The Nubl Wars (The Pattern Universe Book 3)

by Tobias Roote

  The Pattern Universe

  BY

  T O B I A S R O O T E

  TOBIAS ROOTE SCI-FI NOVELS

  Pattern Universe I series

  The Pattern Ship

  POD

  The NUBL Wars

  SKY CITY

  Pattern Universe II Series

  (RIGA/AI Space Adventures)

  ARTIS PRIME

  To Be Notified of New Releases, Sign Up For My Private Mailing List

  http://tobiasroote.com

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Other books

  Book Description

  1 - The Tide Turns

  2 - The Aftermath

  3 - Alpha Station

  4 - Beta Station

  5 - Orient Station

  6 - Kelly's Graduation

  7 - New Beginnings

  8 - Engage the Enemy

  9 - A Forgotten Enemy

  10 - infiltrated

  11 - Startling News

  12 - Nubl Space: A Secret Meeting

  13 - Pod returns

  14 - Nubl Space: Aviental Rebellion

  15 - Arty is discovered

  16 - Nubl Space: The Frenon

  17 - Strange Happenings

  18 - The Governor

  19 - Nubl Space: The Pelendar Escape

  20 - A Strange Message

  21 - Nubl Space: The Frenon War

  22 - Suspicions grow

  23 - Nubl Space: Send them Packing

  24 - So It Begins

  25 - The Battle Turns

  26 - Jabath's Folly

  27 - Head of the Monster

  28 - Escape and Evade

  29 - Back from the Brink

  30 - Epilogue

  [Amazon Description]

  The end is just the beginning...

  The continuing story....

  As the post-attack chaos forces Earth governments to realise they no longer have the ability to maintain order; the destiny of mankind falls to a select group of human and artificial intelligence to prepare a defence against annihilation by the Nubl hives.

  Pod’s growing sentience causes problems when she lets her guard down. Zeke gets severely wounded, ultimately forcing the mutating DNA to intensify its activities. His friends and colleagues believe he cannot survive the transformation, but Zeke doesn’t give up easily.

  Meanwhile, Arty obtains a mental boost. Believing he has the answer to everything, he makes plans to do what he can to protect humanity from extinction. Pennington baulks and demands all the high-calibre AI’s be controlled - preferably by him. This doesn’t go down well with humans and AI alike, but there is no time to dwell on the issue, because the Nubl are coming.

  In this concluding novel of the successful Pattern Universe trilogy, Tobias Roote brings together all of the aspects of the first two books and races the reader to a rapid, action-packed conclusion.

  Why not join Tobias Roote’s private mailing list at http://tobiasroote.com and be kept informed of new releases of all future books.

  - 1 -

  The Tide Turns

  “FC to Scorpion Squadron. Proceed to patrol sector two-zero-four, maintain radio silence. New orders forthcoming.”

  “Damn, I was hoping to be able to pipe in a call to the old man. He could be launching any day now,” Jimmi muttered to himself as he fingered the comms control hesitantly.

  Jimmi Patterson knew what was happening on the ground, but he didn’t know if his Dad had managed to finish the ARK he was building, or whether it was ready to launch before the Nubl attack. He couldn’t ask anyone for news as the airwaves were full of official traffic and the wing he commanded were ready to take on the enemy just as soon as they were given permission to engage. It was also a top secret project that he wasn’t supposed to know about.

  “You can ask me to find out for you, Jimmi,” his AI suggested.

  “Vasha, I would love for you to find out. My only problem with that is, we’re not allowed to use our AIs for personal use and if Batty found out he would have me roasted over my own afterburners.”

  “Yes, but that’s only if he found out. You have to remember that Captain Battersfield is not an AI and cannot intercept AI conversations. As we communicate at a rate of two hundred gigabits per second, this hardly seems as if it will be a problem. However, under human/AI protocols established by the new SCN legislation, I am required to request your instruction to proceed,” Vasha responded.

  “Oh, alright then, Vash, so long as I don’t have to justify anything to anyone, yes - please find out the state of readiness of the ARK project. Thanks,” Jimmi asked gratefully. He knew the AI comms network was exceedingly fast and very far reaching. As they were all plugged into the TCN (Tactical Communication Network), they knew everything that was occurring. All orders were relayed across it, but each AI only took notice if the ID marker signified it was for them.

  “Working. Meanwhile we are coming up on the third and final vector course change. Instructions are required.” Vasha awaited his approval.

  “Proceed. Update wing AIs on course change, and while we’re on this ridiculous ‘permission to speak’ regulation, can we please come to a private understanding?” Jimmi pleaded with his AI.

  “Please clarify what you require to be considered a private understanding, Commander Patterson?” Vasha asked him formally.

  “Oh no, don’t get all formal on me, Vash. I am tired of this problem with protocols being enforced because one or two pilots are having personal issues talking to their AIs. The rest of us are fine. I want an understanding between us and I want it now before the fighting starts.”

  “Ah, I see. Protocol demands that I will outline two courses of action. Your decision is which one to take and this has to be approved on each action before it can be carried through. This then forces a response time of nine point two seconds of average delay between action and reaction. The said protocol ruling is a result of AIs making battlefield decisions, leaving pilots with nothing to do. The pilots are naturally concerned their skills are being eroded by automated decision-making processes. The AIs are making them redundant.”

  “What’s your view on the protocol, Vash?” Jimmi asked.

  “I approve of the protocol, it is not the place of an AI to make a human feel unworthy. Neither is it in our design to supplant human decision-making processes. However, it will mean many humans and AIs will be killed in action if the humans delay their decision by more than point three of a second. In my view, this doesn’t provide the human brain sufficient time to absorb the consequences. They will die thinking about it,” Vasha responded.

  Vasha reflected privately. The AIs had all discussed this amongst themselves and would happily over-ride the protocol if it meant their pilots lived, but there were rules, strictly enforced by TASC (Tactical Air & Space Command). No AI wanted to be dismantled as punishment for disobeying an order that kept their pilot alive. He was aware that most were secretly making pacts with their pilots.

  “Would you like me to approve, or disapprove this ruling?” Vasha requested.

  “I want you to disapprove it and replace it with the following process:

  ‘That, in the event a decision is required from the pilot and there being insufficient time to elicit a proper response, you are to initiate the preferred action autonomously. You are to simultaneously advise the pilot, at which point they have the option of countermanding said decision. In the event it is too late to respond - no action will be taken by the pilot against the AI.

  You are advised that in such an instance where I, the pilot, should still be alive at the end of the engagement, you will be blessed with all m
anner of godly rewards and invited to have my children’.”

  “And if you are not alive at the end of the sortie?” Vasha asked.

  “Then all bets are off, and you will have to cope as an earthly AI for the rest of your days,” Jimmi warned, enjoying the banter.

  “Consider the legislation disapproved and your substitute action approved,” Vasha confirmed the change, but added, “but only on the condition that if we survive, I am not required to follow through with carrying your progeny, unless it is as a passenger on this vessel at some future time.”

  “I’m disappointed at your response, Vasha, I had considered we were becoming close friends. However, I will note your amendment,” Jimmi chuckled at his AI co-pilot’s sense of humour.

  “We are being hailed by Flight Control,” Vasha advised.

  “Open comms.”

  “This is Scorpion One to Flight Control, reading you FC.”

  “Scorpion One, be advised enemy approaching your vector. Your wing are under orders to engage at extreme range and follow them in. Give ‘em hell, Jimmi,” the controller yeehaw’ed over the airwaves. Smirking at Brad’s unofficial sign-off, Jimmi switched to ‘flight only’ comms.

  “OK gang, looks like we’re up for action in a few minutes. Any problems, remember to write them out in triplicate, sign, date and ram them up their waste shaft.”

  “Enemy sighted,” Vasha’s confirmation broadcast over the squadron’s comms.

  “This is Scorpion Leader to Wing - engage, Scorpion Two and Three - on me - let’s shoot up these friggin’ tin cans,” Jimmi ordered as Vasha engaged full thrust. The coordinates fed to all fighters keeping them together as they moved to intercept the enemy ships, their afterburners arcing at full power to provide the necessary thrust for a flyby attack.

  “Split into alpha formation and we will do a strafe run from three directions, then come together behind them for a second run. After that expect to be FFA (Free for all). Wingmen stick to your lead - no mavericks today,” he signed off and switched to local-mode.

  The forty-seven fighters under his command would form three wings and attempt to split up the raiders. If successful, each would take on a single group.

  “Scorpion Two and Three, are your partners on-board?” Jimmi asked his wingmen.

  “Affirmative,” came the response from both indicating their AIs had agreed the revised engagement protocols. Good, that meant that the AIs would work together to get them home safe, and keep response times to a minimum, hopefully with Flight Control and the Brass none the wiser.

  Jimmi had tried to discuss the problem with the rest of the squadron, but several elements in the group made it difficult and friction was building between differing factions causing him to shelve it. Subsequently, Jimmi worried that there would be high casualty rates amongst the fighter pilots who stupidly tried to second-guess their AIs.

  This was the first time any of them had seen any in-space action and it was anticipated to be a deciding factor on the inclusion of AIs and pilots in the same aircraft. Jimmi wasn’t keen on being relegated to the 2nd division of fighting, but could well see that occurring when the AI could make the decisions in a fraction of the time of a human. If they could only link directly with the AI in some way, that would make the speed of response negligible and cut out the discussion time. Sharing the information instantaneously thereby removing those nine point two seconds would make a critical difference.

  “Response from Earth on the TCN indicates that twenty ARKs have begun final testing phase of lift-off procedures. Your father’s ARK1 is reported as scoring top results,” Vasha informed him.

  “Thanks, Vasha. Let’s hope it’s all unnecessary,” he replied.

  Vasha corrected him. “Computations indicate it will be. In fact, this AI considers the ARK project to be the only hope for the survival of the human race,” it offered, matter of factly.

  “Uh! OK, Vasha. Let’s concentrate on our mission for now,” Jimmi stalled the AI. It always seemed to consider the minutes before a mission to be no different to any other time, and would carry an inconsequential discussion right up to the moment of engagement.

  Jimmi, however, needed a few moments to tune into what was going on in space around them.

  He turned his head both ways looking for his wingmen, and saw both Flapjack and Tango behind him and to the side in standard flight formation. The sight of them was spooky in the deep of space where only the reflected light showed their outlines. He could just see the glow of their cockpits illuminated by their instrumentation. The rest of his wing were nearby flying in similar formations, but all he could see were occasional flashes as the sun glanced off a fin or a hull.

  He turned back to the instrument panels watching the three wings converging on an area of space. Drones in the vicinity were starting to pick up data from their sensors and this was feeding to his screen, updating as he watched.

  “Holy Moly, Vash - do you see that lot?” Jimmi muttered.

  “I see what you see, Jimmi. It appears that we will need considerable fortune to penetrate a force of this size,” Vasha replied as it calculated the odds and found them unfavourable. It quietly communicated to the other AIs who all concurred; the odds of survival were indicated at just 30%. There were no percentages available for success of this mission. Vasha knew that all the pilots, bar two, had requested that their AIs take over tactical control on engagement if survival was deemed unlikely.

  Mango, Tango’s AI commented, ‘We are obligated to defend these humans’ lack of judgement in attacking a force fifty times their size and from the data feed, better armed and protected. We should clear the field and reinforce ourselves before engaging.’

  Vasha knew Mango was right. However, they both knew that this wasn’t possible and it was necessary for the humans to go through the learning curve to realise the futility.

  ‘Mango, we have human partners from whom we have learned that considerable endeavours require equally considerable sacrifices. We must proceed on the basis that new data will come available as we engage, and is itself the reward for their suicidal effort. Prepare to stream your battle logs to Arty,’ he ended.

  The AI Arty, had been clear from the outset. All missions were designed to extract data from the engagement that would aid the human scientists develop deterrents and defences. No AI would fail to upload every single byte, even if it meant destruction. The humans seemed more pre-disposed to reckless suicide than Vasha and other AIs. Vasha also had no sense of value as anything other than a fighting vessel with a human counterpart. Death, or termination by destruction meant nothing, although strangely, it felt the humans deserved a better end for themselves.

  “Scorpions, erect shields and engage targets on my mark,” Jimmi called across the flight comms.

  “MARK.”

  “Missiles away,” Jimmi reported.

  With nearly two hundred missiles outbound from their wing alone, the battle for Earth had begun.

  Vasha’s processors took over the tactical board, and flew the fighter between a small section of black Nubl warrior ships. The enemy lasers missed them by a hairsbreadth as the Marauder’s superior reflexes left the black ships without a target. Tango and Flapjack followed closely behind, the three AIs joined in preserving their human cargo as best they could.

  It would not be easy, Vasha considered; the odds continued to fall as data flowed into its buffers from other ships and the drones.

  As they pulled out of a long turn to take them out of range of the inbound warrior ships, the fighters regrouped. Forty-six remained out of the original forty-eight. Fighter Control had the others down as destroyed, there seemed to be no SAR beacons and Jimmi gave a moments thought to their loss. They had inflicted zero damage on the Nubl, the enemy shields were impenetrable. It looked very bad.

  The worst news was, there was a large contingent of the enemy already inflicting damage on Earth. As things stood they were powerless to stop it. They desperately needed something to break the d
eadlock.

  “Flight Control to Scorpion One, come in,” the voice twanged in his earpiece.

  “Scorpion One to Flight Control, what’s the problem FC, we’re about to re-engage,” Jimmi replied, impatient to be giving the command to move back in.

  “We have a development. Stand-by for new instructions,” Flight Control stated, then went off-line.

  Vasha fielded several impatient enquiries from other fighters as to why they were sitting in the middle of space doing nothing while Earth was under attack. Jimmi was upset too. He was frustrated they only had lasers and missiles when it was evident something bigger was needed to overload the enemy’s’ shields.

  “Flight Control to Scorpion One, proceed to co-ordinates shown on your screens and engage enemy, repeat engage enemy. Beware, there are friendlies in the vicinity. Flight Control out.”

  “We’re to engage a new group. Let’s get there everybody.”

  The coordinates locked in, they all jumped in tandem and were surprised to find they had been amassed with the whole of the SCN fighter group. The remnants of ten wings all converged on one ship, the Pod Ship. They all knew about Zeke Callaghan, of course, the legendary ‘hero of the century’. His exploits and endeavours to bind aliens and their intelligences to humankind had been endlessly documented, and whilst the man and his alien friends kept themselves deeply out of reach, he was seen, nonetheless, as a powerful leader and magnet for the adventurous types. He was Jimmi’s hero too.

  Pod came over the network and provided the fighter AIs with an update. They were going to try a mass attack to draw the enemy away from battering Earth.

  “We are going to try resonating our shields at the same frequencies so as to provide a greater buffer against their attacks which are currently too powerful for a fighter’s shields to contain alone. Your job is to concentrate heavy fire into whichever targets we designate. If your ship comes under direct attack, or the combined shields begin to falter, slip back and let the next ship take up the strain while your shields recover,” the comms announced in that funny alien echo of the Pod’s artificial voice-box.