Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (9 page)

“I know it is possible, Ana.” He pressed a small button on the control panel, and a storage panel opened on the far side of the room.

Anastasia turned abruptly and stopped suddenly. Inside the storage space stood a vaguely humanoid construction—a First Imperium battlebot. She felt a shudder run through her body, but then she realized it was deactivated. “What is this?” she asked, turning to face Cutter.

“This is Sigmund…or at least he soon will be.” Cutter gave her a rare smile.

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice tentative, concerned.

“You asked if I really believe I can control First Imperium intelligences by downloading a customized virus into their processing units. Sigmund here will provide us with the answer. If I am able to take control of him, I presume you will accept that as validation of my line of research.”

“Of course,” she answered, still uncomfortable. “But why a battlebot?” Just looking at the deadly device made her nervous.

“For two reasons. First, I don’t exactly have a large choice of intact First Imperium processing units at my disposal—and Sigmund here is in remarkably good condition. His intelligence unit lost power during a battle, but it’s an easy repair…and otherwise he’s in perfect shape.”

He looked over at the imposing robot. It stood over two meters tall with multiple appendages on each side. The weapons systems had been removed, a necessary precaution, leaving a few bits of exposed circuitry. “And second, it’s a big dumb brute.”

Ana smiled. “Is it now?”

“Well it is, relative to the command units or, certainly any kind of fleet control system. Nevertheless, it is still more sophisticated than anything we’ve ever seen before. But it’s the bottom rung for the project. Once we can control something like the Sigmund, we can work our way up from there.”

“Work our way up to what?” Ana asked.

“Well, if our best guesses are right, the First Imperium consists exclusively of the machines remaining behind by some long-extinct species…and that means somewhere there is an artificial intelligence controlling everything. A machine of astonishing complexity, no doubt…sentient or nearly so, but a machine nevertheless. One we can control if we discover the means.”

“You imagine we could stop the entire First Imperium with a virus?” Ana stared at him, her face a mask of astonishment. It was unthinkable. After the thousands who had died in battle, the disruption of the warp gate trapping them all deep in enemy space…the almost unfathomable technology of the enemy. And here was Hieronymus Cutter planning to take it all down with a computer virus. It was almost incomprehensible.

“Yes,” he answered simply…and he looked back down at his work.

*  *  *

“Won’t you join us, sir?” Max Harmon looked up as Terrance Compton walked into the officers’ wardroom. He held five cards in his hand, and he laid them face down on the table as his eyes met the admiral’s.

Compton smiled. “Not right now, Max. Maybe some other time.”

Harmon nodded. “You’re welcome any time, sir. I’m sure we’d all love to see the legend up close.”

Compton was indeed legendary in the fleet, generally considered to be the best card player ever to wear an Alliance uniform. There were tales still told, mildly exaggerated ones of course, of his prowess. But the stories were old now. His responsibilities had increased with his rank, and he had long sworn he would never put himself in a position to take money from the officers he outranked. For many years now, that group had consisted of every other spacer in the navy save Augustus Garret. And Garret had long known better than to play cards with Compton.

The admiral returned the nod.
Perhaps it’s time to rethink old codes of conduct
, he thought. Taking money from his subordinates didn’t seem terribly relevant anymore. He couldn’t think of anything less useful out in the depths of unexplored space than Alliance currency. He felt the urge to sit down, to play a few hands and forget about First Imperium fleets, dwindling supplies, and how to keep control of the fleet when it became known he had no intention of trying to find a way home. But it wasn’t the time.

“Perhaps one day, Max.”
When I can take a few minutes to relax
.
If that day ever comes.

The wardroom was busy. The first day after he’d changed the alert status, the ship’s rec areas had been deserted. The exhausted off-duty personnel had taken their extra free hours to catch up on lost sleep. But now, they were spending more time out of their quarters, in the mess halls, the wardrooms, the gyms.

He looked around the room. There were at least twenty others besides those in the poker game. He was glad to see his officers relaxing. They had performed magnificently, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he needed them at their best again…and when that day came, more of them would die, he realized grimly. He was always worried about his people, about how much he demanded from them, how much he would have to continue to demand if they were going to survive.

His mind drifted back, to how Augustus Garret had always obsessed about the men and women on his ships, so often without any thought of himself—how the pressures of command wore so heavily on him. More than once, Compton had urged his old friend to take care of himself, to find some way to relax. Now he realized he was a good-natured hypocrite, no better than Garret at affording himself a break.

His crews were all stuck out here, in the depths of deep space, their best hope just for the barest survival, to stay hidden and to find the supplies they needed to press on. He knew he was only human, that even he could only take so much stress, so much fatigue. But that seemed like an unimportant fact. He would keep going because he had to, because the survival of over 47,000 people depended on it.
More than that
, he thought grimly.
I have to make sure this fleet doesn’t try to find a way home. Billions of lives may depend on that.

Chapter Five

Secret Communique from Captain Harmon to Admiral Compton

Admiral, I am on
Petersburg
, under the pretext of inspecting ammunition supplies. I have been unable to detect any meaningful dissent from the crew, however Admiral Udinov just departed on a shuttle. There is no scheduled flight, nor any meeting that appears on his public calendar. It took considerable effort, but I was finally able to discover the destination of the shuttle.
Nanking
. As you know, that is the ship where Admiral Zhang has been traveling since you removed him from command of the fast attack ship task force. I find this to be a disturbing coincidence. I cannot imagine what legitimate business Udinov has with Zhang.

I considered going to
Nanking
myself to try to obtain better information, but there is no way to explain such a trip, and my cover as your agent would almost certainly be blown. Nevertheless, I believe we can assume that Zhang is attempting to suborn Udinov to some plan of his. Whatever it is, I am sure it is trouble. I intend to remain on
Petersburg
until Udinov returns and attempt to glean whatever information I can from watching his actions.

I will almost certainly have to take greater risks than I have to date, and that is why I have taken the chance to send this communique. In the event there is a conspiracy brewing and I am killed or captured, it is essential that you know that Udinov and Zhang are in communication.

I will attempt to update you again as soon as I have any further data on Udinov and his intentions. In any event, I will make contact in no more than 48 hours, regardless of my progress. If you do not hear from me in that time, you can assume I have been killed, captured, or incapacitated—and that fact will confirm that the situation has gone far beyond conspiring.

If I do not survive to speak with you again, I want you to know it has been a privilege to serve under your command, and you have my complete confidence that you will ably lead the fleet to safety.

CACS Nanking

System X16

The Fleet:  225 ships, 47,914 crew

“Thank you for coming, Vladimir.” Zhang spoke softly, looking around as he did.

“You said it was important.” Vladimir Udinov was the senior RIC admiral in the fleet, the commander of the Russian-Indian Confederacy’s fourteen ships. His tone was tentative. He’d known Zhang for a long time, but he was also aware the CAC admiral had to be Compton’s number one suspect to cause problems in the fleet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get dragged into any disputes or power struggles.

“I wanted to speak to you about Admiral Compton.” Zhang Lu was the scion of a powerful political family, but he’d never been anyone’s idea of a fighting spacer. Still, he’d maintained a high position in the CAC navy—and in the combined fleet as well—until Terrance Compton had humiliated and summarily dismissed him in the middle of a fight, replacing him with a mere captain. An Alliance captain.

“Zhang, I don’t think this is…”

“This is more than my injured pride, Vladimir. I assure you.” He held a small ‘pad, and he reached out, handing it to Udinov. “That is an analysis of navigational data…every transit we have made since fleeing X2.”

Udinov took the device, but he still stared at Zhang with a confused expression on his face. “What is the purpose in my reviewing this? Perhaps we can cut through to the heart of the matter. What is it that concerns you?”

“Since escaping from X2, every jump we have taken when an exit warp gate was freely chosen—as opposed to being the only alternative to elude pursuit—has been the one least likely to lead back toward home. I checked the analysis myself….twice.”

Warp gates were still poorly understood phenomenon, and there was no known way to determine where one led except to enter it and see. But the distribution of the gates within a system, and their specific orientation in space did correlate with a basic direction. It was imperfect analysis to be sure, but with proper calculations, it was possible to determine if a specific gate would lead closer to or farther from a specific point in regular space, at least to a probability of roughly eighty percent. The Halston Theorem that set forth the equations had never been conclusively proven, but it had continued to perform within its expected seventy-five to eighty-five percent range of accuracy.

Human-occupied systems were not themselves perfectly aligned in normal space—but they were close. Warp gates tended to lead to nearby stars, which resulted in the spatial alignment of human space being at least somewhat similar to its structure as depicted by a map of warp connections.

“Are you sure about this?” There was a spark of interest in Udinov’s voice, and he glanced down at the ‘pad, flipping through the first few pages.

“Oh yes. I am certain. We made three jumps when we were closely pursued, and where a specific gate was nearer and offered a faster escape. Two other jumps were from systems with only two gates, leaving no room for a choice to be made. There were six other instances, and in every one of those, the gate chosen was the one that would be expected to lead us farthest from home.”

Udinov flipped his finger across the pad, scanning the data Zhang had given him. “So you believe Admiral Compton is deliberately leading us away from Occupied Space?”

“Yes,” Zhang replied. “No doubt he will say he is concerned about leading the enemy back with us, of helping them find a way around the now-closed X2-X1 warp gate.” He paused then added, “At least that will be his stated reason.”

“Stated reason?” Udinov looked up from the ‘pad toward Zhang. “What do you mean?”

“I mean perhaps there are other reasons Admiral Compton wants us to remain lost. Personal reasons. Selfish reasons.” There was an edge to Zhang’s voice, and an anger toward Compton he couldn’t conceal.

“Selfish reasons?”

“Yes. Perhaps the admiral fancies ruling over all of us like a monarch. Back in Occupied Space, the fleet would disperse, the war would be over. Compton would be nothing more than the Alliance’s second admiral, forever in the shadow of Augustus Garret. Perhaps his ego fancies being the unchallenged leader.”

Udinov stared back at Zhang, his expression doubtful. “You think Admiral Compton wants to prevent us from returning home so he can rule over a lost fleet with fewer than 50,000 refugees aboard?”

“Perhaps. But I doubt his motivations are so simplistic. He may fancy himself the supreme leader of the fleet, and that may appeal to his ego. No doubt he justifies his actions by disguising them as concern for Earth and the rest of human space, but are we to believe that is his sole motivation? Or that it is valid? He may even have convinced himself, but are such worries justified? We have eluded pursuit, and we are alone in this system. If we are to attempt to return home it has to be now, while we are out of the enemy’s grasp, before we jump deeper into unexplored space, into the heart of the enemy’s domains.”

Udinov stood silently, his eyes drifting back to the ‘pad. Zhang’s words had clearly gotten to him, but he still didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know…I understand your concerns, but Terrance Compton has never struck me as an individual mad for personal power. I find it difficult to believe he would intentionally lead us away from home unless he was truly afraid the enemy would follow us there.”

“Are you sure? Look what he did to me, the imperious way he relieved me from command and replaced me with a junior officer…an Alliance officer. Consider how many Alliance personnel are in command positions in this fleet. Is that a coincidence? Or has he been arranging to put as many of his own people in key roles. And ask yourself this…if Compton isn’t planning to impose his will, why has he not discussed any of this with you or the other contingent commanders?”

Udinov sighed. “I don’t know. That troubles me the most. I understand we were on the run, and I was willing to respect Compton’s command authority. He got us out of X2, and I believed he could elude the enemy pursuit as well.” He stared at Zhang. “But why nothing since? It has been a month since our last contact. Why has he not convened a meeting of the top national commanders?”