Edge of Extinction

By Robert J. Szmidt

When the ruthless aliens attack the outer reaches of the Federation, Humankind is forced to retreat haphazardly from dozens of conquered systems. The only chance to delay the advance of the enemy is to create hundreds of fake colonies. If that doesn’t work, the Fleet will be forced to face the ma’lahn in a series of open battles, which can lead to its annihilation. Politicians, however, do not care about the consequences. Their goal is to preserve power, even at the cost of billions of lives. The headquarters of the third metasector must meet the requirements of the Council on the one hand, and prevent the destruction of the only force that is able to defend Humankind on the other. But this war has another—human and personal—dimension: Major Darski must fight to save the colonists that he left on Ulietta…. Edge of Extinction is book three in The Fields of Long-Forgotten Battles series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: May 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781680574296

Book preview

PROLOGUE

THE ULIETTA SYSTEM, ZEBRA SECTOR

10/28/2354

So you believe they’ll come back for us?

The antique binoculars—a primitive, fully mechanical device people had used in the era when the Earth’s atmosphere seemed to be the ultimate, impassable boundary—never reached Fitz’s eyes. The former head of the colony’s scientific department had to make do with such a simple instrument, characterized by basic optics and low magnification, because here, so close to the caves, he couldn’t allow himself to use any electronic equipment.

Even though it had been almost four days since the attack, Olivernest wasn’t sure if the ma’lahn had left the system on completion of the destruction—as admittedly, was their habit. Both he and Captain Darski knew that the Ulietta System could be an exception.

Never before had the alien liners struck a bustling oxygen-rich world, where it wasn’t enough to destroy the infrastructure to deprive humans of any chance of survival. For that reason, no one could guarantee the colonists who were hiding in the caves that this time wouldn’t be any different. It was equally probable that the Aliens would stay on: maybe land on Delta, maybe just monitor the planet by means of satellites and probes left in its orbit.

That was why Fitz and Darski had drawn up an action plan. One of its key elements was getting rid of any devices whose electromagnetic radiation could reveal the location of the people in hiding; and there were still over eight thousand of them on Delta, including the staff of the underwater reactor.

He gave me his word, Olivernest replied slowly, glancing at his former deputy, Paulisses Brin, a sixty-five-year-old, dark-skinned, slant-eyed geologist who was one of his closest associates before the attack, and who also stood behind the risky plan to move the rest of the colonists to the caves. He won’t break it.

Yes, he believed Darski. He had no doubt that the man in charge of Ulietta’s evacuation would do his damnedest to get them out of here. However, he also knew that the captain was only a small cog in the soulless, gargantuan machine of the Fleet, so it wasn’t exactly up to him to send a rescue convoy. Olivernest winced at this thought, as if its sourness somehow reached his taste buds.

Paulisses shook his head.

I’ll believe it when I see it, he said, none the happier.

Contrary to Fitz, he was convinced Delta’s last inhabitants would be left to their fate. He said that bluntly, but only when he was alone with his supervisor. With the rest of the colonists, he played a tough guy who was certain of a prompt rescue; but stealthily, he’d made sure a lot of extra lyophilized food was sent to the caves. It was thanks to his foresightedness that the colonists left by Darski would have enough food for two, or even three months, if they rationed it.

Don’t be such a defeatist. Olivernest ended this exchange, putting the binoculars to his eyes.

After four long days spent in the caves, they emerged topside to see if the Aliens had detected and destroyed the decoys at the far end of the wide valley. Low, only fifty-fold magnification didn’t allow Fitz to see much, but he managed to see what he needed to.

Two and a half miles away from the massif under which the evacuated colonists had sought refuge, a lonely peak was emerging from the sea of mist. Right there, at its base, near the top of the reef—Olivernest believed it to be an appropriate name for the colonies of strigahorns, which were the most widespread fauna species on Delta—the first of the well-disguised objects was located. It was a small airship printed only hours before the evacuation and made of ultra-light organic materials. Fitz needed a moment to track it down, but when he finally did, he could marvel at the oval hull whose shape reminded him of an ancient sports ball; it had the same color and texture as the animals surrounding it, and it was covered with nodes resembling the eyes bulging from the wings of these strange creatures.

The strigahorns’ lace fans moved billowingly in the strong wind like canopies of some bizarre two-dimensional trees. Pinkish membranes fringed with purple bones continually filtered the air by way of pores, catching every seed, every bit of another specimen, every particle that could be digested. It was the only way the sedentary organisms could get nutrients. And they needed a lot of them if they wanted to keep their dozen-foot-long wings in good shape.

Number one intact, murmured Fitz, satisfied.

Great, Brin replied. It means that the alien probes ignore objects made from organic stuff, as long as there’s no electronics.

Olivernest wanted to say that the Aliens might be just like humans, not very conscientious, but he had a moment of clarity. It wasn’t the ma’lahn who did the scanning of the planet but their robots, and no robot is lazy.

The second decoy had been placed a little farther, four miles away. It was made from plastic and equipped with two oldfangled, not very efficient electric motors.

If this one also … thought Fitz, and momentarily ground a curse between his teeth.

It was equally easy to locate number two … or rather to locate the place where it had been put. A huge, black crater marred the steep cliff of the massif, the evident result of a kinetic attack.

That would be it, sighed the former head of the scientific department, slowly pulling the binoculars away from his eyes.

He didn’t have to look for the other decoys. Each one was more mechanized than the last, and therefore posing an easier target. By placing them on the valley rim, Darski had intended to gauge how careful the colonists would need to be after leaving the caves, if the ma’lahn decided to keep an eye on the paradise abandoned by humans.

So far, Olivernest established that survivors could forget about using motor vehicles, no matter how simple or archaic the engine.

Brin nodded gravely, never taking his eyes off the southeast horizon.

The colony, or what was left of it, was nearly fifteen hundred miles from the caves in that direction. If Darski didn’t organize a rescue expedition …

Fitz looked at his watch, another mechanical relic of the pre-space age, being of course the creation of the corporate ultra-precise printers. Sixty seconds, fifty-nine seconds …

Both men looked west.

There was only one thing left for them to do. They waited for activation of the six probes hidden in a deep gallery. The devices would launch in exactly fifty-two seconds, ascend to an altitude of twenty thousand feet, and broadcast signals to a phony base located in the middle of an exceptionally lush reef twenty-five miles from the caves. If the ma’lahn had remained in the system, their reaction would be only a matter of time.

Now!

They couldn’t see or hear the launch of the small probes using gravitational propulsion. Nevertheless, they looked toward the blue-black peaks looming over the horizon, and kept their fingers crossed in the hope that no flash, no sound would disturb the peace of the foothills. The wait could take up to one hundred and four hours if the departing Aliens were in the vicinity of the gravitational well exit, but the men were prepared for it. They intended to mount guard on this ridge, taking turns; not right here, where they would be easy to spot, but two thousand feet below, at the edge of the reef, where a well-camouflaged watchtower had been carved into the rocks.

Go back, ordered Fitz, who would take the first watch, and tell the rest about the situ—

He stopped in midsentence. The distant, irregular pyramidal peak was illuminated by a sudden flash. Olivernest was looking in that direction, so even after he squeezed his eyes shut, the afterimage stayed with him for a few seconds, smoldering under his eyelids. He blinked, but it didn’t help much. There still was a long straight line running up at an angle from a big, bright smudge in the center.

Paulisses, whose eyesight had been spared, instinctively flattened his back against the rock as if he feared that the power of a distant explosion would sweep them off the ledge and throw them into the abyss.

Clones-of-bitches! he hissed, not taking his eyes off the sky covered with dense clouds.

PART ONE

A CROSSROADS

ONE

THE ANZIO SYSTEM, ZEBRA SECTOR

10/29/2354

Out of the question, Rutta said flatly, although it was the twentieth time he’d replied to the same request. Or maybe even the thirtieth if you count earlier written communication with Darski. And let’s leave it at that.

I’m afraid, General, that is not an option, Darski balked.

Captain, would you care to explain why I experience déjà vu each time I speak to you?

Unlike the former colonel, Darski hadn’t been officially appointed captain yet, or at least the information still hadn’t reached the third metasector—and all the assurances of the Council couldn’t change that.

That’s easy, General. We’ve been belaboring this point over and over again.

We’ve been doing what? Rutta raised his eyebrows.

It’s one of my father’s favorite adages. If I remember correctly, it meant—

Forget it, Rutta interjected brusquely. I’ve got better things to do than learning archaic sayings no one needs. As to your request—

My demand, Darski corrected his superior.

As to your request, repeated Rutta, petulant, it’s been declined. De-fi-ni-tive-ly, he emphasized. This morning, Farland told me in not so many words that if he sees this recording once more, he’ll personally see to it you’re stationed on a random destroyer with no access to the communications system. Would you like that, Captain? The way he said the last word, it was clear this might be the reason why the promotion was taking so long.

No, I wouldn’t, sir, but don’t forget that I’ve given those people my—

The general’s upraised hand silenced him. You shouldn’t have promised something that’s not in your power to deliver.

I thought—

I’m not finished, Captain! This time, Rutta raised his voice. You were appointed commander of the Ulietta evacuation because you’re smart and dutiful. But remind me, what were the Admiralty’s estimates regarding the success of this operation? Forty-five, fifty percent?

Fifty-six, General.

Right. And you, not altogether by the book, managed to evacuate more than ninety-five percent of the colonists. Which means you saved one hundred and fifty thousand more people than was expected of you. And you still have a problem?

This problem, as you put it, is the eight thousand men and women left on Delta.

Rutta sighed heavily. It’s time to change tack, he thought.

Let me be clear on this one, he started after a moment’s pause, having swallowed unnaturally thick, sticky saliva. Your plan can’t be steamrolled through the Admiralty, it simply can’t. I even asked the grand admiral to pull some strings, but no can do.

He paused again, gathering his thoughts.

But you’re right about one thing. When they, he pointed his finger at the ceiling as if High Command was in this direction, albeit hundreds of light-years away from the orbital station, look at news reports and charts every day, they never see real, flesh-and-blood people behind them. What they see is just dry numbers. Figures, statistics … The decision-makers don’t care that every item on the credit side means someone’s personal tragedy, another wasted life. This is the way it is, and you won’t change it no matter what. For this is the way it must be. We’re at war, right? And in war, individuals are not the most important. In the end, what really counts is something else altogether …

Darski opened his mouth to say something, but the general didn’t let him get a word in edgeways.

"… even when we’re talking huge numbers. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions. I know how it sounds. But yes, this is how strategists think. When it comes to victims, a thousand is less than ten thousand. It’s better to sacrifice one million colonists living on the planets which can’t be evacuated easily than to lose two million people in other places. That’s how it works.

You take it personally because you’ve met individuals behind the numbers while stationed on Ulietta, and you gave them your word. However, the Admiralty see it differently. It’s too big a risk to send a rescue convoy to Delta in a situation in which we’re none the wiser whether anyone survived the attack. Rutta raised his hand again to silence the captain’s protests. No one knows anything for sure.

He looked gravely at Darski and continued. Since you left Delta four days ago, alien probes have appeared in another twenty-two systems. T’iru wiped out six colonies, including one extremely valuable industrial installation in the Tantala XIV asteroid belt. In these four days alone, more than thirty thousand people lost their lives in the Inner Rim. It happened despite the efforts of many evacuation teams. Maybe not as heroic as yours, but …

The general seemed to have lost his train of thought. It took a moment before he spoke again, The truth is, we don’t have forces or resources to resettle all the people living in the hazard zone, and you, Captain—Rutta’s voice took on an official quality again—you insist that we should deploy transport crafts and escort vessels, and send them right through enemy-controlled systems to Belt U in order to save people who may equally well be dead already.

I’m sure that— Darski mumbled.

Don’t interrupt me! The general took the initiative again. Are you aware that in our opinion, the Aliens haven’t left the conquered territories unwatched?

Darski nodded reluctantly. He too was of the opinion that no strategist worthy of the name would make such a fundamental mistake. But according to his calculations, he should be able to make it to Ulietta and back again before the enemy struck. He’d stated it clearly in his report and didn’t understand why Rutta challenged his argument.

In the meantime, Rutta picked up where he left off. In order to reach Ulietta, your convoy would have to make three jumps to systems already taken by the ma’lahn. Where do you think you’d be seized, Captain? Certainly not on Smeug, but as for Torus … I don’t know.

I included it in my calculations, Darski assured his superior. We’ll only be on Smeug for three hours. Then our passage to Torus is going to take sixteen hours, plus just a quarter of an hour for the second transfer, and the duration of the jump to Ulietta, that is fourteen hours. As you can see, General, we’ll reach our destination within thirty-three hours after the alien sensors have spotted us on Smeug, and within fourteen hours after the ma’lahn guess where we’re headed.

An excellent plan, Rutta sneered, peering at Darski with a sly smile that didn’t bode well. Assuming the aliens are morons, and they really need forty hours to react.

They’ve needed forty hours each time so far. There’s no indication this time will be any different. Darski stood his ground. No sooner had he felt the first pang of uncertainty than he noticed a hint of amusement on the general’s face.

Is that so? Rutta folded his arms behind his back and swayed slightly on his feet, as if he were a sergeant and Darski a rookie deserving a proper wigging. Didn’t it occur to you, Captain, that the t’iru the Aliens will send after you can be diverted from another target? Let’s say from … At this moment, he hunched over his console to activate the sector’s map and momentarily straightened up again. From Romulus V, where the Alien fleet is expected in …—he glanced at the timer—about forty standard hours. If you made a move now, you’d reach Torus VI at the same time they’d reach Vickers X. Rutta pronounced both names very slowly and clearly. Meaning, the ma’lahn would learn of your presence there and would probably guess where you’re headed. It would take them approximately eleven hours to reach Ulietta. In the worst-case scenario, they’d be waiting there for you.

Never before— Darski began, then fell silent as he felt heat spread up the back of his neck and across his face.

He hadn’t taken this into account because the Aliens never departed from their routine. They acted methodically, just like computers, but they had yet to stand face to face with fleeing humans.

The more Darski thought about it, the more he became convinced that his superior might be right. However, these were assumptions, not certainties. He wasn’t going to let go.

I have dismissed this version of events as most unlikely, General, he said, albeit with less confidence than before. Besides, we can always abort the mission in the event of an immediate threat.

Rutta nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the map.

And if they wait for you next to the jump point, just like you did for them during the evacuation of Ulietta?

Darski swallowed. The general had hit the nail on the head. The ma’lahn could perform the maneuver he’d taught them himself. But could didn’t necessarily mean—

Of course, I’d engage the front shields at maximum power and—in the event of spotting the enemy by the gravitational well exit—I’d make a subspace jump immediately. Since I’m not going to enter into combat, I’ll enter commands into the System prior to emerging and disappear before it gets really hot. If any, the damage would be minimal.

Well … Rutta folded his arms behind his back again. Eternal optimist, aren’t you? How can you be so sure that you’ll have those twelve seconds needed to warm up the accelerators? But suppose the Aliens are so stupid. You make a jump and then what?

Nothing. Darski shrugged. Each vessel would return to the base on its own.

I see. And how much time would that take?

It depends on the exact parameters of the first jump …

Give me a rough number, insisted the general.

Six to eight standard days.

Six days at best, you say, Rutta echoed, his lips stretched in a smile. That means eight days in total if you count the passage to Torus, or even ten if you want to be more realistic. Ten standard days, during which your ships, Captain, could evacuate—he made some calculations in his head—"the inhabitants of another six systems, that is forty to fifty thousand people. But they won’t. These men and women will be sentenced to death, because you’d rather organize a pointless mission, trying to save those who might already be dead.

Now do you understand why some old fart from the Admiralty has decided that your plan is senseless in the eyes of High Command? The general sobered in an instant. Do the math, Captain! Eight thousand colonists—likely already dead, let me remind you—versus fifty thousand who can be transported to a safe zone first, and then to the other end of the Known Universe where they will live happily ever after, working toward our victory. What would it be if you had a choice?

Darski was silent. He’d known from the beginning that it wouldn’t be easy to convince the top brass. But Rutta was right: Darski took it personally. He’d given his word and intended to keep it.

If I’d had a choice, I’d have never accepted a position that requires me to make such decisions, he replied in a choked voice, feeling the bitterness of defeat.

Any war, Captain, is an endless sequence of endlessly cruel deeds, and neither one of us can change that. The only thing we can do is serve our cause best. Rutta looked Darski straight in the eye. I won’t repeat myself, so please, listen carefully … I didn’t tell you to go to hell, because I was impressed with what you’d done on Ulietta. Yes, I admire your tenacity in pursuing your goals, as well as your ingenuity which helps you achieve what you want. But … there are boundaries I won’t cross, even though I’m your ardent supporter.

He paused, shut his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, he continued. Both the grand admiral and I did what we could to help you, but some things can’t be done. At least, here and now. We need six months to evacuate billions of colonists before we can even think of taking up the fight with the Aliens. And with each passing week the situation will get worse. Millions, maybe even tens of millions of people are going to die. The ma’lahn will kill them, and it doesn’t matter whether we’re busting our balls doing what you did on Ulietta or not. This is inevitable. Sometimes, it’s better to let go.

But I promised— Darski broke off abruptly when he heard the beep of his superior’s comlink.

Rutta hunched over his console, only for a second, but as he straightened his back, he was even paler than a moment ago and it had nothing to do with the enhanced glow emanating from the holoprojector.

And you won’t deliver, Captain, because your plan hasn’t been approved by High Command. So it’s not your fault.

If only it were that simple, sighed Darski.

I know. Today, you may be full of self-disgust, but next month … you won’t even remember any of it, said the general.

Darski gave him a venomous look and grunted through clenched teeth, I doubt it very much, sir.

And I’m sure of it. There are some big decisions ahead, even tougher than this one.

I don’t understand.

The general smiled without a trace of joy. I’ve just been informed that the Council ordered an urgent evacuation of Warsaw.

On hearing this familiar name, Darski started. The Fleet did everything humanly possible to pull the t’iru from the only other system containing an oxygen-rich planet in the outer belts of the Inner Rim. With some success, but no one put their hopes very high. So far, the ma’lahn had targeted the most active sources of transmission, attacking and completely destroying large but uninhabited fake colonies, and hadn’t bothered with the periphery of the Orion Arm and the population centers in this part of the metasector. Luck couldn’t last forever, though. In light of all that had been said, the Council’s decision seemed to be justified; but Darski, if he’d had his say, would have waited a bit longer. Unless there was something he didn’t know …

What’s the rush? he asked, aware that Rutta didn’t have to explain himself.

It seems the war has entered a new phase, replied the general. Alien probes have been detected in Belt Z. There are dozens of them. Within the last three hours, we’ve lost relay stations in forty-two transit systems, and this is just the beginning.

Am I— Darski began hesitatingly.

No, said Rutta, as if reading his mind. You were not assigned to the Warsaw operation. You’re to stay in the Sierra Sector. Then he added as an afterthought, The command staff briefing starts in fifteen minutes. We’re supposed to come up with a plan of operation within an hour. I told you; things are going to get bad.

Darski absorbed the new information with a perfunctory nod. Everything will be fine in the end.

Oh yes. Only this time, it affects you personally, the general stated, after he’d looked at the screen showing more and more new documents. The Admiralty commandeered four of your transport craft.

But … Darski was speechless.

Of ten transporters, he now had only six left, and the workload certainly wasn’t going to be any lighter.

You can consider yourself lucky, added Rutta. From what I can see, most squadrons have been cut by sixty to seventy percent of the original count. All equipment and resources are being diverted to Warsaw. The Council’s orders. Understood?

Yes sir!

In that case … The general gestured at the door.

Darski saluted as per the Fleet’s regulations, made for the exit, but suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Is there anything else? Rutta looked at him inquiringly.

Had I arrived fifteen minutes later, you could have spared me your lecture.

True, admitted the general. I could have. But you’d have heard it anyway. For I wanted to get it into your head that your plan would have never been approved. And I wanted you to understand that your superiors aren’t such clones-of-bitches as you take them for. Not all of them, at least.

I—

Leave it, Captain. The next few weeks are going to be quite a ride. Focus on your new tasks and try not to think about Delta. When I spoke of the horrors we’re about to witness, I meant it. With so little equipment and so little time …

I’ll do everything in my power. This declaration should have come out as much more heartfelt, yet Darski had lost his spirit.

I know that you will, Captain. Dismissed! Rutta returned the salute and watched his subordinate walk to the door. One more thing … he said before Darski left.

Yes, General?

Here’s a piece of advice for you. Off the record. The colony on Delta was owned by a megacorporation, which you’ve done a lot of good for. You’ve saved it loads of money, among other things. Use it to your advantage. Seek out the bigwigs from Ulietta and talk to them. Maybe Etoile Blanc will finance their own rescue mission. Knowing how the world works, I wouldn’t expect much of the CEO, but who knows …? You have an ace in the hole, right?

Darski seemed puzzled. An ace?

The ore stacked in the crater, explained Rutta. Etoile Blanc Corporation haven’t seen your reports—

I wouldn’t be so sure, Darski muttered.

After all, someone had warned the colony management of the danger, allowing local CEOs to escape two days before the evacuation plan was announced. Such a tip could come only from a person having access to classified information. Some corrupt admiral, for example.

If you asked me for my opinion, I’d say that the ore is more coveted by our superiors than by its legitimate owners, the general offered. From what I know, your report is the only document suggesting its existence on Delta’s moon. With director Dupree and his associates dead, the truth is known only to the three of us: you, Grand Admiral Farland, and me.

Thank you, sir. Darski saluted once again, this time with more vigor. He might have brightened a little, but Rutta wasn’t sure. The door closed too fast for him to see his subordinate’s face clearly.

TWO

Darski stopped at the crossroads of the central corridor running through the station’s Level 615. Rutta’s words still rang in his head. The new plan of operation must be ready within an hour. Having that in mind, Darski checked the time. He knew the ropes well enough to be sure that the squadron commanders would get their new orders immediately after the briefing was over, which would be in … less than forty-five minutes.

That should be enough.

Knowing that he wouldn’t have to get back aboard FSS Djangonzalo Cervantes until the state of alert began, Darski looked around and zoomed in on a multi-terminal access point. Three of the ten screens were unoccupied … no, only two, because while he was deliberating, a tall, slim woman in white coveralls took the one on the far right.

Darski couldn’t use his personal comlink, he knew that much. Not here, amongst the crowd. So he walked with long, firm steps toward the last two adjacent screens. No one outran him. The captain logged in to the network using the staff access code, which wasn’t exactly in accordance with regulations. He knew he’d pay for it later, but he did it nonetheless because he was running out of