Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) (61 page)

It was an old story, Eric knew. He’d seen it on Earth often enough. The higher you went into the power structure, the less contact you maintained with the rank and file.

Eventually you could become convinced that everyone either thought the way you did, or that they
should
.

People, however, would always surprise you. Both for the better and for the worse. That was as true on the Priminae worlds as it was on Earth, and Eric took a fair amount of comfort in it.

“Alright, what are your orders?” Eric asked, noting the ring of familiar IFF signals now appearing on his HUD.

“We’re to provide all possible aid to local field commanders, eliminate the Drasin where feasible, evacuate people where not . . . So, field commander, you tell me . . . what are my orders?” Bermont smirked at him, clearly happier to be back under Weston’s command than Eric felt was completely sane.

He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, so he just nodded down the street.

“Dallas crawls. Unless you have a significant field force . . .”

Bermont shook his head. “Tactical strike squad. We’re stretched thin, even with as many people as we have.”

Eric nodded. He was disappointed but unsurprised. “Then we need to provide cover while we evacuate as many people as possible. Dallas crawls, and that can’t be allowed to continue . . . one way or another.”

“Roger that, Skipper. We’re on it,” Bermont said, feet lifting off the ground as he triggered his suit-warp and flew up to
the top of a nearby building. “You take the low road, Skipper, We’ll see to the high.”

“Damn showoff,” Eric said to himself, making a note to get one of the new systems just as soon as he could. They looked like one helluva lot of fun.

“Cherokee Zero One Niner, Weston.”

“Go for Cherokee, Weston.”

“I need a pickup at my location, heavy-lift EXO suit for repair and rearm. I am proceeding on foot to secure the evacuation route.”

“Roger, Weston. Good hunting.”

“Nothing good about these things. They wouldn’t even make decent trophies. I’ll make do, though. Weston out.”

The battle was running well, Gaia noted. They would certainly lose a great many people, and much of the infrastructure of nearly every nation on the Earth, but that was a small price to pay for the survival of the species and, yes, even the world itself
.

In fact, to the entity’s mind, things were going
too
well
.

She observed the battles at every point, sometimes nudging her humans one way or another to give them the best chance at victory, and everything looked as good as one might reasonably hope
.

The problem was, she didn’t feel that the universe was being especially reasonable on this day . . . So the ancient entity looked around her domain, within the sphere of which she was all but omniscient, and she couldn’t help but wonder
.

“What am I missing?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“MA’AM, WE’VE secured NEO space.”

Admiral Gracen nodded, handing the ensign back the report he’d given her. “Good work. Start expanding our FTL and light-speed scanning to cover the rest of Sol Space. I want to make sure that they’re all gone before we relax.”

“Yes ma’am, I understand.”

She again did the mental math, trying to work out if there were any significant numbers of the enemy ships outstanding, but again decided that there were not. They’d accounted for the most dangerous portion of the fleet that had driven them from Earth space and assaulted the planet, though she was certain that a few more of the enemy ships were hiding out in the outer system.

The
Enterprise
had contacted them, and she’d eliminated the last of the enemy fighter drones, despite their trying to kamikaze the ship three separate times. The
Big E
’s defense screens and point defense weapons had proved up to the task, along with her fighter complement of Vorpals.

The
Enterprise
would take longer to join them in NEO simply because the purely Terran-built ships didn’t have
the capability to handle the deceleration techniques that Michaels had employed. They would have to slow down the old-fashioned way, at least partially, before they could attempt to use atmospheric braking.

For now, however, Gracen looked across her boards and everything seemed to be in order, at least so far as the orbital situation was concerned.

She settled down at her station, eyes on the tactical maps they were receiving and collating from Earth. The situation on the planet, however, was far from under control. Gracen examined the reports, those listed as priorities, and finally got up to walk over to where Milla Chans was standing her watch patiently.

“Ithan Chans,” she said softly, getting the young woman’s attention.

It had taken a while, but they’d determined that ithan was roughly the equivalent of a lieutenant’s rank, and she knew that Milla was fairly senior in her own service. Given the other woman was a specialist with the weapons the ships of the Heroic squadron carried, she could think of none better to ask the questions she currently felt burning a hole in her brain.

“Yes Admiral?” Milla turned, speaking quietly and very respectfully.

“I have to confess that I neglected to fully inform myself on certain aspects of the weapons,” Gracen said. “I was hoping that you might tell me about them.”

Milla hesitated. “I can speak to the laser arrays, of course, but the . . . transition cannons are somewhat beyond my knowledge at this time. I can, of course, bring them to target and engage their action, but their limitations and workings are very new to me . . .”

“Yes, I know,” Gracen nodded. “Actually I wanted to know a little more about the lasers. Do you know their ship-to-surface capacity?”

Milla’s expression turned a little stony. “Firing on an inhabited world would be anathema to my people. You know this, I believe?”

“Even one that has been infested?”

Milla sighed unhappily, but nodded. “Yes, even then. I know, I know, it is not . . . rational, yes? However, few of our people would even consider such an action so long as there were humans still alive on the surface.”

“Are the lasers that dangerous?” Gracen was concerned. While she knew that the Priminae were a curious blend of pacifist and realist, she would have expected their realist side to emerge in this case. But perhaps it had been so long since the realist side was tested at this level that she was overestimating its influence in this matter.

“They are
very
powerful, Admiral,” Milla said. “A short blast could easily destroy one of your cities, unless I am very wrong about their construction. An extended beam could dig deep enough to trigger very many ugly happenings.”

Gracen considered the information, then grimaced. She had to admit that she wasn’t enough of a geologist to know what a beam coring through the mantle might do, but it didn’t sound like a good idea. Hell, if one struck an oil, natural gas, or coal pocket, the damage it caused could be significant and ongoing.

Even so, she thought it might be a risk they may have to take.

“I want you to prepare firing patterns for orbital bombardment. Lasers can’t be much worse than the nukes they’ve already authorized down there, and this is a problem we can’t
just ignore and hope will go away,” Gracen ordered. “Make it as safe as you can, but no Drasin is to survive a strike. Can you do this?”

Milla paled slightly, but nodded slowly. “Yes, Admiral, I can do this.”

“Good. Make it happen.”

Gracen walked away, leaving a shaken but determined Milla in her wake. The Priminae officer began to enter the new directive into her board, making adjustments to the laser focal points as she tried to balance the weapon system between the two conflicting requirements of total annihilation for the enemy and relative security for the world. It would
not
be an easy job.

The enemy arrived, and the Drasin waited.