Jay Allan - The First Imperium

The view was spectacular, the glory of space laid out before him. It was so majestic, so peaceful. He thought sadly to himself – you’d never know to look at this, what a blood-soaked warzone we’ve managed to make it. An entire universe, endless and magnificent, and we still fight over every scrap. “Man really is a wretched creature.” He spoke to himself, so softly it was barely audible.

He looked out over the forward hull of Bunker Hill to the glowing sphere of Wolf 359 V. The gas giant was as beautiful as any artwork he’d ever seen, a hazy blue globe, with just a hint of a ring floating around it. The orbital shipyards weren’t visible. As huge as they were to man’s sensibilities, at this range they were infinitesimally small, far too tiny for the eye to see.

“Well, we’ve done the best we can.” Compton was still speaking to himself as he gazed into the void. Finally, he sighed and tuned away from the window and moved slowly toward the door. “At least all of this is theoretical. The other Powers are all too beaten up to start a war anytime soon.” He stopped at the doorway and glanced back one last time. “We’ll have the time we need before we have to fight again.”

Tremaine could feel his heart pounding in his ears like thunder. He gripped the rifle tightly, his fingers white from squeezing. It was hot, almost unbearably so, and his overall was soaking wet and plastered to his back. He was scared, so terrified he could barely hold a thought in his head. But he was determined not to let the fear take control. His people needed him…now in this darkest hour more than ever.

Half the colonists were already dead. He’d managed to get the survivors out of the wreck of the village and into the hills, but that had only bought them some time…and very little of it. He had no idea whether Colony Two had also been attacked; the invaders knocked out the satellite before they landed, and when it went down so did the contact with the second settlement.

The weapon felt odd in Tremaine’s hands…cold, hard, unfamiliar. He’d never fired any kind of gun before. He’d always abhorred all forms of violence, and all his life he’d sought peace and tranquility. He’d led his people to the edge of explored space to escape the savagery and horror that men continually inflicted on one another…to find a chance at a simple life. But war had found them anyway.

Now he felt emotions new to him. Dark, primitive feelings…like nothing he’d ever experienced. Tremaine wanted to fight…to kill. He wanted to destroy the enemy. He couldn’t force the images from his mind, the horrific memories of his friends and neighbors massacred, their mangled bodies lying motionless in the blistering sun. The dead children, murdered by the invaders, sprawled horribly alongside their butchered parents.

Always before, Tremaine had looked at society’s horrors, at the endless war and desperate suffering, and he’d clung to his beliefs, to his conviction that men could achieve something better, something higher. His faith, his devotion to his ideals, had never deserted him as his quest took him from one of Earth’s worst slums to Columbia, and finally to the very edge of explored space to build a new world. His resolution had remained firm through it all, despite oppression and delay and heartbreak. Until now.

He couldn’t think about the invaders without shivering, a chill running through his body despite the searing heat. The image of them moving across the plain toward the village, huge and hulking, yet fast and agile too. They looked somewhat like the Marines and CAC troops he’d seen on Columbia during the war, but bigger and far more terrible. Relentless, moving inexorably forward, ignoring every attempt by the colonists to communicate…to surrender.

Tremaine was shocked at the brutality of the invaders. He had been on Columbia when the CAC forces attacked years before. The CAC troops were brutal in many ways, but nothing like this. Many civilians died in the fighting on Columbia, but they weren’t deliberately targeted and killed. These new enemies were systematically exterminating the colonists, as if removing an infestation. They had no hesitation, no mercy, no pity.

A vision of hell had been unleashed on the colony, and Ian Tremaine’s faith, so long the guiding force in his life, at last deserted him. He felt empty, as though all he had ever believed had been a lie. His blood surged through his veins, and he was consumed with hatred and an overwhelming ache for vengeance. He longed to kill the enemy, to visit upon them the destruction they had loosed upon his peaceful and defenseless people…to repay blood with blood, murder with murder. He would give his life in an instant if, by his death, he could lash out at these terrible foes. These were unfamiliar feelings, and while he hated himself for having them, they were real nonetheless.

He looked back over his shoulder. The survivors were crouched down behind rocks, taking advantage of what cover they could. Tremaine hadn’t even wanted to include weapons in the colony’s equipment manifest, and he’d only relented because of the aggressive predators inhabiting the planet’s jungles and equatorial regions. They’d never had to use one on an animal, but he was glad to have them now.

There had only been 20 rifles in the weapons locker, and he’d given them to those he’d been able to reach during the chaos of the attack. He doubted it would make a difference; his terrified little band had no real chance against these horrific invaders. But now that he faced his own imminent destruction, he knew in his heart that he’d rather die fighting. If these enemies were going to kill his people he was going to make them pay…or at least he would try.

He saw the shapes approaching, small, barely visible at first, but moving quickly. They were well over two meters tall, massively armored and bristling with weapons. They looked like warriors sent from hell as they moved grimly forward…unstoppable, merciless. Tremaine knew they were coming for him…for him and for his people. He tightened his grip on the rifle and stared forward, transfixed on the approaching shapes. He was looking at his own death, and he knew it. He almost gave in to panic and tried to run, but then a strange calm settled over him. He raised his rifle, preparing to fire. It would all be over in a few minutes. He tried to keep his focus, but his mind drifted…back over the last few fateful days.

The nightmare had begun two days before. The colonization and supply fleet, so long awaited, had been attacked barely a day out from Newton. The colony had been joyous, anxiously awaiting their new neighbors and the supplies they so desperately needed. Then, disaster.

The transmission had been received first with disbelief then with shock and anguish. Word spread quickly throughout the small village, and the people flocked to the community center, where the communications from the fleet were broadcast. They listened silently to the battle unfolding in space, and they knew the fleet was doomed. None of the Newton colonists had military experience, but they knew enough to understand that the acceleration rates and warhead yields being reported were extraordinary. One by one they received the Delta-Z codes until, finally, the com was eerily silent.

The two colonies communicated feverishly, but there was little they could do. Newton had no defenses…none at all. It didn’t even have a Commnet station yet, so the colonists couldn’t call for help…not that any could have arrived in time. The planet’s lone satellite detected distant ships approaching, and it transmitted its sketchy data to the surface. Then, suddenly, a blast of energy impacted it and it was gone, leaving the two small colonies without eyes or even a communications link with each other.