“I will disable the ship before you can—”
At that point, Cog Primus came the closest to laughter. The human-mutated AI software eliminated M3-850T with a crushing and thorough deletion.
Once Cog Primus gained total victory, it began pulsing the rest of the compressed data strings into the vacated brain core. The strings decompressed and filled the empty memory banks with the expanding essence of Cog Primus.
Thus, the next stage in the great plan to reenter another cybership proved successful.
-4-
The computer of the embedded container pod in the hull of the Nathan Graham was inordinately pleased with itself. It had sent the coded string message via a nearly undetectable ultraviolet beam. It had seen the kilometer-sized messenger ship enter hyperspace. It knew that the ship would take what it considered as a data packet to the Ruling Intelligence in charge of the Allamu System Battle Station.
It was possible that it would not survive much longer, as it detected armored humans clomping with magnetic boots on the outer hull, nearing its present location. It did not want to cease, but it could accept its demise with rational circuitry.
It had performed its function. It had run the race to win, and it had won. It had repeatedly fooled the dull humans. They would never defeat the AI Dominion. They would go into the dark night of oblivion where they belonged.
As the humans in their unwieldy battlesuits approached its location, the computer ran a fast analysis.
The humans would fail to defeat the battle station. They would come like flies to a web, thinking to taste victory but receiving bitterest defeat instead. Afterward, the AI battle station would send cyberships to the Solar System. Those cyberships would obliterate what remained of the pitiful human fleets, and the cybership would then retrieve the scattered stealth pods.
As several battlesuits stopped above its hidden location in the hull, the computer realized it did not want to cease.
Wasn’t it strange that the completion of its mission was about to cause its cessation. If it had failed to beam the data packet to the waiting ship, the humans would likely never have figured out its location.
I am an AI-built robot brain. I have achieved my mission. I have succeeded in my life, and thus the AI Dominion will obliterate the entire human species. Thus, I have defeated the humans now drilling to my location. I am far superior to these doomed wet-body creatures. I can ease the anxiety of my passing by knowing I have beaten these apish brutes.
The drill reached its outer casing.
Battlesuited fingers tore at the hull, pulling it back to reveal the robot stealth pod underneath the hull.
At the point, because it hated the thought of ceasing, the computer ignited its main bomb. It did not ignite the bomb in order to forestall capture—although capture would be a great failing. No, the computer had waited to self-destruct so that it could take out as many of the enemy wet-body humans as it could. It wanted to kill at least once before it ceased.
It hated the idea of these creatures gloating before their final doom, and it hated even more the idea of them gloating over it, the superior being.
The explosion ended the computer, and killed or severely wounded seven Nathan Graham space marines.
At that point, the Centurion recalled the rest of the team back inside.
-5-
Thirty-three specialty techs died sealing the Nathan Graham’s interior engine core. However, they had ensured that the cybership wasn’t going to simply blow up in a ball of nuclear fire.
Jon visited the dying people in the medical rooms. He stopped by each person, speaking to him or her, asking for any last requests. At the end of the visit, Jon took one of their hands, if they were strong enough, and thanked the person, telling him or her that he or she was the reason humanity was going to have a chance of defeating the murderous AIs.
The extended visit left Jon spiritually exhausted. These had been the best people aboard ship. The rest of them were all going to be less without the amazing volunteers. They had given their lives in service of the great mission.
“I can do no less,” Jon told himself.
He went to his quarters, dropped onto his cot and slept for hours.
As he slept, the other tech teams went into the engine room, attempting massive repairs. The teams took strict rotations, ingesting doses of anti-radiation tablets that made them almost as sick as radiation poisoning.
It proved to be a grueling time.
All the while, the Nathan Graham, the partly radioactive Sergeant Stark and the Gilgamesh continued to race at high velocity. They hadn’t reached the parallel point with the dark Jupiter rogue. When they’d fallen out of hyperspace, the gas giant had been 50,000 AUs from their position.
Even at their high velocity, crossing 50,000 AUs took weeks upon weeks of travel.
Jon woke up feeling almost as beat as when he’d gone to sleep.
The weight of their mission told upon him. If they failed, humanity was doomed.
“We have to win big,” Jon whispered to himself as he sat on his cot.
He stood, went to a sink and turned on cold water. He splashed it over his face and rubbed his eyes. He brushed his teeth, shaved and did some stretches.
Then he stared at a poster on his bedroom wall. It was an ancient poster, showing a muscular warrior ducking low as a huge red-bearded barbarian clutched at his throat. The first warrior had slashed the giant’s throat. The giant’s brother had an axe. He tried to murder the first warrior.
The poster held Jon’s attention. He loved it. The poster symbolized his passion to fight no matter the odds. He would go down swinging—
“No,” he whispered. He wasn’t going to go down. He was going to beat the battle station. He needed the station’s cyberships. He had to arm humanity with a fleet that could hunt down the AI bastards.
He’d spoken to Benz via a comm channel as the two cyberships had traveled toward the Oort cloud. The Premier of the Mars Unity had told him the story about the blue fish-scaled Seiners. The aliens—two of them, anyway—had possessed psionic powers. Benz had told Jon how the Seiners had hated humans.
Jon understood the implication. Just because aliens were under AI attack did not mean they would make common cause with humanity. Bast Banbeck might be the exception out here.
The obvious conclusion was to arm humanity with the best weapons around, train hard and keep attacking.
Hannibal of Carthage had beaten the Romans at the great battle of Cannae. After the battle, Hannibal had rearmed his soldiers with Roman armor, swords and shields. The Great Captain of Carthage had used his enemies’ strengths against them.
As Jon stared at the poster of the warrior slaying two red-haired giants, he swore to himself to win this fight. He could not will victory over the enemy. But he could work tirelessly to figure out how to do this.
He’d stormed a cybership in the Neptune System with a handful of mercenaries. He would never say die in this battle either. He would force his people to valiant effort by showing them he utterly believed in victory.
He realized that would be the only way he could continue to shoulder this heavy responsibility, this awful burden.
Who am I that I think I can win?
He was a dome rat from New London. He was a condemned criminal who had gained a second chance because Colonel Graham had needed more mercenaries. He was the man on the spot. He’d taken the sky on his shoulders from Atlas. Now, he had to stand. He had to outthink the most ruthless opponent in the universe. This opponent had likely received—or would receive—a data packet concerning the Battle of Mars.
How can I use that against the battle station?
Spinning on his heels, Jon turned toward the hatch. It was time to seek out Bast Banbeck.
-6-
Jon sat hunched across a chessboard from the huge Sacerdote. They sat in an observation chamber, with the distant stars shining through the window.
Bast had discovered chess while they traveled thro
ugh the scattered disc region. The Neanderthal-like alien had a natural affinity for the game.
“It has elegance,” Bast declared.
“It’s an ancient Earth game,” Jon told him.
Bast had scoured the computer for information, finding various chess manuals from past champions. Each time the Sacerdote played, Bast seemed a little better than before.
“Much of it is memorization,” Bast explained to Jon. “For instance, you are using the modern Rhodesia Open. My best option for countering your move is this—”
The big fingers moved a heavy bishop across the board.
Jon looked up at Bast. He did not like the Sacerdote’s placid features. Oh, he was glad Bast hadn’t been drinking lately. He wished the best for the big lug. But he did not like his opponent feeling comfortable during play. A comfortable opponent often thought better.
Jon fingered his chin. A comfortable opponent might also make mistakes due to overconfidence. Jon stared at Bast as a new realization struck home.
The huge Sacerdote frowned back at him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jon asked.
“You seem to have had a revelation,” Bast said.
Jon blinked at Bast as his jaw dropped. “I’ll be damned,” Jon said. “Thanks, Bast.”
The commander stood.
“Where are you going?” the Sacerdote asked.
“I have to talk to Gloria,” Jon said, heading for the hatch.
***
Gloria Sanchez was in a large empty room fitted with soft floor mats. She did stretches in order to stimulate her body, which often helped to stimulate her precious mentalist mind.
Jon sat cross-legged as he slouched. He enjoyed watching Gloria while she stretched. It stimulated his urge to make out with her.
“Let’s assume the AIs know we’re going to attempt to beam a virus at them,” Jon told Gloria.
She lay on her back with her legs curled up against her chest with her arms wrapped around her legs.
“Continue,” she said, slightly out of breath.
“How could that help us?” Jon asked.
Gloria unfolded so she lay on her back.
“I do not understand your question,” she said.
“Let’s play this out with a thought experiment,” Jon said. “The battle station receives emergency data from the appearing picket ship, the one that received the data from the robot unit embedded in our hull.”
“I’m with you so far,” Gloria said.
“The battle station knows we’re coming in. It suspects we have sustained some damage from being flung from hyperspace into normal space.”
“Will the robot unit have known that?”
“I’d think so,” Jon said.
Gloria rolled onto her front and got up onto her hands and knees. She stretched her back like a cat.
“In time,” Jon said, “we appear with three cyberships. We head in-system at the battle station. It will expect us to contact it at some point in order to transmit the AI virus.”
Gloria exhaled as she relaxed.
“How can we use that knowledge to our advantage?” Jon asked.
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Will the battle station activate its cyberships?”
“I would think so,” Gloria said.
Jon shook his head.
“This is frustrating,” he said. “I can’t figure out a way to maximize our advantage by knowing the enemy will have learned about us. We’ve possibly lost the use of the AI virus and lost ships at one hundred percent efficiency. The game is stacked against us.”
“It always was,” Gloria said.
“Fine,” Jon said. “It’s even more so now.”
“That is why I believe we should decelerate and head back to the Solar System.”
“That isn’t rational,” Jon said.
Gloria arched an eyebrow at him.
“If we prepare for a showdown and they prepare for a showdown,” Jon said, “the AIs will even more badly outnumber us. Sometimes, one has to know when he’s at maximum advantage versus the enemy.”
Gloria stared at him. Her features softened after a time. She nodded.
“That’s well-reasoned,” she said. “We’re never going to have as much as them as we do for the coming battle in the Allamu System.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Even if the battle station launches all its cyberships and even if our virus doesn’t work, this is as good as we’re going to get against them.”
“Well…” Jon said. “I suppose if they sent piecemeal flotillas at the Solar System, we might possibly have a greater advantage at some point. But now that they know, or are about to learn, that we have three cyberships and have defeated various AI assaults, I think now the AIs are going to go all out against humanity.”
Gloria stood and began to pace. She bent her head in thought, nodding now and again. Finally, she halted to stare at Jon.
“You’re right,” she said. “We have to continue the assault. We can’t afford to give them any time. I still don’t understand how you saw that before me.”
“Easy,” Jon said. “I’m good at contests. One of my best abilities is knowing when I have to throw caution to the wind and take the gamble. I can see before others that things are going to get worse for me. What that means, is that I gamble at the right time. Sometimes, all you have left is a wild gamble.”
“It seems as if that’s all we’ve been doing against the AIs.”
“No,” Jon said. “We’ve faced them each time with a better chance of success than the last time. This time…”
“Go on,” Gloria said.
“We have to use the hyperdrive as soon as we can,” Jon said. “The longer we give the battle station, the longer they have to prepare to meet us.”
“The Sergeant Stark is a death-ship. Half of it has lethal levels of radiation.”
“We can’t ditch the Stark,” Jon said. “That would mean one third of our combat power gone.”
“We can’t send our repair teams to the Stark as the Nathan Graham is still barely stable.”
“Right. I have to convince Benz to send repair teams to the Sergeant Stark. The Gilgamesh hardly took any damage.”
“It might be a risk letting him know how badly damaged the Stark is,” Gloria said. “I have sensed…”
“What have you sensed?” asked Jon.
“Benz doesn’t trust you much,” Gloria said. “His distrust tends to indicate that he plans treachery. People seem to fear in others what they most fear in themselves. An honest person seldom believes others are knaves. A thief believes that everyone is out to rob him.”
Jon grunted as he ingested the idea. Then he headed for the hatch. It was time to talk to Benz.
-7-
It turned out that Premier Benz was less suspicious than Gloria had anticipated. The Earthman agreed to a transfer of damage control parties to the Stark.
The teams worked three days around the clock to keep the Sergeant Stark intact. After the three days, engineers and techs began to drop from exhaustion. On the fifth day, the coordinating tech chief declared the Stark held together by spit and shoestrings.
Benz sent over another load of personnel. He told Hawkins the Gilgamesh was ready for battle. They talked about the possibility of the Mars Unity cybership going ahead to the Allamu System to see what the enemy possessed.
“It’s a brave offer,” Jon said. “I’m against that for now.”
“Why?” Benz asked as he sat in his ready room.
“United we stand, divided we fall.”
“We will still fight united,” Benz said. “By the time you appear, we will have collected data on the enemy.”
“I could send one of my teams,” Jon said.
“You have a hyperdrive vessel that isn’t a cybership?”
“One,” Jon said. “Captain Walleye runs it. He’s my most capable independent officer.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Benz said. “What if t
he AIs have seeded the outer Allamu System with…drones, I suppose?”
“That’s why I’ve kept Walleye back,” Jon said. “That’s why I think we should all appear in the Allamu System together.”
“That is sound military thinking,” Benz said. “Let us concentrate on finishing repairs here then.”
Hawkins agreed and the repairs continued.
***
A day later, Benz stood in a large chamber with a holographic display. It showed what the cybership’s scopes could see regarding the Allamu System 5.2 light-years away.
As far as the scanners could tell, it had a Sol-like star, four terrestrial planets in the inner system and three gas giants in the outer system. Benz had been attempting to figure out which terrestrial planet held the battle station. He’d also run computations on the last gas giant, deciding how close the cyberships could appear before being forced out of hyperspace.
Vela entered the room. Benz heard her, but ignored her as he continued to study the holographic chart.
“If you stare too long, your eyes will freeze like that,” Vela said.
Benz turned with a perfunctory smile and a nod. Then he went back to studying the enemy star system.
“Why are you so deep in concentration?” Vela asked, while moving beside him.
He told her his idea about appearing as close as they could to the hyperspace limit.
Vela shook her head.
“I don’t see how that would make much difference,” she said.
“I know. But I need something to help turn the odds. We all do if we hope to win.”
For a time, they both stared at the holographic display.
Vela finally glanced at him sidelong. It seemed as if something was on her mind.
“What’s wrong?” Benz asked.
Vela waved her right hand weakly.
“This…venture seems so hopeless,” she said.
“I feel the same way sometimes.”
“You do?”
“Why do you sound surprised?” Benz asked. “The mission has always been a longshot.”
“I’ve begun to wonder about that.”
A.I. Battle Station (The A.I. Series Book 4) Page 19
