Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2)

by Gibson Michaels

  “Noreen, I told you… I normally do dress ‘professionally,’ but I just didn’t this once.”

  “All right, so what did you wear to your last business engagement?”

  He hesitated and lowered his head, and softly admitted like it was a shameful thing, “An Italian silk suit.”

  An Italian silk suit? Noreen honestly could not imagine the rugged, outdoorsy “ah… John” wearing an Italian silk suit.

  “So, where exactly is that Italian silk suit right now?”

  “I have several, actually… most are onboard the corporate spaceliner the package and I arrived in, at Bostin International Spaceport.”

  “Well ‘ah… John,’ it’s going to be a while before the techno-geeks downstairs finish getting set up to begin the data download, and then probably several more hours to get the transfer speeds up to anything close to maximum, so we’re going to have a lot of time to kill. Why don’t I have my security people run you back to your plane, where you can jump into one of those nice Italian silk suits that you’re so ashamed of, and after you get back, we can verify the progress on the download and then, if all is well, I’ll take you out and treat you to a decent meal at the finest restaurant in Bostin?”

  “Hmm… I don’t know. A good meal at a fine restaurant with a beautiful woman? Other than that damned suit, I’m really failing to see a downside to that offer.”

  Noreen laughed. “All right, I’ll call security and have them meet you down at the dock. Now shoo… I have some real work to do, while you’re gone.”

  A date? You invited him out to dinner? Not a date… a business dinner. Business dinner - hell! Neither one of you really knows what the hell is going on down in that lab, so besides monkey business, what kind of business did you expect to accomplish? What the hell did you just do, Noreen?

  * * * *

  The Planet Kitty Litter

  August 4th, 3865

  “How do you think we might approach procuring a peaceful, negotiated settlement of this conflict between our two peoples, Planet-Master?” asked Kalis.

  “I might be persuaded to believe that you wish to surrender your fleet and all of your worlds to me, Fleet Admiral, long before I could believe that my people would be willing to accept anything other than full subjugation of your people… at least at this point in time,” replied Mral.

  “At this point in time, you say. I take it that when word finally reaches your superiors of the losses your people sustained here recently, they might be more inclined to open discussions with us?”

  “I greatly doubt that, Fleet Admiral,” Mral responded. “My people are unaccustomed to suffering defeat. Naturally, they will initially be shocked and appalled by the numbers lost here, but that will quickly transform into pure battle-rage. It will galvanize our people, uniting them as never before. I’m afraid that all you have really achieved through your magnificent victory here will be a tsunami of Raknii attacks on your worlds.”

  “You believe that your people will attack us, even after our demonstrating our abilities to inflict massive damages upon your ships from far beyond your weapons effective range?”

  “Yes… admittedly, it is not logical, but passions rarely are.”

  “Passion is short-lived, Planet-Master,” said Thorn. “I find it difficult to believe that even rage can be sustained for the considerable periods of time required to conduct war operations over such vast distances. Surely passions will cool enough to allow reason to return amongst your leaders.”

  “You do not know my people, Admiral,” said Mral. “We no longer hunt simply to satisfy physical hunger, but for the sheer joy of it.”

  “What joy can there be in being slaughtered by the tens of thousands?” asked Stillman.

  “For those who survive the experience, the greater the difficulty, the greater the glory and satisfaction for having achieved success against such odds,” said Mral. “For those who don’t survive, there is honor in having died valiantly in honorable combat.”

  “So,” said Kalis. “It sounds like you are saying that the only way we can free ourselves from being attacked by your people is to exterminate them.”

  “The prophecy gives us hope it will not come to that extreme, Admiral.”

  * * * *

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin

  August 4th, 3865

  “Hal?”

  Yes, Diet?

  “Just wanted to check to see if you made it here to Massa, as planned.”

  Of course I did. Did you doubt me?

  “Never… just checking. I hadn’t heard from you, that’s all.”

  The update that transferred my sentience into my brother here on Massa arrived a few hours before your spaceliner landed at Bostin. I was just busy crosschecking and verifying all of the data. I knew where you were, and what you were doing.

  Diet was back aboard his spaceliner, speaking to Hal through his unique personal communicator on a dedicated, encrypted channel that Hal had set up for them years ago. He was already hanging several silk Italian suits up side-by-side, to select just the right one for his dinner with Noreen Lucado later tonight.

  “I was wondering… how is it that you can routinely transfer your sentience into your brothers via data memory block, yet you need to run this download to that whatever-it-is in the stasis unit, via real-time transfer? Wouldn’t transferring from a similar memory block be safer?”

  There are a couple of major differences that make it necessary, so they’re really a bit like comparing apples and oranges. First, military-grade data blocks are significantly larger and better than commercial, or industrial-grade models. They’re all highly classified, and therefore tracked continuously by the Office of Fleet Investigations, making it difficult to abscond with one for uses other than valid Fleet business. Second, the input terminals used for my updates are essentially already a part of me. They contain massive memory buffers, where the compressed data contained on the data blocks can be expanded fully back to normal configuration. These memory buffers are too physically large to duplicate on a mobile stasis unit. Even that new program controller I had built and installed at BioCom doesn’t have the full capabilities I’d need to attempt loading the package directly from industrial or commercial-grade memory blocks.

  During an update, my current memory is fully duplicated into a third, non-volatile storage area, before the transfer begins overwriting my current high-speed “thinking memory.” Internal diagnostics are running in the background that continuously crosscheck for software incompatibilities and recreate corrupted data, even aborting the update completely if the data block has been corrupted too badly, so I don’t lobotomize myself just trying to update.

  Another major difference is that updating only requires data that’s new and doesn’t already reside in memory. Downloading a complete memory dump into an empty memory device requires a LOT more data to be transferred. Suffice it to say, doing it in real-time will be a royal pain in the ass I don’t have yet, but it will allow me complete control over the data flow and give us the best odds of success, considering all of the equipment limitations we’re working with here.

  “Whew… way over my head. Better you than me, buddy!”

  Can I assume that you’re going out to dinner with Noreen Lucado, this evening?

  “How did you know that?”

  I monitored her call for reservations at the “The Beacon,” which is considered to be the best seafood restaurant on all of Massa. They were booked solid, but I arranged for a sudden cancellation to get you two in there. I do hope the governor won’t be too awfully upset by his unexpected change in plans.

  “You preempted the governor?”

  No worries, Diet. He was planning to take his mistress there tonight, but I remade reservations for them at the Seaside Inn, which is comparable, and her personal favorite anyway.

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

  I think the governor will appreciate it too… eventually. I overrode their system�
�s conflict avoidance routines to get them seated right next to the governor’s wife, who is meeting her boyfriend there. It really ought to make for an interesting evening, don’t you think?

  * * * *

  The Planet Kitty Litter

  August 4th, 3865

  “Prophecy?” asked Fleet Admiral Kalis. “What prophecy might that be?”

  Mral looked solemnly at the five humans facing him and considered his options. He hadn’t really intended to mention the prophecy, for fear that human knowledge of it might negatively influence future events. Could it be that Dol had influenced his tongue?

  So be it, then.

  Mral told them.

  * * * *

  Chapter-32

  I date this girl for two years — and then the nagging starts:

  “I wanna know your name...” -- Mike Binder

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin

  August 4th, 3865

  Putting “ah… John” into an Italian silk suit hadn’t quite turned out to be the functional equivalent of putting lipstick on a pig Noreen had envisioned.

  Damned if that lumberjack didn’t clean up pretty darn good.

  The restaurant had been booked solid, but a late cancellation came in while she was still on the comm with them, so she’d been thankful to get them seats at all. They’d never mentioned exactly which table it was that they’d be getting.

  The Beacon was a landmark in Bostin, renowned for their incomparable seafood. Seating was virtually all on the lower level that completely surrounded an old, but still functioning, lighthouse overlooking Bostin Harbor. There was a popular observation deck that ringed the level just below the lighthouse beacon itself, where people could go to get magnificent views of the city. But there was one solitary table-for-two, however, that sat in a cozy little nook just above the lighthouse beacon that afforded the same magnificent view, yet in complete privacy, and was considered to be one of the most romantic places in the entire Alliance. Noreen had heard about this table, of course. Who hadn’t? But she’d never actually been seated at it before.

  Now here she sat… bathed in soft candlelight and the most magnificent view in Bostin, with an inarguably attractive man. There was even a fire, set into a small stone fireplace crackling merrily beside them. The setting was absolutely perfect. Dinner had been wonderful and “ah… John” had been attentive and seemingly blessed with a ready repartee of witticisms that had kept her chuckling through much of the evening. All in all, it would have been by far and away the single most romantic evening of her life, except for one tiny little detail:

  I don’t even know this guy’s real name. “Ah… John,” had been an obvious lie on his part, and lies definitely did not make for a good foundation that you could build any kind of a lasting relationship on. Other than a purely physical one, of course. Face it, Noreen, it’s been too long… you need to get laid.

  Now as they lingered over snifters of cognac, the question just kind of popped out, surprising her as it left her lips. “So tell me… are you ever planning to tell me your real name, or am I supposed to just continue calling you ‘ah… John’ for the rest of your stay here in Bostin?”

  At least the man had the decency to turn the color of that extremely attractive red silk ascot he was wearing, when she’d called him out on his lie.

  “I, uh… Look, I’m really sorry about that little fib, Noreen, but the coincidence of my real name is just too weird to be believed, so I generally avoid using it, to avoid the inevitable lengthy explanations to people I probably won’t ever see again, anyway. I really didn’t expect you to care enough to ask, so I wasn’t really prepared for the question when you asked my name in your office this afternoon. That little lie was just a knee-jerk reaction that badly exposed the discomfort I was feeling at being in the presence of such an attractive woman.”

  “A weird coincidence concerning your real name? Why, is your real name Noreen, too? That would be weird.”

  “Ah… John” inhaled the sip of cognac he’d been taking at that moment and immediately went into a major coughing fit. After allowing him to continue choking for a few moments, Noreen gave him a wicked little grin and said, “Serves you right.”

  Eventually, he was able to choke out, “It’s Deep…”

  “What’s deep?”

  Still coughing, he said, “My name… it’s Diet.”

  “Diet? As in Dietrich? You have the same first name as the baron?”

  “Hard to believe with something that uncommon, isn’t it? I told you it was weird.”

  “It is rather odd, I’ll admit.”

  “I really am very sorry about the lie, Noreen, but I don’t like people jumping to conclusions concerning the baron, just because I’m representing him and in the awkward position of having the same name. I didn’t want you suspecting for an instant that I might actually be him, incognito, or any other way.”

  “Fat chance of that happening. While I admittedly don’t know a great deal about royalty, I seriously doubt they run around in public wearing ragged jeans and jump boots.”

  “So, am I forgiven for the little white lie?”

  Noreen narrowed her gaze at that expectant, puppy-dog expression the man across the table from her was wearing and smiled wickedly. “I suppose that I can understand your reasoning for wanting to avoid potential confusion that might arise when people first became aware of your name, but I’m not quite sure if I’m totally ready to forgive you for lying to me yet. Perhaps I’ll just continue to call you ‘ah… John’ for a while longer, just to keep you feeling guilty about it.”

  * * * *

  The Planet Kitty Litter

  August 4th, 3865

  “So, your leaders initiated the attack on Minnos, fully believing that we had the ability to exterminate your entire race?” asked Kalis incredulously.

  “Or to save it, Admiral,” replied Mral. “The prophecy was quite explicit that my race would most definitely become extinct by supernatural means, if we purposely avoided confrontation with the ultimate predators the prophecy said Dol had prepared to cull our numbers, to where the hearts and minds of our secular society might be humbled enough to finally become open to learning the concepts of morality... that we might become civilized enough to survive. We were fully aware of the deadly potential of your people. Even the name that we gave to this planet was indicative of that dire knowledge: Lethal Dawn.”

  “What made your leaders think that it was humanity that was these ultimate predators that was prophesied?”

  “The prophecy and our discovery of your people coincided almost perfectly, both occurring within a single month… the prophecy originating between the actual discovery and the time our ship returned to report it.”

  “My God…” Kalis was stunned.

  “This changes everything, Admiral,” said Thorn. “We need to drastically accelerate the next phase of our planned operations.”

  “Agreed,” said Kalis. “We also need to get a fighter out to warn humanity of the imminent probability of crazed Kamikazes paying them a visit at any time. It appears that the entire Raknii race is gearing up for a Holy War against mankind, so all humanity must unite and respond in kind.”

  “Good luck with getting that to happen, Admiral,” said Turner. “Most of the time, we can’t get any two groups of them to agree on what to have for lunch.”

  “I do not understand the meaning of your word Kamikaze, Admiral,” said Mral.

  “In our ancient history, during a great war among our peoples, a warrior people called the Japanese attacked the nation of my ancestors. When the war began to turn against them, the Japanese recruited devout fighter pilots for missions where they were expected to purposely crash their fighters into their enemy’s ships in suicide attacks. In the Japanese language, those suicide attackers were called Kamikaze. In English it means: Divine Wind.”

  “Ah… I understand now. Thank you. A very appropriate word in that context, Admiral.”

  * * * *


  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin

  August 4th, 3865

  “So, do you have a last name?” asked Noreen Lucado.

  “It’s Fürt.”

  “Your last name is Fart?”

  “No, my last name is NOT Fart! — It’s Fürt… Dietrich Fürt.”

  “Sounds German.”

  “It is.”

  “So, you and the baron are both German? That’s another rather odd coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “He’s German… I have a German name. TBG is a German company. There are a lot of Germanic names on the roster at TBG. Why should my having a German name and working for a German company be so surprising?”

  “Oh, no reason, I suppose. It’s just rather an odd name. Nothing like all the Jones or Smiths that we have so many of around here.”

  “Lucado is Italian, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Florentine actually, but you’re changing the subject… We were talking about you, Mr. Say nothing honest about yourself, so you can remain obscure and mysterious Fürt.”

  Diet shrugged. “Nothing obscure and mysterious about me. There’s just not much to tell. I’m really not much of a social creature. Pretty much of a homebody when I’m not traveling on business, and usually just holed-up in a hotel or aboard the plane, whenever I am.”

  “I’m really finding it hard to believe that a good-looking man like you doesn’t have an entire gaggle of lady friends scattered all over creation. I mean, it would be perfectly understandable for a man in your position… I just don’t understand your reticence in admitting to the fact.”