Surprised murmurs of assent and relief swept the bridge. Seconds later, the task force was clear.

  The orbitals turned to follow with their aim, fired, and failed to connect again.

  “Are we sure they didn’t intend to hit us? Maybe they just missed,” Ford said.

  Absen raised an eyebrow. “Would you have?”

  Ford shook his head.

  So that moon laser was their surprise, the admiral thought as they cruised away. And probably the Hippos were supposed to close the trap. It should have worked. That Meme commander is one smart bastard. A shudder went through him from the adrenaline of this near-death experience, feeling in his bones how close it had been.

  Chapter 12

  SystemLord sprayed a molecular howl of frustration as he watched the Underling orbitals decline to damage the Humans. Efficient and effective, his plan had drawn the enemy into a trap…and it had failed to close. He had been sure the battle stations would hit the Humans hard when the enemy fired upon them, and once they saw how certain the Empire was to triumph.

  But the Underlings had been suspiciously inaccurate, and the enemy had not returned fire against the orbitals. Confusion reigned briefly in the Meme commander’s mind. Had the Underlings and the Humans somehow established communication? Yet this was impossible, according to his clandestine agents on and around the planet.

  No matter. The Weapon had killed two more of their capital ships, and the treacherous Underlings had only delayed the inevitable. SystemLord’s ships now had enough time to replenish some of their missile capacity, as the enemy was speeding away at high velocity. He remained in possession of the Weapon, and his fleet was still powerful.

  But he could not let the disobedience pass. “Communicator!”

  “I hear, SystemLord.”

  “Determine the tribal centers of the three Underling orbital leaders. Once you have done so, transmit the following on all planetary channels: Underlings: Three fortress commanders have failed in their duties. Consequences are inevitable. Witness them now. Then order the Purelings controlling the Weapon to obliterate those cities.”

  “Is that all, SystemLord?”

  “No. Order those commanders executed, and their seconds promoted in their places. Perhaps that will motivate them to succeed.”

  “It will be done.”

  * * *

  “Helm,” Absen called as the fleet exited near-planetary space, “do everything you can to keep the planet between us and the moon. Ford, fantastic work; you saved all of us. Scoggins, keep some drones far enough out so we can see beyond the planet. Commander Johnstone, is there any chance you can hack into their signals?” Like you’ve done in the past…come on, Rick, give me another miracle.

  “I’ve been trying, sir. No luck.” Rick closed his eyes again and immersed himself in the world of electronic warfare.

  “Okuda, how long do we have before we are under that gun again?”

  The helmsman responded, “I can keep us shielded by the planet and moving away indefinitely, assuming their fleet doesn’t chase us. We’re like a bunch of hunters hiding behind one single tree, though, and falling back. The farther away we get, the harder it will be.”

  The admiral looked at the holotank, observing that the enemy fleet was not following. It appeared to be regrouping around the planet. “Can anyone tell me what the effective range on that thing is? How far away do we have to be before it can’t hurt us?” Absen waited as silence fell across the bridge, his officers running their calculations.

  Scoggins spoke first. “I’d say at ten million klicks it will be no more powerful than a cruiser beam at point-blank. At twelve million it won’t light a cigarette. That’s about forty minutes travel from now.”

  “And that thing can defend itself against almost anything,” Ford ground out.

  “Anything it can see,” Absen responded. “We just have to maneuver outside its range and come in behind its arc of fire.”

  “Already on it, Skipper.” Okuda relaxed slightly and opened his eyes to blink at his admiral. “We’re headed for the star. We’ll swing close around it about six hours from now, slingshot using the gravity well and come back at them from an angle behind the moon, and with our speed intact. It’s a lot safer than reversing course out here in the open.”

  Absen nodded, then looked toward the BioMed officer. “Make sure you pass all of that to the medical folks. Prep for heat and radiation. Comms, sound secure from general quarters and maximum rest protocols. Primary watch, go off in ten minutes and everyone get a few hours sleep. Turn it all over to the auxiliary bridge with the tertiary watch standing. No arguments.”

  He took a deep breath, let it out and stood up to pace. “They sprung their trap and we survived it. Now we know about the laser. Intel, I need all the analysts working on this thing. I need a way to beat it. And what in the hell is it positioned there for anyway?”

  “I think I know, Admiral,” came a new voice from the main hatchway as it swung open. Everyone turned to look as an unknown civilian entered the bridge. Chief Steward Tobias, ever watchful, leaped from his acceleration niche to point his sidearm at the intruder.

  Behind the civilian followed Spooky Nguyen, with Shades Schaeffer trailing. The Vietnamese motioned to Tobias to lower his weapon, and the new man went on, “Sorry to startle everyone. I’m Ezekiel Denham, and yes, I’m a Blend.”

  “I know what you are,” grated Absen. “What do you want?”

  “He wants to explain what’s going on, sir. I think you should listen to him,” Shades said.

  “You think. What about you, Nguyen?”

  Spooky bowed slightly and nodded in silent acknowledgement. Behind him Shades removed his trademark tinted glasses and shrugged with a wry smile.

  Absen returned the smile, but it failed to reach his eyes. “It really worries me when you’re all in agreement. It means either you’re right – or very, very wrong. Let’s let these fine officers get some rest. You three come to my quarters.” He stood up and exited by his private door, and they followed one by one under Tobias’ watchful eye.

  Once in his spacious flag office he waved them to seats. “All right. We have ten to twelve hours before we have to fight again, so let’s hear it – but keep it brief. We all need some rest. Denham, you first. You said you know why it’s there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ezekiel said with folded hands. “It is a terror weapon to keep the Hippos in line.”

  Absen sat back in his own chair and absorbed that statement. “So you’re saying that without something like that, the Meme might have a full-blown rebellion on their hands?”

  “Yes, sir. Bits of molecular memory handed down to me by my Blended mother – remember, I’m really only one quarter Meme – combined with what we recovered from some of the enemy ships indicates those who Blend with ‘lower beings’ tend to identify with their new race. This is exacerbated by the bigotry and prejudice of the pure Meme.”

  Absen waved a hand as if fanning away smoke. “I’ve heard all these theories.”

  “Theories perhaps - but don’t you see, sir – it lines up perfectly with this weapon. If it was built to defend the planet it would be facing outward, or they would have made two to cover the whole sphere of fire. If they had, they could have picked off our ships as we fell straight toward it. You’re a tactician, sir, look at it from their point of view. Where would you put it if it was to secure the world from alien – from human – invasion?”

  Absen nodded slowly, reaching over to his desk drawer and pulling out a carton of cigarillos. He took one and lit it while he pondered, then pushed the box across his desk at Spooky, who passed it around after putting one in his mouth. Soon the room filled with fragrant smoke, an admiral’s luxury.

  “It makes sense,” he finally said. “But so what?”

  Ezekiel answered, “It means, sir, that if we get rid of that thing, I think the Hippo Blends of the planet will gladly join us – especially if I am the ambassador. They should see me as one of them, as another Blend, and they command the rest of the natives. Tell me, did the orbitals fire on us?”

  “Yes…they had us dead to rights but they missed.”

  “That proves it then! They want us to win.”

  The admiral steepled his fingers and stared at his hands. “Let’s say you’re right. What do you propose?”

  Ezekiel turned to Spooky, who put down his smoke and stood up to pace. “I suggest,” he said, “that we engage the enemy fleet to cover a ground assault on the moon base with the Marines. It’s the only way to get close enough. Come in beyond the horizon, deploy where the laser can’t reach them, dig them out. There have to be tunnels. If we can’t find any, just bore in from the sides.”

  “That’s going to be expensive. We’ll have to send all the Marines to have a chance, and that’s all we’ll have – one chance.”

  Spooky’s mouth twitched and he shrugged. “If we take that base, that weapon, we control the planet and a lot of the space around. We have the stronger fleet, barring any more surprises. The positions will be reversed. If we own the mega-laser and get it functioning, they will have to deal with it – and we will also have the ultimate bargaining position with the Hippos.” He flicked a glance at Ezekiel.

  “What, after all this nice-nice,” Absen said with a sweep of his hand, “you don’t trust our Hippo potential allies?”

  Spooky picked up his cigarillo and dragged, his eyes narrowing over the curl of ash. “Admiral, I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Of course.” Absen blew a smoke ring. “All right. Let’s say we do it your way. What about your team and your mission?”

  “Why sir,” Spooky replied, waving at his two comrades, “we are the team, and the mission. You don’t think the Hippos will commit to ally with us over a commlink, do you?”

  Absen shook his head in resignation. “I suppose not. What happened to Sergeant Major Repeth?”

  Spooky’s nostrils flared as he took a calming breath. “She declined my offer.”

  “I thought she might.” Absen smiled without humor. “Can’t have it all your way, Nguyen.”

  “I’ll quote that back to you sometime, Admiral.”

  “You do that,” he responded roughly. “Now brief me on your intended mission, and then get out of my sight. You give me a headache, and I need to think.”

  * * *

  Ezekiel laid a hand against the softly thrumming hide of Steadfast Roger, his personal corvette. Part of the vibration was from Conquest herself, but most was the quiver of Roger’s living processes. Open, he said via molecular transfer from his fingertips, and a doorway irised to let the three men in.

  “So this is a Meme ship?” Shades said, zipping his glasses into a breast pocket in the dim light. The room was blank-walled and organic, containing nothing but three sarcophagi that sprouted from the floor.

  “More or less,” Ezekiel responded. “He’s descended from the original Meme scoutship that came to Earth in the early twenty-first century. We Blends made some improvements using Earthtech, and he’s adapted for human use.”

  “I notice you say ‘he’. Is the ship conscious?”

  Ezekiel nodded. “Absolutely, and he grows slowly more intelligent over time. Right now he is perhaps as bright as a rather stupid dog. Eventually he should attain intelligence similar to a dolphin, perhaps even more.”

  “I guess we’re lucky one Meme decided to help humanity.”

  Ezekiel bowed his head reverently. “Raphael, he who blended with my mother Sofia Ilona, saved Earth by his defection from the enemy. If we have time as our colony grows, I intend to write a biography.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” Spooky broke in, “but we must launch soon. The longer we wait, the longer it will take to reach our destination.”

  “All right. Remove all clothing and get in the cocoons.” Ezekiel demonstrated by stripping to the buff and hopping into one. Spooky climbed nimbly into the second biotech construct, feeling it conform to his naked body. Beside him, Shades did the same. Living cowls rolled around their heads like bizarre parka hoods before sealing the three men in. They all felt the questing probes of biomechanical plugs slotting into their cranial connectors.

  Ready? Ezekiel asked through his link. The other two answered affirmative, and a moment later the cocoons vanished from their consciousness. All three stepped into a comfortably appointed cockpit, rather old-fashioned and steam-age-themed, brass and wood, as in a Jules Verne story. Transition to virtual space had been smooth, and now the three seemed to stand looking out a large glass window into space.

  In the real world tubes extruded, filling all of their body cavities, a distinctly unpleasant sensation that they were glad to avoid. The conduits to their mouths and nose pulsed and abruptly ran with liquid, and soon their lungs filled with oxygenated fluid, necessary to keep them from collapsing under the heavy Gs to come. This ship had no gravplates.

  Out their virtual window they saw an artificial representation of the battlespace, with Afrana, its moon, and the enemy and friendly fleets displayed for convenience in ridiculous proximity. Ezekiel reached out his hand to move a round-knobbed lever and their ship shot forward, mimicking its real actions. “We’re outside Conquest now.”

  “Why don’t you just show what space really looks like?” asked Shades.

  “Because there’d be little to see,” Ezekiel answered. “This simulated picture is better than the real thing, believe me.” He moved more levers forward and they accelerated away from the Earth fleet, diving toward the back edge of the planet. Some of the acceleration sensation leaked over and the VR bridge wobbled.

  “Are you sure they won’t see us?”

  “Our initial burn was one among many in the midst of our fleet, so the Meme shouldn’t notice. Once that ends, we will be on a ballistic course until we near the planet, so we are almost undetectable. Once we reach the planet, Steadfast Roger will mimic a Meme signature as we maneuver.”

  “So that means yes.” Shades crossed his arms in amusement.

  “Yes that means no, they won’t see us, I believe. Sorry, just proud of my ship.” Ezekiel caressed the console. “He and I have been a lot of places together.”

  “Weird to think we’re inside a living thing.”

  “All right, enough small talk,” interjected Spooky. “Let’s go over the plan again.”

  “Don’t you ever relax?” Shades asked.

  “He does,” replied Ezekiel, “at least once per decade, whether he needs it or not. And he’s right. We’ll be in planetary space in a short time.”

  * * *

  Task Force Conquest cruised planetward now, having swung around the system’s sun in a punishing arc, under continual thrust. By brute force they powered through a tight half-orbit to arrive at Afrana well out of the moon-based laser’s arc.

  “What do you think?” Chief of the Boat Timmons stood beside the admiral’s chair as they both stared at the holotank. His question was likely less about eliciting information than about getting his admiral to talk.

  Absen realized he had been silent for the last hour, and it was making the bridge watch nervous. I think I’m starting to wonder if we can pull this off, he wanted to say. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I think it will work.” He deliberately strengthened his voice. “It’s a good plan. The analysts are to be commended. I assume everyone is ready to execute?”

  Affirmative noises from his officers helped him feel the confidence he tried to project. “Then sound Battle Stations and you are free to begin sequence by computer mark.”

  “Assault force launching,” Okuda said. “Defense missiles launching.” After long minutes he went on, “Fleet defense posture at maximum. Altering course.”

  Now the sweating began. Absen raised the cooling on his skinsuit and watched the holotank as the two parts of his little fleet separated.

  All the warships began to diverge from the assault force to gain an angle tangent to the laser base, where they stabilized out of its arc, and inbound. If they did not maneuver, they would skim the surface of the moon above the enemy installation.

  But that was not the plan.

  The assault force they had launched – more than seven hundred surviving StormCrows, one thousand Marine assault sleds, and a cloud of pinnaces and cargo shuttles – floated stealthily forward under silent running procedures, left behind by the fleet.

  At these distances they hoped to be invisible, because they had no capital ships to protect them. If they were detected, the fighters were the only defenders.

  Ford at Weapons spoke. “Railgun barrage initiating. Nuclear missiles barrage initiating. Blinding barrage initiating.”

  Absen hoped the blinding barrage – all of his beam weapons in wide-spectrum mode, aimed at the main enemy fleet – would disrupt and confuse the enemy sensors with a storm of electromagnetics. More particularly, he watched the holotank as the computer icons for thirty missiles trailed a cloud of ten million railgun shot.

  Timing of those items was critical.

  “Enemy fleet moving forward,” Scoggins called, and it was so. The Guardian and its cruisers slowly maneuvered up to take positions between the planet and the moon – firmly in the center of the base laser’s zone of control. A faint cone of red showed the computer’s projection of that deadly space, and it appeared as if the fleet headed right for it.

  “Decelerating,” Okuda said on the mark, and Conquest thrummed with the powerful forces now slowing it to avoid that fate. Throughout the fleet all of the warships were doing the same.

  Far ahead, the railgun cloud and the missiles approached the edge of the enemy base, as if sneaking up on a hilltop. To the Meme it would appear the missiles were coming in under the radar intending to strike on a nap-of-the-ground trajectory, in hopes of detonating as close to the base as possible.

  I’d take that, Absen thought, but it’s not the real plan.

  Rising from the surface, the six Meme cruisers defending the base moved to meet the missiles, and on cue, two EarthFleet beam cruisers shifted their dazzling rays to blast them with electromagnetics. While far too far away to do direct damage, this tactic was more than sufficient to degrade the enemy sensors.