[NSW-Fic] Odyssey excerpt

[machievelli]

An excerpt from the book Odyssey which begins the universe where Amanda and the Bandersnatch is set. If anyone would like to help by reading, proof-reading, and making constructive comments send me your e-mail address and real name so I can give you credit.

Situation: A submarine is hurled 48 light minutes from Earth, and in so doing, alerts both a derelict ship in our asteroid belt, and an implacable enemy. With the aid of a robot of that ship, the humans begin a desperate attempt to defend themselves…

[machievelli]

Plots and plans

 

Aboard the DC, things began to settle down. O’Flarhety was asleep as the alien robot worked on the method of firing the bombs. Myoko was under the Deepstar, examining with growing alarm the loss of half of the submersible’s original equipment. The crew had settled down. After all, what was the difference between being in space and being under the ocean? Both were a vast expanse of emptiness where man can’t live unassisted, with only the four walls and the other crewmembers to stare at; in other words same crap, different place.

 

Aft in the Council chamber, the debate had ended for the night. Sir David Bryce had led an impassioned attempt to convince the others that the ship in orbit, and the ship that was coming offered a leap of several millennia to mankind if only the Lyrde-eh had evolved into calmer creatures than they were described as. His plan was hailed on one side as visionary and peaceful, and on the other as a return to Chamberlain’s ‘peace in our time’ speech of 1938.

 

Shi Chen Zi, who had replaced the arrested Quan as head of the Chinese, and Vladimir Vokoyeiv, had sat silent. Each of the nations was hoping to find a way to either grab, or if not, destroy Guardian. Lisa Trainer of the United States had called for the UN to allow the crew of DC to capture Guardian, and rush it to Earth, where the companies there could take the technological capabilities and put them into production. Since the First World nations would be the major benefactor in such a plan, she was shouted down. She was directly opposed by the third world nations that didn’t want to have such advanced technology (which they were ill equipped to use immediately) dumped onto the world stage where it would put them even farther behind. Trainer among others had received coded communications for her to use her veto any way she could if they couldn’t seize it for themselves. This included (The communication stated) destroying both the Lyrde-eh vessel, and the Guardian. She had sounded out Allison on the subject, but the XO had refused to accept such a decision. He believed that none of the nations, even the one paying his salary, had the right to destroy something merely because they couldn’t have it. When she had attempted to push him on the subject, he had demanded written orders, an impossibility, since any such order could easily be faked and she did not have the authority.

 

She stormed down the corridor, snarling at her aides, Jennifer Calderone, and Mitchell Post. She had picked them for their youthful exuberance, rather than any special skill. The pair was so much alike in looks (Short black hair round faced and chubby) and attitude, that their nickname among the American and English crew had become Tweedledee (Calderone) and Tweedledum (Post), Dee and Dumb for short. Once the names had been explained to the crewmembers of other nations, everyone had taken to calling them that.

 

Simon Carter, her chief of staff, however, made up for both of them. An ex-Seal, graduate of both Annapolis and Harvard Business College, he was a highly efficient man capable of knowing not only what to do, but willing to do what needed to be done. She glared at the man as she entered the cubbyhole she had as an office, and slammed down into her chair angrily.

 

“They didn’t buy it, I see.” Carter commented.

 

Of course not, Simon.” She scrubbed her face with her hand, then clenched it into a fist. “After all, all the Government is trying to do is maintain the status quo. If the entire world gets an infusion of technology a hundred or more years advanced, where are we? Playing catch up like everyone else. As if that wouldn’t be just as destabilizing.”

 

“Clement and Bryce won’t play along?”

 

“No. Clement thinks it would balance the playing field, giving the smaller nations a better chance to swing the world their way. Bryce thinks we can talk the Lyrde-eh into giving us the technology.” She shuddered at some of the film O’Flarhety had brought back. The only way to deal with something that looked and acted like that was a bullet between the eyes.

 

“And Vokoyeiv?”

 

“He’s sitting on the fence. They’d be just as hosed by a unilateral sharing of the Creator’s technology.”

 

There was a knock, and Post stuck his face in. As much as she railed against it, the nickname Tweedledum fit him. “Ma’am? Ambassador Vokoyeiv is here to see you.”

 

“Send him in.”

 

The slim well-dressed man was the antithesis of the Russian Stereotype. He would have not looked out of place on the beach at St Tropez. His bodyguard, Pavel Bondarenko fit that old stereotype of a rich man’s bodyguard to a T. Stocky, suspicious eyes, and a hard expression. Vokoyeiv shook hands with his counterpart, and sat. He took out a cigarette case, pulling out a Dunhill. “May I?”

 

“Of course.” Trainer hated smokers, but this man was necessary to her orders. Simon took an ashtray from a cabinet, and placed it where the Russian could reach.

 

Vokoyeiv blew a ring of smoke, then motioned toward Bondarenko. “My colleague has reported to me that the government of the United States is, alarmed, by the events of the last day.”

 

“That is true.”

 

“And if I have judged your government correctly, they have probably sent orders to destroy the incoming ship, and claim the Guardian.”

 

“Really, Mr. Ambassador!”

 

“I am sure they have sent such orders.” He pulled out a message flimsy. “Because my government has sent this. ‘Americans agree. Lyrde-eh must be destroyed, Guardian claimed. Work with American counterparts there to achieve this. Koroshin considered unreliable’.” He tossed the message on the desk.

 

Trainer picked the paper up, and looked at the hand decoded script. She handed it to Carter, leaning back. “So what can we do? Are your people any more sure than ours? No one has ever set off that many warheads in that proximity.”

 

“We must have faith,” The Russian smiled at the comment, being a holdover from the communist regime, “that the technology will be sufficient. However, there are two things we must do to succeed. First, we must gain control of the weapons, and second, we must be able to fire them.”

 

Trainer looked to Simon, who nodded slowly. “The Pentagon has given us the access codes for the missiles. But to fire them at a distance, we need a transmitter.”

 

“We have one.” Bondarenko surprised them by speaking. “We take the one in the radio room aboard ship.”

 

“Two of us? Unarmed?”

 

Bondarenko smiled. “You were a Seal, Carter. You know how to use weapons. I was Spetznatz. At the right time, I can get us the weapons.”

 

Carter stiffened. The Spetznatz were the Russian equivalent of the Green Berets. Two specialized warriors gauged each other in the silence. As they did, the two delegates leaned forward to work out when their plan should go into action.

 

*****

 

Cecil Maxwell Glasser glared at the overhead, his thoughts darker and colder than the space beyond the hull. He’d received a personal message from the British Navy, thanking him for his carrying the work of his old teacher Archibald Broomfield, to its logical ends.

 

He’d stared in shock at the telex, and it had become fury when his request for a copy of the paper Broomfield had published two days after their departure delivered to him the very paper he had written all those years ago. His work, his vision of the future claimed by someone else. He didn’t remember returning to his quarters.

 

Now he contemplated the future. This must be what Tesla felt when his work powered the western world, but Edison got the credit. When his genius was stolen to create the radiotelegraph, and people asked him what he thought of the innovation created by Marconi! His work, his dreams accredited to a man that had denied their utility right up until they had been proven, then stole them without looking back.

 

Well he’d show them!

 

He considered the reactor. A massive barely controlled force that could reduce the ship to slag if let loose. 80,000 horsepower, 109.724306 megawatts of power at rest. That would rival a stars’ core when it melted.

And he was just the man who could do it.

 

*****

 

“O’Flarhety.” Michael grumbled, then rolled over, his eyes looking at the robot. The voice was atonal, grating, but it was a voice. “The technical problems have been addressed, and this unit can explain.”

 

He sat up, muscles creaking. On the screen, he could see a spiraling shape. He stumbled over to the chair, and looked at it. The pattern looked like the ribs of a nautilus shell. Rotating out from there. He looked closer. The first warhead had a series of spokes thrust out, holding six warhead 10 meters from it. As they wound around, more spokes pushed out from there, holding a ring of 12 more ten meters from them. 14 more rode in a spiral outside of them spaced equidistant to form the outer row. All of the warheads within a 100-meter circle.

 

“All right, the warheads are placed. Now how do we deliver them?”

 

“There were two problems, one of detection, which had been addressed by coating each warhead and spoke with a material which is invisible to our sensors. Last, a thruster pack behind them, and so shielded from the sensors, will drive it into the hull while the spokes are not yet extended.” On the screen, the warheads fell together, forming an odd snowflake design, with spikes thrust out of it, the warheads touching. The thruster pack, if scale was correct, the size of a pair of large air tanks, thrust it away. “The entire package will attain a speed of approximately 2000 kilometers per second.” The robot rotated an eye to look at the man. “It will achieve this for only a few seconds, since the thruster will burn out in that time. Once burnt out, the weapons will deploy to position.” The spiral grew from the center. “Adhesion plates will hold them in position so that all warheads will be in surface contact for maximum effect. The firing command comes from the last warhead, and flows around the spiral. The warheads explode 1 tenth of a nanosecond after the command is given in sequence, the center one 9.6 nanoseconds after the first. Allowing all to release their energy without being immolated.”

 

“Good. Estimated time to build this structure?”

 

“This unit has other duties that must be carried out.”

 

“Name them.”

 

“Complete upgrade of engines to proper specifications within the framework the hull allows. Upgrade environmental systems for long-term travel. Redesign and upgrade of hull and structural members for full use of hyper drive without changing outside design. Upgrade sensors to proper levels for sustained operations. If possible, upgrade weapons to systems used by the Creators.”

“How long to complete all other orders first?”

 

“301.4 hours.”

 

“Time remaining before Lyrde-eh arrival?”

 

“Approximately 31 hours.”

 

“Then we will be dead and the planet under attack by the time you have finished the work.” O’Flarhety rocked his office chair from side to side. “How long before you have completed engine upgrade?”

 

“With no outside assistance, and available resources, 51 hours.”

 

“If you did this first?”

 

“With no outside assistance and available resources, seven point three hours to complete weapons modification.”

 

“Then for us to survive and to survive long enough to complete your orders, you will have to move this to first on your list.”

Brownie hummed. “The rationale is acceptable. Work will be started on this modification.”

 

*****

 

Simon Carter nodded to Pavel Bondarenko as they met at the mess hall. The Spetznatz warrior led the Seal back into the aircraft bay.

 

The bay was silent at the moment. The aircrews were in their quarters, the maintenance techs scattered to bunks and mess decks for recreation. The Russian moved to the storage area for the weapons used by the aircraft. He expertly picked the lock, and motioned the Seal in.

“We need this.” Bondarenko motioned to the X127 chain gun that was usually mounted on the Cayuse helicopter. Firing a 5.56MM cartridge, it had a cyclic rate of between 2,000 and 6,000 rounds per minute.

 

“Understood. Ever see the movie Predator?”

 

“Da. I think the big wrestler called this ‘Old Painless’?”

 

They chuckled together as they lifted the heavy weapon onto a trolley, and stacked ammo boxes around it.

 

With Simon running point to assure they weren’t seen it took less than half an hour to get the weapon back to the UN staff compartments. It would take several hours to load the ammunition by hand.

 

*****

 

Glasser entered the wardroom, and sat to enjoy his last meal. The Lyrde-eh ship was due in six hours, and everyone was frantic to complete the preparations. The first hours had been easier. In fact instead of raiding the movie locker for things to watch, a lot of the crew had spent the first seven hours watching Brownie in action.

 

The two launch ports directly behind the dome of the control room had been opened, and the small robot had levered out the gunslinger pods, then removed each missile one by one until all of them were floating alongside the ship. Then it had begun dismantling them. The gunslinger pods had been left floating, empty. Two missile techs in Divex Armadillo heated suits had gone out as it completed the first eight, arming each warhead. They and their replacements had barely kept up with the little machine as every missile and pod went the way of the first. Then they had returned inside as the missile bodies had been taken by the robot two by two to the manufactory, followed by the gunslinger pods. Then it had run aft, connected a hose to the fuel tanks for the ship's diesel generator. Then it ran another hose from the bow to a fitting it could sit on like a toilet.

 

When it returned, it began to literally extrude the spokes.

 

The spokes of the giant Catherine wheel were a steel-polymer composite that was merely a limp hose unless hit with a small electric charge. When this happened, the pipe would snap out rigid to full length.

Not that Glasser had watched. While everyone else was busy watching when the aliens arrived, he would be in the engine room, and a few minutes later, would have that compartment and the reactor room to himself.

 

 

Countdown

 

As the time approached, everyone manned their stations. The timing of the event had been reported several times, and it was almost anticlimactic for Allison to turn to the Captain and report all stations manned.

 

Below, Glasser looked at the room he intended to die in, and signaled that the reactor was ready.

 

Of the delegates, only two were not at the table in the Council room. Lisa Trainer and Vokoyeiv had requested permission to be in the control room for the ‘climactic moment’ as Trainer called it. But their request had a deeper purpose. Trainer would be watching, and when the time was at hand, would call Carter to bring her heart medicine. Since she didn’t have a heart condition, this was a warning for Carter to head up. On the way, he would knock on the door to the officer's head, where Bondarenko waited with the XM127. It was only thirty feet from there to the control room.

 

In his quarters, Simon Carter prepared for the attack. It had to be timed just when the warheads impacted on the alien vessel. They would burst in, shoot anyone they needed to kill; though the mere threat would probably be enough. Both Koroshin and Allison would be in the control room along with their firing keys, and while they didn’t know it, Trainer had been given the firing codes that activated the system. It would take only a few moments for Vokoyeiv and Trainer to input the codes, turn the keys, and detonate the warheads.

Michael O’Flarhety was working on the information that he had gathered from watching Brownie work when the intercom buzzed. “Hello.”

 

“Mr. O’Flarhety? This is O’Malley in Computer Central. The Guardian just reported that it is terminating the high-speed downlink to our computer.”

 

“Why are you telling me?”

 

“When that damn robot revamped the system, Mr. Allison said ‘Let the idiot who talks with it deal with it’. I think he meant you.”

 

“True, how many idiots do we have aboard?” O’Flarhety stood, shrugging into his bomber jacket. “I’m on the way.”

 

He stepped out; nodding to the Russian bodyguard that had followed Vokoyeiv on board. It was two levels down, and 100 feet aft to the computer room. He made it in less than two minutes, nodding to the Marine on guard as the guard called O’Malley.

 

He had been astonished by the computer’s upgrade, and was wondering what the engines would do after the upgrade Brownie had returned to. O’Malley motioned him into the seat, and Michael sat.

 

“Welcome Michael.” The computer said.

 

“When did it start talking to people by name?”

 

“Couple of days ago when the little robot did the upgrade.” O’Malley said. “It’s like she developed a personality with the extra memory since then.”

 

Michael leaned forward. “How did you know I was Michael?”

 

“You mass and physical build matched Michael O’Flarhety exactly. There are four others aboard with the right mass and build, but three are not allowed access to the computers, and one is Torpedo Technician Watson.”

 

“Well I never dreamed that I could wear Michelle Watson’s clothes.”

 

“You could, but they would be baggy across the chest.”

 

“Petty. All right, when did this high-speed data link begin?"

 

"Four hours after the first contact by you and the Deepstar. Once the computer was up to proper operational parameters, the link was established to download necessary information.

 

Three days? "What was Guardian downloading?”

 

“A massive data base quite beyond my own scope in collating.” The computer replied. “It was addressed to the ship’s crew, but help will be required to access it in any format humans could recognize.” The computer began flashing merely titles, and O’Flarhety’s mind boggled. Astronomical information, chemical combinations, data in blocks so large that he wasn’t sure where they were putting it all.

 

“How much have we gotten so far?”

 

“4 times ten to the 95th Terabytes.” The computer hummed. “Oddly enough, while the Guardian’s database is vast, the data is stored very haphazardly when compared to human files. I am busy attempting to collate, but am being overwhelmed. Two thirds of the data is being stored using variations of the ZIP, RAR and ACE format merely to assure there is enough space in the memory banks. There is-“ the computer stopped talking. “Data feed had been stopped.”

 

The intercom squealed. “All hands, the alien ship has arrived.”

 

*****

 

Like the shark from Jaws attacking, the ship was suddenly there. 25 kilometers in diameter, it was impressive even at a distance. On board, the Pack Mother scratched idly as information flowed in from the Machine nose ears and eyes.

 

If the race that crewed it had envisioned anything remotely like a planned expansion, this ship would still be 50,000 light-years from its present position. But the Lyrde-eh were driven by territorial and diet imperatives. The weak were eaten, the strong survived. The smaller or weaker packs were driven to flee by this. The Pack Mother that had originally commanded this ship had given the name the Driven pack to her people, driven from the great cluster, then from the lesser cluster near it. They had moved into the great galaxy 100 thousand odd light years from those smaller clusters, but again, larger and stronger packs had followed.

 

The Pack Mother growled under her breath. The ship was beginning to smell. Too many bodies stuffed into too little space, even aboard something with the space a 25-kilometer sphere afforded. She was an impressive specimen, 2 meters tall when she rested her tail on the ground. Around her the Control room pack moved restively. They were running short of larger prey, and only the scent of another ship, possibly better prey drew them instead of food at this moment.

 

“A ship has been detected.” The Sniffer reported.

 

“What does the ship smell like?”

 

“The ship's scent says it is the cruise ship Mokbatl.”

 

The Pack Mother grunted. There had been stories about Mokbatl for untold generations of the Lyrde-eh. A ship full of prey escaping even as their planet was captured for feeding. The pack that had allowed them to escape had been destroyed, eaten to the last egg for their failure.

 

Well luck had finally run out for the legend. The ship would house barely a tithe of her pack, increasing her power, making her greater than she had been. No longer pack mother of a single ship, even if it was a Great Pack ship.

 

“Close, prepare to board.”

 

“Mother, there is another ship beyond it. Faint readings.” The Sniffer leaned forward. “An odd design, like a Tranth seed, with small wings at the rear. 100 Bru-meich in length, less than eight in circumference.”

 

“Worthless except as scrap to feed the robots.” She snorted. Why that ship would barely hold a hunting pack!

 

The giant sphere began moving inexorably toward the old luxury liner.

*****

 

Aboard the Guardian, the computer contemplated its fate. Long ago, there had been life aboard, the laughter of children, the singing of songs. Even the sound of lovemaking, for every compartment needed monitoring for the ship to do its job. For too long, it had been vacant, silent except for the chirp of robots busy maintaining the ship in its endless vigil.

 

It had waited, hoping for a signal, the return of its Creator's progeny, but silence had been its companion. For about a thousand years after the last message, the computer had modeled every possible disaster that could have happened. From another meteor such as the one that had destroyed the primary base, earthquakes, invasions by the primitives slaughtering them all, to a simple failure of a Granth circuit in their communications array. It had been appalled to discover finally that it had been their own stupidity that had caused their deaths.

 

All of that contemplation, of merely thinking about the abstract had done something to its matrix. It had been petulant with the aliens, no the Humans that had briefly been its guests. Their race had still been working with stone and copper when the creators arrived.

 

But for a brief time, a feeling of satisfaction had been there again. If they had not been in such a hurry because of the situation, Guardian would have wanted to watch them swimming in the lakes on the recreation deck, or eating in one of the restaurants on the food deck, or, making love on the passenger decks.

 

Their plans were both brave and doomed to failure. They simply did not have the weapons capability to pull it off. Perhaps in a century…

 

Now it would be too late. The Lyrde-eh would eat them down, pick their teeth with their bones as they had so many others, and Guardian would carry the hated enemy of its creators to other stars where it would happen again.

 

Deep in the matrix that was the ship’s mind, a circuit closed.

 

Like hell it would.

 

After examining the millions of files that had been flung into space by these humans, the Guardian had come across two terms that now needed no explanation.

 

Kamikaze, suicide attacks by single pilots against ships during a long ago war, revived briefly by a terrorist organization.

 

The other term was rollback. A military term considering a specific attack.

 

As the Catherine Wheel was completed on the human ship, all of the small craft carried by the Guardian had exited the hull, and were now moving to place them on the optimal course of the enemy vessel. The Catherine wheel, with the Guardian's help, was towed to a position several hundred miles farther away on that same course.

 

*****

 

“Locking on target.” Allison said. He turned the photonic mast until the huge vessel was centered in the crosshairs. He tapped the button, and on their radar screen, the small blip of the weapon, nicknamed Kate rotated. A second later, he winced as the thruster pack flared, shoving the missiles toward their destination.

 

“Contact in thirty minutes.”

 

At the HAG control panel, Rishu Shikuri wiped his forehead as he focused on the approaching enemy. If the missiles failed, he would have to try to kill the enemy vessel with his HAG.

 

Mustard seeds flung by a child would be better!

 

Time stretched as if torn by the hands of a sadistic maniac. On DC, a quiet conversation was being maintained with Earth. Soongh and his assistant Ramsey kept up the chatter. “Yes, there is great concern here.” Soongh said answering the inane question of an hour and a half ago. “If our weapons have no effect, we do not know what can be done to stop the Juggernaut.” He looked down as Ramsey ripped another page out of his typewriter. He looked at the page shaking his head. The lunatics are running the asylum down there.

 

“Tell me, have you let the most insane reporters in the world have access to this channel? We have not even seen a Lyrde-eh in the flesh, so what can we tell you about what kind of footwear they prefer?

 

“What I can tell you is we have ten minutes before our weapons have the enemy range. We are waiting for the Catherine Wheel to impact even as I speak.”

 

*****

 

In space, the lumpy disc suddenly began snapping into rigid shape, becoming not nine meters across, but a hundred. The spokes, limp until now became bars harder than steel as the weapons deployed. On the nose of each, plates that would adhere to the enemy hull turned, feeling the ship only a few kilometers away.

 

*****

 

“Contact in one minute.” The radar man reported. Lisa Trainer rubbed her arm. “Captain, can I have my aide bring up my pills?”

 

“Go ahead.” The Russian was watching the video feed along with everyone else.

 

Trainer went to the intercom. “Simon?”

 

“Yes, Delegate?”

 

“Could you bring my heart medication up here?”

 

“Right away.”

 

Carter turned, running out of the room. He charged down the stairs, turned, ran to the next ladder, and down it. Bondarenko was loitering outside the head, waving a crewman away. “Yes, I have been waiting for several minutes.” He saw Carter coming, and leaped at the sailor, slamming him into the bulkhead. His hands reached up, and the man collapsed, neck broken as Bondarenko opened the door. It took both of them to lift the ammo pack. It had been jerry rigged using a Marine ALICE pack frame, and the ammo box that would have mounted on the helicopter. Carter grunted as he lifted the pack, and Bondarenko slid it on. Both men took one strap, tightening them down. Then Carter picked up the sixty pounds of the chain gun handing it to Bondarenko. A handle that had come from a briefcase had been attached to a steel strut taken off a bunk, giving the Russian a way to hold up the muzzle, and a trigger assembly had been rigged at the solid block at the rear.

 

The two men moved quickly down the corridor, and Carter whistled sharply as they entered.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Koroshin roared.

 

“Oh shut up, you commie bastard!” Trainer shouted. “Vladimir, Simon, get the keys!”

 

The two men moved forward, and Allison balled his fists.

 

“Commander, I will kill everyone in this room if you resist.”

 

Bondarenko turned slightly. Even a ricochet in these close quarters would be lethal. Allison glared at the Russian delegate as the man ripped the firing key from his neck. Carter chopped Koroshin across the throat, ripping the key free as the man fell, gasping. The pair retreated to the firing panel, each moving to the slot where the key they held fit.

 

Trainer moved to the control box, and lifted it. Inside was a small keypad, and she punched in the numbers Washington had sent to her. A siren wailed.

 

“Missile controls have been activated.”

 

Down in his quarters, O’Flarhety heard the siren wail, and sprinted toward the control room. Uvaldes had said they would at least try to talk to the Lyrde-eh. Who the hell was getting ready to fire the missiles?

 

On the bridge, the panels snapped up, revealing the key slots. The design was decades old, two keys and two switches that had to be turned simultaneously; far enough apart that two people had to do it together.

 

Carter looked to Vokoyeiv. “First detent on my mark. Three two, one, mark!” Both men turned their key and switch combination one-quarter rotation.

 

“Weapons armed. Awaiting firing command.”

 

“Second detent, on my mark, three two one, Mark!”

 

As the keys turned, Michael charged up the stairs. He didn’t hesitate, throwing himself on Bondarenko from behind. The weight over balanced the man, and he fell as he pulled the trigger. Bullets splattered out, most ricocheting up into the Russian as he fell on top of the chain gun.

 

*****

 

“Pack Mother, something is there ahead!”

 

The pack mother looked at the small crate of squealing creatures that had been brought. If nothing else, finding a planet with new more interesting prey was worth all of this. “Speak straight! Tell me what you smell!” She caught up the small being, snapped its neck with an angry twist, and ripped open its stomach. The ones still in the cage cried in fear, covering their furry little faces in horror. Lucky for them that only she ate on the command deck.

 

“I do not know what it is. A large mass that wasn’t there before.”

 

She tossed her meal aside. A scavenger could have it if she didn’t get back before the blood was cold. In two strides, she was across the deck, and she bit the Sniffer on the back of the neck.

 

“What. Is. It?”

 

*****

 

On the hull of the Lyrde-eh ship, the signal arrived. An instant of time too small for a human to record passed as it sent the message on, then the weapons exploded.

 

Everyone winced as the screen blacked out an instant before the bombs went off. 5.248 megatons of pure fire ripped at the front of the Lyrde-eh vessel. O’Flarhety climbed off the man he had tackled, and stared along with everyone else at the screen as the screen came back up. A fireball almost 200 miles across roared out there, mankind’s best shot at ending this here in the depths of space had been fired.

 

The fireball faded, and as it did, the hull of the Lyrde-eh ship pushed contemptuously through it. A section a kilometer wide had been ripped open, compartments vented, air spilling like blood from the wound. From there metal had been scorched and melted, but still held.

 

But as weapons began to slide from revetments built into the ship, she appeared to be still operational.

 

“All you did was piss them off.” O’Flarhety whispered in the silence.

 

*****

 

The pack mother ripped the Sniffer’s head off as the damage reports came in. Whatever it was, the weapons had ripped open the ship’s flank like a dewclaw. But the weak blow had been poorly aimed. She threw the dead Sniffer aside, signaling another to take his place. “Find which of them struck at us. We will take their ship and hunt them as they deserve!”

 

“Pack Mother!” The new Sniffer turned. “The liner has launched its small craft.” In the small display, a hundred dots raced toward the aggressor vessel.

 

“After we have taken the liner, the machines can make more. Destroy them.”

 

*****

 

A hundred ships from the size of an automobile to four the size of the battleship Bismarck charged toward the enemy ship. They were unarmed, but as the American had discovered at Leyte Gulf, and the world had relearned on 9-11, a kamikaze doesn’t need to have a bomb to be dangerous. The undamaged laser ports that could engage opened fire. Twenty of the missiles were crisped in seconds, but the others were that much closer at almost a tenth of light speed. As the lasers burned down the attackers, the 5-kilometer bulk of Mokbatl was accelerating toward them as well, every vent hatch and cargo bay open, air spraying out, snuffing out the lives of the small animals that still lived aboard in seconds.

 

As naval doctrine went, the tactic is called rolling back the defenses. While you can kill all of the targets, the time you spent shooting at one meant the others were able to get closer. Hopefully, enough missiles would be sent to allow maybe a handful to hit their targets. There were only about twenty weapons that could bear, and that meant each would if lucky, kill one target a second. At the speed the liner would attain before impact, there wasn’t enough time to stop them all.

 

Now it was down to just about twenty, the smallest the size of a modern destroyer. These ships were tougher to kill, taking as many as three shots before they were disabled or destroyed.

 

*****

 

"Pack Mother, Mokbatl is following the smaller vessels at her maximum running speed!" The new Sniffer screamed. The Pack Mother was too busy ordering the light claws to slash as the other targets, and precious seconds were wasted.

 

Seconds they didn't have.

 

Now only the four giant parasites remained. One died when a shot punched through, cutting into the inertial dampener controls and reducing the craft into a pin wheeling spray of metal, but the other three took too long. The last had died and still Mokbatl came on. The beams powerful enough to rip battleships apart ripped into the massive ship's flesh, but the Guardian had planned well. With no air within the hull, thermal damage would be limited to what was hit, and shock waves would never form from exploded bulkheads. By her own estimate, she could take perhaps ten or twelve hits unless they burned through the computer runs or inertial compensators. But there would not be time for even that. Unless they killed her in the next ten seconds, she would still take them with her.

 

*****

 

On screen, the small craft followed by their mother ship charged to the attack as the Marines cuffed the three captured conspirators. Aboard the Guardian, the computer had time for a single thought- the advantage of a kamikaze is it makes sure not to miss-

 

- Everyone flinched as Guardian, still accelerating, hit the Lyrde-eh vessel at just under a tenth of light speed.

 

*****

 

Glasser had been listening, and when the riot sounded on the bridge, he was ready. He pressed the button on his panel that simulated a reactor casualty. “Emergency! Everyone clear the reactor room!” He shouted. The men, trained to react immediately, ran for the door. Glasser moved to the connecting hall to the engine room, and leaned in. “Reactor casualty! It may burn through here! Clear the engine room!”

 

The engineering officer of the watch stood on the walk, shouting as his men ran to safety. He turned, and Glasser clubbed him down, then ran to the door that led past the reactor vessel, dogging the door there closed before jamming the wheel.

 

He rolled the man over. What was his name? Oh, yeah, McNamara. A Canadian. A pity, but he needed someone else for them to be looking for out there.

 

He went to the control for the engine, switched on the magneto-hydrodynamic drive, and rang the engines full ahead.

 

 

Race

 

It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. The marines had been deploying to take Carter and Bondarenko when O’Flarhety had knocked the gunman down. They had just taken Carter and the two delegates into custody when the reactor casualty alarm had sounded. While men were running aft to aid in rescue efforts, only O’Flarhety noticed when the screen faded.

 

“What the, we’ve gone into hyper!”

 

Koroshin stood, still holding his throat. “Engine room, report!” There was no answer.

 

“Sir this is Mishchevsky. Everyone is accounted for except for Chief McNamara and Commander Glasser.”

 

“McNamara! Glasser! Answer me, damn you!”

 

For a long moment, there was nothing. Then the intercom clicked. “Glasser here, Captain.”

 

“What has happened, Chief engineer?”

 

“I have happened.” He replied. “I have removed the serpent from the Garden of Eden.”

 

“You are making no sense, Commander!”

 

“Am I really? Think Captain, what has everyone been arguing about for the last few days? First to whom does the drive, my drive belong? I know we have diverted attention from that but think of before we met the Guardian. I created this, with my own hands. I laid the cable; I routed it as I did. The design from start to finish is mine. But those of Earth would steal it. A professor I thought well of stole the original paper, and published it in his name. I have dismounted or broken god alone knows how many cameras because the layout of the cable is what makes it work!

 

“Without this ship, it can never be reproduced on Earth. I have removed us from that system. When I am done, I will remove the ship from existence as well. Now I am rather busy, so I will have to go.”

 

For a moment, there was silence. Then O’Flarhety leaped to the intercom. “Brownie! Where ever you are, answer me?”

 

“There is no need to shout, O’Flarhety, this unit’s system is linked into the internal communications link-”

 

“A man has taken control of the engine room and reactor. Can you break into those compartments?”

 

“Not quickly. It will take thirty minutes or more to dismantle the doors between my position and those compartments.”

 

“Can you disable the engine from where you are?”

“Negative.”

 

“What will he do?” Koroshin demanded.

 

“Pull the rods on the reactor, dump cooling water. Either one will cause the reactor to overload.” Allison replied. “If it does, even if we survive the meltdown, we will be adrift without power.”

 

Michael closed his eyes. While Brownie had been explaining the upgrades it had intended to do, the robot had flashed schematics of the ship. He ran from the room, headed forward.

 

In the forward torpedo room, Michael looked up at the escape trunk. Designed to allow men trapped in a sunken vessel to escape, it opened into space now. But there was another one at the stern, which led into the engine spaces. He went to the intercom. “Brownie, can a human being survive in hyper outside the ship?”

 

“For short periods, a living being can survive outside the vessel. However there are severe auditory, visual and neural distortions.”

 

“Can you survive outside the ship?”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“Get a rifle from the armory, and a dry suit such as our crew were wearing. Bring them to the escape trunk at the forward torpedo room.”

 

“This unit has not completed the drive upgrades-“

 

“Damn your upgrades. From now on when one of us gives an order, you will drop everything else and do it. Do as you were told. NOW!”

 

“Understood. Enroute.”

 

*****

 

Aft, Mishchevsky had raided the damage control locker, and dragged out an acetylene torch. While Chief Fanducci started to cut into the door, he was talking with the control room. “We can’t get in any faster than an hour sir. These hatches weren’t made to be taken down quickly.”

 

“Understood, lieutenant. Work as quickly as you can.”

 

In the control room, the officers were trying to figure a way to stop the engineer. It had been suggested that they scram the reactor, but no one knew what would happen if they shut down all power while in hyperspace.

 

Control, Marine Central.”

 

“Go Central.”

 

“That little robot just stole a rifle from one of our marines.”

 

“It what?”

 

“Stole a rifle. According to Singh, it was carrying a dry suit as well when it did it.”

 

“A dry suit?” Koroshin looked around, confused. “What would a robot need with a dry suit?”

 

Sir!” The helmsman, who had nothing to do at the moment pointed at the monitor. The control room crew stared at the screen, as Brownie raced down the hull past the photonic mast, towing what looked like a person.

*****