Invasion (Contact Book 1) Page 2

  He looked up at the interior of his beloved Vela, immersing himself in her ramshackle glory. The last love of his life, the only place he called home.

  People shouted across the bridge, a cavernous combat information center, ten meters high and twice as long. Banks of machines lined each wall, from which the crew watched over the admiral, shouting down their data. But now, no one had an answer.

  The pulpit stood a half-meter off the ground, Loreto’s own private panopticon which looked over a holo-plate, a metal oval occupying a third of the floor. Readings of the outside world beamed back to the Vela from the Sirens, unmanned scouting ships which swarmed the unseen reaches of space. Pillars on each end of the raised dais projected their data and remade reality with millions of pinprick lights.

  Loreto leapt up onto the holo-plate as the projection flickered to life. He walked through the sketches as he would a star map and examined the situation from every angle. The blue lines glimmered, struggling to make sense of everything. Steam and smoke poured into the room from broken vents, people shouted and ran through distant corridors. Loreto smelled blood in the air.

  “Get me data, quick. Cele?” Loreto snapped. “Rebels? Scavengers? An accident?”

  “No, sir.” Cele sounded almost apologetic. “Not yet. The ship is coming back online. We weren’t expecting… that.”

  “I want contact with that pilot.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t be sorry, be useful.”

  Cele buried her head in her workstation while he surveyed the rest of his frantic crew. The Fleet uniforms never changed. Centuries spent in the same uniforms whittled away all the unnecessary dressing. Plain gray short-sleeved shirts tucked into plain gray pants, a black belt wrapped around the waist and space on either arm for insignia. The regulated temperature removed the need for overcoats or undergarments, though officers kept a dress uniform in their quarters for important occasions.

  Loreto struggled to care about the presentation of his crew. They could crease their shirts all they wanted; he didn’t give a damn as long as they performed in the important moments. But without a war, properly kept clothing provided a decent opportunity to drill recruits on their attention to detail. Buffed-up brass buttons and properly-pressed pants showed him how hard they worked for his approval and he liked that. Now, he thought, time to see if it’s paid off.

  Loreto kneaded his temple while the raging gyre widened around him. Force of habit pressed his fingers deeper into the skin, massaging his thoughts. In his years serving the Fleet, nothing surprised Admiral Loreto. Every anomaly and irregularity, every tiny incongruity the Senate deemed worthy of investigation, he dealt with. For an entire lifetime, he’d trawled the Pale. Waiting for a threat, waiting for an enemy, waiting for a reason to be the guiding light which shielded humanity from the darkness.

  The Vela might be old and slow but it was his ship, his pride and joy. As she suffered, so did he. Even as his mind blazed with theories and panic, he knew better than to issue orders without any information.

  “We’ve got visual!” Noam Hertz called from his seat in the darkness, his shaggy beard bouncing.

  “Distance to the nearest colony?” Loreto replied. “Distance to the Pale?”

  “Olmec’s half a par Earth-wise,” Hertz shouted. “The Pale’s a few hundred clicks, if that.”

  Olmec, a small mining colony, a million people, tops. Innocent people. Half a parsec away in the direction of Earth. A day’s travel on a good ship. The Vela was practically on top of the Pale, almost passing through.

  Loreto didn’t rush. He glanced at the reflection of the blue holographic lines in the polished floor as they began to fill in the details of everything outside. He felt his eyes widen and his world change. Years of training activated the tired, forgotten neurons in the deepest recesses of his mind: he didn’t recognize the ships.

  “Alright,” he barked. “Give me any data, anything.”

  Climbing into the pulpit, Loreto parsed the glowing shapes. Vast images moving in real time. Battleships two meters long drifted through a warzone. Outside, they’d be a thousand times that size. The Sirens picked it all out, drawing the universe as quickly as they could.

  Giant ships–twenty, possibly thirty–clustered around an unidentified object. Colossal battleships moving at a dreadful pace, larger than anything in the Fleet. Loreto shook his head, astonished, refusing to believe what he saw.

  “Check the Sirens for errors,” he ordered. “Double check.”

  The battleships dwarfed the Vela. They glided vertically through the battle, tower blocks curved like scimitars; long, thin bodies which curved at the base, their upper parts intersected by a horizontal edifice. Each of these giants bore cannons along the bow and fired at smaller, streamlined ships which buzzed around like wasps.

  “I’m reading vast amounts of energy, sir. But the Sirens report operational. I mean, we’re not fully online...” Cele trailed away. “We could be getting false readings…”

  “No.” Loreto spoke softly from the pulpit, gazing upwards. “No, they’re real. Look at them. They’re incredible.”

  “Are they a threat?” Captain Menels asked. “Are they human?”

  The question ricocheted through Loreto’s mind. He already knew these were not human ships, he could feel it. Too big, too fast, and too powerful. As he rubbed his temple, he remembered everything in his life that had brought him to this moment. The decades of training, the successful campaigns, the years spent requesting the funds, supplies and doctrines needed to properly protect the Pale. Old as he was, Loreto had never abandoned the fear completely, waiting for this exact moment. But now it seemed overwhelming. A fever dream eating him from the inside.

  “I know every single ship in the Fleet,” Loreto said, stepping down onto the holo-plate and into the anarchy. “They’re not ours.”

  The Vela rocked again. The shields took the blow and barely held. Loreto watched the projection, rewinding it back with a gesture. A renegade cannon shot, fired from a smaller ship. The battle drifted closer to their position. Closer to human space.

  “They’re firing already, sir!” Menels cried, his fish eyes bulging. “We have to… we have to alert the Senate!”

  “No!” Loreto ground out the words. “We’re in the middle of something here. We’re an audience, not participants. Do not engage!”

  “We must alert the Senate!” An unknown voice this time. “They attacked us, that’s an act of war!”

  Loreto tore his eyes away from the invaders. He saw the rank written on the man’s upper arms.

  “What’s your name, officer?”

  The kid’s face was lit from above. Blue light fell across sharp, mousey features, a pointed chin, and two ears jutting insolently out from the man’s head. He stood up straighter, adjusting his shoulders under the admiral’s glare.

  “Cavs, sir. Jimmy Cavs. Gunnery lieutenant. I just want to say, it’s an honor to–”

  “You want me to open fire on unknown ships, Cavs?”

  “Sir, I meant…” He looked down at his feet. “The regulations are quite clear in the case of engagement–”

  “Clear’s got nothing to do with it,” Loreto spat, turning from Cavs and back to his projection. He walked through the ghostly images and pointed. “Right here. That’s where our boy was when we lost contact. Top of the perimeter, about to pass out.”

  “Yes, sir. But I mean… It’s an unprecedented–”

  “You got through to the Pale boy, anyone?” Loreto shouted to his staff. From the center of the holo-plate, all he saw were the blue specters obliterating one another.

  “Nothing, sir,” the chorus called back.

  “Try harder, then,” Loreto replied. “This is an emergency. We’ve got a man out there.”

  “Sir, if I may…” Cavs stepped toward the holo-plate into the admiral’s light.

  Loreto noted the sharp accent. Must be from Mars, the poor bastard. No excuse for being this precocious, though
.

  “If you may?” The admiral rubbed his weary temple.

  “We can’t put the life of one pilot above the rest of the colonies. We have to fire. If it’s an invasion, then–”

  “One life?” Loreto fixed two forceful eyes on Cavs. Even if the kid was right, no one challenged an admiral aboard his ship.

  “I mean, compared to–”

  “One life?” Loreto cut the man short. Normally, he would relish the opportunity to dress down this impudent pup. Instead, he swiveled to the ghostly shapes and walked to the largest ship.

  “See this here, Cavs?” The man nodded. “Largest ship. Look at the design. Look at the design of its opponent. Notice anything?”

  The colossal scimitar passed through the remains of another victim, spreading the tattered pieces apart. Loreto pointed to a similar vessel.

  “There’s a class. A designation of ships. They’re fighting these, here.” Loreto gestured again. “Different design on these. The first ones, they’re grouped in a defensive pattern around whatever the hell this is. Do you understand?”

  Loreto directed their attention toward a gargantuan structure, the one part of the battle he’d been unable to assess. A cylinder, surrounded by rotating rings. The giants gathered around it in a protective formation and fired their cannons into the dogfights. There were two sides and the humans were on neither.

  “I-I-I…” Cavs stammered and stopped.

  “Do you understand, Cavs?” Loreto leapt toward the officer just as another blast rocked the Vela. “We’ve found ourselves in the middle of a fight. We can’t just go in there all guns blazing. We can’t run. We have to keep our calm. We have to think. And if that Pale boy’s out there, he’s more help to us than anyone.”

  “What if they’re starting a war with us? I mean, they have…”

  “We won’t start a war here, boy, but we damn well might lose one. Everyone, get the fleet into defensive positions, now!”

  Loreto watched as Cavs clenched his jaw, swallowed and shut his eyes, accepting defeat.

  “I’ll prep the guns, sir,” he said sheepishly, making for the lower decks.

  Everyone saw the incident, Loreto knew. The boy needed to lick his wounds. Let him retreat to the shadows. It didn’t matter, as long as he got those guns firing when needed. No one would remember in two minutes. Hell, they might not be alive in two minutes.

  “Get me comms, Hertz.” Loreto pulled himself into his pulpit. “Olmec, Eddie Pale, anyone. We need to get a warning out. Cavs was right about that. Can’t focus on one lost pilot when the whole damn species is at stake.”

  Fizzing, hissing, and busy, the Vela felt alive. Loreto sensed the years peel away from his wrinkled skin as he shed scales and brushed off the dust. A lifetime spent waiting for this moment, preparing for it. Shield against the darkness, he reminded himself.

  Loreto stared at the projection. Another of the smaller fighters ruptured. The First Fleet couldn’t hope to match this kind of firepower, which meant the colonies were sitting ducks. The admiral felt his head pounding. It hurt to feel this weak.

  “Comms struggling, sir.” Hertz oscillated across to Loreto, his hungry voice reassuring.

  “Get them online,” the admiral told his oldest friend. “Anyone. Right now.”

  “They’re… they’re online, sir. But we’re too far out. Too far from Olmec or a trace gate. And we can’t find Pale. If he’s alive, he’s in that mess somewhere.”

  The Vela, as much as Loreto loved her, was ancient. There was no infinite energy. Sacrifices had to be made. Leading a ship was like adjusting a blanket, a long-retired CO had once taught him. Pull your resources too far up and your feet grew cold. Cover the feet and your head was exposed. Everything needed energy and it was the admiral’s job to pick and choose where he spent his resources.

  “Listen, everyone.” Loreto raised his voice, booming instructions to the entire bridge. “We don’t have time to waste. Draw the energy from the guns. From the engines, too. We’re not going anywhere. Send everything we’ve got to boost the comms first and then the shields. Find me the nearest Federation vessel. We’ll bounce a message off them.”

  Loreto slapped the side of the pulpit as he spoke.

  “Nearest ship is Fletcher,” Menels called. “I can have a link in two minutes.”

  Fletcher. Loreto almost spat on the floor. The name alone made his blood boil. Anyone but Fletcher.

  Movement on the holo-plate caught his attention. Two fighters twisted and turned together, tumbling toward the Vela, locked in a death spiral.

  “They’re moving too fast!” he shouted and ducked down inside his pulpit. “Brace!”

  The impact rocked the bridge. One fighter exploded on impact with the shields, the other pulled away and re-joined the battle.

  “We won’t take many more of those, sir,” Hertz mumbled. “If we drop the shield power for the comms, we’re exposed. And that was an attack. An act of war. We’re bound by regulation to engage. The gunnery kid was right about that.”

  Staring at the blue shapes, trying to make sense of the scene, Loreto’s head throbbed. It was like trying to count the atoms in a breaking wave. But if the Vela could barely take a hit from these invaders, the colonies had no chance. Olmec would be an easy target. Then, everything inside the Pale was under threat. Loreto was the Federation’s only defense.

  “Shields down, Hertz.” Loreto spoke low and purposefully. “As low as you can. We’ve got to get the message out.”

  “Even to Fletcher?” The Vela’s captain shared his superior’s disdain.

  “Even to Fletcher. We have to give people a chance. First, we warn them, then we try to turn whatever the hell this is back.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  Hertz nodded and stepped away from the pulpit.

  “All power to the comms, sharp.” His voice boomed around the bridge, his beard bouncing like a bullfrog’s throat. “Shields as low as you dare. Menels, set up the link to Fletcher and don’t look at me like that or you’ll see my hand across your cheek. Now!”

  Loreto felt the worry brewing up inside him.

  “We’re not going to let them get through, Hertz,” he murmured. “Whoever they are.”

  “No, sir.”

  “We can’t let them through.”

  “No, sir.”

  “It’s our entire mission, all we’ve ever trained for.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Even if it costs us our lives.”

  There was never quiet on the bridge. Too many people, all moving too fast. But Loreto sensed the desperate silence swallowing them whole. Everybody onboard knew the stakes.

  The Vela rocked again, catching a glancing blast. The shields held but only just. Loreto cleared his throat. Time to tell the world.

  3

  Pale

  Eddie saw the Vela’s shield struggling. It wouldn’t hold for long.

  “Come in!” His voice became rougher with each broadcast. “It’s Eddie. You’re under fire. Come in, come in!”

  No response, not even the comforting static. Eddie heaved hard to the right, squeezing his control stick, dodging and weaving. A ship streaked above, so close he ducked.

  “Pull yourself together, pilot.” Saying the words helped.

  He cut through the battle like a cockroach across a kitchen floor. Short sharp bursts, changing direction constantly. Whenever he saw space, he opened the throttle and hoped to still be alive on the other side.

  From inside the fight, he could piece things together. Two sides, that was obvious. One massively outnumbered the other. The side with the huge ships had the weight of forces and the weapons. They gathered around the largest structure, defending it from attack. The other side—small, streamlined fighters—were fiercer, quicker, and more aggressive. They buzzed around and chased anything that moved.

  Cannon fire flashed across Eddie’s field of view and turned his radar crazy. He saw the hostile fighter vanish back into the fray, nicking and needli
ng at any weak points. The whole Wisp trembled as he hauled back on his control stick and tried to veer over the blasted-out husk of a dead battleship. The underside of his fighter eased upward, his lips tightening with worry until he was free and clear on the other side.

  Eddie pinched his trigger in. A flurry of shots volleyed ahead and incinerated a debris cloud. Keep it clear, he thought. Don’t attack anyone. Don’t give them a reason to shoot you out of the sky. Don’t let them know how scared you are.

  They didn’t seem to care about the human in the middle of the maelstrom, the same way a collapsing star cared little for individual atoms. Eddie caught a pair of squabbling fighters in his crosshairs. He felt his finger twitch, the trigger pressing against the skin. One squeeze and he’d be able to paint a kill on the side of his ship.

  “Bet no one’s killed one of them,” he said to himself, desperate to fill the cabin with human sounds, since the rest of the universe seemed to have gone insane.

  The chirping instruments and the deathly silence of the space battle made for poor company. This wasn’t part of the test, Eddie knew. Something was wrong, really wrong. He had to get back to the Vela. Through the melee, he caught another glimpse of the human ship and accelerated toward the gap.

  The radar buzzed and sirens yelped. Eddie looked down at a screen, a lump of solid fear clutching at his throat. He’d been spotted, bogey on his six. Instinct told him to look over his shoulder. Just the inside of the cockpit. Rookie mistake, slave to impulses. Think clearer, you idiot. Be rational. What would Loreto do?

  He turned fast and caught a glimpse of his tail through the transparent roof. One of the vicious sleek fighters. Not long till cannon lock, he told himself. Spotting an opening between two mangled husks, he aimed the Wisp and headed down.

  These rickety antiques didn’t handle well; they couldn’t take a bend. Already, Eddie had seen the newcomers defy every law of physics. No fighter should be able to do what they were doing. The Wisp slid through the gap and the radar cried out.