Exodus: Machine War: Book 4: Retribution

by Doug Dandridge

“You are dismissed,” he told the admiral. “I want to see your initial study by the end of the week.”

  The male bowed low and backed out of the room, by protocol not showing his back to his ruler. Gonoras sat down behind his desk, pulling up the information he wanted to look at now. First the strategic resource production facilities. What they needed the most were supermetals, so they could eventually convert all of their ships to hyper VII, as well as build the mass of missiles they would need to become a truly galactic power. Next was antimatter to power those ships to higher dimensions, and supply the warheads the missiles would need. He would liked to have some of the human wormholes as well, but his people weren’t sure how to generate the energy needed to create them. He also wasn’t sure they knew enough of the theory to build them even if they had the energy, but his people might have been too afraid to tell him that they didn’t. Any wormholes they had which the humans had lent them were sure to be turned off as soon as he struck. He would just have to do without for the foreseeable future.

  Maybe we can launch some kind of weapon through the wormhole to their space, was his next thought. If they could, might they be able to take out their generating facility, and take the use of the wormholes away from them as well?

  The supreme dictator leaned back in his chair and laughed. Soon the universe would be his. Like most dictators throughout history, he had an arrogant assessment of his own capabilities, far from the mark of reality. That would lead him to make mistakes, which would come back to destroy him and severely damage his people.

  * * *

  The Machine force, one hundred and sixty-three vessels, came out of hyper, two light minutes back from the barrier. That translated into thirty-six million kilometers. They were learning.

  “I guess you’re glad you didn’t try to ambush them, Admiral,” said General Travis Wittmore over the com. Black Prince and the rest of her force sat dead in space about twenty light minutes from the planet, three hundred and sixty million kilometers.

  “Yes, sir,” said the woman, her attention locked on the plot, only glancing over every once in a while to look at the general. “After what they did to Count Lysenko, I thought they might also change their strategy on approach to the system. Too bad. It was also nice to depend on them jumping into our ambushes.”

  Every time in the past the Machines had jumped back into normal space less than a second’s travel time to the barrier. Every time, as if they wanted to show the slower organics how precise Machines could be. Not this time. They had not fallen for the normal human ruse of putting ships just outside the barrier to hit them up the ass as soon as they translated out of hyper.

  “I have informed Admiral Bednarczyk of their unexpected actions,” continued the two star flag officer. “This is going to make things so much more difficult.”

  Wittmore nodded. It was always easier to deal with a predictable enemy. One that kept pulling surprises was a whole other can of worms.

  “When are you going to open fire, Admiral?” asked the ground pounder. He was in charge of the system, but the force was hers, and it was up to her how to use it. But if it had been him he would have been putting missiles through his single wormhole as soon as they entered normal space, expecting to hit them in the couple of hours flight time of the fast coasting missiles.

  “We’re launching our third volley as we speak, General,” said the Fleet officer, a smile creeping across her face. “I have forty tubes on the other end ready to fire, and I’m going to use them all. And all we can put through the gate, as well.”

  Wittmore felt himself smiling too. He thought well of any officer who used all the firepower they had as soon as they had a target. One of the first things Halliday had done when she entered the system had been to request the retasking of a number of the preacceleration tubes. Normally they were clustered in groups of twenty, meaning that any one ship could only get ten minutes of fire from them before having to wait another forty minutes for more missiles to be ready. With no major fleet actions going on in home space, there were a lot more tubes available, and moving more of the launchers together had doubled her rate of fire per hour.

  She had also taken charge of all four hundred inertialess fighters and the seventy-one fast attack craft that had been in the system. And there were some other surprises coming through the wormhole gate. Seventeen ships, the remains of Lysenko’s command, would be coming into normal space in ten hours. They weren’t much by themselves, but they did have another wormhole, which would be connected to another set of launch tubes.

  “I need to get back to planning my battle, General,” she said, looking at him for a few moments before her eyes were back on the plot.

  “I understand. And Godspeed, Sonya.”

  The direct holo to her died, replaced immediately by a view of the system as seen by the tactical plot of the flagship. The Machines were boosting into the system at their maximum acceleration, over a thousand gravities. They weren’t firing missiles yet, since all of theirs would be trackable by graviton emission. And he could see things they couldn’t, yet.

  The admiral’s force was powered down at the moment, no shields, no propulsion, no beam weapons. Heat was being dispersed by microwaves in a direction away from the sensors of the Machines. They were still producing some heat that they couldn’t offload in that manner, but very little, and they wouldn’t be detected for quite some time. A line of dots out toward the edge of the system, moving at faster than light toward the enemy, were two of the wings of inertialess fighters. They weren’t really tracking them. The images were simulations of where they were thought to be, based on the inertial guidance system readings of their Klassekian com techs. They actually might be anywhere within a dozen light seconds of where they were on the plot.

  Another line reached for the machines from the opposite direction, while another smaller group floated in space thirty light seconds in from the Machines, the light attack craft. These were ten thousand ton ships, with high acceleration and maneuverability, carrying a quartet of two hundred ton capital ship missiles. They were fragile craft, like insects in a space battle, but they carried a heavy sting.

  The com announcement buzzed, and the general accepted as soon as he saw who was on the other end.

  “Mr. President.”

  “General. I heard that they have arrived.”

  “They have. And we are as ready for them as we ever will be.”

  “But is that ready enough?”

  “I can’t say. All I can say is we doing everything we can.”

  “Then all we can do is pray,” said the leader of the Klassek people, his holo zooming out to show the huge interior of one of the churches of his religion.

  It was circular, like all such temples of that faith, with a burning blue light of hydrogen hanging from up above the center. That was the light of the blue giant that had lit the night skies of the planet, before it had gone supernova and turned into the ultimate dark, a black hole. The general had thought that the faith would die out when their god of fire was no more, but the way they had been saved had actually strengthened the faith. No use telling the people that it had not been deities, but the machines of ancient beings. Those machines had come alive and translated the planet into another space that had protected them from the storm of radiation the exploding star had sent their way. Now the huge constructs that still rose out of the ground and outside of the atmosphere, which had once been mere curiosities for all but the most superstitious of cults, were revered objects, and great temples had been reared at their bases, all around the world.

  The cathedral was filled with Klassekians, tens of thousands of them, all standing with their tentacles lashing the air in ecstatic worship, asking for their gods to once again protect them. The general didn’t see where that would do them any good. If their gods had been real, why hadn’t they kept the Machines from invading the planet? But their praying couldn’t hurt, either.

  I wonder what those fanatics on the other side of the w
orld are praying for? he thought. Most likely they were calling upon their death gods to aid the Machines in destroying the world, since the supernova hadn’t done it like they had wished, and the several attacks by Machines hadn’t either.

  “Praying is all well and good, Mr. President. But I want your soldiers to be ready to put up a fight if it comes to that.”

  “What can my people do against those monstrous spaceships your enemy brings?”

  “They can man the orbital and ground defenses, and get ready to take out any missiles that make it through our space force. And I want everyone on alert for another eruption of the Machines on this planet. I have mine on alert right now.”

  “I thought we were through with those things.”

  “I think we are. But if they come bursting out from hiding, this will be the time, while they know they have ships in our space. And the invaders might pull something like they did last time, and get more of their factories onto the surface. Not saying that will happen, but my people didn’t get as far as they have without being prepared.”

  Of course we weren’t prepared for these bastards to revolt on us back all those centuries ago, thought the general as he switched back to the system plot, unable to tear himself away from the slowly developing drama.

  Two hours later the first wave of missiles appeared on the plot as they engaged their grabbers to acquire the targets. That was one thing the Machines hadn’t seemed to have learned. If they had started to randomly maneuver as soon as they were in system, the missile streams might have missed by light minutes, and been forced to engaged at a distance at which the enemy could have taken them under fire with counters for minutes before they reached. Now it was too late, and seven of their ships disappeared from the plot seven seconds after the missiles engaged, along with all the weapons.

  The Machines ships started to change their vectors, but the next three waves of missiles, coming in groups over a minute and a half, still engaged successfully. And twenty-two more Machines fell off the plot. After that the waves were forced to engage grabbers from further out in order to adjust their paths, and the Machines were able to take more out at long range. Over the next ten minutes they only lost five more vessels, and they started cycling their own missiles toward the inner system.

  Over twenty minutes later the first of the inertialess fighter wings came in, dropping their bubbles at ten light seconds distance, speeding in at point nine light, launching their missiles as soon as they had locks. The smaller weapons didn’t carry the kinetic punch of the capital ship weapons. Still, a direct hit would destroy a smaller vessel, and cause serious damage to one of the larger ones. The wing passed through the Machine fleet, losing sixteen of their own ships and taking almost as many of the larger enemy vessels with them.

  In the next ten minutes the other three wings hit. By the time they were through the Machine fleet had been more than halved, and four hundred and thirty brave sentients had given their lives for the victory. Twenty-one minutes later the Machine fleet ran into the buzz-saw of the fast attack craft, boosting at seven hundred gravities, aligning themselves with the enemy force, then releasing over two hundred and eighty capital ship missiles carrying their point seven light velocity. The fast attack craft continued in behind their missiles, forcing the Machines to expend weapons on trying to destroy them. The Machines got a baker’s dozen of the human craft, and thirteen of the ships were destroyed. But when they finished their attack only seventy-two Machine vessels continued into the system.

  “That takes them down to where I think we can handle them, General,” said Admiral Halliday as her face came back up on the holo. “We’re launching from all ships now, and will move out to attack right after.”

  “What about their missiles still coming in?”

  “That’s what the inertialess fighters will be doing from here on, sir. And you’ll need to get all of your defenses ready to take out whatever gets through.”

  And anything that got through would be at risk of hitting the planet, and traveling at their speed, that could spell disaster.

  * * *

  The wormhole gate aligned itself on its grabbers, its mirror face oriented toward the oncoming Machine fleet. The warships and fighters, the wormhole launched missiles and the ship fired weapons, had whittled them down. But not enough. And their return fire had hurt Halliday’s force, had taken out a third of her ships. The only thing that could be said in the positive for that was that those weapons would not be heading for the planet. But they needed more, and the time had come for the missiles that had been boosting in Donut space for the last hour to come out.

  It wasn’t an elegant solution, not like the accelerators that would feed missiles into the wormholes aboard ships. But it would get missiles into the current space and headed toward the enemy, cutting off their grabbers before traversing the wormhole and becoming undetectable most of the way. If they could take out a third of the enemy vessels it was a win, and that might give the human force the edge it needed.

  Three hundred missiles came flying through the mirrored surface already on a heading for the enemy. Five seconds later three hundred more came out, and on and on, until three thousand missiles were in space.

  “We’ve got missiles in the queue, ma’am.”

  “Then let them git after the bastards,” said Halliday in her New Texas drawl.

  “I’m estimating that they will be in beam weapon range in twenty-seven minutes, ma’am,” called out the navigator.

  “Shit.” Sonya didn’t want to get in a knife fight with the Machine ships. They still outnumbered her, and they had no fear. Even if she won that battle, she would suffer severe losses. She wasn’t afraid to die, but had no wish to do so in the near future, and was sure none of her people felt any different. “Start changing our vector,” she ordered the navigator, then looked at the com officer, making sure that one would start relaying the order to the other ships. “I want us to avoid them closing with us, but I want to maintain our position between them and the planet.”

  She looked back at the plot, watching as the course changes appeared. They would still get very close to the enemy, which was not what she wanted. She would continue to have the advantage at range, but by interposing her force between them and the planet she had restricted her actions. No help for it, she thought. Her job was to save the planet first, and worry about her ships later, if there was a later.

  * * *

  “We have twenty-three Machine vessels still on intercept,” called out the force tactical officer.

  Halliday hadn’t taken her eyes off the plot for the last fifteen minutes, watching as the Machine ships continued to close. A swarm of missiles had flown by on their way toward the planet, their primary target. She was sure that if they could get by her ships they would head for the planet. If they could destroy it, they would. If not, they would infiltrate more of their factories onto the world, and the fight would be on again to stop them from trying to kill all life on the surface.

  “We have another swarm coming in. Looks like they’re also targeted on the planet.”

  “Try to hit as many of them as we can on the way by,” ordered Halliday. “All beam weapons and counters.”

  The enemy fleet wasn’t firing missiles at her force, so there really wasn’t any other employment for their missile defenses.

  Counters went out to attack the missiles still on approach. All the beam weapons started engaging when they entered the one light minute envelop. There were many hits by the beams with little affect at first. As the swarm passed by missiles started to explode, overloaded by multiple strikes of lasers and particle beams. Soon they were out of range, several hundred still on their way toward the planet.”

  “They can’t have very many of them left,” said the admiral, thinking that she had to be correct. Really more like hoping. How many missiles can they carry? The answer to that was probably more than the humans could believe. Their ships didn’t need frivolous accouterments like crew quarters,
recreation and messing compartments, medical, or other. Their Marines could transfer from ship to ship without hangar based shuttles. They had no need of life support. All of that could go into weapons, and some of that largess could go into larger missile magazines.

  “We’re getting another launch from the enemy.”

  “Give them our missiles until the launch tubes melt,” cried out Halliday, standing up from her command chair. Of course they wouldn’t melt, but she had a reputation to uphold, that of someone well educated on ancient military quotations, delivered in the drawl of a New Texas commoner.

  The tactical officer didn’t even question her inaccuracy, used to it after serving on her flagship for over a year. The ship shook slightly as the missiles left the wormholes, speeding toward the enemy.

  “Inertialess fighters are hitting both missiles swarms,” called out the sensor officer.

  The plot was now showing the almost two hundred fighters in each group, the survivors of the strike on the enemy. Some had been able to rearm, most had not. Now they had dropped out of their bubbles just ahead of the missiles, those with their own projectiles putting them into space, and all waiting until the missiles came into beam range. The enemy weapons were in beam range for almost three minutes as they passed the fighters that were moving on a similar vector at high velocity. Their beams were not as powerful as those of the ships, and it took much more contact to destroy a missile. Still, they accounted for almost half of each remaining swarm as they passed.

  Now it was up to the planet and its defenses to take care of the rest. It was going to come down to the targeting skill of the planetary defense forces and a lot of luck, since only one missile getting through could be a disaster.

  We should have taken everyone and put them on habitats, thought the admiral, herself having no great attachment to the surfaces of living worlds, inhabiting ships and stations since her graduation from the academy. Five missiles coming in at relativistic speeds could kill all life on a planetary surface, where it would take thousands of missiles to kill the same number of people on a great number of habitats. But most living creatures, evolving on the surfaces of worlds, still saw the open spaces of atmosphere and water as the preferred habitat. But she preferred the habitat of space, with perfect temperature control and gravity to suit the comfort of the individual. Though she had to admit that when a hull ruptured the environment of space was not perfect.