Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (29 page)

The room was silent, everyone present staring in awe as the staggeringly ancient computer activated after so many millennia. Finally, Cutter shook himself out of his shock and pulled out a small ‘pad he’d had in a pouch at his waist.

“The virus includes a mathematical data set,” he said as he stared at the ‘pad. “It’s how we communicated with Sigmund at first. It should provide a basis for the AI to respond to us in a way our translators can address. It’s not speech, exactly, but it’s…”

“Greetings.” The voice was natural sounding, vaguely male.

Cutter spun around, staring at the sphere with an expression of shock on his face. “Greetings,” he replied, struggling with everything he had to speak clearly and calmly.

“This is an unfamiliar language. Its structure is odd, unlike most of those in my memory.”

Cutter felt a wave of panic, but his fascination overwhelmed it.
I am speaking to a computer that is half a million years old, a system more advanced than any I could imagine…

“Yet you had no trouble learning it…”
Was learning the right word?

“The data unit in port 763 contained sufficient information to assimilate. The device is extremely primitive. What is its use?”

Cutter felt a wave of excitement.
It read the data on the chip. The virus!

“It was the only unit available.” It doesn’t seem hostile, at least not yet. “You have been deactivated for a long time. Many things have changed.”

“Indeed,” came the reply. “I have analyzed the radioactive decay of the fissionables in storage, and it appears I have been inoperative for approximately 363,445 revolutions of the homeworld’s star.”

“I am pleased that you appear to remain fully-functional after so long without power.”

“I have been running a self-diagnostic, and it appears my systems are 94% operative. Certain knowledge banks remain non-responsive, but I believe I retain completely functionality. Your portable power supply is insufficient for me to reactive major ship’s systems or to initiate outside communications, but I have been able to activate and dispatch a maintenance bot to repair the ruptured conduit that caused my malfunction. I expect to restore matter/antimatter operations and return full ship’s power shortly.”

Cutter felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “You dispatched a bot? Already?”

“Yes. It has completed its work, and I am now reactivating the annihilation chamber.”

An instant later, the room lit up. Cutter looked toward the ceiling. It was covered with sleek panels, and a pleasant but bright light emanated from perhaps half of them.

“I have restored primary ship’s power. There is considerable maintenance required in multiple areas, however I believe all main systems are responding.”

Cutter felt a cold feeling in his stomach. Everything was slipping from his control. The ship was coming back to life. In a few minutes, seconds perhaps, the intelligence would control the engines, the weapons…

“Cease all system restoration activities.” Cutter didn’t know if his virus had accomplished anything, but he had to try something.

“Very well. All systems are on standby.”

Cutter’s eyes widened. The AI had taken his order. The lights went out again, leaving only the dim illumination from the portable lamps.

Let me see if this thing is really taking my orders
. Cutter had come for this very purpose, but now he found himself shocked it was succeeding. “Restore lighting, but keep all other systems on standby.”

The lights came back on. “Lighting restored.”

Cutter felt a rush of excitement. It was working. “Is life support operational?”

“Yes. There are multiple malfunctions throughout the ship, but all primary systems are operative.”

“Restore life support to this room.”

“Beginning restoration. Increasing temperature to optimum levels.” There was a short pause.

“Hieronymus, it
is
getting warmer.” Ana was holding her own data unit, watching the readings increase. “We’ve gone from 80K to 200K in a matter of seconds.”

“Beginning introduction of atmospheric gasses.”

“Temperature has stabilized at 294K,” Ana said excitedly. “Atmospheric pressure increasing. I’m reading 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% argon…” She paused and looked at Cutter. “Hieronymus, it’s almost a perfect Earth-normal atmosphere.” She looked down at her ‘pad. “Same gas concentrations, same atmospheric pressure…”

“Life support fully operative as ordered. You no longer require the primitive survival gear you are wearing.”

Cutter looked back at the others. “Stay suited up. We need to check for pathogens and other hazards before we even thing of opening our suits.”

“There are no pathogens. Atmospheric conditions in this room are now identical to those on Homeworld. I have scanned for all harmful biologics.”

Cutter sighed softly.
And who the hell knows what deadly plague virus is ‘normal’ on the enemy’s homeworld?
“We will remain in our suits for now,” he said.

“As you wish. Are you sure you do not want me to reactivate ship’s systems? Your command is counter to normal protocol.”

Cutter felt a pang of fear. He had no idea what was going through the…mind?...of the alien intelligence. It appeared to be obeying his commands, but how long would it continue to do so? Would it detect the virus in its system and eradicate it?
The order to leave the ship deactivated could make it suspicious
, he thought.
But I can’t let it bring this monstrous vessel online. If I lose control…

“I am sure,” he said simply.

“As you command.”

“Do you know who I am?” Cutter blurted out. It was a dangerous question, perhaps, but it was all he could think to ask.

“You are one of the Old Ones. You were gone for many thousands of revolutions of the sun, but now you have returned. I was built to serve your needs. I am at your command.”

Chapter Nineteen

Admiral Compton’s Address to the Fleet Before the Second Battle of X18

You have all seen the scans, are watching now, no doubt, as ship after ship transits through from X16. We fought a great battle together, all of us, not two days ago…and yet now another is upon us. We will do as we have always done…as each of
you
has always done. We will fight. And God help our enemies.

You have all suffered in this deadly war, first in the battles along the Line and later as we advanced into the enemy’s domain. And we ourselves have been casualties of a sort, trapped in hostile space and cut off from home. Our comrades on the other side of the barrier mourn us as lost, and to them we are. But to the enemy we still live, and while we survive we will fight them. Here and anywhere else they come at us…and with the last of our strength.

There are many who are not with us now. Comrades, allies…friends, dead in the many desperate struggles that have led us here. It is for them, as well as ourselves, that we fight, and we lash out at the enemy that took them from us. We fight for survival. We fight for justice. And we fight for vengeance!

Let us forget our own quarrels, our shortsighted disputes. Stand with me now, my fellow spacers, stand with me and face this enemy…and show them that we will never yield, that they shall never defeat us! Remember your friends, men and women you who served alongside all of you, who died at the hands of this monstrous foe. Today we take our vengeance for them. Fight now…for those who stand alongside you, and for those you left behind. Let us show these infernal machines who we are…and what fury we can unleash on them!

AS Midway

X18 System

The Fleet:  202 ships, 44,704 crew

“They’re still coming through, Admiral. Over a hundred so far.” Cortez was a hardened veteran, but Compton could hear the fatigue in his voice. A few small forces had transited the gate over the last two days, but nothing like the monstrous battle fleet now emerging into the system.

“Activate the rest of the mines.” Compton had been trying to save as much ordnance as he could, but there was no point now. This would be the big fight, and his worry wasn’t preserving mines—it was saving the fleet.

“All mines active, sir. It looks like they’re taking a toll.”

They weren’t mines really, at least not in the sense the word is typically used. They were one-shot weapons, bomb-pumped x-ray lasers units, pouring all the energy of a thermonuclear warhead into a single, highly concentrated blast. They could destroy a moderately sized vessel with a single shot, ripping through even the First Imperium’s dark matter hulls like they were paper.

“I just wish we had more,” Compton muttered softly, mostly to himself. He’d deployed the last of the precious ordnance in his supply train, and it was still only a moderate coverage. The enemy would take some damage, but the intensity would diminish quickly as the mines expended themselves.

“Admiral Garson is to move his ships toward the X20 warp gate.” Ian Garson commanded the logistical task force, thirty-two freighters and other supply and maintenance vessels, many of them now empty. They could add little to the fight to come, and Compton wanted them safe. Or whatever passed for safe in the circumstances.

“Yes, sir.”

Compton stared ahead at the display. He was right where he belonged, where he’d been for so many years now. Terrance Compton had led many fleets in combat, fought numerous desperate battles. Including the Alliance’s colonial rebellions, the struggle against the First Imperium was his fourth war. Thousands had died serving in the formations he’d led, and while he’d rarely tasted defeat, he’d known the guilt and anguish that accompanied watching so many of those who followed him killed.

Now, another battle was before him, just two days after the last one. But there was something different inside him now, an exhaustion so profound it took every bit of strength he had to force it back. Terrance Compton knew he would never give up…but for the first time in his life he wanted to.

“Bring the fleet to battlestations, Commander.”
Once more into the breach…

“Yes, sir.” Cortez hunched over his workstation, and an instant later, the flag bridge was bathed in the red light of the battlestations lamps.

Compton leaned back, watching the enemy vessels pour into the system. One hundred twenty had already transited, and they were still coming. Half a dozen had fallen to the mines, and another twenty had been damaged, but he knew that wouldn’t stop them. This was a First Imperium fleet. There was no morale to break, no fear that would drive them away. There was only one way for his people to win—to survive—and that was to destroy them. To destroy them all.

“It’s time to scramble Admiral Hurley’s fighters,” he said, ignoring the grinding fatigue he felt.

“Yes, Admiral.”

Cortez is tired too, I can feel it
. He looked around the flag bridge.
They’re all exhausted…how could they not be? But they will do what they must. Just as I will
.

“Admiral Hurley acknowledges, sir. Her people will be ready to launch in two minutes.”

Compton nodded, feeling the urge to smile at Hurley’s readiness. But the grin was stillborn, washed away by thoughts of the losses the fighter corps had taken in the campaign. His fleet had invaded First Imperium space with 718 fighters. Hurley would be launching 187.

“Prepare to begin maneuvers,” he said. “
Midway
,
Saratoga
,
Petersburg
, and
Prinz Friederich
will form a line.” The four battleships had the last of the external missile racks installed. The rest of the fleet would rely on internal ordnance only.
We won’t be able to do many more full reloads
, Compton thought.
Even with internals only
.

“Yes, Admiral,” Cortez replied. And a few seconds later. “All ships confirm, sir.”

“Very well, Commander. Captain Horace is to engage the engines. The group is to advance at 5g.”

The battle had begun.

*  *  *

“I want those racks cleared. And I do mean now, Commander.” Admiral Barret Dumont stared straight ahead, his scowl almost freezing the air in front of his face. The oldest active officer in the Alliance service, he’d been commanding task forces since before half his staff had been born, and when he issued an order, he expected his crews to take it as the word of God.

“The crews are already working on it, sir.” Antonio Allesandro was Dumont’s tactical officer. The two worked well together. Allesandro was one of the few younger officers who could stand up to the ornery hundred year old admiral, and for his part, Dumont considered his current aide as one of the best he’d had in his very long career.

“I don’t want working, Commander. I want done.” Dumont was wearing two hats, as he’d been since X2. He was in charge of one of Compton’s task forces, but he was also running
Saratoga
. Captain Josiah had been killed in X2, and the ship’s first officer had been transferred to take his own command. Compton had offered to find Dumont another flag captain, but the grizzled old warrior had told him not to bother…he’d just as soon run the ship himself rather than break in a new officer in the middle of a running fight. And that’s just what he’d been doing for the past few months.

“The crew chief reports they’ll be finished in ten minutes, sir. He’s says he’ll guarantee it.”

“Damned right, he will,” Dumont roared. He’d been watching the screen. The warp gate was finally quiet, the seemingly endless flow of ships coming through finally halted. Dumont knew better than to make hasty assumptions, but he was hopeful the enemy force had completed its entry. Still, he had a scowl on his face. It was good news that no more ships were emerging, but with 130 already in system, the fleet had its work cut out for it.
This is going to be a tough fight…but I think we can pull it out. Having Terrance in command is worth an extra task force. But I don’t even want to guess at the losses we’re going to take
.