Chronicles of the Aeons War, page 75
part #3 of The Omniverse Series
Of course no Commander there had any doubts what the Queen of Hope would announce to them; this declaration was a formality, demanded of the Rituals imposed on the Queen according to the Rites of the Way. Nevertheless, Gabrielle willingly observed the forms and at last delivered Her Oration to the assembled:
“The time has come; two days ago I ordered twenty-five Observation Instance Fleets to deploy to within one light-hour of the theatre of war to begin observations of the battle ahead. The first five instances of those Fleets have broadcast back enough initial telemetry for the War Council to have formulated a basic plan of attack. The second set of Instances are reporting in; telemetry of the battle as planned, including Commodore Baxter Vincent’s suggestion that we include the Grandmaster’s Starfleet will significantly increase enemy damage while allowing us to suffer minimal casualties. When the Grandmaster and her fleet arrive in Bloom’s Point space, our ships will form up with them. My flag will be on the Ouroboros and Grandmaster Yeung will hold Flag over the fleet brought with the Caliburn.
“As we finalize the attack plans, the Observation-Instance Fleets are reporting that stability has been reached within the observed field of Combat. As always, initial telemetry for each instance of each combatant will be provided as they become available. I will be choreographing the battle and charting the flight paths of each ship accordingly. Rest assured, between being My Mother’s Child and the heightened abilities of the implants in My body and Mind this will be a simple task to execute.
“Macronaut Team: We are still planning for your incursion into the Command Router Station. The virtual training you’re undergoing at this stage will prepare you for as many potential situations you are likely to encounter while making your way to the core. I will be joining your forces; an additional instance of Myself will deploy with your live team.
“Brothers and sisters I give you leave; return to your ships and prepare your people for what lies ahead. And remember: the Observation Fleet instances are already predicting our victory.”
Among the assembled, Benedict, who sat with Baxter Vincent and Heihachi Daniel, muttered: “Yeah…we all know how reliable those predictions are.”
Victory, like Defeat, comes from superior strategy, superior skill. But the Will to Survive cannot be discounted, for it has often turned the bitterest battles around, giving victory to those who should have been defeated and handing defeat to those who would easily have been the victors. Thus, Victory and Defeat are two edges of the same sword.
TWENTY-FIVE
DEFEAT AND VICTORY
The final Combat Instance returned to celebrations fifteen years in the planning. There were solemn ceremonies for the Honoured Dead; proud ceremonies where medals of valour were awarded; there were commencement addresses to graduates of the Ehlo Bene, there were ships to repair, ships to scrap, commands to be inherited, awarded, and reassigned.
The Fifteen Years Battle had lasted ten hours realtime. Because of the causal breakdown that had decimated so many temporal instances of the Starfleet – as well as the realtime instances of the Zohor – Combat Instance Six-Six-Eight was the last to return to Bloom’s Point, and thus the only instance to return to realtime. Fifteen years of war, but only ten hours had passed for most people on station. Even now in sealed bays in secret locations throughout Bloom’s Point, the other surviving six hundred and sixty seven Combat Instances were still leaving and returning, still fighting the battle that was already over. By necessity, several thousand men and women in the combat shipyards had had to travel through time into new instances themselves, to meet the labour demand repairing the thousands of ships of the Combat Instance Starfleet multiplied into millions by six hundred and sixty-eight temporal instances. They, too had lived fifteen long years in service to the combatants and their ships. They, too were veterans.
All veterans of the conflict took some time getting used to the notion that a mere ten hours had gone by for everyone else they knew; only ten hours had passed for the people of Midian, of Bloom’s Point, of the Fleet on the Far Frontier.
They were dazed as they debarked, and a mandatory Gathering for all veterans of the Fifteen Year Battle was held in the Dream. Unexpectedly, it was the Queen of Light and Sorrow who addressed them, “We have done a great thing, survived a very long nightmare to come back to a world that has only seen us gone ten hours. They will grieve with us when the names of the Honoured Dead are released with the final data download from the 668-CI Starfleet; but they will not have lived the decade and a half with those people dying around us as we fought to survive. They will not know or understand the existential nightmare we survived as our past or future Combat Instances were erased from time, leaving us with memories no one else shares, leaving us with losses no one else remembers.
“Many of those who have not seen us in ten hours will expect us to move on…though we know we cannot,” As expected, Her words elicited the opposite of solace from Her congregation but She continued, as they knew She would: “We cannot simply move on with so many thousands of our loved ones and comrades dead. We cannot move on from the physical and emotional scars inflicted on us after fifteen years of continuous war. We can heal, but we have…all…been forever changed.
“And so, we will move not on but forward: Forward to the defeat of the Zohor and then the Nimbus and the end of the Aeons War. And we who survive to the end, common soldier and General alike, commoner and the uncommon alike, we will move forward until we will be as Gods as we begin our new lives and the Fourth Change among a free and limitless universe.
“For the rest, I can only promise to Remember you in My Dreams, and Promise that My Dreams are Infinite and Eternal. We will shortly take the captured Zohor communications array away from Bloom’s Point to an undisclosed location. It may be possible the Zohor can still use it to track us; we cannot allow them to find us. Grandmaster Benedict has already selected a location for us to use as a base of operations to examine and reverse engineer the device. The War Council will meet soon to plan the next phase of our operations against the Zohor. We will be redeploying active patrols to guard against new strikes by our enemy but for the most part, now is to be a time of rest and celebration for us all.”
♦♦♦
Celebrations were held across the common areas of Bloom’s Point. Tens of thousands of people crowded the concourses, avenues and common areas of the station. Some of the Battle’s veterans felt their acts cheapened by the revelry of those who’d only experienced ten hours to their fifteen years. Others tried to take it in stride. Most simply wanted to embrace loved ones long lost and enjoy the release of celebration.
Not all celebrations were public; even in the age of psychic and cranial interlinks, some people chose to be alone; others chose to be alone together. Certainly, that was how Benedict and Pomeroy chose to spend their time together: discovering and rediscovering one another in a strangely familiar and unsettlingly new intimacy.
Allison retreated to Her Sanctum to shut Her Mind away from as many as She could, trying to absorb and absolve Herself of the countless Lives whose loss She could not help but Experience as She would Her own. She wept, grieved, felt each Death as it happened, remembered every Soul when at last exhaustion took Her into the peaceful tumult of Her Dreams.
♦♦♦
Baxter Vincent wasn’t in a mood to celebrate, either. He’d started the Fifteen Year Battle in the Ouroboros’ Tactical Crew Pit; toward the end of the Battle he rose through the ranks to Tactical Commander, overseeing the ‘Boros’ combat action from the Bridge. Then during the action of Combat Instance Four Hundred and Twenty another Random Luck Event happened: A Zohor spear ship stabbed into the Ouroboros and exploded. The damage was through the ventral midsection and damaged gravitational regulators ship-wide. By the time they’d jumped back to Bloom’s Point on their retreat coordinates, the damage was done. Half the crew were killed when gravity suddenly tripled and changed axial planes by one hundred and three degrees. Most of those who survived were severely injured. Baxter Vincent, former Captain of the Queen’s Spear, was now the most senior officer aboard the Flagship, and was field-promoted to Captain.
Now that the Fifteen Year Battle was over, the Ouroboros was no longer just one of the Fleet Flagships, but the Grandmaster’s Flagship. Now he was no longer Acting Captain; The Grandmaster had promoted him and he was a Commodore now. The rank and title came with duties on the War Council and military might that set him below only the Grandmaster and the Shekhina Mehdi; and as the Commodore of the Grandmaster’s Flagship, Baxter Vincent, still a junior member of the so-called College of Commodores now technically ranked higher than the Fleetmasters.
He’d commanded the ‘Boros for nearly two hundred and fifty instances; overseen her repairs and refit and saw personally to the training of the now-veteran crew. He’d made his old friend and comrade at arms Heihachi Daniel his Commander (and now his Captain) and brought other old friends back together as his Executive. But the Ouroboros only truly felt like it was his ship now that he’d led the ‘Boros and her fleet to victory; now that he was preparing to sail her from Bloom’s Point with the Zohor communications relay on the Grandmaster’s orders.
He should feel happy but the loss of life that led to his command, and the hell he’d had to put thousands through to survive the Fifteen Year Combat seemed a high price to pay. But the Queen, Herself had looked into his eyes and told him that he had earned this place; that he was destined to command the ‘Boros and serve the Grandmaster for many long years to come. Bax knew he should feel proud; happy…but his was a solemn, sacred duty: Command of the Ouroboros was no honour, no prize to be won but a responsibility and dedication to fight and die for the People of Midian…and to order many more to fight and die alongside him.
Baxter Vincent decided that so long as he held the rank of Commodore, he would dedicate his life to nothing else but the Ouroboros and her mission.
♦♦♦
“I’m afraid our vacation’ll be cut short,” Benedict told her as they woke each other lazily the following day-cycle. Pomeroy moaned her displeasure with enough throaty subtext to invite him back into bed with her. He chuckled, digging a nail down the middle of her back to the place just behind her tailbone. She made a most satisfying sound.
“It’s the Queen’s Will,” he said, “I’ve got to take that array on; someplace safe. The ‘Boros is set to depart this afternoon.”
“I’m going with you,” she said, rising, naked, resplendent from bed. Benedict marvelled not for the first time at the exotic beauty of the Human-descended El-Ahur, “I’ve put in my transfer request to be aboard the ‘Boros before she leaves port.”
It was not the first time she’d stunned him, nor would it be the last.
“What?”
She spun to face him and saluted, her left hand on her heart. He couldn’t help but notice how wonderful her breasts looked, pressed against her fist, that way.
“Flight Deck Thirty-One Operations Chief Pomeroy Zaiola, reporting for duty!”
“How did you pull that off?”
“It was a lot easier than pulling off these,” she replied, reaching for the buckle of his trews.
♦♦♦
Grigori Myrym’s platoon had returned to the ‘Boros that morning; Grandmaster Benedict intended to leave port with a full complement. Now she was in HAM Bay 17 on Flight Deck 31, arguing with the mechanics who were repairing her Heavy-Armour Macronaut.
“Would it help if I uplinked my diagnostics again? I’m pretty sure you’ll register them if I shove them up your ass!”
“Lieutenant, I’m telling you!” one of the mechanics protested, “Our own tests of the reflexive servos show them operating nominally!”
“And I said strip them out and get me a new set within the hour!” Grigori barked, “I had problems with my right arm the whole time I was in there! A Queen-Blasted – literally Queen-Blasted – Sweeper almost speared me because I couldn’t deflect it in time! There’s no guarantee She’ll be on the next mission with me! I don’t feel like winding up dead because you insist your inspection is better than my fucking neural link diagnostic of my own fucking HAM!”
“Hey, Grigori! Play nice!” Chango Samdup was strutting over, “You don’t want them rewiring your weapons on you!”
Grigori sneered threateningly at her mechanic, “Love to see ‘em think about it.” She said, Turning back to the mechanic, “To your readouts it’s a few fractions of a percent. When you’re plugged into that HAM and in hyper perception in heavy combat, that’s a lot of loss; just strip the servos out and replace ‘em! I’m drilling in an hour and I don’t want my right to feel sluggish…understand?”
“As you say, Lieutenant.”
Grigori left her partially disassembled HAM unit in their hands and walked with Chango.
“So, why do you think they want our platoons along for a transport mission?” he asked as they passed other HAM unit work bays and other HAM Operators not arguing with their mechanics.
Grigori shrugged, “What do they usually want us for? Perimeter patrol and heavy lifting. That’s all the Macronauts are to them.”
“That and Sweeper Fodder,”
“And there’s nothing you like more than blowing those things apart.”
“Still, we don’t know where we’re moving that damn thing or what’s going to come looking for it.”
“We don’t know where, but we do know what,” she said, “The Zohor will send whatever they can against us if they find it. My best bet is the Higher-Ups want wherever we’re going to be as heavily protected as they can get it.”
“Why not leave it at Bloom’s Point? The Zohor have never prevailed against the station.”
Grigori shrugged, “Maybe because even the Station couldn’t withstand a desperate attack by a full onslaught; maybe because they intend to experiment on it and don’t want to endanger the lives of the people on the station as they do. Maybe they just want it as far from our space as possible.”
“Makes sense,”
“Anyway my old Commander used to remind me: We’re not called upon to question, but to serve.”
“Your old Commander was executed for murder,”
“And I’d have done the killing first if I’d have been quicker on the draw.” She said, “Just another reason I want better servos in my HAM’s right arm. You never know when being just slightly quicker on the draw will save your life; or someone else’s.”
Chango studied her a long moment. There had always been something cold in Grigori Myrym’s eyes…he saw it now more clearly, understood suddenly so much better where it came from.
“As…as you say, Myrym,” he stammered.
“Fucking right. And as I said, our orders are to be ready to shell up as soon as the ‘Boros leaves port; we’re guarding that Queen-cursed array, because it’s what we’re called upon to do.”
“And as El-Ahur, we are called upon to do a great many things.” Chango said.
“Exactly right, comrade.”
♦♦♦
Embarkation, as always, was a long affair. This was the first time in a long time that the Ouroboros had had the pleasure of sailing out of Bloom’s Point’s Main Harbour. During the Fifteen Year Battle the ‘Boros and the Combat Instance Fleet would leave from other specially-designated starports to avoid crossing past or future instances.
Leaving port always reminded the Grandmaster of that first time he left Bloom’s Point, not aboard the Old Ship, but as a passenger and guest of his now-new Commodore, Baxter Vincent. That moment was still far in their future…and far in his past. Grandmaster Benedict watched the last crew embarkation via the gantries extended to the Ouroboros. “A long time ago, Commodore,” the Grandmaster said, “And a long time from now, I was a much younger man standing on this very Bridge with a much older you. Such is the nature of Fate; you were meant for the Ouroboros as surely as she was meant for me.”
“As you say, Grandmaster.” Baxter Vincent replied, “Captain Heihachi, embarkation status?”
His new First Officer and old comrade-at-arms checked the status from his station on the floating Bridge platform, “Embarkation complete. All Deck Officers report ready to seal airlocks.”
“Seal the airlocks,” the Commodore announced, turning to the Helm Control crew pit and the Helm Chief on the Bridge. “Stand by to clear all moorings and umbilicals”
“Moorings and umbilicals on standby,”
