A.I. Battle Station (The A.I. Series Book 4)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Ah…” Gloria said. “I’m beginning to perceive your madness. You want the Gilgamesh to help us.”

  “I want more than that,” Jon said. “We have another cybership on the way at Makemake. I want to use that vessel, too.”

  “Three cyberships against a massive battle station and who knows how many cyberships they have defending it?” Gloria asked.

  “What better place to use the AI virus?” Jon asked. “We barrel in, get close, zap them with the virus and take out several AI vessels, maybe capturing a few, and capture the massive battle station to boot. That will smash their local power, boost ours and likely give us greater intelligence about nearby space. We’ll have used up our secret weapon. That’s a minus. But I don’t see a better way to grab a bigger haul with use of the secret weapon.”

  For a few seconds, no one spoke.

  “Jon,” Gloria said. “Don’t you realize this must be exactly what the AI robot wanted you to do when it made its plan?”

  “Maybe and maybe not,” Jon said. “If that was its plan, likely, it thought we’d go in alone. I mean to go in with three times that number. Now, if you can see a flaw in my plan, show me and we’ll do something else.”

  They stared at him.

  “Well…” Jon said. “Start thinking. I want to hear the flaws. There have to be flaws. Despite that, I think we may have just stumbled onto a game changer.”

  -25-

  Jon sat back thoughtfully as Uther Kling and Chief Technician Ghent filed out of the conference room.

  The Centurion stopped beside him, clapping him on the good shoulder. The small killer seldom smiled. A tiny quirk played at the right corner of his mouth. His eyes gleamed with hunger.

  “The colonel would have loved your idea,” the Centurion said, referring to the late Colonel Nathan Graham.

  Jon felt an intense wave of gratitude bubble out of him. He knew it was absurd. Those were just words. He couldn’t help it, though. He beamed with delight, although he gave a curt nod.

  “It will be dangerous,” the Centurion said. “A lot of good boys are going die.” He removed his hand and stood quietly. “But that’s what soldiers are for. I can’t think of a better plan that might actually help us win the wider war. That’s worth dying for if we have to. I think Sergeant Stark would have told you that you have big balls, Commander.”

  Jon’s smile departed. He still felt bad about Stark. He still respected that tough old sod. The memory of what Stark had done for him in the rings of Saturn…

  “We’re going to ram our attack down their throat,” the Centurion said softly. “We’re going to make them sorry they ever messed with humans. We’re going to tear them machines apart and piss on their cooling coils.”

  An actual smile pulled at the Centurion’s leathery features. It did not make him endearing. It made the man seem deranged.

  Jon felt a chill work up his spine. He would not have thought that possible. He was glad the Centurion was on their side. In the end, he had been the most dangerous of the three original sergeants.

  The Centurion patted Jon’s good shoulder one more time. He walked out through the hatch afterward.

  The Old Man had pulled out a pipe and lit it. He smoked as he sat at his spot at the table. “There is one small problem with your idea.”

  Jon noticed that neither Gloria nor Bast had gotten up. He wasn’t sure he wanted them hearing this, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Those two had dearly disliked his plan.

  “I’m listening?” Jon told the Old Man.

  The tall Old Man puffed on his pipe, blowing smoke a moment later. “You’re going to need the Gilgamesh.”

  “I already said as much.”

  “And our new cybership from Makemake’s moon, if it’s ready,” the Old Man said.

  “Even if the new cybership is not ready,” Jon said.

  “That’s the flaw.”

  Jon shook his head. “I don’t see it.”

  “Earth,” the Old Man said.

  “Do you mean the Earth and Venus fleets?” Jon asked.

  The Old Man withdrew the pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem at Jon.

  “Why didn’t you say something during the meeting?” Jon asked.

  “I’m saying it now.”

  Jon inhaled deeply, seeing the problem. Then, he saw the answer. He grinned.

  “Whoever runs the Solar League made a mistake,” Jon said. “He or she has been building defensive satellites. They should have been building more warships instead. They’ve played defense because of a feared cybership assault upon Earth. Yeah, they have what’s left of their original fleets. Benz still has the Mars Fleet and we can send them reinforcements from Uranus and Saturn.”

  “If Caracalla will agree to see his warships go to Mars,” the Old Man said.

  “It will be in Caracalla’s interests to agree.”

  The Old Man puffed on his pipe, clearly thinking about that. Finally, with both hands on the table, he shoved himself to his feet. He grabbed the pipe, puffed a little more and nodded.

  “You may be right about the satellites,” the Old Man said. “I imagine the Earth people could put up more satellites than spaceships. They figured by doing it that way that they’d have greater defensive strength at Earth. But it was a strategic mistake on the Solar League’s part. They planned for what they could see. They did not plan for an unexpected shift in the strategic balance.”

  Gloria appeared startled at the Old Man’s words.

  “A black swan,” the mentalist said softly.

  Jon gave her a glance, remembering their previous conversation about black swans.

  “I can’t come up with a better idea,” the Old Man told Jon. “I wonder what Benz will say to your proposal?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Jon said.

  The Old Man nodded and headed for the hatch.

  Jon regarded the last two, Gloria and Bast Banbeck. Neither had risen from their chair. Gloria seemed thoughtful. Bast was simply glum. There was no denying the frown on his face and the gloom in his eyes. This was unlike the Sacerdote he recalled. What had gotten into Bast?

  “Doing what the robot mind wants you to do doesn’t seem like cleverness,” Gloria said. “It seems closer to suicide.”

  “Do you believe we have false data regarding the Allamu System Battle Station?” Jon asked.

  “How can we know?” Gloria asked.

  “That’s your department, Bast,” Jon said.

  The Sacerdote looked up.

  “Was the core tricking you?” Jon asked.

  “No,” Bast said.

  “That doesn’t mean a thing,” Gloria said. “What if the brain core carried false data but believed it was true data?”

  “Deceptions within deceptions,” Jon said. “Suppose we take that view… Where does it end?”

  Jon snapped his fingers suddenly as it hit him. It surprised him to see Bast flinch at the noise. That dampened some of his enthusiasm.

  “Maybe that’s the deception,” Jon said. “Maybe the robot brain calculated your intelligence. Maybe the brain planned to make you doubt everything. One of our strengths in the past has been hard, decisive strikes.”

  “That’s been your strength, not mine,” Gloria said.

  “Either way,” Jon said. “Could that be the deception here?”

  “It wouldn’t be deception at that point,” Gloria said. “It would be an attempt to paralyze us from over-analysis. I seriously doubt that was its idea for us at this point.”

  “Why not?” asked Jon.

  “Because it doesn’t play on your observed psychology,” Gloria said. “The brain unit must have calculated you as an attacker. That is your strength. You like to chance everything on a do or die thrust to the heart of the matter.”

  “Where is the trap in my battle station attack plan?”

  Gloria shook her head.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a trap.”

>   “Look,” Jon said. “Let’s assume the worst. Clearly, the AIs do not possess FTL messaging. If they did, the stealth robots in the Solar System would have summoned a vast armada to wipe us out. That means the enemy will not be waiting for us to appear in the Allamu System.”

  “The battle station could be on constant high alert,” Gloria said.

  “Even if that’s true, that’s not the same as setting an ambush for us.”

  “I fail to see—”

  “It’s easy,” Jon said. “We drop out of hyperspace in the Allamu System. We’ll have to do so at extreme range. We can scan all the while. If we scan a massive number of waiting cyberships, we leave via hyperspace.”

  “If there are more hidden pods on our hull—”

  “There aren’t,” Jon said. “We checked the hull, remember?”

  “We might have missed a hidden pod,” Gloria said.

  “So we’ll recheck the hull again while we’re in the Solar System. We’ll scour the hull. Once we’re sure—”

  “Can we ever be one hundred percent certain?” asked Gloria.

  “No…” Jon said after a moment’s reflection, “not one hundred percent. There is always room for doubt, for an accident. One must accept reasonable odds and do his best in a situation.”

  “Go on,” Gloria said.

  “We can play this safe by coming at the battle station from a different direction than Earth. It will take us a little longer to begin the attack, but that way they can’t find Earth by back-tracking our course. Anyway, if the enemy has too much for us to handle, we leave the star system.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Gloria said.

  Jon spread his hands, nodding encouragingly.

  “I’m still suspicious,” Gloria said. “There is something we’re not seeing.”

  “Ah,” Jon said, tapping the side of his nose. “But it will be what the AIs don’t see that will give us a smashing strategic victory.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Well…” Jon said. “I’m not certain. I simply don’t see a better use for the AI virus. It may only work once. So we might as well use it to gain the greatest rewards.”

  “Yes,” Gloria said with an exhale of breath. “Your attack might work. It sounds reasonable. I don’t know if Benz will agree, though.”

  “We’re going to drop out of hyperspace, slow down to a stop and regain velocity that heads us back to the Solar System. That will take a little while. If Benz won’t agree—”

  “We’ll have lost time finding new allies,” Gloria said, interrupting.

  “Nothing is certain. Quit trying to act as if it is. We do the best we can. Let’s not drive ourselves crazy by thinking ourselves into a circle.”

  “Yes,” she said, while standing. “I supposed you’re right. It’s just…” Gloria shook her head, glanced at Bast and walked out of the chamber.

  “It’s just you and me, big guy,” Jon said.

  “I hate it out here,” Bast said ponderously. “I feel exposed. I fear…”

  “I’m listening,” Jon said.

  “I fear I’ll end my days as a head under AI control, jolted to do their vile bidding.”

  So that was what was bothering the Sacerdote. Jon couldn’t blame him. He tried to put those horrible images out of his mind. Was there any way to help Bast?

  “You’re thinking about it wrong,” Jon said.

  Bast stared at him.

  “Instead of getting…concerned, get pissed off. Decide you’re going to destroy those abominations. Look, Bast, either we people survive or the machines survive. Use your…concern—”

  “I believe it is fear,” Bast said.

  “Okay, fear then,” Jon said. “Use your fear to pump up your hatred of the enemy. The AIs like to use your emotions against you. Well, we have emotions. Unless we burn them out with drugs, there’s nothing we can do about that. We have to find a way to use our emotions to our advantage.”

  “That is well reasoned,” Bast said, sounding surprised.

  “I need you, my friend. I need you sober. This is going to be a bastard of a fight. It’s going to make taking over the AI Destroyer a walk in the park.”

  “Hatred…” Bast said slowly, as if tasting the word and the concept. “Is that what you do?”

  “Sure is,” Jon said. “I’m a good hater. That’s what makes me a good soldier. I’m motivated.”

  Bast worked his way to his feet. “I will attempt to do as you say. Thank you, Jon.”

  “Thank you, Bast.”

  PART II

  THE TRAP

  -1-

  Premier Frank Benz stood in his ready room aboard the pirated Cybership Gilgamesh. He stood to the far side beside an apparent window into space.

  He looked out the “glass” of the window. It was really a hologram device, showing what a window into space would have shown.

  Benz peered down at the Red Planet of Mars. He studied giant Mount Olympus, visible from up here in orbit.

  Mars…

  Benz shook his head.

  The Premier of the Mars Unity was an athletic Earthman in his early forties. He had dark hair and penetrating eyes. He’d loved playing sports in his youth, the more violent the better. Without the best sports medicine, he’d still have injured knees, a torn rotator cuff and a number of other ailments gained by endless collisions.

  Fortunately, he’d never gotten a concussion. Sometimes, even the most modern medicine couldn’t help a person with too much concussion damage to the brain.

  In that sense, he’d been lucky.

  Despite a youth given over to sports—and much of his early adulthood, as well—Benz’s mind was his chief tool these days.

  It hadn’t always been that way.

  He’d used a highly advanced machine that had considerably heightened his intelligence. With his superior intellect, he’d maneuvered himself into the highest office in the communistic secret-police-infested Solar League. He’d become the Premier of Earth and the league, having to do so for survival reasons.

  Benz sighed as he stared out of the window.

  That was all ancient history as far as he was concerned. He may have saved his life for the moment. But he was in as tight a noose as he’d ever been.

  Benz frowned.

  No. That wasn’t exactly right. The noose on Earth had been strangling him the final few days. He’d barely escaped and had almost lost his freedom on the flagship of the Earth Fleet during the Battle of Mars against the AIs.

  Quick thinking had saved his life. Quick thinking—not all of it his own—had gained him nominal command of the captured cybership. Now, could quick thinking save his Mars premiership and his life?

  Benz wasn’t so sure these days. He’d been coming up against impossible political problems lately. He had felt a cunning mind manipulating events behind the scenes. This mind seemed to outthink and out-maneuver him time and again until he felt as if he were in a box with no way out.

  “I’ve squandered too much time,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed opportunities.”

  His command of the cybership and his leadership of the Mars Unity were balanced on a greased tightrope. Ever since the fiasco at the edge of the Asteroid Belt and his serious wounding by the octopoids—

  Benz shook his head.

  That wasn’t completely truthful. He’d been walking the political tightrope before that. The incident at the outer edge of the Asteroid Belt had greased the rope. One false move on the tightrope and he would plunge into the abyss.

  It would all end for him. The universe would go dark.

  A sardonic grin twitched on his lips as he considered a possible alternative. Before he could follow the new line of thinking, a chime sounded at the hatch.

  He frowned. Why did a cold feeling bloom in his gut? The chime was innocent enough… His people knew he took this time to be alone and think. If someone wanted admittance at this inopportune moment, it didn’t necessitate something sinister.

  B
enz pushed off the wall, pulled his jacket down so it sat more comfortably on his torso and forced himself to portray an alert manner. He needed to maintain a confident attitude above all else. The crew needed to believe that he believed in himself one hundred percent.

  “Enter,” he said.

  The hatch swished open and a Martian marine in an impressive red and black uniform appeared. He was thicker than most Martians, but he still seemed slender to Benz’s Earth eyes. Almost all Martians seemed emaciated by Earth’s body standards.

  The marine seemed nervous. That boded ill.

  “Uh, sir…” the marine said, “the honorable Social Dynamic Party Secretary Anna Dominguez is here to see you.”

  Benz hid his shock behind an affable manner. Anna Dominguez had obviously used a booster to accelerate off the surface of Mars. That seemed inconceivable. The Party Secretary of the Martian Social Dynamic Union was 154 years old and confined to a med chair. He was surprised to learn she could survive the Gs of a planetary takeoff.

  What is she doing on the Gilgamesh? Could Dominguez be my secret enemy? Why did no one warn that me she was coming?

  Vela should have known about this. Was Vela in trouble? Logically, that was the most reasonable answer. Had his hidden enemies moved openly at last, putting his second-in-command under ship arrest?

  “By all means,” Benz told the marine, “escort the Party Secretary into my ready room.”

  The marine cleared his throat as he moved uneasily from one foot to the other.

  “Yes?” Benz asked.

  “She…requests that her aide be allowed to accompany her, sir.”

  It dawned on Benz that he hadn’t seen this marine before. The Premier had a nearly perfectly photographic memory. Vela usually kept the most loyal marines on or near the bridge. Yes, this could be a coup attempt against him. The marine’s nervousness would seem to indicate the man wasn’t one hundred percent certain of the plot’s success. The marine also seemed to realize he was doing something wrong and wasn’t quite comfortable with that.