“It’ll be our job,” continued Maximo, “to deal with this new threat coming in from the Animal worlds calling themselves the Coalition. They have the outrageous blasphemy to throw their own into a senseless battle against our superior tech and forces. It’s as if they don’t even realize who they’re fighting. As all great leaders of war must do, I pity them and their ignorance for the destruction they are about to unloose on themselves. But my pity only goes so far, Marines. Today we will show our fellow Uplifted that we, the Pantheon, are the best at war among the chosen. This will be a boarding action game against a strike force of United Worlds warships sent in to rescue their fellow Animals. Maestro is downloading strike packages and clan assignments now. You have your orders. Fight well for honor and glory, and let us show them who their new gods will be this day.”
The response force from the Pantheon consisted of thirty-six Odin’s Spear–class attack vehicles launched from off the Id Sociocracy. Two hundred marines were racked and stacked, ready to deploy on intercept with an incoming Animal strike force. As depicted on tactical, the assault vessels were zooming in, burners at full, to head off the incoming Coalition battle group closing on the Id’s operations fleet around the recently conquered world.
You have been assigned to Clan Thunder Claw, the strike package informed Crometheus. Clan Thunder Claw’s primary target was the United Worlds attack cruiser leading the strike. The Fury. There were nine other ships in the Animal attack fleet, all of them fast and lethal. They moved in a standard assault formation for capital ships of that size.
“Spear Thirteen locked and loaded for bear,” intoned the pilot over the comm. Clan Thunder Claw was interfacing with the group comm. “Contact in thirty seconds. Racks deploying…”
Suddenly Crometheus’s view from inside the cylindrical ship that was Spear Thirteen flipped, and now he was looking at the battlespace from the exterior of the fast-moving attack ship. The ship had literally reversed deployment-rack-laden hull panels from internal to external, deploying marines all along the exterior of the hull.
The view of space was breathtaking. The colors were bright against the backdrop of burning space and the glorious ruin of the carrier force… brighter still, as filters provided by Maestro colored everything as it should be, instead of how it was.
Now Crometheus could see the two wedges of Animal ships on an intercept course with the Id surrounding New Britannia. The Animals’ shipbuilding skills were impressive. United Worlds ships all looked like assault rifles, but writ large. Matte-black and thirty to forty decks high in some cases, the ships bristled with weapons aft of their forward bridge discs. To the rear, powerful drive systems radiated immense heat signatures as the warships switched over to ion from jump for in-system travel.
“Look at ’em!” cried Mantacore, a player Crometheus knew from other battles. He’d been a famous researcher long ago. Turning weather into weapon systems for the corporate military complex of last-stage Earth. His IQ had assured him a place in the Uplift of long ago. He was good for the gene pool, as they liked to say.
Crometheus agreed with Mantacore’s wonder. The Animal ships were indeed dangerous-looking. Probably more dangerous than anything the Uplifted of the Pantheon had ever faced before New Vega. But they’d beaten them on that world, had taken it for their own. Crometheus, among many other deeds that day, had personally shot down one of their assault ships during the initial Coalition insertion onto the battlefield. With the help of the Javelin Anti-Ship System Maestro had developed for them, of course. But it was he who’d pulled the trigger with no targeting solution and nothing but direct fire to go on in those desperate seconds when the battle could have gone either way.
So there was that.
They’d beaten the Coalition once. They’d beat them again. Here. Today.
Of course, Mantacore would get an achievement point demotion from Maestro for daring to be impressed over comm at the strength of an enemy. Fear was one of the first steps shed along the Way of a Thousand Steps. Obviously, not all were as enlightened as some.
Crometheus felt sorry that Mantacore was lesser. But then checked himself. That too was something he’d shed along the way. Something that made one weak. And got in the way of becoming.
Pity.
Pity and remorse had been shed long ago.
Crometheus instead studied all the glorious destruction of the ruined Britannian carrier fleet drifting like flotsam out there in the big nether of space. None of these ships was as big as the smallest of the Uplifted colony ships that had set out from destroyed Earth. But the Animals in their fumbling had nevertheless managed to construct large and impressive vessels by the looks of what remained. The ruined Britannian carrier was a hollow ovoid cylinder, much like the standard Uplifted Rama-class vessel, except smaller and squashed wide at her widest. Her bridge, or what remained of it, was set atop the cylinder and along one side like the command stack of an ocean-going carrier of old. Fighters had once launched out of the hangar bays connected along the ovoid. These bays were modular, according to Uplifted intel. The hangars could be swapped out for either space or atmospheric operations. The Animals did not possess fighters that were capable of both at this present time. Though there were reports that the ones who called themselves the Spilursans were closest to perfecting a design capable of engaging in combat within both theaters.
The fires still raging out of control on the Animal carrier were mainly located in the modularized hangar bays. Her jump drive and engine sections had either been disconnected due to reactor cascade failure, or damaged so heavily that they needed to be shed for emergency survival operations. Either way the carrier was dead in space. Had been for days. Stored and racked munitions had been cooking off at random intervals, destroying vast sections of the immense warship.
Expanding away from the carrier was a debris field of tumbling hulls and frozen bodies that had once been her fifteen support ships and crew complement. Little of the twisted and ruined debris was recognizable. Not that it mattered. The glorious ruin of the still-burning massive carrier and the wreckage of her supporting ships might strike fear or inspire courage, but otherwise that was a battle completed, and the glory and achievement points that had been earned there had gone to other players.
Crometheus had no time for that. The past is prologue to every new moment of becoming. TED 74:19.
Yet Crometheus would not have objected to seeing the Britannian fleet in a less smithereen-like condition. Ever since war had been declared after the various Uplifted had finally agreed to cease their petty conflicts against one another and band together in a Grand Alliance to cleanse explored space of the infection that was the Animals, ever since then he’d spent much of his reality studying all the acquired and known intel regarding the ships and military forces of their coming opponents. Even if the opponents didn’t know they were at war yet, it would pay to know them well before they saw you coming.
In space-time, this war had begun almost thirty years ago when the Uplifted tribes began to formulate an alliance. In his chosen reality maybe fifteen seconds, or two hundred years, or several thousand lifetimes. It all depended on how he wanted to access the data and spend manipulated time understanding it.
Space-time was best for in-game, he reminded himself. It was the closest to an augmented reality.
Now Spear Thirteen was sweeping in across the tip of the incoming United Worlds strike force. A destroyer leader, the Connelly—Crometheus knew this from his studies—built and commissioned supposedly in a United Worlds shipyard, capable of launching four M27 ship-to-ship missiles, or SSMs as the Animals called them, led the attack. The Connelly was also blistering with over thirty medium-range engagement pulse batteries and fifteen close-point defense batteries her crew referred to as PDCs.
Spear Thirteen’s pilot made a dangerous and close pass along the Connelly’s hull. There was just the unmoving nothingness of space and then suddenly
the enemy ship swam in at high speed as Crometheus lay racked on the outside of the streaking attack ship. It was a dangerous flight path to choose, but a close pass made the active tracking system on the Animals’ powerful PDCs less likely to acquire and engage successfully. The Odin’s Spear–class vessels weren’t built to stand up in a firefight. They were built to drop Uplifted marines all over a ship in seconds, covering her in deadly enemies.
Just get us to the objective, thought Crometheus.
The next enemy ship along the wedge they were headed straight at, now that they’d penetrated the Animals’ attack formation, was their target. Cruiser Fury. Interlocking PDC fire lit up the grid within both wings of the wedge trying to knock down the Uplifted marines’ assault delivery ships coming in at every angle. Some of the spears went up like sudden flares or got nailed and went off like powerful firecrackers, while others got strafed by PDC fire and stayed on target for their intercepts, dead marines dangling from the hulls.
“Missile launch! Multiple vehicles outbound!” shouted the pilot over the comm. This was an alert to the leader running Thunder Claw Clan.
“Target solutions computed…” intoned Maestro calmly, breaking in over the chatter. “Animal SSMs tracking for Uplifted vessel Archon. Stand by to deploy onto your targets.”
Suddenly Spear Thirteen spun on her axis, and rocket racks erupted away from the tiny assault ship like blossoming flower petals of bright fire. Each rack ignited on approach to the target hull.
“Here we go, gents!” said a player tagged Brutulus. A player Crometheus had gamed with before and didn’t like much. Back before the Uplift, Brutulus had been a high-powered financier specializing in pharmaceuticals. He’d made a killing by marking up a cancer drug that could be manufactured for pennies. It worked, too. Cured the disease within a week. If you had the three hundred thousand dollars to pay for it. Or were willing to obligate yourself to a lifetime of debt. It was a bold power play by the high-flying financier, and he’d reaped the rewards until the last days of Earth when the economy collapsed in full.
On the other hand, if you were part of the elite ruling class that mentored Earth despite her starving dirty masses teeming for civil war and freedom of speech, then you got access to all the best medicines and didn’t need to worry about the cost. Your IQ and adherence to The Game guaranteed your survival. Despite even death.
Every life counted… if it was the right kind of life.
Random thoughts such as Brutulus’s past and the old cancer plagues surfaced at the speed of light inside Crometheus’s mind, allowing him to call up all this old data on the fly like some background app. It was calming, in a way. Permitting him to zen out on data and focus on the task at hand, despite the constant crawl of information. Like classical music to someone studying for final exams.
And Crometheus was indeed studying his target as though his becoming depended on it. His rapid deployment rack had disengaged from the assault ship and the powerful Coalition vessel was racing at him, growing rapidly out the vast blackness of space, hurtling its bulk at his HUD.
Fury was the biggest ship in the Animal strike force. Maestro’s intel indicated that it was very likely the source of command and control for the entire counterattack operation. And it was an honor that Clan Thunder Claw had been tasked with identifying the enemy command team and terminating their influence on the developing battle. Secondary objective was to destroy the ship. Specifically, her propulsion systems.
Crometheus ran through everything he knew as the ship raced up at him. Twin-hulled. Connecting at a forward command bridge disc. Nine SSM tubes—eight forward, one rear. Forty-eight pulse heavy guns. Ninety medium-engagement batteries. Over fifty PDCs. And a state-of-the-art electronic engagement warfare center called the PITT. Primary Intel Targeting and Termination. Reports indicated that this center had been developed in connection with the New Vega science and research labs deep in the bunkers beneath the city. Maestro had tagged the intel as “developing” and had requested a core hack and selfies within the PITT. Both would be rewarded with achievement points.
Crometheus added that to his list of things to do.
Kill admiral.
Disable engines.
Selfie in the PITT.
And along the way…
Kill.
Kill your way to Big Prizes. For honor and for glory.
And win big prizes. Life was good. Immortality was great! Game on!
Gods: Chapter Five
Spear Thirteen got hit by battery fire off the Fury. A direct hit at that range and there was nothing left and nowhere to go. But the spinning racks of dropped Uplifted marines were already clear of the wounded delivery vehicle, and seconds after it began its drop spin, they were fanning the target ship Fury, their heavy-duty insertion racks attaching themselves to the target’s hull.
The Uplifted pilot was definitely game-overed as the cockpit forward of the flight deck exploded aboard Spear Thirteen. Maybe he got a consciousness upload. Maybe not. And truth be told, even Crometheus doubted the consciousness upload really worked. Who was to say that… that you, or rather the “you” that emerged … was really you? The priests might affirm it… but even they weren’t gods yet. And of course, the upload would claim it was really you. What other choice did it have? It probably wasn’t even a choice. It most likely believed it really was you with every byte of its being.
Back in the battle there was a blinding flash as Spear Thirteen got hit. A sudden spark in the deep of dark space despite the maelstrom of incoming bright fire from the Animal attack cruisers. There must have been some kind of guidance system connection between the drop racks and delivery vehicle, because once Thirteen went up like a comet coming apart in atmosphere, the drop racks lost tracking on the bridge of the Fury, which had been the primary target insertion point, and the rack Crometheus was bolted into was now literally flying along the enemy cruiser’s hull, skimming and randomly impacting with systems and plating, completely out of control. In the blink of an eye his rack overshot the bridge disc, made for the port side, and struck some sort of outcropping sensor device, ripping it away clean. The collision also obliterated two of the other clanmates attached to Crometheus’s rack. Pulped and smashed within their armor. Negative on the upload. Maybe there was a backup on file somewhere within the collective whole.
And if not…
Centuries of Uplifted enlightenment gone. Never to be returned.
Again, these notes from reality filled the background informational crawl of Crometheus’s mind. Tagged and saved for considered rumination in the future.
The rack leader ordered a verbal ejection command. That might save some of the marines. It would also no doubt send others spinning helplessly off into the void of space, in the middle of a battle. It was all random chance now.
In that slow-motion instant of the drop rack bouncing off the enemy ship’s hull and then continuing along its matte-black length at an insane speed, directional chemical burn rockets attempting to course-correct… Crometheus executed a hard disconnect and cast his fate to the wind. As it were.
A second later the rack smashed into a pulse battery engaging another Spear passing close by along the hull. The drop rack and enemy defensive gun exploded together in sudden fireworks, ensuring everyone on board the rack, and within the gun battery, was dead. Eighty percent of the roster for the clan suddenly blinked into game-overed gray.
Crometheus spun free of the rack, saw the hull slithering past him, and knew he was headed off into the dark within the next few seconds. Power couplers and massive transfer tubes seemed to flee from his eyes as he shot down the length of the ship. The whole experience was similar to falling down a hill. And into deep space. With little chance of recovery.
He reached out with one gauntlet and tried to grab a comm antenna. Most likely a locally redundant system for inter-ship communication in the event of malfunction or ene
my EMP strike. The slender pole came away in his grip. Now he and it were heading together toward a giant half-dome located amidships.
Turrets were throwing fire into the void, tracking and destroying the not-so-agile yet fast to turn-and-burn Uplifted Spears swarming the Coalition fleet. A powerful explosion rocked one of the Animal destroyer escorts off to starboard. Someone had gotten their objective early.
“Way to go, Chromancer!” shouted the in-game announcer AI over general Uplifted comm. “Primary objective achieved! Big prizes!”
“Damn!” Crometheus swore at Chromancer as he tumbled quickly for the dome, mindful that he either stopped here or he was out of the battle and most likely game-overed because he’d seen no Uplifted assets tasked for search and rescue.
A second later he hit the curve of the hull and grabbed for the edge of a sensor disc, demanding that it hold.
Positive thinking paid off, even though momentum and inertia worked to defeat his best efforts.
“It always does,” he chanted to himself. Thinking positive affirmations, that is. It always pays off. Something he’d learned long ago along the Path. In a positive chanting retreat with some clutch of tech gurus in Myanmar during the run-up to the last days of old ruined Earth. A hidden mountaintop Zen palace in which they’d all learned that mind could be made to dominate matter. That deceiving yourself was the first step to deceiving others. Deception could manufacture truth. And that power could be had for those willing to play the trick on themselves first, before it was played on the masses.
“Activate zero-gee operations for environmental movement,” he grunted at his HUD.
The armor’s gauntlets and boots disconnected from the hull and in moments he had the high-powered laser torch activated and was cutting into the cruiser Fury. Then he was in and crawling through the darkness between the hulls. Looking for the inner hull’s barrier. Red lights swam to life, warning, “Outer hull breach in progress, this section. Please evacuate!”
Gods & Legionnaires (Galaxy's Edge: Savage Wars Book 2) Page 6