Inside the box was a slim data glove with an infrared remote link.
"I want you to put this on," said Haid.
"Why?"
"So I can communicate with the Box, of course. If we're going to attempt anything together, we need to understand the tools at our disposal. And, given my past, I think you'll agree that I'm the closest thing we have to an expert on cybernetic systems."
Roche hesitantly reached into the box and picked up the glove. Did she have the right to allow a convicted criminal access to the Box? Regardless of her situation, and no matter how much she needed Haid's help, it went against all her training.
"I suppose it won't hurt," Roche agreed warily. "Although I doubt you'll learn much. I certainly haven't."
"Well, we'll see about that, won't we? I've never met an AI before with more intelligence than a retarded rodent, regardless how well appointed they may seem up front. Give me a day or two and I should have it figured out."
Still she vacillated. Yet she had to admit that she too was curious. If Haid could learn anything more than she had in the last few weeks, it might be worth the risk.
It made sense, she thought, slipping on the glove and snapping its wrist closed. She flexed her fingers. The mesh fabric was tight around her knuckles, but left her fingers otherwise unimpeded. Almost immediately she felt the tingle down her forearm that followed a transfer of data.
Haid smiled. "Good. I'll get started soon. For now, though, I suggest we find you some food."
Relieved by the offer, Roche stood and followed Haid from the room.
* * *
"It's not a matter of numbers," Roche insisted, "or of firepower. What I'm proposing is a quick surgical strike. If we do it properly, we'll be in before they can mount countermeasures. And once we're in, we can take effective control."
The unofficial tactical meeting had convened in an empty office in one of the deeper sections of the underground resistance complex. A large viewtank, oriented horizontally to the floor, served as a combined desk and map. Roche and Neva leaned on opposite sides of its glowing surface, secondhand diagrams painting patterns on their faces. Emmerik stood to one side, watching the interaction between the two women with interest.
Haid had given Roche over to the two of them not long after a hasty meal in the rebel refectory. She and Neva, it seemed, had been arguing ever since.
"Control?" The furrows on Neva's brow grew deeper. "There are more than two thousand Armada personnel in Port Parvati, in twenty-seven separate facilities. We have less than a thousand. At the very best, we can take control of one facility, and that doesn't give us effective control of anything. It just makes us effective targets. Ameidio won't risk our people for such a futile gesture."
"There'll be no risk to your overall organisation," said Roche. "We can use a handful of volunteers, if necessary. And anyway, we'll control the communications nexus — MiCom."
"But MiCom is only the instrument of command," Neva quickly countered. "Delcasalle and his cronies could run their operation without it; they'd use carrier bats if they had to. You don't know these people like we do."
Roche shook her head. "One: MiCom is linked to the hyperspace transmitter in orbit — so once we have it, we can blow the whistle on them, right down the line to the Armada. And two: corrupt officials are the same anywhere. They — "
"I don't think Commander Roche plans to leave them on the loose," the Box interrupted, speaking through a terminal near the viewtank. Roche regarded the valise in surprise, unaware that it had been listening.
"Warden Delcasalle may well be in absolute control here," it continued, "but he is dependent on those immediately below him, and they in turn on the level below them. All levels below Delcasalle operate through the Administration Centre; the key personnel may not be present, but the mechanism for decision-making and control always is. Cut out the Administration Centre, and you effectively cut off Delcasalle's hands."
"Administration?" Neva waved her hand at the glowing map. "So now we're taking out more than one of the facilities?"
"No," the Box said firmly. "Merely extending our strike at the MiCom installation to include the Administration Centre as well. Look at the map."
Neva looked down, and Roche, impressed by the Box's line of thought, did likewise. She saw at once where it was leading.
"MiCom and Administration," it said, "are features of the central port complex, isolated within the scorched-earth perimeter. Administration is adjacent to — and can be entered by way of — the main terminal building, which houses MiCom. So this can be a single operation. No untidy splitting of the strike force, no civilians, and no collateral damage."
Roche swung the Box onto the viewtank's edge. There was just enough free chain to allow her to reach across the main map.
"Both MiCom and Administration are secure modules," she said, following the Box's lead. "Probably prefab components shipped from an old orbital facility. But the main entrance to Administration is only about ten metres from the emergency stairs to MiCom. See, here." She tapped the point on the plan showing the map of the main terminal building. "We can go to that point as one group, split into separate strike forces, and be in a position to move simultaneously against the two targets."
"Seems almost made to order," Neva said dryly.
Roche glanced up at her, trying to read her face rather than her words. But the woman was impassive.
Roche returned to the plans. "Forget the lower floor and the navigation module; that's of no interest to us. The MiCom module occupies the three levels above that, right through to the roof installations; it's totally isolated from the ground floor, totally shielded and insulated, totally selfcontained. It even has its own emergency life-support system, controlled from the first floor. The only points of entry or exit are the elevator system — which can be disabled — and the equipment access stairwell from the ground — here. All we have to target is the first floor, and they'll be cut off from the outside."
Neva leaned over the map, her face finally revealing a hint of interest in Roche's plan.
"It's a simple operation," Roche said. "A single shot and the elevator will be inoperable. We go up the stairs, blow out the door, and enter fast under cover of the explosion. Three or four people could secure the floor in, say, thirty seconds. One heavy weapon to cover the stairwell — perhaps a portable shield to prevent them lobbing their own explosives in on us — gas via the emergency life support, or Maii, to knock out those above us — and we're secure. It'll only take a few seconds to interface the Box. Once we've done that, we'll control all command communication on Sciacca's World plus all intersystem channels, including the Armada's."
"What about Admin?" said Emmerik.
"Cane can take a small force in there," Roche said. "It's one level; he'll simply sweep through it. No need to be tidy."
Neva looked across at Emmerik. A frown creased her face.
The Mbatan nodded. "He's quite capable of doing it," he said.
"That's not what I was thinking."
"I know," said Emmerik, his eyes moving to meet Roche's.
Neva's gaze narrowed. Lowering her eyes to the map, she deliberated a moment, then said: "Okay, Commander. It seems sound enough, although it does rely heavily on the talents of a small number of individuals — namely the members of your own party. Should either you, Cane, or Maii fall early in the battle, success will be unlikely." She folded her arms and nodded to herself. "But supposing we grant you the possibility that your plan might work, there still remains the little matter of getting to the strike point you've identified. The terminal complex is well inside the landing field's electrified perimeter, some hundred metres back from the only gates. Not only is the gatehouse well served by Enforcement personnel, but so is the main gu
ard block. Both lie between the gates and the front doors of the main complex. Needless to say, these people aren't technicians and administrators and will be highly sensitive to intruders. How do you plan to get us past them?" She brushed the back of a hand across the map as though wiping off crumbs. "Just send Cane in first?"
Roche smiled. "That's the least of our problems. What you have to decide is whether you want to continue to play good citizen, perhaps infiltrate the system and gain a few minor advantages — or whether you want to go with us and clean this bunch out once and for all."
Neva's expression tightened as she spoke. Obviously she had struck a nerve. "I shouldn't need to remind you, Commander," she said, "that we've built up a strong and efficient resistance here over a number of years. If we implement your plan and it fails, we stand to lose everything."
"Not necessarily. You risk maybe a dozen people. Surely you've set up field-operative cells with one person control?"
"Of course. That's how we work outside the city."
"Then use one of those cells."
Neva said nothing. She looked at Roche and the Box's valise in turn, then back to the map. Her frown intensified.
"Believe me," Roche pressed, "if we wait much longer, a Dato ground team will be next on the scene, and your little operation won't last a week. They're a distinct step up from the locals you've been dealing with."
Again Emmerik and Neva exchanged a glance. "We know," said the woman.
"There's just one thing I'd like to ask," said the Mbatan. "You seem quite confident about getting in, but what happens afterward?"
Roche hesitated. She hadn't dwelled on the aftermath as much as she had on the events leading up to it. "The message to the Armada will be sent on a broadband emergency frequency. The Dato will know instantly it's been sent, and might even back off without any further trouble, depending on how far they're willing to be involved. Even if they don't, we can use the Box to control the landing field's defense screen to keep them — and the Enforcers — at bay for a while. Long enough for a reply to arrive, at least. Reinforcements won't be far behind." She shrugged. "That should be enough to make Delcasalle think twice about attacking us."
"Perhaps." Neva still looked undecided. "But it still seems a little risky. We'll be sitting ducks in the MiCom building."
"I agree," put in the Box, surprising Roche. "I don't doubt that I can send the emergency message and simultaneously organise a ground defense while you keep MiCom secure. In a predictable world, this would be no mean feat. But in the real world I will have little control over the response time of the Armada or the actions of the Dato Bloc. Should the former be sluggish and the latter retaliatory rather than conciliatory, there will be little even I can do to delay the inevitable."
Emmerik nodded. "The longer we're under siege, the more time we give DAOC or the Dato to find a way in."
"The Armada could take days," Neva added.
"And that's not the worst of it," continued the Box. "A conflict of interests exists within the group itself. Assuming all goes well, we will be lifted from a combat zone by Armada dropships — hardly an inconspicuous way to leave the planet. Especially when more circumspect pathways are available. While it suits our needs admirably to choose this method of escape, others might not find it appropriate."
"What other way is there?" Roche asked.
"By betraying us to the Enforcers, a traitor might gain illegal exit from Sciacca's World from the Dato — thereby circumventing the judiciary system."
"It's a possibility," Emmerik said to Roche, his eyes dark.
"A very real one, I'm afraid," the Box continued. "In combat, as I am sure you are aware, there are crucial moments where one simple action, or failure to take action, can decide the ultimate outcome. It would be relatively easy for one person to shift the scales, should he or she so wish."
"That's a risk everyone takes in combat," Roche protested. "And besides, they won't have time to plan anything. The response from the Armada won't be slow. The Midnight was destroyed two days ago, and therefore hasn't reported to HQ. Someone might already be on their way to see what happened." Leaning over the map, she did her best to argue with a voice that had no face. "And besides, what other alternatives do we have?"
"At least one," said the Box. "We can commandeer a ground-to-orbit vessel and physically occupy the transmitter station."
"What?" Stunned by the audacity of the suggestion, Roche openly gaped. "Are you crazy?"
"Not at all," the Box purred. "The station is well defended — more so than the landing field and the MiCom installation, but not overwhelmingly so. I can get us past the Dato blockade and into a position to dock. The warden will not sanction a direct assault upon it, for fear of destroying it. This will place them in direct conflict with the Dato Bloc. A very real possibility exists that our enemies will go to war over the best way to capture us, while we sit back and await rescue."
"You really are crazy," said Neva, shaking her head. "I like Roche's plan much better. At least with her we stay on solid ground."
"Which is less defensible than — "
"Forget it, Box," Roche said. "The most we can hope for is control of MiCom. Push it any further and we risk losing everything."
"I agree," said Emmerik, nodding.
"But, Morgan — "
"I said, forget it." Roche glared at the valise, mentally daring it to argue further.
Before it could do so, the room's intercom beeped urgently for attention.
Neva stepped aside to take the call. While she waited, Roche ran over her plan in her mind. Yes, it seemed sound; there were only a handful of details left to be straightened out, and they would fall into place as the others applied their superior knowledge of the rebel forces and the city to the problem. Roche doubted COE Intelligence's head of Strategy, Page De Bruyn, could have done any better, given what she had to work with.
"Your AI is either far more clever than I gave it credit for," said Emmerik into the silence, "or dangerously abstracted from reality."
"What do you mean?" Roche responded.
"Well, its suggestion appears to have forced you and Neva to a consensus. Perhaps that was all it was intended to do, in which case the move was inspired." Emmerik shrugged. "If it meant it seriously, on the other hand ... "
The Mbatan let the sentence trail off, and Roche didn't complete the thought out loud. Much as she disliked the idea of the Box being such a skilled debater, especially on her behalf, she found that less disturbing than the Box's plan itself.
Although, now that she thought about it, the Box's plan did make a certain kind of sense. It was feasible, in a crazy kind of way. Almost Human in its boldness; hardly what she would have expected from a mere machine.
When Neva returned, her face was grim. "That was Ameidio," she said. "He's received the results of Cane's tests."
"Excellent." Emmerik lifted his bulk off the table he had been leaning on. "Now we might get some answers."
"We already have, I'm afraid." Neva turned to look Roche squarely in the eye. "Ameidio's called a conference. It starts in fifteen minutes. He wants you to wait here until he calls a guard to show you down. We'll meet you there." Neva turned back to Emmerik. "Let's go. I'll fill you in on the way." Together they headed for the door.
"Wait!" Roche came around the viewtank. "At least give me a hint of what they've found."
Neva stopped on the threshold, glancing at Emmerik. After a moment, he nodded assent. "You won't like it," she said to Roche.
"Is he sick? Dying? What?"
"Worse than that, I'm afraid." Neva met Roche's stare and sighed. "Whatever Cane is, he isn't what he seems ... "
* * *
13
* * *
Sciacca's World
Port Parvati
'954.10.33 EN
1025
Nine people filed into the oval-shaped conference room and gathered about its long, polished, grey stone table. As they did, a warm and gentle light began
to emanate from the rafters high above, replacing the shadows of the large room with a pervasive yellow glow.
Present at the table were Haid, at its head, with Emmerik and Neva on one side and Sabra on the other. Next to Sabra — and directly opposite Roche — was Sylvester Teh, the representative of the medical team that had examined Cane. He was a short and balding man in his middle years who spoke in a manner both soft and lacking in self-confidence. Roche got the impression that he was more comfortable talking to machines than to people.
To Roche's right were two guards, between which sat Cane himself. If he was aware that he was, to all intents and purposes, on trial, his face betrayed no apprehension. Not that she expected it to. She doubted whether there was anything the rebels could do to Cane to hurt him. Roche and Emmerik had seen Cane in action; they both knew that he could have overpowered his escort on any number of occasions on the way down to this meeting. The guards' presence was more for show than anything else.
Maii had declined to attend, saying she needed to concentrate in order to prepare for her part in Veden's plan. It felt unusual for Roche not to have someone whispering in her mind. Indeed, even the Box was silent — the tingle of data flowing through the glove still for the moment. She suspected it would be paying close attention to the proceedings just the same.
When all were seated, Haid called for order. "I'm sorry to drag you in at such short notice," he began, "but as you are probably aware, something has come up regarding our friend here." He nodded in Cane's direction. "You'll have to excuse the choice of venue, I'm afraid; unfortunately it's the only room guaranteed to be secure."
Roche glanced around the large and empty room. It was situated on one of the university's lower levels, and, from the dishevelled appearance of the corridors leading to it, she suspected it wasn't used too often.
"Sylvester," continued Haid. "You want to tell us what we have here?"
Sean Williams & Shane Dix - Evergence 1 - The Prodigal Sun Page 22
