We hadn’t built high-megatonnage nukes. We had built for tactical strikes, not destruction of entire cities. Still, that many vessels, each with multiple warheads, made for an impressive fireball. The theater didn’t clear for almost half a minute.
We cheered as we finally got a look at the results. Just over a third of the Others fleet was still in operation. And now they were forced to regroup, slowing their advance and attempting to reposition so as not to leave defensive holes.
Our guess was they would make increasing use of zaps, now. Better to take us down, then be able to recharge at their leisure before attacking Earth. Of course, that would have been the best strategy in the first place, but the Others had long since proven they were beyond arrogant. They simply didn’t expect us to mount anything like the same level—
I stared into space, my jaw dropping. Bill noticed and turned to me, a frown on his face. “You okay, Will?”
I cocked my head at him. “Bill, the Jokers are up near light-speed, right?”
“Well, yeah, we wanted them coming in as fast as possible. Not that it’ll do any good now. The Others can still knock the nukes out of the sky before they get close enough.”
I let a slow grin spread across my face. “But we don’t have to get close enough. We know from scans that the Death Asteroids aren’t particularly shielded against zappers…”
“Well, no, they’re more into handing it out. So?”
“At the speed the Jokers are going, radiation from a blast is going to Doppler way up. Way way up. Actually up higher than what the Others are using, I think.”
Now Bill’s eyes opened wide. He spun to face the status board, and spoke rapidly into the Joker’s channel. “Hannibal! Launch all your nukes right now, straight at the Others, and detonate every one of them at the earliest safe moment. Make sure you spray every Others vessel. Try not to hit us, but if you have to make a choice, we’ll take the sacrifice. Confirm!”
“Got it, Bill. Launching now.”
The board showed the Jokers emit a shower of smaller units. Close to a thousand bombs, originally intended to detonate in the middle of the Others fleet. If this didn’t work, we’d have wasted most of our remaining ordnance.
Bill looked at me. Seeming to read my mind, he said, “They’d have gone to waste anyway, Will.”
It was tight. We’d acted just this side of too late. Perhaps two seconds short of engagement with the oncoming Others defenders, every single nuke detonated. And five seconds later, the radiation reached the Others’ fleet.
The Doppler effect from the velocity of the ordnance pushed the radiation frequency from the explosions above even what the death asteroids could produce. We were, in effect, giving them a large taste of their own medicine. Any vessel in the path of that radiation, even if it wasn’t physically damaged, would be sterilized of all life. And there was a good chance that any electronics would be fried as well.
The cone of destruction was wide, wide enough to bathe about fifty of our dreadnaughts as well as the Others’ fleet. We watched their status lights flare red and go out on the board. All action in the battlefield ceased, as if everyone were holding their breath.
We waited. Milliseconds passed, then entire seconds, with no reaction.
“We’ve won, I think.” Bill goggled at the screen, frank disbelief written on his face. “It’s over.”
“Screw that,” Thor exclaimed. “I’m nuking them anyway. Who’s still got munitions?”
A series of responses came back. Too few for comfort—at that moment, we began to truly realize just how close we’d come to losing.
There was a moment of mutual staring, then Bill nodded and said, “Fire at will. Finish it off.”
I sat down heavily. “Looks like the humans will survive, after all.”
“Oh, right.” Bill slapped his forehead. “Herschel and Neil are still running like hell. I guess we should let them know.”
He grinned at me, and I motioned him to go ahead. But first, I sent them a quick text. It’s over.
Ending
Bob
May 2233
Delta Eridani
I set the waterskin down and tied the pergola walls open. Outside, another gorgeous day on Eden was dawning. Bird-like things sang, and squirrel-like things chewed out anyone and everyone for the crime of existing.
I picked up the skin and went over to sit by Archimedes. “Wake up buddy. I brought fresh water.”
He hadn’t woken up yet. I tried to let Archimedes sleep as long as possible, to keep up his strength. I reached over to nudge him, and…
Nothing.
No breathing sounds. No pulse.
I could hear a low whining sound. It took me a second to realize it was coming from me. A hand on my shoulder. Belinda.
“Robert? Robert? You have to move.”
I looked up to see Buster gazing down at me, sadness on his face. I realized I was in the way. I got up, walked stiff-legged to the other end of the tent, lay down and curled into a ball.
* * *
The funeral for Archimedes was huge. It was not just his family; almost every living Deltan had been affected by him, one way or another. By the time the procession was over, Archimedes was covered in white flowers.
When the family moved in to fill in the grave, I asked them if I could have some time. Everyone looked at Buster, who nodded. Archimedes and I had been inseparable for twenty Earth years—about eighteen years on Eden. It was a reasonable request.
As soon as the others had moved far enough away, I directed one of the small, baseball-sized drones into the grave. With the camouflage systems working overtime, it was almost completely invisible as it snuck along the ground and in. I reached over, moved Archimedes’ arm slightly, and settled the drone into his embrace.
Spy drones didn’t show anyone having noticed anything. I admitted to myself that it was a silly, meaningless act. But it felt, somehow, right. I wanted to leave a piece of me with him.
After an appropriate amount of time, I got up and walked over to Buster and the rest of the family. They turned to me, then wordlessly we proceeded to fill in the grave and cover it with stone slabs.
The drone, with the new Casimir power supply, would probably last centuries. Something would give out eventually, of course, but meanwhile, anything or anyone that disturbed the grave would get a face full of surprise.
When we were done, I knelt at his grave for a while longer. Afterward, I went to his tent, where Belinda and Buster were sitting. Belinda offered me some jerky, and we ate silently.
When we were done, Buster said, “You can have his things, if you want. You’ve been his best friend for years.”
I responded with a brief smile, about all I could manage. “Thanks, Buster, but I think I’ll be going. Archimedes was all that was holding me here.”
Buster gazed at me in a perplexed silence for a few moments. Then he said, diffidently, “Robert? You’re the Bawbe, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Buster, I am.” I shrugged. “And with Archimedes gone, well…”
“Will we be okay?”
I nodded. “Yes, you will. You’ve gotten control of your environment, now. You’ll show the world who’s boss. And in some huge number of hands of years, your children’s children’s children will come find me and mine.”
I stood. “Goodbye, Buster. Belinda. Live long and prosper.”
And without looking back, I walked out of the village to the waiting cargo drone.
Extermination
Icarus
December 2256 - April 2257
Approaching GL 877
Showtime.
GL 877 was still several light-months away, but at our tau, Daedalus and I would experience it as minutes at most. Comms was receiving periodic queries and updates from local Bobs—probably Mario and his group, still trying to keep tabs on the Others. Incoming messages were barely squeaks to me—the time dilation was far too severe for replicant hardware to overcome. Guppy was handling response
s, but I’d asked him not to forward anything to me unless it was an emergency. I couldn’t afford any distractions.
I squirted off a differential backup, just in case. I wouldn’t get another chance.
I dismissed my VR and frame-jacked up to maximum. At this level, I could sense jitter in my perceptions as my hardware attempted to pixelate reality.
As we reached the five light-day point, I ordered Guppy to broadcast a message directing all local Bobs to get out of Dodge. Anyone caught too close to GL 877 in a short while would need a new paint job.
We had planned our approach so that I would come in from stellar north, and Daedalus from stellar south. At six light-hours distance, GL 877 was showing a perceptible disk without magnification. Continuous status updates between Dae and myself ensured that we would arrive at the same instant. Everything was in the groove, and there wasn’t anything the Others could do at this point to divert this delivery.
Time for a final check. “It looks good, Dae. I think we’re close enough now. No way anything’s going to fall out of sync.”
There was a pause, presumably Daedalus performing his own checks. “Agreed, Icky. Time to save our own butts?”
“You got it, buddy.”
I separated from my payload and accelerated as hard as I could toward galactic center. The rear camera showed the former planet of Epsilon Eridani, shrinking in the distance as it continued on its appointed path. Readings showed Daedalus ejecting in the opposite direction from the other side of GL 877. We would each skim the star, closer at periastron than the orbit of Mercury.
GL 877 grew in size over a matter of seconds. I could see prominences and flares on the surface of the star, and SUDDAR picked up the huge mass concentrations of the Dyson sphere under construction. By now, the Others would have detected the two planets, approaching at just a hair under light speed. Did they know? Did they understand, in their final seconds, what was upon them? I hoped so. The Pav had never had that opportunity, nor probably the species from Zeta Tucanae whose name we would never know.
Slightly behind me, the planet formerly known as Epsilon Eridani 1, a planet the size of Mars, struck the star at the north pole with a relativistic force equivalent to half the mass of Jupiter. At the same moment, the former largest moon of Epsilon Eridani 3 struck on the opposite pole.
Stars are hot, but not really dense. The two planets penetrated to a significant depth before they ceased to exist. The impacts created twin shock waves that raced through the star toward the core. As the disturbances penetrated deeper and compressed the stellar medium, regions that weren’t quite able to sustain hydrogen fusion suddenly found the ability. Regions that were already sustaining fusion found their ability greatly increased. Elements that were nowhere near being able to fuse in the current environment suddenly found themselves with the energy available. Helium fused to carbon and oxygen, and fusion cascaded all the way to iron. In a matter of minutes, the total energy output of the star jumped by a factor of several hundred. The delicate balance of outward energy pressure and inward gravitational pressure was obliterated, and GL 877 exploded outward at half the speed of light. It would take three hours for the star to swallow the entire system; however, it took half that for the blast of radiation to sterilize everything.
Fleeing the star at ninety-nine point some stupid number of nines of the speed of light, Daedalus and I would see this blast as radio waves. But we’d have to stay at high tau for several light-years before it would be safe to even think about decelerating.
That’s for the Pav. And for all the other, unnamed species that you’ve seen fit to remove from existence.
Victory
Herschel
April 2257
Sol
We had to wait several more full seconds for follow-up. Bill and Will were apparently very busy Bobs, for the moment.
Finally, Bill popped in, a huge grin on his face. And a patch over his eye, his arm in a sling, and several Band-Aids done in typical cartoon cross patterns on his body.
Neil burst into gales of laughter and fell off his chair. I just managed to keep a straight face, raised an eyebrow, and said, in my best frosty voice, “Really?”
Bill chuckled and vanished the special effects. “Well, inappropriate humor is our trademark, right?”
He invoked a bean-bag chair, fell backward into it, and went boneless. “I’m indebted to you, Neil, for reminding me how much we used to love these things.” After a pause, “So anyway, the carnage is just incredible. We lost 90% of our ships, and I don’t know if we have enough busters and bombs left at this point to hold off a Girl Scout troop. But we’ve knocked out every piece of Others’ hardware in the system. Except Bellerophon, of course. And we’ve got drones doing full reconnaissance, just in case. We’ve all seen the movies where everyone relaxes too soon. No thanks.”
We all sat, silently, for a few milliseconds. I called up a beer. Without saying anything, Bill and Neil did the same. We raised our glasses in a silent toast, and each took a drink.
But there was still that other nagging issue. “Bill, we still have the Others to deal with. We need some kind of definitive solution, otherwise the problem will just keep regrowing.”
Bill shook his head. “Problem taken care of. Sorry, we’ve been so busy that I didn’t get around to making an announcement, but I got the report from Daedalus and Icarus the other day. Their tau is up so high that it took almost a week for them to format the report and send it.” Bill grinned. “I launched a little experiment of my own, back in 2225. Never said much about it, because it was kind of a Hail Mary. I didn’t want to raise false hopes, and I wanted to ensure we continued planning for a frontal assault. Anyway, about ten days ago, GL 877 went nova. There is nothing left in that system now, right out to the Oort cloud. Confirmed by the monitor drones, just before they expired.”
Neil and I looked at each other in shock.
“We can do that? Dude!” Neil said.
I stared at Bill. “Someday, some species is going to observe that explosion and wonder what the hell is wrong with their stellar models.”
We let the silence stretch for a few milliseconds, content with the moment. Then Bill continued, “Mario will be sending out Bobs to do sweeps of the outskirts of GL 877 and surrounding stars. And we’ll implement patrols for a century or two in the stellar neighborhood. But barring any nests we might find, I think we’re done with the Others.”
I lost my smile. “So, we’ve just wiped out an entire species.”
“I hear you,” Bill said, looking at his shoes. “And philosophically, it’s a heavy thought. But given what the Others have done to us and to other species, I don’t regret it one bit.”
We nodded, once again silent.
“There’s something else…” I said, looking meaningfully at Bill.
He closed his eyes slowly. “Oh, God. How many? And how?”
“The zap that grazed the Earth. Cuba. About a hundred and fifty thousand people.” Bill opened his mouth to say something and I cut him off. “We checked.”
Bill nodded, silent. After a few milliseconds, he nodded to me. “My responsibility. I’ll tell Will. You worry about the people you have on board.”
“Speaking of which,” Neil looked at me. “Should we make an announcement to our passengers?”
“Oh, yeah, guess so. Time to go home.”
* * *
We unloaded the humans in reverse order, last-in-first-out. The first wave of transports had just left, and we faced a quandary.
“Is there any point in decanting the humans that are currently in stasis? We’d just be sending them back down to a planet that’s barely habitable these days.” I looked at Will and Bill, eyebrows raised.
Will’s eyes were haunted, and he was slow to respond when addressed. “I’ll check with the UN reps who are awake, but my feeling is, no, there’s no reason to. With them in stasis, existing supplies will stretch farther, and we can drop off our waking population in the best locations.�
��
“How long will they be in stasis?” Neil asked.
“You mean, before you leave, I presume,” Bill answered. “With all the debris from the battle, plus what you brought in the Bellerophon, Will no longer has a shortage of raw material to worry about. And all the autofactories that have been constructed for the defense effort can now be turned to producing nothing but stasis pods. We can produce the last six million in less than a year.”
“Well, hell,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
Recovery
Bob
June 2233
Delta Eridani
It had been a hard month. I’d occasionally tried to activate the village VR and observe, but couldn’t stand it for more than a few moments at a time. I hadn’t had much experience with death when I was alive—none of my close relatives had died, and the few distant cousins who passed away were little more than names on annual Christmas cards. Archimedes had been a friend, had been family. This would be what it was like to lose a parent or sibling. I wept a couple of times for what I must have put my parents and sisters through.
The insult to the injury, though, was how little of a ripple it made in Camelot. Life went on. Even Buster and his family, after a day or two, went back to life as a routine.
Archimedes had mattered. He’d made a huge difference to the lives of the people there, and I found it offensive somehow that he was so completely and so soon relegated to the past.
In my more rational moments, I wondered what exactly I expected. Parades? A monument?
Hmm, a monument. Interesting idea.
I’d long since taken a genetic sample from Archimedes, of course. The question of his DNA differences from the Deltan archetype was an ongoing topic of research. It took a few days to stabilize the sample, using the techniques developed on Earth—and incidentally used on my human brain. One more day, and the monolith on Eden’s largest moon had an additional entry.
All These Worlds (Bobiverse Book 3) Page 23