Columbus Day (Expeditionary Force Book 1)

by Craig Alanson

  "Dropships secured. Pilot, initiate jump, option Alpha." Skippy announced.

  "Belay that," I ordered, and Desai turned to me in confusion. "Jump option Charlie, now. Go."

  Desai pressed the correct button, and the ship performed a microjump so we now were in clear space, not shielded by an asteroid. Skippy had programmed five jump options into the jump navigation system and I'd memorized them, they were also listed on the command chair display and on my iPad. Option Alpha was for a jump close to the Flower so we could recover that ship, the plan was to jump close to the Flower, send a signal for that ship to perform a short range jump, match the jump with the Dutchman, take the Flower onto a docking platform, and then jump to the outer edge of the star system. Option Charlie was a microjump away from the asteroid we were hiding behind, in case our position had been discovered, but we needed to remain in the area to recover dropships.

  "Can I ask why we're not going after the Flower?" Skippy asked.

  "We will. Signal the Flower to jump to the rendezvous point." Even with the signal crawling along at the speed of light, it would reach our pirated Kristang frigate in a few minutes, and that apparently derelict ship would suddenly come to life and power up engines for a short range jump.

  "Done." Skippy reported. "Colonel Joe, why are we still here?"

  "You have control of the nuke near their main docking bay?"

  "Yes, of course. I told you that." The Kristang had rigged the research section of the asteroid research base to self destruct with a nuke; if anyone invaded the base and the Kristang lost control, they could blow up the base with a single explosion. The nuke was there so enemies would decide raiding the research base wasn't worth the cost, and it certainly would have deterred us, except that Skippy took control of it shortly before we launched the dropships.

  “How big is it?”

  “I assume you mean explosive yield, that weapon is roughly eight megatons. A typical W76 warhead, in your American Trident submarine-launched missiles, is one hundred kilotons, by comparison."

  "Light it up."

  "What?" Skippy, Desai and Walorski said the same thing at the same time.

  "Skippy, do not argue with me. I know you wiped their computer memory, but we left behind DNA in there, blood, it could tell the Kristang that humans were involved in the raid. I can’t risk that. Light it up. Right now."

  To his credit, Skippy knew when not to argue. "Weapon enabled on The Big Red Button."

  I pressed the button. The asteroid flared an intense light. Desai jumped us away before the debris hit us.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN HOME

  The flight recorder video of the asteroid being nuked was popular with the crew. The surviving crew. It wasn't my idea for people to watch the video, I hadn't even mentioned it. Desai or Walorski must have said something, or someone asked Skippy what happened, and he volunteered to show them. Watching the utter destruction of the asteroid research base was cathartic for the crew, as it had been for me. Army doctors tell us that talking about traumatic events helps with the symptoms of PTSD; keeping things bottled up inside yourself, or trying not to remember what happened to you, makes it worse. Skippy told me the survivors asked him if there was video of the raid, from cameras on the combots and Kristang suits. There was video, and I told him to release it to anyone who wanted to watch. Giraud and I would watch all the video and sensor feed data, to learn lessons on what we did right and what we did wrong.

  Giraud subtly chided me for being unprofessional, blowing up the entire asteroid had not been necessary to the mission, I'd done it because I was angry, because I wanted the lizards to feel the pain we felt, at losing so many people. So many humans. Maybe I'd done it out of frustration and guilt that I'd not gone on the raid. Whatever. Psychology isn't my area of expertise.

  The raid was both a success and a failure. In terms of lives lost, it was a failure, I'd now lost over half our original crew, and some of the wounded were going to take months to recover, even with incredible Thuranin medical technology. In terms of Skippy finding a way to locate the Collective, it was a failure; the thing we'd brought back was exactly what Skippy had asked for, it wasn't damaged, it wasn't inert, Skippy was able to power it up and read data from it, the thing simply didn't tell him anything useful. He didn't know whether the fault was with the device, or within himself, he had a bad feeling that somehow he was blocked from memories that would allow him to access data about the Elders. About himself. And about where he came from, who he was. He didn't tell anyone else about his doubts and fears, only me. For my part, I kept his secret, and worried on my own that someday Skippy would lock up, or blue screen, or go dormant, or whatever happened with ancient AIs

  Skippy had better not lock up on us before we got back to the wormhole near Earth, because in one way, our mission was a success. Maybe in the only way that mattered, our mission was a huge success. Success enough that, even only one person survived to fly the ship, the raid was worth the terrible cost. We had stolen an intact Elder wormhole controller module, Skippy verified it was fully functional, able to live up to its name and control a wormhole. Including, most importantly, shutting down a wormhole. We humans had no idea how the damned thing worked, we had to rely on Skippy for that. The point was, because of the raid, we had the ability to shut down that wormhole. We had the ability to deny the Kristang access to Earth. The billions of humans there would consider any price our pirate crew paid to be worth the cost.

  Relying on Skippy was a problem, he was frustrated and expected us to continue the mission with the remaining crew. That was a conversation I didn't want to have with the crew listening, I pushed Skippy off until Major Simms could take the captain's chair, Chang and Giraud were both in the sickbay. After taking the Flower back aboard, we'd jumped three times, until Skippy was satisfied we were safely out of the Kristang sensor network's range. The jump engines were almost exhausted, incapable of more than an emergency microjump, we were hanging in deep interstellar space, waiting for the jump engines to fully recharge.

  "You comfy now, Joe?" Skippy began as tactfully as he always was. "We need to talk about our next move. There are two more possibilities that I can see for contacting the Collective. One is only three thousand lightyears away, unfortunately getting there requires a roundabout wormhole route, and it's the less likely of the two options. Also, that one is on a Thuranin planet, it's going to be tricky getting in and out. The second one is nine thousand lightyears away, out of Thuranin territory, and that's both good and bad, the species that holds that territory are the-"

  Damn in. My boots weren't even untied yet. It was best for me to just say what was on my mind. "Skippy, before we continue searching for the Collective, we're going to Earth to resupply. We don't have enough people to keep going with the mission right now. You're a genius, do the math."

  There was an ever-so-slight hesitation, that wouldn't have been noticeable if I didn't know Skippy so well. Did he actually run the math? Of course he did, a billion permutations. Maybe a zillion. "You're in a bitchy mood."

  "I'm tired. A lot of people died today, Skippy." I kicked my boots off, would have kicked them across the compartment if the bulkhead wasn't only two feet away. "Sentient beings. Don't give me any shit about how we're just monkeys and bacteria, we're sentient. We matter."

  "More than you know, Joe. As you requested, I ran the math. Problem is, I'm not a military strategist, and there are a lot of variables I can't quantify. You promised me we would find the Collective, together."

  "Skippy," I laid back on the mattress as best I could. "I keep my promises. Explain how we have a reasonable chance for success, with the crew we have now, and I'll listen. I don't see it. We have nine people right now who are combat ready, two pilots and I need to stay aboard the Dutchman, that leaves six people for action, and two of them specialize in logistics, not infantry. That asteroid was the softest target of our options, right?"

  "Mostly likely, yes, the Kristang didn't realize what they had, that's why
the items we needed were so lightly guarded."

  "Lightly guarded?"

  "Comparatively speaking."

  "That was your definition of lightly guarded? You had total control of their sensors and most of their weapons, we still ran into a firefight. Even our super hightech combots got slaughtered. Will either of the two other targets be easier to crack?"

  "Admittedly, no."

  "You're concerned that you can't trust us, that once we get to Earth, we'll never leave, that will be the end of the mission. You think you can't trust us. Put that aside for a minute. Forget about what I said. Your goal is to contact the Collective. Use your god-like processing power. What are the odds you can achieve your goal with the resources we have?"

  Another ever-so-short hesitation, maybe longer this time? "Damn it. You're right. I was, perhaps, overconfident, before the raid. Now that I have more extensive data, my analysis is revised. Our current chance of mission success is less than fifty percent. To be accurate, it is twelve percent. That is an unacceptable level of risk."

  I was so relieved, I let my head slump back, and banged the back of my skull on the edge of a cabinet. "Crap."

  "Crap, like you can't believe my numbers, or crap like, you believe my numbers, and they're worse than you thought?"

  "Crap, like I banged my head on this stupid cabinet again."

  "Oh. Darn it, no matter how I calibrate my program for reading your voice patterns and expressions, I still get it wrong. You biologicals are maddening sometimes."

  "Yeah, like when biologicals develop technology and build smart-ass artificial intelligences."

  "I told you, I wasn't built by- oh, forget it."

  Out of long habit, I pulled the laces of my boots open, and set them facing away from me next to the door. In an emergency, I could jam my feet in and lace them up real quick, no wasted time. Army training again. "We agree, then, we're going to back to Earth, right?" There were humans, and human supplies on Paradise, and Paradise was closer. There was also likely a substantial contingent of Ruhar ships in orbit, Ruhar soldiers on the ground, and a Jeraptha battlegroup lurking at the edges of the system. Paradise was not a place I wanted to go back to.

  "We agree, darn it. Ahh, I've been waiting a million years to contact the Collective, a short delay isn't a big deal, I guess." His voice sounded anything but convinced of that. "Ugh. This means we're going to visit that monkey-infested mudball you call home."

  "Home sweet home, Skippy. Let's get this out of the way, so we're not arguing about it later. How can we make it so you can trust that we won't stay, once we get to Earth? By 'we', I don't mean me, I'm keeping my promise to you." It wasn't an academic question, I was worried about it myself. Having a Thuranin star carrier and a Kristang frigate in orbit was going to be very tempting to governments on Earth, tempting them to keep us there. And they would make very valid arguments for keeping our two starships in orbit; to examine their technology, to protect Earth in case any Kristang straggler ships were hanging around, and because sending our ships back out to roam the galaxy, until Skippy found a Collective that may or may not, exist was pure idiocy. It wasn't that I wanted to go back out wandering the stars with Skippy, I very much did not. What I wanted was for life to go back to normal, for me to take off the silly silver eagles, to go back to being a grunt, to finish my term of enlistment, go home, and live a normal human life. And little girls want Santa to bring them a pony for Christmas. We both needed to accept reality. There was no 'normal' life any more for humanity, certainly not for me. If Skippy, or I, couldn't think of a way to force Earth governments to authorize sending the Flying Dutchman back out, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I could keep my promise.

  "Oh, that. No problemo, Joe. After we go through that last wormhole that leads to Earth, I'll temporarily disrupt its connection to the network. That will disable the wormhole until it resets, which will take long enough for us to get to Earth, load up on volunteers and supplies, and get back to the wormhole."

  "Huh. That's a great idea, Skippy." Why hadn't I thought of that? Skippy had told me he could temporarily disrupt a wormhole on his own, the controller module was needed to shut one down permanently. "We'll be on a strict time limit, then?"

  "Strict, yes. Once I disrupt that wormhole, the Thuranin will be very interested to learn what the hell happened. As soon as the wormhole resets, there are going to be ships coming through, and since the Thuranin are suspicious, paranoid little green MFers, I can guarantee some of their ships will be visiting Earth, and they won't be there to use their Starbucks gift cards. The Thuranin have an established protocol for investigating a new wormhole connection; they send a heavy force of battleships through, with cruiser escorts. We do not want to tangle with a Thuranin battlewagon, one of those ships could pound the Dutchman into subatomic particles, and even I could only slow them down." Skippy had mentioned several times that, for all its apparent power, a star carrier was not primarily a warship, it was a long-range transport for warships. In a fight, star carriers ran away and let their escorts fight.

  "That is perfect, Skippy. Please plot a new jump course to Earth." We'd be on Earth only long enough for a cup of coffee, or, in my, case, a cheeseburger. I could taste it already. The ancient Elder AI had surprised me again, I'd been ready for a long and heated argument about whether we continued searching for the Collective, or resupply at Earth. Skippy didn't respond to arguments, he did respond to facts and logic. "Hey," my finger poised above the button to turn off the light, "out of curiosity, what did you calculate as the odds of the raid we just did succeeding?"

  "Originally, thirty seven point six percent. Then, after the crew demonstrated proficiency with combots, and Captain Giraud developed his assault plan, I calculated the odds at fifty one point one percent."

  "Barely fifty percent? You didn't think this was worth mentioning?"

  "Above fifty percent. Above is above. You didn't ask. And your records indicate math is not your strongest competency."

  Arguing about the past wasn't productive. "The jump engines will be fully charged in two and half hours, right? Wake me in two hours."

  "Unbelievable. I'm the most advanced sentience in the galaxy, and you're using me as an alarm clock."

  "Two hours, Skippy. Good night."

  The crew was relieved, and thrilled, to hear we'd be stopping at Earth before continuing the mission. At least, they were happy about it for a couple days. Then, on one of my duty shifts, Simms waved to get my attention, I nodded and gestured for her to come onto the bridge. There wasn't anything important going on at the time, we were a lightyear away from a very unimportant red dwarf star, three lightyears from the nearest wormhole, waiting while the jump engines recharged. “Colonel," Major Simms said, "now that we’re on our way to shut down the wormhole, there’s some second guessing among the crew.”

  “What?” Desai exclaimed from the pilot seat, and Walorski also turned in his seat.

  I had the same reaction. “Major, the whole point of this mission is to cut off the lizard’s access to Earth.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s not the problem. People are concerned that the Expeditionary Force on Paradise will be cut off from ever returning to Earth, they won’t receive shipments of food or medical supplies after the wormhole is shut down. We’ll be abandoning them. Permanently.” Her hands balled up into fists, displaying her anxiety. “That doesn’t set well with the crew. Or with me. Sir.”

  This was a conversation I knew was coming, and wasn’t looking forward to. It had been hanging in the back of my mind ever since Skippy first mentioned the idea of shutting down the wormhole. Before I could fashion a reply, Skippy spoke up. “Not to worry, Major Tammy. Your Expeditionary Force has been abandoned already, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so we’re not responsible. I have intercepted messages that the Thuranin have told the White Wind clan they won’t support further attempts to recapture Paradise, the planet isn’t worth the effort and the Thuranin forces are being kept busy else
where in the sector. The Kristang stopped bringing supplies from Earth even before the Ruhar retook the planet. The Kristang won’t make any effort to evacuate humans from Paradise, and the Ruhar don’t have access to Earth, or the transport capacity in this sector. They're on their own.”

  He’d pissed me off again. “Damn it, Skippy, you don’t have to sound so cheery about it!”

  “Facts aren’t cheery or gloomy, Colonel Joe,” Skippy had a defensive tone in his voice, which surprised me. “They’re just facts. The fact is, whether we shut down the wormhole or not, UNEF is stuck on Paradise for the foreseeable future. The Ruhar are providing food supplements until your crops can be harvested. I think.”

  “Skippy, you are not helping. Major, I have not been ignoring UNEF, I haven’t wanted to talk about it, because Skippy is a thousand percent right on this. We can’t do anything to help UNEF. We can help the billions of humans on Earth. And if anyone has the bright idea that we should trade Skippy to the Ruhar, in exchange for the hamsters transporting UNEF back to Earth, forget about it.”

  Skippy was cheery to hear that. “Thank you, Joe, I appreciate-“

  “Skippy’s programming will make him go inert in the presence of interstellar capable species, so if we give him to the hamsters, we lose the capability to shut down wormholes. Or anything else.”

  “Oh.” Skippy genuinely sounded surprised. “That hurt, Colonel Joe, for a moment there I thought you were expressing some tiny bit of loyalty to me.”

  I sighed before I could stop myself. “Skippy, you’ve made it clear, every time you can, that you’re a powerful super being and we’re bacteria to you. This isn’t a friendship between you and me, this is an alliance between species, or cultures, or whatever it is. We’re useful to you, and you’re useful to us. When I make a deal with you, I am absolutely going to uphold my end of the bargain. I don’t know if you consider any deal made with bacteria to be worth keeping on your part.”