Exodus: Machine War: Book 1: Supernova.

by Doug Dandridge

  “One of our crew transponders has dropped off the grid. He’s nowhere on board the ship, sir. And we can’t find any trace of him in the chamber, which has been opened to space. I’m afraid he’s gone.”

  * * *

  What the hell is that? thought Smalls as a tiny object darted up to his suit and hung just beyond his reach. A probe. It sat there, and even when he tried to use his thrusters to approach it moved away, and responded to no communication he attempted.

  Less than an hour later another object approached, coming out of nowhere and stopping a hundred meters away. It was much larger, about the size of a frigate, and minutes after it stopped some man sized objects that were not shaped like humans left the ship and came to him. For a moment Smalls thought he had been rescued, until he learned the truth about the newcomers, and realized his worst nightmare had popped into reality.

  Chapter Twenty

  Used properly, religion can help to cement a society, to make its adherents feel as one with their brothers and sisters, willing to make the sacrifices that allow a society to function smoothly. Improperly instituted, religion can be the force to tear a society apart, and set neighbors at each other’s throats.

  High Bishop Augustina Papadopokis, Traditional Catholic Church, the Year 532.

  JUNE 15TH, 1001. D-18

  “We must depend on the Gods to save us, not the hand of invaders,” said the elder of one of the many denominations in the land of Tsarzor. The church behind him looked like many others the humans had seen on local broadcasts. The symbols of the most important Gods and Goddesses in the religion’s Pantheon were displayed on the wall behind the altar. Most were figures that looked very much like Klassekians, though there were also some animal representation, and one that seemed as formless as they could make it. Of course, other denominations had other Gods from the multitude, some also ten, some more, some less.

  All of them think they are the truth, thought Rear Admiral Nguyen, listening the a message he really didn’t like. The preacher looked over the crowd gathered in a church meant to seat five or six thousand, and overflowing with double that amount.

  “The scriptures tell us that we are in the hands of the Gods, who will not betray us, as long as we have faith. Faith. Faith in them, proving that we trust them. And if we don’t trust them? What happens then, my brethren? What happens then? Then we are abandoned by the Gods, who no longer find us worthy of their help.”

  The minister looked over the crowd again, his fellow elders, most of them his siblings, linked to him mind to mind, also looking over the crowd, taking its pulse and passing on the information to their brother.

  “The aliens say we are going to die, the most of us, unless we accept their help in saving some of us. They build shelters on the planet, and those of us who help them throw their disbelief in the face of the Gods. And they take many of us off this world, the world the Gods have intended to be our home, kidnapping our people, panicking them with their lies about how a far off star is going to destroy us.”

  “Can you believe this?” asked Susan Lee, sitting at the table and watching the viewer with him. It was projected by a holo, and, while not three dimensional, since the signal wasn’t, it showed the same flat image to anyone sitting around the table, no matter where they were.

  Nguyen shook his head. He didn’t believe in any of the religions of his own people, or those of the alien races of the Empire. They all professed to tell the truth, which meant they were calling every else’s faith a lie. And they all couldn’t be right. In fact, he thought they were all wrong, that there were no deities, and that only damned fools depended on their imaginary friends to get them out of a fix.

  “I’m worried that too many of their flocks will believe this,” he said, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip. “And believing, they will do everything they can to impede our progress. Because that’s what their God wants them to do.”

  The scene switched as the Admiral sent a change channel request over his link. This one showed a mass of Klassekians walking down the street of a city, tall buildings towering to every side, waving signs that proclaimed their chosen deity’s anger at the Imperials. It seemed to be a peaceful demonstration, until smoking canisters came flying in from the line of police ahead. It was like throwing a match on a nest of insects. They went every which way. Some away from the police, dropping their signs on the way. Others in a sprint right at their tormentors, pulling the signs back to use them as clubs. Before they got to the line shots rang out, and over a score of the protesters fell to the street. That broke the spirit of the now rioters, who turned and scattered in every direction that took them away from the police. That was not enough to save all of them as another volley rang out. More rioters dropped, then more as they fell under the pushing and shoving of frightened people.

  “That fear will soon turn to anger,” said Nguyen, watching as the camera zoomed in on one blood covered female who was trying to get back to her feet, only to be trampled back down.

  The channel switched again, showing another group of Klassekians. These couldn’t even be called protesters, as they were in full riot mode. Several ran forward and threw bottles of flammable liquid with wicks on fire, their tentacles imparting an unusual motion on the objects which still carried a considerable distance. They struck the ground in front of the riot police, or, in the case of a few, hit their shields, splashing liquid fire onto the officers. That was the signal that the rioters had stepped over the line, and rifle fire took down the entire first row of Klassekians, and several in the second tier.

  “Sir,” came a call over the com. “General Wittmore is on with a priority message.”

  “Put him on,” ordered the Admiral, and the dark face of the Army flag officer appeared on the holo.

  “Admiral,” said the Major General, who was of equal rank with Nguyen. “We’re experiencing a bit of a problem at our landing fields.

  The Holo switched views, showing more of the religious protesters outside the main gate to one of the landing fields they were using to process Klassekian refugees. Again, there were the signs, again males standing at the front of the crowd with lit bottles of flammables. Only this time they were facing Imperial Army Infantry, standing in a line in their light combat armor, flanked by a tank and a trio of personnel carriers.

  “They are interfering with the transport of volunteers into the base,” said the General with a scowl on his face. “I would like to have permission to disperse them.”

  “Nice of him to ask,” said Lee in a whisper.

  Nguyen nodded. The Major General was now in charge of the ground forces, and even though Nguyen was his nominal commander, he could have ordered whatever response he thought best.

  “I would prefer that you let them make the first aggressive move, General,” he told the Army officer, noting that there were several news vehicles in the background.

  “We could be here all day, then, Admiral,” complained the other flag officer.

  “I…”

  The actions of a couple of the people at the front of the line of protesters derailed the argument, as a pair of bottles came flying in the strike a pair of the soldiers. The fire spread over them, and on to those closest to them. They were not affected by the flames, but the heat would overpower the cooling systems of the suits in very little time. The Imperials were ready, and a spray of foam retarded the flames in an instant. Bullets came flying in next, bouncing from the tough armor of the suits. It was apparent from the actions of the majority of the crowd that they weren’t expecting this, as the yelling stopped and the signs dropped.

  The soldiers were arranged for a layered response. About half the troops carried sonic stunners that had been tuned to work optimally on the physiology of the Klassekians. Most of the rest carried standard hypervelocity combat rifles, capable of putting out a six millimeter round at eight thousand meters a second. And then there were the squad heavy weapon gunners, with their particle beams.

  The troops with
sonic stunners pulled their triggers and played them over the crowd. Klassekians cried out, grunted, fell to the ground, staggered away, all depending on how much of a sound beam they intercepted, and where it hit. That was all it took, and the rioters, those still on their feet, moved away as fast as they could. In some cases that was little more than a crawl.

  “You have my permission to use a measured, nonlethal response when such happens again,” said Nguyen in as calm a voice as he could muster. “Keep the facility open and operating, but try not to kill too many of the locals.” Especially in front of the cameras, was his last thought, as he watched those news vehicles, their camera crews on top taking in all the action.

  An hour later came some news the Admiral was happy to receive. “We think we’ve found the leaders of Honish, sir,” said the sensor officer whose duty it was to monitor that continent.

  “Show me.”

  The holo zoomed in on an area of a tall range of mountains to a small valley leading up to one of the high peaks. There were vehicle tracks visible through breaks in the canopy, marks that had been skillfully hidden, still showing to the sensitive sensors and computer enhancement of the discovering vessel.

  “We believe they are hiding under this mountain,” said the officer, a circle appearing over the spot where the valley ran into a cliff. The holo zoomed out. “We have picked up encrypted communications from these four spots.” The four indicated spots started blinking from the slopes of surrounding peaks. “Communications was able to break the encryption, and we believe this is where the leader is hiding.”

  “Send that information to tactical,” ordered the Admiral. “I will forward a tasking order to them.”

  Less than half a minute later a kinetic penetrator, this one in the twenty megaton range and configured for crashing through tough stone, fell from one of the recently arrived battle cruisers. A couple of seconds later the flash of the strike flared over the mountain in question, the blast of the kinetic force rolling down the slopes and lifting trees from the ground. Unlike a conventional nuclear blast, only about a megaton of the force rolled out with the blast. The rest was pushed into the rock as the penetrator blew through kilometers of mountain.

  “That should have finished them, sir,” said the Tactical Officer of the launching vessel.

  If not, it had to give them a hell of a headache, thought the Admiral, looking at the devastated area of the mountains on holo. Too bad about the forest, but it was doomed anyway.

  * * *

  Zzarr cursed once again as more rock dust fell onto the table. That table, itself made of stone, leaned crazily on one side thanks to a support that had cracked from the force of the strike. Many objects had fallen from the walls, pictures, video screens, shelves with books. The medics were working on some of his followers who had been struck by those objects. Many were only in need of minor patching up or medications. One in the chamber had taken a heavy stone to the head, and that part of his body had been crushed flat, fluid leaking onto the floor from his mangled thinking organ. If we hadn’t had been so deep, and if we hadn’t have actually been under a mountain other than the one our entrance was fronting, we wouldn’t have survived.

  Some hadn’t survived through the rest of the shelter, especially those places which had been closest to the strike, and the hardest hit. He had lost over a hundred people to collapse and cave ins. Some had been family members of his staff, and therefor of no real use to him. But some had been the technicians and specialists he depended on to keep him in command of his people.

  “All of the fiber optic links are down, Leader,” said the nervous looking engineer who entered the chamber to report.

  And with them any chance I have of giving orders to my people, thought the Leader, his tentacles whipping the air in anger that made the messenger step back. He wasn’t sure if any orders he gave would be necessary, since the strategy was now pretty much running itself. But it made him feel necessary nonetheless. And now that had been taken from him.

  “Any exits still intact?” asked Zzarr, glaring at the male, already sure of the answer.

  “No, Leader,” said the anxious male, backing up even further, until his back was against the wall. “Every way out of the shelter has been collapsed. We might be able to open one of them, with a couple of months of effort.”

  Zzarr whipped a pair of tentacles into the wall in his rage, regretting the action as soon as the pain of impact ran up the nerves. He growled deep in his speaking/breathing pipe, stomping to the end of the room, turning swiftly, and almost charging back to the male.

  “Then get to it, and work your people night and day,” he yelled. “I don’t care if you have to work the males under your charge to death. I must regain contact with the surface.”

  I cannot stand being cut off like this. How did the humans find us? We were as well hidden as we could possibly be. But whether they had been or not, the humans had dropped one of their orbital weapons and sealed him in this refuge. The hopelessness ran through him once again, until he shook it away.

  We can still survive down here for months without access to the surface. That was why this place was built. Maybe even for years. But it only has to last long enough to keep us alive until our God destroys this world. He might not be at the surface to see the world destroyed, but he was sure his God could reach down this deep to make sure he and his staff were also taken into heaven, where they could look down on the torment of the unbelievers. Including, just maybe, these sacrilegious humans.

  * * *

  “Ships translating into normal space,” called out the Sensory Officer. “Confirmed fifty-one contacts.”

  Nguyen looked over those contacts, waiting for the grav wave com signal to fill in their identifying information. When it came, he really liked what it told him. Two more battle cruisers, four light cruisers, seven destroyers, and then the ships that really mattered. Five troop transports, six medium liners, eleven small liners, seven large freighters and ten small tramps, all hyper VI.

  That’s enough to get about one hundred and forty thousand of the Klassekians away, thought the Rear Admiral, looking over the manifests that were now coming over the com. And no troops aboard the transports. That really was good news. With the arrival of an earlier convoy the troop total had risen to a full division of Imperial Army light infantry, as well as two full brigades of Marines. He really didn’t need any more soldiers, who would just have to be transported out when the time came to leave. He needed hulls to transport refugees out to either of the two safe havens.

  The day before he had watched as the Lusitania and her three escorts had left on another high speed run to Bolthole, following a week behind a hyper VI convoy with thirty-five thousand natives in cryo. So far eighty thousand had been sent to Bolthole, along with a hundred and thirty thousand to the base habitats. And they had three more months before the star blew, and six more after that before the radiation wave hit the system. We might just be able to get another half a million out before that happens, he thought, shaking his head as that picture lodged in his mind.

  If this had been a system within the Empire they would have been able to evacuate all the billions on the planet in the given time. It might have been tight, but tens of thousands of ships would have been involved. Or would they? The Empire had already lost over ten billion killed, the Republic a little more, while New Moscow had suffered over ninety-five percent casualties. Would it have really had enough to spare to save even a core world?

  All we can do is to keep trying, thought Nguyen, knowing that saving some of the aliens was better than letting them all die. Not that it would make him feel any better about it, when it did happen.

  * * *

  Lusitania plowed through hyper VII at point nine four light, her three escorts keeping up close and personal as she moved along. This time the frozen forms aboard had been tested by nanites, and it was thought there would be no recurrence of the last trip’s explosion. The atmosphere aboard ship was much more relaxed as e
veryone anticipated a smooth passage to the drop-off point.

  Little did they know, but an alien presence was tracking them in VI, noting their position, Their course and their speed. The alien ship might not be able to intercept them, as it could not jump into the higher level of hyper. But, with the aid of its brethren up and down the course it could calculate a destination, and keep the others of its kind appraised of the course. So that when one did come along in their highest traversable dimension, they could do something about it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Some people still have an irrational fear of space travel, especially voyaging through the dimensions of hyperspace. That is quite alright, as far as society is concerned. There is plenty to do and see on the planet that person happens to be on. It is not our job to cure them of this phobia, as long as they continue otherwise to function normally.

  Dr. LaSean Sperkaklas, Central Hospital, Capitulum.

  Nguyen cursed as he read the report about further attacks over the last week, most of them aimed at the more vulnerable soldiers, police and civilians of the Klassekians, and those mostly Tsarzorians. There had been one attack against an Imperial Marine unit. As usual, the attack had not gone the way the terrorists had wished. Three suits had been damaged, with one Marine injured, at a cost of over eighty Klassekian guerillas.

  And the number of attacks was less than last week, thought the Admiral, trying to find some golden lining to the continued resistance. And that was true. In the month since they had taken out Zzarr’s command post, and what they hoped was the leader of Honish himself, the attacks had fallen off, as well as becoming more disjointed. But they hadn’t stopped as had been hoped. The cell structure of the terrorists, guerillas, what have you, was too robust, and they hadn’t folded.

  All they do is hurt themselves, thought the Admiral, looking at some three dimensional pictures taken of one of the attacks, on a school, killing over two hundred children, as well as fifty teachers and staff. His own troops, these Imperial Army light infantry, had responded and taken out forty some of the terrorists before they could do more damage. And still he felt guilty that his people hadn’t gotten there sooner, even if the native police couldn’t have responded in double that time.