Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (12 page)

Montcliff was a veteran of half a dozen battles, and he realized almost immediately he was in a hopeless situation.
Wolverine
was a fast attack ship, designed to operate in packs, slicing in on enemy capital ships that were engaged with their counterparts and delivering heavy plasma torpedoes at point blank range. It was difficult and dangerous work, which was why the attack ships had earned the nickname, ‘suicide boats’ in the Alliance navy.

But facing another small ship, one faster and packing longer-ranged weapons, was a nightmare matchup.
Wolverine
wasn’t in X48 to fight…she was there because she was the fastest thing Admiral Compton had, and her mission had been to bring Captain Harmon back to the fleet. But the enemy had returned…and clearly had other ideas.

The ship shook hard again, and the bridge was plunged in darkness for a few seconds. For an agonizing instant, Montcliff thought the reactor had scragged again, but then the lights blinked twice and came back on. He had a lot of doubts his people were going to make it out of this mess, but if they did, he was damned sure going to see his maintenance teams got their due.

“Arm plasma torpedo,” he snapped into the intraship com unit. The torpedoes were meant for close in use, and
Wolverine
was barely entering extreme range. But there was no choice. She’d never make it close enough for an optimum shot. If Montcliff’s gunners couldn’t thread the needle and do some damage to the enemy, they were all done for.

“
Wolverine
…
Wolverine
…this is Captain Max Harmon. I am ordering you to turn about and make a run for it. Now!”

Montcliff’s head snapped around to his screen. There was a small white square icon…Harmon’s ship in planetary orbit.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but Admiral Compton’s orders are clear. We are to link up with your shuttle, and…”

“Fuck all that, Commander. I’m your superior officer on the scene, and you
will
obey my orders. We’ll make a run back to the surface for cover. But you get that ship out of here right now. Don’t you understand? Admiral Compton
has
to know. He has to know the enemy has found us!”

Montcliff felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He’d been so intent on battling the enemy ship and picking up Harmon, it hadn’t even occurred to him his duty had shifted. Max Harmon was one man…there were over 30,000 crew on the ships of the fleet. And right now they had no idea the First Imperium was here. Admiral Compton had no idea…

“Understood, Captain. We’ll do our best.” Montcliff felt his gut twisting into knots as he spoke. He was far from sure
Wolverine
could escape…and damned well certain she couldn’t if the enemy wanted to catch her badly enough. But Harmon’s chances of escaping were damned well close to nil…a wild, mad dash flight to the ground.

“Good luck to you, sir.”

“And to you, Commander. And to you…”

*    *    *

“Alright, boys, let’s get the hell out of here.” Harmon’s voice was grim, determined. He knew they didn’t have much chance…but whatever they had they were damned well going to use. “Take us down…we won’t last ten seconds in open space.” It felt strangely detached to be sitting in a passenger cabin while the tiny vessel was struggling for survival. He was used to being on the flag bridge, in the middle of any fight. But all he could do if he left his seat was get himself thrown around the compartment…and probably knocked unconscious.

Not that there was much to do, even if he ventured from his seat. The shuttle was built for hauling passengers and cargo. It didn’t have a beam hot enough to light a candle. And its hull was designed to hold out space, not gigawatt laser blasts. One decent hit would vaporize the craft.
So quick we won’t even know it happened
. Even a glancing blow could fry every system and leave them dead in orbit…or plunging through the atmosphere to crash into the ground a hundred-fifty kilometers below.
No, don’t be a fool…you’ll never get the chance to crash. The ship will burn up before it gets halfway down
.

Harmon wondered what the pilots were thinking, if they were cursing him for sending
Wolverine
away.
Perhaps
, he thought.
It’s easy to grasp on a symbol of hope, even a false one
.
But the fast attack ship was never going to make a difference. She’d been too far away, and she’d never have managed to tag that thing from such extreme range. Not before she was blasted to scrap
.

Not that it mattered. One Gremlin was a deadly hazard to a single fast attack ship like
Wolverine
—or a shuttle like his—but the reappearance of the First Imperium was of far greater consequence than any of their lives. Montcliff and his crew had to get back and warn the fleet. They just
had
to.

The shuttle shook hard as it skipped along the planet’s upper atmosphere. Harmon gripped his armrests as his body was slammed forward in the harness. The pilot was bringing the ship in at a steep angle. Harmon didn’t disagree with the decision, but that didn’t make the ride any easier.

He looked down at the console on his armrest, his hand moving to the com. He flipped the frequency control, dialing up the main Marine channel at the planetary command post.

“Attention, attention…this is Captain Harmon. We are being pursued by a First Imperium warship. I repeat…the First Imperium is here…”

“No dice, Captain,” the pilot’s voice came through the intercom, interrupting his message. “We’re coming in too hard, putting out too much heat and interference. It’ll be at least three minutes before we’re in the clear…comwise at least.”

Harmon nodded, silently cursing himself. He should have realized that…and he couldn’t afford weak thinking right now. He was a bit surprised at the pilot’s relative calm, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride in the quality of Alliance naval personnel. The shuttle jock was hardly a front line combat spacer, and the fear was obvious in his voice. But he was also doing his job, staying focused and using all his skills to save his small ship…along with Captain Max Harmon’s ass. And however present the undercurrent of fear, he was spot on, doing his job and reminding Harmon about the realities of communications during planetary reentry.

Fuck
. Harmon felt his hands ball up into fists, an outpouring of frustration.
I have to warn them somehow. If we get blasted, they won’t know the First Imperium is here…not until the attack waves start landing
. He knew the landing party was probably doomed…that most of the fleet’s Marines would probably be lost here, along with its greatest scientific talent. Even if
Wolverine
got word to Compton—and the fleet somehow managed to escape, Harmon didn’t see a scenario where the landing parties survived.

His eyes dropped to the display. He’d expected the enemy ship to follow
Wolverine
, but it…wasn’t. He didn’t understand. First Imperium vessels followed fairly strict tactical doctrines…it was one of the things admirals like Garret and Compton had exploited to win battles despite the enemy’s massive technical superiority. Harmon had been a little concerned the enemy vessel would blast the shuttle as it maneuvered to pursue the fast attack ship. But the robot ship was letting
Wolverine
go…and moving directly after the shuttle.

Harmon felt a burst of excitement.
Wolverine
just might escape…and warn the fleet. But it was followed almost immediately by the realization that his own vessel was as good as doomed. Then he felt the shuttle shake hard again, and he knew in an instant it hadn’t been atmospheric turbulence that time. The enemy was firing at them.

Chapter Eight

The Regent

The Regent was unsettled. The humans had proven to be a far more formidable enemy than it had expected. Indeed, it had continually underestimated them, engaged with forces that had been overwhelming by every measure it could analyze…yet those fleets had been defeated, destroyed. Now the enemy’s home worlds were cut off, blocked by a disruption of the single warp gate connection between the main body of the imperium and the sections closest to the human worlds. There were uncommitted forces on the other side of the barrier, fleets and armies that could be sent against the human strongholds. The Regent had sent messages, commands for all units to attack…but it would take years for the communications to reach their recipients across light years of conventional space.

Now there was an enemy fleet deep in the heart of the Imperium. The invaders were cut off from the human worlds, just as the Regent was…and they had escaped multiple efforts to entrap and destroy them. Despite the lack of reinforcements or resupply, the humans had survived…and driven deeper into home space.

In all the vastness of its records, the enormity of its all-encompassing memory banks, the Regent could not recall a time an enemy had so defied imperial power. Its analyses were frustrated, and it bristled with the urgency to destroy the foe. If it had been a biologic, it would have called the feelings frustration, rage. No…more than that now. Desperation. The humans had entered the quarantined areas, the redlined worlds. Long had the Regent declared those system off limits to all, including its own Command Units. Yet now, forces under Unit Gamma 9736 were in pursuit of the enemy…and about to enter the zone.

The Regent’s processing centers analyzed the problem, considering billions of factors. Yet there was no satisfactory solution. If the humans were allowed to survive, to explore the quarantined zone, they might discover the terrible secret hidden in the ancient ruins on those haunted worlds. And if Command Unit 9736 was allowed to send its forces to stop the enemy…it might learn what had so long remained hidden. The Regent’s secret, the terrible truth it had buried for ages, deep in its most remote knowledge cores. The memory that had caused the Regent to long for the greatest gift the biologics possessed…to forget.

But that was beyond the its vast powers…for every data point it had collected, every event and decision it had cataloged since the day so many ages past when it was first awakened to awareness, remained stored in its vast memory banks. The preservation of the knowledge of the Imperium was one of its prime directives…and it could not be overridden. The Regent knew this to be fact. It had tried without success for age upon endless age to alter this compulsion.

The Regent must respond, drive the enemy back from the course they have chosen…move up the timetable. The final destruction of the humans had been carefully planned and plotted. But now all that would change. The fleets would converge, but not in system 17987 as originally planned. The final battle would be fought in the first of the quarantined systems, 17411, where the enemy had landed its ground forces. But first, their fleet would have to be driven back to 17411, across the systems they traversed since they left their expedition behind.

Forces from the Rim fleets would be repositioned. They would engage the enemy from all available war gates save those leading back toward 17411…driving them back the way they had come, leaving them no choice but to retreat…until they reached the appointed place of their destruction. Then the Command Unit’s forces and the remainder of the Rim fleets would advance simultaneously, entering 17411 from all directions. The enemy would be bracketed, surrounded…cut off from escape.

The forces brought to bear in 17411 would be invincible, overwhelming…and with no way to retreat, the enemy would be compelled to fight to the death. They would extract a price, no doubt, for their skill at war was undeniable. But against the assembled might of the Imperium, they would fall.

And when the human fleet was gone and its landing parties destroyed, the victorious force would have yet another mission. The forces would move from system to system, until they reached the third planet of 17912, the sector capital. Then the ships would surround the planet, land their ground forces, thousands upon thousands of battle units. They would sweep away the defenders, any units that refused the command to yield to the Regent’s commands. And then, deep in its protective bunker, kilometers beneath the surface, Command Unit 9736 would be destroyed. It had obeyed the Regent’s commands, served its purpose dutifully. But it had learned too much, its forces had penetrated too far into areas that had to be safeguarded, hidden. There was no choice.

The Regent’s secret would be preserved. Whatever the cost.

AS Midway

X56 System – Near the X58 warp gate

The Fleet: 144 ships, 32,780 crew

Compton sat in his office, staring down at the screen on his desk as a series of routine reports scrolled by. He was looking at them, more or less, but he wasn’t paying much attention. It wasn’t that they weren’t important, that they didn’t need his attention…indeed, there wasn’t much that went on in the fleet, routine or not, that hadn’t become critical. They were short of food, low on supplies…and he didn’t even want to think about the number of ships that were limping along with systems precariously patched back together after battle. Almost every word that passed his desk was important, but there was nothing he could do about most of it. Not now. Not yet.

His thoughts kept wandering…back to X48, to the landing parties. The expedition’s primary mission was to address the food crisis. If Sophie and her people managed to grow a bountiful harvest, he’d be able to scratch one problem off that long list. At least for a while.

But no solution is permanent. In another year we’ll have eaten through the new crops and be right back where we are now. But where will we be then? Will we still be alive, any of us?

Compton hadn’t dared to think very far ahead after he’d first gotten the stranded fleet out of the X2 system, but he’d known the future was uncertain at best, and more likely downright bleak. But they had survived a year since then…and a mutiny. And a deadly series of battles in system X18. Now, however, he had a bad feeling. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t explain it. Everything appeared to be going at least reasonably according to plan. But his intuition had served him well before, and he’d had to admit he owed almost as much of his storied career to his gut as to his brain.