The Furthest Planet

by James Ross Wilks

  “I hope he-” Charis looked at the automaton sitting on the other side of Bethany “-you know what you’re doing.”

  “‘He’ is correct,” Brutus replied without looking at her. The robot was focused on the massive Martian vessel as well, which had nearly passed them. “And he does, Charis. Without any human crew on board, the version of me that has taken control of that ship is capable of quite exacting and extreme maneuvers. The Pride of Ares can move as freely as the Nightshades do, which effectively nullifies their advantage.”

  “You’re sure he got everyone off?” Charis asked.

  “I am sure,” Brutus replied. The other ship disappeared from view as it barreled past them and towards their attackers, taking the point position in their line. “Bao was most reluctant to leave. He actually intended to remain on the ship until the end, but he, the other Brutus, removed enough atmosphere to render him unconscious, and his men carried him to an escape pod.”

  “Quiet,” Dinah said. “They’re launching.”

  “Missiles or drones?” Staples asked.

  “Both,” Dinah replied.

  As soon as the Pride of Ares was past Gringolet, it made a brutally fast quarter turn to bring its own broadside cannons to bear against the Nightshade vessels. The three ships were neither accelerating nor decelerating, but their inertia was carrying them towards one another rapidly.

  Both Nightshades launched missiles and drones. The missiles surged ahead, propelled by solid mass propulsion. The drones approached more slowly, their slug cannons extended and ready to poke holes in any vulnerable portholes. All of them were trained on the Pride of Ares, which was by far the greater threat.

  In turn, the Martian ship opened up with its flak cannons, and the space between the ships lit up like a small star. Admiral Bao had played an instrumental part in the design of the Pride of Ares, and when it came to armaments, he firmly believed that more was always better. There were twice as many flak cannons arrayed down each side of the massive ship as any war vessel could possibly need, and that was just enough to detonate every one of the dozen missiles that the Nightshade ships had fired. The distance between the two ships made tracking and shooting down the self-guided projectiles easier, but that distance was quickly vanishing.

  Beyond the glow of the exploding flak and the blinding detonations of the hostile missiles, behind the Pride of Ares, Gringolet pulled an end over and straightened its nose. The engines went dark, though the ship nearly kept pace with the vessel in front of it.

  Once the missiles had all been destroyed, the drones made their play. They were slower, and thus turning was easier for them. They did their best to thread their way through the field of fire that the Pride of Ares was laying down. In truth, they were little threat to the ship. The copy of Brutus that was operating the vessel needed no oxygen, and so putting slugs through portholes would have been futile. There was no way for the Nightshade vessels to know who or what was piloting the Pride of Ares, but even so, any drones that made it by might have targeted Gringolet itself. The flak cannons turned on them and began plucking them out of the sky one by one.

  The Nightshades launched another two dozen missiles.

  “How much closer?” Staples asked.

  In front of them the space was ablaze with light. There was only one long cylindrical patch of darkness, the Pride of Ares, and their nose was pointed right at it. Bethany, her hands trembling on the controls in front of her, was keeping them a scant few kilometers behind it.

  “One hundred and thirty kilometers,” Charis replied. “About ten seconds.”

  Staples nodded and looked at her pilot. Bethany had pulled them through a variety of scrapes before, and Staples had full confidence in her, but this plan of theirs required split second timing.

  “Ready…” Charis said.

  “Ready Dinah?” Bethany said, her reedy voice clear in the eerily quiet cockpit.

  “Ready,” Dinah said, her tone as flat as ever.

  “Now!” Charis shouted.

  Staples gripped both armrests and gritted her teeth.

  Their trajectories had brought the two Nightshade vessels and the Pride of Ares to within fifty kilometers of one another. It was too little space for the flak guns to track and shoot down the missiles. First one got through, then another, and bright explosions blossomed along the length of the pride of the Martian fleet. They vaporized portions of the hull, sheared away tons of metal, and sent detritus flying off into space.

  In another few seconds, the Pride of Ares would pass right between the two ships. Just before it did, Gringolet rocketed forth from behind the larger ship, narrowly scraping past a ten-ton chunk of hull that a missile had ripped free from the Pride of Ares. Smaller pieces pinged off the commuter vessel’s hull. It spun on its axis, bringing its broadside around to face the Nightshade on the left. That’s when Dinah unloaded a full complement of missiles at nearly point-blank range. At the same moment, the Pride of Ares unleashed a full spread of missiles at the same ship. Its flak guns stopped for a moment to allow a clear path for the projectiles.

  Given the range and the time it had to respond, the Nightshade class ship never had a chance. Its flak cannons had just begun to fire when fifteen missiles detonated simultaneously on its hull. The ship was torn to pieces almost instantly.

  Those pieces, however, were deadly in and of themselves as the series of explosions sent the remains of the ship hurtling in every direction. Bethany pushed Gringolet up to 3.5 Gs in an effort to outrun them, trusting the engines to incinerate any pieces that caught up with them from behind. Neither the Pride of Ares nor the other Nightshade vessel were in a position to escape so easily.

  Both ships were buffeted with chunks of debris ranging in size from a golf ball to a house and traveling between forty and four hundred kilometers per hour. The Pride of Ares, being closer, took the brunt of the strikes. Its nose was torn asunder, and several pieces peppered its starboard side, which damaged several gun emplacements and missile ports. The Nightshade fared better, taking only light damage to its hull and losing one flak gun.

  Then the Pride of Ares was past it. With its remaining stabilizing jets, it turned to match Gringolet’s vector. The Nightshade turned far more quickly and then began thrusting at 5 G to catch up to the two other ships.

  “Well that worked,” Staples said, her voice tremulous. She realized that her hands were still clamped to her chair in a death grip. They ached when she released them.

  “Not nearly well enough,” Charis said. She was checking her radar returns, doing her best to keep a lock on the other two vessels through the cloud of debris that they had left in their wake. “The other Nightshade took minimal damage, and it’s coming after us. Fast.”

  Staples depressed the coms button. “Brutus,” she began, then looked at the robotic form in front of her and checked herself. “Pride of Ares, what’s your status?”

  The tinny voice came through immediately. “Severe damage, Captain.”

  “Can you-” Staples began.

  “Bethany, broadside!” Dinah’s sharp command interrupted her.

  They were all wrenched painfully to the left as Bethany cut thrust and spun the ship a quarter turn to the right as quickly as the retro jets would allow. A second later the cockpit filled with the sound of Gringolet’s flak cannons, making speech all but impossible. Staples braced for a missile impact, but none came. A few seconds later the cannons stopped.

  “Six missiles shot down, sir,” Dinah reported quickly. “Pride of Ares got two of them.”

  “The Nightshade is closing,” Charis warned. “That’s going to get harder the closer they get.”

  Brutus’ voice came through the still-open coms channel. “My weapons are at less than twenty percent efficiency, Captain, and are experiencing systematic failures. I cannot help for much longer.”

  Despite the desperation of the situation, Staples still felt a moment of disassociation hearing Brutus’ voice come through the coms while the automaton
body silently operated the station in front of her.

  “We can’t take that other Nightshade down on our own,” Overton warned. As he spoke, they felt the ship straighten under them and the illusion of gravity return as Bethany put them back on course and under thrust.

  The Brutus aboard the Pride of Ares spoke again. “I believe I can handle the other Nightshade, Captain.”

  “Whatever you can do for us,” Staples said, though she had no idea what could be done without weapons.

  The bridge of the Pride of Ares was empty. It had been built to survive severe structural damage to the outer hull, and indeed the only sign of the terrible wounds inflicted on the vessel were the alarms and lights that flashed from every station.

  The computer intelligence that ran the ship was untroubled by the klaxons and flashing lights, and so they blared on. The copy of Brutus that the crew of Gringolet had installed in the damaged automaton body had seized control of every function of the warship, but many of them now stood useless. Using the tactical station, Brutus had run the numbers, and there was little chance that he could use the remaining weapons on the Pride of Ares to do any real damage to the remaining Nightshade.

  Gringolet was under thrust again and the Nightshade was in pursuit, pushing 5 Gs that Gringolet could never hope to match. The Pride of Ares was falling behind. It was only a matter of time before his friends were dead.

  Brutus closed ducts, rerouted power, bypassed safety upon safety, and pushed the reactor up to one hundred and twenty percent. Radiation alarms added their cry to the din of the other sirens, but they went just as unheeded. Blue fire erupted from the engines at the back of the Pride of Ares, and it shot forward at over 7 Gs. Inertia tore away pieces that had barely been holding onto the frame of the vessel, but the beleaguered ship thrust forward all the faster for the loss of weight.

  Number 16 calculated the odds of success at well over ninety percent. Though its last volley of missiles had been shot down by the Enemy Vessel, they had had the help of the Pride of Ares. That ship was now being left behind. The Enemy Vessel was trying to escape, but it lacked the thrust capacity. Even if it had been able to match Number 16’s 5 Gs, acceleration at that speed would have likely rendered the humans onboard unconscious.

  Correction. New radar returns showed that the Pride of Ares was in pursuit now. Number 16 closely examined all radar data and information provided by external cameras. Based on its understanding of the structure of the vessel and the damage it had thus far sustained, Number 16 judged it to be little threat.

  Number 16 turned its attention back to the fleeing Enemy Vessel. It was within missile range, but Number 16 was programmed to be efficient with ammunition whenever possible and when doing so did not pose an appreciable risk. It waited to close the distance. In another 53 seconds, it would be so close that the Enemy Vessel’s flak cannons would be all but useless. It could wait.

  Number 16 turned its attention back to the pursuing vessel, which had closed the distance between the two considerably. Number 16 had not known that the other ship was capable of such acceleration, and it logged the information for future evaluation. This was the closest that Number 16 could come to respect or appreciation.

  Number 16 was troubled, however. Why did the vessel give chase when it could not hope to match Number 16’s armaments? It cycled through all possible applications, and in doing so, it studied more closely the Pride of Ares’ trajectory, and a reaction akin to human panic flitted through its circuitry. For the second time today, it was surprised. The Pride of Ares undoubtedly meant to ram it.

  Human vessels, Number 16 had been programmed to believe, did not do this. They did not willingly sacrifice their lives. Number 16 did not understand, but it did not need to. It reacted. It fired a spread of six missiles from tubes on the port and starboard side of the ship. The missiles barely had time to turn the ninety degrees necessary to intercept the other Enemy Vessel.

  All six hit and tore the nose of the Pride of Ares to shreds, but the ship was big and heavy with a massive set of engines, and it kept coming.

  Number 16 initiated a desperate course correction, but changing vectors in space becomes increasingly difficult the faster one is going, and Number 16 was going very fast.

  As the Pride of Ares slammed into the rear of the Nightshade vessel, what remained of its nose melted in the heat of the Nightshade’s engines. This did nothing to dull the impact, and in fact turned the Martian vessel into a five thousand degree knife cutting into proverbial butter. The Nightshade was split down the middle, filleted like a fish, and then the reactors on both ships lost containment and exploded.

  Gringolet was facing away from the collision of the two ships behind them and well over a thousand kilometers distant, and still the blaze of light from the twin reactor explosions illuminated their windows.

  “Jesus,” Overton whispered. Everyone was silent for a moment. Bethany cut thrust, and the absence of the engine noise only intensified that silence. All were aware that Brutus, at least a version of Brutus, had just died.

  “Brutus, I-” Staples began. She found she didn’t know what to say. The moral implications of losing an exact copy of oneself were nothing to which she could relate. It was not something that human experience allowed. Was it like losing a twin? A piece of oneself? “I’m sorry.”

  Brutus turned in his chair to face her. “I appreciate your thoughts, Captain.” The robotic looked down as if searching the deck plating, then met her gaze again. “I am… conflicted. I respect his choice. How could I not? It would be mine. Like all sentient beings, I value my sense of individuality, even if it is demonstrably an illusion in my case. I am somewhat relieved to be unique again. But that, in turn, is troubling.”

  “I think it’s called guilt,” Overton offered.

  “Perhaps it is,” Brutus replied, looking at him. “I also feel guilty for being relieved that it was him, not me, who made the sacrifice. Perhaps it was a comfort to him, knowing that even as he died I would live on.”

  “I hope so, too,” Staples said.

  “Captain?” Bethany said, pointing to the window in front of her. The pilot was turning the ship gently, and as she did so, Jupiter’s moon Callisto came into view.

  Staples heaved a shuddering breath, knowing that however harrowing the battle they had just survived had been, there was another one waiting for them on the chunk of rock in front of them. “Take us in,” she said. “Dinah, Charis, see if you can find us an opening. Those ships didn’t come from nowhere.”

  Chapter 17

  Though she had seen pictures of him often enough, Clea Staples had never met Owen Burr. Now that she faced him in person, he looked exactly as she had expected him to. The perfectly tanned olive skin, the finely tailored suit, and the impeccable haircut were all as she had imagined. He looked as though he belonged at a board meeting, not at the head of a dozen automatons in a secret base on Jupiter’s second largest moon. And yet here he was.

  Getting in had been surprisingly easy, if one discounted the killer warships they had barely survived. The hangar bay doors had not been closed, and though there was certainly room for Gringolet in the cavernous space carved into the moon, Dinah had recommended they take a shuttle down rather than risk having Gringolet trapped. Staples had wholeheartedly agreed. They had brought everything they needed to cut into the airlocks and create a seal behind them, but the airlock doors had opened at their touch. The ease of their entry into the base was disquieting to say the least, but there was nothing for it. The entire crew knew that there was no way to avoid the coming confrontation, no way out but through.

  A series of tunnels running just under the moon’s surface had led them to a main chamber. Upon rounding the corner and entering the room, Staples, Overton, Jabir, John, and Evelyn had found themselves face to face with one of the architects of so many of their troubles: the CEO of Teletrans Corporation, Owen Burr. They had not expected him to be alone, but the twelve robotic forms that flanked him were terrifyin
g. They regarded the invaders, their camera eyes flicking back and forth, and images of the carnage she had witnessed on Mars wormed their way into Staples’ mind.

  “Clea Staples, isn’t it?” Burr asked.

  Staples nodded.

  “Your crew’s looking a bit thin, isn’t it?” He flashed his winner’s smile. Staples instantly made the jump from thinking about the man as an abstract antagonist to hating him on a very deeply personal level.

  “You and your pet AI haven’t managed to kill all of us, no.” Staples ground her teeth.

  Burr’s eyes narrowed in anger. “He’s not a pet. He’s a god.”

  Staples shook her head and sighed. Despite her anger, she was profoundly tired. “I really can’t tell you how little interest I have in your delusions, philosophical debates, or villainous monologues.”

  “Victor is the ultimate evolution of human-”

  “Just stop,” Staples said, holding up her hands. “Just… get out of the way. We’re here for Victor. We don’t want to kill you or anyone else. So just…” she closed her eyes for a second, her hands still raised. “Just stop and get out of the way.”

  Burr did not step aside. Instead, he produced a small remote from his pocket. “Fine,” he said flatly. “We’ll do it this way. Leave, or I’ll kill that little girl.” He spoke to John directly. “Your daughter. If I press this button,” he gestured at the remote, “she dies.”

  John shook his head in disbelief. “My child? Really? What is wrong with you? When did you look in the mirror and say, ‘my cause is worth becoming a killer of children’?”

  “You don’t believe me?” Burr asked, excitement creeping into his voice.

  My God, Staples thought¸ he really wants to do it. “Oh, I believe you,” she replied. “You hired Vey’s crew to leave half my crew stranded on a killing field on Mars while they flew the other half into an asteroid. When we discovered the nanites that Vey’s crewman injected into the girl – her name is Gwen, by the way – I can’t stay I was all that surprised.”