The AI War Read online

  Blaster shrilling and the explosion of fusion bolts mingled with the screams of the components as the turret went into rapid fire, ringing the craft with charred heaps of fused human flesh.

  The three Kronarins were suddenly deprived of targets as the remaining components collapsed, untouched by weapons’ fire.

  After a moment, Lawrona and Satil crawled out from cover as Detrelna emerged from the airlock, a big M32 blaster rifle in his hands.

  “That last lot may not be dead,” said the commodore, pointing to the unmarked bodies, “But I don’t think they’ll be bothering us—there aren’t enough of them.”

  The air was redolent with burning flesh, a sweet, cloying smell that threatened the stomach.

  “Why did they fall?” asked Lawrona, holstering his blaster.

  “To avoid further trauma to the collective consciousness of Alpha Prime,” said a new voice.

  Guan-Sharick-as-blonde stood by the airlock.

  “Butcher!” hissed Lawrona, drawing his side arm.

  “Hold!” ordered Detrelna, interposing his bulk between Lawrona and the Scotar. “You know the rules, Hanar—no bug squashing till we hear it out.” He turned to the Scotar. “That was your doing—the damper field?”

  The blonde nodded. “Between us, we’ve given the Ractolians their worst day in centuries. And the day’s still new.”

  “I never did thank you for that Terra Two warning,” said the commodore.

  “Enlightened self-interest,” said the Scotar. “Do I get the Valor Medal?”

  “You get a chance to speak a few convincing sentences before I let Lawrona loose,” said Detrelna. “You do remember virtually exterminating his world, a few years ago?”

  “It was in the way.”

  “First sentence,” said Lawrona, his face pale.

  The Scotar ignored him, looking at Detrelna. “Harrison’s at the bridge, going up against Telan. The commwand is there, too. I’ve done all I can to make it an even contest.”

  “What is Telan?” asked the commodore.

  “An AI combat droid.”

  “And I thought he was just spoiled,” said Detrelna. A disturbing thought tugged at him, but he hadn’t time for it now. “And Kotran?”

  “Heading for the bridge,” said the Scotar. “I think Kotran’s reach is finally going to exceed his grasp.”

  “Anything else?”

  “To quote Kotran, Commodore,” smiled the Scotar, “‘See you in hell.’ This,” a hand gestured toward the heaped dead, “is only its outer circle.”

  Guan-Sharick was gone.

  “Someday I’ll kill that thing, Jaquel,” said Lawrona. “I swear.”

  “Yes,” said the commodore, nodding slowly, “I believe you may, Hanar. But I don’t think you’ll be very proud of it.”

  “Trust I missed a good fight?” said a cheery voice. It was Egg, floating out through the airlock.

  “You did,” said Detrelna. “Now get back in there and get us to the bridge.” He looked around. “Are we the only survivors, Satil?”

  “They got the rest—alive,” said the lieutenant. “They’re stripped meat by now.”

  She wanted to care—but had long ago convinced herself she couldn’t afford to. The mission, and the logic necessary to complete it, were all that could be allowed to matter. Ten years of war and scores of dead friends had taught Satil how precious a luxury grief was. It frightened her that even alone in her quarters the tears never came.

  “Meat,” said Detrelna. He thought of flashing surgical lasers, terror and unbearable agony and screams quickly stilled. And awakening to an eternity of living death.

  Silently the three followed Egg into the shuttle. The airlock closed. A moment later the shuttle rose above the corpses and was gone.

  After a while, fresh components came, salvaging what they could.

  Chapter 10

  Telan watched the Kronarin shuttle race down the corridor. “They’ll be here soon,” he said. “Do I have to destroy them,” he added acidly, “or can the Seven perform that minor task?” Telan didn’t feel emotion, but he knew its uses.

  “The Seven will destroy them, Forward Commander of the One,” said the dry voice.

  “Is the equipment ready?”

  The screen pickup changed to a wide scan of Alpha Prime’s hangar deck, now brilliantly lit, bustling with gray-uniformed components busily stacking white duraplast crates onto steel-ribbed shipping pallets. Two of the components had been Confederation commandos. “It will be loaded and dispatched to your ships off Dalin within the watch.”

  “Very well,” said the AI. “Our main force isn’t at Dalin yet.” He flicked off the screen. “But auxiliary vessels are now at rendezvous point, harvesting. I’ve relayed the installation instructions to Shlu and Dalin. With the equipment, we’ll be ready for conversion when the vanguard comes through the portal.”

  “Shit,” said John, looking up at the shimmering blue of the forcefield. It filled the great flaring archway from point to floor. The bridge lay just the other side of it, now an impossible distance away.

  “We seem to have the same problem,” said a voice in Kronarin.

  John whirled, reaching for his weapon. Two leveled blasters stopped him. “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

  “Give your weapon to the lady, Harrison,” said the man. “I’m Captain Kotran,” he said as the woman tucked Guan-Sharick’s pistol into her gun belt. “This is my first officer, Commander Atir.”

  “You’re the renegade butchers Detrelna tangled with off Terra.”

  “We prefer to think of ourselves as independent subcontractors,” said Kotran.

  “You murdered what? Five, six hundred people on that ship you stole? And you fought for the Scotar during the war, after which you continued to raid your own people. You’re vorg slime, as Detrelna would say.” The Terran shook his head. “They said you were audacious. Half their fleet must be looking for you.”

  The corsair laughed. “No more than a quarter of the fleet, surely. And they certainly won’t be searching this quadrant. As for the commodore, he’s a fine officer, but he seems to have forgotten the cutthroat nature of free enterprise.” Kotran held up a hand as John started to speak. “Time is precious, Harrison. I can’t extricate my force from this hell unless I help Detrelna rescue you and recover the commwand sent by Pocsym.”

  John gestured toward the forcefield. “The commwand’s on the bridge.”

  “What else is on the bridge?” asked Kotran, carefully inspecting the forcefield.

  “Telan.”

  Kotran hissed softly. “Not good. We know what he did on Implacable. Can anything stop him?”

  “Big nukes,” said the Terran.

  “What’s his relationship to the Ractolians?” said Atir.

  “One of command. He appears to have taken control of this slaver,” said John. “Some of the key equipment was evidently manufactured by the AIs, recovered by the Empire and installed by Ractol when she built this ship.”

  “Can’t be,” said Kotran, shaking his head. “Ractol and her biofabs were Late High Empire—twilight’s advent. The AIs predated her by thousands of years. All we have of that time are a few legends, like the first AI War and the Nameless Emperor. Telan must have been lying.”

  “Fine. You explain it. Better yet,” he jerked his head toward the bridge, “go debate it with Telan.”

  “We’d like to meet Telan, actually,” said the corsair. “Assuming he commands here, perhaps we can be of some assistance in return for our freedom—and the elimination of Implacable.”

  John wanted to bash the smirk from the corsair’s face—an impulse restrained by the large bore of Atir’s blaster holding steady on his belt buckle. “You’re despicable, Kotran,” said the Terran.

  “Loyalty’s not one of my few virtues. Unless you can get us past that shield, Harrison, you’re of no further use to our mission.”

  It must have been a cue Atir had taken many times. Her safety clicked off.
r />   John held out a hand. “I’ll need my weapon back,” he said.

  “Such a sense of humor,” said Kotran. Reaching out, he plucked the weapon from Atir’s belt. “If this will get us through the shield, I’ll use it. First, a small test.” He pointed the diminutive pistol at John.

  “Go ahead,” said the Terran. “It’ll kill you—I’d enjoy that.”

  John fell to his knees clutching his head at a sudden, searing pain.

  “Atir!” said Kotran sharply as she raised the blaster barrel to strike again. “Enough.”

  Lowering the pistol, she pulled John to his feet, a hand to his arm.

  “How will this kill me?” asked the corsair.

  “No idea,” said John, wincing as he touched the welt behind his right ear. “Pull the trigger and see.”

  Busy examining the weapon, Kotran seemed to only half hear the Terran. He was frowning at the heraldic device on the grips. “I believe you,” he said, looking up. He handed the weapon to John. Puzzled, the Terran took it.

  “You can put your blaster away, Atir,” said Kotran.

  She looked at him, startled. “But—”

  “Use it, Harrison,” said the corsair.

  With a strange sense of serenity, John turned, aimed and fired.

  No crash of blaster fire, no explosion of bullets. But the bottom half of the bridge shield was gone. Seemingly unaffected, the top portion hung there, shimmering.

  “Impossible,” said Atir, staring.

  “Possible,” said John.

  “Let’s go!” Kotran called. From around the corner, the rest of the corsairs came on the run, rifles at the ready.

  Kotran drew his side arm. “After you, Harrison.”

  John stepped under the shield as Kotran called “Forward!”

  Behind John, the shield restored itself with a faint hum.

  A few meters from John, Kotran fired, face twisting in anger.

  The shield devoured the blaster bolts, dissipating them in splotches of red.

  With a jaunty wave of his hand, middle finger upraised, John turned and set off briskly down the corridor.

  “What’s with the middle finger?” Kotran asked.

  Atir held up a thumb.

  “Oh.”

  Ragal stirred, opened his eyes and sat up very slowly, legs swinging over the edge of the medcot. “Where am I?” he said to the tall thin man attentively watching him.

  “Sick Bay,” said the other. “I’m Qinil, Senior Medtech. How do you feel, Colonel?” Qinil glanced at the lifescan set in the foot of the cot.

  “Like I took a missile salvo in the head,” said Ragal, rubbing his temples. “What happened?”

  “The Scotar found you before you found it,” said Kiroda, stepping forward.

  The colonel shook his head, then stopped, eyes closed in pain. “Occupational hazard,” he said, opening his eyes. “The last thing I remember, I was on the lifepod deck with the Terran woman…”

  “Tal?” said Kiroda sharply.

  “Tal,” said the colonel. “I had reason to believe… no, that’s not right. I sensed Scotar traces up among the lifepods. We were checking out the lifepods. Then I woke up here.”

  “Take this,” said Qinil, handing Ragal a cup of chalk-colored liquid. “It’ll help.”

  “We lost a lifepod about the time you were searching,” said Kiroda. “And Tal’s missing. Were you searching the same lifepod?”

  “No,” said Ragal, handing the empty cup to Qinil. “She was checking the even numbers, I was checking the odd. Anything from Detrelna?”

  “No. Are you aware, Colonel, that the ship’s computer is being subverted by a stasis algorithm?”

  Ragal frowned. “Supposedly there’s no such thing.”

  “You’ve heard of it, then?” said Kiroda.

  “Yes.”

  “And do you believe it?”

  Ragal smiled. “I’m a sensitive who hunts big green telepathic bugs, Commander. It requires an open mind. What is this stasis algorithm doing to ship’s computer?”

  “Making it try to kill us through wild alterations in life systems’ parameters.”

  Ragal looked around. The complink status light glowed green, the diagnostic panel flickered with activity. “Not here,” he said.

  “Not yet,” said Qinil. “Disappointing—we don’t seem to be a priority.”

  “It’s also after the command, control, and communications systems,” said Kiroda. “Neutralizing them for later takeover.”

  “It’s that damned slaver computer, isn’t it?” said the colonel. He stood, ignoring Qinil’s outstretched hand.

  “How did you know about Egg?” said Kiroda.

  “Egg?” said Ragal.

  “For its shape,” said Kiroda. “How did you know about it? You’d left the bridge by the time it arrived.”

  “There’s not much you can hide from a CIC officer,” said Ragal. “And if we ever get out of this…”

  “Unlikely,” said Qinil, turning off the medcot’s monitor.

  “If we get out of this,” continued Ragal, “whoever brought that machine on board and then activated it without authorization… I’ll tell you, Kiroda, I’d rather not be in his extra-large uniform.”

  “About the stasis algorithm—” began Kiroda.

  “Look, Commander,” said Ragal. “I’ve felt better, I’m tired and there’s nothing I can do about the stasis algorithm. Could we continue this after I get some rest?”

  “Just one small thing you could do first, sir,” said the commander.

  “What?”

  “Give me either the stasis algorithm or its antidote,” he said, as if asking for t’ata.

  Ragal he sat down on the bed. “What is it you that think you know, Commander?”

  Kiroda nodded to Qinil. The medtech handed two scan transparencies to Ragal.

  The colonel glanced at them, then gave them back. “Is this a game?”

  “No,” said Kiroda.

  “Very well,” said Ragal. “Those are identical lifestats. The one in your left hand has my name one it, the other has no name. Therefore, they are both my lifestats. That is,” he said to Qinil, “if my understanding’s correct—no two people have identical lifestats.”

  “Correct,” said Qinil. “No two people do.” He carefully removed a piece of tape and handed the previously unnamed chart back to Ragal. Expressionless, the colonel read the name: Telan, Sityr [Lieutenant Commander].

  “Odd, isn’t it?” said Kiroda.

  The Ractolians struck as John stepped through an archway. A cone of white light swept down—and stopped, hovering a meter above his head. Stasis field, he thought, then looked at the pistol in his hand.

  “Thank you, Guan-Sharick,” he said, moving on. The cone winked off.

  A few feet farther and blaster fire spat at him—a stream of red bolts from half a dozen overhead firing points. Again, something stopped them. John stepped onto the ramp leading to the command tier.

  Telan slipped the white commwand into a port on a command console and was accessing it when a faint dry voice interrupted him.

  “Excuse us.”

  “What?” said the AI, not looking up from his task.

  “The Terran has penetrated the bridge.”

  “Kill him.”

  “We’ve tried. He continues to advance.”

  “He’s here,” said John.

  Telan stood in front of John.

  The Terran shook his head, amazed. “Not even your lads on Terra Two moved that fast.”

  “On Terra Two, Harrison,” said the AI, “you fought and won against a pickup force of limited-purpose units under a second-rate commander.”

  “What do you want with this mindslaver?” demanded John. “Your ships are just at least as deadly.”

  “I’m going to kill you, ape,” said Telan. “And enjoy it.”

  “You can’t enjoy it,” said John, backing from the advancing AI. “You’re a machine.”

  “Oh, I’ll enjoy it—I
’m a very complex machine.”

  “Back off!” snapped John, raising his pistol.

  “Your weapons can’t…” Telan stopped, seeing the pistol for the first time.

  “Problem, robot?”

  “Those weapons no longer exist,” said the AI slowly, as if trying to convince himself. “All who bore them are dust. Dust,” he repeated, still unable to take his eyes from the pistol.

  “Back off!” repeated John. “Or I’ll kill you.”

  “That weapon does worse than kill,” said Telan, stepping back.

  “Love to see it. Move again and I will,” said the Terran. “Now, what do you want with this ship?”

  “You recall the entity unleashed on Terra Two? That sapient energy field spawned by those moronic Scotar?”

  “Vividly.” More like a flaming green hell, thought John.

  Raiding that Scotar nest, the Kronarins and John had torched the insectoids’ subterranean breeding chambers. The mix of fire and an unstable growth accelerant had awakened a unitary consciousness—a consciousness that had risen like a flaming green star from Terra Two, out into space, destroying the first ship of the AIs’ Fleet of the One as it emerged from an alternate reality. Passing into that reality, the green fire had destroyed the AIs’ access portal even as it disappeared from the universe of Terra Two.

  “That thing attacked our Fleet, Harrison,” said Telan. “It wreaked havoc before it was driven off. The radiation it emitted is slowly destroying vital parts of our ships’ drives. Those drives will be operable just long enough for most of the Fleet to traverse the Rift—the portal now opening into this universe.”

  “This is the portal closed by the Trel and warned of by Pocsym?”

  “Yes.”

  “What good’s a crippled fleet?”

  The AI shook his head. “By the time it leaves the rendezvous point, it won’t be crippled anymore, Harrison. With the knowledge and equipment gained here, and the ongoing work on a certain planet, our faulty cybernetics will have organic replacements—human brains.”

  “You’re converting your ships to mindslavers?” said the Terran, appalled.