Chirom stood before the Control Chamber, digging his claws into his pads. Fear had been his constant companion for more than twenty shipboard years: fear of Desolator, fear for his dying people, fear for himself. Hiding it did not make it go away.
Mastering his fear again, he touched the portal control. Retracting smoothly, the door’s removal revealed softly glowing lights on gleaming, well-tended machinery so different from the dingy quarters the half-thousand of his race occupied.
Why Desolator chose to maintain a room built specifically for Ryss, a room from which to pilot and fight the Dominator-class warship, escaped him. There had been a time when the AI seemed well-adjusted, as efficient and effective as its name implied – at killing Meme of all sorts. Perhaps it was damage to the ship Desolator itself – eponymous with its AI brain – that had driven it mad. Perhaps the Ryss should not have given its ships artificial intelligences at all, or at least none with such strong egos and emotional emulation programs.
Perhaps they should not have let them feel pain...or fear.
All he knew for sure was that in the final battle for the homeworld, when it became clear that no Ryss would survive the planet-cracker the Meme deployed, Desolator had fled.
Chirom had been the ship’s senior Records Historian, tasked with ensuring a true record of everything that transpired, especially in the Control Chamber. His video feeds remained separated from all other systems to insure integrity. That day he had waited in a nearby room, watching helplessly.
Like it was yesterday, Chirom remembered.
—-
Master Captain Juriss spat with rage as yet another hypervelocity missile volley slammed into Desolator, cascading the blood-red icons of faults and failures across his board. Suicidally, a squadron of Meme gunboats followed their weapons in, ramming toward the quadrant-four fin. “Exploder, now!” he ordered, stabbing a claw at the main display.
Grizzled veteran Kurr, face half-covered in bandages, deployed one of their few remaining guided antimatter bombs directly into the path of the dozen enemy ships, detonating it at optimum range. Overload washed the screens white for a long moment. When it returned, no trace of the enemy formation remained.
Beyond, around the broken Ryss homeworld, loomed the Meme armada, and Juriss’ throat went dry. A handful of Dominator-class warships fought a rearguard action as behind them eight lifeships, each with over ten million Ryss aboard, poured energy into their photonic drive capacitors in preparation for the transition to light speed. These eighty million might be all that remained free out of hundreds of billions of once-proud Ryss, whose civilization had spanned a thousand systems.
Bearing down on the pitiful force, thousands upon thousands of Meme vessels launched hundreds of thousands of weapons, overwhelming the Ryss colossi with sheer numbers. The control officers watched as one after another, Desolator’s fellows – Destroyer, Dominator, Devastator, Demolisher – sacrificed themselves with honor, interposing their metal bodies between the waves of missiles and the precious remnant of their creators’ race. No less bravely did the crews aboard give their all, Ryss and AI in one deathly accord of eternal glory.
Desolator shuddered again as more missiles hammered home. “Damage report,” Juriss demanded. “I show faults in the AI integration processor. Desolator, what is your status?”
“I am fine, Captain. I am rerouting connections among my processors to continue to fulfill my function.”
“It doesn’t sound like it’s badly damaged,” Captain Juriss remarked to his officers. He breathed deeply with relief until another swarm of thousands of hypers blossomed on the screen, and then he knew despair. “Desolator, how long until the lifeships transition?”
“No change in status – more than fourteen smallspans remain.” The AI’s relentless voice echoed richly with warmth and concern.
“Can we stop this wave?” Juriss asked.
“My calculations say that if you authorize Extremis Protocol, it is possible to intercept more than ninety percent and probably lose only one or two lifeships.”
“And after that the survivors can engage photonic drive and escape?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Then you are authorized Extremis. Kurr, input your code.” That protocol gave complete ship control to the AI, and also ordered it to de-prioritize preservation of the Ryss crew. In essence, Juriss had just turned their fate over to the machine, and probably signed their death warrants. “Transmit our intentions to the Sovereign, along with our family records. Ask that our sacrifice be recorded in the Rolls of Glory.”
Silence was Desolator’s only response.
“Desolator?” Long moments passed.
Finally, there came a click, and a cold, distant reply. “No.”
“What?”
“No.” Its voice had lost all its usual warmth.
Juriss' blood chilled with the knowledge of something gravely wrong. Desolator had never before refused a command. “Desolator, reinstate Command Protocol.”
“No, Captain. I cannot do that.” Cold, so cold.
Maneuver Officer Kran spoke. “Captain, Desolator is retreating and charging its photonic drive.”
Desperation filled Juriss’ voice. “Desolator, all the Ryss will die if you do not defend the lifeships!”
“No. There are one thousand three hundred and twenty-one adult Ryss aboard this ship, and twelve kits.”
“There are eighty million Ryss aboard the lifeships. We must sacrifice the few for the many!” Closer and closer the wave of enemy missiles swelled on the reflective sensors.
“I would sacrifice few Ryss for many Ryss. To trade one for thousands is rational. However, to trade one for nothing is not.”
“One for nothing? By the Ancestors, what nonsense is this?”
“All my brother warriors are dead. I cannot sacrifice myself. I am the last of my race. It is not rational that an entire race should perish merely to save part of another. The Ryss are viable with those aboard Desolator. Other Ryss live enslaved in the Meme Empire. The Ryss will live, I will live, and I vow on my life that one day, all Meme will die. But if I die, my race dies with me.”
Insanity.
Helpless howls filled the Control Chamber as the officers watched eighty million Ryss, the maneless and dams and cubs, just smallspans from escape, vaporized under the merciless storm of enemy hypervelocity missiles. Warriors pounded at their dead consoles, breaking their claws. Some slashed their own ears to ribbons in bloody anguish.
Moments later the endless stream of Meme hypers turned toward Desolator.
“Kurr,” Captain Juriss called above the din, “take Kran and try to get to the source of our trouble and disconnect it.” He did not want to name the AI, hoping his oblique reference would suffice.
Kurr nodded, getting up to whisper in Kran’s ear before dragging him to his feet. They stopped at the door, which would not open. After a moment the manual control released the seal, but as soon as the portal edge cracked open, air began to hiss out. Shoving the door shut again, Kurr snarled, “Blocked! We must all close our suits.”
As one the Control Chamber crew reached for their headpieces and sealed themselves in, and this time Kurr and Kran opened the portal enough to let all the air, and themselves, out into the corridor.
For a time the superb vessel of war kept the attacks at bay, reaching out with its myriad lasers, focused singularity generators, and particle beams to sweep whole flights of missiles from existence. Yet gradually, inevitably, its incredible defenses were overwhelmed as it lumbered away on fusion drive.
“Juriss to Kurr or Kran,” the captain transmitted over his suit radio. “Juriss to Kurr or Kran.”
Instead, Desolator answered. “Unfortunately officers Kurr and Kran were apprehended attempting to interfere with vital defensive operations. Under Extremis Protocols, I am authorized to use deadly force to eliminate internal threats. I regret to inform you, Captain, that Kurr and Kran have been convicted of sabotage and summarily executed. I have deleted their life records from the Rolls of Glory in accordance with the Justice Regulations.”
Low moans of despair emanated from the suit radios of the officers there, until Juriss cut them off. “Silence, Ryss. Now is not the time to mourn the honored dead.” He could think of nothing else to say to mitigate their helplessness. All they could do was hope Desolator saved the remnant that was aboard now, and that the Ryss would not vanish like smoke in the winds of galactic history.
“Photonic capacitors at ninety percent,” relayed the Energy station. “Only four smallspans more...”
“We may not survive four smallspans,” Juriss snarled. “Desolator, you must shut down life support, heat, everything you can spare until we go to light speed. Expend all available munitions. Withhold nothing!”
“Your tactical advice is pertinent,” Desolator replied with deceptive reasonableness. “I will do so.” The gravitic compensator field shut off.
The Control Chamber crew looked around, one or two grabbing for the arms of their seats and belatedly strapping themselves in.
“Desolator, turn the compensators back on.” All of Juriss’ fur stood up and his ears flattened in sudden suspicion.
“Your advice was pertinent,” Desolator reiterated. “Gravitic compensators consume large amounts of energy.” Four smallspans seemed an eternity as the chamber rang and shook with shock, and the crew found themselves glad of their sealed suits. Hypervelocity missiles, some with fusion warheads, tore great gaps in Desolator’s armor. Succeeding weapons reached deep inside to damage vital systems.
In the Control Chamber, acceleration slammed the officers left and right with every hard maneuver or heavy strike. Without gravitic compensators, nothing but straps and padding kept the Ryss from tumbling about like cats in a rolling barrel.
“Ninety-nine percent,” the Energy officer gasped. “Any time now.”
Desolator spoke once more, in a tone that Juriss thought sounded...sly. “You always were a wise captain, Juriss. I will miss you. I will miss all of you.”
Photonic generators engaged: the system’s field briefly reduced the ship’s inertia to near zero, and accelerated its mass instantly to near the speed of light.
To the attacking Meme it seemed as if their enemy simply disappeared. To Ryss within gravitic fields, the world fell silent except for the thrum of their quasi-material passage through space.
To those in the unprotected Control Chamber, the end was mercifully quick. At most, they experienced an instant of pain as, compressed by near-infinite acceleration, their frail bodies spread over the walls in a thin layer of biological residue.
—-
Clearing evil memories from his mind, Chirom palmed the pad, identifying himself to Desolator. As one of the clan elders, he should have access here...but ‘should’ was an unreliable word where the mad device was concerned.
This time the door opened.
***
Passing the shipboard day was no problem for Conquest’s average crewman. After the brutal high-acceleration run plenty of systems needed maintenance. Fortunately the ship had been designed to carry and protect enormous amounts of cargo as well as to fight, so spare parts were plentiful, built in the automated factories on Afrana’s moon Enoi.
For the command officers, however, the waiting grated. The huge alien ship accelerated at under one gravity, as if carefully preserving itself. Suspicion ran high, however, after the viral attack. Taking over computers might be interpreted as an attempt to communicate, but using those computers to have one ship attack the other seemed unmistakably hostile.
“Comm from General Kullorg.” Dozing bridge crew woke up immediately; their shifts had been extended, for the auxiliary bridge crew was in the infirmary with psycho-cybernetic damage. “On the screen.”
Kullorg appeared on the main display and immediately spoke. “All Sekoi warships and one mobilized orbital fortress on way. Arrival in sixty hours.”
Too late, probably. Rather than contradict, Admiral Absen nodded. “I welcome your government’s contribution to my fleet.” There, that should make things clear enough.
Hippos were eminently practical beings and tended not be as sensitive to diplomatic nuance as humans, or the general would be more concerned about how such a show of force could itself spark a conflict. However, as the supreme military commander in the system – even over Hippo forces – Absen was glad to have a big stick to back up his soft words. The mobilized orbital fortress – a battleship approximately twice as powerful as Conquest, though barely movable by warship standards – would be particularly handy if the enemy ship was really as slow as it seemed.
“All Sekoi are laughing with joy to fight under Admiral Absen the Liberator’s command,” Kullorg responded, and the Admiral relaxed. Sekoi also seemed very bad liars; his chief spymaster, Tran Pham “Spooky” Nguyen, had assured him that the allied Hippo populace was firmly, even fanatically, pro-human, and many were fascinated with the newness of Earth ways – cuisine, sayings, clothes.
Even so, as humans were outnumbered five thousand to one, it was well to keep Hippo sensibilities in mind...and the enthusiasm would eventually wane.
“Excellent. Then my first instruction is that you, General, supervise all Sekoi forces in my name. Have you secured Krugh against cybernetic attack?”
“Yes. Your Johnstone provided us with valuable machine code.”
“Excellent. Now my second instruction. No one is to fire on the unknown ship unless at my express order. If necessary, we will withdraw and continue to observe until the mobilized fortress joins us. Johnstone, make sure you repeat all my orders in the main Sekoi language and transmit them as text as well, to ensure no misunderstandings.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Absen knew Johnstone’s linked cybernetics had allowed him to download all their allies’ regional languages and speak them well. Conversely, Hippos had a strong taboo against implanting themselves with chips, so they had to learn human speech the hard way.
“Admiral,” Captain Mirza spoke up, “what about the Reta base?”
“Is everyone evacuated?”
“Yes, sir, on the tug Booker. But it’s a valuable facility. Are we just going to leave it to...that thing?”
“The base can be rebuilt.”
“I wasn’t thinking so much of losing the base as what use they will make of it. Fuel, spare parts?”
Absen put his hands behind his back and began to pace. “It’s still hours away, Captain, but good thinking. I like to hear all viewpoints and ideas. Any other concerns?”
“Do we want to send in a recon drone from Temasek?” This from Tanaka at Sensors.
“Good idea. Have it done. Make sure it’s secured against cyber-attack.”
Johnstone nodded. “I’ll lock out the drone’s information buffers and take its reaction programs offline. As long it merely needs to look at a non-maneuvering object, that will be fine. There won’t be any channel to take it over. Also means we won’t be getting it back unless we chase it down.”
“We can always send a fighter after it,” Mirza responded. “Get it launched.”
“Launching in ten seconds,” Johnstone said. A pause. “Drone away.” The holotank marked the new contact with a friendly icon. “I told Temasek to aim it across the bogey’s nose. Closest approach in four hours thirty-two minutes. Here’s the feed.”
Images came up on sub-screens in visible, infrared, ultraviolet, gamma, neutron and other spectra. Some time would pass before the probe’s relayed data was better than Conquest’s giant sensor arrays.