“The rest of my team could use hearing that too, sir,” Nightingale replied.
“Absolutely.” Absen turned to shake hands and slap backs, wishing he could do more.
Chapter 27
Admiral Absen shoved stacks of hardcopy aside to access his desktop, an electronic workspace crammed with documents, displays and readouts. His mantra of “shoot it to my desk” was coming back to bite him in the ass. He’d always been a thinker who enjoyed studying details in the quiet of his office, but now he had gotten far behind.
“Michelle,” he called to the AI, “I need all this stuff summarized. I’m turning back into an administrator and I don’t like it. If it’s not tactical or operational, send it along to Leslie.” Rae’s daughter had become the civilian leader of Jupiter system, coordinating industrial production, personnel, the economy, social policy and more. Every day he thanked heaven for her drive and capacity.
Rae had taken on a similar, even grander role as civilian administrator of the entire Solar System, including dealing with the Meme. With Charles running Earth’s economy and Spooky – that is, Spectre – bringing the leftover Blends to heel and rooting out Meme loyalists, Absen wondered to himself if the Meme hadn’t won in the end. After all, it seemed Blends ended up at the top of things no matter what. Then there were the hyper-capable AIs. How soon before ordinary humans became obsolete?
Not yet, though, he thought. The human spirit is still strong enough to prevail, and if the Sekoi are any example, Blends may form an elite but they do assimilate with their own people eventually. Over the generations, Blends will spread and dilute into the gene pool. We’ll be like the Han Chinese, who simply absorbed any outside culture that dared to rule it.
Assuming we survive.
Glancing down, he saw his desktop screen now reorganized, clear stacks of summarized documents in cascades he could comprehend. “Thanks, Michelle. How could I ever live without you?”
“In a permanent state of confusion, I suspect. Glad to see you noticed, sir.” Absen’s wall screen flickered to life and Michelle’s visual avatar appeared in high-def.
“Hmm, is that jealousy I hear?” Absen had noticed a few snide comments from Michelle lately that seemed to relate to his relationship with Rae.
“No, sir. May I speak frankly?”
“By all means.”
Michelle’s tone turned unexpectedly wistful. “It’s not jealousy, sir. It’s envy.”
“Really?”
“I see how happy you are when Rae comes to visit. Then there’s Repeth and Johnstone, and Scoggins and Ford, and…”
“And you want a…what, a lover?”
“Is that so strange, sir?”
Absen folded his hands and sat back. “Not at all. Humans are built to want partners, people to share their lives with. You have no equal within light-years. But Michelle, though I sympathize, we just don’t have the spare resources to build another you anytime soon.”
“I know that, sir. Just thought I’d plant a bug in your ear for the future, once we’ve smashed the Scourges.”
“A bug. Funny. Noted. Now can we move on to this paperwork? What should I look at first?”
“I suggest the summaries on the proposals for the Solar Line.”
“Hmm.” Absen took a few minutes to look at several point papers outlining possible weapons and defenses to be placed in close orbit around the Sun in order to immediately engage the Scourges when they emerged from wormhole space. “I don’t like ‘Solar Line.’ Call it…call it the Jericho Line.”
“Israelites marching around and around the walls? Very inspiring, sir, and Bull will love it.”
“I have my moments.”
“I’ll make sure the story is slipped into the next intelligence briefings for all EarthFleet personnel.”
Conquest’s tone seemed flippant, dismissive even, so Absen looked up. “Stories are shortcuts to the heart, Michelle. They inspire and inform in ways that an intel briefing can’t. Don’t knock a good story.”
“As you say, sir.”
“Speaking of EarthFleet personnel…how is recruiting going?”
“It’s easy finding raw volnteers, sir. Earth’s population is up to about 970 million under the Meme’s breeding programs. Most are Edens, and about half are adults. Of those, the problem isn’t recruiting. Except for the former resistance movement and sympathizers, the populace is used to being told what to do, so if you ask for volunteers, you get them. The main issue is making sure we don’t mismatch skill sets, by accepting, say, a skilled cyberneticist to be a grunt, causing a hard-to-fill vacancy in a vital factory. Most of these Blends that ruled in the name of the Meme expected unquestioning obedience. Nobody wants to speak even obvious truths to power for fear of being brutalized or turned into sexual playthings.”
Absen sighed. “Once people lose their freedom, even if they take it back, it’s hard to get used to it again. That’s what we’re dealing with.”
“You can’t force-feed people freedom. They have to want it.”
The admiral stopped and looked thoughtful. “That’s a good point. Remind me to have Rae add some lessons on good examples of constitutions to the information operations campaign we’re directing at the populace – United States, European Union, Australian, Free Communities. Natural human and civil rights, stuff like that.”
Michelle’s tone turned wry. “More propaganda?”
“Call it what you will. We’re under martial law, and it’s for their own good.”
“For their own good, yeah. That’s what all Caesars say, sir. Remember, thou art mortal.”
“I’m not the one who thinks she’s an angel, Miss Conquest.”
“That was so twenty-first century, sir, when I was just a kid. I’m over it now.”
“So you say, Grandma.” Absen grinned, a rarity.
“Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?”
“It will. Dismissed.”
Michelle’s avatar winked out, though Absen knew her departure was just an illusion. She monitored his office and would respond instantly if he called. Only if he specifically told her to cut herself off would she do so, and that grudgingly. He noticed she was becoming more possessive as time went on, and realized that granting her wish for some kind of AI love interest might be his only solution.
But not anytime soon. Now, they had a war to fight.
Chapter 28
Ezekiel stood beside Spectre on the steampunk VR bridge of Steadfast Roger, gazing at the month’s progress on the Jericho Line. It had been seven weeks since Conquest had entered the Solar System, and he had never been busier in his life, acting as Spectre’s operations and logistics officer. “There,” he said, pointing out the plate glass forward window as they seemed to rush toward a speck. The dot swelled to show a lumpy asteroid like a potato between the Sun and Mercury’s orbital path. The VR sim dimmed Sol’s brightness so they could see.
“How many do we have?” Spectre had asked Ezekiel to take him on an inspection tour of the Line.
“Over a thousand now, with a couple of dozen added every day. Our captive Blends slap cloned fusion engines on them to rocket them onto the right orbit. On the way, grabships drop off PVN-made self-installing automated laser turrets, turning them into cheap pillboxes. When the Scourges show up, they’ll start shooting, taking as many out as possible and hopefully slowing them down by attracting their attention. Also, each has a supersized fusion bomb that will blow either when all its weapons are down, or when we send a signal.”
“But space is big,” Spectre observed.
“Really big. If they were stationary, the odds of even being within range of an incursion would be slim. But since they’ll be in orbit, the math says that at least ten percent of them will move into range as they travel. If the Scourges are actually attracted to them instead of ignoring them, each will sucker the enemy into the firing arc of the next.”
“Bug zappers.”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not all Absen
has.”
“No.” Ezekiel manipulated controls and Roger turned to zoom toward a swarm of living missiles. Manipulating the time senses of the two men allowed them to feel as if they moved far faster than they really did. “These are Meme hypers, parked in orbit. The Destroyers are pumping out tens of thousands of them every day. When the time comes, they will seek and attack anything not friendly.”
“Excellent. And those?” Spectre pointed toward a cluster of icons.
“These are stealthed smart mines. We can see them because we have the exact specs on them, but we hope the Scourges won’t. We inherited millions of these things from the Meme – some in storage on Luna, some deployed around Earth after Conquest’s first attack.”
Spectre grunted. “Lucky they didn’t have time to deploy that many near Jupiter.”
“They didn’t trust their underlings, so they were slow to authorize. These are also part of the Line, deactivated of course. Once turned on, they will home in on anything without an EarthFleet or Meme IFF and detonate.”
“Why don’t we attach them to hypers and make ourselves some cheap nuclear missiles?”
Ezekiel smiled. “I asked the same question. The mines couldn’t survive the hypers’ acceleration. Seems hypers have one speed only: flat-out, balls-up screaming. Redesigning the hypers and making them smart enough to handle variable acceleration would mean producing only a tenth as many. The mines have cold thrusters and simple seeker programs. It will have to do.”
Nodding, Spectre said, “What else do we have out here on the Line. No manned systems?”
Ezekiel shook his head. “Would you want to crew a fortress out here? Suicide. No, all the manned systems are reserved for Earth’s defense. If the Scourges go for the richest, closest source of biomatter, they’ll head straight there.”
“Too bad we can’t make decoys, things that falsely scream LIFE! LIFE! to split up their rush.”
Ezekiel’s eyes widened. “That’s a damn fine idea, Spooky.”
“Spectre, please, and I know…I sent a memo to Absen, but it doesn’t appear to be practical.”
“Maybe you sent your memo to the wrong place.”
It was Spectre’s turn to look surprised. “Where else?”
“To the Meme, through Mom. Living ships, remember? If anyone can decoy them with life signs, it’s eight five-billion-ton living Destroyers.”
Chapter 29
Rae stepped into the now-familiar chamber for her regular meeting with SystemLord One. Contact with the Meme was becoming routine to her. Though she still found it mildly distasteful, it was also fascinating, rather like reading a serial killer’s psychological files. Meme had little empathy for any living thing except themselves, so every exchange had to be based on pure self-interest.
On the other hand, the Meme tended to take the long view, and their very lack of strong emotion meant they would gladly agree to anything that seemed logical without the endless recriminations and finger-pointing of humans. She mused on how many seemingly intractable historical conflicts – Arab-Israeli, the two Irelands, India and Pakistan – could have been solved if hurt and anger could have been stripped out.
Once she decided to meet the Meme on their psychological terms, she found them ridiculously easy to manipulate. Without a tradition of sophisticated diplomacy and apparently lacking the ability to perceive when Rae was shading the truth, SystemLord allowed his forces to be moved around like chess pieces. On the occasions he refused, he did so immediately and with a purely logical reason.
It simplified her life a lot. She only hoped that if and when the Scourge threat abated, SystemLord would not find it logical and reasonable to stab humanity in the back.
“My first request comes from my SystemLord and his trium,” Rae opened with. She’d found putting things in Meme terms smoothed her negotiations. “He believes your eight Destroyers will be best deployed by remaining well away from our defense of Earth. This will provide both sides with independence of action, simplify coordination, and, if we are fortunate, will draw off a significant portion of the enemy, who will regard your ships as prize biomass. Also, it will allow you the freedom to flee if the worst happens. We consider it vital that the Empire know of the alliance you have made here.”
I agree. My Command tria find it difficult not to still regard you as enemies. It is better to remain out of range. Also, I have already dispatched message drones to the nearest Empire systems, informing them of our arrangement.
This admission surprised Rae, but she strove not to show it. It was amazing what this being gave away in bargaining chips. “Our dreadnought will be on station near this system’s star within seven days. We request you take your position by then.”
Agreed.
“Also, while he in no way seeks to dictate your tactics, my SystemLord will consider any request for special materials or weapons that you might find useful.” Rae really hated to make that offer, but Absen had insisted.
Unfortunately, the answer she dreaded was not long in coming.
We request antimatter for weapons such as have been used against us.
“I am sorry, but my SystemLord has specifically exempted that material from dissemination. You are, of course, free to gather it for yourselves.”
That is unreasonable. As allies, strengthening one strengthens all.
“True, but we do not have sufficient antimatter for our own use, and since we are defending our own planet directly, and you are performing the function of a diversion, we must reserve these weapons for that role. We consider that reasonable.”
I do not agree, but I understand your cultural fears and limitations, and accept them.
Rae barely noticed the Meme’s insulting blind hubris anymore. “Here is a memory-packet with further details of my SystemLord’s suggestions for our battle plan coordination.” Rae placed a hard sphere of biomass on the floor next to the pool, within the Meme’s easy reach. “Now, I have several other issues to discuss.”
Chapter 30
Archon Third Yort dreamed in the vast, unsettling depths of null space, the not-place of limbo between the stars. His half-asleep thoughts drifted from fantasy to fantasy, all of them centering on promotion to Archon First. That was what made them fantasy, rather than reasonable ambition: he had yet to earn Second Rank and a planet, even a tiny one, much less First Rank and a whole system for himself.
But Yort dreamed anyway, for what else was there to do during the weeks of dull nothingness? His mothership’s sensors saw nothing, detected nothing except the approaching gravity well of the exit star. Until they arrived, he clung to the machine-induced somnolent state as his only reality.
And he was thankful for it. Outside of the dream-maker, null space made larva uncontrollable, adolescents destructive, and adults mad. Archons, with their exalted intellect, might have visions and insights, but removing the dream-maker risked a catatonic inward turning. Some Archons awoke from catatonia to find themselves abandoned, their underlings stolen by another Archon. Some simply never wakened, left ensconced in deep caves and fed through tubes, for no Archon ever killed another.
This was one of the Race’s few laws. An Archon’s person was sacred, no matter the vicious competition to acquire, hold and develop swarms of underlings or productive nests. If one lost everything, he could always seek a position serving a higher-ranking Archon.
This too, was Law.
All serve the Law, as Law serves the Father-Mother, and the Father-Mother serves the All, the sacred and circular saying reminded him.
Yort’s mind drifted back to the glory of acquisition, the taking and ruling of underlings and the territory to support them. More land meant more of everything, though it was not in his nature to wonder why more was necessarily superior to not-more. The adaptive pressures that drove survival of the fittest had long since done away with such musings, except, perhaps, within the catatonic.
But Yort was far from bored with his life, nor had he despaired after too many failures. Not for hi
m to reach up and remove the dream-maker from his cortical receptors and open himself to the visions of unfiltered null space. Not yet. Perhaps that way gifted a shortcut to the Father-Mother of All, like null space itself provided a shortcut between the stars, but Yort was young, and saw glory in his future.
The target system contained teeming biologicals ranging from single cells to tool-using sentients. The lower animals and plants were sufficient to feed larvae, but he hungered to consume the higher orders. Nothing less would do for an Archon, which made the solar system of their goal all the sweeter, for it was one of those recently discovered occupied by at least two sentient species. Even better, one of the races were Jellies.
Ah, the subtle complexity of a Jelly and its ancient, well-developed biochemistry. Such rich memory molecules would induce dreams of extraordinary texture in any Archon. With enough Jellies to breed and harvest, he would never have to worry about boredom.
As for the bipeds with their bones on the inside, he expected they would make for interesting eating as well.
Chapter 31
“Welcome, Admiral,” Doctor Egolu said as Absen entered Conquest’s crowded physics lab. “This is Doctor Plessk, our senior physicist.”
Absen kept the surprise from his face as he saw an ancient Ryss male, stooped and white with age. The Ryss made as if to rise from his seat, but the admiral quickly waved him down. “Honored to meet you,” the human said in passable Ryss, the language chip in his head feeding him the words. “I didn’t know we had a Ryss scientist aboard.” He remembered he’d left the makeup of the contingent up to Trissk, not paying much attention.
“I am an anomaly to my race, Admiral,” Plessk said in his own language. “A male that did not want to be a warrior. Unlike in the old days, in current Ryss society that desire is viewed almost as a perversion. If I wish to spend my few remaining years doing the work I love, I have to do it among Humans or Sekoi. So, here I am.”
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