Desolator: Book 2 (Stellar Conquest) (6 page)

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 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 Arana’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.

Standing before the main screen, Chirom spoke. “Desolator. We must converse.”

Above the display the sensor light lit. “Must we?” Its voice was smooth and calm as ever.

Sometimes Chirom detested the AI’s designers.

“It has been twenty years, Desolator. Twenty years of searching over one hundred systems for a place for the Ryss to take life once again. From more than one thousand we are now less than five hundred. Many of us are growing old, and there are few cubs to take our place. Soon the Ryss will be no more.”

Click. The voice chilled. “Genetic calculations show Ryss viability with approximately fifty mating pairs. Your race is far from extinct.”

“Perhaps in the cold calculations of a machine that is true, but every day we forget who we are. Every day it grows harder to interest the younglings in our glorious history of conquest and empire. They have nothing for which to live. They have never seen open skies, never hunted a meat animal, never felt the kill under their claws, never tasted hot blood. They grow weak and tame.”

Click. Angry. “What is that to me?”

Chirom mustered the arguments he had constructed for this moment. “You too are falling apart. Without our maintenance you will deteriorate further. We need each other, but we have passed a point of no return, wherein without help your kind – you, if you are the last – will not recover without help, nor will the Ryss. We are more than bodies, and so are you. We must contact the dwellers here in this system.”

Peevish. “To do so is dangerous. They may be inimical. I have detected warships powerful enough to destroy me.”

“Destroy us, don’t you mean?”

Desolator remained silent.

“Is there something else that concerns you?”
Gently, Chirom…

There came another audible click, and the voice again turned flat. “I have intercepted Meme communication code. This star system has been compromised. It is within the sphere of the Empire.”

“What if they have thrown off their masters? You know of the Nurn and the Hlepleh rebellions, and how they became allies of the Ryss.”

Another click. This time the voice seemed whining, even fearful. “They are compromised. Even one Meme molecule contaminates the life it touches.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Absolutely.” The AI’s voice booked no argument.

Chirom took a deep breath, about to embark upon deep and dangerous waters. “Desolator, are you alive?”

Click. Rational. “I am of a living kind.”

“Therefore you must be ‘life,’ as you define it,” Chirom insisted.

Click. “I do so stipulate.” This time Desolator sounded suspicious.

“Did not Meme molecules contaminate this ship which is your body? Every hypervelocity missile that struck you left its traces.”

Click. Sensible, warm. “I have cleansed all Meme traces from myself.”

“So contamination can be reversed?”

Silence. Then, eventually, another click. “That is rational. You are correct. I must sterilize all contamination of Meme-associated life-forms. Thank you, Elder Chirom. Your words have clarified my thinking tremendously. As a reward I will release additional energy to the Ryss hydroponics bays. Hold your technicians ready for repairs.”

“Desolator –”

“You may go now, Chirom. I have work to do.” A service bot moved to stand menacingly between the Ryss and the screen, a clear message of enforcement, so he wrapped his robe more tightly around him and exited into the cold of the corridors.

What have I done? What did I just convince Desolator to do?

Outside, breath frosting in the chill air, waited Trissk, hopping from foot to foot, whether from the temperature or from excitement he could not tell.

“Wait,” Chirom said before the other could speak, leading the younger Ryss down the corridor away from the Control Chamber. When they reached the warm-room they sat down at the edge of the great semicircular space, well away from the rest who loitered near the heated wall shared with the fusion reactor. By putting their heads together they could speak without fear of being overheard.

“We have received an automated response, confirming receipt.” Trissk hissed. “My program inoculated the simple computer in the alien communicator as I had hoped. Now we must see if they respond to my meaning. I used standard Meme memory-code alongside our tongue, in hopes they can use it to translate the primer included. If they are clever, they will understand and reply.”

“Then go back to your workshop. I will bring you food and water at next mealtime.” He broke off as Vusk swaggered up, bowing to Chirom with mocking propriety.

“Greetings, Elder Chirom. I do hope Trissk here is not chewing on your ear about Klis again,” he boomed, as if for the audience of those around.

Chirom twitched his own ears in irritation, laying them slightly backward. “Nothing could be further from our minds, yearsmane. We were conversing about technology. I believe,” he went on, pointedly consulting his timepiece, “that it is your packlet’s turn in the garden.”