Winds of Vengeance (17 page)

Frette nodded. She agreed completely with Akira and Strand. Indeed, she realized she’d been hoping her officers would come up with alternative suggestions, relieve her of the realization that she was likely facing the most dangerous First Imperium force since the old fleet had arrived at Earth Two. She respected all her officers, but Akira and Chandra were older, more experienced…and almost alone among her task force’s ship commanders, the two men had actually fought against the First Imperium.

“I agree. If we move forward, we do so against unknown odds. We have a strong force, a significant portion of the republic’s navy. I believe we can face and defeat a First Imperium fleet of considerable size. On the other hand, if we return, what could we then do? We would have no more concrete data than we do now, and we will find ourselves having this same discussion. It is unlikely we could mount a larger expedition, not materially so. Not without leaving Earth Two virtually undefended. We have an idea now where enemy forces are located, but we can’t know what other squadrons are out there, what navigational knowledge they have…or what approaches to Earth Two they could take. So, returning only makes sense if we are prepared to remain there, and wait for the enemy to find us and attack. If we are to move against them, to learn what we truly face and strike at them…then we will never have a better opportunity than now.”

Frette paused. She could feel her defiance growing, the old sensations…determination, anger, fear. She was discussing options with her commanders, but she was the admiral…and she had already decided what she was going to do. For the first time in twenty years, a republic fleet was going into battle.

“We will move forward. We will find what we up against and, if possible, we will destroy it. But there is one thing we must do first. We have to get word back to Earth Two, to warn them of what we have found.” She paused, looking around the table. “But we will take the initiative. If there is a substantial First Imperium presence out here, it is likely that they are also surprised by the encounter. Perhaps we can strike before they can consolidate their forces.”

“I agree, Admiral. Since we have not been attacked for over twenty years, it is likely this group of enemy vessels was unaware of our presence. Thus, it is possible they are widely deployed, while the task force is concentrated. A rapid strike might allow us to engage their forces piecemeal rather than allowing them time to organize…and attack us at a time of their own choosing.”

Strand’s voice was firm, not a hint of doubt evident. Frette found herself envying her officer’s coldness. She didn’t share Strand’s ability to make a calculation and then accept it without doubt or fear. She respected Josie Strand, but the gifted young officer had never been in battle, never watched her friends and comrades dying. Hers was the confidence—almost cockiness—of one new to war, uninitiated into its brutal realities. Frette’s own mind was wracked with doubts, and she was questioning her every decision. But that was something she would never let her people see. They needed an admiral who seemed completely confident about every command…and that was what they were going to get.

“It’s settled then. We will send a courier vessel to Earth Two with a full report…and then we will move forward, following
Hurley’s
course through…”

The com unit buzzed. “Admiral Frette…we’re picking up an energy spike from the warp gate. The AI says we’ve got a transit in progress.” Ensign Roan’s voice was shaky, not surprising since the twenty-three year old junior officer was one of only two on duty on
Compton’s
bridge right now.”

Frette jumped up from her chair. “Bring the fleet to battlestations, Ensign.” She turned toward the assembled officers. “It looks like the enemy may have forced our hand. I think all of you should get back to your ships immediately.”

The officers at the table stood up and saluted. Frette returned it. Then she spun around and walked through the hatch, out onto
Compton’s
bridge.

She was going back into battle.

*    *    *

“What do you think is going to happen, sir? Do you think we’ll get the orders?”

The barracks was quiet, save for the questions, something Cameron couldn’t remember ever being the case over three years of service. Marines were noisy types, and there was always some kind of background buzz when the platoon was there. But not now.

“I don’t know, Sanchez. But do you know what I do know? Marines don’t worry about shit like that. We’re on alert for a reason, so you know the orders could damned well come any time. If we get the word, we move out. If not, we sit here. Why don’t you stop asking stupid questions, and do something useful? Would your gear pass muster if I called a snap inspection?”

“Yes, sir.” Sanchez’ reply sounded sharp, but Cameron suspected it was more a general response and not a suggestion the Marine’s bunk and locker were up to snuff. Sanchez was a bit of a hard case, in trouble fairly often and generally sloppier than Cameron tolerated in his unit. He’d almost bounced the big private more than once, but something had always stopped him. For all the Marine bluster, and the history the republic’s Corps borrowed from its Alliance counterpart, none of them save for the senior officers had ever been in real combat. They trained constantly, took the Marine credo to heart…but for all that, Cameron knew they were all just a bunch of cherries. And having never seen any of his Marines in combat, he knew if he had to pick one to be at his side when the shit hit the fan, it would be Antonio Sanchez.

Cameron stared down at the private. “What are you hoping for, Sanchez? You want this to blow over? Or does some part of you want to get into combat? Do you want to kill Mules, Sanchez?”

The Marine stared back at his CO, an uncomfortable look on his face. “I’m not afraid of combat, sir. I’m ready to go.” He paused. “But it just doesn’t seem right to be going up against the Mules. They’re a little weird and all, but they’re our own people, aren’t they?”

Sanchez had asked the question like the answer was obvious. But Cameron knew, as far as many people in the republic were concerned, it was far more complicated.

Certainly the Human Society would have a different point of view…

And how many others now, how many who are just afraid of what will happen, who take out that fear on the Mules…and what happens when the Human Society starts telling people the Tanks are the next ones who will rise up?

“Well, it’s too bad it’s not your decision, Sanchez, isn’t it? So, what do you say we just wait and then follow our orders…you know, the way they told us to in boot camp?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Cameron shook his head and walked down the middle of the barracks. As a sergeant, he’d had one of the cubbies at the end of the long row of bunks, but his lieutenant’s bars had come with a private room. He put his hand against the sensor and stood for a second as the hatch slid open. He turned his head and took one last look down the barracks. About half the Marines were asleep…or trying to sleep. The rest were mostly sitting on their bunks quietly. There were none of the usual card games, no raucous conversations, no old hands tormenting the new guys. Just an eerie semi-silence.

Cameron walked through the door into his small quarters. “Close.” The AI obeyed the command, and an instant later the door slid shut. Cameron unbuttoned his jacket, slipping it off and tossing it aside. The garment hit the chair he’d been aiming for, but it slid off and landed on the floor. It was a bit messy for the normally fastidious Marine, and typically he would have picked it up, but frankly, he didn’t give a shit right now. He was still thinking of his crèche-mate lying dead in the hospital, wondering how many Tanks would die this year from the Plague…and what exactly was being done to stop the scourge.

Cameron had never thought this way before. His platoon was just over half Tank, but he had almost two dozen NBs too, and there had never been any problems, no rivalries between them. Sanchez was an NB, and while the defiant Marine got under his skin from time to time, he’d never shown any sign of thinking less of his Tank comrades.

And what about the Mules? If we get the orders, will I march up there, threaten them with force? Will I shoot them down? Kill them because they want to perpetuate their kind, even as we do? Is it just for the government to deny them that right? To send Marines to crush them if they refuse to back down?

Cameron kicked off his boots and flopped down on the cot. He let out a deep breath, and he closed his eyes. He was exhausted…but he knew sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was too busy, thoughts of the Mules, the standoff with the government…the orders he knew could come any time.

But mostly he was thinking of Hector Fortis-Samuels, lying dead on that hospital bed.

Chapter Fourteen

Entry in Earth Two Main Database

Sudden Replicative Failure Syndrome—The Plague

The syndrome first appeared twenty-one years after the settlement of Earth Two. The first victim was twenty years old, one of the first wave of clones. Within two months there were over thirty cases. There was widespread fear, among the clones as well as natural born humans, concern that the terrible affliction was contagious, that it might spread beyond the clone population.

A state of emergency was declared, and enormous resources were committed to identifying the pathogen responsible. However, despite the efforts of the Enhanced Hybrids as well as the mainstream medical community, no bacteria or virus has ever been discovered, nor has any effective treatment been developed.

As time passed, the incidence rate leveled off, and the disease remained entirely one affecting clones. As the fear of a massive epidemic faded, research efforts were reduced to sustainable levels, and this increased the tension between clones and naturally-born humans. There were scattered clone-led protests, and legislative efforts to increase funding, but the unrest was quelled with a modest increase in research levels. Tension remained between the clones and natural born humans, but a potentially violent breach was averted. Nevertheless, the dispute over research resources has been a considerable component of the general increase in tensions between clones and natural born citizens.

Recent research suggests that the Plague is more of an undetectable defect of the cloning process than a conventional disease. It is now anticipated that the affliction is hardwired into the genetics of every clone destined to be struck down by it, a hidden failure of the cloning process, but despite considerable effort, no reliable detection protocol has been developed.

The syndrome causes extreme pain, and median time from onset to death is seventy-four hours. In the final stages, victims’ cells literally break down, causing organ failure and brain death. The incidence of the disease varies widely by genetic line, with the clones of some DNA donors far more susceptible than others…

Flag Bridge, E2S Compton

System G-35, Eleven Transits from Earth Two

Earth Two Date 11.26.30

“It’s confirmed, Admiral. First Imperium ships. Putting them through the database now.” Kemp’s face was pressed against the scope. “It’s strange…they’re close matches for the recorded imperial ship classes…forty-four Gremlins and Twenty-eight Gargoyles. But none of them are exact matches. There are minor discrepancies…slight mass differentials, higher power readings.”

Frette was looking at the main screen. The data displayed there was telling her the same thing. The ships were almost matches for the vessels the fleet had fought against, but not quite.

“Maybe they’re newer designs…or older ones.” She was a little concerned about the anomaly, but mostly she was relieved that enemy ships had stopped coming through the warp gate. It was a substantial force, but they were all light ships, no Leviathans or Colossuses, and that meant her task force could beat them. She only had forty-three ships, but six of them were heavy battle line units…and
Compton
was bigger and tougher than an imperial Leviathan. She even fancied that her flagship could take on a Colossus one on one and come out the winner…though she preferred that as a theoretical matchup. She’d seen an imperial Colossus in action, and she’d be happy if she never saw one again. But against a group of destroyer and cruiser equivalents, her flagship and its smaller but still powerful cousins on the battle line would unleash hell.

“Captain Akira is back aboard
Legatus
, Admiral. All officers are on their ships.”

“Very well, Commander.”

Good…Legatus was the farthest away. I wasn’t sure Akira would make it back before we had to launch…

“Enemy ships moving into missile range in four minutes, Admiral.”

“All ships, arm external missiles.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Half a minute later: “All ships report external ordnance armed and ready.”

“Very well. Plot a fleet course toward close engagement range…45g. We’re going to flush our racks, and then we’re going to close immediately to energy range.”

In a desperate fight, Frette would have ordered her ships to follow up the volleys from the racks with more from her internal magazines. She’d have sent every missile she had toward the enemy ships. But she was cautious, and far from sure what her people faced now was the sum total of imperial strength. She had no reason to expect there were more First Imperium ships out there somewhere, but her gut told her to be prudent. Besides, she had more than enough firepower without burning through the rest of her missiles…and with enough reserve ordnance in the supply ships to refill the racks after the fight, she could return the task force to full combat readiness after the battle.

“Two minutes to launch range.”

Frette sat bolt upright in her chair, playing the role she knew her people needed. It was always important for the admiral to show strength, but this would be the first time in battle for most of her people. She knew they were all scared.
She
was scared. But if she led them well, they would respond to their training, they would get the job done. Hopefully with a minimum of losses.