by J. N. Chaney
But it wasn’t. The Verity ships whipped onto a new trajectory, their pulse-cannon fire blasting missile after missile out of space. He did land one good hit with the dark-lance, apparently degrading one of their enemy’s ability to maneuver, at least temporarily. It made a difference, but it wouldn’t change the outcome. At best, it might make it a little easier for one of them to get away.
The pulse-cannon fire swung, trying again to converge on Dash. For what felt like the thousandth time, he threw himself aside, but several energy pulses hit anyway. The Archetype shuddered and spun around. Dash tried to correct, but nothing happened, he’d lost attitude control.
Well, shit. So this was how it all ended.
“Hey, can we play?” a new voice said.
It was Wei-Ping. Dash saw the Herald appear on the heads-up, the Ardent and Visible in close formation. At once, the three ships drove in toward the Verity, loosing salvos of missiles as they closed.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Dash snapped.
“Okay, fine, we’ll go away then,” Wei-Ping shot back.
Dash shook his head as a relieved smile spread across his face. “Nah. Since you’ve gone to all this trouble, you might as well help out.”
The battle had turned, but it was far from over. The Verity ships were now on the defensive, hemmed in by Wei-Ping’s flotilla and the two mechs. But it was a marginal sort of hemmed-in, as both the Archetype and Swift had been badly damaged. At best, they could snap out dark-lance and nova cannon shots, but otherwise had to keep their distance. Massed missile fire from the Silent Fleet ships finally broke through the amazing Verity evasive maneuvers, explosions rippling across the hulls of two of them. The third hit the Visible with a steam of fire that ripped open her hull and left her drifting, her power dropping to zero.
Still, the damage had been done. The Archetype’s dark-lance now blasted pieces out of one of the Verity ships; the Swift’s nova cannon reduced the other to glowing scrap. Wei-Ping brought the Herald into almost point-blank range and fired a full dark-lance broadside into the third, then raced away as it exploded in a spectacular blast.
It took Dash a moment to realize the battle was over. Two of the Verity ships were just clouds of debris; the third was a battered hulk, split almost in two by an internal explosion. Dash powered in close to the latter, wanting to see one of the ships that had almost managed to defeat their Unseen mechs up close.
The smooth hull was split by what seemed to be gun ports for the rapid-fire pulse cannons that had proven so destructive. There appeared to be no other openings in it, not even an airlock.
“Sentinel, what am I missing here?” he asked, drifting slowly past the wreck. “How were these three ships so damned effective compared to anything else we’ve encountered?”
“I have been considering the same question. There is no record of anything similar, so we must assume these are something new. Having scanned and analysed the wreckage, the most reasonable conclusion is that there appears to be no crew on board.”
“What, you mean they managed to escape?”
“No. I do not believe there was ever any crew on board.”
Dash frowned at the imagery on the heads-up. As he did, he noticed something odd. Where the structure of the ship had been blasted away, several thin, silvery lines, cables, or conduits of some sort had been exposed. Even as he studied them, he noticed they were crumbling, the fragments drifting away before themselves disintegrating into fine dust.
“What the hell are those?” he muttered.
“Unknown,” Sentinel said.
He hadn’t been asking the AI in particular, but hearing Sentinel express her own ignorance about them was somehow both comforting and disturbing at the same time.
The Swift sidled into view, stopping about a klick away from the Archetype. Dash winced at the mech’s battered, pockmarked hull. Its right arm below the elbow was completely missing. He wondered if the Archetype looked any better. A brief turn of attention to the Meld told him probably not.
“So if there was no crew, then these ships were, what, entirely automated?” Leira said. “I thought AIs, even these super-advanced alien ones, lacked the ability to get…I don’t know, truly creative? Unpredictable? Anyway, that they were actually inferior in combat. No offense, Tybalt.”
“Do not worry, Leira,” Tybalt said. “I am not concerned about your performance in battle.”
“You—wait. You’re not? Is that another way of saying you’re not impressed with it?”
“Leira, you do not need to impress me. You never have.”
“I’ve never impressed you, or I’ve never needed to impress you?”
“I am sorry, Leira,” Tybalt replied. “I must focus my attention on addressing damage to the Swift.”
“Wait a second.”
“Guys,” Dash cut in. “Can you work out your domestic issues another time? I think we’ve got more important stuff to worry about right now. Sentinel, it’s a valid point. You’ve told me yourself that the real limit to AIs, and the reason the Unseen insisted on having us piloting these mechs, is that they’re limited in their ability to be spontaneous and innovative.”
“That is correct,” Sentinel replied.
“So the Golden have figured out some way around that now?”
“Unknown, unfortunately. Perhaps a closer study of this wreckage is in order.”
Dash looked at the cold, empty starfield looming around them. Another flotilla of these new Verity ships could be coming their way now, from literally any direction—and they weren’t only pretty badly beaten up, but also a long way from home.
“Wei-Ping,” he said. “Do you think the Herald could take this wreck in tow?”
“Well, you have a choice, Dash,” she replied. “The Herald’s AI tells me we can tow the missile platform, the Visible, or this wreck—choose one.”
“The Visible’s that badly damaged?”
“Her drives are wrecked, and she only has emergency back-up power. Basically, she needs to be gutted and entirely rebuilt.”
Dash grimaced. “Okay. You got her crew off?”
“The survivors. We lost two.”
“Shit. Just scuttle her. We’re going to have to put a priority on either starting to build replacements for the Silent Fleet or finding where the Unseen have hidden more ships. Sentinel, Tybalt, scan everything you can in this wreck. If there are any pieces we can grab with the mechs and carry back to the Forge, let Leira and me know. Then, let’s blast what’s left to fragments. Everyone, let’s do this as fast as we can, then go back, link-up with Benzel and Amy, and get the hell back home.”
Dash watched as the Herald eased into position, ready to once more link her nav systems to the two mechs and start the laborious process of dragging the wrecked missile platform back to the Forge.
Dash was still having second thoughts. The missile platform gave them lots of material that they badly needed, like working reactors, a whole armory of missiles, and, most importantly, thousands of kilos of Dark Metal. But the new Verity ships had been a nasty shock, and they really needed to figure out what made them tick.
They’d grabbed some carefully selected fragments, as directed by Sentinel and Tybalt, and stored them wherever they could in the mechs and aboard the Herald and the Ardent. But what if the crucial piece they needed, the one that would explain what the hell these new ships were all about, had been overlooked? What if they’d blasted it to fragments when they destroyed the wreckage to prevent the Verity from recovering anything from it?
Dash shook his head. No point second-guessing himself.
“Dash,” Sentinel said, breaking his reverie. “I have transmitted all of the data we’ve collected back to Custodian, as you requested. He now wishes to speak to you.”
“Okay, Custodian, go ahead.”
“Messenger, did any of the Verity craft escape?”
“None, why?” Dash asked, puzzled.
“Return here with all haste. I have questions, and
you need answers.”
18
Dash stretched up on his toes, his arms straight above his head. Thanks to the Meld, he felt none of the usual human foibles when he hung in the Archetype’s cradle—he fatigued and got hungry and thirsty very slowly, no matter how much he flung himself about; he didn’t have to stretch out sore muscles, or scratch any itches; all of his bodily functions seemed, in fact, to be mostly suspended when he was piloting the mech.
That wasn’t true when he dismounted, though. Now, standing in the cavernous docking bay, it seemed to be catching up to him. In the aftermath of his ferocious fight against the Verity, he ached in a dozen different places, and in different ways; he felt as though he’d just gone through a long, vigorous workout. What he needed was a shower, some food, and then sleep.
“Dash!” Viktor said. “There you are. Custodian says you need to come to the War Room right away.”
“Yeah, I know. He started pestering me the second I climbed out of the Archetype.”
They both looked at the big mech. Even crouched into the posture that let Dash mount and dismount, it loomed over them. Its normally clean, purposeful lines were marred, though, by deep furrows and gouges in its hull and across its limbs, the raw, exposed metal of its numerous wounds accentuated by dark blast scars.
“That must have been one hell of a fight,” Viktor said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, it had its moments.”
“The Verity have a new weapon.”
“Or one they’ve been holding back,” Dash said, turning and starting for the War Room with a resigned sigh. Food, showers, and sleep were going to have to wait.
“Well, there is good news,” Viktor said, falling into step with Dash. “While you were gone, Custodian was able to refine the power usage across the Forge and use what he saved to open up a new section. It gives us more fabricating capacity. Not the heavy stuff, like major structural components and armor—but all the small things like cables, actuators, and controllers. Still, that takes some load off the main manufacturing plant, meaning everything speeds up overall.”
“That’s great.”
“We’ve also got more greenery on the go. Freya’s transplanting more foliage around the station, especially some hybrid she’s cultivated that processes air really efficiently. Custodian thinks we’re on track to get enough growing that he might be able to divert even more power from life support to other stuff.”
“Again, yeah, that’s terrific.”
Viktor gave Dash a side-eyed look. “You don’t sound like any of this is actually all that great or terrific.”
They entered an elevator, one of two they’d ride to the War Room. As it surged into motion with its usual, barely perceptible acceleration, Dash shrugged. “Sorry, Viktor. I guess I’m just tired, hungry, and in need of a change of clothes.” He paused, not sure how, or even whether to go on. But this was Viktor, everybody’s “dad.” “And I’m worried.”
“Those new ships?”
“Yeah, that for sure. But it’s more than that. We keep running headlong into more nasty surprises. It started with the Harbinger, and it’s been one thing after another since. The bad guys seem to be growing, coming up with more and better stuff, while we struggle to keep up. I mean, this time we lost the Visible. Most of the ships of the Silent Fleet are gone now, and we haven’t managed to replace any of them.”
Viktor nodded. “I get it. I suspect everyone’s thinking the same way.”
“So morale sucks is what you’re telling me.”
“Not at all. Don’t sell these people short, Dash. They know what’s at stake here. They’re not demoralized. If anything, they’re more determined than ever to get on top of this war and then stay there.”
Dash gave Viktor a searching look to see if the older engineer was just trying to pep-talk him out of his funk. He found nothing but sincerity, and finally offered a grateful nod.
“Okay, then. Let’s see what Custodian has to say. Maybe it’ll be something that will help turn the tide.”
Viktor clapped Dash on the shoulder as the elevator stopped, but said nothing else.
When they arrived in the War Room, they found everyone there, except for the Gentle Friends who were working on salvaging the Verity missile platform. Even Ragsdale was there, back from Port Hannah. He’d brought along a trio of friends, whom he introduced. One was an astronautic engineer, who’d apparently retired to Port Hannah; the other two were construction and environmental engineers, respectively. At Dash’s puzzled look, Ragsdale just shrugged.
“Custodian asked me to bring along any engineering expertise I could find. He thinks it will, let’s see, facilitate the interface of activities between the Forge and us mere humans.”
“I did not use the word mere,” Custodian said.
Ragsdale grinned. “Well, compared to you AIs, I have to admit that I feel kind of mere.”
Dash greeted the newcomers then called for everyone’s attention. When he had it, he said, “Okay, folks. Custodian has something he wants to show us.”
Another of the room-spanning holo images appeared. This one depicted a restricted volume of space, showing a simulation of the battle between the Archetype, the Swift, and the new Verity ships. Based on data provided by Sentinel and Tybalt, it tracked the course of the battle, depicting the wild but precisely coordinated gyrations of the Verity, which had caused so much strife for Dash and Leira.
Dash watched the battle unfold. It clearly showed just how outclassed he and Leira had been, and how apparent it was that if Wei-Ping hadn’t shown up when she did, they likely would have lost the two mechs.
The simulation ended in silence.
Amy finally broke it. “Well, that was something.”
Custodian left the image of the smashed Verity ship, apparently recorded from the Archetype’s point of view when Dash had closed in for a look. The strange, silvery strands he’d noticed fitfully gleamed in the wan starlight as they crumbled to dust.
“Okay, everyone,” Dash said. “There you go. Whatever these new Verity ships are, they’re using tech that we’ve never seen before. According to our AIs, it’s tech that shouldn’t even be possible.”
“The maneuvers of those Verity ships were pretty damned complex,” Benzel said.
“Yeah, it was even scarier in person,” Wei-Ping replied. “It was like trying to shoot down interstellar dust. You could see what you wanted to shoot at but couldn’t land any hits when you did.”
“Interstellar dust that shoots back,” Leira said.
“The maneuvers weren’t just complex,” Dash said. “Sentinel and I talked about this some more on the way home. She said that those three ships were doing things that didn’t make sense, like giving up good shots, just to spin off in some unexpected direction.”
“They fought the way Dash fights,” Sentinel said. “They were inefficient, their actions chaotic, in some cases almost random. In a few cases, they even seemed to miss what seemed to be obvious opportunities, but for no apparent purpose.”
“That doesn’t sound very good,” Ragsdale said, looking at Dash and shrugging. “Sorry, but it really doesn’t.”
“On the contrary,” Sentinel said. “Dash’s inefficiency and randomness have proven to be decisive advantages in previous encounters.”
“So maybe the Verity, or the Golden, or whoever’s behind it, just put some randomness into their AI’s programming,” Conover said.
“No, it is not simply that,” Tybalt replied. “I have noticed the same qualities in Leira. My own programming demands maximum efficiency, but even I must admit that the unpredictability Leira brings to battle is…beneficial.”
Dash glanced at Leira, who just smiled. “Wow. I think that’s the first thing I’ve ever heard from you that even resembles a compliment, Tybalt.”
“It is not meant as such. I am merely stating an objective fact.”
Leira’s smile remained, but she shook her head. “And there goes the complimentary part. Well, it was n
ice while it lasted.”
“So the question is, how have the Verity managed this?” Viktor said.
“Could they have pilots on board?” Ragsdale asked. “Their equivalent of Dash and Leira?”
“Tybalt and I scanned the wreckage thoroughly, at Dash’s direction,” Sentinel replied. “We found no indication of such complex organic life, nor anything that would appear to function as a life support system. In fact, there was almost no internal void space that would correspond to compartments or passageways.”
“So the ships were fully automated?”
The retired astronautical engineer who accompanied Ragsdale back from Port Hannah, a man named Taggart, leaned close to the image of the wrecked Verity ship. “Could you ask your, um, AI—the Custodian, I think? Anyway, can it replay the battle again, starting at the beginning?”
“Simply Custodian is sufficient,” the AI replied. “The Custodian is unnecessary. And feel free to ask me directly, as the Messenger has granted me authority to respond accordingly.”
Taggart glanced at Dash and smiled self-consciously. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to annoy it.”
“Him,” Dash said. “We call Custodian him. He’s as much a member of the team here as anyone else.”
“Fair enough,” Taggart said, then turned his attention back to the holo image. He watched as the battle played out for a few minutes, then said, “Freeze it there, please.”
The image stopped, locked onto a depiction of the three Verity ships, their trajectory-tracks corkscrewing behind them in an intricate, very specific dance of nearly instantaneous accelerations. Taggart turned and looked at Dash.
“How they got these ships to fight so intelligently is certainly a good question. But what I’m wondering is how three ships so effectively fight as one. I mean, look here.” He pointed at part of the track. “There should be about, oh, let’s say a sixteenth of a second delay in these ships communicating their maneuvers to each other. But this shows there’s virtually zero delay. How could they do that without being slaved together on a quantum level in some way? From what I’ve gleaned about this place, you can’t even do that here, I don’t think.”