“Roule, bring up our dispositions,” Admiral Pearson said. He reclined slightly in his chair at the briefing room table, and his eyes were flinty steel as he reviewed the display panel above it. He had tasked his junior officers with putting together the details of the operation based on their latest orders and intel. Throughout the process, he had met with several of them, many times, as they plowed through the preliminary planning stages, but now it was ready to come together and become an actual operation, waiting only for the proper assignment of forces to set it in motion.

“Data from several star systems has come in to the sector commands,” Rear Admiral Roule Charleton stated for the record, not taking his eyes off of the display, and Pearson smiled. Charleton wanted to pay these invaders back eye for eye just as much as Pearson did, especially since many of the losses had come from his units. “Their reports are consistent with a single prong attack from Antares to Sol. We could make best speed through the Polaris cluster and rendezvous with Second Fleet here, at Sirius, assuming they have survived the assault. We haven’t been able to communicate with any sectors beyond Regulus.” The best-guess enemy force predictions, based on encounters and sensor stations that the invaders had passed as they marched, unparried, straight through every defense, were displayed on the map. The invading force had been assailed by elements from both Third and Fourth Fleets in separate engagements, both with the same result. Now, the Terran forces were preparing to make best speed to merge with Home Fleet, under the command of the First Space Marshal, Knight Admiral Elbazi, to make a united stand against the threat and repel them, lest they break through all the way to Earth itself.

Pearson was not entirely dissatisfied with the prospect of serving under Elbazi. He had once attended a lecture from the then Fleet Admiral at the Elfhame training base on Alpha Centauri. Although Pearson had never actually served in combat with the Space Marshal, he knew the man’s reputation for attacking relentlessly, taking no quarter, and serving up rapid and brutal victories.

It was at that moment that Commodore Santos and Captain Ganner entered the compartment, followed by various subordinates and junior officers. Pearson looked up at his tardy ops officer and choked back a comment as the officers made their way to their seats.

“You’re going to want to see this, Scott,” the commodore said, settling into his chair. The use of the fleet admiral’s first name caught his full attention, and several eyes turned to face Captain Ganner as she slid the data card into the reader on the table. As she penciled in commands from her seat, a new set of images appeared on the map, showing some new details not available before.

“You can see here,” she began, obviously in her element, working with the data, “the primary thrust of the attack originates from Antares and penetrates axially in a direct line of star systems toward Earth. However, we have just received intelligence that sheds some light on the origin of this new enemy.”

Ganner used her light pencil and zoomed the resolution into the Antares star system, where a strange, semi-black shard appeared, like shattered obsidian, on the display near the outer planets. “To the best of our analysis, this is a spatial rift.”

Stunned, Admiral Pirelli was the first to respond. “Say that again, Captain.”

“Certainly, sir,” Ganner repeated, looking slightly flustered as the absurdity of her statement impacted upon her as well. “We have begun receiving a tactical feed out of Antares for the first time, a few hours ago. Based on the detailed information emanating from that feed, we are able to piece together not only the starship dispositions in the system, but we also ascertained a sensor recording of this.”

She adjusted the controls slightly, and the map was replaced on the screen by the enlarged image of the obsidian shard in space. Except it wasn’t a shard; it was a hole. As the room watched in silence, a starship emerged from the hole and made its way in-system. Suddenly, the room was filled with questions.

Admiral Pearson cut through the chatter with his own booming voice, “Captain, who else has seen this footage?”

“Only myself, Commodore Santos, and my team, sir,” she responded, sitting back in her chair, hands clasped in her lap, still holding the pencil. “We were collating data for the operational review when this showed up on our routine intel sweep.”

Pearson continued to stare at the screen as his mind fought to understand the pieces and assemble them into his reality. It was hard. Ganner seized the opportunity and continued.

“Sir, based on our determination that this is a type IV spatial rift, we believe the invaders have come from another point in the galaxy sir, or perhaps from another galaxy altogether.”

It made sense, in a strangely detached sort of way. At least the theory fit the observed data.

“Can we make any determinations about their reinforcement strength, their deployments?” Charleton asked.

“Yes, sir, I believe we can,” Ganner responded. “Sir, whoever is sending this feed has been collecting a lot of data, and it appears we have a complete record of their entire order of battle.”

A look of utter shock went around the table, as if someone was running around smacking each officer in the head with a ladle.

“Your recommendation?” Pearson asked, looking directly at Ganner.

“Sir, there is an enormous amount of tactical and strategic data to review. But, based on what we have been able to peruse so far, it appears their battle van has followed the single-minded objective of an assault on Earth.”

Silence. “Go on, Captain,” Pearson heard his voice say. There was something not right here, but his mind was still too busy grappling with this strange reality to know what it was. Still, it was there, itching…

Traci Ganner took a deep breath before diving in. “I believe, sir, based on the initial data we have reviewed, that it would be possible to hit them directly in Antares and separate them from any additional reinforcements.”

Admiral Pirelli found his voice first. “Admiral, we have direct orders from the crown to rendezvous with the First Space Marshal--”

Pearson held up his hand, forestalling the rebuke momentarily while he focused on the problem a little more. “Why, Captain, do you believe we can do this?”

For a moment, it was as if they were the only two in the room. Their minds moved at a similar blazing speed, and they were now sharing information at that same speed, knowing that the other staffers would eventually catch up.

“Sir, this feed gives us detailed information from the moment they emerged from the rift until now. During that time, they have been reinforced three times, the latest ships arriving a standard week ago. Since then, no other ships have arrived, and the bulk of their units have pushed through the star chain outlined on the map. Based on the information we have, they have moved into each star system and blockaded it from attack from neighboring systems, as we encountered in Acamar. Following each reinforcement, they have continued their push into our heart systems.”

“And their fleet in Antares?” Pearson said, hopeful, somehow reading her body language and tonality and coming to the same conclusion she had.

“Minimal, sir. It appears the reinforcement for Antares is late.”

So that was it. Throughout history, every great general has been given one moment in which to decide how to attack, a moment that made the difference between success and failure. Nelson at Trafalgar, MacArthur at Rabaul, Lee at Gettysburg. Admiral Pearson’s orders were clear; reinforce the crown against invasion and meet the enemy head on--on the invader’s own timetable. Force for force in a brute slugging match between capital ships. Or he could sneak into the rear areas and disrupt their entire chain, causing them to suspend their attack in order to meet the new threat. Did he have the fleet strength to both bottle up their entry point and attack? Possibly. If he had the right units.

“Alright, people, as of right now, I am scrubbing the ops plan.”

He felt, rather than saw, his staff looking at him in horror.

“Sir, may I remind the admiral that we have orders from the emperor himself?” Santos squeaked, looking to the other officers for guidance. Pearson continued to look straight at Ganner, almost seeing her for the first time as an officer that would need a promotion when all of this was over. A promotion indeed.

“Yes, Sebastian, we have our orders. We also have an opportunity to bring two axes of attack to the enemy and contain him between our fleets.

“Yes, Admiral, but with the losses we took at Acamar, do we have the fleet strength to hold them?”

Pearson turned and looked at Santos. “Start finding out. I want an update of our fleet and munitions strength in one hour. See if we can scrape up those mine-layers headed inbound from Polaris. And I want missiles, lots of missiles.” He waited for a few heartbeats, daring any to challenge his authority as Admiral of the Fleet. “Alright, people,” he said with one last look at Traci Ganner, “let’s see to it.”