by B. V. Larson
Yet again, lucky Flensburg dodged her bullet, sailing on as the inferno extinguished and the Guardian’s deathly eye closed once more.
“Full forward!” Absen clamped down on his spiritual agony, knowing that the million colonists in his dreadnought’s womb must be protected, even to the sacrifice of the rest of his ships. Now trailing behind her screen of four cruisers and one lone battleship, Conquest continued flinging every weapon at her command.
“There’s no way we can stand up to that fusion beam, so we have to get in close and kill that ship – or at least, destroy the weapon,” Absen told the bridge crew as he watched. “Aim everything at its center so if that eye opens again we jam everything we have into it.”
“Approaching the hundred K mark. The Crows have joined us. Our multi-weapon convergence in three…two…one…mark.”
At least a dozen nuclear missiles reached the Guardian and a double handful of new suns briefly blazed against its skin, joined a moment later by two more of the special rounds. Great chunks of the enemy ship vaporized in the blasts, and holes hundred of meters wide and deep left ulcers on living flesh. Radiation and bomb-pumped grasers reached deep into the living moonlet, destroying quadrillions of cells of the organic machinery that sustained the beast. Railgun rounds tore into it and the fleet’s beam weapons burned holes in it.
It’s not enough. Admiral Absen and his officers watched in horror as the thing came on still, swelling on their screens and absorbing everything they could throw at it with utter indifference.
“All missiles and specials expended,” Ford spoke into the silence. “We’re empty. Railgun ammo below one percent. We do have the StormCrows now.” The holotank showed a cloud of five reduced wings, almost four hundred of the fighters, passing Conquest on course for their nemesis.
They know what’s at stake too, Absen thought. They didn’t even need orders. But they’re mosquitoes attacking an elephant. No, a dinosaur.
And then the eye opened again.
Straight into that maw the tiny task force poured all of its remaining energy weapons, hoping to at least force it to close, to stop that one vomiting surge of energy from visiting death upon another human ship.
It was not to be.
Again the torch blazed, a firework not of celebration but of doom, and the cruiser Georgetown was annihilated, made nothing.
As that terrible ship-sized weapon port closed, beginning its inevitable recharging, dozens of secondary fusion beams licked out to wash over the four brave ships, but this they could resist. Again and again the blasts touched; again and again the human vessels buttoned up firing ports and turned their armored shoulders to the enemy, and thus won through to continue savaging the Guardian.
Yet it was still not enough.
Zombielike, Admiral Henrich James Absen committed himself to the inevitable: he would have to sacrifice some, perhaps all of his command, using the only weapons remaining to him.
“Helm, tell our ships to enable automated engagement and flank speed, ramming procedure. Have every navcomp set fusion drive overload protocols to detonate on contact. Then abandon all ships. We’ll pick survivors up later. Tell them…tell them all: Godspeed and well done, Conquest fights on.”
***
Afrana swelled on Steadfast Roger’s virtual screen, growing by the minute until it filled the windshield. Ezekiel manipulated anachronistic knobs and turned large metal rheostats, meaningless representations of the exact instructions he gave to his stealthy ship.
Earthlike, the planet glowed green-blue beneath them, with less water but smaller land masses broken into dozens of large islands. Cyclonic weather systems raged across its face, and its ice caps were small.
“Hot world,” mused Shades.
“Yes, it averages ten degrees C higher than Earth, but the hippos like it even hotter, keeping to the equatorial regions. Unadapted humans would have to live poleward of the tropics,” Ezekiel responded. “At least the atmosphere is Earthlike. A moment…” Manipulating controls further, the view swung sideward even as the men felt G forces leak through.
Long minutes later he went on, “Okay, we’re in a fast elliptical orbit. Our deceleration burn is sure to be noticed. Now it gets dicey; we know the Meme do use bio-radio and bio-lasers to communicate and exchange data, but we’ve never caught them simply using an identity code. They do have several different electromagnetic beams aimed at us, trying to establish encrypted comms.” Ezekiel turned to Spooky. “Plan A or B?”
“Plan A, as we agreed,” the slim man said, smoothing his virtual moustache. “Maintain silence. We can always transmit an open Meme signal if they target us with a weapon.”
“As you wish. We should approach the orbital in about nine minutes.” Behind the virtual planet they could see a small yellow circle, a symbol of its location fast approaching its side. Moments later its eclipse ended as its leading edge cleared the planet. Like a speeding sun the spherical fortress rose and raced toward them in VR space, though in reality it was Steadfast Roger that overtook the space station.
“Now it gets interesting.” Their approach slowed perceptibly and the VR environment trembled. “Fast decel,” Ezekiel explained. “We’re completely visible as an unknown Meme ship coming in at emergency speeds. If these Hippos are anything like humans, they won’t risk firing on the superior race…yet.”
The three men exchanged glances, then returned their attention to the picture in front of them until the enormous orbital defense station loomed huge. Second only in size to the Guardian, it measured four or five kilometers across, larger than Conquest. Shades grabbed a brass rail as they maneuvered to the side, and Ezekiel shot him an amused glance. “Your body is in a cocoon. You don’t need to brace your virtual presence.”
“It makes me feel better,” he said defensively.
Growing larger and larger, the station filled the screen. It didn’t seem so different from some of the defense fortresses back in Earth’s solar system. Unlike the Meme ships, this one looked distinctly machinelike, with metal fixtures, radar arrays, lasers and missiles recognizable on its surface. Disturbingly, a number of these weapons systems tracked them as they moved closer.
“If they haven’t fired by now, they won’t,” Ezekiel said with a confidence he did not entirely feel. “See, I’m riding an unencrypted guide beam that smells like welcome.” Tapping a glass button, he highlighted the opening toward which they glided.
“Into the belly of the beast…” Shares misquoted.
“Indeed.” Spooky reached into the air and plucked a cigar from nothingness, took a deep drag, and made it vanish once more.
“Nice trick, that,” Shades remarked.
“Hmm. I have more,” he responded distantly as he stared at the tunnel they approached. “Put us back in our coffins, please.”
“See you momentarily,” Ezekiel responded as the VR space faded about them.
Both men woke up spitting fluid as their lungs cleared, and watched as the cocoons melded into the floor and left them lying naked upon it. Spooky was the first to move, rolling to his feet and reaching for his skinsuit and lightweight armor.
Shades copied his actions. “I still wish we were taking our sidearms,” he grumbled.
“Shall you fight a whole station full of five-hundred-kilo Hippos? If they really want to kill us our only chance is to escape in Steadfast Roger. Besides, we are taking weapons.” Spooky tossed Shades straight-bladed sword. “As briefed, their warriors wear edges weapons as a mark of status, but our best chance is Ezekiel talking to them. If that doesn’t work…just try to disarm then and force a parlay. Speak of the devil…”
The two men watched as Ezekiel’s cocoon split and deposited him on the floor, absorbing into the substance of the bio-ship. The Blend rolled lithely to his feet and dressed himself in an elegant saffron robe, as Intel reported befit a high-status Hippo official.
Shades and Spooky checked each other over, then turned to Ezekiel for approval, who nodded. “Remember, you’r
e an honor guard. Let them make the first move.” Touching a wall to open the iris, he said, “Showtime.” Flanked by the two human warriors the Blend strode forward five steps and stopped.
Heat immediately struck them like a wet sauna, but the smell was more disconcerting: a barnyard and a pigsty rolled into one. Facing them, an honor guard of sixteen armed Hippo troops at rigid attention formed a V shape. Within its concave angle knelt a figure whose yellow robes almost matched Ezekiel’s.
Aptly named, the creatures’ gray skins and wide mouths resembled Earthly hippos, but they bore hands with four surprisingly delicate digits – each still far larger than those of a human – and stood upright, completely bipedal.
For almost a full second the tableau held its shape. Then all hell broke loose.
Clawing for weapons, the enormous Hippo warriors scattered in a dozen directions, clearly unnerved by the alien creatures appearing unexpected before them. Some advanced with naked blades; some pointed shiny ceremonial handguns that must still be functional. In the center, the official sat stunned on his haunches.
Spooky was already moving, Shades fractionally slower. With cybernetically-enhanced strength and nanobot-driven speed they struck with their swords, stabbing in a precise whirlwind that within three seconds left sixteen Hippo weapon-hands clutched, injured, in their sixteen opposites. Implements of destruction clattered on the floor unused.
One Hippo warrior, braver than the rest, reached again for his oversized pistol with his uninjured paw, until Shades leaped a half-dozen meters to place his blade at the offender’s throat.
“Kaja!” the Hippo official cried, raising a fist high. That one stared at Ezekiel in front of him, a comparatively tiny figure ripe for crushing. Its other arm reached slowly out toward the yellow-robed human.
Ezekiel reached as well, and they touched fingers.
Eyes on Hippo and man fluttered, then closed. Both seemed to relax, and their hands clasped for a long full minute, then released. Ezekiel stepped back and bowed, the Hippo climbing to his feet and then gravely doing the same. They stood upright in unison, and from the creature a coughing hiss came forth, an alien sound that nevertheless suggested an immensely pleased chuckle.
Turning around, he spoke a rapid series of syllables, and the embarrassed warriors carefully retrieved and put away their weapons, pairing up to expertly apply combat dressings from pouches on their harnesses.
The Hippo leader waved the humans forward, and Ezekiel explained, “Urkoch and I have reached an agreement. He will present us to this station’s military commander and guarantee us safe passage no matter what the outcome.”
“Could he be lying?” Shades asked.
“It’s very difficult to lie while exchanging chemical communication. They use the same Meme bio-language I do, so I am almost certain he’s being truthful.”
“Almost?”
Ezekiel shrugged. “I’m betting my life.”
“Good enough,” Spooky interrupted, eyes full of urgency. “Our people are fighting a battle out there, now get moving!”
They moved.
Hurrying through the station at a human trot to keep up with the aliens’ long-limbed strides, it was not long before they were ushered into the presence of a large, uniformed Hippo of immense gravitas, many ornaments decorating his harness. Standing behind a large desk, his beady eyes displayed searching intelligence, but his hands remained locked behind his back, away from his ceremonial dagger, unlike the guards, who had to restrain themselves from reaching for their weapons.
The commander barked, and reluctantly his soldiers withdrew from the room, though they left the door open. Urkoch the official briefly touched hands with the military officer. After a moment that one made a brusque inward-waving gesture at Ezekiel, as if to say, come here.
Fearlessly the Blend clasped hands with the Hippo, leaving the human fighters carefully watching the banished guards crowding the doorway. Teeth-grinding moments later they broke the touch-conversation, and Ezekiel turned to his comrades with a frown. “The General says he and his fellow officers will only change sides if the Eye of Terror – the moon laser – is inoperable. Once it is, he will take action, but not before.”
“Agreed,” replied Spooky. “Urge him to talk to his other commanders to make sure there is no misunderstanding.”
“He already has,” Ezekiel said. “The General said the Seekoi – the Hippos – have hoped and planned for this day ever since they learned of our first defense of Earth almost a hundred years ago – as they hope and plan and despair every time a new species is found and…absorbed, I think is the best translation.”
“Then they do want to rebel!” Shades exclaimed, grabbing and shaking Ezekiel’s saffron sleeve with excitement.
Spooky smiled inscrutably and blinked, bringing two fingers to his lips in an odd motion, almost as if kissing their tips, before dropping it back again. “Sorry, VR confusion,” he remarked, then reaching inside a pocket, he drew forth a packet of cigarillos and a silver-chased lighter. “Smoke?” he asked as the aliens stared at him in incomprehension. “No?” He lit one, then demonstrated by drawing in a lungful, holding out the pack..
The General laughed and reached delicately for the rolled tobacco. Dwarfed in his hand, he held a tube to his lips as Spooky gravely lit it, then drew in a puff. He coughed and laughed then, a deep raspy thing, before turning away to touch his desk. A large projection screen rolled down on one wall and a moment later they saw an iconic representation of the battle going on around the planet, their orbital defense station at its center. Then he sat down, motioning to the others to do the same.
“Hurry up and wait,” Shades muttered helplessly. “Even in an alien army, it’s always the same.”
“At least the smoking lamp is lit,” Ezekiel said, reaching for the pack.
“You people are lunatics,” Shades replied angrily.
“What else can we do?” Spooky asked, putting his hands behind his back. “The die is cast. Our message is delivered. We are in the hands of the gods.”
Shades nodded his head slowly. “If the gods are Hippos.”
Chapter 13
SystemLord felt the pleasure molecules of triumph wash through his body, but kept himself under rigid control. Anticipation was not reality and more than one fool of his compatriots had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory in the war against Species 447 so long ago. Those memories echoed in his protoplasm, still accessible from his honored ancestors.
Admittedly his attempt to stop the ground-force landing near the Weapon had failed, but even if the enemy seized the facility, its use was impossible without molecular codes that only pure Meme could generate. If worse came to worst, once he dealt with the enemy fleet he would simply destroy the installation: Weapon and enemy ground forces and all. Its loss would be painful but as long as Monitor lived, he could control the Underlings, the planet, and the system.
Even the costliest victory was better than defeat.
Two of seven enemy capital ships had been destroyed with Monitor’s main fusor, and he could see the Humans, finally understanding the futility of fighting, trying to escape in their puny life-craft. He left them alone; they could be captured and enslaved at leisure. Perhaps he would spawn some progeny to Blend with them, after resequencing their life codes to eliminate their sentience. Yes: his own personal Human Underlings to serve him, living trophies to his victory.
Musings dissolved as one of his Watchers alerted him to the strange behavior of the enemy before him. “SystemLord,” that subordinate said, “the four remaining smaller ships are accelerating on collision courses with us!”
“How long until primary fusor capacity?” he asked.
“Too long. They will strike us before it recharges.”
“Can we avoid them?”
“No, Lord. Even these sluggish human ships can maneuver more nimbly than Monitor.”
“Then use all the secondary fusors on the closest enemy. Suspend main fusor recharge.” Syst
emLord instructed Monitor to prepare itself for great pain and emergency healing. In response, the faithful animal began to thicken its skin and muster millions more squidlike patch cells, mindless creatures whose only function was to close wounds.
“We will be damaged, but will survive,” the Meme commander announced to all his subordinates, broadcasting also to the Underlings. He thought to again order them to fire on the enemy but deemed the effort pointless. If they feigned inability and ignored him yet again, nothing would be gained and they might become further emboldened. If they intended to help fight, they would have done so by now. In either case, they would be punished in good time.
For now, he watched the first enemy cruiser bore in.
***
“The gnats say it’s that way,” Bull said, pointing down one of the myriad of intersecting tunnels. “Energy readings are off the charts. Ah, they just killed one. That confirms it. Follow me.”
Grabbing his elbow, Repeth spun him around. “Sir,” she hissed on the private channel, “let your Marines do their jobs. You’re the company commander, not the point scout.”
Bull yanked his arm out of her grip and opened his mouth, staring down at her angrily through his armored faceplate. Her eyes blazed back at him from below and the protest died in his throat. Think, you dumb ox, her expression seemed to say, and he took a deep breath and forced himself to listen to her advice. “Right you are,” he said mildly, then ordered, “Scouts out.”
Watching as the lead squads detailed two Marines forward, he checked their link status to make sure they had good feeds from the fist-sized gnat drones scouting around them. His command HUD was more capable than a line Marine’s, so he could see what any one of them was seeing – which just reinforced his Sergeant Major’s coolheaded counsel.