Singularity. Ian Douglas

of the big bang, over 13 billion years before, newly born space had expanded with that initial burst of energy from two colliding branes considerably in excess of c.

      And a ship embedded within that swiftly moving space could be carried along inside the gravitationally closed bubble at a pseudovelocity of nearly two light years per day.

      America and her battlegroup had been traveling through the darkness within their separate bubbles for sixty-three days, now. And they were very nearly at the end of the first leg of their voyage.

      Rear Admiral Alexander Koenig, the battlegroup’s CO, was seated in America’s command lounge. The room, broad and circular, projected the surrounding vista across the gently curved overhead when the ship was in normal space, showing the unmoving panorama of stars outside. Within the confines of metaspace, however, the interior of the fast-moving bubble of enclosed space-time, the lightless Void was at arm’s length. Currently, it was displaying the blue, cloud-scattered skies of Earth.

      Two men appeared in the lounge entryway. “You wanted to see us, Admiral?”

      Captain Randolph Buchanan was America’s commanding officer, tall, long-faced, with perpetual worry lines. Captain Barry Wizewski was the CO of the star carrier’s space-fighter wing commander, her CAG—an ancient acronym derived from “Commander, Air Group.”

      “I did. C’mon in.”

      “Staying off the record, sir?” Wizewski said, smiling.

      “Yes, actually. I don’t expect to salvage my career after this, but I’ll be damned if I’ll give them the rope to hang me … or anything on the record to drag you into this.”

      Anything discussed on either America’s main bridge or her flag bridge was recorded, as were conversations in the Admiral’s Office and all other working compartments on board ship. Virtual meetings held in-head were recorded as well by the ship AIs responsible for moderating all electronic communications.

      “You’re doing the right thing, Admiral,” Buchanan told him, taking one of the low, round seats opposite Koenig.

      “Thanks, Randy. But we both know the Senate’s never going to stand for this kind of insubordination. They can’t, not without looking like they’re not in control.”

      “The Confederation Senate, no,” Buchanan replied. “Things may be different in Columbus, D.C.”

      “Maybe. But it’s Geneva that’s calling the shots, and Columbus will have to go along.”

      Koenig had never been entirely comfortable with his position as commanding officer of a Confederation Star Navy battlegroup. The star carrier America and her crew were USNA—the United States of North America—but they’d been reassigned along with most of the other ships of CBG-18 to the service of the Terran Confederation.

      The problem, Koenig thought wryly, was that while the majority of Confederation naval officers—including the Joint Chiefs of Staff—were USNA citizens, the majority of the Confederation’s politicians were not. It was the Pan-Europeans, the Empire of Brazil, the South American EAS, the North India Federation, and others who were determining Confed policy in Geneva. Those nation-states that tended to support the USNA’s initiatives in the war with the Sh’daar were badly outnumbered—Russia, the off-world colonies, and Japan.

      There were times when he was forced to walk an extremely narrow path between his oath to the Confederation … and his allegiance to the USNA.

      “We’re … what?” he said. “Ten hours out from Emergence?”

      “Yes, sir,” Buchanan replied.

      “We don’t know if Giraurd followed us.”

      “We don’t need him,” Wizewski said. “The USNA reinforcements are solidly with us. I think the Chinese are too.”

      “I’m not worried about that,” Koenig said. “If the Pan-Europeans followed us from Alphekka, they might try to force the issue when we emerge.”

      Buchanan nodded. “Giraurd didn’t seem all that happy when you told him off.”

      “No. And his orders are to bring us back. But … I’m not ready to do that yet. We haven’t finished what we’ve started.”

      “Do you expect a fight, Admiral?” Wizewski asked.

      “It’s at least a possibility. And we need to be ready, just in case. No matter what Giraurd decides to do.”

      “If he was smart,” Buchanan said, “he turned around and headed back to Earth to report. Tell them that we weren’t playing nice.”

      “His orders might not allow that,” Koenig replied. “In fact, he may be under orders to take us under fire if we refuse to go back. He was certainly threatening as much when we started accelerating out-system from Alphekka.”

      “Threats,” Wizewski said. “Blusters and bluff.”

      “Maybe. But, as I said, I want to be prepared for anything. CAG, I’m going to have you put everything we have into space as soon as we emerge. We’ll pass the word to the other carriers to do the same as soon as we’ve re-established contact. Randy? I want you to make sure America stays well clear of the Pan-Europeans if and when they emerge. Don’t let them sidle up close for a conference. Don’t allow them to send over small craft to discuss things. And be ready to put out a warning shot if they do try to force their way inside our primary defensive zone.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Koenig looked at Wizewski. “CAG? How are the reorganized squadrons shaping up?”

      “Not as good as I’d like, Admiral. The new recruits have been training hard on the sims, but that won’t haul much mass when they hit the real thing.”

      Koenig nodded. America’s squadrons had taken fearsome losses at Alphekka; one had been reduced to just three fighters.

      “I hope to God they don’t get their baptism of fire against humans,” he said. “But if it’s a matter of guaranteeing the safety of this carrier …”

      “They’ll do what they have to, Admiral. They all will. I don’t think any of them care all that much for the Confederation, when it comes to that. Their loyalty is to the USNA, to America, to you and me, to their buddies. … Hell, I think Geneva comes in somewhere way down on the list. Fiftieth or sixtieth, maybe.”

      “I want you to impress on the squadron leaders, CAG, that their squadrons will not open fire on human ships unless they receive a direct and confirmed order from you. Understand?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “If there’s a diplomatic way to resolve this, I’m going to take it. The last thing I want is to add a civil war to the war we already have.”

      “I understand, Admiral.”

      “I know you do. See to it that they understand as well.”

      There was little more that could be said.

      Koenig dismissed the two of them, and returned to his brooding thoughts.

       Star Chamber

       Ad Astra Confederation Government Complex

       Geneva, European Union

       0950 hours, TFT

      President Regis DuPont hated the place. It felt so exposed … so empty.

      Well … it was filled with stars, of course, but somehow that made it even worse.

      The star chamber was a planetarium and more, much more—an immense sphere a hundred meters across, the inner surface designed to project imagery relayed from the big astrogational complex at Bern. Near stars were shown scattered across the interior space, scattered through three dimensions; more distant stars