Exodus: Machine War 1 Supernova. (25 page)

“Will do.  Of
course, I won’t be coming back this way.  So good luck.  I wish you could save
them all, but just do the best you can do, and that’s all any of us can ask. 
Gonzales out.”

The com holo
died, replaced by a long range camera view of the ships, centering on the old
battleship.  Nguyen turned away from that view and looked at the work holo that
was up over his desk.  They had finally finished the first six of the shelters
they had been constructing, which could protect fifty thousand natives each, or
twenty-five thousand if they really expected to feed them from internal
resources. 
One hundred and fifty thousand.  And another fifty shelters
planned and in the construction stage.  A million and a quarter more.  How many
can we build?

The experts in
civil engineering were telling him they might be able to put up two hundred
total before the radiation wave arrived.  For a total of five million
sheltered.  The Tsarzorians and their allies at least were building their own
shelters as well.  In deep mine shafts, military installations under mountains,
domes under the sea.  They might be able to protect another five million, out
of the six billion on the surface.  And, of course, the Honish and their allies
were doing absolutely nothing to shelter any of their people.

And the more
shelters we construct, the more difficult the task of protecting them.  The
light division of soldiers helps, but still, the task grows larger.
  He was
allotting the Imperial Army troops to rear area garrison duty, since all they
had was light armored suits, and were much more vulnerable to even local
weapons than the Marines medium and heavy suits.  They had brought along a
battalion of light armor, two hundred ton scout tanks that were all but
invulnerable to the man portable weapons of the enemy.  They were not the best
weapons to deploy in cities, but with their long range weapons they were perfect
for deployment around the shelter complexes.

A moment later
his thoughts were interrupted by an alert.  Another attack.  This one on one of
the shelter fields.  And again, they were able take out the bombers before they
could get in range to do any damage.  Which didn’t help the several hundred
civilians they had killed when they detonated short of their target.

*     *     *

“The voters are
going to raise holy hell in this election,” said the Chief of Staff of First
Councilman Rizzit Contena.  “The constant wearing attacks by terrorists is
eroding their confidence in the government.”

And months
after the new council members are seated, the star explodes.  And six months
later there is no Tsarzor, except for the few who either escaped the system or
got into some of the restricted shelter space.

If it were me
,
said the General over the mind link the siblings shared,
I would declare
martial law, and suspend these useless elections
.

I agree,
said
Lazzit, the engineer.  The others chimed in with their agreement as well, not
surprising, as minds linked from birth tended to think along the same lines,
most times.

In fact, that
was the way that Rizzit was already leaning, since it made no sense to continue
with business as usual when the world was basically coming to an end.

“Did you hear
me, sir?” asked the Chief of Staff.  “Our party is probably going to lose our
majority in the legislature.  And then, I am sure, some of our progress toward
meeting the challenge of this looming disaster will be negated.”

“Why don’t you
just come out and say it, Pollzit,” he growled at his Chief of Staff, glaring
at the male.  “The opposition party, the same people who more or less don’t
believe what the humans are peddling, will take over, and I will lose my
position as First Councilman.  Well, I can’t allow that to happen.  It’s bad
enough that most of our people are going to die, without trying to get as many
of them to safety as possible.”

“But that is
exactly what they are going to do,” said the Chief of Staff.  “And, legally,
there is nothing you can do about it.”

“The hells with
that,” shouted Rizzit, his emotions feeding off of the input of his brothers. 
“I am hereby cancelling the elections until we are through this crisis.”

“You can’t do
that, sir,” said the Chief of Staff.  “The constitution…”

“Can be damned. 
I want time on all the major media outlets, tonight.  I will declare martial
law, and suspend all civil liberties until after the crisis has passed. 
Which
will mean nothing to most of my people, since they won’t be here after the
crisis is over.  But if it helps us to focus on saving those we can, it will be
worth it.
  His siblings all agreed, and Rizzit dismissed his Chief of Staff
to get working on setting up the news conference with a greater sense of peace
of mind that he had started with.

*     *     *

Able Spacer
Second Terrance Smalls made the rounds through the compartments that had been
turned into cryo chambers on the
Lusitania
.  All of the compartments
were cold, bitterly.  Every alien was sealed in its individual cryonics
capsule, but by SOP the chambers were kept well below freezing as a backup for
any capsules that might malfunction.  Which meant it was cold enough to
actually freeze unprotected flesh.  Because of that, the spacer was wearing a
civilian class ship suit that would keep him warm even in the intense cold of
interstellar space.  And, while not providing as much protection against sharp
flying things as military class battle armor, was still enough to survive most
things that could occur on a liner.

Smalls was on
one end of one of the larger compartments that had been converted to cryo when
the explosives planted in one of the alien bodies detonated with the force of
one ton of TNT.  The eight other bodies that were closest to that one went off
in sympathetic detonations, and the force was enough to blast a large hole
through the hull of the ship.

Atmosphere
rushed out through the hole, pulling at the loose pieces of the blasted cryo
capsules.  The other capsules were held down too securely to be pulled out, but
every loose object in the chamber was pulled into space, beyond the hyperfield,
and dropped back into normal space, usually with catastrophic results. 
Included in the loose objects was one Able Spacer Second Terrance Smalls in his
ship suit, who squirted through the opening before he could engage his
thrusters, and flew past the field and into hyper.

Ninety-five
percent of so called catastrophic translations resulted in major damage to the
object translating, whether it was a ship or a person.  Smalls felt like he was
being torn apart while hyper VII ejected him back into normal space.  He closed
his eyes against the pressure, and when he opened them, he found himself back
in normal space in an intact suit, all systems green.  He said a prayer of
thanks, then looked around and wondered if it might not have been better if he
had just been ripped into molecules while translating.  After all, he was now
floating in interstellar space, light years from the nearest planet, with no
possibility of being found even if his ship was able to drop into normal space
right now.  Which it couldn’t, until it had dropped most of its velocity.

And I have
one hundred and forty-six hours of life support
, thought the panicking
Spacer.  One hundred and forty-six hours of life, the absolute maximum for this
kind of suit.  If he didn’t go crazy before then and just pull the plug on
himself.

*     *     *

“What the hell’s
going on?” yelled Captain Trevor Whitlow into the com.  He had barely felt the
tremors from whatever had happened.  That, in and of itself, told him that it
was bad enough, since
Lusitania
massed in the millions of tons.

“There was an
explosion in one of the cryo chambers,” called back the Purser, who was also
the damage control officer.  “The damage seems to be restricted to that one
chamber.”

“How many
Klassekians did we lose?”

“Unable to tell
at this time, sir,” said the other officer.  “There were over a hundred
capsules in that chamber, but, since it was the only one that took any damage,
that would be our maximum loss.”  The com went dead for a moment, a sign that
the woman on the other end was doing something that took all her concentration,
then was back on.  “Except for one other thing.”

“And what’s
that?”

“One of our crew
transponders has dropped off the grid.  He’s nowhere on board the ship, sir. 
And we can’t find any trace of him in the chamber, which has been opened to
space.  I’m afraid he’s gone.”

*     *     *

What the hell
is that?
thought Smalls as a tiny object darted up to his suit and hung
just beyond his reach. 
A probe.
  It sat there, and even when he tried
to use his thrusters to approach it moved away, and responded to no
communication he attempted.

Less than an
hour later another object approached, coming out of nowhere and stopping a
hundred meters away.  It was much larger, about the size of a frigate, and
minutes after it stopped some man sized objects that were not shaped like
humans left the ship and came to him.  For a moment Smalls thought he had been
rescued, until he learned the truth about the newcomers, and realized his worst
nightmare had popped into reality.

Chapter Twenty

Used properly, religion can help
to cement a society, to make its adherents feel as one with their brothers and
sisters, willing to make the sacrifices that allow a society to function
smoothly.  Improperly instituted, religion can be the force to tear a society
apart, and set neighbors at each other’s throats.

High Bishop Augustina
Papadopokis, Traditional Catholic Church, the Year 532.

JUNE 15
^TH
, 1001.  D-18

“We must depend
on the Gods to save us, not the hand of invaders,” said the elder of one of the
many denominations in the land of Tsarzor.  The church behind him looked like
many others the humans had seen on local broadcasts.  The symbols of the most
important Gods and Goddesses in the religion’s Pantheon were displayed on the
wall behind the altar.  Most were figures that looked very much like
Klassekians, though there were also some animal representation, and one that
seemed as formless as they could make it.  Of course, other denominations had
other Gods from the multitude, some also ten, some more, some less.

All of them
think they are the truth,
thought Rear Admiral Nguyen, listening the a
message he really didn’t like.  The preacher looked over the crowd gathered in
a church meant to seat five or six thousand, and overflowing with double that
amount.

“The scriptures
tell us that we are in the hands of the Gods, who will not betray us, as long
as we have faith.  Faith.  Faith in them, proving that we trust them.  And if
we don’t trust them?  What happens then, my brethren?  What happens then?  Then
we are abandoned by the Gods, who no longer find us worthy of their help.”

The minister
looked over the crowd again, his fellow elders, most of them his siblings,
linked to him mind to mind, also looking over the crowd, taking its pulse and
passing on the information to their brother.

“The aliens say
we are going to die, the most of us, unless we accept their help in saving some
of us.  They build shelters on the planet, and those of us who help them throw
their disbelief in the face of the Gods.  And they take many of us off this
world, the world the Gods have intended to be our home, kidnapping our people,
panicking them with their lies about how a far off star is going to destroy
us.”

“Can you believe
this?” asked Susan Lee, sitting at the table and watching the viewer with him. 
It was projected by a holo, and, while not three dimensional, since the signal
wasn’t, it showed the same flat image to anyone sitting around the table, no
matter where they were.

Nguyen shook his
head.  He didn’t believe in any of the religions of his own people, or those of
the alien races of the Empire.  They all professed to tell the truth, which
meant they were calling every else’s faith a lie.  And they all couldn’t be
right.  In fact, he thought they were all wrong, that there were no deities,
and that only damned fools depended on their imaginary friends to get them out
of a fix.

“I’m worried
that too many of their flocks will believe this,” he said, picking up his
coffee cup and taking a sip.  “And believing, they will do everything they can
to impede our progress.  Because that’s what their God wants them to do.”

The scene
switched as the Admiral sent a change channel request over his link.  This one
showed a mass of Klassekians walking down the street of a city, tall buildings
towering to every side, waving signs that proclaimed their chosen deity’s anger
at the Imperials.  It seemed to be a peaceful demonstration, until smoking
canisters came flying in from the line of police ahead.  It was like throwing a
match on a nest of insects.  They went every which way.  Some away from the
police, dropping their signs on the way.  Others in a sprint right at their tormentors,
pulling the signs back to use them as clubs.  Before they got to the line shots
rang out, and over a score of the protesters fell to the street.  That broke
the spirit of the now rioters, who turned and scattered in every direction that
took them away from the police.   That was not enough to save all of them as
another volley rang out.  More rioters dropped, then more as they fell under
the pushing and shoving of frightened people.

“That fear will
soon turn to anger,” said Nguyen, watching as the camera zoomed in on one blood
covered female who was trying to get back to her feet, only to be trampled back
down.

The channel
switched again, showing another group of Klassekians.  These couldn’t even be
called protesters, as they were in full riot mode.  Several ran forward and
threw bottles of flammable liquid with wicks on fire, their tentacles imparting
an unusual motion on the objects which still carried a considerable distance. 
They struck the ground in front of the riot police, or, in the case of  a few,
hit their shields, splashing liquid fire onto the officers.  That was the
signal that the rioters had stepped over the line, and rifle fire took down the
entire first row of Klassekians, and several in the second tier.

“Sir,” came a
call over the com.  “General Wittmore is on with a priority message.”

“Put him on,”
ordered the Admiral, and the dark face of the Army flag officer appeared on the
holo.

“Admiral,” said
the Major General, who was of equal rank with Nguyen.  “We’re experiencing a
bit of a problem at our landing fields.

The Holo
switched views, showing more of the religious protesters outside the main gate
to one of the landing fields they were using to process Klassekian refugees. 
Again, there were the signs, again males standing at the front of the crowd
with lit bottles of flammables.   Only this time they were facing Imperial Army
Infantry, standing in a line in their light combat armor, flanked by a tank and
a trio of personnel carriers.

“They are
interfering with the transport of volunteers into the base,” said the General
with a scowl on his face.  “I would like to have permission to disperse them.”

“Nice of him to
ask,” said Lee in a whisper.

Nguyen nodded. 
The Major General was now in charge of the ground forces, and even though Nguyen
was his nominal commander, he could have ordered whatever response he thought
best.

“I would prefer
that you let them make the first aggressive move, General,” he told the Army
officer, noting that there were several news vehicles in the background.

“We could be
here all day, then, Admiral,” complained the other flag officer.

“I…”

The actions of a
couple of the people at the front of the line of protesters derailed the
argument, as a pair of bottles came flying in the strike a pair of the
soldiers.  The fire spread over them, and on to those closest to them.  They
were not affected by the flames, but the heat would overpower the cooling
systems of the suits in very little time.  The Imperials were ready, and a
spray of foam retarded the flames in an instant.  Bullets came flying in next,
bouncing from the tough armor of the suits.  It was apparent from the actions
of the majority of the crowd that they weren’t expecting this, as the yelling
stopped and the signs dropped.

The soldiers
were arranged for a layered response.  About half the troops carried sonic
stunners that had been tuned to work optimally on the physiology of the
Klassekians.  Most of the rest carried standard hypervelocity combat rifles,
capable of putting out a six millimeter round at eight thousand meters a
second.  And then there were the squad heavy weapon gunners, with their
particle beams.

The troops with
sonic stunners pulled their triggers and played them over the crowd. 
Klassekians cried out, grunted, fell to the ground, staggered away, all
depending on how much of a sound beam they intercepted, and where it hit.  That
was all it took, and the rioters, those still on their feet, moved away as fast
as they could.  In some cases that was little more than a crawl.

“You have my
permission to use a measured, nonlethal response when such happens again,” said
Nguyen in as calm a voice as he could muster.  “Keep the facility open and
operating, but try not to kill too many of the locals.” 
Especially in front
of the cameras
, was his last thought, as he watched those news vehicles,
their camera crews on top taking in all the action.

An hour later
came some news the Admiral was happy to receive.   “We think we’ve found the
leaders of Honish, sir,” said the sensor officer whose duty it was to monitor
that continent.

“Show me.”

The holo zoomed
in on an area of a tall range of mountains to a small valley leading up to one
of the high peaks.  There were vehicle tracks visible through breaks in the
canopy, marks that had been skillfully hidden, still showing to the sensitive
sensors and computer enhancement of the discovering vessel.

“We believe they
are hiding under this mountain,” said the officer, a circle appearing over the
spot where the valley ran into a cliff.  The holo zoomed out.  “We have picked
up encrypted communications from these four spots.”  The four indicated spots
started blinking from the slopes of surrounding peaks.  “Communications was
able to break the encryption, and we believe this is where the leader is
hiding.”

“Send that information
to tactical,” ordered the Admiral.  “I will forward a tasking order to them.”

Less than half a
minute later a kinetic penetrator, this one in the twenty megaton range and
configured for crashing through tough stone, fell from one of the recently arrived
battle cruisers.  A couple of seconds later the flash of the strike flared over
the mountain in question, the blast of the kinetic force rolling down the
slopes and lifting trees from the ground.  Unlike a conventional nuclear blast,
only about a megaton of the force rolled out with the blast.  The rest was
pushed into the rock as the penetrator blew through kilometers of mountain.

“That should
have finished them, sir,” said the Tactical Officer of the launching vessel.

If not, it
had to give them a hell of a headache,
thought the Admiral, looking at the
devastated area of the mountains on holo. 
Too bad about the forest, but it
was doomed anyway.

*     *     *

Zzarr cursed
once again as more rock dust fell onto the table.  That table, itself made of
stone, leaned crazily on one side thanks to a support that had cracked from the
force of the strike.  Many objects had fallen from the walls, pictures, video
screens, shelves with books.  The medics were working on some of his followers
who had been struck by those objects.  Many were only in need of minor patching
up or medications.  One in the chamber had taken a heavy stone to the head, and
that part of his body had been crushed flat, fluid leaking onto the floor from
his mangled thinking organ. 
If we hadn’t had been so deep, and if we hadn’t
have actually been under a mountain other than the one our entrance was
fronting, we wouldn’t have survived.

Some hadn’t
survived through the rest of the shelter, especially those places which had
been closest to the strike, and the hardest hit.  He had lost over a hundred
people to collapse and cave ins.  Some had been family members of his staff,
and therefor of no real use to him.  But some had been the technicians and
specialists he depended on to keep him in command of his people.

“All of the
fiber optic links are down, Leader,” said the nervous looking engineer who
entered the chamber to report.

And with them
any chance I have of giving orders to my people
, thought the Leader, his
tentacles whipping the air in anger that made the messenger step back.  He
wasn’t sure if any orders he gave would be necessary, since the strategy was
now pretty much running itself.  But it made him feel necessary nonetheless. 
And now that had been taken from him.

“Any exits still
intact?” asked Zzarr, glaring at the male, already sure of the answer.

“No, Leader,”
said the anxious male, backing up even further, until his back was against the
wall.  “Every way out of the shelter has been collapsed.  We might be able to
open one of them, with a couple of months of effort.”

Zzarr whipped a
pair of tentacles into the wall in his rage, regretting the action as soon as
the pain of impact ran up the nerves.  He growled deep in his
speaking/breathing pipe, stomping to the end of the room, turning swiftly, and
almost charging back to the male.

“Then get to it,
and work your people night and day,” he yelled.  “I don’t care if you have to
work the males under your charge to death.  I must regain contact with the
surface.”

 
I cannot
stand being cut off like this.  How did the humans find us?  We were as well
hidden as we could possibly be. 
But whether they had been or not, the
humans had dropped one of their orbital weapons and sealed him in this refuge. 
The hopelessness ran through him once again, until he shook it away. 

We can still survive down here
for months without access to the surface.  That was why this place was built. 
Maybe even for years.  But it only has to last long enough to keep us alive
until our God destroys this world.
  He might not be at the surface to see
the world destroyed, but he was sure his God could reach down this deep to make
sure he and his staff were also taken into heaven, where they could look down
on the torment of the unbelievers. 
Including, just maybe, these sacrilegious
humans.

*     *     *

“Ships
translating into normal space,” called out the Sensory Officer.  “Confirmed
fifty-one contacts.”

Nguyen looked
over those contacts, waiting for the grav wave com signal to fill in their
identifying information.  When it came, he really liked what it told him.  Two
more battle cruisers, four light cruisers, seven destroyers, and then the ships
that really mattered.  Five troop transports, six medium liners, eleven small
liners, seven large freighters and ten small tramps, all hyper VI.