Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 (28 page)

The viewer went blank
and Baggett got back to his paperwork.  He wondered if other men, on other
worlds, had done the same while death made ready to besiege them.

Chapter 12

People who think they
know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do.

Isaac Asimov

Lucille Yu was sitting
at her desk, looking over the requisitions on the comp when the alert signal
chimed her link. 
What now
, she thought, shaking her head and wishing
they would go away.  When that didn’t happen she reluctantly connected to the
call.

“There was a rupture in
one of the negative matter storage tanks,” said the voice of a worker she
didn’t recognize.  She looked him up on her link and sighed.  Todd Pertrov, Bob
Landry’s assistant.  Yu switched over on her link and looked at the tank in
question, a large upright globe that contained the charged negative matter
within a vacuum using a magnetic field to keep it contact with the skin of the
tank.  But now the globe was missing a good portion of one side, the matter cancelled
by its counterpart.

Goddamn
, thought Yu, looking
over the damage to the wall that was adjacent to the tank, with a wide hole
eaten through its meter thick metal.  It really didn’t matter what the material
was made of, diamond, neutronium, whatever, the negative matter would cancel it.

“
How much negative
matter did we lose?” she asked the young man, cringing as she waited for the
number.

“About eight tons,”
said the young engineer, shaking his head, his expression that of a man who
looked like he was about to cry.

“That much,” said
Lucille, shaking her head. 
Enough to make a hundred passenger gates, or
almost enough for a ship gate.

“
That’s not the worst of
it,”
said the man, his voice cracking.

“What could be worse?”
said Lucille, staring at the man’s face on the holo screen.

“Chief Engineer Landry
was on site when the rupture occurred,” said the man, his voice cracking again
as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Was he hurt?” asked
Yu, afraid of the answer.

“He’s gone,” said the
Engineer, shaking his head.

“Gone?” asked Lucille,
feeling her heart sink.  She brought up the vid from the link, her breath
catching in her throat as she watched the side of the tank rupture and Landry
get caught in the stream of negative matter that washed over him and made him
cease to exist.  Not even an atom of the man was left, and Lucille, who was a
believer, wondered in horror if there was even anything left of the man’s
soul. 
There has to be
, she thought, looking down at the table. 
God
wouldn’t make a spirit that could be destroyed by anything, would he?

“There will of course
be a service for Chief Engineer Landry,” said Lucille, looking up at the man. 
“We’ll look at what we have to do to repair the damage afterwards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the
engineer with a nod.  “I was hoping you would say that.  Chief Landry always
said you were a good boss, and a good woman.”

Lucille felt her throat
catch once more, thinking of the subordinate who thought so highly of her. 
Gone forever, as if he had never been. 
No
, she thought,
not that. 
He
would live in the memories of those who worked with him, and in the history of
this place.

“Would you say some
words at the ceremony, ma’am?” asked the engineer, tears now freely flowing
down his cheeks.

“Of course,” she
replied, nodding her head.  “Please let me know when it will happen and I will
be there.”

The man nodded and the
screen went off.  Lucille put her face in her hands, wondering what else could
happen.  The Director and so many of my friends, the Emperor and his family,
and now this.  The
Donut
was not supposed to be a hazardous duty
station, unlike The Other Universe Project.  But it was becoming one.

Lucille pulled herself
together after that thought and brought her paperwork back up.  She knew she
had to get in touch with Admiral Lenkowski and let him know that they would
fall short on the promised production. 
If he can’t handle it, then fuck him
,
she thought, slamming a hand on the desk. 
I need to get out of here for a
bit
, was the next thought.  The work could wait.

*     *     *

Sean sat at his station
in the control room of the B ring of
HIMS Duke Roger Sergiov II
, feeling
just a little bit foolish.  The station was manned and ready, full crew at
posts, as the ship coasted out system, waiting for the other ships to form up
on her and the other nine battleships that formed the nucleus of the force. 
The nucleus so far, as another eight battleships and all of the other vessels
were in the process of matching vectors and velocities before heading toward
the presumed hostile force.

We could be here for a
day with nothing happening
, he thought, looking around the control center at the
techs.  The system was on alert, a presumed hostile force on the way in.  As
far as he could tell the crew could still be on one third on two thirds off
rotating watch.  But the regulations of the Fleet called for a warship to be on
war footing when going to meet an enemy.

“You seem very quiet,
sir,” said CPO Gorbachev from her station.

“I’m bored to death,”
said the Prince, looking over at her.  “I may be on my way to an engagement
that will kill me.  But good God, I am bored to death.”

“It will get hectic
enough later, sir,” said the NCO, standing up from her panel and coming over to
his station.  “When we close things will happen way too fast.”

“This reminds me of the
sailing days,” he said, looking up at her.  Seeing her blank expression he
explained.  “Something we learned about in the academy.  On old earth, before
powered propulsion of watercraft, they used to fight with sailing vessels.  You
would see the enemy by the tops of his sails coming over the horizon.  And it
might be hours before he was close enough to fire on.  Maybe even days if you
were chasing him.”

“But when he got within
range wasn’t there a lot of firing at each other,” she said, nodding.  “And a
lot of time to fire.  I think that’s the main difference here, sir.  When they
get close we will both be going at a high fraction of c.  That’s what I mean as
too fast and furious.”

“This is the Captain
speaking,” came the command over the com.  “All station send half crews to
refreshments.  Condition amber.”

“So we can send half
the crew to eat,” said the Lieutenant.  “You go ahead and go, ensign,” he
ordered the other officer.  “You too, chief.  I want you on station while I’m
gone.  Take what enlisted personnel you want with you.”

“Yes sir,” she replied,
looking over the techs and deciding who should go first.  “We’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he
said, leaning back in his accel couch and trying to get comfortable in the
bulky outer hull armor.  “I’m going to close my eyes and take a nap while I
can.”

At least the Captain
agreed to let me come back to my duty station, before the shit hit the fan. 
It would have been even
more boring to be confined to his cabin while the action was occurring out in
the working areas.  He leaned back in his couch, closed his eyes, and set his
implant to a light sleep, knowing that any alert over the net would wake him
instantly and completely.

*     *     *

“We’re at point three
three c, ma’am,” said the navigation officer.

Captain Jessica Frazier
nodded her head and checked the tactical display.  They had traveled a little
over seven hundred million kilometers out from the planet in four hours.  About
forty light minutes.  They were still waiting for the radar and lidar returns
on the hostiles that were moving into system.  Not her own actives.  The inner
system had sent out waves of directed energy to target the enemy ships.  But it
would still be a four hour wait for the inner system, three hours for her
command, to see some of that energy reflected back.  Hopefully.

They were picking up
the infrared emissions of the hostiles, glowing like small stars as they
generated large quantities of energy to power their vessels.  She was depending
on the radiation flowing out from the star to mask her seven hundred sixty
eight tiny points of light.  She would find out eventually if that was
something she should depend on.

"Ma'am,"
called the com officer a second before the craft’s own sensors reacted. 
"Recon birds picking up incoming on passives.  They report missile
tracking radar coming in from the port side, fifteen degrees."

"Tell the recon
birds to paint them with tight beam sensors," she told the com officer. 
"I want to know as much as I can about what's coming."

"Won’t that give
our position away, ma'am," said the navigator over his shoulder.

"I hope not,"
she said, looking at her plot.  The thirty objects were glowing with infrared.
Not enough to be boosting at full power.  And not giving up enough information
to satisfy her curiosity.  "I'm hoping the angle of the beam won't give
their launching ships any bleed.  And they should be low enough intensity that
maybe they'll mistake them for the inner system tracking net."

After a couple of
minutes the Captain began to wonder if the missiles were too well stealthed to
get a range.  The silence dragged on.  She was getting some initial figures
from infrared, but she didn’t know enough about their emissions to make a
determination.  At four and a half minutes they got their first returns.

“Initial range forty
million kilometers,” called out the sensor officer.  “Velocity two eighty two
kilo klicks per second.”

“Point nine four c,”
said the pilot, whistling.

The sensor readings
stacked up on each other as the missiles raced the sensor returns.

“Seven seconds till
match,” said the sensor officer.  “No variation of course.”

“They’re not targeting
us,” said the pilot.

“No indication of
infrared signature increase,” said the sensor officer.  “They’re not boosting
for course change.  Passing us on the port.”

“What else can you tell
me,” said the Captain as she watched the objects move by at a million
kilometers to the port side.

“Mass, about one
hundred fifty tons,” said the sensory officer.  “Their equivalent of a capital
ship missile?”

“Time to target,” asked
the Captain, “assuming planetary orbit.”

“Forty-one minutes,”
said the navigator, looking at her board.

“Signal the inner
system,” order the Captain.  “Send all of our information.  How long till they
receive our transmission?”

“Thirty-nine minutes.”

“Damn,” said the Captain. 
“Two minutes warning.  And they’ll probably pick them up on their own sensors
before that.”

“Still might give them
thirty seconds to a minute earlier warning than without,” said the navigator.

“That might be the
difference,” said the Captain, praying to herself that it would. 
Please
give them the few extra seconds needed to take them all out.

“They’re traveling
pretty damned fast, ma’am,” said the sensor officer as he transmitted the
message.  “Might be the radiation front they’re generating by their speed will
knock some of them out.  Or one might hit a micrometeor and blow out.”

She hoped that might
happen.  The missiles were traveling at a high enough velocity that even
particles standing still in space, if any such existed, would be hard radiation
as far as the missiles were concerned.  Like spaceships they were generating a
dual electromagnetic field, the first part putting a charge on anything in
encountered to its front.  The second part of the field, of the opposite
polarity, would shift the particle around the missile.  Of course, particles
which already had a charge might be switched in charge and then get through. 
But micrometeors were a different story.  They were much thicker in the inner
system, which was one reason ships normally limited their velocity to point
three c or less near the relatively crowded interior planets.

“We’ll just have to
pray for the best,” she said, looking at the red dots receding from the plot. 
“And hope maybe God relocates a convenient meteor storm where we need it most.”

*     *     *

“Troop transports have
translated,” said the Subcommander tactical officer to pod leader
Klesshakendriakka.  “The entire force is now in normal space.”

“And what do we have to
report to them?” growled the pod leader, looking at the tactical display of the
entire system before them.  There was the large red dot of the occupied planet,
which they could assume still had the same orbital platforms that they had
picked up on system entry.  There were several blinking hollow dots that might
or might not be warships.  Sometimes there were the heat signatures of fusion
plants.  Other times they faded from sight.  And there were the over seven
hundred objects that had been traveling in their general direction, picked up
from infrared.  Then they too faded.