Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy (24 page)

“Still in dry dock, of course. Sitting on our supports just outside of Omaha.”

“You’re still on the ground in
Omaha
?”

 
“We just shooed the last of the tourists out a few hours ago and got emergency responders to clear a ten-kilometer radius around us just in case.”

Granger frowned. “In case of what?”

“In case we blow up Omaha by q-jumping directly out of dry dock, of course.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Near Earth

Bridge, ISS Constitution

Things were dire. But just a shade less dire than an hour ago. With the
ISS Congress
about to join them in their showdown with the aliens in low Earth orbit, there would finally be two hardened targets to present to the invaders instead of just one. The
Congress
didn’t have a ton of mag-rail slugs, but it had enough for at least ten minutes of battle. Which, Granger thought grimly, would be just about right if things went how he expected.

“Proctor, Zheng, have we analyzed the data intel from the last singularity explosion yet?”

Lieutenant Zheng nodded excitedly. “It’s not just quantum coupling, sir. It’s quantum entanglement. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it earlier, given how they seem to be able to teleport the thing underneath the surface of a planet—they’re not launching it at all, and the quantum efficiency of the inter-atomic exchange is just phenomenal. I wouldn’t be surprised if—”

“Lieutenant,” Granger interrupted with a stern glare. “Save the science lesson for another time. Cut to the chase.”

Only slightly perturbed—as Zheng was one of the longest-serving members of the
Constitution
’s crew and was used to Granger’s prickly style—he continued. “The alien ships—they not only have to couple their reactors with the singularity during its growth, they’re also connected with each other. And that connection is more than just a weak bond. It’s actually quite strong, though it decreases linearly with distance—which is why in all instances we’ve witnessed its creation the alien ships have been huddled tightly into a group.”

“And when the singularity explodes, it sends energy back along the link?” Granger was standing, and now pacing excitedly. “Is that how we can take them out?”

“Not too fast, sir. It’s important to understand exactly what’s going on when a mass hits one of these singularities. We’ve observed that when one of our mag-rail slugs passes the Schwartzchild radius—that’s the event horizon—nothing happens, except the blasted thing grows bigger. But when a sufficiently massive object—many times more massive than the singularity itself—say, Lunar Base, or the
Rainbow
—makes contact with the singularity, something very interesting happens. In fact, Yanukov Polenski theorized last century that when enough mass fell into a small black hole at a sufficiently elevated rate, the effect was that all the mass approaches relativistic speeds within a few microns of the center, bounces off each other, and locally creates perturbations in the gravitational field, which rapidly and catastrophically grow until the mass and energy is all ejected at once, gravity be damned.”

Granger was getting impatient.
Scientists
. “Right. That’s what we’ve been witnessing. The singularity destroys itself when we hit it with anything bigger than a fighter.”
 

“Exactly. But the question is what happens to the ships that are still linked to it. From this data,”—he tapped his screen—“I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I think we see quantum feedback transmitted into the cores of the other ships. The nearest one that was damaged, it looked like it was roughed up from the outside—which it was, but the greater damage was on the interior. They lost core containment for several seconds. That’s probably why their laser dampening field failed—they had no power for the crucial few seconds after that blast, so when we hit the damage zones with lasers, there was nothing to stop the beams from cutting right into the core.”

Granger stroked his chin and stopped pacing. “Lieutenant, do you think if we hit it with something bigger—say, a light cruiser or a medium-sized asteroid, or a missile or torpedo from the surface—could we destroy the ships outright?”

Zheng shrugged. “No idea. Makes sense—may as well try. What else have we got?”

“We’ve got the
Congress
. Between us two, and the smattering of ships IDF can scramble up last minute, we just might pull it off.”

“Against six alien ships?” Proctor motioned towards the screen, where, magnified, they saw the ominous, massive alien vessels slow as they entered low Earth orbit. A swarm of fighters had flown up to meet them and in response the advancing ships disgorged what seemed like thousands of their own fighters—reminiscent of the old vids from the first Swarm War—and now there was an intense fighter battle raging. But with nothing to stop the main ships, there was nothing to prevent them from repeating the destruction of Lunar Base all over the planet.

Starting, apparently, with Miami. The Florida peninsula sprawled out below them, and the massive city occupying the southern tip looked suddenly small and vulnerable against the threat approaching from above.

“Rayna,” Granger said, tapping his comm, “you all ready down there?”

“Almost, Cap’n. Just leaving now. I’ll transfer remote control to the bridge and run things from down there. Give me a few more minutes.”

He drummed his fingers on his armrest. Impatience gnawed at him. Not impatience. Urgency. Millions were about to die unless they did something. Anything.

Proctor apparently noticed his fidgeting. “Nervous?”

He cleared his throat, and coughed a few more times. “Commander, I’ve been nervous for fifteen years. Ever since I saw firsthand what my own government, what my own fleet, was willing to sacrifice and ignore and lie about all in the name of stability and progress.”

She nodded. “The Khorsky incident?”

He only stared at the screen, watching the alien ships grow smaller against the vast backdrop of the blue globe below. “The Russians had been building up their military in the Khorsky Sector for years, in violation of treaty. But did the higher ups tell us? Did they warn us? No. What the hell was I supposed to think? Every indicator pointed to a resurgent Swarm. And then, when I detected massive fleet movements towards Britannia, what was I supposed to do? Sit by and idly watch the Swarm invade?”

“But it was the Russian fleet on a training exercise,” she said. If she was judging him, there was no indication in her voice.

“It was the Russian fleet, on a training exercise,” he repeated. “But in newly designed ships. Newly designed fighters. Completely new. Like nothing we’d seen before. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

“You could have signaled fleet intel and asked for guidance—”

“Everything was jammed. Nothing in or out. But I knew that, whatever they were, they couldn’t have been there without IDF’s knowledge. And permission. If it was the Russians building an unauthorized new fleet, then why were we letting them? If it was the Swarm embedded firmly within our space, preparing an attack, why the hell were we letting them? But the bureaucrats behind their desks at IDF were too busy angling for promotions and service medals to care.” Granger looked from the screen back to Proctor. “So I forced the issue. I ordered my carrier, and Abe’s frigate, into a confrontation. Intercepted them.”

“And people died.”

She had kept her tone neutral. He nodded. “People died. We q-jumped right into their path, caught them with their pants down, and they fired. We launched our fighters. They launched theirs, and by the time IDF showed up with the Russian ambassador, we had a full-on orbital battle going on over Vitaly Three.” He turned back to the screen, looking for the telltale sign of any forced singularities. “I was escorted out of the Khorsky Sector by our flagship, and faced a whole table of admirals back at
Valhalla
Station
. But did I get a commendation for uncovering the fact that the Russians had violated treaty? That they were rapidly building up their forces? Developing new offensive technologies? New directed-energy weapons? New inertial cancelers? All outside of the purview of IDF, which they are supposedly full participatory members of? No. They threatened me with court-martial. In essence: shut up, or you’ll be locked up until you rot.”

Proctor shuffled uncomfortably. “Maybe there were negotiations happening behind the scenes. Maybe IDF knew about their fleet and treaty violations all along, and you stumbling onto the situation might have made things worse. Set back the secret diplomacy.”

“Bull. Last time I checked, we live in a democracy. That’s what the Senate is for—not that I trust the politicians, but the way I see it is if they really had no idea what was going on, then I did them a favor, and if they did know what the Russians were up to, then they deserved to be exposed.”

The old memories were making him angry, boiling up inside of him. That was good. It meant he was still alive. Dead men couldn’t fight. Only living men, fuming at injustice and enraged at the loss of their fellows, fought, and won wars.

“Cap’n, she’s ready,” said Commander Scott, greasy in her blackened coveralls. She’d stepped onto the bridge while he was staring at the screen.

“Very good.” He tapped the comm again. “Commander Pierce. Are the fighter squadrons ready for one last run?”

“More than ready, sir.” The CAG sounded firm, but distant. The experience of choosing who would die was obviously weighing on him. But no time to grieve, no time to help the man come to terms with the harsh, unforgiving realities of battle. You either buck up and perform your duty, or you die. And sometimes you die anyway. Pierce continued, “And we’ve picked up a few dozen more fighters from some of the destroyed heavy cruisers and the super-carrier. We’re actually past full complement right now—one hundred and twenty fighters at your disposal, sir.”

Granger raised an eyebrow. That was some grim math, there. They’d started the day with eighty-two fighters, lost who knows how many dozens of fighters in the ensuing two battles, and ended the day with forty more than they started. “Very good, Commander. Granger out.” He turned to the gun crews. “Are we reloaded?”

“Aye, sir,” came the response.

Granger cleared his throat, and stood up. Time for one last speech. He tapped the comm.

“This is the captain. We’re about to reengage with the enemy.”

He hesitated, swore, and shook his head. To hell with speeches. “Go kick their asses. Granger out.”

Proctor raised an eyebrow at him. “Short and sweet. I like it.”

Facing the screen, and pointing towards navigation, he swept his finger towards the front of the bridge as he gave the order to q-jump. “Ensign, initiate q—”

His knees buckled, and his vision blurred before he fell. He heard sounds come out of his mouth, but couldn’t understand the words.

The last thing he saw before his vision went dark was Proctor kneeling over him, shaking his chest, yelling words he couldn’t hear.

Chapter Sixty

Near Earth

Bridge, ISS Constitution

The doctor was saying something, and from his face it looked urgent. But for the life of him, Granger couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

Could he hear? He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds, and just the fact he was focusing on sounds made him realize he could indeed hear. He opened his eyes again and looked bewilderedly at the doctor, who finally stopped yelling and reached in his bag for something. Moments later he pushed a metasyringe full of some liquid against his arm. The liquid disappeared, and the doctor produced another one and likewise injected him with the contents.

“What the hell is that?” he tried to say. But the sounds he heard come out of his mouth were unintelligible.

Grabbing another few tools, the doctor fixed an electronic device on his forehead, which throbbed with a warm, pulsing sensation, while simultaneously rubbing another instrument against the back of his head.

After what seemed like several minutes, Granger sat up and looked around. Commander Proctor was no longer there, but back at the command station talking with tactical. The doctor was kneeling next to him, holding his arm. “Take it easy, Captain. Don’t get up.”

“What happened?” he said, and this time he could understand himself, though his words were slightly slurred.

The doctor leaned in close, speaking so that only the two of them could hear. “The metastasis in your brain is pressing up against an area of the frontal lobe responsible for language processing. It’s getting bigger, Tim, at an alarming rate.”

Granger rubbed his temples. The doctor continued, “I’ve given you something to deaden the pain—otherwise you’d have a splitting headache right now. And I’ve used hypersonics to relieve the pressure the tumor is placing on the brain and administered meta-steroidal agents to the affected region to make it more elastic and resilient. That’ll help some—you should retain language skills for another few days.”

Granger swore. At least he would probably only need another few hours. Enough time to kick the aliens’ asses out of the solar system. He planted his fists on the floor and raised himself up to a kneeling position. The doctor moved to stop him, but Granger waved him off. With a wave of dizziness, he stood up.

“Status?” he croaked.

Proctor wheeled around. “Oh, thank god. How is he?” she said to the doctor.

“I said, status!” Granger barked.

“All departments ready for the q-jump command, sir. Every mag-rail reloaded—we even got another one operational while you were down.”

“How long was I out?”

“Just ten minutes,” she replied. “Looks like you hit your head harder than you thought.” She nodded to the doctor. “Will he be all right?”

The doctor shuffled, as if uncomfortable. “Actually, Commander, I’m placing you in charge of the
Constitution
. The captain is unfit for further duty. I—”

“Bullshit,” Granger interrupted, taking a threatening step towards the doctor. “I told you, doc, that I’ll step aside as soon as the immediate emergency has passed, but not a second earlier. Now get your ass off the bridge before I order the marines to drag you off in irons.”