A.I. Void Ship (The A.I. Series Book 6)

by Vaughn Heppner

  SF Books by Vaughn Heppner

  THE A.I. SERIES:

  A.I. Destroyer

  The A.I. Gene

  A.I. Assault

  A.I. Battle Station

  A.I. Battle Fleet

  A.I. Void Ship

  EXTINCTION WARS SERIES:

  Assault Troopers

  Planet Strike

  Star Viking

  Fortress Earth

  Target: Earth

  LOST STARSHIP SERIES:

  The Lost Starship

  The Lost Command

  The Lost Destroyer

  The Lost Colony

  The Lost Patrol

  The Lost Planet

  The Lost Earth

  The Lost Artifact

  The Lost Star Gate

  Visit VaughnHeppner.com for more information

  A.I. Void Ship

  (The A.I. Series 6)

  by Vaughn Heppner

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

  Copyright © 2019 by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  PART I

  THE EPSILON ERIDANI SITUATION

  From The Secret Journal: The Irrationality of Jon Hawkins, by Frank Benz

  Jon Hawkins spouts nonsense when he preaches about his so-called Irrationality Theory. I believe his word choice is an unconscious plea to the rest of us, secretly telling us that the grim burden of command has unhinged his former good sense.

  Ultimately, we cannot win this war, but Hawkins cannot accept that. He believes he is Alexander the Great reborn and will lead humanity to victory over the machines.

  That is false, demonstrably so. Given the AI Dominion preponderance of force, the machines will eventually crush our paltry fleets and salt the Earth with nuclear fire. Then, the AI cyberships will hunt our local region until they annihilate every human left.

  Given these sad truths, I must dare to depose Jon Hawkins just as I once deposed Premier J.P. Justinian of Earth. It is my solemn duty to save the human race. I can say this because I am the most far-seeing and intelligent human that has ever lived.

  I am sorry, Jon. I truly am. But I must take the great burden on my shoulders and carry the Human Race to safety. History will judge my actions positively, and they will condemn you as a megalomaniacal fool.

  I know that Providence has placed me at this location in time to take the great dare for posterity. Know, old friend, that I am doing this reluctantly, but in the end, my first allegiance is to saving our unique race of hominoids from extinction.

  I like to think that you would understand if you could see more clearly. When the time comes, I will make it a swift death, so you feel no pain. It is the least I can do for all that you have done for me.

  -1-

  Jon Hawkins was sitting in his captain’s chair on the bridge of the Nathan Graham when seven battle-suited marines burst through the main hatch.

  Each two-ton suit moved with exoskeleton power, its servos whining as the marines advanced on the leader of the fleet. Each marine carried a heavy assault rifle and pointed the murderous weapon at Hawkins.

  Jon was a lean, muscular man clad in a black uniform without insignia to denote his rank. He had short blond hair and hard blue eyes, and he stared at the approaching mutineers.

  He’d heard from the Old Man, his Intelligence Chief, that there were rumblings. But neither of them had suspected internal opposition was this far along.

  Jon had been a dome rat in New London on Titan, a moon of Saturn. That meant he’d run with a lower-level gang until his late teens. The dome city had many underground tiers to provide room for the expanding population. After leaving the gang, Jon had been an enforcer for a loan-shark king. That had been before the Black Anvil Mercenary Regiment had purchased him off death row a week before his scheduled execution.

  The point was that Jon knew all too much about power plays and someone deciding it was time to take down the chief in order to take his place.

  There were no armed guards on the bridge to resist the seven armored marines. Neither had any alerts blared. The rest of the bridge crew was frozen in shock, including Gloria, Jon’s wife.

  The commander knew that showing fear was a guarantee of losing. His gut churned, and his limbs had already started shaking because of the immediate threat of death. He tightened his muscles to stop that as he slid off the chair and stood before the approaching battle suits.

  That was when Gloria screamed at her station, jumped up and began running toward him. It was a spacious bridge, with a lot of room to cross.

  Jon flexed his gun hand, badly wanting to draw the blaster holstered at his hip. The weapon would be useless against the battle suits unless they allowed him time to burn through their armor.

  Two of the marines aimed their assault rifles at Gloria. She was a diminutive, dark-haired Martian, a mentalist by trade, and she was gorgeous as well as brilliant.

  Although Jon’s mouth had gone dry, he asked in a voice dripping with contempt, “Are you murdering women now?”

  “No,” one of the space marines said with an altered voice. He spoke through a distorter, the sound coming from his helmet speaker. “We have come to judge you, Jon Hawkins.”

  “So judge,” Jon said.

  The two assault rifles swiveled back to center on his chest just as the other five did.

  Jon half turned and tried to wave Gloria back. But his wife wasn’t having any of that, reaching and clinging to him, trying to put herself between the guns and him. Jon did not allow it, using his left arm to hold her at his side. As soon as the rifles opened up, he would fling her aside, trying to save her life.

  With his wife secured at his side, Jon focused on the battle-suited marine who had spoken.

  “You must realize that this is blackest mutiny,” Jon said.

  “I reject your concept,” the altered voice said. “This is about human survival.”

  Jon raised his free hand, indicating the main screen behind the mutineers. “Look,” he said, pointing at the heavy, floating debris outside in space. “Together, we destroyed three AI cyberships and captured the battle station. And we’ve added yet another factory planet to our growing Confederation.”

  “Incorrect,” the same marine said. “A Cog Primus fleet is accelerating toward us, desiring vengeance for your treachery. You have won nothing. You have made a ghastly strategic error instead.”

  The human fleet—composed of eight cybership-class vessels, which included the Nathan Graham—was deep in the Epsilon Eridani System. Said system was a mere 10.5 light-years from Earth. Epsilon Eridani—the star—was smaller and less massive than the Sun, Spectral Class K2 and thus having an orange hue.

  “Don’t worry about the fleet,” Jon said. “I know how to deal with Cog Primus.”

  That wasn’t completely true. His plan was a calculated risk that might work. In reality, he needed it to work. Humanity needed it. If he failed here…the Confederation he’d built might well face quick annihilation from the AI Dominion. That would take but a few years to happen.

  Unfortunately, the overwhelming strength of the robot opposition, the gargantuan size of the AI Dominion, had finally begun to weaken fleet morale. During the first few years and with the initial victories, anything had seemed possible. Now, the endless grind of war with no end in sight for
centuries—perhaps that was the reason for this mutiny.

  “You know how to deal with Cog Primus?” the space marine said. The distorter couldn’t hide the man’s contempt. “You’ve been lucky these past few years, nothing more. I understand that you really believe in your irrationality theory. But that theory is leading all of us to extinction.”

  Gloria looked up sharply as the marine spoke. Her dark eyes were aglow with calculation, as she no doubt made mentalist computations.

  “Premier Benz,” Gloria whispered.

  Jon looked down into his wife’s face. “That’s Frank?” he asked quietly.

  Gloria nodded miserably in affirmation.

  Jon looked up at the middle battle suit with its mirrored visor. “Frank, is that really you?”

  The marine did not respond.

  Frank Benz had once been the premier of the Solar League, running Social Dynamism from Earth. Frank had gone through some kind of brain modification there, giving him heightened intelligence. After being chased out of the Solar League, he’d used that heightening—along with others—to create the wonderful anti-AI virus that had helped defeat enemy cyberships, giving humanity its shot at continued existence.

  “Why mutiny now, Frank?” Jon asked, genuinely surprised that Benz was leading the marines. “I’ve—we’ve just captured another factory planet. The Confederation is growing. We’re getting stronger.”

  The mirrored visor of the middle marine slid down with a whirr of sound, revealing the features of Frank Benz. Over these past few years, his face had bloated from its former sharpness. He’d gained weight, never fully recovering from the death of Vela Shaw. Now, it seemed as if a feverish light shined in Frank’s eyes.

  “You don’t understand that that’s the problem,” Frank said in a rough voice. “Your winning is leading us on the wrong path.”

  “That’s crazy talk,” Jon blurted.

  The words seemed to stir the feverishness, which made Frank’s eyes shine more intently. “Crazy?” the ex-premier asked. “That’s crazy talk? Are you a student of history?”

  Jon nodded. Frank knew he was.

  “Have you ever heard of the story of Hannibal Barca?” Frank asked.

  “The Carthaginian commander who led elephants over the Alps,” Jon said. “Of course. Hannibal is one of my heroes. He fought the Romans and almost defeated them.”

  “Exactly,” Frank said, as spittle flew from his lips. “Hannibal challenged Rome, and he defeated their dreaded legions in three spectacular battles. He made the Romans fear him, but there was no real chance that Hannibal could destroy Rome or its Republic. In the end, the Romans defeated Hannibal and later destroyed the city of Carthage, plowing salt into the ground, and placing a curse on anyone who tried to rebuild the city.”

  Frank glanced at his fellow mutineers before regarding Jon again. “That’s what you’re doing with your victories. You’re going to make the AIs fear us, and in time, they’ll root us out and annihilate us, everyone.”

  Jon snorted. “That’s what the AIs do to everyone they meet anyway. We have to fight, and win, if we hope to live.”

  “No!” Benz shouted, his battle-suit servos whining as he took two clanking steps nearer. “That’s your terrible error. You’ve won impressive battles. There’s no doubt about that. We should have lost some of those fights, but your luck and your nefarious irrationality theory are taking humanity on the wrong path.”

  “What’s your counterplan?” Jon asked.

  “Run,” Frank said promptly. “Humanity must pack up in spaceships and run far away from the AI Dominion. The robots are too powerful for us. We have to flee while we can.”

  “And when the AIs find our descendants?” asked Jon.

  “Our descendants will have to run, too,” Frank said. “Humanity cannot possibly defeat an entire galaxy of AIs.”

  “True,” Jon said. “That’s why I destroyed the three Cog Primus cyberships out there and captured his battle station and factory planet.”

  Frank’s stare intensified yet again as he spoke in a harsh voice. “Your victories have unhinged you, Hawkins. You actually believe that you’re one of the great captains of history—that your name will go down with Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and Hannibal Barca.”

  “Jon is like them,” Gloria said defiantly from his side.

  “No, Mentalist,” Frank said. “Your love for Hawkins has blinded you to reality.”

  “I’m winning,” Jon said. “If and when I lose to the AIs, then humanity can run away and hide in fear, dreading a future encounter with the enemy.”

  “By then it could be too late,” Frank said. “No, Jon. I have to do this.” He raised the heavy assault rifle. “I’m sorry. You’ve been good to me, I know.”

  “He saved your life!” Gloria shouted.

  Frank’s gaze shifted toward her.

  That was when Jon decided he might as well go for it. Once Frank killed him, the man would have to murder the rest of the bridge crew, Gloria included. Luckily, despite Frank’s heightened intelligence, he’d made a tactical error. Frank should never have lowered his visor, exposing his face.

  Jon Hawkins fast-drew the blaster. He didn’t take time to carefully target the ex-premier’s face. Jon lacked time for that. He risked everything on a single, from the hip, shot, the blaster emitting a pulse of energy.

  At the same time, Jon shoved Gloria, sending her stumbling away from him. Maybe the correct move was to dive out of the way himself. But he could not show any sign of weakness if he hoped to sway the others. This was like many of the challenges for leadership in the gangs that he’d known in his youth.

  The pulse-blast hit Frank Benz squarely in the face. It burned through skin and bones, killing the genius in an instant.

  Frank jerked and his two-ton battle suit staggered backward, finally falling onto its armored back with a crash.

  The six other battle-suited marines had lowered their weapons some while Frank and Jon had spoken. Now, those heavy assault rifles lifted up again, centering on Jon’s chest.

  “Put down your weapons,” Jon said sternly. In a softer voice, he added, “I know Benz could be persuasive. He possessed a golden tongue, after all, and because of his brilliance, he could make anything seem like the correct action.”

  The marines could have fired on him, but they’d been hesitating before this while Frank had talked. That had been a psychological error.

  In any mutiny or coup, one of the chief rules was to act, not talk. The key was to kill the chief ruthlessly and quickly. Killing your leader or the authority above you took something extra. Often, it took a charismatic or bold person leading you to do such a deed. Frank had led them. Now, Frank Benz was dead, and they still waited to act.

  Through his helmet-speaker, one of the marines said, “If we surrender, you’ll kill us for mutiny.”

  “You’re wrong,” Jon said. “I can’t afford to lose men of conviction such as yourselves. I realize Frank caused you to believe his way was right. But it wasn’t right. It was dead wrong. Look. The loss of Vela Shaw deranged him. Now, Frank is gone. I want you to help me defeat the AIs. Help me save humanity.”

  “If we surrender, you won’t kill us?” asked the same marine as before.

  “I will not,” Jon said.

  “You won’t demote us, either?”

  Jon cocked his head to show the marines he was thinking about the question. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll give each of you a chance to redeem yourselves. You’ll join an assault team. I’ve led some myself before. If you survive a two-year stint, I’ll erase the mutiny from your records.”

  “You swear to this?” the marine asked.

  Jon holstered his blaster and approached the towering battle suit. Heroic action often swayed warriors. At this juncture, Jon could not afford the safe move and hope to win. He held out his hand as he approached the marine that could easy squash him.

  “I’ll give you my hand on it,” Jon said.

&
nbsp; “We have to shoot him,” a different marine said. “We all agreed there was no turning back.”

  Jon turned to the new marine as he put his hands on his hips. “Who takes over if I die? You?”

  The new marine shook his helmeted head. “I’m not looking for leadership.”

  Jon waited for two heartbeats, letting the silence stretch. Finally, he said, “Benz tricked you. And you know what else? That’s why he died. Do you think God would let an evil man run the fleet?”

  “I don’t believe in God,” the second marine said.

  “Not everyone does,” Jon said smoothly. “Do you believe in karma?”

  The second marine seemed to think about it before nodding his battle-suit helmet.

  “I once saved the premier’s life,” Jon said. “In return, he was going to murder my wife and me. Can a man with bad karma lead humanity to safety?”

  “I don’t know,” the second marine said.

  “I do,” Jon said with forced confidence. “He can’t. Thus, he died. What goes around comes around. What do you say, marine? I’m offering you mercy. Even though you meant to murder me, I’m willing to forgive you.”

  “You’re only saying that so you can live,” the second marine said.

  Jon forced a cocky grin. “I’m giving you something for something. You know that I’m a man of my word. You can trust me when I promise something.”

  “No,” the second marine said. “You just lied to Cog Primus.”

  “Tell me something,” Jon said. “Is a talking machine alive?”

  The second marine took his time answering—

  At that point, more marines in battle armor clanked onto the bridge, filing through the busted hatch. They aimed their heavy weapons at the six mutineers.

  “You tricked us,” the second marine accused Jon.

  “No,” Jon said. “I just gave you a demonstration of my superior tactics. There’s a reason why I’ve repeatedly beaten the machines. But know this. I’ll still give you mercy. However, if you shoot me, you’ll die. Are you ready to die for nothing?”