“Keep an eye on ’em,” he said. “Let me know if they do anything sneaky.”
“I shall.” Dahak was silent for a moment, then continued. “I have continued my study of energy-state computer technology, Colin.”
“Oh?” If Dahak wanted to distract him, that was fine with Colin.
“Yes. I believe I have isolated the fundamental differences between the energy-state ‘software’ of the Empire and my own. They were rather more subtle than I originally anticipated, but I now feel confident of my ability to reprogram at will.”
“Hey, that’s great! You mean you could tinker them into waking up?”
“I did not say that, Colin. I can reprogram them; I still have not determined what within my own programming supports my self-aware state. Without that datum, I cannot recreate that state in another. Nor have I yet discovered a certain technique for simply replicating my current programming in their radically different circuitry.”
“Yeah.” Colin frowned. “But even if you could, you’d have problems, wouldn’t you? They’re hardwired for loyalty to Mother—wouldn’t that put a crimp into your replication?”
“Not,” Dahak said rather surprisingly, “in the case of the Guard. Its units were not part of Battle Fleet and do not contain Battle Fleet loyalty imperatives. I suppose—” the computer sounded gently ironic “—Mother and the Assembly of Nobles calculated that the remaining nine hundred ninety-eight thousand seven hundred and twelve planetoids of Battle Fleet would suffice to deal with them in the event an Emperor proved intractable.”
“Guess they might, at that.”
“The absence of those constraints, however, makes the replication of my core programming at least a possibility, although not a very high one. While I have made progress, I compute that the probability of success would be no more than eight percent. The probability that an unsuccessful attempt would incapacitate the recipient computer, however, approaches unity.”
“Um.” Colin tugged on his nose. “Not so good. The last thing we need is to addle one of the others just now.”
“My own thought exactly. I thought, however, that you might appreciate a progress report.”
“You mean,” Colin snorted, “that you thought I was about to get the willies and you’d better distract me from ’em!”
“That is substantially what I said.” Dahak made the soft sound he used for a chuckle. “In my own tactful fashion, of course.”
“Tactful, shmactful,” Colin grinned. “Thanks, I—”
He broke off as the glittering hordes of Achuultani light codes suddenly vanished only to blink back moments later, much closer in-system.
“They are advancing,” Dahak said calmly. “A trio of detached ships, however, appear to be micro-jumping to positions on the system periphery.”
“Observers, damn it. Well, no one can count on their enemies being idiots.”
“True, though that will be of limited utility if we are able to repeat our earlier success and destroy them before they rendezvous with the main body.”
“Yeah, but we can’t be sure of doing that. It’s a lot shorter jump this time, and they can cut their arrival a hell of a lot closer. Tell ’Tanni to lay off. Last thing we need to do is to try sneaking up on ’em and alert them to the fact that there’s more of us around.”
“Acknowledged,” Dahak replied. “Two has acknowledged,” he added a moment later.
“Thanks,” Colin grunted.
His attention was on the display. The Achuultani had micro-jumped with beautiful precision, spreading out to englobe Zeta Trianguli at a range of twenty-seven light-minutes. Now they were closing in normal space at twenty-four percent light-speed. They’d be into extreme missile range in another ten minutes, but it would take them almost an hour to reach their range of The Cinder, and he and Dahak could hurt them badly in that much time.
But not too badly. They had to keep closing. He needed them deep into the stellar gravity well for this to work, and—
He snorted. There were over a million of the bastards—just how much damage did he think his fifteen ships could inflict in fifty minutes?
“Open up at fifteen light-minutes, Dahak,” he said finally. “Timed-rate fire. We don’t want to shoot ourselves dry.”
“Acknowledged,” Dahak said calmly, and they waited.
Great Lord Sorkar fought his exultation. The nest-killers had not even attempted to cloak themselves! They simply sat waiting, and that was fine with Sorkar. Many of his nestlings were about to die, but so were the nest-killers.
There had been a few more of them about, he noted. There were a third-twelve of new ships to replace the one they had lost in the first clash. Well, that was scarcely enough to affect the outcome.
His scanners gave no clear idea what was happening on the innermost planet, but something was producing a massive energy signature there, though why the nest-killers had ignored the more hospitable worlds further out puzzled him. Perhaps they were simply poorer strategists than they were ship-builders. And perhaps they had some other reason he knew not of? But whatever their logic, it was about to become a deathtrap for them.
Of course, they were infernally fast even in n-space… If they made a break for it, none of his nestlings could stay with them, but he knew an answer for that.
“They are deploying an outer sphere, Colin.”
“I see it. Want to bet they leave it ten or twelve light-minutes out to catch us between two fires if we run?”
“I have nothing to wager.”
“Chicken! What a cop out!”
“Enemy entering specified attack range.” Dahak’s mellow voice was suddenly deeper.
“Engage as previously instructed,” Colin said formally.
“Engaging, Your Majesty.”
Great Lord Sorkar flinched as the first of his ships exploded in eye-clawing fury. Nest Lord! He had known they out-ranged him, but by that much?
More ships exploded, and now those strange, terrible warheads were striking home, crumpling his mighty starships in upon themselves, but still the nest-killers made no effort to flee. Clearly they meant to cover the planet to the end. What in the name of Tarhish could make it so important to them?! No matter. They were standing, waiting for him to kill them.
“Open the formation,” he told his lords. “Maintain closure rate.”
More ships died like small, dreadful suns, and Sorkar watched coldly. He must endure this for another quarter segment, but then it would be his turn.
Jiltanith bit her lower lip as searing flashes ripped the Achuultani formation. The Empire’s anti-matter warhead yields were measured in gigatons, and fifteen planetoids pumped their dreadful missiles into the oncoming Achuultani, yet still the enemy closed. Something inside her tried to admire their courage, but that was her husband, her Colin, alone with his electronic henchman, who stood against them, and she gripped her dagger hilt, black eyes hungry, and rejoiced as the spalls of destruction pocked Two’s display.
“They are entering their range of us, Colin,” Dahak said coolly, and Colin nodded silently, awed by the waves of fire sweeping the Achuultani formation. The flames leapt high as each salvo struck, then died, only to bloom afresh, like embers fanned by a bellows, as the next salvo crashed home.
“Their losses?” he asked sharply.
“Estimate one hundred six thousand, plus or minus point-six percent.”
Jesus. We’ve killed close to nine percent of them and they’re still coming. They’ve got guts, but Lord God are they dumb! If we could do this to them another ten or fifteen times…
But maybe they’re not so dumb, because we can’t do it to them that many times. Of course, they can’t know we don’t have thousands of planetoids—