‘What we are doing now,’ said Adamoss ‘is mobilising a defence strategy. These Xenotech drones have proved resilient to phoenix weapons and maser fire. We have positioned solar reflectors onto the targets but they are impervious to heat. It would seem their arrival is inevitable. However, there is some good news. Plato Wing Commander Ace pilot John Ripley of the Shield of Spheres has identified a structural weak point on the machines.’
The room of heads watched as a holographic representation of the machines expanded above the table, detailing all the points scanned by The Deathwind reconnaissance probes. Adamoss highlighted three potential weak points between the radial head of the mechanical squid and its four protective legs.
‘These three points are exhaust vents,’ said Adamoss. ‘It would seem they conduct high thermal readings through the ion streams. The tentacles also conduce much of the machine’s stored radiation and between these tendrils there is a power core estimated to be held at very close to absolute zero.’
‘Why so cold?’ A voice requested from the back, one of many silhouetted heads smoking in the spacious room.
‘The reason for the temperature difference is yet unknown,’ said Adamoss, ‘best estimates state their energy is some kind of high density reactor which requires a super coolant system.’
‘A fission reactor?’ said another.
‘Perhaps,’ Adamoss conceded, ‘however, at this point much of our discussion is speculative.’
‘So, maybe not fission, perhaps it is a technology we have not yet come by,’ said another. ‘Have you spoken with anybody about this?’
‘My research has been tireless,’ Adamoss assured. ‘And I must emphasise again the point of speculation. Time is a budget we do not now have the luxury of spending ruthlessly on speculation. However, I’ve discovered two source matches regarding our research knowledge on the enemy. A private defence weapons contractor and supplier for our main military hardware claimed that this technology is still in Beta phase, thus confirming it exists in their possession. The company is called Ampotech industries and currently houses its headquarters on the new colony in Cygnus.’ Adamoss let them digest the information for a moment. He watched their meek faces in the dim light, monochrome mauve expressions staring at the projection field as new information appeared.
‘Ampotech state they have not found a power source for their Spydrone models yet, and they have confirmed that if these models are indeed in circulation, they assert no responsibility for the damage these machines have already done. They do insist, however, that there has been an infringement on intellectual property rights, assuming these Xenotech to be copies of their plans. I asked them what sort of power source they were considering for their Spydrone machines. They claimed it could either be a high density fusion core or a crystallised unit, the latter of which they are now researching. I further inquired if such a power source would have to be kept extremely cold for energy extraction and they confirmed the answer to be yes.’
‘So, what you’re saying,’ said the President. ‘Is that a private military contractor designed these things?’
‘It would appear so,’ Adamoss stated. ‘The Spydrones were designed for the purpose of planetoid research. Ampotech industries refused to supply information about the specific design of these machines until their copyright infringement litigation is in process and a company or individual is discovered for stealing their design. However, they have stated that our copy-cats have been somewhat modified from the Ampotech originals, mainly the tentacles are longer and more numerous and their overall size is much bigger.’
‘We need to find out more about that power source,’ said the President. ‘Are the company Ampotech aware of the cost of withholding information that could pose as vital to our defence strategies?’
‘Affirmative,’ Adamoss nodded. ‘They claim these machines are not their own and they would have nothing beneficial to add to their design.’
‘Bastards!’ Someone spat. ‘What are they hiding? These things are clearly hacked. Sent over here by the Olympians, I wager.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Adamoss. ‘If all this information doesn’t spin your heads, then my final point will. The Deathwind’s probes put a carbon dating on the Xenotech alloy. These mechanical visitors are at an age equivalent to thirty thousand earth years.’
‘Thirty thousand?’ somebody exclaimed, and a prattling of voices began. Adamoss sensed their neuromissions spike on the Nexus as they neurophased with others in Atominii cities across the globe.
‘Yes,’ Adamoss confirmed. ‘Thirty thousand years old.’
‘Didn’t you say this technology is a new design?’ asked the President.
‘Indeed,’ Adamoss concurred. ‘We have a paradox. It is both old and new. The only clear assumption is that these machines were sent here a very long time ago. The carbon samples found were relative to the machines, which has no bearing on telling us how long they have been out in space in Earth time. But if these results are telling us they are at least thirty thousand years old, then factoring in relativity time dilation, they could very well have started their journey during Earth’s Precambrian era.’
And the room was once more silent. The president turned in his seat.
‘Jesus Christ!’ The President uttered, rubbing his throbbing temples. ‘They are older than our civilisation?’
‘And they are man-made?’ Another one added.
‘There are theories,’ Adamoss claimed. ‘It is possible these machines are from the future and found access to a distant past, perhaps malfunctioned and gone off mission. If that is so, they present to us a very valuable point of research. How, indeed, did they make it back?’ Adamoss got the leaders to consider the possibility. ‘If there is truth to this assertion, and again I wish to avoid dwelling too far on speculation, then we must act cautiously. They are indeed a threat and must be destroyed, but if we make nothing salvageable from their destruction, then how they got here, will be a question that could remain unanswered.’
-62-
At just sixty thousand kilometres from Earth, on the outer fringes of the exosphere, the Orbital Guard’s final defences met with the Xenotechs. A fleet of Stymphalion class strikers arranged into tactical approach, the needle nose ships coordinated into triangulated vectors.
Yet, beaconing brighter than the approaching mecha-monsters was the garish light of some distant meteor, a long burning tail that had been racing after the machines since Saturn. The Deathwind rattled and vibrated as the engines burned down to the last fifty milligrams of antimatter fuel, purging the white hot thermal element far into space behind it. Ace Ripley returned to consciousness once the Gee-forces relinquished.
‘How you feeling?’ asked the ship’s AI through a slightly distorted sounding audio filter. ‘Back amongst the living?’
Ace Ripley blinked tightly and suddenly realised the pearl blue majesty of the planet Earth hanging ahead of him, its penumbra blackened in shade on the northern side. I’m home.
‘What happened to your voice?’ Ace Ripley grunted, ‘you sound like shit.’
‘Neuro-ligature damage,’ the AI reported. ‘I can only simulate limited services via the neurophase, in this case audio function is not one of them. You’ll have to use your ears.’
‘We really need to get you a saltus-carousel,’ he told the AI. ‘My body can’t keep up with these hop-scorch manoeuvres.’
‘I’ve just initiated counter-nausea channels into your neuro-ligature. Fortunately for you, that is one of the still functional services. You should be fine in just a moment.’
Ace watched the opalescent planet growing before him. He knew the three Xenotech were far ahead, already closing in on an orbital entrance vector. He expected a war to break out there any minute.
‘What’s the damage?’
‘We can still fly,’ said The Deathwind, ‘I’m repairing the surface damage using the nanomes. Electronics are almost fully functional. The Neuro-ligatures will be fully online in anoth
er ten minutes. But I have a software virus that is running somewhere in the background. It’s hard to know exactly if it is still there for certain, however, judging by the way it was using my own software code to disguise its activities there’s a high probability the virus is actively working.’
‘Do you know what it’s doing?’
‘No,’ said the ship, ‘could be anything from spyware for the Xenotech or sequestration of ship’s primary controls.’
‘Deathwind, how are Mortel and Bennett? Any news?’
‘I have no way of knowing. After the phoenix blast, I didn’t detect their Stymphalion transponders.’
Ace Ripley pursed his lips angrily and tightened his fists around the chair’s finger holds. ‘I hope they are alive.’
‘Me too,’ said the ship, ‘but we’ve no time to think about that right now.’
As they approached the orbital embrace of the Earth, falling in toward its horizontal curvature, a series of sparks winked and scintillated in the blackness.
‘We got war dazzlers up ahead.’
‘This is commander Ace Ripley of the Shield of Spheres Plato Wing,’ he said, ‘all Orbital Guard personnel respond! I’m right on their tail, track my position I’ve been glowing like a lighthouse over here.’
‘We’ve got you Ripley,’ said one of the leaders. ‘This is Snake Eyes, moving in for the kill.’
And Ripley listened as the network streamed with different commands from Orbital Guard pilots intercepting their predacious mechanical foe.
‘Snake Eyes are moving in, ETA three minutes.’
‘Seven Eleven now taking defensive positions.’
‘Copy Seven Eleven. Gold-Tail out.’
‘Ace Ripley, I have an update for you’ his ship alerted, ‘it’s very urgent.’
‘What is it?’
‘Chief Claudia Noble needs to speak with you.’
‘Patch her through the network.’
The three Xenotechs broke their synchronicity, the leader still burning like a giant magnesium flare. The four limbs started to part and those strange ethereal appendages wormed and lashed out behind it.
‘Gold-Tail,’ Ripley shouted, ‘watch out for those things, they’re armed with a polymorphous virus. Don’t get too close.’
The Stymphalion ships swarmed in, garish winks of maser waves and explosive javelin missiles slamming into the immutable Xenotech leader as the other two raced ahead for planet Earth.
‘Ripley this is Chief Nobel,’ she greeted, her face appearing on a heads up display. Ripley looked up and offered her a quick smile, keeping occupied with his pursuit. She was a mature and very serious woman, a styled side fringe of dark red hair that was paled with white strips. She wore a long white coat which glowed with electronic stripes across the opticidyne material, nodal contact lines to which she could stick electronic devices. Several medallions and badges glittered at her left breast, arching all the way back over her shoulder like an epaulette of achievements. Over her right eye she had an optical feature, detailing information, when needed.
‘The Ameritropolis Atominii are demanding you destroy the machine’s power system coolant,’ she explained. ‘By any means possible. If the coolant is off, the reactor will overheat and the machine will be destroyed. You must destroy one of the smaller Spydrones.’
‘We got an official name for these things?’ he asked. ‘Thought we were calling them Xenotech?’
‘We were. Only, guess what,’ she detailed. ‘Adamoss discovered a potential manufacturer of these things. Ampotech have been planning designs for a decade in the Cygnus system.’
‘So, what are they?’
‘Excavation drones for exo-planets,’ she said. ‘They’re drone explorers. We don’t suspect Ampotech to be a rogue company; after all they’re supplying our weapon systems and interstellar velox technologies. We think these things have malfunctioned.’
‘So,’ said Ace Ripley, initiating combat sequencers as the targets finally came within range. ‘Let’s make me an omelette then.’
‘Take care, Ripley,’ she said.
Suddenly to Ripley’s surprise and horror, a javelin-missile cruised towards his ship and exploded far too close for comfort.
‘Jeeesus!’ He cried. ‘Gold-Tail...what the fuck? Focus on where you’re shooting those things, will ya?’
The Deathwind curved, looping round to find the Stymphalion ships were now tailing him. A beam of maser fire burned along The Deathwind’s shell and another missile blasted into the underside.
‘This isn’t good, commander,’ said the ship ‘that last javelin-missile unsettled my shield defences.’
‘Seven Eleven, what the hell is happening?’ Ripley shouted.
‘Commander...this is Snake Eyes,’ said one of the pilots, ‘our ships are turning against us. We’re fucked! Those viruses you warned us about...they’re too advanced for our AI software to seek out, they’re bleeding all our firewalls.’
Ripley switched back into his sensorium and opened a communication channel with one of the Stymphalion commanders. As he submerged into the virtual world sensorium, The Deathwind’s avatar displayed itself as a glowing green ball, hovering around Ripley in an orbital cloud like an electron to its nucleus. Outside of the neurosphere, he saw the digital translations of the war, the ripples and waves of space contorting with each explosion, and he saw the pulsing transponder signatures of other neurospheres, the ones occupied by infected Stymphalion pilots. But they seemed to be very different from their usual signature. Their spheres were wrapped with esoteric symbols, of X’s and zeros and the signs of some ancient cuneiforms. He could almost hear the whispers of the surreal digital language imposed upon the pilots, sounds of vibrations and a kind of softly whistled tone like static.
‘The virus has infected the neurospheres,’ said his AI, ‘the influence has even invaded the neuromissions. Those pilots are no longer conscious.’
‘How can this be?’ Ripley wondered aloud, staring at the transponders. He moved the strike-ship through space, increasing its acceleration.
‘You better get out of here, Ripley,’ said D.W. ‘I don’t think I will be able to defend another viral attack like the last one, especially if they recalibrate to my defence capabilities. Without an upgrade, I’m defenceless.’
‘Download an upgrade!’ He ordered. ‘We’re in orbit, get hold of Adamoss.’
‘That could take some time.’
He dropped out of the neurosphere and returned to pilot settings, oculars now focussed on forward targets only. Crosshairs were still locked onto the distant Xenotech.
‘Where’s it headed?’
‘Unknown, northern quarter, approaching the thermosphere, five hundred clicks.’
Ripley patched a signal through to the Orbital Guard as the Stymphalion ships clashed with each other, those infected with chaos cipher viruses pitched evenly against Titans. Blinding flashes and explosions ripped through local space in the distance and The Deathwind accelerated to thirty gees. Earth was soon a large globular body taking up the majority of Ripley’s view, its atmospheric column cutting the dark of space with a beautiful blue line and white spiral cloud formations foaming above the wispy pine blots of earth.
‘Chief…I got a problem.’
‘Go ahead, Ripley.’ Chief Noble answered.
‘One of the Xenotech is headed for the North Ameritropolis, I’ve no doubt in my mind, it’s going to launch an attack on the Ameritropolis Atominii. But the bastards knocked out my weapons unit. There’s not much I can do on an all-out assault.’
‘Right,’ she said, ‘what’s the position of the Xenotech? I’ve got clear tracking on the other two, but I can’t get a lock on your position.’
‘I’m neuromitting the coordinates now, ma’am.’
‘Got it...wait...that’s in the thermosphere.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well we can’t make a hit at that close range,’ she sighed. ‘Is there no way you can engage the target?’
&nbs
p; ‘Ma’am?’ Ripley was open to suggestions.
‘Ripley...you know what I’m asking you to do. If that thing gets through, millions will die. We’re sending tactical STA missiles as we speak. But according to our data so far its effects will be unsuccessful. We need you on this.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
When the transmission ended, The Deathwind had already reserved fifty milligrams of antimatter fuel and loaded it through the injection coils into storage.
‘How are you going to strike this thing with fifty milligrams of anti-material?’
‘I hadn’t figured,’ Ripley confessed, ‘thought I’d just kamikaze the son of a bitch and eject in the last moment.’
‘That is an option,’ the computer said ‘or we could eject now and I hand over the neurophase controls to The Deathwind’s body. We fall safely to Earth and you can smash that metal bastard right in the gonads still neurophased with the flight controls. You won’t have to worry about being blown up, either, just fly remotely.’
‘Can you keep the neuro-ligature on remote?’
‘For a short distance, but with good timing, it should be enough. Once the antimatter engine kicks in, then we can hop-scorch crash right into its reactor core.’
‘Good plan,’ said Ripley. ‘But I can’t afford to miss. I’m going to have to do this manually.’
‘I can eject the cockpit cabin,’ the AI offered. ‘Roll the ship, aim us down to the ground before we hop-scorch. It’s unlikely, we’ll survive the detonation but it might happen that luck is on our side. No promises, I’d have to time the ejection really well. Also, if the blast doesn’t kill you, the speed of ejection might.’
‘Catch twenty-two,’ Ace smiled. ‘Let’s do it. Question is, how do we expose the core?’
Chaos Cipher Page 54
