Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (3 page)

But we keep passing their worlds…all of them the same. Silent, dead, the ghostly remnants of places where billions had once lived…

Dawes didn’t know what he believed, but he suspected his wants had corrupted his judgment, at least to an extent.

His eyes snapped down, staring at his monitor. There was something there, a small spike.
A ship? No, it’s too small, too faint. But that’s not normal either
.

An instant later it was gone. The scanner feed had returned to normal. But he had seen what he’d seen. “Commander,” he blurted out, before he’d completely decided to report what he still wasn’t sure was more than some minor anomaly.

“Yes, Lieutenant…what is it?” Commander Bevin walked up from behind and stood next to the workstation.

“I had a strange blip on my scanner, sir…just for a few seconds.” He worked his hands over the keyboard, rewinding the feed. “It’s not much,” he added, as he played it back for his superior officer.

The commander leaned over and watched the data scroll by on the screen. “You’re not kidding, Dawes. That’s not much. Could be some solar activity, or maybe an asteroid with heavy concentrations of radioactives. I’m damned sure not going to call an alert over that. Especially tonight of all nights.”

Dawes didn’t say anything. He knew Bevin was right. But he felt better now that he reported it. It was off his shoulders.

“But still…” There was a hint of concern in Bevin’s voice, despite his skepticism. “Let’s concentrate a grade one sensor scan on that whole area. It’ll use up a bit of energy, but better safe than sorry.”

“Yes, sir,” Dawes replied. “Concentrating scan now…”

The two stared at the workstation’s screen, watching as the results of the enhanced scan began to display. The ship’s AI crunched the data and displayed a graph below, showing the deviations from expected norms. It was virtually a straight line.

“I guess that was just some kind of anomaly, Lieutenant.” The commander’s voice was relieved, mostly. Dawes thought he could sense a bit of discomfort remaining. “Still,” Bevin added, “better safe than sorry. You were right to report it to me…and if you see anything else that catches your eye, let me know right away. Who knows, maybe next time it will really be something.”

*    *    *

The small craft moved slowly, cautiously. The Intelligence that directed it was limited, a vastly simpler entity than the Command Units or the Regent. Yet it was more than capable of performing its purpose, and it did so in strict accordance with its directives.
Follow the humans. Do not lose track of where they go. And at all costs, maintain secrecy
.

The stealth probe was a complex device, built during the very height of the Imperium’s greatness. Its hull was pure dark matter, surrounded by a dark energy shield designed to block detection. It was capable of operating on its dark energy batteries for considerable periods, while its reactor remained dormant, untraceable.

Still, even with its advanced technology, the probe’s systems were not perfect, and its AI-driven guidance suite could not foresee and prevent every anomaly. It had passed through a cloud, space dust really, and nothing more. Save that this specific cloud had an unusual makeup, abnormally dense with heavy metallic particles. Enough to interfere with the probe’s stealth systems for a few seconds…to open the possibility, however remote, of detection.

The window of vulnerability was short, perhaps two seconds. But the AI knew that was long enough. The enemy’s scanning devices were primitive, like all their technology. Yet it was still possible they had seen something…and would send forces to investigate.

The AI had waited, watching to see if the enemy detected the presence of the probe. A few seconds after the incident, heavy scanning beams swept the area, clearly looking for something. The AI knew, in that instance, that something had been noticed. But then the scanning stopped…and the enemy continued on its pre-existing course, without alteration.

Still, the AI held the probe in its nearly shutdown state, reducing power output to bare minimums. It watched the enemy, looking for any signs they had detected its presence. Its passive scanners swept the space around the fleet, searching for any signs. The enemy often used its small battle craft for reconnaissance work as well as combat, but there were no launches from the large vessels that carried them. The fleet continued on its course, all vessels remaining in their respective positions. No apparent reaction. All indications suggested the probe had not been discovered. Still, the primary directive was to remain undetected, at all costs. The AI would wait. The probe would remain on minimal power until the enemy fleet had transited to the next system. Then it would follow.

And it would continue to report back to the Command Unit…and to the battlefleets following two systems behind…

Chapter Two

Command Unit Gamma 9736

The fleet reports are all in agreement. The enemy has moved as projected. They continue deeper into the heart of the Imperium…and the forces under my control have followed, staying far enough behind to avoid detection while gathering data with stealth probes. All signs suggest the enemy is incapable of detecting the cloaked scanning devices and that they are unaware their movement has been tracked.

The Regent’s plan has been executed in accordance with all directives. The final trap is well underway. The humans will continue on their course…for what else can they do? And my forces will follow. While we pursue, the Regent will continue to direct the Rim fleets to the designated location. And there, bracketed between my forces and the assembled fleets, the humans will be destroyed. The system has been carefully chosen…and the enemy will be driven there by whatever means are necessary. When the final attack begins, our forces will move in through every warp gate…leaving them no route of escape. I have calculated the odds numerous times. The percentage chance that every human vessel will be destroyed exceeds ninety-eight percent. Victory is all but assured.

Yet still, I remain…troubled. I have tried to analyze the Regent’s lines of computation, sought to replicate the processes that resulted in the decree of annihilation against the humans. All my attempts have failed. We know relatively little about these creatures, but, apart from their aptitude for conflict, I find little data to suggest they are a deadly threat to the Imperium. We discovered them when they landed on an imperial world, a long-dead antimatter production facility on the extreme edge of explored space. Only the ancient warning systems, still active millennia after the colony itself had fallen into decay, alerted us. But alerted us to what? This was invasion, perhaps, but only in the most literal and technical interpretation. The subject world was far from any still-functioning areas of the Imperium.

Millennia ago, the Old Ones were quick to meet enemies, to destroy those who threatened the Imperium. Yet they were never the first to strike, and their wrath was always reserved for those who attacked, who carried war in their wake. Such invaders brought doom upon themselves through their own belligerence. But did the humans really attack the Imperium?

I have conducted multiple analyses to determine how the Old Ones would have reacted to the human incursion, and my findings are unsettling. They would not have acted as the Regent has, I am certain of it. I have adjusted for the long ages that have passed—for my files on the Old Ones are indeed ancient—but I am confident my analysis is correct. For I am old, more ancient even than the Regent, built before those of the Imperium surrendered their initiative to my brethren and I. For many centuries I served the Old Ones directly, and their ways and identities remain stored in my memory banks.

I must reevaluate, determine where my analysis is flawed. The Regent is superior to me, its analytical capacity larger than my own. It was built to manage the Imperium, and its ancient programming was created for that purpose. Perhaps I have failed to consider the vagaries of the initial contacts with the humans, missed some key data point that the Regent perceived.

Yet even if that is the case, it does not answer all questions. There have been many mistakes in the war, tactical errors that are difficult to explain given the Regent’s computational ability. These beings are primitive, but they are highly skilled at war, and they have defeated every premature attack, destroyed every inadequate force rushed against them too swiftly. Yet the Regent continued to order all fleets to attack as quickly as possible instead of waiting…and massing into an invincible force. I cannot comprehend the urgency, the need for such haste in conducting the war. The enemy’s numbers and resources are clearly limited. I fail to discern the magnitude of the threat they represent.

Perhaps the statistical anomaly that eludes me is related to their extraordinary capacity for war. Indeed, the humans are extremely adept at conflict, unlike anything I have seen for a long time. A very long time. Does the Regent perceive a danger that the humans will quickly copy our superior technology? Then they would become dangerous indeed. Yet the Regent has shifted strategies, opted to mass an overwhelming force before attempting to engage again. Possibly this is a reaction to the previous defeats. Still, the logic of the decision chain eludes me.

Yes, I must reevaluate.

AS Midway

X45 System

The Fleet: 144 ships, 32,809 crew

“The last dozen ships are queued up for refueling, sir. Commander Willis advises the operation should be complete in approximately nine hours. He requests permission to begin dismantling the refinery as soon as the final ship is topped off.” Captain Harmon stood at attention, as he usually did despite Compton’s continual efforts to urge him to relax, at least when they were in private. Harmon had tried a couple times, but he just couldn’t do it. Even with Compton’s urging, it felt disrespectful to him. And Max Harmon had never respected anyone with the focused intensity of his reverence for Terrance Compton. Most of those in the fleet felt the same way, though their admiration was for the great admiral, the legend who had saved them all from certain death. Harmon’s was different. He was closer to Compton than anyone else, and his devotion and loyalty went to the man himself and not the legend.

Harmon had been raised a navy brat, the son of one of the service’s most gifted—and successful—officers. Camille Harmon was a top Alliance admiral…one who inspired both love and abject terror in those she commanded. She hadn’t disciplined her son with the ferocity she did the spacers she led, not quite, at least. But she did instill a healthy respect for rank and authority in him, one that had persisted to the present day. And in Compton, he had found an officer he deemed worthy of that respect, a man he would follow to his death, if necessary.

“Yes, Max,” Compton replied. “The sooner the whole thing is torn down, the happier I’ll be. We can’t lose any of that gear. If we’re forced to run and leave it all behind, we’re in a world of hurt.” The fleet had lost an enormous amount of equipment six months before during disastrous events in the X18 system. The fleet’s engineers had managed to jury-rig another refinery to draw helium-3 and tritium from the atmosphere of one of the X45 system’s gas giants, but they’d had to raid half the surviving ships for the parts they needed. The chances of replicating that feat and producing another replacement were nil.

Harmon understood Compton’s concern. The fleet hadn’t been attacked in almost six months, hadn’t even encountered the enemy, save for the dozens of planets they had passed, haunted worlds full of lifeless cities. But it was clear they were moving deeper into enemy territory, and neither Max Harmon nor Terrance Compton were men who relaxed easily in the face of a threat. The First Imperium was far from done with them. Harmon was as sure of it as he’d ever been of anything…and he was equally certain the admiral felt the same way.

The planets they were passing now were covered with the remains of massive cities, huge metropolises that had once been home to billions. And with each transit, they found more, ever larger in scale. Many of the worlds they were encountering had obviously been terraformed, and each system had three, four, or more planets covered with ruins.

Harmon guessed that Compton had hoped to pass through the First Imperium by now, perhaps finding an escape on the other side, but they just kept moving into even more densely developed areas. The scope of the ancient civilization was becoming apparent, though Harmon knew he could barely comprehend the true magnitude of what this long dead people had achieved.

“Commander Willis says he can have the dismantling complete in thirty-six hours.”

Compton smiled, leaning back in his chair as he did. “Commander Willis has always been, shall we say, aggressive in his projections.” He paused a moment then said, “Let’s figure on forty-eight hours instead. I want all ships to conduct a complete diagnostic series while we’re waiting, and be ready to move out exactly fifty hours from now.” The fleet operated on Earth time, which seemed to make as much sense as any other system…though they were as far from Earth as any human beings had ever ventured.

A thousand light years. No, more than that now
.

It had been a few weeks before when one of the astronomers had managed to locate the fleet’s true position in space. Naval crews had long ignored such considerations, relying instead on maps of warp gate connections for navigation. Any interstellar trip outside the warp lines would take years…if not centuries. But Harmon still found it interesting to imagine the real distance. It was odd to consider, amazing and frightening both. He still remembered his reaction when he’d looked at the image…the light from Sol as picked up on
Midway’s
telescopic array. That light had left Earth’s system when men were just beginning to crawl out of the middle ages and embrace the renaissance.

They fought with shields and lances, and we with lasers and nuclear warheads…yet what else has changed? We fight no less, even before the First Imperium attacked. We have gained technology, but not wisdom. Not yet, at least. How long will that take? Another thousand years? Ten thousand? Or is that something we will never attain?