Exodus: Machine War 1 Supernova. (14 page)

“Like we almost
did,” agreed the leader.  “If not for Captain Albright and her ship.”

Nguyen looked
down at a holo, making sure what he thought was true.  He looked up into the
eyes of the First Councilman.  “I’ve noticed, looking over the names of the
people who have already been listed for shelter, or evacuation, that neither
you or your siblings are on either list.”

“We are too old
to waste the resources on,” said Contena.  “We have lived our lives, and all of
us have achieved what we set out to do.  We leave the spaces to those with
lives still ahead of them, those who have children to raise.  All I ask for is
that my name goes into our history books. Books that will be written, now that
you are here.”

“Commodore
Khrushchev is on the com, Admiral,” called out the Communication’s Officer.

“I have to go,
First Councilman.  The officer in charge of the convoy is now within real time
com range, and she seems to have some news for me.”

“I hope it’s
good news, Admiral,” said the First Councilman.  “Thank you for talking
truthfully with me.”

The holo went
dead, and a moment later another sprung into existence, showing the head and
shoulders of Commodore Natasha Khrushchev, who was flying her flag on the light
cruiser
Tyger.

“What’s the
word, Natasha?” he asked. 
Tyger
was in orbit around the planet, and
there was no appreciable time delay to this conversation.

“You’ve heard
about
Bolthole
?”

“I got the basic
word from your grav pulse.  I was kind of surprised it was approved.”

“Headquarters
didn’t see why not,” said the Commodore.  “It isn’t like they’re going to tell
anyone where it is.  Or even know where it is to start with.”

I don’t even
know where the damned place is
, thought Nguyen, nodding.

Bolthole had
been the brainchild of Emperor Augustine I’s father.  Augustine had gone ahead
and pushed a black bill through the Parliament, gotten the initial funding, and
anted up some of his own fortune. 
Bolthole
resided in an area about
fifty light years across, from thirteen hundred and thirteen hundred and fifty
light years from the spinward border of the Empire.  There were a lot of stars
in that globe, and no Imperial ship was allowed into it without special
permission.

There were now
over twenty million Imperial citizens in that system, which included manufacturing
facilities and shipyards, major asteroid bases, and a planet that was in the
process of being terraformed.  Future plans included a supermetal production
facility.  The idea was to have a fleet production facility that could not be
hit by any possible enemy, since they wouldn’t be able to find it.

The great
majority of those people in the system were there as workers, and almost none
of them knew where they were really were, astronomically speaking.  They had
signed long term contracts, twenty standard years, at triple the normal pay
scales for their professions.  And now higher command was willing to let aliens
resettle into the expanding asteroid bases, which showed just how important
they were to the military leaders who knew about them and their specialized
abilities.

“How many?”

“They estimated
about a million, if they can find the transport for them.”

“That many,”
said the Admiral after a whistle.  “That is very good news.” 
And we might
be able to save twenty to twenty-five million of them between here and Command
Base
.  Which sounded really great, until he remembered that there were over
six billion of the Klassekians.  “I guess the next question is, do we have more
transports coming?”

“That is the
bottleneck, so far,” agreed the Commodore.  “A general recall is out for all
Command ships to head this way, but you know how that goes.”

Nguyen knew how
that went.  There were scores of exploration teams, pairs of ships, out on
sweeps through the unexplored areas of this arm.  Some of them would be out of
contact for months, some for half a year.  No one knew where some of them were,
since they might change plans depending on what they found on earlier stops. 
Meaning that it might take months to get most of those ships here, if ever.

Supply ships and
escorts were also part of a constant stream from the Empire to the Exploration
Command base that was located about five hundred light years outside the
borders of friendly territory.  They brought parts, antimatter, food, and
replacement personnel.  Some of those ships could be added to the evacuation,
but not all of them.

“Headquarters
has also sent requests back to the Empire for more ships, but you know how that
goes.”

Yes
,
thought Nguyen. 
We’re involved in a war, and shipping is precious at this
time.
  If it had been peacetime, the Empire would have sent a thousand
ships out here to rescue these people, without thought of recompense.  That was
just the way most humans were.  But diverting ships that might be needed to
protect and supply Imperial citizens, no matter how precious a resource these
aliens might be, that was another thing.

“All we can do
is all we can do,” said Nguyen, wishing it wasn’t so.  “Get your cargo unloaded
and down to the planet as soon as possible.  And I want the orbital factories
up and running in twenty-four hours.  As soon as the asteroid miners are ready
I want them transporting raw materials.”

“Yes, sir,” said
Khrushchev, sitting up straight in her chair.  “We’ll get right on it.”

Nguyen nodded,
terminated the com, and started up another one, this time linking with the
Marine Colonel aboard one of the transports.

“Colonel
Margolis,” answered the petite redheaded woman on the holo.

“Colonel.  I
understand you brought a platoon of Force Recon with you.”

“Yes, sir. 
Forty-three of the baddest Marines this side of hell.”

“I have a
mission for them.”

Chapter Twelve

When we first sent out the call
for volunteers for Special Ops; Naval Commandos, Army Rangers and Marine Recon,
we really expected to have trouble filling the quota.  After all, who would
want to give up three or four decades of life for the chance to put their lives
on the line on hazardous missions.  We underestimated the call of adventure to
young people.  After all, who could resist the lure of becoming a literal
superman.

Field Marshal Ceasar Mgombi,
Commandant, Imperial Marine Corps, the Year 721.

JANUARY 11
^TH
, 1001. 
D-175.

The humans
seemed to come out of nowhere.  One moment the two Honish officers were walking
down the street, returning from dinner, anxious to get back to their planning. 
The next six humans, not armored like most of the ones they had seen, came from
the shadows and surrounded the pair.  Both were trained warriors.  They didn’t
panic, but moved into defensive positions, their hands reaching to the butts of
their sidearms.

Klassekians on
average could move much faster than humans.  They could run faster, jump
higher, and respond quicker.  But not these humans, who seems to blur slightly
as they ran ahead and grabbed the tentacle bunches of the aliens before they
could draw their weapons.

The officers
strained against the iron sinews of the Recon Marines, and met their match in
creatures that were much stronger than they looked.  In moments they were on
the ground, some sort of strapping over their breathing and speaking orifices,
limbs bound.  The humans picked them up and ran with them, through the darkness
of back alleys, then up the stairs of a building.  Once on the roof, they were
deposited into some kind of aerial vehicle, where humans in body armor took
charge of them, and the unarmored ones ran back to the stairwell and
disappeared.

The vehicle
leapt silently into the sky and turned in the air, accelerating away, to
deliver its captives to the nearest human compound.  Minutes after arrival they
were on a shuttle headed toward one of the human ships in orbit, where they
would become subjects in the interrogation of their species.  Intelligence
already knew they were guilty.  They had been recorded in their offices
discussing activities that were intended to sabotage the rescue efforts of the
humans.  They were low enough on the totem pole where their absence might not
be noticed for several days, but hopefully with enough knowledge that could
prove useful for the planning of further missions by the Recon Marines.

*     *     *

Klanar airfield
was not the largest in Tsarzor, but it was easily secured, and it was not
serving its intended purpose at the moment.  For the last several days thirty
shuttles, twenty-five standard and five assault, had been landing, taking on
passengers as fast as they could, and lifting almost silently back into the
air.  From there they had climbed rapidly into the sky, breaking the sound
barrier within moments, to rendezvous with the liners
Centauri Queen
and
Jadpur.

The movement had
been going on day and night, as Klassekians lined up in the heat of the field,
mothers holding the tentacles of their litters of children, groups of adult
siblings talking among themselves, some verbally, others just sharing their minds.

Battle suited
Marines were in evidence along the perimeter of the field, while a pair of
sting ships flew slowly over that same perimeter.  Further out, hundreds of
local troops sat in their positions, alertly guarding their part of the outer
perimeter against the expected action of those determined to stop the
evacuation.

Some of those
natives were gathered in front of the entry gate of the airfield, chanting,
waving signs, peaceful so far.  Their signs demanded that the evacuation be
stopped, and warned that the humans were liars, who wished to capture as many
Klassekians as they could for their own nefarious purposes.  What those
nefarious purposes were they could not say, which to the evacuees made them
even more to be feared.

Lt. J’rrantar
walked part of the perimeter, checking on the men in his platoon who had been
detailed to make sure nothing got near enough to the field to attempt a shot at
the shuttles.  The huge Phlistaran’s armor was bristling with attached
weaponry, a heavy particle beam mounted on his back, barrel extending over his
right shoulder, a rocket launcher on his flank.  His people made powerful
ground troops, able to wear large suits that allowed for a lot of firepower. 
Unfortunately, they weren’t able to effectively hug the ground like their
smaller humanoid comrades, and climbing was also out of the question, though
the flight functions of the suits somewhat made up for that.

“Report,” came
the call over the com, and the Lieutenant looked up for a moment, even though
he knew he would not be able to see the ship it was coming from. 
William
Clark
was at the edge of the atmosphere, hovering there on grabbers, ready
to provide any fire support that might be needed.

“All calm and
quiet so far, ma’am,” he reported to Captain Albright.  He looked over at the
gate, three kilometers away, and zoomed in to see the protesters parting before
a convoy of native armored vehicles that were escorting a score of trucks.  The
protesters waved their signs more energetically, and the volume of the yelling
increased in the Marine’s audio pickup.  Several protestors ran after the
trucks in their peculiar sliding motion that moved them so quickly along the
ground.  Soldiers on the trucks pushed them back with rifles.  One, who tried
to grab onto a weapon, took a buttstock to his face for this trouble.

“About what we
expected.”

“Well, keep a
close watch, Lieutenant.  There’s a reason they call it the unexpected.”

The com went
dead, and the Marine officer checked the status of his platoon on his HUD, then
looked back at the field, where the last six shuttles were being loaded,
Klassekians moving in orderly fashion onto the vehicles.

It hadn’t been
his call of course, but over half the people getting on the shuttles were
adults.  He would have preferred that they got as many children as possible off
planet.  His own people were very devoted to their children, and he couldn’t
think of many things worse than saving his own hide while a child was left in
danger.  But the powers that be wanted enough adult litters that they could
take immediate advantage of their quantum entanglement ability.

“We have
aircraft on approach,” came a call over the com, identified as the Senior Chief
in charge of the naval ground crew.  “Multiple contacts.”

An arrow
appeared the Lieutenant’s HUD, pointing toward the contacts.  The sting ships
overhead took off, accelerating up to multi-Mach in seconds.

“Total of eight
contacts,” continued the Chief, keeping the Marines informed.

The sting
ships should be able to take care of them
, thought the Marine officer.  The
Imperial atmospheric fighter/attack craft could track and fire on a score of
targets at the same time, and he doubted a fighter aircraft from one of this
world’s powers could knock one of the sting ships out of the air.

“Alert,” called
out another voice over the net.  “Six contacts, incoming from the south
southeast.”

Now that was a
problem.  There was no way the sting ships could deal with all of their targets
and turn around in time to take care of these newcomers.  J’rrantar sent out
his own alert at that moment, making sure that his own antiair gunners were
ready for action.  If worse came to worse, the regular suits could take some
shots.

“Get those
shuttles back on the ground,” called out the Lt. Commander who was in overall
charge of the operation.  “Get them out of the line of fire.”

Two of the
shuttles were already in the air.  The furthest up looked like it might be able
to accelerate out of the area before a furball developed.  But the Commander
was taking no chances, and both craft dropped back to the ground.

Flashes on the
northern horizon showed that the sting ships had engaged whatever it was they
faced.  A flash from the south indicated that something had fired on something,
and the tactical display updated to show that
Clark
had taken the
aircraft under fire, knocking one from the air with a laser.

And we still
don’t know what they are
, thought the Marine, watching the display for
updates.  Not that it really mattered.  This was a no fly zone for anything
that didn’t belong to the Empire, out to fifty kilometers in every direction. 
Anything entering that zone was assumed to be hostile, and would pay for it.

Another flash to
the south, and then the dots of low flying aircraft appeared, flying faster
than sound and outrunning their own roar.  A missile rose from one of the heavy
suits, flashing out to hit one of the now obvious fighters in a fraction of a
second.  That craft exploded in a ball of fire that rained flaming debris all
over the ground.  A second suit fired, and another aircraft went down, leaving
two on approach.

One of the
fighters must have locked onto a target, and missiles dropped from the weapons
compartment underneath and headed for one of the shuttles.  Six weapons, all of
which detonated well short of their target, engaged by the on-board lasers of
the shuttle targeted and the particle beams of a dozen Marine suits.

The fighters,
totally unmarked craft that had a passing resemblance to front line Tsarzorian
aircraft, roared over the field, objects dropping from beneath them.  More
particle beams buzzed up, hitting all of the bombs and one of the fighters. 
The bombs exploded, and the fighter went into a forced bank as one of its wings
came off.  It went into a spin and headed for the main gate.  Another particle
beam struck the fighter, which broke into pieces before striking the ground
within the crowd of protesters.

Shit
,
thought J’rrantar, sending out the orders to his people that locked them in
place.  He knew most of them would want to go running to the rescue, but it was
important they stay on the defensive.  Search and rescue would be coming down
from the naval force in orbit, as well as from the native services.  Looking at
the ball of fire that was rising over the center of what had been the crowded
group of Klassekians protesting the evacuation, he thought that most of the
effort would be wasted.  Those within the blast radius were dead or dying, the
rest had already fled away from the heat.

A last crack in
the air captured his attention, and he turned back to see the last fighter as
it exploded in the air on the way out, the foliage on the ground beneath giving
evidence to what had downed it. 
Clark
had gotten another one with her
lasers.  Minutes later the all clear as sounded, and the grounded shuttles
lifted into the air, accelerating away to get to the liners as soon as
possible.

And one of the
sting ships was missing, which meant the Marines had to go out and find the
pilot.

*     *     *

“We’ve found her
ejection capsule, sir,” came the call from the squad leader in charge of the
search team.

“What about the
Warrant Officer?” asked J’rrantar, not liking that the Sergeant hadn’t
announced finding her.

“No sign.  There
are a lot of tracks, though.  Including the marks of some kind of tracked vehicle.”

“
Clark.
 
This is J’rrantar.  Do you have a track on Warrant Officer Sung?”

“No, sir,
Lieutenant,” answered the Petty Officer who was tracking all ground personnel
from the ship.  “We had her up until about forty seconds after her capsule came
down.  Then she just disappeared.”

“Well, shit,”
cursed the Phlistaran Marine.  “Sergeant,” he yelled into the com, switching
freqs.  “I want you to spread out.  Find her.  I’m going to send second squad
out to help you.”

“Belay that
order, Lieutenant,” came the voice of Captain Albright over the com.  “I don’t
want you weakening your perimeter by sending any more Marines out.  I’ll get in
touch with Colonel Margolis and see if he can get some more people down there. 
And search and rescue.”

“Understood,
ma’am,” said the Marine, not liking the order at all.  “Sergeant.  Try to find
her.  Follow that vehicle track.  That’s the most likely means of getting her
away.  But keep a close eye out around you.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they
set up an ambush.”

“Yes, sir,” said
the Sergeant, and J’rrantar’s HD blossomed with the icons of microdrones
launched by the Marines of that squad, joining those that were already out
scouting their perimeter.  A quartet sped ahead, following the tracks, while
the others spread out and reinforced the perimeter scan.

Find her, by
the Gods
, thought the Lt.  He didn’t really want to think what the people
they were fighting would do to the pilot, but he was sure it would not be
pleasant.

*     *     *

Warrant Officer
Melissa Sung looked up as the lid of the coffin like conveyance they had placed
her in was raised.  Her battle armor was still sealed, the aliens having no
means of really forcing it open without killing or severely injuring her.  She
was surprised they had been able to capture her, but a combination of her
confusion coming out of the ejection capsule, their proximity and swift strike,
and the sticky strands they had surrounded her with had combined to take her,
despite the augmentation of the suit.

She tried to
contact the ship through her suit com, then on her implant when that didn’t
work.  The Warrant figured that the box must have been shielded from
electromagnetic transmission, which meant she was probably not being tracked
from space either.

“Get the human
out of there,” said one of the aliens after the lid was open, his speech
translated by her implant.