Smith, E E 'Doc' - d'Alembert 09 - The Omicron Invasion

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The Omicron Invasion

Volume 9 in The Family d'Alembert Series

by E. E. "DOC" SMITH

WITH STEPHEN GOLDIN

Panther Books

Dedicated to the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society, Inc.

and, in particular, to Alexis Walser and Alan Trimpi—

for sharing their space for a while

-S.G.

CHAPTER 1

Omicron

With nearly fourteen hundred planets in the Empire of Earth, 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 DesPlaines, Gastonia, or Floreata

conjured instant images in people's minds.

Other worlds were noted more for their cultures than for their physical attributes. During the great

exodus from Earth in the twenty-first century, many separate cultures were established so their inhabitants

could be free to pursue the lifestyles they preferred. Some planets were settled by religious fanatics; Purity

became a haven for hardline Judaeo-Christian fundamentalists, Anares was settled by Oriental mystics,

and Delf—well, no one from outside the planet ever had a clear idea what the Delfians 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 or unique 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 rainforests,

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 had settled Omicron in the late 2300s 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 Empress Stanley Eleven 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 Sector Twelve, 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 2451, Empress Stanley Eleven was well past the second anniversary of her coronation, and

peace had returned to the Empire once more. The horror of the Coronation Day Incursion, that ruthless

attack upon Earth, was but an unpleasant memory in the minds of most people. The common man still

could not understand the precise circumstances that brought the raid about, nor did he know who the

Empress'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

that the threat was far from over. The vast hidden conspiracy had made one direct assault against the

Service of the Empire six months after the coronation; 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 wise and just reigns of Stanley Ten and Eleven

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 horrifying day, death rained out of the skies. Nonnuclear bombs began failing 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 SOTE 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 would not 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 subspace.

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 would not 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 was not 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 they 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, did not 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 shortlived. As brave and determined as they were, they were still grossly

outnumbered. They could not 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 appearance of the invaders, to contact some

other naval bases via subetheric communicator, but the enemy was jamming the subcom 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 that 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 slip into

subspace 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. Police departments 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 subcom, 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

militia.

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 moored there. The smaller towns, except where a group of resistors 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 would 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 of Earth.

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 haloes 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 Mark Forty Service Special. 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

groundcar's. The Mark Forty 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.

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[frontblurb][versionhistory]TheOmicronInvasionVolume9inTheFamilyd'AlembertSeriesbyE.E."DOC"SMITHWITHSTEPHENGOLDINPantherBooksCopyright©VernaSmithTrestrail1984DedicatedtotheLosAngelesScienceFantasySociety,Inc.and,inparticular,toAlexisWalserandAlanTrimpi—forsharingtheirspaceforawhile-S.G.CHAPTER1Omicr...

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Smith, E E 'Doc' - d'Alembert 09 - The Omicron Invasion

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