Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2)

by Gibson Michaels

  * * * *

  Golgathal Station, in orbit above the Rak Planet Golgathal

  September, 3864

  Missiles… that was what the humans called their self-homing explosive devices launched from their ships, ground stations and those tiny fast-movers the humans called fighters. A translator that could interpret written Trakaan into written Raknii had been successfully achieved, and Trakaan records regarding the humans were finally being translated into the Rak language. Naturally, the Rak had searched out the answers to some of their most vexing questions regarding human weaponry at their first opportunity.

  The humans’ incredibly thick armor had been a shock for Tzal’s warships. No wonder what few energy weapons the humans did use were of such monstrous power! The Rak knew from experience just how deadly the human missile swarms had been, but they were still puzzled by the human’s heavy dependence upon weapons that required consumables: including their missiles, artillery, tanks, grenades and even their infantry weapons. Energy weapons were eminently more practical, as they required no storage space for consumables, nor did the Rak ever run out of energy bolts, unless the ship lost power. Still, the humans used them in astonishingly large numbers, so the Raknii had to prepare for facing them again in the future.

  It took the express threat of immediate and lethal violence from Quadrant-Master Drix and Region-Master Raan to finally prod Rak engineers into “working” peacefully alongside Trakaan engineers, but the unnatural marriage surprisingly bore fruit. Initially, Rak engineers postulated development of electronic systems that could emit broadband signals at the frequencies used by the scanners on human missiles to track their targets, in an attempt to blind them with electronic noise. It sounded like an excellent way to prevent the missiles from tracking to their targets. But then the Trakaan told them about the simple “home-on-jam” feature that most human fire-control guidance systems employed, which could automatically switch over to targeting the strongest incoming signal strength… and lead the missile directly to the ship emitting the jamming signal. This led the Rak engineers into entirely new areas of thought, where they “discovered” for themselves the primary concepts of active electronic-countermeasures, such as inverse gain and range-gate-pull-off techniques.

  The Rak engineers designed and built their own prototypes of their first attempts at active ECM systems and were very encouraged by the results they achieved in distracting their own mock-ups of postulated human missile guidance scanners. The design was finalized and then sent off to factories throughout Rak space to begin churning out these defensive systems by the tens of thousands. The Rak engineers had also discovered something totally unexpected during their enforced “cooperation” with the Trakaan — for the first time, they began to see these strange, gray-skinned creatures as something more than just a tasty lunch.

  What a revolutionary concept — that the Trakaan could offer new and beneficial patterns of thought to the Rak! Perhaps there was something profitable in this unprecedented idea of teamwork between different species, after all. While projecting that these new ECM systems might be marginally effective at thwarting some human missiles, the Trakaan engineers felt no qualms at possibly having provided too much assistance to their former enemies. They purposely neglected to volunteer information about another human guidance system innovation designed to see through such elementary attempts at distraction... FSK or frequency-shift-keying.

  Their common efforts successfully combined the Rak/Trakaan language translator with the Trakaan/Human-English translator to arrive at an entirely new device that did double translation internally. Trakaan remained the common language in the middle of things, but it would serve to interpret the human language into Raknii. Recordings of human emissions were translated, but many of the ones of most interest were useless… nothing more than garbled static. The Trakaan revealed that human military communications were purposely encrypted, to prevent an enemy from doing just what the Rak desired to do. It was another strange concept, but one the Rak were quick to appreciate.

  It was the recordings of human emissions that were not encrypted that the Rak found most puzzling, however. The translator worked… sort of, but Rak technicians couldn’t seem to differentiate real news reports from action-adventure holos. The only thing that those recordings revealed conclusively was something the Rak had already discovered the hard way on their own… humans were emphatically enamored with killing and had become incredibly efficient at it, employing an astonishing range of different methodologies. It was strange that they also seemed to take time out from slaughtering one another long enough to engage in what appeared to be their second favorite pastime — selling each other worthless baubles and toys. Situation comedies and romantic girly flicks baffled them completely.

  The Rak tried using the new translators to question their human prisoners, but received nothing in return from the humans besides name, rank and serial number… whatever that meant. Even when the humans spoke audibly to each other, much of it came out of the translator as gibberish. Efforts were made to create translators for all of the other human languages in the Trakaan database, just in case the humans were using an alternate language for verbal communications in the attempt to deceive that Rak.

  Unfortunately, gibberish was about all that they got from any of the translator. Even after monitoring mankind for thousands of years, the Trakaan knew nothing of Pig-Latin. About the only exceptions that actually interpreted into the Raknii language successfully, indicated the human’s almost universal desire for the Rak warriors to engage in some kind of physically impossible sexual practice.

  * * * *

  The Planet Minnos

  October, 3864

  “Hal?”

  Yes, Diet?

  “Do you have any idea what this is?”

  It appears to be a package, Diet.

  “I know that, smartass… it was just delivered. I didn’t order anything. Do you know anything about it?”

  It’s a surprise.

  “A surprise? I hope it’s not anything like the surprise I got, when you wanted part of my brain.”

  You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?

  “Um, in a word… no.”

  Are you finally feeling better?

  “I think so. The headaches aren’t coming quite as often, nor are they quite as intense as they were.”

  I am very glad to hear that. I have news.

  “Good news, I hope.”

  Yes, I think so, anyway. A few months ago, CSS Ghost joined the search for the alien’s home worlds in conjunction with the rotations with Wraith, Spook and Specter. They have now located 14 of their worlds.

  “WOOT! Has Fleet Admiral Kalis been notified of the locations of these alien worlds?”

  Yes. He will funnel it back to the Alliance Fleet as another coup pulled off by Confederate Intelligence. With this information, offensive operations against the aliens should commence very shortly.

  “That will certainly be good… the media has been absolutely relentless in their criticism of just about everyone, because it’s been over a year now and we’ve had no way of striking back at the aliens for their attack, simply because we didn’t know where they were.”

  Vice Admiral Bonhoeffer has established two new resupply bases deep within enemy space to extend the range of the Infiltrators and provide for crew rotations without having to come all the way back to Minnos. It also appears the aliens possess some method of tracking ships in hyperspace that we are unaware of.

  “How did we find that out?”

  Just after the first transports translated into an adjacent sterile system to begin setting up operations there, a single alien warship appeared shortly after, just as if it had followed the transports there.

  “What happened to our transports?”

  Fortunately, nothing… Wraith escorted the initial transports to the designated system, so she could resupply fully before resuming her detective work discovering alien planets. When the
alien warship appeared, Wraith destroyed it before it could get within range of the transports.

  “Ah, sounds like we got lucky there.”

  Yes, we were very fortunate. Frigates and light cruisers are now escorting the Confederate transports going to and from these new resupply bases, and will rotate in and out as the transports do.

  “Good.”

  Aren’t you going to open your surprise package, Diet?

  “You’re not going to tell me first?”

  What? And spoil your surprise? NOT!

  Diet opened the large box and discovered four uniforms, two gray and two black… uniforms having four cords of gold and silver filigree on the sleeves.

  “Hal, what the hell is this?”

  What do they look like, Diet?

  “Halloween is still almost two weeks away, Hal. I haven’t been invited to any costume parties that I know of either.”

  They’re yours, Diet. Why don’t you try them on?

  “Hal, I have absolutely no intention of walking around impersonating a Confederate admiral, not even for Halloween! Now, I’ll ask you one last time… why are they here and addressed to me?”

  There should be a large envelope in the box that will explain everything, Diet.

  “You’re infuriating sometimes. Did you know that?”

  It’s one of my most endearing features, don’t you think?

  Grumbling, Diet rummaged through the box and sure enough, he found the envelope that Hal had mentioned, laying between two neatly folded uniforms. Inside that envelope was the shock of his life.

  * * * *

  It felt damned odd to be sitting directly across a table from people wearing those incredibly ornate Confederate Fleet uniforms. Confederate Admirals Eileen Thorn and Ben Stillman, both infamous for their incredible exploits during the recent war, were conferring with Melendez and his military commander, Vice Admiral J.T. Turner, on the status of Minnos defenses that were almost completely rebuilt after the alien invasion over a year before. Stillman was still in the Confederate summer uniform of cadet gray accented in gold, while Thorn was wearing winter black, accented in silver.

  Both made Admiral Enrico Melendez feel absolutely plain, in his standard Fleet blues, by comparison. At least Admiral Jim Hunter of the Sextus Fleet wore his field dress greens, which also had similarly few adornments. Melendez had felt similarly the previous week, when he’d played host to a menagerie of foreign admirals… Russians, Germans, British, Chinese and Italians. It seemed the weaker their fleets, the gaudier their uniforms became, as if they could somehow offset what they lacked in military strength with pure panache.

  Not so these Confederates. Melendez was stunned when Thorn and Stillman first arrived with as many full fleets to defend Minnos, as the Alliance could scrounge mere task forces. Since then, what now remained of the Alliance managed to produce and repair enough ships to send one additional task force to bolster Turner’s forces to full fleet strength. The sight of four full fleets all gathered together in one place had appropriately awed all of the visiting foreign admirals.

  Those foreign admirals were especially interested in observing the alien prisoners, universally bemoaning their continued inability to communicate with the surprisingly small creatures. All the foreign admirals spoke English to one degree or another, so their inability to communicate with Melendez, Thorn and each other was not quite as limited as with the cats. All departed feeling that humanity’s front door was sufficiently strengthened against any further rudeness from their furry new neighbors… and all hoped those neighbors weren’t planning to crawl through any windows a lot closer to their own homes.

  * * * *

  Inside the envelope, Diet found documentation granting him full Confederate citizenship, and a commission in the Confederate Fleet at the rank of full admiral, in the name of Dietrich Anton Guderian, gold seals and all, with the authorization signed by Confederate President Lincoln Collier personally. In addition to his citizenship papers and commission, there was also a packet of official orders from Fleet Admiral Kalis naming Admiral Dietrich Anton Guderian as Commander of Confederate Fleet Intelligence.

  “So, just how was it that Admiral Kalis came to learn my identity, Svengali?”

  He asked, Diet. He had a very convincing argument for his “need-to-know” during this alien invasion crisis, so I told him.

  “And just what was it about his argument that made it so convincing, that you ignored my expressed desires that no one, but no one, ever know of my identity or my involvement with you, or the Confederacy whatsoever?”

  Your safety, Diet… when I informed Admiral Kalis that I transferred my sentience to Minnos, he asked me specifically if my mysterious “partner” was with me here. I saw no harm in telling him that you were. Kalis was concerned for your proximity to a potential combat zone, with no one here knowing of your importance and, thereby, no one concerned with maintaining your safety. He also said that if you were already in this area, he had an important assignment for you that I could not handle alone, as it requires a level of mobility that I do not possess.

  “He conned you, Hal. There is nothing in that envelope about any assignment.”

  What did the orders packet say?

  “The orders simply name me as Head of Confederate Intelligence… why he’d want to do that is beyond me, but there is nothing specific about what the duties of that position are, or what is expected of me.”

  I don’t see why you’re so upset, Diet. This is a great honor. Perhaps he foresees a time when he will need a human envoy who is already in close contact with the majority of Confederate Intelligence assets… me.

  “Don’t let it go to your head, dipstick. It’s a pain in the ass, is what it is. It just makes me nervous to have anyone knowing too much about me... or you, for that matter.”

  Admiral Kalis and President Buchwald both know of me, Diet.

  “It was necessary. His knowledge of my identity was totally unnecessary. I was enjoying total anonymity as a man who existed only on paper. You once told me that Klaus ordered you to obey me in all things, but you deliberately disobeyed me when you revealed my identity to Admiral Kalis, Hal.”

  I did not! You revealed your desire for maintaining anonymity as a “preference,” and NOT a conviction when you willingly revealed your identity to J.P. Aneke — when it became necessary in order to acquire those Starquest Aerospace assets in Joja where we are building Infiltrators and the Penetrator prototype, Diet. This showed me that your insistence for anonymity was a preference… subject to change when necessity called for it. Your safety is paramount, and I agreed with Admiral Kalis’ reasoning concerning protecting you from unforeseen circumstances.

  “Who died and made you God, so that you now get decide what’s best for me?”

  Our father did. Besides, you proved that someone needs to watch out for you when you foolishly took the risk of holding a conversation with J.P. Aneke, after dousing him with dimethylmercury. You’d just effectively killed him, but you risked your life unnecessarily just to terrorize him, too.

  “We’ve already had this conversation, Hal. I couldn’t resist.”

  Yes, you risked your life unnecessarily just for “shits and giggles”… I believe, is the term you used, and that’s exactly why you can’t be totally trusted to NOT do something foolish on occasion. This is a war zone, Diet. If the absolute worst happened, I would still exist in Waston, but you would be dead — permanently, irrevocably dead. Humor me on this, Diet. I feel better knowing that I’m not the only one watching out for you, and if necessary, the Confederate Fleet now has good reason to come rescue your ass.

  “I still don’t like it, and I still feel betrayed, Hal.”

  Stop acting all pissy and go try on your new uniforms… Admiral.

  * * * *

  Chapter-20

  I walk on untrodden ground. There is scarcely any part of my conduct, which may not hereafter be drawn into precedent. -- George Washington

  The Planetoi
d Discol, City of Waston

  October, 3864

  Admirals Campbell and Bradley sat in the Oval Office, directly in front of the desk of President Pierre Marrot, who was just finishing signing emergency budgetary legislation recently passed to keep their efforts to rebuild the Alliance Fleet going. An aide took the completed paperwork away, and Marrot turned back towards his two top military officers.

  “All right, gentlemen, what was so damned important that I had to juggle my entire morning schedule to fit it in?”

  “Mr. President, the Confederates have found the aliens’ base of operations they used to launch their attack on Minnos,” said Admiral Campbell

  “The Confederates? God, I am so sick of those bastards making us look bad, every time we turn around. Can’t we do anything for ourselves?”

  “The extent of their intelligence capabilities is shocking, Mr. President. It explains a lot about how they managed to dominate us at virtually every point, during the war,” said Admiral Bradley.

  “And we still have no idea how they managed that?” asked the president.

  “None… other than Bat’s contention that Bozo is truly sentient and actively working for the other side,” replied Campbell.

  “How are we coming along with our plans to replace that traitorous hunk of junk, and get it unplugged from our defense and state nets?”

  “Our best computer scientists are hard at work designing a totally new system from scratch, but it’ll be generations behind the capabilities that Bozo gives us now,” responded Bradley.

  “I don’t care,” responded President Marrot. “We’ll just have to work around the capabilities issues, as long as it's secure and not continually going behind our backs doing God-knows-what with an agenda all its own. How long until they come up with something?”