Invardii Box Set 2

by Warwick Gibson

  Oddly, he felt relieved. It was an explanation of sorts.

  Now that the Druanii understood the discomfort he felt when it conversed with its fellows, it shut down the animations in front of it. The translator explained it could shut itself out of the Druanii mind web if it concentrated on something else strongly enough.

  It inquired whether, if Cordez felt he had recovered enough, he would he be willing to continue the conversation with his host?

  Cordez was only too eager to ask more questions. He started with his observation that the Druanii seemed technologically ahead of the Invardii and the Rothii.

  The Druanii agreed. “Pursuit of philosophical thought opens ways into nature of the universe,” explained the monkey-like translator, sitting on its haunches between Cordez and Geelong, and coming up to their waists. The smallest member of its family, which Cordez had dislodged off his shoulder, had now taken up position in Geelong’s arms, where it was nodding off as he rocked it gently.

  “However, Druanii have no need of social closeness, or political organization,” continued the huge, dragon-like creature. “They do not, therefore, breed for emotional and industrial needs.

  “Druanii have accelerated creation of new individuals. This is in response to Invardii colonization outside the core of the galaxy, and the rapid growth of the Alliance in the Spiral Arm. However, members of the Druanii still only number in the thousands.

  “Resources take time to accumulate, and process of creation is slow. Despite more advanced technology, one individual can only overcome so many enemies in a time of conflict,” it finished.

  Cordez was intrigued to learn that the Druanii had accelerated the creation of new individuals. From what the research team had discovered in the archives, the Druanii were now so hybridized, and shot through with advanced technologies, that a natural birth was impossible for them.

  Essentially the Druanii were trying to tell him that in a knock down, drag ‘em out fight, the Druanii wouldn’t be able to field large numbers.

  “Druanii have a number of planetary systems as protectorates,” continued the translator. “Most of them have volunteered to help in any way they can. Some have technologies that might be of use, but few would survive for long against Invardii or Buccra.”

  Cordez was moved that the protectorates should offer to help, particularly when it was against forces so superior to them. He agreed that the Druanii should only accept help from those who stood a chance in a battle against the Invardii city, and the forces that would be defending it.

  Then the discussion became a little more technical.

  “Buccra have ways to overcome Javelin shields,” said Cordez, “and Buccra warships regenerate faster than Alliance forces can destroy them.

  “Invardii shields have adapted to every weapon we have tried on them. Valkrethi can still destroy Invardii ships, but we have lost five Valkrethi so far, and there are only so many of them.”

  The translator smiled, an odd grimace that suggested the Druanii behind it was attempting a Human expression. “We have been thinking about that, and we have some answers. How quickly can you modify your Javelins?”

  “Depends,” said Cordez. “What did you have in mind?”

  The discussion on how they might work together to improve the Alliance chances began in earnest.

  CHAPTER 24

  ________________

  The boardroom at Prometheus was packed. Every departmental head was there, accompanied by their most creative thinkers, Human and Mersa. The immense interest in Cordez’ meeting with the Druanii had many more following the meeting as it was relayed from the boardroom.

  Representatives of EarthGov had insisted on being present, though the Regents had been content to gather at Victor Emen’s headquarters in Krakov to watch proceedings from there. A nervous Battrod was present in the boardroom, representing the Hud pilots and his home planet. Cordez had also arranged for subspace feeds to the Sumerian and K'Sarth planets.

  It had all the trappings of an election-year wingding, sighed Cordez. The stakes, though, were infinitely higher than in the charades of human politics.

  “The changes the Druanii have suggested for our Javelins are at the limit of our technology,” he said, once the opening ceremonies were out of the way.

  “In fact two of the necessary components are beyond our ability to make – a type of black hole radiation that creates an intense localized gravitational field, and a Kerlian radiation environment that reduces the attraction between atoms to zero. The Druanii have agreed to provide us with factories that will make the components, and then we just have to bolt them into place.

  “Even this is not without its problems. The Druanii use a nanotechnology way ahead of ours, and since we can’t be sure of the effect their nanobes will have in our environment, we will need to isolate the factories from our technology.

  “Once we’ve got things underway, we’ll offload resources in a safe area, and the factories will access the materials when our freighters are not there. The manufactured components will be scrubbed for worker bytes at the factory, and again by us at an isolated station on the way here.

  “The Druanii will monitor the factories and deal with any problems they find.”

  Cordez paused, and almost smiled. His departmental heads were managing to contain themselves. They must have a thousand questions about the new technology, but they wanted to see what else he had to say first. They would be calming themselves with the knowledge they’d get the details as soon as the meeting was over.

  “That’s all good news,” continued Cordez, “but the rest is more of a mixed bag.

  “We don’t know how long it will take to improve the Javelins, or how long we’ve got. The Invardii, and their new dogs of war the Buccra, could launch a major attack on us at any time and disrupt the process.

  “I’ve also offered to upgrade the Sumerian warships, since their heavy industry isn’t yet up to the task after the damage inflicted on their planets. Changing the motherships over, though, may prove impossible in the short time we have.”

  He checked his notes, and changed to a different topic.

  “The Druanii will be present at the attack on the Invardii city. I’m sorry but they wouldn’t give me more specific details than that. On the downside they won’t help us protect the planetary systems of the Alliance. If they do that it will null and void the treaty we want to use to get the Invardii to retreat to their original boundaries.

  “We will also be getting some help from the Druanii protectorates against the Invardii city. This will probably be more in spirit than in real fighting power, but it’s great to think other races will risk their lives in this cause. They see the need to go up against races that are self-obsessed as much as we do.

  “The changes in the Javelins will make them completely new ships to fly. One of the greatest changes will be in the tactics the Javelins will have to employ in future. It will mean a real change in thinking for Battrod and the Hud pilots under him.”

  He paused to look directly at Battrod, who acknowledged him with a nod.

  “Since the Buccra weaponry cuts straight through the Druanii shields,” continued Cordez, “were going to jettison the shields to make room for the new technology going into the Javelins. We also think we know how to neutralize the Reaper ship shields, but there’s nothing definite on that as yet.

  “Whatever we do, it’s clear future battles will be fought offensively, with speed, tactics and weaponry. They will no longer be fought defensively, relying mainly on shields.

  “The death toll will be greater, on both sides, but at least the war will be over more quickly. There won’t be the slow losses by attrition that we have now, and we think the changes will even the odds in our favor. The battle at Uruk went against us in a ratio of nine ships to one, and we have to do better than that.”

  Cordez paused, and turned to look around the room, so that he included everyone in his level gaze.

  “The main thing,
though, is that we have to make every minute from now on count. I know this is nothing new for you, but we’re coming down to the last days we have to prepare. Everything depends on what happens in the next few weeks, and I’m counting on you.”

  He smiled. “No pressure, people.”

  There was a long silence.

  “We could put 30 hours in each day,” said John MacEwart, head of armaments, his face deadpan. “Get a lot more done that way.”

  There were some exasperated chuckles.

  “Someone explain the maths to him,” said Finch, smiling along with the others.

  It was good to release the tension in the room, but it didn’t change the fact that this would be the most important few weeks of their lives. Everyone in the Alliance was depending on them. There was nothing more to report, and Cordez closed the meeting.

  MacEwart, Carlos Paula, and a team of hull designers met Cordez later in the day. It was difficult to get time with the man at the center of the Alliance war effort, but what they were suggesting was so outrageous Cordez saw them straight away.

  “Some months ago we were thinking of building a type of warship that could take the Reaper ships on at their own game,” said Carlos. “One that could survive the thermonuclear gases of binary stars, and the outer layers of suns, where the Invardii live and work.”

  “But that wasn’t practical, not in the time frame we had, or in sufficient numbers of ships to make a difference,” continued one of the research assistants with him.

  “However,” said John MacEwart, “we could build one of these ships in time for the attack on the Invardii city.”

  Cordez looked at the lumpy, doughnut shaped blueprint in front of him. If the Prometheus hull designers said it would work, he would believe them. It was supposed to be an inside out fusion reactor, keeping the inside of the ship at an acceptable temperature. Intense electromagnetic shields surrounding the torus would keep the plasma mayhem of the Antares sun at bay.

  “We can adjust the electromagnetic fields to suck plasma in from one side of the torus and spit it out the other,” said the other research assistant. “It wouldn’t be capable of stardrive, and probably no more than twenty percent of the speed of light against the resistance in the red giant’s surface layers.”

  “We’re lucky Antares is so diffuse,” she continued, “or we wouldn’t even get that.”

  “Since the ship would have to be launched into Antares some distance from the Invardii city,” said Carlos, “it would probably take as much as a week to get to the city.

  “We’re fortunate the plasma inside the sun will provide all the energy the ship will need.”

  “It would be a cow of a thing to fly,” said MacEwart, “even with the best computers we’ve got. The power in the electromagnetic shields would be way too high to be finely adjusted for flying the ship.

  “Someone would have to be on their toes every second for a week while flying in, and we don’t know how much longer after that, depending on how the battle for the city goes.”

  “But what’s the point of it?” said Cordez at last.

  MacEwart’s eyes lit up.

  “It could take out the city cooling system, from inside the sun.”

  Cordez’ eyes narrowed. He should have thought of that. He must be losing his grip. Taking out the city’s cooling system could be an ace card in an otherwise patchy hand. It would force the city out of the sun, and that would even the odds.

  Who could he send to fly this suicide machine into a red super giant star, all on its own, to attack a supercity from behind?

  He thought of Fedic, and then discarded him as a pilot. He wasn’t a hundred percent right from his self-imposed mission to Mentuk, and it was taking him longer to get back into shape after each mission – both physically and mentally. Cordez shook his head. Fedic was wearing himself out in service to the Alliance.

  There were others who could go, and they were almost as good. They didn’t have the experience, or the flair, that the master had. But they would go if he asked them, and they would do a good job.

  MacEwart saw Cordez pondering these things, and guessed the nature of his thoughts.

  “Fedic has already volunteered,” he said.

  “It was him who gave us the idea,” said Carlos Paula. “He came to us one day and asked if we had anything that would fly through a sun. We had shelved the torus idea, but we dragged it out to show him. He gave us some ideas on how to make it fly better, and then he told us to give it a high priority.

  “This is the result.”

  Cordez was silent. He didn’t want to send his old friend on a mission like this, but if Fedic was determined to go he would have little chance of stopping him.

  He hung his head for a moment.

  “Build me this ship,” he said at last, and left the room.

  When he found Fedic, the stealth operative was keeping his fitness up. His opponents were shadowy figures created by the program he had set up in the gym computer. Cordez watched as Fedic worked his way through a series of computer-generated attacks with impeccable defenses. He never seemed to tire, and he never seemed to sweat.

  Cordez was pretty sure Fedic’s skin had been modified so it didn’t sweat – sweat made your hands slippery and got in your eyes – but his tirelessness would be due to an extraordinary life of disciplined activity.

  Fedic finished a series of responses, and came over to join him.

  “It’s not the same as live combat,” he said, doing something with a thin, flexible band covering his chest.

  “Heat sink,” he said as he adjusted the band, in response to Cordez’ unspoken question. “Dumps heat into Prometheus life support. Otherwise I’d burn up after a while.”

  Fedic listened quietly as Cordez explained that he didn’t have to go on this last mission. Cordez didn’t mind finding someone else to pilot the torus ship through the outer layers of Antares.

  “How do you know the things you know?” said Fedic, abruptly.

  Cordez was surprised at the change of subject.

  “You often make decisions that turn out to be the right calls, but I know you don’t always have the information to back it up.”

  Cordez thought about the things the Druanii had recently revealed to him. Fedic didn’t give him the time to decide whether he would share that information or not.

  “You know what I’m talking about, I can see it,” he said. “So you’ll believe me when I say that every mission I went on, I always knew I’d come back.”

  He paused, and took a deep breath.

  “And that’s how I know I won’t be coming back this time.”

  “Why go then?” exploded Cordez. “If you know?”

  “Because it would be worse if I didn’t go,” said Fedic, flatly. “Maybe I wouldn’t die if I stayed here at Prometheus, but it feels . . . wrong . . . of me to use my knowledge of the future to change it.

  “I think something is trying to tell me I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t go, maybe it’s worse than that. I don’t know.”

  His voice hardened. “But I’ve made the choice, and I’m sticking to it.”

  Cordez was silent for a long time, wrestling with his feelings. In the end his respect for the man, and what he had achieved for the Alliance, overcame his sadness at the thought of losing an old friend.

  He clasped Fedic’s hand, and then put his other arm around Fedic’s shoulder and pulled him close for a moment. Fedic allowed him the familiarity.

  Not another word passed between them.

  Cordez turned and left.

  PART SEVEN: COUNTING DOWN

  CHAPTER 25

  ________________

  When the Buccra warships made their attack on the Sumerian government at Rok’H’Rok, it was sudden, it was well organized, and it was mercilessly executed.

  The bulk of the Sumerian deep space Navy was now stationed away from the barren mineral moon, where repairs and maintenance could be more effectively carried out. Much of it
was also delegated to routine ‘show the flag’ patrols around the remaining Sumerian colonies. In these circumstances the Sumerian government was helpless before the Buccra invasion.

  ParapSanni watched the slaughter above the moon impassively, the thin slits of his eyes showing his extreme displeasure. PraktuParBrahmad, the governor of Rok’H’Rok, had asked for the Sumerian warships to be released from their impossible task protecting the moon early on, and ParapSanni had agreed. The Buccra warships, however, had hunted the warships down all the same. Very few had made it into the safety of stardrive.

  The 3D animation in front of him, detailing the moon and the forces around it, showed 21 Buccra warships in formation above the planet. They had complete control of the cratered, desolate surface. The main body of Sumerian warships had been alerted to the situation by sub space radio, but they were half a day away at maximum speed.

  ParapSanni’s Second, ConosSanni, had been leading the defense of Rok’H’Rok from one of the warships, and ParapSanni didn’t know if his Second had made it into stardrive. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind for now. This moon was the seat of the Sumerian government, and the center of the Sumerian empire. He would defend it!

  The Buccra warships broke formation and spread across the surface of the moon, searching for signs of Sumerian habitation. A number congregated over the prominent mountain range on the side of the moon facing the gas giant Orcreti.

  ParapSanni gripped the edges of the table more tightly. It looked like the Buccra had found the main spaceport, even though it was well hidden at the bottom of a deep crater in the mountains.

  He switched one of the wall screens to images of the spaceport. An orderly evacuation was already underway. Shuttles laden with Sumerian staff were pulling out of the hangar area and onto the maglev system that ringed the moon deep underground.

  An enormous explosion destroyed the shelf of rock in front of the main door moments later, and buckled the massive structure inward. Air began to escape from the hangar, and the remaining Sumerians started to run for the shuttles. ParapSanni watched them bound across the hanger floor in the strange, giant leaps of Sumerians when their reserves of adrenaline kicked in.