Hive War

  Books by David VanDyke:

  Stellar Conquest Series:

  First Conquest

  Desolator: Conquest

  Tactics of Conquest

  Conquest of Earth

  Conquest and Empire

  Books by B. V. Larson:

  The Undying Mercenaries Series:

  Steel World

  Dust World

  Tech World

  Machine World

  Death World

  Home World

  Rogue World

  Blood World

  Dark World

  HIVE WAR

  (Galactic Liberation Series #4)

  by

  David VanDyke

  and

  B. V. Larson

  Galactic Liberation Series:

  Starship Liberator

  Battleship Indomitable

  Flagship Victory

  Hive War

  Copyright © 2018 by Iron Tower Press, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the authors.

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

  Part I: Warlord

  For the space of eleven months after the reunification of humanity’s two empires into the Earthan Republic, we had peace. I don’t know exactly why the Opters gave us this breathing room. I wouldn’t have in their place.

  But alien minds are alien. Despite all effort the humanopt agent Myrmidon put into explaining the Opter viewpoint, he couldn’t entirely predict what they’d do, why—or when.

  Yet everyone knew the Opters were coming. The threat unified a thousand systems, and it kept the Republic from falling apart. I never thought I’d be happy about an impending invasion, but in this case, I was.

  Better that millions perish resisting alien invasion than billions die in a new civil war.

  I didn’t waste the gift of time. My order for an Opter-beating ship yielded a new class: the cutter. These cutters were not large—bigger than one-man attack ships, smaller than corvettes. They had a crew of four and the best SAI we could design. They mounted only beam weapons for simplicity and maximum anti-drone work. They were fast, maneuverable, cheap—and simple to make, so simple that even the smallest civilian shipyard could take the standardized plans and build them. This upped our production rate by a factor of a hundred. We built thousands of cutters, fast.

  But they were tin cans, miserable deathtraps, and stripped to the bone. No survival pods, no showers, no galleys, no creature comforts. Unlike conventional warships, they had no redundancy. If something failed in the midst of battle, the crew was out of luck until they could get help from a real ship.

  In my book, that made every spacer on them a hero.

  The Ruxins took a different approach to an Opter-killer. With characteristic energy—and, I suspect, a little alien tech from their vault—they commissioned a new class of ships they called skimmers. Though not capital ships, they were larger than Archers, almost the size of a frigate, but with a very different design.

  - A History of Galactic Liberation, by Derek Barnes Straker, 2860 A.D.

  Chapter 1

  Council Chamber, Planet Home, Hive System, Empire of the Species (Opters)

  The Sarmok Queen called Siskir, First-Born of the Species and second only to the Empress Herself, observed the multiple holo-displays with her many-faceted eyes. Scent-sensing antennae absorbed aromatic supplemental information much like a human would read text.

  Her senses revealed a vast assemblage of military power ready to launch from thirty-six separate star systems. The fleets would incorporate an equal number of human—or human-allied—systems into The Species before launching again in another cycle of conquest.

  Finally, The Species would seize its long-awaited destiny. Too long had the cautious, equivocal Miskor held The Species back. Too long had confrontation with weaker, less fit creatures been delayed by policies of subversion.

  Too long had the natural order of things been denied.

  “This initiation of wholesale hostilities remains an error,” said Queen Mutrek of the Miskor, Second-Born, from across the Council Chamber. She rested in her divan at the head of the lesser delegation, left of the Empress, as Siskir rested to Her right, at the head of the greater delegation.

  “Your dissenting opinion is well known and has been overruled,” replied Siskir.

  “I emphasize for the record. When this adventure comes to its inevitable disastrous fruition, the Miskor will share no blame.”

  “And therefore no reward. Room to expand, room to live.”

  “If you Sarmok restricted your breeding properly and hewed closely to the Edicts, you would have no need of expansion. The Edicts tell us how to live in harmony by balancing all things—attack and defense, life and death, give and take.”

  Siskir raised her scent-voice. “From your own glands is the truth revealed. As the Edicts require, there is a time and a purpose for every action. The time to take is now, and the purpose is the glory and benefit of The Species. The cowardly, backward-looking Miskor will be left behind in the march of progress.”

  “I protest this ignoble Sarmok slander.”

  “You—”

  The scent-voice of the Empress cut across the debate. “The First-Born shall apologize to the Second-Born for her unseemly characterization of the noble Miskor.”

  Siskir immediately bowed. “I apologize for my characterization of the noble Miskor.” She raised her head. “Yet the underlying facts are undeniable. For those, no apology is required.”

  Mutrek replied, “The Sarmok may soon have further cause to give apology to those they affront.”

  Siskir reared in dramatic and insincere amazement. “You take the humans’ part? You claim, as we have heard, that their race is the equal of The Species?”

  “Do not put words on my glands. The Species is the superior. However, inferiority does not equate to worthlessness—or to the inability to inflict defeat. Galactic history is replete with examples of sophisticated, erudite races brought low by barbarians. Superiority of intellect, culture and morality is no guarantee of battlefield victory.”

  “We have barbarians of our own,” said Siskir. “They will assist us, a lesser race used against another lesser race. This is also balance.”

  “So you admit you need assistance?”

  “I admit nothing. It is efficient to let others work on our behalf.”

  “To do your dirty work, you mean.”

  “See how she views the noble Sarmok? As someone to do Miskor dirty work.” Siskir was pleased with her own clever rhetoric. “We are well aware the Miskor are effete snobs, profiting from the efforts of us more workaday Sarmok. Miskor are unwilling to sully their mandibles with honest labor while they hide behind Sarmok courage.”

  Mutrek twitched in irritation. “No person here believes your posturing, Siskir. No one even believes you believe it. Your words are dragonfly wings, dazzling but without substance. What matters is, for the first time in a thousand years, The Species is conducting an offensive war. To promote victory, we have invited aliens into our midst, aliens with technology we ourselves have not mastered. This is madness.”

  “It is the madness of the bait-spider, which uses one beetle to kill another. Only by involving the Azoics in battle can we discern their secrets and acquire them for ourselves.”

  “Always you wish to take from others.” Mutrek turned to the Empress. “Mother of Us All, I implore
you once more to overrule the will of the Sarmok and return to the Paths of the Edicts—and of wisdom.”

  As usual, the Empress chose her words carefully. “Did I so, I would be overruling the will of not only the Sarmok, but of the Miskor and the Minor Factions as well, for the Edicts you cite demand that once the Council has decided, the will of the Council becomes the will of all—including the Miskor. This principle ensures unity of The Species. I bow to the will of the Council.”

  “As the Edicts require,” declared Siskir triumphantly, pounding the stinger in. The Empress’s own words confirmed Her weakness and unfitness to rule.

  Perhaps her mistakes would soon cause change.

  The Empress raised her voice to continue, fixing her gaze on the Sarmok side of the Chamber. “As long as new conditions do not arise, that is—and I am the judge of conditions. If the Will of the Species is thwarted, if our attempts to bring our inferiors under our benevolent sway proves too costly—in fact, if this Sarmok-led adventure goes awry—I will call another Convention of the Council of Queens.”

  “As the Edicts require,” Siskir said without emotion.

  The Empress turned toward the Miskor and spoke firmly. “Until such time as a new Convention is called, the Miskor will act properly and support the Will of The Species in all things.”

  “As the Edicts require,” said Mutrek, bowing her head.

  “As the Edicts require,” the entire Council intoned.

  “This Convention is adjourned.” With the Empress’s final words, the Council dissolved.

  Siskir allowed herself to be amused at the pontificating and the insincere citation of the Edicts of Molokor, the ultimate scripture of The Species. Few actually followed the letter, much less the spirit, of that outmoded tome of so-called wisdom—not the glorious and powerful Sarmok, not the self-righteous, human-loving, devious and unscrupulous Miskor, and certainly not the weak-minded Minor Factions.

  Perhaps, when this was all over, and only the Sarmok remained, even the Edicts themselves could be consigned to the ash heap of history.

  Along with the current Empress.

  Chapter 2

  Earthan Republic regional military command center, Atlantis system

  “It’s been eleven months since we united humanity under the banner of the Earthan Republic,” said the Liberator, Derek Straker, as he gazed calmly at the huge displays. “We’ve always expected the Opters to attack since then. Frankly, I’m surprised they’ve waited this long.”

  Straker stood in Fleet’s regional command center, buried deep within an asteroid fortress orbiting above the old Hundred Worlds capital of Atlantis. He and his wife, Admiral Carla Engels—and their new baby daughter Katrine—made their home on the fortress since the capitulation. In that time, both of them had worked overtime to prepare for the Opter invasion.

  Now, it was finally coming.

  Engels pursed her lips and shifted in her command chair. “Recon reports show thirty-six distinct fleets assembling in thirty-six separate Sarmok systems. We can guess at where they’ll strike, and when, but we can’t be certain.”

  “Best assessment, then.”

  Engels signaled the intel tech running the holos. They changed to show a swath of systems on the Opter border, marked in red and yellow. “The red are high-probability targets. The yellow are possibles.”

  Straker turned to face Engels. “We need to ambush them with the new cutters.” He was referring to the new, cheap anti-Opter ships built by the thousands all across the Republic.

  “We can’t win every battle, even if we guess perfectly. We shouldn’t even try.”

  “He who defends everywhere, defends nowhere,” Straker agreed. “As Sun Tzu said.”

  Engels nodded. “We can save some star systems, but not all. The Opters outnumber us at least two to one in combat power. The more we concentrate, the more sure we are of winning—but we have to let some systems fall. Temporarily.”

  Straker smiled without humor. “Ruthless. The politicians will hate it. Civilians will suffer.”

  “That’s how to win when you don’t have the luxury of superior combat power.”

  “I know. So… where?”

  Engels gestured again and seven systems brightened. “These.”

  “Why?”

  “A synthesis of reasons. They’re the most defensible, the most important, the best positioned, the most likely to hold out once the mobile forces leave. I can send you the analysis.”

  Straker held up a hand. “No need. Which one is the single most important system? The one we absolutely must hold?”

  Engels pointed. “Celadon. It’s the regional economic center, with good defenses. It’s a former Mutuality planet, but being near the border, it had more autonomy than usual. As a result, its economy prospered. They even had commerce going with the Opters, indirectly, through Thorian traders.”

  “Hope they found most of the humanopt agents, then.”

  “Benota tells me they’ve identified many of them with the new tests.”

  Straker shook his head. “How do we really know?”

  He stared at the star system projection, thinking hard.

  “Can’t do anything about infiltration now,” Engels said. “So… What are our plans for Celadon?”

  “I’m going there. I want to see the new ships fight. I’ll inspire the troops and personally observe the enemy in battle.”

  Engels straightened. “You mean we’re going there.”

  Straker moved closer and lowered his voice. “You have Katrine to take care of. Besides, risking both of us in the same battle is foolish.”

  “Katrine will be fine with the nanny—and I’m your chief tactician. If anyone should go, I should. You can stay behind and direct grand strategy.”

  “I know you’re eager to get into battle—”

  “—like you are—”

  “—granted, but physically you’re not operating at one hundred percent. Further, you’re better with all the admin of rebuilding the Fleet. You’ve done wonders in the last year.”

  Engels snorted. She clearly wasn’t mollified. “It wasn’t just me. Vic and Trinity, Benota and DeChang and a lot of other people across a thousand worlds helped a great deal. Admiral Niedern has even gotten on board.”

  “That’s another reason you need to stay—to keep an eye on him. I don’t trust that guy. He wants your job.”

  Engels’ lips curled. “That reminds me. I’ll shift some of my duties onto him, to keep him busy.”

  “Smart girl. When will the first Opter fleets hit us?”

  “Best guess again? Five to nine days.”

  Straker pecked her lips. “Now that our roles are settled, assemble me a fleet that will get to Celadon in five days and win. I want Admiral Hoyt as operational commander, and I’ll take Trinity as my personal yacht and intelligence chief if I can. Beyond that, you choose. I’m leaving in twelve hours.”

  He could feel Carla’s eyes burning holes in his back as he left, but put her feelings out of his mind. This was military, not personal, and she was a professional. She’d get over her momentary annoyance.

  Straker stopped by the fortress’s nearby comms center, which handled the voluminous traffic among ships, task forces and fleets. Message drones were constantly coming and going from the edge of flatspace, tiny robot ships whose sole function was to carry all the information of government and the military from star to star through sidespace. Until the new FTL communications could be extended to stellar ranges—a tall order, at least years away—this was how business got done.

  “Message to Trinity, flash priority,” he said to the senior tech. “Rendezvous with Straker and fleet at Celadon not later than 110 hours from now. Expect Opter attack. Timestamp and send.”

  “Got it, sir.”

  Flash priority would put the same message on all drones, couriers and ships, ensuring the highest chance of the word getting through. It reminded Straker of the old seafaring days before radio, where packet ships of the B
ritish Empire would carry orders and reports all over Old Earth in a vast sail-powered network.

  “Local message now,” Straker continued.

  “Ready, sir.”

  “The following personnel report to my office ASAP: Zaxby, Paloco, Heiser, Redwolf. Confirm receipt on those. Next, the following to comlink me if they’re in-system. If not, disregard: Admiral Hoyt, Commodore Zholin, Commodore Dexon. Separate general order: all Breakers in-system to contact their chain of command and assemble aboard this fortress. Report results. I’ll be on comlink.”

  The tech furiously took notes. “Aye aye, sir.”

  By the time Straker reached his flag office, Master Sergeant Redwolf was waiting for him. Though he’d taken brainchips and had completed mechsuiter training, he still insisted on acting as Straker’s combination valet, bodyguard and head of personal security. Straker didn’t see any point in dissuading him.

  Heiser and Loco showed up right behind Redwolf. Straker briefed them on what he knew. “We leave in eleven hours for Celadon.”

  “Why?” asked Loco.

  Straker stopped short. “Why what?”

  “Why take the Breakers at all? This will be a space battle. We already have a captured Queen, and the brainiacs have examined the Nest Ship and all the Opter tech aboard, so there’s no need to capture another one. Celadon system has over a billion inhabitants. A few hundred elite ground troops won’t matter to the defense.”

  “I was intending to take the Richthofen and the First Mechsuit Regiment too.”

  Loco rolled his eyes. “The only mechsuit regiment, you mean, until Second Regiment is operational. I’m still asking why.”

  “Because they’re not garrison troops. They’re shock troops. They haven’t been in battle since the unification. They have the new Jackhammers and the factory-built Sledgehammers. They need to fight with them for real, outside of VR.”

  “You could’ve had them fight at Wittmire-4.”