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

by Vaughn Heppner

  “We need a crash study on each other,” Bast said. “There is little time before the machines gather to strike again.”

  “That means there’s no time to make any stupid mistakes,” Jon said. “I like Gloria’s thinking. Talk to Tars Hotek. I take it he’s a mentalist.”

  “Yes,” Gloria said.

  Jon nodded. “Tell him the score.”

  “He and his team are ready to go,” Gloria said.

  Jon glanced at her.

  “You’ve had enough on your mind to worry about the little details,” Gloria said. “Surviving the next day was your job. Now that we’ve survived, I have some options ready for you.”

  Jon put a hand on her knee. “There’s something else we have to do.”

  She blushed before asking, “Who will marry us?”

  “Why not the Chief Space Lord of Roke?” Bast asked from back, seemingly highly amused.

  “Too dangerous,” Gloria said. “The Warriors might hold that as a sign of authority over Jon. Right now, he’s the hero who saved the Roke race. We want to leave it like that for as long as we can.”

  “What are you thinking?” Jon asked her.

  “Why not ask Premier Benz to officiate over the wedding?”

  “Go back to the Allamu System?” Jon mused.

  “As soon as possible,” Gloria said.

  Jon gave her a searching glance. “Why’s that?”

  “The missiles,” she said.

  At first, Jon thought she meant XVT missiles. Then, he realized she meant the massive mystery missiles that had destroyed the Da Vinci and the Neptune in the Lytton System.

  “What about the missiles?” Jon asked.

  “Whoever launched them must have destroyed the Lytton planets and the AI battle station there because they’re at war against the AIs.”

  Jon blinked at her. “Do you think whoever launched those missiles might threaten the Allamu Battle Station?”

  “It seems like a logical deduction on our part from what we saw in the Lytton System. Since they fired at us, possibly thinking we were AIs, why wouldn’t they do the same thing to the Allamu Battle Station?”

  Jon thought about that. It made horrible sense. “Right,” he said. “If nothing else, we have to warn Benz what could happen.”

  “I think that should be our first concern,” Gloria said.

  “And the second?” asked Jon.

  “Gaining full crew complements for our cyberships,” Gloria said. “Maybe packing our vessels with people so we would have enough in case we captured even more cyberships.”

  Jon nodded. “We need to check up on the Solar System, anyway, if nothing else to throw the Social Dynamists out of power. While we’re there, we’ll recruit massively. Once we’ve reordered the Solar System under a united government, we could come back here and forge a more enduring alliance with the Roke.”

  “All sound choices,” Gloria said.

  “Yes,” Bast said. “I find your thinking rational. One thing bothers me, though. We thought we knew what the local star systems were like because of the Allamu star chart. It turned out we don’t know.”

  “The chart was partly correct,” Gloria said. “But certain particulars were totally wrong.”

  “You’re right about the hidden aliens,” Jon told Gloria. “Thinking about those mystery missiles, I’m getting an itchy feeling. I want to get back to the Allamu System as fast as possible. We have to figure out who launched the killer missiles from a so-called reality rip.”

  “I’d call that the top priority, now that we’ve survived the AIs for the moment,” Gloria said.

  Jon exhaled as he made a turn in an extra-large corridor. “It’s always something.” After straightening the flitter, he shook his head. “I get the feeling we’re going to be fighting for the rest of our lives.”

  “Will that be a long or a short life?” Gloria asked.

  Jon squeezed the steering controls. Since they were soldiers fighting a possibly galaxy-wide, machine empire, theirs would likely be a short life. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on, though, not when he was going to marry Gloria.

  He switched tracks in his thinking.

  It was time to leave the Roke System and see if the Allamu Battle Station still existed. Just who were these hidden aliens firing mystery missiles? Now that the immediate AI threat was gone—for a few months, it would seem—Jon wanted to figure out the techno-wizardry assault that had cost him two cyberships and one of his best friends.

  -33-

  It turned out that the Warriors of Roke would not let Jon or the five strike-force cyberships go—not until the Chief Space Lord of Roke could give the captain a gift of honor aboard the Flagship Nathan Graham.

  We must celebrate our glorious victory together, came the missive.

  The strike force and alien fleet had passed the blue-white star, moving toward the Planet Roke. Among the strike force high command, there was growing concern that this might be a Roke trap.

  “Or,” Walleye said the one time he was in the conference room meeting, “they really like our captain and want to honor him. You did honor them with a cybership. I bet they think of that as an extravagant gift.”

  “Walleye has a point,” Gloria said.

  Twelve hours later, Captain Morales noticed a courier ship from the home planet. It moved at excessive velocity until it decelerated at a massive rate, soon docking with the Sunrise Red, the name of Toper Glen’s flagship.

  The ceremony began the next day.

  There had been endless hours of repair, and there would be many weeks or even months more. Despite the great luck of Cog Primus and his matter/antimatter blast, the strike force had taken damage. The battle could have easily gone against them.

  That was a sadly sobering thought.

  Everyone aboard the Nathan Graham scrubbed vigorously, combed their hair, if they had any, and wore their best-pressed dress uniform.

  The Roke Fleet followed the flagship. The flagship approached the Nathan Graham, soon launching a heavy shuttle.

  It was a stubby vessel bristling with PD cannons. The Roke shuttle came through the Nathan Graham’s main hangar bay door, landing with supreme grace on the deck.

  The outer hangar bay doors closed. A breathable atmosphere billowed into the giant area. The Nathan Graham’s greeting party assembled on the hangar deck. Soon, a ladder descended from the main shuttle exit, and the hatch slid up.

  A huge Roke Warrior scanned the assembled host lined up in rows upon rows on the main deck. He likely didn’t know that this was practically all the people of the strike force. A tiny skeleton crew held down each of the other vessels.

  Jon hadn’t wanted the Roke to think of them as short-handed.

  The bear alien was taller and heavier built than Bast. The alien wore a bronze breastplate and a helmet with waving red feathers on top. He held onto a Roke halberd, a half pike, half axe weapon.

  “He’s a ceremonial warrior,” Gloria whispered to Jon.

  He nodded as he waited in the front row with Gloria. He’d already guessed that.

  The Roke Warrior handed someone inside the shuttle his halberd and accepted a huge standard like an ancient Roman legionary eagle. He marched proudly down the steps, and rapped the end of the standard on the deck three times in rapid succession.

  More Roke giants appeared at the shuttle hatch. These three wore similar armor and Bavarian-style shorts with Roman-like legionary sandals. Instead of halberds, they carried giant two-handed, wavy-bladed swords. The Warriors looked as if they could chop a cow in half down the middle with one of those.

  “They must think we’re puny,” Gloria whispered.

  The three sword-bearers marched down the shuttle ladder to halt behind the first Roke.

  Then, an older Roke appeared at the shuttle hatch. He wore a blue cape, lacked a breastplate and wore a blue vest instead. He had white fur in places. In other spots, the fur was gray. He moved majestically down the steps, halted behind the sword-bearers,
bowed right and left, and then marched around them and the standard-bearer.

  Jon made as if to move up to greet him.

  Gloria put a hand on his arm. “Let me do that as your representative.”

  Jon nodded.

  Gloria walked to the giant bear, bowed to the right and left, and regarded the towering alien.

  The bear’s eyes seemed to sparkle with delight. He opened his snout and said in harsh and heavily accented English, “You are the messenger?”

  “Yes,” Gloria said, astonished by his performance.

  “I am Hon Ra, the First Ambassador of Roke.”

  “I am the Mentalist Gloria Sanchez,” she said slowly so he could understand her. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Please do,” Hon Ra said.

  “How is it that you can speak our tongue?”

  The older Roke’s eyes seemed to shine with delight. “We have intercepted many of your verbal transmissions. Our scientists and ambassadors broke down the meanings. As the First Ambassador, I, of course, have a gift in tongues.”

  “A most noted gift,” Gloria said.

  “You are also an ambassador?”

  “From the captain to you,” Gloria said.

  There was a loud gong from the shuttle.

  “Ah,” Hon Ra said. “I have spoken too long. The Chief Space Lord is ready. He will give the gift, but he will not stay long. In his place, he asks that I remain aboard your flagship until you return here to our star system.”

  Gloria blinked rapidly, taken aback by the request. “I will have to ask my captain about that.”

  “You are the ambassador,” Hon Ra said, seeming surprised. “Today, it is for you to decide such a thing.”

  Gloria glanced back at Jon before she looked up at the towering Roke. They may have underestimated the aliens. What Hon Ra had done just now by speaking English—it would be a good idea if they could personally study the Roke. There was a possible problem, too. If she declined the request, the Roke as a whole might take that badly.

  “Yes,” Gloria said, deciding. “We welcome you aboard the Nathan Graham for the coming journey, First Ambassador, Hon Ra.”

  Hon Ra raised his hairy arms. They were long like a gorilla’s arms. And he began to chant in a deep voice.

  At that point, an even older Roke appeared at the head of the shuttle ladder. He seemed to have trouble keeping his back straight. He was wider and fatter than the others were. He had a crimson helmet with blood-red feathers waving back and forth at each step down the ladder. He wore a crimson-colored chest-plate and crimson shorts. With two hands, the older Roke held a massive, wavy-bladed sword. It had a ruby on the end of the pommel and red strings trailing from the grip.

  At last, the Roke reached the deck, standing bow-legged there, roaring to the right and to the left. He had an incredibly loud voice.

  The sword-bearers parted. The standard-holder went to one knee, and the old Roke marched past them until he stepped beside Hon Ra.

  The ambassador roared for several seconds. When he stopped, he looked down at Gloria and said, “May I present to you the glorious and most notable, Toper Glen, the Chief Space Lord of the Warriors of Roke.”

  Gloria bowed low. When she straightened, she said, “I wish to present to you the notoriously famous Captain Jon Hawkins, the Leader of Humanity’s strongest Strike Force.”

  Jon came forward. As he did, Hon Ra stepped aside so Toper Glen could meet Jon alone, Gloria following the ambassador’s example.

  Old Toper Glen nodded solemnly to Jon. The Space Lord spoke in harsh growls, staring down at Jon all the while. He growled at length, finally thrusting the pommel of the giant two-handed sword toward Jon.

  The captain reached out, readying himself. It was a good thing he did. The sword was heavy, and it would have been a terrible omen if he’d dropped it. He did not drop it, but raised the huge sword over his head, turning to his people, showing them.

  They shouted, cheered and clapped.

  Hon Ra now spoke. “This is the ancient sword Glorious Gatherer of Souls. It represents the spirit of Clan High Guard, the most decorated and famous of the clans of Roke Crags. Space Lord Toper Glen is the chief of the clan. He bequeaths you the ancient sword, over two thousand years old—in your Earth years—as a symbol of honor and thanks to the Earthmen for what they did in the battle. You are a Warrior, Jon Hawkins. We of Roke will call this, ‘The Year Jon Hawkins Came to our Star System.’ We had lost hope, and almost lost heart. This you returned to us, Warrior-Wizard of Earth. You gave your paw in friendship. We of Roke will never forget this deed of valor. You showed us how to defeat the machines. We will always speak your name with honor. We hope that you will always be our friend, and that you will fight in battle with the Warriors of Roke once more. Bear the sword proudly, Captain Jon Hawkins, because you have earned it the best way possible, through war.”

  Jon faced the Chief Space Lord of Roke. “I thank you for this wonderful gift, Space Lord. I will always treasure it as I remember the courage of the Warriors of Roke. It is a great gift, a mighty gift. I am awed at your generosity and at your great heart. We stood against the machines, you and I. Together we defeated them in honorable battle. I consider you my friend, Space Lord. I hope that you consider me your friend and the friend of Earth all the years of your life.”

  Toper Glen turned toward the ambassador. The ambassador nodded gravely. The Chief Space Lord of Roke turned to Jon, showing him his yellowed fangs.

  “We are friends!” Hon Ra shouted. He turned to the sword-bearers and the standard-carrying Roke. He growled harshly at them.

  The three Warriors raised their weapons and standard high, shouting and growling most ominously.

  Those assembled may not have known it, but this was a great and auspicious beginning between the Roke and humanity. Each side had successfully honored the other, and each side accepted the honor in the spirit it had been given.

  In the annals of space between different life forms from different planets, this good beginning was most unusual.

  None of those present knew it now, but the Nathan Graham’s voyage into the Roke System would go down as one of the most important in the terrible war against the thinking machines.

  PART IV

  THE VOID SHIP

  -1-

  The journey through hyperspace was nearing its end as the strike force of five, powerful, human-crewed cyberships neared the Allamu System.

  The robo-builders had repaired almost all the interior damage from the Battle of the Roke System. There were too few people left, though, those few thinly spread among the five giant vessels.

  During the hyperspace journey, Bast Banbeck and the Roke First Ambassador, Hon Ra, had become drinking companions. It might have been their towering stature and mass, or it might have been a greater-than-human tolerance for alcohol, but they could put away an inordinate amount of whiskey before they became blind, stinking drunk. When they did reach this state, the two aliens often went on a stagger, as they called it. They roared songs at that time, their echoes rebounding everywhere as they staggered from place to place, discussing philosophy, warrior values and the surprisingly good soldier qualities of the little humans.

  “They can fight,” Hon Ra said with a heavily accented slur as the two of them staggered down an empty hall.

  “Fight well, too,” Bast agreed, his blurry, bloodshot eyes making him seem more like a typical if giant and wrong-colored caveman from prehistoric Earth-times.

  “You wouldn’t think that looking at them,” Hon Ra said.

  “Looks can deceive.”

  Hon Ra turned his bearlike head toward Bast. “That is profound, my friend. You are…are…”

  “Wise?” asked Bast.

  “What is wise?”

  “Making prudent judgments,” Bast said.

  “Ah. Yes. You are wise, my friend, wise, wise indeed.”

  At that point, the Roke First Ambassador swayed back and forth in an exaggerated manner. He began bl
inking wildly as he continued staggering.

  “Steady,” Bast said.

  “The ship, it spins.”

  “You are drunk.”

  “Yes!” Hon Ra roared, lifting gorilla long, hairy arms, shaking bearlike paws. “I am gloriously drunk.”

  “Truly,” Bast agreed.

  “But now—”

  “Yes?” Bast asked, peering intently at the other.

  Hon Ra did not answer. He shut his eyes and seemed to slide bonelessly onto the floor. From there, the huge Roke alien began to snore loudly, fast asleep.

  “Huh,” Bast said. “You are big. You are strong.” He shook his head, quit immediately and rubbed his forehead. “Big, my friend, but you still have to learn how to hold your liquor.”

  With that, Bast marched away for his quarters. Unfortunately, for him, his sense of direction was off. He might not have been able to hold his liquor quite as well as he thought.

  The Neanderthal-looking, green-skinned Sacerdote staggered down one corridor after another. He staggered so long, taking several detours to empty his alien analog of a bladder, that he became less blurry-eyed even as his steps evened out.

  Finally, Bast stopped, frowning as he examined his surroundings. This wasn’t the way to his quarters. In fact, he had been heading the wrong way for quite some time.

  He’d staggered for kilometers, in fact.

  Muttering to himself, Bast dug out a seldom-used communicator. He clicked it on.

  “Hello?” Jon asked seconds later.

  “Oh,” Bast said. “I was trying to call the Centurion.”

  “What’s the problem?” Jon asked. “You sound winded.”

  Bast pondered that. He didn’t want to admit that he’d staggered the wrong way for possibly several hours. That would be embarrassing. It would also indicate that he couldn’t hold his liquor as well as the others thought he could. He might be a philosopher, but he also had his pride.

  Bast scowled as he stood there with the communicator to his ear.

  “Bast?” Jon asked. “Are you still there?”

  “I am. And I’ve been thinking…”

  “Have you been drinking, too?” Jon asked, with a touch of humor in his voice.