Exodus: Machine War: Book 2: Bolthole

by Doug Dandridge

  The female shook her head, banishing those thoughts. She would mourn later, when she had the time. For now, she was so enraptured by the wonders around her to think about the death of her world. A whole new Universe was opening before her.

  The tour took her through the downtown section of the city, with its megascrapers and arcologies. There were over ten thousand of the super skyscrapers in the city, each over three times taller that the highest structure her own people had built. Seventy thousand smaller skyscrapers, each comparable to those in the Klassekians’ largest cities. Museums and zoos, and huge gardens and parks, cultures from all across the Empire. And four other cities on the planet with over five hundred million sentients, more than any single nation on Klassek.

  Eleven point one billion people on the entire planet. She looked at that figure again, wondering if it was a mistake. She had read some of the writings of futurists on her own world, and most had told of a future in which fifteen or twenty billion could live on a planet. She jumped out of the tour and started looking over some of the statistics of the Empire. Over a trillion intelligent beings, over seven hundred billion of them human. But significant numbers of other species as well. Ninety-three billion of the birdlike Gryphons, seventy-three billion Centasians, fifty-six billion Malticons, even forty-two billion of the fearsome appearing Phlistarans. So there will be room for us to expand as well.

  She looked over the systems of the Empire, and again wondered if some of the figures were misquoted in the data. The heaviest system population was seven billion, or had been, since that system had been wiped out by the enemy of the Empire. Most of the core systems, the major industrial nodes of the Empire, were around four billion or less. But they have room to spread out. Or did they? Now they were being threatened with extinction as well, and Greshra wondered if her people might have hitched their cart to the wrong beast.

  “What choice did we have?” she mumbled to herself as she cut the program with a thought. It wasn’t like there had been multiple competing species knocking on their door and offering rescue. With that thought she composed her mind for sleep. Tomorrow they would start their training, and she was sure that would be a long and eventful day.

  Chapter Two

  The sad thing about artificial intelligence is that it lacks artifice and therefore intelligence.

  Jean Baudrillard

  INTERSTELLAR SPACE ENROUTE TO BOLTHOLE, FEBRUARY 17TH, 1002.

  “We’ll be entering the danger zone in six hours, sir,” said the Flag Navigation Officer, Commander Geofrey van der Griff, looking back at his Admiral.

  Rear Admiral Nguyen van Hung nodded as he switched the local tactical holo to a view of the entire region of space. HIMS Boudeuse, his battle cruiser flagship, sat in the middle of his task group, just on the edge of the space the Ancient aliens had warned Captain Gertrude Hasslehoff of. They had left Klassek eight days before, and were on a least time profile to Bolthole. Which means we still have twenty-one days till we reach it. If nothing pops out of the dark and attacks us first.

  In six hours they would have covered six point five light years in normal space. At their current velocity of point nine five light, they were traversing a little over a light year an hour as compared to normal space. They were at a relativistic time dilation factor of three point two to one, meaning at their current velocity, one second of ship’s time equaled three point two seconds in the Universe beyond, most of which was not running at relativistic time. The twenty-one days ahead, including the two days they needed to decel down to their hyperspace exit velocity of point three light, would only appear to be a little under eight days. Still, to the people waiting for them to come, it would still be the better part of a month for them to get there.

  He looked at his own force on a close up holo, showing only the two light minute sphere they occupied. Ahead by a light minute was his forward screening squadron, all sensors straining to pick up the slightest emission from the front. Three light cruisers and five destroyers made up that group. A light minute to the rear was a similar squadron, made up of two light cruisers and four destroyers. And around on the flanks were three teams of two destroyers each, also at a light minute out. One was positioned directly to Galactic north, the others at one hundred and twenty degrees from each other around the circle.

  In the center was the main combat force of his group, built around four battlecruisers, three heavy cruisers, three light cruisers and six destroyers. Giving him a grand total of thirty-six ships, and only seven of them heavy units. He had cut loose the other fifteen ships, all hyper VII, to scout into what they were now thinking of as the Danger Zone. They were divided into seven teams, with one battle cruiser, five light cruisers and nine destroyers. One team had consisted of a battle cruiser and destroyer, five of a light cruiser and destroyer, and the last of three of the tin cans. All were Command ships, with that restriction in missile magazine space, and, as hyper VII vessels, meaning even fewer birds. His last instructions to all of the team leaders had been to take extreme caution, get what information they could, and get their ships and crews back. Which might be easier said than done.

  An hour later, well before they entered the Danger Zone, a com came in from the St. Roch, the Command light cruiser in charge of the forward screen. The com went through the communication’s department of Boudeuse, and was relayed to the flag bridge moments later.

  “We’re picking up disturbances in hyper, Admiral” said the commander of the St. Roch, Captain Bolormaa Temuujin. “Three distinct sources in the one million ton plus range, accelerating at twelve hundred gravities.”

  “That much,” hissed the Tactical Officer. “They must have some hellacious compensators.”

  Or they’re not organic, thought Nguyen, thinking about the implications of that tonnage making that kind of acceleration. The Empire had ships that could do a thousand gravities, attack fighters, but they were less than a thousand tons and carried no hyperdrive. A hyperdrive equipped vessel had not only the heat of its own space drive, the grabbers, to get rid of, but also those of the hyper generator. A large ship couldn’t get rid of all that heat fast enough at accelerations much over five hundred gravities, and too much heat was disastrous to organic life.

  “What is their vector. And initial velocity at detection.”

  “All three were on a vector seventy degrees to the ecliptic from us. Velocity, as much as we can guess, a little over point two light.”

  So, they were out looking for something. Us?

  “Two of the vessels are starting to curve their vectors, killing their initial velocity while putting on acceleration in our direction. The other is also changing, but onto a vector that takes him away from us.”

  “He’s not going into a hyper jump?” asked the Admiral, staring at the holo that was now showing the bogies in relation to his force.

  “No, sir.”

  “So he’s limited to VI, just like us,” said the Tactical Officer with a smile.

  If true, that would be good news. The Admiral couldn’t think of any other reason a ship at that low a velocity wouldn’t jump up to the higher dimension, where it could travel to whatever force was its destination at four times the speed. But we don’t need to assume too much.

  “Our own sensors are picking up the bogies heading for us, Admiral,” said Captain Jackson over the com.

  Boudeuse had slightly better sensors than the ships in the forward screen. That said, due to the physics of hyperspace, she could only pick up ships in hyper a few light seconds further out than her smaller consorts.

  “Bogies are altering heading, sir,” said the Captain of the St. Roth a moment later. “I’m figuring that they picked up the heavies and have thought better of getting into range of them.”

  “I concur,” said the Admiral, looking at the vectors of the unknown ships and knowing that nothing he had could generate a matching vector before they disappeared off his plots. “But I want everyone to stay on their toes. They could have more friends within
range, or soon will.”

  Five hours later they were well into the Danger Zone, and the two shadows were still there, hanging out on the fringes, just within sensor range of one of the flanking teams. Nguyen was tempted to send some ships out to chase them away, but didn’t think they would be able to catch the bogies, who were not quite within missile range. With their acceleration advantage, they would be able to alter vectors before any of his ships could close to within firing range, and would just come back once the Imperial vessels returned to formation. If they had been organic forms, the Admiral might have chanced it, since seeing a force coming after them might have scared them off. But he was sure they were not organic, and therefor had no emotions, no fear response.

  Four hours after two more bogies appeared, these sliding into a matching vector one hundred and seventy degrees for the other team. Nguyen stared at the plot as they cut back on their acceleration and coasted on the same heading as his task force.

  “At least they’re not trying to herd us,” said Jackson over the com.

  They don’t have enough ships to herd us, thought the Admiral. But that could change.

  Seven hours later it did change. Five more alien ships came in on a curving vector that put them behind his force. They continued to accelerate until they were on a chasing vector at point nine seven light, which put them within human missile range in less than thirty minutes.

  “The only thing we’re missing is a blocking force,” said Jackson, the worry showing on his face over the holo.

  “St. Roth is picking up seven contacts ahead,” reported the Com Officer. “At the edge of their range, and slowly letting the distance close.”

  Nguyen sat for a moment, thinking. It was his decision as to how they handled this encounter. The lives of every crew person sat on his shoulders, and he didn’t like the feeling. If only we could have met them in normal space, he thought, considering his force’s dearth of hyper capable missiles. If we have to fight these things, we’re going to have to reconfigure how we equip our vessels, and we’re going to need to pack them to the gills with dual purpose weapons.

  “I want all ships to close up on the flag,” he ordered, having made his decision. “We’re going to fight a defensive battle here.” If we can weather their missile attack, whatever that looks like, and force them to close within beam range, I’m pretty sure we can take them.

  The middle force started decelerating at a hundred gravities, allowing the trailing force to begin catching up, while the forward force pushed their decel to two hundred gees. The three flanking teams pushed up their acceleration on new vectors to bring themselves close in on the flanks.

  Nguyen watched the vector arrows and acceleration figures changing on the plot, curious to see the reaction of the enemy. There were still too many unknowns about this enemy. He wasn’t sure what kind of weapons suite they carried. Which made the decision tree difficult, to say the least.

  He expected them to do one of two things. Either to stay where they were, waiting, or to close in like a pack of water predators looking for blood. Instead they took the unexpected middle ground, the trailing force, Bogey Four, continuing to close, while the leading force, Bogey Five, put on a short burst of acceleration to keep the distance open.

  They’re not sure what kind of weapons we have, either, thought Nguyen, staring at Bogey Four as it started to close the distance. So they were taking an action based on pure statistical calculation, not the instinct that most organics would make. Was that a weakness, or a strength? Nguyen had to think it was a weakness, but that might have been wishful thinking.

  “Do you want us to engage Bogey Four when they get within range?” asked Jackson, nervous anticipation on his face, as if he wanted to test his ship against this enemy.

  “Under no circumstances are you to engage anything but their missiles,” said Nguyen, waving a finger in the air. “I want to keep them guessing.” While we keep guessing about them.

  Time ticked down, the enemy ships sliding to the missile range of the battle cruisers, then closer, into the envelope of the cruisers. Nguyen was wondering if they had any missile weapons, or if they were simply beam equipped suicide ships. But everyone we know, even those much less advanced than we are, use some kind of missile weapons. If they’re cruising around in hyper VI, they should have missiles.

  “We have missile launch,” called out the Tactical Officer of Boudeuse. “One missile, accelerating at four thousand gravities.”

  “Mass?” asked Nguyen, watching as the red vector arrow separated from Bogey Four.

  “Eight thousand tons,” called out the Tactical Officer in a surprised voice.

  Human capital ship missiles, the largest carried on any vessel, massed between one fifty and two hundred tons. This thing was more of an attack ship, but accelerating at over five times the rate of such a human ship.

  “Requesting permission to engage with counters,” asked the Tactical Officer.

  “Do not engage,” ordered the Admiral. “Track the weapon, and hit it with lasers as soon as the solution reaches surety.”

  You’re not suckering me like that, thought the Admiral, his mind weighing what he now knew about the enemy weapons, or thought he did, unless they were holding something back. Human missiles could accelerate at five thousand gravities for the older models like his ships carried. Ten thousand gravities for the newer models entering deployment on the main front. But human missiles were much less massive. Did that mean they had larger warheads? And to what purpose? Or did they have much more robust defenses, more like an attack craft than a missile.

  “Entering extreme laser range,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Twenty-two percent hit chance.”

  The plot showed the weapon reaching one light minute from the rearmost ship of the human force. It was traveling at point nine eight light, but was only closing at point zero three c, a pitiful approach speed in modern warfare. It would take the weapon over thirty three minutes to close that distance, and in all of that time it would be under within the range of Imperial lasers. Given that profile, the Admiral was not about to waste shots that might give the enemy vital intelligence.

  “Any change on the other ships?” he asked, all of his concentration on the following force, Bogey Four.

  “No, sir,” called out the Assistant Tactical Officer. “Status remains the same. Bogey Five is right on the edge of our missile envelope. One through three are maintaining the same separation.”

  The enemy weapon continued ahead in a straight line. A human weapon would have already engaged in evasive maneuvers by the time it crossed that one light minute line. The enemy weapon hadn’t, and the Admiral wondered if there was a reason for that, other than the attack vehicle had a robotic mind less capable than those of his own missiles. That wouldn’t be an unreasonable assumption, if they actually were the descendants of the machines that had left human space all those centuries before. It could also be an assumption that bit him in the ass, so it was one he couldn’t afford to bank on. But whatever the reason, entering range while on a straight course invited a first hit, unless that was the point in order to judge human targeting systems.

  “Fifty percent probability of a first hit,” called out the Tactical Officer as the weapon crossed the thirty light second line.

  “When it hits seventy-five percent, open fire,” ordered the Admiral. “With a single laser ring of this ship. No more.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” replied the officer.

  Nguyen knew he should have told Jackson to issue that command, but the flag captain had been with the Admiral long enough to not take offense.

  “Range, twenty light seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer. “First hit percentage, sixty-five percent.”

  Any second now, thought the Admiral, curious to see what kind of countermeasures the enemy weapon would deploy.

  The clock continued to tick down. “Seventy-three percent hit chance. Range, seventeen light seconds.”

  Some more time tick
ed off, and the weapon continued on a straight in approach, as it it anticipated no problems with attacking its target. If it could anticipate anything at all.

  “Opening fire,” called out the Tactical Officer, his finger pushing the panel that told the weapons’ system that a human being was initiating the action, giving it permission to unleash its destructive power on the target.

  A single terawatt range beam of coherent energy fired through the grav lens on the laser ring. It was a one second burst, fired on a straight path that would intersect the body of the enemy weapon a little over sixteen light seconds away. The beam was automatically tracking to follow the enemy weapon so that it didn’t simply fly through.

  The beam struck, instantly vaporizing material on the body of the weapon, including one of its forward grabber fins. The missile went into evasive maneuvers as soon as the laser struck, not so fast as a less massive human missile, and the beam only contacted for a hundred microseconds or so. The beam tried to follow, and missed as its firing ship, still fifteen light seconds distant, miscalculated its path. By the time the beam struck the target again, again for microseconds, the weapon had erected a powerful electromagnetic field that attenuated the beam, while the craft sent forth strong jamming signals which spoofed the battle cruiser’s targeting system.

  “Fire all lasers to bear,” shouted the Admiral. “This vessel only.”

  This time four x-ray lasers reached out from Boudeuse, two of them scoring minor hits on the weapon. The beams converged again, this time exploding some of the hull of the weapon with transfer energy.

  The duel went on over the next minute, lasers scoring hit after hit, blasting pieces of the weapon into space to fall out of hyper. A human missile would have been destroyed by the second or third hit, but the much larger weapon weathered the storm and continued on. Finally a laser hit just the right place, or the cumulative hits added up to the point where the weapon couldn’t take anymore, and it exploded out into plasma that flooded space with light and radiation for the second it took it to translate out of hyper.