Braintrust- Requiem

by Marc Stiegler

  Gleb chuckled. “You know me so well.”

  Dash looked into the screen as if she could see them. “Well. Abram, I’m sorry to say there are blocks of C4 in every corner of the room where you’re standing. And of course, Yuri and Vasily are standing in the doorway, ready to machine-gun your men.”

  A look of extreme distaste flowed across her features. “Now, if I were running things, you could safely call my bluff. I am a pacifist by nature.” She shook her head. “But I am not in charge. I think you know Yuri and Vasily are more than capable of, ah…” She turned. “Pak Colin, what’s the phrase I want?”

  The tall man did not take his eyes off his work. “Blow them away. Yuri and Vasily will blow them away.” He turned and gave them an eagle-eyed stare with no hesitation, guilt, or uncertainty. “And if they don’t manage to kill you all, I’ll blow the charges, and that will be that.”

  Dash nodded. “As you can hopefully see, it would be foolhardy to test Colin’s resolve. I’m quite certain he is not bluffing.”

  The leader of Team One had led his men across the gangway from the GS Prime onto the GSDC. He had been briefed about an American Seal team that had been defeated in detail here in this odd ship that was mostly empty of people, stuffed to the gunwales with compute servers.

  The leader knew what he would do if confronted as the Seals had been. He was almost eager.

  But no one tried to impede his progress in any way.

  On he ran with his men, across the gangway to the GPlex III. There he found an obstacle.

  The BrainTrusters had sealed the hatch from the gangway’s landing into the interior of the ship. No problem; he let his sapper go to work.

  The explosive charges rent a large hole in the hatch, all right, but the way was still blocked by something semi-transparent and cracked that sparkled when he shone a light on it.

  One of his men reached out and touched it. “Ice,” he said with surprise.

  The leader shook his head and ordered the sapper to try again.

  Another charge went off. An enormous hole appeared in the ice, as deep as it was wide.

  But at the far end of the hole, there was more solid ice.

  The team leader could see where this was going. For the first time, he looked at his surroundings.

  The plexiglass tunnel that covered the gangway was also encased in ice, translucent enough he hadn’t paid any attention until now.

  Time to back up and try something else. He turned his team around in time to see a swarm of general-purpose bots run through the hatch from the GSDC and confront him on the gangway. All the bots had the insignia of the Red Cross emblazoned on their chests.

  The lead bot strolled up to him and a little girl’s voice issued forth. “Hi. My name is Shura. You’re trespassing, but it’s okay; I’m not here to arrest anybody.”

  The team leader growled. “Out of my way.”

  Shura giggled. “It wouldn’t do you any good. They’re laying more ice behind the door we came through as we speak.”

  While the team leader pondered that, Shura’s voice turned chatty. “You should ask how the men you left behind are. Most of your troops are doing okay. My bots have taken them to the med bays on the GS Prime and the Wells Morgan.”

  The team leader hardly knew what to say. “Thank you.” It seemed appropriate.

  Shura’s voice turned dark. “Most of the people you tried to kill are also doing okay, more or less, though one of my friends lost both his legs.”

  The team leader clutched his rifle and started to raise it very slowly.

  “I’m thinking about killing all of you.” The bots all raised their hands, now clenched into fists. “It would be easy.”

  The team leader held very still, very ready to start shooting. He was confident he could wipe out these unarmed bots, but the girl seemed confident as well.

  Then the bot with the little girl’s voice turned its head as if distracted. A woman’s voice could be heard in the background. Make that two women.

  Shura’s voice returned. “I know, I know.” She blew a raspberry and returned her focus to the lieutenant. “Merrilee and Lenora are reminding me that I’m not allowed. Something about the Skynet Terminator.” She blew another raspberry. “Really, the religious mythology here on the BrainTrust is peculiar. Don’t you think so?”

  The team leader blinked at the question, which fortunately turned out to be rhetorical.

  Shura’s bot spread its arms and opened its hands in greeting. The head swiveled as she scanned the troops. “Anybody here wounded or injured?”

  Ciara trotted down the ramp to the Blue Lagoon deck. Renderings of palm trees flanked her on both sides. So peaceful. Such a delusion.

  She was cursing herself for dawdling in her cabin. Now she was late for the party, or the war, as the case may be. Onward to the CWCC classroom.

  The lagoon appeared on the right side as she went through the small promenade. As she gazed at it, wholly distracted with other thoughts, inspiration struck.

  The CWCC was only a little way away, but this couldn’t wait. She called her mother, got her voicemail, and talked excitedly. “Mom, I’ve got it! I know why the Baotong kids are so smart! And it’s easy, we can do it for everyone! All we have to do is—”

  A voice shouted in a Russian accent, followed by a three-round burst of gunfire that blasted a storefront near her. It was clearly intended as a warning shot.

  She ran for her life, thinking fast.

  Lieutenant Goncharov had given up dropping smoke bombs at every damn intersection in hopes of keeping the BrainTrust confused.

  All the time they’d spent running through the lush jungle settings on the Wenara Wana deck had been wasted. His wristwatch had not beeped or glimmered once.

  So they’d followed the plan and started making hasty sweeps of every deck up toward Appalachian Spring, where they’d hook up with Team Five.

  Now they were rushing through a deck he recognized as the Blue Lagoon from the briefings. He had started rolling his eyes at the idyllic tropical paradise when he saw a woman with sea-green hair on the promenade where he was heading. She was talking excitedly on her cell phone. In the middle of a war zone! “Halt!” He let off a burst to get her attention.

  The woman stared at him with startling sea-green eyes, then darted down a side passage. He heard her yell, “The Russians are here! Tell Dash to run!”

  Ciara figured yelling Dash’s name like that might persuade her pursuers that she was worth more to them alive than dead. She, like everyone else, knew they were here for the doctor.

  But she didn’t know how vigorously they were inspecting all the compartments on the ship on the way through. It seemed like they couldn’t inspect them all, but it seemed like they would have to, to perform a serious search.

  She couldn’t risk having them run into the CWCC and surprising her mom and the kids, so she fled toward the cyberwar center as she formulated more of a plan than just running. She hoped she could outrun the elite military forces of the Russian Union but suspected she was overestimating her chances.

  Goncharov watched her run like a bunny and swore. “Don’t shoot!” he ordered his men. “We need her alive.”

  The lieutenant did his best to accelerate, but he knew his best hope lay in her physical condition. If she got winded easily, he could catch her.

  But if she were a freaking marathon runner, he was screwed. His men were all in supreme condition, of course, but they were also carrying immense packs crammed with munitions. Normally he swore at the idiots who loaded them up like that for an assault, but he had to admit this time, the gear they were carrying was critical to getting through this ship.

  So he continued to pursue at an impressive high-speed waddle.

  Ciara looked back and saw the Spetsnaz were falling behind. Huh. Not so tough after all, and irritating since she now had a plan. She slowed down so they could keep up.

  She came to the CWCC, flung the door open, and stuck her head in to give so
me crisp instructions before pulling back and shouting additional words for the enemy’s entertainment.

  The lieutenant couldn’t catch what the witch with the sea-green hair said with her head stuck in the doorway, but he heard her last shouted commands. “I’ll go warn Dash! Lock this door!”

  She slammed the door shut, and with a final glance that let her eyes meet his, she was running once again.

  Goncharov noted with some amusement that she didn’t sound like she’d run out of breath, yet she had slowed down. He found himself wondering if she had slowed down for his benefit.

  He had the sour thought that it would be just like a BrainTruster to lead him into multiple traps at the same time—one behind the door, and one down the hall.

  When he came to the hatch she had ordered locked behind her, he stopped to reflect.

  Even if there were multiple traps here, he had little choice but to follow up. He had to find Dash, and the witch was his only lead. Unless Dash was behind this door? He looked at his watch, but no telltale hint of her presence appeared on its face.

  Still, perhaps there was someone behind this door who would know where Dash was. It was worth asking.

  “Split up,” he ordered. He sent his sergeant with most of his men after the witch, while he and a few others lingered at the door. An obscure sign announced this was the CWCC, whatever that was.

  As one man set explosives on the door, the lieutenant yielded to a perverse curiosity and just tried to crack the hatch open. Huh. Whoever was supposed to lock it had not followed orders.

  After making sure his men were ready, he threw the door open and tossed in a flashbang.

  High-pitched screams of pain and horror greeted him, mostly the squeals of children.

  He stepped inside to find himself confronted by a room full of teenagers and a pair of older women, all blinking back tears.

  By the time his men had spread out, the people had recovered. A somewhat dowdy woman with thick glasses glared at him, while another woman, straight and proud, pierced his soul with her stare.

  He was very glad she did not have a machine gun in her hands.

  She put her hands on her hips and demanded in the tone he generally associated with generals, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Lieutenant Goncharov gaped at her for a moment before counterattacking. “What do you think you are doing? All these children! Don’t you know this is a war zone?”

  The woman dismissed that with a flick of her hand. “Merrilee and I are teaching a class. What does it look like?”

  The lieutenant looked around the room. Most of the older children were standing next to younger children seated before computer screens, clearly tutoring them. “How could you possibly think teaching a class at a time like this was a good idea?”

  The woman seemed to grow taller and more commanding. He found himself wondering if she would transform into a dragon. If so, she wouldn’t need a machine gun to take him and his men out. “You and the others may engage in these childish wars of little import, but the education of children is a sacred duty. I shall not allow your shenanigans to impede their progress.”

  Well, that took care of that. Before departing, he asked one last question. “Do you know where Dr. Dash is? Only she can stop this bloodshed.”

  She threw up her hands in disgust. “Do I look like a busybody, constantly tracking people’s movements? Try her cabin for heaven’s sake.”

  If Dash were in her cabin, Team Five would have found her. His best lead, then, was the green-haired woman his men were already chasing.

  He muttered a last word of caution to the dragon lady. “When we leave, lock this door!”

  As they departed, Goncharov assigned one man to stand outside the classroom to prevent anyone else from blasting their way in and accidentally killing the kids. Unbelievable.

  Ciara rounded a corner and paused, now gasping for breath. Okay, the Russians might be slow, but they were relentless. She wasn’t in bad shape, but she wasn’t a marathon runner either.

  She started off slowly as a bot came around a corner, walking with a slow but long stride that ate distance faster than it appeared.

  Shura’s voice came from the bot. “This way.”

  Ciara relaxed. “Let’s go.”

  As Ciara trotted, the Russians closed enough to shout orders. “Halt, or we’ll fire!” Another spray of bullets ricocheted off the ceiling. Ciara winced as a couple of strays almost found her.

  Around one more corner, she found a corridor awash with red battlesuits. Ciara almost cried with relief.

  Rubinelle shouted, “Get behind me!”

  Her words were drowned out by machine-gun fire as the Spetsnaz opened up on the Amazons. Ciara crashed to the deck. The Amazons returned fire.

  The battle was as short as it was furious. No one had time to flood the passage with smoke to negate the value of the BounceBoss rifles, but that made no difference because no Amazon carried a BounceBoss. They carried their own weapons, mainly the SIG Sauer MCX Spear. First developed for America’s Next Generation Squad Weapon program, the Spear was lighter and had less recoil than the old M16s, yet it was more accurate downrange and had more stopping power. All these features played into the Amazonian strengths and offset their weaknesses on a larger battleground.

  Of course, this was an in-your-face firefight. Despite the body armor worn by both sides, a direct hit at this range went through everything, killing anybody.

  But ricochets and grenade fragments were another matter. In the end, the only difference between the two forces that made a difference was the extent of the Amazon armor. While the Russians wore vests, the battlesuits included arms and legs made of ballistic plastic, so the Amazons took less damage from the bouncers and the grenades.

  In the end, only Amazons remained standing in the passage rendered with palm trees, now splattered in blood.

  As the red-clothed troops went to inspect the wounded and the dead, Rubinelle rose from her place, where she had thrown her body across Ciara’s to protect her from the storm.

  But Rubinelle had arrived too late. One of the Spetsnaz had fired in panic at the beginning of the confrontation and riddled the chest of the woman he was supposed to capture with bullet holes.

  Rubinelle looked down at her friend mournfully.

  Rubinelle’s number one lieutenant looked back from where she stood over a wounded Russian and demanded, “Is she dead?”

  Rubinelle nodded.

  “Doubly deserved, then,” she roared as she raised her chura to deliver a coup de grace.

  The chura, a wicked knife with a curved blade, had been adopted by all the Amazons as their signature edged weapon since they had learned Ping carried one. The original Blade of the Empress was now lost, buried in a complex of caverns southeast of Timbuktu, but the bloody legend of the chura lived on.

  The lieutenant tensed to deliver the killing blow while Rubinelle wondered what Ping would do. Struck with horror as she thought about her country’s leader’s excessive mercy, Rubinelle spoke with harsh command. “Stop.”

  The lieutenant looked at her in astonishment.

  “We’ll let the bots take them all to medical.” She looked down at Ciara. “At the same time they take the bodies.”

  The lieutenant sheathed her weapon, but her expression telegraphed disapproval and concern. Had her commander turned into a wimp?

  Rubinelle shared the woman’s concern. Had she turned into a wimp? Or had she been imbued with the Spirit of the Empress?

  At long last, Lieutenant Lebedinsky ran up the last ramp and onto the CIC deck. He knew it was the right deck because he recognized the deck theme: Null-A Venus.

  Derived from a science fiction story almost a century old, the walls of the passages were covered in renditions of immense trees, wider and thicker than most human palaces, rising to dizzying heights. Huge leaves in the renderings captured water from the leaves above and poured it onto the leaves below, although the liquid never quite reached t
he ground.

  In the story, the people had lived in the hollowed-out trunks of those monstrous trees in quiet comfort. All of the men and women there were dedicated to an extreme discipline of methodical reasoning and had lived in harmony.

  Until they had been invaded by an army with more soldiers than the planet had people.

  The lieutenant’s lungs felt raw from the constant inhalation of DDT. He paused to let his men catch a clean breath and prep for the final assault, now that they had finally gotten to their destination.

  It had been a long, hard slog.

  While Teams Four and Five, scouring the decks with Dr. Dash’s cabin and office, had run into little resistance before mysteriously going off the air, the BrainTrust had thrown obstacle after obstacle in Lebedinsky’s way. It seemed clear they understood the importance of his mission as well as he did.

  At first, the BrainTrusters tried blocking his way, leaving him to blow up sealed barriers as fast as he could run. But then the peacekeepers showed up, carrying BT12-PGM Autolaunchers, along with rifles that could direct ricochets. A combination of smoke bombs and salvos from the grenade launchers took care of them, although he lost over half his men in that series of pitched battles, struggling to take one corridor at a time.

  Next, he found himself confronted by bots with firehoses building walls of ice. The bots had not quite completed the first such wall when he arrived. A couple of grenades popped over the top took out the bots, and his men were able to fling their smallest comrade through the remaining opening to blast the ice from the other side, while Lebedinsky’s best sapper set the charges on his side.

  They eventually came to a wall that had been completed: solid, virtually impenetrable ice. Lebedinsky despaired for a moment.

  But the ship had dozens of passages—a maze of alternatives—and the BrainTrust had not been able to block them all. He and his men had detoured again and again, blowing up bots everywhere he found them, and blowing up hatches and ice at every encounter.