Ezekiel stood beside Spectre on the steampunk VR bridge of Steadfast Roger, gazing at the month’s progress on the Jericho Line. It had been seven weeks since Conquest had entered the Solar System, and he had never been busier in his life, acting as Spectre’s operations and logistics officer. “There,” he said, pointing out the plate glass forward window as they seemed to rush toward a speck. The dot swelled to show a lumpy asteroid like a potato between the Sun and Mercury’s orbital path. The VR sim dimmed Sol’s brightness so they could see.
“How many do we have?” Spectre had asked Ezekiel to take him on an inspection tour of the Line.
“Over a thousand now, with a couple of dozen added every day. Our captive Blends slap cloned fusion engines on them to rocket them onto the right orbit. On the way, grabships drop off PVN-made self-installing automated laser turrets, turning them into cheap pillboxes. When the Scourges show up, they’ll start shooting, taking as many out as possible and hopefully slowing them down by attracting their attention. Also, each has a supersized fusion bomb that will blow either when all its weapons are down, or when we send a signal.”
“But space is big,” Spectre observed.
“Really big. If they were stationary, the odds of even being within range of an incursion would be slim. But since they’ll be in orbit, the math says that at least ten percent of them will move into range as they travel. If the Scourges are actually attracted to them instead of ignoring them, each will sucker the enemy into the firing arc of the next.”
“Bug zappers.”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not all Absen has.”
“No.” Ezekiel manipulated controls and Roger turned to zoom toward a swarm of living missiles. Manipulating the time senses of the two men allowed them to feel as if they moved far faster than they really did. “These are Meme hypers, parked in orbit. The Destroyers are pumping out tens of thousands of them every day. When the time comes, they will seek and attack anything not friendly.”
“Excellent. And those?” Spectre pointed toward a cluster of icons.
“These are stealthed smart mines. We can see them because we have the exact specs on them, but we hope the Scourges won’t. We inherited millions of these things from the Meme – some in storage on Luna, some deployed around Earth after Conquest’s first attack.”
Spectre grunted. “Lucky they didn’t have time to deploy that many near Jupiter.”
“They didn’t trust their underlings, so they were slow to authorize. These are also part of the Line, deactivated of course. Once turned on, they will home in on anything without an EarthFleet or Meme IFF and detonate.”
“Why don’t we attach them to hypers and make ourselves some cheap nuclear missiles?”
Ezekiel smiled. “I asked the same question. The mines couldn’t survive the hypers’ acceleration. Seems hypers have one speed only: flat-out, balls-up screaming. Redesigning the hypers and making them smart enough to handle variable acceleration would mean producing only a tenth as many. The mines have cold thrusters and simple seeker programs. It will have to do.”
Nodding, Spectre said, “What else do we have out here on the Line? No manned systems?”
Ezekiel shook his head. “Would you want to crew a fortress out here? Suicide. No, all the manned systems are reserved for Earth’s defense. If the Scourges go for the richest, closest source of biomatter, they’ll head straight there.”
“Too bad we can’t make decoys, things that falsely scream LIFE! LIFE! to split up their rush.”
Ezekiel’s eyes widened. “That’s a damn fine idea, Spooky.”
“Spectre, please, and I know...I sent a memo to Absen, but it doesn’t appear to be practical.”
“Maybe you sent your memo to the wrong place.”
It was Spectre’s turn to look surprised. “Where else?”
“To the Meme, through Mom. Living ships, remember? If anyone can decoy them with life signs, it’s eight five-billion-ton living Destroyers.”