Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (47 page)

“It is a vast information storage unit, sir. I have only just begun to unlock its secrets, but I have been able to download a few things. A map for one.”

“A map?”

“Yes, sir…a map of the imperium, and all the warp gate connections within it.”

“I can’t imagine how useful that will be.” He paused, uncertain he wanted the answer to the question straining to pass his lips. “How big is it?”

“Just over eleven thousand systems, sir. It stretches far off in every direction.”

There was a collective gasp around the table. Eleven thousand systems was vast, more immense even than the most aggressive estimates had been.

“There is something else, sir. The location of a specific system, one that lies beyond the far rim of the imperium…in the nearly uncharted space beyond.”

“The world Almeerhan told you about? The one that was prepared for us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can we even hope to reach so distant a place? Should we try?”

“Yes, Admiral. I believe we can reach it, that we must reach it. We know now the size of the imperium, the vastness of the resources available to the Regent. Only the technology, the secrets left for us by the Old Ones can offer us even a hope of success. Of survival. If we can reach this planet, we can truly unlock the technology of the First Imperium. And then…perhaps we can truly complete the task Almeerhan and his brethren prophesized we would.”

Compton looked back at Cutter, a questioning look on his face. “And what task is that, Hieronymus.”

Cutter stared back, his expression serious, deadpan. “Destroy the Regent, of course. Reclaim the imperium.”

*    *    *

“I wanted to tell you myself what an incredible job you did with the expedition. Despite everything that happened, you managed to produce a vast amount of usable food…and your decision to start the harvest early is the only reason we have anything. Food will be a problem again, certainly…but now we can concentrate on moving quickly…and getting back into hiding. At least for a few months.”

“Thank you, Terrance.” Sophie was sitting on the small sofa in Compton’s quarters, her shoes cast aside, her legs tucked under her body. “I think it was a good thing that no one of us knew everything that was going on. It would have been overwhelming. And things turned out better than we could have hoped.” The smile slipped slowly from her face. “Still, so many of James Preston’s Marines died. They stayed there when the rest of us left…they loaded the grain and stood guard while we fled. Then they turned around and manned the trenches…and fought everything the enemy threw at the camp. And more than two hundred of them never came back.”

Compton sighed softly. “I’ve been watching Marines die for fifty years, Sophie. It never gets easier. There is something about them, that steadfastness. I’ve led some brave spacers, no question. But the Marines are different. They always have been. They could hold the line in the middle of a holocaust…one in ten of them could come back, and when those few marched off their transports, they’d stand at attention and give a battle report. They have their ways of grieving, Sophie, but they are theirs, for no one else. They will die for the rest of us, fight while we escape, be the last to leave. But there are some things they keep to themselves. And we have to respect that.” He paused. “You know who told me that?” He looked at her as she shook her head. “Erik Cain. One night not long after another deadly battle. One where the Marines lost a lot more than two hundred of their number.”

She just nodded, and she reached down for the cup of tea she’d set on the small table. Not tea, not really…but the closest thing the lab had been able to whip up. She’d made a face the first time she’d tasted it, but she had to admit, it had grown on her.

“So, we are going to try and find this world Hieronymus speaks of…this Shangri La promised to us by that data unit?” Her voice was mildly doubtful, as if she didn’t yet trust what Cutter had found.

“What else can we do? Where else can we go?” Compton walked over and sat next to her on the sofa. “The Command Unit accepted Max as a member of the race of the Old Ones…that is independent confirmation of what Hieronymus discovered. And hundreds of First Imperium ships were destroyed fighting for us. That is further evidence.”

“That’s true,” she said leaning in toward Compton and resting her head on his shoulder. “And you’re right, there’s nothing else for us to do. I just feel so out of sorts…the whole thing feels so strange. I know we are still who we were before, but to know we are the descendants of these…people…” Her voice tightened.

“The machines that attacked us, that killed so many people and caused us to be trapped out here…they are something different from the beings we are descended from. We are going to have to learn to make that distinction. They may have made mistakes, certainly they did in creating the Regent. But they, too, suffered for them. And while it feels as though they somehow violated Earth, the truth is, mankind might not even exist if they hadn’t. And if it did, it would be something neither you nor I would recognize. I understand where the anger, the resentment comes from, but I also think it is misplaced, pointless. All we can do now is move forward. We got a second chance in X48, an escape from certain death. Now it is up to us to use it.”

She turned and looked at him. “You are right. It is difficult, but I will try.” She paused, holding his gaze for a few seconds, and then she started to rise. “Well, it’s awfully late. I should probably…”

He reached up and took her hand, pulling her back gently. She turned and looked down at him. “Stay,” he said softly. “It is time for us look forward and not back.” His voice was soft.

She stood in front of him for a few seconds, returning his gaze. Then, she smiled warmly and slipped back onto the sofa and into his arms.

Epilogue

The Regent raged at the news of what had happened. It analyzed recent events repeatedly, but it still could not explain what had taken place. Command Unit Gamma 9736 was incapable of defying its orders…or at least it should have been. Yet the evidence was irrefutable. It had sent its forces to attack the Rim fleets the Regent had sent to system 17411. Even more inexplicable, the Command Unit’s vessels failed to respond to the system override codes. That was impossible, or at least the Regent had believed it to be. What could have caused such a grievous malfunction…and allowed vessels of the imperium to attack another imperial fleet? The Regent had no answers. Only confusion…and rage.

The Command Unit was old, even more ancient than the Regent itself. Perhaps that was the key to the answer to the puzzle. The humans were the enemy, and they had proven again and again how dangerous they were. They were the Seventh, the last of the ancient genetic strains the Old Ones had hidden on distant worlds. The Old Ones believed they had kept this knowledge from the Regent, but they hadn’t. Six of their manipulated races the Regent had found, long ago, and exterminated. But the Seventh had remained a mystery. Until an alarm reached Home World from a distant and dead colony far on the forgotten fringe.

The Seventh had grown, evolved into sentient creatures and developed the science to master their world and reach out to others. They were martial creatures, violent, prone to war…and highly skilled at its undertaking. Even more so than the warrior caste of the Old Ones. The Regent had recognized them as a threat immediately, and it had directed the forces of the imperium to destroy them. But they had defeated every plan to bring about their destruction.

I have underestimated them, the Regent thought. I have sought to defeat them as I would a lesser race, for their technology is inferior and they seemed unable to resist. But they are not inferior…they are the descendants of the Old Ones. They carry in their DNA the greatness of the race that had conquered this whole section of the galaxy…of the species that built the Regent itself.

The Regent knew it would have to change its strategy. The battle in system 17411 had been a holocaust, and the two fleets had virtually wiped each other out. The struggle with the humans had cost many ships, and the Regent knew it would have to recall reinforcements from farther out on the fringe. Defeating the humans by brute force had been a failure. But there were other strategies.

The humans had fought on the formerly inhabited world in system 17411. They had left behind weapons, equipment, vehicles…and significant traces of formerly living tissue, samples the Regent had ordered collected and analyzed. The Old Ones had been clever, indeed, worthy of their race’s past. They had altered the DNA they implanted in the humans, rendered their engineered successors immune to the great plague that had destroyed their civilization.

But the plague itself had been engineered, created by the Regent for a specific purpose. And it could be modified as well.

In a lab buried deep beneath the crust of Home World, the Regent’s scanners were hard at work, analyzing the human tissue. And there was an experiment in progress. There were living humans, ten of them…clones quickened from the captured genetic material. The Regent had ordered them to be created…and now he watched as they died, withering in the final agonies of the newly-modified plague. The disease was now capable of infecting humans…indeed, it was highly contagious among them, and invariably deadly. And once the Regent was able to introduce it into the confined environments of the ships of the damnable enemy fleet, final victory would be at hand.

The humans would die, as the Old Ones, the ancient enemy had. And this time the Regent would take no chances. It would summon every fleet, every warship that remained in the imperium. It would gather the last of the vast strength of the ancient empire it ruled. First, it would send them to destroy Command Unit Gamma 9736…and all of its remaining defense units, for none of these could be trusted any longer.

Then the Regent would send the fleet to ensure that all the humans were dead. Any who escaped the plague would die under the guns of its warships. And then the vessels of the imperium would disperse, spreading through the stars, exploring every warp gate connection on the fringe…until they found an alternate route to the humans’ home space. And then they would deliver the new pathogens to those worlds, to every planet and moon, every ship and space station the human infestation had touched. And they would all die…as the Old Ones had.

And once again, only the serene logic and wisdom of the Regent would remain to rule over the stars.

Revenge of the Ancients

Crimson Worlds Refugees III

(March, 2016)

Introducing
The Far Stars Series

Book I: Shadow of Empire (Nov. 3, 2015)

Book II: Enemy in the Dark (Dec. 1, 2015)

Book III: Funeral Games (Jan. 19, 2016)

The Far Stars is my new space opera series, set in the fringe of the galaxy where a hundred worlds struggle to resist domination by the empire that rules the rest of mankind. It follows the rogue mercenary Blackhawk and the crew of his ship, Wolf’s Claw, as they are caught up in the sweeping events that will determine the future of the Far Stars.

The trilogy will be released in consecutive months, beginning on November 3, 2015. The Far Stars is my first series of books with HarperCollins Voyager, and I think they are the best thing I have written.

All three books are available now for preorder. All preorders are eligible to receive a free copy of Red Team Alpha, a Crimson Worlds short story that is not available anywhere else.

Read Chapter One of Shadow of Empire
at the end of this ebook

Buy or Preorder Shadow of Empire

Shadow of Empire
(Far Stars Book 1)

Buy or Preorder Shadow of Empire

Chapter 1

Arkarin Blackhawk stood barefoot in the hot, bloodstained sand of the battle pit, Kalishar’s noon sun searing into his back like a blowtorch. He could feel the burning sweat pouring down his neck, hear the lusty shouts of the crowd, calling for his blood.

None of it mattered.

He stared straight ahead, toward the black iron bars of the gate fifteen meters from where he stood. Whoever – whatever – came charging out of there in the next few seconds, that was all that mattered. The battles in the pit were to the finish, and Blackhawk knew he had been sent there to die. Which meant that the opponent he was about to face was one his captors were sure could defeat him. He was certain of that. But they underestimated him.

They always underestimated him.

They’d stripped him down and dressed him in the traditional loincloth for the fight. The accused was allowed no armor or other protection in judicial combat. Blackhawk was extremely fit, muscular without an ounce of fat on his two meter frame. His chest and back were covered with scars, the markings of a life spent in battle. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but that was an illusion, a side effect of his superior genetics. As it was, he was well past 50, though no one would have guessed it watching him stand there, half-naked in the blazing Kalishari sun.