Storming Heaven

Chapter Forty-Three

The Defence Force — oddly, for such a high-tech organisation — had always preferred to have meetings conducted on a face-to-face basis, believing that it was easier for all parties to gage what was really being said. In a universe where the right software could allow a fake image — either of the wrong person or merely hiding their emotions — face-to-face meetings made sense, even if they could be inconvenient. Andrew had served in the Defence Force long enough to understand, although he privately believed that there were times when meetings in the MassMind were the only way to proceed. A mass briefing, involving nearly all of the remaining Defence Force units, was one such time.

To his eyes, they were standing in a massive hall, with enough seating to hold over a hundred thousand Captains. The illusion only began to fade when he looked around, seeing how the room appeared to be greater on the inside than on the outside, somehow compressing far too many people into a confined space. The audience would be seeing things from the same point of view, even though they knew that they were hardly alone; it felt oddly cumbersome for the MassMind. It wasn’t a personal fantasy, created for one person or a handful of people, but a shared reality for thousands of minds. It felt a little absurd.

“Welcome, all of you,” Brent said, from his place at the centre of the room. Andrew could hear him perfectly; he could even see him perfectly, something that would have been difficult if the room existed outside a perceptual reality. A mental command allowed him to zoom in on the Admiral’s face, noting the telltale signs of a man using an image modifier to keep his emotions hidden. It struck him as odd, somehow; the Admiral wasn’t known for hiding anything from his subordinates. “We have taken the risk of calling you all together to discuss the coming offensive — an offensive that might prove decisive.”

Andrew sensed the murmur racing around the massive room. He’d been pulled off defence duty himself and knew that almost all of his fellow Captains felt the same way. Defences all across the Community had been cut back to the bare minimum — if that — so that the fleet could be massed in the right locations, leaving countless settlements undefended. Logically, the Killers couldn’t wipe out more than a handful of them in the time they had left, but logic was cold comfort when the dead might include family and friends. The Defence Force wasn’t a real Faction, even though it sometimes acted as one; every man and woman in the room would have friends, family and acquaintances outside the fleet. Abandoning the Community didn’t sit well with them.

“This is Prime #4,” Brent continued. If he was aware of the growing discontent, he showed no sign of it. “We didn’t succeed in locating it, despite its odd nature, until we recovered data from the Killers by an… unusual delivery method. It is one of twelve stations the Killers have constructed up near the Galactic Core, bare hundreds of light years from the Core Hole, and serves two separate purposes. The first one is to generate gravity fields that can reach out and touch anywhere in the galaxy. The second one is to serve as a hub for the Killer Communications Network.”

Andrew felt the tension rising in the room. They all knew what the Killers could do with gravity fields and the concept of them being about to affect anywhere in the entire galaxy was a chilling one. Andrew had seen the classified briefings that had been brought back from the Killer Network and knew that the Killers could, when they were ready, render the galaxy uninhabitable for any other form of life. The entire human race was at stake…

The remainder of humanity might just join the Exodus and flee outside the galaxy, but how long would they be safe there? The Killers could certainly follow them, or even stretch their gravity beams over to Andromeda or M33 or one of the other galaxies. The human race might encounter allies in another galaxy, or merely discover other Killer outposts… he shook his head, grimly. There was no evidence that the Killers had anything, even an outpost, outside the Milky Way galaxy.

But there’s no evidence against it either, he reminded himself, and turned back to the massive hologram mounted in the centre of the room. It showed a monstrous structure orbiting a star, a complete enclosure that hid the star from view and allowed the Killers to drain every last erg of power. It seemed an oddly poor choice of power source for a race that could tap into black holes and presumably build quantum taps as well, but perhaps the Killers had built their station before all of the early supermassive stars had been destroyed, using their gravity fields to reconfigure the star to keep it alive. No one knew just how old the Killers really were, but in a universe that was billions of years old, they seemed to be the only constant. Nothing else had emerged to threaten their superiority until humanity had barely escaped destruction.

“This is a Dyson Sphere,” Brent explained, dryly. Everyone in the room would know what they were looking at. “It encloses a star and drains its power off into these, we believe” — the hologram zoomed in on massive structures built on the surface of the sphere, each one larger than Earth itself — “and the power is tuned into massive gravity fields, working through a network of small black holes. They then use those gravity fields to focus in on the other stations, synchronise with the smaller black holes that serve as part of the Killer network and perhaps even generate more power without tapping into the Core Hole. We have run a handful of very stealthy recon missions through the system and we can confirm that there is one hell of a lot of power being generated there. If they succeed in mastering the Core Hole, they will be able to accomplish their objective. I don’t have to remind you, gentlemen and ladies, that if they do that, it is the end.”

There was a long pause, broken finally by someone at the back. “How did they build that big-ass Motherfucker anyway?”

Brent smiled, rather wanly. “We’re uncertain,” he admitted. “The Dyson Sphere is actually much larger than any concept humanity came up with; its surface is apparently at least ten AUs from the star, suggesting that the interior land surface is considerably greater than you might expect. There simply could not have been enough material in the system to build it, but the analysts believe that the Killers simply opened a few hundred wormholes and scooped up planets from the surrounding systems. The onrush of radiation from the Galactic Core will have left those worlds completely dead, so there would be no particular risk in using them as material. Alternatively, they might have simply pulled them from their home systems and brought them to their new home, although that would have taken years. They had the time.”

He looked up at the display as it zoomed out again. “There are at least seventy known Killer starships in the system and perhaps more inside the sphere,” he added. “The purpose of this mission is simple; take out those ships, break inside the sphere and launch a supernova bomb into the star inside. If we can get it to explode, the shockwave should melt the sphere’s exterior and take out the system; if it fails to melt the system, it should still be drained of power. We have amassed the greatest and most powerful human fleet in the history of mankind to meet this threat.”

Andrew looked around the room, feeling a lump in his throat. The Community Defence Force had assembled over a hundred thousand starships to fight their final battle. Even coordinating so many different attack wings, each of which might never have trained with its neighbour, would be a challenge. They had certainly never practiced working and fighting as a single force, yet they would be an overpowering force when they engaged the Killers. They might still have to henpeck the Killer starships to death, but they could do that. The other problem lay in the sphere itself. Who knew what kind of defences it possessed?

“We have added a new weapon to our arsenal,” Brent said. “We have produced and deployed a fleet of ramming ships, which will be deployed against the Killer starships and the sphere itself. We have not located any particular weak points on the sphere, but we believe that we can break through its material using implosion bolts — or by destabilising their black holes — and punch our way inside. Once inside, the priority remains to destroy their star and then escape. The rest of the mission will be handled elsewhere.”

Andrew hesitated, seeing that no one else intended to ask the obvious question, and raised his voice. “What happens if we fail to break open the sphere?”

“Then we’ll have to think of something else,” Brent said. There was a long pause. “Any other questions?”

No one spoke. “Return to your ships and prepare for the jump,” Brent said, finally. “Good luck to us all.”

Andrew smiled slightly as his mind was returned to the Lightning. He couldn’t fault Brent for refusing to remain behind when the entire Defence Force — apart from a handful of starships that couldn’t be spared — was sent into battle, even though it had the makings of a universe-class disaster. The fleet needed time to drill together and that had been refused, even though it was an obvious problem. There was just no time, he knew. If they failed to stop the Killers, they might as well kiss the Milky Way goodbye and join the Exodus.

“Good news, sir?” Gary asked. “Are we going in?”

Andrew looked down at the display showing the status of the other seventy-one ships in the attack wing. “Yes,” he said, slowly. He didn’t know half of his Captains as well as he should, not after the attack wing had been reconstituted three times since the war had suddenly exploded. “We’re going in.”

On the main display, the timer suddenly started to count down to zero.

“You’re taking every starship in the fleet,” Patti said, as Brent’s image appeared in her office. Tabitha Cunningham was already there, her image sipping a simulated martini. It was a picture of calm contemplation that Patti would have given anything to be able to duplicate herself. Had Tabitha ever made such decisions as part of her term as President? “The System Governments are screaming at me.”

“I know,” Brent said, grimly. ‘Screaming’ was an understatement. The Governments were threatening her with everything from legal lynching to secession from the Community and the Defence Force. “There’s no helping it, I’m afraid.”

He seemed remarkably unconcerned for someone who would be going up against the most powerful race in existence, wrapped only in a destroyer that would be blown apart with a single hit. Patti opened her mouth to fire a broadside and then decided against it. Brent had made up his mind and didn’t need the President trying to talk him out of it.

“I’ll try and keep them under control,” she said, finally. “But a hundred thousand starships…?”

“If we lose, if we fail in our attempt to hack into their system, we lose completely,” Brent said. “There’s no point in holding back any reserves, not now. If we can break through their defences and take out the station, we can rebuild the entire Defence Force if necessary. If not, we might as well quit the galaxy before the Killers shatter every rocky planet in existence and flee to M33.”

“Flee anywhere that doesn’t have the Killers,” Tabitha said, slowly. The former President — the first Community President — frowned as she finished her glass and placed it down on the ground. It vanished a moment later. “Do you really want to abandon the Milky Way Galaxy after so long?”

“I think that if the Killers start destroying every rocky planet in the galaxy, the shockwaves will wipe out most of the Community anyway,” Brent said. “There’s little choice, as you both know; either we win, or we lose. We storm Heaven and unseat the gods, or we are condemned to death or permanent exile.”

“Perhaps not,” Patti said, surprised at the hope in her voice. “We could set up again in the Clouds, build up our tech base, create new black holes… and eventually beat their technology. Perhaps our people will return to the Milky Way Galaxy with blood in their eyes and revenge in their souls.”

“Perhaps,” Brent agreed. “By then, we may know how to toast the entire galaxy without needing to get our hands dirty. We may even know how to wipe the Killers out…”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, really,” he added. “Either we win, or we lose.”

Patti nodded. “And is the Shiva Team ready and waiting?”

Brent looked at the chronometer on his wrist. “They’re ready,” he said, shortly. “The MassMind worked out the programming algorithms for them and so… if we break down the Killer station, they can break in and end the war, one way or the other.”

“Good,” Patti said. She wandered over to the food producer and ordered a drink for herself. “And good luck to you and your men.”

“Thanks,” Brent said, firmly. He smiled at her suddenly. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Patti said, carefully. “I may not answer, of course. How may I be of service?”

Brent looked her in the eye, “Who told you about the supernova bombs?”

Patti hesitated, threw a look at Tabitha, and then decided to answer honestly. “The MassMind,” she said, finally. “It decided that I should know about them so that the bombs could be deployed against the Killers.”

“Interesting,” Brent said. His face showed no sign of the shock she was sure he was feeling. The MassMind was not supposed to get involved in politics, although Patti was sure — just like human politicians — that it would be able to rationalise away any doubts or scruples it might have had. “I always assumed that it was some bastard from the Technical Faction, upset that his wonderful invention wasn’t being used.”

Patti smiled, remembering an old video entertainment featuring a mad scientist. “You’re sure? You don’t want to put it through rigorous safety tests, demand that I tone down its strength and eventually deploy it in a year or two; long after the original reason for its creation has passed? Wow… Well. If you insist captain then it seems I have no choice but to unleash this glorious… err… necessary weapon of mass destruction.”

“Quite,” Brent agreed. His face darkened. “Tabitha, why did the MassMind share that particular titbit with anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Tabitha said. “I used to be its representative to the War Council, but it hasn’t been telling me so much as it became more involved directly with the war itself, without working through me. I don’t know what it was thinking.”

“But it has worked out for the best,” Patti pointed out, oddly disappointed by their reactions. They could at least have been angry, even if anger wouldn’t have gotten them anywhere. “The Killers have been hurt badly for the first time in centuries. We’re on the verge of understanding their science. We have gravity control now ourselves… and it’s only a matter of time before we crack the remainder of their technology. Didn’t it all work out for the best?”

“We’ll see,” Brent said, finally. He stood up and threw a snappy salute. “I’ll be back soon, promise.”

His image flickered and vanished. “I’d best be going too,” Tabitha said, without bothering with any niceties. “We’ll pick up the question later.”

“Sure,” Patti said. She had the odd feeling that the MassMind had manipulated her, without bothering to explain why. The ‘how’ was obvious. It was a collective of billions of human minds and understanding her mind would have been easy. “If there is a later.”

It seemed impossible, but the mite was intelligent!

The newborn studied the alien creature with genuine fascination. It had taken it only a few moments to construct a series of intelligence tests and it had been astonished by how quickly the mite had solved them. The tests didn’t require rote learning or inherited memory and skills, but genuine thinking… and the mite had solved them all. The newborn Killer had rapidly run out of intelligence tests — or, rather, tests that the mite could understand — and was devoting its considerable intellect to solving a more important question. Was it actually possible to communicate with the mite?

It studied the mite with every sensor it could construct and deploy and concluded that the low-power radio transmissions were intended to serve as a form of communication. It hadn’t realised at first, but it had been blinded by its own preconceptions. A Killer would have used such transmissions to communicate with its internal cells, not an external person, yet the mite should have no need of such organs. It was an ungainly solid creature and its body didn’t seem to require radio to keep itself together. The newborn had wondered if the mite used the massive internal augmentation to keep itself intact in a gravity field, but that didn’t seem to make any sense. A creature born on a rocky world would be used to a gravity field as a matter of course. It constructed a radio transmitter and attempted to open communications.

The task was surprisingly easy. Unknown to the Killer, the Spacers had spent years — assuming that they would be the ones to encounter the Ghosts or any other Hidden Race — preparing for contact with aliens and Rupert had brought the complete package with him when the Killer had kidnapped him. The newborn studied the transmissions it received, calculated their meaning, and tested it. The process was long and slow, but it was simple enough to understand what the mite was trying to tell the newborn.

It was happily engrossed in sharing concepts and trying to build a common language when the alert echoed through the communications network.

The mites were attacking one of the core worlds!