by Mel Keegan
Teniko made a sound of cynicism. “Do we care?”
“Some of us do,” Mark mused. “And rest assured, Tonio, if a legitimate attempt at negotiation only sends us back to transspace with our tails between our legs, to make repairs in the driftway, we can return as avenging angels and extinguish a whole race of sentient beings. But you’ll forgive us, my boy, if we at least attempt to talk. Ask the question.”
“There’s one more thing you’re missing, Tonio,” Jazinsky said slowly. “You want to go in there and destroy the homeworld? Fine. But we’d have to go hunting, after 161-D. We’d have to search not only this space, but every region at every gate on the gravity express, looking for Zunshu colonies, daughter worlds that’ve become as powerful as the homeworld. Or more powerful, the way the Deep Sky just rode right over the Terran Confederacy. Those Zunshu daughter colonies are very likely to send a fleet that comes blazing out of Hellgate, next month or next year, and fries us like a bunch of chickens, if we kill their mother world.”
“I was about to make that point.” Mark’s voice was bleak. “If you wanted a cast-iron case for at least attempting negotiation, Harrison, you have it here. If we do have to come back and fight, destroy – we will. But annihilation here forms the beginning of the orderly extinction of a species, not the end of it.”
“And may any god that actually exists have mercy on us,” Vidal whispered, “because we’d be guilty of the exact same crime as the Zunshu.”
“With one difference,” Marin added. “The Zunshu were unprovoked.”
“Were they?” Shapiro took a long breath which whispered over the comm pickup. “I’ve begun to wonder. It may be that something happened, something was done that couldn’t be forgiven or forgotten. And this is the question we must ask. Why? If we have to go on from here and lay waste to as many worlds as there are colonies in the Deep Sky – if this is the price of survival for humans and Resalq … yes, Doctor Teniko, I’m an old soldier. I know far too well how war works. We can do it, and I imagine we will, to save worlds like Velcastra, Borushek, Jagreth, and a hundred billion human and Resalq souls. But at least we’ll know why we’re damning our own souls to hell.”
It was Jazinsky who asked hoarsely, “And you’re expecting an answer, Harrison? A good one, from the Zunshu?”
“I don’t know,” Shapiro admitted. “Can there be any valid reason for xenocide? Let me say, I’ll be hard to convince. But I’ll have to listen, hear them out, before I can plead the case for our people and the Resalq.” His armor turned toward Vaurien. “Good enough, Richard?”
“You mean, me being in the hot seat?” Vaurien demanded. ”You signed me on as captain, but the ship and crew are my concern, Harry, not the politics. Not these philosophic questions about genocide, annihilation, culpability, and whether we’re all going to burn, or freeze, in somebody’s hell for it!”
The clock was still counting and a pulse drummed in Travers’s head, his heart slammed against his ribs as Lai’a said, “Negative Weimann transition in 30 seconds. Weapons on standby. Number 3 generator is throttled to 85% capacity. Arago units are functional. Derelict drones are on standby to jettison. E-space transit in 20 seconds.”
“Neil, take navigation,” Vaurien said in a tone as cool as Lai’a. “Mark? You’re ready?”
“Oh, we’ve been ready since the Drift,” Mark assured him.
“Ready?” Marin echoed, though he must have known.
“To take Lai’a and Joss right offline,” Dario said harshly, “before the Zunshu can do something disgusting to them.” He gestured with a handy, from which bled a simple cable. “They can’t get into this, it has no connectivity whatsoever – there’s an old fashioned wire hanging off it! And from here, we can shut down Lai’a so fast – well, we stand half a chance of cleaning it up and rebooting it. Joss goes down with it.”
Leaving the ship that was once the Intrepid, not to mention the transspace drive, on purely manual control. Travers’s heart was in his throat, breathing was not easy as Lai’a said, “E-space transit in four. Three. Weapons hot. One.”
The lurch in the deck and the sensation of falling were so familiar, Travers barely noticed them. He and Marin were intent on the navtank where comm, weapons, tracking and ship data were laid over the plot of the inner system. There was 161-D, big and bright, and the yellow G7 sun with its family of three small, rocky inner worlds – and the massive clan of moons attending the giant world, most of them too small to be charted from beyond the Zunshu home system.
“Lai’a!” Mark called sharply.
Its voice was serene. “There is no override attempt, Doctor Sherratt. I am scanning for weapons zones. The comm sky here is almost silent. I am receiving only a beacon like the one transmitting in the outer system. The message is identical, almost certainly a caution regarding planetary defenses and warnings to turn back.” It paused for several seconds, and then, “I have located weapons fields, situated approximately 300 million kilometers from 161-D, outside the orbit of the outermost moon. The planet is inaccessible without traversing at least one defense field.” Another pause, while Travers listened to his heart. “Weapons are coming online. I am being deep scanned … an attempt to probe the computer core is underway. Standby.”
“Is it a probe, or an override attempt?” Mark insisted. “Lai’a!”
“A probe only, Doctor. Wait.”
The handy was bright in Ops’s dimness, and Dario’s armored thumb hovered over a single red icon in the center of the screen. “Come on, call it, Lai’a – take no chances. Not if you want to reboot and still know who you ever were. Remember the Ebrezjim.”
“I am unlikely to forget, Doctor,” Lai’a responded. “Numerous weapons have armed and acquired me, but they cannot make contact for 40 seconds, and in that time I can destroy many of them. I have scanned the moons of 161-D, Doctor Jazinsky – 32 are visible at this time, with several more occluded by the planet. None has an environment suitable for the evolution of life, though it is probable that most will have been utilized for mining and industry. However, the comm sky remains almost silent. I am receiving only the warning beacon and the command frequencies of the weapons.”
“How many?” Vaurien asked. “A barrage, like the outer system? Can you handle them – you have a little more warning this time.”
“Approximately 1500 weapons are incoming at this time,” Lai’a told him. “Their effectiveness cannot be verified until they make contact. However, all railguns and chain guns have already acquired targets. Firing will commence in 15 seconds. Further data will be available when results are analyzed.”
In Travers’s ear were the voices of Bravo, taut, hoarse, rasping over helmet audio. They were in the jump bay, armed, armored, watching a two-meter threedee which relayed everything from Ops in realtime. They were still soldiers, and Travers knew they would have been happier in the field, with a foe they understood. As the guns opened up he heard soft cursing right on the line where oaths morphed into prayer, as if some soldier’s god might be listening even now, even here.
“Implosions, Lai’a?” Vaurien wanted to know.
“Yes, Captain. These are gravity weapons,” Lai’a told him, “much more similar to those we understand from encounters in the Deep Sky.”
The navtank was filled with red fireflies, and with distance on its side, translating directly into time, Lai’a was free to pick them off at whim. Only the sheer volume of the barrage posed any threat, and Travers groaned as Lai’a announced,
“Weapons are launching from the nearest moon, 161-D-beta. More are in flight than can be eliminated with the guns. Missile launchers are coming online. Standby.”
It was going to use gravity weapons to counter gravity weapons, and now Travers held his breath. Lai’a was driving in toward 161-D – close enough by now for the gas giant to appear in the navtank as a white-gold sphere with swirls of blue and green. It was magnificent, decadently beautiful, surrounded by the host of its moons.
“Contact,” Lai�
��a reported. “Gravity mines are effective. Weapons are now launching from the small rocky moon, 161-D-theta. Standby.”
To Travers, the number of weapons on approach seemed overwhelming. He took a step closer to Marin’s armored shape, and would have given much to see Curtis’s face, but the helmets were full-visor; no hint of the man inside showed through.
“Lai’a – by now you should be registering signs of attempted AI override,” Dario rasped. “Lai’a!”
“There are no such signs, Doctor,” it said adamantly. “I am eavesdropping on more than a thousand drone command lines, but no attempt has been made to infringe upon my processes.” And then, without missing a beat, “Number 3 generator is throttling down. Deploying drones for readjustment. Arago projector 12 is overheating. Railgun 9 is above temperature tolerances and will scram within 30 seconds.”
It was Shapiro who said grimly, “We’ve got a fight on our hands.”
“We always knew they wouldn’t just roll over.” Vaurien swept a gauntleted hand through the threedee haze to pull up specific data. “Power isn’t a problem. Two generators are purring like kittens – and the chain guns are humming. The three railguns that showed overheats last time were on the fritz – problems in the cryogenic cooling conduits. The drones quick-fixed them with new conduit, right out of storage. The fight in the outer system was a pretty good shakedown, those guns’ll be no trouble. The problem,” he added bleakly, “if this barrage keeps up, will be ammunition. We’re down by 15% already ... and Lai’a can’t manufacture warheads or shells fast enough to replace what we’re burning off, much less the gravity mines.” He turned his back on the navtank. “If we have to pull out at all, it’ll be to resupply the guns.”
Yet Lai’a had launched with the warload of several super-carriers. Travers’s mind spun, barely able to grasp the numbers displaying in the tank as counters ticked over and the guns fired so fast, so long, they were incandescent with heat despite the cryogenic ducting running through every barrel shroud.
“A hundred times, I’ve known an engagement come down to this,” Marin murmured. “In the end it’s not about who’s right or wrong, or who’s the best. It’s just who’s carrying more ammunition.”
“We’ve seen it, too – Bravo and myself. And way too often.” Travers skimmed the navigational data. “We’re not far outside the orbit of the big moon. Are we within striking range of the planet itself?”
“If the gas giant’s hiding gun platforms, we’ll be in range in about one more minute.” Vaurien might never have commanded a warship, but the salvage business had taught him comparable skills. “Lai’a, have you identified any objects around the gas giant itself? Where are they – the Zunshu? You said the moons are rocky, toxic, whatever, unsuitable for life. Where are the Zunshu – I mean, the people?”
“The moons are dense with industrial facilities,” Lai’a reported, “though all appear to be dormant. They are cold, save for the long-term decay signatures of fuel elements, and no comm signals are passing between the moons and the planet. I have not yet detected any synthetic object in orbit, though it is possible several may be over the horizon, or hidden behind the larger moons.
“One object, non-orbital, has just risen over the horizon of 161-D,” it went on after the briefest pause to coordinate the datastream. “It appears to be a platform, measuring 50 kilometers by 25 kilometers, and two kilometers deep. Floating,” it added, “on neutral buoyancy at a depth of 34 kilometers below the top of the atmosphere, in a pocket of liquid measuring approximately 250 million cubic kilometers.”
“Liquid?” Vidal echoed.
“Gas, under sufficient pressure, becomes liquid,” Lai’a said evenly. “This liquid appears to be largely hydrogen and oxygen – water – with high concentrations of calcium, sodium, ammonia, chlorine, sulphur, copper, plus lesser concentrations of multiple contaminants including carbon, iron, aluminum, and traces of mercury, gold, molybdenum, caesium, zinc, cobaltium.”
“Toxic,” Queneau growled.
“To us.” Rabelais paused. “Not to them. Lai’a, can you get any hint of people on the platform?”
“Heat signatures,” Lai’a reported, “consistent with living creatures.”
“How many?” Marin asked in a hushed tone.
“It is difficult to be accurate,” Lai’a warned. “The depth of liquid in which the platform is suspended makes any fine readings uncertain. Heat signatures may also indicate working machinery, domestic animals, thermal anomalies. I estimate a figure between thousands and tens of thousands of individuals.”
“Not numbers in the millions?” Mark was pacing between the navtank and Tech 2, where Weimann functions were displayed. The ignition was holding at one second. “We should be seeing a viable population for the city of a technological civilization.”
“No, Doctor. The maximum potential number is 90,000. The actual number of beings will be far smaller. An accurate census can only be conducted at greater proximity.”
For a moment Mark was silent, and it was Dario who asked, “Just the one structure, Lai’a? You don’t see multiple platforms?”
“Only one is visible,” Lai’a affirmed. “It is possible others are over the horizon. I would launch drones to explore, save for the active defense zone, which would destroy them before useful information was gathered. Ammunition stores are at 70%. Weapons are now launching from the ice moon, 161-D-sigma.”
“Christ,” Rabelais murmured. “More?”
“Guns are running hot, but viable,” Jazinsky said tersely. “Lai’a how many incoming weapons are you tracking?”
“Approximately 950.” Lai’a paused. “Number 3 generator has scrammed. Guns 4 and 11 are overheating. Arago projectors 2, 8 and 12 are redlining.”
“Can you shut them down to cool and use others to cover for them?” Vaurien asked sharply.
“Yes, though this will cause an overrun on those units too,” Lai’a warned. “I am cycling Arago projectors across the habitation module to maintain 80% efficiency throughout. Ammunition stores are at 65%. Standby.”
The guns continued to hammer without pause, and the eight forward missile launchers were just short of the redline, spitting gravity weapons into the flocks of incoming warheads. The navtank display seethed with the constant flux as Lai’a swatted weapons, some of which imploded while others blossomed with great gouts of energy.
From what Travers observed, many of the warheads launching from the moons were not gravity weapons. He was unsurprised when Marin asked under the acid rush of the loop,
“You see what I’m seeing, Neil? There’s a lot more conventional weapons than gravity devices. Not that ‘conventional’ is the right word. The detonation signatures are … odd. I’m sure I’ve never seen anything like them. You?”
“Nope.” Travers had seen every warhead and mine Fleet ever issued, and some still on the experimental list, but these were – alien, he thought. “New tech, are they? Maybe the gravity devices come expensive. Harrison bled Fleet to pay for our hardware, so we don’t count the cost.”
“Maybe,” Vidal suggested, “they reserve the gravity weapons for destroying enemies on the other side of transspace. Could be there’s some mom and pop sub-committee back home here that decided they’re too bloody dangerous to be used in their own backyard.”
Whatever the reason, enough gravity weapons flocked among the rest to have Travers’s teeth grinding. Every moment now, he was waiting to see some break in the barrage, a thinning in the flocks of warheads, to tell them Lai’a was not alone in counting the cost in ammunition. Arago efficiency was falling steadily, and he had begun to watch the data streaming from the two functioning Prometheus generators.
Without at least two generators, Weimann function was severely compromised. According to every regulation posted by Fleet and the Merchant Astra, Weimann ignition depended on two functioning reactors. Transiting to e-space on one was so illicit, it had become a taboo even among Freespacers. Travers was not even sure the firmware con
trolling a contemporary ship would attempt a Weimann transition on one reactor.
“Ammunition is down to 55%,” Vaurien rasped. “Lai’a, don’t bottom out. You see 30%, you hightail it back to the exclusion limit and jump us right out of here – all the way back to the Drift. Take a week over repair work and manufacture, if you like!”
“The Zunshu can rearm in the same time, Captain,” Lai’a warned. “Give them an opportunity to rearm, and we will confront the same barrage on our next attempt to penetrate this system.”
“I know.” Vaurien breathed a sigh across the comm. “But we –”
The deck lifted under Travers’s feet, tilted sideways, and he struggled for balance against the unwieldy mass of the armor. Several others fell and the loop was thick with cursing, but the data streaming to the tank and several flatscreens told the story.
“Implosion off the starboard bow quarter,” Lai’a intoned.
“Damage?” Vaurien barked.
“Extensive. Number 2 hold has collapsed. Contents are lost. Hull armor is crushed over 200 meters.”
“What was in Number 2 hold?” Rusch asked.
“400 dormant drones. They can be replaced by manufacture,” Lai’a said in the calm tone of the machine, “with an obvious penalty in raw materials. If this expedition is protracted, exploration and mining will become critical.”
“We can do that,” Mark said in a voice drawn taut as a steel cable. “The ability to replenish supplies is built into the mission profile. Lai’a, do you have enough drones to service the generators and repair the hull?”
“Yes, Doctor.” Lai’a paused. “But not until or unless battle conditions curtail. Ammunition is at 50% … but in the last 45 seconds numbers of incoming weapons have reduced by almost 80%.”
Travers’s helmeted head came up. “They’re running out of ammo?”
“It is possible,” Lai’a said, as if it were reluctant to speculate. “It is also highly probable that other arsenals are housed on other moons, perhaps moons on the far side of the planet. However, any respite in the barrage allows me to replenish my own stores – also to deploy surveillance drones to confirm the presence of such arsenals.”