Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I by Jay Allan Read Free Book Online Page B

conversations, and I can see it in the attitudes and behaviors around me…the hope that we will find a way back home, that we might blaze a trail through successive warp gates until we emerge in some previously undiscovered portal in a human-settled system.
    I have no doubt they are right, at least about the fact that a trail home exists other than through the now-blocked X1:X2 warp gate. But seeking such a course is the last thing we can attempt and, indeed, I will do whatever I must to prevent it. Humanity was saved by the barest margin through the discovery of the enemy’s great bomb and its successful detonation in the single known warp gate leading to human space. We cannot know where our enemy is…or whether they can track us, detect our path. But I cannot take the slightest chance of leading them back with us, for that would mean the death of every human being who now lives.
    No, we are lost men and women, fated never to see loved ones, never to walk on familiar shores or gaze upon our homes. We were sacrificed so that mankind could survive, to buy centuries for men to prepare to once again face the First Imperium, and now we must accept that burden…and do nothing to bring doom upon humanity.
    But I fear not all will understand and agree. I have officers and personnel from nine superpowers on this fleet—different languages, cultures, philosophies. I will face resistance, perhaps sooner rather than later. I will try to diffuse any disputes, to maintain control with diplomacy whenever possible. But I will not allow any vessels of this fleet to try to find their way back to Earth…whatever I must to do prevent it. I will see this fleet destroyed, all its crew dead, before I will risk the future of the human race.
    We are lost now…and lost we will always be.
    AS Midway
    System X16
    The Fleet:  226 ships, 47,918 crew
    Terrance Compton was lying on his bunk, his head and shoulders propped up on a pillow. He’d tossed aside his uniform jacket, and it lay crumpled on the floor below the chair he’d been aiming for. He was just grateful to feel the gentle normalcy of one gee of thrust after weeks of being buttoned up in the tanks almost 24/7. The coffin-like structures were designed to allow fleets to engage in high-g maneuvers in battle, not to be used for weeks on end. But with over a thousand First Imperium warships are chasing them, none of that mattered. Compton had squeezed more out of his ships and crews than anyone—including himself—would have believed possible a few months before.
    His ships, however, had been pushed as hard as they were going to be—at least until his people did some serious maintenance. No vessels, not even the toughest warships mankind had ever produced, could withstand weeks of nearly endless operation at maximum thrust. There wasn’t a ship in the fleet that didn’t need some kind of repairs, and a significant number required major work.
    He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the lack of crushing pressure on his body. A man could actually get a good night’s sleep like this. That is, if a man didn’t have more than physical discomfort keeping him up.
    He was halfway through a generously-poured glass of Scotch, a luxury he felt he was due after extricating his fleet from almost certain destruction and finally eluding the relentless pursuit of the enemy. For now , he thought. They’ll find us again. But before they do, we need to do some repairs—and find some supplies.
    He reached over and took the glass in hand, raising it slowly to his lips and taking a sip. He relished the taste of the expensive whisky, savoring it as it slipped down his throat. This won’t last long. And when it’s gone, I’ll never see its like again.
    He had half a dozen bottles of the 18-year old Scotch, the remainder of a case Augustus Garret had given him on his last birthday. He sighed softly. Of course, the Scotch wasn’t the only thing he’d never see again. It