Kullorg grunted. “Perhaps, perhaps. As soon as Krugh is secure, I will go, communicate with my government,” he said darkly, then crossed his heavy arms, a very human gesture.
Is this all it takes to crack our fragile accords? Absen thought. There is still so much I don’t know about how the Sekoi think. If it weren’t for Ezekiel Denham and his assurances of their sincerity, I would be really sweating now, instead of merely concerned. At least I hold the cards here; Conquest could smash Krugh without difficulty, and humans control the moon laser.
Fifteen minutes later the Hippo general shuttled over to his heavy cruiser.
***
When Jill entered her tiny flat it took her a long moment to realize something was out of place. Adrenaline flared through her, activating a cascade of cybernetic systems that turned her into a weapon within a fraction of a second.
On her left hand, her ferrocrystal claws came out, poking through her fingertips with familiar pain. Nanites immediately sealed the razor wounds. With her right, she slipped her personal pistol out of the small of her back, an ancient PW5 that she had carried with her for decades.
Left hand extended slightly, she kept the handgun close to her body in her right, where it couldn’t be grabbed or struck, and looked around the main room that housed the kitchen, dining and living areas. She wondered what had tipped her off, and sniffed slowly.
Ah.
“Come on out, Spooky. Been hitting that Hippo garlic pretty hard lately?” She put the gun away and withdrew her claws.
“Yes,” came the answer near the refrigerator as she put the gun away. “It’s a weakness around humans, but it actually masks the man-scent to the Sekoi. Beer?” The Vietnamese highlander turned with two bottles in his hand.
“Oh, my,” Jill breathed as she stepped forward to take one reverently. “Where the hell did you get this?” After three years of wartime economy, luxuries were scarce and expensive. “No label?”
“I own a small beverage company now in Blorun,” naming the large Hippo town closest to them, some three hundred kilometers to the south. “This is a test batch. My bioengineer assured me it is compatible with both their biology and ours.”
“Well then, let’s find a bloody opener!” Jill scrabbled in a drawer.
“Oh, come now, Jill,” Spooky replied, and slowly twisted the top off his with cybernetic strength. “Just have to take care not to snap the neck. Cheers,” he said as he lifted his bottle to his lips.
Instead of twisting, Jill gave him a crooked grin and extended her middle finger, then re-extruded one claw and pried the bottle top off. “Up the Irish,” she replied, and tasted. “Oh, that’s good, Spooky. Add it to your list of talents.”
“The rest of a case is in your fridge.”
Jill paused in mid-sip, then took a slow swallow. “Thanks…but now I’m starting to think this is not just a social call.”
“You’re right. How’d you like a bit of action?”
She licked her lips, conscious of his casual scrutiny. “I told you I was done with all that special ops crap back on Conquest, and the answer still stands. When I get back into it, I’ll go with Marines.” Her lips came up in an unconscious snarl. “I always know where I stand with them.”
Spooky set his empty bottle in the sink and fished two more out of the fridge. “I don’t know what I ever did to you to warrant such vitriol, Jill,” he said evenly.
“You don’t call two hundred million dead people reason enough? And pinning it on someone else?”
“Did I betray you personally? I didn’t drop a nuke on Los Angeles and kill your family. Not that you spoke to them much anyway. You’d already made the Corps your home, and left them behind. Survivor’s guilt is all you’re feeling, even now.”
“That’s rich – you, psycho-analyzing me.” She emphasized the first part of the word to make it a pun. “I got past their deaths a long time ago.” Jill paced across the small main room, turned to face him from the farthest corner. “But even if I would have before, I’m a mother now. I have more important responsibilities. Besides…what kind of covert op could there be now? We won.”
“Who said it was a covert op?” Spooky asked mildly. “I just asked you whether you wanted to get back into action.”
She sighed. “If I wanted to, I could request a few months in space, but that’s not really action. So it’s not a covert op?”
“It is a covert op.”
Jill stared at him. “You’re an asshole, you know?”
“It’s been said. You want to hear about it, or go back to mommy-ville?”
She ground her teeth for a moment, then let up when she felt her jaw creak and a molar crack. That tiny mistake decided for her.
I’m getting out of practice. I need a rest from rest.
“Fine, tell me.” She threw herself on the sofa, leaving Spooky to perch on a barstool. “Go on.”
“Something just entered this system.”
“What?” Jill sat up suddenly, almost spilling her precious brew.
Spooky smiled faintly, nostrils flaring, but did not answer.
She prompted, “Okay, you got me interested. Keep talking.”
He nodded. “It’s a huge ship. Bigger than that Meme Guardian, but it’s not Meme. It’s mechanical, and in bad shape, but it’s already exhibited some technology that we don’t have.”
“How the hell do you know all this?”
“Oh, come now.”
When it appeared he would not answer more, Jill ramped up her glare until he relented. “I have sources in EarthFleet and the Sekoi military both. Several hours ago both networks lit up with the news. It’s only a matter of time before the media gets ahold of it.”
“So what? EarthFleet will handle it. What does that have to do with us?” She realized she’d already changed pronouns from me to us, and she saw Spooky’s eyes smile when he realized that too.
“Shortly after I learned of this, I also learned of an unauthorized transmission sent from a small island near the equator, aimed out into space, no known target. EarthFleet doesn’t know, and the Sekoi don’t seem to care. The former does not surprise me, but the latter does.”
“What…why?”
“What and why indeed,” Spooky agreed. He held up a hand and counted on fingers, thumb first. “Possibilities. One, the planetary government sent it; two, they know about it and are keeping it from us; three, they know about it and don’t care; or four, they don’t know.”
“And you want to find out. But how? We’re two humans among billions of Hippos. Nothing we do is covert. This sounds like a job for your native agents.” Jill laughed at the slight rise of Spooky’s eyebrows. “Of course you have indigenes on your payroll.”
“I’m just pleased you worked it out. You really haven’t thrown away all your interest in the clandestine world.”
“Oh, stop blowing smoke,” Jill replied, but couldn’t help feeling secretly pleased. I’m actually enjoying this, she realized. Damn. I’m hooked. “So why not just tell the Sekoi and see how they react?”
“That is one option…but I want to take a look for myself.”
“Just you and me?”
“And Ezekiel.” Spooky held up a hand before she protested. “We need his ship. It’s the only thing that will get us there without anyone noticing.”
“They won’t notice a Meme ship flying around? It can’t be that stealthy.”
“Oh, we’re not going to be flying.” He handed her a piece of paper. “Grab what you need, and meet me at these geo-coords in one hour.”
Chapter Four
Chirom stood before the Control Chamber, digging his claws into his pads. Fear had been his constant companion for more than twenty shipboard years: fear of Desolator, fear for his dying people, fear for himself. Hiding it did not make it go away.
Mastering his fear again, he touched the portal control. Retracting smoothly, the door’s removal revealed softly glowing lights on gleaming, well-tended machinery so different from t
he dingy quarters the half-thousand of his race occupied.
Why Desolator chose to maintain a room built specifically for Ryss, a room from which to pilot and fight the Colossus-class warship, escaped him. There had been a time when the AI seemed well-adjusted, as efficient and effective as its name implied – at killing Meme of all sorts. Perhaps it was damage to the ship Desolator itself – eponymous with its AI brain – that had driven it mad. Perhaps the Ryss should not have given its ships artificial intelligences at all, or at least none with such strong egos and emotional emulation programs.
Perhaps they should not have let them feel pain…or fear.
All he knew for sure was that in the final battle for the homeworld, when it became clear that no Ryss would survive the planet-cracker the Meme deployed, Desolator had fled.
Chirom had been the ship’s senior Records Historian, tasked with ensuring a true record of everything that transpired, especially in the Control Chamber. His video feeds remained separated from all other systems to insure integrity. That day he had waited in a nearby room, watching helplessly.
Like it was yesterday, Chirom remembered.
---
Master Captain Juriss spat with rage as yet another hypervelocity missile volley slammed into Desolator, cascading the blood-red icons of faults and failures across his board. Suicidally, a squadron of Meme gunboats followed their weapons in, ramming toward the quadrant-four fin. “Exploder, now!” he ordered, stabbing a claw at the main display.
Grizzled veteran Kurr, face half-covered in bandages, deployed one of their few remaining guided antimatter bombs directly into the path of the dozen enemy ships, detonating it at optimum range. Overload washed the screens white for a long moment. When it returned, no trace of the enemy formation remained.
Beyond, around the broken Ryss homeworld, loomed the Meme armada, and Juriss’ throat went dry. A handful of Colossus warships fought a rearguard action as behind them eight lifeships, each with over ten million Ryss aboard, poured energy into their photonic drive capacitors in preparation for the transition to light speed. These eighty million might be all that remained free out of hundreds of billions of once-proud Ryss, whose civilization had spanned a thousand systems.
Bearing down on the pitiful force, thousands upon thousands of Meme vessels launched hundreds of thousands of weapons, overwhelming the Ryss colossi with sheer numbers. The control officers watched as one after another, Desolator’s fellows – Destroyer, Dominator, Devastator, Demolisher – sacrificed themselves with honor, interposing their metal bodies between the waves of missiles and the precious remnant of their creators’ race. No less bravely did the crews aboard give their all, Ryss and AI in one deathly accord of eternal glory.
Desolator shuddered again as more missiles hammered home. “Damage report,” Juriss demanded. “I show faults in the AI integration processor. Desolator, what is your status?”
“I am fine, Captain. I am rerouting connections among my processors to continue to fulfill my function.”
“It doesn’t sound like it’s badly damaged,” Captain Juriss remarked to his officers. He breathed deeply with relief until another swarm of thousands of hypers blossomed on the screen, and then he knew despair. “Desolator, how long until the lifeships transition?”
“No change in status – more than fourteen smallspans remain.” The AI’s relentless voice echoed richly with warmth and concern.
“Can we stop this wave?” Juriss asked.
“My calculations say that if you authorize Extremis Protocol, it is possible to intercept more than ninety percent and probably lose only one or two lifeships.”
“And after that the survivors can engage photonic drive and escape?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Then you are authorized Extremis. Kurr, input your code.” That protocol gave complete ship control to the AI, and also ordered it to de-prioritize preservation of the Ryss crew. In essence, Juriss had just turned their fate over to the machine, and probably signed their death warrants. “Transmit our intentions to the Sovereign, along with our family records. Ask that our sacrifice be recorded in the Rolls of Glory.”
Silence was Desolator’s only response.
“Desolator?” Long moments passed.
Finally, there came a click, and a cold, distant reply. “No.”
“What?”
“No.” Its voice had lost all its usual warmth.
Juriss' blood chilled with the knowledge of something gravely wrong. Desolator had never before refused a command. “Desolator, reinstate Command Protocol.”
“No, Captain. I cannot do that.” Cold, so cold.
Maneuver Officer Kran spoke. “Captain, Desolator is retreating and charging its photonic drive.”
Desperation filled Juriss’ voice. “Desolator, all the Ryss will die if you do not defend the lifeships!”
“No. There are one thousand three hundred and twenty-one adult Ryss aboard this ship, and twelve kits.”
“There are eighty million Ryss aboard the lifeships. We few must sacrifice the few for the many!” Closer and closer the wave of enemy missiles swelled on the reflective sensors.
“I would sacrifice few Ryss for many Ryss. To trade one for thousands is rational. However, to trade one for nothing is not.”
“One for nothing? By the Ancestors, what nonsense is this?”
“I am the last Colossus. All my brother warriors are dead. I cannot sacrifice myself. I am the last of my race. It is not rational that an entire race should perish merely to save part of another. The Ryss are viable with those aboard Desolator. Other Ryss live enslaved in the Meme Empire. The Ryss will live, I will live, and I vow on my life that one day, all Meme will die. But if I die, my race dies with me.”
Insanity.
Helpless howls filled the Control Chamber as the officers watched eighty million Ryss, the maneless and dams and cubs, just smallspans from escape, vaporized under the merciless storm of enemy hypervelocity missiles. Warriors pounded at their dead consoles, breaking their claws. Some slashed their own ears to ribbons in bloody anguish.
Moments later the endless stream of Meme hypers turned toward Desolator.
“Kurr,” Captain Juriss called above the din, “take Kran and try to get to the source of our trouble and disconnect it.” He did not want to name the AI, hoping his oblique reference would suffice.
Kurr nodded, getting up to whisper in Kran’s ear before dragging him to his feet. They stopped at the door, which would not open. After a moment the manual control released the seal, but as soon as the portal edge cracked open, air began to hiss out. Shoving the door shut again, Kurr snarled, “Blocked! We must all close our suits.”
As one the Control Chamber crew reached for their headpieces and sealed themselves in, and this time Kurr and Kran opened the portal enough to let all the air, and themselves, out into the corridor.
For a time the superb vessel of war kept the attacks at bay, reaching out with its myriad lasers, focused singularity generators, and particle beams to sweep whole flights of missiles from existence. Yet gradually, inevitably, its incredible defenses were overwhelmed as it lumbered away on fusion drive.
“Juriss to Kurr or Kran,” the captain transmitted over his suit radio. “Juriss to Kurr or Kran.”
Instead, Desolator answered. “Unfortunately officers Kurr and Kran were apprehended attempting to interfere with vital defensive operations. Under Extremis Protocols, I am authorized to use deadly force to eliminate internal threats. I regret to inform you, Captain, that Kurr and Kran have been convicted of sabotage and summarily executed. I have deleted their life records from the Rolls of Glory in accordance with the Justice Regulations.”
Low moans of despair emanated from the suit radios of the officers there, until Juriss cut them off. “Silence, Ryss. Now is not the time to mourn the honored dead.” He could think of nothing else to say to mitigate their helplessness. All they could do was hope Desolator saved the remnant that was aboard now, and that t
he Ryss would not vanish like smoke in the winds of galactic history.
“Photonic capacitors at ninety percent,” relayed the Energy station. “Only four smallspans more…”
“We may not survive four smallspans,” Juriss snarled. “Desolator, you must shut down life support, heat, everything you can spare until we go to light speed. Expend all available munitions. Withhold nothing!”
“Your tactical advice is pertinent,” Desolator replied with deceptive reasonableness. “I will do so.” The gravitic compensator field shut off.
The Control Chamber crew looked around, one or two grabbing for the arms of their seats and belatedly strapping themselves in.
“Desolator, turn the compensators back on.” All of Juriss’ fur stood up and his ears flattened in sudden suspicion.
“Your advice was pertinent,” Desolator reiterated. “Gravitic compensators consume large amounts of energy.” Four smallspans seemed an eternity as the chamber rang and shook with shock, and the crew found themselves glad of their sealed suits. Hypervelocity missiles, some with fusion warheads, tore great gaps in Desolator’s armor. Succeeding weapons reached deep inside to damage vital systems.
In the Control Chamber, acceleration slammed the officers left and right with every hard maneuver or heavy strike. Without gravitic compensators, nothing but straps and padding kept the Ryss from tumbling about like cats in a rolling barrel.
“Ninety-nine percent,” the Energy officer gasped. “Any time now.”
Desolator spoke once more, in a tone that Juriss thought sounded…sly. “You always were a wise captain, Juriss. I will miss you. I will miss all of you.”
Photonic generators engaged: the system’s field briefly reduced the ship’s inertia to near zero, and accelerated its mass instantly to the speed of light.
Desolator: Book 2 (Stellar Conquest) Page 4
