Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (17 page)

“All ships, keep firing. Pour it into them…”

*    *    *

Compton was staring at the incoming reports. The casualty lists were jarring. Four of John Duke’s ships were gone, at least two by some kind of internal explosion he couldn’t explain, and
Surrey
was a powerless, dead hull. She was the only one of Kato’s cruisers that had been destroyed outright, but the rest had been battered almost to scrap.
Tanaka
was a total loss, and Kato had already ordered the twenty percent of her crew that had survived to abandon ship. And
Boise
wasn’t much better off. Her captain was struggling to save the ship, to get her operating on at least fractional power, but it looked like a longshot.

More than twenty of Hurley’s remaining fighters had been lost as well, another butcher’s bill for the long-suffering fighter corps. Compton knew how closely he had come to rely upon Hurley and her amazing pilots, but he knew they couldn’t take much more. Only a fraction of the crews that had begun the invasion of First Imperium space still remained, a tithe of those who had spilled their blood from X1 and X2 all the way to this last deadly fight.

The rearguard had done its job, wiped out the First Imperium advance force…but they had paid heavily. Compton felt the pull of guilt on him, worse even than that he usually endured when he sent good men and women to their deaths. The battle just finished could have been quicker, far more one-sided, if the whole fleet had joined in. But that had been out of the question. Compton was sure there would be more enemy ships coming through that warp gate. He didn’t know why they had waited, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind they were there. There had been no choice but to send the rearguard. Any other action would have placed the entire fleet in grave jeopardy. And that was unthinkable.

“Distance to X57 warp gate?” he said, staring over at Commander Cortez’ workstation.

“One point two million kilometers, Admiral. We are approaching at approximately one thousand kilometers per second. Lead elements will be in position to jump in approximately twenty minutes, sir.”

Compton leaned back in his chair. He was worried. He didn’t like running off into blind space, allowing potentially hostile forces to work between him and the expedition in X48. But he’d thought about it every way he could, and there was just no choice. Heading back now was too risky. If he took off, away from X48, maybe the enemy would follow…and the landing parties could remain hidden.

“Admiral, we’re getting energy readings from the X57 gate!” Cortez was upset, and it showed in his voice.

“Confirmed?”

“Yes, Admiral. Readings consistent with imminent transit.”

Compton felt like someone had punched him in his gut. It had to be the enemy. First X58 and now X57. There was no choice now. He’d have to backtrack, at least one system. He felt a cold chill down his spine…the fleet was too close to the X57 warp gate to outrun First Imperium ships. Without a head start, they’d be dead long before they could get back to X54.

He needed another rearguard…to face an enemy force of unknown strength. He shook his head grimly. More people to send into the meatgrinder, friends, loyal spacers. For a brief moment, in the deepest place in his mind, Terrance Compton wanted to give up…to stop, close his eyes, let death take him. If he’d had only himself to worry about, he knew he might do it, stop the constant struggles and let the darkness take him. But he was responsible for his people, all of them. Over thirty thousand men and women looking to him to keep them alive, to find some way to survive. And, in the place that made him who he was, he found the strength he needed. It wasn’t courage, he knew that. It was duty, obligation…but it would serve.

“Commander Cortez, all vessels are to prepare for high gee maneuvers. I want everyone in the tanks in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

He took another breath, deep…and he held if for a few seconds. Then he exhaled and said, “And get me Admiral West, Commander. Immediately.”

Chapter Eleven

Research Notes of Hieronymus Cutter

I sit now in our makeshift camp, watching the Marines move methodically through the broken ruins, searching for any surviving First Imperium bots still in the city. One of them christened the vast sea of shattered buildings New York City, a bit of tension-breaking humor that has now begun to spread throughout both the Marines and my own people.

The battle didn’t last long, less than an hour, but it was sharp and costly. Eight Marines died, and another eleven were wounded and evacuated back to the base camp. Colonel Preston sent two hundred reserves to our aid, but by the time they arrived, Major Frasier’s people had cleared things out. Now the area is locked down, and the camp outside the city is covered by half a dozen emplaced autocannons.

It was no surprise to find there was some residual enemy resistance in the city, but it is nevertheless painful to see the losses the Marines suffered. Once again, I watched them plunge into the danger, without hesitation, putting themselves on the line to keep us all safe. The loss of such brave men and women always causes a flash of doubt, and I felt a pang of guilt for pushing to explore these ruins…for if my people hadn’t come here, the Marines would have stayed in the main base camp, and likely watched quietly over the farms without provoking a major attack by the long-dormant enemy forces.

The bots were similar to those we encountered in X18, no doubt the remains of whatever security forces the First Imperium routinely deployed around its cities. Yet there was something strange about this fight compared to the last, and while my expertise is not in military tactics, it is apparent the Marines saw it too. On X18, the bots attacked in a very disciplined pattern, with precisely-controlled fire, as if they were seeking to target enemies without further damaging the city itself…a tactic consistent with a defensive or policing operation. Here, however, they fired wildly, targeting anything that moved. Their ammunition expenditure was vastly larger, by two or three times. They used mortars and other explosive rounds, heavier weapons than we saw on X18, employed seemingly without regard to the destruction they caused.

Perhaps it is nothing. The city on X18 was a ruin as well, but it was in far better condition than this one, which had clearly been the site of substantial fighting millennia before. The security bots might acknowledge that his city is destroyed, that there was no longer any reason to try and preserved what remained. There is logic to that viewpoint certainly, but it doesn’t ring true to me. The metropolis on X18 had not been destroyed by war, but five hundred thousand years of decay made that a distinction without a difference. The First Imperium is almost certainly governed by artificial intelligences of a sophistication we can scarcely begin to understand, certainly capable of understanding the current status of a city. Is there a meaningful differentiation here, at least in terms of evaluating its current condition? Is it possible that such thinking machines cannot acknowledge that a dead world is a dead world, a ruin a ruin, whether that status was caused by war five thousand centuries ago or slow decay in the millennia since?

Was this planet invaded by some outside force? Or was it torn apart by internal strife, a civil war that set its people against each other? I came in search of technology, but now I find myself intrigued by the history of this ancient race. I long to learn more about them, to understand what happened here so long ago…

X48 System – Planet II

In the Ruins of “New York City”

The Fleet: 136 ships, 30,304 crew

“No, Dr. Cutter…it is out of the question.” Duncan Frasier stood two meters away, his helmet retracted and a scowl on his face. In his armor, he towered over Cutter, and he stared down at the scientist with focused eyes. “I understand you are anxious to proceed with your research, but in case you hadn’t noticed, my Marines just fought a battle against several hundred enemy warbots. And we haven’t even penetrated the surface. Who knows what’s waiting down there? It’s simply not safe.”

Cutter didn’t look like the type who would argue toe to toe with a Marine the size of Frasier, but he took a step forward and sunk into him nevertheless. “Major, I understand your rationale…and in a vacuum I might even agree with it. You speak of danger? Have we experienced anything else since we were trapped out here? Indeed, since the First Imperium first invaded human space?” Cutter’s voice was raw, edgy. He was getting tired of the military types, of the blinders they sometimes seemed to wear when making decisions. And on their notion that they had an exclusive market on courage, on taking risks to help save their comrades.

“Of course we have all been in danger, Doctor, but facing the everyday risk and marching into an unknown set of tunnels…and almost certainly into the teeth of more resistance, is another matter. If I let your people go alone, you won’t stand a chance. And if I send my people with you, they’ll be walking blind into a deathtrap.”

“Your men are doomed already, Major.” Cutter held Frasier’s stare, even as a look of anger flashed across the Marine’s face. He clearly didn’t like being told his people were doomed. “Not just your people, Major, but the entire fleet…from Admiral Compton on down to the most junior spacer bilging radioactives out of the flushtubes. We’re
all
doomed…unless we can learn from our enemy, adapt their technology to our own uses.”

The anger drained from Frasier’s face. “Look, Hieronymus, I understand what you are saying, but don’t you feel there is a point where the danger is simply too great? Where the potential gains are outweighed by the risk?”

“Certainly, Major. That is true in many circumstances. But not this one. Whatever chance we have, it depends on our assimilating our enemy’s technology. Indeed, you know well we would all be six months dead by now if we hadn’t gained control of the enemy Colossus. How dangerous do you think that expedition was? You know better than most. You were there.”

Frasier fell silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed hard and said, “Yes, Doctor, I do know. But does the payoff of one wild gamble automatically mean that another is justified?” The assurance in his tone was faltering.

“No, it does not. Neither does it mean it is not justified.” Cutter hesitated, his eyes holding Frasier’s weakening but still resolute gaze. “But we have no alternative, Major. None with any hope of more than transitory success. We move deeper into enemy space, not through it. This is obvious from the increasing size of the ruined cities on the planets we pass…though I could offer you other proofs as well if this is not adequate.”

Frasier shook his head. “No, I don’t need any other proof.” There was dejection in his voice, the beginnings of defeat.

“The fleet is weaker than it was at X18…and it was weaker going into that battle than it was when it was first trapped in X2. We have fewer vessels…we have lost a third of our crews. Our ships have expended all their missile ordnance, and we have managed to replace only a small fraction of what we need…and that using haphazard materials likely to experience considerable failure rates. We have lost fighters, attack ships…battleships.”

Frasier just stared back for a moment. Then he said, “Yet still, we fight on, Doctor. We do not surrender, we do not give up hope. And we do not take reckless gambles, hoping they will pay off.”

Cutter held back a sigh. He respected the Marines…and the spacers as well. Their courage during the past year had been admirable, but what he was speaking of had nothing to do with bravery, even with martial skill. He was talking about mathematical certainty…or something close to it.

“Major, I don’t think you understand what I am saying, not completely. I am not saying things will be difficult if we do not obtain the technology we need. I am saying we have no chance. None at all.” He paused, but his eyes didn’t drop from Frasier’s gaze. “If we do not discover enough scientific knowledge to reset this paradigm, the best we can hope for is a slow but steady withering…and our more likely fate is a faster destruction, probably as soon as the enemy launches another major attack.” He paused. “This is not a guess, not a series of guesses…it is as complete an analysis of the variables that we face as it is possible to undertake. We must change the dynamic, we must find new weapons, or something else that will alter the situation…or we all face almost certain death.”

“You cannot know that, Doctor. You are asking me to risk all of your people, the most vital scientific minds in the fleet…along with my Marines. To send them all into deadly danger. That is a certainty.”

“I know it, Major. I have spent hours reviewing our situation, our options. Courage, skill, determination…they all play a role in war, often a major one. But as a Marine you know yourself that the mathematics of war ultimately asserts itself. You saw the fleet in X2, the vast numbers of vessels deployed there…you have some idea of what we face, out there somewhere. Do not be fooled because we have managed to elude the enemy’s main forces for a time. Eventually, we will again face a fleet we cannot hope to defeat, not without resources and abilities we do not yet possess. I do not say we do not walk into danger, that we do not face the possibility of destruction if we move deeper into the ruins. I say doing so is our only hope.”

Frasier stood and looked silently back at Cutter. He didn’t argue, but he didn’t acquiesce either, and his face was twisted in a confused grimace.

“Duncan, Hieronymus is right. I understand all you say, but you are in the forefront of the ground fighting…you don’t see our situation from every angle.” Ana had been standing quietly, but now she spoke up, stepping toward Frasier and putting her hand on his armored shoulder. “You are almost certainly right…your people will minimize their risk, the risk of the entire expedition, if we simply leave the city and return to base camp. But the scenario that provides the greatest safety for those of us here in the short term is not necessarily consistent with the course of action that gives our people as a whole a chance at survival.”