Striding up to the Meme, he extended his hand and held it there until the amoeba-like being met it with the pseudopod. Immediately came the questing thoughts of a powerful mind borne on a wave of complex molecules: Who? What? How?
Pushing back, Spectre erected a wall. “Thus far and no further,” he said, establishing his territory and its boundaries.
You are an unusual Underling.
“I am no underling. I Blended with a captured Meme and subsumed its mind in mine, maintaining my identity while preserving only its memories.”
Such is not the way of things.
“Such is the new way of things if you wish to survive. You are a pragmatic race. You must accept facts as they are, not as you wish them to be.”
Then you must convince me. I am SystemLord for this remnant of Species 447. As such, I am held in high esteem within the Empire.
“Glad to hear it. Make yourself ready, for this data will challenge many of your preconceptions. You have heard of the menace of those we call the Scourge?” Spectre released a small package of memories summarizing the enemy’s appearance and physiology.
I recognize this from warnings I have received. It is incomplete.
“It is only an overview. The rest comes…now.”
Spectre opened the gates of the dams of his external memories, prepared and edited for this moment, preserving an inviolate core of himself locked within his human brain. Everything else he allowed to flood outward, an irresistible wave of data that even a Meme might find overwhelming.
As he’d planned.
The best time to negotiate was when the opponent was stunned and off balance. Spectre could feel SystemLord strive mightily to control the deluge, but the Blend had slipped up to the edge of the Meme’s containment tank and pressed not only hands and arms, but also his bare chest into the protoplasm, providing so much surface area for transference that it could not be regulated.
Spectre felt almost as if he were Blending once more, but eventually the flow subsided and the two separated, still individuals.
I must digest this data and discuss it with my trium.
“First, I need assurances of nonaggression. On behalf of my command trium, I offer a nonaggression pact, a truce, for two planetary days.” If he couldn’t achieve a settlement right away, at least he’d seize these concessions, putting the Meme on the psychological defensive.
I…agree.
Spectre pressed, “You must transmit ironclad orders of this pact to your subordinates and Underlings. Regardless of where our ship goes and what it does, save only warlike acts, you are bound not to attack us.”
I agree. Now, I must go. To Spectre, the Meme seemed uncertain, even confused.
Just as he’d hoped.
***
“I find it amazing you got it to agree to a truce,” Trissk said to Spectre as he entered Desolator’s bridge. “SystemLord has transmitted unencrypted instructions telling his forces not to fire on us unless we fire first.”
“Excellent. Now, Captain Chiren,” Spectre said, turning to the ship’s commander, “are you willing to go in harm’s way?”
“Specifically meaning?”
“We have free passage. Should we not use it to examine everything we can at close range?”
The Ryss captain ran his raspy tongue over a paw, a mannerism Spectre associated with skeptical thought, much as a human might rub his neck and jaw. “If we use passive sensors only. Desolator? Your thoughts?”
“I believe the risk is small, though in the case of the Weapons, a miscalculation might be catastrophic.”
“Also,” Trissk said, “we don’t want to get so close we provoke a response from some undisciplined Underling. Orders are not always followed.”
Chiren said, “One hundred thousand kilometers should be close enough for most purposes of intelligence gathering on all facilities except the Weapons. For those, we remain at ten million. Let us proceed, beginning with the facilities orbiting Fenryss.” He pointed at the gas giant nearest the system’s sun. “The weapons there are antiquated and pose us little threat.”
For the next entire ship’s day, Desolator toured the Ryss home system, examining its military installations, many of which appeared as decrepit and antiquated as Earth’s had been when Conquest reconquered it. Some were new, however, with armies of laborers building more at a frantic pace.
“These media broadcasts are fascinating,” Chiren said to Trissk as he watched a program on his screen. “The common Ryss seem energized, even joyful to hear that they might be attacked. Some Blends are clearly playing the role of concerned leaders. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they are quite annoyed at the disruption of their petty domains. There are others, though…” He pointed at a shot of an earnest young warrior in yellow giving an impassioned speech.
Spectre climbed the steps to stand beside Trissk. “After four hundred years, many of the Blends have tired of debauchery and hedonism. They and their children are ready to do something that matters. I’ve been watching the broadcasts as well, having Desolator search for the ones I want. I’ll provide a rank-ordered list of Blends with the best potential for demanding independence and self-rule from the Meme. When the time comes, Trissk, you can lead them to liberation.”
Trissk hissed like a steam valve. “How shall I lead Blends? They won’t respect one who doesn’t wear the yellow.”
“Then you can take a blank mitosis. The Sekoi have some aboard, do they not?”
“I feel physically ill at the thought,” Trissk replied.
“I suppose if that’s too big a sacrifice in order to free your homeworld…”
Trissk rounded on Spectre and swiped a paw at him in a clawless cuff. The Human, damn him, took the blow without complaint, undoubtedly using his cybernetic strength and uncanny balance to avoid being knocked down.
“Forgive me for speaking so plainly and offending you,” Spectre continued in a voice rich with irony. “You cats are such a subtle, indirect people, after all.”
Trissk drew his paw back for another blow, but Chiren caught it. “There is no honor in refusing to see truth, no matter how rudely spoken,” the captain said.
Desolator interjected, “We might be getting ahead of ourselves. After all, the Meme have not given us an answer.”
As if that declaration were a cue, the Human communications officer put a finger to one of her ridiculously fleshy ears and said, “I have a transmission from SystemLord. He wishes to speak with Spectre again.”
***
The meeting at the second rendezvous with the Meme looked to be short.
We have rejected your offer. You have one planetary day to withdraw. SystemLord made as if to depart.
Stunned by this turn of events – and it had been a long time since Spectre, or Spooky for that matter, had been so surprised – he sent a surge of communication molecules into the other. In a human conversation, he would have been raising his voice, almost yelling. “Your decision is irrational. Conflict will only harm both our species. I insist you explain.”
I owe you no explanation.
“Yet, if the command trium of our ship is not satisfied with your reasoning, we may decide conflict is preferable, and do you irreparable damage…beginning with your own Monitor, at which point your existence will be terminated. Your ships, great as they are, cannot withstand Desolator.”
By harming us, you harm your own cause, for the Scourge threaten us both. By destroying our Monitors you will conquer this system, but without our forces to assist you in its defense, you may not prevail against our common enemy. And, we know you will not kill great numbers of those of Species 447 on the planet, as you wish to liberate them from our rule. Therefore your choices seem two:
You might leave us to defend this system. Our predictions show we are likely to do so successfully if the Scourge do not attack within the next half a stellar cycle
Or you might remain and fight independently in order to preserve the Underlings you value so highly. This seems the likeliest co
urse for you, so why should we cede our lordship of this system when you will help us anyway?
Spectre realized SystemLord had reasoned correctly, based on the flood of human data. There was no upside for this individual Meme or its subordinates, even though adhering to a local alliance might be of long-term benefit to their Empire.
Therefore, with a thrill of fear and eagerness, Spectre committed himself to a dangerous course of action he had contemplated ever since Blending with the captured Meme and incorporating its memories and knowledge as his own. He had no idea if what he was about to attempt was even possible, but all he had to lose was himself and his life, while the prize he might win was so near and dear: banishment of boredom…for a time, at least, as well as the preservation of humanity.
In that order of importance, of course.
Mustering his resources, Spectre maintained his mental wall just long enough to hide the marshaling of his troops. Ranks of offensive molecules assembled themselves in lines, clusters and task forces behind the barrier while SystemLord, used to a slower pace of thought and conversation, waited unaware.
When the wall opened and Spectre’s forces sallied forth, SystemLord was taken by surprise and its defenses fell back, fell back…but it was not without resources of its own. The Meme commander hadn’t risen to this superior position by weakness or foolishness, and had taken ordinary precautions against biological mind control.
However, it had never contemplated an all-out assault by a mere Underling. Normally, the bio-psychological power of such creatures quickly atrophied after Blending, as influencing the lower orders was too easy and direct conflicts among those who wore the yellow were few.
Spectre, however, had not neglected these abilities; in fact, he’d deliberately cultivated them by personally interviewing every Blend under his command, demanding they submit while he ransacked their minds. Only in that way could he know whom to trust.
He’d done the same with all Blends arrested by the Skulls, those suspected of working against his regime…and he’d not been gentle with them. Those that turned out to be innocent, he’d put to use. The guilty ones he’d executed, but not before he’d used them as training grounds to strengthen his techniques, each instance building upon the last.
Thus, Spectre was far more prepared for this kind of warfare than perhaps any being known. Certainly, he had the advantage of SystemLord, and he ground down the stubborn Meme where he must while executing blitzkrieg assaults where he could, punching holes in its mind to drive deep into its personality. He encircled whole stores of data intact, cutting them off from their centers, sequestering them for later.
Eventually, Spectre faced SystemLord’s ego as it defended its final redoubt, reduced to a fraction of its former self. Yet, crushing the Meme would be a waste of resources; a rich store of experiences still awaited within the core of its personality, a lode Spectre found himself loath to destroy.
“SystemLord,” he called as he and his molecular siege troops paused before the Meme’s final walls. “I have won. I can annihilate you at any time, yet I do not wish to do so. I know those of the Pure Race are unwilling to sacrifice themselves when another way can be found. If so, I offer you one final possibility to remain in existence.”
Of course, I will listen…but I do not see any options. If you let me go, I will bear witness to what you have done here and my trium will turn against you.
“The option is this: cease your resistance and Blend with me.”
A lesser existence…or no existence at all. I suppose it would have the compensation of greater physical pleasures.
“You misunderstand, SystemLord. I do not wish you to become lesser. Instead, I wish to become greater.”
A little flattery, a little spin is warranted here, Spectre thought to himself. Throwing the defeated a bone costs nothing.
Spectre continued, “I will give up this body and become one of the Pure Race. Together, we shall be as one, and perhaps ascend to greater heights than you could ever have achieved on your own.”
Your offer, like your strength of will, is irresistible. I submit.
With that, SystemLord lowered its defenses.
A human, steeped in a culture of individuality and the sanctity of self, would never have done so with such ease, but all Meme knew from the moment of division that consciousness was mutable, and that one day they would incorporate other beings into themselves.
Spectre was thankful for this property of the one he faced, an attribute of flexibility he did not share. While SystemLord naturally assumed its own personality would retain a place of prominence if not equality within the new being who was Spectre, the human Blend – or what he was to become – had no intention whatsoever of allowing his rival’s former psyche to remain intact.
No, he would incorporate SystemLord into himself just as thoroughly as he had the nameless captured protoplasm that had originally granted him his introduction to the powers of a Blend. After that, and as one of the Pure Race…who knows what he might accomplish?
Thus, Spectre prepared himself again, for he imagined his trium would need convincing, by bio-psychological coercion if necessary…and after that, the rest of those aboard his new Monitor.
Chapter 18
“Ninety-five percent of this swarm’s assault craft destroyed,” Fletcher said with evident satisfaction.
In the holotank, Absen could see the Sensors officer was right. All that remained of the swarm were some eighty thousand gunboats and fighters. He’d thought about running now, making some quick repairs and then engaging the next swarm, and the next, but leaving the enemy’s aerospace weaponry intact would just come back to haunt them later, and he’d rather not face a combined fleet composed of all these remainders. No, better to bite the bullet and kill them now.
“Prep Captain Scoggins’ maneuver and execute on my mark,” Absen ordered. “Make sure all our drones and small craft are in.”
Thirty seconds later, all ships reported ready, their tails toward the enemy and fusion drives at standard acceleration, as if running. The Scourge fighters and gunboats gave chase.
“Mark,” Absen said.
As one, the sixteen ships, in various states of fighting effectiveness but all possessing working TacDrives, pulsed backward for a fraction of a second, leaping across the intervening space and debouching at point-blank range behind the enemy.
Timmons oofed from his position. “We just lost seven percent of our rear point defense.”
Absen accepted that report. He’d expected to take damage as Conquest and her fellows slammed into both the thick debris of battle and intact enemy ships at the speed of light. The maneuver had turned the Scourges into projectiles that hammered the EarthFleet ships, instantly fusing into miniature nuclear explosions, destroying every weapon emplacement and external fitting they happened to strike.
The holotank showed Task Force Alpha in a ragged clump, having passed through the Scourges in its retrograde TacDrive pulse, now pointing its entire complement of forward weaponry at the enemy.
“Sensors recovered,” Fletcher said. “Targets acquired.”
“Fire!” Scoggins barked.
Conquest’s lasers clawed more than a quarter of the Scourge gunboats out of space in her first volley, nearly every one of them taking down a surprised target. Constitution’s optimized point defense suite, despite her greater damage, destroyed even more of the enemy, and the fourteen cruisers added their shots to finish the job.
To their credit, the dwindling Scourge forces turned immediately to attack, weapons targeting installations on the hulls of the EarthFleet ships at ranges that could not miss. “Three percent more,” Timmons reported in a resigned voice. “We’re down about fifty percent overall on the point defense.”
“Got it,” Captain Scoggins replied, her eyes never leaving the holotank.
Within the swirling display Absen could see enemy icons vanish, remaining clusters thinning and then winking out as they were savaged by EarthFleet fire. “
That’s it,” he said. “Captain, get some drones out there to knock out stragglers and some grabships to salvage a few of each Scourge ship type for exploitation. The techies will want to compare them with those from the last attack. You have ten minutes.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Absen walked over to sit back in his chair, feeling just as drained as if he weren’t in virtual space. “Signal to all ships. In ten minutes, we’ll maneuver out of this mess, and then TacDrive back to Earth for repairs. Johnstone, tell the orbital shipyards to be ready. They’ll have one hour to do everything they can, with priority to replacing destroyed point defense lasers, then it’s back into the fight.”
Staring at his own screen to let Scoggins use the main holotank, Absen took in the overall situation. Task Force Charlie appeared intact, its first swarm destroyed. At this distance, it appeared as if the Meme were highly effective Scourge-killers, and he felt a stab of rueful envy. Earth’s new allies still boasted higher ship acceleration, overwhelming close-in weaponry, and now, even armor that was poison to the Scourges that tried to burrow through it.
They would also heal between every battle.
Thank God the enemy of my enemy is my friend, he thought.
What the Meme didn’t have yet was operational TacDrive, so even now TF Charlie blasted under conventional acceleration toward its rendezvous with the next swarm in line. Absen ran a quick rule-of-thumb calculation in his head – he could have asked Michelle, but doing so too often was getting to be a crutch – and came up with an approximation of their combined swarm-killing probability over time.
With tremendous relief, he realized that they should be able to finish off all the swarms before they reached Earth…except the big one and the enemy flagship. They might even have time to mop up the motherships…
“Michelle, display positions of all enemy motherships on my holoscreen.”
“Displayed.”
“Why do I see only twenty-nine? Didn’t thirty-three survive our SLAMs to launch their swarms? We have good spy drone coverage, don’t we?”
Conquest and Empire (Stellar Conquest Series Book 5) Page 17
