Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (15 page)

“What is it, John? Get to the point. This isn’t like you.”

“Well, sir…Captain Steiner found an enemy vessel in X20. A Colossus.”

Compton felt his fists clench. His people had first encountered the enemy’s largest ship class in X2, and they’d retreated before engaging any of them. But his best guess was that one of the behemoths had damned near as much firepower as his entire fleet.

“What do you mean ‘found it?’ You said there was no hostile activity.”

“That’s correct, sir. No hostile activity. The ship is definitely a First Imperium Colossus, but it appears to be non-operative. It’s in orbit around the fourth planet…which also appears to have a large number of First Imperium cities on it. All apparently lifeless. Steiner’s people are getting only trace energy readings from the vessel. They think it is an antimatter containment system still functioning on some kind of reserve power. But the rest of the thing is dead, Admiral. No emissions, no sign of any other activity at all.”

“Is it badly damaged? Does it look like it’s been in a fight…or an accident of some kind?”

“Negative, sir. Steiner’s report suggests the vessel is intact. Our operating assumption is that it suffered some kind of malfunction of a critical system and shut down as a result, leaving only antimatter containment functioning, probably on some independent backup system.” Duke paused. “Of course we’re just guessing. Steiner doesn’t have the qualified staff with him to investigate further.

Compton took a deep breath. “John, how many of your ships have refueled?”

“Ten, sir,” came the reply.

“Okay…I want you to take them all into X20. And order the rest to follow as soon as they have filled their tanks. I want that system searched…and I do mean
searched
. If there is anything there, anything at all, I’m counting on you to find it. Understood?”

“Yes, Admiral.” A short pause. “You can count on us, sir. If there’s anything hiding in that system, we’ll find it.”

“I’m confident you will, Captain. Compton out.” He turned toward Cortez. “Commander, get me Admiral Dumont.”

“Yes, sir.” An instant later:  “The admiral is on your line.”

“Yes, sir?” Dumont’s gravelly voice was loud and clear through Compton’s headset.

“Barret, John Duke’s people found something in X20. A Colossus. It appears to be dead, though there is no apparent damage.”

“Some kind of critical malfunction?”

“Probably. But I don’t want to take any chances. I sent Duke and the rest of his ships to scout the system closely. But I want some power there just in case they find anything. I know your boats haven’t refueled yet, but I’d like you to move your task force into X20. Just in case.”

“Yes, sir,” Dumont snapped off a crisp acknowledgement.

Compton paused. He’d been one rung below the top spot in the Alliance’s naval chain of command for years now, but he was still uncomfortable giving orders to his old boss. He’d been wet behind the ears, the illegitimate son of a London politician adapting to life as a newly minted ensign when he’d first heard that gravelly voice issue him a command. He and Garret had both served aboard Dumont’s flagship in the early stages of the Second Frontier War.
Shiloh
had been a battleship, the biggest in the navy at the time, though barely the size of a modern heavy cruiser.

He still remembered the feeling of abject terror he’d felt, not at the prospect of facing the enemy, but at the mere approach of the legend. Barret Dumont had been a hero in his own day, just as Garret and Compton had gone on to enjoy acclaim in their own rights. Compton couldn’t remember a single instance of Dumont being anything but courteous and respectful to his junior officers, but they’d been terrorized by him nevertheless. Compton could almost feel the old sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t get too far from the warp gate…just deep enough in system to support Duke’s ships. And Barret, if you run into trouble be careful. I just want a delaying action, a fighting withdrawal. No heroics.”

“Understood, sir.”

The reply seemed sincere, but Compton remembered Dumont when his nickname among the ranks had been ‘Warhead.’ He wasn’t entirely convinced the old admiral knew how to hold back in a fight. Still, there was no one he trusted more to operate independently.

“Good luck, Barret. And keep me posted. Compton out.”

Compton sat quietly staring at the main display. He needed time…time to get the fleet refueled and on its way. A dead enemy ship wasn’t going to stop that, but he still had an uncomfortable feeling. It wasn’t like he didn’t have things to worry about—unrest in the fleet, keeping the makeshift refinery running long enough to fuel all his ships, being discovered by the enemy. If First Imperium warships came pouring out of one of the warp gates while his fleet was spread out and refueling…he didn’t even want to think about.

Time
, he thought.
I just need some time. But my gut is telling me I’m not going to get it
.

*  *  *

Compton was sitting at his desk. He was doing work of moderate importance, but he was mostly just keeping himself busy. He’d needed some quiet, some solitude—a short break from the flag bridge. It was the way his people kept looking at him. He’d noticed it since the escape from X2, and it had only been getting worse. He understood. They were lost, scared—and they looked to him for strength. And he was there to provide it. But after a while, it began to have a vampiric effect. The pressure to maintain a calm and assured persona every moment, to hide his own doubts and concerns, was exhausting. The cost of being a source of strength for everyone else was to have no support for yourself, no one to look to, no one even to listen as you put voice to your own fears.

He knew he should try to grab a few hours of sleep. He was exhausted, but that didn’t seem to matter. Every time he tried to take a nap his mind was flooded with thoughts, concerns…anything but peaceful slumber. He looked over toward the hatch leading to his bedroom, but he just shook his head. He reached out to the side of the desk, picking up one of half a dozen small white pills laying there and popping it into his mouth, swallowing it without water.

How long do you thing you can keep yourself going on stims? As long as I have to
, his thoughts answered themselves.
You need to get some sleep. If you’re not sharp, people die
. But he just shook his head.
Later
, he thought.
Later
.

He opened the side drawer and reached inside, pulling out the small image viewer. Part of him wished Elizabeth had been with his fleet instead of Garret’s, that she was with him. She’d served at his side for years, and had only recently transferred out to accept a flag command.
Her promotion was so long-delayed
, he thought.
A few more months and we wouldn’t have been separated
.

No. Wanting her here is selfish. She is back in human space, and there, the war is over. She can have a life, she can survive and find happiness one day. I would never wish her to be here, trapped with us in the endless dark
…

Compton led his people with a grim determination and as much confidence and optimism as he could manage for public consumption. But he didn’t fool himself. He would do whatever he could to sustain the fleet, to keep his people alive. But they were moving into the heart of the First Imperium. He had no illusions about their chances of survival.

“The guard is ringing the bell, Admiral.” Joker had been with Compton for most of his career, and the AI had gone through three rounds of upgrades as its master rose through the command ranks. Alliance senior naval officers—and all Marines of commissioned rank—had personal AIs. The Marine units were designed to adjust their pseudo-personalities to complement those of their owners, a program that had worked quite well despite a considerable number of complaints from the ground-pounders about surly computer assistants.

The naval units were a little more constrained, conducting themselves with a formality the fleet considered more appropriate to its dignity. Though Compton had to admit, Joker had acquired a few odd quirks over the years, despite naval stodginess and more conservative behavior algorithms.

“What does he want?” Compton always had a Marine guard at his door. It was standard operating procedure for a commanding admiral, something he’d always thought a bit over the top. But with his proclamation that the fleet would not seek a way home, it occurred to him a little extra security wasn’t the worst idea. There was bound to be some bad feeling about it, and there was no point taking chances, even on his own flagship.

“Doctor Cutter and Doctor Zhukov are here to see you, sir.” The AI’s voice was calm, natural sounding. Its slight British accent had faded over the years, mirroring Compton’s own.

“Send him in.” He turned and put Elizabeth’s image back in the drawer. He hadn’t intended to see anyone for a few hours, but after witnessing Cutter’s amazing work with the First Imperium warbot, he was available to the brilliant scientist any time of the day or night.

The hatch slid open and the two scientists walked in. “I’m sorry to disturb you unannounced, Admiral. Thank you for seeing us.”

“I meant what I said, Hieronymus. Any time you need anything. Your work is beyond important. It is critical.”

“That is why I have come. It is about my work.” He glanced to the side at Zhukov. “Our work.”

“What can I do for you? If the fleet has it, it’s yours.”

“Well, sir,” Cutter said, his voice a bit tenuous. “What I need is not on the fleet.”

Compton’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at the scientist with an uncertain expression. “I’m sorry…I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I have heard that an inoperative First Imperium vessel has been found in system X20,” the scientist said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

“Yes…though that information has not yet been released. It shouldn’t be working its way through the fleet.”

“It is not, Admiral,” Ana Zhukov said, a hint of guilt in her voice. “I’m embarrassed to say that several of your officers told me. They are very kind to me, and they make a fuss every time I wander into the wardroom or the officers’ lounge.” The Russian scientist was blushing as she spoke. Ana Zhukov was an extremely beautiful woman, one bound to get attention in any setting, but she often seemed almost unaware of her own appeal. She was a committed and brilliant scientist as well as an attractive woman, and if she was more socially adept than the reclusive Cutter, she was still far more at home in a lab than at a social gathering.

Compton almost laughed. “Well, I should discipline the officers involved, but I can’t say I don’t understand their efforts to impress you.”

The redness in Zhukov’s face deepened. “Please, Admiral…don’t punish anyone. They really were very nice. And I give you my word, Hieronymus and I have not told anyone.”

“No, certainly not,” Cutter added.

“I understand your interest in the enemy ship. We just spoke of higher level intelligences, and a few days later we find an entire ship—a Colossus, no less—orbiting a planet, apparently completely deactivated.” He looked up, first at Cutter than at Zhukov. “But we are still engaging in a thorough series of scans, trying to get a better idea what we are dealing with.”

“I believe that Ana and I can assist with that effort. I am probably more familiar with First Imperium system design than anyone else in the fleet. From what I have been told of the situation, that ship either suffered a catastrophic failure of its commanding intelligence, or its main and backup power supplies failed completely.”

“I agree those are the likeliest causes,” Compton said. “But we must be very cautious nevertheless. Apart from the concern that this is some kind of trap, that the “dead” enemy ship will power up and start fighting the instant enough of our ships are within its range, there are many concerns. Indeed, simply triggering some sort of unseen alarm—as occurred on Epsilon Eridani IV—could result in the total destruction of the fleet.”

“I understand, Admiral, but consider the potential. If we are able to affect a ship-command intelligence the way we have with Sigmund, it will be a major step forward in developing a weapon we can use against the enemy.”

“Hieronymus is right, Admiral,” Zhukov added. She sighed softly and looked up at Compton. “Think of the danger in moving too slowly. I understand that you must set an example to the fleet, to conduct yourself with confidence and assurance. But there are only the three of us here, and I suspect each of us knows that our chances of long term survival are extremely poor…unless we can learn to control these things. Or at least deter them from attacking us.”

Compton was silent for a few seconds, returning Zhukov’s stare. “You have a remarkable grasp of the practical for a scientist of your accomplishments, Ana.” He sighed hard and paused. “Okay, assuming I gave the go ahead, what would you want to do?”

“I’d want to go aboard the First Imperium ship, Admiral,” Cutter said bluntly. “As soon as possible.”

“You understand that it is not an ideal working environment? Our best estimate is that the temperature inside is roughly 80 degrees Kelvin, not exactly a day at the beach. You will require full survival suits, and that is not likely to improve your productivity trying to handle delicate equipment.”

“I understand, sir,” Cutter replied. “Conditions are not ideal, that is certainly true. But how and when are we going to get another opportunity to get inside one of the enemy’s first line vessels?”

Compton stood silently, his head nodding ever so slightly. “I am as anxious as you to see where this technology leads…but the very fact that this is such a huge jump in complexity only increases the danger.” He wanted to say yes…but the risk was so great.

Still, Cutter’s research may be our only hope long term. If I say no now, I may cut off his progress
.

Cutter stared at Compton for a few seconds. “Admiral, I am not some overzealous scientist blind to all factors other than his research. And I cannot promise you we will be able to control the higher order intelligences that run that ship. Indeed, it would have been preferable to have an intermediate step, a ground combat command unit or something similar. But we must work with what we have, and Ana and I and our team have to find a way to make it work. We must succeed because there is no other choice. We simply do not have time to proceed slowly and methodically. If we are to survive we must make swift and sure progress. And this is the only way.”