Chapter 1: Promises and Threats

30 Years Later - In Valbaran Orbit

The admiral’s dress shoes echoed off the deck as he made his way through the jump carrier’s cavernous hangar bay. It was bustling with activity, Marines clad in their black pressure armor pausing to salute him as he passed, engineers wearing yellow coveralls servicing the rows of Beewolf fighters that were lined up in their berths. The sleek craft were being fueled and loaded for the campaign to come, the jet-black, angular contours of their stealth hulls seeming to absorb the light that touched them. They had swept wings and a pair of tall tail fins, their pointed noses hinting at their atmospheric flight capabilities. They were just as agile in space, their hulls peppered with small maneuvering thrusters.

His shuttle was idling closer to the sixty-meter barrier of wavering energy that kept in the bay’s atmosphere. It was otherwise open to space, the stars visible beyond the field’s faint, blue glow. He adjusted his white gloves, then straightened his cap as he approached the troop ramp beneath the craft’s H-shaped tail, making his way inside. The dividing door that separated the cockpit from the troop compartment was open, the pilot turning in his chair to salute him, his face obscured beneath the opaque visor of his flight helmet.

“Welcome, Admiral,” he said. “Anabar flight control has greenlit an approach for us. Are you ready to head down to the surface?”

“Let’s not waste any time,” the admiral replied, easing himself down into one of the padded bucket seats that lined the troop compartment. He fastened his harness, taking a moment to glance at his surroundings. The interior of the craft was all exposed bulkheads, the deck beneath his feet made up of metal grates, the cargo racks above his head mostly empty.

The ramp began to close, the sounds of machinery and power tools fading as it sealed with a hermetic hiss. The deck beneath his feet started to vibrate as the main engines powered up, their hum filling his ears. Through one of the small portholes adjacent to him, he watched the hangar beyond slide away, a fleeting moment of weightlessness making his stomach lurch as they transitioned from the carrier’s AG field to the shuttle’s onboard gravity. As the shuttle turned towards its new heading, he was given an admirable view of the Rorke, its ocean-grey hull seeming to extend from horizon to horizon.

Jump carriers were the backbone of the UNN fleet, transporting thousands of troops and hundreds of aircraft across the stars. At four hundred meters long and with a mass in excess of a hundred thousand tons, they were the largest ships that the Navy could field. The craft was bristling with arrays of railguns and rows of launch tubes, its defensive CIWS guns swiveling independently, tracking nearby objects that might pose a threat. The hull was vaguely bullet-shaped, tapering into a rounded nose, the massive engine cones at the rear of the ship not visible from this angle. What the admiral could see as the shuttle slowly fell away was the secondary bridge situated beneath the behemoth, used to direct orbital bombardments using the veritable forest of railguns that were mounted on its belly.

A few of its escort frigates were nearby, coasting along beside it in formation. Their arrowhead-shaped hulls were designed for the lowest possible radar cross-section, all harsh, geometric angles painted as black as the vacuum around them. Their weapons were stowed right now, and the only light they emitted came from their bridge windows, mounted high towards the rear of the vessels.

The curvature of the planet rose up beneath them, its bright, azure glow soon occupying the admiral’s entire field of view. Valbara wasn’t too unlike Earth if one ignored the patches of purple vegetation that mingled with the usual green. They were heading to the equator, where it would be hot and humid. Many of the planet’s cities were situated close to the shallow, warm seas, where the climate was tropical. He’d probably be sweating up a storm before long. If only they’d let him wear shorts as part of his uniform...

Turbulence made the admiral grip the handhold above his head as the craft started to enter the atmosphere, the straps on his harness digging into his chest, the orange glow of flames bleeding in through the portholes as they licked at the hull outside. Gradually, the shuttle began to shed its velocity, and the admiral was able to catch brief glimpses of the ground as it banked.

The Valbarans treated their planet like one giant game preserve, staying within the high walls of their cities while letting nature run its course beyond them. Rolling grassland and patches of forest stretched as far as the eye could see, completely undeveloped, the strange patches of blue and purple foliage standing out to him in the sea of green. Snaking rivers and lakes reflected the sunlight, the snow-capped peaks of a mountain range rising up in the distance.

Finally, their destination came into view, the unmistakable glint of pearl-white architecture rising up from the grassy plains. Valbaran cities were arranged in concentric circles, bands of parkland breaking up the more populated areas, which made them look like a giant bullseye from the sky. They were certainly more aesthetically appealing than Earth’s sprawling urban centers, and more ecologically sound, but something about the way that they were so meticulously planned out put a bad taste in the admiral’s mouth. They were a little too utopian for his sensibilities. Surely there had to be some filth and disorder under that shining veneer?

Strange, alien buildings raced past below as the shuttle soared over the city, heading for the needle-like spires that rose up at its center. Jutting out from the facade of a building that would make any pompous architecture student cream their pants was a landing platform, the shuttle slowing to a hover. It bounced as it came to a stop, the landing gear absorbing the shock, the hum of the engines winding down. The admiral let out a sigh of relief as he fumbled with the clasp on his harness, the troop bay beginning to open again, sunlight flooding through the widening gap. Hot, humid air rushed into the bay, and he grumbled under his breath as he rose from his seat, straightening out the creases in his uniform.

“I’ll be waiting here, sir,” the pilot said as the admiral descended the ramp.

The high winds buffeted him, and he reached up to grip his cap for fear that it would be blown off. There were no guardrails up here, as the damnable aliens had no fear of heights. In Valbara’s 0.9Gs, falling from this kind of height would turn even the hollow-boned creatures into pancakes, but that didn’t seem to bother them. Trying not to look too flustered, he made his way towards the building, ducking in through an entrance that was slightly too low for his six-foot stature.

One of the aliens was waiting for him in the corridor inside, the little creature dressed in a pair of what looked like tight-fitting bike shorts and a billowy, colorful tunic that exposed its shoulders. The Valbarans were somewhere between birds and reptiles, resembling bipedal lizards with a dull snout and a long, thick tail. This one was only four feet tall and maybe fifty pounds, its spinach-green scales shining under the ceiling lights like a waxed car, its violet eyes adorned with some kind of decorative paint in the style of makeup. From the back of its head, a pair of fleshy tendrils hung like braids, and there were two more coiled around its forearms. As the admiral approached, they stood erect, opening up to reveal vibrant feathers. The headdress that framed the creature’s skull was large enough to be unwieldy, the colorful plumes tipped with eyespots like a peacock, the feathers on its forearms fanning out in a red hue. This was how the aliens displayed emotion, among other social cues, and he recognized the crimson color as a show of respect in this context. This one was male, if he remembered correctly, as they had more impressive plumage than their female counterparts. It was difficult to tell them apart otherwise.

“Welcome to Anabar, Admiral,” the alien said with a bow. His English was perfect, his voice accompanied by an odd flanging effect that made him sound like a songbird. The Valbarans learned languages through mimicry, and it showed in their accents, which never remained consistent during their conversations. “The Ensi is ready to meet with you, if you will please follow me to her office.”

The alien set off down the hallway with an odd, bobbing gait reminiscent of a pigeon, the admiral trailing behind him. He noted that the carpet was a blend of green and purple hues, much like the grasslands outside, an abundance of potted plants decorating the otherwise spartan interior. After turning a few winding corners, they arrived at a large double door, the Valbaran standing aside as he gestured for the admiral to go on.

The doors slid open automatically, and he stepped into an expansive room that resembled an executive’s office. One wall was taken up by a huge window pane that ran from the floor to the ceiling, the orderly bands of the city visible beyond, extending to the base of the two-hundred-meter wall in the distance. The floor beneath his feet was imitation wood that had been polished to a shine, and the light fixtures that were recessed into the ceiling created a soft, natural glow. The furnishings were all very upscale, yet somehow devoid of personality, like the placeholders one might find on a show floor. There were no personal touches that he could see, no belongings, no framed pictures or accolades. Whether that was just the Valbaran style, he couldn’t be certain. Occupying the center of the room was a large table that was cut from a single piece of metal, a holographic computer display projecting from a small terminal that sat upon it. It was long enough that half a dozen people could have sat behind it in a row, but there was only one occupant.

The Ensi rose from her seat as she saw him enter, gesturing to a human-sized chair that had been placed opposite hers in preparation for his arrival. She was wearing a similar tunic to her male counterpart, its colors more muted, its style a little less revealing. As he approached, he noted her unusual features. Her body was covered in the same spinach-green scales as her attendant, albeit a little less lustrous, but he was taken aback by her disfigurement. A brutal scar ran down the right side of her face, trailing all the way along her snout and up over her skull, the pink hue of the damaged tissue contrasting with her scales. Her right eye was gone, too, completely healed over such that not even the empty socket was visible. It was a catastrophic injury, but an old one, the admiral immediately recognizing it as a plasma burn. He had seen plenty of those in his time.

“Admiral Vos,” she began, waiting politely for him to sit down before returning to her seat. “You’re right on time. It’s nice to meet an Earth’nay who values punctuality. I trust that your flight down from orbit wasn’t too bumpy?”

“No more than usual, thank you,” he replied as he shifted his weight in the padded chair. The room was so huge and so empty, which only served to make his counterpart look even more diminutive. “You’ll have to forgive me, Ensi. Valbaran names are rather difficult to remember.”

“No apology is necessary,” she said, tilting her head in a way that seemed more mocking than sympathetic. “I’m aware that Earth’nay possess a ... more limited memory than my kind. It’s

Xipa’tla’nemi, or just Xipa, if that’s easier for you.”

“I think that Ensi will suffice,” he continued, Xipa nodding.

“The last time the sky above my planet was clouded with so many alien ships, the circumstances were rather different,” she said. “Tell me, Admiral, have you finished assembling your forces?”

“The last of the carrier strike groups arrived today,” he replied, reaching into his pocket. He slid a small electronic device onto the table, which flared to life with a hand gesture. It projected a glowing, holographic image into the air, which began to cycle through depictions of different ship classes. “This is the largest UNN fleet ever assembled in one place, and every ship that I could guilt or blackmail my colleagues into relinquishing is now on station.”

The Ensi followed the scrolling images with her one eye, watching curiously.

“How many ships?”

“We have 42 CSGs, each of which consists of one jump carrier and at least eight support craft. Each of those carriers can field up to 90 aircraft, as well as 10,000 Marines and auxiliaries. We also have 64 assault carriers with a full armored battalion and another 3,000 Marines apiece. In all, we expect to be able to field 612,000 troops, 3,780 aircraft, and 9,600 tanks. Along with the 336 frigates and support craft, naturally.”

“Naturally,” she muttered, clearly impressed by the scale of the operation.

“We’ll have three battleships, too,” he added. “They’re there to make sure the hive gets wiped out, one way or another. There will also be several coursers outfitted for special operations that will be standing by to deploy their teams as necessary.”

“I’m told that you will be leading the UNN fleet,” the Ensi continued, leaning back in her chair as she appraised him.

“That’s correct,” he replied. “The Rorke will be serving as the command carrier, and I’ll be directing the UNN forces from there.”

“The Rorke,” she muttered, considering for a moment. “The same vessel that spearheaded the defense of Valbara, if I’m not mistaken.”

“The very same,” he replied proudly.

“We all owe the Earth’nay a great debt,” she said, Vos watching as she rose from her chair. She put her back to him, making her way over to the window, where she gazed down at the city far below with her gloved hands clasped neatly behind her back. “I lived through the fall of Kerguela. I know what it’s like to watch a planet die at the hands of a hive fleet.”

“My condolences,” he replied. It wasn’t news to him – he had received memos and briefings concerning the Ensi before even arriving in the system – but he had been advised to be tactful in his dealings with her.

“I was only nineteen when my colony was invaded,” she continued, Vos watching her reflection in the window. “When I made it back to Valbara along with the other refugees, I expected the hive to follow, but they never did. Can you imagine what it’s like to know that the executioner’s blade is hovering over your neck, but to have no idea of when it will fall? I treated every rotation as a gift, more time to prepare, more time to fortify. We rearmed, we developed new weapons systems, new ships. I personally pushed for the creation of the orbital defense station network, even as the younger Ensis squabbled over budgets and resource allocation. Thirty rotations of preparation,” she muttered, trailing off. “Yet, when they finally arrived, it was like being back on Kerguela all over again. It was only thanks to a roving alien fleet that happened to be in the right place at the right time that my people are not extinct,” she added with a hint of bitterness.

“That’s why the Coalition exists,” Vos said. “You don’t have to thank us. It’s our job.”

“Do not misunderstand,” she continued, turning her head to glance back at him. “I appreciate all that the Coalition has done for my people, but have you ever considered what it’s like to owe the very existence of your species to strangers who happened to drop by at exactly the right moment? It’s harrowing. The Valbarans are done playing a defensive game, we are done leaving our fate to the whims of aliens,” she added with a flash of red feathers. Vos noted that the ones on the right side of her head were damaged, tattered and burned away in places. “With the new technologies that we have acquired and the new fleet that we have built, we will play an equal part in the coming campaign. I spent most of my life building a shield around Valbara, but now, we have a sword.”

“I was told that you intend to lead the Valbaran fleet yourself,” Vos replied. “Forgive me, but don’t Valbarans usually work in flocks? Your people seem to place a great deal of value in the concept of consensus, of subjecting every decision to a democratic process.”

“I did not become the Ensi of Anabar by relying on others,” she replied tersely. “My flock perished on the colony, and I have learned to get by on my own ever since. I believe it has given me a ... unique outlook when compared to my peers.”

“I don’t doubt your competence, Ensi,” the admiral added. “I merely-”

“Curiosity is not something to be admonished,” she interrupted. “I will be commanding the fleet from the battle carrier Vengeance.”

“Vengeance,” Vos repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “I suppose it’s fitting, if a little on the nose.”

“Have you been briefed on the capabilities of our new ships?” she asked, returning to stand beside the table.

“Not extensively,” he replied, watching as she leaned over to tap a touch panel on her computer terminal.

“Since we lack orbital shipyards, our construction methods differ from yours,” she began. “We employ a modular design, manufacturing said modules on the ground, then launching them into orbit with heavy lifters where they’re then assembled. This process actually allows us a great deal of flexibility. Granted, our vessels are smaller and less technologically advanced than yours, but we’ve taken advantage of that to mass-produce them. I think you will be impressed by our progress.”

The holographic display showed a series of cylindrical segments, each one slightly different from the last. One of them was clearly a bridge module with a row of windows and a comms array. Others sported large engine cones, bulbous generators, and large habitats that rotated around a central hub. He recognized equipment of UNN design that was mounted on the weapon modules, attached to extensible platforms that would rise up from the rounded hulls of the segments when deployed. Vos could see at a glance that the vessels weren’t designed for stealth, so this was presumably to protect them when not in use and to give them better firing arcs in combat. There were railgun turrets of the same kind used on gunboats, missile launchers that looked like they had been ripped straight off a Doloto-class frigate, and defensive CIWS guns. There were even torpedo launchers that were configured as external turrets, likely due to a lack of internal space for mounting conventional launch tubes.

“As you can see, we have incorporated UNN weapons systems into our designs,” the Ensi continued as she blew up one of the models to demonstrate the opening and closing of the missile hatches. “We have some weapons of our own making, too, of course. Our laser point defense weapons are still favored in many scenarios, and we’ve developed a new prow-mounted particle beam weapon.”

She hit a few more commands, demonstrating how the different segments could be linked together.

“We can fit up to nine modules in a stack,” she explained. “The bridge, fusion plant, and engine modules are all necessary to the vessel’s function, but the remaining six can be any combination of parts. Smaller vessels are faster and more maneuverable, obviously, so we have separated our fleet into various classes based on their size and configuration. We made them UNN-adjacent for convenience during joint operations.”

“Naturally,” Vos replied. For all her talk of self-sufficiency, it sounded like her vaunted fleet relied heavily on human technology and was modeled closely on UNN naval doctrine. “You mentioned carriers? How many troops will you be contributing?”

“Each of these cylinders can house up to 2,000 troops,” she continued, showing him an expanded view of the module. “We’ve separated our carriers into two distinct classes. There’s the fleet carrier, which acts as a mothership for our fighter squadrons, and the troop carrier that prioritizes carrying capacity and has docking modules for dropships. Our troop carriers can house 6,000 personnel, and each of our dropships can deliver 24 Commandos and four light vehicles to the surface of a planet. We’ve been able to mass-produce 18 troop carriers, which means that we expect to deploy 108,000 Commandos and 1,296 light vehicles.”

She showed him a view of one of the carriers, its hull painted in ocean camouflage. It had nine segments, with three hangar modules for the fleet of dropships, and three gigantic cylinders for the crew. They didn’t actually look like they rotated, as the Valbarans had certainly installed AG fields provided by the UNN on their new ships, but it was a good way to maximize the available surface area. Behind those were the ball-shaped fusion generator and the engine stack. There were small CIWS turrets fitted to hardpoints wherever there was space, along with a pair of offensive railguns and some missile hatches mounted on the bridge section. Although longer than a jump carrier at close to 500 meters, it was far less massive, and it didn’t have a fraction of the armor and weaponry that UNN carriers could field. It would probably be heavily dependent on its support fleet for protection, but that was in line with the flock mentality of its designers.

“That’s more than we were anticipating,” Vos said with an approving nod. “What are these light vehicles you mentioned?”

“Tankettes and scout craft,” she replied, pulling up a picture of one. It was a tracked vehicle that resembled a compact tank, but it was hard to tell exactly how large it was without a person beside it for reference. If the railgun mounted atop the hull was a standard thirty-mill, then it couldn’t have been more than about ten meters long. It didn’t hold a candle to a UNN Kodiak, but it was better than nothing.

“What about fighter craft?” he asked.

“We have eleven new fleet carriers that can field 48 aircraft, for a total of 528. These include next-generation fighters and close air support craft.”

“And, the rest of your fleet?”

“We have 116 smaller craft of varying configurations. Our frigates have five modules, and they’re outfitted for varying roles such as point defense, carrier support, and frontline combat. We have a few larger seven-module craft that we’ve classified as cruisers, too.”

“You’ve been busy since you joined the Coalition,” Vos mused, examining the ship configurations that were scrolling past.

“We had an influx of new technology, along with a battle-tested model to base our fleet composition on,” she replied.

“They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Very amusing,” she grumbled, switching off the holographic display. “As you can see, Admiral, we are ready for the coming campaign.”

“It must feel good, going back there,” he said. “Taking the fight to the Bugs.”

“Indeed,” she replied, a small flicker of red coming from her feather sheaths. “We will wipe Kerguela clean of insects once and for all. We have the means and the drive to get it done. Times have changed.”

“And the Coalition has your back,” Vos added, choosing not to mention that the UNN would be doing most of the legwork. Still, he was genuinely impressed by what the Valbarans had been able to achieve in such a short amount of time. How they performed in combat remained to be seen, but they would be pulling their own weight.

“What’s your plan?” she asked, making her way over to the window again. “It’s estimated that there are upwards of fifteen million Betelgeusians on Kerguela, based on what we know about the fertility of their Queens. They’ve had thirty rotations to entrench their position, to adapt to their environment. Together, we have almost a million troops, but we’re still outnumbered fifteen to one.”

“Mobility is our greatest weapon,” Vos replied, glad to finally be talking tactics. “Trying to occupy territory on the ground would be pointless – there are just too many Bugs. Save for some temporary forward operating bases, there won’t be much of a reason to remain on the surface. We’ll be landing troops from orbit, accomplishing our strategic objectives with speed and precision, then extracting before the enemy has time to react. With our aircraft, we can pick up entire tank battalions and Marine divisions, leapfrogging them around the planet with the ease of moving pieces around on a chessboard.”

“That requires us to exert complete control over the gravity well first,” the Ensi added.

“It’s going to be messy, yes, but we’ll have to completely clear out the Bugs before we can get boots on the ground. With overwhelming force, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Our Black-Ops coursers have been gathering data that shows an extensive network of orbital fortifications,” he continued as he switched his device back on with a gesture. It showed a blurry picture of a moon in the shadow of a gas giant, the details of its surface too low-resolution to make out. The Ensi turned again to examine it.

“Kerguela,” she muttered, her feathers fluttering again as though she was struggling to suppress an emotional reaction. “I haven’t seen an up-to-date image of it in thirty rotations...”

“We couldn’t get too close for fear of blowing our cover, but we’ve picked up the signatures of artificial structures in orbit,” Vos continued. “This was something we anticipated, as Betelgeusians often deploy orbital defense platforms when they claim a planet, but this is thirty years of buildup. Needless to say, we don’t know what any of these objects are. What we can see are tethers around the equator, which are linked to large structures that are outputting a lot of heat.”

“How do you intend to breach those defenses?”

“The fleet will jump in at extreme range, launch a salvo of torpedoes, then time the next jump to coincide with their impact. The Bugs won’t have much warning, and they’ll have no time to react. They’ll get hit with enough ordnance to level a continent, then we’ll drop right on top of their heads and mop up whatever’s left. Most of their defenses are around the equator, so we’ll need to hit them all at once in a 360-degree assault. Once we have control, we’ll be able to open up a supply line to Valbara, which is only a jump away.”

“Ambitious,” she mumbled. “Has anything like this been done before?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he replied with a smirk. “Once the gravity well is a graveyard, we’ll have free reign to land troops and vehicles wherever we please, and there’s nothing the roaches can do about it. We’ve never encountered a hive this established before, so we’re not really sure what they’ll be doing on the surface, and we can’t get close enough to take a look. Whatever it is, we’ll disrupt it. If they have any infrastructure, we’ll bomb it to kingdom come, and we’ll root out any strongholds they’ve established. The goal isn’t to wipe out their entire population, of course,” he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Not if we want the moon to be habitable by the time we’re done with it.”

“The Queen,” the Ensi said, Vos nodding.

“The greatest weakness of the Bugs is their rigid, inflexible command structure. We estimate that a Queen with a hive this large will have problems coordinating her forces in real-time. They’ve never been observed to use anything other than pheromone-based communications, and the Drones aren’t very reactive without a direct line to their Queen. If we cut off their lines of communication, isolating the populations from one another, they’ll be left in disarray. The main goal will be to locate the Queen’s chamber and kill her. With the Queen dead, the hive is doomed. Experience tells us the best way to go about that is through the ground-penetrating radar mounted on our Timberwolf scout vehicles and surveillance craft. We deploy teams to search for the important nexuses in their tunnel networks, which could be quite extensive, and we collapse them. We keep that up, following them to their source until we strike gold and find the main chamber.”

“The insects dig deep,” the Ensi mused, scrutinizing him with her one eye. “How will you destroy the chamber without doing irreparable damage to the biosphere?”

“We can’t use railguns or conventional explosives,” he confirmed. “Anything that can reach that deep would cause catastrophic damage to the moon. We have teams who can go inside and get the job done.”

“You say that so casually,” she scoffed, cocking her head at him. “What kind of person would willingly walk into the heart of a Betelgeusian nest?”

“Technically, they’re classed as combat engineers,” Vos replied as he leaned back in his chair. “But, they like to call themselves Trogs.”

“How colorful,” she grumbled. “What of the millions of insects that will remain?’

“They’ll be leaderless, unable to mount any kind of organized resistance. We can hunt them down at our leisure.”

“You seem confident, considering how little we know about the Kerguelan hive. What if they have evolved and adapted in unexpected ways?”

“Nobody can plan for the unknown,” Vos replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Besides, there’s an old human adage that applies here. No plan survives contact with the enemy.”

“The Valbara’nay do not share that sentiment,” the Ensi said.

Vos considered a cutting remark about their performance so far, but thought better of it.