Ep.#8 - "Celestia: CV-02" (23 page)

“Combat, Captain! Load a full spread of nukes and prepare to launch on the cruiser as we pass. Lock all quads on the frigate and pound them.”

“
Loading nukes and preparing to launch,
” Commander Nasser answered over the comm-set. “
Locking all quads on the frigate and firing
.”

“Twenty seconds until our missiles reach the frigate,” Lieutenant Eckert reported. “Point-defenses are firing on the incoming missiles.”

“Incoming missiles have powered up their propulsion systems, Captain,” Ensign Kono reported from the sensor station. “They’re trying to climb with us.”

Captain Christopoulos looked at the forward view screen as the Earth’s distant horizon fell slowly away from them, sinking lower and lower down the screen. “Keep climbing,” he mumbled.

“Ten seconds to impact on the frigate,” the lieutenant reported. “Thirty seconds until the cruiser’s missiles reach us.”

The captain looked to the tactical display on the left view screen. The icons representing the incoming missiles began to slowly blink out of existence as the Intrepid’s point-defense rounds fragmented and intercepted the incoming missiles from the cruiser.

“Direct hit on the frigate!” Lieutenant Eckert reported from the tactical station behind the captain.

The captain’s attention was still fixed on the incoming icons on the tactical display as the count of incoming missiles continued to drop. Five icons, then four, then three.

“Three missiles have breached our perimeter,” the lieutenant announced. “Impact in fifteen seconds.”

Captain Christopoulos continued watching the tactical display without responding. The three icons representing the incoming missiles continued to close on the center of the display where the Intrepid was located. “All hands prepare for impact,” he ordered in routine fashion. A few more seconds passed and the icons continued to approach the center of the map. “Damage to the frigate?”

“She took two missiles in her bow,” Lieutenant Eckert reported. “She lost all forward maneuvering and half her point-defenses are down.”

“Continue pounding her with our quads,” the captain ordered calmly, his eyes still fixed on the tactical display. The three icons began to move back, no longer closing on the center of the display.

“They can’t make the turn in time,” Ensign Kono stated in amazement. “They can’t climb fast enough.” She looked at the captain. “How did you know, sir?”

“I didn’t,” the elderly captain admitted. He touched his comm-set. “Combat, launch all missiles on the cruiser and reload with conventionals.”

“
Launching all missiles on the cruiser and reloading, aye,
” the commander answered over the comm-set.

“Sixteen nukes away,” Lieutenant Eckert reported. “Time to target: one minute.”

“Missiles have passed behind us, sir,” Ensign Kono reported.

“Cancel the impact alert,” the captain ordered. “Helm, kill the mains and pitch back down. Fire deceleration thrusters and bring us back down to previous orbital altitude.” The captain smiled. “We may have to try that trick again on the next group.”

“Secondary explosions in the frigate, sir,” the sensor officer reported. “Whoa! Our guns must have hit something! She’s coming apart!”

“Put her on screen and magnify,” the captain ordered. There was something about seeing his enemy being blown apart that made the event much more satisfying. It seemed a sad commentary to Captain Christopoulos but an accurate one nonetheless. He watched in amazement along with his crew. The frigate exploded into several large pieces as they passed high above her. “Be sure to remember where our guns hit her to cause those secondaries,” the captain said. “For all we know, that could be their Achilles heel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Combat, Captain. Retarget the quads on the cruiser and open fire.”

“
Aye, sir.
”

“Twenty seconds to missile impact,” Lieutenant Eckert announced.

“Target is firing point-defenses,” the sensor officer reported.

Once again, Captain Christopoulos began the ritual of watching the icons representing his missiles disappear from the tactical display as the enemy cruiser’s point-defense systems intercepted them one by one. It seemed such a wasteful way to wage war; firing countless missiles in the hope that at least one or two would slip past the hundreds of thousands of fragmenting point-defense rounds that the target used to defend itself. By the captain’s count, they had fired half their complement of missiles in order to kill a sum total of six ships, and hopefully a seventh. Assuming the Volkov and the Zhang-Ti were able to successfully repel the remaining cruisers bound for Earth, that left the Intrepid with nine more ships to defeat.

“Four missiles have made it past their point-defenses!” Lieutenant Eckert reported.

Captain Christopoulos sat up straighter, as four nuclear weapons were about to strike the Jung cruiser. “Put the target on the main view screen and filter for the blasts.”

The view screen suddenly filled with the image of the Jung cruiser passing a few hundred kilometers below them, the Earth slowly rotating underneath her. A moment later, four intense, white flashes appeared, blocking their view of the cruiser for what seemed an eternity. When the flashes cleared, there was little left that resembled a ship. Debris spread out in all directions. The force of the blasts had propelled some of it downward toward the Earth with such speed that they were already beginning to burn up as they hit the atmosphere below. Again he felt the surge of satisfaction, having dispatched another ship belonging to those who would attack his world in hope of conquest.

“Helm, continue on to the next battle group and maintain orbital altitude.”

“Aye, sir,” Ensign Hunt answered.

“How long until we reach the next group?” the captain asked.

“On counter orbit, ten minutes,” Lieutenant Eckert answered.

“Message from Fleet, sir,” Lieutenant Chara reported from the comm station. His voice suddenly changed, as if someone had sucked the life from him. “The Volkov has been destroyed. Two Jung cruisers still inbound for Earth. The Zhang-Ti will engage at any moment.”

“Damn,” Captain Christopoulos swore.

CHAPTER NINE

Rear Admiral Duncan’s expression soured as he read the message handed to him by one of the Fleet command center’s communications officers.

“What is it, Marty?” Admiral Galiardi asked.

“FTL comm-runner from the Zhang-Ti. She’s engaging the last two Jung cruisers just inside the orbit of Mars, about five light minutes out from Earth.”

“Two? That means the Volkov destroyed another cruiser,” the admiral realized. “That makes it an even engagement. If they can finish them off, this whole thing may swing our way…” The admiral paused, noticing the dour look on his friend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“The Zhang-Ti also reports that the Volkov was destroyed a few minutes before they arrived. She was cut in half. There were no survivors.”

“What about escape pods?”

“They shot them down as well.”

“Jesus,” the admiral said under his breath. He looked at the tactical map on the main display screen that filled the far wall, taking note of the Celestia’s estimated position based on her last known course and speed at the time she ceased her main engine burn and went cold to avoid detection by the Jung. “She’s not moving fast enough,” the admiral mumbled.

“Who’s not moving fast enough?” Rear Admiral Duncan asked.

“The Celestia,” the admiral said, pointing at the tactical display. “At her current speed, if we lose this battle, the Jung will be able to find her with active sensors in a relatively short time. She needs to do another burn, a big one, and soon.”

The admiral looked at the tactical display again. “How long until those two Jung battle groups on the far side come around and get line of sight on the Celestia again?”

“The first one will have line of sight in ten minutes,” Rear Admiral Duncan said. “The second one will be about half an hour.”

“Where will the other group be in ten to fifteen minutes, the one that is still on the same side as the Celestia?”

“The ships that the Intrepid is currently closing on will lose line of sight on the Celestia by then,” Rear Admiral Duncan explained, realizing what his friend was really asking.

“When that group goes behind the Earth, will all three groups be behind her at the same time?”

“No, sir. Battle group four will have line of sight at the same time as battle group two for at least five minutes.”

“Then the Intrepid must take out group two as soon as possible,” the admiral said.

“I’m pretty sure that was their plan, Admiral.”

“No, I mean they
must
, as in
at all costs.
” The admiral looked over at the icons representing the two Jung cruisers just inside the orbit of Mars, still on their way toward Earth. “Dispatch an FTL comm-runner with a message for the Zhang-Ti as well. Tell them they must destroy both targets by any means possible before…” The admiral paused, looking at the time display on the wall and doing some quick calculations in his head. “Before 21:25, Earth Mean Time. Tell both ships the Celestia’s escape burn must go unwitnessed by the Jung no matter what the cost.”

Rear Admiral Duncan looked suspiciously at his superior officer. “Are you saying…”

“That they should sacrifice their ships if necessary?” the admiral finished for him. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Sir, if we sacrifice both ships, we’ll be handing our world over to the Jung.”

“Then we’ll fight them on the ground as an underground resistance if necessary. We’ve prepared for that scenario…”

“Sir,” Rear Admiral Duncan protested, interrupting his superior. “I cannot believe you would be willing to sacrifice our last two warships just to save an unarmed and unfinished one.”

“There’s more to it than that, Marty,” the admiral insisted, “and you know it.”

“Yes, I know, the data cores. There’s data in there that the Jung might not yet have. It might make them unstoppable. I get that, sir. But might it not be better to destroy the Celestia and those data cores rather than sacrificing one of our last two ships?”

“We cannot lose the Celestia,” the admiral insisted, growing weary of his subordinate’s questioning of his decision.

“We’ve come a long way with the help of the Data Ark,” the rear admiral argued, “but we can figure the rest out on our own. Those ships are…”

“It’s my call! Now carry out your orders!”

Rear Admiral Duncan took in a deep breath. “No, sir, not unless you tell me why the Celestia is so important.”

Admiral Galiardi stared at his friend, his eyes full of rage.

“Don’t make me relieve you, sir,” Rear Admiral Duncan said in a low voice so that only the two of them could hear his threat.

Admiral Galiardi looked long and hard at his old friend. He knew that Martin Duncan would not have made such a threat unless he truly believed he was justified in doing so. The admiral also knew his friend well enough to know he would make good on that threat if pushed to do so.

The admiral motioned to his friend to come closer as the admiral stepped back to get out of earshot of the officers nearby. “Time is short,” the admiral began in hushed tones, “so I will make this brief. There was a top secret R and D program being run out of special projects. Two teams, both working on the same concept, both unaware of the other team’s existence. Only three people outside of the teams themselves were aware of the project’s existence: me, Admiral Yamori, and then-Senator Scott.”

“The President of the NAU?”

“It would take too long to explain,” the admiral insisted.

“What sort of project are we talking about?” Rear Admiral Duncan asked. “A weapon of some kind?”

“STS, or Superluminal Transition System. It would enable a ship to instantly jump between two distant points in space.”

“How distant?” the rear admiral asked, skepticism in his voice.

“The prototype was supposed to be able to jump up to ten light years per transition event.”

“Holy…”

“Yeah, that’s what I first said when Yamori approached me with the idea. It was based on some anomalous findings in some EM shielding research found in the Data Ark by one of our physicists.”

“That’s amazing, but I still don’t see…”

“One of the prototypes was installed on the Aurora. She was testing it when she disappeared.”

“Then it didn’t work?”

“No, it worked. She jumped to a point just outside the solar system. But somehow the Jung knew about the test and were waiting to ambush her. We believe they meant to capture her, but Captain Roberts insisted on taking at least some ordnance with him during what he thought was a simple test flight around the system. He fought back and nearly won. But the last Jung ship had an antimatter reactor failure, and it took them both out.”

“I never did buy that crap about crashing into Jupiter,” the rear admiral said. “So what does all this have to do with the Celestia?”

“The second team, using the same data as a starting point, developed a nearly identical STS prototype. When the Aurora was lost, we had it installed in the Celestia. We were hoping to have enough time to get her armed and ready for combat with a working STS unit. It would have given us an enormous tactical advantage over the Jung, maybe even enough to defeat them.”

“If the Celestia has a working STS unit…”

“The main system is installed, but the external emitter array was due to begin installation in a few days.”

“You can’t let the Jung get their hands on that ship,” Rear Admiral Duncan declared. “You have to order them to scuttle the ship.”

“We can’t,” the admiral insisted. “Don’t you see, Marty? The STS is the only hope we’ve got. There’s no way we can build enough ships to challenge the Jung using conventional technologies. The STS is our best hope of long-term survival.”

“Long term? We’ll be lucky if we make it through the day,” the rear admiral argued.

“The Celestia has enough resources on board to survive for months, maybe even years if necessary. All she has to do is get far enough away that the odds of the Jung finding her become too astronomical for them to even waste their time trying. As long as we know where she went, or should I say, where she is heading, we can retrieve her once we’re able. If we’re lucky, we’ll beat the Jung back today, send our last ship to retrieve her, and still be able to get her ready for action. A single, STS-equipped warship could potentially hold the Jung at bay long enough to build more STS-equipped warships.”

“That’s why they attacked with so few ships,” Rear Admiral Duncan suddenly realized. “They wanted to take us down before we got the STS unit working.”

“Exactly,” the admiral agreed. “They didn’t have time to wait for reinforcements.”

“You should have told me,” Rear Admiral Duncan said, looking his friend in the eyes.

“Perhaps, Marty,” the admiral admitted, “but by doing so now, I have added your name to the list of those who should not be allowed to survive once our world has been captured by the Jung.”

Rear Admiral Duncan looked at his friend, the finality of his last statement setting in. “I’ll send the message.”

Admiral Galiardi placed his hand on Marty’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”

* * *

The number of patients pouring into the hospital had become so great that the designated triage area had been moved into the parking garage adjacent to the emergency department. Cars had been pushed back against the far wall in haphazard fashion using forklifts from the supply dock, ruining many of the vehicles that they had repositioned to make more room for the constant inflow of the wounded.

The triage area had begun serving as a treatment area as well, requiring relatively inexperienced, young doctors, medical students, nurses, and medics to all perform procedures they were, in many cases, neither trained nor normally authorized to do.

The parking garage was lit with portable lights being powered from a generator parked outside the building. With the lights lined up along the inner edges of the garage, the light being cast threw strange shadows. Everywhere one looked, there was despair. Blood was everywhere—on the patients, the workers, the pavement. It was a stain that would soon be gone from neither the ground nor from the memories of those providing medical care to the injured masses.

Doctor Thornton worked frantically, moving from patient to patient and spending no more than a few seconds with each one. He tried to manage more than a hundred patients, all of them trying to survive until more definitive care could be provided. He tried not to think about the explosions in the distance, taking solace in the words of the two NAU protective agents that shadowed his every move—that there was no reason for the Jung to target hospitals. He couldn’t help but wonder, however, why the Jung were targeting the city of Vancouver in the first place. There were no significant military assets to speak of in the area, no airbases or naval shipyards. The only thing they had that made them unique was a large seaport, which could also be said of many cities along the Strait of Georgia. Yet their city was still being pounded from above, as it had been for nearly an hour.

Doctor Thornton didn’t even look up as the explosions became more frequent. He was so busy tending to his multitude of patients and shouting orders to hordes of medical workers that he didn’t realize that the explosions were growing closer.

The two protective agents did notice and began making their way through the rows of wounded, dodging medical workers as they darted back and forth amongst the patients.

“Doctor Thornton!” one of the agents called out. “Doctor Thornton!”

At first, Doctor Thornton didn’t notice his name being shouted. Someone was always shouting his name. But the voice kept repeating, and it was more insistent, and finally, it caught his attention. He turned to look in the direction of the man’s voice and saw the agents trying desperately to warn him about something. One of them signaled for him to come to them. They had been trying to get him to leave and rejoin Miri and his children in the safety of their protection in a remote location. He had told them time and again that he could not leave until the wounded were cared for, which, by current estimates, could be days. But there was something different about the behavior of the two agents this time. One of them was pointing—pointing at something behind him.

Doctor Thornton turned around and looked out the openings in the garage at the city in the distance. People around him began to whisper and mumble. “
Oh, my God,”
was the most common thing he heard repeatedly. In the distance, the explosions occurred every second, and they were coming closer at an alarming rate. They walked across their section of the city from the water northward, destroying everything within their path. The murmurs became louder and quickly turned into screams. Workers and the injured who could walk began running toward the far side of the garage. Doctor Thornton also turned and began to run, trying his best to ignore the looks of confusion and despair in the eyes of the wounded who lay helplessly on the pavement, fully conscious of both their fate and their inability to escape it.

The doctor was nearly halfway to the other side of the parking garage, heading toward the far exit at a full run with both agents flanking him on either side. A patient reached out and tried to grab his leg as he ran past, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.

“Keep moving! Keep moving!” the agent yelled.

Doctor Thornton could barely hear him over the sounds of the nearing explosions. The next one caused him to stumble yet again, and the one after that pushed at his back and threw him forward to land face down on top of an unconscious patient.

“Come on!” the agent screamed, stopping to turn back and help the doctor to his feet. The agent reached out his hand.

Another explosion struck the garage, causing the roof to collapse. Falling concrete knocked the doctor’s outstretched arm to the ground. The agent reaching back for him disappeared in a downpour of concrete and steel rods. The doctor rolled over onto his back and saw a large section of concrete ceiling directly above him crashing down. In that moment, everything flashed through his mind—his wife, Miri, their children, her voice pleading with him to leave the hospital and come be with them, and finally, his insistence that he had to stay.
I’m sorry, Miri,
he thought as the ceiling came down upon him.

* * *

Luis sat at the helm of the Celestia, studying the various displays and scrolling through the seemingly infinite number of options. Most of the options were disabled and inaccessible, undoubtedly due to the fact that the ship was unfinished. The more he investigated what was working, the more Luis realized that the Celestia was not much more than a big, empty hull with maneuvering, propulsion, and life-support systems.

What troubled him most was the question as to why Fleet was going to such lengths to protect a ship that had virtually no strategic or tactical value. There were twenty-six people on board who were cold-coasting to nowhere in particular, which made even less sense.

Luis tried to tell himself that his job was to shut up and follow orders, but such attitudes had never been his strength. He always needed to understand why he was being asked to do something—an attitude that had brought him trouble on more than one occasion.