“Problem?” said Yagar. He touched the neat pile of papers on his desk. “Processing is almost complete. There’s been no resistance, little suspicion…”
“The problem isn’t on Dalin,” said the AI. “Yet. Our ships intercepted an incoming craft of Fleet origin. It was destroyed.”
“Fleet? The Kronarin Fleet?” said Yagar, alarmed. “But you said they never came into this quadrant—that it was proscribed.”
“A prohibition now rescinded, it seems,” said the AI. “Where one has come, more will follow. We haven’t enough ships to stand off a flotilla—not until our vanguard arrives. We must finish operations tomorrow morning.”
“Assemble and process so many so quickly?” Yagar shook his head. “Impossible. Notification alone requires a day.”
The AI walked to the patio doors, hands clasped behind his back. Outside gardeners labored under the tropical sun, trimming bushes and tending the rows of flowers that bloomed in exotic profusion. Ukal appreciated the geometric design of the flower beds, but disliked the flowers’ colors. He turned back to Yagar.
“Announce that you’re moving all school-aged children in the city to a place of safety—Talor or one of the southern islands. Take them directly from school to processing first thing in the morning. Harvesting them will bring us to thirty thousand and complete our mission on Dalin.”
The exarch stared down at his hands. He was a tall man, balding, losing a lifelong battle to the fat girdling his waist. He twisted the ring of office on his right hand, thumb stroking the ancient crest of starship-and-sun. “You want me to help you brainstrip children.”
“Conscience, Yagar,” said Ukal, returning to the desk, “is a severe impediment to discipline and order. We don’t tolerate it.”
“But…”
“But what?” said the AI commander. “We’ve replaced your Guard with our own units, destroyed the outlying garrisons, imposed communications closure, quarantine and curfew within the city. Five to eight hundred people a day have been assembling for ‘inoculation and transport.’ Your people have no defenses, no communications, no mobility,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers. “Your world is ours, Yagar.” Ukal leaned across the desk, his perfect face a foot from the exarch’s. “As are you. You are to prevent panic. Panic is inefficient, our time limited.”
The exarch shrank from those cold blue eyes. “Very well, Ukal. But this will torch it. Despite the communications closure, parents will demand to speak with their children—certainly a reasonable request.” He pointed at the AI. “You’ve got to get me off-world before howling mobs storm my Residence!”
“Don’t be afraid, Yagar.” The AI straightened up, hands behind his back. “We keep our word, even to vermin.”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Lakor, handing the binoculars to Zahava. They lay on a grassy hillside, just beyond the brush, looking into the valley below.
Zahava adjusted the focus. The Residence lights were coming on, long windows flaring soft yellow beneath a brilliant lavender sunset. It was as elegant as the palace had been ugly, a tropical Versailles of lush fountained gardens surrounding a white, double-winged manse, the whole ringed by the black metal pickets of a tall ornamental fence.
“Very pretty,” said Zahava. “Why not just walk in and take over?”
“We will,” said the major, “now that I know it’s not swarming with troops or AIs.”
Leaving the beach, they’d skirted a broad crater in the jungle floor, picking up a trail that ran due west—a trail along which bits of duraplast paving could still be seen, dull gray through the rich green flora. Seeing the old road surface, Zahava wanted to ask if the crater was other than natural, but didn’t dare break the tense silence of the march.
Crossing a deserted two-lane stretch of contemporary highway, they’d climbed a forested hill. Leaving all but Gysol and Zahava behind, Lakor had led the way to the crest, where the rain forest broke into rolling savannah.
“Number two squad to feint at the gate,” said Lakor as Zahava continued looking through the binoculars. “The rest of us over the fence, just below here, and straight in.”
“Neat and simple,” nodded the captain.
“Ask for adjoining brainpods,” said Zahava, handing Lakor the glasses. “See? In the grass to either side of the gate.”
Lakor adjusted the binoculars, looked and swore, seeing the twilight gleam faintly off the gun-blue blades that kept watch. “Slaughter machines,” he said, handing Gysol the glasses. “Waiting for prey, like a swamp-suck cluster.”
“So much for Yagar,” said the captain, handing back the binoculars.
“And probably his Guard,” said Gysol.
“Replaced by combat droids, I think,” said the Terran. “Or would the exarch’s lads ignore those machines?”
“No,” said the major, slowly shaking his head. “A proud old regiment. They’re dead—or worse.”
“Worse,” said Zahava.
“What now?” said Gysol.
Now for the hard talk, thought Zahava. “You’ve been letting emotion dictate strategy.” She pressed on as Lakor started to speak. “In your position, I’d probably have done the same.” Not really, she thought. “You live on a sleepy, time-forgotten world, suddenly confronted by monsters come to take you for spare parts. You’ve two small advantages—the AIs are unaware of your survival and of my presence. Blasting your way into that Residence you’ll piss away those advantages for some idiotic suicide theatrics.”
Lakor tried to speak again. She cut him off. “Stop thrashing about! Hit them hard!” She punctuated this last by stabbing her finger at Lakor’s chest. “Disrupt their operations, kill their personnel. You can’t defeat the AIs, but you can hurt them.”
The sun was gone, so she didn’t see the major’s face flush. But his anger came through loud and strong. “You know nothing about us or our world! You’ve been here less than a day.”
“She’s right,” said Gysol. “We’ve been stupid and ineffectual. This is our last chance to fight smart.” She turned to the Terran. “What do we do?”
“Raid their processing center,” said Zahava. “Where is it?”
“The old spaceport,” said the captain. “It’s just a huge clearing now—they built right in the center of it.”
“Fine,” said Lakor, temper under control. “We get in, we blow it up. There’s no chance we’ll get out. They’ll counterattack with everything they’ve got.”
“We fall back through the tubes,” said Gysol. She turned to the Terran.
“If we can find the entrance,” said Lakor. “And if it’s intact.”
“Subterranean travel system,” explained the captain. “Imperials built it, we stripped it centuries ago. It connected the principal points on this island and the rest of the archipelago.”
“If the entrance is obvious,” said the Terran, “the AIs will have found it.”
“It isn’t,” said Gysol. “But I know where it is.”
“How?” said Lakor.
“University field trip,” she said.
“What? Five, seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
“No,” said the major. “I’m not risking all our lives on a half-remembered field trip, Captain.” Turning abruptly, Lakor walked back toward the brush.
“He’ll come around,” said Gysol as the two women followed.
“When?” said Zahava.
The captain didn’t answer.
A woman in civilian clothing had joined the waiting troopers. She was talking to the senior NCO when Lakor stepped into the clearing. “They’re processing the children tomorrow,” she said in a rush. She was young, round-faced, her eyes shining bright and angry in the light from the battle torches. “The order just went out to the Education Commission. The bus convoy’s to be at the processing center by noon.”
“Lieutenant Solat, Zahava Tal,” said the major.
The lieutenant nodded at the Terran, then continued. “They’re going to be shipped from
their schools first thing in the morning. The usual lie—inoculation and relocation. What are doing, Major?”
Zahava felt Lieutenant Solat would do something alone if she had to. The Terran looked at the questioning circle of faces surrounding Lakor, and knew the lieutenant wouldn’t be alone.
“Some of you think I’ve avoided a fight because I’m a coward,” said the major. “I’m not a coward. I’m not a fool. I wanted us to buy something with our lives. Now’s our moment—we’ll buy the children back. We’ll take the AIs’ butcher hall, get the children out the tubes, fight a holding action, then blow the place up when they break through. Anyone who wants out, fall out.”
No one moved.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll commandeer some transport and go in after the bus convoy.”
“It’s not your fight,” Lakor said a few moments later as the unit moved quietly down the hill toward the road.
“Of course it is,” said Zahava. “Those machines want us all dead, every human in this galaxy. We’re all in this together.”
“We’re all going to be killed,” said the major.
The Terran shrugged, a gesture lost to the night. “Maybe.”
Zahava glanced up as they reached the roadway. The stars were out, a few of them growing fainter, moving away from Dalin—AI ships headed into space. And where are you going so suddenly? she wondered.
Detrelna entered the bridge and went to his station, acknowledging the commandos’ salutes with a curt nod. “Well?” he said, sinking into the flag chair.
Lawrona turned from his console. “We’re ready for the final jump into the Dalinian system. All sections at battle stations.”
“Damage control?”
“We’ve recovered from the algorithm,” said the captain. “All life support systems are at optimum. There was some minor water damage to hangar deck electronics—nothing serious. Final report pending.”
“Communications with FleetOps?”
“Still out. The problem’s not the skipcomm buoy. All skipcomm bands are being blocked.”
Detrelna dialed up a t’ata. “Interesting,” he said, staring at the small plume of steam. “Have we a source for that?”
Lawrona nodded. “Halfway across the quadrant.”
“Plot it. We’ll pay a visit after Dalin,” said the commodore, sipping. “Stand by to jump.”
As Lawrona gave the orders Natrol’s face flashed onto Detrelna’s comm screen. “Commodore,” he nodded.
“Ah, Mr. Natrol,” smiled Detrelna. “Ship all tidied up?”
“Of course,” said the engineer. “But one of the Usur long-range fighters has had its on-board computer replaced by a shuttle’s on-board computer. A neat job.”
Implacable carried ten fighters—they’d come with the ship out of stasis and were rarely used. The Usur was a deep-space fighter. The Scotar hadn’t deployed fighters, the corsairs had few. The Usur had seen little action since the Empire, relegated to infrequent joyrides by junior officers or the rare courier run.
“So?” said Detrelna.
Natrol sighed. “That’s a fine machine, Commodore. Integrated with any small vessel and you’d have a highly intelligent, deadly little ship.”
“So?” repeated the commodore, finishing his t’ata as the jump klaxon sounded.
“So we’re missing a lifepod,” Natrol said, disconnecting.
“So we are,” said Detrelna. He was still thinking about it when they jumped.
Chapter 15
All that remained of the old Imperial Port of Dalin was a black gash in the green veldt. Buildings long ago scrapped, only the duraplast landing field survived. Save for the delicate network of cracks lacing it, the field was untouched by the centuries, mute witness to the endurance of Imperial engineering.
The AIs’ processing center rose from the center of the field as the truck rattled toward it down the empty road, Zahava and Lakor watching from beneath the truck’s canopy.
Zahava had been expecting Dachau—what she saw was understated but as chilling: five low square white buildings, surrounded by a fence, shining beneath the early morning sun. A white flag with a green circle flew over the center building. The gate was closed and guarded by two sentries in the same uniform as Lakor and his troopers.
“Health and Healing,” said the major, looking at the flag.
Commandeering the truck from two goods’ drivers, they’d piled into the back, Gysol at the wheel and Solat beside her, driving through night’s end. Zahava had tried to sleep, but the uneven road surface and the everlasting humidity had kept her awake, sweating and worrying—worrying about John, worrying about Implacable, worrying about Dalin and this forlorn suicide raid. Exhausted, she’d finally slumped against Lakor, sleeping the last few miles as dawn came and they left the rain forest behind.
The major had nudged her awake they’d passed twenty-four lavender school buses, empty save for the drivers, headed back to the city.
Lakor slide open the back window to the cab. “Right through,” he said. “Hard and fast, as planned.” Gysol nodded, eyes on the road.
Lakor turned back to his unit. “Positions,” he ordered, bracing the now-familiar blastrifle against the cab roof. Zahava did the same. The troopers knelt, facing outward, weapons steadied along the hard wooden benches, the muzzles protruding just below the canopy’s hem.
The sentries stopped as the truck approached, unslinging their rifles. They relaxed as the truck slowed, then died as Zahava and the major opened fire, bodies sparking blue as the blaster bolts tore through them, slamming them back against the gate. Speeding over them, the trucked rammed through the gate and into the compound.
Sirens warbled as the truck careened toward the center building. More AIs in Dalinian uniform appeared, blasting away at the truck. The trooper behind Zahava pitched backward, face blown away.
The truck screeching to a halt, the troopers charged over the tailboard, firing, running for the doors. Lakor and Zahava scrambled over the top of the cab, sliding to the ground as three AIs burst out of the building, pistols in hand. Exchanging fire with one of them, Zahava was blinded by the green flash of a near-hit.
She felt a hand on her arm “We got them,” came the major’s voice.
The blasters’ shrilling had stopped. Zahava looked around, her vision clearing. A dozen AIs littered the compound, bodies still smoldering from the blaster hits. Three troopers were dead, two beside the truck, the other with the AIs at the foot of the stairs. The alarm siren was still screaming.
“Is that it?” she asked, turning to the major. But he was kneeling beside the truck cab, cradling Gysol’s body in his arms. There was a big hole through her chest.
“The kids are inside—they’re fine,” called Lieutenant Solat from the doorway. “All secure. We…” She stopped when she saw the scene by the cab.
Zahava turned to the lieutenant. “Anyone besides the captain know where the tube entrance is?” she asked, looking out at the long miles of duraplast.
Solat shook her head. Around her, directed by the last NCO, troopers were setting the demolition charges along the other two buildings.
“What are your orders, Major?” asked the lieutenant gently, an arm to Lakor’s shoulder.
The major stood, wiping his face with a dirty shirt sleeve. He took a deep breath. “Into the main building, as planned. We fight to the end. Better the kids die with us. Sergeant Hysak!”
The NCO turned. “Sir?”
“Set charges for command detonation. Run triggering wires up to the roof of this building.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll make our stand there.”
Hysak gave a quick nod and turned, shouting orders.
Following the Dalinians into the building, Zahava looked skyward. Soon, she thought.
Yagar looked up as the doors to his private dining room burst open. Ukal came in and strode to the table, looking down at him. The exarch’s mouth was half full of sweetly seasoned kinor hen. “Yes?” he said, lowering t
he drumstick and wiping his fingers on his napkin.
“A force of your soldiers, armed with Kronarin Fleet weapons, has seized the processing center. A Kronarin warship has just entered this system—more may follow.”
“And I can do what?” said Yagar, sipping wine.
“Nothing. I will. I’m seizing two thousand of your people and removing them to our processing ship,” said Ukal. “There will be violence and we’ll suffer casualties. But we’re out of time.”
“Have you given the order yet?” asked Yagar, finishing his wine.
“The instant I leave this room,” said the AI commander.
“Then you won’t be leaving this room,” said the exarch. He held a small pistol pointed at the AI.
Ukal smiled. “You can’t hurt me, Yagar. I’m command grade and blaster-shielded.”
“Look again,” said the exarch, pointing to the “3” etched into the weapon’s grips.
The AI blinked. “Of the Revolt? You?”
Yagar nodded.
“Impossible. Nothing lives that long, not even in suspension.”
“You lived that long,” said the exarch.
“I’m not human,” said the AI. He was staring at a young blond man, dressed in a white jumpsuit “You!”
“Me,” said the transmute, pulling the trigger. “This has been a long time coming.”
When Ukal’s guards burst in seconds later, they found their leader in stasis and the exarch gone.
“Who the hell are they?” said Detrelna, leaning over Kiroda and peering at the tacscan of the ships orbiting Dalin. Lawrona stood on the other side of the first officer.
“They appear to be merchantmen, Commodore,” said Kiroda, making an adjustment. Augmented data trailed across the small screen. “Xankar-class, armed to the earlobes with all sorts of illegal death. Mark 88s, shipbusters. Not transmitting IDs.”
“Combine Telan, of course,” said Ragal. The AI stood just behind Kiroda. “A vanguard of the Fleet of the One.”
The AI War Page 15
