Plague Wars 06: Comes the Destroyer (9 page)

“The next possible enemy COA we came up with was to use some sort of energy weapons of their own. In the battle between
Orion
and the Meme scout ship, we saw evidence of directed fusion weapons using incoherent and broad-spectrum energy, in layman’s terms more like blowtorches than lasers. We call these ‘fusors.’ These are very effective at short range but are useless farther away. If we posit that the Meme could use coherent-beam weapons like ours, they could advance at a high rate of speed still consistent with the ability to maneuver, and simply blast us.”

She turned toward the screen again, which showed a detailed computer-generated picture of the Destroyer. “This is what we think it will look like, from information provided from Raphaela Denham. Just under three kilometers across and massing twenty billion tons, we estimate it could carry and power a weapon in the petawatt range, which could destroy natural and unarmored targets at over one million kilometers, perhaps two.”

A hand went up, and a young woman spoke without introduction. “The scout ship showed no evidence of using coherent energy weapons. Do the Meme normally use such things? Ms. Denham?”

Rae stood up and took the microphone for a moment, her gorgeous appearance muted in a regulation flight suit and pinned hair. “All my knowledge, admittedly incomplete, suggests that they do not value coherent energy weapons, preferring to use hypervelocity missiles for ranges outside their fusors. They do use biolasers for communication, illumination and range finding. From my knowledge of my own ship, coherent energy beams are difficult to generate using organic technology. I suspect it is just a matter of Meme cost-benefit analysis, that they do not use them.”

“Then why do we think they will do this?” the young woman pressed.

“Several things to consider, ma’am,” Scoggins said, taking the microphone back. “First, enemy COAs are not exclusive of each other. They may do any and all of the things we come up with. Second, we do not want to rule out any possibility. Third, we believe the Meme crew of the scout ship escaped in a high-speed probe and will be picked up by the Destroyer. These beings will provide the enemy with intelligence about us. They may in turn decide to try something we haven’t seen yet, just as we would in their places. In fact,” she said, resting her forearms on the podium, “they might have some kind of Red Team and Blue Team of their own. Ms. Denham’s calculations show that any number of Meme might crew a Destroyer. It could easily hold thousands – tens of thousands – and still have plenty of weapons, fusion drives and so on. They will have an excess of intellectual capacity.”

More muttering swept the assembly before Absen signaled Scoggins to move on. “Another COA involves using explosive fusion weapons – essentially advanced thermonuclear bombs. They may not be powered by fissile matter but the effect could be similar, possibly devastating. Variants of this COA include bomb-pumped coherent energy weapons that destroy themselves as they are used, such as are on our drawing boards. All this is mere conjecture; again, we saw no evidence of this in the battle.”

“Your speculations get wilder and wilder,” called a man’s voice from the middle.

“That’s what the admiral is paying us for, sir,” Scoggins retorted. “We were told to come up with everything we could think of no matter how wild.”

Absen stepped in again. “While you are divided into Red Team and Blue Team, nothing says any of you can’t propose an enemy COA, or a solution to that COA. If you Blue Team members can get inside the Meme heads, do it. If the Red Team thinks they know how to counter a COA, I’m sure they won’t keep their mouth shut. I want every idea considered and thoroughly discussed, no matter how outlandish. For example, if you think the Meme might control us with ESP, or if we can do it to them, I want to hear it.”

The people around him chuckled, many of them uneasily.

“If you think they might spray new plagues or poisons into space to infect us, or fall to Earth, I want to hear it. If you think they might use mechanical nanites like those we have come up with, I want to hear it. If they have some kind of Von Neumann-like biomachines that will eat a planet and then spread inward, I want to hear about it. Do you understand, people? Nothing is too wild to think of, and to counter. We can rank-order their likelihoods later.”

It had become obvious to Absen that everyone was thinking too conservatively – or at least, was not admitting to anything more in public. He had to crack their minds open, so he went on.

“If you think we should set nuclear mines in the Oort Cloud, or spray nanites on the comets the Destroyer might consume, or project holograms of dragons to scare them, or try to ignite Jupiter into exploding, I want to hear it. I want any crazy science-fiction idea anyone ever came up with at least evaluated. If it’s impossible, or impractical, fine, but if it’s merely insane, then we have to consider it.”

This time the murmurings were of assent.

Scoggins cleared her throat. “Speaking of wild possibilities, sir, our next COA postulates that the Destroyer will take extra time to eat and grow, and then perhaps spawn more ships, perhaps even a fleet…”

As Scoggins spoke, Absen faded to the side, and took a seat along the wall. Slowly, brilliant minds began to churn as they overcame their reticence, cross-pollinating ideas that before many of them had kept to themselves. He knew that the scientific and military establishments tended to become hidebound and risk-averse, with groupthink taking over. As long as he and the Red and Blue Team leaders could prevent that circumstance, he felt confident they would come up with innovative strategies and solutions.

“What can I do for you,” Absen asked when he came on.

“I’d like direct liaison authority with General Travis’ people, and with Minister Ekara too.”

“Hmm. When you get to the point, you really get to the point. May I ask what for?”

Rae gave him that megawatt smile. “Of course. I’ve been monitoring some of the R&D efforts and I’m concerned that there isn’t enough progress being made on certain items.”

“The fusion engine?”

“That’s the biggest bottleneck. My ship could do a lot more things if it wasn’t expending so much effort growing cloned engines. It’s also gotten people used to depending on magical technology rather than doing things themselves, and if something goes wrong, I have to go fix it.”

“I had a report just last week that says they should have something workable in six months.”

Rae frowned. “Something isn’t good enough. A reliable production model, the Volkswagen of human-built fusion engines, is what Earth needs. Once the industrial base can churn out thousands of them, it will free them to stop relying on Memetech, and free me to do things only I can do.”

“Okay, you sold me. Talk to them and do…whatever it is you can. What is it you propose, anyway?”

“I’d rather keep the details close-hold, but here’s the gist. I want to set up a cell of super-smart folks that have no national allegiances and no distractions. I’ll give them access to all the Memetech they can digest, and they will be a ‘black box’ problem-solving group. People from all over the solar system can submit problems and they will solve them, if they can.”

“Sounds like a good idea. What do you need?”

“Just your authority to do it. I will recruit them myself, totally voluntary of course. But they will drop from sight, and no one will know the names of those involved. No video of personnel even, only graphics and so on.”

Absen took a sip of coffee from the mug on his desk, looking thoughtful. “You really think all that rigmarole is necessary?”

“Yes.” Rae tried to project complete confidence, which she almost actually had. “Otherwise, politics and money will get in the way. I want proposals in, solutions out. Nothing else.”
Wouldn’t he excrete the proverbial brick if he actually knew who would be doing the research?

“All right. As long as it’s voluntary. I’ll shoot you a signed authorization you can wave at people. Oh, by the way…congratulations.”

“On what?” Rae raised her eyebrows in interest.

“Your promotion. I’ve made you a colonel in the Aerospace branch.”

“Captain to Colonel in one jump,” she replied with amusement. “What does that pay nowadays?”

“Not enough,” he laughed. “If you need to be a general, I can make that happen, but this should do for now.”

“All right. Thanks. Could you have your aide upload a contact list for the J4?”

“Sure. Take care, Rae.”

“You too…Henrich. Later.”
Why do I do that?
She wondered.
I’m a married woman, and I’m not actually interested in him. Do I really think flirting with him will make him more amenable?
Not for the first time she found herself unable to perform a thorough psychological self-examination.

Once she got the updated list, she conducted a similar, shorter conversation with General Tyler, and then with Brigadier General Marshall. After that, she filed the authorization and mostly forgot about it.

It’s not as if she actually intended to use it.

Why recruit normal humans when she had four mad scientists of her own?

This alone would be enough reason to keep them from interacting with their so-called peers, for in truth, they had none. Like some extreme version of the precocious wiz-kid, they were doomed never to fit in to anything until physical adulthood – which would come in another year, at the chronological age of three.

Rae hoped they could handle it. She knew that emotional development usually lagged the intellectual and physical, in humans.

Long dinner-table discussions – Rae preferred to actually cook something, despite
Alan Denham’s
ability to simply extrude nutrients – had flogged the subject to death, and they came to the understanding that the risks of social naïveté seemed less than the risks of subjecting themselves to the extended casual cruelty of the traditional educational system. If time was all it took, it was also the one thing they were short of. They could worry about it after they survived the Destroyer.

Alan had already spent an appreciable proportion of his time gnawing at that bone, and the quads showed signs of his thoughts. If in every year they aged seven –
dog years?
– then by the midpoint of the nine-year countdown they should be brilliantly effective contributors to human research and development, no matter what field each might choose. Probably they would be emotionally immature and quirky, so their interactions with ordinary humans had to be kept to a minimum.

Childhood was dispensable.

That saddened both parents, but Earth was one unending sacrifice these days, and they would all do their parts.

Guided by their father and mother, they explored virtualities every bit as real-seeming as the natural world. It took the place of sleep, this exploration, and of dreaming, and was, as Stephanie often complained, school by another name. It was also a training ground for the mind, for Rae intended them to surpass their parents, and even their older brother Ezekiel, and thus poured knowledge and experience into them by the bucket.

Mind-time,
Charles said unnecessarily with the touch-speech, and shepherded his brother Andrew and his sisters Stephanie and Leslie into their crèches. While one of quadruplets, he had nevertheless assumed the role of the eldest, the leader.

“Aw,” Stephanie complained out loud. “I hate school,” but this was a pro-forma declaration, a mere expression of a strong will. She was the whiner, but probably the hardest worker. As soon as her head hit the induction pad and her skin melded to the molecular receptors she forgot her protest and lost herself in wondrous worlds, attacking the problems set before her with gusto.

Leslie had an equally powerful drive, and could protest with the best of them, but she tended to focus on specific problem-solving rather than her sister’s hard-work-under-protest cynicism. Andrew, on the other hand, was clearly the dreamer, prone to manic bursts of energy and then times of relative lethargy as his mind chewed on some especially knotty problem.

Today the quads met their father and mother in what appeared as a small open-air Greek amphitheater, surrounded by olive trees and more green grass than the Peloponnesus ever saw. It was where they often started their school period, a moment of peace and relaxation before the hard work, but seldom were both of their parents here at the same time, so they knew something was up. The children wore simple linen tunics and sandals, the parents the toga-like robes of scholars edged in indigo.

“Good morning, children,” Rae greeted them. The four bowed courteously in unison, looking for all the world like barely prepubescent youngsters of perhaps ten years old, although they were barely one and a half. Alan kept their virtual images locked to their real ones, else they would probably have appeared as a superhero, a dragon, a wizard and a cyborg.

“Good morning, Mother, Father,” they responded, waiting expectantly. While a handful at times, they had learned that this was a time for formality, not hijinks.

“Today we’re doing something different,” Rae began. “Today you are, as a group, going to work on a real-world problem for the first time.”

Charles lifted an eyebrow, willing to wait for further information, but Andrew raised his hand. “We already have done real-world problems. How is this different?”

“Because this is not merely an exercise set in the real world – it is a genuine technological challenge that needs to be solved. You will all work on it, in the same way you work on the problems we give you, and when you come up with solutions, they will be forwarded to the unblended.”