Battle Station (27 page)

I frowned at the data. The Centaur homeworld was not on the list. Neither were most of the habitable planets. Only the hottest water-world, the innermost tropical planet, was inside the fringe of the arc.

“I don’t understand. They are heading inward, toward the star, but at an angle. What are they aiming for?”

“They could be planning to adjust their course as they advance. Possibly, they wish to avoid any more minefields we’ve placed in the most likely orbital paths to the inner planets.”

I nodded slowly, glaring at the screen. As I watched, the arc narrowed a tiny fraction. “What do you think they’re doing, Captain?”

“Let’s expand the view, and look farther out,” Miklos said.

As I watched, he worked the screen. Again, his efforts seemed clumsy compared to Major Sarin—I mentally corrected myself
Rear Admiral
Sarin.

When Miklos finished with his adjustments, much more of the system map was included. His theory was unmistakable at that point. The center of the projected arc collided with a single planet, and it did so with precision. The very center line of the arc cut right through the sole gas giant in the Eden system.

“The Blues?” I said. “They are targeting the gas giant?”

Miklos locked gazes with me. He nodded. “That is my conclusion, sir,” he said. “But this could change. It might be a ruse of some kind.”

I stared at the data. Every minute, it updated and drew the lines more tightly. The projections were unmistakable.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “These bastard lobsters haven’t impressed me so far as being subtle people. Somehow, they realized they outnumbered everyone in this system, and they decided to make their play now while they have more firepower than we do. Maybe they think this is necessary—maybe they think they are making a preemptive strike.”

“But in that case, why head to the gas giant? We are unaware of any ships there, other than the few mining scoops we have at the planet’s rings.”

I thought about it. “Maybe they think we need that material. We did, until recently. Now that we have Macro workers sucking up minerals on the Centaur homeworld, the dust loads coming from those rings is negligible. But that wasn’t the case just a week ago. Maybe their intel is old.”

“Yes,” said Miklos, leaning on the board and staring. “That would make some sense. Perhaps they don’t know our ship strength, so their first move is to cut off our supplies, rather than directly confront our fleets.”

I nodded, agreeing with the analysis more every second. “Right,” I said. “This side-attack has several advantages for them. They think they are cutting off our raw materials. If we fly out to defend the mining ships, then they can meet our fleet out in open space, away from any defensive fortresses we have around the planet.”

“Even if we don’t come out, their plan hurts us and gives them time to gather intel concerning our fleet strength.”

We both stared and someone put a cup of coffee into my hand. I drank it, and wished it was something stronger. The situation was grim. There were now three fleets in this system, and I suspected ours was the weakest—by a large margin.

-27-

As the hours passed, it became increasingly clear the enemy was indeed targeting the gas giant. I didn’t make any moves against them, as I didn’t want them to change their minds. I didn’t even order my mining ships to run. They were all automated, so no one was in danger of being killed. Given the situation, I wanted the Crustaceans to think they were catching us by surprise.

When the Nano ships reached the gas giant, the first thing they did was swarm my three pathetic miners as they scooped up ice and dust from the rings. They obliterated them in seconds. If we’d had any questions about their armament, or their willingness to use it on our ships, we had our answers now.

“Sir,” Miklos said, interrupting me as I mused over the Nano ships and their silent, mysterious mission.

“What is it, Captain?”

“We have another situation. Can I display it?”

“Of course.”

I watched in growing alarm as he showed me the bottom of the Centaur satellite. A strange, thin tube was extruding from it. I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell that was—when I realized I already knew the answer.

“They must have enough nanites now. I didn’t realize they’d been stockpiling.”

“Yes, the Eden-11 satellite is ready to be evacuated. The herds have alerted us, and begun the operation at the same time.”

“Not waiting around for our approval, huh?” I asked. “Well I can’t say that I blame them. They’ve been cooped up in that floating tin can for years. I know how they think, and they’ve got to be wild to get out onto their open grasslands again. How long until the shaft touches the planet’s surface?”

“Not long, sir. The nanites are building very fast. The shaft should be complete within a single day.”

I nodded. I expected thousands of Centaurs to begin pouring out of the bottom of that tube as soon as it touched down. They were nothing if not personally brave. Except for their fear of enclosed spaces—which appeared to be a deep-seated instinct from their past—they’d never backed down in the face of anything.

“There is another development, sir,” Miklos said.

“A good one, I hope?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid.”

I gestured impatiently, and he tapped at the screen. Soon I saw what he was talking about. A Macro cruiser now hung in orbit over Eden-8. As I watched, a second moved to join it. I began breathing harder. Suddenly, sweat tickled under my armpits. This was it, the moment we’d been waiting for, but hoped would never come.

“They are launching their fleets,” I said. “Any sign they are moving on the Centaur habitats?”

“Not yet.”

Over the next hour, more and more cruisers nosed up out of the cloud cover and slid into orbit above all five worlds. The Macros were finally showing their hand. Before they were done, thirteen brand new vessels floated in various orbits. Was that everything they had? Probably, I figured. The Macros weren’t famous for their subtlety. But we couldn’t be sure. Why had they chosen this moment to put their strength on display? Probably to scare us, or to scare the Nanos. Either that, or the sight of escaping Centaurs on Eden-11 had so upset them they’d decided to launch and prevent it.

In the end, the ‘why now’ question was irrelevant. They’d put their cards on the table. It was my turn to do the same.

“Captain, order all our pilots to man the gunships. I want them to take landing pods from the destroyers. Every pilot must begin running missions. They’ll carry down Centaur civilians to the surface on a continuous basis from now on.”

“Why now, sir?” he asked. “We’ve worked so long to keep our numbers secret. They will count our ships.”

“I’m sure they will. I’m hoping the count will worry them and make them change their minds about attacking today. I need more time. Also, we’ll have insured that a few Centaurs survive in case things go badly. Lastly, we’ll give our pilots some much needed flight time in their new ships.”

Sighing heavily, Miklos did as I asked without further complaint. I could tell he didn’t entirely approve, but I didn’t care.

Our biggest fear early on was that the Macros would gather into a single force and attack the Centaur satellites, destroying them and billions of biotic allies. But they didn’t—at least not right away. As usual, they didn’t mind ignoring a helpless target. They knew they could always come back and destroy it later. They were very single minded machines, and I was sure they had Nano ships and human ships on those one-track electronic brains of theirs, not helpless Centaurs.

A few days dragged by. The Centaurs made it down to the surface with their shaft of smart metal and began pouring out onto their empty grasslands. It was a true exodus. Combined with my ships, which flew sortie after sortie, the big habitat emptied quickly. Marvin had assured me the Microbes that had been used to sterilize the planet of Centaurs were now harmless, having long since mutated into a benign form of pond scum.

Each of the three fleets in the star system was now left hanging in tight orbits over seven different worlds. It was like some kind of quiet, three-way cold war. We stared at one other, taking careful counts and measurements with countless pinging probes. It was nerve-racking. In a way, I was glad for the stand-off. The new design of my ships was untested in combat, but I thought they would hold their own when the time came. Still, we were clearly in third place in this contest, and we needed the time to catch up. I figured I was building my little gunships much faster than the Macros were building their cruisers, and as far as we could tell the Nano ships were frozen in number. Therefore, we grew in relative strength every day.

Some of my officers dared to hope the aliens would never attack, but I wasn’t fooled. Lulls in wars were not unknown. After Germany and Russia took apart Poland in WWII, the Allies had declared war on them. But Germany didn’t move on France for seven long months. Only a few shots were fired over the border in skirmishes. The newspapers took to calling it “the phony war”. History soon taught them their error. I knew the Macros were coming eventually, and when they did move, it would be with terrifying certainty of purpose.

The Nano ships weren’t filling me with any kind of deep inner confidence, either. The Crustaceans—if they were still operating those ships—weren’t talking. We sent them every form of communication we could think of, with Marvin as our chief translator. They were so quiet, so unresponsive, I began to think Marvin might be sabotaging the communications. I had Miklos go over his transmissions carefully, and he declared them to be genuine.

“I simply don’t understand it,” I said on the eleventh day of the three-way stand-off. “Why aren’t the Nano ships talking to us? They were interested in a dialog before. Now, their pilots remind me of clams, rather than lobsters.”

“Very funny, Colonel,” Miklos said, without the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. “They remind me of Russians. They run from a force they fear, but behave as predators when they sense weakness.”

“Maybe so,” I said. “But I want to try something new.”

Miklos immediately looked alarmed. “I don’t think it is a good idea to provoke them, Colonel.”

“Who said anything about provoking them?”

“I only thought…”

I began to pace in my armor. Each boot rang on
Actium’s
metal deck. “We’ve got a lot of gunships now. About thirty of them. Combined with the destroyers and our marine assault teams, we will soon be a match for either enemy fleet.”

“But not both. I don’t think we need to start a conflict—”

“I didn’t say I was going to slap them in the face with a glove, Captain,” I snapped. “Really, the Nanos are the ones that are acting illogically. They should have attacked when they first entered the system. They had the advantage then, with enough firepower to take us all out. Every day, we grow stronger while their strength stays the same.”

Miklos looked like he wanted to caution me further, but he kept quiet. His eyes were wide, betraying his nervousness. Why did everyone think I was about to start a fresh fight? I rarely did that. But I did tend to finish them.

“Open a channel to the Nano ships,” I ordered.

Miklos looked comically surprised now. “We don’t have Marvin here. He’s down on the planet, inside the dome.”

“Yes, I know,” I said. “He’s probably playing with his mud puddles down there. But we don’t need him this time. I’m going to attempt to contact them as Nano ships—not in the Crustacean language.”

“I see,” Miklos said. Resignedly, he opened the channel. He moved with the air of a condemned man, and I was faintly insulted. I ignored his lack of confidence and addressed the ship in a manner I hadn’t done in a long time.

Back when I’d first worked with the Nano ships, before they’d run off on us and abandoned Earth, I’d learned a nice trick. We generally didn’t use it now, with our newly built Nano ships. But
Alamo
had allowed me to make contact directly, using nanites in my body to transmit radio signals. I used this system now, having our ship’s system relay the signal I was sending via nanites to the distant enemy. Essentially, I talked to the Nano ships via thoughts spoken as words in my mind.

“You aren’t going to hear anything, Captain,” I said. “But just leave the channel open. I’m transmitting with my mind and my nanites.”

Now, Miklos was certain I was mad. He stared at me with eyes that almost popped from his skull. I ignored him.

Alamo. This is Colonel Kyle Riggs. Please respond.

We waited a long time. It was several light-minutes to the gas giant and back, but that time came and went without any response. I frowned at the communication system and tapped at a screen full of logs.

“You did send something, Colonel,” Miklos said, impressed. “Are you telling me that these ships are telepathic?”

“No. But they use radio packets my internal nanites know how to transmit. Think about it: your speech starts out as thoughts in your head, right? Your mouth merely translates those impulses into a form that can be sent to others. I’m doing the same thing—but I’m using the nanites and a radio signal, instead of my mouth. I’m hoping that
Alamo
is still listening to that channel, like a security backdoor left open.”

“But why not simply speak English to them?” Miklos asked.

“Because they’ve been ignoring all such transmissions. By using the nanite translation, I’m using their own language. I’m hoping they will respond to that.”

We tried several more attempts, and I grew frustrated. I tried to think of what I’d done in the past to get a response out of
Alamo
when the ship didn’t feel like talking.

Alamo,
I thought.
You’ve made a serious error.

Several minutes past before a message came back. The communications channel had a brainbox attached to it, and it didn’t require Marvin to translate.

“No error has been detected,” the translator said.

I grinned at Miklos. He looked surprised and uncomfortable. I got the feeling he’d wanted me to fail in this endeavor. I looked away from him and back to the screen. I tapped at it and arranged a transcription to print my half of the conversation. As I thought carefully about what to transmit, he watched apprehensively.