Earthweb

by Marc Stiegler

  The minitanks were physically broader than the guards; they'd be the last things through the opening. That gave him a chance to plant the mines with a higher chance of nailing the tanks and not wasting them on the easier targets.

  Feverishly, Lou laid out a plan and posted it to the 'castpoint.

  * * *

  The headache now felt like a series of low-yield nukes going off in her head, but Jessica hardly noticed it. She watched the new prediction take form on the 'castpoint, that Roni could lay a minefield in the right-hand side of the hall and take out at least one-third of the minitanks. There wasn't any time for watching a bunch of traders reflect on the correctness of this plan, but she knew Morgan would go with it. "Hurry the mines," she whispered.

  * * *

  CJ might have had the fastest reflexes in history, but she was still busy organizing the barricade when the first roboguard appeared. So Akira scored the first kill: a pair of pellets from his pistol caused the guard to stumble, and a third shot went home under the exposed lip of the breastplate.

  Two more roboguards crowded through the opening.

  Morgan's voice once again came through. "Roni, duodec. Ten one-centimeter charges, pressure caps. Plant 'em on the right side of the hall in two rows."

  Roni snapped his gun into its holster and built the mines while the others stood off the growing collection of adversaries. CJ nailed a roboguard, and Axel opened up the 40mm on the four minitanks skittering toward them. Two of them fell, both Mark Is. The other two, both Mark IIs, accelerated.

  * * *

  Mercedes read her spec one more time out loud. Even without anyone in the room to hear her, she had found that if you read it out loud and it didn't sound funny, it was a pretty good spec. No passage tripped her ambiguity sensors, carefully honed over the last four years of college, and she touched the button to publish the spec. "Trillian, view mode," she ordered.

  Once again a scene from Shiva filled the bulk of her wall. But the last view she'd had was of a quiet hall with just the five Angels. What she saw now made her gasp in horror. Whoever had made the opposition-strength forecast had been hideously correct. Now her screen looked upon a wild chaos of combat. Somehow the forecast she'd been working hadn't helped at all, or so it appeared. It seemed impossible for anyone to survive. She watched with a helpless feeling of doom as the door slid completely into the wall, and a last group minitanks rushed the Angels. She wasn't sure what to think when the whole right side of the screen lit up with a series of explosions, leaving her with sunbursts dancing in her eyes.

  * * *

  Jesus, there were a lot of the bastards! CJ screamed in primal fury. Lars was making mincemeat of the roboguards with the 40mm, but the minitanks just kept coming. She angled her pellet gun down and got off a good shot, killing one of them. Akira and Axel each scored one as well. One skittered past, zeroing in on the trailer, with all their spare equipment and their heaviest gun. With a swift motion, it smashed one of trailer's wheels into junk and started to climb. CJ dropped her gun and flung herself at the thing, charging low to stay out of Lars' fire. She grabbed its arms and pulled back, with both the strength of her fiercest determination and the amplified strength of her frame.

  Tipped up in a climbing position, the minitank was awkwardly positioned. It reached for the 40mm gun tube, didn't quite reach it, then steeled itself for another pull. It was far stronger than CJ and her frame; in a moment it would be free.

  Lars pointed the gun at the minitank, but paused: CJ was braced behind the tank, and it was fundamentally impolite to shoot at your teammates.

  "Lars, shoot the damn thing," CJ yelled in fury.

  Lars pulled the trigger, and a burst of shells hollowed out the minitank. With a range of inches, the force of the hits threw CJ backwards, but she was able to hold the shell of the minitank in front of her. The tank's own armored back protected her from the gunfire till Lars trained his weapon on another target.

  Another minitank ripped the front right wheel off the trailer and started climbing up for the gun.

  CJ threw the shell of the dead tank from her. She was about to charge the one climbing the trailer when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, another whole wave of minitanks coming through the doorway. Axel and Akira were still engaged with a pair of tanks from the last wave. Roni was out of position, on the flank where she had sent him. There was really no stopping this next collection. They were already beaten.

  Then she was thrown to the floor by a series of four blasts. Looking up, she saw that everyone and everything was surprised by the explosions except Roni, who hopped around the dead minitanks and calmly shot a fifth one dead with a ricochet hit.

  The minitank on the trailer had been thrown down on its back, but it held the 40mm gun in its hand. The minitank squeezed the weapon, shattering its breach. But while the tank concentrated on the gun, Lars leaped lightly to the top of the trailer to thrust down with his spike. The minitank lay motionless.

  Akira got a good shot into the last minitank as Axel blocked a blow from the tank with his spike. The spike survived; the tank did not.

  CJ looked around wildly for more opposition. Then she heard Morgan's voice. "Relax, CJ." With billions of people listening he couldn't say, "Relax, love," but the feeling came across in the warm glow of his voice. She could feel his breath on her shoulder, and she shuddered. Dan spoke again. "You won the first round. Time to assess the damage."

  CJ rose to her feet, still blinking the sweat from her eyes with a sense of astonishment. "We're all still alive," she muttered in wonder.

  "Yes," Morgan said simply. "Against all odds. Well done."

  Chapter Eleven

  A Crack in the Wall

  Jessica shook uncontrollably. She planted her feet on the wall beneath the forward screen of the cocoon and pushed. She thrust herself into her chair, relaxed, and pushed again, until she had control of herself again. Too much adrenaline, not enough outlet. It reminded her of how she'd felt on the last night of her normal life, before the arrival of General Samuels, when she'd beaten the simulated Shiva.

  She watched as the Angels took inventory. Everyone was still alive, despite the most vicious trap ever set in the Alabaster Hall. It seemed like a good omen.

  For just a moment she studied the scene as herself, as Jessica. Then she flipped back into Morgan-simulation mode and started planning the next steps. Normally, you'd just drop a few booby traps at this doorway to prevent the repair mechs from scrupulously doing their job by going back up the hall and removing the rods so the blast shields could close. But the size of the welcoming committee this time suggested a more aggressive form of defense. Would Morgan hold one of the Angels back, keep him posted here as a guard? Maybe Axel?

  No, no, of course not. Morgan had a much better option. He'd blow the roof, cause a cave-in, and booby-trap the debris. That would keep the repair mechs busy plenty long enough for this assault to succeed. Or fail.

  Dragon's teeth! That had been one serious encounter with the minitanks. His heart had sunk when that last squad of enemy machines had charged out: what were the chances of anyone surviving a whirlwind of destruction like that?

  But they'd come through it all right. In fact, no one had gotten killed; as nearly as he could tell, no one was even hurt. He wasn't sure, but he suspected that might be a first for the Angel teams. And against the toughest opposition yet, no less.

  The Dealer smirked. The tailriding suckers who'd bet that none of the Angels would get off the ship were probably shaking in their shoes by now. He glanced down the screen of 'casts . . . yes, the odds were changing as he watched. He was very glad he was out of that kind of ride and into something better.

  Three different 'casts had been placed on how they would repair the damage to the trailer. One plan seemed obviously better than the others, and he bought into it, though as with all the obvious choices, the odds meant he wouldn't make a lot of money off of it. His great opportunity still lay down the road somewhere.

&nbs
p; Paolo's heart filled with pride to the bursting point. "Sofia," he cried, "There's something you have to see."

  "Be with you in a minute," her voice came from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house. A few moments later she appeared. "What's up?"

  "Take a look at this." Paolo pointed at a forecast in the 'castpoint.

  Sofia looked at the forecast. It took a few seconds for her to pick out the special feature. At last she smiled. "That's Mercedes', isn't it?"

  "Yes, that is our daughter's brand. She wrote the spec—" he pointed at Mercedes' carefully crafted text, "and let me say, as a professional in the field, she did a very good job with it."

  "That's marvelous." She hugged him. "Did you take a position on this forecast? It seems only fitting that we should support our daughter."

  "I'm afraid it wasn't a 'cast we're expert in. Not even the Predictor can predict everything, you know."

  "Oh, I know." With a swift, darting motion, Sofia's finger found Paolo's ticklish spot, in the small of his back. Paolo jumped. "Yikes! Why did you do that?"

  Sofia's smiled turned wicked. "To show the Predictor just how surprisingly unpredictable the world can be," she replied smugly.

  * * *

  Lars stood from his labors over the trailer's front axle. He slapped his hands together with the satisfied sound of a job well done. "Just like new," he announced. "Well, more or less like new."

  CJ stared doubtfully at the results. "Great job, Lars." Sometimes being the team leader meant congratulating people on a job not so much done well as done at all.

  And the axle bracing seemed liked it would hold until they got to the center-level slidechute, anyway. If it did hold that long, they'd get their trailer as far as Solovyev, the record holder, had gone.

  Roni took off to scout ahead. CJ watched him depart, then looked over her shoulder. "Axel, let's blow this banana stand."

  "A pleasure," Axel replied, pressing the button. The force of the explosion shook the floor. The chunk of ceiling brought down by the blast shook the floor again.

  Akira surveyed the results as he threw a few last traps into the rubble. "Nice work, Axel. But you are not permitted to redecorate my house."

  Axel sniffed. "I'm sure I could transform your place with subtle yet delightful enhancements."

  "Mount up, everyone," CJ ordered. She climbed up to sit on the trailer, pellet gun in hand. A roboguard had totaled one of the bikes before Lars had turned the enemy into broken china, so they were a bike short. Lars would have to pedal for both of them; fortunately, for Lars this wouldn't be a big problem.

  "We're outta here." CJ leaned over and patted the shoulder of Lars' armor frame. "Giddyap."

  They started rolling, counter-clockwise around Shiva, toward the radial corridor that would take them deeper into the ship, to the slidechutes.

  * * *

  Lou paced one more time across the rec room, kicking another of Lanie's talking dolls across the pale green carpet. The doll landed between the two big, red recliners close to the small wallscreen. His breathing was still a bit ragged from the tension of battle. Now, to top it off, the exertion of the pacing was wearing him down. In short, he was getting too old for this sort of thing. He looked at his hands; they shook, and purple veins stood out on the mottled, wrinkled skin. Lou considered that if he didn't keep moving he'd probably fossilize in place. His son would take a petrified finger and place it on the mantle as a remembrance. Clenching his hand into a fist, Lou shook himself and marched back into his office.

  He found Viktor's broad face on his touchscreen. Viktor began to speak, but Lou spoke faster and louder. "Viktor, what the hell happened to you? We almost lost 'em."

  "It killed Anatoly, Lou," Viktor explained. "My grandson-in-law was with the fleet that set up the diversion for the Angels. His ship is gone. There were no survivors this time."

  Lou closed his eyes. "I'm really sorry, Viktor." In the moment of silence that followed, he could hear wailing in the background.

  Viktor shook his head. "I am sorry I let you down." He sat straighter. "This makes our job even more important."

  "Very true," Lou said. "But that doesn't make it hurt any less."

  "We thought we'd be better prepared for losing him, after the last time, when we thought he was dead." He smiled through tears. "We were wrong."

  Lou searched desperately for something to say, to cheer his old friend and older enemy. "Listen, when this is over, I've been thinking I should bring Lanie up to visit."

  Viktor's visage filled with astonishment. "Just to cheer me up, you will suffer the desolate winds and inhuman cold of Arctic Russia? To lighten my heart, you will bring the light of your life to this land where darkness rules?"

  Lou knew he couldn't let it sound like a charity journey. "Since when have you had a heart? If you had a heart, it would have stopped by now, and you'd be dead. Nonsense, Viktor." He waved his hand. "I've been thinking for a while that Lanie should come and visit so she can appreciate the depths of human madness and the grotesque alien conditions to which humans can adapt. After all, the real reason your ancestors settled up there was to conduct a survival experiment, right? Figuring that if they could live in Murmansk, then living on the Moon would be easy?"

  Viktor waved a pudgy finger at him. "You are a wily fox, old friend. I will hold you to your promise to visit." Lou heard another wail from another room in Viktor's house. Viktor glanced over his shoulder. "In the meantime, it looks like our heroes are okay for the moment, and I must attend my family. I'll get in touch in a couple of hours."

  Lou nodded. "A couple of hours it is. I'll keep an eye on the Angels, make sure they don't get into any trouble we can't get them out of."

  Viktor's image on the touchscreen turned dark. Lou closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He considered taking a nap, decided against it, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Peter sat frowning, pressing the replay button again and again. The movement seemed so mechanical Selpha wondered if he were really listening, or if he were trapped in some compulsion of his own. She had worked with her son long enough, though, that she didn't think it was just a meaningless fixation: she thought she could tell from the way his frown changed shaped, his mind was actively engaged.

  Selpha listened to the swatch of sound he repeated. It started after the Angels had killed the last enemy robot, as they stepped from the Alabaster Hall into the sandstone corridor. It ended after the explosion that brought down the ceiling. She couldn't hear anything interesting at all.

  At last Peter stopped the playback. His face relaxed. "There's a crack in that wall," he said.

  "Are you sure?" Selpha asked. She knew that he would say yes, that he was quite sure, but the length of his hesitation before he made the assertion would tell her his real level of confidence.

  The hesitation did not last as long as she had expected. "I'm quite sure. There's a crack in the wall."

  "Thank you," Selpha said, and turned to her terminal.

  * * *

  Mercedes watched Blake laughing as he earmarked another forecast for her attention. Mercedes found herself joining him. She looked at the sketch. "There's a crack in the wall?"

  Blake shook his head. "I don't know how they could possibly have figured that out. And I can't imagine who could use the information for anything even if it were true."

  Mercedes continued the commentary. "And there's no chance at all that this forecast will get resolved. Nobody is going to go back there with a sledge hammer to see if it's true. I predict that in forty-eight hours this forecast will get scrubbed from the point, unawarded." She shrugged. "But you're the one who taught me that even the most obscure, irrelevant forecast can supply valuable insight to someone, if the forecast is disseminated widely but filtered effectively." She cleared her throat. "Ours is not to question why, ours is but to write, not lie."

  "Ouch! Hoist on my own petard," Blake said, recognizing his own words. He shrugged. "Well, no matter how useless this 'cast is, w
riting the spec will be good practice." He smiled wickedly. "That's why I'm giving it to you."

  "Thanks." Mercedes sighed, but just for effect. She was perfectly happy working some live forecasts that weren't life-threatening. "Trillian, work mode."

  * * *

  Normally, the forecast would have penetrated Paolo's filters as a low-priority notification—the 'cast had a slight relevance to his analysts. Instead, however, it jumped to his attention because he'd put a priority acceptance on anything with his daughter's brand on it. He read the 'cast, passed it around his team, and went back to work on Crockett II's deductions. A couple of minutes later, thunderstruck, he realized the meaning of the forecast.

  No one had ever found, or even suggested there might be, a flaw in a wall before. Indeed, to the best of his knowledge, no one had ever found a defect of any kind in any of the ships, aside from the damage created by the bombs set off by the Angels themselves. There was a perfection in the manufacture of the Shivas that still made the best of human engineering look like a backwater hack job. A fracture in the wall would constitute a remarkable change in Shiva engineering.