Outworld Invaders: Agents of ISIS, Book 9

Agents Of ISIS: Book 9

OUTWORLD INVADERS

Stephen Goldin

Published by Parsina Press at Smashwords

Outworld Invaders. Copyright 2010 by Stephen Goldin. All Rights Reserved.

Cover photo courtesy of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

dedicated to

Poul Anderson

J.T. McIntosh

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Omicron

Chapter 2: Proposals

Chapter 3: Summit Conferences

Chapter 4: Unwilling Allies

Chapter 5: Stranded

Chapter 6: Captured

Chapter 7: The Omicron Liberation Army

Chapter 8: Slave Camp

Chapter 9: Freedom Raid

Chapter 10: Jackpot

Chapter 11: Escape from Omicron

Chapter 12: Plans and Alliances

Chapter 13: Visit to a Very Small Planet

Chapter 14: The Artificial Crisis

Chapter 15: The Gastaadi War

Chapter 16: "The Conspiracy Is the Empire"

A Reader’s Guide to the Empire

Ranks

Runglish Words and Phrases

The Use of Yiddish in This Series

About Stephen Goldin

Other Books by Stephen Goldin

Connect with Stephen Goldin

Chapter 1: Omicron

With nearly eleven hundred planets in Earth’s Empire, each world either had to strive to attain its own distinct character or end up as an anonymous statistic in galactic society. Some worlds, by their physical nature, had it easier than others; they could claim to be hotter or colder, wetter or drier, bigger or smaller than other planets. They could have unusual configurations of moons, heavier or lighter gravity, variable or multiple suns, or even be surrounded by ring systems of moonlets. They could become noted for some strange native plant or animal, or for some natural resource or bizarre topographical feature. Such worlds had their reputations already established; you merely had to mention their names and even schoolchildren could tell you something about them. Names like New Zion, Gulag or Floreata conjured instant images in people’s minds.

Other worlds were noted more for their cultures than for their physical attributes. Many separate cultures were established so their inhabitants could be free to pursue the lifestyles they preferred. Some planets were settled by religious fanatics; Purgatory became known for hard-line Judæo-Christian fundamentalist beliefs, Anares was settled by oriental mystics, and Dharma—well, no one from outside the planet ever had a clear idea what the Dharmites believed in, but they were quiet about their faith and seldom bothered others, so they were tolerated in the cosmopolitan imperial society.

Still other worlds established their character only after settlement. The inhabited moon Vesa became an empire-wide tourist attraction because of its exotic gambling parlors; Glasseye became the symbol of transience and impermanence because of its inhabitants’ fascination with newness. Becoming different was a way of establishing a reputation.

The planet Omicron was undistinguished as far as physical appearance and climate were concerned. It came close to being a twin of Earth, circling a yellow star and having but one large moon. The polar caps were suitably cold, the equatorial zone was suitably hot; there were deserts and rain forests, mountains and plains, oceans and continents. The native lifeforms were distinctive—as were the lifeforms on every planet—but none were so unusual they’d instantly bring the name Omicron to mind. The people who’d settled Omicron were decent, hardworking folk from a variety of social and religious backgrounds—hardly the fanatical types needed to create a public relations image. By the reign of Tsaritsa Natalia the planetary population was approaching a hundred million—a drop in the bucket compared to Earth and other population centers, but still bigger than many other worlds.

Omicron’s sole claim to fame was distance. At nine hundred and sixty-nine parsecs from Earth, it was easily the most distant planet ever settled. Located at the outer rim of Sagittarius sector, it represented humanity’s deepest penetration into the heart of the Milky Way galaxy. Omicron stood at the Empire’s edge, far removed from the bustle and furor of imperial civilization. The name Omicron conjured visions of incalculable distance, as the phrase the ends of the Earth had done in earlier times.

Because it was so far away from the center of activity, Omicron was often a little behind the times. Imperial fashions tended to reach it later, and gossip was usually wildly distorted by the time it reached the outpost of civilization. The people of Omicron didn’t mind; they were largely self-sufficient, and viewed their separation from the mainstream of interstellar society as a form of independence. One local wag had called Omicron the wart on the end of the Empire’s nose, and the citizens had adopted that epithet with a perverse enjoyment.

In November of IY 471, Tsaritsa Natalia was well past the second anniversary of her investiture and peace had returned to the Empire once more. The horror of the Investiture Day Incursion, that ruthless attack upon Earth, was but an unpleasant memory in the minds of most people. The common man still couldn’t understand the precise circumstances that brought the raid about, nor did he know who the tsaritsa’s enemies were. The palace had issued reassuring pronouncements, though, and the subsequent years of tranquility had calmed the populace.

Only the upper echelons of imperial government remained concerned, because they alone knew the threat was far from over. The vast hidden conspiracy had made one direct assault against the Imperial Special Information Service six months after the investiture; when that failed, it was followed by an ominous silence that made everyone more than a little nervous. A silent enemy is the worst of all.

None of these matters really bothered the citizens of Omicron. They were so far away from the center of any action that it was hard for them to care. The uncontroversial reign of Tsaritsa Natalia had numbed them to political reality. What did it matter who was on the throne, they thought; Earth was so far away that the administration had little impact on their daily lives.

Then one terrifying day, death rained out of the skies. Nonnuclear bombs began falling on the major cities and settlements of Omicron simultaneously all over the planet. There was never any accurate count of the people killed and wounded in those first few minutes, but the number easily ran into the millions. People died as buildings collapsed around them; others died from flying debris or the concussions of explosions. The ISIS office in Omicron City, the planet’s capital, was smashed to rubble. Between one moment and the next, devastation and disaster settled upon peaceful Omicron.

Because Omicron was the planet farthest from the imperial center, the Navy had a base located there. Several battleships and cruisers were stationed at the Omicron base and it had always been considered a quiet assignment. Aside from occasional maneuvers and war games, nothing ever happened. Even pirates and smugglers left Omicron alone; perhaps they felt it wouldn’t be worth their while to travel so far for the small potential rewards.

The Navy must have been as surprised as everyone else by the suddenness of the attack. There must have been someone manning the sensor screens when the invading ships appeared out of topspace. An alarm of some sort must have been given. The Navy crews must have scrambled frantically into their ships even as a challenge was broadcast to the unknown force overhead, either to identify themselves or to leave the vicinity of the planet immediately.

As well trained as the Imperial Navy was, it would be difficult to believe they wouldn’t have responded instantly to the threat. But standard procedures in this case were not sufficient. No one knows precisely how the base reacted, because within minutes after the invading fleet appeared in Omicron’s skies the base was pounded into oblivion with beams and bombs. After the invaders landed and took control of the planet, they finished off the job they’d begun at long distance. There wasn’t a fragment of evidence left to give posterity a clue about the actions of those valiant men and women. In addition to the loss of personnel, twenty-six ships of various sizes were destroyed on the ground, without even a chance to fight back against the unknown enemy.

As luck would have it, there were eight naval ships in orbit around Omicron, undergoing training maneuvers. They must have witnessed the destruction because, under the command of their senior officer, Captain Osho, they rallied together in a brave attempt to strike back at the invading force.

They were terribly outnumbered; the enemy strength was well over a hundred ships. But numbers meant little when weighed against the courage and loyalty of the Imperial Navy. The eight ships and their crews put up a valiant fight to protect the planet from tragedy.

Unable to make a frontal assault, the eight naval ships had to settle for harassment tactics. As the enemy fleet surrounded Omicron and pounded it with bombs and radiation, the remaining defenders swooped in from behind and made pesky little raids at their rear. It’s impossible to tell whether their actions saved any lives on the ground, but it did divert some of the enemy’s attention to protecting its flanks instead of putting all its energy into offense against the helpless planet below.

Once the initial bombardment had finished, the attacking fleet began to descend into the atmosphere, seeking to consolidate its gains. Again the Navy ships made daring maneuvers, almost suicidal in their willingness to weave in and out among the enemy vessels, firing shots broadside whenever a target presented itself. The invaders suffered two ships destroyed and four others disabled before they decided to put a stop to this harassment once and for all.

A detachment broke loose from the invading formation to chase down the annoying imperial craft. The Navy ships, even knowing they were outgunned, didn’t flee the battle. Instead, they made their pursuers chase them through the descending ranks of enemy craft. Two enemy ships crashed spectacularly as one of them chased an imperial ship a little too closely. The fiery explosion brought cheers to the defenders’ lips.

But their joy was short-lived. As brave and determined as they were, they were still grossly outnumbered. They couldn’t match the enemy ships in speed or firepower. One by one, the gallant defenders of Omicron were blown out of the sky until only two ships remained.

At this point, knowing there was nothing further they could do here, Captain Osho made the decision to retreat. The ships had been trying, ever since the invaders’ appearance, to contact some of the other naval bases, but the enemy was jamming the topcomm channels. Presumably no other communications had gone out from the surface of the planet, either. The Empire had to be warned that this attack was taking place so it could mount a counteroffensive of its own.

The two remaining naval vessels broke off their contact with the enemy and, heading in two separate directions, made a dash for freedom. They were hoping at least one of them could escape to spread the alarm.

Such were the overwhelming numbers of the invading force, however, that it was able to dispatch eight of its own ships to deal with each of the escaping vessels. They tracked relentlessly after their quarries, encircling them before they could get far enough from Omicron’s gravitational field to lift into topspace safely.

The enemy ships englobed the two naval vessels, pouring beams of incalculable energy at the trapped craft. In both cases, the result was tragically the same: The Navy ships’ shields held out against the bombardment for a few moments before finally overloading and popping out. Without that protection, the naval vessels easily succumbed, flaring in brilliant, silent explosions that scattered debris through the cold darkness of space. There was no one to take the official message back to the Empire that Omicron had been lost to a mysterious invading force.

With the last organized resistance finally defeated, the invaders must have thought they’d have a free hand—but they reckoned without knowing the spirit of the Omicronians. People living on the frontier of civilization develop a tough, stubborn nature—and the citizens of Omicron, confused and frightened as they were, were not about to surrender their world without a struggle. The Navy and its big guns were gone, but the Omicronians still clung to their little pockets of resistance.

The big cities were a shambles, but the smaller towns and villages were almost untouched by the firestorm the attackers had unleashed. Militsia around the world dragged out their heaviest weaponry and riot-control equipment in an attempt to shore up a last line of resistance. Radio communication seemed a little more reliable than topcomm, and the forces scattered over the face of the planet managed to patch together some preliminary coordination of their efforts.

The invading forces seemed reluctant to land, at first. Out of the holds of the bigger battleships came scores of small fliers to flit through Omicron’s skies, looking for opposition. These fliers were not heavily armed, but they didn’t have to be—they faced only small, ill-prepared and hastily assembled militsia.

Occasionally one of the pockets of defenders would manage to down an attacking flier, but that only doubled the enemy’s will to wipe out resistance. More often, a few quick return shots from the flier would destroy any weapons the ground unit had, killing a few of the citizens and sending the rest fleeing for cover.

Within twelve hours of its start, the battle for Omicron was over. The major cities were largely piles of rubble; the few survivors in any condition to move walked about in a daze from the harsh bombardment. With the cities had gone the major spaceports and any merchant or civilian vessels that had been docked there. The smaller towns, except where a group of resisters had been blasted out, were mostly intact. The citizenry was panicked; some people fled into open countryside, while others cowered fearfully in their homes, not knowing where to go or what to do. There was no organized resistance force on Omicron worthy of the title.

Assured, finally, that they’d meet no formal opposition, the invading force finally landed. The fleet of ships—of a design no one on the planet had ever seen before—touched down on a flat plain in the Long River valley. Curious locals overcame their fear to get a look at the mysterious invaders who had conquered their planet and defied the Empire.

The hatch doors on the giant ships slid slowly open—and at that moment, life on the planet Omicron was radically changed.

Chapter 2: Proposals

Earth was tranquil in the viewscreen, a gibbous blue globe filling almost the entire field of view. The atmosphere seemed like the thinnest of halos ringing that precious sphere, and little bits of black space, sprinkled with stars, showed in the corners of the screen. Down below, the Pacific Ocean gleamed in afternoon sunlight, enhanced by a few white cloud systems. Along the zone of twilight was the western portion of the North American continent. In the darkness, just barely visible on the horizon, were the bright lights of some of the bigger cities in the Rockies and the Midwest.

The image was only a two-dimensional one, but that was quite enough for the two people flying casually above the atmosphere in the ISIS Stratus huvver. They were not interested in studying the globe in detail; it merely served as a pleasant visual distraction to complement their more personal activities.

The cabin of the craft was small and intimate: two acceleration couches with but a few centimeter gap between them, surrounded by a dashboard control panel that more resembled a spaceship’s than a car’s. The Stratus could serve as both, adding to its sophisticated complexity. When it was in flight mode its windows were sealed tight and became, instead, the viewscreen that currently showed the image of Earth as the craft orbited serenely above it.

Hasina Wettig knew it was against Service regulations to borrow a Stratus for purely personal reasons. As a ranking officer in the Imperial Special Information Service, though, she was in a position to bend a few rules. She’d just spent a hard sixty-hour week working for ISIS’s benefit, and she felt entitled to some minor liberties.

On her left, Captain Paul Fortier of Naval Intelligence was uncharacteristically nervous. He was normally an articulate man, but tonight the handsome dark-haired naval officer was strangely silent; when he did speak, he frequently cleared his throat and made hesitant false starts. His conversation seemed rambling and pointless at times. He refused to look directly into Hasina’s face, and when she put her arms around his well-muscled shoulders she could tell he was tense, braced as though for combat.

This wasn’t at all like the man she’d grown to know and love. They’d been working together for the past seventeen months, establishing a firm liaison between ISIS and Naval Intelligence. The two organizations had never meshed so smoothly, due in no small part to the extraordinary efforts of these two people. In fact, Hasina and Fortier were discovering they meshed well personally as well as professionally.

That was why, after a long, grueling day of administrative work together, Hasina had suggested they get away alone—just the two of them soaring peacefully above the atmosphere. Fortier had agreed enthusiastically enough, but as soon as they were alone in the Stratus he’d changed from his normally suave, confident self into the bashful, gawky man now beside her.

Hasina tried gamely to carry the conversation, but after several disasters she was becoming more and more exasperated with her companion. Finally, able to contain herself no longer, she asked, Is something the matter, Paul?

She could see his muscles tense still further. "No.