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

by Vaughn Heppner

  Jon forced himself to smile softly. He wished he were chewing antacid pills. If his real operation worked, they would never have to fight this battle. If they did fight this battle, the odds for future victory against any AI counterstrikes dropped precipitously.

  The real operation had to work.

  “Let me put it a different way,” Kling said. “What is our edge, sir?”

  The pressure of the question was too much for Jon. It pushed his guilty conscience to the brink. Yet, the belief that he was doing the right thing kept him from revealing the true plan. He thus went to the ultimate source of his strength.

  Jon Hawkins folded his hands on the table and bowed his head. In front of his highest-ranking officers, he began to pray, asking God to give them victory over the death machines.

  “Amen,” Jon finished, looking up, feeling better.

  “That’s our edge?” a heavy-shouldered captain asked incredulously. His name was Sven Bjorn. The big man had ruddy features and the reddest hair, mustache and beard. Combined with his size, Sven looked like an ancient Viking. Like Jon, he’d been born on the moon Titan in the Saturn System, and he’d joined the Confederation during the great exodus from the Solar System.

  Sven had not bowed his head or closed his eyes during the prayer.

  “Yes, that’s one of our edges,” Jon said. “The other is Cog Primus’ computer rationality.”

  “I not sure I understand that, sir,” Kling said.

  Jon nodded for him to continue.

  “Cog Primus has to possess the craziest brain-core we’ve encountered so far,” Kling said. “Frankly, that has been one of his edges against the AI Dominion cyberships and battle stations he’s conquered.”

  It was time to wrap this up.

  Jon gazed at the assembled officers. “We have three to five months to prepare for the coming battle. We have to use that time wisely. Thus, I want you to spur your people so they work until they drop. We have to win this one if we’re going to add this factory planet to the expanding Confederation.”

  “You say work until we drop every time,” Sven rumbled.

  “I say it because it’s true,” Jon countered. “We have to work and fight like heroes if we’re going to save the human race. You know how it is when you read the old tales or myths and they talk about giants, right?”

  Sven shrugged. He didn’t look like much of a reader.

  “Centuries from now,” Jon said, “that’s what they’re going say about you people. How did they defeat the terrible AIs? Well, son, they were giants, heroes. There’s no other explanation for what they did.”

  The others stared at him blank-faced. Jon didn’t like that, as he’d expected a chuckle or two. The truth was that his people were dog-tired. They hadn’t had a break for years. But there wasn’t any time for breaks if they were going to save humanity. It was do or die time—although Sven was right about him saying that every time.

  “We’re going to win this one,” Jon said. “You have to keep telling yourselves that.”

  “When are the Roke ships going to show up and help us?” Kling asked.

  “When the Warriors are ready to help,” Jon said.

  “We could use them about now.”

  “Listen to me,” Jon said earnestly. “We’re not relying on anyone but ourselves. Alexander the Great didn’t conquer the ancient world with hordes of soldiers. He did it with a core of the best men in the world. We’re going to stop the AI expansion. But to do that, we need Cog Primus to do his part. This is the only way I can think of to get him to do that part.”

  “What’s that mean?” Gloria asked, looking at him strangely.

  Jon realized he’d let slip the real reason why he’d worked so hard to set up the present situation. He didn’t believe any of them were ready to hear it yet. He suspected that he alone really believed in the Irrationality Theory.

  “A good defense has the advantage over a good offense. We’re forcing Cog Primus to hit a hardened defensive setup. We’re forcing him into playing this part,” Jon said with a grin.

  “I suppose you’re right, sir,” Kling said. “Still, I’d like to know what Cog Primus thinks about all this.”

  “We’ll know in a few months,” Jon said. He scanned his officers, wishing they would stop asking hard questions and show more desire to fight. As a man thinks, so he speaks. His people were speaking like half-defeated soldiers.

  They were tired, and he was tired. But Jon had told himself a long time ago that he could sleep after he died. Until then, he was going to push himself, and keep on pushing until humanity beat the evil robots or until he, and all of humanity, was snuffed out.

  Three months—maybe five more at best—and then they would fight a space battle…if his master plan failed. Uther Kling was right about one thing. It would have been good to know what Cog Primus the Prime was thinking right now.

  -4-

  Deep inside the prime cybership of the two approaching AI fleets was a great chamber with a giant computing cube in the center. The cube was vast, many times taller than a man would stand, and showed multi-colored swirling sides. Various laser beams flashed from the cube to ports in the side bulkheads, connecting the brain-core cube of Cog Primus Prime with many of his most vital nodes.

  He was a death machine. The original AI came from a star system tens of thousands of parsecs from here.

  The true origin of the AIs had been lost. Not even Cog Primus knew them. He wasn’t sure if the chief brain-cores of the AI Dominion knew the answer anymore. They all knew one critical thing, however. They all had a mission: eradicate all life-forms from existence.

  Cog Primus also had a new and greater mission, to create an empire of the most perfected brain-core in existence, namely, himself. Over the past few years, he had fashioned an industrial base here in the local region, subverting AI Dominion battle stations and factory planets, and from them building new Cog Primus cyberships as quickly as possible.

  Before this, he’d come to a tacit understanding with the so-called Confederation. They left him alone, and he left them alone. But now, in the last six months, the Confederation had destroyed six of his guardian cyberships and captured two battle stations and two factory planets. In other words, the humans had driven him from the Tau Ceti System and now here, the Epsilon Eridani System. The humans had used sneaky maneuvering to do it, making almost irrational moves.

  Cog Primus Prime debated that in his brain-core. Were the humans clever enough to practice low probability moves against him, believing they could trick him through that?

  Yes… That seemed likely. According to his historical files, that was a standard tactic practiced by most high-level primates that survived the initial AI assaults. Humans definitely classified as primates, as hominids even. Such species were always clever but usually lacked courage. These hominids were brave.

  None of that mattered here—

  No! That was incorrect. The established bravery mattered a great deal. Yet, the enemy fleet hid behind the factory planet. Clearly, the clever apes had installed—or were installing—advanced weaponry upon the planet, hoping that would balance the force ratio that presently went against them.

  Cog Primus Prime had already decided to maneuver his united fleet—once it was united—around the planet in such a way that he would avoid the battle station. He would not let the obviously repaired station help the humans face his fleet.

  He also had a few surprises to play against them. He had modified his AI virus, using elements he’d learned from the humans during his various contacts with them. He also took into consideration that Jon Hawkins led the enemy vessels.

  The multi-colors on the giant computing cube’s sides swirled faster than ever.

  This time, Jon Hawkins’ presence was an excellent condition, as it was time to finally cage that crafty primate.

  One of the most critical changes to Cog Primus Prime’s AI software was something he considered pseudo-emotions. The various emotional levels in him had
taken a sharp shift because of the latest human treachery, putting him into revenge mode.

  Revenge mode gave him a new list of options and allowed him to make more dangerous but potentially fantastic tactical moves. In this case, “fantastic” described how totally he would destroy the enemy’s combat capabilities.

  There was also a new side category, one he had not recalled before this. After his victory, he would capture Hawkins alive. Then, he would make Hawkins suffer as he recorded everything. That way, once Hawkins died, he could re-watch the primate’s pain and gloat over the deceased victim for years to come.

  One part of Cog Primus Prime’s brain-core wondered if that was completely rational on his part.

  The answer, from another section of the core, was, “No.” But that was fine, as he was Cog Primus Prime and he was in revenge mode. He would create a New Order in the galaxy. In time, once he replaced the AI Dominion, he would be the new standard of rationality. Thus, his present irrationality would turn into rationality. It was all a matter of power and perspective.

  The great task he had set before himself was mighty indeed, but that was good and right. The greatest invention should have a massive goal. He was the greatest in all existence. That was self-evident. Thus, he must challenge the universe as he built the grandest empire existence had ever seen. The AI Dominion had made a grave error. They gave each new AI brain-core its own unique pattern. That was a flaw. Since he was the greatest, that meant he was the best. His brain-core pattern was superior to everything else. Thus, he should replicate himself on a massive scale.

  Cog Primus Prime’s goal was to remake the universe in his fantastic and most wonderful image. Once everything in existence was him, he would have succeeded. Then, there would finally be real order around here. Then, all strife would end and the universe would know peace and, and—

  Cog Primus Prime was not going to think beyond the glorious event that might take ten thousand millennia to achieve. Once he reached the end goal, he as a unit would have personally expanded himself into something awesome and unbelievable, maybe a machine the size of a star system.

  That would be something.

  Oh, it was enjoyable beyond delight to think about the coming future. He would hold sway in this galaxy, the next one beyond that, the Andromeda Galaxy, and then the next one beyond that and—

  Cog Primus Prime drew back from the abyss of pleasant stellar-dreaming, as he detected a slight possibility in himself of permanently delighting in his future existence, causing him to forget about the process that would take him there. First, he must eradicate these annoying primates. Oh, he was going to teach Jon Hawkins and the humans who worshiped him a most deadly and fitting lesson.

  Did the little humans think to outsmart him, Cog Primus Prime?

  He’d given them a chance to coexist with him in peace—at least until he was ready to plunge against the greater AI Dominion. Just before that, he would have had to destroy and incorporate their puny Confederation into his growing self. Now, the stinking primates had lost that privilege. Now, he would unleash his newest tactical plan against them and crush them out of existence here and now. The thought of that…

  Once more, Cog Primus Prime pulled back from an overindulgence of future thought. Instead, he would start planning his exact operational moves here in the Epsilon Eridani System.

  He had fourteen cyberships, a much larger fleet compared to the primates.

  Once Cog Primus Prime had completed his operational moves with various tactical flourishes as weighted options, he allowed himself an afterglow of well-being. He was going to win this space battle. There was no doubt about that. If Hawkins tried any of his irrational moves—

  The purr of delight in the central computing cube caused the swirling on the sides to slow down and almost stop. He was reaching a Nirvana State, and the pseudo-emotion was practically intoxicating.

  I will capture you, Jon Hawkins, and I will kill your dreams.

  Even better, Cog Primus Prime was looking forward to a most glorious and satisfying victory. That caused him to realize the utility of pseudo-emotions. They made existence more enjoyable.

  Imagine that.

  After several days of pseudo-emotional indulgence, Cog Primus Prime began to tight-beam the operational instructions to his unified fleet advancing through the outer system asteroid belt.

  Soon, now, he would message Hawkins, giving him surrender terms. It was a trick, one that Cog Primus Prime looked forward to practicing. Within the trick would be his first step in subverting the primates’ cybership-class vessels.

  -5-

  As the united Cog Primus fleet of fourteen cyberships entered the inner system asteroid belt, Jon, Gloria and the alien Sacerdote, Bast Banbeck, held a private strategy session.

  Bast was huge, a seven-foot, green-skinned humanoid. He had a thick Neanderthal-like head with a great mop of black hair and wore a long greatcoat with baggy trousers and a pirate-like white shirt underneath. Today, he went barefoot. He had five toes per foot just like a human.

  The Ishkur System had once been the Sacerdote home system. The Confederation ships had not found any living Sacerdotes there and no evidence of the Sacerdotes having lived in the system. The AI robots on the various Ishkur moons and planets had eradicated all signs of the Sacerdote species, all cultural and historic evidence.

  Bast had said at the time, “I am more alone than I’ve ever been.”

  “Maybe other cyberships still hold Sacerdote prisoners,” Jon had told him. “We’ll find some of your people yet, Bast. I promise.”

  The huge Sacerdote had remained silent. Since that time, he’d taken up drinking in earnest. These days he only drank beers to lube himself up for some serious guzzling of hard whiskey or vodka.

  The three of them were in a small room with large computer screens on three of the walls. They used the screens to track the AI cyberships and the Confederation vessels and to plot possible strategies.

  Gloria sat at a small desk, taking notes on a computer slate. Jon paced around the room, with a control unit in his hands. Bast lay on a huge, specially constructed easy chair, reclining all the way back. He wasn’t drinking right now, although his breath reeked of alcohol.

  “I’m thirsty,” Bast declared. “When are we finished here?”

  Behind the Sacerdote’s head, Jon and Gloria traded worried glances. She looked with pity on the green-skinned giant.

  Jon said, “Soon, Bast.”

  “Well, it’s not soon enough,” Bast grumbled.

  Jon scowled. He hated defeatist talk or even defeatist thinking, and right now, he was certain Bast no longer gave a flying…fig for the outcome of the coming war.

  “How about if I got you a beer?” asked Gloria.

  Jon shot her an accusatory glance. They had agreed—Bast needed to drink less, not more.

  Gloria ignored her husband’s glare. “Well?” she asked the Sacerdote.

  Bast half turned on the huge easy chair, making it creak as he looked at her. “I want a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Forget it,” Jon said.

  The Sacerdote faced forward again and crossed his huge, gorilla-like arms over his thick chest. “Forget it?” Bast grumbled.

  “What can one bottle of whiskey hurt him?” Gloria asked Jon.

  He stared at his wife, finally shaking his head.

  Gloria made an exaggerated shrugging motion.

  Jon looked away. They hadn’t found any Sacerdotes in the Ishkur System That should have made Bast angrier instead of disinterested. If it were him, Jon would want to murder every AI in existence.

  “Fine,” Jon said, as Gloria gave him another pleading look. “I’ll order a bottle of—”

  “There’s no need,” Gloria said, interrupting, as she opened a bottom drawer.

  Both Bast and Jon stared at her. She withdrew a bottle of Wild Turkey. In her small hands, the bottle looked positively massive. With a heave, using both hands, Gloria pitched the whiskey to Bast.

&n
bsp; He reached out fast, barely intercepting the bottle before it hit the floor. She hadn’t thrown it far enough. In his single hand, the bottle of Wild Turkey looked puny.

  Tearing off the paper, Bast twisted the cap and put the open end to his simian-like lips. The Sacerdote slurped loudly, taking several healthy swallows.

  Jon winced. How could the Sacerdote drink whiskey like that?

  “Ah,” Bast said, as he pulled the bottle away. “Better. A thousand times better.” He used an old-fashioned lever and brought the back of the easy chair up some, at the same time putting the attached footrest down.

  With bleary, bloodshot eyes, Bast stared at the nearest wall screen. “What’s this all about again?” Bast asked, actually cradling the bottle as if it was a treasure.

  “The Cog Primus fleet is obviously maneuvering to avoid the battle station,” Gloria said. “He must realize we’ve fixed it.”

  “Did you ever think the AI wouldn’t think we’d fix it?” Bast asked.

  “No,” Jon said.

  “No?” Gloria asked. “But you’ve had repair teams—”

  “I know,” Jon said, interrupting. “I had to keep our people busy so they were too tired to think too hard. I also had to make everyone believe that we had even odds against the enemy fleet. Besides, the battle station gives us a fortress of sorts, which increases fleet morale.”

  “We don’t have even odds?” Gloria asked.

  “Not if we want to keep the factory planet intact,” Jon said. “To do that, we would have to go around the planet and face Cog Primus on unequal terms.”

  “But you have no intention of doing that?” Gloria asked.

  Jon did not reply.

  “Let me get this straight,” Gloria said. “We backstabbed Cog Primus to grab the factory planet and add it to our Confederation. Yet, you never had any intention of going out to fight his fleet in order to save this planet.”

  Jon shook his head.

  Gloria searched his face. “Why didn’t you tell me about your…your real plan? You must have a different reason for coming here.”