The thick clamshell above them opened and the platoon of warbots scampered up and out like the insects they resembled. Squads of Marines followed, hugging the edge of the circular hatch as they exited, spreading out to hunker down on the hull.
Right now, Conquest’s continuing acceleration pressed them down. Bull clambered out after his troops had secured a perimeter and was glad of his magnetics as the apparent slope of the hull threatened to send him sliding. Around him, laser turrets pointed at the sky and vomited silent energies, reaching to destroy the enemy above.
Bull’s HUD told him he was experiencing at least five Gs, which was far less than Conquest was capable of, and he felt a brief flash of sympathy for the AI. He knew she and the command staff had to balance every tradeoff in combat. Marines on the hull meant the ship couldn’t maneuver violently, but letting the damned Scourges roam free, destroying the vital point defense lasers, wasn’t an option.
In the future, he knew, more antipersonnel guns would be added to the ship’s surface, and more warbots and Marines would be stationed aboard, but for now, five reinforced battalions was what he had.
Bull switched to the general push and said, “We sweep upslope toward the prow first. They’ll be forced to bunch up and be easier to kill. Each battalion, put half your warbots on the flanks to maintain contact with friendly forces and have them cover the edges of the facets where you can’t see.”
“We’re already engaging a strong force in sector six bravo, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel Bryson’s voice replied. “Could use some help.”
Bull checked his tactical picture and saw a mass of Scourges piling into First Battalion. Their lines looked to be holding, but the sooner they finished off the enemy the sooner they could proceed. “Curtin, Miller, advance and turn to strike the enemy’s flanks. Once you’ve finished them off, resume the attack toward the prow.”
Conquest’s elite Marines quickly put the enemy force into a vice, squeezed from three directions.
A human unit would have tried to withdraw from such a trap, but Scourge ground troops never seemed to retreat. Bull was happy to see only three Marine casualties so far, and no KIA. Conquest’s infirmaries and the troopers’ Eden Plague would have them back on their feet for the next battle.
Soon, five battalions ground methodically forward in a vast line that circled the hull. Marines and warbots pressed the Scourges into a smaller and smaller area as they were driven toward the prow of the ship where the six facets met.
“Speed up the advance,” Bull ordered. “Don’t give them time to damage the main weapons array.”
Scourge assault craft continued to land at random, sometimes among his troops. One crashed near him and he lifted his plasma rifle to pour sun-hot blue into the downed craft.
Each such assault boat carried a thousand Scourgelings and a hundred Soldiers, and despite the damage, scores of the critters began scurrying from the wreckage.
“Heavies!” Reaper yelled, but Chief Massimo was already directing the grounding of his semi-portable crew-served weapons, the holy trinity of missile launcher, railgun and laser. Each had a dedicated gunner and three assistants that loaded, carried and serviced the weapons.
With no recoil, the heavy laser was the first to fire as soon as its magnetic feet locked onto the hull. Sparkling orange as its otherwise invisible beam encountered and incinerated falling dust and debris, it lanced out and cut a Soldier in half. Sweeping left and right, its gunner methodically cut down Scourges at a range of fifty meters.
The missile launcher fired next, firing its heavy missile at point-blank range to slam into the assault boat, blowing a quarter of it to flinders and incinerating dozens, possibly hundreds, of Scourgelings trapped in the explosion.
The heavy railgun finally got its four feet locked down, ensuring its tremendous recoil wouldn’t send it careening across the hull. A stream of one-gram bullets, accelerated to flesh-ripping velocity, joined the laser in playing across the disorganized mass of the enemy, cutting down Soldiers and Scourgelings alike.
With two dozen line Marines and their pulse guns added to the mix, the bugs never had a chance. “That’s how we do it!” Bull roared as chitinous hunks rolled down the slope of Conquest’s armor, spraying ichor as they tumbled. Soon, no more enemy crawled from the wreckage of their assault craft, and the command section resumed its advance toward the prow.
Once the ship’s forward section had been cleared, Bull ordered, “All right, we sweep back down again, maximum safe speed.”
“Bull, this is Scoggins,” Conquest’s captain broke in. “You have one minute to get your people inside or lay flat on the hull. We have some violent maneuvers coming up.”
“Aye aye, Skipper,” Bull said. He immediately relayed those orders. “Organics in first,” he instructed. “Anyone stuck outside, flat on your backs, magnetics on full.”
“That’s gonna be us,” Reaper said from his elbow. “We’re too far from an airlock.”
Bull could see that was true. “Right. Circle up, hedgehog formation,” he told his command section. “On your backs and clamp onto the hull. I don’t know how bad it’s gonna get.” Following his own advice, he lay down and ramped up his magnetics, pinning him in place but putting him in the best position to resist acceleration.
Abruptly, he felt a violent wrench, and the universe spun around him as Conquest turned to face a new direction. Immediately, the rumble and compression of the ship’s main engines kicked in, squashing him with at least twenty-five gravities. If not for his cybernetics, Plague and nano, he’d have been dead within seconds, his ribcage crushed and his heart burst from the stress. Under this pressure, his body weighed five thousand kilos.
Even with his enhancements, he grayed out, eyeballs threatening to burst in his head. Pain flared all through his body, unrelieved by any drugs, as his suit had shut down all its own moving parts to preserve systems.
When the pressure dropped to about three Gs, he punched up Captain Scoggins’ channel, a privilege of his position and rank. His voice sounded ragged even to him. “Skipper, that hurt. Any more jolts coming our way?”
“Not for a while, General. We’ve attritted the swarm enough to turn our asses to them and start extending again, but that also means they’ll be landing more easily. As soon as you can, please move around to the tail and keep it clear.”
“Roger, Skipper. Bull out.” He took a deep breath, feeling his suit stab him with painkillers.
Dialing up a stim, he rolled over with a groan and got to his feet. Switching to his senior warbot controller’s channel, he asked, “Butler, you there?”
“Here, boss,” Butler replied.
“Here, boss,” Flight Warrant Krebs broke in, his grin clear on the audio.
“Shut up, Krebs,” Bull and Butler said simultaneously.
“Butler,” Bull went on, “pass the word to the controllers. Send all warbots out on a general search-and-destroy to clear the forward facets of any stray Scourges. Once all Marines get back out on the hull, we’ll move to the stern.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Bull passed instructions to his battalion commanders, and then checked the casualty count. Contrary to Michelle’s pessimistic prediction, he noted only about two hundred Marines wounded, along with twenty dead, a very good number for everyone but that unlucky score of men and women.
Chapter 15
Upon arrival at the target star system, Trissk awakened without difficulty. When he had donned his harness and fluffed his mane to proper impressiveness, he entered Desolator’s spacious triangular command center, its “bridge” as the Humans termed it, though what it had to do with a roadway span across an obstacle, he was unsure.
Captain Chiren already sat on the elevated throne in the center, able to rotate to examine any of the three walls – forward, left and right – covered with screens, displays and telltales. “Eldest Trissk, welcome,” Desolator’s commander said, standing and walking down the steps to greet him formally.
&nb
sp; Trissk appreciated the gesture; many of the Ryss aboard didn’t know him except by hearsay. His old mentor Chirom had told him that any good leader must appear to be approachable, striking the correct balance of superiority and humility to provide the illusion to any warrior that their commander was just like him – only better.
Releasing his brother warrior, Trissk gestured at the front wall screens. “May we see it?”
“I was waiting for you,” Chiren replied. “Desolator, please give us a view of our homeworld.”
“I am pleased to do so.” In front of them and the rest of the bridge crew, Desolator projected a two-story-high long-range optical view of a yellowish planet, its green seas balanced by the brown of its land area.
“Ryssa,” Trissk breathed, echoing the hisses of the Ryss around him. One Sekoi chuckled softly to herself. The Humans stared as well, though the planet lacked most of the blue of Earth.
“The population stands at over ten billion,” Chiren said with evident satisfaction, “though who knows what our people have become after nearly four hundred years of Meme rule.”
“They will need reminding.”
“They will need inspiring.”
A soft buzzing sounded. “Perhaps the captain and the Eldest should turn their attention to the strategic situation,” Desolator said. “The starboard wall screens, if you please.”
On the big screen, Trissk could see Ryssa’s star system mapped out in exquisite detail. Its sun resembled Earth’s, though smaller, and the homeworld and its moon orbited closer and faster than the Human’s planet, making Ryss years shorter. One dead dry planet resided closer to the star, of no consequence to them now as Desolator had emerged far from it.
An asteroid belt and three gas giants completed the roster of planets, a compact stellar system that had allowed the Ryss to vault into space quickly and spread to other star systems using coldsleep technology, long before the younger Humans had gathered to build their first city.
“Where is the Guardian?” Trissk asked. Each Meme-controlled system possessed at least one enormous monitor to keep order among its Underlings, along with a varying number of Destroyers that acted as its mobile forces, cruising from star system to star system on decades-long voyages.
“I have located four such ships,” said Desolator. Icons lit up to mark their positions, all in the asteroid belt.
“Destroyers?”
“None detected so far.”
“That’s an unusual deployment,” Chiren said. “My first deduction would be that the Destroyers have been sent on a mission, and the usual single Guardian has split itself twice, to make four. Perhaps they continue to gorge themselves for more reproduction.”
“Perhaps they’ve gotten word of the Scourge,” Trissk replied. “Desolator, is this possible?”
“Yes, Elder. If the battles we know of were reported via electromagnetic signal, word could have reached them here several years ago.”
“So the Meme Empire is responding, though we don’t know its plans. And,” Trissk stalked back and forth in front of the screen, “without faster-than-light travel, they are fighting a losing battle, a defensive campaign of fortresses while the enemy can strike when and where they wish – and leap far into the rear areas.”
Chiren growled, contemplative. “Until we arrived here aboard Desolator, I never really felt in my bones how much trouble the Meme – or anyone without FTL drive – is in. Look at us. We have a ship mobile and powerful enough to destroy those Guardians without difficulty. Were this not our homeworld, we could devastate this system and leave with impunity to do it over and over again.” The captain folded his paws across his middle as he lounged in his command chair. “I no longer fear the Meme the way I once did.”
“Nor I. But the Scourge…I fear them on behalf of us all.” Trissk moved closer to the schematic. “Display detail of Ryssa and Charyss.” The latter was the name of its moon, smaller than Earth’s but large enough to perform its vital asteroid-sweeping function that allowed higher life to flourish on life-bearing worlds. Without a large satellite to divert and intercept most rocks, cataclysmic extinction events would repeatedly pummel any ecosystem, wiping out the more complex species.
“I see seventeen heavy orbitals, which is an unusually high number, and several more being built. Does Charyss have Weapons?” Chiren asked.
Desolator replied, “We are too far for absolute confirmation, but the probability is high, based on my long-range scans. I suspect at least four installations, with two more under construction.”
“Soon six Weapons and more than twenty orbitals?” Chiren marveled. “The Meme are fortifying with great haste. Can they withstand a Scourge attack with these forces?”
“In my estimation, they can survive an attack similar to the ones on which we have data, especially with a mature population of more than ten billion Ryss on the ground to defend the planet.”
“Good news, then,” said Trissk.
“Perhaps not,” a Human voice from behind him said in passable Ryssan.
Turning, Trissk could not identify the speaker at first. All the apes looked more or less the same to him at first glance, though this one wore blazing yellow silk… “Nguyen?”
“The same. I always wanted to see your homeworld.”
“You turn up in the unlikeliest of places.”
“I go where I wish, Elder Trissk.”
“It’s Eldest now.”
“That should prove useful, then.” Spectre stepped forward to look at the big board. “Shall we begin negotiations?”
“Negotiations? We are here to liberate Ryssa, not ‘make a deal,’ as you apes would say.”
“Why can’t we do both?” Spectre took out a cigar and puffed it to life.
Chiren strode down the steps from his elevated chair. “Who is this Blend?”
“This is the one called Spectre, who was Spooky Nguyen before he Blended, and he is undoubtedly here to take a straightforward situation and twist it into knots,” Trissk replied.
The rest of the crew on the bridge stared at the three and their conversation with evident interest, but little trepidation. To most of them, Spooky Nguyen was merely the name of the founder of several Afranan corporations. Fewer recognized him for his military and covert exploits, and apparently none of the longer-lived Humans or Sekoi had known him personally, for there came no cries of surprise or greeting.
Spectre merely smiled at Trissk’s characterization. “I’m sure you would like to conduct some glorious battle of liberation here, but do you really want to attack and destroy the very Meme ships guarding your people?”
“I am not a fool, Nguyen. My intent is to destroy only one Guardian, quickly and spectacularly, to cow the others into accepting our terms. How else will they believe in our prowess?”
“And if they will accept our terms without eliminating valuable military materiel, what then?”
Trissk stared at Spectre for a long moment, saying nothing. Eventually, Chiren spoke. “I for one can forego revenge upon the Meme…for now. Spectre is right, Eldest. We need every Guardian, every orbital, to defend our people.”
“Are they even our people anymore?” Trissk mused, turning away. “I saw how different the Earther underlings are from the Fleet personnel I know. Many lost their honor and discipline under the misrule of Meme and Blend. They had to be hunted down and executed like beasts. Is that what we face when we take our planet back?”
“Kill that prey when you see it, Trissk,” Spectre replied. “For now, our goal should be to convince the Meme here that the alliance forged by Earth’s SystemLord is the right move. Without orders from their Empire, they’ll need more than a good scare to join us. Otherwise, they may simply run and leave Ryssa to its fate.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Trissk asked.
“Desolator plus four Guardians would secure the system much more effectively than Desolator alone. Also, every time we make allies of the Meme, we gain cost-free defensive forces, allowing our thinly
stretched FTL ships to be elsewhere.” Spectre continued to puff on his cigar.
“The Human is right, brother,” Chiren said. “I read a book of theirs by a sage called Sun Tzu. He contended that to win without fighting was the acme of military prowess.”
“What honor is there in winning without fighting?”
“What honor is there in losing the war because we lust too much for battle?”
Desolator broke in. “From what we know, the Scourge control, at a minimum, tens of thousands of systems. They do not seem a race fond of negotiation, so we will have to kill them by the trillions. I believe we shall have our fill of battle.”
“Yes, so much battle even a Ryss might tire of it,” Spectre said. “Every non-Scourge race and star system must be viewed as a potential ally, be they Meme or Underling. And, if the Meme will not see reason in any particular place, the best we can do is give them data on our common enemy and leave them to their fates.”
“Here? On our homeworld?” Trissk hissed.
Spectre nodded. “Even here. Your people have lived for four hundred years under the Meme. It won’t harm them to stay there a bit longer if it strengthens their odds of survival.”
“All this is speculation until we make contact with the SystemLord here,” Desolator observed.
“Until I make contact,” Spectre replied.
“You?” Chiren asked.
“Why else do you think I came along?”
“We have Sekoi Blends aboard if direct negotiations are necessary,” Trissk said.
“None of them have seen what I’ve seen, and none of them brings word directly from Earth’s Emperor.” Spectre dropped the butt of his cigar and ground it out on the deck. “Now, may I borrow a pinnace?”
Chapter 16
“Sure wish we’d had some of those Meme gunboats with us, or something like them,” Captain Scoggins said to Admiral Absen as she swung around in her chair. Most of the swarm had been annihilated, its power broken when the Scourge gunboats had been shot to pieces by the task force’s sudden charge.
Conquest and Empire (Stellar Conquest Series Book 5) Page 15