Storming Heaven

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “Load torpedo bays,” he ordered, hopelessly. The Observer’s drives were on the verge of burning out. A few minutes more and they’d lose the warp drive and end up dead in space, and then literally dead when the Killers overran them. “Charge weapons and bring us around to face the bastards.”

  The distance between the two starships closed terrifyingly quickly as the Observer closed in on the Killer ship, ducking and weaving to avoid the brilliant flashes of white light. The tactical officer opened fire as soon as they entered weapons range, trying to at least scorch the Killer’s hull, but it was useless. The Killers shrugged off their attacks and kept coming. All they needed, Heidecker knew, was a single hit. It would be enough to blow the Observer into atoms.

  “Point us straight at them,” he ordered, finally accepting their fate. There was no longer any point in running. “Dump the memory to the MassMind and go to ramming speed!”

  The two starships slammed together at a significant fraction of the speed of light. Observer vanished in a ball of fire. The Killer starship staggered under the impact, but seemed undamaged. There was no one left to care. A moment later, it turned about, opened a wormhole, and vanished to parts unknown.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seen from high above, it was easy to perceive the Milky Way as nothing more than a shining disk of light. The stars seemed to blur into one harmonious glow, creating the illusion that the galaxy was a living thing, spinning in space. The spiral arms could barely be made out as separate from the remainder of the galaxy; they were, after all, only areas where the stars were denser than average. Admiral Brent Roeder could have stared at the image for hours, forgetting the Killers and the desperate struggle to survive. It was almost hypnotic.

  He shook his head and uploaded a single mental command into the room’s processor. The disk vanished, to be replaced by a tactical chart of the entire galaxy, marked out to display the location of known Killer bases and starships. A thousand years of exploration, Brent knew, had barely touched the surface of the galaxy. God alone knew what might be lurking in some of the darker recesses of space. It would be easy to become convinced that there were other races and civilisations out there, hiding from the Killers, completely beyond human detection. It would be nice to believe that humanity wasn't alone – or, rather, only sharing the galaxy with homicidal aliens in massive starships – but there was no time for wishful thinking. To all intents and purposes, humanity was alone.

  Two hundred years ago, humanity had happened across yet another dead world, after a starship on a routine mission had detected radio transmissions coming from the sector. The starship had moved to investigate – carefully; it might have been a Killer installation – only to find another blackened ruin of a world. The ship had kept picking up the signals, right up until the final moment, when the Killer starships had appeared in an alien sky. The aliens had been bird-like, taking their first steps into a whole new medium, when the Killers destroyed them. The human race knew that they had existed and bore silent testimony to their existence, yet who would record humanity’s presence? What race would arise in the future to oppose the Killers?

  Brent looked down at the display, but his mind was elsewhere. Over a thousand years ago, before humanity had taken more than the first tentative steps into space, human scientists had pondered the absence of any alien contact. A scientist called Fermi had devised a famous paradox, concluding that an alien race that had evolved thousands of years before humanity should have filled up the galaxy long before the human race had appeared on the scene. He’d implied that the absence of any alien contact suggested that there were no other races in existence, a conclusion that had been hotly disputed at the time. The paradox hadn’t been solved until hundreds of years later. There were no other alien races because the Killers were systematically killing them off before they could become powerful enough to challenge their superiority. It still galled Brent that after a thousand years, after a fortnight spent studying the captured starship, humanity still had no idea why the Killers had embarked on their insane crusade. There seemed no logical reason for mass slaughter.

  Or perhaps, he considered, there was a reason. Space was not a safe environment. The Killers might believe that it was kill or be killed, with no middle ground. Perhaps they didn’t dare trust any other race, regardless of its actual nature, or perhaps they had evolved to regard all other sentient forms of life as a possible threat. Human history had hundreds of examples of preemptive strikes mounted by human aggressors; was it really so unlikely that aliens would behave in the same way?

  He smiled, bitterly. The Defence Force had been urged to study human pre-space science-fiction novels, in hopes of mining useful ideas from early conceptions of space warfare, and it had struck him how insanely hopeful most of those novels had been. They’d foreseen a great destiny for humanity, one where humanity dominated the entire galaxy, or founded mighty federations and empires, or even become superhuman amid the stars. They’d foreseen alien friends and enemies. Even the worst, the most depressing, hadn’t predicted the sheer bleakness of the universe, or the absence of all other forms of life, apart from one. Human imagination had proven itself to be far too limited.

  “Cromwell,” he called. “Isolate all Killer bases on the display.”

  “Yes, sir,” the AI said. The display removed all icons, but the dark circles representing Killer bases and star systems. “Do you wish to zoom in on the display?”

  “Not at present,” Brent said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Just hold it right there…”

  There were hundreds of known Killer bases in the galaxy, all being watched – from a safe distance, or what humanity devoutly hoped was a safe distance – by various starships, automated probes and listening posts. The Defence Force had vast resources to deploy in the defence of humanity – the Community was effectively a post-scarcity society – yet it was always short of manpower. It seemed to Brent that two-thirds of every generation grew up, took one look at the universe, and vanished permanently into virtual worlds that sheltered them from the truth. The remainder, if they had all joined the Defence Force, would have provided more than enough manpower, but not all chose to serve. They wanted to found new colonies, or flee out of the galaxy altogether, or follow their own careers. He had to admit that there were some pretty impressive artistic talents out there, but if the Killers ever decided to go after humanity and finish the job, the artists would be as helpless as their cousins in the VR worlds. Or, for that matter, the handful of human colonies struggling along on planetary surfaces without technology, or any other form of labour-saving device.

  The thought reminded him of the brief civil war on Garden, one of the nastier incidents in the Community’s history. The colonists had been seduced into believing that a life without technology would be bliss and paradise, where they would frolic together under blue skies and there would be no Killer shadows hanging over their heads. The colony had barely made it past one winter without massive social unrest and demands from the colonists to bring in additional technology, or return to the stars. The leadership had refused and a bitter civil war had broken out. Eventually, the Defence Force had intervened and imposed a peace settlement, but the colony had collapsed a few years later. The survivors were still bitter about their experience, but they’d been lucky in one respect. There was no sign that the Killers had noticed their world.

  “All right, Cromwell,” he said, as a seat formed out of the floor and he sat back in it. “Time to put your analytic capabilities to work. Why did the Killers choose those star systems?”

  “Unknown,” the AI said, at once. “We have no data on why the Killers favour some systems over others.”

  “True,” Brent agreed, wishing – not for the first time – for the massive flexibility and insight of the MassMind. “What do all those systems have in common?”

  The AI seemed to pause, although Brent knew that that was merely a programmed conceit. Even the merest AI thought far faster than any human.
Cromwell might have lacked the sheer processing power, coupled with human intuition, of the MassMind, but he still had access to more raw data than any human mind could comprehend. Brent didn’t fully trust the MassMind – its very nature made the concept of operational security a joke – but the AI was reliable. Sparta had nothing, but the best.

  “They all include vast resources,” Cromwell said, finally. “The smallest observed system has seven rocky planets, two gas giants, three asteroid fields and a considerable amount of comets, space dust and other assorted debris. The largest observed system, up near the galactic core, includes nine gas giants and seven rocky worlds, along with two asteroid fields. The Killers would be able to build thousands of their starships from the resources in just one of their systems.”

  “Gas giants,” Brent repeated, slowly. The debriefing session had included the suggestion, from Paula Handley, that the Killers had evolved in a gas giant, rather than an Earth-like world. The concept had surprised him – and left him wondering why no one had thought of it before – even though it seemed impossible. There was no supporting evidence, yet there was a considerable amount of indirect proof; the Killers, certainly, had never settled an Earth-like world. They seemed prepared, instead, to break them up for resources. “They all have gas giants in common.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cromwell said. “They also have rocky planets and asteroid belts in common as well.”

  Brent smiled wryly. The AI would interpret anything he said literally. “I want you to run a comparison,” he said. “Have we ever seen a Killer starship in a system that lacks a gas giant?”

  There was another pause. “No,” Cromwell said, finally. The AI seemed to hesitate. “I must point out, however, that we have been unable to track all known Killer vessels for long periods of time and they might well have visited systems without gas giants.”

  “True,” Brent agreed, although he was convinced that he’d made an important discovery. “All of the attacked star systems, all of the Killed star systems, do they have gas giants as well?”

  “Negative,” the AI said. “Seventeen dead worlds were located in systems that do not possess a gas giant.”

  “Our worlds,” Brent corrected, impatiently. “Did we ever lose a system that lacked a gas giant?”

  “No,” Cromwell said. “All attacked human star systems included at least two gas giants. Do you believe that that provided a motivation for the attacks?”

  “I don’t know,” Brent admitted. “I just don’t know.”

  He looked down at the display, watching the Killer star systems slowly spinning around the galactic core. Human scouts had confirmed that there was a massive black hole right at the heart of the galaxy and, eventually, it would devour the entire Milky Way. If the human race was still around, billions of years in the future, they might have to flee the galaxy completely, or perhaps…by then they might have mastered technology they could use to control or seal the black hole.

  “Let’s look at this from a different angle,” he said. “Access the Armageddon files.”

  “Files accessed,” Cromwell said. The AI sounded vaguely surprised. Unlike a human, or a personality in the MassMind, the AI could be ordered to literally forget something until permitted to relearn the information. “I have the information active in a secure file.”

  “Good,” Brent said. He learned back in his chair, feeling the malleable metal shifting to conform to his rear. “How many such devices can we build?”

  The starbomb – the Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator, as Tabitha had insisted on calling it, although Brent thought that that was rather silly and typical of a senile personality in the MassMind – had been an accidental development. The researchers had been looking for a way to counter the Killers’ command of gravity and had accidentally discovered a method for snuffing out, or exploding, an entire star. It was a war-winning weapon, in some ways, yet Brent was very aware that the Killers had thousands of star systems. Could they all be sent supernova before the Killers struck back?

  “Assuming the complete devotion of the entire Community industrial base to the task,” Cromwell said, “we will be able to produce roughly seven hundred devices per month. The vast majority of nanotech fabricators are unsuitable for producing such weapons. If we restrict development to Defence Force fabricators, we will be able to produce, at most, a hundred a month.”

  “Give me a breakdown,” Brent ordered. The charts appeared in front of his eyes and he studied them thoughtfully. “What would happen if we made such a commitment?”

  “Local stockpiles of components for starships would be depleted rapidly,” Cromwell informed him. “The Defence Force would be unable to complete the construction of additional starships unless components were sourced from outside fabricators or other sources of supply. It would hamper our ability to support the war effort.”

  “Such as it is,” Brent muttered. “I want a full analysis. Could the Killers prevent us from deploying the weapons?”

  “If the deploying starship were to be destroyed before the weapon was launched, the weapon would be destroyed along with it,” Cromwell said. The AI seemed to consider. “I am unable to speculate on how the Killers might deal with the reaction in the star, once unleashed; they may be able to counter the reaction and prevent the star from going supernova. The only way to know is to see what happens when we fire the weapon.”

  There was a pause. “There is a secondary concern,” Cromwell added. “The results of the strike may not be decisive.”

  “Explain,” Brent ordered, sharply. “Are you suggesting that the Killers might survive a supernova?”

  “It is a possibility,” Cromwell said. “The weapon works by creating massive disruption within the star that will cause it to explode, blowing off a vast amount of superheated matter. The explosion, depending upon the exact moment of detonation, will expel a considerable percentage of the star’s material at a tenth of the speed of light into the surrounding interstellar medium. The wave of energy would devastate any Earth-like world, but it may not destroy a gas giant, although there would be serious consequences for the planet’s environment.”

  Brent looked down at the display again. “And that wouldn’t harm the Killers?”

  “We know nothing about their habitations in the gas giants, or even if they truly live there,” Cromwell reminded him. “We may cause complete destruction or they may live far down enough to ride out the blast. Again, we are unable to be sure of the consequences until we actually launch the weapon.”

  “I see,” Brent said. A thought struck him. “What would happen if we were to turn the weapon on the gas giants instead?”

  “There would be no question of the effective destruction of the target planet,” Cromwell said, finally. “The effects on the remainder of the star system would not be comparable to a supernova, mainly because other possible targets will be sheltered behind the local star. It is unlikely that the planet-bound Killers could survive the destruction of their planet.”

  “Unless they have something else up their sleeves,” Brent said, sourly. By common consent, those who knew about the starbombs had decided to only build a handful of such weapons – and to avoid using them until they had decided how best to proceed. “Have we completed our study of possible evolutionary paths for the Killers?”

  “No, sir,” Cromwell said. “I believe that Professor Jones and his team are still working on the data from the captured ship. They have not yet completed their research…”

  The AI broke off. “Sir, I am picking up a priority signal from the Observer,” Cromwell said. “She is under attack by the Killers!”

  “Show me,” Brent ordered.

  The final moments of the Observer seemed to fly past terrifyingly quickly. He'd never seen so many Killer starships gathered together outside of one of their star systems, let alone actually paying attention to humanity. All of a sudden, he wasn't so convinced that encouraging them to take an interest was a good idea; the Killer starship chased the O
bserver towards a gas giant, where it encountered another Killer starship. The final moments of the starship, as it turned and rammed its tormentor, remained with him as the signal link broke. There was no doubting that the Observer was gone and that her crew was dead.

  “Poor bastards,” he said, grimly. On one hand, he knew that many more would die before the war ended; on the other, it came as a shock after the successful capture of a Killer starship. There could be no questioning the fact that the Killers knew that something had happened now; the only good news was that Star’s End hadn’t received a visit. The Killers weren't capable of tracking their lost ship down. “Do you have a complete copy of their telemetry?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cromwell said. “There are also copies being dispatched to the various analysis centres and the MassMind. They will have reports for you soon.”

  “Good,” Brent said, grimly. He wanted to study them himself, but he was still too close to the disaster. The crew of the Observer had deserved better. The entire Defence Force deserved better than a hopeless fight against overwhelming odds. “Make sure that the Defence Forums in the MassMind see the information. They might be able to offer different insights into the incident.”