“With a big frickin’ fusion bomb in each one,” Ford added.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Absen replied.
“I already suggested it, but nobody listened,” Ford said.
“Actually, the Meme vetoed the suggestion,” Michelle said.
“Not surprising. Would you want a new and imperfectly trusted ally’s suicide charge on your ships?” Absen stroked his chin. “Besides, they don’t have TacDrives, which means we’d have to hold them internally to launch and recover for each battle. Do you want heavily armed Meme ships on our flight decks with thermonuclear suicide charges inside, especially given that they are animals, not machines? What if one panicked? Think of the damage that could do. No, it’s not practical right now.”
“What about robotic gunboats of our own?” Ford said. “Coat them with bioengineered skin to attract Scourges, arm them with heavy short-range weapons and a suicide bomb.”
“I think I see the good idea fairy flying around again,” Absen replied. “Send a memo. It will get in line behind a thousand other plans, all suggesting the ‘perfect’ weapons system. Now get back to work, people. We have more than thirty swarms to deal with, not to mention that monster flagship of theirs, whatever it is, and only about seventeen hours to do it before they reach Earth.”
Captain Scoggins turned to COB Timmons. “What’s our damage control status?”
“Twenty minutes for the major stuff, ma’am, and we’ll be back up to about ninety-three percent effectiveness, but that’s going to use up most of the spares, especially laser modules. Next go-around we’ll need to head back to the shipyard.”
Absen paced around the holotank, reminding himself that they remained in VR space and would likely do so until the battle was over. Within the 3D display he could see thirty-one separate swarms, all accelerating in the general direction of Earth. There had been thirty-three, but Task Force Alpha had destroyed one and Task Force Charlie, the ten Meme monitors, was about to engage another, so he counted that one destroyed.
If the Meme couldn’t handle one swarm, Earth was done for anyway.
The swarms nearest Earth had an ETA of the aforementioned seventeen hours. The others might take thirty or more hours to circumnavigate the sun and attack.
The admiral’s eyes narrowed as he examined the enemy deployment. He reached into the display to put his index finger on the leading group. “Is it my imagination, or are these not accelerating as fast as they did the last time?”
“You’re right, sir,” Lieutenant Fletcher replied from Sensors. “They’re only accelerating at about fifty percent of capacity.”
“Run a predictive analysis of all the swarms. Plot their paths based on current profiles.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Within the holotank, the swarms accelerated as the flashing chrono sped into the future. At the thirty-five hour mark, all the swarms converged on Earth in a mass.
“That’s the bad news,” Absen said grimly, waving at the holotank, its display frozen. “Thirty million Scourge craft with something like thirty billion troops will roll in together, not separately. The good news is, we actually have thirty-five hours to kill them, not seventeen, as they are grouping up instead of coming in piecemeal.”
“What about that flagship?” Scoggins asked.
Absen looked at it, and at a super-swarm hovering near it, at least five times as numerous as the usual ones. Its projected course brought it in behind the other Scourge forces to arrive an hour later than the rest. “That’s the reserve force. This enemy commander is smarter than the last one. Or I should say, this time they have an overall commander.”
“Maybe the first attack on any star system is made by the cannon fodder, the lower grade troops,” Scoggins said. “If those don’t win, they send in the more organized, more elite force under an experienced leader.”
Absen said, “Which means they aren’t quite the stupid bugs we’d hoped. Not that I really expected they were. But you asked about the flagship…how much detail do we have on it?”
In response, the display zoomed in and the enormous enemy ship expanded to fill the holotank.
“Good God. That thing’s a hundred kilometers across,” he breathed.
“It’s expanded since it transited FTL,” Michelle said. Its image shrank visibly, the accompanying chrono running backward to the moment of emergence, and then forward. Two minutes later, it began launching its millions of small craft. At about the twenty-four minute mark, it began to inflate.
“Looks like a latticework unfolding, and foamy stuff filling the gaps. Can we see past it to the hull?”
“No, sir. Our spy drones are too far away for resolution that good.”
“What about penetrating radar?”
“The skin is reflective.”
“So now it’s got a blanket that hides its secrets,” Absen mused. “The big question is, do we go after it now and risk a severe surprise, or do we keep killing swarms and hope we can develop some intel on it? Opinions?”
“Go after it now, sir,” Ford said. “They’re collecting their own intel on us. The longer we wait, the more likely they are to think of countertactics. Also, the more worn down we’ll be.”
“Sir, I think we should wait,” Commander Johnstone said. “The core inside the shell is ten kilometers across. That’s more than three times our diameter and probably more than thirty times our mass, bigger than Desolator even. It might mount capital weapons systems that could take out a dreadnought with one shot. It’s crazy to risk ourselves up front before we know how to beat it.”
Ford glared at Johnstone, who stared pointedly back.
Absen turned to Scoggins, who chewed her lip. “I’m for waiting, sir,” she eventually said. “I’m skeptical about how much this enemy commander will add to his forces’ coordination and effectiveness. It seems to me they have their game plan and they’re going to stick to it. It’s possible that cutting off the head will cause them to fall apart, but they didn’t the first time. We wiped out all their motherships and the swarms still came close to killing us all. So I don’t see a big enough payoff for the gamble.”
“Michelle?”
“I concur with the captain, sir. We’ve gathered good intel on swarm tactics and next time I think we’ll beat them handily. I believe it’s wise to reinforce success with success. If we’re going to risk failure, let’s do it near Earth, when we have the other two task forces nearby to pick up the pieces.”
Absen turned away to stare at the holotank for a long moment. “I agree. Sorry, Ford, you’ll have to be happy with shooting the shit out of millions of Scourges.”
“Yes, sir.” He brightened.
“Helm, are we set up for the next attack?”
“Yes, sir,” Master Helmsman Okuda replied.
Absen walked over to Timmons to put a hand on his shoulder. “How’s it looking, COB?”
“Ten minutes, more or less.”
“Michelle, give me the captains in turn, starting with Huen.” Absen sat down in his flag chair.
“Huen here, sir,” came a precise feminine voice. A moment later, video of the neat Chinese woman’s face popped up on Absen’s screen.
“How’s Constitution, Sherrie?”
“Hurting, sir, but she can fight. We’re at about sixty percent weapons and we took several hundred casualties. Armor is thinned in a couple spots, but nothing catastrophic. Power and engines at full. TacDrive is undamaged. Half our drones and warbots are gone.”
Absen made a sound of sympathy. “You bore the brunt of it, Captain, and you did well. Your father would be proud of you. The next attack, we’ll go in tighter and cover you better. We know what to expect now. If we get too beat up, we’ll run home for repairs.”
“Understood.”
“Pass my compliments to your crew. Absen out.” The admiral repeated this exercise, with variations, to each of the other fourteen cruiser captains, just a few seconds for each. When he was finished, scant minutes remained. He took t
he time to rough out a new formation for the next attack.
“Time, boss,” Timmons called. “The major damage control is done.”
“All right,” Absen replied. “Pass instructions to the fleet to prepare for the next TacDrive pulse. Mark in thirty seconds.” He waited as the chrono counted down, and then said, “Mark.”
VR space mitigated most of the unsettling feeling brought on by the TacDrive field, and a moment later the bridge electronics cleared and reset. Soon, Absen’s screen showed him the next swarm to the fore. He said, “Michelle, pass orders to take positions according to my new formation.”
The holotank soon displayed the friendly icons of the two dreadnoughts alongside each other at the minimum safe distance of about five kilometers, Constitution slightly refused, which allowed Conquest’s rear weapons to help cover her. If they came after her again, she would have all the support he could give. If not, someone else would bear more of the hurt: probably his own ship.
Scoggins’ ship, he corrected himself, though it was hard not to feel that Conquest was still his.
The cruisers filled in around the two dreadnoughts in positions to cover every inch of their skins. They had instructions to maneuver on their own if they had to, even to TacDrive out if they must, and to spin their ships violently to reduce the ability of the enemy to land. This would cut into their firepower, but Absen could ill afford to lose any of his hulls. Unlike a dead one, a functioning ship could be repaired, no matter how badly damaged.
The remaining aerospace drones, rather than covering the task force’s tail, now filled in the spaces between the ships. The Scourge assault craft had shown no propensity to sneak around the back. As individuals, they seemed as blindly aggressive as ever. Still…
“Be ready, for the enemy swarm will make some adjustments too, now that they’ve observed our tactics,” Absen said. “Let’s give them something new to think about. Deploy the box launchers.” He could see the chrono read nine minutes until they came within range of the enemy gunships, so just enough time remained.
Launch bays on all the ships flew open and one-man grabships shoved hundred-round expendable boxes of missiles out into space ahead of them. Quickly stabilizing the launchers, the little workhorses scurried home just in time.
“Coordinated fleet fire, Mister Ford,” Absen said. “Time the missiles to pass through the leading wave of enemy assault craft shortly after our first point defense salvo.”
Unexpectedly, a surge of plasma torpedoes appeared on the holotank. “Why are they firing?” Scoggins asked. “They’re at extreme range.” Her question was answered as several box launchers took hits. With no armor, many of the missiles inside began to burn as their fuel ignited.
“Shit,” snarled Ford, fingers playing over his console. “I’m launching them all now.”
“Clever bugs,” Absen muttered. “I should have seen that coming.”
“I can upload instructions in flight, sir,” Ford said. “We only lost about four percent.”
“Good work.”
In the holotank Absen could see the enemy set up a more cohesive formation, this time spreading out laterally with the assault craft as a screen. Instead of clumps and smaller groups, his task force would have to face a possibly overwhelming mass.
“Johnstone, pass to all ships: as soon as our missiles engage, yaw laterally to stellar counterspinward, fifty percent retro angle, accelerating at flank speed. We need to draw them sideways and extend so they don’t hit us in a group.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Missile starburst,” Ford reported. Each weapon from the box launchers now split up into twelve individual fighter-killers, beginning evasive maneuvers that would help them survive to close in and destroy the enemy small craft.
In response, thousands of lasers from the Scourge assault boats began picking the missiles out of space, but not quickly and not well, most missing. Soon, the leading edge of the swarm and the wave of guided weapons approached each other.
“Firing point defense salvo,” Ford said, and Absen saw a phalanx of red lines in the holotank reach out to pluck tens of thousands of Scourges out of the sky. The missiles followed close behind, and the double blow wiped the leading edge of the enemy from space, briefly providing a dense screen of gyrating wreckage between the two forces.
“Maneuver,” Absen snapped, but the ships were already rotating sideways and angled partially backward. As soon as they lined up, fusion engines flared at full power and the task force blasted for the flank of the enemy formation, slowing its forward momentum as well in order to provide more time to shoot.
This forced the Scourges to chase the EarthFleet ships from increasing angles, some closer and some farther away. As in a football play toward the sidelines, the other team ended up strung out rather than coordinated in a mass.
“Enemy gunboats firing…minimal damage,” Ford reported as Absen saw the majority of the enemy plasma torpedoes, their most effective weapons, miss.
“We confused their targeting this time,” Absen said. “They’ll get more accurate, though. Bring the fleet about, ten degree forward angle. I don’t want to keep our sterns toward them for long. They might damage our engines.”
“Salvo,” said Ford, and another coordinated strike took out tens of thousands more Scourges. “We’re killing almost one hundred percent of the assault craft that come within range.”
“Landings?” Captain Scoggins asked.
“With Brigadier ben Tauros’ concurrence, I’ve taken the liberty of keeping the warbots on the hull while we maneuver in order to clean up any small enemy forces,” Michelle replied. “They can generally handle our maneuvers, and if not, all we lose is machines. The Marines are holding inside as a reserve.”
“Good thinking,” Scoggins replied. “Let’s try to keep them there.”
“We’re losing a few surface systems, but not many,” Timmons said. “Seems to be working.”
“We’re going to pull this off,” Absen observed, face turned intently to the holotank in front of him. “Our run to the oblique has put them out of position, so we only have to fight a quarter of them at a time, while all our firepower can concentrate. Pass to all ships: follow Conquest’s maneuvers and maintain the wall of battle oriented toward the enemy at all times.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Johnstone replied.
“Melissa,” Absen said to Scoggins, “I need you to keep turning into the enemy so we strafe along their flank like so.” He reached his flattened hand into the holotank and swept it forward as if it were a ship. “That will string them out further and let us engage on our own terms while minimizing their ability to hit back.”
“Understood,” Scoggins said. “Mister Okuda, make it so. Ford, keep hitting their nearest formations. Fletcher, keep a sharp eye out for anything weird.”
“Weird?”
“Unexpected.” She stood from her chair to join Absen at the holotank. Quietly, she said to him, “Looks like it’s working, sir. We’re rolling them up.”
“Yes, but look at the enemy gunboats. They’re holding their range as much as they can. We’ll have a hell of a time bringing them to battle.”
Scoggins mouth quirked upward. “I think I have an idea about that, sir.”
Chapter 17
Spectre’s pinnace floated in space twenty million kilometers out from Ryssa, watching a lone Monitor approach. The Meme ship dwarfed his, a pumpkin to a mustard seed, and he suppressed a stab of worry at what he was about to do.
Some thought him fearless, but only a fool doesn’t fear real power in the hands of another. However, he believed in himself and his ability to convince the Meme SystemLord of the veracity of his claims. Whether the Meme leader would choose a course of action favorable to EarthFleet…that was an unknown.
And, if they decided to shoot the messenger…well, his life had been more interesting than most, and the universe would proceed without him. If the spirits of his ancestors really watched over him as the traditional belie
fs of his Vietnamese Degar clan claimed, he would undoubtedly join them with great fascination at the new phase of existence.
A shuttle about the same size as his craft launched from a sphincter in the front of the Monitor and approached his rapidly. At what seemed the last moment, it decelerated violently to come alongside. As Meme had no organs to rupture and were made of amorphous protoplasm filled with swirling cells and molecules, they could withstand much higher G forces than most other organic beings.
Spectre stood and walked out of the pinnace’s cockpit, not bothering to don a suit. He wore his yellows, and the only other equipment he possessed was carried within his body as cybernetic implants.
Spectre doubted the Meme would harm him. Promises aside, Desolator had used his TacDrive to approach the four Monitors near enough for them to see him well, but outside of easy weapons range. The superdreadnought had rolled deliberately in place, giving the Meme a good look at his hundreds of thousands of point defense lasers, his dozens of heavy particle beams, and his main battery of the same that, judged by its size alone, should strike with enough power to obliterate a Monitor in one salvo.
Then, Desolator had targeted an asteroid larger than a Monitor and confirmed that supposition, turning a ten-kilometer rock into molten gravel within a fraction of a second.
That had gotten their attention.
Undoubtedly, the Meme recognized the type of craft Desolator represented: one of the Species 447 super-ships that had, for a time, crushed their fleets and cracked the crusts of their planets. Add in its obvious upgrades…
An hour of radio conversation had established SystemLord’s willingness to talk to a Blend, and now here they were. Spectre squared his shoulders and opened his airlock when it showed pressure on the other side. Stepping into the living chamber there, he observed a Meme in a raised pool, one giant eyeball staring at him while a ready pseudopod pulsed nearby.
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