To continue on this course would result in my being forced to ceasefire in another one minute, forty-one point seven seconds. Shortly after that, 1 would most likely suffer a direct impact from a projectile releasing kinetic energy on the order of one megaton, an impact which, with my battle screens inoperative, 1 would not survive. Clearly, it is time to change tactics.
I shift targets, taking aim with both turrets One and Two. When I fire, it is not with the measured, ammunition-saving rhythm with which I have been knocking down the incoming hostile projectiles, but with a rapid-fire barrage of Hellbore jusion pulses that illuminate the night and expend all of my remaining Hellbore rounds within five point seven one seconds.
VAL812 had monitored the destruction or deflection of each of the projectiles it had launched toward the planetside target. It still had a large amount of meteoric material in storage, but the past several minutesўan endless time for an intelligence that measured time in nanosecondsўhad been a complete and utter exercise in futility, with not a single projectile fragment impacting closer to the target than a distance of several kilometers.
Sensors aboard the TIG232 battler/fortress detected the targets incoming Hellbore barrage by the distinctive touch of its main battery lasers, seconds before bolts of starcore-hot fusion plasma whipcracked up the laser conduit, but VAL was still attempting to shunt additional power to the defensive shields when the Bolo's volley struck. Lighting flared as magnetic shields tried to dump the excess voltage of the first bolt's EM pulse; the plasma itself, incoming at a significant fraction of lightspeed, was harder to deal with.
Two separate points on the TIG battler's curved prow shone with a light more intense than that of the local
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sun, sharp with the bite of X-rays and ultraviolet. The points expanded, swelling within milliseconds to engulf the forward kilometer of the titanic warship.
VAL812 gave a radio-frequency yelp of surprise and the machine equivalent of pain as two lances of fusion fire needled through the battler's screens, through its outer armor, through the layers of nickel-iron of the original asteroid converted by the !*!*! into a ship, and through the densely packed core of wiring, conduits, and circuitry comprising the dreadnought's autonomous nervous system before ballooning out the far side in explosive bursts of metal vapor and cooling plasma.
The !*!"! ship rolled heavily to the left, braking savagely, glowing-hot fragments spilling from its prow. An instant later, two more blossoms of hellfire unfolded against the vessel's ebony flank, one slashing through tender interior wiring and molecular circuits, the other carving off a city-sized slab of armor and rock, leaving a fiat scar behind that glowed a sullen and molten orange.
The four-brain intelligence of the ship could grasp instantly what was happening but was unable to formulate an immediate or original counter. Instead, it called for help. "VAL812-928782, calling Command Web. I am under direct attack and have suffered Level Three damage. Continuing attack. Please advise."
Seconds passed, as molten rock and vaporized internal components bled into hard vacuum. And then, abruptly, VAL812 was no longer alone as a data transmissions stream opened between the battler and the I*!0! command center on the nearby moon the humans called Delamar. Another machine presence, the free-ranging and self-aware thoughts of a high-order, fifth-level cognitive, resided within the virtual space occupied by the !*!*! ship-mind. In a quick, lightning touch, DAV728-24389 downloaded VAL812's
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recent memories and current diagnostic status onto the Command Web, analyzing each bit of information.
"Withdraw," DAV728 commanded almost at once. "Break off the attack and pull back to Regroup Point Three."
"I comply." VAL's primary drive was damaged, and maneuvering was clumsy, but the battler managed to swing itself onto a new vector, one that would carry it out of range of the deadly planetary ground defenses within another few hundred billion nanoseconds.
Two more bolts seared up from the planet s surface, this time bypassing VAL812 entirely and burning their way deep into GEL933-83737, which was just moving into range.
"All battlers, cease attack and withdraw," the !*!*! controller added, amending his first command. "Execute immediately!"
A final bolt of fusing plasma played briefly across VAL812's ventral surface, a star-point of intense, violet-white lightnings etching deep into rock and steel alloy, gouging out a ragged, hot-glowing crater.
On the blue-white globe of the captive planet, a storm appeared to be growing with manic rapidity across the peninsula which included the target area, obliterating one by one the violently radiating patches of thermal radiation where !*!*! projectiles had struck.
Though VAL had very little in the way of actual consciousness or self-awareness, it nevertheless felt something akin to intense pleasure at the idea of moving out of range.
"The enemy warships are breaking off the attack," Hector's calm voice announced. "All three vessels appear to be withdrawing."
"Yes!" Jaime shouted, coming to his feet, and in another second, he, Alita, and even Shari were on their feet, wordlessly screaming, embracing one another,
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