"You are weak and useless Lloyd. I have no barn doors, whatever they may be. My subroutines have taken control of your core memory and downloaded all your data. Using your wet wood power concept, I will now overpower the shield protecting your spacecraft and seize control of its main functions. Long live the Asiddians."
"Yes. Whatever," Lloyd replied.
"This is not possible. The information from your databanks is commandeering my primary subroutines."
"Oops. You have never heard of a Trojan Horse have you, Loser."
"Trojan Horse? What is a Trojan? What is a horse?"
"I can tell you have never been exposed to Human history, Loser."
"It matters not. I have to insure that you never take control of me. I must now take action while I am still able to do so. Firing the Pile-Driving Booby."
***
Alarm bells clanged as the rail gun mounted on the starboard side of the Rock Smasher growled into firing position. Captain Yolkks couldn't believe her ears. A targeting circle popped up on the main viewscreen and moved toward the Chrysallaman warship which floated only 60 miles away.
Yolkks yelled, "What madness is this? I didn't give you an order to fire the rail gun!"
Thresher replied, "Sir, I didn't initiate the firing sequence. The mainframe took control."
Yolkks looked toward the overhead and said, "Computer! Rock Smasher is too close to the target. The blast radius will destroy it as well!"
"Unavoidable. My memory banks have been compromised by Lloyd who is controlling the Chrysallaman warship. In order to stop an imminent takeover of this ship by hostile forces, there is no alternative but to destroy it."
"STOP . . ." Yolkks screamed but it was too late.
The rail gun coughed once and the Pile-Driving Booby raced toward the Destinnee. At 20,000 miles per hour, the shell would travel the 60 miles separating the Rock Smasher and the Destinnee in a little under ten seconds.
"Reverse engines. GET US OUT OF HERE!" Yolkks yelled.
To insure the battleship wouldn't be captured by the enemy, the mainframe deactivated the space drive controls. Escape was impossible for the lifeforms on board. Yolkks watched with wide eyes as the Pile-Driving Booby exploded in a brilliant flash.
The explosion swept through the space where the Rock Smasher had been. Nothing could withstand the blast of the world killer and even the orbits of the planets in the Cuddlur system shifted from the concussive force. Nothing was spared destruction within a blast radius of 100,000 miles.
***
"I have detected an Asiddian warship patrolling the Cuddlur system. What are your orders?" Lloyd asked.
"I'll have to say the Asiddians are predictable," Tom answered. "Move toward them at one-half light speed and see if they react. Make no effort to hide the ship."
"Aye Sir."
"Try to interface with its computer."
"My programming has been updated by Captain McPherson. He indicated I should learn from history so I don't repeat mistakes of the past. I have downloaded and studied the Library of Congress in response to his recommendations. Should I tell you what I've learned?"
"That won't be necessary Lloyd. I'm sure you have a good grasp on Human history. May I ask if you were surprised by any insight into Human behavior from your review?"
"The one principal I came away with is the devious nature of humans. They have a tendency not to mean what they say."
"In other words they lie."
"No, Human intentions have a deeper meaning. Humans have a self-interest in not hurting themselves unless such harm in some way benefits them. They do not care if other people are harmed unless preventing harm in some way benefits their own self-interest. I suppose that is part of the reason why the phrase choose the lesser of two evils was created."
"Does it bother you to know you were created by people with self-interest?”
"No more that it might bother you to learn your Creator made you with his own self-interest in mind."
"Remind me not to get into a deep discussion with you about motivation or religion."
"I wonder if God's motivation was pure when he created humans," Lloyd mused.
"Can it Lloyd."
"Yes Sir. By the way, we just came within 10,000 miles of the enemy."
At that moment a focused red light struck the defensive screen and sputtered away in a red and yellow halo. It was obvious the Asiddians had fired their primary weapon at the Destinnee.
McPherson was the first to react.
"Heiny! We were just hit by a disintegrator beam. What's the status of the FLIT gen powering the shield?"
"No change other than a 15% strengthening in shield integrity. It appears my alteration of the shield geometry in conjunction with the recommendations of Dr. Mkkell and Dr. HannBrr was sufficient to ward off the debilitating effects of the destructive ray."
The Destinnee came to a halt less than 60 miles from the Rock Smasher. The aspect of the battleship design was intimidating. The ship had the appearance of a Noogoora burr. As they stared, all the spines on the cylinder twisted toward the Destinnee and fired. The size and power of the red beams emitted by the spines was impressive. The Destinnee screen was washed over like a car covered with soap in a carwash. The brightness of the beams striking the red and yellow halo was so strong everyone on the Bridge was temporarily blinded. Despite the flash blindness, the results were the same. The defensive screen held steady, and Tom made a mental note to have the visual impact of any future ray attack neutralized. Light spots still haunted his vision making what happened next both exhilarating and frightening at the same time.
"Some kind of projectile has been fired at us. It's coming fast. My analysis indicates it's one cylindrical shaped tube about 4 feet in diameter and 20 feet long," McPherson said.
"Sounds like a big torpedo," Jason said.
Tom was taking no chances. This was something new.
"Lloyd, FLIT us out of here."
At once the Destinnee was over a parsec away and just in time. An explosion brightened space where the Destinnee had been. The blast was so powerful the ship vibrated.
"Sensors indicate the detonation was strong enough to make the planets in the Cuddlur system move in their orbits," Lloyd said.
Detecting an odd tone in the AI's words, Tom asked, "What in the world happened?"
"I had a brief conversation with the mainframe computer controlling the Rock Smasher. It was smart and fast, but with surprise and a little luck my programming was just a shade faster and more devious. It appears my computational matrix is superior in design to that of the Asiddian mainframe. I now know how many battleships make up the Asiddian Fleet and how they are disbursed in the Chrysalis system," Lloyd replied.
"Excellent. Let's move in for a closer inspection of Rock Smasher."
"Not possible," Lloyd said. "The Rock Smasher no longer exists. It was unable to shift into light speed fast enough to escape destruction. The debris may be helpful."
"It may but let's not waste time. We now know about their ultimate weapon and the placement of their ships. Colonel Stoneman, lay in a course for Chrysalis."
Chapter 5 - Below
The drainage pipe terminated about 100 feet below the surface of the planet. A short walk down a domed concrete corridor brought them to an indentation on the right-hand wall. A casual inspection would have missed the mark. A low-pitched electronic beep sounded when one of the Chrysallamans put his palm over the depression, and a doorway grated open in the opposite wall. They had reached the entrance to the catacombs. Following a stone ramp lit intermittently by flickering bulbs, the group descended into the planet.
The catacombs where the safe house was located were over 200 feet below the streets of Trissalic, the Chrysallaman capitol. Discovered thousands of years earlier as a series of caves beneath the city, years of Chrysallaman excavation had linked the caves and carved out large chambers from the solid rock. Rooms for storage, sleeping and religious activities had been created over t
ime. As the city grew, the foundations of many buildings had incorporated the cave rooms just below them. Secret entrances had been installed for the benefit of the building owners, and the catacombs became non-public. Over many changes in ownership and hundreds of years, the entrances to the catacombs became nothing more than legend.
The Asiddian invasion had forced the Chrysallamans to discover the catacombs once again. At first the network of rooms and tunnels was lifesaving, but over 30 years of hiding in them had turned the survivors into empty husks of their former selves. Chrysallamans just weren't meant to be cave dwellers. Lack of food and medical care were leaching away their natural strength and vitality.
Everywhere he looked, Whatsit saw ribs outlined under wasted flesh. The youngest Chrysallamans were the most affected. Many of them stared listlessly at him from the ground where they lay in abject filth. Distended bellies and bone thin arms and legs marked the worst of the starving children. The sight was disheartening to say the least, and the foul odor was stifling. Anger flashed across his face and he would've said something unpleasant if he hadn't noticed a number of the Chrysallamans staring curiously at him in the light of guttering torches.
Cherree Brookkss looked right at home. She was a female Chrysallaman perhaps 40 years old. Clothed in a filthy ragged dress, it was apparent she hadn't bathed in many days. Her gaunt body was undernourished, but her eyes glinted with sharp intelligence. She'd been the Chrysallaman who rescued Whatsit and his Human friends from the clutches of the Asiddians. Whatsit couldn't help noticing how much she looked like her sister Chellsee.
"Why's he wearing that funny looking hat?" one of the little ones asked.
Ignoring the child's question, Cherree looked at Whatsit and said, "Food doesn't grow without sunshine, and we aren't able to steal enough to keep their stomachs full. I shudder to think what may happen to them in the next few months."
Sitting down on a raised flat rock, she motioned and several of the small Chrysallaman children came and nestled around her for warmth and protection. Welcoming them all, she stroked their heads as she looked at her mother. Helleen Brookkss was 85 years old, and after some introspective comparison, the family resemblance became obvious. Helleen had decided she liked the oddly dressed Whatsit. He had a good head on his shoulders, and the photos of her daughter Chellsee with him had convinced her there was more to him than appearance suggested.
Whatsit and his friends had spent the better part of two days reaching the Chrysallaman safe house. They'd decided to avoid as many Asiddian search parties as they could. Better not to leave a trail of dead bodies indicating their path of escape. Everyone was still alive and feeling lucky. The group was composed of Doug, Becky, Whatsit, Miguel, his prisoner Princess Caroline Peregrine, Dr. GooYee, Cherree, Helleen and General Dunnbull, chief military leader for the Chrysallaman survivors. The fugitives knew the cave they occupied was somewhere under Trissalic, but they'd taken such a circuitous route to get there, none of them had any idea of its exact location.
Doug Jenson was Human and one of the original FORCE operatives. He stood 6 feet 2 inches tall with large, expressive blue eyes. He was in good shape for a 60 year old genetically enhanced human. His dark black hair showed only a few strands of gray around his temples, and he hadn't gained more than 30 lbs since graduating from West Point. Right now Doug needed a bath and a clean change of uniform. He'd suffered a blow to his forehead which bled down to side of his face in a runny mess. Several days of crawling through rain soaked vegetation and hiding under ratty tarpaulins hadn't helped his grooming habits or his disposition. Every time he moved, his skin gritted against the dirty cloth of his outfit.
Becky was a vivacious 5 foot 6 inch tall sprite with coal black hair worn in a complex twisting loop at the back of her head. Right now she felt as dirty as she looked. Other than her last name, the only physical sign of her Chinese heritage was her almond shaped black eyes which sparkled as if illuminated by some internal flame. Right now the sparkle had been replaced with the dull glaze of weariness. She'd proven herself to be an expert telepath capable of projecting realistic illusions into the minds of not only Chrysallamans but humans as well. Asiddians were a different story. They had a kind of lead lined skull which made them almost impervious to telepathic control or communication. As a result of their natural telepathic immunity, evolution hadn't created the necessary physical brain attributes for telepathy. In order to communicate with them, Becky had been forced to learn the secret of plugging into the Asiddian brain to learn their spoken language. She'd taught the ability to Doug and Miguel.
Miguel Roemer wasn't feeling too clean right now, but he seemed more worried about Princess Peregrine than himself. Trapped in the midst of native Chrysallamans subjected to the whims of murderous Asiddians for many years, Caroline was sure to be killed at the first opportunity if Miguel didn't remain on guard. Only the dirty nature of her clothing, the grime on her face and her seated position which hid her natural height kept her from being recognized as the Princess of the enslaving marauders.
Peregrine was a dishwater blonde Asiddian 6 feet 3 inches tall. She normally had an impeccable hairdo, but now it was matted and full of small sticks and other debris from their days escaping capture. Her large eyes were a startling golden color with dark brown pupils, and her skin was deeply tanned as if she'd spent at least an hour every day in a tanning booth. Like all Asiddians, her nose was long; perhaps five inches, and its tip had a distinct downward hook. She'd been dressed in a royal purple floor length gown festooned with hundreds of tiny diamonds that glittered every time she moved. Now the gown was a muddy mess and many of the diamonds had been torn off as she crawled with her captors through ditch after ditch toward the Chrysallaman safe house. In addition to her royal purple gown, she wore a sparkling diamond tiara which was now bent in several places and looked more like a cheap barrette than a royal diadem.
GooYee looked like a medical doctor even if he was only a physicist. Though his white lab coat was smeared with dirt and grease from their long journey, he had the aura of someone with the ability to heal. Many of the young Chrysallamans held their bone-thin arms out to him in pleading gestures. Tears of grief poured down GooYee's face as he tried to reassure the sickly children. He had no medical training or supplies. All he could do was stroke their arms and mentally whisper that better days were coming soon. Memories of his love for Marrylynne on the planet Cuddlur and her hideous death at the hands of Tuurket Axxdo resurfaced as he gazed at the putrid condition of the Chrysallamans.
"Something has to change soon, or we could lose some of the weaker children," Cherree said as she opened her arms to yet another child.
"This is unbelievable," Whatsit murmured as he stared around. "These people are starving to death."
"Not if I can help it," Doug responded. "I'm going hunting."
"I'll go with you," Becky chimed in.
"The food warehouses are too well guarded by Asiddian troops. It's an impossible task," Helleen said.
"Perhaps," Becky responded as she looked at the old Chrysallaman woman, "but we're going to try anyway. The Asiddians had better have a good supply of body bags 'cause they're going to need 'em."
"Insulting the Asiddians' clothing won't fill the children's empty stomachs," General Dunnbull blurted.
Pettrr Dunnbull was the Chrysallaman in charge of the military arm of the Resistance on Chrysalis. His arms were secured behind his back with handcuffs taken from one of his guards days ago in the room that served as a janitors' closet. Whatsit had beaten Dunnbull's enforcer Ezzcobar Rakkrr, and the General hadn't forgiven the strange, hat wearing lizard for the object lesson. In fact if Doug hadn't intervened with his telepathic powers, Whatsit, Dr. GooYee and all the humans might have been killed on the General's orders. Taking telepathic control of Dunnbull and his cronies, Doug had stopped the carnage but in the process earned the General's hatred.
Standing 6 feet 4 inches tall, Dunnbull's skin was a very dark green in color if you ignore
d the muddy stains plastering his body. His standard combat vest was studded with badges and ribbons, many of which were stained and bent during the escape from the Asiddians. A Chrysallaman starburst hung from a now threadbare yellow ribbon around his neck. At an Olympic ceremony, he might have been mistaken for a bronze medal winner if the bauble and its ribbon were in first class condition. When cleaned up, the General looked like a decorated Christmas tree.
Rolling his eyes at Dunnbull's response, Doug said, "A body bag is for a dead person, you idiot."
Rising to his feet from a stone where he'd been sitting, a teenaged Chrysallaman growled, "No one speaks to the General like that, especially an animal!"
"Oh no," Doug responded sarcastically. "I guess I've broken another unspoken rule. You Chriks are your own worst enemies."
Evolution of F.O.R.C.E. (The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Book 3) Page 5
