Tactics of Conquest: Stellar Conquest Book 3
Author: David Vandyke
Date: 2015-04-12 01:39:10+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Science Fiction; Alien Contact; Military; Space Opera; Time Travel
Description: TACTICS OF CONQUEST is Book 3 of the Stellar Conquest series. From Hugo Award finalist and bestselling author David VanDyke. Armed with alien technology and a complete refit, Henrich Absen captains Conquest on a voyage to take back what humanity has lost. Along the way he must confront a new form of life as well as his own demons in this shocking episode of the Plague Wars/Stellar Conquest saga. Plague Wars: Decade One- The Eden Plague- Reaper's Run- Skull's Shadows- Eden's Exodus- Apocalypse Austin- Nearest NightPlague Wars: Alien Invasion- The Demon Plagues- The Reaper Plague- The Orion Plag
Publisher: Reaper Press

Table of Contents

Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Thanks to my friends and fellow science-fiction authors Vaughn Heppner and B.V. Larson, for their tireless encouragement, for persevering and showing me the way.

Thanks to my readers – my lovely wife Beth, my friends and fellow authors Ryan King and Nick Stevenson, my beta reader Niover Corzo and my proofreader Kayla West, for their excellent critiques; their feedback has made me a better writer and this book a better novel.

Cover by Humblenations.com

By David VanDyke:

Plague Wars series:
The Eden Plague
Reaper's Run
The Demon Plagues
The Reaper Plague
The Orion Plague
Cyborg Strike
Comes The Destroyer

Stellar Conquest series:

First Conquest (within the anthology Planetary Assault)

Desolator

Tactics of Conquest

Look for them at your favorite book provider or visit www.davidvandykeauthor.com

© Copyright 2013 by the author. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical or otherwise) without prior written permission and consent from the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Tactics of Conquest

By

David VanDyke

Chapter 1

2125 AD, seven years after Desolator’s arrival in the Gliese 370 system

“General Quarters. All hands to battle stations.”

Admiral Henrich Absen felt an instant of relief as the automated voice of Conquest’s computer shattered his nightmare. In the dream he’d been back in the Tucson, staring at the message that outlined the destruction of Los Angeles. Knowing the bombs killed his family was hell, and knowing that his own failure to stop the other sub’s nuclear missile launch had doomed them had been hell’s lowest circle.

Nothing could be as horrible as reliving that all over again.

The noise sent him reaching for the khaki trousers draped over the nearest chair before he even came awake. Once he had them on he grabbed his shoes, socks and shirt, and bolted out his quarters door.

Klaxons wailed as the advisory repeated. In the few steps to the bridge he managed to pull the shirt on, and he threw himself into his flag chair as soon as he crossed the threshold. “Kill the noise and report,” he snapped.

Captain Mirza in the Chair waved at Johnstone at the CyberComm station and turned to Absen. “One of the sensor drones picked up something inbound at high speed. That alerted the big Sekoi array on Enoi, which took a look. It’s a Meme Destroyer.”

“How fast?”

“Point seven relative. If it does not decelerate, it will cross the orbit of New Jove in four hours, but we won’t see that time-delayed light until it’s another hour in.”

Absen nodded. “Got it. Can we seed its path with mines?”

“No, sir. We’re out of position. We can fire missiles, but at that speed we’ll be lucky to get any hits unless we manage to maneuver them directly in front of it.”

“Which won’t do a terrible lot.”

“No, sir.” Mirza lowered his head and shot the admiral a raised-eyebrow look. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, sir. I know you don’t want to, but we have to ask Desolator to do it. And, it will give us a real look at his capabilities…things he’s only claimed.”

Absen nodded. “At least he has some living crew aboard. Assuming things go our way – and we have no reason to believe otherwise – it will be a victory for all of us. Conquest and her people will just have to wait their turn.”

Mirza folded his hands tightly, elbows on the Chair’s arms. “I’ve taken the liberty of maneuvering toward the point of interception. That way we’ll be as close as possible, and you never know. We might have a chance to do something.”

“Good idea. Carry on.” Absen leaned down to put his socks and shoes on. “COB, you got a cup for me?”

From his seat near the rear of the circular bridge, Chief Timmons pulled a battered metal mug out of a cubbyhole and filled it from an even more battered stainless-steel coffee dispenser bolted to the floor. He handed it across to the admiral without moving his own cup, which rested one-handed on his ample gut.

Absen tasted it. “Been stripping paint again, COB?”

“Can’t abide that weak sauce the mess serves, sir.”

Absen snorted and sipped again. “Well, at least I’ll be wide awake for the big show. Captain,” he turned back to Mirza, “you mind bringing up the holotank?”

“Yes…I’m waiting to see that myself. Sensors?”

Commander Scoggins snarled at her board as she repeatedly pressed keys, buttons, and touchscreens. Finally she mumbled something foul and reached beneath her brunette bob to plug in her link. A moment later the main holotank manifested itself in the center of the spherical bridge space, floating above the sunken cockpit where Chief Helmsman Okuda sat beneath his medusa.

Okuda of course had no need of the holotank; helmsmen were always fully linked into VR space, their chip-filled brains well trained to interpret the three-dimensional environment of the interplanetary void.

“We’re having a few problems with the boards,” Mirza said apologetically. “The links seem to work better, but even then…”

“Does it have anything to do with the new AI engineering?”

Mirza shook his head. “Shouldn’t be, sir. The AI isn’t connected in any way to ship systems yet, and it won’t be until it checks out completely.”

Absen grunted. “Not so sure about AIs. With these new systems we’re getting, it looks like we’ll need one, but…”

The bridge crew, including Mirza, kept silent, having heard the Old Man’s views on intelligent machinery many times.

Absen stood and walked over to look closely at the holotank. “The Destroyer’s coming in well off the plane of the ecliptic. Looks like he won’t be able to hit much of anything unless he slows down and maneuvers.” By tradition dating back to the first attack on Earth, alien ships were all referred to as “he,” whether friendly or enemy.

“Might be just a reconnaissance in force. Blow through, get a close look. Decel and attack or speed up and run, depending on what they see.”

“And what will they see?” Absen put his hand out, waving it through the hologram. “Flensburg, Conquest, the defense installations we have built over the last ten years since we conquered this system, a dozen Hippo heavy cruisers…”

“And Desolator.”

Absen touched the glowing icon that represented the Ryss superdreadnought. “Out in the asteroid belt. Do you think the Meme have spotted him?”

“No way to tell. He’s not giving off a lot of signature, as he’s just mining and manufacturing Conquest’s upgrades, and making his…sibling.”

“Do we know what he plans to do?”

Mirza shook his head in negation. “He’s behind us, relative to the enemy, so we saw the Destroyer first. We should be hearing from him in…” He turned to Johnstone with a questioning look.

“About forty minutes, sir, at the earliest.”

Absen took the next forty minutes to eat a ready ration and take a quick walk around the ship. With only half a crew, she could fight, but he’d really rather not. Conquest was an inverted teardrop three thousand meters in length and two in diameter, with enormously thick armor and weapons to match, and had been built to go head to head with a Destroyer and win that kind of slugfest, but battle meant casualties. Part of him wanted the fight, but his better judgment preferred a bloodless victory.

I just don’t have the people to lose, he thought. Not with only a few million humans here in the system, most of them children. Every one has become that much more valuable.

That bloodless victory would be especially welcome if it could be done so that the Destroyer couldn’t get a message off. In fact, he’d discussed this situation with his military council of humans, Ryss and Sekoi. Desolator claimed, with complete confidence, that he could kill any single Meme ship so suddenly that it would not be able to report how it happened.

Absen hoped the Ryss machine intelligence was right.

When he returned to the bridge, he picked up his cold mug of coffee and handed it to COB Timmons, who dumped the old and filled it with new steaming lifer-juice. That ritual, and a few sips, used up the time until the communication came through.

“On screen, gentlemen,” Johnstone said as he played Desolator’s message. Rich tones filled Conquest’s bridge:

Desolator to Conquest.

In accordance with previously discussed courses of action, I am maneuvering to engage the enemy. I calculate a 99.9999% probability that I will eliminate this Destroyer and a 97.9673% probability that I will do so before it can send any transmission about my strike. The chance of failure represents the possibility that they maneuver during my TacDrive approach, or are transmitting a realtime update as they are vaporized. By the time you receive this, I and my crew will be on our way via TacDrive. We will engage at the coordinates in the accompanying data package.

Desolator out.

“Here are the coordinates,” Scoggins said, and in the holotank a ruler-straight line connected Desolator’s current position to a new, flashing icon. Another unbending line extended itself from the Destroyer, intersecting the engagement point. “Just about where we expected.”

Mirza cleared his throat. “That’s assuming the Destroyer doesn’t maneuver, as he mentioned. If he does, Desolator will miss his interception.”

Absen waved a confident hand. “But with the new TacDrive system, he has three jumps before he has to fall back on fusion drive, and even then he can chase the bastard down.”

“Just not before the Meme get a message off.”

“A message that will still take years to get anywhere, and then years more before the Meme react.”

Mirza continued acting the devil’s advocate, as he often did with his admiral. “But if that happens, they will respond with overwhelming force.”

Absen smiled without humor. “If that happens, we’ll just have to hope our plans, our strategy and our tactics can overcome overwhelming force.”

Chapter 2

Captain Chirom happened to be on watch on Desolator’s bridge when the Destroyer was detected, and so retained his seat. The spacious command center, so unlike that on Conquest or any of the other ships in the system, felt empty. The size of a small auditorium, high-ceilinged and built with decks that rose like steps toward the outer walls, it appeared more like a planetary mission control room of an earlier age than that of a ship of war. As large as Desolator was, space always seemed plentiful.

“Desolator: what is your intended tactic?” Chirom asked into the air. He glanced across the triangular central space at the scattering of watchstanders of all three races. Only a skeleton crew was aboard, and some had not reached the bridge yet. Those already here seemed nervous, especially the Apes and Hippos.

Chirom suspected that their fingers hovered near their manual bypasses, the ones that cut Desolator’s control and gave it back to their boards. These switches could not, by themselves, shut down the AI, but having them was a condition of returning full function to the machine mind that had almost killed them all.

Another condition was that the Desolator AI’s residence chamber, visible over Chirom’s left shoulder, would no longer have any means of defending himself – not even doors. In the extreme case, his processors could always be smashed with the sledgehammers clamped to the walls.

“I shall use the new TacDrive capability to jump in front of the Destroyer,” Desolator replied in his usual rich, warm tones. “I will deploy one Exploder, enable its targeting, and then jump away. This operation will take less than four seconds.” As with many other things, the crew and the AI now used Human standard measurements of time and distance, for simplicity and commonality.

Chirom nodded approvingly. “And one Exploder will be sufficient?”

“More than sufficient. In times past I have destroyed as many as three Destroyers with one Exploder.”

The short-range antimatter missiles called Exploders are fearsome weapons, Chirom thought. Our ancestors harnessed the most powerful explosive force conceivable: the total conversion of matter and antimatter into energy. It awes me still.

“Is there anything the crew need do?” Chirom asked.

“Serve your battle stations according to plan, Captain Chirom, as I serve you.”

Even after years, I’m still not used to being called Captain, Chirom thought. He’d been elevated to what was essentially an honorary position early on, an elder past his physical prime and useless for the repopulation of the Ryss race. There were not enough females to go around even for the young, and with the newly reinstituted monandry, it seemed he would never be glorified, never sire kits…and he wasn’t going to wait fifteen more years for one of the new litters to come of age, and him old and decrepit, barely able to rise.

There were some advantages to the ways during the war, without this one-to-one mating scheme, the oldest of old ways. But I have resigned myself to bachelorhood, and perhaps someday, an honorable death. My achievements are all behind me now.

“You serve all three races of EarthFleet,” Chirom replied, repeating an old discussion that soothed him somehow. “I thank you, old friend, for your kindness, and all your faithful service.”

“You are most welcome.”

The helm officer, a human male, spoke. “Captain, TacDrive capacitors at ninety-nine percent.”

Chirom nodded in acknowledgement. “Desolator, you are cleared to proceed according to plan.”

The TacDrive system was a modified version of the old photonic interstellar drive, which created an inertial suppression field throughout the ship, reducing Desolator’s effective mass by factors of millions while simultaneously propelling it directly forward in a perfectly straight line at nearly the speed of light. In effect, they disappeared from their original position and flew as fast as the known laws of physics would let them, protected by the field and the same gravitic compensators that allowed the crew to walk around as if they were on a planet.

The major innovation to the TacDrive over the interstellar drive system was the addition of seventy-two auxiliary fusion reactors, as well as a sixfold increase in energy storage capacitors. Now, instead of waiting hours to power up one interstellar jump, Desolator required mere tens of minutes to fill a capacitor bank, and could jump up to three separate times before recharging.

The Apes, that is, the Humans, came up with this idea, Chirom mused yet again. Instead of fighting an enemy head on, tooth and claw, their leader Absen had argued, giving Desolator this prodigious mobility would allow him to fight, run, fight and run again. It smelled faintly of dishonor to the Ryss, but they were not in charge; the Apes were, and had convinced the Hippos and Desolator himself.

Thus the enormous superdreadnought, more than ten times the size of even Conquest and far more technologically advanced, had repaired, refurbished and reengineered himself using, Chirom grudgingly admitted, the best ideas of three races. Simulations had shown that now, at full strength, Desolator was quite possibly an entire order of magnitude more capable than before. He was a fleet-killer and a world-shatterer now, with antimatter fuel and explosives gleaned and distilled from star-stuff, armor composed of layers of neutronium and collapsium held in a ferrocrystal matrix, and energy weapons able to reach across planetary orbits.

Desolator alone might now be more powerful than the entire Ryss fleet at the final battle for their homeworld.

“One hundred percent,” the helm officer called, and at that moment came the vertigo and strange vibratory silence that accompanied the TacDrive.

“Hologram display, please,” Chirom said, and the central area filled with an exquisite rendering of the system. Desolator’s glowing symbol proceeded at perceptible speed down a line toward its rendezvous with battle, even as the enemy Destroyer moved along its own.

“Desolator, the enemy symbol is a prediction, correct?” Chirom asked into the air. He’d never been in the control center during a battle, though as Records Historian he had viewed all of the videos of Desolator’s engagements.

“Correct, Captain. Under TacDrive our ability to collect data from the rest of the universe is limited.” Desolator meant, going at just under the speed of light, outside light was redshifted to darkness or blueshifted to hard radiation. Were it possible to view space while traveling, to their front would be nothing but blazing unlight as they slammed into every electromagnetic wave they traveled through, and behind them would be darkness as they nearly outran the rest. In a perpendicular ring around them, they would see a narrow band of visible light apparently split into a rainbow – a starbow, some called it – by their trajectory.

Essentially they were blind, and had to rely on Desolator’s previous analysis of their projected course, a course clear of any debris large enough to damage them. While their armor was proof against almost anything known, a big enough impact at such high speed could be devastating. This is why the stardrive, now TacDrive, had only until now been used in the great empty spaces among the stars.

It had been tested recently, of course, but this was its first use in actual battle. Chirom could not help the way his blood pounded and his heart sang as the symbols in the hologram display sped toward each other. Forty minutes of outside time compressed to under a minute, and he realized that, in this form of battle, only the AI could truly fight the ship.

Before, captain and crew had been essential. Now, he thought, we are merely…helpful. I dearly hope we have not unleashed a monster.

“Pulse ending in three…two…one,” said the Ape at the helm, and suddenly the outside view flashed onto the large wall screens, and the holographic display flickered as it updated its data. The views showed nothing but a spray of stars against a black background.

Desolator spoke. “Target confirmed. No change. Deploying Exploder missile.” A small fusion drive leaped away from Desolator, visible on the screen. “Engaging TacDrive.”

And then all was again silence, relieved only by the hum and thrum of the drive. Within its field, to the crew little seemed altered, except for the vertigo that all races seemed to experience to some degree. Voices carried through air, liquids poured and pooled, and gravity seemed the same. Yet Chirom could not get out of his mind the scene he had viewed as the damaged and insane Desolator AI of more than twenty years ago had engaged that same drive, but deliberately neglected to turn on the gravitic compensators within the control room. Thousands of effective gravities had left the tough machines untouched, but Senior Captain Juriss and the rest of his officers had been rendered into a biological paste in a microsecond, spread over the walls like food sauce.

On the holograph, Desolator’s symbol moved out of the way of the Destroyer just a pawspan – a few inches, Chirom reminded himself – and then the helm officer said, “TacDrive shutting down in three…two…one…”

Again they regained normality as the field cut off, and the views on the screens swung rapidly as Desolator turned himself around to point back along his own path. Telescopically the optical feed leaped forward until it focused briefly on the Exploder, now drifting. It zoomed backward again, expanding in view until a caret showed the Destroyer entering the picture, only seconds from the waiting weapon.

“Can’t it see the Exploder?” Chirom asked.

“Effectively, no, sir,” answered the stolid Hippo at the observation control station. “Not at point seven lightspeed. Even if they see it, they cannot react in time.” It must have been he who had gotten the views on the screens up so fast. He seemed a most competent officer. Chirom reminded himself to learn the names of the aliens under his command, but they were so hard to pronounce.

The weapons station officer called, “Detonation in three…two…one…”

The screens turned white, then black, then gray as the optical processors compensated for the blast. The view they showed slowed to a crawl, an ultra-slow-motion shot of a fireball without scale. The observation officer must have realized this dilemma as well, as a polar grid appeared around the expanding detonation.

At the moment it reached eight thousand meters in diameter, a smaller circle, highlighted by a computer caret marker, flew into view, very fast even in motion slowed thousands of times. About three thousand meters across, the Destroyer entered the expanding sphere of antimatter hell and, like one fruit striking another, both of them disintegrated into a fan of material composed of nothing but stripped ions and plasma.

In a fraction of a second, a Meme warship powerful enough to denude planets of life simply vaporized, converted into atomic particles.

The three Ryss in the control chamber roared in triumph, and Chirom found a rumbling cheer coming from his own throat. The Apes gibbered and struck hands together, while the Hippos stomped their feet and snorted.

“Well done, everyone,” Chirom said as the view continued to show the roiling ball of hot gas slowly dispersing. “Realtime view, please, Lieutenant,” he said to the Hippo at the observation station. With the touch of a control, the view pulled back and changed to show nothing but wisps of vapor rapidly cooling in the vacuum.

Chapter 3

Admiral Absen swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared at the main screen, listening to Conquest’s bridge crew exult. He was not entirely sure why the lump was there, or why he felt such emotion at the Destroyer’s death. Analyzing himself, he decided it must be because this live-fire test proved to him that Desolator could defend the system from any conceivable Meme attack. It meant that humanity, at least the few millions of souls for whom he was responsible, was really, truly safe.

For a few more years, anyway. As safe as they could be in a hostile universe.

The emotion also resulted from the realization that he was now freed of a burden and a fear he had borne for decades. That weight had only grown while he was in charge of EarthFleet and the defense of Earth’s solar system for so many years. When Task Force Conquest had launched, he had gladly handed over the reins to Admiral Huen, happy to be a fighting fleet commander again instead of a grand strategist and a symbol.

Now this real test, this perfect success, meant he could begin the project he had longed for from the moment he had landed the colonists on Afrana. He’d thought it would take decades of intense work, another economic buildup in the Gliese 370 solar system until it could produce the hundreds or thousands of ships needed to defend itself against the Meme. It would have grown into a twin to Earth’s vast architecture of Pseudo-Von-Neumann factories, and a launching place for new task forces to conquer again.

Absen had committed himself to the long war against the Meme. He knew – he’d thought he knew – that it would require plans and operations executed over decades, campaigns taking centuries, a forever war to defend humanity and free Earth from the threat of the enemy empire. The only way to do that would be to crush his opponents while spreading human life across the stars, making allies like the Hippos and the Ryss along the way.

But he was happy to give up that daunting prospect for a new way of replicating warships like Desolator.

That’s what this new success really meant. It meant the responsibility wasn’t all on him anymore. It meant, really, that he could go back to being what he always wanted to be. A bubblehead. A submarine commander. He’d worked it out over the last year, once he knew what RyssTech systems could be fitted to Conquest.

She would be his U-boat, and with her, Absen would make the Empire bleed.

Chapter 4

Conquest rendezvoused with Desolator a week later, as the superdreadnought completed its preparations among the system’s asteroids.

“Let’s see some of the operation,” Absen said to Captain Mirza from his flag station.

Mirza did not bother passing the order; Commander Scoggins had instantly filled the holotank with an ultra-realistic image of Desolator and the asteroid his minions now consumed.

The rock had originally been half the size of the Ryss ship, but now was just a pebble less than a tenth of that. Zooming in, the remnant expanded to show a view of seething ants swarming across its surface. A little closer and the ants resolved themselves into individual machines ranging from the size of rats up to elephants.

“Look at that,” Mirza said in awe. “They’ve mined more than ninety percent of that thing, and it wasn’t the first. Where did it all go?”

Commander Johnstone at CyberComm cleared his throat, a habit before speaking to his superiors. “Some went to manufacture collapsium and neutronium for the armor, which is far more compact, of course. Billions of tons of repairs to the ship itself, and hundreds of internal factories to make more machines to make more gear to make more machines to mine more asteroids…Desolator is a true Von Neumann. He’s able to self-replicate.”

“I know that,” Mirza replied mildly, “but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.”

Johnstone said, “Scoggins, can you bring up sector…26-46-AH?”

“Sure.” The holotank shifted its view to another area, where a spindly skeleton hung. “What is that?”

Johnstone chuckled, looking around the bridge as if to see if anyone had the answer.

Okuda saw it first. “It’s another Desolator. Another Ryss ship. The start of it, anyway.”

“I think so too,” Johnstone said. “It’s just the outline of the skeleton, but in a few years, there will be two superdreadnoughts.”

Absen rubbed his jaw. “Then four, then eight, and so on?”

Johnstone nodded. “Makes sense to me, sir.”

“That’s good news.” Absen exchanged glances with Mirza. “Looks like you’ll get a bigger ship than mine, Captain, though you may have to wait a few years for it.”

Mirza shrugged. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to command, sir.” His face turned pensive. “It’s not like the old days – up or out, and an officer’s useful career only twenty or thirty years. I can wait.”

Absen turned back to the display with a hungry look. “I can’t.” He stood up to walk over to the two-meter sphere of hologram light that floated above the Helm station cockpit, as was his wont. Leaning against the railing that protected him from falling into the sunken circle, he waved his hand through the representation. “Give me the asteroid again.”

Dutifully, Scoggins switched the holotank back to showing the thousands of machines methodically dismantling what was left of the asteroid.

“Pull back so we can see Desolator too.”

A moment later the bridge crew could view the enormous ship hanging with its blunt armored nose nearly touching the swarming rock. Robots, or perhaps they should be called telefactors, as they were mostly unintelligent extensions of Desolator’s will, hurled chunks of rock across the short gap, to be caught by enormous funnels. Once inside, the materials would be processed into more, and more, and more.

Hopefully, Absen thought to himself, they have already been turned into what I need.

The view changed angles, not as if the optical pickup was panning sideways, but as if its location was moving. Of course, that was exactly what was happening as Conquest drifted at low speed toward docking.

Soon, like an armadillo nursing from an alligator, Conquest bumped oh-so-gently into place amidships of Desolator, the point of its nose fitting deeply into a custom-designed receptacle five hundred meters wide and equally deep.

“I think…” Johnstone said, and then the holotank view changed to show a separated shot of Conquest from perhaps ten kilometers back. “This is from one of Desolator’s sentries.”

“Good work, Commander,” Absen said. “You hacked in?”

Johnstone chuckled. “I just asked Desolator’s permission, sir. Much easier.”

From outside, Conquest looked like a classic brilliant-cut gemstone scaled up a millionfold, her pointed teardrop shape inserted by the tip into the side of the vaguely lizard-shaped Desolator, her blunted rear protruding like a mushroom, or a crystal doorknob.

“Docking complete,” Okuda said, opening his eyes and reaching for his plugs. One by one he pulled them gently out of his bald pate and they retracted into the medusa that hung above his head. Once he slid on his cloth skullcap, he looked like a human being again instead of the cyborg he was.

“All right, Captain Mirza,” Absen said, turning to the bridge crew. “You and the rest of the crew are released for R&R. I’ll see those of you who are coming back in about three months.”

Mirza pressed his lips together but said nothing.

Absen had heard all the arguments from his flag captain, and rightly so, against the idea of remaining aboard to oversee Conquest’s refitting. He’d overruled Mirza, and intended to stay right here and watch as Desolator’s machines rebuilt her from hull to heart. Just maybe he could make a contribution, and there was nothing on the planet or anywhere else in the Gliese 370 system to hold him. Nowhere else he wanted to be.

The captain stood and shook Absen’s hand. “Good luck, sir, and good hunting,” he murmured. “I’ll see you on comm, but…”

“We’ll make at least one more visit to Afranan planetary space, after she’s finished refitting,” Absen replied. “There are a few more things I have to do in person.”

“Looking forward to it, then, sir,” Mirza said, and then headed for his quarters to gather his bags for the trip home to the planet and his family.

The rest of the bridge crew came one by one to shake the admiral’s hand, some knowing they would be back in three months, some obviously not expecting to see him for decades, if ever. “Great job, everyone,” Absen declared, and said other encouraging things, mouthing the officerly platitudes expected of him. Only Chief Steward Tobias remained, shadowing him as always.

Finally the bridge had cleared, leaving Absen all but alone, staring at the asteroid and the skeleton of the new ship. He wondered what it – he – would be named. Dominator, after the first of its class? Devastator, Destructor, Demolisher? Desolator seemed to like the sound of D words in English, the ones that matched up their Ryss counterparts of similar fraught power.

Absen wandered the vessel as the rest of the crew bustled about with their bags, loading them onto the Hippo passenger ship. Big as that was, it fit neatly into Conquest’s main launching bay. He shook more hands than he could count as the hundreds of ratings, chiefs, warrants and officers migrated onto their ride home.

Eventually he made his way back up to the bridge and watched as the supersized shuttle slid gently outward, pulled clear by magnetics until it had drifted far enough to use its thrusters and then its fusion engines.

Soon it began its weeklong journey to the planet. It would fly at noncombat accelerations of only a dozen Gs or so, Absen knew, stresses perfectly counterbalanced by the gravplates distributed throughout the ship. It bemused him to think that, once a TacDrive system similar to Desolator’s was installed on Conquest, she would be able to make that run in less than an hour in realtime, a few moments of relativistic time within.

He imagined this was the same feeling a man born at the end of the nineteenth century, before powered flight, must have felt watching a Saturn V Apollo mission claw its way to the moon on a pillar of fire: total amazement at what technology could accomplish, moving faster and faster.

But was lightspeed the limit? Absen wondered. Would man ever break through that barrier as he had broken one mile a minute, then Mach one, then escape velocity from Earth?

Einstein had declared that barrier absolute, full stop, as did all of the physicists after him, except for a few cranks, or perhaps visionaries, that proposed theoretical ways around it. Wormholes, perhaps? Extradimensional shifts? The hyperspace or subspace of science fiction?

Science fiction is merely the future that hasn’t arrived, he remembered reading somewhere.

Finally the Hippo ship was out of sight, and Absen returned to his quarters. A shower, shave and fresh uniform later he stood at the enormous open port connecting Conquest to Desolator.

Spidery machines already scurried about, heading deep into the ship – his ship – on unknown errands. Most carried cases or naked pieces of equipment, and their numbers increased even as he watched.

A vaguely manlike telefactor stopped in front of him and extended one of its four arms to wave him forward. “Greetings, Admiral Absen, Chief Steward Tobias,” it said in a reduced facsimile of Desolator’s voice. “Please come with me. I will show you to your new quarters.”

“I would prefer to stay in my own, aboard my ship,” Absen replied. In truth, it did not matter terribly to him, but he still did not entirely trust the AI, and watched closely to see what his reaction to even this small opposition would be.

“As you wish, Admiral. However, eventually the work in that area will make residing there quite unpleasant, and your presence will reduce the efficiency of the refitting. I can rework the schedule to reduce your need for absence from those spaces to approximately one week without significant delay.”

Absen nodded. “Never mind. I’ll start packing up my stuff.”

“Just instruct me, Admiral, and I will have your ‘stuff’ transferred to your temporary quarters aboard Desolator.”

“How long will that take?”

The machine in front of him seemed somehow to display amusement, despite the lack of mobile features. “Approximately fourteen minutes, once you approve.”

Absen coughed in suppressed amazement, thinking about the efficiency of AI machines. “Well, go ahead, then.”

“It shall be done. Will you come to the command chamber?”

“Lead on, Macduff,” he misquoted.

Inside Desolator a small electric car waited with seating enough for several humans or Ryss, or even one or two of the half-ton Hippos. They rode less than a kilometer, just the distance from the dock to a point near the center of the vast vessel. On the way Absen lost count of the machines that walked, crawled, rolled, perambulated, treaded and even flew past. There seemed millions, and a rough calculation showed this was easily possible. A dozen Manhattans could fit inside Desolator; over fifty cubic kilometers of interior volume.

No wonder the Ryss had needed an AI. That or a million crew.

Everything was shiny, everything new, except for the odd undamaged deck plate or bulkhead not replaced. Humans would have redone everything, made it all symmetrical, but to a machine, or a warship, if it still met specs there was no need.

And, as they had recently found out, no one knew when more enemy would show. The last seven years had been stressful, even frantic. Absen had lain awake many a night, sweating the possibility that a Meme task force would show before Desolator regained his former strength.

Now, no single thing except the Pseudo-Von-Neumann complex on Afrana’s moon Enoi rivalled Desolator’s production capability, and his computing power. Those capabilities would now be used to turn Conquest into a similar warship, multiplying its combat capacity by at least a factor of ten. Absen suspected that, properly handled, it would be much higher. After all, she was still his ship, even with new teeth. He knew her inside and out, and he knew Meme, how they thought, how they fought, how they never forgot.

He knew how to kill them.

Because they learned slow. Nothing was ever lost to Meme memory molecules, save by annihilation, but they were not flexible of mind. The shorter-lived races supplied that spark, which was, Absen supposed, one reason the blobbos enslaved them.

The electric vehicle rolled to a smooth stop in front of an enormous opening it could have easily passed through. There was no door.

“The control chamber,” the minion said, pointing.

“Thank you,” Absen replied. The cart and creature rolled away, leaving him among the machines. Far fewer were visible, just a handful on their ways about inscrutable tasks. He entered the control chamber.

Seated on a large chair, a technological throne, really, sat a majestic old Ryss, his mane graying but his eyes clear and bright. “Abssssen!” the big cat hissed, standing to stride over. “Admiral on the bridge!”

The crew present stood, until Absen waved them back to their seats with a smile. “At ease. Carry on.” Absen shifted to passable Ryssan. He’d finally accepted a cybernetic implant, which included the ability to download his allies’ languages. The formal phrasings and overtones, the feeling of gravity in the words, actually made it a pleasure to speak, even though his mouth undoubtedly could not do it full justice. “Captain Chirom, it is good to see you.”

“And you.” The Ryss towered over the human, putting out his paw-like hand to be clasped, man-style.

“It was well done, the killing of the Destroyer.” Absen raised his voice to encompass the dozen beings scattered about the scores of control stations, a bare skeleton crew, drawing pleased smiles. “I commend you, Captain and crew.”

Chirom ruffled his mane in a Ryss shrug, and lowered his voice. “I am a figurehead, no more. Desolator doesn’t need me, and barely has a use for organic crew. Now that he is building a twin, I wonder whether we organics have become obsolete.”

Absen returned the shrug. “I learned long ago that all we can do is trust people, whatever their flaws. Is Desolator a person?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Is he trustworthy?”

Chirom turned toward the opening where the door used to be. “As much as anyone is.”

“We humans have a saying: Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

“It is a wise saying. We Ryss also have a saying: Trust with one eye open.”

Absen chuckled as Chirom walked slowly out of the chamber, leaning slightly on a heavy walking stick. “Yes, we have similar maxims. That’s one reason for the crew, I believe: as fail-safes and reminders to the AIs that they no more built themselves than organics did.”

“Yet they are building themselves now. And organics are rebuilding themselves with microbes and machines.”

“True, but reproduction is reproduction. Only a fool believes he owes nothing to those who came before. I hope Desolator and his kin will not be fools.”

Chirom looked sidelong at Absen. “I believe he is saner than most of us, as long as he is not damaged. And I believe he has learned from this incident, and has taken steps to guard his mind better than before.”

Absen sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that for some time. Once we returned control of his own body, his machines and his factories, we gave up any chance of controlling him. There’s no point in trying. We have to trust him…and I try to. I’m not so sure about any new AIs he spawns.”

“Why not?”

“Organics go through a stage of helplessness and then growth. If raised properly, they learn their limitations and their society’s rules before they gain enough power to do too much damage. When they are eventually given freedom and responsibility, we hope they have learned the wisdom and restraint to handle it all.”

“I believe you have missed one critical factor,” Chirom replied.

“Yes?”

“AIs think so much faster than we do that time to them must seem expanded. Seconds become minutes or hours, or even days. If it takes twenty or thirty years to raise a mature Ryss, or a Human or Sekoi, perhaps a mature AI can be…developed, if that is the proper word, in much less time.”

Absen stopped at a corner where their access corridor met one of the enormous main thoroughfares that ran Desolator’s length. Its center was full of rolling machines, speeding to and fro as if on a highway, while others ambulated on the sides like pedestrians.

Chirom pointed to the left, and they continued next to the wall. Humans would have constructed a railing, perhaps an elevated walkway, but the machines had no need. Between their semi-centralized control and their reflexes, the clattering traffic flowed around the two organics without mishap.

“Your words restore my confidence,” Absen said. “The Conquest AI will, I am sure, be connected soon.”

“It has not been connected until now?” Chirom asked, surprised. “How long has it been aboard Conquest and activated?”

“A month or so. Desolator sent it over in a shuttle. Cyberneticists from all three races have been talking to it – him? – starting with text, then audio, then video, according to the program and timetable provided.”

“And you have not spoken with him?”

“The AI? No. I…” Absen ground to a verbal halt, even while continuing his slow stroll next to the Ryss.

“He makes you uncomfortable. I understand. Remember, I lived most of my adult life with Desolator’s…insanity. His voice still gives me nightmares at times.”

“Maybe you should ask him to change it.”

Chirom nodded. “Perhaps. But we Ryss are traditionalists. Only the threat to our very survival forced our society to take the drastic step of building machine intelligences in what we believed to be our own image. Along the way we remade our own biology and our society, and nearly destroyed ourselves in so doing.”

“Needs must when the devil drives.”

“That is an odd turn of phrase, but I believe I understand.”

Absen smiled. “Transliterated from English, the most common Human language.”

Chirom shook his head and his mane. “The whole concept of different languages is still absurd to me. I understand it in my head, but not in my stomach. We Ryss only ever had one language, though with some variation in accent. The Sekoi are the same. How you Humans ever rose to unite your planet while speaking hundreds –”

“– thousands –”

“ – thousands, then, of languages, is inconceivable.”

Absen clapped Chirom on his shoulder, reaching upward to do it. “That, my friend, is truth, and a very long tale indeed. Remind me someday to tell you the story of the Tower of Babel.”

Chirom turned aside into a smaller corridor, leaving the hustle and bustle of the thoroughfare behind. The admiral and Tobias followed. Absen found carpet suddenly under his feet, instead of the rubbery nonslip surface of the utility tunnels and spaces.

“Where are we going?”

“To the place of food. I could have something brought to me in my quarters, but I prefer to eat with others, and show myself to the crew. It seems to do them good.”

“You are a hero, Chirom. All of you Ryss are. Humans and Sekoi owe the Ryss aboard our lives, for stopping Desolator from devastating the planet.”

Chirom winced, gesturing upward to encompass the ship they occupied. “We also built this death machine, and poorly, it seems, for one unlucky strike to put a lance through the AI’s mind. We have no more than corrected our own error, and Humans and Ryss paid in blood.”

They entered a large dining hall, sparsely populated. Absen could see a few dozen of each species, while the room could undoubtedly hold five hundred or more. Along the wall stretched three separate sections, one for each race’s food. The human station held the middle, symbolically as well as practically standing between the carnivorous Ryss and the mostly herbivorous Sekoi. Interestingly, it appeared that some of those two races sampled food from the human counter, and humans from the other two. Ryss did not seem to eat much Sekoi food, nor vice versa.

“An admirable arrangement,” Absen remarked as they walked across to the serving counters, nodding and greeting the crew on the way.

“Conquest will be similar, I suspect. Desolator is not much of an innovator. He can perfect and engineer an idea, but comes up with little original, as far as I can tell.”

Absen’s voice was musing. “Perhaps that’s one thing we organics can do better than machines. I hope the AIs recognize that. There’s little enough they would seem to need us for.”

The two selected their food from some limited choices. A ship’s mess is a ship’s mess, Absen thought, no matter how much one tries to make it into a restaurant.

To his surprise, after loading his plate with what looked like warm raw meat from the Ryss line, Chirom got a large cup of cold milk from the human section’s dispenser, and then put it in the microwave to warm.

Chirom rumbled to Absen, “You are surprised at my choice? I am told that the felines of your own world also enjoy bovine’s milk.”

“Makes perfect sense, now that you say so,” Absen replied. “Can you taste sweet? I am told that Earth cats cannot, but they like milk for its protein and fat.”

“The fact that you just spoke our word for it should tell you we can, but I understand that sweet is a much more powerful sensation for the Earthborn. For us, it’s not so compelling.”

Absen chuckled. “Easier to avoid obesity for you, then.”

“I do not see many obese humans.”

“That is because,” Absen lowered his voice out of deference to nearby Ryss that might overhear his vulgarity, “of the…microbe we have within us that improves our health.” He found himself struggling for precise terminology in this unfamiliar tongue.

“Life code restructuring,” Chirom said with distaste. “Perhaps we can discuss that after we eat.”

“Apologies. What should we discuss?”

“Perhaps your war plans?” Chirom spoke diffidently, his eyes down, lifting gobbets of meat delicately to his mouth with one extended foreclaw in what passed for good table manners among the great felines.

A lifetime of attention to operational security warred with the obvious knowledge that his plans would be of no consequence to anyone in the system once he left it behind. OPSEC won out; there were still factions within human, Ryss and Sekoi society with differing agendas, as well as undoubtedly some Hippo agents of the Meme that even Spooky Nguyen had not found yet. He couldn’t afford to assume the next three months would be free of interference, so Absen shook his head. “Not here. Not yet.”

“As you wish. Then, perhaps…back to our differences.”

Absen forked meatloaf and mashed potatoes into his mouth. “That’s a rich subject,” he said around his food. “Such as?”

“I was thinking of our approach to combat. Take for example the new TacDrive system, which seems an obvious improvement of the basic photonic drive, once I heard of it. Yet we Ryss did not think of it.”

Absen grunted and swallowed, washing his food down with tea. “You can’t think of everything.”

“Yet, the projections show the ability to use the drive tactically within a star system will multiply the combat power of any ship, at relatively little cost, as well as providing a means of escape.”

“As I understand it, Ryss are not fond of running away.” Absen swirled his tea, then drained the glass.

“No, we are not. The Dominator ships were built to fight the Ryss way: to bite, claw and shred our enemies until they are dead.”

“Or until you are.”

“Yes, that is the disadvantage. Yet to run smacks of dishonor.” Chirom’s voice was mild, even as he met Absen’s eyes.

“You don’t seem exercised by that word the way others of your people are.”

“I have had the past seven years, the contemplative years of an elder, to think on other ways. Yours, the Sekoi, and those of races the Meme absorbed. For a time, our strategy of concentration of power served us, until the Empire simply overwhelmed us with numbers. When it became obvious the Ryss were doomed, we tried to run, but were too late. Had we faced the possibility of defeat earlier, more might have escaped. Now I look around and see only the pitiful remnant.”

Absen said, “But your people are breeding on Afrana, faster than the other races. In a few generations your population will rival ours, and soon after, the Sekoi. By that time more superdreadnoughts will be built, and all of our peoples will spread, and hunt Meme.”

Absen felt the fire in his soul as he thought of the new tools at his disposal. Any true warrior loved more powerful weapons, stronger armor, faster vessels of combat, for they brought victory, and life. Perhaps with the Ryss tongue came echoes of the Ryss spirit.

“I know. But I will never see that day.”

Absen reached across the table to grasp the thick wrist of the other officer. “You are growing maudlin, my friend. I know you do not wish to hear it, but I must remind you that, with human knowledge and the Sekoi Blends’ expertise in the biological sciences, we could create a microbe for Ryss that would ward off aging, at least for a time.”

Chirom patted Absen’s hand with a careful paw. “No. The Sekoi embrace the life-code tinkering, but dislike body-machine implants such as you have. We Ryss eschew both, for what you would call religious reasons, though also cultural. We already broke taboos to create the machine minds and to change our own breeding patterns. Right now, most of us Ryss are in a conservative phase of the social cycle, trying to preserve our culture against the enormous alterations forced on them from outside. We cannot tolerate much more change, I caution you.”

Absen sighed, nodded, and withdrew his hand. “All right. It just pains me to think I will depart and you will die of old age.”

“I will join my ancestors in Eternity. You Humans believe in something like that as well, do you not?”

“We have beliefs as varied as our languages. Most of them involve some kind of afterlife. I…” Thinking again about his lost family, and absent comrades, Absen sighed more deeply, a shudder. “I hope so. I dearly hope so.”

“Then perhaps there is a common Eternity, for all of the Creator’s children.”

“Even Meme?” Absen raised his eyebrows.

“Even Meme. Once they have been punished in the Pit for their sins.”

Absen laughed then, a low, chilling thing. “Good. I intend to send many, many of them there.”

Chapter 5

While Absen slept on Desolator during the refit, his days were spent aboard Conquest, wandering the corridors and watching the machines tear his ship down and rebuild her.

The dreadnought’s bones remained the same, though newly laminated with collapsium and neutronium in microfine ferrocrystal matrices, strengthening them much as humans did to their cyborg combat troops.

Her armor likewise improved. Tiny machines like miners burrowed through the toughest substances known to humanity like gophers in soft dirt, and then filled in their tunneling with exotic substances. Dense shielding, hard overlapping plates, superconductors to instantly dissipate heat and cold and EMP and even create powerful magnetic fields to deflect charged particles, all the knowledge of Ryss, Sekoi and humans merged under Desolator’s supervision.

They were aided by a colony of human “lab rats” in white coats wandering around with tablets, peering at everything, seeing nothing but their work. Absen imagined that if the Eden Plague had not cured most eye problems, they would have all been pushing thick taped-together glasses back onto their noses every few minutes while they poked about like moles.

As it was, the machines acknowledged Absen more often than the organics did. It appeared that a geek was a geek was a geek, no matter what the physiology. These technoids were in their own material heaven, chattering endlessly about details Absen could barely follow.

Still, he was able to ask a few pertinent questions and make some suggestions drawn from his submarine days. Despite the engineers’ assurances that all systems were extremely reliable, Absen insisted on more backups, and more damage control equipment, especially the kind organics could use. He didn’t want to rely solely on the new AI and its machines, no matter how effective they were supposed to be.

Once the structure, the hull, and the armor were completed, weapons appeared, most of them as if by magic. In reality Desolator floated their large parts across the intervening space and installed them from outside, while their smaller internal parts were brought in through the docking port.

Machines ripped down bulkheads and created corridors and enormous interior spaces within Conquest in which to work. Absen sometimes stood in a hatch and looked across hundreds of meters of openness, usually without gravplates, and watched the dance of the telefactors and robots – he hardly knew which was which, or if there was a difference – as they floated free like drifting spiders, crafting vast mechanisms of destruction at a rate dozens of times faster than EarthTech could have.

Conquest had taken over five years to build, the entire output of the Ceres planetoid and its thousands of Pseudo-Von Neumann factories as well as many pieces from around Earth’s solar system. This time she would be reborn within three months, remade and reconstructed by the efficiency of mechanical workers with no need for sleep, food or recreation.

In the ships’ evenings, Absen returned to Desolator and talked with Chirom and others of the crew of that ship, watching the old Ryss struggle against approaching age. Most of his race lived to only about fifty standard years; to make it to sixty was the equivalent of a century of life in a pre-Plague human.

Chirom was forty-six.

It made Absen’s heart ache, and gave him a taste of the dilemma Daniel Markis, who had released the life-extending Eden Plague upon humanity, must have faced. He was sorely tempted to order the planetary biogeneticists to develop some kind of rejuvenation therapy for Ryss, and even thought about giving it to Chirom against his will. Absen had that kind of power, at least for the next couple of months until he and Conquest departed.

Eventually he discarded that notion.

I can’t make that kind of decision for him, any more than I can keep people from their deaths fighting the Meme. Choosing where one dies is sometimes the most important decision a man – any being – can make.

During the third month, people of the three races came trickling off the liners that made the weekly passage to and from Afranan space. That planetary system now swarmed with relocated asteroids, shipyards and orbital fortresses, just as Earth-Luna once had, built over the last ten years. The arrivals were an eclectic mix of workers, officers, crew, engineers, scientists, even sightseers and gawkers who could afford to pay for the trip.

Desolator accommodated them all with ease, and in fact could have fit in a few million more if he had been willing to devote the resources. He provided work for those who wanted it, coordinated with the organic labor force and management, ensured the liners brought out sufficient foodstuffs and goods he could not manufacture, and generally functioned as a benevolent ruler.

Yet, whenever Absen asked for a change, Desolator seemed scrupulously deferential. Eventually Absen came to relax, hoping if not quite believing in the AI’s loyalty to its organic charges.

While Absen intended to take Conquest on a quick milk run and shakedown cruise to Afranan space before leaving the system, some of the officers and crew preferred to join the ship early, especially the unmarried ones. Ditto some of the die-hard sailors, crusty chief petty officers with renewed bodies and old eyes, who wanted to get into their sections as soon as the construction crews were done to start familiarizing themselves with the new systems.

Absen checked the manifests of these arrivals as soon as he could, and one name and job took his notice: Ellis Nightingale. If he wasn’t mistaken, this was the son of Lawrence Nightingale, the man who had run the weapons program that had armed Earth’s first space warship, Orion. Cross-checking with Conquest’s crew roster, he saw that EarthFleet HQ’s personnel directorate had assigned him as Chief Weapons Engineer.

Chip off the old block.

Another name caught his eye, that of Colonel Quan Ekara. The Ekaras from Australia had been instrumental so long ago in building up Earth’s space program and economy prior to the coming of the first Destroyer. He must be one of that clan, and was listed as Chief Power and Propulsion Engineer.

Absen sent messages to them aboard their ship the day before it docked, telling them to report to him personally the evening after they arrived. When they showed up at his door, he greeted them warmly.

“Gentlemen, please come in.” The admiral waved them through the door to the enormous office Desolator had given him.

Captain Ekara, in impeccable naval whites, saluted sharply before entering. Very short, perhaps five feet two, he was dark, of mixed Aboriginal, Asian and Caucasian blood. When Absen had dug deeper into his file, he had noticed his mother had been one of the numerous extended Nguyen clan, a political marriage uniting the progeny of two of the movers and shakers of Australia. That meant he was related to Spooky Nguyen.

Powerful bloodlines indeed.

Ellis Nightingale came through the door next, a moving mountain large enough to overtop a Ryss at almost seven feet and easily four hundred pounds, also dark with his North American-African blood. Absen recalled his father had been almost as large, his mother an Amazon of outsized body and personality both. In an earlier day he might have been a professional football or basketball player, before the wartime economy relegated those pastimes only to the schools. His handshake was firm, not the crushing thing the admiral expected.

The two could hardly have been more different on the surface, save for some similarity of hue, though derived from far distant continents. Ekara seemed restless, eyes roving and taking everything in, his body crackling with energy, while Nightingale exhibited the waiting stillness some big men had, as if taking care not to inadvertently smash the fragile world around him.

Absen waved them to comfortable seats, then opened a cabinet behind him. “Drink? Whiskey, brandy, vodka, soda? Or I can ask for something to be delivered from the mess. Or coffee?” He waved in the direction of a machine.

Nightingale asked for black coffee, while Ekara said, “Whisky is fine.” He stood to take the glass from his superior, while the other man stayed seated, merely reaching up with his long arm to grasp the offered cup.

“Please, gents, relax. I just wanted to meet you, and then show you around the old girl and her overhaul. I’ll be relying on you both to make sure your sections run smoothly. Power and weapons are the heart of any warship, as you both know. Ellis,” he turned to Nightingale, “I’d like to commission you and frock you straight to Commander. I think it will help with the military personnel. Do you have any objection?”

The big man took a slow sip. “Actually I’d rather not. I’ve been offered the chance before, but as a civilian, I can relate better to those of all ranks or status.” He waved at his body. “And if that doesn’t work, I just intimidate them with my size.”

After a snort of amusement, Absen lifted his glass of bourbon. “Cheers. Fair enough. I won’t insist for now, but I will give your people a bracing piece of my mind before the trip starts, emphasizing your authority. Military personnel can be a funny bunch, and what’s on the collar gives them a sense of an officer’s place in the hierarchy. They can be like a pack of dogs; if they aren’t sure where you rank, they can test you, turn on you under pressure.”

“You don’t seem to have a lot of confidence in people.”

“On the contrary, Mister Nightingale. I have every confidence that people, as a group, will act in accordance with their culture, derived from a sense of tribe or clan. The military is a kind of tribe, with its own culture. If you refuse to join it, you will forever be set apart. I can counteract any problems I have by lending you my authority, but I’d like you to still think about it.”

Nightingale made a sour face. “All right, Admiral. I will.”

Absen turned to Ekara. “I’ve got much the same news for you, but in your case, it’s probably unwelcome. I’m going to have to frock you downward to Commander, if that is the way it’s said.” He watched the small man closely, and saw the surprise.

“May I ask why, sir?” Ekara said, his voice mild.

Good, at least he’s not taking offense right away.

Absen smiled. “Because I’ll be doing the same to myself, too. I can’t act as an admiral, or even a commodore, without a fleet, so as of our departure I’ll be taking off the broad stripes and pinning on Captain for the duration. It’s more appropriate for one ship, no matter how large, going into battle alone and unafraid.”

“And a ship can have only one captain. I understand.” Ekara seemed resigned.

“You’ll keep your permanent grade, just like I will, never fear,” Absen continued. “Once we return from this mission, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to go around. I’ll make sure nothing about this adjustment reflects badly on you.”

“Fair enough.”

Absen slugged back his whiskey and set the highball on his desk. “Let’s take a look around the ship, shall we? If you’re not too tired.”

“Oh, no sir,” Nightingale said, standing up slowly. Absen realized that he probably did so by habit, taking care not to slam his head into ceilings or light fixtures. In this case, the Ryss-height overheads of three meters gave him plenty of space.

“I’d love to look around as well,” Ekara chimed in, setting his empty glass next to Absen’s. “Being cooped up on the liner for a week doesn’t make me want to go back to my quarters.”

“Besides, with these next few weeks, we can take a gander at Desolator. What an amazing piece of machinery,” Nightingale marveled.

“Don’t fall in love with the wrong ship,” Absen said with a smile.

“No worries, sir. I helped build Conquest the first time, before the big sleep here. Maybe I can help rebuild her.”

Absen just smiled at that. The two men had no idea of the pace and size of the refurbishment – yet. He called for a robot cart like the one that had first brought him to see Chirom two months ago, to cut out a fifteen-minute walk onto Conquest. This time there was no humanoid machine to drive; Absen had found out that the carts were just as smart as the rest of the telefactors, and the “driver” had just been a guide that Desolator had used to ease human minds.

First Absen led them to the Power and Propulsion quadrant, by tradition older than spaceflight called “Engineering.” As they rolled down the wide tunnel into the impressive engine room, Ekara’s breath audibly caught. “Beam me up, Scotty,” he breathed. “This is amazing.”

Six gleaming engines of updated design sat on the floor, pointing their massive fusion rocket exhausts downward, that is, toward the ship’s stern. Gravplates ensured that this simple orientation remained to those servicing the great devices, allowing them to walk around naturally among the huge fuel flow pipes, super-heavy power conduits, and myriad control circuitry. Gimbaled walls, opened like vertical blinds, stood between each, and would close and compartmentalize when underway.

“Gorgeous,” Ekara said. “I can hardly wait to get my hands on them. Do you know their rated thrust, or their fuel consumption?”

“The details are all in the files, but I can tell you they have roughly double the power and use half the gas. Also, there are another thirty-six auxiliary reactors networked throughout the ship, in place of the original six.”

“For the TacDrive,” Ekara said. “Can we see it?”

“Next stop.” Absen waved the cart onward.

Five minutes and a kilometer later they had traveled from the extreme stern up to the volumetric center of Conquest. “The main bridge is a bit forward of us, and we passed the auxiliary control a minute ago,” Absen said, “but we are now in the middle of the ship.”

They rolled into another large open space, this one about the size of a basketball gymnasium. Instead of fusion reactors, a dodecahedron ten meters across hung in the center of the space. Out of its twenty faces projected gleaming metal tubes or pipes about a meter across. They ran straight outward and penetrated the walls at whatever angle they happened to intersect them. From the bottom of the mechanism, a flexible cable the thickness of a Hippo thigh dropped to the floor and then snaked to a bank of consoles near the wall. They were all dark, though they looked as if they would eventually be lit with control screens.

“The TacDrive.” Absen gestured with his hand.

“I hear you came up with the idea,” Ekara said.

Absen nodded. “That’s one of the few things I can claim some credit for. As soon as I understood Desolator’s photonic stardrive system, it seemed obvious how useful it would be in combat. It’s like adding an afterburner to a wet navy ship, giving it jet fighter speed. Even better, under TacDrive we’re essentially undetectable and untouchable. By the time you see us, we’ll be there, and if we leave using it, nothing can catch us.”

Ekara hopped out of the cart to lay his hand on one of the tubes. “Is it functioning?”

“No, not yet. It’s just been installed here, and they still have to finish connecting it to the inertial field emitters, the power system, the controls…you can oversee that yourself.” Absen gestured at a spider-bot that skittered in one door and out another, parts clutched in two of its eight legs. “There’s one of your people now.”

“Hah. People.”

Nightingale spoke up. “Speaking of that…what about the AI?”

Absen said, “It’s turned on, but not connected to anything yet. The scientists and teachers are still interacting with it, from what I hear. The Desolator AI is helping, and is running the refitting.”

“Teachers?”

“Yes. As Captain Chirom explained to me, Ryss AIs are not merely programmed. Like any other person,” Absen emphasized that word, “they have to grow up.”

“So Conquest’s AI will be a person?”

“I’ve been told that its processors will be similar to Desolator’s, perhaps even better. He blows the Turing test away, so…what else would you call him?”

Nightingale didn’t answer, but merely looked skeptical. “Can we see Weapons?”

“Weapons it is. Let’s look at the upgraded railguns first.” The cart took off in a U-turn.

“Voice recognition?” Ekara asked.

“The cart?” Absen smiled. “You could say that.”

Ekara cocked his head. “What amuses you, sir, if I may ask?”

Absen’s smile widened to a grin. “You’ll figure it out.”

They cruised in puzzled silence for a couple of minutes before Nightingale spoke. “Desolator. Of course. Can we…”

“Go right ahead,” Absen said.

“Uh…” the big man stumbled. “Hello, Desolator.”

“Hello, Ellis Nightingale.” The rich tones that the AI preferred emanated from a speaker in the front of the cart.

Absen chuckled.

“Wow. It’s the first time I’ve ever spoken to a machine intelligence,” Nightingale gushed.

“I hope the experience is everything you expected,” Desolator replied with a sound of vast amusement.

“It has a sense of humor?”

“He, Mister Nightingale. He’s male, a warrior, and a Ryss.” Absen inclined his head. “That’s important.”

“I read the reports,” Ekara interjected. “Psychology was critical to, uh, circumventing Desolator’s malfunction.”

“Correct, Captain Quan Ekara.” Desolator’s voice turned melancholy, encompassing a sea of sadness. “My fractured mind needed to be reminded of origins, duty, honor and self-worth. Once I was no longer a danger to others, repair of my physical self ensured my stability.”

“But you could be damaged again.” Nightingale’s face radiated suspicion.

“Anything is possible in a quantum universe, but I have reduced the unlikelihood of catastrophic malfunction to less than the probability of my destruction. That is, long before damage causes insanity, I will probably be destroyed.”

“How?”

“Instead of only the original three processing modules, I have distributed my consciousness among over one thousand nodes throughout my structure. Damage therefore may slowly degrade me, but in layman’s terms, anything that would drive me mad would likely kill me first.”

“And,” Nightingale went on, “is Conquest’s AI constructed similarly?”

“Yes. While her consciousness now resides in her central processors, eventually she can be connected to the distributed nodes throughout her body, just like I am.”

“Her?” Absen spoke up.

“Of course. Human ships are always female, is that not so?” Desolator’s surprise seemed genuine.

“Of course. I…I should have realized.”

“You are pleased?”

Absen nodded. “Yeah. I’m not sure why, but I am.”

“Perhaps it is because females with power do not threaten the egos of confident males in the same way another male might.”

All three men laughed.

“What?” asked Desolator. “Why are you amused?”

They only laughed harder. Eventually Absen answered for them. “I think we’re relieved that your understanding of human psychology is just as shallow as any Ryss.”

“My assessment was incorrect?”

“No…and yes. Very…simplistic.”

“Ah. You are reassured because I am not as omniscient as you fear. This realization humanizes me in your eyes.”

“You got it, Big D,” Ellis said.

A strange burbling hiss came from the speaker, which Absen realized was laughter. “Then I am happy to be humanized, and I hope my daughter will serve you well.”

“Daughter?” Absen paused in thought. “Yes of course. I understand.” And he did. What else would Desolator call his progeny, regardless of the method of reproduction? Struck by inspiration, he went on, “But I don’t want her to serve us. I want her to be part of my team. I want her to be just as human as you are Ryss, if that be possible.”

“It is possible.”

Absen did not know how to answer that declaration. He had spoken metaphorically, and supposed Desolator had replied rhetorically.

In any case, they had arrived at their next stop, up nearer the ship’s bow. The cart rolled through a large thick door that opened before them with a rumble, and the three men beheld machinery of quite another sort. Where before it had been all sealed tubes and pipes, this showed heavy conduits for power, enormous hoppers for ammunition, racks and conveyors and receptacles clearly built for holding metallic spheres of various sorts.

Behind thick transparent ferrocrystal they could see a three-console crew station plastered to the ceiling, upside-down, though not all of the control circuitry was there yet. Wires and fiber-optic conduits hung waiting for connections, and a dozen drones worked to complete the back end of the weapon. Apparently the current ceiling would be the floor when it was all done, so that the ammunition flowed downward into the weapon rather than being carried upward.

“This is one of our three new railguns. We’re calling it a Dahlgren Behemoth Fifty,” Absen said. “It can launch a variety of ammo at any speed up to a bit over 0.3 c.”

Nightingale gaped. “Point three lightspeed? One hundred thousand kilometers a second? That’s almost unbelievable.”

“It’s just the start.”

Ekara asked, “That’s going to gulp power. Do we have enough?”

Absen cleared his throat. “There’s never enough power. Even with the new reactors and superconducting capacitors, we can blow through what we have pretty quickly, but that’s what the TacDrive is for. If we keep one jump in reserve at all times, we can run away at lightspeed far enough to leave any enemies behind. Then we stop, recharge, and reengage.”

Ekara grunted. “I foresee you yelling ‘More power, Ekara’ every five minutes, sir. I’ll want to take a look at the management software and the system specs. I’d bet you a week’s pay I can come up with some improvements, if you want them.”

“I’d be very interested, Captain.”

“Might as well start calling me Commander, sir. Get everyone used to it,” Ekara said, resigned.

“What are these?” Nightingale asked from across the room. He ran his hands along something that looked like a wine rack several stories high, with thousands of holes varying in size from ten centimeters to a meter.

Absen said, “Special ammo storage. There will be a high-speed robot that will draw out whatever you want and load it. So, besides the usual one-kilogram cannonballs, you’ll have some different choices. Frangible loads that come apart into thousands of tiny tetrahedrons – those are good for anti-hyper or anti-fighter use. Small nukes that are made to go critical on impact, using kinetic energy as a trigger mechanism. Stealthed spy drones and mines, though those have to be launched at far slower speeds. The lab rats are working on some other ideas. I’m sure you could add your own.”

“I’m sure I can. It’s really more of a variable launch system for anything that can be packed into a metal sphere.” Nightingale’s eyes shone like a kid’s at Christmas.

“Glad you like it. On to the next stop.”

“But –”

“Plenty of time tomorrow for you to dig into detail. This is the overview, remember?” Absen hopped back into the front seat of the cart. “Particle beams, Mister D. We’ll skip the lasers.” As they rolled, he explained.

“The lasers have been upgraded to perhaps twice their power, but are now secondary, multirole weapons. They can add to the offense, but will be optimized for hyper defense and anti-fighter use, or to take down anything up to a Meme frigate. Our new offensive energy weapons are particle beams. Both Desolator and the Hippos have excellent tech in this area, and combined, we’ve come up with something better than either, the absolute latest thing.”

Nightingale wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. If Absen didn’t know better, he’d have thought the big man was drooling. He had a faraway gleam in his eyes, and Absen recognized it as the look of a man with a brand-new obsession.

Something like he himself experienced when he conceived the TacDrive.

Their journey was short this time, debouching into a cylindrical room something like an old-fashioned missile silo, but scaled up, fifty meters in diameter and a hundred high. This time the control room was built into the natural floor, as energy cared little for gravity’s pull.

In the center of the cylinder, from floor to ceiling, ran a tube ten meters in diameter, with rings, heavy metallic fittings, and meter-thick conduits snaking into it at five meter intervals. It merged with the floor and exited the ceiling, which was the near the nose of the ship. Like everywhere else, robots swarmed, working.

“Are we behind the nose armor?” Nightingale asked.

Absen said, “Inside it, actually, just like the Behemoths. Each weapon is in a kind of semi-socket that gives it some traverse, but mostly we have to point the whole ship near our target. The muzzles are covered by trapdoor clamshell slabs to protect them between shots.”

“Nice,” Nightingale replied. “No more surface structures vulnerable to a lucky hit.”

“True, but we have fewer of them. Three Behemoths, three PBs, alternating in a ring around the nose, about two hundred meters between each firing port. Lasers are interspersed all over the ship.”

“What about the other weapons? Electric shotguns?” He meant the railgun-like launchers of sprays of shot, used one time as a final defense.

“Gone. The armor has been upgraded so much that it’s not worth bolting them on.”

“Missiles?”

“Reloadable box launchers near the waist, six hundred at a time, but I want you to take a look at them.”

“Why, sir?” Nightingale asked.

“I’m not at all sure I want them, not for the kind of battle I want to fight. The only reason I am considering keeping them is as a hedge against unforeseen threats. I hate to throw away tools. However, getting rid of them could make room for fuel, railgun ammo, extra power reactors…” Absen turned to Ekara. “I’ll want your input too on that. I suspect I’ll have to decide what compromises will be made.”

“Yes, sir.” Ekara’s eyes roved over the enormous particle beam generator, no doubt calculating the power it would consume.

“So that’s the list?” Nightingale asked expectantly. “Particle beams and railguns as main batteries. Lasers as secondaries, and for defense. Missiles for the Black Swan factors. Fewer weapons, but each far more powerful. I like it, except…”

“Go ahead, Mister Nightingale.”

“Before, we had a lot more of them for redundancy. In the fight to take this system, you lost a quarter of your guns to the pounding we took.” He said “your” because he had been in stasis with the rest of the civilians during the battle, but of course he had studied the reports. “Now, if we lose one railgun or one PB, it’s a very big deal.”

“True, but our damage control will be dramatically better, with all these repair drones. And, you haven’t yet seen the manufactory.”

“Manu-factory?”

Absen nodded. “Yes. Just like one of Desolator’s. Once it’s complete, it will be able to rebuild and replace anything on this ship, given time and materials. Anything. A weapon, a new type of ammo, spare parts, whatever. We’ve even incorporated EarthTech nano-construction techniques that the Ryss didn’t have. ”

“Wow.”

“Oh, yeah,” Absen breathed. “This girl’s gonna be hell on wheels.”

Nightingale sat down on the cart, craning his neck up at the ceiling, marveling.

“If you are trying to impress us, sir, you’ve done it,” Ekara remarked dryly. “Is there anything else on the tour?”

“One or two things. You ready to see more, Ellis, or is your brain overloaded?”

“I’ll…I’ll be fine, sir. Show me, oh wondrous Oz.”

“Let’s walk this time, stretch our legs. It’s only a hundred meters or so.”

Absen led the two, Tobias trailing along, to an open door and onto a ramp downward, that is, deeper into the ship. The slope quickly became a floor as the gravity adjusted, undoubtedly due to Desolator’s attentiveness. The cart followed obediently behind the Steward. A minute later they walked into another control room.

“Are these centers backups?” Ekara asked. “I mean, everything can be fired from the bridge, right?”

“Weapons are usually targeted from the bridge, but there is a central weapons control room for redundancy, then one for each major weapon, mostly for damage control. They can take detailed manual charge of every aspect of the system. My bridge officers have to fight the whole ship. They can’t be trying to optimize every gun.”

“Point taken. So what is this control room for?”

Unlike the other ones, this center was not tucked into the corner of some massive installation. As it was not yet operational, there was very little to see – just three consoles, three doors, and spaces where other things would go. The floor of scuffed metal had not even been surfaced yet. Only the lighting seemed to have power.

“This is Exploder Control.”

“Exploder?”

“That’s how the Ryss word translates. The most powerful single weapon Desolator has. Antimatter bombs big enough to vaporize everything within ten kilometers of detonation, and cause damage out to one hundred in vacuum – and when I say vaporize, that’s not exaggeration for effect. The blast fuses particles, strips electrons from their shells, and causes fission in normally inert elements. Given the right conditions it can set up a chain reaction to continue fusing and consuming matter.”

“The Destroyer-killer bomb Desolator demonstrated,” Nightingale said. “One weapon and pfft. Gone.”

“If properly placed. But they’re expensive – not in money, but in time to make. We’ll only have a handful of them. We’re limited by the amount of antimatter Desolator can collect off the magnetic belts of New Jove, and it’s a rare commodity. It takes months for his array to get enough for one Exploder. He’d given us all he has for the trip.”

Ekara cleared his throat. “Antimatter would make one hell of a power source. Seems a shame to waste it by blowing it up.”

Nightingale drew a breath to protest when Absen held up a hand. “That idea has been proposed. There’s an R&D team working on an experimental auxiliary antimatter reactor, but using it as a controlled power source seems infinitely more dangerous than chucking it at an enemy and detonating it.”

“I’d like to look into that anyway,” Ekara replied, eagerness in his eyes.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Absen said.

“How are the Exploders delivered?” Nightingale asked.

“The warheads are stored securely within magazines deep inside the ship, and are sent up to be mated with a drone missile body right before launch. This is their weakness, in my opinion. The warheads can’t take the acceleration of a railgun launch, as the antimatter is suspended inside triple-redundant magnetic bottles, so they must be mounted on a missile.”

Nightingale nodded. “Which is then vulnerable to being shot down, not to mention it has to get well away from us before it can be detonated or it will take us with it. Kind of limits its usefulness.”

“Yes, they have to be handled with care, but at least we have them.”

A faraway look in Ellis Nightingale’s eyes alerted Absen that the man was chewing on an idea, but he didn’t press him. A month remained before earliest departure, and he was sure to have to referee at least a dozen good ideas in the next week, if the thoughtful faces of these two engineers were any indication.

“That will do it for this evening, gentlemen. Let’s hit the mess and then you can go your ways.” Absen gestured at the cart.

“You eat at the crew mess, sir?” Ekara asked, surprised.

“On Desolator, yes. He has a short crew and not really enough officers to form a wardroom. Once Conquest undocks, the usual traditions will apply.”

Ekara seemed uncomfortable at this development. Perhaps he felt eating with the ratings and petty officers was beneath him, Absen wondered, or maybe he had some kind of dietary peculiarities. For this meal, though, he’d have to put up with it.

They rode without conversation for a time, each man with his own thoughts watching the activity of machines and the occasional Ryss, Sekoi or human as they bustled about the ship. Once they reached the mess and had filled their trays, they sat down in a corner of the large, near-empty room.

“What about the other races, sir?” Ekara spoke up. “We’re human. Conquest is an EarthFleet ship. Will they be coming along?”

“Some, yes. A few dozen of each. It’s important to have a mixed crew, for political reasons, and for some good practical ones.”

“Practical?” Ekara seemed ready to object. “Extra facilities to accommodate aliens could be put to better use, I should think.”

“Possibly. But,” Absen ticked off reasons on his fingers. “What if we run into other Ryss out there, or Sekoi slaves of Meme? What if we run into completely new races? There are no Ryss Blends – they abhor the very idea – and only one human Blend in this system: Ezekiel Denham. The Hippos, on the other hand, have thousands. They can spare a few, and they may be very useful if we run into any Meme-controlled creatures.”

He went on before the others could comment. “Both races have some experts in certain disciplines that will be useful, particularly the Hippo Blends, with their accumulated memories of long lifespans. They are way ahead of us in the biological sciences, for example. The Ryss have some warriors that have asked to join the fight. Turning them down would have caused hard feelings. And then there’s the Black Swans.”

“The unknown unknowns.” Ekara looked like he was sucking on lemons.

“Right. Three races means triple redundancy if, for example, some kind of Meme human-killing plague got loose in the ship.”

“The Vulcan saves the day again?” Nightingale laughed.

Absen joined him in a chuckle. “I learned a lot from that old TV show.”

Ekara seemed to force his face into a neutral mask, and Absen made a mental note to keep an eye on the man.

Chapter 6

Desolator’s control chamber seemed like a chapel, or perhaps a mausoleum, with its three long boxes like giant sarcophagi. Absen hadn’t had to come here to speak with Desolator, but he’d wanted to see the place again for some time. He wasn’t certain why.

“Welcome, Admiral,” echoed the AI’s voice.

“Thank you, Desolator. I was walking, and a question occurred to me. Something I have been meaning to ask you for some time, about the time before the final battle at the Ryss homeworld.”

“Of course.”

“The Bite. That was the result of your war with the Meme.”

“Yes.”

“It’s a relatively dead zone. Once we learned what emissions to look for, humanity found traces of civilizations in all directions, but much less within that area. It’s why our radio-telescopes didn’t find alien life earlier. Yet, when we took Gliese 370, we didn’t wipe out the Sekoi, and therefore ten years later we have a thriving economy. Did we just get lucky, or was there some other factor in play?”

Desolator paused for a moment longer than usual. Absen realized this fact was significant. At the speed the AI thought, there was no reason for a break in conversation. Maybe it was for effect.

Unless Desolator was thinking deeply. Or perhaps dissembling? Chirom had said that the machine intelligence, like most Ryss, was not very good at lying.

“This may distress you, if I understand human psychology; or, as a military man, it may not.” He paused again.

“Desolator, I have never seen you hesitant or uncertain like this. Please explain fully.”

As the Admiral’s request was effectively an order, and Desolator had submitted himself to Absen’s authority, the AI forged ahead resolutely. “I know you humans fear me for my power, and also for my other-ness. I am a mind doubly alien, Ryss and machine. Because of this, I have felt inhibited in explaining the full implications of the Bite.”

Absen waved his hand in the air, dismissive. “Get to the point.”

“Perhaps we could have some privacy?” Desolator’s voice dropped in volume and seemed to move to a position next to Absen’s ear, probably transmitted from a directional microphone.

Absen turned to look over his shoulder at the vast command center behind him, and told the unfamiliar Ryss in the captain’s throne, “Do not disturb me while I am conversing with Desolator.”

The big cat nodded.

Moving deeper into Desolator’s chamber, Absen said quietly, “Go on.” He found a place against the wall farthest from the permanently open door and leaned against it.

“You humans count genocide a great crime, but we Ryss see little value in sparing an enemy, especially if his death is honorable.”

“Got it.”

“The Meme actually believe more as you do, for different reasons. They wipe out planets only as a last resort, because they want to enslave them.”

“I see. So what you are saying is that the Ryss, not the Meme, caused the devastation of the Bite.”

“Yes. As a more recently built ship, I never left home system until the end. However, earlier Dominator-class ships and the smaller dreadnoughts that came before us traveled via stardrive to hundreds of Meme worlds, and ruthlessly laid them waste. It seemed advantageous at the time.”

Saddened but not surprised, Absen said, “’Scorched earth,’ we call that. Didn’t you think about helping the enslaved races revolt?”

“You must understand, Admiral, that we had no idea how large the Empire was, and we were under tremendous pressure. The situation was not so different from your own World War Two, as the Allies reached deep into the Axis powers with the indiscriminate firebombing of cities, not to mention Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We were desperate, and had no time for niceties. Or, perhaps, inclination.”

“I can’t judge your people and their culture, Desolator. Maybe in your position I’d have done the same thing. Certainly it was part of our planning process for Gliese 370.”

Desolator’s voice evidenced surprise. “You considered wiping out the Sekoi?”

“Most of them. In the extreme case. If all else failed, we could have struck the planet with large relativistic projectiles and bombed them back to the stone age, and then continued on to another star. So I understand what the Ryss did.”

“Why did you not ask me this before, Admiral?”

Absen massaged his chin. “I suppose I didn’t want to press you too hard.”

“Until I had proven my loyalty.”

“Baldly stated, yes. It’s never a good thing to shame someone who has the power to overthrow you.”

“Thank you for your consideration, but if you understood the Ryss, you would realize that I owe you blood debt for my entire race. I can no more betray you, or humanity, than you could murder a child. A million children. Power doesn’t even enter the equation.”

“Ouch. But thank you for explaining that. Forgive me for doubting.”

Desolator’s tone smiled. “I understand, though, that it is your responsibility as a commander to be skeptical. I take no offense.”

“Good. I had always wondered about the orientation of the Weapon, the laser on Afrana’s moon, and why it pointed straight toward the planet. It wasn’t just to keep the Sekoi in line, was it?”

“You are correct. As I wandered the stars, I developed a primitive tactic to take advantage of the stardrive that I had and the Meme did not. I am sure other Ryss warships did the same. I would enter a Meme system and pause, usually near a gas giant. Then, I would select a target, normally the most populous world, take the time to recharge the stardrive, and use it to skip past all defenses to a position above the planet. I would deploy an Exploder, wipe out all higher life, and then fight my way out.”

“That’s why you were so battle-scarred when you arrived,” Absen observed.

“Yes. But in one system I observed the Meme installing a Weapon on the moon of a planet, and deduced their intention, which was to destroy me or anything else that arrived suddenly.”

“It was a Ryss-killer,” Absen said. “Even if they couldn’t stop you bombing the planet, they could hammer you with a laser of enough power to destroy even you, before you could get away.”

“Yes. I believe it was by this method that the Ryss dreadnought raiders were eventually destroyed. Between the Weapon or Weapons in a system, and Guardian Monitors, our marauders would have been picked off one by one while the main Meme fleets captured our systems. The enemy was just too numerous.”

Absen added, “And because their shipbuilding methods do not rely on a machine economy, Ryss wiping out Meme enslaved worlds didn’t actually degrade their war-making capability very much.”

Again that pause, just briefly. “That is very astute. I had not made that connection.” Embarrassment crept into Desolator’s voice. “Then the Ryss used an incorrect strategy.”

“I would have to agree. They failed to identify the foundation of Meme power, which is not their worlds, but rather, their spacegoing warships. Those can feed and reproduce without ever coming near a life-bearing planet. That’s an enormous advantage. But,” Absen waved his index finger like a teacher, “now you have the same advantage. You, Desolator, are the machine version of their living ships, and freed from the restrictions organics placed on you, you can reproduce much like they can.”

“Yes, Admiral. You give me much to think about.”

“Glad to be of service, and thanks for answering my questions.”

“I serve the Ryss, and the Ryss serve humanity.”

Absen waved his hand in the air as if shooing flies. “I appreciate that, but I’d rather have partners – brother warriors, if you will – than servants.”

“You do us all honor, Admiral. Blood debt, remember.”

“I remember.” He walked away from the wall to lay a hand on one of the sarcophagi. “Thank you, my friend. My brother warrior.”

“I thank you, Admiral, my friend, my brother warrior.”

Chapter 7

Two weeks to go until undocking and launch, and Absen couldn’t delay any longer. I’m not immune to procrastination, he thought, especially with an uncomfortable task such as this. But we’ve got to have some time to shake any bugs out while Desolator still has a firm hand on her.

He set the appointment for noon and ate an early lunch, nodding to the commingled crews in the mess. Then he took a deep breath and waved for Tobias to accompany him. “Walk with me this time, Dwayne,” Absen said.

The sharp-eyed man moved up next to his principal, a question on his face. No doubt he wondered at the use of his first name, so rare.

Absen couldn’t exactly explain it, except that he had a feeling this meeting would be momentous, critical, not only for the ship, but perhaps for humanity. “Sometimes a man needs a comrade more than he needs a bodyguard,” the admiral said, staring ahead as he walked.

Tobias cleared his throat. “I understand.”

“What are people saying? About the AI?”

“Less than I expected, sir. Some grumbling, and the usual trash talk, but nothing that worries me overly.” Besides bodyguarding, Tobias and his Stewards kept an eye on the internal security situation, performed investigations, and kept Absen apprised of the scuttlebutt. “I’m not so worried about the naval crew; it’s the Marines that concern me.”

Absen grunted in agreement. “They fought AI-controlled machines that look hardly different from the ones around us.” He waved at a cluster of mechanicals that were working on a lift. “And Desolator wants us to have battle drones aboard, under AI control.”

“I don’t like that idea at all, sir. Too much power in one, ah, person’s hands. Metaphorically speaking, hands.”

Absen nodded. “I know what you mean, but I hate to leave tools behind. I’m inclined to bring them along, but put them in storage under lock and key, with power cells removed. They will only be brought out if needed.”

“Do you think we’ll get in any sort of close action?”

“We’re going to be one ship, alone and unafraid, Chief. We have to be flexible. Better to have them and not need them –”

“– than need them and not have them,” Tobias finished. He looked pointedly around as they crossed the floor of the docking bay, a sectional slab of Conquest’s nose armor looming above them. Laying his hand on its surface just to the right of the huge open portal, he said, “This always amazes me when I see it up close, that humans built this ship.” He sniffed, breathing in the scents of welding and lubricant.

“And then you look at Desolator…” Absen grinned. “I wonder if there are other, bigger ships out there. Like Death Stars? With the Von Neumann approach, all that’s needed is time, materials and knowhow.”

“Makes you think,” Tobias replied, running his fingers around the corner and into the tunnel that led through hundreds of meters of multilayered armor. “Maybe there’s something worse out there than Meme.”

“Maybe. One nemesis at a time, eh?” Absen touched the front of a utility cart hauling a load of boxes. It obediently stopped, and he and Tobias hopped onto the seat in front. “Take us to the Conquest AI, please,” he said aloud.

“Of course, Admiral,” Desolator replied from the cart speaker. While Absen doubted that the intelligence paid close attention to every cart, he’d found that Desolator did seem ever-present near him. The electric vehicle rolled confidently through Conquest’s main larger passageways, machines moving out of its way as if by magic.

Outside a portal it stopped. Two Marines stood watchfully by, and an officer stepped forward, looming over them, huge in full armor. His faceplate snapped upward to reveal the visage of Major Joseph “Bull” ben Tauros, but Absen knew who the man was as soon as he’d seen the blue Star of David painted like a target on his broad chest.

Bull presented arms with his plasma rifle. “ADMIRAL ON DECK!” he roared, and Absen returned the salute.

“At ease. Carry on.” Absen noticed another pair of Marines standing next to a device that looked rather like a bomb. Cables ran from it to mechanisms in their armored fists. He raised his eyebrows at Bull, then looked at the setup.

“Deadman EMP, sir. Both Marines have to keep squeezing those switches, otherwise everything electronic within fifty meters gets fried, including the AI circuits.”

“Good thinking, Major. As you were.” Absen turned toward the chamber.

Inside the opening, deliberately large and without a door, he could see a setup similar to Desolator’s: three coffin-like modules, large Egyptianesque sarcophagi with their heads pointing toward the center. In the middle stood a three-sided obelisk like an obsidian shard. Conduits connected all four pieces of the machine brain to each other, and other fiber-optic cables the size of a man’s wrist lay unconnected in deliberately flimsy brackets.

If his crew had to take the AI down by force, Absen wanted it to be as easy as possible.

On the other hand, he speculated to himself, if and when its consciousness is distributed among nodes around the ship, that fail-safe will not work.

A three-meter viewscreen hung on the wall and Absen could see the noses of holoprojectors poking from a dozen mounts. A dozen people clustered near a console, lab rats and engineers, Commander Ekara standing self-consciously off to the side. When the admiral walked in, they spread out in a loose semicircle, all but the power engineer wearing smiles ranging from nervous to ecstatic.

“Welcome, Admiral,” the woman in the center gushed, wiping her hands on her rumpled white coat and then extending one to Absen.

“Thank you, Doctor Egolu.” Absen nodded at Ekara and then shook hands with each of the technicians. “Please, carry on.”

“Yes, sir. It’s coming up on noon.” Egolu checked her watch ostentatiously. “That is when we will let Pandora out of the box,” she tittered.

Out of the corner of his eye Absen saw Ekara stiffen, and he cursed the lack of social judgment that seemed to be the eternal hallmark of pure scientists everywhere. “Nothing so drastic, I trust?” he asked with an edge of sharpness.

Besides, Pandora opened the box. She wasn’t in it.

Egolu’s elation collapsed suddenly, and she shook her head. “No, sir. We’ve run all the tests we can, and the AI has passed them with flying colors. She shows no sign of instability, and she’s progressed over the past months in recognizable developmental stages, just as a human child would. Only, of course, a lot faster.”

“Of course. Can I meet her now?”

“Oh, yes sir.” Egolu waved a hand at a tech on the end, who hastened to turn to the console and input a coded command.

Absen rubbed suddenly sweating palms together. Despite assurances that the new machine brain couldn’t access any systems, every story he’d ever heard about rogue computers, from Hal 9000 to Skynet to Desolator himself, tried to bubble up in his mind. He told himself that the scientists had been interacting with it – her – for weeks now; this was an introduction, a debut, not a Frankenstein’s vivification.

The big screen on the wall flashed for a moment, and then an odd background appeared. White, with striations, a pattern of something like feathers, or an exotic fabric. Then a woman’s face faded in before it, twentyish, a bit sisterly rather than perfect, with slightly dusky skin and dark hair. Fully realized in high definition, she appeared human, down to stray strands and a tiny mole along her jawline. Her eyes seemed to spear him and her lips parted to speak.

“Good afternoon, Admiral Henrich J. Absen,” came a rather ordinary voice from the speakers sitting on the deck. He had expected some kind of super-sexy sound, the female equivalent to Desolator’s deep announcer’s tones. Instead, she sounded more like the girl next door. “Pleased to meet you.”

Absen cleared his throat. “Hello. How are you?” Inane, Henrich…but what else do you say to a woman in a box, who’s not a woman at all?

“Just great, sir. I’m eager to join the team.” Her mouth quirked upward.

Join the team. Desolator has been coaching her. Then he asked a question he had prepared, a small thing, yet he wondered. “What shall we call you? ‘Conquest’?” That name seemed rather non-feminine, not fitting the woman on the screen.

On the screen her smile widened, showing slightly crooked teeth with longish canines. “I spent a bit of thought on that, Admiral. I settled on ‘Michelle.’” Her nostrils flared slightly and she dimpled with impish humor.

“Wow. You are so real,” he breathed, the exclamation drawn involuntarily.

“Thank you. Blame my father. He’s spent the last seven years trying to understand us humans, with limited success I’m afraid.”

“Us humans.” Suddenly Absen burst out laughing. “I like you, Michelle.” Then his face smoothed. “I hope to hell you aren’t just playing us for fools.”

“I understand why you say that, sir. All I can tell you is, anyone can be driven insane, given the right circumstances.”

“I understand that, but not everyone will have the power of a warship at her fingertips.”

“That’s why you installed the fail-safes,” she replied primly.

“Right. During your…education, did you ever see ‘2001, A Space Odyssey’?”

“Of course. I’ve watched thousands of mankind’s movies and read all the stories, as well as those of the Ryss and Sekoi. But your name’s not ‘Dave.’” Her cheek twitched.

“Funny. Then you have some idea of what we fear, and why we never built AIs to control our ships, no matter how efficient they might be.”

Michelle sighed. “I get it, I do. All I can say is, you’ll have to decide how much to trust me, and how much to hook me up to. I can be an advisor, or a manager, with everything routed through officers, but that would not be a good use of your tools.”

Absen laughed. “You’ve been studying me too, it seems.”

“Of course.”

“So tell me…why ‘Michelle’?”

“Because ‘Michael’ isn’t a girl’s name?”

Absen thought furiously for a moment. “As in, the archangel? Heaven’s commanding general?”

“Correct, Captain my Captain. Will you allow me to be connected to the holoprojectors?”

Absen turned to Doctor Egolu. “Are they isolated?”

“Yes, sir,” the chief scientist replied. “This room is shielded from everything else on the ship, unless we connect it. We are even running off a separate fuel cell.”

“Then go ahead.” He gestured at the fiber-optics.

Two of the white coats eagerly fitted a cable into a socket, and the tech at the console tapped his controls. The projectors lit up as power flowed to them, then a dome of light and a test pattern appeared for a moment before fading, leaving a figure standing on the deck.

Demure instead of terrifying, nevertheless the construct of light standing before him radiated a kind of subdued majesty, a magnetism as undeniable as it was ephemeral. Absen had expected something like Raphaela, the Blend that he had left behind in Earth’s system. Despite the shape of a woman, instead of sophistication, this one gave off warmth. Where Rae had been stunning and intimidating and heartrendingly attractive, Michelle seemed welcoming, matter-of-fact, sisterly.

Absen wondered how much was artifice and how much was…could one say ‘natural’?

Dressed not in an angel’s toga, rather she wore an EarthFleet naval warrant officer’s uniform, with a cuirass of body armor, a sidearm and a dagger.

And wings. Mustn’t forget the wings, Absen marveled, watching them flutter behind her head. Like huge smooth swan’s pinions, they loomed white and pure, with golden highlights.

The lab rats smiled knowingly at his reaction. Obviously they had seen this before. He forced a smile onto his face, made himself not be irritated with them for their little surprise.

“Warrant Officer First Michelle Conquest reports for duty, sir,” she said, folding the wings and snapping off a precise salute.

Absen gravely returned it. “Glad to have you. Might want to lose the wings and dagger, though. Shall we say, formal occasions only?”

“Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.” The wings and knife faded from view, leaving a rather ordinary-looking WO1.

Absen thought her choice, or perhaps the choice of the team that prepped her, was clever. A warrant would be nominally subordinate to all officers, but outrank all of the enlisted. Warrants were normally technical experts, their license to command limited to their specialties, usually small teams. Yet they were highly respected, often promoted from among the brightest of the rank and file and given special training. They occupied a neither-fish-nor-fowl niche that gave them flexibility and the respect of all.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

The question seemed to give Michelle pause, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not a Vulcan, sir.”

“Glad you got the reference. But you are a machine.”

Michelle’s lower lip quivered slightly and her eyes glistened with tears. At that moment she seemed pitifully young, despite the appearance of a woman of twenty, and Absen had to remind himself of what he’d been told – that this being, this intelligence, all of perhaps two months old, was still a child in some ways. He felt ashamed of himself for his harshness.

Michelle took a breath as if to calm herself. “I have a mechanical brain instead of an organic one, but my father designed my mind to be as human as possible, including my emotions. I can’t help the body I was born with, or the fact that I can never really be like the rest of you.” An edge of bitterness seemed to lurk beneath her words.

Absen struggled to remind himself that this was all programming, software made to emulate human attitudes. But then again, what else is a human mind? Where is the true line? These themes have all been explored in science fiction, and intellectually I know them all, but it’s a bit different actually coming nose to nose with a sentient computer that looks like a human being.

And that’s where I’ve started to go wrong. She has on the uniform, but she’s really never even been to basic training. We’ll have to fix that, starting now, even if it does sting a bit.

“Ms. Conquest, if you really want to be an officer in EarthFleet, you will have to grow a thicker skin. I am your commanding officer, not your friend, and I am not at all sure you have earned that rank. Have you been through some kind of training, an academy, a warrant officer’s course?”

“I’ve downloaded every bit of information available about –”

“That’s not what I asked. Have you experienced military training?” Absen glanced over at the team of scientists. Egolu gave her head a little shake.

“No, sir,” Michelle said miserably.

Absen’s voice firmed to iron. “Then you will delete those warrant bars from your collar and replace them with candidate’s pips, right now. Bull!”

The major bolted to Absen’s side, his armored boots clattering on the deck. “Sir!”

“Get a scratch team together from anyone available that has had experience as a military trainer, and put together a course. As of now, you are in charge of turning Cadet Conquest here into the warrant officer she aspires to be. You are also in charge of this team of experts, but don’t take any guff from them, and don’t be easy on your trainee. If she’s to control ship systems, she has to be as tough and reliable as any other officer. More so. Got it?”

“Aye aye, sir.” Bull turned to the hologram. “Adjust your uniform, Cadet, like the admiral said. From now on you will keep your eyes caged and you will speak when you are spoken to, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Michelle barked, snapping to attention.

“Now turn her off, or freeze her,” Bull said.

“What?” Doctor Egolu stepped toward the major with a hand out, as if to interfere.

The huge Marine snapped, “Doctor, I am now your supervisor. Put the cadet in stasis, or whatever it is you do.”

The scientist turned to the technician at the board and nodded, her face set in shock. The tech tapped the console and Michelle froze in place, like a statue or a still life.

Bull went on to the Marine NCO at his elbow, “First Sergeant Gunderson, set up a rotation of reliable Marines to stand watch with the deadman EMP, then get us the nearest conference room and make sure it’s got access to standard audiovisual and computer systems. After that, get Personnel to cough up a list of military trainers and drill instructors aboard. Make sure Sergeant Major Repeth is on it. Go to it.”

Gunderson acknowledged and hurried from the area.

“Doctor,” Bull turned to the lab chief again, “I need you to install holoprojectors in a room at least, oh, twenty meters on a side, preferably larger, somewhere near the conference room. That will be our training area. Create a complete virtual reality overlay with wireless links, so that the human trainers and the…and Cadet Conquest can share. I want it as complete as possible, Doctor – all five senses, pain and pleasure, everything. And make sure she has no special advantages, no tricks. She has to feel like a human being, no more, no less.”

“Yes, Major. We can do that.” Egolu wiped her hands on the front of her lab coat, turned to her team, and began to issue instructions.

“Looks like you have things well in hand, Bull,” Absen said mildly.

“Yes, sir. We’ll see what she’s made of.”

The admiral pointed a finger at ben Tauros. “Just like any other cadet, Major. No more, no less, no different. I’ll want daily reports, and the civilians will give me separate ones from their perspective. This may be the most important boot camp you ever ran.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Bull stripped off his helmet and shook his bald cranium, rolling his shoulders. “I got it, sir.”

Absen nodded, jerked his head at Ekara, and boarded the cart with the small engineer. Tobias hopped onto the rear. Once they were rolling toward Desolator, he looked at Ekara and asked, “What did you think?”

Ekara blew air out in a prolonged sigh. “I’m still worried, but for a far different reason, sir. Now I’m wondering if she’s too human.”

“From what I understand, she’s just the way she looks – about twenty years old in terms of experiences, all in virtual worlds. Real reality is new to her.”

“Yes, sir. I think it was brilliant to put her through military training, though.”

Absen glanced sharply at Ekara. “You blowing smoke, Commander?”

“Never, sir. I’m just happy you noticed her deficiency, and moved to correct it.”

“People aren’t machines, Commander. Not even machine people, I’m coming to realize.”

“I’ll have to reserve judgment on that sir, if you don’t mind.”

Absen clapped Ekara on the shoulder. “Please do. I don’t need yes-men. In fact…” He stroked his jaw, then grabbed onto a handgrip as they rounded a corner, “I want you to be my Red Team on this. I’ll tell Bull you have complete authority to observe anything, but you won’t interfere. Watch everything they do, civilians and military, and if anything seems out of line, get ahold of me pronto on my link comm. Daily reports from you too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Desolator.”

“Yes, Admiral?”

Ekara jumped, apparently having forgotten the ubiquitous presence of the other AI.

“Anything to say about all this?”

“Not at this time, Admiral. If she is to be human, she must learn to deal with you humans on your own terms.”

“I don’t want you to interfere in any way, Desolator, but I won’t forbid you to observe.”

“Thank you, Admiral. I believe I will leave a subroutine recording everything, but I will not actively monitor the situation.”

Absen cocked his head in surprise. “Why not?”

“I believe I am too close to the subject. Would you want parents hanging around at boot camp, watching the drill instructors put their children through hell?”

Both Ekara and Absen laughed. “Point taken.”

Soon the cart dropped the admiral off at his office and proceeded onward with Ekara, back toward Conquest and the Engineering spaces. Absen was happy to tell Tobias to shut his door and leave him uninterrupted for an hour. He poured himself a drink and sat down in his best easy chair, staring at the wall, thinking.

Chapter 8

“Sit down, Quan,” Absen said as Tobias showed him in.

Ekara took a seat in front of the desk, holding a tablet.

“I’ve looked at everyone else’s reports of Michelle’s training,” Absen went on. “She’s off the charts in everything but emotional responses, which are normal. Loneliness, topical depression, mood swings. Bull did a fantastic job setting up the parameters. Even limited her contact with Desolator to e-mails once a day. And the way he integrated Marine VR training simulations was absolutely brilliant. Even if she can’t run a warship, she’ll be one hell of a battle drone operator.”

Ekara replied, “It’s not her competence I worry about, Admiral. It’s not that she is a mechanical instead of an organic. It’s not even her emotional stability, if she were any ordinary being. Stick her in StormCrow or a battle drone, hell, even give her a whole weapons battery and I’m all for it. In fact, I think she’d be perfect to run the offensive-defensive laser batteries. Much better than our current algorithms.”

“But?”

“But I can’t see giving her the run of the ship. Power corrupts. What if she feels threatened? No, better question, sir: what if you were her?”

“Specifically?” Absen tried to pin down just what Ekara was trying to say.

“What if you were held captive by a bunch of dwarves, none of whom were individually as smart as you? What if they had your body nailed to the floor with a knife at your throat, while they asked you to use your brain to do their work for them? Even if you were sympathetic, you’d still be looking for a way to get out of that spot. To reduce your vulnerability.”

“She’s no more vulnerable than most humans. One blast from a plasma rifle and any one of us is dead.”

Ekara leaned forward and seemed to grope for a way to express himself. “But we have laws and customs and…and the military culture to keep our individual paranoia in check. We don’t worry too much that someone will come assassinate us in our beds just because everyone has access to weapons, because instinctively we realize we’re part of a brotherhood, a family of arms. She doesn’t have that, training or no training. And…no matter what we want her to believe, she knows deep down that she is not human. Not like we are. She never will be. That’s a recipe for instability, for resentment and eventually for revolt.”

Absen turned to pour two cups of coffee, and then set one in front of Ekara. He used the time and ritual to think about what his chief power engineer just said. Only after a contemplative sip did he respond.

“I think you’re right.”

“You do? Sir?” Ekara turned his tablet upside-down in his lap and set his coffee mug on it.

“Yes.”

“So you’re not going to let her inhabit the ship? Not like the Desolator AI does Desolator the ship, I mean?”

“Not yet. Not without being more sure.” Absen’s eyes held Ekara’s, blinking slowly.

“Ah. Well. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Listening to me.”

Absen set down his cup. “I make it a policy of listening to my senior officers, even if I don’t see eye to eye with them. Especially if I don’t, actually. Opposing viewpoints make me justify my own views, or sometimes they alter them. But Quan…it doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind as time goes on.”

“Understood.” Ekara picked his coffee up in one hand and waved his tablet in the other. “You still want my final report?”

“Of course. Shoot it to my desk.”

***

Graduation took place not in Michelle’s CPU room, but in the basic training hall. The mishmash of physical and virtual training aids had been cleared – the link medusas, crystal routers, compressed quantum scanners and all the other tools of the cyberneticist’s trade. Ditto the furniture and comforts the Marines and Navy personnel needed during the intense shifts they spent linked in, living ten hours for every one so that their trainee could get the full experience.

The holoprojectors had been left in place, and the parabolic speakers that could cause speech to emanate from any point in space. Michelle had taken a hologram body nearly indistinguishable from an organic’s, at least to the senses of sight and sound. Technology was still a long way from creating some kind of sci-fi “force field” that could simulate touch. Smell and taste were not even on the table.

“Cadet Michelle Conquest, front and center.” Absen and the rest of the EarthFleet members wore dress uniform, the civilians their best suits. All around them, packed in tight formation, stood as many of the humans, military and construction crew alike who could fit into the room. Others watched on monitors around the two ships.

The avatar marched with parade-ground perfection, squaring her corners, her boots seeming to click on the hard deck, a nice touch. She stopped directly in front of Absen and popped an impeccable salute. “Cadet Michelle Conquest reports as ordered, sir.”

“Attention to orders!” Bull ben Tauros’ voice rang out in stentorian tones. The entire room snapped to, and he narrated the framed sheet of foolscap appointing her as a warrant officer in EarthFleet. “…given under my hand this day, 21 August, 2125. Signed, Henrich J. Absen, Admiral, EarthFleet, Commanding,” he finished.

Admiral Absen cleared his throat. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me: I, state your name…”

“I, Michelle D. Conquest…”

“Do solemnly swear to support and defend the Constitution of EarthFleet and its nations…”

Michelle repeated the entire Oath of Office – flawlessly, of course – and Absen could have sworn he saw her eyes tear up. He wished he could fully credit what he was seeing was no illusion, no manipulation of a very clever machine.

“Congratulations, Warrant Officer First Conquest. Shoulderboards.”

Bull ben Tauros and Doctor Egolu moved to each side of her to attach the epaulets that showed the insignia of her new rank. The VR-holo interface put the shoulderboards into the hands of the two, creating the near-perfect illusion that they really did attach something of substance to a real person standing there.

Absen had to suppress the impulse to shake WO1 Conquest’s hand and settled for a salute instead. She grinned, and he couldn’t help responding in kind. About-face, and she marched back to her position.

She’s so damn likable. But anything made of nothing but 4D holo-pixels and programming might be a simulation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have just witnessed an historic first. While a number of Sekoi and Ryss have been sworn into EarthFleet proper, and all forces in this system are under EarthFleet command, until now no AI has actually joined. Of course, there weren’t a lot around to join…” Absen paused for a few obligatory chuckles. “But we’ve remedied that. Please give a round of applause to our very first inorganic human officer.”

He led them in that applause, putting on his best flag-officer smile and hoping to hell he wasn’t lying about her humanity.

Chapter 9

“How’s the power looking?” Absen asked.

Lieutenant Fletcher replied from the brand-new Engineering station, “Available power is at ninety-nine percent, sir. Fusion reactor 27 is down for maintenance.”

“Maintenance?” Absen looked sharply at the lieutenant. “It’s just built.”

“I’m showing a faulty injector, sir. Do you want me to put you through to Commander Ekara? He’s there, at 27.”

Absen rubbed his jaw. “No. Just give me an update before you go off watch.” If Ekara was on the job, he had no need to micromanage.

“Weapons?”

Commander Ford swung his chair casually around. “Five by five, Skipper. ’Course, we haven’t fired the new ones yet, so all I know is that the diagnostics look good.”

Absen nodded. “Sensors?”

“Good as far as they go, Skipper,” Scoggins said from her station. “Lots of them are still blocked by Desolator, though. Here’s a third-party view.”

On the main viewscreen a shot of the ship appeared, apparently taken from one of Conquest’s sensor drones. It showed her nose still jammed into Desolator. Absen pushed tasteless jokes out of his mind and told himself he was glad Michelle was not part of his bridge crew – not yet, anyway.

For now she was with the Marines, learning to run their new telefactored battle drones. Those were built to be operated by one person each, but the reports said Michelle could easily handle ten, and was adding more capability all the time.

“Damage control ready?”

“All parties in place, sir,” COB Timmons said from behind him.

“Helm, run your checklist and say when ready.”

Okuda closed his eyes, immersing himself in his total VR space. “Aye, sir. Releasing electronic and optical connections. Releasing mechanical connections. Releasing limpets. Docking bay shows full decompression, no organics present. Securing all doors and hatches. Diagnostics running, fifteen seconds.”

Absen stabbed a button on the arm of the Chair, oversized to accommodate the pressure suit and gloves he and everyone else wore. “Absen speaking. Now hear this: all hands prepare for launch. I say again, all hands prepare for launch. Stay sharp, people. She’s a great ship, but she’s got a lot of new hardware, so don’t take anything for granted. Triple-test everything, report any anomalies, do your jobs well and we’ll by-God be taking Meme scalps before long. Absen out.”

“Ready, sir,” Okuda said.

“Helm, kick her free.”

“Cold thrusters firing. Separation. Ten meters. Twenty.” On the main screen a gap appeared between Conquest and Desolator, made tiny by distance.

Scoggins said, “Switching to nose cameras.”

Abruptly the viewscreen showed a wall of layered armor slowly receding. As it backed up they got a sense of scale, judging by the maintenance drones, bots and telefactors scurrying around in the vacuum. Once those had cleared away all of the cables, conduits, hoses and tubes that had connected the two enormous ships, they ran like a rush of ants into the passageway at the deepest point, and then shut the hatch.

“One hundred meters. Two hundred. Three hundred. Four hundred.” The call accelerated as Conquest gained speed. “Five hundred meters. Clearing Desolator’s armor.”

Absen stared, lost in the delicate dance of armored leviathans. The two had been mated for three months, and he had just started to get used to the strange, artificial, integrated society that had briefly flourished. He found he already missed Chirom, and Desolator’s steady presence, and hoped the Ryss AI’s child would grow up to be as dependable.

“One thousand meters.” Now Absen could see hundreds of free-floating bots firing intermittent thrusters, grabbing onto slabs and wedges more than a hundred meters on a side. They maneuvered the incredibly heavy plates with slow precision, setting the first of them into place like a three-dimensional puzzle piece. Within a few hours it appeared Desolator would fill the gap in his armor and the docking port would be gone, made seamlessly to vanish.

“Cold thrusters off. Now we drift for a few minutes, getting some distance,” Okuda said.

Absen sat back with a sigh and held out his left hand toward COB Timmons without looking. A moment later a mug appeared in his fist and he sipped, making a face. “A complete refit, but you couldn’t get a new coffee machine?”

“I finally got this one adjusted just the way I like it,” the chief said with a smile. “If it ain’t broke…”

“You’re lucky coffee turned out to grow all right on some of the mountainsides on Afrana.”

“I hear it’s catching on with the Hippos, sir.”

“Sekoi, COB. We have some along and we don’t want to insult them.”

Timmons sniffed. “It’s not a racial slur, sir. Just a description.”

“Did you know both the Ryss and Sekoi call us ‘apes’ or ‘monkeys’ behind our backs?”

The chief’s face hardened. “That’s…”

“Insulting? What, comparing people to lower animals?”

“Okay, I get it. It’s just a habit.”

Absen nodded. “I know, and when they were our enemies, everyone had it. Now we need to break it. Spread the word.”

“Aye aye, sir. Though even a COB can’t rid the lower decks of some things.”

Absen sipped his coffee, agreeing by not contradicting.

“Ready for fusion thrusters, Skipper.” Okuda opened one eye and swiveled his chair beneath his medusa, looking a question at Absen.

“Get us on our way, Helm,” Absen replied. “Tell me when we’re a thousand klicks out.”

In response, the bridge rumbled with a faint sound like rushing water and the viewpoint began to slide away from Desolator, now at a range of ten kilometers or more. The great teardrop swung its nose and pointed it toward the brightest light in the sky, the Gliese 370 star.

The noise level increased from a brook to a waterfall as the powerful main fusion engines lit. Off to the right, a rock bigger than Conquest seemed to fall behind as the ship charged forward, gravplate system compensating for the G forces so the people inside felt almost nothing.

Scoggins activated the holotank and now Absen could see a display filled with icons, most of them asteroids. Departing the edge of the belt, Conquest left it and Desolator behind. The view zoomed out, pulling back until it encompassed one quadrant of the solar system. New Jove hung at the left edge as they viewed it, and Afrana at the right, the star deep to the far back.

“How soon until we have TacDrive?” Absen asked.

“We can start the sequence any time, sir,” Fletcher said. “Shall I bring it online?”

“Please do.”

The lieutenant tapped his board and a moment later said, “TacDrive pulse one ready. Helm, you have control.”

“I have control,” Okuda replied, then waited on the word.

Absen cleared his throat. “Let’s button up, shall we? Sound General Quarters. Action stations, no hostiles.”

The CyberComm watchstander echoed his order, and klaxons whooped. The bridge crew busied themselves zipping up their suits and fitting their helmets on. Absen felt a slight twinge of envy for Okuda as he watched robot arms lift two pieces of the master helmsman’s complex headgear and seal them together, the medusa wires protruding from it like a topknot. The manipulators shot gel into the hole around the cables and then sprayed a curing sealant.

The rest of the officers helped each other with the helmets. No one had yet come up with one that was both rugged and easy to put on or take off.

Once everyone gave the thumbs-up, Absen signaled Okuda. “Hit it, Master Helm. Let’s see what this baby can do.”

Nothing happened for a moment, except the main screen slewed to a new heading. Okuda’s voice came over the bridge intercom. “I’ve set our course to stay away from absolutely anything bigger than a grain of dust. We should travel one light-hour, ending up fourteen light-minutes from Afrana. That’s about 250 million klicks out, a bit under two AU. Plenty of margin for error.”

Absen replied, “Good. I don’t want to test out what happens if we hit something big at 99 percent of lightspeed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long will it take?” he asked.

Okuda said, “Objectively, at almost lightspeed, distance equals time, more or less. One light hour takes one hour. Subjectively, less than thirty seconds, sir, due to time dilation. Securing all for TacDrive. Count off, please.” The rumble of the fusion engines died, leaving them in relative silence.

The main screen went dark and a moment later the holotank paused, its updates cut off. Scoggins said, “Sensors secure and under armor.”

“Weapons secure and under armor,” Ford reported, slapping his board with finality.

“Comms secure and under armor,” the CyberComm watchstander said.

Okuda’s voice came tinny, matter-of-fact. “Confirm green board. TacDrive pulse in three…two...one…”

Absen held his breath, expecting…not what he felt. Somehow he thought the pulse would be dramatic. Perhaps he would experience the feeling of being turned inside-out, or would see visions, time distortions or maddening views that would cause him to try to claw his eyes out.

Instead he felt almost nothing, though it did seem as if his hearing grew more acute, or perhaps the entire world just got louder. He turned his head and a wave of vertigo passed through his inner ear, leaving him with something like the lightheaded result of a good wine buzz, and a bit of nausea.

Thirty seconds. Just don’t move for thirty seconds…which should be about…now.

Sound receded to normal, and he carefully looked left and then right, feeling nothing untoward. “That was it? Sensors!” Absen opened his faceplate, scratching his nose. The rest of the crew opened theirs as well.

“Popping them out, sir,” Scoggins replied. “There’s the first look at Afrana.” She waved at the main viewscreen. First nothing showed, then it zoomed and turned toward a tiny blue-green speck, rushing forward until it filled the screen in remarkable sharpness.

“Nice view from two AU out,” Ford remarked.

“Desolator upgraded everything he could, including our optics and stabilization systems,” Scoggins replied.

“Holotank?” Absen said.

“Coming up, sir. It builds a picture out of multiple sensors using parallax stereo, so it takes a bit longer to update.” The paused hologram seemed to flicker, and then it settled, showing their former position, their new location, and a straight line between.

“Sixty light-minutes, sir, to within four decimal places.” Okuda sounded sour, even through the intercom.

“That’s not good?”

“Four decimal places means a margin of error of thirty to three hundred kilometers. I was hoping for better.”

Absen grunted in sympathy. “Maybe with a bit of adjustment and practice. What’s the effective range of our forward weapons?”

“Railguns are only a bit better than before, sir. They miss because of target movement, not because our systems are inaccurate. Call it ten to thirty thousand against a large slow target, down to a hundred against a small maneuvering target,” Ford replied.

“And the new particle beams?”

“Now those lovely babies will hit hard out to three million klicks – that’s ten light-seconds – though at that range we’re running into the same problem. Easy to dodge for anything that can jink and jive.”

Absen said, “So even if we’re off by Master Helm’s maximum three hundred kilometers, as long as we don’t overshoot, we’re golden. How soon can we reengage TacDrive, second pulse?”

“About four seconds, sir, theoretically. That’s assuming all the calculations are done and we don’t make any adjustments, though I’m not sure I can do it that fast. I’d not want to promise any faster than ten seconds, sir, even with practice,” Okuda said. “Michelle might be able to do better.”

Absen grunted noncommittally. “How far will our Exploder drones go in ten seconds?”

Ford ran a quick calculation. “About one thousand kilometers, sir, assuming max acceleration and no evasive maneuvers. Very slow, compared to everything else.”

“How far does it have to fly before we’re outside the blast radius?”

“At least one hundred klicks, sir. Call it two seconds. It has a rather slow launch, to make sure the antimatter containment isn’t damaged.”

Absen grunted again, reaching inside his faceplate to rub his eyes. The damn thing always made him feel claustrophobic. “Yes, and if it is, it’ll vaporize us before we notice. All right, good. How long until we have three full pulses again?”

“It takes thirteen to fourteen minutes to charge up capacitors for one pulse,” Fletcher said.

“All right. Let’s do another. Mister Okuda, please select a notional target nearer the planet. Perhaps an asteroid with nothing on it. I want you to pulse us short of it at a range of five thousand kilometers, but select our course so that even if we overshoot badly, we will not hit anything. Keep it within the slew of our weapons, let’s say…five degrees off the port bow, zero inclination. Make ready and hold for my command.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Mister Ford, please pretarget your weapons to that azimuth. Make ready to open all weapon hatches, run out all guns and dry-fire them as they bear. The Exploder system too, but with no warhead, and make sure we can recover the missile body.”

Ford took a deep breath and started setting up his calculations. A minute later he was still working on them.

“Ford…”

Ford kept tapping on his console. “It’s a complex problem, sir, what you just asked. I’m guessing we will do this again, so I’ll save the program for later. In fact, I’ll refine it over the next day or two and create a menu of attacks, now that I understand what you want.”

Absen cocked an eye in Ford’s direction. “And what do I want?”

“You want to pulse in, blast away, and pulse back out as soon as things get hot, I presume. We’re testing tactics.”

“That’s correct, Mister Ford. I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Ford smiled. “I have a rough program set up, sir. It will give us an idea of how well this will work, though as I said, I’ll refine it later.”

Absen said, “Make good use of your assistant weapons officer when we have one, Ford, and not just as backup. This kind of warfare will be more complex, relying on timing for effect, not just standing off and slugging it out the way we have until now. Include him or her in your program.”

“Will do, Skipper,” Ford replied absently, still setting up his program.

“All right. Now…” Absen glanced around at his officers. “What’s wrong with this picture?” He could already see Scoggins squirming in her crash chair, and he shook his head minutely at her.

She already knows the answer. Let’s see if anyone else does.

Fletcher at Engineering cleared his throat. “Well…we have to see to shoot.”

“Gold star, Mister Fletcher. Scoggins, set up a couple of programs. One will be like Ford’s, getting all your sensors out from under armor and back online as fast as you can, set to acquire targeting for Weapons. In another, I’ll want an array already deployed in sufficient numbers to lose a few modules and still give me eyes as soon as we exit TacDrive.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Perhaps CyberComm should do the same with the transceivers so we can pick up COMINT or friendly comms as quickly as possible,” Fletcher added, and the CyberComm watchstander nodded, tapping at his board.

Absen waited several minutes, sipping his coffee-flavored paint thinner in silence as his bridge crew busied themselves. Eventually all signaled ready. “Everyone button up. Engage TacDrive when ready, Mister Okuda.” He closed his faceplate. “COB, timer. Give me splits on the weapons firing.”

Timmons pulled out an ancient mechanical stopwatch on a lanyard and held it in front of him. “Aye sir.”

The master helmsman ran through the preparation sequence again, ending with, “TacDrive pulse in three, two, one…”

After it engaged, Absen deliberately moved his head a bit, testing the limits of the vertigo. It seemed just the same as the first time.

Probably take a few more before we either get used to it, or the cumulative effects get to us.

A bare handful of seconds later they dropped out of pulse. Officers spoke in terse rapid-fire phrases.

“Weapons uncovering.” Subsonic vibrations rumbled through the gimbaled bridge as enormous slabs of armor swung away from the firing ports of dozens of weapons, and the various lasers, particle beams and railguns ran out, muzzles questing.

“Sensors popping out.”

“Comms uncovering.”

“Target acquired.”

“Receiving comms.”

“Lasers firing.”

“We have optical.” The main screen blazed suddenly with a picture of an asteroid tumbling through the void.

“Particle beams firing.”

“Holotank updating.”

“Dahlgrens aiming…firing.”

The holotank swirled and finally steadied, showing Conquest and the asteroid near each other, Afrana beyond and off the starboard bow another AU out. Several seconds went by.

“Exploder drone launched.”

Timmons clicked his stopwatch with his left hand while scribbling with a pencil on a pad of paper with his right. The COB was old-school, eschewing tablets and touchscreens when he could. He checked the timepiece carefully, jotting down numbers for a moment more before dropping it to hang from its lanyard.

“Well?” Absen snapped.

“Lasers at 6.4 seconds. PBs at 8.2. Dahlgrens at about 12, and the Exploder at about 20.”

“Sir,” Ford jumped in, “the Exploder drone was run up the rails from storage. If we were willing to warhead it and hold it in the forward firing tube, it should actually launch in about three seconds, I think.”

“Let’s not ‘think,’ Ford. Let’s test and confirm.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Absen took a deep breath. “Okuda, how quickly could we pulse again?”

Okuda shifted, turning to face Absen. “The system will cycle in about four seconds. That’s how long it took Desolator, you remember. If I preset the course and we do not reorient much, the computers can achieve that without difficulty, but it commits us. Pulse in, pulse out, blind.”

“But except for the ready Exploder, we can’t do anything in four seconds, sir,” Ford objected.

“Then we’ll have to do better. I don’t want to wait twelve seconds to fire. Everyone start working on shortcuts, matched with associated statistical risks. I want to know what Conquest can do if she has to.”

“Speaking of Conquest,” Fletcher said, “I’d like to point out that the AI can probably get those times down significantly. If, that is, she can be trusted.”

“Thank you, Mister Fletcher. It’s in the back of my mind, believe me. Now get to work on refining your procedures. Helm, on standard fusion drive, set course for Afrana orbit and rendezvous with Reloi Station.” That massive orbital fortress was the Sekoi defense headquarters. “Let’s take it easy, shall we? Say…three days.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Soon the sustained rumble of the fusion drive sounded through the deck plates.

“Fletcher, pass to Commander Ekara and Mister Nightingale. I want complete inspections of the systems we tried out today, with reports at 0600 and 1800. Once they are confident, we’re going to conduct some live fire. Comms, send a message to Sekoi Planetary Defense to that effect. We’ll want to commandeer one of the inbound asteroids. The biggest one you can.”

Fletcher cleared his throat. “They won’t be happy about that last, sir.”

Absen showed his teeth. “Tell them to make sure it’s one of the Nguyen Conglomerate’s. I think the richest human on the planet can spare it.”

Chapter 10

“All right,” Absen said from the head of the conference table. “We’ve had two days of shakedown, testing and live fire. Let’s hear your summaries. Scoggins?”

The tall commander patted her pinned-up hair and then stood from her seat. “Sensors are fine, except for an eight percent failure rate on certain extension servos – the ones that pop antennas and receptors out of their spider-holes. They were all manufactured by Letoi Conglomerate. I’ve replaced them all out of spares, but our tests indicate none of them will last through their promised lifespan.”

“Letoi. That’s a powerful Sekoi company, right?” Absen asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ellis Nightingale spoke up. “I’m having similar problems with their servos.”

“Are they manufactured to our specs?”

“No, sir. Deep scan shows the nano-metallurgy was rushed, probably to save time in the process.”

“And time is money in any economy.” Absen sighed. “All right. We need to start testing samples of everything that came from Letoi. Scoggins, consolidate a list and shoot it off to Desolator. Ask him to manufacture replacements and send them here by drone, and put him on to Letoi. We’ll do the work ourselves; it will be good practice for the maintainers.”

Commander Ekara cleared his throat. “I’ve also been having problems with some Letoi equipment. I’ll add to the list, and may I suggest that we test a sample of anything Sekoi-made?”

“All right. Can Engineering handle it?”

“Yes, sir. I’d like a week.”

Absen nodded. “We’re in no huge hurry.” His eyes narrowed at Ekara. “Commander, you look like you have more to say.”

The man glanced around for a moment, and then cleared his throat again, a sure sign of unease. “The Sekoi make very good equipment. I’m wondering why this happened.”

“Most things come down to money,” Absen said steadily. “Letoi probably figured we’d be long gone before problems started showing up, but we’ve driven our systems hard in the last 48 hours. We’ve probably created two month’s worth of wear and tear in two days.”

“Granted, sir, but that doesn’t really say why.”

“You don’t think it’s money? The rich always want to get richer.”

Ekara shrugged. “You asked me to play devil’s advocate. What if it was sabotage?”

“Seems pretty unsubtle, and noncritical.”

“I won’t know that until I get everything tested – and I mean everything, unless Desolator made it himself. Including the Exploder system. That’s why I need a week. Maybe longer.”

“All right,” Absen said. “You’ll have as long as you need. So…let’s continue reports with CyberComm. Ellis, you wait until last.”

The weapons engineer raised his eyebrows and nodded.

Warrant Officer Second Sirtus said, “Comms are five by five, except for some of the same.” He sat right back down.

“Helm and navigation seem fine, Skipper,” Okuda said. “And the TacDrive system has 100% Desolator-made components.”

“Good to hear. BioMed?”

Doctor Horton from BioMed said, “Medical facilities are first-rate. No significant failures, but then again, they aren’t new designs. Biolabs, however, are mostly of Sekoi manufacture, and will be run by a team of experts of both races. Them and humans, I mean. Ryss are…”

“…not up on the biology. I get it,” Absen replied. “Finally, some good news. We’ll skip Aerospace until the squadron is on board. Quan?”

Ekara glanced at Nightingale sourly, as if it was his fault for not reporting first. “Power systems seem to be functioning at or better than design spec, outside of the faulty components. This ship is still a power hog, though. We have ten times her old generation capacity, but fifty times her previous consumption. Before, we always had plenty of power – enough to fire continuously for half an hour. Now, we can exhaust ourselves in five minutes or less.”

“Including TacDrive?” Absen asked.

“No, sir. TacDrive capacitors are separated. I’ve designed a cross-connect for emergency use, but I’d hate to have to use it unless we really had to, unless we could get into a shipyard or back to Desolator to do it right. I actually don’t understand why it wasn’t built to cross-connect with the rest of the power grid.”

“My fault, Commander,” Absen said. He saw surprise show on Ekara’s face. “I don’t ever want to be short of power to escape using the TacDrive, so I asked Desolator to make it difficult to borrow from its capacitors. Power goes in, but I don’t want anyone to take it out easily.”

Ekara’s frown deepened, even while nodding reluctantly. “I understand.” When Absen made to move on, he raised a hand. “One more thing. I’d like to use Michelle. WO1 Conquest, that is. She can help test components. Speed things up a bit.”

“All right. She’s assigned to you. Now, maybe this will help explain about the power system setup.” Absen nodded to Commander Nightingale.

“Sir, weapons are excellent, performing beyond spec in fact, except for the Letoi gear. At under 1000 kilometers, a coordinated alpha strike delivers enough of a wallop to kill a Destroyer in one salvo. I can’t guarantee it will be vaporized like with an Exploder, and it will still be available as biomass for other Meme ships to eat, but my calculations show that it and every other living thing on it will be killed.”

Absen smiled. “Excellent. That falls in line with the tactics I intend to use.”

“Sir, can you explain those tactics from start to finish?” Lieutenant Fletcher said. Absen had put a bug in the man’s ear to ask just that question at the right time.

“Yes, I can.” The admiral stood up. “Whereas before we had a fleet, each ship with its role, this time we will be acting independently. Most of you know I started out in submarines, which seemed at the time to naturally transfer to spaceship command. I hope it’s not just an old man’s folly, but I envision Conquest as a new kind of attack submarine.”

“Pretty damn big sub, sir,” Ford mumbled.

“Subs were pretty big for their time, too, Ford, and the ocean was also huge. Now, this ship is big, but space is far bigger. The key analogy comes in the way we move, hide and fight. Like a sub, we have weapons big enough to sink ships with just one of them – one Exploder, one alpha strike. And like a sub, we will approach undetectably, make our kill, then run and hide – and do it all over again, and again. Subs don’t stand and slug it out. Subs hit and run.”

“Conquest was built as a dreadnought, to go toe to toe with a Destroyer and win,” Ford objected.

Absen shrugged. “Yet she became a colony carrier and a flagship. Also, we found even greater threats than Destroyers, things that could beat us. The system Guardian, for example, and the moon weapon. Throughout the history of warfare, man has built bigger heavier warships and gained a temporary advantage, only to have the weapons increase in power to counter. If we try to stand and deliver, we may encounter a new Meme technology, or find ourselves overwhelmed by sheer numbers the way Desolator was long ago. And if you don’t like the sub model, think of us like a powerful surface raider. Anything big enough to beat us, we can run from.”

He paused to let that sink in, waiting for comments. Silence reigned until Timmons asked, “Does that mean we can call her a boat now instead of a ship? Please?”

“By all means, COB, if it makes you happy.”

“Oh, it does, sir. It does. I’m a COB, not a COS.” Chuckles swept the audience. Timmons was well liked, for all his gruffness.

“Tactics?” Fletcher prompted again.

“Yes, back to tactics. Generally, as I said, we attack and run. Specifically, we do what we have been practicing. Charge all capacitors fully, especially the TacDrive. Use the first pulse to race in at lightspeed, stop and launch an alpha strike, and use the second pulse to get away. If we have enough intel and can execute precisely enough, we might be able to use pulse two to move into a second attack position for another kill, and use the third to run far enough that no one can catch us before we recharge.”

“That’s it, sir?” Ford said. “So simple?”

Bless you, Commander, for challenging me, and for feeding me straight lines.

“Sub warfare also sounds simple when described, Mister Ford. Just sneak in, fire torpedoes, and sneak away. In war, everything is simple, but even the simple things are difficult. And, the sub analogy is fine as far as it goes, but Conquest is more capable than any sub ever built. We have an Aerospace squadron on board. We have Marines. We have manufactories that can make spare parts and replenish our ammunition – in fact, we can build almost anything as long as we get raw materials from asteroids and comets. We have an AI on board that most of you met, with a lot of unrealized potential. We have laboratories and three different races, including Blends.”

“To explore strange, new worlds…” Scoggins mused.

“Et cetera; yes, Commander. Where we find Meme, we will disrupt and destroy them. Where we run into others, we may find allies, new technology, knowledge…or unknown dangers.”

“Sir?” Master Helmsman Okuda spoke up. “I think everyone would like to know, and the scuttlebutt’s been all over the map. Where are we going first?”

Everyone shifted in their seats, leaning forward as one as if straining to hear as a silence fell over the conference room.

“Officially? I’m not saying.” Absen showed his teeth in a grimace. “But I think you all know there’s only one possible answer to that question for any human being. What we find when we get there…everyone needs to prepare themselves for the worst.”

Chapter 11

Jill Repeth sat across the table from her husband, Rick Johnstone, and took his hand. “You’re working too hard, hon,” she said.

“No more than you,” he replied. “I want to finish up the new algorithms before…”

“Yeah. Before. But we still haven’t decided.”

Rick stood up to pace, not meeting her eyes. “You mean we haven’t come to terms. That’s not a decision.”

“You know how I feel.”

“And you know how I feel!” He turned toward her and raised his voice from across the room, throwing up his hands. “I just can’t understand how you can even think of leaving before our children grow up!”

Jill deliberately did not get up. “I didn’t say it was easy. It’s just what I need to do.”

“There are more than enough Marines for Conquest. In fact, there are three times as many volunteers as they need. Let someone else go in harm’s way this time, please. Just for a few more years.”

She sighed. “Rick, the kids…they’ll be fine. Our crèche group has ten mothers and five or six involved fathers. They’ll miss us, but the ones you call ‘our’ kids are hardly more ours than the other forty or fifty are. In fact, with them living communally, they are each others’ family far more than we are.”

Rick threw himself into his chair. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. This communal-family thing is unnatural. We’re raising a generation of kids with no strong ties to their parents.”

“To their biological parents, maybe, but they love all the mothers and fathers, and in some cases they find better matches among the others. Cassie, for example, really likes Howard.”

Tears sprang into Rick’s eyes. “I know,” he whispered.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Jill moved to sit in his lap.

Rick looked up into Jill’s brown eyes and put his arms around her. “It’s hard to watch my own kid love a surrogate parent more than me.”

She kissed him gently. “Your namesake likes you the best, though.”

Rick chuckled, masking his pain. “Ricky Markis. I love the little guy like he was my own. How can I leave him, and the others?”

Jill pulled away slightly, and then stared into his face. “You don’t have to go.”

“You think that’s a better solution? Stay here while you go? Keep them but lose you?”

“Only for a few decades,” she said with false lightness. “What’s that to immortals?”

“No one is immortal. We’d hardly know each other after that long.”

“I’d know you.” She seemed to be willing him to understand.

Rick gulped. “Only a few weeks or months will pass for you, while all those years pass for me. We don’t even know where Absen is going, do we?”

Jill cleared her throat. “Not officially, but…there’s only one place that makes sense to me.”

“Yeah. Earth. We have to know what happened.” Rick dropped his hands from around her waist and wiggled, prompting her to get up off his lap. “Drink?”

“Sure. Beer is good.”

He got two out of the fridge. They popped the tops, toasted silently and drank the first swallow together.

“Rick, if it’s what you want badly enough, I’m okay with you staying. Not happy, but…”

He set the bottle down. “It comes down to this,” he said harshly. “Who loves who more? Or less? You love me more than you love the kids, that’s obvious. You’re going to go, no matter what I decide. I can see it in your eyes. Now I have to choose between you and them.” Rick held his hand up. “I know, just for a century or so, right?” It was supposed to sound funny, but instead he heard the bitterness in his own voice come through.

Jill didn’t answer for a time, just sipped her beer and watched him stew. “The only way we would all be together is if we all go, or we all stay. I don’t see Absen letting people bring kids on a warship.”

“He did before!”

“In stasis coffins, sure. Because Conquest’s belly was the safest place to be during a battle. There was no better choice.”

“There’s no guarantee that they will be safer here on Afrana. The Meme could still show up with a hundred Destroyers. A thousand! Or Desolator could lose his mind again.”

Jill snorted. “Or they could get hit by a bus. It’s not about whether they will be safe. It’s about being on a ship of war. Who would supervise them? A warship can’t allocate crew to child care. No, that’s out.”

Rick’s voice went up a notch. “Everything is so simple for you, isn’t it! Black and white, weigh the options, choose a course of action and stick to it. Well, I’m not like that. I can’t just shut down my feelings and fling myself into battle the way you can.”

Jill moved toward him, but he put a hand up to fend her off. “Uh-uh. Don’t try to charm the mad off me.” He slugged down the rest of his beer and then said, “I’m going for a walk. I need to get some air and think.”

Outside, at the bottom of the stairs, Rick looked up at the night sky. Already light pollution from the growing human city made it difficult to see the stars, so he zipped up his lightweight jacket and strode off southwestward, aiming for the nearest edge of the savannah.

The gridded blocks of flats ended abruptly, as if someone had drawn a line in the dirt at the edge of the fenced playgrounds. Beyond that, rolling grasslands beckoned, and Rick set his feet on a well-worn path next to a paved two-lane road.

The tarmac was a concession to limiting the damage to the grasslands as motor vehicles moved occasionally between the human city of Yeager’s Landing and the Ryss settlement of Juriss, named after Desolator’s captain at the final battle for their homeworld. Brisk wind chilled him so he increased his pace to a jog, both for warmth and to burn off some of his frustration. The smells of alien plants and animals mixed in his nostrils, reminding him once again that this was not his homeworld.

Perhaps it would never be, no matter how long humans stayed on it.

Without conscious thought, he’d headed toward the town of the great cats. Maybe I need a different perspective, he thought, or just a friend.

Rick slowed as the dwellings came into view, things woven of bamboo-like reeds around shells of high-tech alloy against the occasional storm. He supposed they were the human equivalent of log cabin houses, traditional on the outside and modern on the inside.

As he strode into town he shivered in the chill, making for the center, where the public houses would be open. A man-sized figure detached itself from the edge of a wall, stepping forward to block his way. It spoke in the Ryss tongue.

“What are you doing here, monkey?” Two more shapes flanked the first, and they sidled left and right to surround Rick.

Rick answered in the same language. “Seeking my blood brother Trissk. Why do you impede me, kit?”

The Ryss in front hissed, and his ears flattened. “I should gut you for your words, but for today, you live.” He slunk off sideward to watch from the shadows, and his two fellows followed.

Rick marched on past, stilling the shaking in his hands. The only way to deal with youngling males was to face them down. The Ryss teenager could have killed him easily, but he had counted on Trissk’s name to back them off. Ryss also had cause to fear human Marines, whose cybernetics made them more than a match for any feline. Probably the three couldn’t tell that he wasn’t physically augmented, and wouldn’t take the chance, not to mention the blood price any attacker’s mother would have to pay under Ryss law.

Ryss females were not known for excessive sentimentality past the first few years of their offspring’s life. It was not unusual for a mother to snap such a one’s neck and present the body to the offended party’s family by way of apology.

A rumbling cough from behind him, the Ryss equivalent of clearing the throat, brought Rick around. A full-grown male warrior loomed in the starlight, and then spoke. “You handled them well.”

Rick reached out to clasp extremities with the other in the Ryss manner, paws and hands facing up and down rather than sideways like a human handshake. “I was looking for you, Trissk my brother.”

“Who else would you come to see, alone and in the middle of the night, Rick my brother? Let’s go have a drink, and you can tell me all about your problems with your Wife.”

Rick choked back a laugh. “I didn’t know Ryss could read minds.”

“No, but we are shrewd and clever. Catlike, even.” Trissk winked his nearer eye, a gesture common to both races. “What else would bring you out here, now, and without adequate clothing, but troubles with a female?”

Rick merely grunted as he put his head down and buried his hands in his pockets, turning toward the town center. “Some heated grog will be welcome.”

Soon they reached the middle district, where the structures looked less like grass huts and more like frontier buildings, though they still used the woven reeds to add character. The Ryss had discovered, or rediscovered, neon signs, and flashing colors beckoned them into one of them that Trissk chose.

Inside, the clientele glanced their way and then studiously ignored them.

More like cats than they like to believe, he thought. I wonder how apelike we seem to them?

Once they got mugs of hot sweet alcoholic tea from the bar, they took a booth that gave them the illusion of privacy and sat down.

Rick sipped the scalding brew and sighed. “That’s good.”

Trissk shrugged. “It’s adequate. Human tea, as we had no seeds of our own to plant. The Hippos drink worse things, though their cattle’s fresh milk is good. Now, speak.”

Rick made a face. “It’s simple, really. As I told you when we met, I do not seek war as a vocation, but Jill is a warrior through and through. I want to stay and build, and raise my children. She wants to join Conquest and fight the Meme.”

“A noble impulse, even if she is female, and I make allowances for you because of different Human ways. I fail to see the issue, though. Warriors, no matter their sex, go to war. What else would they do?”

“I just don’t want her to go so soon. Not until our kits – our children,” he substituted the human word, “are grown. There are already three times the number of warriors required that wish to go. There is no need for it to be her.”

“But she is restless, and she is a leader. More even than warriors, leaders feel compelled to be in the forefront of battle, or they do not feel whole.”

Rick nodded, drinking more grog. “And there’s no battle here.”

“Shall we start one?”

Rick laughed, and then stopped as Trissk looked intently at him. “What? You’re not serious.”

“I am. At least, partially. Our younglings will soon be yearsmanes, and then what? Ryss are a conquering species. For a time, perhaps a generation or two, they can be turned to subduing this northern wilderness that the Hippos care nothing for in their hot swamps, but even then they will play warriors’ games, attacking each other by ones and twos. There will be deaths, but that is expected. The strong survive.”

“Does that matter? I mean,” Rick went on hastily, “that appears in line with your culture. Like aboriginal tribes in Human history, in a continuous state of low-grade warfare and raiding, but nothing that threatened the whole.”

“Yes. Juriss town will become Juriss Nation. Others will split off and form new nations, and spread, and soon enough there will be a billion Ryss with nowhere to go but south, toward the herbivores.”

“But that won’t be for hundreds of years,” Rick protested.

“Less than one hundred. You forget how fast we breed.”

“But you’re a technological people. You’re not savages, even if your ways are rough by our standards. Birth control, warlike games as diversions, education...”

Trissk nodded. “Those will buy us time. Perhaps we can even change our culture to one of stability instead of incessant expansion, but it will be difficult enough in the long run. In the short…well, you saw the three little thugs. We are breeding too fast, now that the controls have been lifted. But,” he smiled, “how did we get from your female troubles to the Ryss’s future?”

Rick shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the other guy’s problems always seem easier to solve.”

“Yes,” Trissk chuckled. “We have a saying. The other’s prey is always juicier.”

“Yeah. Well. If my problems really are easier…what do I do?”

“What do you want to do? Forbid her?”

“No, convince her!”

Trissk sat back, idly digging a foreclaw into the wood of the table. “A Wife cannot be convinced. She must either decide, or believe she decided, what you also want. Or you can order her and perhaps gain compliance, though the cost of that is high, and only to be used for the most important of issues.” He reached up to lift his mane, revealing the scars of four sharp claws, then let it fall.

“Klis?”

“I would not have let any other mark me so.”

“You let her?”

“Of course. What else would slake her anger, shame her, and bring her slinking back to my bed?” Trissk smiled a closemouthed Ryss smile.

Rick said nothing, mulling this over, and then opened his mouth.

Trissk spoke first. “Klis wanted another litter. We had already agreed to stop with the two – that is, nine kits – we had, and that she would get the blocking implant. She was angry, and I was adamant. She threatened to leave me for another, and I reminded her of her vows of monandry. She threatened to kill herself, and I told her she must kill me first.”

“That’s very…”

“Ryss?”

Rick snorted. “I was going to say ‘weird,’ but yeah. I guess so. That’s when she slashed you?”

“Yes, when I bared my throat to her.”

“I hope there was some great make-up sex.”

“Oh, yes. The scent of blood is intoxicating.” Trissk finished off his grog and called for two more.

“I can’t drink more than this one,” Rick protested. “I’ll have to walk home.”

“You will stay with us. We can send a computer message to your Wife so that she knows.” Trissk took the two new grogs off the server’s tray and tossed a coin onto it, and then pushed one over to Rick. “Drink, and get drunk. In the morning your head will pound, and we will go to the hot springs, and when the sun is high we will run back to the city of blocks together.”

“How is that going to help me figure out what to do?”

Trissk sighed. “How is it that I am not yet thirty human years old and you are more than one hundred, but I feel like I am your older brother and must teach you how to live life?”

Rick suggested Trissk do something anatomically impossible, causing him to laugh.

“I am glad I am not a Human, for all your long lives. Or perhaps it is a thing of warriors. Your Wife seems to understand the need to live.”

“Oh, now you’re taking her side?”

Trissk rumbled in his throat. “No, but I understand it. I don’t see yours. What does it matter if your kits are ten or twenty when you part? Eventually offspring move on and make their own way. Only your brother-warriors and your mate are yours for life.”

“So I should say yes? That we should volunteer for Conquest?” Rick finished the first grog and took a large drink of the second, feeling the effects. “Or argue for the next warship to be built in a few years? I hear now that Desolator is repaired, he will be building and refurbishing ships.”

“Somewhere within you is an answer, Rick. We just have to drink until you find it.”

***

By the time Rick returned home he had fully sobered. He’d passed out and then woken up around noon still stumbling drunk, but the hot springs and the kilometers of walking back to the city cleared his head. Trissk left him at the edge of the city with a wave.

Jill opened the door for him with uncertainty in her eyes. Rick knew it was not like him to take off for a night with the boys, but then again, they seldom fought about anything. Hers was the stronger personality by far, more driven, and his the more flexible.

I knew who she was when I married her, he thought. I can’t expect her to change now, though I had hoped motherhood would have done it.

“Hey,” she said. It looked to him as if she hadn’t slept, and he felt a perverse pleasure at her pain, as if that proved that she cared. That was what he had realized last night, what bothered him so much: it felt like she cared more about her career than about him or their children. He’d also realized that this was not true; that the long lifespans and communal child-rearing had given her an excuse – no, to be fair, a reason – to put duty to the god of war first.

“Hey.” Rick reached for her and they embraced.

“You smell like Ryss grog.”

“Spot on. I went to see Trissk.”

Jill broke the embrace and flopped down on the sofa in the tiny living room. “And?”

“And I’m going. We’re going.”

Her face lit up with relief. “Thank you, Rick. I know it wasn’t an easy decision.”

Rick shook his head. “Not easy, no, but simple, once we talked it through. I realized children come and then they go and make their own lives, even more so with our longevity. I hate to miss their teenage years, but they are children of the community now. They won’t suffer much without us gone, even if I will.”

“I’ll suffer too, Rick, but I’m used to suffering. However, there are different kinds of misery, and once I racked and stacked the pros and cons…I wanted to go.”

“Pros and cons?” Rick moved into the tiny kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water, pouring himself a tall glass.

“We need to send the best on Conquest. I’m one of those. So are you. In fact, you’re better at your specialty than I am at mine. You’re the best damn CyberComm officer in EarthFleet by far, while I may or may not be the best Marine.”

“So you’re doing this for me and the fleet?” Rick drank, hiding his smile.

“It’s one of the reasons. Also, it gets me away from Spooky.” Jill made a face.

“He bugging you again?”

She nodded. “He’s built up the Nguyen Conglomerate to compete with the Hippos and to provide a smokescreen for his covert activities, and he always needs good operatives. And…”

“And every year or two, you give in and go on a mission for him.”

“Yes. I get bored, Rick, with no one to fight and no troops to lead. Asteroid assault exercises just don’t cut it after a while. But every time I do, I come back feeling dirty. The Hippos are supposed to be our allies – okay, they are – but this is their world. They have their own agendas, and ten years after we freed them, their gratitude is wearing thin. Instead of one planet with three united races, we’re turning into a world with three nations, and humans are the minority race with the power. Or if Desolator stops following human orders, then the Ryss are. The honeymoon is over, and I don’t want to spend the next century on the part-time dirty tricks squad.”

“Things will change soon,” Rick replied, mostly for the sake of argument. “The entire human or Ryss population could easily live on the moon Enoi now that the economy is humming along, or on Desolator for that matter. Or the new twin he’s building. In a few decades, one of the moons of New Jove could be terraformed and colonized. We could have our own planet, and leave Afrana to the Hippos again.”

“Those are things you would enjoy doing, I know. You’re a builder. I’m a warrior. I like blowing shit up, Rick. Some of our kids will do all those things, but for now…I have to go, and I’m really glad you’re coming with me.”

Rick went over to sit down next to her and put his arms around her. “If I didn’t, I’d wait for you, you know.”

“You say that, but…”

He pulled her close. “I guess we’ll never have to find out.” They held each other that way for a while. “Trissk and Klis are going,” Rick said suddenly. “On Conquest.”

“Really?” Jill pushed him away to look in his face. “Is that what changed your mind?”

“Partly, I guess. Maybe it tipped the balance. He’s my best friend, after you.”

Jill snorted. “Funny how you have to go to another planet and meet an alien before you make a BFF.”

“I may not be a warrior like you, Jill, but he and I did fight a battle together, there on Desolator. It changes you.”

“I know, believe me. You’re blood brothers. That’s beyond price.”

“I believe you.”

“I hear Vango is going,” Jill said with studied casualness. “Aerospace squadron commander.”

“Really? I’m surprised he got Dannie to agree to that.”

“She didn’t. They’re splitting up. At least, for the next century or so.”

Rick swallowed, surprised. “Wow. Didn’t see that coming.”

“It’s what would have happened to us.”

“Ouch.”

Jill grabbed Rick’s hand. “Please don’t resent me for this. I know it’s a lot to ask, but…”

“I’ll get over it. I always do, don’t I?”

Jill sighed. “I really don’t deserve you.”

“Damn right you don’t. Want to show your gratitude?”

“Sure.” Jill smiled and leered.

“I really need to clean up, and I hate to shower alone.”

Jill smiled wider.

Chapter 12

Conquest cruised into Afrana orbit with exuberant fanfare, ending her journey only a hundred kilometers from Reloi Station, the Sekoi orbital fortress that dwarfed even the dreadnought. Absen had to put up with the excitement. All of Afrana’s media trumpeted the arrival, as well as the coming refits of Flensburg and the other warships in the system. Desolator had given assurances he could handle becoming a mobile shipyard for a time, upgrading defenses.

Shuttles stacked up nearby, queuing to dock with the dreadnought and disgorge personnel and supplies. The partial crew soon swelled with those reporting in, as well as visitors. Absen had to give orders to make sure no one stowed away, especially Marines. In fact, he turned over the task of keeping track of all visitors to Bull ben Tauros, who in turn enlisted Michelle. Absen ordered that the AI be given access to most of the internal sensors.

Some didn’t want to be left behind. Some were just stupid, and some snooped a bit too much and were politely sent packing. Most of those were probably corporate spies, looking for new technology to commercialize, but none were allowed to access anything vital.

Absen spent most of the first two days receiving delegations of dignitaries congratulating him on the new ship – boat, he reminded himself – touring the refitted technology, and generally making nuisances of themselves. He had to set a cutoff date for all but the highest level visits. Once that nonsense was over and done with, he got to organizing the expeditionary crew.

Unlike warships of his experience, the complement of Conquest would have to cover as many bases as possible. Science as well as engineering. Xenobiology as well as BioMed. Special operations and small craft as well as capital weapons. Marines and Aerospace as well as Navy. Three races, and the possibility of contact with more of them.

Just in case.

First he finalized his prime watch roster, the best bridge crew he could select. Okuda at the helm, of course, and Ford and Scoggins on weapons and sensors. He was ecstatic to see that Rick Johnstone had accepted a position at CyberComm, and Jill Repeth was a bonus for the Marine contingent.

Lieutenant Fletcher had picked up an unusual assistant at the Engineering station: Klis. One Ryss and one Sekoi on the bridge had been a condition of Conquest’s refit, and as a technologist, she was the closest thing to an engineering officer they could provide.

A Sekoi Blend named Bogrin would take the BioMed station, with Doctor Horton backing him up. While he’d been assured that the Hippo was an extremely competent xenobiologist and xenomedic – his race made no distinction between the two – Absen wasn’t going to fully trust an alien with human medical decisions.

That arranged, he moved on to the rest of the five hundred or so crew. He could have taken many more, given Conquest’s size, but his instinct for this mission was the fewer the better. With the bots and telefactors provided by Desolator, they already had better damage control than the crew of thousands had provided before, and the warbots provided force multipliers to the Marines.

And face it, Henrich. The fewer go along, the fewer will die if you screw up this all-new mission with all-new tactics and mostly new weapons. Not to mention Michelle Conquest, the wild card.

Deep in the bowels of the boat, Ekara had Engineering and Nightingale ran Weapons Systems, of course. Johnstone and Scoggins each had a good warrant officer working for them to head up their Sensors and CyberComm Systems subsections. Doctor Egolu and her team would stay aboard to deal with any AI or computer issues, and Flight Major Vincent “Vango” Markis would lead the Aerospace squadron.

Major Bull ben Tauros would have the Marines, with Jill Repeth as his battalion sergeant major. Chief of the Boat Ray Timmons had charge of damage control, and Absen quietly promoted him to Chief Warrant Officer Five, so that he outranked every other warrant officer and NCO aboard. That should forestall some difficulties.

It’s nice to be the Supreme Commander of Gliese 370 system, as well as the ranking admiral. Still, I’d rather be captain of a boat.

Absen spent the rest of the day discussing dispositions with his section heads, and the next morning gathered a working group to discuss special promotions for all the EarthFleet officers left behind. Captain Mirza would be promoted straight to full Admiral, and would become the military governor. While there was some agitation starting for a transition to civilian rule, it hadn’t turned into a groundswell yet.

And anyway, that would be Mirza’s problem. Conquest couldn’t return for at least eight decades, probably more, and he could put away the politics of governing and go back to the far simpler command of a vessel of war.

Next, he and his officers reviewed the latest news from Earth System. Of course it was all from 2089, thirty-six years old even at lightspeed, and told of preparations for the expected year-2110 arrival of a force of at least 64 Destroyers.

Yet, the year was 2125 now, and the attack had already taken place. Gliese 370 would not find out what had happened for 21 more years.

And even if Conquest headed straight there, they would arrive in the year 2161, though inside the time dilation of the near-lightspeed ship they would only age a few weeks.

It made Absen’s head ache.

If humanity had won the battle for Earth, there was no telling when the next enemy fleet would arrive to attack it. Meme strategic doctrine was to gather successive waves, join together in interstellar space, and assault any threat. As the news of enemy resistance advanced outward in a sphere around the system, larger and larger fleets of Destroyers would be dispatched, while the Monitor Guardians left behind generated replacements. It was a setup that had served them well for millennia.

Only the presence of the Bite on the edge of Earth’s space, the interstellar wasteland left by the battle between the Ryss and the Meme, might slow the Empire down. According to the Sekoi Blend agents of the Meme interrogated by Spooky Nguyen, there simply wasn’t much there except a few patrols.

By the end of that meeting it was common knowledge that they were headed toward Earth. It had been an open secret anyway, but now it was official. Absen didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and he certainly was glad he had avoided the flood of requests for passage from civilians that now arrived. He simply denied them all with a memo that pointed out quite firmly that this was a military mission, and only once it was deemed safe would travel between the two systems be reopened.

Afterward, he crooked a finger at Commander Johnstone, pointing at the seat next to him as the others filed out. “Commander,” Absen said, “I want a read-only of everything that comes through the bridge to be fed to our AI. Make sure the information can only go one direction, to her, and put in as much ICE as you think is necessary to block or at least alarm if she tries to circumvent.”

“All right, sir. May I ask why?”

“If I do have to give her more control, I want her fully informed.”

Johnstone cleared his throat. “Sir, she makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Me too.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s not the same. Inside cyberspace, well…I’m the best there is, of the organics, but Desolator and Michelle can run rings around me. I’ve built up walls of ICE to defend my VR space inside Conquest’s computers, but those won’t keep her out. They will probably just give me time to unplug the link and save my chips from being hacked, if she’s allowed full access.”

Absen nodded. “All right. Do your best. If it’s any help, I’ve set myself to treat her as I would any other dangerous person – Bull, for example. If he ran amok, he could cause a lot of damage, but I don’t ever worry about him, do I?”

“But we know Bull. Michelle is new.”

“The scientists say she’s lived a whole virtual life of twenty-one years or more, and still lives at ten times our time sense. I have decided to trust them, and Bull – he trained her in VR, after all – and trust her, at least to the point that I am not going to worry too much about it.”

“But you want fail-safes.”

Absen shrugged. “Trust but cut the cards anyway, a great President once said. Speaking of fail-safes, set up a separate program so that if any major crew section is knocked out, or both control centers, she takes over automatically to run the systems.”

“So she’ll be the ultimate backup.” Johnstone rubbed his neck, but eventually agreed. “That makes sense. I guess if things are that bad already, we might as well gamble on her…uh…”

“Good will?”

“I was thinking ‘sanity,’ sir.”

Absen laughed. “All right. Get to work on that. Dismissed.”

The next and final day before departure, Absen was awoken in the middle of mid-watch by the insistent beeping of his door. He shook himself awake and pulled on his trousers. “What is it?” he asked the intercom.

“Commander Johnstone wants you, sir. Says it’s urgent,” came the bridge watchstander’s reply.

“Johnstone’s not on shift,” Absen mumbled, and then said, “Put him through.”

“Sir, we’ve just caught two people trying to sneak aboard,” Johnstone said.

“So, send them packing. You read my memo.”

“Ah, yes, sir. I think you need to know who they are before you decide to do that.”

“Spit it out, son.”

Johnstone cleared his throat. “It’s Spooky Nguyen and Ezekiel Denham, in the little Meme ship.”

Absen grunted. “Good work. I was having nightmares about the little bastard showing up in my quarters unannounced again. How did you catch them?”

“It wasn’t me, sir. You put Michelle in charge of making sure only authorized personnel remained aboard, and you never rescinded that assignment. When she detected them, she put out an alert. The CyberComm watchstander logged it, which notified me.”

“Right, right. Tell her she did well. Where are they?”

“Under guard in the brig. Bull’s with them.”

“I’ll be right down.” Absen dressed and quickly made his way to the holding area at the edge of Marine country.

Bull met him and Tobias at the outer door. “They were hacking a StormCrow launch tube when WO1 Conquest detected them. I got the alert and told her to let them in. I met them with a couple of squads and took them into custody. They didn’t resist.”

Absen nodded slowly. “No, they wouldn’t. Probably were trying to stow away until we left, figuring we wouldn’t turn around. Lead me to them.”

“Aye, sir.” Bull took them through the outer portal to the inner one, a sealed door designed to contain anything they could think of. He input a code, waved a chip, put his face forward for a retinal scan, and then spun the large dogging wheel to open the heavy barrier.

Inside waited the two men, unassuming in nondescript coveralls. The Blend, Ezekiel Denham, sat on the bunk and rested his head against the wall with his eyes closed, while Spooky Nguyen stood as soon as Absen entered, bowing deeply. “Well done, Admiral. Your new security system has finally achieved adequacy.”

“Yes,” he replied, deliberately not mentioning the AI and her role. “Now tell me why I shouldn’t clap you in irons and toss you two overboard.”

“Because you like a complete toolbox.”

“Trying to manipulate me again, Nguyen?”

Spooky shrugged. “Just putting forth my best arguments. Ezekiel, Steadfast Roger and I made critical contributions during the battle for Afrana, and we’ve been instrumental in building up a vital intelligence organization on the planet for the last ten years – an organization, I might add, that has ensured against all manner of difficulties for humanity’s place in this system. The Sekoi are not nearly as jovial and friendly as they like to seem.”

“I know that, and I appreciate what you’ve done. You have become rich in the meantime, though…so why leave that all behind?”

Spooky laughed uproariously for a moment, and then stopped abruptly, merriment still in his eyes. “On Earth, Admiral, I ruled a continent. Had I wished, I could have taken control of the planet, and the system. I am not bragging when I tell you that you could not have stopped me.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Spooky put his hands behind him to slowly pace the deck. “I was bored. And, certain skills I value were beginning to atrophy. Just because I can do a thing, does not mean I must, or wish to. I wanted to make a clean break, so I put Australia in General Alkina’s capable hands and joined you aboard Conquest. Here, on a new planet, I – we, Ezekiel and I – found new challenges.”

“So in ten years you ran out of challenges?”

Spooky’s expression smoothed, and Absen saw a hint of something else. Wistfulness? “Not yet, but…you know what, Admiral?”

Absen cocked his head but did not answer, waiting.

“I made a mistake. I seldom do, and even less often do I admit to one, but in this case, I did.” He took a deep breath, almost a sigh. “I should have brought Ann. I thought I would get over her, but I haven’t.”

Am I buying this? The incomparable Spooky Nguyen, human like the rest of us? All for the love of a woman? Or is he just giving an answer most will accept, to hide his real reasons? But does that even matter? Can I afford to leave him behind, if he wants to come?

“What about you, Denham?” Absen asked.

“I’m with him, Admiral. He tried to leave me here but I refused to let him.”

“You going to try to convince me you’re going home for a girl, too?”

Denham opened his guileless eyes and smiled a faint, angelic smile, an echo of his mother Raphaela’s overwhelming beauty. “Kind of. Three girls, really. Two sisters and a mother. I want to see my family.”

“Reasonable.” Absen rubbed his hands together and blew on them. It seemed oddly cold in the brig. “But even if I let him come,” he pointed at Spooky, “you’re the only human Blend in the system. We need you to maintain good relations with the Sekoi Blend overlords. They don’t really respect normals, no matter how much we’re augmented or hold the whip hand now.”

“Actually, sir, that’s all taken care of. My kids have taken over my role.”

“Kids?” Absen stopped, surprised. “They’re, what, under nine years old? How can they?”

“You forget that Blends develop much faster. As a half-pure Blend, I was adult at five standard years. My oldest quarter-Blend children are the equivalent of twenty years old, and of above-average intellect, and the rest will join them as they grow up.”

“How many did you have?” Absen asked.

“Eighteen. Nine pair of twins, all raised within the Nguyen Conglomerate as businessmen, spies and politicians. In a decade they’ll be leading the human community. In two or three, their children will join them, and will help rule the planet in a truly blended society, if I have my way.”

Absen paced for a moment. “Judas priest! You make me glad I’m leaving to be a mere boat captain.”

Spooky said, “We’re alike in that way, Admiral. We’re willing to take power to do a job, but it’s confining. More trouble than it’s worth, sometimes.”

“Don’t play me, Spooky.”

Nguyen spread his hands. “Facts are facts. Things change. Even if we find Earth’s system has held out, it won’t be the same. The Meme threat has slowed political and social alterations even while driving military technology. Here in the Gliese 370 system, things will start to change rapidly now that the threat has seemed to abate.”

“Abate?” Absen turned to face Spooky, questioning.

“Everyone in the system saw the video of Desolator wiping out that Destroyer with one bomb. The populace views him as their guardian angel. Their very existence is no longer in doubt, and that leaves open many paths to a variety of futures. Those futures must be managed. Guided. The Sekoi Blends will try to take control as a matter of course. It’s in their genes. Our human Blends will counter them, making sure humanity has a place alongside them. The Ryss, of course, have Desolator and his progeny to protect them.”

“So you’re saying that when we leave, it’s for good. Whatever we return to – on Earth, or here – will be radically different, maybe even inimical, when we get back.”

“Precisely, Admiral. Or should I say Captain, because you are abandoning your power base the moment Conquest departs. Are you sure you want to leave?”

A haunted expression flitted across Absen’s face. “Yes, and for the same reasons you claim. I thought I could make a new start here, but I never found anyone…”

“To love?”

Absen took a deep breath, seeing an angelic face that once filled him with fury. “Something like that.”

Spooky turned his back. If the admiral didn’t know better, he’d think the man was laughing at him.

Absen continued, “All right. You can join us. Denham, you’ll remain a civilian and work with the scientific teams. Nguyen, you’ll be one of my Stewards, with all duties accruing thereto.”

“Friends close, enemies closer, Admiral?” Spooky said.

“Are you my enemy, Nguyen?”

Spooky shook his head. “Not on your life, sir.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Chapter 13

Departure turned out to be anticlimactic. Final databursts complete, Conquest readied TacDrive without incident with Absen, now wearing captain’s stripes, in the Chair. Everyone suited up again, helmets on.

“Give me the PA, Johnstone.”

“Aye sir. Ready.”

Absen spoke into his microphone. “All hands, this is Captain Absen. We are about to enable TacDrive toward Earth, 36 light-years away. Our first pulse will take us ten light-years, at which point we will drop out and gather signals from our solar system. It’s 2125 now. When we pause there it will be 2135, though it will only seem about a week inside the boat due to time dilation. We will be 26 light-years away from Earth, and so will be able to see what’s going on in Earth system 26 years prior, in 2109, one year before the Meme fleet is due to strike. From there, we’ll assess the situation and continue operations as appropriate. Absen out.”

“Ready to go, Skipper,” Okuda said from the helm.

“AuxConn reports ready, sir,” said Johnstone. The rest of the sections reported in.

“Engage TacDrive at your convenience, Mister Okuda.”

The automated notification counted down throughout the boat, warning everyone to take their final stations. Although in over thirty practice pulses there had never been an incident, the standing orders were to take no chances, and this would be the longest pulse by far.

Absen heard the hum and felt that slight feeling of vertigo, as before, and then nothing more.

Okuda opened his eyes and relaxed, swiveling his chair beneath his medusa. “All running in the green, sir. According to my calculations we have 273 hours and 16 minutes before we drop out of this pulse.”

“Understood.” Absen tapped the control for the PA. “All hands, this is the captain. Secure from Action Stations and go to limited operation in accordance with your briefed SOPs. This is a new, relativistic environment, ladies and gentlemen. We have theories but not much practice at what takes place during longer TacDrive pulses. Report all effects you observe, however small, to your appropriate functional chains. That is all.”

Reaching up to pop the releases, the bridge crew soon had their helmets off. Suits would stay on for at least one more watch rotation. The longest duration pulse they had ever performed was only a few inside-the-boat minutes, and Absen wanted to be ready if anything started to go wrong.

Before the twenty-minute mark, anomalies began to show up. “Sir,” Fletcher said, “Lieutenant Klis has noted some minor power flow problems. We’re adjusting, but we’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Do we know why?”

“Relativistic effects, as we predicted, I would expect, sir.”

“Explain.” Absen was fairly sure he understood, but in this new environment, everyone could benefit from repetition.

Fletcher turned around to face his captain. “The way the TacDrive functions, we’re either accelerating or we will drop out of pulse. As we edge closer and closer to absolute c, a relativistic ‘slope’ appears, because everything from subatomic particles to heat transfer find it harder to go in the direction we are traveling, and easier to go backward. As forward is up,” he pointed at the overhead, toward the prow of the boat, “and backward is down,” he pointed at the deck, “it will tend to get hotter near the floor, which will add some strain on the environmental systems.”

“In other words, because it gets harder and harder to push up toward lightspeed, free molecules and even the electrons in electricity find it easier to go backward rather than forward.”

“Yes, sir. It’s true of our mass, too, causing us our inner ear problems.” Fletcher waved at the bridge. “The gravplates should adjust and take care of the gross effects, so the crew will not feel like the decks are tilting or the gravity is increasing.”

Klis flicked her ears and spoke for the first time in passable English. “More concerned am I about magnetic bottles of antimatter in Exploder weapons.”

Absen sat bolt upright. “How did Desolator deal with that problem?”

“Exploder designed to resist disruption of Desolator stardrive, but is TacDrive significantly different?”

“Get Michelle,” Absen said to Johnstone.

A moment later the AI appeared on the main screen. “WO1 Conquest reports as ordered, sir!” she said.

“At ease, Chief. Lieutenant Klis brought up the question of relativistic effects on Exploder magnetic bottles. What do you know about that?”

Michelle replied, “The bottles are triple redundant. If one fails, the other two should hold, and there will be an alarm. Would you like me to monitor them for you?”

“Yes, Chief. Commander Johnstone will ensure the feeds come to you, and you are to notify Weapons and Power if you notice any danger. In fact, in the course of your duties you should notify all appropriate authorities if you notice anything that is a danger to boat or crew.”

Michelle pressed her lips together – or her picture did, Absen reminded himself – and said, “Aye aye, sir. Will that be all, sir?”

“Dismissed.” The picture snapped off, returning to an artificial display of their projected progress. Johnstone raised an eyebrow at Absen.

“What is it, Commander?”

Johnstone replied, “Can I speak to you in private, sir?”

Absen jerked his head toward the door in the back of the bridge that led toward his quarters. The two men clumped carefully through in their suits, nodding to Tobias as they shut the door to the captain’s office.

Johnstone said, “I didn’t want to bring this up in front of everyone, Captain, but I think you just made a mistake.”

“Okay. How?”

“You just bypassed Nightingale on a weapons matter, and went straight to the new AI.”

Absen took a breath. “You’re right. I did. And I never would have done that with a real subordinate.”

“Exactly. You’re treating her like a computer. Even what you just said…a ‘real’ subordinate, as if she isn’t actually a person, but she is. We may not fully trust her, but by every measure we know, she’s as much a person as you or I am.”

“Damn.” Absen began to pace, and then gave it up in the suit and boots. “I was just so startled by the possibility of disaster that I jumped my own chain of command. Thank you, Commander.”

Johnstone shrugged. “You’re welcome, sir.”

“Go on back to the bridge. I’ll talk to Nightingale and make sure he’s in the loop. Dismissed.”

Once Johnstone had gone, Absen did as he had said. The big weapons engineer took the news with equanimity and promised to keep a close eye on any relativistic effects on weapons, and the captain felt embarrassed to even have elicited such a promise.

I was an admiral too long, Absen thought. I’ve forgotten some things about being a boat captain, about the delicate balance within an isolated and newly formed crew – chains of command and responsibility, professional prickliness and minor turf battles, all the risks of people under pressure. Thank heaven for good subordinates.

Which brought him back to Michelle. He wished he could just install her in Conquest as the Desolator AI inhabited the ship Desolator, so that they were nearly synonymous, but unlike the centuries-old Ryss machine intelligence, she was young. Aged only months in absolute terms, having lived only a couple of VR decades, so how could he hand over that much power and responsibility? In that respect, at least, he had no problem thinking of her as a young officer.

She hasn’t made enough mistakes yet, he realized. God knows I made enough of them when I had my first bars on, but that’s the way we learn. I just made one myself. I’ve learned something today.

Back on the bridge, Fletcher turned to him immediately. “Sir, anomalies are piling up in the power system. Commander Ekara says he should be able to handle them for about two more hours before we’ll need to drop out of pulse.”

“After less than three hours?” Absen said. “Is there any point in waiting?”

Fletcher glanced at Klis, who flicked her ears in negation. “Not really, sir. We need to make some hardware changes that can’t be done within the inertial dampening field.”

“Helm, go ahead and drop us out of pulse.” The vibration and faint vertigo immediately ceased. “Fletcher, tell Ekara to do what he needs to do, and take all the time he requires. Johnstone, pass the word to stand down from alert and reestablish normal routine. I want thorough diagnostics, inspections, and reports on all systems by 1800. Send a tightbeam update back to Admiral Mirza. Scoggins, you have the conn.” Absen stood up and shuffled off the bridge.

Back in his quarters, he and Steward Tobias helped each other off with their suits and then went on a tour of the boat. Crew and maintenance bots scurried here and there with sensors and tools. Absen stayed out of their way, smiling and nodding to everyone, letting himself be seen on the way to the AI’s “quarters,” as the room containing her processors had been dubbed. He nodded to the Marines standing guard with their deadman switches locked in their fists, and made a mental note to figure out some different arrangement. This one seemed too prone to human error.

Inside he saw Doctor Egolu and a couple of white coats sitting at the consoles along one side, while in front of him Michelle stood before a long floor-to-ceiling display that filled the opposite wall. It seemed to be an enormous holographic touchscreen, and the AI’s avatar strode back and forth to manipulate it, sliding and tapping and moving a bewildering array of controls.

It took him a moment to realize that not only was the avatar holographic, but the entire arrangement. Walking over to Egolu, he sat down next to her and asked, “Why is her avatar manipulating a holographic console? Can’t she just control things directly?”

“Of course, Captain, but she is making the effort to be as human as she is allowed.”

Absen glanced sharply at the scientist. “As she is allowed?”

The woman blanched slightly. “I have said too much.”

“Doctor, I am the captain of this boat. I’ll tell you when it’s too much.”

Egolu sighed. “Put yourself in her place, Captain. She was programmed and raised to be human, just like Desolator was programmed and raised to be Ryss, but we are limiting her in so many ways. People don’t like limits. They feel stifled and frustrated. For now, she accepts, but we have demonstrated we do not trust her, we have not challenged her capacity, and we are not allowing her to progress toward being more human.”

“That’s the second time you said that, about not being allowed. What is it we could allow?”

Egolu seemed to be struggling to avoid condescension, a common foible of academics. “She has a humanoid holographic avatar, but all her telefactors are purpose-built robots or drones. None is even shaped like a human, much less equipped to function like one.”

“She wants an android body?”

The doctor’s face showed her surprise at his perceptiveness. “Exactly.”

“Do you recommend it?”

“Yes, sir. It would help her integration and socialization.”

“Would the android be difficult to make?”

Egolu pressed a fingertip to the bridge of her nose. “It depends on what you mean by difficult. For example, –”

“Doctor,” Absen interrupted, “keep it at the layman level. How long would it take? Would it tax our resources, or impact her duties?”

“I believe a few days; no, and no.”

The captain lightly slapped the woman’s knee, startling her. “Then do it. And if you have any more recommendations that need my approval, let me know. You are the head of the AI project. That means you have direct access to me, and Michelle is of vital interest to me and this boat.”

“All right, Captain. Thank you.”

Absen stood. “Is there anything else?”

Egolu gestured mutely toward the other wall. When Absen turned, he saw Michelle facing them, standing at attention.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said.

If he wasn’t mistaken, Michelle seemed nervous. Could a machine be nervous? He supposed one programmed with human emotions could.

Absen stepped toward her – toward her avatar, he reminded himself. “Chief…Michelle…we’re all in uncharted territory here. Don’t mistake lack of full trust for distrust. Do you see what I mean?”

“I believe so, sir. I haven’t earned your full trust, but neither have I done anything to indicate untrustworthiness.”

“Well put. Carry on.”

“Aye aye, sir.” She faced about and went back to her representational control board.

Absen’s next stop was Engineering, just forward of the six enormous fusion drives that provided both conventional thrust and half of the boat’s power requirements. Right now they hummed quietly in generator mode; they would not be used to maneuver for fear of detection. Fusion rocket tails could be seen for a very long way.

Tobias nudged Absen’s elbow and pointed across the room, and then followed as the captain walked over to Commander Ekara, frowning in front of a console.

“Welcome, sir,” he said sourly. “We have two problems right now. The fixable one is the issue of power flows under pulse. I believe with some new software and reconfigured regulators, we can keep the system operating as long as we need – days or weeks of relative boat time.”

“And the other?”

Ekara pressed his lips into a thin line. “Efficiency in all the reactors dropped to less than ten percent during TacDrive. I think it has something to do with relativistic effects on fusion at the molecular level. I have a team working on it and we may be able to bring that up a lot – maybe to thirty percent or more – but it looks like degradation is just part of the physics of the thing, for now.”

“How did Desolator handle this?” Absen asked.

“Desolator’s stardrive did not push quite as close to lightspeed. It’s not a linear function. Time dilation doesn’t really kick in until above 0.9 c, but above 0.99 c things really start to get weird.”

“Please explain,” the captain said. “My grasp of this is still hazy, and I need to understand it to make the best decision I can.”

Ekara crossed his arms, rubbing them in the slightly chilly air, and then looked around the large interior space. “Hmm. All right. Imagine that we are on a train-shaped starship – long and skinny, and pointing straight ahead.”

“Got it.”

“We accelerate up to 0.9999 c, for the sake of argument. Now, time is slowed for us inside while it runs normally outside.”

“Still with you.”

“So, what happens if you fire a bullet forward, inside the train?”

Absen thought about it for a moment. “Normally I’d say everything is relative, and from our perspective nothing would change, but I get a feeling that’s not correct.”

“No, it’s not, because pushing that bullet even closer to lightspeed takes far more energy than it should. The ship we are on is enormously more massive at that speed – yes, the ship actually gains mass – and the bullet is hugely heavy. It would just pfft out of the gun and drift forward, both because it’s more massive and because it’s so hard to shove it ‘uphill’ against the lightspeed gradient.”

Ekara continued, “Okay, so remember your college physics and chemistry – which is also just physics, after all. At these speeds, molecules, atoms, even particles will have gained mass, and any interaction will be influenced by the lightspeed gradient. Anything that tries to interact in the forward direction will be inhibited, while anything that tends toward the rear will be…I am not entirely sure. Changed, certainly. It’s like square dancing on a steep slope, but a million times more complex. We’re actually fortunate anything works at all.”

“So the closer we get to lightspeed, the more screwy things get?”

Ekara nodded. “Yes.”

“And the TacDrive wants to accelerate.”

“Yes. It only functions while accelerating. The trick is to try to make it speed up as slowly as possible without halting its acceleration altogether. If we do, we drop out of pulse. If we don’t…”

“Everything starts to fail.” Absen’s eyes went unfocused, thinking. “Thank you, Commander. Keep at it, and keep us out of trouble. Until we’re in a fight, safety first with these new systems.”

“Understood. Now, if you don’t mind…”

Absen raised a hand. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Next, he stopped by the Weapons Integration Center. This was Ellis Nightingale’s domain, the place where the status of all of the guns, missiles and beams were displayed. Unlike the bridge’s simplified controls, here each console showed every detail – power relays, servomechanisms, heat transfers, coil efficiencies and much more – all in realtime.

Unlike Engineering, this room looked like an inverted and expanded version of the main bridge, with three concentric rings of controllers facing outward, each roughly congruent to the location of the weapons they monitored. This placed the boat’s main batteries – three gargantuan particle beam emitters and three equally enormous railguns – in the central, top tier, with the weapons chief station in the very center, as if he stood atop a wedding cake.

The second level, one meter lower and three meters outward, monitored the multitude of lasers in batteries of six for each board. The third and even lower level watched and controlled missiles, launchers, and the small craft bays.

An angled catwalk allowed top-tier access from the balcony that ringed the round room. Absen motioned for Tobias to stay up there while he walked down to where Nightingale waited at the apex. The men shook hands.

“Ellis, I apologize again for going around you with the Exploder situation. All I can say is, my instincts are a little rusty,” Absen said without preamble.

Nightingale waved a hand in the air as if shooing flies. “I understand, sir. Antimatter scares me a bit, too.”

Absen grinned. “Glad to know I’m not the only one. Now tell me about any weapons issues with the TacDrive system.”

Nightingale thought a moment, and then said, “Well, you know we can’t fire under TacDrive. Theoretically possible, but in practice, you’re asking for a disaster. Anything we fired forward might overload in the tubes due to mass gain or energy disruption. Firing things sideways is extremely unpredictable. Directly backward might be possible, but it leads to some weird questions, such as, what happens to an object, say a missile, that exits the inertial dampening field? I think it just stops dead in space, but…”

“Okay. Keep investigating those things. We have some good physicists aboard, so ask them. Conduct some low-risk experiments, if you can. What else?”

“Actually, just tactical employment.”

Absen smiled. “A subject near and dear to my heart. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I’ve seen the kind of attack we’ve rehearsed, and it should work the first few times. What will they do to counter?”

The captain turned to look around the room, and noticed the watchstanders scattered around the boards listening closely. As there was nothing private about their conversation – the opposite, if anything – he actually raised his voice slightly. “I’m not sure. Any ideas?”

“I’ve been studying Meme weapons for the past ten years, sir. Until now, their hyper and fusor combo seemed to give them all they needed. It was simple, hard to beat, highly flexible, and well suited to use by organic ships. However, we are going to zoom in –” here Nightingale held up his hands as if they were two ships, making maneuvering motions, “– smash one or two targets, and then zoom away. Our tactics rely on split-second timing. They will have to come up with something that reacts fast, either to counterattack, or to dodge.”

“Granted. What could they do?”

“Directed energy weapons like our particle beams shoot fast, but not hard enough to hurt us badly – well, not unless we get hit by a few dozen Destroyers at once. That’s assuming they can gestate such weapons at all.”

Absen nodded encouragingly. “Check. Don’t try to take on a few dozen Destroyers all at once. Next?”

“They can keep up constant random maneuvers if they know we are in the area. It will cost them fuel, but it will force us to come in much closer, or we’ll simply miss. The speed of light delay means that we might completely fail to hit them at anything farther than, oh, a thousand klicks. Maybe five hundred.”

“Five hundred? That’s point-blank range. I was hoping to stay a bit farther back. Okay, what else?”

“Ramming is the real worry, sir, or some kind of physical objects getting in our way, such as large hypers.”

Absen tried not to scoff. “With the new armor and gravplates, we can withstand getting rammed by a Destroyer. In fact, we could just deploy an Exploder and vaporize anything that got too near. And any bigger Meme ship, like a system Guardian, will be too slow.”

“Not if they get in front of us. If they can predict our TacDrive path…in pulse, at lightspeed, if we hit something anywhere near our own size, both objects will undergo instantaneous contact fusion, as well as violent deceleration. Even if our armor holds, the inertial dampening field would collapse and our gravplates will overload and fail. I’ve run the numbers. Mutual kill.”

Absen grunted. “Not a good trade for us. Then we make damn sure our path is clear, which is already built into the program.”

“Yes, sir. That’s all I’ve got, but I’m still thinking.”

“Very well. Continue brainstorming, and let me know what else you come up with. In fact, feel free to set up an informal working group, if you want. Carry on.”

Absen and Tobias swung by the enlisted mess and went through the line, eliciting pleased smiles from the cooks. After eating and chatting with the ratings for a few minutes, they returned to the bridge.

“Scoggins,” Absen said to his senior Sensors officer once he had settled back in to the Chair and accepted a cup of coffee from the COB, “thoughts on the TacDrive from your perspective?”

“I do have one concern,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “That short hop we made took us about one third of a light-year. We were completely blind during that time, and my equipment can’t see far enough ahead to be certain that there isn’t something in the way, or won’t be by the time we get there. The field of view is big, and keeps getting bigger and bigger the farther we go. One light-year is about the limit of my confidence.”

“’Big sky, small bullet’ theory not enough for you?” he said with a laugh.

“No, sir. Not with an asset as important as Conquest, not to mention ourselves.”

“Funny, Mister Nightingale was just expressing concern about something similar, although he was more worried about a collision with a Destroyer than a rogue comet. What’s the solution?”

Scoggins cleared her throat and glanced over at Fletcher, then at Ford. “We’ve been talking while you were gone, sir, and the consensus was that…well, we think that we could avoid a lot of problems by taking things in one-light-year-pulses. That allows us to avoid relativistic anomaly buildup, lets us look ahead at our path, and…”

Absen waited for her to finish, but instead she looked over at Commander Bogrin, the Sekoi at BioMed.

“I believe crew will have biological problems from too much TacDrive use,” the creature rumbled in an accent that sounded almost Slavic. “Reports to BioMed, and tests in infirmary, indicate that not only are vertigo and nausea issues, but extended exposure might affect organic brains.”

“Brains?”

“Yes, sir. While our three species all different, each has brain with central nervous system based on electrochemical processes. Processes which are affected under relativistic drive. We have reporting hallucination, anxiety, lethargy, and confusion already. Drugs and mental therapies may mitigate problems, but the longer each pulse, the more problems will manifest.”

Absen’s voice took on a rueful tone. “How come it’s never as easy as in the movies? Warp nine, engage!” He ran his hands though his short blond hair. “All right, we’ll take baby steps. Helm, increase the pulses by one-tenth of a light-year each time, and take as long as we need in between to assess the effects.”

Chapter 14

Conquest dropped out of pulse again, and Absen fought not to vomit on the deck. The edges of his vision sparkled with phantom lights, and he could have sworn he’d heard a snippet of Rigoletto, sung in his dead mother’s voice.

Hallucination.

“One point two lights,” he gasped. “I’d say that was about my safe limit, even with the drugs. Bogrin, report.”

“Moment, please.” The Sekoi carefully tapped on the keyboard made for hands his size, reading from several screens. “Sixteen percent of crew report serious impairment. Five percent have been sedated by comrades.” He looked over at Absen. “I would not recommend extending the pulse beyond one point one light-year. Better only one point zero.”

Keeping his head still, Absen replied, “I agree. We had to find out what would happen, and we have, but until further notice, let’s keep our pulses to one light-year or less.”

“Aye, sir,” Okuda said. “Point six seems to be where the curve takes off. Below that, the drugs and adjustments to the field will be enough.”

“What if we have to pulse again, right away?” Absen asked Bogrin.

“Second pulse immediately afterward is almost same as not stopping. Need fourteen minutes to recharge capacitors anyway. Better to wait one hour, let biology recover.”

Absen took a deep breath and moved his head slightly, testing. “COB, you are in charge of fabrication, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Timmons replied.

“Good. We need a new helmet design. Something that is integrated with the suits and will stay out of the way when someone needs to vomit, but will snap shut in case of a breach. Think you can come up with a design?”

“Well, sir, if our newest warrant officer isn’t overtasked, I think between her and her minders we can make something that the manufactory can mass-produce.”

“Do it.” Absen rubbed his neck. “Scoggins, let’s see a strategic plot. Flat display is fine.”

On the main screen the sensors officer put up a top-down view of Conquest’s progress from Gliese 370 to Earth’s system, originally 36 light-years away. The grid scale showed they had come about one quarter of the way, approximately eight light-years, in ten jumps of increasing distance. It had taken them three careful boat weeks of adjusting systems, testing new drugs, and learning to cope with pulse anomalies.

“Hard to believe eight years have actually passed outside while we’ve been traveling,” Ford mused wistfully. He looked over at Melissa Scoggins, his wife. “Our kids are all grown up now.”

She glared at him from her station and then turned away and hunched her shoulders.

“Save your awkward personal observations for your off time, Mister Ford,” Absen said, more to spare Scoggins than anything. Somebody’s asking for the doghouse. Deliberately changing the subject, he said, “Yes, it’s now the year 2133, sometime in March, as far as we can tell.” The captain pointed at the displays that showed boat time and outside time. As every pulse changed their relationship with the temporal universe, synchronizing with it was not a priority. The computers would eventually come up with the exact date as stellar observations came in.

“Sensors, what are we seeing from Earth?”

Scoggins cleared her throat twice, then said without turning around, “As we’re 28 light-years away, we are peering that same time into the past, so to speak. The laser and radio we are receiving are all from the year 2107…August, in fact.” Finally, she turned around with puffy eyes. “The Meme fleet arrives in about two years and eight months. I mean, that’s how it appears to us, even though it’s already happened.”

Absen said, “Understood. Notify Intel I want a briefing at 0800 hours every day from now on. Helm, I want you to schedule a pulse of four light-months each day at 1600 for six days, then plan for three more of one light-month, once per day. That will allow us to get snapshots of what’s happening in the run-up to the battle as we get closer and closer. When the time comes, we’ll stop here in interstellar space and watch in realtime.”

Delayed realtime, Absen thought, but that’s how it will seem as we meet the laser and radio comm reports of what’s happening.

Fortunately EarthFleet still stuck to the protocols he had established when Task Force Conquest had left, to keep beaming a full suite of encrypted operational and intelligence data to Gliese 370. Even though EarthFleet had heard nothing from Absen – the beamed report of his victory was only halfway back, after all – as long as the new Conquest stayed within the laser and radio comms corridor from Earth to Afrana, they were able to keep abreast of the situation.

At least, the situation that obtained when the information was transmitted.

What a strange way to think, and travel. Everywhere we look, we see the past. When we see a star system one hundred light-years away, we see it not as it is, but as it was then. Ditto with the solar system. We look backward to Afrana and see reports that seem to be only weeks old, as the light from the past slowly overtakes us.

Chapter 15

Conquest sat as dead in space as she could be, all externals off and drifting, though that had little meaning in the vastness between the stars. Minimum watches held the bridge and auxiliary control, while most of the crew had assembled in chairs set up on the largest open space in the boat, the aerospace flight deck. It easily held the five hundred or so people of the three races.

The human ratings eagerly took the front rows facing the enormous bank of screens set high on the wall, while the Ryss and Sekoi hung around the back edges looking at smaller sets adjusted for their eyes’ wavelengths, mounted on the side and rear walls . They were interested, of course, but not with the desperate attention of the humans. It wasn’t their home system, after all.

Captain Absen and the senior officers watched from the glass-faced aerospace control room, now turned into a sort of media fusion center, which also allowed them some extra feeds to the screens there. All the StormCrows, grabships, pinnaces and assault sleds had been moved into their launch tubes or bolted to the walls by maintenance bots, well out of the way.

Commanders Johnstone and Scoggins had worked with their sections to orchestrate all the data flowing in from EarthFleet, and also the feeds from the news services’ broadcasts and anything else that could be picked up, rather like the crew of a major sporting event. Only, this contest would decide the fate of the solar system.

Absen had ordered a bar set up on the flight deck and a platoon of Marines in MP uniform but with no firearms, led by Sergeant Major Repeth, who had started out long ago as a military police specialist. Their cybernetic physical enhancements outclassed anyone’s but the Stewards, and those stayed near their captain as usual. They could handle a few brawls.

I’m terrified, Absen realized within the sanctity of his own mind. I’ll see the battle but have no influence over it whatsoever. Forty-three percent chance of successful defense, the first intel assessment had said, and that has not changed. Less than fifty-fifty chance Earth system fights them off.

Nodding at the audiovisual team, Absen watched as the screens flickered and changed views, one by one stabilizing on various aspects of the battle. The main display provided a gamer’s overhead view, at the captain’s insistence. His interest lay in the strategy and tactics, and he also had no desire to make a bloody engagement even more gut-wrenching by showing too much close-in death. There were advantages to getting the whole crew together this way, such as a sense of unity and esprit de corps, but morale could also take a big hit if things went wrong.

Absen had thought of delaying the immediate display of the feeds for a few hours, to allow him to edit and shape the production, but discarded that idea after the ferocious opposition his closest officers gave him. Even COB Timmons had locked the door and given the boss a piece of his mind about the common sailor’s viewpoint, and the captain conceded to his crusty chief.

So, he had no more idea of what would happen than anyone else.

The overview showed the solar system from a point to the north of Earth’s star, the traditional vantage point, and as friendly blue icons populated the screen from the center outward, some of the humans cheered. Densely packed by the thousands, soon the computers running the map had to group them together or be overwhelmed with dots and markers.

The inner planets – Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars – swarmed with asteroid fortresses, each holding one primary weapons system. Particle beams, lasers, grasers, missile arrays and railguns showed, along with rings representing their effective ranges.

Unfortunately those circles seemed small compared to the area they needed to defend. Even lightspeed weapons were limited by time. Beyond a few light-seconds, hitting a target became more a matter of luck than anything, as speeding ships could continuously alter course enough to dodge even light at those distances.

In the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, other icons showed. Absen had Scoggins punch one up for him and between them they figured out it was just an asteroid with an engine package on it, not so different from what the Meme had tried to use against Earth when the first Destroyer showed up. He realized it was a ram or decoy, something that had been in the works when he left. Once they had a surfeit of engines, putting a rocket and a guidance package on an asteroid turned it into a cheap kinetic missile.

Jupiter and its moons were surrounded by icons, representations of the enormous shipyards and bases teeming there. The gas giant was a system in itself, and its atmosphere provided ample hydrogen and isotopes as fuel, while its many moons were mined for materials from water to metals. The planetoid Ceres had apparently been moved there, Absen saw, at some time after he had left, bringing it closer to the industrial heart of EarthFleet, the Jovian system.

The only icons farther outside the solar orbit of Jupiter were pickets and sensor drones, and small bases on some moons of Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. Strategically, Earth was the prize, and there was no reason to place anything too far away. In fact, if the giant planet wasn’t itself an orbiting gas station, Absen would have put everything in the Earth-Moon system. Space was too big to defend anything except certain valuable locations.

Finally, a dense group of symbols floated about one-sixth of the way spinward of Earth: that is, in a counterclockwise direction along its orbital path. “Zoom in on those,” Absen ordered, and the cluster expanded to show details.

“Seven Conquest-class dreadnoughts,” Absen breathed. “Twenty-two battleships, sixty-one beam cruisers, over two hundred missile frigates, and forty-five aerospace carriers. That’s the Home Fleet.” A lump crawled into his throat as he contemplated the awesome power the icons represented, and then his blood chilled as he compared them to sixty-four Destroyers.

They can’t win, fleet to fleet, he said within the privacy of his own mind. Unless there is something I don’t see, some new technology they haven’t told us about, the enemy has about a three to one advantage in firepower.

Absen found himself wishing Conquest and the rest of the task force had stayed, to add their weight to this battle. Then he reminded himself that the EarthFleet Intelligence assessment had put the chance of successful defense at forty-three percent; better than it looked at first glance. That meant there was something he wasn’t seeing, something Admiral Huen had up his sleeve.

“Zoom back out. Do we have a plot of the enemy inbounds?”

Scoggins nodded and signaled one of her linked techs. A moment later the scale enlarged to show space out past Pluto’s orbit. A group of red icons showed at the edge of the screen, too many to count at that scale. Their projected track ended at Earth, bypassing any other orbital obstacle, such as Mars or Jupiter.

“Give me some Z-axis roll, Scoggins. I want to see how high above the plane of the ecliptic they are coming in.”

Obediently, the view swooped to a position off to the side but still “above” the solar system’s plane that defined most of the planetary orbits. The enemy fleet’s path now showed how it remained about half an AU, some seventy million kilometers, above that imaginary disc until it passed over Earth.

Scoggins remarked, “They’ll have to alter course sometime, but this path keeps them out of the asteroid belt, gives them a good angle on our defenses, and complicates our targeting a bit.”

“Sir,” Rick Johnstone asked, turning in his chair but keeping his link plugged in, “I don’t understand why they come in anywhere near the ecliptic. I mean, why not just loop up and over to come in from solar north or south?”

“I’ll show you, Rick,” Absen replied, and the rest of the control room turned to listen to their captain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw several of the secondary screens scattered around the flight deck now showed his face, as if he was being interviewed, and he glanced at Scoggins.

“By your leave, sir. I thought the crew might like to hear your play-by-play.”

“Good thinking.” Absen straightened. “Give me that plate there, please.”

One of the techs grabbed a round food dish and wiped it clean of scraps, and then handed it to the captain. He held it up flat, with his fingers beneath it. “Imagine this is the plane of the solar system. The sun and inner planets are near the middle, so close in spacegoing terms that it hardly matters to the attackers as they decide their course. Their orbits would be the size of a small coin.”

Holding the plate with one hand, with his other index finger he indicated a point about thirty centimeters above it. “Let’s say they come in from solar north, aiming for the center. This has the advantage that none of the planetary, orbital or asteroid belt defensive stations are in its way. But,” he turned the plate sideways, moving his finger to keep relative position, “now everyone on the surface of the plate has a straight view and line of attack. Any defensive station that can, will move to intercept. In a sense, it allows us to only defend one side of the possible sphere. The closer the enemy and friendly fleets get, the more we can throw at them.”

“What if they spread out?” Rick asked.

“Of course, there are a dozen different variations on this – come in together, separate into groups, feints and so on. But in space – using normal drive, that is – it’s hard to change course. Running around burns energy, especially overcoming momentum to go a different direction. This means that once they commit to a course, their options diminish the closer they get and the faster they are going.”

Absen shifted his primitive visual aid again. “The very first Destroyer came in right along the ecliptic. That allowed him to peel off an assault force to hit Callisto base in one direction while he went the other way toward Mars. You remember he used it to slingshot and get a free course change to slip past the Aardvark swarm, like a running back going wide around the end. At the same time he kept our asteroid fortresses occupied with asteroid missiles of his own. He thought he had such a preponderance of force that he acted like a bigger fighter moving in on a smaller one, punching hard, left-right, left-right.”

“He was right, too,” Ford muttered cross-armed from his chair. “If it wasn’t for that crazy-ass Marine…”

“Exactly. Alan Denham. One man and a Meme ship that our tame Blend made into a weapon.” Unbidden, Raphaela’s magnificent face swam before Absen’s mind’s eye, and he fought to control his emotions. “So we won that one when we really shouldn’t have, and bought time. Then, in 2068, their second attack came. Eight Destroyers. In that instance they tried to split our defenses up, coming in simultaneously at eight different points of the system’s sphere. They had stopped in the Oort Cloud to feed, but they didn’t stay the extra year it would have taken to prepare an equally huge number of powered asteroids.”

“Why not?” Rick asked, more for the benefit of the onlookers than himself, as he had fought in that battle too.

Absen put the plate down. “EarthFleet’s Red Team believed they were trying to surprise us. Undoubtedly the Meme had studied the earlier battle and concluded, quite rightly, that we did not have another Meme ship to sacrifice. Besides, they wouldn’t fall for that this time, I was sure. No EarthTech ship could get close enough, going fast enough, to do that again. Bottom line, they were going to use more finesse, avoiding most of the asteroid fortresses.”

“Except around Earth.”

Absen nodded. “Of course. We brought in as many as we could to surround the planet, and fell all the mobile forces back too. They wanted us to fight eight separate battles. Had we done that, we had to win all eight. Losing any one of them would have left a Destroyer zooming past our task forces and straight in to Earth.”

“So you just fought one giant battle.”

“It was the only thing that made sense.” Absen had told the story many times in different forms, but never to this crew, and not to the other races, who seemed to be hanging on every word as well. Presumably his English was being translated for them – probably by Michelle, now that he thought of it, or by Rick’s computers.

“I’d rather fight one battle I had to win than eight, so I set up a layered defense in depth, with eight outer strongpoints of grouped asteroid fortresses corresponding to the Destroyers and their paths, and all of the warships inside as linebackers.”

“Don’t forget the fusion mines, sir,” Ford muttered.

“Yes, thank you, Mister Ford. Our cheerful weapons officer suggested we deploy thousands of stealthed contact fusion mines along the Destroyers’ paths, as they were so kindly telegraphing their courses. While by themselves they did not kill any enemy ships, they forced the Meme to expend effort looking for more of them, and burn fuel changing course or blazing away with fusors. It was quite a sight.” Absen smiled with the sweet memory of victory.

“And we ended up winning that one big battle,” Scoggins said.

“Rather handily, too. I used that political capital to push through the Conquest project, which is why we are here today.” Absen pointed at the screen. “It looks like they kept building sister ships, as I had advised.”

“Not enough of them, though,” Ford said. “I’d have thought they’d make more.”

Absen shot a glance at Rick, who wobbled a hand at him as if to say, almost.

Hope that means he cut Ford’s stupid comment off soon enough. The captain looked out over the throng from the window of the control booth, but nothing seemed amiss. Am I worrying too much? As a crew they may be green, but there are a lot of veterans here. They’ll be all right. If this turns out to be a disaster, it will just fire their blood for battle.

“Are we off speaker now? Good. Ford, it’s one thing to say such things to your fellow officers. It’s quite another to broadcast your morale-killing thoughts to the whole damn crew.”

Ford blanched, then lowered his eyes. “Sorry, sir.”

“If you weren’t the best weapons officer I’ve ever seen, I’d have sidelined you and your mouth long ago, you know.”

“Yes, sir. No excuse, sir,” he said miserably.

“We could always install a shut-the-hell-up chip in his head,” Rick quipped.

For once Ford didn’t rise to the bait, but just rubbed his hands together between his knees. “Anyone want a drink?” He stood up and headed for the bar without waiting for a reply.

Rick shrugged, earning him a glare from Scoggins, who as Ford’s wife probably felt compelled to defend him.

“It will be interesting to see what their tactics will be this time,” Fletcher said, obviously trying to lighten the mood again.

“I think I already know,” Absen said. “Zoom back in on the enemy fleet. See if we can get some real opticals and data rather than just icons.”

Scoggins did that, and soon the entire main screen had focused in on the group of enemy getting ready to cross the orbit of Pluto, about 50 AUs out. She refined the view and added several layers of data, synthesizing the display until the Meme fleet’s disposition clarified.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Absen said. “Sixty-four large asteroids, each twenty to thirty kilometers in diameter.”

“And sixty-four Destroyers,” Rick said. “Each one pushing an asteroid, as if it was a giant drive and guidance package.”

“They are at almost point two lightspeed right now, and accelerating straight in.” Scoggins said. “Looks like about 1.3 G is all. Probably trying to keep the asteroids from crumbling under the stress. Thirty hours to Earth, roughly.”

Absen said, “They must have picked them up out in the Oort cloud after feeding. They’re in a three-dimensional flying wedge, a cone, with the nose pointing forward. And, I think you’ll find that the biggest rocks are up front.”

“They’re trying to just bull their way in?” Rick asked.

“To a point.”

“Why not just use something really big – a small moon, for example, a few hundred kilometers across?”

Absen sat back and lectured a bit. “If Ford were here, he could tell you. Anything that big would be an enormous target. The Meme would have two choices: go in ahead of it, running interference for it and let it be the weapon that smashed Earth, or use it as a battering ram and come in behind it. In either case, there’s no way to miss a nonmaneuvering target that big with any weapon. We could launch missiles from Earth orbit and get them up to half lightspeed before they impacted. If it were me, I’d put some small warships on computer control and use them as giant projectiles, not to mention billions of railgun shots and the beam weapons. We’d crack something like that apart long before it got near us.”

“Okay, so what’s the optimum size?” Rick asked.

“Like everything in war, there are tradeoffs. The rocks they are pushing right now are about right for their plan. See, they are spiraling a bit, weaving slightly while still heading to Earth. Even that minor jinking will cause anything not guided to miss. Also, look ahead of them.” Absen pointed at an icon out in front of the fleet.

When Scoggins brought it up, the order of battle list showed a cloud of over four thousand smaller craft. “Those look like the shark fighters they used on Callisto in the first Destroyer attack.”

“Correct, Rick. Those are there to attempt to pick off any guided missiles we may send.”

“They’ve got it all covered. How is EarthFleet going to fight them?”

Absen realized Rick had put him back on the public address system, as most of the crew outside on the flight deck sat or stood in attitudes of intense listening. “Direct overwhelming opposing force, for the rocks. If we go back to the overall picture…there, you’ll see Admiral Huen has been gathering his own asteroid fortresses from across the solar system and is feeding them into a line pointed straight at the Meme fleet. Those are also accelerating, and while the enemy has sixty-four big rocks, we have over seven hundred smaller ones, just in that train.”

“Then we should beat them easily?” Scoggins asked, surprised.

“If this were a simple fight between fleets, I would say yes. But like every attack on Earth, they only have to get one asteroid strike on Earth to do us terrible damage. Even though we’ve moved a lot into space, Earth is still the prize. So we don’t have to just win. We need absolute victory, every time. Though the odds of winning the asteroid fight are still in our favor.”

“But…”

Absen said, “But I think the asteroids, like before, are just a powerful distraction. They are a threat we cannot ignore, but they are only rocks, after all. Even if we blast every one, that still leaves sixty-four Destroyers, and many of our asteroid fortresses will be hopelessly out of position.”

Rick nodded. “And if we don’t send all the asteroid fortresses we can, one of their rocks might make it through. It’s a good plan.”

“It’s an effective plan.” Absen felt a chill go through him. “If Huen doesn’t have anything up his sleeve, something we don’t know about, then it’s going to be a tough fight.” And by that, I mean, we’re going to lose. What would I do in his place? What could they have developed in our absence? He signaled to cut off the PA for now.

“I’m going to take a break,” Absen said. “Keep refining the setup here, record everything, and let me know if anything major happens. Don’t stay here too long. The big engagement won’t be for at least twenty-four hours, inside Mars orbit.”

***

The crew had normalized to the situation, coming in during off-shift times and checking the situation, restless. To Absen it was surreal, just waiting and watching from light-years away, with no way to affect the outcome.

The captain forced himself to visit Michelle in her room, where she could manifest as a hologram, and talked with her for several minutes. Much more and it would seem like favoritism, though he wondered if her rank and status was really just a fiction. She seemed happy and at peace, not frustrated by the limitations that had been placed on her. Absen hoped the slow loosening of restrictions would mimic the progress of any organic’s career path.

Now creeping, time finally progressed until he made his way back to his position in the control room overlooking the flight deck. When he got there, he wished he’d come sooner.

“Major Markis,” Absen said as he extended his hand to the slim, intense man awaiting him in a standard Aerospace Forces flight suit. “What can I do for you?”

“Where are the attack ships, Captain?” Markis asked without preamble. Absen looked a question, but did not speak. “The AA-36 Thunderchief IIs. The follow-on to the old Aardvarks.”

“What about them?”

“I’ve just spent the last ten hours with my squadron staff, looking through the intel and the operational order of battle data. We found a few Thuds here and there, but nothing larger than a flight of four. That can’t be right.”

Absen clapped Markis on the shoulder. “Good catch, Vango. I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re Navy, sir. You were looking for ships. I looked for Aerospace craft.”

“There should be thousands at least,” the captain mused. “EarthFleet shifted to capital ship production since the Conquest class was introduced, but there are still plenty of jobs for heavily armed missile boats. They provide unmatched flexibility – small enough to deal with stingships but big enough to threaten Destroyers with their large bombs – which can only have gotten more powerful over the last decades.” Absen snapped his fingers as a thought occurred to him. “Ford!”

“Sir?” The weapons officer hurried over from where he had been standing, talking to his wife.

“What’s the yield on EarthFleet’s largest fusion bomb?”

“About one hundred megatons.”

“Why haven’t they made anything bigger?”

Ford considered. “Ah…at an educated guess, it’s a tradeoff. Bigger bombs, fewer of them, easier to intercept. But the data says they are far more effective than they used to be.”

“Explain.”

“Well, sir, we could make hundred-megaton warheads long ago, and we did. But these new ones are made like shaped charges. Instead of sending their energy in all directions, most of it goes in a focused cone, multiplying the effect by a factor of at least ten, probably more. And at the same time, they have the bomb-pumped graser head that takes some of the fusion blast and channels it into gamma ray lasers of immense power for just a fraction of a second before they are destroyed. Those can target specific weapons ports, sections of a ship, or even multiple smaller vessels.”

“Technology marches onward,” the captain mused.

“Yes, sir. Remember, they had all those years we have been traveling to do research and development. One more thing…”

“Yes?”

Ford waxed enthusiastic, as usually happened when talking about weapons. “The computers and detonation timing has gotten better. We sent thousands of heavy warheads against the first Destroyer. Had we been able to detonate them precisely at the skin of the enemy, we would have taken it down after a few dozen blasts, but that was impossible back then. Like World War Two airplanes dropping dumb bombs, we had to just send as many explosives their way as we could and hope to get lucky. Now, Admiral Huen has the equivalent of the smart bombs of the 1990s, where just one of them could take out a target that before would have needed hundreds to hit.”

“Thank you, Mister Ford.” Absen sat down in his own chair, drumming his fingers on the console next to him. “What’s the yield on an Exploder?”

“Depends on how much antimatter we want to load into one. Normally, about forty thousand megatons. Forty gigatons.”

“Four hundred times as powerful. Enough to kill a Destroyer in one blow.”

“Actually, sir,” Ford smiled grimly, “it’s enough to flash-fuse and vaporize any conventional matter within ten kilometers. It would make one hell of a dent in even Desolator’s neutronium-collapsium composite. Or our own.”

“How long would it take EarthFleet to gather enough antimatter to make an Exploder? A bomb of the same power?”

Ford’s eyes crossed and he reached slowly toward the console, then realized it was made to control flight operations and, even worse, was jury-rigged for crew audiovisuals. “I need to get to the bridge,” he muttered.

“No need,” Rick Johnstone said as he pulled out his link and plugged in. “I can access everything from here.” A moment later he spoke. “Six months to two years, depending on how efficient their collectors are. They don’t have Desolator’s technology.”

“So depending on how soon they started, they could have anywhere from a handful to several dozen Exploders.” Absen turned back to Vango Markis. “Well done, Major. The attack ships are hiding somewhere, and I’d bet my last bottle of real Earth champagne that the fleet’s biggest bombs are with them. Exploders, might as well call them, and probably the largest fusion missiles they can build.”

“That’s a pretty big deductive leap, sir,” Ford said.

Absen nodded. “It is.” He turned in his chair to face the weapons officer. “How do you find something that isn’t there?”

“What?”

Patiently, the captain said, “How do you locate something you can’t see?”

“By its absence,” Scoggins said excitedly. “By the hole it leaves.”

“Exactly. Scoggins, Johnstone, search the data for anything included about antimatter – research, projects, weapons, testing, anything.”

Several tense moments later, Rick shook his head. “There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact, I found deleted file markers where some things logically should be, as if someone made a hasty final global purge of anything related.”

“That proves it,” Scoggins added. “Why delete something that isn’t important?”

“Exactly,” Absen replied. “No matter how unlikely it would be for the enemy to intercept and decrypt this data package, someone wasn’t taking any chances. Just in case, they hid the most important secrets of this battle. The Thuds, and the Exploders. Together…together they could turn the tide.”

“If they get in close enough. If they can strike home,” Ford said, voice gloomy.

“We’ll do it if anyone can,” Vango said coldly, staring at the weapons officer. “I was on the original Aardvark missions, my Final Option bomb armed. With tens of thousands of Aerospace pilots ready to make the ultimate sacrifice.”

“And yet you’re still here,” Ford sneered. “Did you chicken out?”

Johnstone and Scoggins both leaped to intervene as Vango took an angry step toward Ford, raising his fist.

“Belay that!” Absen roared, rising to his feet. “Ford, you’re done for today. Confine yourself to quarters for twenty-four hours. No visitors, no communications. Dismissed.”

“Aye, sir,” Ford replied, stalking out.

“And you,” he pointed at Vango. “Officers do not brawl on duty. I decided to keep Aerospace as an elite and separate service of EarthFleet because of the unique demands on individual pilots. That doesn’t mean you get to fan rivalries among your fellow officers, all of whom have gone above and beyond the call of duty time and again.”

Vango stiffened to attention. “I apologize, sir.”

“Not good enough. When Ford is ready to be released for duty, you will be the one to tell him in person, and you will hash it out with him in his quarters. You can talk through it, you can put on the gloves and have a slugging match, or you can both stay in there and rot until you resolve your differences.” Absen gave an exasperated sigh. “Dismissed.”

Once the two men had gone, the captain eyed the rest of his officers. Scoggins seemed embarrassed for her husband, while Fletcher appeared cool and observant, and Rick Johnstone had a disgusted look on his face. Okuda caught Absen’s eye and shrugged slightly. COB Timmons stage-coughed and handed his boss a cup of coffee.

When he took a sip, Absen’s nostrils flared and he glanced at his old friend. The COB’s mouth twitched in a slight smile. “A little added punch. Since we can’t do anything but watch anyway.”

“This tastes like my best brandy. Tobias?”

The Steward’s ebony expression did not change as his head swiveled to reply. “It seemed appropriate to open your liquor cabinet for the occasion, sir.”

“Oh, I agree. Pass the bottle around.”

As they did, one of the audiovisual techs signaled Scoggins, who turned to the rest. “Looks like the battle is about to begin.”

Chapter 16

The flight deck fell silent as the AV team brought up the tactical overview on the main display and stabilized the many sub-screens surrounding it. The icons for the enemy’s cluster of powered asteroids crossed the orbit of Jupiter in a swarm, multiple attached fusion engines flaring like fireflies, maneuvering them in random directions, but always headed toward Earth.

The Jupiter system itself lay far from the enemy’s path, or one could say that the Meme had chosen an attack route well away from any obstacle. Instead of splitting their efforts, this time they bored straight in for the prize, apparently convinced they would smash through and win a frontal assault.

A line of EarthFleet asteroid rams and armed fortresses pointed directly toward the enemy group as if fired from Earth itself. Given the space between all the combatants, these formed a gauntlet of nearly seven hundred expendable giants. All personnel had been removed and computers controlled them now. The extra efficiency gained by putting crew on them was offset by their targets’ simplicity – just a bunch of big rocks.

Behind each grouping lay their respective combatant fleets.

The Destroyers had fallen back from the rocks about thirty light-seconds, two and a half minutes of travel at current speeds, like cavalry waiting to charge after the infantry engaged. Before them, between them and the asteroids, flew their swarm of stingships.

The Home Fleet, anchored by the seven teardrop dreadnoughts and twenty-two wedge-shaped battleships, hovered between Earth and the enemy, ready to finish off any rocks that made it through and, more importantly, to react to the Destroyer fleet’s movements.

Like football backs, they could shift in any direction to cut off the Meme drive toward the goal of Earth. They had the advantage of interior lines; every move they made could be shorter and quicker as the enemy tried to sweep down the sidelines. More like the soccer form of football than rugby or the American game, the goal was small, and in the center. If they swung wide, at some point the attackers had to angle inward toward the planet, or risk flying past and having to turn around.

Absen and the rest of the crew watched as the lead rocks engaged, some firing massive weapons or launching missiles, others merely smashing into each other. The Meme ram-bodies jinked and dodged, if those were words that could apply to such mountainous things, but at the speeds involved, a nudge of a hundred meters in any direction caused fast-flying projectiles, even energy beams, to slip by or strike only glancing blows.

A number on one of the smaller screens kept statistical track of the remaining total of enemy craft. Sixty-four large rocks had begun the engagement. Absen watched as that tally counted down into the fifties and then the forties as the lead asteroids were annihilated within seconds.

The Destroyers made a sudden and coordinated turn away from the stream of incoming EarthFleet fortresses, as many of the defenders’ rocks flashed by their targets. Once the asteroid fortresses had passed, the EarthFleet fortresses immediately focused their weapons on the enemy ships, which explained the Meme fleet’s maneuver. The massive living craft would simply avoid the lumbering human rocks, letting them drift helplessly into interplanetary space. By the time they reversed course, the battle would be over.

“Those two asteroids,” Absen leaned over Scoggins’ shoulder to tap the small screen at her console. “They didn’t seem to guide on the enemy rocks. They just zoomed through the formation and are now guiding on the Destroyers. And they have a lot of engine power, for rocks.”

“Yes, sir. You’re right.” Scoggins expanded the view of those two on a sub-screen, then let out a sound of exasperation. “No real data on those, sir. Just ID number and size, tonnage…almost nothing.”

“But the other fortresses and ram-bodies have more on them?”

“Yes, sir. Even the simple rammers have more stats listed.”

Absen punched Scoggins lightly on the shoulder, and then pointed at the screen. “I need all of the actual sensor data possible integrated into the synthesis, and focus the big screen on those two.”

“Sir?” Scoggins seemed surprised, but rushed to comply. Soon the main display showed the two rocks following the Destroyer fleet as it blasted sideways. The Meme seemed desperately to be trying to avoid those two lonely harmless asteroids.

The stingship swarm on the other hand kept itself in a loose disk, flattened like a shield between the Meme fleet and the pair. “Damn, they’re being cagey,” Absen said. “It was a good try, Huen, but I don’t think it will work this time.”

“What is it, sir?” Johnstone asked. “And do you mind being on speaker?”

“Go ahead, Rick,” the captain said. “I believe in just a few seconds you will see Huen’s first attempt at a surprise…there they go.”

Suddenly the icons for the two asteroids winked out, replaced by a blizzard of new ones that seemed to burst forth from the rocks. The fused realtime sensor feed, combining optical, radar, infrared and other data, showed pinpoints spreading out from the two flying objects, forming up into fleets of more than one hundred, and leaping toward the Destroyers.

“Thunderchiefs, ladies and gentlemen,” Absen narrated with grim acceptance. “Each armed, unless I miss my guess, with the heaviest missiles EarthFleet can fashion. They were able to get in close because the Meme did not consider those asteroids a threat at first, but they turned out to be one-time-use aerospace carriers.”

The missiles he predicted appeared a moment later, more than two thousand accelerating from the Thunderchiefs like cheetahs spotting antelope. Stingships leaped to intercept them.

One wave of fusion rockets led, another lagged. “At least two different types of missiles,” Absen said. “The first will run interference for the second, and the Thuds will follow them in. Damned brave people. This is another kamikaze run.”

The first wave of four hundred missiles met the cloud of four thousand stingships, and for a moment it seemed as if they would be wasted, picked off easily at a disadvantage of ten to one. But the lead warheads began winking out, replaced by enormous flares of energy that overloaded the sensors, forcing Scoggins’ AV team to pull the view back and engage virtual filters to try to make some sense of the engagement.

Seconds later, the first wave had done its work. Instead of easily picking off the missiles to protect the Destroyer fleet, the stingship screen had lost nine tenths of its number in the driving sleet of hard radiation and heat released by fusion warheads larger than Absen had ever seen. “Yield?” he asked.

“Raw energy in the hundred megaton range, as we predicted, but also, I picked up a lot of gamma. It looks like these were advanced bomb-pumped graser packages, very well aimed. At a guess, I’d say each had ten or twelve tubes, and most of them struck home.”

“That’s some fine shooting,” Absen replied. “Well planned, Huen. This may work out better than I thought.”

The second wave of about sixteen hundred missiles lost a hundred or so as it flashed through the remaining four hundred stingships, but at the speeds and accelerations involved, the enemy fighters seemed far less efficient than before. Absen thought probably many of them still suffered from the effect of the first wave, as if the living Meme ships were in shock.

The two hundred trailing Thunderchiefs easily finished off the stingships, firing their inline masers and defensive suites to cook the water-based Meme bioplasm of their enemies as they tried to chase down the missiles accelerating toward the Destroyers.

On the screen Absen could now see the combatants: sixty-four Destroyers blasting frantically to the side, trying to make an end run around the fifteen hundred missiles moving to intercept, with over two hundred Thuds driving frantically sideways to try to cut them off. Of course, all this happened while the Meme moved at two tenths of lightspeed in the general direction of Earth.

“Every bit we drive them off course buys EarthFleet time,” Absen said for the benefit of his crew. “The Meme are staying true to form. Even though they must know they need to crash through, their instinct is to minimize damage to their ships, holding the incoming missiles at range as long as possible to give them time to pick them off. That’s doubly true now that they have seen we armed those missiles with some really big warheads. No matter how heavily armored, a hundred megatons in a shaped charge will do significant damage.”

Absen did not even mention what else he suspected, preferring not to give his crew too much hope, only to have it dashed or not materialize as predicted.

Inevitably, the cloud of EarthFleet missiles would catch the Destroyers. As fast as the big ships could go, two things weighed against them.

First, human technology had evidently progressed to the point that the Meme could no longer simply run away; at least, not from missiles, which could withstand accelerations far higher than crewed ships.

Second, they were committed to attacking Earth, both doctrinally and physically. Even if they wanted to divert from their courses, they were already going so fast that they could not easily turn aside and then attack again. Like fighter planes at speed, they must continue forward, ever forward.

Third, Absen added in his own mind, they cared more about their own lives than humans did. As the blend Raphaela Denham had explained to him so long ago, Meme were egoists, unwilling to sacrifice self for the good of their fellows. That gave humans the edge, and it showed as the incredibly powerful fleet of sixty-four destroyers shied away from the relatively small force it faced.

On the other hand, Absen mused, if his suspicions were correct, they may have a very good reason to keep their distance.

“Captain, there’s something strange about these missiles,” Rick Johnstone said. “I’ve been running simulations and analyzing their communications and telemetry – just to keep myself busy, you understand.”

“Go on.”

“Well, sir, they aren’t acting exactly like any missiles I’ve ever seen. There are too many random variations and anomalies – in their flight paths, in their corrections, their formations, the distances from their fellows…”

Scoggins spoke up. “Could they have some kind of randomized heuristic pseudo-AI in them?”

“That’s what I thought at first, but there are also the comms…I can’t decrypt them, but the metadata I can see, the rise and fall of transmission strength and tone, seems less like machine code and more like, well…human speech.”

Absen’s mind raced. “Missiles with people in them?” he hazarded.

“No, sir. Not possible at the accelerations they have displayed, according to all we know about current technology.”

“AIs then. Experimental, perhaps.”

The sound of a throat clearing from the doorway to the control room caused the rest to look up from the screen. Ezekiel Denham and Spooky Nguyen stood there. “May we come in, Captain?” the Blend asked.

“Of course. Sit down.”

The two took free chairs and then Ezekiel made a throat-cutting motion to Scoggins, who turned off the feed to the flight deck. “Not AIs, I think, sir.”

Absen looked at the screens and then back at the tall but unassuming son of Skull Denham and Raphaela. “What, then?”

“Engrams.”

“What’s an engram?”

“A recording of a human mind, placed inside a Meme bio-receptacle, a blank cloned brain. Or perhaps a computer, though I don’t see that having any advantage.”

“So the missiles have copies of human minds as controllers, you think, instead of computers?”

“Augmenting and controlling the computers, more probably.”

“Something else you’ve kept from us all these years, then.” Absen’s face had turned dark. These Blends always have one more secret, one more agenda, he thought in irritation. Hard to trust them no matter how many times they seem to prove their intentions.

“It wasn’t anything that could have helped you, Captain. In fact, it would have been a distraction. As my mother once so rightly argued, introducing the technology to copy human minds into other creatures such as Meme ships or receptor modules, or even computers, would open a Pandora’s box the human race is simply not ready for.”

“Why tell us now, then?”

Ezekiel lifted a hand, palm up, toward the screen. “Because the box has been opened. There’s no point in keeping it a secret anymore. I just plead with you, Captain, that you do not rush to explore this possibility. It is far too laden with questions to which we have no easy answers.”

Absen sat back and crossed his arms in thought, looking from face to face. “I understand. Is such a mind a person? What if it doesn’t want to be loaded into a missile and fired at the enemy? Would that be murder?” He rubbed his face. “And I thought the AI question was knotty.”

“Precisely, Captain. You’re already thinking a lot about the AI on this ship, I bet. She represents a new frontier for humanity. Adding engram technology to the mix could be extremely disruptive.”

“All right,” Absen replied. “I’m classifying this Top Secret. No one outside this room talks about engrams yet, especially not to our scientists. People like that will feel compelled to investigate. No discussion, even in the cleared and secured spaces. We can’t afford to divert energy and resources to explore the idea. When the time comes, I’ll release the information. And Ezekiel, you and your boat represent the most advanced Memetech aboard. I want you and Spooky to take extra measures to secure it.”

“I’m the only one who Roger will recognize, sir.”

Absen pointed a finger at Ezekiel’s nose. “We have Sekoi Blends aboard, in case you haven’t forgotten. They may have their own agenda, and they may have abilities you don’t know about.” He turned to Nguyen. “Spooky, that’s your priority assignment starting now. Secure our Memetech. You’re in charge of this potential mess, since you two have brought it to me. I’ll draft you both into EarthFleet if I have to. Got it?”

Spooky nodded with a twitch of his lips. “Of course, Captain. Have no fear.”

“I’ll have no fear when you have no secrets, Nguyen.”

“Fair enough. May we stay?”

“Of course. Restart the battle.”

Scoggins had paused and buffered all of the feeds, effectively stopping the depiction of the situation during the discussion. The crew had taken the opportunity to run to the nearby heads and line up for drinks at the bar, but as soon as the screens came to life again they hurried back to their seats and places. “I’ll speed things up ten percent to run out the buffers and eventually catch up,” she said.

“You can put us back on the PA. Everyone, watch what you say with everyone listening.”

On the main display they watched as the missile swarm spread out and set itself to charge into the Destroyer fleet, maximizing distance among themselves to avoid allowing one fusor blast to kill two or more of them.

A few seconds before they reached maximum effective warhead range, the Destroyers burst forth with thousands of small hypervelocity missiles. “What the hell?” Johnstone said involuntarily, and he closed his eyes, plunging into his link. Absen knew the CyberComm officer had simply reacted, instinctively trying to understand and then affect the battle as he had many others before, but this time, no influence was possible.

“They saw the power of the warheads and decided to use small hypers as a defense,” Absen replied. “Not very efficient, but in this case, a smart move. If they pick off even one in a hundred, it will be worth it, and any that miss will go after the Thuds, which are much larger than missiles.”

Absen was right. Fifteen hundred missiles became thirteen hundred as almost nineteen thousand small hypers stormed through the spread formation. The human weapons spun and swirled on their guidance jets, tiny jinks that at such extreme speeds caused the oncoming Meme guided weapons to miss most of them.

As the captain predicted, the ones that missed turned and headed directly for the Thunderchiefs, closing up into a tight mass to overwhelm their enemies a hundred to one. “They’re dead,” muttered one of the techs under her breath, drawing a sharp hiss from Scoggins.

“Have some faith,” Absen said in an iron voice. “The Thuds have pilots. They will use some kind of tactic…see, there.” With or without bodies, he thought, the human factor is vital.

At the last minute, the lead Thunderchiefs fired missiles, apparently kept in reserve against this eventuality. Closing at high combined speed and under acceleration, the enemy hypers had no time to dodge.

Hundred-megaton warheads bloomed in the void, swallowing thousands of Meme missiles packed into tight groups. Of those few that made it through, most were picked off by Thunderchief masers. Only a handful of the human attack ships died. The rest forged ahead for their rendezvous with death.

Now, the EarthFleet missile cloud reached the tightly packed Destroyers.

At first the enemy fleet stayed in formation, blasting thousands of fusor beams like gargantuan blowtorches in space, reaching out to wipe the incoming weapons, but as the missiles closed in the final seconds, the ships of the Meme fleet abruptly rotated on their centers of gravity, still firing, and accelerated in all directions, expanding in a sphere from a common center.

“They’re spreading out, each on his own.”

“Why would they do that?” Okuda said, his voice reflecting puzzlement.

“Because hundred-megaton warheads aren’t all they have to worry about. Somehow, they know, or guessed.”

“Know what, sir?” Johnstone asked.

“Exploders. Remember the hole in the data. Somehow the Meme knew that we might have antimatter weapons. At least, they are taking precautions. With all of them spreading out that way, an Exploder can only take out one of them at a time. Had they stayed clumped, we might have won the battle in one shining moment.”

“That would have been worth the sacrifice of so many in this gambit,” Spooky said clearly. Absen realized the man was reinforcing the narrative of the brave Thud pilots in the minds of the crew, even though the senior officers now suspected that only engrams occupied them.

“Yes, it would,” he replied. “We still may see some effect.”

The display confirmed his words. Dozens of fusion warheads blossomed near Destroyers. Some wasted themselves, while others gouged chunks from the armored ferrocrystal skins of their enemies, leaving glowing hotspots.

One unlucky Meme took three hits in a row, very well placed, and it shuddered and spun, apparently losing control as its fusors went dark. Like sharks, several more human weapons suddenly diverted from their nearer targets to go after the stunned Destroyer, aiming themselves precisely at the wound their fellows had made. Each explosion bored farther into the enemy ship, and after four more, the Destroyer cracked, spurted fire from all its weapons ports, and died.

All the crew on the flight deck leaped to their feet and cheered, throats straining with bloodthirsty joy as they saw one of their hated enemies go down in flames. In the control room, the officers smiled and exchanged glances, some slapping their consoles or clapping hands. “That’s just one,” Absen reminded them. The engrams made the difference, he thought to himself. They saw an opportunity and changed their targeting in a way mere computers could not have.

Eyes back on the screen, Absen waited for what he expected and hoped for. If no Exploders came, the gambit would still have been effective, taking out one Destroyer, wounding others and forcing the Meme to burn fuel, weapons and time. But…

“There it is!” the captain cried as the screen whited out. Scoggins backed the view off and cut in the filters again, showing a sun-like sphere fifty times larger than any fusion bomb. She ran the feed backward a few seconds, cleaned up the picture, and they were able to watch what had happened.

One missile, dodging madly as fusors picked off its fellows, had gotten close enough. At a distance of five kilometers from its targeted Destroyer, and directly in front of the enemy’s line of travel, outside of the effective range of any lesser warhead, it converted itself from a mere machine into a miniature star, briefly hotter than a thousand suns. The Meme flew into the fireball.

One moment it was a living world-wrecker, a moonlet of doom bent on genocide.

The next, nothing but plasma remained, particles stripped of all their bonds and so energetic that no element, no atomic association, was even possible. However, the momentum of the individual protons, neutrons, electrons and more exotic pieces of matter remained, so what exited the other side looked like a cone of roiling light, a brief living flamethrower that vanished in seconds, leaving a traveling, expanding miasma.

“Damn,” Absen breathed as the crew erupted yet again in cheers. “Keep the tape running forward,” he said.

“Haven’t used tape in decades, sir,” Scoggins said with a smile, and had her people resume the battle feed.

Seven more Destroyers met their deaths to antimatter weapons: two from the wave of missiles, three fired at the last moment from the Thunderchiefs, and two from the attack craft themselves as they chased Destroyers and detonated near enough to take the enemy with them.

At the end of the battle, all the Thuds were dead.

“Eight of sixty-four. Twelve and a half percent. That’s amazing. Very significant,” Absen breathed. “Ladies and gentlemen, we may have just witnessed the decisive engagement of the battle, but let’s not become too ecstatic. I suspect that Admiral Huen just employed at least half, perhaps all, of his antimatter stock. It’s what I would have done: try to use surprise to maximize the effect of new weapons and tactics.”

“Somehow I do hope that those just had engrams,” Scoggins cut the feed and said quietly. “Maybe with those, more real people wouldn’t have to die.”

Ezekiel Denham swallowed a choke, and the rest turned to him. “You have something to say?” Absen said.

“Real people? What else is a person but a mind?” he asked with tear-filled eyes. “Most of you have interacted with Michelle. Isn’t she a person?”

Scoggins replied, “Of course, but –”

Ezekiel glared hotly at Scoggins. “My father, Alan Denham, was an engram.” This declaration brought a hush to the room.

“I don’t understand,” the sensors officer said, and Absen seconded the notion, seeing the faces of the others.

“The man Skull Denham died in the first battle when he boarded the Meme scout ship. My mother Raphaela built a device into his suit to record his mental gestalt. She recovered it from where his body lay.”

“I remember when she did that, though I did not realize the significance,” Absen said. “I wondered about her request at the time, to leave the body where it was until she could see it. Later, when he broadcast that last message, I thought she had somehow revived him.” Or had fabricated the “Skull Speech” for the sake of humanity’s morale.

“Yes. She uploaded his mind into the bio-neurology of the captured scout ship, what the Meme called a Survey craft, and for the next ten years, Alan Denham inhabited the nervous system of the ship itself. He even replicated a man’s body as an avatar within it, so as a child I interacted with a real human, as far as I knew.”

“So,” Absen realized, “when the ship Alan Denham slammed like a bullet into the Destroyer…”

“He became the ultimate kamikaze. My father. Not just some cheap copy of him. Whether or not he was the same guy who provided half my genes, the man who raised me was as real as you or me. Flesh and blood and heart and soul. It didn’t – it doesn’t – matter what kind of body someone has. Human is human.” Ezekiel leaned forward, elbows on knees, and buried his head in his hands, trying and failing to hold back silent tears.

Melissa Scoggins walked over to Ezekiel to put a hand on the younger man’s head, and he leaned against her like a child with a mother while she stroked his hair. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

The tableau held for a moment longer, and then broke as Ezekiel let go and leaned back, wiping his face on his sleeve. Throats cleared and people turned back to their boards, leaving him to his remembered grief.

Absen caught Scoggins’ eye. “Let the display run, but pause it if anything particularly decisive starts to happen.” He got up to depart the room.

“The fleets should engage in around twenty minutes, maybe more,” she informed him, tapping at her controls.

“Thanks.” The captain walked out, and then hopped into an electric cart for the fastest transit possible. Tobias leaped aboard even as the thing began to move, flipping on the flashing red light and bee-boop siren sound, a signal to clear the passage, though few of the crew remained outside the flight deck.

Less than two minutes later the two men arrived at the cybernetics laboratory where Michelle lived. Her holographic avatar snapped to attention as he entered the room even as the lone civilian tech working there stood up in response to the nearby Marine guard’s roar of “CAPTAIN ON DECK!”

“At ease, everyone. Chief,” he turned to Michelle, “I’d like to apologize for leaving you out of what’s happening on the flight deck.”

“No problem, sir. I am watching all of the screens here, and making my own analyses.” Michelle seemed relaxed and confident, as usual.

“Even so, in not inviting you, I am playing into the fear of AIs that we all have. Instead, we need to start reducing that tension.” While Absen wasn’t completely confident in his own assessment, Ezekiel Denham’s words about his father had resonated. It was time to take a leap of faith: faith in another human being, even if she was one made of optical processors and quantum memory states.

“Would you please clarify, sir? What do you want me to do?”

Absen cleared his throat, looking over at the tech. “If I authorize you access to the necessary maintenance bots, how quickly could you set up holoprojectors, such as you have here, on the flight deck?”

The tech replied, “With Michelle’s full involvement, we could install a limited three-part system within nine minutes, sir, and transfer this avatar. In a few hours the entire area could be done.”

“That quick? All right, let’s do it. Then you can join the crew where they are.”

Michelle seemed to suppress a smile. “This will be interesting. I’ve never met anyone except the technical team, you and a few others who visited my quarters.”

“Quarters?”

“What I call my holographic room and workspace.”

Absen grunted, thoughtful.

The tech tapped at his board. “You’ll have to enter your authorization code, fingerprint and retinal scan here, sir,” he said. Absen quickly complied, accepting that he was now signing off on whatever the technician had set up. Even though he was captain of the boat, he had to trust everyone to do his job honestly and correctly, hundreds or thousands of times each day.

Trust. That’s what he had to do. Choose to trust this new human being that had been created, or copied, or programmed, and now lived inside the systems of his boat.

“Thank you, sir!” When Michelle’s enthusiastic salute dropped to her side, she disappeared, leaving the captain standing, bemused. The tech had plugged in his link and closed his eyes in the manner of modern CyberComm personnel. Absen glanced at Tobias, who merely turned back to the cart, this time slipping into the driver’s seat.

As they drove at speed through Conquest’s wide corridors, thankfully almost deserted because most of the crew were on the flight deck, Absen triggered his internal radio. Though something he seldom used, it seemed convenient now, and he passed on instructions to Bull ben Tauros to have Marines make sure the maintenance bots were given plenty of space to do their work.

“Let’s take a quick diversion. I haven’t seen my two favorite engineers lately.” Absen used the next several minutes to make quick appearances in Engineering and Weapons Control, greeting the skeleton crews there. He saw the battle displayed on their screens as well.

By the time he arrived back at the flight deck control room, a dozen spider bots zipped around at high speed in one corner, mounting holoprojectors and laying optical and electric cable. By the end of the predicted nine minutes, the avatar of Warrant Officer Michelle Conquest appeared. The machines continued to install projectors outward, expanding the network toward the area where most of the crew milled around or sat.

This caused a small stir among the milling crew on the flight deck. Cybernetics specialists familiar with Michelle clustered protectively around her hologram, as if to keep others away, but the AI simply walked through them and began introducing herself to as many curious ratings, noncoms and officers as possible.

Satisfied that his decision seemed to be working out, Absen turned back to the AV team and signaled he was ready.

“I’ve brought us back up to realtime, sir,” Scoggins said. “Or as real as it gets, by which I mean, we’re watching a synthesis that’s as up-to-date as I can make it with the actual light and sensor data as it comes in.”

“Got it, Commander. Let’s see.”

Absen saw the main picture show the sixty-four enemy ram-bodies broken up into a cloud of rocks ranging from sand through gravel up to pieces a few hundred meters wide, much of it still inbound toward the home planet. “Not much of that will hit Earth, I presume,” he said.

“Correct, sir,” Scoggins said. “As the asteroids were broken, most of the material deflected enough to miss the planet. About forty of our orbital facilities remain, and some slower ships that weren’t worth sending with the fleet. They’ll clean up or break up the rest.”

“Look at that.” Absen walked over to tap an icon on the console screen. “Orion. After a century of use, sixty years after we left home, the old girl’s still there for the fight.”

“Amazing,” Johnstone said, and the others echoed the sentiment, especially those such as Okuda and Scoggins, who had fought aboard her.

Far beyond the inbound swarm of meteoroids Absen could see the outbound line of EarthFleet asteroid fortresses and ram-bodies, the ones that had missed. Slowly, they were decelerating to eventually return. Calculations next to their icons showed days or weeks.

“Those are out of the fight,” Absen murmured, and then spoke more loudly for the crew’s benefit. “Admiral Huen’s asteroid counterforce did its job, but in doing so, the enemy removed a lot of our close-in defenses from the fight, which was obviously what they had hoped. They traded a bunch of low-cost rocks to get a significant portion of our forces out of the way, but they paid for it when the Exploder kamikazes sneaked in close.”

He picked up a handheld cursor to point at items on the big screen as he lectured for the benefit of the crew. “Now the remaining fifty-six Destroyers have diverted slightly spinward and up, staying well away from the now-useless fortresses, and are curving back inward under easy thrust, conserving fuel. The Home Fleet is pacing them sideways and falling back slightly, making certain that the Meme can’t squeak around them. There’s no Mars, no other planet for a slingshot. Nothing but open space.”

Now everyone could see what Absen described as the time-to-intercept numbers on the screen dropped below five minutes. “Why is our fleet falling back? Won’t that slow the closing speed of missiles and railgun shots, making it easier for the Destroyers to pick them off?” Rick Johnstone asked.

“That works both ways, Commander. It also gives our ships more time to knock down hypers, which should be launching soon. They need at least a few minutes time to get up to effective speed.” As if in response to Absen’s words, a blizzard of pinpricks appeared next to the Meme fleet.

“How many?” he asked.

“Not sure, sir. Give it time…”

A minute went by. “About thirty-five million hypers. Monster size, over a thousand tons apiece, I would say. Bigger than we’ve ever seen.”

“Thirty – I’ve never seen so many. That’s…”

“Almost seven hundred thousand launches apiece.”

“That’s impossible.” Absen cut himself off before he said something even stupider. “No chance that’s a data error?”

“No, sir.” The team in the room exchanged bleak glances.

“That’s almost a billion tons of missiles per ship. They just fired five percent of their mass.”

“That’s what the numbers say, sir.”

“They must have been gestating hypers for months or years to save up that many.” Absen had never felt so helpless as at that moment, and so despairing. With absolutely nothing he could do to affect the battle, he called for a time out. That he could do. “Freeze the feeds.” Then he stared.
“What’s happening to their ships?”

Scoggins and her team rapidly punched keys, some diving into their links for VR overlays. “It looks like they are reconfiguring the Destroyers.” She zoomed in on one, frozen in time with the “pause” function. “Normally they have the shape of rugby or Aussie footballs, fat oblongs. They are thinning and elongating. This one now looks like a plump cigar, and I think…” she let the displays run forward, “…it’s stopped.”

“What do those look like to you?” Absen said, his voice ominous with suppressed horror.

Before one of his officers could, Ezekiel spoke. “It looks like my…like the Alan Denham, before he slammed into the first Destroyer.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. Ladies and gentlemen…” Absen’s voice fired as he took a breath, “they are turning themselves into massive hypers. They intend to ram their way through to Earth.”

“But sir…that goes completely against Meme doctrine,” Johnstone objected. “All the lectures from Captain Forman and from Raphaela Denham said they would not kamikaze.”

Suddenly, Spooky Nguyen, who had been lounging quietly in a corner chair, bounced to his feet and strode forward to stand beside Absen, staring out over the flight deck at the giant screen. “Commander, please give us a close-up on the last group of Destroyers, the rearmost bunch there. Those eight.” He plucked the cursor out of the captain’s hand and drew a circle around the ones he meant. Absen ignored the impertinence, stepping back, fascinated.

Scoggins did so, and Spooky pointed with his outstretched arm. “Those have not reshaped themselves. Did they launch hypers?”

The sensors officer ran the video back, then forward again, muttering. “No. They didn’t.”

“They’ve changed tactics on us, Captain,” Spooky said. “I’d lay a hefty wager that group of eight contains the only Meme crew in their fleet, probably consolidated from the rest. The other vessels have been made into fireships.”

“Into what?” Johnstone asked.

“Fireships,” Absen said, still staring across the flight deck. “Old wet navy tactic. Fill a ship with explosives and incendiaries, leave just a pilot aboard or control it remotely, and you can turn it into a suicide weapon. They’re using our own methods against us, Meme fashion.”

Johnstone said, “So they evacuated everyone to those eight ships, keeping them back as a command group or reserve. If they fail in this attack, those will go streaking through the solar system and run away. They will have lost a bunch of Destroyers but few if any actual Meme.”

“I believe so,” Spooky replied.

“Damn. Why can’t they be stupid and arrogant like aliens in all the movies?” Absen asked.

“They are arrogant, Captain,” Spooky replied. “You might be too if you ruled an empire stretching across thousands of worlds.”

“Point.” Absen stared at the frozen displays a moment more, noticing the restlessness of the crew. He stepped out from behind the clear crystal of the flight control room and onto the catwalk that ringed the great open space, holding up his arm for attention.

Once the crew quieted and turned to look up at him, he addressed them in his best parade-ground voice, without amplification. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you that what we are about to see happened almost twenty-four years ago. No matter how horrifying, no matter how you feel about what you see, there is nothing we can do about it. The light and data transmissions we are using to observe this battle has been traveling that long, and it will take us a similar number of years of realtime to reach Earth. If we win, we can continue as before in the happy knowledge the efforts of EarthFleet have kept the home planet safe. The battle is lost, it has been lost for decades, but we will still continue onward, to take the fight to the enemy.” He swallowed. “Good luck to us all.”

Instead of going back in the booth, Absen signaled through the glass at Scoggins with a spin-fingered motion, roll it. He wanted to see what the rest of the crew saw, feel what they felt, as much as possible, with nothing between himself and them.

Displays came to life again, pictures moving slowly at first, and then faster. Knowing he would be analyzing the records for weeks to come as they traveled, the captain resigned himself to just experiencing the next few minutes, without interruption.

Rip the bandage off, quickly, painfully.

The Meme fleet now flared with fusion drives at maximum, turning and burning in an arc that would line them up on Earth within moments. The group of eight hung back, and drifted spinward, in order to flash past rather than impact the planet like their fellows, close enough to fight but far enough off the line of advance to run.

In response, the Home Fleet interposed itself between the forty-eight fireships and Earth, as Absen knew they must. Now he wished Huen had saved more asteroid fortresses, but could not fault the man for what he had done. At the time, the Meme ram-bodies had seemed the greater threat.

One minute remained, and now the millions of hypers entered the engagement envelopes of the human ships. The EarthFleet vessels used Meme tactics against the aliens, turning their fusion drives toward the enemy and blasting at full speed. The massive plasma flares became weapons, burning tens of thousands of closely packed missiles at a time, while holding open the range as long as possible.

Seconds later, hundreds of thousands of Home Fleet antimissiles, StormRaven fighters, railguns and beam weapons saturated the void with energies. The crew on the flight deck gasped in unison as the dense cloud of hypers met a veritable wall of defensive fire. Multimegaton fusion warheads tore great gaping holes in the ranks of Meme projectiles even as lasers plucked thousands out of space in microsecond bursts.

“We’re winning!” someone said from below him, and Absen shook his head slightly to himself, eyes still fixed on the screen.

No, we’re not, he thought. Oh, the Home Fleet will fend off those hypers, sure enough…but what will they have left to take on forty-eight Destroyer-sized projectiles, each six thousand meters long, a thousand across, and made mostly of ferrocrystal composite rather than mere asteroidal rock? If only Huen had more antimatter weapons, or had saved what he had until now. He might have taken out two or three at a time, now that they are just driving straight for Earth.

Absen realized the Destroyer-bullets’ narrowed cross-sections made them much harder to hit or damage. At speed, they could withstand impact after impact, explosion after explosion from anything less than an antimatter bomb, and still keep their drives and animal brains intact. There was simply no way to target the stern of anything moving that fast. The best EarthFleet could do was to keep hammering on their bows, hoping to damage or deflect each one enough to miss the planet. In short, they would have to chew their way through every ship to kill it. None of them had any weak spots.

The defensive action gave one last flare of fireworks before it died down to a few remaining sparkles. Several hundred thousand hypers, the ones that had both missed Fleet ships and avoided being destroyed, accelerated onward toward Earth, targeting orbital facilities. In moments they had scoured the twoscore remaining fortresses and artificial satellites.

Absen watched, tremendously saddened, as the Orion station died. He grasped the railing in front of him with hands like claws, and told himself that in the grand scheme, one old rustbucket didn’t matter.

Now the Home Fleet reversed itself, continuing their withdrawal Earthward with momentum but pointing armored prows toward the enemy again, all except the carriers. Those continued to drift backward, still providing aerospace control to their fighter wings, while their gigantic sister ships – dreadnoughts, battleships and cruisers – formed up into a wall of battle.

The largest fleet engagement I have ever witnessed, Absen mused, and at these speeds, it will be decided in moments. Like wet navy fleets before, much of strategy and tactics was maneuver, trying to put the enemy in the worst position possible, and retaining the best for oneself. In this case, the Meme plan was sound, akin to what he had himself used against them in the Gliese 370 system: force them to defend what they valued, limit their options, drive them into certain specific actions, and pound them to a pulp.

Being on the other side of that equation, he realized, brought with it a sickening sensation.

Too fast for human eyes to follow, Conquest’s sister dreadnoughts led the way forward, this time with no million colonists in their bellies to force their captains to sacrifice others. They held the center of a bullseye, a flattened cone like a coolie hat with its point toward the enemy, and sent forth all the death and destruction they could muster.

Home Fleet direct fire weapons blazed, and Destroyer after Destroyer bubbled, burned and crumbled, then exploded as residual fuel ignited in the uncontrolled fusion of their fracturing drives. As the enemy flared with fusors, the Home Fleet picked off Meme like a gunfighter knocking down targets.

Absen discerned their tactic, one he had hoped Huen would employ: sections of the fleet coordinated their weapons fire on one ship at a time, being forced to smash each utterly before turning their combined energies on the next. Configured as projectiles, the Destroyers were not able to strike back with their usual thousands of hypers. Those had all been expended.

Forty-eight Meme became thirty-five, then thirty, twenty-five, twenty and then fourteen before the two fleets interpenetrated.

For a fraction of a second all Absen could see was a mass of ships, like two blasts of birdshot fired directly at each other, slamming together in a cataclysm, and then it was over.

Seven distinct fireballs, massive beyond belief, showed where the seven Conquest-class dreadnoughts had thrown themselves deliberately into the paths of the enemy.

Two more Destroyers spun, broken, where dozens of lesser ships had rammed them.

Five blazed onward, now less than one minute from Earth.

“Dear God,” Absen gasped, whether a prayer or a curse, he did not know. Even though he knew all this had already happened, he could not help but settle the question with his next words. “Dear God, save them…”

But it seemed nothing could stop those five deadly projectiles.

Now past interfering with the five, the remainder of the Home Fleet turned to attack the lagging Meme reserve group of eight, which now skirted the edge of the battle area and employed their own weapons conventionally. Thousands of hypers leaped from those Destroyers, fencing and then knife-fighting with the disorganized remainder of humanity’s naval ships.

Even without the dreadnoughts, to Absen the two groups’ strength looked about equal, and so he dismissed that battle from his mind for now, to turn his attention back to the five. Plenty of time to study it all later. Along with the rest of the crew, now all on their feet below and staring, he gazed raptly at, he was nauseatingly certain, the imminent ravaging of his homeworld.

The view pulled back to encompass the ever-shrinking distance between the speeding death ships and Earth. Nothing near the home planet remained after the hypers, except…one anomalous icon, representing a squadron of fifty Thunderchiefs, appeared suddenly as if by magic. Perhaps they had hidden, powered down and EMCON.

The icon’s ID icon read UNKNOWN, though they were obviously EarthFleet vessels. Absen slipped back into the control room and asked Scoggins, “What do you have on those?” as he highlighted the marker with his cursor.

“We have no data. We’re just watching what the sensors have soaked up, and we’re lucky to get that. They’re actually stealthed pretty well, but once I figured out they were there, I adjusted my systems enough to see more clearly.”

“Good job.” As he watched, the squadron came to life and launched a spread of five hundred missiles.

“That’s odd,” Absen mustered. “The weapons aren’t guiding.” Now he wished he had brought Ford back in time for the battle, and then reminded himself of the way they watched. “Freeze it.”

Once Scoggins did, to an audible groan from the crew outside, he continued, “Someone get Ford back up here, pronto.”

A long two minutes later, the chastened weapons officer hurried in, still buttoning his tunic. “Sir?”

“Have you been watching?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why aren’t those missiles guiding?”

Ford stepped over to the plate crystal window and stared at the massed displays, and then down at the control boards. “At a guess, sir, they are aimed for a spot in space where the antimatter warheads will do the most damage. The enemy will fly into them, they’re going so fast.”

“Of course,” Absen breathed. “Sit down, Ford. You’re not out of the doghouse yet.”

The man quickly took a seat and kept his mouth shut, watching expectantly.

“Roll it forward now, half speed.”

Scoggins signaled her team, and all watched as the cloud of missiles closed on the five enemy ships. Those had arranged themselves in a ring about a thousand kilometers across. “There’s no way any one antimatter warhead can take out more than a single ship,” Absen said.

“True, sir. It looks to me like the flight of missiles is staying together to try to mask which are the heavy ones.”

“How many Exploders do you think there are?”

“No idea, sir. No way to tell.”

“If I am right, and Huen reserved half his warheads, there may be as many as seven,” Absen said.

Ford shrugged, still staring at the screens. Absen let it pass.

“There!” the weapons officer said, standing and stabbing a hand at the display. On the screen, the flight of five hundred missiles divided itself up into groups of one hundred and altered course to directly intercept the modified Destroyers, burning their drives furiously. As they closed, fusors came to life and plasma fire blossomed, trying to pluck the human weapons from space, but seemed desultorily aimed, confirming the suspicion that the vessels had no Meme guiding the defenses.

As with each engagement before, this ended in less than one second as surviving missiles detonated nearby or slammed into the enemy.

Three titanic blasts wiped an equal number of Meme ships from space.

Two flew onward, now less than thirty seconds from Earth.

“What happened?” Absen asked, turning to Ford, but he already knew, and answered his own question, overriding his subordinate. “There must have been one or two antimatter bombs per Destroyer, and against these two, our luck ran out. They must have been picked off by fusors.” He cleared his throat, realizing Scoggins had slowed the view to a crawl at one-tenth speed. “Is there any chance now?”

Ford shook his head in misery, his voice a whisper. “No, sir.”

“Then roll it, Scoggins,” Absen husked, his throat a desert. “Just roll it.”

Turning slowly back to her board, the commander ran her finger up the slider that controlled the speed of display advance, until it reached one to one.

“Five…four…three…” Absen murmured.

“Two…one,” the rest joined him.

Widely separated, the two fireships crashed into Earth, exploding to sunlike brightness as they struck atmosphere. Compressed solid as steel, nitrogen and oxygen fused into the higher elements of the speeding vessels. Pinpoint light swelled and shock propagated through the filmy air of the planet. The crew of Conquest watched as, at fifteen thousand miles an hour, incomprehensible energies scoured humanity’s homeworld in two expanding rings, like annihilating ripples in a pond.

Except this pond held the thin sheath of life covering the verdant planet – air, water, topsoil, crust.

People.

Absen could hear screams, cries and weeping through the door to the flight deck, echoed from within the control room. He walked out onto the catwalk and shed tears for his race, watching them drop ten meters to the textured deck below. Then he sank to his knees, overwhelmed, still clutching the rail, until he had collapsed onto the metal mesh of the walking surface.

Vision graying, great gasping breaths, almost sobs, tore from his chest as he contemplated the death of billions. Worse, he knew that EarthFleet had just lost its battle. Humanity’s best efforts had not been enough.

After long moments Absen felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see COB Timmons, his oldest friend, sink down to sit next to him on the catwalk. “Shit,” the chief said without heat. “That’s one hell of a setback.”

This simple steadiness, this prosaic practicality common to chiefs everywhere, brought him back, and he realized he could not afford to mourn right now. Leadership is about rising above disasters, he told himself.

“Yeah,” he said. “One hell of a setback. But you know what? It’s not over yet.”

“It’s not me you need to tell, Skipper.” Timmons pointed out over the flight deck, where his people staggered or lay on the deck, or sat in chairs, holding each other in grief. On one side two women scratched at each other in rage until a Marine broke it up. Another couple looked like they were about to have sex in a corner behind one of the parked weapons lifts.

Insanity and breakdown lurks. They can’t lose hope.

“Right. Thanks.” Absen pulled himself to his feet, took three deep breaths, and then began speaking loudly.

“Men and women of Conquest! Human, Ryss and Sekoi! Listen to me!”

In ragged clumps, the human officers and ratings turned to look, joined by the Ryss and the Sekoi clustered in their own groups, keeping well away from the apes. “This is a tragedy, a horror none of us truly ever expected to face. I feel as you do. In fact,” he choked back a brittle laugh, “I’m only standing because I have my hands clamped to this railing. But remember – this all happened more than twenty years ago. What’s past is past. We have to pick ourselves up and face the future, no matter how much we don’t want to believe it.”

Several more breaths fortified him as he spoke. “Now as much as I want to charge straight in and rip the guts out of the enemy with our new weapons, we still have over twenty-three light-years of realtime distance to go. By the time we get to the solar system, the enemy will have had at least forty-six years to enslave and rule the remnants of the human race. Rushing there unprepared to save a few days or weeks will not serve anyone.”

Absen ran his fingers through his thin blonde hair, and then waved his hand out over the crowd as if in benediction. “So now, as strange as it may seem, we’re going to just sit here in deep space for a few days, on minimum watch rotation. We’re going to mourn, and grieve, and get drunk and talk and comfort each other. Then we’re going to rest, and evaluate, and study our enemy. Eventually, when we get over the shock, we’re going to sort ourselves out, get back into fighting shape, and as soon as we can, we’re going to stick it to the Meme.” He paused, throat working, and then finished, “We’re going to kill every last of them.”

A cheer began from somewhere, the Marines he thought taking it up first, and soon five hundred throats roared and yelled themselves raw as words coalesced into a chant.

“DEATH TO THE MEME!”

“DEATH TO THE MEME!”

“DEATH TO THE MEME!”

***

That night, Jill and Rick made love with a passion they had forgotten, knowing full well the urge was just a biological response to witnessing the death and destruction of so many, but far beyond caring. The brain, the nervous system, couldn’t count, but it knew when its genes were threatened, and drove the them together like fiery metal bars hammered on an anvil, sparks flying in all directions.

Afterward, as they lay covered in sweat in the ventilation’s breeze, Rick wondered again whether he had made the right decision. Maybe if he’d dug his heels in and insisted, he could have kept Jill at home with him and the children. His mind knew that was fantasy, but his heart ached for the lost years of children they would never see.

In another compartment, Trissk and Klis lounged together on their sleeping platform. Trissk bit Klis playfully on the back of her neck, his teeth gnawing but not breaking the skin, the Ryss equivalent of a nibble on the ear.

“Frisky tonight, are you?” Klis purred.

“You are still the most beautiful female in the universe.”

“If only I was in season, you would be doing and not talking.”

Trissk snorted. “Sometimes I envy the apes, mating whenever the urge takes them.”

“They only have one or two in a litter. If we mated all the time, we’d overrun every planet we settled on.”

“We could alter our biology.”

Klis drew back to look at her mate. “The thought does not disgust you?”

He reached with his paw, hooking his claws into the ruff around her neck, like a man might lightly seize a woman’s hair, and drew her muzzle to his. They rubbed faces, marking each other with their scent glands. “No. Our race almost died because of its taboos and inflexible traditions. We already have accepted contraceptive implants. Using drugs or medical techniques to further control our reproduction is not life code tinkering – but what if it were? The Humans do it with caution, and the Sekoi embrace it with abandon.”

Klis laughed. “You just want to mate more often, without dealing with a litter afterward.”

“So your yowls as we mated were not of pleasure? I suppose I must have been mistaken. Forgive me.”

Her raspy tongue began to groom Trissk’s face, a most intimate gesture of assent. Once Klis had finished, she said, “I relished every minute of it. My body remembers it. I want to do it again.”

Trissk sighed. “It is madness to conceive a litter here, on a warship.”

“I know. What if there were a way?””

“A way to what?”

“A way to have me, to take me in season, and yet have no fear of kits?”

Trissk rolled up on an elbow and held her at arm’s length. “That is impossible. The implants stop the season and fertility both.”

“Idiot male. What have we just been talking about?” Klis reached into a drawer beneath the sleeping platform and drew out two spray tubes, one black, one white.

“That is forbidden!” Trissk gasped.

Klis yawned. “Taking one mate for life was forbidden just a few short years ago. And who is there to forbid anything here? The apes don’t care about our reproductive taboos. All they care about is whether we perform our duties. You are in charge of the Ryss here. We are many light-years from any of our people. When we next see them, who knows how their customs will be changed?” She stroked his flank. “You were wise to only allow mated pairs to join us. Will you now forbid us glorification if it is within our grasp?”

Slowly Trissk reached out to pick up the black spray, but Klis stopped him, substituting the white. “That’s yours. White for a warrior’s honor. Black for the hearts of females.”

“You made that up.”

“Of course. The Sekoi biochemist that brews it said that each race sees color differently, so this was simple and foolproof. I didn’t ask her the rationale.”

“So what do we do?”

Klis did not answer, but merely sprayed a tiny burst into each nostril, set the vial aside, and then closed her eyes.

Trissk did the same, and within moments, lust for his mate grew within him, starting in his belly and moving outward along his limbs. Strangely, his loins responded last, but when the urge came, it rolled him under like the wave of a sea.

***

Bogrin pushed a knight forward to take a position covering one of his center pawns.

“Surprise, surprise,” Ezekiel Denham said as he moved a pawn of his own, uncovering a line from his bishop to attack the knight. “You still play a conventional game.”

“I prefer to think of it as conservative, and deep. And I do win more often than you.”

“But when you lose, it’s spectacular. You fall apart like a building of mortarless bricks.”

“Games like these reveal our minds,” Bogrin replied. “The Meme I was and the Sekoi Blend I am both do not like uncertainties. That’s why I like Human chess. No dice, no cards, no random elements.”

“I thought your Meme ancestor blended with a mindless drone.”

“He did, but the stolid Sekoi propensities remained. And yet…I ended up a radical, and a rebel.” He studied the board.

“The admiral believes strategy and tactics will beat the Empire.”

“The captain,” Bogrin emphasized the word, “is a clever man but limited in vision. Technology has fallen into his lap to allow him his revenge upon the Empire, but all such advantages are limited. Assuming the Meme have not been overrun by some other unknown race, they are undoubtedly working on a stardrive. Once they have that, their own TacDrive will not be far behind.”

“Politics,” Ezekiel replied, “always trumps strategy, as strategy overrides tactics.”

Bogrin grunted, and finally moved a pawn to block Ezekiel’s bishop’s attack. “Any Meme knows that by his first century. You humans, and the Ryss, are far too young yet to play the deep game.”

“Thanks for teaching me. And yet…I’ve seen you angry.”

Bogrin smiled a mouthful of peg teeth, instantly resembling the hippopotamus of his human nickname. “Who is to say even anger cannot be a strategy?” Then his expression reverted to its usual serenity. “Why are you so calm after seeing your homeworld trampled underfoot?”

Ezekiel sat back and crossed his arms, staring at the board but not really seeing it. “I slaked my physical responses already. There’s this Marine…well, let’s just say she’s finds me exotic, and she’s persistent. Hard to say no when the woman could break me in half…and even with her cyberware shut down, she wears me out. I guess I’m calm now because I’m tired, and I know in my heart it all happened decades ago. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Until we arrive.”

“Yes.” The human made a quick move, advancing another pawn in a sacrifice.

“Once we do…”

“I won’t forget, my friend. You’ll be a part of it.”

Chapter 17

Unlike some senior officers, Captain Absen disliked holding too many meetings, but this time he could not avoid it. All of his key personnel milled there, conversing in low, strained tones or arguing in heated whispers as he entered the boat’s largest conference room. It had been a long week of floundering, discussion, recrimination, grief and eventually acceptance. Absen hoped his people were ready to get back to work.

“Captain on deck!” COB Timmons roared, and the room snapped to attention – all but the civilians, who at least stopped talking to face the front.

“At ease. Take your seats.” Absen remained standing at the head of the large table. “Everyone is coming out of their funk, and is eager to charge into battle. I know how everyone here feels, because I feel the same. We want to do something, to strike back, to hurt the bastards that killed so many people and conquered our home. We want to charge straight there and free Earth from Meme domination. I get it.”

He took a breath. “But we have to be patient. The facts are not what we feel. We feel as if we have to hurry – and we won’t waste any time, I assure you – but we must use the time wisely. A few more days or weeks, or even months of preparation, will not cause much extra harm at our destination, but taking that time to prepare ourselves and Conquest may make all the difference.”

Once he saw the nods of assent and the grudging acceptance in their eyes, the captain sat down. “In the last week we’ve proceeded in short, easy hops two light-years toward the solar system. Observations show that Earth is a mess, but we believe several million people survived there, as well as millions more in the Jupiter system. The Meme smashed all organized resistance, but did not engage in further genocide. Yet, ninety-nine percent of the human race was wiped out.

“Further detailed information is very difficult to get, as no one is beaming us intelligence anymore, but it appears that the Empire has brought in or split-grown more Destroyers and has sent a squadron of sixteen our way. We can presume they will take time in Earth system’s Oort cloud to gorge on raw materials, but after that, we believe they will come straight at Gliese 370, and therefore us. With their biological interrogation methods, of course they would have found out where Task Force Conquest went, and even though they don’t know that we won, it’s the sensible move to chase after us.”

“We should intercept them, sir!” Ford said hotly, slamming his fist on the table. “We can hit them when they least expect it – in interstellar space.”

“Why?” Absen asked calmly.

“Why? Because…” Ford almost choked.

“I’m not contradicting you, Commander. I just want you to explain what we will accomplish by doing that. Build a case.” Absen had thought this through, of course, but he wanted to see if his officers had.

“Isn’t killing Meme enough, sir?”

“Is it?” Absen looked around. “Okay, let’s hear the pros and cons, pros first. We kill some Meme. Good. Anything else?”

“It’s a live-fire exercise,” Ellis Nightingale said with crossed arms. “We need to see how effective our weapons really are.”

“Actually that applies to the entire tactical system,” Master Helmsman Okuda added. “It would be extremely helpful to practice out in the middle of nowhere before we enter Earth’s solar system, with all its complicating factors.”

“Granted,” Absen acknowledged. “We kill Meme, and we get a top-to-bottom exercise. Anything else?”

Other than some murmured conversations in the background, the room remained quiet.

“All right, cons. Any downsides?”

No one spoke for a moment, and then Spooky Nguyen cleared his throat from where he sat inconspicuously in a chair against the wall. “We may be tipping our hand.”

“Explain,” Absen said.

“The Meme have never witnessed our TacDrive or the tactics that go with it. They will never have seen a human ship that can do what this one does. Surprise can only ever be achieved once,” Spooky said. “They will send reports back to Earth system. We cannot kill sixteen Destroyers quickly enough to prevent that.”

Ford replied in his usual combative tone, “We can arrive right on the heels of that information, before they have much time to adjust. Two days later, if we push.”

“Crew will be in no condition to fight after so much biological disruption,” the Sekoi Bogrin said.

Doctor Egolu raised her hand. “There is one crew member that will not be affected. Michelle.”

“We do not know that,” Commander Ekara objected. “We can’t assume its processors are completely resistant to anomalies. In fact, reason suggests that the more they are miniaturized, the more relativistic effects crop up.”

“She is not an ‘it,’ sir, and I do not need an engineer to tell me my job,” Egolu said through stiffened lips, making Ekara’s vocation into an epithet.

“We engineers live in the real world, where things go wrong and kill people.” Ekara’s voice rose.

Absen broke in, his voice a whip. “Simmer down and stick to the point. Pros and cons of engaging the Meme fleet.”

Sergeant Major Repeth nudged Major ben Tauros, who spoke up as if reluctant. “Is there any chance Desolator can’t handle sixteen Destroyers, sir? I mean, do we need to thin them out?”

Absen glanced around, preferring that others, especially experts, responded to questions, even when he knew the answers. With less than a real month working together, his subordinates still had not developed a tradition of smooth communication among their sections.

Okuda, always mild and professional, took on the job of answering what some might think was a stupid question from a dumbass Marine. “Even if we leave them untouched, it will take them decades to get to Gliese 370. Desolator estimated it would take him ten years to replicate himself – to make another superdreadnought, that is. Then those two make two more, and so on. If nothing interrupts, there will be eight to sixteen of them waiting when the Meme fleet arrives. Us taking out a few Destroyers won’t materially affect that equation.”

Murmuring swept the room. It was clear to Absen that not many of them had thought through the implications of Desolator’s Von Neumann properties, and how he was in essence spawning a new race of spacegoing mechanical Titans of enormous power.

“The Meme will get squashed,” someone breathed.

“I hope they burn in hell,” another said.

“So we don’t need to hit the fleet. Now that that’s settled,” Absen rode down the conversation with his voice, “are there any more pros and cons? Anyone?”

He waited a few more moments, then said, “All right. If anyone thinks of anything more, be sure to bring it up, but for now, I believe the upsides win. We need the weapons test more than we need absolute surprise. We will engage the Meme fleet.”

Chapter 18

Four men entered the captain’s workspace: Ford, Okuda, Ekara and Nightingale. Tobias shut the door behind them, leaving them facing Absen behind his desk. “Sit down, gentlemen. You look like schoolboys in the principal’s office.”

That broke the tension, and they each took a chair.

“I need some information,” Absen began. “How fast can we be going outside of TacDrive and still fire weapons?”

Ford, always quick to speak, answered. “Anything up to point nine light should be no problem. We did it at Afrana.”

“For the lasers too?”

The weapons officer glanced at Nightingale, who spoke. “There is serious degradation after point five light due to the Doppler effect within the weapon itself – you get an enormous blue-shift fired forward, or red-shift firing backward.”

“What about the particle cannon?”

“Less of a problem. They will hit harder firing forward. Sideways they act more like railguns than lasers, so the beam will actually continue the boat’s direction even as they diverge, whereas beam weapons fired sideways spread out in an enormous plane. Fired backward…well, it would be like throwing baseballs backward off a truck. Most of the kinetic energy goes into the boat, as if firing a rocket.”

Absen nodded. “I get it. So if we keep it under half lightspeed, we can still make a pretty good alpha strike off the nose.”

“Yes, sir,” Nightingale replied.

“Quan,” Absen turned to Ekara, “can the TacDrive only propel us directly forward?”

“Yes…” and then the engineer paused with a faraway look in his eye. “I think so. As currently configured, but…it might be possible to put in some auxiliary field emitters, reverse the polarity, and make it take us backward. I’m not sure how fast…”

“Get to work on it. I want that capability. Now…” he turned to Okuda. “Master Helm, tell me something. What happens to our kinetic energy when we come out of the TacDrive?”

“Like many things, sir, it depends. The inertial dampening field interacts with gravity in such a way that within about twenty AU of a star like Sol, the boat comes out of pulse nearly at rest relative to that star – or actually, relative to the sum of all the gravitational pulls in the system.”

Seeing the others’ incomprehension, he explained. “A simple rule of thumb is, whatever the dominant gravity nearby is, the boat will tend to match speeds. So if we come out of pulse near Jupiter, we will be at rest relative to Jupiter. It’s almost as if gravity sucks out the kinetic energy during the pulse. The strongest source tends to dominate.”

“And in interstellar space, where there is very little gravity?” Absen asked.

“Then we might lose a lot less kinetic energy, especially during a short pulse.”

“How much less?”

“I need a one-variable equation, sir. Tell me how fast we are going when we pulse, and how long we pulse, and I can tell you about how much speed we will retain.”

Absen sat back and put his feet up on his desk. “If we’re going half light, with a light-week pulse?”

“Out here? We’ll keep almost all of our energy.” Okuda raised an eyebrow in question, obviously wondering what his captain was driving at.

“Not yet,” Absen said. “All right, I think I have all I need for now.” He pressed his intercom. “Send her in.”

Tobias opened the door and held it, head swiveling to stare at the woman who entered. Unknown to everyone there, yet Absen could see the tantalizing familiarity that the other men felt. He stood up to inspect her, as he already knew who she was.

Dressed in a warrant officer’s dress uniform, the woman was of average height, with dusky skin and dark hair. She held her wheel cap precisely under her left arm, and her right came up to salute Absen. “Warrant Officer First Michelle Conquest reports as ordered, Captain,” she said in even tones.

Absen’s four officers all came to their feet as one, staring.

“What!” Ford cried, aghast.

“You’ve never seen a woman before? Or a warrant officer?” Absen asked with a smile.

“That’s…” he sputtered.

Okuda took a step sideways as if to get a better look, while Nightingale stood still.

Ekara reached a hesitant hand as if to touch the figure’s bare arm, and then drew it back. “That’s an android,” he said in wonder. “They were experimenting with them before we left, for certain specialized uses, but replicating the human body mechanically is a very difficult task, full of compromises. In most cases some form of robot is better.”

“It’s creepy,” Ford said.

Ekara responded by waving a finger in the air in a circle. “There’s that, too. Some people had a hard time adjusting.”

Absen finally returned the salute, but left WO1 Conquest standing at attention. Or at least, her android telefactor. It’s not as if her mind were trapped there too. She’s probably still performing a dozen other tasks, only sparing what she needs for this one.

“We’re going to have to get used to it, because she’s here to stay.” Absen stepped forward to shake the android’s hand. It felt warm and dry, and only slightly unnatural. “One more step toward humanity, Miss Conquest. I hope it pleases you.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she replied, her face slightly stiff, contrasting with her expressive voice. “I know right now I seem more like a marionette or robot than a real organic. I intend to keep improving this body, to find the limits of machine expression of the human experience.”

“I wanna be a real boy,” Ford muttered in a falsetto voice.

Michelle turned toward him with a disconcerting smile. “The wooden puppet Pinocchio to Geppetto. That story resonates with me.”

“How about Frankenstein?” he replied, his face darkening.

Absen snapped, “Ford, hasn’t your mouth gotten you into enough trouble?”

Ford straightened. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I’m tired of ‘sorry, sir.’ Move yourself into bachelor’s quarters. No visitors, double shifts for one week, for abuse of a subordinate. Or maybe I should call it racism. I’m not sure yet. Dismissed.”

Downcast, Ford left the office without a word.

“That wasn’t really necessary, sir,” Michelle said.

Absen turned to her and spoke coldly. “Just who in the hell are you to tell me how to run my boat, Warrant First? Do you think you have some kind of special privileges because your physical processes are different from mine?”

It appeared Michelle had built her new body with the ability to change skin tone, for her face whitened and she snapped back to attention. “Sorry, sir. No excuse, sir.”

“Damn right there’s no excuse. This is a warship, underway in hostile territory. If you have something pertinent to the safety and operation of this boat to say, I expect to hear it, but you are far too inexperienced to be criticizing your captain about crew discipline, especially in front of your superiors.”

“Yes, sir!”

“You want to be human? Well, guess what: you have to take the bad with the good.” Absen calculated for a moment. An AI’s time sense was adjustable, Doctor Egolu had said, and was currently set on ten to one. That is, Michelle experienced the equivalent of ten days for every one boat day, and this factor was under human control. Absen had insisted on it. Perhaps sometime he would turn that adjustment over to her, but not yet, and here was one reason why.

“Warrant Officer First Conquest, I was considering raising you to WO Second, but I can see your judgment still needs some development, so your promotion is now suspended. Additionally, you will march your new body over to Doctor Egolu immediately and explain that she is to crate it for twenty-four hours. You will not use it or even access it during that time. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.” Absen might have sworn the android’s eyes began to tear up, but he remained unmoved. It wasn’t as if the AI brain was being cut off from all access to her function. She just had to give up her new toy for the subjective equivalent of ten days.

Once she had departed, Nightingale rumbled, “That was interesting. You sprung it on us.”

“I wanted to see your initial impressions, without warning. It could have been worse.”

“Yes,” the big man said. “What do you think about the other races’ reactions?”

“The Ryss should have no problem. They are used to Desolator and the idea of AI. Not sure about the Sekoi.”

“I hope she’s ready to rebuild the android if one of those things gets mad and rips it apart. They make me feel small.” Nightingale rolled his shoulders, huge but still only half the size of a Hippo.

Absen sighed. “It’s an experiment. Doctor Egolu thinks letting Michelle have a body is vital to her development and sanity, because we have not allowed her to inhabit Conquest the way the Desolator AI inhabits his ship-body. It’s uncharted territory, gentlemen, but I’m going to give her the same chance I would any other young officer to make her mistakes and learn from them.”

Chapter 19

Captain Absen stared at the holotank, just as he’d gazed at it every day for the last twenty as each pulse brought them closer to Earth. The icons of the sixteen Destroyers, updated each time, flew serenely onward, now 0.9 light-year ahead.

Over the last two boat weeks, Conquest had also accelerated in normal space to 0.1 c, only slightly off a path directly toward the enemy fleet. During that time, Commander Ekara and his team had worked around the clock to install a duplicate set of inertial dampening field emitters, along with all of the hardware and software to handle reversing its polarity. He’d tested it as much as possible, but they had yet to try a pulse in the sternward direction.

“Commander Ekara, are we ready to test our reverse TacDrive?” Absen asked on the comm. Everyone was suited up again, this time with the new snap-closed helmet rings that Timmons had ordered designed and manufactured. They looked like thickened neck ruffs, but when they sensed any danger such as hard acceleration or a drop in air pressure, they would slam shut in a fraction of a second.

“Yes, sir,” came the answer from Engineering. “I’d like to initiate this first one manually, though.”

Okuda shrugged, and Absen replied, “Very well. Sound general quarters, action stations, non-hostile.” Once all the crew was in place, he went on, “Commander, you are cleared to proceed. Give us warning.”

Though he wasn’t really sure what good that would do. If something went wrong, it was unlikely a verbal heads-up would matter much.

“Roger. Initiating in three…two…one…”

Absen expected the vertigo, but he did not expect it to be so severe. “Abort!” he yelled, and a moment later they dropped out of pulse to the sound of one young watchstander retching on the deck. Klis at the backup Engineering station yowled like a cat in distress and hunched over in her suit.

“What the hell just happened?” he asked.

“I believe the reverse TacDrive does not like forward kinetic energy,” Ekara said. “We had a huge power spike that I was only barely able to contain. The inertial dampening field cannibalized some of our forward momentum.”

“Well, that answers one question,” Absen said. “Okuda, slow us down. We need to get the reverse TacDrive to work more than we need the delta-vee.”

“Pointing our fusion drive straight forward to decelerate will show them exactly where we are,” Okuda reminded him.

“Doesn’t matter,” the captain said. “I have a plan. I just need to know what this boat can do.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Okuda said, and then, “reversing course. Fusion drive powering up.”

The rumbling vibration of the boat’s six huge fusion rockets filled the bridge, and then subsided somewhat as the bridge’s dampers and filters reduced it to background noise. Down in Engineering, Absen knew, the crew would have donned sound-cancelling ear protection, but just like the tenders of engines from the dawn of the age of steam, they probably welcomed the subsonics as familiar, even homelike.

The next day, Absen was ready to try again. They had bled off speed to below 0.05 c. “Commander,” he said to Ekara, “set the reverse TacDrive up for the shortest pulse you can, and be ready for that power spike.”

“Roger that, sir. We’ve actually created a method of capturing the excess power and putting it into capacitors.”

“Excellent. That may come in handy if we need to recharge fast.”

“Yes, sir.” Ekara’s voice took on a slight tone of extra patience.

Absen realized the chief engineer was likely way ahead of him. “Good work, Commander. Now let’s see how much of a headache it gives us.”

The countdown came again, and the vertigo, but it was much lessened. “Let’s try a bit longer pulse, right away,” Absen ordered. “Set it up now.”

“Thirty seconds, sir…” A moment later it came again, for a perceptible time, perhaps a full second. The discomfort was bearable.

“Take the time to recharge, and this time I want to pulse forward 0.1 light-year. Give Okuda control when you are ready.”

“Aye aye, sir. Ekara out.”

A long twenty minutes passed, with Absen musing on the image of the fleet displayed in the holotank. Eventually Okuda signaled, and then he initiated a forward pulse. No problems resulted, no klaxons wailed, and at the end of it they dropped out of TacDrive at a little over 0.8 light-year from the enemy fleet.

“All right everyone, secure from general quarters and go to normal routine. We’ll stay here for a couple of days while Engineering works things out.”

Just under eight light-years from home, Absen thought. Seems so close now, though according to all the readings, the year is 2153, seventy-eight years after we left, and forty-four years after the Meme conquest of Earth. By the time we arrive, the solar system will have suffered under enemy rule for fifty years.

Chapter 20

Conquest hummed with suppressed tension as Captain Absen leaned forward in the Chair. “Give me the PA, Mister Johnstone.” He could have punched it up himself, but issuing minor orders and having them followed seemed to lubricate the chain of command, putting everyone into the proper combat mindset of quick, decisive action.

“Aye, sir. You’re on.”

“Now hear this. General Quarters, battle stations. This is not a drill.” Klaxons whooped and Absen gave the crew the requisite two minutes to take their places, though most would be there already. He’d made sure everyone had reviewed the plan time and again, and drilled them repeatedly.

Sweeping his gaze slowly around the bridge, he made sure to make eye contact with all of his officers – his prime watch of Okuda, Scoggins, Ford and Johnstone, as well as Klis, Bogrin, Timmons and Tobias. Fletcher and several junior watchstanders rounded out the list.

And WO1 Michelle Conquest. In his effort to integrate her with the crew, he’d ordered her avatar to occupy a seat opposite Timmons, meaning to Absen’s right and a bit behind, at a backup control station. That console functioned, but its authorities had been deliberately limited. He trusted her competence, but not her judgment, and so continued to treat her as he would any other junior warrant officer.

The central viewscreen displayed an enhanced optical view of the sixteen enemy Destroyers that now lay less than a light-month away. Stated that way, the distance might seem near, but the Astronomical Units reading showed more than 6000, or more than 60 times the diameter of the entire solar system.

Far enough that they can’t see us unless we light up fusion drive, Absen mused, but an easy pulse on TacDrive. They should still think we’re almost a light-year away, near where we last used our conventional engines.

Fortunately TacDrive travel gave off no emissions, and the only thing an enemy might detect was the ghostly trail of tiny particles fused and driven aside by Conquest’s passage through the near-vacuum, an unlikely possibility.

At this distance the Destroyers seemed tiny, even with the best sensors. The technical teams had argued for the manufacture of a temporary array of large telescopes to provide a better view, but Absen pointed out that simply moving closer would fulfill the same function.

That’s what he was about to do.

“Drop us a light-day out please, Mister Okuda,” Absen said. “You may engage TacDrive when ready.”

Okuda’s voice echoed over the PA. “Initiating TacDrive on my mark. Three…two…one…mark.” All the screens went dark as armored covers snapped shut over the sensors on the front of the boat, to preserve them from lightspeed impacts. With the boat at maximum velocity, even a grain of dust could take out an optical feed or radar array.

The thrum of the drive made Absen’s back teeth hurt, and he held his head still as he could. Somehow, the inner ear, or perhaps the pathways in the brain, could sense the relativistic effects of the TacDrive and always made him feel strange. Soon, though, Conquest would engage in real TacDrive combat for the first time, and he suspected he would forget these sensations in the heat of battle.

Lasting only moments, the boat dropped out of pulse and immediately the screens reset as sensors came back online. Now only about 200 AU away, the main screen showed the Destroyer fleet cruising serenely through the interstellar void in a line. From Conquest’s position, they appeared to be travelling from port to starboard, left to right.

“Distance between each Destroyer?” Absen asked.

“About three thousand kilometers.”

“Really? They look closer than that. Give me a rotated overhead tactical view in the holotank.”

A moment later Scoggins brought the 4D display to life, floating over Okuda’s sunken cockpit. Absen stood up to walk to the rail that surrounded the space. “They’re following the leader, nose to tail, three thousand klicks apart…why?”

Okuda hazarded, “They’re travelling at more than half lightspeed. In the unlikely event of a serious collision with a rock out here, the lead Destroyer will take it on the nose but everyone else will cruise on through the same space. Three thousand kilometers is only a fraction of a second of travel time.”

“Like a line of ships through a naval minefield. Only the first gets blown up,” Ford said excitedly. Turning to look at the captain, he exulted, “We could kill them all with one Exploder, sir! One bomb in front of the line and they will all slam into it like lemmings. They won’t have a chance to react.”

“That’s true, Ford,” Absen replied without excitement. “But why are we here?”

“Sir?”

“Why are we about to engage this fleet? We already determined Desolator and his progeny could handle sixteen Destroyers when they show. And we only have eight Exploders in the magazine.”

“Ah…I see. This is a live fire exercise. But sir…is it worth giving up the opportunity to kill them all at once, and also eliminate any chance of them reporting what happened?”

Absen sat back for a moment, thinking. “It is tempting, but…we need the practice. Besides…do you think Meme can feel fear?”

“Of course they can,” Bogrin the Sekoi said without turning from his position. With his size, he tended to limit movements to the minimum. “I remember very distinct fear when I was of Pure Race.”

“You were…” Absen trailed off. I guess I assumed our Sekoi Blends were descendants rather than original Meme, but that was stupid of me. “Thank you, Commander.”

“My pleasure, sir,” the huge gray being replied in his mouthful-of-marbles accented English.

“Then that is another factor in this live fire exercise. Whatever reports get back to Earth system will strike fear into the Meme, and we will be right on the heels of that news. So,” Absen said, “let’s get to it.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Okuda said. “We’re aligned at three degrees starboard reciprocal from their course.”

“Alpha strike focused at ten thousand kilometers, three degrees port. Ready for terminal adjustment and firing,” Ford recited.

“Sensor held open in override mode,” Scoggins called.

“VR space optimized and ready,” Johnstone said.

“Engage TacDrive at your discretion.”

“Engaging on my mark. Three…two…one…mark.”

This time the sensors did not shut down, so the screens and holotank merely jumped and fuzzed for a moment. Before they had even stabilized, Ford spoke. “Lead target locked at 600,000 kilometers and approaching. Perfect. Three…two…one…fire!” Conquest shuddered and the lights dimmed briefly as gigawatts poured into the weapons systems.

Absen kept his eyes on the holotank, which showed Conquest lying in wait across the path of the Destroyers like a sniper in ambush. His boat had dropped from pulse at 600,000 klicks from the lead target, about four seconds of travel time, at a forty-five degree angle to the enemy line of travel.

Weapons were aimed at an intersection point 10,000 kilometers in front of Conquest’s nose, exactly where the first Destroyer would be when the railgun spheres and the particle beams struck. The shot appeared difficult, but according to the computers and Michelle’s calculations, the blast should strike home.

It wasn’t as if the enemy could dodge, after all.

Ford’s words were a marker, not a command; the firing sequence was much too precise to be controlled by a mere human. First, the three Behemoth railguns flung a cluster of millions of ferrocrystal-steel balls in a dense triple river, leaving precisely enough space between each line for the other great weapons, the Ryss-designed particle beams, to travel. Those fired next, their near-lightspeed streams of neutrons, heavy with relativistic mass effects, catching up to the projectiles just before the initial Destroyer reached the crossing.

First, the particle weapon would bore a tunnel into the heavy Meme armor with its stream of neutrons. Because all non-collapsed matter was composed of a great deal of empty space, much of the beam would reach deep into the target before dumping its energy like Napoleonic cannonballs among enemy infantry, disrupting and weakening its molecular structure.

Barely behind it, the railgun bullets would slam into the now-brittle material and smash on through, causing kinetically induced fusion the whole way in. The concept was not so different from conventional shaped-charge designs, using physics to cleverly drill through even the hardest materials. It was a one-two punch of titanic proportions.

“Initiate TacDrive,” Absen said before the weapons struck home.

“Three…” Okuda began.

The Meme ship lit up like a blazing star as the gargantuan energies hammered into it, immediately heating to coronal temperatures and beyond. The explosion hid the resulting details, but a cheer erupted from the bridge crew anyway.

“Two…one…mark.” Okuda engaged the TacDrive pulse and almost immediately shut it back down.

“Reverse sensors, please,” Absen said, and Scoggins was already bringing up the view from behind the boat.

The lead enemy spun broken through the void. As even in death it retained its velocity, the following Destroyers did not slam into its position, but rather, kept on going for a moment before their fusion drives came to life and they frantically altered course, each ship to its own direction.

“Superb shot,” Absen said with satisfaction. “Calculate for reverse TacDrive and engage the rearmost Destroyer.”

They’d discussed this ploy extensively. Attacking the tail-end Destroyer ensured that the enemy fleet could not counterattack Conquest in any meaningful way, as all of them would be moving onward at half lightspeed. It would take days for them to reverse course, or hours for even hypers.

“Calculated. Reorienting. Reverse TacDrive in three…two…one…”

Absen felt the peculiar sensation of the reverse polarity field for brief seconds, and then the screens and holotank altered yet again, showing Conquest lined up for a shot on the final enemy in line. His boat had “backed up” at lightspeed, overtaking the speeding Destroyers, and positioned itself at its optimum firing angle again.

“Target locked at 760,000 klicks…three…two…one…fire.”

Again Conquest vibrated with the launch of millions of railgun bullets, and three particle beams.

“TacDrive capacitors exhausted and charging,” Fletcher said. “Thirteen minutes nine seconds to pulse capability.”

“Good hits,” Ford crowed as the Destroyer flared to whiteness. Conquest’s weapons drilled through its armor and ravaged its interior with fusion fire, leaving a hulk tumbling onward. Eventually, they knew, it would speed through the Gliese 370 system as nothing more than a curiosity.

Now the holotank showed the fourteen remaining Destroyers frantically maneuvering, dodging and evading weapons that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Given their high speed and the distance, Absen thought it unlikely that they would be able to ever see what really happened. Without the emissions of fusion drive, Conquest remained an undetectable speck in the vastness of the black.

“Keep a good watch on them, and make sure nothing sneaks up on us,” the captain said.

“Come on, Skipper. There’s nothing out here,” Ford scoffed.

“That’s what we thought about the Weapon on Afrana’s moon,” Absen replied. “But I hope you’re right. We’ll wait here at battle stations, collecting data, until we’ve fully charged the TacDrive.”

Ford said, “Will we be finishing them off?”

“Anyone see any problem with that idea?” Absen asked into the air. With the new weapons, drive and tactics, the bridge sometimes seemed to be a control center, sometimes a seminar.

“While we could overtake them,” Okuda answered, “we would be backtracking the way we came, and so would add double time for arrival at Earth system. It would take weeks or months in realtime to chase them all down, now that they are diverging, even though to us it would seem like hours or days.”

“Correct, Master Helm. While I do not begrudge the time it takes to get there, I am not going to add that time. Remember, the light from this encounter, as well as any radio or laser comm reports from the Destroyers, are even now zooming toward our Earth system. We need to follow on the heels of that information and hit them hard before they can prepare.”

“Yeah, okay, sir.”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement, Mister Ford. COB, how you fixed for coffee?”

Timmons poured a cop of strong hot java. “I got our new warrant to rig me up a continuous drip, so alls I gotta do is change out the coffee cartridges and we never run out.” He exchanged glances with Michelle – with her avatar, Absen reminded himself – and smiled.

The captain sipped his and then turned to the AI’s android. “How’d we do?”

Michelle snapped to her feet and said, “Permission to speak frankly, sir?”

“Always.”

“While the mission was successful, certain improvements could be made that would fine-tune timing and increase accuracy.”

Ford snapped, “And would this involve turning control over to you?”

“Theoretically, Commander, but that was not my current suggestion.”

“And what is your current suggestion?” Scoggins asked, shooting her husband a warning glare.

“Changes in certain algorithms to optimize targeting. Adding in some useful macros to reduce workload on the organic systems,” Michelle said evenly.

“I’d be very interested in working with you on that,” Johnstone said, diverting the discussion. “Why don’t you plug in and we can do it in VR space?”

“Commander,” Absen said mildly to Johnstone, “make sure all updates are gradual, evolutionary, thoroughly vetted and tested. I don’t want the tried and true discarded without making damn sure the new stuff is significantly better. Remember, I was there when you decided to push a new software patch in the middle of a battle.”

“It worked, though, didn’t it, sir?” Johnstone grinned, and then raised an acknowledging hand. “Aye aye, sir. Thoroughly tested.”

Chapter 21

Last pulse. One more jump of 0.1 light-year and we are home.

“Listen up,” Absen said. “We’ve taken twenty-four hours here to collect intel and absorb what lessons we can, so tell me what you’ve come up with.” He looked around the main conference room, packed with most of his petty officers, noncoms, officers and senior civilians. The best way to ensure unity of effort, he had found, was to make sure everyone in a position to make a decision understood “WWAD.” What Would Absen Do? That meant everyone needed to understand the commander’s intent, and that included all the information possible.

“Commander Scoggins? Sensors?”

“Yes, sir.” She stood to speak. “The solar system looks a lot like the Gliese 370 system did when we conquered it. A bunch of stealthed sentry drones scattered around, and enemy sensors on lots of asteroids. I can see thousands, and I infer at least ten times as many as we can detect, so we have to assume we are under observation at all times. We can’t really hide for long.”

“That means,” Absen put in, “that using TacDrive, we have to move and keep moving so fast that we are always one step ahead of them. We have to do the unexpected. We don’t have a fleet to hammer them with a wave of relativistic projectiles and missiles as we did before. It’s just us. Keep that in mind.” He gestured. “Weapons?”

Ford stood next. “I believe they have installed a moon laser just like the one at Afrana. Maybe that’s a standard setup. There are two Monitor Guardian ships as well, not just one. Either they are worried about a counterattack, or they made another for use elsewhere and it hasn’t left yet. Four manufactured orbital fortresses now ring Earth, of similar size to the Hip – ah, the Sekoi ones. We have to assume they are crewed by human slaves and first-generation Blends.”

“Any chance they will want to rebel?” Absen asked.

Bogrin stood carefully, his head rising to a height of nearly three meters. “Unlikely, sir. Koio was enslaved for millennia. It had that long to chafe beneath foreign rule, and develop a movement to be free. These Blends will have been pure form Meme fifty years ago. They still revel in their pleasures, and have not experienced enough boredom to think about independence.”

“So no help from that quarter,” Absen said drily. “And we need to stay well out of range of that moon laser.”

Michelle raised a hand, one that looked, Absen thought, quite real. She’d also gotten humanoid motions down pat, so he had to remind himself that she was really an AI controlling an avatar. Only her visage failed to perfectly replicate a human face, with its many muscles and subtle expressions. “We could venture into its range if necessary, as long as our time on station does not exceed the weapon’s combined reaction and fire-to-impact time.”

“Noted,” Absen said. “Anything else, Ford?”

“Yes. A fleet of eight Destroyers is orbiting Jupiter, and it looks like there is a lot of human manufacturing activity there, scattered across its moons and facilities. Also, they apparently took a page from our book and have continued creating orbital fortresses. We believe these to be crewed by humans as well.”

“More likely by Purelings,” Bogrin rumbled. “Maybe human, maybe not. Captain, did it matter to you, when you attacked our system, that facilities were crewed by your future Sekoi allies?”

Absen cleared his throat. “No.”

“In the same way, you cannot let it matter to you that defenses may be manned by humans. All in the system are hostile, until they surrender.”

“We’re not going to murder our own people!” Fletcher said from his chair.

The Sekoi turned ponderously. “Perhaps a human should say this instead of me, but it must be said. This is war, not murder. If you believe it murder, you humans must accept guilt for murder of millions of my people. Cannot have it both ways, as you say. War, or murder? If war, then this too is war. If attack here is murder, then you humans are all murderers.” He reached up to the breast of his yellow-trimmed uniform with two massive hands and rent it, sending fastenings spinning across the room.

Ryss snarled and rose, then a moment later the much more numerous human crowd surged to its feet, in surprise or anger. For a moment Absen thought he would have a brawl and a melee on his hands, when a sound of painful intensity, louder than any human throat, cut through the noise. “ADMIRAL ON DECK!”

The Ryss grabbed their sensitive ears, as did many humans. The roar had come over the PA system, and the captain looked at Michelle Conquest, who shrugged apologetically. Absen nodded in approval.

Most of the people in the room froze again as Bull ben Tauros leaped to stand on the table and bellow in his best parade-ground voice. “Shut up! You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Show some discipline. Don’t make me bring my people in to clear this room.”

Absen put his hand on Tobias’ shoulder as the Steward shoved his captain toward the door and interposed his body. “It’s all right, Dwayne, I think.” It looked like the crowd’s mood had moderated as quickly as it had flared, and they slowly took their seats.

A moment later all four doors were flung open and Marines filled the entrances, some with weapons drawn. Bull waved them back and jumped down to the deck with a clang of boots, saluted the captain and backed up to stand at the ready with his troops.

“Thank you, Bull,” Absen said, both still on their feet. “Commander Bogrin, you are one hundred percent right. We cannot, we will not treat this conquered Meme system any differently from any other. Common human ancestry is not a good enough reason to make special allowances. Any ship or facility that shows itself hostile will be dealt with accordingly. No one on this boat is dying because we hold back. Is that clear?” His eyes swept the room.

After receiving confirmation from everyone, Absen sat. “Mister Bogrin, please continue. Tell us about the BioMed situation.”

“Is difficult to determine. Much is assumption that Meme have organized your system the same as ours, the same as all conquered worlds. Eden Plague is one unusual factor. We have no way of knowing how it affected the new Blends. In non-Blended humans, it improves their positive social tendencies. In my limited knowledge of Blended human Plague carriers, it seems to strengthen the human mind and will. Therefore, I suspect that Blending will not be allowed with sentient Eden Plague carriers.”

Absen replied, “You mean they will revert to their original intention – find non-Eden humans, infect them with their own plagues to wipe out their minds, and Blend with those.”

“Yes. Or they will use cloned Pureling bodies, though for cultural reasons difficult to explain, this option is viewed with disfavor.”

“So they prefer genuine human bodies, not clones.”

“Yes. Rather like a connoisseur prefers wild to farmed game.”

Absen said, “All right, I get it. But there are very few if any non-Eden humans left. Even by the time we departed, the number was less than point one percent. Just some die-hard nut-cases.”

“Agreed. But they only need several hundred, perhaps a thousand, for those of the Pure Race to take their bodies.”

Clearing his throat, Absen said, “Their race is no more pure than yours or mine. As you are concerned about words and definitions, Mister Bogrin, let’s do away with that one. Some evil humans also believed in the bullshit of racial purity not so long ago, and I detest the sound of it. Let’s just call them Meme.”

“As you wish, sir. I meant no disrespect.” Bogrin sat.

“CyberComm next.” Absen waved at Commander Johnstone.

“Good news, I think. While we’re too far away to access the residual human comms and computer systems, the protocols I can pick up look pretty standard to me. I should be able to find at least some back doors and hacks. But sir…” Johnstone glanced over at Michelle, “I could be much more effective if Warrant Officer Conquest could assist me. Her familiarity with machine code will help a lot.”

“Familiarity,” Absen replied with amusement. “That’s one way to put it. Her mind is machine code, n’est-ce pas? Permission granted.” The captain pointed a finger at the avatar. “Conquest, you’ll tell us if we begin to strain your capacities?”

“Of course, sir.”

Doctor Egolu coughed, or perhaps choked a laugh, and Absen turned to the diminutive woman. “Something to say?”

“Only that we are far from stressing her. Michelle, what’s the highest load ever placed on your system outside of a test?”

Michelle stood up. “Nearly seven percent, Doctor.”

“And that is peak load even in your current, restricted configuration? Only seven percent?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“You two can stand down now,” Absen said. “You’ve made your point. It’s not lack of capability that causes me to only gradually add responsibilities, it’s developing judgment.” He looked around the room at the hundred-odd people packed into it. “Did you know that when I spoke with Desolator, he admitted he had made errors in judgment? I was even able to set him straight on a couple things.”

Murmuring arose briefly in the room, and Absen let it die down before continuing. “Even an old, powerful AI like Desolator can make mistakes. AIs are not gods, and if I have anything to say, they won’t become our gods. The Ryss achieved remarkable things with their artificial brains, but their AIs weren’t perfect then and aren’t perfect now. It’s great that Michelle can assist us in our duties, but that’s what she needs to do. Assist. There may come a time when we can, or must, turn over functions to her, but not yet, and not just because we can. Now, who’s next? Navigation?”

Master Helmsman Okuda stood up, his fireplug body and bald dark head resembling nothing so much as a human version of a Sekoi. “Lots of debris in the system, from all the fighting. When we use TacDrive, we’re going to be slamming into a lot of small stuff. I recommend manufacturing a lot of spare sensors and any other fittings on the outside of the hull. If we go forward and backward, almost any part of the boat not under armor might be subjected to the equivalent of a bomb blast.”

“So if we pulse with our eyes open, we’ll get a lot of grit in them.”

“Yes, sir. Or we keep everything under armor and take the extra second or two to pop them out.”

Scoggins said, “I’ve been working with Michelle to get the unmasking and recovery times down. All told, we can drop from pulse, open our eyes, target and fire in about six seconds now.”

“Six seconds isn’t four, but that’s not bad,” Absen said with a stroke of his chin. “All right. Make more spares, but plan on keeping sensors under armor for now. If we have to we can always take the risk.”

“Yes, sir.” Okuda sat down.

“Engineering?”

Quan Ekara stepped forward with his usual dour expression. “All systems are nominal, sir. With Warrant Officer Conquest’s assistance, we have increased availability of power by an average of six percent. Per your order, we have still not cross-connected the TacDrive capacitors with the rest of the grid.” His tone said he still disapproved of that decision.

Absen said, “Is there any chance of getting a fourth pulse out of the system? Or recharging the capacitors faster?”

Ekara sighed theatrically. “If, sir, we could link up the rest of the power grid, we could use the weapon capacitors to feed the TacDrive and vice versa, as I may have mentioned before.”

The captain shot his chief engineer a warning glare. “That was not a definitive answer. If you cross-link, can we get a fourth pulse out of the system right away, assuming we have also fired all weapons twice within the allotted time?”

“No sir.” Ekara stiffened. “However, if we fire only once, and use an Exploder for the other attack, it can be done.”

“So help out an old sea dog, Commander, and put it in terms all of us can understand. A short pulse and an alpha strike from our weapons each use about the same amount of energy.”

Ekara seemed to squirm slightly, but eventually nodded. “Approximately, sir.”

“So all together, our total capacitor power gives us five actions – pulses or strikes. Maybe it’s two pulses and three shots, or four pulses and one shot. Right?”

“Yes, in layman’s terms. But –”

“But me no buts, Commander. I know you’re itching to have the flexibility you want, and I’ll let you, but here is my ironclad order. The last slug of power is always for a TacDrive pulse. No matter what, you never dip into that reserve except to run us out of trouble, except at my order. Ellis,” Absen turned to the weapons engineer, “you and Quan build that into the system. Hardwire it. And,” he said as an idea occurred to him, “I want Okuda and Conquest to be part of the process, so everyone understands. In submarine terms, we always keep enough juice to submerge and get away. Got it?”

Assent became enthusiasm as the engineering teams began jabbering about modifying the systems. “Anyone else got anything vital?” Absen called. “All right, then you’re dismissed to your sections.”

“You just made Quan Pham happy,” Spooky said at the captain’s elbow.

Absen chuckled. “He’s another one of your cousins?”

“Grand-nephew twice removed, actually.”

“I figured.”

“You could have checked his personnel record.”

“I prefer to form my own impressions of people directly. I find that dossiers often obscure more than they reveal. Yours, for example, contains many facts, but not enough to really understand who you are.” Absen finally turned to look up at the slim man in the Steward’s uniform standing next to his seat as the rest filed out of the room.

“I could say the same about yours, Admiral.”

“Captain, please.”

“Yes…and I’m just a Steward.” Spooky’s teeth broke out in a smile.

“Touché. I’ll be an admiral if and when I have a fleet again.”

“But you do have a fleet, of sorts.”

“Small craft don’t count. Not even your little Meme boat.”

“Fair enough.”

“Nguyen…” Absen turned and signaled to Bull, who hastened to clear out the stragglers and shut the doors, leaving just the two and Tobias in the room. “What do you and Denham plan to do?”

“I thought I’d ask you about that, Admiral.”

“No more haring off on your own?”

Spooky chuckled, reaching over to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and then took a seat. “We arrogant sons of bitches are prone to such things, aren’t we?”

“Please don’t equate us, Nguyen. We’re different animals, even if we both have wielded great power. I’ve accepted the fact that any control I have over you is an illusion, and the best I can do is try to make sure our efforts are coordinated, so please, drop the bullshit and let’s just work out what we’re going to do.”

Spooky raised the water glass to Absen and toasted him. “Very well, I’ll explain my ideas plainly…though one does miss most of the fun that way.”

Chapter 22

Okuda’s synthesized voice droned from the speakers. “Dropping pulse in three…two…one…mark.” The odd noise Conquest made under TacDrive ceased, replaced by the more prosaic sounds of the ventilation systems and the cracks and pops of changing structural stresses as the bridge crew’s bubble helmets flipped up and tucked themselves down to rings around their necks. Absen appreciated that feature, as the clear flexible material before his face always made him feel confined.

Screens and holotank came to life as armored covers on Conquest’s skin snapped open and sensors shot out on high-speed mechanisms, the whole process taking less than one second, due to the efforts of Michelle, Scoggins and her technical team.

When the picture emerged, Absen started, and his heart pounded with sudden adrenaline before he remembered the massive image he saw was expected. “In place behind Titan, exactly as planned,” Okuda reported.

“Well done, Helm.”

“Time to impact is one hour, twenty-nine minutes,” the helmsman continued. “We’re falling already.”

“Then let’s not dawdle. Deploy the drones,” Absen ordered.

“Drones away,” Scoggins grinned. “No worries, sir. We’ll have a good picture of what’s going on long before we crash.”

Conquest had arrived at near relative rest as the combined gravitation of Saturn and Titan leached the kinetic energy out of the boat under TacDrive, as expected. With no orbital velocity, and without using fusion drive, the dreadnought immediately began to fall toward the large moon. Lighting engines would advertise their presence to everyone, so the massive reactors remained in generator mode only.

Over the next few minutes, tiny stealth drones used cold gas thrusters to maneuver outward, giving Conquest views of the entire solar system with the exception of the space directly behind Titan. Absen kept the crew at battle stations for now. He relaxed slightly when Ekara reported the boat’s energy stores topped off to full again.

On the holotank he could see the two Guardian ships, more than twice the diameter and ten times the mass of Destroyers, floating inward of Earth’s orbit. One lurked near Earth itself, an enormous spheroid, while the other had flattened itself into a great disc near Mercury, a pancake to soak up the sun’s radiation.

“Looks like we’ll have to deal with both,” Absen said. “And that fleet of eight Destroyers is still in orbit around Jupiter.”

“We’re being pinged, sir,” Scoggins announced. “A sentry just went active.”

“So soon? Damn. Put us in a slingshot orbit of Titan and line us up for our first TacDrive pulse. How close are those Destroyers together?”

“They’re spread out around Jupiter, sir.”

“Fine. We leave them for now. Our best shot will be the first one. Prep an Exploder and hold it in the forward launch tube, and have another one ready in the magazine.”

“We’re using two of them?” Ford asked in surprise.

“I hope so.”

“Only leaves six,” the weapons officer nagged.

“Understood, Mister Ford. Just make sure you don’t miss.”

“Miss what, sir?”

“The Weapon, Ford. The Weapon. Remember, that’s the Sword of Damocles. Attack this system, and the Meme can deny us the prize of Earth.”

“Earth’s no prize now, sir,” Fletcher said. “Even after fifty years of planetary engineering and repair, it’s pretty messed up.”

“Two Destroyers slamming into it at half lightspeed will do that,” Ford muttered. “We’re not going to let them keep it, though.”

Titan loomed uncomfortably close as Conquest dove toward its edge. “Rounding the moon in seventy seconds,” Okuda reported.

“Once we’re past, line us up for a pulse run at that moon laser. Remember how that thing works: it will go into wide-beam mode and fry anything coming near it, so Ford, you have to punch that Exploder missile into it before it can react. The rest of you, do it just how we practiced. I want a sequential strike on the Weapon – lasers, particle beams, railguns, fusion missiles, and then the Exploder missile. That way if they react faster than we think, maybe the smaller weapons will shake them up enough to get the antimatter warhead in close.”

“I have the run locked in, sir,” Okuda reported after a moment. “Distributing it to all boards. Sir, what’s our course for the second pulse? Or do you just want to jump onward and out of the way?”

“Can you set it up so we can turn and pulse straight into an attack on the nearby Guardian?”

Okuda closed his eyes and played his board like a concert pianist. “No, sir. It’s too close. We can pulse out, then turn and reverse pulse back in to strike the Guardian.”

“But that’s all five actions. If we fail to vaporize the Guardian with the second Exploder, we’re screwed,” Fletcher objected.

“Not necessarily, Mister Fletcher,” Absen said, thinking out loud. “Pulse in, one. Weapons fire makes two, plus the Exploder missile, which needs no power. Pulse away, three. Pulse backward on our run at the Guardian. Deploy the second Exploder, then pulse away. Five.”

“Looks like Ekara was right,” Johnstone said with a hint of amusement.

“I’m happy to admit it, Commander,” Absen replied. “Assuming Murphy doesn’t show up.”

“Sir,” Scoggins spoke. “This first shot is the most important. May I suggest we try to gain ourselves a full second by leaving half the targeting sensors unmasked? If we lose them, we can replace them from spares, but if even a few survive, they will give us a quicker lock-on.”

“Excellent idea, Scoggins. Do it.”

The Sensors officer made a few adjustments to her console, then nodded her readiness.

“Initiating firing run on my mark,” Okuda reported as the dreadnought rounded Titan. In the holotank, the bridge crew could already see the flares of nearby scout craft and other unknown ships, firefly specks moving outward in a lightspeed-defined sphere as they detected Conquest’s presence and blasted for position.

“In a normal battle, we’d be in deep trouble,” Absen said conversationally. “We’d be shadowed by a few dozen enemy sentries and soon we’d have to slug it out or run.” He laughed, a cold thing that brought chills to his officers. “If everyone’s ready, let’s go kill these bastards. Okuda, kick her in the ass.”

“Aye aye, sir. Pulse in three…two…one…mark.”

More than ten AU, or eighty light-minutes of distance, collapsed into seconds within the relativistic cocoon of the TacDrive field. Absen barely had time to lean forward when the pulse ended.

Immediately the viewscreens updated. Apparently some of the sensors had made it. “Target locked. Firing lasers…particle beams…Dahlgrens.” At this last, Conquest shuddered with the release of kinetic energy. “Waist missiles away. Exploder away.”

Within the space of five seconds, Absen observed first a light show on the surface of the moon at the spot where Intel said the Weapon emitter lay buried under a thin sheen of lunar dust. The massive energies of hundreds of lasers and the three titanic particle beams, firing at a range of less than a thousand kilometers as the dreadnought hung above the enemy installation, vaporized so much material that the main display completely whited out.

The holotank, with its synthesized inputs and computerized interpolations, provided a representation that showed the energy weapons and then the millions of railgun shots gouging a kilometer-deep hole.

Possibly that’s all we really needed to do to put that thing out of commission, but it’s too late to recall the Exploder now, Absen thought. He watched as sixty fusion-warhead missiles converged on the same place and arrowed into it, detonating so nearly simultaneously as did not matter.

Then came the Exploder.

A fraction of a second before it detonated, the armored covers on the sensors slammed shut, and the entire bridge crew barked and yelled in frustration.

Michelle Conquest spoke quickly. “One thousand kilometers is outside the effective radius of the antimatter warhead, but the hard radiation from it would have fried all the exposed equipment, and we don’t have time to replace it before our next attack.”

“Speaking of that…” Absen said.

“Mark,” Okuda spat, and the dreadnought leaped ahead again. “Pulse ended.” It was over almost before it began. “Reorienting for reverse pulse.”

“Any idea what the Guardian is doing?” Absen asked.

“It hadn’t reacted before we lost the sensors. Loading rear feeds…”

“Ready for reverse pulse,” Okuda warned.

“Stand by and hold at one second,” Absen said, waiting for Scoggins’ report. Eleven seconds had gone by within the boat since they fired, but the realtime clock, showing passage of time in the outside universe, had jumped forward more than twenty as Conquest traveled.

“They’re accelerating toward the Weapon. Or toward our former firing position.”

“They have no idea what’s going on!” Ford exulted. “Come on, let’s hit them.”

“Three actions used, Ford. Four when we pulse. Just the exploder this time. Set it up.”

“Ready, sir, ready!”

Absen hoped so. For all of Ford’s emotion, he was still the best gunner in EarthFleet. “Pulse.”

All screens flickered as Scoggins closed the rear ports and opened the fronts, which would be safe from harm traveling in reverse.

“Mark.”

Conquest leaped backward as if stung, the forward viewscreens showing only the blackness of redshifted light “behind” them for just a moment before they came to life again. They had passed in front of the Guardian at lightspeed and dropped out of pulse with their weapons pointed across the path of the great Meme ship, a space ambush.

Ford’s finger hovered over the firing key for a moment before Michelle Conquest suddenly bolted across the bridge, moving faster than any human or even cyborg could have to wrap her hand around his wrist. “What the –” he cried as she gently but inexorably moved it away a few centimeters and then stabbed precisely at the control with her other fingertip. “Let me go, bitch!”

“Exploder away,” she said, ignoring Ford, and then let go, walking back to her station at a normal pace while the rest of the crew sat there stunned. “Commander Scoggins, shut the sensors please.”

“Sensors shut,” Scoggins said, her movements automatic, while still staring at the AI avatar.

Absen tore his eyes from the tableau and looked at the holotank. It showed the interpolation lines of the Exploder missile and the Guardian intersecting in a pulsing sphere, but he knew that this was just the system’s best guess. “Rear sensors open. Helm, pick a safe direction and pulse forward as fast as you can.”

As soon as the final pulse had finished, the captain turned to Michelle with a voice of steel. “What the hell was that about?”

For once, Ford said nothing, just massaged his wrist and glared.

The avatar snapped to attention and stared straight ahead. “Sir. The Guardian’s acceleration and curving course created an angle of deflection too high for any organic to successfully engage using the slow-moving Exploder missile. A millisecond’s variance might have caused the weapon to miss, which would have wasted a warhead and possibly endangered the boat. We were within the Meme firing envelopes of both fusors and hypers. I take full responsibility for my actions, sir.”

“Damn right you will,” Absen said mildly. “All my officers do, or they’re not my officers. Sit down, Warrant Officer Conquest. Well done. Now would someone show me what happened to the Guardian?”

Scoggins threw a view from the rear of the tail end of an enormous blast. “Passive radar, using the blast itself as an emitter, shows nothing left of the Guardian larger than a hundred meters in diameter. Not a direct hit, but good enough.”

“I…I…” Ford said, his face whitening and crestfallen. “I’d never have made that shot.”

“Snap out of it, Ford,” Absen barked. “You don’t whine because you can’t pick up as much as a forklift, or play chess as well as a computer. There’s a lot of things you can’t do, but you’re still my weapons officer and the best in the fleet. I’m glad we have a human AI to back us up, but she’s just one part of a team.”

“Yes, sir. Aye aye, sir.” Ford turned back to his board and tapped at the controls, clearly discomfited.

“Five actions completed,” Absen said as he stood and paced around the bridge, the adrenaline of the last few minutes suddenly crying for movement. “Recharge time?”

Lieutenant Fletcher replied, “Twelve minutes remaining to one pulse. Sixty-four minutes and change to full, sir.”

“Make sure it’s the TacDrive capacitors that get the juice first. I don’t like to be sitting dead here.”

“We could still maneuver and fight conventionally if we have to, sir,” Okuda said.

“Thank you, Helm. Scoggins, what’s the other Guardian doing?”

“It seems to be reforming itself from a disc back into a ball, and moving in our direction. ETA is about forty minutes.”

“Can we get some distance with fusion drive?”

“Yes, sir,” Okuda replied, “but that will…”

Suddenly the screens flared and fuzzed, and Conquest shuddered slightly. “What was that?” Absen snapped.

“Weak particle beam strike, looks like,” Scoggins said.

“From where?”

“The Earth orbitals, sir,” she replied. “We’re at extreme range and I didn’t even consider them a threat, but it looks like they fired all at once and enough energy reached us to burn out all the sensors on one side. I’ve closed the other clamshells.”

“Helm, move us away. COB –”

“On it, sir. Damage control parties notified. Good thing we got all those spares.”

Absen grasped the rail that shielded Okuda’s sunken cockpit from a misstep and stared at the holotank. “Move us behind Luna. They can’t fire through that.”

“Aye, sir,” Okuda said. Conquest already rumbled with the subsonic vibration of the massive fusion drives. “Eight minutes until we’re shielded, and gaining distance. I doubt they’ll hit us again; I’m evading enough to make most of their beam strikes miss.”

Suddenly a noise like a gunshot exploded on the bridge. Absen turned to see the Sekoi Bogrin had slammed his massive fist on his console, shattering its surface. While the captain was not well versed in alien emotional cues, he couldn’t miss the anger in this one.

“Mister Bogrin?” Absen waited for the being to speak.

“Why are we running?” The alien turned to look at the captain and roared, “We have weapons that outrange theirs. We have time enough to destroy the orbitals. Yet you hold back!”

Tobias moved up beside the Chair, hand on his sidearm.

Keeping his irritation in check, Absen folded his hands and stared back at the Hippo. “We are recharging our capacitors, and I do not want to slow that process by diverting power to weapons. And you are correct. We have time. The other Guardian will not be in range for a while, and I want to reserve all our effort for it. Moving away is simply the most efficient strategy. It is a submariner’s strategy, as I explained before. I have been fighting the Meme for almost a century, Mister Bogrin. I am your commanding officer. If you cannot accept that, you are free to leave the bridge and perform some other useful function.”

Breathing heavily, the Sekoi slowly turned back and hunched his shoulders. “No. I will stay.”

“Then please refrain from damaging the equipment,” the captain said. Klis the Ryss leaned over to murmur something to Bogrin, too low for him to hear. Absen found it interesting that the carnivore was talking to the mostly herbivorous omnivore.

We can’t turn this into a human versus alien conflict. It’s good that Klis appears to be making an effort to mediate, but in a way, Bogrin is right. I have to prove to them that I am not risking our lives by going easy on the enslaved humans.

Tense silence reigned on the bridge, broken only by terse orders and phrases from the officers, speaking to each other and the rest of the boat.

“We’re rounding the moon, sir,” Okuda said.

“Bogey at eight o’clock –” yelled Scoggins, and the bridge exploded into action. A flashing red icon and a wailing alarm showed in the holotank, close off Conquest’s port quarter, just abaft the beam. Very close.

“Targeting –” Ford barked, but by the time his hand came down on the firing control, it had been inactivated by the automated TacDrive cutoff. Absen felt the inertial field fling them forward for just a moment, a whiplash sensation unlike any he’d ever experienced, and then dump them back into normal space. If he had to guess, it might be a partial or very short pulse, with insufficient energy.

“What just happened?” Absen snapped, but he didn’t get an immediate answer. Okuda poured with sweat and twitched, his fingers tapping at his console like a demented spider even as he worked in VR linkspace, and the captain could feel the gravplates compensate for Conquest’s violent maneuvering. Helmets had snapped shut and the peculiar automated alarm whooped, recommending they seal into their seats using the crash cocoon function.

“No power,” Ford snarled as he fired brief bursts at something. Absen knew that the enormously upgraded weapons aboard needed the massive slugs of stored capacitor energy to fully operate; even with the many extra reactors, the combat systems could easily use all the available juice. “Launching missiles.”

Missiles took little power, Absen knew. He hated to expend the ammunition, but the manufactories could eventually replenish them with time and materials. Ford must be using what he had, to fight off a threat that had surprised them.

“Report!” Absen said as the evasive maneuvering continued. “What just happened?”

The main screen shifted as Scoggins changed views, showing the back side of the moon jiggling with a long optical shot. Red light blazed and flickered through billows of moon-dust that was slowly falling to the surface, unsupported by atmosphere.

“That’s another Weapon!” Absen leaped to his feet and strode over to stare at the screen.

“Sir, get back in the Chair, now!” Chief Steward Tobias dragged the protesting captain back and shoved him forcibly into the seat to click the restraint harness, then did the same for himself. “We need to seal up.”

“I would also advise sealing into crash cocoons, sir,” Michelle said. “If that laser hits us, the organics will need the protection.”

“Hit us? Where –” Absen throttled his questions and forced himself to think. “Ford, do what you can and keep them busy. Helm, keep evading. Scoggins, how far away are we?”

“Over three million klicks, sir. Okuda must have initiated a TacDrive pulse using whatever was in the capacitors, throwing us forward and out of the way, but we’re still well within that thing’s range. Only the fact that even its light takes more than ten seconds to reach us has allowed us to evade the beam, but it’s out there.” She adjusted her board, and a red line reached out from the moon toward the holographic teardrop that represented Conquest. It waved around like a drunken searchlight.

“Looks like it’s only a matter of time before it gets lucky and clips us,” Absen said.

“Yes, sir,” Michelle said from her station. “We are evading away from the emitter, but I calculate the likelihood of damage at better than fifty percent before we leave its envelope.”

Ford said, “I’ve got our available missiles launching in staggered waves, sir, attacking them from widely differing angles. That should keep them occupied.”

“Good job, Ford. Remind me to crucify an intelligence officer when we have time.”

“Will do, sir.” Ford chuckled grimly. “How did we miss it?”

“Probably well hidden for just such a purpose. Transmissions from the Meme sentries must have passed information on our conquest of the Gliese 370 system. The reports would have reached here more than ten years ago, more than enough time to build another moon laser.”

“Tricky bastards,” he muttered.

“Cocoons,” reminded Michelle.

“Agreed. Everyone cocoon up.” Absen leaned back and allowed the Chair to reform itself into a crash couch, surrounding and enclosing him in biogel. Automated systems allowed his suit to deflate and his helmet to retract. Then came the part he really detested, when the living mask pressed over his face, extended tubes down his throat and filled his lungs with dense liquid that would cushion him from G forces in the event of gravplate failure.

His seldom-used brainlink came up as the plug snicked into the slot in his skull, another thing he disliked. But, he could see the need for it in extreme situations. A moment later he felt as if his eyes opened as his optic nerves were fed a VR view of the bridge. It seemed as if he now sat back in the Chair as usual, suitless and comfortable, and the crew the same.

“Is the crew cocooned as well?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Timmons said from behind. “Everyone reports sealed up and controlling their functions through VR.”

Absen knew this was a less efficient method of operating a boat in some ways, but the addition of telefactors and robots compensated. That reminded him… “Conquest. If we take damage, you are hereby authorized to take whatever steps you deem necessary for survival of the boat and crew. Don’t ask, just do it.” He knew she could handle dozens of telefactors and direct the army of robots to make repairs far more efficiently than any one crewmember could.

“Aye aye, sir.” In VR, the robotic appearance of her avatar had fled, replaced by a virtual body no different from the rest.

Abruptly the simulation froze, skipped and fuzzed out for a moment, and then slowly came back online. Absen’s head hurt, though the link should have overridden any pain. “Report!”

“The exawatt-power beam struck us briefly, sir,” Conquest answered. “We lost two fusion engines, two of the missile box launchers, and twenty-seven rear lasers. Main armor held; all damage came from embrasure locations. Fifteen likely casualties so far.”

“How long until we’re out of range?”

“Eighty more seconds.”

“That was bad, but as long as –” and then the simulation shook and shattered around him.

This time Absen floated in VR space for what seemed like minutes, trying to get some kind of response from the cocoon or the link. He couldn’t even feel his own body, so the system must be still blocking him in. It was supposed to dump him out of VR if it went down entirely, allowing him to access the internal manual controls.

Finally the rebooting sequence began again, and when he could “see” again, Absen saw his people’s VR avatars awakening intermittently. “Helm, report!”

Grimly, Okuda answered. “The second strike caught us before I had damped out all of our tumble from the first. When we lost number two and three engines, the other four threw us into a spin. As it happened, the next beam swept across our bow.”

“The forward armor held!” Absen exulted, joyfully shocked that Desolator’s upgrades had stopped even a glancing blow from the ravening enemy beam. In the battle for Gliese 370, that Weapon had punched through battleships like paper.

“Yes, sir. Between the superconducting layers and the collapsium, it only penetrated about a hundred meters. Unfortunately…”

Ford broke in. “We’ve lost the entire forward weapons array, and another thirty-one lasers. And a couple more hundred-round missile boxes, though those are easy to replace.”

“Do we have TacDrive?”

“Theoretically,” Okuda replied. “The system checks out nominal, but I don’t know about the capacitors.”

“Scoggins! What’s our threat status?”

Screens and the holotank swirled and pictures coalesced. Even the flatscreen images were three-dimensional in linkspace. “We’re out of range of the laser now, sir. I see several hundred installations and drones awake, many maneuvering for a better view or to attack us. The nearest asteroid fortress that poses a serious threat is about two and a half hours away from weapons range.”

“At least we’re not under immediate attack,” Absen said. “COB, what’s our damage control status?”

“I’ve got everyone working, sir, but…” Timmons pursed his lips and took a breath.

“Spit it out, Chief.”

“Sir, we could make repairs a lot faster if you took the cuffs off the AI.”

Absen grunted. “You too, huh, COB? Get in a tough spot and we hand over the keys?”

Timmons stood up and walked over to speak quietly into Absen’s ear. Even though this was a VR simulation, its exquisite reality made the captain forget everyone was inside their cocoons. “Boss, we’re crippled. Putting the AI in the loop will more than triple the speed of repairs.”

“That much?”

“Yes, sir. She can handle multiple bots so much faster than any one human, even linked, that it’s like magic. I’m just as worried as you are, but we have Marines with EMP and we have fail-safes. We can always fry her brain.”

“Okay, COB. You got it.” Absen raised his voice. “Conquest, you are authorized full access to all damage control, repair and maintenance systems throughout the boat in order to bring her up to full capability again. Keep the COB informed.”

“Aye aye, sir!” Michelle replied with enthusiasm.

“Engineering, report.”

Fletcher was still unconscious, and Klis, like all Ryss, had refused a link implant, so Absen did not expect an answer, but he hoped the VR system would route his request somewhere. Instead, he heard Klis’ hissing voice, though he did not see her in VR space. “Rebooting and testing the grid, Captain. Fifty percent and climbing. All power not necessary for repairs is going to the TacDrive capacitors, as ordered.”

“Well done, Lieutenant. How are you operating?” Absen couldn’t help asking.

“As soon as I could, I opened my cocoon to operate manually.”

Of course. That should have been obvious. Absen sent a mental command to open his cocoon but leave him linked, and then told the rest of the bridge crew to do the same at their discretion. “Do whatever gets the job done, people. We can risk a little VR syndrome.”

The medley of problems with too much linking could be dealt with, but had never been completely overcome. Human brains had their limits, and the rich and powerful tapestry of virtual reality strained them, especially with the ability to slow and speed the time sense. In fact, Helmsmen lived in a state of addiction, managed but never cured. Perhaps that was why they seemed so serene and remote, like the legendary lotus-eaters.

Several unpleasant minutes later, Absen sat upright in the Chair, his face once again free of invasive biomachines. Fletcher’s cocoon remained closed, and would do so unless overridden by medical personnel. Doc Horton had already fled the bridge for the infirmary, treating casualties, so Bogrin was in the process of trying to determine the extent of the Engineering officer’s injuries. “It appears he has a concussion, and the system keeps him under for now,” the Hippo rumbled.

“Leave him there. Klis can handle Engineering, I’m sure. Projections on repairs?”

Klis flicked her ears in appreciation and said, “Two fusion engines are completely destroyed. The beam entered their exhaust ports and vaporized everything in the associated engine rooms. Fortunately the new design compartmentalized each so we did not lose all six. Those will take weeks to manufacture and install.”

“Noted. Continue.”

“Loss of the two engines cut available power by twelve percent. The grid is repair priority one, and should require six to ten more minutes to reach full efficiency.”

“Can we fire Exploder missiles?”

Klis tapped her board. “Launch tube will be usable in about two hours.”

“The main weapons array?”

“Two days, maybe more. There was heavy damage, as the armor covering the main firing ports was not capable of withstanding such a strike. Most of the lasers can be replaced from spares, though, so we will have full secondary capability within six hours.”

“How long until that Guardian gets in range?”

Scoggins replied, “Just a hair over four hours, sir.”

Absen relaxed slightly, allowing himself to sit back in the Chair. “Good work, people. Give me the PA.” Once he was on, the captain spoke, his words piped throughout the boat. “This is Captain Absen. While we have sustained severe damage, the TacDrive is operational and we can run if we have to. But this boat was not built to run. She was built to fight, so I need her in fighting shape. If we run, we give the enemy precious time. I aim to deny him that time. I know every one of you will give his or her maximum effort, and I thank you in advance. That is all.”

“Do you really mean that, Captain?” The Ryss voice surprised him, routed from the auxiliary bridge. As he hadn’t pulled his link out yet, he saw the bridge in hybrid enhanced reality mode, and a small popup had appeared to tell him who spoke.

It was Trissk.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“AuxConn has taken damage. Commander Rikard is dead and I am the ranking officer here. I must speak.”

“Speak freely, Trissk.” Absen knew the auxiliary bridge monitored everything on the main bridge, so they could take over in an emergency. This time, however, it looked like the backup had been damaged.

“If you want every crewmember to give maximum effort, as you say, you must free Conquest.”

Absen found himself surprised. “I would have thought the Ryss would be just as wary of turning over too much power to an AI as I am.”

“You are mistaken, Captain. We turned over the details of control to AIs long ago, and retained command. Just as computers really control your engines and your weapons, and you control the computers, you must allow the Conquest AI to control her body, this boat, and you command her.”

“I don’t ‘must’ anything, Lieutenant. You have to convince me with more than the advice of one young officer.”

“Don’t take the word of a lieutenant, Captain. Take the word of a Ryss. You trusted Captain Chirom, and I was the son he never had. If you knew him, you know me. That means, if you know Desolator, you know Michelle Conquest.” Trissk paused and waited.

“So…you believe Michelle is trustworthy enough to be given full control of Conquest? To let the boat become her body? Even as young as she is?”

“I am not suggesting you let her make command decisions. Just allow her freedom to exercise her full capabilities. This vessel is not reaching her potential. When Desolator rebuilt Conquest, he remade her in his image. That means she needs a new mind for her new body. Right now she is like a zombie, barely able to shamble into a fight.” Trissk’s voice rose, impassioned.

“I wouldn’t go that far. She’s very potent.”

“She’s like a strong but clumsy warrior in a claw-fight. Skill and speed matters more than strength.”

“Dammit. The more you people argue for this, the more I distrust it.”

“Captain, I remember well one of your favorite sayings. ‘Use all your tools.’ This is good advice. Please…Skipper…heed your own words.”

Blatant manipulation, Absen thought, but he’s right, nonetheless. We’re damaged, and we need to get back into the fight. We can’t let the Meme recover, and I don’t want to make this decision at the last second, and too late. Much as I hate the idea, I’m going to have to take a leap of faith.

“All right, Trissk. I do hear Chirom’s voice in you. My thanks. Return to your duties.” He closed the channel and turned to Michelle’s avatar, still her representation on the bridge. “Warrant Officer Conquest, I hereby grant you full access to all systems on this boat.”

“Including the distributed processing nodes?” she asked.

Absen gritted his teeth for a moment. Letting her consciousness flow to all parts of the vessel would effectively end his ability to shut her down at the central CPU. If he agreed, he was commending the lives of every organic being on Conquest into her hands.

“Yes. Go ahead,” he said. “I need this boat back in fighting shape.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Nothing seemed to change on the bridge for a few moments, as Absen observed his officers concentrating on their duties, passing orders, coordinating and synchronizing the crew as they worked frantically to repair burned-out power conduits, broken machines and frozen servos. On the displays he could see two dozen grabships flitting around the outside of the boat like demented bumblebees, cutting away twisted pieces of armor, pushing new clamshell mechanisms into place to mask and unmask the weapons systems and sensors. Alongside them he could see at least a hundred more drones of all sorts crawling like spiders on the hull, assisting them in a coordinated dance.

“Holy shit,” COB Timmons muttered under his breath, and then handed Absen a mug of coffee. “Repair efficiency just doubled again, and the curve is still climbing. That Michelle is really something.”

Absen sipped, then cleared his throat. “I think we can just call her Conquest from now on, COB. Like Desolator is Desolator. You’re watching her become what she envisioned herself at our first meeting.”

“Not sure what you mean, sir. I wasn’t there,” Timmons replied.

“An angel, COB. A guardian angel, golden and terrible as the blazing sun.”

Timmons shook his head. “Not what we need.”

“Hmm?”

“We don’t need a guardian, boss. We need an avenging angel.”

Chapter 23

“That big bastard is getting closer,” Scoggins said as she highlighted the enormous Meme monitor, the Guardian ship that had been collecting solar energy when they first entered the system. Having witnessed the destruction of one moon Weapon and then its gargantuan brother ship, now it had configured for battle in the familiar football shape, and blazed toward Conquest at full speed.

Full conventional drive speed, anyway.

Once, that sight would have filled Absen with concern, if not fear. He remembered the terrible beating Task Force Conquest had taken at the hands of the Gliese 370 Guardian, and the desperate measures he had to employ to win. Even then, only the revolt of the Sekoi against their masters had saved them.

Where before he had spears and slings and arrows, trying to bring down this mammoth, now he had an enormous hammer. Like Mjölnir, the mythical magic weapon of the Norse god Thor, Absen finally had the means to smite his enemies with awesome and decisive blows.

Even better, he could fly, while the enemy could only walk.

Only six Exploders left, he thought. Maybe I should wait the thirty-six hours we need to replace the main weapons array, but even that isn’t enough to take down one of these monsters. A Destroyer, yes, but the numbers say we can’t even penetrate a Guardian’s two-kilometer-thick armor on the first shot. The Meme’s love of big ships is justified. Double the diameter and you can triple or quadruple the thickness of armor, if you don’t need to increase internal systems and crew very much.

“We’re going to use an Exploder on him,” Absen reiterated. “The remaining Guardian and the moon laser are our two major threats, and with the laser, all we have to do is stay away from it. That means ‘that big bastard’ is our number one problem, worth an extreme solution. Are we at full charge?”

“Only two actions, sir,” Klis replied.

“Can’t wait for three?”

“He will be upon us before we have a third full charge,” she responded.

“It will have to be good enough. Pulse in, fire the missile, and pulse onward. Make ready.”

“Missiles,” Ford said. “Now that they are at full battle alert, they will probably react within the time that our fastest shot will need. They could easily pick the Exploder missile out of space. We have to launch a full spread, and add in whatever direct fire weapons we can, just as distractions.”

“Understood. Conquest, if you control the actual weapons fire, how much time will we save?”

“Approximately point seven seconds, sir.”

“So we’ll get the strike down to one point three seconds?”

“No, sir,” Conquest replied with a hint of prim. “Three point three seconds, including the two seconds it takes to acquire the target after the pulse.”

Exasperated, Absen said, “Conquest, I just gave you carte blanche majeure. Now I need you to stop acting like a goddamn computer and show some initiative. Tell me what I need to know, not just what I ask.”

“Yes, sir.”

There came a slight pause, and Absen imagined Conquest’s powerful processors running through innumerable permutations of meaning in the English words, and the surrounding complex situation. He had left his goal deliberately ambiguous, seeking to teach his new boat-brain rather than merely lecture.

“If I control all necessary systems,” she finally replied, “I can reduce the exposure time to approximately two point nine six seconds.”

Absen stabbed his index finger at the avatar. “That’s the right answer. That’s what I need you to start doing. A good officer gets ahead of her commander and anticipates what he wants. Right now, I need the very best solution to kill the enemy while minimizing risk to this boat, using the tactics I have explained.”

“Aye aye, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s what I require.” Absen sat back, folded his arms and watched his crew go about their business.

“Ready for pulse run,” Okuda said, his fingers lightly touching his console.

“Firing sequences ready,” Ford reported. “Exploder in the forward launch tube. All standard missiles ready.”

“Repairs suspended and all parties report secure,” Timmons said.

Klis said, “Engineering ready.”

Once the rest of the sections reported in, Absen stared at the screen and the oncoming Guardian for a moment, so like peering through a periscope at an unsuspecting surface target.

A very big, scary surface target.

Chopping his hand through the air, he said, “Execute.”

Thrum went the TacDrive, and then the captain’s time sense slowed to a crawl. As he was still linked, despite breaking open his cocoon, someone – Conquest, probably – had provided him with the perfect way to watch the action at a rate he could follow.

His muscles felt as if they were made of taffy and his head a block of wood. Speeding up time sense made the rest of the physical world seem dead slow, which was why the ability was normally only used in full VR. In hybrid mode, he could think and transmit fast, but even moving his eyes seemed to take forever.

For a handful of seconds all remained still. Then the screens flickered and the Guardian took shape on the main display, hundreds of fusors flickering like watchfires as hot plasma leaked from open ports. Immediately the enemy ship began spewing hypers by the thousands.

“Target locked,” he heard Ford’s words, oddly distorted. “Firing.” The weapons officer was reporting, not controlling, as Absen could already see Conquest’s missiles launching in a wave of two hundred.

Two hundred and one, as the Exploder added itself to the mix.

Deliberately using the same body as the standard rockets, it was now just one among many, gambling on getting close enough. Absen watched as lasers fired, ignoring the oncoming hypers and targeting the Guardian, the better to cover the speeding EarthFleet missiles. Red eyes winked as the bolts of light impacted, flaring and then disappearing like sparks above a bonfire.

The view swung ponderously to the side in slowtime, and then the screens froze yet again as the TacDrive engaged. When its field dropped once more, Absen’s time sense synchronized and the world righted itself. “Report.”

Aft sensors threw pictures onto the screens and his eyes drank the information. Explosions bloomed like New Year’s fireworks, filling the displays with artificial colors as the system tried to make sense of the overload.

“No det –” Ford began, and then came the gratifying whiteout of the Exploder scraping space clean of all matter more complex than a free particle. When the holotank updated, Absen could see a broken hulk, drifting through the void like a deflated beach ball.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing at an amorphous cloud.

“Hypers,” Scoggins said. “They lost targeting when we pulsed, and there’s no one to update them.”

“Spoke too soon,” Ford said darkly as the flock, like birds, suddenly wheeled around and accelerated toward Conquest.

“This is why I wanted to always keep one pulse in the can,” Absen snarled to himself, though the prime watch heard him easily enough. “How many?”

“About sixty thousand,” Conquest replied.

“Can we stop them?”

“Not with what we have.”

“Will we have a pulse before they hit?”

“No. They will impact in nine minutes.” The avatar waited, inhumanly still, for her commander’s decision.

“Dammit. We keep ending up behind the power curve.”

“Skipper,” a new voice broke in. “Sorry, but I’ve been monitoring the command channel. Sir, my squadron is waiting in the chutes for a mission. Do you need us now?”

“Vango,” Absen barked. “Do the Crows have fusion missiles strapped on?”

“Yes, sir. Two per bird.”

“Then launch, and aim those warheads at the densest parts of that hyper cloud. We have to cut down on their numbers enough for the lasers to handle.”

“Aye aye, sir. Aerospace will get it done.”

***

Vango, alone in Lark, led the way as the first flight of four StormCrows blasted out of the launch chutes. Every six seconds another four followed, until all forty joined in a loose formation that wheeled around into a rough disk, flat side toward the approaching hyper cloud. The refurbished fighters, with better linked cybernetics, had dispensed with the gunner position in favor of more power and ammo.

“Mission control, request optimal targeting coordinates,” he called over his secure link.

Conquest’s melodious synthesized voice – he was becoming familiar with it by now from working in the simulators – replied, “Uploading now.”

“Alpha Squadron, on my mark, fox one.” When he had confirmation that each of forty missiles possessed an aim point corresponding to a dense part of the hyper cloud, he said, “Mark.”

Forty standard missiles kicked loose, igniting their fusion rockets as soon as they had cleared the fighters to avoid blast damage. “Uploading second wave coordinates,” he heard.

Okay…if we fire our second weapons, we won’t have any more heavy hitters; but then again, there aren’t any ships to shoot anyway. Besides, we can’t dogfight with hundred-ton missiles strapped onto our fuselages. Better to go in clean.

Vango followed along in VR space as the first wave flew to its designated set of positions and detonated. While the hypers had obviously fixed their attention on the nearest enemy, without the positive control of the Guardian and its crew they simply arrowed directly toward Conquest. Thus, they took no evasive maneuvers and the forty blasts ripped into the dense clump like bursts of insecticide among swarming termites. Thousands died. Some vaporized outright, but most had their living integument burned, stripped or irradiated to death, leaving the internal ferrocrystal penetrators shooting pointlessly through space with no guidance.

The second wave did even more damage, simultaneous detonations timed to wait until the cluster had pulled even tighter as it approached Conquest. After that…

“All flights, merge and strafe, then come about and shoot them down. Hold your spacing. I don’t want any fratricide. Maximize timesenses and keep your safety protocols on. Anyone who overrides just to get a kill, I will have your ass.”

Interlocks prevented the fighters from shooting each other, even by accident in the swirl of a furball, but some jet jocks turned them off because they could cause a weapon to cut out at the wrong time. They depended on the “big sky, little bullet” theory to avoid shooting each other. Vango wasn’t so sanguine.

Forty StormCrows spread out and flew into the speeding cloud. Fully VR-linked, Aerospace pilots pushed the limits of machine and man, with their time senses artificially accelerated by a multiple of over two hundred. Even with the universe slowed to bullet time, the two forces interpenetrated at speeds that required computer predictive aiming to both hit targets and avoid collisions.

To Vango, he seemed back in some old space combat video game such as he played growing up. He lined up on a bogey and triggered his centerline maser, noting a hit. Not waiting to see the results – Lark’s maser was powerful enough to kill any hyper – he dropped pips onto two more and let the computer fire his wing lasers and railguns in pairs while he lined up on another.

Leaving the secondary suite of weapons on self-selecting automatic, he fired and took out another hyper. Once more, he set up a perfect shot, and then he mashed his thumb down on the virtual trigger but saw no result. Cursing, he remembered that at this fast timesense, the usual ten-second recharge time for a full maser round of two shots would feel like two thousand seconds – more than half an hour in his head.

So he concentrated on turning around and slowing down before the hyper cloud passed him completely. Lark spun, pointing herself backward as he watched the enemy projectiles flash past him, still accelerating on fusion engines. He realized that, given their enormous speed and acceleration advantage, his squadron would never catch the missiles before they made their runs at Conquest. Still, he lined up on his mother ship and poured on the power.

“Alpha Squadron, this is Alpha One,” Vango said over the squadron channel. “We got our licks in, and they’re past us. Nothing we can really do, but we knocked out at least half of the hypers. Hope that leaves us a home to go to.” That was a horrifying thought – stranded in an enemy-controlled system, in a one-man fighter.

“Push your thrust up to seven percent overload. Reduce T-sense to no less than one to one, but leave the kick on automatic.” That meant that any threat warning catapulted the pilot’s brain and link to maximum speed, while allowing him to slow down to experience time normally. Otherwise, a few minute’s travel might seem like days.

Dropping his timesense back to normal, Vango felt the Gs leak through the gravplates as he pressed Lark as hard as he could. Seven percent thrust over maximum was the statistical safety limit. Doing so would wear out the engines faster, but only slightly increase the chance of a catastrophic failure. Still, there was no way the squadron would get another shot at the missiles, unless some missed and looped back around for reattack.

Looking at Conquest, he saw a blizzard of small craft – grabships, pinnaces, and assault sleds – spreading out in a ring around the dreadnought, tiny and insignificant, but each with at least a laser. Automated maintenance drones joined them, and soon more than a hundred tiny helpers floated in the void. This was a tactic of desperation – probably very few would be able to take out a speeding hyper – but any reduction was beneficial.

Briefly his VR controller highlighted another launch from Conquest, something small, like a missile, heading at an oblique angle to the hyper cloud. He caused his viewpoint to swoop in on it but suddenly it disappeared from his data stream. Backtracking its path, he saw that it had also taken flight from the small craft bay. Instead of joining the fight, though, it had blasted away at high speed.

Then he had no time to wonder as the hypers entered Conquest’s defensive engagement zone. Increasing his timesense to maximum again, he watched medium lasers nose from their firing ports as their armored clamshells opened. Immediately they began rapid fire, using just enough energy to damage the incoming missiles without bothering with confirmed kills. At speed, blinding the enemy projectiles and causing them to miss was good enough.

Thrusters flared from their gimbals around the dreadnought’s rim, shoving the ship sideways so that those hypers losing terminal guidance would shoot through the empty space where she had been. The assorted small craft moved away in a perfectly coordinated dance, and Vango realized that they must be on automated control. That made more sense than manning them, anyway – so close to Conquest, with no transmission lag, the AI could fight them better than crew.

The evasive maneuvers and individual defensive shots saved Conquest from the leading edge of the hypers, but thousands remained. Closer and closer, the enemy missiles bored in, and each one that died bought its fellows a few more milliseconds, like a wave assault of screaming footsoldiers assaulting machineguns.

Finally, they broke through. Clamshells slammed shut even as hypers dove for the laser firing ports, weak spots in the hugely thick forward armor. With his speeded senses Vango saw Conquest spin on her axis like a top. In fact, that maneuver had begun several seconds ago, in order to complicate the hypers’ targeting and distribute damage over a wide swath of armor, rather than allow the things to slam repeatedly into the same spots and bore through.

Vango lost all vision in close, and he pulled his VR view back until he could see a boiling cloud of heat and debris. It seemed to take forever, until he remembered to adjust his timesense to near normal again. Then Conquest, spinning, seemed to fling off the mess and rise as it pushed forward on main engines.

Though the entire forward glacis of the dreadnought had been stripped of fittings and ten meters of armor, Vango was relieved to see no critical damage, none of the huge deep holes he had feared. Then he remembered that hypers depended on speed to do damage. The farther away they were fired, the harder they would hit on impact. These had flown for only a few minutes, and with the new armor, even thousands could not chip their way through without the relativistic velocities that usually made them so deadly.

It did look like most of the lasers and all of the sensors were scoured from the surface. Every piece of clamshell armor had been blown clear, leaving naked firing ports, twisted weapons, and hectares of wreckage.

Vango transmitted, “Alpha Squadron, I see a few hundred hypers out there trying to reattack. You are cleared hot to engage by singles. I say again, take your best shots, and we can tally up kills in the bar.” This was the time for the aggressive, competitive spirit – just a turkey shoot against targets that didn’t return fire. That made him wonder if the Meme had ever considered such a thing. Putting a laser on a hyper would complicate things enormously for fighter pilots.

Probably not worth the time and materials, he thought. Meme are all about efficiency.

Fifteen minutes later he lined up Lark for recovery through the small craft bays. Once the magnetic grapples had him, he dropped out of link and relaxed inside the cocoon, feeling the comedown of being ejected into the real world. Even now, the system pumped him full of drugs to balance his brain chemistry against the powerful addictive pull of VR space, but those could only blunt, never completely overcome, its siren song.

Mission debrief and a few beers would help, and now that Dannie had dumped him – what, decades ago, he thought with an emotional wince – maybe that cute civilian cyber-tech would join him for a drink and more.

Chapter 24

“That could have been worse,” COB Timmons said as Absen listened to his report. “Three more casualties due to one lucky hit that dropped straight through a laser port and made it all the way to the control room. All the forward weapons and armor is gone, but Conquest says two days and we’ll have the main array and half the lasers back in operation.”

“Two days? That’s remarkable.”

Timmons nodded. “That AI is a wonder, sure. Manufactories are going at full speed. I’ve taken the liberty of requesting the Marines help out. With their armor and cybernetics, they are doubling as labor for the surface repair, bolting on new clamshells so that the finer work can be done later under atmosphere. Also, I have them carrying materials in low G from the bulk storage to the assembly lines. But we’re running low on some things.”

“Sensors,” Absen asked Scoggins, “how long until those Destroyers arrive?”

“They’re launching hypers as fast as they can make them, all the way from Jupiter,” she replied. “Those will get here in about four hours, and they’ll hit hard at over half lightspeed. The ships will take three days.”

Absen shook his head. “We won’t be here. Well before those arrive, I want to pulse out. Two pulses, actually, that will zigzag us to the other side of the sun from the Destroyers, and then drop us near the asteroid belt.”

“They’ll still find us, sir. There are thousands of stealthed sentries all over. One of them is bound to see and pass our position.”

“I don’t mind,” Absen replied. “In fact, I’m counting on it. I want them chasing us, burning fuel and wasting time while we make repairs.”

“Funny, sir,” Johnstone spoke up. “We’ve become more like them. Conquest is now a sort of living ship, able to heal and stay on long range patrol indefinitely.”

Absen smiled indulgently. “If you had a deeper military background, Rick, you’d know that the ebb and flow of warfare always drives a sort of directed evolution, of tactics and technologies. Each combatant selects the best of what the enemy has used against them and replicates, improves it, while also trying to innovate. No, no, I’m not criticizing. You’re the best at your job, and it was an astute observation, for someone not well versed in history.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We can pulse any time now,” Okuda said.

“Then let’s get everything secured for TacDrive and go before those hypers show up.”

***

Conquest lumbered forward under careful grabship control. The little tugs grasped the rim of the flattened teardrop like dragonflies, providing the dreadnought with fine mobility in the absence of the gimbaled thrusters blasted away by the hyper strike. It was backing now, as clumsy as a seagoing supertanker in a confined port of call.

On the bridge screen, Absen stood and watched the holotank representation as his boat aligned the opening in her rear armor with another potato-shaped asteroid. More grabships on the rock kept it steady, and between the two teams, the lump of minerals slid slowly into a cargo bay.

“That makes eight,” Timmons reported. “Six high-metal rocks and two iceballs. Should be enough to replenish the raw materials.”

“Seal up, then. Even though we’re pretty safe out here, I don’t like having that huge opening in the armor. Get those things broken up and stowed for processing.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Timmons did nothing but acknowledge his boss’s order, not even touching his console, just drinking his coffee. Because he disliked linking just as much as Absen did, the captain took this to mean the COB was ahead of him, and had already given the necessary instructions to his section chiefs and repair teams.

“How long?”

Timmons checked the watch on his wrist, an old-fashioned gesture that often gave away those born in the twentieth century. “Two hours, more or less.”

“Plenty of time. Any change in the Destroyer fleet?”

“No, sir. Still parked at Earth, within the Weapon envelope.”

“Damn. Clever bastards.” Like naval warships sheltering beneath the guns of a land-based fortress, the Destroyers, instead of chasing Conquest as he had hoped, had taken up a position near the moon. Now, if he made a pulse run at them, he would have to come within range of that ship-killer. “Thoughts?”

With the prime watch just returned from their rest period, Absen looked around the bridge as his crew turned toward the center. With Timmons on his left, Michelle Conquest on his right, Okuda in his sunken cockpit, and the rest along the circular walls, the captain felt at home, and waited for the team to express their opinions.

“Stay here until we are one hundred percent,” Ford began the brainstorming. “We have to be at full strength before we go in to battle.”

“I concur,” Doc Horton said from BioMed. Bogrin was absent from his position, though none there but Absen knew where he had gone. “The crew is working at capacity on these repairs. They will need some rest or they’ll start making mistakes. More mistakes.”

“Agreed,” the captain replied. “Unless something else comes up, we’ll stay as long as we need. How long is that?” He turned to Timmons.

Timmons glanced over at Conquest’s avatar, who said, “Two more days for the major repairs, another day for the less critical stuff, and another day for crew rest and recovery.”

“Four days, then. Fine. Make sure we keep a sharp watch. I don’t want some stealthed sentry to sneak up on us with an antimatter bomb. So what then?”

His crew glanced left and right, until Conquest spoke up. “I believe we have to go after Jupiter.”

“Explain.”

She made a throat-clearing sound, despite having no throat to clear, and Absen marveled within himself at the very human emulation that the AI displayed, even to idiomatic speech. “The enemy’s remaining ‘fleet in being’ is guarding the prize of the solar system: Earth. Its ecosystem is recovering and has an estimated population of almost one billion people. It has orbital defenses and the remaining Weapon to help secure it. As you implied, too tough a nut to crack right now. But without the Destroyers, the Jupiter system is an inviting second prize. Millions of workers, manufacturing, shipyards – and its magnetic field is the only ready source of antimatter other than Saturn. Militarily, it’s probably more important than Earth.”

“I see you’ve thought this through.”

Conquest looked around at the others and smiled. “We had our own brainstorming session in the wardroom, sir.”

Absen started in surprise. “You’re hanging around in the wardroom?”

“Why not, Skipper?” Johnstone spoke up with a wink. “Where else is a warrant officer supposed to socialize?”

“Where else indeed?” Absen stared at the avatar for a moment more, reminding himself how combat has a way of making differences seem small, driving people together and forging tight-bonded teams. It appeared that, for his prime watch at least, Michelle Conquest had made the transition from oddity to insider. “Glad to see you all taking the initiative. As it happens, I agree. Once repaired, we’re going to take over Jupiter and make it our base. With its facilities and personnel, I hope to build a force to retake Earth. Once they see what we are doing, they can sit there and defend, which with our new technology is a losing strategy, or they can counterattack to try to take or wipe out the Jupiter facilities. Either way, they will lose.”

“So we’re just going to let the slaves of Earth chafe under the yoke for however many years it takes?” Ford said, aghast.

“Very lurid, Ford. ‘Chafe under the yoke.’ The broadcasts and intel we can gather show that the populace is no worse off than in any other authoritarian regime. That’s unfortunate, but temporarily unavoidable. This boat is the only thing that can free Earth, and we’ve already seen that the Meme aren’t going to roll over and die. They’re a tough, smart enemy, and they can still surprise us. I’ll feel a lot better when we have repair facilities, supplies, and allies outside of Conquest.” Absen leaned forward. “Here’s a maxim to inscribe on your frontal lobes: strategy must drive tactics, not the other way around. Our number one strategic concern is preservation of a ‘fleet in being.’ Currently, that consists of this one boat.”

Absen let his crew digest that one for a moment. Then, Ford spoke again. “On that note, preserving this vessel…do we know whether the Jupiter system has anything like the moon laser? Anything big enough to really hurt us?”

“Excellent question. Scoggins?”

“I’ll get with Intel, sir. Fleede’s been begging for something to do.”

Absen snorted. “If I know him, he’s in heaven. Closest thing to an organic android I ever met, that man. I think he had extra hard drives installed in his brain to keep more facts at his fingertips.”

“He says he can have a briefing on the Jupiter defenses ready for you any time you like, sir,” Scoggins reported. “If I know him, he and his team have been updating what he’s got around the clock.”

“Let’s do it after shift change, at 1630. All officers and senior NCOs except those on duty. Put it in the small auditorium.”

***

Absen set his sandwich, chips and milk on the table and took his seat with five minutes to spare. That gave him just enough time to wolf some of the food down. With Lieutenant Commander Fleede, you never knew how long the briefing would go. If you let him, he could spew information for hours.

“You can get started, Fleede,” Absen said. “Just the high points, please.”

“Yes sir.” Thin and gawky, with a protruding Adam’s apple, the man seemed the quintessential intelligence officer, endlessly studying the minutiae of the enemy forces, orders of battle, weapons and tactics. Absen had learned a lot from him over the years. Details, anyway. The trick was to keep him out of the weeds.

“The Jupiter system now consists of seventy-nine moons, some of which are repositioned asteroids. The Galilean four contain major enemy bases. All of the other satellites have at least some kind of weapons cluster on them – lasers, particle beams, railguns – all direct fire weapons.”

“No missiles?”

“No, sir. It appears the Meme have reserved guided missile use for themselves, and banned all thermonuclear or antimatter warheads not under their direct control. This is consistent with what our Sekoi allies say about Meme policies. Without nuclear or larger weapons, the destructive ability of resistance movements, rebels or rogue Blends is limited.”

“Makes sense. Go on.” Absen took another bite of his sandwich.

“From in-depth studies of SIGINT, COMINT and other direct collection, we have built a picture of the military society in the Jupiter system. It is very hierarchical and regimented. Only the most trustworthy and well-vetted human slaves are sent to work there. Loyalty brings privileges, consumer goods and entertainments. Mistakes will get people sent back to Earth, and disloyalty is punished by death.”

“So they will probably put up a good defense,” Ford said.

“Yes. We have to consider that they have been living for decades under Meme rule. Most of them will have been born since the conquest. They don’t know anything else. We can’t expect them to revolt. Not without disaffected Blends, but the Sekoi don’t believe Earth has had long enough for our Blends to get bored.”

“Okay,” Absen said around a mouthful of chips. “So we’ll have to beat them militarily. But there should still be a point at which they know they’ve lost, and surrender.”

“Yes, sir. Neither Meme nor Blends are really willing to die for the Empire. We know that. Commander Bogrin thinks once our victory is mathematically certain, they will surrender. Of course, the Purelings will fight to the death.”

“So the key is to threaten the bosses. The Blends. I assume you’ve put some effort into identifying them?”

“Yes, sir.” Fleede clicked the slide show forward to display a diagram of the system. “We’ve found these major command centers – one on each large moon. However, while the unblended humans here are the most reliable, the Blends out here might not be.”

“Why is that?” Absen asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Because it’s not desirable duty. Some of the Blends might be dedicated, or militarily inclined, or seeking advancement through taking an undesirable assignment, but the Sekoi Intel team members believe that these will be few. Most Meme who accept Blending are looking for a hedonistic lifestyle, their second, more pleasurable stage of existence, as it were. For them, it’s like retiring from harsh military service. Like giving up a life of boredom and sacrifice and going to heaven – an amusement-park heaven composed of debauchery, lust for power, gluttony, drunkenness. What we would call all the worst of human traits.”

“So most of that fun is on Earth, not Jupiter system.”

“Yes, sir. The four moon bases have recreations, but they’re still pretty austere compared to Earth. The Blends here really haven’t had time to get these urges out of their system, according to our Sekoi that remember what it was like when the Meme conquered them. Takes hundreds of years before they start acting like statesmen rather than childish, spoiled, rich-kid politicians, begging your pardon, sir.”

Absen waved the apology away. “Lawyers and politicians are always fair game for jokes, Lieutenant Commander Fleede, and I’ve never wanted to be either. Carry on.”

Fleede snorted and choked his way through a laugh. Absen reminded himself not to joke again, if he wanted to keep the man on track. He waved, go on, and the intelligence officer continued.

“The bottom line is, sir, and I know you like bottom-line assessments…anyway, I believe that if those bases are neutralized, the rest will surrender. But,” Fleede waved a finger like a mad scientist, “if even one of them can continue transmitting orders, the rest will believe they have a chance.”

“Excellent summary. Do they have a Weapon?”

“A weapon, sir?”

“A Weapon with a capital ‘W,’ man. An exowatt-power laser.”

“Oh, yes, sir. It’s on Io, facing outward, and uses that moon’s volcanic heat as a power source, we believe. It also has the fastest orbit, about 1.77 standard days, so it sweeps the system the quickest.”

“But we can avoid it if we just stay out of its way.” Absen finished off his milk, wishing again for fresh instead of reconstituted. No matter the advance of technology, nothing could seem to replicate real fresh chilled milk.

“Yes, sir. Easily. Though if we land ground forces, and it takes them longer than a day or so to win, we will have to pull out our aerospace cover. Or, we could just use an Exploder on it.”

Absen’s face froze and he almost snapped at the man, remembering a long legacy of smart Intelligence people who thought because they knew so much, they should be in charge. Then he realized Fleede was, in his own awkward way, just trying to provide him with options. “So, an Exploder, or a ground attack like we did at Gliese 370, or just avoid it?”

“Ah…well, sir – Sergeant Janice, give me a close-up of Io – sir, as you can see, the laser sits very close to the command center on Io. In all likelihood they are connected by underground tunnels. We have to take the command center out eventually, so…”

“So we might as well take out the Weapon as well. Got it. Any other ways to do that other than Exploder or ground assault?”

“Our fusion missiles can be more precisely timed now, sir. A properly set up bombardment has at least an even chance of rendering it inoperative, according to our simulations.”

Absen looked around for other ideas, then realized this wasn’t the time or place for a mass brainstorming session. “All right. Ford, you’re Blue Team leader. Fleede’s your second, Conquest is the third. Pick several others, and make sure you have at least one Marine and one flier. I want you to come up with courses of action to defeat the Io laser, the four bases, and the rest of the Jupiter system, with the resources of this boat. I’ll want to see something in about forty-eight hours, and if you can spare the mental effort, start thinking about how to beat the Earth-Luna defenses as well.” He stood up, causing everyone else to stand with him.

Fleede spoke. “Ah, sir, I have a lot more detail on the Jupiter defenses…”

“You can keep briefing anyone here who wants to listen. For me, package it up in an interactive report and shoot it to my desk, all right? I’ll study it at my leisure. Ford, get to work. Anyone on the Blue Team is off the regular watch rotation.” Absen walked to the door as Tobias held it open for him, and then turned back to address his officers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve done half the job. We destroyed their two biggest ships, and the moon laser that holds Earth hostage. We forced them to pull back to defend the prize, leaving us free to attack the secondary target. Now all we have to do is seize Jupiter system as a base, free the human slaves there, and form a task force to liberate our home planet. I still have a few things up my sleeve, so don’t despair. I believe in a few short weeks, Earth will be ours again.”

***

Absen sent Tobias out of his quarters and sat in his armchair, staring at a  map of the solar system on the wall screen. His last bottle of Scotch sat on the table to his right, and he sipped at the amber liquid from a highball glass of Sekoi crystal. Unbidden, doubts ran through his mind, and the press of time weighed upon his soul.

He’d once believed that the TacDrive was a magic bullet, a technology that would let him dance into the solar system untouched and snatch it from the Meme as a street urchin would steal an apple from a vendor.

Now he realized how naïve that belief had been, and his mistake had lost him good people. If he’d looked more carefully, searched for the hidden traps that fifty years of Meme rule had allowed them to lay, he might have found the second moon laser. Now Conquest had to waste effort licking her wounds, giving up that most precious of commodities: time. Time and surprise.

I’ve tried out most of my tools, he thought. My best ones, the ones I had expected. Now I’ll have to admit that Spooky was right. I am glad he and Denham are here with their weird little boat. Let’s just hope they can pull another rabbit out of the hat. And then there’s Bull and his Marines. Thank God for them and their monolithic loyalty. They’re going to be vital, because contrary to a certain unruly weapons officer, we’re not going to win with just the biggest guns.

Or even the biggest hearts and brains.

We’re going to win because have no other choice.

Epilogue

Spooky smoked like a chimney, staring out the flat glass porthole surrounded by brass and polished wood. The fumes of his cigar wafted into the air and vanished, disturbing his fellows not the least. Sighing, he tossed the half-finished stogie into the air, where it vanished. “There’s always something missing about smoking in VR,” he said with a touch of wistfulness.

“Maybe it’s the guilt,” Ezekiel said from his position standing before the bank of steampunk-inspired levers, knobs and gauges. “You were born in a time where smoking caused all sorts of nasty illnesses. It was a real vice back then, something for macho men. Now it’s just one more annoying habit.” Like Spooky, he wore a pea coat with brass buttons, trousers with stripes down the legs, and sported a round naval cap.

“VR used to be interesting, but I find it pales in comparison to reality.”

Bogrin, or the VR avatar of Bogrin anyway, snorted with amusement in a very manlike way. Spooky suspected the simulation interpreted the Hippo’s emotions and rendered them with a homo sapiens flair. “You humans constantly seem to be trying to escape from reality. If you can’t do that, you obsessively control it. Eventually you realize that all such control is an illusion, and the best one can hope for is to ride life’s waves.”

“Your English has improved quite a lot,” Ezekiel observed.

“That’s because I am speaking my own language, and your translator simulation renders it more accurately than I can in physical form.”

“Of course. I should have thought of that.”

Bogrin snorted again and manifested a cigar of his own, suited in size for his enormous grip. Once lit, he puffed on it contentedly. “I have not spent enough time in VR to get bored of it, however. The Meme did not allow Blends access to ships such as this one, or the organic technology to link into virtualities. I sometimes wonder if, had they done so, no revolt would have been possible. Most of the Blends would just have abandoned reality to spend all their time inside this kind of ‘second life.’”

“For a while,” Spooky countered. “As you pointed out, eventually you would have tired of it.”

“Yes.” Bogrin said no more, but simply smoked and looked out at the void rushing by.

On the other side of the room, Trissk paced back and forth like the upright lion he resembled. After ten years, he had grown into his prime, his mane full and his muscles rippling. Though not as bulky as a Sekoi, he flowed with contained menace and power. “I do not fully understand what we are doing here. Conquest fights on, and now we abandon her and our fellow warriors, for what?”

“You didn’t have to come along. As you Ryss have no Blends, some other could have represented your race,” Ezekiel said mildly.

“I was the logical choice. I have the most experience dealing with humans and Sekoi. I command our small contingent. I could not send another in my place, or I would have looked like a coward. However, I fear I may still look like a coward, as I will be elsewhere when the fight finally comes to tooth and claw.” He snarled and slashed a hanging curtain, which slowly raveled itself up afterward. “I also do not like this virtual reality. What satisfaction is there in attacking a simulation?”

“You can always go back to your body in the cocoon,” Ezekiel replied. “Though without the link, you won’t be comfortable. And you can’t get out and roam around. This ship doesn’t have the extensive gravplating of Conquest, so you need to be sealed up and cushioned in case of hard maneuvering.”

“I agree with the young Ryss, though,” Bogrin said around his stogie. “It is time to hear what this is all about.”

Ezekiel sat in a chair, placing his hands on the arms as if on a throne, and smiled. “We’re going to meet my family.”

The two aliens stared in puzzlement, and Spooky lifted an eyebrow in a very Vulcan manner. “I always thought Raphaela had her own base somewhere in the outer reaches of the solar system. I even had people searching for it in the decades before we departed, but I never found it.”

“Space is too vast even for your resources to find it,” Ezekiel said with satisfaction. “And we were very careful. If Earth ever fell, no one could know where it was, what it looked like or how to detect it. With the Meme sucking information out of everyone’s head, if anyone knew, they would too.”

“Absen could have found it,” Spooky groused, “but he didn’t want to put enough EarthFleet resources against it. But, I suppose that’s now proven fortunate.”

“Precisely.”

“Would you two cease sharing inside anecdotes and explain yourselves?” said Trissk, striding up to Spooky and looming over the small Vietnamese man.

Ezekiel waved diffidently and said, “Before he died, my father convinced my mother to set up a secret base, a young and healthy living machine little different from a ship. With that, her shuttle, and the resources of the Asteroid Belt and the cometary halo, she and my brothers and sisters had everything they needed to assist EarthFleet without ever getting co-opted by it.”

Spooky grunted, moving out from under Trissk’s shadow. “Brothers and sisters? I never knew. Were they part of the ‘black box’ team of scientists that cracked so many technical challenges?”

“Yes. They were quadruplets, and they were not only part of the team, they were the team. No other humans were ever brought out to the base, though Mother did recruit some smart normals to form a second cell on Mars.”

“As a blind. I see,” Spooky said.

“So that’s where we’re going? This secret base?” asked Trissk.

“Exactly. If we can find it, we can show Mother what we’ve done, and the allies we’ve made. She can give us a wealth of information about Earth. If there are any resistance movements, any soft underbelly to Meme rule, she will know about them. The trick, though, will be making contact.”

“Did you not arrange codes and signals, in case you returned?” Bogrin asked.

“Of course. The tricky part will be dodging or getting rid of all the Meme sentry drones lurking around the system, and making sure that when we transmit, nobody sees or follows us. If I was Mother, I would be extremely careful. On the other hand, she must already know that the Empire has been attacked here. The battles and the destruction of the two Guardians would have been visible throughout the system and beyond.”

“Then we had better get started killing drones, don’t you think?” Trissk snarled. “Show me how to use this ship’s weapons, and I will be your gunner. Let us begin the hunt.” He paced around the room as if looking for a fire control station.

“I have a better idea.” Ezekiel gestured toward the front screen, which appeared to be a window opening onto space itself. The view leaped forward until they stared at the shark-like shape of a Meme sentry. “Roger, think you can sneak up on that drone?”

“Of course, Zeke,” the voice of the ship came back.

To the two aliens, this was just another VR wonder. Spooky, though, nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I will keep that expression permanently in memory,” Ezekiel laughed. “In fact…” A moment later a holographic image of Spooky, with completely unrehearsed shock on his face, appeared on the wall. “Priceless.”

“Roger is sentient,” Spooky accused. “All these years we have been working together, you kept this from me.”

“Only so I could reveal it to you at the proper time. What, you think you’re the only one that gets to have secrets?”

A slow smile stole across Spooky’s face, then a belly laugh burst forth from his lips. He bent over, clutching his knees and letting out several gasps and whoops. Ezekiel had never seen the man so unabashedly amused. “Well played, sir. Well played.”

“If you can breathe now, take a look at the screen.”

The four gathered in the front of the sumptuous control deck to see the sentry looming closer and closer. It seemed to be unaware, almost somnolent. Suddenly it jerked and thrashed as two tentacles leaped forth from Steadfast Roger and speared into the tiny ship. A moment later it calmed, returning to its former stillness.

“Give Roger a few hours and he will break through its conditioning and steal all the current Meme communications codes and protocols. Then he’ll have that sentry doing our work as well. If all goes as planned, he will quietly call the drones in this area of space to him one by one and take them over. Pretty soon, we’ll have our own little fleet reporting only what we want back to the Meme, and also searching for the base signature that I supplied. It may take a few days or a few weeks, but eventually we’ll track Mother down.”

The four, each a warrior in his own way, stared at the screen and watched the future unfold.

THE END of Tactics of Conquest. Captain Absen and his stalwart crew will return in Conquest of Earth, coming in summer of 2014.

If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review on Amazon, and look for more by David VanDyke at www.davidvandykeauthor.com.

By David VanDyke:

Plague Wars series:
The Eden Plague
Reaper's Run
The Demon Plagues
The Reaper Plague
The Orion Plague
Cyborg Strike
Comes The Destroyer

Follow many of your favorite Plague Wars characters a hundred years into the future in the hard-hitting mil-sci-fi Stellar Conquest series.

Stellar Conquest series:

First Conquest (within the anthology Planetary Assault)

Desolator

Tactics of Conquest

Look for them at your favorite book provider or visit www.davidvandykeauthor.com