Homeworld war, p.3
Homeworld War, page 3
Henry set a thick gloved hand on Lefty’s shoulder.
“Hey man, they might look alive, but I think it’s more apt to compare them to robots or machines,” he said. “And by the look of things, they weren’t programmed to flee or feel pain.” He glanced back at a pair of bodies draped under white plastic sheets. “This fight has a lot of unknowns, and we’re paying a high price, but every time we crash against them, we learn a bit more. It’s up to us to make that count.”
“Thanks man, I appreciate it,” Lefty replied.
They checked in with the rest of their surviving team before going through a brief de-con and returning to their office.
Chapter
Four
Lab 13
In Orbit near the Titan Shipyards
Henry and Krek stood with their arms folded as they watched the proceedings through a one-way mirror. Inside the lab itself, Issac and a team of other scientists began their dissection of the most intact bug spawn—as the things that had come out of the recon bug had been dubbed.
“Records, at 1900 hours, we are commencing dissection of one of the bug spawn, designated Bravo-Sierra-eighteen,” Issac said over the speakers.
“Hopefully, we get some answers,” Henry said.
“I doubt it,” Krek replied. “With these damn things, it’s more likely to confuse us than anything else.”
Henry had to concede the point, even as one of the scientists—a survivor from the Armstrong settlement—lowered a circular saw into where the bug spawn’s chest cavity would be. The saw sparked and whined before being withdrawn as the blade broke down.
“Are you serious?” Henry asked. “That saw blade was carbon-fiber, diamond-edged, and it still broke?”
After replacing the blade, they tried again, this time biting through the carapace and getting blackish green goo.
“We’ve managed to penetrate the chest cavity,” Issac announced. His entire team wore head-to-toe HAZMAT gear. They placed a pair of pneumatic arms in the seam they’d cut into the monster’s chest.
“Monster” seemed like an apt descriptor for the bug spawn. Under the harsh light of the lab, they needed to put together two dissection tables to hold the creature’s massive frame. It lacked hands, its arms ending in long, chitinous, serrated claws. Its legs—or rather leg, as it was missing its left one below the thigh—were reverse-jointed and ended in circular, eight-clawed feet. Great for gripping a spaceship hull, Henry thought to himself.
With a whine, the pneumatic arms separated the two sides of the carapace to reveal its internals.
“Exoskeleton acts like a vacuum suit,” Issac noted. “And I see symmetrical organs on both sides. Looks like . . . hmmm.”
Henry watched his brother shove a gloved arm into the test cavity and run it across something. He couldn’t help but grin.
“Issac was squeamish as a kid,” he said to Krek. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a body unless it was millions of years old.” He tilted his head towards the glass. “Now look at him, shoulder-deep in a hostile alien lifeform.”
“It’s redundant,” Issac said. “Bravo-Sierra has all the necessary life organs redundant in four quadrants in the torso.” He glanced back at the glass. “You would need a perfect shot, center of mass, between the liners of all four redundant systems to kill them all at once.”
“Then how did this one die?” Krek asked into a microphone embedded in the dividing wall.
Issac’s attention went back to the severed leg, and he gestured for one of the scientists to take a sample from the goo inside it.
“Well, if it wasn’t dead before, it is now,” Issac said. “Gaping hole in its chest, vital organs exposed to the air. Nothing’s functioning.” He looked at the severed leg. “I suspect cosmic radiation played a role in killing a lot of them. Mutations in the macro-virus prevent it from repairing damage like it should, and their bodies start breaking down.” He tapped on the exposed carapace. “These things are designed for deep space, no two ways about it, but even then there’s a limit to what they can take.”
Henry unfolded his arms and leaned against the glass. That was reassuring. A lot of the M’Nok and Keblarian records depicted the Blacktide as invincible juggernauts, but the present-day alliance’s latest actions proved they were more than capable of defeating the enemy.
“Moving on to the braincase,” Issac announced. “We’re going to need the drill. I don’t want to destroy anything sensitive.”
The bug spawn’s head was insect-like, lacking a mouth but featuring large compound eyes that looked either red or brown depending on the light. Two pairs of short antenna crowned an enlarged section of the head Henry assumed carried a brain.
Diligently, the dissection team used a diamond-tipped drill to weaken sections of the monster’s face before removing it with a pair of pneumatic arms. The eyes sat rigid in front of a mass of gray matter. Henry recoiled at how human-like it seemed.
“Braincase resembles a mammalian one,” Issac said. “Highly developed sensory parts. If we’re comparing it one-to-one to a mammalian brain, it has an enlarged area related to aggression and a diminished portion relating to empathy.”
Krek snorted. “Don’t need empathy if you’re a ready-made shock troop.”
“Then I was right,” Henry said. “This isn’t the Blacktide’s true form. This is just one of their monsters.” He blinked and tapped on the microphone. “Hey Issac, do we have any intel from the recon bug?”
“You’re going to have to head to the breaker's yard for that.” Issac waved the metallic probe in his hand in a circle over the bug spawn’s fallen form. “I’m focused on this right now.”
Henry pursed his lips and began pacing the observation room.
“Do you think it could operate the recon bug?” Krek asked.
“I couldn’t tell you without looking at the recon bug itself,” Issac replied. “Though I’ve been wondering how the soldiers would interface with their ships, let alone how they would coordinate between ships.” He tapped his probe on a lower part of the mouth, a section that had been covered by armor, but revealed porous cartilage underneath. “It doesn’t seem to have the capacity for verbal communication, but maybe there’s pheremone—”
Before Issac could finish his thought, the bug spawn spasmed. Then it lashed out with a clawed forearm, splitting open a scientist’s chest as she screamed and fell to the floor. The creature made a gurgling chittering sound before attempting to stand.
Henry and Krek rushed to the lab’s door.
“Mikey, we need a crash team at our location!” Henry shouted into his smartwatch before he and Krek lowered their shoulders and slammed against the door repeatedly. The heavy steel door and its thick hinges refused to give despite the mass thrown against it.
To Henry’s surprise, Issac took care of things. Flipping the probe in his hand, he brought it down into the bugs’s exposed braincase like a knife. Twice he went in, spilling gray matter and brain fluid before the thing convulsed and stopped moving.
“I’ve severed the brainstem. He won’t be up and about for a while,” Issac said. “Is there a medical team on the way?” As he spoke, he moved about the room, giving orders and tending to the injured scientist.
“Tell the crash team to bring de-con kits, just in case. And all the anti-virals we have on hand.”
“You sure they’ll work?” Krek asked. “They beat the Forgotten to a standstill. How do we know that tech will work on them?”
“We don’t, but we have to try!” Issac cried.
Henry took a breath and stepped back. Issac doesn’t need me to step in and bail him out, not this time. A proud smile flashed across his face, and he nodded to his brother.
“You’ve got things under control here. We’ll take care of the anti-virals and warn the breaker's yard.” With that, he gestured for Krek to follow him, and the pair began walking with a purpose through the station.
“Mikey, you get that?”
“Yeah, I heard, bro,” the AI from Brooklyn replied. “Preserver named Mother Martha is on the way with the anti-virals now. She’ll take care of the scientists.”
“Smart,” Krek observed. “A machine isn’t going to risk being infected by the macro-virus.”
“And they’re easier to de-con,” Henry added.
After traveling through a series of hallways and side corridors, they found themselves arriving at the breaker's yard control center. The octagonal room lined with monitors and workstations served as the nerve center for the Alliance’s recovery operations.
“Guy, fancy seeing you here,” Henry said as he greeted the yard supervisor.
The older man, a guy who looked like he preferred working on offshore oilrigs to space stations, shrugged.
“You take opportunities when you get them,” he said. “My retirement from Cussler Station and Dinoco is pretty good, but my grandkids love coming out to space.” A smirk crossed his face. “Speaking of which, when are you—”
“We came to warn you about the recon bug,” Henry said. “A bug spawn just revived and attacked our dissection team. We were worried the recon bug could do the same.”
Guy chuckled and flicked a few commands on his tablet. Behind him, on the main monitor, the recon bug appeared in its current berth.
Henry couldn’t blame them for thinking it wasn’t currently a threat. It had been towed to a destroyer’s berth, and the breakers hadn’t wasted time. As Henry took it all in, the massive plasma cutters the yard used to cut up empty hulls heated and descended through a segment of the bug like a guillotine. Whatever its shell was made of, it gave way to blades hotter than the surface of the sun and allowed manipulator arms to pull away the severed section for examination. Henry could see several sections of the bug already crawling with research and security teams in EVA suits. Feet first into the wood chipper, huh?
“To be completely fair, Issac had the bug’s brain exposed, and it still attacked someone,” Krek said.
Guy raised an eyebrow and scratched at his head.
“Huh, they pulled one over on Issac? He’s a smart kid.” He shrugged. “Okay, not really a kid, but I’m surprised.”
“So was Issac,” Henry replied. “But he handled it like a professional.” He spotted something on the recon bug’s head. Narrowing his eyes, he stepped closer and pointed at the object. “What’s this?”
“Nuclear shaped charge,” Guy replied. “Anchored right over the bug’s brain, or at least where they say it is. Any sign of anything fishy, and they’ll lobotomize the ugly bastard with an A-bomb.”
“Have there been any attacks?” Henry asked. “Any bug spawn come out of that thing?”
Guy shook his head.
“This whole station would be on high alert if any of those smaller ones came out of it.”
“Any control surfaces? Anything noteworthy about this thing at all?” Krek asked. “The more intel, the better.”
Guy removed his trucker hat and swept a hand through his graying hair.
“Well, it’s the damndest thing. We’ve been treating this like we’re breaking up a ship and dissecting a living creature at the same time,” he began. “Now, the skinny is that shell of his absorbs radar waves and light waves. Were it not for the optical net, we wouldn’t have spotted this bugger creeping in.” He jerked a thumb back at the image on-screen. “That’s the other thing. This whole monster is a recon device. The eggheads were saying it could absorb and play radio messages through its shell. The bug is one giant receiver.”
Henry folded his arms as he stared at the bug.
“I think I see how this works,” he said. “This recon bug cruises through the system undetected and picks up all kinds of active radiation as it goes. Radio traffic, radar and lidar emissions. The nit goes back with all of this information about the solar system. Who lives there, the kind of tech they have, how many, and where their detection equipment is.” He looked back at Guy. “Anything else?”
“Well, I think you’re on to something there,” the older man said. Returning his cap to his head, he gestured to the rear section of the recon bug. “Though, there’s a lot we don’t know. How does it sustain itself? Where is its engine and or fuel?” He opened his mouth to continue speaking but Henry noticed a commotion coming from the bug’s front.
“What’s going on?” Henry asked.
Before anyone could answer, a bright flash blotted out the screen, and the cameras blacked out. Guy’s hand went to an earpiece, and as he spoke, he nodded. With a sigh, he looked back at Henry.
“We’ve got a huge radio burst from the bug,” one of the workers said. “Telemetry is out past the Oort cloud.” The monitor returned with imaging from the dock. Where the device had once been, a burned-out hole in the recon bug’s head glowed with droplets of molten shell.
“The front end started moving,” Guy said. “Just enough to set the charge off.”
Henry looked at Krek.
“A deadman switch?” Krek asked.
“I think so,” Henry replied. “And I think it was calling for its buddies.”
Chapter
Five
Outer System 9, near the Kuiper Belt
“Major K’ran,” one of the staffers said. “We’ve got lidar contacts emerging from the Oort Cloud.”
The M’Nok leader sighed.
“On-screen,” he said. Everyone in the command center perked up. It had only been a few weeks since they’d encountered the recon bug trying to sneak its way into the system. Let’s hope the Blacktide just sent another recon bug to check things out. But as he saw the radar contacts approaching, he scowled. The first bug hadn’t shown up on radar or lidar, but right now, he was thankful for small blessings.
“Multiple contacts, sir,” the young officer replied. “We’ve got multiple cruiser- and destroyer-sized contacts, as well as a pair of carrier-sized contacts.”
“We’ve got nothing like that out past the Nem,” K’ran replied. “Alert TF Eternity.” He switched to the station-wide intercom. “All personnel, action stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, all hands action stations.” As soon as his finger left the button, he yanked his pressure suit out from under his chair.
“Think it’s the Blacktide?” Drew asked from his post.
“I don’t care who they are,” K’ran said. “Even if they’re an old alliance member, we’re going to make it clear that they’re walking into our yard.”
Dr. Summers looked up from donning her own suit. “Do you point guns at everyone who walks into your yard?”
“If they show up in the middle of the night? Yes,” K’ran replied. “Where are my weapon officers at? I want those Casabas ready to go.”
“Arming them now, sir,” the tech replied.
In all likelihood, the Casaba howitzers were probably some of the most powerful weapons in the recent history of any of the three races. Essentially a space-borne IED or single-shot artillery piece, depending on how one looked at it, the Casaba howitzers operated like a weaponized nuclear pulse drive. Where a pulse drive detonated a bomb with the intent of pushing off a pusher plate, the Casaba howitzer melted the materials in a focused jet of plasma propelled at percentages of light speed. It aligned perfectly with the new alliance’s weapons philosophy of making armor meaningless.
Archival footage from the M’Nok and Keblarians had shown Blacktide ships absorbing punishing amounts of laser and plasma fire, so the Humans applied their aggressive simplicity and pulled out blueprints for weapons that would make things like armor plates irrelevant. Not that K’ran minded.
“Part of me is hoping it’s them,” K’ran said. “Then we’ll know all these weapons work.”
“Charlie-niner-one through niner-niner are ready to fire,” his weapons officer said. “Charlie-niner-one-zero through niner-one-eight are in standby mode.”
“Give me our range profile,” K’ran ordered. “Sync all data with Oscar-Sierra-eight and Oscar-Sierra-one-zero, as well as TF Eternity.” He leaned forward in his seat as targeting data filled the screen in front of him. Let them come.
“We have a visual on optical,” a technician announced.
“On-screen,” K’ran replied. The things taking shape before him combined all the worst features of bats, insects, and sea creatures.
“Mother of God,” Drew gasped.
K’ran hissed—a guttural, almost primal sound from the M’Nok commander.
“It’s them,” he said. “Target the big one in the center and the two cruiser-sized ones immediately flanking it. Engage with Charlie-niner-zero-one through zero-three.”
“Roger,” his weapons officer replied. “Maximum range, targeting with Charlie-niner-zero-one through niner-zero-three.” Firing solutions filled the monitor in front of him, more pouring in from the adjacent stations.
“The taskforce is waiting in reserve,” his comms officer said. “They’re going to let us go to town with the Casabas, then they’ll mop up.”
“Smart,” K’ran said. “No sense in charging into a battle group you don’t have any information on.” He noticed that both Outer System 8 and 10 were dedicating their entire stockpile of Casaba howitzers to the single engagement. Oh, there goes our budget.
“What about the rest of ours?” the weapons officer asked. “We have up to nine armed.”
“Save our next three for another shot at this big one in case we miss,” K’ran said. “Use the last three to target other individual ships.” He tented his hands as he thought about the rest. “Set the last nine to point defense, maximum dispersion. If they send anything at us, I want it vaporized.”
“Roger, sir,” the weapons officer replied.
“That’s a lot of firepower going out of the system,” Dr. Summers said. “Will it be enough?”
“It’s too much as it is,” K’ran grumbled. “This may be just the first wave. There could easily be more beyond the range of our sensors.” He focused on the images on the screen.
The largest of them looked like a lobster mixed with a manatee. Gray jagged plates descended down the back of a carapace that was easily a kilometer long. Black growths clung to its underside, and other sections pulsed like a frog’s sack.
