Exodus: Machine War: Book 3: Death From Above

by Doug Dandridge

  At least they could get us off this thing, thought the platoon leader. She knew why they weren’t. Because there might be more of the damned robots that had been hitting them without pause since they came aboard this thing. And as if that thought brought the devil, they appeared again.

  “We need some help here,” came a voice over the com, her HUD identifying him as the platoon sergeant of the unit closest to the entry shaft. The HUD lit up with the icons of units that were responding, which did not include her platoon. The middle ground was her area of responsibility, and she was under strict orders not to leave this area.

  “Get them off us,” called out a voice identified as one of the officers in charge of the spacer technicians. “Help.”

  It seemed that the entire complement of robots on this part of the ship were attacking at once. Forward and behind the combat was now raging, only her area quiet among all those assigned.

  Is this part of a plan? she thought, wondering why the Machines were ignoring her. “Everyone stay on your toes,” she ordered over the com. “I think the hammer is getting ready to come down on us.”

  “I think you’re right, ma’am,” said the Gunny, a note of approval in his voice. “Everyone make sure your weapons are fully charged.” The insinuation in that order was that they damned sure should have already checked.

  I have nineteen effectives, including myself, she thought. And we’re holding three hundred meters of corridor. Too much. “Everyone collapse to the center,” she ordered. “Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

  “What are you thinking, ma’am?” asked the Gunny, his icon moving along with the others.

  “I think we are too weak to hold the entire range of our responsibility. If we can form a solid front in the center, we can fight our way toward the other units when they are doing the same to us.”

  “Good idea. We…”

  The sounds of firing came over the com, and a quick look at her HUD showed that the inward squad was engage with the enemy.

  * * *

  KLASSEK.

  “The convoy has arrived, General,” said the Duty Officer who was manning the system command center in orbit around Klassek.

  Wittmore didn’t have to ask which convoy. Everything that could was coming through the wormhole at this time, and there was only one reason for ships to transport items coming through hyperspace. These were carrying the wormholes that had been allotted to this system. And they had been tracking them the entire way through their own onboard wormholes.

  He pulled up the manifest of those two hyper VII battleships that were carrying the holes, six each. One would connect to Exploration Command Base, one to Bolthole, giving the system three ship gates including the one leading back to Sector I HQ. The other ten would be assigned to ships. The two hyper VII battleships would keep theirs, and the remaining eight would be given to other capital ships.

  “Does the Admiral know?”

  “Hell, sir. He signaled me and told me to let you know.”

  Wittmore smiled. While the none of the holes would be under his direct command, they would improve the situation here considerably. All three of the primary systems on this front could reinforce each other in an instant, and they would have ten wormhole launch systems aboard as many vessels. That was something the Machines were still having trouble with, if the reports were accurate.

  “The Admiral also transmitted that he is releasing three tons of supermetals to the ground forces, now that he has access to missiles launched through the wormholes.”

  Wittmore’s smile widened. A heavy suit required a quarter kilogram of supermetals to make it flight capable and to give it a useable particle beam. Three tons of supermetals meant they could add flight capability to twelve thousand of the Klassekian suits, which would give him considerably more mobile infantry. A little more than fourteen battalions’ worth in fact.

  “The President is on the com for you, General,” came another voice breaking in on his current transmission.

  “Give the Admiral my regards, and thank him for his gift.” He switched links with a thought, and a holo appeared with the face of President Contera in it.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. President?” he said in his warmest tones. Sometimes he got tired of having to deal with the being, but he didn’t blame him for his wanting to keep his fingers, well tentacle tips, on the pulse of the campaign. It was, after all, his planet and his people.

  “My commanders are telling me that we have wiped out the robots. Is that true?”

  “We’re hoping so,” replied Wittmore, pulling up a holo that showed the Machine incursions on this planet, color coded to indicated first to last. They were actively looking for more of them, using nanites and specially produced underground probes to search for any signs of the Machine. So far they had found nothing for almost twelve hours. Which did not prove there were no Machine infestations still building up their power for other attacks. “We have to stay alert, because while we can be sure that there have been no attacks for a time period, we really can’t say that they aren’t still there.”

  “I was hoping you would tell me otherwise, General.”

  “I wish I could, Mr. President. But I would be lying, and I won’t do that to you. But I can tell you that the fleet had been reinforced, and we now have a dozen more wormholes in our arsenal. And we will be able to improve the capabilities of twelve thousand of your infantrymen. So whether there are still infestations on your planet or not, we are in a much better position than before to deal with them.”

  The President shook his head, imitating the gesture he had seen used by so many of the humans. “Sometimes I wish that you had never come. But I know that we would have been worse off without you. Sure, we would have survived the supernova, but the Machines still would have found us, and we would not have had a chance against them.”

  That is so very true, thought the General. Though they might have passed you by in the search for us. That was an argument that some of the Klassekians had used. Wittmore didn’t believe it for a moment. The Machines had been on the move since just before Exploration Command had entered this space. They had tons of evidence that the Machines had been engaged in killing off living planets and species for at least the last decade, if not before. Scout ships had actually watched their planet killers wipe worlds clean of life. He couldn’t imagine having been on those scout ships, watching a sentient species being wiped from existence and not being able to do anything about it. In his culture intelligent species were the closest thing to the sacred that the majority could agree upon. Everything was to be done to save intelligent species from extinction. And everything was to be done to alleviate the suffering of beings without the technology to live comfortable lives. These were the prime directives of the Empire.

  And in the case of your species, it necessitated us raising you to interstellar civilization before you were ready for it. Normally they would be giving people like the Klassekians a hundred years of technology every decade on average. They might jump ahead with some tech, especially medical technology, but it would give most civilizations time to get used to the wonders of science that would raise them to wealth beyond their dreams.

  “At least you can be sure that your species will survive, Mr. President, no matter what.”

  “If you survive you war against the Ca’cadasans.”

  “Even if we lose, I think there will be enough of your people among the stars to continue on. The Cacas want to destroy us, not you.”

  “I hope you are correct, General.”

  “But we aren’t going to lose, Mr. President,” said Wittmore, a smile on his face. “You’ve been around us long enough to know that we never give up. It’s going to be a tough fight, but I’m sure we’re going to beat those big bastards.” Especially with you on our side, thought Wittmore, looking at the face of the being, who like everyone in his species, could communicate with members of his species across thousands of light years in an instant.

  One day
we’ll figure out how to duplicate what your natural brains can accomplish, thought the General. They would study the Klassekians, dissect those who had died of natural causes with intact brains, and one day find out how it was done. Which wouldn’t make these aliens obsolete by any means, since the ancients of this region had told Hasselhoff that they, and humans, were two species that might someday ascend to their own level.

  * * *

  “We have your new flagship waiting for you, Admiral,” came the transmission through Klassekian Com Techs.

  “Do you want me to come back and get it, Admiral? We’re still tracking a large Machine force out here, and I would rather not bail on my task force.”

  Rear Admiral Gertrude Hasselhoff sat in the command chair of the flag bridge of her current flagship, the hyper VII battlecruiser Glomar. It was a good ship, with a good crew, but being an exploration vessel she lacked the magazine capacity of even a Fleet hyper VII ship. Carrying the only wormhole in her scout force more than made up for that, and she had been the primary strike vessel during this run.

  “We’ll send it out to you, along with two more wormholes. Think you can figure out what to do with four of the things.”

  “I think we can come up with something,” she told her commanding officer with a smile. She had been hitting the enemy fleet continuously for the last week, dropping into hyper VI to send a dozen streams of missiles into the oncoming Machines, then jumping back up to outrun them and set up for the next ambush. That the Machines had some of the graviton beam ships with them was now a given, since they had dropped many of the missiles out of hyper. Fortunately, her captains had all followed orders and had not taken chances with the enemy.

  “We’ve been able to take out sixteen of the enemy, Admiral. Not satisfactory, I know, but the best we could do.”

  “I’m hoping you can do more with four wormholes. But you’re doing all I can ask, at the moment.”

  “And you don’t think the captain of the?” Hasselhoff looked for a moment at the data stream and pulled up the name of the battleship. “Potemkin, will mind if I keep my flag on the Glomar. I’m already set up here, and I’m comfortable with the captain and crew.”

  “I’m sure Captain Tuberville will be heartbroken to know she won’t have a flag officer looking over her shoulder,” replied Lysenko with a laugh. “That is entirely your decision, Admiral. If you want to decline the protection of a battleship to ride around in a smaller ship, so be it. I, for one, will not apologize for putting my butt on her sister ship, the Nevada, and taking advantage of her extra speed.”

  Hasselhoff nodded, knowing that the other officer poked fun at his own courage, for which he was well known within the Fleet. While not a daredevil by any means, the man was famous for his attack into the teeth of the Lasharan fleet fifteen years back. And his maneuvers against the Fenri, when he was a young cruiser captain, were legendary. Battle fleet command was important to the success of any operation, and anything that would allow the commander to fight the battle and survive to keep giving orders was something to be desired.

  “Just so you won’t be worrying so much about that force you’re trying to whittle down for me, I also received six hyper VII light cruisers and a dozen of the same type of destroyer. I’m sending half the cruisers and destroyers out to you with the Potemkin. And don’t worry. There are more ships coming through the wormhole within the next couple of days. When the Emperor said he wanted this system defended and the people protected, he meant it.”

  That was a relief to the woman who had been a mere battle cruiser captain less than a year ago, and had swiftly been elevated two ranks. She had barely gotten used to the single stars of a commodore before the twin starbursts of a rear admiral had graced her uniform. She knew that Exploration Command was now in her past, and that from now on she would be a scout force commander in the Fleet. Always plural, the Fleet, the force that protected the Empire, including its newest member, Klassek.

  “We’re about to go on another run, Admiral,” she told her commander, hoping he had no more for her at the moment.

  “Give them hell, Admiral. And keep giving it to them.”

  The com went blank, and Hasselhoff went back to studying the tactical plot that showed the situation unfolding before her. Most of her ships still had more than half their complement of missiles, and she would use some of them now, sending them through VII along the sides to drop their weapons into VI almost on top of the enemy. She would drop Glomar down in front of them and cycle missiles through the wormhole until the enemy was almost on top of her, but still out of graviton beam range. Then they would jump back into VII and speed ahead to set up the next attack.

  “Don’t cut it so close this time,” she admonished the Captain, watching his face on the holo as he set the attack in motion.

  “I’ll try not to, ma’am,” said the officer, looking off holo at his bridge crew.

  She let him get to it. It was his ship, she was only a passenger, even if she did give him the command to attack. The last attack had cut it much too close, something she was not about to tell Admiral Lysenko about. They had caught the graviton beams from several of the enemy battleships at their extreme range, and the translation up to hyper VII had been as rough as any that she could remember. Fortunately they had pulled away before any more of the vessels could get into range, or her flagship might even now be floating wreckage in normal space.

  Glomar shook slightly as the translation nausea hit. In less than a second she was in hyper VI, eight-four light seconds ahead of the enemy force, about twenty-five million kilometers in that dimension. The enemy ships were closing at one hundred and ninety-five kilometers a second, and Glomar immediately started putting out wormhole launched missiles at a closing speed near light. Thirty seconds later she put out another stream, thirty later another. After she let out her fourth stream she opened up the portal to VII and moved up, then started gaining distance on the ships from the lower dimension. This time the captain and crew had timed it right, and the enemy ships were still more than five light seconds away, a million and a half kilometers, well out of their graviton beam range.

  “Klein is reporting damage to her hyperdrive, ma’am” called out the Com Tech that was linked into the Klassekian network. “They were close enough to converging graviton beams to disrupt their hyper arrays.”

  “Status?” asked the Admiral.

  “They have sufficient hyper capability to stay in VII, but took enough damage to prevent them from opening a hole out of the dimension if they need to.”

  That was bad news, but not terrible. Other ships from the task force could reach that destroyer and render assistance, and she would not need to leave VII for quite some time, probably weeks at the earliest. They had miscalculated the range of the graviton beams, or at least the range at which they could still cause damage. That miscalculation hadn’t hurt them badly, this time. Still, it was something they needed to keep in mind on future attacks.

  “Damage assessment coming in on the enemy,” announced another Com Tech. “Three enemy ships destroyed, two more sustained damage, status unknown.”

  Gertrude nodded. That was the best result of a single attack so far. They were still whittling away at this enemy. She didn’t think they would be significantly weakened by the time they reached Klessak, but every bit would help.

  “Time till we can attack again?”

  The Tactical Officer ran the numbers, checking on how fast the ships could return to their attack positions. Her ship, of course, was ready to attack at a moment’s notice. All she had to do was drop back down and launch more streams of wormhole missiles. The others, with only their limited onboard magazines, had to maneuver back into position to take their best shot with one volley. It was necessary to split the enemy defensive fire, or else the missiles would all have been fired for nothing.

  And when I have three other wormhole equipped ships, she thought, then we’ll give them attacks to remember.

  An hour later th
ey were ready for another attack. She thought this might be their last for this twenty four hour period they had decided was a ship’s day. Not all the ships fired in every attack, some were just decoys. And some of the ships chosen to fire would not even be launching full volleys. Later they would meet in normal space and transfer the missiles Glomar brought over through her wormhole to replenish their magazines, a process that would take more than fourteen hours.

  “We’re getting a report from the Admiral, ma’am,” said one of the com techs in the middle of that next attack. “It seems that the Machines have captured a hyper VII destroyer.”

  “How intact was the ship?” asked Gertrude, eyes wide.

  “They don’t know at the moment, but they fear the worst. The report also says they doubt the Machines have the supermetals needed to convert their fleet to hyper VII anytime soon.”

  That was the good news. Supermetals, elements along the periodic table into the higher levels did not exist in nature. They were energy intensive, requiring massive accelerators and the plants to power them, as well as the cooling systems to keep those plants from melting down. While other elements in the higher ranges had half-lives of from seconds to nano-seconds, the supermetals were stable enough to have half-lives of years to centuries. They were also much denser and stronger than other elements, thanks to their greater density of packed protons and neutrons. And they conducted heat, and radiated it, like no other substance.

  Space travel was built around the use of supermetals. The grabber units, also called ether paddles, pulled on the substance of space. While not technically ether, the theorized substance of prespace thinkers, it was the quantum foam, the roil of energy and swift appearing/disappearing particles that suffused every cubic nanometer of space, and it did provide something to push against, or in most cases pull. Supermetal infused grabbers allowed the reactionless drive of the Empire and other space faring races, the most efficient drive system every made. They also allowed the transmission and radiation of the inertia converted heat from ships. And they made possible the graviton producing systems called hyperdrive arrays, capable of tearing holes in the dimensions of space and shielding their vessels from the effects of those strange spaces.