The scorpions fire beyon.., p.32
The Scorpion's Fire (Beyond the Impossible Book 8), page 32
Lightfoot’s AI projected the last of the enemy destinations.
Sha focused on the most relevant.
“Sir, four warships will arrive on top of us in forty-five seconds.”
“Distance?”
“One kay.”
That number screamed the worst case: The Swarm somehow accessed real-time movement. How else could they have known Lightfoot and the Tarsus battle group had changed position?
“Capt. Paan, we have less than forty seconds. Four targets en route. Jump or fight?”
The Orzed warships repositioned to combat alignment.
“We’re powering weapons and loading fighters, Capt. Woolsey. If we run, we leave Esperanza wide open.”
The grid showed a mix of the two strategies. Several battle groups jumped toward the breakaway coordinates. Others engaged the invaders. Paan’s right, he thought.
“What are your chances, three against four?”
“Historically? Not good. Will Lightfoot even the score?”
The bridge officers turned to Exeter. The answer would change all their lives.
“We will, Captain. But we fight these assholes differently. I have an idea. You’ll need to trust me, but you’ll also have to stand your ground without us at first.”
“What are you planning?”
“We’ll be back. I promise.”
He cut the channel and glanced at the worm tracker. The enemy would exit in fifteen seconds.
“Sha, take us to worm on my command.”
* * *
Yusef did not have time to grieve the losses. The second CP fighter jet swooped above the wreckage of the burning Lightfoot shuttle and made fast work of the Argo, unloading a barrage of missiles into its guts.
The jet hovered nearby and observed the pillar of black smoke.
“I don’t think they’re interested in taking prisoners anymore,” he said. “How fast do you run, Meg?”
“I won medals in upper school.”
“Can you outrun missiles?”
“Never tried, Yusef.”
“Probably a waste of time.” His eyes turned to the burning chaos at the entrance to the Duma structure. “That’s what? Forty meters, give or take?”
“Thirty-five, I’d say.”
“If the impact opened a new door, we have a sporting chance. We’ve got better odds inside than running through a field of sheep.”
“And if the structure held firm?”
“Then we keep running until we can’t. At least we’ve given the others time to escape.”
Meg grunted. “All I’ve ever known is service. Follow orders, hold the line, give everything I have.”
“That’s the job. From what I’ve seen, Meg, you do it well. We’d best run while we can.”
“Agreed, Yusef.”
She led the way. They neared the corner where CP guards had fallen and continued to writhe in pain when the remaining jet caught sight of them. It swerved and fired.
Tracers zinged past, smashing into the building. The shuttle’s crash had buckled the façade, but they saw no viable way inside without crawling through the wreckage. They ducked, turned, and unloaded their rifles at the approaching jet.
In that moment, as Yusef looked for brief refuge behind a burning chunk of the shuttle’s forward section, his failures flashed before him like life in the instant before death.
He failed before the Council.
He failed to lead his team back to Lightfoot.
He failed to save Col. Parish and the shuttle.
He failed to take down even one of these CP bastards.
Shouldn’t a decade of survival on the frontlines have earned him a better day than this?
That’s when he felt a tug at his leg.
A bronze-armored hand reached out, and a voice begged for help.
Survivor. At least one might live to see another sunrise.
Yusef and Meg opened fire from defensive positions that could not endure a single missile impact.
The next few seconds felt like a strange transition where one emerges from a nightmare to realize the terror was never real.
The CP jet kicked in its thrusters and flew away.
What?
Yusef and Meg lowered their rifles.
“Did that just happen?” She asked.
“I’ll take it for now and ask questions later. Help me.”
He bent down to see an armored warrior trapped beneath twisted metal. They both lifted; it was too heavy to haul away.
The warrior squirmed out from under. His bronze sheath phase-shifted but provided a perfect seal.
“Don’t remove your helmet,” he told the soldier, who laid prostrate. “Allow the synaptic interface to stabilize your system. What’s your name?”
“First Lt. Maxim Weir.”
“Lt. Weir, how many were onboard?”
“Six.”
“Stay still. We’ll come back for you. Meg, there might be other survivors. Help me search.”
He recalled Col. Parish’s last order, “Full armor.” If they all completed it before impact, perhaps …
The body parts, blood splatters, and decapitated heads suggested otherwise. They found one other survivor. After they wriggled him out of the wreckage, he refused the order to keep his helmet on. He swiped across his face and slapped the condensed armor against his chest plate.
“Adm. Matook,” he said. “We found you.”
“You did, Col. Parish.”
The officer scanned their predicament and the unfamiliar woman at Yusef’s side.
“Are we more or less screwed, sir?”
“We’ve been better.”
“How bad?”
“I’m sorry, Colonel. Only you and Lt. Weir made it.”
“Shit. They blindsided us. We failed you, Admiral.”
“No, it was me. I wasn’t fast enough.” Yusef did not want a pity party. They had work to do. “There is some good news. The team is alive, and we have at least one ally on the Council. If we’re lucky, we might catch a ride on her underground rail system.”
Van screwed his eyes.
“Her what?”
“Long story. Few details. This is Lt. Meg Cambria. She’s been an enormous help.”
“Oh, yes. I remember. You came onboard with Enfante’s detail.”
“Yes, Colonel, I did.” She turned to Yusef. “We should move inside. They’ll send reinforcements.”
“Agreed. Colonel, can you walk?”
“Help me up, and we’ll see. I feel twenty-eight going on seventy.”
When they got Van to his feet, Yusef remembered the man was an Aeternan. Was it possible he died in the crash and regenerated before they found him?
“It’s coming back to me now,” Van said as he put one foot before the other. “Life is best right after it’s over.”
Yusef heard that phrase before, always from an immortal.
“Think you’ve got it?”
“I’ll make it, Admiral. Let’s see to Lt. Weir.”
The warrior had not moved from where Yusef and Meg left him.
Van bent over the warrior.
“Lt. Weir, we need to move inside. How do you feel?”
He waited a beat but received no response.
“Lieutenant? Maxim?”
Van cursed under his breath and swiped away the helmet.
Maxim Weir stared at his Colonel and beyond. Blood caked the left side of his face. Van checked the man’s pulse and dropped his head.
“I’ll be goddamned. He came onboard a month ago. He was Bolivan. Joined up after those Risen Church fanatics killed his parents in a bombing.”
“I’m so sorry, Colonel.”
“He didn’t deserve this. The war hasn’t even started.”
Meg glared at Yusef.
“You have Risen Church followers in your universe?”
“It’s not what you think,” Yusef told her. “They’re a fringe group. Most have been contained. A longer story than we have time for. Colonel, I hate to rush, but we need to move.”
“Understood, Admiral.”
“We’ll come back for the bodies when it’s safe.”
Multiple sonic booms shredded the atmosphere. Yusef didn’t need long to understand why the CP jet lost interest in them.
He counted four … no, five … ships emerge from apertures, descending toward the surface as if on a collision course.
“They’re heading toward Sinto,” Meg said.
“Yours?”
“No. The configurations are all wrong. It can’t be …”
More thunder followed as additional apertures opened at lower altitudes. The next wave of vessels altered Meg’s tone.
“Orzed. Those are ours. They’re … it’s an attack.”
“I stand corrected,” Van said. “The war has started.”
* * *
Lightfoot exited worm and came about.
The grid said it all: The Swarm battle cruisers descended upon the Tarsus group.
“We’re two hundred thousand kay out,” Sha said.
“Return trip?” Exeter asked.
“Sixteen seconds.”
“Simi, focus the FOF discriminators to Swarm transponders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s going to be a mess out there. We’re looking at potentially three sets of fighter squadrons in addition to eight warships.”
“Targeting will be difficult in that environment.”
“It will. That’s why we’re going to ignore Swarm fighters and go for the big fish. Set our spiral turrets to fire in narrow field bursts.”
“The Hokkaido Maneuver?”
“That’s the one.”
“The particle array?”
“Twin launch protocol. It’s straight out of training, but we’ll have to take it one ship at a time. Allow the Hornets to do their work. Then we top it off. If we’re lucky, we’ll open a window for Tarsus, Bellhausen, or Stymix to get a kill.”
Lex smiled. “We’ll certainly prove our value, Captain.”
“It’s light-years better than a training demo.”
Exeter opened the internal comm.
“Attention. This is your Captain. We are about to engage a Swarm battle group. The war is on, people. You trained for this. I believe in you. All Hornets, you will attack the enemy in web formation. Bridge command is calibrating your FOF discriminators now. Pilots, take your positions and prepare to launch on my command. Woolsey out.”
Exeter ran through the details and decided he covered all bases, as much as anyone might on Day One of a shooting war.
“OK, friends, tell me what I missed.”
“I think we’re good, Captain,” Baz said.
“One thing,” Simi added. “The reminder.”
All four smiled. Exeter returned the favor.
“Who has the best crew in the UNF?” He asked.
“You do, Captain.”
He spit out a nervous laugh. “And it’s not even close.”
Exeter focused on his XO.
“Lex, are we too far out for Adm. Matook’s hand-comm signal?”
The XO scrolled the holo and shook his head.
“Outer edge, sir, but I see the ping. Might be a bit faint.”
“Boost the signal if you have to.”
Seconds later, Lex nodded.
“Admiral, if you can hear me, this is Capt. Woolsey. I hope you’re safe. We’re a bit busy up here. The Swarm have arrived. They’re everywhere.”
A burst of static cleared. The voice sounded like a distant echo.
“We saw them, Captain. They’re firing on Sinto.”
“Look after each other, Admiral. We’ll come for you when we can. I promise.”
“We have friends helping us. Do what you must, Exeter.”
“We’ll make you proud, Admiral. Woolsey out.”
Don’t try to be a hero, Exeter. Lead them. Protect them.
“Sha, open the aperture.”
* * *
Kara wanted to turn back when she heard an explosion outside the facility. Seconds later, another one. Rikard and Henri looked over their shoulders as well. The group had just passed through a camouflaged passage and neared the underground rail.
“We can’t leave them out there,” she told Abby.
“They made a choice,” Abby said. “A hard one, but they’re soldiers. My people are almost here.”
Kara held up her pistol. She noted Rikard’s blast rifle and Sgt. Whitehall’s two long-barreled weapons.
“We can defend ourselves.”
“If I might offer a word,” Whitehall said. “I must respectfully concur with Council Duma. Yes, yes, we have guns. But I speak from first-hand experience. CP fighters are borderline nutters. They look for an excuse. And if your friends the Perons gave them orders to shoot, I don’t anticipate they will miss.”
“You’re not being helpful,” Henri said before placing a hand on Kara. “But the Sergeant is practical. We’re lucky to be alive as is, and Abby’s people might keep us that way.”
Abby softened her tone.
“I promise, Kara. When it’s safe, I’ll send out search teams.”
She pointed down a flight of stairs.
“The rails are just below.”
Rikard led Kara down the stairs.
“I’ve heard Yusef’s war tales,” he said. “The man has seen worse and survived.”
They arrived on a narrow loading dock which overlooked a pair of tracks. Kara had no idea where they led or how many branches there were, but the giant, reinforced wall made clear: They stood at the end of this line. Glowing lights built into the concrete walls on either side proved this was no amateur affair.
“Impressive,” Henri said. “Tell us again, what do you use these tunnels for?”
Abby smirked. “I didn’t tell you the first time. That’s a story for another day, Henri.”
“Apologies. My curiosity is infinite. Sometimes too inquisitive.”
Abby studied her handheld.
“The cab is on its way. Looks like about another two minutes. We won’t travel to the main house. Too obvious under the circumstances. My brother will be there. I’m not sure how he’ll react. We have a few safehouses, though. One in particular.”
“On your ranch?” Rikard asked. “Safehouses from what?”
She pointed to Henri.
“What I told this one. A story for another day. In fact … wait!”
She grimaced as she scrolled to a new level on her device.
“Security is detecting motion up above. Hold on.”
Kara was close enough to see the switch to live cams. She gasped at the uplifting scene.
“They’re alive.”
Yusef, Cambria, and a UNF officer in armor raced between the giant looms. Abby switched cams until satisfied no one pursued them.
“They won’t be able to access the rails without me. All of you stay here. If the cab arrives, keep calm. My people are very loyal.”
While Abby ran upstairs, the atmosphere at the rail terminus felt buoyant. Rikard hugged Kara.
“Things are looking up.”
Yet the pendulum swung so wildly since their arrival in the Esperanza system, Kara naturally assumed it would soon make its next move.
True to form, the reunion carried no hint of celebration or relief.
“The Swarm have invaded,” Meg said. “They’re attacking Sinto.”
“I spoke to Capt. Woolsey a minute ago,” Yusef added. “He said they were everywhere. Lightfoot has joined the battle.”
Suddenly, the Perons, Admin Council voting blocs, and the Capital Patrol no longer mattered. The rail cab arrived.
“What now, Mistress?” One of Abby’s heartbroken staff asked.
Abby did not flinch before stricken faces.
“Calm yourselves. We have a plan.”
“We do?”
She tapped her device twice and spoke into it.
“Harkness, are you there?”
“It’s all gone to hell,” the Admiral replied.
“We’re not done yet. Meet us at the river. One hour.”
She closed the device and pointed to the cab. Abby appeared to grow two inches. Maybe it was the surprising confidence in the face of disaster. Or that she had known Harkness was fine all along. Either way, Kara was impressed.
She hopped into the cab with renewed hope and waited for the pendulum’s next swing.
33
Bessios
Prelude: Day 1
O NLY ROYAL AND MOON KNEW HOW to measure time inside the Origin, a gift from their mentors. They stood proudly before their fleet after forty-two standard days and reviewed their army. The immortal soldiers, connected to the new gods by D’ru-shaya, absorbed the tactical knowledge for operating their streamlined ships and individual fighter skiffs. They shined in white bodysuits with silver lining. Their full-length bubble shield protected them in the vacuum, where most fighting would take place.
Royal and Moon delivered inspirational speeches to their soldiers – drawn from Georgina’s tribe and the tiny Church of the Liberators – before boarding the ten warships. The new gods did not take the event for granted. They worked eighteen centuries to reach this day. They mastered the scientific mysteries of the universe and techniques for creating matter. They built a military plan to attack the Creators’ complex cityscapes. They designed a weapon to kill shapeshifters.
“Now that’s a hell of a sight,” Royal said as they observed from battle skiffs. Long, cylindrical warships hovered, awaiting passage through the dome which covered Bessios. Their white armor glistened as it phase shifted. The new gods designed these ships to navigate the Origin’s unpredictable solar currents and disperse the impact of energy weapons. Some might not survive the opening battle, but the template was easily recreated.
“Forty-seven hundred and twenty soldiers.” Moon talked in Quesh-n’o, the only language they planned to speak until war’s end. The D’ru-shaya, implanted in every soldier, translated all communications to Engleshe. “How many will we lose today?”
“They’re rookies. I’d say ten percent.”
“Ouch. We have to cover five light-years, Royal.”
