“What about reinforcements from Bolthole?” asked Wittmore, thinking of the wormhole gates that could move whole fleets from place to place. Unfortunately, without their own wormholes, which reduced their effectiveness considerably.
“Admiral Bednarczyk is unwilling to cut them loose at this time, general,” said the voice of the local defense fleet commander over the com. “They’re to reinforce our mission at the Gorgansha home world, if needed, while also maintaining the defense of Bolthole.”
“And she’ll let Klassek die, when she can send us enough ships to stop the Machines in their tracks?”
“See here, Wittmore,” said Admiral Lysenko, who though the same rank as the general, was the overall commander of the system defense by dint of being in the Fleet. “The admiral is doing what she deems best. And the Machine force is still more than ten days from here. She knows about it, and knows what my resources are. And since we haven’t engaged the enemy force yet, there’s no telling what will actually get here. So let us do our jobs, and you do yours.”
What the man was telling him was to wait and see. He didn’t like that advice. He had fought to long and hard for this world, had spent too much blood, Imperial and Klassekian, to let it all be for nothing. And Klassekians were now de facto Imperial citizens, and as such were entitled to the protection of the military. Of course, the citizens of many Imperial worlds were entitled to the same protection, and they had still died. The planets Cimmeria and Aquilonia came to mind.
“Very well. I guess I’ll have to do what you request.” That was what he said. That was not what he intended. He had his own channels to the Imperial seats of power. Channels that he could not use too often lest they be bared to him. But now seemed like the time.
“Get me Grand Marshal Yamakuri,” said Wittmore into the air, starting the process of communicating across the thousands of light years.
* * *
“Your Majesty. I think we might have something,” said Chantuo Chan over the holo.
“The shutoff code?” asked Sean, excitement running through his body.
“Yes. I believe so. We transmitted it to the functioning memory core and it turned itself off, completely. Not a bit of current flowing through it, though it has access to all it can handle. Next we need to test in on some large processing units programmed with the Machine AI.”
“Isn’t that risky, Admiral. What if it gets out of hand?”
“The Machine AIs will not be hooked up to anything they can use for locomotion or manipulation. And they will be isolated from the outside Universe save for the single active channel going into them by fiber optic. I don’t think anything can go wrong, but if it does, we will have a battalion of Phlistaran Marines standing by to intervene. And some ships ready to take out the freighter.”
I just hope it doesn’t come to that, thought Sean, imagining an entire battalion of the stout aliens, some of the most loyal soldiers of the Empire, vaporized because a test situation got out of control. Of course they would volunteer, and of course it would be because the aliens felt the peer pressure of their companions and felt compelled to volunteer.
“And you need me to authorize this test?”
“Yes, your Majesty. After all, I am putting Imperial resources at risk, and I am not serving in the capacity of line or command.”
And that’s all you care about, isn’t it, thought the Emperor, looking into the now expressionless face of the research and development chief. He knew that wasn’t fair. He had seen her emotionally distraught often enough when people had died because of things she had ordered them to do. And she had served in a line position for the first offensive against the Cacas, running a carrier battle group in reward for getting the inertialess fighters up and running. But the Admiral would never be accused of being overly emotional. She was one of the greatest rational minds in the Empire, a fact she was proud of.
“Very well. You have my permission to proceed. Just make sure that everyone that might be in the line of fire is a volunteer.”
“All signed up and witnessed, your Majesty.”
Of course they are, thought Sean, frowning, as the holo faded out. Even when the non-Phlistaran races of a tight combat unit volunteered, it was most likely that the more recalcitrant members would as well, since to not do so was seen as betrayal of brothers and sisters. The peer pressure would be tremendous, and everyone would put their electronic signatures on the statements of risk. Which wouldn’t make him feel any better if over seven hundred Marines and spacers died because the experiment got out of control.
That won’t happen, he told himself. Most likely the precautions would be enough, and there wouldn’t be any spread of the Machine AIs. And if they did get out of their box and get control of something unforeseen, seven hundred Marines all massing over a ton of body weight, with two tons of armor, would most likely be enough to stop it. But if they didn’t, they would be sacrificed to make sure the contagion didn’t spread.
“I hope this works, Admiral. I’m tempted to tell you to slag the memory core and forget about it, but if we have a chance to stop them I have to let this go forward.”
Both were silent for several moments, caught up in thoughts of what could go wrong, and what might go right.
“Now, how are we doing on the Alcubierre drive ships?”
* * *
“We have released the technical data to allow the Gorgansha to build hyper VII ships, your Majesty,” said Beata Bednarczyk over the com. “Their engineers almost fell over themselves trying to get to their design software so they could figure out how to modify their current designs to accept the upper dimension drives.”
“And when do you think they’ll have hyper VII ships of their own, Admiral?”
“Since they’re starting to cannibalize some of the ships they currently have in the docks, we’re guessing in as little as a month.” An expression of distaste was on the admiral’s face, and Sean thought he knew from where it was coming.
“Still don’t trust them with our technology, Admiral?”
“No, your Majesty,”” spat Beata. “I don’t. Or at least not the people at the top of their Empire. That weasly bastard of a supreme dictator makes my skin crawl. He makes Joseph Stalin look like a saint, does that one. To him the lives of his people are as nothing to his whims. I’m sure he would think the same thing about my people, and would probably act on his thoughts if he didn’t need us so, or if we didn’t have such a clear military advantage, one that grows weaker with every tech advance we give him.”
“So you think we shouldn’t have given him our newest tech?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean, I don’t know, your Majesty. We need his ships, though I wish he didn’t come along with them. But I think we will rue the day we gave him a leg up on everyone else in this region.”
“Once we get rid of the Machines we will probably pull your forces back the Bolthole and use the base as intended, to build combat units for the main war,” said Sean, twirling one of the anachronistic pencils he liked to keep on his desk in his fingers.
“And then what’s to stop this moron from conquering the entire region?”
“Nothing. Except I want you to use up as many of his combat units in the battle with the Machines as possible.”
Beata stared out of the holo for a moment, and the Emperor was sure he knew what she was thinking. Yes, I can be that cold blooded an asshole. When it comes to my people and my realm, I can be a right bastard. I hate it. But if it keeps the most people alive, this is what I will be.
“You’re sure you want me to do that, your Majesty?”
“I really don’t want you to do that, Admiral. But I really don’t see where we have much of a choice. As you said, we don’t want to leave such a dangerous enemy in our rear. And the tech we have been giving them has a little surprise in it as well.”
“Like what?” asked the woman, her eyes narrowing.
“It’s all coded to shut down when the proper signals are sent. Then, anythi
ng of ours they have aboard will cease to operate.”
“And that’s all? It won’t cause their antimatter to breach?”
“I can be cold, Admiral, but I would never take it that far. No, they will just find that all the new bells and whistles we helped them put aboard their ships will no longer function. Which should be enough to take the wind out of their sails. Included will be all the data we have given them to build the technology in the first place. And the manufacturing facilities will also shut down as code in the processing programing goes to work. I wish we could go ahead and assassinate all their engineers and technicians as well, since they will know how to build the tech, but I guess that’s out of the question.”
Beata continued to stare at her monarch for some time, before the start of a smile creased her face, soon growing into a wide grin and moving on to a straight out laugh. “I would like to see the old bastard’s face when that happens.”
“Fortunately, you won’t be able to,” said Sean, crossing one set of fingers off holo. At least I hope not. It would be better if we had nothing within range when that happens, because they are going to be right pissed. “You and your fleet will be back at Bolthole, and you will be coming back to run one of the main Fleet wings under Duke Mgonda or Admiral Lenkowski. I think you have earned that much.”
The smile widened even further on the woman’s face, something that would have seemed not possible a moment before. Sean knew that would make her happy. She had been in a backwater command, manning a desk as a four star flag officer, before he had, on the advice of Admiral McCullom, bumped her up a rank and transfered her to a combat command. She was not the most politically astute flag officer in the fleet. That was okay. He had enough political admirals to man desk posts. He needed a tactician who was willing, nay, eager, to fight. And she had definitely proven to be those things.
“And who will take my place?”
“I will expect your input on that. One thing I can tell you is it will not be Mara Montgomery.” He could see the smile drop immediately, to be replaced with disappointment. “I thought you might like her to become your scout force commander on the wing you will command. Or was I wrong about that?”
“No, sir. No one I would rather have.”
“So, we will still need a competent flag officer out there to command. Someone who can slap down the Gorgansha if need be. So get together your recommendations. I can’t promise that McCullom or I will choose that person, but your recommendation will carry weight. A lot of weight. Now, since I have the entire Empire to hold up on my shoulders, was there anything else?”
“I’m still worried about the Gorgansha autonomous robots. I know they haven’t activated them yet, except for some limited testing, but I’m still afraid that dumbass is going to deploy them. They just won’t listen to reason.”
Just like we wouldn’t listen to reason when the Brakakak had warned us about using autonomous war machines, thought Sean. The Brakakak had been one of the lucky species that had survived their attempt at building battle bots to take the place of their living troops. It seemed like such an elegant solution, until they turned on them. And, of course, the humans thought they could do a better job of it, until theirs had turned on them as well. So why wouldn’t another species think it wouldn’t happen to them. But, then again, these had gotten a firsthand look at what could go wrong, and were still forging ahead to their appointment with disaster.
“Again, Admiral, you are to do nothing about those, until you think they have been deployed. Then you are to destroy them by any means necessary. Do you understand me? Any, means, necessary.”
“Including orbital bombardment.”
“Including orbital bombardment. I would rather have a war with these people than let another infestation of murder machines loose on the Universe. So, that is a direct order. I will send it to you on digital record, with my signature attached, so there is no doubt where it came from.”
“Yes, sir. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but it’s good to know you have my back if it does.”
“Don’t worry, Admiral. I will not let the blame for another war fall on you. And if Parliament doesn’t like it, they can go to hell.”
* * *
SPACE NEAR KLASSEK: NOVEMBER 20TH, 1002.
“We’re on attack approach, sir,” called out the tactical officer.
Like I can’t see that, you idiot, thought the Count Boris Lysenko. He was feeling irritable this day. The Machine force was ahead, his ships were ready, and he was about to ream them a new asshole. They outnumbered him, but he had five wormholes aboard his force, and all of the launchers that fed into them. He might take some losses. That was a given in almost any battle, and he had to close on them in hyper to be able to get the shots. But he could swamp them with so many missiles on multiple attacks that they wouldn’t have a chance against him.
“Enemy approaching at point six light,” said the tactical officer, looking back at his commander and continuing to do his job to the best of his ability.
“Why so slow?” asked the chief of staff.
Lysenko couldn’t figure that out himself. From the location they were contacting the Machines at they had obviously been moving faster up to a day before, but were now at a much lower velocity. His own force had decelerated down to point four light. They would be passing each other at near light speed, and would have less than ten minutes to trade shots before they passed. But he would be able to turn his fleet and chase them with wormhole launched missiles. One hundred and fifty of them every thirty seconds, coming out at point three five greater velocity than the ships they would be chasing. He figured that whatever survived the pass through would be vaporized by the wormhole launches. A few ships might survive, but not enough to threaten Klassek, since it had the four wings of inertialess fighters and some odd attack craft for defense. His ships, in the meantime, would decel and come back around, chasing the enemy, probably entering Klassek space within twelve hours of them, if there were any them still left.
“Enemy ships are releasing missiles, sir.”
“Configuration?”
“They seem to be launching those big bastards,” said the officer.
Lysenko nodded. He had been hoping for such. The smaller weapons they were starting to use had a much higher acceleration and were much more maneuverable, though they were much easier to kill when they were hit. They appeared to be more effective per materials used. Counter missiles could take out both, though in hyper they would only have one shot at each, since counters had very limited range in the deadly dimensions.
“Prepare for wormhole launch,” ordered the admiral. “All ships are to release one volley on command.”
He watched the plot as the enemy missile homed in. “Fire,” he called out, then watched as the plot populated with hundreds of human missiles, about half accelerating from the point four c velocity that had been imparted by the launching ships, the other half tearing through hyper at point nine five light. The wormhole missiles would reach first, and would be very hard to stop.
Counters started flying from the human ships, taking on the incoming enemy missiles. Ships from both sides started falling off the plot, more of the Machine than the human. Both sides inter-penetrated each other, beam weapons going to work. When the forces finally separated almost half of the Machine ships were gone, along with a fifth of the human vessels.
“Preparing to turn and fire wormhole missiles,” reported the tactical officer.
Lysenko looked at the readout on his fleet. All of the wormholes had made it through. A dozen ships had sustained significant damage, many more the light variety, but all were battle worthy.
“Prepare to fire the wormhole missiles,” ordered Lysenko. Stupid Machines, he thought. They were just big calculators, and not a match for the minds of humans.
“Sir, we’re picking up missiles, translating from normal space up to…”
Lysenko stared at the plot, at the missiles that now appeared, several seconds from i
mpact with the fleet. Fire from ships that had been coasting in normal space, ready for the human ships to enter their range.
The was the last thing Lysenko saw, as several missiles slammed into Baron Suzanne Ivanov at a closing speed of point seven light, converting the big warship into a cloud of plasma that quickly translated into normal space. When the missile storm passed only one badly damage battleship, a battle cruiser, and fifteen smaller ships continued on, decelerating at their maximum, for some much less than normal. And only one wormhole survived. The humans had fallen into the trap they had sprung on other so many times, and now nothing stood between a still powerful Machine fleet and the world they were determined to destroy.
* * *
“I wish the damned ground pounder would keep his nose out of my business,” growled Beata as she paced the deck around the central holo tank.
Unfortunately, the order didn’t come from any of the ground pounders, but from the Emperor himself. He wanted Klassek safeguarded at all costs. The only problem was everything out here needed guarding at all costs. And as Clauswitz had once said, if you tried to defend everything, you defended nothing. She couldn’t even accuse Wittmore of going over her head, since he was really in a separate chain of command. He was under her for this deployment, but he had the right to talk to his own people, to request reinforcement or resupply, or even a clarification of orders. And once the Grand Marshall, a man of seven star rank as compared to her five stars, became involved, there was really nothing she could say. She couldn’t even ask for four star general Wittmore to be relieved. That order could only come from the Imperial Army.
You would think that by now we would have worked out a unified command structure, she thought, looking at the plot and willing the bright dot of Klassek’s star to zoom into view. Unfortunately, there were two services, each with their own priorities, and their own champions in the government. If it were up to her she would have disbanded the Imperial Army and moved all of their personnel over into the Marines. The Marines liked to think they were the supreme individual warriors, and would raise hell at the dilution of their ranks by those they deemed unworthy. As far as she could tell most soldiers were just as capable and tough as Marines, though many in the Fleet would say that was blasphemy.
Exodus: Machine War: Book 4: Retribution Page 26
