Storm of Vengeance Page 4

  West had left everything and everyone she cared for behind the Barrier, gone forever, as had all of the Pilgrims. That had been more than forty years past, but fragments of the pain still lingered. Frette had been one of the few people she’d allowed into her inner circle, and over time their relationship had progressed from professional to friendship, to…something more.

  For the first few years after suffering her injuries, Frette had lain in a medpod, in partial cryostasis, the bulky device’s machinery maintaining her vastly slowed bodily functions. But, Earth Two’s technology level had increased rapidly over the past decade, and the medfield was a major improvement over the old pods. Still, in a way it unnerved West. Frette had appeared to be sick and beyond reach in the bulky pod, but now she just looked like she was sleeping. It somehow made West’s loneliness worse.

  The crusty admiral had a reputation as a merciless taskmaster, one she’d justly earned over the years, both before and after the fleet became trapped beyond the Barrier. People had been afraid of her when she’d been a forty-five-year-old freshly-promoted junior admiral. They were scared to death of her now at ninety, with forty-two years of commanding Earth Two’s military under her belt. She didn’t make connections easily, and she doubted she could have found someone to take Frette’s place in her life, even if she’d been willing to try. But, with her partner still alive—and that’s the one thing they’d assure her, that Frette was still alive, her brain functions active—such a thing was unthinkable. West had spent much of her life alone, but for the past twelve years, she’d been virtually cloistered whenever she was off duty.

  West was a hardened warrior, and the blood that flowed in her veins was icy. She’d ached for Frette, longed for the times the two had spent together, for the connection they had both felt…but she hadn’t shed a tear, not a single one for the woman she loved. Erika West didn’t cry. She didn’t show weakness. Ever. If that failed her, she would lose all she had left of herself. All that kept her going. There was no sweetness left in life, no real desire to live the rest of the extended lifespan the rejuv treatments had gifted—or cursed—her with. But there was duty, always duty. She had lived her life by it, and she would do so until the day death finally released her.

  “Erika…”

  West turned toward the sound, but she knew who it was before her eyes focused on the lithe figure approaching. Ana Zhukov had become a friend over the last decade, at least the closest thing West had to one. She’d always considered Max Harmon to be a friend as well, but he had been Earth Two’s dictator now for twelve years, and as hard as the two had tried, it had proven difficult to maintain a personal relationship. There was just too much baggage. She was still loyal to Harmon, and she liked him, but the two hadn’t sat down and just talked about something other than official duties in at least five years.

  “Ana, how are you?” West pushed back against the grief she’d been feeling, struggling to present the hard demeanor she demanded of herself, even with a friend.

  “I’m fine, Erika…how are you?” Zhukov’s eyes darted to the bed, to the still form of Nicki Frette, and then back again to her friend.

  “I am fine, Ana. As always.”

  West could see that Zhukov was teetering on the edge of pressing her further. But, in the end, she didn’t. She said, simply, “I wanted to let you know, the railguns are ready for their first field tests. We need a battleship to mount them, and then we can put them through their paces.”

  West knew her friend hadn’t come to the hospital to bring her a report she’d get in her next briefing anyway. She’d come to support her, to try to offer some kind of comfort. West appreciated that, though she was rather relieved Zhukov had chickened out. There were very few people truly close to her, but even those who were didn’t understand her…and they couldn’t relate to how little talking about things helped her.

  “That is good news, Ana. The preliminary analysis suggests that the weapons may be decisive.” Zhukov nodded. The railguns were a major development, not only because of the advanced science that made them work, but because they were original designs, not copies of old First Imperium tech. If they worked, they would be something only Earth Two possessed, a new long ranged weapon that could obliterate First Imperium ships before they entered energy weapons range. But, for all of that, West could see her friend felt foolish discussing it in the hospital…and for the clumsiness of her attempt to distract or support her, she wasn’t sure which. She appreciated whatever Zhukov had intended, but she also took the opportunity to veer the subject to work, which was much more in her own comfort zone.

  “Not that there has been any significant threat…for years now.”

  West got up and walked toward Zhukov. “We have been lucky for an extended period.” West knew that was exactly what they’d been. Lucky. There were First Imperium ships out there, she was sure of that, and they were searching for Earth Two. One day, despite all the decoys and the safeguards on task forces leaving and returning to the planet, the enemy would find what they were looking for…and the people of Earth Two, pilgrims, NBs, Tanks, Mules—all of them—would face the greatest battle they’d ever imagined. If she lived to see that day, she knew she’d fight, with every bit of resolve that remained to her. But, she was far from sure that battle would end in victory, and, though she’d never shared her thoughts with anyone, not Zhukov, not Harmon, Erika West believed when that day came, her people were likely to lose, that they could very well see Earth Two destroyed and human life beyond the Barrier extinguished.

  “It seems our precautions and deceptions have worked, at least so far.” Zhukov followed West’s lead, and the two walked out of the hospital room and down the long corridor to the elevators. “Still, it is hard living under such a shadow, knowing any day could be the one that brings it all crashing down.”

  West nodded. “We can only do our best. The decoy planets present the enemy with a significant puzzle to solve.” The deception plan had been devised predominantly by Achilles and his Mules, and the republic had put a significant amount of its production into its execution. There were four false Earth Twos, in systems with artificial energy emissions, staged ship traffic, and a network of surrounding systems with clues leading to them…and away from the real thing. The enemy had discovered one, and they’d launched a massive assault, blasting the planet’s surface to radioactive slag. But there were still three serving their purposes as diversions, drawing enemy scouting fleets away from the Earth Two.

  West continued her nod, very deliberately. She wasn’t sure what Zhukov expected from the future, and she didn’t feel the need to share her own natural pessimism. She’d been a supporter of the diversion plan, and she still believed it was a useful device, but also that it would only buy time before the First Imperium found the real Earth Two. All that would take was one mistake, a careless effort by a returning task force or, barring even that, just enough time for the First Imperium to explore enough systems. There were thousands of stars in the area, but they were still finite. It didn’t take more than math to determine the enemy would find Earth Two. Eventually.

  “The railguns will make a difference, Erika. If the decoys and the other precautions can buy us enough time to equip the entire fleet with them.”

  West paused for a moment. She had seen the original specs on the new weapons system, and they were impressive. But she was the sort of person who doubted just about everything until she saw it with her own eyes. “I hope you’re right, Ana. It would be nice to have a technological edge on the First Imperium for once, that’s for sure.” The railguns had been developed with the First Imperium in mind, their ranges and capabilities designed for maximum effectiveness against the powerful robot-controlled ships. West tried to make herself believe the Mules had developed a war-winning weapon, but all she could think of was the extended testing period required, and the immense job of somehow outfitting the republic’s ships with a system that had to be built right into a vessel’s spine. There were new s
hip designs already in the planning stages, but it would be years before they could be put into production and completed. And, in the interim, she had serious doubts the engineering teams would find reliable methods for jamming the giant railguns into existing vessels.

  “I hope you’re right, Ana,” West finally said softly. I have serious doubts we’ll be able to retrofit the fleet, though. She’d almost said it, but something had made her keep it to herself, a silent thought. Ana Zhukov was a brilliant woman and an enormously hard worker. She would do everything in her power to contribute to the republic’s survival. Crushing whatever hopes she had, wisps of optimism that sustained her…it would serve no purpose.

  Erika West’s thoughts were dark, as they had been most of her life. But, they were hers, and not something she intended to inflict on those around her…and certainly not on the woman who’d become the closest thing she had to a best friend.

  Whatever optimism Ana Zhukov could gather—could use to fool herself—it was hers, and West had no intention of robbing her friend of that last delusion.

  Because, at the core, it was all she believed any of them had.

  * * *

  Connor Frasier looked out over the vast field, watching a company of Marines moving forward, taking advantage of a deep ravine and a cluster of surrounding hills for cover. They were assaulting a platoon of their comrades who were dug in on the ridge, all part of the wargames Frasier had conducted four times a year since the First Imperium had reappeared as a threat. He’d had almost universal support for the exercises at first, but as with most things, though Earth Two lived under constant threat of First Imperium attack, as more years passed uneventfully, the fear had begun to subside. The complaints about the cost of the exercises had grown louder, and Frasier knew he’d retained the funding only because President Harmon supported it.

  Frasier watched the operation, his mind contrasting what he saw with old memories, days in the Corps back on the other side of the Barrier, even his days as a freshly minted lieutenant, serving under no less intimidating a persona as the terrible Angus Frasier, the legendary commander of the old Scottish Regiment…and Connor’s father as well. He remembered the old man fondly…and with a bit of vestigial intimidation as well.

  His eyes narrowed, looking out over the valley. There were humans out there, clad in the newest Mark XII combat armor, but there were even more machines. The combat robots were part of his force, too, though they looked far too much like the enemy for his tastes. The Mules had created them, of course—and improved them steadily over the past twelve years. Frasier knew they increased the combat power of his Marine units tenfold, and when he could see past his deep-seeded Corps prejudices, he even had to admit that one of the robots was more than a match for an entire fireteam of his people.

  But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  The advancing Marines were moving quickly, staying low but trotting forward at better than thirty klicks per hour. He knew the capabilities of the Mark XII suits, also designed by the Mules, but it still hit him every time he saw his people at work. The new armor made his first fighting suit look like some medieval knight’s garb…not to mention his childhood recollections of the cumbersome chunk of metal his father had worn so many years before.

  The old suits had been built from a chromium-iridium alloy, the strongest material available at that time. The new armor was constructed from First Imperium hyper-ceramic technology, and they were one-fifth the weight of their predecessors of several decades before, and several times as strong. They were smaller too, and they gave the wearer far more flexibility.

  We keep getting better at killing. Connor had spent most of his life fighting the First Imperium, a battle of united humanity versus a deadly machine menace, but he also remembered his father’s wars, and the first he’d fought, under the famous Erik Cain. They’d fought against Earth’s rival superpowers then, human against human, killing each other with all the energy and passion Frasier and his Marines now put into blasting First Imperium robots.

  Where will we be if we can defeat this enemy? At peace finally? Or back, killing each other?

  He pulled back from his thoughts with a start and diverted his attention back to the figures moving toward the defensive line. Most of his Marines were Tanks, clones created from selected DNA lines. They hadn’t been created expressly as warriors, but many Tanks still sought out careers in the Corps, drawn by nascent tradition, and also by the fact that Frasier’s reforms had removed the barriers to advancement to commissioned ranks. The clones had suffered a certain amount of discrimination in the Corps years earlier, as they still did in much of the republic’s mainstream society, but Connor Frasier had mandated that every one of his warriors be treated the same way, and that nothing but merit govern promotions and other advancement.

  He’d have placed his Corps up against any that had ever existed, even Elias Holm’s magnificent formation that helped to win the Third Frontier War…but he’d also had to fight against those who considered his Marines obsolete, who had pushed for resources to go solely into building ships and orbital defenses, and to turn over what ground combat operations were necessary to the bots. Frasier didn’t know where his objective analysis of the war and his Marine pride collided, but he’d argued passionately to maintain and expand Earth Two’s human ground forces.

  He’d even resorted once or twice to naked fear-mongering, to reminding people that twelve years ago, the Mules and the rest of Earth Two’s people had almost fought a civil war. He felt guilty doing that, of course, of using internal fears to stoke public opinion. He counted Achilles and some of the other Mules as close friends…and his wife, Ana, was regarded as the ‘mother’ of all the Mules, the creator of their first quickening, alongside Hieronymus Cutter. But he was a Marine, first and foremost, by blood as well as choice, and he would do whatever was necessary to preserve the Corps.

  And to see that it was ready for whatever fights lay ahead.

  Chapter Five

  Force Communique, Captain Roland Graham

  All units, our formation is scattered, our vectors and velocities hopelessly mixed. Yet, we must continue the fight, and at all costs, we must prevent any enemy vessels from transiting into G47. Our comrades have gone to warn Earth Two, and we have to buy them time…time to get through the system and evade pursuit. Time to send the word back home.

  The warning the high command must receive…that we have found and engaged the forces of the First Imperium.

  E2S Vaughn

  G48 System

  Earth Two Date 10.17.42

  Graham’s hands tore at the harness strapped across his chest, fumbling for a moment with the buckles before they gave way and the straps slipped down to his legs, then to the floor under his chair. The last hit had been too much, the pain as much as he could bear. He’d taken some analgesics earlier, but he needed all his wits now, so he’d held back from higher doses. The fight had been a fierce one, half his ships crippled or destroyed, but they’d hit the enemy formation hard, and despite the numerical and tech advantage of the enemy, his people had shattered the attacking force.

  The satisfaction had been immense, tempered even as it was by the price his people had paid. But it hadn’t lasted long.

  Before his forces could even reorganize their disordered formation, more enemy ships came around the planet, a force larger than the first one…and moments later, behind that, yet another. Graham had watched as the ships emerged, one after the other, knowing as he did he was seeing whatever miniscule chance any of his people had of escaping, of returning home, slipping away before his eyes.

  “Put me on fleetcom, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.” The tactical officer was exhausted, that much Graham could tell from the man’s voice. He was scared too, that was just as evident. Graham was a combat veteran, but for most of his people, the fight in G47, and the battle they were still fighting, had been a baptism of fire.

  Graham had survived his first battle years bef
ore, but he was slowly coming to terms with the fact that most of his people wouldn’t share that opportunity.

  “You are on fleetcom, sir.”

  Graham opened his mouth to speak, but then he paused and cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, how dry and parched his mouth had become. “You have fought well, all of you, and with your skill and heroism, you have vanquished a superior force, and crushed it utterly. Yet, we are not done. More enemy forces approach…and we cannot yet retreat. We must hold, whatever the cost. We must keep the First Imperium ships back from the warp gate and give our comrades on Poseidon and Ventura the time to cross the G47 system, and to reach a position that allows them to send news of our discovery back to Earth Two.”

  He fell silent for a moment, feeling an impulse to sugarcoat things for his people, but then rejecting it. They deserve the truth…

  “We will fight here, and we will do what we must. I will not lie to you and say that we will all return home. You all know better than that. For many of us—perhaps even all—this will be our last fight. To that, I can only add that for twelve years Earth Two has waited for cataclysm, for some First Imperium patrol to discover its system and to direct massive fleets of ships to attack and destroy all we hold dear. Our every day of survival has been miraculous in its own way, a testament to our combined strength as a people. So, stand to your posts now, and stare death boldly in the eye…and, if your courage falters, think of loved ones and friend, parents, siblings, spouses, children…all those for whom we wage this struggle. All those our sacrifices here may save from a dark and deadly future.”