Galactic Empire Wars 2: Emergence (4 page)

“There will be
some grumbling from the career politicians we have on the Moon,” warned Stan
with a heavy sigh. “I doubt if they will accept Mason’s authority.”

“We’ll make
sure they understand it’s in their best interest to do so,” Colonel Bailey
responded in an even voice. “If not, we can always transfer them to one of the smaller
settlements in one of the other asteroids where they won’t be a hindrance to
progress.”

Stan smiled at
the thought. He had never had any use for career politicians. They always
seemed to be more concerned about themselves than the people that put them in
office. All they ever did was form new committees to discuss how another
committee was doing their job.

Mason took a
deep breath and then spoke. He knew he had no choice other than to accept. He
didn’t know who else he would trust with the job. He looked over at Colonel
Bailey. “All I ask of the military is that they keep me informed of impending
military action. The military is responsible for protecting us as well as
taking the war to the Kleese. We must never forget what was done to Earth. The
rest of us will be busy rebuilding our civilization.”

“That’s a big
enough task in itself,” Mayor Silas commented with a nod of his head.

“I can
guarantee that General Mitchell and his staff will keep you informed of all
future actions,” Colonel Bailey replied with a courteous nod. “We’re all in
this together.”

“What’s the
current status of Holbrook Station?” asked Mason, looking over at Darren, who
was sitting across from him.

“We’ve moved
most of the scientists from the International Space Station to Holbrook. For
the time being, we’re focusing on keeping track of the constantly changing
environment on Earth. Many of the scientists are meteorologists from China and Russia since the station was turned over to them after Holbrook was constructed.”

“How is Earth?”
asked Professor Scott, his eyes showing intense interest. He hadn’t been close
to the planet since the attack.

“Not good,” replied
Darren with a sad look, shaking his head. “The planet is in a severe nuclear
winter caused by all the dust and pollutants thrown up into the atmosphere by
the erupting volcanoes. The air’s no longer fit to breathe and there’s nothing
living except perhaps in the deepest parts of the ocean.”

“I can confirm
that,” Lawrence Henderson added with a heavy sigh. “We can’t go outside at
Jornada now without wearing protective gear. We have four feet of snow on the
ground and the average temperature is hovering near zero. If not for the disk
ships from the station we wouldn’t be able to move around the planet and
conduct our salvage operations.”

“How many
people do you still have at Jornada?’ Mason asked curiously.

He knew that
General Wainright and Lawrence had built a massive settlement on the outskirts
of the spaceport. However, in recent months many of the people had migrated to
the new colonies in space as they were completed.

“Nearly sixty
thousand,” Lawrence replied. “We have room for more, but many of our people
opted to go to one of the other settlements off Earth rather than remain.”

Mason nodded. He
understood that the colonies with their modern cities could be a lure. Just the
open spaces in the habitats themselves would be a huge incentive to leave the
spaceport. The work at Jornada had changed considerably since the arrival of
the Kleese space station and the successful evacuation of most of the survivors
off Earth. Now the main job of Jornada was the gathering of artifacts vital to
Earth’s history. Each day, missions were sent to various parts of the planet to
rescue valuable historical objects and documents. They were being processed and
stored in large vaults built deep underground at White Sands.

“What about
ship construction?” continued Mason, looking over at Ethan Hall. Ethan had come
to the meeting today since Sean Miller was on a trip to the Kivean’s colony to
discuss some design problems with a new power system design.

“We have four
battlecruisers currently under construction,” Ethan answered. “We’re making
them as automated as possible to allow for smaller crews. The Kiveans have been
extremely helpful with this. We have about a dozen of their engineers assisting
us.”

Mason nodded.
He knew that warship production was a major priority. The battlecruisers were
all being built in the massive spacedock here at Vesta. All other warship
construction, including the light cruisers, was being done on Centerpoint
Station in orbit between the Earth and the Moon.

Their meal was
served and the group continued to talk about problems in their various colonies
and what was needed as they ate. Adrienne was taking notes to help remind Mason
of everything. She also had a small recording device to remind her of what had
been said so she could transcribe it later. She had decided to eat light and
was only having a garden salad so she could continue to take notes during the
meal.

It was only
after the meal was over and everyone was leaving that she realized that Mason
had pretty much been appointed by the group as president of the survivors of
the Human race. She paused in her steps and blinked her eyes as she realized
the full enormity of what had just happened. Did that make her the First Lady?
She giggled and shook her head. Mason was the one that would be making policy
decision, and she would continue in her secretarial duties. She knew her
husband could handle it; he had a knack for doing the right thing and making
difficult decisions.

General
Mitchell leaned back in his chair and gazed across his desk at Fleet Admiral
Kirby. They had been discussing Major Nelson’s current mission to the Kleese communication
facility. They were aboard the massive Kleese space station that had been
renamed Centerpoint. It had been nicknamed this as nearly all the surviving
people from Earth had been brought to the station before being dispersed to
other settlements across the Solar System.

“What if the
Kleese realize it was us that hit the facility?” asked Kirby worriedly, as he
thought about the fleet he had at his disposal. He currently had twelve battlecruisers
in his fleet with four more under construction at Vesta. He knew the Kleese had
possibly thousands of the two hundred-meter assault ships available and an
unknown number of their large disk shaped mother ships.

“It’s a
possibility,” Mitchell conceded as he tapped his index finger on his desk. It
had been a calculated risk to undertake this mission, but the intelligence they
could garner made that risk worthwhile. They were about to embark upon a
guerrilla war with the Kleese, and the more information they had, the better
they could plan.

“I hope the
mission doesn’t encounter a Kleese mother ship,” Michael added worriedly with
his brow creasing. “They’re a long way from home and they only have the one
battlecruiser. We should've sent some assault ships along just in case they ran
into trouble.”

“This was a
stealth mission,” General Mitchell reminded Michael. “More ships could have
endangered the mission.”

The
Constellation was a long way from potential help. Michael had given Colonel
Adamson direct orders to abandon the mission rather than endanger his ship. The
Human race couldn’t afford to lose one of their valuable battlecruisers this
early in the conflict. He wondered if it had been a mistake to send this
mission.

General
Mitchell stood up and walked over to a map that showed the area of space the
Kleese controlled. It was a rough sphere nearly sixteen thousand light years
across with the Solar System just on the outer edge. He stood there for a
moment, studying it, and then turned back around to face Admiral Kirby. They
were going to have to make some very difficult decisions in the coming months.

“Marken
insists that the Kleese could show back up any day now. However, their Empire
is large and unwieldy. It’s one of the reasons they use so many conscripts from
different worlds to maintain order. It will take a while for their core worlds
to decide how to deal with us.”

“I hope it’s a
long while,” spoke Michael his eyes narrowing in thought. Every week the Kleese
didn’t attack allowed the Human fleet to grow stronger. He wanted as big a
force as possible for when the Kleese did finally return.

“The initial
attack we faced two years ago was a reaction force from the nearer Kleese
trading stations,” spoke General Mitchell, recalling the battles over Earth,
Mars, and Vesta. “Once that failed, then a report of their defeat would have
been sent to the Council of Overlords on the Kleese’s home planet.”

“The Council
of Overlords,” Kirby repeated, not liking the sound of that. “It sounds
ominous.”

“Their
government practices a form of authoritarianism,” Mitchell replied. “The
council is made up of the most powerful Kleese and everyone obeys this council
without question. The most powerful member is called the Supreme Overlord, and
he pretty much rules the Empire. The Kleese are not a race to be trifled with.”

“I’ve heard
from some of the soldiers who were kidnapped as well as the Kiveans about how
cruel and heartless the Kleese can be,” Kirby replied in a more somber tone. He
shuddered slightly, recalling the gruesome stories of atrocities some of the
captive soldiers had witnessed or had gone through. Much of it had sounded like
a horror story written to severely frighten people.

Mitchell
nodded, recalling his own time under Kleese captivity as a military conscript.
“It’s not something anyone wants to experience.”

“What’s Marken
got to say about all of this?”

“According to
Marken, we haven’t faced an actual Kleese warship,” continued Mitchell, letting
out a deep breath. “The big disk ships serve dual purposes as exploration ships
and command ships for the assault vessels. They’re not designed for fleet
actions where they have to fight a major battle.”

“What happens
when we have to face one of their actual warships or a fleet of them?” asked Kirby,
arching his eyebrow.

If the Human
race wanted to survive, they couldn’t take massive fleet losses. They couldn’t
produce warships at anywhere near the rate the Kleese Empire could. If the
Kleese ever gathered a truly massive fleet, they could easily overrun the Solar
System.

“We’re not
sure,” Mitchell replied, stone-faced. “According to Marken, they’re very seldom
seen. They were used widely when the Kleese first established their Empire, but
once they began using conscripts the big warships were recalled back to the
home systems and seldom venture away from their core worlds. Only once in a
great while does one wander out into our neck of the woods. Marken says he has
only seen one once, and that was from a distance.”

“Do we have
any intelligence on their capabilities, particularly their armaments and energy
shields?” asked Michael, wondering if his battlecruisers would stand a chance
against such a vessel.

“No, not
really,” replied Mitchell, shaking his head. “Marken had no idea as to what
type of weapons the Kleese warships might have or the strength of their energy
shield. All he knows is what he gathered from the Kleese historical records on
the station. Most of those records were extremely vague when describing the
warships, and there is also some reference to something called the Zaltule.
We’re not sure what that refers to but Marken thinks it’s a special caste of
the Kleese, perhaps even a military caste.”

“Let’s hope
they stay in the Kleese home systems for now,” Kirby spoke, not wanting to put
his ships up against such a threat.

Most of the
science and technology they were using was relatively new, much of it provided
by the Kiveans. His people were still getting used to some of the advanced
systems now being installed on the warships. The thought of a Kleese warrior
caste was unsettling.

“Marken
believes the Zaltule died out thousands of years ago, or at least the caste was
disbanded,” responded Mitchell, dismissing the threat. “Once the Kleese went to
using conscripts to fight their wars, the Zaltule were no longer needed.”

“That’s a
relief, I guess,” replied Michael, leaning back in his chair. A Kleese warrior
caste was something he never wanted to face.

“Let’s discuss
the war games you have scheduled for tomorrow,” suggested General Mitchell,
going back to his desk and sitting down. “Are Admirals Sanders, Stehr, and
Rivers ready?” Admiral Rivers was a former carrier commander and had recently been
transferred to the space forces to take command of one of the new battlecruisers.
He seemed to have a natural talent for space combat; it hadn’t taken long for
him to be promoted to admiral.

“Should be,” Kirby
replied with an enigmatic smile. “I have a few surprises planned for them, and
we'll see how they respond to the unexpected.”

“I’ll be
watching from the Command Center,” Mitchell said with a nod. “I look forward to
seeing what you throw at them.”

-

In one of the habitation
domes on the hull of the massive station, Captain Mark Stevens watched from
inside his Type Three battle suit as a platoon of space marines attempted to
make it to the top of the small mountain in the center of the habitat. Unlike the
training that Major Nelson and his people had gone through, there were no
dangerous weapons hidden on the slopes. There were only heavy-duty stunners
that could knock out a battle suit and render the occupant unconscious for a
short time. They were also very painful.

“I don’t think
they’re going to make it,” Lieutenant Griffith commented as six of the twenty
icons in his HUD display were now showing red and another eight amber. Griffith was standing next to Captain Stevens in a Type Two battle suit.

“It’s only
their first attempt on the mountain,” Stevens responded as he saw another icon
turn red. “Most of the platoon is made up of former members of a British quick
reaction force. They were deployed to
Lakenheath Airbase in Suffolk to help with the evacuation and to defend the base.”

“Now they’ve joined the space marines,” commented Griffith, shaking his head in wonder. “Do they know what they’re in for?” He noticed two
more icons had turned amber and the platoon was only halfway up the mountain.

“They’ve seen the videos of the fighting in the spacedock at Vesta,”
Stevens replied. “It was quite gruesome and we did have a few drop out. However,
General Mitchell wants two thousand space marines trained in the Type Three
battle suits. We have volunteers from nearly every country in the world.”

“Thank God for the universal translators in our heads,” Griffith added. He shuddered slightly, recalling how nervous he had been when he had the
surgery to implant the nearly microscopic device. It had been painless, and he
was amazed at how easily it translated languages.

Stevens let out a heavy sigh as Captain Winfrey’s icon suddenly
turned red. He was leading this platoon and was responsible for the other four platoons
that were still at the base waiting for their turn to tackle the mountain.
Within minutes of Winfrey’s icon being eliminated, the rest of the remaining icons
glared a disappointing red at Captain Stevens.

“Guess they didn’t make it,” grunted Griffith, looking over at the
captain.

Mark turned and glanced over at Griffith. “Why did you join up? I
thought you were going to stay on the Moon with your wife and kids. After our
stint at Tent City, I didn’t think you would want anything to do with the
military.”

“I’m going back to the Moon,” Griffith confessed. He shivered
,
recalling the cold they'd been forced to endure at the huge Human
survival camp outside of Jornada. “They wanted some of us trained in the Type
Two suits in case the Kleese ever land conscripts on the Moon. I won’t let them
kidnap my family like they did all of those military personnel.” He had heard
stories of what they had gone through and wasn’t going to let his own family
suffer such brutalities.

Stevens nodded. He had heard that soldiers were being trained in
the Type Two suits to help defend all of the colonies and settlements in case
of an attack. He was glad that Griffith had stayed in, even if it was a type of
guard duty he would be doing. After their long stint at Tent City at Jornada, guard duty on the Moon would be far less stressful.

“How does your family like living on the Moon?”

“Great,” answered Griffith, his face breaking into a smile. “We
have an apartment in one of the newer domes. With artificial gravity, you would
never know we’re on the Moon. The kids are back in school and Margaret is
working as a nurse at one of the new medical centers.”

On the HUD, Stevens saw all the red icons suddenly turn back to
green. In a few minutes, the marines on the small mountain would be awake and
begin trudging back down in defeat. Mark would meet with them once they were
out of their suits and explain the mistakes they'd made in assaulting the
mountain. Well could he remember his own grueling and frustrating attempts to
make it to the top. It had taken him six tries to finally reach the small plateau
and press the button that deactivated the hidden stunners.

-

Fleet Admiral
Kirby was in the Command Center of the battlecruiser Armageddon, watching the
main viewscreen as the ship left the docking bay of Centerpoint Station. On the
screen, a number of other ships were visible. They were the rest of First Fleet.
There were three more battlecruisers, sixteen light cruisers, and thirty-two
assault ships.

“First Fleet
is awaiting your orders,” Major Makita reported from his position next to the
main sensor display.

“Put us into
defensive formation D-4 and let’s head for Mars,” Michael ordered. He knew that
both Admiral Stehr and Admiral Sanders would be waiting there with their
fleets. Once they made rendezvous, they would begin the war games.

Major Makita
quickly passed on the order to Ensign Bisset at the Helm and then communicated
the order to the other ships in the fleet. Once Bisset had the course and speed
plotted, she would communicate it to the other helm officers. The information
would be sent by computer to ensure that every ship would accelerate at the
proper speed and maintain the correct course.

The Armageddon
took up her position in the fleet formation and moments later, the fleet’s
sublight drives were activated. Within minutes, the fleet was well on its way
toward Mars.

The Armageddon
was one of the first battlecruisers to be built in the spacedock inside Vesta.
It had recently gone through a complete refit, making it as modern as any of
the other battlecruisers in the fleet. Michael sat down in his command chair
and gazed speculatively at the busy crew in the Command Center. Major Makita
was of Japanese descent and had served on an American attack submarine as its
commanding officer. He had adapted well to moving from the world’s oceans to space.
Many of the other crewmembers on the ship had served in several of Earth’s
navies or air forces and successfully made the transition to being a crewmember
of a spaceship.

Michael was
well satisfied with the crew of the battlecruiser. Leaning back in his chair,
he thought back to his recent leave. He had spent two weeks back on Vesta with
his wife Susan and their two kids, Candace and Karen. It had been a fantastic
leave and he had spent some time touring the new habitats as well as a quick
trip to visit the Kivean habitat and the amazing city they’d built.