The AI War

by Stephen Ames Berry

  “Hold fire,” called Lawrona, peering through the drifting smoke. Slapping in a new chargpak, he advanced cautiously.

  The blades lay in shattered heaps, slowly congealing rivulets of molten duraplast dripping on them from the lift’s ruined walls and ceilings.

  “They just hovered there and took it,” said an amazed Satil, looking at the destruction.

  Lawrona’s eyes met Ragal’s. The AI winked.

  “Status of raid, Detrelna?” asked Sagan, her image appearing in the commodore’s comm screen.

  “As per plan and schedule, Admiral,” he said. “The diversionary force has landed atop the armory. Much shooting and shouting, but unable to advance off the rooftop. Intercepted communications show all Combine security groups closing on the armory. Lawrona will pull out on schedule, hopelessly outgunned. That great bloody firefight should continue to absorb them.” He dialed for t’ata. “Ragal saved a lot of lives by jamming the blades’ command and control frequencies.”

  “Give him a medal.”

  “I’m a pirate chieftain—I can only award loot.”

  “Anything from the main action yet?”

  “No,” said Detrelna, sipping his t’ata. They’d accounted for the two guard ships, but help was coming from the Combine base on the seventh planet—lots of it. Time for that later. “We’ll only know about the main action when our force returns.”

  “If they return,” said Sagan. “I’m having Yakor pull Deliverance back to omega blue three nine. We’ll intercept that incoming reaction force.”

  Detrelna glanced again at the tacscan. “They’ll punch through you, Admiral.”

  Sagan shook her head and laughed. To the commodore’s surprise, it was a pleasant sound. “They can’t kill me and mine. We’re already dead. Ask FleetOps.”

  “But…”

  She shook her head. “You do your job, Detrelna. We’ll take care of the reaction force.” She touched her commkey, then looked back up. “Detrelna?”

  “Admiral?”

  “It’s up to you—stop those vorg slime.”

  “The AIs?”

  She nodded.

  “How?” He spread his hands helplessly. “We’re infiltrated, they’re on their way, and I’ve no faith in this magical weapon we’re after.”

  “Find some way to hit their rear, Detrelna,” said Sagan. “Between you, Ragal, Kotran and the two transmutes you’ll think of something. You’re wily and unorthodox, Detrelna,” she added. “You’ll pull it off. Best to you always, Commodore. Until we meet again.”

  “Until then, Admiral,” he said to an empty screen.

  Detrelna turned to the tacscan. Deliverance was pulling out, heading straight for the—he counted—twenty-three Combine cruisers. Off to an orthodox and brief battle.

  Crushing his cup, he stuffed it into the disposer.

  Well, that was easy. Now what? asked John—he had difficulty not speaking the words.

  Everything’s very neat—start reading those yellow IDs over the cubicles. According to their computer, those are finished prototypes awaiting testing.

  Guan-Sharick had flicked them inside the complex—an instantaneous transition from cruiser to earth, over before the mind could react. Arriving after Lawrona’s diversion began, they’d found the central lab building deserted, its personnel either in shelters or responding to the alarm.

  Guan-Sharick had glanced briefly at the building locator in the lobby; then he and John were standing in a lab, instruments all about, looking through a glass wall at the complex. Half a dozen buildings were in flames, burning from the top down—fires triggered by the exchange of fusion bolts with the Kronarin shuttle. Ringed by gleaming towers stood the smaller black structure, with Lawrona and the commandos still on the rooftop, battling a sudden rush of human-seeming figures. AIs? wondered John. Or human helpers?

  Human, reported Guan-Sharick. Combine Telan has retainers—unwitting, most of them.

  This isn’t what we want.

  They’d moved on to another lab, the shrill and crash of blaster fire suddenly muted.

  Unfinished projects lay everywhere, spread out like so many vivisected carcasses on long steel benches, presided over by the dead green eyes of inactive complinks.

  Jump Navigational Aid—Mark IV. John read the duraplast label above the equipment cubicle. The device looked like two giant-sized green ear swabs, each about a meter long, crossed diagonally and banded together in the center by a red nodule.

  “Not much to look—” he said as Guan-Sharick entered the small work area.

  Long fingers clamped over his mouth. Voice sensors. Grab that device and we’ll go.

  What about the research notes?

  No time.

  Combine Telan always had contingencies. They’d activated a major one when no more messages came from Telan Two aboard Alpha Prime. Telan Two A had been activated.

  Adjusted for the appearance of age, the resemblance of Telan senior to Telan junior was often remarked on. They were of the same series—something easily seen as they stood together, deep beneath Shlu, watching the raid.

  “An act of desperate men with no other options,” said Telan One.

  The young-looking AI nodded. “Agreed.”

  “What bothers me,” said the other, watching the screen that showed Lawrona’s contingent fighting for their lives, “is its stupidity. Sacrifice I expect, but not stupidity. Really—the armory? Implacable alone has enough small arms for an infantry division.”

  The Combine’s Operations Center was large, well-hidden and only partially occupied with beating off the raid complex. Most sections and stations were busy directing the activities of fleets of merchant and mining ships, relaying communications, collecting intelligence and maintaining contact with the home universe.

  “Then what?” said Telan Two A.

  “Intruder alert, lab complex four, section red three,” said a cool, soft voice issuing from all points of the big room.

  “Then that,” said Telan One, leaning over the console. “Bring up that section.”

  A new screen flashed on, showing Harrison carrying a device from the cubicle while a blonde hunched over a complink, fingers flying, eyes scanning the text.

  “Guan-Sharick,” said Telan One. “That’s how they got in—they teleported.” He shook his head. “I didn’t believe your predecessor’s report. They should be dead—they’re organic.”

  He turned, issuing orders. “Activate Lab 13 security shield. Withdraw all but a token force from the armory—it’s a ruse. Security’s to enter Lab 13 via selective shield penetration, kill those two intruders and recover the device they’re stealing.”

  Telans One and Two A stood watching the blonde as the orders went out. “What else survives?” wondered Telan One, watching Guan-Sharick.

  “Well done, Harrison,” said the blonde, turning from the complink. “You may have just lost us the war.”

  “Why are you speaking?” he asked, hefting the strange device uneasily in his hand.

  “Because it doesn’t matter now—they’ve slapped a security shield on this building. I can’t teleport through it.”

  “What can we do?”

  “See that door?” Guan-Sharick pointed to the gray slab of battlesteel that shut the lab off from the corridor.

  Harrison nodded.

  “Blast the lock shut; that’ll hold them for a while. I’ll be sending what specs I have,” the transmute tapped her head, “to Lan-Asal. Maybe they can replicate the device.”

  If we’re killed, John added to himself, moving toward the door.

  “Hanar.”

  Detrelna’s voice came through sharp and clear in Lawrona’s earpiece.

  “Yes?” he asked, ducking as a blaster bolt grazed the air duct he was behind, showering him with sparks.

  “They’ve tumbled to it. They’re responding a small army to that lab. And they’ve slapped a security shield on it. Go save them. They’re on level seven.”

  “Where’s the scree
n generator?” asked the captain.

  Detrelna touched his complink, watching the briefing scan as it scrolled by. He read quickly. “Subbasement seven, northwest quadrant four—unless they’ve moved it since the last FleetOps update.”

  “Have Lan-Asal tell Guan-Sharick to meet us there,” said Lawrona.

  “Acknowledged,” said the commodore.

  With three quick bolts, Lawrona finished the sniper he’d been toying with, rising as the man’s body tumbled from a neighboring rooftop. “To the boats!” he shouted, waving his blaster. “To the boats!”

  “Any lifepods launched?” asked Detrelna, leaning over Kiroda’s shoulder, peering at the tacscan. Red X’s marked what had been Deliverance and three Combine ships.

  “No, sir,” said Kiroda.

  On the tacscan, twenty-one target blips continued to advance on the green dot marking Implacable.

  “No obliging mindslavers this time,” said Detrelna, straightening. “Get us some room, Tolei. Away from the planet—Gunnery to fire as targets come in range.”

  Lieutenant Satil dashed across the corridor, blaster bolts snapping around her as she dived into the doorway.

  “We’re going the wrong way, Captain,” she said, pulling herself into the corner shared with Lawrona.

  “No.” He stepped around the corner, snapped off three bolts, then ducked back, dodging the return fire. “We’re making for that room five doors down—field generator.”

  “It’ll take all night—they’ve got at least a company between us and it.”

  “A doorway at a time, Lieutenant,” said Lawrona, waving the next squad forward. He and Satil joined the covering barrage.

  Half the squad reached the next two doorways.

  “Let’s go,” said Lawrona. He and Satil made for the next doorway, continuing the deadly game of leapfrog.

  “Troops are in the basement,” said Guan-Sharick. “Bring the device.”

  “Where are we going?” asked John.

  The lab door glowed red, the battlesteel slowly yielding under heavy blaster fire.

  “To another hot spot, Harrison,” said Guan-Sharick.

  The lab was gone—the Terran found himself crouching in a gray doorway, blasters shrilling all around, the wide bore of an M11A inches from his face. “Oh,” said Lawrona, lowering his weapon. “That’s it?” he added, pointing to the device in John’s hand.

  “Yes,” said Guan-Sharick.

  “I didn’t ask you,” said Lawrona. He turned back to Harrison. “Is it?”

  “Allegedly,” said the Terran.

  “Can you make it work?”

  They ducked as a blue bolt tore into the top of the door frame, showering them with sparks and droplets of molten metal.

  “Ask Guan-Sharick,” said John.

  Lawrona turned reluctantly. “Well?”

  “Ask me when we get to the ship, Captain,” said the blonde.

  “What if you don’t get to the ship?”

  “You’ll see that I do.”

  “No one’s going anywhere until we reach that generator room. There are about five squads of AIs fronting us, backed by endless reserves.”

  “We seize the shield generator, then what?”

  “Then Guan-Sharick teleports us back to Implacable,” said the captain.

  “I’m not a god,” said the blonde. “If that generator’s down, I can get you out in fours and fives, but—”

  “Just get the device back to the ship,” said Lawrona. “Please.”

  Ragal joined them, moving up the corridor and into the doorway, a blur of motion. “Guan-Sharick,” he nodded.

  “Ragal,” nodded the blonde.

  “I need your help again.”

  “As in the Revolt?”

  “As in the Revolt,” said the AI. He pointed up the corridor. “Move me up one doorway—I’ll jam the impulse matrix on the shield generator.”

  “Done,” said the Scotar. She and Ragal was gone.

  “Blades attacking from the rear!” Satil’s voice crackled over the commnet.

  “Squads seven, nine and four, face about!” ordered the captain.

  They came slicing up the corridor, a sharp phalanx of death mowing through the troopers, firing and slicing. Whenever one fired, blue lightning snapped from its rim and a commando died.

  It took multiple hits to bring even one of the blades down. As John and Lawrona fired from the doorway, the lead machine faltered, accelerated and plunged past them, plowing into the wall in a geyser of blue-red flame.

  “Shield’s down,” said Guan-Sharick, appearing between Lawrona and Harrison. “Hideous, aren’t they?” she said, staring at the blades. The carnage ended as the blades vanished, leaving the smoldering remains of four machines behind. “You flicked them away,” said John.

  Guan-Sharick nodded. “Northern polar region. Long trip back.”

  Eyes streaming, choking and wheezing from the smoke, Detrelna and Toral dragged Kiroda from the shattered navigation console, stumbling in the murky twilight.

  They’d lost the lights almost at the start. The Combine ships, mauled by Sagan, were minimizing risks, coming in waves of four, pounding the shield at preselected points. Soon the shield was rippling red-white, too weak and unstable to completely stop the hundreds of blue fusion bolts ripping at it. Then the hull began taking hits—greatly weakened hits holing it in a score of places.

  A diminished fusion salvo found the bridge, exploding row after row of consoles, sending the atmosphere rushing out in a sudden gust until stopped by the automatic sealants. By then the bridge was a smoking ruin, dead and wounded lying where they’d fallen.

  “Natrol,” Detrelna had shouted over the din of alarms and explosions, “Engineering take conn! Evacuate the bridge! Wounded first. All others to Engineering.” He’d turned then and seen Kiroda, slumped on the deck. Cursing, he’d knelt beside the young officer, turning him gently onto his back. Blood ran freely from a nasty head wound, and his left hand was badly burned, but he’d live until the shield failed.

  Detrelna’s communicator beeped as he reached the lift. “What?” he managed as Toral set Kiroda down beside the other wounded. The lift doors closed and the machine moved sluggishly for Sick Bay.

  It was Natrol. “We can take three more of those runs, maybe four—shielding’s almost gone—then we’re one with the universe.”

  “You keep that shield up, Natrol!” snapped Detrelna. “Just leave us communications and internal transport.”

  “What do you think we’ve been doing?” The engineer’s tone was jocular. Defense mechanism, thought Detrelna, watching Toral rip open a medkit and fumble for a dry compress. Natrol’s as scared as the rest of us.

  “Then carry on,” he said as Toral put the compress on Kiroda’s forehead. The first officer groaned but remained unconscious. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” If there’s any there left to get to, he added to himself. Kneeling beside the medkit, he searched for the burn salve.

  “They’ve raided the lab and stolen the prototype of a navigation jump aid.” The security captain’s face filled the comm screen. There was a nasty blaster burn across her cheek. Exhaustion lined her face.

  “Where are they now?” asked Telan One.

  “Subbasement seven. We have them trapped.”

  “Very well. Continue. Make every effort to recover that navigational aid.” He switched off before she could answer.

  “If they reach their landing zone, they could pull it off,” said Telan Two A. “That shuttle is jump equipped.”

  Telan One nodded. “Instruct our reaction force to disengage Implacable and establish a blockade around Shlu. Our enemies have risked everything to get that device. Whatever it is, they’re not going to have it.”

  “They’re breaking off,” said Natrol.

  “What?” Detrelna looked at the small tacscan. Tucked away in the back of Engineering, auxiliary control lacked the sophistication of the main bridge—there were only a handful of screens and four consoles,
all now doubly manned. Yet one of the small screens showed the Combine ships leaving Implacable behind, racing for Shlu.

  “After them,” said Detrelna, reading the data. “They’re going for Lawrona.”

  “You’re crazy, Commodore,” said Natrol. The engineer’s face was streaked with black, residue of an electrical fire in the shield generators. Bloodshot eyes glared at Detrelna. “I can give you half standard, or I can jump. I can’t give you weapons and propulsion and shield.”

  Detrelna felt himself flushing. “Don’t tell me what you…”

  He and Natrol whirled, drawing their side arms as Lan-Asal appeared on the other side of the console.

  “Yes?” said Detrelna, holstering his M11A.

  “I need you to stabilize your position relative to Shlu and drop your shield.”

  Commodore and engineer exchanged glances. “Why?” asked Detrelna.

  “We’re going to try to teleport the raiding party off of Shlu.”

  “Do it,” said Detrelna to Natrol.

  It went well at first, with John and fourteen wounded troopers whisked onto Implacable’s hangar deck in three separate jumps.

  “Take this,” he said, tossing the prototype to a startled Detrelna.

  “What…”

  “It’s what we came for,” said John. He turned to Lan-Asal. “Do you need me back there?”

  “No—just another sweaty body to lug,” said the transmute, and was gone.

  “Well, that eases up on the return fire,” said Lawrona. He stood with Ragal in an open doorway, firing at the Combine forces as they tried to advance up either side of the corridor, weapons silent.

  “Great defensive position, Captain,” said Ragal, looking at the sign over the door: Armory 7—Atomics.

  “Works until they send in more blades,” said Lawrona, reloading. Behind them were the last of the raiders—five wounded and two not, sitting against large white canisters marked in red with the hydrogen atom’s symbol.

  “Here they come,” said Ragal, pointing to a flight of blades as they whipped around a corner, light glinting off blue steel. He shook his head. “Can’t help you this time, Lawrona—they’re frequency shielded.”