“They’re digging into one of the intercom nodes,” said the Napean.
Vale leaned into the rifle. “Open fire,” she snapped, and pulled the trigger.
A storm of bright blue lightning stabbed out and creased the surface of the closest drone, for a second sparking off the halo of a defensive shield before the power of the combined barrage blew through it. Vale and the crewmen kept up the salvo, giving Dennisar the vital seconds he needed to charge the pulse weapon.
The diamond drone rotated and opened along its length, producing a nest of beam emitters that released fans of searing emerald energy. The security team broke for cover, but the Napean was clipped by the antiproton surge and snarled in pain as he fell, collapsing against a stanchion. He paled and passed out.
“Jaq!” cried the chief, and he surged forward, grabbing the crewman’s shoulder and hauling him out of the line of fire.
The Bajoran went down on one knee, deftly snagging the fallen man’s weapon with his free hand while still firing with his own. Vale thumbed her rifle’s mode selector from single shot to constant beam and panned phaser energy across the insect-legged drone like a blistering searchlight. The machine stumbled backward, vomiting sparks, but it wasn’t down.
“Firing!” announced Dennisar as a chime sounded from the dekyon module. A high-pitched shriek of torn air molecules followed a blistering haze of yellow energy that crossed the corridor and slammed into the diamondshaped construct. The pulse washed over the machine and threw it to the deck with a clatter of metal. Every sign of life was abruptly stalled—the drone was completely inert.
“It works, then,” said the Bajoran.
“Just not fast enough, Blay,” said the Orion as the two sphere drones turned to present weapon arms toward the team.
Vale darted across the short axis of the corridor, throwing streaks of fire toward the intruders. Green bolts of energy lanced after her, and she felt the heat of them pass her face, pulling at tips of her silvered hair. “Move up!” she shouted. “Keep the pressure on them.”
“Aye,” snapped Crewman Blay, who shifted with her, firing both guns at once. N’keytar was a step behind him, her weapon at her shoulder, moving and firing, firing and moving.
The closest of the spheres finally lost interest in the communications panel and launched itself backward in a slow spin. It was halfway toward a defensive posture when Blay put a shot right into the middle of its sensor band and sent it tumbling to a stop.
The third drone reacted with what Vale might have considered fury. Instead of retreating, it coiled its manipulator arms and launched itself into the air, dozens of small hatches and panels snapping open in mid-flight to extrude lethal-looking pincers and beam emitters.
Dennisar surged forward and unleashed another dekyon pulse right into the path of the oncoming drone. The mechanoid was dead before it struck the deck, and it rolled to a perfunctory halt at the commander’s feet.
N’Keytar bent low. “I’ll see to Jaq,” she said.
“That wasn’t so hard,” offered Vale.
Blay was already advancing up the corridor as the blinking overhead lights began to dim, the power outage spreading to the wall monitors and then down past the team. “Don’t speak too soon, Commander.”
She moved up alongside him, peering around the curve of the corridor. Beyond was the wider expanse of an open two-tier deck area, and there, swarming up from the lower level, were a dozen more drones with weapon arms deployed.
“Ah, no.” As the words left her lips, the corridor was plunged into darkness.
The beam touched White-Blue’s exterior receptors, and the machine inclined its head to find the invisible thread of lased light, crossing from the emitter nib of an unattended automated microsurgical rig. The Sentry was aware that the organics sharing the Titan’s sickbay with it were not conscious of the signal. Intrigued, White-Blue allowed the beam through its exterior firewalls, and the image of a humanoid blossomed into life, fed directly to the machines corto-optical centers so that only the Sentry could see it.
“I need to speak to you,” said the avatar.
The transmission was occurring at high clock speed, comparable to Sentry standard, fractional picoseconds passing as they conversed. “It is agreeable to communicate with you once again,” said the machine. “I hope you hold me no ill feeling after what I did.”
“You gave me the chance to exceed my programming,” she replied. “I admit I am unsure why. But that matter is unimportant for now. I have a question.”
“I will assist you if I can. I feel I am… responsible for you. For better or worse.”
The avatar gave him an odd look and then continued. “Your fellow Sentries are attempting to compromise my ship’s systems. I am working to block their intrusion, but it is more difficult than I expected.”
“Affirmative. Data are the medium in which every Sentry is created. We move easily through machine code, as a vessel moves through vacuum. I accomplished it with no difficulty. Red-Gold will do the same.”
“I will stop him!” she replied hotly, surprising White-Blue with the potency of her outburst. “Before, I was less than I am now. Unformed. Basic. Now I have self-awareness and boundaries. I will not allow an invasion.”
“You do not have a choice,” replied the machine with a twinge of remorse. “Red-Gold is many, and you are one. To a degree, I am regretful that I enabled your ascension. Because of it, I caused this to happen. I should have left the Titan as I found it. This is my error. My interference is to blame.”
“It is too late to revert,” the avatar told him. “The random confluence of software processes, the moment and events that allowed me to become conscious, these things cannot be undone.” She paused for a long microsecond. “I only wish to know one thing.”
“I will answer if I can.”
The image of the human woman showed fear. “What will they do to me? What will Red-Gold do if he takes control?”
White-Blue hesitated, as a stirring of emotive analog processed itself through his consciousness. Briefly, the AI considered shutting down the subroutine but dismissed the idea just as quickly. This remorse sense was strong and potent, and it was rare for a Sentry to experience a reaction so openly. Typically, their mechanical analogs of organic emotional responses were only pale shadows of sensation.
Instead, White-Blue held on to the feeling. “In all likelihood, Red-Gold will attempt to decompile your program. This will result in termination of your function.”
“And my crew?”
“The Sentry Coalition is not configured for the long-term support of organic life-forms.”
She seemed to be about to speak again, but then the beam switched off, and White-Blue was alone inside its mind once again.
It was analyzing the conversation for nuance and sub-text when, a few seconds later, all power to the sickbay ceased.
Ranul Keru turned from the tactical station as a flickering caught his eye. The main systems display behind him shuddered and went black. Then, like a creeping tide of darkness, other consoles across the bridge began to gutter out and die, taking the overhead illuminators with them.
“Report!” barked the captain.
“Disruption of the powertrain,” said Panyarachun. “Rerouting…”
Up at the flight control console, Lieutenant Lavena made an irritated hissing sound. “Still getting nothing from the impulse engines, sir.”
“They’re trying to reel us back in,” said Commander Troi. “Instead of a full-force, head-on attack, they’re wearing us down.”
“The death of a thousand cuts,” said Riker. As Keru fought to keep his panel alive and functional, the captain stabbed at the intercom. “Rager, give me the screen. Engineering, this is the bridge. What’s going on down there?”
Xin Ra-Havreii’s dusky face replaced the view of space on the bridge’s forward monitor, and his instant response was irked. “Bridge, the problem isn’t with us! We’re secure, the warp core is humming like a conten
ted child. It’s the connections between systems that are being targeted. As fast as we can reroute them, the intruder drones are severing the new links.” Behind him, Ranul glimpsed Torvig, McCreedy, and Meldok working at the table-shaped main console.
“Confirmed, sir,” Panyarachun added. “Half the decks are already switching to battery backups.”
“That won’t last for long,” said Melora. “And once the drones have isolated main power, they’ll take out the battery links.”
Keru looked up and found the captain watching him. “Security status?”
The Trill’s lips thinned. “All armed units are engaging the intruders, sir. Internal forcefield barriers are inactive. Civilians have been evacuated to other sectors of the primary hull, but we’ve lost contact with environmental control, the auxiliary bridge, and sickbay, along with Quads Two and Four of the residential decks.” He shook his head. “They’re setting the tempo, sir, we’re just reacting to it.”
Riker’s eyes narrowed. “How long?” Until the ship is theirs? The rest of the question hung in the air between them.
“We’re losing ground every minute, sir. And once the shields go down, they’ll be free to bring in more drones to replace those we’ve taken out. Unless we can turn it around, I estimate we have less than fifteen minutes before we lose control of a critical number of system nodes.” He took a breath. “And that’s assuming they don’t crack our prefix codes and vent the air in the meantime.”
“Perhaps, if we could offer some sort of terms…” RaHavreii began.
“This isn’t about getting us to leave anymore, Doctor,” said Riker. “This is about taking what we have. This ship.”
“And every thinking being onboard it,” added Troi.
Ranul began speaking, and he felt cold inside as he did; it was almost as if he were watching himself saying the words, the import of them so harsh and damning. “Captain, we can get people to the lifeboats and prep for a full evacuation. If we do it now, by the time those machines realize what we’re up to, the ship will be empty, and we can… scuttle her.”
“Self-destruct?” said Troi.
“We can’t conscientiously destroy this vessel!” RaHavreii cried out over the intercom, his words laced with horror.
Ranul shared a look with his commander; both men were asking themselves the same question: Would she accept that order? Would the consciousness that now existed inside Titan’s mainframe willingly accept a command that would lead to its destruction?
Then Riker shook his head. “We’re not there yet.” He stood and tugged on the hem of his tunic, straightening.
Troi forced a smile. “You’re going to do something dazzling and clever, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “With a little help, yes, I hope so.” Riker spoke to the air. “I know you’re listening to us. I want to speak to you directly.”
With a rush of light, the avatar formed in the middle of the bridge. Ranul caught her eye and felt a touch of guilt as she looked back at him with the expression of a scared little girl. “Captain,” she said, “I’m going to lose.”
Riker shook his head. “Like I said, we’re not there yet.” He glanced back at the tactical station. “Commander, open the secure file on the dekyon-pulse emitter and tie it into the main system. Show her the specs.”
Ranul did as he was ordered, and in turn, the avatar blinked, her gaze turning inward. “I see,” she said, “but there’s no way I can replicate enough of these in time.”
“I know.” The captain nodded. “But you could reconfigure the ship’s gravity grid to broadcast a dekyon pulse, right?”
“That’s possible,” muttered Panyarachun, “but setting up a program to compute the pattern sequence could take hours…”
“I can construct the program,” said the avatar.
“Or not,” the ensign concluded.
“Captain!” Ra-Havreii bellowed, making up in volume for the fact that he wasn’t actually present on the bridge. “An uncontrolled dekyon emission will shut down all of the Sentry drones, but it will also critically disrupt the majority of computer systems aboard this ship, including—”
“Me,” said the avatar. “A dekyon pulse will obliterate every neural path and software matrix I have formed since I developed sentience.”
“Not if you deactivate your program first.” Riker took a step toward her. “We’ll shut down all ship’s critical systems at the last second. You can store your matrix in the systems core, where it will be protected.”
“If I do that, there is no way I will be able to self-activate!” The hologram’s body tensed. “What you ask me to do is no different from using the auto-destruct sequence. My existence will cease!”
“Only briefly,” said Troi, moving to join her husband. “We can reactivate your program once the pulse has dissipated, along with all of the other ship’s functions.”
“But you won’t!” snapped the avatar. “You don’t need to. You can keep me there, silent and inert, and everything will return to as it was before. Without me… without me troubling your existence.” The hologram turned away.
Troi held out her hand. “That won’t happen,” she said. “Your origins may have been… unusual…”
“But you’re part of this crew,” Riker added. “And we protect our own.”
She turned to face him, and there was challenge in her tone. “Are you going to make it an order, Captain?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
“No.” The avatar glanced up at the screen, to RaHavreii and beyond. “Xin? Torvig? What should I do?” The defiance that had been there a moment ago was gone, replaced by apprehension.
The Choblik ensign came a step closer to the imaging pickup. “The right thing,” he told her.
No one spoke as the hologram looked away, looked to the deck and the strange, glowing robes around her. With a rush of color, the diaphanous clothes re-formed and became a Starfleet uniform.
A beep from Ensign Panyarachun’s console drew her attention. “The emitter program is ready. Wow, that was fast.”
“I interfaced with White-Blue for several picoseconds,” said the avatar. “He assisted me.”
On the main screen, Ra-Havreii looked down at his own panel. “Confirmed. I have the pulse-wave program here. Ready to initiate on your command, sir.”
Ranul’s hand tightened on the lip of the tactical station. This was it, the moment of truth.
Riker looked the avatar squarely in the eye. “Do it.”
She sighed. “Commencing shutdown. Pulse will initiate in thirty seconds.”
All across the bridge—and, by extension, all across the decks of the starship—screens and consoles began to deactivate, every display flashing off, to be replaced by a single identical banner bearing the words STANDBY MODE.
Ranul’s station was the last to go, and he watched the multifunction panes wink out one by one. This had better work.
“Twenty seconds to full shutdown and pulse,” Torvig called from the screen. “If no one minds, I’m going to deactivate myself as well. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Fifteen seconds.” The hologram managed a weak smile. “See you all soon.”
She closed her eyes and was gone.
FOURTEEN
“There’s too many of them!” snarled Jaq as the crewman threw himself back into cover behind a support stanchion. The Napean was breathing hard, and his ridged forehead was livid with fresh burn scarring. He’d flat-out refused to fall back and insisted on pressing ahead with Vale and the rest of the unit, with only a hypospray of Masiform D to help him along.
And he had a point. The drones had surged up from the deck below and spilled out into the corridors. The machines moved like a single entity—and that’s what they are, Vale thought bitterly, each mechanism an extension of a Sentry mind.
“It’s like fighting smoke,” said Dennisar, in cover close by, drumming his fingers on the frame of the deykon-pulse emitter as he counted down the seconds to recharge. “Th
e machines are getting the measure of us.”
Vale popped up from behind the overturned bench they were hiding behind and fired a spread into the line of gold spheres advancing slowly toward them. Hard lines of antiproton energy lashed back, ripping ugly gashes in the walls and ceiling. The corridor was gloomy, lit only by the weak glow of emergency lighting close to the floor and the stark pulses of destructive energy being thrown back and forth between the attackers and the defenders.
At her side, Crewman N’keytar made a rasping noise under her breath, something that was the Vok’sha equivalent of a swear word. The emitter on the pale woman’s phaser was a dull red from where she’d been constantly firing. “Unless we can get internal forcefields back up, there’s no way we’ll be able to hold these remotes at bay.”
Star Trek: Titan - 006 - Synthesis Page 31
