“Signal recall on those weapons,” ordered Bednarczyk, looking over at the Com Officer. “Nguyen is to change vectors and recover those missiles. We’re going to need them later.”
The Com Officer sent out the grav wave code to signal the missiles to start decel and return. They wouldn’t have enough power to get all the way back, but they could at least make the job easier for Nguyen’s force to catch them.
“Battle force is to return to the Bolthole station for refit and repair,” ordered Bednarczyk after she had observed the Com Officer had finished her signaling. “And tell all officers and crew, good job.”
* * *
Out in the wastes of the star system, light months from the star, another Machine force waited. Only a dozen ships, they had observed the battle through the grav wave commentary of the vessels that had forged in. Not as good as what could be observed eventually when the light from that battle reached them two months later. Still, it was enough to determine what tactics the organics had used to defeat the attack force. That information would be used to determine the best counter tactic to engage the organic force in the future.
Of course the computer minds knew that something was on the way that the organics would not be able to handle. But information was useful in and of itself. There was always a chance that the Machines would face this enemy in a less than unequal battle again.
* * *
Admiral Anaru Henare breathed out a sigh of relief as he watched the last Machine ship disappear from the plot. At least we don’t have to worry about them reinforcing their invasion force on my stations, he thought, looking over at another holo that showed no red spots, no signs of enemy intrusion on the Bolthole asteroid or any of the industrial stations. Of course three of the stations that had existed before the attack were no longer on that plot. Not destroyed by the invading robots, but by naval fire when it was determined that it would cost more lives to clear those stations than it was worth.
They still had ninety percent of the off asteroid industrial capacity they had before the attack, but what they had lost was also capacity they could not afford to lose.
“The General wants to know what he should do with the Klassekians who fought alongside his people to secure the asteroid?” asked one of the Com Techs on duty at the bank of communications consoles in Central Control.
“Hell, he should give them all medals,” growled the Admiral. The aliens’ appropriation and use of weapons had been totally unauthorized, but that unauthorized action had saved thousands of lives, including a great number of children who had been trapped in the nursery.
“General,” said Henare, looking at the face and upper body of the retired officer who was in charge of system security. “I want you to recruit all of those Klassekians into the militia as soon as possible. I will authorize the production of species specific weapons and armor for all that you can get.”
“All of them?” asked the General, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Well, all that the Fleet doesn’t need. I realize that’s going to be the greater number of them, but that should still leave some few thousands for recruitment.”
“I’ll get on it, Admiral,” said the ground combat officer.
“And keep your people sweeping the station on shifts,” he ordered the General.
“I think we’ve gotten all of them, Admiral,” replied the General. “I was about to stand down all of my people.”
“Can you guarantee that you’ve taken out every single robot on this station, Isaiah?” Henare asked the General, using his first name for probably the first time. “Every one of the insect bots, every nanite.”
“Of course not, Admiral,” replied Isaiah Goldberg, shaking his head.
“Then I want you to continue sweeps of the Bolthole and every station until we’re sure. If we even have one of them aboard, they might be able to cause more trouble, possibly make more of their kind.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure we check out every nook and cranny of our facilities,” agreed Goldberg.
“The people on the planet are asking when we can get their world cleared of nanites, sir,” said another of the Techs.
“When we can get around to it,” growled Henare, glaring at the Tech. “We’ve got more important things to deal with at the moment.”
“Wait,” said Henare, motioning to the Tech before that spacer could transmit the message. “Tell them we’ll be sending a couple of shuttles full of Naval techs and a load of nanites.” We might as well test the abilities of our own nanotech against theirs. Even if we don’t clear the planet all at once.
Chapter Sixteen
If popular culture has taught us anything, it is that someday mankind must face and destroy
growing robot menace.
Daniel H. Wilson
KLASSEK SYSTEM, MARCH 30th, 1002.
“We’re very glad to see you here, Commodore,” said Major General Travis Wittmore over the com, looking into the portly face of Blake Sims. Being overweight was very unusual in this day, and had been for centuries, since the Human Improvement Project had gotten rid of any genes that led to unintentional obesity. So the Commodore ate, and ate quite a bit more than he should have, which to the General’s way of thinking showed a lack of character. But he outranks Gertrude, thought the system commander. And he is in contact with Command Base, which gives him the ranking officer to make his appointment stick. Hasselhoff was a mere captain breveted up to commodore, while Sims had the permanent rank, with over a half years’ time in grade.
“And we are glad we got here in time,” said the Commodore after a three minute delay caused by the ninety odd light seconds distance from the newly arrived force and the planet it was decelerating towards. “I’m surprised those ships didn’t just come on in and attack.”
And now we have a force they will have a hard time dealing with, thought the General, watching the incoming ships on the tactical plot. With the new additions that had quintupled their tonnage and firepower. Now they had fourteen battle cruisers, which, while they weren’t battleships, were still powerful units. The Fleet heavy already in here was one of the few purpose built warships in the system, but now they had eleven light cruisers added to that class of vessel, and a total of twenty four tin cans. Over a hundred and twenty-seven million tons of ships to defend the system. And I only wish we had more Fleet ships, with their increased missile capacity.
There were six other ships of interest on the plot, the six replenishment vessels, carrying antimatter and spare missiles, as well as millions of tons of materials that didn’t exist in any quantities on the planet. Materials like supermetals that could be used to manufacture weapons in place.
He zoomed out the plot, to watch the vector arrows of the enemy ships that were moving away from the system in hyper. There were twenty-two of those vessels, over seventy million tons of ships. They might have been able to take the system with those ships if not for the arrival of the reinforcements. And he had to wonder where they were going, and when they would be back.
It took almost an hour for the new ships to achieve orbit. Wittmore gave his suggestions for how he wanted the naval command used, including a small outer system force and a larger by double inner system force to protect the planet. After that it was up to the two commodores to hash out. He wasn’t surprised that Hasselhoff was appointed commander of the outer force. Not surprised, but somewhat disappointed, since she had the best rapport with the Planetary President.
Shortly he was back on the com with the new naval commander, discussing the use of the strategic materials that had been delivered.
“I think their best use would be for orbital platforms,” said Wittmore, thinking of the defenses he would like the planet to have against incoming missiles.
“I have to disagree, General,” said the Commodore, a slight smile on his face that looked condescending. “We really need more missiles for our ships. We only have two reloads for all of my vessels that we brought along.”
“And you really think you’re going to get a chance to reload? No, reload more than twice, if the Machines engage you in a battle?”
“It’s standard naval doctrine to have as many reloads as possible in the local pipeline,” said the Commodore, again with that smile that said that he knew better than any damned ground pounder what they needed.
“I’m more concerned with being able to intercept anything coming in at the planet,” said Wittmore, scowling. “Our mission here is to protect these people, above any other concerns.”
“And that’s why I want my force well-armed, General. The best way to protect the planet is to keep the enemy far away.”
“I am system commander,” said Wittmore, shaking his head. “And my order is that our nanofabbers will concentrate on building orbital defenses.”
“Very well, General,” said the Commodore, the smile leaving his face.
The holo went blank, leaving Wittmore to wonder what the Commodore was going to do. It was obvious that the man wasn’t happy with the order, and the General wondered how much trouble it was going to be to work with the man.
Fifteen minutes later the com beeped, playing the tune that was the notification that it was a priority cast. Wittmore accepted the trans, and was surprised to see that Admiral Adanna Douhou was centered in the holo. The three dimensional image looked a little flat, a bit blurry, but it was definitely her.
“Admiral. What can I do for you?”
“General. I see that the reinforcements have arrived.”
“Yes, ma’am. And they are very welcome. And again, what can I do for you, Admiral?” asked the two star General who was two rank levels below the woman on the other end of the transmission. And what the hell did Sims tell you?
“Commodore Sims informed me of your disagreement on the use of the resources I sent you, General. And I have to say, I must agree with my naval commander on the spot.”
“But, Admiral. I am tasked with defending this world, and I believe the best way to do that is to defend it from enemy missiles before they can get to the planet.”
“Exactly, General. And the best way to do that is to engage the enemy well away from the planet. So I am ordering you to release those resources to build the Commodore what he needs.”
“I protest, ma’am.”
“Protest all you want. Your job is to deal with the planet itself, his to handle the space around it. He is in command of the system, all but the planet from the atmosphere down. Oh, and by the way, I am breveting Sims up to rear admiral, so he will carry the same rank as you. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Wittmore. And I have no way of contacting anyone in the Empire about this without going through you, and I know that’s not going to happen. Not with Fleet controlling both ends of all the wormholes involved.
* * *
“We’re dropping to normal space in one minute, sir,” called out the Helmsman, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Are the messages ready?” asked Commander Petrov Standanko of the DDX Charles Lindberg, looking over at that station.
“Yes, sir,” replied the Com Tech, making sure that the ship’s communications systems would do what was asked of them for the few minutes the destroyer would be in normal space.
Petrov looked at the tactical plot that showed his ship in relation to the system they were skirting. He only needed to drop the message off here, and then head on to Exploration Base. The fastest way to do that was to drop out here in hyper VII, and send their information in by laser burst transmission, before jumping back into VII and continuing on to Exploration Base. They would receive the grav wave transmission as close to immediately as made no difference, and then the laser transmission would come along nine hours later.
The Machine station and its escorts would be along in thirty days, a month’s time. Hopefully the system would be able to do something to prepare for it, though he wasn’t sure what. His job was to get the same information back to Base, where they might be able to form a fleet that could actually defeat the station. Of course he had no way of knowing that reinforcements had already reached the system from Base, and that anything he sent into the system would be at the Base moments after they received it.
“Jumping out, now,” called out the Helmsman. The lights dimmed for a second, the artifact of quantum fluctuations that occurred during the jump. Nausea came and went, and the stars of normal space glittered on the main viewer.
“We have graviton emissions all around us,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Seven ships, estimated one to three million ton range. Range, three light minutes.” The Tactical Officer turned to look back at his Captain. “We have missile launch, closest four light seconds. Impact in fifty-two seconds.”
And we’re heading right into that pair, thought Petrov as he looked at the plot. Two missiles had launched from eight light seconds away. Their own velocity was low, but with the destroyer traveling at point three light, impact would occur in twenty-seven seconds.
“Send messages, now,” yelled Petrov, looking over to see that the Com Tech was already on it. The pulse of grav waves required a second’s time to send out twenty-seven characters. The laser took a couple of seconds to locate where the planet was according to its graviton signature, and less than a second to lock on the laser and send the signal to where the planet would be by the time it got there. It fired, sending ten gigabytes of information a second. The total data package would take thirty-one seconds to transmit, more time than they had.
“Impact in sixteen seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Cycling counters.”
The destroyer shuddered a moment as it started putting out counter missiles, while the laser rings opened up, trying to get a hit. They actually generated several hits, but these were not fragile human missiles. They were eight thousand ton weapons, able to handle hits, while their own lasers targeted the counters. One enemy weapon detonated at well beyond the safe distance, while the other continued in.
“Jump,” yelled Petrov as the impact counter hit five seconds.
The Helmsman didn’t respond. He didn’t have time to. He worked his board and started the jump, a process that took three seconds. The hole in space opened up, only traversable from one direction, and they slid through at point three light. The enemy weapon passed through the space the destroyer had been in one second later.
* * *
“My God,” said Commodore Sims, looking at the text message that the grav wave transmission decrypted to. “One hundred kilometers in diameter. It would have outmass my entire force by a hundred times. More.”
The entire text message, six hundred and seventy-five characters, told of the massive station that was on the way here with its ETA, along with the general breakdown of its escorting force. The escorting force, when combined with what was already in proximity to the system, would be enough to defeat the Imperial force without some luck. And Sims knew there wasn’t enough luck in the Universe to beat a weapon such as that heading for them.
“And you won’t know anything more, for what?” asked General Wittmore. “Nine hours?”
“A little less. I can only wish that the destroyer had a Klassekian onboard, so we could have that information now.”
“But we have thirty days,” said Wittmore, trying to be positive. “Surely we can come up with plan in that time, Admiral.”
Sims merely looked down at the floor and shook his head, and Wittmore knew that the man was not the naval commander they needed at this time and place. The General killed the holo, then contacted his own Com Officer. “I want to send a message out to Commodore Hasselhoff, for her eyes only.”
* * *
“What in the hell are we going to do?” whined Rear Admiral Blake Sims, his holo image, sitting at the same table as General Wittmore and Planetary President Rizzit Contena.
Commodore Gertrude Hasselhoff, with the outer system force, was attending by way of her Klassekian com tech, her holo hanging in the air. The same was true of Admiral Ada
nna Douhou, using a sibling of Sims’ com tech to transmit her image. The Klassekians saw somewhat differently that humans, so the images appeared slightly distorted, almost too clear, with a variation in color. Still, it was much better than having to wait on the light speed barrier that would have forced Hasselhoff to wait through a two hour com cycle, and would have left Douhou no way to attend the meeting. That, or send text in the case of Hasselhoff.
“Get yourself together, Admiral Sims,” said the frowning Douhou. “We need you to think now, dammit. Not sit there and feel sorry for yourself.”
And that’s all he seems to be capable of, thought Wittmore, wishing once again that Hasselhoff would be in command of the naval force in the system.
“We can meet them away from the system,” said the Commodore, her resolve to fight showing on her own face. “Hit them with every hyper capable missile we can carry.”
“There aren’t enough missiles on all of our ships to take that thing out,” groaned Sims, closing his eyes. “And I don’t think they’re going to just let us hit them.”
“What about that plan we discussed earlier, Gertrude” asked Wittmore, looking at her holo, than at the sitting image.
“I told you, Commodore,” growled Sims, going from depression to anger in a heartbeat, “that we were not going to bother with that stupid plan.”
“And I told her I wanted to hear it when I found out about it,” said Wittmore, pointing a finger at the Rear Admiral.
“You are no longer her commanding officer, General,” said Sims, his holo image glaring at Wittmore.
“And I still have more rank than you, Admiral,” yelled Wittmore, standing up and leaning over the table, like he wanted to attack the holo image. “I have held my permanent rank of two star general for the last four years, while you are only a jacked up one star.”
Exodus: Machine War: Book 2: Bolthole Page 22
