Chronicles of the Aeons War, page 96
part #3 of The Omniverse Series
“We have to make the determination which it is.”
The Commodore nodded again, “Tactical’s already on it.”
“Good,” Benedict said, “Because I mean to be on the Zohor again, soon.”
♦♦♦
The Grandmaster knew the decks of the Ouroboros like the back of his hand. He’d served aboard her for centuries. It was said that he had discovered a secret means of getting around the ‘Boros, and that was how he could make sudden appearances anywhere on the ship. It was a rumour he himself encouraged, as it added to his legendary reputation. Fear and awe were not part of respect, but they were certainly its accessories.
In truth, Benedict Jack simply enjoyed startling people by sneaking up on them. He also believed in being good at what he enjoyed. His sudden appearance at seemingly random locations across the Ouroboros also facilitated his running a tight ship: nobody knew when the Grandmaster would appear or where, but he’d always order a thorough inspection wherever he was. Every department and division kept everything at a constant state of readiness, kept every aspect of their particular fiefdoms aboard the massive Ouroboros up to muster; there no room for carelessness or sloppiness, no room to let shit happen.
His appearance in Flight Bay 19 was unexpected as always. As always he ordered an inspection, and Deck Supervisors hurried to the task. The Grandmaster looked out onto the vast flight deck, where dozens of fighter squadrons were on standby, ready to launch with seconds’ notice.
As the inspection continued, every face in the three-deck bay became visible, watching, waiting expectantly as the Grandmaster finished his tour. It was no accident that he stood in the middle of the flight deck, surrounded by every crewmember who worked Bay 19. They all wore ageless faces. Benedict, who had spent what he had once foolishly though of “most” of his adult life believing that it was natural to grow old and die, had learned that the weight of a person’s years now dwelt in their eyes. A face may never grow wrinkled anymore, but the eyes still changed. The look of the pupil; how forward or far back the eye sat in the eyelid, the coloring of the skin around the eye…some things biology could never guard against. Emotion’s power over physiology had made posthuman eyes far more expressive, far more indicative of the person who wore them.
No matter how young their faces, there was no denying the years behind their eyes. And every pair of eyes was turned to him now, watching expectantly, waiting for him to speak. The Grandmaster cleared his throat and began.
“We lost the Queen at the Maelstrom,” he said, “Everything within five hundred light-years of the heart of Abell 426 was obliterated. However, we took out the Zohor’s primary weapons manufacture and more ships than we have faced altogether, throughout the many long years of this campaign.
“Beaten is not broken; the Zohor are rallying, redistributing what survived our attack. We’ve managed to take out much of their network. We’ve turned time travel into our greatest asset, our deadliest weapon. Now, a series of far more subtle missions will be required. I will lead these missions, as I was always meant to; as I am honour-bound to do.
“The time will come again for the fleets to fight massive campaigns, and it will come again soon. But right now, I need you to prepare for small sorties into the heart of Zohor territory. I will lead these missions, but there is much that I must still study, must still plan for.”
“What will our objective be?” Mackenzie Hudson, one of the best pilots in the ranks of the ‘Boros Fighter Corps, asked.
“Smaller ships like the ones you fly,” Grandmaster Benedict replied, “Are less likely to be engaged by the Zohor, unless used to set up an ambush for larger support ships. Quite often single-crew fighters and scout ships with a crew of six or less pass undetected – or at least unminded – through Zohor fleet groups.”
“So…we’re going where probes can’t,” Mackenzie said, “Past their interdiction fields and into the swarms themselves. What are we looking for?”
“An idea as to what they’re doing besides licking their wounds,” Benedict replied, “Because they aren’t simply moving about at random and they’re doing more than just repairing their fences. Each movement of a ship in the Zohor no matter how seemingly negligible, no matter how apparently random, serves the Zohor in a very precise way. We’re going to take readings, to spy on them…to determine what they’re up to, before reporting back to Anuket Command.”
“Assuming we survive our first sortie.” Another pilot muttered audibly.
“The odds are in our favour,” the Grandmaster said to the belligerent pilot, “I’ve downloaded specific tactical history–history this ship recorded of our future sorties, before it takes my past-future self, back through time to fight the beginning of the Aeons War.”
“But that’s tampering with the natural flow of time –” another voice spoke up, “That’s…it’s…”
Benedict shrugged, “No different than anything that we’ve accomplished using Tactical Time Travel. Only now we’re using established, recorded evidence to plan our sorties. We can likewise use that data to replan the sorties to avoid disaster.”
“Won’t that affect the ship’s record?” Mackenzie demanded, “And therefore affect the whole of its record?”
The Grandmaster smirked, “That’s the plan. Because of the path I’ve traveled from your future into our common present what happens now is completely mutable. Only what will be and what was are fixed points. Everything in between is ours to change to our advantage.”
“But if everything changes…don’t we run the risk of affecting the ultimate outcomes?”
“Which is why we rely on Gabrielle, the Shekhina Devi. She can see multiple futures, not just a single future. She will guide us forward to the best of all possible outcomes. That is why, in the Way of Light and Sorrow, Gabrielle is known as The Hope.”
“But She was damaged when we took Her during the battle of the Maelstrom,” one of the Deck Officers spoke up.
The Grandmaster nodded, “Yes, She was. But, She will heal. She will return to us and then She will lead us forward. Until then, we must remain proactive. We have a duty to protect Her and the People of Midian; we have duty to prepare for what lies ahead. And we have the advantages of access to the Ouroboros’ historical database to do so until She is ready.”
♦♦♦
Heihachi Daniel was Bridge Commander on Gamma Shift; the fleet remained in blockade formation, actively scanning and probing Zohor space. He was reviewing tactical updates as they transmitted into his lenses; then they saw it.
“Sensor, Conn—”
“Conn, Sensor I saw it too.” Heihachi said, “Tactical alert, all commands. I want all available eyes on the object. Commodore and Grandmaster to the Bridge.”
“Tactical, Conn, object is coming from Zohor fleet cluster Zeta-Nova-Nova-Gamma. Object is an unknown silhouette; repeat: unknown silhouette.”
“I need full three-dimensional Tac render, now!” Heihachi ordered, “Available ships close in on defensive vectors, now. All commands with eyes outside the conflict area attempt to set up One-OI.”
Baxter arrived on the Command Deck and Heihachi rose from the Conn as the Bridge docked to admit the Commodore. “Ship of unknown silhouette has been spotted leaving the Zohor cluster at Zeta-Nova-Nova-Gamma; we’re getting a full tactical render, now.”
Baxter took the Conn as Heihachi moved to his station.
“To my eyes,” Baxter ordered.
At first it appeared to be an orb; perhaps a large asteroid or iridium slug being fired…but it was far too large for that. And looking at it, Baxter Vincent realized it was made up of hundreds of Zohor needle-ships arranged into a massive sphere of spines.
“Alert all commands to lock onto that object and open fire,”
“Sir, we haven’t completed manoeuvres for an Observation Instance gallery.”
“Look how fast that bastard’s travelling, Dan; we don’t have time.”
Looking at the information on his lenses, Captain Heihachi realized the Commodore was right.
♦♦♦
The Scramble Alert sounded before Grandmaster Benedict finished speaking.
“Let’s hope your ship’s historical data’s got good news, Grandmaster!”
“Flight Bay Three-One, this is the Grandmaster. Deploy my Macronaut to the nearest available fighter; I’ll lock in there.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before his order was confirmed. He was directed to Flight Bay Twenty Three, where a flight group had availability in their roster.
“Grandmaster, Tactical: Upload the historical flight data directly to my cortical implant and to the implants of every Squad-Leader deploying,” Benedict said, as the pod let him off in Flight Bay Twenty Three. Benedict could see his open HAM-Unit Macronaut being secured into the chassis of the fighter.
Squad-leader Wasiwe cleared her throat, “Grandmaster I don’t think it’s advisable to risk you in a sortie of this nature.”
“Captain, I’ve been on countless sorties into Zohor Command Nodes, Relay Hubs, and the Factory at the Maelstrom. I’m still a long way from my prophesized death; which means I can do a hell of a lot of good on the front lines; maybe even save some lives.”
“As you say. Will the Grandmaster be taking command of this operation?”
Benedict shook his head, “Of the overall sortie, yes; however, your pilots trained under you. I’ll relay orders to you and the other squad leaders. I should be able to keep up and kick my share of ass, but your squad know and trust you, Nighthawk.” He said, using her pilot’s call-sign, “I won’t interfere unless it’s an emergency situation, or unless my general orders to the fighters are ignored.”
“As you say, Grandmaster.” Wasiwe replied, “Best of luck to you…”
“…And to you, and to us all.”
♦♦♦
The Ouroboros led the charge. Hundreds of fighter squadrons deployed, providing telemetry and tactical probing as the Ouroboros and four other ships, the Echohawk, the Scimitar, and the heavy gunships Rejas’ Sword and Bloom Margaret closed on the enemy.
Benedict recognized it immediately, though it had been very many long years since he’d seen one: a Death Orb.
“Shit,” he swore, “I know what that is; all fighters fall back; repeat: all fighters fall back to the ‘Boros! All ships charge shields and target object and fire with maximum-yield energy cannons as soon as you’re in range!”
“Ouroboros, Grandmaster: Please confirm!”
“CONFIRMED, Commodore!” Benedict shouted, “They’re called Death Orbs and when they explode they fire off about a million Zohor needle-missiles!”
The fighters were banking ‘round, turning back toward the Ouroboros when a second Zohor Death-Orb appeared.
“Doesn’t this seem too fucking familiar?” Benedict muttered. The Death-Orb began charging, energy arcs climbing between its spires like a million Jacob’s Ladders. Benedict knew that the ‘Boros would redirect most of the energy from the enemy strike back into its own weapons for the return fire. But his main concern at that moment was for the fighters and scout ships deployed by the thousands. More and more wings were reporting aboard, but not nearly all. And Benedict knew they wouldn’t all be aboard before the ships had to fire on the Death Orbs.
And then it came. First one, then a succession of sustained weapons blasts from the five ships. The Ouroboros fired first, followed in rapid succession by the two gunships. The Bloom Margaret closed the pincer and fired full. The last of the fighters were scrambling to their hangars, Benedict long aboard but still jacked into his HAM unit to watch the full fray. The first Death Orb exploded, and it was as it always had been in his memory; as it always was and would be: The core of the Zohor sphere ruptured and detonated and every surviving needle-missile launched on whatever trajectory it was pointed down. He watched the Scimitar fire countermeasures a fraction of a second before the other ships’ commanders reacted with a similar order. But even with flares and anti-missiles firing, there were still too many Zohor needles. Their ships were struck, damaged…and Benedict watched, stricken, as the Bloom Margaret was destroyed.
“Grandmaster, Conn,” Benedict said, leaping from his HAM unit and hurrying towards the tramway, “Alert all commands: All ships – repeat, all ships withdraw to the Point; now!”
“We have an Observation Instance grid solution!” Baxter Vincent protested.
“No time; do you think those were the only two Death Orbs the Zohor have manufactured? We’re not ready to go up against a cluster of them, let alone a swarm! All ships FALL BACK!”
♦♦♦
From the Bridge, Commodore Baxter turned to his Communications Chief, “Contact Anuket Command,” he said, “Advise them that the Zohor have evolved.”
The Comm Chief nodded and Baxter turned to the Helm.
“Stand by to make the jump to Bloom’s Point.”
Tactical reported the Zohor numbers growing exponentially. There was a steady 2:5 ratio of Death Orbs to Needle Ships, along with the usual deadly scattering of other heavy weapons platforms. But where a moment before there had only been two there were now thousands. The Ships of the Ouroboros hunting fleet, spread across fifty light years were outnumbered with no time to launch observation instances. They began vanishing in quick flares of white light visible to sensors as the last of their fighters reported in. As per the Grandmaster’s command, the Ouroboros, her outer skin essentially a single multiple-vector weapons array, held guard for the retreating ships of her fleet. The Zohor rained down on the ‘Boros, preparing to fire a mass driver against it as other ships assaulted it with raw energy. Finally the last of their fleet were gone. The ‘Boros, playing defensive (And overcharging her weapons at the same time) now launched a final attack, a massive, omnidirectional burst of power before vanishing into the Q-field.
They emerged en route for a series of mobile docking platforms in profoundly large orbits around Bloom’s Point; the Grandmaster, still in his flight suit, reached the Bridge.
“Grandmaster,” Baxter Vincent said, saluting. “What was that?”
“I first encountered them not long after I was taken from stasis. They are the next step in the evolution of the Zohor war machine, Commodore. You can expect them and worse in the battles ahead.”
“We’re nearing the end of your time,” Baxter stammered.
“I’ve got time ahead of me yet,” Benedict protested irritably. But even he felt the Fear welling up behind the walls of his El-Ahur training.
“What do the ‘Boros’ future-records say about the Death Orbs?” Baxter asked, trying to steer the conversation to easier matters.
“That they’re vicious bastards,” Benedict replied. The docking platform was close, extending claw like mooring arms out in a wide reach as its Sentinel-controlled systems prepared to match speed and lock on to the Ouroboros.
“Anything…more specific?”
Benedict grinned, “As a solid orb they can ram ships, fire massive energy arcs along any trajectory, deploy individual or multiple spines as missiles, and when they explode, whatever spines survive the explosion are deployed as armed missiles, primed to explode.”
“How do we stop them?”
“Gravitational bombs; unstable miniature black holes, mass drivers…even with those, they try to kill back when they get killed. We have to start scaling up the yields on our weapons, and the capacity of our shields.”
“How long before they come after Midian?”
The Grandmaster was unsurprised by the question. “They just combat-tested two orbs in an ambush by four enemy ships. They’re still shaking down the weapon, no doubt already upgrading and retrofitting the design after our encounter.”
“I thought we’d destroyed their weapons manufacturing node at the Maelstrom.”
“We destroyed their primary weapons manufacturing system,” Benedict corrected, “God only knows how many more weapons factories they have throughout the space they control. And you can be sure that the Death Orbs were designed and manufactured long before the Battle of the Maelstrom.”
