“Will we be okay?”
I nodded. “Yes, you will. You’ve gotten control of your environment, now. You’ll show the world who’s boss. And in some huge number of hands of years, your children’s children’s children will come find me and mine.”
I stood. “Goodbye, Buster. Belinda. Live long and prosper.”
And without looking back, I walked out of the village to the waiting cargo drone.
Extermination
Icarus
December 2256 - April 2257
Approaching GL 877
Showtime.
GL 877 was still several light-months away, but at our tau, Daedalus and I would experience it as minutes at most. Comms was receiving periodic queries and updates from local Bobs—probably Mario and his group, still trying to keep tabs on the Others. Incoming messages were barely squeaks to me—the time dilation was far too severe for replicant hardware to overcome. Guppy was handling responses, but I’d asked him not to forward anything to me unless it was an emergency. I couldn’t afford any distractions.
I squirted off a differential backup, just in case. I wouldn’t get another chance.
I dismissed my VR and frame-jacked up to maximum. At this level, I could sense jitter in my perceptions as my hardware attempted to pixelate reality.
As we reached the five light-day point, I ordered Guppy to broadcast a message directing all local Bobs to get out of Dodge. Anyone caught too close to GL 877 in a short while would need a new paint job.
We had planned our approach so that I would come in from stellar north, and Daedalus from stellar south. At six light-hours distance, GL 877 was showing a perceptible disk without magnification. Continuous status updates between Dae and myself ensured that we would arrive at the same instant. Everything was in the groove, and there wasn’t anything the Others could do at this point to divert this delivery.
Time for a final check. “It looks good, Dae. I think we’re close enough now. No way anything’s going to fall out of sync.”
There was a pause, presumably Daedalus performing his own checks. “Agreed, Icky. Time to save our own butts?”
“You got it, buddy.”
I separated from my payload and accelerated as hard as I could toward galactic center. The rear camera showed the former planet of Epsilon Eridani, shrinking in the distance as it continued on its appointed path. Readings showed Daedalus ejecting in the opposite direction from the other side of GL 877. We would each skim the star, closer at periastron than the orbit of Mercury.
GL 877 grew in size over a matter of seconds. I could see prominences and flares on the surface of the star, and SUDDAR picked up the huge mass concentrations of the Dyson sphere under construction. By now, the Others would have detected the two planets, approaching at just a hair under light speed. Did they know? Did they understand, in their final seconds, what was upon them? I hoped so. The Pav had never had that opportunity, nor probably the species from Zeta Tucanae whose name we would never know.
Slightly behind me, the planet formerly known as Epsilon Eridani 1, a planet the size of Mars, struck the star at the north pole with a relativistic force equivalent to half the mass of Jupiter. At the same moment, the former largest moon of Epsilon Eridani 3 struck on the opposite pole.
Stars are hot, but not really dense. The two planets penetrated to a significant depth before they ceased to exist. The impacts created twin shock waves that raced through the star toward the core. As the disturbances penetrated deeper and compressed the stellar medium, regions that weren’t quite able to sustain hydrogen fusion suddenly found the ability. Regions that were already sustaining fusion found their ability greatly increased. Elements that were nowhere near being able to fuse in the current environment suddenly found themselves with the energy available. Helium fused to carbon and oxygen, and fusion cascaded all the way to iron. In a matter of minutes, the total energy output of the star jumped by a factor of several hundred. The delicate balance of outward energy pressure and inward gravitational pressure was obliterated, and GL 877 exploded outward at half the speed of light. It would take three hours for the star to swallow the entire system; however, it took half that for the blast of radiation to sterilize everything.
Fleeing the star at ninety-nine point some stupid number of nines of the speed of light, Daedalus and I would see this blast as radio waves. But we’d have to stay at high tau for several light-years before it would be safe to even think about decelerating.
That’s for the Pav. And for all the other, unnamed species that you’ve seen fit to remove from existence.
Victory
Herschel
April 2257
Sol
We had to wait several more full seconds for follow-up. Bill and Will were apparently very busy Bobs, for the moment.
Finally, Bill popped in, a huge grin on his face. And a patch over his eye, his arm in a sling, and several Band-Aids done in typical cartoon cross patterns on his body.
Neil burst into gales of laughter and fell off his chair. I just managed to keep a straight face, raised an eyebrow, and said, in my best frosty voice, “Really?”
Bill chuckled and vanished the special effects. “Well, inappropriate humor is our trademark, right?”
He invoked a bean-bag chair, fell backward into it, and went boneless. “I’m indebted to you, Neil, for reminding me how much we used to love these things.” After a pause, “So anyway, the carnage is just incredible. We lost 90% of our ships, and I don’t know if we have enough busters and bombs left at this point to hold off a Girl Scout troop. But we’ve knocked out every piece of Others’ hardware in the system. Except Bellerophon, of course. And we’ve got drones doing full reconnaissance, just in case. We’ve all seen the movies where everyone relaxes too soon. No thanks.”
We all sat, silently, for a few milliseconds. I called up a beer. Without saying anything, Bill and Neil did the same. We raised our glasses in a silent toast, and each took a drink.
But there was still that other nagging issue. “Bill, we still have the Others to deal with. We need some kind of definitive solution, otherwise the problem will just keep regrowing.”
Bill shook his head. “Problem taken care of. Sorry, we’ve been so busy that I didn’t get around to making an announcement, but I got the report from Daedalus and Icarus the other day. Their tau is up so high that it took almost a week for them to format the report and send it.” Bill grinned. “I launched a little experiment of my own, back in 2225. Never said much about it, because it was kind of a Hail Mary. I didn’t want to raise false hopes, and I wanted to ensure we continued planning for a frontal assault. Anyway, about ten days ago, GL 877 went nova. There is nothing left in that system now, right out to the Oort cloud. Confirmed by the monitor drones, just before they expired.”
Neil and I looked at each other in shock.