Winds of Vengeance (22 page)

Starfire
shook again, another hit. She could see the point of impact. It was a minor hit, a glancing blow. She could almost feel her own ship’s main batteries powering up, preparing to fire again. It wasn’t like reading a monitor…she was just aware of the statuses, the countdowns as the massive batteries and accumulators reached maximum charge…and fired.

Starfire
mounted two massive particle accelerators as her primary armament, First Imperium technology, one of the many enemy systems the Mules had deciphered and adapted for human use. The weapons were vastly more powerful than the old lasers the fleet had used, though without the antimatter the enemy used for power, it took longer to recharge between each shot.

She felt the gigantic weapons discharge, the enormous energy projecting the stream of particles forward, at nearly ninety percent of the speed of light. She knew the targeting was half science and half art…with a bit of luck thrown in. The energy weapons were enormously faster than the sluggish missiles, making precise targeting feasible at least, if not easy. But warships in battle fired their positioning thrusters constantly, pushing the vessels in unpredictable directions, a bit of a dance designed to make precise targeting more difficult.

A hit! She felt the fact rather than seeing it as she would have on the bridge’s main display. A direct hit, she realized, as more data streamed in. Damage reports on enemy ships were notoriously speculative, but there was no question…the target was streaming fluids and gasses into space. A few seconds later new reports came in, internal explosions, a sharp drop in energy output.

Strand felt a wave of excitement, a feral feeling she’d never experienced before. She’d always known the First Imperium had been an enemy, that thousands of men and women had died fighting them. But it had always seemed theoretical to her. Until now.

She felt anger, she wanted that ship dead.

She flashed a thought to her vessel’s AI, a directive to divert power to
Starfire’s
secondaries. The main batteries took too long to recharge…and she could feel the enemy ship was close to the end.

It felt strange sending orders without snapping them to Arleigh Hahn…but the direct neural connection was faster, more efficient. And her bloodlust was up.

She felt the secondary weapons charging, knew the instant they were ready. She knew her gunners were working, adding their own gut feelings to the AI’s targeting. And she felt the giant x-ray lasers firing, each one sending a one second burst of concentrated energy toward the enemy. Then the impact…another hit, tearing into the target’s hull, ripping away the heavy, dark-matter infused armor that surrounded the First Imperium ships.

Vast clouds of flash-frozen fluids blasted out into space, and the enemy ship hung there, dead in space, no return fire, no thrust. She could feel the satisfaction of the kill, and in that moment she understood what drove officers like Admiral Frette…and Max Harmon and Terrance Compton. The addiction to victory, the need to defeat the enemy, whatever the cost, however much pain and guilt one had to carry.

Then the enemy ship vanished in a massive explosion, vaporizing as the last of its power failed, and the magnetic bottles holding its antimatter fuel gave way.

Strand pulled the headset off, shaking her head, adapting to the return to normal vision, hearing. The bridge officers were still cheering, savoring
Starfire’s
first kill.

“Bring us around, Commander Hahn. Full thrust, course 302.012.145…60 gees…”

It was time to hunt again.

*    *    *

Compton
shook again as the enemy beams struck her amidships. It was the fifth serious hit she’d taken, and Frette had the answer to her earlier concerns. For whatever unknown forces out there somewhere guided fortune and providence, they were forsaking her vessel.

Compton
was a massive ship, an astonishingly powerful weapon of war, and even with only her secondary batteries functioning, she’d already destroyed two of the enemy vessels. And she’d just scored her first direct hit on the third.

The heavy quad x-ray lasers tore into the enemy ship, ripping deep inside, slicing into critical systems. Even the First Imperium armor was insufficient to stop the massive bursts of concentrated light, and
Compton’s
scanners reported heavy damage to the smaller enemy vessel.

Still,
Compton
was taking hits too, far more than Frette had anticipated. It took a lot longer to destroy a target with the lighter guns, and the primaries were still down. She’d cursed under her breath a few times, but she’d left Ang Minh and his people alone.

Compton
shook hard again, and the lights flickered. The impact felt like a glancing blow, not a major hit, and a quick glance down at her display confirmed it. Her hand moved, brushing against the neural headset. She knew some of the younger captains used the new devices. There was no question, linking one’s mind to the main AI could decrease reaction times, and up the efficiency of a vessel’s performance. She knew that was the idea, that many of the new voices in the navy were working toward the day when a captain and a handful of key officers could run an entire ship, their minds directly connected to the AIs and robots that made it possible to operate a kilometers-long ship with fewer than a dozen people.

She understood the advantages, though she had her doubts as well. She remembered ships with hundreds of crew members, even thousands. That was her navy, and she was glad that someone else would be in her shoes when the time came for the republic’s ships to be sent out with crews of ten or fewer, and almost total automation. It was too much like the First Imperium for her, and she wondered if there had been any among the Ancients who had thought the same way, resisting the trend toward almost total reliance on electronic brains…and brawn.

“Admiral…”

The voice on the com was instantly recognizable. Minh.

“Yes, Commander…”

“The main batteries are back online. It’s a quick fix, and I can’t guarantee it will last. But you should be able to fire any time.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Her finger moved toward the com unit, but she stopped before cutting the line. “Good work, Ang.”

Her head spun toward Kemp. “Main batteries…fire!”

“Yes, Admiral!” She could hear the enthusiasm in Kemp’s voice.

An instant later she heard the familiar hum, the sound of the particle accelerators firing.
Compton’s
batteries were the largest weapons ever built by man, their power level off the charts in comparison to any of her companion ships. Frette remembered her awe at the Yorktowns, the pride of the old Alliance navy. The first time she’d seen one docked at the orbital station at Armstrong, she’d just stood there, transfixed, astonished at what the hands of mankind had built.

And now a Yorktown would be a tugboat next to Compton. And those main laser batteries I thought we so impressive would seem like candles…

“Hit, Admiral!” Kemp couldn’t retrain the excitement…and Frette didn’t deny him the outburst. She was smiling herself as she watched the enemy Gargolye on the scanner. Seventy thousand meters from her ship, she knew the First Imperium vessel was splitting open like an egg, its hull torn to scrap.

She watched, waited for the scanner report she knew was coming…and then it was there. The burst of energy, the miniature sun flaring into existence as the antimatter from the doomed ship’s stores broke free of containment and annihilated with the surrounding matter.

Frette stared at the screen, giving herself a few seconds to savor the kill. Then her eyes darted to the display. It was time to find another target. Time to finish the battle.

Chapter Eighteen

Excerpt from the Manifesto of Achilles

We are called Mules, a name we have embraced, though its origins are as an insult, an attempt to target the one clear defect we have as beings, an inability to reproduce. Our adoption of the label, even to the extent of using it among ourselves, is itself a repudiation, a declaration that the we are above the reach of those who would seek to taunt us with their words.

More accurately, we are Enhanced Hybrids, and our DNA is a combination of human and First Imperium components, carefully engineered to enhance strengths and eliminate weakness. We are human, in one sense, as most of our genetic material derives from human contributors. Yet we are also more, cousins of mankind…if not their future.

We have contributed far more than the others on a per capita basis and, indeed, one hundred sixteen of us are responsible to a great degree for the safety and standard of living of the tens of thousands of others, both Natural Borns and Tanks. We have tirelessly labored to unlock the technology of the First Imperium, and we have shared that knowledge, helped to integrate it for the benefit of all.

Yet we have received naught in return save resentment, jealousy. No Mule has ever threatened any human, nor proposed any restrictions on their freedoms, yet we have been the target of both. We have acknowledged our superiority, for any other positon would be the height of foolishness. We are, empirically, a greater and more capable lifeform. In spite of this, we have never requested special status, nor positon above the others. We have looked on the humans as younger siblings, to be cared for and protected and not abused. But we will no longer accept restrictions that target us only. We will no longer stand silent, patient and passive as we are relegated to the status of second class citizens.

We still wish no harm on our human cousins, but patience and negotiation has failed us. We will have the same liberty and privileges as all but us now enjoy, and we will take these by force if compelled to do so.

Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

Earth Two Date 11.29.30

“The first squadron of warbots is deployed, Achilles. The second and the third are active but held in reserve.” Themistocles stood at the ancient display unit, now repaired and functioning. The Mule had been a rival of Achilles at one time, but the two had long ago made their peace, and the struggle to secure their rights, to resist at last the restrictions and injustices imposed on them by the Norms had united them.

The Mules were, at their core, a meritocracy, respecting intelligence and ability above all things. And among a wondrous and gifted people, Achilles was the best…and with the advent of their rebellion, he had become their de facto leader.

“Very well. Prepare for demonstration strikes.” Achilles’ voice was soft, even a bit grim. He was determined to free his people from the shackles placed on them by those he considered inferiors. But he had no wish to harm his human cousins, nor to become their enemy. And even less so the Tanks, whom he thought of as even closer relations…and who filled at least half the Marine ranks surrounding the compound. They would be the first to die if it came to fighting…and he intended to do everything he could to intimidate his potential adversaries, to scare them into inaction.

He stood still, silent, for a few seconds. Then he directed a thought to the small implant in his brain. The neural gateway was something the Mules had developed for themselves, an invention they had kept secret. It allowed them to link with their AI units and all the databases connected to them. It was a more advanced version of the link the Marines had in their armor, one that did not require a direct physical connection.

It also allowed the Mules to communicate with each other through the AI network, a sort of computer-aided telepathy. They didn’t use it much…for all their genetic advantages and their highly-developed minds, they found it a bit uncomfortable.

Achilles received a response from the AI, a confirmation of the order he’d just sent requesting a com link with the Marine commander, and a report that General Frasier was on the line.

“General Frasier, this is Achilles, acting commander of the Union of Enhanced Hybrids. We have been compelled to take extraordinary steps to end a program of discrimination and marginalization that has been directed at us for many years. It is not our desire to harm anyone or to take any hostile actions…but we will defend ourselves against any assault.”

“Achilles, you are in open rebellion against the Republic of Earth Two. Your actions are illegal, violent, and will not be tolerated. I, also, have no desire to see blood spilled here. But if you do not surrender immediately, we will have no choice but to storm the compound and end this insurrection by whatever means are necessary.” Frasier’s voice was cold, professional. There was no anger in it, but also no sign of weakness.

“General Frasier, you have done your duty and delivered the requisite threats. Indeed, it is no surprise that the republic should so effortlessly resort to force to impose its will, as governments have done since history has been recorded. But we are no pack of rebels hiding in the shadows, nor poorly armed peasants shouting in the face of well-drilled soldiers. We are quite capable of defending ourselves, General, as I am about to demonstrate. What I do now is tactically foolish. If my goal was to fight your Marines, I would keep our capabilities a closely-guarded secret. So, let this be evidence that we seek to avoid rather than initiate conflict between our respective forces.” Achilles paused. “Please advise your Marines that the following demonstration is not targeted at them, nor does it constitute an attack upon their positions.”

“What are you talking about, Achilles? What are you planning to do?”

Achilles waited a few seconds, ignoring Frasier. Then he sent a thought to the AI, a single order.

He turned, his eyes moving toward the large screen displaying the compound and the surrounding area. It was time to watch the show.

*    *    *

Cameron crouched behind the makeshift trench his platoon had dug. Military history had been part of his training, and he knew there had a time when such emplacements took months to erect, when the arms and backs of soldiers were the only implements available, and shovels the highest tech tools. His armored Marines could move more dirt in an hour than an ancient platoon could in a week.