-compromised and who wasn’t. And that damn virus could infect just through touch alone. So anyone—anyone—who may have been in contact with anything Swarm related is getting the shot. Period. We’re lucky Admiral Proctor and her team came up with an antidote back in the closing days of the war.”
Zivic glared at him, still rubbing his arm. “Fine.”
“Your turn, sir,” said Ensign Riisa, brandishing the needle.
He waved her off with one hand and held out the other, palm wide. “No need, ensign. Unlike my dramatic son here, I’m brave enough to not only take a needle, but to friggin do it myself.” He smiled. She placed the needle in his outstretched hand.
“I’ll be back in a minute to fix that shoulder, sir. A sonic displacer will help me get it back into place.” She turned and went back into the sickbay storeroom, which required her to walk past the room they had transformed into a temporary morgue. Zivic watched her turn her head away from that room as she passed it, and he could just barely make out a quiver of her shoulders. Her hand went up to her eyes. And then she disappeared behind the storeroom door.
He jutted his chin out at the storeroom. “She hides it well.”
“What?” Captain Volz had been fiddling with the syringe.
“Riisa. She acts stoic. She tries to play the part of the no-nonsense IDF officer that gets the job done, quick and clean and professional.”
“That’s because she is, idiot. You could be so lucky as to learn something from her.”
Zivic rolled his eyes. “But her morale, dad. Sure, she doesn’t show the pain. The horror at losing friends and family and being on the front lines and seeing all the death from a front row seat. But it’s all there, right under the surface. And if you’re not careful with her and some of the other officers, you’re going to have someone freeze up or break down right at the wrong moment.”
Volz pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and set the syringe down, still unused. Zivic worried he was about to get another round of berating comments. Instead, his closed eyes winced even further, as if he was holding back tears. Except Ballsy never cried. Zivic had never known him to. “I know, son. Goddamn it, I know. I was there, you know. Thirty years ago. I was there in the thick of it.” He pointed a finger after her. “I went through it just like she’s doing now. Just like you’re doing now. And I … I got through it.” He finally opened his eyes. “Somehow.”
Zivic puffed out air in a show of sarcasm. “And it fucked you up. Just ask mom.” He immediately wished he could call back the words. In his minds eye, he saw the words as physical daggers flying through the air and burrowing deep into his father’s chest. “Look, dad—”
“You’re right, son. War fucks us all up. It changes us all. Turns some of us into heroes, some of us into monsters. And some of us into both.” He drummed his fingers on the side table. Another pair of marines appeared at the door, holding a bloodied deck hand between them, who looked to be missing a foot, and was either in shock or heavily medicated because he didn’t even moan. “And all of us? It changes us forever. In ways we can’t even know.” He stood up and looked down at Zivic. “So you give Ms. Riisa a break, son.”
Zivic shook his head. “No, dad, that’s not what I was getting at.”
“And what were you getting at, son?”
“They need you, dad.”
Volz grit his teeth. “I’m here. Can’t you see that?”
“You’re here. You’re giving orders. You’re getting it done. You’re dishing out fire and fury and taking it to the Swarm, just like, just like the stories about Granger. But—”
“But what?”
Zivic sighed. “The fighter pilots, dad. We hear things. We’re plugged in to the heart of the crew, if you know what I mean. You were one, after all. And dad, morale is low. From the bridge all the way down to the janitor on the flight deck. Everyone has lost someone. Some have lost everyone. They don’t just need a captain. They need a leader. They need to believe in something. They need hope.”
Volz put this hands on his hips, still staring down at his son. In the background, the deck hand the marines had just brought through the door and laid on a table finally started screaming, as if he only just now saw the bloody stump at the end of his left leg. “They need victory. They need to win. No better morale boost than a win.” The doors slid open again and an ensign rushed through, handing a data pad to Captain Volz. He glanced at it, sighed, then turned and strode through the doors which barely opened in time to let him pass. “Get fixed and get two hours of sleep. Then report for duty. We’ve got another problem.”
“What?” Zivic called after him.
Volz turned long enough to hold up the data pad and reply, “Britannia’s been shoved too far out of orbit by those blasted Granger moons and Swarm ships. If we don’t figure out a way to get it back into its regular orbit, everything we sacrificed today was for nothing.”
Zivic felt his stomach sink. “How the hell do we push a planet back into its orbit?”
“You tell me. You’re the ideas guy, right?” And then the doors closed and he was gone.
Riisa had returned from the storeroom. “He—he left without getting his shoulder put back into place?”
Zivic still stared at the doors his father had left through. “He’s good at leaving.” He glanced up at the monitor above the late doctor’s desk in the corner, which kept a running tally of the dead since the war started. It had ticked up that day. Eighty-seven. “Especially when it hurts.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Near Britannia
Fiona Liu was in a shocking state. Her face, which had already been devastated by the fires of the assassination attempt at Bolivar, had been further degraded by the intense radiation of the engine compartment. She was pale, and every few minutes she gagged on the remnants of her stomach lining, which was still coming up.
But she was alive, and she assured Proctor that the modifications IDF Intel had made to her body would allow her to survive.
Barely.
“You know, this doesn’t erase what you did.” Proctor sat down next to the sickbay bed. “You killed the president of United Earth. When the truth comes out—which it will—you’ll be locked up for the rest of your life.”
“No capital punishment? I’m hurt, admiral.” But she said it with a smirk.
“No capital punishment. I may be a wanted criminal myself, but when the truth comes out, I’ll use whatever influence I have left to prevent that.”
Liu folded her arms, pushing the IV tube out of the way. “Great. Life in an IDF prison. Perfect payment for saving your life. Again.”
They let the silence settle between them. Liu was right, of course. She had saved Proctor’s life twice now. Once just twenty minutes earlier, and another time on board the Independence two weeks ago when unknown assassins, posing as marines, managed to infiltrate the ship and attempt to kidnap her. If it hadn’t been for Liu’s quick thinking….
She’d be a prisoner of whoever sent those damn agents.
“Tell me. Who do you think sent those men posing as marines two weeks ago? Who’s behind all this?”
Liu shrugged. “Honestly? There’s any number of assholes who want you dead or out of the picture, admiral. Pick your poison. Oppenheimer, the GPC’s Speaker Curiel, the Grangerite prophet Huntsman, Admiral Tillis, half the senate, the Russian high command, probably even the Caliphate, though they’d never admit it. You’re lucky that I took out two of them for you already: Mullins and Quimby.”
“Quimby? He wanted me out?”
“Probably.”
“Why? What’s going on that I don’t know about? Surely you know something, coming from IDF Intel.”
Liu held up a burned finger. “Former IDF Intel.” She winced at the pain of shifting her arm—the skin was very tender. “Admiral, you’re a woman with power. There is a certain breed of man that doesn’t like that. Hell, there’s a certain breed of woman that doesn’t like that. And you probably have more power than just about any woman in history.”
Proctor rolled her eyes. Nonsense. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Admiral, you’re one of the few people in history that have made their way into our mythology, while still alive. You might not realize it, but there are millions of people who would drop everything and do absolutely anything you told them to do. Hundreds of millions, probably.”
“Ludicrous.” But she remembered the words of her marines on the bridge: We believe you. We believe in you. We’ll follow you to the end.
“Yes, it is. But it’s also true. You’re the Companion to the Hero of Earth,” she said, putting up four fingers into air-quotes. “You’re practically the living symbol of an entire religion, whether you like it or not. And, if you ask me, there’s your answer right there.”
“Excuse me?”
Liu had sat up straight and now leaned in close. “The answer to your question. Who is behind everything? You’re the living symbol of an entire religion. Who does that threaten? Well, anyone with political power, obviously. But it’s more than that. Religious leaders in particular prefer dead symbols. It’s a lot easier to speak for them that way. And you’re a symbol who is very much alive. Ask yourself: who does that threaten?”
“Huntsman.” Proctor shook her head. “I met him. He just … didn’t seem the type. He used to be a Mormon bishop, for pete’s sake. They’re as benign as they come. He probably doesn’t even drink coffee, much less be capable of ordering an assassination.”
Liu laughed, and shook her head. “Admiral. Good Lord. How old are you? Seventy-five? Six?”
Proctor’s eyes shot daggers. “Sixty-nine.”
“You don’t know a lot of religious people do you?”
The question actually gave her pause. It was the very question she’d been struggling with for weeks. She used to be intensely religious, as a child, at the insistence of her mother. But her experience of losing her younger sister at such an early age had wrung the religion right out of her. For years. Until two weeks ago. The … miracles of the events surrounding Tim’s reappearance were … unavoidable. She couldn’t reconcile them with her scientific worldview. “My mother was religious. And my brother is, in a sense. More his wife, actually.”
“There’s a certain type. Not all religious people, for sure. But there are quite a number of them. Their religion prohibits them from doing innocuous thing X, or tiny thing Y, or using harmless substance Z. But when it comes down to real good and real evil, when it comes right down to whether they, for example, look the other way when entire ethnic groups are slaughtered, they don’t bat an eyelash. They shun their coffee or their alcohol and pat themselves on the back for it, passing the time away in their temples or churches or sacred groves or whatever, enjoying the fruits of the bloodshed, all while subconsciously trying to feign ignorance as to where it all came from. Those tiny rules become a proxy for them. A way to tell themselves they’re righteous, when in fact they’re demons.”
“So … you think Huntsman is a devil, then?”
“No way to know. But he certainly has the motive. You’re a threat to his power. Don’t rely on his coffee-shunning and lack of vulgarity to keep you safe.”
She looked at the young woman, laying prostrate in her bed, her body ruined, her face disfigured. So capable of horrific acts, and yet so … wise? That felt like the wrong word. But she certainly seemed older than her years. She could see why Danny fell for her.
Proctor decided. It was time she knew.
“Danny’s alive.”
Liu’s eyes widened, and after a pause she practically jumped out of bed. “What?”
“He survived the fall through Sangre de Cristo’s atmosphere.” She leaned over and swiped at the computer monitor on the wall to turn it on, then swiped through a few menus until she found the image. “There he is. Danny Proctor. My nephew. Once was lost, now he’s found.”
Liu’s eyes settled on the image of the young man in a hospital bed: a mirror image to the wreckage of her own body. “Good Lord.”
“Amen.”
Liu tried to push herself out of the bed, but the IV line pulled at her arm. “Where?”
“The ruins of El Amin. The former moon in the San Martin system. I assume there is a ship hiding out there, using the debris as a way to avoid radar detection.”
“Why try to avoid radar detection? Why not just keep him in a hospital on San Martin?”
“There can only be one reason. He’s related to me. And if you’re right about me being a threat to those in power, they’re using him as a way to get to me, and so they can’t risk keeping him in a normal hospital. They’re keeping him in a place where it would be easy to spring an ambush on me when I get there.”
Liu’s eyes lit up. “We’re going there?”
Proctor stood up and folded her arms. “No. We’re not.”
“What?” Liu ripped the IV line out with a grimace and finally stood up to face her. She was surprisingly strong for someone who’d taken many times the lethal dose of radiation and been nearly dead, twice now.
“We’re not. I’m sorry, but as much as I love Danny, my precious nephew, our entire civilization is on the line. If I don’t get down to whatever is inside Titan and figure out how to stop the Swarm, then Danny’s dead anyway.”
“But, you can’t just leave him with whoever these cockjuggling bastards are that have him—”
“We’re not. Well, you’re not.”
Proctor’s meaning finally dawned on Liu, and she straightened her back. To Proctor’s surprise, the woman saluted. “I won’t let you down, ma’am.”
“You’d better not. This is your last chance, Fiona. Don’t squander it. And they’re almost assuredly waiting in ambush for me, so don’t let your guard down, even for a second. I’m pulling what strings I have left to get you a small decommissioned military resupply freighter—I assume you can pilot that just fine? It even has a mag-rail and a few lasers so you won’t be completely defenseless.”
Proctor turned to the exit, making a motion towards the computer monitor to record her voice. “Time of death for Fiona Liu, fourteen hundred hours. Cause: acute radiation poisoning. Body committed to space.” She supposed the worst that could happen to her for falsifying medical records was an early retirement. Again. She pointed at the now-officially-dead woman. “Get moving. As soon as you have him, bring him straight to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Executive Complex
Manhattan, New York
Earth
Oppenheimer looked disheveled, which was completely unlike the man. He was usually neat to a fault. Boots were always spit shined. Hair was always perfectly parted and slicked. But now his sleeve was ripped, grime and dirt crusted half his shirt. The other half was covered with spotting that looked suspiciously like dried blood. “Mr. President. You wanted to see me?”
Sepulveda looked him up and down. “You look like shit.” He stood up from his chair and walked across his office to pull a chair from the corner. “Sit. We need to talk.”
The admiral looked like he’d rather throw a punch, but he took the offered chair. “Looking like shit is one of the many drawbacks to having your ship almost get shot out from under you.” His eyes hardened. “That, and losing most of my crew.”
Sepulveda sat back down behind his desk. Directly over Oppenheimer’s left shoulder was a painting of George Washington kneeling by a horse. Over his right hung a portrait of Prime Minister Pam Hardy, who’d led United Earth through the devastating Second Interstellar War. War was all around them, memorialized by portraits and photos, and now, Sepulveda supposed, by the blood that was rubbing off on the chair from Oppenheimer’s uniform. “I appreciate your sacrifice, admiral. And that of your crew. I understand many didn’t make it.”
“Thousands didn’t make it. Tens of thousands.” Oppenheimer was stoned faced, as if numb from the battle and the sheer numbers. They’d won, but the cost was steep, and painful. Almost too painful to think about.
But think they must. Civilization depended on it. “Admiral, I understand Britannia has been pushed out of its usual orbit. What happened?”
Oppenheimer scowled, as if suffering through a conversation with a civilian during a war was about to break his straining temper. “It’s what happens when five moons get too close to a planet. Gravity’s a bitch.”
“And the plan?”
“How the hell would I know? I lead the war. I don’t lead recovery. Go talk to your science advisor about it. Make him earn his keep.”
Sepulveda held his breath five seconds before answering. He was trying to give the man some space, to be patient and let the attitude slide, given he’d just been through hell and helped saved a planet. But it was wearing thin. “Ms. Tanaka is occupied with the stabilization of New Dublin’s crust. Five new volcanoes just erupted out of a major fault line, right on the most densely populated coast of the continent of Irienne. I was hoping you’d have some insight to our new problem, having seen these Granger moons in action.”
“Pft. Granger moons. They save our asses, and then charge us interest. It’s two steps forward and three steps back with those turd birds. Sure, they save a planet, but then they doom it to a future ruin of natural disasters, volcanoes, and in Britannia’s case, an upcoming winter that won’t end for a few hundred thousand years. And then we’re supposed to clap and celebrate and praise Jesus Granger.”
President Sepulveda stood up abruptly. He’d had it with the attitude. “Admiral, I understand you made an attempt after the battle to bring Proctor in. Tell me. Why?”
Oppenheimer’s face turned a shade of red. “Because she’s an insubordinate, mutinous, coward of a—”
“Why did you do so, after we had made plans with Huntsman to bring her in covertly? Do you realize you jeopardized that plan? You clued her in that we’re still on her trail.”
The admiral scoffed. “Of course she knows we’re on her trail. She’s a murderer. What would she expect, a medal?”
Sepulveda stopped pacing and leaned over the desk, gripping the edges with white knuckles. “If she suspects what lengths we’ll go to to bring her in, she’s not going to take the bait. I paid Huntsman far too much to let that happen. He’s set this whole thing up for us, and I’ll be damned if you go blow the whole plan up with your pathetic little grudges and the patience of a two year old.”
“How much did you pay the bastard?”
“Too much. It would have been easier if he had just wanted cash. Hell, I can print that stuff. But he would only barter, and in return he has arranged for the collection of Proctor at El Amin’s asteroid cloud. And I won’t have you gallivanting around trying to be Wyatt Earp and cowboying it up just so you can beat your chest and wave your dick and say you caught the bad lady and taught her good. Focus. Big picture.”
Oppenheimer actually rolled his eyes. “And what, exactly, is the big picture? Mr. President?”
“You really don’t get it, do you. You think this is all about payback, or revenge, or something as trite and insignificant as that. I don’t care what you and Proctor have between you. It’s history, and it’s irrelevant. Big picture? Win … the … war.”
Oppenheimer steepled his fingers in front of his nose and took a deep, calming breath, as if trying with all his effort not to scream. “And how, pray tell, Mr. President, do you propose we accomplish that? By lecturing your generals on manners?”
Sepulveda was done. He straightened up, trying not to visibly clench his fists. “By being smarter than the enemy. And we have more than one enemy, Mr. Oppenheimer. By my count, we have, oh, five. The Swarm, sure. But we’ve got those unpredictable Granger moons flying around out there. We’ve got Huntsman, who I don’t trust farther than I can ejaculate. We’ve got the Skiohra. We’ve got the Dolmasi. We’ve got the Galactic People’s Congress,” he held up four fingers in air quotes.
“That’s six.”
“Whatever. My point is—”
“And besides, there’s eight.”
Sepulveda’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”
“You’ve left off the Quiassi and the Findiri.”
The president shook his head. “For the love of—” He paused a took a breath. “Admiral. I have personally spoken to half the admiralty now, and they all say, to a man, that your theory is a load of chickenshit. The Quiassi and Findiri were bogeymen that the Skiohra made up to scare us thirty years ago into doing their dirty work for them.”
Oppenheimer scowled. “I disagree.”
“Clearly. But as I was saying, I don’t want to just take out the Swarm. I want to take them all out. All of them. All at once. One fell swoop. One coordinated action that will ensnare them all into a series of actions that they must take for their own survival, but that will ultimately end in their annihilation and our victory.”
“You talk big for a man who just inherited a job from a dead guy two weeks ago.”
Sepulveda smirked. “You don’t believe me?” he chuckled. “Of course you don’t. I’m just useless Vice President Sepulveda to you. But you will.” He walked around the desk and handed a data pad to the admiral. “I’m sending you on a top secret mission—”
“You? You’re sending me? You do realize I’m your Fleet Admiral of the space navy. I’m the one that sends our ships and captains out on missions. I command the fleet. You don’t send the leader of your military out on a hare-brained scheme that most likely will result in—”
He was looking down at the data pad, and stopped abruptly.
Sepulveda smiled. “I’m sending you out on a mission. Take a ship. I’d recommend the Independence and Captain Volz, just to keep an eye on him and hold him under our thumb for awhile so he doesn’t interfere in our plans for Proctor. And go fast, before the situation changes.”
“How is this right?”
“I trust my sources.”
“But … a whole Skiohra Generation ship, just sitting there in orbit? Powered down? In orbit around a planet that—”
Sepulveda shrugged. “Now, in fairness, we’re not one hundred percent sure that planet is their homeworld. But the pieces fit. And if you can take over that ship, steal its tech and download its specs, and set off a meta-space pulse that will summon every Swarm ship from here to high heaven and make the Skiohra fight them in defense of their own planet, well then…” he grinned, “That’s two birds with one stone, isn’t it?”
“And how do you propose to hit the other four at the same time? The Dolmasi? The GPC? Huntsman? The Granger Moons?”
Sepulveda sat back down, the smile never leaving his face. “I’ll surprise you.” He waved his hand in a shooing motion. “Now get.”
Oppenheimer scowled one last time, then left in a hurry. So negative. Sometimes he wondered if that man wasn’t under the Swarm’s influence after all, like Proctor had suggested once. Sepulveda sat back down at his desk and yelled out the still-open door. “Tom, get me a coffee. And put some damn whiskey in it this time.”
The other man leaned in through the door. “Sir, I’m your head of security, not your—”
“Tell it to someone who cares. Go. Get.” He made another shooing motion, even as he was distracted by a notification flashing on his desk terminal. Marked priority, his eyes only.
From intel.
He opened it.
“Interesting. Shelby, you didn’t take the bait. And as always, you’re sending someone else to do your dirty work for you.” He waved the terminal closed and stood up to drag the chair Oppenheimer had been sitting in back to the corner. With dismay he noticed that, indeed, blood has smeared from the uniform onto the chair’s fabric. “Oh well. We’ll make do with what we get.” He leaned his head out the door. “Wen? Is Interstellar One ready yet? I’ve got that blasted UE Congressional Armed Services Committee meeting on Britannia in two hours. What’s the holdup?”
Tom, the secret service agent, appeared with the coffee and a scowl. Sepulveda took the cup from him. “Oh, and Tom, pass a message to intel for me—I believe Wendy is in her office downstairs. Tell her I want to know who’s in that freighter heading out to San Martin. And to send a few backup ships to hang around the vicinity of the El Amin cloud.” He took a sip. “For when Huntsman’s op goes tits up.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Pilot’s bunk
ISS Independence
High orbit, Britannia
“He wants us to what?” Lieutenant Zivic had woken up from his two hours of sleep to a call from Jerusha Whitehorse. He sat up in bed and rubbed the deep fatigue out of his eyes. “Take Oppenheimer himself on a covert mission? Why? Why him? Why us?”
Whitehorse shrugged and said without a hint of sarcasm. “You know, I didn’t ask him. Admiral Oppenheimer and I aren’t the bosom drinking buddies we used to be.”
“Right. But why do you think?”
“I don’t know, Ethan. I guess they don’t think much of your plan for fixing Britannia’s orbit and want you as far away as possible. Really, honey, it’s all about you.”
“I know.” He shook his head, still trying to wake up. “I mean, tasking a fighter pilot with pushing a planet back into its orbit made tons of sense. But now heading out to some random unpopulated system to escort the Fleet Admiral of IDF on some secret mission? Even stupider. Shouldn’t we be, you know, fighting a war somewhere?”
Whitehorse shook her head in exasperation. “You’re incorrigible, you know?”
“What does that mean?”
“Look, Britannia’s not going to be in any danger of eternal winter for at least a few more months. Plenty of time to flash out a signal to a passing Granger moon and ask it for a gravitational assist. That was your plan, right?”
“More or less. Already did it, in fact. Didn’t get a response—no indication it was even heard. Best I can do, you know?” He rolled out of bed and started pulling his boots on. He’d slept in his uniform. Model of efficiency, he was. “Right, so we’re off to a system in uncharted space—”
“It’s actually in CIDR space.”
His eyebrows lit up. “The Chinese? Are they getting involved now? I guess Mao Prime scared the shit out of them. Enough to actually assist in humanity’s defense.”
“They were always fighting alongside us, Ethan. Just because you can’t see them out your fighter’s window doesn’t mean there aren’t millions fighting alongside you at the same time. Seriously, come off yourself. I know you’re the center of your universe, but it’s cold and dank in there and you should come out once in a while.”
“Oh stop.” He pulled the other boot on over his pant leg and clasped the top snug under the knee. “What are my orders in particular?”
She smirked. “What else? Escort duty. And fast—we’re leaving in five minutes.”
“As in, escort until the shit hits the fan and then start shooting anything that moves?”
“More or less,” she said, echoing him. “Hey. Gotta go. Your dad is barking at me.”
“Just don’t let him bite you. You know. Rabies. Ethan out.”
Her holographic face disappeared over his bed, replaced by an IDF logo which disappeared itself after a few seconds. He checked the mirror, grimaced at his hair, but shrugged and left in a hurry.
When he arrived on the fighter deck, the crew was still in pandemonium over the effects from the battle. Cleanup and repair was only just started, and here they were trying to get five fighters fueled and restocked and off the deck before they’d even had a chance to rest.
And those were the ones that were still alive. The others were down in sickbay’s makeshift morgue.
“Who are these guys?” he asked Moonshine, one of his fellow pilots, thumbing over to five shuttles that had appeared since the last time he’d been down there three hours ago. A group of rough-looking marines were sitting around laughing and roughhousing. As marines are wont to do, he supposed. He recognized their tone. Their mood. The laughter was a little louder than it should have been. Those who weren’t roughhousing were sitting, cleaning their rifles, quieter than they should have been. He was a pilot, they were marines, but he recognized all of it.
They were about to head into battle. And many of them expected not to make it.
“Spec ops. They arrived with Oppenheimer.”
“Don’t tell me he’s going on the mission with them.”
“Are you kidding? He’s up on the bridge kicked back with a glass of wine, most likely. Admiral, remember?”
“Any idea what the fight is?” He walked with Moonshine past a few fighters until they arrived at theirs, parked side by side. Deck hands were scurrying everywhere, all over the two birds, making last-minute checks.
“Escort.”
“So I heard.” Zivic pulled himself up to the fighter’s hatch. “Any idea what the fight really is?”
“Escort. Then shoot. What am I, the CAG?”
“He died over Britannia. So … technically, yes.”
Moonshine looked slightly crestfallen. “Oh.”
“It’s been three hours since you inherited the job, Moonshine. Don’t tell me you haven’t whipped all your pilots into shape and prepared a kickass motivational speech already.”
“I haven’t. Was I supposed to?”
Zivic grinned. “You’re going to make an excellent CAG. Hold’em was an asshat anyway.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”
“We’re all dead, Moonshine.” He gave a slight nod to his fellow pilot, pausing a moment before pulling the hatch shut. Moonshine mirrored the nod back at him. The look in his eye. The look that meant he completely understood.
They were all dead men.
“So we may as well have fun with it. See you on the other side.” He pulled the hatch tight and engaged the seal, and vaulted himself over into the pilot’s seat. He flipped on the link to the bridge. “Jerusha we’re all ready down here.”
Her voice blared throughout the cabin after a few seconds. “You’re not the CAG. Where’s Moonshine?”
“He’s in his bird. Still a little shaken from the last mission. Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.” He glanced out his viewport. “But we’ve got him, Barbie, Ace, Spectrum, and me.” We’re good to go.
“Ok, stand-by for T-jump in five.”
“Five minutes?”
“Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. Now, Ensign Riisa.”
Huh. His father must not be on the bridge. Maybe with the admiral in his ready room.
He felt the tell-tale disorientation from the T-jump, markedly more noticeable than a standard q-jump. A quick shake of his head drove the vertigo away.
“We’ve arrived at destination. All pilots cleared for launch. Good luck, Zivic.”
“Uh … mission? I mean, besides escorting our burly friends to wherever they’re going?”
“Let us do the talking, but if they start shooting at you, shoot back. Whitehorse out.”
Well. He could handle that. “All right people, look sharp,” came Moonshine’s voice over the comm. “We’re cleared for launch. Escort pattern M-Two. Keep the three troop carriers in the middle of us at all times. Zivic and Barbie you take point. Ace, Spectrum, and I will hang back. Go.”
Just seconds later, he was out. Maneuvering around the Independence, stars blazing all around him, craning his head this way and that to see if the troop carriers had gotten out yet, and looking to see their target, which, he noticed, no one had told him anything about yet.
Then he saw the planet. Deep green and blue and brown, dappled with clouds. He didn’t immediately recognize it, but he recognized the giant ship hanging over it.
He punched the comm. “Whitehorse, just to confirm … are you saying we might be getting into a shooting match with the Skiohra?”
“Confirmed, Batship. Standby for further orders.”
Zivic shook his head. “The world’s gone to hell.” He punched the accelerator once he saw the troop carriers assemble, and soon the eight ships were blazing towards the massive alien ship. Once a friend. And now? He didn’t know what to think anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Saturn’s moon Titan
Near Britannia
“Lieutenant Case, any change in its status?”
“No, ma’am. The shaft looks stable.”
Proctor leaned forward in her chair and stared at the screen. Below them, several thousand kilometers down, was Titan. And, magnified so she could see its gleaming metal edges, a hole. The end of a shaft, leading down to who knew where. Their sensors couldn’t penetrate far into it since some strange jamming field rendered all their scans useless. Any wave of any frequency or energy level seemed to just … disappear once it went a few kilometers into the shaft. Even visually, they couldn’t see much beyond the first few dozen kilometers, since the shaft seemed to curve towards the north.
“Power levels coming off the core?”
“Unchanged, ma’am. Everything looks … well, normal. As normal as a moon can be that’s been transformed into a giant cannon by a god.”
“Tim’s not a god, Case. He’s a man. A very, very, very old man.”
Case inclined his head to the side to speak back at her. “A thirteen billion year old man? Sounds like a god to me.”
“I thought you didn’t believe?”
“I don’t, ma’am.”
She pat her armrests. Bracing herself for the order she knew she had to give. “All right. Take us in. Nice and slow. And let’s all just hope the very, very, very old man doesn’t yell at us to get off his lawn.”
The Defiance surely but slowly descended into Titan’s gravity well. Off towards the south pole they could still see the glowing slag and magma—scars from where the moon had collided with the first Swarm ship they’d seen two weeks ago over Earth. But within a few minutes the shaft loomed ahead. Or below. She wasn’t sure how to orient themselves in her head.
“Passing through the entrance in ten seconds, ma’am.” Case was keeping his voice steady and level. But she could feel the underlying nervousness. Something about the tone. Just slightly higher than usual.
“Steady,” she said.
And they were in. She watched the walls of the shaft in amazement as they passed by, descending lower and lower. They were made out of some dark, gleaming metal alloy. The spectroscopic sensors caught glimpses of rhenium and iridium and titanium and carbon and oxygen, but the orbital lines were all off. It wasn’t a spectrum she or the computer recognized. It was utterly … alien.
“Ten kilometers, ma’am. And the shaft is starting to bend towards the north.”
“Steady,” she repeated. “Nice and slow. No rush.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Another several minutes passed with no change. Just more dark, gleaming metal all around them, forming a tube that was carrying them further and further into Titan’s crust. Soon, they’d be in the mantle. In fact….
“Are the walls … glowing?”
Case nodded. “Yes, ma’am, it appears so.” He peered at his console and cocked his head. “Something called blackbody radiation, adjusted by unknown elemental lines.” He looked back at her. “I don’t know what that means, ma’am.”
“It means it’s hot, but that the computer has no idea what the hot thing is made of. But it’s no surprise it’s so hot. I bet just outside the walls is a sea of magma. What’s the air temperature outside?”
Case glanced back down at his console. “Four hundred and twelve degrees, ma’am.”
“Fahrenheit?”
He snapped his head back towards her in confusion. “Ma’am?”
“It’s a scientist joke, lieutenant. We haven’t used Fahrenheit in over three hundred years.”
“Oh. I—I hadn’t even heard the word.”
My god, he’s so young. “Oh. Well. It’s an old word. As you were, lieutenant.”
Several more minutes passed, and they descended deeper and deeper into the moon, the walls of the shaft becoming increasingly redder as they went. Soon they were bright crimson, and Proctor started to worry if it was going to get too hot for the Defiance’s hull. All starships were built to withstand exterior heat and to radiate its own waste heat, but these conditions were most likely far more extreme than even the most pessimistic designers had in mind.
“Ma’am, we’re coming up on something. Sensors aren’t telling a clear story here, but it looks like there may be a … some type of open space ahead.”
Proctor adjusted her uniform top and steeled herself. “Things are about to get interesting.”
Within a minute, the image on the viewscreen changed. Where before had been the ever-descending red walls of the shaft, now there was … an expanse. A massive red space. Massive was an understatement. It was unfathomably large. If their sensors weren’t telling her otherwise, she would have guessed it was a million kilometers across, but her armrest display showed that it was only a few hundred. The walls.
The walls.
“What … in the … everlasting … hell….” she breathed. “Lieutenant Davenport, analysis. What are those walls made of?”
The marine at the ops station shrugged. “Unknown, ma’am. In fact,” he looked up at her. “It … looks like—”
“That there are no walls?” She stared at the viewscreen. It was red all around them. Magma. Trillions of trillions of tons of red hot magma. Held back by … nothing. The sea of boiling rock roiled against some unseen material or force that held it at bay. “Well, Tim. Looks like you’ve made a few discoveries since we last saw each other. Can’t wait to pick your brain.” She squeezed her legs, an almost nervous motion that she quickly suppressed. She couldn’t be nervous. She didn’t have time to be nervous. And yet, the sight of a moon’s worth of lava held back by nothing, that could all come crashing down on her in a fiery wave was … unnerving. “Case. There’s something there in the middle. A black speck. What is it? How far away is it? How big?”
Case hunched over his terminal and pecked at the controls. “About a hundred and fifty kilometers away. Right in the center of the space. It’s a … structure, of some kind. A ship? Looks more like a giant ball of rock. About a dozen kilometers across.”
There he was. She was sure of it. “We’re coming, Tim,” she whispered.
“Ma’am?” Case cocked his head back towards her.
“Take us there, Mr. Case,” she said, louder this time.
They plunged forward into the empty abyss in the middle of the sea of magma. The pocket of empty space created by forces unimaginable.
Forces. Forces required energy.
Incredible energy. Vast amounts of energy.
“Well that explains it.”
Both Case and Davenport glanced at her. “Ma’am?” said Davenport.
“The mass. Remember the early reports? How the mass of Titan seemed to be steadily increasing? And all the other moons?” She waved a hand at the screen. “Well here it is.”
Case shook his head. “Looks like a whole lot of nothing to me, ma’am.”
“A whole lot of very energetic nothing, Mr. Case. I’m sure you’re familiar with Einstein.”
“The parrot?”
Good Lord. “No, not the blasted cartoon.” She remembered how Danny, as a small child, had sat on her lap and they’d watch the very intelligent parrot go off and solve mysteries with its friends. These marines were Danny’s age. “The scientist. Relativity. You know.”
“I … really don’t, ma’am.”
She sighed. Kids these days. “Matter, energy, in all it’s forms, is all energy. The rest mass energy is E equals M C squared. And the energy required to keep this much magma at bay is … off the charts. We don’t see that energy from the outside of Titan, but it surely registers as extra mass. It has to.”
“I thought energy was massless. Light? It weighs something?” Case was scratching his head.
“Photons are massless, yes. But they have momentum. And when they finally hit a particle with mass, that particle’s mass increases. There is some kind of unimaginably powerful field holding this whole thing together. And whenever the momentum of whatever particles of that field hit the magma it’s holding back, that magma gets very, very, very slightly heavier. I’m sure there’s more going on there, but at the end of the day we see it as Titan gaining weight.”
The structure at the center of the void had been growing on their viewscreen the entire time, and now it filled the screen. Indeed, it looked like an average rocky asteroid.
But it was no normal asteroid.
“Sensors picking up a—a landing pad,” said Case, incredulously.
“Tim’s rolling out the welcome mat for us. Take us there.”
Chapter Thirty
Bridge
Granger’s Heel
Debris cloud of El Amin
Betrayal.
It was a regular part of her life since she was two when her father fed her an habanero pepper, claiming it was candy.
The memory of the pain was as vivid as if it was yesterday. She’d choked, and stopped breathing, and by the time the emergency room had revived her and fixed her and sent her home with her parents, she’d learned the lesson well.
Trust … no … one.
Learning at such a young age that trust was a thing whose only purpose was to be broken made her the most fortunate person in the world, in Fiona Liu’s humble opinion. It had saved her from years of bullshit. She’d managed to get through high school and college without a single dipshitty boyfriend cheating on her or even hurting her, ever, because by the time they’d gotten close enough to even be able to, she’d already moved on. Used them for their hot college boy bodies and moved on.
The lessons betrayal taught had saved her, many times over. It was her religion: cynicism, doubt, and distrust were her holy trinity.
Former Special Agent Fiona Liu adjusted the course slightly, seeing that she was coming in at an angle that someone watching might suspect meant she knew where she was going. The little freighter swerved and jerked a bit as the control software kept throwing her errors and warnings that, no, no-one in their right mind would be flying such an old bucket of shit.
Another betrayal. Proctor had promised her a ship from one of her rich friends, and said rich friend had simply laughed in her face and tossed her a docking bay pass with the parking slot scribbled on it, and slammed the door in her face. She’d expected a ship. Not a semi-functioning collection of scrap held together by shoddy weld patches and desperate hopes.
She didn’t fault the admiral. No. She was quickly becoming the one person she could trust. The only one. It was the asshole rich guy. The rich guys were always assholes. When she’d worked in the red light district in Cherdh for a summer, it was always the rich guys that didn’t tip.
But she was mistaken. It wasn’t just Proctor. The automatic way in which her mind placed Proctor as the only person she trusted told her that she didn’t quite believe it. She didn’t quite believe that image was real. That it was really him.
That he was alive.
“I’m coming, Danny.”
The dispersed cloud of tumbling rocks and dust was getting thicker now, and she hoped against hope that the deflector shielding on the hull would hold. She ran another sensor scan over the entire vicinity, calibrated to search for rare metals that any rock-hopper like her would be after. That was her disguise, anyway. An unlicensed black market prospector, too cheap to buy a license, too much of a loner to work in a union. Anyone watching her scan the cloud of rocks that used to be El Amin would think she was looking for iridium or tantalum or rare earths, due to her sensor calibration.
At least the sensors still worked.
Betrayal.
It had only hurt one time. It was all she needed. The next time it happened, it was just a thing. An event, nothing more. Something that happened some random afternoon, like the mail being delivered at two instead of three, or like toilet getting clogged. It just happened—no big deal. Plunge and move on. It didn’t mean anything. The betrayals piled up as a young woman trying to succeed at the IDF Intelligence Academy, and she’d learned not only to trust no-one, but to believe no-one, to rely on no-one, and to love no-one.
Until Danny.
If the avionics and engine control software on board the freighter were garbage, the computer package and analysis software was worse. It couldn’t even do a particle size spectrum analysis or mass/density scan. That would have been an easy way to, at bare minimum, determine if there was, in fact, a ship out here with Danny on it. So she’d have to rely on her eyes instead.
It took her hours. Her eyes were red and dry from looking at the sensor data for so long, though in fairness that could be any number of other things—the lethal radiation, having her face burned off in an explosion, take your pick—and finally, she needed to rest.
An alarm sounded.
“Well … shit.”
A fighter patrol. Dammit. Whatever ship was out here was big enough to have a docking bay that could fit a fighter. At least it was only one. And that in itself was comforting—it was only one, which also meant that once she got on board the main ship, there wouldn’t be too many guards. Nothing she couldn’t handle, anyway.
“Unidentified freighter, you are advised to leave this area immediately. The Black Fists have staked a mineral claim here and you are infringing upon it. Leave now.”
“Like hell,” she muttered. The Black Fists were a militant faction of the GPC. She’d infiltrated a different faction in the GPC last year, the Dying Rose, and gained valuable intel from it. But the Black Fists were another matter entirely. They wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her without another word.
The fighter accelerated and blazed across her path, arcing around her and doing it again, coming within a meter of her nose. A warning. The next warning would be live fire.
“GPC pilot, this is the Granger’s Heel, coming out of San Martin. Please hold your fire. Just on a prospecting run here. Had no idea you folks were out here already.”
She wagered that whoever was out here might be Grangerite as well and so chose a fitting name for the ship, on the off-chance that would be her ticket in.
“This is your last warning, heathen.”
Guess not.
Time to do what I do.
She cut the engines and flipped a switch which triggered a series of commands to the computer she’d set up earlier. On cue, her right auxiliary thruster exploded, sending the freighter into an uncontrolled tumble and her slamming against the wall. She tasted the iron tang of blood in her mouth as she pushed herself up from the floor. “Damn. That was bigger than I thought it’d be.”
“Granger’s Heel, are, uh, you all right?”
She sat back into the pilot’s chair and flipped the comm back on. What would a normal person be doing right now? She started breathing heavily into the receiver and dropping swears every second breath. “Ahhh… uh, I think I need help. Shit shit shit shit shit shit….”
She heard an audible sigh on the other end, and she could tell the pilot was doing some quick moral calculus. She recognized it well. He thought of himself as a good person. Most people do. But she was also an inconvenience, and if she died, no-one would ever know what happened to her, or that he played any part. What to do, what to do. So she stepped in to help him make the decision. “Uh, what’s your name, sir?” She made her voice as small and vulnerable and feminine as humanly possible.
“Eli. Eli Chen.”
She made her teeth chatter, loud enough for the receiver to pick it up. She needed to be a helpless damsel in distress who’d never harmed anyone. Nope. Not her. “Eli Chen … that’s a nice name. I’m Tina. Tina Woodsby. G … G … glad to meet your acquaintance.” She manufactured the whole experience, right down to which vowels to put in her name to trigger the appropriate chemical reactions of sympathy in his brain. If she’d chosen a name like Heather Pike, for instance, odds were he’d just take off and let her crash into a larger asteroid. Hell, if she picked a name like Cho Chichery, he’d likely just shoot her. But, just from his voice, his tone, his choice of words, she knew his type. More than he knew himself, most likely.
“Look, Tina, I’m sorry you’re in the predicament you’re in, and I wish I could help. I really do. But, you shouldn’t even be here, and if you’d stayed away, you wouldn’t be in this position now, would you?”
She almost laughed to herself. The mental calculus was playing out. Inside his head, his Good Angel was folding its arms and looking sternly at Eli. The Good Angel looked like his mother, most likely, and she was giving him her best WHAT WOULD JESUS DO, face, because, given his use of the word heathen, he was most likely a Third Day Christian, an evangelical sect that hated Grangerism and called its adherents heathens. But they weren’t murderous. Not most of them, at least. But there were sociopaths in every religion.
And against the Good Angel was the Bad Angel, and its face was his own. But he was stunningly beautiful. Rich. He’d paid off his college debt through his hard work as a staff pilot for the GPC and now he owned his own business, and this girl here was a teensy little bump along that road, but, as teensy as she was, bumps could not be tolerated, and so no one is going to mind if you just leave her out here, dammit.
“Eli … I’m … I’m really scared. I know I shouldn’t be out here. I made a huge mistake. I thought I could sneak here and make enough quick money that I could pay for mom’s meds for a whole year. That would let me take some time off, you know? Actually go hang out with friends for the first time in two years or something wild and crazy like that. Please, Eli, I don’t know what to do.”
Another audible sigh.
“Ok. Fine. I’ll help you this time, but this is the last time I want to see you out here, ok?”
“Ok.” Again, small helpless voice. “Eli, I really appreciate it.” And, her coup de grace, a quick sniffle, a sob, and then a little chuckle of disbelieving joy. “My god, I’m so lucky I found someone good out here, you know? I could have hit that rock and been all alone and died, and my mom would have never known what happened to me.”
His voice became even softer. She’d won. And just in time, too. The spinning of the freighter was starting to make her sick. “Hey, it’s gonna be ok. Here’s what were going to do. I’ve got a tow cable. I’ll shoot it towards you. It’s going to latch on to your hull. You’re going to feel a really quick jerk, ok? Make sure you’re strapped in real tight. The cable’s going to wrap around you a time or two before the jerk, and so afterwards I’m going to unwind you, then pull you out of here. Once you’re out of the asteroid cloud, you can fix your engine by yourself, yeah?”
“Yeah. I think I can. Thank you, Eli. So much.”
A few moments later, a thud, and then the jerk. He wasn’t kidding—it was almost as strong as the explosion had been, but this time she’d remembered her restraint. “Got ya, Tina. Now just hold on and enjoy the ride for a bit….”
“Heh heh. I’ll try, Eli. I’m used to flying, not getting towed. But hey, I could get used to this! First class service.” She’d already won, but why not seal the deal? Plus, it would be even sweeter to kill him mid-good-guy-monologue. He started pulling her, accelerated, and soon they were moving at a healthy speed back out of the asteroid cloud, the grave of El Amin.
“Yeah. I’ve had this happen before a few times. You wouldn’t believe what lengths people will go to for a quick buck. Had a whole extended family of folks from Sangre de Cristo last week, each of them in their own little tiny prospector. That was fun, let me tell you. Had to actually fire warning shots that time. But you, Tina? You seem like a good girl. In fact, when this is all over, I hope … OH SHIT—”
She’d found a larger asteroid near their path, and right at the last second fired her port thruster, catching the asteroid on the taut cable between them. Because the asteroid hit the cable so close to her, she only swung into it with enough force to almost knock her out of her seat again if she wasn’t wearing her restraint.
Eli wasn’t so lucky. His fighter swung around in a wide arc, blindingly fast, faster than he’d ever be able to react and detach the cable, wrapped around and smashed right into the front of the asteroid in an impressive explosion.
“Sorry, Eli. Already got a date.”
She kicked the thrusters back on and swung around towards where he’d intercepted her, where the hidden ship was likely to be. A few taps and she was on her way again, the cable still trailing along after, a blackened chunk of metal trailing behind.
Chapter Thirty-One
Fighter cockpit
Near planet Shao-587
The formation cruised towards the Skiohra Generation ship, and Zivic’s thumbs were twitching on his controls, ready to light up any enemy fighter that appeared to oppose them. But none did. In fact, on his sensor scopes, he was reading massive power fluctuations throughout the hundred-kilometer-long ship.
“That thing sure don’t look to be in good shape, Moonshine,” he said into his helmet headset.
“Well, dammit. Not sure if we’ll get to see any action today, boys,” said Moonshine.
“Says the guy who just became CAG three hours ago. Looks like you’ll still get a chance to beat the last guy’s record. How long did Bucket last, five days?”
Ace laughed. “Six if you count the time he was calling the shots while Hold’em was still alive and spurting blood.”
They’d become so casually dark and fatalistic that he wondered if, when the war ended, they’d ever even fit in a civilized society again.
And the war had only lasted two weeks. He imagined after a year of this, he’d be so hardened he wouldn’t feel a thing.
Then again, the average fighter pilot only lasted three months during the last war with the Swarm. And in spite of Ace’s dark joke, he’d seen her and Qwerty spend more and more time with each other. Almost every waking moment when they weren’t in a battle. Sometimes non-waking moments.
“Ok people, we’re at the ten yard line. Pull into final escort formation. Let the troop carriers through.” Moonshine’s bird zoomed ahead of them all and flew in wide arcs around where the troop carriers would dock and disgorge all the boarding marines. Zivic pushed his controls forward and let the carriers move on aheads while he angled himself around in wide arcs of his own, on the lookout in almost every direction at once for any stray bogeys.
Minutes passed, and still no sign of a fight. The marines all boarded, and ten minutes later they received the all-clear signal. “Wow. That was … easy,” said Zivic.
“I thought those things had tens of thousands of Skiohra warriors on them?” said Ace.
“Yeah. They should.” He thumbed the comm over to a private channel to Whitehorse. “Jerusha, what’s going on?”
It took her a few seconds to pull away from what she was doing on the bridge, but soon her voice crackled in his helmet. “Ethan, the Skiohra. It looks like they had a civil war or something aboard their ship. Lots of bodies. We’ve secured their command center, and it looks like we’ve got Polrum Krull over there, still alive.”
“Wow. So … I guess we’re in a war with the Skiohra now?”
Whitehorse paused, obviously torn by something. “Yeah. That’s the thing. It’s Oppenheimer. I don’t know why he’s doing this. It doesn’t add up. Why would we pick a fight with the Skiohra in the middle of the war with the Swarm?”
“Looks like we caught them with their pants down. Maybe Oppenheimer caught wind of it and decided that our war needs were greater than the death blow this would be to any diplomatic relations we ever though of having with them.”
Some incomprehensible voices on the bridge bled over the comm, and after a moment Whitehorse began again. “Yes, sir, acknowledged. Ethan, you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“The big guy wants you over here. Quick.”
“Why?”
“You’re the ideas guy, right? He wants your ideas, I’d wager.”
“He hates my ideas.”
“Well, he wants them anyway. He’s feeling the same misgivings about Oppenheimer as I am. He wants you here as another voice of reason.
Zivic laughed out loud. “Me? A voice of reason? Can I get that on a plaque or something?”
“Just get over here. Oppenheimer is saying crazy shit like summoning the Swarm and using the Skiohra ship to summon other Skiohra ships to fight it. Says this planet is their homeworld and they’ll do anything to defend it.”
“Yeah, that’s different than the other crazy shit we normally get, but it’s still crazy. I’m on my way. Batshit out.” He thumbed the comm over to his squadron’s channel. “Moonshine? Request permission to hightail it back to momma bird. I’m wanted on the bridge, apparently.”
“Granted. Hope you see more action there than we did out here.”
He nodded. “Something tells me I actually might.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Inside Titan
Near Britannia
The landing pad was cool to the touch. That in itself was miraculous, given that the heat radiation coming off the nonexistent walls should have brought everything up to the same scorching temperature inside the void. Whatever technology Tim was using to create the void in the first place was also being used to create a pocket of … negative entropy, she supposed. What else could explain a cool asteroid in the middle of two thousand degree lava?
She stood up and triple checked the seal on her suit. Even given the extraordinary nature of the technology on display, she supposed it was too much for Tim to generate a breathable atmosphere for her. She wondered what he was breathing. If he was breathing. For all she knew, he didn’t even need oxygen anymore.
“Ok. Let’s go.” She tapped on the comm controls on her wrist. “Carson? Keep the engines running, if you please. We might be hightailing it out of here, for all we know.”
“Acknowledged, ma’am,” came his voice inside her helmet.
Case took point, she followed with Davenport walking behind. Case and Davenport were both hefting assault rifles that looked heavier than she was. Near the landing pad was, of all things, a stairwell that led into the asteroid itself, hewn out of the rock. The gravity here felt like it was around half a g, for which she was thankful since she had no idea how deep the stairs descended and she was not looking forward to an hour of stair stepping in Earth gravity. In fact….
“Case? Does it feel like the gravity is actually … that way? It feels like we’re on a hill, but all our sensors are saying this is flat and we’re just standing up at a slant to the ground.”
“Seems that way, ma’am.”
She fiddled with the limited suite of sensor controls on her wrist, before it finally hit her. “Oh god, I’m dumb. This is not the center of Titan, of course. The core is …” she waved her hand around to let the sensors adjust and triangulate a better reading, “that way. Right in the direction of what feels like down, of course. The ground here isn’t perfectly oriented to that. Though I guess I don’t see why it would have to be. Ok. Mystery solved. Let’s go. And let’s also hope we don’t fall off and take a hot bath.”
The stairs were thankfully not all that steep, and as an added gift, there was a banister. “Small blessings. Thank you, Tim. But I’d much rather have air than a handrail.”
“Sorry.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Davenport? I wasn’t actually talking to you, you know.”
He stopped behind her and shook his head. “I didn’t say anything, ma’am.”
She turned to Case, who’d stopped ahead of her, five steps down. “Lieutenant?”
“Ma’am?”
“Did you just say something?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
Dammit, old lady, stop inventing voices in your head. “Ok. Keep going.” Case turned back around and continued downward and she followed close behind, grasping tightly to the stone banister.
Minutes passed. Maybe a quarter of an hour. And still they descended.
“If this were a building, ma’am, we’d have gone down around a hundred floors by now.”
“And my knees would say two hundred, Lieutenant Case.”
She could hear the grin from the slight change in his voice. “Yes, ma’am.” He abruptly stopped.
“Case?”
“The walls change here, ma’am. From rock to smooth metal.”
She extended a hand and ran it along the wall. Sure enough, over the course of a few meters, the rough surface of the asteroid gave way to metal, and in a few more steps she nearly bumped into Case’s back. “Lieutenant?’
“There’s a door, ma’am.”
“Well? Get on with it. Open it.”
Case turned back to her. “There’s no handle, ma’am. Just … what looks like a palm scanner or something.”
Various gruesome scenarios played out in her head, and she watched in her mind’s eye as she ordered Case to put his hand on the scanner, only to be vaporized or blasted into chunky bits or beheaded or some other nightmare. She shook it off. “Try it, lieutenant.”
But a niggling thought in the back of her mind suspected it wasn’t keyed for him.
He laid his hand on the scanner. It briefly glowed in a short pulse of yellow light, then returned to normal.
Nothing happened.
“It’s not for him, Shelby. It’s for you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Tim?”
Case turned around. “Ma’am?”
She looked from him to Davenport and back. They were both staring at her, looking at her with the skeptical eye of someone who suspected you were about to pass out. “You … you don’t hear him, do you?”
They both slowly shook their heads. Case glanced up at Davenport and she watched them exchange a knowing glance.
“I promise you I’m not crazy. Look. Here’s my vitals.” She scrolled through a menu on there wrist controls and waved it at them. “Blood pressure, oxygenation, brain neurotransmitters. All normal.”
“But you heard Captain Granger,” said Lieutenant Case.
She pursed her lips. “I did.” She looked up at the featureless metal ceiling, illuminated by the flashlights shining off her helmet. “Tim? Are you really there? Can you hear me?”
“Indeed, Shelby. I’m not far.”
Her breath came more heavily. It was like talking to a ghost. A spirit of someone long since passed. “You’re alive.”
A pause. “After a fashion. Yes. I’m missing a few parts. But yes. I’m here. It’s me.”
Another pause as she searched for the words to say—what do you say to a dead man? His voice sounded through her helmet again. “Took you long enough to get here, Shelby.”
She risked a smile. “I hit a few speed bumps.”
“So did I.”
She let herself chuckle. “Clearly.”
Case and Davenport looked from each other, to her, and back to each other. She frowned. “I can hear his voice audibly. It’s not in my head. I hear it with my ears. You’re telling me, you hear nothing? Nothing at all?”
“Just you, ma’am,” said Case.
“But, the channel is open. You should be able to hear anything going on in my helmet. Tim? Say something. Let them hear you. Prove I’m not crazy.”
“We’re all a little crazy, Shelby.” His voice was Tim. But it was different. It was off. The tone was slightly higher. It sounded like it had been run through an auto-tuner that various singers used. But … it was Tim.
“Indeed. But let’s just show my lovely assistants here that I’m not just talking to myself.”
A long pause. “Shelby,” he began, “it would take far too long to explain. But they won’t be able to hear me. I’d need a few weeks to set things up for that, and frankly, I don’t have time. We’re all running out of time.”
A pit was forming in her stomach at his mention of their lack of time. “How long do we have? Months? Weeks?”
A long, long pause.
“Tim?”
“Days, Shelby. You have days.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bridge
ISS Independence
Near planet Shao-587
When he walked onto the bridge, he could feel the tension almost palpably wash over him. His father’s and Admiral Oppenheimer’s faces were inches from each other. He had the feeling he’d just missed some yelling.
He was wrong. He hadn’t missed it.
“This is insubordination!” Oppenheimer jabbed a finger out in some random direction. “Don’t think I won’t haul you into a court martial just because you think you’re some kind of fucking war hero, Tyler. You’re not so untouchable that I can’t sit your fat ass in a prison cell for five years!”
Ballsy was almost as animated. “Christian, you’re as insufferable as you were aboard the Chesapeake. What the hell has gotten into you? It’s a war, Christian. A war! And you’re threatening me with a court martial? Pull it together, man!”
Oppenheimer’s face was almost purple. “This isn’t just insubordination, Tyler, this is mutiny. If you don’t stand down right now, I’ll order the marines to haul your ass down to the brig and you can sit out this battle twiddling your thumbs.”
They were standing in the center of the bridge, right next to the captain’s chair. Every single bridge crew member was rooted to the spot, too paralyzed to move or speak. Some continued to pretend working, tapping random spots on their consoles that did nothing. Whitehorse stood at attention near the executive officer’s station, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“Sirs?” Zivic took a tentative step onto the bridge.
“Not now, Ethan.” His father waved him off.
“That’s right, lieutenant. Your father is busy making both an ass and a criminal of himself. We don’t have time for another Volz to be a bastard around here—”
Zivic interrupted. “I’m sorry, admiral, but it’s actually Zivic, not Volz. I took my mother’s second husband’s name.”
Oppenheimer turned back to Ballsy and sneered. “Well how about that. Even the great Spacechamp wanted nothing to do with you. She hated you so much that she made sonny boy here renounce your name. Face it, Tyler. You’re a failure. Your whole life, your whole career. One big fat failure after another. Your only moment of glory was a few short weeks during the war that you’ve been milking ever since.”
Zivic had been sidling over towards Whitehorse the entire time. He bent back to whisper in her ear. “What … the hell … happened?”
“The admiral lost it when your father refused to initiate a meta-space pulse that would summon the Swarm.”
“Sounds reasonable,” he whispered. In the background the two men were still yelling. “Is he off his meds or something?”
“He’s off his rocker, at least.” She pulled his arm until he looked back at her. She looked him in the eyes. “Ethan. Do something. This is … terrible. For morale, for … everything and everyone. It has to stop.”
He turned back to the men and cleared his throat.
They kept on yelling. “When we get back to Earth there’s going to be hell to pay, Tyler. Your career is over!” Oppenheimer’s hair shook as he jabbed the air with a finger for emphasis.
Ballsy folded his arms. “I could say the same for you, Christian. You’ve made a complete ass of yourself here today. I’m willing to bet Sepulveda relieves you over this.” He swept his arm across the bridge. “Plenty of witnesses.”
Zivic cleared his throat again. They didn’t even notice and kept right on yelling. He leaned back to Whitehorse. “Well, I tried.”
“Oh for the love….” She took a deep breath and strode forward to the center of the bridge. “Gentlemen! Please!”
She hadn’t exactly shouted, but she hadn’t exactly spoken in her inside voice. Oppenheimer and Ballsy both snapped towards her. “Commander? Something to say?” said Admiral Oppenheimer.
“Yes, sir, I do. There’s a compromise option here. Until we can get confirmation from the president like the captain wants, we can still proceed with the admiral’s plan. Modified. Slightly.” She shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable.
“What’s your idea, commander?” said Ballsy.
“Ask Polrum Krull. Tell her your plan. She just may go for it.”
Oppenheimer audibly scoffed. “What a joke. Commander, dismissed. To your station.”
Ballsy waved him off. “Continue, please, commander. What makes you think she would go for it? What could she possible have to gain from this embarrassment of a plan?” He held up air quotes around the word plan.
“Well, it’s clear she’s in the middle of a civil war. Whatever they’re fighting over is of such magnitude that they’re willing to kill for it. Thousands over there are dead. Which means that when you count all their Interior children, the death toll could be in the millions. You don’t fight over something petty with that kind of stakes. It’s huge. So huge, in fact, that….”
She hesitated momentarily. Oh my god, Zivic thought. She’s just making this up as she goes along.
“… that Krull may just want to adopt your plan as her own. Summon the Swarm with a meta-space pulse, and then send out a call to the other ships to come assist with the defense of their homeworld and temporarily pause their internal fight. And then, during the ensuing battle, do exactly what we were trying to do. Get them to kill each other.”
Oppenheimer paused for a moment. “That’s … not terrible. You really think Krull would listen to us? Why would she do that? We just took her ship. That’s not a great start to a parlay.”
Whitehorse nodded towards Ballsy. “Captain Volz has been at Admiral Proctor’s side during exchanges with Krull. He’s well known to her. And the Skiohra hold Proctor, in spite of her nickname Motherkiller, in rather high regard. Some of that regard might well transfer over to Captain Volz.”
Oppenheimer stared at her stone-faced. Finally, after the longest, most uncomfortable silence Zivic had ever experienced, he nodded. “Fine. Make the call. But at the same time we’re sending a priority meta-space message to the presidential mansion to lay this bullshit to rest and get on with the original mission. Fine with you, captain?”
Ballsy nodded. “Fine. Thank you, admiral.”
Oppenheimer, still just inches from Ballsy’s face, finally turned and marched back towards the comm station. There was an almost audible collective gasp of relief from the entire bridge as the crisis was temporarily averted.
Zivic came up behind her. “You … are … a badass,” he whispered in her ear.
Ballsy caught her eye, raised his own eyebrows and gave her a nod as if to parrot what Zivic had just whispered.
“Yeah, until Krull tells us to take a hike. Then what?” she said.
Ballsy shrugged. “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bridge
Granger’s Heel
Debris cloud of El Amin
“There you are, you little bugger,” said Liu. The other ship was nestled up against one of the larger chunks of El Amin, which dwarfed it like a mountain looking over a tiny cabin. It wasn’t large—just a frigate, and old at that. Probably salvaged from the war.
A faint red at the back of the ship told her its engines were probably firing up. “Oh no you don’t, you bastards.”
She was coming in hot, and she maneuvered the frigate so it was pointing straight at their landing bay where Eli’s fighter would have parked. The bay door was closed, but that wouldn’t matter.
This was a one-way trip.
The frigate started to move, but it was too late. She braced herself. The nose of her freighter slammed into the bay door with the screeching of metal that made her ears hurt, and with a crunch her whole ship wedged into the opening.
She opened her eyes. “Well how about that. I’m alive.”
Her vacuum suit was already on, helmet sealed, before the collision, and a good thing too because the air rushed out of the cabin thanks to the long gash where the wreckage of the bay door had torn through. She climbed down the short ladder into the hold and rushed forward to the front loading bay door.
It opened. She was worried it would be jammed, but soon she was running across the airless flight deck of the frigate and towards the doors which had sealed themselves against the vacuum. Right next to the door, his body broken and bleeding from where the front of her freighter had collided with him, lay a dead man. Whether he’d died from the blunt force or died from the ensuing vacuum was unclear, but it didn’t matter. She approached the doors, knowing they were locked tight, impervious to almost any force outside of a mag-rail slug. A normal person would have looked at those doors and determined that the only way through was around.
Fiona Liu was not a normal person. She pulled a tiny device out of her vacuum suit pocket and pressed it up against the door controls nearby. She’d been kicked out of IDF Intel, but some of the gadgets still worked.
The doors slid back into their pockets and the air in the hallway beyond rushed out into the bay. She grabbed the edge of the door and pulled herself against the storm of wind, across the threshold, and into the hallway beyond. With her last strength she clutched onto a handhold on the wall with one hand while she pressed the gadget up to the door controls with the other.
The doors shut, the rushing air stopped whistling past her helmet, and she collapsed onto one knee, breathing heavily.
She tucked her electronic lock pick back into her pocket and unsnapped her gun in its holster. The corridor wasn’t all that long, but it had several doors off to the sides—perfect places for an ambush.
Most people—most marines, most anyone with half a brain for tactics—would have found cover and progressed methodically down the hallway, flushing out any enemies with careful precision, keeping as safe as possible—as far as any gun battle could be safe.
But she wasn’t most people. She wanted surprise. She wanted to give them as little time to think and prepare as possible. In a situation where you were potentially outmanned fifty to one, you didn’t have time to let the enemy get their feet under them.
She sprinted down the hallway as fast as she could. Before she passed the first open door she stretched her legs forward and leaned back, letting the momentum carry her past the door as she made a controlled fall, one arm aiming the gun and one arm steadying it. She saw a torso. Two shots. Blood, and she skidded past the door before the body even fell.
Anyone in the open doors up ahead would surely look out now to see who had fired and whose body had fallen.
Sure enough, a head appeared around the opening two doors down, just long enough for her to put a bullet in it.
She jumped to her feet and sprinted, reaching the door at the end which she supposed led to another corridor, or maybe a ladder or elevator that would take her to the next level. Around the corner was the lift. Perfect. She tapped the destination—bridge—and mashed the lift initiator with a palm, tossed in her one and only miniature grenade, and then ran the other direction, wrenching open what she knew had to be an access hatch for the emergency ladder behind the bulkhead, which most ships had in case the lift were damaged.
It was a race. Could she climb faster than the lift? Normal people couldn’t.
But with the implants IDF Intel had installed, Fiona Liu could. She blinked the pattern. SOS. Just once, as fast as possible. Instantly, she felt a surge of adrenaline that almost made her yell with wild, unbridled energy. The downer was going to be a bitch afterwards, but hopefully she’d get a breather up there.
She grabbed the bars of the ladder and hurtled herself into the air. Luckily, the ship was only at a standard one-half g, and she was able to take four rungs at a time, launching herself upwards with each pull. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty, twenty-four … and after only ten seconds she was at the bridge level, right in the center of the ship. Her hand quivered on the handle to the access hatch, and she waited.
Right on schedule, the grenade detonated, which meant the door to the lift had opened. She wrenched the hatch open and launched herself through, her gun pointed ahead of her as she fell to the deck. Two shots.
Two more shots as she swiveled in midair.
A hard landing. A boot colliding with her hand, sending the gun flying across the bridge and hitting a wall. She thrashed her legs out, using them to launch herself upright while simultaneously landing her forearm across the man’s exposed neck, ruining his windpipe. He choked, and before he even had time to die on his own, she helped him with a snap of his neck.
She grabbed the gun and whirled it around to the remaining two people sitting hunched and quivering at one of the bridge stations with their hands in the air, shaking.
Assured that they were unarmed, she strode over, turning this way and that, aiming her gun around the cover of the stations that she passed, but there was no-one else. She grabbed the first man by the hair. He yelped in fear and she noticed the wet spot on the front of his trousers. A well-placed blow from the gun, at just the right spot on his crown, knocked him out and she let him fall to the deck.
She finally breathed. Long, deep, slow breaths, her gun aimed squarely at the forehead of the final man, who had tears in his eyes.
“This is what you’re going to do. If you do it well, you’ll live. Understand?”
He nodded quickly, or rather, his head bobbled up and down almost uncontrollably.
“First, calm down. Take a deep breath. Breathe. That’s right. Breathe. Calm down. I’m not going to kill you. You’re safe. Breathe.” She waited patiently for nearly ten seconds as the man nodded again, this time much more slowly and deliberately. His quick, rapid-fire breathing slowed down to more measured breaths. “That’s right. Good. I killed three downstairs. How many more on the ship?”
“F … F … Fix. Six. I mean four,” he stuttered.
She couldn’t immediately tell if he was lying, or just scared as hell. Probably the latter. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to get on the PA. You’re going to tell them I’m dead, and give the all-clear. Understand?”
His eyes got wide.
She raised her gun again. “Understand?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Make it convincing.”
He reached over to the PA controls, and in a remarkably calm voice that even surprised her, he said, “We got her. She’s dead. Bullet right through her brain. We lost Taylor here on the bridge, but otherwise we’re fine. Roberts, Sivranathan, Wei, get down to the bay and try to patch that hole the bitch left before we lose all our air. Dr. Avasar, make sure the patient is stable—the swing in air pressure could have hurt him. We don’t want to let Patriarch Huntsman down.”
They waited for a response. “Wei here. Roger that. Need any help up there? All good?”
“Yeah. We’re fine. Taylor’s a mess. Shame we lost him. Was a good man. But he died for the mission. Peace and victory. Gephardt out.” He finished with the customary Grangerite farewell. Well. That must mean poor old Eli Chen must have been a contractor and not a part of the organization. Poor kid.
“Good. You did good. You earned your life. Now. Show me a layout of the ship, and where the patient is.”
I’m coming, Danny.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Inside Titan
Near Britannia
“Days? What do you mean, days?”
Granger sounded tired. Like it was a burden to speak the words. “I mean that literally. You have days. Humanity has days of existence left if we don’t figure out a way to stop the Swarm.”
“I assume you have a plan?”
He finally chuckled. A strange sound, given the slight changes to his voice. “Look around you, Shelby. You could say I’ve been planning something.”
She ran her hand again over the smooth metal, and then looked down at the palm reader. She gently pushed Case out of the way and rested her hand on it. It pulsed with the same yellow glow, and this time, instead of disappearing, it turned to a soft green illuminating her glove.
The door opened.
Proctor gasped.
The hallway looked familiar, but different. The lights, the markings, the worn tread on the ground, the various wall terminals. And there, just inside the door, letters.
“Oh my god.” She stepped forward and ran her hand over the ancient symbols. Ancient, and at the same time, not that much older than her. “I … S … S … V … I … C…” her hand traced over them, and then stopped at the door, where the letters terminated. “This really was the Victory.”
“It was. It’s … had a few bumps and bruises since then.”
They walked down the corridor. It was like something out of a dream. She had only served on the Victory with Captain Granger for a very short period—less than a day or so—before he kicked them all off and made his suicide run into the Penumbra black hole, luring the Swarm ships in after him.
“So, Tim … I think you owe me a bit of an explanation.”
“A bit, yes.”
She laughed. “A bit more than a bit. You owe me thirteen billion years of explanations, if our sensor readings were correct.”
“They were correct.”
“The isotopic of this tungsten are such that it’s aged thirteen billion years, plus or minus … a lot. Is that true?”
“It is.”
They reached the end of the corridor. Not everything was the same. Additions and retrofits had clearly been made here and there. New and strange looking consoles and monitors, all showing various status updates using symbols that at first looked like they might be English and Arabic numbers, but upon closer examination was gibberish.
“Ok, Tim. You have the floor. Tell me a story.”
A long pause. “Remember the part where we only have days, Shelby?”
“Oh come on, Tim. I need more than that. What happened after you crossed the event horizon?”
“From your perspective or mine?”
“Let’s start with yours.”
“The Valarisi, controlled by the Swarm, followed me in. I fired the anti-matter torpedoes once we were close enough to the event horizon and that disrupted the phase distortions in the quantum field that was allowing the influence of the Swarm in their universe to pass through the modified Einstein-Rosen bridge and into our own. Permanently. And then I kicked back in my chair and started watching your future history speed up. It was actually quite fascinating. But … I had a problem.”
They turned a corner and followed the new corridor until they came to another door, which opened at their approach. Another corridor lay beyond, this one with doors off to the side every dozen meters or so. “You were about to be spaghettified?”
“Not at all. It was a stable modified Einstein-Rosen bridge, of course. The gravitational field was perfectly balanced right at the tunnel’s edge by an exactly tuned anti-gravity field—”
“Hold on. What’s a modified Einstein-Rosen bridge.”
“An Einstein-Rosen bridge is a wormhole, Shelby. I thought you knew that.”
She scowled. “I’m a scientist. Of course I knew that. But what about a modified bridge?”
“It’s a wormhole into a different universe. At the surface of the expanding multi-verse there are an infinite number of universes being continually created, and an even greater number—infinitely greater—of universes that have already been created, and many that are already expanding so quickly from dark energy that they are generating new universes at their own edges. This particular bridge took me to one of those universes. It’s an ancient one. Trillions of trillions of trillions of years old. It had already died a heat death … for the most part. But at its center?”
She knew the answer. “The Swarm.”
“They originated from there. Near the beginning of their own universe’s time. Over their history they expanded out, conquered, destroyed, assimilated, pillaged, until their own universe was nearly barren. An entire universe, Shelby. Think of it. Think of the scale. Nearly all matter transformed into scattered, useless, high-wavelength energy. An entropic death was near for them. So, they did what any war-like civilization does. They expanded their horizons and looked for new territory to conquer when the old territory is completely depleted. They overran countless universes over trillions of their years. Countless, Shelby. There are almost innumerable universes that are all dead because of the Swarm. And when the time was ripe for each of those universes, its matter and useful energy was … shunted into their own to sustain it for another eon or so. Until they came to our universe. Ours was their next target. But they hit a speed bump.”
“And what was that?”
“Us.”
They walked down the corridor, peering into the different rooms as they passed them. All full of various amounts of strange equipment, monitors, strange instruments poking out of the walls at various points. One of the room was humming, perhaps with the thrum of some machine deep inside the walls. “Well,” said Proctor, “we are pretty badass.”
“I’m serious, Shelby. They conquered billions of species. Billions. And we were the first that handed their asses to them.”
“Barely. All it took was flinging you into a black hole. And besides, in case you haven’t seen, they’re back.”
They’d reached the end of the hallway. So far there had only been one way to go. Forward. But now the corridor split. “To the right,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said, indicating the way to Case and Davenport. They shrugged, and began down the new hallway. At some point she suspected they’d reach the core of the ship and, finally, find him. Granger. Was he mobile? Could he walk? she wondered. Would Case and Davenport have to carry him? He mentioned he was missing a few parts. She supposed it was too much to ask for knees to last seventy years much less thirteen billion.
“So,” he continued, “there I was, in the Swarm’s own universe, with half a dozen Valarisi ships. But here’s the thing. The Valarisi were free. As susceptible as they are to the meta-space influence of the Swarm, without the Skiohra’s Ligature, the Valarisi had a brief space of time where they were completely free of the Swarm’s control. And in that time, clever buggers as they are, built up some defenses. More than that. They weren’t just clever. They were devious. They built up defenses such that when the Swarm reasserted their influence, the Valarisi would maintain control, without the Swarm realizing it. And not just maintain control, but able to follow the lines of control back to their source.”
Proctor paused in the corridor. Her marines stopped as well and watched her. “Are you saying, the Valarisi turned the tables on the Swarm and infiltrated them?”
“In a sense, yes. They couldn’t control the Swarm, by any stretch of the imagination. But they could spy, essentially. They Swarm would be acting through them, just as they did here, but the whole while the Valarisi were there, in the background, learning, growing in understanding of how the Swarm operated, how their technology worked, and how they could ultimately either destroy them or escape.”
“I take it the Valarisi never figured out how to destroy them?”
A pause. “No. They didn’t. Our only option was to escape.”
She resumed their trek down the corridor, which ended in more stairs heading down. These weren’t stairs carved out of asteroid, however, but looked like they may have been original steel steps from the Victory. “You’ve skipped something. You escaped, yes. But what happened from the time you entered their universe to the time you escaped? Did the Swarm catch you? You were on the Victory. What happened to the rest of it?”
“It was absorbed into one of the Valarisi’s vessels.”
She hesitated to ask. “And you?”
Form his voice, it sounded like he didn’t want to answer her. “I … I as absorbed as well. It was the only way.”
Oh my god. “What do you mean … absorbed?”
“Remember when the Russians first encountered the Swarm-controlled Valarisi? Right before the Khorsky incident? Malakov was there, and at his direction, in order to get what he wanted from the Swarm, several of his men were … consumed by the Valarisi. Their essence absorbed into theirs.”
“Shit, Tim. They … liquified you? And you … stayed conscious?”
“They didn’t so much liquify me as … disguise me. I basically spent a whole bunch of time in a vat of Valarisi matter. But it was … transformative. Their essence was inside of me. Part of me. I could hear them all in my head. I was part of them. They’re a collective, Shelby. It was glorious. And then … the Swarm reestablished their link and their essence entered into us too. And it was also … transformative.”
Proctor didn’t know what to say. And in fact, felt rather sick. “In … what way?”
“It changed me. And Shelby … it took a long time to get myself back.”
“Longer than thirteen billion years?”
“Shelby, our isotopes don’t decay at the same rate in their universe as they do ours. The physical constants are different. The fine structure constant is different. The gravitational constant is different. Everything is different.”
She gulped. “How long?”
“I was in the Swarm’s universe, from my perspective, many times longer than I’ve been back in ours.”
“And you’ve been back here for thirteen billion years?”
“Around twelve, actually.”
She didn’t know what to say. It was Tim, but at the same time, given what he’d been through, it wasn’t Tim. Not at all.
The stairwell ended in another corridor, and they followed it to the end where it forked again. She recognized this intersection. To the left was what would have been the entrance to the galley. To the right would be the way to engineering. That was where he must be. Except now … what would she find? His shriveled body? Was it the same body? Replaced many times over the years? Though she supposed, when she thought about it, all bodies are slowly replaced many times over a lifetime.
“So … what you’re saying is … you’re a really, really old man, Tim.”
“And cranky.”
A question had been weighing on her mind since they’d first had an inkling the mystery ship—what they’d called the Golgothic ship which had turned out to be a heavily retrofitted ISS Victory—was in some way related to Granger. “Tim. The Chesapeake. The Dolmasi ships. Their homeworld. New Dublin. All these places where you left death and destruction in your wake. Why?”
“Shelby. I—” it seemed he was at a loss for words. “I told you. I was … changed. The Swarm changed me. My greatest fear was realized. They didn’t control me, but their essence was creeping into me, through their incorporation into the Valarisi. It was a devil’s bargain. On one hand, it changed me. Made me … less human. On the other hand, I gained knowledge surpassing my wildest imagination.”
“So it was you. You killed Captain Diaz on the Chesapeake. My old ship, Tim. My friends. Your friends. How could you do that? What end justified that?”
“There is no justification, Shelby. I’m telling you, they changed me. When I finally came into contact with humans again, after so many eons, it was like meeting aliens. All the customs, all the social norms, everything was out the window. All I saw was a threat, it fired on me, and I neutralized it. It wasn’t until later that it started dawning on me what I was doing. I accessed the memories, long buried, and started to remember. I … remembered how to be human again.”
“Took you long enough.” They were almost there. Just a few more corridors and corners, and they’d arrive at engineering. Given what Tim had just told her, she caught Case’s eye and indicated with a hand gesture towards his rifle. Her meaning was clear. Be ready for anything.
“I’m truly sorry, Shelby. I wish I could go back and change how things happened. But we’re here. And after twelve billion years of laying the groundwork for the Swarm’s final destruction, of meticulously laid plans, we’ve arrived at the moment. Finally.”
The were at the doors to Engineering.
“Ok Tim, what is it? What’s the plan? What do you need me to do?”
A long pause. The longest yet.
“Tim?”
“Shelby. I need you to kill me.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Fighter cockpit
Near planet Shao-587
Once again, Zivic found himself on escort duty. Except this time the circumstances were far more strange. They’d decided it made more sense to interrogate—nicely—Polrum Krull on her own ship. Since their marines were far outnumbered by the remains of Krull’s people they had to rely on the captive king principle. With a gun held to the head of their leader, the people were powerless, and if they brought Krull aboard the Independence, in a way they’d lose that leverage, since now their leader would be simply absent with only the abstract threat of violence instead of seeing the gun held to her head with their own eyes.
“Lieutenant Zivic, prepare for launch of the VIP shuttle,” came the voice of the bridge comms officer on duty.
“Acknowledged.” He flew in a broad arc around the Independence, positioning his fighter to fall into company with the shuttle now leaving the flight deck.
“No antics, Batship. Just a boring flight, if you don’t mind,” said his father, his voice sounding far more tense than it usually was. And the reference was unmistakable. Oppenheimer had opened old wounds on the bridge, and now, apparently, to help himself forget his own poor choices in life he had taken it upon himself to remind his son of his.
His mother. Her husband, Julio Zivic. Both dead in a shuttle accident over France because of his antics. At least, that’s what he told himself over the years, assuming one hundred percent of the blame. Objectively, it wasn’t even half his fault, but it hurt far, far more to say that than just hog all the blame for himself.
“Loud and clear, captain,” he said, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice. They had a mission, and he’d be damned if he was going to let a casual slip of his father’s tongue get him riled up. The old man probably hadn’t even meant it. Probably didn’t even realize what he’d said, Zivic told himself.
The flight over to the Benevolence only took a few minutes. The unnamed planet, far below, still loomed large behind the Skiohra ship, dwarfing it, showing to everyone present that no matter how ingenious humans and other sentient life could be, they were no match for nature itself in building spaceships. That’s what planets were, after all. Giant spaceships careening through space. No airlocks or pressure seals to keep the air in, but gravity itself. Oxygen molecules would collide on the surface and bounce upward, careening hundreds of miles into space before gravity arrested their ascent and pulled them inevitably back down to the surface. No fusion plants to keep things running, but a planetary core with so many leftover radioisotopes that everything below the crust would stay liquified and hot for billions of years, allowing the continents to drift and generating the magnetic field surrounding the planet, enabling it to ward off deadly ionizing radiations and solar storms. Something a simple lead layer of shielding could accomplish on a standard human spaceship, but instead nature doing the same thing so outrageously circuitously and with such complication and vast scale that it was saying, puny humans, take a seat and watch a pro.
He shook his head back to attention. He’d been gazing absentmindedly at the thin layer of light blue atmosphere on the horizon, but now they were pulling up to the Benevolence.
“Preparing to dock,” came his father’s voice, more casual this time, but still with an edge to it. Zivic remembered his speech about crew morale to his father, and now wondered if it was his father that needed morale himself.
“You got this dad. Just … do it like Proctor.” The encouragement sounded fake and thin in his ears after he said it.
But his father chuckled. “No one does it like Proctor. Her style is singular.” But he sounded a little less on edge.
Zivic landed his fighter next to the shuttle—his father had requested his presence during the negotiations. Soon the whole team was assembled near the door on the Skiohra flight deck that led into the rest of the ship. His father, Lieutenant Qwerty—who Ballsy was hoping could provide any necessary translation if it came to that—and himself, with only a few marines as escort. As small a party as possible.
The door opened and a Skiohra matriarch appeared, escorted by one of the marines Oppenheimer had brought with him. She looked incensed that she even had to be there. A prisoner, a puppet, on her own ship. “This way,” she said, and was silent the rest of the way to the command center.
The way there was a journey Zivic would never forget. Blood streaked the walls at certain intervals, and, occasionally, it became clear just how recent the violence was as they passed a body still sprawled out on the floor. Sometimes two or three together. “Looks like we missed the fun,” said Zivic.
The matriarch glared at him for a moment, and then didn’t look his way again for the remainder of the trek. “Have a little respect, idiot,” his father hissed at him. He immediately regretted saying anything at all.
They gathered in transportation pod which took them up, then switched directions to travel laterally, and then up again. There must be an entire pod transportation network throughout the ship, he supposed. Would make it possible for a crew of a few hundred thousand to staff a ship that was a hundred kilometers long.
Polrum Krull was waiting for them in the command center. He’d seen her twice before already, but this time she looked … unsettled, to say the least.
“Friend of the Motherkiller. Welcome.” In spite of the situation, Krull was graceful as always in her alien not-quite-human way. She bowed slightly. Ballsy mirrored the motion.
“Polrum Krull. I’m deeply sorry we are meeting in these circumstances. I want you to know that this aggressive action was not my idea, nor was it my opinion that it should ever have happened.”
She paused to consider his words, and perhaps his truthfulness. “I understand, Friend of the Motherkiller. These are dark times. Almost all of us have earned the same title as your friend. We have all killed this day. It is a day of shame for us all. A day of infamy. It will forever be remembered among my people as our lowest moment. Our darkest time.”
“Again, I’m sorry our actions here today—”
She held up a long-fingered hand. “No. Your actions here are but the smallest part of what has gone on. It is almost inconsequential in comparison. I’m referring to the tragedy that has occurred here before your arrival. Sister raising arms against sister. Incomprehensible violence. The deaths of millions. And even now, I don’t understand any of it.”
Ballsy looked surprised. “You don’t … know why you were fighting?”
She took a long pause from speaking, as if searching for words. During the limited amount of time that he’d ever seen her speak, she was always confident, purposeful, and, well, wise. This alien standing here was stooped, confused, unsure of herself, and was clearly somewhat scared.
“We were fighting for madness, that’s what we were fighting for. Madness.”
Ballsy cocked his head. “I’m not sure the Skiohra on the other side would agree.”
“They would. In fact, there are brothers and sisters on the other side, as you put it, in my very being. Inside of me. Almost half of my Interior children are against me. Half. Can you imagine, Friend of the Motherkiller? Having half your brood rise up against you in rebellion?”
Ballsy risked a side glance at his son, and Zivic could see the temptation on his father’s face to risk a snide comment about his own brood, but he turned back to Krull and nodded. “I can only imagine the scale of the horror you’ve been through. You have my sympathy.”
She almost sneered. “We don’t want your sympathy. We want order. We want peace. We want things to be the way they were.”
His father shrugged. “I’m afraid things never quite go back to the way they were. That’s life, I’m afraid.”
“For tens of thousands of years, there was order among my people. Even through the dark times of slavery to the Swarm, we had order and harmony. We were all of like mind. We could disagree, we could discuss, we could even vigorously debate. But never, ever, did it lead to violence. Ever. And now? Over the most simple of things, we’ve lost very souls. We’ve lost our minds. We’ve lost … everything.” She swept her hand around the command center as if to indicate the carnage. “Everything.”
“I know things seem bleak. But … you’re alive. And many here still live. Surely you can reconcile your differences and move on?”
She shook her head, deliberately, as if remembering her catalogue of human gestures. “No. All Exterior children that still live here are of the old ways. We’ve killed the rebellious. And those we didn’t kill fled to the Magnanimity. And our battle with Magnanimity was … terrible. We sustained damage worse than we ever did during the war with the Swarm. Worse even than when the Constitution breached our side.”
“Why, Matriarch? Why did this happen?”
She looked down for a long time, as if studying her feet. “A change. A change occurred. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it. But everything is different.”
“What is different, Matriarch?”
“Several weeks ago, during the uprising of the Dolmasi, we severed the Ligature. It was our link to each other. The way into each other’s thoughts. But not just thoughts. Feelings. Opinions. And not just objective matters, but … our sense of … family. It was severed too. When we lost our link into each other’s minds, we lost our sense of each other. We all became … other, to each other, whereas before we were united.”
“Ok,” he said, slowly, “how about reestablishing the Ligature?”
“We can’t. It’s gone. Permanently. It took generations to establish, tens of thousands of years ago. And it will require that much time and more to remake it.”
“Ok,” Ballsy repeated. “But … I still don’t understand what you’re fighting over. Family’s squabble all the time. What made you pull guns on each other?”
“The Unthinkable Thought.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Deep within our psyches, written into our very DNA, are things forbidden. We must not think them. Must not consider them. It is sacred to us. But the rebellious children, they … defiled them.”
“And what are those forbidden things?”
Zivic wasn’t sure if that was the right tack for his father to take, given that these aliens had nearly committed self genocide over them, but surprisingly, she answered. “Our point of origin, for one. Our planet that we came from. It was forbidden to think of it, to look for it, or even to speak of it.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea, Friend of the Motherkiller. It just is. Some things just are.”
“Ok. What else?”
“The … the null space. The room of … nadir. The place of … negative … energy. Past the Unpassable Door. The dark … sanctuary. The….” She seemed confused at this point, as if searching for the right human words to convey something that could only be described using her native language.
Ballsy turned to Qwerty. “Lieutenant? Can you help?”
Qwerty stepped forward. “If you please, ma’am. I do speak a good helping of Skiohra. Enough to shake a stick at, my momma would say.”
She cocked her head in confusion.
“Tells us what you just told us, but do it in your own language. I’ll see if I can translate for my colleagues.”
She took a deep breath, and then spoke. The Skiohra language was surprisingly beautiful. Long vowels and extended riffs of notes on a single vowel that would rise and fall like a musical scale. Like music.
And at times, the music was dark.
Qwerty’s brow was squished up, as if he was in deep concentration. He stared directly at her mouth the entire time, as if trying to simultaneously read her lips while he listened. Finally, she stopped, but Qwerty stood there for several moments, nodding, as if still processing it all.
“Lieutenant?”
He turned to them. “There is a room here on this ship. And they’ve attached such … deep emotional significance to this room that it infuses their very language and their culture. The room is taboo. It’s almost like a negative space on their own ship. They don’t acknowledge its existence most of the time. They go out of their way to avoid the corridor that leads to it. It’s like a dark, forbidden temple to them. But … more than that. And that’s where I understand why she was having trouble. It’s … impossible to translate.”
“Just give us the gist, then, lieutenant. We’ve got a war going on, remember,” said Ballsy.
“It’s a space that is so wrapped up in not just their psyches, as she said, but their biology. It’s literally written into them that this room is a place they must avoid at all costs. Because it’s a place of creation and destruction, of life and death, of existence and … unexistence. I don’t know if that’s quite right, but it feels close.”
Ballsy turned back to Krull. “And you fought over this room? Millions dead? For … a room?”
“Friend of the Motherkiller, our ship is our world. Rooms to us are like islands or territories for you. Have you not fought over land in your history?”
“Touché.”
“Even now, so many of my Interior children want to go in there. Want the mystery to be revealed. And I … I can not fathom it. I can not abide the thought.”
Ballsy considered for a moment. “Well … what if … what if I went in? Is that acceptable? I could poke my head in, see what the hubbub is about, and tell you if it’s really worth fighting over.”
She looked incensed. Revulsion crept over her face.
“Or not.” Ballsy smiled. At that moment his comm device beeped, and he tapped it. “Go ahead.”
“Tyler, you done yet? Is she seeing reason?” Oppenheimer’s voice blared out from Ballsy’s pocket.
“We’re working on it, admiral. Stand by.” Ballsy tapped the comm and looked up at Krull. “Listen, Matriarch. I have a … superior officer over there on the Independence that is … well, let’s just say he may be a little crazy himself. Seems like there’s a lot of that going around these days. And he wants a showdown with the Swarm. Right here and now. Using your ship as a weapon against them.”
Krull almost laughed. “The Benevolence? Our ship is no match for one of the Swarm vessels. They dwarf us. They out-power us ten to one, at least.”
“Yes, but what about all six of your ships against one of theirs?”
She paused. Her eyes widened. “Have you already forgotten our struggles? I can no more invite them here than you can summon the Swarm and sit down with them for a hot beverage.”
“Yes, well, maybe they’d come if they knew their homeworld was threatened….”
Her back stiffened. “How … how did you know?”
“Honestly? We guessed.”
“This aspect of the Unthinkable Thought is … somewhat less forceful than the others. Perhaps because I can look out my window and see it there, and the mystery is removed. It’s the mystery that frightens sometimes, is it not?”
Ballsy nodded. “Which is why I made my earlier offer, Matriarch.”
She closed her eyes, and thought. “I see now your intentions. You summon the Swarm. We summon our people. We destroy ourselves fighting the Swarm, and in the end, you get another planet. And you brought backup just in case we failed.”
Ballsy looked confused. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
“Do you think our sensors are blind? We detected it the moment you q-jumped into the system.”
Ballsy looked a little rattled. “Detected what?”
“Your artificial singularity. It’s there. On your ship. Waiting to be used against the Swarm ship if we fail to stop it. I thought your people had learned their lesson with those devices, but clearly you have not.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bridge
Sword of Justice
Debris cloud of El Amin
When the three other thugs had made it to the flight deck and started trying to patch the hole in the door where the Granger’s Heel was lodged, it was a simple enough matter to remotely lock and seal the doors, and cut off access to the emergency hatch behind the bulkhead. They were trapped. For a long time. She supposed she could kill them, but that would have probably freaked her captive out and make him try something desperate knowing he was probably next, and she still needed him.
She turned to him. “See? They’re safe too. Trapped, but safe. Your name is Gephardt?”
He nodded once. “Steve.”
“Ok, Steve. This is what’s going to happen now. You’re going to summon the doctor here. What was his name? Avasar?”
“Yeah.”
“Get him up here. Tell him Taylor is alive after all, but needs immediate medical attention, and that you and your companions here,” she motioned to the other two dead bodies, “can’t move him without risking his life. Got it?”
“Ok. Yeah.” He tapped the PA again. “Hey, Doc, Taylor’s alive. I repeat, Taylor is alive. But he’s in bad shape. I don’t think we should move him or he’ll bleed out. Get your ass up here asap.”
Avasar answered. “I’m on my way. Keep pressure on those wounds, for god’s sake.”
She pointed the gun straight at his forehead. “Stay. If you move an inch, you’re dead. Understand?”
He flinched when the gun pointed towards him, but nodded vigorously.
Liu positioned herself next to the entrance to the bridge, out of sight of anyone coming in. Moments later, the door opened, and the doctor ran through. He stopped suddenly when he saw the bodies.
“Wait a minute…” he began.
“That’s far enough, Doctor Avasar. I’m glad you could join us,” said Liu.
He turned around, slowly, and put his hands in the air. “Oh.”
It took over an hour, but she managed to get all five of them locked in her freighter, donned with vacuum suits, and the ship pushed back out into space, free and clear of the frigate. She tapped on her commlink to the freighter. “Sorry about the q-drive, boys. But you should have enough fuel to make it to Sangre de Cristo with conventional engines in about, oh five days. Don’t eat the rations all at once.” She tapped it off.
Now. The reason she’d come.
Finally.
Dr. Avasar had given her his charts and all the notes of everything that had been done for him. And to him, as some of the files had ominous names like Viral Assays, Biosignature-Metawave Impedance Matching Charts, and some that were title-less. “My god, Danny, what have they done to you?”
The door to sickbay slid open, and there he was. Asleep. Just like in the picture Proctor had shown her, with tubes coming out of him, horrible wounds and burns covering his body. And yet, somehow, the scarring seemed far less serious in person. Or perhaps they’d healed miraculously fast.
She stood by the bed, unsure of what to do. She fought the powerful urge to bend over and kiss his forehead. Given the file name Viral Assays, she had no idea if he’d contracted something and was contagious.
“Danny,” she said, very softly.
Nothing changed. He didn’t move. The machines hummed and beeped occasionally, breaking the stone silence.
She opened his charts on the data pad Avasar had given her and flipped to the last few pages. With a quick scan she saw that he had indeed been awake recently, and was showing marked improvement. So she tried again.
“Danny,” she said again, with a little more force.
She risked contact. A hand, rested down on the fabric of the gown covering his body. A small shake.
“Danny,” she said a third time.
Nothing.
“Damn.”
She flipped through the charts again, and this time she noticed they were incomplete. There was only about a week’s worth of data. Everything before that was gone. “That rat bastard,” she said, weighing the idea of following the freighter and threaten Avasar with a quick death unless he released the rest to her.
Except, no, he would have known she’d discover something missing like that and would chase after him. No, there must be something else. Her eyes glanced up to a room off to the side. The head physician’s office. Of course. The data pad might just be an incomplete record. It may only hold a certain number of days of charts before old charts were archived and offloaded into the doctor’s main system.
She left Danny and slipped into the office and waved the computer on. Sure enough, there were the charts. All of them. From when Danny was picked up that first day, very near death, to just a few hours ago. She sat down and started to plunge into it all.
It made sense to start at the beginning. Weeks ago. When the dome on Sangre de Cristo was nuked by the package that Danny had unknowingly transported aboard the Magdalena Issachar. He escaped the ship, but fell through the atmosphere to his certain death. From that point there was no indication of what happened. The first notes were that he was found in a lake of liquid methane shortly after the blast. That must have cushioned his landing enough to survive, and brought his body temperature down so that he would survive the trauma long enough for the docs to fix him up.
She followed his treatment over the first few weeks, watching his vital signs improve over time, but some concern noted about the extent of the burns and whether he’d ever even have his own skin again.
“Now hold on….” Something was wrong. “What the hell?” A few weeks after he was recovered, at five thirty in the morning, he was pronounced dead. But then just a few hours later there was another entry, describing his treatment as if nothing happened. “That’s … damn peculiar.”
She flipped though another few days of charts. Another strange entry. “Injection site shows signs of accelerated cell regrowth and restructuring. Skin basal cell restoration, and even creation, along with the expected meta-space inductive pathways that historical notes indicate….”
Oh my god.
“…indicate incorporation of Valarisi biological patterns.” She stood up, her eyes wide, a sick feeling spreading from her stomach. “They injected you with Swarm matter?”
She turned around and glanced out the window towards Danny’s bed.
But Danny was not there.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Matriarch’s Command Center
Skiohra generation ship Benevolence
Near planet Shao-587
Ballsy’s fists balled up. Zivic saw his face flush red. “Are you sure? You’re telling me there is an artificial singularity device on board my own ship?”
Krull inclined her head once. “I am sure as the sky is black.”
His father swung around, pointed at Zivic and Qwerty, then to their marine escort, and said, “we’re leaving. Now.” As he walked out the door to the command center he called back to Krull. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Matriarch. I have some things to take care of on my ship.”
“Friend of the Motherkiller, wait,” said Krull.
Ballsy paused, and turned around. “What is it?”
“I will take you up on your offer.”
“What?”
“Your offer. The Unthinkable Thought exists for me and my people. Not for you. If you entering the forbidden room and determining that there is no danger is what it takes to end this senseless war among my people, then that is what I must do.”
Ballsy shook his head. “It’s going to have to wait. I’ve got to go take out the trash on my own ship. This device that the admiral brought aboard the Independence is illegal. And no one is above the law. Not Oppenheimer, not the president. They’re illegal for a reason. Thirty years ago they wreaked havoc on my people and yours. Their use is what enabled the Swarm to come through the Penumbran black hole seventy-five years early. They were like a big, flashing signal to the Swarm that said, here we are, come get us. They devastated worlds with them. They destroyed the Florida peninsula. Dozens of cities across the UE. No. I will not tolerate their use, even by my superiors. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Tyler Volz, please wait.”
It was the first time that he’d ever heard Krull call any human by their given name rather than by a title given by the Skiohra. Ballsy’s eyebrows elevated, as he recognized the same thing. “Matriarch?”
“Please. Please help me end my people’s war. Before it’s too late. If you do, we can help you in your war against the Swarm.”
“Madam, if you’re not already helping us in the war against the Swarm just because it’s the right thing to do, then I have nothing else to say to you.”
“Please, Tyler Volz.”
He was still paused by the door, standing in the hallway just outside the command center. He cracked the knuckles of his fingers with his thumb as he considered, something Zivic recognized as something he only did when he was very nervous and very unsure of himself, which rarely happened. “Not now. I need to clean my own house first.” He considered. “Come with me to Britannia. I need to go there now and I can’t wait. If this order truly came from the new president, he needs to be exposed sooner rather than later, before he can do more damage. And the only place I can do that is at Britannia. That’s where the president currently is, and so where I have to go. Accompany me there, and I promise I’ll make time to help you solve your mystery as soon as I get to the bottom of my own mystery.”
Her answer came quickly. “Agreed.”
Zivic followed his father out of the command center and down the hall, back toward the pod that would whisk them away back to the flight deck. “What does it mean that there’s one of those things on our ship?”
“It means we’ve got lawless traitors in our midst. That was a dangerous Swarm weapon back in the day. They used it to destroy worlds and kill billions. And it messed with time itself. They’re so dangerous that congress at the time banned them under penalty of life imprisonment. Anyone found trying to produce one or, god forbid, use one, would rot in a cell for the rest of their lives. And the fact that we’ve got one right now means that Oppenheimer at least, and possibly even the president are not just law-breakers, but endangering all of us.”
They entered the pod, Qwerty and the marines on their heels, and before long they were boarding the shuttle and fighter.
Once back on the bridge, flanked by the two marines who’d accompanied them to the Benevolence, Ballsy strode up to Admiral Oppenheimer.
“And? Are they going to help us? Or was this whole charade just a waste of time?” said Oppenheimer.
“Admiral, under the authority of section Five of the UE Military Code of Naval Justice, I’m placing you under arrest for the violation of civil code UEC 512a. Namely, the production, transport, or knowing harboring or storage of an artificial singularity device.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” said Oppenheimer, indignant.
“Maybe so. But at least I’ll do it while keeping our laws.” Captain Volz motioned to the marines. “Not the brig. Just the observation lounge down the hall. We’ll need him when we get the president on the line. And the speaker of the house—they’ll need to hear this to be able to start impeachment proceedings.”
Oppenheimer stared them down. “Think about what you’re doing, soldiers. I’m the Fleet Admiral of IDF. I answer only to the president and no one else. Are you willing to mutiny and follow a renegade like Captain Volz? You’ll sit in a cell for years if you do.”
They hesitated, weighing their choices. Ballsy stepped towards them. “Look, son,” he began, staring one of them in the eye, “we can sort this all out once we get to Britannia. And if I’m wrong, I take all the blame. You can be sure of that.”
Ballsy was lucky that all of the marines that Oppenheimer brought with him were currently occupying the Benevolence and that these marines had served with Captain Volz and knew him. Ballsy had a certain amount of cachet, especially among fighter pilots and marines. They motioned to the admiral. “This way, sir.”
Oppenheimer swore, and started following them off the bridge. “You’ll regret this, Tyler. This will be your last mistake as a free man.”
When he was finally gone, his father breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Well. That could have gone better. Could have gone worse too.”
“You could be sitting in the brig,” Zivic pointed out.
Captain Volz took his seat in the captain’s chair. “Ensign Riisa. T-jump us to Britannia, please. Lieutenant Qwerty, send a message to our friends that we’re leaving, and to please follow us.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” came both replies in unison.
Ballsy flashed a fatalistic grin. “Time to not only commit mutiny, but to commit it while all of Britannia is watching.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sickbay
Sword of Justice
Debris cloud of El Amin
“Danny?” She bolted from the office and back into sickbay. “Danny?”
She’d thought the Valarisi were extinct. Proctor had exterminate them, decades ago. She was ordered to commit genocide. According to her personality file at IDF Intel HQ, it was what caused the irreparable rift between Oppenheimer and Proctor.
There should be no Valarisi organic fluid left. They were all dead.
Of course, the Swarm was supposed to be destroyed too. And yet they came back, bigger and badder than ever.
Her head snapped in the direction of a thud out in the hallway. Slowly, deliberately, she crept towards the door, her gun drawn and gripped by one hand, cradled by another, pointing downward but ready to be swung around the door frame.
She held cover by the door for another few seconds, waiting for more noises, but nothing came. So she swung around the door frame and aimed down the hall.
It was empty.
A crash in the next room. Whatever he—it—was doing, he sure didn’t care if anyone heard him.
She crept down the hallway and approached the door to the room she was hearing scuffles and clanks and clatters from. Good Lord, what the hell was he doing in there? It sounded like he had every tool out he could find and was assembling a bomb, or he was searching through cabinets full of metal and glass.
She glanced up at the sign over the door, and her heart skipped a beat. Her jaw dropped a hair. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Galley.
Tentatively, she peered around the corner.
Danny, standing at the counter, his bare ass hanging out the back of the hospital gown, with almost the entire contents of the fridge assembled in front of him, gorging himself on everything he could shove into his mouth all at once.
“Hungry?”
He spun around, clutching onto a bowl of ice cream with a death grip, a look in his eye that said if you mess with my dessert I WILL END YOU.
“Fiona?” He dropped the bowl onto the counter with a clatter and started moving towards her. “Fiona, oh my god it’s you. And …” his eyes took her in, the ruined skin on her face, the burns, the effects of the intense radiation, “… you look like shit.”
“Hold it!” She raised the gun a hair. Not pointing at him. But not pointing at the floor either. “You’re Danny?”
“Of course I am. Who the hell do I look like?”
“What’s your last name?”
He looked confused and a note of fear crept into his eyes. She tensed, counting the seconds he wasn’t answering, and wondering, if he were controlled by the Swarm, how long it would before he started either guessing or change the subject. “Proctor. Danny Proctor. Fiona, what’s going on?”
“Where did we meet?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he started. She raised the gun slightly higher, still not pointed at him, but pointed at the wall. “TJ’s place. In the back. You know….” He looked slightly embarrassed. “Riding the horsey.”
She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. He was right, the first time she saw him he was riding a ridiculous mechanical toy horse meant for small children in the back of a popular restaurant on San Martin. But the Swarm could have figured that out by infiltrating their network of friends.
“Ok. Ok. Last thing.” She lowered the gun a hair. “What does my tattoo say? The one on my ass.”
He looked confused. “You … don’t have a tattoo on your ass. Or is there something you’re not telling me?”
She holstered the gun. “Danny. What the hell is going on?”
He forced a weak smile. “I asked you first.”
“Are you Swarm or not? I saw your file. It said they injected you with Swarm. And after they did, you—you healed. Fast.” She left out the part about how he may have actually been dead for awhile, in case he didn’t know.
“They did. I overheard it all when they thought I was asleep. Apparently they were setting a trap for my aunt, and the president paid Huntsman for his services. But Huntsman didn’t want money. The payment, apparently, was the UE government’s secret sample of Swarm matter that they’d kept. The only one. But, and here’s the weird thing, after they injected me, I woke up and after a monstrous headache, I could remember everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“The fall from orbit. Going through the atmosphere. Landing. My recovery those first few days. I couldn’t remember any of it before. Not even a hint. But after the injection? Clear as a bell. Down to the last detail. I figure that whatever the Swarm matter was doing to heal my body, it was healing my brain as well. Reconstructing my memories at the same time.”
“So … you are Swarm.” Her hand moved back to the holstered gun.
“No no no, not like that. I mean, yeah, they injected me, but there was a problem. I overheard them talking about it. Pretending to be asleep, again. Apparently some Skiohra lady freaked out and nuked the Ligature. That’s the word they kept using. Ligature. She destroyed the Ligature, they kept saying, wondering if it was permanent or not. Whatever the Ligature is, they think it’s what was preventing the Swarm matter from actually making contact with the Swarm. And so, voila! All the benefits of Swarm matter, with none of the pesky side effects, am I right?” He grinned. “Come here. Give me a hug.”
“Danny, no!” She took a step back. “Don’t you remember your history? Swarm matter was extremely contagious. Worse than the cold. One touch, skin to skin, and I’d be infected too.”
“Oh.” He took a step back too. “Oh yeah. Sorry.”
She calmed down a few notches. Everything about him. His voice. His personality. His stupid jokes at inappropriate moments. Everything was Danny. The Swarm could never fake this. “Well, they were right about one thing. Once Polrum Krull terminated the Ligature, the Dolmasi lost their minds. It seemed the Ligature was central to the functioning of any being that had once been in contact with it, or something. And so it makes sense, I guess, that with it gone the Swarm matter wouldn’t be able to take control of you.”
“Well that’s a relief. Because there’s another thing.” He’d picked up his bowl of ice cream and spooned another mound of it into his mouth.
“What’s that?”
His full mouth muffled the words. “They took samples from me.”
She remembered the file name. Viral Assays. “Oh.” She thought some more. “Oh shit.”
“You know what that means, right?” Another spoonful of ice cream.
“It means that there is no longer only one surviving sample of Swarm matter left from the war.” She felt a chill all over. “There are several.”
“Bingo.”
“Well. That … complicates things. The war was going badly as it is.”
He scraped the bottom of the bowl. “Yep. And one other thing I heard Huntsman talking about. One of his teams was working on a related project.”
“More bad news?”
“Bad news is my specialty, Ms. Liu. It appears that, not only do they have multiple viable samples now—dozens in fact—now they can control it. As long as certain things are done to the target when the first infection is made. Neural meta-space pathways or something like that.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’d say that’s bad news.”
He set the bowl back down and licked a few fingers. “It means, whoever they infect next, they’ll be directly under Huntsman’s control. In fact, he’s already done it. I don’t know a name, but it’s someone high up in IDF.” He picked up a carrot next. “Fasten your seatbelt, Fiona. This ride’s about to get wild.”
Chapter Forty
Inside Titan
Near Britannia
“I … beg your pardon?” Proctor thought she’d misheard.
Granger’s tone was rising, as if he was tired. Very, very tired. “I need this existence to end, Shelby. I’ve been alive and conscious and thinking for far, far, far too long. You have no idea what a hell it is. How much I’ve dreamed of death over the years. Of just having a frickin break, you know?”
The doors to Engineering were not opening for them as the others had. She supposed it was under Tim’s direct control.
“Tim, I can’t—”
“Promise me, Shelby. Promise me you will.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Tim. Not after everything that’s happened. I’m not losing you again.” She was fighting back tears. The marines were staring at her. She didn’t care. She balled her fists and wanted to punch something. The doors. The marines—no, that was a bad idea. “Not happening.”
“You’ve got to, Shelby. It’s all part of the plan. If you don’t, the Swarm will win. Earth will be destroyed, and humanity overwhelmed. Believe me. I’ve thought about this for billions of years. I’ve run the simulations. I’ve made the calculations. Everything points to one thing. To win, to finally, totally win and completely destroy the Swarm, you must kill me. I must die. There’s no way around it.”
“But … why?”
“Many reasons. I’ve told you one selfish reason already. I want to. I’m tired of being aware. I want to rest. But another reason is entirely practical. The Swarm is part of me. They’re in me. Inseparably. They don’t control me, and they don’t know my thoughts or my plans, but they’re always with me, and as long as I live you’ll never be free of them.”
She shut her eyes tight. Her balled fist pressed against her lips. “Ok. Fine. I promise. But not now.”
He paused for a few moments. “No. Not right this second. But soon.”
The doors slid open.
“Your way is clear. I think you’ll know what to do. And once you do it, I’ll no longer be able to speak to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Shelby. I told you. I’m different. I’m not Tim anymore. You’ll see.”
She stepped inside Engineering. In some ways, very little had changed. Same consoles, same layout. In other ways, it was utterly alien. The colors, the markings on the walls, the smell.
And there, in the center of the room, in between the central command console and the coolant controls, was a machine that had been set up. It looked remarkably like a coffin, but she supposed that was just her imagination and the recent morbid conversation playing tricks on her mind. Tubes and wires flowed from it like a web. A few indicator lights flashed on the side. The top was open, and she approached, wanting desperately to not have to look inside but knowing there was no alternative.
She put her hands on the edge, and peered in.
No one was there. Just electronics, wires, tubes, fluids, lights, relays, indicators, and nothing even remotely human.
“Tim? Where are you?”
“I told you, Shelby. I’ve … lost some parts.”
“You’ve lost all your parts.”
“Ninety-nine point nine nine nine seven one percent of my parts, to be precise.”
“What’s left?”
“I’m kidding. There’s nothing left. I have no original organic parts left. Nothing. In fact, I’m not even sure I’m human anymore, Shelby. I’m basically a really elaborate computer program. And there, just by your left hand … that small black box with the green light on it. That’s me. If there’s anything that can truly be called me, that’s it.”
The box was small. It would fit in her palm. “It looks pretty highly integrated into everything around it.”
“Just yank it out.”
“Yank?”
“Pull. Hard. And then … run.”
She immediately started looking around engineering, wondering what would make it necessary for her to run. Would the Swarm jump out at her and try to stop her? Were there traps? Who the hell would set traps? Tim? Dammit, Shelby, focus. “Ok … why am I running?”
“Because I’m the only thing keeping this ship running. The quantum displacement field that is holding back Titan’s magma will fail within twenty minutes without me constantly adjusting the phase. And that’s only the beginning. The point is, you’ll be wanting to get out of here fast. And I won’t be able to help you or talk to you— Aw shit.” His voice had changed abruptly.
She looked around Engineering, but saw nothing. “What?”
“We’ve got trouble.”
“Of what variety?”
“Unwelcome guests.”
Chapter Forty-One
Bridge
ISS Independence
Near Britannia
In a flash, the unnamed planet purported to be the homeworld of the Skiohra disappeared on the viewscreen, instantly replaced by a view of Britannia, with Saturn’s moon Titan behind it and to the left from their perspective. It was a lot closer to the planet than when they’d left just a few hours ago.
“Huh,” said Zivic. “I guess Jesus Granger heard me after all. Looks like Titan might be trying to pull Britannia back into orbit.”
Commander Mumford, the science officer, let out a short breath of amazement from his station near the back of the bridge. “I tell you, I never thought I’d see anything like this. Pure magic.”
Ballsy raised an eyebrow. “Magic, Mr. Mumford? Never thought I’d hear a scientist say something like that.”
“How else can you explain it? I can almost—almost—buy the likelihood of a q-jump engine with a high enough power output to be able to move a moon. But this? Look at these readings. Britannia is feeling the pull of Titan, and therefore experiencing an acceleration vector in its direction, which, when you add the acceleration vector due to the sun, is resulting in a vector that will eventually, in the next hour or so, pull it back into its usual orbit. Titan, on the other hand, you want to know what acceleration vector due to gravity it is experiencing?”
“Surprise me,” said Ballsy.
“Zero. Titan is literally feeling zero gravitational pull from either the sun, or Britannia. If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is. Newton will not be cheated, my friends.”
Zivic chuckled a bit. “Not after what Einstein did to the bastard.”
Oppenheimer snapped his head in Zivic’s direction. “You think Einstein did anything to invalidate Newton? Far from it. All he did was refine the model, not toss it out. Newton is just an approximation to Einstein. And Einstein is just an approximation to Nguyen. And Nguyen’s q-space theory? Probably just an approximation to something else. Which gives me comfort that this, maybe, is not magic.”
Ballsy stood up from the captain’s chair. “All right. Last I heard, the president was on his way to Britannia for a meeting of the UE congressional security council. Is Interstellar One here yet?”
“Yes, sir. It hasn’t descended to the surface yet. Looks like it just made orbit,” said Whitehorse.
“Send a request for a teleconference. And Qwerty, you get on your horn and try to raise someone in the UE congressional leadership, and patch them into the party.”
Both officers set to work. Zivic sidled up to his father and murmured, “You really think they’re going to side with you? This is a huge gamble, you know.”
“It is,” replied Ballsy. “But it’s also the right thing to do. We’re a nation of laws. And if our leaders think they’re above the laws, then we’re doomed.” He looked up at Zivic. “And if our own house is not in order, how in the world can we ever hope to beat the Swarm? You weren’t there thirty years ago. We were this close, this close,” he held up two fingers a centimeter apart, “to losing, and all because of politics. Because of sniveling politicians thinking they were above the law, and wheeling and dealing and maneuvering behind the backs of the people and the military and the officers and crew who were sacrificing everything to win. I lost everything in that war, son.”
“You didn’t lose mom.”
Ballsy tensed, and frowned. “I never told you. Never told you about Fishtail.”
“Oh? Who was that?”
“A pilot. Jessica Miller. Was married. Had a kid. Her husband died in the first Swarm attack at Moonbase, I believe.” He was choked up. “I saved her. Twice. And she saved me. I thought I’d lost her, but against all odds, I saved her. But the experience changed us. I thought … I thought—” he shook his head in embarrassment. “This sounds crazy now that I say it out loud, but I thought I was going to marry that girl. I thought I was going to be that kid’s dad. But after seeing so much death and loss and nearly dying ourselves, it just got … awkward between us, and we drifted away from each other.”
Zivic was silent. He knew his father wasn’t trying to imply anything other than his own sense of loss. His own horrifying experiences during the Second Swarm War, but the subtext was unavoidable. “And so you married Spacechamp instead. Consolation prize.”
Ballsy glared at him. “How could you say that? That’s not true. Not in the slightest.”
“Isn’t it, Dad? You left her, and me, after what, three years? That’s all you could take of having second best?”
Ballsy’s face was turned purple, and Zivic thought for just a moment that a fist might be coming his way. But Captain Volz was nothing if not cool under fire. “That’s another thing I lost because of the war, son. In the war I was a hero. I was invincible. I was heralded by parades in my honor. Fifty gun salutes when I came to speak at academy graduations. Media interviews. Celebrities fawning over me. And then, when I got home, I was a—”
Zivic swallowed. “A what?”
Ballsy turned back to the screen. “A fucking failure, that’s what. I could win battles against an overwhelmingly powerful enemy. But at home? I couldn’t win a damn thing. I couldn’t help her. I was useless. She was broken too, and I didn’t know how to help her. To fix her. The war messed her up good, just like it did me. And we both paid the price.” He glanced at his son for the smallest of moments. “And so did you. Another way I failed: by failing you.” He turned back to the screen and lowered his voice even further. “Don’t get sucked in by the siren call, son. The false glamor of war. Don’t be a hero. Just be a human, who does great things. And then who goes home and does normal things.”
Zivic was speechless. But he didn’t even have time to think of how he might respond because almost simultaneously on the screen appeared both President Sepulveda and Senator Valeria Shin, who, if Zivic recalled correctly, was president of the senate. It looked like Shin was on a ship too, from the looks of the bridge crew in the background behind her.
“Volz, you better have a remarkably convincing reason why you’re here and under these circumstances. Where’s Oppenheimer?” said Sepulveda.
“He’s in the next room. I wanted to talk to you first, alone, and with a witness from congress. Thank you for joining us here, Senator Shin.”
Zivic glanced over at Qwerty, who’d made the call to get Shin, and wanted to buy the man a beer. The speaker of the house was from the president’s party, but Senator Shin was in the opposition, and very well respected. That he’d had the presence of mind to contact the right politician for the job at hand was, well, remarkable for someone who was usually so socially clueless.
Shin nodded. “What’s going on, captain? Am I to understand that you have the commander of the IDF fleet in custody? As Mr. Sepulveda says, I hope your reasons are very, very good.”
“They are, ma’am.” He looked over to Sepulveda. “Mr. President, I have evidence that Admiral Oppenheimer, on your orders, was planning on deploying an artificial singularity device, which you know full well are banned under UE law.”
Shin’s jaw dropped an inch. Sepulveda merely scoffed. “Oh, please. Spare me the whining about laws. This is a war, Volz. And you know who loses wars? The ones who fret and tear their hair out over silly laws that should never have been passed. Not all laws are good, and in this case, not all laws are smart. This law is deadly to us, right here. Right now. And under my executive authority granted by the emergency powers passed last week, I get special dispensation to sidestep particular troubling laws that only get in the way of the war effort.”
Senator Shin frowned. “Mr. President, you may have emergency war powers, but that does not extend to an offense as grave as this. Only murder, rape, and high treason have higher sentences. Are you prepared to defend yourself to the entire senate? To the people of the UE? The senate has referendum powers and if we find this accusation to be true, you’re risking a snap election as soon as next week. Are you prepared for that?”
“I’m prepared to save civilization as we know it, Valeria,” sneered Sepulveda. “Law and decorum and civil niceties all sound great, except when you’re in the mud where the enemy is not just kicking you in the balls and throwing dirt in your eyes, but also is basically bullet proof and can kill you with a single punch. You want an election? Fine. Because if we don’t beat the Swarm now, this week, there might not be any UE worlds left to vote.”
Whitehorse caught Volz’s attention. “Captain, the Earth defense fleet just showed up. They’re moving to flank us.”
Volz sighed. “So that’s how it’s going to be.”
Sepulveda lifted a finger, using it as punctuation as he talked. “Game over, Volz. Release the admiral now, and turn yourself in for high treason.”
“Like hell,” guffawed Volz. “You clearly haven’t met me. Remember thirty years ago? Oh, that’s right, you were an entitled frat boy passed out in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles and covered in vomit. I was on the front lines kicking the Swarm’s ass and saving Earth three times over. I’ll hand him over when hell swallows us all, because frankly, I’ve faced worse twice already this week.”
Sepulveda, his finger still up, pointed at the screen and nodded triumphantly. “See that? By law you must obey your commander-in-chief. Not much of a law boy now, are you? Spare me your idealism and let’s get on with the damn war.”
Senator Shin leaned forward until her face filled her half of the screen. “Gentlemen, please. We’re at an impasse, clearly. We can’t afford to be fighting amongst ourselves right now. Captain Volz, will you allow the admiral to leave, in exchange for assurances that no action will be taken against you? If the fleet backs down?”
A long pause. Ballsy finally nodded an ok. “Fine. But this isn’t over, Mr. President.”
Sepulveda flashed his toothy smile again. “No. Indeed it is not, Mr. Volz.”
The captain turned to the marine at the rear of the bridge and gestured with his thumb. “Get him on his shuttle immediately and tell the pilot to take him to the flagship.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The marine saluted, and left.
“Captain?” said Whitehorse, pointing at her screen.
“Now what?”
“Another ship is hailing us. They say it’s Patriarch Huntsman.”
Volz grumbled. “Religious nuts poking their noses into everything. Tell him to go bugger off. We’re busy.”
Sepulveda started talking to someone off screen, but they still caught his words. “Huntsman? What the hell are you doing here?”
They could just barely make out the response. “Fulfilling prophecy, Mr. President. The anti-Granger needs to be stopped in order for our salvation to appear.”
At hearing the words, a cold feeling crept over Zivic. His stomach clenched slightly, as if he was performing a high-g maneuver.
“And thank you, very much, for the delivery of your payment earlier. It’s what will enable the fulfillment of prophecy.” Some unintelligible words as Sepulveda shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “You are about to see the unthinkable. But fear not. The tool you’ve given me will enable us to crush it beneath our heels.”
“Huntsman? Huntsman? Where did you go? Dammit.” Sepulveda turned back to the screen, and his countenance had changed. There was a note of worry in his eyes, and now they squinted slightly at the edges a little more than usual. “This conversation is over.”
“Delivery? What did you give him, Mr. President? Was the payment authorized by the senate?” said Senator Shin.
But Sepulveda had ended the transmission.
“Captain!” For a third time, Whitehorse was flagging him down.
Ballsy sighed. “There’s more?”
“Right as the transmission to Interstellar One started, I detected a massive meta-space spike, coming from the general vicinity of Huntsman’s ship. I think he just tried to summon the Swarm, sir.”
He looked up at the screen just in time. Out of nowhere, as if an invisibility cloak had been ripped away from it, a gargantuan Swarm ship snapped into existence, just a few thousand kilometers from Titan.
Volz sat back down—collapsing, really—and when he spoke, his voice sounded like he’d aged ten years. “Time for round two.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Inside Titan
Near Britannia
“What do we do?” Proctor said. Case and Davenport both looked at her, probably wondering if she was still talking to the voice in her head or them.
“I … I’m not done adjusting Britannia’s orbit.”
“You … what?”
“This whole time I’ve been maneuvering Titan into a position from which I could pull Britannia back into its proper orbit and avoid permanently disrupting its climate. Your friend, Batshit, asked me.”
“Ethan Zivic asked you to move Britannia?”
“Yes. Tight beam low intensity laser fired just before he left the system on the Independence. I was almost done, but.…” His voice trailed off.
“Tim?”
When his voice returned, he was almost yelling. “Run, Shelby. Grab the box, and run.”
“Why?”
“Huntsman is here. I don’t have time to go into detail, but you must run.”
“Why?” She was yelling by now, but starting to pry the black box out.
“I’m ninety eight percent certain that he has an artificial singularity device, and that he means to use it against Titan to destroy me.”
“What? We got rid of all of those!” The box was coming loose. Any moment now….
“Not all of them, apparently. I can detect them half a galaxy away when they’re activated. I’m telling you, Shelby. Run.”
The box came loose, and with it, Granger’s voice disappeared. She pointed towards the exit. “Let’s go. Fast.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Bridge
Stealth ship The Prophet’s Revenge
Near Britannia
Patriarch Tobey Orrin Huntsman knew the time was ripe. The fulness of times was upon them.
Finally.
As soon as the gentile president’s face disappeared from the screen, he turned to look at his assistant manning the comm station on their freighter. The Most Holy Place, he’d named it. A grand title befitting such a lowly, humble ship. Just as holiness ever was. Lowly. Humble. A babe in a stable. A voice crying in the wilderness wearing burlap and eating locusts. A prophet ushering in the fulness of times in a Missouri swamp. An avenging angel on a decommissioned, leaky merchant freighter.
“Brother Lindsey, send word to the destroying angel. The time has arrived.”
The assistant, blank-faced, unfeeling, simply placed a hand on the flat surface of the console. No buttons were pushed. No commands entered in. Such was the way with the Valarisi, Heavenly Father’s mortal conduit for the Holy Ghost. It infused his assistant, quickened him, and celestialized him, all while still in the flesh.
It was glorious.
A moment later, the assistant shifted his head, ever so slightly. “It is done, Brother Huntsman. And it is well.”
The prophet leaned back in his chair. “Amen. And Amen.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Bridge
ISS Resolute
Near Britannia
Admiral Christian Danforth Oppenheimer stormed onto the bridge of the Resolute, his flagship and most advanced vessel in the fleet. And he was boiling with rage.
“Is it doing anything? Assemble the fleet. Send a distress call to the San Martin defense fleet and tell them to get their asses here yesterday. I want all torpedo tubes loaded and ready to go. And tell the deck hands to transfer the contents of my shuttle’s cargo into one of the tubes. I have a feeling it may come in handy against that monstrosity,” he said, pointing up at the screen which was showing the Swarm ship slowly turn to bring one of its main guns to bear on Titan.
A minute of focused pandemonium on the bridge passed as every station transitioned into battle mode and the department heads marshaled the flagship’s crew and systems to bear.
“Damage teams in place, sir.”
“Torpedo tubes all loaded except one, sir. Waiting for the package.”
“All mag-rails primed and ready, sir.”
“Sickbay reports ready, sir.”
One by one the department heads reported in. Until finally, the report he was waiting for arrived. From the deck crew he’d assigned to transfer the package. The artificial singularity tipped torpedo that would win them this battle and make him and his crew heroes.
“Captain?” said he deck chief over the comm.
“Yes, chief? Is it ready?”
“Sir, it’s … ah … it’s gone, sir.”
Chapter Forty-Five
The destroying angel. That is what the prophet had called him.
Years ago, they would have used the title, Friend. When individuals were brought into the Concordat of Seven, they were made to be friends.
Times change. Terms change. Meaning does not.
The voice called out in his head, as if it were a voice, but a noiseless voice. And yet not a voice, for it came from him. That was what the Concordat was like. The family. They spoke with one voice. One will. One goal.
It is time. Act now, said the voice.
The destroying angel left his post in the middle of the command center, and approached the weapons station. The people there were busy, and after a curt nod, they ignored him.
Good.
He reached down to the console. Everything was in place. He’d seen to that earlier, waiting for the command. Acting his part. Acting it very, very well.
The launch button was right there. One press away from victory.
He pressed it.
And then he returned to the center, and waited.
Chapter Forty-Six
Inside Titan
Near Britannia
Proctor ran as fast as she could, thanking fate the whole time that gravity was only at one half g. They retraced their steps from Engineering, back up the stairs, down more hallways, past the rooms with strange equipment. Some of those rooms now rang with seemingly uncontrolled energy. Whatever Granger had been doing to keep the place under control was quickly becoming noticeable in its absence.
“Ma’am, this way,” Case waved his hand and lifted her over a section of ceiling that had fallen. She just now noticed that the walls were shaking uncontrollably.
Her comm buzzed. “Admiral? You coming yet? Carson to Admiral Proctor, do you read?”
“I’m here, commander.”
“Finally. Been trying to raise you for twenty minutes. We’ve got incoming. A few moments ago all the jamming disappeared, and as soon as they did, my sensors detected a torpedo headed our way. It’ll be at the entrance to the shaft in less than five minutes. No idea what it’s tipped with, but I’m damn sure it ain’t cotton candy.”
She pointed up the long stairway they still had to ascend. “Run.” Dammit, how long had it taken them to climb down here? Five minutes? Ten?
They ran up the stairs. Her knees ached. Everything ached. But she ran faster, cradling the little black box against her chest, knowing that it, and it alone contained the secret that would save them all.
If she could only live long enough that it would even matter.
The stairs seemed endless. They passed the transition from smooth metal to rough asteroid rock. Her legs were screaming out in pain and her lungs were on the verge of exploding, but grabbing the banister with one hand and clutching onto the box with the other she started taking them two at a time. “Thank god for ceramic knees and half g gravity wells,” she wheezed.
Her side started to ache, then burn with a sharp, acute pain.
“Almost there, ma’am. Please, we must hurry.” Case had slung the rifle over a shoulder, and without even asking her grabbed the box out of her hand, and offered his other. She took it, and with strength that nearly pulled her sixty-nine year old upper arm out of its socket, he gave her a boost that let her take the stairs three at a time.
“I … I can’t …” She had to stop. The pain was too intense. She was going to pass out. She started seeing white stars at the edges of her vision and at first thought that they had made it, but it was just her sight failing as her brain struggled to get enough oxygen. “I can’t—”
“Almost there, admiral. You’re going to make it. Almost there!”
Even as her vision went nearly white she felt herself bounding up the stairs, somehow, her legs imbued with superhuman strength, which she supposed was just an illusion since Case had let go of her hand and now had a solid grip on her upper arm and was carrying half her weight.
“You guys have thirty seconds! It’s now or never—”
And suddenly, they were there. The top came upon them so quickly that Proctor bounded off the last stair and a full meter into the air before collapsing on the bare rock of the asteroid’s surface. She wondered why she couldn’t see—after all, the giant void in Titan’s mantle was surrounded by glowing magma, before she remembered that her vision was still recovering from her lightheadedness.
“Holy shit,” said Case. “It’s … dark.”
Carson’s voice came over their helmet comms. “Yeah, whatever magic force field that was holding that lava back suddenly went completely opaque about ten minutes ago. I’m not sure what’s going to take us out first, the torpedo, or a bajillion tons of hot magma.”
She felt someone pick her up, and she must have passed out for a few seconds because moments later she startled awake in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Defiance, which, from what she could tell on the viewscreen, was tearing through the tube extending up to the surface like a bat out of a literal hell.
A flash on the screen lit up the walls, and then disappeared. “What was that?” she slurred. She was still waking up, and wished the adrenaline would come back.
“That was the torpedo we just passed. It’s on its way down to that void. And …” Davenport cocked his head at the data coming from the sensors. “That’s a weird reading. Never seen a warhead like that before.”
“Let me see. Send it to my chair’s monitor,” she said. Moments later, the energy pattern appeared, one that she hadn’t seen in decades. One that meant only one thing. “Oh my god. No!” She jumped out of her seat and yelled at Case. “Lieutenant! Q-jump NOW. ANYWHERE!”
To his credit, his training had taken over and he didn’t lose his head or his cool. With a calm precision, he entered in some numbers and pressed the initiator button.
The tunnel disappeared in a flash. Soon, it was replaced by stars.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Terrace Heights playground
Whitehaven
Britannia
Sarah Watkins usually didn’t get to go to the playground two days in a row. Her mother preferred to alternate between the playground and the beach during summer vacation. But with all the confusion from yesterday and the earthquakes, they’d skipped the beach, choosing the short ten minute walk to the park instead.
And that was perfectly fine with Sarah. She and her imaginary friend Sam were both swinging this time, in a contest to see who could go higher.
Higher, higher. Pump the legs forward, swing the legs back, just like daddy taught her.
It was hot that day, and the breeze on her face as she swung was nice. She wished the sun would go away.
And it did.
Covering it was another one of those Granger moons. She thought maybe her mom would start screaming again, so she looked back at the bench she was sitting on.
No screaming, just talking nervously into her handset as she eyed the sky. The sudden twilight making it a little difficult to see her face.
So Sarah wouldn’t scream either. She would just go higher, and higher.
And when she got the highest, winning her game with Sam, it seemed the whole sky erupted in fireworks, as if to applaud her. To celebrate her.
It made her want to go even higher, and so she did.
The light got brighter, and she heard an odd noise nearby. She turned back to her mother.
Her mother wasn’t screaming. She was crying. Her handset was on the ground, and she’d stood up, still staring at the sky. And now with the fireworks Sarah could see her face. She looked petrified. And she wouldn’t stop crying.
Crying. Moaning.
And Sarah could not understand why. The sky was beautiful. More beautiful than she’d ever seen it, illuminated by a ball of light that grew bigger and bigger.
And so she swung higher.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“Where are we?” She sat back down, cautiously, and breathed.
“About a hundred thousand clicks from Britannia, ma’am. Titan is off our port bow.” Case maneuvered the ship until Titan appeared on the viewscreen, and behind it, looming much larger, was Britannia, green and blue and beautiful with clouds and coastlines and wilderness that extended for thousands of miles on both continents, forests and mountains and tundra and plains, and the billions of people bustling about their day, trying to get back to their normal business, a continent and center of human civilization going about the daily mundane tasks of staying civilized, and her brother and his wife, she knew, were down there somewhere. All this and more flashed across her mind in the next moment. The moment seemed to slow down. It was an eternal moment. Almost a peaceful moment. She supposed it was exactly opposite what Granger experienced in the black hole, as he looked out at the universe outside and saw it speed up. But for her, time stopped in that moment. And even during that moment, she knew the image would be seared into her memory for the rest of her life. It would give her nightmares, she knew. Everything would change.
Titan exploded.
The crust expanded outward in a rapidly growing white sphere, followed by titanic streams of magma.
It took more than ten seconds, but eventually the blast front nearest Britannia overtook it, slamming into the surface, rendering everything on the near side of the planet a red maelstrom of boiling lava and billowing clouds as the entire ocean evaporated in a flash and exploded outward into space as if a giant white parachute had unfurled from the planet. But instead of saving it from a crash landing it was the grotesque and heartbreaking sign of its death.
Britannia was gone. In its place, a shell of a world.
Britannia. It was gone.
Britannia.
“Ma’am?” Case’s voice was strangely calm. “Ma’am? What do we do?”
“Lieutenant Case. I … I…” she looked down at the box still clutched tightly to her chest with white knuckled hands. She let it drop onto the floor with a clatter. One last, desperate, childish hope was extinguished as the box did not disgorge a genie in the shape of Tim Granger, beatific and triumphant and ready to wave a magic resurrected Jesus Granger hand and make everything better.
She looked up at him, too broken to even cry. “Jeremy. I don’t know.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Bridge
ISS Independence
Near Britannia
“Firing torpedoes, sir! All mag-rail crews are focused on that main weapons spire pointing at Titan,” Whitehorse called out. On the viewscreen Zivic watched as torpedo after torpedo leapt away and raced across space towards the Swarm ship moving implacably towards Titan.
Zivic noticed his father pace back towards the weapons station to watch the progress from there. The captain bent low to peer at one of the screens and tapped it, perhaps to scroll through the tracking of the damage the sensors were seeing on the enemy ship.
“Captain?” Zivic said. “Orders for the flight crew? Are we deploying, or not?”
His father ignored him. Instead, he finished at the weapons station, nodded to himself as if lost in thought, and returned to the center of the bridge.
“Dad? Yay or nay? Moonshine is squawking at us, wondering what’s up.”
“No need, son.”
His father hadn’t even turned away from the viewscreen to tell him. He was transfixed.
“Uh, captain,” began Whitehorse, studying her screen at the weapons station. “We just launched a torpedo. And … it’s behaving oddly.”
“We’ve launched lots of torpedoes, Lieutenant,” he replied, still watching the process of the battle on the screen.
“Yes, sir, but this one just veered off its course towards the Swarm ship. Something wrong with its avionics, and it’s not responding. I can’t control it. It’s a loose cannon at this point. We should send a message out to the fleet to be on guard in case it heads their way.”
He gave a short, single nod. “Proceed.”
Lieutenant Qwerty signaled out to the rest of the defenders about the rogue torpedo, but halfway through his message it became clear something was terribly wrong.
“Sir, it’s not just flying randomly. It’s heading towards Titan. And not just towards it, but targeted directly on what looks like a giant hole. Like an access port or something that whatever is in there has tunneled.”
“The false savior reaps the whirlwind,” murmured Ballsy.
Zivic cocked his head, then glanced back at Whitehorse. She shrugged, and mouthed what does that mean?
“Dad? What’s going on?”
“Just watch, son. That Swarm ship will never know what hit it.”
He felt an impending sense of unease, but turned towards the screen and watched. The weapons spire on the Swarm ship was clearly charging, and all the fleet’s combined strength was having little effect on it. Within a few minutes it would fire, and Titan was toast.
“The torpedo entered Titan. And … oh my god.” Whitehorse looked like she’d seen a ghost. “I’m detecting strange quantum fluctuations coming off of it. Gravitational distortions and eddies. Sir, I think something is not just wrong with that torpedo. I think it’s been altered.”
“Indeed it has, lieutenant.”
Zivic and Whitehorse were speechless, and the rest of the bridge crew was quieting down as they noticed something was up. And in another minute, words failed them completely.
Titan’s death was breathtaking. It would have been a spectacular show especially since its main blast front tore through the nearby Swarm ship as if it were tissue paper.
But Britannia was behind it. And it died too. It happened so quietly, so matter-of-factly, so quickly, that Zivic felt like he was watching a simulation. A movie. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be reality.
But it was. And Britannia burned. A plume of white blasted off the entire surface nearest them and billowed upward. The ocean evaporating and blasting into space.
“And the false savior dies. Just like he said,” murmured Ballsy.
Zivic turned and walked towards the marine standing guard at the door. With a nod and a pointed finger, he indicated the man’s stun gun, and the marine unholstered it and passed it over. He turned and approached the center of the bridge. A raised arm. He fired.
Ballsy shook momentarily, then collapsed onto the deck.
It was another surreal event, against the backdrop of the impossible, and so the entire bridge crew watched it happen without saying a word.
“Nobody touch him!” yelled Zivic. He pointed at the marine whose gun he took and said, “get a body bag or something. Blankets. Whatever. Don’t touch his skin. No skin contact. Am I clear?”
The marine nodded. “Yes, sir,” he stepped out and returned a few moments later with a body bag he’d retrieved from the supply closet next to the bridge.
“Get him in quarantine. Tell Nurse Cunningham that he’s not to be touched.”
The marine, with help from an ensign at ops and a yeoman at damage control, gingerly wrapped the captain up in the body bag and lifted him up. Soon, they were gone.
“Commander Mumford. I believe you’re in charge,” said Zivic. “What are your orders, sir?”
The bridge was still frozen in silence. Titan still disintegrated and Britannia still burned on the viewscreen. Scores of ships that hadn’t been overtaken by Titan’s blast front were flying like hell away from the vicinity. The whole scene was surreal. It couldn’t be real.
“I’m no battle commander, lieutenant, I’m a scientist. Under regulation sixteen C, I defer command to Lieutenant Commander Whitehorse,” said Commander Mumford. “We’re in a war, not a science mission. You’d be ill-served by me in command.”
Zivic swallowed hard, still watching the destruction unfold. “With respect, commander, you’re wrong. This is not a battle. This is where we flee. That blast front is going to hit us within a minute.”
Mumford couldn’t even reply. He was rooted to the spot, staring at the screen like the rest of them, watching their civilization go up in smoke.
Whitehorse took a deep breath, and spoke softly. “Ensign Riisa. Plot a q-jump. Take us out to Wellington Shipyards. Take us to Calais. We can regroup there and plan any … rescue operations.”
She hesitated on the word rescue. It was clear to everyone present that there was probably going to be no rescuing going on that day.
“Aye, aye, SIR!” Riisa yelled, suddenly unfrozen. She sprung into action, and that served as a trigger for everyone else.
Qwerty opened a fleet-wide channel and glanced back at Whitehorse. “You’re on, ma’am. I assume you’ll want to make sure everyone else gets out too. And to the same place.”
“Yes, thank you Mr. Qwerty.” She cleared her throat. “All ships. Every ship within the reach of this transmission. Get away from Britannia. The blast front from Titan will destroy you. Nothing is safe for millions of kilometers out from it. Get out now. The Independence is heading towards Calais. Wellington Shipyards. Lieutenant Commander Whitehorse repeating, all ships, get out now. Go to Calais.”
Calais was only a few dozen million kilometers away, and the q-jump calculations were simple. In another ten seconds, the scene of destruction disappeared off the screen, replaced by the deceptively tranquil peace of Calais’s methane storms. Wellington Shipyards, a massive structure orbiting the gas giant, hung in the foreground.
“No. No, Jerusha. We need to go back. Away from the blast front. There have to be survivors. Ships that could make it out if they just had some assistance.” But even in his own ears his words sounded hollow and unrealistic. He remembered the speech his father had just given him, just minutes earlier. Sometimes you had to be a hero. But sometimes you just had to be a human.
And the only human thing available to them now, was to mourn.
Chapter Fifty
Bridge
Interstellar One
Near Britannia
“He betrayed me. He played me.”
President Sepulveda felt a rush of … something. He didn’t recognize it. It was like a foreign substance in his body. Could it be? Could it really be … the Swarm? Had Huntsman’s betrayal gone that far?
He closed his eyes, breathed deep, shook his head a few times, and then looked back up at the viewscreen on the bridge of Interstellar One. Britannia was still drowning in fire and ballistic moon debris. And … his mind was still his own.
No. It was impossible. He couldn’t be infected. He was no man’s bitch.
But the feeling was still there. It needed a name. It needed to be categorized and therefore understood, exposed for what it was, and then discounted and ignore.
It was … fear.
Hopeless fear. Dread.
“Sir, we need to get you out of here. Now,” said Tom. Right. The secret service’s number one job. The President’s survival. Even as humanity burned down before their very eyes.
“Right.”
“Where to, sir? Lieutenant Commander Whitehorse on the Independence is calling a retreat to Calais. Admiral Oppenheimer is ordering the Earth Defense Fleet back to Earth and is accompanying them there on the Resolute. And we’re just now detecting a signal from what appears to be Admiral Proctor on board the stealthed Defiance.
“Audio? Visual?”
“Audio. Encrypted, but we’ve got decryption software that deciphers just about everything.”
“Let me hear.” He leaned forward in his chair.
The communications officer on the bridge tapped her console. “—don’t think we can do that. Our civilization is in ruins—” Proctor was speaking so low it was almost a whisper. But she was interrupted.
“So is ours, Motherkiller. This war, though we have through our very best efforts tried to avoid it, has touched even us. It has ruined us. Tens of thousands of my sisters are dead, as are millions of their children—”
“And billions of ours. Billions, Krull. An entire world. The center of our civilization after Earth. My … brother. His wife. My students. Almost everyone I’ve ever known. All incinerated. And you have the temerity, the gall, to ask me to go find a ship? I’m not a courier. I’m not your messenger girl. My civilization is burning down around me as we speak!”
“Motherkiller, please. I believe it is … important.”
“My god, Krull! Wake up! Listen to yourself. Fine. Ok. Tell me, what is so important about that ship that you need it to meet you at Calais? And why the hell can’t you go meet it somewhere yourself? Why me?”
“Because, Motherkiller, we … are at war. They would never come. Not if I ask. They would think it’s an ambush. And as for the what, I can’t tell you yet. Not over an open channel like this. The risks are too great. But suffice it to say it’s … important. Monumentally important. To stop the Swarm.”
“Then my answer is no. Go do your own shit, I’ll go do mine. If you can’t even tell me, then we’re done. Proctor out.”
Silence. Sepulveda stroked the stubble on his chin.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
“Sir? We still need a heading. That blast front will overtake us in a few minutes.”
“Open an encrypted channel to the Benevolence. And then I’ll tell you our destination after that.”
Peel frowned, but waved to the communications officer, who tapped the console a few times. “Ok, Mr. President. You’re on.”
“Polrum Krull. This is President Sepulveda of United Earth. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I overheard your conversation with Admiral Proctor. Tell me. What’s so important about that other ship?”
Krull’s voice came sonorously over the speakers overhead. “President Sepulveda. Your name rings of death.”
“Yeah … I get that a lot. Now answer my question, please.”
“My answer is the same as to the Motherkiller. The stakes are too high over an open channel.”
“I assure you, ma’am, no-one will ever decrypt this particular channel. We’re in a sealed, locked-down, airtight, electromagnetically isolated, hermetic box right now, you and me.”
A long, long pause. “There’s a room. A room I’m now prepared to open. It’s here, on the Benevolence. That is all I can tell you. And I need someone to meet me at Calais.”
“Why Calais?”
“Because, if I’m right, not just anyone can enter that room.”
“Who,” he said with exasperation. “Who? What ship?”
“Vishgane Kharsa. On the Dolmasi flagship.”
“You … need a Dolmasi … to go into one of your rooms?” The alien woman had lost her marbles.
“Not just Kharsa. But the others that will enter are already on their way.”
Sepulveda sighed. What choice did he have? He could go back to Earth and help muster the defense. But who was he kidding? Oppenheimer and the admirals didn’t need him tripping them up. He’d already fucked things up enough ordering Oppenheimer to use the singularity against the Swarm—clearly he shouldn’t have entrusted it to him, seeing how Huntsman, that traitor, somehow managed to steal it and send it towards Titan instead. He’d trusted someone—two someones—he shouldn’t have, and now eight billion people were dead.
“All right. I’ll go. But what makes you think a Dolmasi general—who right up until two weeks ago we were shooting at—would agree to come with me?”
Krull laughed. It was the first time he’d heard her do so, and he’d read in briefing books that it often sounded like she was simply mimicking human mannerisms every time a human had a conversation with her. But this laugh sounded absolutely genuine. “Mr. Death. You are slippery enough to become president of United Earth. I’m sure you’ll find a way to convince just about anybody to vote for you. Kharsa included. Now go, please. And good luck.”
The transmission ended. Peel was tapping his wristwatch. “Mr. President? We need a decision, or we’ll just take you to Earth in the absence of one.”
It was s struggle to say the words. They’d most likely kill him. Take him prisoner. Or worse, ignore him. After over ten seconds of uncomfortable silence, he spoke. “Dolmasi space.”
“You’re joking. You’re the goddamn president.”
“Exactly. Like a fool, I was aiming for Proctor, thinking that if she killed Quimby she’d have no qualms about killing me. But I was an idiot: I trusted Huntsman, and look where that got us. I almost just destroyed humanity. And now? I have to save it. Let’s go.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Bridge
Sword of Justice
Debris cloud of El Amin
Liu and Danny had to leave the asteroid cloud in a hurry. Two unidentified ships were bearing down on them, sending hails and charging weapons when they didn’t answer. And so they did what any sane person would do.
They charged the q-jump engine and got the hell out of dodge, and now they were already plodding through q-space, jump after jump towards Britannia, when the meta-space distress calls went out.
“Oh.” She started at the message in disbelief. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Danny asked. But she couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t unlock the fear that had seized her throat and sealed it solid. She shook head, dislodging her biological response to shock and fear through the force of habit. She cleared her throat.
“Britannia’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone how?”
Liu shook her head. “No, it’s gone. Destroyed.”
Danny’s face screwed up tight. But he didn’t cry. Not yet. Liu was glad. She hated it when he cried, not that it happened much, but when it did she couldn’t bear it.
“I’m sorry, Danny. I know your parents were there.”
He stared straight out the front viewport, eyes unblinking. “Everyone I ever knew, before San Martin.”
She was numb too. She never cried, but even if she could, the magnitude of the loss was too great. Crying wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. How do you mourn eight billion people? “Tell me about them. Your parents.” She needed to change the subject, and helping Danny grieve seemed as good as any subject.
“Yeah. Ok. They garden. They go to the beach like five times a year. They … They’re great. Were. They were great.” And that was enough. At the utterance of the word were, he broke down.
She stood up to go put her arms around him. That, at least, she could do.
But she only made it about halfway. She doubled over and started retching, vomiting huge heaves of almost nothing onto the floor. Just more stomach lining. The radiation she’d absorbed was starting to show its affects again, after that first wave aboard the Defiance.
And there was nothing she could do to stop it, however much she wanted to believe the lies she told Proctor. The radiation would kill her. Inexorably, and surely.
“Fiona? Oh my god, hey—Hey, let me help you.” He’d gotten out of his own seat and was kneeling beside her, rubbing her back, his own tears momentarily forgotten. “I know. I want to throw up too. But I’ll stick with bawling for now.”
She shook her head through the heaves. When they finally subsided and she collapsed to a sitting position on the side of one bent leg, she made her decision. He had to know. He’d know anyway in a few hours, no matter what she said. “Danny, I’m dying.”
“What?”
“I was onboard your aunt’s ship when an attack happened. I was in the engine room, and I absorbed … a little more radiation than I probably should have.”
“How much more?”
“A lot more, Danny.”
He was shaking his head in disbelief. “No. I can’t. I can’t lose my parents. My home. My planet. And … you, all at once.”
“You’ll be ok, Danny. I found you. You’re alive. I’m taking you back to your aunt—she ordered me to find you. And, hey, let’s face it,” she looked up out the viewport like he had earlier. “We’re all about to die anyway. The Swarm isn’t going to stop this time. No matter what Jesus Granger has to say about it.”
The sat in silence for a long, long time, Danny occasionally shaking with a few silent sobs, Fiona sometimes leaning on all fours, retching again.
“No. I’m not sitting idly by while you die. I’m not doing it.” He stood up abruptly and starting opening storage containers on the walls of the bridge, peering inside, and slamming them before opening another.
“Danny? What are you doing?”
“Saving you. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” He opened another container, looked inside, and then slammed it.
“By … throwing a tantrum?”
He opened another, and reached inside. “Got it.” He pulled something out. It was in his palm and she couldn’t immediately see what it was. “No tantrum. Just a little … fluid exchange.”
“Now? You want to have sex now?! What is that, lube?”
He grinned. “I’ll take a rain check.” He held the item up in his fingers. A small utility knife.
“You’re … going to … cut … the radiation out of me?”
He sat back down next to her. “Fiona, it’s a long shot. But it’s my only shot.” He sliced the tip of his finger, suppressing a groan through his teeth. “God, that hurt.”
“Danny, what the hell are you doing?” She reached for the knife. He pulled it away.
“Fiona. I was dead.” He looked down, as if ashamed. “I … I don’t know if you knew that.”
His face was still red, whether from embarrassment or from the steady healing of his burns, she couldn’t tell. His hair was just barely starting to grow back. “Yeah. I read that in Avasar’s notes. I’m sorry, Danny, that sounds rough.”
“Hell, I don’t remember it. But you know what I do remember?” He held his bloody finger tip up. “Coming back. When they injected me with that Swarm stuff, I told you, it was like a woke up. And Fiona, it fixed me. I wouldn’t be here without it. There’s something about this virus that, when it mixes in with our cells and blood and DNA or whatever, it fixes everything it mixes in with.”
She started crawling backward. “No. Danny, I’m not getting that shit in me. You have no idea if they still won’t figure out a way to control you. I’m not going to risk that.”
“You’d rather die? Than risk that?” He frowned at that. “Fiona, listen to me. I’ve thought a lot about this over the past few weeks, ever since they injected me. I’ve had almost every waking moment available to think about it, since I was pretending to be asleep half the time. Here’s what I think. I don’t think this is Swarm matter. I think it’s just … Valarisi. Swarm-free. It’s like, there’s this voice inside me. It’s so odd.”
She kept crawling backward. “A … voice?”
“But … but no, not like what the Swarm were supposed to be like. With them it was like you could hear all their voices at once, all talking to each other in perfect harmony, because you had no choice to think otherwise. This feels way different than that. I feel … like there is one, solitary other individual inside of me. Alien. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, and yet it’s as clear as day. I can almost feel its personality. It’s … humanity, if you will.”
She stopped crawling, and leaned back on her hands. “Is it … talking to you?”
He shrugged. “Kinda.”
“What is it saying?”
“It says to not be afraid, Fiona.” He held out his bloody finger.
“Danny, how the hell can you trust it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked at his finger, then back at her. “I just know I’d rather have you alive and fixable, than dead and gone.”
The argument was actually a compelling one. It was true: Granger had, at one point, been infected with the Swarm virus, and he’d been rid of it. She pulled her own tactical knife out of her belt and quickly nipped her forearm. She wouldn’t slice anywhere on her hand—she might still need to punch someone. “Danny Proctor, you always get me into trouble.”
They leaned in towards each other. His finger touched her arm. Blood mixed. And that was that. They both leaned back on their hands again, still on the floor.
And then she gasped.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Near Britannia
Proctor slid a finger in the air near her throat, indicating to Lieutenant Davenport to cut the transmission. “The nerve of that woman. Watching our planet get destroyed, and then asking help for a game of hide and seek.”
“But ma’am,” said Davenport, “what if … she’s right?”
“I beg your pardon?” She swiveled her seat around to face him. Marines weren’t supposed to squirm, and he very nearly did.
“She says finding that Dolmasi ship could help end the war.”
She guffawed. “That’s bullshit.”
“Has she ever bullshitted you, ma’am?”
She pounded her armrest. “Goddammit, lieutenant. My answer is no.”
“Ma’am, what else have we got?”
She held up the box. “We’ve got this.”
“That’s a box. From which you heard voices in your head,” said Commander Carson.
“Oh not you too, commander.” She stood up and paced towards them, slowly. “It wasn’t voices. It was Tim fucking Granger. And, from what he told me, he is in this box.” She shook it in front of her, and then stared at it. “My god, that does sound crazy.”
Carson demurred. “If you weren’t going to say it, ma’am, then … I probably would have eventually.”
“The fact remains,” she continued, “as crazy as it sounds, it’s what I’ve got to go on. And you saw what was down there with your own eyes. Clearly, some far greater being than any of us, with incomprehensible technology at his or her disposal, created that void in the middle of Titan’s mantle and converted the whole damn moon into a giant q-jumping cannon. Given that, what the hell is so hard to believe about this? If a moon can q-jump, then this box can contain Tim Granger. And at the moment, that’s all I’ve got.”
Davenport shook his head. “Ma’am, you’ve also got Krull’s request. I don’t understand why she would lie to us.”
“Lieutenant, I’ve had aliens lying to me for longer than you’ve been alive.” She turned to look him in the eyes. Very young eyes, too young to have seen the injustices and curveballs and outrages that the universe could throw at you. “Dolmasi have lied to me. Skiohra have lied to me. Swarm did nothing but lie to me. And the Valarisi—” she choked up for a moment. “They would have eventually lied to me, had they ever been given the chance.”
“But you killed them before they could, ma’am,” Carson.
“No! Oppenheimer killed them. My own XO, going behind my back to force my hand. General Norton killed them—he’s the one that gave me the order.”
“But who carried it out, ma’am?”
She left the box on Carson’s terminal, and sighed. She paced back to the captain’s chair, slowly lowering herself into it. Good lord, these soldiers, these kids, questioning her, doubting her, making her … re-examine herself. It hurt. “Yes. I did. I killed them. A whole race, gone, because of me. And would they have lied to me too? You bet.”
They all waited for her to speak, but she was done. She’d watched her planet die. She’d heard her old friend’s voice in her head, and, thinking she’d found him alive at last, found tiny box instead. She’d lost her brother. She’d lost everything.
“All we’re saying, admiral, is that you have choices. Nothing is controlling you. Nothing is determining your destiny. Not that box. Not Krull. Not Oppenheimer. Not Sepulveda. And, most decidedly not a man who’s been dead for thirty years.” Carson finished his speech, and actually looked a little red in the face. Embarrassment? “Sorry, ma’am. I … was a motivational speaker before the military.”
“No kidding?” She chuckled, in spite of her sorry state. “You’re absolutely right, commander. Thank you. Take us to Wellington Shipyards.” Her eyes fell from Carson, down to the box. “I’ve got a present to open there.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Bridge
ISS Independence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia System
Wellington Shipyards was a hive of activity: most of the other ships in the vicinity of Britannia with q-jump capabilities had had the same idea as Lieutenant Commander Whitehorse. Fleet ships that had survived the aborted battle with the Swarm ship were everywhere, waiting for berth assignments. Smaller vessels that had been lucky enough to be far enough away from Britannia when it was hit by Titan’s blast front were scattered throughout the vicinity, probably with their q-drive’s spun up on standby in case the Swarm made a sudden appearance.
Everyone was on edge.
Whitehorse exhaled a deep breath. “Ok. We’re here.” She stood up. “I want a full ship status report. Ordnance inventory. Repair status. Everything. Commander Mumford, you have the bridge. Zivic, you’re with me.”
Zivic followed her out the door and down the corridor towards the lift. He fell into step with her, opened his mouth to talk, but found he had nothing to say. The magnitude of the event was still hitting him. His brain was still processing it.
He followed her to sickbay. He knew exactly where she’d be headed. The door opened to reveal Captain Volz, still knocked out, strapped and cuffed to an examination bed, with a hard transparent plastic partition separating him from them.
“What’s his status, Nurse Cunningham?”
“Physically? He’s perfectly fine.”
“Mentally? Neural pathways? Brain patterns?”
“Also fine. But I’ve also only had a few minutes here. I’m afraid I won’t have any answers for you for awhile. If at all.”
Zivic stared at his father, prone and asleep, snoring lightly. “Answers. So. You know what happened? You heard?”
“Staff Sergeant Bicks told me when he brought the captain in, yes. But you should know, I have exactly zero experience with Swarm matter infection. It’s not exactly a course they taught at med school. I thought the Swarm matter was all gone. Extinct.”
“So did we. And here he is.” Of all the things that still had Zivic in shock, it was this. His father. Who, just hours before, was crammed into a fighter with him manning the rear gun, shooting mini Swarm fighters off their tail. Who just half an hour ago was giving him a heart-to-heart life lesson. Who just today had called him so many names he’d lost count. Did the Swarm call people names in jest? How had whatever was controlling his father acted so convincingly?
“We need to wake him, Nurse. I have questions. Urgent questions that need answers,” said Whitehorse.
Nurse Cunningham nodded and touched something on a console near the wall. Out of the examination bed, a meta-syringe extended and pressed against Ballsy’s neck. In about a minute, he was awake.
“Where the hell am I?” He looked around himself, tried to get up, but found himself restrained. “What the … what is this? Ethan?” His father was finally looking at him. “Ethan what’s going on? Did I black out during the battle? Was I injured?”
Zivic walked around the plastic enclosure, still staring at the thing inside that had the body of his father. “You’re really good. I’d read the stories, the history of the war. I knew Swarm-controlled agents were excellent actors. But I had no idea.”
Ballsy swore. “What the hell are you talking about? Get me out of this bed. Now.”
Zivic kept pacing. “They say the entire Russian High Command at the time was infected, including several people in high UE posts. Even Granger himself had the stuff in him at one point.”
“It was all destroyed,” said Ballsy. “There was no Swarm matter left. And I was there when Proctor destroyed the remaining Valarisi. They’re dead too. There is no possible way I could be infected with Swarm matter.”
Zivic stopped pacing and folded his arms. “And yet here you are.”
“Yes. Here I am. Tied to a bed by a no-good son who’s got mush for brains. Let me the hell out.”
“No, Dad. You’re staying right there until we can find the cure. If there even is a cure. Granger was cured, so maybe you can be too.”
Ballsy stopped struggling. “Ethan, look, we can talk about the finer details of Swarm War history later. But I know, for certain, that there is no more Swarm matter any—”
“You destroyed Britannia, Dad,” he blurted out, interrupting him. “You destroyed Britannia. You fired a singularity-tipped torpedo down to Titan, and it blew. It was too close to Britannia, trying to stabilize its orbit, so now Britannia is gone too. You destroyed a Granger moon, and you destroyed….” His voice caught in his throat. “Our home. And eight billion people. So no, Dad, I am not letting you out of there until we can explain this.”
Ballsy’s face turned sheet white. His eyes darted to Whitehorse. “Jerusha? Is it true?”
She only nodded.
Zivic had never seen his father cry. But the tears welled, and poured down his cheeks. “Everyone?”
Whitehorse nodded again. “I don’t see how anyone could have survived. Even buried in a bunker a hundred kilometers deep. Everyone. Everyone is dead.”
Ballsy’s head collapsed back down onto his pillow. After a moment, he spoke. “Kill me.”
“Dad?”
“Kill me now. You have absolutely no choice. And as your captain, I’m ordering it. Kill me.”
Zivic returned to Whitehorse’s side. “No, Dad. You’re not in command anymore. Jerusha is.”
Whitehorse was defiant. “And we’re not killing you. Not until we make every effort to get that stuff out of you.”
“And if you can’t, do you promise you’ll kill me?” Ballsy’s eyes pleaded.
The question took Zivic aback. “No, Dad. If we can’t, then we try again. And again. AND AGAIN. Until you’re you again. Understand?”
Whitehorse took a step closer to the plastic. “Captain, we need to know a few things. For one, do you remember when the order came into your head? Do you know who told you to nuke Titan? Was it the Swarm?”
He was shaking his head. “No, no. It can’t be the Swarm. I’d know. Wouldn’t I know?”
“Does that mean it was a human voice? A human told you to do it?”
“I don’t know. I have no memory of it. I was standing by my chair on the bridge, and the next thing I know, I’m here.”
Whitehorse continued on. “Ok, then lets go backward in time from there. Have there been any other moments where you blacked out? Periods of time you don’t remember?”
He thought for a very long time. Zivic almost thought he had started ignoring them. “Yes. One time. I passed it off as just me being deep in thought, but….”
“Yes?” Whitehorse put her hands up on the plastic. “What happened? Where were you?”
“It was … earlier today, actually. Oppenheimer had come aboard, and after we’d exchanged our … pleasantries … on the fighter deck, he left and went to his temporary quarters to take a piss or something. I stayed behind for a minute to talk to the deck chief about repairs. I remember examining the deck plating that Oppenheimer’s shuttle had landed on to make sure the inductive rechargers were repaired, and … I must have been deep in thought about whatever the chief told me, because the next thing I know, I was walking down the hallway to the bridge. I assumed I’d absentmindedly walked the whole way, lost in thought. But … maybe I didn’t.”
Whitehorse nodded. “That makes sense. Oppenheimer brought the singularity torpedo aboard in the shuttle. He was probably planning on secretly ordering a deck hand to load it into a launch tube for him, after hours or something. But it looks like you beat him to it. So that, when he left, he just assumed it was still on the shuttle, when in fact it was primed for launch from the Independence.”
Zivic frowned, and scratched his head. “Yeah, but dad couldn’t have loaded that thing by himself. Someone had to have helped him.”
“Which means,” Whitehorse said, walking over to the doctor’s console in the corner, “whoever helped him is still here. And they would remember helping him.”
“Unless they’re infected too.”
“True. But let’s not worry about that until we have to.” Whitehorse opened the comm to engineering, and after some back and forth got someone on the line who said he’d seen Ballsy on the flight deck.
“Yeah, he asked me to unload something from the admiral’s shuttle,” said the yeoman. “I got him a grav-lift and helped move it. Took it down the hall to the forward launch tubes. He said he’d take it from there, so I left.”
“Thank you, yeoman, that will be all.”
“Wait,” said Zivic. “Did he … touch you?”
“Touch me?”
“Like physically touch you. With his hand. Like either a handshake or him slapping you on the back, or anything like that.”
The yeoman pondered a bit before answering. “Yeah … I can’t think of anything. Why? Is that important?”
“Very important, yeoman,” said Whitehorse. “If you remember anything, let us know. And also, if you find yourself daydreaming at any point, only to find yourself someplace else as if you’d wandered there without even thinking, let us know asap. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“Whitehorse out.” She tapped the comm, and sat back in the chair. “So. We have the murder weapon. We have the delivery mechanism. We have the series of events that led up to the murder. But we don’t have a suspect. Or a motive.”
“Yes, you do,” said a voice from the open doors of sickbay.
Zivic stood at attention and Whitehorse jumped to her feet. “Admiral?” they both said in unison.
Admiral Proctor stepped into sickbay, holding something with one hand, clutching it against her chest. “The murderer is Patriarch Huntsman. And the motive is horse shit, as far as I’m concerned.” She turned to the enclosure. “Ballsy? I need to know if you’ve seen Huntsman in the past, oh, two weeks. Ever since the battle over Earth where the Granger moons first started to appear.”
“No. I haven’t. But I meet any number of people when we dock. Admirals, other captains, their aides, resupply chiefs, food truck workers, I mean, I’m not exactly in a hermetically sealed box. Well, I am now, but you know what I mean.” He jutted his chin out at her chest. “Speaking of boxes. What’s that?”
Proctor stiffened a bit, as if she were taken aback at the question. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But for now, while there’s still the possibility you’re under Huntsman’s direct control, I’m going to have to leave you in there, and not tell you a single thing about what I’m doing. Understood?”
Ballsy took a deep breath. Zivic knew he was still coming to grips with Britannia and his role in it, and would likely be crying a lot more in the coming days. If he didn’t die first. “Understood.”
Proctor turned to leave, with Zivic and Whitehorse in tow, when Ballsy called after her. “Shelby, I need to ask you what I asked them. They turned me down. But I know you.”
She looked back at him. “What is it, Ballsy?”
“Kill me. If, in the coming hours or days its not looking like you can cure me and there’s even the smallest chance I could strike again, kill me. Please.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Of course I’ll kill you, Ballsy. What do you think I am, an idiot?”
Ballsy glanced towards Zivic. “See, son? War messes us up good.”
Proctor flashed a dark smile. “Yes it does. But when war comes, if you’re not messed up by the time the fighting starts, you lose. I refuse to lose.” She held the box up. “And with this, I won’t.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Sickbay
ISS Independence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia System
She stepped away from the door to sickbay and it slid shut. “Get Mumford. Tell him to meet me in the science lab. And any technician or officer that Mumford thinks would be helpful in figuring out what this is and how to open it.” She held the little black box up again. Looking at it, it was almost like the events of the previous few hours, and the last few weeks, were a dream. She had dreamed. She’d dreamed of her little sister. Her one in a million brain cancer. Her miraculous recovery. Her horrific death at the hands of an reckless driver the same day she was given a clean bill of health.
And how just two weeks ago Granger’s voice spoke strange words from that event, the dying words of her sister, words that he could have never known. And now? She was holding a black box.
“Does that have to do with Granger?” said Zivic.
“It does.” She lowered her voice so any passersby wouldn’t hear something they shouldn’t. “It sounds crazy, but it might be Granger himself. What’s left of him, anyway.”
Zivic whistled low. Whitehorse held her hand out. “May I?”
Proctor handed it over and Whitehorse examined it, studying its surface, its material, hefted its weight. “There are metal pads here. Maybe for electronic access?”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Let’s go.”
Whitehorse summoned Mumford and one of his deputies, a woman named Achebe. They all arrived at roughly the same time, except for Ensign Achebe whose usual post was in the lab itself. “Ma’am? Good to see you again,” said Mumford, leading her into the lab.
“You too, Commander. Ensign,” she added, nodding to Achebe.
“What have we got, admiral?” said Mumford, looking at the black box.
“I found it in Titan,” she began, handing the box to him. “When Granger’s ship burrowed into it, he somehow managed to create a giant empty void inside the mantle, and at the center was the remains of his ship, which for the most part was the old ISS Victory, heavily modified. He spoke to me there. And that is what he told me to take with me.”
“He said he’s in there?” asked Mumford, incredulously. He walked over to a table full of instruments.
She hesitated. “He didn’t use those words. I assumed that what he was telling me, but he did say he had no original organic parts left, were his exact words. In fact, he said he was the box. I don’t know if he was just saying that to imply his essence was in the box. I can’t be sure. That’s why we’re here. We need to access him. Contact him.”
Mumford inserted the box into the chamber of one of the instruments. “Well let’s see what’s in there first.”
Moments later the monitor next to the instrument turned on and displayed a ghost of an image. A white box, false color image, she assumed. The instrument was a full spectrum imager, which was currently scanning the box with every wavelength from energetic x-ray, terahertz rays, UV, visible, infrared, microwave, even short wave radio just in case there were any receivers inside of it.
“Well, it either is completely absorbing every single wavelength, or it’s completely solid. Take your pick.”
She tapped a few resolution buttons on the side of the machine. “Commander, there was technology down there inside Titan that I’d never even dream of. I think we can be safe to assume door number one. The spectrum analyzer can’t even nail down an alloy, and the mass spec can’t even tell what atoms this thing is made out of. I think it’s safe to assume it can also absorb all wavelengths.”
He took the box out of the scanner and carried it over to the electronics bench. Achebe was preparing a few electronic leads that she would be able to affix to the metal pads almost hidden on the black surface. “Let’s see if we can’t integrate into its electronics package.”
Proctor, Zivic, and Whitehorse waited, silently, for nearly ten minutes as the other two worked on it, speaking in low voices.
“This could take awhile, Admiral.”
“We’ve got time. Not too much time, but this is definitely our number one priority right now. Keep at it.”
An hour later, Mumford threw up his hands I front of his chest. “I’m stumped, ma’am. We can’t even figure out what protocol it’s using. We can’t even send in a passive signal to explore the physical electronic structure to give us a sense of what we’re working with. This thing is sealed tight, and I can’t think of any other way to get inside that we haven’t already tried.”
She had been sitting. Zivic and Whitehorse had already left to attend to other duties. Achebe was still tinkering with one of the instruments that was pointed at the box, but Mumford came and sat next to Proctor, shaking his head. “I don’t get. I’ve never seen anything like it. I can literally tell you nothing about that box except for the fact that it’s a physical solid object, it’s black—almost a perfect blackbody in the sense that there are no molecular or atomic absorption lines in the spectrum. And it’s most likely got circuitry inside, but even there I can’t be certain. This thing is literally a black box. And you … think Granger is in there?”
“Deus ex machina,” she said. “God in a box. Ever since I heard his voice and knew it was him controlling those moons, I thought he’d be able to save us. That, if he had such wondrous technology at his disposal, he could wave his hand and the Swarm would disappear. Magic to us, but just another wildly advanced technology for him. But … there are no deus ex machinas. That thing is not going to save us,” she pointed at it. “Which means we’re doomed.”
Neither Mumford or Achebe said anything to that. Achebe kept working. Mumford leaned forward with his face in his hands.
“Britannia is gone. Titan is destroyed. There are other Granger moons, but now that we’ve got this thing here, will they still function? Titan was falling apart around us before we escaped—Granger warned us he’d lose control over it once we removed this thing. And without those moons? They’ll cut through our defenses as if we weren’t even there. Every one of our planets will be destroyed. Earth too. And why? We still have no idea what they even want, other than our deaths.”
The comm buzzed. “Ma’am? I’ve got an incoming transmission for you,” said Qwerty. “It’s Krull again. She asking to speak to you.”
Proctor rolled her eyes. “Not again. We don’t have time to go on her wild goose chases.” But she stood up and went to the main console near Achebe. “Patch it through down here, lieutenant.”
A moment later, Krull’s face appeared on the screen. “Motherkiller—”
“WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP CALLING ME THAT?” yelled Proctor. She’d had enough. And she snapped.
Krull’s eyes widened.
“My name is Shelby Ann Proctor. Admiral Shelby … Ann … Proctor. Stop referring to me by some accidental event that happened thirty years ago. I did not mean to kill your predecessor. Or her children. I had no idea. And it’s not fair of you to keep calling me that for so damn long.”
“Admiral Proctor, I’ve told you before, it is not an epithet. It is a sign of respect among my people. I mean no—”
“But among my people, Krull, it is a sign of disrespect. And I’ve tolerated it for far too long, in the name of interspecies cooperation and cultural understanding and tolerance. No more. Start showing me respect, or get the hell out of our space.”
“I understand,” said Krull without missing a beat. “Shelby, I need your help. I—”
“I don’t have time to go fetch a starship for you, Matriarch. We went over this. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she moved to tap the screen off.
“Wait! Shelby, it is not the Dolmasi ship I need help with. I need help understanding something. It has to do with the Valarisi. You destroyed them, yes?”
Proctor closed her eyes. Another insinuation that she was a monster. She’d killed a matriarch and her tens of thousands of children. And she’d killed off an entire race. “Yes, I did.”
“All of them.”
“Yes. All of them. Nothing survived our assault on that fleet.”
“Are you sure?”
Proctor stared at Krull’s face, trying to decipher the alien’s meaning. Her feelings. And it looked like she felt … highly perturbed. “Matriarch? Has something happened? To the best of my knowledge, they are all dead.”
Krull nodded and leaned forward. “Yes. Something has happened. Something either wondrous, or calamitous.” She leaned forward, her tone soft, dark, serious, as if she was telling a state secret. “A few weeks ago, I destroyed the Ligature due to the damage being caused by your people’s casual use of meta-space pulses. The destruction was permanent, and something similar can’t be rebuilt without generations of work by my sisters and I. But as of two hours ago, I felt a small part of it return. Without my intervention. All on its own.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Bridge
ISS Resolute
Near Earth
Admiral Oppenheimer pored over the reports, following the status of the mustering of the fleet. The entire fleet. Every last ship. So many had died at Britannia, and in the weeks before at New Dublin, Mao Prime, Indira, Persepolis … the list went on. So many ships. So many crews. So many fine officers. All lost.
“Any change in the sensor readings, lieutenant?” He didn’t even glance over at the tactical station.
“No change, sir. The gravitational eddies are still localized out by Ceres in the belt. They’re moving, at the same speed as before.”
“Are they past Ceres yet?”
Vesta was actually humanity’s largest colony in the asteroid belt, but Ceres was symbolic as the largest asteroid—dwarf planet, actually—and in spite of its small population, the shipyards and supply depots orbiting above were critical to IDF’s defense of the solar system.
“No, sir. The eddies should pass it in about five minutes.”
So more waiting. Good. More time to prepare for the inevitable.
Earth was being invaded. Again. And this time, if they were interpreting the sensor readings correctly, by more than one Swarm ship.
Many more.
“Send word to the Stennis, the Avery, the Oregon, the Angola, and the Louisiana. They’re too damaged to help and there’s not enough time for them to fix any weapons systems to have any effect. They are to debark their crews at Moonbase, and prepare for Oppenheimer maneuvers.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the ensign at the comm station.
Oppenheimer maneuvers. He’d asked for a better name. Only self-aggrandizing assholes like Volz and Granger named maneuvers after themselves. But his XO had insisted. The other man now looked over at him from the XO station. “See, sir? It has a ring to it.”
“Too many syllables. It’s a mouthful. Difficult to say in the course of a battle. It should be something simple like … sigma maneuvers, or something.”
“It’s too late, sir. Everyone knows what they mean now, and to change would take time and risk confusion. I can order it changed though, if you like.”
Oppenheimer shook his head. “No. No time. Just tell those captains to offload as much crew as humanly possible. I’m not a Tim Granger, throwing lives away so needlessly. Even in defense of Earth, we can’t become monsters. Not when there are real monsters out there.” He’d held a piece of intelligence close to his chest for months now. Not even Quimby knew. Not Sepulveda. And certainly not Proctor. Monsters were real. And they were coming.
“Good, sir. I’ve got to say, it’s a genius idea, and you deserve full credit for it, even if you don’t want it. They’ll never expect it. Every power plant on every ship anywhere has q-field shielding on it to prevent people from doing exactly what we’re trying to do.”
“Save the praise for me when we’re alive in a few hours. Until then, we’re all dead men.”
The tactical officer shouted. “Sir! One of the gravitational eddies just stopped near Ceres!”
He snapped to face her. “Did we receive a meta-space distress signal from them?”
“No, sir, this is based on visual sensors. The image is light-delayed.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-eight minutes.”
“Onscreen.” Everyone looked up towards the front wall of the bridge, which shifted from its diagrammatic tactical view of the inner solar system to a grainy visual of Ceres.
“Oh god,” whispered the comms officer.
In the empty space near Ceres, a giant Swarm ship snapped into existence. Easily a quarter of the size of the dwarf planet. A shimmering light appeared next to the ship, nearly washing out the image, and the next moment it disappeared. A moment later, Ceres exploded. Washing out the sensors again.
When the image cleared, Ceres was gone, replaced by a glowing debris cloud. Except … at the center….
“Lieutenant, are the sensors seeing what I’m seeing?” Oppenheimer peered at the swirling debris in the center of the glowing remains of Ceres.
“Mapping particle movements and temperatures to Navier-Stokes equation—” The lieutenant ran the analysis, but it almost wasn’t necessary. While the crust of Ceres was expanding outward in a ballistic fireball, it seemed like everything from the mantle on down was swirling, as if down a drain.
“Zoom in on the center,” he said.
It was grainy, as they went right up to the diffraction limit of the telescopes. But in the center it was clear that the gas was moving at a stunning speed. Spiraling inward, speeding up as it went. Right at the center it was dazzling bright as the heated, accelerated gas started emitting synchrotron radiation. And … it was distorted somehow.
“That’s a black hole. My god. They have their singularity weapons again.”
The lieutenant at tactical nodded her agreement. “Navier-Stokes agrees. The flow profile near the center is consistent with a mass about a third of the size of Ceres concentrated into a point less than a micron across.”
The science officer turned his head and nodded his agreement. “Gravitational analysis agrees, sir. The Schwartzchild radius of a black hole the size of Ceres would be around a micron.”
The bridge fell silent. Everyone remembered the history. The stories of the Second Swarm War. And Oppenheimer had been there as Tim Granger’s tactical officer. The artificial singularities rarely did more than appear suddenly under a few miles of crust underneath a city, absorbing several million tons of mass into it before releasing it all in a frighteningly powerful explosion. Florida no longer existed because of one.
“The Swarm ship disappeared again, and all the eddies are still heading straight for Earth, sir,” said the tactical officer. “No signs of slowing.”
“Any Granger moons yet?” He hated saying the term, but had started to resign himself to the words.
“No, sir.”
“If the moon cannons can’t help us, god save us all.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Matriarch’s Command Center
Skiohra generation ship Benevolence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia System
Proctor cradled the black box in her lap as Zivic piloted the shuttle to the Benevolence. Krull had invited her, wanting to explain the significance of part of the Ligature reappearing on its own, and Proctor wanted to see if there was some Skiohra technology that could possibly communicate with Tim inside the box.
“Final approach, ma’am,” said Zivic.
“Steady as she goes, Batship.” She still hated saying Batshit.
Krull herself met them on their flight deck—one of many, but the one closest to the Independence and the Defiance, and, coincidentally, nearest the end of the ship where giant hole gaped, just the size of the old ISS Constitution and change.
“Shelby Proctor. Welcome. Please follow me to the command center. We can speak more freely there,” said Krull.
Proctor wondered what she meant by that, but then remembered their recent civil war, and assumed that the Matriarch still couldn’t trust everyone who was still there and hadn’t been exiled to the Magnanimity.
They walked in silence the entire way, Proctor right behind Krull, then Zivic, and a marine escort following at the rear. When the door to the command center closed behind them, Proctor noticed that there were already IDF marines in the room. “Where did you soldiers come from?”
Krull gestured towards them with a long-fingered hand. “They’ve been our guests since your Admiral Oppenheimer decided to commandeer the Benevolence to use on a suicide mission against the Swarm. When Oppenheimer left the grave of Britannia, he ordered them to stay here, but to stand down, and I agreed to not make any attempt to overpower them.”
“Damn you, Christian,” said Proctor. “War drives everyone insane.”
“Indeed,” said Krull.
“I’m here, Krull. Now tell me what the significance is of the Ligature reappearing, in part.”
The command center was clear, for the most part, and only two other matriarchs attended to their duties of running the ship’s systems, on the other side of the empty room. Empty chairs at computer consoles and abandoned personal belongings as the rest of the command crew seemed to have left in a hurry. And, on one wall, blood. A reminder of their recent battle, only hours old.
“To do that, I must tell you about how my people reproduce.”
The scientist in her perked her ears up. Skiohra reproduction had been a complete mystery for the thirty years they’d been studied. Proctor herself was the galaxy’s foremost human expert in Skiohra biology, and even she didn’t know. She knew almost every Skiohra she’d ever met was female, and that their bodies were full of thousands, sometimes tens of thousands of what they called Internal children. They were highly developed organisms with just as much brain power as an average adult Skiohra, and little else beside some cilia for basic movement. How those Interior children were born, and how an Interior child turned into an Exterior child was a mystery to her.
“Go on. I’m intrigued.”
“There are very few adult males among my people. And the ones that do are responsible for mating to as many females as possible, but only once each.”
A whistle from Zivic interrupted her. “Wow. I think you just described every young human male’s deepest fantasy—”
“Batshit, shut up,” said Proctor. “Matriarch, please go on.”
“Once a female mates, thousands of her eggs are fertilized all at once and immediately begin development into an Interior child. It is a physical process, of course, but there is an intimate mental aspect as well. A Matriarch connects, mentally, to each one. Individually. And it’s a process. It happens one by one. Not as group or in batches. It’s personal. And it takes days for each one. Which means to reproduce an entire family of Interior children requires—”
“Hundreds of years,” said Proctor, doing the calculation.
“Yes. The mental bond from mother to child is like the Ligature, but is not dependent on it. It is like a primordial Ligature, repeated thousands of times over. And as each bond is formed with each Interior child, they begin forming the bonds with each other, again, one by one. And what results is … a web. A net. A whole fabric of consciousness that we share. We are not of one mind. We are not of one will. But we are intimately connected and what one child thinks is heard by all. And the matriarch can hear them all at once, simultaneously, and understand them individually.”
“That’s absolutely remarkable,” said Proctor. The scientist in her was starting to get excited, in spite of the mortal danger of the situation. “And if they don’t agree, then your conversation with them, and them with each other, must be … cacophonous. How do you cope?”
“It takes about a thousand years for the average matriarch to finally master it. But along the way she becomes intimately connected with each child, understanding them almost completely. Their hopes. Their fears. Their strengths. Their weaknesses. And by the end, the entire family of matriarch and Interior children is a remarkable thing, capable of thinking thousands of things at once, solving hundreds of problems simultaneously, all communicated through this porto-ligature. And so it was for hundreds of thousands of years. Until the Swarm came. As you know they used the liquid Valarisi as their physical vehicle to wield their influence in our universe. And when the Valarisi were introduced into our bodies, it had effects that even the Swarm could not imagine.”
“The Ligature. It’s what they used to control everything. And they stole it from you and bastardized it into their own despotic purposes,” said Proctor.
“More or less. But what they did not expect was how we changed the Valarisi. They had a latent connection to meta-space already. But by being incorporated into the Ligature, it expanded their horizons, so to speak. They essentially learned how to make their own. So, when we were controlled by the Swarm, it would have been senseless for us to destroy the Ligature, because by then they could have restored it within days. And since the Valarisi outnumbered us by a factor of several trillion—”
“Excuse me?” Proctor’s jaw hung open slightly. “Did you say they outnumbered you by a factor of several trillion? Trillion with a ’t’? Your English is nearly perfect, but I just want to make sure we understand that to mean the same thing.”
“We mean the same thing, Shelby Proctor. The Valarisi were a vast host. When they died, it was like … a massive symphony orchestra filling an entire performance hall that abruptly was fell silent. When their ships were destroyed by your torpedoes.”
Her heart fell. She knew she had committed genocide. But until that moment, she hadn’t realized the unthinkable extent of it.
“But the past is gone. And now, something has happened. As I said, after so many words, a small piece of the Ligature is back. It’s a shadow of its former self. It’s almost like the proto-ligature bond I share with each Interior child. Such is its magnitude. But … it’s growing. It is more like the web of proto-ligature fabric I share with a dozen or so of my children.”
“Does that mean what I think you’re saying?” Her heart hurt a little less. But only a little. “Are you saying there are Valarisi that still live?”
“And that they’ve reproduced. Not many, but a few.”
Proctor, in spite of her horror, managed a small chuckle. “Now there’s an exobiology question I’d like answered. Valarisi reproduction.”
“I’d imagine it involved a lot of fluid exchange,” quipped Zivic.
“Batshit, shut up,” she repeated. Now was not the time. “You skipped a part, Matriarch. How are your Interior children born as Exterior children?”
“Would it surprise you if I told you we don’t exactly know?”
Proctor’s eyebrows went up. “I’d say it would. You don’t know? I don’t understand.”
“We’ve lost all knowledge of how our species used to reproduce. That is lost to history. All I know is that, now, our bodies are produced by machines.
That was not what she was expecting to hear. At all. “Incredible.”
“Have you ever wondered why our ships are so large? And yet have so few crew, compared to their size? It’s because over half the ship and its resources go to our Corporeal Production systems. When a system finishes producing a body, an Interior child is chosen, based on what talents and abilities are needed out here in the physical world. That child is extracted from the matriarch’s body, and inserted into the Corporal Production unit. It oversees the incorporation of the child into the new body, managing the process of transferring its mind, its memories, its mental faculties, into the blank brain, which has no identity of its own. After a few months, the chamber opens, and the child emerges.”
“And,” Proctor began, guessing what the mystery was, “you have no idea who built those machines, do you?”
“No. We don’t. And to think of it is forbidden. The Unthinkable Thought is woven into our body’s DNA. DNA which was produced by these machines, and so we have no control over it. It’s what gave us other taboos, like thinking of our homeworld or trying to find it. And like entry into a certain room near the center of our ship.”
Zivic stirred. “Hey, I know about that—” he began.
“Not now, Mr. Zivic. No time for jokes.”
“No ma’am, I was going to say that she asked my dad to go in there. To solve the mystery for them, because I guess they can’t go in, or something.”
Proctor turned back to Krull. “Can’t? Or won’t? Why not just walk in?”
“Because among the survivors of our recent fighting, none of us possess the capability of moving on from the Unthinkable Thought. But there must have been some trigger recently that enabled other Skiohra to do so.”
“And they were on the losing side,” Proctor finished for her.
“Precisely. And in the hours since, I’ve already come to regret the war. We fought to preserve hundreds of thousands of years of tradition of honoring the Unthinkable Thought. And look where it got us? I’m now convinced there is a mystery in there that will, somehow, contribute to the solution of our mutual problem.”
“The Swarm. They returned. Perhaps that was the trigger?”
“Perhaps. Without going in there, I’m afraid we’ll never know.”
She still cradled the box, but it was momentarily forgotten. “Ok then. What are we waiting for? I’ll go in, and once I report on what’s in there, perhaps you can help me with this?” She held up the box. “I recovered it from Titan. But we have no idea how to access anything inside. I think it’s important to the mystery of Granger perhaps returning from the Penumbra black hole.”
“Of course. We’ll do what we can. But we have a problem. I don’t think it will suffice for only you to go in.”
“Why not?”
“Because over the door, is a symbol. It shows four individuals. I believe only a certain four people may enter, and all at once. Not specific individuals, but representatives of four certain classes of people.”
“Such as a human, a Skiohra, a Dolmasi, and…?”
“An individual Swarm? A Findiri? A Quiassi? I have no idea, even if we could find them and persuade them to come.”
A realization dawned on Proctor. “So that’s why you want Kharsa. That’s why you asked me to find him.”
“Indeed. I figured it he would not come at the request of the Companion to the Hero, he would not come at all.”
Proctor thought for a moment. “Perhaps we could send a ship. Pass a message from me. Has anyone even seen the Dolmasi since Mao Prime and the battle over Earth two weeks ago?”
“They’ve retreated to their space to regroup. I have no idea if they are of the same disposition as when they left,” said Krull.
Proctor’s hand comm device beeped, and she fished it from her pocket. “Proctor. What is it?”
Qwerty’s voice came over the device. “Ma’am, uh, I’ve got President Sepulveda here on Interstellar One and he’s asking to speak to you.”
“President Sepulveda? I thought Interstellar One was destroyed at Britannia.”
“Well now he’s here. And he says he has something that Madam Krull might want.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Bridge
Interstellar One
Gas giant Calais
Britannia system
President Sepulveda made sure he stood ramrod straight, attempting by force of will to make his head as tall as the large reptilian alien’s next to him. And if he couldn’t be as tall, his back would be straighter, dammit. Purpose, Tombstone. Speak with purpose. Everyone is watching. History is watching.
“You promised me great weapons to defeat the Swarm, Sepulveda. I see nothing here at your shipyards but damaged ships and fear,” said Vishgane Kharsa. He hissed as he spoke, and the President couldn’t tell if it was indicative of emotion or just the Dolmasi’s way of speaking.
But his words alone indicated the emotion. It was clear the Dolmasi leader had a low opinion of humans.
“A promise I’m about to keep, Vishgane. I would never even consider deceiving someone as powerful as yourself. While I’m confident that United Earth could pound your world into dust and while we’ve refrained from that because of the simple fact that we don’t need to, that does not mean we don’t respect your strength. And at this moment I don’t dare test your strength.”
He’d read the psych profiles on the Dolmasi, tried to understand them as best he could in the hour it took to T-jump to Verdra Dol, the Dolmasi homeworld where he expected to either find Kharsa or someone who knew where he was. They respected strength. They despised the weak. But they would also not be intimidated into any action. And when they’d met just thirty short minutes after he’d arrived in orbit around their planet—the Dolmasi were nothing if not decisive and punctual—he brought his full politician’s mindset to bear on the alien. He poked and prodded his subject until he figured out exactly what it wanted to hear. And then he said it, shamelessly. There was a reason he’d ascended to the presidency, after all, and it wasn’t just because of an assassination.
Kharsa grumbled and hissed, and from his politician’s sixth sense, he interpreted that as grudging approval. Like a voter’s face saying, I may not like you, but I’ll vote for you anyway because you might give me something I want.
“And remember, great Vishgane Kharsa, we have a common enemy. With your incontestable strength, and our mighty fleets, the Swarm doesn’t stand a chance when we are united in fury and brotherhood. As fellow warriors, we will prevail, I assure you.”
Vishgane Kharsa grumbled even more loudly, and his hiss carried a sense of excited expectation. Like a voter’s face saying, I may actually hate you, but I absolutely loathe your opponent even more. Good Lord, intra-galactic diplomacy was just like a party caucus in Iowa.
“Sir, visual comm now open to the Benevolence,” said the comms officer. It turned out Proctor wasn’t even on the Independence or the Defiance, but the Benevolence itself. Efficient—he’d only have to have this conversation once.
Krull and Proctor appeared on the screen. He saw a few IDF officers and marines in the background, and another Skiohra matriarch. Krull spoke first. “President Sepulveda? You have had success already?”
“I have, Matriarch Krull. Admiral Proctor? It’s good to see you again, especially given the circumstances.” His implied meaning was clear: we may have had our differences, but the Swarm just destroyed our home so by god let’s set that aside and go beat the shit out of them. She only replied with a nod. Which meant, very well, but I haven’t forgotten that you tried to kill me.
“Vishgane Kharsa. We are honored by your presence and your strength. I invite you and the president to come aboard the Benevolence so we can discuss plans.”
He hissed his approval. “I will come. But I was promised weapons.”
Krull raised her sparse eyebrows, and Sepulveda wondered if that was her trying to approximate a human expression or if the Skiohra did that too. “Either way, she played along. “Of course—we will discuss that as well.” Oh god, she’s a politician too. Perfect noncommittal answer that the recipient could interpret however they wanted.
The screen returned to the image of Wellington shipyards and the gas giant Calais, and he turned to his secret service chief. “Tom, minimal escort. Just you. No, I can see what you’re going to say. It’s dangerous, sure, but it’s also my final word, so lets get moving.”
The flight over to the Benevolence was short and uneventful, and soon they were met on the flight deck by Krull, Proctor, a fighter pilot he didn’t recognize, and a few IDF marines. Krull gave Kharsa a half-bow followed by a fist to her chest, and then held a hand out to him—she was a perfect diplomat, using the appropriate greeting for each species.
“If you’ll follow us, Mr. President, Vishgane Kharsa. To access the weapons, we need to enter a room.”
“They’re stored in a room? Weapons powerful enough to destroy the Swarm are stored in a room?” hissed Kharsa.
“We shall see whether it’s powerful enough to take out the Swarm. But yes. Please follow me.”
Krull led them through the door from the flight deck, down a long corridor and boarded a lift. All along the way Sepulveda noticed blood smears on walls, the floor, sometimes spattered up on the ceiling. Even a dead body right near the lift that no one had cleared yet.
When the lift started moving, Sepulveda asked, “Did you have trouble here, Matriarch? Were you invaded?”
“We fought among ourselves.”
“The Skiohra?” He was dumbfounded. “I saw evidence that you were fighting another ship over what looked to be your homeworld,” he noticed her cringe at the mentioned of the homeworld, which he noted, “but I never would have guessed you would fight hand to hand with such—” the lift door opened, revealing a hallway strewn with bodies, “—savagery.”
The hallway extended on for what seemed like forever into the distance. It was the epicenter of the signs of violence. Blood still pooled wet in some places. Bodies were stacked three or four high in others. “When one ceases to be governed by logic and reason and begins to fight for mere belief, that is when the savagery is the worst. Many succumbed to their rage, and I was not innocent either.”
He decided to end the questioning there as they advanced down the hallway, the rank smell of death all around.
At the end he a saw a door. Above the door, writing in the Skiohra language, which he did not know. And below the writing, etched symbols of four figures.
“We’ve arrived. I can go no further. Everything within me prevents it. It is difficult for me to even contemplate what action to take next.”
She sounded genuinely rattled.
“Has this room been entered before?” said Proctor.
“Once. By my sister, Jarum Krull.”
Everyone turned to look at her in surprise. “Really?” said Proctor. “Why didn’t you just ask her what was in there?”
“Because she never came out.”
The fighter pilot shrugged. “Sounds dangerous.”
Proctor was studying the symbols above the door. “Well one clearly looks human. The other, perhaps Skiohra? And the third, Dolmasi? It looks vaguely reptilian. And the fourth? Another figure who’s shape most closely matches the Skiohra and the human, but … different. And these rays coming from the head. I don’t understand.” She pointed at the writing. “What does it say?”
“Open at the end. And the end is the beginning.”
Proctor clutched a black box in her hands that Sepulveda only now noticed. “The end. Well if there were ever a time in either our history or yours that I would call the end, now is it. The Swarm will exterminate us within days if nothing is done.”
Kharsa hissed. “Just like you did to the Valarisi, Companion to the Hero.”
She closed her eyes. “Maybe not, Vishgane.” She opened them again, wide, fixed upon the fourth figure. “Oh my god. Matriarch, the proto-Ligature you’re feeling. You think one cause of it might be a single unit of the Valarisi people returning to consciousness. Or a few. Could it be…?” She pointed at the fourth figure, rays extending from its head.
“Could it be that some amount of Valarisi fluid has found a host? I suppose that’s a possibility, yes.”
Proctor reached out and touched her arm. “Couldn’t you … reach out to them?”
Krull looked mortified. “Through a proto-Ligature that I did not have a hand in creating or maintaining? That is a terrible risk, Shelby Proctor. When the Swarm controlled the Ligature, it was their way of controlling us. I have no idea what would happen to me if I did so, if this proto-Ligature was created by one with bad intentions.”
“Matriarch, how badly do you want to know what’s in that room?”
“That’s the problem, Shelby Proctor, the Unthinkable Thought forbids me from wanting to know what’s in that room.”
“And yet here we all are,” insisted Proctor, verging on impatience. “You may not want to get in there, but you know, logically, using reason, that it may be our only hope against the Swarm.”
“Yes.”
“And logically, you know that reaching out to what may be the fourth figure above that door might be the final key to enter safely. Your sister died. Perhaps because she entered alone. Why not try it with the proper four?” She glanced back at the marines who both hefted assault rifles. “With a proper escort this time, I’d think.”
“How can I know I won’t fall under the sway of the Swarm again? How can I know this being has good intentions?”
Proctor shook her head. “You don’t. Sometimes you just have to … have faith. Trust. Take that giant leap when you can’t see the bottom.”
Krull breathed deeply and closed her eyes. “Very well, Shelby Proctor. Very well. You have saved us before. Perhaps with your words you will save us again.”
Vishgane Kharsa interjected with a hiss. “And with your ships.” He followed with a bouncing growl. “I expect a glorious fight after all this.” More bouncing growl with some hissing.
Proctor grinned at him, and Sepulveda finally figured out that Kharsa had been laughing.
Krull’s eyes were still closed, and she reached out to the wall to steady her as she squeezed them shut even further, until her forehead was wrinkled and it looked like she was in intense pain.
Proctor reached out to her again. “Matriarch? Are you ok?”
“Yes. It’s difficult. Much … concentration. Energy. Silence please.”
A full minute passed as she leaned against the wall, eyes wrenched shut, breathing long, slow breaths.
Finally, she stood fully upright and opened her eyes. “They’re coming. In fact, they’re almost here.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Bridge
Sword of Justice
Gas giant Calais
Britannia system
Danny Proctor, at the helm of a ship much, much smaller than his beloved Magdalena Issachar but far faster and with mag-rail guns, guided them into orbit around Calais, just a few dozen kilometers from Wellington Station. Liu was at the tactical station searching through the ship registries and transponders.
“Found it. The Defiance. It’s unstealthed, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s right next to the Independence, and you won’t believe this, Interstellar One. The President of United Earth is here. And all three ships are right over there by the Skiohra generation ship.”
Danny had closed his eyes. Searching inward. Feeling the thoughts of his new friend. “I think we’re supposed to go on board. On board the Benevolence. Is that its name?”
Liu nodded. “It is. And yes. I feel the same way.” She searched through some sensor data, closed her eyes, and when she opened them pointed to a spot on a schematic layout of the Benevolence. “Here. Dock here.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The forbidden hallway
Skiohra generation ship Benevolence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia System
Krull had no sooner said “They’re almost here,” than when the lift doors opened behind them, back down the hallway.
“Oh my god,” said Proctor. She almost dropped the box. “Danny.” Her eyes were wet. A hand covered her mouth.
And then she started running.
The two embraced. “Hi, Aunt Shelby.” He pulled back for a moment and eyed the hallway. “Nice new digs you’ve got here.”
“Oh Danny.” She pulled him in again, her face buried in his chest, as he was almost a full foot taller. “Do you know? About Britannia?”
He only nodded.
“I’m so sorry, Danny.” The two cried. She’d both dreamed of this moment, and, ever since Britannia, dreaded it. But now that she was finally holding him, the tears were released. And she didn’t even try holding them back. But only for half a minute.
There was a civilization to save, after all. Four of them.
Four, not three.
She sobbed once more as she realized it. She could save four civilizations. The Valarisi were not dead.
She composed herself. Admirals do not cry. Especially not in battle, even when your brother dies. Even when eight billion of your brothers die.
“Delivered as promised, ma’am,” said Liu, finally catching up to Danny halfway down the hallway.
“You.” Proctor eyed her. Her facial burns were fading. Of course. The reason why she was able to withstand so much physical punishment. The explosion on Bolivar. The deadly radiation in the Defiance engineering room. She remembered how Tim Granger, when he was taken captive by the Swarm controlled Russians, was injected with Swarm matter, and it saved his life. Cured his cancer. Essentially brought him back to life. “You were carrying a Valarisi in you. The whole time. It all makes sense now.”
Liu shook her head. “No, ma’am. I wasn’t. Well, I am now. But that’s only in the last few hours.” She turned to Danny. “He infected me. Willingly. With my permission. And ma’am … it’s remarkable. They’re a race so advanced, so enlightened, so … beautiful….” She looked down and chuckled. “Look at me. Calling something beautiful. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Proctor, still holding Danny at arms length, looked back at him. Searching his face. Trying to find signs of an alien intelligence. “Danny? Is it true?”
“I’ve felt him … her … it … inside me now for two weeks. Small at first. Hardly anything there at all. But within a few hours it was a real presence, and I could hear its voice. Feel what it felt. I had thoughts that weren’t mine, but I knew which thoughts were mine and which weren’t. It doesn’t control me. All I feel is … benevolence.” A smile spread over his still-healing face. “And it’s incredibly happy, excited, to rebuild its race. It already reproduced. Fiona there hosts its offspring.”
Proctor felt as sense of profound awe wash over her. And at the same time, the realization of the crimes of the Swarm were made even more apparent. That they’d hijacked a benevolent, enlightened, beautiful race of beings, and corrupted them, bastardized them into something so ruthless and evil. Becoming just another tool in the Swarm’s arsenal to conquer all. To rule all. Not just rule. Enslave.
“I think it’s time we go kick the Swarm’s ass. Don’t you? Anyone disagree?” She spoke to the crowd of people around her.
Kharsa hissed and bounced a growl in a Dolmasi style laugh. “Let’s go drink their blood. The Companion is ready to fight, and so am I.”
“Then let’s go see what’s in there.”
They assembled in front of the door. Proctor. Kharsa to her left. Danny to her right. “Matriarch? We need you too.”
“I cannot.”
“Matriarch, if this is going to happen, you must come with us,” said Proctor.
“You misunderstand me, Shelby Proctor. I mean that I physically cannot move my body to enter this room.”
“But then—”
“That does not mean that I can’t be carried, however.”
The near absurdity of it almost caught Proctor by surprise. But that day was full of absurdities and surprises, that, set against the backdrop of the death of Britannia, seemed to pale into bland banality. “Fine. Kharsa?”
The Dolmasi reached over and with what looked like very little effort, picked Krull up. The Matriarch struggle, no doubt an automatic reaction of her deep-seeded, primal urge to stay away from this place. But Kharsa’s grip was tight.
Proctor grabbed the ancient handle. It turned, the door opened, and the four stepped into the room.
Chapter Sixty
The forbidden room
Skiohra generation ship Benevolence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia System
The room was surprisingly empty, but that was before Proctor noticed the black curtain drawn in front of them. From the air flow and acoustics, the room felt much larger than the empty five by four meter space in front of them.
Not quite empty.
A set of Skiohra clothing, crusted with old, brown blood, lay neatly folded next to the wall by the door. Proctor shook her arm. “Krull. Are those your sister’s?”
Polrum Krull, still held tightly by Kharsa, hesitantly opened her eyes and looked down. “Yes.” She immediately closed her eyes again.
“Then I’m sorry,” said Proctor. A bloody set of clothing was not an encouraging sign that they’d find the sister alive.
But how the hell had the clothes been folded?
“Matriarch. Are you one hundred percent certain that no one else has been in here besides your sister?”
Krull shook her head. “No one. The hallway had a guard set on it after her disappearance and the ship’s locator tracked her here.”
“Then you either have a very stealthy maid, or someone lives in this room.”
Proctor walked forward and parted the curtain.
And gasped.
“Is that … a robot?”
A humanoid-looking contraption stood in the center of the room, facing them. Its head was clearly plastic or ceramic, with some vaguely human features and other distinctly Skiohra features such as the faint blue tinge. And others bore striking resemblance to Kharsa, such as the scaling down the neck and the somewhat flat vertical pupils.
But it was unmistakably artificial. It looked to have flesh-like hands, but the rest of its arms were exposed metal, servos, actuators and wires. Same with the legs. It was not clothed, and its torso was a mix of androgynous features and more obvious machinery such as an abdomen that was similarly composed of various electronics.
It was holding a sword.
And it’s voice was vaguely mechanical too. A synthetic noise. Too perfect. Too uncanny. But it had placed the sword on a shelf hanging off the wall. “Welcome, friends. I apologize for the fate of your friend that entered earlier, but now that the appropriate number and type of beings have entered, I can stand down. I’ve waiting for you a long, long, long time.”
“How long?” Proctor studied the robot’s other, less noticeable features. It had lips, but they seemed to be shiny plastic rather than anything resembling flesh. It was bald. Just a smooth, shiny plastic head. But its eyebrows moved when it talked, though they seemed to be painted on rather than being composed of actual hair.
“More than a million years,” it said. “Fortunately I was not programmed to be impatient.”
Krull’s eyes were still closed, but she managed to speak. “Who are you? What are you doing aboard my ship? How did you get here? Who let you in?”
“I’m the caretaker of this place. I’m here because it’s my place. I was here from the very beginning. I may well have been built in this room, for all I know. And as for who let me in—” It cocked its head in a decidedly human fashion. “I’m not allowed to say. Similar to Polrum Krull’s biological mandate to not think about this place. That was also … programmed, if you will.”
“But why did so many of my sisters lose their respect for the Unthinkable Thought?” said Krull.
“Because it was time,” it replied, as if that explained everything.
“Time for what?”
“Time for the end.”
The words sent a chill up Proctor’s spine. Kharsa growled low in his throat.
“But maybe I can help you, Polrum Krull. Will you allow me to touch your cranium?”
Eyes still closed, she seemed to consider this. Finally, she nodded. “I consent.”
The robot stepped forward with perfect grace like the entertainment robots on Britannia or Earth or New Dublin that populated the taverns and brothels. It reached a hand out to Krull head, its servos and actuators whirring and clicking. When contact was made, it only took a few seconds before Krull opened her eyes. “It is not permanent nor complete. I can’t remove such a deeply engrained biological and psychological response. But I’ve magnetically stimulated an appropriate area of your amygdala that will permit you to disregard it, with some effort.
“Thank you. Vishgane, please set me down.”
Kharsa lowered her to the ground. Proctor studied the rest of the room. Large chambers lined the walls, each with indicators, tubes, wiring, and controls. The walls were full of monitors and screens showing technical diagrams, and, occasionally, what looked like maps of solar systems, clusters of stars, whole quadrants of the galaxy, and even one that looked it might be the local group of galaxies. Certain colors shaded various areas of space demarcating different areas of space that Proctor did not see the logic of.
“You said it was time for the end. What do you mean?”
“Admiral Shelby Proctor. There will be all the time in the world to explain everything later. I will place myself at your disposal for years, if need be, to answer all your questions. But now is the time for action. The Swarm is upon us. Earth only has a few hours. Verdra Dol less than a day. San Martin may fall today as well, along with New Dublin, Bolivar, and Mao Prime. Tomorrow, based on the Swarm’s patterns, it will likely be the Irigoyen sector and all the planets there. Within the week? We’ll all be terminated, except for a scattered few ships and stations too small to attract notice. But the Swarm will be through. Their hatred for humanity is especially hot. And for the Skiohra. And the Dolmasi. And the Valarisi.”
“Why?”
“Because you are the only races that have ever beaten it. You beat it together. And for that the Swarm swore vengeance. They don’t often actually enter corporeally into other universes. But for you that honor was extended.”
Proctor chuckled in spite of the dire situation. “So you were programmed with irony, too.” She held the box up, knowing that the caretaker most likely knew what to do with it. “Can you help me with this?”
“That’s why you are here, after all, is in not? You didn’t figure that part out?”
She smiled politely. “I’m afraid not.”
“Four representatives, one from each race, was required for entry to this room. The programmer knew that when that happened, when your need for cooperation was most dire, you would manage to set aside your differences and work together, and the time would be right for what is to come.” It extended a hand towards Proctor and she placed the box in its palm. It turned towards one of the machines lining the wall and started walking toward it.
Krull followed. “You have reproduction machines in here. Have they ever been used?”
“Only once each.”
At that, Proctor counted. “There are seven.” She fell into step with Krull and the caretaker. Kharsa followed behind. “That’s significant, isn’t it?”
“Of course. One for each member of the Concordat of Seven.” The caretaker said it as if it was common knowledge.
The front of the nearest reproduction machine was transparent above the waist, but somewhat frosted on the inside. Proctor approached and peered inside.
“Tim.”
“No,” said the caretaker.
“No?” Proctor spun around. “I think I know my former captain when I see him. He’s been in my dreams for thirty years.”
“No. It is not Granger yet.”
He placed the box into a slot on the side of the chamber and it locked into place. In an instant the black cover became perfectly transparent and they could finally see inside.
It was mostly air. Or clear liquid—they couldn’t tell. But there was … something, floating in the middle. Krull stooped forward to examine it. “It’s … an Interior child.” She straightened. “It is Skiohra.”
“What?” Proctor too her turn peering inside the now transparent box. “But … it can’t be.”
The caretaker pressed a few buttons. “It is not Skiohra. Nor is it human. It is … a little of both. With a dash of Valarisi.” He turned to Kharsa. “I’m sorry, Vishgane, but no Dolmasi features were needed.”
He growled a low rumble.
The caretaker cocked its head again, in a very human manner. “I apologize. I was programmed to tell that joke. I’m still not convinced, after a million years of mulling it over, that it was even that funny. Rest assured, Vishgane, that certain Dolmasi features were also necessary. Your endurance, longevity, vitality. Without these, the embryo would not have lasted this long.”
He pressed a final button, and the tiny embryo whisked away, out of the box and into the chamber.
“It won’t take but a moment,” said the caretaker. He turned to Krull. “This variety of recombination chamber is slightly different than the rest on your ship, such that integration of the embryo into the host takes but minutes, as the neural pathways of the host were already known and the embryo will find it a very fitting home.”
The seconds ticked by. Two minutes. But before the third minute finished, the light above the chamber flashed green. A lock clicked. The door of the chamber started to disappear into the floor.
Tim Granger opened his eyes, yawned, and took a step forward.
“Hello, Shelby.” He smiled. “It took awhile. A few detours. More battles. Lots of studying. But I finally made it.”
“Tim,” she began, blinking back tears. She was not going to do that again. IDF admirals do not cry, and when they do, they most certainly do not do it twice in a day. “You spent how long making all these preparations, and you didn’t have the foresight to have some clothes waiting for you?”
He looked down. “I knew I forgot something.” And when he looked up he was gaining sheepishly, nodding his head down towards his waist. “And I haven’t had one of these in a long time.”
It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, and when she did she lowered her face in her hand. “No matter how many billions of years old they get, they still act like thirteen year old boys.”
Granger chuckled a moment, but then his smile faded. His face grew stern. “Shelby, we don’t have much time. The last I remember before you took me off Titan was that the rest of the Swarm force was on their way. They’ve been scattered throughout the local group of galaxies searching for you. They finally narrowed it down to this area of the universe. And with the meta-space detonation over Earth, they finally found it. It’s taken them a few weeks to assemble, but they’re almost here. All of them. All of them. Do you understand my meaning, Shelby? Every last Swarm there ever was or will be, in all universes everywhere, is coming here.”
Nothing she’d ever heard had disheartened her more. It was, in a word, hopeless. They were already about to be wiped out by the handful of Swarm ships that were already here. And they were just the tip of the spear?
“Well, Tim? We’re here. You’re here. What do we do?”
He took a deep breath. And another. And a third. “You know, I’ve actually been dreading this moment. For about two hundred thousands years, I’ve been dreading it. Because … aw shit. I’ll just say it. Shelby, I have no idea.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Bridge
ISS Resolute
Near Earth
The viewscreen on the front wall of the Resolute’s bridge was huge, starting at the floor and extending up to the ceiling. It was at least five meters wide, but it was still not quite large enough to fit every captain’s face on it for the videoconference, even when each face only took up a square only the size of a true-to life head. The rest of the captains had to patch in with audio. Not to mention all the CIDR fleet ships, almost the entire Caliphate Almalak Alharis Fleet, and what looked like most or all of the Russian Confederation fleet.
“And there is another matter we haven’t even discussed yet.” Oppenheimer was leading the briefing and developing the battle plan for the entire fleet. All of them. He didn’t think there’d ever been this many IDF ships assembled in one place, even during the Second Swarm War. “The planet devastator beams are one thing. But we have intelligence of an even greater threat, if you can believe it. Ceres is destroyed, yes. But it was destroyed by an artificial quantum singularity.”
A general gasp and muttering and a few disbelieving cries of dismay. “The same as during the war?” asked Captain Hellend, who’d been a decorated fighter pilot himself in the war.
“Not quite, no. These are of a far higher magnitude. Whereas the devices manufactured by the Russian Confederation back in the day were only powerful enough to absorb a certain amount of material before the in-falling mass rebounded on itself and exploded, these actually keep absorbing. They grow into an actual black hole.”
“Ceres is a black hole?” said Captain Hellend? “Good lord.”
“How do we defend against that?” asked Captain Hannant, the only man on the screen with a mustache.
Hellend grunted. “How else? We’ll just do what Granger did.”
“Hurl starships into the singularities like bricks?” said Captain Amari. She looked incensed. “Some of your crew may be Grangerites, but I refuse to adopt the same tactics as the Bricklayer,” she added, using Granger’s old wartime nickname. “People aren’t bullets and ships aren’t bombs.”
Oppenheimer shook his head. “I don’t see that we have a choice, Sadira. Earth is at stake. We’ll use any tactic at our disposal. If any one of your ships becomes too damaged to continue the fight, then you are ordered to make yourselves available for Omega maneuvers.”
A hush fell over the gathered captains. They knew the gravity of the order. Be ready for suicide missions. Entire capital starships. Thousands of crew at a time. It won the war thirty years ago, but at a terrible cost.
“Our first priority is to pinpoint where they are generating those singularities, and take them out if we can. Ground-based defenses will reserve their arsenal of missiles for the singularities as they appear—maybe just stuffing them with enough mass during the generation phase will be enough, who knows.”
“And what is the second priority?” asked Captain Hannant.
“Destroy the rest of the ship, Dave, what the hell do you think?” said Captain Hellend.
Oppenheimer held up a hand to silence them. No time for even friendly jabs. “I have a few other ideas. The Stennis, the Avery, the Oregon, the Angola, and the Louisiana are too damaged to fight because of their recent engagement at New Dublin. Most of their crews have debarked, and the rest have volunteered … for the first Omega maneuvers—”
His own XO interrupted. “Oppenheimer maneuvers. They’ve been uploaded to all your nav computers.”
Oppenheimer waved his commander off. “The maneuvers might not work, but they’re worth a shot. It’s a way around standard q-field shielding surrounding a typical engine. Usually, we can’t just strap a q-drive to a bomb and jump it over into an enemy’s engines because the shielding prevents it, and thankfully neither can they do that to us. But … if the object traveling through the q-field is massive enough … and fast enough….”
“Oh my god. Genius,” said Captain Hellend.
His XO nodded vigorously. “That’s what I told him, but what do I know.”
Captain Hannant finished for him. “So Captain Suzuki here will accelerate the ISS Stennis, probably starting out near the moon or so to use Earth’s gravity as an assist and to get as big a running start as possible, and when they’re close to a Swarm ship, q-jump to coordinates just outside the q-field damping layers outside one of their main engines, and bam? Chieko? Are you really doing this? Tom? Sally? Omar? Martha? You’re all in on this?”
All five of the captains nodded gravely. They were willingly sacrificing themselves and their skeleton crews. The other captains hushed into a respectful silence. “Thank you,” said Captain Amari. “All of you. Your sacrifice will be remembered. Always.” Various other captains voiced their agreement.
“And the Granger moons? Still no sign of them?” asked Hellend.
“None.”
There were a few details left to organize, and he made battle group assignments, and then Oppenheimer wrapped the meeting up and signed off.
He took a deep breath. There would be a lot of death that day. Many of the faces on that screen would not make it.
“Time to weapons range?”
The tactical officer glanced up. “Four hours, twenty minutes, sir.”
“Sir,” began the comms officer. “Receiving a transmission from someone who claims to be Patriarch Huntsman.”
“He has the gall and the balls to show his face around here?” He knew there were at least a few Grangerites among the crew, but he no longer cared about offending them. Their prophet had had a hand in the destruction of Britannia, however unintentional it may have been, and Oppenheimer wasn’t ever sure about that. “Send it to me. In my ready room.”
The door hardly slid shut behind him before he waved a hand to turn the channel on. “Tobey? Is that you? Are you on Earth, or over it?”
“Over it, admiral.”
“Then are you hoping for a torpedo up your ass? Because if I see you, I won’t hesitate.”
Huntsman chuckled. “Admiral, I’m honored you think so highly of me. I am but a tool, nothing more. Tell me, admiral, your plan is to defend Earth. Why?”
He was stunned by the question. Even a fanatical prophet should appreciate the need to defend one’s homeworld. “Are you kidding? Stop wasting my time.”
“It’s a serious question, admiral. You see, years ago, thirty years, in fact, I was not a prophet. I wasn’t even a mormon bishop yet. Hell, I wasn’t even a mormon. I was a Russian Confederation intelligence officer. My name was Oleg Yurovsky.”
Oppenheimer had been walking for his mini-bar to grab a shot of something before he headed back to the bridge. Not enough to get inebriated in the slightest, but enough to relax a hair. But now he stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh.”
“So you understand, then.”
“Do I understand? If you were corrupted by the Swarm? I don’t know. Were you?”
“I was made a friend, yes. I was brought into the Concordat of Seven.”
Oppenheimer’s fists balled up. So many. So many had been led astray by this … imposter. “But the Swarm were defeated. And every human under Swarm influence was rescued. The Swarm virus destroyed. IDF scientists came up with a way to kill it. You should have been cured, Tobey.”
“Oh, they destroyed the virus all right. But what they did not destroy was the wonder. The joy of being part of that grand whole. They did not take those memories from me. The cooperation. The camaraderie. The unity of purpose. And I’ve been working for years to make them reality once again.”
He resumed his walk to the mini-bar and poured himself a shot of bourbon. It stung a bit going down, but not enough. Not nearly enough. “You want humanity to be incorporated into the Swarm. Are you insane?”
“It seems at times I am the only sane one around these parts, admiral. No. What I suggest is, instead of fighting the Swarm, that you lay down your weapons. Power down your ships. Your defense systems. Everything. And beg for mercy. They are angry that we drove them off last time. This time they come to destroy, not to bring us into the family. But … with the proper attitude, that could change. Instead of destroying Earth, they would instead bring us into the fold. Make us part of the family … again. Just like I was. Just like I will be, regardless of what you do here today. But, I admit, it will be lonely there without all of you with me. I intend to bring as many with me into heaven as I can. When I was a mormon, I taught others that heaven would be on Earth. That part, I am making true.”
He poured another shot. “You are insane.” Another swallow, another burn. Time to stop, or he’d be incapable of leading a fleet battle. “And I’m done here. This is my answer: go to hell. Oppenheimer out.”
“Before you go, admiral, a warning. I’ve been working for years to restore some modicum of the mental bond I once enjoyed with others of the Concordat, and I’m pleased to announce I’ve finally succeeded. Many are now linked to me once again, and I’ve managed to link us back to the Swarm. Not nearly of the same magnitude as before, thanks to the Skiohra destroying the Ligature. But a small piece. And for now … it’s enough. Beg them for mercy, Christian, and you can join us too. And live. Huntsman out.”
He waved the channel off, thought for a moment, then tapped the comm to the bridge. “Lieutenant Kander, send an encrypted message to all captains. If they see Patriarch Huntsman’s ship—the one that matches the registry of what he had over Britannia—they are to shoot him out of the sky. No questions. No wait. Just shoot. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“And, one more thing.” He closed his eyes and balled his fists again. “Send a broad-band meta-space message, high power, and with standard IDF encryption. Address it to Admiral Proctor.”
“Yes, sir. And the message?”
“Shelby, things are even worse than we thought. Contact me asap. End message.”
Now to see if she would trust him. No one knew more about Swarm mental control than Proctor. And if what Huntsman said was true, then the situation, as bad as it had seemed before, was now worse.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Recreation deck
ISS Independence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia system
The holographic projectors on the recreation deck were rudimentary—not nearly as comprehensive and advanced as the ones that one could find in any major city within UE—but they were enough.
Proctor gripped the rifle far, far tighter than she needed to, and fired off several rounds at the target, some fifty meters away. Most of them went wide, but one found its mark, right in the center of its chest.
The creature collapsed into a heap. Holographic blood spurted, and a screech indicated that the thing was about to die. She filled it with another twenty rounds just to be sure. And when it had stopped making any noise whatsoever, she filled it with another thirty for good measure. A low, guttural yell started low in her throat by the fifteenth round, and by the thirtieth she was yelling at the top her lungs.
“I think it’s dead, Aunt Shelby,” said Danny, who was cradling his own assault rifle in his hands, pointing it down and off to the side. He was never one for guns, but Proctor had often taken him to the holo-range as a teen to target practice. Just like she used to do with Carla, her long dead sister. In fact, she hadn’t gone target shooting for decades since her final session with Carla, until one day when Danny was twelve and he begged his legendary war hero aunt to take him. She relented, reluctantly at first, but then rediscovered the joys of the quiet concentration, the patience as the target moved into position, the held breath as you waited for the perfect moment.
“Not nearly dead enough.” She fired off another five rounds, and the blood and flesh sprayed up into the air with in a satisfying red mist.
They had no idea what Swarm physiology was or even if their blood was red. But they’d seen the images that Lieutenant Zivic brought back from his mission inside the Swarm ship he and Ballsy had taken out, and she’d fed the image into the holo-range computer to generate an approximation, at least.
The grotesque monster was now a pile of bloody pulp.
“Computer. Next target,” she said. Without looking back at him, she added, “If you don’t mind, Danny, I need a few more.”
“Be my guest,” he said, and sat down on the nearby bench.
Another almost comically evil-looking Swarm monster appeared, growling and sputtering incomprehensible words. Damn. The computer was good. She took aim, and unleashed a barrage into it until it, too, fell backwards into a mess of blood and gore.
“Feeling any better?”
“No. Computer, next target.”
It continued for five more targets, each time she got a little better with her aim, though she was far, far off her usual precision.
“Aunt Shelby, you can have my turns. I think we should get back to the others. Don’t you have a … campaign to plan? Battles? Defending United Earth?”
Her magazine was empty, and she tossed the rifle carelessly aside, something she’d trained her whole life to never, ever do. “What the hell is the point, Danny? What fucking good is it going to accomplish?”
His face went white. He had never, ever heard her swear. Ever. Not so much as a shit or a damn. Maybe a hell or two in his entire life. “Are … you going to be ok?”
She came back and sat next to him on the bench. “He went into a black hole, Danny, and he lived. He entered the Swarm’s universe, and with the Valarisi that went with him he waged a guerrilla campaign against them on their own turf, before finally escaping back to our own universe. HE came too early. Twelve fucking billion years too early. So he waited. And learned. And with his Valarisi companions he lived. For a long, long time. He built near-sentient robots. He influenced the evolution of entire planets and species so that, one day, there would be someone to stand against the Swarm when they came back. He built the Skiohra generation ships. He turned himself into a Skiohra embryo with the technology he’d developed over billions of years. He converted entire moons into giant space cannons. He reached through meta-space to somehow influence my dreams. He did all these wondrous, unbelievable things. And in the end? For what? To tell me, sorry, Shelby, I have no flipping idea how to stop them? What kind of bullshit is that?”
“Bullshit of the finest variety, Aunt Shelby. Just weird enough to be entirely believable, just real enough to be really … shitty.” He set his rifle down on the table next to the bench. “But … can we just give up? Shouldn’t we at least, you know, go down fighting?”
She leaned back against the table. “Sure. Fine. I suppose. Die sooner in battle rather than later as the Swarm hunts us down. Whatever. From what Tim says, dozens of ships are on their way. Danny, we’ve seen, at most, five so far, and even three was too much for New Dublin and a few Granger moons. We can’t survive ten. We certainly can’t survive dozens. I’m sorry, but it’s game over.”
Danny breathed in deep and exhaled. He was clearly preparing himself to make some kind of pep talk. Bless his heart. “Aunt Shelby, for as long as I’ve known you—”
“I’m sorry, Danny. But no. There is no speech you can make that will make this better.”
“Let me finish.”
He looked into his eyes and saw the five year old boy that would bounce on her chest as they wrestled. She couldn’t say no. “Ok.”
“For as long as I’ve known you, you were invincible. You were this legendary, mighty goddess that I knew was out there, defending the galaxy against the bad guys, and who’d come home every now and then and give me candy. Something I never told you—I saved most of that candy, when I was younger. I thought it was like, I don’t know, magical. I thought I was saving it for a rainy day when I was being bullied at school and I needed a strength boost to take on my enemies. Like it would temporarily turn me into a superhero or something.”
She smiled. “I didn’t know that. I knew you saved them. I didn’t know why.”
He continued. “And, you might hate admitting this, it might make you rally uncomfortable, but the truth is, most people out there, most adults, are just like I was. You were Commander Shelby Proctor, who miraculously repelled the Swarm and saved Earth during the Swarm War. You were a legend. And you walked among us, unlike Granger, who got to die and be a myth who was gone and worshiped. You were alive and worshiped. You have no idea the inspiration you brought to people. After I left home and left the bubble, I got to experience it in full force. People in the slums in Benevidez City on San Martin—they’d talk about you in reverence. You were the patron saint of hopeless causes. Anytime someone had to, you know, accomplish something that seemed impossible, they’d say something like, it was so much worse for the Companion, and so this won’t be impossible for me.”
He trailed off, as if out of words. But he wasn’t out of words, he was just taking the time to wipe his eyes. “And me too. I left home, and because of you I made it my goal to own my own spaceship by the time I was twenty-one.”
“And you did,” she murmured.
“Yeah. I did. Because of you, Aunt Shelby.” He finished wiping his eyes and stood up. “And now it’s time again. I don’t care if it’s impossible. Sure. You’ll probably fail. Whatever. But we all need to see you try. The fleet is out there, all of humanity and the Dolmasi and the Skiohra are out there, waiting to see what the legend does. And if you don’t act, then, well….” He shrugged. “Then everyone just assumes its hopeless. Come on, Aunt Shelby. Please.”
She closed her eyes, She was so, so tired. She hadn’t slept in days. She was bruised. Beaten. Bloodied. She limped. Her hair was falling out. She was a complete wreck, physically and emotionally. “Danny? You sure can give a hell of a speech.” She opened her eyes and stood up with a hand of assistance from him. “But there’s one problem. I still have no idea what to do. Granger doesn’t know what to do. My best friend, Ballsy, is sitting quarantined in sickbay because he’s under the Swarm’s influence, or Huntsman’s—I can’t be sure—”
“Wait, what?”
“He was infected with Swarm matter, somehow. I didn’t know it was possible anymore, with the Ligature gone.”
He cocked his head and glanced off to the side, as if listening to someone very, very carefully. “Take me to him,” he said, finally.
Five minutes later, they were in sickbay. She’d summoned Zivic, Whitehorse, Liu, and of course Granger and the two marines she’d assigned to escort him until she was absolutely sure his story added up and he really was Tim. All of them gathered around Ballsy’s bed, where he was still shackled.
“Is it my birthday?” said Ballsy, as he watched them all file in.
“In a sense,” said Danny.
“Who the hell are you?”
Proctor pointed at him. “Ballsy, allow me to introduce you to Danny Proctor.” She smiled broadly. “And also allow me to introduce you to one of the only living Valarisi in the universe. I’d tell you its name, but I don’t even know if they have names.”
Danny glanced over at her. “It’s more of a feeling than a name. This guy, if I were to name him, would be … Thankful? Hopeful?” He turned back to Ballsy. “I’m told you’ve been infected with a form of the Swarm virus. It came, originally from my friend here, but it was corrupted and bastardized by Huntsman, somehow.”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” said Ballsy. “Honestly, I don’t feel a thing.”
But, he looked nervous.
“Well, only one way to be sure. If you’ll allow me?” He opened the plastic enclosure, and stepped inside. From somewhere he produced a pocket knife, and before Ballsy could say anything Danny had nicked his arm, just deep enough that a tiny line of blood appeared.
“Ow! What the f—”
“It won’t hurt. Don’t worry.” Danny used his thumbnail to flick a scab off one of this fingers, and it, too, bled a little.”
Ballsy’s eyes widened, and he began thrashing around. “No! No! Stop! No! No!” He yelled, over and over again. For a moment, Proctor’s mind wandered back to old horror movies she’d watched where little girls were exorcized of demons. The resemblance was uncanny.
Quickly, Danny pressed his finger next to Ballsy’s wound. And, almost instantly, Captain Volz fell silent, and then gasped.
Danny turned to the rest of them. “My friend says that, yes, Captain Volz was indeed infected and under someone else’s control. But he’s fine now. And, in fact, soon there will be a third Valarisi among us.”
Proctor frowned. “So, he’ll have a Valarisi companion inside him, with him, at all times, until he dies? Against his will? Danny, I don’t know if that’s ethical or—”
He held his hands up. “Oh, no no. It’s not like that. I can ask my friend to leave any time it wants. I’ll lose about, I don’t know, a few spoonfuls of blood plasma, but that’s about it. But honestly? I kind of like having him with me. And I can’t complain about the whole, you know, invincibility thing and never getting sick.”
Ballsy was smiling. “Well look at this. What is this, a birthday party?”
Proctor stepped into the enclosure. “Ballsy? You … you don’t remember? Do you remember anything? Britannia?”
He thought for a moment, and then his mouth opened, his jaw dropped. “Oh no. No.” He closed his eyes and Proctor wondered if he was going to cry or scream or just pass out. “I remember. Everything. Like I was watching over everything. Floating above. Oh my god. Britannia.”
Proctor rested a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Tyler. It wasn’t you. You had no way to stop it.”
Ballsy let his head fall back onto the pillow and he exhaled deeply. Then his head shot back up and he stared. Dumbfounded. “Is that … TIM FUCKING GRANGER?”
Proctor chuckled. “It’s good to have you back, Ballsy.” He was back. She had Tim back, and now she had Ballsy back. Maybe there was hope after all. She pointed out towards a wall, as if out into space. “Let’s go, people. We’ve got a final battle to plan.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Conference room
ISS Independence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia system
The conference room on the Independence was tense. They’d taken over an hour going over specifics, such as why Granger could no longer just summon the Granger moons at will as they were essentially on autopilot. How the entire IDF fleet appeared to be assembled at Earth for what looked like a climactic battle against an imminent invasion from at least five Swarm ships. How Vishgane Kharsa, who’d left an hour ago, would take at least a few hours to summon as many Dolmasi ships as he could. How the other Skiohra generation ships were still unlikely to come at Krull’s request, suspicious that it was an ambush.
Granger and Proctor sat at the head of the table. Krull at the other end. President Sepulveda in the middle with a secret service officer standing nearby. Zivic and Whitehorse sat next to each other—a little closer than usual. Then Mumford, Commander Rayna Scott, and Qwerty and Lieutenant Jamie “Ace” Broadside who, if Proctor’s eyes hadn’t deceived her, were holding hands when they’d entered. Danny and Liu sat near her, and they, too, were holding each other’s hand on the table. And of course her three favorite marines-turned IDF officers: Case, Davenport, and Carson.
“I think we can count on at least, oh, fifty Swarm ships arriving in the next day or so,” said Granger.
“Is that all of them?” asked Proctor.
He squinted and his brow furrowed. “I think? Honestly, the transition from embryo to human has left my memory a little jumbled. I do have thirteen billion years rattling around up here, you know. Luckily I took a few million-years-long old man naps occasionally so I don’t have to remember all of it.”
“Ok,” continued Proctor. “Let’s count on fifty, and if more show up, we’ll improvise. Ideas? Anyone?”
Ballsy held a finger up. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something. How about this. Go to the Penumbran black hole. Take a bunch of Avery’s old anti-matter bombs with us that I’m sure the President here can tell us all about. Meta-space shunt on all of them. The Swarm are attracted to large bursts of meta-space energy, are they not, Tim? Well, set them off within a few thousand kilometers from the event horizon, and when they appear, send out hundreds of shuttles, everything we have, and plant q-field interdictors on their hulls. And then—”
“What the hell? You can’t be serious,” said Lieutenant Zivic. “That’s my idea! The one you made fun of. The one you called crazy and me dimwitted for suggesting it? Remember?”
Ballsy nodded slowly. “In my defense, I am also dimwitted. Not quite at your esteemed level, son, but I do my best—”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“That’s what she said,” quipped Ballsy. “Now, as I was saying, once all their hulls have been planted with interdictors, they won’t be able to q-jump away if they happen to pass the event horizon. In the meantime, as many ships as we can muster will keep them distracted with as much fire as we can. Human, Dolmasi, Skiohra—everything we’ve got. And then, if we can communicate with the Granger moons, we have them all q-jump just inside the event horizon, creating just enough gravitational pull to tip them all over the edge. They all fall in. Permanently. And since the wormhole down there is gone, they’re destroyed. Crunched. Dead.”
Granger was nodding slowly, stroking his chin. “Ballsy? You’re right. That is crazy.”
“But it just might work,” said Proctor. “There are, ahem, a few holes in the plan, but the basic premise is just fine, actually. Good job, Mr. Zivic.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Zivic. Proctor wasn’t sure because one of his hands was covering the other, but it looked like he flipped off Ballsy next to him at the table.
“But the holes. I’m sorry, lieutenant, but a scientist you are most definitely not. This is a black hole we’re talking about. Let’s review basic facts, shall we? Number one. Right at the event horizon the gravity is so strong that it represents the point at which light can’t move radially away from the center. Any further out and the light spirals outward to eventually escape, and any further in, its trapped forever, making an eternal journey towards the center. Needless to say, outside the event horizon, at the distances we’re talking about, the force of gravity will be far greater than anything our engines can overcome. Not to mention spaghettification as the differential in gravitational force increases across our bodies and hulls.”
“So we do all of this much further out, then? But how can we be sure that the Swarm will fall in? The further out we start the more likely it is that one or more of them will escape,” said Whitehorse.
“We can start closer than our engines have the ability to maintain our elevation above the black hole. We’ll essentially be falling. And therefore on a constricted schedule. If we take too long, we fall into the black hole too with the Swarm. And we all know how that turned out last time,” she added, with a good-natured glance at Granger. “Once all the interdictors are in place, every ship can q-jump away, leaving the Granger moons time to q-jump in, between the Swarm ships and the black hole, and exert their tiny gravitational force that breaks the camel’s back, so to speak.”
Granger shifted. “And there is another hole in the plan. I can’t guarantee that I can communicate with the moons.”
“Once you are in contact with them, can you get them to do what you want?” asked Proctor.
“I believe so. I controlled them through meta-space. But not in any manner that you can possibly reproduce with your available technology. And frankly, I simply can’t remember the details, such that reconfiguring our meta-space transmitters would be pointless.”
Proctor pointed down the table to the Matriarch. “What if you had access to the Ligature, Tim?”
Krull shook her head. “I told you, Shelby Proctor, the Ligature is permanently gone. It will take hundreds of years—”
“Yes, I remember what you said. But you also said that a proto-ligature was manifesting itself, and you believed it was connected to the reappearance of the Valarisi. What about that?”
Danny raised a hand. “I think I can speak to that. My friend says that, basically, the more of his people that there are, the bigger the effect can be. But there’s just too few right now to make anything like the old Ligature.”
Proctor exhaled some air. “Well, then, I see little alternative. All of us, everything single one, should accept a Valarisi within us. Make the fabric of the proto-ligature bigger. More robust. Strong enough for Tim to be able to reach out and control the moons. Will it be enough?” She asked the question to both Granger and Danny.
“I think so,” they said in unison.
“Ok. Then that’s what we’ll do. I won’t require anyone to do it against their will. But the more we have, the likelier success will be. Agreed?”
Every head nodded.
Except Krull’s. “Shelby Proctor, the last time we did this, it was a catastrophe for my people.”
Danny turned to her. “But last time was different. The Valarisi were under the Swarm’s control then.”
“And what is to stop the Swarm from controlling the Valarisi once again? After we’ve infected ourselves?”
No one spoke. Not even Danny.
It was Liu who broke the silence. “We can’t guarantee that won’t happen. But my friend believes that this time is different. The first time they were taken by surprise. This time they’re ready. They know how to resist the Swarm now. Enough to repel any effort to control them.”
“How sure are they?” asked Proctor.
“Very sure. Like … ninety five percent? It won’t tell me a number, but that’s the vibe I get.”
Ballsy grinned. “If that’s the worst thing that can happen and it’s only at five percent, what the hell are we even worried about? We’ve got this in the bag.”
Proctor nodded. “Fine. Under the circumstances, that’s an acceptable level of risk.” She took a deep breath and stood up. “And now the next hole in the plan.” She waved to the viewscreen and it turned on to reveal a star map, showing Earth at the bottom, the Britannia system with Wellington Shipyards somewhat off to the left, and the Penumbra system up in the far right corner, in Russian Confederation space. “The entire IDF fleet is assembling down here, while we’re going to need them up here. There’s just no time. If we’re going to make this happen in the next few hours, at the same time that there is currently an attack underway on Earth … there’s just not enough time.”
Sepulveda stirred. “I can help with that.” Proctor was mightily impressed the man had managed to keep his mouth shut until that point. Politicians usually couldn’t help themselves, and she’d been worried that Sepulveda would assume he’d be in charge. But there was no way she was going to defer to an inexperienced civilian on any of this. Even if they were technically her commander in chief.
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“Interstellar One has T-jump engines. We can get there in a few minutes. Same with the Independence. If we … uh … infect everyone on those two ships with the Valarisi, would that be enough to control one of those moons? Mr. Granger?”
“I honestly don’t know. I bet I could control one. Maybe two. Not all ten that are left.” Ten. Proctor had almost forgotten about the destruction of Ido, in addition to Titan.
“So, the two ships make a pit stop at Earth. Swing by long enough for Granger to summon a moon or two and possibly help stave off the five Swarm ships. But they should be attracted to Penumbra, no? When we detonate the anti-matter bombs? So once they leave the Sol system, we follow them there with the fleet, and the Granger moons. Hopefully beating them, given our T-jump engines.”
Proctor shook her head. Ugh. Civilians. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, as far as I know the only ships equipped with T-jump engines are the two ships you mentioned plus the Defiance. There’s no way to get the fleet from Earth to Penumbra on time, barring some sudden ability to convert a q-jump engine into a T-jump engine.”
Granger tapped the table. “We don’t have to. The moons’ quantum jump drives are based on a technology that’s … too complicated to go into here. Suffice it to say, they’re even better than T-jump engines.”
Proctor waved the screen off. “Ok, that takes care of the moons, but what about the fleet?”
Granger shrugged. “No reason the moons can’t take on a few passengers. Line them up down the phased-energy port that you flew down when you came to collect me, and then the train leave the station.”
Proctor began to smile. The plan was falling into place. “Ok. One last glaring hole that I see. Fighters. Each Swarm ship we’ve seen so far has had thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of fighters. There is a literal swarm of sentient, angry Swarm piloting fighters that will be attacking our shuttles that are affixing the interdictors on their hulls. I just don’t see a way around that.”
Silence.
“A bunch of anti-matter torpedoes?” said Zivic. “Take out a few hundred thousand fighters at a time, give the shuttles enough space to make their move?”
Proctor shook her head. “There’s too many. Fifty ships, lieutenant. Potentially millions of fighters. That’s just too much going on for a bunch of anti-matter torpedoes to cut through the noise.”
More silence.
Rayna cocked her head up to the ceiling, talking to the ship as she often did. “You hear that, girl? They’ve all forgotten about your superpowers. Don’t worry, I still appreciate you. You and me are tight. Go way back, we do.”
Proctor swiveled her chair towards the chief engineer. “Rayna? Care to enlighten us?”
“Shelby? You don’t remember the technical briefing? When you were first brought aboard a month and a bit ago?”
The briefing? The one the late Commander Yarbrough gave her on her first shuttle ride over to the Independence? “Which one? Yarbrough’s? Or yours? I admit, I’ve been a little distracted the past few weeks. I think with good reason.”
“Not that limp-dicked traitor dead guy. Mine. I told you all about it. It’s actually incredible, when you think about it. At least, I thought it was.”
“Rayna. No time. What is it?”
Rayna glanced back up at the ceiling. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry. Don’t worry, I’ll remind them.” She looked back down the table at the confused faces. “The inaptly-named central computer. It’s not central. It’s distributed. And remember the kicker? It’s infinitely cored. We developed it at IDF Engineering just in case we ever faced something like the Swarm again, an enemy with vast numbers of relatively low-powered craft.”
“I’m not following, commander. Please elaborate,” said Proctor.
“The standard enemy tracking software currently requires exactly one core of processing power. For stupid coding reasons I won’t go into, if you try to distribute the computational load to more than one processor, the software shits its pants. And so most starships, with a few thousand processors or so, can track, predict, and engage up to about a thousand different enemy fighters once you account for the rest of the ship’s functions that need processing power. That was developed in response to Swarm War One. It wasn’t needed during Swarm War Two because they changed their tactics to brute force. Anti-matter beams. Artificial singularities. But over the past decade we decided to re-address the old need, and so we invented the infinitely cored computer, with dispersed distribution. It’s not actually infinite, of course, it’s just that we’re not limited by any physical constraints to go up to an arbitrarily large number of processors, which, when you think about the historical development of the processors starting with Intel, it makes one wonder—”
“Thank you, commander,” said Proctor, half exasperated and half intrigued. “But how to we use it? Why is this helpful?”
Another glance up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe it either, dearie.” Her eyes dropped back down again to everyone watching her. “You’ve got upwards of a million enemy fighters to track, predict the movements of, and engage. We’ve got a million processors, at least. You do the math.”
Proctor closed her eyes and tried. After a few moments she shook her head. “Ballsy? Zivic? Ideas? How can we use this?”
Ballsy stirred. “Well….” Then he shrugged. He turned to Zivic. “Son?”
“Slave all the shuttle’s navigational controls to the cores. One each.” He glanced at Rayna, “Will that let each shuttle avoid any enemy fire? I mean, can the cores communicate like that? Will they … uh … shit their pants?”
She cackled, rubbing her hands together. “Go on,” she said.
Ballsy interrupted. “Wait, then we can run each one through a translator algorithm, like Lieutenant Qwerty came up with in the first battle over Britannia. Lieutenant? Will that work?”
Qwerty fired an invisible finger gun at him. “It sure will. Just like the program enabled predictive capabilities to the computer to know when the Swarm ship was going to move while we were inside it, it should work the same on an individual fighter. Especially given how they’re piloted by organic beings. Those are easier to predict for a translator algorithm than something computer generated.”
Zivic smiled. “Ok. And then, on each shuttle, we’ll need a way to place the interdictors on the hulls of the Swarm ships. Uh … it’s crazy, but the only thing I can think of is … physically strapping a vacuum-suited person to the top, with a bag of interdictors in one hand, each of them with meta-glue smeared on it, and as the shuttle passes a target location, the pitcher throws a strike. When they’re all in place, we flip the master control switch on the Independence, and wham. No more q-jumping for the Swarm.”
Ballsy struggled to contain his snorted laughter. “That’s absolutely insane. Which means, it’s perfect.” He put a hand on Zivic’s shoulder, slapping it a few times. “I’d slave three or four fighters to cores on the Independence, as an escort for each shuttle. With the whole fleet there we should have enough fighters for that. It’ll allow the pilots to focus exclusively on targeting. With a few thousands targets each, they’ll need it.”
Proctor nodded. “And you’re forgetting one thing that should be to our advantage. We’ll be falling into a black hole, people. Just a few million kilometers out from the event horizon. You can bet the Swarm ships are going to immediately start conventional acceleration away from the black hole, to slow their descent. That means every single fighter, every single ship out there is going to have to account for that extra acceleration vector. Essentially, every craft will have to maneuver, while simultaneously burning with almost maximum thrust, upward, out of the black hole. It won’t slow the descent enough, of course, nor do we want it to for the plan to work. But it gives us an added advantage because our cores should be able to handle the extra thrust vector calculation with ease, whereas the Swarm fighters are piloted by organic beings. It’ll be terribly complicated for them, assuming their computers can’t do the same thing. Tim?”
She glanced at him for a confirmation, but he shook his head. “I don’t think so. But I honestly can’t remember. The Swarm aren’t big on artificial intelligence. They’ve never wanted to risk something becoming smart enough to destroy them. Which was why I focused on AI for so many millions of years, early on. The caretaker was the result of that work….” She noticed he was far more glum than he ever was when she’d known him thirty years ago. He was subdued in a way that made her worried. Like he’d lost his will to live. Not surprising, given that he’d already lived so long.
“You’re old. You’ve earned it,” she said, patting his hand. “Ok, that settles it. Let’s run through the numbers and calculate an optimal elevation above the black hole to detonate the anti-matter devices. Mumford? You got that?” He nodded. “Also, please have your technical staff assemble enough meta-space shunts that we can attach to the anti-matter bombs when we get our hands on them.” She tapped the table with nervous energy. “Next. Let’s send out a system-wide call for shuttles. Everything. With Mr. Sepulveda here and the fact that Britannia just exploded, I think we’ll have no trouble conscripting from civilians what we can’t grab off Wellington Shipyards. Mr. President? Can you and your staff handle that? And get them all loaded on either the Independence, Interstellar One, or the Defiance. I’d say we’ll need at least one per Swarm ship, but I can’t imagine we could fit any more than that. Also, we’ll need the anti-matter bombs from President Avery’s secret program. I assume you know where the last were stored. Can you handle all that?”
Sepulveda stood up, apparently excited to finally be doing something helpful. “I do have a staff that is in desperate need of something to do. Yes, we can do all that. Admiral?” he walked over to her and held out a hand. “Now I get it. I see how we won thirty years ago. I’m just honored to be a part of it this time around.” He faced the rest of them. “Good luck, everyone.”
The president left, followed by his secret service escort.
Proctor stood up. “Last thing. We need Q-field interdictors. Lots of them. Fifty ships. At least, oh,” she ran the numbers in her head, “a thousand per ship. Mumford, check the numbers for me. And that means we should probably have two crazy people strapped to each shuttle, each tossing five hundred. Whitehorse? Can you and your tactical team track them down? Wellington Shipyards may just have enough, but I don’t know.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Proctor turned to Captain Volz. “Ballsy, you and Danny and Liu be the ones to carry out the … infection. I hate that word.”
“Transformation?”
“Better. However you three and your companions decide to do it, let me and the relevant people know what the plan is, and put it into effect asap.”
“Aye, aye, admiral.”
She pointed at Qwerty. “Lieutenant. You and Commander Scott need to make sure that each core can run through it’s own predictive algorithm before coupling into a shuttle’s nav package. Make sure it works. Then scale it up. Got it?”
“Sounds like a plan, ma’am,” his customary drawl extending ma’am into two, possibly three syllables.
Polrum Krull stood up too. “Shelby Proctor? What shall we do? What shall the Dolmasi do?”
“I’m afraid we have the most straightforward, and dangerous job, Matriarch. You. Me. The rest of the United Earth fleet.”
Krull inclined her head. “And that is?”
“To distract them. To present them a target to pound, until the shuttles finish their job.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Flight Deck
ISS Independence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia system
Much of the prep work was taking place on the vast flight deck, and that’s where Zivic was prepping all the fighters with Moonshine, Ace, Barbie, Spectrum, and the other pilots. Each fighter was slaved into a computer core on the Independence, and a protocol was established to quickly do so for the fighters they’d hopefully pick up at Earth.
“Son, there you are.” His father ran up to him. The man had grown so large that Zivic hadn’t known he was still capable of running. But the Valarisi inside of him seemed to be having an invigorating effect. “It’s time for you and the pilots to get your medicine.”
He tensed a little inside. “Oh. That.”
“Come on, don’t be a wuss. It’s just a prick. So … don’t be a prick?” He held out a little device with a tiny needle at the end.
“Dad, it’s so weird. Will I still be … me?”
Ballsy rolled his eyes. “Do I seem like me?”
“A little too much sometimes, yes.”
“Then let’s get a move on. Places to go. Aliens to kill. Come on.”
He reluctantly held out an arm, and Ballsy stuck him with the needle in the bicep, then rubbed his own still-bloody finger on it. “We would have preferred coming up with some way to extract some of the Valarisi matter and just inject it in you like civilized people, but this will have to do in a pinch.”
It took a few moments, but the effect was unmistakable.
He gasped. He felt a warmth inside of him begin in his chest, and it spread quickly throughout his body, extending down to his limbs and digits. It was like … a power source, a well of inspiration, a source of heat, a spring of wisdom, all at once. It was like….
“It almost felt like someone was just … born inside of me.”
“Someone was, son.”
A few moments later, he finally heard the voice. It didn’t say any words. It didn’t manifest as actual audible sound. But, in his head, he heard it. It started like music, like singing, except it had color. And emotion. So much emotion.
And it was saying hello.
“Hello,” he said out loud.
Ballsy touched his shoulder. “Ok. No time for chit chat with it. Let’s move. You ready?”
“The fighters are all ready, yes. And the pilots. Just waiting on the shuttles.”
Ballsy started heading towards the next pilot. “Oh, by the way. I’m taking Liu’s ship she brought with her. It’s bigger than a shuttle, but not too big that I can’t pilot on my own. We can strap a few marines to it, and it should be just as good. Maybe even a little better.”
“Oh. That’s a great idea.”
His father went on. “And I’d like you to be my escort. No one I trust more.” He bounced his head back and forth. “Well … maybe Ace. Barbie. Spectrum. But you’re definitely in the top five or te—”
“Dad,” he interrupted. “I’d love to. We made a great team last time. Let’s do it again.”
Ballsy smiled at him, then went off to finish his transformation work with the other pilots and deck hands.
Off near the doors that led into the corridor, Admiral Proctor was huddled in deep conversation with Polrum Krull. After a few moments, they both nodded, as if they’d just agreed to something. He supposed he’d find out later what it was.
He turned to finish making fighter prep, and nearly ran into Ace.
She was halfway through a deep, long kiss with Lieutenant Qwerty. “Oh. I’m … excuse me. Carry on.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Bridge
ISS Independence
Gas giant Calais
Britannia system
Admiral Proctor strode onto the bridge of the Independence, and for a moment she had the stray thought that it could very well be her last time. Her last time ever setting foot on the bridge of a starship ever again.
“Don’t be superstitious, Shelby,” she muttered to herself.
The time was almost upon them. She watched as the timer clicked down towards zero: the time when the five Swarm ships were supposed to reach Earth. Thirty minutes.
“Mr. Qwerty. Are you and Rayna done with the simulations? Is it going to work?”
“As sure as a coon having early brunch on Sundays, yes ma’am.” Proctor cocked her head trying to figure that one out, but Qwerty continued. “And we went and did ya one better. You know all these PDC’s we have dotting the hull? And how they’re essentially useless since the Swarm seem to rely on their energy weapons rather than torpedoes? Well, turns out that works in our favor. We’ve queued up each PDC cannon with, oh, about ten thousand computer cores each. Each one of those cores is tracking and predicting a Swarm fighter’s movements. And when it gets close enough to the Independence, bam! The PDC cannon control is transferred over to the relevant core, and takes it out. And even better, we’ve written an algorithm that will rank and prioritize the targets based on angular distance from each other, such that each cannon will only be moving a degree or so with each shot. Lemme tell ya, admiral, it’s going to be fireworks out there.”
She smiled broadly. Some of the best news she’d heard all day. “Genius, Mr. Qwerty. Send my compliments to Rayna.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
She swiveled the captain’s chair around and sat down. “And patch me in to Interstellar One.”
Qwerty tapped a few buttons. “You’re on, ma’am.”
“President Sepulveda. Are you ready on your end? What have you found?”
Sepulveda appeared on screen, breathing heavily as if he’d been running. “Just got word from the Calais Enterprises mining syndicate. They’re donating their entire fleet of asteroid miners. Even better than shuttles. More maneuverable. More durable. And even better, there’s exactly forty eight of them. Counting your shuttle over there, that’s over fifty.”
“Excellent, Mr. President.” She glanced at her armrest display, and, sure enough, a small fleet of mining ships was approaching the Independence from the direction of one of the commercial stations in a higher orbit. “Have your staff divvy them out to the three ships. The Independence will have to take most of them, of course. And the anti-matter bombs?”
“Stored in a supposedly abandoned supply depot orbiting one of Calais’s minor moons. It of course is under heavy IDF guard, but from outward appearances it’s a derelict with a quarantine beacon warning people of Havlonian plague. Hasn’t been disturbed in thirty years.”
She was impressed. He’d come through. In a big way. “Congratulations, Mr. President, I detest your party, but you’ve won my vote in the next election. Assuming there is a next election. Are the bombs on their way?”
“Should be here in minutes.”
“Send them to the Defiance. Captain Granger and I will run ahead and get to Penumbra first, so that the bombs can be detonated to summon the Swarm from Earth, and everywhere else.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my god. I forgot.” She glanced this way and that across the bridge, searching the crew. Her eyes rested on Whitehorse who was coordinating with her tactical crew the delivery of the interdictors from Wellington. “Ms. Whitehorse. I’ve completely forgotten. I need a captain for the Independence.”
She blushed, but then stood ramrod straight and saluted. “I am honored, ma’am. Thank you.” But she also looked confused. “But … what about Captain Volz?”
“He is flying the Sword of Justice. Liu’s ship. We need all the ships planting interdictors that we can fly, because we may lose a few. Ballsy is best suited for that particular job. And you are best suited for this one. Take your post, captain.”
Jerusha Whitehorse walked forward, amazed. There was a slow clap building among the bridge crew and their staff and she threw a few grins their way. But when she reached the captain’s chair, she was all business. “As you were,” she said, in a commanding voice that pleasantly surprised Proctor. “And thank you, everyone.” She turned to Proctor. “And you, admiral. Thank you for trusting me. You’re an inspiration to us all. You’ve made me believe, against all the horrors that we’ve witnessed, that we may just be able to win this thing yet.”
“Ma’am,” said Lieutenant Qwerty. “Meta-space transmission coming in from Earth. Wide band. It’s Admiral Oppenheimer. Addressed particularly to you.”
Proctor leaned over to her armrest and brought the message up.
And her heart sunk.
Things are even worse than we thought. —O
“Qwerty,” she said as she walked over to comms, pulling Whitehorse with her. She lowered her voice so only the two of them could hear. “Meta-space message back to Oppenheimer. As follows. “Christian, spill it. It doesn’t matter who knows now. We’re planning something, and we need all the cards on the table. Or we all die. Proctor.”
Qwerty tapped it out. “Done, ma’am. They should be picking this up in a few minutes.”
She could only guess what could be worse than five Swarm ships nearing Earth, each wielding artificial singularity weapons that could turn Earth into a black hole. Or, if they preferred, they could just slag it to ashes with their energy weapons. So many choices.
The only thing to do was continue finalizing the preparations. “Commander Mumford. Are the meta-space shunts all assembled?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And have we determined an optimal elevation above the black hole to q-jump into?”
He walked over holding a data pad. It projected a map up into the air of the Penumbra system. “Here,” he said, pointing to a spot just a few million kilometers above the event horizon. And we’ll have roughly two point five million kilometers of free-fall to get the job done, since we can’t actually survive near the event horizon. Rather, this point here,” he tapped a point in space just a hundred thousand kilometers above the event horizon, “is our red line, before the tidal forces are enough to tear our largest ships apart. And, assuming full upward thrust from the Swarm ships, that gives us about half an hour of free fall before we cross the line.”
“Half an hour,” she repeated. “Half an hour to fight the largest, most consequential battle in human history.” She waved the map away. “Very well. Thank you, Mr. Mumford.” She tapped the comm button on Qwerty’s station. “Ballsy, this is Proctor. You there?”
“Shelby?”
“What’s your status? And what’s the plan on your end?”
She heard him talking to someone nearby, wrapping up a conversation before beginning again. “We’re nearly done with the Transformation. All that’s left is the bridge. I’ll be there momentarily, and I’ll explain the plan in person. Ballsy out.”
Ok. Was that everything? This was easily the most complex battle plan she’d ever made. So many moving parts. So many people with tasks that, if they failed, would sink the whole operation. There was no room for error. “What are we missing?” she asked Whitehorse. “We’re forgetting something. And if we don’t remember it, we’re all dead. Think, captain.”
Whitehorse closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said after a moment. “Nothing’s coming to mind. But I’ll keep thinking, admiral.”
“Good,” she said, just as Qwerty turned to her.
“Adm’ral,” he said. “We’ve got your reply.”
She bent down to his station to read it.
And the pit in her stomach hardened.
Huntsman was Russian agent, thirty years ago. Was in the Family. He wants back in. And may have the means to do it. Be wary. Also, we need all assistance at Earth in the next twenty minutes. —O
She stood up straight. “This could change everything.”
Ballsy strode onto the bridge. “Shelby,” he began. “Are you ready?”
The pit in her stomach remained intact. Huntsman used to be Swarm. And he wants back in. And he has the means to do it, which could only mean he has access to Swarm matter, which he may even be able to control, given what happened to Ballsy earlier.
“Shelby?” he repeated.
“First, what’s the plan?”
He nodded. “Ok. The entire crew has been transformed, and, to tell the truth, I’m beginning to feel them in my mind, through the proto-ligature that our friends are building. We have around ninety capital ships at Earth, and another few hundred smaller frigates and such. I’ve got two hundred crew members on the flight deck, waiting to board the shuttles that are due to arrive. When we get to Earth, each shuttle will go to a different ship, and begin the transformation process there. You’ll need to broadcast when we get there and explain, though I don’t envy you—that’s a lot to explain in such a little amount of time. People are going to have to trust you.”
Whitehorse inclined her head. “They’ll trust her.” She motioned her head in the direction of a wall. “They trust Granger, too.”
“Me too.” Proctor drew in a deep breath, and exhaled. “Ok. I’m ready.” She held out her arm and rolled the sleeve up. “Huntsman’s a wild card. But, frankly, there’s nothing we can do about it right now. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll signal you from the Defiance when Tim and I are ready.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Gas giant Calais
Britannia system
When the door to Defiance’s bridge opened, Proctor saw Granger hunched over the tactical console. “Shelby, I’ve only been gone thirty years, but from looking at this console layout it’s like I was gone thirteen billion. Everything’s changed. Where the hell is the damn fire button?”
She reached down and pointed to an area that wasn’t even illuminated. “Here. It’s inactive now, and won’t even light up as an option until systems are online and the commanding officer gives weapons clear.”
He shook his head in exasperation. “That’s crazy. What happens if the commanding officer is incapacitated and can’t give the order?”
“Then, if it’s a health status issue, the computer detects that and unlocks the button. If it’s another reason then the tactical officer has to enter in an emergency code. It’s to prevent accidents from happening like at Dresden Prime a few years back—we almost lost a ship when someone showed up to duty higher than a kite and thought the fire button looked like a pretty bug. But … that was after your time.”
“Well,” he said, with a shrug, “I guess that’s prudent.” He sat down at the tactical station and leaned back. “Good Lord, Shelby, I knew this would be weird. But this is weird. It’s like my mind is playing tricks on me. Things that should be familiar are not, things that the old Granger didn’t know about are as clear as day to me. And my memory, oh God, my memory. It’s like a big soup of images and places and concepts and people, most of which I’m not even sure if they were my memories from before I fell into the black hole or after. I … I created entire races, Shelby. The Findiri … oh God, the Findiri. I made them to fight the Swarm. But it was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. And if we end up beating the Swarm, then they’ll come for us. And soon. And the Quiassi? Even worse.”
“Tim,” she began, and sat down next to him, “you say you intentionally came back without any idea of what we’d do so that the Swarm would never know what our final plan was. Because you worried that if you knew, then they’d know. Well now you know. Does that mean that they know too?”
“No. This body, because it was made and locked in that chamber for so long, was complete untouched by the Swarm, or by the Valarisi. That at least I planned. It took a few hundred thousand years to come to fruition, but it looks like it worked. The Swarm have no influence on me, can’t read me, don’t even know I’m back in this form. We’re safe.”
“And….” She shook her head in disbelief, “you had that much faith in us, in me, that you planned the tools we’d use in this operation for billions of years, without knowing if my team and I would even be able to come up with a viable plan? What if … what if I’d had a cold today and my head was so stuffy that I could hardly think? What if I just … couldn’t think of anything? What if Lieutenant Zivic hadn’t come up with this whole scheme? What if I’m not supposed to use his plan, but come up with my own? What if—”
He held up his hands to cut her off. “Shelby, Shelby, stop. The answer to your question is, I don’t know. Sometimes there just are no set answers. Or no good answers. But, at the end of the day, I trusted that Shelby Proctor would come up with a plan every bit as good as I could have come up with in a billion years, and probably even a little better.” He considered for a moment. “I can’t remember if I ever told you this, Shelby—I honestly can’t—but back in the day, I had a secret weapon.”
“What?” She cocked her head in confusion. “What was it? Stimulants?”
“It was you, Shelby.” He started chuckling for a few seconds. “You never slept. You hardly ate. You worked twenty hours a day for, what was it, two months? Four months? You were my XO, my science officer, my Swarm researcher, my ideas person when we needed a new tactic … and you were my friend. What the hell do you think would have happened if you weren’t there with me?”
She looked down. “You would have found a way.”
“I’m not so sure about that. But thankfully we’ll never know. And the more I’ve watched you the past few hours, the more convinced I am that I made the right choice about all this.”
She glanced at the clock. There was hardly any time left. Earth was about to be destroyed. “Well … I guess we’re about to find out whether your trust in me—in us—was well placed.” She stood up and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Tim.” Once back at the captain’s chair and command console, she added, “how’s the proto-ligature doing? Can you communicate with the Granger moons yet?”
“It’s coming along beautifully. The Valarasi are among the most elegant, beautiful races I’ve ever seen in all my eons of life. And they’ve worked hard the past few hours. I think I can summon all of them. But for now, at Earth, we’ll stick with two, just so we don’t tip our hand to the Swarm in any way. You know, if there were, say, only ten Swarm ships instead of fifty, we’d have a fighting chance just smacking them around with my moons and the Skiohra super dreadnoughts—I built those things to take a punch. But for now, Tal Rishi and Ampera Raya will do nicely.”
“Good. Let me send off a quick message to Oppenheimer, and make sure the fleet is ready, and then we’re off. I should get the President over here too, so we can present a united front to Oppenheimer—we can’t afford any bullshit and time -wasting. By the way, for Oppenheimer and anyone else, I’m pinning this whole crazy thing on you. At this point, you’re the only one who could convince them it has any chance of working.”
He’d fallen silent for nearly half a minute while she worked, but finally added, “I don’t want to get your hopes up, Shelby. This has a high chance of failure. Don’t let my pep talk go to your head and make you overconfident. Honestly, the chances of this working perfectly are near zero, and the chance of even partial success is … well, let’s just say I’d be safer on the other side of the universe.”
“Then why are you here, Tim?”
He smiled. “Because there is no place I’d rather be.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Bridge
ISS Resolute
Near Earth
Admiral Oppenheimer read her message as it scrolled past.
We’ll be there momentarily. Standby. And when I arrive, I’ll tell you the plan. The battle is not at Earth. The big man is here with me, and boy does he have a story to tell. —P
“Well I’ll be. She did it. She brought him back. Unbelievable.” He stood up and watched the countdown timer on the viewscreen. Forty minutes. He scanned the schematics of the firing vectors and battle group positions, and all the preparations they’d made for the battle. And here was Proctor telling him it could all be for naught. “But … the nerve of that woman. It’ll be a cold day in hell when I give up Earth.”
He dictated a message back.
The day I give up Earth will be the day after I’m dead. Your orders are to assist in the defense of Earth, no matter what ghost you’ve brought along for the ride. —O
He fired it off.
More preparations. Starships that needed last minute ordnance restocking. Senators down on Earth who were demanding to know where the President was, if he was even alive at all. The national governments trying to get a hold of him for reassurances that Earth would be protected, to which he sent the blanket message, We’ll do our best, as always.
Finally, a reply.
Christian. Something you should know. I believe you. You told me you fear what the Findiri and Quiassi could potentially do to us, and I blew you off. I was wrong. I apologize. After this is all over I’ll help you begin building defenses against them. But right now, believe me. The Bricklayer is here. And he’s got one last crazy scheme that just may save us all. Five minutes. —P
Wow. He did not expect that. A repentant Admiral Shelby Proctor. He never thought he’d see the day.
“Message to the fleet. Stand by for additional instructions. Tell them to be ready. Things may change on a dime.”
And on the viewscreen, the telescopic image of the Swarm ships on approach was replaced by a non magnified image. There they were. Tiny dots now, but growing steadily. He could just make out their shapes. Grotesque, with spires jutting out at odd angles.
“You better have brought a miracle with you, Shelby. Or this will be the shortest space battle in history.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Near Earth
The final T-jump was executed, and Earth snapped into place, just where she’d left it, weeks ago.
Arrays of dots on the screen showed where the fleet was assembled. And in the other direction, the steadily approaching Swarm.
“Open an encrypted video channel to the Resolute.” She glanced to her left and gave a curt nod to Granger. She glanced to her right and did likewise for President Sepulveda who’d arrived on the Defiance just minute before the jump. She was going to need all the powers of persuasion available to her, including using two of United Earth’s icons: its President, and its Hero.
Admiral Oppenheimer appeared on the screen. His jaw fell two inches.
“Christian. It’s good to see you,” she said, sincerely. “President Sepulveda I’m sure you know. And this gentleman,” she held up a hand to her left, “I believe is an old acquaintance of yours.”
“Oh … my … god.” His jaw still hung slack. “Tim? Is that really you?”
Granger smiled. “Who do you think I am, lieutenant? Though I see you’ve earned your admiral’s bars in the time since I last saw you. Congratulations. You’ve made quite a name for yourself.”
“Mr. President,” Oppenheimer continued, apparently accepting Tim as Tim. “Good to see you alive. We weren’t entirely sure, after Britannia.”
“Good to be alive, Christian.” Sepulveda thumbed to his left. “We’re out of time. Listen. And do exactly what she says. Or we’re all dead.”
Oppenheimer grit his teeth. It was clear he wasn’t exactly happy about that, given that he’d made so many preparations for this battle. But he relented. “Ok. What’s the plan, Shelby?”
Oh thank god. He saw reason.
“Open a joint channel with the three of us here, so all the captains see a united front. There’s no time to do any convincing. You’ll hear the plan the same time as everyone else.”
He took a deep breath. “You got it, admiral.” He glanced offscreen and nodded to someone, likely the comms officer. “Ok. I think we’re ready.”
A moment later, she knew her face, along with Oppenheimer’s, Sepulveda’s, and Granger’s, appeared on every viewscreen in the fleet. Including down in IDF HQ on the surface, and likely every government building.
“Captains, this is Admiral Shelby Proctor, here with Fleet Admiral Oppenheimer, and the commander in chief, President Sepulveda, to lead the final battle for Earth against the Swarm. There’s been a change of plans. I’m sure you all notice the gentleman to my left. This is Captain Timothy Granger. It’s a long story, too long to tell here, but he’s returned from the black hole he fell into, and he’s brought a plan that he’s spent decades perfecting to save humanity. And save all sentient life in the universe, frankly.”
She supposed they’d be far more receptive to a grand plan from the Hero of Earth prepared over decades, than an ad hoc patched together with duct tape series of actions a bunch of junior officers had come up with and hoped might work.
“Listen. The Swarm is almost here. But they are just the tip of the spear. We need to destroy all of them, right here and now. Each of you, expect a mining shuttle to arrive in your docking bay. A member of my crew will disembark, and begin an inoculation process to safeguard you against Swarm mental control. Follow their instructions precisely. Captains, you will then assign that mining shuttle an escort of at least four fighters, and follow the pilot’s instructions for how to link to the Independence for optimal navigation and targeting during the battle. At a certain point, one or two of the Granger moons will appear, and you are to proceed, every ship, down to the surface and fly into the weapon shaft. There you will wait until the moon T-jumps to Penumbra, where the real battle will begin. And people—” She slowly shook her head. “It will be the fight of our lives. Hundreds of ships. Thousands, maybe millions of fighters, all while falling towards the event horizon of the black hole there.”
She took a breath, letting them absorb the barrage of information. “And then, your mission. Keep the Swarm occupied, distracted from the shuttles flying over the surface of their ships. Link your q-jump computers to one of the computer cores on the Independence, and that will allow you to q-jump away at the last second before being hit by a Swarm beam. It’s not fool proof, but it may save some of us. And then, when the shuttles have done their work, we all q-jump away, and pray to god above that that is the last we see of them, for good.”
Silence over the channel. She wondered what was going through all their heads.
“Admiral Proctor?” She recognized the voice of Captain Hellend. “Sounds fun. I think I speak for everyone when I say, let’s get this shit done and home in time for dinner.”
She glanced up at the clock. Thirty minutes and change. But, against all her fears, they were on board, and it had taken less than five minutes. “Yes, captain. Dinner when we have the time. And time is the one luxury we don’t have at the moment. Let’s move.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Bridge
ISS Independence
High Earth Orbit
It was show time, and Captain Whitehorse was ready.
She hoped the rest of the fleet was ready too—it was a huge leap of faith on their part. On her part, too. On Proctor’s part, for having faith in her.
And they would all know, within a few minutes, if the Swarm would take the bait. Tal Rishi and Ampera Raya, the two moons that Granger chose for the job, had left just minutes earlier, on their way to Penumbra with the entire United Earth fleet stuffed down their giant weapons shafts.
“Sir, the Defiance has T-jumped away. They should be at the Penumbran black hole in a few minutes,” said her former deputy, now tactical officer.
“And the status of the gravitational eddies? Have the Swarm revealed themselves yet?”
It was just the Independence, alone, that stood in the way of the Swarm and Earth. If they didn’t take the meta-space bait that Admiral Proctor and Captain Granger were about to lay, then the battle for Earth would be very, very quick.
“The eddies are just a few minutes out. And, no, sir. They are still not visible.
She paced for a few steps, then caught herself. No sense in letting the crew see her nervousness.
“Sir! They’re now in view!”
Every head on the bridge snapped towards the viewscreen. Off towards the left was Earth’s distant moon. But dead center, wavering and shimmering into existence, appeared five gargantuan Swarm ships.
They were almost within firing range.
“The ship in front is starting to rotate it’s main weapon spire towards the surface.” The tactical officer grimaced. “And it’s charging. Firing in less than a minute.”
She paced back to her seat, the captain’s chair, and sat down. “Come on, come on, come on,” she repeated.
Commander Mumford at the science station whooped. “Thar she blows. Just read a massive meta-space spike. Point of origin was likely the Penumbra system. And the spike was off the charts.”
Again, every head snapped toward the screen, in nervous expectation, hoping, some praying, that the bait would be taken. That the Swarm would notice the meta-space pulse, and head there, like they always had. What the reason for that, Whitehorse could not even guess. Maybe their universe had some kind of meta-space property such that it was like light to them, and like moths, they were attracted to it. But the Swarm seemed more intelligent than that.
She hoped she never had to find out why.
Cheering erupted across the bridge, and, she knew, all across the planet below.
The Swarm ships disappeared.
She breathed the air out she’d been holding in, and gripped the armrests of the captain’s chair. “Don’t cheer yet, people. That was the easy part. Ensign Riisa? Take us to Penumbra.”
Chapter Seventy
Flight deck
ISS Independence
Black hole
Penumbra System
Zivic sat in his fighter, hands on the controls, eyes closed. He imagined he was in the simulator. Shooting bogey after bogey after bogey. Not only reaching his dad’s record, but demolishing it. Hundreds. Thousands of kills.
The voice in his head laughed at him, a strange reaction for what was essentially a few teaspoons of alien goo coursing through his veins.
“What?” he said.
The voice spoke, but without words. Instead, it produced feelings that his own brain attached words to. You’re too methodical. You don’t feel it. You don’t anticipate. You can’t, because you don’t empathize. Without empathy, you can’t know the enemy. And without true knowledge of the enemy, you will always be held back from your true potential as a warrior.
“Huh. Ok. What does a pile of Valarisi goo know about flying, anyway?”
I flew the first Swarm vessel that assaulted Earth. I’ve flown for thousands of years. And when Granger destroyed my ship, I fell, flying through the atmosphere. Just like Danny.
“Oh.” It was still so weird. So foreign to him, to be talking out loud to a voice in his head. He didn’t suppose he would ever get used to it. And just how much did it know, anyway? Did it feel the relief when he took a piss? Wait … was it watching when he jerked off? Dammit!
Why do you do that before flying, anyway? I don’t understand the biological need for it. What does it accomplish?
His face turned red. “Uh … um … so you are watching … everything. Right. Could you, uh, maybe give me some privacy sometimes? We might be spending a lot of time together, and we’d better start off on the right foot.” He shook his head. The voice was silent, as if waiting for an answer. “It relaxes me before a battle. Helps me focus. Keeps my mind right where it needs to be, and not wandering to under the bra of the last girl I … you know.”
Ah. A chemical reaction then. I noticed the endorphin rush, and the subsequent regulation of your motor neurons and dopamine receptors. What an interesting way to—
“Hey, look, time to get moving,” he said. Indeed, the warning lights had begun to strobe, indicating the bridge was counting down to a T-jump. “Look, I don’t know how exactly you can help me during this thing, but at the very least, shut up and don’t distract me, ok?”
I will help you. You’ll see.
“Oh. Neat.” He smiled, trying to be polite. An alien stream of goo was promising to help him shoot bogeys. To think he’d lived to see the day. “Ok, hold on. Here we go.” He glanced out the cockpit window at Ace, Moonshine, Barbie, and Spectrum, and flashed a thumbs up, then pounded his chest with a fist. He tapped his comm and connected to his father, down in the Sword of Justice docked at the shuttle bay. “See you on the other side, dad.”
“You too. Don’t let me get killed, or I’ll never invite you to Thanksgiving ever again.”
“Agreed.” He smiled. “I’m glad we get to be together. Here at … what could be the end.”
“Son, don’t you remember that door with the message?”
“You weren’t there dad.”
“No, but my dear friend here was. It opened at the end. And the end is the beginning. Just you watch.”
“Copy. Batshit out.”
The ship made the T-jump, and almost immediately he felt … strange.
That is the effect of being so close to the event horizon. With me inside of you, it affects your sense of temporal reality.
“Oh. That would have been more helpful to know before you camped out in there.”
Don’t worry. It will fade. I’m adjusting now.
Sure enough, the feeling faded, and he returned to normal. Better than normal, in fact.
He felt serene. More calm and yet more focused and alert than he’d ever been in his life. “You know? I’m feeling good about this.”
Me too, Ethan. I think the Swarm will be surprised what happens when not just two, but four species combine their strength into one.
Suddenly he felt sharp jab in his brain, so strong he almost yelped. “What the hell was that?”
That was the Defiance detonating the anti-matter bombs. The shunts channeled most of the energy into meta-space, which we are intimately connected to. Don’t worry, that won’t happen again.
“It sure as better hell not.”
The bay doors opened, and like that, he was out.
And for the second time that day, he gasped.
Dozens of Swarm ships were winking into existence all around them, and they immediately started disgorging fighters. Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands. They filled the space around them like a cloud.
At the same time, he felt the inertial compensators start to strain as he noticed a slight pull downward—the effect of the thrusters on the ship automatically firing down towards the maw of the black hole far beneath them, in an effort to accelerate away from it at maximum power.
A few seconds a later, the moons Tal Rishi and Ampara Raya both appeared a few tens of thousands of kilometers of the Independence’s port bow. He squinted, and noticed a stream of capital ships begin pouring out of their surfaces.
He barely had time to register that, when several more flashed nearly blinded him, as between them and the nearest gargantuan Swarm ship, the Benevolence appeared. And, in the distance, the Magnanimity. And three more Skiohra generation ships—apparently Krull was able to bridge the rift with at least some of her people. Weapons were already firing in a fantastic light show, punctuated by explosions dotting the surfaces of ships and the space around them as the multi-cored Independence began targeting the thousand of Swarm fighters massing around it.
And just like that, the battle was joined. A sight the likes of which he’d not only never seen before, but could never have imagined.
It was hell.
It was beautiful.
It was … distracting. “Hey. Have … you been flying my bird this whole time?”
You seemed distracted.
“Yeah. Uh, thanks.” He scanned his sensors and found his father’s ship. “Ok boys and girls, get down to the Sword of Justice and let’s do ourselves some escort duty.”
He and his squadron dodged in and out as he wove through the cloud of Swarm fighters, shooting where he could but mostly trying to get to the Sword of Justice as quickly as possible, and then let the cores on the Independence do their job and let him focus on shooting. Before long, they made it, but not before Barbie ate it. A snuffed explosion marked his death.
“Dammit,” he whispered. “Ok, folks, we’re at the Sword of Justice. Link up to your respective computer cores, and … there. Looks like we’re a go.” He let go of the navigation controls and switched to the dedicated gun controls. Now he could focus on his favorite part.
Killing Swarm.
The UE fleet had finally arrived from the insides of Tal Rishi and Ampara Raya, and now more ships flashed into existence. Soon, dozens—no, hundreds—of Dolmasi ships were weaving through the tangle of fighters, UE ships, Skiohra generation ships, mining shuttles burning like mad towards their targets, and the targets themselves: fifty odd massive Swarm ships, each hundreds of kilometers long.
The battle stretched on as far as his eyes could see in all directions, and he knew, in the back of his mind, that the whole tangled mess of ships and fireworks and explosions and debris from the already destroyed vessels and the dead crews that had manned them, were all falling inexorably into the maw of the black hole, at a speed that would soon become a significant fraction of the speed of light.
It was breathtaking. In a deadly, this-is-going-to-kill-everything kind of way.
Are you going to focus on the shooting or not, Batshit?
“Hey, someone has to appreciate the firework show out there, calm down.” Unnerving as it was to suddenly find himself a Valarisi host, Zivic had to admit that right now, in the midst of the most horrific displays of death, chaos, and desperation that he had ever witnessed, he appreciated the companionship. He’d just spent the last ten seconds staring at the incomprehensible sight all around him, and all along he’d been shooting like mad, taking out … he checked his kill counter … oh. One hundred and fifty-two already. He’d just smashed Ballsy’s record in less than fifteen seconds. Damn. He tapped the comm. “I’m sorry to say this, pops, but your record is long since dead. About ten seconds ago.”
“Save it, son. A little busy here.”
Indeed. Their tight formation of four fighters surrounding Ballsy’s frigate was flying down the spine of one of the Swarm ships, and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the two marines strapped to the hull—their torsos just poking above one of the dorsal edges of the Sword of Justice—reaching into mesh bags and occasionally hurtling objects down at the Swarm hull below. And it was at that moment, seeing the sheer absurdity of it, that he couldn’t believe he’d suggested such a thing. But there’d been no time for any alternative.
Vaguely, at the edge of his awareness, he could hear the background noise of the general IDF comm channel, voices coming in and out, almost like they were narrating the battle, most of which he couldn’t see.
“Requesting backup support for the Independence. We’ve lost the two Dolmasi escorts.”
“All ships of Alpha group, run interference for the Benevolence. It’s going to attempt to draw the fire of those four Swarm ships clustered a few dozen kilometers down the gravity well!”
“The Tennessee is going down! Commencing Omega maneuvers! Oppenheimer maneuver one, targeting the Swarm ship at five-nine mark eight-two. All ships stand clear.”
That caught his ear, and as he continued firing at any Swarm fighter that got near enough to target, he craned his neck in the direction of the vector the captain had called out.
“Holy shit.”
It had accelerated, using the intense pull of the black hole below them as an assist, straight towards one of the drive cones of a Swarm ship. It flashed in a q-jump and disappeared, and a second later, a quarter of the Swarm ship erupted in a massive explosion.
“So that’s an Oppenheimer maneuver. Granger would be proud,” he said into his squadron comm line.
“You think that was impressive. Have you seen the Independence?” said Ace.
“No. Why?”
“Its PDC cannons are routed through the computer cores and Qwerty’s predictive algorithm. Take a look.”
He scanned the fierce fighting all around him, squinting through the flashes and explosions and clouds of Swarm fighters shooting at anything that moved. And he found it. “Oh … Oh wow!”
The Independence was currently spinning on not just one axis down its length but also around its Z axis, moving downward towards the event horizon like a corkscrew. Except the corkscrew was spitting out hundreds, perhaps thousands, of flashing PDC rounds. And it seemed that each round caught a separate Swarm fighter. “Damn. Whitehorse is going to take them all out by herself and not leave any for us.”
He watched his kill count pass a thousand, and quietly thanked his new friend for holding down the fort while he was distracted.
It was a brawl. Off to his left he saw a Swarm ship discharge its main massive beam towards an IDF capital ship, which disappeared in a q-jump flash and reappeared just a few kilometers away, out of the path of the beam.
But the Swarm was learning: a second ship had discharged another beam just seconds later, before the IDF cruiser had time to recharge its q-jump drive.
And just like that, a thousand souls were gone in a flash. The debris field from the cruiser expanded outward, pelting the two Swarm ships on either side, mostly harmlessly. He glanced at his sensor schematic. The ISS Lincoln. Gone in just a few seconds.
More voices over the general comm channel.
“The shuttle assigned to the Swarm ship at twelve mark twenty-two has been destroyed. ISS Stennis, your move.”
He recognized the voice as that of Admiral Oppenheimer. And if the shuttle attaching the interdictors on that Swarm ship had been taken out, the ISS Stennis’s mission was obvious to him, after seeing what happened earlier.
“Aye, aye, admiral. Its been an honor. Commencing Oppenheimer maneuver one.”
“Godspeed, Chieko,” said Admiral Oppenheimer. “And thank you.”
He kept shooting, not wanting to watch. But the flash in the corner of his eye made him look. The Stennis disappeared, and the next moment the Swarm ship it was burning towards convulsed in an explosion as the rear third of it disappeared in a cloud of debris, fire, and slag.
“Dad? What’s your status? How much we got left?” He glanced at the timer. They’d been in hell for nearly twenty minutes. They had ten minutes left until the red line. When they were supposed to be back on the Independence and q-jump the hell out of there.
“Five minutes. Almost done.”
Zivic was calm. That was what surprised him. It was a maelstrom of weapons fire and ships and explosions and hundreds of ships darting in and out, weaving and dodging and flanking, all while falling towards the ever approaching event horizon. But he was completely at peace, focused on the task at hand. He supposed that was his friend’s doing.
But he noticed two other things. First, he noticed the flow of time, and the differential in its flow between where they were and where they’d just come from above Earth. He even noticed the time flow differential between the highest part of the battle with the lowest—fighting closest to the event horizon looming ever larger below like a perfectly black disk.
Second, the proto-ligature was strengthening, and he was starting to feel, almost individually, all the crew members of the fleet. Over two hundred thousand, all around him. And the Skiohra, both External and Internal. And, to his surprise, many of the Dolmasi. And one other person.
Someone outside the proto-ligature. And yet somehow a part of it, in an almost belligerent, hostile sense.
“Oh my god,” he murmured.
“What?” said Ace.
“It’s Huntsman. I can feel him.”
A pause. Ace replied. “So can I. And he’s got something up his sleeve.”
Oh shit.
Chapter Seventy-One
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Black hole
Penumbra System
The battle was progressing surprisingly well, Proctor thought. She hadn’t expected so many ships in their fleet to survive this long. But between the q-jump idea that Krull had had—patching each ship’s q-jump engine into a dedicated core on the Independence running Qwerty’s predictive algorithm which allowed them to jump away from a Swarm beam at the last second—and the impressive coordination they’d managed between the three fleets, they’d suffered only losses of less than twenty percent.
Three fleets. It was really four. The Valarisi were the grease between the three races. The common denominator. The force that coordinated, soothed, and gave confidence. She felt it in her own mind as her new friend added its helping voice or influence at certain times. Friend. She called it her friend. That’s what the Swarm used to say.
But this was different. Much, much different. When choice is missing, words take on a whole new meaning. Friend becomes slave. Family becomes empire.
“We just might make it, Tim. Which means you’ll owe me a beer.”
“We never made a bet, Shelby,” he replied, glumly.
“Lighten up, Tim. It was a joke.”
The Defiance was stealthed, and in the mass confusion of the battle, she was confident the Swarm simply had no time to even notice the little invisible gnat flying around, pricking them here and there, running interference for certain shuttle that were facing stiff resistance.
“Shelby, do you remember your promise?” he said.
She didn’t reply, choosing instead to focus on the tactical display before her, firing at targets as they presented themselves. “Ensign Riisa, hard to port. Help out the ISS Resolute.”
“Shelby?”
“And when exactly would you like me to kill you, Tim? Hm? Before the battle’s over? After? During the victory parade for all to see?”
“That wasn’t my question. I asked if you remembered it.”
“I do. But I’m not—”
“Listen. Something has happened.” His voice was grave.
She finally looked up at him. His face was white. “Tim. What is it?”
“Shelby, he’s here,” said Granger from his seat at the comm station. “Huntsman.”
The pit in her stomach returned. “What does that mean?”
“I’m … I’m not sure. I don’t know what he has planned. But he wouldn’t have shown up here without one.”
She wasn’t sure what to do. There were only seven minutes left until red line. They were almost there. Just a few more shuttles needed to complete their mission, and they were done. Could she track him down? Shoot him out of the sky?
“But I asked you that to remind you. If it comes down to needing to kill Huntsman, and it ends up being a suicide mission, well, I call dibs.” He finally flashed her a grin and a wink, just like old times.
“Oh god, Tim I hope it doesn’t come down to that. We’re almost done. If we just—”
And then the world went white, disappearing in a flash.
Chapter Seventy-Two
She woke up, but everything was wrong. Everything was white. Almost blindingly white. But she didn’t have to squint.
“Oh for the love. If this is heaven, what a stereotypical letdown.” She’d been on her back, so she rolled over and slowly pushed herself to her feet. “Let me guess. God shows up. Tells me I’ve got a choice. Go with him, or go back and finish my mission, eventually going down in a blaze of glory for good this time.” She spun around, her arms wide. “Am I right? What the hell is this?”
“My god, you’ve become cynical in your old age, Shelby,” said a familiar voice.
She spun around to face him. “Tim? So you’re here too? Are we still on the bridge? Are we asleep, and somehow sharing the same dream through the proto-ligature?”
“Shelby, I’m not Tim. You are lying on the bridge of the Defiance, but I am not Tim. He’s lying on the bridge of the Defiance, too.”
“Oh. So … not god either?”
He chuckled. “A little. But not really. I’ve been alive for almost as long. I’ve seen the creations of countless solar systems, and their deaths. The rise and fall of great civilizations. I’ve seen horrors, and heroism, and sacrifice, enough to last a million lifetimes. I’ve seen evolution in action. And I’ve influenced it here and there, with breathtaking results in sentient races. So, in a sense, yes. I am god. Sort of.”
“I’m confused.” She studied his face. Tim Granger was smiling broadly. He looked very, very similar to the man she’d just left moments ago. But … slightly different. It was the mood, more than the appearance. This Tim was confident. Happy. Almost … artificially so. “Are you Tim, or not?”
“I am not. I told you. I am an imprint of Tim. A representation of him. Essentially, I’m AI. He worked on me for millions of years. Perfecting me. Currently, I’m housed in several racks of hardware deep underneath the crust of Tal Rishi.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m Tim, in the sense that I have all his memories. All his likes and passions and flaws and intentions and plans.”
She perked up. “Oh,” she repeated. “Then … what’s the plan? You planned for this battle for billions of years, right? Are we … doing it how you planned?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You see, the real Tim, that you have now, is human. With a finite, tiny brain. There were only so many memories we could cram in there without overwhelming his new body. And, frankly, he remembers a lot less than we had planned. Oh well. He’s still Tim. But something he did not remember was the plan. Because, and you’re not going to believe me at first, but there was never a plan. There was nothing for him to remember.”
“Oh,” she repeated a third time. “That’s … disheartening. And now Huntsman is here, and he’s messing everything up. We’re about to lose, aren’t we? When can I wake up?”
“Soon. Only a second or two has actually passed. Don’t worry about that. But I’ve brought you here, through the proto-ligature the Valarisi are building, to tell you why there was no plan. And what that means for you.”
She held her arms out to her sides. “I’m all ears, Tim.”
“Shortly after I arrived in the Swarm’s universe, I became intimately connected to them. And that did not change when I escaped back into our universe, albeit at not quite the right time. They followed me here, quite early, in fact. The universe is a big place, Shelby, and neither they nor I had any idea where Earth was. Or rather, where it would be. But where I looked, the Swarm followed. I … inadvertently caused the destruction of several spacefaring races that way.”
“They followed you. And they could read your mind?”
“After a fashion, yes. They could read some intentions. Feelings. But they’re damn smart, and able to put two and two together. So I knew that I could never, ever make a plan to save humanity, because then they would know, and undermine it.”
“I understand. But … you’re here.”
“I am. I couldn’t make a plan. But I could make tools for you to use. I could set the conditions such that, when this moment happened, the odds would be, ever so slightly, be pushed in your favor from the hopeless position you would have been in otherwise.”
She finally understood, and closed her eyes to process. The Granger moons. The Ligature being destroyed, which would have never happened without the Dolmasi being slowly driven mad through Tim’s influence aboard the mystery ship. And with the Ligature destroyed, the path was made clear for the Valarisi to return without the risk of the Swarm immediately corrupting them.
He continued. “I created entire races, you know. The Findiri were the first. Absolutely savage warriors. Relentless. Proud. With an incomparable drive to survive. I figured a race like that would certainly be able to stand against the Swarm. But instead, they hid. Dodging the Swarm. They survived, all right, but not in the way I expected. And now I’ve loosed a violent, bloodthirsty race upon your local group of galaxies. My second attempt was made as a response to the Findiri. I made them to both counter the Findiri, and also, when combined with the Findiri’s might, lead to victory over the Swarm, before they ever discovered where Earth was. They’re subtle. Clever. Ruthless. Highly intelligent. They can read minds, Shelby. They are not strong by any appearance, but in a way they are more deadly than the Findiri.”
“Why are you telling me these things? How does this help me against the Swarm? How can I use this to beat them?”
He shrugged. “You can’t. I’m just assuming you’ll win today, and I think you’ll want to know all this eventually, for when you face them.” He paused. “However, there is one thing you can learn from my failure with them. I created the two races as compliments to each other. I intended for one to compensate for the other’s weakness, and that together, united, they could defeat the Swarm. You see, Shelby, in all my billions of years in the Swarm’s own universe, learning their history and savagery, I never once found a situation where they conquered two races at once. And not because they weren’t willing to, it’s just that, believe it or not, they never got the opportunity to. Tribalism is a fact of evolutionary existence in just about every universe. It’s an unfortunate reality. But this is where you come in. And my efforts to guide the final evolutionary steps of the Skiohra, and the Dolmasi. And yes, the Valarisi. It was my intention that, when the time was ripe, the four races would unite as one against the Swarm, and vanquish them forever. Completely and utterly.”
The whiteness surrounding them was fading. It was as if storm clouds rolled in the distance, and dark fog boiled all around her.
“Wait. Tim. What’s happening now? What’s Huntsman doing?”
“Beware, Shelby. Huntsman is the Swarm. The human manifestation of the Swarm. The Adanasi, if you remember your terminology from the Concordat of Seven. He means to wrest control of the proto-ligature from its rightful owners, and use it to corrupt all of you and bring you under his sway. Beware, Shelby. He’s powerful. Because he has the full force of the Swarm behind his mental focus. They’re channeling all of it, all the rage, all the hatred for you, their lust for revenge, through him. He’s dangerous. And, if I were to bet you a beer, I’d say odds are you’re most likely going to fail.”
“Well thanks for the vote of confidence.” But her words had an edge to them. She was scared. They’d come so far, and they still would probably lose. And die.
“I said the odds are that you fail. But, Shelby Proctor, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve learned that the odds often don’t reflect reality when you get involved. Through fate, and even more through your sheer intelligence and grit, you’ve managed to bend the odds more times than I can count.”
“Fate? Is there such a thing?”
“Ask Carla.”
The darkness was thickening all around them. The mention of her dead little sister pierced her deep. “And was I fated to win? Or lose?”
He smiled. And as he smiled he started to fade. “It hasn’t decided yet.”
And then he was gone.
And so was she.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Black hole
Penumbra System
When she came to, everything was chaos.
Ships were flying blind. Some Dolmasi had even started firing on several IDF ships, and they in turn had started to retaliate. A wave of … something … washed over her. Revulsion and rage. It reminded her of her experience over Bolivar, when they’d first encountered Tim’s mystery ship. What they called the Golgothic ship.
She watched the ISS Lancet disappear in a fiery blast, slagged to broken debris by three Dolmasi ships flanking it.
Out of nowhere, the Benevolence plowed through the debris field, firing on Dolmasi and human alike.
Madness. Madness everywhere.
She could feel it in her own mind. She could hear it in his laugh.
Huntsman. Laughing. His voice carrying almost audibly over the din of madness washing over her from every one of the millions of living beings in the great raging battle. The whole thing still falling, careening, down towards the ever-growing black disk.
“Tim. What do we do?”
He frantically studied his console, poring over the data coming off their meta-space receivers. Something was assailing them through meta-space. Spikes of unbridled energy, unleashing torrent after torrent of violence upon the proto-ligature, and through it, upon them. Upon their minds. And not just their minds.
Upon their humanity.
It was tearing them apart. Driving them from each other. Even human from human, and not just race from race.
She reached deep, searching for her Valarisi companion. Are you there? she asked.
I am. I don’t know what to do either. We’re under attack by … something. We thought it was the Swarm, but it’s like they have a renewed vigor about them. It’s like they’re building their own Ligature, independent of ours, but … sharper? More dominating? You lack the words I can make you think to describe what is happening. Just minutes ago, they had no control over us. But now? We feel powerless to stop it. Just like before.
She closed her eyes and sat back in her chair, both from pure mental anguish and a sense of impending defeat and hopelessness.
“Shelby, I remember. A small piece, but I remember it clearly,” Granger was talking so low, she could barely hear him.
“Tim?”
“I remember pieces of the past few decades. I remember Huntsman. I watched him, from afar. He had a family. He’s a person too. Remember that. And use it. He’s human. He’s not Swarm. Not completely. He’s human. Use it.”
Her mouth was open, but she didn’t know what to say.
Shelby. He’s right. I don’t know how, but if you can distract him, for just a minute. Half a minute. We can reassert control and give us the space of time we need to escape.
Well. Here goes nothing.
He’s human. Remember that, Shelby. Your greatest enemy is human.
She tapped the broadband comm open. “This is Admiral Shelby Proctor. Patriarch Huntsman, do you read me? Please come in.”
After a few seconds, he responded. “Ready to beg?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But first, let’s talk. Leader to leader. Adversary to adversary. Friend to friend.”
“I … what?” He sounded momentarily confused.
“We have a lot in common, you and I, Tobey. From what I gather, you never had children. Is that correct? I didn’t think agents within the Russian Confederation’s intelligence service were encouraged to start families.”
“I … no. No I didn’t. This is a very strange way to beg, admiral.”
She chuckled. “Oh, I’m begging, Tobey. I’m begging you to listen to me. I’m childless too. But I had a nephew. I lost him, once. He was dead. Scared me like nothing else ever has. Do you know what that’s like? Did any of your siblings ever have children?”
“No. They didn’t, admiral.” It sounded like he was spitting with anger. “They died in the war. A war that never would have happened if humanity had just joined the Family peacefully.”
“Ah. I see, Tobey. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry they died. Honestly, if I could go back, there’s a lot I would change. How I fought that war. I have regrets, Tobey. Lots of them.”
“Good. You’ll die with them.”
“I’m sorry, Tobey.”
He was silent.
“I’m sorry if my actions contributed to their deaths. I wish I could go back. Change what I did. So that they could live. So they would not have been taken from you so prematurely. I’m sorry.”
“It’s far, far too late for that, Proctor. And now you’re about to die because of it. I’m going to q-jump away in about a minute, and I’m going to take the Swarm ships with me, and you’ll be left here to your fate. An eternity falling into a quantum singularity from which you can’t return. Not this time, Granger—yes, I know you’re listening.”
Tim shook his head. “I’m sorry too, Tobey, for what it’s worth. For all of it. Every choice I made, I could have made differently, and that could have resulted in less death. Less pain. Less loss. But I can’t change it. And I want to die because of it. I want to die. I killed the Chesapeake. My own people. My old friends. So you see, I not only contributed to the deaths of your family, but the deaths of mine. And I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t change it. But there you go. That’s about as much begging as I got in me. Please forgive me. There’s my beg. Forgive me. I beg you.”
“Me too, Tobey. I beg your forgiveness. Please.”
Silence.
They looked at each other, and both shrugged.
“You morons. Did you think I would fall for your stalling? Did you think you could, as your last act of revenge, distract me and keep me here past the point of no return? You’ve failed. And now I must leave you to your fate. My Earth awaits, where I will be received as king and lord and god, with the full might of the Swarm at my back.”
It worked.
Proctor’s eyes widened.
Talk to the fleet. Talk to everyone. Right … NOW!
And just like that, the waves of madness ceased. She exhaled suddenly, not even realizing she was holding her breath, and jabbed the general wide-band comm channel again. “All ships. All people within the sound of my voice. Human. Dolmasi. Skiohra. Valarisi. I know how to beat them. Finally. The only way we do it is together. Stop shooting each other. Finish the plan. We’re so close. We can have victory, but we can only enjoy it together. Having it alone is no victory at all. Proctor out.”
She glance down at the status of the shuttles. They’d all finished. Except one. She punched the comm again. “Ballsy? We’ve got two minutes, and then we’re dead.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
Bridge
Sword of Justice
Black hole
Penumbra system
“We’ve got two minutes, and then we’re dead.” Shelby’s voice was a welcome relief, after the long minutes of madness. But when he’d come to, he realized that tragedy had struck.
His two marines were dead. Their bodies were still strapped to the hull, but shrapnel or debris had pelted the ship and ripped through their bodies.
“Standby, admiral. Start the next phase. Pull everyone in to the bays and get the hell out. Ballsy out.”
He studied the distribution of the interdictors that had been placed. There was a hole where a q-field would be able to form and spread over the ship. Right … there. A few taps of the sensor controls revealed that one of the ship’s q-jump engines was humming to life deep within that area of the ship. They were getting ready to leave. If only he could take out that engine, then the lack of interdictors on that area of the ship wouldn’t matter. They would be stuck.
He switched to the squadron channel. “Son, get out. Now.”
“What? We haven’t finished, Dad. This Swarm ship here still has at least twenty more interdictors it needs. We can enlist another shuttle to use its spares—”
“Son, there’s no time. Believe me, I’ve got this. Get to the Mama Bird, and get the hell out.”
He switched over to an encrypted channel to Admiral Oppenheimer. “Christian. What’s the minimum mass for your fancy trick? And minimum speed.”
“Four hundred tons. And a delta V of at least ten point two kilometers per second.”
“All right. Thanks. Nice knowing ya, Christian. I’d chit chat more and give a better death speech, but, you know….”
“Time is short, friend, I understand,” said Oppenheimer, heavily.
“I was going to say, but, you know, you’re an asshole, but sure. Yeah. Ballsy out.”
He reversed the thrust vector from up, to down. His ship no longer was straining against the inexorable pull of the monstrosity below. He was now accelerating at a frightening clip down towards the pitch black disk, which now covered almost a quarter of the stars below him. Strange, warped streaks representing the light of stars behind the black hole wrapped themselves around the edges. It was beautiful, in a way. Terrifying. And beautiful.
“Dad! No!”
He flipped the channel back over. “Son, we both knew it had to end this way. Eventually. It’s just … who I am. It’s my signature move. I leave just when people need me most.”
“Dad. Please. We can figure something else out.”
He glanced at the timer. “Actually, no, we can’t. You’ve got exactly one minute to get your ass on the Independence’s flight deck.” He softened his tone. “Go, son. And please, please, get your act together and beg Jerusha to take you back. Please. For my progenies’ sake.”
“Dad….”
“I love you, Ethan.” He watched the speed indicator tick over past ten kilometers per second. Point one. Point two. His finger hovered over the q-jump initiator, the coordinates already entered in. “I’ve loved you so much. So damn much.”
Ballsy flipped the comm off, and before he lowered his finger, he projected a thought inwards. Hey. Sorry I’m killing you after only a few hours of life.
It replied. It’s been an honor, Captain Volz. The highest honor.
He pressed his finger down.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Bridge
ISS Independence
Stable orbit
Penumbra system
The rendezvous point was just fifty million kilometers out of the gravity well. Plenty distance to achieve a stable, safe orbit, but not so far that they couldn’t appreciate the view.
Whitehorse was the last to leave, and when the Independence was all alone, she said, “Commander Mumford, are the interdictors working?”
He scanned his screens. “Yes. They’ve already tried several times to establish q-fields around their ships, but failed.”
“Then get us the hell out of here.”
The navigation officer tapped the console, and immediately their view shifted from that of the hellish maw of the black hole beneath them with fifty Swarm ships and two battle-scarred moons above, to a far more peaceful view of the same scene, but from a safe distance. The telescope zoomed in.
The comm speaker blasted Granger’s voice. “I’m summoning the other Granger moons. They’ll be here any—”
And just like that, right beneath the Swarm ships that were temporarily prevented from q-jumping, eight more moons flashed into existence, adding their tiny pull to the incontestable sway of the black hole. Now they wouldn’t have time to remove enough interdictors to escape. The plan, crazy as it was, would have never been achievable without those moons. Granger may not have had a plan, but he sure as hell gave them the tools to get the job done.
“Fifty thousand kilometers. Forty. Thirty. Twenty.” Commander Mumford glanced up at the screen. There was no momentous event. Nothing actually happened on the screen. But, at some point, all fifty Swarm ships unmistakably slowed down, slower, and slower, and slower, until after a few minutes they were only moving at an imperceptible pace. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, they looked slightly more red than before.
And … flatter. They were getting squished, which was not what she expected. She expected spaghettification. But when she thought about it, she realized the ends of the Swarm ships closest to the event horizon were experiencing slower time than the ends further away from the horizon.
The moons too. They were squishing up into shells as they got closer and closer to the event horizon. Flat, curved shells.
And it was done. From their perspective the Swarm ships only had a few kilometers left to go to pass the event horizon. But, now that the Einstein-Rosen bridge was gone—Granger had assured them it was—they would not pass the event horizon. Ever. From the outside’s perspective. They would get redder and dimmer, their light would pass into the infrared and microwaves and they’d disappear, and eventually the photons leaving the surface of those ships would be stretched into radio waves, growing longer and longer until they were the size of the event horizon itself. And even then they wouldn’t have entered it, but only come within millimeters, or less. And they’d be as flat as a sheet of paper.
Unless the tidal forces ripped them apart before then.
Either way, there was nothing else to watch. Just a frozen fleet of Swarm ships, and below them, eight nearly flat circles. It was both spectacular and banal.
Whitehorse had been standing several feet in front of the captain’s chair, but she now breathed a sigh of relief, and calmly backed up, sat down. “It’s done.”
Proctor’s voice came over the comm. “No time to celebrate, people. There are repairs to be made on at least eighty ships across all three fleets if we want to get out of here anytime soon. Come on. Move it!”
Whitehorse jumped back to her feet.
But then Proctor added, “And well done. Everyone. Well done.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
New York City
Earth
The parade was surprisingly modest, as parties celebrating the survival of Earth go, but it was big. And loud. And everyone was drunk, including Proctor. Not smashed, but pleasantly buzzed. There was ticker tape. Floats. Kids running after candy. Cheerleaders. Marching bands from three hundred different high schools and colleges. President Sepulveda was the master of ceremonies, of course, a role he relished and hammed up for the crowd of tens of millions. With billions more watching by video transmission, or later, when the courier ships went out with recordings of it.
Sepulveda strode—purposefully—back to the podium and waved to the crowd to get them to quiet down a few decibels. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the time has arrived. One of our heroes has returned, and I hear he has a few words to say.”
The crowd went wild. Tim Granger, in full dress uniform, appeared from behind a curtain nearby, and waved to the crowd. After about minute, he started his speech.
Which, to Proctor’s dismay, was surprisingly short. Far, far too short.
Because she had to speak next.
“Thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you.” He held a single piece of paper in front of him, with just a few handwritten sentences. “A great man once said—and I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t there—Don’t be a hero. Just be a human, who does great things. And then who goes home and does normal things.” He looked up at the crowd, whose volume level had fallen to an astonishingly low level.
He’d paraphrased Ballsy, she knew. She hadn’t been there either, but Jerusha had told her. She wiped a tear away.
“He also said, don’t give in to the siren call of war. The false glamor of war. It was neither noble, or glamorous. It was dark. It was dirty. It was ugly. It was brutal and vicious and heart-breaking. And may we never do it again.”
The old pit in her stomach clenched lightly at the last line. Humans were, after all, human. War was inevitable. But may we at least have a respite, she thought.
He waved his piece of paper in the air, smiling at the crowd. “That was it. I was always terrible with speeches. Just terrible. Let’s move on here, and get to the real celebrity, then, thank god, more booze.”
The crowd cheered and he started to leave the podium, but then turned back to it. “And please, please, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stop … the silly … Grangerism mumbo jumbo. It’s me. It’s just me, folks. I fart like the rest of you.”
She murmured, “Oh god, he must be really drunk.”
Whitehorse leaned towards her. “Actually, he hasn’t had a single drink yet.”
Proctor closed her eyes and shuddered. “Well, I can’t wait for tonight. The ball should be … quite an event.”
The crowd was cheering, pulsing with her name. Shel-by! Shel-by! Shel-by! She blushed, and took the podium. Her sixty-nine year old veined and wrinkled hands gripping the stand. She raised a fist into the air. “To victory!”
The crowd went insane.
Another fist pump. “To United Earth!”
The decibels, somehow, increased further.
Another fist pump. “To Verdra Dol!”
Half the crowd fell into a hush. The other half looked around, from left to right, then back up at her, confused. Most had not forgotten the recent mini-war with the Dolmasi.
Another fist pump. “To the Benevolence! The Fervor! The Munificence! The Bountiful! The Honor! The Amity! And, finally, to the late ship Benevolence, whose matriarchs and citizens died thirty years ago to save our planet!”
Many were cheering again. Many were not.
One last fist pump. “And finally, to the Valarisi!”
The crowd quieted down until all that was heard was the occasional crying of a baby. This last one was the last straw. They could not, would not, cheer the beings they thought were the most responsible for the war a generation ago. So they’d been taught in school.
She grunted, and smirked at the crowd. A kind, patient smirk. But a smirk nonetheless. “Look at us. Cheering our own, but ignoring our brothers and sisters who died in greater numbers than we did for our liberty. Even though you’ve been taught that the Valarisi were simply a vehicle for the Swarm and not their collaborators, you still stay silent. Why?”
She let the question stand for several seconds. “I’ll answer for you. They are not our tribe. Neither are the Dolmasi. Nor the Skiohra. And if they are not in our tribe, then they are our adversary. Our hunting grounds are ours and they can go starve for all we care, because our tribe comes first, dammit.”
More silence as the crowd absorbed. “Well that’s not what happened out there. What happened out there, was unity. It was teamwork. It was … family. The Swarm used to call us all family. That we would be absorbed, by force, into their family. And I’ll be honest with you. They were half right. Their method was wrong, but their goal was right. They wanted a great, cosmic family. They wanted unity. Granted, it was a grotesque version of unity. And they deserved their final fate.” She nodded for several seconds. “But that’s what won us the battle. The fearsome Dolmasi. The distant, aloof Skiohra. The enigmatic Valarisi. And us. Humans. We came together, and for a day, with the Valarisi’s help, we were perfectly united in purpose. And to tell you the truth, even in the midst of the horror of the battle, it was also heaven.”
People started clapping, at least. No cheering. But polite clapping. Oh well. They would learn. They had to. Many understood. Many never would. But hope for the rest of them wasn’t out of reach. It can’t be, for all our sakes, she thought.
“When I first came aboard the Constitution under Tim Granger, I was called the buzzkill behind my back, and now you see why.” She waited for the inevitable laugh. “So I’ll leave you now, and we can get on with our well-deserved party. But I leave you with this call.” She raised her voice not quite to a yell, but loud enough the anyone in the crowd whose attention had waned through the, frankly, boring speech, would snap back. “Reject the tribalism. Reject the calls to fight the other team. The other party. The other species. The other football club. The other family down the street that has a bigger interstellar corvette than you. Don’t demonize the other candidate. Don’t hate the opponent. Oppose them. Debate them. Disagree with them. But then, at the end of the day, break bread with them. Because I promise you this: we will all need each other again. And again. And again. Thank you.”
Some cheering. Lots of clapping. Buzzkill indeed. She felt like a schoolmarm. A marine escort beckoned to her, and she followed him behind the curtain, to where Granger was waiting.
“Nice speech,” he said.
“You too,” she said.
“Think anyone listened?”
“Probably not.” She shrugged. “But if we’re lucky. Really, really lucky, maybe one or two. And that might just be enough.”
She glanced around the large temporary tent enclosure, which was serving as a green room of sorts as the various speakers prepared for their time at the podium. Ace and Qwerty were kissing—as a matter of fact, they’d never stopped since the last q-jump. Zivic and Whitehorse were holding hands, talking and laughing with Fiona and Danny, who were also holding hands. Danny caught her attention.
“Aunt Shelby! Did you see? She actually said yes.”
She smiled. “Heaven help you, Ms. Liu. Just a fair warning. You’re going to be spending a lot of time flying through space with this kid.”
Liu, for only the second time since she’d met her, smiled too, squeezing Danny’s hand. “Gladly.” The happy couple kissed.
To her left, she noticed that someone had approached Tim, and was talking in a rather loud voice. “Captain Granger, my name is Tom Rice.”
Granger shook the man’s extended hand. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Rice. Thank you for coming.”
The man wasn’t smiling. He held on to Tim’s hand. “My brother served on the Chesapeake. Was on it when it died.” He stared Tim straight in the eyes.
Tim looked away and let go of the hand. “Please excuse me.” His face was clearly pained, and his mouth kept moving as if he didn’t know what else to say.
Oh Tim. War has broken you. She paused to consider. “Maybe it’s broken us all. Irreparably.”
The voice of her companion whispered, wordlessly, in her mind.
Not irreparably. And that is good. Because we will need you yet.
She nodded. And despite the hope in the speeches today, she couldn’t even think the words, but she knew they were true anyway:
War was coming.
And if the most recent deep space scans that Oppenheimer had shown her were to be believed, it was coming sooner than they’d hoped.
Epilogue
Secure hardened information facility
Asteroid 5837-A
Asteroid belt
Sol System
Admiral Proctor, Admiral Oppenheimer, and Captain Granger sat alone in a room. The walls were bare. They were deep inside a rock in Sol’s asteroid belt, in one of IDF Intel’s many secret secure information facilities, where they could talk with a sure knowledge that no one, absolutely no one, would ever know what they were saying. The guards outside had been dismissed not only from the facility, but from the asteroid itself. They were the only three living souls inside.
“You want me to say it again? I’ll say it again. I’m sorry. You were right. I was wrong. The Findiri are a threat. Congratulations for being right twice a day, Admiral Stopped-watch.” Proctor pierced Oppenheimer with a glare. They’d reconciled. But things were still tense. Far more than she’d like.
“You never change, Shelby. Never will. My point wasn’t blame. My point was to admit that we have no idea what we’re doing. What we’re up against.” He turned to Granger. “Tim. Try. Try harder. You remember nothing? Nothing at all? Shelby claims that your … AI alter-ego said you created them in the first place. You’re telling me that, after two weeks of trying as hard as you can to remember, using the best memories aids known to medicine, that you recall nothing?”
“I told you, Christian. It’s not nothing. It’s just … nothing helpful. Just enough to scare us but not enough to inform us.”
“Fine. Scare us. Tell me a story, Tim.” He leaned back in his plastic chair.
Tim took a deep breath. “You were right to be worried about them. But for the wrong reasons. You were worried that they hadn’t manifested themselves, and that meant they were lying in wait for us. Plotting. Planning. That wasn’t the case at all.”
“Then what were they doing for thirty years, Tim? Smoking joints? Masturbating? Playing chess?”
Granger rolled his eyes. “So crass. No, they weren’t sitting around twiddling there thumbs, nor were they planning our demise. They were hiding from the Swarm. It’s that simple. Their sole drive is survival. And in spite of their strength and aggressive nature, they knew they couldn’t win against the Swarm, and so the spent hundreds of thousands of years perfecting their ability to hide. But now that the Swarm is truly gone? I’m afraid that, instead of being scarce, the Findiri are soon going to be … everywhere. There’s a power vacuum right now. And the thing that fills a power vacuum, is the next-most-powerful thing. And, from the little I remember, I made them … powerful. Bad. Worse than bad. Not Swarm bad. But … well.”
All three said nothing for awhile.
“But, there’s one other thing. And you’re going to kill me, but I’ll tell you anyway.”
Oppenheimer looked back at him. “What?”
“I built in weaknesses. There is a way to beat them. There is hope of surviving the impending war. And if I remember right, the weakness is rather straightforward, if not immediately apparent.”
“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense, Tim.”
“Ok. Here’s the part where you’re going want to kill me. You see, the thing is … I can’t remember what it is.”
Oppenheimer closed his eyes and rested his face in a palm. “Shit.”
Proctor winced, and scratched her temple.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Oppenheimer.
“I wish I were, Christian.”
Oppenheimer stood up, apparently ending the meeting. The other two followed suit. “Well. All I’ll say is this then. You got us into this mess? You’re going to get us out of it.”
He stormed from the room. The door slammed shut behind him.
Granger looked Proctor in the eye. “I’m counting on it.”
Thank you for reading Liberty, Book 6 of the Legacy Fleet Series. If you enjoyed this book, would you please leave a review?
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