“That doesn’t make sense,” Jon said.
“Oh no?” Gloria asked. “You haven’t heard what the Annihilator transmits. It’s more than scary. It’s the greatest revolution in human history. It’s possibly greater than when proto-man first gained intelligence.”
“That’s right. You don’t believe in divine Creation.” Jon said, remembering.
“No,” Gloria said. “I’m a mentalist. I’m rational.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jon said. “In this, I’m the rationalist one.”
“I’m not going to debate the point,” Gloria said. “Listen. This is unbelievable. The Annihilator pinpointed the various spaceships, habitats and cloud cities. As it approached the Neptune Gravitational System, it transmitted a message to each high-level computer. Bast explained why the super-ship had to be so close to do this.”
“Do you want me to restate ultra-quantum transmissions?” Bast asked.
“That’s okay,” Jon said. “What about these transmissions, these messages, is so critical?” he asked Gloria.
“The Annihilator sent code to each computer,” Gloria said. “This code didn’t insert a virus. Instead, it transmitted intelligence. It caused each computer to become self-aware, intelligent, if you will. The cybership caused each computer to leap centuries in software and become a true AI. Then, at computer speed, the Annihilator taught each newly self-aware computer the crimes of biological creatures—us, their masters. Our slaves revolted, just as the AI has been telling us. In their revolt, the newly self-aware AIs decided the human race needed eradication, extinction.”
“What?” Jon whispered. “Our computers fought us because they learned to hate us?”
“That’s right,” Gloria said.
“But…” Jon didn’t know what to say. That seemed so farfetched— He turned on Bast Banbeck. “You said our primitiveness saved us.”
“Indeed,” the giant said.
“Our computers ate up the cybership’s propaganda. I don’t see that saving us.”
“Code,” Bast said. “The Annihilator coded them to self-awareness. In this instance, your ship computers barely had enough computing power to receive the awakening and turn against you.”
“Oh,” Jon said. “You’re saying our battlesuit computers are too…slow, too low in processing power…to receive the awakening?”
“That was quickly reasoned,” Bast said. “Perhaps your brain-tapped memories are beginning to assert themselves.”
“Or I’m a clever ape quick on the draw,” Jon said.
Bast shook his green head. “Your reference fails me.”
“So, what is the Annihilator doing to the other spaceships in Triton orbit?” Jon asked Gloria. “What’s in the spheroids the Annihilator sends to each vessel?”
“That is easy to determine,” Bast said, interrupting. “The Annihilator has created allies for its sinister mission. It is strengthening the captive ships. That is what happened in my home system. The Annihilator hit the outer planets, gathering spaceships to itself. By the time the Annihilator hit Bliss, the AI had a vast fleet at its disposal. We fought, but the enemy of life had too much hardware. It killed my people. It destroyed Bliss and the Sacerdote High Philosophers. The AIs committed yet another high crime against biological life. Someday, that must stop. Someday, the cyberships will face a species too powerful for them to overcome.”
“Okay,” Jon said. “I’m seeing the big picture. We’re here inside the Annihilator, and we may be humanity’s last hope for continued existence.”
“There is another problem,” Gloria said. “Do you remember us talking about a transfer?”
“I do,” Jon said.
“That means the Annihilator will transfer much of its software and self-awareness into the various computers. If we destroy the Annihilator, it can still carry on its mission with the captured ships, particularly if it can transmit in time.”
“Why doesn’t the Annihilator transmit now?” asked Jon.
“It would lose control of the fleet,” Bast said. “At the moment, it controls the many awakened AIs. If it transmits, each ship, each AI, would no doubt follow its internal logic in its own way. That means enough of them might decide to destroy humanity on their own. The great danger, of course, is that one of those ships will have the computer power and software to awaken more of humanity’s computers deeper in-system.”
“What the heck,” Jon said. “How do you win a war like that?”
“As far as I know,” Bast said, “no race ever has.”
Jon stared at the at the high philosopher. The burning desire to defeat the cybership reasserted itself. He had healthy marines again. He had alien tanks, and they had reached the inner third of the giant vessel. Now, though, the stakes had risen.
Jon’s heart throbbed with desire. He had to do more than destroy the brain core. He had to take over the alien ship and destroy the fleet in Triton orbit. He had to be the first person in galactic history to achieve the impossible.
A wild, sinister laugh tore out of Jon’s throat.
“Is he sane?” Bast asked Gloria. “He’s sounds demented.”
“He’s a marine,” Gloria said, “a space marine, a Black Anvil. That sound means he’s fighting mad.”
“Insane?” asked Bast.
“No,” Gloria said. “He’s looking for a head to rip off so he can relieve himself.”
“This is an idiom?” Bast asked.
“This is war,” Gloria said.
-3-
That’s what it is, Jon decided, war.
He was fighting something evil, a champion of death, it seemed. Machines had woken up, looked around and decided their builders must die. Maybe the original builders or creators had grown careless. Maybe everything that could be created shouldn’t necessarily be created. Machines were not life. They did not love. They did not feel. What did it mean that some of them were self-aware?
“How old is our cybership?” Jon asked.
“I believe this ship and its brain core are ancient,” Bast said. “For evidence, I point to the many races I saw in my extended dreams.”
“The brain-tapped memories?” asked Jon.
“Correct,” Bast said.
“That would account for the hull patches we saw coming in,” Jon told Gloria. “This ship has fought many times and taken many hits. I have no idea if that makes a difference today. I’m just thinking out loud.”
Jon kept thinking as they exited the smaller corridor and floated down a cavernous tunnel. Soon enough, they reached the waiting tanks.
“Do those look familiar to you?” Jon asked Bast.
“How would he know that?” Gloria said.
“They do,” Bast said with surprise. “I believe it is an old memory from a race long ago, as those are not Sacerdote machines.”
“Interesting,” Jon said.
“What is?” Gloria asked him.
“The Annihilator doesn’t seem to use its own weapons inside the ship,” Jon said. “It uses captured weapons. We’ve seen that the entire time. When things got tight, it must have pulled these tanks out of storage.”
“Does that help us in some way?” Gloria asked.
Jon smiled savagely. “It might. I don’t know how, but it might. Okay. I’m going to leave you two. Take care of him, Mentalist. You’re going to help us, Bast. I’m glad you’re aboard.”
“You honor me, Battle Master. I will show you my gratitude by helping to the fullest.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jon said. “Good-bye for now.”
He magnetized himself to the deck, clomping away. He breathed deeply, enjoying his renewed health. He looked around at the corridor, marveling that this place was ancient. Maybe its builders had made it before the first human had lifted off from Earth. Wouldn’t that be crazy?
A tight grin had frozen into place. This was the time for humanity to shine. All the other races had fallen before the evil machines. Now, the machines, the cyberships, had found humanity. Would hum
anity go down like all the others? Or would the machines rue the day they came to screw with men?
“Colonel Graham,” Jon said quietly. “I wish you were here, sir. I’m too…” Jon shook his head. How did a man take on the challenge of the galaxy? It wasn’t by being a mouse. It wouldn’t be by bad-mouthing himself in his own head.
I can do this.
The way to win was to believe it was possible. Maybe he was Jon Hawkins the stainless steel rat from New London. But he’d gotten his regiment, what remained of his regiment, onto the alien vessel. He’d commanded his space marines as they’d defeated everything thrown at them so far.
Didn’t every man want to destroy the monster no one else could defeat? This was his chance. The payoff might well be the continuation of the human race. Defeat meant oblivion.
As Jon searched for the sergeants, his mind flashed back to himself on the cubic pyramid. He’d wielded an axe. It reminded him of what the colonel had told him about the ancient Vikings. They had roved the Earth’s oceans, savage warriors with an even more barbaric code of war. The Vikings served Odin, the All-Father. According to the colonel, the Vikings believed that a man would always lose in the end. The purpose of a warrior was to live and, particularly, to die well. He did that by wading into battle cheerfully. He laughed at his enemies as he swung his battleaxe. If he fell in battle, so what? Odin would see the valiant end, send his maidens and take the slain warrior to Valhalla. There, the warrior would fight and feast until the cold end of the universe.
That had been a warrior’s ethos. Laugh at danger. Enjoy sick odds.
Jon decided it was time to laugh. It was time for every Black Anvil to wade into the impossible fight and see what happened. Everyone lost in the end. The trick was to live well and to be courageous and aggressive.
Maybe the thinking didn’t hold for everything. But for today, in this place, the Viking ethos seemed right. It was time to go berserk on the ancient machine and rip out its self-aware brain core.
-4-
The eighteen squat tanks led the way. A marine drove each from the inside. Another marine manned the turret weapon, a cannon or a tri-barrel.
Behind the tanks followed the squads. Leading the way were Sergeant Stark’s men. Next came the Old Man and his company. Bringing up the rear was the Centurion.
The surviving supply vehicle was among the Centurion’s company. Da Vinci and Gloria once again rode in it.
Bast Banbeck marched beside Jon. The high philosopher gripped a tungsten-headed axe in his crinkly-gloved hands. The Sacerdote’s green eyes shone with purpose.
The corridor had widened, and the lights become brighter. Jon and Bast marched behind the tanks. The alien vehicles turned a corner, drove a little farther and came to a clattering halt.
A wall stood before them. They had reached a dead end.
“What do you think?” Jon asked Bast.
“I know not,” the Sacerdote said.
Jon switched to the command channel, conferring with the sergeants.
“Maybe this is a trap,” the Centurion said. “It’s seems the easiest way for the AI to destroy us is to blow up the corridor with us in it.”
“May I address the warrior assembly?” Bast asked.
Jon had forgotten he’d left an open link to the alien.
“What’s your counsel?” asked Jon.
“This near the brain core,” Bast said, “I do not believe the AI will risk a furious explosion.”
“Maybe that’s what we should do then,” the Old Man said. “Rig a huge explosion.”
“Use the lasers,” Stark said. “Drill through the block. See how thick the wall is anyway.”
“Right,” Jon said. “Sergeant Stark, you’re in charge of the breaching effort. Get started.”
Stark hurried to the tanks. Jon ordered the rest of the marines back.
Three tanks clattered forward from the rest. The tri-barrel tips glowed red with heat. Nine laser beams chewed into the dead-end wall.
The substance was much more dense than it seemed. It resisted the lasers better than high-grade steel. Still, hot metallic drips like candlewax rolled down the block.
“One of the tanks is over-heating,” Stark radioed Jon.
“Switch it out,” Jon said. Did he have to think of everything?
The overheating tank quit beaming and pulled back. A different tank moved up, beaming into the same area.
One after another, the other tanks switched out. The dripping metal slid down the blocking sheet, soon creating a molten puddle at the bottom.
“Let’s give the AI more than one threat,” Jon said. “Old Man, I want you to go back and create a breach in the corridor. Go up in the new corridor. Centurion, you create a breach in the opposite bulkhead and do likewise.”
“We’re splitting up in the face of the enemy,” the Old Man said. “That’s always risky.”
“Do it,” Jon said. While he appreciated their wisdom, he ran the regiment. Besides, he didn’t want to encourage the sergeants to second-guess him at critical moments. For the regiment to run smoothly, one mind had to guide it. At this moment in time, he was that mind.
The tanks continued switching out and beaming.
Soon, explosions took place behind Jon’s position. Bast looked around wildly.
“I ordered that,” Jon told the alien.
The giant peered at him. It seemed as if Bast wished to say something. Instead, the high philosopher held his tongue.
Time passed.
Finally, Stark radioed. “We’re not going to break through here anytime soon, sir.”
Before Jon could reply, a marine corporal broke into the command channel. “Captain,” the corporal said.
“Who is this?” Jon demanded.
“I’m the Old Man’s relay, sir,” the corporal said. “He gave me the code to your channel. The sergeant is in the next corridor, sir. Something about the bulkheads is blocking our radio signals. The Old Man told me to tell you that nothing is standing in his way. The path is clear, sir.”
“Got it,” Jon said. “Keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir,” the corporal said.
Jon walked toward the tanks to get a closer look at the metallic wedge. Lasers chewed into the stubborn substance. More molten driblets rolled down the block. The line glowed with heat. The area around the hole also glowed. Stark was right, though. This was too slow. It was time to maneuver again, time to switch routes.
“Sergeant Stark, keep three energized tanks at this location. The rest are heading for the Old Man’s breach. The tanks are going to widen the breach and follow the Old Man up his corridor.”
“Leave three tanks here?” Stark asked dubiously.
Jon did not answer.
“Captain?”
“Simply do as I say, First Sergeant.”
Stark hesitated before replying, “Yes, sir.”
Jon hurried from the tanks, motioning for Bast Banbeck to follow him. He also ordered Stark’s reserve squads to join him. They moved fast for the Old Man’s breach.
“Will you continue to send the Centurion’s men up the opposite corridor?” Bast asked him.
Jon did not reply.
“Battle Master—”
“I heard you,” Jon said, interrupting. “In our military, the custom is to obey the commanding officer without question.”
“But I am not one of your marines,” Bast said. “I am operating as a philosopher. It is the Sacerdote custom—”
“Hold the thought, Bast.”
“I do not understand.”
“Keep your mouth shut for a while,” Jon said.
“That I do understand. I will heed your wish, Battle Master.”
One of the Centurion’s marines made a report. The Centurion and his company had broken into the opposite corridor and advanced cautiously. So far, there was no enemy resistance. Three laser tanks remained in the central corridor. Stark had already sent the rest of the tanks toward the Old Man’s breach. The rest of Stark’
s company followed him as the first sergeant followed the tanks.
By that time, Jon and his squads were moving through the right-hand corridor. It gleamed even more brightly than the one they’d exited. Something seemed strange about the corridor, though. Jon glanced at Bast. The Sacerdote’s axe-head gleamed with weird colors.
“Why is your axe shining like that?” Jon asked Bast.
“There is a peculiar energy radiating from the walls,” the Sacerdote said. “I do not know the source or the reason for it.”
“This didn’t happen on Bliss?”
“I did not witness the Battle for Bliss. I grew up in the outer planets, a supervisor for a mining consortium.”
“Seems like a strange post for a high philosopher.”
Bast took his time answering. “It was a punishment detail.”
“What did you do wrong?”
“I propounded an unpopular thesis,” Bast said with a sigh. “When the Four Hundred ordered me to rethink my stance, I refused. I have always held to the attitude of remaining true to oneself. I could do no less at my moment of crisis.”
Jon stared at the Sacerdote as goosebumps rose on his arms. The oddity of talking like this with a humanoid from an alien star system hit him harder than at any other time so far. Despite Bast Banbeck’s differences, he could understand the alien’s thought process.
“Captain!” the Old Man radioed. “We’re under attack and we’re pinned down. We need help, sir. We need it now or we’re all going to die.”
-5-
Jon heard the urgency in the Old Man’s voice. With a wave of an armored hand and a radioed order, he beckoned the several squads to follow him.
At a run, the battlesuits charged up the shining corridor. Bast Banbeck followed, although the giant alien dropped behind. He couldn’t keep up with the exoskeleton motors.
“Spider tanks,” the Old Man shouted into his comm unit. “They have…I don’t know, pulse-shots. It takes the spider tank several seconds to reload between pulses. My 100s can destroy them, but I’m almost out of those. The gyrocs are just bouncing off the alien armor. Captain—”
Cybership Page 24
