Crimson Worlds Collection II

by Jay Allan

  Cain felt the words stick in his throat when he spoke of the units that had fled. Those most responsible had paid the ultimate price…and the troops still on the surface didn’t doubt Cain’s promise that every one of them would face the executioner if they ran again. He’d gone up himself to supervise the return to the fight of the broken units. He shamed them…and he threatened them with such cold resolve not one of them doubted he would sacrifice them all if he had to. He spared no tool, no trick, no manipulation. The army needed those men and women in the line, and Cain’s combination of threats and encouragement got them there. They were still scared of the enemy, but they were terrified of Erik Cain. Every one of the broken units reformed and advanced to stabilize the line where the heroic 5th and 6th battalions had grimly stood against the entire First Imperium army.

  “Follow me now.” His voice had reached a thundering crescendo. “Forward to battle…to vengeance…to victory!”

  “All battalions commanders, form up now!” General James Prescott stood on the edge of a jagged finger of rock, just east of the First Imperium LZ. “We’re moving out in two minutes.”

  Prescott had led his second division through the kilometers-long tunnel Cain’s engineers had dug under the rugged highlands. The strategy was unorthodox…and very risky. His people were hitting the enemy landing zone while Cain and the rest of I Corps attacked from dozens of hidden strongpoints and bunkers across the battlefield. The two parts of I Corps were kilometers apart, well out of mutual support range. And Cain’s forces would be scattered throughout the enemy army, with no real battle lines. It would be a massive brawl…a fight to the death. And Prescott’s division would take the landing zone, 20 klicks to the rear, and cut off the enemy retreat. At least that was the plan.

  Prescott had his own regiment of Canadians in the lead, with the rest of the division formed up behind in a column of battalions. The division had mostly veteran troops, and the newbs he did have had been fed into experienced units. “Second Division, move out.” He flipped to the regimental com. “Let’s go 4th Regiment.” His Canadians included a large contingent of the veterans who’d served under him during the massive battle on Carson’s World ten years before. Some had mustered out during the rebellions, choosing to fight alongside the rebels on the largely Canadian-settled world of Victoria…Prescott included. But the survivors had mostly returned to the colors with their former colonel. Despite his command of the entire division, Prescott chose to lead his own regiment personally.

  They were moving smartly, not quite a jog, but more than a march. It took about fifteen minutes for the leading units to clear the rocky spur and get a clear view of the landing zone. There was a perimeter defense all around the LZ. It was narrow, but strongly fortified…bristling with heavy weapons.

  “General Prescott, thirty seconds to bombardment. Need final authorization.” The voice from the command post was sharp, precise.

  Prescott looked out at the enemy defensive line. His people were six kilometers out. It wouldn’t take them long to cover that distance. “Authorization code Sigma 9.” He answered almost immediately. It was time.

  “All units…visors off now.” His own helmet darkened, as the visor turned black, blocking any light from outside. He looked at the plotting map projected just in front of his eyes, confirming the incoming ordnance. “Impact in fifteen seconds.” He was listening in on the division-wide com. He could hear the unit commanders down the chain of command, prepping their Marines.

  “Ten seconds.” Prescott knelt down himself, ready to lean forward and shield himself from the detonations.

  “We attack one minute after impact.” He addressed the entire division. He wanted everyone ready to go. “Repeat, one minute after impact.”

  “Three…two…one…”

  Prescott pushed himself forward, shielding his visor and the equipment on the front of his armor. He was outside the serious damage zone, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He wasn’t looking ahead, not with his eyes, at least. Six kilometers away, 16 tactical nuclear weapons detonated all along the enemy defensive perimeter. The fireballs engulfed the heavy weapon emplacements, and the expanding shockwave slammed into the nearby enemy bots with deadly effect. Deeper in the LZ, First Imperium reserve units began to move toward the threatened perimeter, reacting almost immediately, trying to plug the gap blasted open by the nuclear attack.

  The warning light in Prescott’s helmet went off and he activated his visor and looked around the edge of the rocky spur. He paused, transfixed by the site ahead of him…sixteen billowing mushroom clouds silhouetted against the setting sun. Rushing ahead toward nuclear hell, he thought…what an odd life I’ve chosen. But he was too much of a veteran to be distracted for more than an instant. “Now, 2nd Division…attack!”

  He moved forward, knowing his Canadians were on his heels. “Attack!”

  “Attack!” Cain’s order was raw, primal. The Marines of 1st Division were veterans, survivors of combat against the First Imperium, stone cold killers ready to take their vengeance. Cain was their leader, their hero. They heard his battlecry not with their ears, but with their hearts, with their guts.

  First Division was scattered all across the battlefield, coming out of three dozen hidden sally points. Cain had gambled that his strategy was too unorthodox for the First Imperium to comprehend. He had no battle line, no protected flanks, no clear line of retreat. It was going to be a knife fight, brutal, close in, to the death. The best of the Marine Corps was here, and they were focused as one. They knew what was at stake. They would win this fight here and now…or none of them would return.

  Cain had 200 members of the special action teams at his back, and now they moved out, targeting the closest enemy forces. This was a search and destroy mission. They weren’t after territory, they had no objectives…they were here to exterminate the First Imperium warriors.

  His force fanned out, moving for whatever bits of cover they could find. They were close to the enemy – very close – and Cain had equipped all the teams with heavy weapons. There were 30 snipers, armed with the new heavy marksman’s rifle…another development from Colonel Spark’s magic weapons factory. The projectile was hypersonic and explosive…allegedly, a single perfect shot would take down even a Reaper. That remained to be seen, however. Cain’s two and a half dozen sharpshooters were giving the thing its first field test.

  “Alright people…let’s go get us some enemy scalps!” He could hear the cheers on the comlink as he surged forward, leaping over a small mound and heading toward an outcropping that looked like a vantage point with decent cover.

  The final round had begun.

  Chapter 22

  Conference Room 2

  Combined Powers Research Facility

  Carson’s World – Epsilon Eridani IV

  “Research on the enemy debris recovered from numerous sites strongly supports the conclusion.” Henry Borden stood in front of the massive presentation screen. “I reiterate my hypothesis. To date, we have faced no organic beings in this war, neither in space nor on the ground.” He paused, adding emphasis to the point. “The forces of the First Imperium appear to be entirely robotic, up to and including overall theater command functions.”

  It was the kind of statement that would typically generate gasps of surprise, but everyone in the room had already come to suspect this fact, or something very similar to it. “Thank you, Dr. Borden. Your data has been enormously helpful. I think we all agree that your hypothesis is correct, but we must be as certain as possible before we relay this information to Admiral Garret.” Friederich Hofstader sat at the head of the table, looking out at the assembled experts. When he had first returned to Carson’s World, he’d been uncomfortable with the administrative burden of running the place. Over time, he learned to adapt, and now he could tolerate it…he even enjoyed it sometimes. “Dr. Travers, would you care to present your findings next.”

  Travers stood up slowly, mostly to give Borden a chance to get back to
his seat. “Thank you, Frie…Dr. Hofstader.” The two had been friends for some time and, since the German scientist had returned and taken over control of the research facility, that relationship had only become closer. Travers was one of humanity’s foremost xenobiologists…and one of Roderick Vance’s spies as well. Hofstader was aware of that, but as far as Travers knew, no one else on the staff was.

  Travers pressed a button on his controller. The main presentation screen displayed a diagram of a large and very complex organic molecule. “We have found fossilized traces of this substance in multiple locations on Epsilon Eridani IV.” He turned and looked over at those assembled. “As most of you will recall, I put forth an immediate – and admittedly premature – suggestion that this molecule served a similar purpose to our own DNA and that it was, in fact, biological material from the builders of this place.”

  He paused, remembering his excitement when he first discovered the molecule. He hadn’t been ridiculed – he was far too accomplished in his field for that – but his suggestion had been largely ignored. “At the time, my belief was little more than a hunch, based solely on my determination that this substance could indeed perform a function similar to that of DNA.” He pressed the button again. The diagram shrank and slid to the left half of the screen. A similar image appeared on the right side.

  “But now we have discovered traces of this substance as well.” Everyone was staring at the screen. The new diagram looked superficially like the original one, but close inspection showed some differences. “My team has just completed a round of intensive analysis, and we have determined that this molecule would be capable of performing a messenger function with the first one…in essence, it appears to be the RNA equivalent to our alternative DNA. I now feel comfortable in asserting that these molecules are, in fact, genetic remains of the organic creatures responsible for the construction of this antimatter production facility.”

  This was fresh news. Travers hadn’t even had time to discuss it with Hofstader before the meeting. “Obviously, we have much to discuss regarding this discovery and the potential impact on future research, but for now, Dr. Travers, would you attempt to briefly address the aspects you consider most relevant to the war effort?” Hofstader was trying to keep the meeting focused. Clearly the discovery of alien DNA was a historic watershed. But first they had to do their part to make sure mankind survived to research it further.

  “Yes, of course.” Travers nodded toward Hofstader. “First, and please excuse me for the highly speculative nature of this observation, it appears the enemy is not enormously unlike us in basic body chemistry. The molecules themselves are different, but the uses appear to be quite similar. This similarity in body chemistry, combined with the roughly human shapes of the enemy robots, we can hypothesize that we are dealing with a species moderately comparable to our own, at least physically.”

  Hofstader nodded for Travers to continue. Ok, he thought, so we’re probably not fighting hordes of intelligent insects or sentient algaes…we figured that already.

  “Second, these molecules do not appear to be entirely natural.” He pressed the button again, and a number of arrows appeared on the image. “It looks like there were some changes made, probably deliberately. We have experimented with similar modifications to our own DNA, for example in efforts to remove genetic defects or eradicate harmful recessives. However, our attempts have always been frustrated by the need to make the desired change simultaneously throughout the body, so that the new version entirely replaces the old.” Travers tried to remain calm, but his excitement was nearly uncontainable. He was calmly presenting one of the greatest discoveries in history. He wanted to lock himself in his lab and throw away the key. The data he was discussing could advance the state of bio-science millennia in just a few years.

  “What do you consider the primary implications of this, Dr. Travers?” Hofstader again, trying to keep things moving. “With regard to the war effort, of course.”

  “Well, it certainly points to a technology far in advance of our own, though that seems like a highly redundant conclusion at this point.” Travers turned from the screen to glance back at the table. “But it also suggests that the original naturally-occurring version of this substance may have been much closer to our own DNA, suggesting even greater potential similarities between humanity and the alien species.

  Travers cleared his throat and walked back toward the table. “Third, I believe we can provide some support for Dr. Borden’s theory that we have not, in any of the conflicts that have been fought, faced these organic beings. While we have found fossilized remains of both of these molecules at multiple locations on Epsilon Eridani IV, we have been unable to discover even a fragment in the debris from the war zone.” He took a quick breath. “If any of the beings we are hypothesizing had been on any of those ships or had touched any of the equipment we have studied, it is virtually inconceivable for us not to find a single trace.” He paused.

  “Please continue, doctor.” Hofstader knew where Travers was going, but he wanted it to be clear to everyone.

  “My only conclusion is that members of the species who founded the First Imperium were physically on this planet at one time, very long ago…” He paused again, but continued when Hofstader nodded. “…but that none of them has ever set foot on the spaceships we are fighting. Or at least the ones from which we have examined wreckage.”

  Hofstader paused for a few seconds, allowing Traver’s statements to sink in. He nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Travers. Your insights are fascinating.” He turned his head. “Dr. Wessen, if you are ready, I think it would be an appropriate time to hear your data.”

  Wessen was short and stocky, an odd looking fellow with long, greasy brown hair. He stood up slowly, as if the effort was considerable. His rumpled gray jumpsuit was dingy and stained. His appearance was underwhelming, but Wessen was the Alliance’s top expert in computers and artificial intelligences. He’d designed most of the major AIs in use by both the Marines and the navy.

  “Thank you, Dr. Hofstader.” He turned toward the table. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, just glancing in the general direction. “I have reviewed the data on the enemy’s tactics, and I am quite convinced that the First Imperium forces are entirely directed by artificial intelligences. This is only a guess based on my analysis, however I strongly believe it to be true. The enemy – whether directed organically or electronically – seems to display a relatively poor aptitude for war. This is apparent from a cursory review of their tactics. If the technology and weaponry had been equal in this fight, our military would almost certainly have won the war very quickly.”

  He cleared his throat and continued, “What is less apparent, without detailed study, are the patterns with which they have responded to situations where knowledge and skill were lacking. A human being, placed in the role of a general with inadequate training and experience, might react in a variety of ways. But I have detected certain patterns in the enemy’s actions that strongly suggest the types of decisions an artificial intelligence would make. There is a certain type of logic being employed by the enemy that is highly consistent with artificially-programmed thought.”

  Wessen thought for a few seconds, considering how to proceed. “Imagine a computer playing chess. It would be impossible for any of us to defeat the machine. The game has a finite number of moves, and even a child’s computer can analyze all possible combinations, and select those that are optimal. Warfare, conversely, is full of variables, many based on the emotions of the participants. Morale is crucial, for example, but so are a nearly unlimited number of other factors. Troops may fight better, for example, alongside those they have served with for many years. A normally cowardly soldier may stand firm to defend a wounded comrade. Considerations of this sort are the most difficult to program into an AI. It is possible that with more research we may be able to develop a significant ability to predict the enemy’s actions.”

  Wessen paused, taking a deep breath before
he continued. “I am also prepared to offer a more specific, multi-layer hypothesis. It is my belief that the enemy forces are directed at the top by an artificial intelligence that was programmed by organic beings…a first generation AI, if you will.” Wessen’s voice was high-pitched and nasal, but his comment caught everyone’s attention.

  “Below our AI general, for lack of a better designation, we would have a layer of AIs programmed directly by the top level intelligence…and below these, more junior computers, themselves created by other, mid-level thinking machines.” He looked around the table, and he could see none of them had anticipated where his argument was leading.

  “If I am correct, we will be able to analyze the enemy in ways that offer profound advantages to the military.” He paused, thinking about how to explain. “You are all familiar with the concept of replicative decay. No copy made of anything is a perfect replica; there will always be some deviation, even if only at the atomic level. Therefore, if we make a copy of a copy, the similarity to the original will gradually decrease. Thus, the first copy is a 99.9% accurate facsimile, the second is 99.8%, and so on. There is some level of degradation at each level.”

  Hofstader looked at him and nodded for him to continue. It looked like the German scientist knew where he was going, though most of the faces staring at him still looked uncertain. “There is a similar concept in high-level programming.” He paused and took a breath. “I can design an AI. At our current level of proficiency, I can create a system that simulates emotion…even one that comes close to some definitions of experiencing true feelings. But similar to the general inability to make a perfect copy, I can never achieve an exact imitation of organic sentience. I can come close, and with greater technology and proficiency, even closer, but if the theory holds, my simulation will never be a perfect match.”