Lacuna: The Ashes of Humanity (31 page)

Wolfe touched his beard as he thought. "The crew will be combat ineffective at greater than safe limits. I wouldn't recommend anything more than a half-g burn. Anything more will take an unacceptable time to recover from."

"It will," said Anderson, "but we're pretty damn ineffective right now. I'd rather have some chance than none at all."

"I'm inclined to agree. Bear in mind, however, the superstructure's sustained significant damage and may be structurally compromised. There's the possibility of worsening the damage if we push it."

Wolfe, as always, brought up good points. That was the purpose of a ship's XO, to trust the ship's commander but to verify their orders. Trust but verify. That was the philosophy.

"We should risk it," Anderson decided. "There hasn't been critical damage, and these things are rated for much more than a half-g. We'll give the crew as much notice as we can."

"Let's do it then." Wolfe reached for the ship-wide intercom. "Attention all hands, priority alert. We are going for a half-g burn in one minute. All hands adopt emergency brace positions and hold them until further notice. There will be no additional audio warnings."

"Is one minute going to be enough?" asked Anderson.

"Standard response time is thirty seconds. This crew is the best of the best, Captain. If they can't emergency brace in double the bare minimum, we have bigger problems."

"Agreed."

Wolfe relayed their plan to the
Madrid
, a process that took some time. De Lugo sounded less eager than they did, but he acknowledged they had little choice.

Anderson pulled a thin cable out from the console, hooking it to his belt. Wolfe did the same. This was a new feature of the second generation of
Triumph
class cruisers. To the best of his knowledge, the
Tehran
and
Beijing
had not been retrofitted for the feature. Wolfe followed his lead, securing himself as well.

The rest of the Operations crew followed their lead, either belting themselves into their seats or attaching in a standing position using the safety cables. They both took a hold of their console, and then Wolfe addressed the Operations room as the last few seconds ticked by.

"Helm, engage half-g burn, duration five minutes, maintain speed and heading."

"Half-g burn, five minutes, current speed and heading. Executing."

The ship shuddered and shook like a bronco, the deck pitching back. For a moment, Anderson wondered if they had physically bent the ship. Such motion of metal was a common occurrence in large structures such as skyscrapers, and the long, thin, wedge-shaped
Triumph
class cruisers were subject to the same laws of physics. The ship bent, then straightened out as the reactionless drive pushed them faster.

Anderson's coffee mug slid off the console and shattered, the shards sliding back towards the far bulkhead. Wolfe gave him a dirty "I told you so" look. Anderson twisted around, inspecting the shards with dismay, and then just shrugged helplessly.

The Humans went one way around Velsharn's moon, and the Telvan went the other, both trying to get a clear line on the L2 Lagrange point. They worked their way past the curve of the moon's surface, the reactionless drives straining as they continued to accelerate. Anderson was gambling on overshooting. The Toralii would have to slow down before jumping, whereas they would not.

The burn took only five minutes, but when it ended, Anderson's belt had left a distinct mark in his hip. He unhooked himself, readjusting his posture and rubbing the indentation.

"Burn complete," said Wolfe. He picked up the intercom. "All hands return to stations."

"Do we have a firing solution? Did it work?"

"A little too well," said Wolfe. "We're awfully exposed here. They're firing."

The familiar rumble of incoming fire shook the ship once again.

"So shoot back," said Anderson. "We know where they're heading—that's gotta make the shots easier."

"Much."

The gamble paid off. A Toralii cruiser suffered a catastrophic failure of its hull integrity, blossoming into a silent fireball in the middle of space that flashed white as the oxygen within the ship was consumed, but the rest of the ships sailed through the debris towards the L2 Lagrange point.

The waves of incoming fire ceased. He knew why. The Alliance were diverting power from their weapons to the jump drives, preparing to execute the system.

Just under half the Toralii Alliance fleet was going to escape. The idea rankled him, but they had inflicted significant casualties on their enemies and, just as importantly, sent them running. As the enemy ships drew close to their avenue of escape, he satisfied himself with the victories he and his crew had won today.

Then Cole spoke up again, confusion in his voice. "Another ship has entered the Velsharn L2 Lagrange point, Captain."

He wanted to fire right away, but protocol called for prudence. "Identification?"

"Radar profile matches a Toralii scout ship. Confirmed—there's a Toralii signature there."

A scout ship. They were smaller than the cruisers, and the jump drives took some time to recharge their capability. They might only be able to scratch the cruisers as they fled, but this craft would not escape them. "Load railguns, prepare to fire."

His communications officer turned in his seat, his finger to his earpiece.

"Sir, they're vacating the jump point. Another ship has appeared… and this one matches the profile of the Kel-Voran cruisers."

"Kel-Voran?" Anderson frowned in confusion. "What? Toralii and Kel-Voran jumping in together?"

"Perhaps it's a coincidence," said Wolfe.

"If so, we're in for one hell of a fireworks display. They're not exactly team players." Anderson reached up for his headset. "Put me through to that Toralii ship. I want to talk to them."

Before they could establish communication, another signal came through. One with a familiar voice.

"Morning, gentlemen," said Captain Williams. "Hope we didn't miss the party."

"Magnet?" Anderson glanced across to Wolfe, who shrugged. "We… didn't think you had escaped Earth. We've heard no word from the
Rubens
since the attack."

"Oh, we got away just fine, sir. We've been hanging out with the Kel-Voran Imperium. It took some time, but we finally convinced them that the Telvan wouldn't mind them being here too much and that there might be Toralii Alliance to brawl with. Looks like we're going to cash in that promise a little earlier than we anticipated."

"Fashionably late is better than not showing up at all, and your timing is, in fact, perfect." Anderson looked to Wolfe for confirmation of his unspoken question. His XO nodded. "Captain Williams, the Toralii ships retreating to your location are the fleet responsible for the attack on Earth, minus the casualties we have inflicted upon them. We have sufficient numbers of prisoners, taken from the
Seth'arak
, and I feel our charity has been stretched to its limit. Engage those ships."

An eager energy charged Williams's Australian accent. "
Yes sir.
"

"Let me be clear about one thing, Captain: The taking of further prisoners under any circumstances is
not
authorised."

"That's quite helpful," said Williams, "since the
Rubens
is just a freighter, so Kel-Voran will be doing much of the heavy lifting here. As you well know, they don't exactly 'do' prisoners."

More Kel-Voran ships appeared in the system at the L4 and L5 points. Their dreadnoughts, each a 200,000 tonne half of a whole, began reforming. The moment the two halves re-joined, they commenced firing at the Alliance ships.

The Alliance vessels, realising the jump point was occupied, executed what Anderson could only assume were a series of emergency brakes. One broke free of the pack, seeming to race for the jump point; the dreadnoughts engulfed it in a withering, sustained array of fire, the searing white light breaking it apart.

The Telvan cleared the edge of Velsharn's moon, rejoining the fray. Anderson only had to watch as the Kel-Voran, the Telvan, the
Rubens
,
Madrid
and his own vessel fired over and over, pouring fire into the Toralii Alliance vessels from three directions. There was no cover. No manoeuvres their enemies could perform that would protect them. Ship after ship broke apart, ignited in a fiery conflagration, or simply drifted aimlessly, all power signatures slowly dissipating.

Signals from individual Alliance cruisers filled the long-range communications array. Calls for cease-fires and requests for parley. Terms of surrender. Mercy.

Surrender was a strange term. An enemy would try their best to kill you, and having failed, they would ask you not to kill them. Accepting a surrender was prudent when two opposing sides shared common cultural ground, where the soldiers involved did not want to kill unnecessarily, but it did not apply when righteous indignation overrode compassion. The only thing Anderson felt as he tapped his command console, carefully coordinating the growing network of ships to pound the Alliance ships into scrap, was satisfaction.

His orders were clear. They were to exterminate the Toralii Alliance to the last.

The Kel-Voran were more than happy to comply. They gleefully blasted the Alliance escape pods, smoking wrecks and ejected pilots. They needed no encouragement. The contacts on Anderson's radar screen winked out one by one as the Kel-Voran and remaining Telvan ships cut down the Toralii Alliance.

The attacks did not stop. They did not relent. Waves of fire cut the Alliance down, ship by ship, strike craft by strike craft, the combined firepower of the three species blasting each of the Toralii cruisers to oblivion. Wrecks were smashed into smaller wrecks, then again into smaller wrecks, until the escaping Toralii fleet was nothing more than a slowly expanding cloud of superheated debris, gasses, and secondary explosions.

When it was over, their railguns were empty of ammunition, their crew exhausted from hours of fighting, and Wolfe, Anderson and the rest of the Operations crew of the TFR
Washington
could find no piece of the enemy that remained worthy of destruction. Millions of tonnes of material had been destroyed, tens of thousands of Toralii lives annihilated. They surveyed the scene together. Dozens of vessels were in ruins, melted, scorched, shattered, and venting the last of their atmosphere into the vastness of space.

"I think we got them," said Wolfe.

E
PILOGUE

Broken Things

*****

Cave system outside Eden

A
MASSIVE
DOSE
OF
MORPHINE
, I.V. antibiotics, and fluids brought her agony down to a dull roar. The painkillers urged her to sleep, but she was still in too much pain for that. Even lying on the sheet, its white linen irrevocably stained with her blood, caused her body to cry in protest. Without the drugs, it would have been unbearable.

She existed in a state halfway between consciousness and shock-induced coma. The world was distant and ghostly, as though the figures that crowded around her were no more than figments in her mind.
 

Liao did not have to ask how badly she was injured, and nobody offered platitudes to reassure her. It was bad. The civilians around her looked at her with concern, sadness, and pity. People cried, although their exact motivations for doing so eluded her. Their whispers came and went, voices echoing in the cavern, talking about her as if she was already gone.

Someone gave her water. She could barely sip it, but the cool was good against her lips.

The voices expressed a concern that fire might spread up the mountains to their cave, but the rain proved to be their saviour. The hills, so verdant and rich, would not burn. The heat of the falling plasma had scorched the closest plants, bursting them as the water within turned to steam and the suddenly dry biomass ignited, but those flames would not spread. The surrounding mountains funnelled water into the valley, and Eden would not become the same ash-ridden, dead land the Velsharn Research Colony had.

As time passed and the noise outside quieted, those near the entrance reported that the bombardment outside had ceased. They should remain inside the caves; there could be any number of reasons for the lull in the rain of fire, and it could be dangerous to leave.

For her, though, it was far more dangerous to stay. Saeed organised the construction of a rudimentary stretcher, and two civilians drafted as bearers took her outside into the rain. The cool water fell onto her scorched skin, the contact painful to her damaged flesh but the cool sensation soothing. She was soon drenched through and completely thankful for it.

Debris fell through the night sky, a thousand falling stars that burned bright as the friction of the upper atmosphere consumed them to dust. The night sky lit up with them, almost turning darkness into day, streaks of white fire illuminating the clouds and highlighting the rain. The
Tehran
, now higher in the sky, was a bright star, a new guiding light taking them back to the
Beijing
, to the cleared landing area designated for incoming spacecraft.

It took her some time to realise that one of the stretcher-bearers was talking to her. It was Shepherd.

"Captain Liao," he said, "you gotta stay with us, okay? We're almost there."

It was an impossible request. To stay in the world of the living, this world of pain and loss. Had she not done enough? Liao had given everything to her nation, to her species, and while her body was in pain, her mind was tired. More than exhausted. Putting her pistol to her temple was an act of desperation, but this was something else.

This was acceptance.

Things could not be as they were. She had worried, back when she injured her hip in the attack on Sydney, if her wounds would affect her career. She had worried the same when she tore her shoulder after the first engagement with the
Seth'arak
, when she had woken up in hospital and discovered she was pregnant. Worries. Speculation. Concerns.

She did not worry this time. This time she
knew
. Even if the ship could be salvaged and the hole in its roof repaired, she could not operate as the Commanding Officer for the
Beijing
with her injuries. Assuming she survived. Long odds at this point, given how little attention Saeed was paying to treating her injuries compared to how much he was trying to make her comfortable. One look at the blackened stump of her right arm told her everything she needed to know.