Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7)

by Craig Alanson

“We don’t know yet if we can connect to wormholes outside the galaxy. And Skippy told me he can’t guarantee a future wormhole shift won’t bring that dormant wormhole back online,” I explained. “Also, remember, if aliens reach Earth, they are going to learn that we have been manipulating wormholes, and how we’ve been doing that.”

  “Skippy has been manipulating wormholes, not us.”

  “Yeah, but even Skippy needs a wormhole controller module. He says even the senior species don’t know what that device is, they know it is something the Elders created but they don’t know its purpose. That’s why we were able to steal one; the Kristang at that asteroid base had no idea how valuable it is. Once the senior species find out what a wormhole controller module does, they will begin studying them.”

  “Sure, except they can’t use one without Skippy.”

  “They can’t use one now. The senior species do have the ability to create connections to higher levels of spacetime, that is how Skippy controls and feeds power to the thing.”

  “Shit. I didn’t know that.”

  I glanced out the door to assure we were still speaking privately. To be certain, I pressed the button to slide the door closed. “Skippy told me the Maxolhx, even the Rindhalu, are a long way from figuring out how to make a wormhole controller do anything useful. The spiders have only the rudimentary basics of the theory needed, and the rotten kitties don’t even have that. But, to be safe, I prefer we keep the beta site’s location a secret. That removes the incentive for vengeful aliens to try getting there. They can expend their energies on killing each other.”

  “True. I had forgotten that the UN planned to seize this ship partly because Skippy had programmed our wormhole controller to work without him. That’s how they planned to go through the wormhole near Earth to contact the Jeraptha.”

  “He programmed it to work one time without him. And we still have no idea how it works. That reminds me,” I snapped my fingers, “I need to ask Skippy to leave that knowledge out of the info he is sharing with us lowly monkeys. That knowledge is way too dangerous for us to have.”

  “Sir, I will think about the logistics of setting up a colony.”

  “Assume conditions on the planet are only marginable habitable, someplace unpleasant like Newark. We might have to settle for whatever we can find.”

  “Newark wasn’t so bad.”

  “It wasn’t?” I raised an eyebrow at that remark.

  “I was born and raised in Washington State,” she explained. “Rainy, cloudy and cool most of the year is what I’m used to.”

  “Northern Maine is not exactly a tropical paradise either, but living on Newark sucked. It snowed during summer on the equator! You know what the worst part was?”

  “Sir?”

  “When we found those skeletons, and Skippy discovered the planet used to be a nice place. That really sucked.” There was probably a more eloquent way to say it, but poetry is not in my skillset.

  She looked at me with a frown that implied me saying ‘sucked’ was an insult to the civilization that had been exterminated.

  “You know what I mean, Simms.”

  She was still giving me a hurt, accusing look. “Straight up, Sir? I need to know whether you are going to give a hundred percent to stopping the Maxolhx from reaching Earth.”

  “Straight up, Colonel Simms,” I offered her a solemn fist bump, and met her eyes while she returned the gesture. “The fucking universe may quit on us, but I won’t.”

  She stood up and snapped a salute, a gesture for dramatic effect because we didn’t typically salute aboard the ship. “That’s all I need to hear, Sir. I will ask Skippy to help, NASA must have some research on requirements for setting up a colony on a habitable world.”

  While the crew was ecstatic about our success at stealing pixies, my own mood turned me into Joe Buzzkill. The ship was jumping toward a Maxolhx automated relay station I selected because it was isolated and relatively close, and Smythe was in my office discussing lessons learned from the theft on Detroit. The most important lesson I had learned was, let’s not ever do that again. It was too risky and too many things could have gone wrong, on top of the things that had gone wrong. The fact that the operation had ultimately been successful did not change the disaster that would have smacked down on humanity if the Maxolhx discovered humans inside one of their most secure facilities. The whole operation had been reckless, desperately reckless. The only reason we could excuse our recklessness was because we were absolutely desperate. “We still do not have a plan to destroy two Maxolhx ships,” I looked down at my laptop after Smythe praised me for having created a daring and clever plan to steal the pixies. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

  “That is quite all right, Sir,” he assured me with a curt wave of a hand. “I prefer to talk about future plans rather than congratulating each other. That is what medals are for.”

  “And beers. Someday, you need to let me buy you a beer.”

  “Come to Hereford, Sir, and we’ll drink a few pints together. Be warned, the lads there will not allow either of us to pay for anything.”

  “Well,” I grinned, “it’s the thought that counts.”

  “There is an idea I have been kicking around in my head, if you would like to hear.”

  “Please, I would love to hear it. Skippy?”

  “Yes?” Of course he had been listening, now his avatar popped to life on the desk between me and Smythe.

  I scooted my chair to the side so Grand Admiral Skippy’s giant hat didn’t block my view. “Colonel Smythe has something he wants to discuss.”

  “Right,” Smythe leaned forward, skipping the formalities. “Mister Skippy, I have heard you can compress yourself into something the size of a lipstick tube?”

  “That is correct, why do you care?”

  “I care, because that is about the size of an antiship railgun dart,” Smythe explained. “We could load your temporarily shrunken self into a railgun and launch you at a Maxolhx ship. After you impact, you expand to the size of, perhaps a small moon, and destroy the ship.”

  Skippy opened his mouth to reply but I beat him to it. There was an obvious flaw in Smythe’s plan and I preferred he hear it politely from me, rather than being mocked and insulted by the beer can. “That would only take care of one ship,” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Precisely,” Smythe nodded curtly. “That is why Skippy needs to expand so greatly. Before we launch him, we need to get the two enemy ships to fly in formation, or within several thousand kilometers. That would-”

  “Sorry, Colonel Smythe,” Skippy interrupted before I could stop him. “Unfortunately, Joe already tried this plan with me. Good effort on your part, however there are several issues you did not consider. First, the Flying Dutchman no longer has a functioning railgun, I was forced to remove that weapon system after-”

  “Yes, I remember that bit of trivia,” Smythe’s reserve slipped just a bit, a flash of irritation showing through. He did not like being lectured to and belittled by an arrogant beer can. “Also I remember the space for the railgun still runs down the center of the forward hull, and that many of the accelerator magnets are still in place. When we were in the Roach Motel, we specifically took aboard components to repair our railgun system.”

  “True, true,” Skippy was chastened, something that never happened when he talked with me. “What you do not know is I have very carefully examined those components we took from the junkyard, and many of them have microscopic flaws that render them unsuitable, unless you want to destroy this ship by firing an unsafe railgun. Joe and I discussed the railgun during our mission to rescue Paradise from the infected Keepers, he agreed with me that restoring the railgun to operation would take resources we need so we can keep the ship flying.”

  “That is true, Smythe,” I nodded to the avatar. “If we truly needed it, the railgun could be put back into service, temporarily. In this case-”

  Skippy interrupted me again. “In this case, we do not need it.
Colonel Smythe, what you do not know is what Joe should have known, yet he proposed this same idea to me because unlike you, he is a bonehead. While it is true I can adjust my footprint in this spacetime, I can only do that within certain preset limits. Small as a lipstick, large as an oil drum, and only for a short time. To expand my local footprint to the size of a moon, even a small moon, is something I can only do once. Going larger than an oil drum is only possible if I lose containment and if that happens, it would be catastrophic for me.”

  “Bollocks,” Smythe spat. “Apologies, Mister Skippy. I truly thought that might be the answer to our dilemma.”

  “No need to apologize. Joe thought the same thing, and he should have known better.”

  After saluting the avatar with one finger, I turned my attention to the SAS officer in my office. “My apologies, Smythe. There are a hundred ideas I discussed with Skippy and,” I used a hand to mimic an aircraft going down in flames to crash onto my desk. “Boom! He shot them all down.”

  “Some of Joe’s ideas,” Skippy giggled, “were really stupid. Entertaining, but stupid.”

  Smythe and I chatted about other issues for a short time, then he left to continue the STAR team’s intensive training. He looked tired and he looked happier than he had looked in a long time. If he was worried about being arrested for treason or insubordination if we ever returned to Earth, he certainly didn’t show it.

  After Smythe left, I called the beer can again. “Hey, Skippy, I have a question for you.”

  “I am kinda busy right now explaining to Nagatha how to reboot the main reactor from a cold shutdown, so forgive me that I don’t have time or energy to insult you like usual.”

  “I appreciate it. Um, different subject; Nagatha does not already know how to do that?”

  “She knows the list of instructions in the official operating manual for that reactor. We now have a lot of experience with how the reactor actually functions, considering all the modifications I had to make, so I am transferring my practical knowledge to her. So, what’s up? Make it quick, please.”

  “My idea for you to expand your footprint and destroy a ship-”

  “No, that was Smythe’s idea. You should have known better, so you mentioning it does not count as an ‘idea’. What about it?”

  “Doing that would essentially be suicide for you, right?”

  “I would not actually die, as my higher functions would continue to some extent, but, yes. My connection to higher spacetime would be permanently cut off, so I would not be able to do all the incredible things that make me Skippy the Magnificent. It would be like when I was trapped in a small corner of myself by the nasty worm.”

  “Oh, crap. Would you be drunk-dialing me at zero dark thirty to marvel at the universe?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Joe.”

  “Yeah, that’s the problem. Anywho, I haven’t gotten to my original question yet.”

  “This is you being quick about it, as I requested? In Skippytime, eons have passed since we began this boring conversation, Joe. Continents have collided, creating jagged mountain ranges soaring toward the sky. Over millions of Skippytime years, erosion has worn those once lofty mountains down into lumpy, rolling hills. And you still haven’t gotten to the freakin’ point.”

  “Yeah, Ok, Ok, I get your message. Losing containment to destroy those ships would be suicide for you. My question is; would you be willing to do that, if we had no other way to stop those ships from coming to Earth?”

  “No.”

  Hoping there would be more information coming after this one-word reply, I waited. He didn’t speak, and his avatar was frozen in place. That would have frightened me before, but I understood it simply meant he was busy and not paying attention to his avatar. “Um, hey,” I cleared my throat. “Could you give me some details about that? ‘No’ is not the answer I was hoping to hear.”

  “Gosh, Joey,” the avatar came back to life. “Of course I would do anything for you, my bestest friend forever,” he gushed. “Oh, gag me. No, you dumdum, I have no intention of sacrificing myself for you filthy monkeys.”

  “I call bullshit on that, Skippy. During our second mission, when we got ambushed by a squadron of Thuranin destroyers, you offered to sacrifice yourself so the Dutchman could get away.”

  “Uh huh, and as you have mentioned several times, my plan back then would not have worked. Regardless, I was not intending to actually sacrifice my existence, because no weapons the Thuranin possess can hurt me. The worst I would have endured is going dormant for a long time. Truly, a million years drifting isolated in space would not be any worse than having this conversation with you, so-”

  “Great. Just great. We can’t really count on you, can we?”

  “You can count on me to help you, dumdum. What you can’t count on is me being willing to do something short-sighted and stupid just to make a dramatic gesture. A gesture like that would be useless anyway.”

  “Useless? It would stop a pair of powerful warships from-”

  “Blah blah, buh-lahh,” he waved a hand dismissively. “It would stop that pair of warships, you ignorant monkey. It would also prevent me from being of any use to you in a future crisis, and there is always another crisis, Joe.”

  “You don’t know that. If we can stop the Maxolhx-”

  “Joe, seriously, try to use that sack of mush in your skull, please. Me losing containment would, as I have told you before, release a truly massive amount of energy. It would be like setting off fireworks, every star-faring species in the galaxy would be sending ships to investigate what the hell happened in that location. They would position ships at remote distances to capture photons from the moments before the explosion, and they would see two Maxolhx ships were there before they suddenly became subatomic particles. The Maxolhx would be alarmed to learn that the two ships they sent to Earth had been subjected to an overkill of energy, and you can be sure those rotten kitties would send half their fleet to Earth to make sure they found out exactly why their ships got blown up.”

  “Shit. You’re right. I didn’t think of that. Hey! Don’t bother, I’ll say the ‘DUH’ for myself.”

  “Are you happy now?”

  “Not happy, but I do understand why you don’t want to destroy those ships by losing containment. Sorry about that, I shouldn’t have asked. Oh, hell, I will keep trying to think of another way to stop those ships.”

  “Yup. That is the second reason I won’t offer to sacrifice myself.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Because, dumdum, if I offer to do that, you will get lazy and stop trying to think of a better idea. You think best under pressure, Joe. This is about the most pressure you can get, so you’d better get working, huh?”

  “Crap. Yes. And you’re right. Even if we stop these ships, there is always going to be another freakin’ problem we need you to fix for us. Like, in sixty years, aliens will discover the wormhole near Earth is not really dormant, and they will be coming to investigate.”

  “Sure, that too. However, what I meant is, I can’t sacrifice myself for one planet of primitive monkeys, because I have a higher purpose. A purpose you told me about, so, really, you screwed yourself there, Joe.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “Crap, what did I do?”

  “You convinced me that the galaxy needs me to stop rogue Elder AIs from causing havoc. Remember? You gave quite an inspiring speech.”

  “Shit. Yeah, I do remember.”

  “That speech wasn’t all just bullshit to make me feel better, was it?”

  “No,” I sort of lied. Damn it, sometimes I wish my stupid brain would just shut the hell up and stop getting me in trouble. “No, I guess I mostly meant what I said. You may be the only force capable of stopping another rogue AI.”

  “See? Isn’t saving the entire galaxy from rogue AIs more important than a barrel of monkeys on one miserable mudball of a planet?”

  Tapping the patches on my uniform top, I shook my head
. “Not to me, it isn’t. See these patches? My responsibility is to humanity, to the United States, to the US Army even if I am a mutinous renegade pirate. I am not responsible for the safety of the whole gosh-darned Milky Way galaxy.”

  “Joe, you stole this ship. Right now, you are a pirate without authorization from anyone on Earth. Don’t tell me you are still clinging to-”

  “I am clinging to the hope of being reinstated when I get home, Skippy. Or at least, not being thrown in Leavenworth prison for the rest of my life. Ok, let’s not get off the subject. We need another way to stop those ships, so I’m going back to zero and starting over. There must be a way to do it.”

  “That’s the spirit, Joey! I do not see any way for you to destroy two warships that could crush the Flying Dutchman like a giant stepping on an ant. But, hey, you should be like that ant, right?”

  I should have known better, but because I am stupid, I asked “What ant?”

  “Everyone knows an ant can’t, move a rubber tree plant. But he’s got high hopes, he’s got hiiiiigh hopes! He’s got high apple pie in the skyyyyy hopes! Come on, Joe, sing it with me.”

  Right then, I was thinking that would an excellent time for Skippy to lose containment.

  After the complicated and dangerous tasks of getting a Maxolhx dropship and stealing a set of blank pixies, I was dreading the next step of ransacking a data relay station to discover the flightplan of the two target ships. Hopefully we would actually get those flightplans, because Skippy cautioned me that he could not guarantee every relay station had that information. We might have to go to several relay stations to get the data, increasing our risk each time. If the flightplan data was not provided to automated stations, then we were screwed, because no way could we approach a station that had a Maxolhx crew.

  Following Skippy’s plan to copy the pixies of a real Maxolhx ship, we jumped the Dutchman in several hundred thousand kilometers away from our target relay station. Captain Reed and I took the beer can away from the ship in the Maxolhx dropship, then our Frankenstein space truck jumped to wait about thirty lightseconds away.