He instinctively took a step back as the creature tried to stand, somehow still alive. Tac, as Risi’s protector, took no chances, launching a second armor-piercing missile into the alien. This one struck its exposed abdomen, detonating with a flash and a muffled voosh as the molten jet drove deep. Alien guts splattered, and thick globs of gory, dark-green ooze bounced off Risi’s shield. He aimed his rifle at the creature, half expecting it to rise up even now, but not a twitch was seen. Somewhat confident that it was at last dead, Risi ran into the stairwell after Tic and Toe.
He bolted up the steps two at a time with Tac close behind. Reaching the landing for Deck 8, Risi grabbed the door handle, just as a series of explosions went off in the corridor outside. Carefully, he cracked open the door and peeked out.
Tic and Toe hovered back to back in the corridor, their weapon arms unleashing hellish fusion fire in both directions. Risi leaned out of the stairwell to see who―or rather what―they were firing at. Huge aliens like the one that had just attacked him were charging the marauders, four total, two each from either end of the corridor. It was clear now that the explosions he heard moments ago were antipersonnel missile bursts, as scores of white-hot slivers protruded from alien exoskeletons. But like fusion beams, they caused superficial wounds only. Something with a heavier punch was needed.
“AP missiles, one per target. Fire!” Risi had seen firsthand how effective armor-piercing rounds were against these monsters. If killing them required the expenditure of weapons designed for heavy armor units, so be it.
Tic targeted the pair approaching from the cafeteria, Toe the two charging from the opposite end, and four missiles burst from their launch tubes. The first struck an alien on its center eye, the exploding plasma jet boring into the skull cavity behind it. The creature staggered forward a few steps before thudding to the floor. A second was killed in the same manner. The third and fourth ducked just before impact, causing the missiles aimed at them to miss their target and streak onward down the corridor. Unable to loop around in such a tight space to reacquire the aliens, the logic processors in each missile deactivated their warheads, and both flew into walls as duds. The high-speed wall crashes purposely demolished them, ensuing only broken fragments fell into enemy hands.
Seconds later the third and fourth aliens slammed into Tic and Toe, those curved, meter-long jaw pincers clamping around the marauders with sledgehammer force. Risi heard their force shields crackle and pop, sparks spraying in all directions as the alien monsters tried to cut them in two.
In self-defense, Tic electrified a weapon arm as a knife slid out from the appendage like a claw from its sheath, then the marauder stabbed the blade into its attacker’s head. Instead of penetrating, the knife skidded off the armorshell exoskeleton without even leaving a mark. Tic stabbed again, aiming for what it perceived was the vulnerable neck joint between the alien’s head and alitrunk. This time the blade sank deep, and 235,000 volts surged into the alien. Toe did the same to its attacker, but the powerful electric shocks had no noticeable effect.
The aliens, meanwhile, had no success trying to slice the marauders apart, their pincers barely scratching the ultra-dense polyceramic armor. Equally futile were their attempts to poison them, the needle-sharp injector spines at the tip of each claw jabbing uselessly, unable to penetrate the mechanical bodies.
Risi stared in wide-eyed wonder as factory-built warbots battled monsters from an alien world. The latest high-tech design grappled with genetically enhanced evolution. Steel versus chiton. Knife against claw. He was frozen by the sheer ferocity of the spectacle.
Tic squeezed steel-finger hands around an alien’s neck, trying to choke the creature, while it fought back with a pile-driver barrage of foreleg strikes that made a shambles of the marauder’s sensory gear atop its turtle-shell head.
Toe was locked in a similar embrace with an alien monster, struggling to pull free of the pincers that held it. The marauder’s anti-grav thrusters pulsed at full power, but it could not break away from the vise grip of the massive alien. The range was too close for missiles or beams, so Toe extended the long knife blade built into each weapon arm and began slashing and stabbing with robotic frenzy. The blades cut with whirlwind speed. An antennae was sliced off. Ooze began to seep from neck gashes. The alien retaliated by grabbing one of Toe’s weapon arms with both of its own, yanking violently until, at last, the arm was torn from its shoulder socket with a burst of yellow sparks.
Seeing Toe’s weapon arm ripped out and flung aside broke Risi from his stupor. He yanked the stairwell door open all the way, used his body to keep it open as he dropped to one knee, then, despite knowing it was pointblank range and unwise, he triggered his rifle’s under-barrel missile launcher. There was a slight recoil as the 40mm HE rocket streaked out and up and into Toe’s attacker from below. The thunderous boom detonated so close his suit muted the audio feed to Risi’s earphones by 95%, otherwise his eardrums would have imploded. The blast shockwave washed over him. Then came the impacts from exoskeleton shards, chunks of tissue, and other ooze-drenched alien body pieces that splattered against his suit.
The alien staggered into the wall opposite him, the alitrunk segment of its body blown open from below, allowing Toe to finally break free of its pincers. The marauder levitated higher while pitching forward 65° to bring a launcher to bear. Toe fired an AP missile into the alien’s head from above.
More pieces splattered against Risi.
He knelt lower, ducking his head down to give Tac―who’d been patiently hovering behind him―a clear line of fire. “Tac, AP round. Fire!”
An armor-piercing missile streaked over Risi, veering up and hard left and then down, exploding against the fourth alien’s thorax from above. The molten plasma jet drove deep. As it crumpled from the wound, Tic yanked free of its grasp, and Risi looked up in time to see the marauder fire an AP missile of its own. The plasma blast vaporized most of the alien’s skull. The largely headless body swayed back and forth for several seconds before collapsing to the floor with a heavy thump.
As Risi rose to his feet, he surveyed the corridor and the carnage within. Blast marks covered the walls like some bizarre assemblage of Rorschach inkblots, with splotches of dark-green ooze mixed in. A thick layer of bluish-gray smoke stretched in both directions. The alien corpses were the worst part of it, their insect bodies blasted open with organs and muscles visible. That sap-like ooze he assumed was their equivalent of blood slowly seeped out. Some of the wounds were smoldering from plasma burns.
This was Risi’s first real combat experience―not one fought in a simulator―and he knew he’d never forget it. How could anyone forget something like this?
Back in basic training, veteran drill sergeants who’d fought in the Jarda Crusade had told the new recruits how combat changed one’s life forever, leaving deep emotional scars that never fully healed. One could learn to live with them, but one could never be free of them. He believed it now.
“Sergeant, you need to advance to the objective with all possible speed.” Tesla’s reminder had an urgent tone to it.
“Copy that.” Risi took off at a double-time pace toward the cafeteria. He sent Tic on ahead while Toe, now minus a weapon arm, was assigned to a rearguard position. Tac kept close to the sergeant as before.
On his tactical display, Risi counted ten―no, make that eleven―aliens in the cafeteria with the workers. Fortunately the scanners indicated they were all the smaller, easier-to-kill variety. Unfortunately, they were mixed in among the workers. Killing them could result in collateral fire killing some―or possibly many―of the workers. Precise targeting was required.
“Squad, fusion beams only.” Risi thought-painted a target circle over each alien. He assigned five to Tic, five to Tac, and just one for himself. He was an expert marksman, but even so, marauder reflexes and accuracy far surpassed his own. Plus their weapons were bigger, more powerful, and they could fire two at once. “Shoot on my command. Enter!”
W
ith Tic and Tac leading the way, they charged into the cafeteria.
Risi about to issue a thought-command for the marauders to fire when one of the workers―a short, black-haired woman―stood up suddenly.
“Don’t kill them!” she shouted.
Then to Risi’s amazement, she put herself in front of the aliens, blocking his line of fire. “Please don’t shoot, they’re harmless.”
A man stood up. “Sato, what the hell are you doing?”
“My moral duty,” answered the woman. She walked over to Risi. “These ones here are very docile. They have no weapons and no aggression, unlike the big brutes that overran this platform. I believe they’re trying to learn our language so they can communicate with us.”
The man walked over as well. “I’m Sorenson, rig manager.”
Risi flipped up his helmet visor, staring at them a moment, then his gaze drifted to the aliens. They looked harmless enough, the sergeant had to admit, standing motionless except for their quivering antennae. They seemed far more frightened of him than he was of them.
He lowered his rifle. As long as the aliens here didn’t interfere with his mission, he’d honor Sato’s request not to harm them. Marines were specialized combat troopers, after all, not cold-blooded assassins.
“Squad, at ease,” he thought.
Tic and Tac retracted weapon arms and glided to the cafeteria door, taking guard positions on either side.
Risi turned his attention to Sato and Sorenson.
“I’m Sergeant Risi,” he told them. “Of the Imperium warship Nighthawk. We’re here to rescue you. Now if you’ll all follow me, and quickly. We need to get off this platform as soon as possible.”
Sorenson looked back at his crew. “Let’s move it, people.”
It took a moment for them to comprehend what was happening, that they were indeed actually being rescued, but soon smiles of relief had spread across their grimy faces. After a cursory glance, Risi thought the workers appeared in good shape overall. They looked tired and their uniforms were dirty, and a few had strips of cloth wrapped around wounds, but he didn’t see any evidence that they had been tortured. Plus Sato had rushed to the defense of the aliens here in the cafeteria, implying they’d been treated well. That was a huge relief!
As Risi led the workers out of the cafeteria, a warning came in from the lieutenant. “Aliens are en route to your position, sergeant. Sixteen of the large, dangerous type. At their current rate of movement, they will reach you in approximately five minutes.”
Risi frowned. Not only did he have to deal with incoming aliens while he had over two dozen civilians in tow, he still had to rescue the platform AI six decks up.
Scaveer
In a desolate region of space sixteen light years from Cirtus Beta, beyond the suspected range of bipedal sensor devices, the Amber Spar was poised ready to strike.
In the command core of the dreadnought Scaveer, Jokin`Dor felt grudging respect for the enemy. Their ship had approached with stealth, unseen by Ventox until close abeam. Immediately after its sudden appearance, the cylindrical ship began irradiating Ventox with hyper-pitch pulses of agonizing intensity, causing Ventox’s sensory membranes to shrivel in pain. While swinging away from this attack, Ventox was destroyed by a furious assault of alien weaponry. Impressive indeed.
While his initial reaction was to attack the enemy ship with the entire legion, thereby neutralizing the threat, it must not be destroyed. Not yet. Not until all facets of its offensive and defensive capabilities were revealed. Only by engaging the bipeds in battle could their strengths―and weaknesses―be found.
Their ship had the element of surprise when it attacked Ventox. Jokin`Dor would reverse the tactical situation. He ordered Kozill to make a high-aggression strike. The guard cruiser detached from the legion and accelerated at full battle mode. Once Kozill achieved a velocity of one-sixteenth lightspeed, a null portal swirled open and the guard cruiser sped through it, emerging a moment later in the Cirtus Beta system.
Nighthawk
“Spatial anomaly detected dead astern,” Operations nearly shouted. “Bearing one-eight-zero, elevation negative six degrees. Range three-four MKs. Some kind of vortex, the astrophysics analyzer can’t identify it. Sensor readings don’t make any sense.”
"Display it.” Captain Mitterrand saw a hurricane appear in the holosphere. Simply stunning, whatever it is. Grey cloud streamers swirled around the eye of the storm, an ominous black void that made her think of a bottomless pit. “Any guesses as to what we’re looking at?”
“The eye of a vengeful god looking in from another dimension,” someone blurted over the Command Net.
It just might be. Mitterrand noticed the edges of the anomaly were “twinkling,” for lack of a better word, hinting of powerful energies. The sensors indicated a twisting of space and time around its black “eye,” which, inexplicably, gave no readings at all―that void was completely empty of light, matter, even gravity. Not a black hole, as gravdet indicated the anomaly had no gravimetric pull whatsoever. Instead, it appeared to simply be a “hole” in space-time.
What’s causing it? Mitterrand wondered. And perhaps more importantly, what’s on the other side?
“New contact,” Operations reported, “designating as Outlaw Two. It’s inbound toward us on a direct intercept vector. Came right out of that anomaly. Moving fast, velocity over eighteen TKS.”
“An alien warship?” Mitterrand assumed this was the counterattack she’d been expecting. If only they’d been nice enough to wait until we rescued those platform workers and went hyper. No such luck.
“Affirmative,” Operations replied. “Confidence level ninety-six percent.”
The spatial anomaly vanished, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. But the alien warship remained, approaching on what Mitterrand could only assume was an attack run.
She had few options here. Nighthawk was stationary near the mining platform, waiting for the rescue team to return. The ship was a proverbial sitting duck, a fact she didn’t like one bit. Destroyers weren’t built to slug it out like battleships and heavy cruisers; they were more of a hit-and-run attacker with speed and stealth their primary weapons. Mitterrand toggled onto the Command Net, her decision made. Under the circumstances, she didn’t have much choice.
“Free the combat AI,” she ordered. “Execute Def-Con Fortress.”
The bridge lights flickered as the AI took control of Nighthawk. Under the parameters of Defense Condition Fortress, it could defend the destroyer by any means available, as long as the destroyer stayed in place. Mitterrand was not going to budge until the rescue team returned. She wouldn’t abandon them.
She knew forcing the AI to stand fast and fight limited their chances in a battle, but she’d made up her mind. No turning back now.
“Comm, get a link open to that ship,” she insisted. “Tell them we want to talk.”
Communication specialists sent messages on all known frequencies, using multilingual greetings, binary code transmissions, even a repetitive tap count of the first seven prime numbers. One creative comtech replayed the unmistakable staccato emissions of a nearby neutron star, striving to find a common frame of reference from which they could begin a dialogue. Nothing worked. “Still no response, captain.”
In the holosphere, Mitterrand watched a bright-red oval creep toward the blue cylinder that represented Nighthawk. The alien ship was inbound at 18,145 kilometers a second, about 6% the speed of light. It approached from their six o’clock relative, she noticed, a bad sign. Typical of warships throughout human history, engines were at the back, making a ship’s stern its most vulnerable part. By attacking Nighthawk at its weakest point, the aliens demonstrated a clear understanding of military tactics, which meant they were experienced at war. With bigger ships and smart tactics, she knew they faced a serious opponent here.
The combat AI analyzed Outlaw Two with cold efficiency. The ship-to-ship duel with Outlaw One had given it considerable data from which to ca
lculate an appropriate response. This target was 18% larger than the first, yet its shape and mass were comparable; therefore its weapons, their power and firing rates, the ship’s armor density, plus many other characteristics could be inferred with reasonable accuracy. The AI implemented defensive countermeasures 140 milliseconds after being given its freedom.
Weapons announced those actions as they went into effect. “All missile launchers loading with SPs. Pulsars switching to long-range siege fire. Jammer and decoys on standby.”
The AI launched a wave of SIM-54C Kelt missiles, better known as scatterpacks, when Outlaw Two was thirty-one million kilometers away. The rotary launchers whirled as missile after missile burst into space, an even dozen in all. Once empty, the launchers immediately began to reload.
When the scatterpacks cleared the 2.5-kilometer safety zone around Nighthawk, their powerful graviton drive engines lit up, and the sleek, 23-meter-long missiles accelerated at 15,740 g. Inertia nullifiers kept the payload and internal avionics from crumpling due to the massive pressure of over fifteen thousand Earth gravities. In five seconds the scatterpacks were two thousand kilometers away, their speed increasing by 157.4 kilometers a second with each and every second that went by. In a little over a minute, they were streaking toward their target at ten thousand klicks a second, with Nighthawk more than a quarter of a million klicks behind them.
Everyone on the bridge stared at the holosphere as a swarm of tiny blue dots sped toward the ominous red oval that was relentlessly closing in.
Zeres Able
“Move it, sergeant!” Lieutenant Tesla barked. “Nighthawk is under attack.”
“On our way, lieutenant.” Risi was rushing down the stairwell, leading the platform workers to the assault ram. A few of them were injured, others just out of shape, and despite being helped along by the healthy and strong, the laggards were slowing the whole column down.
The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy Page 18