“This is the Trel Cache,” said Guan-Sharick. “Just as my Imperial Survey party found it.”
“You’ve so many talents, Guan-Sharick,” said an amused voice. There was no telling from where it came.
“Hello, Eldest,” said Guan-Sharick.
“Eldest?” said Zahava.
“The guardian of the Trel Cache,” said Guan-Sharick.
“But not just a guardian,” said the voice. “I gather data, sift it, glean what I can, and store it.”
“What sort of data?” asked John.
In answer, his reflection faded from one of the facets, replaced by the image of a gaunt black-uniformed man in his sixties, talking with John. It was nighttime, trees all about, with other, indistinct figures moving nearby. The older man held a pistol and John a machine pistol.
“Are you familiar with the classical concept of an umphalos, Major?” asked the other, reloading his weapon and slipping it into a pocket.
“Hochmeister,” said John, staring at the image. “On Terra Two. But how…”
“As I said, I gather data.”
“The guardian is omniscient,” said Guan-Sharick. “At least from our perspective.”
“And this data,” said Zahava. “Where do you record it? And why?”
“It’s all here, in this chamber,” said the voice. “Etched into the molecules of this glittering artifact. The knowledge of a great people, the Trel, what befell them—and what followed: the Revolt, the Empire, Ractol, the Biofab War, Hochmeister, Terra Two. It’s been some time, Guan-Sharick.”
“Three thousand years, more or less, Eldest, since I last stood here.”
“You have more trouble.”
“The Rift has opened, Eldest. Your foe and mine, the Fleet of the One, is on its way to crush us. We have little that can stand against them.”
“Except the weapon.”
“Yes—the weapon of which we spoke, so long ago.”
“I must tell you,” said the voice gently, “that you may not have that weapon.”
Guan-Sharick stepped back as though struck. “But, Eldest… !”
“The weapon we used against the AIs, if used again, would trigger an irreversible chain reaction, converting matter to antimatter, obliterating this and the AIs’ universe. Perhaps the entire multiverse.”
“When I was last here you said nothing of this.”
“New data’s come to light. Impressive, longitudinal data.”
“Eldest,” said the Guan-Sharick, hands spread in supplication, “plans were made and implemented based on your assurance. Dynasties, cultures, whole civilizations have been manipulated in anticipation that I would come here and that you would give me the weapon, and that, together with an aroused and militant people, we would defeat the AIs. We cannot defeat the Fleet of the One without that weapon.”
John had to admire the Scotar: thirty centuries of planning in shambles, yet it pressed its case logically, passionately.
“Eldest, we must have the weapon.”
“How would you get it? Violence?” said the voice. “Only a part of the outpost is in this continuum. And you have my word—the weapon was long ago destroyed.”
Guan-Sharick’s head bowed in defeat. “Eldest, you’ve spoken our epitaph.”
“Perhaps,” said the Guardian.
The blonde raised its head. “We’ll go and face them then, ship to ship, being to being, as we did from the start.”
“Wait,” said the Guardian. “Do you recall when the AIs the Empire created revolted? The so-called Machine Wars?”
“Vividly,” said the Scotar. “I died in that revolt.”
“And the emperor then?”
“Syal,” said Guan-Sharick. “Syal sent the Twelfth Fleet to crush the revolt. They were using a new jump system that had been extensively tested, but never in a single transfer involving so many ships. The Twelfth Fleet of the House of Syal jumped and was never seen or heard of again.”
“That fleet exists,” said the voice, “suspended in time through a small error in jump field mechanics. A device has been made that will correct that error and recall the Twelfth Fleet.”
“Where is this device?” asked Guan-Sharick intently.
“According to communications I’ve monitored,” said the voice, “the prototype exists in the research labs of Combine Telan. They’ve created it as a jump-navigation aid, but with minor modifications it should recall the Twelfth Fleet.”
“You can provide those modifications, Eldest?”
“I’ve already done so. They’re logged into Implacable’s Engineering archives.”
“And if it doesn’t work, Eldest?” said Lan-Asal.
There was a pause. “There is one other device. But the way to that is unknown.”
“Explain,” said Guan-Sharick.
“After the disasters of the Machine Wars, Fleet and Guard revolted, overthrowing Syal. He retreated to a hidden citadel, deep beneath Kronar. Fleet found and bombarded it. Those who didn’t die then died later, sealed in their fortress-tomb. Syal had with him a just-completed device to overcome the jump field irregularities, a device that would have recalled the Twelfth Fleet, had the emperor had time to use it. Which he didn’t.”
“And this citadel is where?” asked Lan-Asal.
“Somewhere between Prime Base and the capital,” said the voice. “I couldn’t determine the exact point—Fleet bombarded multiple targets in the area. I’ve sent their locations and a full history of the action to Implacable’s archives.”
Angry and vengeful, the AIs pursed the two Kronarin ships into the asteroid belt, their screens cutting great swaths through the rocky flotsam, absorbing the useful heavy metals, burning off the rest.
“When we were on Terra, Hanar,” said Detrelna, watching the rear scan, “do you remember seeing the ice breakers keeping the sea lanes open?”
“Vladivostok,” said the captain, also watching the rear scan. “I see what you mean—same principle, but far more efficient.”
“Battlecode burst from the admiral,” said Lakan. “She wants to know how much longer—they’re gaining.”
Detrelna glanced at the readout threading across the bottom of the tacscan. “We’re here. Tell her any time now.”
The space mines detonated just after Deliverance passed. No one of this epoch could appreciated their artistry. Originally Imperial Mangler Class Fours, improved by the Ractolians through long centuries of molecular tinkering. The Manglers looked and scanned like rock because they were—crafted from a special element made highly unstable when touched by a shield matrix. The stronger the matrix field, the more unstable and dramatic the reaction.
The explosions washed over the battleglobes, briefly obscuring them from scan. When the nuclear flames faded, the two monster craft could be seen, drifting, shields dimmed.
“Hurt, but not dead,” said Ragal to Detrelna. “Now what?”
Alpha Prime swept in toward the battleglobes, firing missiles, then turned away. Beams snapped after her as the battleglobes slowly began moving.
The battleglobes could easily have taken more nuclear missile hits—they’d been designed to withstand ravening elemental energies. What their designers hadn’t conceived of—what no rational being would have conceived of—was the cyborgian aberration that was a mindslaver and its almost magical weapons systems. Alpha Prime’s missiles held bits of antimatter in stasis. When the missiles reached target, the stasis fields released.
The battleglobes vanished in two spectacular overlapping explosions, twin blue-red fireballs, flecked with orange lightning, quickly gone.
The mindslaver returned, a great black wraith, halting off Implacable’s port.
“Still alive, Detrelna?” asked Kotran.
“Why did you save us, Kotran?” said the commodore. “And what are your intentions?”
“We’ll stand with you against the AIs. We have another forty-eight ships of this class and finally enough brains to crew them.”
“Forty-eight
mindslavers?” said Detrelna. “Where have they been?”
“In stasis,” said Kotran, “awaiting this moment. The Ractolians knew that forty-nine symbiotechnic dreadnoughts might take the Confederation, but could never hold it. For our help, we’ll of course require some concessions.”
“What concessions?” asked the commodore. It’s come to this, he thought—I’m bargaining with a mindslaver.
“We want certain planets in Blue Nine for our own, under treaty. We want right of passage through the Confederation.”
“Are these planets inhabited?” said Lawrona.
“Only by non-Confederation citizens, Captain,” said Kotran.
“Whom you’ll harvest,” said Lawrona.
“A small sacrifice for the greater good, Captain,” said Kotran. “A duty the Empire once required of its citizens—part of our rich tradition as Kronarins.”
“The civil war that followed was the beginning of the Fall,” said Detrelna. “Anything else?”
“A few minor requests.”
“I have no…” began Detrelna.
“… authority,” finished Kotran. “We know. Just relay our demands to Fleet and Council. We’re returning now to mobilize our fleet.”
“How do we contact you?” said Detrelna.
“We’ll contact you, on the Fleet covert operations channel. If the Council agrees with our requests, you’ll see us again when the fighting starts. Luck, Detrelna.”
On the screen, the mindslaver shrank and was gone.
“Engineering asks permission to lower shield for repair,” said Lakan.
“Granted,” said Lawrona after a quick glance at the tacscan. Deliverance was coming alongside.
Outside, the faint shimmer protecting Implacable winked off.
“I’m at a loss, Hanar,” said Detrelna, walking over to the captain’s station. “Even if the mindslavers stand with us and the whole bloody Confederation fleet, any force we field would hardly annoy the AIs. They’ve ten thousand battle units, ten thousand ships per unit.”
“Perhaps we can help again?” said a voice from the empty engineering station. Guan-Sharick-as-blonde, Lan-Asal, Zahava and John stood there.
“Interesting,” said Admiral Sagan, looking across the conference table at Ragal. “And how many—friendly—AIs are there in the Confederation?”
“A few hundred of us. Mostly Watchers.”
“And the hostiles—the Combine Telan AIs?”
Ragal shrugged. “Several thousand certainly, and not confined to Combine Telan. They long ago infiltrated key positions. Their influence is far out of proportion to their numbers.”
Sagan had come aboard, assumed command and taken everything in stride—the Ractolians’ proposal, the presence of the two Scotar and Ragal. By watchend, all were seated with both ships’ senior officers in the deck four conference room—a small gray cave deep within the ship.
The admiral turned to Guan-Sharick, seated opposite her at the end of the table. “What’s your role in this, Scotar?”
“Our mission is to stop the AIs,” said the transmute. “That has been our mission since humanity revolted and escaped the AI universe. Our bodies are cloned, our memories and special abilities transferred.”
“Absurd,” said the admiral. “You can’t be endlessly cloned—each succeeding generation would have more defects than the previous. That’s a basic tenet of information theory.”
“We’re cloned from original cells,” said Lan-Asal.
“I can vouch for them,” said Ragal. “They’re two of the five lieutenants of He who led the Revolt, the one you call the Nameless Emperor.”
“You’re human?” said John disbelievingly, looking at the Scotar.
“Somewhat more so, Harrison,” said Guan-Sharick.
“I don’t believe it,” said the Terran. He turned to Detrelna. “Do you?”
The commodore looked at the two white-uniformed figures. “Perhaps we’ll someday know. For now, I’m more concerned with their intentions than their appearance.” His eyes shifted to Ragal
“Detrelna’s right, Ragal,” said Sagan. “It’s fine that you vouch for them, but who’ll vouch for you?”
“I don’t vouch for them,” said Detrelna. “Their actions do.”
“We’re going to have to trust each other, Admiral,” said Ragal. “All of us. Otherwise defeat’s inevitable.”
“Perhaps,” said Sagan. She looked at Guan-Sharick. “Tell me about this device the Combine developed.”
Before the Scotar could speak, the admiral’s commlink chirped. “Understood,” she said, disconnecting. She sat silently for a moment, looking down at her folded hands. “Ragal,” she said finally, looking up, “my apologies. Fleet did not acknowledge my last report.” Her eyes went from face to face. “Rather, they’ve just listed me as killed in action, along with all my ships and crews. As for you, Detrelna, you and Implacable are declared corsair—shoot on sight. Combine Telan and its friends work quickly.”
Deliverance’s Captain Yakor broke the glum silence. “Why can’t we just go back to Prime Base and expose the plot?”
“Jaquel used to say that,” said Lawrona.
“Not anymore,” said Detrelna.
“That’s what they want us to do, Yakor,” said Lawrona. “There’re ships sitting off home jump point right now, gunnery programming tied into your ship ID. You wouldn’t live long enough to see our own sun.’
There was a sudden babble as everyone tried to speak.
A worn Academy ring rang on the table as Sagan rapped her hand on the wood. “I’ll listen to suggestions, not incipient hysteria,” she said. “Anyone?”
Gods! she looks tired, thought Detrelna. And why not? Lost all but one ship, betrayed by a corrupt FleetOps and the AIs are coming.
“If we’re to be corsairs, Admiral,” said the commodore, “let’s act like corsairs.”
“Explain.”
“Do what Kotran would do—raid Combine Telan’s research and headquarters facility.”
”Why?” she asked.
“Tell the admiral what you told us,” Detrelna said to the Scotar.
“Thirty centuries ago,” said the Scotar, “I was an Imperial Survey officer—a cover for searching out the Trel Cache. I found it. I spoke with its guardian. The guardian assured me we could have the weapon the Trel had used against the Fleet of the One, but that only a united and militant humanity could defeat the AIs, weapon or not. We laid our plans well, and with the help of Ragal and others, created Pocsym, who created the biofabs, which, you will agree, have produced a united, militant humanity.”
“You killed a lot of people doing it,” said Sagan coldly.
“We’re now told that the weapon no longer exists,” said the Scotar, “but that ironically Combine Telan has unknowingly produced a device that modified can recall the Twelfth Fleet of the House of Syal. Admiral, we need that device.”
“The fleet that never returned,” said the admiral, half to herself. She looked back at the Scotar. “What type of ships did the Twelfth have?”
“Mindslavers,” said Guan-Sharick.
“That curse again. And like Detrelna, you’re willing to employ mindslavers against the AIs?”
“I’d use anything against them, Admiral.”
Something in Guan-Sharick’s voice startled John, something he’d never heard there before—hate.
“You know where this is? You have a description?” asked Sagan.
“Yes.”
Sagan turned to Detrelna. “You haven’t by any chance an attack plan, Detrelna?”
“We do,” said the commodore.
Chapter 18
Shlu was a soft green world tucked away in Red Seven, a quadrant adjoining Red One and the Kronarin home systems. Only fifty light-years from Kronar, it was visited frequently by Fleet units patrolling for corsairs and escaped Scotar. Thus the Combine Telan port officer gave almost automatic clearance to the three Fleet craft descending from the Laal-class cruiser that had just
slipped into orbit.
Almost.
As they came in he ran a standard ID check-confirming that the Dauntless was actually assigned Red Seven—then ran it again when the complink flashed DESTROYED—SECOND BATTLE OF HUSAK.
The port officer cursed softly as fresh data trailed across his screen: ONE ARMED SHUTTLE AND TWO COMMANDO ASSAULT CRAFT INBOUND FROM UNIDENTIFIED WAR CRUISER. WANT SPECS?
“Designate unknown vessel and craft hostile,” he said, triggering the general alarm. “Alert all stations and ships we’re under attack. Prepare to repel ground assault.” The klaxons had just started wailing when Implacable’s fusion batteries destroyed the port’s Operations complex.
Sweeping out of the setting sun, the ships came in low over the ruined control tower, Mark 44s strafing the complex. Quickly suppressing the scattered return fire, the shuttle kept circling and strafing as the assault boats settled onto the roof of a squat gray building, their sides dropping open.
“Follow me!” cried Lawrona, leading the rush from the boats and across the roof.
The black-uniformed commandos and Ragal swept after him, a smaller contingent from the second boat forming a perimeter around the landing zone.
The rush stopped at the closed double doors of the lift.
“Visitors,” said Ragal, pointing to the lift indicator. The machine was coming express from the ground level.
“Hostiles in the lift!” called Lawrona. “Deploy!”
The commandos formed a black arc centered on the lift. As they waited, the alarm klaxons stopped hooting and the blaster fire between shuttle and ground positions fell off.
Please, thought Lawrona, sighting two-handed on the center of the lift door, not the blades. He’d seen destroyed ones, and read Harrison’s action report on them—it was as close as he wanted to get.
The lift’s doors hissed open on five layers of killer machines, red sensor scans moving balefully along the blue-steel edges of their blades.
“Fire!” shouted Lawrona.
Blaster fire poured into the lift, turning it into a cauldron of flame lanced by bursts of blue bolts. Smoke billowed out, but no return fire.
The Kronarins continued firing until their reload signals beeped.
The AI War Page 18
