Victory (21 page)

“Yes. The very first one, in fact. And its sibling. They are so close to each other that your eyes can’t separate the two.”

“And how do you keep them stable? How do you prevent them from gobbling up the entire station?”

“Proprietary information, Mr. Vice President. But I will tell you that the popular understanding of black holes is simplistic and mistaken. For instance, this singularity weighs less than a femtogram. You’d need a billion billion of these to equal a kilogram, and your average
natural
black hole is a million billion billion billion kilograms, give or take a billion billion. Needless to say, it’s quite easy to use our regular gravity plates to manipulate these—modified gravity plates, of course. But we discovered something even more interesting. You can only create them in pairs. And furthermore, what goes in one, will come out its sibling sometime later—the exact timing depending on our gravitational input parameters. And so I thought: what if we could use this to destroy the Swarm’s homeworld, even as they slept? Ensure they never come back?”

“But they came back early,” Isaacson repeated.

“So they did, but I merely adjusted the plan. I gave them the singularity technology, in exchange for my autonomy. All my top commanders, most of my top leadership, they were all infected with Swarm virus. But this technology was so valuable to them, they agreed to let me keep control over myself and my government, as well as to monitor what the Swarm network was telling my people to do—through the patriot soldier you saw earlier in that pod.”

“But why give them the technology they could use to destroy humanity?”

“Because, Mr. Vice President, I figured I could hit two birds with one stone. Two enemies with the same arrow. Your United Earth Senate and the previous administration was so perversely anti-Russian, that it became clear to me: if
I
wasn’t going to stick up for my people, no one was. The only answer was for the west to be humbled. And what better way to do that than to have the Swarm do it for me? I’m never one to do my own dirty work, Mr. Vice President. I don’t do my own laundry, I don’t scrub my own toilets. I’m certainly not going to fight my own wars. Why do that when I can get my enemies to destroy each other for me?”

Isaacson stroked his chin, regarding the shimmering light in the vacuum chamber. The occasional flashes must have been when the occasional stray air molecule got too close to the minuscule event horizon and vaporized. Or at least, that’s what he reasoned—he supposed an actual scientist would say something similar, but with larger words. “Still, Mr. Malakhov, surely you’d realize that once the Swarm finished with United Earth, they’d turn the weapons back on you. Did you really think they’d let you keep your autonomy?”

“Of course, that was a possibility. But, you see Mr. Isaacson, that would require them to still be alive at the end of the war with United Earth. Something that won’t happen. In fact, I’ve brought you here to witness the end of the Swarm.”

“
Here
? The Swarm will be eradicated here? I don’t see any fleets, and shipyards, any bases.” Isaacson turned back to look through the giant viewport at the end of the observatory. Just the planet below, turning serenely and slowly. Its vibrantly blue surface pockmarked by a few clouds. The small moon, with its field of dust and rocks, hovered in the background in a higher orbit. “Unless ... is
that
....” He pointed out the window, toward the planet.

“It is.”

Was it possible? Could it be true? Had the Russians known the location of the Swarm homeworld this whole time, and sat on the information until United Earth had been sufficiently broken that Malakhov could end the war and destroy the Swarm, assured in the knowledge that Russian hegemony over humanity would never be seriously challenged for centuries? Millenia?

Impossible. The Swarm would never have entrusted Malakhov with knowledge of the homeworld’s location. Even they weren’t that stupid. They were probably leading Malakhov along, letting him believe it was their home.

“So, you’re just going to shoot your own singularities down there? Is that what this station is for?”

Malakhov waved a hand. “Of course not. I told you, I don’t do my own dirty work. I’ll let the Swarm do it for me. You’re forgetting, Mr. Isaacson, the singularities come in pairs. What goes in one, comes out the other. The Swarm have been using these things for months, ravaging the surfaces of dozens of worlds. Sucking up billions of billions of tons of material. But, here’s the secret, Mr. Isaacson. I only ever gave them
half
of the singularities. The other half—all the siblings—I kept here. Or rather,
there
,” he said, pointing out the viewport.

Toward the moon.

Isaacson stood up and walked toward the glass, following Malakhov’s finger. And then he finally noticed something odd. It wasn’t a moon, drifting distantly in its orbit, hundreds of thousands of kilometers away. It was much closer than he’d realized.

Now that he focused on it, he could see it was enormous. It seemed to have its own hazy atmosphere, though Isaacson supposed that was just dust and debris colliding with each other, grinding down to ever smaller particles, clinging tentatively to the ball of rocks through their weak gravitational pull.

But that wasn’t all. It was growing. Right before Isaacson’s eyes he saw a flash, and another giant ball of material appeared a few kilometers away, tumbling and swirling as it fell down into the maelstrom of rock and debris.

“Have you ever wondered what a small moon striking the surface of a planet looks like? They say that’s how the Earth’s moon was created—a large planetoid struck Earth with such terrifying force, that enough material was sloughed off to form a satellite, leaving a molten hellish planet behind. Of course,
this
moon isn’t quite as big, but it should do the trick.”

“Haven’t the Swarm seen this? Surely they'll try to stop it.”

“That’s the thing with the singularities, Eamon. I’ve timed them all to arrive here, at this moment, no matter their place or time of origin. The debris moon has only been forming for the last few hours, and is nearly complete. And has the Swarm noticed it? Will they do something about it? What can they do? By the end of the day that debris moon’s orbit will decay and the whole thing will slam into Penumbra Three, eradicating every living thing within a hundred kilometers of the surface.”

Isaacson stared at the ever-growing cluster of rocks and debris in awe. He could only imagine the utter destruction such a large mass would trigger when it collided with the planet below. The atmosphere would ignite, the upper crust would liquefy into an ocean of lava. Nothing could possibly survive.
 

He really was going to eradicate the Swarm.

Chapter Forty-Five

Bridge, ISS Warrior

Interstellar Space, 2.4 Lightyears From Sirius

There was nothing he could do but watch, helplessly. Impact would be in seconds. No time to call Norton, to plead with him. No time to move the
Warrior
to intercept.

No time.

The explosion was tremendous. Spectacular. Blinding.

And just like that, the Old Bird, which he had thought was being repaired and retrofitted back on Earth, was gone.

Again.

The dreadnought was belching flame, molten metal, debris, wreckage, twisted metal and solid, glowing chunks of hull. Even though the massive ship was nearly a hundred kilometers long, it began to list and rotate as it absorbed the momentum of the
Constitution
, which had come in with terrifying velocity.

And he felt someone screaming in the back of his mind. Someone nearby.

It was Krull, he knew. She was feeling the death throes of her people. Not just the tens of thousands aboard the dreadnought, living their exterior lives, but the billions of Skiohra still living their interior lives inside the mothers.

Genocide.

“Get me Norton back,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“You’re on, Captain,” replied Prucha.

“Norton, you bastard, what have you done?”

“What have I done, Granger? I’m winning.”

“You’ve killed billions of innocent Skiohra lives—”

“
Innocent
Skiohra lives? You’re delusional, Tim. They’ve got you. They’re in your head. Think about it. Why have the Skiohra only barely fired on the Swarm? They haven’t destroyed a single carrier, and the reason why is obvious. They’ve been playing you.” There was crosstalk on the other end of the comm, and then Norton continued, “there, see? Now the dreadnought is firing on us. How do you explain
that
, Granger?”

Granger glanced at the tactical display—it was true, several antimatter beams shot out from the dreadnought toward Delta Wing.

“It’s clearly self-defense. We were the aggressors here, not the Skiohra.”

“Bullshit, Granger. Treasonous bullshit. Now, your orders are to continue—”

The transmission cut out. On the display, several beams stretched out from the dreadnought toward the
ISS Lincoln
, though at such a large distance the beams were more diffuse. Still, the damage probably knocked out Norton’s commlink for the time being.

It was a disaster. The front twenty kilometers of the dreadnought was utterly devastated, with a
Constitution
-sized hole in it. The remains of his old beloved ship had blown out the back, in the form of dozens of chunks of molten tungsten. The Skiohra, as evidenced by the still-screaming presence of Krull in the back of his mind, were enraged, the Swarm was pounding Delta Wing and Zingano’s efforts with Alpha Wing had started to go south.
 

Pure, utter disaster.

“We’re going to lose the war,” he muttered. He no longer cared who heard him.

Proctor had come up behind him. “The marines might still take the ship....”

Granger shook his head. “No. They won’t. You didn’t see Krull fight. It took half a platoon to restrain her. And she was unarmed. Our boys don’t stand a chance, no matter how many of them the Old Bird took out.”

The
Warrior
had been pounding the nearest Swarm carrier with mag-rail slugs, and now that it was in the midst of the formation locking down Delta Wing, the IDF ships had a chance to regroup. Half of them went to the aid of the
Lincoln
. The other half formed a two pronged trident line that Zingano favored in his engagements, and re-engaged the Swarm formation of carriers.

“Tim,” Proctor said. Her voice had changed. Whereas before she’d sounded like she was trying to keep hope alive, this time she was resigned. “Look. Zingano and Alpha Wing.”

While the
Warrior
had been busy assisting Delta Wing, the tide had turned for Alpha. Ship after ship exploded. The rest were flanked by fifteen surviving Swarm carriers, who’d backed them up into the dreadnought, which was shooting out the occasional antimatter beam as well.
Victory
was getting hammered.

Warrior
bucked beneath them. Its underside was a wreck, with hull breaches reaching all the way up to engineering. Half its mag-rails were gone. None of the laser turrets were operational. They’d never even had the chance to try out the new experimental antimatter torpedoes that IDF Armaments had stocked them with on Avery’s orders, as all the launch tubes were destroyed.

They were on their last leg.

Granger punched the comm. “Mr. Pierce. It’s time for some fancy brickwork from our pilots. Are they ready?”

Silence.

“Mr. Pierce, please respond.”

The comm link was open, and he even thought he heard background noises, possibly heavy breathing, but there was no response. He glanced up at Proctor.
Now what
?

“Get down there, Shelby.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Fighter Bay, ISS Warrior

Interstellar Space, 2.4 Lightyears From Sirius

Proctor ran. Even as the hallways shook, buckling under the sustained fire from the Swarm carriers, she sprinted to the fighter bay, leaping over fallen girders, strewn battle debris, and even two injured crew members, bloody from being tossed against bulkheads.

Less than a minute later she burst into the fighter bay. The deck chief looked up in surprise from haranguing a young tech who was refueling a fighter. She dashed toward the CAG’s office, but nearly collided with the door when it did not open automatically for her. The door control was unresponsive.

Cursing, she looked up to the window, just above her head, where the CAG and his crew could look out at deck operations as they directed traffic and tactical operations. “You!” she called to a tech nearby, who was busy opening a new container of fighter ordnance. “Roll that over here. Now!”

Flustered and red-faced, the young woman pushed the large wheeled box of rounds toward. the window. Proctor joined her, pulling on it, guiding it into position.

She jumped on top, craning her neck to peer up into the fighter deck operations center.

Commander Pierce was alone. Sitting in his chair next to the console. She could barely hear Granger’s voice yelling out of the comm speaker.

On Pierce’s lap was a photograph.

In his hands was a gun. He stared at it.

“NO!” she yelled. Pounding on the window.

His head jerked up toward her. His eyes were swollen and red. His face tormented and twisted.

Oh god
, she thought. She saw in his eyes only one thing.

Hopelessness. He’d given up. The pain had consumed him.

He’d made his choice.

“NO!” she shouted again, pounding on the window. “Pierce, we need you!”

But it was too late. His hand trembled as it brought the gun up to his mouth. His eyes shut.

Even from behind the window the shot rang in her ears. A stream of red followed the bullet when it came out the top. He jerked, and slumped. Blood poured from his nose.

She leaned her forehead against the window, still pounding on the glass with a fist, and, for the first time since the first invasion of Earth, she cried.

Granger is right. We’re going to lose.

Chapter Forty-Seven