For a combat vessel, the Iris Flare's appearance was rather unintimidating, at least if you didn’t understand what you were looking at. Its frame was waspy and fragile, filled with gaps that maximized surface area at the cost of everything else. Though its outer hull was coated in armor, the black substance was brittle and glassy to the touch. It seemed that any solid hit would shatter the entire vessel like a wine glass.
And this was true.
But the vessel’s lightweight construction gave it a thrust-to-weight ratio unmatched by any other known design, Camilan or Kyasian. It could start, stop, and change direction on a dime. This ability alone was what made it an effective combatant; it could remain outside the effective range of enemy vessels while keeping them inside its own. And the amount of damage its spinal-mount kinetic driver could do would quickly render any durability advantage irrelevant.
Furthermore, though the armor was brittle, it was capable of absorbing enormous amounts of thermal energy without deforming, transferring heat to interior components at a slow enough rate that it could be safely radiated away. To this end, the armor’s transparency could be changed via electrical stimulation, allowing the radiators underneath to work whenever it was safe to expose them.
With the ship’s low mass, high power, and the favorable properties of slipspace, it would take seven minutes to decelerate enough to phase in, and it had taken eight minutes to accelerate to its current speed after phasing out. Factoring in the slight difference between light’s speed and the ship’s, that would give the enemy about nineteen minutes of warning.
Assuming they were even in this system. It was just a guess, after all – perhaps based on previous slipspace sightings and reasonable assumptions of path optimization, but a guess nonetheless. Certainly the Iris Flare could not see anything ahead of it. Not even the star itself – that object’s location was detectable only to the delicate gravitational sensors toward the rear of the craft. And then only barely.
It would have to phase in blind, if it wanted to keep its element of surprise. No doubt it had already tripped at least one scout’s alarm – hanging around in slipspace would only give that signal time to propagate, and its receivers time to congregate.
As for what it would do after that… well, that depended on whether this was the right system. If not, easy answer. But if it was, a kind of mental dance would play out between the organic and computerized parts of the vessel’s brain. In times of stress, where fractions of a second counted, the combat computer would take over, executing one of hundreds of pre-programmed maneuvers according to stimuli it would have almost no time to gather. In moments of respite, the organic threads would resume activity, observing the state of the battlefield and planning the vessel’s next move.
Perhaps if the respite was long enough, the shipmind and its single crew member might be able to exchange a thought or two. That, the shipmind thought, would be nice.
“Shajaon. We are less than one hour away from the target system.” Her voice was deep, sharp-edged, and authoritative – feminine, by Camilan standards. It mimicked a baseline’s in pitch and cadence, with only a slight flanging effect to indicate its mechanical source.
“Hmm,” came the reply. Shajaon, a red-petal, sat nestled in a special pod in the centermost chamber of the ship. His eyes were closed and his limbs were folded in such a way to brace him inside the pod, totally motionless. A moment later, “You humor me too much, Iris.”
The shipmind laughed, pleasantly. “Nonsense. There is no such thing. Besides, we are not yet in any hurry – why should we not speak in this way?”
Shajaon laughed too, but the shipmind’s cameras could see that the tension in his body remained. “It’s good practice.”
“Good practice you hardly need. You may as well practice walking.”
The Camilan remained silent, not pressing the issue any further. Nonetheless, the tension in his body remained.
“I hope my alert was not an interruption. You seemed like you were deep in thought. Meditating…?” the shipmind ventured. “Or praying, perhaps?”
At this, the Camilan cracked one eye open and gave the nearest camera a look of amusement. “No, no. The Goddess’ soul suffuses the whole of my body. My thoughts, my innermost intentions are open to her – there is no need to pray.”
“Though… her intentions are not open to you, yes?”
“Her intentions do not need asking.” The Camilan shut his eyes again. “No, I was simply doing what you yourself have most likely been doing the entirety of our journey. Composing battle plans.”
“Ah.” Iris’ attention flowed across the thin black lines traveling from the red-petal’s fingertips to the underside of his sepals. The only outward indication of his extensive internal modifications. Like her, he was a cyborg – equal in speed of thought, if not in depth. “Once again, I must say that I am impressed by your devotion.” Even though it probably won’t matter, went the unspoken second half.
“Yes, well, we must seize every advantage we can get,” was all he said in response.
For a few moments, the shipmind was silent.
Then, “But… surely you can spare half an hour. You have given more than enough just by being here. The difference a few more minutes of forethought will make is negligible, so I implore you to take some enjoyment in these final moments. If you won’t take any rahatan, at least let me play your favorite song for you. Anything.”
Shajaon opened both eyes and adjusted his position so that he was staring directly into the camera. “What I would enjoy more than anything else,” he said, coolly but forcefully, “is for us to go into that system with that negligible advantage.”
“…Alright,” said the shipmind, and nothing further. She was not surprised by this reaction, only dismayed. Shajaon, who had devoted himself to the study of strategy after the previous advisor’s departure from the ship, had insisted on accompanying the shipmind for the sole purpose of offering his insight whenever possible. Of, in effect, adding a seventh brain to the shipmind’s six. In simulations, the performance increase granted by Camilan advisors was marginal – 3-5% across the board – yet for that increase, the red-petal was happy to trade his life. When Iris had offered him painkillers to dull the agony of slipspace decay, he had refused, saying they dulled his mind as well. This most recent asceticism was merely the last in a long line.
The next thirty-five minutes were spent in silence. When the shipmind next spoke, it was to suggest Shajaon begin integrating himself with the pod. Obeying, he fit himself into the full-body suit that was attached at multiple points to the inside of the pod, and cinched a fabric ring innervated with cables tightly around his neck, making sure that every receptor clicked into place with the ports set into his skin. The distance from brain to fingertip was, this time, too far to tolerate.
We will begin deceleration in four minutes, thought the shipmind.
Acknowledged, thought Shajaon in response.
When the forward thrusters flared, Shajaon was pulled downward into the pod with a force of nearly 10 G’s – a sharp contrast from the zero it had been moments before. A combination of suit, structural modifications to the brain, and extensive training kept him alert.
Phasing in four minutes.
Acknowledged.
…
Phasing.
The Iris Flare returned to realspace travelling parallel to the system’s orbital plane. Immediately it began taking in light from its surroundings, scanning in all directions for signs of the enemy.
There seemed to be none.
Our departure was timed so that we would catch them just as they were coming out of slipspace, Shajaon thought, so perhaps we’re a little early.
Or we’re a little late and they’ve decided to use their nineteen minutes to hide. Either to ambush us, or to repair their slipspace damage and then slip past us. Iris’ reply was a slight fluttering wave in the roiling sea of her consciousness, the vast majority of which was concentrated on other matters.
How long do we have if it’s the latter?
In terms of their long-term survival? Several days to a week. But who knows how concerned they are with that? They may be perfectly content letting their bodies and ships decay if it means they can catch up to our main fleet a little faster.
And if they do slip past us? Shajaon asked, already suspecting the answer.
Well, we’ve left probes in slipspace at regular intervals behind us, so we’ll at least be alerted. But by that point it may be too late. Once they’re in slipspace, we won’t be able to catch up.
So we have to do as much damage as we can in whatever amount of time it takes them to repair. Which is unknown.
Not totally unknown. Even if they are only interested in making it to the next system without their ships becoming inoperable, we should have at least 48 hours. If they leave any earlier, they’ll rot away to nothing in the interstellar void.
Alright. But in any case, we have to come to them. And they know it.
Yes.
If they are setting an ambush, how many bodies can we check at a safe distance?
If we are willing to use the phase drive, all of them, but it will take two jumps per body. We will have only two jumps’s worth of slipstuff left by the end, with no allowance for in-combat maneuvers. On the other hand, if we remain in realspace, we will not be able to check 109-VI, as it is currently too far –
The shipmind’s thought fell silent, as bright flashes of infrared light began to reach her sensors. A few at first, but the number quickly climbed into the dozens. Spaced out from one another, but all oriented along the orbital plane like she was. They had appeared at the opposite edge of the system, closest to 109-VI – a small telluric planet with an unusually far orbit.
At the moment of their appearance, light from the Iris Flare would not yet have reached them. But by the time their own IR signatures reached her, it would have – ahead by several minutes. Thus, they had already been granted the first move.
Briefly, Iris considered holding her current position near the system’s asteroid belt. She discarded this idea almost immediately – giving them a chance to surround her would mean quick and pointless death, and they might be able to repair at 109-VI anyway.
No choice but to advance.
The Iris Flare phased out and accelerated toward the rightmost signature, closing the distance in less than a minute. Predicting that the target would have moved away from its fellows in order to facilitate a collapse, the shipmind initiated the phase-in at what she predicted would be the optimal distance – close enough that her own fire could not be dodged, but far enough that she could dodge the enemy’s. Right before she did so, she checked to see if any other ships were in slipspace with her. She couldn’t see any.
- Code: Select all
Returned to realspace. Saw the target. Estimated target’s possible range of motion. Adjusted bearing to align main weapon with target. Fired.
Target tried to evade the shot, but could not accelerate fast enough. Projectile impacted target’s frontal shield and traveled through 31% of target’s length before exiting. Energy imparted sufficient to destroy target; radiation released by fusion reaction safely absorbed by our armor.
All of that information was interpolated retroactively and relayed to the shipmind by the combat computer.
It couldn’t even angle its weapons at us fast enough, thought Iris, observing the molten remains of the worldship. Then, a split-second later, And no phasing at any point. Could it be that they’re out of slipstuff?
Seems possible, Shajaon answered. In order to minimize time spent in realspace, it would make sense to only synthesize enough for two jumps at a time, and to do so while you’re stuck repairing anyway.
The shipmind scanned the system to see where the others had moved. Contrary to her prediction, they were not moving away from each other, but instead seemed to be coalescing around 109-VI.
They must know they need slipstuff to fight us, Iris mused. Are they too low on hydrogen to fuse any, or can they not afford to cannibalize any of their surviving components?
Whatever the case, we need to move. Now. If we let them harvest from that planet uncontested, they’ll be able to make it past us.
Agreed, the shipmind thought, and initiated the phase-out.
What’s the safe distance if two ships are covering each other? Shajaon asked as the Iris Flare accelerated.
Less, came the reply. Don’t worry, we won’t phase in at an unsafe distance unless we have to. Besides, they shouldn’t be able to cover each other yet.
- Code: Select all
Returned to realspace. Saw multiple targets. Estimated closest target’s possible range of motion. Adjusted bearing to align main weapon with target. Fired.
Target evaded the shot. Estimate of possible range of motion updated.
Target began painting us with its gamma laser. Imminent threat to internal components detected. Accelerated toward target in order to get within lethal distance.
Target fired sandthrower at us in a cone of 0.21 sr. We evaded the shot; progress toward target delayed slightly.
Target fired sandthrower at us in a cone of 0.46 sr. We did not attempt to evade. Radiator fins 6d and 9a destroyed by particle impacts. Damaged fins autotomized. Rate of heat loss updated.
Fired our main weapon. Target tried to evade the shot, but could not accelerate fast enough. Projectile impacted target’s midpoint, breaking it in half. Energy imparted sufficient to destroy target; radiation released by fusion reaction absorbed by our armor. Armor’s heat capacity exceeded; some thermal damage to frontal radiators sustained; main weapon’s barrel is still functional.
Targets 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 began painting us with their gamma lasers. Risk of lethal thermal damage deemed unacceptable; emergency phase shift initiated.
For several moments, the Iris Flare simply hovered in slipspace, its residual momentum negligible compared to the size of the system. Its radiators were all exposed, and it shone like a tiny star as it dumped as much heat as it could manage. Somewhat surprisingly, the computer had not decided to shed the armor before phasing – probably because of the sheer number of threats still remaining.
Looks like they’re starting to be able to cover each other, Shajaon finally commented. How many more jumps do we have in us?
Nine, the shipmind replied.
Then it looks like we’ve got about four more kills in us, at most. Five if we want to go down swinging.
For an almost imperceptible amount of time, the shipmind thought about this. I think we do. Everything they’ve done so far supports their intention to harvest what they need from this system and continue their pursuit of the main fleet. We will not be able to delay them any further after that point, so we must take what we can from them in their moment of weakness. Iris paused. If we do not speak again, it’s been a pleasure, my friend.
Shajaon’s beak formed into a faint smile. Likewise. But hey, before we go back in, there’s something I realized between the last time we spoke and now.
It will be another few minutes before we are cold enough to do so. Speak your mind.
If these guys have been following us as closely as possible, accumulating damage to their bodies and ships just to shave a few days’ time off, then why didn’t they phase in right next to 109-VI? They were in a crescent pattern at the edge of the system when we first saw them, right? And now they’re having to travel slowly in realspace to get close enough to harvest from it.
Iris took the Camilan’s meaning immediately. Of course. At that distance, their gravitational sensors should have been able to pick it up. They must have thought there was nothing there.
And why is that?
Because that object’s signature doesn’t line up with its apparent mass, the shipmind continued, once again devoting only a tiny amount of its attention to the conversation.
Right. From this distance, we should be able to pick it up too, but we can’t. And one possible explanation would be that some part of the object has negative mass, enough to cancel out its signature and make it invisible from slipspace.
A more likely explanation would be that it is simply hollow.
Maybe, but the sensors aren’t registering anything. Besides, we can test this. If we approach the object’s position while still phased out, our sensors should report a sudden fluctuation right as we pass through it. A sustained wormhole would only be invisible from a distance – once we’re inside, it would spike like nothing else.
A sustained wormhole, Iris echoed. It was bold of him to even say it out loud. It seems incredibly unlikely, but if you’re right…
We have to test.
I intend to. We will be able to accelerate without overheating in about one minute.
It was the slowest minute either of them had experienced.
At last, the warship’s thruster’s flared, and it began to approach the position of 109-VI. Even once they were nearly upon it, the sensors detected no gravitational forces whatsoever.
Then, as they passed through it, the sensors broke.
The amount of energy that must be keeping that thing open, Shajaon thought, is immense. If we can destabilize it enough to collapse, the energy released would be nearly as immense. Their whole fleet would be wiped out.
Judging by the numbers we saw, their whole fleet is not in this system. Others must be taking different routes, or travelling behind this wing. Nevertheless, it would be a far more significant blow than we could otherwise hope to inflict. The shipmind paused. There is only one problem.
Yeah, I know. It looks like a planet to visual. If 109-VI is sustaining a wormhole inside of itself, there’s virtually no question that someone built it.
An argument could be made that we have no right to destroy their megastructure in a conflict that does not concern them.
Yeah, but you wouldn’t make it, would you. Look, the way I see it, if they’re primitive enough that the loss of this structure is crippling, then they’re also primitive enough that those 30-odd ships pose a danger to them, too. The conflict concerns them whether they like it or not, because if we lose, the omnicidal winner is going to have a direct path to their doorstep.
You’re right, I wouldn’t make it, was all the shipmind thought in response. The time needed to create sufficient distance from the planet passed in total silence.
- Code: Select all
Returned to realspace. Saw primary target 109-VI. No realignment necessary; shot fired immediately. Phased out preemptively after confirming angle of shot.
Waited for radiation burst to pass over our current position.
Phased back in. Energy imparted was sufficient to destabilize target’s inner ring, leading to wormhole collapse and release of radiation burst. Energy imparted by radiation burst sufficient to destroy all targets.
Anomalous secondary radiation bursts logged. Imparted energy safely absorbed by our armor.