And the third criteria was that the station must have a relatively fresh crew, with many months before that crew was scheduled to rotate out and be replaced by a new group of little green men. That would give the submind plenty of time to skim data and find everything we needed, and hopefully more.
The burden of selecting a short list of relay stations from Smythe’s criteria fell on Skippy.
“Have you found some Thuranin data relays that are good targets for us?” I asked.
“Yes I did, and I have great news for you, Joey. All of these particular relay stations are pokestops!”
“What’s a pokestop?”
“Come on, Joey, it’s where you collect rare pokemonsters. Pokemon? Anyone? Anyone?” Skippy asked in frustration. “It’s an old game, Joe, you- Oh, forget it. Damn, sometimes you are so stupid that it’s not any fun to insult you.”
“Mmm. Wow, you’re saying that being stupid is an advantage?”
“What? No, I did not say that, you dumdum. Man, there are times-” He sighed, then sobbed quietly. “Oh, why am I stuck on a pirate ship with a bunch of flea-bitten monkeys? I must have been a truly awful person in a previous life, to deserve this terrible fate.”
“An awful person like what?” I was going to suggest an arrogant AI, but he interrupted me.
“You know, Joe, someone who takes joy in making people suffer. I’m talking pure evil here, like a customer service rep for the cable company.”
“Ha!” I laughed. “Even you could never be that evil, Skippy.”
“Thank you for the reassurance, Joe. To be serious for a moment, based on your first two criteria, there are twenty three data relay stations that are perfect candidates for us. I think. You and Major Smythe will need to look at them and decide.”
Whittling down the list of candidates was great, we still feared heavy casualties in taking the station. “Even with this newer type of relay station,” I asked, “you can’t do your sandman trick?” My hope was that Skippy could repeat the technique he had used to capture the Flying Dutchman; hacking into the Thuranin’s AI and ordering all the little green men to go into sleep mode. After he’d done that, all we had to do was drag their sleeping, drooling bodies to a cargo hold.
“Sorry, Joe, the answer is no,” Skippy said with regret. “Even that smaller type of station has heavy internal shielding. I couldn’t access the entire structure from any one point. And as soon as we fire a shot, the Thuranin will go into combat protocol which disables their sleep function. I wish I could do that for you. Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Skippy. Without you, none of this would be possible.”
“That internal shielding also means our combot operators will need to be inside the station,” he warned, “close behind their machines. That way, I will be able to facilitate the interaction between operator and combot.”
“We understand. That’s still twenty three possible targets. Can you narrow the list further using our third criteria?”
“Sure, Joe. I can do that, after I get the data on Thuranin fleet deployment plans, and crew rotation schedules for those twenty three relay stations. So, at the moment, the answer is no. I told you, we have to get that data from a Thuranin ship somewhere, somehow.”
“All right, I hear you. You need more data. And we need a plan to get it. Fine. When we do that that data and you give us a smaller list, I need to speak with Smythe. We will recommend two or three relay stations from your list. Then Chotek has to make the decision.”
Skippy snorted. “Is our resident bureaucrat qualified to make military decisions, Joe?”
“No, but if there’s not much difference between the stations on the final list, we may as well flip a coin. I want him to be part of making the decision. I want him to know that if there are casualties, he had a hand in it. I’m not covering my ass, Skippy. I want Chotek to know what it feels like to make life and death decisions.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Paradise
General Nivelle accepted the Burgermeister’s offer of hot water to make tea, and scattered some precious tea leaves into his cup. The tea would have hardly any taste, and that didn’t matter. To the Ruhar, it was the ritual of drinking tea that was important. “Thank you, Madame Logellia. I have been considering something you said during our last conversation. What would be involved if our force declared loyalty to the Ruhar? And what would be the implications to our people here, and on Earth? I assume the Kristang would learn of our switching sides.”
She looked out the window. “It is a fine day; we should go for a walk.”
It was not a particularly fine day, being overcast with the skies threatening rain, and a chill in the morning air. They walked out of the building, down a road, then turned to walk along a dirt lane separating two fields. One of the fields was ready for harvest, it contained some kind of grain like wheat or oats. The other field was in the process of being planted; a large machine was rolling along the rows at the far end of the field. From the field, Nivelle caught a whiff of whatever fertilizer the Ruhar used; it smelled vaguely like parmesan cheese and to Nivelle’s nose, unpleasant. He ignored it. Reports had come into UNEF HQ that some Ruhar who had contact with human soldiers mentioned the scarcity of fertilizer on Paradise. A Kristang raiding ship had hit a fertilizer factory six months ago, and the local Ruhar were complaining that their government was very slow to rebuild it. The local Ruhar were unhappy about many things, according to rumors that Nivelle gave credence to. The government was not making enough of an effort to rebuild and enhance infrastructure. The schedule for bringing back native Ruhar who had been evacuated was far too slow, and the schedule kept slipping. And most importantly the local Ruhar complained that their fleet, which had recently won crushing victories, did not seem able or willing to protect them from what surely must be a small group of Kristang starships.
When they had walked half a kilometer down the lane, talking about nothing but the weather, Logellia decided it was time to discuss the important subject. “General, it is unfortunate that I ever mentioned to you the possibility of your force switching allegiances in this war. I mentioned our conversation to my superiors, and they were dismayed the subject had been discussed at all. If you were to formally offer to change sides, I am afraid to tell you that the Ruhar government would not welcome it. My government would not accept the humans on Gehtanu as clients at the present time. If the offer had been extended earlier, such as soon after our fleet regained control of Gehtanu, the answer might have been different. Under the current circumstances, it is not possible.”
“Why? Has something changed in the strategic situation in this sector?”
“I should not be telling you this officially, and you must promise me that you will keep this a very closely-held secret, General.”
“You have my word as a French soldier,” General Nivelle said, mildly offended.
“First, I must tell you that your communications are thoroughly compromised by my people. There are even nanoscale recording devices in some of your clothing; the devices embedded in the collar of your uniform have been disabled temporarily,” she pointed to her own zPhone. “Any repetition of this conversation must be conducted with extreme caution.”
“Understood,” Nivelle agreed, suddenly feeling his collar itching his neck. “And agreed.”
“Cool, as your people say. General, my government, I refer to the federal government, not the planetary administration. The Ruhar federal government has been engaged in negotiations to give Gehtanu, this planet, back to the Kristang.”
Nivelle almost choked on his complete shock. “Sacre bleu! Why?”
Logellia explained the strategic situation. “You must understand that my government never intended to recapture Gehtanu in the last campaign. In short, General, this planet is not worth the military effort that would be required to keep it.”
Nivelle was stunned. The entire Ruhar campaign to retake Paradise had been a ruse to draw in the Thuranin and Kristang, and now the Ruh
ar wished to give the planet away?
“Personally,” She continued, “I am opposed to any notion of surrendering my home planet. I was born here, and my mother was born here. Mine is only one voice. I am not even allowed to tell the local population about the negotiations. These raids by the Kristang,” she looked at the clouds, “only serve to reinforce my government’s decision to trade away this planet.”
Nivelle was greatly disturbed, and chose his words carefully. “Your government would not welcome, and would not accept, our pledge of loyalty, because that would make them responsible for the humans here?”
“It would make us responsible, yes, all Ruhar. On this world, the issue of humans is important. Away from this star system, most of my people have never heard of humans. Or if they have, all they know is that humans serve our enemy. To accept your allegiance would mean my government accepts the tremendous expense of evacuating humans from this planet. And they would have to be resettled on a Ruhar world, where the local population would probably not be pleased to find an enemy in their midst. For my government there is, as I believe your people say, no upside for us. We gain nothing by accepting your force as clients.”
General Nivelle could not argue with her hard, cold logic. It made sense. It also meant disaster for his force. “Then it is good that I did not discuss the possibility of switching sides with anyone, not even my personal staff. I wanted to learn the implications from you first.”
“I do not know what impact there would be to Earth if you changed allegiances, because we do not know the situation on Earth. The Kristang there are cut off from the rest of their species, after the wormhole shut down.”
“That is confirmed? It is not disinformation by the Kristang?” Nivelle asked anxiously. UNEF HQ had heard rumors that the Kristang no longer had access to Earth. If it was true, then he needed to officially inform his troops before rumors got out of hand. Bad news, as the old saying went, did not improve with age.
“The wormhole is in Kristang territory,” she said. “So we cannot verify it has truly gone dormant. However, I am told that we have very solid intelligence that the Kristang and Thuranin have lost contact with your home planet.”
“Is that unusual for a wormhole to shut down like that?”
“It is very unusual. As we do not know how wormholes work, or why they have sudden shifts, we can’t make any useful speculation about why that wormhole has ceased functioning. It may reactivate tomorrow, or it could signal another impending shift across the entire sector. We simply do not know. General,” she turned so they could walk back to her office, the sky was beginning to drizzle. “I am sorry about the situation you find yourself in. Your species did not ask to become part of this war. I do not have any advice for you. Having on my world a client species of our enemy is new to me. Again, I am sorry that you were drawn into this war.”
Nivelle did not want to discuss regrets, he wanted to discuss action. “Do you know the status of the negotiations? The timeline for handing over control of this planet to the Kristang?”
“My government has not consulted me,” she said with a wry smile, “so what I can tell you is from what I have heard from sources who are usually reliable. So far, the territory that the Kristang are offering in exchange for Gehtanu is not sufficient, and the negotiations have been going back and forth. There are complicating factors. Although there is currently a limited cease fire between the Jeraptha and the Thuranin in this sector, it has not yet been agreed which territories the Jeraptha have captured. Some star systems the Jeraptha took control of during the conflict, they may wish to give back to the Thuranin, in exchange for other more valuable territory. The Jeraptha wish to consolidate their gains and draw a new, more defensible border. That new border may affect what territory the Kristang are able to offer to us, or may affect the value of that territory. Because the Jeraptha captured a wormhole cluster from the Thuranin, the Jeraptha now control access to territory that is not inside their borders.” She shook her head. “As I said, the situation is very complicated. The Commodore of our defense fleet,” she pointed to the sky, “has told me that he thinks the ongoing Kristang raids are not aimed at retaking the planet; the Kristang force here is not strong enough to do that. The raids are aimed at making my government more willing to accept a lesser bargain in exchange for this planet. General, the true problem we face; you humans and we native Ruhar, is that my government very much wants to trade away Gehtanu. Therefore, eventually they will reach a deal with the Kristang, and my people will leave this world. As to your people, I do not know what will happen.”
Flying Dutchman
While we still hadn’t selected one particular relay station to hit, Major Smythe began planning the assault. Smythe was glum about our chances. “We can do it, sir,” he told me without confidence. “We can take the station. I expect casualties to be heavy; once we get inside, it will be a short and bloody battle. We will have the advantage of initial surprise and numbers; between our troops in armor suits and combots, we outnumber them three to one. The Thuranin have the advantages of being genetically engineered cyborgs and being on the defensive. They know the terrain better than we do. I wish,” he said while looking around the empty cargo bay we used for training, “that we could build a replica of that relay station. It would be bloody helpful to train on the same ground where we’ll be fighting.”
“Huh.” He had given me a thought. “Hey, Skippy. This type of relay station we will be assaulting, they built a lot of them?”
“Yes, they are now the most numerous type of relay station, Joe,” he confirmed. “An entire class of cruisers became obsolete, and the Thuranin used their obsolescence as an opportunity to create new relay stations. Why? Are you not happy with our choice of target?”
“Unless our target was seizing control of a basket of kittens, I wouldn’t be happy about it. No, it’s not this particular station that bothers me, it’s the high level of risk in the whole concept. My question is whether there are any of this type of station that have been abandoned, because of battle damage or another reason.”
“Sure there are, Joe. Only one has sustained sufficient battle damage to warrant it being abandoned; it was self-destructed to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.”
“Oh, crap, I was hoping-”
He interrupted me again. “But there are seven others which have been abandoned after the recent wormhole shift, because their location was deemed no longer useful.”
“Were these seven others also destroyed?”
“Not all of them. Two were blown up because they are now in Jeraptha territory. The other five were mothballed, in case another wormhole shift makes them useful again. Their reactors were shut down and all computer, communication and data storage capability was removed. But they are still there, drifting along in cold storage.”
“Great!” I exulted. “Major Smythe, instead of us building a replica, how would you like your team to practice the assault on an actual data relay station?”
“Whoa!” Skippy shouted with a derisive laugh. “Wait just a minute there, Joe. You can’t just, hmmm. Maybe you can just do that. Aaargh! Damn it! The monkey says ‘duh how about we do this’ and he comes up with a good idea. Now why didn’t I think of that? Stupid, stupid brain! Oh, I hate my life sometimes,” he said with a sob. “Huh. Now I see why I didn’t of that; I knew about those abandoned stations, but removed them from my list because they are inactive. That is interesting, Joe.”
“I’m sure it is, Skippy. That wormhole shift won’t stop us from accessing one of those stations, will it?”
“Quite the contrary, Joe. There is one particular derelict station that was left totally isolated from both Thuranin and Jeraptha territory by the wormhole shift. It took a Thuranin ship almost eighteen months to retrieve the station crew after they were cut off. That station would be perfect for Major Smythe’s team to practice, we would be assured of not having any visitors. I can use our Elder wormhole controller module, to temporarily conne
ct to that dormant wormhole so we can go through, and on our way back. Joe, Joe, Joe,” he lamented. “Do you do this sort of thing just to humiliate me?”
“No, Skippy,” I assured him, “of course not. Humiliating you is a bonus. Major Smythe, you can work with this?”
“Brilliantly, sir.”
“We still have the hard part to do,” I cautioned.
“Yes, sir,” Smythe nodded, “but perhaps now it won’t be quite so bloody hard.”
I contacted the bridge and we changed course, toward the derelict relay station. Of course, I caught hell from Chotek for not informing of him about the change of plans before I ordered the course change. That pissed me off; I was on my way to his office to tell him personally, but that wasn’t good enough. We had a discussion that ended with me deciding that, in the future, I would take the thirty seconds to contact him before I ordered a major course change. Thirty seconds is all it would take, for me to swallow my pride and avoid an argument.
The whole situation still pissed me off.
Paradise
“Can y’all believe this shit?” Jesse asked, while staring at his zPhone in the hope that what he’d just read would change.
“It’s crazy, man,” Dave replied, shaking his head.
“No,” Jesse looked up in frustration, “I mean, do you believe it?”
Dave scrolled the screen to the top, and pointed to the logo at the beginning of the message. “UNEF HQ believes it. This is official.”
“That can’t happen, can it?” Jesse appealed for assurance. The message from UNEF HQ stated that the wormhole that lead back to Earth had closed, and the Kristang weren’t able to reopen it. The Expeditionary Force on Paradise now had zero hope of ever getting home. Even if their former Kristang ‘allies’ took Paradise back from the Ruhar, they could not bring humans back to Earth, because the Kristang lacked the technology to make that long journey. Even for the advanced Thuranin, such a voyage was wildly impractical. “Wormholes don’t just shut down for no reason,” Jess protested.
Paradise (Expeditionary Force Book 3) Page 14
