The Guardians of Sol (30 page)

February 9, 2290.
Mars orbital shipyards.

Telamon stared at the holographic display in the center of the command deck on the
Liberation
. Little blips representing ships waved about like a legion of insects. His son-in-law and a few other Swordmasters were directing the flow.

A warning had come down through the Venator pipeline a few days ago that the Centurions were planning an attack on the
Ares
shipyards. Telamon's intelligence sources had traced the contact through the network back to somewhere in the Saturn orbit. They couldn't track down anything else. It did not seem unlikely that the Guardian forces in that area were completely unanimous in the decision to defect.

The warning was taken with a pinch of salt, of course, but any warning was better than none. Vadasz had said the Centurions had over four hundred ships. The warning said to expect about a third of that.

They had hidden several wings of
phoenix—
class fighters on Phobos and Deimos, as well as many of the resource satellites now in orbit. The pilots ended up waiting there for the better part of two days. When the enemy fleet jumped in they still hadn't had time to readjust to real space before the fighters took out their jump drives with burrowing missiles. More than one ship suffered from a critical overload and was destroyed on the spot. Still, one hundred and forty odd ships were more than enough to overwhelm the fifty ships protecting the Mars facilities.

The fighters had withdrawn, and the enemy fleet moved on to its objectives. Even at that point it wasn't clear whether the objective was to destroy or to capture the shipyards. The Mars forces put up the fight they were expected to. Couriers had stood by and left with messages the moment the enemy fleet appeared. Within a few moments, most of Earth's fleet, and a fair portion of Jupiter's had appeared as flanking forces to the Centurions.

Once the fleets arrived, the Swordmasters went to work. The Centurions had good generals, good tacticians. They even had quite a few units that were more than physical for most Guardians. The enemy, however, had no way to really deal with the end products of the Swordmaster program.

The fighters on both sides were fairly matched, and knew their business. The Swordmasters ignored them for the most part and focused on the larger ships. They began the process of picking off straggling cruisers, and separating battle groups. They managed, for the most part, to get friendly ships to realign their axes out of the path of particle blasts.

A courier popped into existence off the
Liberation
's bow. A burst of high volume data packets passed between the two ships and the courier jumped again. Telamon pulled up the information on his data pad.

He watched as a second, much smaller enemy task force jumped into Earth orbit. The few remaining Guardian ships fell back to defensive positions around the Forge and Von Braun city. Half of the enemy force continued on toward Earth, and the other half veered toward the Forge. The Forge was at an angle in its orbit that gave it a very clear view of the incoming ships.

The ships approaching the planet hit an invisible perimeter line. The nearest Redeemer satellites flipped in place and began laying down fire. The Centurion ships were torn apart almost before they could respond. Only a handful of satellites were damaged or destroyed in the exchange. Telamon smirked. Updating the satellite system's targeting data had been one of Michael's last projects.

The remaining enemy ships spread out and angled toward perceived weak points on the Forge. Before they could get into their optimal firing range, the Forge opened up with its main cannon and wiped several ships from existence. The Guardian defenders rushed forward to distract the enemy while the Forge's cannon recharged. Several enemy ships managed to jump back out of orbit, but the rest were trapped by the force of Asian and European ships coming from the other side of the planet.

The time stamp showed ten minutes ago. The other information relayed by the courier wasn't important at the moment. The temporary Sentinel put his pad down and looked back at the tactical display. The Swordmasters had nibbled the enemy force down to half of its original size. The Guardian fighters had decimated their counterparts and were now taking part in the devastation being dispensed by their larger companions.

From his vantage above the action, he noticed something odd about the display. He pointed to a bunch of small blurs nearing the shipyards.

"What are those?" He asked, drawing attention to the splatter of light. Eric glanced where his father-in-law was pointing and swore.

"We've got drop ships inside the perimeter! Alert shipyard security!" The Swordmaster ordered the com officers. "We have Specials onboard, get them on shuttles and headed out."

A few tense minutes passed before the shipyards responded. The drop ships landed. A few minutes later the shuttle full of Specials launched from the
Liberation
for the enemy ground troops. Hopefully the lot wouldn't cause too much damage before it was all settled. The enemy fleet was down to isolated groups that wouldn't last much longer. All in all, this had been a good day. With minimal losses, they had wiped out almost two hundred enemy ships.

"Sir," the com officer got Telamon's attention. "I've got a call coming through the network from the Saturn taskforce for you."

"Route it to my office. I'll take it there," the old man replied. "Eric, if you're not needed here I'd appreciate if you joined me."

Glancing at the display, Eric shrugged and joined his commander in the office attached to the bridge. The room still held most of the decorations put up by its previous inhabitant. A sad and constant reminder of his friend for the old Spartan. When Eric entered, Telamon sealed the door behind him and brought up the waiting call on the holographic interface.

"What news do you have for me, Captain?" Telamon asked.

"The attack failed, sir," The captain of the
Gaea
replied after a few minutes of delay - the curse of communications limited by light speed.

"How bad is it? I want a full report," After it became clear that the captain wasn't adding anything more.

"The attack began even better than planned. It appeared that we blindsided them completely. We were holding station well against the few ships they had there. I received mission accomplished reports from all teams except for the Shadowstealers within the first ten minutes. Then enemy reinforcements arrived. I lost ten
Aegis
destroyers before I knew what was happening. Insertion team com lines began going dead almost immediately after. I ordered the retreat before all forces were lost. One shuttle made it out of Saturn station claiming to have the Shadowstealers on board, but it was intercepted and destroyed before pickup could be made."

A cold ball formed in Telamon's stomach, and he felt a decade older. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. His best friend's son... his godson... gone. There was no justice in the world. Even Eric was touched. Christoph had been a friend and a rolemodel. Hell, his daughter had even dated the man before Eric met her. A few questions remained, however.

"Captain, what are your total losses? What is your current situation?" The Swordmaster inquired.

"All insertion teams and their shuttles are gone. I also lost about two thirds of my escort ships, although the
Gaea
and the
Hermes
are in fair enough shape. The enemy gave chase for a little while but their hearts didn't seem to be in it. We were unable to make it through the jump gate and are proceeding to the inner system at sublight speeds."

Telamon swore. "I'll see if I can't make some arrangements for your group. I can't make any promises though. Forward your position and course to the Forge and we'll do what we can. If anything else comes up let us know.
Liberation
out."

"So something of a good day with a very bitter edge," Eric said bitterly. "With so much of his force destroyed the enemy commander is going to have to change tactics. Either he’ll go full guerilla warfare, which would really hurt, but not fatally wound us. Or he’ll try to force a showdown to try and destroy our fleets all at once. Arrogant as the enemy seems to be, I’d bet on the latter. There have been too many failures when he’s let subordinates have their head. What are we going to do?"

"We're down to three planets. Earth is too hard of a nut to crack, and Mars won't go down while it can be supported by Earth and Jupiter. If something is going to happen, it'll likely be at Jupiter. The only real question is when. They take that away from us and we'll have to turtle up. No one has ever won a war with pure defense. It would be much easier if we didn't have colonies to defend, that'd free up a lot of ships and manpower that could be used to search for their fleet. Go see what plans for attack and defense your team can draw up for Jupiter. I have some calls to make to the Asians and the Assembly."

February 16, 2290.
Saturn Station.

In the bowels of the enemy occupied station there were many seldom used facilities. Barak was exploiting this opportunity to wash away some of the grime from the last few weeks. His armor and it’s undersheathe were stacked off in a dry corner. The undersheathe needed a rinse even more than he did. It wouldn't get it tonight, however. The next work shift would start too soon for the thing to dry out again without leaving too much evidence.

The lavatory was seldom used, but during the 'day' it still saw a few people come and go. Barak finished his shower and shrugged back into his armor. He filled a few containers with the water he would need for the day and made his way back to the little out of the way crook that he had appropriated. Saturn station was built almost identically to Jupiter, though on a smaller scale, and Barak had spent enough time in both of them to know about most of the little hidden places. He spliced his cipher AI back into to station network and checked on a few important things. Thankfully, none of the AI administers were the smart variety or his tricks would have been found out within a few minutes. His feeds were good. His own ‘dumb’ AI would alert him if any important information came up. Satisfied, he settled into a corner in the hopes of getting an hour or two or sleep.

*****

An insistent beeping awoke the tired Venator. He pulled himself over to the haphazard computer terminal to check it. The Centurions were excited about decisions finally made in the aftermath of the Guardian attack. Barak felt regret that he hadn't been able to do much to help them, but he hadn't been in a position to do much without compromising his own mission. Barak would never willingly disappoint Michael. The information being passed around was rather interesting though. Barak encrypted a message and sent it through the low priority backchannels of the Guardian network. The message might take a few days or weeks to get the right person's attention, but it would arrive with plenty of time for others to act on it. At least he had been able to get word home about the attack on Mars.

There wasn't much else that needed immediate action. A list of Centurion ships on patrol. None of them had a destination of interest. There were a few tidbits in the data stream that might amount to something later. He flagged them for further watch and retired back to his corner.

*****

The next night he cleaned his undersheathe and raided one of the exigent supply stores for food. Field rations weren't exactly appetizing (that seemed to ring true no matter which era you lived in) but they certainly fulfilled their purpose. He took a moment to choose some of the best meals available. Best being a relative term of course.

When he got back to his hideout he checked his data feeds again. Now that was interesting... a delegation was coming in a few days from the Centurion flagship. Barak decided that he was going to be on the return shuttle.

*****

It was a slow process getting from near the bottom of Saturn station to the main docking bay so many decks above. Barak made as much use of Jeffries tubes and back ways as much as he could. There had been one point where he had had to cross in front of a cafeteria. Even in full active camouflage it was risky to move by so many eyes. Someone might have seen him from the corner of his eye, but they immediately shook it off.

The scariest, tightest moment came right as Barak was about to enter the docking bay, hours before the shuttle was to arrive. He was following a tech when the man was startled out of his path when one of those wolf-beasts that the enemy seemed so fond of stuck its enormous head through the airlock. Barak couldn't be sure, but the tech looked as if he were still uncomfortable around the beast. The man was probably one of the traitors. Not that that was important at the moment. The beast sniffed and cast a baleful eye in Barak's direction. Barak knew that he wasn't making a sound. Smell might give him away, but his scent shouldn't be much different than the traitors it was accustomed to. Had anyone discerned how well these things could see? Barak wasn't sure how much above or below the visible spectrum his active camouflage actually covered.

The beast seemed inclined to investigate Barak's location, but it was jerked back on course by its impatient handler. The man was in some of the gnarliest armor that Barak had ever seen. Barak felt a wave of relief as they went on their way. The tech continued into the docking bay to finish his tasks, whatever that might be. Barak was just a step behind, but soon forgot about him. Barak had scoped the bay out before when he'd first arrived as a stowaway. It looked like no one was using the catwalks. Good. He'd wait for his moment up there.

*****

The Centurion shuttle was an interesting build. Somewhat aquiline not unlike their fighters. It was larger, of course, even larger than a courier ship or Guardian combat shuttle, with the main wings that swept forward while two smaller ones swept back. The cockpit came to a point at the bow, and the boarding ramp beneath it came down. The delegation was unarmored, in full imperial uniform. The main delegate rumbled something in that bastardized Russian-alien mix of theirs. They passed through the Ring Jumper honor guard without so much as a sideward glance. Barak began his careful sojourn to the landing pad.

Most of the people cleared out after delegation. A maintenance crew was busy refueling the shuttle and making minor repairs. More importantly - the ramp was still down. The maintenance crew were so involved in their tasks that Barak didn't even need to take special care (beyond his camouflage) to get past them. A welder was blind to everything else, the fuel techs near the back were laughing at some crude joke. The inside of the shuttle was quite... luxurious. The Centurions were only supposed to be on the station for a few hours. If the four men and their pilot were the only ones onboard then Barak thought he shouldn’t have too much trouble proceeding... The pilot looked to be taking a nap.

Barak took his time looking around. He smiled to himself when he found the perfect place to stowaway. The Venator rested a hand on the pouch containing the signal beacon. The Sentinel would have reason to be pleased with him very soon.