A. I. Uprising (Valyien Book 4)

by James David Victor

  Idly, the captain tried to picture what Alpha would do to them whenever it reached here. Would it let habitats like Welwyn survive? Or would it switch off the gravity and release toxins into the atmosphere?

  All of these houses are automated. The captain recognized the lights that glowed brighter as they walked by, the windows that subtly opened to perfectly regulate the air-flow and humidity inside the dwellings. This whole place will be like Alpha is playing in the sand. He imagined houses suddenly turning on their owners, locking people in or out, dispensing poisoned food or none at all.

  As soon as Alpha worked out what slubs the human race was, he knew that would be the moment they became extinct, probably overnight.

  “Call it a mission of mercy,” the captain said, his thoughts still on the dreadful consequences of Alpha taking complete control of the Imperial Coalition in-space. Stop being weak, he heard his own father’s voice telling him. Eliard, always too sentimental. Too highly strung! The memory of the House Martin Admiral cursed him inside his own mind. “I got to meet a guy,” the captain cleared his throat and said a little more roughly.

  “Meet a guy,” Freddie scoffed. “There isn’t anybody worth knowing down there, believe me.”

  “What about you?” Eliard asked. “Won’t you be glad after you’ve done this to get back to your family?” Hadn’t the kid said that he’d been put away for nigh-on seven years now?

  The youth’s loping gait stumbled for just a short moment. “They moved. I got a message right about the start of year two down there. Left the habitat. I guess they didn’t want to be the family with the son kept downside.”

  “Huh. Families suck,” Eliard said, with a vehemence that surprised even him. The youth threw him an appraising look, and it appeared that he might even ask the captain more about his family, but Eliard cut him off abruptly.

  “How far? You couldn’t have been running that long up here before those security drones got you.”

  “Hm.” Freddie kept his questions to himself.

  It looks like the boy has some sense after all, the captain considered. Maybe being a slave did that to you—gave you an uncanny awareness of when not to invite greater trouble for yourself.

  “It’s not far. There’s an access door just up there.” He nodded through the hedged lane to where it skirted around the long snake of a lake, whose side held a curving dam, made of some sort of clouded glass. “That dam provides some hydro power to Welwyn, and that means that down there, underneath it, is the factories and reactors where the downsiders work.”

  “Good. How do we get in?” Eliard asked. “Or rather, how did you get out?”

  This time, Freddie grinned. “You’re not going to like it, priest.”

  The captain thought about making it clear to the boy that he wasn’t actually a Shahasta priest, but then thought better of it. Let him figure it out on his own. He was better off not knowing, anyway.

  “There’s not a lot of things I’ve liked recently, so I doubt that this will make much of a difference,” Eliard growled.

  The captain didn’t like it.

  “You’re crazy,” he stated, once again and for the record. He and Freddie stood by a small metal and white stone bunker, around which tinkled the synth-electronic music that was so popular at the moment, seeking to entertain the in-spacer citizens at the metro station.

  The metro was little more than a series of bubble cars, mounted on overhead rails and fit with large windows, behind which sat citizens about to make their journey through the dam. Eliard eyed the round hole of the tunnel, just as another of the bubble-carriages started slowly, before quickly accelerating down the tunnel. When Eliard leaned back, he could see the shadow of the shape behind the clouded glass of the dam, already reaching a third of the way, a half, almost to the other end.

  “It’s in there?” He nodded to the tunnel as another shuttle started to speed up to follow its predecessor. From the look of it, the tunnel had been precision laser-molded, and there seemed to be barely enough space for the bubble cars, let alone the tracks. However, each carriage was mounted to rails that stretched along the ceiling of the tunnel, leaving a short, four or five-foot gap at its feet. “You did what, belly-crawled all the way out?”

  “I’m smaller than you.” Freddie shrugged. “I told you that you weren’t going to like it…”

  Eliard looked at the station, and the tunnel, and the waiting line of citizens about to embark on the next shuttle. “We can’t just crawl through the middle there…”

  “You have to wait until nighttime,” the youth said sagely.

  Too long, Eliard thought, turning slightly to bring his arm up and whisper into his wrist. “Irie?” he said, patching through to the ship’s communications. He didn’t want to do it. Ponos had told him that he should stay out of data-space, including communications, as much as possible, because there was no way of knowing just what Alpha was monitoring.

  But sometimes all the choices you have are bad ones, he thought.

  “Boss?” Her voice came back a moment later, sounding anxious

  “Situation?” the captain asked.

  “Steady. Ponos was true on his word at least, he masked out the ship signal to that of a pleasure cruiser, and we’re happily stuck in a stationary orbit, apparently sight-seeing.”

  “Good. Tell Ponos that I’m about to make entry, but I need him to be prepared for a lot of damage control,” Eliard said.

  “Warpholes, Captain,” Irie cussed. “If we pull anything off, then you know that we’ll risk blowing our cover…” Irie sounded exasperated. But then again, Irie Hanson always sounded exasperated, nothing new there.

  “A brain like his, I’m sure he can figure something out,” Eliard said, looking at the tunnel again. “Tell Ponos that in about T-minus three minutes, there is going to be a situation in Welwyn Habitat, and I need him to stop all hell from breaking loose.”

  “Right. Gotcha.” Irie sounded unsurprised. “Business as usual, Captain?”

  “Business as usual,” the captain confirmed, feeling a flicker of his old enthusiasm for this bit of the job. Only a flicker, because since losing Cassandra, it had been hard for the man to concentrate on anything other than making Alpha pay for her death. But Irie was right—this was about to be business as usual, which was Mercury shorthand for busting in, waving blasters, making noise, and busting back out again before anyone had a chance to grab their heads with their hands.

  “We’ll be ready, out,” Irie advised.

  “What are you going to do?” Freddie looked at the man in alarm.

  “You’ve done your bit, kid. Just tell me where this access port is, and then I suggest you find another Shahasta priest to pretend to follow before security starts to get suspicious…” Eliard tugged his robes about him and started to make for the line of waiting citizens.

  “Aw, hell,” he heard the youth say behind him, his booted feet running to catch up. “I never wanted to be an acolyte anyway, and you’ll never make it through the warren after the access port without me.”

  Eliard was surprised for a second, and then he wasn’t. This kid really is like me at his age. “Now’s your final chance to get out of this. I can’t guarantee your safety after this.” The next shuttle whisked into place, and passengers started walking up the ramp.

  “Who wants to be safe?” Freddie said back, his smile a tad unconvincing. The kid is scared, the captain thought. Good. Shows he’s not a complete idiot.

  “Excuse me!” the captain started saying loudly, shouldering and pushing his way through the mess of Civilians until he was at the front of the queue and walking up the ramp.

  “Hey! Watch it!” The other waiting citizens didn’t appear to be that impressed.

  “Important Shahasta business. May the stars bless your consideration,” Eliard mumbled, wishing that he had spent more time at the academy learning whatever it was the various holy orders said in public. His act worked though, despite the grumbles and the arguments behind him
as he (and Freddie Oberman, his unofficial acolyte) shoved, kicked, and elbowed their way onto the already crowded shuttle.

  Whisk! The ramp and the folding door closed behind them and they started to move, heading for the tunnel. And the downside, the captain hoped.

  The captain waited approximately thirty seconds before he cast aside the robes to reveal the Device on his arm and shot a hole clean through the doors.

  “Nobody move or you’ll be next!” Eliard screamed in the confined space. The bubble compartment of their shuttle was howling with wind and shuddering as it screamed to a halt. The walls were flushed with a warning red, and alarms were ringing at the sudden loss of integrity of the carriage’s structure.

  “Aiii! He’s gone mad!” Screams filled their ears.

  The carriage was more like a travelling lounge-room, with reclined chair-booths set at odd angles to each other, as the glass dome of the walls erratically flickered with their displays of large holograms of all of the different sorts of fish and aquatic creatures that could be seen on the other side of the tunnel’s glass walls.

  Why does this have to be water, again? The captain gritted his teeth as he swept the Device over the crowd of worried faces. I hate water, so, sooo much.

  The Device on his forearm had reacted to his thoughts and had extended to form an entire cannon-shape of iridescent blue and scattered with flecks of green. At its ‘mouth’ flexed a selection of nubs like teeth, between which crackled white and purple energy. The captain still had no clue as to how this thing worked, only that it did. Ponos had mentioned something about ‘bio-electric frequencies’ and ‘plasma,’ but Eliard hadn’t understood it—only that the Device itself was as much a living thing as he was, and that it reacted to the needs of his situation, morphing and changing into almost whatever weapon he needed.

  And right now, I need something awful big and scary, he thought, and watched as the Device grew tines and filled out bulbous pods that looked like siderail weapons units.

  “Holy mother of—”

  “What is that THING on his arm!”

  “I always knew those priests were dodgy…”

  Eliard bared his teeth at the citizens’ terror. You had to give it to them—official Imperial Coalition citizens could always find a way to turn any crisis into a way to act superior to everyone else in the room.

  “I said don’t move one sodding inch!” he screamed at one man who had stood up, wearing the same svelte robes as the others, but a bit younger, blonde hair, bio-engineered eyes that flashed crimson.

  “You want to be a hero, do you, slub?” Freddie surprised him by screaming, pointing the pocket of his jacket at the standing young man as if he held a concealed gun.

  “What do you want?” The man appeared nonplussed. “You know that this can’t work. You’re in a secure habitat, around you are miles and miles of drone-patrolled territory.”

  This guy is a cool customer, Eliard thought, not levelling the Device at him but keeping it sweeping over the other terrified customers. He had faced such people before—usually ex-Armcore military, or else had earned some basic training somewhere in their past. There was no point trying to intimidate a man like Mr. Red-Eyes there.

  “Where we’re going, we won’t have that problem,” Eliard said curtly, nodding to Freddie. “How far?”

  The kid glared one last time at Mr. Red-Eyes and poked his head out of the broken open metal that had recently been the shuttle door. The entire carriage had come to a swaying halt, just as the captain had presumed it would.

  “Not far. I think I see the access port just down there,” Freddie called back, his voice breathless with excitement and fear.

  “Access port? You two are heading downside?” Mr. Red-Eyes narrowed his crimsons, calculating.

  “Good riddance!” one of the other citizens spat.

  “Best place for them, and the other slubs down there…” another passenger whispered to its fellow traveler.

  “Right. That’s it. I’ve had enough of your backchat!” Eliard shouted. “Hand over your personal affects to my acolyte here. The Temple of Shahasta welcomes generous donations to our help-the-needy campaign. Necklaces, rings, pendants, amulets, and brooches please.”

  “Is that what we’re doing? Mugging people?” Freddie hissed to him as he started to snatch brooches and jewelry from the people around him.

  “I didn’t want to do this, but as my old father used to say,” the captain said tightly, “never let an opportunity go to waste…”

  “Petty criminals,” Mr. Red-Eyes sneered as he dropped a handful of signet rings into Freddie’s palm. “I should have guessed. I hope that you enjoy your time in solitary, or in an Armcore front-line unit…”

  “Crap.” Freddie held out one of the signet rings that Mr. Red-Eyes had shown him. It was a heavy gold ring, with the red ruby inscribed with the star and the A of Armcore.

  “What are you, some kind of lieutenant?” the captain asked. “A second-class one, I bet. You’re no captain or brigadier, otherwise you’d be traveling in a private transporter. And you’re way too young to be a major or a general,” Eliard laughed at the man. “Yeah, I’m guessing a second-class lieutenant, back on away-leave from Armcore Prime. How are they doing over there, by the way? I heard they had a pretty big accident with their defense shield recently?” Eliard teased him. I should know, I caused it.

  “How do you know that!?” Mr. Red-Eyes snapped, his bio-glowing eyes narrowing. “That breach was confidential, super confidential.”

  Oh crap. Eliard felt a trickle of fear. Big mouth strikes again. “Shut up and get on the floor. Just you, face down!”

  Freddie had now stuffed the pockets of his incongruous jacket with trinkets and baubles, probably enough to buy a small drone-racer if he wanted, and Eliard nodded to the door. “You first, kid. I’ll follow.”

  “You won’t get far!” Second Lieutenant Red-Eyes shouted after them, his voice muffled from the metal grill-work of the floor.

  “Far enough!” Eliard stepped carefully back from the shuttle into the crystal-glass dome of the tunnel, to feel his back flatten against the far side.

  “Come on! This way!” Freddie was already beckoning him where he was squeezed around the side of the shuttle and moving into the circle of the thing’s forward lights.

  Eliard looked back into the carriage of terrified people (most of them now missing a few important bits of jewelry) and instantly saw that Second Lieutenant Red-Eyes wasn’t quite so useless as he had appeared at first.

  “Everybody down!” barked not the captain but the second lieutenant as he rolled to one side, drawing out some concealed personal blaster and leveling it at the door.

  Idiot! Eliard snarled and shoved himself along the wall.

  Whumpf! A wave of white energy burst just a few feet away from him and the heat rolled over his face, singing his eyebrows and stubble. “Run!” Eliard shouted, even as he tried to shove himself through the gap to the relative safety of the tunnel in front, and the Device started to react to the danger.

  Starting a gun fight on a crowded passenger shuttle? Who does that!? Eliard swore as he burst out from the squeezed space between shuttle and wall and stumbled after Freddie. The answer was Armcore of course, that was who.

  Whumpf! Screams came from behind him and suddenly, the captain was spinning, shoulder over feet, as a blast hit him across the shoulder and pain lanced down his back. “Drekker!” he screamed in pain as he hit the smooth floor and tumbled.

  “Priest!?” came back Freddie’s worried cry.

  “Got him!” A shout from Second Lieutenant Red-Eyes.

  Eliard’s head was ringing, and his back felt like it was on fire. Am I alive? He thought for a moment. Yes. But could he breathe? Could he walk? He turned over onto his back as he heard the sound of scraping and shoving coming from the carriage. The second lieutenant was advancing to finish off the job, clearly…

  If he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight… The thought hit Eliard�
��s mind as fast as the energy blast that had driven him to the floor. What do I owe these citizens anyway? It was their nonchalance that had kept Armcore in business. It was their actions—or inaction, to be more precise—that had allowed this mess to happen. That had even, in some small way, contributed to Cassandra’s death…

  Captain Eliard of House Martin had spent his life preying on these fat, comfortable people after all. He hissed in pain as he tried to push himself up off the floor—

  “Ach!” Pain ricocheted through his back and spine, as fast and strong as a lightning bolt, and his arms weakened, falling to the side of the tunnel in agony. Maybe he was more injured than he had thought.

  And now these fat and comfortable people, and their zealous, fanatical Armcore employees, were finally going to kill him. Here, in the depths of one of their complacent habitats. And surrounded by water, he noticed miserably.

  Eliard had always shied away from actually killing the people he had robbed, though there was always one or two guards and mercenaries who tried to be heroes, of course, but the general population? The merchants and the traders that he had robbed in the past? Those people he had always let live. He had even set their distress beacons for them when he had crippled their merchant ships out in the non-aligned worlds.

  Always so sentimental, his father would have said. One of the many reasons that he would never have made a good general. Well, that and his total inability to make sound strategic decisions. Just like now, as he flipped himself over with a groan.

  “Don’t move!” Second Lieutenant Red-Eyes shouted, to a ragged cheer from the slub citizens behind him.

  Eliard grinned wolfishly and raised the Device—

  “Hyugh!” There was a shout and a flicker of noise as suddenly, a shape flew over Eliard’s head and body-checked the second lieutenant. It was Freddie, flailing and kicking for all he was worth.

  Whumpf.