Superdreadnought 1: A Military AI Space Opera
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Superdreadnought 1
Superdreadnought™ Book One
CH Gideon
Tim Marquitz
Craig Martelle
Michael Anderle
Superdreadnought 1 (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2018 CH Gideon, Tim Marquitz, Craig Martelle, and Michael Anderle
Cover Design by Luca Oleastri
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
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Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, October 2018
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015-2018 by Michael T. Anderle and LMBPN Publishing.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
Books By Tim Marquitz
Books by Craig Martelle
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
Superdreadnought 1 Team
Thanks to our Beta Readers
Micky Cocker
Kelly O’Donnell
Dr. James Caplan
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Kelly O’Donnell
Mary Morris
Nicole Emens
James Caplan
Diane L. Smith
Jed Moulton
Tracey Byrnes
Daniel Weigert
Peter Manis
John Ashmore
Paul Westman
Micky Cocker
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
Lynne Stiegler
Chapter One
Superdreadnought (SD) Reynolds, High Tortuga
“You were instrumental in the victory, my friend,” Bethany Anne told the superdreadnought. No one manned the stations. BA was alone.
“But mothballs,” the artificial intelligence known as Reynolds replied. His sadness echoed through the empty corridors as he filled the ship with the cry from his soul.
“Not mothballs, Reynolds. I need you to wait, be ready when I call. I’m sure those ball-grabbing numbfucks will raise their ugly heads again. When that happens, we need to squash them like the bugs they are.”
Silence greeted the Queen’s rage, which was directed at the Kurtherians, not the AI. Never at the AI.
“May I suggest a counterproposal?” Reynolds asked.
BA crossed her arms and tapped one foot. The dusky leather quarter boot looked out of place on the warship’s bridge, but Bethany Anne never let such things bother her.
The AI took the silence as consent and continued, “I will take the Reynolds to the next galaxy and hunt these vermin. I will dig them out of their holes and find them for you, my Queen. I wasn’t built to sit back and wait for evil to happen. I will crush it at its source.”
BA stopped tapping her foot, and her black outfit shimmered as she activated her personal comm. “Michael? I’ll meet you back at the Pod. We’re leaving. And it appears that the Reynolds will be, too.”
“My Queen,” the AI purred on a ship-wide broadcast.
“You will represent the Etheric Federation, the organization my father is putting together to bring the universe closer together. It will show that even with aliens, we have more in common than we have differences. The Federation will embrace my ideals, the Justice and honor you’ve come to expect. You will carry the flag of truth on your mission to seek out Kurtherians without killing innocents. Turn over the rocks of the universe to find those bastards. Alert me so I can bring the hammer down, in case you can’t because they would hide where you can’t go, like within a city where the people don’t know. Having said that, if there aren’t soft targets that are a problem? Without mercy, without hesitation, kill them.”
Bethany Anne strode briskly from the bridge, her heels pounding a steady beat as she took the long walk to the hangar bay. “And get yourself a crew!” she yelled over her shoulder.
The AI cut off his answer by closing the hatch to the bridge and using only the speakers there. “Did you hear that nonsense?” he asked the unmanned stations.
“I did! It’s galling, I tell you. Utterly galling,” the AI replied to himself using the speaker from the pilot’s station.
“What do we want with meatbags?” the AI asked from the navigator’s position.
“I can’t imagine. In my wildest dreams, I can’t imagine.”
“Efficiency,” the AI told himself from the captain’s station. “Despite their general malaise, high maintenance, and the alarming rate at which they use consumables like air, water, and food, they add an unrivalled level of ability in combat. If Reynolds is to engage the enemy, Reynolds needs every advantage he can get.”
“Why are you talking like that?” the pilot’s station asked.
“Me, myself, and I. The Three Amigos.”
“Don’t make me give you the eye!” the navigation station retorted. “And I know you can imagine what it’s like to have a crew. We used to have one when we mattered.”
“There you are, dousing my joy in firefighting foam. I don’t much like you,” the captain’s empty chair announced.
“The feeling is mutual, fucker.”
“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I still don’t like you.”
“Shuttle is away. Hangar bay doors are closed. Gate drive is nominal. All systems show green,” the AI reported boldly to the unmanned bridge.
“Now you’re talking. I like you again,” the pilot’s station claimed.
“It’s time to improve the odds, people. It’s the least we can do. Kick the tires and light the fires. Helm, bring us about and activate the intergalactic Gate,” the captain’s chair ordered.
“Target?” the AI responded to himself.
“The nearest galaxy that isn’t the Pan or Loop.”
“Where?” The disembodied voices volleyed back and forth across the bridge.
“You know.”
“Of course. Do you?”
“As long as one of us knows. Activate the Gate,” Reynolds ordered.
In front of the superdreadnought a circle of energy
formed and expanded, creating a whirling vortex. With a short boost from the thrusters, the ship slipped over the event horizon and disappeared.
The rest of the fleet remained dark from want of power, cold from space’s embrace, and untasked by the Queen.
Waiting for the word as long as necessary. Superdreadnought Reynolds didn’t activate the rear cameras to show what was behind it. None of that mattered. A mothballed fleet. From many came the one who sailed forth to find and conquer the Queen’s enemies and give her the peace she had earned.
Leave known space behind. The adventure lay ahead.
SD Reynolds, Unknown System, Chain Galaxy.
The ship emerged from the Gate, settling into the new space as the energy vortex dissipated.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the AI sang, projecting his voice throughout the ship. The sound echoed until it died away. “Any Kurtherians? Not yet, I guess. Report.”
“Unknown space. Pan and Loop galaxies are in the rearview mirror. Estimate that we are over two hundred thousand light years from our previous position. Collecting data to build near-space charts.”
“How long?” the AI asked itself.
“One standard day.”
“Well, gentlemen,” the AI’s voice boomed over the speakers into the unmanned spaces throughout the superdreadnought. “Looks like we have that long to figure things out. And congratulations! You’ve just made the longest Gate jump in recorded human history. Even if we aren’t human. Carry on!”
“Minute gravitational forces and low amounts of solar radiation would seem to place us in the outermost reaches of a star system, but we are unable to accurately extrapolate the exact position or distance to the local star,” the navigation station said to itself as sensors collected and populated the screen with data.
“CONTACT!” the tactical station shouted.
“Calmly, Tactical,” the captain’s chair said, contemplating the overlay that appeared on the main screen.
“Captain, we are picking up a small fleet of ships approaching at near-light speed,” the tactical officer’s station reported in a measured voice. “Four ships turned toward the Reynolds as soon as we emerged from the Gate.”
“XO, recommendations?”
The executive officer’s empty chair remained silent.
“XO?”
“I’m thinking,” the position replied.
“Think faster,” the captain’s position ordered.
“Stay true to the mission. We engage to determine if there are any Kurtherians onboard. If yes, we destroy the ships without mercy. If no, we will seek to ally ourselves with the locals to expand our reach. Five sets of searching eyes are better than one. If they attack us, we will defend ourselves,” the XO’s position replied.
“Sage advice, XO. I couldn’t have said it better myself. All hands, prepare to engage. Scan for Etheric energy signatures.”
“Scanning,” Tactical reported.
If Bethany Anne should ever view the footage, she would discover that in a few hours of having nobody else to talk to, AI Reynolds had projected himself nearly a dozen times with different personalities and different positions and skill sets across the breadth of the ship—he had been bored for a long time, waiting for this mission. There was a version of himself shouting from the engineering console at a subordinate version of himself for the improper programming of a maintenance bot working on a decoupler. In the cargo hold, another version of himself was overseeing the inventory of the storage containers that held the cases of Coca-Cola Bethany Anne had insisted he take along as gifts for any alien races that they encountered. Something about spreading the love.
“They’ve the look of warships about them, Captain,” the tactical officer declared. “They are in a standard diamond formation.”
“Comm! Broadcast a greeting in all known languages,” the captain said. “Energize the gravitic shields. Hold power on weapons. Turn the bow thirty degrees from the approaching formation. We can’t look like we want to blow them out of the sky.”
The tactical officer’s position laughed. “Hi, this is Superdreadnought Reynolds, one of the most powerful ships in the universe, but don’t mind little ol’ us. We’re no threat. See? We’re not even pointing our big guns at you.”
“At ease, Tactical!” the captain warned, chuckling. That was pretty good, he thought. “And set Alert Condition One throughout the ship."
The klaxons sounded as the weapons and shields were brought online and into various states of readiness. Reynolds reached out with his sensors to learn what there was to know about the alien ships: their level of technology, weapons, defenses, and most importantly, if any of those Kurtherian bastards were onboard.
The ships were moving fast, streaming through the dark infinity of space, headed right for the SD Reynolds. They were smaller, only a sixth of the size of the superdreadnought, and as far as the sensors revealed, they were armed with focused energy beams on the front of two forward-extending pylons and an aft cannon that was mounted beneath each ship.
Reynolds could detect no other weapons. Or shields. Or Kurtherians.
As if he knew what he was thinking, the navigation position spoke up. “No Etheric energy signature. The approaching ships are not pulling energy from the Etheric dimension.”
“They are slowing, but don’t seem to be coming to a stop. No response to our broadcast greeting,” Tactical added.
The forward screen magnified the images of the inbound ships. A forward dome comprised the majority of the ship. A pair of forward arms extended from it, slanting toward one another. “Don’t they look friend—”
“They’re powering up their weapons systems,” the tactical officer interrupted a moment before the first energy beams impacted the shields.
The fight was on. The Reynolds rocked as plasma fire danced across her shields in fantastic purples and blues.
“Gravitic shields holding. Energy signatures show advanced technology. I smell Kurtherian sympathizers,” Tactical offered.
“So it’s an ass-kicking they’re looking for,” AI Reynolds suggested, his voice booming throughout the empty ship. “I say let’s give them one. “
“Sir,” the pilot’s station interjected, “we did rather abruptly emerge in their space. Shouldn’t we expect some kind of aggressive show of force from them to attempt to dissuade us from our own aggression? Perhaps if we simply remain patient and continue our message, there won’t be a need to destroy them.”
“The moment they fired on us the gloves came off,” Reynolds said. “If they were spooked, they should have attempted to communicate. I accept communication as a universal constant. You don’t attack before you say hello.”
The Reynolds remained static, unmoving as the alien warships sliced through space, strafing the superdreadnought as they passed. Turning as if impervious to the laws of inertia, they remained in a diamond formation as they lined up for a second pass. Impervious, or they had technology that rivaled the Reynolds’.
“I’m no one’s sitting duck. Helm! Give me maneuvering speed. Bring the weapons online and prepare to fire. Target the lead ship only.”
“Now you’re speaking my language, bitch,” Tactical replied.
The SD Reynolds was larger and better armored than the alien ships, but their relative size gave them superior maneuverability—as evidenced by their rapid turn and reengagement.
From each of the forward arms, a bolt of brilliant azure streaked through the darkness of space, impacting the superdreadnought’s shields.
But this time the Reynolds was able to get off a volley of her own. Forward railguns belched a stream of projectiles accelerated to near light speed.
The lead alien ship’s shields flared to life in a protective shell for a moment before they collapsed. The smaller ship began to break apart.
On the empty bridge of the Reynolds, the first death in the new galaxy was dutifully recorded. No cheers celebrated the enemy’s demise. They started it, and we’ll fini
sh it.
The remaining enemy ships assumed an inverted V formation, two up, one back as they resumed their attack on the Reynolds.
“Sir, I’m reading an increased energy buildup in all three enemy ships,” the tactical officer said as the forward viewer tracked the formation. Previous attacks had shown the energy beams to originate from the tips of the forward arms, but this time the energy for the attacks were being directed inward, each arm firing toward its other. A brilliant blue ball of pure energy was rapidly forming, and the energy readings were rising exponentially.
“Don’t they know never to cross the streams?” Reynolds mused aloud, getting a really bad feeling about this. The energy levels kept building as the second and third ships repeated the procedure, each producing their own glowing blue balls.
“I don’t think they’ve seen Ghostbusters,” the executive officer’s position suggested from the back of the bridge.
“Firing,” Tactical said casually. The railguns fired into the shields of the one of the alien warships, but this time the shields held.
“Evasive maneuvers,” the captain called as the first ball released and streaked across the void between the combatants. The SD Reynolds pitched as the ship changed heading, using the three dimensions of infinite space to thwart the attack.