The marker, which stood alone on the rocky, often windswept plain, was cut from hull metal, and bore the best inscription that ChienChu could come up with. A poet named Carl Sandberg provided the words:
Pile the bodies high atAusterlitz andWaterloo , Shovel them under and let me work—
I am the grass; I cover all.
Chapter 6
Power never takes a back step—only in the face of more power. Malcom X
Malcom X Speaks
Standard year 1965
Somewhere beyond the Rim, the Confederacy of Sentient Beings
Far out in space, beyond the largely imaginary border that the Confederacy referred to as the Rim, the very fabric of space and time was momentarily altered. Hundreds of ships appeared, glittered like minnows, and swam through the surrounding darkness.
The Hoon’s scout ships detected the other fleet the moment it dropped hyper, issued an electronic challenge, and were answered in kind. Recognition codes were received, analyzed, and validated. Signals were sent, courses were altered, formations were merged, and for the first time in more than two hundred years the fleet was whole.
Whole, but divided, since the original Hoon, which had divided itself into two identical halves in order to cover more space and increase the odds of finding the Thraki, had yet to reintegrate itself. A process of highspeed bilateral updating, which if successful, would result in an artificial intelligence that incorporated all the knowledge and experience each entity had gained during the years of separation. A substantial gain that could lead to a high chance of success.
However, the same minds that had granted the computer the capacity to split itself in two had enacted certain safeguards as well. One such safeguard included a complicated matrix of truth tables intended to ensure that neither of the two halves had been corrupted during their years apart. Neither entity felt any qualms regarding the test, not at first anyway, viewing the process as entirely natural.
Hoon number one, defined as the receiving intelligence, sampled the inflow at; intervals frequent enough to ensure that its counterpart had been operating within the specified parameters. Everything was fine at first. The incoming data was not only acceptable, but judging from equally spaced nibbles, made an excellent meal. It seemed that Hoon number two had journeyed far, fed off many civilizations, but failed to turn up anything more than some Thraki splinter groups. But it was then, while number two reported on one such encounter, that number one spotted the potential problem. Careful to conceal its activities, lest the other AI realize that an investigation was under way, number one diverted part of the data feed to a parallel processor where it could be dissected without interrupting the main flow.
The essence of the discrepancy had to do with the outcome of that particular contact report. Having located a breakaway colony, Hoon number two had allowed itself to be drawn into a twoway conversation, and even worse, had been convinced to spare that particular group. Something that should have been impossible.
Worried lest it be contaminated by some sort of virus—
Hoon number one ran an in-depth review of the facts: Have identified a Thraki debris trail consisting of a wrecked in ship, a hastily mined asteroid, and a spent fuel core, his opposite number had given chase. So far so good.
Fleet number two followed the soft bodies, discovered that approximately three hundred Thraki had established themselves on a class two planet, and prepared to destroy them. That’s when a command override was received. Somehow, someway, one or more of the Thraki had come up with a way to spoof the Hoon.
It appeared that a very sophisticated virus had been planted in the Thraki wreck, a scout had been infected with the corrupted programming as it ingested the ship’s AI, and passed the disease along to its superior as part of an intelligence report. Not only that, but whoever built the virus was so clever that they had imbued it with the means to fool Hoon number two’s virus hunters, and take up residence in the AI’s central processor.
Once in place, the false input took on the appearance of original programming, programming that confirmed the existence of a special breed of Thraki, a group that could and should be allowed to live. An assertion that Hoon number one knew to be false.
That being the case, the AI routed the data to a sacrificial memory module, ran a high priority scrub on its primary, secondary, and tertiary backup banks, and did the only thing that it could: lay plans to murder its twin.
The cabin was dark, intentionally dark. in keeping with the way Jepp felt. Empty ration boxes littered the normally spotless floor, clothes lay heaped where they’d been thrown, and the wouldbe messiah lay huddled beneath a none too clean blanket.
The exprospector had been in a foul mood for weeks now, ever since the visit to Fortuna, and the manner in which God’s message had been ignored.
Yes, the sentients who lived there were the dregs of the Confederacy and committed to their evil ways. Still, he had assumed one or two of them would respond and form the core of what would eventually be a galaxy-spanning religion.
But he’d been wrong, very wrong, and was depressed as a result. Nothing, not even Sam’s most entertaining antics had been sufficient to rouse the human from his emotional stupor. In the meantime, the fleet continued to travel through space, the Sheen continued to hunt Thraki. and his followers continued to attend the daily prayer meetings Humans, bored by the repetitive nature of the gatherings might have stayed away, but not the machines, who listened to Alpha’s rantings with limitless patience, and always came back for more.
In fact, had Jepp been in a better mood, he might have taken heart from the fact that more than two thousand machines routinely attended services held in the vast nano-draped launch bay where hundreds of vessels sat, waiting for their next assignment.
It was at the conclusion of one such session, as the congregation walked, rolled, and crawled to their various tasks, that a pair of recycling droids, the closest thing the Hoon had to police, took Alpha into custody.
The robot complained, but his various utterances and transmissions were to no avail. The recycling machines were not only larger than it was, but stronger and equipped with the ability to override the acolyte’s motor functions.
That being the case. Alpha could do little more than pepper some of his escorts with some of Jepp’s favorite admonitions while they conveyed him through the main lock and into a labyrinth of passageways.
“ ‘He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword.’ ‘As you sow so shall your reap.’ ‘What goes around comes around,’ “ and half a dozen more.
But the recycling droids remained unmoved and continued to chivvy their charge through the brightly lit passageways. It took less than ten minutes to reach the cabin Jepp had assigned to himself. Then, with the signal lack of courtesy typical of mechanical devices everywhere, the robots pushed their way in. The human took exception. “Alpha? Is that you? I don’t want to be disturbed. Please go away.”
In spite of the fact that the answer came via Alpha’s speech synthesizer, it sounded entirely different. It was harder, stronger, and much more insistent. “The ship belongs to me. I will do as I please. I am the Hoon.”
Jepp felt the bottom drop out of his stomach The Hoon! Coming lo him! Nothing of that sort had ever happened before. What did it mean? He swung his feet off the bunk and placed them on the hard cold deck. “Yes, of course. I apologize. Please excuse the mess.”
The Hoon processed the message, concluded that an answer would constitute a waste of time, and moved to the matter at hand: While its counterpart, Hoon number two, possessed all the same defenses that it had, the other entity shared the same vulnerabilities as well. That’s where the soft body came in. The trick was to use the biological without allowing the human to know it had been used. It might balk otherwise, or even worse, obtain more data than it was entitled to have. “There is a task that you will perform.”
Jepp noted the apparent lack of courtesy but knew there was no reason for an alien artifa
ct to observe social niceties appropriate to human culture. Besides, the Hoon saw everything that existed within the structure of the fleet as falling within its domain, and the human was forced to agree. If the AI wanted him to do something, Jepp could either comply or face the not too pleasant consequences. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, if I can help. ..”
The Hoon seemed oblivious to the human’s words. “The unit through which I am communicating will escort you aboard vessel 179621 where you will be asked to perform a simple maintenance procedure. Once the task is complete, you will be allowed to return here.”
“You can count on me,” Jepp replied, determined to sound positive. “I have one question however... If the maintenance procedure is so simple—why can’t one of your robots take care of it?”
“You will perform a maintenance procedure,” the computer reiterated sternly. “You are leaving now.”
“Okay,” Jepp said, getting to his feet. “No need to get your processor in a knot... Allow me to get dressed, grab some toots, and we’re out of here.”
The onetime prospector hurried to pull some fairly clean overalls on, selected some of the tools salvaged from the Pelican, and stuffed them into a pack. “All right your supreme Hoonship .. lead the way.”
But the AI had more important things to do than stand around and wait while the somewhat sluggish biological wrapped itself in fabric. That being the case, it was Alpha who replied to the human’s comment. “The supreme intelligence will meet us later.”
“God is the supreme intelligence,” Jepp growled. “The Hoon is a pain in the ass. Well, come on, let’s get it over with.”
Sam, the Thraki robot, cartwheeled across the cabin, transformed itself into something that looked a lot like a spider. Then, climbing quickly, the device took its place on Jepp’s shoulder. The three of them left together—but it was Alpha who led the way.
Vessel 179621 glowed with the same shimmery force field that gave the Sheen their name. Like Hoon number one, Hoon number two could project itself to any ship in the fleet, but if its intelligence could be said to reside anywhere, it was aboard that particular ship. For it was there, within a carefully secured compartment, that its various components were located. Having been alerted to expect a biological and asked to render an opinion as to its usefulness, a very small portion of the AFs total consciousness tracked the incoming shuttle, noted its arrival, and monitored the creatures that disembarked.
There was an all-purpose unit similar to thousands on board the ship, an alien construct of no obvious value, and the biological that Hoon number one had warned of. An inquisitive creature who seemed headed for the very compartment in which number two was centered. That observation was sufficient to generate a low-level threat warning and to focus more of the computer’s attention on the visitors and their activities.
As with all Sheen vessels, 179621 was equipped with a multiplicity of surveillance devices. Some took the form of tiny silicon imaging chips that had been “painted” onto the bulkheads. The computer preferred infrared to video, however, which meant that what it “saw” looked like a bipedal green blob. It seemed intent on approaching number two’s sanctuary. Why?
Hoon number two sent a message to number one, ran into an electronic wall, and became immediately suspicious. Pathways were verified, systems were checked, and a second attempt failed just as the first had. The AI jumped to the logical conclusion: The other half of itself had severed their relationship and declared the electronic equivalent of war!
A biological might have waffled, might have questioned its own judgement, or been hesitant to take action. Not number two. The second Hoon went to the highest state of alert, directed fifty robots to intercept the intruders, and locked itself in. Monsters roamed the corridors ... and the computer was scared.
Servos whined as Alpha moved down the passageway.
Jepp’s shoes squeaked when they came into contact with the deck, and Sam nattered in the exprospector’s ear. Insofar as Jepp could tell, this vessel was the twin of the one in which he had spent most of his captivity. That being the case, he was familiar with the basic layout and could have navigated on his own, right up till the moment when Alpha approached a heavily armored hatch. The human was familiar with the door, or its analog, but had never been able to open it. One of Alpha’s armlike extensions whirred as it telescoped outwards, made a clicking sound as it mated with some sort of receptacle, and was immediately withdrawn.
Air hissed as the barrier disappeared overhead, a whiff of ozone found its way into the human’s nostrils, and they were in. “I didn’t know you could do that,” the human said, as he followed Alpha down the brightly lit hall.
“It can’t,” Hoon number one replied, “but I can. Now listen carefully because there are limits to how far I can go. Robots wilt be sent against us, I will neutralize most if not all of them, while you proceed to the goal.”
Jepp felt a rising sense of panic. Whatever he had landed in the middle of was more than a routine maintenance chore. That much was clear. Questions begged to be asked. “Robots? Goal? What goal?”
Hatches opened up ahead, a swarm of silvery robots flooded the corridor, and the Hoon hurried to answer. “After you pass through the last door you will find yourself in a circular space. Go to the bright blue module located at the very center of the compartment, take hold of the red handle, and give it one full turn to the right.
“Once that’s accomplished, you must pull the handle, and the component to which the handle is attached, clear of the console. Then, assuming that you survive, you can return to my ship. Questions?”
Questions? Jepp had dozens, but the robots attacked right about then, and the conversation came to an abrupt end. Metal clanged as the oncoming wave smashed into Alpha. None of the units had weapons or were programmed for grasper-to-hand combat. That being the case, they fought like Sumo wrestlers, pushing, shoving, and bumping with their torsos. Alpha staggered under the onslaught, Sam danced the width of Jepp’s shoulders, and the human was forced to retreat.
There were lots of attackers, but the width of the passageway acted to concentrate them, thereby limiting the number that could make contact at any given moment. Still, the phalanx had force, and the intruders gave ground.
The whole thing was strange ... If the Hoon had taken over Alpha’s body, and the robots worked for the Hoon, why would they attack?
Jepp was still pondering that question, stilt trying to figure it out, when the Hoon-Alpha extended an arm. Bright blue electricity arced between it and one of the oncoming Sheen. A black spot appeared between the robot’s sensors, a wisp of smoke drifted away, and the construct collapsed on the deck. Another machine took the first robot’s place, another spark jumped the gap, and another unit fell. Jepp backpedaled, ducked a clumsy roundhouse right, and backpedaled again. That’s when something unexpected took place. Sam morphed into a configuration the prospector had never seen before, threw itself at one of the oncoming robots, and drilled a hole through the top of its shiny metal skull. The bit screamed, bright metal shavings curled toward the deck, and sparks jetted upwards. The machine jerked spasmodically, its joints locked, and it toppled forwards.
Sam rode the robot down, popped loose, and rolled away. The next victim didn’t even know it had even been selected until the diminutive machine swarmed up one of its legs, scampered onto its head. and started the drill.
Emboldened by the inroads achieved by his electromechanical allies. Jepp uttered a primal war cry, charged the machine in front of him, and pushed it over. Metal screeched on metal as the defender hit the deck. The human stepped on the robot’s abdomen and tackled the next unit in line. The battle raged hot and heavy for the next few minutes, started to wane as the causalities increased, and came to a sudden halt. The drill bit screamed as Sam left its most recent victim twitching on the deck. Eyes wild, adrenaline pumping, Jepp turned and charged for the opposite end of the corridor. Never mind the fact that he didn’t know who he was fighting, or why,
the human wanted to win. “Come on!
This is our chance!”
Sam scrambled onto the prospector’s shoulder as Alpha charged forward and hit a force field of some sort. The robot staggered and started to convulse. The Hoon spoke but the words arrived one at a time.
“The force fields were designed for robots. Continue to the objective.”
Of course! Jepp thought to himself. That’s why the tricky pile of nuts and bolts recruited me—the security systems are designed to stop machines! Sheen machines since Sam remains unaffected. That’s when the thinking ended, lost in the rasp of his own breathing and the pounding of his pulse. The hatch! At the far end of the corridor—how would he get the damned thing open? That’s when Jepp remembered the pack, still pounding the lower part of his back, and the tools it contained. Maybe . . . just maybe ...
By force of arms lotd-4 Page 8
