Timo didn’t care about politics. He had volunteered because he’d wanted the opportunity to finally be able to spread his wings properly again. The asteroid housing the generation ship didn’t have an atmosphere, but with the flight suit it was possible to move around above the surface, much better than in the ship’s wind tunnels.
Quadrant 7C was almost directly below him, and he could see the cannon cover gleaming in the sun. Timo took one last look at the rock planet. He hoped that at some point he would be able to glide through its storm clouds. If he focused intently on the image of this untouched world, the ugly present receded into the background. He was briefly tempted to spread his wings and steal off toward the planet.
It looked so fertile—he would surely be able to find food there. Plus, the atmosphere had more than enough oxygen. But he’d never make it because he was flying at the relative speed of the generation ship. The suit’s engines wouldn’t be able to adequately slow him down, and he’d burn up as a meteor in the dense atmosphere.
Timo sighed again. Then he turned to the asteroid, braked, and lowered his flight altitude. The asteroid, which held the ship within like the kernel of a sweetnut, looked old and tired. Its outer layer had always been wrinkled, even before the Iks had turned it into a spaceship. Its greatest strength was its robust core. No shots could penetrate its 10,000 wingspans of rock.
But of course there was a weak spot. The Iks needed an entry point that was big enough for the flying machines to reach the inside. They had cut out a narrow chasm in the surface, with large gates at its base to guard the hangar for the flying machines. The 120 cannons spread over the asteroid’s surface were there to prevent any enemies from getting close to this chasm, and they had automatic systems. If the central station designated targets for them, they would set their sights on them, but if the connection was somehow interrupted, they were also capable of finding new targets on their own.
Timo landed right next to the cannon and his feet whirled up some dust. He kept the spacesuit’s power units ready because the gravity was so low that he wasn’t able to walk normally. With every movement he ran the risk of floating away. He didn’t like what was coming next, and inhaled and exhaled deeply through the mask. A metal hatch about five wingspans from each cannon served as the entrance to the maintenance corridor.
He would have liked to have a few words with the Iks who had designed these narrow, flat corridors! He had to squeeze himself in and slide along on his knees, his wings pressed tightly against his body. It was dark. Since the only direction was straight, there was no lighting. This is what it must feel like to be a grave beetle, he thought.
Then the passage opened up. He’d reached the room beneath the cannon and could stand comfortably there. From there he could perform maintenance. He entered his authorization and ran the required tests. The loading mechanism was working perfectly, and the target optics were able to quickly adjust to new specifications. He switched off the connection to the control center to test the cannon in autonomous mode, the real point of this mission. He used the keyboard to enter a few hazard scenarios, and the cannon reacted at lightning speed and destroyed the enemy.
Would it be that easy in an emergency? Timo had his doubts. Nobody had anticipated the kind of threat they were now facing. The Supreme Leaders had made an effort to sow boundless optimism, but he had seen recordings from the long-range scanners that showed a confrontation between a flying machine and one of the alien ships.
Many questions remained unanswered, including understanding from where the Iks ship had suddenly emerged. As a simple Conqueror, he lacked the background knowledge to come up with the answer. But it was clear to him that they didn’t stand a chance when facing several of these attackers.
“Timo, how are things looking down there?” his boss asked from the central station. “The others are already on their way back.”
“One more thing,” Timo replied.
“You’re taking more time than the others, yet again. If you don’t hurry, you can consider this your last individual assignment.”
“Right away. I’ll take care of it.” Timo terminated the connection before he could snap at his superior. He’d done that before, and it had only caused him grief. He’d have to be quick. He forced himself back into the narrow passage and crawled through it so quickly that he got out of breath.
He opened the cover and looked right at the blue celestial body below. The planet’s one moon was just rising over the right edge of the disk. It was magnificent. He just had to take a little break. When would he be able to see something like this again, right there before his own eyes?
He waited for the moon to reveal itself completely. It was a stunning contrast. Here the fertile life, there the dead wasteland. Both had their charm. But Timo preferred life. Now, he said to himself, back to work. He climbed out of the hatch and concentrated on his magnetic sense. The asteroid had an artificial magnetic field, which made orientation much more straightforward. Quadrant 8D lay ahead. It wouldn’t take long. Wasn’t the cannon blinking at him in welcome?
“Latokotimo, please come.”
The central station had used his full name. Now he was in for it. Had he gone that far over the time limit already?
“What is it? I’m almost done,” he replied.
“The scanners are reporting that something is coming our way.”
“Something? Do you mean a solar storm?”
“Worse. We’ve detected eleven attackers.”
“The enemies are already here?”
“This is what it looks like. You must get to safety.”
Timo was annoyed with himself. If only he hadn’t wasted so much time! “How much time do I have?”
“Not enough. Quadrant 8D is directly in the line of approach. You won’t be able to make it in time. We’re going to rotate the ship so the attackers hit the front first, right where you are. We’re doing this so they’ll have to fly around the asteroid and get into the firing range of at least half of our artillery.”
“I can make it,” he replied in a high-pitched voice. “If I push the spacesuit past the safety range—”
“We did the math. It will take too long. The asteroid is large. But you’re not the only one. Also—”
Timo interrupted his superior. “What good does it do me if there are others that get themselves killed?”
“You have to get to safety where you are. There’s still time before the attack starts.”
“But how? Should I fly down to the planet?”
“Do not attempt that,” said his boss. “You’ll be going too fast.”
Yes, he knew that. But what alternative did he have? The asteroid didn’t have any secret hiding places.
“The maintenance corridors. They’re up to seven wingspans below the surface.”
Of course. Why hadn’t he figured this out himself? He answered his own question. It was because he was afraid of how dark and cramped the corridors were. How long would such an attack take? Would it be over quickly? He hoped this would be the case, but the thought also worried him. The enemy must not win!
“Okay, I’m going back to 7C, and I’ll shelter in the maintenance corridor.”
“Good,” said his manager. “You’re probably safer out there than here at the central station.”
That wasn’t an optimistic outlook, and he hoped his boss was wrong. If the enemy destroyed the ship, it wouldn’t matter if he survived in the corridor. The Iks would have to win this battle, whatever the cost. He reached for his belt. The hand weapon was still there, along with three explosive devices. If nothing else worked, he’d have no choice but to personally pounce on the attackers.
The Supreme Leaders had congregated in the central station. Suddenly everyone was able to agree on something—the situation looked hopeless. They also quickly decided they had to hide the hopelessness of their situation from most of the other Iks. Nobody could fight without hope. And they needed the fighters to buy them time, because time was esse
ntial right now.
The other Iks didn’t know of their actual plan. A flying machine had just been launched, heading for the third planet’s moon. The rope was on board. Unlike the last time, it would be rolled out during the outbound flight. The flying machine’s crew of three would then have to anchor it to the moon as best they could.
Once anchored, the Iks would attempt to hurl their generation ship out of the system using the moon’s kinetic energy. The hope was that the enemy would recognize that they’d achieved their goal and cease the attack.
It would probably mean a slow death for the Iks. The Knowledge Guardians had calculated that, at the speed obtained in this manner, they would make it to the next star system in 40,000 cycles at the earliest. The resources on board were not sufficient to last for that long, and thus it was unlikely their civilization would survive.
Still, it was better than getting killed here, on the spot. It was an opportunity, even if just a slight one. Perhaps while they were in transit they would be able to develop new technologies for making better use of the available resources. Perhaps they could collect interstellar matter.
The Knowledge Guardians had many ideas, although they couldn’t guarantee that any of them were feasible. But the Supreme Leaders found it most unlikely that they would be victorious against 11 opponents of this kind, so they had come to their decision almost unanimously.
Almost—for there was no vote from the Supreme Explorer. And the Supreme Navigator had been against it. The reason for her vote was that she didn’t want to let Kimikizu down. She was the only one who believed that the young Navigator was still alive. She was convinced that a radio receiver had picked up the tassel jay’s warning signal from aboard an enemy ship, but the others had taken this as mere coincidence.
A War on Two Front
Alert! All battle stations occupied! Bulkheads in battle status and locked! Battle preparedness at one hundred percent! Kasfok received the incoming messages over the command thread from his slightly elevated station on the bridge of the Proud Dance in the Sunlight and bobbed on his dance legs with satisfaction. All 11 ships under his command were ready to pounce on the asteroid ship. He and the participating Shipmasters had just gone through the attack plan several times. The Iks—he had learned the name of the enemy from overheard snippets of radio communication between the traitor Tolkut and his co-conspirators—didn’t stand a chance against his mighty armada!
The Mendraki were Warriors. It was their destiny to rule, and there was no species in the universe that could escape the anger and strength of the Mendraki if it got in their way. This system and all its treasures belonged to the Mendraki, and anyone who dared to challenge that had to be punished. Tolkut and his accomplices would likewise feel the righteous anger of the Netmaster, the Guardian of the Mendraki legacy, once they’d destroyed the Iks. Tolkut wouldn’t be able to escape him. The traitor and his ships had just been tracked approaching the position of the assault fleet, but they’d be too late. By the time Tolkut got there with his seven ships, the asteroid ship would have long since been blown to cosmic dust.
Kasfok felt Warrior blood coursing in his veins. He closed his six eyes and surrendered to the feeling that he’d missed for so long that it had almost become unfamiliar. He could understand how his ancestors must have felt on the home world when they’d gone to battle. They’d been driven by fame, honor, and pride in their species.
He—Kasfok, Netmaster of the last surviving Mendraki—would lead his species back to their previous glory, forged by their struggle for survival, and they would finally have a home again. The weaklings and defeatists among them would have to be weeded out. Therefore, Kasfok had no qualms about sacrificing more than a third of the still-remaining Mendraki in the firestorm of a space battle. They would only weaken the Mendraki genetic material, and must be eliminated for that reason alone.
“We’ll be too late!”
Kimikizu’s loud exclamation vibrated violently on Tolkut’s command line. The Techweaver had figured out how to also apply the amplitude of the airwaves, which the Iks called ‘sound waves,’ on the thread at a corresponding vibration amplitude, making it possible to transmit what the two Iks referred to as ‘volume.’ His helpers were not yet involved in preparations for the expected battle, and were instead working on recording the Mendraki’s dance steps and converting them into corresponding modulations of these sound waves. This way, the Iks could also better understand the emotional significance of the words, which would help avoid the kinds of misunderstandings that had arisen over the course of the previous few pulses.
So far there had been a lack of technical possibilities for converting the pheromone messages so the Iks could understand them. Tolkut had difficulty comprehending how a species with such a limited, practically-one-dimensional form of communication could have developed such sophisticated technology. Only the combination of vibrations, dance steps, and pheromone emanations made complex and differentiated communication possible. Expressing everything by means of these ‘sound waves’ had to go hand-in-hand with a considerable loss of information.
We were forced to slow down slightly, explained Tolkut. On some ships, the helium-3 supply is already so scarce that otherwise they would have had to fall back, which would only have worsened our chances. But don’t worry, we’ll be able to intervene in time.
Tolkut tried to drum confidently, but he had his doubts that the improvements to the transducer were sophisticated enough to translate such nuances. Plus, it was a lie. It wasn’t going to be more than just a close call. They would probably only reach the battle zone after the first shots had already been fired. He just hoped the Iks would be able to defend themselves on their own against Kasfok’s fleet for a little while.
“The nanos should have spread all over the ship by now, and should be ready for use,” said Norok.
We’ll find out soon, Tolkut replied tersely. But they can’t protect the crew. Even if the hull, and equipment that gets hit, are able to self-repair, anybody in range of a railgun projectile or the explosion cloud from a nuclear torpedo is sure to die.
Kimikizu started to say something, but Norok put a wing on her shoulder. Tolkut wondered what the two of them were hiding from him. It was too late to worry about it anyway. In a few micropulses, they’d reach the generation ship of the Iks—but, after the battle had commenced.
Spread out and attack according to plan, Kasfok ordered his coalition’s Shipmasters.
The 11 ships swung into their respective attack vectors and descended on the asteroid. They still weren’t in range, but some eager gunners had already initiated the first volley of space torpedoes.
Kasfok cursed this waste of firepower. Those torpedoes’ engines would burn out long before they reached the asteroid ship, leaving them to fall haphazardly onto the surface. They’d hardly be able to do any damage there, if they hadn’t already been shot down by the defense batteries that were visible on the display.
His remote scouts and strategists had identified over 100 such cannon emplacements. The plan was to take them out in the first wave of attacks, and then try to blow a hole in the asteroid using targeted precision fire.
Somewhere beneath its surface had to be the cave dwellings and work areas, the equipment rooms and power units, the storage facilities. And there had to be at least one hangar with a route from it to the surface, through which the Iks would have released their pod.
After disabling the defensive fire, it would be possible to calmly search for such an access point and blast it open with the combined firepower of all 11 ships. As soon as they’d shot a sufficiently large hole into the surface, even the best safeguards and bulkheads would hardly be able to keep most of the hollowed-out area within the asteroid from decompressing explosively. Even if this didn’t destroy the Iks, their losses would be so enormous that Kasfok’s ships would then be able to take their time pummeling the asteroid into oblivion.
Netmaster, the asteroid ship has just launched a pod, reporte
d the remote scout. It’s heading for the third planet’s moon, and it’s pulling a rope behind it!
It was clear to Kasfok what the Iks were planning to do. They were going to attempt to use the moon as an anchor to catapult themselves out of the system, reversing a maneuver that they’d performed with the inner planet when they’d wanted to slow down.
The moon would not survive. It was smaller and had less mass than the inner planet that had already been dislodged from its orbit and was already drifting, slowly but surely, out of the system. Moreover, the moon would either be torn apart during the maneuver, or thrown out of orbit. Perhaps it would even slam into its host planet.
Whatever the case, it would be the end of life on the third planet, which Kasfok almost regretted. Though he could not offer the Mendraki a new home there, it was still a jewel that glittered in the blackness of space, and its destruction would be unfortunate. But none of this mattered anymore.
Kasfok briefly deliberated sending one of his ships after the pod to shoot it down, but finally decided against it. Whatever the Iks had planned didn’t matter! He would destroy them before they could carry out such a plan.
For a moment he thought about allowing the Iks to perform their catapulting maneuver. In this way he could avoid an attack, which would cost many Mendraki lives. In this way he’d also achieve his goal of conquering this system for the Mendraki alone without fighting for it. But he immediately abandoned the idea. He had to set an example of his power to eliminate any opposition to his right to leadership, once and for all. It might be interpreted as a weakness if he were to let the Iks escape now. Tolkut would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to use this as a rallying point with the opposing Shipmasters. That’s what Kasfok would have done in Tolkut’s position.
Leave the pod alone for the time being, Kasfok ordered. The asteroid is our primary target, and we must not split up our powers. The plan of attack stays the same. We can take care of the small ship later!
Helium 3: Fight for the Future Page 23