Armageddon

by Craig Alanson

  “No.”

  “Then what is your idea?”

  I bonked my forehead on the bulkhead a couple times and mumbled “I don’t have one.”

  Skippy did not wake me up at zero dark thirty that morning, my own traitorous brain did that. I was having a dream where I was being grilled by the entire United Nations General Assembly, with me of course having forgotten to wear clothes so I was naked in addition to all my other screw-ups. They were asking me why I failed to stop the Maxolhx battlegroup, and I was trying to explain we couldn’t blame the loss of the first two ships on an accident or a design flaw, and that no species besides the Rindhalu were known to have technology that could threaten a pair of Maxolhx warships. The UN ambassadors or representatives or whatever they are called, kept hounding me on that last point, and I just wanted the floor to open and swallow me. The UN jerks kept asking me the same question over and over, playing tough for the TV audiences back home. They asked-

  I woke suddenly, automatically holding up a hand to protect my head from the overhead cabinet that wasn’t there, because I was aboard the Panther. The lights were dim, except for the bright glow coming from the pilot console in front of Reed. “Skippy, you awake?”

  “Of course,” his avatar appeared on a seat. “Why are you awake at this hour? You always bitch at me when I wake you up early.”

  “This is important. Yesterday, you said something like, other than the Rindhalu, there are no species in the galaxy that are known to have technology that could threaten the Maxolhx, right?”

  “Ugh,” he facepalmed himself. “Are you seriously suggesting there may be some super-powerful species out there that I don’t know about? That is the lamest thing you have ever-”

  “No, that’s not what,” I tried to stifle a jaw-stretching yawn, “I’m thinking. All species want to climb the technology ladder however they can, right? Clients like the Thuranin would love to have technology that could threaten the Maxolhx, and they would keep quiet while they developed that capability. Because they know the Maxolhx would give them the beat-down if they found out their obedient little clients were plotting to overthrow their masters.”

  “Well, yes, duh.” Maybe he was also sleepy at that hour, because he didn’t really put much effort into that ‘duh’. “What is your point?”

  “My point is that it doesn’t matter what you know or don’t know about the technology level of every species in the galaxy. You are pretty much freakin’ omniscient, you know everything.”

  “Well, thank you, but-”

  “What matters is what the Maxolhx know, or don’t know, about the advanced technology possessed by other species. Especially because any species that obtains such technology would logically try to keep it secret.”

  “I’m not following you, Joe.”

  I explained what I was thinking. He argued with me, tried to poke holes in my logic, and generally was a pain in my ass for the next hour. That was good, because he pointed out problems with my plan and worked with me to fix the issues. By the end of the hour, I was barely able to keep my eyes open, and we agreed we had a decent plan to present to the crew.

  “What are you going to do now, Joe?” He asked.

  “Now? I’m going to talk with Reed.”

  I went forward and strapped into the copilot seat. Reed looked at me questioningly, because I normally didn’t strap in unless the Panther was about to maneuver.

  “We going somewhere, Sir?” She asked, stifling a yawn.

  “Yes,” I announced, and her reaction made it clear she had not expected that answer. “Plot a course to take us away from Paradise, someplace where the Dutchman can safely jump in to pick us up. I want all dropships retrieved at the same time and place, so you will have to coordinate with the ships behind is. No one is to compromise stealth.”

  She activated the navigation system. Skippy could have done the math in a heartbeat, but I wanted Reed to have the practice. Plus, I trusted her judgment more than I trusted Skippy’s. “Can I ask why we are aborting this mission we spent so much time planning and preparing to execute?” There was a beat before she added “Sir?”

  “It’s because, Fireball,” I used the callsign she hated, “I dreamed up a plan to maybe, maybe, get us out of this mess.”

  “Yeah,” Skippy chuckled. “This time, Joe, you really did dream up a plan.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  By the time we all got back to the ship, it was the middle of the night and no one had gotten much sleep while we prepared for the rendezvous. I called the senior staff together for a meeting at Noon, so our minds would be fresh. The nine-hour delay gave me time to eat a quick breakfast, go to the gym, get caught up on status reports and generally reconsider the plan I had cooked up. By Noon, I had not found any major flaws in the idea, which was still pretty rough.

  By ‘senior staff’ I meant Desai, Smythe, Reed, Adams and this time, Frey. Katie Frey technically was not a senior officer and neither was Adams, but they both had served with me on previous missions, and I wanted their input. My thinking was, the more people there to poke holes in my idiotic idea, the better. We couldn’t afford to leave anything to chance. We all got drinks and sandwiches from the galley, and I took a minute to consider the people under my command. Two thoughts struck me. First, the six of us had been through a whole lot of shit together. Desai and Adams had broken out of a Kristang jail with me. Reed had joined us on our very long third mission. Even Frey, who became a Pirate during our Renegade mission, had extensive experience with the team, including her being the person who first advised a nuclear strike on Dayton Ohio. The five people seated at the table with me knew how I thought, and they knew all the crazy crap that could go wrong on even a simple mission.

  My second thought, as I looked from one curious face to another, was how diverse our group was. Four women and two men, which was very different from most human military teams. We had people from the USA, India, Britain and Canada. And the Merry Band of Pirates had been kicking ass across the galaxy for years now, without aliens having any clue we even existed. I hoped to keep it that way.

  “You all know our current situation,” I began. “The Maxolhx now know their two ships never made it to the last wormhole, and they are alarmed and pissed off. They are sending a full battlegroup to Earth, because they logically assume the destruction of those ships was related to their mission to our homeworld. We need to give them an alternate explanation to that assumption, so they think those ships were blown up for a reason that had nothing to do with Earth.”

  Smythe gave me another raised eyebrow, which I took to mean ‘how the hell do you plan to sell that dodgy line of bullshit’?

  “We need to provide an alternate explanation for why those two ships were destroyed, including who did it, and why. So,” I took a breath and avoided the skeptical eyes staring at me. “We are framing the Bosphuraq for the deed.” I expected people would ask questions about my latest out-of-the-box thinking.

  “Sir,” Desai said slowly, after looking around the table to see the reactions of other people. “Are the Bosphuraq capable of destroying two Maxolhx cruisers?”

  “Very good question, XO. The birdbrains are indeed not capable of doing the deed. Not with the technology they are known to have. That’s the point.”

  Frey, being the new kid, waited for others to speak, then she asked the obvious question. “Colonel, if they have technology that we don’t know about, then how-”

  “They actually do not have technology that can threaten their patrons, but the Maxolhx don’t know that.” I let that thought sink in, before I continued. “Originally, I worried that we would need an elaborate operation to plant evidence the Bosphuraq were the culprits, but fortunately, Skippy reminded me that wasn’t necessary. All the evidence we need is already out there, we only need to help the Maxolhx connect the dots. Remember that star system where we infiltrated a Bosphuraq moonbase? Uh-” With embarrassment, I remembered Adams and Desai had not been with us on the mission. They
both nodded, so I continued. “That was where they were trying to develop atomic-compression technology, to match their rivals the Thuranin. But, we also know that star system was previously used by the Maxolhx to replicate Elder technology for manipulating and disrupting stars. Our story will be that the real reason the Bosphuraq took over that star system was to continue the research of the Maxolhx, and that the atomic-compression project was just a cover for what the birdbrains were really doing there. There are several factors working in our favor, to help sell that story to the Maxolhx. Skippy intercepted communications of both the Thuranin and the Maxolhx, in which both species were basically disdainful of the Bosphuraq for making such slow progress on creating atomic-compression warheads. The Maxolhx speculated that the birdbrain’s research efforts were so incompetent, they suspected the effort was being sabotaged either internally, or by an outside force like the Thuranin. That slow progress helps us sell the story that the Bosphuraq were never serious about atomic-compression, because their real effort was focused on a more powerful technology. A technology that could threaten their patrons.”

  Desai asked the first question. “How would that secret research project explain why the Bosphuraq took the enormous risk of attacking ships of their patrons?”

  “Good question,” I took a sip of iced tea while I composed a reply. “Skippy and I worked out the details while I was aboard the Panther. We not only have an explanation for why the Bosphuraq destroyed those ships, we can explain how they managed to kill two warships with vastly superior technology.” On my tablet, I pulled up a star chart and projected it on a bulkhead. “The blue line is the actual course of the ships we destroyed. The mission commander was given wide authority to choose a course to the final wormhole, so even the Maxolhx do not know exactly where their ships were flying. The red line,” which was now projected when I tapped an icon on my tablet, “shows an alternate course those ships could have flown, from their base to where we intercepted them. If those ships had continued flying from the site of the battle we fought, those ships could easily have passed close to the star system where the Bosphuraq had the atomic-compression research facility. Our story will be that the Bosphuraq feared the whole flight to Earth was a smokescreen for the true purpose of those ships: to seize control of the moonbase and take all the research the Bosphuraq had developed. To prevent that, the Bosphuraq destroyed those two ships. They were capable of killing two senior-species ships because the birdbrains were successful in developing technology that can create rifts in spacetime. If, or when, the Maxolhx examine the data from our actual battle, they will clearly see the first ship was torn apart by a spacetime distortion, a technology that is beyond the capability of even the Maxolhx. As a bonus, our actions at the moonbase help sell the story. The story will be that the Bosphuraq blew up their own moonbase, the two orbiting battlestations and the research facility on the planet, to cover up any evidence they had developed technology that is banned by their patrons.”

  “Holy shit,” Desai gasped. I had rarely heard her curse, so it startled me. “That is a wild story, Sir.”

  “I admit it is kind of a-”

  She waved her hands. “You misunderstand me, Sir. It is wild in a brilliant way. The facts all fit the story, if we sell it the right way. Congratulations. I thought there was no possibility that we could prevent a Maxolhx battlegroup from reaching Earth. Your idea means they will not want to send ships to Earth.”

  “Um, I have a question, Sir?” Frey raised a hand, and I nodded for her to speak. “You said the Maxolhx will examine sensor data of the actual battle we fought, eh? Won’t they also see this ship? They know this ship is not a Bosphuraq vessel. From what I read about your Zero Hour mission, the Maxolhx know a ship of this basic configuration is the mystery vessel, that is suspected of manipulating Elder wormholes.”

  “Also a good question,” I acknowledged. “Skippy, can you handle this one? I had the same fear, but Skippy set me straight.”

  “No problemo, Joey,” his avatar shimmered to life on the table, between two trays of sandwiches. “Fear not, mon cheri,” he winked affectionately at our Canadian special operations soldier. Who Skippy had a crush on, whether he denied it or not.

  “I’m not French Canadian, eh?” She protested mildly. “I’m from Ontario, and I grew up near Erie, New York.”

  “My apologies,” Skippy bowed low. “Yes, photons from the battle have been expanding outward in a bubble at the speed of light. Especially high-energy photons from the explosions when the second ship intercepted our missiles and then when, you know, my astonishing awesomeness vibrated that second ship apart. Fortunately, the spacetime distortion created by overlapping wormholes is also expanding outward in a bubble. But,” he lifted a finger for emphasis, “the bubble of that spacetime ripple has been slowing since it was created. Photons from subsequent events, including our battle with the second ship and the gamma ray burst when the Dutchman jumped away, caught up to the spacetime ripple, which was so chaotic that those photons became a disorganized mess. Anyone attempting to make sense of the battle by observing the photons will get zero useful information.”

  “Um,” Frey raised her hand again. Which she did not need to do. Maybe Canadians can be too polite sometimes. “If the Maxolhx can’t get any useful sensor data from the battle, how are they supposed to reach the conclusion that the Bosphuraq were the culprits?”

  “An excellent question,” Skippy beamed at Frey. “When information is delivered to the Maxolhx, about the weapon the Bosphuraq supposedly developed, the information package will contain details that allow the Maxolhx to interpret the chaos of the spacetime ripple. They will interpret the data in the way we want them to.”

  “But,” Desai looked around to judge whether anyone else had identified a flaw in the plan. “Will not giving such information to the Maxolhx help them develop their own version of a spacetime distortion weapon, which could threaten us, and possibly upset the balance of power between them and the Rindhalu?”

  “No,” Skippy chuckled. “The opposite will occur. There is no such weapon for distorting spacetime. The details in the information packet will be total bullshit,” he snickered. “But of course the Maxolhx won’t know that. They will clearly see that a spacetime distortion tore apart one of their ships and damaged another. They just won’t know what actually happened; that we used overlapping wormholes. Trying to understand the bullshit data we feed them will throw Maxolhx research efforts down a dead-end for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. It will drive their scientists crazy and cause all kinds of disruption. Oh,” he laughed. “I am such an asshole sometimes.”

  Heads nodded around the table and people were quiet, as they absorbed the impact of how I planned to frame the Bosphuraq for something we did, give the Maxolhx a solid reason to not send ships to Earth, and give the Maxolhx just cause to pound their Bosphuraq clients back to the Stone Age. That last part was a bonus that would significantly weaken the Maxolhx coalition in the Orion Arm, reducing the overall threat to both Earth and the human population on Paradise. Yes, our actions would likely result in thousands of innocent Bosphuraq being punished for something they not only didn’t do, but they had no knowledge of. Yes, I did feel a little bit guilty about that. But, Skippy was right, sometimes it feels good to be an asshole. Besides, in the galactic ranking of asshole behavior, the Bosphuraq have a huge lead over humans on nefarious acts. So, fuck them.

  It was Adams, of course, who first saw the part of the plan that I had not mentioned, because it was kind of a glaring hole in my overall scheme. “Sir,” she did not raise a hand to get my attention. “You and Skippy talked about ‘delivering’ an information package to the Maxolhx, with all the details of this fairy tale you are spinning for the rotten kitties. You don’t mean we are delivering this package,” she cocked her head. “Right?”

  “Er,” I looked at Skippy and he put on his best innocent face, letting me answer the question. “No. We were, are, still working on that part. We not only nee
d to think of a way to deliver the info, we also need to decide who the package supposedly came from. It needs to be someone credible or the Maxolhx will ignore it.”

  “It also,” Smythe added. “Needs to come from someone who plausibly could know about this super-secret weapon development project. If the data is delivered by the Ruhar, that is just not believable.”

  “Yeah, exactly,” I admitted. “That’s why I said we’re still working on-”

  “That part is easy,” our new chief pilot Reed spoke for the first time. She looked at me. “Colonel, did you ever get in trouble with your parents, when you were little?”

  “Well, sure,” my face grew red as I recalled embarrassing incidents.

  “There are three ways you get in trouble,” she leaned forward, elbows on the table and ticked off the possibilities on her fingers. “One, your parents catch you doing it. Which,” she looked around with a grin, “only happens if you are a total moron. Two, you feel so guilty that you confess. Again, total moron.” That comment was greeted by grins around the table. “Or three, you get ratted out by one of your siblings. That last one is what usually happens.”

  “My sister,” I ground my teeth together. “Loved telling my parents when I did something wrong. Ok, so sibling rivalry. What is your idea, Reed?”

  “Simple. The info package will supposedly come from the Thuranin. They would be thrilled to rat out the Bosphuraq. Plus, it makes sense the Thuranin might have conducted a surveillance of the Bosphuraq effort to build atomic-compression warheads, and that explains how the Thuranin knew about the project to develop spacetime distortions as a weapon,” she leaned back, feeling well pleased with herself.

  “I like it,” I agreed. “Good thinking, Reed. Does anyone else have a comment?”

  “The information could come from the Bosphuraq,” Smythe suggested.

  “The Bosphuraq?” Desai asked with a look of confusion. “Why would they tell their patrons about crimes their own people committed?”