“What’s grand strategy?” Jon had asked that day in the coffee shop.
“The big picture. In our lesson, it was taking on three powerful political entities: the Soviet Union, the British Empire and America. The Germans had awful grand strategy. It meant after they shot their bolt in the first attack on Russia, that they could never win. The odds became too staggering.”
The colonel had taken another sip of coffee. “The big picture is critical. Grand strategy trumps strategy, which usually trumps great operational skills, which trump battlefield tactics. The highest military good is to practice sound grand strategy.”
Jon grinned as he turned a corner in the moon corridor. He saw the hatch to the conference chamber. Gloria could calculate vectors, velocities and fuel better than anyone else here. But he was the big picture man. The meeting was going to be about grand strategy as much as anything else.
Jon lowered his head and entered the hatch with determination.
-2-
Jon sat at the head of the conference table.
The giant Bast Banbeck was in attendance. The green-skinned Sacerdote used one of his massive index fingers to push something loose in the back of his mouth. He turned his head and spat on the floor.
Gloria Sanchez sat across from Bast wearing her tan uniform. She looked even tinier compared to the seven-foot giant. The mentalist stopped speaking and frowned at Bast Banbeck.
“Is something wrong, mentalist?” the Sacerdote asked.
“One doesn’t normally spit on the floor while at a table with others,” Gloria said.
Bast glanced around at the others. “I crave your pardon.”
“It’s fine,” Jon said. “No harm, no foul.” He turned to Gloria. “If you would continue, please.”
She cleared her throat, and seemed ready to continue talking. Instead, she glanced up at Bast again.
The Sacerdote had folded his huge hands on the table, sitting like a discolored alien angel.
As Gloria began again, Jon glanced at the others in attendance.
The Old Man sat beside Bast. The tall, dark-haired Intelligence chief seemed short next to the Sacerdote. But the Old Man towered over the small Centurion beside him. On the other side of the table sat Chief Technician Miles Ghent. The man fingered his golden cross. Between Ghent and Gloria was the Missile Chief Uther Kling, who tapped a slender finger against his foxlike chin.
“You were talking about the third cybership,” Jon told the mentalist.
“Thank you, I know,” Gloria said, as she dipped her head in Jon’s direction. She stared at the tabletop afterward, appearing to focus. Then, she looked up again, glancing at everyone in turn, although she passed Bast without looking at him.
“Thanks to Walleye, and Methlan for his teleoptic sweeps, we have pinpointed the range of safe hyperdrive entrance into real space-time,” Gloria said. “It is much nearer than we thought, but still quite far out if you consider the possibilities. What I find interesting is the reason for the distant entrance into our Solar System.”
“Which is?” asked Jon.
“I had previously surmised that any significant gravitational-generating body would upset whatever balance a ship needed to drop out of hyperspace. Would Neptune upset this balance? Would Makemake be too large? I no longer believe that. My computations show that the cyberships appeared with a larger dwarf planet behind them in their vicinity. Clearly, that dwarf planet did not upset their appearance. I am now of the opinion that only one object in our Solar System affects the hyperdrive range.”
“And that is?” asked Jon.
“The star,” Gloria said. “In our case, the Sun.”
“How is that important again?” Jon asked.
“If you mean concerning the coming conflict between the three cyberships and us, I don’t know. I am still gathering data on them. At present, we have insufficient data on hyperdrive technology and hyperspace. So far, it is all theoretical or hypothetical. However, their exit has now shown us one of the limitations.”
Jon nodded as if that made sense. Gloria was logical and damn brilliant. She could also talk a lot and take forever getting to a point.
“The cyberships are coming fast,” Jon said. “That’s all the data we need right now.”
“That is too basic an outlook,” Gloria said. “Consider. We have learned several interesting facets over these past few days. First, the cyberships can act in concord. There are three working together. Despite haughty AI cores, they appear to be able to submerge that haughtiness to act as a fleet. Do they freely agree to this concord? Is one of them senior to the others and thus forces them to obey? If that is so, how does a cybership, or more correctly, how does an AI core gain this ascendancy over the others?”
“Interesting, interesting indeed,” Bast said in his heavy voice.
Gloria gave a slight head bow, although she still did not look up at the Sacerdote.
“Second,” she continued, “according to June Zen, the cyberships—the ruling AIs—accepted data from robots on Senda. June also recorded messages leaving the cyberships and traveling to Senda. That would indicate that the AIs could control the surviving robots from a different cybership.”
Jon failed to see where this was leading.
“Three,” Gloria said, “the cyberships split into two factions. Two of the great vessels are heading directly here. The last appears to be chasing Walleye. I submit that Walleye correctly surmised that the cyberships know of our existence. I mean here inside MK2. That could be critical.”
“A moment, please,” Bast said.
Gloria ventured a glance at him and then gave him fuller scrutiny when he was no longer doing something distasteful.
“We have found the surviving robots to be less intelligent than the original cybership AI,” Bast said. “Even Unit 52-9 seemed less intelligent than the original AI core.”
“I agree,” Gloria said.
“Given that truth,” Bast said, “we must surmise less intelligence from the Senda robots.”
“No doubt,” Gloria said.
“That limited intelligence would limit the type and possibly the scope of what the Senda robots could relay to the powerful AIs in the new cyberships.”
Gloria raised an eyebrow. “That is an interesting possibility.”
“Does it surmount my crudity earlier?”
Gloria smiled shyly. “I’m sorry, Bast. I-I grew up under far different circumstances. We mentalists are a fastidious group. I—” She smiled. “Yes, your crudity is forgiven.”
Bast made a two-handed sweeping gesture as he bowed his head. It almost seemed like a sarcastic motion.
“I am grateful,” the Sacerdote intoned.
Gloria stared at him a moment longer than seemed necessary. She inhaled afterward and looked at the others around the table.
“I want to point out that the approaching cyberships are an enigma,” the mentalist said. “We might think we understand these three from our former victory over the original ship. These may even act in a similar manner. However, they may also act much differently. We must not presume to think we know them. Perhaps they carry refinements. Perhaps their AIs lack arrogance. Perhaps these will prove studiously murderous.”
“Okay,” Jon said. “We get that. Now, how should we respond?”
Gloria tapped the fingertips of one hand against those from the other. Her eyelids began to flicker.
Jon had come to understand that this meant she was running rapid mental calculations.
Her head turned abruptly toward him. “There are so many factors to the calculations. There are too many unknowns. We may think we know their capabilities. To a certain extent, we could even surmise that they will be in most ways similar to the original cybership—”
“Wait a second,” Miles Ghent said. “You’re wrong on one count. We’ve already battled a second cybership. We destroyed it before Makemake.”
“True,” Gloria said.
“It was just like the first cybership,”
Ghent said.
“Which proves nothing concerning the three approaching in-system,” she said.
“I think it does,” Ghent said. “The second cybership was just like the first one.”
Gloria snorted softly. “Yes, because the second cybership had the first as its prototype. Why do you think that means these three will be replicas of the original? They look similar. That does not mean they are similar.”
“It stands to reason that mechanical minds would mass produce similar vessels—”
“I’m sorry,” Gloria said, interrupting. “I would like to know how you arrive at such a conclusion.”
“Well…” Ghent said.
“Hey,” Jon said. “That’s enough theory. We may have already waited too long to act.”
Bast cleared his throat.
Jon pointed at him, giving the Sacerdote a nod.
“We have almost finished full repairs to the Nathan Graham,” Bast said. “Our last few days waiting at the moon dock are providing us great dividends. We should go into battle fully operational this time.”
“Right,” Jon said. “That’s why we’ve waited. But we’re going to have to make a decision, and we need to make it in the next hour. Two cyberships are barreling fast toward Makemake. I think they know we’re here. Two against one is terrible odds.”
“It would be a strategic loss to lose the moon dock,” Gloria said.
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “But it would be even more tragic if we lost our cybership. We’ve already stored a few building robots in the holding bays. We can have those robots make more robot factories later. That’s key.”
“What if the two cyberships stop at Makemake?” Gloria said. “What if they decide to park at the dwarf planet and begin producing more cyberships?”
From farther down the table, the Centurion leaned forward, signaling Jon.
“Colonel,” Jon said. “Would you like to add something?”
“Sir,” the Centurion said. “I think the worst thing would be if one of the cyberships turns around and leaves the Solar System. If one of them leaves and brings even more reinforcements…”
“There you have it,” Jon said. “Three of these bastards are likely going to give the Solar System an impossible fight. If five more show up, humanity is over. Done. Kaput.”
“You don’t plan to defend Makemake?” Gloria asked.
“We have the fighting platform,” Jon said. “We have thousands of missiles and some pretty damn big guns on the moon. Maybe we could play hide and seek as the cyberships brake hard. We could use Makemake as a shield, only poking out for sniper shots at them. But to answer your question, no. I don’t plan to stay here. If there were just two cyberships, maybe it would be worth considering. The third could still maneuver to join them against Makemake. Three against us is too many.”
“Yes, but—” Gloria said.
“The colonel also points out the biggest threat,” Jon said. “We have to assume the cyberships know about humanity. The Senda computers must have told them. If one of the cyberships leaves with that report, who knows how many other AI super-ships will return to pound humanity into dust? That makes our strategy, our big picture, clear.”
“What is this ‘big picture?’” Gloria asked.
“Human survival first,” Jon said. “Figuring out how to survive the AI menace in the future is second. That’s the big picture. Everything else is a way and a means to achieve the grand strategy. In our case, the future grand strategy is surviving and tooling up so we can gather an armada of the living to destroy the unliving blight against Life.”
Gloria nodded sharply. “You state that well.”
“Thank you, mentalist,” Jon said. “Given the colonel’s insight, I think we have to lure the cyberships into a trap they can’t escape.”
“How does one achieve this?” Bast asked. “MK2 is our strongest point. Or are you referring to the Saturn System?”
Jon shook his head. “We may have actually caught a break. If you think about it, it’s kind of cool.” He studied the others. “Look. The Solar League has been spying out our alien tech in the Saturn System. They are no doubt attempting to replicate it for themselves. The Solar League people also know about the self-aware alien software. It’s possible the Solar League is frightened we’ll try that against them. Maybe they’ve prepared as we have and lowered the processing power of their ships’ computers. The point I’m trying to make is that the Solar System has been tooling for full-scale war, one side against the other for some time now. What if the Solar League gathers its warships into a giant armada and we join them? That mass faces the cyberships. That seems like our best chance of victory.”
“If we gather such might in one location,” Gloria said, “surely the cyberships will logically attack elsewhere. The AIs will force the giant armada to splinter and protect various planetary systems.”
“Maybe…” Jon said, “and maybe not. That’s why we have to lure them deep in-system, forcing them to shed most of their incredible velocity. Maybe even lure them to the Asteroid Belt or Mars.”
“What if the cyberships stop at the Neptune and Saturn Systems along the way?” asked Gloria. “What if they demolish the Solar Freedom Fleet before it can gather into one armada?”
“That would be bad,” Jon admitted.
“What if the Solar League refuses to cooperate with us?” she added.
“That would be even worse.”
“In those instances,” she said. “We would be better off fighting the cyberships at Makemake.”
“That brings us back to the big picture,” Jon said. “Three cyberships is one too many, remember? I think we have to gamble on luring them in-system. We’ll have to talk the Solar League into helping us save mankind.”
“They might think it’s a trick on our part.”
“There are plenty of ifs,” Jon admitted. “Hell. I don’t know if all of us combined can smash three of the alien super-ships.”
“We have the regiment,” the Centurion said from down the table.
Jon pointed at the small regimental colonel. “Maybe it will come down to our marines storming another cybership. Maybe—”
“What if during the grand battle the aliens destroy the Nathan Graham?” Gloria asked. “That would leave the Solar League in charge of humanity.”
Jon stared at Gloria. Finally, he laughed. “A man can only do what a man can do. Sure, we might lose. That’s our lot in life. No one promises us victory. But we’re going to go down fighting, if it comes to that. We have to play the odds and then try to maneuver so we come out alive in the end.”
“That maneuvering—”
“Gloria,” Jon said, interrupting. “Enough with the negative talk. It’s clear that our best chance is a united human effort. We’ll proceed along those lines and attempt to make it happen.”
“The Nathan Graham will definitely leave the moon dock?” the Old Man asked.
“That’s right,” Jon said. “We’re going to leave as soon as possible.” He turned to Gloria. “How soon is that?”
She focused, looking up afterward. “Four hours and thirty-six minutes,” she said. “That’s assuming—”
Jon stood.
“A moment, please,” Gloria said. “What should I radio Walleye? The destroyer doesn’t have the fuel to do anything except continue on to Senda.”
“Yeah,” Jon said. He bent his head in thought. When he looked up, he said, “You won’t tell him anything. I will.”
-3-
Methlan brooded in his cell in the brig. He’d been here for a time already. The worst of it wasn’t the boredom. It wasn’t knowing that his enemies knew who he was. It wasn’t even the profanity of Walleye handling his dagger. No. The worst part of the confinement was his inability to lift.
He moved his right arm as if doing a curl. He inspected the bicep muscle. It was a ball. When he felt the muscle, though, it was no longer quite as hard as it used to be. He couldn’t do heavy curls until his biceps burned w
ith fatigue. He had come to love the burn, love the feel of his muscles tearing down so they could rebuild stronger.
The problem with the brig was that a man could only do so many pushups, deep-knee bends and sit-ups. He needed a chin bar, at least, so he could work on his biceps.
It was interesting to Methlan that the body he’d acquired had been satisfied with its frailty. If that didn’t prove the superiority of the High Race, he didn’t know what did. He’d taken a body and vastly improved it. These humans with their weak egos…
Methlan shook his head.
He lay on his cot with his hands behind his head. The other thing he hated about being here wasn’t the boredom but an offshoot of the boredom. He had too much time to think.
Methlan Rath had always been a doer more than a thinker. Leave it to scholars and letter-scribblers to do the deep thinking. Did they mount the beauties? On no account. It was the soldiers and rulers who earned that privilege.
Methlan rolled out of the cot and began to pace. The cell was small, so he turned constantly. Even so, he could let his mind zone out as the rhythm of pacing took over.
A problem had begun to plague him. He was Methlan of Janus House. He belonged to the High Race. He had been the Prince of Ten Worlds. Yet, if he mounted a woman and pleasured the two of them, the offspring would be human. He inhabited a human form. His sex organs were human.
Am I human then?
The possibility deeply troubled Methlan. He was of the High Race. He did not want to be human. Humans were weak vessels lacking—
The hatch opened without the decency of a knock or a comm warning.
Methlan spun around, staring at Walleye in his buff coat. The top of the man’s head barely reached Methlan’s shoulder. He craned his neck to look behind the mutant.
“I’m alone,” Walleye said.
Methlan raised his eyebrows. “You are brave.”
“True, but not for the reasons you think.”
“Are you challenging the truth of my physical dominance over you?”
Walleye gave one of his rare smiles that contorted his features into ugliness.
“What does your smile mean?” Methlan demanded.
A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Page 13
