Winds of Vengeance (Crimson Worlds Refugees Book 4) Read online

  She turned her eyes back to the display. Something was out there. She could feel it.

  * * *

  “Starfire, this is fleet command. Prepare to receive communique from Admiral Frette.” Commander Kemp’s voice blared through Strand’s earpiece.

  “Fleet command, Captain Strand here. Standing by.” Josie Strand sat back, waiting for the response. She’d served in the navy since graduating from the Academy a year ahead of her class nine years before. She’d served most of that time in Earth Two’s own system, patrolling the warp gates and the approaches to the planet, and she’d gotten used to the annoying delay in two-way communication. But now Starfire was more than thirty light seconds from Compton, and the gap between sending and receiving coms was just over a minute. It was enough to make a conversation frustrating, if not outright impossible. And she knew, in theory at least, it was also enough to seriously impact tactical actions. Starfire was moving away from the flagship at close to 0.1c, and that meant every two minutes put another second into each side of two-way communications.

  Strand looked over at her tactical officer. Arleigh Hahn had been a year behind her at the Academy, and they had served on the same ship for five years, the past three on Starfire. Strand had occupied Hahn’s current chair for much of that time, as Starfire’s tactical officer and exec…until Captain Horatius retired, and Admiral West saw fit to promote her to the first command of a capital ship for a non-pilgrim. She knew it was a position years ahead of what she might have achieved in the old navies, the ones that had contributed ships to the fleet so many years before. But Earth Two had its own bizarre situation, and a twenty plus year gap of ages that sliced through its society. The forty-something captain that might have commanded Starfire simply didn’t exist, at least not this side of the Barrier, and for the last few years, the high command had been trying to seek out the top candidates among the oldest of the new generation and give them their stars.

  Strand’s glory had been short-lived, at least her position as the youngest officer at her level. Three of her colleagues followed within days, and within four months, half the capital ships in the fleet had commanders under the age of thirty. But Strand had been the first…and she’d been the only one Admiral Frette had selected for the mission.

  “Captain Strand, you are to take your group immediately and move toward warp gate three.” Frette’s voice came through loud and clear, even though the words had taken half a minute to reach Starfire.

  Strand felt her stomach tense. The system’s third warp gate had only been discovered an hour before.

  “You are to link up with Redfin and her group and assume overall command of the search effort.”

  Strand nodded, as much to herself as for any other reason. Something was up. Frette had originally ordered the battle line to stay together…but then she’d sent Legatus and Starfire toward two of the system’s warp gates. It might be nothing more than the CO’s paranoia, but she suspected there was a reason behind it all…and she didn’t have to wait long for confirmation.

  “The scouting group has detected residual energy readings, potentially the result of recent transit through the gate. It could be nothing…but then…” Frette let her voice trail off.

  Strand pushed herself back in her chair, straightening up, standing even more erect than she usually did. Her mind was racing already. She was new to command and responsible for one of the most powerful ships in the fleet. And now she was in charge of half a dozen vessels besides her battleship. She had long dreamed of the day she would have such a command, but now all she could feel was the crushing stress.

  “Stay alert, Captain…and report anything out of the ordinary, anything at all.” A short pause. “Frette out.”

  She sat quietly for a moment, staring at her screen. Then she looked over at Hahn. “Confirm receipt and acknowledgement of the admiral’s message, Commander.” She turned and looked toward the bridge’s main display. “And increase thrust to 50g…I think we’d better get up there and see what is going on.”

  * * *

  “Reverse course! Full thrust away from the warp gate. Bring us to a dead halt.” Hiroki Akira was a veteran spacer, a Pilgrim and a hero who had received a commendation from Admiral Compton himself. But now he was shaken. He’d scanned the area around the warp gate for hours and found nothing. Then the transmission had come in from Starfire. Josie Strand’s ship—and the group with it—were under attack. Enemy ships were streaming through the warp gate they’d been investigating, and by the sound of the last message, a desperate fight was underway.

  That news had been bad enough, but barely five minutes after its receipt, Legatus’ alarms sounded. There was an energy spike at the warp gate it was scanning. Akira’s ship was forty light minutes from Starfire…and that meant the enemy ships now coming through had somehow coordinated with the vessels attacking Strand from the other gate. Either that, or it was the most improbable coincidence Akira had ever seen. And he didn’t believe in coincidence.

  “Full power to weapons. Bring the reactor to emergency output.” He spun around, seeing his crew frozen, staring at him. “Now!” He slammed his hand against his chair. He’d worked his crew as hard as he could, but deep down he considered them a poor replacement for the men and women he’d served with thirty years before. He knew that wasn’t fair—and his people had performed well in the earlier fight—but he was still edgy, wondering if they could take the fear and pain and misery those of the old fleet had.

  He’d have launched a missile barrage right at the warp gate, hoping to hit the enemy as they emerged, scrambling their systems and hopefully taking out a few ships before they were able to return fire. But Legatus had cleared its external racks in the first battle, and the task force hadn’t stopped long enough for the capital ships to rearm from the supply vessels. Besides, the range was far too close for conventional missile assaults.

  Legatus’ engines were straining, exerting maximum thrust to decelerate. Akira had already done the calculations. His battleship would be less than one hundred thousand meters from the warp gate, standing dead in space, its massive particle accelerators targeted right at the gate as the enemy came through.

  “All other ships are to position themselves around us. I want everyone firing full as soon as the first ship shows itself.” Akira felt the usual tension, the terrible unease of waiting for a warp gate assault having no idea what was about to come through. He’d been there before, in the wars against the First Imperium back on the other side of the Barrier, and even in the Third Frontier War before that. There was simply no way to know how large a fleet might come through…only the assurance that no more than two or three vessels could transit at the same time, not without taking enormous risks.

  “All weapons stations report ready, sir. All ships acknowledge.” Tilly James’ voice was sturdy, calm. He wasn’t sure if it was stone cold courage, or if it was the blissful ignorance of a young officer who’d never watched as hundreds and hundreds of imperial ships poured through a warp gate. Either way, he knew she was a good officer, one he realized had been assigned to Legatus to learn from him…and ultimately to replace him. Akira had volunteered to remain a ship commander for decades now, passing up promotions that were his due, realizing that the navy needed experienced people at the helm. But he also knew that when he advised Admiral West that James was ready, she would get her captain’s insignia…and he his admiral’s stars.

  “Enemy ships emerging, sir…”

  Akira was already watching, his eyes fixed on the display. He couldn’t get any real readings, nothing more than location. But the transiting ships would be completely blind, at least for the one to two minutes it took their system to adjust and reboot. And he intended to make use of every second of that time.

  “All batteries…open fire…”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Political Speech Heard in Victory City

  Tanks! The name is demeaning, intended to belittle those of us quickened in the crèc
he rather than born normally. We are the same as naturally-born humans, identical in every particular…save that our DNA is free of so many of the deficiencies and abnormalities of theirs.

  How many of you accept that name, even use it yourselves? You are not Tanks, you are human beings, entitled to the same basic rights as any other man or woman. No longer will we accept the marginalization, the restrictions on the number of quickenings. No longer will our people be used as tools of those who look down on us.

  I call to our brothers and sisters in the Corps, noble warriors now engaged in a vile and unjust operation. The Mules—others among us labeled and marginalized by a derogatory name—have been treated badly. They have been forbidden from quickening more of their numbers. They are our cousins, our natural allies. No more will we stand for the oppression we have endured. I call to all of you—and to our naturally-born brothers and sisters who truly value justice. Let us speak as one at the polls. Cast your votes for the Clone-NB Alliance.

  Presidential Residence

  Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 12.09.30

  “Mr. President…we need to speak with you.”

  Max Harmon stood in the open door, looking bleary-eyed, his hair a riotous and uncombed mess.

  “Erika? What time is it?” He’d actually been sound asleep when the guard had called him to tell him the two top military officers in the republic were at the gate. Harmon had resisted most of the trappings of office that had accrued to the republic’s top positions, but he’d been forced to accept the assignment of twenty-four hour security.

  “The time is four eighteen AM.” The house AI answered Harmon’s question before West had the chance.

  Harmon ignored the AI and took a step back from the door. “Come in…of course. Both of you.”

  West nodded and walked through the door, followed closely by Connor Frasier.

  “Can I offer you something? Coffee, perhaps?”

  “No, sir. Thank you.”

  West and Frasier were both wearing fresh, crisp uniforms, at first glance looking as though they’d just come from the parade ground. But Harmon had served alongside both officers for decades, and he knew them well. His gaze shot to the red streaks in West’s eyes, and the wrinkles on Frasier’s forehead. He suddenly realized the two officers hadn’t gotten up this early. They had never slept.

  He turned back toward a small bot standing near the wall. “Coffee,” he snapped at it. He glanced at Frasier and West. “Are you sure?”

  West nodded, and Frasier after her.

  “For one,” he added, watching as the bot moved to the kitchen.

  He turned back toward his visitors. “So, what is going on? I can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

  “Max…” West’s voice was strained, forced. She was clearly uncomfortable with what she had to say.

  “Just spit it out, Erika. How long have we known each other?”

  “Sir, General Frasier and I had a discussion…about the election. About the future.”

  Harmon stared back, a suspicious look on his face. “And?”

  “Well, sir…we believe that a victory by Jacques Diennes…or any of the other major candidates would be disastrous for the republic.”

  Harmon gestured toward the sofa. “Please, have a seat.” He paused. “I don’t disagree with you…but I don’t suppose that is any amazing revelation. I have done all I could to win the election.” He waved again toward the sofa, and then he sat down after his guests had. “I’m afraid the Mules’ rebellion has not helped me.”

  “Sir…” West fidgeted, her discomfort even more pronounced than it had been. “With no disrespect, General Frasier and I believe your reelection at this time is extremely unlikely. But there are other ways to retain the presidency…”

  “Admiral West, please tell me you are not here to propose treason…”

  West winced. Harmon had hit her where it hurt.

  “Mr. President, perhaps labels like that are not useful in this instance.” Frasier’s voice was calm, for once cooler than that of the legendary block of ice, as West was sometimes known.

  “Label? You think it is just a label? I don’t believe that, Connor, not for a moment. You are talking about overthrowing the government, aren’t you? A coup?”

  The two conspirators’ faces were tentative, their eyes looking away from Harmon. Finally, West looked right at the president. “It is not an overthrow…you would simply remain as president. All we want to do is postpone the elections. You can declare a state of emergency…use the standoff with the Mules as an excuse.”

  “Is that what you really want to see? Me become a tyrant? The republic’s first president resisting defeat in an open election, refusing the orderly transition of power?”

  The two were silent, fighting to hold Harmon’s gaze.

  “You know what would happen. The people would go crazy. There would be riots in the street…the republic would be mortally wounded. Even if I voluntarily gave up power at some point in the future, the precedent would be set. Anyone who can gather enough support from the military can seize—or retain—power. Better I had died with Terrance than that.”

  “Sir…” West was struggling for words. She had prepared for this moment, thought a hundred times about what she would say. But now it was all gone, her mind lost, confused.

  “Enough with the high-minded nonsense. Are you posing for history’s assessment…or do you really care about what happens to the republic?” The voice came from the next room, and a second later Mariko Fujin walked through. She was wearing a long robe, and her waist-length black hair was almost as messy as her husband’s.

  “Mariko…you have to understand…”

  “No, Max…you have to understand. You are speaking now like an academic, like someone pontificating with no thought of reality. Of course you would prefer not to be in this position. That is obvious. It’s also irrelevant. You are in this position, and the rest of us along with you, and what you choose to do will have real implications for the future.”

  Harmon looked at his wife. Fujin was small, barely a meter and a half tall, and less than forty-five kilograms, but her voice resonated with power, with toughness. She was one of the fleet’s most famous officers, a grizzled warrior who had stepped in when Admiral Hurley was killed, and led the remnants of the fighter corps in the final battles of the war. She’d been wounded multiple times, and she’d run up a list of kills that was still the talk of the Academy.

  “So, the answer is to become a dictator, to tear up the constitution I helped to create?”

  “What alternatives do you propose? How long after Diennes is sworn in will it be before the Mules are wiped out…or perhaps worse, before they unleash whatever power they have in their own defense. The Tanks will be next, you know that.” She flashed a glance over at Frasier. “And the Marines are at least half Tanks…and those men and women know how to fight. Do you think they will turn their weapons on their own kind? A man like Diennes will destroy all we have built, and the fact that the people just might be scared and stupid enough to elect him is not enough reason to let it happen. Not when you can stop it.”

  “So a good tyrant over a bad elected leader?”

  “You can say ‘tyrant’ all you want, but you know that is not you…” She looked around the room. “…and we all know it too. You didn’t even want to run this time. You will not cling to power, you will do what you must to avert disaster, and then you will retire, pass on the reins of government to someone trustworthy.”

  Mariko stared at Harmon. He looked tense, unconvinced.

  “You know Terrance would have done it. My God, he did it when the fleet was on the run. What legitimate authority did he have to compel the national contingents to remain with the fleet, or to crush the separatist movement we came to call the ‘mutiny?’ Or to put Admiral West in command of the fleet in his absence, though he had no authority to name commanders over the multinational force?” She paused. “He did what he had to
do…to save us all. I’m sure some of his decisions were difficult ones for him, but he made them. He did what he had to do, putting aside his doubts and guilt. And he saved us all.”

  She stared right at her husband. “And now it’s your turn, Max. You stand here for Terrance…will you do what he would have done, what has to be done? Or will you stand on principle and watch the republic destroy itself?”

  Harmon sighed hard, looking back at Mariko for a few seconds. Then he turned toward West and Frasier, breathing hard again. “What preparations have you made?”

  West paused, nodding with relief as she realized Mariko had convinced her husband. The pilot had served her people with unmatched distinction in the cockpits of her fighters, but West knew she had never done more than she just had, standing in her home in a bathrobe.

  “The fleet is secure, sir. I relieved several officers I was concerned wouldn’t go along with us. They were placed on leave and told the transfers were pending promotion to higher rank. The satellites, the orbital stations…all are secure. You will control planetwide communications, and you will have the ability to deny these to anyone else.”

  Harmon looked uncomfortable, more so with every word West spoke. But he just nodded and said, “Very well, Admiral.” He turned toward Frasier.

  “Sir, I have taken steps much like Admiral West’s. Obviously, much of our strength is deployed around the Mules’ compound, but I have reliable units positioned at all critical ground-based installations…power facilities, com stations, supply centers.” He paused. “And I have a platoon on standby, ready to take position here.” He hesitated again. “I have loyal officers waiting for word to get your daughters, sir…and bring them back here for their protection.”