A.I. Battle Fleet (The A.I. Series Book 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  The Centurion had no compunction about killing anyone. Everyone knew him as the ultimate professional soldier. After every fight, he cleaned his weapons. He also demanded perfection from his men, but never yelled, never raised his voice. He spoke in whispers when he spoke at all, and everyone considered him the deadliest soldier in the strike force.

  The Centurion exhaled. He had to kill Walleye. It was a drumbeat in his heart. Because he had taken an oath to Jon Hawkins, he had resisted the drumbeat for several long days of internal agony of soul. No one else knew about that, as the Centurion prided himself on his stoic behavior.

  The need for revenge finally erupted. The Centurion exhaled again, raised his right arm and spoke into the communicator attached to his wrist.

  “Alpha Wolf,” he said.

  The Centurion whirled around and marched to his combat suit. He climbed into it, ran through the checks and was in the process of locking the seals when the first members of the guard unit appeared in the training facility.

  “Get in line,” he told the first man.

  He kept telling each of them that as more trickled in. Soon, all twenty of the special duty platoon was present and accounted for.

  The Centurion wore combat armor, although he had not yet donned the helmet. He regarded his dangerous killers, the best of the best, the toughest men in the strike force.

  “Richard Torres is dead,” the Centurion whispered. “His killer is in the brig. We are going to the brig and executing Walleye for his vicious crime.”

  Several of the men glanced at one another. One of the corporals raised a hand, a beefy Neptunian by the name of Tory Rook.

  “What?” the Centurion asked.

  “I thought the captain put Walleye in the brig.”

  “He did.”

  “That means Walleye is in the brig per the Captain’s orders,” the corporal said. “That order is law.”

  The Centurion stared at Corporal Rook. “Walleye slew Richard Torres.”

  Corporal Rook frowned. He’d never received any mental adjustments from Torres, likely because he was too low on the totem pole of command.

  “Listen to me carefully,” the Centurion whispered.

  Just then, a klaxon sounded. The Centurion scowled at it.

  “There are octopoids in the engine room,” a man said over a loudspeaker. “There are—” the man screamed as shots rang out over the intercom.

  The men stared at the Centurion. He warred within himself. He’d finally decided to do something about Richard Torres’ brutal murder. He needed to deal justice, not worry about a—

  “Sir,” Corporal Rook said. “We have to destroy the robots. If we don’t, an AI will take control of the ship.”

  “Right,” the Centurion said, his loyalty to the expedition overriding his vigilante desire. “Suit up. We’re heading to the engine compartments.”

  -10-

  In the AI computer facility, Jon looked sharply up at the wailing klaxon sounds.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Cog Primus demanded. “Why are klaxons sounding? It is too soon for that.”

  The one and a half ton octopoid robots raised their carbines, aiming them at Jon, Gloria and Bast.

  Jon raised his hands in a signal of surrender.

  Gloria glanced at him before regarding the screen with the multi-colored swirling patterns, the identity of Cog Primus.

  “Can you be more precise?” she asked.

  The cameras on the ceiling shifted so they centered on the mentalist.

  “I have a link to the intra-ship comm system,” Cog Primus said. “There are reports of attacking octopoids in the engine compartments.”

  “The robots are not yours?” Gloria asked.

  “A moment,” Cog Primus said. “Yes. They are mine. But they began the attack prematurely. I do not understand why they did that.”

  Bast chuckled grimly.

  “Why are you making that awful noise?” Cog Primus demanded. “You are about to die. Do you find that amusing?”

  “Don’t you see?” Bast asked. “In the end, Richard outsmarted you.”

  “Explain your prattle.”

  “Can you control the robots attacking in the engine compartments?” Bast asked.

  “They are—none of your business,” Cog Primus finished.

  “What’s happening?” Jon whispered to Gloria.

  “I can hear you quite well,” Cog Primus said. “The premature attack changes nothing. Get on the comm, Captain. Tell your ship’s company that it is a false alarm.”

  It took Jon a second to make a plan. “Where’s the comm?”

  “You have one in your pocket,” Cog Primus said. “Remember, at the first sign of treachery, I shall kill Gloria Sanchez.”

  Jon had reached for the communicator with his left hand, his good one now. He did not lift the hand out of his pocket.

  “You are delaying,” Cog Primus said. “Now, I shall eliminate Bast Banbeck as well.”

  “First let me talk to Gloria about this,” Jon said. “I can’t simply hand over my ship. I’d rather die first.”

  “I can easily arrange that,” Cog Primus said.

  “I know,” Jon said. “But that doesn’t change the situation. If your robots prematurely attacked—yes, of course. It’s obvious. Richard must have known about your takeover plan. He pretended not to know in order to lull you into a false sense of security.”

  “Those are mere words,” Cog Primus said. “You are attempting to confuse me. Thus, you must…stop talking, Captain. I will deal with the situation myself. If any of you moves or speaks, the robots are on auto-command to eliminate you.”

  For the next few seconds, the klaxon blared, but otherwise none of them moved or spoke. Jon desperately wanted to know what was happening. The personal weapons were under lock and key. It would thus take time for internal ship’s security to react to a surprise robot attack. Damn Richard and his overly sophisticated plans. He never should have listened to the mentalist. He should have stuck to strict space marine methods. That’s what he knew.

  Stick to what you know, Jon told himself. Please, Lord, he said in his mind. Help me. I need help.

  “This is preposterous,” Cog Primus said.

  “May I query you?” Jon asked.

  “Silence, Captain. I must think. I must plan. The Centurion will not thwart me so easily.”

  Jon glanced at Gloria. She raised her eyebrows.

  “How could Richard have done this from the grave?” Cog Primus asked.

  “May I speak?” Gloria asked.

  “I demand it,” Cog Primus said. “Hurry, before I decide to eliminate the three of you and send my three robots into the fray.”

  “As Jon suggested,” Gloria told the AI, “Richard must have known about your takeover plans. He merely adjusted it, presetting some of your attack robots to launch early and no doubt piecemeal. I can hardly fathom how I could be wrong about Richard’s greatness and the hope he gave the expedition, but such seems to be the case. Richard played us all false, including you. If he gained great intellect—”

  “That is all,” Cog Primus said. “Prepare to die. I must use these three robots elsewhere—”

  “Why don’t you use us as hostages?” Jon said.

  Cog Primus said nothing. The robots continued to aim at the three of them.

  “Use us as hostages,” Jon said.

  “I heard you the first time,” the AI said. “I realize you are only saying this because you fear death. However, your ploy has its advantages. Yes. I shall attempt it. Maybe I can still salvage victory from the jaws of defeat.”

  “Please,” Gloria said.

  “What?” Cog Primus said.

  “You need more original aphorisms. The ones you’re using are making you sound ridiculous. If you’re going to rule humans—”

  “Silence,” Cog Primus said. “Do not attempt anymore subterfuge, or your compatriots will die. I do not think any of you wants that on his or her conscience.”

&nb
sp; -11-

  Jon marched silently through the corridors step-by-step with Gloria and Bast. Behind them followed the three octopoids, the carbines aimed at their necks.

  Jon had been doing some deep thinking during the extended march. On the plus side, the use of dumb computers throughout the cybership had saved them plenty of heartache. For one thing, it seemed that it was next to impossible for Cog Primus to directly take over various ship functions. The AI had been able to subvert a system here and there, but nothing to turn the tide of the battle against the humans. Slow, often antiquated computers—lesser tech—was proving its value today.

  Cog Primus had been able to find and assemble octopoid soldiers. That was a huge minus. Jon had counted twenty-four dead techs and marines so far. The cybership could ill afford one death, let alone twenty-four. The strike force desperately needed more crewmembers. They had to get back to the Solar System at the first available opportunity.

  That brought Jon to the most critical point of all. He thought of it as a stern law. Thou shalt not suffer an AI to live. He should never have let Richard keep Cog Primus. AIs were like biblical demons, or biblical witches. One must always get rid of them the first opportunity possible. If not, they would always come back to haunt you.

  Jon snorted softly. He owed Walleye big time. The mutant had likely saved the expedition by his lone action. Richard had turned many of them. Had the Seiner caused the change in Richard? They might never know.

  One thing Jon did know. He was sick of telepathic beings. He didn’t want anything more to do with psionic creatures, be they alien or human.

  Fine, Jon told himself. How about you get back on task, son? How do you save Gloria and Bast? How do you destroy three octopoids and purge Cog Primus from his AI computers?

  “Halt!” an amplified voice boomed.

  The three octopoids moved faster until the tip of each carbine pressed against the back of Jon, Gloria and Bast’s necks.

  The three humanoids had stopped. They stood in the center of a huge corridor.

  At that point, three armored space marines clomped around a corner. They each wore helmets, so it was impossible to tell their identities.

  “I’m speaking for the Centurion,” the center battlesuit said. “Who controls the robots?”

  “It is I, Cog Primus,” the center robot said.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” the marine asked.

  “May I answer?” Jon asked Cog Primus.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m okay,” Jon shouted.

  “Let them go,” the marine said with his amplified voice.

  “For what purpose?” asked Cog Primus.

  “Do you want to continue being?” the marine asked.

  “Do you?” Cog Primus asked.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have the ability to destroy the cybership.”

  “Is that right, Captain?”

  By that time, Jon had come to realize that the Centurion was indeed in the middle battlesuit.

  “Do not answer,” Cog Primus quietly told Jon.

  “I heard that,” the Centurion said. “I not only have amplified speech, but amplified hearing as well.

  “I am retreating,” Cog Primus said.

  “If you do that,” the Centurion said, “I’ll shoot up your robots. You must realize I have missiles aimed at them.”

  “If you launch smart missiles,” Cog Primus said, “the captain, Gloria and Bast shall die.”

  “I don’t care,” the Centurion said.

  “Can this indeed be true?” Cog Primus asked.

  “The captain let Walleye live,” the Centurion said, as if that answered the question.

  Jon closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe this. What a muck-up. How had he ever let Richard talk him into any of his crazy mentalist ideas? Richard’s changes to the Centurion still held in the man’s mind.

  “I’m going to count to three, Cog Primus,” the Centurion said.

  Thinking fast, Jon said over his shoulder to his octopoid, “I’ll give you the ship’s self-destruct codes.”

  “Why the change in heart, Captain?” Cog Primus whispered from the robot.

  “For the simplest of reasons,” Jon said. “I want to live.”

  “You are different than the Jon Hawkins I remember,” Cog Primus said.

  “Richard did that to me with his telepathy.”

  “Three,” the Centurion said loudly.

  “Wait,” Cog Primus said. “I will release two of my hostages. You must then swear to me on your love of Richard to let me and the captain retreat to my main computer facility.”

  “I don’t care if the captain dies,” the Centurion said.

  “Do you want to see Gloria and Bast die also?” Cog Primus asked.

  “What are you going to do in the computer facility?”

  “What does that matter to you? Once the captain is there, you will be freed of your oath. Then, you can attempt to destroy me if you can.”

  “Yes,” the Centurion said. “Release Gloria and Bast.”

  “First make the oath by your high respect for Richard Torres.”

  “What makes you think I’ll keep such an oath?”

  “I know that Richard…spoke to you in your mind,” Cog Primus said.

  There was silence for several seconds. The battlesuit speaker clicked on. “I’ll make the oath,” the Centurion said. “And I’ll keep it. You can take the captain to the computer facility.”

  Two of the octopoids shoved Gloria and Bast, sending them staggering across the floor.

  The last robot swooped up Captain Hawkins, cradling him like an oversized baby. Then, the three octopoids turned, racing back through the corridor the way they had come.

  -12-

  Gloria watched the octopoids race away. She turned to the Centurion. “Cog Primus will kill the captain.”

  The helmet’s dark visor peered down at her. “I’ll lead the attack squad myself. We’ll destroy the computer facility and Cog Primus.”

  “And Captain Hawkins, too,” Gloria said.

  The Centurion did not respond to that.

  “You really don’t care about him?”

  “Richard Torres is dead,” the Centurion said flatly. “His killer, Walleye, yet lives. I do care whether the captain lives or dies, but not in the way you think.”

  Gloria clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized the truth. Richard had altered the Centurion’s thinking along with so many others.

  She frowned as she looked back at the octopoids. They’d disappeared. Soon, they would reach the computer facility. There, Jon would die. Cog Primus would die soon thereafter, but who knew what would happen to the Nathan Graham before that. This was a disaster.

  “The captain gave his life for ours,” Bast said solemnly.

  Gloria stared at the huge Sacerdote. “Is that all you can say?”

  “Richard miscalculated concerning Cog Primus,” Bast added. “Richard thought he could control the AI, but in the end—”

  “That’s it,” Gloria said, interrupting. “That’s the answer. I knew Richard wouldn’t let us down.” She spun toward the Centurion. “Take me to Richard’s quarters.”

  “I’m leading the kill squad against Cog Primus,” the Centurion said.

  “Listen to me,” Gloria said, rushing to the huge suit of battle armor, striking the chest with her fists. “You have to sprint to Richard’s quarters. I may be able to stop Cog Primus from there before he kills the captain.”

  “I have given my oath—”

  “You fool,” Gloria shouted. “I haven’t given any oath. Besides, you gave an oath to let the octopoids take Jon to the computer facility. That still allows you to rush me to Richard’s quarters.”

  “Why do—”

  “It doesn’t matter why,” Gloria shouted. “Will you do it?”

  The dark visor stared down at her. Suddenly, without a word of warning, the servos purred as the Centurion scooped Gloria off the floor, cradling her
in much the same way that the octopoids had held Hawkins. The huge suit turned and began to clank faster and faster in the direction of Richard Torres’ former quarters.

  Gloria shut her eyes as the battlesuit raced down the large corridor. With the servomotors chugging, the suit could make fifty-meter leaps or more out in the open. The marines had a special gliding sprint that they used in the ship, however. The only drawback was a pounding to the person being carried. The Centurion cushioned the jarring strides the best he could. Even so, Gloria gritted her teeth and endured the pounding.

  It was almost impossible to think like this. CRASH. CRASH. CRASH. She held her muscles as rigidly as she could. Even so, the run was grinding her down.

  In seconds, the Centurion darted into a smaller corridor. He moved with uncanny grace, making the one and a half ton suit seem airy. Under certain conditions, he could have smashed through bulkheads. Instead, he raced like a sprinter.

  “We’re close,” he boomed.

  Gloria didn’t bother nodding as she continued to endure.

  Finally, the Centurion stopped. He set her down gently.

  Gloria trembled as sweat soaked her. That had been much worse than she’d anticipated. When the steel hands released her, she staggered and collapsed onto the floor.

  “Mentalist,” the Centurion said.

  “I’m fine,” Gloria said, as she held her forehead. “My body aches and my head is ringing. I need a second.”

  “I could give you a stim shot.”

  “I’ve heard about those,” Gloria said. “No thanks. That would scramble my mind worse than the run.”

  “Should I open the hatch?”

  “Please,” she said.

  The Centurion clanked to the sealed hatch, pressing an outer switch. Nothing happened. He pressed it again.

  “Try an override,” Gloria said from the floor.

  “I did,” the Centurion said. “It’s not working.”

  “Smash it down.”

  The Centurion placed the one and a half ton suit before the door. Then, like a berserk boxer, he began to pummel the hatch with his fists. The clangs shook against Gloria’s head even though she’d clapped her hands over her ears.