The Colossus Read online

  Desperation.

  The Hegemony forces on the Rim were still strong, and they’d been reinforced by what little Akella had been able to spare from the already stripped-down home area forces. They were still stronger than the combined Rim fleets they faced, almost certainly, though Chronos’s days of underestimating the fighting power of the Rimdwellers were behind him. Victory was still attainable without Zed—probably—but the duration of such a fight would be interminable, and the cost unimaginable. The Hegemony had already lost too many of its ships, along with millions of its trained warriors. Chronos needed to defeat the Confederation, and he needed to do it soon. He couldn’t afford to chase his opponents from system to system, fight until the last enemy ship was destroyed. He had to break their morale, compel a surrender.

  Or at least a negotiated peace, one favorable enough for the Hegemony to accept.

  That last bit was new, something he’d discussed with Akella, just before she’d returned to the capital. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else, save for Ilius. It went against the most basic tenets of the Hegemony and its sacred obligation to absorb and protect humanity’s remnants. But he and Akella had agreed that the war could not continue on endlessly, that at some point, the erosion of both Hegemony and Rim strength ran counter to the purpose of uniting and defending humanity.

  They had decided, if the Confederation’s morale could be eroded enough that they would accept status as a Hegemony protectorate of sorts, retaining some level of self-governance, they would find a way to accept such a peace. Perhaps time would wear down their independence. The lure of Hegemony technology, and the security of being part of a greater and stronger nation, just might achieve what war had so far failed to accomplish.

  Project Zed was a weapon of tremendous power, but even more so, it was the ideal tool to shatter Rim morale, to batter them until they accepted the terms. To create the hopelessness that would drain away their formidable tenacity.

  Such a result would be a partial victory only, he knew, far from what he’d expected when he had first accepted the supreme command for the invasion. That would be a temporary limitation on the success of the operation, he told himself, with some conviction, but rather less than he’d have liked.

  The Rimdwellers would be absorbed eventually. That was the official position, the justification for falling back from official Hegemony policy, from the mandate that all human populations be absorbed unconditionally. Chronos wanted to believe it, and to an extent, he did. Once stripped of the need for stubborn resistance against an active enemy, the Rimdwellers’ strength would atrophy, and they would eventually come to see the advantages of Hegemony society. They would be enticed by technology, by lucrative trade, by wealth and prosperity…by all the advantages of Hegemonic culture. They might not come into their rightful place in a year, nor even fully in ten. But they would move steadily in that direction, and one day, they would arrive there. As all previous groups of survivors had done before them.

  Chronos wasn’t sure if such a sequence of events, if victory by such extended means, adhered more than superficially to the Hegemony’s sacred mandate to unite humankind, but he countered those doubts with the realization that a faster end to the war would strengthen the Hegemony, leave if better prepared to fulfill its role, both to defend the human populations it already controlled, and those on the Rim as well. There would be blowback, he knew, even more on Akella than on him, but she had agreed completely. If the Rim’s will could be broken by Colossus, the Hegemony would offer terms unlike any that had been given before. They would take a longer-term view of absorption, one that ended the carnage, and the continual drain on the strength of both the Hegemony and the Rim.

  Chronos had other misgivings, as well, concerns that, for as long as Zed had been in development, it wasn’t truly ready, it wasn’t properly crewed, its systems hadn’t been thoroughly tested. His worries all shared a single, overriding concern…that they were rushing to commit Colossus to the fight.

  That was true, almost certainly, but equally unassailable was another, grimmer reality. There was no other choice. The Rimdwellers had proven far more difficult to defeat than he’d imagined, and he was out of time.

  “Kiloron, inform Commander Ilius that I wish to see him in my Sanctum. At once.” Ilius had been the obvious choice to command Zed—at least after Akella had made it clear that Chronos was not to risk taking the post himself. He trusted the other Master, and called him friend, as much as he did anyone, but he couldn’t help but obsess on the operation, repeating to himself the same concerns again and again, and reviewing the tactical plan half a dozen times. It was a combination, perhaps, of concern over Zed’s uncertainties, along with perhaps a touch of fear for one of his few true comrades. Commanding Zed might be a tremendous opportunity, a chance to win the greatest victory in Hegemony history…but one thing it was certain to be was dangerous.

  “Yes, Commander. At once.”

  Chronos was already on his feet, walking back from the control center. He called the room his Sanctum, following the normal form, but the space he’d claimed for his private workspace provided little of the solace his facility on Hegemony’s Glory offered. Hegemony headquarters on Dannith had been set up in previously existing buildings, with as little modification as possible to save scant resources, and amid the simmering resentments toward the enemy and his creations, natural enough psychological results of war and sacrifice, Chronos had come to the simple conclusion that he despised Confederation architecture. It had none of the curves or spirals to which he was accustomed, little of the artistic perfection of Hegemony design.

  He walked into the room, redesigned and outfitted to his exact specifications, as much as the basic structure and its limitations allowed. It had been his one true indulgence upon his return from Megara, little enough for one of his rank, but in the end, it had proven to be mostly wasted effort.

  Still, satisfactory or not, he needed someplace private, both for private discussions, and to escape the constant stress that besieged him everywhere else he went. He was a somber and thoughtful man, one whose judgment had always been best after quiet and uninterrupted solitude and thought.

  He walked across the room and sat down in his chair, letting out a long exhale as he did. There was a tablet lying on the large table he used as a desk. Akella had sent him photos and videos, the closest he had come to seeing his new daughter. Ariane was almost three months old, and the glowing images on the small screen were as much as he’d seen of her. He’d been sorry when Akella had left Dannith, but relieved as well. She was far safer back on the capital, as was Ariane, and he wasn’t about to wish either of them was in greater danger simply because he was lonely. Such emotions were beneath one of his rank and responsibilities, and he wasn’t about to indulge that kind of fault in himself. He would see Akella again, and Ariane too, when he finished his task on the Rim. Duty came first.

  “Commander Ilius is at the door requesting entry.” The AI’s voice was soft, soothing. He’d programmed it himself, and he denied, even to himself, any suggestions that it sounded like Akella.

  “Let him in.” He leaned back and took another deep breath, nodding as soon as his subordinate—and second in command—entered.

  “Commander.” Ilius snapped off a perfect salute. Chronos had considerable military experience, and a lofty genetic ranking of eight, but his friend, a Master himself, if of somewhat less altitudinous stature, was a true warrior, born with a natural talent for military science.

  “Sit, Ilius. Let’s keep this informal. I just wanted to have one last talk before you leave.”

  “So then, Zed is a go?” Ilius’s enthusiasm slipped into his tone, something uncharacteristic for the normally-disciplined solder.

  “Yes.” A pause. “I’m afraid so.” Chronos’ voice was different in cadence. He regretted his choice of words almost immediately. He saw the downside looming before them, the dangers of Project Zed, and of the conflict in general. He’d allowed overconfidence to get the better of him at the war’s outset. That had been six years before, and all he had to show since then, for constant fighting and enormous casualties, was a toehold in the Confederation, half a dozen occupied worlds, and only one truly major system. Ulion remained in Hegemony hands, a notable conquest no doubt, but insignificant in terms of subjugating the entire Rim.

  Ilius was no fool, Chronos knew, and his second in command was as aware of those facts as he was. But the chance to gain the victory, and to secure a place in Hegemony history, had clearly exerted its pull on his friend. Chronos understood. The burdens of the losses incurred, of the damage to the Hegemony’s defensive capability, lay far more heavily on Chronos, who’d held the supreme command from the outset.

  Chronos knew what had to be done, but even as he’d moved in the inevitable direction, his doubts had begun to grow. He wished Akella was still there. He could have talked honestly with her, shared his concerns without fear of displaying weakness. He couldn’t do that with anyone else, not even Ilius. He trusted the other Master, but he also knew he was in command, that he owed Ilius, no less than he did the lowest-ranked Kriegeri serving in the fleet, his full support. That meant not filling the officer’s head with doubts before sending him back into battle.

  “Sorry, old friend. I’m afraid I’m a little worn down.” That was believable enough. Chronos had spent a good portion of the last ten months in the hospital or in subsequent rehab and follow up treatments. He’d come close to meeting his end during the fighting at Megara, very close, and he knew it. It wasn’t fear exactly, perhaps more of a cautious realism, but he had a different viewpoint on things than he’d had before that desperate struggle, and the ignominious retreat that had followed.

  “None of us thought the war would last so long. The Rim dwellers have proven to be far tougher adversaries than I’d expected. They are…different…from the inhabitants of the other worlds we have absorbed.”

  “Yes, they are…which in one way in makes it even more imperative that we prevail and bring them into the Hegemony, and add their strength to ours. Their worlds are far from the center of the empire, and the results of the Great Death, while no doubt unpleasant enough out here, were far less severe. The technology levels fell of course, below even what we have maintained and recovered, but they are mostly free from the curses of mutated genetics and damaged DNA lines that so plagued the areas coreward. Perhaps our error was in expecting them to be similar to the other nascent nations and worlds we have brought under our care.”

  Chronos knew his weariness meant nothing. There were reasons, perhaps many, to consider abandoning the war on the Rim, even good ones. But none could override the Hegemony’s sacred purpose, to unite and protect all humanity that survived the Great Death. To fail in that duty was unthinkable.

  “We must gather our strength, Number Eight…inside us as well as in our military forces. We underestimated the enemy, all of us, but we will not do that again. We are wiser now, more aware. And Project Zed is vastly more powerful than anything we have used against the enemy to date. They will fall now, we will see to that. It will not be easy, but it must be done. We must remember that, for all the disruption we feel, the pain of loss, they too have had their forces ravaged and their production strained to the limits.”

  “That is true, of course, my friend. Yet, they lack one restraining factor that weighs upon us. They do not know of the Others, they do not face the shadowy threat that haunts us. They are blissfully ignorant of the danger looming in the deeps of space.” A pause, long and tense. “They have no idea of the doom they face, and they see us as their greatest enemy, and in our defeat, they imagine salvation. We hide from them their worst nightmare, for if the Others return and we fall, they will most surely be next.”

  “Are you truly concerned about the Others returning? It has been more than a century.”

  “I never feared it as some do, Ilius, but I will not lie to you. It has lain heavily over my thoughts recently, a dark shadow. I have had dreams…nightmares. I do not know what to think, but yes, I have come to…worry…that they may, in fact, return. Sometime soon.” Chronos hadn’t confided his concerns before to anyone except Akella. He’d long been a skeptic of committing vast resources to the construction of ships and defenses to face a renewed attack by an enemy not seen for more than a century, and he was still adjusting to the change in his mindset.

  “Then the commitment of Zed is even more vital. We must end this conflict as quickly as we can, and with as few additional losses as possible. The Rimdwellers are determined and highly resistant to surrender, but surely, when they see the capabilities we are about to unleash, they will have no choice but to yield.” Ilius sounded confident, at least until the last part. Chronos caught the waver in his friend’s voice, and it was a reflection of his own thoughts. Everyone at the Hegemony high command clearly believed the enemy would surrender once they truly understood the power of Zed, and the grim implications of continuing the fight. Almost everyone.

  Chronos hoped the plan would work as expected, but he was haunted by doubts. Still, there was no choice…and no room for morale-crushing negativism.

  “Well, old friend, we all know what we must do. It is time to see the plan through, and to end this terrible conflict…in victory. There is no one I trust more with our greatest weapon, no one else I would choose at so crucial a time.”

  Chronos paused for a few seconds. Then he stood up. “Go now, Commander Ilius, and lead Project Zed…lead it to victory. Then, perhaps we can all go home.”

  Chapter Three

  Hotel Royale

  Liberte City

  Planet Montmirail, Ghassara IV

  Union Year 225 (321 AC)

  “Are you sure it’s safe to talk here?” Alexander Kerevsky sat in a plush chair in front of a roaring fire. The hotel suite was luxurious, even by Megaran standards. The indulgences of the Confederation’s elite had always made him somewhat uncomfortable, and the capital at Troyus City had no shortage of opulent hotels and restaurants frequented by the political classes. But the Union was, or claimed to be, an egalitarian worker’s society, a place where all wealth was shared equally. Kerevsky was no stranger to hypocrisy. He considered it one of mankind’s primary personality traits, but even with that cynical point of view, he found himself appalled at the blatant double standards in the Union, a place where the average worker and his or her family were lucky to have enough to eat.

  “It is safe. When Minister Villieneuve decided to move you and your people to the hotel, I was able to get my own people in here to sweep the listening devices.” Ciara sat in the chair opposite Kerevsky’s, an odd smile on her face.

  “That is all well and good, but that will cause suspicion itself, will it not?”

  “It would, certainly. Indeed, you would long ago have had a visit from Sector Nine if I had been so careless and slipshod as to simply remove the devices. No, my good Ambassador Kerevsky, I know my craft better than that. I simply installed an AI with a sufficiently large database of voice samplings—yours, mine, those of your staff. The unit is quite ingenious, one of Sector Nine’s most advanced bits of tech. It constructs entire conversations, normal sounds, everything that might be expected to be said in here. Indeed, even our screams of passion.”

  “Our what?” Kerevsky was a veteran agent and a diplomat, but Ciara had taken him by surprise with that last bit.

  “We are lovers, you and I…at least as far as Gaston Villieneuve is aware. I have reported in great detail as to your…prowess in that area.”

  Kerevsky’s mouth opened, but then it closed again. He was taken aback, confused at what he was hearing.

  “Surely you can see, Ambassador…it is the best cover we could have. Sex is a key component in a Sector Nine operative’s toolkit, and an ideal one for this circumstance. I am ostensibly working my way closer to you, into your trust, trying to obtain as much information as possible. Why do you think you have been allowed to remain here for so long?”

  “But don’t you have to show something for your…efforts?”

  “Of course, Ambassador, but don’t forget the AI. The operatives listening in to our…activities…and the pillow talk following, have gotten quite an earful. I have been persuading you to aid a team of operatives to apprehend Admiral Denisov. The plan is to send a diplomatic team back to your fleet headquarters, as cover to arrange for the admiral’s capture…or, failing that, his assassination. I’m afraid our good admiral’s…choices…over the past two years, have been difficult for the First Citizen to accept. He has become quite deranged, and that has been enormously useful in moving forward with our…” She caught a disapproving glance from Kervesky, and she rephrased herself. “…with my plans.”

  “I have already vastly exceeded my mandate and authority here, Sandrine. You know I am sympathetic, and certainly no fan of Villieneuve or his government, but this has been going on too long. If Gaston Villieneuve is not going to agree to send the remainder of the Union’s forces to the Hegemony front, I have to be going.”

  “Patience, my good ambassador. Gaston Villieneuve is insane, but he is brilliant and ruthless as well. It has taken time to approach potential co-conspirators, to make all the arrangements for the coup. You were not shy about providing funding for our scheme, and I urge you not to falter now, when we are close to fruition.”

  “Perhaps it was a mistake becoming so involved. I wish you well in your endeavors, but I can’t allow the Confederation to be…”

  “I understand all of that. We have been through this all before, Ambassador, and yet you remain here, on Montmirail. Why? Because you know your Alliance needs every ship it can get…and there is no escaping the fact that the Union is the largest nation on the Rim, and the second strongest.” Kerevsky held back a frown. The Union had been arguably the most powerful at one time, but the events of the last decade had changed that dramatically, and reduced Montmirail and its enslaved planets to a likely third spot, behind the Palatian Alliance.