The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy
Page 17
“All weapons locked on the alien ship,” Tactical announced. “Designating as Outlaw One.”
“Comm, signal that ship on all frequencies. Standard peace hails.” Mitterrand would rather talk to these aliens if she could, try to avoid hostilities. The last thing she wanted right now was a ship-to-ship duel. “Be creative if you have to, but I want a link established.”
“Understood, captain,” said the senior Communications officer.
Mitterrand studied the bridge holosphere as a close-up image of the alien ship appeared. It had a smooth, ovoid shape, its surface composed of soft green hues that reminded her of jade marble. Arrayed around the ship’s equator were long “sails” aglow with purple light―its propulsion system, perhaps? Or were those long sails weapons? Red indicators at the bottom of the holosphere gave specific details. Length: 3.42 Kilometers. Width: 1.28 Kilometers. Height: 1.27 Kilometers. Mass: 38.46 Megatonnes.
Mitterrand let out a deep sigh. The alien ship had Nighthawk out-sized and out-massed. Probably out-gunned as well. But who has the technological edge? “Comm, any response yet?”
“Negative, captain. Either they don’t hear us or they’re deliberately ignoring us. I’m trying some old low-band freq―”
Tactical interrupted with a priority override. “Outlaw is rotating. Blisters forming on its hull. AI projects they’re weapons, confidence level over seventy percent.”
Mitterrand didn’t dare wait any longer.
“Fire!” she snapped. “Alpha strike!”
Three different weapon systems fired simultaneously. Up front on Nighthawk’s bow, the twin-pulsar turret flung two bolts of antimatter constrained by energy-containment fields. From single turrets farther back came four blinding-white beams that stabbed into Outlaw One. The rotary launchers spun midship, unleashing a fast salvo of ALR-6 Penetrator missiles.
Holes opened in Nighthawk’s invisible force shields so the weapons could pass through them. If not, all that destructive energy would bounce back on the destroyer. The shield apertures were sized to accommodate the weapon shooting through them, staying open only as long as they were needed, not a nanosecond more.
In the holosphere, Mitterrand saw four bright-white beams strike the alien ship. These were high-powered tachyon lasers―known as tasers for short―that fired coherent beams of hyper-energy, zero-point particles moving thousands of times faster than light. Tasers were immediate-strike weapons from a battlefield point of view, unlike pulsar bolts and missiles that raced toward their target at sublight speeds, requiring a measurable length of time to reach their target.
“Guided weapons on track,” Weapons reported. “Pulsars hit in ten seconds, missiles in twenty-five.”
Meanwhile the tasers continued to stab into the alien ship, but Mitterrand noticed they had minimal effect. That jade-like hull shrugged off the beams incredibly well, appearing to deflect most of the tachyons and somehow absorb the rest. Beams able to bore through a meter of high-grade plasteel in half a second could only carve shallow pits.
Outlaw One fired, causing Nighthawk to shudder as eight explosions burst against her shields. A comm array was scorched by an overload surge that bled through, but otherwise there was no damage to the destroyer.
Tactical analyzed the explosions. “Those blasts are nonnuclear; some type of compressed energy warhead. Explosive strength is approximately ninety kilotonnes.”
Mitterrand held her breath as the pulsars streaked in side by side to slam against Outlaw One. They erupted like a matched pair of exploding novae as the antimatter contained within them suddenly and violently interacted with the normal matter of the alien warship. Immense blooms of energy burst with blinding fury. As the blasts faded away, Mitterrand saw the result―two glowing craters where the bow of Outlaw One had once been.
And then the Penetrator missiles struck at various points in quick succession, their shaped-charge, 118-megatonne thermonuclear warheads shattering the hull and vaporizing huge swaths of the alien ship underneath.
The holosphere dimmed abruptly to protect the eyes watching it as Outlaw One blew apart, outshining Cirtus Beta for a moment in a blaze of silver light. When it faded away, only twinkling radioactive debris remained.
Mitterrand sagged with relief. “Ops, anything else in the area?”
Numerous alien warships had taken out the guard sats. The others were out there somewhere. Plus, the one they just destroyed had probably called for help, so more could already be on the way.
“Negative. Still clear, captain.”
“Continue hard scans, I want no surprises.” Mitterrand studied the orbital mining platform as it materialized in the holosphere. She saw scorch marks and various dents and dings covering it, collateral battle damage, she assumed, from the battle that destroyed the CA-10s. “Still got those biosigns on the platform?”
“Strong signs, captain: twenty-eight humans, one AI, and a hundred forty-seven aliens with a quasi-insectoid biology. That platform looks singed, but the damage is mostly superficial. Life support, internal grav, and most systems are still operational. It’s an Aardvark D-series platform, heavy duty, built to last.”
“Helm, bring us in to twenty klicks. Tactical, send a squad over to rescue those workers.” Mitterrand had to assume the aliens on the platform, whatever their biology, would be upset about their ship’s destruction. It seemed unlikely the marines she was sending over would get a warm welcome. “Make sure it’s a well-armed squad.”
Assault Ram Saturn’s Glory
“Launch in ten seconds,” warned the voice inside his head. First Sergeant Flanders Risi took a deep breath and relaxed so completely that Yoshi, his Zen Yoga mentor, would have smiled with pride. The natural inclination to “grab on tight” only made the launch worse.
“. . . in three seconds . . . two . . . one . . . launch.”
Risi was shoved back into the contoured cushioning of his crash seat as if by a giant, unseen hand. Acceleration forces of eight standard gravities pressed against his face and chest, making it difficult to breathe as the 710-tonne assault ram was catapulted down a launch tube and flung from Nighthawk with an outgoing velocity of eighty-five meters per second. There was a brief sensation of weightlessness, followed by a kick from behind as the engine came on. Velocity rose swiftly as they sped toward the mining platform.
“Insertion in two minutes,” said the voice. It belonged to Lieutenant Tesla, an AI, whose barrel-shape body with four metallic flexor arms piloted Saturn’s Glory from up in the cockpit. Risi was back in the troop compartment.
The lieutenant was in charge of the marine contingent aboard Nighthawk. The AI was a highly decorated veteran of the Jarda War, while Risi, current age twenty-six, hadn’t even been born yet during that forty-one-year conflict. Tesla had been part of two rescue missions sent to Jarda worlds, both dismal failures. The Devourers―known as such for their proclivity of eating human prisoners alive―were tenacious fighters. Both rescue missions had ended the same, with heavy casualties plus the grisly death of the prisoners they were sent to rescue. Lieutenant Tesla would, however, use everything it had learned on those failed missions to succeed at this one.
“Our entry point is Deck Three on the platform’s port side,” Tesla said. “Just above the number eight ore intake manifold. Too much alien activity near the dock tubes, so we go in where they are not. Our insertion mode will be ram entry. It will be a bumpy ride, sergeant, so hang on.”
“Copy that,” Risi thought. He mentally switched comm channels to SQ-1, thinking, “Suit, status check.”
Above his helmet viewscreen, a row of indicator lights came to life. Risi studied them, making sure his combat spacesuit was at peak efficiency before thinking, “Squad, comm check.” The neural implant in the parietal lobe of his brain sent his focused thoughts over the Squad Net, SQ-1. Long hours of deep-focus training with the concentration techniques of Zen Yoga were required to master the subtle intricacies of the implant, but Risi was quite skilled. All marines were.
His squad consisted of three Marauder M-14A warbots. They rode back in the troop compartment with Risi, docked in their crash berths, powered up and ready to go.
Marauders were the modern version of an old-style battle tank. They had barrel-shape bodies of 37mm thick, ultra-dense polyceramic armor, with a Kemplar force shield over that. Three weapon arms spaced evenly at 120 intervals gave them a 360 field of fire. Their turtle-shell heads, able to swivel in any direction, bristled with feathery sensors and parabolic-disc targeting scanners. Inside, a three-gigawatt matter/antimatter reactor provided plenty of power, while anti-grav thrusters gave them unmatched aerial mobility. Fast, survivable, with potent firepower, that was a Marauder M-14A warbot.
Unlike an AI, marauders were not self-aware. Not even particularly intelligent, their logic processors just smart enough to get the job done, nothing more. Their simple, predictive behavior was preferred by most marines, Risi included. When the ordnance began flying about, there was nothing better than a marauder by one’s side.
Risi had named those in his squad Tic, Tac, and Toe . . . easy to remember. The sergeant could use any label he wanted, but he’d been advised not to give them personal names―unwise to become attached to them. Although marauders were squad members, they weren’t “alive” like a human or AI, who were to be preserved at all costs. That made marauders technically expendable; not to be squandered frivolously, of course, but the warbots could be sacrificed for good cause during a mission if necessary.
“Suit, external view,” Risi thought.
His helmet viewscreen split into two equal panels, the right side showing normal vision while the left displayed a live camera feed from the ram’s bow. Their destination was an orbital mining platform identified as Zeres Able. The rescue plan was a basic grab-and-go, the best kind, according to the lieutenant. Once Risi and the marauders were inserted into the platform, they’d charge out and rescue the workers. Anything alien that got in their way would be cut down. Tesla would monitor the squad’s progress from the cockpit, giving direction if needed while protecting their ride home.
“Suit, tactical display.”
A blue-line schematic of Zeres Able replaced the camera feed. Real-time, the schematic was updated twenty-six times a second via a telemetry feed from the ram’s scanner array. Glowing green dots denoted the platform workers, all grouped together in a single location, the cafeteria. The fact they were conveniently clustered in one place made Risi’s job a whole lot easier.
Still, there was the problem of those numerous red dots bustling about through the platform like ants in an anthill―the aliens. Risi wondered how aggressive they’d be trying to stop him and the marauders. Like any jailbreak, he had to assume the prison guards would try to prevent him from freeing the inmates. But Risi had no worries. He knew what marauder warbots could do.
“Remember, speed and surprise are our best weapons,” Tesla advised the sergeant. “Do this fast enough and we just might get everyone out in one piece. Do not give these aliens time to react. Any questions or concerns?”
“None, lieutenant. We’re good to go.”
Under Tesla’s expert guidance, Saturn’s Glory launched a Bangalore dart missile that streaked ahead. It exploded 2.5 seconds later, blowing a hole in the platform’s side. Saturn’s Glory “rammed” through the opening, its armor-wedge bow designed for this very purpose. The reverse thrusters came on with a roar, and Risi was thrown forward against the straps of his crash berth. He breathed deep and slow, his mind focused on the Zen Yoga technique of Tranquil Passage as the assault ram bounced, slid, and careened through the platform. More than one marine had broken a bone for “tensing up” during a ram entry. There was a hard sideways jolt as Saturn’s Glory bounced off something bulky, then the assault craft skidded to a stop. Risi was vaguely aware of the thrusters spinning down with a slow-fading whine.
Behind them, the platform’s automated repair system flung an emergency force field over the hole Saturn’s Glory had ripped open, preventing the atmosphere from explosively venting into space. The jagged hole began reshaping itself, the advanced flowmetal unbending and smoothing out, with torn areas recombining. A repair robot rushed in, releasing clouds of construction mites that sped the repair. Within an hour the breach would be fully mended, the ruptured area unnoticeable to a passerby.
Back in Saturn’s Glory, Risi rose from his crash berth, grabbing his rifle from an overhead rack. “Squad, enable weapons. Prep for attack.”
The three marauders rose on silent anti-grav thrusters half a meter off the floor and glided to their ready positions near the rear door. The tips of their fusion weapons glowed bright orange as safeties were released.
“Suit, shield up.” Risi thumbed the safety off his rifle, a Ziegler & Koch RZ-11 with an under-barrel missile launcher. A faint purple haze enveloped his combat suit as its force shield came on. Risi cycled through the ram’s external cameras. As expected, the area around Saturn’s Glory was a cluttered maze of wreckage, with smashed machines, broken pipes, and ore scattered everywhere. Yep, plenty of hidey-holes out there for alien snipers.
“You are clear to proceed, sergeant,” Tesla stated.
“Copy that,” Risi thought. “Door, open.”
The door in front of them slid sideways into the hull.
“Squad, charge!”
Tic and Toe darted through the opening. Risi ran after them. Tac, whose primary duty this mission was to keep the sergeant alive, kept close behind him.
Emergency floodlights shone down from above, casting dark-red shadows across the floor. Risi followed the two lead marauders as they sped through the vast, cavernous ore-processing chamber, racing past huge hoppers that towered high overhead, around inactive robotic pulverizers he knew were used to crush rock pulled up from the planet below; the resultant slurry fed into giant sifters that extracted the valuable elements within. Gigantic machinery extended hundreds of meters in every direction.
His tactical display beeped to alert Risi that an alien was moving toward him. Probably, he figured, to investigate the ruckus made by the ram’s arrival. With a focused thought, he put a target circle around a red dot on his display. “Tac, eliminate target.”
Tac fired an antipersonnel missile. The cigar-sized projectile streaked out from the marauder’s body, trailing a plume of pale gray smoke. It arced up and over an ore sifter and dove on the target from above. The warhead detonated a meter from the alien, spraying 128 ceramic slivers downward in a conical blast pattern.
The red dot on Risi’s display faded from view. Rifle ready, he ran around the ore sifter to examine the kill. The alien was definitely insectoid, with antennae, mandibles, and eight bug-like limbs. About a meter in length, he estimated. Weight, thirty kilos. It lay on its side with sap-like ooze seeping from scores of needle-sized holes in its shiny green exoskeleton. Seeing an alien up close like this, even a dead one, sure made his adrenaline flow.
Tac gave him a nudge from behind, urging the sergeant to move along; he had lingered over the kill long enough.
Risi took off at a sprint after Tic and Toe. The two marauders were long since out of sight, but he kept track of them on his tactical display. They were some eighty meters ahead, approaching a stairwell they’d use to reach Deck 8. From there it was a straight line down a long corridor to the cafeteria. Events should get real interesting in that corridor, as four extra-large red blips were inside it.
As Risi ran he cast frequent glances back and forth. He checked overhead spaces, too, keeping his “head on a swivel” like he’d been taught back in basic training. With so much bulky mining equipment around, there was no guarantee the scanners would pick up every threat.
Up ahead, Tic reached the stairwell but the door was locked, forcing the warbot to blast it down with a HE (High-Explosive) missile. Risi arrived as the door was exploding backward in
to the stairwell with a loud boom. If the aliens didn’t know the squad was here before, they definitely did now. Tic darted into the stairwell with Toe following, and the two marauders began levitating up the five flights of stairs to Deck 8.
Risi was about to enter the stairwell when an urgent beep warned him a threat was in close proximity, approaching fast. Not until the huge creature had broken into a charge toward the sergeant did his suit scanner pick it up.
In one fluid motion, Risi turned to face the creature, raised his rifle, and fired. Tac reacted even faster, launching an armor-piercing missile straight into its head. The 18mm fusion beam from Risi’s rifle lanced into the alien’s face above its enormous jaw pincers, but to his surprise the only visible effect was bright-orange sparks ricocheting off the creature. Risi shifted aim, targeting its center eye, but there, too, the beam sizzled harmlessly. The half-meter-long AP missile fired by Tac, however, had a far more lethal effect, its shaped-core warhead driving a molten jet of 14,000° plasma through the alien’s head, vaporizing exoskeleton, muscle, and tissue alike.
And still the creature kept charging.
Risi barely managed to dive out of its way as the huge monster ran past, slamming into the wall near the stairwell. Risi looked over as it ricocheted off, stumbling forward another ten meters or so before falling over onto its side. He stared as the body twitched, its six legs still trying to run. Steam rose from the molten crater that was once the creature’s skull.
As Risi picked himself up off the floor, he realized this alien was bigger than the first one he encountered―much, much bigger. And far more deadly, too. He had no doubts its massive jaw pincers could slice him in two like scissors through paper. Plus its exoskeleton resembled military-grade armor, imperious to his rifle’s fusion beam.