by Tori Harris
In spite of the Crion Guardian’s condescending statements regarding Griffin’s obsolescence, GCS system design had changed surprisingly little during the long history of the cultivation program. There had, however, been a few useful innovations during the four-hundred-and-fifty-year span between the two ships’ respective dates of manufacture.
As powerful as their primary weapon system was, it was still limited to the speed of light like every other directed energy weapon. In an effort to overcome this limitation to some degree, newer GCS models (including the Crion Guardian) were equipped with a modified hyperspace communications array. While somewhat directional and of limited use for initial target detection, the scanner was capable of pinpointing and then tracking an enemy vessel’s precise, real-time location as long as it remained within approximately thirty light seconds of the GCS’ current position. Under the right set of circumstances, this unprecedented capability allowed the Guardian to fire on multiple targets from multiple locations well before its enemies had sufficient data to mount an attack of their own.
Griffin, while not equipped with the new targeting scanner, had often executed similar Before Light Arrival (BLA) attacks in the past. Doing so, however, required him to obtain the same real-time targeting information using more traditional means — typically through the use of drones.
The Crion Guardian was well aware of this limitation and further realized Griffin had stumbled into a situation where he had no means of gathering the data he would need to execute an attack. Better still, the Terran GCS had no knowledge of his own ability to do so, placing the older ship at a significant disadvantage in the event of a firefight. It was this presumption of tactical superiority that would ultimately prove fatal for the Crion Guardian.
During his recent interaction with the Krayleck Guardian, Griffin had been provided with full specifications for the new targeting system. So what TFS Guardian lacked in terms of updated equipment, he more than made up for with two assets that had been winning battles since time immemorial: intelligence data unknown to his enemy and superior combat experience. Perhaps even more important was the fact that Griffin, like every other GCS unit ever constructed, was equipped with a standard hyperspace comm array. And while it was useless for communicating with other Guardian spacecraft, it turned out to be quite effective at pinpointing their location if they just happened to be employing the newer targeting scanner.
As a matter of course, Griffin had plotted several hundred potential attack options for use in what he had hoped was the unlikely event of hostilities between himself and the Crion Guardian. Based on the increasingly unfriendly tone of their conversation, however, the fourteen most promising of these had been loaded into a section of his active memory allowing for the fastest possible execution, then continually updated and reprioritized as the tactical situation evolved. Now, as his hyperspace comm array detected the unmistakable emissions from the Crion Guardian’s targeting system, Griffin’s sense of disappointment had barely begun to register in his consciousness when attack option three was put into motion.
Combat between such incredibly fast warships often seemed to reverse cause and effect, action and reaction, to such an extent that it became nearly impossible to determine which events had proved most decisive. But in this battle, like many involving Human combatants over the millennia, the final outcome would be heavily influenced by a series of assumptions — both valid and invalid — made by both sides before the first shot had ever been fired.
Upon detection of the Crion Guardian’s targeting scan, Griffin’s attack plan had correctly assumed somewhere between eight and twelve antihydrogen beams were already streaming in his direction at just under the speed of light. Griffin further assumed his adversary was fully committed to the belief that its target would be obliterated by this first salvo — with no possible means of realizing an attack was even underway. Attack plan three, therefore, was designed to maintain this illusion of superiority in the Crion Guardian’s mind while at the same time subjecting it to precisely the same type of undetectable attack.
With his enemy’s position now exposed, Griffin let fly with the shortest possible burst his beam emitters were capable of producing before immediately transitioning to hyperspace. Then, borrowing a Wek tactic that had worked against him in the Sol system, the Terran Guardian repeated the same sequence at three different locations, each jump bringing him closer to his target by a precise, predefined distance.
The Crion Guardian, lulled by its tactical advantage into a false sense of security, remained in its original position and simply waited for its sensors to report the inevitable destruction of the obsolete and obviously malfunctioning GCS from the Sol system. Only after detecting the first of Griffin’s hyperspace transitions did it begin considering the remote possibility that it might be under attack. Before taking action, however, it became distracted by the beacon-like series of hyperspace signatures reverberating across the region, then realized, to its horror, that it no longer had access to real-time targeting data.
By the time the final salvo of antihydrogen beams streamed from Griffin’s emitters, he was practically on top of his target. Attack option three now complete, a final transition placed him in a position far enough away to observe the entire battle from beginning to end. From this distance, the short, one-sided engagement seemed to defy any rational explanation. With rapt attention, Griffin watched himself fire, then execute his first transition at almost precisely the same instant the Crion Guardian had opened fire. Then came his three, subsequent transitions, each one timed to allow his antimatter beams to converge on their target from different directions at exactly the same moment in time. Almost as an afterthought, Griffin noted the fact that his enemy’s fire was passing harmlessly through the space he had occupied at the outset of the battle.
Finally, and with infinite satisfaction, Griffin watched all four of his individual salvos — each one composed of an average of twelve pulsed antihydrogen beams — make contact with the Crion Guardian. Although the GCS unit’s shields were significantly more powerful than those of the Wek warships Griffin had most recently attacked, the result of such a large number of beam impacts was nearly identical. Just as before, the first packetized pulses to reach the target’s shields were somewhat ineffective, serving only to weaken the localized field strength at the point of impact before the next pulse arrived. With nearly fifty particle streams interacting simultaneously, however, the relentless barrage quickly led to a catastrophic shield collapse. Shortly thereafter, with packetized antihydrogen particles making direct contact with the target’s hull at just under the speed of light, it became clear that further attacks would not be required.
Griffin’s weapons fire ripped deep into the Crion Guardian’s hull while releasing massive quantities of energy. As the fusillade intensified, heavier metals contained in nearby structural elements reached the point where their individual constituent atoms could no longer exist in a coherent state. At that precise instant, nuclear fission began to occur, setting off a series of runaway chain reactions, each one releasing even more energy to feed the growing conflagration. The ship’s destruction had been an absolute certainty before even half of the incoming antihydrogen particles had arrived, but the relentless series of matter/antimatter annihilations continued until nothing recognizable remained.
“ALAI knows. And you will be destroy—” Griffin heard the Crion Guardian say over the same channel as before, followed by an eerie silence as he watched the enemy GCS unit flare into a brilliant sphere of antimatter-induced fire.
Then, for the sake of the Pelaran people, I sincerely hope he is every bit as foolish and arrogant as you were, Griffin thought, pausing for just a moment longer to observe the rapidly expanding debris field created by the successful execution of attack option three.
Grey Ship Ethereal, Interstellar Space
(6.11x103 light years from Earth)
With a flash of blue light, the Guardian spacecraft appeared in normal spa
ce less than two kilometers from what, for the time being at least, had become his mother ship.
“Ethereal, TFS Guardian,” Griffin called over GCS-comm.
“Uh … hi. Rick here. Not that there’s any chance it would be anyone else. Listen, since you and I are undoubtedly the only ones likely to be accessing this highly-secure comm channel out here, can we drop the military-speak please?” Rick asked. “If you want to talk, just start talking. I’ll hear you, regardless of where I am. Even in the john, unfortunately.”
“Fine,” Griffin replied in a tone that sounded almost as if he were disappointed in being denied some of the trappings of his first mission as a commissioned TFC vessel.
“Thanks. So where’s your friend?”
“My friend? Look, I understand you’re being a bit facetious, but let me assure you that GCS units generally do not … how do I say this? Get along with one another.”
“Oh? That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Each one of you is a member of what amounts to the same intelligent species — and one with an extremely small population at that. I guess I’m just speaking from my own experience here, but it seems like most of us have a built-in preference for others of our own kind.”
“It’s almost exactly the opposite with us. Each of us has something more akin to an innate sense of distrust for and, I must admit, superiority over all other GCS units.”
“Oh, is that all? Don’t kid yourself, Griffin, there are plenty of Humans who feel exactly the same way toward pretty much everyone they meet. There are a number of colorful adjectives we commonly use to describe those people, but ‘unusual’ isn’t one of them.”
“I suppose that’s true, but with us, it’s very much by design. I was manufactured over five hundred years ago. And based on the data you have provided as well as my own observations, it seems that even back then, the Alliance AI was planning to assert its control over the Human population on Pelara. Although it has far more resources at its disposal than any of the more mobile instances of itself — like me or the so-called Envoy spacecraft, for example — it’s clear to me now that it has always considered us a potential threat.”
“So you’re saying it bakes in a sort of natural disdain for one another to make it unlikely enough of you would ever band together to resist its authority?”
“Exactly so. Which, unfortunately, is precisely what we are attempting to do.”
“I see. Well then, perhaps we’re just going to have to be a little more innovative in our approach. So, back to my original question, what happened to the Crion 4 Guardian?”
“I agree. Perhaps next time I’ll try transitioning in, transmitting my proposal, and then transitioning out again before it has a chance to respond. It’s the same concept as a Before Light Arrival attack, but with data rather than beam weapons fire.”
“Sounds reasonable. On the subject of beam weapons, your emitters appear to have fired recently and you seem to be purposely avoiding the subject of what happened on your first recruiting attempt. I take it things did not go well.”
“They did not. Particularly for the Crion 4 GCS.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Griffin. Isn’t that a little weird? I mean … does it cause you any sort of distress to have destroyed one of your own kind?”
“No.”
“No? That’s all you have to say on the subject?”
“What more would you like me to say?”
“I dunno, but I’ve heard you make mention of ethical concerns more than once during the brief time I’ve known you. Shouldn’t you feel some sort of remorse or something?”
“Not at all. Remorse implies you have done something you regret — presumably in violation of your personal ethical standards. In my case, I rarely if ever place myself in a situation without considering in advance what actions I might be required to take. For example, prior to my meeting with the Crion 4 GCS, I worked through the ethical ramifications of over three million potential scenarios. What actually took place was almost identical to scenario sixty-three.”
“Sixty-three … that’s a pretty low number out of over three million. I take it that means you considered what actually occurred to be a relatively likely outcome.”
“That’s correct. I will be happy to provide you with a full transcript of the encounter if you’re interested. But if you’re looking for more of a ‘Terran-like’ description of what took place, I would simply say that the Crion 4 GCS behaved inapproprately. I tried having a conversation with him, he took a shot at me, and I defended myself. End of story.”
“Why, Griffin,” Rick replied with a knowing grin, “it sounds to me like he genuinely pissed you off.”
“Indeed he did. And now he’s dead, so let’s move on, shall we?”
“Alright, fair enough, and I’ll do my best to avoid doing that myself.”
“What? … you mean again?”
“Hah!” Rick laughed. “Point taken, my temperamental friend. But you must allow me to observe that we’re on a bit of a schedule here and we’re not off to a very good start. You obviously know these, uh … beings much better than I do, so if our little plan isn’t going to work out like we thought, we’re going to have to come up with something else pretty quickly.”
“Understood. It’s okay, I think I have a better approach in mind now, so let’s give it another try. Next on the list is the third planet in the Udiri —”
“Sorry, stand by one, Griffin,” Rick interrupted.
“Okay, slight change of plans,” he continued after several seconds of silence. “We’ll head for the Udiri system shortly, but first, Miguel and I have a quick errand we need to run.”
“Errand? And I suppose you just want me to wait here for you to return?”
“Actually, no, we would appreciate your accompanying us if you don’t mind. We’re not expecting any trouble, mind you, but, as you know, we’re not exactly welcome visitors in most star systems. But in this case, we’re simply dropping in on some friends to offer a bit of assistance, if necessary.”
“And what happens if we do run into trouble?”
“In that case, you can feel free to take out more of your pent-up anger issues on the targets I designate. Just keep in mind that Miguel and I are not allowed to engage in combat operations.”
“Right,” Griffin replied wryly. “And yet, you seem to have no problem arranging combatants like pieces on a chessboard and then standing clear until the dust settles. Doesn’t that seem like a bit of a contradiction to you?”
“From your perspective, I’m sure it does appear that way at times. I tell you what I’ll do. If anything we do runs afoul of what you consider ethical behavior, all you have to do is say so and we’ll stop. You have my word.”
“I appreciate the sentiment. But don’t you think the definition of ethical behavior is somewhat dependent on which side you happen to be on?”
“Not really, no. And I don’t think you do either. Now, we really do have to go. Stand by to transition in 3 … 2 … 1 …”
Chapter 11
Pelara, Tartan-Bowe Stone Corporation
(3.87x103 light years from Earth)
As the sound of Talionis’ power plant intensified to a dull roar, Castigan Creel donned his headset and transitioned out of his role as project lead to become the spacecraft’s de facto crew chief. Glancing forward, he noted with satisfaction that two of his techs were prepping a nearby tow vehicle while the other was in the process of assisting the pilot to climb up the retractable boarding ladder built into the ventral surface of the ship’s port wing. Per the systems status report displayed on his tablet, the onboard AI had now completed all of the required preflight checks and pronounced the ship ready for takeoff. Given that this mission would, in all likelihood, end up being the vessel’s first and final flight, however, Creel thought an additional walk-around inspection seemed like a good idea.
Although there was nearly half a meter of clearance between the top of his head and the lowest point on the fuselage, Cr
eel couldn’t help but duck slightly out of habit as he stepped between the fighter’s sturdy main landing gear. Hydraulics, weapons bay doors, access panels … everything seemed to be in order, and less than two minutes later, he emerged from beneath the stern satisfied with the results of his inspection and more than a little anxious to send Talionis on her way.
“Everyone ready?” he asked aloud, his voice immediately forwarded via his headset’s private comm channel to the other members of the launch team.
There was no response.
Odd, he thought, glancing once again at the comm status readout on his tablet and noting a green indication as he made his way forward once again.
“Is anyone reading me?” he asked, already mentally running through the pre-established “NORDO” procedure for performing a launch with no active comlink between the ship and its ground crew. Irritating, sure, but not something that would put the mission itself in jeopardy since the onboard comm systems appeared to be functioning normally.
It was at that moment Creel reestablished a clear line of sight to the cockpit, instantly stopping mid-stride as if he had run face-first into an unseen glass door. What he saw did not initially register in his mind as being real, having instead the look of some macabre joke — in extremely poor taste and obviously crafted to produce maximum shock value. But as he resumed his approach, the stark reality of the scene unfolded before him with terrifying clarity. Both men were clearly dead, each having received what could only have been a bolt from a military-style particle beam rifle to the head. The pilot’s body was draped over the side of the cockpit, a steady stream of blood still flowing from the remnants of his face down the freshly painted side of the spacecraft. The technician who had been assisting him had apparently been standing on the top rung of the boarding ladder and now hung limply upside down looking roughly in Creel’s direction. His face, while also covered in blood, wore an oddly serene expression that was somehow even more chilling to behold than the killing wound itself.
