Winds of Vengeance (4 page)

“Now it is you who is being naïve. Your words drip of arrogance, of your feelings of superiority over the other inhabitants of this planet. In such an attitude, do you not see the genesis of the fear they feel?”

“It is not arrogance to state the truth, Father. We are not freaks, not some scientific experiment gone awry. We are the future of mankind, its evolution. It is the Norms who should be barred from reproduction. They should be sterilized, and the Tanks’ crèches shut down, for they represent the past.”

Cutter just stared at his creation. He understood some of the motivations behind Achilles’ blunt speech. He had long counseled patience among the Mules, to wait, that the others would lose their fear. But the arrogance of the gifted beings worked against them, fanning the fear rather than lessening it. Not for the first time, he regretted indulging himself and naming his creations after mythological gods and heroes. It only served to support the narrative that they were different. And dangerous.

“Consider your words, Achilles, for in them is the explanation you seek. The others fear you because it is rational for them to do so. Because even as you help to unlock the knowledge of the ancients to everyone’s benefit, you look upon them as inferiors. Almost as animals. You are intelligent, and strong…yet for all your gifts, humility is not one of them. I love you all as my children, for in a sense you are just that. But you must be patient. There is enough disarray on Earth Two already.”

Achilles stood silently, and Cutter could see the Mule was averting his eyes. It wasn’t pronounced…it was nothing he’d even have noticed if he hadn’t known Achilles since he’d put the first cells together in the laboratory…but he could see it. The Mule was hiding something.

“Very well, Father. But I must insist that you put more pressure on President Harmon. The Prohibition must be repealed, and that must occur soon.” He paused. “We cannot tolerate these conditions much longer.” The threat implicit in the last line came through despite Achilles’ best efforts to hide it.

“I will speak with President Harmon, Achilles. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Father.” The Mule nodded, and then he turned and walked out of the room.

Cutter sat silently for a moment. He was troubled. The Mules were his greatest accomplishments, a true step forward for humanity. He had created them, but he knew they were smarter than him. All of them. He had been amazed at what he’d seen them do in the last fifteen years, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Earth Two would be like now if he’d been allowed to create a thousand of them, or ten thousand.

“Things are getting tense, aren’t they?”

Cutter turned, glancing up at the shadowy figure standing in the room’s rear doorway. “I didn’t know you were there. And we passed tense months ago. I’m really getting worried. The Mules have always listened to me, but things are coming to a head.” He paused. “And as much as their arrogance troubles me, they have legitimate grievances. And there is no questioning how much they have contributed to adapting First Imperium technology.”

The man in the doorway stepped forward into the light. He looked like Cutter, and then again, in ways he didn’t. The eyes were the same, and the face, though the new arrival had more color than Cutter’s pasty white. “No, there is no argument there.” The man stepped forward and sat next to Cutter. “Still, I’ll never understand how they can be so intelligent and yet not realize their own arrogance feeds the fear and hatred they so resent.”

Cutter allowed a small smile to slip onto his lips. “They? Are you not one of them?”

The man returned the smile, though Cutter could see the pain behind it. “I am…and I am not. They feel alone, isolated by how few of them there are. Yet they don’t understand what it is like to be truly alone.”

Cutter’s smile faded, and he just nodded.

The man was the first of the Mules…or their predecessor, depending on point of view. Cutter had created the first of his engineered beings from his own DNA. He’d spliced in First Imperium genetic material, and he’d used his prototype equipment to cut and fuse the chromosomes, adding strengths and eliminating weaknesses. The resulting human-First Imperium hybrid had been a success, a new version of himself, far stronger and physically powerful than he was…and smarter too. He’d named his ‘child’ H2, something he’d later come to regret as too impersonal, just as he had the names from Greek mythology.

Cutter knew that H2 had a strained relationship with the other Mules. His gene fusing technique had improved before he’d created the next hundred sixteen specimens, and the results showed it. H2 was stronger and smarter than the Tanks and the NBs, but he was less capable than the others of his kind who followed. Cutter had been a loner most of his life, at least before the fleet was trapped and he was forced to cooperate closely with the crews, before he became an honorary Marine by risking his life to save several of their wounded. But he still remembered the loneliness…and he sympathized with H2’s plight.

“H2, we have to find out what is going on. If they are planning to do something dangerous, I have to know. We have to stop it. They are intelligent, but they never saw Earth, never lived there. I have seen what mankind is capable of doing to itself, the infighting, the savagery. The hatred. We cannot allow that to happen here. Whatever it takes.” He looked over at his quasi-clone. “You have to try to find out. I know they consider you an outsider, but in many ways you are just like them.”

H2 looked doubtful, but then he just nodded. “Very well. I will do my best.”

He got up and walked out of the room, following the path Achilles had taken.

Cutter watched him go. He hoped Achilles and the other Mules would show restraint, that H2 would be able to convince them to be patient. But he’d never mastered the human trait of self-delusion, of believing in things because it made one feel better to do so, because it took away the painful need to deal with reality.

He hoped things would work out…but he knew that was a longshot. He expected trouble…big trouble. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

Chapter Three

Captain Van Heflin, Log Entry, 10.14.30

We are in trouble. We’re being pursued by ten enemy vessels. The hostiles appear to be operating on antimatter power, and they are accelerating at 80g.
Hurley
is a fusion-powered ship, and even if the dampeners could handle 80g, our maximum output is 60g, 65 if I push it to the limit. And that means they’re going to catch us.

I have had the crew conducting battle drills, preparing for the engagement I know we can’t avoid.
Hurley
is manned entirely by personnel born on Earth Two, which means there isn’t a real combat veteran onboard. Every one of us was a child the last time a republic ship faced an enemy.

The drills are as much to keep the crew busy as anything else. The strange jamming drones have severely limited our scanning data on the approaching vessels, but they are all of similar mass to
Hurley
. I tried to tell myself they could be weaker, that their weapons systems were less advanced than ours, giving us a chance in a ten to one matchup. But the ships are accelerating at 80g, so that is extremely unlikely. And if they fuel their engines with antimatter, they like use the volatile substance in their warheads as well.

I have tried to draw inspiration—and courage—from the stories of the great captains who led their ships on the journey to Earth Two. It is one thing to imagine a hopeless fight, to think of the glory, the romanticism of the doomed warriors, to envision oneself alongside Leonidas and his Spartans so many centuries ago, facing certain death with stony resolve. But it is quite another to stare certain death in the face for real. I am
Hurley’s
captain, and I know my duty…to my ship, to its crew. I must stand firm for them, lead them into the fight I know is coming, let them draw what they need from me.

But I, too, am afraid. Scared to death. And I don’t know where I will find the strength to die well, as a captain of the Republic should.

E2S Hurley

G47 System

Earth Two Date 10.14.30

“They’re still gaining, Captain. At current relative thrust—and assuming their weapons are similar to ours—they should enter missile range in one hour, twelve minutes.”

“Very well…any luck with the jamming?”

“Negative, sir. We’ve still got at least six of the drones keeping up with us.” There was frustration in her voice, confusion. “Those things have a lot of power for devices not much larger than missiles.”

“They must be antimatter powered.” Heflin felt his stomach tighten as he thought about it. Humanity had uncovered the First Imperium’s secrets to using antimatter as a power source…but they didn’t have any way to produce the substance in significant quantities. The First Imperium had converted entire planets to anti-matter factories, using all available energy…geothermal, solar, tectonic. But even with the advances the Republic had made over the last thirty years, turning a world into a giant production facility was well beyond human abilities.

“It looks like we’re going to have a fight on our hands, people, so let’s be ready for it.”

Is ten to one a fight? Or an execution?

“I want all weapon crews to run a level one diagnostic on their systems. We’ve got an hour, and we’re going to use it well.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And I want every member of the crew to take a Quad-2 stim dose ten minutes before the enemy enters range.” The amphetamines where a vast leap above the primitive drugs the lost fleet had used. They were vastly more powerful, for one thing, and they lasted longer. They sharpened the mind, and sped up the reflexes, all in a much more controlled manner. But, like all drugs of their kind, they became dangerous with repeat dosages. And if
Hurley
was going to have any chance at all, the coming battle had to be one of maneuver, not a brute force fight. And that could last for days.

“Yes, Captain.” Half a minute later: “All sections acknowledge, sir. Stim doses ten minute prior to entering range.”

Heflin leaned back in his chair. He was edgy. No, he was a damned sight worse than edgy. He was terrified.

He wondered about the captains of the fleet, tried to imagine how they felt going into the great battles they’d fought, struggling against overwhelming odds. The ships they’d commanded were vastly inferior to his own, and yet they did what they had done…and they’d survived to found a new civilization.

A third of them did, at least…

Heflin looked down at his screen, his eyes darting around, his mind working, noting the planets, the moons…the asteroid belt. He’d studied naval combat tactics, of course, but now he realized how different reality was from the classroom. This wasn’t academics where the worst result was a poor grade. It was real. Life and death.

“Lieutenant Ventnor, as soon as the enemy enters missile range, we will flush our exterior racks. I’m sending you a firing pattern.”

“Yes, Captain.” The tactical officer turned toward her display, scanning the data Heflin had sent her. “Captain…” She turned and looked across
Hurley’s
cramped bridge. “These firing solutions are…”

“Yes, Lieutenant…they are not optimal for targeting the enemy fleet.”

“Sir…” She was clearly uncomfortable challenging the captain. “…none of the missiles will be anywhere near the enemy.”

“If the enemy stays on his present course…” Heflin took a breath. He knew his plan was a risky one…but he also knew he had nothing to lose. “Plot a course change for Hurley. The instant the enemy launches, I want full thrust, heading 023.145.211.” His eyes dropped to the screen again, focusing on the asteroid belt between the system’s seventh and eighth planets.
Hurley
just might make it there before the enemy closed to energy weapons range. “And I mean full thrust. Advise the engineer I will be wanting one hundred fifteen percent from the reactor.

Ventnor hesitated. “Yes, sir.” She paused again before turning to her station and relaying the order.

Heflin watched, some sort of black amusement dancing in his thoughts. He understood Ventnor’s reaction. Captains often asked for the best their engineers could deliver…one hundred five percent of capacity on a reactor, even one hundred ten. One fifteen was unheard of, insane.

But what the hell difference does it make if we blow up the reactor or get torn apart by ten enemy ships?

*    *    *

Fin Danith pulled himself through the long access tube, swearing under his breath each time he bumped into one of the conduits protruding from the walls. Danith was
Hurley’s
chief engineer, and right now he was all that stood between the ship and a cataclysmic nuclear explosion. He’d already cut off the safeties…if he hadn’t,
Hurley’s
reactor would have scragged an hour before, as the AI intervened to prevent a catastrophic containment failure. Turning off the emergency circuits on a multi-gigawatt fusion reactor was something only a lunatic would do. Or the engineer of a vessel being pursued by eight enemy ships. Eight
faster
enemy ships.

Fin knew it was a miracle they were being chased by only eight enemies and not ten. Captain Heflin had the same amount of experience in actual naval combat as everyone else onboard…zero. But
Hurley’s
commanding officer had displayed a stunning amount of natural ability. He’d launched the ship’s missiles on a course that seemed to make no sense…one far wide of the approaching fleet. But then he’d changed the ship’s course and made a run for the nearby asteroid belt. And when
Hurley’s
course shifted, the genius of his targeting became clear. The ship’s missiles were aimed along the enemy’s nearest intercept course. In one bold maneuver, Heflin had moved his ship away from the incoming enemy missiles…and suckered the pursuing vessels into his own carefully-prepared killing zone.