The Others Page 3

  You won’t save one of them if you let the fleet be destroyed here…you’ll just condemn billions more you might otherwise find a way to defend…

  His resolve was like iron, but that didn’t completely stop the doubts. He could hold his fleet in place, waiting for Helas’s retreating ships to make good their escape, only so long before it was too badly damaged, before its own way out was cut off. He would have to run—soon—and any ships that hadn’t managed to complete their pullbacks would be left to the enemy’s mercy, just as the two inhabited worlds.

  Ilius was struggling to adapt to the reality unfolding around him. The war on the Rim had been bloody, brutal, and it had worn heavily on all those who’d fought in it. But the Hegemony had been the invader there, and in almost every instance, the superior force. Now, he had to adjust to being the weaker side, to watching the stronger enemy advance. He had to think first of preserving his forces, of avoiding total disaster while he probed for any weaknesses, used what advantages his people had. He now held the position the Rimdwellers had, worse even, since the enemy overmatched his forces by a far greater margin than the Hegemony had enjoyed over the Rim navies. He had to find ways to counter the deadly threat, to focus on his fleet’s strengths, even as those he’d recently fought against had so effectively utilized their bomber wings.

  The only problem was, so far, Ilius hadn’t come up with any advantages. His ships could barely track the attackers, and while he couldn’t be sure some of Helas’s vessels hadn’t scored hits, he had no hard data, no detailed damage reports. No way to make reasonable tactical decisions.

  No way to even know if a single Hegemony ship had done meaningful damage to one of the enemy vessels.

  “Megaron Helas on your channel, Commander.”

  He tapped the headset, activating the comm unit.

  “Helas…you’ve got to get your ships back faster. We’re running out of time.” It was blunt, direct…and nothing more than the simple truth. “No excuses,” he added almost immediately, though he knew Helas wasn’t the type to shift blame. Anything that doesn’t make it into the tube in time is…” He paused for a second, fairly certain he didn’t have to finish what he’d been about to say. “I don’t care if you need to overload your reactors, burn your engines to cinders, or what, but do something.”

  Ilius had seen what the Rimdwellers had managed to do by torturing their equipment, pushing their systems to the brink. He’d also seen them suffer the consequences, ships damaged, even destroyed as systems were pushed too far. He was only halfway to full realization that his people were now in the same situation their former enemies had been in…that they were going to have to take wild risks, think out of the box.

  Or they were going to lose the war. Badly.

  And quickly. He had to find a way, some way, to stop the enemy, or at least delay them. Or they’d be at Calpharon in a matter of weeks.

  “We’ve got a lot of damaged hulls, Commander. If we push the engines and reactors too hard…”

  “And if you don’t, you’re all dead.” It was brutal, after a fashion, but it was true. And there was no time to argue.

  “Yes, Commander. I will do all I can.”

  “See that you do.” It was harder edged than he liked, especially for an officer he respected as much as he did Helas, but it was what she needed to hear then. “And, Helas…I want your ships to transmit all your scanner results onto the fleetnet at once…and continue to do so as more data comes in.” Ilius knew Helas understood his purpose at once. The most important thing the fleet would bring away from the lost battle was data. Petabytes of information that would hopefully allow the analysts back at fleet command to improve on tracking and tactics, to develop ways to more effectively fight the enemy. Because if the Hegemony fleet had to face the Others with no better targeting than it was managing in Venta Traconis…they were finished already.

  * * *

  “Commander Tragus, engineering reports all batteries back online and ready to fire at full power.”

  “Very well, Hectoron. Tie in with most recent scans, and open fire.” Tragus was a Kriegeri of high rank, and Avia’s commander-in-chief. The cruiser was a mid-level vessel, almost insignificant next to the massive monitors and the battleships of the line. But he was young to command her—very young—and he drew immense pride from his position. His career promised great advancement to come.

  If you get out of this, that is…

  The bridge lights dimmed for an instant as the guns fired. He’d cranked all his weapons to maximum power, even beyond maximum. He didn’t have any authorization for such an action, and technically, he was violating regulations, but one look at the display made it clear enough just how dire a spot the fleet was in. He’d served on the Rim, and he’d seen the enemy there make good use of overpowering weapons. He’d seen the downsides, as well, on the Rim, and again moments before, when a burnout shut down Avia’s entire weapons array. For a few minutes, he feared he had knocked his ship out of the fight, but then he got lucky. He’d felt the relief physically as the report came back to the bridge. The damage was repairable. His engineers had promised him full power in five minutes, and in fact, they’d delivered it in less than three.

  He would see they received the deserved commendations…again, if any of them made it out of Venta Traconis.

  His eyes moved back to the display, anxious for the usual readings, news of any hits, or even confirmations that Avia’s shots had missed their targets. But there was nothing but the same confusing mashup, signals that appeared to be enemy ships, zoning in one instant, and out the next…and his own vessel’s shots seemingly vanishing as they entered the inner zone around the ghostly and mysterious ships.

  He’d faced danger before, and fear. Even defeat, but the frustration of not even knowing if he was striking against the enemy was almost unbearable.

  You do know…we’re not hitting a thing.

  Tragus was enough of a veteran to understand the complexities of targeting at the ranges typical in space combat. There was no way his people—or any of the gunnery teams in the fleet—were hitting those ships, not without precise and sustainable scanner locks. The chance of scoring a random hit from more than a hundred thousands kilometers was so miniscule as to be nearly mathematically indistinguishable from zero.

  We have to figure out how to get precise locations on these things…

  His mind raced, even as Avia’s guns fired again, almost certainly missing.

  They’re antimatter-powered, almost certainly. That’s got to be useful in some way…

  He realized it was, but not at the immense range between the two forces. If he could get within ten thousand kilometers, and if the enemy didn’t have some kind of impenetrable shielding, he might be able to track them that way, get his scanners locked on the radiation signature of their antimatter fuel.

  Of course, every ship in the fleet, battleships and monitors as surely as a cruiser like his own, would be blasted to plasma before they got anywhere near that close.

  “Hectoron, I want all scanner arrays programmed to detect any signs of antimatter usage or storage.” He could feel the officer about to respond, and he added, “Yes, I know we’re out too far, but let’s see if we can find anything at all.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “In fact, I want a complete analysis of all detectable radiation coming from those ships. I’m talking about every known form, however rare. We might not understand it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t track it.” He felt off balance, as though he was grasping around for any ideas at all. Which was exactly what he was doing. But then he realized, if the Hegemony did manage to secure the knowledge to successfully target the Others, that was exactly how it would happen. It would be a brilliant discovery…and an accident.

  He sat for a moment, watching the data moving across his screen. Then, he saw something.

  He reached out for his controls, to replay what had just come through. But his executive officer beat him to it.r />
  “Commander, we’re detecting radiation levels outside the usual spectrum. The signals are weak, but they’re steady. The scanners wouldn’t even detect it normally, not this range. But our full band search caught something. Barely”

  “Intensify the scan, and localize it. Target those signals exclusively. I want a complete analysis, Hectoron. Now! From both the AI and the science teams.” He winced as the main display showed a bright flash, an incoming shot from the enemy. For an instant, he was ready to pat himself on the back for the evasive routine he’d ordered, the maneuver he told himself has saved his ship. But then he saw Farsalus disappear from the screen. The battleship had been positioned almost directly behind Avia. Whatever his evasion tactics had accomplished, he realized he owed his ship’s survival more to its lower status on the enemy’s target priority list. The Others were going to destroy all the monitors and battleships they could before they started worrying about light cruisers and escorts.

  “Commander…we have a tentative match. Not a direct one, but a ninety-four point one six overlay.”

  That was damned close…but Tragus didn’t know if it was close enough. There were a lot of forces and types of energy in the universe, and not even Hegemony science knew them all.

  “What is the match, Hectoron?” Tragus was an experienced commander, but he was would be the first to agree that his knowledge of radiation types and intricacies was limited.

  “It’s a Sigma-9 wave, Commander. Or close to one.”

  “Sigma-9? That’s not a normal space pattern, Hectoron, it’s…” His voice slipped into silence, and he paused.

  “One of the background radiation readings from inside the transit tubes, Commander. But we’re detecting it in normal space…which may account for the minor variance from standard readings. The AI confirms there are no recorded instances of such a radiation pattern in normal space.”

  Until now…

  Tragus felt a wave of excitement…and one of foreboding. Just maybe, identifying the radiation type would allow him to reprogram Avia’s scanners, to tighten his ship’s target locks.

  But just how advanced are the Others? We barely understand how to use the tubes, and they’re harnessing energies from alternate space?

  He tried to disregard the fear, but the coldness in his stomach defied being completely ignored.

  Tragus didn’t know much about the history of the great tubes that made interstellar travel possible, whether they’d been built by those who had founded the empire, or if even those ancients had simply found them, the bounty of some advanced race that had come before. General consensus held they were imperial creations, but Tragus had never heard any real evidence to support such a claim.

  If the Others understand the tubes…at least enough to harness the same type of energy used…

  “Hectoron…I want the scanner suite reprogrammed to track the Sigma-9 signals. Full power to all dishes…and launch a spread of probes as well, maximum dispersion and one ten power on their scans. Let’s see if we’re really onto something here.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Tragus sat quietly, his eyes locked on the data scrolling across his screen, first from the ship’s scanners, and a few minutes later from the probes. The Sigma-9 pattern—the Sigma-9 like pattern—was there, stronger than it had been in the earlier scans.

  And right where he expected the closest enemy ship to be.

  “Hectoron, I want all targeting parameters wiped. Reprogram all batteries to lock onto the new energy wave. One percent dispersal pattern, maximum rate of fire.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Tragus turned toward the main display, watching, watching to see what Avia’s scanners continued to detect. Seconds passed by, each one agonizing, almost like a small eternity. He barked out an acknowledgement when the hectoron reported the targeting routines had been revised. He saw the status lights appear along the top of the screen, too, further confirmation that his new parameters were in place. Then, there was nothing, just continued vague and intermittent contacts. Tragus felt disappointment, renewed despair. It had been a guess, he told himself, a flailing effort to find some way to track the deadly enemy.

  Then he saw it.

  A reading, fleeting, tenuous at first, but growing in strength as the AI adjusted the scanner wavelengths at a speed no human mind could comprehend. He saw the strange wave appear on the display, growing stronger, and before he even had the chance to order it, his exec added the overlay, a standard Sigma-9 pattern from one of Avia’s transits.

  They were almost identical, he realized, a few seconds before the AI’s calculation appeared. Ninety-five point two. It was close, close enough perhaps to decide he was seeing some kind of Sigma-9 pattern. But Tragus realized that didn’t matter. The science teams could analyze the radiation, decide just what to call it. He was a warrior, not a researcher. He only cared about one thing. Whatever it was, it was damned sure manmade, and he could track it.

  “Hectoron, gunnery is to target that signal. I want maximum rate of fire, full dispersal pattern.” He’d found a way to target the enemy ships—maybe—but it was still rough. Even with a burst of shots, it was going to take some luck. But if it worked…”

  “All batteries redirecting fire, Commander….”

  Tragus was tense, his body tight, eyes focused on the display. He could see the flashes, his ship’s relatively small guns firing at the only contact in range. It was an enemy ship, Tragus was sure of it, even though his rational mind still called it a guess. The target was on a course right past Avia, toward a cluster of battleships and monitors behind. Tragus felt a flash of anger, of wounded pride that the enemy didn’t appear to consider his vessel enough of a threat to attack.

  That’s what let us get close enough…

  He saw more flashes, all around the AI’s best guess at the enemy position…and then something different, something that looked very much like one of Avia’s shots had connected.

  Was it possible? Had his ship scored a hit? He stared at the display, waiting for the AI’s analysis to answer his question.

  But the enemy answered it first.

  Tragus watched in horror as the contact, the enemy vessel he suddenly realized without doubt Avia had hit, changed its thrust vector immediately. The ship was altering its course, and even before the AI recalculated the projected new vector, Tragus knew with cold certainty.

  His people had scored a hit on their target.

  And the enemy ship was realigning its course in response. It was repositioning, coming right at Avia.

  He’d done it. He and his people had managed to successfully target one of the Others’ ships.

  And now they were going to die for that.

  Chapter Four

  Colossus

  Lyra System

  Year 322 AC

  “Commodore Fritz, the surveying teams have been working twelve hour shifts for two weeks now. We’ve simply got to reduce the intensity of the schedule, or we’re going to see more accidents…if not a full-scale revolt. It’s a miracle we haven’t had any fatalities yet, but at this pace, it’s only a matter of time.” Antoine Dennis was about two meters from Anya Fritz, standing up to the fearsome engineer with an intensity that told officers who’d served with her that the civilian was utterly fearless.

  Or that he simply had no idea who he was dealing with.

  Most likely, the latter.

  “Mr. Dennis, I appreciate your efforts, and those of your engineering teams, but I can assure you, this is not a breakneck pace. Compared to damage control efforts in battle, this is a picnic we’ve been on, one on a nice sunny day right next to the lake.” Fritz’s tone was calm, but to those who’d served at her side, the beginnings of the gathering storm were no doubt clearly recognizable.

  “Need I remind you, Commodore, that we are not in battle right now, and neither is the Confederation at war. This is a peacetime operation, and it should be run like one.”

  “What do you know of war and
peace, Mr. Dennis? What, exactly, is ‘peace?’ Were we at war before the Hegemony invaded our space, without warning or formal declaration? What security should we read into the enemy’s withdrawal? Do you have some guarantee I do not understand, some assurance from the spirits of the universe that the Hegemony will not return? That the Union will not strike us while we are still recovering from the last war? You rely heavily on peace to justify a reduction in workload, but you have never seen war yourself, have you? Nor considered the price warriors pay when we begin a conflict unprepared. What value do you think I and my people place—can place—on your opinion on such matters? What price are you prepared to pay if we waste time, and find ourselves unready for the next struggle when it comes? Will you step forward, be the first to die? Will I look down on your burned and mangled corpse, as I have those of so many of my comrades?”

  Anya Fritz knew she should try to hold back, especially with the civilian officials and contractors, but the war was too recent, the losses too fresh. She was stuck there in the Lyra system, too, far from a proper base or facilities. She’d forgone any real leave since the end of the war. She’d even missed Tyler Barron and Andi Lafarge’s wedding. The fact that she’d been invited had touched her deeply, hitting at emotions most of her engineers would be surprised to learn she possessed. Declining had been like nothing she could easily remember, a painful and melancholy choice that had been no choice at all. Her work on Colossus was simply too vital, and the great ship too far from Megara to justify the time a round trip would have taken.

  And, by God, if I could miss that, this…engineer…and his lazy-ass crews can keep the hell up with my veterans…