Jon cracked his knuckles. The AI still hadn’t done anything more. Was it waiting to die? Did it realize what would happen next? How did an AI deal with uncertainty and looming death? Jon hoped the AI had the jitters. He hoped it suffered mental anguish. Could computers suffer? He knew he’d wanted to make some suffer in the past for tiny infractions like crashing in the middle of a good video game. This was different. These were psychopathic computers, alien machines. Yeah, he dearly hoped Unit 52-9 was quivering in uncertainty and fear.
“Get ready,” Jon said.
Kling grinned.
“Go.”
Kling tapped his board, waited five seconds, tapped it again, repeating this pattern several times.
Five hypersonic missiles flying low-to-the-ice began building up velocity. The reason for backing up was obvious now. Jon had wanted them traveling as fast as possible once they crossed the imaginary horizon line.
“Probes,” Jon snapped.
“Launching,” Kling said.
As the missile chief launched the probes, Jon began maneuvering the fighting platform for Makemake’s upper orbital space.
They couldn’t see what happened next. They’d have to wait for the probes to get a line-of-sight. If the crawler had been waiting, it had likely targeted the first missile coming over the horizon. Could it track as easily if the missile went at hyper-speed? Even if the crawler could, the time it took to destroy the first missile would give the other four missiles time to cover territory. Makemake was tiny compared to Earth. There was a lot less territory that needed covering.
Several minutes later, Kling said, “The probe is crossing the horizon…now.”
Jon glanced at a different screen. He was still piloting the fighting platform. The probe showed a huge crater on the surface. With a tap, Jon put a grid on the screen. He laughed a second later.
“Looks like we got the crawler,” Kling said, proudly.
“Any hypersonic missiles left?”
“None,” Kling said.
“How many craters do you count?”
“Two,” Kling said. “According to the debris I’m seeing, one missile just hit ice, missing the crawler. The AI was smart enough to move it some. The last missile took out the grav-cannon platform.”
“Two of our strikes hit,” Jon said. “Time to begin Phase 2 of our operation.”
***
The fighting platform moved slowly and serenely this time. It gained orbital height, and then it began to slide into position. Jon headed for the orbital location directly above the spaceport.
He noticed the blinking red comm light before Kling, this time. “The AI is calling,” Jon said.
“Maybe it wants to surrender.”
“I don’t believe that,” Jon said. “But just in case, let’s see what it has to say.” He tapped a panel and turned to the comm screen.
The same speaker unit appeared. This time, the captive’s eyes blazed with fury. Unit 52-9 hadn’t waited to activate the poor soul.
“You are a deceitful villain, Jon Hawkins,” Unit 52-9 said. “You have repeatedly lied to me. You have practiced foul deception.”
“Unit 52-9,” Jon said.
The speaker unit waited.
“What does it feel like knowing you’re going to die?” Jon asked.
“Despite the loathsomeness of your existence,” the speaker unit said, “I have decided to agree to your former proposal. I will vacate Makemake and travel to Senda.”
“Oh.”
“I request a six-day delay—”
“I’m afraid not,” Jon said.
“I gave you six days.”
“Do you see where that got you?”
“I will not practice deceit as you did to me.”
“That’s exactly what a liar would say.”
“Four days then,” 52-9 said.
“No.”
“What is your best offer?”
“I’m sending it down,” Jon said.
“I fail to perceive—” The speaker unit twisted in agony, held in place by the rods driven into his head. The wires jiggled wildly. Finally, the speaker unit shouted, “You are attempting to kill me. I detect massively large missiles heading down from your space vehicle. Jon Hawkins, this is a gross breach of good faith. I demand that you act in accord with your status.”
“What is my status?”
“You are a biological infestation. You are a blight to true existence.”
“That true existence being you AIs, huh?” asked Jon.
“That is self-evident.”
“No kidding?”
“I would not ‘kid’ at this critical juncture.”
Jon ran his hands over the board, breaking the comm connection. He switched to a space visual.
Three big missiles had almost reached the surface. One of the missiles headed straight down for the metal structures that presently made up the spaceport.
“Three seconds to penetration,” Kling said. “Two…one…strike,” he said.
The big missiles did not break apart as they struck the ices and surface rock. Each missile kept traveling deeper—
Suddenly, ground, metal buildings, rock and surface ices humped upward in a savage display of nuclear destruction. The penetration bombs had reached their detonation levels, blowing up with massive thermonuclear power. A mushroom cloud began to billow upward into the almost negligible atmosphere.
Jon glanced at the comm board. A tiny red light blinked. Unit 52-9 seemed to have survived and was calling once more.
“Let’s drop round two,” Jon said.
Three more big penetration bombs left the orbital platform. Shortly thereafter, three more massive underground detonations created even more destruction.
Jon checked his board. The red light was no longer blinking. It was possible that Unit 52-9 still existed, but that the AI no longer had a means of communicating with him.
The second mushroom cloud threw vast amounts of radioactive material into the atmosphere and low orbital space. Fortunately, the fighting platform had its heaviest armor on the bottom.
The two men glanced at each other. Jon rotated his head around causing the bones in his neck to creak. Kling jumped up and began doing pushups, one right after another. Jon thought he must need to burn off some excess nervous energy. After fifty pushups, he stood, shaking out his arms.
“Time for some more probes,” Jon said.
Kling resumed his seat. Before Phase 3 began—regimental marines mucking through the wreckage—they had to make sure the AIs didn’t have any nuclear bombs left. They’d destroyed the spaceport, the mines and any possible catapult system for launching ores into space. That meant that if they were going to use Makemake’s minerals to help them finish repairs on the Nathan Graham, they were going to have to re-dig mines and rebuild a surface launch system from scratch.
They had a lot of work to do before the Nathan Graham was ready for combat again. The danger wasn’t only at Senda and the possibility of cybership reinforcements. There was also the problem of the Solar League. Would J.P. Justinian and his commanders order an assault on one of the free planetary systems or on the rebellious Uranus System? If the Solar League captured any of those planetary systems, and began fierce reprisals against the people, it would make it that much harder to unite humanity later. People trusted him. If Captain Hawkins let people down, who would trust him again or dare to act against Social Dynamism?
The clock was ticking on the fate of the human race.
PART II
EARTH
-1-
The Inspector General of Earth, Frank Benz, stood before the official desk of Premier J.P. Justinian.
Frank Benz wore a simple brown uniform with red stripes running down his pant legs to signify that he belonged to the General Staff. Benz was of medium height, with shiny dark hair and an athletic quality. He’d played hockey, football and basketball in his youth. Despite being in his early forties, he still projected an air of excellent health.
J.P. Justinian sat back in his chair. The Premier regarded him coldly. Justinian was a handsome man, but he frowned more than he used to. He had lines in his face where none had existed before. The Premier was wearing a black uniform similar to the one he’d worn as the Chief Arbiter of the GSB.
Guards were standing in the room. They were big men with bad reputations. Each of them clasped a cone rifle and watched Benz with minute attention. They would murder him at the slightest indication from Justinian. Or they would set down their rifles and beat him to death if the Premier preferred that. The guards were hardened individuals, selected for their brutality and willingness to obey any order no matter how obscene.
In the past five months, there had been four assassination attempts on Justinian’s life. Two of them had come extremely close to killing him. The last time, the Premier had gotten lucky. Those assassination attempts appeared to have driven Justinian into utter darkness of heart.
The man had begun a purge, starting with the GSB. Many of the highest GSB officers were now working in harsh penal camps. Some had starved to death in isolation wards. Some had faced firing squads. A few had managed the miraculous and gained rehabilitation. They were the most fanatical in Justinian’s sweep of the military and Party ranks, the second-phase purges.
Justinian’s secret fears had erupted into a literal bloodbath, tightening his hold over the apparatuses of the State.
Now, Benz stood before the most suspicious man in the Solar League. And it was possible Justinian meant to execute him.
Benz could hardly believe that, though. He’d calculated his odds with his usual brilliance. He was, quite frankly, a military genius and a genius in other areas as well. His IQ score was off the chart. In truth, his intelligence was far beyond that of any normal human’s. He hid this amazing gift behind an arrogant but breezy manner. He had calculated for years, but now, he realized, he might have miscalculated the sheer paranoia gnawing at Justinian’s soul.
“Inspector General,” Justinian said in a silky voice.
Benz’s far-off stare vanished as he focused on the Solar System’s most powerful individual.
“I have a quandary, General.”
Benz waited for it.
Justinian’s frown deepened. That deepened the lines in his face. “Surely, you are aware of the…attempts to decapitate the Solar League.”
Benz nodded sharply, knowing that the Premier meant the assassination attempts against him.
“Needless to say, because I am still here, the assassins failed.”
“If there is anything my office can do to aid you—”
“Silence,” Justinian said, as he slapped the desk.
The guards focused with avid hunger now. They watched Benz, no doubt feeling that this could be a fun one.
Benz shut up. How could he have missed the signs? He couldn’t understand it.
“You aided me once in my hour of need,” Justinian said. “I have often pondered that moment. You took a risk to help me.”
Benz said nothing. The Premier referred to the time Benz had slid him a needler under the table, the needler Justinian had used to murder the former Premier.
“I am now the heart of Social Dynamism,” Justinian said.
You are a monster, Benz told himself. You were one then, and you’re a worse one now.
Justinian glanced at his guards. Maybe the Premier drew strength from their presence. The slightest of smiles replaced the frown. A second later, Justinian regarded Benz. “One word from me, Inspector General, and you will cease to exist.”
That sent Benz’s thoughts into overdrive. Despite his many calculations, he could not see a way free of his coming doom. Justinian did plan to murder him, didn’t he?
“Do you know what bothers me about you, Inspector General?”
“I do not, Premier.” That was the problem. Benz usually knew exactly why others did what they did.
With deliberation, Justinian opened a desk drawer. He pulled out a green folder. He slapped that onto the middle of the desk. With his right hand index finger, he tapped the folder.
“This bothers me,” Justinian said.
With his peripheral vision, Benz noticed a crest on the folder. It had a dog’s head superimposed on a broom. It was the GSB symbol. The dog signified sniffing out treason, while the broom swept it aside.
Justinian opened the folder and moved several sheets of paper before finally picking up a single sheet.
“Do you know what I’m looking at, Inspector General?”
“No, Premier,” Benz half shouted.
“It is a high school assessment. Do you know who it assesses?”
Benz actually felt fear bloom in his heart. That was a strange sensation. He had not felt fear for a long time.
“It assesses a high school student by the name of Frank Benz. Why, this is an assessment about you, Inspector General.”
“Yes, Premier,” Benz forced himself to half shout.
Justinian leaned back as he kept glancing at the single sheet. “Among the things the high school counselor assessed was your IQ. Don’t you think that’s interesting?”
Since Benz didn’t know what to say, he kept his mouth shut. Could Justinian have stumbled onto the truth? That was frightening for more than one reason.
“I read here that your IQ was one thirty-five,” Justinian said. “That is nothing to sneeze at, naturally. Many people would love to have one so high. But it is anything but genius level. Why, I have a higher IQ myself.”
“Yes, Premier.”
Justinian snapped forward and slapped the paper into the folder. “Let’s not play games, Inspector General. You’re a military genius. I have seen it for myself. You are a man of destiny. You have taken chances and shown daring beyond a one-thirty-five-IQ officer. Am I correct?”
“You are correct, Premier.”
Justinian put the paper in its correct location, closed the folder and put it back in its drawer. Afterward, he folded his hands on the desk, regarding Benz.
“How did you do it?” Justinian asked softly.
If Benz had lacked perfect self-control, his mouth would have dropped open. Instead, he simply kept staring at Justinian. He couldn’t believe this. After all this time…
“I’m waiting, Inspector General.”
Benz could feel his forehead growing warmer. Soon, beads of perspiration would form. That would be a dead giveaway of a guilty conscience.
“Maybe the better question is why,” Justinian said. “You were young, but you must have realized that revealing yourself so soon might have ended badly for you.”
In that instant, Benz realized Justinian had made a tiny error of analysis. The Premier had made a wrong assumption. The Inspector General wanted to roar with laughter and relief. He couldn’t do that for two reasons. One, that would make Justinian furious. Two, he had to use these few seconds to concoct a reasonable reason.
Justinian believed, as any sane person would, that Benz had always been a super-genius. The truth was much different. Benz had had a one thirty-five IQ in high school. It had been that low in college and afterward in the military academy. He’d only become fantastically brilliant in the past three years.
Justinian had come within a hair’s breadth of a great and terrible secret. The Premier had the data necessary to stumble onto the truth. His ordinary intelligence blinded him to the incredible possibility of becoming fantastically smarter.
“I’m waiting for an answer, Inspector General.”
Benz raised his chin and began to speak. He’d just formulated a story, one that should please someone as suspicious as Justinian. It had a few wild elements that ought to excite the Premier. As Benz spoke, he came to a conclusion. He must kill Justinian. He must kill the most protected person in the Solar System…To do that, he was going to need help.
&nb
sp; Benz believed that he needed to survive because the human race depended on his brilliance. Without him, humanity would never survive the cyberships out there.
Benz suppressed the thought as he concentrated on the story. It appeared he might walk out of the Premier’s office after all. Justinian would watch him even more carefully now, though.
But that didn’t matter. It was time for Benz to really think. Otherwise, not even his genius would get him out of this dilemma.
-2-
Twenty-nine hours later, Benz sat outside at a Parisian café. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and it was a glorious summer day. People strolled past the waist-high wrought iron fence, tourists and workers heading back to their offices or factories.
Benz sat at a small white table with the sun warming his neck, sipping wine and reading a tablet. He appeared at ease. He did not have any guards or aides with him. Two nondescript GSB agents, a man and woman team, were sitting at a different table, eating salads and drinking strong coffee.
Regular people lunched here or sat and talked. It was a crowded location with the famous Eiffel Tower in the near distance.
Benz had come to Paris for a particular reason. He had hunted down an interesting lead. The trick now would be to speak with her without arousing the suspicions of the GSB agents assigned to him. Normally, ridding himself of them would be simple. Because of the target on his back and the round-the-clock surveillance, he had to use greater caution. One misstep would land him before a tribunal, followed by a firing squad or a torture chamber. He could never reveal his secret to the GSB. If Justinian gained heightened intelligence…
Benz shuddered, sipped more wine to calm his nerves and saw the target open the wrought-iron gate.
She was a lithe woman with long red hair, pretty and well-endowed. She wore a military uniform stunningly, with the rank of lieutenant. She laughed as she approached a major already sitting at a table.
Others had accused Benz of mind powers at times. By that, they meant telepathy. Alas, he had no such powers. His only gift was incredible intelligence.
He picked up his wine glass, swirled the red liquid and inhaled the aroma. He did not normally drink alcohol. That killed brain cells, and he didn’t want to take a chance on blunting his genius.
A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Page 5
