Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection (133 page)

“Are you saying we can’t restore communications with Fionava? At all?”

“Nope. I am not saying that.” Devon Reynolds kicked his chair back so far the headrest landed against the opposite wall of the tiny office. “Okay, I’m sort of saying that. The virus O’Connell implanted is a nasty, insidious little bugger. It reacts to attempts to cleanse it by replicating faster.”

Richard Navick—newly-minted Brigadier, much to his surprise—drummed his fingertips on Devon’s desk. “What
can
we do? What if we wiped the whole NW module and reset the network?”

Devon’s head was already shaking. “We’d need to install new equipment first, because the virus has infected the firmware beyond our ability to flash it. Look, I can fix it—but I need the original code to do it. From what Tech Logistics is sending me it appears the virus has mutated so many times no trace remains of the initial routines.”

“If I track down where O’Connell got the virus and obtain a copy for you, then you can get the NW Regional Headquarters back on the network?” More than a trifling task, but if it was required to solve the problem….

“Yes, sir. With the source code I can write a patch in my sleep…” he yawned and stretched his arms over his head “…which is probably a good thing. Want my advice on where to hunt? This is hacker code, no doubt about it. It’s not written by anyone I know, as I’d spot their work. But it….” His voice trailed off as the front of his chair landed back on the floor.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure. I want to investigate something. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

“In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” Richard patted Devon on the shoulder and left the office.

A damp, chill wind blasted him when he departed Special Projects. He hunched his shoulders, hugged his arms tight against his chest and hastened across the courtyard toward the Logistics/Headquarters building. It seemed winter wanted to arrive early this year.

They’d pieced together most of what had happened on Fionava over the last forty-eight hours. Disgraced General Liam O’Connell, wanted on charges of treason, conspiracy to commit murder and conduct unbecoming an officer for his role in instigating war with the Senecan Federation, fled to the NW Regional Headquarters base on Fionava. Once there he implanted a virus in the hardware hub to disrupt communications into and out of the base. In the ensuing confusion he commandeered a cruiser, the
EAS Akagi,
and two frigates, the
Yeltsin
and the
Chinook
, and departed Fionava for an unknown destination.

All efforts to contact the ships or personnel believed to be onboard had been unsuccessful, which meant O’Connell likely was running a blocking field around the vessels.

It had taken them far too long to gather this information, however. The Security team was forced to move off-base to talk to EASC and relay messages and requests back to the base, then back again. It was an untenable situation. The Regional Headquarters on Fionava controlled the entire Alliance NW Command: more than five thousand ships and three million soldiers.

Miriam needed those ships and personnel. She needed to be able to direct them at a moment’s notice to where they could do the most good, whether it be engaging the Metigens or effecting evacuations, and in a manner that didn’t induce chaos within the labyrinthine military network. So he would try to get her the tools she needed in order to do so.

He had nearly reached his destination when the priority message from Graham Delavasi came in on the secure channel they’d set up before leaving Krysk. He stepped inside to find refuge from the punishing wind then opened the message.

Ten seconds later he was sprinting toward the War Room.

Earth Alliance Fleet Admiral Miriam Solovy considered a map ablaze in primary colors.

Gone were the old designations of political allegiances. Now bright red spattered across the right-hand quadrants of the map to mark colonies lost and Metigen formations on the move. Yellow indicated colonies where Alliance or Federation forces were currently engaging the aliens. The front line of the Metigen War stretched across five kiloparsecs from Peloponnia northwest through Xanadu to Nystad.

In a particularly chilling touch, the hue of each colony shifted with the ebb and flow of the battle taking place there. Peloponnia had darkened to an ominous rust; Xanadu held steady at canary yellow, while Nystad progressively lightened to pale lemon. Blue called out Alliance and Senecan formation movements, slight disparities in shade the only distinction between the two fleets.

Brython and Henan had been the sole unconditional successes in the day and a half since they had defiantly thumbed their noses at the aliens’ conditions of surrender.

Nystad promised to soon be the third, however, and with additional Alliance forces incoming Xanadu stood a chance of following suit. Pyxis was lost, but at least they had evacuated over two-thirds of the population prior to the attack.

The Federation was thus far making excellent use of its spatial advantage. Its colonies were closer together, most no more than a few hours distance at superluminal speeds. And though its military was smaller in number than the Alliance military, proportionally to both geographic size and population it was far larger.

Of course the proximity of the colonies to one another meant attacking ships could reach the inhabited planets sooner as well. If or when the Federation began losing, they would lose swiftly.

“How long until the SW 3
^rd
and 4
^th
Brigades from New Cornwall reach Sagan?”

Miriam didn’t need to check, for each second of the schedule ticked down in the corner of her whisper virtual screen. “Ninety-two minutes.”

“They’ll beat the Metigens there.”

She directed a weighty glance at Admiral Christopher Rychen then returned to the map. “Probably. It’s going to be close.”

The two of them, as well as half a dozen other military personnel, occupied what now officially constituted the Metigen War Room. Two days ago it had been a workspace for a task force on interplanetary logistics improvements.

Now it overflowed with servers and other equipment, an expansive interactive data surface, dedicated channels to a variety of field commanders and colony governments, and a
very
dedicated channel to Senecan Federation Military Headquarters. Three screens along the left wall scrolled a constant stream of intel from ANNIE; analysts parsed it and reported items of note to Miriam’s advisors, who reported them to her if deemed worthy.

Rychen sighed beside her. “We need to hold them there for as long as possible. Past Sagan lie a dozen tiny worlds they can wipe out before we realize they’ve arrived.”

“Which is why those tiny worlds are being evacuated as we speak.”

“Sorry. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job—merely itching to get back out there.”

The
EAS Churchill
, Rychen’s dreadnought and the flagship of NE Command, had been in orbital dock for repairs since its arrival from Messium three days earlier. The repairs were nearly complete, but here at the precipice every hour counted. She wanted to empathize with him, but the truth was his insight and tactical advice—the kind of perspective one only got through lengthy, non-agenda-laden personal interactions—had been invaluable to her in these early hours of war.

Miriam offered him a reassuring nod. “Your officers have ample time to prepare for the Metigens’ arrival at Scythia. They’ll hold it.”

“They will. Commodore Escarra is on-scene—and Colonel Jenner. He’s a good one. Thank you for sending him my way.”

“I’m glad it worked out—” She was interrupted by the Transportation Warrant Officer delivering an update on the departure status of the SW Command ships still at Deucali. Ninety-nine percent of Alliance military vessels in the NW and SW Commands were being pulled east, and if it came to it, a final stand would be made to protect the First Wave worlds.

If Earth fell, every world would fall.

The 1
^st
Division from Nyssus had finally reached Deucali, where final fortifications and provisioning were to be completed before they shipped out. A portion of the 1
^st
Division would reinforce the defenses at New Cornwall and New Columbia, and the rest would join the other SW formations to patrol an arc along the eastern edge of Central Quadrant space.

Rychen growled behind her, and she spun back to the map as Peloponnia’s hue deepened to an orange so murky it may as well be red. She choked off a curse in her throat but dropped both hands to the table and leaned into it. “It was too far east. We didn’t have time to get there in strength, much less mount a proper defense.”

Just as quickly she shoved off the table. “Get Commodore Ashonye on holo. I want to make absolutely certain he understands what he’s walking into at Sagan.”

The on-duty Comms Officer scrambled to establish the requested connection while Miriam worked to determine whether there were any ships left at Peloponnia she could order to retreat.

“Admiral Solovy, can I speak with you a minute?”

She pivoted on hearing Richard’s voice, which sounded unnaturally formal on account of the audience. She reciprocated and bestowed the proper respect befitting his new rank. The promotion had not been initiated by her, but once it was proposed she had ensured its approval with due speed. His exposure of the Aguirre Conspiracy alone meant he deserved it twice over.

“Brigadier Navick. What can I do for you?”

“In private, please.”

The solemnity in his eyes gave her pause. “Admiral Rychen, I need to step out. If Commodore Ashonye is reached before I return, instill the proper level of fear in him for me, would you?”

Rychen gestured an acknowledgment, and she departed to trail Richard down a hallway chaotic with activity, perhaps a third of it legitimately purposeful. He kept walking until he reached an unmarked door and without fanfare slipped inside, evidently expecting her to follow.

It turned out to lead into a supply closet. She supposed it
was
private.

The instant the door had closed and the light activated she cornered him, anxious to learn the reason for the clandestine routine. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to want to get your bag and come with me to the spaceport. We have somewhere we need to be.”

“I can’t
leave
right now. Did you see that map? We’re facing—”

He leaned in until his lips hovered at her ear; even so his words were barely audible. “It’s Alex.”

“What? Is she—”

“Shhh. She’s fine, but she is…in some degree of peril. I can’t explain right now, because we have to assume ears are quite literally everywhere.” His voice somehow dropped further. “She also has information you should hear, and that’s only happening face-to-face. Bring one of those expensive mobile QECs with you and you can do everything on a ship you can do here. Now do you want to see her or not?”

Miriam drew back to meet his gaze, then nodded. “I’ll get my bag.”

3

NYSTAD

S
ENECAN
F
EDERATION
C
OLONY

T
HE FLORID CRIMSON OF THE
superdreadnought’s wide beam blended into then overpowered the more dusky cinnabar silhouette of the planet orbiting behind it as it swept up the viewport to consume the
SFS Pindus
.

“All available power to forward shields!”

Colonel Gaetan: 
Isonzo
, if you have any assistance to give, now is the time.

The crew scrambled around Gaetan as the hull convulsed, each shudder threatening to deliver them all to the waiting vacuum of space. Even starting at full shield strength, the
Pindus
would last only seconds under the relentless, point-blank bombardment of a Metigen superdreadnought.

Come on,
Isonzo
….

The floor bucked up underneath him, and he lunged for the railing to keep from being thrown to the floor.

“Hull breach, Deck 2!”

He didn’t bother to give the order to seal it off; in another breath it might not matter.

“Shields at 10%!”

The burnished amber rays of the
Isonzo’s
weapons sliced in from port to splatter along the broadside of the attacking vessel, followed an instant later by the additional fire of two frigates accompanying the cruiser. The forbidding, malignant beam swung away, leaving the viewport suddenly abyssally dark by comparison.

Rear Admiral Lushenko (
SFS Isonzo
):  Sorry we’re late,
Pindus
. Let us take the heat off of you.

Colonel Gaetan:  Much appreciated, Admiral.

“Reverse E 30° for half a megameter. Let’s give that enemy ship a chance to forget about us while we patch up.”