Hidden Empire (24 page)
The Ildirans were a stagnant race. In centuries, they had made no improvements in their technology—nor had they needed to,
because their empire lived in a brain-dead sort of peace, all the aliens connected by the vague, controlling
thism
that dampened their individuality. No one would rebel against their revered Mage-Imperator, nor would the splinter colonies
ever squabble with each other. He couldn’t comprehend how the Ildirans justified using so much funding and resources to maintain
the massive Solar Navy if they had no enemies. It made no military sense … unless their Mage-Imperator had other plans. General
Lanyan didn’t trust him.
He had even considered the unusual possibility of recruiting a few of the massive and mysterious Klikiss robots as fighters.
The ancient machines worked on hazardous construction sites and seemed willing to contribute to Hansa activities, but only
if it served their unspoken purposes. For the moment, though, Lanyan had tabled the idea; he didn’t like to count on a “weapon”
that was fundamentally incomprehensible. Rather, he would rely on his own military equipment.
Now, preparing for the virtual combat exercise inside the projection room, Lanyan walked around the holographic displays,
reaching out to touch the hull of one Ildiran cutter. “Enlarge.”
The image grew before the General’s eyes so he could study details. The EDF had not been able to determine the specific internal
layout of Ildiran warships, but these simulations were derived from actual reconnaissance images obtained during spectacular
Solar Navy fleet displays. As far as Lanyan could determine, the Ildiran ceremonial maneuvers served no purpose other than
to show off their military’s skill in parades. Pointless showmanship.
He stepped back, assessing how the alien ships clustered in multiples of seven, moving together with a unified precision that
made them both fearsome and vulnerable in their predictability.
“Now display an equivalent number of EDF vessels,” he said. “Juggernaut-class battleships, Manta cruisers, Thunder-head weapons
platforms, and Remora fast-attack fighters.”
The air in the simulation chamber sparkled, suddenly crowded with a new set of images, familiar Terran ship designs. Lanyan
had trained on all of these military vessels during his climb up the service and promotion ladder. He knew the precise fighting
capabilities, weapons complements, and troop numbers of each one. The computer had put together a magnificent Terran battle
group, a worthy opponent to the Ildiran Solar Navy.
Now for the fun.
He felt like a child with a plethora of toy soldiers just spoiling for a fight. With the intelligence data stored in the EDF
systems, he could stage mock combats pitting his best battleships against the Ildiran defenses.
The supposedly benevolent alien empire had never made provocative moves against Earth, nor had it threatened the EDF or any
Hansa colonies. Even so, Lanyan wanted to keep himself sharp. Perhaps he would never actually face off in a military conflict
against the Solar Navy, but by running simulations such as this, he could assess mistakes and make contingency plans.
As he tried to concentrate, he could feel a distracting vibration through the floor of the Mars base. Outside, troops suited
in breather uniforms were running out to perform infantry maneuvers in the rusty canyons. Hybrid airships cruised through
the thin atmosphere, painting targets and dropping simulated munitions.
Even after almost two centuries of peaceful relations with the Ildiran Empire, General Lanyan demanded that his troops remain
well-tuned. His predecessors had grown somewhat complacent, but he was a more rigorous commander. Now, he personally studied
ship simulations along with best estimates of Ildiran firepower. For the first time in history, the Earth Defense Forces were
more evenly matched with the Ildiran Solar Navy than perhaps even the Mage-Imperator suspected.
“Interplanetary battle scenario,” he said. “Run space-time topography of—” He paused, trying to think. “Use the Yreka system
in Grid 7,” he said, since he had just run an operation there. The fringe Hansa colony was near the boundaries of settled
space in the Ildiran Empire, and therefore a likely battleground. Who knew what flare-ups might occur between two different
species?
Lanyan pointed to empty spots in the air. “Place the planets here, here—and here.” The worlds of the Yreka system materialized
in the air, and a blazing sun filled the center of the room. EDF spaceships hovered in random patterns.
“Move the Solar Navy vessels into anticipated maniple configuration.” The Ildiran vessels folded together into compact septas,
groups of seven that coalesced into larger conglomerates of forty-nine ships.
“Now deploy EDF troops in engagement configuration delta.” He backed toward the wall as the holograms took up their positions,
ready for an order of battle.
Lanyan tried to imagine some provocative act that would bring the two spacefleets to such an impasse. He always chose to run
his simulations privately, telling no one his intent. What he was doing could create political dangers for his career, since
the Ildirans were supposedly humanity’s allies and benefactors. One did not practice warfare against a friend… but only a
fool wouldn’t prepare for a worst-case scenario.
The human race was not well-versed in large-scale interplanetary warfare, considering the slow time frames and the vast distances
involved. All his career, the General had felt a nagging internal clock telling him to get his forces in shape, to be prepared
for any crisis, though he despaired of cutting through the politics and bureaucracy in time.
Many of the EDF’s most powerful commanding officers had squabbled over the military’s purpose in the Hansa worlds. They even
quarreled over the appropriate names for ranks. Lanyan had been bombarded with tedious memos and arguments debating whether
his title as commander-in-chief should be “Admiral” or “General”—a ridiculous waste of time. Lanyan had finally ejected the
proponents of each question, docked them pay, and reduced their ranks by a notch. If necessary, he would send them back to
combat school as cadets to refresh their memory about the true purpose of the Earth Defense Forces. He called himself a General,
and named his subcommanders—each one in charge of a separate grid—Admirals.
During his administration, Lanyan had enhanced EDF capabilities, and he always remained aware of the dispersal of his fleet.
He spent evenings in his private quarters keeping track of his firepower distribution. The EDF had smothered brushfire rebellions
and intimidated pirates such as Rand Sorengaard, but he knew that he must remain ever vigilant.
He considered the frozen battle engagement in space, scrutinizing the numerous ships ready to fall upon each other like two
packs of wolves. “Engage forces. No handicap to either side.”
Lanyan stood against the wall and watched the sparks fly.
The Ildiran warliners opened fire, raking swaths of damage through the EDF troops. The Terran Remoras scattered and let loose
with a chaotic jazer attack from all sides. The Solar Navy inflicted many casualties by remaining in rigid phalanxes like
Roman soldiers, but the EDF fought back using individual and unpredictable tactics.
As ship after ship was destroyed, wreckage scattered through space, forming navigational hazards, which the battle simulation
added to the fray. The gravity wells of Yreka’s planets offered complications of their own, and the battle raged on.
“Increase simulation speed. Multiply by three.”
The conflict turned into a flurry of hornets, ships roaring past and destroying each other. The specific action was too fast
for him to follow, but he got the general drift.
Finally, all the fires died. The space battlefield became nothing more than a graveyard of ruined vessels and smoldering hulls
that drifted about like man-made meteoroids. The General scanned the wreckage, pondering which portions of the conflict to
replay and analyze.
Ruefully, he saw that all of the forces on both sides had been destroyed. It was a complete massacre of Ildiran and Terran
troops. “At least we didn’t lose,” he said aloud, and blanked the simulation.
It was his duty to look at all alternatives and to be ready with answers, should he ever be called upon. No matter what diplomats
and politicians might say, Lanyan was convinced the Ildiran Empire would someday be humanity’s greatest antagonist.
After all, no Earth explorer had ever encountered any other alien threat.
S
kimming the night-side clouds of Golgen, Ross Tamblyn found the Blue Sky Mine too quiet for sleep. He paced the decks, eyes
open, keeping a paternal watch on all systems. His life was invested here, his reputation and the inheritance he’d scraped
together before his father had disowned him.
Before going out into the biting open wind, Ross dressed in warm garments, wrapping a clan scarf around his neck, shrugging
a many-pocketed jacket over his shoulders. He pulled the hood over his ragged-cut dark hair, adjusted the insulated gloves,
and stepped out for a breath of fresh air a thousand miles above the unseen surface of the gas giant.
Ross cycled through the wind door onto his private observation deck. He loved to steal time to stare out at the milky ocean
of thunderheads and cirrus veils, feeling the raw wind on his face.
Most of the white doves had settled into their roosts for the night. They cooed, sounding like bubbles under water. A few
of the pet birds spread their wings and flew out in long gentle courses, riding the high breezes. Instinct drove them to search
for insects, but on sterile Golgen the doves would find no food other than what Ross Tamblyn put out for them.
The chill night bore a taint of sulfurous fumes, rising chemicals and gases belched from internal weather patterns. Ross gripped
the railing with his gloves, felt the breeze stir his hair and flap his hood. The atmosphere yawned beneath him through uncharted
cloud layers. With increasing depth, the air grew thicker and hotter until it terminated at the planet’s super-high-density
metallic core, where nothing could survive.
As he peered into the silvery cloud deck, Ross noticed deep lightning storms that hid under layers of multicolored mist. The
disturbance was far beneath the tentacle-strung weather probes that dangled from the skymine’s belly. He could hear no thunder
in the vastness of Golgen’s sky, only a gentle cooing of doves.
As he watched, though, the lightning storms appeared to climb higher, a turbulence approaching the habitable atmospheric levels.
The white birds stirred in their roosts, as if they could sense something ominous. It was an uneasy night.
But Ross would not have chosen to be anywhere else. The Blue Sky Mine was his home and his dream.
At the age of twenty-seven, shortly after he’d invested in this wild venture, Ross had been brash and bold—and why not, since
he was already attempting to do an impossible thing? With a smile, he recalled the day he had approached Cesca Peroni, a woman
he’d long admired but did not know very well. He met her in an empty tunnel in the clustered asteroids of Rendezvous. Willing
to take a gamble and ready to accept failure, Ross had walked right up to her and asked her to marry him.
Cesca had raised her eyebrows and assessed the broad-shouldered young man, the outcast son of a powerful clan determined to
make his own success. When she smiled at Ross, his heart had melted and he knew he’d made the correct choice.
Cesca was taken with him, though hesitant. After being trained by Speaker Jhy Okiah, the young woman was politically savvy
enough to know that Ross could be “trouble.” She had touched a fingertip to her full lower lip. “I admit your Blue Sky Mine
is a viable commercial opportunity. But if you don’t succeed and I’m already betrothed to you, then I’ll have thrown away
my chance to make a good marriage alliance.” He couldn’t tell if she was teasing him.
“I realize you might be wary of me, Cesca,” he had said. “I’ve already been ostracized by my father, but I swear I’ll make
my own way. I know I can pay off the Golgen facility. My dream is to become independent and strong, and I know exactly how
to accomplish it.”
She shrugged. “And what would my family say? The Peronis are a powerful clan in their own right. Since I’m his only daughter,
my father expects great things from me.”
Ross had clasped his hands in front of him. “And well he should. But you are clearly being groomed to become the next Speaker.
Surely that’s enough for his pride?”
He was glad they had a chance to talk frankly, but he couldn’t decide if she was playing with him, or genuinely considering
her options. Though the two felt warm toward each other, their decision would be based on a reasonable analysis of consequences,
rather than frivolous romantic giddiness. A true Roamer match.
“I can offer you this, Ross Tamblyn,” Cesca finally said, crossing her slender arms over her chest and trying to hold a cool
mask over what seemed to be an amused smile. “I will agree to wed you if you’re able to pay off the Blue Sky Mine and make
a profit.”
