by J. N. Chaney
“Me being bothered by any such matters is an irrelevant concept. Rather, I am curious as to why. I assume that it is because this was a dead foe. However, military history—including your own—is replete with accounts of fallen enemies being accorded great respect. For example, in your own history, an individual named Manfred von Richtofen, also known as the Red Baron, was the pilot of a crude, heavier-than-air fighter-class vessel in a large, armed conflict. He killed many foes in battle. When he was himself killed, and his body came into the possession of those same foes, he was treated with great reverence. I am curious as to the difference.”
“Well, I don’t know much about this Manfred—whatever his name was. I guess he was fighting, though, for something he truly believed in, and did it in a way that wasn’t all about him being a cruel, opportunistic asshole who was happy to see all life being wiped out.” Dash sat on his bed and retrieved his boots. “In any case, he obviously earned his enemy’s respect. Clan Shirna, though, no. They made their choice. They aligned themselves with a bunch of xenophobic, genocidal assholes. I won’t gloat over the death of this last guy, and the rest of Clan Shirna—I’m not a tyrannical jerk, and I’m not a genocidal maniac myself. But I’m not going to pretend to respect them or treat their dead with any reverence. So space his corpse, and let’s move on to deal with the Verity, the Bright, the Golden, or whoever else shows up in our crosshairs.”
“Even if it means the destruction of those races as well?”
“Would that bother you? Wasn’t that what your Creators were all about?”
“The Creators had a rich and varied culture and society that went far beyond their military prowess. However, circumstances did force them to dedicate themselves to the defeat of the Golden.”
Dash pulled on his boots and fastened them. “So if they’d been in my position, and had the life or death decision over the Golden, what do you think they would have done?”
“Exterminated them, of course. It is the only logical course of action.”
Dash stood and headed for the door and, from there, the Command Center, where he had yet another meeting. As he exited his quarters, he nodded.
“Damned right it is.”
15
Dash indulged himself in putting his feet up on a console in the Command Center as Custodian spoke. The AI actually oversaw all of the controls and determined whether or not one had been operated deliberately, or accidentally. It meant Dash could put his feet up, and they could lean on the consoles, without inadvertently triggering something that might blow up a planet.
“The construction of the Shroud is nearly complete. It will use about half as much Dark Metal as the inferior version retrieved from the Golden and operate more efficiently. Once it has finally been completed, testing will begin,” Custodian said.
Dash looked around. Everyone was assembled here, even Freya, who Dash had decided needed to be included in their planning meetings. Her work was proving to have a huge impact on morale, and Dash was now realizing just how important a factor the morale of their people was in prosecuting this war.
“So we’re going to have the Greenbelt and the Shroud on permanent station near the Forge?” Wei-Ping asked. “Doesn’t that kind of leave them hanging out there, vulnerable?”
“It’s a good point,” Viktor said. “It would seem to leave them vulnerable. We can’t do much about the Greenbelt, but can’t the Shroud be built inside the Forge?”
“The operation of the Shroud during the fabrication of power cores results in strong emissions of radiation, particularly neutrons. While this can be contained, it means a portion of the Forge will have to be permanently closed as the structure around the Shroud will become heavily contaminated by secondary radiation.”
Viktor nodded. “Okay, well, that’s a pretty good reason to not build it aboard the Forge, then. But still, isn’t it a critical point of vulnerability for us?”
“Yeah, the Golden tried hiding it, and we snatched it from them,” Amy said. “Hate to have them turn around and do the same thing to ours.”
“That is unlikely,” Custodian said. “Even in its current, partially powered-up state, the Forge is more than capable of protecting nearby assets such as the Shroud. Any attack sufficiently strong to overcome that would likely destroy the Forge anyway.”
Dash put his feet on the floor. “Okay, so the Shroud sits outside the Forge and makes power cores for us. That’s what we should assume we’re working with. So the question is, how fast can it make power cores? The technical specs are a—well, a little beyond me.”
“I’m an engineer,” Viktor said. “And they’re beyond me, too.”
“It depends on the types of cores being produced. Standard, Level One cores can be manufactured relatively quickly. More powerful Level Two cores require a greater investment of time and resources. Q-cores take even longer, and require significant amounts of Dark Metal.”
Dash glanced around, making sure he wasn’t the only one who had no idea what a Q-core was. The blank expressions he saw on everyone else’s face reassured him he wasn’t.
“What’s a Q-core?” Amy asked.
“It is a tandem core, with either two or four Level One or Two power cores arranged in a parallel configuration. By taking advantage of certain harmonics, the Creators were able to develop a single power-core unit whose net energy production exceeds that of four individual cores by a significant margin.”
“Well, those sound handy,” Amy said.
“Is that what we found on Burrow?” Conover asked. “That one core with the brackets that seemed like it was set up for a second core to be added?”
“Yes, it was an incomplete Q-core,” Custodian replied.
“So why would we not just make nothing but these Q-cores?” Ragsdale asked. “Assuming they can be substituted for normal ones, that is.”
“Each Q-core requires eight hundred kilograms of Dark Metal and will require approximately one week to fabricate,” Custodian said. “Those numbers are approximate, admittedly, until the Shroud is finally operational and its actual efficiency can be determined. But they are reasonably close.”
Dash whistled. “Eight hundred kilos of Dark Metal? That’s a lot.”
“It means that maybe we should start taking a closer look at that old Dark Metal smelter, or whatever it is, that the Aquarians found inside that comet they turned into a mountain on their Ring,” Wei-Ping said. “If we could get something like that running, then hell, we should be able to pump out all the Dark Metal we need.”
“That facility is badly degraded by the passage of time, since it wasn’t protected or kept in stasis,” Custodian replied. “It will take considerable time and effort to reverse engineer anything comparable.”
“Still, it’s worth a try,” Viktor said. “Making our own Dark Metal would be a huge boost to our production.”
“It would also mean we wouldn’t have to spend half the flight time of our ships trying to find and scavenge the damned stuff,” Benzel said.
Dash stood. “Let’s put that on the to-do list. Viktor, Conover, I’ll leave it to you guys to work with Custodian and the Aquarians to figure out how feasible trying to back engineer it and make our own would be.”
“So what advantage would having one of these Q-cores offer besides more power?” Freya asked. Dash glanced at her in surprise; she didn’t normally take part in these technical discussions. But she was a skilled botanist with a background in science, and she was highly intelligent.
“Each Q-core would increase the Forge’s power levels by approximately six percent,” Custodian said. “That includes general power levels, as well as power available for the output of products from the fabrication facilities.”
Benzel frowned. “Six percent doesn’t sound like a lot for eight hundred kilos of Dark Metal and a week to make, plus whatever else that’s needed to make it.” He looked at Dash. “Do you really think it’s worth it?”
“Custodian,” Dash said,. “Can you give us some cont
ext to that six percent? Is that a lot?”
“Each increase of one percent in the Forge’s capacity offers the opportunity to make a weapon whose raw yield would be sufficient to destroy a capital ship, up to and including battleship and carrier classes.”
That made Dash whistle again.
Benzel gave an impressed nod and said, “Okay, then—definitely worth it.” He bowed his head but smiled. “I stand corrected.”
“Well, let’s get the Shroud up and running, and then we can decide our priorities for cores. It sounds, though, that we’re going to want some Q-cores for sure,” Dash said, then looked around. “And, while we’re talking new weapons, I have an idea I want to float. It comes from when Amy and I managed to get the jump on that Verity fleet the way we did by coming at them out of the Darkness Between.”
“I thought you said fiddling with time is a bad idea,” Leira said.
Dash shook his head. “No, not that. I mean when we literally took them completely by surprise, translating back into real space close to them and attacking before they even knew what was happening. Speed and surprise can be way more effective than raw power, if used effectively. So what if we could do the same thing with missiles? Pop them into the Darkness Between, or even unSpace, then have them pop out again right close to their target?”
“We already do it with the nova cannon on the Swift,” Leira said. “It shoots partly through the Darkness Between, so its shots have almost no time-of-flight and can bypass things like shields.”
“Yeah, the big blast cannon on the Archetype is the same, but their power requirements are crazy. Hell, just firing the blast cannon risks knocking the Archetype offline, which is why I’ve only used it once so far. We definitely won’t be able to mount a nova cannon, much less a blast cannon, on every ship. But if we had missiles that translated themselves when they fired, well, any ship should be able to carry a battery of those, even our mine layers.”
“We’d need to miniaturize translation drives,” Viktor said, rubbing his chin and getting the look that was a combination of thoughtful and intrigued which meant he was about to sink his teeth into a problem. “And keep them properly guided while they translate.”
“I’m going to leave that with you,” Dash said, smiling. “Work with the AIs, and also Conover and Amy. They’re going to start practicing simulations of the mechs, soon, I gather, with their new AIs, so they’ll be around the Forge a lot more.”
“I can’t wait to meet mine,” Amy said. “I hope he’s nice.”
“I don’t think nice is one of the criteria,” Leira said flatly. “Right, Tybalt?”
“I have been nothing but pleasant,” Tybalt replied. “I take great pride and satisfaction in my charismatic approach to our dealings.”
Leira just grinned and rolled her eyes.
Dash made his way across the main fitting bay on the same level as the fabrication plant. The massive bay, even bigger than the ones they used as hangars for the Archetype and the Swift, was where final component assembly was done—or where major components required for something too big for the bay were taken out of the Forge for assembly outside. Right now, it housed the damaged Slipwing, which was still being repaired from the battle in the globular cluster, and the Horse Nebula, also having her recent battle damage repaired. Mechanical arms swung around the two ships, while maintenance remotes drifted about, welding units flashing.
If this had been a conventional human facility, Dash thought, he’d have to be careful to watch where he walked, to avoid getting clocked by a swinging arm. But everything here just accommodated his presence, moving around him in an intricately choreographed mechanical dance. It struck him how casual he’d become about all this super-advanced tech; it hadn’t even occurred to him to watch where he was going, since he just assumed nothing would accidentally slam into him.
He stopped and took a moment to just look at his ship. She seemed so different. She’d changed, like he had. She had upgraded power plant and engines, improved weapons, better armor, new point-defense and sensors, expanded computer capacity. The list went on. In a way, she was the same hull as the old Slipwing, but in most other ways, she was a different, completely new ship.
“We’ve come a long way together, eh old girl?” He touched a hand to the smooth ceramalloy of her armored underside and offered a fond smile. “Don’t think either of us saw this coming, did we?”
Commotion rose behind him. A small hauler drifted into the bay, lugging a cargo pod. It landed in a designated spot and two of the Gentle Friends dismounted, giving him a wave. Curious, Dash wandered over to where they were disconnecting the pod.
“Hey, Dash,” a woman with a brush cut, said.
Dash nodded. “You guys been out scavenging?”
Her companion, a tall, thin man with a scraggly beard, nodded. “Bits and pieces get away from the ships when they’re being scrapped, or even just repaired. Wei-Ping sends us out every day to round them up and bring them back as more scrap.”
“Also don’t want too much debris around the Forge,” the woman added.
Dash nodded and watched as the sailors lowered a ramp from the side of the hauler, then shunted the cargo-pod off the hauler’s rack and onto a magnetic trackway running through the bay. Unseen magnetic forces lifted the pod a few centimeters, then it began to slide silently away, following the trackway out of the bay to the lifts that would carry it to the smelters in the fabrication plant.
Watching it sparked an idea.
Dash gave the two Gentle Friends another wave then wandered toward the big portal opening on the starfield beyond. He could see the Herald off to his left and, a few klicks beyond her, the Greenbelt. The almost-completed Shroud hung a couple of klicks away, to his right.
The idea crystallized a little more. He’d wanted to talk about ideas for new weapons, get people thinking about them; here was one of his own.
“Custodian, what if we copied that oblong design of the Shroud and used it as a missile platform? In other words, construct it like a long magazine with missile launchers at either end? Use magnetic force trackways and the like to move the missiles to the launchers?”
“That would save considerable resources over our current approach to the construction of missile drones. Do you envision this design as being fully robotic?” Custodian asked.
“Um, maybe. Work it up both ways.” His mind started to run with the idea as it crystallized more and more. “We could mount one high-volume missile battery on each ship, firing those transluminal missiles we were talking about back in the Command Center, and then link a couple of these platforms to that ship. It would be like a set of triplets working in sync,” Dash said, but then snagged on a thought that had actually been bothering him for some time. “Can you make it smarter than a simple drone, though? Those ones are fine at carrying out routine, repetitive tasks, but I’d love to see something that can actually think ahead, plan, and work cooperatively with other ships and platforms.”
“That is certainly possible, although the creation of a truly autonomous artificial intelligence would require more Dark Metal than we currently have at our disposal,” Custodian replied.
“Huh. Interesting. So it’s a part of your matrices, eh? Okay, how about smarter than an average missile avionics package? Can you create something in that range? Smart, but not too smart?”
“It should be possible to create an intermediate level of intelligence that better utilizes our available resources, yes. Shall I begin doing so?” Custodian asked.
“Yes, but don’t install them in anything yet. Make…oh, let’s say a dozen, with some variation in personality, so to speak, and then keep them powered up and ready in some sort of plug-in module, something that’s universal for every ship we build from here on out,” Dash said.
“I will begin the construction immediately. Do you have a project designation for this effort?”
Dash smiled. “Yeah, I do. Call them Red Barons.”
“That is most appropriate
,” Custodian said, sounding genuinely appreciative. “If I may, I would suggest that there could be another way of employing these new missile platforms—one that would help to optimize the survival rate of our naval personnel in another way. In extreme contingencies, such as when a ship is under severe duress, the platforms could be employed as single-use kinetic-energy weapons after expending their armament.”
Dash thought about that. He and Amy had been able to do damage all out of proportion to what they’d actually brought to the battle, when they bounced the Verity and Clan Shirna in the globular cluster. He imagined what they could have done had the Archetype and Slipwing each had a pair of intelligent missile platforms accompanying them, loaded with transluminal missiles—and how much more they could have done if those platforms had then become massive missiles themselves. He nodded. “Yeah, I like that even better. Can we give them warheads of their own of some sort? Nuclear weapons, maybe? So that they hit even harder?”
“Certainly. Between velocity and a narrow scanner profile, I can shape the platform so that it becomes itself a ship killer once all of its missiles have been expended. However, we should assume that all of the material, including the Dark Metal used in the construction of the platform, will be lost and unrecoverable. A platform would, therefore, only be allowed to transition into ship-killer mode by direct command of the controlling ship, either as emergency measure, or to exploit a suitable opportunity,” Custodian said.
“Can you get them to a decent speed?”
“I can, by bleeding off some of the nuclear yield. Is that acceptable?” Custodian asked.
“It is. Make them go boom.”
“Boom it shall be.”
16
Dash had meant to go spend some time in the park actually taking some quiet time to himself, but it was not to be. No sooner had his feet touched the grass than Custodian announced, “Enemy inbound.”
Now, Dash raced for the docking bay and the waiting Archetype. The big mech had been fully repaired, and Sentinel had already powered it up when he arrived.