That was when a transmission came in over Santana’s headset. “This is Blue Leader . . . There is a Ramanthian combat assault platform (CAP) coming your way. It was submerged off Malibu and surfaced about a minute ago. It’s
huge
. Over.”
Santana swore. The warships orbiting high above were supposed to protect the ground party from that sort of surprise—but they had no way to see down through the water. Nor had he been aware that the enemy CAPs were capable of submerging themselves. It made sense, though, since they were probably designed to function on water worlds when necessary. “Roger that . . . Slow it down if you can. We’ll wrap up and pull out as quickly as we can. Over.”
Santana heard two
click
s by way of a reply and turned to Foley, who was standing a few feet away. “Tell your people to stand by. A CAP is headed our way. And we won’t be able to stop it. Not without firing on it from space. And that could result in a lot of collateral damage.”
Foley’s eyebrows rose slightly, but that was all. “Where was it?”
“Underwater. Off Malibu.”
Foley shook his head in amazement. “So that’s where they hid it. Every night they brought the blasted thing out and attacked anything that had a heat signature. Then, come dawn, it disappeared. Now we know.”
“Yeah,” Santana said, “I guess we do. The Daggers will attempt to delay it. I’ll notify the PR officer. We’re pulling out.”
“Sounds good,” Foley replied casually. “You do that.”
The Queen was still talking as Santana approached Vanderveen. She was standing next to the PR officer and Bushnell. “Tell the Queen that it’s time to leave. What amounts to a flying fortress will arrive here in a few minutes.”
Vanderveen looked worried. “I’ll pass the message through Chancellor Ubatha.”
“But the Queen hasn’t finished yet!” the PR officer objected. He had a red face, a carefully trimmed mustache, and a very nonmilitary paunch.
“She’ll get killed if we don’t pull her out of here,” Santana countered. “Tell her. I want everyone on the assault boat two minutes from now. Lieutenant Bushnell, please prepare to withdraw.”
“Look at that!” Bushnell said, and pointed toward the northwest. The combat assault platform was the size of a skyscraper turned on its side. It was heavily armed and could launch aerospace fighters, which were already climbing up to do battle with the Daggers. Something about the fact that the monster was only two hundred feet off the ground and traveling at a mere twenty miles per hour made the ship all the more frightening. There was a flash of light and a loud report as one of its main batteries fired. What sounded like a freight train roared overhead. Half a second later, the ground shook as a column of soil shot up into the air a thousand yards east of the boat. Fortunately, Vanderveen, Ubatha, and the Queen were halfway up the ramp by then. And the assault boat’s engines were beginning to spool up.
It was then, as the air surrounding the Ramanthian vessel shimmered and electrical discharges crackled all around the ship, that something completely unexpected occurred. Carefully camouflaged missiles produced what sounded like a combined roar as they shot almost straight up, struck the assault platform in quick succession, and exploded.
The combined impacts proved to be too much for the ship’s defensive screens, and at least one of them was able to punch a hole in the CAP’s belly. The resulting explosion was not only deafening but produced a shock wave that could be felt miles away. The ship’s stern hit the ground first, soon followed by the bow, which crushed what was left of a hotel. A cloud of dust billowed up to conceal the vessel’s final death throes.
It took Santana a moment to absorb what had taken place and figure out why. That was when he turned to Foley. The resistance leader had a big grin on his face. “Nice, huh? The bugs never knew what hit them.”
“Why you rotten bastard,” Santana replied. “You knew where the CAP was hiding all along! And you used both the Queen and the rest of us as bait.”
The grin vanished from Foley’s face. “Welcome to
my
world, Major . . . Or what’s left of it. And give this message to the Queen. If she ever puts a foot on this planet again, I will personally blow her fucking head off.”
And with that, Foley walked away. The dust cloud had cleared a bit, and bright flashes could be seen as what sounded like thunder rolled, and a series of secondary explosions destroyed what remained of the CAP. The royal visit was over.
17
The gods favor the bold.
—Ovid
Metamorphoses
Standard year A.D. 5
ABOARD THE CONFEDERACY BATTLESHIP
EARTH AVENGER
NEAR PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
The battle began as a hole opened in space and two dozen computer-controlled asteroids came shooting out of the void. They were equipped with hyperdrives as well as in-system propulsion systems. And if one of them managed to hit Hive, a tremendous amount of damage would be done.
That wouldn’t happen, of course, because the bugs had been attacked before and were prepared for such an eventuality. But ready or not, they would still have to use a significant portion of their defensive capability to destroy the incoming rocks, and that was part of General Booly’s plan.
Then, once the asteroids arrived in-system, another hole opened, and thirty-six Vulcan missiles accelerated out of the inky blackness. Like the asteroids, they were computer-controlled, but the similarity ended there. Each Vulcan was equipped to detect and zero in on Class A targets.
It was assumed that most, if not all, of the Vulcans would be intercepted. But the Ramanthians would be forced to choose between the asteroids and missiles, which might or might not be armed with nuclear warheads. Did the bugs have enough warships and orbital battle stations to block the incoming swarm? Maybe. But as Booly sat above and behind the
Earth Avenger
’s bridge, and imagined how the battle would unfold, he felt reasonably sure that
something
would get through.
Of course, the real point of the exercise was to suck up as much of the enemy’s defensive capabilities as possible—thereby clearing the way for the fleet of 275 Confederacy warships that would arrive minutes later. Their task, in turn, was to bore in and clear a path for the ground troops that were to land on Hive. The final objective was to return the Warrior Queen to the throne and effectively end the war.
Booly turned to look at the Queen. No matter what the outcome, hundreds of thousands of Ramanthians were going to die. How did she feel about that prospect? he wondered. Sad? Perhaps. But not sad enough to call the invasion off.
More than two standard months had passed since the broadcast from Earth. And a great deal had occurred during that time. A series of speeches had been made, and according to reports from inside the empire, the anticabal messages were beginning to gain traction. There had been demonstrations in large cities, followed by scattered acts of sabotage, and three cases of well-publicized self-immolation. And the cabal reacted to the protests just as Booly thought they would—which was with poorly-thought-out mass reprisals that brought even more Ramanthians over to the denialist cause. Thereby feeding the unrest.
Meanwhile, hundreds of ships were being completed deep inside Hegemony-controlled space even as more than five million clone soldiers came under the Confederacy’s control, along with a quarter million Hudathans. All eager for revenge.
But the Confederacy was
still
outnumbered. And for that reason there were many in the Senate who favored waiting for a few months before attacking Hive. Fortunately, Booly, Chien-Chu, and others had been able to convince a majority to support an immediate attack because political support would be critical. Especially if the attempt failed.
The battleship’s primary Command & Control (C&C) computer was generally referred to as “the Preacher” because of its deep, melodious voice and a perpetual desire to tell everyone what to do. “The ship will drop hyper in three minutes,” the Preacher intoned as the final seconds ticked away. “Secure all gear, check space armor, and strap in. Primary weapons systems, secondary weapons systems, and tertiary weapons systems have been armed. All fighter aircraft are prepared for immediate launch. I repeat . . .”
The Preacher’s spiel became a meaningless drone as Booly fought a battle within himself. The attack was the right thing to do. He felt certain of it. Then why did he feel a sense of impending doom? Maybe it was the Naa blood that coursed through his veins or the fact that he was older now. His thoughts turned to Maylo, the fear in her eyes when they had said good-bye, and the sweet taste of her lips.
This is the last one,
he promised himself,
then I’ll retire.
Booly’s thoughts were interrupted as the Preacher spoke again. “Stand by for normal space.” The bridge crew, including Captain Jonathan Alan Seebo 514,234, were seated in what was generally referred to as “the tub.” Meaning a U-shaped enclosure located half a level below the observation deck on which Booly, the Queen, and various staff members were seated. Or, in the royal’s case, strapped to the deck since the body she had chosen for the occasion was far too large for a Ramanthian-style saddle chair.
Then the waiting was over as Booly’s stomach lurched, the NAVCOMP shut the hyperdrive down, and a starscape appeared on the curvilinear screen above and in front of the tub. It was meaningless, really, since the ships that were vectoring in on them were too small to see and wouldn’t become visible to the naked eye unless they attempted to ram the
Avenger
.
No, the real action could be seen in the holo tank directly in front of the captain, where red and blue symbols had already begun to clash. But it was difficult to make out the details of what was taking place, so Booly took advantage of his rank to release his harness and make his way over to the so-called admiral’s pulpit, located above and behind the command chair. From there he could look down into the tank and hear the orders that were given. He could also access the ship’s command channel if necessary, but he didn’t plan to do so, knowing that it would make the crew self-conscious.
Most of the conversation between Captain 234 and the crew was professionally matter-of-fact. But they were people and people have emotions. So a mutual groan was heard as the blue box that represented the carrier
Iridian
winked out of existence. The battle had only been under way for a minute and a half, yet 3,467 allied personnel were dead. Booly felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow, but he knew that even though he bore responsibility for the deaths, generals weren’t allowed to cry.
PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Chancellor Parth was deep within the warm embrace of a sand bath when his majordomo entered the room to inform him that multiple flights of computer-controlled asteroids and enemy missiles had entered the solar system via hyperspace. And worse yet, an entire fleet of warships was headed toward Hive, preceded by thousands of robotic drones, all of which were transmitting a message from someone or something that claimed to be the Warrior Queen. In spite of the warm sand that was vibrating against his chitin, Parth felt something cold enter his bloodstream. “Show me,” he ordered.
The majordomo aimed a remote at the wall screen, and video blossomed. What Parth saw was both unexpected and frightening. Because there was a picture of the legendary Kathong standing on what appeared to be the Plain of Pain but probably wasn’t. The monster was at least three times the size of a normal Ramanthian and equipped with four arms rather than two.
“Hear me,” the monster demanded, “or suffer my wrath. For I am the
real
Queen, the Warrior Queen, and this is but one of my bodies. Can you hear the thunder? Look to the skies. I am on the way. Those who hunger for my return have nothing to fear. Those who are corrupt, or feed off corruption, should prepare to die.”
There was a sudden eruption of sand as Parth came up out of the bath and accepted a robe. “Get Admiral Stik on the com. And do so quickly.”
The servant was expressionless as always. “Yes, Excellency.”
“And one more thing,” Parth added. “It may be necessary to evacuate the Queen to Hive Home. Notify the commander of the Imperial Guard and tell him to make all the necessary preparations.”
“Yes, sire,” the majordomo replied. “It shall be as you say.”
ABOARD THE RAMANTHIAN BATTLE CRUISER
NEW EMPIRE
OFF PLANET HIVE
Rather than concentrate most of a ship’s critical personnel in one place the way the humans did, Ramanthian naval architects preferred to distribute them throughout their vessels. For that reason, the battle cruiser
New Empire
’s control room was relatively small.
Too
small in Grand Admiral Stik’s opinion as he shuffled back and forth between two bulkheads as a way to relieve the tension he felt. It had always been his dream to command the Ramanthian navy. But as hundreds of enemy ships poured out of hyperspace and he waited for Chancellor Parth’s visage to appear on the com screen, Stik wished his predecessor was still in charge.
But like so many other members of the Warrior Queen’s administration, Grand Admiral Imba had been forced into retirement and was said to be raising grubs on his country estate.
The eggless bastard.
Stik’s thoughts were interrupted as a com tech spoke. “Chancellor Parth is on-screen, sir.”