Exodus: Machine War: Book 4: Retribution

by Doug Dandridge

  “We understand that you have learned your own lessons, but how are we to know they will work in our situations?”

  The human looked at them for a second, unsure what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to say that the Machines were human inventions, and were well versed in human history and tactics, at least from the time they had been created. His superiors didn’t want these allies to know about that dark aspect of human history, at least not yet.

  “We have a lot of experience with both the Machines and more advanced alien powers,” he finally said. “We know the best ways to attack them.”

  “You know the best way for your forces to attack them,” argued the senior designer. “Which does not mean that you know the best way for us to attack them. We have been battling them for years now, and they have not overrun us. I think you should just teach us about your technology, and let us decide how to employ it.”

  There was much murmuring and head movement around the room, and the human thought he was losing this battle. These people couldn’t see that space tactics were more or less the same no matter the species. You couldn’t depend on your naturally evolved capabilities when fighting with massive warships at almost unbelievable speeds using powerful weapons. Why couldn’t they see this?

  Suddenly a door opened, and in stalked a hard-looking male with several armed soldiers behind him. The human stiffened in his seat, wondering what was going on, then holding up a hand as one of his Marines started to pull a particle beam pistol from its holster. He didn’t doubt the Marine could take all three of the unarmored aliens, but it was not his mission to increase tensions.

  “What is going on here?” asked the male, his own right hand on a pistol butt.

  “We were trying to explain to this, creature, here, that just because the ideas come from his people, it doesn’t make them right.”

  “Is that true?”

  “The master here has been trying to explain to the creature that we are not children, and should be able to choose how to employ the tech they give us.”

  “The master, huh.” The male stared at the elder designer, who returned his gaze levelly. Like a striking snake the visiting male pulled his pistol and burned a hole through the head of the master, the beam punching through and into the shoulder of another male.

  The master designer didn’t even have time to react. His triple eyes rolled up and he slumped in his chair, dead, while the designer who had been struck in the shoulder let out a high-pitched scream.

  The Marines drew their weapons with the speed of armored humans, weapons aiming at the newly arrived Gorgansha. They didn’t fire, luckily, in control enough to not do anything if their primary wasn’t menaced.

  “The Supreme Dictator wants your full cooperation with our guests,” said the male, looking around the room as he returned his pistol to its holster. “If they suggest something, you are to see what is the best way to implement their suggestion. Understood?”

  There were many head motions around the room, and much staring at the body of the master, but not a word spoken. That seemed to satisfy the executioner, who looked over at his men.

  “Get this offal out of here for disposal.”

  The men marched up, grabbed the dead Gorgansha under the arms, and pulled him from his seat, then walked the body out of the room.

  “His sons will want to have the body,” said one of the other designers.

  “His body will be thrown into the furnaces for disposal. Let that be a lesson to you and his sons.”

  The male walked out, his eyes sweeping the room and cowing everyone present, except the humans, who though horrified by the act, were angry that it had been carried out in front of them. He gave them a disdainful look, regarding their drawn weapons with scorn. With one last look he was out of the room, and the designers started speaking again, though at a very low level, until one looked at the human engineer.

  “Tell us what you want us to do, and it will be done.”

  * * *

  “They’re fucking barbarians, ma’am,” complained Captain Joshua Mendoza, the officer assigned to lead the mission to help the Gorgansha improve their military with Imperial technology. “They just shot their chief designer, who I assume was an elderly member of their engineering profession. Just because he argued with me. No if, ands or buts. Just put a beam through his head.”

  The officer was visibly upset. Natasha Khrushchev knew from his combat record that this man was no coward. He had been involved in the front line of the Ca’cadasan war, had seen real combat, had been on a ship that was all but destroyed in battle. He had been promoted for this mission to lead other engineers, sensor officers, weapons specialists and others, to teach the Gorgansha on the best possible deployment of the tech upgrades. And she had learned of this species cold bloodiness from the start, when they had executed an officer for daring to paint a destroyer with a targeting sensor. It didn’t surprise her, though it still disturbed her.

  “Did they threaten you or your people, Captain?”

  “No, ma’am. But I wouldn’t trust them not to do the same to me or my people. I sure felt better having the Marines with me, though.”

  And I wouldn’t trust them either, thought the admiral. In fact, before her mission had been reinforced with more ships, she had been worried that they might try to take her few vessels away from her. That was still a concern, but not much of one. The Gorgansha would be facing a lot of firepower if they tried anything, and they were getting a lot of what they wanted. But what was true trustto prevent one of their buffoon officers or officials from decided that humans needed disciplining as well, and their idea of discipline was terrifying? And bringing along a few Marines was not going to be enough security if the locals really decided to take the members of the technical mission.

  “I’m thinking of ordering all of your people to not meet with the natives unless you are in, at least, light battle armor,” she said, looking at the tactical holo that showed her ships arrayed around the wormhole gate. “But I’m really not sure that would give the natives a good impression of our trust level.”

  “It would give them an impression of our true level of trust at least, ma’am. If I had a vote, I would say we should get the hell out of this system as soon as possible. The hell with these creatures. Let the Machines have them.”

  Natasha narrowed her eyes at the officer. He didn’t have a vote. In fact, the only one that had one concerning this mission was the Emperor, and she doubted he would call this one off if there was the least chance they could get these people to fight on their side against the Machines, and possibly the Cacas after that.

  “Can you continue with the mission, Captain?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’m asking if, despite what you have seen. Despite your reservations. If you can continue to act as an Imperial officer and fulfill your duties on this mission? Which includes acting in a respectful manner toward these people while you are performing said duties. Because, if you cannot, I will relieve you of your duty and get someone in here who can.”

  “Ma’am. I didn’t do anything to make the Gorgansha do these heinous acts against their own people.”

  “I understand that, Captain,” said Natasha, looking into the eyes of the man and not liking what she saw. He was extremely disturbed, as any right-minded member of the Empire, raised on the principles of inalienable rights for all sapient beings, would be. Not even the Emperor could order a summary execution without a trial. People could be imprisoned facing trial, and military discipline could be enforced through non-judicial punishment, but they couldn’t face the death penalty without evidence being weighed against a crime committed. “But it is important to your Emperor, and therefore the Empire, that we do nothing to offend these people.”

  “And it doesn’t matter if they offend us?”

  “No, it doesn’t. This is a diplomatic mission. We are ordered to maintain cordial relations with these people up until the point where the Emperor decides to do otherwi
se. Now, knowing what you know about these people, and the parameters of the mission, can you do your goddamn job?”

  The captain looked shocked at her outburst. He swallowed, then nodded his head, getting control of himself. “Yes, ma’am. And I’m sorry about my outburst.”

  “Understandable. And you can come to complain to me about these assholes any time you need to. I said we have to act in certain ways toward these people. But I didn’t say we had to think about them in any other way than what they deserve. Clear.”

  “And you will complain about them to me as well?”

  “You know it doesn’t work that way, Captain. Complaints go up, only up. When I need to talk, I contact the fleet commander. And blister her ears.”

  “And if she’s too busy to talk?”

  “Then I have to deal with it myself. Like any other adult.”

  * * *

  “And how did they react to your execution of the master designer?” asked the supreme dictator of the Gorgansha of the officer he had sent to enforce discipline on the designers. He was not angry at the male, and would not have him disciplined for following his orders, no matter how the humans had been affected by it.

  “Their lead designer looked like he was going to be ill,” said the male, showing his teeth in a grin. “These are weak creatures, my Lord. We need to get what we can from them and improve our forces, then ask them to leave, as soon as they can, before they infect us with their weakness. Perhaps we can conquer them in the future, and add to your power.”

  Gonoras laughed at that, and a fleeting expression of worry crossed the executioner’s face. The supreme dictator knew what the male was thinking. What anyone would think when they weren’t sure how the supreme dictator was thinking. That they might be facing death themselves for saying something unwise, without realizing what it was.

  “Do you know how large their Empire is?”

  “No, Dread Lord.”

  “Much larger than you can imagine,” said the supreme dictator after another laugh. “Fifty times larger? Even larger? With many more people than we have, maybe a trillion of them. And a fleet that would make ours look like a scouting force.”

  “That can’t be true, can it?”

  “That is what they told us, and from our signal intercepts and translations of conversations among their people, it seems to be truth. Of course, we are not privy to any of their classified information, since their encryption routines are well beyond our capabilities.”

  “But, they are so weak. The way they treat their other species? It’s hard to believe they have not been overthrown by the lesser races of their Empire.”

  “Well, whatever the answer, they seem to have conquered and controlled a large area of space, and gathered many resources. We need these people, for the moment. So, I want your people to refrain from punishment of our citizens in front of the humans and their compatriots. We will wait until they are not present before instituting deserved punishment.”

  “That, will be bad for discipline, Dread Lord,” said the male, then realized that he had just disagreed with the only male who had the power of life and death over him. “I mean, your word is law, of course, Dread Lord.”

  “I said that you will refrain from disciplining our people in front of the humans. Then you will note the behavior, and when the humans are no longer in proximity, you will administer the required discipline. The guilty will still be punished, and our people will be aware of that fact. That should be enough. Understood?”

  “I, think so, Dread Lord.”

  “Good,” replied the dictator, picking up a drink from a slave who brought in the scheduled refreshments. “Now, have they been shown the special pieces of equipment yet?”

  “No, my Lord? We were thinking maybe by the end of the week. We thought it more important that they look at our conventional vessels first. Plus, I didn’t think we needed them for our battle against the foreign artificial life forms. And since ours were developed for our own population control, I didn’t think they needed improvement.”

  “I’m thinking they might be able to improve them to the point where can actually use them against the artificial life forms we are currently battling. They must have developed something like them on their own, and I’m sure their version would be superior to anything we could develop.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said the male, bowing deeply. “I will see to it.”

  * * *

  KLASSEK: AUGUST 30TH, 1002.

  “General. We have another problem.”

  Colonel General Travis Wittmore opened his eyes, checking the time on his implant and cursing under his breath. He had only been asleep for a couple of hours, after a very long day of supervising the military buildup on Klassek. The native troops were almost up to Imperial standards as far as equipment went. They had modern armor and weapons, so far only lacking enough supermetals to equip all the combat suits with grabber units. As far as they knew the Machines infiltrators had all been taken care of. Or so it was hoped.

  “What is it?” he asked the duty officer in a voice laced with exhaustion.

  “The Klassekian boss man has called in about some kind of unknown plague hitting the other continent.”

  That would be the continent where the damned religious fanatics of the former Nation of Honish lived. They were still having problems with suicide attackers of that fatalistic death loving religion. Having Klasseks of the moderate Nation of Tsarzor equipped with battle armor suits had gone a long way to quelling their terrorist acts. After all, the suits had the sensors to detect explosive devices, and only a large bomb going off next to a suit would kill a soldier encased in the armor. They were still killing people, but it was mostly their own coreligionist, and Wittmore could live with that.

  “The symptoms of this plague?” asked the general, sitting up in bed and ordering his monitoring systems on. Holos sprang to life around the large bedroom, some showing the tactical situation on the planet and the space around it, others the local newscasts, translated into Terranglo. The tactical situation was much as it was when he went to bed, nothing going on. Some of the newscasters were obviously agitated to someone as familiar with the species as Wittmore was. Others were calm, and the news they read had nothing to do with outbreaks of unknown plagues.

  I wonder if the damned fanatics are now engaging in biological warfare? he thought. Not that he would cry any tears over them killing their own people, though he couldn’t express that to the natives. They were a pain in the ass, and though he couldn’t countenance killing them for religious beliefs, he wouldn’t begrudge something else doing the job. But a contagion could spread to the rest of the population, and, though unlikely, it wasn’t unheard of for bacteria or viruses to jump species.

  “People feel weak, become lethargic, then start to bleed from all orifices, sir. After an hour they start bleeding from their integuments as well, then die. And the president wants to speak with you.”

  “Put him on,” he told the officer after pulling on a coverall and making his way to his bedroom writing desk.

  “Mr. President,” he greeted as the Klassekian leader appeared on the holo.

  “General,” replied Rizzit Contena, the male who had been chosen to lead the united planet. “You have heard?”

  “Just that you have some kind of plague starting up on the other continent. How many have contracted it, and how fast is it spreading?”

  “So far we have several thousand cases in half a hundred locations, with hundreds of more cases reported each hour,” said the anxious looking male. “Even some of our medical workers have been hit with it, even though they followed standard isolation procedures.”

  Wittmore sat up straight when he heard that. Biological contagions normally couldn’t get through modern isolation procedures, and as far as he knew all Klassekian medical units now used copies of Imperial equipment that had been adapted to their biology.

  “We need to get some of the bodies to our medical facility in the capital as soon
as possible, Mr. President. It would help if we got some of those in all stages of the process as well, but I’ll notify our chief surgeon to get his people on it.”

  “Are you sure you want to bring any of the deceased to our continent, General. After all, it’s isolated from the other continent at the moment. I would prefer it stay there until we figure out what it is, and how to stop it.”

  “Good call. We’ll send mobile units over there to look into it. Let me go so I can get on it.”

  The holo died and Wittmore sent out the call to his chief surgeon. He really didn’t like the idea that a new unheard-of contagion was breaking out on the planet, so soon after the attack by the Machines. And that they could get through the isolation suits the medical practitioners were using was doubly worrisome. Even if they weren’t the best the Empire had, they had still been upgraded with Imperial tech, and should be able to handle any kind of contagion.

  “Sir,” called the duty officer over the com. “We have a report of an outbreak here in the capital.”

  “Get the medical people on it, and make sure none of our troops are exposed to it. That includes those in combat suits.” That it had appeared half a world away from the initial cases, only hours after that outbreak, was frightening. And now the possibility of that contagion jumping species seemed all too real, if the cause was what he thought.

  * * *

  “How many do you have in this ward,” asked Lt. Commander Tasha Tomez, looking at the viewer that showed the scene of the isolation unit.

  “Two hundred and fifty-four,” said the Klassekian physician. “And we only got that many in by stacking the beds.”

  The commander nodded, noting that the beds were stacked up like bunks, and were really too close together. Which was a sign that this hospital, like the two others she had toured, were overfilled, well beyond their capacity.

  “And the air in there, how is it filtered?”