The Code

by Doug Dandridge

  Goran hadn’t thought he could be any more shocked. He was wrong. He was also intelligent enough to know that he needed to carefully watch his words if he wanted to live.

  “What if the Artificial Lifeforms win?”

  “Then you are to engage the Artificial Lifeforms and destroy them.”

  “And if we can’t beat them?” What the dictator was ordering was allowing the Artificial Lifeforms to defeat the defense in detail. It was a horrible plan, and obviously the dictator had no idea that he might be dooming five of his worlds with this decision.

  “That is defeatist thinking, Fleet Commander,” growled the dictator, pointing a claw at the fleet commander. “You need to watch that. But, if you can’t beat them you are to save your fleets and retire back to the capital. We will need your ships for our final victory over both enemies.”

  Both enemies. Goran didn’t like what the dictator was thinking. Gonoras didn’t seem to understand the power of the humans. If the dictator destroyed their fleet in Gorgansha space, it would only bring on a retribution that the smaller Consolidation wouldn’t be able to handle. It was as if Gonoras lived in a fantasy world in which his every wish would become reality. And then there were the deployments the dictator had insisted on.

  Goran hadn’t liked the allotment of ships to start with. Only two thirds of the total fleet would actually be facing the enemy. Enemies, he amended. The dictator was keeping a total of one third of the fleet in the home system, for no reason other than to make sure his ass was protected.

  Goran wanted to protest, to tell the dictator that he was insane. And if he did such in the home system he would be immediately relieved of his command and taken down to the planet for his execution. If he wasn’t simply shot on his bridge and tossed out an airlock. He might actually be able to accomplish something if he agreed with the dictator. At least to make sure that he had loyal warriors around him when he disagreed with the dictator, at a safe distance.

  “It will be as you say, Dictator.”

  Gonoras gave the Gorgansha version of a smile, something that was intended to terrify prey. The dictator faded from the holo, leaving the fleet commander alone with his own thoughts.

  “Set the task groups on their courses and let’s get this going,” he ordered. The sooner he was out of this system, and the vagaries of the dictator, the better.

  * * *

  PLANET KLASSEK.

  “They seem to be shaping us nicely, General,” said Planetary President Rizzit Contena, standing beside Lt. General Travis Wittmore on the reviewing stand.

  Wittmore had to agree, watching as the columns of native Klassekian troops marched down the wide boulevard. Whole battalions of soldiers in battle armor. Some units wore light armor, others medium. There were a few heavy infantry units still in training, and not represented in this parade to celebrate the official entry of the planet into the New Terran Empire.

  The way the troops marched still looked strange to his eyes. Klassekians had an unusual bobbing gait due to the construction of their hips and knees, and they couldn’t hold the tentacles that made up their upper limbs in the same manner as humans. Of course this made the suits look strange, the rifles, everything looked weird. When he thought about it, it was no stranger than seeing a battalion of Phlistarans trotting in formation. Or Gryphons.

  The battalion commander saluted the stand and the people on it. Guidons dipped, right tentacles moved to a rifle salute. The general had to admit they moved smartly. Their overall training scores were excellent, as good as those of any human units. The species had fought well with their own equipment, but had yet to prove themselves with the equipment and tactics of their human friends.

  The battalion passed and the next came up. The metallic noises made by armored vehicles came to their ears, and Wittmore looked up the boulevard to see a small line of large tanks rolling up the street.

  The tanks were moving on grabbers so their treads wouldn’t tear up the street surface. Some moved their turrets to keep the guns in line with the direction of the street. This was what was causing the metallic sounds. Commanders looked down from their hatches. All of them were human. There were Klassekians training in tanks, but they still had some ways to go. There was a lot of advanced technology on the Tyrannosaur. It was the same problem with training Klassekian spacers, who needed a year or more of remedial training before they went into the standard spacer skill regimen. It would be another year before they had Klassekian spacers who were not com techs. Engineers, electronics techs, even able spacers.

  “General Wittmore,” came a voice over his implant, seeming to be in his ear.

  “What?” he asked in his mind, the implant taking that nerve transmission and returning his answer in his voice to the person trying to contact him.

  “This is Admiral Bednarczyk. I just wanted you to know that the Machines are on the move.”

  Wittmore sucked in a breath. Klassek had already fought off several invasions by the Machines. The army was being built here without any protest from the majority of the people because they knew the threat. And we only have a small system defense force, he thought.

  The Empire had stationed a substantial force in the system after the last attack, but as time passed and the Fleet needed ships, they had been withdrawn. Right now he had a single battleship, three battle cruisers, eleven cruisers and twenty-seven destroyers. The cruisers and destroyers were mainly cruising the outer system, tracking anything coming and going. Which meant all he had to defend the vital planet were the four capital ships and the orbital defense platforms.

  This is shameful, he thought, gritting his teeth. Any core system in the Empire would have a system defense force ten times larger than what he had. Klassek had as large a population as most core worlds. And it was closer to a war zone than any of them.

  “We need more ships, Admiral,” he finally said, waiting for the refusal. If she did he would push it to his own leadership, including High Marshal Mishori Yamakuri. Bednarczyk couldn’t fire him. Those orders could only come down from the Imperial Army, though she could request it.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, surprising him. “I won’t give you anything from my battle fleet, but I think I might be able to round up a couple of ships for you.”

  “That would be appreciated. Thanks.”

  Bednarczyk was gone from the com, leaving the general to watch the rest of the parade. All the while he was going over his planetary deployments in his head. If the Machines were on the move, anything the bastards might still have hiding on the planet could erupt in their own offensive. And he needed to keep his people looking so they weren’t caught off guard.

  * * *

  BOLTHOLE SYSTEM.

  “Admiral. You’ve already emasculated my system defense force. And now you want to take more from me.”

  Henare knew that his flushed face under his tattoos was giving away his anger. It was okay if she knew he was mad, as long as he didn’t let his mouth lead him into charges of insubordination.

  “Your system is important, Admiral. But so is Klassek. According to the Emperor it’s the most important system out here. They are uncovered by any kind of system defense fleet, and they are closer to the battle zone than you are as well.”

  “That doesn’t mean they won’t try to attack here,” said Henare, shaking his head.

  “Our analysts think it very unlikely.”

  “And if they’re wrong,” said Henare, barely able to keep his anger in check. This system and the people in it were his responsibility. Of course he cared about the overall campaign. But Bolthole was his priority.

  “I have to make a decision, Admiral. And using the best information I have I have decided that Klassek needs to be reinforced.” She stopped for a moment to look firmly out of the holo. “I can’t give them any of my ships. Not with that flood I have coming at me. So, I am ordering you to detach three capital ships to go through the gate and deploy to Klassek. You can decide which ships, but at least o
ne must be a battleship.”

  Henare stared straight ahead, not looking at the admiral, not sure what he was going to say. He couldn’t even appeal her decision, not without jumping the chain of command. Grand High Admiral McCollum didn’t like people jumping command like that, which would prejudice her against him from the start.

  “I’ll get on it,” he said, not sure how much he could delay the deployment.

  “You have twenty-four hours to get those ships into the gate,” said Bednarczyk, leaning forward, her face seeming to come closer through the holo. “I will brook no delays. Understood?”

  “Completely,” replied Henare is a tone of defeat. “It will be done.”

  The fleet admiral’s holo faded. Henare started to think, trying to come up with an answer, and failing. He couldn’t send a freighter dressed up as a warship. That kind of deception would be discovered so fast it wouldn’t give him a second’s reprieve. But, since she had left the choice up to him.

  “What is our least advanced battleship?” he asked his chief of staff some minutes later.

  “The Exeter is the oldest battleship we have,” replied Carson, frowning. “Prewar hyper VI. Actually, built a decade before the war.”

  “Okay. I want that ship and our three least capable battle cruisers to have movement orders cut. They are to gate into the black hole system, then over to Klassek.”

  “Very well. I’ll get right on it.”

  One day all of these measures he had taken to circumvent the instructions of his commanding officer would come back to bite him in the ass. He would worry about that when the time came.

  * * *

  GALACTIC SPACE. JULY 9TH, 1003.

  The Machine force was at a point almost directly over the Bolthole system, five hundred light years up from the center of the plane of the ecliptic. Moving in hyper VII they would cover the distance in just over six days, including deceleration in order to stairstep through the dimensions.

  So far they had picked up nothing to indicate they had been detected. They had picked up some other ships, moving through hyper I or II. Their resonances matched nothing they had previously detected. That meant it was another space faring species, one that had possibly gotten into hyper a century before, and had so far escaped the attentions of the Machines. The AI had ordered some of its ships off to search out and take on all of the contacts. To capture them and their crews if possible. It would mark where they had been found and eventually send ships to kill that civilization. Right now it had to concentrate on the mission. That species was not going to get away, and would be right where they were when the Machines came for them.

  The AI had plenty of time to calculate scenarios, millions of them, what the enemy would do when it reached the system, what it would do in response. Every possible situation, with every possible enemy order of battle, within the limits of its database. There were only a few permutations where the enemy won, and even then they were badly hurt.

  The ships continued to move through hyper, noting as star systems went by in each direction, focusing on the G class star they were on a direct heading for. At this range they could tell nothing about it. As soon as they entered normal space the platforms that were still at the edge of the system would fill them in with everything they needed. If the AI could feel such, it would have felt confident. The humans had a word for that, Hubris. It was a concept that the AI would never have been able to understand.

  Chapter Six

  EDGE OF GORGANSHA SPACE. JULY 12TH, 1003.

  “The Machine ships are joining up,” called out Mara Montgomery over the com.

  Of course Mara was not following them in her own ships. She had her two largest forces still camped outside the two biggest industrial systems they knew of. New ships were moving to take posts outside the other systems where they had been chased away, coming out of hyper I at over a light month distance and moving slowly into position. They wouldn’t be in the best positions for several months, but they could still monitor for hyper jumps in the area during that time.

  She had four or five light cruisers and a dozen destroyers following each of the four Machine forces. Everyone had expected them to move out in their five groups and head straight for their targets. Instead, they had vectored to close up and form one big fleet. Now the humans weren’t sure what they were going to do, what they were targeting. Only that a massive fleet of ten thousand or more ships was heading for Gorgansha space.

  Would it continue to roll on and strike at one system, totally destroying it and moving on? That didn’t make sense. They might win the decisive battle, or they might not. Hitting one system would give their opponent a chance to gather a greater force and defeat them in the second battle. Hitting multiple systems would force the organic enemy to either split their own fleet, bringing on multiple decisive battles, or ignore some of the forces, letting them destroy their target systems.

  If it had been a normal fleet, the last throw of the dice, it would have been one thing. Unfortunately, that fleet was only the ships that had been ready at the time of launch. The Machine industrial systems were still cranking out their products. Ships were still being fitted out, missiles built, and it was looking like another massive fleet would be on the way in a couple of months or so.

  “Any idea what they’re going to do?” asked Admiral Bednarczyk from the com holo.

  Beata looked like she was very distressed. Mara understood. They had hoped to be able to read the Machine com traffic on the way in. If they had been in five separate fleets there would have been traffic flying back and forth, especially as they detected Imperial ships. Now they could communicate across their entire force with short range grav pulse.

  “I still think they’re going to hit those five systems, admiral. That makes the most sense to me.”

  “Agreed,” said Beata after a moment’s thought. “I wonder when they’re going to split again? And what are you going to do with your following scouts?”

  “They’ll follow as five separate groups,” said Mara, hoping she had come up with the best plan. “Two close enough to track the Machine fleet, one back out of the range of the enemy sensors. The other two on either side, also out of sensor range, using their wormholes to stay in position where they can peel off and follow anything that splits from the main fleet.”

  “Okay. You’re my scout force commander, so I’m going to trust your instincts.”

  Which meant Bednarczyk wasn’t completely sure about the way Mara was deploying her scouts, but wasn’t sure how it could be done better. If the plan went south and the Machines took out her scouts and disappeared, it would be her responsibility.

  “The bad news, Admiral, is that the Machines are still cranking out ships. We have seen the asteroid belts of these systems visibly shrink in mass. We are estimating that they will have another fleet equal to the one we’re tracking in a month. Maybe two.”

  “And we won’t have near the force we have now,” said Beata, eyes widening in alarm.

  Mara understood. No matter the outcome of the approaching battles, the Imperial and Gorgansha fleets would lose ships. How many? A quarter of them? Half? More? They would have to beg for more ships from the Empire, and with the war against the Cacas still going strong, there might not be any ships available.

  “Here’s what I want you to do, Mara,” said Beata, pointing a finger at her protégé through the holo. “I want you to bombard those systems with wormhole launched weapons. Continuously. Don’t worry about expending ammunition. So use at least twelve thousand. They’ll make more.”

  Yes they will, thought Mara. Right now the Empire was at the top of its industrial game. Space docks and skilled workers, along with construction time, were the bottlenecks on ship building. Fabbers could crank out hundreds of missiles an hour each, and the Empire had been building the nanotech construction units since the beginning of hostilities against the Cacas. They might begrudge them those missiles, like they had reloads for ship based launchers, but calls for fire thr
ough the wormholes had never been denied. So far.

  “Will do,” said the scout force commander. Bednarczyk’s face disappeared with the holo.

  “I want all wormhole equipped ships in both forces to start plotting targets in their systems,” she said, walking over to the central holo plot. “Shipyards, factories, mines. Everything that looks like it’s important.”

  Com officers and techs went to work, getting out the word to all the ships that had wormhole launchers. The forces were sitting over sixty light hours outside the system. The computers onboard the firing ships were assigned their targets, then crunched the numbers to come up with solutions that would bring their weapons to the right place at the right time.

  Everything in the system was in motion, including the star. In orbits around the central body, or one of the planets or moons that were in orbit around the star. They might not be able to calculate where the ships under grabber power would be, but everything else was just an exercise in celestial mechanics. Tens of thousands of targets, with no consideration of collateral damage to planets that were already completely lifeless.

  “All ships report that they are ready to fire.”

  The flagship had already adjusted its aim on thrusters, devices that couldn’t be picked up at one light hour, much less sixty. It would continue to move as subsequent waves were fired.

  “Fire when they achieve the best solution.”

  That gave every ship the freedom to fire when they were lined up right. At the distance they were at it didn’t take much of a change to generate a large angle of attack in the system.

  “Firing,” called out the flagship’s tactical officer. The ship shook slightly for less than a second, releasing its stream of thirty missiles at point nine-five light. They moved without a trace, heading toward where their target would be in sixty odd hours. In this stream’s case, the shipyards around the third planet of the system. Thirty seconds later she sent a stream toward the same target with a very slight adjustment.