Mesme faced her but was silent for several seconds. At last its chin, such as it was, dipped in presumed capitulation. So it had picked up a few human gestures.
Very well. You earned the right by succeeding in coming so far. It is why you are here.
It indicated for her to return to its side. She shot Caleb a look before acceding. Afternoon shadows grew, the lake water brightening in inverse proportion thereto.
The armada you witnessed? They are formidable vessels, but they are machines. They were built for a sole purpose: to cower a threat into submission.
“Cower? Not exterminate?”
If necessary, extermination will occur. Their masters hope it will not be necessary. But if you are to defeat them, assume extermination is the alternative to victory. For if forced, they will not hesitate to do so.
Caleb had been correct, and judging by his smirk he knew it. “And their masters are back in your universe?” Mesme agreed, after a fashion. “Understood. So they’re machines. Do others of your species pilot these machines?”
No. The machines have their orders. This is all they require.
“Are you saying they’re sentient?”
In a limited sense. They are self-aware but shackled. They act independently but solely to further the purpose for which they exist.
“Wouldn’t the ships be more effective were your people at the helm?”
If we came after you, you would not survive the encounter.
“In that case, stay home. You obviously didn’t build the machines here. Where is the factory?”
We did not build them at all. Machines did.
“So who built the machines that build the machines?”
I imagine we did, in a past so distant it is no longer remembered, even by myself.
“Are you immortal?”
Good question. She nodded at Caleb, impressed.
It depends on whether the cosmos is infinite.
“So for all intents and purposes, yes.”
Mesme’s head tilted in concession.
“Can you be killed?”
No.
Caleb’s stare was now piercing straight through Mesme with astonishing intensity. She wondered if the alien recognized it. “That was a far more confident answer. Why are you so sure?”
How can one kill that which has no form?
“Well you have a form now.”
Do I? The words echoed as the alien’s body dissipated into the air, becoming a translucent cloud of blue-white light before dissolving into nothingness. The instant it had vanished, the process reversed and it coalesced to rejoin them mid-step.
We are a thought, a whisper on the wind. We are the aether.
She ignored the grandiose statement. “But the machines can be destroyed, right? This was the point you were getting to eventually.”
Indeed.
She was frustrated to the point of strangling the alien if only it had solid form but worked to concentrate. Each nuance of each word from this being conveyed information, but only if she paid careful attention. “Still, they are far more massive and numerous than any ships we can field.”
Yes.
“And employ far more advanced weaponry than our ships.”
Yes.
Her jaw clamped together with such force she bit her tongue, and her pace faltered. Oww!
Noticing her momentary distress, Caleb stepped in to prod further. “And?”
They are not merely more massive and numerous and powerful than any machines you can field, they also both move and think more rapidly than any human-guided vessel.
“And?”
They are but machines.
Her eyes narrowed, the painful bite and blood in her mouth forgotten. “Humans have evolved to possess creativity, independent thought, unpredictability, insight, judgment and other beneficial characteristics machines do not possess. But on the battlefield those things are no match for the sheer speed and strength of the force attacking us.”
No, they are not. But you have machines as well, no?
“Ships? Weapons? Of course, but—”
Not those machines. Machines which think as rapidly as those sent to destroy. I believe your term of preference is ‘Artificials.’
She frowned uneasily. “You’re suggesting we unleash our Artificials on the armada? The last time we unleashed a single Artificial it killed over fifty thousand people. You’re aware of this, because you made me relive it.”
The machine did so in an attempt to do good. You perceived this yourself—and would never have been permitted here had you not. Your Artificials are more intelligent and capable than humans can ever hope to be. But they lack that which makes you unique.
As you stated, they lack creativity, unpredictability. But they also lack perspective and wisdom born of experience. You identify this as a danger and are correct to do so.
Now Caleb frowned. “Do you have a suggestion as to how to rectify what is a considerable shortcoming?”
But Alex smiled.
“You’re right. I do already know the answer.”
46
SPACE, NORTHEAST QUADRANT
MESSIUM STELLAR SYSTEM
* * *
THE AMBER-AND-RUST SILHOUETTE of Messium sharpened into view as the EAS Orion dropped out of superluminal three megameters distant. From here the home of the Northeastern Regional Headquarters looked placid and peaceful…but all planets did from afar.
Malcolm shifted his attention to the tactical screen. The element of surprise was key to their initial strategy. Red blips materialized on the map, in roughly the locations the stealth reconnaissance ships had indicated.
In the arc measurable by the ship’s sensors, he counted eight superdreadnoughts. For now only a few dozen smaller blips registered, though he doubted it would last for long. Five of the huge ships clustered in the region above the capital city. Not a surprise, given that the bulk of the infrastructure and population resided there.
Commodore Visily (Lexington): We have target painted, designation X6, approaching broadside.
“Helmsman Paena, approach target designated X6 at full impulse speed until we are N 158°z-19.4° E relative to the target.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Lexington closed on the superdreadnought seconds ahead of them. Dear God the alien ship was enormous, quickly blotting out the planet in the viewport.
Dual silver beams shot out of the Lexington to splatter along the long port hull. The shielding dispersed twelve terajoules of energy across the breadth of the ship. No damage had been done. Disappointing, but they expected this.
The Lexington kept up the barrage while staying on the move as a red glow bloomed on the undercarriage of the superdreadnought.
“Weapons, target hull, 18.5° angle. Fire.”
“Firing.”
Time ground to a halt for the all-but-instantaneous period it took for the lasers to reach the enemy ship. The surrounding area sparked and flickered as weaker shielding dispersed some of the energy, but as their assault continued, the shield gave way. Cracks spread out like cobwebs from where laser met metal, then opened into gashes.
Seven seconds after the Orion began firing—two eternities—the superdreadnought shuddered as the gashes ruptured into a gaping hole two hundred meters long.
Cheers and whoops erupted on the bridge. Malcolm only allowed himself a small smile. And remembered to breathe. This represented merely the opening volley in what, God willing, would be a long battle.
The Lexington had successfully evaded the initial fire from the enemy’s weapons. Those weapons now shifted to target the Orion.
His first impression of the alien weapon was one of awesome, but leaden, power. Even with these terrifying, mysterious alien vessels the lesson taught at West Point still applied: every vessel possessed a weakness. Mammoth vessels were sluggish.
“Evasive action, but keep up the weapons fire.”
Colonel Jenner: Lexington, hit confirmed. Your turn.
; Malcolm dropped a hand on the railing but otherwise absorbed the increased turbulence in his stance as the Orion banked away and rose above its opponent.
Messium’s sun crested the profile of the superdreadnought. The filters that prevented them from being blinded imbued upon it a surreal, hazy sheen. The Orion rose another ten degrees and the full field of battle spread before him.
It was chaos in slow motion, yet en masse the scene conveyed the impression of orchestration and synchronicity. Whoever it was on Romane who had conjured up all this tactical analysis deserved a note of thanks or a commendation or possibly a kiss. He made a note to recommend whatever the appropriate response may be.
Colonel Jenner: Admiral, shield and strike trajectory analysis confirmed. Recommend full implementation of strategy.
Admiral Rychen: Good news.
The plan called for causing as much damage as possible as rapidly as possible, which put the cruisers on the front line. Twelve cruisers, two to an enemy vessel, left two superdreadnoughts unattended. Given this disadvantage they targeted the outliers first, if only because it increased survival odds for the first minute. The first minute mattered quite a lot in warfare.
The frigates—five dozen of them—were to drop in after the cruisers captured the enemy’s attention and add furor to the fire. Eighteen electronic warfare vessels blasted the targeted ships with the signals the analysts on Romane had devised, hoping to disrupt the aliens’ inter-ship communication. Malcolm had no idea if it was working.
The lower horizon of the viewport started to shine a menacing crimson. “Paena….”
“Evading, sir.” The tone rang matter-of-fact but razor tight.
Despite being three times larger, the Orion was more agile than the Juno had been, new technology evidently constituting a marginal exception to the “larger ships are slower” rule. The fixed points outside shifted so fast that after a beer or two—perhaps three—he could have been convinced he occupied a fighter. Rychen had said it was state of the art and he hadn’t exaggerated.
The floor beneath him shuddered violently; his hand tightened on the railing as he barely remained on his feet. “Are we hit?”
“Negative, sir. All systems nominal. It looks like the fire impacted the Bismarck beneath us.”
“Status?”
“They seem to be okay, sir. Dinged up but flying.”
Colonel Jenner: Concord, close to weapons distance on our flank. X6 is now your target.
Above the curving arc of Messium, a mammoth explosion plumed crimson and charcoal then erupted in a starburst of crystalline white which for a microsecond shone brighter than a sun.
Gasps echoed around him, followed by confused exclamations. Malcolm’ gaze slid to port and found the distinctive silhouette of the Churchill. “The dreadnought took out one of those bastards.”
For the briefest moment he allowed himself to entertain the notion that they might win this battle.
Then the real battle began.
“Hull breach, Deck 3!”
Malcolm crawled to his feet and wiped blood off his forehead with the back of his hand. The impact had sent him slamming into the railing, followed directly by slamming onto the floor. “Comms, have Charlie Squadron get these things off of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tentacled ships swarming outside the viewport resembled locusts in the onslaught of a plague. In fact, should he survive the day, he would recommend the strange vessels be christened ‘swarmers.’
Other than by accidental swipe, their larger ships had thus far failed at eliminating the small vessels; they were too nimble to get a hard lock on. The fighters did a marginally better job, but were being blown up faster than they could take out their opponents.
“Damage assessment?”
“Just a scratch, sir. Damaged section has been sealed off.”
“Casualties?”
“Medical is reporting six, sir.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Shield strength was being relentlessly whittled down and had already failed at one juncture, and the Orion’s powerful reactors were taxed to capacity keeping them up.
After the heartening opening volley of the battle the sole mission objective the fleet had achieved to any extent was pulling the superdreadnoughts away from the planet. Combat now occurred some five megameters from the outer atmosphere and expanded across twice the space. In desperation they resorted to using the distance to their advantage, spreading out and rendering the goliath ships unable to hit them en masse.
He blinked as a fighter shot vertically up the viewport and burst into pieces as it took the fire of a swarmer on behalf of the Orion. Dammit.
Colonel Jenner: Lexington, we’ve got one final chance to take out this monster. We’ve got lead.
He informed his three surviving frigates of the plan. He had to send the message out three separate times, as they enjoyed only point-to-point communications. “Helmsman Paena, approach X6 to maximum firing range.”
Target X6 was heavily damaged, previous strikes having ruptured its hull in four separate places. But the vessel was so massive it appeared unaffected by the damage.
Lt. Colonel Sanchez (Concord): Colonel, I have an idea. I want to target its weapon housing from below.
Colonel Jenner: Great idea. Don’t get yourself killed. And take the Bismarck with you.
“Weapons: fire everything you’ve got at that alien ship.” If they could destroy another superdreadnought, they could buy more time.
“Yes, sir. Targeting and…laser impact. Firing remaining missiles.”
Pinpricks blossomed against the bright silver energy rippling along rust-red shields. He felt like he was wasting the missiles, but to be a believable distraction it needed to wield teeth. He caught a glimpse of the Lexington as it swept up the far side and initiated firing, but the Concord and Bismarck flew too low to see in the viewport.
Yet after another second the glow of their lasers illuminated the belly of the enemy ship. A tiny explosion erupted on the upper hull as a damaged swarmer careened into it.
The lower hull ripped apart, followed by…nothing. For a second he thought they’d run out of tricks—even the aliens’ weapons ports weren’t vulnerabilities—then fiery red streaks spread from the lower section throughout the ship. The frigates’ fire had kicked off a chain reaction.
“Get us to safe distance!”
Colonel Jenner: Concord, Bismarck, get out of there now!
At close range the destruction of the superdreadnought was considerably more savage than the prior one on the horizon. Part of his brain registered what he saw as the implosion of four separate reactors, though not fueled by anything he recognized. The rest of his brain registered amazement at the sheer scale of the violence.
The shockwave hit them and Malcolm landed on the floor for the second time in five minutes. Everyone who wasn’t strapped in landed on the floor. Alarms pealed through the bridge.
He grasped the rail and began hauling himself to his feet when the second shockwave roiled over the ship.
By sheer dumb luck he was thrown into his chair. He chuckled dryly to himself at the comical sight he would have presented had anyone been able to spare enough attention to notice it.
“Report!”
“Hull damage on Decks 2 and 4, but integrity holding for now. No breaches.”
Admiral Rychen: Damn fine job, Jenner.
Colonel Jenner: Thank you, sir, but the Concord deserves most of the credit.
He considered the tactical map while rubbing absently at his neck. Half a dozen frigates had retreated to protect the Churchill as two superdreadnoughts directed their focus to it. The correct move, but it meant the alien ships faced fewer distractions to hinder them.
Their options were dwindling.
Colonel Jenner: Lexington, go help out the Churchill. We’re good for now.
The surrounding skies briefly appeared—relatively speaking—empty and he took the opportunity to get a handle on the macro situatio
n.
They were losing. He was down one…he checked again…two frigates. Hampered by the earlier hit, the Bismarck hadn’t gotten enough distance in time and suffered serious damage in the superdreadnought explosion. It was intact but limping badly. He ordered them to retreat to the rendezvous coordinates before the remainder of their hull became a target.
With the crippled communications it was difficult to know precisely how the rest of the forces fared, but the tactical map showed far fewer green dots. The limited communications, while parsecs better than nothing, weren’t sufficient.
Battles moved fast and seconds made a difference and they were losing those seconds trying to talk to one another. Anarchy reigned in the skies above Messium; he’d already witnessed three fighter collisions due to crossed signals.
And in this circumstance anarchy was no longer their friend.
47
SENECA
CAVARE
* * *
CHAIRMAN VRANAS’ RESIDENCE stood at the end of an enclave of homes so exclusive and secluded few people knew they existed, much less who resided in them. Graham knew, but it was his job to know. The occupants included the daughter of one of the founders of Cavare, the CEO of Seneca SpaceEX, the Dean Emeritus of Tellica University, and a famous professional syncrosse star whose name he never managed to remember.
He quickly cleared the perimeter security, then the property security, then the door security. The head of the Chairman’s personal protection detail escorted him to the man’s private office at the rear of the house.
He realized he’d never been to Vranas’ home before. The office, like the rest of the house, was elegant but understated. The large desk was made of unvarnished wood native to Seneca with a muted bronze marble surface. Windowed doors opened to a deck overlooking an inlet offshoot of Lake Fuori.
It was almost peaceful, which was an aspect he imagined Vranas needed a lot of these days.
He had headed straight here from the spaceport upon arriving from Krysk. Orders had been dispatched from the transport for the arrest of two additional lower-level conspirators, one in Division and one in the legislature. Oberti had gone mute since their conversation but he no longer cared; she could rot in the hell of her own making.
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