Chapter 429 (1/2)
There was pain, or a close analogue to it.
Not the sharp agony of a broken rib digging into the chest. Not the dull torment of a cracked femur. Not even the almost intolerable pain of a broken wisdom tooth.
More like a hard spot in the bed.
But it was still as close to pain as a non-sentient object could get.
Everywhere else was empty. Expended. Finished. Where there had once been a multitude of galaxies of stars blazing away in nuclear fury there was not even the memory of exhausted protons. Everywhere else had drained away and gone flat, even the chronotrons flat and dead. It was beyond dead, beyond dust, it was beyond a forgotten memory.
Everywhere except one spot.
And that spot caused the equivalent of pain to a forgotten memory.
The universe had reached the point where it could be recycled. Where a universe that had collapsed upon itself into a single infinitesimal point of all matter and energy could merge with the beyond dead universe, pulling the dead universe in until it added just a teeeny bit more pressure.
Which would make that point explode.
It should have happened already. It should have happened a trillion years before.
Except for one spot.
That spot stubbornly held on, preventing the total absolute absence of anything from merging with a tiny dot of everything and anything in a universe.
It created a strange analogue of pain.
For both the small point, which burned fiercely, and the dead area, which yearned to merge with the tiny point and embrace it.
It was how it was supposed to be. How it had always been. One universe dies in one way, gravity pulling it down until everything that ever was or would be crushes into an ultrasmall point, the other dies in either a Great Vacuum Bubble or by being exhausted. They join together, and a new universe would be born, rising to the 'top' of the dimensional lattice, sliding to one side or the other depending on how the explosion worked out.
Except for that one spot.
The universe had called out to that one spot that it was time.
The spot had rejected the universe, squatting over the last remaining piece, hoarding it close.
Recently, on the timescale of a universe, the hoarders had managed to reach another universe, higher in the 'stack' than the dead one, bringing resources from that universe to stave off death for a few more moments.
But every action has an equal and opposite reaction. That law still held true, no matter where in the stack a universe was. The connection was made and an equal and opposite reaction took place. It woke the dead universe. Not much, not to full life of blazing suns and swirling gasses and elegant galaxies. But it was an awareness all the same.
It wasn't thought or awareness as others knew it. It was more an action of particles, more an action of movement and placement in the 'stack', more a way of being than an actual intelligence.
But it still felt the pain, an echo of having lain on a bed with a lump that pressed against a numb limb.
The dead universe was linked, momentarily, to the younger, more energetic universe.
A universe that possessed a cold malevolence. Not an actual thought, not an actual emotion, no, nothing that was recognizable by anything outside of the great stack.
But a malevolence all the same.
The dead one felt it, felt the cold anger of the other universe. That interaction, the intermixing, the friction on the 'sides' of the wormhole gave strength to the dead and gone universe, waking it from its trillion year death slumber.
It had enough strength for a last gasp.
One final gasp.
The younger, more energetic universe heard the whispered gasp of agony from its dead brother from the bottom of the stack, heard the cry of pain and suffering from above it where only bright spots danced and moved, awaiting their turn to be embraced by a dead universe so they could meld and become more.
The younger universe heard its dead brethren.
And responded.
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The battle had progressed, hours passing. The majority of the Type-I and Type-II PAWM had fled, translating to jumpspace or Hellspace. The Type-III were still engaged with everyone else. The Type-IV's were fighting the Dwellerspawn and everyone else but the Atrekna, trying to protect the Atrekna from the pounding of the Confederate Space Force Navy's guns.
The Dwellerspawn were close enough to the Confederate lines that they were able to engage. Not effectively, but enough to force Space Force to constantly maneuver to avoid bioplasma and worse. Almost half of the Dwellerspawn brought by the Atrekna were dead, floating in space and slowly freezing.
The gas giants were still vomiting up hordes of Dwellerspawn and what had been labeled as Type-V Precursor Autonomous War Machines, both of which were heavily engaged with the Great Herd Armada, which had retreated from the gas giants and interlocked with the Confederate lines.
The wormhole had opened and stabilized, and four waves of ships had come through.
Which had Admiral Smith frowning as she stared at the holotank.
The waves were almost identical. More ships in each wave, true, but each time the core of the wave had identical drive signatures, ship profiles, electronic signatures as the wave before it.
Admiral Smith's tactical and intelligence sections had confirmed it.
Those ships in the each wave were the ships of the former wave with additional reinforcements. Each wave had the ships from the previous wave and added more, which formed the base for the next wave to add more ships to.
There were twelve of the massive ships now. There had been fifteen, but constant barrages from Admiral Smith's Task Force had pounded three of them to scrap metal. Six more were reeling from the bombardment as the Task Force kept up the pounding of the guns.
But Suckerpunch had been loaded, fabbed up, and the initial probes launched.
The data had made it back, and Admiral Smith stared at it.
Two red giant stellar masses, so depleted they were a purplish black. Hundreds of worlds and moons orbited the two masses. The sky was starless, empty. Space was lacking the normal background of cosmic radiation. Three of the last probes were able to detect that their own sensor pulses were being reflected by an entropic shield back into the 'bubble' created by the shield. Most of the sensor pulses were grabbed, gobbled up by huge fields that searched out any stray energetic particle.
One sensor probe had recorded it. How space had wavered and shimmered to reveal the same fleet that had just left, joined by ships leaving a construction yard to join them. How the wavering had reloaded the massive shipyard berths with the ships that had just left.
Save-scumming bastards, Admiral Smith thought, watching the replay again. One trick pony.
”Status of Haymaker?” she asked.
”Ships loaded, munitions loaded, awaiting your orders,” her Master Gunnery Officer replied.
”Status of Light-Brite?” Admiral Smith asked.
”Launched and waiting. Munitions have optimal penetration and spread,” Guns replied.
”Get me Most High Cu'udchu'ar,” she ordered.
The tank flickered and Great Grand Most High of the Great Herd Armada appeared. To Admiral Smith's eyes he looked different. His eyes seemed more focused, more intent, he held his head differently. His feeding tendrils were coiled tightly and his crests seemed more authoritative than deflated.
”Admiral Smith,” the Lanaktallan rumbled, sounding more like a deep bass instrument than a wheezing accordion.
”We're about to launch at attack against the wormhole. We're prepped to fire off the gas giants,” Admiral Smith said.
”Excellent news,” Cu'udchu'ar answered.
”I must ask, Most High, are your ships going to be able to handle the massive increase in solar radiation once we spark off those gas giants?” Admiral Smith asked.
Cu'udchu'ar realized that he had not considered that. He turned to his science Most High and relayed the question. The Most High of Armada Tactical and Strategic Science consulted his computers, running the simulations.
The other Lanaktallan looked up. ”No, Most High. Our radiation protection will fail eight hours after the last gas giant is ignited.”
”So you're saying we can fight for eight hours,” Cu'udchu'ar mused. He looked at Admiral Smith, taking a moment to admire the sheer lethality of the Terran's biology. ”We will have eight hours of combat afterwards. We will put it to good use.”
One of the massive, planetoid sized ships, began to break up as a C+ cannon barrage found something good inside of it and internal explosions started ripping it apart, but Smith barely noticed it except to update her internal tactical map.
I have the chance to destroy virtually the entire Lanaktallan navy, right here. Cu'udchu'ar is perfectly willing to ride this shit down in flames for some reason. Eliminating him and his millions of ships would ensure that the Confederacy could roll over the rest of the Lanaktallan worlds, she thought, staring at the holotank. But I'd be telling him that I'm fine with each of his millions of ships, loaded with thousands of people*, are something I'm willing to throw away.*
Cu'udchu'ar saw Admiral Smith make a decision.
”Six hours and I want your ships to jump out,” Smith said. She heaved a big breath. ”I'll send coordinates, take our eVI and DS troops with you, get them out of here. We'll meet up there. I'll be sending critically damaged and mission killed vessels as well as ones that are out of action to you. It'll be up to you to guard those ships till they can get back in the fight.”
Cu'udchu'ar nodded. ”I dislike the idea of abandoning an ally to face a threat alone, but your reasoning is sound. Your ships produce an inordinate amount of heat. We will keep your electronic soldiers safe and provide a secure area for cool down and repair.”
”It's not that I don't think you can help the battle,” Admiral Smith started.
”The Atrekna are beyond our effective range. Our nCv Cannons take nearly nine minutes to hit and we do not have the luxury of temporal ranging systems. Our missiles take thirty-eight minutes of flight time to reach the Atrekna,” Cu'udchu'ar broke in. ”Additionally, we are under massive psychic attack that is only being mitigated by your modified drones.”
The last referred to how several ships had gotten too far away from the phasic disruptor drones and the crew had suddenly turned on their fellow crewmates even as the ship had attacked its mates.
”Once you burn the gas giants, that will eliminate the only foe we can effectively engage, meaning we will be a liability that you must expend resources and effort to defend rather than have us be a meaningful part of the combat,” Cu'udchu'ar continued. ”Strategically, we must withdraw in order to allow the Confederate Space Force Navy to use their weapons at full effectiveness.”
Admiral Smith nodded, carefully keeping the surprise from showing on her face.
”We will know when you activate Light-Brite,” Cu'udchu'ar said solemnly. ”We will start the counter then, and jump out by vulnerability afterwards.”
He paused for a long moment. ”I will stay until I cannot any longer.”
”Then it's together,” Smith said.
Cu'udchu'ar nodded. ”Together.”