Wrath of an Angry God
by Gibson Michaels
Book-3 of the Sentience Trilogy
Copyright © 2015 by Gibson Michaels
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Nightz Innovations
Book design by Gibson Michaels
Visit my website at www.GibsonMichaels.com
Published:
ISBN: 978-1-63452-051-5
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dedication
This is where authors normally dedicate their books to people who have been major influences in their life. My overly-developed nonsense of humor prompted me to think of giving credit to Jack Daniels® here, but my female “Check Advisability” warning light came on. As discretion is indeed the better part of valor, perhaps it would be better if I just played it straight for once.
This book is dedicated to my two sons, Jeramy and Bret. You’ve both been incredible inspirations to me, as I’ve watched you mature into independent adults having lives, pursuits and families of your own. You both truly enrich my life.
* * * *
Acknowledgements
I’d be seriously remiss if I failed to sincerely thank Carol Shetler and Dawn Greenfield Ireland for their great input and editing efforts on my behalf.
Wrath of an Angry God
“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” — George Santayana
* * * *
“Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.” — Albert Einstein
Synopsis
Wrath of an Angry God is the final chapter of a trilogy, concluding the story of two aggressive and predatory races on a collision course with both destiny and each other. The leadership of a vicious race of star-faring predators, who see all other life forms as prey, has received an apocalyptic prophecy of two potential paths for their race, both apparently leading towards their inevitable extinction. The only glimmer of hope offered by the dire portent is if they can survive an inevitable cataclysm after attacking a race of insane alien raptors, so depraved that it routinely culls its own numbers for little more than sport… and somehow survive the onslaught long enough for them to overcome their own bestial natures to gain understanding and accept adoption of a totally alien concept, called morality.
In a parallel storyline, an alternate future-history incorporating uncanny parallels to the American Civil War, with a reversal of the moral high ground and outcome compared with the original is set into a universe approximately 2,000 years in the future, where mankind is scattered throughout the stars and divided into planetary nation-states reminiscent of those existing on Old Earth during the first half of the 20th century.
Aided by the first truly artificial intelligence, possessing undeniable sentience and a developing sense of humor, the Confederacy successfully frees itself from a powerful, but thoroughly corrupt federal government, only to find itself embroiled in yet another war and allied with their recent, former enemies… a war against predatory aliens that have suddenly and viciously attacked humanity.
Mankind has successfully struck back at those vicious aliens, destroying their forward base and capturing a million of them, left helplessly behind on the planet when the tattered remnants of their fleet fled before the might of humanity’s combined allied fleets. But mankind’s initial superiority in technology and weaponry won’t last long, as the alien’s civilization is far greater, with an industrial capacity infinitely larger than humanity’s. Both sides are in a desperate race against time, in their struggle against the whimsical nature of capricious gods and each other.
* * * *
Prologue
In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move. — Douglas Adams
After destroying the alien Raknii forward base and routing the remainder of the Rak fleet, the combined fleets of the United Stellar Alliance, the Confederate Stellar Accord and the independent planet of Sextus have paused once again to build fighter bases on the planet Kitty Litter’s surface in sufficient quantity to ensure an adequate defense, before the combined fleets continue their offensive, pushing deeper into Raknii-occupied space. This allowed for all of the medium-yield missiles fired at the Battle of Kitty Litter to be replenished and additional stockpiles to be forwarded to supply depots being set up within sterile star systems nearby future Raknii targets. Due to the incredible distances involved in conducting interstellar war operations, these strategic pauses between actual battles were common and almost unavoidable. During this lull in combat operations, when notified that Ben Stillman and Dorothy Fletcher had recently announced their engagement to be married, Fleet Admiral Kalis thought that conducting a wedding in the midst of an interstellar war campaign might be a tremendous boost to fleet morale, so he ordered catering.
In the intent to become mobile after his plans for building himself a cyborg body hit an indefinite technical snag, Hal, the first and only fully sentient computer, has enlisted his friend and human partner, Diet, to assist him with an alternative plan. Diet aids Hal in the retrieval of a full-size human body that Hal has had surreptitiously and quite illegally cloned from Diet’s brain cells at a lab on Io, with plans to download his full sentience into the clone’s empty brain at a BioCom research lab on Massa. While at BioCom, Diet encounters the formidable Noreen Lucado and sparks fly between them.
Hal has uncharacteristically underestimated the time and effort required for his doppelganger to learn the nuances of walking and talking, and so has been forced to have the clone admitted to a prestigious rehabilitation hospital in Bostin, tentatively identified to the staff as Diet’s identical twin brother, thus giving Diet and Noreen additional time to work the kinks out of their volatile, but blossoming, relationship.
* * * *
Chapter-1
The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it. — Flannery O’Connor
The Alliance Planetoid Discol, City of Waston
The White House
August 14th, 3865
“Well, gentlemen,” President Arlene McAllister began. “It appears that Vice Admiral Masterson’s prophecy, concerning our need to increase war materials production by staggering levels last May, appears to have been confirmed by the latest reports coming in from Admiral Kalis at Kitty Litter.”
“Based on his track record, it’s beginning to look like we really need to start taking all of Bat’s precognitions as gospel, regardless of how ridiculous following the advice of a clairvoyant might look to others,” said Secretary of Defense Douglas Campbell.
“He has been uncannily accurate in his predictions,” agreed Admiral Simon Bradley, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
“Speaking of Bat,” said the president. “Where have you guys been hiding him lately? I haven’t seen that good-looking young rascal around here in quite a while.”
“After the first reports of Admiral Kalis’ unbelievable victory at Kitty Litter came in,” answered Admiral Enrico Melendez, Chief of Fleet Operations, “it looked like we would have a few months of resupply ahead of u
s before things started popping again. Bat took 60 days leave he had accumulated and was in ‘use or lose’ status, so he went back home to Indinara to visit with his family there for a couple of months during the lull.”
“When is Bat expected back, Rico?” asked SecDef Campbell.
“Bat left Waston in mid-July, so he’s been gone about a month,” said Melendez. “He’s scheduled to be gone another month and be back here in mid-September.”
“With Admiral Kalis accelerating his attack schedule based on what they learned from that Rak planet-master, we may need to recall him early,” said Admiral Bradley.
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Admiral,” said Melendez. “Bat will jump the first spaceliner available as soon as we get word to him. He should be able to get back here within 3-4 days of being notified of a recall.”
“Good, I’d feel better having our resident witch doctor close at hand, when combat operations begin again,” said Campbell.
“Just an FYI, gentlemen,” President McAllister intoned. “The Japanese ambassador is raising holy hell about the media’s use of the word Kamikaze to describe enemy tactics during the impending offensive the Raknii are expected to launch against other human worlds.”
“Semantics, Madam President,” said Admiral Bradley. “The Japanese invented both the word and the tactic, and there’s really no better way to describe what we’re expecting.”
“Agreed, Madam President,” said Campbell. “Let him bitch. It’s imperative that all humanity understand fully what’s expected, so we’re as fully prepared as possible to repulse these attacks, when and where they occur.”
“All right,” said the president. “Now, what are we going to do with Joe Bishop, now that the Office of Fleet Investigations has withdrawn the conspiracy and treason charges against him? The Judge Advocates General’s office declared the Ben Stillman information his defense team dug up as admissible, and constituted probable cause to potentially overturning his conviction, and ordering a new courts martial.”
“His lawyers filed a motion for his reinstatement in Fleet yesterday,” said Bradley.
“None of that changes the fact that Joe Bishop is an incompetent, bigoted asshole,” stated Melendez firmly. “We need to keep him beached alongside Grant Loggins, in my opinion.”
“Agreed, Madam President,” said Campbell.
“Unfortunately, merely being an incompetent, bigoted asshole, in and of itself, does not constitute ‘just cause’ for refusing his reinstatement,” said the president.
“Fortunately most of Bishop’s former political sponsors and cronies are currently out of favor or under indictment at the moment,” said Admiral Bradley. “His bigoted attitude towards both southerners and women was rarely hidden, and only thinly veiled at best. With your approval, Madam President, I’d suggest we have Rico initiate another OFI investigation on Bishop, for suspected civil rights violations. Let’s see if we can nail him on a charge of ‘conduct unbecoming an officer.’”
“Approved!” said the president enthusiastically. “Damned good idea, Brad. Rico, nail that asshole’s hide to the wall for me.”
“Aye, aye, Madam President,” Melendez grinned. “I’ll be happy to.”
The intercom on the president’s desk chimed softly. When she answered it, the president’s personal secretary informed her that a Commander Marilyn Fredricks was waiting outside, with an urgent message for Admiral Melendez.
“Marilyn is my Aide de Camp, Madam President,” said Melendez. “She wouldn’t interrupt a presidential meeting unless she felt it was something vital.”
The president nodded and instructed her personal secretary to show Commander Fredricks into the Oval Office. When she entered, Melendez noted that Fredricks wore a grave expression on her normally exuberant face and asked her, “What’s up, Marilyn?”
Commander Marilyn Fredricks snapped to attention and stated, “Admiral… Madam President… it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that a message has just arrived from Bozo Jr. on Indinara. Vice Admiral Masterson has suffered an accident, while on leave there.”
The president, SecDef, and the two admirals were all stunned by this unexpected news.
“Apparently,” Fredricks continued, “Bat was raking hay in a barn loft on his grandfather’s farm, when some rotted boards broke under his weight, and he fell through the floor of the loft, landing on a manure-spreader parked below. Initial reports indicate that while not considered immediately life threatening, he suffered severe lower-back and other undisclosed injuries.”
As tears began welling in her eyes, Fredricks blurted, “Admiral, Bat’s been hurt! I… thought you’d want to know.”
“You did well in bringing us this sad news so promptly, Commander,” said the President.
“Thank you, Madam President,” said Fredricks with quivering lips. With that, Fredricks performed an abrupt about-face and hurried out of the president’s office, before she humiliated herself by breaking down completely.
“Well, it’s good to hear that it’s not life-threatening, but it certainly doesn’t sound like Bat will be able to come back to Waston anytime soon,” said Campbell.
The president wore a puzzled expression on her face and asked, “What’s a manure spreader?”
“Bat told me about them once,” answered Melendez. “According to him, farmers on some of the agricultural worlds like Indinara sometimes still use animal feces as fertilizer on their fields, especially on organically grown crops.”
“Animal feces? How could they possibly apply something like that, over such a large area?” asked Campbell.
“With a manure-spreader,” Melendez answered. “Evidently they spread straw over the floors of their barns and livestock pens that absorbs and adheres to animal excreta — usually cattle dung, that their animals deposit there. Periodically, they use a front-loader to clean this feces/straw mixture they call manure, out of the barns, putting it into large piles out in the barnyard. Once a year, they load portions of those great piles of manure into a device called a manure-spreader.
“Bat actually showed me a video of him using a manure-spreader once. It looked like a big box full of manure on wheels, having racks of rotating fingers on the back, which is pulled by a tractor. When positioned in the field, a lever is pulled that engages gearing inside the spreader that is driven by the wheels. In the video, Bat put the tractor in high gear, and then took off down the field at high speed. Manure flew in all directions out the back.”
“So, if I understand you properly, Admiral,” mused the president, “Bat was injured when he fell through the floor of a barn loft onto a rolling dung-box, designed to sling shit in all directions?”
“Exactly, Madam President. Knowing Bat the way we all do, the idea of something like that happening to him, is somehow incredibly ironic, don’t you think?”
* * * *
The Confederate Planet Ginia, City of Rikmon
Confederate Fleet Logistics Command Center
Late August, 3865
Every conceivable consumable the Confederate Fleet might possibly ever need was procured through their Fleet Logistics Command Center, headquartered in the Confederate capital of Rikmon, on the planet Ginia. This included the Fleet Exchange system, which provided consumer goods of every product imaginable for Fleet personnel and their families. Virtually every product made could be procured, even those not normally stocked within the supply system.
Thus it was, that an outlandish Priority-1 requisition chit landed on the desk of Master-Chief Petty Officer Hiram B. Moreau, for processing. On it was a comprehensive multi-page list of items, obviously intended for a wedding of gargantuan size and scale, including detailed instructions and specifications for 100, five-tier wedding cakes, ice sculptures, flowers, booze, exotic finger foods and over ten thousand folding chairs — anything and everything a blushing bride could possibly want, even including a two-carat diamond wedding set and a $20,000 wedding dress, made to highly questionable dimensions.
As
he read further into the pages of stuff being ordered, Moreau found himself chuckling at the sheer audacity of whoever it was who submitted that ridiculous requisition. He pitied the poor officer who’d been suckered into signing off on the local authorization that got this absurdity routed to his desk here in Rikmon in the first place.
Good fucking luck getting Admiral Luckman to sign off on this abortion, buddy. Ha!
Admiral Charles Luckman was the commanding officer of the Fleet Logistics Command Center, whose personal signature was required by regulation on all requisitions or items totaling over $50,000 as a secondary authorization before they could be filled. This stipulation was intended to prevent senior officers having requisition authorization authority from abusing the system and slipping unnecessary or inappropriate expenditures through the cracks. Unfortunately, almost everything utilized by the Confederate Fleet cost more than $50,000, so even with the new auto-signature system that prevented the admiral from succumbing to terminal writer’s cramp, Luckman was literally shackled to his desk reviewing thousands of boring requisitions every day, all day long. This unhappy situation led Luckman to relentless pursuit of elusive job satisfaction through discovery and denial of questionable requisition requests. This gave Luckman a reputation for critiquing requisitions to the nth degree, and issuing denials of even urgent and vital requisition chits, for relatively minor clerical errors.
Moreau stopped chuckling when he read the signature on the authorization line: Fleet Admiral Roger Kalis, Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Fleet. Moreau quickly turned to the justification page where the reasoning behind unusual requests was detailed. On it, Kalis listed “enhancement of fleet morale” as the primary justification, along with his direct orders that these items be expedited with utmost urgency. That means spaceliner transports, and not the big slower ship transports.
Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera Page 1