Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (20 page)

First Imperium Ruins

System X18 - Planet IV

The Fleet:  225 ships, 47,842 crew

“Are you sure?” Sophie Barcomme pulled her own scanner from her belt and flipped it on.

Barcomme was one of Europa Federalis’ leading scientists. She’d been with the forces at Sigma 4, researching the First Imperium facility there for signs of the ancient life form when she’d temporarily transferred to one of the ships in Compton’s fleet to investigate some debris from enemy vessels. She’d expected to be there less than a week, but her timing had been downright disastrous. Two days after her arrival, Admiral Garret detonated the explosive in the warp gate, trapping Barcomme with Compton’s fleet…with her husband and daughter on the other side. Since then, she’d buried herself in work…anything to keep her mind busy.

“I’m sure,” came the reply. Jacques Suchet was one of the scientists on her team. She’d found him to be reasonably capable, though also a bit of an egomaniac. But there was no arrogance in his voice now, only fear.

Barcomme stared at the small screen on her monitor. Suchet was right. And now she was reading four different energy sources. They were small, but they appeared to be increasing in intensity.
And number
, she thought as she watched a fifth and a sixth reading pop onto her screen.

She flipped her com unit to the main channel for her team. “I want everyone scanning for energy sources. Now! I want every detail…location, type of energy, strength.” She shook her head as a seventh reading flashed onto her monitor.

What the hell is this
?
This planet was supposed to be dead, the lifeless ruins of a race long extinct. But energy readings don’t lie. Something is still active here…even after all these millennia…

She moved straight ahead, toward one of the energy sources. Her stomach was knotted, and she could feel the fear building in her. Man’s experiences with the First Imperium to date had been almost universally unpleasant…and she didn’t suspect that was about to change any time within the next few minutes. But she was a scientist, and it was her job to investigate. Still, she felt herself slowing down as she got closer. Sweat was pouring down her back, making the already uncomfortable survival suit nearly unbearable. Then she stopped. She was less than a hundred meters from the energy source…and now
it
was moving. Toward her.

She spun around and moved quickly back the way she had come. She was poking at her com controls as she fled, calling up Admiral Compton. He
had
to know about this. Now.

*  *  *

“Admiral, it’s Sophie Barcomme. I am picking up sporadic energy readings. They were stationary, but now I’ve got at least one moving.”

Compton had been prone, picking through shattered bits of blue metal laying around a large chunk of unidentified material. He jumped to his feet at the voice blaring through his com. He lost his footing, pushing off with too much force, and he fell over backwards, one of his Marine guards catching him before he hit the ground. He wiggled free and got back to his feet.
Damned armor
.

“Sophie, get you and your team back to the camp now,” Compton snapped. “Hurry.” Sudden energy readings could mean several things he could think of, but none of them were good.

Compton had never met the intriguing French scientist before they were both cut off from human space, but he’d worked extensively with her since. He’d asked her to head up a project to utilize the gradually emptying holds of the transport vessels for food production. Compton knew they could grow some crops and edible funguses on board the ships. It would never be more than a partial solution, but anything that could stretch their supplies was worth pursuing. And Barcomme was an expert. If anyone could squeeze more production out of the project, it was her. That meant more people fed.

The two had become relatively close over the past few months. Both ached from the wounds of being separated from loved ones, though Compton had to acknowledge that, as devastated as he was by the loss of Elizabeth, he couldn’t imagine the pain of leaving behind a spouse
and
a five year old child.

He flipped the com to the Marine frequency. “Colonel Preston, Dr. Barcomme’s team is picking up energy readings.” He was already moving back toward the camp as he spoke.

“I’m sending a squad to you, Admiral. They should be there in less than a minute. We will…”

A blast of static exploded into Compton’s helmet.
What the hell
? Then he realized.
We’re being jammed
. He’d had a passing thought that Barcomme’s people had just discovered some ancient machine, harmless but still operative enough to give off energy readings. Now even that shred of hope was stripped away. The jamming was pretty convincing proof that they had activated some kind of defense mechanism.

He increased the power of his com unit, just as Preston’s staticky voice blasted back into his helmet. “Admiral…your guards will get you back to camp.” The words were distorted, hard to hear, but Compton understood. He felt the two Marines grabbing onto him, pushing him back toward the camp.

He shuffled along, stumbling as his bodyguards held onto his arms, keeping him upright and moving swiftly back out of the city. They were almost to the open plain south of the ruins when Compton heard a loud boom off to his left. Then another. A second later he heard the distant sounds of Marine assault rifles firing in response. Whatever lingering doubt he’d had was gone. They were under attack.

*  *  *

“We need that thing operating, Lieutenant. Now.” Compton was leaning against a crate in the center of the now-fortified main camp. He’d taken a hit in the arm on the way back, and he was impressed at his first experience with the trauma control functionality of his armor. The system had stopped the bleeding, sterilized the wound, and packed it off, all the while injecting painkillers and adrenalin compounds. The servo-mechanicals of the fighting suit adjusted as well, feeding more power to compensate for the injured arm. He almost forgot he was wounded.

What he couldn’t forget was that one of his guards was dead. Corporal Garder was one of the two Marines James Preston had assigned to protect the fleet admiral, and the Marine hero had died doing just that, jumping between Compton and a First Imperium battle bot.

The enemy jamming was making communications difficult at best. Preston’s Marines were out there, hunting down the enemy robots, but the lack of effective com was making that a difficult—and dangerous—effort. If they could get the portable reactor up and running it might give them enough power to burn through the jamming, providing at least one way coms to the Marines in the field.

Compton was frustrated, angry.
I shouldn’t have done this, landed here. It was my curiosity, my urge to see these ruins. And now my people are dying
.

He was worried about the fleet too. Things were confused and unstable there too. He had no idea how much opposition he would face over his plan to move away from human space. And now his communication was cut off.
That means we’ve activated at least some of the ancient satellites
, he thought grimly. And with Admiral Dumont in X20, the fleet command in his absence was uncertain.

He was hopeful the small reactor would enable surface coms, but he doubted it would cut through the heavy jamming that was blocking signals to and from the fleet. Even if the Marines wiped out the entire enemy force, there weren’t enough shuttles on the ground to get everyone off-world…which meant he’d have to send a force up to get clear of the jamming and order a rescue mission to launch at once. He knew he should go with that shuttle. His place was back on the fleet, not dodging enemy bots. But Terrance Compton wasn’t wired that way, and he wasn’t going to abandon those he’d led here. They would all get off the planet together, and that was his final thought on the matter. He could feel the tension, the anger, surging through his body.

“Lieutenant, I want that reactor up and running immediately,” he snapped angrily, realizing as the words escaped his mouth he was being unfair to the engineer.

“One minute, sir,” the intimidated lieutenant squeaked back. “If I warm it up too quickly, it’ll scrag.”

Compton nodded, though he knew that kind of communication was difficult in armor. He looked up, to the side of the two meter-wide cylinder. James Preston was standing there, his impatience clear even though his fighting suit. Compton understood completely. Both of them felt responsible for the Marines dying out there. At least if they could restore partial communications and scanning, Preston could help his people get through the fight.

“Okay,” said the engineering officer. “We’re generating power now, sir. The reaction is at forty percent, but that should be enough to power short range communications, even with the jamming.”

Preston turned around abruptly, gesturing to a pair of Marines holding a large conduit. They slid it in place. A few seconds later, a burst of feedback blasted through Compton’s helmet…followed by a voice, loud and clear. “We have restored outgoing coms from the main station. But I doubt we can transmit more than a klick and a half, maybe two through this jamming.”

Compton moved over toward the communications station, as quickly as he could manage in his armor. Preston, vastly more experienced at moving around in a fighting suit, was there before Compton had taken two steps.

“Attention all Marines, this is Colonel Preston.” Compton heard the Marine commander on the general channel. “We are being jammed, but we’ve got the main coms hooked up to the reactor. We can send outgoing signals, but your ability to reply or communicate with each other is sharply limited. I have scanning capability now as well, so I will be directing the battle from here.”

Compton stood behind the Marine officer, watching silently. He was the overall commander, of course, but he knew he couldn’t do anything but distract Preston now. Part of good leadership is knowing when to shut the hell up.

He stood still for a few minutes, listening to Preston direct the battle…actually more of a hunt. It looked like they’d activated perhaps a hundred enemy warbots. That was a dangerous number, but not enough to defeat a thousand of Preston’s men and women. That didn’t mean Marines wouldn’t die, indeed many had already. But they would prevail in the end.

Compton angled back his head, looking up into the late afternoon sky.
What is happening up there
? He knew a rescue party would come when they missed the regular check in, but it could be hours before that happened, even a day or more.

He knew he had left good people behind, and he had complete confidence in them all. But he still had an unsettled feeling, a hazy, tentative thought that he should have fought off the urge to see planet four’s ruins himself.
Midway
was up there, hovering somewhere about a million klicks from planet five.

And that’s where I belong…

Chapter Thirteen

Transmission from Admiral Vladimir Udinov

Attention all vessels. This is Admiral Vladimir Udinov, transmitting from the RIC vessel
Petersburg
. In joint consultation with the commanders of the CAC, Europan, and Caliphate contingents, we have elected to remove our respective forces from the current fleet structure. We all retain the utmost respect for Admiral Compton and his achievements, but we have determined that the best interest of our crews is served by this separation.

We intend no hostile action toward any other vessel, nor do we plan to interfere with the chosen dispositions of the other contingents. However, it is necessary that we are able to refuel those of our vessels still in the queue. It is for that reason only I have ordered
Petersburg
to take position just above planet five. From that location, we are able to fire upon the refinery complex, destroying it utterly if anyone attempts to interfere with our refueling. When we are done, our ships will peacefully depart, leaving the refinery undamaged and ready to continue refueling the rest of the fleet.

If any vessels attempt to interfere—either with our own refueling operations or with our departure from the fleet,
Petersburg
will open fire and destroy the facility. I urge a calm and rational response by all parties. If we are allowed to refuel and depart, we will do so without violence.

AS Midway

System X18

The Fleet:  225 ships, 47,841 crew

“I still can’t raise the admiral, Captain Horace. There’s some kind of jamming around the planet.” Jack Cortez stared over at the empty command chair for what felt like the hundredth time. Compton wasn’t onboard…and all hell was breaking loose.

“Keep trying, Commander. We’ve got to do something.
Petersburg
is holding the refinery at gunpoint, and I hesitate to even think of what the other contingent commanders are saying to each other.”

“Yes, sir. But shouldn’t we be doing something now? Admiral Compton wouldn’t just sit here and allow Udinov to hijack the refinery.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Commander, but I’m not Terrance Compton. I don’t have his ability—and I damned sure don’t have his rank or reputation. I’m more inclined to try to avoid catastrophic mistakes than to risk any bold moves before I know exactly what is going on.”

“Yes, sir.” Cortez didn’t like it, but he knew Horace was right.

“And Commander…if you can’t get through to the admiral on planet four we’re going to need to send someone there. We have to get to Admiral Compton. And every second we lose could be the one that kills us.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” Cortez turned toward the communications officer. “Lieutenant, please tell Adm…ask Admiral Hurley to come to the line.” He wasn’t speaking for Compton right now, so he wasn’t
telling
an admiral to do anything.

“She is on your com, sir.”