Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike (30 page)

We thought we had the church covered.  We
checked their invitations, which were supposed to be secure, against their
prints and surface proteins.  And they were scanned for weapons.  We scanned
the entire building for weapons the day before the ceremony, but somehow that
one was sealed in something that spoofed them.”

Sean looked over at the being that was his head
of all security services of the Imperial government.  The IIA, IIB, Imperial
Constabulary, Marshals, Secret Service.  All of the intelligence and security
services save those of the military, which still reported their findings to the
civilian organizations by law. 
It’s not really your fault, my friend
,
he thought, shaking his head, realizing that the being would need to castigate
himself for a time. 
We’ll all learn from this.  We thought they would only
strike as strategic targets, forgetting that myself and Jennifer are strategic
targets.  Now, no target is safe, and we will have to change things.  Which is
a win for them.

He looked past Jennifer, to the man who kept
doing things for him and his Empire.  Cornelius lay across the same pew, his
jacket and shirt off while a doctor sprayed his wound with nanites.  The little
robots would go after the bullet in the shoulder, disassembling it in place,
then making repairs to the bone and tissues. 
Saving the
Donut
was
probably his greatest accomplishment, and more important than saving either of
us.  But this action will always be closest to my heart.  I guess a knighthood
was not quite a high enough reward.  I’ll have to look into whether or not we
have a barony vacant on Jewel. 
Sean smiled a moment at a thought. 
Or
maybe New Detroit.

“I will have my resignation in the system as
soon as I can compose it, your Majesty,” rumbled T’lisha, breaking into Sean’s
thoughts.

“You will do no such thing,” said Sean, looking
back at his Security Minister.  “You are the only being I want in that position,
Lord T’lisha.  And you will retain that post.  Do you understand me?”

The great head nodded, and Sean looked back at
his bride.  The doctor had stood up and nodded to the Monarch, who quickly took
the medic’s place by her side.

“I am so sorry,” he told her, putting his arm
gently over her shoulders.  “It’s all my fault that you got hurt.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said in a sleepy
voice.  “You were trying to get me out of the line of fire.”

“And into the frying pan,” said Sean, shaking
his head, feeling the tears beading up in his eyes.  He looked at the cast,
which was now a hardened piece of plastic, setting her arm and protecting it. 
Should
be good as new in a couple of days
, he thought. 
The physical injury. 
But what did it do to your sense of security?  What did it do to the sense of
security for all of my subjects? 
“As soon as you’re cleared here, we’ll go
back to the palace.”

“And the reception?  What about all the people
there, expecting us?”

“I’m not really sure we need to attend,” said
Sean, looking back at all the people still gathered in the church, many of them
still in shock, changing his mind from his earlier stance.  “It would be an
insult, having a party over the bodies of those who died here today.”

“This isn’t just our celebration,” Jennifer
said with a sleepy smile.  “As soon as I wake up from these drugs, we are going
to give them one.  A celebration of life, and the continuance of the Empire,
despite what these bastards tried to do today.”

Sean sat there for a moment, not sure what to
say, his thoughts a roil. 
If we do this, some people are going to say that
I only care about myself, just another noble of privilege.  If I don’t, some
will say I am a coward, despite what I have done in the past.  There really is
no good decision here.

“Can the Ranger make it to the reception
tonight?” he asked the doctor who was working on Cornelius.

“I’ll answer that one, your Majesty,” said the
man in question, craning his neck to look up.  “Damned right, I can be there. 
And I want a dance with the Empress, with your permission, your Majesty.”

“You deserve one, Baron,” Sean said with a
smile.

“Baron?” blurted Cornelius, trying to sit up
and cringing with pain.  The doc put his hand on Cornelius’s chest and pushed
him down.

“I’m not sure of what yet, but we’ll think of
something.”

Several hours later Sean and Jennifer danced
alone on the wide floor of the civic center, before the ten thousand guests who
ate and drank at the tables.  And, through the wormhole com system, a hundreds
of billions of other citizens across the Core Worlds.  Jennifer’s arm was
immobilized by her side, and Sean held her carefully as they moved across the
floor.  A wide smile was on her face, erased every once in a while by a wince. 
Sean saw her bravery.  The Empire did as well, and all thoughts about the
suitability of this woman as the co-ruler of the Empire was erased in the minds
of reasonable people.

The dance music stopped, and other people
started to make their way onto the floor.

“I beg your indulgence, Lords and Ladies,
Citizens,” said Sean, his voice amplified over the center’s speaker system.  
“My lady wife has promised a dance to a very special man.  The one who saved
her life today, and mine as well, through saving hers.”

The people moved back to the edge of the dance
floor, while Cornelius Walborski, in a fresh uniform, walked out onto the
floor, his left shoulder stiff and unmoving.  He took Jennifer by the hand as
the orchestra started in on a slow waltz.  They pirouetted around the floor,
both obviously injured, both just as obviously determined to complete the
dance.  A few people started clapping, then more, until the entire crowd was
voicing their approval of the courageous Empress, and the man who the news
would trumpet as the bravest soldier of the Empire.

Their dance over, the two repaired to the
Emperor’s table, while the other celebrants crowded onto the floor to take
advantage of the music, and their drink lowered inhibitions.  There would be no
more dances for the Empress, despite what tradition called for.  The Emperor
availed the wishes of some of his ladies, as few as he could get away with, so
he could spend the rest of his evening with his love.

*    
*     *

“We will crucify them for this,” said Countess
Zhee, sitting at one of the noble tables with her husband.  “How dare they make
a spectacle of themselves after so many people died.  This is a disgrace.”

“You should leave it alone, my dear,” said her
husband, technically a count, though she was the titular ruler of her county. 
“You will just damage your cause even more by attacking him now.  Those two can
do no wrong with the people, at least at this time.”

Zhee sat there in silence, unable to respond. 
Her reason told her that her husband was correct.  But her emotions ruled, as
they had since she had felt insulted by this same Emperor. 
I will find a
way to destroy him
, she thought, taking another sip of champagne.

Chapter
Twenty

Conquered,
we conquer.   Plautus

SECTOR IV SPACE. 
DECEMBER 15
^TH
, 1001.

Here we go
, thought Captain Maurice von Rittersdorf,
watching the tactical holo. 
James Komorov
was well away from enemy
sensor range, moving through hyper VII at point nine three light.  The
electomag field was being pushed to its limit.  Rads were still getting
through, and people were getting sick.  Medical had its hands full making sure
everyone got their dose of antirad nanite boosters.

The plot of the out of range enemy ships was
coming from
Lisboa
, as the hyper VII battle cruiser clawed space to stay
within range of the enemy.  That enemy was almost out of range, and once they
were, they would be lost, their destination unknown.

And here we were, sweating that they would
attack us, wipe us from the face of the Universe, and instead they outrun us. 
I guess I shouldn’t be too disappointed, since we’re going to survive.  But
either way, they still get away.

“Something’s happening,” said Lieutenant
Lasardo, looking at his board holo, then back at the main holo.  Half of the
enemy ships were already off the plot.  Some had accelerated well ahead of the
force before dropping off the plot.  To scout ahead?  No one really knew.  But
they had forged ahead for some purpose.

“Shit.  Just when we thought we were going to
get away with this,” said the Helmsman.

Ten of the enemy ships were decelerating, dropping
behind the main force.  The deceleration was slow, a gentle thirty gravities. 
It
makes no sense
, thought the Captain, watching as a few more enemy ships
dropped off the plot to the front. 
The rest of them are forging on, and
these are dropping back.  Why?  To attack us?  Then they should be deceling to
hell and gone.  To force us to decel and lose the main party?  That might make
sense.

“What do you think is going on, von
Rittersdorf?” asked the Captain of the
Lisboa
over the com.

“I really don’t know, sir,” said von
Rittersdorf, shaking his head.  “This really doesn’t make any sense.  The only
thing I can think of is that they are trying to chase us off.  But, why wait so
long to do that, when they could have tried the same thing at the start of this
chase?”

“Desperation?”

“And why would they be desperate, sir?  They
are on the verge of losing us.  And they always had the firepower to drop back
and kill us if they wanted to.”  
Just like we feared the whole time we’ve
been chasing them. 
“What are you going to do, sir?”

“Since I’m not a complete fool, I’m going to
start decelerating at a much higher clip, and hope they’re satisfied.  I’m…”

“We have a hyper translation,” called out
Lasardo.  A trio of icons appeared on the plot, light minutes ahead of the
Lisboa
. 
Which meant they were light seconds in hyper VII.

The com holo to
Lisboa
went dead, a
moment later its plot dropped off the net, along with the two of the new
contacts.  One continued on, by its acceleration figures a missile.

“
Komorov,
” came the call over the com. 
“We’ve lost contact with
Lisboa. 
Do you have any idea what happened.”

You saw the same thing I did on the plot
, thought von
Rittersdorf, knowing that they were feeling the same thing he was, panic. 
Not
quite the same thing, since they’re back in the Supersystem, safe and sound. 
“They’re
gone,” he said quietly into the holo.   “The Cacas fired missiles at them from
normal space.  They’re learning.”

“Do you know the dispositions of your other
ships?”

“The last destroyer in front of us is still on
the plot.  We don’t know about the other ships.”

“Roger that,” said the controller back in the
Supersystem.

We should have all been equipped with wormhole
coms for a mission like this
, thought the Captain.  The only problem was
there were not enough to go around.   Even with the
Donut
pumping out
thirty a day, they still would never have all they really needed.  And the loss
of
Lisboa
meant they had lost two of the wormholes, along with a hyper
VII battle cruiser and over three thousand crew.

“We have three more launches,” yelled Lasardo,
panic in his voice.  “Target is the
Ling
,” he continued, referring to
the next ship up the line, the only one they still had contact with.  Which
meant.

“The other ships are gone,” said von
Rittersdorf, staring at the plot in shock. 
Ling
dropped off the plot as
he said that, and in a rush of fear he realized they were next.

“Helm, course eighty-five degrees spinward,
sixty degrees up ecliptic.  Full emergency power.  Now.”

The Helmsman was well trained, and didn’t
hesitate when a command was barked at him in that tone.  Lasardo was an instant
behind the Helm, hitting the warning klaxon.  Full emergency power was ten
gravities above what the inertial compensators could handle.  The maximum it
was thought that the crew could handle for any length of time outside of the
tanks.  And there was no time to get into the tanks.

Komorov
boosted at five hundred and thirty-five
gravities to the spinward direction of the galaxy, and up to the ecliptic, the
top of the disk of the Milky Way.  She was still moving forward at point nine
three light, but using the boost to change her vector.  The bridge crew were
pushed back into their chairs, blood pushed from their brains, eyes starting to
blur, reaching into a blackout stage.  The new, improved humans were able to
handle more of those kind of forces, while their skin suits helped to push the
blood out of their legs and back up their bodies.  Still, it was hell on the
bridge crew, and any others who had been able to get into acceleration couches.

Those who hadn’t gotten to their couches in
time, almost half the crew, were not so lucky.  They were thrown in the
opposite direction of the boost at ten gravities, their bodies only stopping
when they ran into something they could no longer continue through.  The skin
suits were also light weight impact armor, stiffening, providing some
protection.  Still, there was a spate of broken carbon reinforced bone, torn
muscles, some skull fractures.  Even a few deaths that could be reversed if
they were treated in time.  Altogether, an unpleasant experience.  But better
than being turned into vapor.

The Captain was barely able to see the plot as
the three missiles translated into hyper and oriented toward the destroyer. 
Link,
dammit, link
, he thought, trying to get through to the ship’s computer
system.  His thoughts were blurred, unclear, the acceleration trying to pull
him into complete darkness. 
Link.
  And then he was in, immediately
recognizing the minds of several others of the crew.  Not many, but hopefully
enough.  Including his Tactical Officer, who was already starting the defensive
systems to firing.

The missiles, if they had been coming straight
in, as planned, would have hit the destroyer head on seconds after launch and
blown her out of hyper.  As it was, the missiles, despite their acceleration
advantage, were coming from a slow start, no more than point three c, the limit
of Caca translation technology.  Now they were heading past the destroyer, and
would need to change their vectors and pursue, not the easiest of tasks for a
missile.  One went off on closest approach, more than five light seconds away,
too far to physically damage the destroyer, only able to send the merest hints
of radiation into the
Komorov
.  Her lasers fired, four blasts, eight,
twelve, and the other two missiles detonated in hyper, their plasma quickly
fading in catastrophic translation back into normal space.

The Captain maintained weapons alert status
while he tried to maintain his connection with the ship.  He waited several
minutes, about as much as his people could stand, before sending the order to
reduce acceleration to maximum normal, five hundred and twenty-five gravities. 
The relief as immediate.  He could breathe again, really breathe.  His muscles
were sore, but a few movements proved they still worked.  There was some
bruising on his hands, blood accumulation from the accel that should soon
clear.

”Medical,” he said over the com.  “Report.”

“The Surgeon is out, sir,” said the Chief
Pharmacist’s Mate over the com.  “Skull fracture.  We’re stabilizing him now.”

“We have casualties all over the ship, Chief. 
I need to get those people taken care of.”

“We’re on it, sir,” said the Chief.

And you’re undermanned, with too much work
ahead
,
thought the Captain, looking at the holo, waiting for the next missiles to
appear and strike them down. 
But you’ll do the best you can, which is all
any of us can ask.

The bridge crew waited with sweating faces and
anxious expressions as the ship continued to change its vector, accelerating
here, decelerating there, getting the hell away from the enemy.  Minutes
passed, with no further signs of the Caca.

“Get me HQ on the com,” said the Captain.  A
moment later the holo showed a middle aged woman, a single star on each of her
collars.  “We’ve lost contact with the enemy, Commodore.  I think the Cacas are
using one of our tricks against us.”

“I guess we couldn’t count on them to be stupid
forever,” said the straight faced woman.  “Much as we would have liked.”

“What are your orders, ma’am?  Do you want us
to try and regain contact?”

“No, Captain,” said the woman, shaking her
head.  “The only thing you could accomplish now is to give us a momentary
location, and then they would take you out.  We’ve got another force waiting
ahead of them.  We’re hoping they’ll gain contact.”

“And us?”

“You are to report back to the Conundrum
screen.  And be careful.”

The Commodore didn’t have to say why.  One
ship, in space that was mostly still under enemy control, with enemy patrols. 
The odds were against them. 
And it’s not like we haven’t been through this
before.

*    
*     *

CAPITULUM, JEWEL.

‘Well, we expected they would start learning
some things from us, just like we have with them,” said CNO Sondra McCullom,
looking up from her flat comp into the eyes of the Emperor.

“Not really what I wanted to hear,” said Sean,
knowing that his wants had nothing to do with the reality of the war.  “Do we
have any idea what they did?”

“From the little bit of data we retrieved from
the
Lisboa,
and the more complete records from the
Komorov
, we
think they dropped mobile launch platforms, much like the mines we used against
the Fenri.  Some of their ships moved ahead of their main force, dropped these
platforms, which decelerated to translation velocity, dropped out of hyper, and
waited.  They tracked our ships coming in and launched when the vessels were
right on top of them.  Our ships didn’t have a chance.”

“And the ships they dropped back?”

“We believe they were a combination decoy and
tracking force.  Our ships were looking at them the whole way, and they got the
chance to pick up data about their new weapon.”

“And now we have to rework our own tactics for
scouting out the enemy.  Shit.  And we’re sure to lose a lot of ships before we
get it right.  At which time they develop something new.”

“That’s war, your Majesty,” said the CNO with a
shrug of her shoulders.  “It’s a shit deal, but it’s what we have.  We just
have to keep developing new weapons and means of deployment faster than they
do.”

“And that’s all there is to it, Admiral?” asked
Sean, shaking his head.  “We also have to keep throwing the best people our
Empire has into the meat grinder, and for what?  People converted to plasma, or
blown to bits on the surface of a planet.”

“We possibly get to keep our species as a going
concern,” said the Admiral, pointing her finger at the Emperor and emphasizing
her point.  “We get to keep our Empire, and the civilization that supports it. 
Not guaranteed, but even a good chance is better than none.  And if you run out
of people who are willing to put themselves into the crucible, look no
further.  I’ll step down from here and head up a battle fleet in a heartbeat. 
Hell, I would lead a task force, even a battleship if that’s all you can give
me.”

“I need you here, Admiral McCullom,” said Sean,
giving her a quick smile.  “Someone has to listen to my complaints, and you are
it.”

Sean looked at the holo being projected by his
flat comp.  “So, how are we standing as far as fleet replacements are
concerned?”

“Everything we can get ready will be good to go
by the time of the offensive,” said the Admiral, pointing to her own comp
holo.  “That’s assuming that the damned star actually lights up in a month or
more.  If it goes off sooner, we will of course not have as much ready.”