The AI War

by Stephen Ames Berry

  “What’s a sally port?” asked Kotran. He sat slouched in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him, looking at the hologram.

  “I’ve been in the one on Tanil’s Revenge,” said Detrelna. “On that ship, it was a tunnel through the hull, used to counterattack boarders.”

  “It served the same purpose in Alpha Prime,” said Egg. “Archives records that a brigade of Imperial Marine Death Commandos, under the command of one Admiral Kyla, penetrated that very sally portal on Alpha Prime.”

  “And then? “asked Kotran.

  “Kyla was my ancestor,” said Lawrona. “His faction lost a dynastic power struggle, so a suicide mission was arranged for him and his personal brigade. They penetrated the shield, reached the hull—took enormous casualties doing it — entered the sally port and were never heard from again.”

  “Death Commandos indeed,” said Kotran. He sat up. “How do we get through the shield?”

  “Your ships link shields,” said Egg. “Interfaced with the computers of both attacking vessels, I’ll use a shield-shaping algorithm to mold the normal globular shield of each ship into a triangular shield. This shield will have both ships at its base, its apex penetrating Alpha Prime’s sally port.” As Egg spoke a green triangle materialized beside the image of the mindslaver. Two diminutive cruisers sat one above the other, just inside the base of the triangle. As everyone watched, the triangle and ships moved on the mindslaver. Penetrating the red haze marking Alpha Prime’s shield, the tip of the triangle touched the space-end of the red shaft.

  “Note,” continued Egg, “that this maneuver places the two fusion batteries that could bear on the sally port within range of our weapons—weapons that will still enjoy the protection of our shield. Once those cannon are neutralized, a two-shuttle sortie should be launched through the port—”

  “Why only two shuttles?” said Atir.

  “The sally port’s lined with disintegrator cubes,” said Detrelna. “I ran afoul of the ones on Tanil’s Revenge. The most we’ll get through are two shuttles, moving at flank.”

  “A foolish question, Egg,” said Kotran. “Why shouldn’t the slaver change position and avoid our attack?”

  “They’ve defeated every force ever sent against them, Captain,” said the machine. “They’re arrogant. You’re unfamiliar with the condition?”

  “How do we get to the bridge?” asked Kotran, giving Egg a hard look.

  “I’ve provided directions,” said the machine.

  Kotran shook his head. “Uh-huh. Detrelna, I don’t trust your unctuous egg. It goes with us, or we take our chances against you here and now.”

  Lawrona reached for his commkey, ready to direct a missile and beam salvo at the corsair. Detrelna stopped him, loudly clearing his throat. “Our friend Egg?” said the commodore. He turned to the slaver machine. “You don’t mind, do you, Egg?”

  “An honor, Commodore,” said the machine.

  “We get inside,” said Lawrona. “Then what?’

  “Race for the bridge,” said Egg. “The corridors should accommodate shuttles of the dimensions shown in Implacable’s equipment roster.”

  “Resistance?” asked Atir.

  “Heavy from automatic weapons systems at key intersections,” said Egg. “And fierce opposition from organic units.”

  “Organic units?” said Detrelna, frowning at the featureless spheroid beside him. “What organic units?”

  “The Ractolians are biofabs. They’ve had much time to perfect their defenses. I suggest, given the Ractolians antecedents, that such defenses would be organic. Most probably very lethal biofabs, held in cryogenic suspension until now. Biofabs without the Ractolians’ genius, of course. Her creations wouldn’t replicate Governor Ractol’s fatal error.”

  “Like the Scotar,” said Detrelna.

  “Yes. Why didn’t they exterminate you?”

  “Is that a question or a wish, Egg?”

  “Let’s get on with it,” said Kotran impatiently.

  “Agreed,” said Detrelna, swiveling his chair back to the scan. “We’ll run a passby over your ship, Kotran, on an intercept course for Alpha Prime. As we penetrate your shield perimeter, jettison your camouflage and link shields with us. We attack, with Egg maneuvering both ships and coordinating shield control. Once our combined shield point overlaps the sally portal, and the instant those two batteries are wiped, we launch our shuttles, rendezvous and run the portal. Clear?”

  “Clear,” said Kotran.

  Detrelna leaned forward. “I’m switching you to Commander Kiroda, who you so unkindly tried to kill at our last meeting. He’ll give you a preliminary tactical feed and assign you battlelink frequencies.” He touched a commkey, sending Victory Day’s signal to the first officer’s station. He turned to Lawrona as the comm screen cleared. “I really hate…”

  “…that slime,” finished Lawrona. “You’re not alone. I’d have a hundred volunteers for his death volley.”

  An alarm shrilled. “Unauthorized launch!” called Toral. “We have an unauthorized lifepod launch!”

  “Recall it,” ordered Lawrona, moving to Toral’s station.

  “I have.” The younger officer pointed to a telltale. Data was racing across the screen. “Negative response.”

  Detrelna had come to stand on Toral’s right, eyes on the telltale. “Making for jump point. Surprised the slaver hasn’t picked it off.”

  The data slowed, then stopped.

  “Jumped,” said Toral. “But where?”

  “No time for that now,” said Lawrona. “Why didn’t you abort launch on computer warning?”

  “There was no computer warning,” said Toral, busy logging the incident.

  Captain and commodore exchanged worried glances. “Get Natrol on it,” said Detrelna. He walked with Lawrona back toward their stations. “Mindslaver. Corsairs. That.” He jerked his head toward Egg, still hovering by the flag officer’s chair. “Now our computer.”

  Chapter 7

  The deck whirling toward him, John grabbed a railing as it flashed by—only to have his grip wrenched loose by the force of his fall. Screaming, arms and legs flailing, he tumbled the final hundred feet to the deck—and vanished inches above the battlesteel.

  Telan glanced briefly over the railing then rebusied himself at the command station.

  “Sure you want to do this?” asked Natrol. He stood at the bridge Engineering station, finger poised over the Execute button on his console.

  “Shield frequencies matched,” said Lawrona, ignoring Natrol. “Stand by for linkage.”

  The camouflaged bulk of Victory Day filled Implacable’s main screen. The cruiser was passing over the corsair, heading for the mindslaver.

  “Ready for linkage,” said Atir, her image in both Natrol and Lawrona’s comm screens.

  “Execute,” said Lawrona.

  Atir and Natrol each pressed a switch.

  Implacable’s sensors went blind for an instant as Victory Day flared bright as a sun. Clearing, they showed the corsair shorn of her camouflage, running beside Implacable as both ships charged the great grim bulk of Alpha Prime.

  “Alpha will fire now,” said Egg. It hovered beside the tactics console, tied to Implacable’s computer by a tendril of soft blue light.

  Thick as a shuttle, dark blue fusion beams lashed at the cruisers—and were stopped by the strangely elongated shield projected by the two ships, a sharp-tipped golden cone racing toward the mindslaver.

  “What kind of a shield is that?” asked Detrelna. He stood beside Egg, staring at the main screen.

  “One mutated and strengthened by a shield-shaping algorithm, Commodore,” said Egg. “Note my signature yellow hue.”

  “And the slaver’s shield?” asked Detrelna.

  “Breached by our own,” said Egg. “We’ve bored through.”

  Now halfway to target, their shield was glowing, the parts nearest the beam points turning sullen umber. Behind Detrelna alarms sounded, warning of shield generators pushed wild
ly beyond design.

  “We’re through!” called Kiroda as the fire suddenly slackened. Following behind their shield, both ships had passed the point where all of Alpha Prime’s port batteries could bear on them. Only two of the slaver’s main batteries were firing now.

  “She should stand off and blast us,” said Detrelna, watching their shield fade back into yellow.

  “Were Alpha Prime entirely rational, Commodore,” said Egg, “we’d be dead.”

  “Gunnery,” called Lawrona over the commnet, “we’re inside her shield. Take out that starboard battery.” He switched channels. “Kotran, take out their port battery.”

  Victory Day and Implacable fired together, the Mark-88 blasts exploding into the slaver’s fusion turrets, sparking twin towers of yellow-green flame that billowed outward then were gone. Two scorched and jagged craters marked their passing.

  “I have positioned the shield’s apex directly over the sally port,” said Egg. “We should leave now.”

  “You copy that, Kotran?” Detrelna said into the commlink.

  “On our way.” The corsair’s face appeared in the screen. “Rendezvous in shield cone. See you on the slaver’s bridge, Detrelna—or in hell.” Kotran disappeared.

  “Smart money says hell,” muttered Detrelna. “Let’s go, Egg.”

  The slaver computer followed Detrelna. As the two passed the captain’s station, Lawrona signed off on his log entry and stood. “Commander Kiroda, you have the conn,” he said, falling in beside Detrelna. “Luck, Tolei,” he added.

  “Luck to you too, Hanar. Commodore,” nodded Kiroda, taking the captain’s chair. He watched as the doors hissed shut behind the trio, then swiveled back to his console. “Hold her here, Commander Toral,” he ordered. “Launch control,” he said into the commnet, “sortie party is on its way. Stand by shuttle.”

  Moments later the bridge crew watched the two shuttles meet and proceed toward Alpha Prime.

  “Slaver is jamming all communications to the sortie,” reported Lakan.

  “What about us and the corsair cruiser?”

  “Hasn’t affected us yet.”

  Kiroda glanced at his instruments. The commlink to Victory Day showed green. “Computer,” he said, punching into the commlink, “monitor carrier frequencies to corsair cruiser—report any change in status.” He turned back to the main screen, then frowned at the silence. “Computer,” he said, annoyed, “acknowledge order.”

  “It can’t.”

  Kiroda turned. A worried looking Natrol stood beside the captain’s station.

  “Explain,” said Kiroda, looking back at the screen. The shuttles were now just two silver needles receding against the mindslaver’s blackness.

  “Something that knows Imperial computer theory better than anyone now living dropped a stasis algorithm into the computer.”

  Kiroda swiveled to face Natrol, shuttles forgotten. “Impossible,” he said. “That’s a myth—a cybernetic wild tale from before the Fall. It must be some sort of system failure—maybe something latent, from when Fleet applied the overlay.”

  “Shuttles halfway to target and closing,” reported Toral.

  “Acknowledged,” said Kiroda.

  “Fine,” said Natrol with exaggerated patience. “There’s no such thing as a stasis algorithm. But something is moving through that machine.” He jerked a thumb aft, in the general direction of the computer. “Something that’s freezing its basic operating systems—suspending them for later reactivation.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it’s stopping my commands to affected sections in some ancient machine code. Sound like a system failure, Commander?”

  “How long have we got?”

  Natrol shrugged. “Watchend, maybe. At current rate of deterioration.”

  “What do we need to stop this stasis algorithm?” asked Kiroda.

  “The original algorithm,” said Natrol. “Or, faster, one that’s antidotal. No one would unleash such a monster without something to kill it. That would be stupid. And whoever or whatever did this isn’t stupid.”

  “Two candidates for culprit,” said Kiroda. He glanced at the scan. Alpha Prime, minus two main batteries, was still bathing their shield in fusion fire. The shield indicators were still in the green. “Telan and the slaver machine.”

  “That smooth-talking Egg has my vote,” said Natrol.

  “Mine, too,” said Kiroda. “One of its little bag of algorithms is keeping us alive, while the other’s destroying our systems’ control—and maybe us.”

  “You’ve got to warn the commodore,” said Natrol.

  Kiroda turned to Lakan. “Anything?”

  “Not from the shuttles. Broadband interference pattern from the slaver. However…”

  “Yes?” said Kiroda hopefully.

  “Lifts seven and eighteen are locked in transit. Engineering’s dispatched work parties.”

  “It’s starting,” said Natrol. “I better get down there.” He turned for the door.

  “Use the ladders,” Kiroda called after him. “In fact, Lakan,” he continued, “make that an order. All personnel not transporting heavy loads, use central access.”

  The jowly face of Gunnery Chief Botul came onto one of Lakan’s screens. “Bridge. We’re getting power feed anomalies to fusion batteries three through eight. Random surges and breaks. Engineering’s on it.”

  “Food processors in mess four are pouring out green slop,” said Lakan as the chief’s face disappeared.

  “Green slop?” said Kiroda, feeling the bottom fall out of his orderly little world. The universe might be a mad malevolent place, but Implacable had never failed them.

  “You want to talk to him?” Lakan tapped her earpiece.

  Kiroda held up a palm. “No. Give him to the Engineering duty officer.”

  “I’ll put him in queue,” she said, turning back to her console.

  “And keep trying to punch through to Detrelna,” added Kiroda.

  It was a large room, square, windowless, its walls and floors of a black, marble like substance. The long table in its center seemed more an outcropping of the floor than a separate construct—a fluted-stemmed outcropping that gleamed dully in the soft light, surrounded by seven alabaster-white armchairs.

  John slouched in the one at the head of the table, facing the door. Gingerly he rubbed his throbbing right shoulder. Pain shot down his back and arm. Grimacing, he stopped rubbing. “That was cruel,” he said to the Scotar.

  “What, the way I saved your frail life, Harrison?” Guan-Sharick-as-blonde sat at the far end of the table, smirking. The smirk vanished. “You’re fortunate that Telan wasn’t watching you fall to your death. Its flawlessly logical mind had logged you out—a faulty assumption that may have bought us some time.”

  “That’s all?”

  Guan-Sharick leaned forward intently. “Telan’s an AI combat droid—an invincible legend out of prehistory.” Those startling blue eyes met John’s. “It would take a direct hit from a Mark 88 to slow it, a nuclear salvo to destroy it. It thinks faster and moves faster than anything of this time, and it is dedicated to the eradication of all free life—you, me, the Kronarins, this mindslaver, everything. It can decide, aim and fire in a tenth of a second. Its flawless logic is its only flaw.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Fine.” shrugged the Scotar. “I’ll flit you back to the bridge command tier and drop you again.”

  John held up a hand. “No need. You want to tell me how an AI combat droid infiltrated the Confederation and imitated one of its mogul’s sons?”

  “Doesn’t look too good for us, does it?” said Guan-Sharick with a faint smile.

  “Us?”

  “Harrison,” sighed the transmute, “a Scotar’s quite mild to what you face in Telan—and to what you face on this vessel.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Look behind you.”

  John turned and saw the wall screen. On Implacable, when a screen wasn�
��t in use, it displayed the Fleet coat-of-arms. This screen held something quite different than ship-shield-and-sun: a six-fingered hand clutching the double helix of a DNA molecule.

  “Crazy,” he said, turning back to the Scotar.

  “Megalomania,” said Guan-Sharick. “But mad genius is still genius. The Ractolians are far better geneticists than the ones who created them, Ractol and her group. Of course, they’ve had some time.”

  “You’d think they’d have fixed themselves.”

  “Why?” shrugged the blonde. “Nothing wrong with them. It’s the rest of us who need fixing.”

  “And what is this charming room?” asked John.

  “The Council Chamber of Ractol.” The Scotar rose, walking around the table. “Here the Seven met to plot mankind’s fall. From here they launched their ships against the Empire. And when they were beaten, their thousands of mindslavers destroyed, sitting right where you are now, their leader Zatul proposed they seek the immortality of their own devices.” The Scotar stopped, turning to John. “Motion carried.”

  “At least they were defeated.” John sat up, his shoulder now almost forgotten.

  “Pyrrhic victory. To defeat the Ractolian biofabs, the Empire had to build mindslavers. The Empire brainstripped millions of its lesser citizens. That, more than any other event, started it down the long bloody road into the Long Night—a night from which the Kronarins are only now awakening. And though the Ractolians may have been defeated, they won’t have really lost until the Seven are dead.”

  “And Telan is to kill them?” asked John.

  “Telan’s here to appropriate the slaver and intercept that commwand. It would prefer to keep the Seven alive—it’s difficult to run the vessel without them—not impossible, but difficult. They’re compelled to cooperate in every way with him. But they’ll seize any chance to regain control.” The Scotar leaned forward intently. “You and I must keep the Seven alive.”