Armageddon

by Craig Alanson

  “Because,” Smythe ignored the skeptical looks he was getting. “One thing we know about the Maxolhx coalition, is that the various species devote more energy to stabbing each other in the back, than they do fighting clients of the Rindhalu. And,” he paused for effect. “some of their greatest rivalries are within their own species. To sell this, as you say, bullshit story,” he smiled, knowing the rest of us found his pronunciation of that curse word amusing. “The information must come from a source who plausibly could have detailed access to the project. It occurs to me that, if the Thuranin had such data, they would keep it to themselves so they could develop their own spacetime distortion weapons. For the Thuranin certainly could use access to such information to gain an advantage on their rivals the Bosphuraq. But, by telling the Maxolhx, they would be revealing that the Thuranin potentially also possess dangerous knowledge.”

  “Shit,” Reed groaned. “Smythe is right, Colonel.”

  “You’re both right, Reed. If the Bosphuraq tattle on themselves, that is really sibling rivalry. The Thuranin are more like cousins. Ok, Smythe, I like that even better. Not only will the Maxolhx come down hard on the birdbrains, but the idea that one Bosphuraq group ratted out another will tear them apart internally. That is pretty freakin’ brilliant.”

  “Yes, but is it realistic?” Desai inquired. “Would one group of Bosphuraq risk bringing hellfire down on their entire society, just to serve an internal rivalry?”

  Skippy answered that one for me. “Oh, believe it, sister. They would totally do that in a heartbeat.”

  Desai shook her head sadly. “It is sad to think any people would hate their own kin enough to betray their whole civilization.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” I was surprised by my own words. “Sure, we can use the internal rivalry angle against them, but the motivation for telling the Maxolhx does not have to be only based on hatred of rivals. Imagine this,” I snapped my fingers while I thought, a bad habit that I had unconsciously picked up from Brock Steele. “One group of Bosphuraq insists on pursuing research into dangerous technologies, that can only lead to a confrontation with the Maxolhx. There is a secret debate within a certain level of Bosphuraq society, and the research group is authorized to proceed under strict conditions. The researchers ignore the restrictions, conduct dangerous experiments, and when they think their activities are about to be revealed, they use the weapon to attack a pair of Maxolhx ships, and destroy their own research facilities. Another group fears the rogue researchers will bring the wrath of the Maxolhx down on all Bosphuraq society, so they try to preempt that event by pointing the finger at the rogue group. Skippy, is there a particular science organization of the Bosphuraq that would be involved, if they really were trying to develop spacetime distortion weapons?”

  “Oh, sure, Joe.” He bounced on his toes with enthusiasm, making his oversized hat flop around. “It’s the same sack of assholes who were building atomic-compression warheads. So, bonus, it already looks like those shitheads did blow up their own research facility. That name of that group translates as the Practical Applications of Science Administration.”

  “PASA?” I said it like ‘NASA’.

  “Hey, it’s their name, Joe, I didn’t make it up. Plus, in case you need another reason to hate the assholes in PASA, I strongly suspect they originally created the bioweapon that the Kristang planned to use for wiping out the population on Paradise.”

  “Oh,” Desai sucked in a breath. “Then fuck them. Colonel,” she looked at me with fire in her eyes. “If our story causes the Maxolhx to hunt down and kill every last one of these PASA scientists, I will not lose any sleep over it.”

  “Me neither,” Skippy added cheerily, although he of course did not need sleep. “So, are we agreed? We only need to fill in the details of the information package, and how exactly we deliver it to the Maxolhx?”

  “I think so,” agreed. “Any objections or suggestions?”

  Adams had another suggestion. “If we point the finger at a real group of Bosphuraq, they will certainly know they didn’t do it. Could the package be delivered anonymously?””

  “Good point, Gunny,” I mused. “Making it anonymous means the birdbrains will tear themselves apart trying to blame each other, Damn,” I broke into a grin and clapped my hands to celebrate our triumph. “This gets better and better.”

  We spent another two hours refining plans, setting another meeting for the next day to review the final info package, which Skippy was creating. At my insistence, he grudgingly assented to Nagatha reviewing the package before presenting it to us humans. It would contain technical details no filthy monkey could understand anyway. After the meeting broke up, Adams helped me carry the trays of dirty cups and dishes back to the galley. “What’s wrong, Gunny?” I asked while we walked down the passageway. “You don’t look like your usually bubbly, happy self.”

  “I am never ‘bubbly’, Sir,” she glared at me.

  “Ok, my bad. But you look like you just learned that your puppy prefers to sit on someone else’s lap.”

  She set her tray down and I jostled mine against the countertop, dropping several spoons onto to the deck. Adams and I both bent down to pick up the utensils, almost bumping our heads. We were crouched down, faces inches apart, and my hand closed over hers as we reached for the spoons. We looked at each other. Wow, she has long, beautiful eyelashes.

  Yes, that is an odd thing to think about right then.

  “Um,” I kept my hand on hers for a moment too long, just long enough for it to be awkward.

  “I’ve got it, Sir,” she looked away.

  I pulled my hand away, dropping a spoon I already picked up. Then I stood up, leaning back to avoid brushing against her. I would not have minded touching her, I wanted her to know I wasn’t going to do it unless she wanted me to.

  “A puppy?” She asked, still not looking directly at me as she put the spoons in the proper bin.

  “I meant, you look disappointed about something.” Right then, I wanted to be anywhere else but I couldn’t just walk away.

  “Oh,” she glanced at me then concentrated on stacking dishes. “When I heard this Colonel Perkins had screwed up everything you accomplished on your last mission, Sir, I thought that was it. Game over. I read the after-action report on your Renegade mission-”

  “The real report, or the bullshit sanitized version that UNEF used for the briefing packet?”

  “The real one. Skippy gave it to me, before I came up to the Dutchman to serve as XO while the ship was in a thousand pieces. Anyway,” she took a breath while we stacked the trays and dirty dishes in a bin. It looked to me like she was making up her mind about something. “Sir, we, especially Skippy, give you a lot of shit. Most of it you deserve,” she shot me the side-eye to gauge my reaction. “But, Skippy told me your plan to stop the Maxolhx was the most creative, inventive, clever and brilliant plan he ever had the pleasure of witnessing.”

  “Gee, thanks, I-”

  “I agree with him, Colonel. Your Renegade mission was the definition of impossible, but you did it anyway.”

  “Thank you, Gunny. I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”

  “It’s not what you think. I missed that mission, missed the action, and I missed your usual thinking process of agonizing over how impossible the task is, until you sink into despair and self-loathing.”

  “You sure missed a lot of that,” I admitted. “Right up to the end, we were making plans to plant a cover story, without know how, or if, we could destroy those ships.”

  “You did it anyway. So, this time, when we have to stop an entire battlegroup, I thought we were fucked for sure. Even if we are able to destroy that many ships, no way could we explain their disappearance was not related to their mission to Earth. The Maxolhx would never buy that story a second time. But, now you have a plan, a plan that is maybe as ingenious as your last mission, and we hopefully won’t need to fight that battlegroup at all.”

  “Uh huh,” I s
aid with suspicion as I poured a mug of coffee for her. “Somehow I sense you are not entirely happy about this.”

  “Well, Sir,” she looked at the deck, embarrassed. “We only just learned about what Perkins did, and about the battlegroup. Now we already have a plan, a damned good plan.”

  “And that is a bad thing, Adams?”

  “No, it’s good. It’s great. It’s just, Sir,” she winked at me. “I kind of miss the part where you mope around hating yourself for weeks.”

  “Oh,” I exploded with a laugh of relief. “How about if I hate myself for some other reason?”

  “I’d appreciate it, Sir,” she laughed, and we clinked coffee mugs to toast the idea.

  After what I considered a triumphant meeting, I was feeling really, really, super good about our plan and, I have to admit, about myself. We had a very good chance to avoid Armageddon, by blaming our previous brilliant operation on another species. Maybe Skippy is right, I should consider applying for a job as a criminal mastermind. I wonder if that field has a good health plan?

  Anyway, I was soaring high on optimism, until Skippy decided to be the wind beneath my wings. Except he was above my wings, and it was a lead weight rather than wind. “Hey, Joe, I hate to harsh your buzz, but-”

  “Oh, bullshit!” I exploded, and slapped the desktop hard enough to make my hand sting. “You love to ruin my day when I’m feeling good.”

  “Well,” he chuckled, “that is kind of my thing, you know. Anywho, to sell the bullshit story of the Bosphuraq conducting dangerous and banned research, and that they destroyed those two Maxolhx ships, there are a couple things we need to do first.”

  “Of course there is,” I slumped in my chair. The reflection of my face in my dark laptop screen showed I was pouting. I didn’t care, I freakin’ deserved to pout. “What impossible task do we need to accomplish this time? Steal another batch of pixies?”

  “No, nothing as difficult as that.”

  “Really?”

  “For realz, dude. These tasks will be comparatively easy, though still significantly risky in this piece of crap ship we’re flying. First, we are selling the story that the Bosphuraq were conducting spacetime distortion research, in the star system where they were trying to develop atomic-compression warheads.”

  “Sure, but the research facility on that planet blew sky-high. There’s nothing left of it. Part of it rained down on that moon orbiting that planet, Skippy.”

  “Yes, and the violence of the explosion does help sell the story. However, the Maxolhx will look for subtle evidence of distortions in the quantum grid underlying spacetime in that area. If they don’t find any, they will know the Bosphuraq have not really attained the level of technology we need to sell our story. They won’t find any, unless we go back there, and I create some ripples in the convection zone of the star there.”

  “You can do that? Won’t the Bosphuraq see the star acting strangely and look for what is causing-”

  “Yes to the first question, duh. Of course I can do that, I am Skippy the Magnificent. No to your second question. The effect I plan to create will be subtle, Joe. The Bosphuraq will not understand what is happening, they might not even detect the effect, until it bubbles up into the photosphere. But it will be convincing evidence to the Maxolhx.”

  “Ok, you sold me. We need to sneak back into that system, so you can screw with the star. How close do you need to be?”

  “That is a problem. Close, like really close. Close enough that the Dutchman will be visible despite our stealth field. Also close enough that, if anything goes wrong aboard this used bucket of bolts, the ship will burn to a crisp. The worst part is, to ensure the effect I create is truly subtle enough to convince the Maxolhx, I need to be close to the star for an extensive time. We can’t just jump in, swing past the corona and jump away.”

  “Ok, fine, so it is freakin’ impossible. I’ll think about it. What is the other thing we need to do, to frame the Bosphuraq?”

  “We need to go back to the battle site, clean it up, and plant evidence.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Pieces of the Flying Dutchman were torn off during the battle, and are still floating out there. Those parts are not only distinctly Thuranin in origin, there is at least a small possibility might be identified as belonging to the mystery ship that the Maxolhx suspect has been screwing with wormholes. We need to track down that debris cloud, and vaporize it beyond recognition.”

  “All of the pieces?”

  “Yup.”

  “And we can do this, in reality and not in some fairy tale? The ship got thrown around by a spacetime ripple, and I remember you giving me a battle damage assessment that was, like, a hundred freakin’ items long. How are we supposed to find all that shit?”

  “If by ‘we’ you mean the barrel of monkeys on this ship, then it is impossible. Fortunately, I kept track of the precise vector of each part that broke off, from thin layers of armor plating around the main reactor, to big components like sensor antennas. I know the exact direction and speed of each item that broke away. Factoring in the quantum effect of the spacetime distortion caused by the overlapping wormholes we used, I can predict the location of each item within, oh, three thousandths of a meter.”

  “Holy shit.” Sometimes I forgot just how awesome Skippy truly was. “How many pieces do we need to vaporize?”

  “One thousand, nine hundred and eighty seven.”

  “Almost two thousand? That we have to chase down and hit with a maser cannon? That will take until the end of time!”

  “If you were doing it, yes. Fortunately, I have a plan. Anywho, that is the easy part. In addition to removing debris from the Dutchman, we need to scatter all over the battle area actual pieces of Bosphuraq ships, so the Maxolhx find the evidence they expect when they search the area.”

  “Oh crap. I suppose we have to take our beat-up space truck into combat against a Bosphuraq warship, to get this evidence?”

  “No, Joe,” he chuckled. “That part is pretty easy, I think. There is plenty of Bosphuraq warship debris in the Nubrentia star system, just waiting for us to scoop up.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because those ships were destroyed by an old friend of ours.”

  “Perkins?”

  “No, not Emily Perkins. I am talking about Admiral Tashallo of the Jeraptha’s Mighty 98th Fleet.”

  “Tashallo? Isn’t he the same beetle who-” I sat back in my chair. “Ok, you need to give me some background on this.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  First, we had to travel to the Nubrentia star system, where the Jeraptha Mighty 98th Fleet had their epic battle against a combined Thuranin-Bosphuraq force. An epic battle in which the beetles kicked ass. We jumped in two lighthours away from the gas giant planet that had been the center of the action. The more Skippy told me about that Admiral Tashallo guy, the more I wanted to meet him. Of course, I could not meet him without blowing the secret that monkeys were joy-riding around the galaxy in a stolen starship, causing havoc. But, if our secret was exposed and Earth needed to fight, Tashallo would be a good guy, or beetle, to have on our side.

  Except the Jeraptha would probably join every other species in racing to capture Skippy so they could control Elder wormholes, and any chance of Tashallo and I sitting down to drink a few beers like best buds was a fantasy.

  Anyway, we reconnoitered the area until Skippy was satisfied the Dutchman would not be trapped in a damping field, then we jumped to a zone where Skippy predicted we would find debris from a Bosphuraq battleship. After the famous victory of the Mighty 98th, the Thuranin and Bosphuraq had abandoned the star system, and apparently the Jeraptha had not yet reestablished a fuel processing facility there, because all we found were two Jeraptha frigates. Skippy warned there might be a whole battlegroup hidden in stealth, but he didn’t think so, and anyway no one knew who we were, why we were there or what we wanted. Our jump signature had been modified to look like a Thuranin lig
ht cruiser, the sort of ship the little green MFers would send in for a recon mission.

  Collecting broken parts of a Bopshuraq battleship was easier than I expected. We used three of our new Kristang Dragon-model dropships, ones we had taken from the Ice-Cold Dagger to the Heart, flying in formation with a big net strung behind them. Because I wanted the option to jump away immediately if we got into trouble, Skippy flew the Dragons by remote-control. The whole operation took less than forty minutes from launch to recovery of the Dragons, and we made a long jump out beyond the far edge of the star system. I wish all our operations were that smooth and easy.

  The debris had to sit in a pressurized docking bay for a full day before Skippy could work with any of the pieces he selected. After drifting in deep space, the debris was super cold, it made the humidity in the docking bay air condense and left puddles on the floor. Most of the chunks of debris were taken away by Skippy, to process with radiation and whatever. He had to erase the unique signature of the particular battleship the debris came from, and leave a signature similar to but different from any Bosphuraq warship ever built. Having the debris apparently come from a totally unknown ship, would help sell the idea that the attack on the two Maxolhx ships was conducted by a top-secret ship of frighteningly advanced capability.

  Skippy’s magic also left micro-pitting on the surfaces of the debris, to match conditions of the InterStellar Medium at the battle site, and he left tiny hints of quantum warping, to make it look like the debris had been close to a substantial and violent spacetime distortion. When he was done, he was absolutely certain the Maxolhx would be convinced the debris came from a Bosphuraq ship that had attacked the ships we, in fact, blew up.

  Just in case, I had Nagatha perform her own analysis. She agreed with Skippy.

  The next step was to jump back to the battle site, where we had the tedious task of vaporizing almost two thousand pieces of spinning debris that the Dutchman had left behind. It was like an episode of a police show, where the killer leaves behind one tiny fragment of hair stuck under a rug and the CSI team finds it. Except in this case, we were the killers, and we were scrubbing the scene clean of evidence. Here again, Skippy demonstrated he had a black belt in awesomeness, because we did not need to laboriously chase down all the pieces of evidence we left behind. Because Skippy’s bodacious math skills allowed him to predict exactly where every single tiny piece of debris was, all we had to do was spin the ship completely around nose over tail while the maser cannon fired pulses programmed by Skippy. After clearing three sixty degrees around one axis, we turned the ship slowly around sideways, until the maser cannon had swept the entire, expanding bubble of debris. The maser had been tuned to produce a beam larger in diameter than normal so it could cover a larger area with each pulse. After less than two hours, we were done. Skippy remotely flew dropships out to confirm the evidence had been effectively erased, then the Bosphuraq debris was ejected at the proper speed and direction.