Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy (18 page)

“Just that, respectfully, Mr. Vice President, you may be safer in Saint Petersburg.”

They crossed the threshold of the captain’s quarters and the doors slid shut behind them. Isaacson turned to face the ambassador. “But you’ve lost control of the Swarm! Or don’t you remember their message to you?
You die?
Is that Swarm diplomatic-speak for,
we’re coming to dinner
? What the hell makes you think we’ll be safer in Saint Petersburg?”

Volodin shrugged. “Perhaps my government’s relationship with them over the past decade will influence their targeting once they arrive at Earth. Plus, the major Russian cities are heavily defended—far more than even Miami or Washington or New York.”

Isaacson peered at him suspiciously. How in the world could the other man know what defenses Miami and the other major North American cities had? How extensive was the Russian espionage operation? “Look, Yuri, we’ve never even seen a flesh and blood alien. Not once have we ever even seen one of the Swarm face to face. How can you be so confident that now, after all that’s happened, they won’t hesitate to obliterate every single city on the Earth’s surface, Russian or no?”

Volodin sat down at the desk and scratched his arms. “Who says we’ve never seen a flesh and blood Swarm individual?”

The Vice President sat across from him. “Are you saying you’ve seen the Swarm? Actual, live bodies? No one in IDF ever saw one. Not once.”

“Of course you did. You’ve seen billions of them.”

“What, the ships? Are you saying the ships themselves are sentient? They’re bodies?”

Volodin rolled his eyes. “What was inside all those ships from the Swarm War?”

“Nothing! Just whatever goo they left behind when they died or self destructed or escaped, or whatever it is they did to disappear.”

“Exactly. That was them. That was our second major discovery after we found we could control them through the meta-space signals.” He paused, smiling at Isaacson. “They’re a liquid-based life form, Mr. Vice President. Each of those fighters you destroyed seventy-five years ago held hundreds of Swarm. There’s hundreds, thousands of billions of Swarm. They are legion.”

A shiver went up Isaacson’s spine. Legion. The word conjured images of ancient demonic folklore, no less frightful than the actual, deadly aliens out to destroy them. “You visually verified this? Did you encounter any?”

“Of course we did. They are wondrous beings, Mr. Vice President. Intelligent, graceful, and deadly. Those first soldiers who actually physically contacted them were never quite the same.”

“Explain.”

Volodin folded his arms. He seemed remarkably calm given their dangerous situation. “After the asteroid incident, where we found we could control them, we arranged a meeting. One of their ships was directed to dock with one of our stations deep in the Yalta Sector.”

“You have settlements in the Yalta Sector? Since when?”

Volodin ignored the question. “They came. And we docked with them. We sent a few corpsmen into their vessel to investigate and initiate contact. It all went well. We talked with them, though always through meta-space transmissions—even though we were docked with each other. Having the men onboard didn’t seem to help or hinder the conversation. But when they came back, they were ... different.”

“How?”

The other man paused, thinking. “Wiser. Smarter. Those soldiers that came back rose quickly through the ranks—some are now commanders. One’s even a general.”

“What do you mean,
those that came back
?”
 

“The Swarm required several men to stay behind.”

Isaacson felt a little ill. “And? What happened to them?”

“They were ... consumed. The Swarm demanded it. They didn’t give a reason, but we assumed they wanted to familiarize themselves with us. Our anatomy, our brain structure. The Russian High Command judged it a fair trade given what we were accomplishing—given what knowledge they had to share.”

“And?” Isaacson leaned forward. “Was it worth it?

Volodin smiled again. “That remains to be seen.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Near Earth

Sickbay, ISS Constitution

“Doc, is he going to make it?” Granger leaned over his friend. Abraham Haws was a wreck. His forehead was dented—his skull clearly fractured. A part of the support structure of the girder had broken off and impaled him in the chest, barely missing his heart but ripping through his right lung.

“No idea, Tim,” said the doctor, adjusting the settings on one of the machines keeping Haws alive. “I’ve got him in an induced coma right now and pumped his head full of meta-corticals. We’ve got to repair the damage and reduce the swelling before I can bring him out of it. And he lost a lot of blood, so I ... good god, Tim, are you all right?”

Granger had doubled over in a fit of coughing, wiping a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth. His lungs were screaming at him and he staggered with a wave of dizziness.

“Fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I’m worried about you, you stubborn ass! If you’re not fit for duty....”

“Don’t,” interrupted Granger. He stared the doctor in the eye, daring him to continue. “Doc, this is not the time. Earth is just a few hours away from getting blasted apart by an artificial black hole. Don’t harangue me about my health when all our lives are on the line!”

“That’s my job, Tim, and it’s your job to know that if your health is affecting your judgement, then it’s my duty to remove you. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Screw you,” he said, descending into another fit of coughing, steadying himself on the edge of Haw’s bed.
Breathe
, he thought. Focusing on the slow, painful rising of his chest, he calmed himself, and added, “Give me a day. My mind is intact. I’m in pain, but that’s it.”

The doctor shook his head. “Tim....”

“Armand, please.” Tim looked into his eyes, pleading. “If you remove me, then it’s Proctor that’s in charge. And as competent as she is, I don’t want her commanding my ship. Not now. Not yet. We’ve got to save Earth. And if it’s to be saved, it’s going to be in the next six hours. If I fail, we’re all dead anyway.”

The doctor considered him for a moment. The man, one of Granger’s closer friends on board, seemed oddly distant and formal. Dammit, why was every doctor he ever knew so short-sighted? Always focusing on the symptoms rather than the future? Always on the short term rather than the long. But to his credit, the doctor nodded. “Fine, Captain. If we’re still alive tomorrow, I’m placing you on medical leave.”

“Understood.” He looked down at his severely injured friend. “Now get me my XO back, and I’ll give you a promotion,” he added with a sober grin.

“He’s not going anywhere for a month if he manages to live a day. I’ll keep you updated on his condition. But for now there’s nothing you can do.” A distant rumble shook the deck and Granger steadied himself on the bed again. Wyatt glanced up at the walls, obviously apprehensive at the prospect of new casualties. The doctor shook his head and rubbed his eyes—was he still light-headed? Granger nearly reached out to him before Wyatt continued, “Get back down there, Tim. The
Constitution
needs her captain.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Near Earth

Bridge, ISS Constitution

The two marines outside the bridge were distracted, pushing aside debris and assisting technicians with securing critical system components on the communications and power routing panel, so no one marked his arrival. Granger came up silently behind Commander Proctor, who, he noticed, was scrolling through the list of casualties. Twenty-six dead. Five missing. Thirty major injuries and at least eighty minor ones.

Not to mention the thousand-odd souls on the
Qantas
, and the hundreds of thousands lost at Lunar Base, on Mars, and the millions, billions, in the Veracruz Sector.

She shook, and brushed her cheek with the back of a hand.

“It gets easier,” he said, making her startle.

She turned to look at him. Her eyes were red. She’d served her entire short career pushing paper back at IDF headquarters, and nearly a decade as a scientist before that. She’d never seen death. Not like this.

Nor had anyone in the fleet. There’d been countless drills and fleet exercises, sure, and accidents happen.

But no one had seen death on this scale in over seventy-five years.

“What’s that supposed to mean? How could burying our friends get easy?” She let a hint of disdain drop into her voice, but he ignored it.

“I didn’t say easy. But burying your friends ... well, you learn how to do it and then move on. And I’ve buried more than my share.”

She said nothing, but turned back to her screen and swiped the casualty list away, replacing it with repair projections. “You’ve lost a lot of friends?”

“I have. And not just from diseases and sky surfing accidents. No, I’m just about the only one in the fleet who’s buried his comrades in the line of duty.”

She froze, and turned back to face him, aghast. “But, the Khorsky incident....”

It was more of a question than a statement, and he nodded gravely.

“You were there? I thought everyone responsible was either dead, in prison, or demoted.”

He shrugged. “That’s the official story, anyway. The reality is that I was promoted to captain soon after, and given command of the
Constitution.
My squadron may have done some stupid things, but they paled in comparison to IDF’s response. If you knew half the things that went on behind closed doors ... well, suffice it to say they knew that I could be a big pain in their ass, and everyone knows you keep your enemies close.”

From her face it was apparent that she almost didn’t believe him. She looked at him askance. “So to shut you up, they didn’t send you to prison, but promoted you? What did the Russians say?”

“Essentially, yes. And I have Abraham Haws to thank for it. He burst into Fleet Admiral Dawson’s office during the secret court martial and laid out everything we knew about IDF, and basically threatened to go public unless they dropped the charges and gave us a ship. And so they did. As for what the Russians said, well, I guess IDF feared what I could say more than what the Russians would.”

“What would you say? What would the Russians say?”

Granger’s attention darted away towards the tactical station, where a fresh round of electrical arcing crackled as a technician swore. “We don’t have time right now. Suffice it to say, the top brass at IDF have their heads so far up their asses that it’s a wonder something like this fresh invasion didn’t happen earlier.”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Several reasons. First, I want you to know how much Haws means to me, and what big boots you’ve got to fill.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. But he could very well die soon.” He took in a painful breath. Oddly enough, the truth felt liberating—good, even if his damned body didn’t. “Second, if you’re going to be my first officer, we have to trust each other. I’m laying it all out for you here. That Khorsky business is my deepest secret. I’ve got nothing to hide, and I expect the same from you. As such, I will both never bullshit you, nor will I pull punches. If you do your job good, I’ll tell you. If you perform like a first-year ensign straight out of the academy, I’ll call you on it. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.” She paused, hesitating. “And how am I doing, in your opinion? I mean, since the crisis started.”

He didn’t answer for nearly ten seconds, letting her stew. When she began to look a little uncomfortable, he spoke.

“Admirable.”
 

He still hadn’t forgiven her for tearing apart his ship, but given that she’d almost put it back together again in less than a few hours, he could at least give her a second chance.

“Sir, I think you should know that I was about to write you up.”

Now it was his turn to look at her askance. “What do you mean?”

“Back when you were tossing up obstacles to keep me from performing my mission. Getting in the way, subverting my authority. Admiral Yarbrough gave me clear operational authority, and told me to let her know if you were being difficult. I had a pretty nasty report all written up and ready to give her after the decommissioning ceremony.”

“And now?”

She smiled. “I seem to have misplaced it in all the confusion.”

“How fortunate.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which the general sounds of frenzied activity in the background snapped their attention back to the emergency.
 

“Mag-rail status, Commander?”

She cleared her throat and swiveled the chair back around to face her console, which Granger only then noticed was Haws’s station.

“I’ve diverted anyone not working on restoring fighters and the engines or making otherwise critical repairs to report to the gunnery chief for ordnance transfer. That includes most of the marines—Colonel Hanrahan wasn’t happy about that, but he’ll get over it. They should have the mag-rails reloaded within the hour. I’ve also directed them to transfer a double load, so that we can last for around twice as long as our first engagement before we need to do another ordnance transfer. They can store it in the hallways outside the guns. Not ideal, and not safe, but I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about than fleet Occupational Safety Services jumping on our asses.”

“Good thinking.” He nodded in approval. She was better than Haws. By far. Dammit. “And the fighters?”

“We lost thirty-two. The
Qantas
lost fifty-nine. Between the two wings we’re now sitting at eighty-five, more than what we started with. We’ve also got about fifteen more about to come back online, so by the time we engage them again we’ll be near a hundred.” She paused. “As for the engines,” she began, apparently anticipating his next question, “I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask Commander Scott—she wouldn’t answer when I called down there.”

He stood up straight and stretched his back out, hiding the wince. “Excellent work, Commander. One more thing. What are your thoughts on the Swarm? Is this them? Have they really changed their technology this much in seventy-five years? Their ships look nothing like the old ones, and that artificial singularity never showed up last time. Their hulls used to be vulnerable to lasers, which is why IDF has invested in petawatt class beams for all these decades. That’s why most of our carriers are now sitting ducks—we’re the only ship that still relies primarily on mass transfer weaponry.”