“An enormous energy generating station,” he continued, as the picture moved to a closer view of the artifact, shifting to the north pole of the hole. A dozen arcs of bright electron beams connected the spinning ring to the event horizon of the hole. “Using the gravitational energy of the hole as an enormous electrical power plant. Producing the yearly energy of a star every standard minute.”
More faces were showing alarm now. He could guess the thoughts, the same he had held when first given this information himself. His culture generated less than a ten millionth of the energy potential of the Donut from their two star based Dyson Rings. It had taken the yearly production from one of the rings to provide the antimatter needed for this mission. And the artifact could produce that much energy in less than a second.
“I know the risks are great,” he said, “but so are the rewards. Imagine if such a structure were in our hands. Imagine if we controlled the power production of the Donut. It was said to be the antimatter production center of the old Empire, the empire of humanity that stretched across this Galaxy.
“And not just the energy we could tap. This was the center of the Empire; coordinate zero, zero, zero, with instantaneous links across the Galaxy, and maybe beyond. Imagine the technology that awaits the conqueror of the Donut.”
There was still some fright on faces among the assemblage. Admiral Gerasi noted who among the officers and NCOs those were, so he could watch them in the future. But he noted more greed and avarice. Good, he thought. He wanted them to be motivated.
“And the best part of all,” he said to those who offered their rapt attention, “is we have evidence that the structure is almost deserted, with only a few sentients aboard at most.”
The attitudes of attention grew as they heard the last. Surely a task force as powerful as theirs could take such a lightly defended structure.
“Admiral to the bridge,” announced the intercom system. “Captain to the bridge.”
“Attention,” yelled one of the officers standing near the front of the crew. The men and women snapped to a rigid posture, the marines a step faster than the spaceship crew, as would be expected.
“Dismissed,” called the admiral.
He headed for the lift as the captain fell in beside him.
“Bridge,” said Captain Valaris Midas as the door closed behind them. The lift started to accelerate, horizontally toward the middle section of the ship and the well protected bridge.
“You have a question, Captain?” said the admiral, looking his subordinate in the face. Midas had served as his flag captain for years, and the admiral had grown to know the man well.
“Yes sir,” said the captain, looking his superior straight in the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell them the truth about what we faced?”
“No use scaring them so many hours before contact,” said Admiral Gerasi. “Time enough to fill them in later. When they need to know.”
“Need to know what?” hissed the captain. “That we’re on a suicide mission? That there isn’t a chance in hell we’ll be able to breach the automated defenses of that thing?”
“You forget yourself, Captain,” said the admiral with ice in his voice. “I have my orders. As do you, and the crew. This task force is expendable. The technology on the Donut is that vital to our cause. And I might have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“When do I find out about these tricks?”
“When you have a need to know, captain. But believe me, I have a plan. I have no intention of sticking my own head in a noose, either here or at home.”
“And you don’t believe we have a destiny to take this, artifact?”
“Oh, I believe we have a divine destiny. Our people, that is. But I don’t think we as individuals are destined to succeed. The only assurance we have is we are on our own out here. And we can fail, especially if we become complacent.”
The lift slid easily to a halt, and the doors opened to the organized confusion of the ship’s command and control center. The captain walked quickly to his command chair, as the Admiral walked the steps to his private walk, overlooking all the details of the bridge.
“Report,” he called out as his eyes looked around at the many displays. Tactical showed the small triangles of the dozen battleships, superimposed over a schematic of the Supersystem. They were very near to one of the systems stars, the K5 that went by the ancient name of Garnet, the sixth star out from the hole. Eight planets, thirty-five moons. Three of the planets and moons were habitable by humans. Filthy hydrogen breathers inhabited one of the outer worlds.
“Alien ships ahead,” called the tactical officer. The admiral noted the orange triangles that denoted possible hostiles. Three of them. He looked to the forward view screen. The stars burned a bright blue ahead. Even the nearby orange star had a brighter hue. The Doppler effect, he knew, as the ships had accelerated up to almost a tenth of light speed by now.
“Show them on main viewer,” he ordered.
The view switched, at first a blur, then clearing as the computer compensated for their motion. A large vessel was centered in the view, side on to the approaching Nation ships. Long and lean, with a bulbous bow and flaring stern. Fusion flame was coming from the stern of the vessel. Turrets of some type were arranged on the bow section, and the long proboscis of a kinetic energy weapon thrust from the front center of the vessel.
“Magnify,” ordered Gerasi.
The ship leapt forward on the screen. Lettering adorned the sides of the bow section. Letters in a language not seen in the worlds of the Nation.
“Maurids.” The word spat from his mouth. The filthiest of all oxygen breathers, demons who ran one four legs, but walked on two. One of the fiercest and deadliest of the nonhuman races.
“I want a close enough approach vector to destroy those vessels,” he ordered the navigator.
“Shouldn’t take too much of an effort,” said the tactical officer. “They look to be very primitive. Fragile by our standards.”
“Do we really need to attack these vessels?” said Captain Midas, looking up at the admiral’s walk. “This action is not in our mission description.”
“I set the mission description,” barked the admiral. “Not some desk pilot back home. Our instructions have always been to destroy the nonhumans whenever possible. And in this case it is very possible.
“Proceed,” he ordered the crew. “Tactical officer, target the lead vessel with MAM torpedoes. Communications, order the rest of the task force to follow suit. Target a vessel and fire as soon as we close the range.”
Minutes passed as the range closed. At fifty million kilometers the lead vessel of the aliens acquired a targeting reticule.
“Firing,” called out the tactical officer. Two small dots appeared on the display, very close to the triangle of the Orca. Two other ships of the task force sported the dots as well. Within seconds they were on the view screen, the ship’s computer compensating for their great velocity. Matter-antimatter torpedoes, the deadliest long-range weapons in the arsenal of the Nation of Humanity. Each started from their tubes with Orca’s current .1 c velocity.
Inertia damping bubbles enclosed the twenty-meter long weapons, really small spaceships in their own right. The spherical propulsion unit on the stern of each torpedo propelled them forward at over a thousand gees, adding 10 kilometers per second onto the velocity with each advance of the chronometer. They could boost for an hour, adding .12 c to their final velocity.
Minutes passed as the weapons moved toward their targets. The enemy had shown no attitude of being under assault, of even knowing the Nation's warships were present. Ten minutes into the attack that changed.
“Transmission from the enemy vessels,” said the com officer.
“Put it on screens,” ordered the admiral, stepping down from the walk to head to the front of the bridge.
The creatures that appeared were like something out of a nightmare. Dozens of them, crowding the large bridge of the alien ship. Long, lean bodies, fur e
nveloping every part not covered by space ship overalls. Most of the creatures carried an orange fur with black stripes, while a minority sported spots instead. They sat in couches that allowed them to use all of their limbs, front and rear carrying useable hands.
One looked into the screen, his cat like eyes narrowed, ears flattened, lips curled back from his long muzzle. The fur around his neck was up in a ruff. Afraid, thought the admiral. And with every reason to be. Maurids, as he had thought. The Universe would do just as well without these running around in their primitive warships, surely looking for even more primitive peoples to prey upon.
A scratching roar sounded from the speakers, in time with the creature’s lips. Nothing that the ship’s computers had ever heard before, and no translation was forthcoming.
“Transmit back to them,” said the admiral. The com officer pushed a few buttons and nodded to him.
“We cannot understand your transmission,” he said toward the screen. “Please transmit using standard Galactic.”
He wanted to hear what they had to say before they died. And there might just be some useful information the creatures would be willing to give for the promise of their lives. Not that promises made to nonhumans meant anything.
“They are 2.77 light minutes at current transmission range,” said the com officer. “Five and a half minutes before return transmission.”
The admiral nodded his head as he watched the torpedoes slowly move toward their targets on the tactical display. The alien captain continued to speak into the screen, though the com officer had damped the sound so they didn’t have to listen to the coarse racket of its language.
At five and a half minutes the expression on the alien’s face changed to one of recognition. It started to speak again, this time in something almost recognizable. After a second the translation program in the ship’s computer caught on, and the flat speech of its voice processor took the place of the alien’s voice. It started the translation from the first known words, the sounds coming through its speakers out of sync with the alien’s mouthings on the screen.
“Unknown aliens,” it said, “unknown aliens. We are on a peaceful mission. Repeat, we are on a peaceful mission. Why have you fired on our vessels? Please abort your missiles, or we will be forced to return fire.”
Several of the crew started laughing. As if they had anything to fear from those vessels. Pure bravado on the part of the Maurids.
“Repeat, to unknown aliens. We are on a peaceful mission. We have done nothing to provoke an aggressive action. In the name of mercy abort your missiles.”
With a wave of his hand the admiral cut the voice, watching with pleasure the reactions of the panicking alien crew. They must know from the acceleration of the incoming torpedoes that they were facing something beyond their ability to stop. But he still expected them to fight, to give him more pleasure in their resistance.
“Perhaps if you told us more about your mission, and your destination, we would be willing to believe you.”
Minutes passed. The tactical officer looked quickly to his personal display, then up at the admiral.
“They have attacked the torpedoes, sir.”
“Anything we need to worry about?”
“No sir. Just standard lasers, in the UV range. The torpedoes are instituting automatic evasive.”
It would take over a minute for the lasers to strike the torpedoes at their current range. The gentlest of evasive maneuvers would make the torpedoes impossible to track targets. As they closed they would have to maneuver more violently, but they had the ability to do so, among other defensive capabilities.
Seconds later the laser light shone on the hull of the Orca. If held long enough on the same point of the hull they would cause damage. But Orca would not hold still. Small adjustments at high gee threw the targeting of the beams off. And at over two light minutes, the enemy hadn’t a chance of regaining a lock. The target was long gone from its position by the time the beams arrived.
“Humans,” came the transmission. “Please, we are on a mission of mercy. The power station of our colony within this system’s Ort Cloud has gone off line. We are in transit with parts and technical experts. If you need proof contact the colony. The coordinates of the colony are…”
“Track those coordinates and get a firing solution,” ordered the admiral. “I want as little space capability behind us as possible, especially by those creatures.”
“Yes sir.”
Time went by, and the torpedoes closed the distance, going through high gee maneuvers as the enemy ships began to pour on the fire. Lasers were avoided before they could cause sufficient damage. Particle beams were blocked by the charged particle shields. Counter missiles were taken out by the torpedoes’ own defensive lasers.
“They’re already dead,” said the tactical officer, looking up at the bridge chronometer. The admiral nodded his head, still wanting to experience the reality of the kill. He only had to wait a couple of minutes.
Two bright points of light flared in the distance, as the gigaton warheads went off on target. The com transmission went blank immediately. More pinpoints appeared, as the other sets of warheads approached and destroyed their targets. On the tactical screen the blast wave of the weapons spread out as a red line, and the red triangles of the alien ships disappeared.
“We have the colony targeted, sir,” said the tactical officer. “Two hundred million kilometers from our position. Electromag radiating from a large comet.”
“Launch a couple of long range torps at them,” ordered Garasi. “They can coast most of the way and power up when they’re close enough to come in under continuous boost.”
“That will take quite a while, sir,” said the tactical officer.
“That’s OK. Let them sweat for a while. Just keep me apprised of their approach and detonation time.”
* * *
The computer had alerted him to what had happened. Not something to ignore, even as he watched his guest in a battle with his minions. He compartmentalized his mind, each part focusing on a different section of screens and readouts. Even as his heart quickened watching his guest battle for her life, he calmed his mind to view the other intruders.
These are crueler and more destructive than most, thought Watcher, as he played back the destruction of the Maurid ships by the intruders. His sensors covered the entirety of the system. He had known of this particular group of Maurids. Their kingdom had been no crueler than any of the others in the Supersystem. Less cruel than some. They did not deserve to be destroyed in such a manner.
The acceleration of the torpedoes bespoke a high technology. The bright flares of their antimatter warheads, blasting the Maurid ships into spinning, melted pieces, told of their great destructive power. A dangerous enemy to be sure. He doubted they carried enough firepower to severely damage the Donut. He also doubted that their intent was such. They wanted what the Donut had to offer, and they were sure to try and assault the station, to take it for themselves. Brave men, to challenge such an imposing structure. Brave, or foolish?
“Computer,” he called. “Is there anything we can do to prevent those torps from reaching the Comet base?”
“Targets at extreme range of graviton beams,” replied the AI. “I am unable to guarantee their destruction. However, I should be able to deflect them from their course.”
“The intruders will know that something is happening.”
“Yes,” agreed the AI. “But they will not know exactly what.”
“Very well. Proceed. Let me know when the task has been accomplished. And what the reaction of the intruders is.”
Watcher focused his whole attention back to the struggle of his welcomed guest.
* * *
A billion kilometers out from the station the vast machine in orbit about the black hole came to life. A cylinder one hundred kilometers in length, half that width, ending in a quintet of long globe topped booms, it surged with the power transmitted to it by the great dynamo tha
t was the Donut. Far faster than light was the space warping effects of the generated gravitons.
The torpedoes were slowly pulled away from their target. Their drives tried to pull them back on course, but the space warp to their flanks was too powerful. After a time their drives went dead, and the target they had been launched toward was safe from their destructive power.
Chapter 4
For tribal man space was the uncontrollable mystery.
For technological man it is time that occupies the same role.
Marshall McLuhan, 1951
Pandi moved reflexively, ducking behind a pillar as soon as the faceplate went opaque. She guessed it had been a laser of some sort. And not a com laser based on the speed of the faceplate’s change. She chanced a glance around the pillar, in time to see the robot moving toward her hiding place. Still it walked slowly toward her in its leg-rotating gait; rear leg circling up pointing to the ceiling, then sliding forward as if it were on a track. The leg rotated down as it approached the front of the robot, setting back onto the floor. The body slid forward as the new rearmost leg repeated the maneuver.
She pulled her head back just in time as the laser struck the side of the helm. The helmet burned her with its heat. She dropped it off her head in haste. The side that had been struck was melted, a hole burned through the com unit ear piece. She had seen the long tube on the front section of the robot point toward her before it fired. How many of the weapons did the thing carry? She could recall seeing at least three of them.
Both pistols were in her hands as she thought out her next move. There were several exits from this side of the hall. As she didn’t know where any led, one was as good as another. Could she reach one before the robot burned her through? She doubted it. Maybe a diversion.
Her boot kicked the helmet from behind the pillar. It flared with heat as metal and plastic vapor flew into the air above it. She was on her feet in an instant, springing from behind the pillar with guns blazing. The gold cup match pistols spit fire as they recoiled in her hands.
The Deep Dark Well Page 5
