Homeworld (Odyssey One) (66 page)

It took a long, arduous search through available records to find the last time anything like this had struck them. The only match on record was a natural disaster, the result of cleansing a system circling a previously uncharted pulsar star. Had they left that system alone for just another day, the star itself would have done their job for them.

Here, however, there was no sign of similar carnage on the rest of the system. Just the utter devastation wrought across the ships of the swarm, harkened only by the arrival of a vessel they recognized as the ship that led them to this system in the first place.

It had led them into a trap, clearly, but never in their entire existence had any species baited a trap quite so well.

They would proceed, despite the losses, despite the ambush, because deep in this system was a world so
contaminated
by the red band that the swarm could not suffer it to exist for one moment longer than possible.

Another species might have withdrawn, reconsidered the situation, and reexamined the problem. They might have bided the time, studied the system, and devised a new strategy for its eventual defeat or destruction.

The swarm, however, only knew that the targeted world had to be destroyed, and it only knew the one way to accomplish its task.

Whatever stood in its way would fall. The world would fall.

Everything fell to the swarm, either quickly or slowly. Time didn’t matter.

The ships of the swarm slipped back into formation behind the screen of their drones, and then began to press onward toward the ships that were falling toward a distant red world that stank of the crimson band. It was not so filth-encrusted as the third world, the primary target, but it too would have to be destroyed.

The entire system would have to go, leaving only the star here to burn alone in the endless black.

N.A.C.S.
ODYSSEY

“GUNNERS REPORT THE transition cannons are reloaded, magazines are refilled,” Roberts reported. “This will be our last hurrah with those, sir. We’ve got nothing left below decks to spend when these are gone.”

Eric nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Commander.”

“Captain, transmission from the commodore.”

“To my station, Lieutenant.”

Commodore Wolfe’s face flickered into being on the screen by Eric’s right hand, slightly garbled by the radiation interference caused by the
Weifang
’s unorthodox reentry into the system.

“Captain, by the time you receive this we should be packing up the last evacuation shuttle from the surface. We’ve primed the automated defenses and set them to engage any ship without a Confederate IFF signal, so keep your allies clear of Mars if you possibly can. If you can’t, well, I’ve sent the necessary codes to deactivate the system, but we just don’t have time to recode our IFF system to recognize your alien friends, let alone that Block battleship you’ve got with you.”

Wolfe was speaking seriously from the launch hangar of the Martian base, Barsoom. Behind him the action was frenetic, people rushing back and forth as they tried to load the shuttles and get them into the atmosphere as quickly as they could.

“We’ve got enough firepower here to splash a fair-size Block task force. Use it if you can,” Wolfe said finally. “Good luck, Eric. Wolfe out.”

Eric scowled at the screen, mind tackling the new issue of proper application of resources versus the need to protect his allies.

“We’re going to have to split our forces,” he finally admitted unhappily.

Roberts nodded. “Yes sir. How do we do it without losing too many of our pursuers?”

Eric glanced at the screens and shook his head. “Somehow, I don’t feel that’s going to be a problem.”

He thumbed open a comm, glancing over at Winger. “Give me ship to ship, Lieutenant. The
Posdan
, if you please.”

“Aye, sir. Ship to ship is online.”

“Captain Kian,” he started, “would you be able to help pull the
Weifang
clear of the fight?”

“Yes, Captain. That will not be a large issue, so long as we’re not overwhelmed by enemy forces.”

“The
Odyssey
and the
Enterprise
will try to draw them away,” Eric said. “I’ve a feeling that this group isn’t really feeling all that rational at the moment and I want to capitalize on that.”

“I…see?”

Eric smiled. The other captain’s tone made it quite clear that she did
not
, but that was fine. If she survived, she’d learn.
One of the silver linings of battle, he supposed. Learning time was very much compressed.

Much smaller graduating classes, though.

The thrum of the fighter around him was just what the doctor ordered, and Stephanos could hardly wait for it to turn into the angry buzz of an Archangel reaping the battlefield. His wing was shorthanded, but they were still the very best the Confederation had to offer, and that was just fine with him.

“By the numbers,” he ordered. “Cover the
Odyssey
and keep an eye out for kamikaze attacks.”

“You got it, Steph,” Burner said simply. “God, there’s a lot of them.”

The man ain’t wrong,
Steph thought dryly, eyes on the screens with wary trepidation.

The angry red of hostile contacts was a smear of blood across his screen. The computer couldn’t tell the damn things apart at this range and he couldn’t even get a decent count of the enemy capital ships due to their fighter covering. This wasn’t your everyday fight for the Archangels, or for anyone, he hoped, but so be it.

If it were to be the last stand of the human race, or those from Earth at any rate, then let it be said that the Archangels flew over the battle and reaped the enemy to the last.

I just rather would prefer that it be
their
last, not ours.

For the moment they had some lead time on the enemy fleet, but that wouldn’t last. Not while they were towing a crippled ship, at least. Steph shot a glance over to where the
Weifang
was being pulled back, and noted one of the big Priminae ships moving into place nearby.

Might be that we’ll be able to pick up a little more speed than I thought,
he supposed, though it was hard to say. The Priminae ship had the power, no doubt about that, but he didn’t know how the physics of actually hauling another ship around worked.

His fighter chimed at him, bringing his attention to the HUD and the new orders appearing on the screen.

Whoa. That’s an order I haven’t seen in a
long
time. Captain must really hate these guys,
Steph thought with a bit of a grin.

“Alright, Angels, we’ve got our marching orders,” he drawled over the tactical network. “The name of the play is Fury. Cardsharp, you’re with me. Break.”

The Angels peeled away from the
Odyssey
, rapidly accelerating back
toward
the cloud of enemy fighters charging in their direction without an apparent care in the world.

N.A.C.S.
ENTERPRISE