Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (6 page)

He turned and looked around the table. “There are traces of radiation in certain locations. They are consistent with what we’d expect to find after the detonation of fusion and anti-matter weaponry…about half a million years after the fact.” He paused to let his words sink in.

“After gathering these readings, Commander Fujin took her craft into orbit and collected some visual intelligence. If you’ll move to images five through eleven you will see what she was able to obtain.”

There were a few soft gasps, but otherwise the room was silent.

“Yes,” Compton said, reinforcing what he knew they had all realized. “These cities were not left to slowly decay. They were destroyed. In battle.” He paused again. “Whatever happened here, it was different from the fates of the other worlds we have passed. Those all seemed…abandoned, for lack of a better word. The cities were ruins, but that was time’s work. All of our analysis suggests that they were intact when the people disappeared. We have long wondered what happened to the people of the First Imperium, what could have caused them to abandon their homes en masse…or die off so suddenly. We have considered many possibilities. Disease, reproductive issues, some sort of mass insanity…even religious fanaticism. To that list, we must now add another possibility. War.”

“It certainly looks like there was fighting on this planet, sir.” James Preston was the commander of the fleet’s Marines, and a veteran of more than one bloody conflict. “But how do we explain the other worlds? Billions lived there, and we found no signs of significant conflict.”

Compton sighed. “I can’t answer that, Colonel.” He looked out across the table. “I’m hoping some of the people in this room can provide me with some hypotheses given the time to review this material. But that is not our primary issue right now. There is only a single question we must answer at this meeting.
Is
planet two suitable, both for the growth of crops and for research?”

He looked around the table, his eyes pausing first on Barcomme. “Commander? Your mission in the most vital in many ways. We cannot take the risks we are taking only to find out that the planet is not suitable for producing the crops we require.”

Barcomme was staring down at the ‘pad, but after a few seconds she looked up and turned toward Compton. “I believe it is very suitable. I’d normally be concerned about the radioactives, but after half a million years, I wouldn’t expect any problems. Of course, we don’t know if there were any other contaminants that resulted from the fighting, but the planet is damned near perfect in distance from the sun, climate…” She glanced back at the ‘pad for a few seconds before she turned back to Compton. “I say yes.” Another pause. “And, to be extremely candid, I’d be hesitant to waste any more time if we don’t absolutely have to. We’re going to be looking at some pretty unpleasant rationing as it is.”

Compton nodded. Then he turned toward Cutter. “Hieronymus?”

Cutter was silent for a few seconds. “Well, sir, if the cities are all destroyed, rather than simply decayed by time, we may find it more difficult to find intact artifacts. This is, of course, of considerable concern. However, if there was widespread war on this planet, it is possible that we will find much remaining equipment from that conflict. And I suspect the First Imperium is no different from us in one respect…the leading edge of technology is employed in war.”

The scientist hesitated again, flashing a glance toward Barcomme. “It’s a gamble either way, sir, but if Dr. Barcomme thinks the planet is suitable for her needs, my advice is to proceed.”

Compton nodded. “I am inclined to agree with both of you. I’m uncomfortable with this entire operation, but I’d just as soon complete it as quickly as possible.” He looked around the table again. “Does anyone disagree? Any comments?”

There was a ripple of nodding heads, but no one spoke.

“Very well,” Compton said. “It is decided. Commander Barcomme, Dr. Cutter, you will both plan your expeditions immediately. I would like everything ready to go in forty-eight hours.”

“Admiral, that is…yes, sir.” Barcomme’s objection died mid-sentence. Everyone present, including her, knew that the fleet couldn’t remain in X48 for long, especially not with the danger that the expedition could accidently alert the enemy. It was an unspoken fact, but one everyone present well understood. Those going down to the surface were expendable, at least more so than the fleet itself, and once they were landed, they would be on their own. When they were ready to return, enough ships would be dispatched to collect them, and the food and artifacts they hoped to bring back. But the fleet would be gone, waiting in some system farther ahead…distant enough to escape the cataclysm if anyone triggered an alarm that reached an enemy base.

“Hieronymus?” Compton shifted his gaze to the scientist.

“My people will be ready, Admiral.” He didn’t sound much happier about the time constraints than Barcomme had, but he didn’t ask for more either.

“Very well then…it is decided. Now, before we adjourn…I know there is much work to be done before the expedition departs. I would like to remind everyone just how potentially dangerous this mission will be. Hieronymus, I know you are anxious to discover as much as possible about the First Imperium, but I caution you—no, I order you—to exert the utmost caution. You must be very careful what you disturb and take every effort not to trigger any warnings or alarms that may still be functional.”
That’s a potential advantage of a wartorn world. With any luck, systems like that were long ago destroyed
.

“Yes, Admiral. I understand.”

“And you, Commander.” His eyes moved to Barcomme. “I know you are charged with producing a massive amount of food very quickly, but I must caution against the use of too much energy. This entire operation rests on the edge of a knife. If an enemy vessel should pass through the system and detect power generation, the fate of the expedition will be likely be sealed.” He had a hitch in his throat, a momentary reaction as he thought about the danger she was walking into. “And with it the fleet’s…for we wait on the success of your efforts, upon which hinge our hopes for survival.”

“I understand, Terrance.” She slipped and used his first name, but if anyone noticed or thought it was odd, they didn’t let on. “We will be careful.”

“Good.” Compton stared down the table, to the hulking form at the opposite end. “Colonel Preston?”

“Yes, sir!” Preston replied, his voice cracking like a whip. James Preston was a Marine, through and through, and he looked and sounded every bit the part.

“I want you to command the ground forces. You will leave four companies for shipboard duty, and take the rest of the Marines with you.” The fleet had some other ground forces, an understrength orta of Janissaries, some Europan and RIC mobile forces. But Compton had faith in his own Marines, and this operation was too important to make decisions based on anything but tactical ability. A homogeneous force of Marines would operate better in a crisis situation than some multi-national conglomeration designed to salve the egos of the fleet’s nationalities. Compton had seen the Marines in action many times, and if anyone could keep his people on the ground safe—keep Sophie safe—it was Preston and his leathernecks.

“Yes, Admiral.” Then, a few seconds later, “Don’t worry, sir. The Marines will see it done. Whatever happens.”

“I have no doubt of that, Colonel.” He looked at Barcomme then at Cutter. “Colonel Preston will be in overall command of the expedition. I want both of you to understand this…his orders are final, and they are to be obeyed without question…as if they are coming from my own lips. Understood?”

“Yes,” Barcomme replied. “Understood.”

Compton stared at Cutter. “Hieronymus?”

“Yes,” the scientist replied, a little more grudgingly than Barcomme. “Understood.”

*    *    *

“Max, thank you for coming. I know it’s late. Come in…sit.” Compton was seated at a chair just inside the door. The room was mostly dark, just a single fixture on a dim setting throwing off any light at all. Max Harmon stood in the doorway, a dark shadow against the bright illumination from the corridor.

Harmon stepped into the room, and the door slid shut behind him. “Of course, sir. Whatever you need.” He stood at attention, just inside the room.

“For the love of God, Max, sit. I’m getting tired just looking at you standing there like that.” Compton had called Harmon in the middle of the night, something he knew was not conducive to his recent campaign to get his aide to relax more. But he’d made a decision, and he wanted to tell Harmon. He’d expressly told the aide not to worry about what he was wearing, just to come however he was. But somehow, Harmon looked ready for a parade inspection, his uniform spotless and perfectly pressed, and every hair on his head exactly where it belonged, as if each of them had been ordered to lay neatly and wouldn’t dare disobey.

He is his mother’s son, isn’t he?

Compton waited while Harmon sat in the chair opposite his own. The captain almost looked more uncomfortable in the seat than he had standing ramrod straight a few seconds before. Compton would have told himself his aide would lose that perfect discipline when he saw some real action…but Max Harmon had been in enough tough battles to melt the heart of a lesser man.
And still, there he is, at 3am ship’s time, looking like an image of spot on perfection
.

“Max, I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course, sir. Whatever you wish.”

“I want you to go with the expedition.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“I don’t want you to stay. I need you here. But I have to know everything is in place and going well. I want you to stay a week and then come back and report.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“I’m detaching
Wolverine
. She will stay in orbit with a skeleton crew and wait for you. She’s one of the fastest ships left in the fleet, and I’ve authorized her commander to burn as much fuel as necessary to catch up with us.”

“Very well, sir.” A pause. “If that is all, sir, I should go get ready. The expedition is set to depart in four hours.”

“Yes, Max. And thank you. I’d like to land myself and have a look around…but I can’t risk something like that again. And your eyes are the next closest thing to mine.”

Harmon stood up, looking almost relieved to be on his feet and at attention again. “Of course, Admiral. Don’t worry…I will bring you a complete report.”

“I’m sure you will.” He nodded and watched as the aide turned toward the door.

“And Max?”

Harmon stopped and turned back toward Compton. “Sir?”

“I need that report no matter what. And I need you too.” Compton paused. “So if the expedition runs into trouble, if there is heavy fighting…your orders are to leave immediately and come back and report to me.”

Harmon paused, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Of course, sir. As you command.” His voice was sharp, almost stilted, despite his obvious efforts to hide his feelings about making a run for it while the landing party was under attack.

“Very well, Max. Now go and get ready. I’ll speak with you again before you leave.”

“Sir!” Harmon snapped, and then he turned and walked out of the room.

I know, Max. I understand how hard it will be if you have to leave—to run—while your comrades are fighting…and perhaps dying. But I must know what is happening down there, and all the more if disaster strikes.

He sighed and looked across the dimly-lit room.

Civilians must imagine that fighting is the hardest thing we do, facing our fears and plunging into the maelstrom. But it is not. Not for officers like us, Max. No, for us, abandoning our brethren is the worst nightmare…yet if that is what duty demands of us, then we have no choice. For duty is first, above all things
.

Chapter Four

Command Unit Gamma 9736

The humans paused their advance in system 17411. Their fleet then halted for an extended period before continuing on through the warp gate to system 17419. This is unexpected behavior. They recently paused to refine fusionables for their primitive energy generation systems, and based on an analysis of their vessels and the extraction system they were able to construct, they should not require additional fuel at this time. Even if they did, perhaps in the instance of some leakage or malfunction we have not detected, system 17411 is an unlikely choice. It has a single gas giant, one that is notably poor in the heavy hydrogen and helium-3 their reactors require.

So why would they pause? They have proceeded on their course for a considerable period of time now, and they have not halted save to replenish their fuel supplies. So what has changed? Have they detected the stealth probes? Indeed, while possible, that seems highly unlikely. The probes are far beyond their science, and based on all data collected since we first encountered them, they have almost no ability to manipulate or even to effectively detect dark matter and energy.

Probe 4302 reported a brief passage through an abnormally dense particulate cloud, one that could have temporarily reduced its stealth capability. But the behavior of the enemy fleet since that time had been unchanged. And even if they had detected the probe, why would they stop? My analysis suggests the overwhelmingly likely reaction would be to destroy the probes if they could be located…and failing that, to accelerate their flight, to seek to escape the forces they would infer are following them. I cannot discern any rational plan that would involve remaining in place so long.

I lack the data to develop an effective hypothesis. I will send a new force to investigate. And to capture a prisoner if possible. I must know more about these creatures. The Regent’s orders are to destroy them all, but my commands do not expressly preclude analysis and questioning before termination.

Yes, I must have a prisoner. I will send the orders at once.

X48 System – Planet II

“Plymouth Rock”