ARMS Beckland's Fall: (Book 5)

by Stephen Arseneault

  Alex said, "Harris, I have a comm with the colonel. He has news."

  "Gruberg, the DDI have approval to bring Mr. Morgan home."

  "This on the up-and-up? Not some trick just to grab him?"

  "I have assurances it's legit. They even said they would make a public statement concerning it. They want him back in a bad way. The news from Barrier has about half their party wanting to cut ties with the president and his cronies. Avoiding war at all costs has become passé in the media. The hawks are really putting on the pressure with their rhetoric."

  "Any word on us getting our material supplies?"

  "That may be a hard sell. They're ramping up the factories here and don't want resources going anywhere but to them."

  "Our needs are small, Colonel. And our contribution could be huge. Our ships can defeat the Denzee. Theirs can't."

  "There may be a call for you to turn over designs so they can be made here. At the moment, I have to agree with them. If this is about defending all Domicile, ramping up production there would be the most effective."

  Tawn frowned. "I think he's right. If we could be making eight a day in six weeks, they could be making fifty a day in that time."

  Harris winced. "Wasn't thinking along those lines, Colonel. You'll have to give us a little time to discuss that."

  "Take all the time you need, Mr. Gruberg. It's only the fate of Humanity we're talking about."

  Harris sighed and nodded. "Point taken. We'll comm you back."

  Harris raised his comm bracelet. "Trish, bring Mr. Morgan with you to the hut. We have something to discuss."

  "Seems pretty cut and dried to me," said Tawn. "Like I said, fifty Banshees are better than eight. Alex, given the resources at Domicile, and our designs, give us an estimate of how many Banshees could be built in three weeks, six weeks, and three months’ time."

  "One moment... my estimates are one, eight, and sixty-seven."

  "Per day?"

  "No. Total."

  Harris shook his head. "That doesn't sound like an advantage."

  Tawn asked, "Why so few?"

  "The processing unit stations are not easily transferred and built. Our methods and equipment here are designed with Midelon's gravity and atmospheric pressure in mind."

  "If we focused our energies here on building processor units, how many could we be building in those same time-frames? And how many Banshees, minus those processing units, could be built on Domicile?"

  "One moment... twenty-four, sixty-four, and two hundred fifty-two. Those processor numbers are per day."

  "And on Domicile?"

  "Twelve, forty-eight, and two hundred twelve. Those are per day."

  Tawn looked at Harris. "Seems clear to me, that's the way to go. We give up all our tech, but keep the AIs."

  "Alex," Harris said, "would that be acceptable?"

  "It would. Had the first scenario been your course of action, I would have had to deny access to the processor unit and its patterns and algorithms. This current scenario is satisfactory."

  The group discussed the ins and outs of turning their designs over to Domicile for production. Gandy was at first adamant about not giving up his Banshees. The force of reason was enough to change his mind. A defense could not be raised in time without production being moved to where there were labor resources, facilities, and the raw materials necessary for an all-out effort to build a powerful defending fleet.

  Harris said, "I have one final thing to add that some of you may not have thought about: the AIs. We're at the top of the command chain. They answer to us first. Should Humans win this war, and should the leaders of Domicile decide they want nothing to do with us or if they want to mistreat us in some way, we have ultimate control over every ship that is piloted by one of those AI units."

  Tawn nodded. "Excellent point. I think this decision is a no-brainer. Our other ace up our sleeve is the boson bomb. Only we will make them and only we will control them. We don't give them to anyone. We set them off when needed. And we don't talk to anyone about them. That's the one tech we can't allow to get out."

  "We ready to vote on this?"

  Everybody nodded, and a tally was taken. The decision was unanimous.

  A comm was opened to the colonel. "We're ready to discuss transferring production to Domicile—but we have a few conditions. Whoever is brought into this meeting has to be final decision makers, no junior managers or political hacks. We want top military brass and the President in attendance, along with the business leaders who may be overseeing portions of this effort."

  "Understood. I should have those individuals corralled within the hour. Give me a comm back then and I'll patch you through."

  The comm closed.

  Harris sat back. "Hmm, once again there's hope where any prior shot at victory was fleeting."

  Tawn nodded. "That's the way we roll."

  — Chapter 22 —

  * * *

  The president paced back and forth. "That is unacceptable. This is in defense of the free worlds and all humanity. We must have full control of all assets."

  Harris shook his head. "Not happening, Mr. President. These are not the assets of Domicile. These are our assets. You have repeatedly rejected our attempts at assistance, and even gone as far as issuing warrants for our arrest. We believe we have the means to protect us all, but there are strings attached.

  "We will retain all production of AI processor units. We will also retain loading and installation of those units. Any attempts at tampering with, or attempts to steal or copy those units by the Domicile government, its agents, or its citizens, will be looked upon as a violation of this agreement and will result in all automated forces being withdrawn.

  "Our terms are simple, and they are designed to benefit all of our free citizens in this war. They are being put in place as a deterrent to having politics take over this effort. In fact, when you sign this agreement, you will be relinquishing all of your authority over the execution of this war... and over us.

  "Domicile will mass produce the hulls and the other systems, we will take the resulting ships and use them to defend our worlds from the Denzee. And when the fighting is done, everything returns to the way it was. Oh, and your military leaders who are there with you, they will be utilized as advisors for conducting this war. We'll want their valued expertise and input."

  The president threw up his arms. "This is preposterous! I will not sign such a deal. I'm the fairly-elected President of the people. I and I alone have authority over our military forces. That's the way this republic works and has always worked."

  Harris chuckled. "Posturing will get you nowhere, Mr. President. Your military doesn't have the means to protect her citizens from the current threat. We're offering a way to do so. What we get out of this deal is our people are protected and get to live. And this fleet, it won't be used against the fairly-elected government of Domicile when this is all over. We'll mothball it for future use if we ever get attacked again."

  The president stared into the comm camera. "I will have to take this before the people. This will have to be discussed at length in Congress and voted upon by the free citizens of Domicile."

  Harris shook his head. "Sorry, Mr. President, we don't have time to piss around about this. The Denzee are taking colonies right now. We need to start preparing for construction today, right now. Every minute we wait, the Denzee become more ensconced in our space. More Humans die.

  "In fact, I believe we're already too late to protect all of New Earth and her territories. That's more than a billion people, Mr. President. Nearly half the Human population wiped out. Every minute we delay means more deaths. And those deaths could quickly become our own citizens.

  "I'll close this comm for an hour. You discuss with your staff, with your military leaders, your business leaders. When I come back in an hour, I'll be expecting a decision."

  The comm closed.

  Tawn raised an eyebrow. "Wow, you really took it to him. I wasn't expecting us to b
e running this thing."

  "That thought came to me while I talked. And it only makes sense. We don't want anyone getting control over our AIs. And we already have a good idea of how to fight this war. My offer of making the military brass into advisors was an olive branch. They get this. They aren't in it for the politics."

  Tawn leaned back, placing her elbow up on the table behind her. "Huh, when did you turn into this decisive leader?"

  Harris shrugged. "Has me baffled too. Maybe it's all we've been through. Or maybe it's from the counsel of our group here. And that of Alex and Mr. Morgan."

  Alex came up on the display wall. "Congratulations, Harris. You are the first to reach the next level. As soon as the others have completed their full evaluations, they will progress and the next level will be revealed to all."

  Harris shook his head. "Haven't even thought about that in a while. And thanks for all you've done for us. I can't image how bad all of this would have gone if not for your guidance. I feel funny saying that about an AI, but it's been the truth."

  "You are welcome. And… I'm sorry, I have data coming in from the scans I've been conducting. The Denzee have taken New York."

  "How many people there?"

  "Over three million."

  Harris leaned his head back with his eyes closed, taking in a deep breath. "The president has to accept these terms. This is horrific news."

  The hour passed in what seemed like a flash. A comm was opened to the president and the others.

  Harris stood. "Before we start, I have more bad news. The Denzee have attacked and taken the New York colony. That's just over three million citizens who are being rounded up for extermination as we speak. Many of them are our citizens. Do we have a decision?"

  The president scowled. "On behalf of everyone in this room, my staff, our military commanders, our business leaders, we've come to the conclusion that your offer is pretentious, ill-advised, unconstitutional, and undesirable in nearly every aspect. However… we don't seem to have much choice in the matter. As requested, myself and all those here with me will make a public announcement and will sign this agreement."

  Harris slowly nodded. "A good decision, Mr. President. And as I indicated, you will get nothing but hard work and professionalism from myself and my team. We're all in this together. This fight belongs to each and every one of us."

  Twenty minutes later, a world broadcast was made to all of Domicile and her free colonies. The president droned on about the grave threat and the steps he was taking to protect all Domers. Harris Gruberg, Tawn Freely, Bannis Morgan, and their other associates, were to be given all the assistance that could be mustered. All warrants were withdrawn and a public statement was made that they were heroes of the republic, not criminals.

  The Hailstorm settled in the parking area just outside the Hosh-Morgan headquarters. The last of the employees filled the lobby as their reinstated owner walked through the door with a smile on his face. After a short speech, everyone but a small team was sent off to perform their normal duties.

  Those who remained were assembled in a conference room and comms were soon blazing to the former senior staff members of Bannis Morgan. Two hours later, the last of his team arrived and work began.

  Facility buildings were assigned and equipment ordered. Suppliers were lined up and given the exact details of what was required in the product they would supply. Before the sun set on the Hosh-Morgan headquarters, the first of the manufacturing equipment arrived.

  Harris leaned back in a chair. "I can't believe this is finally all coming together. We're all working for the same team and for the same goal. I've actually got a little lump in my throat right now from thinking about how great it is to be Human."

  Tawn chuckled. "You sure that's not just a bit of bogler coming back up?"

  Harris smiled. "I'm sure. My stomach is empty, and now you've made me hungry. Wasn't there a good buffet near here? I'm thinking we could use a good celebratory meal."

  "Mr. Morgan, you hungry?"

  "You go ahead. I've got too much to do."

  Harris turned. "You need this meal as much as the rest of us. Come on, we'll bring you right back. Bolemans? Sharvie?"

  Gandy nodded. "I could eat."

  The group moved out into the hall and to the front of the building. A transport was waiting to take them into town.

  As they walked into the restaurant, Harris looked over at the buffet. "I think I'll chow down tonight."

  Tawn replied, "Really? What's it been, six months?"

  "Seems like an eternity ago."

  "Gonna flush away all that work you've put into your fitness? What are you now, hundred ten kilos?"

  "Hundred eight. And one binge isn't gonna ruin me." Harris smiled. "Besides, who knows when we'll have another opportunity."

  As Tawn and Harris loaded their plates, word spread through the restaurant that they were there. A crowd of onlookers began to gather as they sat at a table.

  Trish nibbled on a piece of fruit. "Creepy."

  Harris tore a chunk of meat from a rib with his teeth. "They're here for the show. Miss Freely, should we give them one?"

  "One, two, three, four, five plates each—race you to clean them?"

  Harris grinned. "You're on!"

  Trish sat back in disgust as the two Biomarines feasted on the food stacked high on their plates. Sauce flew and dripped; beverages were gulped; napkins sat unused. Trish turned an eye to Bannis, who was slowly spooning his soup. Gandy looked over the sausage link on the end of his fork before taking a small bite.

  The crowd grew as the spectacle of gluttony continued. Soon the employees had come from the kitchen to witness the great feat of eating taking place before them. Harris turned up his beverage, consuming it in three swallows, before gesturing for the waitress to refill it.

  Tawn was the first to raise her sauced hands in victory as she finished her fifth plate. "Round two or do we just do dessert?"

  Harris concluded several seconds later with a chuckle. "Since I've lost my eating crown, let's just stick with dessert. Maybe something messy to give the crowd more of what they want?"

  Each returned from the buffet with four stacked plates, pies, cakes, cookies, puddings, and ice cream, all covered in sweet sauces and syrups. The desserts were sampled and then consumed with a vengeance.

  Gandy shook his head. "That many sweets and I'd be bouncing off the walls for hours."

  Trish replied, "That's because you don't have a pancreas the size of an inflated lung. That whole thing is disgusting to watch, but it makes me salivate at the same time."

  Sharvie dug into a dessert plate of her own. "I think it looks fun."

  As the plates neared empty, Bannis finished his soup. "We really should be getting back. It's going to be a long night. Thanks for bringing me along. I did need that."

  The transport stopped in front of the Hosh-Morgan building. Bannis stepped out. "See you kids later."

  Harris nodded. "Squeeze some sleep in there while you're at it. Tomorrow will bring plenty to do as well."

  The door closed and the transport pulled away, stopping only seconds later beside the Hailstorm. The group walked up the ramp, taking seats in the small ship lounge. Tawn rubbed her belly in satisfaction as Harris looked at his with foreboding.

  "I guess we go back to Midelon and manage our work there, unless any of you want to stay for a while? Might be an opportunity that's short lived. We can drop you at your parents’, or call in another transport."

  Trish replied, "I could use a visit. Maybe just a day?"

  Sharvie nodded. "Me too."

  Harris looked at Gandy. "Yeah, a day might be good."

  The transport was recalled and the younger members of the team were soon heading toward their hometown. The Hailstorm lifted off, heading back to Midelon, landing in its normal spot twenty-five minutes later. The partners moved over to the Bangor and their bunks for some much needed rest.

  The following morning, after a short walk, Harris stoo
d in the bunker lab where the processor stations lined one full wall. "Sixteen now? They all fully functional?"

  Alex replied, "As of last evening."

  How many bots we have working now?"

  "Eighty-six."

  "How many new per day?"

  "As of tomorrow, it will be the full sixteen."

  "How long before we're up over a hundred stations running?"

  "Three weeks."

  "Really? That soon? We have somewhere to put them? They won't all fit in here."

  Alex nodded. "I'm clearing a room on the floor below this one. The production of the processors must remain within this building. That is something my programming requires."

  "A wise move. We don't want these getting out there where anyone can build them. They're already proving too valuable. I can't say I fancied the idea of a whole workforce of these things, but now I wish we could make them faster. Can you imagine what could be accomplished with a million of these?"

  "I can. And I would caution that the more automated workers there are, the less secure their technology becomes."

  Harris nodded. "True. Which is why they'll all remain here on Midelon, unless of course they're piloting a ship for us."

  "Prudent thinking on your part, Harris."

  "As on yours, Alex."

  Tawn chuckled. "You two done fluffing each other’s feathers? If so, what can we do to move our effort forward?"

  Ten minutes later, Tawn stood looking down from a hill. "Bogler herding. Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked if we could help."

  "We're just checking on them. Gandy should be back tomorrow."

  Tawn looked over the herd. "That three new calves down there?"

  "Looks like it."

  "We'll have to keep a close watch on that herd or they'll overrun this place."

  Harris chuckled. "We can always eat them back into control."

  Tawn winced. "Somehow they don't look quite as appetizing from up here as they do when on a plate covered in sauce."

  "And on that note, it tells me you're ready for breakfast."

  Tawn glanced over. "And you're not?"