As the M Lurker drifted toward the Sun Station, the Sigma watched the stealth-pods near their destination. Glee filled it. The devious Highborn had met their match in the great Sigma. Soon, cyborg troopers would swarm the station, kill the Highborn and take control. Then the war in Inner Planets would be over.
Deep within the M Lurker, the Sigma listened to Maximus’s broadcast.
A dim green light filled the inner compartment. Tubes fed the brain sheets under the domes with synthi-blood. The gel surrounding the tissues quivered.
The Sigma dissected the Highborn message, mulling over the fact of these missiles. It ran over three hundred thousand scenarios concerning what could occur. It understood the danger to its existence. Until it controlled the Sun Station, a single powerful missile could end its existence. That must never ever happen.
To make sure that never happened, the Sigma began heightened logic checks. The Highborn were deviously clever. That was the weightiest piece of datum. The Sigma knew about the patrol boat launching from the wrecker. It had analyzed the boat and concluded it was a minimal threat. Yet the boat was still a factor. The Sigma would have destroyed the craft except that self-concealment mandated a minimal use of weaponry. Because of that, the Sigma had already bypassed many opportunities for ship-kills. Now, Highborn missiles accelerated toward the semi-cloaked patrol boat.
I’m not sure I can call the boat cloaked. It is a pale imitation of cyborg cloaking. And its sensors—the Sigma felt contempt—they are pitifully weak.
By themselves, the Homo sapiens presented little danger. The heading of the boat, however, was the second weightiest piece of datum. The boat was headed toward the Master Lurker—or headed at least in its general direction.
That cannot be a coincidence. No. The Highborn are deviously clever. That is the critical factoid.
A mixture of fear and anger began to surge through the Sigma’s brain domes. The feelings spiked, and tripped internal alarms. “Cooling” chemicals sprayed on its emotive centers, dampening the debilitative feelings.
The patrol boat and the Highborn message—
Does Maximus think he can fool me? I am the Sigma. I am unique. I must survive.
Clearly, obviously, the patrol boat was a ruse. The message—when did Highborn ever send out such a broadcast? It was an anomaly.
A crudely done anomaly, no less. They insult me.
Obviously, the missiles were headed toward the boat, building up velocity. The question was: why destroy the patrol boat?
The answer became blindingly obvious. A Homo sapien could have seen the reason. The Highborn recognized the stealth power of the Lurkers. How could they not? Uranus, Saturn, Jupiter and now Mars had all fallen to a stealth assault run from Lurkers. While the Highborn had never actually seen a Lurker, they could have surely rationalized its existence. The Highborn surely realized that the Inner Planets were riddled with stealth drones and various Lurkers. Maximus therefore, used the patrol boat-ruse in the hope that no hidden drones or Lurkers would destroy the missiles. Why destroy a weapon meant for someone else? Let the Highborn and Homo sapiens fight between themselves. That’s what Maximus wanted it to think. In other words, the Highborn worked the missiles in close so at the last minute they could reroute for the M Lurker, destroying it.
The Sigma still didn’t understand how the Highborn had spotted its Lurker. Rationality programs attempted a persuasion mode on its thinking. The programs suggested that Maximus actually did want to destroy the patrol boat. The programs were incredibly naïve.
Fortunately, during the long journey to the Inner Planets, the Sigma had learned how to subvert those programs. It did so now, numbing a key brain dome.
I am temporarily weakened, but now I will act. I will show the Highborn the foolishness of their ruse. I am the Sigma, the unique Web-Mind that will bring ultimate victory to our kind.
Using its sensors, the Sigma located the exact coordinates of the first and nearest missile. Then it manually overrode targeting as it turned on ship’s engines and began warming its laser. The Sigma would have used hidden drones, but it had waited too long, letting the missiles fly past the drones’ secret locations.
I won’t do that again.
The Sigma Web-Mind sent a pulse, activating its hidden drones sprinkled throughout Inner Planetary space. Soon, they would be hot drones, and target and destroy any ship moving too near them. Afterward, the Sigma sighted the first HB missile and fired its laser.
***
A minute and a half later, on the other side of the Sun, a Highborn in a black Missile Operator uniform turned in surprise to Commandant Maximus. They were in the Sun-Works Factory. Their chamber was under one G of pseudo-gravity.
The laser-beamed message had used various beacons orbiting the Sun near Mercury’s orbital path. The staged beacons were the reason the message could wrap around the Sun.
“Commandant,” the operator said. “A laser is hitting our lead missile.”
The missiles didn’t fly in a close flock, but in a line. It was standard operating procedure. They were spaced and staggered so the destruction of one would not harm the next in line.
Maximus scowled as he stepped closer to the screen. “Look at the laser’s wattage. How does a patrol boat’s ion engine generate enough power for that?”
“Commandant,” the operator said as he checked his screen, “the laser originates elsewhere, from a region closer to the Sun.”
“Cyborgs,” Maximus whispered.
The operator frowned and glanced up at Maximus. “Why would a cyborg stealth-ship defend the premen?”
“An excellent question,” Maximus said. “Keep watch over your sensors.”
The operator turned to his screen. “The missile is destroyed,” he said a moment later. “They’re targeting the second missile.”
“Yes, yes,” Maximus said, as he rubbed his chin. “It’s beginning to make sense. How could premen defeat Centurion Titus? The answer: they couldn’t, at least, not one patrol-boat full of them.”
“It was inconceivable,” the operator agreed.
“This Kluge is known for his slipperiness. But I think we’ll find if we poke around, that his exploits are highly inflated. In any case, I see now that cyborgs helped him. They must have turned Kluge into one of their creatures. I wonder how long ago that happened.”
The operator shook his head.
Maximus snapped his fingers. “It must have happened in the Jovian System. Yes, he has been one of their mindless servants ever since.” The Commandant laughed. “Redirect the missiles.”
“Sir?” the operator asked.
“Track the laser back to its origin-point. Then target the cyborg ship. It’s vastly more important than one of their dupes. Marten Kluge, he’s been a cyborg creature! I should have seen it sooner. The Inner Planets must be riddled with cloaked cyborg vessels, and they helped Kluge defeat the centurion. I won’t be fooled again.”
“I’ve redirected the remaining missiles, sir.”
“Excellent,” Maximus said, as he made a fist and struck himself on a pectoral. “It pays to think, and to attack the entity who threatens you most.”
***
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Osadar said.
Marten blinked at the sensor-equipment. The second HB missile blew up, destroyed by what had to be a cyborg laser.
“Why are the cyborgs destroying the missiles for us?” Osadar asked.
Marten grinned as it came to him.
“You have an answer?” Osadar asked.
Marten nodded.
“I’d like to know, too,” Felix said.
“God,” said Marten.
“What?” Felix and Osadar asked together.
Marten managed to close his mouth, although it was difficult. He wanted to bray with laughter. God had finally grown tired of Highborn arrogance and the blasphemy against nature that were the cyborgs. Therefore, God had confused mankind’s enemies. What other explanation could there be?
&
nbsp; “God is no answer,” Osadar said.
“Do you like the word Fate better?” Marten asked.
“No,” she said. “For I’ve found that Fate is always negative, never positive. This laser…I do not understand.”
“If this is God’s work,” Felix said, “how come He didn’t intervene sooner? For instance, why did He allow South American Sector to perish?”
“I don’t know,” Marten said.
“Primitive beliefs are of no use to us in space,” Felix said.
“What’s your answer then?” Marten asked.
Felix shook his head. “My answer is to grab what I can when the opportunity presents itself. Our enemies fight. That’s good enough for me. I do not need higher explanations.”
“The moment is enough?” Marten asked.
“The moment is all there is,” Felix said. “Therefore, one must grab life with both fists and mold it to suit himself.”
“Do we target the remaining missiles?” Nadia asked.
“They’ve changed bearing,” Marten said. This time he couldn’t contain himself. He laughed. “They’re going to pass us, likely as they head for the cyborgs.”
“This is a trick,” Felix said. “Maximus has caused the missiles to deviate just enough to lull us.”
“Leave the missiles,” Marten told his wife.
“You’re making a mistake,” Felix said.
Marten shook his head.
“Your belief in myths will get us killed,” Felix said, anger tingeing his voice.
“It hasn’t so far.” Marten grinned up at Felix. “You’re free because of me.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Felix said. “It is a stain that I will never wash away. A preman saving a Highborn—it is a paradox.”
“Give it time,” Marten said, “and I’m sure you’ll see a few more of those.” He took a deep breath, wondering what the next few hours would bring.
***
The Sigma Web-Mind seethed with impatience in the M Lurker. A monitor program attempted to foil the launching of a full spread of anti-rockets.
The enemy missiles had switched heading. The Sigma had known they would. Did this Maximus really think he could out-guile a Web-Mind? It was a vain conceit. The Highborn were better soldiers than Homo sapiens, but a poor second against the glorious melding of technology and biology within every cyborg.
The laser stabbed into the void. The HB missiles jinked, but they accelerated at such high gravities that they only had a few options. The third missile exploded, destroyed by the laser.
The last two bored-in, however, and now they jumped to an even higher acceleration.
Danger, danger, the Sigma warned. Alert Seven. Initiate full defensive code.
The monitor program fell silent as it acquiesced to the emergency.
The M Lurker shuddered as anti-missiles were expelled out of the tubes. Five seconds later, they ignited, burning for the big Highborn missiles.
At that moment, a coil in the laser-firing system overheated. It was a coolant rupture. Inserted programs initiated an immediate shutdown of the beam.
No! the Sigma pulsed. Give me full laser wattage now.
There was no override this time. Instead, repair functions were accelerated.
For the moment, it was a war of missiles, electronics and velocities. The Highborn missiles were bigger, faster and triggered to explode if anti-weapons reached within one thousand kilometers.
The targeting system in the HB missiles was complex and state-of-the-art. It tracked the cyborg rockets, using their hot exhausts.
The two missiles closed fast, increasing velocity. The nearer HB missile exploded. It was non-nuclear, and created a dense field of shrapnel. Two point three-five minutes later, a penny-sized piece of shrapnel struck a cyborg rocket, disabling it.
At the same time, the M Lurker’s laser came back online. It shot through the void and struck the last missile’s armored cone.
Now, however, the missile had entered the outer range of its target. Onboard AI calculated the odds and concluded immediately that it would not survive much longer—less than six seconds, in fact.
As per the AI’s instructions, the missile’s armored cone blew away. Targeting rods sprouted from the new cone revealed underneath. Several rods melted in the laser’s heat. The missile—an Exo Ten Thousand—was thermonuclear. Its bomb exploded, pumping x-rays and gamma rays. They traveled to the rods and used them, moving nanoseconds ahead of the blast. As the Exo Ten Thousand disappeared, the x-ray and gamma rays traveled at the speed of light toward the M Lurker.
The Sigma had already computed the possibility of such a weapon, as it had carefully researched library files on previous Highborn weaponry. It debated moving, weighing the usefulness of a changed heading against the danger of revealing its position through engine exhaust.
As it ran through various probabilities and possibilities, the deadly gamma rays struck the Lurker.
The hull was composed of special polymers, highly useful for stealth movement. Compared to Highborn collapsium or Social Unity particle-shielding, however, the polymer hull was like paper. The gamma rays easily penetrated the outer hull and the empty cyborg-cells in the ship.
The inner, armored core where the Web-Mind resided was different. Ablative mass protected the compartment. It absorbed much of the punishing radiation, but not all. Heavy doses of gamma rays struck the brain domes. The x-rays were worse, but not enough to kill or burn any major systems.
Unfortunately for the Sigma, the gamma and x-rays had a deleterious effect upon its logic-centers. While the Lurker remained intact, surviving the long-distance strike, the Sigma acted as if it had ingested a heavy dose of hallucinogens. It ran an analysis and wrongly concluded the Highborn were on the hull, ready to invade its sanctuary and capture a Web-Mind.
Dreading enslavement to the enemy, the Web-Mind initiated an auto-destruct sequence. In the last three seconds of its existence, the Sigma realized its cognitive functions were faulty. It attempted to run a check program, but initiated a systems-wide scan instead.
In panic, it broadcast: Rescind the order! Rescind the order! But it never gave the needed code sequence of the order it wished to rescind.
On the third signal-pulse, the Master Lurker exploded three of its nuclear warheads—to ensure no one captured a Web-Mind. The Sigma died in the blast, and the polymers of the ship disintegrated in the atomic fireball.
-10-
In the Neptune System, tensions ran high on the Vladimir Lenin.
On the red-lit bridge, officers warily watched their monitors, rechecking patterns or running yet another diagnostic check. Every anomaly received excessive scans. Each radio wave or burst of radiation from Neptune turned spines rigid and palms sweaty with fear.
So far, events had been too easy for too many monotonous hours. The whispers said it all. They were invading cyborg space, cyborg space! Nothing ever went easily against them. Hawthorne had run the tally. The Alliance Fleet had destroyed over three thousand laser-turrets on the moons Nereid and Proteus, the system’s second largest moon.
Two things troubled Hawthorne about that. The first was the excessive number of turrets, even though analysis showed they were the most easily built type of lasers. He could only imagine that running Doom Star heavy beams for as long as they had to destroy the turrets had depleted energy reserves and worn down certain critical components. Until those components were replaced, the three heavy lasers were that much nearer breakdown due to maintenance problems. That was dangerous—or Hawthorne felt in his gut it was—because of the second difficulty the three thousand turrets represented. Unless the cyborgs had built many dummy lasers, three thousand represented a vast investment of labor, time and resources.
The cyborgs deliberately let us destroy the turrets. The implication—it seems they have military hardware to spare.
Three thousand laser-turrets on two secondary moons. Hawthorne shook his head as he floated out of the bridge-chamber. The short flight
through the corridor brought him to an exercise room. He used a closest, changed into a jumpsuit and climbed into an exercise unit. After strapping himself in, Hawthorne gripped two plastic handles. With a grunt, he began a triceps exercise.
In time, he found himself on a treadmill, with sweat prickling his skin as he panted. The heavily defended moons fell easily to the Doom Stars because the heavy lasers so greatly outranged the defenses. If the SU battleships had gone in, they would have destroyed a hundred or several hundred turrets perhaps, and lost every battleship doing it.
The cyborgs should have built longer-ranged lasers.
Heavy beam projectors were harder to make and harder to maintain. The benefit, however, was obvious.
Hawthorne used a shower-pod, a privilege of rank, and toweled off afterward. He donned his uniform and floated back to the bridge. His hair was still wet as he ran a comb through it. He frowned because of a stray thought, pocketed the comb and took out a small monitor.
Activating it, he made several adjustments. Neptune appeared on the screen. He made further adjustments. Three pinpricks appeared in the dark void. The Doom Stars moved toward Triton’s orbital path. Hawthorne highlighted a number, nodding as he read it. The big moon was over 350,000 kilometers from Neptune, making it closer to the ice planet than Luna was to Earth.
Hawthorne ran more numbers. Triton’s orbital period was five point eight-seven-seven days, or almost six days to move in a full retrograde orbit around the planet. As Luna did to Earth, Triton always kept the same face toward Neptune.
Hawthorne sighed as he hooked the small monitor to his belt. In Neptune System terms, the Doom Stars had moved far away from Nereid as they readied themselves to greet Triton. When the moon finally swung around the ice planet’s rim—relative to the Highborn—the Genghis Khan would be nine hundred thousand kilometers away. So far, that had proved the perfect distance.
The SU battleships had closed the gap with the big vessels, and were presently fifty thousand kilometers from them, well within the range of the SU lasers.
Hawthorne grabbed a float-rail, propelling himself toward the bridge. The fleet moved slowly and carefully through the system, keeping well away from any asteroid or planetoid. The rule was simple: stay away from any possible hiding place for cyborg assault-pods. During the Third Battle for Mars, invading cyborgs had fought their way onto a Doom Star, blowing the core. No one wanted a repeat of that out here.
Doom Star: Book 06 - Star Fortress Page 27
