Conquest of Earth (Stellar Conquest Series) (22 page)

Minutes passed before Yort received the first reports from his staff. “The asteroids are returning fire with beam weapons. They have killed several Claws.”

Yort took a long look at his display, noting how few the armed asteroids were, and how they approached along the solar orbit with significant spacing between. “Order the Mandibles to continue toward the enemy nests. For the good of the greater Hive, swarm the asteroids with Claws and Lances. They can overtake the Mandibles later.”

Soon, thousands of Claws and Lances englobed the leading pestilence, stabbing it to death with direct fire. In short order the asteroid exploded, taking a few more Claws with it before it died. “Maintain maximum range,” Yort ordered. “They have suicide charges aboard.” Clever, this infestation and its pestilence, but not so clever as all that. “Continue to swarm each enemy in turn.”

By the death of the fourth armed asteroid his tens of thousands of Claws and Lances became densely packed, often getting in each others’ way and even colliding. “Order them to spread out again,” Yort said.

Abruptly and without warning, his viewer blazed with a hundred fusion explosions distributed randomly within his swarm. The Archon watched with growing annoyance as he saw the total casualty count top one in ten. “Fools,” he flashed. “Must I do all the thinking for you?”

Control was becoming more difficult as communications lag lengthened due to the growing distance between swarm and Archon. “Continue evading, but angle us downward to avoid the plane of the ecliptic,” Yort ordered after all. “I do not want my mothership to pass through the zone of hidden mines. Then resume course toward the target nests.”

For his swarm, fusion mines held little fear. Each blast would only kill one of millions, as long as the small craft stayed well away from each other. However, one well-placed detonation could cripple or kill his mothership.

“Expand the external structure,” Yort ordered. This would unfold the latticework of girders into a globe of enormous size, deploying gossamer netting into all empty spaces. That way, if a hidden explosive touched the outside of the mothership, it would destroy nothing but material of little worth, and his nest would remain safe deep within. In other words, the extended skin would serve to detonate unseen weapons.

Soon, the mothership’s outer circumference had grown tenfold, leaving vast pockets of space around the comparably tiny central body.

“Archon, something new approaches.” One of his underlings marked a cluster of enemy pestilence on the screen. “It accompanies this group of armed asteroids and is made of the small biomass units.”

Yort strained his eyes. “Magnify.”

“Magnification is maximum, Archon. We are far from the target cluster because of our evasive course.”

Blasting a frustrated glare in all directions, Yort said, “Those resemble the speedy suicide swarmers of the Jellies. Tell the Claws to attack them vigorously with coherent light while the Lances pummel the asteroids with plasma torpedoes. Alert the Mandibles to activate point defenses while pressing toward the enemy nests.”

Even as he issued the orders, the cluster in question burst outward with the flaring of fusion drives. Thousands of tiny enemy swarmers leaped toward his Claws with acceleration impossible to match. Yort watched as some fell to his energy weapons, but several hundred damaged or destroyed more Claws, while the rest missed their targets. The weapons passed through the Claw screen, disregarded his Lances and aimed themselves at the Mandibles.

While loss of more Claws annoyed him, Yort was pleased by the enemy’s choice of secondary targeting. With more than a thousand defensive beams for every attacking swarmer, he expected very little damage to his many Mandibles.

Yort turned out to be correct. A mere two of his more than half a million Mandibles were lost, the puny thousand or so attackers burned down by even the inept gunnery of the adolescent pilots.

And then the dangers were past, as his swarm and his mothership departed from the pestilence zone orbiting the star. Yort saw he had lost only twelve percent of this half of his swarm, while the other half accelerated toward the origin point of the mothership-killing blasts. Relief flooded him as he realized that his underlings had not detected any sign of the unknown weapon firing at
him
– no vaporized dust from a near miss, no reflections or ionizations.

Perhaps the threat had abated, but he maintained his mothership’s evasive corkscrew, despite its cost in fuel. Yort had always considered himself a bit wiser than the average Archon, and so he congratulated himself on his care. “Focus a sensor suite on the target location above the pole.”

“I have done so for some time, Archon, but have detected nothing.”

“Nothing? Show me.” Yort heaved himself upward on his weak, seldom-used legs to crane all four eyes toward the screens overhead. “I don’t see anything.”

His underlings remained silent, only waiting. Finally, the bravest of them spoke. “Perhaps whatever fired has departed.”

“Departed? Impossible. Something must be there, or nearby. Nothing large enough to fire such weapons could have moved far. Perhaps your sensors are malfunctioning or being jammed?”

“Unlikely, Archon, or we would detect something, even if we did not understand what it was. But we can see the distant stars through the empty space of the location.”

Yort turned his eyes to take in secondary displays. “Where are our three remaining motherships?” he asked.

“We have lost contact with them, Archon. Spy drone reports show their swarms heading for the infested world, but no motherships. It is possible they have retreated too close to the sun to see, or have re-entered null space.”

“They have not had time to recharge their null space drives.” Yort racked his mind for any reason the other motherships would hide or stay near this system’s yellow sun, but could think of nothing. His thoughts shied from the possibility that they had all been destroyed by the mysterious ship-killer weapon. He knew he was smarter than other Archons of his rank, but surely at least some of his brother-sisters would have thought to evade continuously.

Perhaps he should have suggested it to them.

And their three swarms and portions of the others still existed, a superswarm totaling over eight million craft and seven billion larvae, easily enough to overrun the planet, destroy the pestilence, consume the infestation, establish nests, and then move on to secure the rest of the star system.

On the other limb…if the worst had happened and the other motherships had been destroyed, command would fall to him. His dream of achieving Archon First, of taking this system for himself, might be no fantasy after all.

Perhaps this was not such a disaster as he had thought.

“Recall the half-swarm heading toward the polar location. Ensure our evasion pattern continues,” Yort said.

“Fuel is being depleted at twice the normal rate, Archon. One-eleventh is already expended.”

Yort did not respond. The underling had spoken an important truth, though. Eventually he would have to stop the evasion that spun and shifted the mothership ponderously from direction to direction. It should not matter. When his swarm seized the mobile nests, he would have all the fuel he needed.

The underlings – the
Humans
, his new allies, he reminded himself – had been most accommodating when it came to providing an assignment suitable to his capabilities. The situation was nearly ideal, with the one exception of its evident danger. By subtle suggestion, the one called Raphaela had accepted his offer to decoy some of the Scourge away rather than participating in the futile defense of the planet. By SystemLord’s calculations the Humans had less than one chance in nine of not losing their world.

Again.

Such incompetence.

The irony amused him, until he remembered he had also lost the planet for the Empire.

But try as he might, SystemLord had not been able to get the Blend Raphaela to provide the lightspeed drive technology data before the battle. Had he acquired that, he might have yielded to the temptation to depart as fast as his drives could take him toward the nearest Empire-held system, perhaps implementing it along the way. Not only would the technology provide his people an important weapon against the Scourge, its triumphal presentation would ensure he was personally rewarded.

Unfortunately, the Humans had not been so trusting, and had not given him the lightspeed drive technology data yet. However reluctantly, SystemLord would play his part, if only to ensure he received what was promised. Now he turned his considerable intellect to that task.

“Cease gestation of hypervelocity projectiles,” he ordered. “They are not effective against so great a mass. Also cease gestation of stingships. Launch the ones we have and hold them in reserve behind us.”

In order to minimize his exposure, SystemLord had brought his ships close in order to reach each other with fusors. The tough armored skin of the Destroyers could easily withstand the sun-hot gouts of plasma for brief moments, as an Underling would pass a finger through a candle flame.

His own ships would be killing fields.

On those armored ship skins he had seeded fast-growth polyps over a thin layer of nutrients, giving the Destroyers a sheen of life guaranteed to attract the Scourge. It amused him to think how the ravening hordes would be irresistibly drawn to it, only to be burned, burned,
burned
, slight but sweet revenge for the damage done to the Empire.

If he must fight, he might as well enjoy his enemy’s misery.

Now, eight great vessels hung in the void, seven surrounding his flagship where they could cover it with fire from all angles. The ships were close, very close in space terms, just far enough apart that thermonuclear explosions would not reach more than one at a time.

“The Scourge has many ships,” his Survey One said.

“Cease your imprecise communication if it adds no information,” SystemLord said. “My plan is flawless. As long as all execute properly, you have nothing to fear.”

“I hear and obey, SystemLord,” the other answered. And then, a moment later, “They are firing.”

A blizzard of energy weapons reached for his ships, most of them missing but enough impacting that the naked polyps began to die. No matter: that was their function. “Begin acceleration away from them, gently. Extend the time before they try to board us.”

“It will be done.”

His spherical ships turned as one, pointing engines toward the enemy and igniting them. The rate of the following swarm’s closure diminished, and the fusion torches themselves became weapons. The enemy avoided them, of course, which channeled them into denser zones.

“We should fire fusors,” Rear Fusor One said.

“Not yet,” said the Meme commander. “The more densely packed they are, they more efficient our fusors.”

“Already their lasers and plasma torpedoes impact us.”

SystemLord’s communication molecules expressed derision. “Our armor can withstand direct thermonuclear blasts, and you are frightened of packets of plasma fired in magnetic bottles?”

“SystemLord…there are many weapons.”

“How many?”

“Approximately six hundred thousand have struck us since they came within range. Our armor has been ablated by over seven percent in certain locales.”

Shocked for a moment at the high number, SystemLord refused to let his subordinates know. “Very well. Begin the spiral motion. Increase acceleration and selectively target the largest enemy clusters. Do not be profligate with fuel!”

Immediately upon receipt of his orders, each Destroyer began a slow spin around its axis and induced a slight wobble. Now, the great jets of its fusion engine described continuous helixes, dramatically widening their threats to the pursuing swarm. At the same time, fusors flared, reaching out to wash dozens, even hundreds of enemy craft from space.

Yet, hundreds of thousands followed.

“Rear armor ablated by sixteen percent,” Command One said. “We must increase our weapons fire.”

SystemLord considered One’s words but said nothing. As painful as it was to lose some rear armor, every moment drew this swarm further into space, away from the mothership and its other, equally large swarm, which had already turned to rejoin its fellows.

“Twenty-two percent,” Command One said, more stridently.

“Increase spiral motion and power to the engines. Increase fusor fire to fifty percent of maximum.”

At his order, the Destroyers spun even harder, faster, with fusors like flamethrowers spurting outward. Thousands of small Scourge vessels fell, but tens of thousands continued to follow.

The swarm closed in.

“SystemLord –”

“Maximum spiral. Fire at full effect.”

Tens of thousands more Scourge were vaporized, crisped, blotted from space by temperatures of a million degrees or more, but even the ravening fusors of eight dreadnoughts could not be everywhere at once.

“Armor ablated by more than fifty percent and rising. They are landing,” Destroyer Command One reported in a near panic. “They are disembarking troops and drilling into our armor.”

SystemLord ordered, “All vessels close in and sterilize our skin.”

The seven outer vessels stabilized their spins, still belching fusor fire at a prodigal rate. Ignoring the landings on their own outer hulls, they closed in around the flagship and focused their blowtorches on its surface. The tough armor, even damaged as it was, resisted the heat of the friendly fire, and uncounted Scourgelings and their Soldier leaders died.

In moments, SystemLord’s vessel was free of enemy, though not without great gouges and pits of damage. A few of the Scourges had managed to activate nuclear suicide charges, blowing craters in the tough ferrocrystal-infused outer covering of the Destroyer.