Rockhoppers Ch. 10

Moving with greater care now, the drone carefully picks apart the main command console, until it eventually manages to extract one of the Rockhopper's redundant data logs. There are two more, separated by much of the ship to insure redundancy. Due to the radiation damage the ship's store had already demonstrated with Josh's message, the drone's orders were to secure as many as possible. It didn't intend to miss any. Placing its prize in a secure container in its torso, it begins climbing the ship towards the piece of the hull closest to its next target.

At the terminus of the rail, the duo of assault drones have cleared the wreckage by main force. Occasionally assisted in finer work by one of the spider drones, some of whom are skittering down the kilometers long length of the rail to ensure free running for the modified projectile, the behemoths reattach the rail to the launcher mechanism by main force. By the time they've completed the hookups, their brother has joined them with the newly crafted capsule.

They open it, and one of them begins using a heated finger to carefully carve the reflective identifier markings on the end of the long body, furthest from the cap. That end is still solid iron, several meters thick. Heavier than the hollow end, it will be the leading edge of the bullet. After the metal cools, it attaches the radio identifier tag the target will read at the end of the slug's journey. Once it has finished, it straightens, takes a wide stance, and offlines its defensive subroutines.

One of its brother approaches, unslinging a two-handled, stubby rifle from the weapon cluster on its back. Aiming the bore low on the torso of its helpless sibling, it fires. A ship-breacher, explosives inert, rips into the guts of the waiting drone. Sufficient to shred the drone's armor on the way in, it lacks the necessary punch to create an exit wound. Replacing the rifle in the weapons cluster, the attacking drone moves to one side of the disabled behemoth. The third moves to the other, and together they jam their fingers into the entry wound, taking advantage of the introduced trauma to the armor to slowly tear the hole wide enough for their purposes.

Once they've finished, the first stands in front of the hole and plunges its hands inward, and then upward, deep into the core of its wounded brother. Carefully, carefully, so as not to finish the job of killing its sibling, it slowly pulls out the meter wide refrigeration sphere housing the AI, jerking it occasionally to sever more tenacious connecting wires.

Cradling the mind of its twin, it walks over to the emptied slug. It passes the sphere to a small phalanx of spiderbots, who move the sphere deeper inside, nestling it at the bottom of the hollow. Once they have it in place and have retreated, the living behemoth opens its tool blister and sprays a stream of rapidly expanding crash foam down over the sphere. Covering it in seconds, the foam hardens to a consistency stronger than concrete as the iron leeches the heat from it.

As they complete sealing their brother into the capsule, the final drone is returning from the Rockhopper, bearing three redundant ships logs in its torso storage, and, in its massive fingers, gently cradling a large diamond in the shape of Faith Adeyemi.

With greater care than they'd used with their own brother, the three remaining behemoths lay the records and the human girl to rest, eventually capping the slug and tack-welding it shut. They maneuver it into the launch mechanism, and begin performing the orbital calculations they require for sharpshooting measured in tens of astronomical units.

----

The emotionless voice of the behemoth's AI crackles out of the chief's console.

- Launch successful. Compromised structural integrity of projectile due to mission requirements and suboptimal power availability from remaining reactor limit launch velocity to six percent of optimal. -

"Revised timeframe?"

- Target interception in approximately one hundred thirty seven years. -

Carlos sighs. "Well, at least they'll know for the history books. Any issues with the payload?"

- Inserting one of ourselves required terminal dismantling of that chassis. The datastore and log of the Widdershins is secure in the memory of that unit, as is what could be recovered from the derelict. -

Carlos says, "You got everything I asked for from the Rockhopper?"

- Yes, Chief Engineer Carlos Zink. Every physical instance of the derelict's logs as well as the remains of the human female. All are highly radioactive, though not at levels inimical to the data integrity of my sibling. -

"Very good. Remain on the surface and take yourselves offline until signaled."

- Very well. We remain. -

Carlos returns to his console to do some rapid math.

----

"Chief, I've had every tech in ops up here working on it, but we can't stop her. At best we're slowing her down."

"Understood, Captain. We need another twenty hours for the message to get clear, but I'm prepared to do what I have to."

"Is the Admiral there?"

"She just got here."

A feminine voice interjects, "Go ahead, Captain."

"I am hereby transferring Chief Engineer Carlos Zink to your chain of command, Admiral. Carlos, you will no longer report to me, and I cannot order you. The Admiral has all the ship accesses you may need."

"Something I need to know, Captain?"

"The ship may hold out twenty hours, Chief,-"

The captain watches on the main screen as a short blue alien approaches the bulkhead outside the bridge, and curiously pokes at it, scenting humans on the other side.

"- but the Command won't."

----

Millie is still Millie, mostly.

She knows she's not really in control of herself, but the thing in her head isn't smart enough to do what needs to be done on its own. She understand that it's had to spread itself very, very thin, working with smaller and smaller amounts of itself, losing intelligence with every gram it has to give up. It's mostly directive now.

That's the main reason the ship hasn't fallen. The alien can easily burn through the bulkheads the way it did the hull, but only by using itself as reaction mass. It had already used up more than half of itself just getting in the ship. If it hadn't had the blue aliens along, it would have already been defeated. It had already almost lost, but then it found Millie.

Millie knows things, machine things, and she can make doors open, given enough time. Millie lets the aliens into a section of a ship, and the hybrids wander through, doing what they do, subduing the human crew without really trying. Occasionally they would come across a marine that wearing a suit, and that was a problem. The marines kill the little hybrids easily, and have no hesitation about doing so.

But the same way Millie can open doors, she can open the suits, although it takes a little longer. They haven't lost any hybrids at all for the last six bulkheads, and they are getting very close to environmental. Millie isn't an environmental specialist, but that doesn't matter. There are plenty of specialists inside that section, and while it's spread thin, the alien knows how to prioritize.

Millie has opened every bulkhead but one heading to the bridge, but that's just a trick, like a feint in chess. She's figured out how to get to environmental in a single move, without hitting any marines, and she's about five minutes away from executing.

The hatch behind her slides open, and Millie sighs. Well, ten minutes away. The alien in her head blocks the effect of the hybrid's pheromones, so she can think clearly, but the little blue guys sure like to fuck. Every few hours, a different one will find her, and give her the gentle touch on her shoulder that serves them so well with the other girls. She'd shoved the first one away, irritated, but that hadn't made the thing in her head happy, so now she just goes with the flow.

Glancing over her shoulder, she grins at the little guy. She hasn't gotten this much cock since the Academy. The blue guys aren't much for stamina, but they are... vigorous. She's made a game of trying to cum before they do. She hasn't pulled it off yet, but it's a nice way to pass the time. Tugging her sweatpants and panties down far enough to let the alien get at the prize, she slips a hand down and starts playing with herself, getting a slight head start on the her approaching lover.

She makes a little squeak as the little alien slides into her without ceremony, and for the next few minutes she forgets about bulkheads and chess.

----

Lieutenant Kozue Yamanaga observes the progress of the alien infestation, as measured by the presence of the foreign pheromone in the ship's air. Behind her, the environmental staff that had been present when she initiated the breach protocol remains on duty, going through the motions of keeping the doomed ship functional. And doomed it is, unless something miraculous happens.

None of her people are systems experts in a class with Carsens, and it seems inevitable that the bridge will be the next section of the ship to fall, essentially cutting off the head of her command structure. The captain has already ordered her to sever communications with command, and with the rest of the ship. His final order had been for her and her staff to do their duty to the best of their ability for as long as possible.

She frets as she watches the display on her console. If she only had a sample of one of the little blue aliens! Some of her staff were brilliant geneticists, and she's fairly certain that they could fashion an airborne toxin that would leave humans unharmed, if they only knew the genetic makeup of the invaders.

She's still thinking about how she might get her hands on a bit of alien DNA when the door to a maintenance closet clicks open. A couple of the little aliens casually walk into the room and look around, to no great fanfare. Kozue jerks as her console beeps to indicate another section of the ship has detected the presence of the pheromone, and she has to stare at the map for a few seconds to understand that the section is her own.

She turns around just before the effect hits her. She's a small woman, and the alien that is approaching her is only slightly shorter. It gently presses her backwards until she bumps into her desk, then plucks at her shipsuit. She reaches up and unfastens the collar, letting the fastenings slide down far enough for it to slip over her shoulders and fall to the floor. The alien leans towards her and sniffs. It makes a sort of purring noise and reaches for her panties, tugging at them until she slips her thumbs in the sides and slides them off.

Silent, now, it pushes a hand against her flat belly. She slides her rump up on to the desk and spreads her legs, hissing slightly as the alien penetrates her, spreading her wide. She wraps her arms and legs around the little invader as it begins to thrust.

A short time later, she receives the genetic sample she'd wished for.

----

"Chief, environmental just toggled its breach override!"

Carlos frowns. The remaining bulkheads would hold until both he and the bridge toggled theirs as well. But environmental...

"I want everyone on bottled air, now!"

They've just helped the last green ensign get his mask seated when every vent in the ship begins to belch white fog.

Shouldn't have touched the toggle, Millie, or you'd have us.

Typing on his console, unwilling to risk speaking and breaking the seal on his mask, he issues orders. The engineers leap into action, and in ten minutes every vent has a metal plate welded over it. One of the seniors has jimmied one of the CO2 scrubbers into a general filter, and in under an hour the air in engineering is breathable. They have plenty of equipment to keep it that way for several days, which is more time than Carlos needs.

Carlos flips on shipwide comm. "Nice try, Millie."

To his surprise, there is an answer, and it's almost immediate. "Thanks! What gave it away, the breach toggle?"

"Yeah. That was a mistake."

"Not mine. The black stuff isn't very smart anymore. Still, this gives them the bridge. That just leaves you, Chief."

"Them?"

"Well, yeah. I got one of them in my head, and it's doing stuff, which is why I'm helping them, but it's left me my personality. I still have to help it and all, but I don't want to. Sort of. It's strange, you know? My emotions aren't working right."

"I wish it had killed you instead of this, Millie."

"I think I do, too? Maybe? Well, anyway, it's getting impatient, so I have to help them get you. Sorry about that."

"Not your fault, kid. Sorry this is how it played out."

"Thanks, Chief! See you soon!"

----

The next hours are dreadful, the engineering staff fighting for every bulkhead, Millie eventually claiming them, and another section of the ship falling to the aliens. The Captain tries to contact Carlos after his conversation with Millie, but the old engineer ignores the call. The admiral sits in a corner, out of the way, flanked by the last two functional marines on the ship. The soldiers are wearing simple breather masks instead of their suits, Carlos having explained what Millie had done to their brethren. The old woman looks tired and pale, but she sits straight, an anchor of calm in the chaos.

Finally the chief stands up, and stretches. Walking over to her, he salutes. "Admiral, it's time."

"It's clear?"

"As best we can calculate. Millie will be in here in another twenty minutes, best case. After that, this ship will head back to human space."

She nods, stands, and walks to the middle of the room, flanked by her guard. Carlos signals the engineering staff, and everyone stops work to come listen to the Admiral.

"I've never been one for long speeches, so I'll just say this. Today we die to protect the human race, and I've never been prouder to be a member. It's been an honor to serve with all of you."

She salutes, and every unconverted man and woman left on the Widdershins returns it.

Carlos walks over to the main engineering console, and toggles the shipwide comm.

"Millie?"

"Hey, Chief!"

"Can the black stuff scrape enough of itself together to hold a conversation? I'd like to call a truce."

"Uh, hang on. Going by the one in my head, I think so? Give me a few minutes."

"Millie? Tell it to pick someone else to be the mouthpiece, not you."

"Okay!"

One of his staff nods at him. Millie has stopped attacking.

Walking over to one of the marines escorting the Admiral, Carlos says, "Son, I need to borrow your sidearm."

Slinging his rifle onto his back, the young marine draws his pistol and hands it to the old engineer, butt first. When Carlos takes the gun, the marine salutes and unslings his rifle, ready to use it, despite everything.

"Chief?"

Carlos walks back over to the comm and sits down. He takes a moment to strap himself in tightly to the acceleration-hardened chair before answering. "Yes, Millie?"

"I'm gonna put Toshi on, when he talks, it's the black stuff, okay?"

"Okay, Millie, thanks."

Carlos cocks the pistol. There's a pregnant pause, then the comm crackles to life again.

"I am here."

"Oh, good. On behalf of the people of Earth, fuck you."

With one hand, the chief engineer slaps a preprogrammed release. Inside the bowels of the ship the antimatter engine ignites, a leashed form of hellfire. With the other hand, less than a tenth of a second later, he puts a round into the machinery responsible for the leash.

----

Antihydrogen is a finicky element. For decades, scientists experimenting with the substance dealt with infinitesimally tiny amounts of it, no more than a few tens of atoms at a time. The physical infrastructure required to produce and contain larger amounts was prohibitive, at least when confined deep in the gravity well of a planet of Earth's mass.

Eventually, humanity began dipping its toes into extraterrestrial waters, leaving the nest and slowly spreading outward, colonizing first the Moon, then Mars, then some of the larger bits of rubble floating around the system. This provided access to vast elemental resources not bound up in Earth's unforgiving gravity, and the first great artificial habitats began coming into being.

About the same time that Galileo came online around Jupiter, tethered to the planet in a trailing heliocentric orbit, the UNS was constructing another station, concealed in the rubble of the asteroid belt. The official designation for the project was Leonidas. The troops and UNS scientists assigned to duty stations there, denied many of the amenities other facilities like Galileo enjoyed, gave it another name: Spartan.

It had no mining infrastructure. Indeed, it had no civilian enterprises of any sort, and only a tiny fraction of UNS military personnel even knew it existed. Spartan was a skunkworks. The UNS used it to develop new military technologies, a number of which eventually trickled down into general use.

One of the most recent projects to come out of the black site was the practical application of antimatter. Given ready access to zero gravity and a truly exorbitant budget, military scientists began working with larger volumes than previously possible. They even managed to synthesize atoms as heavy as anticarbon, but the bulk of the research focused on antihydrogen, the lightest and simplest element of antimatter.

Antihydrogen is a very simple atom. Like its more familiar cousin, hydrogen, it's made up of just two particles, in this case a positron and an antiproton, locked in an endless dance. It shares every property of its cousin molecule, including its receptivity to magnetism. Scientists produced large clouds of antihydrogen, suspending them in vacuum between magnetic mirrors, the "bottle". By carefully manipulating the field, they were able to reliably pluck one atom at a time out of the cloud and bring it into contact with an opposing molecule of hydrogen.

Upon contact, the two atoms annihilated one another, producing a burst of gamma radiation. Eventually, Spartan technicians refined the process to a smooth stream, allowing sustained production of incredible amounts of energy, though not quite as much as how much they used to create the material in the first place. The only hurdle remaining for the technology was the size of the apparatus involved. Energy was no longer an issue, but the magnetic mirrors were enormous. Easily installed in something the size of a space station, but hardly practical for a ship of the line.

Still, the Spartans plodded onwards. If volume was an issue, how do you reduce the volume of a gas?

Parallel to the research into antimatter, a different group had been working wonders with plain old hydrogen. Under enough pressure hydrogen liquefies. Under even more, it can become metallic, with a host of interesting properties, but the team wasn't interested in trying to artificially reproduce levels of pressure found at the core of a gas giant. They were pleased enough with the ability to reliably produce steady quantities of liquid antihydrogen.

The second research group, however, was interested in such levels of pressure, and had managed to produce a container about a meter in diameter, capable of sustaining the pressures required to keep hydrogen in its metal state. One day, while discussing this over bad food in the cafeteria, one of the antimatter researchers asked to examine the vessel. Upon seeing the sphere, she approached it and touched a small magnet to one side, then released it. It clattered to the floor.

"Can you make it ferrous?"

After months of argument, they determined that they could. The final product was an iron sphere a meter in diameter, laced with complex patterns of reinforcing carbon nanotubes. All told, the tiny inner chamber could contain about five kilograms of metallic hydrogen, the release of which was regulated by a fantastically complicated atomic 'spigot'.